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

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

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.

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Oceana lets out an incredulous scoff. "Girl, what? Honey, you have more game than a fucking bear trap." She shakes her head sadly.

"I don't get it, what about that sexy hunk of man in the sunglasses you were messin' around with awhile back? What, he decide he wasn't a power bottom after all?"

"I dunno about that, once you have a baby it all goes south." Her mouth tugs upward into a small smirk, but it quickly fades when she brings up Bro.

"Yeah, messing. Not really a serious thing and he's uh. Been busy with the whole Murderville thing." She fidgets, debating whether or not she wants to breach this subject at a party. Fuck it. Her voice is a low mutter, even if she doesn't think he's around. "It's Samuel. He's back. The fucking District Eight mentor."

Oceana rolls her eyes. "Please, mama, your hips were always that wide."

She goes quiet, though, when Jolie banishes her assumptions, sucking her teeth and trying to think of a way to apologize for being an asshole without even knowing she was being an asshole. But she can't think of anything, so she just mutters, "Shit. Sorry."

But then Jolie drops that next truth nugget, and Oceana's eyebrows rise almost up to her lace front. "What? For real? McDreamy's back? Shit." She leans forward excitedly. "You gonna tap that or nah?"

"Don't be sorry for me, be sorry for him. I got plenty of tail out here, but I doubt he gets much of the no-pants-dance in there." Princess matters aside, it would be weird. Maybe she's been keeping her distance out of respect for what looks like a budding relationship, maybe that's just the excuse she's using to avoid him for her own drama.

"Yeah." Jolie snorts. "McDreamy. That's the one." The stupidly tall, sexy voiced, tattoo covered one that goes against all of the criteria she's set for dating lately. At the question, she rolls her eyes dramatically and narrows them incredulously. "Gurrrl, he's not into me. Even if he was, it'd be awkward as hell. Tributes from other districts are one thing- sleeping with a teammate? No ma'am." She shakes her head, as if talking herself out of it too. "It'd all go to shit."

Oceana cocks an eyebrow. "Guess so. Kind of awkward, fucking someone you might have to off in the next Arena anyway." She shakes her head, feeling vaguely guilty at the thought. At least it's loud enough in here that she doesn't feel like she has to whisper anything vaguely anti-Capitol in sentiment.

Her eyes roll right back at Jolie. "I think a bitch doth protest too much," she counters. "Besides, I'm pretty sure the D5 escort is fucking at least one of her Tributes, which is waaaay more off-limits than fucking a Mentor. I say go for it, if you have the chance."

A pause.

"Wait, but who would even top in that scenario?"

It is an unspoken truth that relationships and sex are 100 percent harder when you can't be too sympathetic about Tributes and all the shit that gets heaped on them. Jolie is used to the delusional Capitol folk because damn if she ever wasn't a huge idiot before, but she's pretty sure if she saw the light then Oceana would follow suit soon. They're connected, it's real cute.

"I thought it was a Mentor and a Tribute, actually. Plus, y'know, they have more in common and all that. With the murder stuff." She drums her fingers on the glass as she pulls her lips into a skeptical frown.

Then she raises a brow.

"You know what that is? That is none of your fucking business." She gives Oceana's ear a flick, then tucks her legs under her to get more comfortable. "And he would. Duh. He's 6'4." She shrugs her shoulders lazily.

Oceana gives an exaggerated eyeroll, the strobe lights from the dance floor catching the rhinestones she's placed under her eyes to look like teardrops, but cringes and squawks when Jolie flicks her ear.

"Ow, bitch, that fucking hurt," she whines. "You act like your nose isn't eight inches up everyone's ass hounding for gossip." In lieu of licking her wounds, she nurses at her glass of vodka. "Can it be? Does Très Jolie finally look in the mirror every morning and whisper 'That boy is a bottom'?"

"Of course it fucking did." Jolie points out coolly, no regret for her actions despite Oceana's over dramatic whining. She's been swatted worse for less, but Jolie's accuracy is compromised.

"It ain't like I'm asking you where Bastien is stuffing it." Because she knows Bastien is stuffing the turkey, mostly. Yet, that comment inspires deadly accuracy. Jolie's hand swats out again, smacking Oceana back and forth across the arm quickly before she drops it back to her lap. "Ever heard of switching, twink?" The amount of venom in her voice is incredible.

"That's--" She'd been about to say 'personal,' or maybe 'obvious' but she's cut off by Jolie, smacking her yet again. "Cut that shit out," she whines, reaching out to slug the other queen in her foam-padded tit. She sniffs, sipping at her vodka.

"For your information, I've topped before." Like twice. "I'm just not overly fond of it, alright bitch?" Because she's fonder of the other way. Much fonder.

To say it's personal would be hugely hypocritical, so it's a good thing she doesn't open herself up to that material or Jolie would flay you alive. Actually, she just might try it for that tit smack. That earns Oceana the mother of all dangerous looks, but it breaks when Oceana shares that nugget of wisdom. Jolie cackles loudly, so loud that it almost breaks through the loud music. So much so that she needs to throw her head back to do it.

"And you're calling me a bottom? Really? She narrows her eyes at the other queen. "Seriously, though. You set my tits askew again and I will spank you in front of all your friends."

Oceana can't help but grin at that cackle. One of her favorite sounds on Earth, honestly. "Shut up," she drawls, knocking back the rest of her drink and holding up the glass over the back of the couch. Almost instantly, a waiter is replacing it with a fresh glass, complete with olives. If you're wondering, yes, her diet does consist mostly of vodka and olives. The two main food groups. How you think a bitch stays so skinny?

"Love you too, mom," she croons affectionately, leaning her head on Jolie's shoulder.

"You don't want to hear it, don't make yourself a target." She gives Oceana a withering look, because she should know better than to come for her. However, it would be boring if she never tried and she never had a good reason to take her down with one hit.

"I know you do." She retorts, leaning her head back on Oceana's when she cuddles up. "I love you too, jerk." Couldn't say it without the accoutrement of course. "How's all your shit been lately? All your babies behaving?"

"Of course you fucking do," she snipes back, making herself comfortable against the sofa. "My shit's been fine. They're doing as good as you can expect, but at least they all look fresh to fucking death."

She lights up a little bit. "You see Elsa's hair? God, you should have seen her face when she saw it. There were tears and everything."

"I dunno what to expect anymore. Everyone is bitching, my only problem is that I'm only just getting ladies into my stupid sausage fest and that they need to stop bringing people in from the past. Caught some fucker trying to set himself on fire with a toaster, I swear to god."

She snorts. "Was it that bad, huh? Good thing you of all people don't need to touch up her roots."

"Fuck off, bitch, she loved it," Oceana shoots right back. "She looks so damn cute with her little pixie cut, and I gave her a little splash of color to match her sister's weirdo dye-job. Super cute."

Not to toot her own horn, or anything, but she's pretty damn proud of the whole transformation. There's nothing more gratifying than her Tributes actually being happy about the changes she makes.

"At least you can get yours to sit down for that shit. My babies are great, don't get me wrong, but the hair. The hair, bitch. I want to see their pretty faces, but they're all so goddamn attached to their ugly fuzz." She casts a suspicious glance toward Oceana. "Do you drug them or something? Slip it in their tea? Or do you just warm them up with cocktails? You can be honest, I'm your mother."

Oceana just cackles. "You poor thing." Her shoulders shift playfully. "But no, it does not involve roofies in any way, shape, or form."

The queen extends one long, smooth leg out in front of them. "All it takes is a little leg, a little ass, a little fake titty, and I can get those fuckers to do anything. Intimidation by sexuality. That shit's my jam."

If Jolie looked incredulous before, it's nothing compared to her expression right now. Her face goes flat, brows lowered as she gives Oceana a deadpan look. It's one of those faces where she doesn't even need to say anything to express how she feels about that.

"How's Bastien, anyway?" She asks, seemingly out of the blue. Where she picked up that thought from the context is known only to her and it totally has nothing to do with the fact that Oceana is Oceana.

Oceana, for her part, just smiles back blandly. She's used to looks like that from Jolie. Besides, it's not like the bitch can talk. Oceana's not the one fucking around with Tributes, okay?

"Bastien? He's Bastien. He's cute as hell, optimistic to a fault...he's been quiet lately, but I think he's on an upswing." Oceana squishes her own cheeks, clearly still incredibly taken by her ladyboyfriend. "I think him and me getting back together has been really good for both of us, y'know?"

Jolie holds no judgement for being a promiscuous tart, she only holds doubt in her heart for Oceana's ability to sexually intimidate anyone. Maybe the sixteen year old, if she's lucky, but he is related to Bro Strider and that guy is something else.

Part of Jolie is just using Bastien as a subject change, but for the most part she's sincerely curious. Ever since the blackout, he hasn't really been as chirpy or eager to be around her. She understands why, but it still hurts a little, and it sucks that she couldn't be there for her when she needed her because she was busy being distracted by Steve Rogers of all things.

"You don't need to tell me twice. Girl took a tail spin for a second there." She reaches over to give Oceana's hand a squeeze, followed by a sincere smile. "I'm glad you're both sorting your shit out. It's fucking cute." Cute enough to make her a little jealous.

Oceana heaves a little sigh. "Don't I know it." But she squeezes Jolie's hand back, giving her probably the most genuine smile she's cracked all night.

"Thanks, ma. Hope you'll walk me down the aisle at our wedding, girl." She's joking. Mostly. Okay, she's kind of serious. It's been running through her mind more than a little lately, especially with shit getting sort of...serious. And if a wedding ever were to happen, well, who better to escort the blushing bride down the aisle than her favorite person on Earth?

There's a very brief and bitter thought in the back of Jolie's mind as to whether she'd get an invite at this rate, but she keeps her personal drama to herself in lieu of feeling happy for Oceana. It warms her heart to see her this happy over anything that isn't olives and partying, at least something isn't crap on crap.

"Only if I get to make the dress. Nothing latex, nothing above the knee." She gives her a mock warning look, but a smile pulls at her lips. "Is it that serious? You aren't pregnant, are you?" She narrows her eyes, glancing downward.

"I wouldn't trust anyone else to do it," she laughs, but rolls her eyes at that last comment. "No, mom. But--I don't know. Not right now, but maybe someday. If shit doesn't get too...shitty." She's pointedly not being very specific about what she means by that. Jolie knows.

"Don't think I'm waiting around for your blessing or some shit, though."

"Shit'll be fine." She sounds almost dismissive, just because it's a hard topic to get into at a party, let alone ever. She wishes she could talk to Oceana about it, about everything, because she knows she'd feel so much better for it. Alas, the walls have eyes. And ears. And high tech software.

"You wouldn't be you if you weren't being a little shit, so colour me surprised. If you elope I'm not letting you in my apartment or my booze cabinet again." She reaches out and pinches Oceana's cheek with no amount of gentleness. "You are too fucking cute, you know that?"

Oceana squawks. "Ow, bitch. Ever think about being a little less heavy-handed?" Of course not. If she weren't, she wouldn't be the Jolie that Oceana knows and loves. She's happy to move past the rather sticky spot in their conversation, though.

"Don't fucking worry, where are we gonna elope to? The moon? You'll be the first one we tell, mama."

She rolls her eyes heavily.

"Mermaids aren't cute, we're ethereal." Says the bitch in the leather dress and lucite heels.

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