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!]

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"Oh, Texas?"

That seems to make her frown even harder, like Texas is somehow more offensive than the idea of voluntarily eating bugs. She doesn't even notice as she takes a step away from Dave, shying like he's about to hit her or something.

"Like Joel is from Texas."

The reaction perplexes Dave, because most people either don't know what Texas is or associate it with near satirical depictions of cowboys with hats bigger than their self esteems.

He purses his lips, the question slipping before he really thinks about it. "Who the hell is Joel?" He asks, then he very vividly recalls his only conversation with the man over one of those anonymous posts. He threatened to kill him, Dave's memories are not fond. "Oh, that assclown? He was banished from Texas years ago. The King thought he was a real dick so he sent him packing. There were parties in the streets for weeks, songs were written and children walked the streets unafraid of his weirdly abrasive and defensive attitude."

Swann listens to Dave's story, and seems a bit more emboldened by it, returning to straight posture and no longer shrinking away from him in fear.

"Really?" she asked, because she doesn't know anything about Texas except that Joel is from there and Joel is mean. But even if he's mean, she has an obligation to represent him to Sponsors, and a new image is forming in her mind, taking Dave's story and running with it, turning Joel into a grumpy desperado of an outlaw, spitting at people and refusing to kowtow to the grand and mighty King of Texas.

It's sellable, at least.

"Well, I'm glad not everyone is like him. He was very mean to me, and I just wanted to help him! He didn't even like the presents I brought, and I'm pretty sure he never even tries the muffins I bring in for breakfast."

Briefly, Dave worries about what might happen if word gets back to Joel, but he chooses to focus on being relieved that she isn't shying away from him anymore.

"Definitely." Definitely not. "Texas is a peaceful place, everyone dances and holds hands. Nothing makes a Texan more happy than a ridiculously big hat, either. So if you're looking to quell his unholy rage, that's definitely a start." He shouldn't use her to piss Joel off, but he has grown listless without the internet as a means to fuck with people.

He shakes his head when she tells him her story of woe, wishing he could commiserate with his own but knowing it's confidential. Can't go citing Lonestar posts, can he? "Ingrates, right? He should be so lucky that his Escort brings him muffins. If mine brought me muffins I.." He trails off, then thinks really hard about whether he'd eat anything Cronus gave him. "Well, he wouldn't. But you look like the sort of person with sincere muffins of kindness and not muffins of ulterior motives."

"Oh, I'll have to let Jolie know, she can get right on that."

Swann is beaming, which of course means that she's taking Dave's words right to heart.

"I try to bring breakfast in, so everyone can start the day off right. But if I have an early meeting, then sometimes I do a sundae bar in the afternoon, but a lot of the time, the ice cream just starts to melt, so I have to put everything away. We have a lot of ice cream in Eight, if you'd ever like to come down. And every color of sprinkles."

"Definitely, drag queens love hats. The bigger the better." He can say this because his Stylist is a drag queen, although he's not wearing a big hat and he never has either. This is, of course, irrelevant.

Dave mouths the words sundae bar after her, as if she could not be more attractive in every sense of the word. She's so out of his league it's painful, but that doesn't stop him from silently acknowledging that a pretty girl offering him ice cream is a Good Thing.

"Your Tributes have no idea how lucky they are." He says with certainty, because people like Joel don't tend to appreciate great things like free ice cream. "Really?" He sounds a little suspicious, a brow arches over his shades when he asks. "You wouldn't mind some treacherous District Nine refugee eating Eight's food?"

"Oh, thank you! You're really sweet."

Clutching the sides of her skirt, she bounces on her toes a little, wrinkling her nose as she keeps smiling, shining like the sunbeam she's dressed up as.

"Of course I wouldn't mind! If my Tributes are too busy, or don't want to eat the things I bring, then someone should, right? I even got sprinkles shaped like dinosaurs last time, but all my Tributes are kind of... um, into the macho thing? So mostly I just sat alone at the table and made a green dinosaur chase a blue one."

She mimes it with her fingers, then smiles a little sheepishly.

"The green one was a T-Rex."

The pink of Dave's face increases ever so slightly when she pays him a compliment and bounces around like that, his mouth pulling to the side as it threatens to smile without his permission.

"Right, right." He nods along, trying not to look visibly interested in the prospect of dinosaur sprinkles. In fact, when she brings up the fact that her District is Macho, he reclines ever so slightly against the wall so he can fold his arms over his chest. "I mean, I've been known to partake in the whole macho thing myself. Like. Near constantly." He shrugs, raising the back of his hand to his nose so he can wipe at it in a totally casual and manly manner.

"My favourite dinosaur is the pterodactyl." She didn't ask. "Did you know sharks are as old as dinosaurs?" She definitely didn't ask.

She does giggle a little at his attempt at 'macho', but she's never indulging him, because she immediately looks really fascinated by his dinosaur facts. Genuinely interested.

Which is maybe surprising.

"But they aren't dinosaurs! But you know what is a dinosaur? Hummingbirds. They're considered dinosaurs, and they're some of the smallest things around! It makes you think twice about them, you know? But I always liked the smaller dinosaurs, a lot of the time they were way more dangerous than any of the big ones. Most of the biggest ones were herbivores anyway!"

"They're totally dinosaurs." He says a little defensively, even though he's suddenly aware he just goofed by messing up his prehistoric knowledge in front of this cute girl. So much for that paleontology degree, eh champ?

"Hummingbirds are metal, man. I wouldn't mess with something that could turn my eye into a hors-d'oeuvre like it was no big deal." Says the guy who wears sunglasses all the time. You can never be too prepared for hummingbird attacks. "I dunno, I mean Godzilla wreaked some havoc on Tokyo, but I guess that's just one of those second rising of the dinosaur things." He shrugs his shoulders, adjusting his coat so he isn't flashing too much chest at her.

Edited 2015-02-24 06:01 (UTC)

"Oh but hummingbirds wouldn't hurt you!"

She's insistent, but then he keeps talking, and Swann immediately looks confused, her brow knitting up while she tries to suss it out. "Um, what's a Tokyo?"

"Someone used to say spiders are more scared of me than I am of them, but in my first Arena I almost became a buffet for those furry-legged fucks."

He sounds like he adamantly believes himself, but he'll drop it there to continue gently trolling her. "It's a place. Like the Capitol, or Texas. It's in a country called Japan, plagued by random dinosaur attacks. Something to do with pollution, probably. I'm surprised we don't see more around here." He glances upward vaguely, as if expecting one to rip open a roof at this very moment.

She looks up too, almost entirely out of reflex.

"Then why does anyone live there? The Capitol is very clean, you know. We use lots of renewable resources and energy! Even with Twelve's coal mining, Panem doesn't have a problem with dinosaurs. They're all dead, actually. Is it hard, to be from a world where dinosaurs are still stomping around? Oh, oh, do you have to run from them? What kind do you have in Texas?"

Dave should probably feel bad about how truly fascinated she seems, and how whole-heartedly she believes him.

"Necessity, I guess." He shrugs. He might feel bad about it, but he doesn't really see the harm. He isn't doing it to be vindictive because she's Capitol, he just likes to generate interesting stories that come back around to himself. "Other than that Japan is a hella fly place to be." He says knowingly, despite never having visited.

"The only dinosaurs we had in Texas were called Joel." He says, with a nose crinkle for that name. "Other than the little raptors, I guess. We call them Yoshi. It's a Japanese thing, kind of a throwback to the dinosaur Capitol of the world."

"Oh, how little are they? Can you keep them as pets? Do you walk them on leashes and dress them up? I have a dog, but that's not as neat as a tiny raptor would be."

She grabs Dave by the sleeve and pulls him toward a table, so that she can sit down in a puff of tulle skirts and look up at him attentively.

"What else is in Texas? I need to know about it, I can really use this stuff!"

"God, yeah. Everyone has a yoshi. If you can catch them, anyway. Those fuckers run fast- and the tongues. Man. They could pick up checks with those weird-ass, sticky tongues."

He sort of laments the fact that this is a lie, because now he'd do anything to keep one. Suddenly, he's being pulled. It takes a bit of footwork not to fall on top of her with his wobbly legs, but he clatters into a chair next to her and feels the pressure of that question.

Make it good.

"We're very traditional in Texas. There's a round table for the King with his Knights of the Confederate states. Firepits everywhere, we spitroast all of our animals. The clothing of choice is big hats, vests and chaps. Boots too. The colour of your boots maketh the man is a pretty popular phrase." He taps his chin thoughtfully, then points at her. "Everyone in Texas is a trained fighter. Swords, lances and guns. We all ride horses and smack each other around on a daily basis."

She looks utterly absorbed, taking mental notes and formulating ways to work all of this into her newfound campaign for Joel. She wonders if she can get Dave to draw her a yoshi, so that she knows what the graphic artists have to put in the pictures.

"What colors are good boot colors?" she asks. "What do the colors mean? When you say that Texans "smack each other around", in what way do you mean? It sounds like a really interesting place!"

There's something about her interest that makes him feel both guilty and encouraged. How can he stop talking when he's being listened to? That's crazy talk.

And of course, he would absolutely offer his artistic skills to the table if asked.

"Red, obviously. Bold. Manly. Orange- uh. Hot. Sun. We like the sun, us Texans. We'd live on it if we could." He circles his hand through the air as he elaborates, then he drops it in a vague attempt to look serious. "Look, I'm gonna be real with you. The King of Texas is here. He's my brother. I'm the Prince. The Prince of Texas. That's why Joel hates me." He's going to hell.

It's only now that she starts to look a bit skeptical, and even then, only because she's actually pretty good at her job.

"Wait... if you two are the King and Prince of Texas, then why aren't your Escorts promoting you that way?" she asks, brow furrowing as she sits back a bit. "Your brother is in Six, right? Stephen wouldn't skip over having a king in his District. It's too easy to sell, he'd have endless Sponsors."

Okay, she makes a good point. Luckily, Dave would have passed drama with flying colours if it were all about improv. It wasn't, and he was a tree in every play, but destiny isn't paved so easily.

He raises a finger to his lips so he can shoosh her, urging her to take the volume down a notch. "We like to keep it on the down low. Mutually. It's not that we think it'd get exploited it's just.. Texans are very. Humble. And this kind of thing separates us from the everyman. We might stop getting invited to barbeques." He says that gravely, leaning down a little so Swann can see the tops of his red eyes.

"I told you because I felt like I could trust you. Am I right?" He's going to hell.

"Barbeques..." she says softly, repeating it like it's the most important word in that sentence. She also isn't entirely sure was a 'barbeque' is. She imagines a party with jesters and spurs and cacti everywhere. Decorative cacti.

But then her eyes widen, and Swann can't help but to fall into that trap, because people's love and trust and being needed are all she ever wants, ever. "Oh, oh yes! You can!"

"Barbeques. Meat pits. Coal walking and cow biting." He elaborates, as if sensing that she doesn't quite understand it so he feels he ought to help her. He isn't lying to be malicious, but he feels a little bad. He figures he'll make it up to her with friendship or something, so he almost smiles and it's almost sincere.

"I knew it. Gut feeling." He pats his stomach to illustrate his point, then casts a glance over his shoulder and back to her. "I should head back into the front lines so I can appear in my quota of photos for the evening." He moves to stand, holding out a hand in case she wants to stand to, because he's figured out being chivalrous earns him a world of brownie points here.

"All right," she says, taking his hand automatically and standing up. "It was very nice to meet you, Dave. Thank you for teaching me so much! It's really helpful, honestly."

She needs to figure out what 'cow biting' could possibly be.

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The Crowning Of The Signless

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