Oh, this is the night and the heavens are right on this lovely Bella Notte

[etcircenses]

Who| Everyone who signed up for blind dating!
What| An evening of romance, or disaster, take your pick.
Where| The Swift Cut restaurant
When| 16th June
Warnings/Notes| The course of true love never did run smooth. Remember that if your character was not rolled in arena but you signed up for them to be here, you will need to mark their death on fatality reporting.

The atmosphere at the Swift Cut this evening is bustling. It's clear from the moment one enters the restaurant that they have pulled all the stops out for this televised extravaganza.

Every fire is lit and the air is filled with the scent of the roasting meat on spits over the flames; boar, beef, pork, venison and more. Pots bubble with the smell of hot stew, vegetables are being roasted in ovens and from giant casks around the room beer is being drawn. The staff are in full 'barbarian' getup, consisting of skimpy furs on both the male and the female servers but luckily for you they don't seem to expect a similar dress code from their guests.

Tribute's stylists may have had other ideas, of course.

The giant room has been clearly divided. Tribute's will find themselves directed to one side while trueborn citizens of Panem and petitioned out individuals are brought to the other. It is left up to them to find their table with the number they will be handed upon entering the restaurant. Whether they are the first to arrive at their table is a matter of chance but they can be sure that a cameraman will always be there to capture the moment of realisation on both participants faces when they realise who their date is.

Once everyone is seated the music will begin the play. Minstrels strum lutes and harps, their voices filling the air softly with traditional medieval ballads. There is a space set aside for dancing if anyone is in the mood.

Throughout the evening, and certainly at the end, Tribute's and Capitolites will find themselves sporadically approached by the show host to be asked questions about how they feel the evening is going. It's up to them how honestly they answer, though they should remember the camera's are always watching.

Comments

[futilecycle]

Every word lifted from the paper into his thoughts stamps out his hope for a survivable evening like sand fighting fire. Though he surely had not intended to be personal, Sigma feels the distinct sting of betrayal - as though Luna had looked into his eyes and rejected the name that was all her own, demanding something too intimate for him to deliver. Of course, she would never have done such a thing. There were certain lines most people knew better than to cross. "What would you prefer to be called?" He had not expected to sound curt. Now there was no hiding that the stylist's answer may upset him.

While Kurloz prepares his reply, Sigma continues, tone gradually softening: "Perhaps we shall leave that a mystery for the time being. You are a bright man... I have no doubt that you will deduce my signature before too long." In truth, he has no desire to talk about work - and has remembered the cameras are listening. "As for your question..." He's a touch too angry to rationalize what the stylist has asked. Was his date making a dig at his age, or merely reassuring his nervousness with a sarcastic quip? Sigma misinterprets it either way, generalizing it as a date at a fancy Capitolite restaurant, surrounded by cameras. "The last time would have been a year ago now, I suppose. Even then I was not the young man I once was." He imagines a particular redhead sitting across from him and his heart sinks in his chest like a lump of stone. Some days he found it difficult to convince it to keep beating.

[quiethumerus]

The curt return does bring a twinge of agitation. As though it is some grievous presumption he should not want to be referred to by anything too heavily associated with others, that he dare claim his own name.

I WOULD GIVE PREFERENCE TO THE SIGNATURE OF WHICH I WAS BORN WITH, AS YOU OUGHT KNOW THAT IT BELONGS NOW ONLY TO ME.

And should always have. But he'll not let his irritation turn all of what he has to say into threat.

HOWEVER, DUE TO CURRENT CIRCUMSTANCES, I WOULD BE WILLING TO ACCEPT ALTERNATE CASUAL MONIKER. DO YOU PARTAKE EVER IN THE BEQUEATHING OF NICKNAMES? I WOULD OF COURSE REQUIRE ONE RESPECTABLE. I WILL NOT TAKE KIND TO AN ALIAS OF CARLOS. SOME WOULD CONSIDER ME "STITCH". OTHERS HAVE CLAIMED MORE UNSAVORY NAME. MAKARA ALONE HAS BEEN USED. I WOULD REQUEST "K" BUT IF I RECALL, THAT HAD BEEN APPELLATION OF YOUR TRUE SON AND I SEEK NOT TO BRING YOU FURTHER MOTHER FUCKIN DIFFICULTIES.

He is denied the knowledge of which parts belong to Sigma, but just as well. He does enjoy a challenge and prides himself on his intelligence. Unlike fakes who got by on brutishness.

It seems their nerves are both running a little more wired than they had anticipated or desired. Thankfully, that is another thing he prides himself on; his control of emotions serves him well, and he is able to smile and write his next message with the original intent he'd had in mind.

LET ME TO TELL YOU THEN. DO NOT ALLOW YOURSELF TO BE FUSSED BY THE CIRCUMSTANCE DEALT TO YOU. I AM AWARE THAT MY SELECTION AS A DATE FOR YOU IS NOT A THING OF COMFORT. BUT UNDERSTAND THIS; THERE IS NO RULE INSISTING ALL DATES MUST BE ROMANTIC. THERE IS NOT REASON WE CANNOT SPEND A BRIEF EVENING OF TIME TOGETHER IN A WAY THAT COULD BE DEEMED MUTUALLY SATISFACTORY.

And there in undertone, from his words to expression, let us fuckin show them we will not be halted by their whims.

[futilecycle]

Sigma's answer is a deep, long breath, held for as long as he can manage... lest he explode. Fury was a knee-jerk response of his that he'd hoped he'd stifled with maturity, but to say that name belonged only to him... It simply wasn't true. It was a secret that the Gamemaker considered the Avox a person, but regardless of any inbred prejudice the stylist bore, he was still gravely mistaken. By the time Sigma has read that fatal letter 'K,' his metal fingernails are screeching across the rim of the table in a hissing, spitting rage. How dare he! What right did he have to dig his filthy, wretched fingers in his wounds?

But he can allow none of this to show on his face. He knows in his heart that the Stylist is right... he is creating a scene and that the longer he indulges in his petty frustrations the worse it will be for the both of them. His personal life was not meant for anyone else's eyes and he can at least allow Kurloz the respect of his own privacy, as well.

He closes his eyes. He must mentally prepare himself for the blasphemy he is about to commit, convincing himself his date just happens to be an individual who shared a name with someone else. After all, there were many other Kyles and Dianas in the world, and that fact was easy to accept. "...If you prefer your given name, then so be it. Kurloz," He almost breaks his teeth on the word, but it's spoken without resentment, "I accept your proposal. Please, do not allow my boorishness to ruin the remainder of this meal." It's as close to an apology as he will get after having the audacity to mention Kyle - at least the Initiate could live long enough to be outraged on his own behalf.

He is eager for another change of topic. "I know so little about you," he deflects bluntly. "Tell me about yourself, if you will. Anything you would like to share." Casual date banter. Benign and open to interpretation. The Stylist could share as much or as little as he was comfortable with.

[quiethumerus]

He does not show fear and he is not afraid. But the anger of Sigma Klim, shown in his fingers and stiff stance, flips a switch in his mind. Callous pride becomes a low hum of anticipating deserved retaliation. The smile doesn't slip away, but it changes from one of defiance to defence without even truly changing appearance at all.

He watches and smiles. He imagines a flipped table, a lifted knife. He imagines if happening to someone beside him, and then imagines it befalling him, without anyone around lifting so much as a finger to stop it and he would not be the least be mother fuckin surprised. He spoke too much. He should put the paper away. He should snap his pen in half.

But instead he gets a name. He doesn't realise he's been holding the pen crushingly tight, but all at once his grip eases. His smile hides the fact that his eyes are searching him over for deception-- or so he thinks. Sigma all but admits he was bothered. Sigma is not some random Capitolite, but a Gamemaker, the people with closest chances for gaining a politician's ear. He ought be more careful.

He doesn't want to tell more of himself. He'd prefer not to speak anymore at all now. He beams at Sigma and nods to say, okay, he will do just that, and thank you.

WITH PRYING INTO YOUR WOUNDS, RIGHTEOUS RECOMPENSE SHOULD THEN COME IN THE TELL OF MY OWN ILK. I HOPE YOU WILL FORGIVE MY TRANSGRESSION, SIR.

I HAVE PRIOR REGALED OF MY FATHER, MR. MAKARA. HE IS A DISTINGUISHED MEMBER OF PANEM'S HONORABLE PEACEKEEPING FORCE. MY MOTHER AND HE ARE OF NO RESEMBLANCE IN CHARACTER BUT MY UNCLE TO HIM IS LESS SO. HE IS SOFT-HEARTED, BUT A GREAT MOTHER FUCKIN FOOL OF A MAN. IT IS OF CONSIDERABLE POSSIBILITY HE HAS SEEN YOU ABOUT AT SOME TIME OR OTHER.

I AM THE ELDEST OF SIBLINGS TWO. MY DEAREST BROTHER IS MORE OF MY BLOOD AND IMAGE THAN HE IS OUR BEGETTERS. HE IS A MIRACLE BORN FOR GREATNESS. HIS SMILE IS TO SHAME THE STARS.

IN OUR YOUTH, WE TRAVELLED THE SHORES OF DISTRICT FOUR TOGETHER. HAVE YOU TRAVELLED MUCH IN YOUR YEARS, SIR?