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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.]
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"I don't know, Sherlock, do you?" he asked, a little dubiously.
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"Maybe two."
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"It wouldn't be. I came here with someone and I'm worried he may have become lost trying to find his way back."
There was a definite tension here. One she certainly didn't feel inclined to be a part of. She looked between the two. "If you would like, we can certainly finish our dance later."
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He looked back at Peggy, entirely ignoring John and his confusion in the meantime. It was, after all, exactly what he wanted.
"Again, sincerest apologies, I am sure John will be more than happy to resume your dance afterward."
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"He may be tall but he has a certain tendency to try and blend in when uncomfortable." Ally was a word for it. She knew her smile was a little daft before she straightened up and touched John's arm. "Thank you. I'll come and look for you."
Peggy turned to Sherlock and extended a hand. "Again, lovely to make your acquaintance."
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Satisfied that the social niceties where completed he turned to John. "I think, perhaps, it is best if we dance." he said, completely casually, a he extended an arm.
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And blinked again.
Turning a tight, careful smile on Sherlock, he looked him dead in the eyes, trying to work out what possible advantage could be gained from that. It wasn't like they were at home and on a case, after all. "You think we should dance. Really."
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"Less likely to be eavesdropped on if we are otherwise occupied," he murmured with a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye.
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"What are you doing," he hissed quietly into Sherlock's ear, pausing to smile politely as they turned just enough that he caught an eyeful of one of his district-mates. Perfect.
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Plus, dancing often had a way of coming in handy. He was more than capable of making up for John's discomfort with his own odd, particular grace. But no matter how technically adept he was at it, he danced with little heart.
Now, however, came the point of the entire evening, and the weeks of meticulous planning. It was a very, very careful thing to execute, but it had to be done perfectly, so even the slight hesitant parting of his lips - the stoic line they turned into as he decided not to speak, and the slight turn of his head as he glanced away were all impeccably calculated. He let the silence linger a moment more before he said, very quietly, "I needed to speak to you."
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Was all this some kind of attempt to take John up on his offer? It seemed like a bit of a stretch, but Sherlock had done stranger things.
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He was intentionally keeping himself from meeting John's eye, now, looking off to the side even as he focused on every step - calculated and controlled as they moved across the floor.
It was tempting to rush straight to the point, but that would, of course, undermine the plan completely. Just a moment's more hesitation, he thought, would be enough to sell it.
"It didn't... It doesn't seem like something for which I could wait." He looked back then, brows furrowed as he met John's eyes. "Patience has never been my forte."
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"Patience?" he echoed, utterly lost.
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It was entirely on purpose, of course, just to accentuate how off-balance he was, or presumably was. Really, he was as calm as anything - confident and sure of the brilliance of his plan, and more than ready to act it out.
He stumbled, ever so slightly, forcing himself to right himself pressed in just a little closer, a little more flustered. He was obviously out of his depth, now, and he hesitated before speaking.
"Patience, yes. I-- These last few months, John, the arena, I-- It has forced me to consider things I normally--" But there his courage (seemingly) failed him, and his lips hung open uselessly, no more words coming out. He paused, the dance halting, his grip firming, a slow determination setting into his shoulders as he looked over to meet John's eye, and - without warning nor permission - tipped him back ever so slightly and kissed him firmly on the lips.
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It was bizarre, but for the longest moment, suspended as he was, held in Sherlock's arms, that was all he could focus on. Not the questions of why, or anything approaching a desperate attempt to figure out how the hell he felt about it, or what he should do- just that simple, impossible fact. Sherlock's oddly soft, warm lips were pressed to his, and everything else slid into place.
Sherlock's faltering words. His awkward inability to meet John's gaze. Even, possibly, his altercation with Howard and his clear distress in the aftermath, his vocal, sour disapproval of Effie. (And the others, back home, could it have been more than simply being jealous of any time spent not with him?) It could even be, he thought, that the charm hadn't been for Peggy at all, but for him. Sherlock knew how John preferred him to be polite. Dancing. Even the costume he'd clearly allowed his stylists to put him in. Was Sherlock trying to be, god help him, romantic?
He had no idea what to do. Everybody was watching.
Sherlock Holmes was kissing him.
Uncertainly, endlessly awkward and mostly because his brain had spun through all its options and come up with little else, he pressed back. It wasn't quite a kiss, really, not quite- more an opposite reaction to pulling away.
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Nor was it complicated. It was a chaste, closed-mouth kiss that lasted what Sherlock presumed to be a polite length. It was the second kiss he'd had in his life and though it meant more than the first it didn't particularly stir anything. He found himself wondering again why people did it simply to do it, and pushed the thought away. The point was he wasn't doing it for any romantic reason, so it certainly didn't matter how he felt about it at all. The point was to be convincing in what he was supposed to feel about it, if he was actually in love with Dr. John Watson.
Reality was not anywhere near as important as perception, here, and it was perception that he was a hundred percent focused on. Regardless, it wasn't unpleasant, and John hadn't punched him yet, so he settled on success.
He pulled back, not having let go but allowing a little space between their bodies now, using his peripheral vision to assess whether enough people had seen it to make the whole thing worthwhile. His gaze, though, was focused on John.
He didn't say anything (the fewer words the better, because then John could simply fill in the blanks instead of Sherlock having to lie), merely faltering awkwardly, allowing a slightly nervous, questioning expression to take over his face.
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"Okay," he said, after a long, painfully awkward moment, floundering in silence. It was surprisingly awful, watching Sherlock's familiar face twisted in unfamiliar shape, knowing in his twisting gut what that expression meant. He was waiting for John to pronounce judgement. And John hadn't the first idea what to do or say.
"Okay," he said again. "You- you kissed me."
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".... Yes." The word was drawn out, lingering, as if he was a little surprised himself. He finally actually did disengage himself, as if he only remembered just then that he was still locked in a dancer's embrace, taking a step back.
"That does seem an accurate portrayal of the facts, yes."
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He glanced about him, a deep blush creeping up under his skin. They had an audience, of course, some of them pretending not to watch.
"And you just... had to do that, right here and now," he said, slowly- not angrily, exactly. It was more of a suggestion, a leading question in the form of a statement that begged to be refuted.
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He took another halting step backwards, snapping his eyes away from John's face. "... I hadn't exactly - obviously I meant to -- debrief the situation, but this- it seemed--" He faltered, frowned.
"... Clearer."
The frown deepened, as he finally forced himself to look back at John.
"... Not good?"
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He'd seen shock before, delight, even fear- Sherlock's face, though usually maintained at a cool, even configuration of facial features was actually remarkably expressive when he he allowed it to be- perhaps, John had reasoned before, because he seemed to feel no need to limit himself to a seemly reaction. This, though- he'd never seen Sherlock's body betray him. It felt like an imposition, watching it prickle under his skin.
"It's- unexpected," he said, desperate to say something reassuring to fit Sherlock back together. He'd been so quick to dismiss everyone who said it, anyone who even suggested there might be more to their relationship, and Sherlock had never even once tried to deny a single rumour...
He hadn't believed Sherlock could ever have been a drug addict, either.
"It's- we're fine, Sherlock, alright? Still fine. But- could we maybe not do this in the middle of a crowded dancefloor?"
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So he nodded, once, taking another step back until he was well out of John's reach, his hands fiddling and straightening his jacket, even though it was already impossibly straight. "... Yes. Of course. Wouldn't want to- disturb--"
He shook himself, forcing the blush to disappear and took another step back, making sure now not to look at John at all.
"Later, then. Let you... get back to your dance."
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