The Victor is...

[gamemakers]

Who| EVERYONE. IC participation is mandatory (OOC is not, you may handwave)
What| Momoko's victory crowning
Where| The ball room
When| The Wednesday before the next arena.
Warnings/Notes| None atm.

The party was styled for Momoko.

The tables were covered in lace, delicate dishes and silverware, flowers that fell from vases covered in Victorian paintings. It was the most extravagant tea party to ever be thrown, with tiny, thin china cups and a too many tiny little finger foods being passed around to count. The ballroom has been styled in extravagant Baroque, as the Capitol was fairly liberal with their adaption of historical time periods.

The costumes were just as liberally chosen, from tall, powdered wigs holding birdcages with live birds, clearly hailing in the style of Marie Antoinette to regency gowns gathered under daringly (and occasionally outright) exposed busts to tight corsets and the skeletons of skirts exposed and decorated. A quarter played live music at one end of the room, before a wide dance floor.

At the head of the room there was a long table with a throne for Momoko, as elaborate as anything else in the room. And along the long table, group close to those who they seemed to enjoy, was a place for many of the Tributes, with a small place card that said "Special guest of The Capitol." This table was fed first, received drinks first, and was clearly favored.

Any Tributes not seated at the long table with their peers were dispersed among the the smaller table spread about the room, left to rub elbows with the guests invited from the Capitol, and the reporters covering the event. Security was, if anything, tighter than the last crowning.

These people have seats a the big kids table. You guys are free to decide who sits by who (And if three people sit by one person, don't worry too much about it) but they are, when possible set by their friends:

Atticus Bell
Draco Malfoy
Chibi-Usa
Dr. Grey
Adel
Tony Stark
Howard Bassem
Javert Neeshka
Vanessa Carlysle
Lindsey McDonald
R
Albert Wesker
K
Alpha
Diana
Katurian
Aunamee
Maximus
Blaine Anderson
Alex Rider
Glinda
Gaila
Parker
John Watson
Lottie LaBouff

Comments

[lessthanelementary]

Enjolras stuck out from the crowd hovering at the edges of the floor, because he looked almost comfortable. He caught Neffa's eye because he was neither reaching for an itch he couldn't scratch nor tottering under the weight of a ridiculous hairpiece - his posture was natural, and the effect was downright elegant next to the shining monstrosities stumbling around him.

Furthermore, there were no lights on Enjolras's clothes. Neffa was starting to fear he was going to go blind in this place before they even had time to kill him, and Enjolras was one of the few people in the mirrored room whose slightest motion wasn't giving him a headache. He wasn't sure whether it said That man has sense or That man knows someone who has sense, but he was willing to bargain on either.

He approached Enjolras, swinging neatly into step beside him with a smile that was half introductory and half a Would you look at these people grimace.

"I've got to know - is it a reward, being allowed to wear flat shoes here? Or a punishment?"

(Not that Neffa's costume was too offensive by comparison - the electric blue of his thigh-length coat was garish, but not lacking any necessary pieces, and while he loathed the powdered wig more with every passing minute, there was mercifully no birdcage in it. He wished he could remove the lace at his throat as easily as Enjolras has loosened his cravat, but compared to the collars some were stuck with, he was perfectly content to count his blessings.)

[orestes]

In actuality, it said That man has been attending gathers not entirely dissimilar to this from a very young age. He just doesn't like to talk about it. From the arches of faux-Versailles to the mirror walls, and truly ridiculous costumes worn by the other guests around him, Enjolras was reminded of a party his parents might've forced him to attend. Nothing about it appealed to him, but he certainly wasn't uncomfortable either.

He spared a brief moment of pity for the man who approached him. The powder tax had made wigs extremely unfashionable when avoidable by the time he'd come along, but Enjolras had seen portraits and his professors enough to imagine the weigh of them. "If we're intended to go riding later? A punishment. Flat boots will be far more difficult to negotiate in stirrups."

[lessthanelementary]

Wigs, in Neffa's experience, were worn by people who needed them - maybe they'd had fashionable purpose in one or another of Ristopa's outlying regions at some point in history, but if they had, he certainly didn't know about it, and the idea that he should require more hair on top of the perfectly adequate stuff he already had was ridiculous to him. If there'd been fewer pins holding it in place, he'd have had the thing off by now.

"Go riding?" The alarm in his voice was half-genuine. "Would they inflict that on us? Are horses the only thing they haven't got running on magic in this place?"

That, he thought, would have been incredibly unfair.

[orestes]

"The chariots are still pulled by horses, though they could easily substitute some form of technology, I think." Not that he minded, exactly. The parade was probably the least offensive tradition of the Games in Enjolras' eyes. That, at least, had a sort of Greek romanticism to it, even if the Romanesque reality left something to be desired.

The Tributes were easy enough to spot among the crowds of guests, each moving in their respective impracticalities with varying levels of familiarity. Some seemed almost comfortable in the hall, were it not for their heavy costumes, and some, like this gentleman, seemed lost. Certainly the bravado with which he'd approached implied that this man wouldn't have all that much trouble acclimating. It was, however, comfortable to meet someone who seemed to know and understand less than he did about their situation.

"Enjolras." He said simply, offering his hand to Neffa as a gesture of greeting. "Forgive my presumption, but I am to take it you arrived here recently?"

[lessthanelementary]

"Neffa." He shook Enjolras's hand, giving him a You caught me! grin. "I've been here-- is it a week? Something like that. How do they tell when the sun goes down here?"

It was spoken as a joke, but it had frightened him his first evening - when the sky had turned the yellow-red of evening but never faded to black, and the stars had not come out over the pervasive yellow-white glare of the streets below. This Enjolras, he sensed, might know better how to explain this world to him than some of the others he'd met (gods, if one more person tried to start a conversation with him about electricity...).

[orestes]

"Another aspect of their technology." Enjolras retrieved his hand from the enthusiastic shake. Had he known it was going to be more involved than the typical French touching of the palms, he might not have offered. Not that there seemed to be anything wrong with this man, necessarily, his reserved nature simply put him at odds with such a greeting.

In truth, he didn't really mind the electric light. The lack of darkness made it difficult to sleep, perhaps, but there were curtains and other means of shutting out the dull orange glow. He missed the stars less than someone more sensitive might have, but the ease with which he was able to continue reading well into the evening made up for it. In any world, Enjolras would easily trade aestheticism for practicality. "If they seemed to work here at all, I'd praise their ethic making it possible to continue the work day so late into the evening."

[lessthanelementary]

Ah, this one was made of soberer stuff than the butterflies twinkling around him. Pure friendliness was not going to win his trust. Back home Neffa might have filed him under stick-in-the-mud, but here, anything was preferable to the cocoon of empty, bright-eyed chatter surrounding their conversation.

Neffa adjusted his face smoothly, kept his smile up but turned it more polite than open. He dropped his question casually: "And for those of us who work best by starlight? Good magic's simply not done by day."

Not that it would have mattered overmuch even had he been able to see any stars here - he had yet to find a single spirit, bound or free, that would answer his summons. It was as though they did not not exist. Something in him still hoped that magic would mean something to someone here, though - that someone would prove his growing suspicion false.

[orestes]

Magic certainly didn't mean much to Enjolras. While he didn't subscribe fully to the Jacobin Cult of Reason, he also wasn't about to allow himself to believe the Capitol ran on something as ill-defined and unreasonable as magic. Moreover, while he didn't consider himself an inventor of any capacity, he could also see how the developments might have taken place. In most things, at least. The communication devices they'd been given continued to baffle him in the most frustrating of ways.

He raised an eyebrow delicately, studying Neffa's face for any sign of facetiousness. "I was unaware that the quality of magic would vary by in the time of day."

[lessthanelementary]

There was no trace of guile in Neffa's face - if anything, his expression became surer. "Most assuredly. Without starlight, you could hardly expect to--"

He saw the change in Enjolras's expression, and faltered. He'd not meant to, but something was... off. There was quite suddenly an imbalance in the conversation that hadn't been there before. He was-- he was reading Enjolras's face wrong, wasn't he.

He'd known plenty of people, back home, who thought little of his trade, and countless more who simply didn't understand it. That he was used to, and could turn to his favor easily enough. But Enjolras's expression was-- was it disbelieving?

...Of course not. He pulled his composure back with an effort of will and an apologetic smile. "But forgive me-- this is hardly the place to discuss business. I'm not used to spending so long idle."

[orestes]

"Nor am I." Although his chosen devotion had less to do with magic than it did with philosophy and politics. Really magic. How odd it was to encounter someone who seemed to legitimately still believe in such things. "But do not contain yourself on my behalf. Men should be free to speak of their interests and passions."

And, of course, there they were all brought here from other lands, and very possibly other worlds. Perhaps this man came from another of Pangloss' "possible realities". If he did, Enjolras sincerely hoped it was the best it could be for him.

[lessthanelementary]

"Ah, I'd call it less an interest than... a vocation." Not that there was no interest there - quite the contrary. Magic, to Neffa's great happiness, was a consistent source of love and money. "I established my own practice half a year ago." His smile turned rueful-- "Though I haven't seen any business since coming here, as you might imagine."

"And you?" he added, and let a little more of the newcomer come through, a wide-eyed shield against a slightly more dangerous question. "Is your passion for their Games, or...?"

[orestes]

Enjolras frowned, shifting his weight in a subtle expression of contained discontent. "I find it difficult to be passionate about something in which I have no stake."

He was required by circumstance to care about the games, but that certainly didn't mean that he cared for them or would ever go so far as to declare himself passionate about them. As a point of fact, the entire complex arrangement of competition for food didn't sit well with him, particularly with the abundance of the Capitol so opulently displayed around them.

[lessthanelementary]

So the starry-eyed rapture surrounding the Games was not reflected in all of its contestants. That was... well, not unexpected, but contrary to much of what he'd been told.

"Is that not why they assign us Districts?" Stop standing on your courtesy. Answer me something, come on. "To give us a stake in it?"

[orestes]

"It is a political arrangement." Not being native to either the Capitol nor the Districts made the whole thing seem slightly more ridiculous to him, but Enjolras prided himself on his control. Despite his best efforts to maintain a level head, however, he could feel a tightening in his voice as he spoke of what they had explain to him of the Games. "We are champions of a given District. If we, or someone else from our District win, their rations are increased."

Which was so incomprehensible to him on a practical level as to be almost ludicrous were it not for the reality he was now facing. Varying levels of skill and adaptability made a true contest impossible. This wasn't the brutality of the gladiators, or even the sometimes fatally applied test of skill of the Olympics. This was just sadism applied to foreigners under the guise of caring for the denizens (but not true citizens, it seemed) of the state. "I cannot tell you why the Capitol finds these contests necessary."

[lessthanelementary]

A response to that was not so simple to find. District hadn't meant much to Neffa before this - he'd not been entirely sure the nebulous idea even had any real geography attached to it. No one had taken the trouble of showing him a map. The idea was not foreign to him - Ristopa was a city sovereign over its surrounding territories - but that war was a footnote even in written memory, and those borders meant little anymore. Ristopa governed them, it did not-- it did not demand sacrifice from them.

He'd wanted an answer. Now he wasn't entirely sure how to reply.

"It is... an incentive, I suppose," he managed. "As much a reason for the Districts to support their contest as for us to compete. ...Maybe moreso." He had no idea how many people he was even intended to represent.

[orestes]

Enjolras was similarly uninformed. Asking about his District had been all but useless for anything other than surface level details. The people of the Capitol didn't seem unwilling to discuss any of its history, so much as disinterested in any of the details. He pursed his lips, appearing to consider Neffa's response. Then, tersely he replied, "It should be enough for them to oppose the rule of the Capitol and demand legitimate representation, not to roll over and play along with their games."

Which, of course, spoke to his own tendency toward violent overreaction. A more logical voice in his head chided, reminding him that he didn't know the full situation. Having some sort of perspective, any sort of perspective might illustrate exactly why the Districts weren't doing anything to better their position politically.

[lessthanelementary]

Neffa found himself looking again around the room as he chewed on that, at the Tributes so easy to pick out of the crowd. Even under the ribbons and ruffles and haphazard wig architecture, that particular look of... of not-belonging, of wary uncertainty, was the same on every face. It was, he noted with uncomfortable suddenness, the only visible link he could find between them.

And that was telling, wasn't it. It did not matter overmuch to the Capitol whom they murdered. Not a one of them could say why they had been brought here - and it was fully possible that that was just what they wanted.

To Enjolras, though, he gave a sardonic half-smile. "I'd be much obliged to them if they would," he said. "But I see none of them waiting for their turn at this pageant. Why die for a stranger's game?" It was logical, he thought - in their position, he likely wouldn't have had much compassion to spare for the Tributes, either. Better them than me was sound logic, if cruel.