Now, you shall deal with me, O Prince, and all the powers of Hell.

[the_hit_list]

Who| Tim Drake-Wayne and OPEN
What| The dragon attack on the tributes is shown live at a party. Tim is forced to eventually witness Stephanie Brown's death. He is not happy.
Where| A random Capitol party. Feel free to claim it as something your character threw together, or make up details as you go.
When| Late evening. When the freaking dragon shows up.
Warnings/Notes| Probable extreme violence. The dragon nightmare will be on the viewing screens at the party. Characters may mention the Tributes getting burned, maimed, eaten, etc, as the dragon log itself unfolds. ALSO: If you want to use this thread to have two other characters watch and discuss what's going on, just let me know and I won't bring Tim into it.



Tim had begged to go to this one, as the gold-leafed invitation had proclaimed it to be an exclusive viewing party. He had hoped that there would be enough televisions that he would be able to keep a consistent eye on the games, and he was right. The ballroom - and it was a ballroom, albeit a small one, had televisions everywhere. All of the tvs were the same soft, buttery yellow that draws the eye without detracting from the beauty of the rest of the room. On the buffet tables, tiny screens sit amongst the serving platters and dessert towers, all of which hold skillfully crafted bite-sized portions. Custom-sized televisions were fit periodically into the paneling along the walls. Huge, 70" inch displays hung from the ceiling on chains that had been interwoven with ribbons and roses.

In front of these, there were U-shaped collections of comfortable chairs and loveseats gathered around round tables. This was not a party that has a focus on a large dinner, Tim surmised from the small size of the plates and tables. The party planner meant for each guest to regularly return to the buffet, perhaps meeting new people along the way, and find a different seat when they returned. By Capitol standards, the party was tame, with only quiet ambient music and no performers or dancers. A chance to celebrate on a Friday night without missing any of the late arena action while chatting about the Games, and that was the draw for the addicted attendees. The invitation had promised that all Tributes and Victors were invited, and, from the crowd, it appeared that not many had declined.

Tim had arrived an hour ago, not long after the party began, and had wandered around the room, waving occasionally at a stranger who caught him looking at them. He wanted to get the lay of the place and an estimation of the sort of Citizens who were in attendance. Wealthy was assumed, but he'd met plenty of rich at home who owed everything to the cleverness and connections of forefathers. Eventually, he had drifted to the food and then the tables, armed with two glasses of sparkling wine for the conversation.

When the dragon first broke the surface of the water, a woman screamed in shock and delight. Tim, returning to the viewing area with another glass of wine, didn't understand at first, until he looked directly at the television. A giant, black dragon was rising out of the river, water sluicing off its body. "Steph."

The flute cracked in his hand, and glass shards and wine hit the floor audibly, the room had gone quiet in awe of this show of Gamemaker ingenuity. Tim, who was slightly tipsy even if he had pretended to be worse, started to apologize profusely and was waved away from cleaning up the mess by a silent servant.

He can't stay here and watch this. It's worse than having them murder each other. That was violence that he'd seen before. That dragon would be ripping people apart in short order, Tim was sure of it. He didn't want to see it. He had to leave, now, and go anywhere that didn't have a television. Tim started edging away from everyone, towards the wall, in hopes of a discreet exit.

Comments

[revvinguptheharley]

"GO BABS GO!"

Harley Quinn was in attendance, looking decidedly sharp tonight in a red and black diamond patterned sweater. It would be tame for Capitol standards if the diamonds weren't constantly swirling around her body like planets in orbit. Her skirt and boots were of the same style which made it look like a diamond patterned snake was crawling around her.

She was cheering loudly as Barbra Gordon flashed on screen for a moment, barely avoiding a quick and painful death at the jaws of the beast.

"Not bad for someone who looks like their starving." She noted leaving a plate of treats from the buffet untouched as she watched her friend scramble for cover. When the camera chose a new target to follow she groaned.

"Pick an angle and stick with it you hack!" She shouted at the camera operators who could obviously not hear her.

[the_hit_list]

"Go, Babs, go!"

The cheer halted Tim's retreat. Several things occurred to him at once.

Babs was on TV. Tim's eyes flickered to the nearest screen in time to see Barbara Gordon get thrown over a wall by a Tribute that he didn't recognize. Thank you, he thought as he memorized this woman's face. Somehow, he'll make it up to you for getting her out of the proverbial and literal line of fire.

Harley Quinn was here. He knew that voice. How many times had he heard her shout and scream and threaten? Too many, but there was this rush of comfort that came with familiarity, with knowing how this one person would act and move. Quinn was far from a constant, but she was a known quantity in a field of chaos right now.

He should be reacting like she was, cheering on the action. Enthralled by the promise of blood, like the majority at the party. Suck it up. You can stomach it, he told himself, as he scanned the room and found Harley.

Snagging another wineglass off a passing tray, Tim headed towards her, trying to convince himself that he could handle this. Barbara was one of the smartest people that he knew. She would recognize that the enemy was beyond her and run. Wouldn't she?

She was so young. He hadn't known her this young. Be the same, Babs. Run.

Tim came up behind Harley's seat and took a sip of the wine. He didn't want to have too much, but he was going to have to smile at some point. In his best imitation of Batman's voice, Tim simply said, "Harleen Quinzel."

[revvinguptheharley]

Harley let out a yelp loud enough to draw half the attention of the party away from from the TV to her. The other half would turn to look when she sprang off the sofa and scrambled over the low table to hide behind it peeking out expecting to see a massive muscular nightmare in cape and cowl.

...old habits die hard.

[the_hit_list]

Okay, maybe it wasn't going to be as hard to smile as Tim had thought, because that was honestly funny. Harley was peeking over the table, as if she expected Batman to flip it out of his way any second now.

When instead, there was just Tim Drake, and he wasn't sure that he should acknowledge that he was Robin. He said it only once in the Arena, to Blaine, but she might not know. It's tempting to do that particular flick of the wrist that's needed to get a good spin of a Batarang, but he restrained himself.

A little, anyway, because they've got the attention of the whole gathering, and that means they need to put on some sort of show. Tim hopped up onto the empty couch without spilling his glass and perched on the back like it's the natural way to sit, grinning down at her. "Animated as ever, Miss Quinn. Red and black has always suited you."

[big_badass_hero]

Chris hadn't really wanted to go, but he was there anyway. Seeing the dragon and what it was doing he actually broke the glass he was holding.

There was a low growl from him that he really hadn't meant to let be audible. He had told Cal earlier that this whole thing was barbaric and he was right.

He recognized the red head he had talked to on the coms before. Come on kid, make it out of this. He was still pissed he had gotten removed so quickly. If he ever got his hands on the people behind all of this they'd be lucky if breaking their face would be all that happened.

[the_hit_list]

Seeing that someone had also broken a glass, Tim was curious. Distress, anger, whatever might cause a hand to clench like that, none of those emotions were common around the room. He wanted to find out who the man was, if he was a Tribute or a Citizen, and why he'd reacted like that. It wasn't a careful, prudent move; it was like snapping and showing all of your cards, for one second just shoving your hand in someone's face. All that's left is to hope that no one noticed.

Tim went to the buffet table first and overloaded a plate with food. Food could be a real or simulated distraction, if the conversation turned unpleasant. Without introduction, he plopped into the seat across from Chris and offered the hand that has two wine glasses carefully held between the fingers.

"One's mine, but I thought you'd want another one. I did the same thing earlier." He smiled as he said it, and his eyes look a little glassy, but, while posture and face said 'the kid can't hold his alcohol worth a damn', there was an edge to the voice that the wine hasn't melted away yet. Tim knew exactly why Chris broke that glass.

[big_badass_hero]

Chris blinked a moment when he saw the kid drop into the seat across from him. The anger from his eyes quickly faded. "Thanks." He accepted the glass.

"Take it a friend's still in." He had been watching the others. The locals were still cheering about the dragon, he was trying to drown it out. They were worse than barbarians, the whole lot of them.

[the_hit_list]

"Two," Tim said quietly. He had been trying to not watch, but kept glancing at the screen whenever there were screams from the speakers or gasps from the audience. Tim had viewed the Games almost constantly since he'd woken up safe in the Capitol, but he was never more invested in it than he was now. He hadn't even met this Barbara, but it didn't help the cold, sick feeling that had settled in his stomach.

It was easier to pretend that they weren't all going to die when he was in the Arena, living in the moment with no knowledge of the history and practice that the Capitol had in the engineering of these Games. Without knowing that they had the capability of producing a realistic dragon at a moment's notice. The Tributes were less than pawns, really. "What about you? Friend or favorite?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Watch it," Howard says, both in the way of Tim's escape and, at the moment, unwilling to move. He's got both feet planted where he can actually see - not easy when you're five feet and everyone has a tendency to wear ridiculous headpieces - and he has to admit, he's getting a little bit of sick pleasure from watching the dragon chase after Alpha.

He shouldn't, he tells himself. Alpha's supposed to be his ally, but the plain fact of the matter is that Howard's not shedding any tears to watch the guy who clotheslined him and held a knife over him run for his life. Instead, Howard's sipping at a cocktail - it's the only thing he can drink here that he doesn't try to chug in one gulp, and that's only because alcohol hurts going down his throat - and craning his neck slightly to see one of the screens.

His wounds may have been healed, but if anything he looks worse than the last time Tim saw him. Lean has given way to emaciated again, as it always does when he's resurrected - for some reason the Capitol sees fit to give him the same body as when they dropped him in the Arena his very first time, like right out of the FAYZ. Even his tailored clothing seems to pool around his skeletal body, and the dark circles under his eyes mix with the hollowness of his eye sockets to give his face the impression of having bulletholes above the nose. He raises an eyebrow and turns his head to see who's getting too close into his personal bubble.

Oh, right. This guy. The one who's smart enough to take ethernet cables and, in Howard's opinion, dumb enough to presume he knows everything about everyone (the hypocrisy of such a stance is lost on him). On one hand, Howard feels a bit bad about snapping at him. On the other, Howard's not feeling especially generous right now.

"Wow, so you died too? I almost thought you'd win."

He's being sarcastic. Tim was nice to him, for at least a few minutes, even if only to get information - and those people don't win, in Howard's experience.

[the_hit_list]

Howard is barely recognizable to Tim right now. The dramatic weight loss, the lack of wounds, and the ridiculous Capitol clothes make him look like a different person - like a Gotham villain, frankly. One who intends to cut off the food supply and calls himself the Faminator and will rule the city with an iron sickle -

Tim blinks at this line of thought as he has one of those moments of clarity that can occur in a night of drinking. He's had too much wine. He knows that he isn't drunk, but he is getting silly. Tim's never had a lot of alcohol. His parents and Bruce allowed him to have a glass of champagne at weddings and parties, and he's tasted wine here and there. He's never had the urge to get trashed or go to a kegger. It's strange - he had thought that he would be happier if he could get a decent buzz going. He's not. He's just silly and slightly numb to the action on TV.

The voice though - it's definitely Howard. Tim wants to pity him, because he really did come a shit world if this is what he looks like. When Tim woke up back in the Capitol, he was back to his normal self, lean but fit. He's back in absolute peak condition, and here is this kid who looks like a Save-the-Children ad. Good survival skills, but no chance at all in a physical fight.

The sarcasm though... ordinarily, Tim would appreciate it. After all, he spent the better part of several weeks wearing sunglasses and a feather boa and calling himself Mr. Sarcastic. Howard just has spectacularly bad timing, talking about death when the trauma of it is still so fresh in Tim's mind and two of his friends are trapped in the arena with a dragon.

Tim drew himself up to his full height. He's only 5'7", so it's not all that impressive, but it's more than enough to stare down at Howard. "Wow, you're so good at making friends. That must be how you won. Oh wait."

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard hates it when people do that, the 'I'm a giant in the clouds towering over you' thing. It's about one step shy of 'and I could kick your ass', and he's spent most of his life being scared. Some people develop self-esteem issues from that, and some end up being angry at a world that takes plenty of potshots at the small, weak and vulnerable. Howard oscillates between the two camps and tends to nest in the latter.

So rather than giving Tim the satisfaction of cowering, as Howard imagines Tim wants, he just takes another mouthful of his green cocktail (tastes like applesauce mixed with hairspray, he imagines) and looks back at the screen. Maybe he'll see Wyatt. A little pang runs up his palm when he thinks about Wyatt worrying about him, not knowing if his 'kids' made it back to the Arena safe.

Some dark-haired white guy dumbass is running at the dragon as if he intends to fight it, and while Howard certainly understands a death wish, especially now that he's proactively used suicide to get his way in the Arena, he also knows that there is just about nothing more idiotic than running straight at something that wants to kill you. It's not all like Jurassic Park. There's no guarantee that death will be painless and pretty. Odds are dismemberment will come first, or serious wounding, and plenty of predators like playing with their prey.

Plenty of humans like to play with their prey too. Howard swallows his mouthful of apple crap and tries to swallow the fresh memories with it. He frames it in his head as all the torture he avoided, and not the fear he used a knife to rip himself away from.

"I picked when to waltz on out of the Arena. I think I made out alright." He looks back at Tim, one eyebrow raised as if to really express how unimpressed he is that Tim's tall enough to get on most roller coasters.

He doesn't see Wyatt on the screen. He wants to be snappy, but he's a little drunk, and mostly he just wants to know what's up with his sheriff, and Tim's comment jogs an idea for mutual benefit. "Speaking of friends, who're you looking for? Maybe I saw them."

[the_hit_list]

Tim hates it when people do that to him, as well. He's one of the shortest males that he knows. Even Bart has caught up to him. He has no esteem or anger issues over it, but he knows that you have to work harder to win a debate/argument when you've got the height disadvantage. Size is interpreted as strength. You win the argument if you can kick the other person's ass if you lose. Tim finds that it often works to his advantage, but it's still irritating. That's why he did it.

Understanding dawns on his face. Howard committed suicide in the arena. It's something that had never occurred to Tim, but given the shape that the kid had been in when Tim had seen him, maybe it was preferable to dying slowly of infection or starvation. But even if that were the case, if Tim had given up like that, he doesn't know if he'd ever be able to get back on track. It's a dark step to take.

"I went out fighting," he says with a touch of pride. He did not die like a coward, fleeing a fight and getting run down with by a swordsman when his body couldn't run anymore. He had faced it. That's about the only thing he did right in his last moments of the arena. "I saw one. Barbara. The woman who - "

Got eaten. No, not thinking about it. Not remembering it in all its futuristic high definition glory. Tim takes a gulp of the wine. "The redhead who got thrown over the wall and made it. The other is a blonde; her name's Stephanie."

[battroll]

Bruce, like Tim, was here for appearances as much as anything else, though in his case there was a secondary motivation. Sponsors, in the arena, could mean life or death. He couldn't do much for Barbara, not anymore, but if making friends with one of the rich could give her a better chance....

Well.

Moving in the circles of the elite was second-nature for Bruce, what he'd done all his life, and tonight was very like the same thing he'd done for years. The difference, of course, was that he was in a room of those who'd cheer on death of hundreds of others. It was lucky that Bruce was a fine actor.

And then the dragon appeared.

[the_hit_list]

Tim never saw Bruce arrive, too caught up in the crowd and then the dragon, too busy trying to distract himself with whatever conversation he could find.

And then the dragon went to Frontierland.

And then the camera found Steph.

Tim had gone cold at the sight of her, and he realized how tense he'd gotten when he felt muscles in his legs begin to twitch. He didn't know if he'd start shaking if he relaxed. Maybe he already was, and his body froze up to contain it. He sat there at a table, ignoring the conversation entirely and not caring if he was being rude. His eyes never left the screen, never wavered from the blonde girl in the ruined gown.

She did everything right and, yet, nothing went her way. She ran. It followed. She caught fire; she rolled and stripped. Go, Steph, he should be cheering. He can't, not when she tried to blind it with that shot; he knew where she was aiming. It missed. Not her fault, it's not her weapon. The sai wasn't his.

Everything that went wrong felt like a punch in the gut. The arrows that weren't sharp enough to pierce the hide confirmed that this was an attempt by the Capitol to cull the herd. A beautiful girl killing a dragon should be high entertainment, but Tim knew when they bounced off that Steph would be joining him in the Capitol soon.

It wasn't a comfort. There was none to be had, and, when she took shelter in the crumbling building, he wanted to shout at the television. She wasn't being stupid. It was her only option. It sucked. When the camera switched to an interior shot, Tim knew that she hadn't escaped. They wouldn't have taken the camera away from the dragon. When the burning beam fell onto her, Tim laid both hands flat on the table to keep himself from covering his face or his ears.

He was still looking at the screen when she caught fire and started screaming, but he wasn't really watching it anymore. He was too busy trying to breathe normally. The rest of the building caved in, and the screaming stopped. Tim closed his eyes for a few seconds. With an audible intake of breath to steel himself, Tim got up from the table without a word and headed for the door.

He doesn't want to hear the cannon. He doesn't want to see if the dragon roots around for her charred corpse. He will punch the first person that complimented that death.

[battroll]

Bruce didn't know this girl, but Tim's reaction was more than enough to tell him everything he needed. That he knew this girl, knew her well, that they were friends or possibly lovers. He froze as he watched the screen, dropping all traces of the act, the persona he'd been so carefully constructing up until now. That was understandable, and was forgivable - he could always say he'd been engrossed in the screens. In the drama unfolding. Bruce watched Tim instead of what was going on, which made it more bearable, the death of this stranger who was somehow important. But, when Tim started to leave, that was something he couldn't do, not like this, without an excuse, unless he wanted his carefully constructed personality split apart. Unless he wanted it known that he'd been acting.

Bruce moved smoothly over to the younger man, and his hand went to the other's shoulder.

"Tim," he said, voice just bordering on the edge of the voice he reserved for business, with only as much as the charming, silly playboy as had to be there.

"You're going to miss the party."

[the_hit_list]

An unstoppable force met an immovable object.

The object won, because it's Batman. Tim stopped and looked up at the man. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He can't stay here. How can you even suggest that? He can't handle this; he wasn't as good at this. He didn't want to wreck everything he's been so careful about the past few days. He made it through Barbara's appearance. God, wasn't that enough?

The cannon shot was even louder than in the arena, enhanced by excellent subwoofers. Tim physically squirmed at the sound, shoulders rolling back.

"Bruce, that's Steph," he choked out, but it was all he could manage before the heat of tears stung his eyes.

He can't even look at him now. That's two friends that he's seen die in this arena, and both were people that he's lost before. He doesn't want to be comforted by Bruce and won't be. Can't fall into his arms crying the way he had once, still staring at the boomerang embedded in his father's chest.

His head dropped down to avoid Bruce's gaze, and his memory segued into something more recent. Tim can see the cutlass embedded in his own chest. His hand went up instinctively, resting over his heart. It's not there, but that's where the pain is.

Don't cry. Your face wasn't wet yet. This was salvageable. Focus. He'll let you leave if you show him you're under control. Tim wanted to lash out at him, but he tried to keep the act going. There's a waver in his voice, though. "Never stay to the end, it makes you look like you've got nowhere else to be."

[polyturtle]

Watch out, Tim. You never know who you might bump into during these posh parties.

Well. What in this case. Because, let's face it, Donatello - nicely-dressed or not - is technically a what in this place. And so is his shell. And his tea cup, which was suspiciously smelling very...non-alcoholic. He was watching the screens, frowning as the dragon came on, attacking and ripping and roaring.

Especially when someone came up and asked if a dragon was related to a turtle. Were they in the same animal family?

[the_hit_list]

No. No, they're not. In fact, you'd have to go two notches up the classification chart to find their shared order, Reptilia. If Tim hadn't been imbibing half the night, first as a means of looking at home here (when in Rome, he thinks with a giggle) and then as a coping mechanism, he might have pointed this out and mentioned how even that was only true if you were interpreting dragons as komodo dragons. Most dragons are mythological. Most. This is what happens when an archaeologist has a inquisitive genius for a kid. What did you do on your summer vacation, Tim? Oh, I went to my dad's archaeological dig and learned how to steal a find out from someone else's nose.

Sometimes, he's jealous of his own life. That realization blows his fuzzy mind, right now. Also distractingly cool? The turtle in a monkey suit. Tim had been staring for a few minutes, because he can't decide if that's real or if this is his own private pink elephant. The question was answered by the person who came up and asked about dragons and turtles.

And Tim can't stay quiet. "Oh my god, you can see him too?"

[polyturtle]

"Huh?"

At this, Don turned around. There was...no one behind him. Naturally he assumed that Tim was talking to him.

"...See who?"

[knifewithnoname]

Pruna was beginning to get the hang of these parties. Even though it was stupid and they made her wear impractical clothes there was nice food and all she had to do was remember to smile and not punch anyone when they congratulated her on her first death.

Like dying was something to be proud of. But really it was just like an undercover operation, she could get information this way and she found she liked the fact that people liked her just because she was good at killing.

She was curled up on a chair as best as she could be in the stupid dress she was wearing when the dragon broke through the water. Her eyes widened, not knowing what this monster was at all. But it was big and there was fire.

She looked around the room, taking in the hidden horror on the gathered tributes faces, and the childish awe on the capitol citizens.

It was another reason she didn't mind these parties at all, this whole city served chaos. They might not believe in her god (she had asked her escort and got a blank look) and they might claim silly things like politics as the reason for the games. But now they were kidnapping other people who had nothing to do with their politics they were purely doing it because they enjoyed it.

She approved, even if she would rather go home and be with her sister.

Her eyes fell on a man who definitely was not enjoying himself, and narrowed when she recognised him. It had been fast but he was the stupid adult who made the tree break.

She stood up, the woman who had been talking to her was now staring at the screen so it was easy to sneak away and appear at his side.

"Do you be being scared? You should no be being. I do no be thinking they will be bringing it here."

[the_hit_list]

The giggly-ness of the alcohol was wearing off. This wasn't to say that Tim was sober, but he'd decided that he wasn't comfortable with the loose feeling that the first glass of neon liquor had granted him. Tim was sitting alone, sipping at a glass of water and watching the television screen with a detached look on his face. There was a boy in the vicinity of the dragon, but he wasn't quite as troubled as he had been earlier.

He didn't like it though, and there was a slight furrow between his eyebrows. The girl that wandered up to him was a welcome distraction. Young - very young. She was probably the daughter of whoever it was that had thrown this party. He hadn't come across many that looked under sixteen, and she was only eleven or twelve. The accent was unusual. It didn't have the lilt that he'd encountered with many of the citizens, but that meant nothing. Large cities could have different regional dialects and slang. Look at New York or Boston, or even Gotham. No one would mistake him for a street tough from The Bowery.

"Scared?" A confused sort of smile flashed across Tim's face for a moment, before it slid into a wider one of bravado. "Nah, I'm not scared. I'm here in the Capitol where it's safe."

Because they weren't about to risk themselves by bringing something like that into their beautiful city. They'd just bring it into their homes on the boob tube. "Do your parents know you're up this late?"

[knifewithnoname]

She grinned back, she wasn't sure the capitol was safe at all but at least there were no monsters. He seemed brave at least despite the fact he seemed upset before, but she could smell alcohol on him and she knew people could sometimes be happier when they drank.

She didn't get it herself, her and her sister had snuck into one of the store rooms once and tried some beer, it had tasted weird and made them all dizzy and giggly, but then they had both been sick and decided it was stupid.

She wrinkled her nose at the question, "Do no be having parents."

haha so incredibly late wow. i guess this would be before the dragon

[lassoftruthiness]

Diana was concentrating on two goals at the moment: keeping an eye on those still in the Arena, and keeping an eye on those now out in the Capitol. A party like this, she could do both at once, in a thankfully less offensive if still ostentatious cocktail dress, designed to evoke a pinwheel, from what she could tell. They really were reaching with their power theme.

She kept her eyes on everyone, best as she could manage, looking from the screens to the guests and back again as she wandered--and then she spotted Tim and the screens were forgotten for the moment. "Tim! Tim Drake-Wayne, that is you, isn't it?"

Don't feel bad, I'm late too.

[the_hit_list]

Tim turned towards the familiar voice and smiled as much as he could. He was glad to see her, yes - he wanted all the best, most experienced help. But being here just underlined that she had been killed in the Arena, and that's not something you want to see happen to two of the most prominent Justice League members. "Yes, it's me. It's a small multiverse, apparently, or I'm hoping it is."

He should probably play along with the party situation and compliment her dress, except it's a little, well, gaudy. His jacket isn't much better though. "How are you? I haven't seen you in awhile."

perfect team

[lassoftruthiness]

"As well as can be expected," she replied, which was the most tactful way she answer the question. She gave him a helpless, commiserating smile as he took in her dress and she took in his own outfit. "And yourself?"