thecapitol | The Crowning Of Tom Cassidy

The Crowning Of Tom Cassidy

Who| Everyone who's anyone. (Tributes, Staff, Capitolites, and anyone else in Capitol.)
What| The Crowning of Black Tom Cassidy.
Where| The New Cassidy Keep of the Capitol!
When| From noon to the late evening, Friday.
Notes| This event is mandatory for all Tributes to attend. Even if you do not tag in, your character will attend this party. Peacekeepers will be on high alert, so no funny business.
WARNINGS| Blatent irish stereotyping. Remember to put any relevant warnings in headers!

The dress code for this crowning is certainly a strange one. Greenery, burlap sacks, and "Irish" themed outfits which many a confused Capitolites has take as to simply be the color green. Among them can be found the sorts of ridiculous bright costumes as could be found in a 1970's comic book-- not that the 1970's are even a real time period. Spandex, V-necks, and popped collars are going to be a common sight tonight.

Guests are brought out to the stunning blue-green bay. There's a new feature there, a great big replica of Cassidy Keep. And it's been built upon a rock. How it stays up is a mystery, but it's no doubt a stunning site as guests are brought in on boats to a grand staircase that leads to even bigger doors.

Guests enter into a beautiful castle and garden both. Trees grow through the stones, vines climb over the stair railings, flowers bloom on the walls, and in some place the castle gives way purely to nature with small ponds set in. Like an internal rainforest (though the temperature is comfortable and cool) there's greenery everywhere soaking up the light that shines through the high windows. Statues stand tall of Black Tom Cassidy, Molotov Cocktease, and Arya Stark, sometimes all of them together. Then are more of an imposing man named Unstoppable Thuggernaut, a young girl named Theresa, the same girl older with the plaque deeming her to be "Siren", and statues of the the three of them together, both as a family and posing to fight. And of course, one can't forget that grand paintings of infamous arena scenes featuring Black Tom. Paths are set around to help guide guests, the main path leading into the biggest room of the keep.

Sponsored by Below Timberline, a temporary dining area has been set up within the castle-- high above the ground! All along the treetops that shoot up to the ceiling are the vine and wood woven nests for guests to be seated in. Waiters, waitresses, and Avoxes make their way along thick branches and rope bridges. But despite appearances, there's no chance of falling! Forcefields have been put up around the whole area to prevent such a tragedy from occurring to guests, waiters, and waitresses.

There are Avox operated lifts to help guests up to the tree tops, and though this might be an eyesore for some, they've all been dressed pleasant green, some with little hats. All the better to match the theme and blend into it!

That's not all that's gained the Irish theme. The menu consists all of foods that would be found in this mysterious off-world residence. Corned beef and cabbage, Irish stew, colcannon, black pudding, crubeens, shepherd's pie, champ, boxty, shelfish, Blaa, Goody, and Barmbrack despite it being out of season. There is even a cereal dish of what may very well be Lucky Charms. Drinks include "Irish" Whiskey, ales, porter, coffee and cream, and cider both alcoholic and not (for the kids). There is significantly more whiskey with Tom's face upon it than not and much of the drinks are served in large mug glasses.

Down below the dining area are two clear spaces for dancing, one for the professionals giving performance, and one for those seeking to try on their own. The show isn't just an entertaining watch, it's dancers bring more to the music as well, tapping out a beat. Mixed in to shake up the river dancing, Irish-styled folk songs play, generally regaling tales of Black Tom Cassidy and his exploits, but occasionally playing a song or two about other Tributes.

In between floors is a stand where cotton candy makers craft giant colorful flowers. On the far end of the room, set up high, sits Tom's throne. Torches crown the top of the wooden throne, vines woven over the arm rests, a strange metal meant to visually mirror that of vibranium, shines in elegant swirling detail over and around the whole chair. A soft black material is stretched over the back and seat of the throne, marked in red on the back with Tom's symbol. Tom's crown features flowers and shining rubies set in the wood.

Set up in another room is a shillelagh game of shooting water out of the staff at the targets and winning a prize. Prizes include real "authentic" Shillelaghs, and ones that light up and show fire at the end thanks to an internal projection mechanism. And it's perfectly harmless!

Another room winds and twists through a dark torch lit tunnel in a guided tour through a replica portion of Cassidy keep that's been filled with amazing info about Panem's new Victor! Pictures of his life, his youth, his loves, and his adventures. There are replica vibranium pieces, models featuring Tom's many outfits, a pretend prison for guests to have their picture taken inside of, and on-wall descriptions of his villainous escapades. Both those and the tour guide tend to loop back to how he's found redemption here in Panem, now a model citizen.

A third room has been cleared for allowing a giant game of cops and robbers, which Tom has exemplified in present and past respectively. Those brought in to play are dressed in villain's outfits for the "robbers" and all Peacekeeper white for the "cops".

One door leads out to a bridge, connecting the island to the chasm edge across from it. There's a section of rolling hills there where guests are encouraged to seek out four leaf clovers and have them exchanged for engraved gold and bronze rings, flower bouquets, a free meal courtesy of Below Timberline, or even Limited Edition Black Tom Cassidy memorabilia. The white bridge across is lit underneath like that of the ha'penny bridge in the exotic offworld Ireland, but unlike ha'penny, the bridge's lights form beautiful moving pictures of various arena scenes, particularly the finale.

Saddened these scenes are out of sight? Fear not! The wide bridge has a second function: bungee jumping! Overseen by an attendant, with the proper equipment fitting, you too can take a dive into a chasm. Like Black Tom did, only on purpose and absolutely injury-free! The bungee is perfectly secure and safe with more attendants waiting below to pick up those... at the end of their rope. Boats waiting along the far edges pick up the guests again to bring them back around to the Cassidy Keep party. And what a party it is.

But it's not all fun and games at this crowning. Come evening, the dance floor is cleared and a stage and podium are swiftly set up. All the guests are sat. Tributes are sat up front, Capitolites and other guests in the back. Peacekeepers line in rows on the back and sides of the stage. Those still on duty situate between the Tributes and guests. Dead-center, with the rows of Tributes on either side, are two Peacekeepers that some might recognize as being one of the more heavily afflicted Peacekeepers on the day of the Medieval Games-watching Party. Though the offworld "sickness" vanished shortly after the first arrest was made, these two still don't look so hot, one nursing what might be a headache, and the other just plain looking ill.

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"So what, do you just keep it in a corner? I can't imagine it goes with your decor."

Which means yes, she's already trying to figure out what the hell she's going to do with Tom's enormous throne. She supposes they can keep it for a week or two (she knows they can get some mileage out of it), but after that, the things are more of a burden than a prize.

"I use it as a desk chair."

He looked back at her, sidelong. Amused.

"An ostentatious statement, but a statement non-the-less."

He was a slayer of dragons, and whatever peon had come to find themselves on the other side of his desk was less than nothing along his food-chain.

"Perhaps Thomas can do the same."

Molotov says it thoughtfully, because she really doesn't want to deal with keeping it in the corner forever. Besides, she can't imagine anything he'd be more comfortable sitting in when he has the option of a throne. Really, she'd much rather keep one of the statues of herself.

"He'll be moved into the Victor's wing of the District suite now. The rooms are bigger."

He said as a voice of experience.

"Greater freedom is given in redecorating."

The Capitol expected its Victors to be around for a while, it seemed.

Molotov takes a sip from her glass and nods. "We've already been moved. He took some time to be returned to his normal form, you know, from what he was in the Arena. So the Avoxes and I moved everything before he came back. I'm still working on the decorating."

She definitely doesn't sound like someone who technically lives on another floor, and it's because she hasn't been in some time. And she plans to be officially free to live where she pleases very soon.

"Forward thinking."

A fair part of the reason Wesker had even bothered approaching Molotov was because he had come to know Tom Cassidy. From his actions in the arena, from the talk they had outside of it.

He'd been curious to learn what sort of company he kept. If she lived up to the picture she painted.

He knew then, more than just his supposing, that it would be wise to handle them with some care.

"A wise woman."

"Thank you."

She tosses back the rest of her whiskey in a single gulp, then hands the glass off to a passing Avox. Well, she thinks it's an Avox; she's not really looking, so it's entirely possible that a random Capitolite accepted the glass out of confusion and the fact that Molotov has been dubbed "First Lady", like that actually means something.

"So you still live in the Tower after all these years?"

"I've always appreciated practicality," he said, by way of reply to her question. "And if the Capitol is gracious enough to offer me quarter, who am I to throw it back in their faces?"

It made him sound appreciative.

And it wasn't as if he would be watched any less.

"Still, there's something to be said about privacy from the riff-raff." Which is what Molotov considers most Tributes to be. She's not sure if they're being given this castle to live in or not, but if not, she's undecided as to whether she wants to stay in the Suite or find a place of her own.

Even if Tom decides not to come with her.

"Do you actually act as a Mentor, or does the Peacekeeper job take up all your time?"

"Most people are capable of holding more than one thought at a time," Wesker replied dryly, looking at Molotov side-long.

It was a popular question, and frankly he was weary of it. (Of the insinuation.)

"And fortunately for me, I don't require much sleep."

"I meant something more along the lines of, do people actually come to you for help? I know I've never asked a single thing from my Mentor, though he's not exactly someone I'd consult even in the worst of times."

She's curious as to how much is actually involved with the job. The Mentors don't seem insanely busy to her.

"In most cases that I've seen, including my own, the position of Mentor is more - proactive," Wesker replied after a moment of consideration, thumb rubbing thoughtfully on the bowl of his empty brandy glass.

Casually, he waved a hovering Avox over and set the glass on the tray it carried (the glasses tinkling together only slightly as the woman waited). Dismissing her with another small gesture, he then folded his hands behind his back.

"I'm sure it hasn't escaped you that tributes such as yourself, and Mr. Cassidy are a rarity?"

"Of course it hasn't," she says, knitting her brow. "But neither of us like relying on anyone. Even my Escort hasn't done much more than manage my schedule ever since I came out of my first Arena. He keeps my calendar and sends in the Sponsor gifts, that's about it. So it's difficult for me to see things from the angle of the other Tributes, how they work this system."

She pauses and snorts. "Not that I think Tom would really try to help anyone besides Arya, but from my understanding, he's obligated if they come to him."

"Technically, yes," Wesker agreed. But then his head tipped, and looked at Molotov side-long.

Knowing. Sly.

Perfectly at ease with the lives he carried, and lost, in his hands.

"But 'help' comes in many definitions."

"Oh, for god's sake, stop dancing around and being obtuse," she snaps, albeit without much bite. "What Tom tells them, I hardly care about. I mean, do they actually come to you, are you required to go to them and try to... I don't know, coax them into things? Is this something that will be absorbing a lot of his time?"

Basically her question is 'how is this going to affect me?', phrased to sound less amazingly self-centered.

"I could, perhaps, if I was aware of what I was truly being asked, and if I were capable of actually answering it." Wesker replied, pushing a breath from his nose.

He'd thought she'd been asking about the delicate subject of favoritism and offering help outside one's district.

"Mentors are as varied as their tributes. I have seen my predecessors only once, and not at all since my victory. Mr. Compson, from Seven, for all his other faults, works himself to illness during an active arena. Myself, I devote my time to a few select tributes every cycle because I see no benefit in wasting time and money on those that will refuse to even try."

He tipped his head toward the throne, and Tom upon it.

"Where Mr. Cassidy will fall in that spectrum is up to him."

And possibly Molotov, depending on his susceptibility to such things.

"I thought Compson is an Escort," she says, signaling for a new glass of whiskey, which she immediately takes a large drink of. "So basically, you can do as much or a little as you want, and no one gives a shit about it? What's the point?"

Although it does explain so very many things about Linden and District 6.

"The same applies to escorts, in my experience," Wesker said, moving his shoulders in what could have called a shrug - if one could believe he were capable of something so casual. "But yes, the appearance, as with so many things in the Capitol is what appears to matter most. The Capitol may desire results, but so long as the mentor in question isn't an outright embarrassment..."

He trailed off, the last word hanging.

He and the Capitol had varying definitions of what constituted.

She snorts, rolling her eye. "I was District 6, trust me, I know embarrassment. Capitol didn't seem to care too much when it was Stephen Reagan and Linden Lockhearst fucking everything up for people. Thank god I was already set for everything."

And then she'd up and got killed at the Cornucopia the next Arena. Fucking super-powered dicks. Tom included.

"I suppose that's good enough to hear. So no one will care if he doesn't help anyone but Arya."

Wesker snorted back, amused by her reaction.

"They may suggest, and encourage, he think of his own tributes first... but I doubt much fuss will be made. So long as there is a game and there is a victor, and so long as the sun continues to rise on the glory of the Capitol, much can be forgiven. And besides--" his hands unfolded long enough to offer a small, idle gesture, "--a great deal of time has been spent following your familial bonding, the audience will likely expect it."

"Arya's in Ten too, that's not an issue." She waves her hand dismissively, as if she wasn't worried about that in the first place. Because she wasn't. There's a moment of uncomfortable thought, because as much as Arya is special to Molotov, it was the Capitol who put the three of them together as a 'family', a unit. Before that, Arya had simply been a tool in the Arena and someone to mentor outside of it, someone to teach.

"She's more like an apprentice."

"It's a television show," Wesker replied, as dismissive as she. Whatever script they'd come up with was their business. (They all had their costumes.) "It doesn't need to be true to be believable. ...Unless you would rather it weren't."

He arched an eyebrow at her.

"In which case, I'm not sure why you're concerned."

"I want it to be as believable as necessary for all of our protection, but just because I don't think of her as my daughter doesn't mean I don't care for her. She's a young girl with potential, with fire. That's special to me."

Molotov's brow is knit though, because she knows deep down that her desire to keep Arya safe extends far enough to try and talk her into petitioning too. To help her stay out of the Arena. You can't train what's dead, can't take it for candy and to the park and the zoo.

"Then one would assume with both yourself and Mr. Cassidy to guide her, she will be in good hands."

It was as close to an outright, unironic compliment that Wesker got. An admittance that he had seen how they were playing the game, and approved.

Not his style certainly, but it was effective never the less, and that was a damn sight more than most did in this godforsaken cesspool of self-righteousness.

"She is and has been."

It is a game, and all three have basically admitted it to each other, that they'd take each other down for the throne. Molotov bowed out for Tom's sake, where the rivalry was just friendly, flirtatious, but she'd never bat an eye if she had to kill Arya to survive.

Maybe she'd be sad. Molotov's not really sure.

Wrapping up?

president_evil - 2015-09-17 11:51 (UTC) - Expand

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molotov - 2015-09-18 01:12 (UTC) - Expand

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