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

[carnagecarnival]

It's a dangerous game, certainly, being this close to another troll, but there's almost a fun in that alone. They've made no move to cull each other yet though.

"HE WOULD GIVE MOST FERVENT MOTHERFUCKING APPLAUSE AT FOR THE SHOW OF THAT," He returns, still grinning as they spin in time and step. "Perhaps a pair should be at discarding dance to paint fang and claw instead." It's only half a joke, but that's what makes it funnier. "THOUGH THE DRAGON WILL HAVE TO DEAL FOR SHARING CARNAGE. Ain't leaving it all to you."

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi has no plans at all to cull the Initiate--she's not even sure that she could. But being close to him certainly gives her a sense of danger and excitement, like it hangs in the very air around him.

"A dragon? Share?" Her eyebrows lift high above her glasses to tell him exactly what she thinks about that. She takes a moment in the music to spin herself under his arm, coming back to his arms laughing a bit. "Initiate Fraysong," she chides, "I am starting to think that you know very little about dragons at all."

Which makes this all the more fun for her.

[carnagecarnival]

"LEGISLACERATOR PYROPE, PERHAPS YOU JUST DON'T KNOW AT SHIT ABOUT HIM," He laughs in turn, as he catches her following her spin, and eases back into the steps. "If the dragon can't handle another what engages in the bloodbath then the dragon will up and motherfucking starve or be killed among the rest, wicked sister."

[pythianjudgment]

"Or maybe the dragon will horde all the carnage to herself!" she counters, tilting her chin up in a cocky gesture. "Maybe the dragon called dibs, and her competitor--whatever that mysterious creature might be--will just have to sit this bloodbath out. Noone would dare to cross the sacred right of dibs."

She leans closer, conspiratorially, and whispers: "You might start a holy war, and no one wants that."

[carnagecarnival]

He laughs, harsh and loud, "OH SISTER SWEET, WOULDN'T YOU MOTHERFUCKING KNOW. Wouldn't you up and figure that to be the case. LET HIM PUT A WORD OF RIGHTEOUS TRUTH UP IN YOUR GOD EMPTY PAN. Some things what they don't impart to all. SOME THINGS WHAT THEY FIGURE AIN'T TO BE SAID."

He leans in, mimicing her action, and whispers to her,"There is always a fucking holy war."

He pulls back. "THE SCALE, MY SISTER, IS WHAT MATTERS. And all the same what doesn't at god-damned all"

[pythianjudgment]

Terezi grins a little more at the whisper to her ear. It's a little thrilling, the closeness and the mock-secrecy while slowly turning about on the dance floor. Trolls aren't normally this friendly, and a casual observer might be led to believe they were at least friends if not more, but she doesn't seem to mind. Perched precariously on the edge of danger is the best place to live, after all.

"That doesn't make much logical sense, you know. It can't both matter and not matter at the same time," she chides, giving him a knowingly skeptical expression. "Unless you are leading up to your prophecies of mass-annihilation via cosmic laughter, in which case I implore you to reconsider. If I have to listen to one more doomsday prophecy, I might just up-end the punch bar like a professional table-flipper."

[carnagecarnival]

Indeed, one would almost think he was fond, or cared for her life. That in different circumstances he would not kill her in a breath and moment. Maybe he wouldn’t. At least not right away.

“CLEARLY, she ain’t comprehending then. CLEARLY COMPREHENSION ain’t to what she’s being about at this. SCALE GETS AT TO MATTERING IN REACH AND HOLD OF THE EMPIRE AND LAW, TEAL BITCH. Scale gets to meaning shit beneath their holy two of most mirthful manifestation. UNDER THE MESSIAHS, A SCALE WOULD MEAN GOD DAMNED FUCK ALL.”

He shakes his head, and snorts, “But no surprise, she don’t believe nor understand. ATHEIST TO YOUR HEATHEN TEAL STAINED BONES. Be his guest, FLIP THE TABLE, it will be amusing. BE SURE TO STAIN MOTHERFUCKERS WITH THE PUNCH, WHISLT YOU DO SO.” He does mean that.

[pythianjudgment]

"Wow, excuse me for questioning your all-encompassing scale of juggalo retribution! I will make sure to factor that into my sub-par legal calculations from now on. Praise be to the Faygo-laced minstrels!"

She leans against his arm, smiling coyly up at him from under her hood of red scales. "That would unfortunately be a perfect waste of punch. I'm not sure if the humor quotient is sufficient to make up for the loss of confectionery fruit juice."

[carnagecarnival]

"As she ought," He says. "AS A GIRL MOTHERFUCKING SHOULD. And don't forget Messiahs dusted by stars themselves."

He fakes a frown, a pout even, for a short second before the grin returns and he teases, "WHAT A DISSAPOITNMENT. Leading on with false tongued promises for the upturning tables for benefit of amusement. AND THEN REFUSING FOR WASTE OF PUNCH. There ain't waste in making for hilarity."

[pythianjudgment]

"Minstrels, messiahs." She gives a shrug, as if to say 'same thing'. She's not actually sure if they are or not. She never really paid much attention to the lingo before...

"Table-toppling may inspire hilarity, but is it enough hilarity? That is the dilemma we face. You can only spill punch once, so the question becomes: Is this the maximum humor that can be reached with the given resources? I'm honestly not so sure. I'm pretty sure we can do better than just flipping the punch table."

[carnagecarnival]

He gives her an unimpressed look because of course they are not the same motherfucking thing. Not even near.

But then he's grinning again. "CHEAP TALK, WICKED SISTER. If she can do better he'd want at to see it done." Not that there couldn't be better, but he doubted her desire to really push that bar. "WHAT ALL DOES SHE HAVE IN PAN?"

[pythianjudgment]

"What I have in pan is a hypothetical situation, similar to flipping, but much closer to the launching variety." She grins and gestures at a few people browsing the refreshments. "For instance! Say you bodily lift a person and throw them at the table. The table breaks, possibly launching the punch bowl into the air, which then creates a commotion elsewhere. Tah-dah! A much more worthy effort of hilarity and intrigue."

She is absolutely not condoning throwing a person into the punch table, though.