[91st] The Reaping - District 1

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admin kay
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cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

[91st] The Reaping - District 1 Jun 3, 2022 22:49:44 GMT -5

Post by admin kay on Jun 3, 2022 22:49:44 GMT -5

Romeo, Escort to District 1, wears a floor-length faux fur coat, half of which is bubblegum pink and the other half of which is cotton candy blue. He slides the heart-shaped shades on his nose up onto the top of his head with a subdued flourish. "It is time," Romeo said as they stood over the impatient people of the District, "To once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping!"

They did not look to see the reaction of his district before reaching into the glass ball that held the names of the children. "First up," they announced, pulling out a slip of paper. They unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Cordelia Bardot!" They then reached into the other ball. "Alice Ballinger!"

OOC - The deadline to exchange spots is Tuesday June 7th. District Escort Romeo credit to dars

credit dars

credit [ retro gm ] angel lí ✨

- chars -

lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah
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#expensivetrash

[91st] The Reaping - District 1 Jun 6, 2022 9:23:44 GMT -5

Post by lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah on Jun 6, 2022 9:23:44 GMT -5

I wake to the annoying screech of my alarm. The familiar persistent BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! That was so jarring that it even made the gentle rays of the morning sun feel like ice against my cheeks. Groaning I squeeze a pillow over my ears, cursing at the alarm. But even my 850 thread count, silk pillow case couldn't drown out the persistent screeches of the small clock perched on my bedside table, staring at me with it bright red jeering numbers-

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

"Ugh," I groan, throwing my pillow from my face before quickly flicking off the alarm, ceasing it relentless screaming. "I really gotta get rid of that thing," I mumble as I throw myself back down onto my bed, snuggling into my blankets, enjoying the feel of the morning sun against my face-

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

"Oh for fucks sake!" I hiss as the second alarm blares. I don't know why I acted so surprised each morning. I do it to myself, setting the second alarm each night knowing all too well that it would have me fuming.

Sighing, I kick off my covers, quickly flicking off the alarm before it had the chance to yell its demands. I yawn as I plop myself down at my dressing table, turning on my hologram tablet. Instantly it jumps to life and as I run a brush through my blonde hair I casually flick through my POLA feed, catching up on the latest district gossip. I had just finished brushing my hair when there was a knock on my door and mum pokes her head in, smiling like it wasn't 7am in the morning. "Morning honey, breakfast is almost ready, so hurry down- also remember its reaping day, so gotta dress to impress." She pauses, examining my hair, "do something about that hair, okay?"

I roll my eyes as the door shuts quietly behind her. I swear that woman can think of nothing but what everyone else thinks of her. I wouldn't be surprised if she made a social request to the mayor about rigging the reaping so that it was my name called. The publicity it would bring to the family name if Cordelia Bardot was to become a tribute. Though I didn't believe that Eurydice Le Roux would be the type to be swayed by a chirpy reality star. Not when the Mayor was so determined for one of he own dying breed to become the next victor. I swear the Le Roux's were dropping like flies, Mummy Le Roux's pride shrinking until none were left.

It doesn't take me long to clean myself up, applying a quick layer of make up and styling my hair in a way that would probably earn me a disapproving glare. Once again sitting at my dressing table I flick open the POLA app, adjusting my hair as I went live, smiling widely into the camera. "Morning lovelies!" I beam as I adjust my hold on the camera, "eeeee reaping morning! Who else is super pumped!" My tablet buzzed each time a new person joined the live, messages of love and support and greeting filling my screen. "Okay so I just wanted to quickly jump on here to wish everyone luck, and hope the odds-"

@butt_smasher joined your live

@butt_smasher
🥵🍆💦

Rolling my eyes once again, my fingers move with ease to block the user, "sorry guys, I hope the odds a in your favour!" I blow them a kiss, "check in later you gorgeous babes."

Flicking off the hologram I quickly make my way down stairs, ducking my head into the kitchen. "I'm heading out for breakfast, I'll see you at the reaping."

"Cor! Cor! Where are you going? I cooked-"

The front door closing cutting off my mother protests.

In the square I re-apply my lip stick, watching as my mother pushed through the crowd of excited parents. Taking her place at the front of the barricade she joined the excited cries and hoots of the crowd, waving excitedly at me when our eyes meet. She motions that I should fix my hair and widen my smile, only causing me to run a hand through my tidy hair ruffling it in a way that I knew would infuriate her. I toss her a wink before putting on my sunnies and facing the stage.

As soon as the escort walks into the stage the crowd hushes, hanging onto each word and watching with desperate, hungry eyes when they dip their hand into the bowl, carefully pulling out a name. But as I watched the man on the stage the only thing I could think was that the bubblegum pink of his coat made him looked washed out, and the heart shaped sunnies were so 2 years ago.

"Cordelia Bardot!"

"WOOOOOO! YESS! YESS THATS MY GIRL! GO GET EM TIGER! COR!! WOOOOO!"

"Oh my god," I mutter under my breath, throwing my mum an annoyed glare, mouthing the words shut up. Ripred, she was embarrassing.

[ Cordelia Bardot accepts her position as 1a tribute ]

[ trib wall: x x ]

Last Edit: Jun 6, 2022 9:50:09 GMT -5 by lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah

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aspiring beam of light

[91st] The Reaping - District 1 Jun 7, 2022 8:56:43 GMT -5

Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Jun 7, 2022 8:56:43 GMT -5

ALICE BALLINGER

I HOLD MY HEART IN MY HANDS

Alice has the unsettling sense that all is not quite right.

She woke in pure aloneness. Hands on her chest, laying on her back, she smoothed her palms over the cool satin sheets, soft as a flower petal. Aloneness, not loneliness, she’d been certain. She’d crawled out of her bed in the middle of the night and cracked open her windows to let the breeze billow in, and the sound of birds chattering to each other in the early morning drifts through the bedroom. The taste of humidity and summer sticks to her skin, and she sinks a little further down into the comfort of her bedsheets.

Reaping day. She got her nails done yesterday. Mother doesn’t want her to go in, not in a million years, but looking the part is more important to Mother even than winning would be. The voice chiming guilt at not getting up isn’t Alice’s own now, it’s Portia Ballingers. Alice remembers her mother saying that she’s never real unless someone is watching.

“You only exist when people want you,” she’d said as Ingrid put a hot iron to Alice’s hair.

Almost as she has the thought to remember, there’s a knock on Alice’s door and Ingrid glides in without answer. “Morning Ms. Alice,” she calls as usual, and the little girl from One is no longer comfortable among the satin of her sheets. Ingrid pulls back the curtains and light bleeds through the broad windows, gauzy and too bright in the morning. Alice scrunches her face and flings an arm up towards her face in instinct until suddenly Mother is walking in, too.

Alice never feel less loved than when she touches her. But still. She feel so real with her cheeks in Mother’s hands. And the pinching stopped hurting years ago.

This, a part of Alice thinks, is what has made her Mother love her so much. She has the unsettling right to judge, freely, completely, unabashedly. She is allowed to hate Alice, and it’s that indulgence that makes her love her daughter as she does.

She totes Alice around like a little white dog in a purse for as long as the morning will allow. She’d paced all around the bedroom as Ingrid helped Alice dress; deftly worked the delicate little satin buttons at the back of her blue skirt, made sure her scalp didn’t get burnt while Mother strode about and muttered about all the people she had to make a point to say hello to, dusted rouge across her cheeks and made a point to meet her eyes and smile.

Vacant eyed, Alice barely noticed any of it.

Not once does her Mother tell her that she loves her.

Eyes wide, Alice can’t help but notice. She doesn’t say anything, though. Doesn’t say it to anyone, either. She smiles when Mother stops in front of the Mayor and shakes hands, when she finds all the big names Alice is supposed to care about making friends with and tells them that the Ballinger’s are wishing them good tidings this reaping. Their kids are scattered across the crowd already, finding their places amongst friends and other kids their own age, but Alice stays by her mother’s side as long as she is directed. And Mother’s talons do not release her shoulder until the very last moment, Romeo and Tallu already trying to corral the crowd.

Alice barely pays them mind. She inspects her nails, uses one to gouge dirt out from beneath the others.

They call her name and she swallows. Loneliness seeps in. She’s certain.

The silence around her is so much louder than when they said her name. A cupid’s bow bends, little pink lips forming an oh! She feels weak before reality. For three years, her life has been full of fantasies. She blinks and she’s standing on stage and her thought is this: is my shirt tucked in?

“Smile,” her mother say from a hundred yards back. Even as she says it, too far away to ever really hear, Portia’s voice hisses in Alice’s ear over her shoulder. “Smile.”

This is the thing about kindness. About smiles. They are no longer spontaneous. Standing in front of that crowd, Alice arranges her face like a bouquet of flowers, the pieces of it coming together like a rehearsed song. She pockets all of her shame, and her fear, pulls it into her palms and holds it there so tightly she isn’t sure her nails aren’t going to break. Cordelia Bardot of all people standing at her side, Alice shoves her hands into the pockets of her dress to hide their trembling.

She wills them still, then brushes them along the seam at her back, her white shirt still firmly secured in place at her back. And she smiles.

FULL OF HONEY AND WOUNDS

[presto]