thecapitol | 'Cause we all wanna party when the funeral ends and we all get together when we bury our friends

Who| TYP Children and You?
What| TYP Children have the opportunity to look around.
Where| The Tribute Tower main floor.
When| Now through the week leading up to the arena.
Warnings/Notes| TYP children showing up early is not mandatory. This is merely an avenue for those NPC players who were interested.

In part with the President’s wishes, the District children are not training or living in the same building, but rather, a refurbished old Tribute tower as was used in the days before Tributes were offworlders of vast number. Mentors, Escorts, and Stylists alike will need to travel to the new building to work with them, then travel back to see to their offworld Tributes. Public appearances are minimal so long as the Tribute is kept busy with training and private interviews. There is, however, a brief chance to meet a few of them before the arena, should you catch them on a visit to the offworlder’s tower, restricted to the main floor. Through this, the lucky few District children able to show are allowed fleeting glimpses in person of those they will be competing with and possibly even a chance to talk to them in person.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sansa might not yet have got her head around the Capitol, but King's Landing gave her a good grounding in how to look like you belong. Her dress, her makeup, even the way she holds herself... she's instinctively moulded herself to the Capitolite pattern. Deniera could easily be forgiven if she mistakes the young Tribute for one of the Capitolite elite.

She watches for several moments, inconspicuous despite her bright colours, or rather because of them. At last, plucking up her courage, she walks over to Deneira while the other girl is trying to mimic a Capitolite's walk.

"You have to walk on your toes," she confides, with a conspiratorial little smile. "Like you're dancing, only you keep your knees together all the time. Are you one of the girls from the Districts?"

Deniera has the decency to look ashamed at being caught, especially by a girl who seems to be Capitolite. That is, until the other girl speaks and she instantly picks up on the fact that her accent isn't from anywhere in Panem. Which would make her an off-worlder Tribute.

Which means that, at some point, Deniera may have to fight this girl and she knows that it's unwise to make friends with the people that she may have to kill or may kill her.

Though, it would be nice to have allies, and it's easier to draw flies with honey than with vinegar, as her mother would say. She shoots Sansa a sly smile. "If it were like dancing, it would be much easier. Though, I may just be in the wrong shoes." She can't help but glance slightly at the pair of sparkly pink flats she's wearing (she can't help but constantly look at them because they're unlike anything she's ever owned). "I'm Deniera, from District 8. Are you one of the off-worlders?"

Sansa answers that smile with another of her own, a little shy, and she drops her eyes. "I suppose I am, yes," she agrees, and laughs. "I'm not used to the thought yet. I'm Sansa Stark, of Winte... that is, of District Six." And, as if to prove beyond all doubt that she's not a Capitolite, she curtseys. It's a habit she hasn't managed to shake yet, especially since a lot of Capitolites seem to find it rather charming; her curtseys might not entirely pass muster at King's Landing, but they are ladylike and wonderfully foreign here.

When she straightens up, though, that shy smile hasn't gone away. "Are... are you a dancer? I've hardly met anybody here who dances, at least the kind of dances I know." Quadrilles and waltzes being relatively uncommon around here.

The concept of off-world Tributes wouldn't be old to that many people in Panem, but they've been a thing since Deniera was 13 and it seems like a lifetime to her. But she's tactful enough not to poke at the questions she's dying to ask the other girl, realizing she's just as new to the idea of fighing to the death as Deniera is (except, where Deniera's certain that they won't be bringing her back if she loses as a proper homage to the old Games, it would make sense for them to bring Sansa back). "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sansa," she says, trying to mimic the other girl's curtsey, though it feels more like a plie than anything else.

"I am! I do ballet, mainly," she says brightly, "Though I've learned some other types of dance, but I like ballet the most. It's graceful and elegant." Nothing like life in the Districts. She doesn't mention that it made her feel like she could escape the life she was living in District 8. "What kind of dances do you know?"

"Nothing too exciting," Sansa says, automatically, then remembers that she has no idea what might be considered exciting and new in the Capitol. "I mean, I can waltz. And quadrille, and rondeau, and pavane and galliard. And Septa Mordane was teaching me another dance, too, a Mereenese almain. I've never heard of ballet," she adds with a blush, looking suitably chastened by this fact. "It must be another thing from this land, there's so much here I've just never heard of. But it sounds wonderful! Will you show me, some time?"

Some of Sansa's words are painfully familiar and straight out of some of the books on dancing her father had imported to District 8 after he married her mother, some of them she even knows the steps and the timing for (and tries not to think about the fact that her father will probably never help her practice her waltzing again). "They sound lovely." She can't help but beam at the other girl. "Though, I have to admit, I've never heard of anything described as Mereenese."

Without even thinking, her feet slide into fifth position. "I'd love to, though I don't know how much time I'll have." That comes out far grimmer than she intended, but at the same time, it's the truth.

Sansa's smile falters for a moment, and it's only her strong will and long practice that lets it return to looking natural. She hates that thought, and all that goes along with it. She hates that there's nothing she can do. She'll be hard-pressed to survive, and has no illusions that she'll be able to protect anyone else, but gods, she hates the thought of this girl dying.

"You could show me now," she suggests, her tone falsely bright. "I mean, why not? It would let the Capitol see you, as well."

'Cause we all wanna party when the funeral ends and we all get together when we bury our friends

i just felt they had to meet, hope that's ok

Of course! This is wonderful!

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