harvest time

[gamemakers]

Who| Everyone in the Capitol
What| Harvest Festival
Where| A private venue near the base of one of the mountains.
When| A warm evening this week. Feel free to be time wobbly if your character eats it this week and you want to have them tag in.
Warnings/Notes| None atm. Please put a note in your thread header if anything comes up.



The whole side of the building looked like it had been taken out, and the bright gold aspens coaxed to spread down into the ball room, their yellow leaves shimmering at the slightest movement. In reality the ones within the building were fake, illusions that shuddered whether there was a wind near by or not. They reached tall, hiding the ceiling in their shimmering gold, leaves fluttering to the ground, covering it in a soft, gold carpet.

Everyone was dressed in beautiful fall inspired concoction of gold, burgundy, orange. No one was allowed in without a mask to hide their faces, gold being the trending style. A live string band played away, the music filling the whole room. Food was piled everywhere, fall favorites like pumpkin, apples, and corn, but all with a distinct Capitol twist- apple sushi rolls with thick pieces of tuna and sweet corn puree shots.

All this food poured out of a huge cornucopia in the middle, stretching up over a story tall, formed of metal, just like those in the arena. Party favors spilled out too, gilded aspen leaves and delicate glass blown pumpkins.

Whoever was throwing this party wasn't cutting corners.

Comments

[pillowmania]

Even though the drug is in his system now, turning his usual anxiety into confidence (or detached mania), Katurian goes rigid at her touch. The physiological response is still there, even if his mind is not. She is going to stab him, warns his pounding heart, his constricting veins. When she pulls away, air escapes from his lips.

"Don't," he starts, his breathing harsh, dark, "you dare touch me again."

With the drug in his system, Katurian's anger stands tall like columns.

[riptheseams]

Calico raises an eyebrow at him. So he's scared of being touched? She'll have to remember that, for the next time. She doesn't reply, instead choosing to bite into the apple roll. It's not really her thing, but whatever. It keeps her mouth busy as she fights not to speak back, or squeak in fear. She can feel his anger; it's almost tangible. And her reaction, either yelling or running are both quite viable options.

But Cal wants to do neither. She wants to appear unbothered. So she swallows, breathes, and steps closer again, this time being careful not to touch. She doesn't WANT to anger him. Much.

"Don't tell me what to do. I'm - I'm not scared of you."

She blatantly is.

[pillowmania]

Katurian suppresses a laugh, the kind of laugh that rolls out of his throat when nothing is truly funny, not even to his drug-addled mind. Normally the laugh sounds like a bark, but with the way he swallows it right now, it sounds more like a burp. A gulp.

"You poor thing," he says darkly, and then he laughs for real, the barriers lifted, the floodgates opened. His anger dissipates like storm clouds disappearing into a too sunny sky. Katurian is mercurial even on his better days, but today his mood swings back and forth like a demented rocking horse. "You're so frightened."

He whispers the words like a precious secret, the laughter still in his voice.

[riptheseams]

"Shut up." Her whisper is urgent, low. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

She looks over his shoulder. That's the last thing she needs people thinking now, that she's scared of Katurian. Rubbish in the arena, losing control over Eva and now terrified of the public figures in the Capitol.
These people, they're like birds, hanging on the phone wires, waiting desperately, constantly observing, gossiping in their annoying chirps, crapping on the heads of those unfortunate enough to be underneath them. Their jewelled masks only serve to accentuate sharp eyes, noting every detail of the conversation. And Cal is desperate to appear in control.

"You bloody psycho. Stop laughing." She hisses at him again, making sure to stay close. But she doesn't deny her fear. She's scared. So scared. It's visible in the way her trembling hand floats, just a milimeter from his skin, longing to touch, to defy him, but not quite daring to all the same.

[pillowmania]

He stops when his laughter dissolves into coughs. His throat feels swollen, like his tongue is curled up, like he's choking on a small piece of his throat that has gotten dislodged somehow. Water, he thinks. He needs water. With his eyes still on Calico, he blindly searches for -- and finds -- a clean glass from the concession table. He brings the water to his lips and swallows a gulp like medicine.

"Stop fucking lying," he says, a beat too late for it to be a proper comeback. But it doesn't matter. He's distracted by something else, a thought drifting up in his mind like a loose plastic bag.

He sets the glass down.

"The way I see it," he starts, "you're all set to rise from the ashes." He isn't really speaking to her. He's brainstorming. Plotting. Her tragedy is a backstory, a structure for newer, better things. "Not too high, though, or else it won't be a tragedy. Or-- Or yes, too high, like the story where the boy catches fire in the sun. You and your dress there, you're like -- "

He becomes aware, all of a sudden, of how close she is to him. You and your dress. You and your body right here. He shudders involuntarily, taking a step back, rubbing his wet palm on the side of his robe. Something about the movement, the shock of proximity, brings back some of his lucidity.

"You should know that I'm not here to take you away. You're not stupid." He sounds derisive all the same. "This party would be a rotten place to do it."