Oh, sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale

[etcircenses]

Who| Anyone who's anyone (and of course, those signed up for the plot)
What| It's a games-watching party! A medieval ball and renaissance fair in one!
Where| A Capitol Ballroom.
When| Friday evening! This log is forward dated!
Warnings/Notes| Please do not comment in the placeholders! Those are needed for the later event. More details to come...

Hennins, masks, crowns and gowns. This is a ball built for playing the part. Although some guests have come in masquerade, it's certainly not mandatory. In fact, while attempts for some historical accuracy were made, that isn't mandatory as much so either. Medieval people were so drab! It shouldn't hurt to bring in a little fab.

The ballroom is big and beautiful, painted ceilings, gilded sculptures all up along the walls, shining chandeliers and marble floors. Paintings hang of President Snow, his family, and other infamous Capitolite families, all of whom also have coats of arms. Tapestries hang too along the walls depicting scenes of the Dark Days and recent arena both, all in Medeival styling.

Guests enter through wide doors and red-carpeted stairs leading down. The way to the gardens is a back opened wall on one side for guests to go to and from as they please, or observe the shows taking place outside.

Guessing games are had among the masked, and in one corner this has been taken to extreme. Black robes and eerie plague masks have been left for people to dress in so friends are forced to guess who they are through miming or voice. In another corner, a magician wows audiences and a women with a fogged crystal ball reads palms and gives fortunes.

The tables are set to the sides of the ballroom and far apart to allow plentiful dancing space. The food is, of course, a marvellous feast of all sorts of fruits, meats, breads, and more. One doesn't even need rise from the table to talk to another across the room; in each section a messenger bird, a colorful falcon-hawk muttation, awaiting notes that may be offered to it and the instruction as to whom they need deliver to. Notes can be signed or left unsigned and written in fullest honesty. The messenger birds are as obedient as any Avox, but far more fun! If perhaps slightly more susceptible to trickery, stealing napkins, food, and other things as commanded by mischievous children and adults alike.

Outside are all manner of games and shows in a great festival lit by torchlight and friendly glowing lightening-faerie muttations. Jugglers and jesters, stilt-walkers and fire-eaters. There's no end to the entertainment. There are medieval stocks set up for individuals to enact vegetable justice upon the volunteers, and some to simply take pictures with.

A chained bear dances to music played upon harps, drums, lutes, viols, crumhorns, pipe and tabors, and more! Both outside and within the ballroom dances are taking place. Some dances have patterns that can be easily follow and kept up with. Others are rehearsed by that of performers. The music plays soft and gentle, fast and lively, and all in between, some featuring bards singing their songs. Some of these songs may just be about you.

In brewing witches pots, sparkling and smoking with their magic, projections of the arena can be watched. Small ones are set upon the tables while larger ones sit outside. When those feasting are not cheering for that, they may do so for the rounds archery done with suction-cup arrows. Or perhaps the Jousting, of which there is both an option for guest participation with foam lances, cushioned ground, and animatronic horses, as well as the option of observing the real deal of jousting, with professional riders and performers, one for each District and The Capitol as well. Or perhaps you might head on down to view the axe-throwing competition? Or maybe you will sign up for pageant of beauty and talents. There's a place for children to play Nine-Man Morris and of course a keg and bar for the adults.

There is a stable, a pond, and a beautiful garden beyond the shows and performances. A gazebo goes out over the water, unintentionally modern as a part of the original building, but lovely nonetheless.

Why, there's just so much to do, it's hard not to see why the place is crowded and full with attendants. In fact, it's just noisy enough that some people might get away with saying a word or two they wouldn't be able to elsewhere. Things, and people, could easily hide right in plain sight...

Comments

Open for Guests

[etcircenses]

[wickedgoogly]

Rose has never been to a Capitol party, but she's not one to miss the opportunity. There are bound to be interesting people to meet, and it sounds more worthwhile than a plain evening back at the tower.

With her stylist's help, she's been dressed in a pink gown replete with lace, beads, bows, and frills. Her nails have been painted to match in a medium shade of pink that sparkles gold in the light, and her makeup is sharp but relatively simple.

Now that she's here, though, she goes everywhere. There's a lot to see and enjoy at a party like this, and she watches everything from the dancers to the performers to the supposed magician, trailing inside and out across the evening. With tomorrow being a Saturday, she feels little need to get home and in bed early. The weapons contests draw attention, though she hangs back from participation, and she's unlikely to dance unless asked.

Some things do draw her to join, however. Nine-Man Morris is a game she's neither played nor heard of, but liking a game of strategy she goes to give it a shot. At another point she settles down before the fortune teller, calmly remarking that it must be hard to see anything in a foggy ball, and asking to see her credentials as a seer. Still later she takes advantage of the chance to don a black robe and plague mask, and creeps about the party incognito until either foiled or bored of the charade.

Calmer moments see her sitting with food, staunchly ignoring the viewing cauldrons but for brief glances. And at least one, she asks one of the messenger birds to snatch something from someone's hand, never anything important, just to see if it can.

[furgood]

Her first proper Capitol party does not disappoint. From the first steps inside, she's in awe of the scale, the grandeur and the sheer variety of entertainent offered. This is on such a different level from even the fancier restaurants that she's often holding herself back from outright gawking.

Dressed in the green she often fell back on, her gown is paired with a matching sheer cape and a gold diadem. The bracelets she chose but the heels were foisted upon in a vague attempt to supplement her height. Life in the Capitol was enough to give one a height complex and she can't exactly proceed anywhere at any speed but who would want to? There's so much to enjoy.

The birds give her a puzzle at first but she notices the notes flying overhead and she's delighted. Soon, she's sitting at a table sending them to anyone she can think of and some people she's never met. No one's turned down a compliment after all. But eventually she moves on from her veritable spam of messages to the rest of the party.

The dancing really needs a partner to lead her to the music and lacking one, she heads outside to the festival. It's glorious and she has to look at everything once, which has her going in circles just to catch the glimpse of some other juggler around the corner.

But her real joy is the jousting, where she settles in to watch the Districts and Capitol compete. She vaguely suspects it's rigged in the Capitols favor but she cheers for District Four anyways. Encouragement can't hurt. And when their turn comes up, she pushes her way right up to the fence to be right at the front, watching with bated breath.

Deckard Shaw| OTA

[omnomgrenades]

Viewing parties were a dime a dozen during the arena with everyone and their third-cousins busting open their rec rooms and daring to call it an evening 'not to be missed.' But the ones like this... these one's actually made good on the promise.

Anyone who's anyone.

Looking every bit like he belonged, Shaw charmed his way in on an invitation lifted from an actual guest milling about outside and quickly blended into the glittering crowd. He was a sponsor, he was a government official, he was somebody. He believed it, so they did too.

He was there to get closer to some old faces, the handful of men and women who would have had the positions, the power. Who would have had the most to lose, should his brother's collection actually made it to market.

He played his part, carrying idle conversations, promising escorts and mentors what they wanted to hear, smiling, laughing, when it was called for. He carried a glass of champagne as if he were born to it.

But his eyes were focused. Intent. And always on the lookout.

Lilah Cadash | OTA

[cartas]

A masked ball really wasn't Lilah's scene, but at least it was something she'd had practice at. Even her outfit is familiar, though she worries about it being all in white instead of the red of the Inquisition uniforms at Halamshiral, knowing she'd get it all stained by the end of the night.

She'd been amazed that she'd managed to get through the Winter Ball without scandalising the name of the Inquisition forever, though she'd had Josephine to rely on there, smoothing over any diplomatic difficulties that arose on account of the Inquisitor being a casteless dwarf with a criminal past. She felt vulnerable without her to subtly communicate with across the room, to know how she ought to act. It wasn't just Josephine she missed, though. She remembered how Blackwall had smiled at seeing her all cleaned up, how he'd held out his hand for her to dance with him at the end of the night, how she'd fit in his arms so perfectly. She downs a glass of wine and plunges herself into the fray, wanting to keep herself distracted so that she stops brooding over him so much.

Throughout the evening she can be found most often at the food tables, trying to devour cuts of meat bigger than her head, or in the gardens with a drink in her hands, observing and making small talk with anyone who steps too close.

Emily Finch | OTA

[conifer]

For probably the first time in her life, Emily absolutely adores an outfit she's had to wear for a Capitol event. She feels like a princess in her gown, while the matching mask combines both the icy blue tones that Cassian was so fond of and the leaves signifying District Seven. She walks through the ball with a confident smile playing on her lips, taking in the music, entertainment, costumes and dancing with a sense of enchantment, feeling transported back to her childhood and tales of far away places. How she wished she could keep that wonder and joy within her for more than just one evening.

The Capitol had done good tonight, she had to admit. And for once Emily's surprised that she can cast off the angry, downtrodden Districter in her and even the traumatised Victor, and truly enjoy the night, so long as she avoids the projections showing the Arena footage as much as possible.

Harley Quinn OTA

[revvinguptheharley]

Harley really did love parties like this, they gave her a chance to try out different iterations of her classic costume.

Of course when she saw the jugglers she felt compelled to watch, and then judge, and then elbow her way into participating till she was throwing balls, pins and even prop knives with the paid performers. At first they were critical of her and irritated that some stinking off world trouble maker was telling them how to do their jobs, but it wasn't long till her infectious smile and her talent with juggling had won them over.

Laughing with delight she was even bouncing balls off her knees, elbows, feet and head as she sent them flying back to the other other jugglers. These were her people! Not the uptight rich sponsors she was always courting, but the type of people who craved to perform for others.

Molotov Cocktease / OTA

[molotov]

Molotov is supposed to be rubbing elbows with Sponsors, rounding up more support for Tom and Arya, flirting her way to supplies and money for them. She'd spent enough time and effort getting ready, having roses pinned in her hair alongside a crown, slinking into yet another gown that required flesh-colored pasties. Sweating in a fur coat that she only wore between the car and the front door of the venue.

Instead, she's sitting near the poor dancing bear, coat draped over the back of her chair, elbows on her knees as she watches him sway uncertainly. She looks miserable, at least as unhappy as the bear must be, and she's fixated on him.

She's always liked bears. Has a sickly stereotypically sort of kinship with them, for a Russian woman. She remembers seeing the captured bears when she was a child, forced to dance this same way on the roads in Siberia for pocket change, loose rubles. It infuriated her, to see wild dangerous beasts chained up and manipulated and made to perform whether they liked it or not.

The band takes a break and the bear is left to flop down and pant, getting as much rest in as he can before the performance resumes. Molotov scoots her chair closer, inch by inch, surreptitiously, until she can hold out a piece of honey-soaked bread, soft to accommodate the poor creature's toothless mouth.

He gobbles it up and then drops his head down on Molotov's lap, perhaps wanting more, or perhaps just happy to find someone who isn't complicit in his captivity. She sighs and strokes his head, glaring out into the crowd as if daring anyone to try and stop her.

"Poor boy," she murmurs, ready to start breaking instruments if she needs to. "You'll be all right."

Cassian Bouchard | OTA

[itscalledfashion]

He had arrived in an outfit of his own creation, of course, swishing around in an iridescent green cloak that made sure that he was easy to pick out in a crowd. His first real social event as a member of the Games staff, and he was going to make sure that he stood out. This was when impressions were built, after all. And he aimed to do the best that he could to leave a good one.

He didn't do any of the events at first, flitting here and there to greet acquaintances, do some catching up, and promise to invite them to one of his exclusive tea parties so that they could get all of the personal dirt on what he'd been up to. Some of them he may even actually invite. Others would find their invitation mysteriously never appearing, but that was a drama for another day. Tonight, Cassian plays nice with everyone.

After he's sure that he's spoken to everyone he wants to, he'll take a moment for himself, stepping out into the quiet garden. In his hand is a drink, of course, because you don't party without being a little bit buzzed. Cassian does very little without being a little bit buzzed, really. He kind of wishes he could get more than buzzed, but he's supposed to be responsible now. He gives a frustrated sigh, taking out a mint-scented cigarette and juggling the drink while he lights it. This will have to hide him over, for now. Maybe after this, he'll hit an after party.

Kurloz Makara | OTA

[quiethumerus]

Sometimes one must set aside the grandiose to make a whole different sort of statement. Sometimes that statement is grandoise in itself. Golden epaulettes, vest and short cape done in a beautifully patterned royal purple-indigo, simplistic grey slacks with boots of black and gold, pulled together for something princely. Like something out of Hamlet, the best of plays even in this most modern age. His curling hair is dyed purple at the ends, dusted here and there with fine gold powder, with a little crown of gold and indigo set atop. His makeup leaves lightly hollowed cheeks and a mystical pattern of black come off his eyes. His fingers are garnished with large rings and the thread of his lips are shown for all to see.

This was exactly the type of party he was made for. Of course he had to make an appearance. He is just short of jittery with excitement. He'd been dreaming of something like this since he was five years old, the only difference now is that he won't be brandishing quips from his favorite plays and astonishing audiences after all. Nevertheless, he enters through the wide doors and walks down the staircase to his awaiting kingdom.

He watches for his Tributes, hoping to catch some compliments among the Capitolborn for his work. He lingers outside by the musicians, smiling along with their tunes and adding claps wherever he deems himself needed, watching the performers and miming to jugglers if he might borrow their clubs and sometimes their torches, sending them spiralling up into the air himself, lit up by flame and fae.

When he longs for a shift in energy, he turns back to the ballroom, ready to be invited to dance and inviting a few himself into anything from a graceful waltz to fast paced spirals matching the age. People are charmed by the way his arm is held behind his back in the manner of royal and he doesn't bother to reveal it is something he does naturally when it's been so rare that people greet him like this. It seems that becoming a stylist has already helped.

It gives him hope, the slow shift in attitude toward him. Of course, there were many tributes who still found distaste, but he tells himself so long as they're not of his district, they're opinions aren't so important.

He settles at last in front of a coat of arms. It's a smaller one, not as grand as the ones all long the hall. It depicts two sea monsters, finned tails long like a snake, both twisting tight and constricting their prey, an unfortunate ship in the waters. They stare down their opposites, hooves reared and horns lowered in challenge. One bears a grimace, the other bears monstrous teeth in a grin, both apparently fighting over the fate of the vessel. He's sure somewhere in this place is another coat of arms bearing snakes, but for once he feels no need to look for the ties to that one. Rather, he expects someone totally different when he turns around fast, surprised, beholding a face that is not at all alike to his.

Rochelle | OTA

[somegrimshit]

Rochelle wouldn't claim to be an expert at anything even resembling medieval times. She'd seen a few movies, and her dad had always been fond of the LOTR series. But she wasn't really one to get into that kind of stuff. Despite that, she was fairly sure that this was not an accurate representation of the medieval period. She couldn't help but feel sorry for the people who did hail from that time period, she couldn't imagine what it was look to see a society obsessed with flash and glitz attempt to mimic your home.

She was pretty sure that her dress wasn't entirely accurate, either, but she wasn't going to complain. It was a beautiful dress, and it made her feel a little better, after the traumatic events of the arena. And, of course, her going back to looking like hell warmed over. Not that anyone could tell, after her stylist was done with her. No, Rochelle looked like the princess at the Ren Faire and she felt more pleased than she knew she ought.

Even with the horrors of the arena, she couldn't help but feel happy to be here. Maybe she wasn't thrilled with the situation entirely, and a month of the arena still weighed on her. But. That was then. And now she's in a beautiful, extravagant ball, wearing a gorgeous dress with her hair and makeup professionally applied. She's showered, slept, and now she's nibbling on fresh food, and she can have as much of it as she wants.

She's still going to get hammered as soon as the cameras are turned away, though.

For now, she lurked near the band, casting a wary eye on the bear. She's seen Pocahontas 2, she's pretty sure that's not going to turn out well.

[impaledqueen]

Peggy knows how to deal with parties, and she definitely knows how to deal with sponsors. She doesn't like the crazier Capitolite fashions since they make her feel ridiculous, but she's still dressed in a gorgeous ballgown of appropriately questionable historical accuracy with a silver and red Venetian mask and a scarf made of chain mail. For all the flaws of the Capitol, she supposes that being able to pick out pretty things to wear is nice enough.

Peggy goes along with the pretense of having fun--she talks to the fortune-teller (who tells her that she will meet a handsome man and have six children with him, the horror) and watches the magician and so on--but she's really here for the sponsors. She approaches anyone who's watching the games, casually bringing up her district and talking about how well her tributes are doing, and they're very good contenders.

She only really takes a break from the schmoozing when she goes to get herself a drink. It's exhausting to spend so much time kissing up to the sponsors, but what else can a mentor do? The district needs money.

Nick | OTA

[fuckitall]

Nick will be the first to admit (or second) that he finds just about anything suspicious if even the smallest thing was brought to his attention. In his own defense, he doesn't do it without reason. After the blind date fiasco and then comes this one, he can't help but suspect that it's no mere coincidence. Maybe it's because it was the first time he died so early in the arena to not know that these things happen often during such times, but the timing of it all still has him slightly on edge.

His stylist wanted him to look the part this time, dressed like a huntsman of sorts. Nick only chuckled darkly at that remark, especially knowing that if his uncle was here, he'd be laughing his ass off and tell them otherwise and why. His trademark red hat (that's what it seems to be now) was left behind in favor of this mask, which doesn't hide the fact that he's been biting his lower lip out of anxiousness. The hat hair has been combed out and trimmed some too.

He leans against the wall as he watches (and judges) the other masked folks dance like life is just a-okay. The man lets out a long sigh. It's okay for them, anyway. Still, he sticks around to keep an eye open for anything that might be worth telling his friends later.

(ooc: Plz dance with this doofus, even if he might not be receptive at first. 8])

China Sorrows | ota

[contrarianlibrarian]

China isn't so fond of the distraction of a party while they're so deep into the Arena, but such is the life of an Escort. At least it's an occasion to dress up even more than usual. She's wearing a flowing dress with sleeves down to the floor. Bucolic scenes drawn to look like the tapestries on the walls dance around her collarbones.

She steps slowly around the room, taking her time as she admires the decorations. When she notices someone nearby--whether she knows them or not--she turns to them and smiles. "Lovely, aren't they?"

Maxwell| OTA

[dreadinquisitor]

The last thing Maxwell had wanted to do almost immediately after dying was attend a party. Much less a party that was blatantly making light of everything that he and all the other tributes had gone through in the arena.

But there were still others in the arena, and if he wanted to offer them any help, he had to play the other side of the Capitol's game. (And if he wanted everyone to believe he was alright, when he was the furthest thing from, he needed to act like it.)

So there he was, wearing an outfit that had been made and provided for him specially. The all leather ensemble wasn't his typical fair, but he did kind of like it. The name was ridiculous (Be Bold. Be Daring. Be Inquisitive), but it looked the part.

He felt like he was in control. And believing, was thinking.

Mingling about, he spend some time watching the messenger birds, daring even one when drew near to pet the silken feathers and offer it a small silver of meat. Then, once he was he made aware of the horses present, he disappeared out the stable, crooning softly to the beasts.

They were easily his favorite guests.

Shilo Wallace | OTA

[mustbebrave]

One thing that has never been too difficult for Shilo is embracing the eclectic tastes and styles of the Capitol. Tonight she's dressed to impress, a red and black ballgown only vaguely nodding towards the theme her choice for the night, paired with a long black gloves covering her pale arms and her trademark cameo pendant around her neck. It's that little touch that makes it obvious it's her, otherwise anyone who had met her since her return to the Capitol might not realize it as her usually blonde locks have been dyed back to their natural raven black, and a black and red mask obscures much of her face. It's in this costume that she's able to move effortlessly through the crowd, smiling and chatting with sponsors and Tributes alike. Finding money for her surviving tributes is what's on the menu tonight, and with an event like this at least one of them is selling themselves.

She does stop every once in a while, excusing herself to a corner for a moment of quiet, before she's forcing herself to dive back in. Events like this, she is just as much on parade as the tributes.

Gary Epps | OTA

[a_minute_younger]

By this point, Gary is well aware of how the Capitol parties are supposed to turn out. Not that the mystery and excitement is spoiled for him in any way--there's plenty to do, plenty to see, and of course, plenty to plan for ahead of time in his outfit. He knows what the trends are and works accordingly, aiming for dress that is slightly more formal than what his stylist put him in for the blind dates, but still adequately flashy; a crown has been substituted for a mask, with rainbow faux gemstones set into it that dance and gleam and blind anyone who catches them at the wrong angle, much to Gary's immediate amusement. But there's still lots to explore!

Gary's main destination is always the dance floor, no matter where he goes, and tonight is no exception. The dance provided is more stiff and awkward than he would like, but at least it's easy to follow, and with a regular rotation of partners doesn't bore him stiff. Should the regular dancers become too repetitive, Gary seeks new ones out, spinning to the fringes of the dance floor near the ends of songs and holding out his hand to the nearest (un)lucky passerby accompanied with an exaggerated bow and a flourish of his short emerald cape. It's only appropriate for a prince with rainbow-spotted epaulets to lay it on as thick as possible.

Otherwise, after making his passes of the refreshments, Gary finds entertainment in the more competitive parts of the party. That animatronic jousting field looks badass. He wastes no time in pushing his way to the front of the crowd to cheer on the current set of competitors, and then when the victor is claimed, promptly turns to whoever has lingered around him to see if they're eying up the open positions as well. Gary aims a gentle shove at their shoulder to get their attention.

"Hey," he grins, making a quick 'I'm watching you' gesture with his gloved hands. "You and me, mano a mano. Let's go."

Mid-way through the party...

[etcircenses]

Mischievous children giggle away at many a table, but one boy in particular is ready to go to the next level beyond mere plotting. With a delighted gleam in his eyes, he speaks to one of the muttation birds, no doubt giving it command.

The bird takes off into the air, but holds no note this time. Instead, it searches, scanning the crowd below with eyes sharper than any human's. It dives suddenly at a nervous looking man in glittering white eye-mask and suit, a tad bit unremarkable for the Capitol. The jittery man, startled by the bird's arrival, loses grip on the file folder he keeps tucked close to him. With the papers in its claws, the bird darts back up, but not before the man attempts a frantic grab at the bird, knocking its tail feathers. The bird lets out a shriek of alarm, darting higher and flailing a bit. The file drops and its papers fly. The wind is strong enough that the papers are scattered into all different directions.

Below it all, the man's eyes bulge, obvious even with the mask. A concerned Capitolite woman, dressed in royal violets and curling silver hair looks alarmed, then concerned, speaking quickly in clear attempt to calm the poor man and help him. She throws a reassuring smile and disappears into the crowd, but the man does not look reassured. He dives through the crowd, shoving roughly in search of his lost documents. He stops to look up only when the woman reaches one of the bards and borrows their microphone, speaking over the crowd.

"AHEM-" Their is an electronic screech of noise, frightening the birds. "Oh! Oh my! Excuse me everyone, I need your help with a small something! You see, some very important papers have been lost and this man here-" she gestures demurely into the crowd at him. "-very much needs them back. So if you could all take the time to help him find them, I would be much obliged. Carry on!"

The man's face has gone very pale. It appears as though he might be going into cardiac arrest, or has perhaps forgotten how to breathe. Then suddenly, he runs.

There is a crash as he almost immediately collides with a table, slipping upon its cloth and cutting a hand upon the utensils there. His fears seems only to grow for in know short time he has risen to his feet, one of them missing a shoe, and he's darting out the door. But it's not just a shoe that's been lost and left behind. his files are still around somewhere and his blood remains upon the table cloth.

A clock strikes eight, ringing out over the floor and into the gardens, distracting from the chaos caused.

At least for a moment.

Less than five minutes following the clock's final chime, a wave seems to go through a number of the guests here, guests who have one thing in common; they're offworlders. The wave doesn't stop there. Even non-party goers are effected. People in the tower, in the arena, even those far away in thirteen will be hit with sudden debilitating and unshakeable symptoms. Oddly, there are a few peacekeepers who seem to have been hit with some lesser degree of this as well. Absolutely no one seems to know what has happened here but someone will need to find out.

And fast.

Harley Quinn Part 2: Numbs the word

[revvinguptheharley]

The sound of shattering glass is just a subtle pop among the confusion and din caused by the fleeing man. Harley looks surprised at her hand which had just moments ago contained a glass of something alcoholic and green.

Her fingers close into a fist and she winces as the sensation of pins and needles radiates across her fingers and between them and up along her wrist. As it begins to crawl up her arm the other hand begins to feel it as well like she'd been sleeping on them both somehow cutting off the flow of blood.

Both her arms had spontaneously fallen asleep.

Wriggling her fingers in desperation Harley brought a hand up to her mouth and bit into it in an attempt to stir some life back into the limb but all she felt was a faint pressure. Barely anything at all!

"OK Quinn, don't panic...doooon't panic." She coaxed herself turning to take a step towards the buffet table. She'd send one of the Avox to find her a doctor...yeah that would work out great!

Except as she took her first step her leg caught the same sort of numbness and she tripped over someone's chair sending her crashing to the floor with a yelp of surprise. She was dismayed and even more worried to discover that despite landing hard on her chin she felt nothing! Not even the pins and needles anymore. Just a thickness like she was wearing a suit that just happened to look like Harley Quinn.

As her mind spun seeking out reasons that this could be happening and she weighed her options at shouting for help or being trampled to death, her eyes settled upon a sheet of paper that she'd landed face first onto. Her eyes scanned over it slowly and then widened in shock and confusion.

Clumsily with a numb hand she groped at the paper crumpling it up. With the numbness making it impossible to navigate her pocket she shoved the paper into her hat and used her other hand to peel her fingers off it.

She couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on from down here, but she was gonna get to the bottom of it! And that meant rising to the top...or at least to her feet. A laborious process involving lots of clumsy thick movements and will power not to start screaming for help at the fact that she could not feel anything physically.

Thankfully, the mental and emotional receptors still seemed to be firing off. Had anyone even noticed her fall? And if not why not!? Once she was on her feet her eyes flew around the room.

Meanwhile back at the Tower...

[justoutrunyou]

"Ugh..."

It had come on so fast that Sandy was sure she must be poisoned.

Doubling over on a sofa in the common area she clutched at her stomach, skin turning a waxy, sickly shade as her eyes unfocused and refocused. The most horrific sulfuric burp had risen up from her guts and turned her entire mouth sour.

She cast an accusing glance at the milkshake she'd been drinking while watching the arena and lashed out with her foot knocking it to the floor sending chocolate, whipped cream and strawberry topping to soak into a very expensive rug.

Looking around with instinctive fear she was surprised to find no one was paying her any mind at all. No guards were suddenly starring her down, no Avox rushing to clean up the mess. Not even another tribute looking at her sideways...because everyone else was looking distressed in one way or another.

Looking up at the TV she saw a tribute suddenly fall flat on their face for no reason. The camera cut to another tribute who was screaming in pain despite the fact that no one was touching them.

Sandy didn't get to see what tribute was show next because she promptly pitched forward and threw up herself, the nausea in her stomach finally overwhelming her.

OTA

[impaledqueen]

It's hard to not notice the commotion. At first, it just seems like something good to laugh at--the man looks ridiculous grabbing for the bird, then grabbing for his papers. It becomes suspicious when he runs.

And then all the off-worlders and a bunch of peacekeepers collapse, even on screen.

Peggy's not dumb. The nervous man bolting from the scene probably has something to do with what's happening here. She immediately puts her drink aside and bends over, grabbing any papers on the ground.

"Either help me or get out of the way," she says to anyone who's feet stumble between her and the papers.

For Jack

[clotting]

Dressed in a silver 'Unicorn in Captivity' dress and a makeup job emphasizing white flowery lashes and dark sockets, Temple is easy to pick out among the crowd, despite her diminutive size. She flits around like the messenger bird, doling out pleasantries and catching back up with people she hasn't seen since before she moved out to District Six with her husband. As if to hide grief, she's exceptionally cheerful, and were she not so skilled at blending into Capitol etiquette she would even seem desperately so.

The screech of noise, however, startles her, and as she is won't to do when taken by surprise, she seems to go outside her body, her eyes shuttering off like a foreclosed home as she catches her breath, one slender hand over her bird-like collarbone. When the clock chimes, she's managed to wrangle her nerves back under control, and she decides to go looking for the Tributes she hasn't had a chance to meet yet. Something about Capitolites sits sour within her after a shock like that. She click-clicks her way across the ballroom, looking for the familiar faces of her charges, memorized from files and the television.

Her eyes meet Jack's just as that wave of illness collapses just about every offworlder in the room - and beyond.

[lex_paciferat]

Quintus has a bit of a sixth sense for trouble--a consequence of the many fights he's had to break up in his life. Though he wasn't called to assist with security tonight (and indeed, is out of uniform, drinking some brandy and observing the jousting with a colleague) he perks up as soon as he hears the bird screech. The man's suspicious behavior has him walking over, picking up the pace at important papers, and as he man breaks into a sprint he whips out his military ID, displaying it like a policeman's badge, and darts after him shouting "Peacekeeper! Stop right there!"

Then the illness hits.

He jerks to a halt at the door, his palm finding its way to the side of his chest as his repaired lung fights for breath, his head darting around in surprise. His first thought is some sort of aerosolized poison--what else could fell so many so quickly?--but as he reenters the fray he realizes that a fair number of people, including himself, have been spared. He walks around, making sure the ill are attended to and trying to glean information about the escaped man from the other peacekeepers. When his phone rings, he scrambles to answer it.

"Falxvale."

It's one of his colleagues from the Training Center, informing him that some of his own men have suddenly gotten ill as well. Quintus resists the urge to curse under his breath, plugging his other ear against the noise of panicking guests, and says, "I want you to call maintenance and have them check out the ventilation system. Take anybody who reports neurological effects or serious nausea off the floor. Lock the entrances and get what personnel you can on them. I can't come back right now--we've got a similar situation over here and I need to talk to the city forces. Let me know if anything changes. Thanks."

As he hangs up, breathing a sigh to loosen his nerves, he happens to notice some sheets of paper on the floor. He steps to them, holding out an arm to nudge a guest out of his way, and picks them up, skimming over the text. His brow furrows.

"Shit."

Detective's Table

[etcircenses]

There's something very very wrong. Nobody knows yet what it is but everyone seems worried, whether about themselves or about their favorite celebrity guests. Peacekeepers are split between the panicking aggresive, and the oddly subdued. Everyone wants to know what's going on and a large table has been cleared away to allow for investigative discussion.

No one is allowed to leave the party until this is solved.

Once a conclusion is met, it will need to presented to the peacekeepers in charge-- unless of course you tend to make an arrest yourself.

OTA

[impaledqueen]

Peggy is bent over one of the pieces of paper, writing on a scrap page with a furrowed brow. She recognizes this code--it briefly shows up in what little information about the Dark Days is available in the Capitol--but she's having trouble breaking it. She's not sure if it's possible to break; if the receiver had the key to the code and they never used the code again, it would be impossible. The Capitol and the rebellion had gone through great lengths to make their codes unbreakable, which remains true even now.

But some of it's decipherable.

"Has anyone else had any luck finding anything?" she asks, frowning at what she can now read.

The Arrest

[etcircenses]

The moment peacekeepers are alerted, there's a great rush as the ones that can still walk move in to apprehend the suspect. Whatever one may think of Peacekeepers, they're fiercely loyal to each other. This act has brought some of them harm and that doesn't fly.

The Red Oleander is caught out in the garden and she kicks up a storm. Fists are thrown and screams are heard, but it is not long at all before she is brought down to the ground, face in the dirt as her hands are cuffed behind her. She is not given the right to remain silent. She is not given any right at all. She keeps struggling once she's hauled to her feet, screaming out "NO!"s and curses, some of them aimed at the Peacekeepers, some aimed at Snow and the Capitol and the party goers around. Others are aimed directly at those working around the detectives table. There's a fire in her eyes as she shouts, "HOW COULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU HELP THEM? THEY'RE KILLING US ALL! THEY'RE KILLING YOU!"

She's silenced with a sharp blow to the back of her head and is then dragged out and away from the party. A Peacekeeper gets off their headset and within ten minutes, the offworld symptoms lift, leaving everyone to sigh in relief.

The tension in the air is still tangible. This was not the kind of drama most people here sought for. There's still a half hour more where guests are questioned and held, only then to be ordered back to their homes. Only Derek is brought along with the Peacekeepers to help them identify the blood sample. He is sent home once his work is done without further ceremony.