tucky: (I respond well to disembodied voices)
Tiffany Doggett ([personal profile] tucky) wrote in [community profile] thecapitol2015-04-26 01:05 pm

[open]

Who| Tiffany Doggett AND YOU
What| A smalltown jailbird arrives in the Capitol and immediately decides that it's the best place ever
Where| Various places; scenarios under cuts
When| Some vague nebulous time after the latest plot; can take place over a few days if needed
Warnings/Notes| If you haven't already, please take a look at her permissions post before tagging her so I know what you are and aren't comfortable with! Other than that, nothing (yet - it's always yet with her)

A: District 1 suite, Part I

If you're going to be unceremoniously pulled from your prison block with no warning and not much explanation, there are definitely worse places you could be landed. This place is insane - everything in it is more lavish and luxurious than anything she's seen in pictures or on TV, let alone in real life. It's at least a couple hours before she even considers leaving her suite - she's too busy trying everything out. She tests out her big, soft bed (which she can't resist bouncing on like a child for a minute or two), she takes a shower followed by a long, hot bath, she raids the fridge, she checks out the view from the deck. If something is available to be examined, turned on, or tried out, she does it.

Honestly, she had kind of glossed over the whole "battle to the death" thing. Forced death matches simply aren't a part of reality as she knows it, and until the idea is shoved in her face a little more, it's just not something she's going to think about at all. As far as she's concerned, this place is heaven. The Capitol has already begun to win her allegiance.

B: The streets of the Capitol

Tiffany finally leaves the Training Center, after being reassured (more than once) that this is her home now and she'll be able to come back whenever she wants. There's nowhere in particular that she's looking to go, but that's fine with her - she'll wander. She's bound to come across something or someone interesting eventually.

C: The Districts shopping center

Handed a credit card and set loose in a city, it's unsurprising that Tiffany finds her way to a mall. Not really one for thinking ahead that much, she immediately starts buying things - clothes mostly, but also earrings, bracelets, and makeup. It's only after an hour or two that she starts wondering if she's going to hit a credit limit, or be dealing with bills later. She looks around for people with similar-looking cards; when she finds someone, she stops them and holds up her own.

"Hey. How much is on this thing?"

D: Various clubs and bars (The Speakeasy, .infinity, Anomaly, The Cave, or Tesserae)

After gussying herself up at the shopping center, Tiffany eventually discovers the Capitol nightlife, and the rest is history. She bounces from place to place, skipping the sit-down restaurants but hitting all the clubs and bars, sometimes more than once. Affiliation means nothing to her at this point; any rebellion-minded talk at places like The Speakeasy mostly just goes over her head. She's shed her prison clothes and dressed herself to the nines (though she still looks pretty tame in comparison to most Capitol fashion), accessorizing with jewelry, shimmery makeup, and lightly-styled hair (nothing too fancy, but infinitely better than the untreated, unbrushed 'do she often sported in prison). She's a little underdressed for the fancier places and a little overdressed for the dive bars, but she doesn't seem to care. She'll have the time of her life - dancing, drinking, and occasionally chatting up men. She's not used to looking good, or feeling good about her appearance. The fact that she does now puts her in an amazing mood.

E: District 1 suite, Part II

Somewhere along the line, someone had slipped her some tapes of past Games - either out of a genuine desire to help, or because they'd pegged her as someone who'd be easily spooked and wanted to psych her out. She should familiarize herself with these, they'd said, because she'd be going into the arena herself soon enough. So later, tired out from her night on the town, she remembers the tapes and pulls them out, flopping down on the common room couch to watch.

And it's... terrifying. She watches intently, leaning forward, eyes wide. It's like a horror movie she can't look away from. She's killed before, and she's threatened, and she's gotten into her fair share of fights - but this is a whole new ball game. Can she really do this? Is she really going to be expected to do this? She doesn't want to die, but looking at the fighting skills of some of these people... there's no way, she thinks, that she would stand a chance.

She'll have to ask someone about it later; someone in charge. They've been helpful so far. Surely they'll continue to be.
justoutrunyou: (We'll use masks)

c

[personal profile] justoutrunyou 2015-04-26 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
"Huh?"

Sandy had idly picking through some elaborate looking socks with different silly patterns on them when the woman asked her a question. It took the girl a moment to catch up. New tribute, seeking information. She could do that.

"Oh um...well they don't really let us check it. So basically you just keep spending till it stops working. Usually you get a message or something when you're running out." She shrugs her narrow shoulders studying the new woman and trying to decide if she seems like a threat. She on the other hand was a healthy looking young girl who dressed as casually enough it was clear she didn't belong among the bright colors and over the top fashions of the Capitol citizens.

After two years of doing this dance of arenas and death Sandy would like to hope she's developed a slightly more critical eye for people then she had when she arrived.

"If you do stuff like commercials or interviews or whatever they give you more. There's this company that still uses my face to sell their hover bikes so I never really worry about it."

If her mother could see how recklessly she spent money these days it would probably make her minimum wage mind spin.
justoutrunyou: (what are you saying?)

[personal profile] justoutrunyou 2015-04-26 06:53 pm (UTC)(link)
That was enough to make Sandy snort and laugh.

"Well do I look like a model?" Maybe for street urchin fashion. "You're a tribute. That's like being a celebrity around here. People are always video taping you, reporting about you, even writing stories about you online." She explained looking incredibly unimpressed by the reality of it.

"It's dumb, but it's why we're here. Your escort might set up some deals for you, or maybe after your time in the arena the deals will come to you."

She was well spoken for a girl her age, well versed in the comings and goings of at least these matters.
justoutrunyou: (oh no what now?)

[personal profile] justoutrunyou 2015-04-26 07:15 pm (UTC)(link)
"Not me." Sandy objected leaning against a pillar with mirrors on it. "I mean the food at the parties is OK but I'm tired of everybody starring at me wherever I go. And of all these strangers knowing more about me then even I do sometimes." It was embarrassing in her opinion.

"But...if we're not playing the game and keeping them happy there's no reason for us to be here right?" Her reasoning carried a sort of finality to it. In her mind the options were "Keep dancing for the people" or "Die horribly."
justoutrunyou: (Sly)

[personal profile] justoutrunyou 2015-04-26 09:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Good question. Sandy had the answer even if she rarely heeded her own wisdom.

"Play the game. Answer their questions. Pretend this place isn't secretly awful." The last part she added quietly to avoid causing trouble.

"I guess it doesn't hurt to be willing to brutally murder people in fun and interesting ways." She added in an attempt at dark, sarcastic humor.
crabmunicator: (086)

A; descriptions of wounds + police brutality

[personal profile] crabmunicator 2015-04-26 10:23 pm (UTC)(link)
The thing about getting shot twice through the thigh is that, even when the bullets went straight through, even being a troll, the wounds don't just disappear in a week. This is especially true when it took three days before a doctor would deign to look at them, and more still when the Peacekeepers graciously bestowed him a couple taser zaps, some other knocking around, and blatant targeting of his leg when they dragged him off to that white door he doesn't like to think about.

The thing is also that none of that shows under long sleeves and jeans - regular ones, thanks, not the skinny kind his stylist likes to push at him sometimes. He's never been a fan of Capitol styles, but he's been dressing more subdued than usual in the wake of his return. He stands out enough by species, and after Sigma and Quintus's announcements he wants no more reason to draw the eye of visiting fans or media the few times he visits something on the same floor as the lobby.

He's just coming up from the in-tower restaurant there when the elevator stops on the first floor. He lets out an ugh of a sigh as the doors slide smoothly open, followed by a "Just a second."

He's taken a spot by the button panel, since it's easier to get on and off the dang thing without extra steps added in. He shuffles back, notably favoring one leg, and sweeps an inviting hand in with an expression on his grey face that says he'd rather shove her back out for making him move when he's this sore.
Edited 2015-04-26 22:24 (UTC)
crabmunicator: (077)

[personal profile] crabmunicator 2015-04-26 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)
If she's not going to give him shit, then so much the better. He allows himself to relax the slightest then, and sets in for the rest of the ride--but of course he thought too soon.

His expression presses flat. She must be new, he gathers, but his patience for explaining promptly drops with stupid questions.

His hands fling up around his face as he launches in, "Yes, it's Halloween. That's why my horns are made of candycorn, I've painted even my insides grey, and I've taken the time to grow real, actual fangs out of my jaw." He sticks his (yes, grey) tongue out between the points of his teeth, with lips rolled back to bare them. "Thank you so much for noticing. Your powers of observation astound."
crabmunicator: (022)

[personal profile] crabmunicator 2015-04-26 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)
He's not displaying them so purposely now, but they do flash as he snaps back at her.

"You tell me," he says, eyes rolling off to the ceiling. "It's not like actual aliens from another universe could exist when they've brought in a jillion humans from every other pocket of reality. You don't look Capitol. Tell me, do you think they just brought you in on a truck overnight? Knocked you straight out of whatever you were doing and plunked you down here for fun and amusement?"

His hands fling out again, wider this time, and he grits his teeth through the wince at the sore muscles it tugs at.

"Well congratulations! You're absolutely right! Welcome to the best carnival ride on the planet, and I'm your friendly host. So cheer up, shut up, and stop asking if the exhausted troll is wearing a fucking costume!"
crabmunicator: (091)

[personal profile] crabmunicator 2015-04-26 11:05 pm (UTC)(link)
Karkat's 5'2" plus hair and horns. His ancestor's only got two inches on him, and even the local Hobbit gives him sass. He is never going to intimidate anyone by size.

His hands are still up; his fingers wiggle. "Well excuse me for answering your questions. Next time you open your ugly trap I'll know to ignore every ignorant word your unfortunate tongue has been forced into spewing."
crabmunicator: (057)

[personal profile] crabmunicator 2015-04-26 11:15 pm (UTC)(link)
So much for ignoring here.

"They're troll teeth." His hands fling down, and all sarcasm is gone from his face to make room for the frustration. "I'm a troll. An actual alien from another planet, in another solar system, another galaxy, another universe from whatever backwater hole in the ground you crawled out of, and my pointy little teeth are better in every way than blunt, human chunks of enamel."

He cranes his head up. "What fucking floor are we on? I want to get off this ride already, and we should have stopped for whatever you picked."
knittingbackwards: (I despair)

b

[personal profile] knittingbackwards 2015-04-26 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
Something interesting, in this case, might include a wizard. He doesn't stick out so much in this company, where outlandish clothing is the norm, but he's still very clearly a wizard. It's taken him a great deal of trouble to get his clothes back to how he likes them, and some scolding of Stylists besides, but now Merlyn has the long, flowing robes he prefers. He's still working on stitching the runes and star signs onto them, and they lack the comfortable wear and tear of his own robes at home, but he feels a lot better for having them. The hat is a little less elegant; he ended up making it himself, knitted wool with a cardboard frame, and it's already a little battered at the tip. He is tall and bony and leathery-skinned, and some kind of small bird appears to have made a nest in his long grey beard.

His mild blue eyes look very distant, as if he's trying to remember something that's just on the tip of his brain, which may explain why he ends up tripping on a decorative little wall, sending the bags he's carrying flying. Yarn, books, and a couple of pairs of wooden knitting needles spill out of them onto the pavement, and Merlyn hops on one leg for a moment, rubbing his calf and muttering drat a lot, before going to retrieve his things. His hat has fallen off, too. Inside it is a fascinating assortment of odds and ends - some buttons, a handful of straw, an inkpot, and a letter written in a crabbed hand on old parchment - which he bends to scrabble back into the cardboard cone, cursing under his breath all the while.

"Don't just stand there," he says rather sharply after a moment, looking up at Tiffany. "Give me a hand, will you?"
crabmunicator: (126)

[personal profile] crabmunicator 2015-04-26 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
The roof. The fucking roof. Not a fling this time, his hands fall limp at his sides - for a moment.

"Budge over, nookwipe. There is no way I'm going up to the roof if you're going to be on it." He moves to limp around her, if she'll let him, with the goal of mashing the 6.

"Good fucking luck if you want to pretend I'm human. There's six of us assholes around and one won this game two arenas ago."
crabmunicator: (034)

[personal profile] crabmunicator 2015-04-26 11:35 pm (UTC)(link)
"No, it wasn't me, and I'm going to die early next time. Happy?" he says, turning back to glare once he's hit the button.

Still, it's a question he can answer, and he sighs before explaining. "It was my ancestor. Guy who looks like me, slightly taller, hair on his chin." His fingers brush his own bare one. "Now he's stuck with a mentor gig for District 12."
knittingbackwards: (Stop right there)

[personal profile] knittingbackwards 2015-04-26 11:35 pm (UTC)(link)
"When you're as old as I am," Merlyn replies gravely, "you earn the right to be as rude as you please. Thank-you." He settles his hat back on his head, tucking the corner of the letter back under it, and takes the books from her. They're thin books by his standards, which is to say only eight hundred pages or so, and the titles are things like Panem: A History and The Dark Days. Uninspired titles for what he suspects are very insipid books, but they're the best he could find.

He tucks them back into one of the bags, then turns to shovel the yarn back into the other bag, with a long-suffering kind of sigh. "What I want to know," he announces to the world in general, "is just why you would put a by-our-lady wall there in the first place." Giving his leg another rueful little rub, he straightens up and proffers his hand. "Thank-you for your help, young lady."

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