stripping down to dirty socks [OPEN, OPEN OPEN OPEN]

[capitolprivilege]

Who| Stephen and anyone who wants to react to or be part of that hot mess
What| Stephen being an embarrassment to four generations of Reagans
Where| All over the Capitol
When| Largely after the Arena, though if you want to backdate, be my guest! Just let me know, and be aware that he wouldn't be hammered in public before the Arena end.
Warnings/Notes| Warnings for the kind of things you'd see on ONTD for something on Ke$ha about five years ago. Also, anyone who's been in the Capitol lately will have found out from the tabloids that Stephen has been up to these shenanigans for a while. He has mispronounced his Tributes' names (poor Darcy Lewis), faceplanted onstage during a Flickerman interview (and made a fantastic face), worn utterly outrageous clothes (notes in log), gone off on rants practically unprovoked (but almost never against a Tribute or Mentor), and generally shown his ass but good.

A: Closed to Six and anyone who would be in the Six rooms in the wee hours of the morning

The door swings open, and Stephen stumbles in. His hair is mussed, his clothes are disheveled, and his feet leave behind prints of glitter and grime.

He makes it to the couch, and lands on it face-first.

The hour is somewhere between two and five. Stephen's lost track, somewhere along the line. Anyone who walks in between now and morning will find him lying on the couch, leaving glittery eyeshadow stains on the cushions. Somebody bring him some water, for the love of God.

B: Open and looking for trouble

Being a tabloid-worthy mess was sometimes a lot of work and sometimes completely easy. Tripping onstage with Flickerman had been easy. Getting into fights is hard. Stephen doesn't want to rail at someone from the Districts. Therefore, he's chosen today to wear outrageous clothes and just wait for someone from the Capitol to comment on it.

It could be anything that Stephen is wearing. It might be an outfit made entirely out of feathers. It might be a suit with Caesar Flickerman's face printed all over it. He might be waring pants and a vest made entirely out of tire treads. Distressed leggings, hot pants, a jacket made from what looks like an entire wolf, excessive amounts of layered jewelry, shrink-wrap, lime-green dragon scales, and a baseball cap have all appeared in different combinations, accompanied by liberal amounts of glitter.

You might see him drinking a martini out of a whiskey tumbler with about six olives at eight in the morning and ask him what he's planning to do with his life. Or, you might see him already engaged in a fight with another Capitolite, insisting that his clothes are daring, not ugly, and the hapless citizen just does not understand art, and like, why would you, you know?? Or you might have a completely different reason to approach him. Either way, he's wearing something eye-catching again, and may or may not have someone on his arm.

C: Closed to PG

It's early evening. Stephen woke up a few hours ago. He's had time to clean up, to dress up, to get his makeup on. He's stretched out on the couch flipping through whatever's on his tablet, but he perks up when he hears someone come in the room.

[OOC: let me know if you need more!]

Comments

[capitolprivilege]

He looks like he's thinking about the bolero, considering. Then, he nods. "All right, I trust you. It can go." He'll shrug out of it and hang it on the back of the chair. "But a mimosa sounds perfect. Come on, pull up a chair." He pats the high-top table he's sitting at, and indicates the chair across from him.

[fusshionable]

Porrim holds back the little sigh of relief she wants to let out, watching him shrug off that horrid garment. It's very much an improvement. "Much better," she says instead, choosing to smooth Stephen's feathers instead of ruffling them. With only a little hesitation, she takes the seat across from him, legs crossed at the knee, not bothering to take off the resplendent cropped black mink jacket she's got on.

"So, Stephen, honey...how have you been?" It's only partly a question. She can very much see how he's been. She's just curious as to the root of all this.

[capitolprivilege]

"Better now than I have been," he admits. "It's been a weird six months. Has it been six months? Or is it more like a year since things went south?"

He looks thoughtful.

[fusshionable]

Porrim scrunches her nose, waving a waiter open. "Yeah, I--heard you got into some shit. So now you're, um--"

She searches for an appropriate word. "Spreading your wings? Shaking it off? Saying 'fuck the haters'?"

[capitolprivilege]

"Mmhm," he hums with a nod. "The party-ban's finally lifted, and the Arena's finally over. Two plus two equals four -- I haven't gotten this many event invitations in years."

[fusshionable]

"That's good," Porrim croons. "We missed you, you know. Those parties just weren't the same without your sparkling wit, dear."

She knows all too well how lucky Stephen is to have gotten by relatively unscathed. But she supposes having a brother named Cyrus Reagan certainly helped with that.

Their mimosas are brought back with alarming rapidity and Porrim sips at hers thoughtfully.

[capitolprivilege]

Indeed it does. He closes his eyes, taking the compliment with grace.

"And I missed all of you." There's genuine, if over-the-top, affection in it. "Did I miss anything good?"

[fusshionable]

"Good?" Porrim snorts into her glass. "Hardly. A few drag queen parties. One snoozefest of an orgy."

Literally. She fell asleep. It was that boring. "I'm sure whatever you've got coming up will be far more interesting, don't worry."

[capitolprivilege]

He winces. "Oooh, I am sorry." Drag queen parties were all well and good, but only drag queen parties could lead them to losing some of their sparkle.

That is a shameful state of affairs.

"I could possibly be talked into doing something about that myself," he says thoughtfully, toying with his mimosa-glass.

[fusshionable]

Porrim waves a hand, and then pauses. "The orgy? Oh, no, darling, that's far beyond your help."

She smirks, well aware of what he'd been referring to. "But if you're thinking of throwing a party, well, I can only offer my full support of the idea. We need it, if you ask me. People are getting more boring by the second around here."

[capitolprivilege]

He chuckles appreciatively at her first comment.

"Well," he says, a playful look on his face, "I'll turn my mind to the problem. We'll see what I come up with."

[fusshionable]

"Let me know if you need any help, sweetie." She chuckles. "It's been awhile since I've played co-host. It might be fun to stir up a little trouble together, no?"

[capitolprivilege]

"I can't think of anyone better to do it with," says Stephen, raising his mimosa to her.

[fusshionable]

Porrim snorts, clinking her glass against his softly. "Phrasing."

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen snorts. "Don't be filthy."

[fusshionable]

"Me?" She laughs, throwing her head back. "Never, honey."

This isn't so bad. Stephen's problems or no, it's sort of nice to just sit and drink and shoot the shit. And maybe scheme. She's glad she came down here today.