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.

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Sorry, Firo's reaction may not help with that embarrassment. His eyes are wide once again, though his incredulity doesn't have any mocking edge to it. "Seriously?"

This is a problem that must be fixed immediately. He draws himself up to his full unimpressive height and holds his hands out as he tries to figure out where to begin. "It's like... Well, basically it's a place where you gamble, but that could really mean anything from a crappy backroom to a real joint."

He's completely transparent in his pride as he grins. "Mine's a real one, obviously. So... picture a big room, right? A real nice place and all. And then put a buncha' tables for cards in there and a couple roulette wheels and slot machines and a whole lotta people, and you've got a casino."

It's only after he's almost talked himself out of breath that he leans in to look at her again. There may have been some important details left out... "...Hang on, you know what gamblin' is, right?"

Maybe proper ladies aren't allowed to do those things, though she hardly seems that proper.

She laughs a little. "Of course I do. Dice and cards, at any rate. The others, I fear, are strange to me, but I can understand the idea." Not that she was particularly keen on it. Skill was what appealed to her, not risk. Her luck had been poor too often for her to want to stake much on it. Besides, she had never really had the time for that kind of diversion. Games were a distraction, and she mistrusted distractions.

But his pride is rather endearing, and it isn't as if there's anything fundamentally wrong with gambling. So her smile is genuine. "I should like to see such a place, I think. It sounds very far from the gambling houses I have seen, and those have been few and far between."

If honesty includes full-disclosure, he should mention something about how said casino is completely illegal where he lives.

He beams back at her. "Yeah? Too bad it's probably not possible, 'cause I'd love to show it off."

"They're not that nice where you're from, huh?" He knows there are plenty of places back home that he'd want to steer people away from; not to convince them that his place is better, but because the likelihood of getting stabbed or shot was way too high. Or maybe she's just not allowed into too many?

"Mostly filled with soldiers and merchants. Back rooms and barracks." She waved one hand dismissively, shaking her head. "Though I should be the first to say I have little experience of the matter. Even if 'twere proper for a King's sister to spend her time in such low places, I have never been one for games of chance, I fear. And cards... I have not the stone-faced gall for it." She smiles, self-deprecating. It's not really true. She's a diplomat. Keeping a poker face would be child's play next to smiling every day at the man dripping poison in her uncle's ear.

"But come," she says, after a moment, "I have been remiss! We have not even been introduced! Éowyn is my name. At your service, Master...?"

"C'mon, there's a lot more to it than chance..." Firo could wax poetic forever about the skill and finesse involved in cards--remarkable considering he's hardly the type given to poetry. It was a good thing their introductions cut him off.

"Firo Prochainezo." He grinned, waving his hands around. "No master or mister or anything." What was with these polite people? Firo was much more accustomed to being referred to as 'hey, brat' or something along those lines.

"It's nice meetin' you, Éowyn." He hesitated, "Er, I don't hafta call you anything for bein' a king's sister, do I? What even is that, a princess?"

"Perhaps, if you are prone to such things." She shook her head, rather dismissively. "At home, I am called Lady Éowyn. But I am far from home here, and as I have been reminded more than once so far, here I have no lands and no title. Just Éowyn will more than serve. And may I call you Firo?"

"Just Éowyn, then." He tries not to frown when she says the part about being far from home. It's the sad truth they all face here, but who's enough of a jackass to go about reminding someone of that?

He shrugs, "That's my name. It's nicer than the things a lotta people call me."

"You gotten to know many people here yet?"

Shaking her head, Éowyn cast her eyes for a moment around the crowded party, before looking back down at him. "I cannot say, in fairness, that I have given much thought to it," she admitted with a little smile. "I have been occupied in other matters. So much here is strange to me, so much beyond my comprehension, that I can scarce look away from most of it. Most of those I have spoken with, it has been but briefly, in training or in passing."

"Can't blame you for that. This place is crazier than anything I've ever seen."

He was curious if she had intended to focus on training or if it just happened by accident. "...Couldn't blame you if you didn't really wanna make friends, either, considerin' what we got ahead of us." Firo had to live with the thought that he might someday oppose his best friends if the Martillo and Gandor Families ever went to war, but their alliance was so strong he knew it was unlikely.

Here, he had the same problem without that benefit. He'd found an easy enough way to deal with it, though.

"You seem all right. If you need to take me out in the Arena, go ahead."

For a moment, Éowyn was quiet, looking down at her empty glass, at the outfit that was so unlike anything she would ever choose to wear, at the shadows cast by the flashing lights that were neither fireworks nor flames. When at last she did speak, her voice was low enough that it was almost lost under the loud pulse of the music.

"I would sooner fight with a friend at my side, no matter what the peril. Too long have I spent in bearing burdens alone." She smiled, but it was sad, without any humour in it. "If it comes to it, I do not swear that I will not slay you. But I would sooner guard your back than stab it, for you are one of few to show me gentleness since I came here. And I have no taste for murder."

He gave a firm nod. "Good enough for me. I've got your back, too, if you need it."

He wondered if he should have mentioned that he didn't usually go around inviting people to stab him, just for the record. But with all the noise, this conversation was probably more private than most in the Capitol. He didn't have to worry about eavesdroppers pegging him as an easy target.

"Me neither. Why kill someone if you don't have to?"

Realizing, far too late now, that he'd steered them back on this path, he sighed and shook his head. "...Sorry, I didn't mean to make it all grim again. I'm usually better at makin' conversation than this."

Death could be a hard topic to keep off of here, much as Firo would like to be able to think of something else.

"As am I." Éowyn sighed. "But this place has something of a way of drawing matters back to it, does it not?" Pushing a little hair back into her elaborate updo, she looked back down at her glass. "Particularly when I understand so little else to speak of. Come. Let us fetch another drink, and you can speak of your own land, and I of mine. Let us be merely strangers, drawn together by chance, and forget our true purpose here for a time."

He smiled. "Sounds like a good idea to me. I know I definitely need more a' this."

He glanced around for the nearest bar and started striding purposefully in that direction. As he moved, he looked at her over his shoulder. "I dunno if it's rude to ask, but does everybody talk like you do where you're from?"

As in, strangely. As odd as he probably sounded, Firo considered his speech entirely normal.

"More or less." It wasn't rude, and given how much of a minority she seemed to be in here, she didn't even think it was a particularly strange question. "In Rohan and Gondor, at least. Elsewhere, other tongues are spoken. But I take it you mean the manner of my speech, not the language of it?" She smiled back at him, following him to the bar. "To me, it is you and those like you who sound queer. You speak as if a full sentence were too long, as if you wish to drop as much of it as possible while still holding the meaning. I do not doubt its usefulness, but it is strange to me, who was raised to court and courtesy."

He stopped at the bar and snatched a bottle of red wine off the counter, watching her as she spoke.

He grinned. "Where I'm from, we've got this thing called a 'New York minute,' which is shorter than a normal minute, 'cause everybody's always in a rush." He filled his glass nearly up to the brim and offered her the bottle. "So, what I'm sayin' is, you're probably right."

"What's life like in court, eh?"

Taking the bottle, Éowyn gave herself a rather less generous glass than he had, then replaced the wine on the bartop. "Of late, unsettled," she answered after due consideration, smiling sidelong. "I know less of how matters progress at Edoras, where my brother rules, but in Ithilien we have much to do since the war. The land is only newly resettled, and yet plagued by Orcish troops. And, as Steward, my husband must also help in seeing to the repairs to Minas Tirith and the rest of Gondor, so in truth, I have had little time to consider life at court since I was wed."

Laughing, she took a sip of wine. It was good stuff, as good as the best Gondor vintages, and she appreciated it even while hating the lavishness and extravagance of it all.

"At Edoras, though... ere the war, it was a bright place indeed, loud and bustling. My brother and I came there when I was but seven, and I remember being as stunned by it as... well, as I am now by all this sound and splendour. To a child, especially one so deep in her own grief, it was overwhelming.

"And yet as I grew, I learnt my way around it. You ask how life is in court, but the truth is, after twenty years I can scarce remember any other life. It is... busy. Ever filled with people, those who live there and those who come to petition or to make treaties or to bring news to their liege. In the days, there was always work to be done, whether it was weaving and needlework, or sitting in on my uncle's audiences." She smiled again, a rather mischievous expression that made her look far more like the young woman she still was. "Or following Éomer and Théodred out into the training yards, and thrashing away at each other while my lady's-maids looked on in horror and my uncle with indulgence. That work, I valued too."

The names of the countries and places were all unfamiliar to him; Firo probably would have been confused even if she spoke of places in his world. But he had quite a bit of experience in listening to complicated things beyond his understanding, so he just let his mind blur out the unfamiliar words.

The general gist of things he followed with intent watching and nodding, punctuated with sips of his drink. From what he'd heard so far, he had to wonder if their worlds could be any more different. The tale was all the more fascinating for it.

He could get enough of a picture from her words and smile and his memories of Luck's stories to grin with her. "Like, swords and all?"

"Swords. Spears. Shields." She nodded, taking another mouthful of wine before continuing. "When I was fourteen or so, it was decided it was too improper for a lady of Edoras. Éomer grew less indulgent of my wildness, and Théodred too busy with the affairs of a prince. After that, I kept my training to myself. Sometimes Théodred could still be brought to spar with me, but less and less as time went on. And then, two years ago, he was slain, Éomer banished, Théoden King lost in grief and sickness..." She sighed, shaking her head, and took another long drink. A shadow had come into her expression. "Then court grew less sweet, less bright. It felt like a cage, all shadow and whispers, until I envied my brother his banishment. Yet I could not leave, for doing so would have meant leaving my uncle, the last of his kin who still stayed at his side gone."

"Huh. Well that sucks." He frowned into his drink as he took another sip. While he didn't particularly want to fight a woman, he didn't get the desire to keep them away from weapons. It was a crappy world out there and the more able to defend yourself you were, the better.

Once she finished talking, he amended his earlier statement. "...That really sucks. Why the hell'd they get rid a' your brother? He piss off the wrong person?"

Usually that'd mean death where Firo was from, but things had to be different in court. Especially for people related to the king. They probably didn't rely on the same brand of street justice--at least, on the surface.

Éowyn nodded, sombrely. She was unfamiliar with the specific turn of phrase, but the meaning was easy enough to grasp, not least because it was so thoroughly accurate. "He spoke against our uncle's advisor. Gríma Wormtongue - a vile creature, but one who had already been dripping poison into the King's ear so long that it was fortunate Éomer was merely banished." Her nose wrinkled in remembered disgust. "And for months more I had to stand by and watch that foul man lead my uncle deeper into the shadow, until he forgot all his strength and his courage and would have let the forces of Mordor sweep unopposed through the land. For months I had to hold my tongue and speak soft of hard matters, lest I too be driven from my lord's side. For months. It felt like an age."

His mouth thinned into a line. "Sounds like you've already been dealin' with some stuff close to what's goin' on here."

Sometimes, holding his tongue was the hardest thing for Firo to do here. As had happened in his discussion with his Escort recently, he often didn't. Without any of the senior capos in his Family here to command his respect, Firo found his ability to control himself somewhat lessened.

He could imagine it was the same for her, even if she had practice. Perhaps even because of it--he couldn't imagine having to keep it up for that long.

"Why's nobody else doin' anything about that bastard?" To clarify, he added, "Grimy Wormface, or whatever his name is."

"Gríma was the lesser evil. Sooner should I be back in Edoras in the worst days of the war than in this vile cesspit." The venom in her voice, and in her expression as she looked around the party, was unmistakeable. For a moment, her expression was rather frightening, with a hardness and a vicious hatred that was entirely out of line with her ladylike manners.

But she shook it off as best she could, taking a long draught of wine as if that would wash away the bile this whole place brought to her throat, and turned her attention to his question instead. "None of my kith and kin could oust him, for we loved our king, and our king loved Gríma. Some tried, and they were banished or slain. Many joined my brother, and rode out from Edoras to fight where they could in the grasslands. But not until Gandalf Stormcrow returned to us was Gríma ousted, and my uncle reawakened from his stupor. Gríma fled back to his dark master, and after the war..." She shrugged one shoulder, with affected apathy. "I heard tell he was slain, and his master too. If that is true, I know not."

He nodded. Alcatraz was not a pleasant place to be, but he'd go back in a heartbeat if he had to choose between there and the Capitol. "Yeah, I feel you."

After downing the last of his drink, he cocked his head to the side. "Almost sounds like a happy ending." If those existed. "Anything happen after that, or were things mostly fine when you left?"

He wished he'd been taken during one of the stretches of downtime his life allowed between everything going to hell. Unfortunately, he'd been yanked out of the thick of the action.

"It almost was," she said quietly, and took another draught of wine, closing her eyes. "Our lands were sore hurt, our people scattered and much pained, but we won. Théoden King fell, but Éomer took his place. Gondor's king returned, brought new light to his ancient lands." She laughed a little, sadly. "I was wed. Wed, as I never dared hope in those dark days, to one I love and who loves me. And though the remnants of Mordor's forces yet plague our lands, the world is light again, newborn into another age. It was happy. Would that it had been an ending." Because to have all that, and have it torn away, seemed almost worse than never to have had it at all.

Firo winced sympathetically to hear that, pouring himself yet another glass.

"It always ends right as things are gettin' good, huh?" There was a saying back that it was better to have loved and lost than to never love, but Firo knew platitudes were no comfort.

Maybe it was the drink working on him or simply the opportunity to be honest after having to stifle his feelings for so long. Either way, Firo sighed and spoke more candidly than he might usually. "...Damn, even when you know good things can't last, it still sucks to lose 'em like that."

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