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

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!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Maybe we'll go out there another time," Stephen says amiably, laughing at the comment about his outfit. "That's more of a dance club, anyway. No offense, but you don't look like much of a dancer."

He hesitates.

"...are you?"

Phil shot a "NO." look at his mentor, "No, I'm not much a dancer, just sway and move in place, n-nothing flashy or something." He wasn't really into the party scene, even before the mess that got him killed in the first place.

"I'd rather enjoy the company, you know?" he added to his answer, as if thanking Stephen for such. Oh what a surprise is in store.

"Don't worry," Stephen says, as the cab pulls up to the curb. "This is one place you won't be expected to dance."

The sign for the place looms twenty feet overhead. Neon lights proclaim it to be The Dancing Bear.

Get it? Get it? Ha, ha.

Stephen may be one of the richest heirs in the Capitol but the look on Phillip's face? Priceless. It's a mixture of amusement, confusion, and maybe a little bit of fear from the club name. Dancing bears didn't have the best association for Gray as he stepped out of the cab.

"Ah..." that sound was Phil trying to articulate words in that moment, "This is, well, this is interesting, yep. Dancing bears, yep. Go up, right? Right."

He sees that look; his grin goes wider.

He grabs Phil by the arm and pulls him out of the cab. "Come on, come on!"

There wasn't much Phil could do at the moment, his eyes glued to the neon sign as he followed the District 6 escort up to the strange establishment. What the hell is going on?!

"So, uh, to c-clarify, there are no dancing bears right? N-no animatronics, right? I-I mean, I figured the sign was j-just an exaggeration and-" Gray's voice stuttered and raised an octave as those were two happy gentlemen coming out of the club, "Okay, that's interesting. Stephen, what kind of place is this?"

Surprise.

Edited 2015-04-10 22:41 (UTC)

"Absolutely none," Stephen replies, clapping a hand to Phil's back and using that leverage to usher Phil into the club.

"It's more about dancing bare."

The bear theme, thankfully, ends at the door. When Phil walks in, he'll see three stages at varying heights, anywhere from a few feet off the ground to nearly twelve feet high. Well -- maybe stages is the wrong word. They're more like antigravity bubbles with poles in them, and glitter floats in coruscating clouds around the dancers, two out of three of which are living up to their club's name; the third one is nearly there.

If Stephen has ever seen a startled dog freeze up at a surprise, that was exactly how Phillip was the moment he saw that display. All the blood drained from his face, and his jaw just fell at the barely lingerie-wearing-never mind. Of course he'd passed by a strip club back home, he wasn't a prude by any way, but he knew better than to get caught in one of these places. He had to be the face of Freddy Fazbear's at all times, drinking and one-nighters notwithstanding. And now, there he was, with his District Escort in a titty bar that ran on equal parts science and sheer audacity.

"Oh ha, ha, ha…I-I get it now," his usual wit was out the door and back at the cab, "Stephen, I really like you as my Escort and I respect you so…why did you t-take me to a strip club? J-Just wondering, you know?" And there's that nervous rattle.

Phil looked so out of his element, even as one of the waitresses passed by him and offered him a drink. He tried his best to keep his nods as far away from catching a glimpse of the miniscule amount of clothing and the assets he saw.

Stephen looks at Phil like the guy's crazy.

"Why? To have a good goddamn time." The duh in his voice is implied.

"Here. I know they don't give Tributes cash, so you can use these." He reaches into a breast pocket and hands something to Phil. It doesn't feel like money, though. It's too small, too hard.

If it's held up to the light, it'll be clear that they're diamonds.

"I'm sure sir," it slipped okay? "I-It's a grand gesture and-" The moment Phil realizes he was given diamonds, he treats the gems as if they were a target. "You can't just carry diamonds like this! I-I don't think they can accept this…Don't you have like, uh, notes?" The poor thing thinks they might get robbed or worse because of these stones. If he's talking faster, it's because he's officially overwhelmed with everything, with the club, the notion of being here and that one of these tiny rocks was worth more than his yearly salary back home.

One of the dancers make a small beckoning motion and Gray quickly shook his head and gave her a sheepish smile. He's not ready for that sort of exposure, on both his public perception and her on a more literal scale.

"Notes?" Stephen says, giving Phil a clueless smile. "You mean Assi? Come on, Phil, don't be so basic. You want to stand out, right?"

He calls up to the dancer who beckoned.

"Hey! Candi!"

She doesn't stop her weird antigravity poledance, but she does turn to look. Stephen tosses a diamond her way; it hits the antigravity field and slows, like it's falling into water, and she bends forward and catches it between her teeth.

Phillip couldn't help the confusion on his face when he was called basic. That word used as an insult was from a time after he died, okay? And standing out wasn't part of his plans for the night!

"I think that's your plan for the night, Stephen," he pointed out and watched the anti-gravity take effect. That was impressive and the Tribute smiled a little more towards the dancer named Candi. Her dancing was hypnotic, slow and skilled in ways he never thought possible. Maybe letting loose wouldn't be so bad, right? He's been closed off for the better part of five years, why not have a little fun?

"I might…I might need a drink for all this," famous last words of Phil Gray's private life.

"Why didn't you say so before?"

Phil will find himself ushered to a low table and into an egg-shaped, futuristic chair that is plush and comfortable and feels like it's too much effort to get out of.

"What's your poison?" Stephen asks on the way there.

"I was too busy trying not to lose my mind, Stephen," Phillip admitted, swallowing down any comments about the usher or anything on that matter. The girls seemed to have fun, but it just wasn't his usual haunt. Not by a long shot but Reagan was trying!

"W-Whiskey, beer, or bourbon, I-I don't wanna -whoa, oh crap, I'm sinking," Gray said as he sank further into the chair and tried in vain to sit up straight. Help, the seat is trying to eat him. And it's winning.

"You come here often?"

Edited 2015-04-26 06:44 (UTC)

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

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