Molotov Cocktease (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
molotov) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
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.
no subject
Now, the reception is in full swing, and he spots the blushing bride at the bar, so of course he has to sidle up and sling his arm around her. "Beau'iful fuckin' party, darlin'. One of them tigers damn near bit my ear off, guess 'e didn' want to cuddle," he jokes. He's got a Barrington in hand--he's had three already, with three emeralds wrapped in a napkin in his pocket. They make for a good pick-up line, alright?
no subject
But this part, this was all Tom, if the overkill isn't indication enough. And, as always, Molotov isn't enthused to be at a huge party full of weird Capitolites, and she's drinking her way through it, tossing back cocktails like shots. She's going to be totally trashed in an hour at the rate she's going, but she figures it doesn't matter. Most people here are too absorbed in themselves to even notice.
Ford is one of the few who might, even as she fakes her way past everyone else. "I'm happy with how it turned out," she says, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Everything just like I wanted. Like Tom wanted. You really think it's good?"
no subject
"Yeah, Molotov. Really classy do," he confirms. "'Ow's it feel, then? Bein' Mrs. Black Tom." He's joking. He knows Tom's last name. But he's also a huge prick at every opportunity and that usually wins out.
no subject
Ford smells like cologne and it's a nice change from the endless scent of a million different flowers, which Molotov has been surrounded by for a substantially longer time than anyone else here. "Doesn't feel much different," she says, shrugging, and it's true that Molotov and Tom have been married in all but name for the better part of the last year. "It's nice, I guess? This was never as important to me as it was to him and to everyone else. I was surprised he even asked, since I never thought much about it. Anyway, if anything, he's Mr. Molotov, everyone knows that."
no subject
With one large hand, he gestures up and down Molotov's reception dress. "You look stunnin' by the way. Meant to tell you earlier. Like a fuckin' angel." For once, there's no undertone or ulterior motive. He just wants to let her know that she looks good, that's all.
no subject
His compliment makes her snort a laugh, and she holds his fingers with her long, thin ones. "Thank you," she murmurs, still watching Tom. "I like this tuxedo on you, it fits well. Did you bring someone? I didn't even look when I came down the aisle. I was too busy worrying about the train on that other dress."
no subject
"Thanks, darl'. 'S from my collection with what'sisfuck." 'Whatsisfuck' being the designer for whose collection Ford is the spokesmodel and inspiration. He shakes his head. "Nah. Coulda brought some model or other but nobody caught my eye proper." He winks. "Couldn' anyone measure up to the bride, but she already had a date."
no subject
She squeezes his fingers idly, and the weight of her new ring is small but noticeable to her. Of course, the weight of her engagement ring far exceeds the wedding band, but she's had it longer. "He asked first, it was the only polite thing to do," she says, then sighs and smiles at the side of his face. "Also, I've been told to request that you stop sending pictures of your penis until we get back from the honeymoon."
no subject
Her request has his eyes crinkling. "Guess I can manage that," he chortles. "Probably was gonna stop, anyway, s'not right now you're an honest woman."
no subject
Her snort is loud, and she almost chokes on her alcohol. "Honest? You must have me confused with someone else. Besides, if you stop completely, whose dick will I draw little hats and costumes on in the doodle application?"