[87th] The Reaping - District 12 | Hunger Games: The RPG

gm bourgeois decadence [aya]
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[87th] The Reaping - District 12 Feb 6, 2021 0:13:41 GMT -5

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Feb 6, 2021 0:13:41 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, "Mina Zun!" They then reached into the other ball. "Thomas O'Quinn!"

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

gm bourgeois decadence [aya] Administrator 6,256 POSTS last seen Jan 27, 2024 16:01:40 GMT -5 "GUNNERRRRR~"	[87th] The Reaping - District 12 Feb 9, 2021 17:56:00 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Feb 9, 2021 17:56:00 GMT -5 Volunteering is now open for both District 12 tributes.
	{characters} certified kindergartener stranded in "beach" "city" leader of the crystal gems

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

[87th] The Reaping - District 12 Feb 9, 2021 17:56:03 GMT -5

Post by ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ on Feb 9, 2021 17:56:03 GMT -5

s i n .

"Why aren't you scared of me?
Why do you care for me?
When we all fall asleep,
where do we go."

The sun stayed in the same spot for too long. Sin knew he was dreaming.

Which was fine.

He kept on walking, the spindling trees around him aching for a touch of the sky, to dip their tops into the blue of it. Wind had torn through the wood again and again, making it so that the only vegetation was the moss that clung to the rocky ground, steadfast.

It was a terrible place for a burial, desolate and difficult to dig into, which is why Sin had always brought the bodies that Eirlys was finished with there. No one would think to look for their loved one in such a place. Void of colour, of sound, of life, some had begun to stay away from the area at the back of the district on instinct.

Sin had never gone in the daytime before but in his dream, the sun shone through the trees, the hand of god reaching down to highlight freshly tilled earth. He stopped and slipped his hand into his pocket, thumb searching for the end of a sharp stone. It wasn't there which was incorrect. He was dreaming.

That was fine.

Except his rock was gone. He had no exit.

So all he could do was stand there when the dirt started to shift, crumbling away from the burial mounds, slow at first. Always like a trickling stream that turned into a torrent. Limbs started to become clearer, rotting flesh revealed as fingers pushed at the dirt. Pieces of bone fell back into the dirt as skeletal figures struggled to free themselves from it.

Sin shut his eyes but it didn't stop his ears from filling with the sound of deep despair. Cries of fear, anger, madness, confusion, everything overlayed until there was nothing discernable anymore. There was only an overwhelming buzz of sound.

He stood there in it, ears ringing, unable to move from the weight of the dead on his chest. Sin knew how to make it stop. It'd always been the same ending, the same dream every night in the months after Eirlys had died, that he'd killed her and brought her body out to the woods to lay in the dirt like everyone else.

"Open them," came the underlying whisper.

But he was afraid.

"I said open your fucking eyes, Sin."

He curled in on his side, the kick to his side not unwelcome. When he opened his eyes, he could only see the floor of the workshop, the wood of the bench above his head and the boots of one of his sisters in front of his face. His ears still rang but the woods were gone, faded into the morning.

Sin glanced up at the bench above his head and brushed his fingers against the wood. It was solid but then, his dreams were too. His sister's boots tapped away across the stone floor. "Reaping is in an hour, you have to come too."

She was gone again.

He had forgotten which one she was. It didn't matter, they all looked at him the same. He was the monster that they kept, he was their fault.

The bodies were their fault too.

Sin had only ever been the hammer over the head in the dark street, or the shovel that dug into the earth to hide the remains of the Mortuus' secrets. He was a tool, nothing more and nothing less.

With Eirlys gone, it was as if no one knew how to use him anymore. The first night he'd brought them a new body, they'd lashed the backs of his hands three times. "We don't do that anymore Sin, no more," they'd said, angry. They'd spoken to him as if he were a child, stupid.

He wasn't stupid, he just didn't speak.

He wasn't smart either, tools couldn't think anyway. That first night, he'd lain in the half-dark in his spot beneath the bench and turned Eirlys' locket over in his hands, again and again, enjoying the way that the metal glinted in the candlelight.

He no longer belonged there, in the hospital. Sin was a relic of an old way of doing things, a dirty reminder. His adopted sisters looked at him with thinly-veiled disgust and the hospital only held sick people, the organ trade silent.

But there was nowhere for him to go.

So he put on his shirt with the fewest bloodstains and wore a jacket to hide the rest. When he left the workroom, the hospital was already quiet but for the few nurses that were past the reaping age who had stayed behind to watch over the patients. Sin slipped through the kitchens, pocketing a stale piece of bread and a bit of smoked meat for his breakfast.

The street behind the hospital was silent. Most people were already at the reaping or ignoring its existence. Sin, despite only having a few under his belt, had never worried about it. Relics belonged to the past and no one would miss him if he were to go.

Most kids were already lined up when Sin arrived. the reaping was only a few minutes away, once the Peacekeepers finished flushing out the kids that hadn't shown yet, it would start. One of the kids he used to stand beside was gone this year. Sin hadn't killed him but the mines probably had.

He wasn't afraid of the dark but he was afraid of being buried.

His hand raised up slow, fingers bent slightly as if he were clawing at the air. The kids around him were silent. The child whose name had been called was silent. It was as if the whole of Panem was waiting for him to speak.

Sin made his way to the stage carefully in the quiet, expressionless as the District held its breath. They wanted to see a reaction but he didn't have one to give.

"You don't speak anymore Sin. Never again, not to anyone, not my sisters. You are not one of us. Understood?"

He had.

[sin mortuus volunteers as 12m. x x]

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Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]
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cozy, queer af

[87th] The Reaping - District 12 Feb 9, 2021 17:56:04 GMT -5

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Feb 9, 2021 17:56:04 GMT -5

Syd's in some deep shit.

Of all the days to tell his parents he's not a girl, he had to pick the one where they're the most stressed out. The crux of the situation is this: they love him enough to care about his life and his well-being, but maybe not enough to take him seriously when he says, "Oh, by the way, I'm not a girl."

Okay, so maybe he didn't phrase it quite like that, but it doesn't matter. Now he's sitting on the stoop at the front of their ramshackle house, door flung open, his mother's voice hollering at him from the kitchen-slash-living-room-slash-laundry. The sound of her discontent blasts into the open air. Neighbors, already on their way to the square in their Reaping best, eye them with a look of concern as they pass by.

"Syd. Come here. SYD. Get back in here so we can talk about this!"

"No!" he hollers, not unlike a child. His feet plant themselves firmly in the coal dust lining the porch. Then he reaches back for the doorknob so he can slam the front door in her face.

That doesn't last long. She rushes for the door and pulls it back open. His father lingers behind like a ghost, his eyebrows pulled together in blatant disappointment. Slate is sitting at the oak kitchen table, oblivious to the whole thing, hanging his head low because people are fighting.

"I'm not talking about this right now," Syd states firmly before his mom can yell at him again. "It's clear that you don't understand, and you're not trying to, so can we just go? We can talk about it later. I'm done."

"No, honey, we should -- "

"I said I'm done. Okay? I'll see you in a bit," he says, standing up more forcefully than he means to. He doesn't give her another word before he takes off, coal dust kicking up behind his heels.

People give him looks as he runs by, their eyes full of a question: "Who the fuck's in a hurry to get to the Reaping?"
Syd's appearance probably doesn't help much. His outfit is an amalgamation of things that make absolutely no sense together: khaki pants cut straight to hide his hips, faintly tinged with the spots of coal he can never get clean; a striped shirt bigger than it has any right to be, also for hiding; and, to top it all off, sneakers with fucking bows on them, because his mom thought they'd make him look tidier.

Plus, his hair is shorter than the nail on his pinky finger. He's sort of a mess -- a giant, gender-confusing mess -- which is fine. He isn't keen on people calling him she. He aims for being recognized as a boy, but he'll take the confusion if it's the best he's going to get.

His heart's pounding by the time he settles into his section. He sticks out like a weed with the girls in his year, but he tries not to pay it any mind. His head is somewhere else. It's... everything.

Syd digs his fingernails into his palms. There's an ache somewhere in his gut, the kind of pain that's just the brain making him feel sore unnecessarily, nerves bracing for impact.

He tries not to think about what his mom told him, but the more he tries to get rid of it, the more it spreads. The more he aches. He isn't really paying attention whenever the usual formalities begin. He's just thinking there's no way in hell he wants to go home again. Maybe he won't. Maybe he'll strike out on his own.

Then he realizes he doesn't have anywhere to go. His heart sinks; the ache spreads. He clenches his jaw and tries not to break.

Maybe he doesn't belong anywhere, he thinks.

And then the names are called.

Agonizing silence permeates the air for too long. The chosen don't shuffle forward to their fates. Wherever they are -- somewhere in the crowd -- they're probably thinking there's no way. No way they can leave their families, their favorite places, their life.

They belong here. Living, breathing, growing.

Syd... doesn't. Not here. Not anywhere, maybe. The conversation this morning cements itself in his thoughts, and he can't help but think there's nowhere in this world he's meant to be.

The ache in his chest grows and grows and grows.

It overtakes him, and he steps forward.

Is this bravery, or just despair? It doesn't matter. The result is the same: Syd, striding toward the stage, saying the words, "I'd like to volunteer," firmly, and softer, so maybe others don't hear: "My name's Syd. Last name Scoria. It's probably on the girl's list."

Where it doesn't fucking belong.

[Syd Scoria volunteers for the 12F slot, unless someone gets here first. In that case, Syd is shuffled away in a flurry of bureaucratic gender confusion, like when I go to the pharmacy and they get confused because my prescription still says (REDACTED)]

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[87th] The Reaping - District 12 Feb 10, 2021 0:07:13 GMT -5

Post by ryan on Feb 10, 2021 0:07:13 GMT -5

He had never taken a moment to pause.

Why would he? He was a Monaghan. Full of strife and pain and wit all rolled into olive toned skin that no one trusted. No one cared for. Because to him, the family name was almost nothing.

And everything at the same time.

Justin had always done a good job of keeping himself out of the spotlight. Because at the end of the day, he did not feel the need to concern himself with what his siblings or parents did. It hurt. It really did, thinking that he had all the chances in the world to make a name for himself. He could have conquered the world probably. Maybe if he cared a little bit more.

Maybe if he cared a lot more. He had Sid to look after, but everyone else took care of themselves, Justin only doing enough to keep himself out of trouble.

He was not the type of boy that liked the spotlight anyway, because the shadows had always provided him with enough protection. He felt like he could rule the world in darkness, even if he was only fifteen and only knew so much of what the world was. He didn’t blame anyone for that, because what was bad to him, was always in the light, and being blind to it protected him from getting his heart crushed.

He wondered what Juliet would have done.

Even thinking about her now, Justin had never gotten the proper chance to say good bye. Of course he watched her games, but three years later, and he wondered if it was all still a dream. Maybe he would wake up and his older sister would be there by his side to tell him that he was inside his head too much. Coax him out of his uncomfortable nature and get him to live just a little. Justin had always been the uptight one, he knew it, his family knew it, but around Juliet, he had found a way to at least feel a little more at ease. He didn’t take everything so seriously.

He used to be so brave huh?

Maybe the death of Juliet had ruined him for the worst, scared and scarred in the same human body that made up the person that was Justin. He spent the first year of aftermath avoiding his family. If he had to spend any time with them, he would find some way to cut it short. Most of the time he climbed out of his window and hid on the roof of his house. He found a little corner of the place that he could call his own. Sometimes he brought a journal and a pen with him, a luxury that most people in twelve didn’t have. He would write his thoughts to himself and wonder why he felt so stuck.

He tried to leave more times than he could count. The forest was right there after all, calling out to him and telling him that he would be safer in the branches then back home with his family. Sometimes when out and about, he would get distracted by sounds coming from that direction. Sometimes he felt like Juliet was calling out to him, telling him to go, run. He never followed, because quite frankly, he was scared. He only knew so much about the world, and he had heard stories of people who had found a way to survive out there, Justin did not trust himself. If Juliet couldn’t come home, then how could Justin do so too? He always jumped to conclusions. It was the one thing that would probably get him killed one day. He was not Juliet in that sense. She always held onto hope and Justin thought that feeling should sink. It did not have any weight here.

Juliet would be so disappointed in him.

Justin had always thought of himself as the purest of his siblings. A boy that had wanted nothing but peace in his life. He didn’t realize that could never be achieved with a last name like Monaghan. He had spent weeks trying to find his way, years even to figure out if this was even the place for him. It seemed like others had moved on? Juliet would never be forgotten, but she wasn’t here anymore. She wasn’t there to validate Justin in his weird mannerisms, or tell them that they should focus on what matter. The voice of reason was gone.

Justin would spend lots of time trying to figure out in words just how lonely he actually was. He would spend long nights trying writing on pages using words that he did not understand. He was a simple boy trying to solve the greatest mystery of his life.

And he was failing every single time.

And even when the reaping had come around, years passing, and no one to tell him that he was valid for the way that he was feeling. He wasn’t sure if his family even understood, but that didn’t matter really. Justin had spent so much time trying to avoid them. Anything was off the table in Justin’s mind, and as much as he wanted it fit into their lifestyle, but he had done such a good job keeping himself from whatever they do.

He was innocent, incarnate, and completely blind to a life that he had been raised in. Grown into. Told that he would have to find a way to acclimate, but he always thought about Juliet’s courage. How she wasn’t afraid to sacrifice, and maybe that was what it meant to be a Monaghan.

Little lion boy would never know what it was like to roar, not unless he found his voice. He never knew what that was like. He had spoken before, but that was not his voice. Not his words. Not things that he would tell people as he tried to figure out everything he had ever wanted in his life. Justin Monaghan had no tongue, fake courage, and all the hopelessness in the world.

He wondered what could have been had he just tried a little harder.

And even standing there, waiting for this reaping to be over, he had been so overwhelmed by the feelings of guilt and loss. He had never wanted to feel like this. However, knowing that his family had already suffered so much, Justin wondered just how much more it could take before it fell apart at the seams. He stands at attention as he listens for the girls name, and then the boy name follows. He does not know him, but he does know Juliet, and what she did in order to save their sister.

He knew that he had never felt like he belonged to this family, like he was destined to never find himself, and Juliet would always be the courageous one. The one that was willing to do what it took to protect them.

Little lion boy.

I…

Hopeless lost soul.

I…

Never gonna find his voice.

I…

Culminating to a failure.

"I volunteer..."

He wanted to roar. But he was beaten to the punch.

Juliet would have been disappointed in him.

[Justin Monaghan just sinks back into the crowd minding his own damn business.]