96th reaping [District Eleven]
Jan 28, 2024 0:59:50 GMT -5
Post by jackson thomas [d6m] arc on Jan 28, 2024 0:59:50 GMT -5
Marcellus Rhodes has always been a sheep to the herd—a coat of wool to provide for the unprotected, the uncomfortable, the unsafe. On a low winter night, flurried snowfalls or ice-trapped pipes, he is the one who keeps the volunteer shelter light on. He has blankets at the doorstep and extra gloves for young children. The small, mildly heated pot of soup that somehow hasn’t gone old yet. He’s every ounce of home that his mother refused to address, so maybe he’s become a culmination of everything he never had. As sheep, after all, their wool can’t be returned.
He wakes up to his arms wrapped around his new woolen blanket. He had never owned a blanket like it before, but the girl he was entangled with wasn’t far from it. Fortunately, she can handle her own, and he’s… hardly able to be alone. Predictably, he’d die with the wolves. Not that he never knew that. His mother, the adamant voice that was never asked for, made it clear to him.
Consciousness must have been sensed, as Tsiuri shifted to get up. ”We’ve gotta go.” He stated as if she didn’t know. Nobody said that he was an intelligent sheep, at least. Not that sheep are dumb. They’re actually brilliant. Maybe he’s a chicken. But Marcellus is from 11, not 10. He knows nothing about animals. There’s not a lot that he knows about period, but it’s okay, he tries.
The lump of a domestic wolf descendant snoozes at his feet, lips bubbling up with every exhale to flutter out. The long, brown, droopy ears lay beneath the paw. Everything was asleep. Marcellus liked sleep - it offered an escape from whatever reminders he had of who he was. He wasn’t much. The girl beside him grumbles after a few moments. He didn’t want to move - not because he wanted to sleep in, but because he didn’t like the reaping. He didn’t like being shepherded into pens and forced to watch lives being ruined. Marcellus lived to protect, and being forced to watch lives be shredded before his eyes was never good. He never watched his family members’ Games in-depth, but he knows too many have been led to slaughter.
”T, come on.” He lightly nudged her, not putting too much force to scare her, just urge to get up. She grumbled. ”Fine.” Tsiuri wasn’t naturally a morning person. Marcus was. She was the cat to his dog, the night to the day. She fulfilled every component of life that he avoided - and in one human being, she made all those things just alright. He felt warm around her as if she had shed her wool for him to wear.
Eventually, they got up - his tiny, shoebox of a room he’d begun renting for himself. Marcus moved out of his mom’s roof soon after he began working for pay at the shelter. It just felt best for him. It isn’t much, but it does enough for him and his dog, which is all that matters. He didn’t own many clothes, but the simple beige khaki and blue polo was enough. It wasn’t very important to impress with clothes - what was it suitable for, anyway? By now, the boy had enough in his life that nothing was worth impressing. A lovely girl (which was nothing established, but close enough to be) and a dog were all a boy liked Marcus needed to be happy.
They walked in silence. She wore a green and black, and he held her hand as they walked. It wasn’t anything intense, but it did enough to remind him that something mattered now. He wouldn’t just go home to a mother who told him he wasn’t enough. Or a father who said that he never tried hard enough. He did try, which made pleasing people much more important to him. Just not pleasing the people that failed to give him a chance.
”I’ll see you after, alright?” He smiled softly as they approached the check-in. ”We can get coffee.” He knew she liked coffee, and due to their somewhat late departure, it wasn’t a thought. She deserved a treat. She returned the smile, but parts of him still doubted she was being genuinely interested. Ever since she first spoke to him at the bar, he assumed it was out of pity.
On the stage, his cousin sits with the other victors. The same speech he has always heard rings, and he wonders how long it will take this year. Given there are no unnecessary outbursts, it should be fast- or so he hopes. The longer Tsiuri goes without caffeine, the grumpier she gets. Grumpy Tsiuri scared him.
”First up,” the energy-vaccuum of a escort started, and dug out the first name. He wasn’t entirely familiar with who it was. ”And next,” she plucked out a second name to read it out loud to the crowd. ”Marcellus Rhodes.” Well, that stinks. He hoped that he would be able to escape the hungry wolf pack of capitol desire. He had only one year left, after all.
Unfortunately, the sheep couldn’t hide from the wolf pack forever. And the wolves were hungry.
[marcellus "marcus" accepts, tribwall]