thecapitol | The Crowning of Tony Stark

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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

"Right, a Mr. Stark, I'm told. Can't say I've met him yet, but I should probably congratulate him when I get the chance."

Bayard watches Linden's hand, becoming equally animated, seemingly completely unperturbed by this sickly-looking man who's crawled down here with him. As far as Bayard's concerned, it isn't his business to judge how a man behaves at a party given that Bayard doesn't know how to behave himself, and it would be completely hypocritical to assume that Linden's doing it incorrectly just because he's older.

"A plantation, sir, but we ain't growing much of late. We got mules and pigs, though. I just built up a pen for them the other day with my bare hands." And a lot of help, but Bayard thinks he's done enough of the work to merit taking some of the credit. "It was a right sturdy pen."

"It's customary to at least extend well-wishes and some measure of admiration for a victory," Linden says quietly, lowering his voice as someone walks particularly close to the table. He raises his shoulders, tensing, and then the shadow passes.

Linden is doing it incorrectly, but he's got to say, he appreciates the hell out of the fact that Bayard is polite (or inexperienced) enough not to say anything. It's strangely freeing to be able to behave like a child without getting called out for it, because in many ways, Linden still is that kid who got thrown into an Arena and just managed to survive longer than a Career by the skin of his teeth, even if it left him with a hideous and highly visible scar slashing across his throat.

"A plantation?" Linden asks, tilting his head; the word is antique, but going by context is enough to give him most of the meaning. "Yeah, your bare hands say that you've definitely built some things in your life. You must be proud," he adds. "Between us, most of the people at this party consider anything that can break a nail hard work."

Bayard nods. He's nothing if not a young gentleman, and so he'll have to find Mr. Stark and extend his warmest congratulations, which a boy like Bayard learns to feel whether or not he understands what he's admiring someone for. Etiquette is half conviction and half rote, with no room for the conflicts of doubt or ignorance.

"I noticed. Except for their tans, they look like they sit in parlors all day eating off silver and china."

Bayard doesn't hold the same contempt for the Capitolites that Linden does; he looks at them not with envy but with a certain nostalgia for a time he doesn't remember, what his father said things were like before the Yankees took their freedom, a carefree world where a man was rewarded with wealth if he did right by the earth and treated his slaves well. And he looks at Capitolites with that same wonder he expressed to Linden about those tall buildings.

He's deprived enough to foment longing but not resentment, not yet, at least. His age hasn't allowed him to grow to that level of sophisticated thought yet.

"You're from here, then? You ain't dressed like one of them. You're dressed like one of the quiet ones, but they don't talk."

Linden gives a twitchy half-smile at that, with scarcely restrained animosity at its edges. "Sitting in parlors all day eating off silver and china..." he murmurs, trying out Bayard's accent for the sheer hell of it. "You're more right than wrong about that."

He can't help but notice that the young man doesn't seem angry about being brought here, or bitter, even when he's given a chance to vent with a clear sympathetic party. Linden sees a lot of bitterness, and it's only in its absence that he can really see in perspective how much it takes a toll on him, day by day.

"Yes, I'm from here. District 6, it's... south of here," he says. "Desert. We assemble the trains and hovercrafts there." It's relevant information but it also serves to delay addressing what Bayard has pointed out. Linden thinks that it's genuinely innocent, and he swallows before answering. "They don't talk. They're Avoxes; some of them have their tongues cut out, others are just surgically or chemically paralyzed." He runs a hand over his own jaw, over the joints, down the throat, stopping short of his scar. "They all committed crimes, mostly... treason, or something comparable. I'm dressed like this tonight because I committed a crime, too, and it's their way of telling me to watch my back."

To Bayard, it's Linden who has the strange accent, and trying Bayard's on for size seems just like dropping an affectation. He barely even registers it.

"I've seen a train once," Bayard says, and it's outright excited, like he's eager to prove to Linden that he's seen things in the world that are worth taking note of, rather than just spending his life on a (much beloved) patch of Earth and never wondering about what's beyond the horizon. There's a trill of pride in his voice too, pride that there's a train in his corner of the world. It stands for all the progress of civilization, his father said. "'Fraid I don't know what a hovercraft is. That seems a bit of an uncouth way to treat a traitor, though. Sounds like something Injuns might think up."

He pauses, looking hesitant but not afraid of Linden. "What crime did you commit, sir?"

"You've seen a train?" Linden asks, keeping the same gentle tone he's affected for most of their conversation past a certain point. "I've seen lots, and helped build a few, but I actually don't like riding on them. That's not uncommon in my District, even if a lot of people would consider it pretty ironic, that the transportation District doesn't like to travel... Hovercrafts are flying vehicles. There are a lot of them in the Capitol... all you have to do to see one of them is look out the window, really."

He's rambling. Carefully, he uncaps the bottle he brought down with him and tips it back, feeling harsh liquid dissolve the granular coating of sugar in his mouth.

He sets his jaw at the question. "I cut a man's face," he answers. "He was being a brute with one of the Avoxes. He hit her, and things got slightly physical between us when I tried to pick up the broken mug that upset him so much in the first place. That set off something in me, so... I cut his face."

Another drink. Another step closer to making this all a little more painless.

"What is an 'Injun?'"

"Yessir. One train, and I even got to see it as it went down the tracks. It's up by Hawkhurst, where my cousin live, and it was barely put in there two years ago." Bayard sounds earnest and proud of that train and of all it symbolizes, the stubborn progress of the South toiling away under the North's yoke, as he's been told, as he's internalized and come to accept as the truth. That train carries with it not just cargo but the hopes and dreams of his people, his own among them. "I didn't know those metal things outside had a name. To tell the truth, they unnerve me some, so I've been trying not to look at them. The windows, that is, since they're so high up."

Bayard whistles, long and low. He doesn't know the politics of this place but by now he's aware that the Avoxes are slaves, and badly-kept ones at that. He's heard of other plantations where people are cruel to their Negroes, and it always stirs some deep feeling of injustice in him even if he can't name what it is that bothers him. Perhaps he sees Ringo or Louvinia or Loosh under the lash when he imagines it. "I reckon that man should've kept that sort of behavior behind closed doors."

He seems a little perplexed at having to explain things which seem so obvious to him, but not bothered by it. He's happy for an excuse to chatter. "You know, the tribe people who live yonder past the river? The people we came down South to civilize."

The alcohol always goes down easy and smooth compared to what Linden drinks in District 6. Too easy, and too smooth; before he knows what's happened, he's swallowed more than he ever intended to. He doesn't know where Hawkhurst is and can only vaguely picture "North" and "South", envisioning a country similar in size and scope to Panem.

"There's nothing to be afraid of. Like I said, I've built them, and if men and women have built something, they can certainly control it, right?"

Childish logic, and perhaps it's enough to put an actual child's mind at ease. Linden can hope so.

His hand tightens around the bottle neck at Bayard's long, low whistle. Judgment is judgment, even if it's not particularly harsh, and he can recognize it. Bayard certainly at least recognizes that Linden was out of line to do what he did, but as impressionable and sweet as Bayard seems, he surprises Linden by holding an opinion that encourages discretion, if not abstaining from hitting an Avox altogether. "Yes, I... reckon that it's shameful behavior if it must happen, and should not have been caught that way."

Another drink. He likes this part, the floating sensation, the feeling that the soft edges of the tablecloth are blurred and extended beyond their natural boundaries.

"I don't know 'tribe people.' Panem is wholly civilized," he says quietly. "Would you tell me more about them, and how you aimed to educate them on matters of civilization?"

He feels like their history books might allude to something like that, but so much is censored in Panem, and his own District is woefully short on books of any nature.

Bayard's face firms up under the baby fat into a sort of moralistic pride, encouraged by Linden's light condemnation to further explore why that makes his stomach seem to turn in that queer way. "It wouldn't happen at our plantation. Sartoris is a proper one, run right. You ain't gonna tell a man what to do with his own property but that doesn't mean you can't have opinions."

He looks a little uncertain of that, and takes another sugarcube, licking his fingers so that none of the precious granules go to waste. Like maybe he isn't supposed to hold opinions that other people are doing wrong, because to air them is impolite, and yet he feels a little emboldened as he continues anyway. He tries to fit how he feels into something his Granny would approve of, his Father would adopt into the code of the Confederate army. "Way I see it, you ought to treat everyone with a little kindness, especially if they ain't hurting you any. There's no reason to hit a slave unless they're planning a revolt."

He blinks, because the truth is he's never really considered it. It's not something that's gripped his curiosity.

"Well, we teach them about Jesus, because ain't a one of them baptized. And they kill each other out there, and kill white folk and take their scalps. I reckon this Hunger Games is the sort of thing they'd think up."

"You seem like a gentle sort. I can't imagine it would happen at any establishment your family was involved in," Linden says. That's typically how it goes, isn't it? Children, at least until their stormy teenage years, tend to reflect their family dynamic, and they absorb the values and opinions of those they admire most like small, adoring sponges. "For what it's worth, I like the way you see things. A little bit of kindness goes a long way, especially when it's in short supply to begin with."

Which is as good a reason to plan a revolt as any, but we can't speak of that. Not if we value our hides in the slightest.

"Is that to do with religion?" Linden asks casually. "Jesus and baptization?"

"It needn't be in short supply. It don't cost anything," Bayard says, unaware of the depth of that statement or how many people would be willing to argue it.

"Yessir. And if we don't spread the word of Christ, then the savages will never be able to repent and be enlightened. And when they die, they'll go to Hell."

Bayard doesn't know much about religion - his Granny reads from the Bible to him, but it's never held Bayard's imagination as much as stories about war and adventure - he's happy to believe what he does retain. Even if Jesus is, practically, just the invisible force that gets angry at you when you swear.

"Yes, that's... true."

Linden only hesitates because he has to think about it from a few different angles and make absolutely sure that it is. He's been in situations where it could absolutely be bought and sold.

"What is Christ? I've heard some offworlders use it as a curse and I think it's caught on in the Capitol, like... 'Jesus Christ, what were you thinking!'"

He doesn't ask about Hell, though. He knows what it is, because he's seen it.

Bayard's eyes widen a bit again and his lips pucker some, shrinking as if in retreat towards his teeth. "They shouldn't be doing that. The Lord don't take kindly to people using His name in vain. They should beg for His forgiveness."

He puffs his lips out over his teeth as he thinks of a way to explain it. "That's a big question for someone like me. I ain't ever taught the Bible, just heard it read, but I suppose I know it well enough. Jesus Christ is the son of God, and he died to save us so we could go to Heaven when we die, if we don't sin or we balance out our sins with penance. Does that make sense?"

"I guess that the big questions are just my favorite ones to ask," Linden says, half-apologetically, already kind of regretting getting into a topic that sounds like it has little basis in actual truth and fact.

It doesn't make sense. None whatsoever. It sounds kind of crazy, actually.

"Sure," he responds, doing his best to look earnest. "What counts as 'sin?' And for the worst ones, what kind of penance counts to ameliorate it?"

"You know, doing something that displeases the Lord. Lying, cheating, stealing, fighting, cussing. There's seven of 'em deadly, but I'm afraid I can't recall them all at once when I try, usually. Um..." Bayard counts off on his fingers. "Vanity, envy, gluttony, sloth, wrath...I don't remember the other two."

He doesn't look terribly abashed at that, like it's more of a concern to other people that he's forgotten his learnings than it is to him. He's glad his Granny isn't here right now, even though in secret he longs for her at night and morning. She would want to whup him.

Bayard wraps his arms over his knees, looking at Linden with that same excitement to be sharing something, imparting knowledge (imperfect as it is) as if by being a conduit for a fraction of human experience he is giving himself the greatest kind of worth. "And you repent by praying for forgiveness and acknowledging where you done wrong and making amends. No man can go his life without a little sinning, but if you see it for what it is and face it with honor, the Good Lord can't help but see your heart is pure."

"Maybe murder?" Linden suggests, though he's not quite sure it fits the theme or in with those sins. Maybe it falls under one of them. He's about to suggest something else, but Bayard's age and the air of innocence he maintains stops him. He keeps his tongue behind his teeth rather than suggest crimes of a more lascivious nature.

The kid is so excited to be telling him about what sounds like the very nature of goodness itself, and Linden gamely listens to the infant sermon. "So, how do you pray and prove your heart is pure? Would you show me?"

"No, it's not murder. Because you can murder for plenty of reasons, and it's the root that's what makes it a sin. If you murder defending yourself, or defending your country or your freedom or your soldiers in arms...that ain't a sin, I don't think. But if you murder for wrath or for...greed, that's another one! For avarice, then that's what makes it a sin."

It's not something Bayard's been expecting, and yet he tries, gamely, to live up to the importance of the task. The tablecloth walls around them become the towering masonry of a church (grander than any Bayard has ever seen, for Jefferson's is made of wood, but the cathedral in the mind is always more fitting for the grandeur of God than the church of flesh and earth).

"Alright, put your hands like this." He folds one hand over the other. "And just...talk to Him. Ask Him to forgive you for what you done and to do good for you when you ask kindly. And good for others, I pray for Father every night."

"What if you're killing for your country, but you kind of like it, or it turns into something angry?" Linden asks, canting his head sidelong. He killed in his Games, and wasn't happy about it, but there was more than self-defense behind the way he'd shoved Scorpii.

He puts his hands together, stiffly following Bayard's example; his furrowed brow says plainly enough that he doesn't understand the significance of the gesture; to him, they are still merely under a table. "Hello," he starts, chewing his lip. "Forgive me for what I did, and I kindly request that you do... good for me." He frowns, then shrugs. "Also for others," he finishes.

"I don't...I don't know," Bayard says, sucking at his lower lip just a little. He suddenly feels as if his footing has unsettled a bit, something having shifted beneath him, and he finds his balance again by determining on a simple course of action. "I ain't a preacher. I reckon we can find one who can answer those questions better."

He watches Linden excitedly, and when Linden finally looks back up he'll see a grin that's both entirely genuine and much too pleased for the actual quality of Linden's prayer. "That's a start. It comes naturally when you do it long enough, I think. My Granny knows hundreds of prayers."

Then Bayard closes his own eyes and frowns a bit as he formulates in his head. "Dear God in Heaven, please forgive me for taking your name in vain. And for cussing. I've been cussing a lot. And please forgive me for taking the fruit from the kitchen without asking no one. Please look after Granny and Ringo and bless Jefferson and the South and Mississippi and Father's regiment. Amen."

Linden quirks a brow at the baby proselytizing, offering a noncommittal shrug when Bayard tells him that they can probably find someone better suited to answer questions about this. Linden can't claim that he doesn't have many, but he also can't pretend that he expects any of them to be answered satisfyingly, regardless of who's doing the talking.

He listens to Bayard's prayer, and thinks he gets the idea based on the kid's example.

"I don't think I can actually say those kinds of prayers in front of a kid," he admits. "Not to condescend, but if I said anything I actually feel guilty for, you'd probably have to say more prayers just for having learned that certain things even exist well before you're supposed to."

"You needn't say them out loud. You can just think them. It won't stop Him hearing it." Bayard turns those doleful eyes to Linden again, sucking his lower lip a bit as he considers. "You don't need to tell me, but don't think I won't listen if you do, and don't forget that Father's in a war and I'm the head of my house now. I'm a boy but I'll be a man soon enough."

It's an open offer he doesn't expect Linden to take, but he figures an ajar door matters plenty even if it's never used. He knows that it calms down animals not to feel trapped, to know there's a way out if they choose to use it.

"If you can just think them, it seems almost too easy. If you can just apologize for the bad things you do, privately and to yourself without the judgment of other humans... I guess I don't know what's stopping a bad person from doing bad things."

He thinks this over for a second, along with Bayard's offer. It's sweet; too sweet for the Capitol, and it still manages not to be cloying. He suspects it's because Bayard doesn't know, and perhaps lacks the life experience to guess, the extent to which Linden has sinned.

"Your father's in a war? What war?"

Edited 2015-05-28 02:08 (UTC)

"Because they're still bad, and it's only by His grace that you're forgiven. Repenting don't count if you just plan to do it again." Linden appears, to Bayard, to be looking at it in a dreadfully pragmatic way, one which doesn't mesh at all with honor or faith, one which Bayard wants to refuse to believe is how most people would address it. He believes people have faith, even if they must fight to keep it, the same way he believes that both rain and sun come from the same sky.

"The war against the northern invaders. The Yankees." Bayard doesn't understand most of it, just the propaganda he's been given, just the stories Father tells him. He knows not of the politics, just of fear and food-rationing and the stubborn vanity of his people that has started to seem desperate. "They'd take our freedom if we gave them half a chance."

"It comes with a lot of rules then, after all."

These sorts of things always do, Linden realizes. There's never a situation where there are truly no strings attached; it's always some hidden cost.

I do drugs. I drink until I pass out. I sleep with married women. I won the Hunger Games, and no one decent EVER wins the Hunger Games.

Faith, incidentally, is not within Linden's grasp.

"Yankees?" Linden tastes the word, again affecting the boy's accent. "What freedom? Were you enslaved?"

"It does. That's why some people spend their whole lives studying it. Not me, though. I ain't got the brains to be a preacher, or the calling." He's sure it'd please Granny, but when Bayard thinks of the future, he imagines himself a glorious soldier or tending the land with the slaves, both as his father did. Though the Sartorises know hard times, so long as Jefferson survives they'll always be alright relative to the town, since they own land, and Bayard knows that he's lucky to be able to say that.

If Jefferson falls - if the South falls - that's when the Sartorises, too, will collapse.

"No," Bayard says, rubbing his lips together as he thinks of how to explain the toxic air he's been breathing since before the war even started, the paranoia and uncertainty and persecution that he's internalized. "But they're the Northern invaders, and they're trying to tell us how to run a country when they ain't ever worked the land a day in their lives, and they come down to our cities and they burn them and steal our cattle and ravish our women. They ain't got no morals, and so they're trying to destroy ours."

The Crowning of Tony Stark

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