[87th] The Reaping - District 6

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gm bourgeois decadence [aya]
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"GUNNERRRRR~"

[87th] The Reaping - District 6 Feb 6, 2021 0:06:04 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Feb 6, 2021 0:06:04 GMT -5

"It is time," the Escort said as they stood over the impatient people of the District, "To once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping!"

They did not look to see the reaction of his district before reaching into the glass ball that held the names of the female children. "Ladies first," they announced, pulling out a slip of paper. They unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Jasmine Lavoie!" They then reached into the other ball. "Karl Amos!"

OOC- RPing is allowed. If you wish to volunteer, let the tribute post first either accepting or stepping down from their place for volunteers, and then post. If the tribute doesn't reply by Tuesday, February 9th, a staff member will post saying that volunteering is open. Please do not post until you see this staff message. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE.

Tributes, please do not make your acceptance or denial of your spot in character; instead, please leave an ooc note at the end of your post stating whether they accept or are stepping down for volunteers.

{characters}

certified kindergartener
stranded in "beach" "city"
leader of the crystal gems

gamemaker ☢️ ivan korsch
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call me jaded

[87th] The Reaping - District 6 Feb 6, 2021 9:39:06 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker ☢️ ivan korsch on Feb 6, 2021 9:39:06 GMT -5

KARL AMOS

My walk to the reaping is lonely. My brother never came home last night and now he is not here to escort me to the annual execution event. I have even had to leave the dog behind, so my morning is spent alone. No company on a day that could be my last in District Six. If my name is pulled from that glass bowl, then it just must be. Life is just like that. It is called destiny; everything is already written in a script.

I join the boys at the back of the pack. Boys that will soon be men. Men that escaped the Hunger Games. Men that will have to work for the rest of their life and fear for their children in the years to come. Of course, I want a family of my own but right now, I do not have the right world to build one. There will be someone out there to help me create one, just now is not the time for me to find them. Now I just need to get through today and any other days like this.

Karl Amos.

My ears do not mistake me. So be it. Maybe this is the way I can build that better life, or this is the way that my life comes to an end. I cannot waste it; life is too precious just to give up now. The walk up to the stage will be a long one.

”YOU BETTER RUN FLYNN.”

A loud voice bellows right in my ear. A boy much taller than me suddenly appears at the back of the crowd. His face is bright red. Remnants of tears stain under his eyes. It is like his mouth is foaming. This boy is beyond angry.

“I will do it. I am running. This is my last dare.” A volunteer, but it is a boy so much younger than me. No, that is not a life I want sacrificed to save mine. ”Hey kid, no I accept this. Do not volunteer!” Instead it is too late, the peacekeepers are already escorting the barely five foot boy up to the stage.

I turn to the shouty boy behind me, he does look young but his height is remarkably towering, but one thing really sticks out. It looks like he has a baseball bat hidden in one of his trouser legs. ”Did you just force that boy into volunteering…what kind of monster brings a weapon to the reaping, how did you even smuggle that in…hey peacekeepers…”

FLYNN GARNER

”Hey Butt Boy, do you want to come play with us?”

”The reaping is tomorrow morning so maybe not.”

”Ohhh is Butt Boy scared? Awww”

George Lindy is the biggest ass I know, and I am the one they call Butt Boy. Sixteen years old and he hangs out with all the thirteen-year-olds, a big head but for what? There is nothing inside that thick skull of his. He towers over us all, including his little brother Tommy who hangs out with us too. They are all at my door, it is getting dark and mom is cooking dinner. There is Jodie the girl and the two softies, Tarquin, and Dale. ”Ok fine, I have to be back soon though, my mom is cooking dinner…”

”Aww look, Butt Boy is a mommy’s boy too!” The big dumb fuck grabs me by the forearm, dragging me away from the house, the door slamming shut behind me. I can imagine the door shaking the whole house, my dad stirring and running to shout about the disrespect I have for the maintenance of the house. Except Big George has dragged us all three hundred yards away from the slum street that I live on. The reaping is tomorrow, and all our lives will just tick on by the same as drama does not occur within my family or my friends. A mediocre living, all of us have both parents. All of us have a house and a career lined up for us. Butt Boy - I will be it all my life, there will be no escaping from the Gastroenterology field that my father is grooming me into.

”I think we should play extreme dares, we haven’t done that in awhile.” It is a simple game, over the top dares with a nice blackmail *cough* forfeit attached to it if you don’t do the dare. It does get extremely competitive and well the last time we played, I ended up locked in an abandoned building. Little Tommy dared me to go in or I would have had to lick a pile of dog poop that was on the street…yes extreme. Except the scheming Little Tommy locked the only entrance into the building…I was there for twelve hours. It is always the quiet ones…

”Okay I will set the first dare!” We haven’t ventured far from my home, the derelict buildings again our playground. The rooftops look very inviting, we have climbed them before but these ones look a little crumbly… ”Hey Tommy, I dare you!” I point towards the little blonde haired boy of our group, time for a little payback . ”I dare you to climb on top of that building over there or… you have to run naked through the reaping ceremony tomorrow!” There is a gasp from the others, though Tommy’s older brother is the only one to laugh. George now taunts his own little sibling into doing the dangerous task. He really does not have any sense of safety.

The building in question has a slanted roof, like a triangle. It is massive, likely an old warehouse. Its roof is made up of the usual slate with the odd glass sheet here and there. ” Tommy, use the drain pipe, walk across it and then climb back down the other side, there is a drain pipe there too…”

We all watch Little Tommy scramble up the drainpipe. I guess the embarrassment of running nude in front of the entire District is enough of an incentive…

It all just goes so quickly…

…Little Tommy is already on the roof…

…skipping across the centre of it, sticking out his tongue at us, saying it is easy…

…then he is gone.

Straight through the roof and onto the warehouse floor. We are all quick to run through the opened big doors and there is Little Tommy. No screams. No cries. Just his legs and arms bent in the wrong directions. Big George drops down to his brother, it is the first time I have seen him cry. I try and offer help but then the beast we have seen in him before crawls out. ”THIS IS YOUR FAULT FLYNN!!...” The bigger boy says, now standing up and towering over me. He pushes me away from his brother’s body with his own. ”FUCK OFF HOME FLYNN! I dare you to volunteer tomorrow or your little sisters will be like that…”

All I can do really, is run home, leave my friends and Little Tommy in a puddle of his own blood. It was not my fault though. These little games, they are not real…it is just a bit of fun.

Tommy will be okay.

My night is spent seeing Tommy’s face and the events that lead up to his fall. Maybe he is ok anyway, just a few broken bones. That is nothing bad. I spent a whole summer with a cast on my arm after a little game went wrong. It will be nothing. It is nothing dramatic. Tommy is fine. George just overreacted; he would never harm my sisters… there is no way I am volunteering. All talk and no brains big George…

In my house, I am the only one eligible for the reaping. We do not have to take tesserae; my parents have good enough jobs to keep us going. Not that I would volunteer to put my name in more than is needed. My three little sisters are mostly toddlers, fresh from the womb. I love them but girls just terrify me. But Big George would never harm them…

My mom dresses me in the best cream shirt and a pair of grey trousers that have the ankles tucked up. I am to wear them for at least two more years, or whenever a growth spurt decides to kick in. I am so small but Little Tommy is even smaller, he is so tiny for a boy our age. His brother must have stolen all his height.

George is all talk and no action. This is not a dare I am playing. Tommy is fine. My sisters will safe…

Tarquin and Dale are the only two stood near me in the crowd of boys our age, there is no Tommy. Neither can look me in the eye. The Lindy brothers. They are notoriously late all the time… ”Hey Dale, Tommy is okay right?” I whisper to him as more of the kids descend into the crowd, waiting for the new drama to kick off. ”No Flynn.” Tarquin replies on Dale’s behalf. Dale’s eyes have yet to reach my own, there is a panic rising in his face. Oh no. It must be bad. ”You are going to have to do it Flynn.” Dale suddenly bursts, grabbing my arms. ”Tommy is gone and George is blaming you. Jodie said he was sharpening surgical knives this morning when she walked by. He is raging mad; you know he has knocked out boys bigger than him. You are going to have to run away.” Not Little Tommy. Not my sisters…It was all just dare.

Well, this is not the near-death experience that I wanted to unleash onto my mediocre, drama free life. The Hunger Games, really? How will I know if my sisters are safe if I get onto that train? The game of dares, we have always stuck with the forfeits, but it has never been like this. It has never gotten this far. ”I can’t do that. How do I know if he is serious, if my sisters will be safe?” No adult will believe that a sixteen-year-old boy is raging blood mad. They all praise George. Big George Lindy with the vaccine building parents.

Karl Amos

The boy’s name is called. I do not have long left to decide.

”YOU BETTER RUN FLYNN.”

An unfriendly voice taunts me from the back. George is here. There is nowhere else to run but onto that stage. I have only held a scalpel in my life. What kind of chance do I have? My sisters. What chance do they have against a blood raging six-foot teenager?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I am an idiot. It is my fault Tommy died. This is my forfeit.

”I will do it. I am running. This is my last dare.”

The stage is no playground. Did I just sacrifice myself? Or have I executed myself for my crimes of murdering Little Tommy…

Walter Blake two years above got far but that kid was an orphan, a street rat. The typical main character. I am just a background character, one without a name in the credits…

Flynn Garner volunteers as 6m

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[87th] The Reaping - District 6 Feb 8, 2021 23:50:46 GMT -5

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Feb 8, 2021 23:50:46 GMT -5

j a s m i n e .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

Fate tore them apart once.

Jasmine and Frances — they were born as the Vieuxpointe sisters, and orphaned when Jasmine was three. She will never forget the day they were ripped away from one another; Jasmine had been crying, kicking, as one of the orphanage staff carried her away. The home they were placed in was overflowing, and Jasmine was to be sent off to foster care.

She didn't see her sister for years after that. As a child, Jasmine used to draw stick-figures of her and her sister reuniting, always hopeful, always looking to the horizon for the day when they would meet again. But then she lost count of the months, years, and she gave up hope. By then she had been adopted by the Lavoies. They were a loving family, but no matter how much affection she received, the loss of her sister left a hole in her heart that even her new parents could not fill.

But then Frances found her many years later. The Eckharts helped her track Jasmine down, and ever since they have been inseparable. They try to make up for lost time; Frances takes her to the markets, bookstores, bakeries — she walks her home from school every day, from the school lot all the way to the Lavoie's door.

It's Frances who walks her to the Reaping. They leave early, before Jasmine's parents, and head to the Town Square. Jasmine wears a buttermilk yellow dress, a button-up with a collar. It's flecked with little honey bees and tiny white daisy flowers. Her golden hair is in two braided pigtails and tied with leather strings.

"I'm going to go stand with the girls in my age group," Jasmine tells Frances once they pass the checkpoint with the Peacekeepers. "We should go get strawberry shortcakes from the bakery after the Reaping."

Frances nods. "Sounds like a plan," she says. She reaches out a hand and squeezes Jasmine's.

They part ways, and Jasmine waits with the other girls in her class for the Reaping to begin. The girls are always first, every Reaping, and this year the name they call out is —

"Jasmine Lavoie!"

Her breath catches in her throat, and suddenly she can't breathe. Tears instantly well up in her eyes and her lip begins to wobble. All she can do is stand there and try not to sob, but she knows if she hesitates for much longer the Peacekeepers will come and drag her up to the stage.

But then she hears a familiar voice break through the thick, suffocating silence.

"No. I'll go instead."

elegant

( jasmine steps down for syren )

"even stars burn out."

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[87th] The Reaping - District 6 Feb 8, 2021 23:57:36 GMT -5

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Feb 8, 2021 23:57:36 GMT -5

s y r e n .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

She knows the name that is called at the Reaping all too well.

"Jasmine Lavoie!"

Her gaze instantly snaps to the little girl in the crowd, with golden pigtail braids in a yellow dress. Syren finds Frances next, but she doesn't meet her eyes. She's too focused on her sister to notice Syren, the way she's looking at her —

it's like Jasmine is already dead. It's like she is staring at a ghost.

She might as well be. The young tributes almost never come back. If Jasmine goes in, she's done for. Syren knows this girl; Jasmine comes over to her house for dinner with Frances, a frequent third wheel in their relationship. She never minds her company, as much as it saddens her. Jasmine reminds Syren of Talia sometimes. They don't look alike except for their freckles; Talia was dark-haired, with eyes like the ocean.

But the way she smiles, the way her eyes light up when she sees her older sister, how she seems to illuminate every room she enters — it's all just like Talia.

They never recovered Talia's remains. Not all of them. They only found pieces of her dismembered corpse, scattered across the district. Talia's hand was the first thing they found, still gloved in the pink and brown striped mittens that Syren's mother knitted for her. Later, they found her elbow, her knee. Years on, pieces of her bones, but never her skull. Syren is grateful that they never found her head; she hates to think of her sister's blank blue eyes staring up at nothing, or the hollow sockets of her skull where they used to be.

It still astounds her how someone so full of life could be gone just like that. She has never truly accepted the loss. Not even when the Peacekeepers came to the Steele's house with a bag filled with Talia's bloody raincoat.

On the day Talia disappeared, it had been pouring rain. She had gone to the market on an errand and never returned. Syren has replayed the last moment she saw her little sister so many times that it's become like a broken record in her mind. She couldn't have known what was going to happen to Talia, but she still wishes she had gone with her, or she had just went to the market instead.

Whenever it rains, Syren thinks of her. When Syren's mother had gone to the Peacekeepers to report Talia missing, Syren had waited in the house and listened to the rain, blankly staring out the window and wishing that at any moment, Talia would appear in the darkness.

Sometimes she still likes to listen to the rain. She still sees Talia everywhere, still expects to turn around and see her right there like nothing ever changed.

There was no body to bury, only bits and pieces. The casket was closed at the funeral, and though the reason for it was morbid, part of Syren was glad that she didn't have to see the corpse. It would have shattered her to have to look at Talia laying in that casket, wearing one of her old dresses with her eyes closed, cold hands folded over her chest as if she were asleep.

When Jasmine Lavoie's name is called, something in Syren snaps. She couldn't protect Talia. There was nothing she could have done, but — she can't let Frances's sister die. She loves Frances too much, loves her more than she loves herself.

Syren does not want to die. But the thought of standing idly by while that little girl walks up to the stage to her death is so unbearable that she finds herself separating from the crowd.

"No." Her voice is flat, monotone, cutting through the silence that fell over the crowd like a blade. "I'll go instead."

She finds Frances in the crowd again, and this time, she is looking at her. Syren's eyes are shining with the beginnings of tears. They are soft when they look upon Frances; I love you, they say. And I'm sorry.

Syren drifts forward to single herself out from the crowd, the gravel crunching beneath the soles of her shoes. "I volunteer," she reiterates.

She steps towards the stage, towards the shadow of death. But she is not afraid. Part of her already died when the Peacekeeper held up that bloody bag with Talia's baby blue raincoat. She knew that her sister was gone, in that moment, and it broke her so deeply down to her core that the emptiness never truly faded.

And it never would, not until the day Syren died.