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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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.

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?"

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."

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."

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.

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.

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.

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?"

"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.

Sergius grins, pleased by his instantly achieved cool impression. It feels pretty great to receive such a reception, and he's all about basking in the glory for a minute.

"I'm from here," he laughs, a little too loudly. "But you know, just got in from District One. The water there is ace, by the way. Yesterday I was pool side in the Victor's Village, soaking up some rays. You know, relaxing." He leans in then, taking Oceana in. She's one tall glass of water, no matter how you slice it. "Nice sunglasses."

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.

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.

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.

It was mere chance, that Dorian was so close behind him. Mere chance, considering that he wanted as little as possible to do with the man. But it had been impossible not to see the tiny tantrum, and even more impossible not to see the obvious path that lay ahead.

His hand whipped out, grasping Jason's wrist before he could throw the glass.

"Now now," He said, his tone low, "That isn't exactly becoming, is it?"

Jason wrenches his arm so hard out of Dorian's grasp that he's sure he's pulled or snapped something, and when he looks to see who it is his eyes are wild and not-entirely-there. Were this not in the company of so many other people, he might have thrown a fist right then and there. To be so disrespected by one of his own Tributes-!

But instead he breathes deep and shoves the unbroken glass at the Avox, who is actually trembling. "Get out of my sight. I'll talk with Oceana about this later." He runs a hand over his wrist, the red mark from the quick grab and the quicker snatching away.

His tone is equally low, thick enough to drown in, when he talks to Dorian. "We're stepping outside. Now."

He enjoys it. He basks in it. The rage almost balming, almost soothing.

"Here?" He asked mildly, the burning and writhing of his veins completely masked, his face as still as polished marble. He would not lose his temper. Not here. Not now. "I'm afraid I can't. My schedule clearly has me attending this party for the next half hour, and I wouldn't want to upset our host."

"We're going outside. You're coming with me." Jason says it firmly, definitively. He feels as if the seams of his body are rushing with hot embers being swept along in his veins. "That's a direct order or I'll report you for insubordination."

"That implies you weren't planning to already," Dorian said, mildly, but there's only so far he's willing to push his luck on this one. He bows his head and gestures to the balcony.

"After you."

Once he has Dorian's cooperation, he needs no second urging. He heads to the balcony and near reels at the cool night air on his face. The cigarette comes out again, but the vapor capsule in there is empty, and Jason grits his teeth as he works a new one into the stick.

"You know what the Avoxes are, Dorian?"

"Traitors and slaves," He says, blankly, watching the cigarette with a dull level of interest - vaguely wishing it would burst into flame in Jason's hand. If he'd had his magic-- Well. Wishes were as common as maggots. He knows he isn't expected to answer further than that, so he doesn't, leaning back against the railing lazily instead.

Would that the camphor took effect the instant he inhaled it, or that it was strong enough to do more than dull a sharp edge. Jason hates doctors, has never trusted them, but every once in a rare while he wonders if what his mother says about pills is correct.

"They're brainwashed into obedience because traitors can't be trusted without rewiring. They're automatons. They don't respond to questions because questions scare them, and they don't appreciate being treated as individuals. The Capitol puts it in their heads to be afraid of that. You might want to show them kindness but the best way to do that is to pretend they don't exist." He exhales the blue smoke. "There are a few Tributes who've undergone the procedure who can tell you I'm right."

"So I should smash glasses at their feet, instead?" It's said mildly. He isn't horrified by the idea - not like he should be. His world has the Rite of Tranquility, to use against mages who have abused their magic, or are in danger of being possessed by demons.

It strips a person of both their magic, and all of their emotions.

He's already half way there.

"Make a scene in the middle of a party by throwing a temper tantrum at a creature that cannot reply? Here I thought I was meant to behave, to save your precious reputation. If you're so concerned about it, you should make less of an effort to ruin it on your own."

"You act like that was something out of the ordinary for this country. Making a scene? Ask the hostess if she resents her possessions being put back in line." Jason leaves the cigarette in his mouth and straightens his collar. "My reputation is intact, much as it can be with my family considered."

The Compson family is an open secret in the Capitol, and eventually, Jason's sure Dorian will hear tell of it. May as well shape his opinion of it early.

"I have a sixth sense for these things." She answers quickly and dryly, making sure there's just the right of amusement in her tone. She doesn't know a lot about Jason, but you don't have a temper like that without having at least a mild rep for it. She's not afraid of being yelled at, because she won't give him a reason to. Of course, being a Capitolite of reasonable standing probably helps in that regard too.

"Things'd be pretty bleak if you ever screwed up that badly." She observes, choosing not to deign the suggested genocide with much of a response. With no annoyance or disgust, she's just choosing the part she can feasibly make a quip about.

She smirks, breezing past it and focusing on the question that holds more promise for conversation. "You know it. Don't think I could leave now that I have everything running the way I like it." And the way she likes it is part of the reason why she'd never team up with him. The escorts for Eight can stay flakes as far as she's concerned, it means she can handle her Tributes the way she wants to without anyone breathing down her neck. "Seven is an upgrade for you, isn't it? How're you liking it there?"

She's as close as an honest to god child Jolie will ever have and just as good as one too. Jolie hadn't been in the market for adoption, but the timing all worked itself out. It's like destiny or something.

If only destiny let her arrive long after that intricate and colourful story.

Jolie simultaneously blows a raspberry and waves a thumbs down in the air in front of them before looking at Oceana properly. "I'm glad I only got the tail end of that story- pun not fucking intended." She crinkles her nose. "Nothings Sup, I'm just sittin' here."

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

Oceana

OPEN | Jason Compson

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Jolie- open

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Calendius; OTA

Dorian Pavus - OPEN

Re: Dorian Pavus - OPEN

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