66th Reaping [D4]

Lulu
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66th Reaping [D4] Feb 1, 2014 0:09:27 GMT -5

Post by Lulu on Feb 1, 2014 0:09:27 GMT -5

The escort of the district stepped out onto the stage, a smile plastered across his face as he stared into the cameras that surrounded it. It was time once again to choose two children to compete in the Hunger Games, and it was his job to do so.

"It is time," he said as he 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!"

He did not look to see the reaction of his district before reaching into the glass ball that held the names of the female children. "Ladies first," he announced, pulling out a slip of paper. He unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Coral Riptide!" He then reached into the other ball. "Jude Ripley!"

OOC- RPing is allowed. If you wish to volunteer, let the tribute post first either accepting or stepping down from their place for volunteers, and then post. If the tribute doesn't reply by Tuesday, February 4th, a staff member will post saying that volunteering is open. Please do not post until you see this staff message. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE.

Tributes, please do not make your acceptance or denial of your spot in character; instead, please leave an ooc note at the end of your post stating whether they accept or are stepping down for volunteers.

Also, and this is really important: If you have been selected as a tribute and plan on going into the arena, we HIGHLY SUGGEST you take some RP Tutoring lessons ASAP. It doesn't matter what level RPer you are; everyone can use a little help. RPing a tribute is a privilege; if you're not going to put the time and effort into making your posts the best they can be then you can count yourself among the dead.. It's not a requirement, but please please please just consider the lessons. They'll help even the most advanced RPer.

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

66th Reaping [D4] Feb 1, 2014 5:06:22 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Feb 1, 2014 5:06:22 GMT -5

[presto]

P A R A L Y Z E D.

[/presto]

A boy stands among the others.

He has scars on his wrists, gnarled, gristly things, from a few years ago when his brothers died and he couldn't deal with it. Ink stains long fingers, that work away at the nails on his other other hand, tearing at them, nervously attacking himself in the hopes that if he punishes himself enough, the world won't feel inclined to do so as well. He's got something good going for him for once in his miserable life. His brother doesn't seem to hate him anymore for one, he can see him if he cranes his head over the crowd just a bit, and things are finally making real sense with Nessie Libertine. He's pretty damn sure that she is the love of his life. Yeah he's young, yeah he's a fool, but he is in love. Love has never come easy to a boy like him, and what Nessie offers is one of the most treasured things he has.

There is dirt clinging to his shins.

He and his brother have spent the morning at the graves, doing what they do every few weeks, and putting their shovels to a use other than digging memories and broken corpses out of the ground. He remembers thinking, as he walked to the site sometime around five this morning Nino at his side, that for the first time in a long while, if he were to die today he would not be okay with it. Even though two thirds of his family is dead and gone, he loves his little brother. He couldn't leave him. He's been looking to you know, about getting out of this graveyard shift they call a business. After some thought, the boy with the nervous fingers and the dirty shins thought that maybe he might like to become a children's doctor. He's always been good at taking care of his brothers. Well You know, before they died. He's been cleaning up their scrapes and bruises for years and years.

Besides, there is an inherent gentleness to the boy with the same old hat he's worn every year. Something about the way he always so carefully deals with everything makes it look like he was meant for kindness. He's always just been living in the wrong place and time. Jude Ripley was made for comfort and happiness, but was dumped with hardship and misfortune.

Something, someday has just got to work out for him. It's just not going to be today.

"Jude Ripley."

His first thought isn't for himself. Typical Jude. It's for the little brother that he's got rows and rows ahead of him, about to be the only Ripley left in the world. He cries out, one soft mewl of confusion. He's the only family that Jude has left, and he is Jude's. You an' me Nino, I'll never leave you, I swear. Well Now he doesn't have a choice.

Silence rests across the square and Jude is jolted into action. Dust rises as he takes his first uncertain step, and then another. Another, and another. There is no one shouting because there is no Fitz Ripley to protect him. His brave little brother is dead and Jude supposes this is what he deserves. He never spoke up for his little brothers. He should have. He would have if he had been able to find his voice at the time. He's had long nightmares, they last eternities, and it is all infinity of the back of his brother's heads, as they leave they line one by one and make their way to the stage. He can shout himself horse but they don't turn their heads. Now he can feel himself walking in their footsteps.

The world seems to tilt inwards as he walks and he finds himself looking towards the row of seventeen year olds. He catches an eye.

[presto]

SAVE ME FROM MY DISASTER

[/presto]

Last Edit: Feb 1, 2014 5:06:52 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

66th Reaping [D4] Feb 1, 2014 5:59:13 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Feb 1, 2014 5:59:13 GMT -5

[presto]

I FIND I CAN'T STOP DREAMING

[/presto]

I can feel sunlight against my cheeks and it makes me angry. The boat rocked under my feet this morning and I got mad. I waited ten minutes for Calypso before the reaping but she must have gone in already and I got frustrated.

I can't handle anything anymore.

I can only get mad.

It's been a year since my brother died and they say time passes quickly when you are having a good time. This past year has felt like hell but it's gone fast anyway. It feels like just ten minutes ago when my brother was jumping along beside me, asking me what would happen if he got reaped, if the Capitol is really made of candy. He made me laugh and even though fear sat like a brick in the pit of my stomach, I remember smiling and telling him he didn't have to worry. He wouldn't be reaped.

I remember how it was to watch him step onto the stage. I can still feel the bruise of the arms that held me back, that told me I was not allowed to volunteer, I was too old. Now I feel too cold, like I've turned to ice. I barely feel anything anymore. Not Calypso's breath when she leans in to whisper something secret, not the kicks teacher lands on me because I'm not paying attention. Someone could cut off my arm and I wouldn't care because my little brother is dead and I didn't keep my promise. I didn't protect him, and it was all because he was reaped and now everything that I do, wherever I go, I just feel angry.

My fists tighten as we stand there, silent in rows, waiting. For what, I don't know. Fate to make her decision I suppose. Fate is a bitch. I hate her, and them, and the Capitol. I hate this, I want to go home. When I go home I will hate the walls and the very waves that carry us. This is worse than depression, worse than my mother staring silently at the wall. She can't feel anything, I feel far too much.

Here we are, once again, tin soldiers standing in line. I hate the way I can see the shoulders of the by in front of me shaking. He's got his name in so many times he's lost count and he is a little brother. His older brother is dead, killed in some boating accident. There is no one to volunteer for him. He's alone. If I blink, he's Ewe. Waiting, nervous and jumpy. I can see it as someone's name is called. His shoulders still, he is a deer, wondering if this car will hit him. His shoulders relax when he realizes he is safe for one more year. He has three hundred and sixty-five days ahead of him, where his biggest danger is living in a dystopian reality.

It was a Ripley, was called.

There is a murmuring in the line. Nino stands only bodies away, 'R' being after 'S'. I've never spoken to either of them, but everyone knows the Ripley's and their terrible luck. Everyone knows me too, I've seen them looking. Seen their looks of pity, of shame because my brother didn't make them proud. He only came second, and District Four has been victorless for years and years.

Ewe made me proud.

He didn't even cry when his name was called and he went down fighting. I am so intentsly proud of the fourteen year old boy from four who's drawings stare at me from the walls of our tree house. I can't roll up his messy sleeping bag, or take his toothbrush out of his cup. If I don't, he'll come back to me.

Jude Ripley stops at our line and I turn to look at him. His eyes search for that of his brother, I'm sure. Instead, they catch mine.

It is like looking into a mirror.

All I see, are waves, and waves. There are endless waves bashing themselves against his skull and they are all regret. They scream, tearing at his insides. I know this, because they do the same to me too. I hate him in this moment. He had the chance to volunteer and he never took it. He didn't have some stupid twist stopping him. He could have, he deserves this.

Yet, and yet.

So do I now. Ewe would want me to save Jude. Well no. Ewe wuld want me safe at home, but he's dead so he doesn't get a say.

Jude Ripley is very much alive and he has a younger brother that he still wants to look after and to love and me, I've got nothing. Not a damned thing. Just a girl that I utterly adore but will never be able to look in the eye again if I don't do this.

I step forward.

"I VOLUNTEER," I shout, loud and proud. I grin, cocky bastard that I am, and push past Jude Ripley. I walk down the lines and I don't even look for Calypso because she will be seething. She'll want to be bashing my head in and I know this and my heart is breaking or at least it would be if I could recall where it went.

I step up onto the stage and eye the stunned silence, sizing it up.

"MY NAMES EYE SAW, YOU SHITS."

Then I give them both fingers and I smile so wide I think my face might split in half. Right this second, I am very much alive. I'm going to enjoy it.

ooc: Eye Saw volunteers for Jude Ripley

[presto]

I'M NOT FEELING ANYTHING AT ALL.

[/presto]

Last Edit: Feb 1, 2014 6:02:26 GMT -5 by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

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clover ❁
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66th Reaping [D4] Feb 1, 2014 10:09:27 GMT -5

Post by clover ❁ on Feb 1, 2014 10:09:27 GMT -5

[presto]

nessie libertine
fifteen
district four

[/presto]

I'M SORRY IF I SMILED AT YOU

He caused this. This ache in my chest and the worry caught like a bird in my lungs. It tastes suspiciously like feeling something; a fear born deeper than simply wishing to preserve my own life. (It's the kind of terror that makes me want to stop time and cling to it tightly, weaving together the fabric of us so we can never break apart.) It's a yearning I detest - it waits in the back of my mind always, screaming Nessie Libertine cares at the top of it's lungs. I scream back, almost loud enough to drown out it's mocking. His name is Jude Ripley, and I hate him for this.

Roots branch out within me, sapping the energy from my bones. I attend the reaping without a coat, because I want to feel the bitter cold bite my skin. Tiny bumps speckle every inch of me; they decorate my arms and legs with a reminder that my flesh is vunerable and open for the taking. That I am not immune to pain. Today could be a death sentence, permenant and final. The alternative, however, is what makes me shudder.

Before Penelope and Fitz were reaped, I came down to the shore and watched the waves. Prior to Learna's leaving, I sat in the caves and drew pictures on the walls with ashes from the fire. The day Noah left, I stayed at home until the very last moment, staring at the peeling plaster. I cannot do any of these things this morning - the bad luck they have brought in the past carries over in the irrational part of my mind. Instead, I visit the graveyard, and visit them all one by one.

"You selfish bitch," I hiss at Learna's gravestone. My relief at her death all those years ago does nothing to soothe me this morning; to leave me alone and vunerable here, to continue the curse was a wicked thing for my sister to do. "And you two left him with Nino, and we're the only ones he has left. Because of you." These words are for Fitz and Noah, their plots side by side. I kneel by Penelope's resting place and do not dare speak ill of her. "I'm sorry," I mutter. I am not.

There are too many people in the square when I arrive. Like birds, they flock toward their fate as though the season itself beckons them. Stupid, stupid. They line up, ready to accept whatever future is bestowed upon them. (And, surely the most ignorant of all, I follow them numbly and blindly.) I don't dare look for him in the crowd; I simply take my place, because Jude Ripley is eighteen years old and perfectly capable of caring for himself.

Until God, or the devil, or whatever else is pulling the strings on this sick puppet show - until they call his name. At first, I think it's just the voice inside my head. My mind speaks of this boy a lot. But heads turn, and Jude stands there looking mute and lame and frustratingly perfect, fear etched into his features as though he is a canvas and terror is crimson paint. I watch, unsurprised. After all this time, I am more than aware of my curse, and the least I can do is not react to it's rampage upon my life.

It is lucky I do not wish to move or scream or shout, because I can't. The snow that falls from the clouds seems to have settled in my veins, freezing me all the way through. I feel nothing. Frostbite has infected my heart. I watch as a boy decides that Jude's life is worth more than his own. Eye Saw. Familiar, and yet not so much that I worry for him. He is right, at the very least.

Jude Ripley is worth more than he or I. More than anyone at all. And he is not going to die today.

I thaw and run forward, frightened by the lurch in my stomach and the warmth in my heart.

I SOMETIMES WISH I STAYED INSIDE

Last Edit: Feb 1, 2014 10:09:44 GMT -5 by clover ❁

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66th Reaping [D4] Feb 1, 2014 12:52:34 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Feb 1, 2014 12:52:34 GMT -5

( N I N O R I P L E Y)

Fate is for fools. There is no such thing as destiny outside of fairy tales, because those words imply that people have no choice and in the end, we all do. Except unlike the pretty bedtime stories of children, our choices are most often ugly things. Life is not precious; it is selfish. At best, it could be said that something is inevitable, but even then we still have the ability to change what is about to happen — it's just that most of us lack the courage, or in my case, the desire.

Lately, my brother Jude and I have been the kind of happy I'd have sneered at a few months ago, before exploding in a rant without mention of the word fate, but with excessive use of another four letter f-word. It still felt like yesterday that Noah had been murdered on the other side of a television screen as we watched helplessly and after Fitz, Pen, and Learna's deaths there had already been something of a fallout between Jude and I — not to mention the way Ursula Libertine and I had made a habit of carving each other up from the inside out. I thought I'd gotten really good at destroying people. At some point, however, I realized there are things worse than dying and so it didn't matter if I threw my fist into the face of a stranger or my last remaining brother, because the flesh will always heal when the heart won't. If I'd have really been trying to hurt Jude back then, it wouldn't have been by crashing my knuckles into him. Honestly, the only person who truly felt a fight like that was me, because looking at my brother covered in bruises I caused is a kind of torture and I knew that then just as well as I know it now.

When Jude tried to kill himself, I lost it. Completely. More than with Fitz or Noah, who never had that kind of choice in the matter, and more than I'll ever be able to find the words to admit to him. Suicide is the kind of thing that tells everyone who loves you that you don't love them back enough to continue to be there for them. He went a little crazy over it too and even though we've both gotten a lot better since then, I don't think I'll ever fully get over the way he tried to leave me like that. Our parents passed away forever ago and I know we've been orphans ever since, but I never actually felt orphaned until that day. No matter how bad life got and who gasped for their last breath while our own lungs just kept on going, I always had Jude and the rest of the world could be damned. It would have hurt less if he'd have skinned me alive or systematically shattered each individual bone in my body.

"Jude Ripley."

That's why I can't do it. It's not that I don't have the courage to die to save my brother, it's that I understand that forcing him to watch me be murdered in his stead would be worse than having his limbs carved away and a spear thrust into his eye. We both knew the name Ripley was coming today, because that's how this story of ours inevitably goes and it hasn't got a goddamned thing to do with fate. Even as my lips move silently within the crowd of people, ghosting the words I volunteer over and over again, I won't allow the sound to come out. It would be easier for me to die while lying to the world that it was an act of selfless sacrifice, but I've grown too old for games of pretend. I refuse to become that kind of cruel wound within my brother's chest, even if he's about to become something that will never heal within me. The choice is there for me to speak up and change everything, just the same as it is for every other person standing around me, but I think I've finally become enough of a man to live with this.

"I volunteer! My name is Eye Saw, you shits."

Thankfully, there is still one fool in this crowd.

Last Edit: Feb 1, 2014 12:54:46 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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bloomtodeath

66th Reaping [D4] Feb 1, 2014 15:16:21 GMT -5

Post by ✨ on Feb 1, 2014 15:16:21 GMT -5

CALYPSO LETO

"handprint on a pillow
ripples in water
the fleeting movement
of dusk
breath on lips
red marks on skin

his memory more transitory
than light in january."
- jlb, gone.

Reapings come and go. Always filled with the itch to win ingrained into me by Career ethics and promises of glory and the sheer terror at the thought of dying. (I almost died, once before. I'd rather not do it again.) Yet it's not the end that I am afraid of, of the running out of time or the sudden blink and it's over – it's the ones waiting on the other side who terrify me. I shouldn't be scared – I'm not scared of anything. Except of drowning, and sinking, and my lungs filling with salt and stealing my voice away. The tattletale shoots paralysing venom into the hearts of little criminals, yet she's too scared to sing the song of courage. But I'm not scared of that. Or this.

Or hearing his stupid, stupid voice throw his life away.

My world fills to the brim from inside my very head. Anguish floods to the nearest opening and pours from every crack that's forced into my skin. (I don't care, my hands are shaking and the thundering rush of water is coming - it's coming for me – but I don't care.) Memories, too. They spill out of me, and if I could move my hands they would snatch them back up. Don't go, wait, please, don't leave me, I don't want to forget. I've seen him break down before – it's terrifying, and awful, but I'm always there to catch him and tell him I know, I know, I know. (I didn't know, did I? Not really. He doesn't know how this feels - and yet he does, it happened last year. And there I go again, being so selfish.) There was no anger there, only understanding (or what I could make of his trembling body and aching heart). I've seen my sister break down too, although those times are different. She wallows away in self-pity whilst her criminal got what he deserved. (Is that what I'm doing now? Wallowing?) In fact I've seen plenty enough people cry and scream for things that they deserve. Did I deserve this?

No. I deserve far worse.

He saved that boy's life. I should be happy, right? First decent thing he's ever done. My conscience nags at me, the same conscience that drives me to be good and rational and not make bad choices like chasing after a criminal and letting him get away or following him to his houseboat or finding him on the shore and letting him scream and admiring his work for what it truly is and being their for him when his little brother dies despite what everybody else would say or do if they found out. I should be happy, I should be so proud, but I'm still shaking and my chest is caving in and I wonder, in the blink of an eye, if this is what Perdita feels every single day.

The world fills up, up, up, but I'm rooted to the ground. The water pools around my body, constricting me, forcing my head to look up at the stage. (If anybody cared to ask I would say how furious I was that I was not chosen - the only logical explanation for my behavior.) But logic doesn't mean shit when you're floating on thin air. Justice does. Justice says I deserve this, for caring for a criminal. Justice says I told you so. He stands, so proud, so furiously angry at everyone for what he's been put through these past year and yells to the world. (I'd yell back if my lips weren't shaking and my eyes weren't flooding and my words weren't drowned out by the ocean inside of me. Look at that - the tattletale, silenced by a criminal. How utterly unpredictable.)

“My name's Eye Saw, you shits.”

I laugh. 'Atta boy.

And then I sink.

"i'm just a silhouette,
a lifeless face that you'll soon forget.

my eyes are damp
from the words you left
ringing in my head
when you broke my chest.

it was a flood that wrecked this,
and you caused it."
- daughter, youth.

Last Edit: Feb 1, 2014 16:09:40 GMT -5 by ✨

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

gm bourgeois decadence [aya] Administrator 6,256 POSTS last seen Jan 27, 2024 16:01:40 GMT -5 "GUNNERRRRR~"	66th Reaping [D4] Feb 4, 2014 20:54:15 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Feb 4, 2014 20:54:15 GMT -5 Volunteering for the District 4 Female tribute is now open.
	{characters} certified kindergartener stranded in "beach" "city" leader of the crystal gems

knuckles
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probably flailing over something

66th Reaping [D4] Feb 4, 2014 20:54:23 GMT -5

Post by knuckles on Feb 4, 2014 20:54:23 GMT -5

Narration
Thoughts
"Hearing"
"Speech"
(Other)

Months has flew by since Sam told me I should end my life if all I was doing was live to train for death in the games. Death is something that would be welcomed by my because it would allow me to explore the world with my twin. A spear held next to my stomach threatening to end my life, and he stopped me. He stopped me from impaling myself, and all the emotions were replaced by anger. That could have been the moment my foot stepped onto the shore where Muscinda plays. She would be welcoming me, or would she hate me for ending my life? With a quick shake of the head, my face falls towards the ground plummeting my stomach downwards. No word can describe the words the agony living inside me every single day. My parents don't care about me anymore- I'm dead to them. My life has been spent at the training center waiting for the opportunity to be in the games. It's my life goal to die in the games because that's what my sister wanted, and I made a promise to fulfill that goal.

My feet pace through the sand as my eyes gaze into the beach. The same place she walked away from me- her life was ended, and I was too afraid to attempt to save her. Maybe if strength flew through my veins, she'd still be alive today. It was her will though. She walked through the sand into the water before disappearing forever. Waves crashed down upon her like they crash down today. It's a sign allowing me to know she's watching over me. My feet were planted in this same place when that guy slapped me across the face telling me how I was living my life all wrong. It was these very waters my feet flew into grabbing the spear holding it against the outer walls of the delicate skin prepared to end my life forever. It would have been a release, yet it trapped me here longer waiting for the moment my time would come; the moment my soul is released from the world to join my sister forever. It's been several months since my eyes gazed upon him. Maybe it'll finally happen today. He'll notice me for all the wrong reasons.

The sun slowly rises over the horizon as I turn away from the beach. Every single reaping morning has been spent in front of the spot where she left. It's been five years since she left. She's the one that wanted to be in the games, and hopefully it'll be my chance to live up to the Roxen family name. It's hell waiting for the names to be called because it only ends in heart break knowing I'm trapped another year with my family. Hatred prances through my blood- family should long one another not put them down. Footprints embed in the sand as my eyes flash across the beach for what'll hopefully be the last time. It's time to be reunited with my twin for the first time in three years. Honor will be brought down upon my family when my feet step foot into the bloody arena as people scream for my death; little do they know- I want to die. Death is a sweet release from the pain living in the world today. It's not worth trying to survive anymore because it only ends in anguish. Despair is unreal and it fills every single fiber of my being.

Sand falls from my long locks of hair onto the ground as water floods my face washing the morning away. If it was up to me, the sand would stay on my body permanently embedding into my flesh forcing the beach to become apart of me. A house would be built on the shores of the beach just for me to live in. Nothing would stop me from being close to her: it's what she'd want. A huge sigh of relief slides through the clenched teeth as thin fingers run through the thick coarse hair. The thin grains slice into my skin piercing them causing the pain to be relieved from living inside me. A large grin grows across my face. It's the reaping day- everyone wants to look nice. It's my chance to go into the games to fulfill my promise to Muscinda. This will be my way to show Sam, I meant what said when my training was done so my death could be in the games. It may be the last chance given, and it's not going to waste. Throwing this opportunity down the drain isn't something I plan on doing; today Muscinda will be made proud.

Mother sits breakfast on the table demanding it be eaten before we leave. Father shrieks about the stupidity that's been living inside me. My hand shovels the food into my mouth as fast as possible- the longer I sit there the worse they are going to get. Every part of my being hates my parents; they've never stopped blaming me over the death of their perfect child, my twin sister, Muscinda. The horrible insults fill my ears bouncing around in my brain filling my heart with agony and sorrow. Muscinda left on her own will leaving me standing on the beach shouting her name crying for her to return, but it didn't happen. Her mind was made up: she wanted out of this place. Anger builds up as my father repeatedly tells me it's my fault she's gone, it's my fault she left, I'm the screw up- the one that should be dead not her. My fork slams against the table clattering throughout the room. "You know what? I'll make sure to get out of your way today. I'll make sure you never have to see me again. If I'm not reaped for the games, I will volunteer. I'll be gone from you forever!"

Silence erupts from the table as their chin drops to the ground. Laughter roars from somewhere deep inside me as I force myself away from the table. Never again will words be spoken between us. Nothing will make up for the anger spewing from my mouth. It'll be in my best interest to get out of here today- to make sure my life is ended. The door to the dining room slams behind me with a thunderous boom shaking the entire house. Red spots dance before my eyes as my head pounds from the continuously rising blood pressure. Heat radiates from my cheeks forcing all the blood to pool making them a bright pink. My hands shake from the anger surging inside me. I clinch my pant legs trying to keep the shaking from being noticeable, but it's impossible. Every muscle convulses. My entire body falls onto the bed as loud, violent sobs escape filling the air around me consuming my soul. Nobody loves me, nobody cares for me, and today it's my job to bring notice to myself from all around the nation. My name will be remembered as citizens chat for my death.

I tear through the door pounding my feet against the floor sounding like a herd of elephants has been set loose in the house. My eyes glossy from the tears pouring down my face. Let people laugh at me for crying. Let them laugh at the career I'm supposed to be. It'll just make life easier for me when the promise is fulfilled. Today will be the day my feet never step foot into my parents house again. A tent will be pitched on the beach before I'd ever live with them again; they are undeserving of my love. They'll remember my name for the rest of their lives as they bury me under the ground because it's my goal to return home in a box reuniting my soul with my twin sister. A hand runs through my hair forcing it to stand out all over the place. People stare at me with their eyes wide wondering what's going on. Children fight to get out of my way only causing me to roar with laughter. I walk straight through the check in without a work before quickly taking my place where I belong in line for death with the other teenagers most of which are tense about the reaping.

The escort walks onto the stage and begins speaking. It's always boring listening to the same speech over and over again. Her voice is robotic speaking words nobody wants to hear. My muscles tighten from the impatience building within. A scowl appears over my face blocking out everything. They need to get to the reaping because that's what I'm here for- to be reaped, or volunteer for death. Nobody is deserving of this place except me. I'm the one that will be standing up on the stage trying to bring honor into my life by dying for my family. Leaving them with nobody; not ever their stupid daughter. That's all I am to them, and it'll be the best day of my life to be set free. Finally, the escort reaches into the ball holding the girl names. It's not my name that rings through square. My heart crumbles into my stomach faster than any words can escape from my lips. It's a huge let down as my fist clinch the side of my pants trying to hide the visible shaking. Muscinda, this is for you. This is to bring me back to you. I will be reunited with you. My promise will be fulfilled.

"I volunteer as tribute!" My voice full of force as I storm out into the isle making my way towards the stage with a huge grin on my face. My feet climb the steps to the stage as my place is taken by the escort. My eyes find the eyes of my parents. Their beady eyes stare into my allowing me to read them like a book. Adrenaline surges through my veins as the grin grows larger. Today is my day. It's the first step to being reunited with Muscinda and getting away from my family for the rest of the time they walk the earth. My weight shifts to my right side as my head leans back. "Mizar Roxen at your service." Happiness floods my veins for the first time in a long time. The weight of the world is lifted off my shoulder in a swift movement. It's the best feeling ever as the pain of the world leaves forever. I'll be with you soon Muscinda. We'll be walking together happily wherever you are. My promise has been fulfilled, and I can't wait to see you. I'll make you proud as I walk through this journey of death.

OOC: Mizar Roxen volunteers as D4f tribute

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe

lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah
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#expensivetrash

66th Reaping [D4] Feb 4, 2014 20:54:33 GMT -5

Post by lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah on Feb 4, 2014 20:54:33 GMT -5

Eva Crest

Today was the day. Today was the day that I would finally finds myself as free as the ocean or trapped like the person I was. I don’t worry about the clothes that I wear or the state of my hair. I don’t worry about anything as I feel the sand in my toes, the chilled hair in my hair. My eyes are on the sky, its beauty something that I cannot forget, something that is burned into my memory forever. My hands are on my skin, little crystals of salt, flakes of sand. This was my home, this ocean was my life… But I was trapped, a fence surrounded me, surround me stopping me from going to the places that would allow me t explore to find new things to be a new person.

I take a few paces forwards until the water rushes over my to sea, until I am connected with the ocean. Will you hate me? I ask him, I ask the boy whose life was taken away to young. Will you hate me if I do it? If I take that ticket that may cut y life short or turn it into one to remember? I close my eyes, desperate to hear his answer. But the only thing that I can hear is the gentle crash of the wave upon the shore, upon the place that I would miss the most.

Tears form in my eyes, but after a moment I am gone, my sandy feet walking along cement and not the spongy grains of white. Hastily I wipe away the tears that had formed in my eyes, my hands shaking as I move towards the square, another trap that would decide my fate. I was going to do it, offer up my like for the sake of someone else getting that chance to live longer. Well, huh, it sounded good when you said it that way. Sounded selfless. But that wasn’t me- I was defiantly not selfless.

People around me move nervously- everyone bar me dressed to impress. I look down on my shorts and tank top, my salt encrusted hair and give a small shrug. Then my eyes find there’s, my mum and dad. They looked scared, so scared at the thought of losing their second child, and my heart breaks in two. Sorry mum. Sorry dad. But I have to do this, I have to escape, I have to become something better. What would people think of me? If I volunteered? They would probably laugh be like, ‘there she goes again, I knew that one day these pranks of hers would get her killed.” Would they be right? Would I be dying tonight?

My questions are hushed as the escort walks up to the bowl containing the name of the future tribute. I don’t let my eyes leave him as his hand flicks into the bowl fingers greedily taking hold on one small slip of paper. Slowly her carries it back over to the mic before booming out the name ’Coral Riptude’. The crowd doesn’t move a muscle, and then I see here, a rather tanned girl steps out from the crowd and heads towards the stage. She looked scared- she didn’t want to die. Huh. I guess her luck hasn’t run out yet, I think to myself, moving away from the crowd and to a place where all eyes would be on me. This is my chance for freedom. “Your jokes on me,” I say loudly, “I volunteer.”

[ooc- Eva Crest Volunteers as tribute]

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Meghan
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66th Reaping [D4] Feb 4, 2014 20:54:33 GMT -5

Post by Meghan on Feb 4, 2014 20:54:33 GMT -5

Once upon a time...

A girl stood in a square filled with thousands of the afraid. The world today wasn't welcoming, not with the haze of potential death drifting above the heads of the ones in despair. They all wanted to know, "Would I be next?" "Are they going to choose me to go die?" "Could I really win this thing?" Voices whispered comforting phrases to themselves as they all drew their coats tighter and their precious things near to their hearts.

Frances, the heroine of our story, did not own anything particularly precious. It was only her voice and the stories she weaved into the threads of their abrupt and sudden fear. "It's going to be ok, Papa. I promise." The girl of only fifteen lied. But she knew, deep down, that today was not a day where things were "ok". Not for twenty four teenagers and their families. Yes, things were far from okay.

She had watched her district tributes, younger than even she (although perhaps Ewe had been the same age, she never paid much attention to these things), run off to the Capitol to have a great big adventure that only ended in their death. (Goodbye, my loves, goodbye - she had whispered this in her sleep but of course she would never admit this present weakness. She would only be judged for her faith in the goodness of humanity). Was Ewe and Sophia really the angels she had painted in her head? Or were they just as messed up as she, sucked into the lies that the world had told them from a young age.

She had no hope in the games, so why was she standing in this square, geared to do the unimaginable if it came down to it?

Because... one day, sitting on her rock, staring out at the sea, Frances had a revelation.

The fisher's daughter was entirely too selfish. Entirely too argumentative. And entirely too corrupted to really be happy surrounded by people who had hope. She always strove towards only her own desires and forgot the desires of others. That was wrong, wasn't it?

It was about time she forget about herself. It was about time that she dove head first into something unexpected, something pure.

It was time to sacrifice the thing she held dearest to herself.

Her life.

Running ahead, past the rest of the crowd, the afraid, Frances joined Eye Saw on stage and said the last brave words she could ever face.

"I volunteer!"

... and so the girl in the crowd became the champion.

~~[[Frances Moreau volunteers as tribute]]~~ negated b/c slow, congrats ems