#eventidestart

[calofhearting]

Setting: Caesar Flickerman's After-Party, The Museum of Panem History Who: Open

Calista had always thought that District Two was one of the most glamorous places that you could find in Panem. She had been so wrong. It was laughable, the thought that District Two could hold a candle to the opulence of the Capitol. She had thought that she knew what the Capitol looked like, but viewing it through a screen was a lie. An illusion. Everything seemed brighter and larger and she found the effect to be rather dizzying. How...did these people manage this every day?

She had followed the crowd to the After-Party, unsure of what she was really doing there. It was filled with strangers, and all she wanted was to find a familiar face. She would have even accepted a friendly face. Being from the Districts she felt almost like...a pet that some of the Capitol people found amusing. She didn't like the feeling.

It was a relief to find a decently empty room, but in the next breath, she realized what the room was. On display were the outfits that the tributes wore...and right in front of her was an outfit that she knew very well. Cato's. Her feet seemed to guide themselves and within moments she found herself standing in front of it. She reached out to touch the glass.

"Cato," she whispered, tears burning in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. A noise behind her startled her, and she whipped around. "Can you give me a minute?" She snapped.

[devynshaw]

Setting: Caesar Flickerman's After Party at The Museum of Panem History, post plot drop Who: Open

The surprise footage that was shown at the party had left the museum in stunned silence for a little too long. Soon, excited and confused murmurs sounded throughout the party, but Devyn's mind was racing as she stood in one of the exhibit rooms. What did it mean? She had an idea of what the footage meant, but it wasn't like she could talk about it with anyone openly. Best she figured she could do for now was carry on like everyone else seemed to be. Last thing she wanted was to hurt her chances of survival going into the Games. Still, it didn't stop her from wondering about the footage, letting it twist more at her gut and think that she might be part of that montage after tomorrow.

She decided to head to the drinks table in the dining room to get herself something to relax. Wouldn't have been smart to go into The Games with a hangover, so she made a promise to herself to just one drink, even though she would have preferred to drink the place dry. But she had to make good impressions, last minute things before she would have to go and fight for her life. Maybe she needed to find someone to talk to, just to keep her mind busy with things outside of whatever the hell they just saw on the screens and her own potential demise. No pressure, right?

Someone else approached the table and she glanced over with a polite smile, "Having fun so far?" she asked them, taking a sip from the champagne flute she picked up.

[erisharrington]

Location: Capitol shop, post-execution Eris and open

The whole sordid affair between the stylists from District Twelve and their spectacular fall from favor was the kind of gossip that the readers of Capitolite Glamour wanted to read about, but Eris had been in this business long enough to know better. It was a shame, though, she thought. Perhaps a word in President Snow's ear could get her the green light. She would have to send out some feelers to see what was approved.

It was disappointing, really, but what better way to distract from a disappointment than shopping? Eris needed some new dresses, all of hers were so last Hunger Games season, so it was time for a change. And you never knew what you might hear at one of the shops, anyway. People just loved to gossip amongst the racks of clothes.

Spotting a familiar face amongst the racks, a smirk formed on her lips. "Oh, darling! It's been too long, how are you?" She paused, eyeing the garment in the other's hand. "You're not thinking about getting that are you?" Eris looked doubtful for a moment before her smile returned. "It's so last season, you see. But for you, I like it."

[fatefought]

where: the presidential manor

who: coriolanus snow & anyone in the capitol

the quarter quell is behind them, even if the abruptness of it all was less than desired. the rebels showed prowess that the president hadn't entirely expected. the arena going up in flames was a pleasant touch, if not also infuriating. they struck when the iron was hot, but how will they fair now that it's cool ? uprisings were not an unknown annoyance of coriolanus snow. he has suffocated threats in the past. if a war is what those ungrateful pests of the districts desired, fine. their offspring will have to deal with the embarrassing legacy of their loved ones failing miserably. district twelve being smoking shambles was merely inevitable, perhaps the first of many.

the president sits calmly in his luxurious, open study however, looking not the least bit out of place. his features are pleasant, offering a slight smile to his company. " i appreciate you meeting with me at such short notice. " even now declining an invitation from snow was rather foolish.

[incaensio]

setting : any exhibition room in the museum during caesar's after party. with : anyone ! @eventidestarters

constantinus can barely remember the last quell — he had been seven and something, and his mother was pregnant, so he had been dragged around between her room (free of all things of the games, because at the very least the capitol doctors knew the images could be disturbing for an expecting mother) and his grandparents' mansion, where the images of the beautiful forest and the forty - eight tributes were constant. if he squints, he can see blood coating the wings of the stuffed muttation that once had been the very thing to kill one of the kids from twelve (he had gasped and cried himself to sleep that night, getting rid of his own parakeet, as if the thing was anything like the mutts that killed maysilee donner).

filled with a wave of nausea, he tosses his pink drink on the carpet floor and kicks his feet against it, moving on to the next room. no, he did not care for the warning of no consumption around the exhibition rooms — he's been here a thousand times and has always made a scene of eating whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted, and it would be no different now; like then, he is not stopped either. in fact, he gives a bright sneering smile to the peacekeeper at the door as he walks in another room, taking out a flask from inside his jacket and pouring in the glass he had just emptied a few moments ago. before he can take a sip, however, someone comes in his line of vision, and the blond halts his step.

"if you could have anything from this room. anything at all," he makes a motion with his glass, towards all of the artifacts from all times of panem, some perhaps even older than the treaty of treason itself. "what would it be?" constantinus gives a tilt of his head to his interlocutor. "and what would you do with it?"

[dellcartwrights]

Setting: district 13 kitchen Delly and open

Delly had never felt so lost.

It had only been a few days since she had left the Capitol and even fewer days since she had learned that Twelve and her parents were gone and Peeta was missing and yet it felt like it had been a year. Every time Dirk looked at her he expected her to know what to do or what to say to make everything better, but Delly couldn't make this better. She had never had to be a parent to her brother and she hadn't realized how hard it would be. One moment Dirk was fine, following Gale around in a way that made her almost smile, and the next he was sobbing in her arms. Delly refused to cry in front of Dirk, she wasn't going to burden him with her own grief.

She had been quick to volunteer herself to help out everywhere, it seemed that that was what they expected of them in Thirteen, but secretly she was glad to have something to keep her mind off of everything that had happened. It was especially hard for her when her thoughts went to Peeta. Peeta...how did this happen? How had they left him behind? Delly felt so angry and sad and she didn't know what to do or who to hit or scream at.

They left Peeta behind. She had left Peeta behind. And her parents. She could never forgive herself.

A few tears fell from her cheeks as she stood in the kitchen biting down on her lip, trying to control herself. She couldn't cry in the District Thirteen kitchen. At least she was alone.

But then there was a rustle behind her and she whirled around.

"I'm sorry I thought I was alone," she quickly wiped at her cheeks. "Give me a minute and I'll be ready to go."

[ofportia]

Where: Public Viewing Area

Who: Portia and open

It was rather disappointing that her tribute had died so early this year. Last year she hadn't dreamt of her tribute getting this far. But Peeta had won. And well, she supposed it had spoiled her. In her first year she'd gotten a victor. And it was going to be hard to beat that. She'd not gone into the games expecting to end up friends with the tributes that she styled. But Peeta had wormed his way into her heart, and she actually quite genuinely liked him. Which, was why she felt a little sad too that Chandler had died. District 12 felt more like a family. It also meant that she had some more free time now, since she was going to have to create any further designs.

That was why she found herself in the public viewing area, a fancy purple cocktail in her hand. Was she enjoying the games? Maybe. She wasn't sure. A quell was always exciting, even though this was technically the first one she remembered. She was only 3 when the first Quell had happened. To be honest, it felt a little boring right now. Not a lot was going on.

She turned towards the person who was nearest to her, a somewhat frown on her face. "Is it just me or has the pace slowed down today?"

[sterlingwhitvale]

where: hotel bar who: anyone in the capitol

Amber whiskey swirled absentmindedly in a glass as Sterling's mind seemed to be anywhere but focused on what was in front of him. He pondered why he hadn't heard from his contacts in the underground. Eyes lingered on the the piano abandoned by the lounge singer and her accompaniment some 30 minutes ago, remembering years past when his own fingers would stroll across the keys. They moved over the screen, showing mostly sleeping tributes. And they lingered on the rich men of the capitol, leaving him to wonder if they knew his wife.

But mostly, his mind was occupied by the stewing pit of anger in his gut, and he was trying to figure out the las time he wasn't angry. Even time spent with his children and his wife, it was there, festering under his skin. All he had to do is think about the injustices they had or would face, and there it was again, brought to the surface for him to pick and worry at, never letting the wound heal.

He knew he was placed on the precarious edge of drinking to relax and drinking to forget. He knew he should finish his drink, and retreat back to his hotel room where he'd find his wife spending quality time with their young ones. But he couldn't bring himself to do that yet, both for himself, and for them. But he knew he should be doing something other than stewing.

Despite this, it didn't stop himself from speaking up as someone slid into the barstool next to him., despite others being open. "Trust me, you don't want me as company tonight."

[thecapitolrogue]

Open starter | @eventidestarters | The Capitol

Between Capitol strategy meetings and his own personal business, late nights were not uncommon for Kyan. He routinely worked well into the early hours, watching the clock creep up on midnight, and then past one, then onto two. Years ago this lack of work-life balance would have driven him insane, but now? He wouldn’t complain, not when there was real work to be done. And that’s how he found himself there now, walking the dimly lit halls of the tribute center as he found his way to the door and out onto the street. 

The cool air embraced him as he stepped out into the night. Neon lights illuminated the sky, concealing the stars. It was quiet, almost peaceful, and Kyan allowed himself to relax for just a moment. He deserved it, after all; he had managed to smuggle that file out undetected, and even the smallest of victories deserved to be celebrated. 

But the calm didn’t last long. Kyan rounded a corner, turning onto the next street, only to find himself face-to-face with this unfortunate soul. What business did they have wandering the city at this time of night? Didn’t they know it was dangerous? Kyan froze, doing his best to maintain his unbothered demeanor despite his surprise. 

“What are you doing?” His tired voice had an edge. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late for you to be hanging around here?”

[unspcken]

open starter

A lot was going on, but overall Mags couldn’t be anything but glad on how it had played out. She had waited for this a long time - too long if you asked her. Especially Annie. Annie had been there for too long. And no matter how much she insisted - urged - Coin would not budge. But all of that didn’t matter anymore. She was back.

Mags had rushed her way over to the hospital wing the moment they arrived. But was immediately stopped by the 13-natives in their white coats. It didn't matter what Beetee's little magic machine voiced in her stead, they wouldn't let her pass. They claimed they knew what was best for Annie. Which was rest and just the presence of family. Mags knew what Annie needed and it was not the bureaucracy of District 13’s protocols. But her bones were old and her spirit already broken by the implication of not being family. It was perhaps the greatest insult.

Ego, pride - all of it was harmed by the foolery of some woman who made her turn heel on her Annie. And she had sat in her quarters for what seemed like days. Angry at her uselessness. Angry that they turned her away again when she went to the kitchens and demanded to make soup for those she loved. The elder had turned Beetee's machine off and put it in a drawer. What use was a voice when no one listened to it when it truly mattered.

The reality of it all dawning on her. Realizing she needed them more than they probably needed her. She was just an old woman, after all.

The idea had spooked the soft cheerfulness and the urge to interact with others away. She had not followed the schedule on her arm and didn't really care about the consequences; she could always pretend she didn't understand what was written down. Old age gave you that excuse - even when most were aware that Mags was bright enough to still tag along with the youngsters.

Unfortunately they wouldn't let you do much outside of what was expected of you and scheduled. So she found herself seated in an empty cafeteria, listening to the distant thuds of boots.

[angelbenningflint]

who: open starter ( @eventidestarters ) where: district 13

The first weeks after the arrival of the folks from 8 and 12 had been hard. Most of them had lost everything. And Ángel who took pride in being able to cheer people up, was unable to do so. Not only because the loss they had suffered was so immense, but because he could barely get himself to leave his rooms. Their loss had reminded him of his own. His matching wound may have not been as fresh, may have protected itself with scar tissue, but it was there all the same. He found himself feeling much like the young boy he once was, trapped in a room for a much different reason. But eventually, after remembering all he had learned from the good doctor, he found himself able to face them, embarrassed at how long it took him to welcome the new members of 13 into the fold.

But as the weeks passed and that dark feeling seemed to no longer haunt the halls, Ángel began to love all the new life that had been injected right into the heart of 13. He could feel the fresh energy pumping through the veins of their concrete home. He loved talking to them, getting to know what it was like in the other districts, hear what their food tasted like, what traditions they held. He also loved showing them how they did things in 13. Their food might not be impressive, but their tech was, and as a tech supervisor, it was something else to watch them interact with it.

All that being said, for the most part, Ángel loved the new circumstances of 13. But, as someone who had lived alone for the past 7 years, suddenly having a roommate was...Something that made him want to stick a fork into an electrical socket.

"Oh for fucks sake," he cursed as he walked into the last hideout spot he had on his mental list, only to find it occupied. "Did everyone suddenly develop a rat like sense of being able to sniff out all the hidden nooks and crannies of this place?"

[calofhearting]

Where: Capitol party, day forty-nine Who: Calista and open

If Calista had learned one thing in her time in the Capitol, it was that the party always went on. She had thought that it might be canceled after the execution of the District Twelve stylist, but she should have known better. The party would go on as if nothing had happened. It was jarring, the way that nobody was talking about it. And if they were talking, it was about what a traitor Cinna had been, and how Portia Lux had come back to the right side. They spoke of it as if it was a television show.

It made Calista sick. And yet...she smiled and said nothing.

Sometimes Calista looked in the mirror and didn't recognize herself anymore. Calista had always prided herself on knowing who she was when she grew up in District Two. But a few months in the Capitol and she was suddenly not sure who she was anymore. It was a realization that kept her up at night.

A glass of champagne in hand, it scared her how normal it felt to be dressed in a pretty dress, standing in the Capitol, while terrible things happened around her. But what choice did she have? She had been left behind.

Sensing someone, Calista plastered her best Capitol smile onto her lips. "Lovely night, isn't it?" A sudden rush of disgust and self-loathing hit her, and she downed her glass.

[ofnecessities]

open starter

Days had been long and work had been busy. There where days where he forgot wether or not he had even slept or ate. There was much to be done and frankly they were understaffed. The idea of getting refugees to work in the department, fill in the gaps, made him more nervous than having to carry the load himself. Explaining to them how things worked in District 13 has already led to the most ridiciulous conversations he'd ever had in his life. Apart from that time he heard his mother had died, of course. Or when his younger brother died only days after. The ridicule of those conversations could never be beaten.

"That's not a serious question, right? That can't be a serious question." He tried to keep any exaggeration out of his voice. Unfortunately there was not much he could muster due to exhaustion, lost patience or any other explanation that would be acceptable.

[lepidusoccisor]

Where: A party in the Capitol Who: Cashmere & open When: The day after Cinna's execution

It was late, but in true capitol fashion the party was only just ramping up. It amazed her how the people of the capitol were able to throw a party and carry on as if someone hadn't just been executed. She couldn't say she felt any certain way about the stylists from Twelve. She'd had seldom interaction with either of them, but seriously? A man had just died and yet here she was, surrounded by capitolites that lived as if nothing wrong were happening in the world.

All of her doubts and worries are shoved far to the back of her mind, hidden behind thoughts that almost mirrored those of the the capitol citizens. Maximillian's suit was sure loud. The Missus' necklace was dazzaling. I really need another glass of champagne. Is Emerald really wearing that? It's so outdated. She'd played the part too long, too well. She often lay in bed wondering if she was loosing herself, but she'd wake up the next morning and forget all those worries.

"Good lord, did you see what Ursala is wearing," she asked of the person next to her, paying no mind to who that person might just be.

[fatefought]

where: district thirteen's dining hall

who: ezra klair & anyone in thirteen

in four days, the world as he knew it had burned. this was not a surprise in essence, as the rebel had been informed of the plan. ezra knew his role. he understood the risks, but perhaps he hadn't accounted enough for them to happen. cadence and thea were both meant to get on the hovercraft together. now thea was somewhere in the unknown and cadie was currently in a cell. the latter he's been working diligently on correcting.

schedule remains printed on his arm, a means of distraction. until about fifteen minutes ago, the former tribute had been working the kitchen. now, he sits at one of the many dining tables in the hall. it's loud as people chatter. the place is crowded, especially as more people escape from the districts. two hasn't turned to uprising and he hopes that changes soon. all these goals only work if panem united against the common enemy. thoughts of the war effort make his steamed vegetables sound incredibly unappealing. so ezra let's his eyes wander, soon seeing someone walking. arm extends to the row in front of him. " my table is open if you need a place to sit and eat," he offers.

[ceceliaknowsbest]

Setting: Capitol cellblock, day 25 Open to any tortured souls in the block

I don't support my husband. I don't support my husband.

The words kept bouncing around in her head over and over again until she wanted to scream or throw herself against the doors just so she could stop hearing herself say it. They had given her no choice, she had been backed into a corner and if she hadn't said those words out loud would they have hurt Jax? Caesar, fuck him, had given her no choice.

But that didn't stop the self-loathing or the guilt. Had Sterling watched the interview? If he had, did he hate her? Could he hate her? He had to know that it wasn't her choice to do that interview. She had no way of knowing if her message got through and if he knew what she had been trying to tell him. They were a million miles away, but she still loved him and she was thinking of him. Even if her words had changed his feelings for her.

The Peacekeepers hadn't given her a choice when they dragged her to the studio to be beautified. Poor Domi, it had taken her far longer than normal to get her into 'victor status' again. She had to cover all the bruises and make her whole again.

It had almost been nice to see the other woman, Cecelia had almost been able to trick herself into thinking that it was a normal day. Domi had been quieter than she remembered her, she had probably been told not to talk to her, but Cecelia had tried to get her to talk, but she had eventually given up. Domi turned Cecelia into who she was again. She had always liked Domi and had done plenty of work for her over the years. It wasn't a surprise to see that she was complicit. Of course, Domi was thriving while Panem burned.

Cecelia needed a distraction, but distractions were hard to come by in the cell block.

"Tell me what your favorite memory is," Cecelia said, her voice carrying through the block. "Or just...tell me anything you'd like."