thecapitol | The Crowning Of The Signless

The Crowning Of The Signless

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!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Roland's tolerance for being laughed at, already fairly high, is even higher now. Especially from this particular source, on this particular night. To first see those cuffs glowing above the bonfire, see Signless' life and death pressed into beautiful colored glass for all to gawk at, and then see Signless here in front of him and in good humor - well, if Roland could keep the joke going, he would. It doesn't really surprise him that he can't think of any reply that would do it.

"There will be groveling tonight, I think," he says, stepping in closer to put a hand on Signless' back and leaning down to kiss the base of one gold-capped horn. "But I don't think it'll be from me. How are you doing?"

"Of course you won't be groveling, highbloods don't--" he starts, but breaks off at the kiss to his horn, a bright red flush coloring his cheeks. It's a surprisingly affectionate gesture for such a public space but if Roland feels like being affectionate he doesn't plan to deter him. Anything to make getting through the rest of this night easier.

"I'll be alright. This is nothing new to me." He sets a hand on Roland's waist, glancing up toward the shackles. "Though some of it I could have done without."

"Mm." Roland follows Signless' glance, not because he doesn't know well already what's up there but just to acknowledge it. Better that than ignore the damn things and let their presence fester. That done, Roland turns his attention back to Signless' reddened face. He frowns.

"Should I not have done that here?" he murmurs, leaning close enough that his false fins brush against Signless' face, so his voice is caught only in those pointed ears and goes no further. "Thought you said horns were a chaste spot..."

"They are," he responds, the corners of his mouth twitching as those gauzy fake fins tickle his cheek. He's never had a seadweller this close to him, fake or otherwise, but he really should have expected that the fins wouldn't keep to themselves.

"That doesn't mean it isn't a romantic gesture in certain contexts, and one I wasn't necessarily expecting from you, but I don't mind."

"Hm." Roland's hand moves down to rest over the small of Signless' back. Romantic isn't precisely what he'd intended but if the goal is to distract Signless from the Capitol's version of 'honoring' their newest victor, he can work with it.

"In that case," he says, still speaking quiet and moving only the most minute distance from Signless' ear, "how much romance do you think we could get away with, here in front of everyone?"

"I think that depends on exactly how public you're comfortable with our relationship being," he replies.

The Capitol viewership certainly already knows if the gaggle of well-meaning but incredibly strange fans they encountered earlier means anything, but there is a difference between something being common knowledge and something being public. One will involve a lot more smiling and performing for cameras, if his impression of relationships here means anything. He could understand not wanting to be a part of that.

Roland's thoughts go in a different direction. Security, rather than showmanship. "Too late to make sure no one knows to use this against us," he says, finally straightening but keeping his voice low and his hand in place. "And if it wasn't, that color in your face certainly helped."

His expression's light, a little more teasing than serious. What they have stopped being a secret a long time ago, if it ever had been.

His face -- his stupid, treacherous face that has always shown his emotions far too plainly -- only darkens with a fresh burst of red.

"Then there's probably no point in trying to hide it." He thinks he might like that better anyway. He's lucky enough to have this one good thing and he doesn't want to have to pretend he doesn't.

"If that makes trouble we'll deal with it when it comes."

"So we will," he agrees, still studying Signless' face intently. The come-on hadn't had any effect, so he drops that idea. Mentioning that blush had, but that's a thing he can only do once. Another tactic, then - something that'll distract Signless, if only for a little while.

"Dance with me," he decides, straightening and taking a small step in the direction of that nearby open space of floor. He has not yet moved his hand from Signless' back. "Do you lead, or follow?"

"Follow, and not terribly well. We never got as far as leading when my mother tried to teach me more formal dancing."

He really isn't suited for the Victor's title. He isn't graceful and he isn't suited for social circles more cultured than a crowd of downtrodden lowbloods. The kind of dancing he's good at is the kind done around fires in the desert to improvised instruments, not the kind done on glittering dancefloors.

"I'd like to dance with you anyway, if you're willing to be patient."

"'Course." He starts backing toward the dance floor, trying to keep an eye on where he's going but moving mostly on pure confidence that anyone in his way will know quickly to get out from it. "I don't doubt you'll make a fine student."

"Your hand on my shoulder," he starts as he walks, trying to tug at Signless' left hand to show it the position. "Pay attention to that; I'll be using it to show you how I'll be moving next. If any of this sounds familiar, speak up; I don't know how much your mother taught but I'd like to dance one of your own dances with you, if we can manage."

"So far it's what I know," he says, letting his hand settle where Roland directs it. This wouldn't feel quite so strange if Roland were wearing one of his usual simple shirts instead of the purple monstrosity the Capitol's put him in. Signless keeps wanting to smooth his fingers over a collar that isn't there.

"Hand on your shoulder, your hand on my waist. There's turning, I remember, though not the exact steps."

The Dolorosa had let him stand on her feet to get the feel of it (and probably to keep his height from becoming too much of an issue) but he feels confident he won't need that here.

Roland obligingly settles a hand over Signless' waist, clasping their other two together. Awkward with all those rings - he's very used to the feeling of Signless' fingers linked with his, but he's used to it without all that hard metal in the way. He readjusts his grip a couple times and then cocks his head toward wherever the nearest source of the music seems to be, expression wry. "Might not matter if you've forgotten the footwork."

His hand rises briefly from Signless' waist to the back of his head, trying to gently suggest the man look downward. "Follow my feet. Though, if something occurs to you that fits the music better, I'll follow instead."

The music tonight is at least suited to slow dancing. It's quiet, all strings and bells and the occasional gentle piano, and not half-bad for waltzing to. Signless settles his cheek (the one that doesn't have a chain hanging across it) against Roland's shoulder so that he can look down without it seeming quite so awkward. The repetitive sequence of steps comes easily after a few turns.

"Where did you learn to dance?" he asks. Not that he's one to stereotype, but it's hard to reconcile the concepts of 'Roland' and 'ballroom dancing'.

"Oh, some tutor or another," he says, more focused on the presence Signless' body in front of his, on watching the two of them move together, than on old facts that seem to him entirely unremarkable. Easy topic to drift into, though, and he lets himself do it. "We all had to learn by about... Ten or so, I think, was when the 'prentices were expected to dance with all the other lords and ladies' children. It was... Aileen, that's it. Aileen for me, at least according to our parents."

"Though, you've been dressed up more than she ever was," he says, and lifts a hand to brush a fond thumb along the trail that chain leaves across Signless' face. One hell of a risk, that thing. Thankfully a place like this isn't likely to involve many fights.

Those few sentences tell him quite a lot of things, and most of them are things that surprise him. Not that it alters his impression of Roland any but it does inform it in ways he never would have inferred without being told. Perhaps the courtly violet is more fitting than he'd previously thought.

"I don't think anyone has ever been dressed up this much," he says absently. And then:

"You were a noble?" It's a little difficult to keep the surprise out of his voice, and he'd feel bad about that except that it is perfectly justified surprise. It strikes him what that must mean about Cuthbert. Good lord.

He raises his eyebrows at the surprise, then thinks briefly about it. He shrugs a shoulder. "Gunslingers were always a little separate from the rest of the nobility, but yes. Why d'you ask? Don't you think I look the part?"

Roland gives Signless a couple seconds in which to observe Roland's expression, innocent as can be, then dips him. Don't you dip people in the middle of a waltz? Well, maybe they do in Gilead. No one here would know.

"I -- ah!"

If you do dip people in the middle of the waltz Signless doesn't know about it, or at the very least isn't expecting it. His jewelry jingles and his cloak and scarf make a soft 'flump' noise as they brush the floor. Miraculously his crown of thorns and gilded flowers stays right where it is.

"Now more than ever with those fins," he says once he gets his feet back under him (metaphorically). "Though purple eyes don't suit you as well as the blue."

Edited (fixed some phrasing) 2015-03-06 20:17 (UTC)

Once Signless is done speaking Roland straightens them both and doesn't stop moving for a second, letting go of the hand on Signless' back and lifting their clasped ones to pull them around toward the back of Signless' head. And if trying to spin your partner, meaning to fling them out to the full extent of your arm and then swing them back in, isn't precisely part of a waltz either? Try telling Roland that.

Or maybe it isn't a waltz anymore. Maybe the best way to distract Signless from the rest of this place is to take the dance to places he might better recognize, or at least ones with a little more passion in them.

"I'd take 'em off", he says once the spin's ended one way or another, "if I thought I'd get away with it. Though one stylist did say she'd make sure I got this all back, for your sake." He gives Signless a dry, commiserating look, because he's sure they both know how stylists are. If think they'll get some tasty bit of gossip out of a tribute, especially about sex, they are going to try and do it. "You may be seeing these eyes again, if she does it."

If it isn't a waltz anymore, the Signless doesn't seem to be bothered. This is dancing more to his taste. Exuberant. Fun. An expression of joy and less a strict following of steps. Roland's plan to distract him, or at the very least to make him happy, is working.

More distracting is the idea of this seadweller costume becoming a permanent part of Roland's wardrobe. Not that he makes a bad violet, but...

"For my sake? I like you fine as a human -- not that the fins aren't very handsome, but I can't imagine why you'd have cause to wear them outside of tonight."

Carefully sidestepping the implications there. Yep.

"Hm." Roland eyes him a second, then decides to let him get away with it. Hell, this whole night is designed to pry into each and every facet of the man's life. That's why Roland's up here dancing in the first place. Let Signless have the pretense that these vultures aren't trying to pry right into his bedroom, too. At least for tonight.

"Who can say?" He shrugs and sways to the beat a second, still making waltzing motions with his feet. But, as has been determined, this really isn't a waltz sort of evening. "Come, Signless, teach me something. You lead, I'll follow."

It usually wouldn't bother him -- he's very used to his love life being nebulously public -- but he doesn't quite know how he feels about the idea of pailing a highblood. Even a fake one, and even only vaguely implied. There's something about the idea that makes his stomach ... well, not disappear exactly, just kind of get up and attempt to tiptoe away. It's a something he doesn't want to examine (at least not now) and so he isn't going to.

"I'm afraid there isn't anything I know that you haven't already done," he admits, ears drooping apologetically. "The way I'm used to dancing doesn't rely so much on steps as on slightly faster music and slightly less need to not make a fool of oneself."

He's fairly certain if he danced how he's used to dancing he'd trip over his own cape and send his crown flying into the crowd. He needs to make a good impression now more than ever, because he won't have an arena to escape to if things go sour.

Edited 2015-03-21 02:16 (UTC)

His eyes glance over the angle of those ears - handy, those, sending clear signs of emotion even to a species like humans who have no real reason to be able to read them.

"You'll have to show me then," he murmurs, running a reassuring hand down the curve of Signless' back. "Later. For now, only stay here a while." Here, away from the mockery this place has made of Signless' life and his losses, from the constant scrutiny and ceaseless attempts by this place to wear them down. Only for now. Only for this little while longer. "Move with me."

Edited (open edit, insert drama) 2015-03-23 15:29 (UTC)

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The Crowning Of The Signless

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and... end?