thecapitol | The Crowning of Tony Stark

Entry tags:

The Crowning of Tony Stark

Who| Everyone.
What| The Crowning of Tony Stark.
Where| The New Capitol Stark Expo!
When| Friday, late afternoon into the evening.
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, so no funny business.
WARNINGS| Alcoholism / References to Alcoholism.

The Capitol might be known for its extravagance, but Stark Expos have never skimped on a show. Combining the two together could only be a recipe for the most wild indulgences. The center theater takes styling after a arc reactor, with glass ceiling and glowing blue lights set right within the metal and putting a glow to the sky. Lightshows go off on the main stage, the stark logo overhead and a massive screen displaying the Panem flag and Tony Stark's image just behind the dancing Ironettes. A circle plattform going off from the stage, clearly reserved for the guest of honor, features a design Panem's bird in red, gold, and glowing blue.

A globe is featured in the outside gardens, showing off a map of Panem, and the park is filled with artistic statues of destroyed Iron Man amror. But there's no quiet here, not with the fireworks going off all night and the consistent playing of music that is not but sounds an awful lot like that of Daft Punk, Eifel 65, ACDC, and one other song that breaks them up.

Various shows can be found about the gardens, including display models of some of Tony Stark's old weapons and Iron Man suits. Further along guests may find the Avengers display, featuring large portraits of the Avengers and their allies, large red x's going over greyed out portraits of those deemed dead, including Phill Coulson, Natasha Romanoff, and Thor. Along with these portraits can be found the Stark family tree, featuring the Victor Tony Stark and all his relations including apparent son Dave Strider, and Arya Stark, Ancestor of the Stark family, not to mention the great Howard Stark who's accomplishments (and tragic lack of care for Anthony) are lovingly illustrated. One such accomplishment being a "flying car" just a short walk over.

There's plenty for guests to do besides just ogle the brilliant sights however! A bar has been set up with a whole variety of drinking games available from Sink The Battleship and Drink Roulette to an extravagent variation of the classic game, Beer Pong, and an ongoing run of the Games with rules of drinking for each emotional scene, funny incident, or death. Those under the age of eighteen will be served fizzing juice or soda instead and can participate in junior versions of the very same games. All the cups are made from the finest glass with Tony Stark images over them. Avoxes are on scene to clean every spill and break of glass that might come.

A cave has been crafted of artificial and real material, designed to look like the Cave in which Tony Stark became a real hero, but with a twist; it's been made into a fun-for-all maze! Guests can attempt to navigate their way to the labyrinth and reach the core, avoiding those nasty pop-out rebels along the way. Those who make it to the fire-lit center may receive a limited edition "Tony Stark Heart" miniature arc reactor in a beautiful glass case.

An indoor sky diving station is also available, large enough that many guests may enter at once and still find it spacious. Here, guests can don Iron Man themed sky-diving suits and experience the sensation of flight, just as Tony Stark once did. Of course, the party doesn't start until the Victor comes in; he'll be appearing by Capitol-controlled suit to make his entrance at center stage. It is here that his Throne shall be raised up through the stage and his crown gifted to him. Following the official Crowning Ceremony will also come a speech from the Capitol's very own, Cyrus Reagan.

Tributes are dressed in formal wear with robotic accents. Such as a full mask or metal armor. Capitolites can be seen with Tony stark styled hair, bearing tattoos in his image, and even with surgically implanted lights, in honor of the new Victor. Available for purchase are handcrafted Tony Stark dolls, Iron Man action figures, and models of beloved robot-pet "Dum-E" in both small and life-sized. The Iron Man light gloves come completely free for all guests.

The Crowning ends off with a bang, as in the center of the sky, a massive "wormhole" opens up showing a vast darkness full of sinister creatures just on the other side, sure to inspire some screams from fans. Guests near to the Iron Man suit displays are asked by peacekeepers to step back-- far back-- but may be the first to witness the incredible scene of all those suits launching into the sky and exploding around and "in" the wormhole. The wormhole shifts to a message stating the show to have been brought to you by the Hunger Game's skilled Sky-Display Designers before going into advertising for the rest of the night as the party dies down.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Firo’s impressed. Somehow, they managed to make this Crowning even worse than the previous one. He doesn’t shy away from a party, but the parties back home didn’t have this much noise. Or light. Or weird contraptions everywhere.

He wouldn't mind his suit so much if it weren't that loud Iron Man red and dotted with light-up "wires"--it's the silly helmet he’s stuck that's a problem. He keeps it tucked under his arm and, over the course of the night, just might try to ditch it on a bar stool.

He can be found wandering the area, hovering mostly around the drinks and Roulette, watching casually rather than participating. A particularly observant person might notice that his eyes tend to focus more on the players than the game.

At some point during the night, he might glance over at a nearby person and wince, “How the hell’re these people not deaf yet? And people back home said jazz was bad for you.”

You future kids and your loud music.

Jazz isn't a word Éowyn understands, but she gets the gist of it, and nods with a rather wry smile. "Your guess is as good as mine," she answers sincerely, touching her own ear rather self-consciously. "I have heard great battles pitched with less racket than this."

Sighing, she sips at her drink. She's relented on the alcohol, although she's carefully keeping her consumption down, unwilling to cloud her mind in a place so full of enemies; quite a long way into the night, she's still on her first glass of wine. Her feet ache from the high heels, and the metal corset of her dress is starting to dig in.

"How much longer do these affairs usually last?" she asks him after a moment, in a slightly lower voice.

Firo, on the other hand, has already downed a couple drinks and is slowly but steadily working on his third. It hasn't done much to make his mood less sour.

Her talk of battles immediately has him curious--it'll be a long time before women are in the military in his world, but he's sure there are other ways to get experience. He answers her question first, though, smiling wryly.

"Way too long. Last one went on until morning--nobody got to leave." Considering her question means she wasn't here for the last one, he's quick to add, "And just to warn you, last time they threw us into the Arena right after it ended. Apparently that doesn't happen a lot, but..."

He shrugs. Better to give her the warning than to get too complacent.

"Truly, I might almost welcome it." She pinches the bridge of her nose, cursing herself quietly for saying that, and shakes her head. "I mean only that I am sick of this inaction, of waiting and primping and never seeing the sky. Not that I would welcome it for itself." Well, that isn't really much of an improvement on what she originally said. Sighing, she takes a sip of her wine and frowns. "Then again, to be sent out to battle half-deafened and exhausted from such a night as this... I should not have thought it gave even such bloodthirsty savages much entertainment. Or is skill something they hate as much as freedom?"

She hasn't drunk enough to excuse her sharp tongue and incaution. But this party is grating on her nerves enough to let her slip.

While Firo doesn't relish his return to the Arena, he holds his hand up and nods. "Nah, I get it. Trust me, nothin' about this place is a picnic."

At least in the Arena, he didn't have to think too much about the pretension of the Capitolites. Just interacting with those people is enough to make him nearly bite his tongue off.

Though there's no trace of happiness in it, he grins. It feels good to listen to someone who's not kissing up to their captors. "You know, I'm startin' to think it is. They throw in kids and people who've never been in a fight before in this thing and call it a show. It's like throwin' a three-legged dog in with a bunch a' trained ones."

"Or perhaps more like setting a terrier on a sackful of rats." Éowyn has never held with bloodsports, considering them a shameful waste of good animals, but that doesn't mean she isn't aware of them. After all, even in civilised cities, such low entertainments are fairly commonplace. "The point isn't to watch the rats die, but the dog. To see skill brought down by sheer force of numbers. Perhaps to those without a heart to feel, we are akin to such sport." She grimaces a little, taking another sip of wine as if that will clean out the bitter taste of her own thoughts. "But true battle is bloody and harsh enough. To see it so parodied, with pomp and circumstance... well, perhaps on that matter, I should hold my tongue, lest I cause myself to lose it." Because there is no way she can restrain herself, if she lets herself into full invective flow on the subject.

"Let us speak of other things," she suggests, instead. Then, with a rather dry smile, "That is, if we can hear each other speak over this noise."

He growls his agreement. "These people've got no idea what the hell they're talkin' about." He's so sick to death of getting 'advice' and praise from Capitolites who've never felt a blade against their neck, never had their heart pumping as they fight off an attacker.

"I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hear you, but I'm game for talkin' while it lasts." He finishes off his drink, looking slightly remorseful as he glances at the bottom of the empty glass. It soon shifts to an easygoing smile as he tries to think of a more pleasant topic. "Wanna tell me about where you're from? And how a lady like you knows about battles, but we can skip the bloody details."

He hopes that it's not too invasive to ask. He's still very curious about how she knows what she seems to know. The way she speaks reminds him something of Arwen; she sounds like she's a princess out of a book of knights and castles.

He's not too far from the truth there. She smiles a little, rather wistfully. "Once, I knew little of battle. I wished for it, for the blood of Éorl runs hot and fierce, and I was stifled by gowns and tapestries and the small, ignoble battles of court politics. But a time came when I could bear no longer to sit at the fireside and wait for the men to return. I donned a Rider's helm and took up sword and shield and, naming myself Dernhelm, I rode behind my kin to Gondor's aid." There's pride in her voice. He didn't really ask for this much detail, but, at the same time, it's not often she gets to tell her story to someone who doesn't know it already. She can't help the twinge of selfish satisfaction over it. "There we joined in battle against Mordor's forces, and worst among them were the Dark Lord's lieutenants, fell creatures who wheeled above us on beasts like black dragons. Where their shadow fell, fear fell on the hearts of man and beast, and even our horses - horses of Rohan, the finest beasts known to man - panicked, threw their riders..."

She's clearly warming to her theme. It's a sore subject, yes, but it was also the day she felt most herself, most free. Even with the bitterness of loss behind it, it made for a good story. And Éowyn is, in the end, a good storyteller.

She finishes her own drink, clears her throat, and continues. "In all this, my uncle the King stood strong and rallied his men. But in time, his horse was slain, and as he lay trapped beneath it, the greatest of those fell beasts landed, its rider drawing near. So it was that I joined in battle with the undead lieutenant of Mordor, he who thought himself deathless, for it was said no man could slay him. And I should surely have died there, for he shattered my shield arm and brought me to my knees. But with me had ridden another, a Halfling, small in stature but great of heart, and his knife drove into the shadow, and my sword finished the job." She smiles, a hard, sharp kind of smile, one that speaks of grief but also of a steely pride. "After that, I fear, I swooned, and lay insensible for many days ere I was healed. And no more will my heart thrill to the song of steel as once it did, for now I have seen it too nearly and smelled the blood and filth of the battlefield. But that is how I come to know of battle, and why I am even now known to some as the Lady of the Shield-Arm."

Much as he'd like to think otherwise, Firo hasn't grown too much beyond the little kid who loved listening to Luck and Claire read from their storybooks. He watches her attentively, eyes and smile wider than he knows. The words she uses and the way she speaks are a little unfamiliar to him, but he can follow just fine.

The grin on his face fades into a line of concentration as she goes on. And she certainly is a good storyteller; if there were ever any doubt, it would be assuaged by how his jaw drops at all the right times.

When she finishes, he simply stares a moment longer. Then he goes to toss back a drink, is thwarted by the fact that his glass hasn't magically refilled itself, and looks back at her. "Shit. You know, that sounds pretty damn good for a first battle."

That being an understatement, of course.

"You've got a reputation and everything, huh?" Nicknames travel fast in the underworld, but Firo's learned not to doubt the importance of the events that might gain someone one of the more impressive ones. And 'Lady of the Shield-Arm' sounds pretty impressive.

OTA

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sorry you get a soliloquy. risk of tolkien characters i'm afraid.

Never apologize for soliloquies!

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