I get dizzy when I think of all the ways we try to hide our maladies [OPEN]

[capitolprivilege]

Who| Stephen and anyone who isn't actively participating in the break-in!
What| A big, big party to celebrate the soccer match, and also to celebrate Stephen being much less of a disgrace than he was. This is the party that made it into Celebrus, people. The Capitol elite is invited, and so is anyone involved with the Games! ...except for the people Cyrus crossed off the guest list behind Stephen's back.
Where| An event hall in the Capitol
When| Backdated to the Binding plot, the night of the break-in.
Warnings/Notes| Capitol gilding-over of atrocious things. Disney-ified portrayals of the Districts. Avoxes being used as furniture. And what you bring with you.

For having such a short time to plan it, Stephen and Porrim have really outdone themselves. The event hall is round, with a hallway leading to a large, circular, central room and smaller rooms ringing the outside. The main area is half ballroom, half dining area: the dance floor is off to one side, large enough to accommodate anyone who wants to dance, but with the lights low enough to make it feel intimate and un-intimidating even if only a few feel like dancing. The translucent mist that whirls around the area helps with the intimate atmosphere without impeding visibility badly enough to make dancing difficult. The other half of the room is round tables, kept clean and refreshed with food by wait staff who will bring the guests just about anything they ask for. The wait staff are all perfectly groomed, polite, and in possession of their tongues.

The decor is soccer-themed, but soccer as it would have been imagined by the ancient Greeks. Marble statues of athletes (clothed or half-clothed or with strategically carved folds of cloth) are tastefully placed around the low-lit room. The Greco-Roman aesthetic characterizes the whole room: carved pillars hold up the sound system and the tables, embossed vases whose figures are animated adorn the tables as centerpieces, and the wait staff is dressed in sporty chitons and peploses. It's Classically classy, but the sports imagery and the popular dance music that's muted enough in the dining area to allow people to talk make it informal enough to be comfortable.

At even intervals around the center room are twelve doors. Each one has a Roman numeral on it. Step through any one of them and it will take you to a recreation of the corresponding District that's both full of real props and holographic images. The technology isn't as good as Gamemaker illusions and certainly doesn't feel as real as the dream tech, but it can be interacted with, even if it doesn't "feel" real. You can "pick up" a dandelion in District 12 and blow its seeds away. You can run a hand through the water of a District 4 beach and pier and watch the ripples spread. Each District room has comfortable seating, themed food, and appropriately-dressed wait staff; there are even cast members re-enacting District life around the dining areas, giving each room a sense of authenticity. It looks, sounds, smells, and tastes like the District it's imitating, just -- better. Cleaner.

Oh, also, those who participated in the soccer game and won will be given laurel crowns made of solid gold.

District One is a balcony of a manor house, overlooking a perfect view of manicured gardens. You're not outdoors, but it sure feels like it. The tableware is sparkling gold, the chairs made of silky fabric that is a joy to touch but doesn't seem to stain, and being there will make you feel like a prince or princess.

District Two is clearly built into the inside of a mountain. There are broad, open windows, of course, letting in plenty of fresh air, and the walls and floor and ceiling are impeccably carved, but it's all made of natural stone. Outside, down in the valley, you can see Careers and Peacekeepers training.

District Three is a charred husk no, not at all, that would be tasteless. Three looks like Tron: Legacy. Glowing LED lines run through the walls and furniture, and it all looks so clean and spotless it can't be entirely real. The tables are angular, unnatural, and around the dining area are color-changing glow pools.

District Four is a broad pier that juts out from a beach into the ocean. The sand is real, but the water is not -- don't worry, you won't ruin your clothes if you fall in! The sun is setting, painting the sky beautiful colors, and there's no mistaking that sea-salt smell. Off to the side, attractive fishermen and fisherwomen work to bring in the seafood the Capitol enjoys so much. Rough-hewn but splinterless wooden tables and comfortable canvas chairs are on the pier, with an awning above to keep the sun off. Part of the pier is made of glass, so you can look down and watch the tiny fish as they swim around.

District Five is a power plant, but an elegant one. Lightning crackles across the walls and ceiling, leaping between metal rods in a dazzling display. But don't worry: it's not real. You can touch it if you want. It'll cling to your fingers for a few seconds before sparking out. The hum it makes is quiet and unobtrusive white noise.

District Six is lovely, if Stephen does say so himself. It's a series of luxuriously-furnished train cars, with realistic-looking, picturesque scenery rushing past that reflects the geography of all twelve Districts. The floor hums gently; it feels like you're really moving. In one of the train cars can be found one District 6 Mentor, Linden Lockhearst -- usually. He's been part of the party's marketing: he has promised to, at this party, disprove fortune-telling completely. Come talk to him! You'll be surprised at what he can tell you about you. ♥

District Seven is a tree house! It's about a hundred feet up in the crisp, pine-fresh air, affording a gorgeous view of the surrounding forest. Birds sing, deer frolic below, and stunningly attractive lumberjacks can be seen going past, hard at work. They're also very attractive. Look, Stephen and Porrim planned this party -- what did you expect? Go watch the lumberjacks. It's worth it.

District Eight is artistic. It's divided into sections, almost mazelike, with walls made of cloth, but it's kept from feeling claustrophobic by the fact that the ceiling -- also made of cloth -- looks like the sky. No, really. Clouds are scudding across it, blown in the same direction as the light breeze that flows through the room, keeping it from feeling stuffy. The cloth walls are similarly illusory: touch them and they feel real, but projected onto them are broad plains with great lakes not too far distant. The chairs and tables are all cloth and wooden frames.

District Nine is grain. It's hard to make grain interesting, but Stephen's given it his best shot. This is the room with the most open-air feel. Grain, amber waves of it, as far as the eye can see. There's a trick to this room: walk out into the grain, and you won't hit a wall. You're on a moving sidewalk that responds to you, and the holograms will bend to give the illusion of distance between you and the tables in the crop circle in the center of the room. D9's bigger on the inside.

District Ten doesn't have real farm animals. Goodness, no. Too unpredictable, and the smell would detract from the Old West charm of this room. The door leads out onto the expansive porch of a ranch house, where the tables are. It overlooks paddocks of horses and fields of gentle cows. Two or three playful but impeccably trained herding dogs are the only real animals here: they are impeccably clean and will only approach if you call them over. Their handlers in cowboy hats and jeans aren't far away, keeping a watchful eye. Somewhere, Wyatt Earp wants to die.

District Eleven is an idyllic orchard. The apples can be picked and eaten. You won't be punished for stealing food, because you're from the Capitol! Ha, ha. The wait staff is dressed as sexy farmers, with straw hats and coverall-shorts and plaid shirts artistically tied up, talking in easygoing drawls. It's all very charming, like it's right out of Song of the Goddamn South. This is some unfortunate fucking shit.

District Twelve is probably the most ordinary out of all the rooms. The feel is of small-town Appalachia. Coal miners with impressive arms can be seen going to and from work along dirt tracks that wind between the little houses, a man plays a banjo and sings a little ways off, and pine-covered mountains rise in the distance. The food is rustic but delicious: warm baked bread, goat cheese and strawberries, roast goose with herbs -- you wish you lived in this dystopia.

Oh, and one more thing... In the main room, there are statues that are dressed more classically. Togas, chitons, flowy robes, bangles, sandals -- they're holding trays of food, trays of drinks, baskets of bread and fruit, all classically beautiful, all with -- very realistic-looking hair and eyes, now that you're thinking about it -- oh god they're moving. Cyrus Reagan has been involved in the planning of this party from the start, and he's BUTTED IN put a few of his own touches on it without talking it over with Stephen. Hand-picking Avoxes for their looks, dressing them up, and commanding them to stand perfectly still so they can be the tables, he felt, fit the theme perfectly.

Comments

Stephen | Open

[capitolprivilege]

Anyone who's known Stephen Reagan for more than a year will expect to see him dressed neck-deep in the party theme. It's what he does. He enjoys it. So of course he's going to be in a purple toga or something with laurels on his head, right?

Right?

Nope. Not this time. He's in an impeccably tailored suit with a very flattering cut, squaring his shoulders and hugging his waist. A ruby sparkles in each cuff link and in the buttons of his shirt, and the only real nod to the theme is a gold ring around his forefinger in a laurel shape, large enough to catch the eye but still understated. The pattern inside the lining of his jacket is distinctly Roman, too. Other than that, though, the effect is one of caring about the theme but also too aloof, too classy, to be defined by it: an organizer, not an attraction.

Early in the night, you might catch him off to the side, not looking at the Avoxes, with a face that's nothing but thoughtful but a stance that's agitated. He's ticked.

Throughout the night, of course, he's making the rounds, ducking in and out of the District rooms, speaking with everyone, suggesting things they haven't seen yet, recommending food, congratulating them on recent achievements: he doesn't put his foot in his mouth once. He's playfully flirtatious with single Capitolites, but he never seems to have time to talk to any one of them long enough to strike up more than a casual conversation before he's whisked off to talk to someone else. It's very safe to say Stephen has approached you at least once, and it's also safe to say that, if you know him, his understated party-clothes are out of character.

[fusshionable]

Helping to organize this little affair with Stephen has been an adventure, to say the least. In a way, it's been nice--it's a good way to get her mind off of the other things going on, it's a good cover for her own covert operations, and it's good to spend some more time with Stephen again, too. She hadn't been lying when she'd said that he'd been missed--his time in party exile had been rather lackluster for the rest of their circle--and it's a good way to pull him out of that downward spiral of his.

Still, the hovering spectre of his older brother has been a particular challenge, because he has a lot of Ideas that Porrim simply doesn't agree with--the Avoxes-come-furniture being the main one. Not to mention, she's probably already on his shit list thanks to fucking nosy Celebrus reporters who can't mind their own damn business. They don't pick up on the Tribute that Porrim had actually been messing around with, but still find a way to sully her name. Classic.

She's dressed simply, herself, in a flowing white gown that's definitely on-theme, her hair braided in shining black coils atop her head with a crown of laurels wound along the nape of her neck. She towers over most of the other women in the room, already tall without the golden leather gladiator heels on her feet. Massive, heavy solid gold bracelets at her wrists complete the look, and most surprisingly, there's not a hint of black in her ensemble.

Cradling a glass of something sweet and golden in one hand, she catches up with Stephen in the District Eight-themed room once she's made the rounds a few times herself, the party in full swing. "Hey, you," she says over his shoulder, coming around to face him properly. "How's the life of the party?"

[capitolprivilege]

She looks stunning. It makes Stephen regret, for the umpteenth time that night, that he'd been asked to be aloof of the theme. Well, maybe asked was the wrong word. Instructed was more accurate.

"Being worked to death," he answers wryly. "Don't tell Cyrus I'm in here. I've only just escaped." His manner is playful; he's not quite as tired as he's pretending to be for effect. It's true, though; he's had hardly a moment's peace since Cyrus arrived -- late, he might add.

[fusshionable]

"Poor thing," Porrim replies wryly. She knows that this isn't Stephen's style, being led around like a show pony with his brother's hand on one shoulder all the while.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. The good thing about me being so damn tall is that I'm easy to hide behind." She sips at her drink, regarding the room around them with curiosity. "Cyrus managed to sneak in quite a few, ah--personal touches, didn't he?"

[capitolprivilege]

"He certainly did," says Stephen icily: he's smiling, but no observer could miss that he's less than pleased about it. "I've been trying to think of a way to get the Avoxes removed all evening. I don't like the effect."

It's important to Stephen to communicate to the cameras that are absolutely everywhere that it's the atmosphere he's worried about, not the fact that forcing a human being to stand perfectly still holding trays laden with food is torturous.

[fusshionable]

Porrim cuts her gaze toward the nearest such installation; she happens to highly disapprove of the whole concept, but she's smart enough to keep her mouth shut about it. She doesn't need to be hauled in for questioning concerning her dangerous beliefs, no thanks.

"It certainly gives off a different impression than we'd aimed for," she settles on. "Colder by far." There. That sounds like her concerns are the correct ones, doesn't it?

Time for a change in subject. She reaches for his hand, studies the laurel ring on his finger. "I like this. Classy. You look good."

[capitolprivilege]

They're both pretending their worries are more superficial than they are and they know it. It gives Stephen a sense of camaraderie: neither of us agrees with this, and we both know why this party is really happening. Being around other people, especially other Capitolites, who disagree with the Capitol is comforting. Thirty seconds with Porrim is doing more to relax him than thirty minutes with Cyrus would, and he lets her take his hand.

He could bring up the fact that his clothes tonight were Cyrus's idea, too, but honestly? Stephen's tired of talking about his brother. He lets her take his hand, then laces his fingers into hers, turning it so that it's her hand he's holding up.

"And you look divine," he says, turning the compliment back on her with a nod to her costume's theme, holding her hand warmly.

hey bro hey

[currupted]

The party has already been underway for a few hours before Cyrus arrives. That's not a big deal, of course - it's expected to go most of the night, and who arrives on time to a party? - but it's uncharacteristic for him, and not his original plan.

He doesn't appear unhappy, however. Far from it. There's a quiet energy to him this evening, a smile he can't entirely shake, a restlessness that, for once, doesn't come from stress. He's thinking of his earlier visit from Tom Cassidy, and the carrying out of his new legislation that he knows (and has no intention of saying) is going on-- at this moment? Maybe? (He hopes so.)

He's pleased also by the look of the party, how tasteful and well-coordinated it is, and how well his own (not inconsiderable) additions fit the theme. It's a far cry from the seedy, gaudy gatherings Stephen's been seen at most in recent weeks.

He's dressed not unlike Stephen, albeit in different colors and with even more removal from the theme. The drape of his shirt is reminiscent in a vague way of the Roman aesthetic, in the way it hangs looser across one shoulder. But his only overt nod to the décor is a crown of laurels on his head, silver-green and minimalist, so as not to be confused with the gold crowns of the victors.

He catches Stephen about to step into the District One room, and puts up a hand to get his attention among the crowd. He plucks a small dish off one of the Avox-tables as he approaches - the Avox doesn't move, doesn't respond, doesn't even look at him. Its face is blank without even being fearful. Impeccably conditioned. Worth every Assi.

"Hey," he says, stepping up beside his brother with a grin and giving him a pointed once-over. If he notices Stephen's obvious annoyance at a first glance, he doesn't bother showing it. "You look good tonight."

Because, of course, it was Cyrus who chose Stephen's clothes. Had them tailored to his measurements. Chose the colors. Had them delivered to him. Instructed him to wear them. He's pleased to see that he's been obeyed. The effect, he thinks, is just what he was going for - involved, but not too involved. A look befitting one who's promised to hang back from the wilder parts of the party.

YOUUUUUUUU

[capitolprivilege]

"And you," Stephen replies with a smile that could cut, "are very, very late." He's not decided, yet, if he should mention the Avoxes. Stephen has been thinking about this very, very hard. If he has them removed, it'll draw attention. He doesn't know if his instructions will trump Cyrus's: it's completely possible that if he spoke to someone about their removal, they wouldn't even listen. And even if they did, it would draw Cyrus's attention to the fact that Stephen was concerned about them, and Cyrus would no doubt remember the fight Stephen had had with Jason over Avox treatment.

Stephen's goal at the moment is to create a party as lavish, distracting, and reassuringly Capitol that no one, especially Cyrus, would suspect Stephen of rebellious leanings. Removing the Avoxes runs counter to that. But forcing them to act this way -- it's terrible. He's been trying to think of a way to get them out without attracting attention and been terribly, terribly stuck.

"What kept you?"

[currupted]

Cyrus gives Stephen a good-natured wince-- You caught me. "Apologies. It was work. A matter of enforcement. Something came up this evening that... needed my personal attention."

He hopes this communicates both how important the problem was, and that it's not something he's ready to discuss here. Really, it's not the kind of thing he'd ever discuss with Stephen anyway - Stephen doesn't need to hear about conspiracies and rebellion and sedition. Not at his own party.

"But, hey-- I made it." He steps in to put an arm around Stephen's shoulders, friendly and reassuring. "So you can stop glaring at me. I'm not leaving." He raises his dish in Stephen's direction, the one he took from the Avox-table, as if to say, See? I'm installed.

"This is fantastic, by the way," he adds, with a gesture that encompasses the room. "Seriously. You really outdid yourself." Flattery has, in the past, been the quickest road to forgiveness with Stephen, and he's willing to downplay his own role in the planning for the moment if it means Stephen will give him a real smile.

[capitolprivilege]

Work and enforcement and personal attention throw up red flags behind Stephen's superficially-irritated smile. Stephen knows exactly what kind of sedition and conspiracy and rebellion is happening tonight, and it makes worry gnaw at him. He doesn't relax when the arm is thrown around him, but it's easy to pass off as anger.

It's true: flattery had been the quickest road to Stephen's forgiveness. But that had been when party organization and clothing and public opinion had been the most important things to Stephen -- and when Stephen was quicker to believe what Cyrus had to say.

"It wasn't just me," he replies coolly. "Porrim had a lot to do with it, too. But we noticed a few things that neither of us recognized. I assume the performance art was you?"

[currupted]

Cyrus frowns. "The--?" A second, and then it hits him-- his expression clears, and he grins. "Ah. You mean the Avoxes."

He glances over his shoulder at the nearest one, standing about ten paces away - made up to look like marble, eyes blank, weight balanced on one hip and the opposite arm wrapped around a full breadbasket. There's a barely-noticeable tremor in its knees.

"Magnificent, aren't they?" Cyrus says. "I wasn't sure there'd be enough time to condition them to stand still - you know how jumpy they can be." Offhand, not even needing to wait for agreement. "I didn't want it to look sloppy. But their handlers assured me they'd be able to do it, and I have to say, I'm impressed."

This is spoken with genuine pride, and with a glance at Stephen-- gauging his reaction. Noting that Stephen doesn't seem nearly as enthusiastic about it as he would have expected. "...Do you disagree?"

[capitolprivilege]

"The conditioning is incredible," Stephen says with just enough carelessness to hide his disgust and horror that Avoxes were conditioned specifically for this. That they were tortured so that they would be unable to do nothing but hold baskets and trays and cornucopias that only grew heavier and heavier and heavier... "I was fooled, for a minute, until I saw one of them switch out."

He's got to be careful here, he knows. Stephen's walking a thin line: he's not sure he can convince Cyrus to have them uninstalled, and if he tries, it'll look like he has dangerous opinions. But if he doesn't say anything -- he's already given away the fact that he's bothered. If Stephen looks like he's hiding something, Cyrus will be suspicious all the same.

"It's just...having them around is kind of uncomfortable, you know?"

He seems reluctant to talk about it, but the pieces are sliding into place in his head: if Cyrus presses, Stephen knows what tack he'll take.

[reallynow]

It would be incredibly uncharacteristic of Jolie to miss a party like this, particularly when it happens to be hosted by Stephen of all people. Friends don't bail on friends parties, especially not when they're a convenient cover for seditious behavior.

Once she's sent her freshly disgusted tributes off into the world, she touches up her own appearance and arrives fashionably late. She spares a moment to mingle as casually as possible, indulging in drinks and smiling around the party. When she catches sight of Stephen, she makes a beeline for him, poking the small of his back affectionately.

"'Scuse me? I'd like to speak to the host." She puts on her most offended voice, waiting for him to turn around. She's wig to heel in gold glitter and cheetah print, looking very much like her usual self.

[capitolprivilege]

Stephen whirls around, taking in her displeasure and raising an eyebrow in return, putting on the most imperious, serious-business, five-star maître-d' frown he can muster.

"What seems to be the trouble?"

[reallynow]

Jolie fluffs up to her full, heel-graced height and tilts her chin up at him in response. Her arms fold over her chest, just to add to the weird little scene.

"Look, me and the other Stylists were talking and there's a problem. Thing is, you look too good. And they, not me. Never me. Anyway, they were saying you're making them look bad." She covers her mouth with her hand, like this is truly a scandal and whispers. "It's a problem."

[capitolprivilege]

A hand comes up to his mouth, horrified and thoughtful and definitely not covering up any kind of pulling at the corners of his mouth that might be the start of a laugh.

"We can't have that," he mutters, matching Jolie's mock-secrecy. "I'll have to do something about it, fast."

[reallynow]

Any attempts to sincerely play a part die when Jolie giggles in response, covering her mouth without touching it so she doesn't ruin her make up. She cocks her head to the side, winking exaggeratedly to sell her joke.

"I could think of a few ways." She nudges her elbow against him for good-natured ribbing before she folds her arms over her chest. "Either way, you better handle it fast. There are too many good-looking people here and I'm only half of them."

[capitolprivilege]

"And how many of those ways," Stephen challenges playfully, "involve me taking these clothes off?"

The flirting is only half-serious, maybe even less so. But Stephen just got cockblocked out of a fling with Porrim that promised to be very distracting, and distracting is what Stephen wants right now. Ironic, really, since that's what this party's supposed to be for. Either way, he's going to flirt and flirt hard, because it's on his mind and it's fun and it's better than being paraded around by his brother or looking at the Avox-statues or failing at not thinking about what's happening outside in the city.

[talltaleteller]

It's late enough in the evening that it's threatening to become early, and Felicity's feeling hungry. Really hungry. In a day spent mostly doing, there had been little time to snack, much less sit down and have a proper meal. But there's time now, lots of time. Her new-found Capitolite friends have dispersed here and there, leaving her with a few moments to shove something in her face so she does not pass out and wake up the next morning to find that the tabloids have published unflattering pictures of her.

It could happen. It could totally happen.

She doesn't notice that anything's odd, at first, when she reaches in to one of the statue-held trays for a cream puff. But then it blinks, and then she realizes it's a person, and then she realizes it's not a person, and then she's gasping and jolting backwards. As much as she's admired the Capitol and wanted to fit in, some things are still new. Like exposure to actual Avoxes. And she is creeped right out.

And also jolting right back into the host of the party. Oops.

[capitolprivilege]

"Hey there, easy, easy!" He catches her by the shoulders and steadies her, then backs up enough to let her turn around, his hands up -- they're both placating and ready to lend her another hand if she looks wobbly. "Are you all right, there?"

[talltaleteller]

"Aah!" All she knows, at first, is that she has bumped into someone. Again. "Oh my gosh I'm so sorry I.... oh!" It's as she spins around and apologizes and tries not to smear that now slightly-squished cream puff against him that it hits her. This is Stephen Reagan. The man, the myth, the host of this party. There is a distinct moment of slack-jawed petrified shock before her brain kicks back in.

"Oh, oh, I'm fine! I'm okay! Are you okay?" She succeeds in shuffling backwards in her slightly ill-fitting heels, giving a not-quite-bow, eyes locked on him the whole while. "I was just... Just surprised. Just surprised! Surprised."

[capitolprivilege]

"Safe and sound," he replies, looking her over -- he's not sure he recognizes her at first, but he thinks she's got something to do with Torin Byrd. A relative, perhaps? "...more sound than you, from the looks of it," Stephen adds. It's clear to him what happened; she just recognized the Avoxes, and it startled her. That, combined with those heels that don't quite fit...

"You'd better sit down a moment and catch your breath. Come on, this way."

Unless she fights it, she'll find herself guided to one of the tables near the dance floor.

[talltaleteller]

"Good! That's good. You get in trouble if you bruise the guy running the party, right? Right?" She grins a little too wide and laughs a little too loud, but at least she can joke a little. If you can't joke, what've you got left?

He guides her along easy enough, because the idea of sitting is sort of appealing. Heels are tricky to walk in and hard on the arches, too. "I'm okay, though! I, I should probably eat something, but I'm okay. It's okay. Everything's okay." Really, nothing's scary and weird, nothing at all. Surely she's doing a good job convincing him of that?

Once at the table, she plunks down into a seat with a loud sigh.

[capitolprivilege]

"You could," Stephen replies with a disarming grin, "if the guy running the party were half as uptight as his brother." He waves one of the gym-shorts-clad waiters over, one of the ones with tongues. "Luckily, he's not, and he's more interested in getting you something to eat than getting you in trouble."