Why I am Evil. [an essay]

Why I am evil.

It is with the full understanding that my Random Events, fight mandates, and other bits of tribute-torture are seldom appreciated by those with tributes in the Games (unless, of course, you are extremely lucky and it turns out that I am merely clearing the battlefield for you) and the knowledge that many outside of the Arena revel in tribute torture — note, torture, not death — just as much as I do, if not more so, that I plan and enforce all of the horrible, awesome tragedies of the Hunger Games. I don't expect you to like them. I don't mind that you'll hate me for it — for a little while. I understand. I know what it's like to be in an uphill struggle against time, against the other tributes, against all the little beasties unleashed on the Arena, against poor misfortune, and against logic. You want the best for your character, and I understand that — seldom do roleplayers want their characters to die, even when they know it is inevitable, and even when they've resigned themselves to that already. I promise you, I understand that.

So why, then, am I evil? Why indeed. What you might not realize now is that — aside from killing them — I truly am giving you the best for your characters. Of course, you have to work at it, too; but I promise you that I am giving each tribute a wonderful, fabulous, once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity for development, for masterful story-telling, for improvement in leaps and bounds.

It might not look like it. You might think that when your tribute's water jugs all spring a leak, when the ground gives way beneath your tribute's feet, when they're fighting as hard as they can but it's still not enough and they're sure they're going to die — you might think all these things are exactly what they're billed as: Evil. More specifically, Aya's Evil. Yes, fine. My evil. I threw you in an uneven fight, you're outnumbered and are having bad luck with the dice, and your character is screaming at you, screaming in pain and frustration, and you just want them to make it out of the fight alive, to make it to the next day, to be alive for just a little bit longer. Just a few more posts. And there's this point that you realize that your tribute is a different person than you thought they were, or a different person than they used to be — and you just never saw it. You don't notice that they've developed, but they have. That's the way it should be: gradual, centimeter by centimeter, and unnoticeable like your own physical growth — one day you're four-foot-nothing, but without even realizing it, you're five-six all of a sudden. That's character development. But I digress.

What you may not notice that you have been blessed with — yes, blessed, the Hunger Games are a blessing, I promise you — is the chance to grow and develop over a short number of threads. When I give you the choice: cut off your own arm or take damage until you're dead, what I am actually giving you is a unique catalyst for change. The Hunger Games changes people — because how could they not? — and if you work at making your character a real person, a real, complex, person, then you have what is easily the most powerful tool for development at your disposal.

Of course, with great power comes great responsibility: if you're not careful, if your character is more of a cartoon rather than a living, breathing human, you will not succeed. If you are playing for laughs, your development will fall short. Your character will die largely the same stick figure that they've been the whole time. If you try to develop too quickly, or if you don't develop at all, your character will die and it won't be heartbreaking.

But this is why I am evil. You might not think so, you might not appreciate it at the time, but I am evil for your benefit. Do I enjoy putting other people's characters through hell? Of course I do, don't get me wrong — but that's not why I do it. I like being the catalyst. I like being able to provide for your character's growth and development, to come up with the new and interesting and individual scenarios for the various tributes (because, if you haven't realized, no two tributes have the same journey, and that's one of the marvelous things about the Games.) I like doing it for you all, even if you might hate me for a little while. Even if you never come to appreciate it, I still like being able to provide that.

I urge you to make the most of the opportunities you have, to not fall into pessimism about the Games because you don't think you're going to win — you're probably not going to win, or not in the way you think you will. Victory isn't really the goal, not ultimately. Development, advancement, character growth, and cutting the plot off when you're done (or even, regrettably, prematurely) — these are the happiest endings anyone can hope for within reason. Your character might feel awful on their deathbed, but I promise you it will be one of the happiest feasible endings for your tribute. Victors are not happy, I promise you — it's not possible.

This is not me discouraging you from being sad about your tribute's death. Go ahead, bawl your eyes out. Sniffle and sob and beg Ripred (not me!) for a second chance even though it's futile (it is.) because sometimes that's the best thing to do — when you're attached to the point where letting go is painful… well, I think that's a strong indicator of a job well done. And, ultimately, this tragedy? The torment and heartbreak that everyone feels when beloved tributes die? Well, that's my goal. That's why I'm evil.