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thecapitol2013-06-16 11:41 pm
gamemakers) wrote in thecapitol2013-06-16 11:41 pm
Entry tags:
- aunamee,
- cassandra marko,
- commander shepard,
- event: crowning,
- harley quinn,
- matthew "punchy" o'connor,
- the grand highblood,
- the signless,
- wesker,
- wyatt earp,
- ✘ asha greyjoy,
- ✘ blaine anderson,
- ✘ callista ming,
- ✘ chris redfield,
- ✘ cinna,
- ✘ daniel dreiberg,
- ✘ donatello,
- ✘ eliot spencer,
- ✘ enjolras,
- ✘ hsiang penny jiao,
- ✘ ian gallagher,
- ✘ jay,
- ✘ john watson,
- ✘ karis needleteeth,
- ✘ karkat vantas,
- ✘ kevin prentiss,
- ✘ lin mayuzumi,
- ✘ lindsey mcdonald,
- ✘ marius pontmercy,
- ✘ maximus,
- ✘ neffa a reyeth,
- ✘ parker,
- ✘ peggy carter,
- ✘ pepper potts,
- ✘ pruna,
- ✘ r,
- ✘ sherlock holmes (au),
- ✘ sherlock holmes (bbc),
- ✘ shion,
- ✘ some ovmennet,
- ✘ stephanie brown,
- ✘ thane krios,
- ✘ timaeus nadir,
- ✘ topher brink
The Crowning of Albert Wesker
Who| Everyone in the Capitol.
What| The Crowning Ceremony
Where| The Victor's Complex
When| Day of the Crowning
Warnings/Notes| None yet.
The theme of the ceremony is clearly black and red. A crimson carpet stretches out across the room. The long table for feasting seems to be made of a single slab of dark obsidian, something that couldn't possibly be found in this size naturally. The chairs are wrought iron with red cushions, and embers burn under personal barbecues at each seat. Red wine, red juice, slabs of red meat to be cooked (or eaten raw) - the details are all perfected. Even some of the Avoxes have received black tattoos for the occasion, the number '11' permanently marking under their eyes like grotesque twin tears.
For a crowning, the ceremony is rather intimate. Only a handful of guests have been invited: the usual Capitol VIPs, the Mentors of each District, and a few of the stars of the last few Games. Karis Needleteeth, Aunamee, Dr. Alastor Grey, Alpha, Lindsey McDonald and Hyperion Crius each have a seat at the table. A few Peacekeepers sit off to the side, sipping wine. A few of the Mentors are conspicuously missing.
And Wesker's throne sits at the head of the table; it's made of the head of the dragon that destroyed so much of Disneyland and slaughtered so many Tributes. The head has been dried, the tongue replaced with a plush velvet seat and back the color of blood. The eyes have been replaced with glass that stares at each side of the room. The fangs, however, remain intact.
Downstairs, the rest of the Tributes and their Escorts and Stylists can partake in a more Disney-themed affair. Everything is still sleek, and tends to veer more towards Maleficent and Jafar then Cinderella and Ariel, but the punch bowl is Mickey Mouse-shaped. There's a dance floor, and a string quartet, and all sorts of lavish foods on tables with red cloth. It's a night for mingling, at least.
[OOC Note: Part one of this is going up tonight in the first two subthreads. Part two will be edited into the last two subthreads tomorrow evening; you'll see why. Go forth and mingle! Tributes from downstairs can go say hello to the Victor, although they won't get long before the Peacekeepers escort them back down.]
What| The Crowning Ceremony
Where| The Victor's Complex
When| Day of the Crowning
Warnings/Notes| None yet.
The theme of the ceremony is clearly black and red. A crimson carpet stretches out across the room. The long table for feasting seems to be made of a single slab of dark obsidian, something that couldn't possibly be found in this size naturally. The chairs are wrought iron with red cushions, and embers burn under personal barbecues at each seat. Red wine, red juice, slabs of red meat to be cooked (or eaten raw) - the details are all perfected. Even some of the Avoxes have received black tattoos for the occasion, the number '11' permanently marking under their eyes like grotesque twin tears.
For a crowning, the ceremony is rather intimate. Only a handful of guests have been invited: the usual Capitol VIPs, the Mentors of each District, and a few of the stars of the last few Games. Karis Needleteeth, Aunamee, Dr. Alastor Grey, Alpha, Lindsey McDonald and Hyperion Crius each have a seat at the table. A few Peacekeepers sit off to the side, sipping wine. A few of the Mentors are conspicuously missing.
And Wesker's throne sits at the head of the table; it's made of the head of the dragon that destroyed so much of Disneyland and slaughtered so many Tributes. The head has been dried, the tongue replaced with a plush velvet seat and back the color of blood. The eyes have been replaced with glass that stares at each side of the room. The fangs, however, remain intact.
Downstairs, the rest of the Tributes and their Escorts and Stylists can partake in a more Disney-themed affair. Everything is still sleek, and tends to veer more towards Maleficent and Jafar then Cinderella and Ariel, but the punch bowl is Mickey Mouse-shaped. There's a dance floor, and a string quartet, and all sorts of lavish foods on tables with red cloth. It's a night for mingling, at least.
[OOC Note: Part one of this is going up tonight in the first two subthreads. Part two will be edited into the last two subthreads tomorrow evening; you'll see why. Go forth and mingle! Tributes from downstairs can go say hello to the Victor, although they won't get long before the Peacekeepers escort them back down.]
THE VICTOR'S FEAST
OTA
He wasn't happy still, wasn't sure he wanted to be here either, but since one simply didn't turn down invitations of favor from the Capitol, Lindsey turned up. Dressed in a red and black suit, he was there with all charming smiles and congratulations for the victor. He looked as much as he felt the part of the devil's advocate he used to be.
Except, when he saw the dragon throne, for lack of better wording, the only thing he could think to say was... "Tasteful."
OTA
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OTA
All in all, he looks bored, and staring at everyone around him is only so entertaining.
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OTA
It's been made clear to him that attendance is capital 'm' Mandatory, so he's sitting off at the edge of the room least likely to receive any sort of fanfare or coverage and scowling very hard at an untouched glass of unnaturally red wine. His posture is rather stiff, though whether that's because of the way his suit is tailored much more for form than function or because of his own discomfort or some combination of the two is unclear.
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OTA
His suit was a variation of the one he'd worn during his network appearance. Leather this time, with a long coat that teased against his ankles whenever he deigned to move about the room. The shining veins of ruby were gone, but there was a sash now, like a bloody smear across his chest.
At the moment, he was seated like the king he was at the head of the table, the bowl of a wine glass resting in one palm, liquid swirling idly as he watched the activity around him from behind the impenetrable lenses of his glasses.
His mouth was curved, a gentle smirk, as if laughing at the punchline of some private joke.
Re: OTA
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THE VICTOR'S FEAST | Dan OTA
This was, after all, the first Crowing he had ever been this close to. It was a little unbelievable, though he knew if he had chosen another route for his life it would have been every day.
Penny | OTA
Currently, her resentment is aimed at Wesker, whose presence seems to blot out her peripheral vision like a hallucinatory shadow, inescapable and looming. Every time she looks over to the Victor in his throne, her teeth bare a little more, her eyes narrow slightly; she hates that she's giving him more attention when he's already basking in it. She wants that adoration, or even the hate from the other Tributes around the table, for herself.
She folds her arms and sits back.
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Re: Penny | OTA
Re: Penny | OTA
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Re: Penny | OTA
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Hahaha OTA
Of course, Jack, looking so much like him in his black-and-red ensemble, was seated reasonably close to the newest Victor, which had a few people confused. The fact they added sunglasses to Jack's face didn't help. Some people even walked right past Wesker and shook Jack's hand, only to quickly realize their mistake after Jack opened his mouth.
It was a little amusing to Jack, if also a little annoying. As much as he loved the spotlight, he preferred it was a spotlight where people actually called him by the right name. And it was actually his and his alone. Not another guy's.
OTA
And she hates losing.
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DOWNSTAIRS
DOWNSTAIRS: Eliot
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Eliot
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Eliot
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DOWNSTAIRS: KARKAT (OTA)
No one seems to have gotten culled yet, so that's something anyway.
[Note: Karkat's outfit doesn't have the blood symbol on the front, but otherwise it's pretty much what you see in the picture.]
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: KARKAT (OTA)
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: KARKAT (OTA)
DOWNSTAIRS: Shepard [open to all]
Although, right about now, she wouldn't mind it so much; it'd an interesting opportunity, if nothing else. What she was doing now might be charitably considered mingling, and she does have a glass of the punch in her hand. Well, it's mostly punch; there's certainly a punch component. Listen, have you ever seen Shepard drink? This is nothing.
And the dance floor is getting a wide berth. You're welcome.
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS
She wandered through the ballroom, peering through the black spikes of her metal head piece, looking for friends and her tributes... Jack. And anyone else who was stood still long enough for her to have a natter to.
There was just one draw back to her dress - which Calico realised fairly soon into the party. With her sleeves turning into gloves and her being sewn into the thing - how was she supposed to use the restroom? Nice going, Cal. No wonder the bloody stylists had smirked.
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DOWNSTAIRS: Stephanie
With careful steps she made her way into the party smiling at the Citizens who wanted a quick holo-image or to ask about Tim. An Avox handed her a glass of something blood red and bubbling as she reminded herself not to acknowledge the poor boy. Her stomach was twisting and her scalp hurt but she played the part of glamorous Tribute to the delight of the Capitol.
Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Stephanie
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DOWNSTAIRS: Psiioniic (OTA)
He lurks by the punch bowl, staring at the deep red liquid curiously. It's a curious color, and he doesn't understand why it's such a dramatic color for humans. He grumbles under his breath, picking up a glass, turning it in his hands, and then putting it back down before picking it up and fiddling with it again. He's so bored.
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Psiioniic (OTA)
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Downstairs
Even if her stylists had agreed to let her dress in Red and black
, and wear her jesters hat and make up she still wasn't having as much fun as she had hoped.
"The probably knew I was gonna throw something at him, the big jerk."
Still, foul moods were hard to keep when it was a regular villain themed celebration of life.
With a cheer of glee she took a glass of punch and slugged it down in one shot letting out a sigh and wiping her lips delicately on a napkin.
"Forget that stiff!" She cheered. "When I win we're gonna have a party that's WAY better then this one. And he's not invited!"
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DOWNSTAIRS | The Signless | OTA
His outfit is tailored more toward the victor than the arena; it's a sleek dark red suit with barely-there black embroidery on the jacket; a dragon very reminiscent of the one from the arena curls itself up his right arm, across his back and around his left shoulder. Its head rests where his heart would be. Attached across the back of his shoulders and down the back of both arms is a cape. It's just long enough that he's worried about the possibility of people stepping on it; the thin fabric would probably tear easily.
Re: DOWNSTAIRS | The Signless | OTA
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS | The Signless | OTA
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DOWNSTAIRS: JAY (OTA)
His stylist insisted, however. Jay was allowed a say in everything else -- which is why the suit looks like Lady Gaga gone Regency -- but the stylist had insisted on trousers. Jay had given in, figuring that a little bit of assimilation couldn't hurt.
He's trying to judge the mood of this little gathering and failing spectacularly.
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hi district mate
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Pruna OTA
Added to the dress she had sparkly dangling earrings. One a red ball and one black. They hurt a tiny bit and made her head feel heavy. She sat at a table sampling the food happily and watching everyone else, her black sparkly shoes were discarded under the table within the first few moments of her sitting down.
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DOWNSTAIRS | Blaine OTA
Eventually he made his was to the music and the dance floor. At least that would help calm him down. He looked around the floor for anyone who might be willing to dance with him.
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DOWNSTAIRS | Callista OTA
DOWNSTAIRS | Cinna OTA
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Eponine - open
OTA
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS
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DOWNSTAIRS: Lin
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DOWNSTAIRS: Primrose (OTA)
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Der... Chris
DOWNSTAIRS: Barbara (OTA)
DOWNSTAIRS: Ruby (OTA)
Shion | OTA
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Ian Gallagher OTA
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DOWNSTAIRS: Holiday OTA
Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Holiday OTA
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Wyatt | OTA
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Re: Wyatt | OTA
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Re: Wyatt | OTA
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DOWNSTAIRS: Terezi Pyrope (open)
Dragon, meet knight
more like dragon meet lunch
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Downstairs: John Watson
Re: Downstairs: John Watson
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Parker|OTA
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DOWNSTAIRS; Enjolras (ota)
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS; Enjolras (ota)
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS; Enjolras (ota)
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DOWNSTAIRS | The Initiate | OTA
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/uses this icon
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DOWNSTAIRS: Sherlock Holmes
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Sherlock Holmes
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Sherlock Holmes
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Sherlock Holmes
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DOWNSTAIRS: Maximus Decimus Meridius
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Re: DOWNSTAIRS: Maximus Decimus Meridius
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THEIR EYES ARE WATCHING
She doesn't let that she's harried show on her face. She looks as composed as ever, except that she's hardly bothered to do her hair, and it swirls like ribbons in waves around her head. All of the nervous energy is inside, in the way her blood pushes too fast through her veins, in the tension right behind her eyes, in the flutters in her guts like birds taking flight, in the unusual flush to her cheeks. It's broad daylight, and the professional part of her remembers that this is the best way to run a covert mission; the instinctual part is calling herself an idiot for doing it where people may remember her face.
"Fancy meeting you here," she says to Ariadne, approaching where they'd decided to meet. A few Capitol citizens look and see two Mentors meeting, but it appears to be congenial, and not the sort of brawls or shouting matches Eva engages in with some other groups, so they go about their business.
Ariadne's job had been to get people to work with, people they could trust. In the end, she'd failed - this wasn't back home, this wasn't Paris, and she couldn't just hit up Cobb for a team to be scrambled together at the last minute. She couldn't just find a point man, nor would she want to. There was no one around of the right calibre. She had been a criminal for a few short months, and it had already given her a taste for the expensive.
So she volunteered to do it herself. The fewer people in on it, the less room there was for things to fail, Ariadne knew. Chances were lower when both parties were capable, and she did believe both parties to be capable. She doesn't fully believe that Eva is trustworthy, but she's currently the best shot Ariadne has at making a dent in things. It occurred to her that they might be leaping into things, that they might be being hasty, but there was only so much waiting she could do.
She'd never been that patient.
Her own dress is enough to garner a little bit of attention, but Ariadne's typical tendency to downplay everything makes it so few stare for much longer than a few seconds. Even more so now that she's aiming not to get remembered. Her goal is to become 'that one Mentor with the brown hair' and little more. "It's not that big a city," she replies mildly, tipping her head slightly in greeting. "Good to see you again."
"And it seems we both have a taste for the tranquil areas of this town." She gestures to a flower bed. "Have you actually tried smelling the flowers here? They're bred for certain scents. The ones over here are supposed to smell like bread baking."
She crouches down over the flower, running her fingers along the stem of one. Being huddled down gives her a little more room in her dress to get the bomb out from the folds of it, and get it under Ariadne's own robes. Just in case anyone here is watching.
Just two friends admiring the beautiful flowers. Getting their hands dirty in earth and flora, nothing more.
"It's good to see you too. My last trip back to District 9 was exhausting. It's so...melancholy. Seeing how it's still full of people and empty without my parents and sister." She frowns a bit. "I don't think this yellow goes with the green, honestly. I think it's better when it's red and green."
Red wire, green wire.
"You know, I haven't." It doesn't really surprise her that the Capitol had gone to the effort of engineering flowers to smell like things that weren't actually flowers. She kneels down along with the other woman, leaning down to sniff at the nearest flower, genuine surprise tinging her expression at that point. Her focus was on the flower primarily, but she's well aware when Eva makes the actual transfer of the bomb from dress to dress. For once, she's grateful her Stylists decided to give her something huge and vaguely cupcake-y; it made for a better place to hide the thing. If she's nervous, it doesn't show.
"It would be. It's one of the Districts, after all - they're nothing like here," she replies idly, pushing a lock of hair out of her face before glancing over curiously, making the mental connection to communication. "Red and green has always reminded me of holidays. There's something reassuring about the combination. I don't mind yellow and green, but it feels too fruity to me unless done right."
"Red and green just gives a little bit more of a...splash, I suppose. Yellow and green are too close to each other as colors. They just sit there." She gets back up, letting her fingers linger on one flower as she does.
"Well, as lovely as it would be to see you for longer, I have an appointment. Anger management, you know. They say I have a five-minute fuse these days." She smiles a bit, transfer having been made. "I should be arriving at lot four of the Palanquin Level in the parking lot, if you'd like to see my new wheels. If not, I'll see you at the crowning."
It's all she can do to avoid punning that it's going to be a blast.
Ariadne remains settled briefly, inspecting a handful of flowers not too far away, and nods a little. "I suppose you're right there. They don't automatically inspire any sort of interest. Complementaries always have interest, no matter what." She glances up when Eva moves to leave, offering a faint smile, "It's better for us all if you get to that appointment. I'll see about meeting you in the lot, though. I'd like to see that."
She lets Eva make her escape first, spending another few moments with the flowers, then rises back up to head on her way. It's the most casual movement in the world, and when she blinks, she almost pictures the hotel level of the dream she'd built, Arthur by her side. Arthur's mouth against hers briefly, in an attempt to throw the projections off their trail. It didn't work, but that doesn't make her wish any less that he was there in case she does need a distraction of some form. Her mind is almost elsewhere as she goes through with the rest of her part of the operation, heading up to the lot in question in a rather nonchalant pattern, as though she's doing nothing more than meandering around casually before the Crowning Ceremony. After all, she knows full well that the parties aren't her thing, though she's one of the few guests invited to this round's Ceremony. They're getting smaller and smaller, she notices.
"Vaya con Dios, Ariadne."
There is no anger management appointment. It's really just Eva going home and doing some stretches and meditations before getting all gussied up for the Crowning. She doesn't hurry away from the scene of the crime. She walks slowly.
Slowly enough to stop for a camera. She takes a deep breath, then smiles and nods at the lens. Absentmindedly, she tugs at her hair, ripping away chunks, until she pulls her hand away and there's blood on her fingers.
She wipes it away on her dark dress, and holds her communicator out.
RED ALERT
"Everyone stay still!"
The Capitol apprehension and bomb-diffusal team moves quickly, for a group of so many Peacekeepers, about twelve. They spill out over the Palanquin level in a fan formation, moving in rows of four as they cross the vast lot. They're armed with silenced guns, but they don't have them out at the moment; right now, their goal is to take Ariadne alive. They are, however, covered in body armor.
"Over here!" One of them sees a familiar round face, familiar brown hair. A group of four breaks into a run at Ariadne.
Oblivious to the way that Eva's Avox failed, Ariadne is unperturbed and undaunted in her own task. She isn't bothered by the cameras at the best of times, and doesn't think she appears any more or less suspicious than she usually does. The trek to the lot, to the appropriate coordinates, to the correct spot is quick enough, and she is strangely calm. Maybe because she's never been one to fret unnecessarily. Regardless of it all, she has a job to do. Nothing else matters except that, and she's running through everything as she walks, as she finally settles down to pull the bomb back out from under the folds of her dress and its massive hoop. Red and green, she remembers; it doesn't take long for things to get set up, especially not moving as quickly as she is. It looks like nothing more than a girl trying to find where she put her spare key - that's the goal.
If she had been there five minutes earlier, she thinks she might have avoided this end. The moment she hears someone's voice booming through the lot, her heartbeat launches into a tattoo against her ribs. She moves faster yet, arming it before slowly rising back up to her feet, and making like she was trying the door. To escape immediately would only be more suspicious. If she gets caught now, she needs a story to stick to. Some quickly fed lie. She wishes again that she had Eames' voice in her ear, feeding her a line in that gentle tone of his, his accent rounding his vowels and making everything seem less important than it really is. She doesn't even glance over her shoulder, even when she hears footsteps coming towards her.
"Get on the ground, now." The Peacekeepers aren't warriors. They're killers, but they're used to the safety of the Capitol. None of them is eager to approach a woman supposedly carrying a bomb. "You're under arrest for terrorism and other inchoate crimes."
A Peacekeeper moves behind her, reaching an arm forward to grab her wrists and force her down.
"If her hands move," one says to the other, "drop her."
Only at the direction does she glance back, trying to look as confused as possible as she carefully picks her way back to the ground, hands lifted above her head slightly in a show of innocence. She's unarmed, though not necessarily harmless. She spent too much time with the team to be completely harmless. They taught her well.
The Peacekeeper is behind her then, and though Ariadne hears the warning, the comment that will likely just make things worse, she wants to draw this out. If the initial act is going to fail, then she's going to make it go in a slightly different direction. She's not so close to the ground, nor are her hands lifted so much, that she can't offer a brief bit of retaliation: they forget that they trained her well, trained her to kill, and she did. She did enough to win. Not just against those brought in, either - she killed those still from the Districts without so much as a second thought.
She could fight back against a couple of Peacekeepers. Maybe she wouldn't live, but it didn't matter. Not if she does a little damage in the process.
She lashes out with one leg, aiming for the closest Peacekeeper's groin.
The Peacekeeper, who's been watching her hands, is caught entirely unawares by her kick. He yelps and doubles over, letting her hands loose, dropping to the ground. He manages to get one hand up in protest to the man behind him.
"Don't shoot, she has a bomb!"
And of course, the crowd begins to panic then, a flurry of fabrics and sequins and fancy hair-dos scrambling over each other for the nearest exits. The Peacekeepers even scatter, only the fewest brave staying near as the others move to corral the civilians.
With her hands free, she's capable of snatching at the small knife she snagged somewhere in the past and hid in one boot; she wields it now, moving somewhat away from the car, away from the bomb. Strangely, though Ariadne's heartbeat has increased tenfold, her outward appearance is barely flustered, barely rattled at all. Her eyes are locked on the remaining Peacekeepers, since she doesn't really care to take out any of the civilians. They're just that: civilians. They can't defend themselves anyway; they're not the ones who need to be taught a lesson, a lesson in that stealing someone from their life and forcing them into something doesn't go well.
Four minutes, she thinks. If not slightly less.
The look on her face is a challenge: if they want to get her, they'd better try it now rather than later.
"Is it on her still? Where's the bomb?"
The Peacekeepers don't seem to know what to do, seem to hesitate. One takes his gun out and points it at her knees; another charges her, trying to get her weapon away from her.
This isn't like the propaganda attacks the Capitol's been putting on. This is an actual rebel, armed and dangerous. They aren't eager to test their mettle against the real thing.
It wasn't often that she was pitted against the other Tributes in more than a one on one fashion, but the principles are all the same. She lashes out against the Peacekeeper that rushes her, the knife not enough to do any real damage unless it was aimed at the right places, but it's enough to perhaps bleed someone a bit. It's enough to keep them at bay, perhaps.
It doesn't even matter to her that one of them has a gun aimed at her knees; if she's shot, she'll go down. But not without a fight.
The one who lunged dodges away, a cut in his armor but not seriously injured. He keeps his distance.
"Where's the bomb, girl?" The way the Peacekeeper says it is like a slur, like he's telling her even outside the Arena she isn't on the same level as the rest of them.
"You ask like that, and expect me to answer?" She asks, tone just this side of sceptical and annoyed. She doesn't plan on giving them anything, not even if they threaten her with death. It's all just a dream anyway; that's how it feels. None of this is real, not to her. Maybe if she's aware of its status as Limbo, it won't trap her any longer.
"When we ask you a question, you give us an answer!"
"Maybe she doesn't have one at all..." Someone says.
"She's stalling-" one says, and fires the gun at Ariadne's feet. And then the bomb goes off.
Her heart jumps at the shot, but she doesn't move; she remains in place, staring them down as if to challenge them to just shoot her down where she stands. The bomb's detonation is only slightly surprising to her - she's expecting it, sure, but she also expected to be further away. The blast throws her, but if it's throwing her, then it's throwing everyone else. There's shrapnel flying, shards of things stabbing through her dress to bury in her flesh, and somewhere down the line, she loses her knife. It's not really important at this point anyway; she doubts that their little fight is going to last much longer. Not when she's hitting the ground, seeing stars more readily than the Peacekeepers, with just a hint of black edging her vision.
She got what she wanted - the bomb went off after all.
REACTION SUBTHREAD [OPEN TO ALL]
"Everyone, please assemble with your Districts so you can be led back to the Tribute Center. There's nothing to be concerned about. This is simply emergency protocol," the District 1 Escort says, loud enough that everyone can hear her. "Cooperation is mandatory."
The latter part is probably not necessary, as it's evident that the Peacekeepers are paying as much attention to the people inside as they are to potential intruders. The Tributes and Capitol worker bees are herded out and to their District Suites, where they are forbidden to leave for the night. Their only company is each other, the network, and the television.
OTA
OTA
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tl;dr like whoa. open if someone wants to face her.
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Re: tl;dr like whoa. open if someone wants to face her.
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Kurt Hummel | ota
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Re: REACTION SUBTHREAD [OPEN TO ALL]
OTA
OTA
OTA
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OTA
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OTA - but especially District 8
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Pruna (district 12)
Ian (district 6)
Shion (district 4)
Wyatt Earp | District 10
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Wesker| District 11
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JAY | DISTRICT 6 | OTA
Re: JAY | DISTRICT 6 | OTA
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Maximus Decimus Meridius | District 3
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Neffa a Reyeth | District 7 | OTA
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Sherlock Holmes | District 2
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ota