The Crowning of Maximus Decimus Meridius

[gamemakers]

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.

Comments

[the_marshal]

The small curl of his mouth pulled wider, pleased that she seemed to understand.

"Somethin' to make it worth while," he nodded, agreeing.

And something to keep them fighting. However strange it might seem to anyone else.

While he still didn't know all that well, Wyatt went and decided that in that moment he knew enough to know he liked her.

[formersurgeon]

She returns that smile, happy that he understands. She's actually surprised that most of the people she's met here have on the whole been decent. The only people who had tried to do her harm were R and that turtle. R turned out to be sweet when he wasn't hungry for human flesh, and the turtle...she's seen him around but hasn't actually talked to him. Maybe she should remedy that.

"How do they do it?" she muses. "How do they get the Tributes to kill each other?"

[the_marshal]

He was silent a moment, exhaling slowly.

"It ain't all them, as much as I might like to blame 'em. Some of its on us. Some enjoy it-" his eyes were drawn again to the victor's table, this time to a man down the length that wasn't dressed all that dissimilarly from himself (another reason to hate his getup), "--an' some jus' want it to end."

[formersurgeon]

"Mmm. I had a Peacekeeper warn me that there are Tributes who would still be killing even if they weren't here. We should compare notes sometime. Talk about who to avoid."

She follows his gaze, tilts her head.

"Who's that?"

[the_marshal]

"Hmm...?"

He looked back, an eyebrow lifting, not realizing he'd been staring intently enough to catch her attention.

"That," he said after a moment, nodding his head toward the table, "is Cuthbert Allgood." He frowned. "Go on ahead an' add him to yer list."

[formersurgeon]

"Done."

Joan has an excellent memory, and she trusts Wyatt's assessment enough to mentally categorize this man as one to be avoided. Still.

"What makes him dangerous?"

[the_marshal]

"He wants to win."

Brow furrowed, he watched Cuthbert again, the words they'd exchanged before the arena hissing quietly in the back of his head.

"An' to impress." He slanted her a look. "He treats it like a game, an' doesn't much care what happens to anyone else so long as he comes out a daisy."

[formersurgeon]

"All dangerous things in this situation."

She glanced back at Wyatt.

"There's some benefit in winning, of course. Never having to do the games again. I wouldn't be able to do it, though, knowing I had won because everyone else died. Even if I didn't kill them." She looked back toward the head table, at Maximus this time. She was thinking of Sherlock, this world's Sherlock, who was slowly destroying himself over the guilt of having survived.

"That sort of thing can break a person."

[the_marshal]

"I don't begrudge anyone wantin' to survive, it's the ones that pleasure in it, that enjoy the killin' that I take issue with."

His eyes flicked after hers, landing on Max in turn. There was a stab of unease, high in his chest, and a moment of silence.

"It came down to us in the arena, him an' me. He didn't want'a win... I made sure he did."

[formersurgeon]

She gave him a surprised look. She had no idea. She hadn't watched the Games after John's death. She couldn't stomach it anymore.

"You killed yourself?"

It's a terrible thought.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt nodded.

"I did."

He didn't give any detail beyond that, not seeing any reason. ...A part of him liked to imagine they were private. A moment there in the sand just between him and Max - despite all the evidence to the contrary.

Instead, he looked back, head tipping slightly.

"We don't all kill each other."

[formersurgeon]

"No, we don't."

She went quiet, thinking about what would happen if it were down to her and Sherlock, or her and John. She wasn't sure what would happen. She knew she would give her life for them. Had already given her life for John when she gave him their only dose of anti-venom. And she was almost certain that Sherlock and John would die for her sake. Whatever happened, it would be ugly and heartbreaking for everyone involved.

But that's what they wanted here, wasn't it, she thought wryly to herself. Wyatt's self sacrifice must have been popular in the Capitol. Must-see TV.

"It was good of you. You never should have been in that position. Ever. But you sacrificed yourself for your friend. I know what that's like."

[the_marshal]

"The freedom to make our own choices is limited 'round here," he said, nodding. A small gesture, as much to himself as her. "But there are some, an' ya gotta take 'em, where ya can."

A small rebellion, worth the risk, for the reward of knowing his friend would be saved pain. Would at least be free of the cycle of the arena.

[formersurgeon]

"Small things," she agrees. "Of course, that's what life is made of, isn't it. Small decisions to share or not, be merciful or not, give yourself for your friends or not. They might think they can control our big things, but it's the small things that make the big things, and we control those."

It's an addiction recovery mantra, taking things one day at a time, one decision at a time. Of course, it's a lot different being on this side of the advice, accepting it for herself as well as giving it.

[the_marshal]

It was those same things, the small things that saw Wyatt through. That kept him going, arena after arena.

A small wooden buffalo, given to a friend. A shining metal star, heavy in his pocket. A fond smile, from across a flickering fire.

"...It ain't a traditional compliment, but I assure ya that is my intent," his smile pulled, a gentle curl at one corner. "I think yer gonna be alright here."

And one those, if he had go at all, that he'd far rather go into the arena with.

[formersurgeon]

"Mmm." She smiled back, appreciating the compliment, even if the smile was just a touch wry. "We'll see how long I'm able to go without getting one of those bracelets they put on the troublemakers."

Or having her hologram ripped apart by a ravenous tiger.

[the_marshal]

He touched his, thumb finding the bull's head unerringly. He could still feel the scratch of the engraving on the inside against his skin.

"I wouldn't wish it on ya, but iffen ya do--" his wrist shook, the cuff rattling, "you'll have company. There's more 'en a couple'a of us."

[formersurgeon]

Something else she didn't know about him. And something else that made her like him even more.

"The bracelet thing is going to backfire on them. They just give the Tributes a group identity. Not to mention it's becoming a mark of pride instead of shame." She nodded toward Maximus. "It's like the Romans persecuting the Christians. The religion probably wouldn't have made it out of the first century without it."

[the_marshal]

He couldn't help a low chuckle.

"Even an old timer like me knew better than to lock the troublemakers up in the same cell. Only give's 'em a chance to plot together against the keeper."

It wouldn't be tonight, or tomorrow, or before the next arena. Likely not even in time to stop the one that would follow, but someday.... With every additional tribute they brought in, the Capitol was only adding powder to the keg they were sitting on. Sooner or later, it would catch.

Of that Wyatt had no doubts.

[formersurgeon]

"It's a stupid mistake. Not to mention thinking this will placate the natives. I mean, I guess they thought it would be better, having outsiders kill each other instead of children."

She narrows her eyes, gives her head a small, sharp shake.

"Still. Stupid."

[the_marshal]

He thought about Max, saying the districts held no weight with them.

"I come from my district," he replied slowly, thoughtfully. "I reckon it's changed, quite a lot, but the Capitol still sits atop the United States and even if it's called somethin' else, Kansas is still out there."

He rubbed at the cuff again, idly.

"They don't let us out there, I haven't seen it since bein' brought here, but sometimes I wonder what would happen iffen they did. Would they be glad, that's its us instead of them, or would they be angry - an' rightfully so, that the Capitol can bring us back, but never did their children?"

[formersurgeon]

"I hadn't thought of it that way. The district they put me in is so far from where I'm from, I guess I haven't seen it as anything but a number. Something just for the sake of giving people someone to root for. But you're right. If I had to guess, I'd say they're probably not actually rooting for us in the districts. Why would they?"

[the_marshal]

He was silent for a moment, letting her words wash between them.

"...Not to say we ain't got our supporters. I'm sure there's some," he said finally, a low, careful reply. "Whether they like us 'er not, we've still all got the same enemy."

His head tipped, eyes flicking back toward the table and the knot of Peacekeepers at the end. The honor guard, standing fast beside Snow's chair.

[formersurgeon]

She flicks her eyes that way as well, allowing herself the briefest of glances before returning her gaze to Wyatt.

"Maybe they see that. That for the most part, we're people to cheer for, not work against."

[the_marshal]

"...We can hope," he sighed.

His gaze returned to her, voice dropping a fraction. They were straying into dangerous territory, and the Crowning, while boisterous, was hardly the place for such talk. Not will all the Peacekeepers, not with the many mechanical eyes spinning from the ceiling, not with Snow mere yards away.

"We'll need 'em."

Numbers didn't win wars, but they certainly helped.