97th Reaping [District One]

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umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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97th Reaping [District One] May 31, 2024 23:00:18 GMT -5

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Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on May 31, 2024 23:00:18 GMT -5

Mayor Eurydice Le Roux held up the reaping for a full twenty minutes before finally making it onto the stage. Rather than addressing the entire crowd about her own lateness, she chose to immediately dive into her speech. Panem's anthem played and a few of the more excited tributes began to sing along, jovial and full of glee, as if this day were a holiday to be celebrated. Eventually, escort Romeo Ford sauntered onto the stage, his short-cropped hair dyed an interesting hue of pastel pink. "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 children, but many of them watched with baited breath. The pressure was on in District One this year, for Ridley Le Roux remained their most recent victor, standing on the stage a full fifteen years older than she was in her own Games.

"First up," the Escort announced, pulling out a slip of paper. He unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Jupiter Graves" They then reached into the ball again, selecting another name. "Portia Maybach!"

OOC - RPing is allowed. Please feel free to post below with any character in the district reacting as you'd like.

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.

Tributes have until Tuesday, June 4th to post their acceptances.

Last Edit: Jun 3, 2024 18:42:12 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

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

d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel
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call me jaded

97th Reaping [District One] Jun 1, 2024 14:40:20 GMT -5

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Post by d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel on Jun 1, 2024 14:40:20 GMT -5

PORTIA MAYBACH

How many people are awake at 5am before the reaping doing stretches under the sunrise? I know the answer. It is three. Me and my sisters. A crucial warm up before our quick 5k. I’ll set the pace. We need to beat our sub-20-minute personal bests. One of us could be dead in a few weeks (even two now the rules have changed) and there’s no way we’re missing out on our PBs. I doubt there will be time for leg lunges and knee rotations in an arena.

It is a flat route, around the retail District of One. Perfect time to hit the roads while the shutters on the stores are down.

One of my sisters likes to chat while running, sounds like a waste of oxygen. The pink earphones blasting rock music perfectly block out the running of her mouth. I don’t need to hear my thoughts while running. It is the perfect medicine for clearing my mind. It just like doing stretches for my brain, a warmup for the most important organ in my body before one of the most important days in my life. There’s another 5k planned for the sunset, we promised we would do it. Even if only one of us is around to run it.

A guitar solo hits the fifth song on my playlist and DING DING DING! We hit the 5k outside of an iced coffee store that is just rolling up its shutters.

17 minutes and 55 seconds.

That’s the numbers on the stopwatch for all of us. A gold crest against our names, a personal best!

”We should celebrate with an iced mocha latte and a bagel.” I suggest as I hit pause on my mp3 player.

”But mom said she was making eggs benedict for breakfast!” My youngest sister defers MY suggestion. Lame.

”Well, I am getting a latte and dad is paying.” I pull out a wad of cash that is been buried in my peach coloured running tights the entire time. Yeah, so seeing the dollar bills suddenly persuades my sister to follow me in, we leave the store with three lattes and walk home.

Maybachs are never slow, but we drag out the walk by taking a longer route. The sooner we’re home, the sooner we’re at the reaping.

Before we see the gravel drive that leads up to our house, we dump the empty plastic cups in a trash can. Evidence of our pre-breakfast is erased. My youngest sister better keep her lips sealed.

A shower and a clean up later and I am sat at the dinner table in one of my summer dresses. ”These are good eggs mom, better than what the cook ever makes!” Mom gives the cook a day off for reaping, to be with his family. She should give him the day off permanently, the old one retired and this one seems to have a fear of flavour.

”You’re right, I think I am going to fire him tomorrow.” Mom says, while cleaning some egg yolk residue from her chin with a napkin.

”Does that mean I can save money on a cook because you’re going to do it now?” Dad asks, he has already cleared the plate.

”No, I was thinking of hiring Matilda. She turns nineteen next week and that poor girl from that poor family has no other prospects…”

”I am pretty sure she said she was going to travel to Six to study…” It is one of the older girls at the career academy, dirt poor but she is clever.

”Yeah, I think I am going to hire her.” Mom is not convinced, not with the idea of Six anyway. The news says that place is overrun with rebels, Matilda is better off working for us.

We all clear the table and dump the plates in the sink, we’re not sure where the washing up liquid is. Mom gave the cleaner a day off too.

It feels like a quiet walk to the reaping while my earphones continue the playlist from this morning’s run. My youngest sister gets her talkative side from my dad so they’re both at it, talking about the dirt bike races that are getting televised at the stadium next week. One of my older cousins is riding in it, he is a favourite to win.

All these morning runs aren’t just for nothing. Maybachs are destined to entertain, even the ones in Three working in the garages. They’re making the tools for this high-speed entertainment that we’re naturals at. My youngest sister is destined for the motorbikes, it is what she trains on outside of the career academy. My middle sister is a natural ballerina, her company puts on sell out shows. My oldest sister who is between One and Three is a successful motor car racer. Me? I am a track and field star. Gold medals in every championship and even the last Olympics! I am set for life, even when I retire the next batch of Maybachs will be calling me Coach Portia.

The earphones are pulled from the side of my head by the guy that is checking us into the reaping. ”You can’t wear those.” I roll my eyes as I tuck them into the pocket of my dress. Yes, a dress with pockets!

Then the wait begins. The reaping has a pre-show but from the moment I line up, all I am doing is waiting. All I am doing is waiting for a name, not watching the same reels that are played on the screen.

“Jupiter Graves.”

That’s not the name I am waiting for.

“Portia Maybach.”

That’s not the name I wanted to hear.

One year, I was picked for the 400 metre hurdles over the 1500 metre middle-distance run. I sucked it up, I accepted it.

As my name fills the ears of everyone here, I breathe in. Take all of it in. That is my name that I heard. A twenty-four people death fight over a 5km evening run. I accept it. Even if I look at the faces of my family, of all the career kids that I have met in my life. Volunteering is phasing out; I have said that before. Nobody moves. The only person here who must move is me and a peacekeeper reminds me of that as I start to delay.

”My name is Portia of Maybach Motoring Industries.” I call out, my name has already been a brand deal and now it is on the biggest stage in Panem.

So, I am stepping on Panem’s stage. The biggest podium in Panem. There’s not a crown amongst the rosettes, medals and trophies. I have risked a pulled tendon for a personal best before, what’s a little risk on my life?

ELEGANT

Portia Maybach accepts her position as District One Tribute.

trib wall - one, two, three.

Last Edit: Jun 2, 2024 5:52:24 GMT -5 by d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel

pogue
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Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

97th Reaping [District One] Jun 3, 2024 20:02:55 GMT -5

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Post by pogue on Jun 3, 2024 20:02:55 GMT -5

J U P I T E R

Jupiter Graves counts his sins in time with his exercises, calloused hands wrapped around metal bar, sweat carving a path from forehead to cheek to chin to floor.

1, 2, 3 - heartbeat in chest, the echo of an alarm clock half-rusted still brimming in his the front of his mind.

It is 5:30 AM the morning of the reaping, sunlight curling its way through ragged blinds and clawing at faded wallpaper, stopping just short of a boy who does anything but wait for the inevitable, turning on worn heel in a desperate attempt to run.

A wound left untreated will fester in its own blight, collapse inwards before devouring what remains of itself from the inside out. Jupiter only stops pulling himself up towards the ceiling when he can no longer differentiate the burn within his own muscles with the one that ebbs and seeps from his own heart, lulls him into sleep just so it can show him what he has already lost, what he has already done.

Something sinister, dolled up in purple and blue and masqueraded to the world as pride is what keeps him going, desperately lunging towards a crown of broken glass and rusted wire. He learned years ago that his story and his soul are nothing special- even in a district like One. There are a hundred boys just like him, lost and abandoned and carrying their ghosts like currency, hoping to spend it on a better life worth living.

Even One has its limits, Career status born not from opportunity but from survival- rusted sword held in a strong arm with loose will, living only if they are not at the bottom of a bloody totem pole. He'd arrived at the house when he was thirteen years old, men in white holding his shoulders and assuring him that this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up- as if he'd have anything left to run to if he did.

There's a sense of ferocity that lays claim to boys and girls who were never taught any better, never had the opportunity or the connections to do so. Careers made in broken bones and bloody noses, only offered a roof above one's head if you can prove that you deserve to stay there, if you can prove that other's don't.

Rising waters unable to lay claim, at least as long as there is someone beneath you to drown first.

It's why he has nothing but the pressures carved into his shoulders to call his own, why he avoids the morning sunlight for fear of it finally destroying his own shadow- his own proof of a life that he wants to make worth living.

It's why he has watched his fellow careers come and go and attach sentimentality to the inanimate, call it luck and pride and everything in between, so afraid to admit that it's easier to treasure something that ain't living if only for the reason that it will never have the choice to leave them.

It's also why- at seven in the morning, his hand is wrapped tight around the throat of a boy the world deems his peer, red clouding his eyesight and his veins, white-knuckling the life out of someone like it's nothing more than practice. "I know you have it, Lile."

Tighten, choke, until a tear from the boy's eyes trickles onto his fingertips. "I know you have it."

There's a grip that only loosens when the small chain bracelet finds its way into the boy's fingers and comes to a rest back in Jupiter's free hand, flesh turned purple turning back to normal in between the boy's coughs. Jupiter relaxes on his heels, curls his fingers around the bracelet and convinces himself what he's done was truly all for luck. "Fuck you, Jupe.", Lile spits at him in venom and fire.

"Next time I'll choke the life out of you." Jupiter spits back, a threat and a promise rolled into one, metal chain wrapped between his fingers and clenched within his grasp. He holds it there, pressed into the soft skin of his palm in gnarled fashion, until the world goes from red to tinted to blue, floating hopelessly at the surface of his own thoughts.

It's still there, clenched tight, when the escort reaches into the bar and brushes his fingertips against luck and abandon- when they read his name and the crowd goes silent, and the world goes red again.

"Jupiter Graves." A name foreign even to him, blasted to the world and sweeping across the crowd in front of him.

A boy festers and rots in the sunlight of a stage, swallowing his karma and convincing himself it was inevitable.

[Jupiter accepts]

[ Trib Wall ]