The Crowning of Albert Wesker

[gamemakers]

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.]

Comments

[wantwhatiwant]

Ian nodded, "Thanks anyways." He noticed the battle with the gloves. "Pull it from the wrist, it should come off that way."

[the_marshal]

"They're just so damned tight..."

His grip shifted and pulled from the wrist as Ian suggested, but still no go.

"I knew lettin' 'em sew the things on was a bad idea."

He paused, glancing across at Ian. "You usin' that knife, son?"

[wantwhatiwant]

"You let them sew them on?" He raised an eyebrow, amused and passed over the knife.

[the_marshal]

"Ya learn fast to pick yer battles," he replied, taking the knife and working the point under the wrist of the glove. "And to accept the lesser of the evils when it comes to yer stylist."

He started sawing, cutting his left glove apart of the seam. "I give 'em the go ahead on the gloves-" he nodded down at his hands, "-and they nix dyin' me red."

[wantwhatiwant]

Ian raised an eyebrow, "Right, I'll remember that." Dye him red? "They like their theatrics don't they."

[the_marshal]

The first glove came free and he worked his fingers, curling and uncurling them, coaxing feeling back into them.

"Ya ain't even seen the half of it. Wait until the first time they try to send ya out, paradin' around in naught but an over-grown napkin and yer pride."

[wantwhatiwant]

"Great." He poked at his food, "As if dying for these bastards wasn't enough." They got to humiliate them first.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt paused, wrist rolling slowly, and then offered a smile. A gentle curling to the corner of his mouth.

"Food ain't bad, though. Usually."

[wantwhatiwant]

That was true at least, from what Ian had witnessed already. The food was better than what he usually had and there was plenty of it. "And they seem to like their parties."

[the_marshal]

The knife switched hands, tip disappearing beneath the wrist of his right hand then. Slower, decidedly more careful as he wasn't a leftie by nature.

"You'll never have want for those, son, iffen ya enjoy that kinda thing. They'll throw a party for a change in the weather 'round here."

[wantwhatiwant]

"Well I never say no to free booze." He took another mouthful of his drink and watched Wyatt cut the second glove off.

"Won't they be pissed at you?"

[the_marshal]

Wyatt barked a laugh, a quick, rough sound, like sounds struck together, and nodded.

"Yeah, I imagine they will be."

The knife clattered to the table, its job done, and he pulled off the second glove, his fingers pink and aching.

[wantwhatiwant]

"Probably wont be able to talk them out of dying you red next time." He told him, taking his knife back to cut a piece of the strange fancy food he had been given.

[the_marshal]

"They'll get over it."

A short attention span was one of the perks of his stylists. Given a day or two, another tribute was sure to give them something else to focus on.

If someone hadn't already pitched a bigger fit tonight.

"'Specially iffen I don't tell 'em."

[wantwhatiwant]

"Well they won't hear it from me." He grinned and tasted the food.

"Want some?"