[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

[reallynow]

"Tempting, but no. He's as close a shot as we've got at a win right now. If I get that desperate, I'll shave one of them and put them in drag." She jokes, like she hasn't very seriously considered it while flipping through the magazines with spreads of beautiful evening gowns. The awkward laugh certainly blips on her radar, but she'll small talk him until she's prepared to leave him to his own grumpy devices again.

"Oh! Hmm, lemme think. Clara's was crap, that theme was all over the place. Kevin's was fucking awful. Shirts? Hotdogs? I could have cried. Mindy's was stupid but at least the costumes were fun." She's getting pretty far back now, counting on her fingers as she goes. "The less said about Frenchie the better. You know? I think they nailed it with the Gladiator guy. That was timeless and classy." She lets out a wistful sigh, but move on with the conversation. "I get the feeling they're going to start docking me if we're looking at more of this same shirt bullshit."

[whatisay]

"Oh, Jolie. Nevermind your Tributes, don't do that to the viewers." The image of Jack Sparrow in drag - scraggly beard and all - does bring a wicked sort of smirk to Jason's lips.

"I don't know, I think we should make all of them wrestle gilded tigers, personally." Some Capitol citizens think that Mentors are just District or offworld people who have proven themselves worthy of the Capitol; others, like Jason, thinks being uncivilized runs in the blood. The Capitol might be safer if fewer people put their trust in people who've killed and betrayed their way to join the club. Still, he doesn't sound totally serious. "Don't jinx it. I'm already funneling all my paycheck to my idiot brother and my mother so she can get herself a new fainting couch."

[reallynow]

"Say what you want, plenty of people find a butch queen compelling. Plus I have at least one or two pretty ones." She's thinking of Brock in some spaghetti strapped monstrosity with permed to death hair and it's killing her.

"Maybe. Nobody likes damaged goods, though. Why do you think he hit rock bottom once he was down a leg?" She shakes her head, a severe expression on her face as she condemns someone for taking part in a rebellion that she had a hand in.

"You've gotta save something for yourself. How else are you going to drink to forget?" A little concern crosses her face, even if she's aware that he's a douche. His family has been riding the sympathy pony for a while, but Jason smacks of someone stuck in a self fulfilling prophecy. She doesn't want to give him pity or charity, but her eyes fall to that suit and she can't help meddling.

"You should give me a break from petulant baby tributes sometime and let me sew you something. How much would that piss off Seven's stylists?"

[whatisay]

"Like I say, should've put a wire in that spare leg of his. Recorded all his seditious conversations with Earp. But no one listens to my bright ideas."

He keeps a snarl off his face, but it lurks inside his chest, cohabiting with his lungs and his heart that keeps stubbornly beating at its elevated pace. It's an instinctive reaction to pity, to want to spit it back in Jolie's face, to insist that he can manage on his own and that the ship he's running isn't a slipshod skivvy that he's keeping held together with both hands. Instead he just looks dimly stunned for a moment.

On the other hand, it's a free outfit, the most humiliating part of the fall of his family is the fact that he can't necessarily turn those down. One of his Tributes has already commented on him wearing the same suit jacket three times in a week.

"I don't think Stig would notice, honestly." Jason leans in and stage-whispers. "He's actually blind to decent fashion. Just doesn't see it. His head trauma means that it doesn't stick in his brain."

And then, with the anger redirected at Stig and not at Jolie, he answers the actual request. "I'd appreciate that, if you have the spare materials."

[reallynow]

For the majority of her life, Jolie has had the luxury of speaking her mind when she wants to. Her family isn't as old money as the Reagans and she doesn't have the political connections of a Blackwood, but she's been cultured to believe that she doesn't have to exercise much tact for anyone on or below her level. Given the way he was yelling earlier, it may not have been the best idea to make an offer like that, but she's not the type to pull him aside later and tell him he looks stupid.

Either way, in her eyes, she's coming off successful. If he turns her down, he continues to look like shit by her standards and if he says yes then she's presented with yet another opportunity to do her part as a Stylist and do something nice for a guy who could probably use a hug and a psych more than a suit.

A sly smile returns to her lips when the small moment of dread for an unpleasant reaction passes. "It'll be like the Emperor's new clothes all over again, then." She chuckles, keeping her smile in check when he acts agreeable. "It'd be my pleasure. You know I like it when I can get pretty people in my clothes." She pulls a face, dramatized for emphasis. "Pick up line not intended, of course."

[whatisay]

"Like I say. I appreciate it."

Jason smirks and looks flattered for a moment. He knows he's pretty, thanks to the Compson fortune before his parents and siblings pissed it away. Nosejob at sixteen, invisible braces through his adolescence, and most importantly, he was raised to carry himself in a way that marks him as one of the elite. Confidence, arrogance, superiority can hide all sorts of parts of someone's face or body that might otherwise cast them out of the echelons of handsome men. He runs his hand through his hair.

"Besides, I may have more luck getting my charges something to eat if I'm not running to Sponsor meetings wearing...this." He gestures to the suit, the loose thread at the corner of his cuff, the awkward stitch along the knee, and he actually does look ashamed and angry at the entire world, the entire universe, for just a moment. Humiliated that his financial status is so obvious. His face is slightly reddened.

"Do you do sizing, measurement, the entire thing or do I just pop by, see your assistant for ten minutes and then see a full suit in a week?"

[reallynow]

It could probably be considered some form of betrayal to do work for the other teams, but Jolie has established a habit of freelancing through the tower. It does give her jollies having people on other teams wearing her particular style, even if it doesn't always have Jolie emblazoned in diamante across the back of it. In a subtle way, it evens out the playing field and in a less subtle way it's sort of like staking a claim in everything worth her attention.

Liking him personally has very little to do with it in the long run.

Her hands twitch out of a desire to start making adjustments on the spot, but she refrains and laughs politely. That's a hot bed of issues she won't share an opinion on, so she moves along with the conversation when he asks a question.

"I think I'm getting a sixth sense for measurement at this rate, I've had to clock that many body types in the past two years." Definitely more range than various skinny kids. "If you don't mind me personally getting handsy with you, I'm in my workroom most of the nine to five. If not, you can endure my assistant clicking her tongue at you."

[whatisay]

"Well, god knows I'm at the Tribute Center often enough these days. The way my mother goes on about it, you'd think I'd moved out." Not that he can or would; at this point it almost feels like a battle of wills, him unwilling to yield and leave the land he grew up on just to get away from the feeling of being constantly suffocated on a motherly love that's actually poison.

"I'll drop by at maybe noon this Tuesday, if that isn't when you take your lunch break. Usually I have the Tributes out of my hands and into either the gym or Stig's workroom by that hour." He glances over Jolie's shoulder at Calendius Rey, flashing that smile at some other partygoer. "I know I'm not going to be making bodybuilders out of any of them, but it would help if they could all run a lap around the building without collapsing."

[OOC: would you actually be up to threading something like that out, especially after the Caroline texts heat up?]

[reallynow]

"I've pretty much taken up residence in the suites, to be honest. Cheaper than paying a damn light bill for the few hours I'd be there." She gives her shoulders a shrug. "But the only people I have to bitch at me are my plants, and I murdered them long ago." Her smirk is a little more subdued, as if she isn't sure whether to feel bad for not having people out of the tower waiting up for her or be glad for it.

"It's pre-crowning, honey. I don't take lunch breaks, I get micro sleeps in between gluing diamante to everything." But then she waves dismissively. "Come whenever, I'll love the distraction. Just don't expect anything done before the shindig, I gotta prioritise my clowns." She casts a glance over her shoulder at his line of vision, scoffing and shaking her head. "I'd be thankful for mine doing their own work outs if they didn't stink like old rags." She crinkles her nose. "Don't ever come early morning, you'll regret it. Lunch is just fine."

[ooc: I'd love to!! How pissed is he gonna be?]

[whatisay]

Jason laughs at the plant comment, and despite the tone of envy, it's possibly the most honest sound he's made all evening.

"I forget that Stylists work on a different schedule than Escorts. We don't have the rush before the Crowning, but we have to work around the clock during the Arena itself. You never know when one of our charges is going to get themselves near-killed at three in the morning." He gives her a polite nod. "I'll be seeing you soon, then. Enjoy the party."

And with that, he's off to try his limited charm on someone else.

[OOC: Capital-V Very.]