Molotov Cocktease (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thecapitol2016-01-04 10:35 pm
molotov) wrote in thecapitol2016-01-04 10:35 pm
Entry tags:
whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
Who| Molotov, Black Tom and open
What| A wedding reception for the ages
Where| A private estate
When| Between the D7 and D1 battles
Warnings/Notes| General assholery, excessive and gaudy displays of wealth, literal fountains of alcohol, two terrible people who genuinely love each other
The ceremony was small and private, as far as guests went -- you probably weren't invited. The Capitol even granted them a few moments without cameras or recorders for their vows. Tom and Molotov were married at dusk in a room of flowers, a room that's been made completely off-limits until the happy couple themselves are far from it. Once the party begins, it holds the dance floor, illuminated by thousands of tiny fairy lights that shine from inside the greenery, and even the floor is made of flowers, kept pristine and dance-friendly with a layer of plexiglass atop them.
Two bengal tigers in white flower crowns and neck wreaths are waiting to welcome you to the area designated for cocktails, and while the tigers lie mostly still on their perches placed at either side of the door, they do occasionally let out a growl or roar, just for show. The music is quieter here, to accommodate mingling, and while the bar does have practically every variety of beverage ever created, there's a sign to highlight the carefully crafted signature cocktails for the couple:
Permafrost
vodka, elderflower liqueur, white cranberry and lime juice, garnished with an orchid and edible gold flecks
The Barrington
whiskey, simple syrup, and lemon juice, garnished with a sprig of fresh mint and an emerald at the bottom of the glass
Killer Love
champagne, cognac, orange liqueur and a candied hibiscus blossom cradling a diamond
The massive dining area is indoors, though one could be forgiven for thinking they've walked outside -- a domed glass ceiling shows the sky above (which has been artificially enhanced through the glass to include gorgeous starry heavens). Trees and flowers seem to grow from the tables, glowing from the light of soft LEDs in glass orbs amongst the branches. Some of the bulbs contain butterflies instead, white and fluttering around, providing a bit of movement.
There doesn't seem to be a menu; instead, chefs man at least twenty different specialty stations, ready to make custom versions of everything from risotto to grilled cheese, pizza to lobsters. There's an entire table devoted to caviar, another just for varieties of bread and butter. One chef is happy to prepare you a hearty stack of waffles, should you wish.
Though there is one cake that is, obviously and undoubtedly, the main cake, there are several dozen other, smaller ones dotting tables around the room, each with a different look, flavor and decoration.
Towards the end of the party, well after midnight, guests are ushered outside for the send-off. As Tom and Molotov exit, fifty thousand white and gold balloons are released into the sky above them, and guests are urged to wave their sparklers for good luck and congratulations. They leave in a sleek black coupe, complete with custom plates that read CASSIDY.
The music keeps playing until dawn.
What| A wedding reception for the ages
Where| A private estate
When| Between the D7 and D1 battles
Warnings/Notes| General assholery, excessive and gaudy displays of wealth, literal fountains of alcohol, two terrible people who genuinely love each other
The ceremony was small and private, as far as guests went -- you probably weren't invited. The Capitol even granted them a few moments without cameras or recorders for their vows. Tom and Molotov were married at dusk in a room of flowers, a room that's been made completely off-limits until the happy couple themselves are far from it. Once the party begins, it holds the dance floor, illuminated by thousands of tiny fairy lights that shine from inside the greenery, and even the floor is made of flowers, kept pristine and dance-friendly with a layer of plexiglass atop them.
Two bengal tigers in white flower crowns and neck wreaths are waiting to welcome you to the area designated for cocktails, and while the tigers lie mostly still on their perches placed at either side of the door, they do occasionally let out a growl or roar, just for show. The music is quieter here, to accommodate mingling, and while the bar does have practically every variety of beverage ever created, there's a sign to highlight the carefully crafted signature cocktails for the couple:
vodka, elderflower liqueur, white cranberry and lime juice, garnished with an orchid and edible gold flecks
The Barrington
whiskey, simple syrup, and lemon juice, garnished with a sprig of fresh mint and an emerald at the bottom of the glass
Killer Love
champagne, cognac, orange liqueur and a candied hibiscus blossom cradling a diamond
The massive dining area is indoors, though one could be forgiven for thinking they've walked outside -- a domed glass ceiling shows the sky above (which has been artificially enhanced through the glass to include gorgeous starry heavens). Trees and flowers seem to grow from the tables, glowing from the light of soft LEDs in glass orbs amongst the branches. Some of the bulbs contain butterflies instead, white and fluttering around, providing a bit of movement.
There doesn't seem to be a menu; instead, chefs man at least twenty different specialty stations, ready to make custom versions of everything from risotto to grilled cheese, pizza to lobsters. There's an entire table devoted to caviar, another just for varieties of bread and butter. One chef is happy to prepare you a hearty stack of waffles, should you wish.
Though there is one cake that is, obviously and undoubtedly, the main cake, there are several dozen other, smaller ones dotting tables around the room, each with a different look, flavor and decoration.
Towards the end of the party, well after midnight, guests are ushered outside for the send-off. As Tom and Molotov exit, fifty thousand white and gold balloons are released into the sky above them, and guests are urged to wave their sparklers for good luck and congratulations. They leave in a sleek black coupe, complete with custom plates that read CASSIDY.
The music keeps playing until dawn.
Black Tom | OTA
To hell with anyone who ever insisted on virtue. Clearly, they finish last. It's not just love that fills Tom with this rush of pleasure; it's the sense of having won on some intangible scale.
Despite the fact that all this standing has his leg in fits of cramping, he's quite the social butterfly at the reception. This is his part of the joint venture, of course, because he has a flare for the melodrama and the spotlight. Molotov prefers her privacy, but you don't decide yourself a supervillain and run around in purple spandex because you're camera-shy. He makes his rounds with photographers and then to just about everyone who attended, whether they're here for pleasure or out of obligation or boredom or whatever else might have forced them to the wedding reception of a couple who's largely hated by anyone with rebellious tendencies.
"Enjoying the wine? Aged a hundred years, although it still doesn't pack the kick of something with a proper proof. That's why I'm drinking whiskey" he'll say while petting one of the tigers (they have gilded gold fangs, a procedure Tom had to assure Molotov was perfectly humane). Or he'll say "have you tried the maple syrup candy? I hear it's from the only part of District Seven you can still visit without a gas mask."
no subject
Aunamee hasn't moved with a confidence like this in months (years?). As Panem crumbles into chaos, Aunamee starts to grow, strapping the debris around his ankles like grotesque stilts.
"I am enjoying the wine, dear Victor," he says when he finally finds Tom, still smiling from ear to ear. He hasn't been in the Capitol very long -- only three days -- but he's done his research.
He swirls the wine once before taking a sip, never one dropping his eyes.
"Congratulations."
no subject
So Tom stays, because Aunamee's the most interesting thing around, aside from himself and Molotov, of course.
"Ah, you're a sight. I almost wish you'd been in an Arena with me, so I could have crushed some actual competition." He runs his hand over the tiger's soft ear. The creature bares its fangs, but it's tame. It's never known anything but the Capitol.
Neither Aunamee nor Tom are like that. Tom reaches his hand out to shake Aunamee's.
"I'm honored by your presence here, lad."
no subject
But everything is different now. Tom, after all, is an ally in a world filled with enemies. Aunamee doesn't hear the word 'crushed.' He hears 'competition.'
He takes Tom's hand and gives it a firm shake, all the while watching the other man with curious eyes. He looks for little creases in his brow, for tugs in his smile. He studies the man's face with a mild mania reserved for people he knows will be worth something someday.
"Tell me how it felt when you won."
He can't stop himself. He wants to feel the skull crack under his own weight. It's been too long. Too dark.
"Tell me, does it compare to today?"
no subject
He's surprised when he realizes. In a culture that so lionizes violence, conquest as its entertainment, no one's asked him what it felt like at the moment he won. They've asked what it meant to win in general, but not about that personal revelation in the instant he beat Wednesday Addams' brains into the ground.
Because he's just a pawn to them, he knows, and his leg aches and he leans a bit on his cane to remember it. They only care about what's inside when it manifests outwardly in a way their cameras can record.
His handshake on Aunamee's is firm, friendly, but there's a glassy distance to his eyes as he recalls that moment. It's not glorious daydreaming, but not altogether unlike a follower looking upon a holy relic. He felt a certainty in who he was in that moment, a finality, a closure. He had crossed a precipice and was in a freefall that would never end. Morality was a sham, still is. There is nothing but desire and satisfaction after that point.
Wednesday hadn't even screamed. The cannon went off while her eye that hadn't been turned to red pulp still had that laser-focused light in it, but Tom didn't realize what it was instantly because he still was looking at the shattered tooth he'd knocked into the grass and trying, in a detached way, to place what it was.
"It felt like a puzzle piece falling back into place." He smiles and places his free hand into his pocket. "This feels like the beginning of something wonderful. That felt like the ending of unexplored possibilities I didn't really want anyway."
no subject
But he can't be there. Not now. Instead, he waits, his fingers dancing at his sides as though he were manipulating an invisible marionette.
"A puzzle piece," he echoes with a smile, his fingers slowing as a warm glow settles in his chest. "I know precisely what you're talking about." He turns to look at the room around them, pursing his lips in admiration of the scenery. "And what a wonderful beginning it is. You two are at the height of class. The Capitol must be jealous."
There's something dark about the way he says that. We're so much better than them, is what he's really saying. He catches Tom's eye and smiles.
"When's the honeymoon?"
no subject
It's that restlessness that drove him to this life, to villainy. It's that cat-curious need for more, that entitlement to stimulation, and unlike most people Tom never had the morals to put the metaphorical brakes on him.
"We leave for it tomorrow evening. We'll be staying in a chalet on Molotov's glacier - ah, you might not have been around then. To convince the lass to marry me, I bought her a glacier."
Because that's the kind of high-rolling you do as a Capitol pet.