pole position | d1 train [97th] | Hunger Games: The RPG

pole position | d1 train [97th] Jun 6, 2024 13:18:17 GMT -5

Post by d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel on Jun 6, 2024 13:18:17 GMT -5

PORTIA MAYBACH

It should be pride hanging from Portia Maybach’s neck but as soon as the crowd filters a path for her onto the train, the weight of the metal feels more like embarrassment. What was Astra thinking? A fake participation medal that Portia was given (not won) when she was four years old, not something to show off. It is why she tucks the medallion inside her lavender blouse. There’s a whole bunch of veteran victors and Capitol elitists inside of the train to impress. A piece of metal for an egg and spoon race that happened twelve years ago is going to do nothing for first impressions.

Portia’s career training comes from the standard textbook. The Maybachs have strayed away from the glory of The Hunger Games, their fame comes from embracing the evolving industry in One. The Hunger Games is starting to feel a little…old fashioned. Portia wonders what it feels like for her family, now that one of their own is in it. Will they take is seriously now?

She may have said her farewells, but it is not over for her connection with her family. Her father is a businessman and sponsorship deals are a business. He will pull some strings in One that will reach the Capitol, somehow.

Carriage doors slam shut behind Portia, she is sealed in the carriage. Preserved as a tribute, soon to break free with a crown on her head or contained for an eternity six feet under.

For now, she will take all of this as a challenge, just a tournament that somebody else signed her up for. That will be until the reality sets in. She knows it is no egg and spoon race or even a half-marathon. This is more of a challenge than fifty marathons back-to-back. All she must fight in her running is her own body, soon there will be other bodies flinging swords at her. She has trained for this. The art of killing someone has always been an extra-curricular activity rather than the major focus in her life.

Aged victors fill the carriage, the only one close to her age is the guy whose name was called before hers. Jupiter Graves, she has only heard that name in science class. A competitor or a teammate, making a friend before the off doesn’t sound like bad strategy.

Portia leans her back against one of the windows, images of One flash behind her. The long sleeves of her lavender blouse are rolled up to her elbows and two buttons are undone below her chin. Not the look she was carrying at the reaping but now she means business. A red, blue and white ribbon of her medal is visible but not the printed metal that hidden behind fabric. Maybe she can get something more worthwhile engraved on it in the Capitol.

”So we’re the ones that One are relying on?” Portia says out loud, it is aimed at Jupiter but she hopes the victors answer too. It has been fourteen years since another joined the ageing bunch with their crowns. Perhaps Portia’s medal is not the only embarrassing thing here. ”You’re a career right? Our game plan is to make sure this year is not another disappointing one. I will pull that weight myself, if you’re not up for it…”

ELEGANT

pole position | d1 train [97th] Jun 17, 2024 21:49:33 GMT -5

Post by pogue on Jun 17, 2024 21:49:33 GMT -5

J U P I T E R

Jupiter curls his fingertips around the once-gold bracelet like his life depends on it, worn out chain nearly rusted through, better days seen and better days gone. There was once a medallion that hung loose from the middle of it, carved with a cross knotted over and over into itself, twisted and contorted and something of a mess.

One of the boys back at home had tried to convince him it was something of endless connection, life and death and rebirth and everything in between. Jupe had hocked a loogie into his hair when he'd gotten tired of the over-explanation.

He'd pawned the thing a week later for petty change, saving up for a throwing knife one of the street vendors had sworn was used by Peridot back during his training days.

Kept the chain though, if only to have something to consider his own, if only to have something to convince himself was worth anything. Some days he'd catch himself pretending all of it was a gift left over from the cracks his mother left in and around him, symbol of love for a son who deserved it. Some days it was all that kept him together.

Some days it was just a chain, wrapped in the strong grip of a boy watching his life fade away into the distance as the train speeds away from One, surveying the spread of snacks and sweets laid out before him as a distraction.

"You're a Career right?"

Something like it, there's a voice in his head with sharper fangs and a vicious bite that reminds him of what he is and everything he isn't- cracks painted gold and blood tinted silver.

"- Our game plan is to make sure this year is not another disappointing one. I will pull that weight myself, if you're not up for it..."

There it is. Jupiter chews on the words as they do the same to him, severed heartstrings burnt at the tips, vision tinted red at the edges. One exists because of competition masked as camaraderie, hatred in brotherhood, life in death. It's a crown and a killer, an honor and an anchor, because it doesn't just mean taking home the gold- it means coating yourself in red to do it.

He would kill Portia Maybach if- when, he had to.
But that's the future.

There's a grin that's plastered on his face just to hide bared fangs, forcing himself to let go of the bracelet within his hands and wrap it once again around his wrist, desperately trying to abandon the last nervous tick that reminds him he's still human. "Someone's gotta be up for it."

Jupiter surveys the room around them, counts each and every wrinkle that's written itself across the faces of victors past as they year for another. "One's crown is half filled with cobwebs by now." He turns to the assortment of finger foods and plucks something foreign off of it- layered pastry with something sweet between it all.

Not a sweets guy. He tosses the remaining half towards the trash can but nowhere near it, an Avox moving on instinct to clean up the crumbs and the mess as he plops down onto the couch and looks towards his opponent, ally, friend, enemy. "I don't think I've seen much of you back in One."

It's simple, the truth, buried underneath the notion that his Career training was anything but glamorous. Survival of the fittest, abandoning of the weakest. "Where'd you train?"