[OPEN] ain't no party like a D̴̡̀R̶̵̶A̷̵̡̛͜G̷͟ ̀҉̸̀͢Q͝҉͟͏U҉͘͟͜͡Ȩ͜҉͞E̷͢Ņ ̷̷̕Ṕ̷̧̛͞A̷͟R̸̛̕Ţ̀́Y̵̴

[fuckingcool]

Who| Oceana Gunn and all you party people
What| Oceana's throwing the craziest party of the year to celebrate the end of the Arena, and you're invited. Feel free to mingle, post open starters, and tag around to your heart's content!
Where| Her bachelor(ette) pad in the Capitol
When| Post-Arena, pre-Crowning
Warnings/Notes| Uhhh. Drugs, alcohol, sex, language, etc are all possibilities within!



It's high time that someone threw a really great party in this town.

Oceana's been laying low, working on costumes for the upcoming Crowning and watching her babies kick ass in the Arena, but after a while she gets an itch. An itch to invite hundreds of strangers to her penthouse apartment, dress up in her most sickening clothes, and let the booze pour. So that's exactly what she does. Invitations are sent out, crates of liquor are ordered, food is catered in, and the lights are dimmed way down low.

Her apartment is spacious, minimally decorated because it looks fucking cool and she's barely around anyway, and full of dark corners. The living room has a huge table full of finger foods along one wall, a champagne fountain, and a full bar with virtually endless liquor. The music is loud as hell, and the drag queen has even gone to the trouble of paying people to come early and dance, so that the dance floor is never empty.

The hostess herself will be mingling all evening; the glass of vodka in her hand is never empty, and always garnished with at least six olives. She may not be the classiest bitch in the capitol, but it's apparent by looking around that she knows how to throw a killer soirée.

Comments

Oceana

[fuckingcool]

A constant presence at her own party, Oceana is all tarted up as usual. She's got on her fiercest leather minidress, hair so big it's got its own atmosphere, and purple glitter lipstick the house down. She can be found in one of many places--the dance floor being her favorite, because who doesn't like being in the middle of a bunch of sweaty, grinding bodies?--the kitchen, slugging back vodka and talking shit about her colleagues, the living room, lounging on a pristine white sofa and trying to get in some dude's pants.

Okay, let's be real, she's almost always trying to get in some dude's pants. Only halfheartedly, because Holly's got her ass on lock, but old habits die hard. She's excited, though--she's really needed this. She needs to just let loose, forget about all the mounting anxieties that have been rising like bile in her throat these past few months. She's fine, they're all going to be fine. In the words of an immortal genius pop star--just dance. It's gonna okay.

[sergius]

Sergius has been back in the Capitol all of twenty-four hours when he catches wind of Oceana's party and decides to make an appearance. He's never one to miss a party, after all, and since it's been almost two years since he ditched the Capitol for life in District One he's ready to cut loose and get back into the swing of things. When he spots the hostess making the rounds, he makes his way toward her, ready to mingle.

"Hey girl."

[fuckingcool]

By this point, Oceana's stolen someone's sunglasses and has them over her eyes, slightly askew in an oh-so-cool way. She's chatting with some up-and-coming whatver when she hears someone addressing her. Turning over her shoulder, chasing after the straw in her drink with her mouth, the queen tilts her face down to look at the newcomer over her sunglasses.

Oh, damn. He's foxy as hell. Her jaw drops a little bit.

"Fuck. Hi." Turning her whole body away from the other conversation, Oceana lets her drink fall to her side, pulling the shades down further with her free hand. "Where did you come from, because I wanna go the fuck over there and drink the water."

[reallynow]

Oceana has had her share of affection from Jolie through the night, of course Jolie dotes on her daughter. Even when she's prancing around and grinding on people like a drunk ho, she's her drunk ho and she wouldn't have her any other way.

As the night progresses, so does the drinking, eventually Jolie is pretty wasted but carries herself with all the grace and snark of the mature queen she is. When she sees Oceana on the couch, she doesn't even see the guy next to her. She flops on the couch on the spare side and cuddles against her side without any regard for the guy whatsoever.

[fuckingcool]

Oceana's never one to turn down Jolie's affections; she's the best drag mother a queen could ask for, and a damn sight more loving than Oceana's real parents ever were. She's mid-story when Jolie flops down next to her, and rather than cut herself off right away, Oceana slings an arm around the older queen's shoulder and continues.

"--so he told me to bend over, and that isn't something I ever say no to, so I do it, right? Except instead of a big dick I feel something warm and furry all up in my cheeks, and that's when I split. I'm not into fucking around with animals, queen, no ma'am."

She turns, then, and grins broadly at Jolie, her blue eyes hazy even under her circle lenses. "'Sup, baby?"

[revvinguptheharley]

"Hail to the Queen!" Cheered the eternally bubbly Harley Quinn as she came bounding over raising a glass and even sweeping to a bow gracefully without spilling her drink.

This party really was more lively and warm then any Harley had been to in the last few weeks, but then again she'd been "Working" at most of those parties so maybe that was the problem.

"Are you ever not perfection? Because so far I haven't seen it." She giggled straightening up and sipping her drink. Her own outfit was a more casual red and black number she had worn before. Still it hugged her curves comfortably and allowed her to move and she wouldn't dare try to upstage Oceana at her own party...

...in large part because she suspected such a thing was impossible.

[fuckingcool]

Oceana's never one to deny being praised, worshiped, or otherwise lavished with affection, so Harley's compliments do not go amiss. Oceana laughs, running both hands up the sides of her body before throwing them into the air like she's a girl in a giant martini glass. "Bow down, bitches," she exclaims, causing several onlookers to laugh. The queen glances around.

"What? I was serious!" She returns her gaze to Harley, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, to answer your question, pretty much no. Bitch, I wake up like this." She rests a hand on one skintight leather-clad hip. The first time she met Harley, Oceana decided she's pretty much batshit crazy, but hell. It's a party, and everyone here is a bit crazy anyway. "What's up, girl? Robbed any banks lately?"

[whatisay]

It wouldn't do not to greet the host of the party, and Jason may not be much for social niceties but he wasn't exactly raised by brutes. Besides, while he has no great fondness for anyone, he appreciates Oceana's work. The District Seven is something an acquired taste and Jason would be eager to replace him at any moment, and Oceana's a hard enough worker and has a keen enough eye that she's on a very short list of acceptable substitutes.

He hasn't met her in person, though. She wasn't a presence back when he worked in District Ten over a decade ago, and as this is his first week back on the job and he has nine uncooperative Tributes to herd, introducing himself to new faces hasn't been a priority until now.

He's got his glass of water now, his best suit for social gatherings. Most Capitolites would have an entire wardrobe full, but Jason only has three, all mended with care as if that could hide that they tend to repeat themselves, that they're a few seasons off of copacetic for the current trends. He leans against the bar as Oceana comes back for a drink.

"Quite the excitement you have going on here. I hope the hostess is having as nice a night as everyone else is."

[fuckingcool]

Oceana slams her glass down on the bar--not angrily, she's just drunk enough that her motor skills are shot. "Vodka," she chirps to the muscly-armed bartender, before her gaze slides over to Jason.

"Me? I'm in my goddamn element," the queen replies smoothly, snatching an olive from the tray in front of her and popping it into her mouth. "Not a bad turnout, anyway." She nods at Jason, recognizing him as Seven's newest Escort. "You having fun?"

runs in 15 minutes late with starbucks

[a_minute_younger]

Gary would have to agree that, yes, this sort of party is exactly what he needed. Not the formal Capitol banquets, not the Tribute Center impromptu video-game-and-Doritos hangouts, but real, crazy parties, the ones you can feel in your skull and taste the day after. An invitation to such a gathering is not one Gary would ever turn down, even if he didn't know what he was getting into when he saw it. Now that he's here, of course, and had some time to really integrate himself into the proceedings like a stain integrates itself on an unfortunate couch, it's about time for Gary to find the hostess and thank her properly for such a spectacular, welcoming venue.

It's not by choice. He's on the dance floor when he quite literally bumps into her, a stray nudge of his hip that is just enthusiastic enough to be potentially disruptive. "Hey!" The teen sounds playfully ruffled, though he doesn't stop dancing. Terrible, terrible dancing. Gary is so bad at this. "Damn girl, you'll hurt someone with those looks! Too sharp for your own good, you know?"

as long as there's booze in that cup

[fuckingcool]

Oceana's in her element, grinding her ass up against some sexy off-duty Peacekeeper's groin, eyes nearly shut as she rides the wave of sweaty bodies that has taken up residence in the middle of her living room. Or at least, she's in her element until some rude little shit bumps his bony fucking hip into her. Her eyes fly open, ringed in smokey black and purple with rhinestones dripping down her cheeks to resemble tears, and narrow at the really shitty pick-up line she's being graced with.

"Sorry," she yells over the music. "I've already got a twink in my life."

OPEN | Jason Compson

[whatisay]

Jason wouldn't go to parties if it weren't the most efficient way to get what he wants. He has no fondness for the loud noise or packed room, and even less for alcohol. He remembers well enough the way it outright pickled his father, a man he had no great love for but still had to live with for the entirety of his childhood. He remembers finding it something of a surprise when he was a teen to realize that most people drink water with their meals instead of relying on a flask. He'd sooner drink gasoline than whiskey, he always says, and throughout his entire adult life not a single drop of ethanol has crossed his lips.

He has his eyes open for anyone who could help him connect his Tributes to some sort of advertising campaign. It's not that getting them involved with something will take them off his hands - it won't - but it will swell up the budget for Sponsor gifts, and if he can get a winner out of this farce of a political event then he can angle at a bonus, at something to replace the savings that his bitch niece took with her when she busted out of her room and climbed down the drainpipe like a roach.

Just thinking of her breaks Jason's brow into a sweat from anger, and he understands the lure of alcohol at that moment. He hovers to the back of the party, eying the other attendees, and asks for a drink to help calm down. Virgin drink. Always.

Anyone looking for him, or anyone who passes nearby, will find him haranguing an Avox loudly enough to carry over the music. "Water, I said. Just plain water. This shit's vodka, I can smell it. Did they cut out your brain with your tongue?"

[reallynow]

Jolie only really knows Jason vaguely, even if they've worked in this tower before. She's been in Eight as long as she's been here, from her very first day as an assistant Stylist. District staff mingled amongst each other, but Jolie had never found strong interest in Jason beyond a few cold conversations if that.

She's still finding it hard to break out of old habits where Avoxes are concerned, but after a few familiar faces made their way into the droves of silent slaves she had learned to be sympathetic. The altercation is unsettling for a number of reasons, but primarily Jolie is looking to keep Oceana's evening lighthearted and fun for her sake. She crosses toward the two of them, plucking the drink out of a hand before it gets thrown.

"Don't mind if I do." She smirks, turning to shoo the Avox with her free hand. "Go, go. Water." It's stern, but certainly not as venomous as his approach. "Thirsty, Compson?" Now she'll try a sincere smile, trying to be friendly.

[whatisay]

"Could you tell?"

Jason doesn't calm entirely, but the temper flare-up does dim a little bit. He dips his head for a moment at Jolie, agreeing to her taking the drink, looking as if the outburst has even left him a bit winded.

"I don't understand why we don't just exterminate them if they can't do their jobs right. I don't see the point. If I were lucky enough to still be alive after committing treason, you'd be damn sure I'd do my duties to the letter, and I'd be grateful for it." Of course, it's easy to say that when the very idea of Avoxing seems ludicrous.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you kicking around. District Eight, still?" To tell the truth, Jason would trade blood or worse to get Jolie on his team instead of the current District Seven Stylist. It's not because he has warm feelings for Jolie, but because she does her job well, and at the moment he feels as if he's doing the work of several people in his District.

[capitolprivilege]

"Not having the best time, are you?"

Stephen glides up, no longer blacklisted and determined to enjoy the party as much as possible. After all, if tomorrow you die, it's best to eat, drink, and be merry, right? His eyes narrow at Jason playfully.

"You're here to work, aren't you."

lemme know if this is okay!

[whatisay]

The last time Jason saw Stephen in person, Stephen was a pre-teen and Jason's life was a train on a railroad towards comfort and luxury. The idea that he would be sharing a workplace in the Tribute Center with the spritely, wide-eyed, high-voiced twelve-year-old would have been ludicrous. Maybe Stephen would have shot high and ended up in a cabinet with his brother, and they would have worked together, but in the Tribute Center? Never.

The dissonance is enough to crash through his head like the note of a gong, enough to throw him off.

"What gave it away?" Jason doesn't expect an actual answer to that. He turns to Stephen with a smile that seems cramped at the corners. "So. Do you still go by Stevie or has that been left in the past?"

Jolie- open

[reallynow]

The timing of this party is fortuitous, because Jolie is more than eager to get lost in some drinking, dancing and flirting with friends. She'd thought she was growing tired of the party scene, but maybe it's because she hasn't been to a shindig this intimate in a while.

It's not a fancy party, it doesn't call for couture or gowns, but Jolie isn't in the mood to dress very sexy. She might be a flirt, but she's all full of conflicted feelings. Besides, she's the Drag Mother of the host, so her dress is appropriately eloguent. She's had a few drinks, so she can be found hanging off your arm, snorting at your jokes and inviting herself in for affectionate face kisses. All the while she'll be scavenging for gossip while pretending her life is devoid of juicy new details.

I hope this isn't too late!

[a_minute_younger]

Gary's snorting at his joke, too, because it was a good joke and everyone should be laughing at it. Or at least they will be, once he finishes it. The culmination of bodies and manic air have made keeping a poker face surprisingly difficult (not, interestingly enough, the cup of vodka in his hand, which even Gary has to admit is a little too strong for him to do more than cautiously sip from when he's feeling brave).

"And--And then I said--'Are you nuts? That's my sister!'" Cue raucous laughter. It might all be from Gary, though, because he hasn't kept track of if anyone was listening. But surely Jolie was! Gary turns his attention to her, still cackling as he wipes the tears from his eyes. "Ahh...shit. Gets me every fucking time. Did you get it? You got it, right?"

Calendius; OTA

[perfectus]

Not to be out shined by the collective of stylists with their neon crimped wigs and florescent body glitter, Calendius is dressed for the occasion. Liberated from the confines of Adrastea's jewelry box are a pair of diamond stud earrings ever so slightly too large for his head. They stand out starkly against the fauxhawk that's been dyed a rather fetching navy. His shirt is a tasteful starched Egyptian cotton button up, and his slacks are a subtle pinstripe that seem to glitter ever so slightly when he moves through the ambient lighting of the room. The soles of his leatherette dress shoes might just light up.

Frankly, Calendius preferred classier parties. He isn't much of a drinker, but he's good with smalltalk and general mingling. Unfortunately, the mingling here just so happens to involve unholy (and unhealthy) amounts of liquor. As such, he hangs back slightly, laying low compared to his usual party night shenanigans. It doesn't stop him from flirting with a few of the fairer creatures in attendance, but those paying attention might notice that he's been nursing the same glass of champagne since he arrived. Look, even without all the adverse affects of heavy drinking on the liver and central nervous system, who really needs the calories? But no one.

Re: Calendius; OTA

[whatisay]

By contrast, Jason's own color palette is subdued, not because he doesn't know that Stylist parties tend to call for bright colors, big hair and bigger statements but because he's currently rotating through a wardrobe of only three suits, all of which are kept as pristine as possible and mended regularly to try and avoid the appearance of shabbiness. He can't help that tonight's is somewhat out of season, but the family Avoxes did their best to tailor the fit to be something a bit more of the times, and the cufflinks and silk shirt underneath add a pop of color that fit the night's aesthetic. His glasses are tucked into his breastpocket in a way that cleverly hides the only indication that they're a knock-off brand.

He doesn't have anything against Calendius except a bit of envy about him getting such a desirable District to Escort, but at the very least the Reys are an influential enough family that it makes some degree of sense rather than seeming a cosmic injustice. Though Calendius looks as old as Jason is, Jason had already entered his "early retirement" before Calendius became an Escort, and Jason knows his name and face and reputation but nothing else.

"Calendius Rey." It's not that Calendius is conspicuous about nursing his single glass of champagne; it's just that, as the perpetually sober person at any social gathering, Jason's developed something of a sixth sense for people who're having a rather dry evening. He's sucking on his wedge of lemon without so much as a pucker as much as he's drinking from a tall glass of water. "Looks like I'm the only one here drinking even less than you. Kind of a shame that people here are so eager to poison themselves stupid."

It's not an entirely judgmental quip, but there is a disdainful edge to it.

Dorian Pavus - OPEN

[tevintage]

He didn't want to be here.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a party - he did - but he disliked being forced to attend them, especially when Jason was the one doing the forcing. Unfortunately, he had no choice, so off he went, dressed elegantly in a one-shouldered ensemble of deep blue satin and dark navy leather, offset with tiny glittering silver stars. His moustache was waxed and twirled, and his hair was combed to utter perfection.

Even if he hated being here, he was still going to look good.

Thank the maker they at least had some brandy.

Re: Dorian Pavus - OPEN

[whatisay]

It's the second fucking time when the Avox brings him vodka instead of water that Jason loses his cool. By now the noise and socializing has frayed the last of his wall against the misfiring neurons in his head, and he can feel the creep of blood in his skull. It's like a premonition, or like seeing storm clouds on the horizon. It's like the heaviness in the air before torrential rain. And it leaves blind spots in his vision and holes in his self-control.

He spits the vodka in the face of the Avox and wipes his tongue on a napkin. He makes as if to smash the glass on the floor.

[dreadinquisitor]

He'd seen it to. Both the lead up, and the immediate aftermath, and despite knowing that this wasn't Thedes, and that none of them who they appeared, he'd moved instinctively. Two quick steps to intervene before his escorts slim, but decidedly strong, hand had slapped against his chest.

"No, dear. That man is his tribute, let him settle this."

He'd bristled, indignant. "That man isn't a pet who pissed on the rug." Or spit on a servant. "He's my-- I know him."

Her eyes had narrowed shrewdly, but her hand only fluttered and patted. "Still, dear. Let it be."

It was only after he shifted out from under her hawk-like gaze that he was able to follow out onto the balcony.

[alwaysshielded]

If Cassandra had been visibly displeased at the Winter Palace, that was only a pale shadow of the contempt spelled out by her every gesture here. But, much like then, she had come here with objectives in mind. One of which had just been left standing alone on the balcony by, to all appearances, a very drunk native. Truly, she did not wish to know the details.

She does not allow the mage reentry to the party, but slipped out to join him on the balcony. It was quieter out here, at any rate. Cassandra was not certain what the horrific noise bombarding the event was, but the further removed she was from it the better.

"So you do, indeed, survive. I had begun to harbor doubts."

Harley Quinn // open

[revvinguptheharley]

The bubbly blond wasted no time in getting herself lost among the dancers. Three drinks in and she's having an obscene amount of fun dancing terribly and encouraging even the hired dancers to do the same.

Tonight is a carnival of color and music so loud it rattles her skull. She wants to be irresponsible she wants to pretend that for a moment she's got all the freedom she used to have back home.

Tonight she wants to make some mistakes and she's willing to find out how many drinks and songs it'll take to get her there.