thecapitol | The Crowning of Cullen Rutherford

The Crowning of Cullen Rutherford

Who| Everyone who's anyone.
What| The Crowning of Cullen Rutherford.
Where| The new Rutherford Castle.
When| Friday, late afternoon into the evening.
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| Please warn appropriately in headers.

The crowning ceremony takes place in an approximation of Skyhold, a large fortress with a castle with a sweeping main hall, gardens, and two levels of courtyard. Flags and banners hang everywhere, some with heraldry of the Inquisition, some with the heraldry of the Templar Order, a nod to Cullen's old days as a Templar. And of course, just as prominent everywhere you look is the seal of the Capitol. Just in case anyone forgot where they were.

The medieval fashion (or as close of approximation to medieval as the Capitol as gotten) that had come in with the 13th arena is back in full swing. There's plenty of fake armor to be seen, and foam swords resting on Capitolite hips. Sweeping ballgowns can be spotted as well, and a few more savvy people seem to have come dressed in a strange red and gold uniform. The avoxes do their best to blend in to the environment with drab brown peasant outfits.

In the main hall, tables filled with medieval food have been set up on both sides of the walls, filled with approximations of medieval food--As far as the Capitolites are concerned, that means normal food, but with a tendency for venison and large turkey legs. There are even dainty little cakes for dessert. Along the walls, above the food tables, hang multiple pictures. Featuring in this galley are every native of Thedas that had come to Panem at one point or another, all of them dressed in dour blacks of funeral wear, save the four remaining Thedasians. But of course, there are plenty of pictures of the Victor, starting with Cullen has a chubby blond child, going into him as an awkward young Templar (there's even a picture of him talking to a woman that the title identifies as Warden Amell), going through unfortunate hair cuts, and of course, various pictures of him in Panem, capturing a variety of touching and painful moments.

It all culminates when you get to the end of the hall, where there rests a massive throne just for Cullen. And behind it, the largest picture of them all, a massive portrait of Cullen. Adella stands next to him, holding an infant in her arms. Maxwell and Tabris are, for some reason, also featured in this family portrait, and you have to wonder if the artist in question didn't perhaps ship the ever popular Maxullen, because Maxwell's hand was looking awfully chummy on Cullen's shoulder.

The bottom courtyard has been set up with stalls, where you can buy foam swords and shields, little mabari plushes, and even a lion helmet. There's also little wedding toppers, shaped just like Cullen and Adella, and framed pictures of most of the art that hangs in the main hall. The nearby stables have been stocked with a variety of mounts, from the standard horses to more exotic harts, a strange dragon-like creature, and...no one is really sure what this is, but it...looks interesting?

In the upper courtyard, there's the Herald's Rest, a real, rustic tavern, with a woman playing a guitar and singing various songs. All the songs seem to revolve around how great the Capitol is, which kind of offsets the mood, but it's the thought that counts, right? It doesn't help that the bar has been outfitted to serve all kinds of modern drinks, but who wants plain ale, anyway? Outside of the tavern is a practice ring, where people can put to use their fake swords and shields, either trying to maul each other, or a target. Several peacekeepers offset the aesthetic feel in uncompromising white, carefully watching all participants to make sure that everyone is playing nicely.

If everything is just a little too busy for you, the garden is left in quiet peace. A woman dressed in red and white robes will occasionally begin speaking, extolling the virtues of the Capitol, and President Snow in a lengthy monologue.

There are a few actors wandering around, appearing as various people who have made an impact on Cullen's life. There's the mysterious Warden Amell, a man in full armor, and a woman dressed similarly. These two will wander around, swords in hand, ready to smack anyone with foam swords and accuse them of being blood mages. One actress is dressed like a certain Marian Hawke who had at one time been a tribute. She darts around the fortress, stopping people and regaling them with highly exaggerated tales of things that Cullen has supposedly done. There's even a few creatures running around that people may recognize from the last arena, such as the tastefully almost-nude desire demon that will occasionally try to sidle up to people--usually to be driven off by one of the people in armor.

There's one more addition to the party--dogs! A very specific kind of dog. Several dogs simply wander around Skyhold, trying to steal people's food and begging for attention. Next to the throne are four particularly handsome ones, each one with a collar baring the name of one of the four Thedasians left.

If wandering around Skyhold and competing with swords leaves you dry-mouthed, you're in luck! Dotted around the area are fountains that all pour a strange, bright blue punch. Listen closely, because the fountain seems to be humming a strange tune. If you have a careful eye, you might even find the one that has red punch pouring out if it, humming an oddly sinister tune.

Well, what harm could there be in going ahead and trying it out anyway?

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Firo nods. The truth that they're basically puppets to dance around for these people is absolutely shameful to him, but it's just that--truth. If he wants his friends to stick around, he'll have to do his best with it. "I'll make sure to tell 'em all to crack a few jokes next Arena, then." He smiles faintly as he says it--he's just kidding, man, please don't get pissed.

"...You know you coulda' just told me that, right? Are you some kinda masochist?"

Not that he doesn't appreciate it, he realizes, as unsettling as the experience is. But it's precisely because of that that there's a grain of honesty in his question--there must be a million things more fun for Roland than dealing with Firo's (lack of) brains. Certainly not many people before have really bothered.

"I don't know that word," Roland points out, patient with it because he's used to this, the whole process of dealing with people whose cultures are just close enough to his that they forget he isn't quite one of them. The language they both speak may be the same as the Low Speech of his world, but Low Speech's got a very different set of slang.

"And yes, I could've. But would you have known it, Firo? You'd've heard me, but that's not the same as figuring a thing out for yourself. This way it's not just something I told you, it's yours." He raises his eyebrows, silently asking whether that's answered to Firo's satisfaction.

Woops. He scratches his head. "It means you like pain."

"Maybe I wouldn't've," He concedes with a shrug. Actually, he almost certainly would have. "But that's not your problem."

His. Nobody's really talked about knowledge that way to him--he tends to think of it more as clutter, not a possession.

"Is it?" Roland watches the crowd, considering this. They've probably lost that Capitolite they were tracking, probably for good, but he doesn't mind that. That was a diversion. This is important - not life or death, certainly, but it matters enough to put it wheels above and beyond any of the mindless little entertainments the makers of this party expect them all to be so taken with.

"Should I forget all concern for you, then, Firo? Is that what men in your world consider friendship with one another?" He is not at all angry, not even frustrated. Neither does he expect Firo to agree. But there's probably a misunderstanding here, and Roland is curious to figure out just what it is.

That seems like a bit of a leap, right? Not that Firo necessarily wants people to be concerned with him, but the implication seems to be that his friends back home are callous men. And they're the farthest from that, to Firo's mind, despite what their jobs may imply.

"Wh-- That-that's not what my friends are like." They're the best friends.

He slouches against the wall and stares off at the side of the room away from Roland. "You just don't..." His fingers twitch. He wishes he had a glass or something to fidget with--he really should've held onto that strange punch. "People in my world don't talk about this stuff. It doesn't--"

It doesn't matter. He sees nothing wrong with the idea, but he cuts himself off because he feels Roland might object. But it really doesn't matter, right? If the Martillos tried to explain things like this, they'd just waste time. The Family's time.

It is, in fact, a bit of a leap. Not a leap Roland means to make, either. It was meant to be. It's a strategy he's used on Firo more than once, and one he'll continue to use, at least for a little while. It would be a great understatement to say that Roland is a practical man, and so he will use this against Firo until Firo learns to resist it. He does not expect this to happen soon, but if it does he won't be disappointed. Exactly the opposite.

"'It doesn't--'?" He tilts his head, studying the boy. "Doesn't what? I can't understand you, Firo, if you don't try to explain." Exaggeration and insult, after all, only get him so far. It'd gotten him part of an explanation, but perhaps it's right that Firo has to try, and consciously, before Roland has a chance at hearing the rest.

Firo manages to look at Roland now, if only sidelong, but it's something that is halfway between an expression of agony and a glare. How could he do this to him? He thought they were friends.

"I meant that, you know--" He shrugs, waving his hand through the air. Explanations are hard. "...It--if I can figure out somethin' or not, it doesn't matter. It'd be kinda disrespectful if my bosses had to waste their time on it like this."

He sees nothing wrong with that. But he also saw nothing wrong with calling himself an idiot, and that didn't go so well, so he's more than a little worried as he waits for a response.

That entire explanation is riddled with faulty logic. The hardest thing about it is picking out just one of those faults to point out, although that decision doesn't take long.

"It would be disrespectful," he agrees, "If it were a waste. Firo, what role does your mind play in the work that you do? Here or at home? What do you use it for?"

For a moment, Firo almost thinks that Roland is agreeing with him and that he's going to get away with this. But of course not.

He looks up at the ceiling. "What do I use it for?" Nothing, obviously, is what he wants to say, but he doesn't want to make the man angry.

"At home I balance the accounts for the casino, figure out who's a cheater, remember who I've had to kick out before. Just stuff like that. And I'm not even good at the accounts. I can't work it all out in my head like Luck does."

"That's just numbers," Roland says, dismissive. "How do you listen to a man and remember his story, judge whether he's lying? Whether he's about to pull a gun? How do you read a situation and change your plans when you decide you need to? I don't know much about your bosses, Firo, but I'd prefer my bondsmen be able to use their minds. A man who can is going to be far more useful - and, very likely, will live longer - than a man who doesn't bother to try. But numbers - any man with a head for them can figure numbers, and put not a second of real thought into it."

"So I ask you again, Firo. What is it you use your mind for? Do you truly think it's a waste of all our time to set you practicing it?"

Edited (missed a word) 2015-12-16 18:46 (UTC)

Firo blinks, only staring for a moment. "All that stuff you said... that's just, like, instinct or whatever, isn't it?"

He's never even considered that being able to do those things could be related to thinking. For one, they're things you do fast, whereas he associates thought with an agonizing process that goes slowest when you need it most.

For another, those are all things he can do. And pretty well too. He's just an idiot, so surely they must be something separate from thinking.

"Aye, some of it," Roland shrugs. "But even that takes training and work. Any man can use his instincts, but it takes an agile mind to use 'em well. What sorts of things were you thinking of instead? Facts and figures?"

Edited (spelling) 2015-12-17 22:18 (UTC)

An agile mind. Firo's shoulders droop when he hears that--that's certainly not something he has and it sounds pretty damn hard to work up to. Harder than training to an agile body for sure.

"Yeah, exactly. And, like..." He tilts his head, trying to find something specific. His perception of intelligence and thought is rather general; he can more easily connect it to the people who have it (Luck, Maiza, Phil, and certainly Roland himself) than to a solid definition. "...like when people can understand those big, hard books. Or make plans that aren't about a turf war."

"Always did have trouble with those books, myself. A good deal rarer in my world than yours, I think - more rare than they are here, anyway - but on occasion Vannay'd take 'em out and set one in front of me. Usually me, a good deal more often than I think the rest of the class cared for. A son of the Eld, he said, ought to be able to read like he had a brain in his head and that he'd make sure I could, no matter how much longer it meant everyone had to stay for lessons that day."

"He wasn't wrong," Roland shrugs, "But I've used my mind for plenty of things since then, and letters had nothing to do with a great many of them."

Firo blinks, mouth dropping open. He shuts it quickly, because it's probably a silly thing to be surprised about, but he is. "You did?" But Roland's smart. He's proven that over and over. Firo's not going to change his mind about this just because of some alleged difficulty with books, but he's surprised to find common ground on this subject.

"Is it... Has it got to do with all that 'White' stuff you talked about before? The stuff you use your brain for, I mean." He imagines it goes beyond the instinctual--it's hard to stop thinking about them in that way--things Roland just listed.

It's interesting to hear Firo say the word, given who he is and the loyalties he carries from his own world. It's also interesting to hear Firo ask about it. Roland considers explaining, in the same way a person used to religious conversions considers whether someone who's just asked about their holy book really does want to know.

"The White is a reason, more than anything. A goal. One a man of your work almost directly acts against, in fact. So I'd say not. I've met plenty of men with very dangerous minds indeed who didn't give a rat's ass about the White one way or the other." He raises his eyebrows at Firo, looking almost amused. If that was an attempt to get out of using your brain, boy, to link mental agility with a thing which is mostly associated with gunslingers, it isn't going to work. You don't get out of working on your own mind that easily.

Directly? Should he be flattered, to know that his work back home means something to some force he's never known about? The little smirk that appears on his face may hint that he's thinking something along those lines even though he has the sense not to say it out loud.

It vanishes quickly, of course, because seeing that look on Roland's face has him just a tad concerned. Perhaps preemptively guilty. "What's that look for? I didn't say anything bad about it, did I?"

"No, no. No need to walk on eggshells with me, Firo." Roland waves a hand, dismissive. "If you insult me, I'll let you know it. I was only wondering why you connected the two. Is it really so difficult to believe the workings of your own mind are so locked away from you?"

"You said it was important before. And that it had to do with knowledge and everything." Even if his connection wasn't right, he's eager to make it plain that he had been listening that first time Roland spoke of it a couple Crownings ago.

"Why shouldn't I think so?" There isn't much of a challenge in his tone, just simple acceptance. He shrugs. "Nobody's ever told me any different."

It's the honest truth. If Firo stopped to think about what he's saying, he might wonder why he feels the need to explain it. He just does.

"I am." Roland lets a silent moment hang on the end of that statement, give it a second to settle in.

"And yes, a great deal of what the White means has to do with knowledge and the keeping of it. But knowing a thing is very different from knowing how to use it. Have you not seen as much? Men who know all the words and figures and facts they can get their hands on, yet couldn't string two reasoned thoughts together if their lives depended on it? Worse, men who live the same kinds of lives as you or I and think they earn the right to leadership over the rest of us with only their fists? Evidence is all around you, Firo, the folly of men who have minds and choose not to use them. You only have to decide to see it."

Well, damn, there goes that excuse, in that case. But that's not why Firo has a difficult time looking at Roland when he says it. Silly as it may seem, he's simply unsettled because no one has said that--at least not so clearly--until now and he's not sure how to take it.

He knows men like those, the second kind especially. He can't put a name to the first group, but he knows that the others are bullies, plain and simple. He's beaten up enough of them to be sure he's not destined for that class, at least.

"Choose not to, huh?" So it doesn't seem to be about can or can't, but a choice. "You really don't think people are just stuck that way? They have to decide to be?"

He shrugs. "I don't know about people. Not all of them. I only know what I've seen. Not all men can think equally quick but they can think, if they try. Most don't."

"I don't ask you to agree with me now," Roland says, after a moment of studying him. "Only hear me, Firo, and think on what I've said." He is right, though. There isn't any doubt about that, and he thinks that Firo is all but convinced, too. But to push would be to lose him. Some ideas have to be planted, and then left alone for a while.

Firo's response isn't at all eager, but it is honest. "Yeah, I will."

He recalls those things Phil's been saying, about how Firo's not as much of an idiot as he thinks. Believing that may still be too much of a leap, but maybe it's true that Firo isn't as intellectually-helpless as he's always said.

And what Roland mentioned about crooked men doing damage with their brains... it probably wasn't the desired message, but Firo wonders if this stuff could still help his Family somehow.

He flicks open a wary eye, "Just so long as you don't do to me what that teacher did to you with the books."

Roland's other teacher, Cort, had sounded like a reasonable man. Vannay, though, most be completely off his rocker.

Roland makes a brief, amused noise deep in his throat. "No need to worry. I'll never have Vannay's way with words. That sort of teaching will never be for me."

"Well," he stirs, straightening from his spot against the wall and looking around at the crowd again. The diversion with that odd fountain water is long gone, but what'd taken it's place turned out to be far more satisfying. Firo had seemed to honestly listen to what Roland said, and the end of this damned party is now that much closer. All in all, not a bad result. "Ready to get back to it?"

Firo sighs, his nod slow with trepidation. "We gotta eventually. Might as well get it over with."

Casually--or at least trying to sound that way--he adds, "...Thanks, by the way."

Difficult as it was, even he's gotten to the point where he can tell Roland's done a good thing for him.

and, fade?

ka_sera_sera - 2015-12-26 22:12 (UTC) - Expand

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The Crowning of Cullen Rutherford

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and, fade?