The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress

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Kire
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The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 8, 2016 11:03:49 GMT -5

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Post by Kire on Apr 8, 2016 11:03:49 GMT -5

Chapter 1
Creating A Character

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In This Chapter
⊳ Setting down the outline
⊳ Adding a face to a name
⊳ What is a good description
⊳ Unrealistic characteristics
⊳ What is a balanced personality
⊳ Adding dimensions
⊳ What is a congruent history
⊳ Lining up the details
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A character is someone you portray through the words you write - sometimes it may feel like they take over your writing and take it from there but that's an issue for later. They are your tie from the world you live in to the world that they occupy, and should be written well in order to maintain a good link. In order to get started we will have to go over the basics and then go on from there. This is not something most people can just write and have turn up well - at the least minimal planning is needed.

Since we are talking about creating a living breathing person, even if they are in another world, we are going to need to make them as realistic as possible and breathe the life into them in order to get things rolling. Starting off let's lay down the basics.
Making A Sketch
In order to have a character - and be able to stick to the form of that character as you write - you have to make a simple outline. Let's get started shall we.

Gender

First off, this character needs to be given a gender. Names are rarely the first things to be picked, even if they are the first thing listed, since they need to have a gender to back them up and make it easier to find what kind of name you are looking for. For this example, let's say we are making a male. So this is the lump of clay that we are making our character from, we chose the male model to work with.

Age

Next, we should decide age. You may ask about the name, but a name is more than just a title, it is something that represents the character, and it's hard to find the representation of something that hasn't been built yet. Think about the age for a bit, what makes sense in the society you are placing them into? Don't throw a five year old into somewhere when you can't do anything with them there. That's not to say don't make a five year old, but be sure you know what you're getting yourself into with that. As for our unknown male, let's say he is eighteen years old. Now we know his is an older teenage male, already that puts a decent sketch in your head of how he might look body structure wise, but let's hold back on appearance for now.

Location

How about we give this guy a location, not a specific house or anything but a general area of residence. With this it will give some background and supply a smaller number of options for both major and minor details - such as occupation of both the character and those closest to him, as well as what the population was like. For example, in the Capitol there are many people, but only something around one third to one half of the people there actually work while most own avoxes and thus are free to do as they wish. Let's place our teenage male in District eight.

Here, most people work in the business of textiles, or working with fabrics - seamstresses, tanners and the like. Few people wander from this main job line, so keep that in mind. As for our character, because of his age we can say that he most likely doesn't have a job or works someplace where his parents have connections.

Name

Alright, now that we have all of those things sorted we can move onto the name. It seems somewhat late in the creation process to be giving our character a name, but sometimes waiting even longer than this might make it easier. For us, however, we will be giving him a name. In order to give a name that suits your character you can use a few different methods. The first of which is using baby name sites and finding popular names, or names that you like. You could also use these same sites to find a name with a certain meaning pertaining to the character, this method is easiest when the rest of the character sketch has been created. Along with that method you could also translate a word from another language to use as a name, but this as well is a method best left to be used later. In this case we will be using a random name, though the root name holds the meaning of "aid". We will now refer to our teenager as Ezero.

All that for just a first name? Well the last name requires a slightly different process to find. While the first name has to do specifically to the character the last name has meaning for the entire family, though it might hold no meaning at all or just have the meaning be held in it's pronunciation. One way to find a last name is to use a meaning search like with the first name, except using something relevant to the character's family. You could also find a name that relates to the first name, or sounds like a phrase when said with the first name. Just remember, this is what your character is going to be called, make it represent them well. In this case, Ezero's last name will be Laffan.

So let's recap, at this point what we know about our new character is his name is Ezero Laffan, he is male, eighteen and lives in District eight. These are highly important details that we need to stick to through the course of not only finishing our sketch but also writing the actual biography.

Appearance

Now, we are still laying out the basics. This is the point where you get to make a lovely little list of attributes that you will flesh out later. At this point you must keep in mind the points you had stated before and try to give as many major details as possible. Let's start off with race, as that will give us details like hair and eye colour. Most people give very little thought to the race of their characters, and this is where mistakes like having character of African descent with orange hair comes in. When first sketching a character try to keep the details as close to the character's reality as possible. As for Ezero, he is going to be of Asian descent.

Now that we know that Ezero is Asian we can lay down the basic details to give a basic idea of what he looks like. To start why don't we go with hair colour, like most of the Asian population he would have very dark hair, in this case black. Onto eye colour, as with his hair he would have an eye colour common to his race. His will be a very dark brown. At this point we don't have to be overly descriptive, but giving a simple lay out of body structure will do use some good for later steps. This is especially important if you plan to not use a face claim. As for Ezero, he will have light muscle and be of a medium-tall height. As we agreed before, specificity isn't hugely important at this point.

Personality

With those basic details decided, it's time to sketch out Ezero's personality. Single words are great to use at this point. For this you want to be more specific than "nice" or "funny", though, since those words differ in meaning for each person. Ezero, for our intents and purposes, is patient, smart, witty, and lacks some understanding of human interaction. Using this, plus maybe a few more descriptive words can give us the foundation of his personality and make building his character that much easier.

History

Finally, to end off our sketch, we need a brief idea of what kind of past Ezero has had. Once again, I remind you that we need to be as realistic as possible. We can't have him come from District eight and have trained all his life in the art of weaponry. As well, we also have to figure out the lives of his parents enough that we know how they affected him. Since Ezero is smart, we can say that his parents probably are smart themselves. Every District has a school, so let's say one of Ezero's parents is a teacher. Perhaps the other is a librarian. Together they would easily be able to teach Ezero and would provide the perfect opportunity for him to learn a lot. In order for this to happen, they would have to have been supporting of him, and they would have lived a comfortable life. There isn't much time for learning and book reading if you are constantly in search of food.

Other ideas for the history include any important occurrence, which doesn't always have to be sad or horrible. Ezero might have been taught by his parent at the school, or had an awkward run in with a girl. Also, think of reasons why your character would have the personality traits they do. You can't just say someone hates everyone without a reason why they shut people out. Maybe they had been hurt by someone close to them and don't want to be hurt like that again. History is one of the most important sections, and a good base makes writing it less taxing.
Finding A Face Claim
So you have decided to use a face claim to portray your character. This doesn't mean that you can just skip writing the appearance, but it can make it easier to give a lot of detail. Finding a proper face claim is as easy as it isn't, I'll explain what I mean about that. In order to find a celebrity that will accurately show what your character looks like you need to go back to that list of attributes you made before - remember when we said Ezero was Asian, had black hair, very dark brown eyes, light muscle, and was medium-tall? Now the tricky part is trying to find someone who looks like that. Sometimes people just start with a face claim and work from there, but most people find a face claim at around this stage. There are two main things to keep in mind when looking for a face; hold onto your sketch, and make sure the person hasn't already been claimed. Even if you don't find the exact person you want to portray your character, don't give up hope and change their appearance. If you need help with finding a face, just ask around - most people will be happy to help, we've all needed help before. As for the claiming, it's easier to check whether someone is claimed before you start than having to go back and change everything to fit a new person.

I have already found the person who is going to represent Ezero, here is a picture. This is Harry Shum Jr. He will be the face of Ezero.
Tell Me What I Look Like
We are now at the point where we can start the writing process, and begin the journey through the creation of our character. Using the face claim you have found, or the simple sketch you have made we can begin to flesh out what they really look like. Remember that appearance is as important as personality and that it should include flaws like any person. No one is flawless - but this doesn't mean you have to make your character grotesque, just realistic. We will talk more about do's and don'ts with appearance later. First, we have to decide on point of view and then I will give an example of an adequate description for our character Ezero. Point of view is a necessary part of any biography, and of any character. You have to decide right here and now whether you will be writing in first, second or third person. Once you have decided you can always change it, but make sure you stick to a single point of view for the entirety of the biography - otherwise it becomes hard to read when there is a sudden shift from one point of view to another. With that in mind, let's start our appearance. Ezero will be written in the first person - like he is acting as a narrator to his own actions, detailing life from his perspective.
My name is Ezero, and I live in District eight. At eighteen I am on the cusp of still being eligible for the reaping and my birthday can't come soon enough. From books about the world before the existence of Panem I have learned that I descend from a race of people that used to be referred to as 'Asian'. Basically, it meant that 'my people' used to live in Asia. Traits I have inherited from that lineage are the colour of my hair and eyes. Typically they are quite dark, and mine are no exception. My hair is black, dark like the ink in the books I read, while my eyes are an extremely dark brown. I only know my eyes are brown and not black because I have read that there are no such things as black irises. At least, they weren't heard of when the book was written. My Asian descent has also given me surprisingly light skin despite my dark hair and eyes, since the thing that gives them colour - melanine - would normally also tint the skin, but in my case it is a pretty subtle shade. I suppose the contrast is alright, it does bring attention to my eyes which is nice - it keeps attention away from my nose, which is a bit too big for my face.

I am not like those from the upper Districts, I don't have huge muscles or a profanity for fighting. I have never wanted into the Games like they have, so what's the point spending time training for it. That doesn't mean I'm completely weak, or that I have no muscle whatsoever, I can still carry things that are more than a few pounds. I do have some muscle, built up from time spent helping my parents carry heavy books and boxes of things and from trying to stay healthy by following steps in one of the books that my mom told me to read. I weigh a bit more than the others of my size because of it, after all muscle weighs more than fat, but I'm at a good weight for my height, which is more than I can say for some people. I average around 5'10" and weigh in at about 142 lbs, which is supposedly almost the middle of what the books say is healthy.

As for my body shape, I follow the standard form for a teenage boy. I have a rectangular body, though my sides are not truly flat, but they are close. My chest is slightly wider than my navel, and my hips are the same width as my chest. It's not too noticeable, but I am a bit of a stickler for details so I have to record it. My legs though, they make up over half of my height, and I don't really pay any attention to how they look. As per the norm, they have a gradual triangular shape that narrows until it reaches the foot. My feet are average size, I guess, for my height at least. I like not having huge feet, but sometimes I wonder if they are a little small for me.

Some might say I dress like a nerd, while others might just say I am one. I admit I'm intelligent, but to say I am a nerd feels like they are taking it a little far. Maybe. Admittedly, I do wear things similar to sweater vests, and I do enjoy reading and learning. Still, I wear normal T-shirts, and jeans. Plus, my shoes range from dress shoes to skateboard shoes, I enjoy a variety. I also wear leather jackets sometimes, or even no jacket at all. I don't believe anyone who really knew me could claim I was a nerd. Not while holding a valid reason for it anyway. Scrutiny and logic are two of my strongest points.
Perfection To A Fault
So if that was an example of a decent appearance, what is a bad one? In this case, a bad appearance doesn't mean someone who looks ugly or has a lot of appearance flaws. Quite the opposite, in truth. When is perfection just too perfect, pretty soon actually. So, the best way to avoid mistakes is to learn about them, right? So let us begin with our learning about unrealistic appearances.

Perfection

One of the biggest problems in appearance is the unspoken wish to be perfect, leading to the character's appearance being flawless and causing an unnatural appearance. A type of character known as a Mary-Sue is the result of this. Mary-Sues are one of the most boring character types to encounter, and will almost certainly drive any potential roleplay partners to leave, or at least roll their eyes.

Scars

Time and time again scars are thrown in last minute in an appearance to try and create and flaw. If the scar is especially disfiguring - one crossing most of the face, a large old burn mark, a lost eye or ear, or some larger mass of scar tissue for example - then it is an appearance flaw. However, if it is not (the above list was not exhaustive, but something not along those lines would not count) then it may even be endearing to another character. For example, a scar on an arm or leg might show that the character has had a run in with a sharp fence or has gotten into a fight - these are two of innumerable options for cause - which might signify bravery to another character and therefore turn the scar from a slight disfigurement to something of pride. Therefore it is not a flaw.

"Cascades"

Mary-Sues and Gary-Stus - as the males are referred to - are often described with inaccurate or commonly repeated words. Many of these have become exasperating to those that read them instead of applying the descriptive technique they could have done otherwise. One such word is used excessively to characterize hair for Mary-Sues. This word is cascades; as if hair were some sort of waterfall or rapids that pours from the head instead of growing. Sweeping is the male counterpart to cascades; making the male's hair sound like a broom on top of his head. It is advisory to refrain from using those words unless you are truthfully talking about a waterfall or a broom.
I Am Who I Am
This is the point where we have to put the soul into the character. We've given him a body, and a partial voice, but now we will insert real character into him - otherwise the title of character is entirely inaccurate. If you don't know what kind of person your new creation has it is time to make it. Get them to explain everything about themselves, whether in details that seem irrelevant aside from opinions or just how they would react to a situation. Remember to continue with the same point of view that you wrote the appearance in - unless done in a highly complex and stylistic manner it would only confuse the reader to change it now.
I'm not exactly the best judge of character, but I suppose I could explain what I'm like. People have told me I'm patient, and that it's a good thing, but sometimes I wonder if my patience means that I let people get away with too much. Too much tolerance could end up being a bad thing, no matter how much easier it makes everyone else's lives easier. I'm not everyone else, so it doesn't help me any. I also get told I'm smart, but I don't need people telling me that. If I didn't know I was smart then I must have been oblivious to all of the time I spent reading books and learning about things, and I couldn't have noticed how high my grades are in school. Honestly, some people need to realize that they don't have to state the obvious. But either way, I am smart, and I enjoy learning about things. Not bad for a kid born to a teacher and a librarian, best possible outcome actually, otherwise I would be having a horrible time.

I've been called witty, but I always feel that when someone tells me that I actually have to try to uphold that view of me. Of course, they can believe what they want if they feel like it because I would rather just worry about myself than how another person thinks. I do like my little quips and jabs, don't get me wrong, but it isn't like I am going to throw them around just because people expect it. Most of the time I don't even make them up on purpose, I just have a thought come to me and when I say it people find it funny. There have been times when people have not enjoyed my little inputs but I can't really help them. To my misfortune I have the habit of saying what is on my mind without always thinking about the consequences.

Previously I had mentioned that I wasn't the best judge of character. It's true for more than just myself. I don't really understand people, how the operate and why they think what they think. I've heard other males complain that women are too complex for them but for me that applies to each and every human being that isn't myself. Even then I don't know why I do some of the things I do. There are things I know, the physical triggers that cause certain sensations and movements, but there is still a drive behind them I just don't comprehend. Only so much can be explained in a book, and I've reached my fair share of dead ends from what I've read.

I know that I can be a bit introverted and get lost in my book learning so I forget about interaction with something human - or at least living. Though, Puddles - my Siamese fighting fish, also referred to as a betta fish - is company enough for me most of the time. He just stares at me with his googly fish eyes as though he knows just what I'm like. I swear, that fish would be called brilliant if only he could talk. It's odd to think that my best friend is a fish, even one as elegant and regal as a Siamese fighting fish; most of the time pets are something a little bit bigger. After all, how often do you hear "a boy and his fish" instead of "a boy and his dog" not often right?
An Unbalanced Scale
As with the appearance, there are some things to watch out for when creating a personality. One of the key elements of a personality is that it is balanced. Off balanced characters can end up being more like a Mary-sue or Gary-stu if you are not careful. Like with Newton's third law of motion - "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction" - there is also an equal and opposite personality trait for every trait your character has. In short, for each good trait your character has, they also have a bad one - and vice versa.

Good

More often than not, if a Mary-sue is afoot she generally stands in this category. There is no balance to a Mary-sue, and this scale has been tipped completely to the "positive" side. Remember that no person is purely evil or purely good, and therefore no character will be either. However, this does not mean that a character has no good side if they lean more towards negative traits but the positive ones will not be as precedent. For example, Ezero's positive traits are that he is patient, and smart.

Bad

Sometimes, when a goodie-two-shoes Mary-sue isn't appealing, an evil Mary-sue will be created. As the complete opposite to good Mary-sue, there will be no good points to evil Mary-sue and often leads down a gothic path. No person is fully evil, there is always a reason for everything they do and that reason is what convinces them they are doing the right thing. Even a psychopath has a reason, though it may seem twisted to others. For Ezero, a negative trait is that he lacks some understanding of human interaction.

Indifferent

Some traits can have both a negative and positive connotation, meaning it can be more negative or more positive depending on how it affects the characters actions. In Ezero's case all of his traits could fall into the neutral category but they generally have a strong connotation one way or the other. The one trait that Ezero has that securely rests in this position is his wit. While wit can be useful to create comedy, and helpful to understand situations, there is also the side of it that can cause clashes between him and another person if it causes him to say the wrong thing.
History Has Taught Us
Everything hinges on the past, especially personality though appearance does have numerous connections to the previous times in a person's life. In order to make sure everything works and connects properly, it might be advisable to start with the history so you have something to refer to when creating the personality. Make sure that there aren't things in the history that affect personality that aren't mentioned, unless you have clearly explained what happened because of it. As well, personality that isn't well explained by the history is hard to uphold, and harder to make sense of. Remember, your whole bio connects within itself, keep it doing so and it will be easier for everyone to understand.
My childhood was comfortable, even if at times it was overly informative and I would think that I might just pass out from how much I was being overwhelmed. Still, all my parents ever wanted for me was the best. They had that attitude from when I was born and somehow managed to keep it through the eighteen years I have lived with them. From the meticulous picture albums my mother kept I managed to figure out the parts of my past that I hadn't held memories of. My birth certificate put me at the healthy weight of seven pounds and six ounces - it was the only thing I really cared to look at for the first year of my life as I would rather avoid seeing myself as odd looking as I had been at that age.

As a toddler I was plenty curious and loved to try things. My parents would provide me with objects, generally along the lines of toy blocks or bricks so I might stick them in my mouth, throw them about, or - perhaps more by chance than anything - stack them. They said I learned quickly, but I'm not sure about that after seeing the considerable amount of pictures of me with something in my mouth - I know now that my mother is a bit particular about my "firsts" and therefore had to take a picture of me every time I tried something different, this included putting something new in my mouth for the first time. I am only glad that she has since discontinued the practice for the trivial things as otherwise my privacy would be nonexistent.

Look, little rugrat me. Oh I was a smartass when I was this age - to be truthful I have always been and still am but at this point in my life I was terrible about it. Just beginning school I blazed through every lesson because my parents had prepped me a little too much. Their attempts to help me succeed actually put me ahead of my class by almost two entire years. I was allowed to skip one grade - still bored most of the time because of how easy it seemed - but my parents were happy. It wasn't much the teacher didn't expect, knowing both of my parents were well educated.

As a tween I began to grow even more distant from others. I never was able to get to know people well, always deterred by something if I hadn't driven them away with my blatant ignorance. Even at that age I was horrible with understanding people. My mother tried to encourage me to make friends, not understanding when I tried to explain that I didn't know how. I didn't understand why I couldn't either even with all of the books my mother handed me on making and maintaining friendships. The trouble with being the son of a librarian was that she would always find a book for you to read, no matter what the occasion.

My father was a little more understanding - he had been awkward too at my age and merely attributed it to that, I had supposed it close enough and went along with it. He tried to teach me how to deal with the awkwardness, claiming the things he was asking me to do would work for me like they had for him. They didn't, but I couldn't tell him that. My mother may be a librarian but my father was a teacher. True to his profession, he would continue to try and teach me the concept until I learned it - though I suspected, and still suspect, that I never will.

The teenage years are not easy for anyone, and I feel as though it is an overused statement to say that I believe my teenage years were worse than anyone else's but I certainly did not have an easy time with them. I was a know-it-all, begrudged for knowing the answer to each and every question posed as well as almost always having the highest mark in the class. The trouble with having a librarian for a mother and a teacher for a father is every once in a while they will break down and teach you something - whether you wish to learn about it or not. English had long been my favorite subject, but Math was still a strong suit of mine and I finished with an A average.

Graduating school a year early left me with little to do but read, help my mother or father at their job, or sit in my room gazing blindly at the ceiling while Puddles gave me his "you should do something" look. It is a tad challenging helping my father as that requires me to act as an assistant teacher for the high school, odd as most of the people I am helping to teach are those my age or the people I had seen around in my time there. I was never popular, so only a few people actually recognize me, but I know most of the faces and nearly as many names. I'm not sure if I was cut out for teaching, sometimes I can only long for the peace of my mother's library - instead I have to deal with overly loud teenagers where the boys sneer and the girls stare or jeer. Perhaps the real reason is I was never cut out for high school the first time, so it's no wonder why round two isn't any better.
Follow The Path Of The Past

Due to the fact that everything about your character is based off of their history, the most important parts of their creation is the detailing of their past. This means you want to keep it as plausible and suiting as possible. If someone has a deviation from their character in this section, it is usually caused by what they either wish their character could do or influenced too heavily by what they would have done. Both of these are things to be wary of, as they make the history not line up with the character that supposedly lived through it.

Too Young

A common mistake is to have a character perform a task they should be too young to do. An example is a young child, detailed as average intelligence or without information given as to why this would be otherwise, becoming top student in a prestigious academy. Another may be a twelve year old boy becoming the top fighter in his training gym within a year. While either of these may be possible in extremely rare circumstances, it would be impossible for any "average" character. If either of those characters were closer to eighteen, then it would be more plausible.

Too Old

Not as common, though it comes up sometimes, is the mistake of having a character perform a task they are too old - or not medically able - to do. A character with arthritis in their knees would have a hard time walking for days through the forest, and to manage that long while being chased would be impossible. As well, an older man without the proper nutrition would be unable to fight off an attacker without receiving serious injury. Keep a notion of the age of your character, their health condition, and other physical traits that would affect what they could do.

Too Not You

Along with matching the history to the age and physical description of the character, making it coincide properly with the character's personality is highly important. If you have a shy character that can barely speak to anyone, or is scared of many different things, it would be impractical to say that they would have the courage to stand up to a bully the first time they were picked on. Even more improbable would be that they would challenge the bully to a fight and win. Remember, keep true to the character that was written and avoid inserting wishes as facts. One day they might come true, but if the character isn't written as the person who could do those things then how would they have managed to do them?

Other
Puddles Reference

On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire
Retired Staff

2,937 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5

thinking about thonking

The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 8, 2016 11:05:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Kire on Apr 8, 2016 11:05:09 GMT -5

Chapter 2
The Reaping

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In This Chapter
⊳ Getting ready for the reaping
⊳ Common emotions during the event
⊳ Hearing your name
⊳ The walk to the stage
⊳ Entering the Justice Building
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The Reaping is an event held once per year across Panem as the beginning of the Hunger Games. During each reaping, the populous of each District gathers in the town square and witness the drawing of two names from a pair of glass bowls. Adults and young children line the edges of the square while those of reaping age stand in closed off areas facing an erected stage. All citizens are required to attend the reaping.

Manner of Dress

As a Capitol-enforced event, the Reaping is viewed as highly formal and as such the dress for such an occasion is meant to reflect that. Each person must dress in their best clothes and demonstrate their best hygiene - those of reaping age in particular must look their best for the sake of those watching. Often there is a sort of ritual involved with getting ready, generally involving as many family members as possible. A sense of dread usually hangs over everything as everyone knows that two people will be taken to the Capitol.
My mother pressed my clothes this morning. They sit on my bed, not a wrinkle to be seen, and all I can do is stare at them. One of her friends had made them, a gift for me to celebrate the last year that I would be in the reaping. I could use them for times when I needed to be more fancy after this, when I wouldn't have to worry about them being the last things I ever put on in this room. I touch them with a hand, my fingers running over the finely stitched threads and the delicate embroidery of an open book that had been stitched into each lapel. They felt too precious, to expensive, and too filled with love to be worn to something that was cruel, dangerous, and dark.

I took my time dressing, doing my best to keep from creasing the smooth fabric. Something ritualistic came over me, like I was in the middle of a send off or some custom as old as time. In a way, I supposed the act of dressing for the reaping was a custom by this point, after seventy-one years of it. This would be the seventy-second time that twenty-four children were sent into hell, and this would be the seventy-second time that one would somehow come back alive.

Standing in the mirror, I can't see myself as I normally do. I look alien, overly dressed and pompous for a boy whose name is in that bowl more than enough times to worry about. If this feeling of being on the other side of a glass wall could stay until I was back home at the dinner table then I might be alright. I wasn't counting on it.
State of Being

There are many ways a person can feel during the Reaping. Often, they experience fear, hope, relief, devastation, or some combination thereof. In the case of Ezero, he goes along a somewhat different path. Some people, in the face of an extremely stressful or worrying event, will shut themselves down and wall themselves off from their emotions or from other people in an attempt to neutralize the internal conflict. Each person reacts differently and the exploration of that is what gives a real sense of who they are.
The well-dressed version of me was waiting for the moment to leave, the moment when he would take over control from me. I held onto myself for now, making sure I gave a send off to Puddles. The little guy just stared at me with his bulging fish eyes and blew a couple bubbles. His gills flapped once, then twice, and then he turned away and let himself float to his little hut. See you soon, little buddy.

My parents were somewhat harder to part from, seeing as they were both so hopeful and so terrified for me. "We'll be leaving shortly after you." My father is a kindly man, his slighty-wrinkled face giving him a sense of warmth that he readily possessed. "We'll be there to see your last reaping, hun, and then we'll all go home." My mother was the truly positive one of the family. She was the one person who would never think a negative thought, let alone say it. I hugged them both - this all felt so final - and walked out the door. Heading to the Reaping, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and let myself amble some. The fact that this in fact was my last reaping was a bit hard to take in. After seven years of worry I would finally be able to rest assured - though those habits of fearing this day to the point where I would only be able to get restless sleep the night before would die hard, if they died at all.

Standing in the huge pens - for that's what they really were - brought the fear home in a sharp stab. Instinctively, I hid behind the polished version of me I had seen in the mirror. From behind the protection of the glass I watched as the other children filed in around me. I recognized a number of faces from the classes I helped my father teach, and another number from simply having seen them in this very situation before. We had all been here too many times, and we had all seen the terrible end for those who were called. I couldn't say I wasn't terrified - because I was - or that I thought everything would be fine - because I didn't - but I pressed myself to the cool glass that separated me from the rest of the world. I would be fine if I just stayed here.
Called Out

The last thing anyone wants to hear during the Reaping is their own name, or the name of someone they love, and yet each year two names have to be drawn and said. As such, two people in the crowd will have to take their places on the stage and two families will have to watch as they are taken away. The experience of having your name read out in the Reaping is one that has a different sort of effect depending on which District you come from, as well as your own ideology on the Reaping. For Ezero, having his sights set on the times after this Reaping, the sound of his name comes as a hard blow.
What chattering there had been during the prattle about Panem's history and the introduction to the Reaping faded in and instant as the escort stepped forward. Everyone's breath was sucked in at once, creating a vacuum of soundless, wordless terror. The inaudible cries of Not him! Not her! Not me! echoed inside everyone's minds. We all knew this was the moment when two people would be sentenced to death. My glass wall rattled, shaken by the withdraw of the atmosphere from all around me. Despite the defense I tried to keep up I felt vulnerable and alone. Desperately I searched for the faces of my parents. Both of them looked only at me. They were gripping each other tight, their faces drawn. We all felt the pull of the vacuum towards the abyss but each of us held firm. I will come home after this. I will sit down at the dinner table and we will all laugh and cry and know that I will never have to worry like this again.

"Cecilia Brontz!"

I barely heard the girl's name, and I barely heard anything that happened because of it. My focus was on my parents, on their eyes meeting mine and holding. We would all be going home together. Except suddenly that thought and the entirety of my glass wall shattered into flying pointed shards as I heard a name that was all too familiar.

"Ezero Laffan!"

No.

That wasn't right, I knew it couldn't be. Yet, the creeping sensation of finality swept over me as the flash of images - the clothes on my bed, my image in the mirror, Puddles turning away, my parents hugging me, their taught features- confirmed the suspicion I had had since last night: I would not been walking away from this Reaping.
Ascending to Hell

After a person's name is called they must step up onto the stage to stand beside the escort with their District partner located on the escort's other side. This signifies that they take up their place as tribute, which can only be changed by another person volunteering in the place of the reaped person of the same gender. A male can only volunteer for a male, and a female can only volunteer for a female. Failure to make their way up to the stage will result in a small group of Peacekeepers forcibly moving them onto the stage - even carrying them if so required. By climbing those steps, they signify that they are going to sacrifice themselves in the name of their District and the Capitol - whether they wish to or not.
It doesn't take long for the crowd around me to lean away. They rapidly create a path for me to follow up to the stairs and the stage. I have no choice but to take it. If I doddle I'll be manhandled by the leering Peacekeepers up in front of anyone anyway. I may as well do this of my own volition. At this moment I don't have time to look for my parents again, and I am okay with that for the moment because I don't think I could manage the climb if I did.

Around me is silence. Once more we are all inside a vacuum and somehow I move when everyone else is frozen. The only other sound is that of a girl climbing the other set of stairs. Right now I don't want to see her, don't want to know her in any way. In all the years that people can remember, there hasn't been a victor from District eight. Odds are, she and I will not be coming home unless it's in a box. Even if one of us does win, the other has to die. There is no true way to win the Hunger Games, you just get lucky and I wasn't feeling very lucky at the moment. I doubted many people did, and the people who do are out there in the crowd with their eyes bugging at me in my fancy clothes as I take my place beside the escort. Some people have something to say to everyone, some final send off, but I had nothing. I was never much of a public speaker and this was really not a time when I felt like changing that. If I was going to die, why should I put myself through even more hardship.

Only now did I meet my parents' gazes. Their faces were white, and I suppose mine was too. All of my mother's positive words had been dragged away into the nothingness and she looked like a sheet of paper someone had crumpled. I hoped my father would be able to flatten her out again, make her legible and bind her back into the book she was torn from. Let her be whole again, even if I will never be.
Enter the Gate

The final part of the Reaping is the solemn march into the Justice Building. There, tributes will be allowed to meet with friends and family for a short period of time before being taken to the Capitol. Once a tribute enters the Justice Building they are fully committed and will not be able to see their District unless they win the Games. For many, this is the last time they will ever see the place where they lived and grew up. Often this is when those who tried to keep a hold on their emotion break down as the cameras and innumerable eyes are off them for the first time since their name was called.
A peacekeeper grabs me by the arm roughly, nearly hauling me along as we are guided into the Justice Building. I still can't look at the girl who was also reaped. In due time I will have to face her, but for right now I am too struck by the sight of my mother's world crumbling around her to care much. What I mourn the most at this moment is not my life, and not my District. I mourn the positivity that my mother will never again be able to have. When the doors swing shut behind us and block all sunlight I feel like that is more of a metaphor than any action had a right to be. From now on I was trapped, separated from my family and my District, stranded in the dark. The Peacekeeper on my arm represented the Capitol's relentless grip and brutal manner as I am tossed into a room. Once more, doors shut and I am left in pitch black.

My mother's positivity has been extinguished in the same motion that my life was. We are both doomed to living our lives in the shadow of negativity and horror.

On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire
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The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 8, 2016 11:05:48 GMT -5

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Post by Kire on Apr 8, 2016 11:05:48 GMT -5

Chapter 3
The Justice Building

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In This Chapter
⊳ The walk in
⊳ The visiting rooms
⊳ Meeting with family
⊳ The trip to the train
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As the backdrop for the Reaping, the Justice Building maintains a sinister appearance at all times of the year. Inside, the year's tributes sit in separate rooms and get a few last minutes with their family and friends in order to say their farewells. With Peacekeepers always present, entrance into this building means that a tribute is long past the point of being rescued.

Making an Entrance

The Justice Building has heavy doors and few windows, giving a muffled and locked-down atmosphere. The high ceilings only last for the first area before they drop to ten feet. A single hallway down the middle of the building is the only portion of the massive structure that anyone aside from Peacekeepers see and it is through here that the tributes are ushered.
I'm being dragged along by the arm, like the Peacekeeper that gripped me didn't believe that I could walk for myself. I can't help gaze wide-eyed at the enormity of the building around me. Even the school, large as it was, didn't hold this level of over-extravagance. We're guided - or more accurately herded - down a lengthy hallway. About half of the way down, we are stopped and turned to face opposite sides. The patch of wall I'm looking at is home to a firm-looking door. A Peacekeeper unlocked the door and opened it. The Peacekeeper gripping my arm nearly chucks me in and slams the door behind me. Once more, I have been cast into the dark, alone.
A Comfortable Cell

For somewhere around half an hour, each tribute resides in a well-furnished room inside of the Justice Building. Here is where their friends and family can visit them to say their goodbyes. Often the tributes see fabrics or trinkets here that they wouldn't have been allowed to touch previously. The Capitol spares no expense on these rooms, though they do spare them some attention as many of them are rather dusty.
The room - which I could finally see after finding the light switch after having to frisk the wall for a bit - wasn't exactly large but it would sit a decent-sized family comfortably. As the only person in the room at the moment, I felt small and alone. There were two chairs, a love seat, and a full-length couch. I sat on the love seat, curled into one corner of the ornate double-wide chair. Whatever glass wall I may or may not have been behind before was gone. It left me exposed and chaffed by the contrast around me. How could the Capitol lead with something so luxurious and then toss us into something so cruel. For a number of days we would be living in complete luxury and then we would be placed into the middle of a vicious climate, surrounded by others like us and some that are very different. How could I, a book worm from a lower district, hope to compete with the Careers that would be there. Yes, District eleven may have won for three years running, but not a single District eight victor could be remembered.

The satin and suede under my fingers is the lie that anyone can richness. While I had never been that hard off - both of my parents had decent jobs with competent wages, and I was paid for the work I did so I could supplement their income when needed - I wasn't the rich Career who had been training to fight since he was two. Wrapping my knuckles on the wood created a monotone, hollow sound. With my parents not here yet - they had to be coming, they had to - I had nothing to do but wait and gaze around this room. At this moment, the fear was being replaced with spite and distaste. Here we are, me and the girl who I never looked at once, about to be thrown to the hounds and the Capitol has the nerve to think putting a bow on our heads will make things better. The beasts will tear into us all the same, I just hope one chokes on the ribbon.
Momentary Reunion

While tributes do get to meet their friends and family again, if only by the choosing of the Peacekeepers - who have the ability to deny anyone they please for any reason they can come up with, the amount of time they are allowed to spend with them is quite short. For Ezero, the meeting with his parents was more important to him than the fact that he would soon be fighting other children in the name of sport.
My mother was the first of my parents to enter the room, timidly peeking in after the door was opened like she expected me to be lying dead on the floor. I stood up when I saw her and some relief rushed into her face. Don't worry, mom, I'm not dead... yet. She ran to me, embracing me ferociously so that her arms crushed my ribs and her hair filled my face. "Honey, I'm sorry. I never thought it could be you." What could either of us say, there was no way we could have predicted this. Even if we could have, there was nothing we could have done.

My father entered more slowly, his whole mannerism so much more somber than normal. I felt terrible for having cause my parents so much hardship, even just by being reaped. My mother was no longer positive and my father was no longer smiling. The things that I had clung to as my rock throughout my life had just been destroyed with the speaking of my name. I wished nothing more than to somehow take it all back. There was nothing I could do, no one had volunteered for me and I hadn't chosen to take this place. Fate likes its practical jokes. So often it is the older kids, the ones right on the edge of freedom, that get snatched by the Reaping. My father places a hand in my shoulder, unsure of what to do. "You're a smart boy, you'll know what to do." My mother is still clinging to me like a life raft in a storm and I do have the heart to pull away despite desperately wanting to show my father how much I loved him. Instead, I pulled my father into a hug that encompassed my mother as well. We stood there, holding onto each other like we were the last things in the world to exist. If we let go we'd be sucked away into the nothingness that was the rest of the world.

A Peacekeeper flung the door open, looking at us without even a flicker of emotion in his stony eyes. "Right, time's up." He started forward and put a hand on my father's shoulder. Ever a passive man, my father released his embrace and took a step away from my mother and me. "Son, whatever happens, I'm proud of you." My mother pulled a bookmark from her pocket and took my hand, draping the item over my palm. "Keep this on you, hun. Remember us." I managed to give her a quick hug before she, too, was pulled away by the Peacekeeper. Briskly, they were marched out the door, which swung shut behind them with the force of a jail cell. This was it, I was condemned. The irony was that I would have to do all of the worst things in order to be released. Good behaviour was not factored into the the Hunger Games Prison.

I looked at the bookmark in my hands. On it was a picture of Puddles, my beta fish who only this morning I had said goodbye too. With a sinking feeling in my gut I realized that I hadn't reminded my parents to take care of Puddles. Looking at the bookmark again, I realized that my mother would never forget him. He was part of the family, and he would be her reminder of me just as this bookmark was my reminder of them. Sloshing with emotions, I had to sit down before I tipped over and spilled. Too late, I caught the first tear on a finger. No, I was not a Career. If anything, I was a little boy, frightened by the monsters that surely lurked in the dark all around me. I clutched the bookmark to my chest and wept as silently as I could.
Departure

From the Justice Building, tributes are taken to the train station. There, they will catch the train that will take them to the Capitol. The walk from the visiting rooms to the train station consists of walking down the rest of the hallway and out of the rear of the building, where they are greeted by cameras to catch them on their way. They are met by the District's escort and any victors from their District who will act as their mentors. As District eight has not seen a victor in some unknown amount of years, Ezero is only greeted by the very escort who had pulled his name and sent him down this path.
We were dragged from our rooms, neither of us putting up a fight because we were so emotionally exhausted. I was the first of the two of us, though there were at least three Peacekeepers in front of me. Gripping my arm like a vice was the same Peacekeeper as before, the one who had also interrupted my parents and me. I was really beginning to hate him.

The walk down the hallway was silent, but the short space between the rear of the building and the train was filled with a surprising amount of noise. Cameras were shoved at us from multiple angles and I was glad for the time I took to wipe away the tears and try to hide the fact that I had cried. While I wasn't exactly tough, and I wasn't trying for a tough image, I also didn't want to be marked as an easy target. Middle of the road, that was me. I could play the middle of the road and that would give me the most amount of wiggle room. Like my father said, I'm smart, I have to be able to figure out what to do. I was grateful that neither of my parents had made me promise to come home again. We all knew I would, one way or another, and most likely I would have to be carried. I just had to remember them, as if I could ever forget.

I looked dead into one of the cameras, raising a cautious hand in a hesitant wave. Hopefully my parents would see this and know that I was doing this for them. I love you. When we got to the train I couldn't even look at the escort. My gaze was trained on the inside of the car, seen through the open door. I didn't want to talk, I didn't want to get to know anyone. For now, I just wanted to get away from the damn paparazzi.

On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire
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The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 8, 2016 11:06:22 GMT -5

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Post by Kire on Apr 8, 2016 11:06:22 GMT -5

Chapter 4
Train Ride to the Capitol

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In This Chapter
⊳ Boarding the train
⊳ The layout
⊳ Interacting with the others
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In order to transverse the hundreds of miles between the Districts and the Capitol, tributes are put on high-speed passenger trains - one for each District - and sent to the Capitol. Due to the different distances from the Capitol to each Districts, the tributes for different Districts arrive at different times. The longest journey is around twelve hours in length, with the others all taking at least a couple hours. If not for these high-speed trains, it might take up to a week to make the journey. This is where the tributes first get to really meet with the escort and any previous victors. Of course, as District eight has yet to have a victor, Ezero is left without a mentor.

All Aboard

After exiting the Justice Building, tributes are marched to the awaiting train. They are given some time to enter and settle before being expected to spend at least some time with their escort as preparation for what is to come. Only when the train doors close and the train pulls away are the cameras left behind.
I just want to board the train so I can get away from the cameras. I'm already tired of holding this alert facade and every minute that passes makes it that much harder. Our escort looks at us, smiling with such fake enthusiasm that he looked like he would pop his teeth out, and gestures grandly for us to enter. Finally, we might get out of the spotlight for one of the last times of our lives. I suppose in the arena there will be plenty of other things to think about rather than the scores of cameras and the innumerable pairs of eyes that would ultimately be watching us fight and die, but right now I really didn't want to have to worry about anything at all.

When I walk in I feel like I stepped back into the room in the Justice Building. Everything is overly ornate and expensive. I feel like if I touch anything I'll get yelled at for damaging it. Once the door closes behind us with a woosh and suctioning sound that is both comforting and strangely final, I immediately ask where my sleeping quarters are. The escort smiles at me - though his mouth might just be stuck like that - and instructs me where to go. I nod, barely meeting his or anyone else's gaze as I make my way to my own personal area. As I pull open the door I realize they aren't so much sleeping quarters as an entire suite inside of a train car. There's a wall that separates the room from a walkway on one side but other than that the rest of a car is my own personal area. Feeling emotionally exhausted and needing a break, I go to get cleaned up.
Exploration

The expansive locomotive has a dining car, one car for each person staying aboard - the tributes, the escort, a number of mentors, and a number of avoxes - an entertainment car, and other such lavish areas. Many of the items, mechanisms, and food types seen on these trains are completely foreign to the tributes, or have only been heard about and never seen.
The shower took me about ten minutes to figure out how to even get the water running. Standing there, naked, trying to fiddle with the dials and ending up splattering shampoo and soap on the shower walls made me feel like a fool. Soon enough, though, I knew how everything worked and finally managed to get cleaned up. I have to say, the showers are fantastic. The constant falling of heated water really eases fatigue.

The clothes they have for me are all in my size, but none of them look like my type of style. After digging for a time, I finally came across what would be the most casual of the clothes in the dresser: a pair of jeans encrusted with rhinestones and a button-up shirt with some extremely flashy pattern on it. Now dressed, I decided to investigate the train. Walking toward the engine, which I figured I was closer to than the caboose, I meandered through the cars. Most of them from this point on were the quarters of the staff and the escort. In fact, I reached the engine before I found a single other type of room. Turning around, I headed back the way I had come. When I passed my room again I made a note of it before continuing toward the rear of the train.

The car that we had entered through had actually been set up as a receiving room and was eerily reminiscent of the room that I had said goodbye to my parents in. I moved quickly through it, almost rushing from one end to the other. The world outside was blurred and moved at an unsettling pace past me. I strolled on, meandering through a dinner car, a car with a giant television and couch, a car with a circle of comfortable-looking armchairs, and a number of storage cars. When I reached the caboose I had to test the door to the back rail. It was locked, of course. They couldn't have a tribute throw themself off the back of a speeding train. There had to be twenty-four of us, and the twenty-three deaths had to be caught on camera.
Meet and Greet

While unspoken, there is a silent requirement that the tributes must spend at least some time with their escort in order to be informed about what is going to happen. Dinners are the usual time for this type of discussion to occur as every gathers in the dinning car; however, as happens in any place where people are free to wander, encounters will happen and sometimes lead to interaction.
I headed back toward the car with all of the armchairs. No one had been in there before so I hoped to just be able to sit there and think or not think. I didn't want to have to wear a face for anyone. All I wanted was to relax before entering hell. Who says you need to die to see the devil. To me, he is a man with a white beard and rose petals always around him. To me, the devil comes in the form of a man named Snow. Thankfully the armchair room was still vacant when I reached it again and I gratefully sank into a chair in one of the corners.

Curling my legs up, I tried to fit myself into the chair without extending the footrest. The sound of the train racing along the tracks made me queasy for a moment - coupled with the gentle swaying motion gained from the wind, I was ready to throw up - before my stomach settled again. I wasn't sure if I wanted to open up the floodgates and let myself breakdown, or if I wanted to simply turn to stone. If I were stone then I wouldn't feel anything, I would be impervious to damage. Yes, wind and water might weather me, but a weapon could only do so much to me. I could be a golem and defeat the others with ease. Even so, I wouldn't be me and I wouldn't really be alive. My parents wouldn't recognize me and I wouldn't be able to recognize them. Remember us. I could never let my mother down like that.

Resting my head on my knees, I stared silently into the dark hallow my legs and torso made. Faint light peeked from underneath my arm but otherwise I was in shadow. Once more, I was in the dark. Seemingly I kept retreating there, even if it was by no fault of my own. The glass barrier I had, though, the one I had built for the Reaping, that had worked so well until the moment my world shattered. I would still be me, and I could always break out, but until I did so I would be safe and protected. If I can be the guy I see in the mirror, the guy who looks like he is ready for what the day throws at him, the guy who can deal with the world and win, maybe I can go home to my parents and sit at the dinner table again.

I sit in my own little bubble of misery, not noticing at it begins to turn to glass.

On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire
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The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 8, 2016 11:07:06 GMT -5

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Post by Kire on Apr 8, 2016 11:07:06 GMT -5

Chapter 5
The Training Center

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In This Chapter
⊳ What the building looks like
⊳ The tributes' suites
⊳ Training with the others
⊳ Where the meals are held
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The training center is the hub where all of the tributes gather for the last few days before they are sent into the arena. Here, they will get to know their fellow competitors, learn about survival skills, practice fighting with various weapons, form alliances and rivalries, and attempt to make a good impression on the Capitolites whose money might make the difference between life and death.

Tower of Doom

The building is easily discernible among the other buildings of the Capitol. With its height of fourteen stories, and the rather bleak exterior, the structures around are - in general - shorter and more visually appealing. The main floor is the largest, housing the training area, dining room, and various other facilities. The next thirteen stories are designated to the housing of the tributes, their mentors, the escorts, and the staff. In order to make things simple for the tributes, their floors are consistent with their districts. As such, Ezero - hailing from District eight - will reside on the eighth floor during his stay here.
Rocko helps to guide us into the building with as little fuss from the paparazzi as can be managed. I'm immediately gripped by the foreboding look of the building. The plain concrete, poured into a very utilitarian form, the building really did seem like a place you might never exit from. I felt like I was being lead into a prison, the only thing missing was the electric fence with barbed wire loops at the top. Rocko shepherded us into the elevator, his plastic smile set on his face as he gleefully waved at the cameras. Only when the doors closed did he look at me with a small frown. "You need to learn how to smile for them." I felt my eyes slide to the floor and heard Rocko huff. "You also need to learn how to maintain eye contact. I will have to teach you these things." Unable to think of a rebuttal, I resigned myself to the fate of having to be taught by Rocko.
Personal Apartments

Like the train compartments, but even more expansive, the tribute suites in the training center consist of three rooms specially dedicated to each tribute with a central room that all of the others join off of. The center room has a number of chairs, a couch, and a gigantic television. The trio of rooms are a lavish bathroom, large bedroom with a king size bed, and a sitting room. There is also a walk-in closet attached to the bedroom which holds a seemingly infinite amount of outfits in the tribute's size.
We emerged on the eighth floor - at least they had made things easy to remember - and were greeted by the sight of yet another set of extravagant rooms. I could tell without looking further that everything on this floor was going to be ridiculously expensive and overly ornate, just like all of the other lodgings I'd had since being reaped. Without a word, I disappeared into the nearest set of rooms and found that I had accurately picked. These were my rooms - I could tell because the clothes in the walk-in closet were all my size - and I felt the need to change out of the clothes I had worn on the train. Having been in them for over eight hours, I was ready for a fresh pair of pants and a clean shirt.

Once I was in a new set of clothes, I took a peek behind the other two doors of my rooms. The bathroom here was even nicer that the one on the train, and the sitting room would be a welcome recluse from everyone. There were recordings of all of the previous Games stacked beside the tv - one that was about half of the size of the one in the main room - but nothing else was offered. Supposedly, I could watch the coverage of the seventy-second and try to get a read on the other tributes but right now I wanted to get away from the impending doom we would all be facing. Though I suppose that's rather hard to do in a place like this.
Learning to Survive

For three days, the tributes are meant to train in survival skills and weapons. Trainers who specialize in each skill and fighting style reside at stations that tributes can go to in order to work on their ability with that task. By the end of the training period, tributes have at least three main skills that they picked up during their time training.

In this area is where many of the interactions between tributes occurs, and where many rivalries and alliances are formed. As well, this is a great place for each tribute to get a sense of others' strengths and weaknesses.
The first time I entered the training area I was overwhelmed. The sound of fighting echoed off the walls and I watched as weapons flew to stick in targets, walls, and the floor. How could I ever compete with people like this. For a moment I felt the urge to turn and flee to my rooms and refuse to come out until they dragged me to the arena. That wouldn't do me any good, though, so I decided to monitor the others. Once I started to scrutinized I realized that people weren't as good as they had first seemed. A good number of weapons didn't hit their target, and the trainers were shaking their heads at a few people. Of course the Careers were doing well, but that was no surprise. Now that I saw I wasn't the only one who had no skill in a batch of elites I felt better. No better time to start than now. Except that I had absolutely no idea what I would do best at, so I instead opted to simply watch for a while. I had time, I could learn enough to help from today so that the next two would go well.
The True Gathering Place

While there are a lot of opportunities to interact in the training area, the sense of competition is too strong to allow for free chat. As such, it is more common to see tributes speaking in the dining hall where things are more relaxed and the presence of food eases conversation. Along with plenty of conversation, the dining room also offers plenty of food and drink. A tribute could easily eat as much as they wanted and more without worrying about eating another person's share.
When I got hungry I followed my stomach, and my nose, to the dining room. The amount of food I saw there was incredible. It looked as though I could eat forever and never reach the end of it all. Somewhere around thirty-five or forty chairs line the sides of the table, giving places for all of the tributes and the victors to sit down together if they so wanted. I could only see a few people in there at the time, though, and I was able to sit by myself somewhere near one of the corners of the table. Piling my plate with a little bit of everything, I set myself down to a good meal. This place, while not a private spot, could definitely be a place of comfort.

On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire
Retired Staff

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Pronouns: she/her
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The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 8, 2016 11:10:25 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Kire on Apr 8, 2016 11:10:25 GMT -5

I would just like to put a warning here that there is a reference to suicides in this post,
please read at your own digression.

Chapter 6
Private Training Sessions

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In This Chapter
⊳ Preparation of mind and body
⊳ Waiting for your turn
⊳ Planning what to do
⊳ Setting up for the stunt
⊳ Performing for the gamemakers
⊳ How to make an exit
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Private Training Sessions, also referred to as PTSs, are a method of testing held by the Gamemakers to assess the capability of the tributes. One by one, the tributes enter the training area alone to demonstrate their abilities to the Gamemakers. After the performance, the Gamemakers award the tribute a number from one to twelve. Twelve, being the highest rating, is a very rare score to get. There have been only a handful of twelves awarded in living memory. Ones, as well, are more rare as a tribute with even the most minor talent would be awarded a two. Over all, middle scores - those from around four to eight - are the most common. This score is used to determine betting odds, as well as to attract sponsors or gauge other tributes as competition. Of course, there is only so much these scores can predict.

Getting Ready

For three days, the tributes train with weapons and practice survival skills. Each of them are subject to first aid lectures and lessons in sneaking up on one another. These skills are, in part, meant to be used to impress the Gamemakers during their private training session. It is on the fourth day that the PTSs occur, and thus there is no training on that day. During the main training days it is suggested that a tribute hold their greatest strength a secret until the private training sessions, where they can then demonstrate them to the Gamemakers without the other tributes learning about it. This way, some element of surprise can be maintained.
The past three days hadn't been entirely spent in the training area like many of the others. For the first half of the day I was with Rocko, having him lecture me on the ways to work a crowd. Determined that I would be a star if only I could keep my eyes up for longer than thirty seconds, Rocko forced me to make and hold eye contact. He trained me in the ways of manipulating my expression until my muscles were sore and he continually corrected my posture until my back felt stiff. At the end, I don't feel much different - aside from being in pain - but he said that I had improved. If I could fool everyone into believing I wasn't "a silly hedgehog," as Rocko put it, then maybe I could draw in support from the Capitolites.

The second half of my day was spent in the training area. Most of it was at the knives station, practicing both throwing knives and slicing with them. I was drilled until I could hit the target the first time, every time. My arms were sore from that, to match the pain my face and back were experiencing. I wasn't overly confident with my knife abilities - yes I could hit the target but I was never strong enough to do much damage - though I suppose if I stabbed someone while they were running at me then I might be able to drive the blade in deep enough thanks to inertia.

When I was done there, I would head to the hand-to-hand combat station. I wasn't there to learn how to throw the perfect punch or how to crush someone's windpipe, but instead I wanted to learn how to do proper dodges and blocks. The trainer was rather insistent on at least learning the basics of fighting without a weapon, and so I spent a day doing that, but after that he showed me how to roll out of the way of a strike, how to use my forearm to block, and how to parry a blow. Of everything I was being taught, this came the easiest to me. I guess my instinct to move was strong, which would help me.
Waiting is the Hardest Part

Before the tributes enter the room, they must wait for those from the districts ahead of them to go. As such, those from the higher districts - namely the Careers - get to go rather early while the lower districts - such as ten, eleven, and twelve - are at the end of the day. Due to the extended length of time, it is not uncommon for the Gamemakers to begin to lose interest halfway through. Tributes of lower districts have to keep this mind if they hope to make any kind of impression at all. Along with boring the Gamemakers, the wait is extremely boring for the tributes as they are disallowed from talking, moving about beyond shifting down the length of the benches, and entering the room when it's their turn with the Gamemakers.
I don't think I've ever been so bored in my life. This is coming from the kid who nearly slept through all of his classes because he was practically a grade ahead of the kids who were already a year older than him. Sitting here, in this silent stillness, is driving me slowly insane. To save my sanity, I envision my glass wall - which, through some bout of metamorphosis, had turned into a glass bubble - and tried to deflect my nerves away with it. Fear on the outside, calm within. That helped, but there was only so much it could do to stop the boredom. I lost track of how long it took between when someone stood up and entered the room and when the next person did. Being from District eight, I went after over half of the others. If the Gamemakers were as bored as I was then I would have no chance of waking them from their stupor. What could I do; I was just a teacher's assistant from District eight. The best I could think of was to talk the other tributes to death, but I don't think I would live long enough for that to work. I had to think of something.
Making a Game Plan

When performing in their private training sessions, tributes should have an idea of what they want to achieve. Without a plan it becomes easy to get lost and ruin any positive effect their demonstration had gained with the Gamemakers. Even with a plan, however, things still can go wrong. The ability to recover when a plan fails is another skills that could be looked on with favour.
There must be something I could use that would help me in the Games. Yes I was smart, but what could I do to use that knowledge. Well, surely my love of biology would come in handy. When trying to kill someone, knowing how the body worked could make it easier to know how to stop it from working. With that idea in mind, I set myself to planning out what I would need and what I would do. Three dummies, a knife, and my courage. Simple enough list, in all honesty - except maybe my courage. I would have to grip what Rocko taught me, as well as that from the knives station trainer and the hand-to-hand combat teacher. Put together, I should be able to do something that might at least put me on the map.

"Ezero Laffan, District eight."

That's my cue, showtime.
On Your Marks

Before getting started on enacting their plan, it is best for the tributes to set up everything that they will need so that everything can happen in a single fluid attempt. Stopping and starting in order to retrieve a forgotten piece of equipment emphasizes more about the tribute's forgetfulness than the strength they are attempting to display. As well, going directly from entering to getting the necessary materials shows a sense of purpose, focus, and a knowledge of what they are doing. The set up is almost more important than the act itself.
Entering the room I immediately ignore the Gamemakers. This was the first piece of advice that Rocko had give me that had been easy to follow - even if it had seemed contradictory to his other teachings at first. "If you ignore them in the beginning then they can simply observe you. They don't like the talkative ones." That second part was a bit of a shame, because I did plan on explaining myself some. Still, if the show started better with silence then silence I would start with.

The first thing I retrieve is a knife from the knives station. I had used this particular knife a number of times before and my hand fit around the handle instinctively now. The next things on my list were the three dummies. In order to lug them to where I wanted them to stand, I had to sheath the knife through my belt. Have to mind that point. It might have been a smarter idea to fetch the dummies first but it was too late now. Besides, if I injured myself I could show them the stitching skills I had picked up at the first aid station - call it my District Eight blood but I picked up the stitching technique quickly.

The dummies were heavy so I had to fight with them a bit in order to shift them. Moving the first was the most awkward, but after that I devised a method to it. Gripping the dummy around the waist, I hoisted the first one and had to duck-walk to the center of the room where I planned on setting my stage. I lifted the second dummy by crouching down and gripping around the mid-thighs. With this more secure purchase I was able to hoist the dummy out of the way of my legs and so walked more comfortably to where the first dummy sat. I had some trouble when setting the second dummy down and had to jump out of the way of it as it landed with a hard thud. At least it stayed standing, though it did rock side to side a bit. The third dummy was the easiest. Having learned from the previous two attempts, I carried the third dummy in the same manner as the second but managed to set it down more gracefully.

Now that I had my props line up, I drew the knife from my belt. I had managed to not cut myself on the exposed blade, but there was a small tear forming in my pants where the point had rested. Finally looking at the Gamemakers, I didn't say anything at first. They didn't need me to introduce myself or say what District I came from. Everything they needed to know about me was on a little sheet of paper in front of them. I was, however, going to give them a little lesson in biology. Anatomy for dummies, demonstrated on dummies.
Get Set, Go

After the planning is done and the set up is complete, there is nothing left but to enact the demonstration. This is where all of the chips are down, the point of no turning back. Once a tribute starts their demonstration it gets very hard to change what they are going to do. Like a train without brakes you may be able to pick which track to follow, and change to a different path if one emerges, but each change can lead to derailment. From here, instinct and the plan are what a tribute has to rely on in order to bring this private training session to the end they want. Without further ado, Ezero leads into his performance.

With no introduction I started. "There are eight easy ways to cause someone to bleed out. However, three of those methods can be averted if medical care is provided quickly." I moved to stand by the first dummy, gesturing with my blade to the thing's knees. "The popliteal artery." I crouched and dug my knife into the backs of both knees, slicing the skin there open so that blood spurted from the simulated artery in the dummy. "With some care, the bleeding can be stopped. Of course, the danger with a wound there is potentially severing the tendons and removing use of the leg." I stood and shook off the blade, turning to face the second dummy. "The radial artery." I gripped the dummy's wrists, one at a time, and dragged the knife lengthwise down the upper arms. "A common place for suicides, though the more effective method is to make a gash down the length of the arm rather than across the wrist." The fake blood now coats my fingers and the blade of my knife so I wipe them off on the second dummy's torso. Without intention, I formed a large X on the dummy's chest.

I take the couple strides to stand by the third dummy. "The last of the more minor arterial injuries is the brachial artery." Here I extend the dummy's arm so the inside of the elbow is exposed. Without a word, I cut deep into the flesh there, scoring a line that immediately pours over with blood. On the second elbow slash an arc of blood shoots out of the dummy to puddle about a foot from where I stood. Once more I wipe off my fingers and knife, this time intentionally marking the dummy with an X. This is the point where things get a little more messy. "The first of the five more serious methods is puncturing the abdominal aorta." To accomplish that I took a well-aimed stab at the stomach of the third dummy. Driving the blade deep, I attempted to widen the wound so that I would definitely hit the major artery. Sure enough, after a couple sawing motions a river of red blood flowed from the dummy's stomach. Satisfied, I redoubled the bloody X.

Since I had stabbed this one once, I may as well stab him again. "This one is a little harder to manage, and since this guy" - I gesture absently at the dummy - "is mostly dry by this point it won't show much." My aim for this one needing to be even more accurate than on the abdomen, I stood in front of the dummy, facing it directly. With a stab, I drove the blade in just a bit above where the heart would be. Stepping away, with the knife still sticking out of the dummy's chest, I let the Gamemakers see. "The aorta." I yanked the knife from the dummy's torso with some difficulty before turning to the second dummy. "The subclavian artery." I plunge my knife into first one, then the other of the dummy's armpits. Blood leaks around my hands and down my arms. I shake blood drops from my hands and move to the next pair of arteries without pausing for a break. Leaning down slightly, I press the knife into the inner thigh of the dummy and let it bite deep. Ripping both thighs open with my blade, I watch the blood squirt like a small fountain from the severed arteries. "Femoral." The X on that dummy's chest gets another coat of red.

The first dummy, or really the last one at this point because the other two have died twice over by this point, is the the one who will receive my final blow. Moving to stand behind the dummy I raise my knife to neck height and know I don't have to explain this one to the Gamemakers. Everyone knows what a slit throat looks like, but I show them another one as my blade parts skin and snaps the arteries and veins in the dummy's neck. Blood sprays like a curtain out for a couple seconds before simply cascading down in a torrent of red to coat the dummy's chest. By standing behind it, I managed to avoid most of the spray. Even so, my clothes are stained and my hands are very red.
Taking a Bow

When a performance is over the tribute has to leave the room. How they do this, while not as key as the display or the entrance, can be a moment to add a final piece to the action. For each tribute, the exit will be somewhat different. Some will flee as quickly as they can, some will try to make a smart remark, some will bow, and some will simply leave without a word. The trick is choosing an action that best suits those that came before it so that the effect isn't ruined.
Just as I didn't need to introduce myself, I knew I didn't need to add a conclusion to my lesson. I placed the knife in the hand of the first dummy, closing the false fingers around it tightly enough for it to stay. That done, I gave a curt nod and walked out. What more was there to say?

On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire
Retired Staff

2,937 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5

thinking about thonking

The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 8, 2016 11:11:53 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Kire on Apr 8, 2016 11:11:53 GMT -5

Chapter 7
The Bloodbath

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In This Chapter
⊳ Being woken in the middle of the night
⊳ Dressing
⊳ Sixty second pan view
⊳ The beginning of the games
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The bloodbath signifies the beginning of the Games. All twenty-four tributes are arranged around a giant structure known as the Cornucopia and set to fight for supplies. This is the last moment when all tributes know they will live to see. After this, however, there is no guarantee of survival. There are a number of ritualistic actions taken in the morning of the first day of the Games: early morning wake ups, breakfast with the stylist, dressing in the tribute outfits, and finally, being sent up into an unknown arena.

Retrieval

The first day of the Games starts early, all tributes being woken before dawn by their stylists. Lead up to the roof, they are then taken by hovercraft to the arena. They are not allowed any vision of the arena at this point and are offloaded into an underground area. Lead to a room, they are then met once more by their stylist.
I'm not even allowed a full night's rest. Admittedly, I didn't get to sleep until late last night due to my anxiety. Pacing until the middle of the night, I wore myself out until I only had enough energy to crawl into bed before passing out. What felt like a few seconds later, I was being woken up. Pepper looked down at me and nearly pushed me out of bed. Groggy and stumbling, I let her help me into a gown-like thing that was the only piece of clothing I wore aside from my underwear.

Lead out into the hallway and ushered up the stairs, I remained in a fog until the cold air hit me. We exited onto the roof, greeted by the sight of two large hovercraft that had landed there. Pepper practically dragged me to the first one, her hand circling my wrist as I still wasn't quite able to comprehend what was happening. In all of the time I had to think about what was going to happen today, I never considered how we were going to get to the arena.

Once in the hovercraft, I was jabbed in the arm by a large needle and told that they had just placed a tracker under my skin. Still exhausted, I settled into the seat they ushered me to and let them buckle me in before drifting into a doze. Everything faded away for a time before the force of the landing jarred me enough to wake fully. They guided me out of the hovercraft and out into a large underground area. The plain walls and seemingly endless hallway were rather unassuming and I couldn't even begin to guess where we were.

When the peacekeepers snatched me by the arms and frog marched me down the hallway things started to sink in. This is the final time I would be somewhere outside of the arena. Without conscious thought, I look up to the ceiling, thinking about what the arena might look like. I would have no warning or hint about what was to come, and I could only hope that what knowledge I have gained will help me out in there.

After walking for what felt like hours, I am roughly handled into a room. Pepper is there, her face brightening as she sees me. With a small shove, the peacekeepers release me and slam the door behind me.
Dressing for Death

The tribute's stylist greets them as the last friendly face they will see. Allies may reside in the arena, but the stylist is the last person they know will not kill them. This is the time when the tributes get a last small meal and are dressed in the outfits mandated by the Gamemakers. After this, they are then lifted into the arena via a moving platform inside of a glass tube.
I look at Pepper bleakly as she beckons me forward. "It's alright Ezero, come here, come here." I walk toward her and she envelops me in a hug. Holding stiff at the unfamiliar contact, I try to keep strong and distant - wall of glass, wall of glass - because if I don't I'm going to be a mess. Looking down, I realize that Pepper had shoved my bookmark into my hand. Looking at the round image of Puddles nearly breaks me as the memory of my mother's face the last time I saw her. "Keep this on you, hun. Remember us." Closing my eyes for a moment I fight back the urge to cry. When I open my eyes again, Pepper is standing before me and waving a plate of biscuits at me. Having not eaten since supper, I carefully pick up one of the biscuits. "Eat up, eat up. You'll need all the food you can get, dear." Slowly I oblige, munching my way through the food piece by piece.

When I finish, Pepper once more beckons me and holds up a set of clothing. She aids me into a pair of khaki shorts before removing my shift and slipping a tank top over my head. Along with those, Pepper also provides me with a pair of pink shoes that seem to be made of foam with many holes in them. I'm dubious of them because they very much seem as though they wouldn't provide a proper amount of protection. Raising an eyebrow at Pepper, I glance at my shoes. She just smiles at me as she slips them onto my feet, a wry look on her face. "Sometimes the Gamemakers have their own special type of humor." I grimace but can't think of any way to rebut that.

"Thirty second warning." A pleasant voice rings out through the room and Pepper ushers me toward a large glass tube. With little choice, I am guided into the tube with one last smile from Pepper. A glass panel closes behind me and I am locked in. For a moment I worry that this will be my death right now. "Ten second warning." Pepper waves at me as I hear a faint noise from beneath me. I count down the ten seconds in my head and as I reach one I feel the plate beneath me begin to move. As I'm lifted above the room the darkness surrounds me and I have to wait, standing in blackness and drenched in my own anxiety. Above me, light slowly comes closer.
Last Minute of Peace

Once the last tribute rises to the surface of the arena, there is a minute of stillness before the official start of the Games. An announcement plays over the speakers and a countdown is present on the cornucopia. Before the sound of the gong, the plates that the tributes stand on are armed pressure plates. If a tribute steps off of their plate before the time is up, they will immediately explode. It is common knowledge that this minute is used to take a final panned shot of all of the tributes before they are killed.
The light grows brighter and I have to shield my eyes until they adjust to the light. When I can see again, I am surrounded by grass that seems extremely waterlogged. The giant cornucopia rests before me. To my left and right, making a circle around the cornucopia, are other tributes. I recognize faces but names escape me as I shake from my own worry. On the side of the cornucopia is a countdown, flashing a giant 60 before ticking down to 59...58....57...

With this last minute left, I try to settle myself. My hands steady after a number of breaths but I don't feel any more secure. Searching each face I look for my three allies among the others. Frantic, I can't make them out among all of the figures near me.

Before me, the countdown ticks down to 22...21....20...19...

I don't know what to do. Somewhat panicking as I watch the number drop - mimicking my gut as it plummets back down the tube that I know exists below me - I move my search from the people to where items have been scattered. With no way to formulate a proper plan, I'll have to rely on my instincts when I move into the melee. Hopefully my training will kick in when I'm in the fray.

I will find out soon because the timer ticks down to 4...3...2...1...

Before I can properly prepare myself to move there is a loud GONG and everything happens all at once.
Fight for Your Life

After the gong rings, the bloodbath begins. Chaos ensues and all of the tributes are released from their pedestals and flood into the area around the cornucopia. This is now the true start of the Games, and the start of twenty-three deaths.
The shock of the gong rings through my body like electricity. Jittery and overly alert, I push myself off of my plate and make my way into the mess of bodies.

Wall of glass.

Wall of glass.

Wall of glass.

On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire Retired Staff 2,937 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5 thinking about thonking	The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 21, 2016 12:56:55 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Kire on Apr 21, 2016 12:56:55 GMT -5 Placeholder for Chapter 8: Hunting
	On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire Retired Staff 2,937 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5 thinking about thonking	The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 21, 2016 12:57:16 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Kire on Apr 21, 2016 12:57:16 GMT -5 Placeholder for Chapter 9: Mandates
	On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire Retired Staff 2,937 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5 thinking about thonking	The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 21, 2016 12:57:41 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Kire on Apr 21, 2016 12:57:41 GMT -5 Placeholder for Chapter 10: Feast/Large Fights
	On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire Retired Staff 2,937 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5 thinking about thonking	The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 21, 2016 12:58:24 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Kire on Apr 21, 2016 12:58:24 GMT -5 Placeholder for Chapter 11: One versus Ones
	On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire Retired Staff 2,937 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5 thinking about thonking	The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 21, 2016 12:58:53 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Kire on Apr 21, 2016 12:58:53 GMT -5 Placeholder for Chapter 12: Finale
	On hills and waves on stormy days.

Kire Retired Staff 2,937 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5 thinking about thonking	The Life of Ezero Laffan For Dummies; In Progress Apr 21, 2016 12:59:25 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Kire on Apr 21, 2016 12:59:25 GMT -5 Placeholder for Chapter 13: Death Post
	On hills and waves on stormy days.