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

It was like the hurt was a pool, deep and cold, and the losses were stones, rippling around him. And there was nothing to be done, except to flounder, and fight to keep his head above the mire.

It flickered on his face, but then he kicked, unwilling to simply sink - not here, not now - and then it faded again.

"You know," he replied, shifting lightly on the balls of his feet to lean conspiratorially toward Bayard. "I haven't been brave enough to try any of them yet. ...But with a friend, I think I might be able to gather up my courage."

He smiled and nodded his head toward the bar.

"What do you say? Do we dare?"

Bayard nods eagerly, not for the alcohol but for the stated challenge. A Sartoris doesn't retreat without reason, he's always been told. There's nothing dishonorable in a retreat if it's wiser, but you don't do it out of whimsy. You care too much about your freedom for that, for throwing off the chains of Northern oppression.

"Am I to drink too, sir? My father let me have some whiskey once."

Starting to rise out of his crouch, Maxwell paused, surprise lifting his eyebrows -- then a laugh softening his face.

"I think we can find something you'll enjoy a bit more," he chuckled, straightening up. "After all, there are lost of young men and women like yourself here. I'm sure the Capitol would have thought to provide."

He waved a hand for the boy to walk with him and turned for the bar.

"Have you had Soda Pop yet? That's one not to be missed."

The sweetness of it Maxwell wasn't entirely sold on, but the fizzing bubbles made him smile for the whimsey of it.

"I didn't say I didn't enjoy whiskey," Bayard says, looking just a bit put out, as if his adolescent manhood has been questioned. He thinks he's old enough to drink. He's the man of the house while Father's gone, after all.

"What's a soda pop?" Bayard tilts his head. He's had fizzy drinks before, once, when his father took him to Hawkhurst, but they weren't called that. He follows Maxwell eagerly, trusting the figure he's come to see as a sort of guardian not to lead him astray.

"I reckon I'll try anything once here."

"That's the spirit." Maxwell reached across and rested a hand on Bayard's shoulder, giving him an approving pat. "Whiskey's fine and all, but it's very serious, and this is supposed to be a party."

Still grinning, he walked up to the bar and requested a pair of sodas, one for them each. A beat later he had two high-ball glasses filled with fizzing and popping soda, thick round ice-balls clinking against the glass.

He held one out to Bayard.

"Give it a try, and see what you think."

Bayard waits until Maxwell drinks too, like they're toasting to something. Survival, maybe. Or the prosperity that Bayard sees around him.

"Oh, this is a fizzy drink!" Bayard's delighted, and it shows in how despite onto taking a little sip, his face all but splits into a grin that shrinks his eyes to tiny divots in his cheeks. "Sweeter than anything I've tried. Or maybe it's just because we ain't had sugar in a long time and I've forgotten how it tastes."

Maxwell knew immediately that he'd made the right choice, and he was relieved, and... honestly pleased. The feeling was a bit like a butterfly, light and small and uncertain inside him. It had been a while since he'd done more than pretend.

It was nice to know it was still possible.

"It's not just you," he assured Bayard with a little shake of his head. "They seem to put it in everything here. They even--" He paused, not sure how to even describe it. "They have what they call 'cotton candy', and it's sugar spun as light as a cloud, and they give it you to eat in fluffs."

He laughed, because it had been ridiculous, but also wonderful.

"It made my teeth ache."

Maxwell's relief is infectious. Something about Maxwell seems to glow, like he changes the air around him with his mood. Some people are just like that, Bayard knows. You want them to be happy because their own good humor amplifies that around them.

"Cotton candy?" Bayard's jaw drops a little. Unlike Maxwell, it's not an entirely new invention to him, but one that he's only heard of, never seen or tasted. He's liable to believe it's just something his cousin Melisandre invented to make him jealous as opposed to something that really exists. "Do they have it here? I'd like to try some, if you're keen to accompany me. You don't need to have any yourself if it hurts your teeth."

With a mouthful of soda, his smooth, tanned cheeks had rounded out as it fizzed and popped against his tongue and teeth. The corners of his mouth turning up as he held it, just a moment longer than he needed.

"A good kind of ache, I promise," he said after he swallowed. "Like the soda pop. It's silly, but it's nice."

He took another drink and straightened up to his full, a bit imposing, height leaning slightly to glance around the party goers.

"I haven't seen any, but I don't how there could be any harm in asking." He gestured with his free hand. "Why don't we go speak with the people at the banquet table?"

Bayard hiccups and the soda stings his sinuses. He pulls a face between pained and thrilled at the experience, thinking it reminds him of the last time he was sick and burned up the inside of his nose with stomach acid, but without the stench or the agony that accompanied illness.

In the shadow of Max's swelling shadow, Bayard leans forward on his toes, as if trying to keep being kept out of the conversation by elevation.

"Alright, sir. Should I ask or should you?" Usually it's the realms of grown men to discuss matters of business, like purchasing things from the store.

It wasn't a question he was expecting - never considering it might been seen as something so formal - but he took it in stride, smiling down at the boy.

"Would you like to? I don't mind deferring to your cotton candy expertise."

He was teasing, but also a little serious. It was expertise so far as Maxwell was considered. He hadn't even known such a thing was possible a month ago.

Bayard grins at Maxwell, delighted that he's being trusted to perform even that basic task.

"Cotton candy if you have it, for two, please," he says to the Avox, with a sort of affectation like the 'please' is an addendum out of habit rather than meaning. Soon enough the Avox returns with two puffs of pink sugary clouds. Bayard's eyes widen enough to reflect the treat.

Maxwell was watching the boy more than Avox, mouth wrestling with a grin that could grow no bigger but wanted to. Bayard's pleasure was simple and innocent and it was infectious. (And exactly what he'd needed.)

"Do you think you can manage all that?" he asked, reaching for one of the treats and nodding for the young man to take the other. "Should I make sure there's a healer at the ready?"

To either see him right after he burst, or through the sugar-shock. Or both.

"It might be wise," Bayard says, smiling as he takes a bite of cotton candy that spreads spiderweb-ish strands of pink across his lips and the side of his mouth. He pauses with his mouth closed, in ecstasy and pain both as the sugar invades the little holes in his teeth, the inevitable cavities of his time period.

"I've already overindulged with sweets too many times here, and yet it hasn't done me any permanent harm I can see. I think if my Granny and Louvinia were here they'd forgive me, and well, if Ringo were here he'd possibly swallow up even more than me." There's a gleefulness there, but also a sadness too, a longing, because he yearns so much to return to Sartoris and tell his loved ones of the things he's seen.

Maxwell thanked the Avox quietly, and reached out to rest his free hand on the boy's shoulder, guiding him away from the table and toward the tables. He heard the little edge to Bayard's voice and he asked gently, "Granny - that's your grandmother?"

It seemed a good way to give the boy a chance to talk about them if he wished.

Removing his hand, he pulled out a chair for Bayard and then took his own.

"And Ringo, is he your brother?"

"Yessir. My mother passed when I was born-" almost like her spirit was transferred between the two of them along the umbilical, moving from the woman to the child and leaving the former vessel empty to fill the squalling lungs of the new one- "so I reckon Granny's the closest to a mother I've had, too."

He bobs his head, chin tucked into a proud, tight nod. He takes his seat.

"May as well be. He's a nigger boy, but that don't matter much. We were born the same month and we've done everything together."

Instead of condolences, which he didn't imagine would mean much of anything to someone how had never truly known the one lost, he offered a compliment to the boy's grandmother for stepping where lesser women might not have.

"I don't imagine it's the same, but I'm glad she did. She's obviously a good woman." Doing as well as she had thus far with Bayard.

Then, as the boy went on, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"That's not a race I'm familiar with. What are they like?"

"She'd be flattered that you said so," Bayard says.

Bayard furrows his lower lip a bit, making an upturned 'V' beneath his mouth.

"Well, they're slaves, and I reckon they're a little different from a white man, but it don't matter until they grow I think. They can't do what a white man can, can't read or run a business or anything like that, and there ain't no point teaching them, so we have to take care of them and they live with us."

His voice lowers a bit. "Although I reckon Ringo could learn to read faster than I have, honestly. Father always said he was smarter than I am."

Maxwell frowned at the word 'slave,' and as the boy went on his brow furrowed. It was all too easy to imagine the phrase 'knife-ear' mingling in with what he said. If he had just been meeting Bayard he might have thought the boy were from Thedas. Or, at least, certain parts of it.

"Perhaps he could," Maxwell said after a quiet moment, his voice soft, but purposeful. He didn't blame Bayard for such speech - he was just a boy - but even not knowing the world he came from personally, Maxwell couldn't say he was comfortable with it. "In my experience, such beliefs are often based more in tradition than fact."

Bayard's muscles around his eyes tense a little, and he gives Maxwell a bit of a squint as he tries to reconcile the man standing before him with the views of the father he hero-worships. His lower lip sets into the slightest frown. "That sounds like Yankee talk, sir. It ain't up for debate. It's how it is."

"I don't know what Yankees are either," Maxwell replied, steady under Bayard's frown. "But I do know that where I come from there are also slaves. I know that there are people who would look at Tabris and see her ears and assume the same about her. That she's weak, that she's simple. That the only thing she could ever be good at is serving others."

He wasn't insistent, or aggressive. The words as gentle as the others had been.

He didn't want to upset Bayard. And he didn't want him to dislike him; he was just hoping to leave the boy with something to think about.

"You know Tabris. Would you agree with them?"

"Tabris ain't a nigger. We don't got any knowledge about people with deformed ears where I'm from." Bayard's not necessarily aggressive, but coming into a sort of stubbornness that is far less about what he's saying than about the fact that he's far from home, separated from his family, unsure about the outcome of a war that he only vaguely understands has to do with all of these concepts.

Given time, it'll be different, but overnight he won't undo the bondage of racism of prejudice on his soul.

"It's different. I ain't lecturing you about Thedas so kindly keep from lecturing me about what happens in my country."

Were Bayard an adult, Maxwell would have pressed on, harder. Or even called Tabris over to let her have a go while he enjoyed his cotton candy. But Bayard was just a boy, and Maxwell recognized that.

And he honestly believed he was a good kid. Prejudice was learned. It could be unlearned.

Holding up a hand - palm out - he signals for peace.

"Very well. Just give it some thought, that's all I would ask." Turning to his cotton candy, he tore off a piece. "But, before she hears, they're not deformed. Tabris' ears. She's an elf. They're supposed to look like that."

Edited 2015-05-26 01:23 (UTC)

"I will." And the thing is, Bayard's telling the truth. Very few things enter the boy's ears that he doesn't mull over as he goes to sleep at night, and it isn't as if he has no reason to doubt the so-called truisms that he's been spitting out - his closeness with Ringo, whom he knows full well to be cleverer than him, speaks to that. Now that Maxwell's backed off a little all the fluster seems to go out of Bayard, and he returns to his inquisitive, calm self.

"What does that mean, she's an elf?" He takes another bite of cotton candy. "Did she change them like these funny people at the Capitol do with their puffy lips?"

Maxwell didn't respond for a moment, caught up in the cotton candy as if he too were suddenly a child again. A boy again, with his brother, chasing snowflakes and letting them burn to nothing on their faces and tongues.

The puff of candy melted similarly, and sugar and sweetness, but still grit between his teeth when he chewed.

It was silly, he knew, but he couldn't help himself.

Smiling distantly to himself, he focused back on Bayard.

"No, Tabris was born that way, as all elves are." He set the handle of his cotton candy in an empty champagne flute, the carded cone tinking against the bottom as he brushed his hands off. "Their a race of people in Thedas. There are humans, like myself and many of the others here; elves; the Qunari, that's what Iron Bull is; and dwarves."

It was something of a simplified explanation, but Maxwell didn't think he really need to get too deep into all the details and complications of race and politics in Thedas at the moment. Mages and apostates and Tal Vashoth....

Slaves had been more than enough for one night.

The Crowning of Tony Stark

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[cw: racial slurs]

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[cw: racism]

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[cw: racism and slurs for the whole thread]

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[cw: racial slurs again]

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Wrapping up?