The Reaping

[LucidSol]

This is a placeholder for the intro post, so calm ye breasts. 


Today was the day. The day twenty-four lives ended. And out of those, only one is reborn in riches, however, they will never be quite living again. The rest will lie beneath the earth, their bodies merging with the very dirt they worked upon all their lives. It was considered an honor dying in the Gamemaker’s world. A place that most people would deem fiction if they heard or even read about it. Then they would later see it’s bloodshed, and know that they were wrong, oh-so wrong. The older generations already know this gnawing dread, this sense of looming terror, yet they are unable to stop it. 


However, that is the future, something we’ve yet to behold. Let’s head back to the present, shall we? 


Each of you poor sods, whether brutal killers or pitiful farmers, are all gathered and forced from your homes into the District Squares. Close together, enough to brush the shoulders and hands of those who stand next to you. You have been ushered like cattle. Have been pierced and prodded for your identification. But soon, it won’t matter, for two of you sniveling mutts from each district, those who get to savor the chance at being the alpha dog, will be chose. Hand-selected. 


But who would risk their life for riches, willingly, when they have a life they are perfectly content with? Why would they collide against twenty-three others, just like themselves? Hungering for the wealth, the fame, the glory. 


Very few, rest assured. Humans are funny creatures at times like that. 


Which brought us to out current predicament. The Reaping. A drawing of two names. Every time someone needs extra food, medicine, or needs something in general, their name goes in one time. Families with lots of mouths to feed have to deal with the potential pain of losing a loved one often. Same thing with crimes, each one puts your name in the bowl. 


The odds are never in your favor. 


Nonetheless, there you are, amidst your peers. Sweating anxiously, hoping your name isn’t called. Hoping some unlucky pair get chosen. To die of course. Like a stuck pig, unable to run, unable to deny your fate, and in a strike, or maybe three or four or five, you are dead. 


Then the chopper comes and drops it’s large claws, like some sort of morbid claw game. And your corpse is the prize. 


On districtwide television installed in all the places of commerce and within the hovels you call home, your body is hauled away. Never to be seen again. But no one will forget that sight. That’s a guarantee. 


What’s really horrifying is that there are no past victors to help you. They are all dead. Save for that creepy maniacal kid from District Thirteen. The Capital claims it was a mass suicide hosted by a band of rebels. The private whispers and rumors around the Districts says something else. Those who mention them are hauled away by peacekeepers, never to be seen again.


You close your eyes briefly, to calm yourself, and then look up to the stage to watch the HD televisions flash the Capital’s emblem, the past Tributes of your district taking turns getting killed on the screen. However, your attention is called to the podium, a figure rests beside it, taking in the glum atmosphere and then steps forward, tapping the mike. Loud fuzzy paps follow this motion, echoing over the entire area. Immediately, all heads swivel to attention, everyone’s heartbeat overlapped with your own, the only sound in your ears that is somewhat of a good thing. 


It was time. 

 

[a simpler name]

Harold Olstein
​

District 2
​

 
​

Horrid snivelling fools! The "Careers" are noting more than glorified animals that hunt an kill. And I, Harold Olstein, son of Victor Olstein, Head Peacekeeper of District 2,am standing among them.
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​

Oh how I hate them all,the poor desperate slobs and psychotic maniacs that volunteer for slaughter and to be slaughtered. They don't have the honour of an Olstein. Oh the Olsteins,loyal men to the Capitol,feared and respected by many. If only these brutes see! Although I'm shorter than most people standing around me, but I tower above them in morals. My mind has been thought military strategy by my father and the brightest minds of the time. I'm a very capable speaker,sway the masses you know? Although I am weak,what is the use of knives and bullets when you can use other people to fight for you. Then why am I forced to stand with these unworthy men. Because politics.
​

 
​

From what I know from my father,The Reaping is there to show who's king. Make the other districts bow down to them. This is a wonderful idea,I admit. But why am I,the son of the Head Peacekeeper forced to be here. The guards are rude to me despite the fact that they should know who I am,it smells of sweat and it is absolutely cramped. It's not like I'm going to be the representative for my district. That's unlikely considering the millions of other children here. Even if I am, another miserable person would probably volunteer to take my place to march to their inevitable deaths. This is just boring,waiting for the names to be called.
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​

I addressed the girl to my right(mainly out of boredom),"Fools. The desperate Careers have no honour and future if they volunteer. They are like animals."
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​

@NocturneWarrioress
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​

 
​

 

[NocturneWarrioress]

Antonia Abraxxas 
​

District 2
​

I tilted my head to meet the voice that decided to speak to me during this cramped and obviously unnerving event. "I'd have to agree with you. However, today I think your opinion would be unjust."
​

 
​

My eyes roamed the crowd finding my closest friend in one of the front rows next to her sister. Unfortunately, due to the violent nature of my hobbies, my name had been entered many times. It unnerved me that with the amount my name had been entered another would be entered only once and have a stronger chance of being picked. My muscles were absolutely tense, something I had grown accustomed to; even welcomed. It was obvious the boy next to me was prideful yet confused as to why his name had been entered.
​

 
​

He looked familiar...maybe someone I had fought once? No...wait! My gaze travelled up his body taking in his appearance. He's an Olstein! Harold? Yeah, that's him! Why didn't I notice before? His confidence teetered on the edge of cockiness, his arrogant smirk, and proud stance. Victor and I had had many run-ins before. I was not his favorite delinquent by any means. However, no charges stuck due to my parents advent suggestions of exposing some family secret. Aurelia admired my stone work and came to visit sometimes apologizing for her husband's iron will. With the sudden realization I took a deep breath and faced the front of the crowd. 
​

 
​

I clasped my hands in front of me gritting my sharpened teeth as we anxiously waited to see which children would be snatched all in the name of glory. We didn't have to wait long, however. Calder stepped out onto the stage, more like pranced, and tapped the microphone three times. "Good Morning, District 2!" I rolled my eyes snorting at his high pitched voice. Here we go. 
​

 

[Kloudy]

Kypher Thorne
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District 13
​

An oddity, indeed. Such complexities, such patterns, a myriad of colours all swirling and twisting to paint the picture of life. Not that any of that made any sense. Kypher mused over the puddle of blood intently. One of his friends had hit his face on a wall and gotten a nose bleed. Kypher crouched there, fascinated by it. He held it in such high regard, the fabric of life, the signal of death, the sign of weakness, paint of battle. He sighed contentedly. Then his head snapped around as he heard someone's voice, "Kypher? We're gonna go out hunting. Wanna come?" It was one of his other 'friends'. He didn't consider any of them as a friend, but they just flocked to him. It was ultimately very annoying. But still, they had their uses, "No thanks. But hey, could you bring me back a rabbit? I'll be forever in your debt." He flashed a smile as he stood up, stretching. The Reaping was going to happen soon. Two lucky or unlucky souls would be picked to partake in the battle of blood and blades, for glory, death and remembrance. In all honesty, Kypher had forgotten exactly what it was he was supposed to remember when watching the Hunger Games. He was just too thrilled about all the killing to care. He was fairly sure it had something to do with this massive war, but he decided not to dwell on it. If it was truly important, the information would come to him. Even so, he still had to go to the assembly attend it. There was a heavy punishment for skipping out on it and although it was unlikely anyone would bother him, he didn't want to take those chances. He waved his 'friend' off and walked down the gravel path towards the main staging area. Already a few people had showed up and soon a crowd began to form. Kids lined up in front of the large platform and there were still plenty more spaces to fill. Kypher lined up in the queue and signed in, wincing slightly as he entered his blood stamp in. He then made his way over to the line and stood in his position. Number 13, how unlucky. He smirked. What would be really unlucky was if he was picked as a tribute. But he doubted it, he had already been picked before and he was never caught when causing trouble, so it was unlikely. Still, at least he was representing his district to the fullest.


He looked around, wondering where Drimera was. She was supposed to meet him here but he couldn't find her. She must be off somewhere, doing some unearthly things or an evil practice, whatever it was she did when she was alone. Kypher often spent time with her, generally to hunt, play games or just talk. Or even to mess some people up on a few occasions. If there was something Kypher enjoyed, it was crushing the strong. He and Drimera made a very good team when it came to that. He sometimes joked that if they were ever put into the Hunger Games together, they would absolutely destroy the others. He smiled ruefully, and how delightfully terrible that would be for everyone, including themselves.

 

[FTR]

​

Drimera Faust
​

District 13
​

Drimera darted across the foliage in a panicky dash back to town. She'd spent much of the past night precariously perched on a makeshift hanging tree-stand. She'd overheard the sighting, or rather reports of an attack and fatality, of a mountain lion in the area. Drimera wasn't one to miss the chance to hunt a predator, rare as they may be. Having been experimenting with a cross between snare trap and tiger pit she'd lost track of time, laying in anxious ambush. Before she knew it the sun was up, thrushes and warblers where out singing in greetings to the sun and she was gonna be late. Sloppily burying the suspicious looking remains she'd used as a lure in the shallow pit trap she'd taken off leaving the set up to age, alone in the wilderness. A little over 2 out of town she'd already covered more than half before she started to panic. 


"Shit, shit, shit! Damn, I hope he's not waiting on me. I don't think I can survive another one of his 'silent treatments'.", she talked to herself as she hurriedly barreled through the brush, her tired breaths misting out of her. 


Her sun-kissed cheeks had become rosy from the exertion and coolness of a morning in District 13 as she made her way to Kypher. She stumbled into a mild jog as she reached a patch of woods she recognized as being her test beds, riddled with deadly trap and contraptions of all breed. 


"I'm not trying to taste the irony of death by my own hand....at least not yet.", she joked to herself, through ragged breath. She looked around as she caught her breath, admiring her handiwork and dodging and leaping over invisible obstacles. What to the untrained eye looked like your average wide flat of forest floor just shy of 8 acres, was actually a both figurative and literal minefield of traps falling animal and human victims alike. It was a frequent hangout spot for her and Kypher that they'd aptly named 'The 1%' for it's size relative to a square mile.


Drimera smiled to herself, thinking fondly of the time spent here but having been distracted for just a moment she was only able to just narrowly escape the biting touch of a razor line as it superficially cut into her right cheek. 


"Aw, fuck! Goddammit!", she cursed herself, clutching her face as the slash drew blood. "My bread n' butter!"


Drimera doubled over from the stinging pain for moment before changing direction and ducking into a rigged hunting blind, all but indistinguishable from a large bush. The 1% was cover in them, one needed only look up to see the network of tree-stands like gargoyles over looking a courtyard.


After a few moments of silence Drimera reemerges from the hide face bandaged and stride doubled. The sun was further out now and it's rays coming in crepuscularly through the trees. 


"Just a few hundred more meters.", she commented as she kicked back into gear having exited the limits of The 1%.


Following moments of what to her is frantic exertion she comes bounding from out of the brush and into the limits of town, feigning smiles and greetings to departing hunting parties her sexualized form all but begging them dog her and shout out perversions in jest.


"Drimera! Where ya going so soon? I was hoping you'd show me your trap!", said the son of the new lead huntsman.


Drimera's only response was a playful flip of the bird from over her shoulder as she sprinted into the ruins. 


Having memorized the route through and past the rubble laying over the expansive underground that is District 13, she quickly reached a hatch opening with a lock requiring a security code. 


"Damn, what was the code for this one again?", she asked herself, racking her mind for the sequence to enter. 


Drimera regularly snuck out and when she couldn't get permission to leave under the guise of "above ground weapons research" and as such had memorized many of codes for the maintenance hatches. 


"Um....maybe..", she said in a breathy wisp as she input a series of numbers and symbols. 


The door hissed and groaned as it began to open, Drimera slithered in for it fully opened and pulled an override lever forcing the hatch to immediately begin to close again. Being in a hurry still, she jumped onto and slid down the latter before turning and sprinting to the production floor. 


The artificial light and heating was a stark contrast to the wilderness now above her and the smell of industry and the sounds of heavy machinery assaulted her senses. "All non-careers report to a duty kiosk to receive you daily commands.", a monotone voice declared over the speaker system. Just another wonderful day in District 13.


"Hoi!", she greeted a group of rising District 13 citizens as she bolted past them. "Polloi!", she shouted to another. 


Knowing the undergrounds just as well as the woodlands, even down to the schedule of the inhabitants, she expertly made her way through to Kypher through kiosks and over ordinance stockpiles before setting her sights on him, standing in a queue. 


"Ky-Kypher! I'm...I'm here!", she called out to him between gasps. Her expression grew to into a warm smile that grew warmer the closer she got to him. 


"Hey......sorry I'm late.......I got....caught up..in", she tried to explain to him while almost completely out of breath. "Anyway, I'm here...what's up?" 


Drimera clasped her hands together in front of her as she stood expectantly before him, still in the process of catching her breath. 


(Sorry for the timing! I ended up having to stay on campus a lot longer than I had thought..I had to do some of it on my phone so excuse the lapses in decency  )

 

[Kloudy]

Kypher turned to her with a raised eyebrow, akin to that of a stern teacher reprimanding a student for turning up late to a class, "And what time d'you call this? It had better have been a trap you were caught in, I had to let them prick my finger all by myself! That shit hurts you know. Pricks..." He sighed and shook his head ruefully, his expression growing into a softer smile, "Ah whatever. Heya Drim.  At least I got through by myself this time. So anyways, what's up with you? Blow your leg off with a land mine yet?" He asked playfully as he nudged her with an elbow. She had probably been messing about by The 1% or the hunting grounds, either decimating the wild life or testing her contraptions of pain and death, although it most likely was both at the same time. Soon all of the children had lined up. Someone person Kypher had never seen before stepped up and began the blather of odds and honour and victory or some crap like that. In truth there was just death and entertainment. Usually one as a result of the other. Still, Kypher grew uneasy. It wasn't hard for one of them to get picked, he got away with his crimes, but Drim? He could only cover for her so much before they began to discredit him as being soft on her. And it wasn't that he overly wanted to uphold his 'trustworthy reputation' or whatever it was he had, but it had got to a point where they just no longer believed him. If anything, they blamed Drim more. She had gotten her name put in the list a few times now, and it definitely made one nervous. But then again, it was still a 37 out of a couple of thousands chance in getting picked. 


@Olivia Acerbi

 

[A Mysterious Figure]

Calypso Holt
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"Don't worry, it'll be fine. Afterwards, we can go out and fish, okay? I heard from one of the fisherman at the docks that there are at least three schools of bass in the shallow waters. We could probably grab out that net you made, see if it'll work..." Her father trailed off, noticing Calypso's crestfallen expression. "Hey, it'll all be okay. Your name isn't in there all that much, there's hardly any chance of you getting chosen."
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"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about Pelea," She admitted, running her fingers through her almost white hair, smoothing it out over and over again, trying to soothe herself. "Her name is in there 14 times this year. It's nearly guaranteed that she'll be chosen."
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Her father shook his head, smiling softly. "How many kids are in this District, Caly? 5? Because if there were, then I would be worried. But there are hundreds, thousands even, of kids, all with their names in that bowl. 14 names against hundreds? That's still a fair shot."
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She sighed. "Yes, but even if Pelea isn't chosen, someone else will. Someone else will get sent to die."
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"You know that District 4 is practically a Career District, surely with a bit of luck on our side two kids with a decent shot at winning will get sent in, people who actually want to be in the Games. I hate saying that, but sending two warriors willingly to their deaths is far better than sending poor terrified children into a fight they can't win."
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Calypso nodded, burying her face into her fathers shoulder as she hugged him tightly. "Yes, it's awful, but its the only halfway right outcome we could get. But how do we know it will happen? I'm sure some poor 12 year old will get sent in."
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Her father sighed. "Please, lets just go to the Reaping, and deal with it. We cannot change what happens, we can only do our best to survive and live as happily as possible under the circumstances."
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Her mother walked in, dressed in a simple yet formal dress, with her hair up in a braided bun. She smiled at her daughter before heading over to her husband, who kissed her on the cheek. "Are we all ready to go?" She asked.
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Calypso smoothed down her own outfit for the Reaping, a simple knee length white dress with teal embroidered fish dancing along the hem. "Yes, let's go."
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[FTR]

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Drimera Faust
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District 13
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Drimera became slightly apprehensive as Kypher showed dissatisfaction at her tardiness, a slight twitch in her mien as if she expected something that relaxed into her normal disposition as he nudged her. 


"Not yet, but I'm working on it.", she replied sarcastically. Just then a small child ran up behind her and slammed into the back of her knees buckling them causing her to almost fall over. "I'm glad you're finally getting over your fear of little pricks. I'm still working on mine..", she said in joke as she glared at the child. She stared deeply at him as she did normally before turning to at the sound of a somewhat familiar voice. She'd barely noticed the crowd gathering which soon surrounded the overseer's booth of this specific level. Everything and everyone halted to listen to what Drimera chose to ignore. Inside lighted booth, the someone talking was someone she recognized as President Coin, who seemed to be making a very, very, very rare appearance. She began to spout the nonsense that's become status quo in the world they live in, the whole honor/morality/unity spiel. 


"I haven't seen this psycho in a while....Don't the Majors of Staff normally address this? I wonder what made her descend from her Ivory Tower and grace us commoners.", she said jokingly to Kypher as she cocked her head in his direction. She noticed his almost concerned expression, it was very unlike Kypher to show any sort of discomfort that wasn't a result of bloodshed. She became worried. "Ky? Are you alright? You holding in a dump again?", she said trying to lighten his mood. "You gotta learn to relax. There's nothing we can do short of mass genocide that'll change anything about what's about to happen............don't even think about.", she grinned having realized what she'd just indirectly suggested to him. Drimera removed the hat she'd been using to keep her hair out of her face and slammed it onto Kypher's head, covering his eyes. She took hold of his arm and leaned onto him affectionately, placing her chin on his shoulder. "Just let it come. Whatever happens, happens. Lets just make the best of the present." 


@Destructus Kloud

 

[tane5naoki]

Frankie Welch
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District 7
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Frankie filed into line with the others from her district, trying to keep on eye on her little brother, who had turned 12 just a few days previous, and this would be his first Reaping. She knew the likelihood of either of them being called was low. Her name was only in three times, and her brother was in once, but she was terrified. She knew what the games were like, and hated them. She only watched them because she had to, and in the last three years she knew the tributes from their district. None of them had been friends, but to go from seeing someone everyday at school to them being dead and gone left a hollow place in her heart filled with ice and dread.


"Just three more years." She whispered to herself, but she knew that wasn't the case. She would have to live in this constant state of dread until the day her youngest sister turned 19 and none of them were eligible for the Games.


She wanted to cry, to run from the crowd and go hide herself away until the games were over, just until the knot in her stomach would go away and she could breath again, but that wasn't the way life in the districts worked. She would live with the anxiety and fear until her siblings were grown, and until any of her children or grandchildren were grown. How would she survive?

 

[JustWhipIt]

Marlon Wendler
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District Four
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There were no such things as quiet mornings. Even on the ordinary days, men and women, boys and girls, would all be scrambling out of their homes as a way to start off their relatively long hours. Whether it be jumping on a boat, preparing the nets, or even heading to one of the now plentiful training centers, everyone had somewhere to be. Perhaps everyone in District Four just so happened to be morning people by nature. It certainly wouldn't come as a big surprise, given that working hours began fairly early—not that it was a necessarily bad thing. It was just their way of life, that was all. And so, Marlon found himself up and running well before the Reaping was to take place, accustomed to his typical schedule. What used to be an early shift manning the boats or spearing some fish was now free time, which he would spend doing god knows what. That wasn't to mention his afternoon visit to his regular training institution for the Games, where a good number of potential Careers were bound to show up.
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Career. He was never too fond of the term. Too much of a negative connotation, he supposed. Prepared, that was more like it. Who wouldn't want to be prepared for having the task of killing twenty-three other people, all whilst they were trying to do the same? It was only the logical thing to do, after all. At least, that's what he managed to convince himself to believe, among other things. He wouldn't dare to admit that he wanted fame and prestige from the Games. It made him appear too shallow. But, he'd also do it to prove that he had matured as an individual, or as a way to bring honor to his District, which admittedly has not produced any victors as of late.
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Nevertheless, Marlon had anticipated the day for a long time coming now. It would be his last Reaping, and his last chance for glory. While nothing was set in stone just yet, it seemed all the more likely that it would be his year with each passing day. He was built to win. There's no way he'd lose. He's the best the District's seen in years. Those were just a few of the things he'd overheard about himself from others. But, it didn't put too much pressure on him. In actuality, it was quite the opposite. Those types of comments only motivated him even further, made him train harder. Before he knew it, he became the favorite to volunteer for this year.
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By the time the rest of his family had woken up, Marlon was well prepared to leave. He wore a simple dress shirt for the Reaping, not caring much about clothing in the absolute slightest. He also took a few extra minutes to neaten up his hair, something he wouldn't have done on any other day either. His family members soon began to pour into the living room one by one, until they were all present. Getting up from his seat at the sofa, Marlon made his way to the exit, not the most patient person in the world. "I'll find you guys later, alright?" He proposed, receiving a few nods and goodbyes in response. He found the minimal response he got slightly disheartening. It was no surprise that his family had became somewhat distant over the past few months, and he wasn't entirely sure why himself. Of course he suspected that it had something to do with the eventual Reaping, though he wasn't all too sure. Even still, he didn't find it within him to confront any of his family about it.
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Taking his first steps outside the house, Marlon made his way towards the District Square, where some people would bound to be waiting at already. It was more likely than not that he'd find some of his friends along the way, and kill some time speaking with them—whatever took his mind off the Reaping for now. He'd been looking forward to this very day for years, but he wasn't all too sure how the day would play out anymore. 
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[Kloudy]

Kypher snapped out of his worried expression with a grin as he shook his head, "Nah, I'm just planning on who to kill next, you know?" His view was obscured by the hat Drim had placed on his head, "Careful now, I might just decide to make it you again." He joked, pushing the hat up so he could see. President Coin? Now that was rare all in itself. He had almost begun to believe Coin was dead and the tele-ads were just digitally created trash talking to them. He dreaded the day that happened, he wanted to be the one to kill the President. He had imagined it many times; he had decided he would use a knife, a short, small blade that he would plunge into the flesh. It would be extremely inefficient and slow, and probably very painful. Just the thought brought a faint smile to his face. Then the voice rang out, "Welcome all, to this years event! I am proud to present the District 13... Reaping!!!" The sound boomed from the speakers with an echo, but the crowd did not cheer. Several minutes passed, the loud noise of President Coin deafening those with sensitive ears. And then it was time, the two choices for this year's Hunger Games. There was suspense; a tense feeling of suspended animation as everyone held their breaths in anticipation. And then the first name was called out...


@Olivia Acerbi(The site didn't bloody give me the notification. >:3)

 

[a simpler name]

Harold Olstein
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I agree with you but I think that it's unjust? That sounds stupid. If you want to hold a stance, at least hold a consistent one! At the very least, she registered my importance. She must know her place after all. I couldn't help but smile.
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Calder Higgins then struts up to the stage. Despite,the fact that I'm an Olstein, I still find Capitol clothing stupid. I stifled a giggle.
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Mind you, I kinda like Mr. Higgins. Well,not for his fashion sense but his words manage to cut deep into any issue, whether it is completely benign,like his favourite colour, or something of massive importance, like Capitol policy. From what I heard, one third of the speeches the president makes are written by him. My father,for some reason, distrusts him but I'm not quite sure why.
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Besides that, there was not anything particular to note. I could describe the girl besides me but she's practically just another ruddy teenager you can find in District 2. Looking from her stance, she seems to be the confident,independent type. Troublemakers, my dad would say.
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My dad watches over the Reaping, looking like he would blow at any sign of dissent.
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[LucidSol]

WELL SINCE YOUR SO PREPPED TO BEGIN. SEAL YOU LIVES AWAYYYY.


THE REST OF YEE HAVE GATHERED INTO YOUR RESPECTIVE PLACES. THE CROWD AROUND YOU GROWS RESTLESS AND NERVOUS AS EVERYTHING THEY KNOW STARTS TO UNRAVEL INTO THE SAME CHAOTIC PATTERN.


____________________________________________________________________________________________


District One: 


“Hello all! My name’s Jake Gritzwald! Happy Hunger Games to you, and may the odds be ever in your favor! Before we start our business here, we have a film brought to you all the way from the Capitol herself,” a tall escort runs a hand through his brilliant blue hair begins, his brown eyes glittering as he waves to the crowd, who grin aggressively in return. The tenor voice fades out, and then the lights flick out, one by one, their brightness replaced with hungry void. 


Why shouldn’t they grin in return? After all, Careers train in a special academy until they're eighteen, then they volunteer. By that point, they're pretty lethal. However, there are some young guns that always wanna prove themselves. Bah, cocky bastards. 


All the bright LED lights around your corral slowly dim, and high definition sound cuts across the people. 


A voice, a deep tenor, beings to speak.


“War broke the world. Children, orphaned. Wives, husbandless. This is what our past has been wrought with; what the uprising ravaged us with. Thirteen. Thirteen districts rebelled and fought against the very country that loved them. Hundreds of their own countrymen killed. Brother slew brother, and friend against friend. Until there was nothing."


"Then came the peace."


"It was sorely won, but won it was."


"Then, we, the people of Panem, rose form the ashes, rebirth through our hardship. The traitors were defeated, so we decreed, that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice."


"The lone victor would be bathed in riches and stand as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past, and how we will cherish the future. This is how we live to have a future.“ 


The voice fades out along with the images supplementing the film, and the escort steps forward once again.


“All right now, here comes the part to decide your destiny: The Reaping. As always, and chivalrously: Ladies first,” the blue-haired Jake approaches a large bowl on the right side of the stage. He slips his large, but oddly callused, hand in. The air notably thickens with suspense as he latches onto a paper and draws it out, reading off the swirled writing. Everyone takes in an involuntary breath.


“Breccia Schie.” 


All goes silent, and then a murmuring raises up as they pat the Tribute on the back as she takes a stand on the stage, her chest puffed out in pride. She was tall and proud, her broad frame rippling with muscles, evidence of her intense training. She was eighteen, there was no one to volunteer for her, and she had made darn sure that no one would volunteer for her. A pair of men in white armor make their way through the crowd, each armed with a fierce gun, and escort the determined woman to the stage to the right of Jake the escort.


“Alright, enough. Now for the male tribute, you hooligans,” Jake rebukes playfully, attempting to lighten the mood some more, as he follows the same procedure with the male tribute. His eyes scan the paper, and he reads the result aloud. 


“Satin Fortunato.”


The assembled teens around the anointed and doomed tribute clap him on the back, wishing him luck with very limited vigor. Bah -Careers- cocky bastards. Peacekeepers surround him and escort him to the stage, almost forcefully so. 


(District Tributes:  @Lorkhan   )


____________________________________________________________________________________________


District Two: 


Calder does not prance. No, he stalked across the stage and tapped on the microphone with supreme flourish and poise. 


“Hello, before we have anymore delays, I’m Calder Higgins and happy Hunger Games to all you lovely folk, and may the odds be ever in your favor. Now pleasantries aside, we have a film brought to you all the way from the Capitol,” the very luxurious escort cuts to the chase, his golden hair catching the light prettily. The assembly around you raises an eyebrow as his shrewdness, but a chuckle is faintly heard here and there. All the bright LED lights around your courtyard slowly dim, and high definition sound cuts across the people, your goosebumps raised eerily.


A voice, a deep tenor, beings to speak.


“War broke the world. Children, orphaned. Wives, husbandless. This is what our past has been wrought with; what the uprising ravaged us with. Thirteen. Thirteen districts rebelled and fought against the very country that loved them. Hundreds of their own countrymen killed. Brother slew brother, and friend against friend. Until there was nothing."


"Then came the peace."


"It was sorely won, but won it was."


"Then, we, the people of Panem, rose form the ashes, rebirth through our hardship. The traitors were defeated, so we decreed, that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice."


"The lone victor would be bathed in riches and stand as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past, and how we will cherish the future. This is how we live to have a future.“ 


The voice fades out along with the images supplementing the film, and the escort steps forward once again. The lord-like man straightens his tie sharply, and approaches the temporary stand bearing the mens' bowl. 


"Now we continue, unlike the chivalrous rules from Panem, men first," he sighs, slipping his hand into the bowl and drawing it out quickly, as if the paper burned him.  His eyes behold the name and then he lowers his hands and speaks into the mike. 


"Harold Holstien." 


The entire crowd turns, their eyes locked on him. Unlike District One, there was no cheering, just a crazed- but completely silent- tension. So thick you could cut it with a knife. He was just a mere boy. However, everyone hated this little snot. He was boastful. To prideful. The scum on his father's boots. Arrogance gets you killed. In this case, it will. No one would volunteer for him. A pair of peacekeepers, his father's men, escort him to the stage. His father looks at him, publicly proud, but privately scared. He was saying goodbye. He knew his boy would never make it out alive.


Calder pauses as everyone stands once again at attention, and then struts to the other side of the stage, his hand hovering for the women's bowl. He looked away, and then slipped his hand in. There. It was a small piece of paper, yet had tantalizing little grooves along the edges for his fingers. This was the one he'd choose. His thin papery lips part, and spew a name: "Io Hyacinth."


The room, silent before, and became a black hole. The noise level was in the negatives. She was young, Io was. Barely turned twelve this month. But she had been drawn. How quaint. No one likes to volunteer. But for a child? To be the Career to win? To be the one.... to die?


Peacekeepers approach her, parting the crowd. If there were anyone to volunteer, it'd be now. 


SEE?THEODDSARENEVERINYOURFAVOR


(District Tributes:  @NANANANANANANANANANA @NocturneWarrioress )


____________________________________________________________________________________________


District Four:


“Greetings, I’m the Tribute Escort, Minerva Couragon. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor. First, before anything else, we have a film brought from Panem.” The stern-toned escort quips, her eyes seeming to bore into the audience with an extreme intensity before stepping back, her head held aloft. The audience shifts uncertainly, but their vigor returns as the familiar dimming of the lights occur, and high definition sound cuts across the people, eliciting an irregular palpitation in their chests as their stare into the screens.


A voice, a deep tenor, beings to speak.


“War broke the world. Children, orphaned. Wives, husbandless. This is what our past has been wrought with; what the uprising ravaged us with. Thirteen. Thirteen districts rebelled and fought against the very country that loved them. Hundreds of their own countrymen killed. Brother slew brother, and friend against friend. Until there was nothing."


"Then came the peace."


"It was sorely won, but won it was."


"Then, we, the people of Panem, rose form the ashes, rebirth through our hardship. The traitors were defeated, so we decreed, that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice."


"The lone victor would be bathed in riches and stand as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past, and how we will cherish the future. This is how we live to have a future.“ 


The voice fades out along with the images supplementing the film, and the escort steps forward once again. This was a Career District. People constantly working in water environments. Strong and wiry people often working at the docks, upon the ropes of great ships. That didn't not mean they liked volunteering, actually, only one has volunteered yet so far. 


"Now begins the Reaping. We are doing our ladies first," Minerva gestures to the bowl and slips an angular hand in, and pulls out a slip of paper. 


"Calypso Holt. Please step forward." 


Her voice rings outwards and everyone avoids her shape eye contact, shuffling nervously to themselves. Everyone knew Calypso. Nice gal. Beautiful. Warm family. Warmer heart. And she was chosen... Peacekeepers gather on either side and usher her forward, her family tearing up in the eyes. A few of the men that fancied her longed to take her place, but of course they were men. 


"Now for our men," the escort continues, seemingly untouched as she dips her hand into the clear bowl, selecting a paper at random. Her eyes narrow on the paper a moment, and then she speaks. 


"Marlon Wendell, please step forward." 


A few people looked at the man, and then looked away. He was eighteen. He could take care of himself. To his own devices, he was left.


(District Tributes: @A Mysterious Figure @JustWhipIt )


____________________________________________________________________________________________


District Seven:


“Hello all! My name’s Nīwong Hendrason and happy, happy Hunger Games to you! And the odds ever in your favor! Before we begin with the proceedings, we have a film brought to you from the exalted Capitol!” a rather short escort exclaims, clasping his hands together, his pink fringes bobbing with fervor. Most of the gathered crown around you looks to the side, looking for someone to explain this… oddity amongst them. But his attitude lightens some of the people around you, and you see worry and they stand taller, and the deeper traces of fear fade away, though only slightly. 


A voice, a deep tenor, beings to speak, the people shift anxiously, and then look up to the screen, fear in their eyes.


“War broke the world. Children, orphaned. Wives, husbandless. This is what our past has been wrought with; what the uprising ravaged us with. Thirteen. Thirteen districts rebelled and fought against the very country that loved them. Hundreds of their own countrymen killed. Brother slew brother, and friend against friend. Until there was nothing."


"Then came the peace."


"It was sorely won, but won it was."


"Then, we, the people of Panem, rose form the ashes, rebirth through our hardship. The traitors were defeated, so we decreed, that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice."


"The lone victor would be bathed in riches and stand as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past, and how we will cherish the future. This is how we live to have a future.“ 


The voice fades out along with the images supplementing the film, and the escort steps forward once again.


"All right now we get started! Of course, we'll do our lovely men first!" Nīwong cries, gesturing to the crowd, he steps across the stage to the men's bowl and pats it. Then, he slips his hand in. No one was prepared for the oppressive silence. 


"Our man  is..... Howard Barkeman!" he declares into the microphone, his candy-sweet voice flowing out into the area, "Please take a stand on the stage, please!" Reluctantly, a man around the age of sixteen approach the stage, two peacekeepers ushering him forward, suspecting he might try to run. He stands meekly to the left of the Pep God's side, his eyes dull with fear. 


"And now for our girls!!" he states, his hand striking the papers in the bowl, thunking lightly against the bottom. He rummages for several seconds before drawing a piece of paper out. 


 "Frankie Welch! You have been chosen! Come embrace your destiny!" he cheers, raising a fist into the air. Two peacekeepers approach her, on either side, her family crying out briefly before falling into one another in tears. 


(District Tributes:   @tane5naoki   )


____________________________________________________________________________________________


District Thirteen:


As President. Coin stepped to the side, a tall willow escort takes her place. 


“Hello. My name is Vēzira Sinu. Happy Hunger Games to you, and may the odds…” the woman’s voice falters as she looks out across the gathered crowd, "be ever in your favor. Before we continue on with the Reaping, we have a film brought to you from the Capitol.” 


 The melodious voice fades off, silently hoping. The slender escort brushes back her long locks, her gold-tipped hair swishing softly. Her chestnut-colored eyes surveying the possible tributes with a sense of detachment. The crowd returns her cold silence with furtive stares, wishing this was already over. So they could tell their goodbyes. After all, the only remaining Victor was from their District. He wasn’t exact the most promising initially, but he won. Her silent plea flicks out with the lights, one by one, their brightness replaced with void of despair.


After all, who could possibly save them? No one. 


High definition sound cuts across the people, some physically flinching from the intrusion. A voice, a deep tenor, beings to speak.


“War broke the world. Children, orphaned. Wives, husbandless. This is what our past has been wrought with; what the uprising ravaged us with. Thirteen. Thirteen districts rebelled and fought against the very country that loved them. Hundreds of their own countrymen killed. Brother slew brother, and friend against friend. Until there was nothing."


"Then came the peace."


"It was sorely won, but won it was."


"Then, we, the people of Panem, rose form the ashes, rebirth through our hardship. The traitors were defeated, so we decreed, that, each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up, in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice."


"The lone victor would be bathed in riches and stand as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past, and how we will cherish the future. This is how we live to have a future.“ 


The voice fades out along with the images supplementing the film, and the escort steps forward once again.


"Okay... now we begin the Reaping..." she almost whispers into the mic, before turning and gliding her hand through the air and diving into the bowl. Vēzira eloquently flips it over with her fingers and reads off the name.


"For our ladies, our tribute is... Drimera Faust. Please, come take a stand on the stage," she gazes. pained, out into the audience as a couple of Peacekeepers shove the girl forward, out of range of the crowd around her. 


"And for our boy,..... Gregor Mend-------" she's cut off as someone volunteers as Tribute. Her gazes focuses on a.... certain familiar face. Kypher, her Tribute from last year. He was... the 'odd' one. 


(District Tributes:   @Destructus Kloud @Olivia Acerbi  )


____________________________________________________________________________________________


Now for some internal reflection, you've been chosen. The chances you are going to die are... profound. Take one last look around you; soak it in. This may be your last time. AND SOOOOMME of you idiots volunteered. Act accordingly~


EVERYBODYHASTODIESOMETIME

 

[a simpler name]

(Oh boy)

 

[Kloudy]

Damn it... Damn, damn damn it all. His feeling had been right. He really had been the unlucky one after all. Kypher watched as Drim was roughly transported to the stage, the only one he held in any light, any respectful attitude. And now she had been sent off to die. Had it been him again he wouldn't have minded so much, he'd already one once, winning again couldn't be that hard, right? It'd all just be the same, forest with lakes, crazy animals, the gas, other tributes, the simple stuff. But it wasn't him. It was his best friend. Cursing, he stepped forward and raised his voice, cutting off the woman now speaking, "I volunteer as tribute!" He shouted it loudly, with his strong, leader-like attitude. God knows he wasn't either. The peacekeepers then handled him to the stage and he stood there, brushing his shoulders for a moment before gazing over the crowd. It disgusted him to see them all just standing there, allowing this to happen. Sending your children off to die for the sake of the false pretences of peace that really covers up the fervour of entertainment and greed that really takes place? Disgraceful. He looked over to Drim and winked, it wasn't like he'd just let her go by herself. See, the problem now wasn't about surviving; he had the liability of looking after his partner now. Last time, he cared very little for them and just went about killing them. It had gotten to the point where it was just the two of them left, and despite their pleading to threaten the gamemakers with a dual suicide, he had still killed them. He hadn't a reason to risk his own life like that for someone he had already held in contempt. But Drim was, well... Drim. He couldn't kill her, and he had already tried. He doubted that when the time came he would be unable to end her, but then that was also the reason he had to be there. He would need to protect her, of course. Trapping and bow skills were all well and good, but there was only so many one could kill before range and subterfuge failed you. Thankfully he was versatile enough to counter that weakness, but then when everyone else was dead, would he...? He would have to... He cursed internally again. He couldn't kill her, and he would protect her, but to what ends?


@Olivia Acerbi @SolistheSun

 

[FTR]

Drimera Faust
​

District 13
​

Drimera couldn't help but giggle at his blood lust. "Ha, like you could live without me.", she said, still holding onto him. As his focus shifted from her to the ceremony, she let go of him noticing he'd lost interest, and turned to face forward. She winced as her voiced seemed to have grown louder over the speakers, probably to force the attention out of everyone. "It's a pretty counter intuitive to give your possible tributes tinnitus before they head to the arena, don't you think?", she joked instinctively, her face poised in a into deadpan gaze. Her eyes darted around the area reading the situation, assessing her surroundings as they were now. The prospect of a reaping had her stressed and when she was stressed she started planning. She hardly ever knew she just what exactly but it eased her mind to run through the infinite scenarios at hand in daily situations. Externally she seemed relaxed, leaning onto one leg and rhythmically tapping her index finger against her lips as she thought. 


Her concentration, or lack there of, was broken by the approach of an unrecognized figure. A flamboyant woman, no doubt from the capitol or one the more....well off districts of the interior. Drimera zoned out for a moment thinking of what life must be led in such districts....probably a soft, sheltered one filled with hope and rainbows. She grinned to herself a little arrogantly before once again her attention is caught by movement and sounds. Something about a film? The lights began to shut off in a succession on after the other the darkness partnering with anxiety as they gliding over the crowd. The movie exploded to life, agitating the mobs already tensed nerves.


As it played Drimera rolled her eyes so intensely they may have well have receded into her skull. Her brain began to numb at the speech. She'd heard the nonsense before, all this damn thing was is a blood-sport; designed to satiate a primal need for conflict and violence and keep the hounds of war and strife at bay another year.


As the light flooded back over her with it came a sense of doubt, a stress. Did she actually fear being picked? Or was it an excited stress? Like being picked for the homicide raffle. The simple act of the speaker rifling through the bowl of names seemed to stretch over an eternity, the strange feeling only amplifying as time went on. Whatever it was faded the instant the speaker said her name. Her heart sank, she wasn't surprised more in shock that out of all the citizens of District 13, she'd be the one to go. "What are the f*cking odds.", she asked rhetorically, in moderate awe. She looked to Kypher an apologetic smile painted on her face. "Remember what I said. I'll see you on the other side, I guess.", she tried to reassure him as the peacekeepers basically dragged her away. She saw his face, a look of discontent, a look that was always followed by a bad decision. "Ky, don't do anything stupid.", she commanded as they pulled her away, assuming he'd go on some kind of misguided rampage. 


Approaching the stage she passed by the worried faces of the people, it was clear not many of them figured she wouldn't survive. She couldn't blame them, she probably wouldn't but she'd be damned if she didn't go out with a bang, be it literal or figurative.


She stumbled as she was pushed onto the stage. Irritated, she regained her composure and nodded to the speaker from the inner districts. She stood tall(ish), looking out the the both scared and relieved faces of the other parents in the mass she was reminded of her own. She wondered would they have grieved her or praised her when she went out. The thought brought up unwanted emotions not fit for the moment, as she shrugged off the idea her blood froze. A voice, a voice belonging to someone-the only one precious to her. "You absolute moron.", she said just barely aloud, her palm finding its way to her face.


Kypher had just volunteered as tribute, the implications that had were so horrifying to her that she went into a state just short of quiet hysteria. She glared at Kypher as he made his way to the stage, her stare so intense it may as well been burning a hole in him. 


"Have you lost your goddamn mind?", she confronted him as he shot her a wink. She only grew more furious by his nonchalant demeanor. "There's only one winner in these things, you dipsh*t. Only one survivor..". Her distress built and built up inside her, she cursed him in her mind. How could he be so careless how could he be so stupid?


Then everything stood still. It'd hit her, like a freight train against her already beaten heart. Drimera looked away from him. Had he done this on purpose? Sure, he had always had murderous intent but not towards her...right? She recoiled at the idea, tears welling up in her eyes. With a single moment her entire world came crashing down around her, everything faded but her and him on the stage. The suddenness of it all had her almost in shock, she couldn't speak, she couldn't look at him. To have him seemingly jump at the chance to enter a death match with her, it ruined her. Why had he done this, why now, why in this pretense had he chosen to show his true colors. Was it some sort of sick kick? A chance to shed her blood in a battle scenario? She wouldn't hurt him, he knew that, he was all she had left. She trembled at the internalized struggle before seemingly finding peace in it.


"ok.", she muttered under her breath. She'd survive if for nothing else than to die by his hand....if it was really what he wanted. She shuffled her feet nervously for a moment before slowly finding the will to face him again. With a feigned smile, and tears still falling she nodded at him. 


@Destructus Kloud (enter the drama)

 

[A Mysterious Figure]

Calypso Holt


"Calypso Holt. Please step forward."

Calypso could have cried. She could feel it bubbling up, the despair, the helplessness, it was surging forward, threatening to reveal itself to the crowd, but just before it reached her heart, it stopped, bubbling there in rage, almost as though a wall was stopping it from getting to her. Her face remained neutral, and all she could feel was numb. She glanced over at her family, seeing her mother sobbing into her fathers shoulder. He was looking right at her blankly, as though not really comprehending what was happening. She didn't feel like she understood it either. What about the schools of bass? She was going to miss them, and now her father was probably going to miss them too. Bass went for quite a lot of money at the markets, and if they missed them, that would be a wasted day. She wanted to tell her father, remind him about the fish, but she knew that running over to him would mean a much more painful ascent to the stage.
​

 
​

The two peacekeepers heading towards her finally reached her, and her arms were grabbed roughed by two white gloved hands. She was led up to the stage, and she passed one of her dear friends, Pelea, the young 14 year old looking at her desperately with tears streaming down her face. She opened her mouth, looking as though she was about to shout something, and Calypso shook her head firmly, refusing to let her friend volunteer in her place. Pelea had five siblings, and her family was one of the worse off in the District. Her name was in there so many times, in an attempt to pay for food, and she was the oldest, the most responsible. Her parents would never be able to forgive themselves if she was a tribute, even if it was through volunteering and not picking. 
​

 
​

She looked at the crowd as she went past them, noticing the looks of pity and sadness in peoples faces. She knew that deep inside, they were glad that it wasn't them or their family, but she also knew that the sadness was real. Many people liked her family, as they were kind and giving, sharing their catches on the good days, and inviting the neighbours around for lunch or dinner, chatting and laughing and living a good life. Now it wouldn't happen. Her parents would be sad now, and that meant that fishing would be on hold, and they probably wouldn't invite anyone over anymore. She felt comforted a bit, though, as she was sure the neighbours would come around with gifts of food and other things, especially with how much her parents had given to them. 
​

 
​

As she reached the stage, and stumbled up the stairs with a sharp push from the peacekeepers, Calypso realised how calm she seemed to feel. She wasn't even thinking about her fate, all she seemed to be thinking about was those school of bass and the gifts of food that would wind up at her front door for the next few weeks. That wall that blocked the despair from her heart seemed so strong, and it confused her. She was usually the emotional type.
​

 
​

She looked out at the sea of faces, and looked at her parents for what she knew would probably be the last time. Her mother was just standing there, clutching her husband as though her life depending on it and sobbing her heart out. She looked as though her heart was shattering into thousands of tiny pieces, impossible to be fixed. Her hair was disheveled, her face splotchy with tears, nothing like the cheerful, beautiful woman Calypso knew her mother to be. She wished that her last memory of her mother would have been of her smiling, but she knew that smile would not be appearing on her face for a very long time.
​

 
​

Her father hugged her mother just as tightly, and he was staring straight at Calypso intently, eyes scanning her face, as though burning it into his memory for all eternity. He stood there, a beacon of strength for his wife, and in a way, for his daughter, who looked at him with the same steady gaze, wanting to remember her father as the strong, supportive figure he had always been in her life. His eyes seemed to fill up with tears as he looked at her, and he nodded his head, smiling sadly.
​

 
​

She desperately wanted to run to her parents, hug them so, so tightly, and tell them that everything would be okay, that she would be okay, that they shouldn't worry, and should live their lives. Her father had always told her that no matter what happens each year, they should move on, survive, and make the most of their lives. Would he still do that now, now that his own daughter would be gone, murdered on live television for the world to see? Just another dead tribute, instead of dying an old woman after living a happy life, buried beside her loving husband by her beautiful children and grandchildren? She wondered if they would try to have another child, or if just the thought of experiencing this pain again would stop them. She wanted them to be happy, to move on, but she knew they wouldn't be able to do so that easily. For the first time in her life, she wished she had been more of a burden on them, less of a good, responsible child and more of a reckless, rude daughter, one that they wouldn't mind giving up to the Games. And yet, wouldn't that have hurt them as well?
​

 
​

She was torn by her thoughts by the announcement of the male tribute, a boy called Marlon Wendell. He walked up to the stage, seemingly strong and proud, and she could tell that he must have had some kind of training, considering the way he walked, and the defined figure he had. Less people seemed to be concerned for him as well, which added to her suspicions. She thought about the Games now, and what her situation would be. If her fellow Tribute was a Career, then it was highly doubtful he would even want to help her, or ally with her. She was afraid then; what if he would target her when the Games began, to get rid of an easy target? He probably knew about her families kind history, and he would know that she would probably be kind too, and as such a weak link. She hoped she could surprise him, after all, she did have some ability, and she was fast. She shook her head of these thoughts, quickly ignoring them. She couldn't believe she was already thinking about her death! She focused once more on the crowd; on her family. A crack appeared in her wall; a single tear threatened to spill down her face, but she carefully let it balance on the edge of her eyelashes, not blinking or even twitching her eye. She couldn't cry now, she couldn't let her family see her sadness, her fear. They would be hurt even more. 
​

 

[a simpler name]

Harold Olstein
​

 
​

" Harold Olstein."
​

 
​

I-I-I can't believe it! My name is drawn out. Impossible!
​

 
​

You might expect me to demand to be taken out the Hunger Games. Use my wits to persuade. No, I just stood there dazed, shocked. I think my skin turned white.
​

 
​

My father was taken aback. I am not surprised. I am the only heir to the Olstein. It's a very well kept secret that there's only 3 members of the Olstein family left. Few people would know that the other members died out in "mysterious" ways. My mother is currently experiencing menopause. If I were to die, the Olstein name would die out. Well...unless my dad marries another.... But it's clear that is out of the question.(My mother is looking at my father) He quickly gains composure and feigns pride. It would be unbecoming of a Head Peacekeeper to freak out.
​

 
​

People are staring at me, gawking at me. My confidence,no I better be honest, my snarkiness is gone. I feel fear pushing against my body.
​

 
​

Some Peacekeepers had to escort me to the stage. Not that I gave any resistance. They looked straight-faced,like it was another Tuesday,  but I can see pity in their eyes. I recognised them. The person on my left is,ironically, my father's right hand man, Adrian Quartzel, my mother's brother. While my mother served as a foil to my father at home while Adrian restrained his more extreme ruthlessness. My uncle is more of a "hearts and minds" person. My dad realises that he needs some support from the populace so he keeps him around.
​

 
​

To my right was Stephen Colbert. He taught me knife throwing when my father was busy. Now he's going to help me to my execution. I walked up slowly to the stage. At the very least, the Peacekeepers are not handling me.
​

 
​

 

[tane5naoki]

Frankie Welch
​

District 7
​

 
​

All Frankie heard was her name. Everything after that was a blur, the dull roar of her blood rushing through her ears. She felt hands roughly grab her and begin hauling her to the stage, and she didn't fight it. What was the point? If she tried to run, they would beat her and then drag her back to the podium; or shoot her and pick another name. With the cameras anything they wanted to be the truth was the truth. She stood alongside the Pink haired weirdo on the stage and saw all of the pageantry from a new angle than she had ever seen it before. She was above her classmates, staring down at them, though none of it registered. She saw her mother sobbing while her father held her upright, his eyes wide and staring at his oldest child as she stood above the rest.


She wanted to run and console her mother, tell her everything was going to be alright, but the peace keepers would never allow that. Her brother was standing in the front of the crowd, seemingly confounded. She only had her name in 4 times, how did this happen. She could read it on his face. She swallowed and gripped the hem of her shirt, twisting it up into knots. The Hunger Games.


So this was how she was to die.

 

[NocturneWarrioress]

I turned to face Harold as his name was called. I had a suspicious feeling that he knew he would be picked today. I respectfully stepped aside as the peacekeepers parted our group and escorted him to the stage placing him on the right side. Now it was our turn.  The tension in my shoulders increased tenfold as I watched Calder cross the platform to the women’s bowl. I watched his every move carefully. The crowd had went silent once more casting an eerie discomfort upon the group. 
​

 
​

"Io Hyacinth." My eyes immediately widened as the name I had feared was called. She was barely twelve! My head snapped over to where her sister stood beside her gripping her arm desperately. The peacekeepers marched towards her and from here I could see the tears in her eyes. Every step made my heart lurch. Without any further hesitation I moved through the crowd into the walkway. Peacekeepers swarmed me instantly and before they could touch me I announced loud and clear; sure of the choice I was about to make. “I volunteer as Tribute.” My gaze wandered to my best friend and her sister. I had watched her for years; trained with them even…. Better to allow her to live her life with her sister…and without her best friend. 
​

 
​

“Ah, Well, it looks like we have a new female tribute.” 
​

 
​

The peacekeepers formed around me, escorting me to the stage. I ascended the steps on the left side of the platform and took my position there. Calder approached me placing a bright smile on his face, however, his eyes gave him away. He had pity, an emotion I was very familiar with in the early stages of my training. Not so much now. That emotion was for the ones who could barely get back up after participating in my bloody hobbies. “ And what is the name of our volunteer Tribute?” 
​

 
​

“Antonia Abraxxas”  His actions or words thereafter were a blur to me as I put on a stony expression. Let the Games begin. 
​

 

[Kloudy]

Shit, she wasn't understanding. Well this isn't good, he supposed she thought he was out to kill her. Once upon a time: maybe. But now? He wasn't sure he had the mental fortitude to do it. Whatever, he'd solve this problem later, Drim knew him the best, if he just explained the situation she'd understand. More formalities occurred and the previous male tribute to be picked beamed at Kypher with a grateful smile. He ignored it, this wasn't for his benefit at all, the boy was irrelevant. In fact, he would have laughed if the boy had to fight in the games; he'd be eaten alive. Still Kypher sighed as they were chaperoned to their new quarters to prepare for the games. Make up, new non-dusty non-second hand clothes and a debrief of his 'mission'. Soon he found himself on a train heading to the capital. And opposite him was a very awkward looking Drim. Or rather, the atmosphere was awkward. The girl herself was nonchalant and uncaring, looking out the window and never at him. Not that he was worried, if anything this was the perfect time to explain. He leaned forward, "Drim..."


@Olivia Acerbi (omfg sorry for the latenes!!! )

 

[FTR]

Drimera Faust
​

District 13
​

Through out their entire transitioning from District 13 to the train Drimera uttered little more than what was required of her. She said nothing as they were moved to holding, nothing but gratitude as they were issued ceremonial dress, nothing as they were paraded to the station, and nothing on the train. All she could do was battle with herself. It wasn't fair. She had spent the majority of her life believing that Kypher had been on her side, that she could count on him especially having lost everyone else. But now, she questioned everything, their past, their future. Had he ever meant anything he'd ever said to her? Had he felt this way for a long time? Or did she mean so little to him that he'd decided on a whim?


"What am I to you?", she blurted out, interrupting him. She continued to stare out the window, seemingly absentmindedly but in reality completely on edge.


@Destructus Kloud (sorry for my timing and quality too :/  I'm out at an event)

 

[Kloudy]

Kypher raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn't expected... That. It was a good question though, one he still had yet to answer himself despite all this time. While it was true she was someone special to him, he was entirely sure why. Was it because she was the only survivor of his attacks? Because of her similar outlook on life? Because he liked the look of her? He bridged his fingers and appeared to think about it for a moment before answer, a grin on his face, "We're partners in crime, as well as yin and yang. A bit of you exists in me and the other way around. You haven't forgotten the pact, right?" He raised his right hand to reveal the small diagonal scar of a blade across his palm. It fitted with Drim's to made an 'X'. He held out the hand to her now, palm facing outwards, "I'm not here to kill you. But it is true that there can only be one winner. And I don't intend to win this time..." He trailed off and looked away. It wasn't how he thought he would die, but it sure was a noble way at least. He supposed his family would be proud. Well fuck them, he didn't care. It wasn't about them, or that idiot of a boy from before, or the people of the Capitol looking for some cheap tv entertainment. This was about Drim and himself. And God help anyone who got in their way. 


@Olivia Acerbi

 

[FTR]

Drimera Faust
​

District 13
​

Drimera stared out at the world through the window. The expanse of trees that had been flying by just moments earlier seemed to slow to the same crawl as time. She waited for Kypher's response for what she interpreted as almost an eternity, as if she'd gone into a stasis. 


As he began to speak with his words life began to breathe back into her. The emotion she'd tried to conceal from him began to rear back up inside her. It was all she had needed to hear, even if it were lies she'd believe it...because she wanted to, she needed to, especially now. A sense of embarrassment filled her along with the relief and she stared down at the scar on her palm, an inverted version of the one on Kypher. Her eyes became misty, a reaction she normally abhorred because of what it implied but she couldn't help it, not when it came to him. She looked at him as she reached the hand out to his, pressing her palm against his and clasping her fingers.


The following words he spoke wrenched her heart and cemented any allegiance he had for him in what's harder than stone. She'd been close to a breakdown this whole time and those words had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Emotion broke loose and she threw herself at him, pleading for forgiveness and falling to a kneel at his feet.


"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have doubted you", she said wrapping her arms around him. "Please don't be mad. It was a stupid mistake, I was just scared that-...I'm sorry, really."


She dug her face into his ceremonial dress shirt, huffing and whimpering. She stayed leaned against him for a moment, finding comfort from the horrible turmoil she'd been experiencing not moments before. This, as well as the fact she was now going on 27 hours with no sleep had her both mentally and physically drained and thus, made the relief of Kypher's reassuring words and their current embrace into something like lullaby. After a few short moments of sharp breathing and quiet sniffles, her body, once tense, relaxed into a trance. 


She was asleep. 


@Destructus Kloud

 

[Kloudy]

Kypher sighed, oh what it was to live in the company of a female. Still, he hardly felt burdened, but it was definitely tiring. Although he supposed it had always been that way. An overreaction here, a death threat there, a student accidentally stepping into a pitfall trap; it was a matter of when and where in the cycle of emotional discharge for Drimera, at least in Kypher's experience. Although he was no one to judge, if anything he was worse, well, the body count should suffice to result that argument. Not that he prides himself over it, rather it was just a necessity. He did it more emotionlessly and with more reasoning the Drim would, not that she killed others when angered too often. Heavy injury wasn't out of the question, but the lethality of her traps seldom ended a life, despite the few times it had already happened. She was just lucky they had chalked it up to an accidental hunting accident every time. We're it as numerous ever as his, there'd be rumours of a second killer, a stalker of the night, huntsman of the forest, a cunning man who claimed his victims with various traps. Of course it wouldn't be long before they traced all that to Drim; she wasn't stealthy like he was, she couldn't sweet talk or charm her way out of stuff like he could. She could definitely intimidate her way out of situations, but Kypher suspected that wouldn't help too much were she convicted. 


He he sighed again as he made room on his side of the long cushioned seat so she could lie, head in his lap. He stroked her hair softly. It wasn't like he hadn't considered killing her, indeed it had crossed his mind several times. But he had already decided each time that he wouldnt, shouldn't and couldn't. Too much had happened between them, and there was too much that would happen for him to kill her now. So that only left two other options, cheating the games and...


Dying for her. Kypher had always hoped his death would be painless. Maybe, in the end when it was just the two of them, she could find a trap that would do it without the pain. He smiled faintly at the thought. He always knew she would be considerate, even in his death. 


@Olivia Acerbi(I know it's a bit early, BUT THE FEELS OOHHHMMAHGHERD!!! xD )