The Crowning Of The Signless

[etcircenses]

Who| Everyone.
What| The Crowning of The Signless.
Where| An alcove in a nearby mountain.
When| From dusk to dawn, on Thursday.
Warnings/Notes| This event is mandatory for all Tributes to attend. Even if you do not tag in, your character will attend this party. Peacekeepers will be on high alert. There will be no chance to runaway.

Tributes are encouraged to sleep all during the day, before the crowning. The reason for this is revealed when they are roused at sundown and brought to the closest mountain to the city, where they are greeted by an alcove within the moutainside that has been carved into a temple to what may be an illicit faith. The stone alcove is dim-lit by candles arranged along walls and by what appears to be altars set before iron cancer signs, some plain, some inlet with intricate carvings. Bright red drapery hangs about the room, tapestries with the cancer sign and cirles of blending color spectrum. There are also some waist high leggings hung upon one wall. In the center of the room, shackles hang, glowing bright from some sort of internal heat and light. A hole in the ceiling is set on each side of it, to allow the smoke to escape from the great bonfire that roars beneath it. If one takes a seat upon any of large stones and logs aranged around it, they can see both the stars twinkling down and the way the smoke looks as though it is coming off the shackles.

The only windows otherwise are made from stained glass depicting images from the Signless's life, such as his rescue by "Alternia's First Mother" (so described on the metal plate below), "The Recording of His Teachings" depicting The Disciple writing the Signless's words into a book, "A New Follower" showing the Psiioniic joining the Signless, a boat deemed "The First Ship", and "The Execution" which features the death of the Signless before thousands of followers, a fifth troll- resembling Terezi- bearing the shackles as a necklace and another with great brown wings, a single window of Karkat and Kankri Vantas, as well as a sinister depiction of six indistinct shadowy figures of cerulean, blue, indigo, violet, tyrian, and maroon. Cave-style paintings cover the stone walls, styles ranging from simple scribbled etching to circles featuring twelve colors in circle, with bright red at the center, and yet more elaborate shadowy depictions of those in the stained glass, esepcially the Signless himself, both prior and following his execution.

But not all is dedicated to the Signless and his old posse of biblical age trolls. A shrine has been set up for redeemed and then so quickly lost victor, Matthew 'Punchy' O'Conner. Punchy has been painted upon a cave wall like he fits right into the theme. Upon his shrine lay all varieties of bling; Bling-jewelery, a bling goblet, bling boxing gloves, a hoodie, a nun habit, and a stone with a memorial rap engraved atop-- with bling, of course, all shimmering by the spotlights placed before the shrine. Refillable 40 oz bottles are lain out so that sorrowful guests, wishing to pay their respect to the boy so cruelly slain by rebels when he had turned from them, can pour one out in his honor.

Marius is also honored there with a tea light and small framed photograph set upon an empty table with an empty chair, along with souvenir versions of his and Cosette's wedding rings that guests can take home. Beneath all these rings is a photoshopped picture of javert with a single tear running down his manly face.

The only seating besides the stones and logs and Marius's single chair, are those that are sat at a table at the end of the room. Each is draped in a different color, six on each side for each district and each blood hue-- presumably of the Victor's choosing. Between these chairs sits yet one more with a tall back like a flogging jut that got the redesigned at the base to make a throne that some trolls might recognize as belonging to the Empress. The arms of the chair feature open shackles. The throne is decorated in chains of gold and jewels of all colors. The victor is given a crown of gilded flowers and thorns on chain.

Food can be found upon the altars or the victor's table, in surplus. Alternian delicacies are served, featuring insects, flavored or plain, and food made from insects. Guests may find a giant beetle being served upon a spit roast. Even the meats appear to be topped with bugs. The cakes, marshmallows (which can be roasted with stick by the fire!), and orange creamsicles may be the only things truly bug-free. Drink options are water, wine, and soda.

Stylists are encouraged to dress their tributes primarily in black, with a single bit of color put into the design matched according to district (with exception to trolls), or any manner of draping fabrics, cloaks, and costumery reminiscent of religious iconagraphy that one might expect of ancient aliens. Waist high pants and leggings are also in high regard, as well as fake horn, fangs, contacts, and anything to make guests look more trollish. The only rule is for the main colors to match to the blood assignment.

The music playing is the sort one might expect from a church, featuring mournful vocals, soft bells and melodies, and of course, organ music. But for one or two jarring differences. Where this music is coming from remains a mystery but since the space is open and clear, guests have plenty of room for dancing.

Those who don't wish to dance can talk and regale tales around the bonfire, or may instead seek out the book of "scripture" at one of the altars that features nothing more than various parables- with names that Tributes might recognize! Each Tribute has one parable contained within, telling a tale in flourished manner of a part of their life, featuring a pro-capitol moral at the end.

Elsewhere, are models of the flogging just, where guests can put their hands through the oversized cuffs and pretend to writhe in agony, an Alternian bioware helm where guests too can pretend to have their lifeforce and power used a battery for the sake of the Alternian empire, a dress-up station where guests can customize their appearance to match trolls sold into gruelling slavery to seadwellwers, and an area designed to look like a cave with extensive "Alternian" (gibberish) writings of the Signless's words, where guests too can pretend they've lost everyone they love and are carrying on their legacy by writing upon the walls and leaving their own messages of love and mourning. Not to mention, a life-sized drone with realistic piercing claws, for all your picture posing needs.

A sandpit lies just around a corner for children to make castles, dig trenches, and act out games of pretending they've trekked thousands of miles through zombie infested desert just to speak to a couple of people! Guests can also meet a "mutantblood lusus" a four-eyed crab creature with lizardlike structure-- only sized no bigger than the average dog and perhaps about as intelligent. Guests are warned not to put their hand too close, lest the claw pincers manage to pinch them.

Late into the crowning, everyone is brought out to the dark mountainside, well monitored by peacekeepers, and divided into teams. Everyone is given belts with velcro flags attached, colored according to the "blood" they were matched with by district. Those in the eighth, ninth, twelfth, third, tenth, and eleventh districts are deemed the "lowbloods. Those in the first, fourth, second, fifth, sixth, and seventh districts, are deemed the "highbloods". Each team is given a velcro board to attach the flags to. The first team to lose all their flags loses, winners getting tiny necklace copies of the shackles. The last one standing with a flag wins a larger necklace copy and the option to get it redesigned into a symbol of their choosing.

If you failed not to be "culled", fear not! All tributes receive a participation sticker at the end. This sticker features a number. It is not indicative of districts or of age, as will be announced shortly, but of the new scoring. These will be announced for everyone to hear- and pick out targets from.

The crowning officially ends with the coming dawn. And so begins, to everyone's surprise, preparation for the arena. Tributes will be going right from the crowning off to the Tribute launch tubes. Happy Hunger Games!

[Note: This is ICly on Thursday! Just before the arena on Friday!]

Comments

Victor's Speech!

[etcircenses]

[69problems]

This crowning is both exactly what the Signless expected and unlike anything he prepared himself for, even knowing the Capitol would take troll culture and run with it. That it takes place at night, that almost all the food is native to Alternia, that there are curiosities from his world that can be posed with -- none of that is surprising. What he wasn't expecting was such a large focus on his future as a religious icon. Seeing his face and the faces of his family in stained glass staring back at him is unsettling. Seeing the iconography of the shackles and jut repeated everywhere around him is even more so, especially when he's expected to sit on an unholy combination of a torture device and the Empress's throne.

They've dressed him in a beautifully-embroidered cloak, scarf, and of course the leggings. His neck is hung with numerous thin gold chains, and his fingers are adorned with golden rings set with red stones. His ears, still pierced from the last crowning, also sport red and gold decoration including a chain that stretches from a ring at his earlobe to a similar ring through the left side of his nose. Each of his horns is covered by an intricately carved gold cap.

The real focal point of the outfit is his arms, left bare of any jewelry. Instead they're intricately tattooed in delicate black linework (with occasional splashes of red or gold) from the backs of his hands all the way up to his elbows. Visible in the designs are ornate flowers, delicate insect wings, suns, moons, stars and, of course, the ever-present cancer symbol over the inside of each wrist.

He feels like it all weighs twice as heavy as it should.

Since he won he's known he would be expected to give a speech at his crowning. With all these people in troll colors crowded around a bonfire it's almost as though he's back on Alternia, about to begin one of his discourses on caste equality and the radical idea that maybe, just maybe, it's okay to be nice to other people. Here his words have to be a little more conservative.

"Many of you likely expected someone else to be addressing you tonight," he begins. He hasn't spoken publicly for a very long time (for good reason), but his voice falls easily back into that of a practiced orator. And he has practiced -- he's been writing this speech in his head for days now in order to get it to just the right mix of safe lie and meaningful truth.

"The odds have not often been in my favor; you can see the proof of that on the walls around you. I am extremely humbled to stand before you as a victor now, knowing what my future might have been had I not been brought to Panem." He shoots a pointed glance up at the glowing shackles.

"I am grateful for the opportunities I have been afforded here. I am grateful for the people I have met," and here his eyes scan the crowd, lingering on familiar faces, "and for the things I have experienced that would have been an impossibility anywhere else. I am grateful for the chance I have been given to live a new and better life not bound by the fate that Alternia held for me.

"Tonight you have been able to see a glimpse of that fate and of what my old home was like. Make no mistake: I miss it terribly, as I am sure many of you miss your native lands. I thank our hosts for giving me a chance to reminisce and also to say a proper goodbye. In the time I have been a tribute here, Panem has become my home. I intend to stay and work toward making it a place where all tributes can feel as though the odds are in their favor."

It might sound very much like pro-Capitol tripe, but he means much of it. For all of the horrible things he's experienced in Panem, he's also been blessed with so much good. While he failed on Alternia he still has a chance in Panem to help people, even more now that he's a victor. He intends to take full advantage of that opportunity and actually work toward making Panem a better place.

There's just the small matter of that meaning eventually burning it to the ground and rebuilding from scratch. Hopefully that message is clear to those who are looking for it hidden under the drivel.

Porrim - OTA

[fusshionable]

After herding her Tributes into the Crowning venue and making sure that they were properly fussed over and participating appropriately, Porrim takes a moment to wander around. She's felt uncomfortably nervous about this Crowning ever since watching the Arena finale--knowing what was likely coming forced her to re-analyze the little chance discovery she'd made about herself, thanks to her Tributes. And now, looking around at the stained glass images hanging around the temple, she just feels ill. The image of the Signless and the troll called the Dolorosa in particular is haunting, because she looks into the face of the woman in the image and can't help but see the similarities.

She spends much of the Crowning in this manner, looking around contemplatively. She's dressed in a sweeping gown of black velvet, a slit up the side going all the way to her waist, with nary a trace of a pair of underwear showing through, and to accent it, a bright blue belt made of metal chain, draped across her hips. Her hair is knotted atop her head elegantly, and she keeps a pair of round black sunglasses on her face at all time--whether it's a fashion statement, or to hide the panic and fear in her expression is a mystery.

But when she's approached, she makes an effort. To seem normal, to talk and laugh and celebrate appropriately. Just like a normal Capitolite would. She knows, of course, what the end of the evening holds, but she's been instructed to keep her mouth shut about it, of course.

FINALLY GETTING THIS CR

[crabmunicator]

Of all the many and various things to be offended by at this party, the windows aren't that bad. They're pretty, and reverential enough, though he never wanted to be displayed in a glass window. (Somewhere down the line there is the one of him and Kankri.) But it's as he shuffles over to the image of the jade mother that he spots a certain Capitolite with familiar, swirling tattoos and a long, black dress. It's not the same--she's not grey, not horned, and the style and accent color are different--but it's similar enough.

"Don't tell me we had Porrim here, too," he grumps.

He's in his own costume with glittery red tattoos of his own, and yes he is carrying a bowl with a frog in it. (Not a real one, though it might look it.)

Initiate | OTA

[carnagecarnival]

A [Closed to Signless]

He's got high hopes when they wake him at nightfall. He knows what a terrible twist that hope will have in his guts once he sees the inevitable undoings by Capitol's will, but the hope remains all the same. They dress him according to his sign and blood, a subjugglator's garb for celebration and festivity. It's comfortable and wrong at the very same time. The bit of cloak and cloth what they get settled up over top helps some. He's the only one of his district who's indigo. For whatever arbitrary reason, his districtmates are blue, meaning some other motherfuckers must be being indigo-- though he doubts the actuality of them matching up.

When time comes to actually enter that temple, he's fleeing to the Signless's side, reaching to hang on tight to that hand, both for the Signless's sake and his own. He fears he might break all Signless's bones what he's got in his hand, when the inside of that little alcove is revealed to them.

It's nothing like what he would've expected of a cultist hideaway because he could never have imagined them making anything so grand. He'd think of Signless always on the run and ideas of grandeur weren't fuckin viable as being things. This is more heresy in one motherfucking place than he's seen save that of the cultist leaders them motherfucking selves.

But it doesn't stop there, oh no. There's a jut. There's a drone, there's a cave part of desperate writings, a helm, there's a fucking flogging jut. He flinches harder at the sight of each one. He wants to go. He wants to leave right now, he doesn't belong here. None of them need to see this.

He sees the shackles hanging above the fire, the throne what's both the epitome of heretical and all too much a threat by capitol for the other reason. Maybe, he thinks, if he just holds the Signless's hand and looks into the flame, or down at the floor, it won't bother so much. But that'd be lying to himself. He needs a pile. He needs a pile and to get gone from here, and if he's thinking as much, surely Signless must be too.

B

There's a stained glass window before him, done up beautiful like something straight out of the church. But for the heresy it holds.

He approaches it like, maybe, if he looks close enough, he'll discover it ain't real. But it is. It's two wrigglers, one nubby horned and one with horns of a goat, both smaller than all anything. They're tucked close together, all but touching, looking at one another rapt. Both joyous to have ease for their own little lonely aches. Both pretending like there's nothing wrong with what they were being to do and it surely couldn't fall so far apart on them.

His hand all touches the glass, tracing the outlines of them with a strange sort of loss in him. They were moirails now, but at the same time, they weren't the trolls they were back then.

Then again, they weren't the trolls in that other bit of stained glass either. "The Betrayal". A looming shadow of himself snarling down at the beaten, yet still defiant mutantblood traitor to the empire.

He wonders what would happen if he tried to break the glass. He wonders if in some far off timeline, it could be worth it.

C

He can't spend all night staring at the reminders of what he did wrong. He tries slipping away from that table to settle on the rocks around the fire. He forgets about the copious amounts of food there is to eat. He forgets there's music playing something ridiculous. He stops seeing the imagery around and behind him or anything at all.

The drone is an exception though. He gets a zone on good and proper, making himself far the fuck away, and then the drown is there in the corner of his eye and he jumps and has to start all over again. Which is hard, when there's a copy of the helm bioware right there.

And when there's not that, there's Punchy's memorial. "Killed by rebels". He doesn't want to look at it either.

He hopes someone starts talking. He can listen and think about something else for a short little while. But he doesn't dare ask when surrounded by his sins for all to see.

D

They're split into teams and it takes him all of two seconds to figure out what all the deal is. They're playing low versus high. They're playing games like millennia of war was simple and easy as a little game of tag was being. No nuance, not a damn thing of it. A little board as to joke on his old paintings.

His face turns to a snarl. The game begins and the moment it does he's starting off with murder on his face and in his eyes. He stalks right on up to that board, rips the indigo flag from his side, and slams it down on the board himself, with force enough to leave a dent.

He moves off to the side and glares on into nothing and nowehere. He shouldn't have done that, he realises as more time goes on. He'll pay for this, most assuredly. But it's too late. His face is in his hands before the game is even over.

C

[earthborn]

It's an interesting view into an alien world. Normally, Shepard can just ask, say tell me about your culture, and someone will give her the highlights, let the easy biases flow. This is an outsider's perspective, no doubt warped through the Capitol's lens, but no less fascinating for all the presumed distortion.

The giant robot, at least, is pretty cool.

She's not much for pretending to belong where she doesn't, quite the opposite, but the D5 stylists had been more frightened of someone else and in the end-- she was tired. And it was clear that they didn't have a choice, that everyone else was in the same boat. One night, then, in a Troll-themed Hennin draped in a dress just enough like robes to make her seem a form of blue-blooded priestess, cold and remote and completely stupid-looking with candycorn horns on her head.

The first person to comment on the skirt was getting wine in their eye, she's certainly mad enough to do it.

Speaking of sins to see, Kurloz, have you seen this one yet? Still, the Vantases various have wandered off somewhere, or else have crowns to hold up, and she's only got you to bother. Plus, she's gotta ask, "What's the deal with the robot?"

Aang - Open!

[actually112]

A

Aang is highly uncomfortable. Not because of all the religious imagery--no, it reminds him a lot of home, actually, and all the various temples and ornamentation dedicated to different Avatars. He's not even uncomfortable with the cloak his stylist put him in. He can even tolerate the horns fixed to his head (the stylist called them 'Crux Southern Cross' horns, and they at least paid homage to his arrows). No, he's uncomfortable with all the glorification and dismissal of torture. And also the things his stylist put in his eyes. He was forced to wear contact lenses that give him yellow sclera and violet irises. And he has no idea how to get them out. Who puts these things on their eyes willingly, honestly?!

Don't mind him while he tries (and fails) to blink them out. Is he supposed to use his hands? That seems dangerous.

He wishes he could just leave. He doesn't want to be at a party now.

B

Another thing that's making him uncomfortable is the stupid parable of his life in that stupid book. The stupid parable and the stupid picture of him sitting at the roots of the Banyan Grove tree with glowing eyes and tattoos. (Those with the right background may recognize that the picture very much resembles pictures of the Buddha, except Aang looks less happy and more... severe. Like he's judging the whole world.)

The Avatar was a gift unto humanity, a being created by the fusion of a human and the spirit of light and harmony, who chose to guide a scared and vulnerable world. Through countless deaths and rebirths, the Avatar protected humans from their own folly with a loving and firm hand.

But mankind is foolish, and people began to question the Avatar's love and wisdom. Despite the thousands of years of peace and prosperity, some thought that they knew better than the Avatar and took the harmony that it brought to the world for granted. Avatar Aang was born from bitter betrayal by his closest, oldest friend, and when the people rose against him, he chose to give them what they wanted: a world without the Avatar, and thus without order.

A hundred years passed--a hundred years of war, famine, pestilence, and death. The peaceful Air Nomads were slaughtered, the clever Southern Water Tribe decimated, the great Earth Kingdom ravaged, the industrious Fire Nation starved, and the frightened Northern Water Tribe isolated from any others. Death and hardship swept over the land until there was no longer such a thing as children. There were only soldiers and graves.

The people prayed for the return of their protector. The prayers called upon the compassion in the Avatar's loving heart, and he returned to the world to observe human fallibility. Yet the Avatar was not guaranteed to bring peace back. Human sin and selfishness destroyed the world, and they had perhaps not suffered enough to earn the forgiveness of their caretaker.

Once peace and prosperity is destroyed, it can be impossible to repair.

"THAT IS NOT HOW IT WENT!" Aang throws the book back down on the altar in disgust.

C

When it comes to announcing the new scores, Aang has a sticker with a big 10 smack in the center of his forehead arrow. It doesn't look like his score has changed, and he sees no reason to hide the sticker. That might be a mistake.

B

[69problems]

From what Signless has seen, nobody is pleased with what they're reading in the book of parables. He winces when Aang throws it down -- that's by far the worst reaction he's seen all night. He doesn't know why anyone expects to read something they'll like, but saying so won't help anything.

"How did it go, then?" he asks, setting a ring-covered hand on Aang's shoulder in an attempt to pacify him a little.

Dandy Mott / OTA

[affluenza]

[1]

The last place Dandy wanted to be was at a party celebrating someone else's victory over him. As much as he loved being here, he still hadn't gotten over his loss. It wasn't fair, he was put in the arena after all the good supplies were already gone, if only he was there from the start he surely would have won. That's what he told himself, anyways. But, he didn't dare resist being brought here, he didn't want to do anything that might upset the Capitol and cause him to lose favor.

He was wearing a cloaked outfit more reminiscent of an old time movie villain than any sort of religious devout, with a cerulean tie. His hair was still done up as it always was; he begged his stylist to leave it be because he didn't want to give the people who hated his hairstyle the satisfaction of seeing it gone. It fit the outfit anyways, so he was permitted to keep it. He stood alone, smiling for Capitol citizens and scowling at fellow tributes. He'd indulge anyone from the Capitol in a dance - fellow tributes couldn't force him out on the dance floor if they begged him.

But he'd still talk with them, at least.

[2]

Dandy sat in the sand pit carefully building an intricate castle out of the sand, smoothing out the edges and patting it down so it was sturdy and tightly packed. He seemed to be having more fun here than he was at the rest of the party, humming a rendition of 'If You're Happy and you Know It' as he worked. And then without warning, he brought his hand down upon the small castle over and over again, laughing wildly as he crushed all his hard work.

When he was all finished, he sat still, breathing heavily for a few moments before he got to work on another castle.

[3]

As soon as he recognized the names of other tributes within the large book, he flipped through the pages looking for his own. It would be so unfair if he wasn't included, even if he only just got here. At last, he found something.

"The young master of the Mott house was a generous fellow - his servants were well cared for and never overworked. All he demanded of them was a small set of duties in exchange for life in his luxurious mansion.

Yet, one servant was unsatisfied with the order of things. The maid grew jealous and resentful of her position and her thoughts became clouded, unaware and unappreciative of Dandy's fairness and generosity. She began to despise the young master and think that she instead ought to be the one in charge. She plotted a careful betrayal.

But the maid was unprepared to take on such heavy duties, and under stress lashed out at Dandy with harsh words indicating her traitorous spirit. Alas, he had no choice but to rid his household of the disloyal servant, seeing that her presence would cause only chaos.

Resent and jealousy blinds one to their own good fortune and the seeds of betrayal must be snuffed out before they can blossom."

Dandy nodded to himself. That was pretty much how he remembered it. In reality, he killed Dora in cold blood because she tried to get him to bring a tray to his mother and then insulted him a bit, but he'd accept the embellishment as if it were reality.

2

[gardienne]

"My... Cosette. She used to sing about castles, Sir. Over and over."

Eponine came close to the edge of the sandbox, and perched on the edge, folding the long train of her dress about her feet carefully. The last thing she needed was being moaned at for ruining her clothes as well as her reputation. And that was why she had let her stylists dress her in the halter neck dress, and pile her long, dark hair into a messy bun, and insert golden horns into the style. She felt ridiculous.

"It was so beautiful before you smashed it. Why did you do so, Sir?"

Bruce Banner - Open

[honeyibrokeharlem]

A

Bruce is dressed in an embroidered gold tunic, a pair of 'Sextans' horns, and a pair of contact lenses that give him yellow sclera and radioactive green irises (all of which feels about as respectful as blackface). He sticks close to the shadows away from the crowd. He doesn't like crowds--instead, he spends his time looking at all the religious imagery, pressing his lips together tightly until he sees the victor's crown, and he can't help a soft,

"A crown of thorns? Really?"

He doesn't know how much of this is Alternian and how much is just twisting another culture until it's easily related to a more familiar religion. Either way, he doubts it's a very accurate depiction of alien culture and it seems like another thing that the Capitol is just using for cheap fad fodder.

The music repeating the iconic phrase--'Let my people go'--just convinces him that there were some significant attempts to make this closer to familiar Abrahamic religions.

B

He's very tempted to tear out his page in the parable book, but that seems like the kind of thing that would invite retribution, so he leaves it alone. As much as he hates having it in there. It's just a long, flowery story about how a great man tried to grow beyond he had a right to and turned himself into a monster. It has pretty descriptions of him killing or nearly killing everything he loved, and how he should have just been happy with what he had before he destroyed himself.

Of course, all of that is a complete misconstruing of what happened, but since when has that mattered to the Capitol?

Instead, he distracts himself by trying some of the Alternian food. He doesn't actually mind eating insects; this would hardly be the first time. Many countries besides the United States would have insects as part of its cuisine, and when on the run, one can't afford to be picky.

It's actually pretty good, all things considered.

C

He doesn't understand what this weird capture the flag game is supposed to represent, but whatever it is, some of the trolls in the crowd seem upset by it, so he's assuming the Capitol is being grossly flippant again.

He'll put in a token effort, but unless someone else goads him into being competitive, he doesn't intend to stay involved for long.

a

[tevintage]

Dorian, dressed in a very sleek rendition of something resembling a Catholic Priest's robes, happened to be standing near Bruce when he muttered about the crown of thorns.

It was something that Dorian had been wondering about, but of course, had absolutely no significance to him personally. He raised an eyebrow.

"Is it meant to mean something?" He asked Bruce, perfectly casually. "I'm afraid all the symbolism of this particular - evening - is somewhat lost on me."

[belongsontv]

Milla is learning one thing very quickly during her stay, the fact the Capitol rarely if ever skimps on a party. The psychic can't truly complain, honestly, she adores parties. Even if the circumstances of this one leaves her less than enthused, she can at least smile and enjoy what she can. She brushes her hands lightly across the front of her dress as she drifts idly through the party looking for familiar faces.

[A] Even with the flowing nature of her dress, Milla manages to make herself comfortable at the bonfire set up, undoing the bun her stylist struggled to put together to let her hair more naturally fall freely behind her. The mental minx perks up at someone's approach, a more natural smile curling on her lips as she gestures for them to join her. "Why not sit with me for a spell, darling? You look tired."

[B] The oddly bug themed food isn't quite what Milla is expecting, but she doesn't particularly shy away from trying things either. Anyone who passes her by at a food table will find the woman humming softly to herself as she picks one or two very... slimy looking things from the buffet. Someone should probably warn her against at least one of her choices.

[C] Naturally, Milla finds her way to the dance floor, with her natural love of dancing she can't resist the idea, even at a party like this. The dance floor looks particularly desolate in the moment, so Milla has to liven things up a little! It'd be a crime to let the dance floor stay empty for long. It's why she gladly grabs onto the nearest person within reach, offering them a playful smile and wink. "Dance with me, baby! This party is a drag. We need to liven it up!"

[B]

[foundafamily]

Firo doesn't like to think of himself as a picky eater--you can't be, growing up dirt poor--but he has a hard time thinking of all this as appealing. Adhering to his time-honored habit of eating what he can while he can, he does start picking at some of the more tame-looking items... and stops in his tracks when he spots someone who seems to be doing exactly the opposite.

He folds his arms across his chest and stares at her. "No way. You're really gonna try that stuff?"

the iron bull / ota

[meravas]

Being as The Iron Bull was placed in District Nine, his colors are an olive green on black. He wears what appears to be a jacket made with a high collar and massive hanging sleeves with a hanging cloak fit to his broad build, all in the olive green and black colors. The material looks to be of silk with a sequin shimmer embedded into the fabric, the hanging cloak made to hang down to his feet and trail.

It's more of an annoyance than anything, honestly, and the amount of fabric they had used to accommodate his size. Completely unnecessary. How is he supposed to fight or run should something happen?

His torso is left bared from where the thick collar covers his entire neck all the way down to his hips, scars of various length littering the skin. Anything lower is covered in more draping silk. Bull feels ridiculous, like he's been put in a dress. As if the uniform he'd been made to wear at the Winter Palace hadn't been bad enough, this is worse.

At least his stylists were kind enough to give him a green crystal encrusted eye patch to go with the look, something he had insisted on putting on himself and alone without them hovering to see the gruesome mess of scarring left behind of his missing eye.

Throughout the evening and night:

(a) Bull wasn't sure what to make of the stained glass and the beings pictured within. They're horned, like him, but their horns are... different. They're colored in one image and in the rest, they're shadowed in black. It was hard to make out if they were Qunari or not; he had to assume that they weren't. He was the only Qunari here thus far, that he was aware of. And no horned beings had approached him when he'd spoken to his arm bracelet days ago.

He stood there in silence, arms folded over his chest, head tilted in his scrutiny.

(b) The insects don't really bother him. He's curious about how they're flavored, particularly curious of the giant beetle being cooked, but what The Iron Bull is more intrigued by are the cakes and the marshmallows. The Qunari don't have cakes or cookies, such things don't exist where he's from. The only time he's ever dared to try such delicacies was in Skyhold and on any trips with the Inquisition or even with his men whenever they would pass through this or that town for supplies.

With his height he's leaning over the table, humming in thought and looking over everything that's being offered curiously, unsure of where to begin. Those orange creamsicles might be a good start.

(c) Sitting near the bonfire, Bull's by himself. He's lost in thought as he stares off into the flames, thinking back on thoughts that only serve to depress him, that drop his wide shoulders as he sits there leaning forward with his elbows rested on his thighs. He can't say he's not enjoying himself this evening, he is in some way. It also gives him a chance to keep an eye on the Inquisitor and his fellow members of the Inquisition.

(d) The last place he's curious of is the sandpit. Some are there already playing in the giant sandbox but Bull is crouched nearest to the "mutantblood lusus", studying its movements and pincers, curious of the four eyes, observing it as it slowly scuttles over the sand. As much as Bull wants to reach out to it, he doesn't. He's already lost two of his fingers from years ago, he's not looking to lose any more.

He squints his good eye and leans forward.

c

[dreadinquisitor]

He wasn't necessarily looking for Bull when he approached the fire, but the man was rather hard to miss; and even though he still wanted to give everyone their space, Bull had seemed rather accepting of the whole thing. Enough so, perhaps, that he wouldn't mind a little company.

So Maxwell shifted his direction and moved to stand beside him, nearly at eye-level with Bull sitting.

"I suppose I can give them one thing," he said, in lieu of a traditional greeting. "They certainly don't skimp on the party planning."

tess / ota

[oopsright]

Tess can almost always be found by the table where the drink and food is being served. It should be a given for most people who've gone years scavenging for food and needing to ration their supplies and goods to last the month until the next shipment. There's wine and water and soda but the first thing in her hand is a cup of wine, standing by the table dressed in a long gown of gold on black, short-sleeved with a sheer sash tied at the front of her waist. Her stylists thought it was nice to take her hair and tie it up in some kind of a messy chignon; she didn't complain, giving in on a sigh when they placed the black gem earrings in her earlobes and pinned in the last curl.

Hoping her gown doesn't catch any flames, she's over roasting some marshmallows at the fire, turning the stick slowly to make sure each side gets toasted evenly. It's been a long time since she's done this, roasting marshmallows over an open fire.

She won't be seen moving around much throughout the evening and night unless it's to go back and forth between the fire and the food table, alternating between wine and soda, indulging in the orange creamsicles, and stopping at the sandpit to stare at the four-eyed crab with morbid curiosity.

"There's gotta be a reason why you're part of the celebration." But what could it be?

[rictator]

Parties would never be Rick's idea of a good time - least of all when he had to be coerced into attendance.

His time spent in the Capitol had been brief and uncomfortable, and he'd managed to spend the majority of it keeping to himself and the few members of his group he had left. The Tribute Centre had been stifling, and until now, he'd managed to avoid the majority of the other tributes.

So, perhaps it was against his better judgement when he'd opened his mouth to respond to her. With this many people around, it would have been simple enough to pretend he hadn't heard her, or better, that her words had been directed at someone else.

Fortunately, the wine had helped loosen him up a bit.

"Didn't seem like we had much choice," he replied finally, lowering his own glass.

Their matching gold accented clothing marked them as both as the same district, for whatever that was worth. In truth, he hadn't expended much effort in the way of making friends; in a place that was bent on forcing them to kill each other, getting to know one another was more likely to lead to problems and hard decisions down the road. 'Know your enemy' was all well and good, but knowing the one on the other end of your knife... In the end, it wasn't worth it. Because when it came down to Beth or Daryl's life versus someone else's? The answer would be the same every time.

"Guess we can't complain. It's been a while since I've seen this much food."

... If bugs counted as food. He'd definitely eaten worse.

Maxwell - OTA

[dreadinquisitor]

It had taken some doing - Maxwell using every bit of the credit he'd earned between Swann and Jolie to get them to nix the more extravagant portions of the outfit they'd chosen - but finally he arrived. The color was a bit odd for him, not one he'd have typically chosen himself, but the cut was familiar enough that he didn't feel completely out of place.

Which, was more than he could say for the rest of the event.

Insects in the food, more religious imagery than he'd seen in some Chantries, and... some sort of giant crab, skittering about a large sandbox. He lingers for some time beside the small shrine, not knowing the man it was for, but curious as to the inscription. Killed by rebels.

By the time the game was announced and the flags come out, he was beyond asking. There simply weren't enough hours in one night.

[tevintage]

Dorian had quite a bit more say in his outfit. It was the only freedom that he'd managed to wrangle from Jason's grasp, and he was damned well going to make the most of it. The colour palette really didn't suit him - he preferred warm browns to black - but he made the most of what he had.

He wasn't avoiding Maxwell. He wasn't. Even if he didn't talk to him nearly as much as he probably should have done, it wasn't because he was avoiding him. It had nothing to do with him at all, really. Maxwell seemed like a perfectly decent man, and he was quite sure that they would have been friends. But it was hard to face a daily reminder of grief.

It was much, much easier, however, once you'd already had a couple drinks.

He wandered over to find Maxwell lingering at the shrine, frowning down at the inscription.

"Ah, yes. I've heard vague stories about this one. Punch? Punchy? Yes. Finally managed to win this farce and what does he get for his trouble? A swift death."

Karkat Vantas | OTA

[crabmunicator]

It's Karkat's first crowning when he shows up here, brought along with the other various tributes. He did have participation in the mini-arena before this, but apparently a true celebration was kept for after the main games. Still, that's not what he cares about.

For starters, he's costumed to stand out, being the sole member of District 6 not clad in cerulean blue. Instead, he's been dressed in a long outfit of red and black, bearing a long, heavy cape with square-notched trim at the front, and an array of curlicues harkening to the swoops of his sign across various points of his garments. Red is definitely the theme, though; even the black sections show a tint of it in the right lighting. Beyond that, the Cancer sign and extra circles have been tattooed onto his shoulders and looped at his neck, red with glitters of silver. His eye shadow matches, though mercifully that hasn't been inked in permanently. Some people might note he looks more awake, the usual dark circles under his eyes handily hidden by more makeup.

He's also carrying a gold bowl with a frog in it. It's not a real one, too still for that, but its skin glistens convincingly and every now and then it gives off a croak. He carries it when he has to, but usually it is set beside him at a nearby table.

A.) Most commonly he can be seen glowering, seething, or gritting his teeth at one thing or another. He's uncomfortable in so much red, for starters, and even his frog gets its glares. But the surroundings, the decorations, the styling of everything--he shuffles and glares at windows, at parables, at the fake horns and accessories added onto costumes. Now and then he mutters something under his breath. But other things - the throne/flogging jut chair, the hanging bright shackles and the fake helmsblock - get clenched teeth and shaking shoulders. He may never have paid the stories of his teams' ancestors much attention before arriving here, but the disrespect in the spectacle of it all but burns his blood out of his veins.

The mock-drone, however, he gives a very wide berth. He's definitely seen it - it's hard to miss, bright and spiked and looming tall - but he gives it no more than a long stare of mixed revulsion and instinctual fear before moving on.

B.) He makes his way into the little side cave at one point, with its gibberish writings and messages scrawled by others. That's not Alternian. It's not even close to Alternian. And though he hasn't has reason to try writing in it again while here, he picks up one of the writing implements and goes to scrawl on his own screed in the blocky, angular letters of his mother tongue--only to find he can't. The letters come out in regular old English, words aborted before he can finish half a sentence.

"What? Why can't I--?"

And he tries again, scratching the walls of his brain to call up the familiar shapes, but none of it comes out right. He ends up without even a message, just a collection of jumbled letters and one irritably scribbled FUCK.

C.) But sooner or later, it's the food tables Karkat parks himself at. These are the least offensive thing he's found, and if there's one thing he's missed while living in the Capitol, it's proper troll food.

Which, actually, this fails to capture. It's not like they have actual troll grubs to make into their grubloaf or grubsauce, and the insect species aren't the same, and the beef is obviously from regular old cows. But it's better than nothing, and it's common to spot him cramming a handful of little insects into his mouth.

More than once he has to tell someone that no, the frog's not food, please don't ask.

a

[reassures]

It's generally pretty easy to tell when Karkat is particularly unhappy about something. He doesn't exactly make a secret of it, and his temper shows through in almost every situation when it's been hit too many times. Really, for him, it's not, as is seething, and muttering, and mumbling. They're kind of part of the package. They're normal.

What isn't normal is Karkat being so angry that he literally shakes with it. Nill is a ways away from him, but his red catches her eye from half across the room, and she can practically see smoking rising off Karkat's head. Whatever she'd been doing - a conversation, maybe, or people watching - is immediately forgotten as Nill weaves her way between people to get to where Karkat is trying to turn his glare into laser eye beams to reduce the flogging jut to ashes.

She already has her notepad out of the hand purse when she stops beside it, rapping her knuckles against it to get his attention. Touching him when he's this angry doesn't seem like a good idea if he doesn't notice it. This angry he was liable to lash out, and that would just attract peacekeepers. Once she has his attention she makes a little gesture with her head off to the side, and reaches a hand towards him, gesturing with it. He shouldn't stay here. There were less terrible places to go here.

Nill's own makeup and dress are considerably more outlandish than the last time she was at a crowning, but at least her stylist has continued to let her do her own hair, and provided flowers to match the dress.

Feferi Peixes | OTA

[fintastic]

Unlike some other trolls, Feferi doesn't stand out from the rest of District One very much in terms of color, being Tyrian blooded herself. Still, her costume is distinct, and possibly recognizable to other trolls. Tyrian-tinted piped runs from shoulder to the bottom hem of the black dress she wears, and across the chest, making the Pisces motif easily recognizable, and the tiara atop her head is far grander than her own. Her arms are laden with (thankfully fake) gold bangles of all kinds, all in allusion to her ancestor, the Empress of Alternia, Her Imperious Condescension.

Feferi doesn't appreciate the sentiment very much.

At least the similarities stop there; that much on its own wouldn't be very flashy or exciting or even all that elegant, so she's been adorned with even more accessories, as if the jewelry wasn't enough. A sheer train matching the piping on her gown attaches at the shoulders by small embroidered epaulets, the thin, wispy fabric draped both front and back, almost cape-like. Around her waist is a belt made up of several small gold chains, with a thicker band inlaid with the colors of the hemospectrum, mirroring some of the decorations. The belt is held up at one hip with an over-sized magenta gemstone, completing the spectrum. Her hair has been left down, and her makeup has been done with the same inspiration in mind, a bright shock of magenta over the eyelids with thing black outlining and gold glitter glued onto her eyebrows. At least she's getting better at wearing makeup at all.

As soon as she arrives to the party, Feferi realizes that it's a lot different when the tides are turned and its your own culture being mangled into something more glamorous than it is. She's still bitter over her loss-- she owed that win to Sollux, and she'd let it slip out of her fingers, almost literally, just because she was impatient. If she had only waited a little while longer to go get food... she could have made it. She tries to ignore it, but it sits at the back of her mind, more so than the last two crownings she's attended. If those were like rubbing salt into the wound, this is like pouring the entire bag out.

Bitter or not though, her fellow tributes don't deserve to have it taken out on them. It's not them she's frustrated with, nor does she want to show that kind of face to her friends if she can avoid it, so she sticks to attempting to chat up some of the Capitolites hanging around, as much as they'll let her. It's easier to fake being pleasant to a complete stranger who probably doesn't care about your feelings anyway, and at least she can try and garner some sympathy while pretending to concede the loss out of the goodness of her heart. Some of the things that come out of her mouth don't make her proud, but as the night progresses, it gets easier.

When she does decide to mingle with her fellow tributes, it's only for brief intervals. The food tables attract her from time to time-- being grumpy really takes a lot out of a girl, which is why she doesn't make it a habit-- and who can resist the siren call of toasted marshmallows? They're something she hasn't ever really had in the past, and she oddly enjoys watching them catch fire, even though she doesn't understand why setting food on fire makes it taste better.

She pointedly avoids the Alternian-themed areas, finding them a bit too distasteful, even for her. This goes well beyond poking fun, and she would rather not acknowledge any of it, as much as possible. The shrine to Punchy, however, fascinates her, and she spends longer than she cares to admit watching others come up to it, taking glass bottles, and pouring liquid out of it. The longer the watches, the more confusing it gets for her, but it serves as a good distraction, enough to tear her away from negative thoughts and let her puzzle it out for a while.

[shenunigans]

Dave has been mingling around the party since he arrived, making sound bytes and clattering around in his man heels. He's not sure why Oceana thought he was ready to wear something that elevates him another 3 inches, but he is reasonably scared of her and her 3 inch nails.

He's been avoiding Punchy's shrine most of the night, but when he catches Feferi looking at it he can't help but approach her. He hesitates for a moment before putting a hand on the small of her back like a good fake boyfriend.

"Dramatic tears incoming, three, two.." He murmurs dryly, trying to duck down to rest his chin against her before his heels wobble and he decides moving downward willingly is just not a good idea. "At least he didn't die a virgin." He speaks up again finally, not sure why she's so transfixed on the shrine.

Wesker - OTA

[president_evil]

Wesker had reached that sweet spot between fear and respect with his support staff, so unlike doubtless others at the Crowning he was quite comfortable in his suit. Red wasn't typically one of his colors, but it was certainly thematic. And the piping was amusing, reminding him of the mandible, that toothy appendage that left his fellows shaking in his wake.

The event itself means little to him - another arena, another victor, another crowning - all that really ever changed was the drapery, but he would put the night to good use.

There were sponsors to part from their money, memorials to look solemn over, and - unless his eyes deceived him - a mutated crab that his sense of scientific curiosity was already tingling over.

Sending an avox for a glass of red, he got to work.

[tevintage]

"I have absolutely no idea what it is," Dorian admitted to the absolute stranger to his left, as they both happened to be regarding the - crab? - in front of him.

"I've heard these people can actively change animals to their whim, however, so I suppose I will never fully understand."

Arya Stark | OTA

[needlebearer]

She hadn't been forced into a dress, and Arya's grateful for that much, at least. She's clad in a black velvet cloak, the lining the bronze colour of District 10, and a pair of columba horns. They feel odd on her head, and she keeps poking at them, and they remind her of Gendry's bull helmet, making her miss him desperately.

a) The food doesn't bother her too much. She'd eaten bugs before - as a child, purely to watch Sansa's disgusted reaction, and then again on the Kingsroad, when bugs and acorn paste was all there was to keep her from starving, in the days before the Mountain had intercepted her. So she'll stand around at the buffet tables munching on Alternian cuisine for a good while.

b) One thing she's definitely not comfortable with, though, is the shackles and the flogging juts - instruments of torture not too different to those she'd been surrounded with in Harrenhal. She feels sick to her stomach, looks around desperately for a way to get away from the imagery, openly scowling at those looking at them in awe, thinking how much she hates the Capitol and everyone in it.

c) She ends up at the sandpit. At first she watches the smaller children build, but then she finds a spot herself, not caring that she's probably too old to be here. She's at that awkward in between age where she's just too old or just too young. "That's not what a castle looks like," she declares authoritatively, looking at a sand sculpture disdainfully and starting on her own. But just as she's finishing her sand Winterfell the sadness and anger bubbles up in her again, and she smashes it with her fist.

A

[delightable]

Holly finds this Crowning to be the most interesting so far, in terms of aesthetic and whatnot. That says a lot, given how many of them she's been to! But even Holly has her limits, and the one thing about this that she finds the idea of eating insects completely disgusting. It's hard enough when there's a spider in her room and she can't find the courage to kill it, so seeing people just casually eating bugs is horrible to her.

It's hard to hide her look of disgust when she catches sight of Arya munching on them like it's no big deal. "I... er, I don't suppose it tastes like chicken, hmm?" she asks, trying not to sound particularly judgmental as she takes a step closer.

Firo Prochainezo | ota

[foundafamily]

Someone did not take the advice to use the day for sleep and now he's wondering if he might regret that as the party wears on. So he does what any normal person would do and props himself up against one of the less-decorated parts of the wall for a quick nap. He finds himself actually thankful for the bizarre jade and black striped drape thing on his outfit as he tucks it around himself.

Yes, he is managing to actually get some shut-eye despite the noise, but his eyes will snap open if anyone comes too close.

A little later into the night, he can be found flipping through the parables and tentatively poking at the buggy food.

[drinkupmehearties]

Jack will sidle up close to Firo, bumping a friendly shoulder against his to nudge him awake and offering -- or more like handing -- Firo the wine bottle that's in his hand, a grin plastered on his face.

"Cozy, is it?" When Jack indicates, it's clear that he's talking about the comfy-looking piece of cloth (blanket?) draped over the boy's shoulders. Not that Jack could exactly talk -- his stylist had managed to stuff him into a much cleaner version of his old, ratty coat -- and even worse, wash and trim the knotted dreadlocks from his head.

Gary Epps - OTA

[a_minute_younger]

In contrast to his first Crowning, Gary couldn't be happier about being here. It feels, to him, like a proper celebration of a friend's customs--rustic, even a bit exotic with the location and the time, neither of which he minds too much. The cave is expansive but everyone feels so close, and given how confused Gary's felt these past couple of months, being surrounded by so many people all celebrating the same thing is quite calming for him.

But that's all secondary to the celebration proper, of course. Gary was delighted when he was informed of the theme and (testing the patience of his stylist) has decided to go for full immersion, as per Eponine's suggestion. Tonight, Gary is a troll. He's chalked gray, put on claws and a set of pointy teeth, his eyes are gold and his hair is pitch black, with a pair of large, yak-like horns sticking from his head, thick and twisted and dotted with deep red rhinestones for good measure. His outfit is comparatively simple to most Capitol events, dressed in black with rust-colored trim and a heavy, loose hooded robe. Those are definitely the ends of black leggings underneath his sandals. Yes, he's gone there, and yes, he has no shame. The Capitolites don't seem to mind, anyways, and Gary's having fun. What's the harm?

[A - Dancing]

Naturally, the place Gary is going to be for most of this is in the middle of a bunch of writhing bodies that may or may not be dancing to music. Gary's dancing ability has not improved during his time here. This hasn't stopped him before. He sidles up to people without warning, frequently with some type of beverage in-hand, and will happily extend a hand to anyone on the fringes of the floor that looks like they want to be part of the festivities. Otherwise, he's swaying slowly into someone's personal space while warbling nonsense in an attempt to mimic the words of various hymns being played. He's getting kind of alarmingly invested in this.

[B - Sandpit]

Gary doesn't have the patience to make things out of the sand. Most of his time here is spent chasing the tiny lusus imitation and charging into people's elaborate sandcastles when he thinks they aren't looking. It's a little mean, yes, but he's just having a bit of fun--I mean, look at how much he's laughing! Obviously there's no harm done!

[C - Punchy Memorial]

Gary can't convince himself to approach the shrine to his best bro until he's made several separate passes and drank a nontrivial amount of wine, and even though he's told himself that he's ready, finally ready on this go, he really isn't. He spends a lot of time just hovering at the front while he reads the memorial rap, over and over again. It's just not right, he thinks, nursing his drink and rubbing his eyes. Punchy could have made one so much better. Christ, Gary misses him.

Eventually he notices that passing Capitolites have developed a ritual with the bottles nearby. He's just drunk enough to understand the symbolism and find it painfully appropriate. Gary grabs one of his own, drains the remainder of his wine and fumbles open the bottle, holds it over the empty glass. He should. Say something meaningful here, shouldn't he? That seems right. That would be so much easier if Gary didn't feel like he was trying to swallow his own tears.

There's a few false starts, awkward halts and sniffles, before Gary finally burbles, "I'll miss you dude," in the shakiest, smallest voice he can manage. He pours out the drink. Most of it misses his glass.

Then he's sobbing grossly on the floor with a bottle of liquor in his arms. Something should probably be done about this. He's blocking the line.

C

[infinitemayonnaise]

"Uh..." Nitou's not exactly known for his keen emotional sensitivity. He is not a good choice to be helping Gary out over here. "Come on, man, give me that." And he's uncertainly trying to drag Gary away, shooting the people in line behind him a cheerful grin. "Nothing to see here, folks, nothing to see..."

Nill | OTA

[reassures]

Nill got off pretty easy the last time she was at a Crowning, so long as you didn't mind the shackles too much. It wasn't nearly as out there as far as Capitol fashion goes, and that obviously needed to be fixed. Someone must have taken notice of the fact that she likes plants, because they went a little wild with her dress design, regardless of how uncomfortable Nill really looks being stuck wearing it. It also, unfortunately for her, shows off most of her back, and what her stylist decided to do there. The three huge, jagged scars that run over her back and disappear beneath the fabric by her hip have been covered with makeup so that they look like raw, open wounds, as well as the smaller circular scar at the top of her spine. The skin around them has had an impressive makeup-and-latex makeover. It's probably as close as the Capitol could get to imitating the skin of Homestuck brand angels. It fades back to normal looking skin at her sides, so very little of it is visible to anyone looking at her straight on.

Her makeup is much more outlandish than usual too to match her dress, and her hair is done up, with flowers and leaves to match the rest of the dress, all dark colors. There's also a matching handbag, which is just big enough for necessities.

The only thing that doesn't match her outfit is a delicate-looking silver chained, wrapped around her wrist several times, with what looks like a blue locket that has seen better days, and is obviously meant to be a necklace, not a bracelet. She can be seen absently fiddling with it throughout the party.

(a.)
In her time Nill has seen a great deal of odd and not necessarily very normal things. Her own world actually has a few people with horns, or some that look like boars, or any number of other animals. It's a pretty diverse place, though as far as she knows all of them are technically human. But when she's attracted to the small crowd that's surrounding the odd, crab-like creature nearby, she could say with perfect honesty that it's not something she's ever seen before. It's small, but also rather large, and strangely endearing. Maybe she's just unintentionally acquired a thing for crabs. She does try not to get too close, mostly to avoid spooking it, but she has no problem watching for a little while. It's cute.

And it's an excellent distraction from the food, which she's been ignoring to the best of her ability for almost the entire duration of the party. Meat wasn't appealing to Nill to begin with. Having almost everything there made of something that used to be alive is a good way to kill her appetite.

(b.)
There are so many awful things at this Crowning. She's not sure if this one is any crueler than the last she attended - Clara's hadn't had as man depictions of suffering as this one did, but that's because her Crowning hadn't needed them. The chained and cuffed Tributes were enough of a show of suffering and anger, something that everyone had needed to just get through instead of addressing directly. This crowning is on a whole different level.

Nill does her fair share of wandering, seeing how many of the things they have set out are bits that she recognizes, or if there was anything that might actually be good, that might not just hurt to look at.

Eventually, she actually finds something.

The stained glass that Nill reaches to touch with her fingertips is beautiful. It put to shame anything even close within the church she lived in back in her own world. It's rare that Nill finds anything in the Capitol beautiful outside of the plant life and the sky. The things they make just don't appeal to her as often, but this one in particular she finds a spot for in her heart. It's called Alternia's First Mother, and it's beautiful, for far more reason than she could ever go into here.

She still wanders, but periodically through the evening Nill can be seen leaning back against the wall by the image of the Dolorosa and the young Signless. When it gets to be even later, around the time that she can usually be found on the tribute center rooftop at night, Nill can be seen smoking there too, one of the few times that she ever smokes indoors (if this could be considered indoors). Unlike all the other times that she's done it, she doesn't look sad. She switches between standing near the stained glass and standing near the sources of music for most of the evening.

(c.)
The flag game isn't necessarily the most unappealing thing they could be doing, all things considered, but Nill very much wishes that there was a way she could actually participate (since they didn't have much choice) without constantly tripping over her skirt. It's ridiculously hard to get around in when you're supposed to be moving fast, but she does give it a good effort. While she doesn't exactly approve of the general meaning behind the game, she also didn't get to go to the training center today.

And hey, if she wins a necklace then she can add to her extremely meager jewelry collection.

b! finally getting this cr

[weaintashes]

With most of the gathering concentrated near the food and "entertainment," such as it is, that left the outer edges of the — temple? — largely deserted, and meant Daryl would naturally gravitate toward them. The feathery, velvety costume his stylist had trapped him in is fairly low-key compared to what others are sporting, which is a small mercy for him; it enables him to haunt these corners without attracting much if any notice.

In truth, it isn't only a desire to escape the crowd that brings him there. The stained glass windows had drawn his eyes from the moment they'd all been corralled like prisoners into the Crowning, and as he stands studying one, the way the refraction of light through it transforms the scene into something oddly tranquil, he allows his thoughts to drift. It's why he doesn't immediately notice that he's not the only one admiring them up close.

The movement of someone nearby reaching out to touch the glass is mildly startling, but it's easily suppressed as he glances at her. The olive green marks her as being someone from his own district, and he thinks he recognises her from somewhere else as well — someone Beth knows. That's incentive enough to have him turning slightly to face her, acknowledging her presence, but he remains silent in case she prefers to be left alone.

Roland Deschain | OTA

[ka_sera_sera]

For once, Roland hadn't fought the stylists, nor even annoyed them too much. Because this crowning is different from the others; this one is for a friend. It's for a friend, and it has a certain theme. He's got no expectations that Panem is going to take that theme in any direction that isn't painful, but since he knows so little it's best to make as little trouble as possible.

So it isn't Roland who makes his way into the cave so much as a tall, slender seadweller. There're claws on the tips of his fingers, fins on the sides of his face, two tiny fangs and thick, curling horns, even yellow and violet plastic coloring his eyes and(temporarily) grey-stained skin. The outfit's made of that soft, stretchy material the Capitol seems to favor, its only notable features the violet faux-gems swirling around his hips and waist and the gauzy fabric attached to his wrists and to the low back of his top.

The cape is ridiculous, ostentatious, and the gems are downright strange, glued in what he suspects is a web-pattern over the lash-scars that sprawl across his shoulderblades, but once he gets his first glance at this cave he forgets all that. Even abandons his plans to loose that over-the-shoulder braid pulling his hair over to cover nearly half of his face. There are more important matters now than how ridiculous he looks, and having half his vision blocked might almost be considered a blessing.

Roland strides forward, scanning the crowd for a pair of genuine horns and curling, dark hair, but if this crowning's guest of 'honor' needs anything from Roland he is going to have to wait. The crowd conceals him too well, and Roland has to at least appear to take some interest in all this. So he browses.

A.) The books catch his eye first. Or, more accurately, the reactions of the tributes reading them. Roland takes one, flips it carefully open and glances over whoever's parable is written there. He snorts. "This ought to be something," he murmurs, wondering whether to look up his own.

B.) The colored windows he passes right by. Beautifully done as he's sure they are, the trolls whose lives are told in them deserve some measure of privacy. If Signless wanted Roland to know any of this, he'd know it. Instead Roland heads to the table of food and stands there a moment, looking unsurprised and deeply unimpressed. Reaching even for a drink is a risk, because he's sure that worm right there just moved. He moves the his wineglass back toward him and over the worm in question very slowly, frowning.

C.) He'll stroll around the whole place slowly enough to seem interested - catch him anywhere, studying the various displays, sitting at the bonfire not quite looking up at the glowing cuffs, playing their flag game with just about as much enthusiasm as most everyone else seems to have for it - that is, enough to reach out toward other people's flags, but not enough to actually run or dive for them. Shockingly, he won't seem too excited tonight, but he'll seem polite, interested enough to talk and answer questions. If there's no better way to pass this 'celebration' by than endless successions of small talk, he'll take it.

C

[69problems]

It takes Signless several glances at the tall seadweller before he realizes who's under all of that makeup and those only-slightly-pretentious horns. What ends up giving it away is the particular upside-down W curve of Roland's mouth, now painted black and more recognizable than ever. He weaves through the crowd separating him from his quadrantmate and sets a ring-covered hand on his forearm.

"Roland. You look..." He searches valiantly for a word to describe all of that, because the disbelieving laughter he's barely holding back really doesn't do it justice. "... Convincing. All you have to do now is demand everyone grovel and kiss your boots and the illusion will be complete."

Jolie OTA

[reallynow]

As a Capitolite, Jolie is dressed in shades of red and black and has accessorized according to the theme. There's a matching part to her set, since the District 8 Mentor is in a suit with similar shades. Occasionally she'll be hovering around him, but for the most part she's happy to mingle.

This is the last big send off before the Arena, so she will actively seek out her friends and Tributes for fussing and gossiping. Sometimes she'll approach anyone out of the blue and fuss with their outfit, tightening laces and smoothing out jackets. If she gets close enough she'll fix your hair and tut at you.

When she approaches the food table, she crinkles her nose at just about anything and turns away from it pretty damn fast. The people carrying around booze on platters are god sends because she's downed more than a few drinks this evening.

And yet, Jolie is a professional. So if she happens to see a photographer, you can bet she's taking you by the shoulder and swiveling you toward the lens, urging you to smile before blinding everyone in a ten mile radius with her smile.

[belongsontv]

Being tutted at isn't quite what the psychic woman is expecting, though she doesn't protest. The dress Milla is wearing isn't something she'd usually pick for herself. The mixture of black lace with lingering rusty red at the bottom hem is not Milla's prefered choice of color palette.

"Ah- thank you, dear. I'm still getting used to this." She answers in turn with a flash of a smile and gesture at the long trail that lingers behind her. "Usually I just levitate and it helps keep the trail in order."

Psiioniic, OTA

[biiowiired]

Instead of trying to eradicate Signless's story, they'd twisted it. So much more effective than the Empire's ham-handed solution. And here was Psii, dressed in what he now recognized as a parody of his own existence. The draped pants and hood-scarf coupled with gold jewelry [nsfw] filigreeing across his thin, wiry chest were nicer than anything he ever owned as a slave. He even had jewelry slipped onto his horns, decked out like a fucking sea dweller. His tines tingled every time he jerked his head wrong, and he hated it.

His back was bare of jewelry; there were already so many marks on the grey canvas to display. They'd even gone over his skin to accentuate his scars after the usual photo-ready primers. He'd had to keep from clawing their faces off as they deliberately touched the part of his past that whipped and shaped him most painfully. Gold was lightly dusted onto his shoulders; also his forehead, circling around the shadows (both real and brushed) of his eyes, across his cheekbones and down his nose. It contoured, but also called out a soft, skull-like shape, fitting for a prophet of Doom.

A: Food

All this was a slap in the face, but a troll who had suffered repeated humiliations knew how to deal. Psii didn't sink to the ground clutching his horns like a wiggler, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was still under the watchful eyes of his masters. He gave the helm display the widest berth he could, but that only forced him towards the flogging jut, the slave dress-up station, the drone.... Psii kept catching it out of the corner of his eye and flinching. He always expected to be summarily culled for stealing (a slave was property and he'd run away), killing (the wrong people), heresy, insurrection, and avoiding collections.

So he gravitated towards the food, which seemed utterly benign in comparison. The bugs were alright, fancier than anything he'd ever had, even if they lacked the taste of native Alternian species. The marshmallows were great. He wasn't used to the luxury of sweet confectionary delicacies. Lulled into a false sense of food-related security, he popped a spoonful of "grubsauce" into his mouth.

"Bluh!"

B: Wardrobe Malfunctions

He could tell this entire night would be him straining to keep it together. His face—the easiest thing to master, the seat of lies—was stony enough. But his eyes were wide and burning with suppressed pain, daring anyone to look at him and his scars funny. His hands shook, bits of gold jewelry mocking him with every soft clink. His own gaudy outfit helped him to stay in the present, to not lose himself in flashbacks to his days as a slave. Every time he was in danger of spiraling down a dark rabbit hole—

"Fuck!"

His upper half jerked with the sudden yank of jewelry tangled in something or someone. Smooth, Captor, real smooth.

C: Hemospectrum

Even if the stained glass windows or flogging-jut-throne were chillingly accurate, the Capitol had gotten lots of things wrong. For one, no troll could ever remember seeing all colors of the hemospectrum in one place without bloodshed. Forced cosplay united the Tributes in a way Psii hadn't expected. The Signless Psii knew would use this to secretly proselytize, he was sure. He felt he should help somehow, too:

"On actual Alternia, with all thethe colorth here, you'd exthpect there to be thome theriouth bloodshed."

Helping.

D: Dress-up and Cave Writing Displays

He stared at the gaggle of Capitolites in vaguely cultish garb playing slavery dress-up. He wondered if he could throw up and make it look like he'd drunk that stupid nutrition-purging Capitol drink by mistake.... Was this yet another cruel fate tied to one of Psii's dear friends? And the cave writing, what was that about? It rivaled the breadth of Disciple's....

Feeling queasy, he stepped closer, full wine glass in hand. Very carefully, he let it "accidentally" tip onto someone about to try out the display. They shrieked, predictably, and hurried off to clean up. Psii plucked another glass off a waiter's tray with a pained smile that was little more than him pressing his dark lips together around his fangs.

"Thankth tho much. Keep thothe coming, it'th going to be a long night."

E: Scoring Announcement

Psii peeled off the sticker (good job, gold star!) and turned it this way and that, fully expecting there to be poison or a hidden microchip. The number, 10, had no meaning he could discern. It wasn't his current district, score, or age. Certainly it didn't reflect his participation in that stupid flag game, which he'd only played because he was afraid it would have some repercussions for the poor citizens of District 9. Certainly the prizes hadn't swayed him. If he really wanted to wear a necklace with Signless's sign like a besotted douche, he'd ask a stylist to make it in motherfucking mutant cherry red.

He was running various codes through his head when the announcements began to boom. He only had a vague idea about scoring and what it meant, but the sticker slowly crumpled between his closing fingers. He always erred on the side of privacy, but he found he was too late to hide his own sorry golden husk before his score was said for all to hear.

D

[69problems]

"I wouldn't recommend drinking too much of that," Signless said by way of greeting. He had his own half-gone glass of wine but after recently experiencing what it was to be actually drunk it was the only one he planned on having. "You wouldn't want to make a fool of yourself tonight."

He stepped a little closer, jewelry jingling softly as he moved.

"Are you going to be okay, Mituna? Is there anything I can do?"

Hiro - ota!

[hirodynamic]

A

San Fransokyo was no stranger to outlandishness, but The Capitol definitely left it in the dust, Hiro thought. He had never seen a stranger assortment of fashion and decor; every corner seemed to have something new to take in, and he felt both fascinated and overwhelmed. The technology here was beyond advanced, and he worked his mind trying to figure out how everything worked, all the while navigating the small crowds of people, most of whom were much taller than him.

He was dressed in the color assigned to his District, and spent some time around the drone statue, studying it closely, wondering what it was supposed to portray. He also studied the creature on display the best that he could, observing it without getting too close, still trying to piece together this bizarre world he'd found himself in.

"This must be some kind of hybrid," he muttered to himself. Dang, was it cool.

B

Eventually Hiro glanced at the book that everyone seemed to be talking about. He flipped through it until he found a tale he recognized-- At first, at least. It seemed to refer to him and Tadashi, actually, but it wasn't right. It seemed to twist what happened to his brother into some kind of weird lesson, as if it wasn't a horrible thing that never should have happened, and he read the passage until he began to feel sick and closed the book loudly.

He really, really wanted to leave.

B

[69problems]

By now Signless could easily recognize the 'I want to be anywhere other than here' look. He also recognized the color assigned to his own district and, therefore, someone under his care. He wasn't entirely sure what the boy had just read but he'd be willing to bet it was probably both personal and disturbing. He'd flipped through the book himself earlier enough to get the impression that it was the Capitol's usual brand of twisted.

"I'm sorry. I probably should have warned you that you might encounter something like that."

Eponine - open

[gardienne]

Eponine was more than a little surprised when her stylist showed up with the lovely gown for her to wear. She had known that she'd be expected to attend the crowning, of course, but she had thought that she'd be an after thought, or left to her own devices. But no.

(1) She shivers in the cave, looking up at the shackles hanging down from the roof, to the whipping posts. Why are all these things here? Surely not as a reminder to her to behave herself? They wouldn't hijack a Crowning to scare her, would they?

Almost morbidly, she reaches out to touch one of the shackles, biting her lip, concentrating. Who is this Signless? Why are all these things associated with him?
She really hopes that they are only there for decoration.

(2) She hadn't noticed Marius' chair for ages and ages, but when she did, she just stopped. She stopped and thought. How much time had she wasted chasing that man? How much time had she wasted chasing all manner of people - Felicity and Howard and Dave and Eva, yes, Eva - who had ultimately not wanted her? What stupid decisions had she made for people who didn't want her? Why had she risked her life for these people?

She moved over to the chair properly, and sat down in it. She traced her fingers over Marius' photograph. Such a good looking boy. Such a nice, polite, useless fool of a man. She put the photograph face down on the table. She had to move on. She had to get better. She couldn't keep doing this to herself.

"Goodbye!" She suddenly declared. Goodbye to them all.

Cassandra Pentaghast | OTA

[alwaysshielded]

Cassandra had not felt so very much like a doll since her youth. Even in the various event that had required formal dress and some semblance of polite behavior she had been there for a purpose. This? The only part of her current situation and inane get-up she even somewhat approved of at the moment were that the gloves protected her from any direct contact with the masses. She was fortunate in many ways to have not yet stepped foot in an arena, but particularly in that she attracted far less direct attention from the locals. They still wished to attempt speak with her from time to time, but there were no grand retellings of her 'exploits' for her to stomach.

She poured only water to drink and ignored the food- who knew what beyond insects had been put in it. After a cursory inspection of the area in general, she settled by what could only very loosely be called the 'scripture.' Her attention alternated between reading and making sure no one was being assassinated around her. And, of course, occasionally scoffing aloud at the horrible stories in her hand been prepared for them. By the Maker, but these people were worse than Varric when it came to spinning lies.

[dreadinquisitor]

He didn't comment. Not out aloud.

He merely paused when he spotted her, double-taking as his brain caught up to his eyes. Gold. Dress.

Cassandra.

That absolutely required a second look.

But he didn't comment.

He could only raise his eyebrows when she turned. Really? Am I really seeing what I'm seeing?

Philip Gray | OTA

[voiceinthephone]

Just as he dreaded and Jennifer had told him about, Phillip had joined the celebrations and public outings as part of his Tribute duties. He was a man who was used to being a voice in the answering machine or behind the scenes, organizing events for people. As nice a person as he was, he didn't have too many social skills to speak of and even less something so...strange as the Coronation. The stylist tried to work around his lean frame and demeanor, coming up with a cerulean version of some robes, while letting him keep his hair as messy as possible.. It was either that or Dandy's hairstyle and like hell Phil would let that happen. From what he could see from the Trolls, this had bad taste written all over it, a mockery of their history and culture, plus the memorial to a person he hadn't met. But hell hath no fury like the Capitol scorned so when in Rome...

A- Food

How did the Capitolites managed to eat, let alone swallow these dishes was beyond Gray, but he was sure to have some strong alcohol close to wash it down. He was pretty sure he would've offended someone if he spoke his mind. After one full grub (and accompanying glass of wine), Phil decided against trying again and began to talk. Maybe he could find some sponsors, to even the odds. Any tributes or citizens are welcomed to join him though he'd rather just get this over with.


B- Dancefloor

Phil didn't care much for the capture the flag game, and the parable was just tasteless. Somehow, the Capitol managed to spin the murders from his restaurant into how those children gave up their lives for the greater good of the place. He may have slammed the book shut, his face unreadable but his eyes bore a quiet sort of rage he'd use in the arena the next day. Dancing was a sort of medium for any activities and he'd be more than happy to join in, if to feel free again.

A

[a_minute_younger]

From nearby, Gray is likely to hear the soft chanting of "chug, chug" as he drains his glass of wine in a single go, and a few appreciative claps when he puts it down. The teenager egging him on is dressed as a rust-blooded troll, and gives him a thumb up once he manages to catch Gray's eye. He's occupied his other hand with his own glass of wine from a passing Avox platter, and is quick to offer it.

"Twenty Assi says you can't do another."

Jason Compson

[whatisay]

Jason's been trying to get information on whether or not the Tributes should be disciplined for stealing the forties from Punchy's shrine rather than pouring it, but by now he realizes that he's not going to get the answer he wants and he'll have to make do with just making sure none of his Tributes get too drunk to do their mandatory morning workout routine.

Some Capitolites enjoy these parties, but Jason really sees them as nothing but glorified chaperone overtime. Were he able to set his own rates, he'd be charging time and a half for being out late at a place where the only somewhat edible thing he can find is a bag of marshmallows. His mother's already blown up his phone with text messages about how she gets so worried and how she wishes he wouldn't have to drive home after midnight. I know you don't drink, she writes, but that doesn't mean that the other drivers don't.

He hasn't responded to those messages, and has no intent to. If she's going to pretend to get the vapors over his absence, well, she won't be the only one fairly miserable.

He's picking through the food looking for something more substantial than plain sugar, dressed in a plain black suit with only a red corsage to match the theme. Getting clothing specifically in that palette for the event was just not in the budget, and he seems self-conscious about it. Every once in a while he glares up at one of the people passing by, as if it's their fault that he isn't enjoying himself.

[cigne]

Swann had not opted for the whole "black and red and drapey" thing. It felt... dour, depressing, even, particularly compared to her pastel, candy-colored wardrobe of petticoats and sparkles. It made her terribly sad while even shopping for an outfit, and so she went the other direction entirely, shaping herself into a radiant beam of light, like she was made of the sun itself, even with tears painted on her cheek. She breezes through the party with smiles and happiness and pure joy, like she'd rather be nowhere else in the world.

Truth was, she wishes she were anywhere else, because she knows exactly what comes after the Crowning, and even if it's part of her job, she's not eager to send her Tributes into the Arena again so soon.

She's having the same problems as practically everyone else at the food table, and winds up with just a small slice of cake that she holds and eats daintily as she heads for the beverages.

"Jason," she says quietly, sweetly, as he glances up with his ordinary foul expression, though she doesn't really seem to notice that. "Enjoying yourself?"