The Gamemakers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thecapitol2013-09-02 11:22 am
gamemakers) wrote in thecapitol2013-09-02 11:22 am
Entry tags:
- cassandra marko,
- commander shepard,
- event: crowning,
- harley quinn,
- joan watson,
- sigma klim,
- terezi pyrope,
- the grand highblood,
- the signless,
- wesker,
- wyatt earp,
- ✘ andraia,
- ✘ azula,
- ✘ chris redfield,
- ✘ donatello,
- ✘ dr. holiday,
- ✘ ian chesterton,
- ✘ ian gallagher,
- ✘ jack atlas,
- ✘ john watson,
- ✘ maximus,
- ✘ orc,
- ✘ peeta mellark,
- ✘ pepper potts,
- ✘ pruna,
- ✘ r,
- ✘ shion,
- ✘ some ovmennet,
- ✘ the disciple,
- ✘ timaeus nadir
The Crowning of Maximus Decimus Meridius
Who| Everyone
What| Maximus' crowning
Where| Victory Hall
When| Today
Warnings| Violence.
Prior to the Crowning, the Stylists and Escorts were given information: the color scheme for the Crowning is brown and gold, the theme is fire, and for Tributes, Games Staff and Victors in the Capitol alike, attendance is mandatory. No exceptions.
The Victory Hall has been completely refitted to the theme. Great brownstone pillars reach up from the floor, now made of polished marble. Rose petals and dying embers flutter from the ceiling like confetti, and long panels of fabrics embroidered with Maximus' kills pour down the walls. Rather than tables, Tributes are given wooden chairs to sit around fire pits in groups of four, where pigs and sheep are roasting whole, tended by attentive Avoxes. The smell of charring flesh and rosemary wafts through the hall.
In the center of the hall is a pit, fifteen feet deep, ringed with brick and filled with sand. Torches line the inside wall, casting light in every direction. A circular screen up above lets those not close to the edge view the contents of the pit in real-time video.
Maximus' private table has a theme of anachronisms; Tributes from 'less-developed' timelines and worlds are seated around a long table, facing the gladiatorial ring where, at the moment, a full-grown, well-fed Bengal tiger paces. Compared to the muttations of the Arena, it may seem positively demure, up until it bares its fangs and reveals that it's been modified to have saber teeth gilded in gold. Occasionally an Avox will dangle something into the pit and jerk it away if the tiger looks bored and lays down.
Occasionally, with fanfare of music pumped in to announce it, a challenger enters the tiger ring - a hologram of one of the Tributes who were cuffed and marked by the Capitol. The hologram must be affixed with smell, too, as the tiger takes note and attacks like a kitten following a laser pointer, making dramatic roars as it does. The holograms put up valiant fights, and their deaths are brutal, illusory blood flying and the sounds of death rattles and bones cracking coming from speakers embedded in every table.
"A speech," Maximus' Escort says to Maximus. "The General must give a speech."
Tributes who attended Wesker's Crowning ceremony should notice a remarkable increase in security. Visibly armed Peacekeepers lurk behind the panels of fabric, and bulbous, obvious cameras dot the ceiling. Even the Avoxes seem shiftier than usual, and are equipped with discrete tape recorders pinned to their rough-hewn tunics.
What| Maximus' crowning
Where| Victory Hall
When| Today
Warnings| Violence.
Prior to the Crowning, the Stylists and Escorts were given information: the color scheme for the Crowning is brown and gold, the theme is fire, and for Tributes, Games Staff and Victors in the Capitol alike, attendance is mandatory. No exceptions.
The Victory Hall has been completely refitted to the theme. Great brownstone pillars reach up from the floor, now made of polished marble. Rose petals and dying embers flutter from the ceiling like confetti, and long panels of fabrics embroidered with Maximus' kills pour down the walls. Rather than tables, Tributes are given wooden chairs to sit around fire pits in groups of four, where pigs and sheep are roasting whole, tended by attentive Avoxes. The smell of charring flesh and rosemary wafts through the hall.
In the center of the hall is a pit, fifteen feet deep, ringed with brick and filled with sand. Torches line the inside wall, casting light in every direction. A circular screen up above lets those not close to the edge view the contents of the pit in real-time video.
Maximus' private table has a theme of anachronisms; Tributes from 'less-developed' timelines and worlds are seated around a long table, facing the gladiatorial ring where, at the moment, a full-grown, well-fed Bengal tiger paces. Compared to the muttations of the Arena, it may seem positively demure, up until it bares its fangs and reveals that it's been modified to have saber teeth gilded in gold. Occasionally an Avox will dangle something into the pit and jerk it away if the tiger looks bored and lays down.
Occasionally, with fanfare of music pumped in to announce it, a challenger enters the tiger ring - a hologram of one of the Tributes who were cuffed and marked by the Capitol. The hologram must be affixed with smell, too, as the tiger takes note and attacks like a kitten following a laser pointer, making dramatic roars as it does. The holograms put up valiant fights, and their deaths are brutal, illusory blood flying and the sounds of death rattles and bones cracking coming from speakers embedded in every table.
"A speech," Maximus' Escort says to Maximus. "The General must give a speech."
Tributes who attended Wesker's Crowning ceremony should notice a remarkable increase in security. Visibly armed Peacekeepers lurk behind the panels of fabric, and bulbous, obvious cameras dot the ceiling. Even the Avoxes seem shiftier than usual, and are equipped with discrete tape recorders pinned to their rough-hewn tunics.
OTA
It certainly made an creature of a creature to be noticed, but not to be messed with. Of course, the Stylists knew, that new, intimidating presence easily made up for the low-key costume.
As for the turtle himself, Don watched from his firepit as Maximus made his speech, silent the entire time. It was clearly aimed at those like him, who'd learned the truth of their worth in this place, this monstrous, dark, horrible place.
He felt nothing. No stirring emotion, no welling of hope, not even an inkling. He knew his worth now, and no words were going to change that. He was sure of it. Instead, he sat, turning back towards the firepit, staring at the sheep being roasted in front of him, the flames leaping up around it.
Well. Maximus was correct about one thing, he mused.
They were, indeed, all going to die once more, soon enough.
...Though Maximus taming the tiger was unexpected.
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He wondered if it had been planned, Ian went to sit back down and froze as he saw the figure. He had seen him around of course, and always made sure not to enter the room, or take another pass. But now he was sat right in front of Ian, at the bench where Ian had been told to sit.
"Fuck."
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"I have no interest in harming you here."
Better to get that out of the way, even if he doesn't believe Don.
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"You tame then? Only kill on command?"
Says the kid that joined the army, apparently sassing your nightmare fodder was the only way he was getting through this.
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"No." Pause. "But it would be pointless."
Tempting, to give them a reason to end him permanently. But he was too disciplined - too selfish - to.
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His voice is still cold, and yet it doesn't hold anything towards Ian. No anger, annoyance, not even pity. It just was. Just emotionless.
"Our hosts would likely disagree with your assessment."
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He drinks from his own cup. Its just water, though. He managed to resist the wine somehow.
"What do you know about this place?"
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Because I really need to use a different icon once in awhile lol
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"If you're smart, you won't let yourself get involved too much with the welfare of others. It doesn't matter, in the end, who you know or who knows you. Or how much you may care for them, and you them. Don't bother with feeling sorry for them...or yourself."
The fire popped, small sparked flittering up to the ceiling.
"You'll otherwise be in for a world of hurt."
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Don't care about others, more than just not letting people know they're getting to you, but actually not letting it hurt you.
Ian wasn't sure he could do that, but it would probably be easier, and he couldn't blame... Don, for taking that path.
"Not sure I'm that smart."
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Well, Shepard still didn't really know how she felt about Donatello. But nevertheless, she knew him well enough to flop down next to him. Making the rounds, more or less, even if it was less pleasant a task now than ever before.
"I hate these damn parties," she murmured, then glanced at Don, "Looks like you made a few friends this time around."
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Don's voice was quiet as he responded. Of course, he didn't enjoy the parties, but he wasn't exactly one to judge them anymore, was he? Not with the blood he'd spilled throughout his Arenas - blood he would undoubtedly continue to spill in the future.
He was pretty sure he knew how to feel about himself. But even then, once in awhile, he'd question it. Only to quash it because he knew better than to question the truth about himself now.
"I wouldn't be surprised if I became a target for some of the other Tributes." Which he already technically was, given Eponine's warning. And yet he seemed completely unafraid of the prospect. "I guess we'll find out next time around."
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Ostentatious was the word, all around. She never was in favor.
"I'm in the same boat," Nothing like Don's frantic killing spree, but there it was, "Not that I didn't earn it. You look like shit."
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