[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

[whatisay]

"If you were going to do my hair with anything more than a comb, I'd be stock-still. Or unconscious. I'd rather not have to get my ear replaced." He takes an olive, pretending that he would still even have the money to have an ear grafted back on. Odds are he'd just have to go through the rest of his life lopsided.

Perish the thought. He half-smiles. It's almost like Jason's trying to flirt but failing miserably.

"I guess I can't complain that they trust me to control nine Tributes. It's not like I need to rely on anyone else to do the job for me, so long as I get to complain about the challenge of it."

[fuckingcool]

She has to control herself, control the impulse to reach out and run her talons through Jason's hair. Because damn. "Oh, trust, I wouldn't come near your hair with anything more than a comb." Oceana smiles. "You've got great hair." She sniffs, sipping at her drink.

"But I resent the implication that I'm dangerous. I'll have you know I'm fucking talented with a pair of shears."

His last comment has her snorting. "Complaining is the best part. I encourage you to do it liberally, 'cause otherwise you're gonna go insane."

[whatisay]

"You just said you're deadly as a giraffe on stilts. Maybe you need to consider exactly how heavy a giraffe would be if it fell down on top of someone." He does the hair-raking for her, and the resultant poof is just on the fashionable side of bedhead. "I'm fond of it."

He leans back against the bar, nursing his glass of water. "If that's an invitation, I might just have to go down the roster and complain about each Tribute one by one."

[fuckingcool]

Cue a gigantic eyeroll. "Queen, please. Don't get it twisted, okay?" She'd go on disabusing him of his notion that she's anything but an expert hair stylist, but she's too busy watching his hair poof just so. Shit. That's good.

Casually, the queen leans right next to him, raising an eyebrow. "Please, be my guest." She's not at all looking for some hot Tribute gossip to spread, noooo.

[whatisay]

It's a fine line to walk, getting a much-deserved bitch session on and realizing that the gossip could ruin his Tributes' chances of getting desirable Sponsors. Jason takes a drink as he concocts a slew of complaints that, while accurate, are liable to help rather than hurt his brood.

"Where to even begin? Both of my girls, Greene and Thorston, have pretty much eschewed femininity and decided they'd rather hack stuff up and shoot it instead, and while that makes for a great show it makes the easy money with hair products and facepaint pretty difficult. Unfortunately, none of the boys have your tendencies." He pulls a sheepish face at Oceana. "The closest I have is Dorian, and I'm convinced he'd go butch just to spite me if I so much as suggested he wax his mustache better.

"Cassian and Nick, on the other hand - well Cassian's literally a perpetual child, but that's a liability more than anything unless I can get him to steal Dandy Mott's trains for a photoshoot. And jury's still out on Nick until he hopefully gets rid of the other Nick without a surname.

"I've got one Tribute who insists that he's an actual god and throws snitfits like a sulky cat if you so much as point out that that's about as worthwhile as a used theater ticket here. Honestly, my only hope is Shatterstar, and that's just because I haven't seen him yet so he hasn't had an opportunity to drive me crazy." Jason sighs. "They shouldn't even bother putting them in the Arena. Just put a camera in the District Seven common room and there'll be entertainment for hours."

[fuckingcool]

Oceana's a good listener; it's part of being a Stylist, and she's always been partial to hearing out other peoples' problems and complaints. It gives her a break from her own bullshit, anyway, and it's good for gaining come perspective.

As Jason goes on, her eyebrows only go higher and higher. And she thought she'd heard it all. "Shit," she says finally, as he finishes his laundry list. "You weren't fucking joking. Remind me to stay far away from Seven."

[whatisay]

"The sad thing is," he takes another olive, "the fact that it could be worse. I could have had an actual traitor instead of a bunch of wannabe anarchists. But mine are, thankfully, too dumb to organize anything without my knowledge."

It's hard work, following them around all the time, having them tagged by Avoxes, but Jason's paranoid. His family name can't withstand another scandal, and being tied to a seditious Tribute could be enough to tip him out of public favor forever.

"Your turn. Tell me about Nine."

[fuckingcool]

Oceana lets out a bark of laughter. "Thank Snow for that," she says, a silent hallelujah that her tributes have remained largely harmless as well. The queen smirks, rolling her eyes skyward. "Oh, lord, where do I begin?"

She begins to tick off on long fingers. "First of all, there's fucking I-Won't-Take-My-Harness-Off, ultimate leather daddy Bull boy." She shakes her head, eyes pressed shut. "Trying to dress that one is a fucking nightmare. Psiionic is barely understandable and has the worst color preference known to man. Elsa is darling but has terrible self-esteem for a queen, Dave is cute but he's got more attitude than me and that's saying something. Steve has That Ass but he also has ladies and dudes swarming all over him every minute so it's impossible to snag him for a fitting. I'm sort of terrified of Daryl, and Nill is about as perfect as they come except she doesn't fucking talk." She heaves a sigh. Life is hard.

[whatisay]

Jason smirks, amused by Oceana's rundown of her cadre. He'll give Oceana that, she has a quick wit and good observation skills.

"Psiioniic looks like a bumblebee. By the way, he's hoarding tribbles. You might want to do something about that before they breed and infest." Jason frowns for a moment, recalling his altercation with the troll in the lobby over the furry creatures. "If I were you I'd be pretty straightforward about keeping people's hands off the merchandise with Rogers. Then again, I've been told I got a reputation for raising my voice."

[fuckingcool]

Oceana wrinkles her nose. "Gross. Those things are fucking disgusting. I don't trust anything that doesn't take a shit," she spits elegantly. "But that shit isn't my problem, I'm not their fucking escort," she shrugs. "Cronus was the worst about discipline, honestly, it's a wonder Nine's tributes made it past the platforms at all the way they listen sometimes."

[whatisay]

"Charming," he says, covering whether he's actually disgusted or not by tossing back a little more water. "You're cleaning up a mess, too? You have to wonder if they just handed out these positions like candy to the nearest person who wanted to get close to the 'celebrities'."

He makes air-quotes at that last bit. "We're too soft on them in general. Back when I worked in Ten we were allowed to whip them if they acted up. Never had to, because the threat alone worked wonders. Then again, we were also working with actual children."

[fuckingcool]

She snort-laughs. "Mess is right. He was a fucking joke of an Escort." Also, creepy as hell. She's kicking her younger self for ever having had a crush on that prick, to be honest.

Jason's last point, however, isn't as well-received. "Fuck," she grimaces. "Glad I wasn't around for that shit."

[whatisay]

Jason shrugs. "What I say is it's better than occasionally parading one out and blowing his brains out on live television. You keep them afraid of authority and they don't act up so bad they need an execution."

As far as he's concerned, it's the leeway all the Escorts are giving the Tributes that's leading to all this dissidence. It's better off for everyone if the brood of champions knows their place.

[fuckingcool]

The queen flinches visibly at that. "Yeah, that was a little fucking excessive," she says, scathingly. "But to each their own, I guess. I'd rather do some sweet-talking than anybody get hurt, honestly."

Damn, Jason. You're intense. Real damn intense.

[whatisay]

"I'll say." Even if Jason thinks exterminating the Tributes would be a net gain, that show of violence didn't sit well with him. It was uncivilized, the way a Districter would be treated. And you don't put that nasty Districter stuff on television.

"Shame they don't all respond to sweet talk," he says, waving a hand. "But maybe you have a better set than I do. I sure hope so."

He takes his glass of water. "It's been good to meet you."

[fuckingcool]

"Honey, I can sweet-talk anyone." Well, almost anyone. Joel, for one, seemed to have been immune to her charms. But whatever!!

She waves an airy hand in response, winking over the rim of her drink. "Don't be a stranger, sweetie."