[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]

Jason fixes Stephen with a bit of a perplexed look, as if he can't quite imagine what it's like to enjoy having a Tribute around. The idea seems entirely foreign to him.

"You know we're not supposed to get attached to them, Stevie. That's practically the first rule in the Escort's Handbook." Not a written one, but a rule of law nonetheless. Jason feels no sympathy for Stephen's plight now, thinking that by weak constitution Stephen got himself into the trouble of grief.

"Oh? The one with the teeth and the Peacekeeping badge? Why?"

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen waves that off with a hand. He knows, he knows.

"Yeah. Just--try not to get near him if you can help it. When he came here, there was some very serious cultural misunderstanding, and while a lot of the big things have been worked through, I'm always just a little bit afraid that something's going to set him off."

He shakes his head.

[whatisay]

"Well, with a story like that I'm going to want to hear details." Jason folds his arms, as if settling in without sitting to hear this tale. "This sounds less like a cultural misunderstanding and more like an event."

And then his voice drops a bit. "Set him off, what, has he bitten someone?"

[capitolprivilege]

"He ate people his first Arena," says Stephen, matching Jason's undertone. "Killed other Tributes and ate them. The thing you have to understand is, his mind works in terms of efficiency and productivity. He thinks like a business. That's how he thinks of everything. So he thought it was efficient to eat other Tributes."

[whatisay]

"Well, it is efficient," Jason says, although his face contorts in disgust, as if this just proves further to him that Tributes aren't like Capitol Citizens. Those are the sorts of stories you hear about the Districts, the urban legends that the reporters of Panem aren't supposed to let reach the people nestled in the good city. "Disgusting, but efficient. He hasn't started putting garnish in the beds of any of his suitemates, has he?"

Jason laughs at his own joke, as if it's funny.

[capitolprivilege]

"Not yet, thank god," says Stephen, rolling his eyes but not laughing. "I think he's getting better. It's hard to tell behind that toothy grin. But for a while there, it was pretty rough.

"Do you have any problem children?" Stephen asks, turning the conversation to Jason and taking another drink.

[whatisay]

"I'd say I was surprised but what I say is you can't trust these off-worlders. Their cultures aren't like ours. They've got backwards ideas about things like table manners." Jason keeps smirking to himself, keeps veiled laughter in his mouth.

"Dorian Pavus, but he's your run of the mill problem child. If I didn't think he was going to get brought back, I'd just let him get killed at Cornucopia or die of exposure for all the backtalk I get from him."

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen keeps that drink up by his face, as though to smother laughter. He closes his eyes, raises his eyebrows, and good as says well, what can you do?

"So it's just standard unhappiness about the whole situation?"

[whatisay]

"Just them being ingrates. I'm sure you deal with the same problems." He tips his glass at Stephen. "I've heard Molotov is angry she doesn't have a private bathroom. Remember when we used to get District kids and they would be thrilled to have running water?"

It was almost charming or quaint, the way the old Tributes responded to the glory of the Capitol. It makes coming back to this job and being treated as if he, personally, kidnapped each of them a little hard to swallow.

"It's been good to see you, Stephen. I was wondering if you were going to show your face after the incident." He holds his wrist up and jangles an invisible cuff.

[capitolprivilege]

The smile on Stephen's face doesn't lose its friendliness. He picks up on the passive-aggressive undertones; he just doesn't respond to them. "Well, you know how important it is to get back on the horse," he says, swirling his drink. "I learned an important lesson, and I hope I'm a wiser person for it."

[whatisay]

Passive-aggressive? Jason? You must be joking. And then Stephen goes and flings it right back at him.

"Good. You know if I'd gotten caught doing anything like that, I'd have gotten myself exiled. You're lucky you're a Reagan." Once upon a time, the Compsons had that immunity, those second chances that allowed them to heal from their social shortcomings without scar tissue. It's a cautionary tale to Stephen, a reminder that his family's privileged status isn't sacrosanct.

[capitolprivilege]

He does. Stephen almost does it out of habit -- he doesn't mean to be cruel, not exactly, he's just been taught that this is how you respond when you don't like what someone has said in polite company.

"Oh, I know, and I'm grateful for it," Stephen replies. Maybe it's the buzz of the alcohol behind his eyes that makes him go on: "Actually, that's something I think we could all stand to remember a little more. Not that I'm a Reagan," he clarifies, breaking into a laugh, because wow, that sounded terrible, "no, just -- how very lucky we are to be in the positions we're in, and how much worse it could be for us."

[whatisay]

"Right. Lucky." Something deep inside Jason strains at its chains there, the part where his head always hurts, where the budget's never enough, where his mother's always dipping it to try and put on airs they can't afford and they spent more money on flowers for Quentin's funeral than they ever did on Jason's future, where whenever he goes home it's to the sound of his brother's screaming and weeping - but to flood the conversation with that wouldn't be appropriate. There's a difference between congenial complaining and an outright pity party.

He's not about to do the latter in front of a Reagan, even if it isn't Cyrus.

So there's something knifelike about his next smile, something that Stephen may remember from decades ago when Jason was teenager enough to lord his age over Cyrus and Stephen both.

"But that's a limiting way to look at it, isn't it? No wonder they say you don't have ambition. With your pedigree you could be a Gamemaker if you tried, instead of just shuttling fresh meat around."

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen knows that smile, and the tension is more than enough to cut through the haze of alcohol. It's suddenly completely clear to him that -- horror of horrors -- Jason Compson doesn't like him.

It's not a feeling Stephen is used to -- not from Capitolites, anyway.

He blows out a half-whistled, half-laughed breath.

"I could," he says, "and be completely miserable. Is it such a bad thing, being happy with where you are?"

But Stephen realizes, as he says that, that he's not happy where he is. He's not happy as an Escort. He hasn't been for years. Maybe he was for a while, and maybe he'd fooled himself into thinking he was for a while longer, but no -- no, he's not involved in the Hunger Games right now because he likes it.

Oh, god. Stephen feels a little dizzy. He sways a little, and has to shift his feet a little to keep from stumbling.

[whatisay]

"Whoa, Stephen. You had a little much there?" Jason holds a hand out, ready to support Stephen if he sways a little further, if he topples. The concern on his face is laced with a small trace of disdain - Jason doesn't have much patience for alcohol and like most things in the Compson family, the fact that it comes from his father drinking himself into the ground is fairly public knowledge.

"Let's get you sat down." He puts a hand to Stephen's shoulder.

[capitolprivilege]

Why am I doing it? is the thought that echoes around Stephen's hazy brain, repeating itself so that he can't think of anything else.

He nods, vaguely, at Jason, staring at the ground with a look of abject confusion, letting himself be guided wherever Jason is taking him.

There are so many things about his job that he doesn't like. He doesn't like telling the Tributes that they have to make appearances. He doesn't like telling the new ones that they're here to die. He doesn't like watching people he's come to know come back to the Capitol and try to deal with what they've been through. He doesn't like seeing the empty rooms of the Tributes who don't come back. He'd gotten involved in the Hunger Games in the first place because it was glamorous, because it was important, because he'd wanted to be close to celebrities. But that isn't what it's about now, is it? Why is he staying?

[whatisay]

"Alright. Come on. Damn, that went to your head fast."

He's not close to Stephen and it's true, he doesn't even terribly like him. But he was older than the Reagan brothers back in those childhood days, and growing up that way leaves its traces. The older ones watched out for the younger ones, from simply pulling them down from trying to climb the furniture to covering for them when things broke, corroborating lies that the Avoxes or pets knocked over the priceless vase or fine china. For all their infighting the children were often in collusion against their parents, unified in their bitterness at being toted to places where they were too young to participate.

He leads Stephen to a couch with one hand to his lower back, getting him sitting down with a protectiveness that's almost fraternal.

"You need water?"

[capitolprivilege]

He's sat down easily enough, still with the unfocused, faraway look. Jason's last few words pull Stephen back to the present. He blinks a few times, then shakes his head.

"Huh? No -- no, I'm fine. I'll be all right." He looks over at Jason, and he sounds surprised. "...thanks."

[whatisay]

"You're sure?" Jason fixes him with a bit of a skeptical expression. Stephen doesn't look drunk, and it occurs to Jason that this might be something else.

"You're welcome. I'll go find Cyrus. He's here tonight, right?"

Stephen may be a damn adult but, likely because of Cyrus' fierce protective streak, will always be seen as the little sibling, as the one tagging around just at the cut-off age to hang with the older kids and only because of his brother.

[capitolprivilege]

"No--"

The protest is sudden, too sudden to sound entirely natural. It's just that dealing with Cyrus right now is going to add another half to his headache. It's bad enough to be having a quarter-life crisis without having to face the brother you've never quite managed to justify the life choices that have led you here to.

"No, you don't have to do that. I just need a minute, then I'll be good."

[whatisay]

"If you say so." The corners of Jason's mouth tighten a little, and he jams his hands back in his pockets. "I'm going to tell the bartender not to give you any more, though."

It's a little bit more for vindictive righteousness than it is because he thinks Stephen's actually that drunk.

[capitolprivilege]

He drops into a slump against the back of the couch with a satisfyingly-disappointed, "Maaaaannn--"

Well, Stephen supposes, that makes the decision for him. He'd wondered for a moment there whether he shouldn't sober up or drink enough to forget. Jason has strongarmed him into the former.

/wrap!

[whatisay]

"You'll thank me when you're older, Stevie." He pats him on the back, a sing-song note in his voice and a trace of triumph in his tone. And with that he's off to warn the bartender, keeping an eye out for Cyrus, just in case.