90th Election - High Council Gala

[[earthling]]

Annual Gala for the Bureau of Labor, Goods, and Transportation

It's important to mingle with the competition, even if their choices in attire are frankly quite gauche. At least the hors d'oeuvres aren't overcooked this time, but don't the cocktails seem just a tad watered down? What, was there no budget? Hmph. In any event, it's a good opportunity to rub elbows with your rivals. Are you open to alliances? Or do you find it impossible to mask your distaste for certain fellows, even in a proper social setting? Better not cause a scene, or your face is sure to be splashed across the tomorrow's tabloids.


- Post at least once in the Gala thread (this thread)
- you may earn 1 bonus point for any additional posts made in the Gala (up to 3 points total)
- non-candidate Capitolites may also post in the gala if they wish
- you do not lose points for getting kicked out
- the gala ends on Sunday April 24th

[[earthling]]

[googlefont="Roboto Slab: 400;"]

if we don’t fuck this whole thing up

Glamour Kinkade arrived at the gala fashionably late, just like everyone else. After a slow walk past the paparazzi he made a beeline for the bar, ordered a Gibson (it wasn't like Leon would be there to chide him about the pearl onion breath) and retreated. Tucked into the folds of billowing satin curtains in a corner of the event space, Glamour brooded.

How had his life come to this? When had he become such a non-factor as to not even make a splash in the gossip rags about his fall from power?

Maybe he'd gotten too settled. But the moment he thought it he took another long, angry gulp of his martini. He was married, for god's sake, not dead. Up until the 91st Gamemaker announcement he'd been out most evenings, if not at official events, then at the trendies wine bar. What more did the masses want?

His teeth touched the edge of the cool glass.

He wanted to bite into it and choke on the shards.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched a shadowy figure approach. For their benefit he made quite a show of finishing off his drink. "I'll take another," he said, mustering as much superiority as he could from his bruised ego. "And do be quick about it."

guaranteed, i can blow your mind-dua lipa-

[Deleted]

     



sampson                                             crowe.

HEEEEEEEEEEEEELL yeah, glamour in the house - and literally, Glamour is already here, what a social slut! - but a true party doesn't start 'til Sampson is in the house. Politics is too much, simply put, Sampson's just not interested in it. Ain't no way someone like them could settle for being a man in a pinsuit. If you're ironing clothes, might as well make it a gown, y'know?

Sampson's here on his own agenda, to be fair. The Sammy's - call it a special occasion, but Sammy's visiting twice this year. His mother enters first, then themself, in battle armor stronger than any publicity could even comprehend, he spent every waking hour pouring detail into sequence into jewel. All by hand; master's hands, baby, nothing touches Sammy's ass until it touches their hands first. 

Per Sampson's request, end of question, period. I'm legally not allowed to discuss further.

The clothes peel off of him - a gown becomes a luxurious train, wet almost how it flows and drapes like a river of gold onto the red carpet. His boots mark the entrance of a warrior, but his smile says otherwise. "Cheese, bitches!" They command, and like gospel, the two drag queens behind him dismantle the cheese-gold armor to strip him down to beautiful black skin-tight mesh, every pore represented with a diamond (or zirconium, look, you can only get so many diamonds at a time). 

And there he stands, Sampson Crowe, begat from Prophet Sardonyx, begat from Queen of Saturn City, Selene Crowe-Faye. 

He opens his mouth, a decree, "let's get fucking lit! Watch my lips: The Sammy's has entered the building." And behind him, two drag queens with matching pink tablets walk past him further down the red carpet, "Salem & Frida, met the girls?" Sampson says, waving from paparazzi to fellow royalty. 


( add Fenta Nyl [alex 🐺 ] ; Selene [nolan goode 10m / kaitlin. ] ; Nico Thorne [nolan goode 10m / kaitlin. ] ; Ridley Le Roux [Stare ] ; Justice Fray [arx ] ; Copernicus Fenwick [✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ] ; Oliva Montferrat [marguerite harvard d2a (zori) ] ; Murdoch Fenn [rook ] ; Salem Scott [dars ] ; Frida Crowe-Ho [@fabulousraven ] and oh- me! Sampson Crowe, to the VIP list. Thank you. )

[Deleted]

mr. zeus hollistero

"...and I said, 'Poker? I hardly know her!'" Ah yes, a classic. How can you say no after such a brilliant one-liner. Mr. Zeus Hollistero may not look it, but he's been hard at work this afternoon eating teensy weensy puff pastries in an array of pastel colors. Just look at them: lavender, peep yellow, baby blue and some kind of mint green. It's easier to keep quiet when there's enough food around, and there's a reason they say men feel love in their stomachs. 

It probably helps that he came medicated, happy pills the size of pennies and it's much easier to focus on the happy memories after. These dumb fucking squares remind him of baking with his grandma on saturday mornings, and that's much more pleasant than focusing on what this halfwit mid-rung punk ass has to say about how your multi-billion dollar company should be ran.

Which one? Exactly motherfucker! 

God, that felt good. His agent gets alerted anytime he swears too loudly, it's apart of his social rehabilitation. If he wants to run for council, he has to hold himself to working through his anger 'issues'. No clue who's having an issue with it - and if you find 'em, tell them Zeus's left and right hook are waiting, asshole. But so he walks away from the little group of cronies and finds himself nine-pastries deep into a sugar high. 

But the red carpet - let's go! Ah shit, I forgot to describe his outfit!