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.

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Okay, so the Arena didn't quite turn out how he'd been hoping, but Sergius isn't about to waste this prime opportunity to party. Besides, this place is swank as fuck. If the Capitol knows how to do one thing, it's throw a righteous shindig, and even though he's incredibly conscious of what he puts into his body, he's also looking forward to some fun and games.

He makes his way to the bar to order something stronger than necessary before loudly announcing to anyone within earshot: "I bet I could fuck you up at beer pong."

This is Cullen's second Crowning. The first had been rather offensive to his sensibilities - making a mockery of religious practice isn't something he particularly approves of. This time, however, he's not angry, simply headachey. The outfit his stylist forced on him, a concoction of black and white that is apparently called a "tuxedo" is fitted precisely to his muscular figure, and the strange metal vambraces on his arms aren't his usual Templar ones, they're red and gold, matching much of the decor.

The bright lights and terrible, pounding music bring on a headache quite fast, though, and even if he was inclined to be sociable at such an event in the first place (he's not), Cullen very quickly removes himself to the sidelines as best he can. Those who approach him might get a growled, what, before he thinks better of it.

It was all so surreal. An alternate version of Iron Man was the Victor? If only Cyclops and the other X-Men could have seen it, Megan was sure someone would have flipped out. As it was, she was making the most of the festivities in her odd looking cubical dress, trying her best to make it not super obvious that the whole thing was weirding her out. It wasn't her first crowning, of course, but it was all hitting quite close to home and making her a bit uneasy.

Midway through the evening, she excused herself to explore the gardens outside. It was quieter there, though not by much, and she hoped she could clear her head. It wasn't just the crowning which bothered her, it was the overwhelming feelings related to birth and death and life and regeneration, all mixed up into a big mess in her head. Why was this place so awful? And why couldn't they find some way to put a stop to the madness?

Dejected, Megan found a secluded bench and sank into it with a heavy sigh.

Adella shows up to the Crowning not entirely sure what to expect, after spending more time than she's ever in her life being primped and polished. She's taken a measure of pride in her general appearance, usually, but the stylists pulled out all the stops getting her ready, things she'd never have even thought of.

The result is surprising, and she walks with her chin a little higher than usual. She's dressed in an elaborate red-and-gold gown made of layers of fabric she's never seen before, so light and comfortable it almost feels like she isn't wearing it. She's wearing delicate red-and-gold pauldrons and vambraces, styled similarly to the Iron Man ones but refitted to match her slender frame and the light gown. Where gauntlets would cover her fingers there are instead dozens of tiny red gems stuck to the back of her hands, and her nails are painted red and gold. Her shoulder-length hair is pulled up in a side braid wrapping around her skull, and at evenly spaced points along the braid little blue lights twinkle.

Her makeup is simple, gold and black eyeliner to keep her eyes from being lost among the finery, her lips stained a dark red to match the dress. She still dislikes this place, but the finery she's been robed in has made her a great deal happier than she's been since arriving.

She approaches the evening, and others, with a certain amount of candour, smiling easier at strangers than she has been, and observing all the strange sights and sounds with a mixture of curiosity and wonder. She's never seen anything like any of this, and as noisy as parts of it are, it's also very interesting.

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.

Cullen has known Adella for the better part of a year, and seen her in all sorts of situations, with all sorts of clothes on (even, once, without any clothes at all). But he's never seen her in anything like the dress she arrives in tonight.

It's difficult to say if the little blue lights in her hair have anything to do with the fact that his eyes are drawn inexorably to her, or if it's just him, but from the moment he spots her, he can't look away. His headache is forgotten, and he suddenly feels like a boy with his first crush again, as awkward as he was when they first met and she would teasingly flirt with him, leaving him flustered and unsure what to say.

"Um," he says, unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck as he always does when he's nervous or unsure of himself, or, in this case, simply stunned into silence.

"...Wow."

Linden had done everything in his power to call out of this particular Crowning sick. Not only was he dreading the rumors of alcohol flowing more liberally than usual even for lavish Capitol parties, he wasn't thrilled about facing the music that was sure to follow his altercation with Jason; the perfect storm of high tempers, arrogance and PTSD had resulted in the District 7 Escort's face getting sliced open with the sharp edge of a broken coffee mug. In addition to ranking highly in the volatile Linden's series of high profile fiascos, it is recent and dramatic, meaning that it's a current and hot topic of Capitol gossip.

He dreads one piece in particular: District 6 is falling apart more every day. If this is what their Mentor is like clean, maybe he's better off on Morphling.

Attempting to dodge this Crowning had been a dismal bust. Though he'd woken complaining of stomach pains this morning, sweating and shaking and vomiting shortly after, the medic brought in to examine him had found the empty syrup of ipecac bottle shoved under his pillow embarrassingly quickly. He was scolded for his deception and told to get his act together, and hours later, here he is, District 6's gaunt and highly reluctant Mentor, with no other choice than to put his best face forward in congratulating District 12 for their well-earned victory.

His stylists have him clad in simple, close fitting black tonight; though they have a flair for the dramatic, they're sympathetic and they know that his appearance will draw enough attention without the added bells and whistles of Capitol fashion. He attempts to keep his back turned away from the festivities involving alcohol, reaching toward his wrist occasionally to discreetly snap at a thick rubber band worn around it. He is not in a mingling mood, but hopefully he will at least escape this evening without adding to his District's growing pile of staff scandals and humiliations.

Edited 2015-03-27 20:26 (UTC)

Tabris was from a place that had just discovered the possible medical application of leeches. And yet, as she walked into the party, a grin slowly spread across her face. To say that she was confused was an understatement, she didn't understand almost anything going on. But there was amazing food, a music unlike any she had ever heard before, loud and thrumming, like the beat was going through her body. Plenty of alcohol, and of course, armor.

She had managed to discuss the details with her stylist to get her dress to resemble Grey warden armor, though in mage design, as it was the closest to something that could be used as a dress. And, unfortunately, colored in that gold and red that was everywhere. The striped part modified to go around as a type of a tube top dress, with a half jacket to form the upper part, gloves brown and silk instead of leather, but good enough. The bulk of the armor, that had turned into pants, had been cast aside, leaving her legs oddly bare. The final touch was high heeled boots, meant to feign armor. It was no armor a Grey Warden would wear to battle, but the sense of it gave her some comfort.

She could have slunk into the background, had she tried. Small and lithe, dressed like everyone else, it would have been easy to try to be ignored. But Tabris had a presence that demanded attention, and she, also, demanded attention. Her first stop would be the bar, and she has no idea who the fuck Tony Stark is (aside from what she has seen plastered around the Capitol, kinda looked like a douche to her), but it's a shame he can't win more often, if armor and alcohol are the kind of parties that get thrown for it.

Edited 2015-03-27 22:43 (UTC)

Ordinarily Quintus' jurisdiction ends at the edge of the Training Center's lot, but having the Tributes here necessitates additional security. He's here with a team of guards, working in cahoots with the local police force, looking quite conspicuous in his white uniform with the medal he brings out for special occasions pinned to his chest.

He spends much of the night walking around and conferring with the others over his earbud phone, occasionally striking up bright conversations with the guys he used to work with prior to his current position ("You were with me on that stakeout at Pier Twelve, right? With the giant dog? Yeah, that was wild!") People he knows from the Center will be greeted with a smile, and if he's spotted on his second or third beer, he doesn't care. He may be on the clock, but he's upper management now--and besides, he knows his tolerances well enough from experience.

It was nearly overwhelming for Rochelle. A certain movie had come out just last year, though she kept her thoughts to herself on the matter. But it was still a trip and a half to see all of...this. All of the decor, the food, the music. It was almost like things were normal, like the Green Flu never happened, like being kidnapped into this strange world never happened. If she ignored all the odd people (why did those people have grey skin. Was that an elf?), she could pretend that this was some kind of exclusive themed party she'd been invited to.

She even had a dress. A dress. A dress, makeup, hair styled up in a hair that forewent practicality. The dress had layers of red upon gold lace for a skirt, and when she twirled, it swished with her. A metallic cincher, with plenty of jewelry, and golden heels completed the outfit. Something she'd feel ridiculous in, in the club or fighting the Infected, but after going so long just worrying about not getting boomer bile on her lone shirt, it was beautiful. It took a little bit how to remember how to walk with heels, and there was a few close calls. But soon she was gliding around, just like she had so long ago.

She'll wander for a while, examining the sights and sounds, and taking it all in. She spends some extra time staring critically at Tony Stark's family tree, and then the flying car. She can easily be located staring contemplatively at the sky dive, wondering if it was worth a try. Better to do it before she had eaten a lot.

Edited 2015-03-27 22:44 (UTC)

Tabris has never been a quiet person, and the metal boots aid her little. But with the loud music and constant chatter, she manages to sneak behind him, just enough to wheel around him--Though it should be noted that she gives him a decent amount of personal space at first, in case he's the type to lash out in violence when startled. She shoots him a shit eating grin, tilting her head at him.

"I'd recognize that nagging voice anywhere, Quinny."

The personal space given is immediately taken away once she's sure she's not at risk of accidental shooting. She closes the gap between them, tilting her head at the man, and fluttering her eyelashes at him. "Did you come to the party just to see me? No, you must be working! Are you ever allowed any fun at all? A little bit of...unwinding?" Here she fiddled with her necklace as she stared coyly up at him.

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.

Éowyn had expected many things of Capitol fashion, based on her experiences over the last few days. Flounces, yes. Bare skin, yes. Thoroughly impractical outfits, bright colours, strange fabrics, restrictive gear... all that, she had steeled herself for.

What she had not expected, however, was to be handed what looked like metallic red longjohns. She had certainly not expected them to make up her entire outfit, and had only donned the suit (under protest) in the assumption that it was an undergarment. It looked like an undergarment. It felt horrible, too, stiff as leather but with a foreign kind of slickness to it that slithered on her skin. And she felt profoundly exposed. As if the skintight outfit wasn't enough on its own, to have it also cut to expose only her cleavage...

Combine that with the six-inch spike heels, which made her tower over most of the guests and struggle to keep her balance, and Éowyn had never felt less confident, or less herself. She hated them for that. She had been attending diplomatic events since even before she had moved to Théoden's court, and a party such as this should have been manageable, even easy. But trying to negotiate that party as good as naked, while tottering on what felt like stilts and having no idea of the political situation of the place... that might prove more challenging.

It is through challenges that we grow, she reminded herself, and took a deep breath as she headed out into the throng, trying to move as if she weren't resisting the urge to cover herself with her hands. There were people less decently-attired than she was. Was it really so different to breeches and an undershirt?

Well, yes. But it didn't do to dwell on that. Instead, she pushed herself out into the crowd, looking for a conversation to join and trying to forget that standing on those stupid high heels placed her embarrassingly naked cleavage at most people's eye level.

Thank god it's not troll-themed is Karkat's first and primary thought about this party. Last time was awful to endure, the whole setup varying from insulting to openly mocking depending on what decoration he was enduring at the time. The only good things were the food and the miniature copy of his lusus, and they didn't remotely make up for the rest. This, bright and fancy and distinctly human, is much more welcome.

Of course he hasn't escaped the whims of his stylist, having been stuck in a mix of white leather jacket, black shirt with a grey Cancer symbol, and highwaisted, loose-fitting, khaki breeches with a red waist sash. The last tuck snugly below the knee into a pair of armored boots, accented by red swirls that reference his sign. A bit of jewelry has been stuck on as well in the form of a plain silver necklace and a pair of dangling ruby earrings his stylist insisted on. (At least it's not the tattoos from last time.)

He sternly avoids the drinking games, partaking only a little of the juice on offer while avoiding the soda. (At the equivalent of 16, he's too young for the alcohol.) More out in the open he may be find milling around or else looking over the various suits of armor on display. At one point he stops to squint and stare at the family tree. Why the hell is Dave on there?

At another time, indoors, one might find him eying up the sky diving station. He always did want to fly, and while it's not the real thing, the idea is tempting...

And sooner or later curiosity (and the boredom of just standing around looking at stuff) leads him into the cave-turned-maze. He's not necessarily good at mazes, but with a swear for every dead end and wrong turn, it may not be as hard to find him as it is to find the center of the attraction.

Edited 2015-03-28 00:45 (UTC)

She can't help the smile that spreads across her face at Cullen's frank compliment. This was easily why she'd fallen in love with him. He could get so flustered over the simplest things, but also made her feel like the most beautiful woman in Thedas. She looks him over, approval raising her eyebrows as she reaches out to lightly take his hand.

"One thing can be said for this place, they seem to know what they're doing when it comes to fashion." At least some of them do. Granted there's others who look like a terrifying wagon wreck, but that was thankfully not universal.

"You look very handsome tonight, Commander."

Oh, Lord. One would think Combeferre would be used to these by now, having been here for some months. But with all the noise and the drinking games and the re-enactments of someone else's pain, put on display for the whole Capitol and the whole of Panem to see, he cannot help but feel anything but distaste. The only thing intriguing (to him) about all of this is what Tony Stark and his father did at home, the inventions they created.

Rumor had it that there was a flying car somewhere outside, so that is where Combeferre can be found. He is easy enough to spot, all in gold sequins and a mask shoved up so he can see, giving polite, if a bit strained smiles to any citizen he may pass in his search for new inventions and mechanical things to uncover.

Edited 2015-03-28 00:47 (UTC)

Karkat's been wandering aimlessly when he spots Linden. There's plenty of stuff to stare at here, but the most of it doesn't hold interest for terribly long, especially when he only met Tony once. Linden is at least a familiar face, and if truth be told he's curious after he saw the nurse leaving this morning while muttering less than kindly about the man.

"Hey. How are you faring?" His tone is more casual than openly concerned, but it feels worth asking as he sidles up.

Unlike him, the stylists were more rigorous in designing his outfit, but Karkat minds it less than what he got stuck in last time. He's got a glass of juice in hand - not soda, not alcohol - though he's only been sipping at it.

When Shepard had first spotted the outfit laid out for her, she'd very deeply considered the wisdom of 'accidentally' destroying it, with dye, or vomit, or the blood of whomever had thought this was a good idea. She would have been happier if it'd been a bastardized version, red, or velvet, or white like the old ocean-going Navies of Earth. But no. It was blue, trimmed in sharp gold, smooth and clean and very Official. The breast where her name was embroidered was studded with medals, some she recognized as her own and some clearly only thrown in to balance out the composition.

It took her a little too long to decide: she put the damn thing on. It was too tempting, just for an evening, to feel normal. This party was put together like it was meant to be what it actually was; public relations, the schmoozing of well to-dos and military brass. Sell a brand, sell yourself, sell a product. The illusion was selling Stark's inventions, or maybe just Stark himself, but the reality was selling the Hunger Games-- no, it was selling the Capitol, the idea of decadence itself. The Capitol giveth, and the Capitol taketh away.

.

So here she is, uncharacteristically sober but looking sharp in a well-pressed, nicely tailored dress uniform, suitable to her rank and seniority. Despite the addition of a pair of LED-lit, probably useless gauntlets, Shepard's feeling strangely comfortable in her own skin. Sure, her hair's slicked back and she's-- wait one fucking second, are you people wearing armor?!.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," The Capitol giveth and taketh away? The Capitol is a bag of shit, "Of course they did. Subtle."

Edited 2015-03-28 00:57 (UTC)

This is Arwen's first crowning ceremony in Panem, and she is not impressed.

The peredhel been to other such events before, watched several royals bestowed formally with the right to rule, with enough pomp and circumstance to sink a ship. This one is a mockery, with all of the glitz and glamour but none of the respect that should be accorded to such a momentous occasion. Perhaps it is the taint of her death that spoils much of the magic, knowing that all of the non-Tribute guests gather daily to watch those trapped in the arena for entertainment. If it were her choice, she would not have come at all.

But it is not, and here she is, garbed in a fitting tribute to the victor. The skirt is much too short (in her opinion) and only serves to draw attention to her legs, as do the three-inch heels a stylist helped her into. The crowning glory, however, is her hair: all of the hip length mass has been elaborately braided, shot through with pale gold thread accents and tiny red roses. As a final touch, the badge denoting District Four, for which she fights, is fixed to one shoulder.

Arwen moves carefully, but confidently. Still almost inhumanly graceful, tall even before the added inches with her shoes, and she has opted to wander the gala's outskirts; indoors with a glass of champagne or outside in the gardens inspecting some of the displays.

Edited 2015-03-28 01:48 (UTC)

There really is a lot of stuff to stare at. Though Linden has never spoken with the 12 Victor personally, he gets the impression that the man is a flashy sort, and is all the more grateful to his stylists for putting him in such a plain outfit with no makeup and allowing him to fade into the background as much as possible. At a distance, he could almost be mistaken for an Avox, but he is not complaining, and even perhaps finds it darkly appropriate.

He glances down quickly at the sound of Karkat's voice, tense expression softening slightly. Nill wouldn't be so fond of him if there wasn't something kind and sensitive under the bristly and abrasive front he affects, and Linden's started to see it for himself more recently.

"Decently," he answers, trying to sound optimistic even as he realizes that a big reason Karkat's probably asking is because he saw or heard at least some of what was going on this morning. "I thought I had a chance at getting out of this tonight, but no dice. What's that? Can I have it?" he asks, indicating the juice in Karkat's hand and continuing his proud and shameless tradition of finding Karkat's food more inherently desirable than anything he could go and grab on his own.

Edited (AUGH) 2015-03-28 01:21 (UTC)

"Oh, uh, thank you," he says, giving her a sheepish grin even as he squeezes her hand faintly. "I'm not so sure about all that, but - you look - lovely." A vision, he's heard the term or something like it, and he thinks that fits her very well tonight.

"Though, I really can't see how anyone could dance to this music," he adds after a moment.

He is not the only one in search of the car. Where Arwen is from, they do not have anything like it; the only known machines were created by the Dark Lord in an effort to destroy or subjugate the free races underneath his control. But the idea of a flying transport is even intriguing to her, so she approaches that particular display with no small amount of awe.

Enough to turn to the nearby stranger, eyes widen beneath her mask. "How do they keep it aloft without any sort of magic?"

Or even giant eagles.

Karkat is indeed rather soft under the prickly exterior. This isn't a troll who's claimed multiple best friends for nothing. While he's still not wholly used to Linden, time may come where he considers him among his sprawling collection of friends.

For now, he snorts and holds his glass away. "It's juice, and you can get your own, you lazy mooch. They have human vodkas and soda over there too, but I am apparently 'too young' for alien soporifics--" He mimes the enclosure talons. "--and I'm not touching soda with a ten foot pole." He sips from his glass quite pointedly and says, "Besides, this has troll germs in it."

He motions vaguely again. "So what was the nursassin mad at you for this morning?"

China isn’t the biggest fan of huge parties, but the Crowning is an excellent opportunity to see and be seen—and also required for her job, so she might as well make the best of it.

The tattoos on her arms are now designed to look like circuits; the ink is blue and yellow and almost appears to glow in the right light. She’s particularly proud of them tonight and makes every effort to show them off with her sleeveless black gown.

She glides all over the party, quietly tsking at the drinking games and fireworks and casually inspecting the various glimpses of the technology.

"You know," Joel said easily when he spotted her, the fringe on his chaps glinting gold in the light, "no matter how bad the outfit is that they put you in for these things, someone else has somethin' a lot worse."

It's meant to lighten the mood a bit - the girl looks pretty down-hearted, and while yeah, this place sucks, she should be finding some friends and trying to have a little fun while she can.

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The Crowning of Tony Stark

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