66th Reaping [D9]

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Lulu
Retired Staff

[M:2982250]

3,114 POSTS
last seen Nov 24, 2023 13:45:22 GMT -5

66th Reaping [D9] Feb 1, 2014 0:22:16 GMT -5

Post by Lulu on Feb 1, 2014 0:22:16 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, "Magenta Ryker!" He then reached into the other ball. "Kovu Luzell!"

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.

{lulu's cast}

gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan
Administrator

7,692 POSTS
last seen Apr 23, 2024 18:13:19 GMT -5

— 🥀 —

66th Reaping [D9] Feb 1, 2014 13:15:34 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan on Feb 1, 2014 13:15:34 GMT -5

CALL MY NAME AND SAVE ME FROM THE DARK

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M A G E N T A

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One last slab of meat was sawed in half with a freshly sharpened blade before she was done for the night. She washed her hands and ran one of them through her tangled brown curls before pushing past the frigid metal door and into the crisp night. Usually, Magenta liked walking. She liked the quiet because it gave her time to stop and just breathe. However this night was the eve of the Reaping. Six of them had already passed, and the wild girl had proven clever enough as she evaded her name being called year after year, and each time she watched as the tributes that could have been her perished.

This was her last Reaping. This was the last chance the Capitol had to either free her from worrying about herself being reaped, or forever make her a prisoner of the Hunger Games. As soon as she opened the door she was swarmed with an embrace from her mother and a gentle hand on her shoulder from her father. They always did this. She assumed all parents did. It was sort of their job to make their children feel comfortable until they could care for themselves, and that was the thing about Magenta: She could take care of herself. She appreciated that her parents had always cared about her, always only wanted what was best for her, but what they thought was best for her was different than what she thought was best for her were two very different things.

They never wanted her to work, instead they offered to pay for everything. The thing was, her parents hadn't worked a day in their lives. They were both handed down a fortune from well maintained businesses from their parents, as well as the businesses themselves. They wanted to do the same for Magenta, but she wanted to earn her money. She wanted to look back and say she worked for everything she had, and her parents never understood that. They never understood a lot about her, but she accepted her mother's hug. She let herself melt into the woman, for a moment, forgetting she was supposed to be strong now, forgetting she wasn't a kid anymore, and wanting nothing more than to let her parents take care of her. Eventually, they pulled apart and her father sighed. "You should rest, Mag. Big day tomorrow. She nodded and headed upstairs, quickly reaching under the bed and grasping for the bottle of spirits underneath it.

She swallowed the fire water and stared at herself in the mirror of the vanity her mother bought her. Chocolate curls swallowed her frail shoulders and licked her upper back. Her brown eyes remained strong even when her insides were burning with fear, and her hand clutched the bottle at her side so tightly that it trembled. She took in a shaky breath of air and swallowed back more of the alcohol and then finally decided to take heed in her father's words and try to sleep.

With the help of the spirits, she did fall asleep rather quickly. She didn't dream, only a black wall invaded her senses until her mother's voice shocked her awake. Her eyes pulled themselves open to find the lady standing over her with her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. She must have smelled the alcohol, but she chose not to comment on it. "You need to shower," she said carefully. "and I want you to wear the black dress your father and I purchased for your birthday." She turned and headed for the door, then turned back to look at Magenta, her lip quivering. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but decided it was probably best not to and instead she disappeared downstairs.

After showering, Magenta slid the dress over her head and had to admit her mother had lovely taste. Black fabric covered her in all the right places, and lace designs swirled across her back and the length of her arms. The dress itself stopped a few inches shy of her knees. Her mother swore it was from Eight, and said it cost a small fortune, but it was worth it. She pulled her hair back in a simple ponytail, and headed downstairs where her mother could hardly look at her and her father could hardly speak.

Once at the reaping, a swarm of horror-stricken people crowding around a simple stage and waiting to find out their fate, Magenta found her heart to be beating at an all-time high and she couldn't swallow the knot that kept forming in the back of her throat. When Talon Irvene, District Nine's Mayor walked out on the stage with Tanisha, the appointed escort of District Nine, she couldn't breathe. Talon spoke first, recalled past tributes, all of whom had failed to survive. There was something within her tone that suggested she was annoyed with it, and Magenta didn't blame her. With Wednesdae Drummond and Ivy Soren being the only exceptions, most of Nine's tributes perished in the bloodbath or shortly thereafter. More often than not, one of the tributes was the very first to fall.

Next, Tanisha spoke, her voice filled with false cheer since there was no way she liked representing such a poor district in the Capitol. She spoke fondly of the games and of the Capitol and everything she was supposed to, and finally declared it was time to announce the tributes. "Ladies first," She declared, and danced over to the over-sized fish bowl filled with names. A single slip was chosen and she walked back over, leaning in so that her mouth was closer to the microphone. "Magenta Ryker!"

Then everything went black.

The next thing she knew, she was on the stage with both of the ladies, as well as a not-so-handsome boy she vaguely recalled seeing in the hallways at school. A crowd of faces struggled between being happy it wasn't them, and sad that they were looking at two people that were going to die. Magenta didn't move. She couldn't. She couldn't smile or wave or shrug of shake the boy's hand because that might have been what made the tears come, and she didn't cry. She was going to die, but she wouldn't shed a single tear over it.

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template by chelsey

[Magenta Ryker accepts her role as the female tribute of District Nine!]

Last Edit: Feb 1, 2014 13:25:46 GMT -5 by gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]
Retired Staff

6,346 POSTS
Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Nov 17, 2023 15:15:56 GMT -5

cozy, queer af

66th Reaping [D9] Feb 2, 2014 1:45:59 GMT -5

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Feb 2, 2014 1:45:59 GMT -5

"Col, what's your secret?" my sister says, puffing out her cheeks like a fish as she leans against my side. We're in the kitchen and looking out the dingy window above a wash bin that doubles as a sink and a tub, watching as people begin to file out of their houses.

"My secret? What do you mean?" I say, blankly staring ahead for a moment before looking down at her.

"I meeeeeaaan," she says, rolling her eyes as if the answer should be obvious. "How do you keep from, you know.. being picked?"

"For the Reaping?"

She gives me a pointed look, but she knows I'm just messing with her.

"You're an idiot," she huffs, wrapping one arm around my side. Her arms, even at twelve, are just about the same length as mine. She's tall and skinny, just like me, and neither of us have got a bit of muscle to show for. We're a scrawny bunch, all eight of us, and therein lies the problem. Eight mouths are difficult to feed, especially when you work for a meager wage in a factory making soap day in and day out.

I step away from her grasp and spin around, suddenly animated. "Oh ho ho, I'm an idiot now? That's a new one - But you gotta admit, I'm a cute idiot," I say, flexing my arms in a mock gesture and kissing my right bicep. "Just look at those muscles. The Capitol probably couldn't even handle me."

"Yuuck." She makes a disgusted face and steps back, fanning the air in front of her nose. "Betcha they wouldn't be able to handle the smell, either."

"Hey! I cleaned up today!" I say, lifting my arms in defense. Consequently, she backs away with an "Ughghgh!" sound, yelling "Not the pits! Not the pits!" as she pretends to stumble and faint. I'm laughing now, all crooked yellow teeth and crinkly eyes, and I take a few steps forward and wrap my hands under her arms, hauling her upright just as she bursts into a fit of giggles. "Oh God, it's poison, it's poison, I won't survive.." she says, leaning back into my side regardless as her body shakes with laughter.

"You will too survive," I say, reaching out to pinch her nostrils together to plug her nose. "All you gotta do is find a way to cope."

She stops laughing suddenly, big eyes turning back and staring me straight in the face.

"So that's your secret?"

"My secret for what?"

"For the Reaping."

I laugh, shaking my head as I look down at my scuffed boots. "Nah, Hannah, that's my secret for the smell."

That makes her smile a bit, but a moment later her face falls and she looks disappointed, so I pinch her cheek. "Hey, come on now. Just think of it this way, for me, okay?" And she nods.

"Think of it like you're in school, right? And the teacher just asked a monster of a question that nobody in the class understands. Nobody except for, well, you know the one. That one kid who always seems to know what to say, always seems to be kissing the teacher's ass?"

She smiles at the word ass, but it's more of the nervous type. "Don't say that! Mom doesn't like it when you say bad words," she whispers, gaze flying towards the door just to check and see if anyone might be listening in.

"Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. What matters is this: you know how the teacher almost never calls on the annoying know-it-all kid? Noooo, she's always looking at the ones who don't know the answer, the ones who look like they're kinda squirming in their seats a little. Today, you have to be the one with all the answers. You gotta make yourself big and tall, hold your chin up, and make it so no one on this earth would ever dare pick on you. You got that?"

Hannah nods again, but her head is low. I tap her chin and smile, shaking my head at her. "Nuh uh, none of that. Chin up, remember? There's not a single one of 'em out there better than you. They can't hurt you if you know that."

A small grin spreads across her face, and just then Mom walks in, looking frantic with strands of hair falling out of her ponytail.

"We're late! Out the door, out the door.."

I don't even have time to make sure I look okay before I'm nudged into the open air, but at the very least I know that I'm clean. My shirt, which I think is supposed to be a nice bright white, has been pressed and ironed out, and the color is verging on yellow. It's not that I've made it dirty; I never wear it 'cept for Reaping days. No, this shirt has been passed down from generation to generation, and I guess my ancestors were freakishly tall and skinny too, because it fits perfectly. Guess that says a lot about my family's state of poverty over the years - we're all fragile, stick-figure kinda people. And not by choice.

My boots make tiny impressions in the dirt, and a slight breeze whips the cold into my face. As we walk towards the square, more and more people file out of their houses, and our small group grows into a crowd within minutes. The presence of so many people finally makes this whole situation real for me, especially when I look at their gaunt faces and worried stares, arms wrapped tightly around their Reaping-age children, who look for all the world as if they are already dying.

They could be dying, now that I think about it. But I don't like to wonder about that sort of stuff; it's too evil, too negative. Plus it's not my business.

But when I look over at my own family, all seven of them staring straight ahead like valiant warriors heading off to battle, I wonder which is more dangerous: the Hunger Games, or the actual threat of starvation?

That's the thing: as hard as my parents and I work, our efforts still aren't enough. I can see it in their faces, their hungry expressions, can hear the grumbling in their stomachs. We are hungry, and I don't care how much backbreaking work I do - with prices rising every month for our basic necessities, there aren't enough hours in the day to save us.

I'm so unbelievably tired, and I don't know how long I'll be able to keep this up.

If I am going to be honest with myself, the constant threat of my family going hungry scares me more than the Reaping ever will. I fear for them and not for myself, even with the extra tessera thrown in with my name.

Colgate O'Leary the papers say, though that is not what I am called.

When we arrive at the square, I line up behind the other eighteen-year-old boys, always looking to find my brothers and sisters among the crowd. Some of them aren't reaping age yet, but my sisters are. This is Hannah's first Reaping, and she would never tell me this, but I think she's scared to death.

I search the crowd and meet Hannah's eyes, so I twitch my face into the air.

Chin up.

She doesn't smile, though how can she? Nobody's gonna be smiling today.

The crowd becomes silent all of a sudden, so I turn my attention towards the stage. An oddly-dressed man struts into view, and just as he begins to speak I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms.

Not them, not them, not them. That's all I think. So long as it's not my sisters, I'll be fine.

"Ladies first," he says, pressing a hand into the girls' bowl. I hold my breath and am reminded of the way my sister sometimes puffs out her cheeks like a fish, and then the name is called. I don't know who she is, but Magenta Ryker is not having the luckiest of days. I sigh, thankful that I don't know the name, and my thoughts begin to drift away from here. I think about what we might have for a special reaping dinner tonight, and if there will be enough so that everyone can have something special. I recognize the sound of birds chirping in the trees, and for a moment I feel calm.

When I begin to focus again, shrugging off the momentary feeling of relief, I can't help but think that, for all his food and his opportunity and the muscles filling out his shirt, the Capitol announcer looks weak. That is, until he steps towards the boys' bowl and picks out a slip of paper. Then he's fearsome.

He smiles, and even from the back of the crowd I can see how disgusting it is. He enjoys this.

"Kovu Luzell!" he cries, but this time I do not feel relieved.

I feel nothing. Faces in the crowd begin to spin, searching for the boy whose name was called. It sounds vaguely familiar in my mind, but I can't pretend to know who this guy is. I can't connect a face with the name, and only because of the crowd do I finally find him.

It's hard to miss him, really - he's the one that suddenly went pale.

For a long moment, he doesn't move. I take that time to look at my family, to see their relief and to say without words that it's okay, it's okay, everything is fine, except their faces look no different than they did before the names were called. They still look tired. Still gaunt. Still weak.

Still afraid.

And that's when I make a decision.

In a matter of seconds, I rush towards my parents on the side of the square and grab at their hands as I desperately try to put my case into words. I vaguely sense the crowd pausing as everyone turns to witness this new commotion.

I grip their hands tight and stare at them, words falling out of my mouth like water. "I need to volunteer," I say forcefully, squeezing their hands.

"Col?" A question emerges from behind me, and as I turn to see, there stands my youngest sister, looking confused. "Col, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's.. nothing's wrong, Hannah." My voice cracks, and I turn back to my parents. "Mom. Dad. Please." It takes everything I have not to just go back to my place and let the other boy die. But it's not him I worry about.

My mom has turned away, and my dad looks as if the world has started to crumble around his shoulders. His bottom lip has pulled inward as if he's biting back something important, and his breaths have become ragged.

Col?" I hear again, but this time her voice is shaking. She runs up to me and tugs on my arm. "Col, what - "

"But why?" my dad interrupts, gripping my hand tighter.

My words almost stumble over each other in their hurry to be said. "I'm so tired, dad. I'm so tired. I can't do this anymore, I can't - " I pause and close my eyes, pushing back everything that threatens to ruin what composure I have. "I can't watch you guys starve when I can do so much better for you. If there's even a chance, I need to take it."

I try desperately not to cry.

"Please," I repeat, pulling on their arms as if to tug the answer into the open.

"Col? Col, what are you talking about?" Hannah asks, both hands grabbing at my arm now. She's on the verge of tears, I can see it, but I can't stop this now.

I don't know why he does it, but my dad nods sadly. That's all I need.

"Col? Col?" Hannah asks, worry etched across her face.

I squeeze my parents' hands and let go.

I bend down to kiss my sister on the forehead.

"Remember: chin up," I say, turning away from her. Even as I walk to the stage, I can hear her confused voice, not comprehending what I am about to do.

"Col? Col?"

I take the steps slowly and find that the other boy has already walked up to the stage, though the entire situation has halted as everyone bears witness the drama.

"I volunteer," I say into the microphone, my voice rough and dead.

I can hear my sister protest from below, can hear her start to cry and scream my name like I've betrayed her, but an understanding Peackeeper nudges her back into the crowd.

I look straight ahead and hold my chin up, just like I told her.

"And what's your name, son?" the announcer asks, looking at me with what might even be a hint of concern.

"Colgate O'Leary, sir, but that's not what I'm called."

"Oh? That's not what you're called?" the man asks, looking me up and down as if scrutinizing my very existence.

"No, sir," I say matter-of-factly. "They call me Soap."

--

I accept this position, Colgate (Soap) O'Leary volunteers for Kovu Luzell

Last Edit: Feb 2, 2014 1:59:05 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]