Now I Got These Alligators On My Feet [OPEN]

[pimpcanes]

WHO| Black Tom and open!
WHAT| Black Tom is obnoxious as all hell as he prepares for nuptials.
WHEN| A little after the Crowning.
WHERE| Everywhere around the Capitol, the D10 Suite, your doorway.
WARNINGS| Abuse of police authority?

To say Tom's being obnoxious about his upcoming wedding would be a wild understatement. That would be like calling the ocean 'a little damp' or Caesar Flickerman 'a little showy'. Tom's spent the last week being completely insufferable, making a show of having his belongings moved out so he can go live in the castle he received for his Crowning ("it's my third castle, really," he tells anyone who'll listen) and flipping through men's fashion magazines less out of curiosity than because he enjoys ripping pages out, balling them up, and tossing them aside as "complete garbage" for an audience.

Though the denizens of District Ten are taking the brunt of Tom's behaviors, but he takes his egomania out for the odd walk, too. People minding their own business are shanghaied into giving him advice about what the most fashionable styles for facial hair are, and if he should dye his greys out or keep them to look distinguished; other Tributes get asked to model in different tuxedos to see how they look without Tom having to change out of whatever he's in; other Mentors get quizzed on the symbolism of various flowers.

Some of the unlucky souls who haven't answered his and Molotov's RSVPs will find his rapping on their door, then brandishing handcuffs if they're fool enough to open up. "I hate to tell you this, but it turns out you're under arrest, boyo," he says (regardless of the gender of his target).

Comments

[inrestlessdreams]

James woke up, bleary eyed before he realized what this meant. His face was just...deadpan before he asked, "On what charges? I haven't done anything wrong."

At least not in Panem. It took him a few parts of a second and it clicked who this man was. Oh, that's right, the guy who went into an arena, won and now is making his marriage the wedding of the century.

"Congrats on the wedding but isn't this a, uh, an abuse of power?"

Oh Sunderland.

[pimpcanes]

"You've failed to respond to an official summons. Now step out and hold out your wrists, or I'll have to inspect your rooming situation too."

Tom's clearly just having a blast with this, and seems almost predatorily eager to escalate the situation against anyone who doesn't cooperate. He places his hand to the cuffs at his waist, teeth glinting slightly at the corner of his smile.

"What's the point of having power if not to use it, eh?"

[inrestlessdreams]

Well, shit, now this is quite the conundrum since James is a grieving widower with no intention of giving this Irish asshole the opportunity to beat his ass over something THIS trivial. Hell, he's smiling about it for God's sake.

"There's using and then there's arresting people over-wait, that was an official summons?" Now Sunderland isn't the brightest bulb in the shed, demonic toilet fishing notwithstanding, but he had to have a little fun in this exercise in futility.

"Don't I have the right to a lawyer or something before you arrest me on party-bailing charges?"

He's totally not resisting arrest here, Peacekeeper Cassidy, not at all!

[pimpcanes]

Tom laughs, and it's a cruel, mocking sound. "Who told you you have rights, lad? You're a Tribute in the Hunger Games. Your rights stop and end at your right to be entirely incorrect about where you're at."

He pats the cuffs again, then takes them from his belt and swings them idly. "Now, out with the wrists."

[expurge]

The Crowning ceremony hadn't been the most entertaining of events. Sure, the food and drink was fine, but the Batter simply couldn't let go of the fact that the victor wasn't him. Another person from his own district managed to stick around just a little longer than he did, and now everyone's having a big party for him. What a jerk.

He didn't stay long at the ceremony, after a blunt discussion with his mentor and a few drinks he'd taken off for his room at the center. There's a discarded invitation in the trash - it seemed unnecessary. And stupid.

The knocking on the door later on is annoying. He'd been trying to rest, wallowing in personal doubt and questioning what his purpose in Panem truly is if not victory in the arenas, but the insistent knocking continues. He doesn't bother making himself look presentable, dragging himself towards the door to open it and listen to whoever's on the other side.

It takes about five seconds before the Batter shuts the door in the man's face. This is ridiculous and not worth his time.

[pimpcanes]

Black Tom's not even annoyed. In fact, he's actually a little pleased with this reaction, because that means he can raise the amount of force that he's using as well. Not that any of this is authorized, of course, but he's at least trying to start out relatively polite before he gets going to what he's been looking forward to doing all along: kicking in someone's door and hauling them off to the paddywagon.

Honestly, they should have just let him do this all along. He wouldn't have had to make up bullshit reasons. Why else would someone work for a dictatorship than to flaunt their authority?

He knocks one more time, and if Batter doesn't answer he's going to start at Batter's lock.

[expurge]

The chances of that second knocking on the door belonging to someone else were slim to none, he knew that. He might've been a popular tribute in the arenas for his fighting skill and determination (and kill count) alone, but certainly not on the outside of it. He was ... how did they put it ... "dreadfully dull." Something along those lines. So there's really no way there'd be a lineup outside his door, and the man on the other side is simply being stubborn.

So he doesn't immediately answer, instead heading back to the bed to lean back and relax, for what is probably only going to be a few seconds before the door breaks down. He doesn't care. Bring it on.

[pimpcanes]

Tom has to pity Batter, just a little. Clearly the man has skill, or he wouldn't have racked up a kill count in an Arena dreadfully short of actual murders for a death match. And yet he doesn't seem to appreciate that incidental benefit of being a Tribute: the attention, the idolization. Tom misses it deeply and it drives him a little mad to think of others getting it without even appreciating it.

He fuels that resentment into the way he uses his master key - the benefit to any Peacekeeper in a culture that wouldn't understand privacy if it hit them upside the head - to open Batter's door for him.

"I told you to come with me."

[allyorfoe]

Tabris is, in fact, fool enough to open, and stares blankly at Tom for a dozen seconds, before slowly blinking. Reaching out, she firmly clasped Tom's shoulder, and stared him dead in the eye, with the most serious of expressions on her face.

"Tom. Bruh. Bro. Broski. Brotodile. Hombro. Bropheus." The real person that Tom should be arresting is whoever taught Tabris how to parrot slang words that she doesn't understand. Arrest the internet. "This is about the wedding, isn't it? You must remember that I am a widow. My husband torn cruelly from my side just a little while ago. My token is literally my wedding ring. Do you want your wedding ruined by my obnoxious crying as I recall all ten years of my blissful wedded life?" Not that this has stopped her from apparently hooking up with Sigma, of all people.

There's another pause, as Tabris glances thoughtfully down, keeping the door firmly mostly shut, only enough to stick her torso out.

"Also, if you want to arrest me, I have to put on pants."

Whether this is a bluff or not is, of course, entirely up to chance.

[pimpcanes]

"Tabris, haven't you lived in my vicinity long enough to understand that the weeping of people less fortunate than me would not only be welcome but encouraged at my celebration? Besides, it's just the reception, not the wedding."

Tom's really not expecting Tabris to actually reach out and take his shoulder, and his eyebrows rise when she touches him and rattles off that insane list of names that even he doesn't understand (what the devil is a Brotodile, is that some sort of virus?). He taps his cane against the doorframe and then sets it in the jam so she can't close the door on him, smiling much less broadly than he obviously wants to.

"You might want to do that, then, because if I have my way you'll be spending quite a few nights there. And when you do so I hope you don't mind me coming in and helping myself to your room's accouterments."

[allyorfoe]

Tabris thinks about telling Tom that if he really wants to have people weeping from their poor fortune, he'll just convince Molotov to show up to their wedding without makeup on. But whatever kicks Tom is getting from this power trip, she'd rather keep the whole thing amicable--or neutral. Or whatever it is. Instead, she just gives him a wry grin.

"Just for that, Tom, I'm going to spend the entire reception macking on everyone. If I get laid, I'll send you a thank you note."

But she doesn't seem like making a bigger fuss than needs to be, at least. She steps back, but throws the door open, revealing that Tabris wasn't lying--she's wearing a pair of shorts, not pants. She turns around, allowing Tom to come into her room. At least no one can accuse Tabris of not getting comfortable in her room--some tributes leave their room almost unaltered. Tabris' room is littered with pictures of her and her friends, one of her with Alistair by her bed, knick knacks and stickers all over, courtesy of Bayard. Not organized but not quite a mess.

"I don't know what an encounterment is, but knock yourself out. Literally, if you prefer." She threw open her closet, staring at it in contemplation, before deciding there's no way that she's going to try to maneuver around Tom giving her any privacy for changing. So she throws on a warm dress for the chilly weather, and pulls it on, still talking even as she got dressed. "You know, Molotov told me a while ago that she didn't think you'd ever propose to her. Said she didn't want to get married in the Capitol, anyway."

Her tone was neutral enough, even as she threw some shoes on. There were definitely going to be cameras for the arrest, and she didn't plan on looking bad in the pictures. "I guess you're pretty persuasive when you want to be."

[pimpcanes]

"So long as it isn't in one of those cheap cards you can buy at a corner-store." Tom expects even people's spiteful actions against him to have a certain respect for his level of megalomania. He knows the world doesn't curve itself around him and his whims, and yet he wants it to so badly, and so he tries to enforce its reconstitution in the little ways he can.

There's some pang of nostalgia in Tom's stomach when he looks about Tabris' room; her abode feels like a home, whereas Tom's is still languishing in the manner of a permanent hotel, filled with luxurious things but very little personal, very little with any sort of memory attached. It reminds him of the Keep, worn in by generations of Cassidys, decorated still with Theresa's childhood drawings and baubles. He makes a mental note to get some belongings from Arya and Molotov both to brighten up his room in the Suite.

"She warmed to the idea. You could say that being in love gives a woman a new view on things. You've been married before, you understand." He taps his cane to the floor. "Chop chop, you're taking long enough."

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn puts her hands on her hips, looking him up and down. She's clearly just got out of bed - she's dressed in a shift and her hair is touseled - but her eyes are no less hard and piercing for the sleep still caught in the corners of them.

"Begone," she says at last, and simply slams the door in his face. She isn't dealing with him. Not right now. Especially not if this turns out to be over his thrice-cursed wedding. As if she had any intention of showing up to smile vacantly and applaud a sham of a marriage between two people she detests.

[pimpcanes]

"Ah ah ah..." Tom says, all but trilling that noise. He raps his knuckles against the door again, not bothering to hide his grin or just how pleased he is at finally being able to use that authority he had been so eager to get upon his petitioning. It doesn't matter that Quintus might yank all this away the instant he finds out; for this glorious moment, Tom gets to boss people around, including this uppity bitch he so loathes, the woman trying to steal Arya away from him.

Maybe, he thinks, Éowyn would do well to inquire after the fate of the last person who tried to take one of Tom's surrogate daughters from him (spoilers, he ended up dead, and even though Tom wasn't involved at all he will totally take credit).

"Éowyn, if you don't come to the door, I'll have to add obstruction of justice to your charges."

so apparently inventing tolkien-style insults is hella fun

[shieldofrohan]

There's a moment of silence, then the door opens again, and she glares at him with the full force of generations of kings who staked their claim with steel and strength. "You may add it," she says, cold and dignified, and with all the gentleness of a steel blade. "For rest assured, thou carrion, thou bile-steeped by-blow of worm and rot, that if thou layest a hand on me, I will break it off at the wrist. And if you set a foot beyond my door, you will find to your peril what strength is yet in me. You will make a poor showing at your wedding, if you should arrive with your nose crushed to a pulp."

There's no warmth in her smile. It's sharp as a dagger, and twice as vicious. "Run back to your men, my muck-spout soft-foot lord, and tell them to return with you to fetch me. For if you seek to take me alone, you will find to your peril how I may repay the dishonours you have done me."

I would never have guessed :p

[pimpcanes]

Tom doesn't take any of that ridiculous screed personally. In fact, he seems to revel in it, as if by laying name to everything she thinks of him she's fueling his ego even further. He's getting something out of being so hated, because he believes it to be envy or at the very least attention.

"Are you quite done?" He taps at the door with the tip of his cane, like a dog urging its master to open it. "I'd much prefer to arrest you peacefully, but if you insist we could come to blows, or I could call my comrades in arms."

[dreadinquisitor]

The barking came first; Maxwell's new Mabari pressing it's snout to the crack at the bottom of the door and sniffing deeply, and bellowing loudly to alert Maxwell - helpfully, if needlessly - that a stranger was at the door. The man came a few moments later, after a muffled shuffling as he nudged the hound away, looking weary, his hair and clothes rumpled with sleep.

He said nothing to Tom's greeting immediately, merely looked down at the cuffs and then back up at the man with narrowed eyes. Then, finally, he said dryly, "Please tell me the punishment's death."

He didn't even care what the charges were; his hangover was suffering enough.

I lost this notif ;A;

[pimpcanes]

"Alas, unfortunately for you and me both, it's only a night or so in jail, which could be waived by your obsequiousness to my authority." Tom grins and pulls the door open further, gesturing for Maxwell to come out into the hall. "Come now, I'm not half so bad as Catholic school, and I should know - I won't slap your wrists and make you pledge hail Marys if you come quietly."

He uses his cane to gesture down the hall. "Just a trip in the wagon for booking and fines, I'm afraid."

[occasio]

Honestly, with the number of times Phi ends up being stopped going from Point A to Point B, one more person haranguing her about her input on dumb day-to-day details of their life isn't that much out of the ordinary. There's a low level of obnoxiousness prevalent throughout the city, and Tom's insistence on asking her opinion on his facial hair doesn't faze her any more than the other requests by random Capitolites who can't seem to function without social input of some kind. In fact, given her unfamiliarity with the Capitol and her fellow tributes in general, she just assumes that he is a Capitolite anyway.

"I'm pretty sure bright orange is in fashion right now," she replies in the most deadpan tone imaginable. "With black tiger stripes. Forget the greys altogether and dye it that. It sounds fierce." Not. But she's not interested in giving actual advice so much as making them go away.

[pimpcanes]

Tom takes this one hundred percent seriously, because he's ridiculous and the Capitol is ridiculous and this wedding is going to be so over-the-top that it might implode on itself, if he has his way.

"Do you think so? Molotov does love tigers quite so, and it might match the decor, if we decide to have them standing guard around the aisle. Bengal, of course. Albino tigers are too trendy these days."

He strokes his chin, looking at her, remembering the mental notes he made watching her performance in the Arena. "I've had my eye on you, lass, so you know. You caught my attention when you competed."

[occasio]

Ugh. Rich people. It's a feat of impressive strength that she doesn't wrinkle her nose in distaste. Bengal tigers at a wedding? An unkind image of the tigers getting loose and eating the party guests flickers through her thoughts before she brushes it aside. The tigers don't deserve that.

Phi is fully prepared to excuse herself from this budding conversation before it can fully take off, when Tom manages to say something that actually catches her attention in a way that sends up red flags. People confessing that they've been watching her has a tendency to do that.

"Should I be flattered? Or was the rest of the arena just that boring?"

I lost this notif, I'm sorry!

[pimpcanes]

That's assuming Tom wouldn't be incredibly amused by some of the guests being eaten by tigers. So long as he, the bride and the flowergirl don't end up cat chow, he's alright with running the risks of live animals at the reception.

"You should. I'm a busy man - I don't have time to waste valuable energy on people who don't look like they want to win." He straightens his coat and gestures to the space ahead of them. "Walk with me, will you?"

[seestheman]

Clara has done her best to stay out of the path of Hurricane Molotom. Yes, it's meant going out to eat far more than she'd prefer, staying to her room when she's home, or going down to Three to spend some time with James instead, but it's meant not having to endure Tom's shenanigans.

Which is why she's honestly a little surprised to find him knocking at her door. She's done everything right recently, from sending her 'no' RSVP (complete with a bottle of the cheapest wine and cheese she could find) to giving interviews about their Tributes with the end of the Arena and talking up the Capitol. "Under what charge?"

[pimpcanes]

"Failure to respond to an official summons." Which is the closest thing Tom can think of to 'you failed to gratify my childish need for attention properly, also you have terrible taste in wine'.

Tom's pretty sure it's unprofessional for a Peacekeeper to be grinning during an arrest, and he's also pretty sure he doesn't care. He pats the cuffs at his waist. "And since you'd established yourself in the Arena to be a dangerous woman, I'll have to cuff you on the way there. For safety, you understand."

[seestheman]

Clara can't even be angry. Okay, she can, she is a little because, wow, this is a fresh load of bullshit, but more than anything she's just gawking currently because...really? Is he really pulling this? "I'm not sure if you noticed, but I did respond. I hope you and your bride to be enjoyed the finest wine I could find for under six assi."

She doesn't come quietly and she's refusing to go well into this good night. Day. Whatever. "You can't be serious."