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Fandom {OPEN} Tʜᴇ Sᴛʀᴇᴇᴛs ᴏғ Pᴀɴᴇᴍ's 49ᴛʜ Hᴜɴɢᴇʀ Gᴀᴍᴇs

OOC
Here
Characters
Here
Lore
Here










art by
arithm






Wᴀʀʀᴇɴ Bᴜʀɴs



(he/him)



ʙᴜɢʙᴇᴀʀ ʙᴀʀᴅs ᴡɪᴛʜ
ʙᴀɴᴊᴏs ʏ'ᴀʟʟ






Aʙᴏᴜᴛ Mᴇ




Wᴇʙɴᴏᴠᴇʟ Lɪɴᴋ




Wᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ Lɪɴᴋ




DᴇᴠɪᴀɴᴛAʀᴛ Lɪɴᴋ












I'ᴍ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇᴅ 'ʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ






Tʜʀᴇᴀᴅ Hᴜʙ






Cʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ Gᴀʟʟᴇʀʏ






RP Pᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ Sᴇᴀʀᴄʜ






Gᴀᴍᴇ Cᴇɴᴛʀᴀʟ Sᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ












Tʜᴇ Fᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ





Mʏsᴛᴇʀʏ Sᴋᴜʟʟs


















“We were just discussing having a movie night with my wife, family, and friends, Mr. Casca.” Sibyl felt the half-truth roll off her tongue with twice the ease of a full one. Her head throbbed from his loud, accusing voice as she checked to make sure she locked all the cabinets after she returned her personal first aid kit to one of them. She turned, eyes tired and pained while her head slammed in her chest, and forced a smile under the personally-fitted lavender mask.

“You’re mistaken.” The woman began, habitually checking every edge of her clothing to make sure her skin never saw light other than her face, and even only a little of that, with the mask. Though she didn’t know about Ouranos’ indifference, she would never risk being caught anyway. Even an indifferent person knowing with loose lips could tip off someone murderous enough to do something about it. “I’m no longer on the clock. Neither is Ciccro,” She didn’t know if Seth clocked out yet, but assumed he had. “I just needed to use my personal supplies to fix up Seth. Ciccro gave him quite the beating in demonstrations for the new Training Assistant staff today.”

“Let’s go, Sib. I have better things to do than talk to,” Ciccro began, but then slowly came to realization that he should choose his words carefully. He wanted to call him 'this pompous asshole', but then remembered that Casca had the authority to fire him. As Seth exploded on the man, Ciccro clamoured off of the medical bed and made his way to Seth as fast as possible, only just barely making it there in time for the end of his speech. Regardless, the boy wrapped his arms around Seth's head and tried to place his hands over his mouth to shush him, even though he was too late. "this lovely member of the Cabinet." Ciccro finished with a cheesy, glossy grin that pleaded to keep his paycheck even though he couldn't remember what position Ouranos held.

"Please, forgive them. Both of them are tired, and exhausted, and they're a bit delirious from the injuries." Sibyl laughed nervously, as Seth's outburst both assaulted her ears and caught her off guard. Her head pounded in defiance, and she swore she could feel the air pressing on her skin. "Everything is ready, yes. All that needs to happen now is the waiting until staff arrive tomorrow. I've aligned everything here in the medical bay, Ciccro and the other Trainers have finished the Training Room's demonstrations, and I checked with the Avoxes in the halls. The rooms for the Tributes are all ready upstairs."

-

"Yeah, well, you still hit like a girl, so," Atticus stuck his tongue out at Rubi and narrowed his eyes, annoyed with her expression at the least. He tried his best to get the dirt out of his white pants. It scattered to the ground, and he bit his lip at the frayed fabric that strained against his fingers as he tried to find the most destroyed part of the fabric. Yeah, his mother was going to kill him. He remembered just three nights ago, getting caught by his mother as he slipped in the door at 6am, smelling of skunk and covered in dirt.

"Sure, can I help you carry anything?" Atticus strode forward and offered to carry her amp to help. If she accepted, he'd happily lug it along just to feel a bit useful. If she denied his request, he would just respectfully nod and join her at the same pace that she walked. He remembered when he came in on the aforementioned night, how his father screamed that if something didn't change, he would be sent to the Capitol to live with his Uncle Ansel. This was the last straw with his parents. He would rather die.

"Oh, as if spineless Old Man Pulvil would actually turn us in for Reaping Avoidance. It's not like I'm going to be up there anyway, and he knows that, too. Besides," Atticus stretched into the air as he walked. "I'm pretty sure if he ever walked in on us at the Tab, he'd probably just ask Tyrian to pass him the joint. The guy's a mess." The boy laughed and shook his head. While in reality Nieve took his job very seriously and definitely would turn them in (excluding Rubi, if he could get away with it, though he'd lecture her afterward), a lot of the rumors said the opposite. Generally, they were created by those who knew his father trying to get him written up or fired so that they wouldn't have to deal with him.

-

"Careful now," A cold, buzzing voice with intimidating, masculine tones amplified from the microspeakers lining the jaw of Nieve Pulvil's PeaceKeeping helmet. He both loved and hated that feature of the helmets. They came in three styles, with either a feminine, masculine, or androgynous voice, but all three weaved one's natural voice into a uniform one based on one of the three styles with the same cold, commanding monotone sound. He loved that part, at least, as it always felt nice to hear a rumbling, masculine voice that masked his own. However, he hated it because whenever the helmet came off, most people were startled at the melodic, quiet voice they heard in place of the intimidating, forceful one of the helmet. Plus, then they could also see his hollow, tired face.

"We don't want a fight," Nieve felt his pulse in his lips and in his cold fingertips. The world around him threatened to swallow him up as Ure and Ada took verbal swings at each other, and he tightened his grip on his rifle even though he kept it positioned in its neutral, diagonal position across his body and pointed towards the ground. He didn't move it from there, either. The short man watched as a strand of black hair fell in front of his brown eyes, even though no one outside could see it because of the tinted glass of the visor. He loved that part of the helmet, too. He loved that none of the people in the bar could see how terrified he looked behind the darkness, so to them he looked like an intimidating, faceless soldier that made this interaction so much more impersonal. The PeaceKeeper gave a cathartic sigh when the two finally decided to back off of their respective aggressions, and he said a silent thank you to a God he didn't believe in.

Valentina set her drink on the table and stretched, feeling all of the muscles in her body pull and a few places in her back pop. Then, she relaxed with a sobering, long sigh and sank into the foam bag that reminded her of floating on a cloud. The television changed, and they began to rattle off test scores for the various academies in One, Two, and Four. She frowned at the pretty boy with the never-tiring, impossible smile as he rattled off stats and maintained an energy that she couldn't imagine doing for the amount of time that he stayed live on screen. She frowned. Poor Almar, the Stylist thought, twirling the heart bendy straw in her drink. No one that gets off of Capitol drugs ever gets off of them, and it's the only way he's been awake this long. She didn't know that she couldn't be farther from the truth in her guess, however.

Sumo gave a satisfied whine when Mara understood him, and he headed towards the elevator after he'd taken a few seconds to realize she wanted him to go look for Odie, too. The dog gave a big, annoyed grumble at the thought of actually having to do his job. Regardless, though, he sniffed about as he walked, finding that the extremely stale scent left after the beginning of his nap did lead back to the elevator. His big furry paws paused when he fully entered the elevator, and he panted and accepted any available head pets he could get while one of the two people with him pressed a lower floor. The doors opened on a still exclusive, but not nearly as picky as the mentor's only, floor with a whoosh and released Sumo into a sea of people excited to see him.

Sumo then had to make the biggest sacrifice he ever had to make for his job. The dog waddled forward in his vest that read 'D6 Victor Assistance - Sumo' on the top, 'Please return to Odius' on the bottom, and the Capitol insignia in gold on the red fabric as he tried his absolute best to ignore any cooing, coddling voices or soft, gentle hands that offered him pets. He needed to find Odie, not enjoy himself. He finally compromised by pausing only every once in a while and only for a few seconds each time to grab some pets. After trying a few floors, the St. Bernard finally did find Odie in a private betting booth lined with exclusive plush couches surrounded by sound-proof walls.

Odius lay back in the middle of the sofa facing one of the largest televisions in the bar, drunkenly and silently chuckling at a romance movie that the Capitol aired with the Hunger Games possible betting statistics for possible Districts showing up in the corner. The entire booth reeked of diesel and pine, and dozens of empty mixed drink glasses as well as several ashtrays coated in ash and the ends of joints littered the one centered table. He made a gesture to the fancy Capitol woman on his left arm at the television, implying how ridiculous the bride acted, while the woman on his right arm rifled through his wallet. The other four women in the booth chatted with each other and occasionally entertained Odie, all at the expense of their drinks as the movie scrolled by. The Mentor didn't notice the new people entering the booth at all, despite Sumo's incessant sneezing at the smell.

-

Orson shivered as he stepped onto the cold Capitol street despite the laughs, blown kisses, and winks to the passed citizens that he weaved through to make it outside. With the Games brought Summer, and so the nights would gradually warm, but it felt unnaturally cold as he walked back to the nearest subway station in order to get to the train terminal to head back to District Four. He wondered what the potential Tributes all thought of him, and what the eventual ones to volunteer or have the highest scores would be like specifically. He simply hoped that they would take it easy on everyone else if they ended up being some of those vicious kids from the Academy he got sometimes. Finally, he vanished into the depths of the subway and eventually caught his train back to District Four.

-

"I know that." Cuvier started, though his shoulders only rose up into a half-hearted shrug before settling back down. "It sounded like you were saying he was suspicious because of his investigation, which would make all of us suspicious. Guess I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, though." The Head GameMaker concluded as he maintained his position on the literal edge of his seat, fidgeting with a neat pen that he commandeered off of the table. He clinked it against the small rum glass over and over, in a gentle, quiet little beat.

"Oh, yeah. Essentially that's what happens. Heard one's last paycheck here recently was thirteen hundred dollars." The words slid off Cuvier's tongue as easily as he lied, even though he knew exactly what he was implying. Over the past few years, after the first possible revolt by the Celestians around the year of the 25th Hunger Games, a new slang term emerged among conspiracy theory circles, that being, 'His/Her/Their last paycheck totaled 1300'. What this actually meant is that the person either faked their death or went missing and relocated to District 13, which few conspiracy circles believe still exists.


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♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡
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H






filler! ignore









N






filler! ignore














  • Nicola Weatherby



    Panem’s Angel








♡design by dreamglow, coded by uxie♡
 











"I don' hate ye, I jus' want to save ye."












Slightly drunk, very tired.










Overwhelmed










Jus' leave me alone










mostly healthy

















Jupitor Ichor



(She/Her)







False Alarm












  • h






(click play twice!)






Jupitor stepped out of the elevator, into the main bar. One older fan got in a bit close, and then like a wave she was swarmed with people, all asking for autographs and pictures and god knows what else. She leaned on her cane, grip tightening as she was transported back 34 years, under attack by 3 Career tributes in a forest. She swung, the cane arcing about and making a path clear, that nobody dared re-enter. Some peacekepers quickly arrived, pushing admirers back, away from the mentoress as she caught her breath, eyes squinted as she tried to exit the memory. Damned, she was going to need another drink on the way home. The sound of chatter and clinking glasses, the pounding thrum of the crowd slowly faded back into the foreground as her arm shook. She hadn't swung anything that hard in years. She made her way to the train station, with no further incidents.





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡













"Don't give me that do goody good bull..."












A bit unhinged.










Furious










Waste of supplies, if you ask me.










healthy

















Ouranos Casca



(him/he)







Money












  • h






(click play twice!)






the Head of Resources looked around the room, vein practically bursting in his forehead as Seth backtalked, but Sibyl calmed it down. His outraged face softened into a look of annoyance. Clearly he was just looking for someone to yell at. "Injuries... I see. Yes, it is late, and if everything is ready..." The question trailed off, as he took a deep breath. "I shall forgive your outburst today, Mr. Britt, but heed warning. Mrs. Watson will not always be around. And Mrs. Watson," he said, turning to the Head Geneticist, "Don't forget who signs your requests for supplies. If I find you misallocating them again, you may be unsurprised to find less in your next shipment." The thinly veiled threat hung in the air as the elder Cabinet member exited the room and stalked down the hallway. Distant shouting could soon be heard from the same man not soon after, but quickly dissipated.





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡













"Silence is true wisdom's best reply."












Fearful










Caught off guard and Confused










Don't give it away.










healthy

















Nomi Echo



(They/Them/Their)







Suddenly I See












  • h






(click play twice!)






Out in the hallway, Innominatum Echo wore the Training Center Janitor's uniform with a high-necked undershirt so the scars on their neck weren't easily visible. They stood next to their janitor cart, mop handle swaying back and forth as they polished the floors. They had spent all day sanitizing the individual training rooms. Gathering 24 teenagers from all across the continent often meant sickness from the borderlands, and while it was the Medical staff's job to keep the Tributes healthy before the games, it was a Janitor's job to make sure it was all I'm uncultured-and-span so nobody else would get sick. Nomi took a moment to thank The Voice Mother for her role in saving the former Avox and sharing her voice. Which was precisely when Ouranos stumbled across them. "YOU!!!"
Nomi's heart jumped to 1000bpm and they fought the urge to leap into the air. They turned to face the VIP, calling up a line from Sibyl. "Yyyesss?" the long drawn out question was unlike the Head Geneticist, but that was the intention. Even if Nomi sounded suspiciously like Sibyl, the different intonation would dissuade similarities. It was all Sibyl's idea, of course. But with the sudden question, she forgot to move her lips. Luckily Ouranos didn't notice.
"What do you think you're doing standing about?! Get mopping! We'll have tributes here tomorrow and with Tributes come cameras! We want it all to shine like the rest of the Capitol!" He shouted, pointing at the mop and then down at the floor.
Nomi hurriedly nodded, "Yes!" and furiously swabbed at the tiled floor, almost forgetting again but quickly mouthing the words to mostly match up.
With a huff from Ouranos, he muttered "at least somebody listens," to himself and walked on, soon rounding the corridor. Nomi continued her furious mopping, unaware he had moved on.





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡













"With a Rebel Yell
She cried,
'More, More, More!'"












A bit annoyed, a bit excited.










Determined










what you gonna do about it?










healthy

















Rubi Daedra




(She/Her)







Uprising












  • h






(click play twice!)






Rubi cocked an eyebrow at the fellow delinquent. "I hit like a girl? If I remember, Alice, last time we fought I gave you a black eye your mother wouldn't shut up about," Rubi taunted, her look unimpressed with the transgender's insult. She lugged along the amp a bit, before Atticus asked if he could carry anything. "Touch my amp, and you die," she sneered. They were her passion project, and touching them was the easiest berserk button for her, much like calling Atticus by his deadname. "I'm not ready to make my debut just yet anyway. I'm setting up for the 50th Quell. I scored well enough this year, 79 and 81, just placing 3rd. Prime spot for reaching the number 1 female slot next year. It's gonna be fun." Her composed face split into a grin.





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡













"I'm the lonely twin, the left hand."












Searching










slightly jealous, mostly disappointed.










Skanks on each arm, naturally.










healthy

















Mara Wrichten



(She/Her)







Rainbow in the Dark












  • h






(click play twice!)






Mara waited for Ure to join her and Sumo before hitting the button for the elevator doors. It was quiet for a moment before she spoke. "Master... you really shouldn't be riling up the Mentors," she said with a sigh. "They've gone through enough."
She didn't wait for a response before the doors opened, and she followed the large Saint Bernard through the crowd. When patrons couldn't get the dog's attention, they turned it towards the Stylists walking behind, and Mara gave polite smiles but continued to follow Sumo into the Betting Booth where Odi lay with two girls half his age around each arm. She paused and sighed before walking in, standing at the edge of the table, giving the skanks a glower. She effortlessly swiped Odi's wallet out of one's hands, and stood between him and the screen, brushing off his flirtatious greeting. "This is where you went Odi? Seriously? Into th-the.. a betting booth?" She asked in a nagging tone, shooing the girls out and sitting down across from the man. She had only known him shy of two years, since she was assigned to D6, and a stunt like this shouldn't have surprised her. "And without Sumo? That peacekeeper never should have let you in the elevator without him. We'll have to file a complaint when we're back in 6." One could almost see her nostrils flaring in her anger. "Don't act like you've forgotten, you old creep. Tomorrow is the Reaping, you're needed back there to help prep the new Tributes, and that means I have to be there to prep you, whether you like it or not."





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡
 

















scroll me!




mood
kinda tipsy and annoyed
location
the split arrow
tags
Reach Reach // tamarapasek tamarapasek // RabbitsWarren RabbitsWarren







Adeline park

district 10 mentor









Cradling her drink, Adeline took a moment to assess the environment around her. Jupitor had already made an Irish goodbye. Ada didn't blame her, she tilted her head to the right watching her signature gait. It was sometimes funny how Adeline could recognise the other mentors by their quirks, or maybe it was sad. Everything seemed to be sad these days, to her at least. Especially that new mentor girl, she seemed a little...too cool and collected about it all. She was fresh out of the games to be fair. The moment Adeline had left that godforsaken arena, she thought she would've been safe. She had wanted, even craved that wash of relief. That feeling of freedom she had expected. It never came, and it would never come for any of them. Instead they were all left in their golden cage to pick each other apart, watch the reels over and over again for years, scrub the blood and bruises away with bleach. She was getting pretty fucking sick of sending children to die, of pacing that cage like a wild beast on show. There was nothings he could do about it, maybe that was the sad part.

Frowning into her drink, her eyes fell on the peacekeeper in the corner. Although a slight movement, she could see his gloved hand tighten around the rifle he held. Adeline could guess that his knuckles would be white underneath. She had to hold her tongue when the monotone voice spoke, warning her. She turned her head away, rolling her eyes at the ground where the peacekeeper wouldn't be able to see her defiance. How utterly ironic that he didn't want a fight, considering that is what they subjected themselves to every summer. No, they didn't want a fight when it didn't connivence them. Only when they could display it on a television for entertainment and induce fear.
"We don't want a fight? That's rich." She muttered under her breath to herself, shamelessly downing the last of her whiskey.

Adjusting her jacket, the young woman ran a hand through her hair. The world was getting a bit fuzzy now, too many straights in a short period of time. She wasn't drunk, just getting a bit tipsy. There was still the weight of her fathers words weighing on her, maybe that was what made her put down her glass for good. She slid it down the bar to the bartender, flashing him a flirtatious smile. The young guy blushed, looking away for a moment. That was her cue to leave, she never paid for drinks around here. Maybe it was mean, because the bartenders never seemed to last long, but the capitol had promised her luxury.

"Hey, Tommy," Adeline said quietly, not wanting to interrupt whatever was happening between Tommy, Nicola and Alissa. "I'm heading back to 10 in a second, you want to do me the honour of sharing a train with me? Don't worry, no autographs this time," she said with a joking wink. To get to 10, the train had to head through 3. If they got the chance, Ada liked sharing a train with him, they were friends after all.
"I'm going to head downstairs now, meet me by the elevator?" Her attention turned to Nicola and Alissa, "It was nice meeting you Nicola, I'll see you both after the reaping." Flashing them all a farewell smile, she stuffed her hands in her pockets heading for the elevator. As she passed the peacekeeper, she mockingly bared her teeth at him which quickly turned into a sultry laugh. Without paying any attention to the peacekeepers reaction, she pressed the button to call the elevator.




♡design by neon reverie, coded by uxie♡


Cradling her drink, Adeline took a moment to assess the environment around her. Jupitor had already made an Irish goodbye. Ada didn't blame her, she tilted her head to the right watching her signature gait. It was sometimes funny how Adeline could recognise the other mentors by their quirks, or maybe it was sad. Everything seemed to be sad these days, to her at least. Especially that new mentor girl, she seemed a little...too cool and collected about it all. She was fresh out of the games to be fair. The moment Adeline had left that godforsaken arena, she thought she would've been safe. She had wanted, even craved that wash of relief. That feeling of freedom she had expected. It never came, and it would never come for any of them. Instead they were all left in their golden cage to pick each other apart, watch the reels over and over again for years, scrub the blood and bruises away with bleach. She was getting pretty fucking sick of sending children to die, of pacing that cage like a wild beast on show. There was nothings he could do about it, maybe that was the sad part.

Frowning into her drink, her eyes fell on the peacekeeper in the corner. Although a slight movement, she could see his gloved hand tighten around the rifle he held. Adeline could guess that his knuckles would be white underneath. She had to hold her tongue when the monotone voice spoke, warning her. She turned her head away, rolling her eyes at the ground where the peacekeeper wouldn't be able to see her defiance. How utterly ironic that he didn't want a fight, considering that is what they subjected themselves to every summer. No, they didn't want a fight when it didn't connivence them. Only when they could display it on a television for entertainment and induce fear.
"We don't want a fight? That's rich." She muttered under her breath to herself, shamelessly downing the last of her whiskey.

Adjusting her jacket, the young woman ran a hand through her hair. The world was getting a bit fuzzy now, too many straights in a short period of time. She wasn't drunk, just getting a bit tipsy. There was still the weight of her fathers words weighing on her, maybe that was what made her put down her glass for good. She slid it down the bar to the bartender, flashing him a flirtatious smile. The young guy blushed, looking away for a moment. That was her cue to leave, she never paid for drinks around here. Maybe it was mean, because the bartenders never seemed to last long, but the capitol had promised her luxury.

"Hey, Tommy," Adeline said quietly, not wanting to interrupt whatever was happening between Tommy, Nicola and Alissa. "I'm heading back to 10 in a second, you want to do me the honour of sharing a train with me? Don't worry, no autographs this time," she said with a joking wink. To get to 10, the train had to head through 3. If they got the chance, Ada liked sharing a train with him, they were friends after all.
"I'm going to head downstairs now, meet me by the elevator?" Her attention turned to Nicola and Alissa, "It was nice meeting you Nicola, I'll see you both after the reaping." Flashing them all a farewell smile, she stuffed her hands in her pockets heading for the elevator. As she passed the peacekeeper, she mockingly bared her teeth at him which quickly turned into a sultry laugh. Without paying any attention to the peacekeepers reaction, she pressed the button to call the elevator.
 










art by
arithm






Wᴀʀʀᴇɴ Bᴜʀɴs



(he/him)



ʙᴜɢʙᴇᴀʀ ʙᴀʀᴅs ᴡɪᴛʜ
ʙᴀɴᴊᴏs ʏ'ᴀʟʟ






Aʙᴏᴜᴛ Mᴇ




Wᴇʙɴᴏᴠᴇʟ Lɪɴᴋ




Wᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ Lɪɴᴋ




DᴇᴠɪᴀɴᴛAʀᴛ Lɪɴᴋ












I'ᴍ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇᴅ 'ʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ






Tʜʀᴇᴀᴅ Hᴜʙ






Cʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ Gᴀʟʟᴇʀʏ






RP Pᴀʀᴛɴᴇʀ Sᴇᴀʀᴄʜ






Gᴀᴍᴇ Cᴇɴᴛʀᴀʟ Sᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ












Tʜᴇ Fᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ





Mʏsᴛᴇʀʏ Sᴋᴜʟʟs


















Odius looked up, startled as a person scared off his newly made friends and then imposed herself in front of his new favorite show. He threw his hands up and forward as the girls left, a common gesture of his as an expression of exasperation, and he studied Mara’s face. For a brief moment, he didn’t recognize her at all, and he tried rather seriously to determine her as friend or foe. All of his muscles tensed as his arms returned to his sides, and only the briefest flash of anger crossed the old man’s face.

An unexpected sharp pain in his wrist made Odius yelp, and then all of his shoulders relaxed. His head spun again, begging to go back to sleep and tearing at his train of thought, but he fought it off, instead giving a crude, quizzical laugh while he scrutinized Mara’s appearance. He took a few more minutes to asses her unfamiliar face, and then, it clicked. Oh, that was Mara. He remembered Mara. Mara was better than any ol’ Capitol random women anyway.

Odius leaned forward on his elbows on the center table while facing Mara, and he winked at her and blew a kiss before listening to what she had to say. When she accused him of being in a betting booth, he stuck out his tongue at her and shook his finger as annoyance soaked into the wrinkles of his face. He pointed behind her to the screen, still playing the movie, and then to the drinks before crossing his arms. Wasn’t it obvious? He wanted company, alcohol, and a movie.

When Mara mentioned Sumo, Odius began to crane his neck around to look for the dog, though as soon as he did, a wave of dizziness washed over him and caused him to crash back into the back of the plush sofa. How much was that dosage, anyway? He snarled in frustration, but Sumo padded his way down and into the pit, and then straight into Odius’ lap. The older man wheezed as the dog knocked the air out of him and licked his face before settling as a panting, slobbering mess at his side. As for Nieve, he would surely love receiving that complaint.

Odius raised his eyebrows at the name ‘creep’, as if he acted like it didn’t apply to him at all. He guessed, in a way, it really didn’t. Any woman that stuck around, even if half clothed, wanted to be there. He just wanted a friend. The District Six mentor straightened his back and then rubbed his eyes before looking up to Mara and signing ‘prep tonight or travel tonight?’.

-

“Of course. Thank you, sir.” Sibyl smiled from behind the lavender fabric as her eyes crinkled with the movement. She relaxed her tense shoulders as the man forgave Seth and then finally left through the door. She took in a deep, sharp breath and then turned to face the only two people left in the room. A few silent seconds passed before she finally spoke.

“Boys. That man can have you put under warrant if he wanted.” She sternly lectured them as she crossed her arms and looked from one perpetrator to the other. She slowly waited for this to sink in as she looked at Ciccro, who often struggled to retain her warnings, but he simply pointed at Seth. “That means death for us, do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, Sibbean, we get it, we get it, please just let’s gooooo.” Ciccro almost interrupted her words with his own as he impatiently weaved his way towards the door. The previous encounter was already completely gone in his mind, forgotten about in favor of the show. “We gotta get Nummy and Rena and if we don’t hurry we’re going to be late and it’s going to be all your fault.” He whined as Sibyl rubbed her temples and weakly smiled, before turning to Seth and beckoning for him to follow.

-

“Oh, fuck you,” Atticus waved her off as he scrunched his eye brows together. It took every ounce of persuasion he had that night to convince his mother that he somehow gave himself the beating he sustained from that fight, but somehow, she believed it. He knew he would never get away with things like that around his uncle; his mother was much more dimwitted. As for Rubi, the amount of times that he reminded her that the word to describe him was an adjective instead of a noun piled. Still, though, he liked her spunk. She tried, and he knew she didn’t really mean it.

“Fair, fair, that’s why I asked before I touched.” The boy lifted his hands in a surrender, showing that he wouldn’t touch it, and instead joined her side and pace of walking. As she mentioned her scores, he nodded, impressed. “What if the rule is something crazy, though? What if they…” He paused for a moment, trying to think. “What if they just reap Capitol kids or something stupid like that?”


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♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡
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"I hope victory is sweet!"












not in the greatest shape










cant breath?










in the past?










healthy

















Ure Santos



(Her/She)







Gravity












  • h






(click play twice!)






Ure just shook her head and followed her two companions to the elevator. And what a sight they were, Mara very elegant and beautiful in her attire. Sumo the big fluffy dog leading them, trying very hard to ignore all the pets and coos, and Ure herself who was dressed rather causally in a grey sweater and some jeans. The only time she tried to look her best was around the time she was bringing out the joy in her tribut, anyother time she was in her distric that she repersented so what did it matter?

In the elevator, Ure surpressed a giggle. It was adorable to see Mara try and lecture her. but before Ure could say anything they stopped. the elevator opened and a wave of smells hit her in the face, but the strongest was the alchol. squinting, Ure saw the man and several floozies handing around him. this brought unpleasent memories back to the surface. Memories better left dead with the man attached to them in the ground. taking a deep breath, Ure clenched her fists at her side, knuckles turning white. the whole place wreeked with smells from her past. Taking another deep breath to try to calm her nerves Ure followed her companions.

fighting to keep the fear and agitiation out of her voice as the scenes of fighting, beer bottles breaking and the snapping of bones played infront of her minds eye Ure piped up.
"You've got one pretty smart dog there."





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡















"Stay safe"












Pretty ok










Anxious










we need to wrap this up










healthy

















Red Catalais



She/her







Cytus












  • h






(click play twice!)







Red rolled her eyes at the Snide comment, human lives wernt something to joke about even a little. secretly she prayed to her god that the person really escaped somewhere and was actually starting to heal. Playing with a peice of her hair Red sighed boredly, her eyes wistfully glancing at the clock.

how on earth did it get that late?! she needed to make that play tonight, Aeron finally stopped being afraid of her after 4 years. Taking a deep breath Red pasted on a smile as if she were listening to the mens conversations before clearing her throat. "are we done here? I have something and someone i need to see tonight, so are we done or do I need to cancel my plans?" she raised an eye brow as she tapped her foot impatiently.





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡














"Why would life give you Lemons?"












fine










feelings here










want to punch the bastard in the mouth










healthy

















Seth Britt



He/Him







Sunshine Duration-SingSingRabbit












  • h






(click play twice!)







Seth would have given the old man more of his mind but Ciccro had covered his mouth and restricted his speach, the boy was near his size and if Seth really wanted to he couldve thrown Ciccro off, but he didnt want to hurt his friend so he began to clam down a bit.

as everything died down and he was finally able to speak he shook his head and when Ciccro pointed at him he couldnt help but smile. "better given my execution than have an old man with a broom so far up his ass that when he farts he flies bully my friends." He hopped that his voice wasnt loud enough to travel out the room. it rerally bothered him that Sib could take so much verbal abuse from one man, it really pissed him off to the point of starting a fight with that man.

taking the verbal hint from Ciccro, Seth ajusted his shirt and followed the two of them out of the room. "why so you put up with him yelling at you Sib? i just dont understand."






♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡
 
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"Give them a show."












A Mess










Trying to stay calm










Showtime










Healthy

















Thomas Kane



(He/Him)







now playing












  • h






(click play twice!)







» Tommy watched as Nicola took in their advice, he couldn't tell how genuine her response was but he wouldn't blame her for finding their advice underwhelming. They meant it, meant the offers of help and the hands they were extending towards her - being a mentor alone was hard and terrifying and it was rare to cope without people behind you - but they didn't know each other. She saw as much of them as they had seen of her, likely she'd seen their filtered Capitol approved selves and they'd seen the Capitol darling presented to them, and so he was looking forwards to getting to know whoever the real Nicola was. He hoped that they could come to trust the newest victor, being able to be frank and honest with their advice would be better for everyone involved. But it was hard to gauge how exactly she would react to those truths, some victors were ignorant as to what exactly was expected of the other victors although they probably all found out at some point, some victors clung to the Capitol with an undying loyalty rather - genuinely believing in them rather than pretending or acting out of self interest. It was dangerous to be too honest, the wrong word could get any of them killed or their families burned to the ground - buried under the ashes like district thirteen. They destroyed an entire district, they weren't going to blanch at a few victors and their families.

Until he could be sure he'd keep some of his cards close to his chest. He also felt like he'd be a poor mentor to give everything away, not that he was particularly big on district pride - he was often sat with the career mentors during the games simply due to his table being there - he just wanted someone to survive. If that was one of his kids then great, if it was one of the others then he wouldn't begrudge them their victory - he'd just hope they'd be someone possible to deal with.

He did hope that Nicola would be alright, maybe she'd come out mostly unscathed - she was just a kid.

Ada-" He dragged her name out teasingly, "I need to practice! They'll be in demand as soon as the games start-" His hand writing was appalling and so thankfully actual autographs tended to be rare although there had been an incident where he and Ada had been accosted on their way to the train station for autographs and she'd never quite allowed him to forget it. He straightened up and finished the rest of his drink as Ada headed over to the elevator, grimacing slightly as it hit him all at once and left a strange aftertaste in the back of his mouth. He waved off the bartender as they reached for another one, it was probably best if he stopped drinking for the night anyways. The fruity concoctions always left him buzzed, in the strange state between sober and drunk and he always tried not to cross the line into complete drunkenness. He feared what would come out of his mouth if he did.

Tommy shot the two remaining victors a bright smile, he supposed he'd be seeing them again soon enough - they'd all be stuck together over the course of the games, giving them a joking bow as he made to leave. "It's been a pleasure as always Alissa!" He did genuinely like the other victor. Tommy grinned before turning his attention to Nicola, "Goodluck tomorrow and happy hunger games!"

He headed over to the elevator, shooting the peace keeper a wary glance - sometimes it was easy to forget they were always being watched. The Capitol always had someone ready to report on them, maybe even hurt them and they couldn't even see their face. He wondered what they looked like behind the mask, if they were some tough scarred man or weaker. It was impossible to know, he guessed that was the point though.

The elevator opened and he found himself in the bright white light again, he ran his hand through his hair - he couldn't wait to wash the bleach and the paint off. Maybe then he'd feel like himself again. He silently thanked Val for recommending dyes and paints that came off with relative ease, going home looking like someone from the Capitol wouldn't help him or his tribute - it would label him as someone or something other. He needed them to see him as the district 3 mentor, not a Capitol owned victor.

The train ride would bring some peace; he'd get to spend time with a friend and it would be as close to private as they could get. The alternative was him getting a train alone and he knew that likely wouldn't end well, too hyped up on nervous energy to sleep and without any real company he'd just be left with his own thoughts. The elevator opened with a ding and he was greeted by Ada, He grinned and held out his arm to her jokingly, "To the train station we go?"


interacting with: // artfvlly artfvlly tamarapasek tamarapasek @jrink





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡

 
(feel free to take as long as you need to finish things up in your scenes (i have a few to finish myself!) but here's the Reaping Day starter as soon as someone needs it!)

(Obligatory saying that just bc it’s 9am in the Capitol, for writing purposes, feel free to say it’s 9am in your Districts! Train Travel times will help the RP even out together as everyone arrives tomorrow. Feel free to take control of nameless NPCs as needed.)

The sun rose up above Panem on a very special day for all of those who lived throughout it. The Reaping Day of the 49th Hunger Games officially pulled into the stages of early morning, and most people that woke up early were just now stirring in their beds. Capitol Escorts began their days with their teams an hour before.

In Districts One, Two, and Four, they recounted tallies to confirm their top one-hundred Academy students per District. Those students received notification the night before at the latest, all the way up to a week ago, and that meant that they needed to be present at the reaping in accordance with Panem and District law, lest the Reapers come for them. Thankfully, if you did receive a summons in these three Districts and you didn’t want to be Reaped, you had nothing to fear. The Tributes were either always the top Academy students or people that volunteered over them, so a summons was not a Death Sentence.

However, in the larger Districts, such as Seven, Nine, Ten, and Eleven, the Reaping technically started a week ago. All of the tributes were drawn from the pools of children digitally in the Capitol, all in elimination brackets. If they pulled your name, contrary to the official Reaping when the ceremony took placed, you were eliminated and therefore safe from Reaping Day. This occurred in several sectors until only one hundred children remained in each pool for each District on Reaping Day, and the night before the Reaping, all Tributes in the pool of one hundred were notified that they must arrive via Capitol-sponsored, paid for train for them and their families at the main settlement lest they be accused of Reaping Avoidance. Then, from this pool of one hundred, the two official Tributes to compete in the Games are chosen. At 9 a.m. in their respective time zones, their respective District Escort will draw two Tribute names.

The smaller and medium Districts, Three, Six, Eight, and Twelve, manage to get all of their viable Tributes in one arena to draw from, so no announcements or summons are issued in these areas. Instead, all viable children ages twelve through eighteen must be present at their settlement’s arena where two Tributes are drawn from the Reaping bowls by their respective District Escort. If they are not present by 9 a.m. in their respective time zones, then they are considered eligible for Reaping Avoidance charges. In these places, generally the Squad Zero of the Capitol are deployed here first. These are the Districts, excluding Three, that are the most charged with Reaping Avoidance when Tributes try to run.

In the Capitol, citizens that weren’t hungover began setting up their betting parties at bars or in their own homes. They prepared feasts of snacking type foods on their living room tables, and left giant casseroles for families to eat stuck in the kitchen, just like any other traditional holiday.

Everyone gathered around their large, projection television sets and cheered as Almar’s face lit up the screen at 9 a.m. sharp in the most eastern time zone and at 7 a.m. sharp in the Capitol as he began to spin a tale of intense anxiety and thrill as everyone waited to see what names would be announced. Almar would go through the Career Districts first, as their names were already announced, and then begin the Districts from top to bottom, time zone to time zone as they hit 9 a.m. This gave the Careers time to volunteer in their own ceremonies, too, so the names announced at the beginning could be overwritten.

The other parts of the Capitol though, were differently situated. The Training Center staff, that is, the GameMakers and everyone else involved with the production, execution, and image of the Games woke up at six a.m. and began their work day to be ready to accept the Tributes when they arrived by bullet train in the Capitol. That is, all except for Cuvier Shields, who showed up to everything late. This time, however, he probably avoided showing up early because the Capitol Officials would arrive that morning.

In the Districts, though, those who weren’t in the pool of viable Tributes were doing one of three things. One, they were involved in the execution of the Reaping, such as PeaceKeepers and official guards. Two, parents and elders of those said possible Tributes huddled around a small, standard-issue Panem television only able to stream the Games, as its’ mandatory viewing meant it needed to be accessible in all homes. Or three, they were hiding somewhere, trying not to be found by Reaping Officials or The Grim Reapers.

-

Ah, it had been forever since he saw those towering glass automatic doors. Fancy dress shoes made no noise on the floor as he walked into the large, open lobby of the Training Center and straightened his back. The short man took in a deep breath as he examined the now bustling building as people went about their work to prep for what was about to go down. It better fucking go smoothly.

Seneca Arviox settled his ruby eyes on one of the screens, now at 9 a. m. in the Capitol, most of the Districts had been Reaped already. Almar prattled on about the Reaping Ceremonies in the Career Districts, in the same time zone as the Capitol, that would start soon. That meant any volunteers would be announced soon, solidifying the official Tributes of the Career Districts. He snorted. That meant some bets would pay off, too, as people betted on which tributes would actually get the nomination, regardless of their entry scores.

The Head Executioner in Snow’s Cabinet watched as the android spoke, talking to the citizens as if he knew them, and narrowed his eyes. Stupid piece of plastic. Well, he supposed, Almar wasn’t exactly plastic as he was more of an artificial flesh made of carbon with a metal skeleton and computer for a brain, but most people didn’t know that. Most just thought he was a normal Capitol celebrity turned junkie, looking young with surgeries and trying to stay awake to give the public what they demanded. The executioner knew better.

-

Cuvier hit the floor of his staff room in the training center as his phone alarm blared from the side of the bed. He groaned when his back made a sickening thwack sound into the air, and he slowly rolled over and pushed himself up. The throbbing pain sucked. He finally managed to crawl to his feet as he detangled himself from the mass of blankets, and turned off the alarm. His eyes darted back again to the screen, wide with alarm, as he realized the time. 9:04 a.m.

“Aa, shit! Shit!” Cuvier screamed, scrambling for his glasses that he only actually needed for distance sight, and shoved them on while hurriedly trying to get everything he needed. The man dressed as fast as he could and scrambled to get to his phone. Shit, shit, he was supposed to get that guy to One today just in case that boy made any trouble. Also, Arviox probably was already stalking around downstairs. He picked up the phone, dialing as quickly as he could and holding it between his shoulder and cheek after it began to ring.

“Vincent, you need to get your ass to The Justice Center right now.” Cuvier struggled to buckle his belt and find his coat while he spoke. He almost fell when he tripped over the covers on the floor, and screamed in the receiver. “No, you shut up, Morgan helped your ass and now it’s your turn. Get yourself to The Justice Center- yes, in your armor, dumbass- and find Evander. He’s not gonna do well without somebody, yeah, Simmons, wild people. Just go!” He hung up and tossed the phone to the side before finishing getting dressed.

Shoes quickly thrown on, Cuvier rushed down to the elevators to the lower basement to the GameMaker’s Room, breathing heavily and coughing as he leaned into the wall as he waited for the elevator to descend. At least Arviox wasn’t in the elevator, which meant he wouldn’t immediately know he was late. He would only know if he checked the clock in records. The man jogged down the hall to the GameMaker’s room and tossed open the door, late and thrown out of whack.

“Sorry,” Cuvier panted. “It’s been uh, rough.”

“Rough? You’re late, and you’re Head GameMaker!” Morgan threw his hands up, clashing with the other even though they usually got along. He gave an exasperated sigh, rubbing his face and feeling frustrated with the other man. It ached him to see the Head GameMaker’s chair open because of the lack of Emily’s presence in it, and with Cuvier gone, it worried him too.

“By Panem, you’re going to give me a heart attack. Arviox is here today and some Trainers broke some equipment, and I when I heard it hit the floor, I thought you-” Morgan began but stopped himself. How could he tell him that for a moment, he thought that the Executioner pulled him out and shot him in the hall? He couldn’t. “I thought you were hurt. We all need to be accountable and able to give alibis right now.”

“Just… just be safer.” The older GameMaker rubbed his eyes to avoid any tears. Morgan didn’t want to admit he saw the wily boy as a very close friend.

-

Valentina waited patiently in the lobby of the District Three Justice Center, tapping her small neon-bar lit red heart boots. She kept her head held high, and her tiny little heels clicked anxiously as she march-rocked her feet back and forth. In just a few moments, after that Escort finished their speech, they would reap two Tributes and pause for volunteers. In just a few minutes, she would meet her Tributes for the year.

She held her notebook with detailed, printed pictures, and her design team stood behind her with a giant banner saying ‘WELCOME D3 TRIBUTES’ on it, covered in her signature colors.

“I hope they like me…” She murmured to herself, and her yes friends, as much as she liked them, instantly praised her with words of affirmation. She flattered and hugged them, too, but her mind flitted back to the kids. Her smile faltered. They had to like her. Please.

-

Odius stood on stage at The District Three Justice Center, with an at-attention St. Bernard perched perfectly at the points of his shined shoes with Sumo’s head tilted out to the crowd and shoulders back.

The Capitol service dog gave a tiny grumble, as he never quite liked Reaping Day, and it came again just like any other day. He didn’t quite understand the complexities of it, but he knew that on this day every year, he met two new, smiling faces that petted him and stroked his long ears. He knew that those same kids that would get on the train, call after him, and play tug of war with an old Capitol hand towel on the train, he would never see again. That hurt, too. He missed those kids that spent time with Odius and him in the Training Center, and he let out a low whine to further show it before straightening the bowtie Mara put on him with a huge paw.

Odius scratched the St. Bernard’s head as he looked out on the sea of kids, and he waved to them for good measure. He knew some of the kids because of their love for the dog, but no one personally. He forgot names too often, and forgot encounters over time. His head throbbed from the drinking the night before, even though he only remembered downing two of the dozens on the table. Had those girls slipped something in his drink? He remembered being hit with the sedation needle in his watchpiece, and Mara scolding him, but nothing more. She gave him his attire, a simple deep navy suit lined with her carbon-fiber material, but nothing quite too fancy. He pinned some wildflowers to the lapel of his jacket for good measure, weaved into a makeshift corsage. Though he trusted Mara with most of his outfit, he occasionally liked to add his own accents.


-

Orson kept to himself while he listened to the Escort drone on and on about the Capitol’s greatness, and he yawned. Two of these kids would go with him to the Capitol, all of their own volition as it always ended up being the highest scoring Academy students or the volunteers for glory in District Four. He was dressed in a black suit and tie, but the fabric was laid with a gilded art that vanished in some lights and reappeared in others, a deep green showing netting patterns. He pressed his hands together and scanned the crowd.

Two kids he would try again to raise what little more they could grow after going through that vicious academy. He felt privileged that his Tributes came home more often than not, and he had a pool of retirees to tag team in and out the mentor position. It was better on his mental health in that respect. Though, it also meant if he chose to drop out of the Mentor position, he would have to answer to Capitol callers, and he got enough of those on the job. Regardless, he did it to be close to the Capitol. You always could find things to make others fall apart if you look hard enough.

-

“Don’t you think you can slip out of the house 30 minutes early, Atticus Elizabeth, not before we talk about that jacket you tried to mend.” Well, Atticus thought he did an… okay job of mending the piece, but he guessed nothing could get past his mother. He looked frantically for the stitching, and when he grabbed it, his jaw tensed in horror as he realized he used black thread on the white jacket in the dark instead of the same color. His stitching job did look good, though, but now a thick line of black striped across the tail of the coat.

“I’ve warned you a thousand times if I’ve warned you once, Atticus! Where were you last night?” Jacqueline Kramer, his mother, peeled his coat off and pointed to the stripe of stitched thread. “This is unacceptable. Clothes like this are expensive, and I’m getting tired of replacing them.” She waved her hand in front of his face and placed her hand on her hip, before continuing to scold him. He simply accepted it, then received his coat, and slipped outside.

“After that reaping, you are going to be on the first train to the Capitol! I’m going to call Ansel.” Atticus ignored his mother’s yelling as he slipped out the door of the old, yet remodeled house and ducked his head. However, he didn’t know just yet how true her words were. The boy despised how she always tried to use his uncle as a threat to him, and he also felt his blood boil whenever she acted like Ansel knew what was best for him. As if. He hated the man, and he figured that Ansel didn’t quite care for him, either. Ansel lived in the Capitol with a much shinier life, and did nothing to help them even though they were doing fine. It was the thought that mattered, right? Right.

Atticus only went to the Reaping ceremony to see Rubi, as any kids not involved with the Academy weren’t required to attend, though they could if they wanted. The high school kids were probably enjoying their stress-free days while he slipped into the crowd of kids in the large stadium. He saw the District Two mentor and escort on the stage, as the Escort droned on and on about the glory to Panem that they all witnessed every year on this very day. Blech. He didn’t want to listen, but he wanted Rubi’s company, and she would be required to be in attendance.

-

Johnathan approached the side of the stage before the ceremony began. Kids were still filing into the Academy auditorium to fight over who would be chosen due to their scores. He held his Reaping Summon in his hands with the scores he knew were false, declaring him as a Tribute for District One, lest anyone volunteer. He didn’t know that there wouldn’t be one.

Ah, yes, there he was- The District One Escort. The boy waved him over, and smoothed out the paper.

“Uh, excuse me. There’s been an error, or something. My scores were lower than this, I think something messed up in the system. Could you recheck?” He requested of the Escort, a nervous glance shot back to the crowd and then the Escort. He needed to be here for his sister, there was no way in hell he was going back into that Arena with his mother considering Capitol travel again.

-

“A write-up? For what?” Nieve Pulvil rubbed his brown eyes and then tried to focus on the paper that the District Two Escort handed him before leaving to head onto the stage. The exasperated Head PeaceKeeper remained behind the doors that the Tributes would be escorted through after being selected or volunteering, and he held his helmet at his side with his arm wrapped around it vertically and his hand holding the lip of the opening. He strained to read the words.

“Of course, that senile old Victor.” The man murmured to himself as he crumbled the piece of paper and tossed it into the trash. Someone, that someone being Mara, reported him for letting Odius wander off without Sumo, but he didn’t understand. Odius was old enough to take care of himself, and if that useless mutt was going to sleep in a corner without his owner, or if the Mentor left without the dog he knew was supposed to take care of him, then that was their own prerogative. He thought they would have more common sense, but apparently not.

“Calm down, Pulvil, calm down.” Nieve reminded himself as he replaced the helmet on his head and fastened it, which caused the autotuned voice to rumble quietly from the speakers. He just needed to relax. Surely nothing bad would happen over a single write up in years, but something still made him worry. He knew he would have to get the Head of Districts, Military, or Resources to sign it, considering his profession, but what would they even say?
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"With a Rebel Yell
She cried,
'More, More, More!'"












mental state
this will expand!










feelings here










thoughts here










health here

















Rubi Daedra




(She/Her)







Uprising












  • h






(click play twice!)






Rubi cast a glance and a half of a smile at Atticus. "Capitol kids? psssh yeah right. Probably gonna be like, double the number of tributes or something," she threw out there with a handwave, continuing to lug her amp behind her. The Training Academy was only a few blocks away, and they were getting close. "Anyway, we're here," she said, thumbing at the building. They both knew the ways in to the TAP basement, and Rubi gestured for Atticus to go first. "You lead, oh Prince of Darkness," she said, taking a breather from hauling her heavy amp and guitar over.






♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡













"I'm the lonely twin, the left hand."












mental state
this will expand!










feelings here










thoughts here










health here

















Mara Wrichten



(She/Her)







Rainbow in the Dark












  • h






(click play twice!)






Mara huffed at Odi. "Well the only thing you'll be missing back in the district is girls, but we gotta start your prep tonite. Don't want you smelling of booze among the Tributes like last year," the stylist huffed, casting a quick glance at the TV Screen. She hated the excessivity of the Capitol, even in her years of fitting in with it. The only time she went all out was on her costumes. "C'mon Odi, I know you heard me. If you don't say anything I'm gonna get Master to help, and maybe a Peacekeeper or two." She said with a smug grin, knowing full well he was mute and couldn't say anything aloud anyway.





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡













"Silence is true wisdom's best reply."












mental state
this will expand!










feelings here










thoughts here










health here

















Nomi Echo



(They/Them/Their)







Suddenly I See












  • h






(click play twice!)






As if on cue, the janitor poked their close-shaved head into the medical ward uneasily. "Movie night?" They echoed Sibyl. Nomi had put away their janitor tools after quickly (albeit thoroughly) mopping the floor. The Head of Resources certainly frightened them, but they were much more aware of not missing the special night at the Dusterhaus. Nevermind Nomi often felt unwelcome visiting, but at least nobody gave them much grief, instead preferring to avoid the former Avox. Nomi in particular enjoyed 'recording' the plays, and would sometimes quote the lines to themself whilst working in quiet, solitary places. It had taken a few months to understand the importance of the secret they were trusted with, but Nomi took it very seriously.





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡
 











"Let me
be
brave"












anxious










terrified!










this can't be happening










underfed

















Sparrow Reid



(He/Him)







DECEMBER - WOODEN ARMS












  • h






(click play twice!)







Reaping Day always brought a strange quiet alongside it; it wasn't the peaceful quiet of a spring morning in the woods where the birds chirped softly and the brook could be heard faintly in the distance, it was the kind before a storm where the animals fled and the tension was electric - as if a birdsong or snapping of a branch would bring the rain down upon them as soon as the sound echoed through the woods. He hated it. The hob was busy but it seemed more subdued than usual, looks of pity being thrown in his direction - thinly veiled relief from those who'd recently aged out of the Reaping, as everyone filled the time before the inevitable in any way they could. Some familiar faces calling out subdued greetings as he made his way towards the outskirts of town. He was sure secretly they were all happy their heads were no longer on the chopping block, they all made it through their reaping's - now the latest generation had to survive theirs.

The further away he got from the rest of the town and the closer to the fence the more his pace picked up, it was his ritual - he'd wake up earlier than everyone else and go into the woods; grab whatever herbs he didn't trust his siblings to be able to get and have an hour or so of peace before he'd need to get home and the reaping would truly begin.

He could hear the fence before he could see it, the steady buzzing being replaced by a harsh clanking whenever the power fluctuated - the power supply wasn't steady. It wasn't worth it, powering a fence constantly, the coal could be better used for something else. But it was used on reaping day - lest the children flee into the forests and leave the Capitol without their sacrifice.

He crawled under the fence, propping a wooden plank between the lowest wire - stretching out the distance between the ground so it was big enough to crawl through. Even if it wasn't on he didn't want to risk touching it, he still had a burn on his back from when he'd gotten too relaxed and too confident.

Tall firs swayed under a gentle breeze, the scent of pine filled the air - clearer and softer than soot, the scent got stronger the further into the woods he got. Sparrow allowed himself to slow slightly, he always rushed to the woods - rushed for fear of getting caught and rushed because he was so eager to escape. But he never escaped for long. But he'd never let himself do that, he could tell himself he'd never make it but the longing to be free was always there but he'd never leave his family.

They needed him. After Brent they needed him.

He'd always been the middle son, loved but unimportant in the grand scheme of things - he'd followed his gran around and helped her, learned from her. His eldest brothers following their Father around the house and then into the mines and the heat and the ground.

Jack survived.

Brent, his Father, Uncle Matthew - did not.

And so he'd suddenly become the second eldest, important and with responsibility. He had to help with his siblings. Help his Mother. Help his Grandmother. Help his cousins. Help hold everyone together until he was old enough to follow Brent, Uncle Matthew and his Father's ghosts down into the dirt.

But the urge was always there, come reaping day. He wished he could just run and run and run until he hit whatever it was that was beyond woods. He'd keep running, running until he was alone and it was just him and the trees like it had been that morning. He would sit in the grass in a clearing or sit in one of the old oaks - he'd be alone and safe and it would be peaceful.

He was always safe out here.

On the ground under the canopy or hidden high up amongst the trees. Untouchable.

He could pretend he was at least.

Sparrow focused on gathering up the herbs first; foxglove, witch hazel, anything that he knew they were running low on. It was harder to get away during the Games, the fence would be turned on and they were expected to watch. He'd close his eyes, look away during the worst moments but he'd watch. It wasn't like they had many other options.

It felt wrong not to, like he was ignoring their sacrifice somehow.

Once his pouch felt full he tied it to his belt, a scrappy little thing that barely held his pants up past his waist - it had no buckle, and made his way to the closest oak. He preferred climbing those, sturdier and without dozens of small needles sticking out at him. His grip was sure and feet steady as he made his way up the tree, he knew where to go and which branches to grab - staying away from the ones that would snap under his weight and letting his legs push him up. He stopped once he was high enough to just see through the canopy, see the clouds and the sky and the birds above. He knew it was risky to, Capitol hovercrafts flew overhead on Reaping Days but he could hear them coming - the birds always seemed to know. They'd let out warning calls and fly away, they would give him his cue to run away too - scramble to the ground or hide behind a branch.

He stared up at the canopy, trying to commit it to memory - trying to take in the last semblance of calm he'd feel until the Reaping Day was over. The sky was bright and blue, the birds songs echoed through the woods and he wished he didn't have to leave. It was so open and calm and free in a way the rest of twelve wasn't, the rest of twelve felt smothered by smoke and apathy and by having their futures written out in front of them. They'd be born to the soot covered ground and be buried under it.

At least the woods felt untouched by coal, bar the rising plumes of smoke that would go through the air.

It felt peaceful in a way his home did not.

The sun seemed brighter now as the orange haze gave way to a blue sky, Sparrow took that as his cue to leave. He didn't want to leave his Mother to wrangle his brothers alone, he didn't want any of them to be alone. And so carefully he made his way back down, feet finding the sturdy branches with relative ease and he landed on the ground with steady thump. He always tended to jump and miss the last few steps, he was sure his Mother would throttle him for it if she knew.

Thankfully she didn't. She remained blissfully unaware of the various cuts and scrapes he'd acquired over the years. Not that it really mattered, he was sure once he was working in the mines he'd get worse and more.

But he frowned as he took in the notches on the trunk. He traced the markings with his finger, trying to work out what it was - it looked like something had hit into the trunk with quite some force. He hadn't seen any deer tracks but it wasn't unheard of for a young stag to venture through and mark his territory - he'd seen one when he was younger, it had been overly aggressive and he'd fled up a tree to get away from it. The markings left behind at the base had been similar but not as fine, not as clear cut. His gaze cut over the other trunks, searching for similar markings - they were all too fine. Too sharp. Rutting left long staggered marks, tearing away at the bark as the antlers wore away at it. These markings were wrong, too deep at the centre and too clean.

He'd found a hatchet head once, a year ago - it had been rusted and warped and he'd taken it to the Hob and traded it for a jacket and some bandages.

He wondered if it was that.

But shook off the questions and the mystery, it wasn't one he had time to solve.

With a heavy sigh, he secured the pouch of herbs he'd gathered so they wouldn't fall out and made his way back to the district - the pressure in his chest increasing with every step.

* - * - *
​
The room he shared with his two brothers was small, the thin walls built from wooden planks that bowed and groaned with age, the rough aged grains filled the room with the faintest scent of pine but it could only ever be a faint smell. Everywhere and everything was dominated by coal, seeping, and soaking into through everything until nothing else remained. His single bed was crammed into one corner, a bunk bed shoved in alongside it with just enough room to squeeze between and an aged rotting bedside table that he was sure was older than his grandmother between the wall and the door. His Mother had laid out his best clothes on his bed, he assumed his brothers were getting ready in her room, the table had been replaced by a bowl of water - he closed the door and started to get ready.

He washed away the dirt, washed away the scent of pine that clung to him and did his best to scrub away all the traces of everything the Capitol would find distasteful. They always dressed up for Reaping Day, always tried to look their best.

His shirt was meant to be white but had faded to a dull grey, it still had all of its original buttons - black and bright and shiny in a way nothing else he owned was. The pants were grey and simple and he put on his usual worn boots. They hadn't been able to afford new ones and Sparrow never thought anything was worth the trade.

He was ready before his brothers.

His hands itched with the urge to do something and so he hurried back to the kitchen and let his gaze sweep over the small room, his brother's shoes were laid out near the door. Wren and Elliot had been gifted new pairs, for their first and second reaping's respectively - Sparrow couldn't help but wonder just what they had cost. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Brushing off the thought he grabbed a tattered rag and dampened it, making his way over to the shoes to shine and dust off the two pairs of leather shoes. Although, really, it would be redundant because they’d be filthy the second they stepped out the door. But it kept his hands busy, it gave him something to do - he needed something to do.

It kept his hands busy for a few minutes, a welcome distraction.

But it couldn't last forever.

His Mother ushered Wren and Elliot into the room, impeccably dressed in their best clothes - anxious faces and tired eyes. He wordlessly handed over the shoes and helped Wren tie his up. Then their Mother was ushering them out of the door and making her own way over to his eldest brother's, where he was sure they'd make their way over to the Reaping together.

"Come on then," He muttered softly. "It'll be over before you know it."

Dozens of children made their way to the district centre, he could see some of the merchants children up towards the front of the crowd - bright hair and fair skin. Their clothes always fit, always seemed bright and intact and unblemished by the dirt. He wondered if one of them would be picked this year, they never seemed to. His name was in the bowl twenty two times, he knew others with more - plenty more than him. But it didn't do much to quell the anxiety in his chest and the small bitter spark of jealously he felt towards the merchant children, they rarely took tesserae - the odds were actually in their favour.

And he'd made sure the odds were in Elliot and Wren's favour. He hadn't let them take out tesserae, he took out all they needed to - it wasn't worth spreading the risk out. He wouldn't have their names in more than they needed to be. He wouldn't let them get picked.

He was meant to protect them.

The bookies seemed in high spirits, though that could just as easily be motivated by spirits of the more literal kind - he was sure old man Coldwater had been selling his concoctions again. He hurried past them with contempt as they reached the district centre and headed past their shacks, they'd profit from the poor unfortunate souls sent away to die for the rest of them - shake hands and exchange money as they bet on how quickly the chosen would die and what gruesome way their lives would end. He scowled in displeasure as he hurried past them; Elliot and Wren being pulled along with him.

Everyone else seemed more sombre as the children were checked in and the district gathered.

He felt Wren stumble as the stage came into view, his brother's breath hitching as tears filled his eyes. Sparrow suppressed a curse and pulled the pair of them off to the side, Elliot hovering behind Wren and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Eyes still locked with his, he shook his head back and forth, tried to breathe in. One thin, whistling thread of air. Just one. It wasn't enough.

The weak pull of air only seemed to make him dizzier and he watched as he shut his eyes and tried again.

"Hey," Sparrow tried to keep his voice low and even. Sliding his arm to loosely circle his brother's waist, "Come on, breathe."

He set his hand over his heart.

Again.

His lungs filled, a slow and measured rise under his palm. Out, sinking under his fingers.

On the third breath, he was relieved to see Wren matching him.

Two more, and he carefully let him go.

"Better?" He questioned, eyes darting around to check they weren't about to be ushered along.

After another breath Wren nodded, anxiously biting at his lip.

"It'll be okay-" He made sure Elliot was listening too before continuing, "Your names are barely in the bowl, you won't get picked. I won't let you. Alright?"

They nodded, he couldn't tell if they believed him. He hoped they did.

Sparrow wished he could grab him and Elliot and just run away with them, this was only the first in a long line of Reaping's for them. This was only his fourth and it felt like it had been going on forever.

Once it seemed like Wren was steady and Elliot seemed ready to stop hovering he made his way back into the crowd, picking up his pace as he led the duo to the check-in queue. Keeping up a steady and cheerful commentary about the steps ahead and trying his best to soothe Wren's worries when he told them about the blood that would be taken. "It's just a tiny pinch I promise! Like getting a papercut or a splinter-" That seemed to ease things slightly but the worry was still there in all of them in the way he kept tapping his foot against the ground, the way Elliot kept up a steady stream of muttered remarks and the way Wren trembled slightly every time they took a step forwards.

He wished they didn't have to do this.

It wasn't fair.

But they didn't get a choice.

"Next!" The voice called, always clipped - always impersonal.

They never seemed to care.

He shuffled forwards, eyes focused behind him as he did his best to give Wren a bright smile. He winced at the prick and let the peacekeeper press his finger against the pages of the book, it held the names of every child in the district - it made sure they were all present and accounted for.

Wren and Elliot made their way through a minute after him and he shot them both a thumbs up, he grabbed Wrens shoulders and gently guided him to where the younger boys had gathered - Elliot followed closely behind. "Stay here until the Reaping's finished then I'll come and get you, alright?" He nodded in affirmation, Elliot following behind a moment later and Sparrow wished he had someway to comfort them but any placating words died on his tongue and left ashes in their wake - he swallowed, throat bobbing, before clapping him on the shoulder and making his way to where the boys of his own age had gathered. He checked behind him and was relieved to see Elliot comforting Wren.

He murmured greetings to his friends when he finally found them, the nervous energy seeming electric between them as they all huddled together.

The wait for the ceremony to actually start was always hellish, seeming to last an eternity and then seeming all too fast once everything actually got going.

The mayor of District Twelve appeared and with a clearing of his throat the entire district seemed to stand still, he waited for silence before stepping forward to present his annual speech about how the Hunger Games provided the Districts with peace through the sacrifice of one ‘courageous’ young man and woman between the ages of twelve and eighteen from each District. Telling them they were to participate in the Games in order to never repeat the rebellion and tragedy of District Thirteen or the Dark Days.

It was the same speech every year, sometimes it was almost comforting in its familiarity - the Mayor was at least one of them and the smallest shred of sympathy seemed to shine through as he spoke. At least seemed the slightest bit sorry for them as he continued on the tradition.

The escorts never seemed to be.

But sometimes the speech just ignited a dull spark of anger, it was all a lie. The tributes weren't courageous, not from twelve - not usually. They were usually scared and malnourished and underfed and they cried as they died and their families mourned and it wasn't great or grand or anything other than sentencing them to death.

It wasn't long before they appeared and the show was well and truly underway. They went through the usual motions and Sparrow shifted his weight from foot to foot as he tried to shake off the ever-growing anxiety.

“I wish you all a happy Hunger Games,” They chirped but it was all fake and wrong sounding. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.” There was a pause as everyone readied themselves for what was to come. The bowls of names seemed larger in that moment, looming over them as they got ready to decide their fates. "In a break from tradition, we'll do the boys first!" The escort seemed to almost strut to the bowl and Sparrow could feel the inhale of everyone around him as the hand-dived in and pulled out a crisp white envelope. The entire district seeming to still as they collectively held their breaths - waited to see which of their children was sent off to die.

His heart was racing, he prayed it wouldn't be his siblings or his cousins.

Anyone but them.

Please. Anyone but them.

"And our male tribute for District Twelve is," The pause seemed to be an eternity as they unfolded the bit of paper, squinting at the name as they read it out in their clear voice. "Sparrow Reid."

The words clear and damning.

Sparrow.

No.

Sparrow Reid.

Not him.

It couldn’t have been him.

The crowd parted around him and confirmed that it had to be real.

It was him.

He could hear people muttering amongst themselves, relieved they were safe and some murmurs of pity for him. He hoped his siblings were alright but he was too scared to look. He was shaking slightly, steps uncertain as he moved past the rest of his district almost on autopilot - like he was floating away in a dream. The ground didn't feel solid under his feet. He kept his eyes down on his worn muddy boots, he supposed it was a good thing he hadn't tried to get a new pair - they'd have been wasted. Peacekeepers appeared and stood on either side of him, to make sure he got to the stage - to make sure he didn't run. He'd seen people run, they never got far but he still felt the urge to run and try to get away - maybe he could get out past the hob and to the fence, get past the fence into the meadow and beyond. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe he'd make it that far.

Maybe his family could somehow come with.

Maybe he'd manage to survive in the woods.

But they'd hunt him down and bring him back, make sure he paid for it during the games. Make sure his family did.

Someone would pay.

His family would pay.

And so he kept walking and tried to be as steady as he could as the world swam and shifted around him, vision blurring.

When he finally got onto the stage, what seemed like an eternity later, he stood there with his head down. His heart was pounding as he tried to keep it together until he could get off the stage and run. He wished he could just run and run and run until he hit the woods. He'd go over the fence and keep running, running until he was alone and it was just him and the trees like it had been that morning. He would sit in the grass in a clearing or sit in one of the old oaks - he'd be alone and safe and it would be peaceful.

He was always safe out there.

Sparrow took in a few deep breaths, steadying himself - in and out the same way he'd calmed Wren earlier that morning before looking up to meet the gaze of his district. He could see his Mother out in the crowd, being held up by his older brother as his Aunt and Grandmother held on to each other. His brothers were huddled with their friends in their groups. Their faces were contorted in a mixture of pain and rage and grief and shock - he'd been in the audience for years gazing up at the two people sent away and now he was one of them - the expressions he'd worn for years were mirrored back at him. Mocking. Taunting. Damning. He finally saw what the tributes had been seeing all these years. They'd all mourn them, knowing the chances of them returning were slim. He was one of the children the district would mourn, tell stories about, and eventually watch die.

He didn't want his family to see that.

He didn't want anyone to.

He'd be one of those faces on the screens; crying, screaming, dying.

That realisation helped keep his eyes dry, helped him fight back the breaths he was scared would escape.

He wouldn't let himself cry.

He wouldn't let them see that.

The escort shot him a bright smile with too-perfect teeth - it was all sharp and too wide and he hated it. The teeth were white and bright and seemed to have gems embedded in them - the light-catching off them in a mesmerizing way and providing a distraction, letting him pretend he was anywhere other than on the stage - being sent to his death. Sparrow found himself unable to look at anything else.

He could hear birds cawing in the distance and wished he was one of them. Wished he could fly away from the world he was in.

He didn't want to die.

But he didn't really have a choice.

The escort broke away and he was forced to move his gaze back out onto the crowd below.

"And now, for the ladies!"

// FoldedPages FoldedPages






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"The night is so empty"












A mess










Numb?










why? Why did papa....










A few scrapes and bruises

















Raven Santos



(She/her)







Survive












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(click play twice!)







The train rumbled as the girl leaned against the window and took a deep breath. “This has to be a dream right?” Mumbling to herself, her dry, sleepy eyes darted around the room frantically. Knee jostling up and down, “I just thought that they were a myth to scare kids to listen to their parents….. Now Mama and Papa…...” Hot tears pushed their way into her eyes, her fingers burrowing their way into the crusty dry shirt. No, she wasn’t going to allow herself to cry. When she wiped the tears traces of dirt was left behind. It hadn't always been like this, Raven had a loving family and friends but most were afraid for what might come this year. Most years she had lucked out in the reaping. It was only a small chance to get picked usually, But something was funny about this year. She could feel it in every fiber of her being. So did her parents. That's when Papa came up with the idea after the last reaping.

She would run, Raven would hide.

When the girl first heard the words uttered in that kitchen panic struck her chest like an arrow. "But papa! I cant run or hide! I don't have any survival skills! I don't k ow how to do much of anything!" That's when Papa smiled.

"Ahhh little bird you forget, we may be in the district for clothing but a lot happens under the capitals nose. Many of us who can't get food find ways to get what we need to survive. You two will learn many ways to surive so you don't have to doe a bloody death in that damn arena." With that after school Raven had spent the better half of the year doing everything she could to learn how to survive on her own and secretly packing items that she would need.

The hardest part was finding a doctor that would forge a note. The doctor they found was Neil J. Bloomberg. He had been the family doctor since Raven was small and he loved the girl as if she were his own daughter and reluctantly he had agreed to the plan. A few days before the reaping he would write a note excusing Raven from class due to having the flu. It wasnt unbelievable due to the fact that many kids caught colds randomly through the year.

So the fateful day arrived, Ravens parents gave her teacher the note saying that she wasnt going to be at school. The teacher just sighed and shook her head, mumbling something about hygiene. When night fell, Raven took a deep breath and steeled her nerves, she didn't want to die but this plan had basically been shoved on her. Papa, momma and everyone involved were staking their lives on this escape attempt. Shouldering her backpack she gave momma a teary filled hug.

“What happens if i get caught?” the words tumbled out of her mouth as her limbs trembled, she didn't want them to die. So what if she had to go and fight in the games? There was always a chance that she wouldnt be chosen but the grim look on her fathers face said something different. Was there something that he knew this whole time that he wasnt telling her? Why was he so intent on her running?

“Little bird we mustn’t think of that, the last train is leaving soon and we must get you on.” and that was that. When Papa set his mind to something there was no changing it.
So there she was, on the last train for the night, it would take her as close to the border as possible.

"So that was that, like a coward I ran" mumbling to herself Raven had shifted back to the window. "I would've made it out there, but fate had other plans for me. It was all fine until the reapers came…"

And they wernt just a bedtime story either. When they had found the small shack about a mile away from the border, it was all over. It didn't take long for them to find the secret door to the basement and drag the girl out. Raven fought with everything she could. She kicked, screamed and bit. Raven did manage to get a few shots on them but nothing fazed the seemingly soulless people dressed in black.

Wincing at the memory slightly she took her hand and rubbed the tender spot on her head from where one of them yanked on her head. Blinking, Raven was brought back to the present as the train slowly stopped. The capitol was bright and brilliant. Raven had to squint against the sun as the train stopped. Heart pounding she braced herself against the seat, she would be the very last to get off. She would make sure of it.





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"I'm gonna get in trouble, I'm gonna start a fight!'"












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Rubi Daedra




(She/Her)







Uprising












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Rubi tapped on Atticus's shoulder. "Sup dork," she greeted, a smug grin on her face. "Come to see Valk and Maxi go off to the Hunger Games?" She asked, referring to the two Careers currently standing closest to the stage. Rubi wasn't sure they would really bring 'glory to the District' like the Escort kept saying but hey, at least it wasn't Rubi herself up there. "Or are you planning to volunteer yourself?" She teased with a sly smile. She didn't mean anything by it, she knew he didn't even have the guts to even speak up. "Pulvil got in late last night, didn't even have the energy to try to find out where I was," she told Atticus, as her eyes picked out the District's Head Peacekeeper. He was uniformed, hidden behind the helmet like every other PK but years of seeing them had ingrained differences in Rubi's sight, like the small rank insignia worn on Nieve's collar. The Head stood on stage as well, just behind the Tributes, just like he did every year.





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"It's all fake smiles and leather jackets"












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Evander Zaffre



(he/him)







You're So Vain












  • h






(click play twice!)






Evan was just finishing outlining details to some workers. They were getting ready to go live soon, and Evander wanted his first year with District 1 to be amazing. But when a teen waved him down, a smile grew naturally on Evander's face. "Ah, a fan? Wanting a signature, I assu-" He began, as the paper was almost shoved in his face. He read the white sheaf slowly, looking back at Jonathan every now and then, as if trying to remember where he had seen him before. His blue eyes, blue hair, and blue suit looked almost purple in the darkness outside of the bright lights. "Ohhhh," he moaned in recognition, "You're the Simmons boy! Yes, they are excellent scores, aren't they? I believe I can assure you that they were not mistaken, but I can certainly check with my superiors over at your training center, and confirm the results." He began to walk away with the paper, before turning back quickly. "Oh, and... I'm sorry for your brother. I know he's watching from above, so make him proud!" He wasn't sorry, not really. After all, Cuvier had explained that the plan was to 'shuffle' the scores so delinquent boy would be on top and try to prevent it from getting fixed before the Reaping. After all, the Capitol didn't really care who the Tributes were, and they would have a field day with the younger brother of one of last year's contestants.





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"Over and In, last call for Sin"












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Guy Arvoix



(He/Him)







Don't fear the Reaper












  • h






(click play twice!)






At the door, a black-suited figure stood. Captain of Captiol Squad 00, Gaius Arviox was indistinguishable from any other peacekeeper, outside of his midnight black threads that seemed to absorb light, almost blending into the shadows of the train despite the well-lit interior. He mentally went through his report, keeping an eye on the girl as she sulked near the window. He felt a little bit bad, but it was his job to deal with runaways like her. His investigation had been swift, failing to get any credible answers from her family or friends, rading the house and finding a ticket stub to the local train had been the bingo. With a sniffer Muttation and thermal cam, he quickly found her little shack where she was hiding. Not even her attacking him could do anything, as he merely shrugged off any punches as he had subdued her.
The sound of the train docking pulled his focus away from his report as he watched the Tribute shift. They were the only two on the train, Jupitor and the male Tribute having gone ahead while Gaius tracked down Raven. He didn't move as the doors opened, only ordering Raven, "Door's open. Get out." His modulator, much like a standard Peacekeeper's, disguised his normal voice. He merely stared at her, almost daring her to run. He wouldn't be asking again.





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"Press a button to begin"












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Dew A. Maddock



(He/Him)







Handle with Care












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Dewey stood in the crowd of potential tributes, trying to distance himself from them. Not like he wanted to be here, crowded and surrounded by people who were all much stronger than him, who could theoretically survive or have better odds than him. He half-listened as the Escort droned on about a message of sending kids to war, and the generosity of the Capitol, and other things that Dew knew to be mostly false. At least he didn't have to take Tessera, thanks to his mostly-well-off parents. Every year since he was 12, he had to be in the District Center, and crowded in, it all bothered him and made him twitchy.





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"The night is so empty"












sane?










Frazzled










I'm gonna die!










Ankel injury

















Raven Santos



(She/her)







Survive












  • h






(click play twice!)







Hearing the train stop dread filled Raven as the beautiful city lay before her. This train was leading her way to her death as if she was on her way to a guillotine. Jumping slightly when she heard the voice, she looked up and glared at them before going back to the window.

After a few beats the tension in the train grew, the girl didn't care. Her eyes were scanning the area. An idea formed. Rolling her eyes Raven huffed as she pushed herself up off the seat, walking over to the door she gave the reaper another glare. "Fuck you." She spat at their shoes before lumbering down the stairs. As soon her sneaker hit the pavement Raven took off for the other end of the platform.

Raven was never gonna be a fighter and she knew that but fighting wasnt the only way to survive. Eyeing the wall that was steadily approaching she picked up speed Raven had just enough so that when she jumped, climbing over the wall and clearing it was easy. This is what earned her the name Wild Monkey back home. Any tree, wall or high place that people never went, Raven climbed. She may not be a killer but with her skills it might have just raised her chances of survival. Unless she was caught. Again.

Running and climbing through the maze of alley ways, Raven had cleared 2 more walls the same way she did back at the station. She was making great progress!

But confidence and mistakes always seem to go hand in hand. On the third wall she jumped and climbed over, she landed wrong and pain laced through her right leg making her crash to the ground. She could run and fly all she wanted too, but the moment you mess up a runners ankles they were done.

Laying there for a moment tears started to stream through her eyes. "Dammit!" She hit the ground with her fist, she needed to make as much distance between herself and them as possible. And the last time this happened it took a whole week to heal. Raven didn't have that luxury. Pushing herself up, she gave a yelp of pain. Ok, so she couldnt put any pressure on it. Damn it all! Well if she was going to get captured Raven was sure to make it hell for them. Gritting her teeth as she limped up to the nearest wall she continued.






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"Soap up and get your hands dirty"












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Guy Arvoix



(He/Him)







Don't fear the Reaper












  • h






(click play twice!)






Guy groaned silently under his helmet. He really didn't want to make a scene, but video of a tribute running escaped through the Capitol would have been hell on PR. Not to mention his uncle would give him hell for letting a girl go, if even for a few minutes that it would take to track her down. So the moment the Tribute bolted, the black-clad Peacekeeper was behind her, handily keeping up, the pitter-patter of his feet echoed Raven's pace almost perfectly, as if he was toying with her. He didn't pull out his rifle, the station too busy to risk hurting someone else. No, he merely kept pace, knowing his training would give him an edge over her. As she clambered up the first wall, Captain Arviox nodded in appreciation. She had skill, talent too. Too bad it was going to be wasted in the Arena, he could use a Reaper like her.
He aptly followed her up the wall, pumping his legs for a burst of speed before running a few steps up the vertical surface and leaping for the ledge, pulling himself up like he had done thousands of times before, rotating his legs over the obstacle and pointing them downwards as he landed and rolled smoothly into a sprint, still nanoseconds behind his quarry. She ducked and weaved, but it was obvious to Guy that she didn't know the exact terrain. No escaped Tribute ever did. Still, she was holding up far better than most.
Guy noticed that by the second wall, her moves were getting slower, fatigued. Running quickly exhausted most people, and Gaius had trained extensively to improve his stamina to take advantage of that. Training that had paid off times before, and now again. He reached out and the extension of his gloved hand brushed her shoe as she leaped down, stumbling back into a full-on sprint. She knew how close he was, and so did Guy. He quickly caught up with her, and by the time she had scaled the third obstacle, leading her almost directly towards the center of the slums, he was barely close enough to grab at her.
He stood at the top of the 3rd wall as he watched. The moment she touched down, he could tell she hadn't landed properly, misjudging the landing surface that was pitted with broken cracks and potholes. Her ankle had rolled out, her weight and momentum spraining it. Carefully, avoiding the same pitfall Raven did, Captain Arviox leaped down, walking up to the lame girl.
"Rookie mistake," he opened with, following her at a slow pace as she limped towards the last wall that would lead right into the slums. Even through the modulator, he didn't sound at all out of breath, as if he had just gone for a morning jog for a warm up. "Now stand still, unless you want your ankle to get worse and increase the possibility of not getting out alive." He pulled something from a pocket on his thigh, and unfolded it. It may have looked sinister, but he knelt down and pressed it up against her leg to reveal it was a two-pronged splint, with retractable webbing he quickly wound around her leg. He was grateful it was a standard issue for most Peacekeepers. "Now then, I suggest you don't run anymore. Not only will you damage your ankle further, but I will be forced to call in reinforcement." He crouched so his faceless helmet lined up with her eyes. Such defiant eyes. "And trust me, my squad will not be as kind as I have been thus far." Intimidation was, after all, a specialty of many Reapers. Gaius would admit that he was nowhere near the best. But today had been a long day, and he knew he'd have to assign watches on some of the tributes for his squad. After an incident like this, one or two could get gutsy and make their own attempts. Better to nip the bud before it blooms.





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"Press a button to begin"












mental state
this will expand!










feelings here










thoughts here










health here

















Dew A. Maddock



(He/Him)







Handle with Care












  • h






(click play twice!)






"-Wey Maddock!"
Dew looked up, his thoughts interrupted as he caught the tail end of a familiar name. He looked around, noticing two Peacekeepers walking towards him with a bit of urgency. His panic flared, and his hands shook, but his feet were nailed to the floor. The crowd parted like the red sea, giving them a straight path and line of sight. Soon enough, they were upon him, hands tightly gripping his biceps and hauling him towards the platform where names were being called out. He was straight as a board as they plopped him down next to Thomas, the Me-his Mentor, now. He tried to say something, but his voice failed him, his mouth moving like it was still trying to make sounds. He gave a nervous smile and wave, looking around and realizing this was it. He was one of the Tributes.
Yaaaaaay. He supposed he'd meet the Stylist soon, once they called out the girl tribute. Which would probably be his partner for the near future.





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"Give them
a show"












Not good










numb










final hour










physically doing great

















Thomas Kane



(He/Him)







CHERRY TREE - THE NATIONAL












  • h






(click play twice!)







The train ride with Ada had been refreshing. The relative privacy coupled with spending time with someone he actually liked and admired meant that what could have been a torturous few hours of solitude were actually almost pleasant. Or as pleasant as they could be considering the games looming over them. They'd reunite in a day, back at the Capitol with their tributes in tow - technically competing against each other but he'd never been the type to really blame the other mentors for their tributes actions. They were all just trying to save a kid, wasn't worth blaming each other for the game's rules. It was all out of their control anyway.

At least in the Capitol, he could forget why he was doing what he did, it was easier to hide from reality in the vibrant blinding light of the heart of Panem rather than his industrial roots of District 3.

And as he opened the door to his victors' village house a part of him wished he hadn't made the journey.

But a familiar voice helped ease the anxiety.

"Tom! You're back!" His sister called out - voice carrying before he could see her, practically launching herself from her seat in the kitchen and into his arms in the hallway. He grunted as she all but crashed into him, she was getting bigger. He returned her hug with a small smile, he'd missed her - she was one of the only things he missed whenever he was in the Capitol. He let her hold onto him for as long as she wanted before gently patting her back and prying himself out of her grip and walking towards the spread laid out on the counters.

"Where's Mom and Dad?" He asked, leading her back to the table. There was a basket of pastries pilled high with croissants and turnovers, a small dish of scrambled eggs, a rack of toast and a range of fruit. It wasn't quite a Capitol spread but it was more for one meal than would be found in most of their district. They were important but still tended to be poor, working in the factories and poisoning their lungs on lead and fumes to put food on the table. He was glad his parents no longer had to do that. He grabbed an apple from the bowl and pilled some of the toast onto a plate - watching as his sister tucked into her own plate full of waffles and croissants, it seemed she'd inherited his sweet tooth.

Jemma spoke around a mouthful of food as she settled back into her seat, "Mom's upstairs- choosing a dress I think." She hesitated before continuing, "Dad's at his shop. Wanted to finish some of his work before the Reaping." She didn't meet his gaze and he assumed his Father was more so trying to avoid him but he wouldn't push her on the subject. He'd kept working despite the families newfound wealth and resented the fact Tommy never helped him in the shop. Tommy could have explained why, could have explained how every time he tried to tinker with or make something he was sent back to the arena and he could feel everything all over again.

He made something and it had killed children. He'd gotten creative and had been so proud of it, so very proud of what he'd created. In that second he'd set off his trap glee and relief had flooded through his veins, he had a chance now - now they were dead, it chased away his lingering terror and the sense of power had been intoxicating. He'd committed what should have been an unthinkable act but it had carried a high he could have spent the rest of his life chasing. Five tributes electrocuted by the Capitols own cameras, their own arena. The rain sent by the game makers once they realised what he was doing, the rubber mat sent from the sky guaranteeing his safety, making it so they had no escape. They'd died and burned and he'd felt powerful. He'd wanted it. He'd been glad when they died. He lived and they died and he'd been glad. A spectacle watched by thousands and replayed annually. But the haunting echoes and screams of the dying had dragged him back to reality and replaced glory with revulsion. He could still smell that moment sometimes. It smelt like death and burning and horror.

It was not something he liked to relive. The glee or the horror.

He'd never managed to explain that to his father though.

He nodded to show he heard her, using the movement to ground himself and refocus on the world around him. It wouldn't do to get distracted today of all days, he turned back to her and made sure to swallow before he spoke, refusing to spray crumbs everywhere like her - he could imagine several members of the Capitol fainting at her lack of table manners. He changed the topic, nodding his head towards her plate. "Don't suppose you'll have some of the eggs? You can't just live off of sugar Sparky,"

She didn't dignify him with a response, sticking her tongue out instead and grabbing another croissant from the basket to spite him as she rolled her eyes at the familiar nickname. "You know-" She said finally, thankfully after she'd swallowed her latest sugary mouthful, "You looked ridiculous. We saw you on the Capitol coverage of the Games countdown, did someone vomit glitter over you or was that a style choice?" She smirked teasingly, punctuating her point with a spoon.

He snorted, "I'll have you know that's called style Jem, it's all the range in the Capitol."

"So a terrible style choice then, I'm disappointed big brother." Shaking her head as she grabbed a couple of grapes.

Rolling his eyes he snatched one of them from her and popped it into his mouth, "I'll be sure to pass on the comments." He replied dryly.

She huffed a laugh and the pair of them sat in comfortable silence for a minute or two before his Mother appeared in the doorway, somehow she always managed to sneak up on him - her footsteps silent despite the marbled floors. "Your dress is on the door upstairs Jemma, why don't you wash up and get changed ready for when we've got to leave?"

Mouth stuffed full of pastries Jemma just looked between the two of them, shooting him a sympathetic look and squeezing his arm as he went past. "Try not to kill him Mom!" She drawled as she headed up the stairs towards her room, leaving the remaining pair in silence.

Tommy headed for the pantry once he heard his sisters door slam shut, retrieving the bottle of vodka he kept stashed on the top shelf behind some empty jars. His Mother sighed, disapproval etched into the lines of her face but she walked over to and handed him a glass from the cupboard - having long since accepted that particular habit of his. He poured the liquid into the glass before hiding the bottle away again, waiting for her to say whatever it was she wanted to. He took a long swig, the alcohol burning the back of his throat - he'd never liked the stronger spirit but he knew he needed something to take the edge off and help him survive the next few hours. Sometimes it felt like he was getting closer to that edge victors seemed to cross, when they finally decided to find all of their comfort in the bottom of a bottle or with some morphling.

Finally his Mother filled the silence. "I'm not going to tell you anything you don't know but I wish you hadn't cut it so close. You can stay away from here for as long or as much as you'd like but your sister needed you last night and I feared you wouldn't make it in time this morning, at least not with enough time to visit." She shook her head, disappointment etched into her face. "One day you'll remember you have a duty to your family and tear yourself away from those parties you attend and those people you see. I'd hoped that day would be this year, it seems I can only hope for the next." She turned to the counters, pouring herself a cup of coffee - something she'd developed a taste for since his win.

He opened his mouth to reply, tell her that it hadn't been much of a choice - summoned away a few days before and hating to be home whenever he wasn't. It was no secret he wasn't loved by the district, he couldn't blame them - he killed his district partner. He knew her family saw it as him having stolen her win, especially given he was dying anyway. They'd had to operate on him and fight to bring him back. Home was suffocating, the guilt would pool in the bottom of his stomach and he knew how he was viewed - at least in the Capitol he knew where he stood. District 3 was too much of a mixed bag; admiration, fear, disgust and contempt - plain as day on the faces of those around him.

He hadn't wanted to hurt his sister though, everything he did was for her. Everything he did was so she'd never get reaped, never have to work in the factories until she got sick or until she was too old to. But he couldn't voice that, didn't know how to even begin that and so instead he took another drink and intentionally avoided his Mother's gaze and when her gaze became too much he placed the glass into the sink and headed past her and up towards his room. "I'll go get dressed too then, I'll take Jem over-" He ploughed on before she could talk over him, "Probably best for you to go get Dad, you know-how into his work he can get."

"Thomas-"
"I've got it." He muttered before she could voice her protest, "Make up for whatever I missed last night right?"


* * * * * * * *


He supposed they were lucky, the village was close to everything important - faced with a quick walk rather than a long dragged out one that would only help the anxiety build in both of their chests. He could remember how far he used to have to walk to the reaping, nerves leading to a feeling of exhaustion and his legs trembling with every step.

Gently he pushed her towards the check-in area, thankfully she knew the drill by now - queue, pinprick, blood, line up, speech, names drawn. Then it would all be over for her. He lingered for a moment, staying just on the edge of the crowd in an attempt to keep attention away from himself before turning on his heel and making his way towards the main building. He waited there, practically vibrating with tension as he straightened up and checked himself over in the mirror. It wasn't the Capitol style he was known for but his clothes were well-tailored and sharp, enough to satisfy the cameras that he'd tried to look his best for the Reaping. They tended to be less favourable towards the less presentable districts and he wanted to get them all the coverage they could get.

He stepped out onto the platform when he was meant to, stood to the side - watched as the escort and mayor got ready to do their jobs. Finally letting himself get a look at this years pool of potential tributes. It felt as though they get younger every year, though that was probably just a side effect of his own age staggering ever higher, he hoped he wouldn't get a young reaping this year. Not that the 18-year-olds were old, they were still kids - still innocent but it was easier with them. It was easier to be honest with them and to work with them. The twelve and thirteen-year-olds, with wide eyes and trembling limbs and a tragic acceptance of what's to come, always broke him a little - he dreaded the day they didn't. He scanned the crowd gathered, gaze lingering on Jemma as he silently hoped she'd be safe - it was selfish to condemn another child in her place but she was his family and he couldn't lose her. Her name was only in there four times. Plenty of children had tesserae or were older. There was no reason for her to be picked. The odds had to be in her favour even if they hadn't been in his. He'd done everything right. She was safe. She had to be.

A knock on the microphone caused him to wince as the feedback echoed across the district centre, the escort had arrived and was ready to get the show on the road. It was the same one every year, he'd never grown particularly attached to them but they weren't half bad at their job.

"Welcome! Welcome to the 49th annual Hunger Games!"

They went through their usual speech, the recounting of Panem's past and the war that doomed them all to this fate. He found himself echoing the words silently, ingrained into him as he was sure they were into every other person present - they'd all grown up with this annual unchanging tradition. Idly he wondered if they'd ever change the script, ever change how exactly it was all said. Maybe it would make things a little more interesting.

And then, came the first name.

"Dewey Maddock!"

His head jerked upwards as the name was called out, scanning the sea of children to get a look at the unlucky tribute. Seconds passed and the crowd seemed to part themselves, recognising the tribute before he'd even started to move. He seemed older, thankfully but still terrified. Not that he blamed him, he could remember the terror he'd felt - limbs stiff and frozen and everything feeling all wrong. It had been like he was watching it on the screen rather than living it himself. Still, he could have a chance. He hoped he'd have a chance. The Peacekeepers made their way over to him and guided him to the stage and Tommy watched curiously to see what exactly the boys first impression would be, they weren't everything - the parade was what mattered but it wouldn't hurt to start sizing him up now.

He wondered what Valentina would think of him, she was usually good with the tributes and they were usually caught somewhat off guard. At least he had been. Although he tries to ensure that his tributes respect her in the way he hadn't, stylists were essential if you wanted to win.

A smile and a wave, he nodded to himself in approval. It was a good start.

He could work with that.

Now for the girl, maybe he'd get a good team this year.






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"The steps you take don't need to be big."












Healthy?










Terrified










I don't want to die










Healthy enough

















Eleanor Brooks



(She/Her)







Life on Mars - Aurora (Cover)












  • h






(click play twice!)







Warm water was a luxury they rarely indulged in, she was more than used to using a hose or a bucket of cold water - considering the stifling and dry heat that more often than not pressed down upon the district not many people saw a warm bath as something comforting, the water would have to be heated over the fire and it was a waste of time and labour when cold sufficed. However she wasn't against indulging today, she took a laborious amount of time taking in the warmth of the water and scrubbing off any lingering dirt and dust from the day before. A part of her wondered why they did it, they were never usually squeaky clean and immaculate - their best clothes and finest soaps to scrub away anything the Capitol wouldn't like to look upon. Despite the fact that the poor child who got chosen would be covered in so much worse by the end of it all.

She got out and grabbed one of their towels, the fabric was as unfamiliar as the building she was in - she wondered if anyone lived here or whether they had an entire place reserved purely for the Reaping, drying herself off quickly so as to not drip water everywhere. The dress hung on the back of the bedroom door, it was a startlingly bright blue - almost blindingly so when compared to the muted reds and browns and greys she tended to wear throughout the year. She dreaded to think what it would have cost, think how her Mother could have afforded it. Dresses weren't the typical style in District 10 - not for her family, they were ranchers and ranchers needed practicality over aesthetics. Most families did. There wasn't much point in wearing beautiful clothes with fancy patterns when they'd get covered in dirt and grime and blood and dust. And even if there was a call for it chances were that they wouldn't be able to afford it. They patched and repaired and sewed, pants were easier to fix over a skirt. They fixed what they could and reuse whatever they couldn't, nothing went to waste.

"Mom-" She called out as she headed back to where she knew her mother would be, grabbing a roll as she passed the small kitchen and stuffing it into her mouth. "Mom, can you do up the back for me?" Her words came out garbled and muffled as she spoke around the food, twisting around to gesture to the button on the back of the dress - the fabric pressing against her in protest and threatening to tear as she twisted and writhed.

A gentle hand swotted at hers, "Stop that Nellie. You'll tear it sooner than you'll do it." She let her arms hang limply at her sides and stood as her Mother fastened the button, finishing the roll whilst she had the chance. Her mother placed her hands on her shoulders and spun her around to appraise her, she fidgeted under her Mother's gaze and the thinly veiled sympathy and sorrow that lied within it, gently tucking some of her hair behind her ear as she did so. "There." Smiling gently she continued, "You look wonderful."

Nell raised a sceptical eyebrow as she met her Mother's gaze, she could feel the dress on her - ill-fitting like a glove on the wrong hand. "If you say so," she replied quietly.

"I do." Her Mother chided gently, "You should put the white ribbon in your hair, it'll match the dress beautifully."

Nell nodded her affirmation and when her Mother finally released her, she could see the reluctance as she did so - her arms pausing midair briefly as she fought the urge to grab her child and pull her closer to her again, she hurried over towards their fabric basket. Pulling out the ribbon with a dramatic flourish and quickly weaving it within her braid. "Better?"

"Better." Her mother nodded and smiled brightly, though it was still a watery smile.

Nell was sort of glad her mother wasn’t saying goodbye and was pretending like she was just sending Nell off to school for the day because it made it a bit easier for Nell to calm her heartbeat. Out of the entire district, she was one of the 100 chosen, one of the unlucky few ushered to the district centre to stand and see if their name would be the one pulled out of the bowl.

She tugged down on the hem of the dress, fingers trembling as she pulled the skirt down lower on her body as she headed out of the door.

Tension hung in the air just like humidity on a hot summer day – it was heavy and suppressing and weighed down on them all. She could feel the same tension within herself, it had been growing all morning and her shoulders were tight and rigid as her muscles tensed with the anxiety.

She knew the day had been coming, it wasn't a secret date and as much as she wished it did - it never snuck upon them all. For weeks the anxiety and tension would grow, like a storm slowly rolling in - it would start with the electricity in the air and build until it was an all-encompassing heavy storm of emotion. But with every step she took she wished it was a different day, she wished it was any other day and that only built as she walked towards the Reaping. She'd never been picked before, her area had never been one to be chosen - not since she'd been eligible and that had been comforting - she'd been safe every year and able to get on with her life. But now she could be chosen, it could be her that was sent off to her death.

She could admit she was scared.

The District Centre was imposing, in a way the town centre back home wasn't - tall and shining in the hot summer sun. All the other children were gathering and Eleanor followed them into line, tugging down at her dress every so often - fabric still unfamiliar and doing little to soothe her nerves, she wished she was wearing pants or dungarees. Anything familiar. The line seemed to go on forever until it didn't and suddenly she was at the front and it was all becoming a little too real. They took her blood and it stung, she pressed it down onto the paper obediently and fought the urge to wipe off the blood onto her dress. She clenched her fist instead, the dull pain easy to ignore compared to her heart hammering in her chest.

Following the crowd again she ended up somewhat in the middle on the girls' side, surrounded - she wondered who would get picked if it would be someone close to her or far away. She hoped it wouldn't be her.

But the odds were already against her.

And that feeling of dread was only confirmed as they called out the female tributes name, "Eleanor Brooks"

Absurdly she fought the urge to correct them, no one ever called her Eleanor - it felt strange hearing it out of a strangers mouth. Their voice was all wrong, lilting and picking up in all the wrong places - she tensed and felt her fingers start to tap out an anxious beat against her thigh as she felt everyone part around her. She could see the Peacekeepers walking towards her, she really wasn't wanting them to grab her - she didn't want their hands on her, pulling or pushing her towards the stage. It would just make the anxiety worse, make the tremors wracking through her all the more obvious. Somehow she put one foot in front of the other and managed to walk into the space between the two groups, following the Peacekeepers to the stage - forcing her back to stay straight and the tears to stay away. She wasn't going to cry, she wasn't, she refused to give them that. Her tears were for herself, her family, not the Capitols viewing pleasure.

She was shaking, she dreaded to think how obvious that was but she raised her head to meet the gaze of the sea of children below - the relief on the other girls as clear as the pity and shock on their faces.

Her parents were out in the crowd somewhere but she wouldn't look. She hoped they were okay.

The attention soon shifted back to the escort and the bowl, she waited to see who would be condemned alongside her.

She didn't know whether to hope they were nice or not.

She couldn't tell which would be worse.

@DovahBeat artfvlly artfvlly





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"The night is so empty"












mental state
this will expand!










feelings here










thoughts here










health here

















Raven Santos



(She/her)







Survive












  • h






(click play twice!)








This was it. It was officially over now. Feeling defeated Raven leaned against the wall and closed her eyes as the Reaper closed in on her. Preparing for the worst…. But when it didn't come Raven opened her eyes and saw that he was actually giving her first aid.

Laughing at the cruel irony, she couldn't help the tears that pricked and started to fall from her eyes. She wasn't going to fight anymore. Wiping her eyes and sighing she looked directly into the mask, not a hint of fear in her eyes. "I'm going to die aren't I Reaper? It's quite sad, Momma and Papa are gonna die just trying to give me a fighting chance and I can't even do that right." Pushing herself off the wall the determination in her eyes never left. "I'm not a fighter but if I can run fast enough that you have to catch me maybe I have a fighting chance." An uneasy smile pasted on the girl's face. "Come on, let's go. I'm not gonna run." She pointed to her leg. "The wild monkey has been caught." After that she squared her shoulders and let him take her.





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“Don’t scare me like that!” Atticus tried his best to straighten his coat from jumping at her loud, disruptive tone. Of course, just after his mother scolded him and threw a fit, she had to start with the yelling. However, his red, pain faced settled into a smile eventually as he studied the familiarity of her face and decided that was something he would miss in the Capitol. He would miss having a friend, and he would despise the struggle to try and make new ones in the completely different environment. They would make fun of him for being a District boy, wouldn’t they? Would he ever be excepted as one of them? Would his uncle make fun of him too? These questions swirled his head as he forced a pained smile. She would have to know the news eventually. He would have to say goodbye.

“Are you kidding me? I’m going to die when my mother ships me off to the Capitol to live with my stupid politician uncle. I doubt I could make it in an arena.” Atticus decided to frame the news as a joke, to slip it in conversation unnoticed, because at least then he could say that he did tell her it would happen when she woke up one morning and caught him walking to the train station with his mother helping him carry his baggage. He wondered what she would do then, faced with the tall, demanding Jacqueline Kramer with her mane of tamed flame and quite shrill claims of ‘mother knows best’. “Imagine me strutting around a Capitol Academy. Sounds gross.” However, when she mentioned Nieve, his eyes flickered to the stage in order to examine the PeaceKeepers. Rubi taught him how to identify the Head PeaceKeeper by some of the minor uniform tells a few weeks ago, and he still had to actively seek them out when trying to figure out if he might get away with something or not.

His eyes finally settled on the small insignia on one of the shorter people in the white uniforms, and he tried to make out any signs of something amiss. He came away with nothing, unfortunately, and turned back to Rubi. He really would miss her in the Capitol. Living under his uncle’s roof would be much more strict than living under his mother’s. He would never get to go to basement delinquent meetings with some Capitol school kids, and even worse, if he got involved with the Capitol slum’s people, then a whole new world of trouble could emerge. Ansel would make sure he never left the confines of his bedroom if anything remotely shady were to happen. Atticus despised the sound of train wheels now because it meant that he would be travelling on them to Hell.

“Probably because he spent some extra time in some Capitol person’s sheets while he was up there.” Atticus grumbled as he tried his best to make the insignia disappear by glowering at it. “I don’t see what you see in that man. He’s a walking sob story with excuses for everything and solutions for nothing.” The District Two boy rattled off as he turned his attention from the faceless soldier to her. However, PeaceKeepers often got put on the force through court order or through debt repayment, so he considered, for just a moment, being nicer to the older man far away on the stage. The mic screeched as the Mayor coughed and began her spiel after tapping the mic with a gloved hand.

“For example,” Atticus motioned to the woman at the podium as discreetly as possible. “Mrs. Ledgier, the Mayor of District Two? Literally everyone talks about how her husband almost caught them both in the Justice Center. He almost got fired over it, and they did install cameras after the entire mess.” He recalled all of the things he heard at his parent’s dinner table and let Rubi in on the plethora of gossip that most of the central part of the District, at least most of those involved with government facilities, knew about. Then, to emphasize his point, he simply cleared his throat. “I just think it’s a little weird that you’re who he decides to tell his sob stories to, and I think it’s very weird that you buy a word he says! Sounds like manipulation to get you to like and pity him to me.”


-


“Ohhhh, you're the Simmons boy!” Those words reminded Johnathan of every interaction he ever had with a stranger in his life. First, when he was younger, it was because of his mother. Everywhere he went, he was the Simmons Victor’s second baby, and people cooed over him. He didn’t like it, and usually would opt to retreat to his room instead to avoid people. Thankfully, in an academic setting, and then when he dropped out of school to enter the training academy, people did see him for a little bit more than ‘the Simmons Boy’, but the nickname still stuck.
When his brother volunteered afterward and martyred himself in the arena, ‘the Simmons Boy’ took on a new form. Now an elder teenager, he had to deal with the condolences that followed. He despised it, but he wasn’t going act viciously over something so small. So, just as when most people said this to him, Johnathan smiled at Evander and nodded. This smile, however, faltered when he began talking about scores.

“Yeah, uh, no, about that,” Johnathan rumbled his voice in the back of his throat and tried his best to read the facial expression of the blue-dyed kook holding the biggest mistake of his life. “They’re fantastic, sure, but they’re not mine.” He insisted, and pushed forward so that he could impose himself over the paper and point. His scuffed up fingernail, coated in polish that Dimitri somehow smuggled and begged to put on him, landed on the final test scores.

“It says I got a 94 on aptitude and a 91 on physicals, but I know that’s not right. I saw those scores. I got an 80 on them, because I remember being disappointed in the aptitude and I…” Johnathan trailed off as he remembered what got him such a low score on his physicals in the first place. He planned to flunk them. He wanted to flunk them. Honestly, he was surprised they gave him an 80. He decided not to even show up considering he knew it wouldn’t help him to do so anyway, and besides, he didn’t want to see the face of Cyril again now that they were released to go back to work. He remembered training with them, but then accidentally harming the trainer in the process during a rather easy demonstration, and the embarrassment between the both of them never really faded away after they both sat in a hospital room together.

It was only a week later when PeaceKeepers almost broke down Johnathan’s door and killed his mother when she, taken off guard, slammed a rolling pin into one of their throats. After everything calmed down, the pair explained the disappearance of Cyril and finding their body in the river. Johnathan was a main suspect. Then came the court and the hearings and the lawyers and the prosecutor screaming in his face in front of his sobbing mother and heartbroken sister. He promised them he didn’t do it. They didn’t find evidence that he did it. Most people, however, both in the Districts and the Capitol after the televised hearings, thought he definitely did it. ‘Acquitted’ left a nasty taste in the public’s mouth. So, thus, the meaning of the ‘Simmons boy’ changed significantly again within the span of the last week, and he hated it more. He knew he couldn’t blame Evander for that, though.

“I really wasn’t cut out for the academy.” Johnathan decided on to finish his sentence after a long pause. He shook his head, and adamantly repeated himself when Evander said they weren’t a mistake. As best as he could, the Simmons boy tried to smile patiently; instead, it just looked more like he was baring his teeth and raising his eyebrows as much as possible. In reality, it was only his inability to understand a life lesson in manipulation from his mother.

“You raise your eyebrows, smile, and sweeten your tone when they try to take from you.” He remembered her telling him and his two siblings while getting them ready for school one morning. That is, at least, Dimitri and himself pulled on their school uniforms as they listened to the methodical chant of the woman perched on the couch. Joshua, meanwhile, pulled on a uniform for the training academy and forewent the breakfast made by their kind but meager maid while their mother slept off her night’s high. When she woke up, though, still at a reasonable time, Johnathan guessed, considering school started at 8 am, she always told them this.

“They took everything from me. Now you can take everything from them.”Johnathan knew she was simply spewing things she knew nothing about and thanked the diligence of the PeaceKeepers that she hadn’t gotten her hands on something more powerful like morphling. Dimitri, only a small child and then an adolescent as time passed, didn’t understand. Joshua ate it up and took those words personally. He wanted to win the games and take the glory and fortune it brought from the Capitol. Andrea was too high to notice that this didn’t align with her ideals at all, because she would rather him not support the Capitol. So, he continued in his delusion and became violently angry should anyone oppose it.

“Please,” Johnathan laughed and cringed at the own cracking tones in his nervous voice. He pushed his lips into a thin line when the man mentioned Joshua, and his imagination forced him to watch a foggy clip of the scene on the television just a few weeks away from one year ago. Johnathan remembered sitting there, knowing that his ally poisoned his food, and being able to do nothing about that. He took a few more steps towards Evander and made sure that no one in the staff would be close enough to hear them as they scrambled to get ready.

“If you really, truly mean that, you will believe me when I say I have a little sister at home and a mother that can’t take care of her. I can’t survive in an arena, and she’s going to be left alone. Someone that truly earned the score is a better fit.” The boy began, and he would have offered up a father, but both he and Dimitri both accepted the fact that their father would always be some unknown Capitol man lucky enough to land a spot in an escaping Victor turned temporary (now retired) Reaper Andrea Simmon’s bed instead of someone substantial. The next words he spoke broke in tone, and a little bit of his anger slipped through.

“Excuse me? What do you mean, “make him proud”?” Johnathan’s voice rose now, and he took a step back from the encounter to examine the escort. “You’re fixing this, right? I’m not the District One Tribute. I’m not getting on that train.” He spoke slowly and carefully with his voice steady and low before searching for Dimitri in the crowd below the stage and the pit where he now was. Unforunately, he couldn’t make her out, so instead he focused back on Evander.


-


Valentina clicked back and forth as she heard the speakers outside boom a muffled name. She looked back to her team and tried to emphasize the fact that she wanted them to tell her the first name called out, but they only shrugged their shoulders. Inside the center away from the ceremony with her little set up meant she never got to meet the Tributes until it was time to take them to meet their families, at least at the earliest. Some stylists preferred not to meet their Tributes until they arrived in the Capitol, but Valentina found herself simply too excited to meet the new children that she could teach.

“Don’t worry, Aunt Tia’s gotcha,” Valentina stamped her foot and her staff chuckled amongst themselves at her somewhat absurd parenting method that she used with her tributes. Though not a mentor, she often provided deep, intense emotional support and great life advice. Also, she generally carried snacks. What kind of snacks would these two tributes like? She always had some of Thomas’ favorites around Game Season, as they had to interact so often she didn’t see why she shouldn’t start carrying them, too.​
 











"Over and In, last call for Sin"












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Guy Arvoix



(He/Him)







Don't fear the Reaper












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"I'm going to die aren't I, Reaper?" Guy sighed at the question. He'd seen it before. Tributes ran, their parents or friends helped hide them, they died, it was all for naught. At least she knew what was going to happen, and she didn't act scared or sympathetic, just showed what she was truly feeling; cold acceptance. Something the captain knew all too well. It was how he did his job after all, day in day out, just turn a blind eye to the dirtier aspects and deal with it. He would give his report to his uncle, and her parents and doctor would die, her teacher, become an avox for unknowingly assisting in the escape. Maybe he could leave some of the other... no, if he omitted anything he would be next on the avox chair, especially if he was found out. Just because his uncle was the Head of Execution and the name Arviox meant something in the Capitol wouldn't save him.
"Kid..." he spoke, the modulator disguising his voice. "You're one dark horse." The black-clad captain stood up, and pointed down the street. "Tribute Center is a mile and a half that way. Start walking." He pressed a button, the color of his armor chameleoning from light-absorbing black to a shining set of white and grey uniform, fitting in better with the local Peacekeepers. Guy had to admit, she had impressed him. Twice now, she had ran from the call of the arena, not out of pure fear, but defiance. Something the Career Tributes couldn't teach, that one only learned in the outer districts.





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"With a Rebel Yell
She cried,
'More, More, More!'"












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Rubi Daedra




(She/Her)







Uprising












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Rub snickered as Atticus whined about surviving the arena and the capitol. "Yeah, you're right about that," she said with a smile. "You wouldn't even survive the Cornucopia Bloodbath," She bet, as she watched her friend look at the peacekeepers, trying to tell Nieve away from the others. "The one on the second left, just behind that shorter one. Pulvil never likes to stand in the spotlight." the rebel informed Atticus, pointing out the District 2 head.
Her teasing smile flipped into a frown as Atticus relayed gossip about Nieve and those he's slept with. She gave him a light tap on the arm with a fist as a warning. "I don't fucking care. I never said Nieve was a good guy, or that he was pure. But Ati, he's helped me more than you could ever know. So gossip like some Capitol kid all you want. Just beware, I'll slug you if you continue."





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"Press a button to begin"












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Dew A. Maddock



(He/Him)







Handle with Care












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Dewey stood next to the girl, someone from the other side of the District he'd never been to before, and the Mentor. It was a bit surreal, standing up on the stage, people looking at the scrawny boy like he was going to die. Which, to be frank, was exactly what Dew thought. "So, um, what, uh, what's next?" he asked Thomas, stepping back a bit in fear towards the building. He was sure the audience could see him sweating like a pig up in the spotlights, hot and blinding. Of course, the stress of being expected to be a champion, or die as a testament to the Capitol's power wasn't helping.





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"It's all fake smiles and leather jackets"












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Evander Zaffre



(he/him)







You're So Vain












  • h






(click play twice!)






Evander's cool, showman personality faltered a moment as Jonathan kept up the verbal attacks. The escort knew quite simply that it wasn't the best, but he had made his choice. He was where he wanted to be, the District One Escort, and now he had to be ready to stay there, using dirty tactics or not. "Mr. Simmons..." Evan began slowly. There was no demeaning tone, no 'simmons boy' impersonality, in fact it almost tasted apologetic. "I'm truly sorry. We may think we're the King, Rook, or even the Bishop, but we're all just Pawns in somebody else's game." The man in blue wasn't sure if he was saying the words for himself or for Jonathan. "Excuse me." He grabbed the paper and walked out into the spotlight, an easy smile coming to his face as he faced the crowd. The Reaping was about to begin.





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“So, did we figure out if we were going with air shafts, drop shoots, abandoned elevators, or what? Morgan disliked the idea of mutt-delivered packages to get around the lack of airspace.” Cuvier hummed as he took his place in what he liked to call the war room, as much as Morgan always scolded him for calling it that. He leaned over Morgan’s body to hit a button and bring up what they had on the scrapbooking table for the Arena. A holographic map of what looked like an ant farm’s inner workings appeared for a few seconds, and then it cycled to some of the chalky, rock-ridden terrain samples they had been looking at.

“We haven’t decided. We were going to discuss it in depth today after we get the tributes into the center.” Morgan murmured as he watched the images go back through from the beginning. He paused and pursed his lips as he hovered by the hologram. “I got the notice this morning. Arviox is supposed to attend to see what we have planned since it is so close to a Quarter Quell.” Of course, that was only the on-paper excuse. Morgan figured he wanted in for all sorts of reasons, but most especially to stick his foxy nose in their business.


-


Normally Aeron found themself still down in the basement this time of morning, but they always left a break in shows for the beginning of the Games’ season. Kyros told them to celebrate the extra time by sleeping, but after an hour of tossing around in bed at two in the morning, Aeron gave up and slunk back to the first floor with an old gaming console in tow. If they were going to be stressed about it, then Celese could at least forgive them for distracting themself.

Aeron hooked up the ancient console to the only slightly newer television in that floor’s living area, and cleaned the old disc as best as they could before popping it in. After six hours of smoke vapors, energy drinks, piled coffee cups, and several DNA altering serums consumed by the in-game character, eight a.m. arrived. Well, they grumbled to themself, at least I can overturn a corrupt government digitally. The Düsterhaus Celestian Head Distributor cleaned up their mess and shut the console off before starting their ‘morning’ routine. If you could call not sleeping all night and starting chores a morning routine, that is.

The creature wandered down a hall with a tray littered with a modest but seemingly filling breakfast that they cooked, as well as a glass of water for the assortment of pills that the receiver of the food usually took. As soon as they reached the door, they knocked and waited for a response before being welcomed in.

“Spread ei favent, my friend, how are you doing on this harrowing day?” Aeron blinked through tired eyes and dropped off the tray on a nearby surface. They hadn’t changed into their suit quite yet, instead wearing an old ratty black tank top and disheveled sweat pants to match. No, this version of Aeron few saw outside of the Hotel itself, with tattoos proudly bore and the hints of scales and poking out from their shoulders respectively, as well as some symbols portraying the massacre almost twenty five years ago. The roadmap to their life wrapped around their body, and they shared it with few. “They’ve already announced the Tributes. They’re headed to the Capitol. Hear anything about plans for Opening Ceremony sabotage? Not a lot of time left if someone’s got something brewing.” Their voice rumbled along in a deep, gravelly cough. “Kyros is a little late coming back.” They paused, as if contemplating all of the things that could have gone wrong. “I’m sure he’s fine.” They said more for themself than the other in the room.


-


“What?” Johnathan stood with his jaw slack, listening. His feathers had been soothed temporarily by the apologetic tone that lolled out of Evander’s mouth, suggestion his acknowledgement in his offending speech, but everything in his body felt like it needed to be stretched so hard that it tore. All of his muscles burned and cried, demanding action as his heartbeat drummed in his ears. He didn’t know if his mother could go through losing another kid. He flexed his fingers and balled them into a shaking, tight fist.

“Nah, that’s alright, I get it. I get it.” Johnathan coughed out, his hands shaking. He found himself faced with way too many options all at once and not enough time to weigh the pros and cons in all of them. All he knew is his mother wanted him to take back and stand up for himself, and this man thought that throwing him under the bus excluded him from also being yanked under the wheels. “Being a pawn does fucking suck, but I can at least flip the table.” The boy tried his best to vault himself onto the stage and throw a punch with as much strength as he could muster right at the mess of blue stubble that covered Evander’s jaw.


-


“Wow, thanks. I was hoping someone had some faith in me.” Atticus laughed, but he realized immediately after it left his throat that it sounded hollow. He couldn’t go to the Capitol and live with his uncle, either. That would be a worse fate than dying in the Bloodbath. He felt some of the panic build in his chest as the Escort congratulated all of the academy students. Though, as she pointed out Nieve, he looked again, and finally made out the slight slouch to the posture of the Head PeaceKeeper. When Rubi scolded him, he gave his best shaky, sheepish smile. His mind was still thinking about his last route out of a damned life with the most stuck up Capitol prick. Rubi would hate him. He would come back his uncle’s Capitol lap dog. The boy bit his lip.

“No, no, you’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t be so harsh on him.” The District Two boy shrugged his shoulders as the Escort hesitated, going on a tangent about Panem’s greatness. Atticus wished they would just rip off the band-aid already, but in a way, he was thankful for the extra time. “He’s just such a depressing prick sometimes. Regardless, I’m glad he’s helped you, at least.”

“Would you miss me if I was dead? Or became somebody different?” Atticus wrung his coat jacket. The Escort continued to go on as the scores from the Academy began to flash on the screen, revealing the top ten students and some of the clips from their public training sessions.​
 
Seth
------------
Getting the tools he needed set up and ready, Seth looked over to his companions and chuckled. after being scolded by Sib last night they all went to the play that Ciccro had talked about.it was rather interesting and not something that Seth himself was used to. but the thing that he found odd is he noticed someone with bright red hair attend. She had tried to hide it but with that Hue you couldn't miss it. it was interesting how deep some people of the faith had infiltrated the ranks.

Since the death of his mother, Sibyl has practically taken Seth in and made sure he kept out of trouble and he owed her immensely, he would be the LAST person to out any of these people, but seeing one of the game makers there really did make you wonder. last night was also the first in several weeks that Seth didn't go to the bar, the reaping always brought something unexpected so he wanted to be as awake and not hungover as he possibly could be.

As soon as he set down his equipment, the doors of the room opened and a girl limped inside with a peace keeper following behind in suit. "God dammit, walking that far hurt you bastard." the girl basically snarled at the person behind her. Furrowing his brow, Seth looked over to see if Sib was available. it looked as if she was about done with whatever she was doing so he helped her to one of the medical beds. "hey Sib, when you get a second it looks like we've got the first of our tributes in here." it was safe to make that assumption due to the scary person now guarding the door.

Going through the basic questions like name and age, Seth finally go to the one that got him the strangest answer. "So how did you manage to fuck your ankle up this badly, and right on reaping day? You do know that this is a very bad sign that you may have the worst luck of all the tributes here" he raised an eyebrow at the scowling teenager.

"Aw fuck you. For your information, I ran. Got caught. Ran again." crossing her arms, Raven gave a bit of a smirk. she had just ran a course with a reaper, this prick of a male nurse wasn't going to give her a hard time without any consequences. "I jumped from a wall and landed wrong. and then Mr. robo over there patched up my an- ow! be careful! that hurts!" Nearly kicking Seth with her good leg as he tried to see how badly it swelled, the glare could have killed him. "Then the robot made me walk A MILE AND A HALF here." Her glare was now directed at Guy. "it hurts, that's all there is to it."

Dodging the near kick to his face Seth's face matched the girls. Letting out a deep sigh he looked over to Sib, or to anyone else in the room for help. he wasn't allowed to hit patience's. no mattered how badly he wanted to or how much they deserved it.




Red:
------------
"Great." was all that was mumbled for the red head as she rubbed her temples. She was actually on time this morning and sat with the men in the meeting room. Today she had opted for a light blue dress, a light variation from the one she had on yesterday. "well if anyone was looking for an opinion, I don't like abandoned elevators but everything else seems just fine to me honestly." shrugging as if she were talking about the weather, her mind was off in another place. She had stayed up way to late last and was trying to shake off the effects of it.

whenever that little man came around she was always uneasy due to the fact that he may have found out what she had been up to as of late and how often she met with the forbidden people. "and with the Quarters coming up, its a bit more stressful. especially with other people trying to 'help'." she groaned and rubbed the back of her neck.
 











"With a Rebel Yell
She cried,
'More, More, More!'"












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Rubi Daedra




(She/Her)







Uprising












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Rubi chuckled. "Oh come on, you're being silly. Of course I have faith in you. Faith you'd lose," she teased quietly as the Escort continued on. She hated this part, the in-between from the start to the train ride. Then it would be like nothing happened at all, she'd be the number 2 Female in the academy, and the game would be boring again. "Nah, Nieve is a depressing prick sometimes. But he's my depressing prick, just like how you're my walking sandbag," she tapped his arm again with a smile. "Hey, look, it's me!" The clips showing training montages showed a peek of the black-haired rebel swinging a large halberd and taking a dummie's head off, before swapping to a sparring clip. With careful steps and wooden blades, she quickly disarmed and tripped up her opponent, showcasing exactly why she was the Number 3 Female in the Academy. "Now that's a prick that deserved it," she muttered confidently with a smug smile.
His next words caught the career off guard. "Would I...? That's an odd question," Rubi murmured to herself. "What brings that up? Your mom forcing you to the Capitol?" He ruffled her hair for a moment, thinking. "I dunno. Dying or becoming someone different... that's kinda the same thing isn't it?" She continued, not waiting for an answer. "I guess... I'd miss my punching bag, sure. And seeing you in the basement, it's gonna be weird without you there. You're..." she paused for a moment, shrugging. "You're my friend. I'd never want to forget a good-natured weakling like you. At least you wouldn't be trying to usurp my scores like everyone else I see daily."





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"Over and In, last call for Sin"












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Guy Arvoix



(He/Him)







Don't fear the Reaper












  • h






(click play twice!)






The white-shaded Reaper stood by the door. To people who had seen a lot of peacekeepers, there were small differences between his uniform and a standard Keeper uniform that may have set some confusion, but to the common eye he was indistinguishable to a normal Peacekeeper. He watched silently as Dr. Watson and the nurse treat the District 8 Tribute. Hopefully, the advanced medical science of the Capitol would aid in her recovery in time for the Games to begin. He did not respond when Raven called him a Robot, or even when the medical staff gazed at him. He stiffened a bit when he heard the soft tap-thump tap-thump of a cane and leg approaching outside the door.





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"It's all fake smiles and leather jackets"












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Evander Zaffre



(he/him)







You're So Vain












  • h






(click play twice!)






The blue-clad Escort stepped away from backstage, and out onto the decorated platform where he would announce the chosen Careers. He swallowed deep, and an easy smile came to his face under his blue goatee. "Welcome!" he shouted into the microphone with trained precision so it wouldn't boom too loudly. Looked like the sound check they had run a few hours earlier still held. He pulled out a small sheet of paper, setting it on the podium in front of him. He tried not to glance at the cameras that began to focus on him, as he swore he could feel sweat dripping down his back. It was a hot spring day, after all, and he wouldn't dare admit that he was nervous. After all, this was his dream. All that he had amounted to, this one day. District One's Escort, the face of the top-ranked and most important zone of Panem. He had to look good. "50 years ago, war broke out in Panem. The rebellious Districts attacked the Capitol. The Capitol defended itself, crushing the anarchistic rebels from District 13, and bringing order back to the wonderful country of Panem! Today, two impressive candidates of our District will fight and show their honor in the annual Hunger Games! We have the scores here of our highest-ranking Tributes!" He took a moment to clear his throat and unfold the paper he had been given beforehand. "Representing the brightest minds of our young ladi..es?" He began, hesitating as Johnathan climbed the steps and strode towards the center stage. "Ah, here's our young lad to represent the strength of our youth, Johnat-!" The punch interrupted his speech and knocked the escort on his ass as Peacekeepers mobilized and restrained the young tribute. Evan shakily stood up, assisted by a peacekeeper, and stumbled over to the microphone. "We'll take a short break before we announce the female tribute," he said quickly, not bothering to lace his words with any sweet connotations.





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"You are now Tuned into the Tomb of Jehova"












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Nikolas Patina



(He/Him)







I Lost a Friend












  • h






(click play twice!)






"Spread ei Favent, Aeron," the middle-aged chair-ridden Victor answered. "Thank you for the breakfast, my friend," he thanked, taking the tray and setting it on his chair arms and focusing on the pills. With practiced grace, he downed them with a gulp of water and fought the bitter look his face twisted in as his hands slowed their shaking and calmed down. "I'm... well, thank you." He was parked in front of a TV, watching the reports of which tributes had been chosen and the various encounters. The District 1 clip of the escort in blue getting whaled by the Tribute kept getting replayed, analyzed, derided. "I have not heard anything of sabotage, but then, I don't claim to know much anyway." He smiled knowingly, rolling his chair a bit to face the man who had taken him in. The victor always paused whenever he saw the symbols that Aeron had described as the massacre during Niko's own Reaping. They were hard memories, and Niko slowly brought a hand to his shoulder where his vice of Apathy was scrawled in the old language. "You look tired. Stayed up all night playing your games again?" he chuckled, knowing the head's love of the old systems. It was unhealthy, but Niko couldn't really argue without sounding like a hypocrite. After all, his own eyes were bagged and worn from a lack of sleep.





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Jace had never really been bothered by Reaping Day. His brothers had never been chosen and he hadn’t gotten tesserae once. Although he pitied his classmates, who mostly had a bigger chance of being chosen, Reaping Day was just a general reminder about economic class and how the burden always fell on the poor.

His parents had always talked about how they sympathized with the parents whose children were sent out as tributes, but they hadn’t ever lost a child. Their two sons were safe and their third son would probably be safe as well. Jace’s brothers had aged out of the system a few years ago and Jace knew that he would be fine.

The rest of the town had always seemed nervous about Reaping Day. Walking into the streets, holding his parents’ hands, Jace could hear the hum of the power facilities in the distance. He had gotten used to their soft, rumbling noises, but today, like the usual Reaping Days, was a bit different. Instead of the usual chatter that filled the streets, it was dead silent, as if everyone knew about the impending doom.

Of course, in District 5, no one volunteered. It was an obvious suicide mission; no one in District 5 had won in a while. Except for Nicola Weatherby, whom no one had heard from for a while. She had been lucky, according to the talks of the townsfolk. She had charisma and that had allowed her to win the games.

As they reached the center of the town, Jace looked up at the stage nervously. Dressed in his best clothes, Jace had to admit that he felt a bit suffocated by the tight tie around his neck. Reaching up to loosen it a bit, he felt his father’s hand on his shoulder, silently advising him not to. The boy’s hands dropped back to his sides and he felt his father squeeze his shoulder, a small sign of comfort, telling him that he wouldn’t be reaped. Ironically, it made things worse.

The boy tried to reassure himself that he wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t going to be chosen. The odds were in his favor. He was only in there twice this year.

Soon, the ceremony began and the boy watched the peacekeeper flip through the pages of the book, making sure everyone was accounted for. Looking around, Jace realized that it was time to join the crowd of boys his age and Jace walked towards them, hands in his pockets.

Making some small talk with the boy next to him, a big boy who could probably lift the biggest loads. Jace thought that he would make a good tribute, due to his size. As the chatter of children around him died down, the mayor of District 5 appeared on the stage, a smile dancing on his lips.

As usual, he made some speech about the bravery of the tributes and how the Hunger Games allowed for the districts to live in peace through the sacrifice of a young man and a young woman. Again, he repeated the tragic story of District 13, the tales of the Dark Days and the praise for the brave tributes.

Then, they said the familiar phrase, the phrase that signaled the beginning of a sacrifice.

“May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The bowls were highlighted on the stage once more and the mayor cleared his throats.

“I believe District 12 is trying something different this year. We’ll try it too! Perhaps, it’ll bring us better luck and we’ll get another victor! Boys first!” The mayor seemed too cheerful for his own good. Jace didn’t like that very much. However, maybe the break from tradition could help them secure a victory this year. Although Jace didn’t really like watching the games, he still liked it whenever District 5 won, which was fairly rare.

He watched the escort strut over to the bowl, placing their hand inside and swirling it around for a bit. Jace was still a bit nervous. After all, he was only in there twice. The audience, however, he could sense their tension and nervousness.

“And our male tribute for District 5 is Jason Asher.”
 
Sibyl awoke to thirty-four missed calls and one hundred and eight text messages from Aeron. They seemed fine when they left the play, but Sibyl guessed something happened in the middle of the night. According to the slew of strained, scratchy voice messages from the older person that she only knew well in their younger years. They sounded like that talking about Marnie, too. The messages asked if she had seen Kyros after he left when the performance was over, but she could only tell them the truth- that she hadn’t.

When the door swung open, the Head Medic turned back to see the spectacle enter the room. Once she could see that Raven was struggling to walk, before she even heard what Seth said to her, she already headed forward and offered an arm to help her walk to one of the exam stations. However, when it was denied, she didn’t faulter, but instead followed Raven to the table anyways. Sibyl had dealt with many entitled Capitol patients, and her patience ran thick.

“I see that,” She said quietly, her voice a quiet bell heard only because of the lack of general noise in the room. “Thank you, Seth.” At least, other than Raven. She listened as Seth asked Raven questions, and she noted them on a small chart from the drawer on the counter with her own name labeled on it. As she listened to Seth talk about luck, though, her smile waivered underneath her mask. She turned, and with a lavender gloved hand, scooped up a tub of cream. She pulled it down and headed towards Raven.

“Maybe so, but a friend of mine thinks that luck runs on a cycle. Bad luck brings good luck, and vice versa,” Sibyl said as she carefully removed her glove, and then scooped out some of the gel inside. “and the greater one bout of either luck is, the greater the next is. I believe he said something about it being “the universe trying to reach equilibrium”.” The woman met the Tribute’s eyes, and her own soft brown ones tried to steady the other’s soul as best they could. “Now, this is going to hurt much more, but just for a while. About fifteen minutes.. Do you want painkillers?” The kick made her step back, voice unwaivering. “Please. I promise that we are not your enemy, you need to calm down.”

--

-going to wait for more GM role interaction before I post with Cuvier/Morgan-

--

As soon as Evander disappeared from the less decorated backstage area where Johnathan stood, He stared at the slip of paper with his own falsified scores. The numbers swam, swarmed, and he couldn’t read them any more as he realized that tears fogged his vision. He was actually crying. The boy balled up the piece of paper and launched it at the wall with a freeing scream. His brother died for it, his mother lived it, his little sister would carry it on her shoulders, and he wasn’t going out without a fight, just like his mother always told him. He just had a little bit of misdirection involved with who he thought his opponent should be.

When Johnathan hit the stage and all of the bright lights hit him, he heard Evander’s voice talking about the women candidates. Well, he showed up a little early, but he couldn’t really care less. He simply made a beeline for his target and swung as hard as he could.

As soon as Evander hit the ground, Johnathan smiled, satisfied for only a moment in his minor rebellion against the prick that decided to try and bury him. He laughed, but immediately after the sound left his throat, he felt the crushing weight of two PeaceKeepers wrapping their hands around his shoulders and then promptly shoving him to the ground. He let out a loud, teary yelp of pain, but didn’t struggle, and they shoved him to his feet and back off the stage as the young Tribute recognized Evander talking into the microphone again, but he couldn’t understand him with the ringing in his ears.

Like the other tributes would after being announced, those PeaceKeepers took him immediately to the Train Platform where the Tributes would get to talk to their Mentor and Stylists (if the latter chose to come before) for the first time. However, unlike those, he found himself thrown into a bedroom train car alone with the door slammed shut behind him.

“Hey, I get to talk to people, right?” The boy screamed in the room, slowly sitting on one of the cushioned, fancy chairs because of the pain slowly slinking up his back. “Let me see my sister! I get to say good bye to her and my mom!” No one answered, and he slammed his fist on the table. “And what about my Mentor? What about them?” He eventually gave up when his screaming lead to no change, and rested his head on the table while he tried his best to cough the scratchiness out of his voice from the yelling.

--

“What do you mean I can’t see him?” Dimitri stood at the Platform stairs, uninterested in the female Tribute announcement. After all, here they were announced by scores, and she knew that she wouldn’t be picked. Then again, she thought Johnathan wouldn’t be, either, but she didn’t know he got a notice the previous day.

“No, that’s not right!” She stomped her foot when the PeaceKeeper at the boarding doors to the train stopped her. “I got to see Joshua before he left- I should get to see Johnathan, too-” Her voice tightened in her throat as she realized that she was losing another brother, and this one hadn’t even told her. She slammed her hands on the door, and the PeaceKeeper simply shoved her back with their standard issue rifle barrel and arm. She couldn’t find Andrea, either, as she ran as fast as she could to the platform, and now she felt utterly alone. So, she did the only thing that she could think to do, and that was to sit on a bench and wait for his Mentor and Stylist. At least they could take a message, couldn’t they?

--

“Of course.” Aeron chuckled as they entered the room. Most of the people in the troupe joked that with them always came a tension thicker than the air that lingered, but they would claim that they’ve never heard such a thing. “Couldn’t sleep anyway. The play’s final showing was last night, and I cleaned up from the performance.” They explained to the elder person, eyes wandering as they always did, searching for a constant exit. “Kyros went out with the rest of the cast and crew for a party, anyways. I don’t…” They rubbed the side of their face. “You know I don’t like parties. So I just stayed and worried my ass off ‘bout Reaping today.”

“Sounds good to me.” The Head Distributor murmured when Nikosaid he didn’t claim to know much, and as that small bit of understanding in meaning crossed between them, Aeron refocused on the television clips. What an absolute mockery of rebellion. They wanted to give the kid a real talking to, but knowing that they would never get that opportunity, their eyes slowly rolled back over to Niko again. “Celese decided sleep wasn’t for me as always. Loech thinks I have some muse waiting to awaken and that’s what’s keeping me up, but I’m pretty sure his brain is just fried on Capitol drugs.” Surprisingly, though, a small smile graced their features. “Games just pass the time. That one in particular lets me fight back against something, at least. Makes me feel a little less helpless.”

--

A cold nose touched the back of Jason’s knee, and behind him stood a large St. Bernard. The dog, usually unseen in District 5, nudged him towards the stage, and arriving from the Train Platform was Odius from District 6. He waved a weak, tired hand despite the light, kind smile gracing his lips. Only the edge of it looked drugged this morning, so he hadn't run into much trouble. The older man, however, had been shipped in from District 6 in order to help out the District 5 Mentoring team while they found another person to also take over 6's Tributes. Some error in the Training Center's systems caused the assignments to get jumbled, and now all of them had to deal with less Mentors than there were Tributes, all on top of a year where the officials would be breathing down their necks. The St. Bernard barked at Jason, but not in an aggressive way. The sound rattled out and resonated low, with a happy lilt at the end. His tail swung behind him, incessantly beating Odie's leg from the sheer force of the muscle in his tail.

The Mentor tried his best to tell the boy that he couldn't speak- that the Capitol took his vocal chords long ago, by doing what he always did with knew people. That is, he reached into the tiny side satchel he had and gave the boy a pen and pad of paper while still ushering him forward. The pad of paper, of course, he prepared on the way over and explained his situation. 'My name is Odius, and this is Sumo. We're normally the Mentors for District 6, but the Capitol is doing reassignment due to an error at the Training Center. I will be helping you this year, but I'm an Avox. I can talk to you here.' The paper read, introducing the two and their purpose here. Normally everyone in District 6 already knew of Odie's struggle, and most of the kids could understand what he was trying to say anyway, but an outsider would be a real challenge for the first time in a long time. He fiddled with the sedation clamp on his wrist.

--

“Dang, thanks, now I really know who’s behind me,” Atticus rumbled, though he wasn’t actually bothered by her statement. As she talked about Nieve and himself, the smile stayed, as he knew she didn’t mean it crudely in any way. She was just a little over rambunctious sometimes. If she didn’t treat him like this, he would wonder what was wrong. “Just the whiniest sandbag ever, of course,” He commented, and then watched as Rubi turned his attention towards the screen.

“Wow, you really are shaping up!” Atticus watched the clips, and then realized that she was right. As he watched Rubi decapitating a dummy and fighting her peers in the Academy, he realized that he definitely would die. Or would his uncle try to pull some bullshit to get him out? Imagine the stir that would cause. And oh, his mother would regret treating him that way and threatening to send him to live under Ansel’s wing. “No kidding, what they do, steal your lunch?”

“Yeah, she’s shipping me off to live with my Uncle Ansel after the reaping. I don’t think I could live with a Capitol Official breathing down my neck. Besides, he’s weird. He never leaves the Capitol to come home and visit.” Atticus began, thinking back on the scolding that he’d gotten and the few times he’d met the extremely intimidating mysterious Uncle Ansel on their infrequent trips to the Capitol. “I’m pretty sure he kills District kids, and like, buries them in his backyard or something.” He didn't want to tell her the other things, that he had definitely seen him in District Four with someone he didn't recognize at all, probably conspiring, when Atticus arrived with his mother on a business trip. That, or that at every Capitol event that they ever attended and he saw him, the man was drunk and silent at a table alone or talking in hushed voices with strange men that he assumed were from the Justice Department. He didn't trust him at all. He would rather die than be involved.

Atticus' eyes traced back to the board as the District Two girl was announced with the top scores, and then, the District Two boy. He listened to the Escort ask for volunteers, and after waiting much too long and interrupting the Escort's next words, he broke into a half-sob from all of the tension swimming in his chest. "Rubi, I'm really sorry, and I'm gonna miss you, too, but I can't live with him." He choked out, and pulled off his white, fancy Kramer jacket with the torn stitching from the escape the night before and tossed it to her before rushing towards the stage and waving his hands while yelling that he was the only volunteer. The District One boy immediately began yelling back, upset that a volunteer had upset his own chances.
​
 
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