whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

[molotov]

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.

Comments

[whittlingnickels]

Out of all the events that the Capitol had lined up and making itself look like the grandiose fortress that it pretends to be, this had to be one of the more opulent of the sort.

As a businessman and consummate workaholic, Sinclair didn't much care for the flowers and hullabalooo that comes with weddings but they were social events and, at Nina's urging, he had to get out of the office. Poor girl was running herself ragged making sure that the war didn't mess with her boss's schedule but even Gus could see why she hesitated to RSVP him here. It's a celebration of a Capitolite marriage, the sort that at the age of 38 should've been in about five years ago.

Eh, free drinks and Miss Carnegie was sent home to be with her family during these trying times. Meanwhile, Augustus took the chance to study the crowd, watching them attempt to revel in the flowers and the events themselves. He's enjoying the Barrington cocktail though the emerald is set aside for souvenir and to entertain himself with the properties the small stone had.

[pimpcanes]

Tom's had a few of the Barrington cocktails by the time he runs across Sinclair, but he's not nearly far enough gone not to recognize the face of someone he should put a little effort into buttering up. Tom's done his research on the Capitol's finances, and naturally Sinclair's name has appeared a dozen times or more each hour. It's a travesty he hasn't met the man in person yet.

Granted, Tom doesn't have such a fondness for corporate crime - it's too remote, too detached, and he likes the blood and the gunpowder (and the Spandex) - but he understands and more importantly, respects the power of the institutions. It means he wants to suck up as much as his dignity will allow at an event that is, after all, all about him.

He pats one of the gold-toothed tigers when Sinclair walks by. "Are you enjoying yourself, lad? I can only imagine you've seen many an event like this, but have you ever seen a bride of that caliber?"

[whittlingnickels]

Black Tom Cassidy's presence isn't one to just behold, but experience in one's own eyes, as Sinclair found out. This is the extraordinary Victor of Arena 14, the Capitolite who won the snowy hell. Gus had to admit, he liked Tom's style in that aspect, the rest was still up to debate. Cassidy enjoyed the blood and gore, Augustus considered all that to be nuisances to his suits.

They are talking about Molotov Cocktease, no other sight was worthy of attention, causing the businessman to raise his glass and say, "Like a rose in May, I'd reckon. Mrs. Cassidy, one for the ages and Panem's history."

And for once, there's sincerity in his words, Molotov was as beautiful as a rose, and just as thorny.

"I bet you're the happiest son of a gun in all the land today."

Which means this meeting isn't by chance. Hell no.

[pimpcanes]

"If I can have her using that surname instead of her own, I'll die a happy man." Tom laughs, as if he's actually contemplating that and hasn't made the decision that he's going to outlive every one of these vapid Capitolites when he eventually sees their mighty empire burned to the ground. Some have legitimate, tragic reasons for hating the Capitol. Tom just doesn't like being told what to do.

But he can still play along, for now. Happily, even, if they'll shower attention and luxury on him as they do.

"I'd be hard to best at that. I still can hardly believe she agreed to marry. You'd think a woman like that would know better." He lets go of Sinclair's hand. "I'm glad you could peel yourself away from the bank, lad."

[whittlingnickels]

"Maybe she does, she landed herself a Victor and a Peacekeeper. You landed yourself proof positive that death doesn't have to be ugly," What a profoundly Capitolite thing to say but what is the nation's bread and butter but the spectacle of murder and viscera. But Tom brought out a point that he probably shared with the old families like the Honeymeads and the Compsons when they were still worth mentioning: workaholism. For Gus, there is nothing better than the flow of money but the economy was already starting to crack.

"Couldn't stay cooped up with the books, I am human after all," he responded with a shrug, "Though I congratulate you both in this. You make this all look easy, and with ventures to boot." Ventures he can invest should Tom want that sweet, sweet cash.

[pimpcanes]

"If this is the afterlife, my Catholic school sold me more lies than you could imagine." Tom considers himself a recovered Catholic, one who has mostly managed to leave the guilt and fear from a life of sinning to the very deepest subconscious places in his nightmares. It's a good thing, too, given the legacy he'll leave behind.

He grins back at Gus. "Ah, so you've had an eye on my Sponsorship deals, then? You should know my ears are always open for new opportunities. It's how I've gotten as far as I have."

[whittlingnickels]

"Catho-Oh one o' those offworlder religions...right," Sinclair wasn't that ignorant but he had to agree with Cassidy, "Take comfort in the fact tha' you've become better than those people who fed you lies."

But businesstalks trump any talk about gods and guilt, more so when it comes to conflict. "Thinkin' of moving my funds over to places an' hands I know will do more good. Weapons, armor, that sort of thing."

War might be terrible for the populace but it brings wealth to those who play it well.

"Any companies you feel I should toss some cash their way?"

[pimpcanes]

"I was born better than them," Tom says, smug and entirely earnest about it.

"Well, you must be aware of my liquor company's new line of whiskeys. In fact, I could tempt you to a drink right now."

He gestures an Avox with the snap of his fingers and asks for a glass, one for himself and one for Sinclair just to make it that much more awkward if Sinclair turns the drink down. It's not hard for the Avox to find a bottle; as one of the corporate sponsors of the wedding, they've been very liberal with their product placement.

"But weapons, armor, that sort of thing -- that's a more interesting conversation to have. Something of a third rail. No one wants to admit that's where they want their money tied up."

[whittlingnickels]

"If I didn't admit to what I do with my money, I wouldn't be trusted with it," it's a lie, a lie that Sinclair can sell to even a cynic into putting their hard earned assi into his bank. And with the looming specter of war over the Capitol horizon, the illusion of transparency is tossed out the window for results.

"I can supply your men with whatever funds you may need, weapons that need developing, that sort of thing. It'd be my weddin' gift to you an' your beautiful bride," he continues, "Just say a number an' I'll be sendin' it your way. It is after all, my patriotic duty."

Would Black Tom stay loyal to the Capitol? Who knows, but if push comes to shove, Gus has his hide and his financial dominion saved. What's a few Districts' sacrifices?

[ooc: wrap here?]