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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He doesn't budge an inch as she tries to tug away the bottle from his grasp, even when it means that his face is wide open to being grabbed at by her. The curt, serious tone of Jolie's voice is familiar enough; she'd used it on him when they had first met and argued about Jack's willingness to perform in the Arena.

At first, his expression is unusually sober when Jolie hisses that bit of information to him. He could take a wild guess that it meant nothing good was in store for the Tributes later on. But Jack hadn't really been celebrating tonight anyway. After all, this entire 'party' was dedicated to commemorating the fact that the Capitol had forced a bunch of people to either get murdered or kill one another. And he'd rather partake in all that he can while he's able to.

So instead, Jack decides to intentionally misread what she says. His mouth pulls into a knowing smirk, any trace of that somber mood wiped clean from his face and replaced with something that was much more teasing. "Am I now. If that's the case, there's no need to fret, luv. I can handle any sort of surprise you have for me perfectly fine, whether three sheets to the wind or otherwise."

For a brief, glimmering moment, it looks like everything Jolie is saying has made it's way through that furry, coconut head. She looks sincerely surprised, as if not quite sure what to do with her success, but she doesn't need to consider that for long. When the smirk pulls at Jack's mouth, Jolie's lips twitch into a frown and she pulls her hand back to smack lightly at Jack's cheek.

"Any surprise I have for you is second to the fact that the Arena is literally hours away, buddy." She frowns, then she betrays herself a little by showing something that is unmistakably sincere concern in her expression as she watches him. "Look, I can walk in a pair of six inch heels while I'm three shots to the wine or whatever, but that doesn't mean I should, right?" She quirks a brow at him, voice low as she half mutters to herself. "I didn't figure it'd be so soon, else I would've said something."

Only a light smack to the face? He'll take it.

The despondency that Jolie's confirmation brings about -- of the Arena being just around the corner, that a messy and painful death was most likely on the horizon for him soon -- only makes it as far as his eyes. His mouth is still spread in a wide, silver-and-gold filled smile.

The concern from her isn't missed, either, and the actual sincerity of it is a surprise in and of itself.

"Perhaps not." The way that Jack says, it doesn't actually sound like an agreement. If Jolie still has a hand on the wine bottle, pulling, she'll feel it when Jack finally relinquishes his grip on it. "Or perhaps I'd rather not wallow in what's ahead." He'd always lived in the moment, all his life, and this time would be no different. His eyes will slip down to the bottle, then slide back up to her. "Care to share a drink, luv?"

Jolie wishes that the brief and vague show of despondency in Jack's expression made it any less frustrating that he's smiling like that, but it does not. She also wishes she could cease caring since he's clearly decided to be a goofy chucklefuck about it all, but she likes him in spite of that. Or because of that, maybe. Variety is the spice of life, after all.

Her hand is still on the bottle because she's wrapped up in the conversation and too stubborn to relinquish it until he does. "Being prepared isn't the same as wallowing." She points out, but now that she's warned him there's not a lot else she can do. If he wants to approach it like this, power to him. She'll reward him if he makes it past the Cornucopia.

She gives pause at the suggestion, looking as if she might say no before she pulls the bottle out of his pocket. "The more I drink, the less you get." She points out, then glances around for a glass. "Don't tell me you're just sucking it down."

He spreads both hands out in response and lifts his eyebrows. "All the same."

Preparation wasn't exactly Jack Sparrow's forte, as the pirate was more the type to fly by the seat of his pants in tough situations like this than sit back and muse over it. Besides that, the damage had been done. There wasn't much more that he could do, now, besides acknowledge the fact that the Arena was closer on the horizon for him than initially expected.

"Aye, that's how it works." His fingers curl to a close, hands dropping away, as Jolie retrieves the bottle from his coat. "I had meself a bottle of it earlier. What of it?"

"And you just drink it, right out of it?" She seems to have trouble processing this, and like most things pertaining to Jack she just can't help shaking her head. "You're like a cross between a hobo and a party girl, you know that? Am I going to get a disease if I put my mouth somewhere yours has been?" This time, she doesn't care about the double entendre. In fact, she is keeping steady eye contact with Jack as she sticks a hand up under the depth of curls in her wig only to pull out a tissue.

"Let's not chance it- Aye?" She mimics his accent, badly, using the tissue to wipe at the opening of the bottle before she glances from side to side and raises it to her lips for a long swig.

When she pulls back, she's pulling a face. "I haven't done that since I was twelve." That is a mild exaggeration.

"Saves on time, so to speak." Because why bother with fumbling around for glasses when he's going to drink the entire bottle anyways. "And aye, so I've been told." Not the 'party girl' part, exactly, which was new, but definitely the former bit about being a hobo.

The other quip receives a light grin from him, then Jack perks both eyebrows upwards as she takes out a tissue from somewhere deep within her wig. He probably shouldn't be surprised she can do that, since more often than not Jolie's hair was either outlandish or huge -- or both at the same time. Instead, the pirate looks one part amused and one part fascinated by the trick. "Oh. Look at that, that must be useful."

And once she's taken a drink from the wine bottle, Jack grins. "Well damn me, she finally loosens up a notch." He hadn't entirely expected her to actually follow through and drink with him, so he looks pleased with himself. Jack extends his hand out expectantly for his turn. "Not so bad, really, is it?"

"Helps when my tributes are slobs, that's for sure." He gets a pointed look as she reaches a hand out to dab idly at his face. Not because there's anything there, but because she's proving a point. After that, the napkin is discarded onto the tray of a passing Avox and Jolie scoffs at him.

"I swear to god, you're the only one who makes me look uptight. What the hell kind of place are you from?" She narrows her eyes at him, so it's hard to say whether she's seriously interrogating him. She is, however, sincere about the fact that she's freer than most Capitol folk. Just. Not by much.

"Tastes the same as it would out of a glass." She points out, holding a hand out to distance him so she can turn and take another swig out of the bottle. She's keeping it out of his reach, she's clearly doing a good job here.

The jab about being a slob receives another smile from him. Besides Capitolites always carrying on about it, Jack does have a little bit of self-awareness on the issue, and so it doesn't bother him at all. "Can't be too prepared, as they say."

He allows her to dab at his face, but immediately wipes the back of his hand against the same spot as if to playfully spite her. Not that his hands were actually dirty, anymore, thanks to a certain Escort. "From a place much less concerned about strict decorum and ridiculous rules." Of course, that wasn't true about the more noble blood that languished -- in sweaty wigs and stuffy uniforms -- around the Caribbean, but Jack wasn't a part of that culture.

He makes a couple attempts to retrieve the bottle from her, unsuccessfully, then quickly realizes what she's up to. "So it does." Jack slips a few fingers around her outstretched hand -- and if she hasn't pulled herself away, draws her perhaps a little too close into his personal space so that the bottle is now within reach. "Come now, dearie, share and share alike."

"Sounds awful." She decides, even if she isn't entirely convinced of that much. Things have been a steady progression of good to crap ever since Jolie started liking Tributes and realising what assholes the Capitol people can be as a whole. It only took her something over 38 years, but she figured it out somehow.

Jolie is pretty satisfied with her booze keep-away, but she should have figured Jack would play dirty. The draw inward catches her off guard, so she moves a little too easily into his personal space with a particularly offended expression keeping her lips agape in surprise. Eventually, she snaps her mouth shut and gives him a bland look. "Careful there, mister." She grumbles, a challenging tilt of her chin as she holds her ground and her precious bottle. "You're lucky you don't smell like salt and arm pits anymore."

"Aye. It's absolutely wretched, no doubt about it." By his tone, Jack is clearly being facetious.

He isn't put off by the offended expression, but looks to be more amused by it. "I've a bit of good fortune, then. Couldn't imagine what sort of reprimand would await from it if I did." He has her wrist gently trapped with one hand, keeping her near him, and the other carefully slides, fingers brushing against her arm, until his hand wraps around Jolie's on the bottle.

The tilt of her chin is met with an incline downwards of his face, closer to hers, still grinning. "Have I told you yet, luv, how well that dress flatters you."

It occurs to him, briefly, that it might not be wise to be doing this -- especially out in the open and during all these festivities. It doesn't stop him from enjoying the game, however.

There is a time in every raging floozies life in which they must consider dignity or the pursuit of something truly enjoyable. Jack is, quite obviously, an acquired taste. It's just undeniable that he's working that swash-buckling, suave, mess of a pirate air that he has about him. It's enough to make her balk for a moment, heavy eyelashes fluttering as she looks truly stunned like a dragged up deer in the headlights.

Then it falters and falls flat, probably into an expression that Jack is more than used to seeing. Perhaps just from different angles. In any case, it's aimed right at him as her brows furrow together.

"Are you seriously laying on the charm for a half drunk bottle of booze?" The sounds skeptical, because their relationship so far hadn't quite made the leap of flirting. The booze is the difference in the equation, thus leading Jolie to believe that he is in fact, a dumbass.

Yeah. It's not the first -- or, no doubt, last of times -- that Jack had ever seen that look cross someone's face. As such, it doesn't faze him much. He's more than used to scorn.

And sure, diverting her attention away from the booze had been a good part of it, but that hadn't been the entire angle that the pirate had been going for with her. It just happens to be what she zeroes in on.

As such, and because Jack can obviously get another wine bottle if it was actually needed, the pirate fixes her with a look. "Clearly." He releases both hands, then holds them away. "If you're so inclined to keep it as such, and not share, then I can go and get another for me own."

The look is surprisingly sobering, considering it's coming from a guy who seems to saturate his very existence in rum and various other alcohols. It's enough to make Jolie a little sheepish for the assumption, but she's too stubborn to admit that she might have crossed the wires there.

Instead, she rolls her eyes and holds her bottle closer to herself, just a little protectively before she yields with a sigh. "Fine, fine. You wanna go in there smelling like you represent every brewery in the Capitol, you be my guest." She holds the bottle out, rim stained with red lipstick. "Just. Don't fall off the platform. They'll blow you up." There's a faint whine to her voice when she nags, but the concern in her expression is sincere.

She relinquishes the bottle, and a triumphant grin slips onto his face. "Much obliged, darling." Even if the pirate didn't drown himself in alcohol here at the Crowning, he'd still most likely, somehow, reek of booze.

He doesn't hesitate to take the wine from her, pointedly not bothering to wipe away the trace of lipstick she'd left on it as he downs the bottle's remaining dregs. Then there's a pause from him when she mentions getting blown up. He hadn't known that, clearly, from the sudden look on his face and the twitch of his lip. "... Aha. Right then, consider it duly noted. I'll do me best not to stray when the time comes."

The approaching bloodbath isn't something the pirate wants to think about, exactly. So Jack lowers the empty bottle to the side, resting his gaze lightly back on her. "I meant it, what I said. You look lovely this eve."

"Yeah, yeah." She grumbles, rolling her eyes when he goes straight for the remainder of the booze. She probably has no right to look put out, but she chooses to anyway. It's the principle of the thing, you see. Especially since he called her darling. Honestly.

She rolls her eyes, but the fact that she's taking her advice is worth at least a small smile. A small smile that grows increasingly wide until she's grinning despite herself, god damn it. She reaches a hand out to give him an affectionate shove, which is probably a little more forceful than she thinks it is.

"Of course I do." She says with enough arrogance to stop the giddy feeling she gets from being complimented. This also means that she needs to act smooth, so she lifts a hand to bounce the curls of her wig to primp them, smirking all the while. "You don't look too bad either, if I do say so myself. Send my compliments to your stylist."

The pirate takes the shove in good humor, grinning freely back at her. He hasn't seen that sort of happiness cross her face all that much since he's met her, because most times Jolie is either spending her time berating him, worrying about something, or rolling her eyes at whatever he'd recently said. Or done.

"Aye, I do cut a strikin' figure, don't I." As if to demonstrate his clear handsomeness, Jack tilts his chin upwards. Then the pirate offers a teasing smirk at the last part. "I might. I'm a touch worried, for all that, as it stands, that her ego'd get the better of 'er."

It seems as if Jack has a disarming quality about him that is super effective. Jolie thinks it's dangerous, and it probably is, but it's a party and they might as well act like it. It is, as he seems to think, far better than worrying about what's to come.

She rolls her eyes when he tilts his chin upward, the expression exaggerated by the thickness of her make up. "Uh-huh." She uses her least convinced tone of voice, but she offers him another small smile. "Well, she has other people to warn right now. So you'll excuse her if she and her ego need to hightail it elsewhere." Which is a really god damn elaborate way of saying she's making the rounds with Tributes this evening.

But she's pretty sure he gets the point, so she steps back when she can and moves off into the crowds.

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The Crowning Of The Signless

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