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

[president_evil]

In a humoring mood (still pleased at having broken yet another of the Capitol's determined handlers) Wesker's omnipresent sunglasses were missing as he lingered near the band. A web of matte black to match his suit swept over the right side of his face, keyholes of pale flesh visible between the strands, leaving his red and gold on full display, flashing from behind a half-mooned affair.

Albert Wesker had nothing to hide.

Though the glasses were tucked away, a familiar weight in the breast pocket of his coat. Ready for when the noticeable discomfort that meeting his gaze brought the other guests stopped being amusing.

[savedbyasong]

Shion stood near the edge of the crowd taking deep breaths. Trying to stay calm. He hadn't recognised anyone yet but he wasn't surprised, he barely recognised himself. His hair had remained white for barely a day before his stylists had dyed it again. This time it had been dyed burgundy, with gold tips, the odd undertone of orange that showed if he moved his head too fast.

Black, purple eyes were the only thing that would show him to be himself, peering through an orange mask with a golden lace pattern. The lace didn't stop at the mask, instead it circled his neck, following his scar around his body. Apart from that his torso and arms were bare, his stylists had covered up his scar on his arm as best as they could with makeup.

The lacing continued down and attached to a golden belt, which fixed around charcoal trousers, which were too tight to really be comfortable.

Shion hated it, but he hadn't argued with his stylists. He had to help those still in the arena and if dressing up in ridiculous clothes would help them at all he would do that. It was not a large price to pay.

He looked around, shell shocked for a moment before his escort gave him a notable shove towards the food table, which he looked at feeling sick.

[savedbyasong]

The eyes were useful at least, they allowed him to be recognised. Not that Wesker's costume was as bad as Shion's. At least it seemed warm. Shion was notably shivering as he moved around the room. He was shirtless, gold lace connecting his orange and gold mask to a gold belt on his trousers. It fell where his scar was, hiding it for the most part.

Even his hair followed the colour scheme, burgundy with gold tips. Shion smiled when he saw Wesker, at least it was someone he knew and liked even if he was still nervous talking to him. "Hello Wesker."

[fire_punk]

Kevin wandered by the edge of the food. It gave him something to pretend to do while trying to find sponsors for his Tributes. As if that wasn't awkward enough without the mask. He pulled at the collar of his burgundy striped shirt. He still couldn't quite get used to having to wear suits all the time. But then he'd spent as much of his time as he could in his suite where it didn't matter.

[mannersmatter]

"Oh, your hair look-" Effie had to stiffle a yawn half way through, and flushed, embarrassed at her faux pas. "I'm so sorry. It looks lovely. My compliments to your stylist!"

The boy was Shion, from District 4. She was starting to falter on some of her memorization, but luckily he had stuck. She ran her hand over her gown, twisting so the skirt would avoid being stepped on while she spoke with the boy.

[mannersmatter]

Effie was exhausted, and have given up on being on her A game. She was just hoping she could manage her B game with all of 12 riding on her right now.

Cinna has at least designed her a gorgeous gown that she had a feeling might keep her standing up even if she started to fade as the night went on. The gold gilded make up splashed across her face both matched perfectly and covered up the awful bags under her eyes.

She had no idea how she was going to pull this off. But she put on a smile, greeting everyone she came across, picking out little bit of relevant conversation to them from her memory banks when she could. How this stylist Tribute was dressed last part, or how that business man's daughter wedding was going.

Thank God for her memory capability. Even under such awful pressure.

[savedbyasong]

He suppressed a wince, but since the comment wasn't followed by hands examining the strands of hair he recovered quickly and smiled. He had only ever seen this woman from a distance but she was an escort from district twelve. He blinked at her dress, which if he had to find a word to describe it, was terrifying.

"Thank you, I will pass them on, she will be glad to hear it."

[president_evil]

Someone was off, a flat note amongst the sweet strings. Eyes narrowed, head slightly tipped, Wesker studied the fingers dancing on the necks of the instruments, counting silently to himself, zeroing in on the culprit...

When the voice cut across, breaking his concentration.

Pushing a breath through his nose, he turned (the band granted a reprieve), tone cool, "Mr. Shion." And then amused, serpent's eyes looking him up and down. "Back from the Arena again, I see."

[savedbyasong]

Shion blushed, going completely red. "I lasted four days longer than last time." He said quietly, looking towards the band to see what Wesker had been concentrating so hard on.

[neclectus]

Timaeus could spot one of Cinna's creations from a mile away- a skill that had served him well in the past when he'd wanted to hear gossip about the Tributes of his district, and one that he imagined would serve him equally well now. Dressed in a heavily embroidered coat and his confidence restored to the order of several magnitudes, he approached directly, greeting her with a bow that was more a polite nod and a carefully tuned smile- wide enough to be warm and inviting, but measured enough to suggest business. As he inclined his head his elaborately fashioned mask sparkled with an almost aggressive magnificence- finely cut rubies hidden in a flurry of thousands of tiny golden autumn leaves, crafted to suggest a sweep of movement as if caught in a sudden gust of wind.

"Would you join me for a dance?" he asked smoothly, offering his arm. Rejection wasn't a concept with which he was particularly well acquainted. "Someone has to start the evening off, and it might as well be you and I..."

[president_evil]

His head tipped.

"At that rate, perhaps by the time you hit double digits you'll survive long enough to see the end of one." His mouth pulled, a sharp-edged smirk. "A consolation to your sponsors, I'm sure."

[pillowmania]

Misanthrope is the word on Katurian's mind, as in: what kind of fucking misanthrope willingly goes to a social fucking event?

This one. Apparently.

In the crowds of the Harvest Festival, Katurian remains a shadow, dressed in a long black cloak and a leather mask that obscures the majority of his face with what appears to be a curved beak. Only his mouth is visible, half hidden under the unwieldy structure. This is good, this anonymity. It makes him braver. Bolder. Even though he lurks in the background like a frightened mouse, Katurian imagines himself as more of a king surveying his kingdom.

A writer watching his characters.

penny will tag next!

[pillowmania]

Katurian was not alone, this time. He was not spinning with glee in front of artwork. He was not whispering sweet nothings to brush strokes. There was no skip in his step.

Katurian was not alone, this time. He was with Penny (furious hurricane penny, with sharp eyes and an even sharper smile) and he was wearing a cloak that brushed against the ground. His eyes and face were hidden by a mask that looked like some perverse, nightmarish bird. His shoes went click click click.

He approached Shion wordlessly. Like a phantom.

[riptheseams]

First Victor out of the Arena. How embarrassing! She hadn't even killed a Tribute, measly things - and to top it off, she'd been killed by a kid and some other girl. What a joke.

Entering the ballroom, Calico squares her shoulders. She reckons she'll be attracting quite a lot of laughter and snide comments here tonight - but better to get them over with, right?

Calico goes all out in a figure hugging sequinned dark gold gown and elaborate head dress, with a relatively simple mask to compliment it. Hopefully, with her trademark orange hair dulled a bit, she'll remain vaguely anonymous for a bit. She heads straight for the food and piles her plate high.

penny will tag next

[pillowmania]

Katurian made a small sound when he saw Wesker from across the room, a gentle shhhh meant to catch his companion's attention. This was a practiced sound, one born from hours (days) in the darkness where every word was precious, not to be wasted, a building block for a story yet to be written.

There, the sound said.

That one.

[pillowmania]

Katurian finds her towards the end of the night, just as the crowds are starting to thin. By now, he no longer wears his mask, instead letting the grotesque bird face hang over his shoulder like a hunter's trophy kill. His pupils are too large. His smile is crooked.

"Ms Suere," he says, his hands folded neatly behind his back. "You're looking very well."

[riptheseams]

That voice. That voice that's been haunting her nightmares, her day dreams - that voice that seems to ring in her ears in every silence. Telling his wicked stories over and over, telling her of how she killed her parents, her brother. And now she has to face him in reality.

Calico takes a moment to breathe deep, to try to keep control of herself so that her voice doesn't waver and so that her eyes don't fill with tears. She counts to five silently in her mind, trying her best to stay in control.

"Katurian." There's no respect in her voice, of course. Just hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred. But she needs to keep herself in check. She can't afford to embarrass herself any more.

"Yeah... death does that to a girl, I've found."

[pillowmania]

He laughs. The sound is harsh, abrupt, and it brings tears to his eyes that he quickly scratches away with the rough fabric of his sleeves.

"That doesn't make sense," he says. This is apparently the source of his laughter, this one, humorless thing. Death doesn't make people look well. (Or does he laugh because dying makes people well, happy, free?) "I d-don't know what you're going on about, but that -- that doesn't --"

He breathes. Hiccups.

"I b-bet -- the Capitol is looking pretty good right now."

[riptheseams]

She steps closer, rising on her tiptoes, for even in her whacker heels, she's still shorter than Katurian.

"You bastard." She hisses into his ear, placing her hands on his arms to steady herself. To anybody watching, it might look like two friends embracing. Cal hopes it looks like that. But the insult is for what he did to her, to Jack, to goodness knows how many others. She stares at him, his wide eyes, his stubble. And she cannot understand why he does what he does.

She moves back, so there is space between them. "Blinkin' marvellous what they do with the decorations an' junk, innit?" A normal conversation for anyone listening in. But she can't look at him, and instead, she picks up yet another apple roll.

[savedbyasong]

His blush got worse, "Perhaps." He said trying to smile but failing and just shivering instead, it was quite cold. He didn't see reason to mention that he hadn't actually gotten any sponsors, he didn't blame them, he wouldn't have sponsored him either.

"It doesn't really matter."

[fearisinthemind]

Penny is more a shark than a crocodile. A crocodile blends in before it strikes, passing as some innocuous log or bank of mud, but a shark is evident danger from the moment its dorsal fin razors through the surface of the water. Penny cannot hide what she is.

She, dressed in luxurious gold with poofy sleeves, joins Katurian. Her hand is placed on the small of his back in a manner entirely devoid of affection, like a collar made of flesh.

She pauses behind Shion and, like Katurian, watches wordlessly.

Re: penny will tag next

[fearisinthemind]

That one? Penny's face responds, lacing her teeth into an unspoken thought. Wesker?

Her eyelid twitches slightly, but she can't very well look jealous, even though that's what she is. Jealousy given a human form, given bone and flesh and a mouth that just barely molds itself out of a scowl.

She follows Katurian, but moves the hand on his lower back up to his arm, giving it a squeeze that's more fingernails than warmth.

[savedbyasong]

Shion had the sensation of being stared at and took a moment to work out where it was coming from. He blinked at the two masked figures who were approaching him silently. One of them he didn't know at all, though there was something... like he should know them... whilst the other seemed familiar, like he had met him before. But the mask hid his identity.

He forced himself not to step back, and then forced himself to smile. Acting was a lot harder then he had ever imagined. His eyes flickered from one to the other, noting how they moved, their silence, her hand at his back.

"Hello." Black-purple eyes flickered behind his mask, betraying his nervousness.

[president_evil]

A pale eyebrow arched.

"There's something more important than life and death?" he asked, a cool, unreadable purr. "By all means, do enlighten me."

Wesker was a simple man. A direct man.

Do or do not. Succeed or fail. Live or die.

He found those that quibbled in between to be adorable.

(Pathetic, as they gasped and squealed and were crushed by their more determined fellows.)

[president_evil]

Wesker's seen them, watched how the party goers scattered in their wake like shoals of fish, wheeling away in flashes of burgundy and gold from patrolling sharks. He saw how they circled - the a pair of them - gliding around the room, scenting the water.

When they set their eyes on him, he held his ground.

Sharks, Wesker knew, suffocated when they stopped.