[90th] The Reaping - District 1

[gm bourgeois decadence [aya]]

"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. "First up," they announced, pulling out a slip of paper. They unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Prada Gucci-Vuitton!" They then reached into the other ball. "Eden Le Roux!"

OOC - Per the 90th quell twist, there will be no volunteering; however, reaped characters may select another eligible character to take their place. Please see the updated Quell Twist thread before reaching out to swap tribute positions with another member. The deadline to exchange spots is Friday, February 11th.

[calla]

e d e n .

"Innocence died
screaming.
Honey, ask me,
I should know."

When they take him up on stage, he doesn't fight it.

It's strange. The docility of the past year clings to him like ivy. There's a lingering sense of something there that wasn't before, the thorns dig into the line of his spine and settle loosely between the bones.

Eurydice watches him walk with something that might look like pride.

Eden feels the skin on the inside of his wrist start to burn.

A penny falls from someone's pocket and there's rain pattering on a tin roof. The concrete steams. The stage stairs creak with the weight of a boy and two peacekeepers and the sound of their uniforms is a swish swish like the wind. The starkness of the lights hurts his eyes, and then Eden is standing in front of a crowd with something heavy on his shoulders.

The square suddenly goes quiet in a way he's never heard it before.

That's how it happens, but that isn't how it starts.

He's been a Le Roux for nearly two years. He's fought for them and bled for them and has nearly died for them twice. He sleeps on the floor of a dead boy's room and follows the woman who chose him like a shadow. She has given him everything but a name, and nearly every part of him says that he should feel grateful.

But Avriel unlocks something in him. He coaxes something alive that died years ago and thaws something that should be long frozen. Over the span of twenty-two months Eden has felt more human than he has his whole life. Funny how nearly getting stabbed in the heart puts everything into perspective. Funny how holding the hand of a boy you barely know makes you never want to let it go.

Suddenly, for the first time, he has a friend that isn't one of his sisters. He has a something that means something. There are blanks in the spaces, things he hasn't figured out yet, he doesn't know how. After the tournament, he wants to leave with Avriel but he can't. He knows he can't. He gets taken back to One and Eurydice is there waiting for him, proud and tall and just the way he left her. She looks at the bandages around his chest and the stitches along his temple and the odd look on his face, and then she says nothing at all.

Something's wrong in the manor after that. The lacquered wood of the hall feels cold under his palm, Eden closes his eyes and he's on a hiking trail. He can't sleep anymore so he just doesn't. Icarus finally makes him snap one morning when he's watching them all train and Eden's fist skips over his face to make a clean hole in the drywall.

It gets patched over the next day, so Eden does it again, just to see if someone will fix it a second time.

(They do.)

He feels restless. Untethered.

The wind is too loud in the foyer. Tatton drops a fork against the carpet in the dining room and the muted thud of it makes Eden flinch.

There's something wrong with him.

He stands at Eurydice's elbow during a mayoral meeting and his attention keeps drifting to the window. There's a garden outside.

One of the plants looks dead.

On a Tuesday night the cooks serve mushrooms and he spends the entire next day sparring with Echo until she bruises him so bad he can't walk.

Eden calls Avriel just once, a month after the tournament, and he has to try twice because when the phone starts ringing the first time he hangs up in a stifled sort of panic. But on the second try, Avriel picks up, and Eden just sits there breathing on the phone, fist pushing against the scar on his chest.

He doesn't know if Avriel knows it's him or not. He doesn't know how to ask.

It gets so bad that Eden thinks he's falling apart. He feels feverish even though he knows he's not sick. That spot near his heart still twinges when he moves and he's eighteen and he's meant to give Eurydice a victory that he can't even fathom. But she just looks at his fists, at the dark little bits of something in his eyes, and that seems to be good enough.

He still seems to be good enough.

It hadn't even been like this in the compound. It was simple then, he knew what he was doing. He knew who he was because who he was was no-one. He was a number on a betting sheet and then he was a number in a catalogue. The highest bidder just happened to be the most powerful woman in the District.

He was good at being a toy. He's not good at being a son.

He thought that he was good at being Eden in Four. It didn't really feel like he was playing pretend anymore - Avriel had said his name so softly that it'd made it seem true. For a few days at least, Eden had felt more like a boy than a weapon. He'd been passed from one set of cruel hands to another but Avriel had held him so gently then.

The escort's smile is plastic and she holds the microphone out to him expectantly. The crowd moves like a great big wave.

"Anything to say?"

She looks expectant, but doesn't add anything else. She doesn't have to, Eden knows what she means. He can pick someone else if he wants, but it's obvious in the way that people are already starting to look away and gather themselves. They shift back and forth impatiently, eager to get on with their days because they know he won't switch- they know who he is. They know why he's here, the same way they know what those six little letters tacked onto the end of his name mean.

He's a purpose fulfilled. He's an order placed and packaged. This is what he was brought here to do. This is what he was bought to do. Even if his name hadn't been called, he'd still be walking this path. Eden was born to die and it doesn't matter if that happens in the arena or in the ring or in neither.

But he hears gravel crunch under his feet. He hears the sound of a blackbird.

He feels selfish.

Eden, very carefully, very slowly, looks at little Cathy Le Roux. Then he looks back at Eurydice.

Something in the matriarch's face changes. Her eyebrows draw down, her gaze shifts.

She doesn't look proud anymore.

Eden stays very still.

The world is so quiet.

He was taken from his parents when he was very young. He didn't have a choice then either.

How ironic - the position he's in now.

His mother traded him for a handful of coins and he was put in a bleak place that made him lose his name. Eurydice traded him for a handful of her wealth and he was put in a fancy golden house that gave him a new one.

No-one ever asked what he wanted.

There's a thumb on his wrist. Careful hands touch his face, a cut gets sewn shut, Avriel is fixing him, just not in the way that he thinks.

Survival of the fittest has always been cruel, the world has always been a terrible place, and Eden has never claimed to be a good person. He'd nearly killed two kids in that tournament. He'd done worse before it.

He's nine and his fists ache. He's ten and there's someone else's blood in his hair. They had to pull him out of his first real fight with gloves on because he'd dug his nails into the thirteen-year old they'd put him against and hadn't let go.

Eurydice took him in because she couldn't bear to lose any of her other children.

He is expendable, but they are not.

He doesn't know why that bothers him so much now.

It wouldn't be so bad, would it.

He understands then, in that moment, if he hadn't met Avriel Baptiste, then he would be Eurydice's puppet. He would do it gladly. He would have seen his adoption as a liberation rather than a transaction, and if he didn't come back in a week, then there would be another little boy chosen from the underbelly of the district that would take his place.

He would be another name underneath someone's ledger. He'd stay a number.

Unfortunately for the Le Rouxs, unfortunately for Eurydice, Eden's been corrupted away from the perfect little soldier. He's had the trees above his head and a heartbeat under his ear and he's suddenly selfish enough to want more.

The escort's nearly turned away when Eden raises his hand. The cameras have to swivel back to him. The murmur of the post-reaping stops so suddenly that it almost hurts.

Through the halted crowd, Eden points at the Le Rouxs - the whole cluster of them.

Cathy looks so small next to her sister.

They all ripple, like a golden tidal pool, and Eden watches them slowly understand.

There's Icarus, with eyes like steel, face daring him to say something because he knows he never will. The rest of the family would be glad to see him gone, Eden would be glad to see him gone, but that's not enough.

There's Sunny, who's so loud that he steps outside when he hears her coming. Sunny, who tries her hardest. Sunny, who will never be recognized.

There's Tatton, less lion and more wolf. The stage tilts when Eden looks at her. She has Eurydice's scowl.

And there's Cathy. The baby of the family. Her majesty's crown jewel, coddled and praised for being nothing but herself.

Eden was only eight when he was taken.

They took away his name.

And he's never really thought about it like that before. He's never realized how unfair it's been.

Eden knows that Eurydice has already lost three children.

Eden knows that life is unfair.

His finger drifts across the group and then lands somewhere around Cathy’s shoulder. Her eyes are wide and Eden is eight and he's standing in an abandoned warehouse, holding his sisters' hands while their mother sells them to a fighting ring.

Eden is pointing at Cathy Le Roux because he knows she'll die and he knows that he's already broken enough that whatever Eurydice decides to do to him after it will feel like nothing.

The crowd changes. The escort makes a strange sound into the mic, the cameras get closer to Eden's face.

And then Isaac Le Roux is stepping between them.

Eden stares. Cathy is dwarfed by the set of Isaac's shoulders. The escort makes that sound again.

Isaac had tried to help him read once. It was raining and the library was warm, Eden had held his paperback away from Isaac distrustfully, but still.

It was something.

Eden had gotten through the words on the inside cover, he knows about the box now. He knows his isn't full.

Maybe Isaac understands that.

If Cathy dies, then Eden dies.

He thinks about the plant in that garden and wonders when it stopped being watered. It had seemed like such a simple thing, an easy cure, but no-one cared enough to fix it.

Eden's pointing at Isaac, but he's not looking at him. He's looking at Eurydice. His hand doesn't waver under her stare, they just look at each other. It's a goodbye, maybe, the world's most demanding resignation letter.

He's done with being controlled.

A blackbird lands on the fence beside the stage and Eden lowers his hand.

He has work to do.

elegant

eden le roux volunteers isaac le roux for d1m

[ryan]

I S A A C

► ► ►

Isaac had spent years trying to perfect the art of being ready for anything. At least, that was what he always tried to put on. To be quite clear, he still had a lot to learn. That was made clear by his father, who had told him many times that being patient and watching would always lead to the greatest reward. To be quite frank, Isaac was starting to become desensitized to all of his fathers teachings. It was clear to him that maybe, just maybe, his father did not know what it meant to win. His tactics had always been the more observant type after all. Use all the knowledge you learn in order to overwhelm your opponents. That was a pillar to his way of fighting. Isaac could do that in his sleep at this point. Isaiah had made it very clear to his children, knowledge was always the best weapon.

But that always wasn’t the case, at least, that is how Isaac saw it. If knowledge was always the greatest weapon, but why wasn’t there another Le Roux victor? To be quite clear, Isaac was proud of his family name, but the fact that only Ridley had been skilled enough to come out of the games? That always left doubt in his mind. Even now, as Isaac pulls a book about pressure points in the body closer to him, he wondered just how useful this could really be. 

He did not question anything, because everything happened for a reason, and obviously so higher power did not think that Panem could handle a second Le Roux victor. He did have to admit that the capitol did find them popular, but that did not mean that they were always the favorite to win. In fact, Isaac could probably tell anyone the amount of times they were favored against. Isaac had a feeling that the Le Roux were seen as fireworks. They burned brightly right up until they exploded, and then they would shoot back down to the ground in a mound of soot and dust. They were always set up for greatness but pushed off the edge at the last minute. Gone too soon, but also not even there long enough to leave their mark on the world. 

Well, except for maybe Ridley. 

But even then, Isaac could tell that she had it in her to go all the way. His silent demeanor meant that he could at least blend into the background as he watched the rest of his family fight for the top of the mountain. Which meant that he noticed things that most of them didn’t. Like how Pax had paraded Ridley around as some trophy. How they had been so generous for taking someone like her in. Isaac was young, but it did make him sick. Of course, he never said anything, because what could he do? He was young, and he still is young. He might think he could take on the world, but one wrong step and he would be mauled by the very family that claimed they took care of each other.

Isaac wondered what it would take for this family to realize that they really weren’t what they claimed to be. Multiple children have fallen in the games, and some of them either too soon or not soon enough. Isaac would not speak ill of them, out of respect, but their mistakes was something that any of them could learn from. Isaiah never shared it with any of his siblings, but he made sure to focus on those the most. How Emerson could have survived past the bloodbath, how Emmett could have held his neck in a certain way to stop the bleeding from the slice across his neck. How Silk could have made it all the way if she didn’t let her pride get in the way. How Julian had just become a little too sentimental. He could write whole books on the shortcomings of his nieces and nephews, but he always called himself an equal opportunist. He always subjected his own children to his teachings, and that did included presentations about how Ridley had gotten lucky in the arena. He did not spare her. Everything was subject to his scrutiny, which did cause some strife between his siblings and him. How was he going to judge them when he didn’t even have a child that had gone into the games yet?

Isaac would always laugh at that question, because they were right. Even he knew that his father wasn’t infallible. He did claim that he was preparing his children for their eventual victor tour, and Isaac wished that he wouldn’t do that. It did set the bar too high, but the worst part of that was that he did expect them to exceed it. He wanted Isaac to prove to the capitol that the Le Roux’s could produce another victor, one that was even better than Ridley, simply because they had the knowledge to win the games in a text book fashion.

Even Isaac didn’t see the world like that. There was nothing black and white about it after all, and in that grey area, that was where Isaac focused a lot of his attention. He would make his own path if he had ever found his own opportunity to be reaped into the games. He was appreciative of his father, because he knew what he was talking about, but that did not mean that he wanted to be like him. After all, he would not be the one putting his life on the line. He would be able to stay home in the house he built from the ground up as he watched one of his children either choose fight or flight. 

It would never be both, well, maybe in Icarus’s case, but you had a feeling that Isaiah was confident that he would never get reaped. 

He put a lot of time into Venerra and Isaac, and a part of Isaac wondered if that was the best choice. The expectation had been set, every reaping, that if one of them were to be reaped, they were to do everything they could to walk out of that arena with a crown.

Isaac was beginning to think that was starting to become nothing but an old wives tale.

---

The Le Roux’s were their own type of frustrating, and while Isaac did not approve of his fathers all or nothing personality, he did not think he was the worst out of all the lion heads. Eurydice, actually, was probably his least favorite. Isaiah paled in comparison when it came to passionate about training. After all, now that Isaac thought about it, all of the other Le Roux tributes have been Eurydice’s. The only one that came even remotely close to coming out was Silk. The family did not mention it too much, however, at any Le Roux gathering, it was mentioned without being mentioned. She was the mayor after all, and Isaac had a feeling that there was more pride there then anything else. 

Eurydice Le Roux was all about face, and nothing more. Isaac could only extrapolate how she felt about losing three children, but if he had to take a guess, she was determined to come out with at least one winner. 

Isaac hadn’t heard much from Harper recently, the last time he saw him was at one of the last Le Roux parties. Isaac made it a point to not get too close to anyone from the other branches of the family because he had a feeling that they could not be around that much longer. The rate that this family was throwing themselves into the fire made that all the more apparent. They were willing to set the world ablaze, but they always put themselves out. At least, that was how Isaiah had put it. Isaac could agree, but he did not want to think ill of the dead. They tried, that was all that mattered. They gave other Le Roux’s the information to at least try to do better.

Isaac had heard though that Eurydice had been doing things on her own accord, and one day, she had been introducing people that did not share the same lion’s aura that she did. Isaac couldn’t say anything, because well, it wasn’t his business, but it did confirm his suspicions that she was willing to do what it took to make the family proud. After all, it was survival of the fittest, and her pride was dying right in front of her. Isaac wondered just how closely she was watching all of them, because her demeanor was not something he wanted to associate with directly. It made him uneasy, especially since he was known as one of the more relaxed Le Roux’s. Some would say kinder, but he would disagree. As long as you didn’t get on his bad side, he was usually easier to interact with. Everything always had to have an alternate motive in Isaac’s mind, and of course, that meant that Eurydice sent off more red flags then he could count on his fingers.

But he was not his place to say something, in fact, Isaac knew that he would probably be chastised for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what that already felt like, thinking about Vito for a moment before realizing that it had been way too long since he had stepped foot in that casino. They never made up, and Isaac wasn’t sure if they ever would to be quite honest. Hes thought about showing up, trying to see what could be salvaged between them, but the follow through was never there. It was just easier.

No need to be disappointed after all.

---

He spent time at the library the day before the reaping. It was a second home of sorts, large towers of books looming over him had never made Isaac feel more safe. There was something about getting lost in the words that made everything just a little more digestible to Isaac. His father could even admit that Isaac was an astute bookworm, but that did not mean anything if Isaac could not at least execute the basics of what he learned. 

The whole point of reading about something anyway, was to try to take it and adapt it to him own style. Isaac would call himself direct to be honest. He never wanted to beat around the bush when it came to his combat. He would attempt to do what he knew would finish conflict quickly, even if that meant incapacitating whoever he was in front of. To be quite clear, he would kill if he needed too, but he knew that in District 1, it was frowned upon to threaten death. The people of one had always been just a little more diplomatic than the rest of the districts. That didn’t meant that vicious people didn’t live here, they just used their words more than they used blades.

He spent a couple hours trying to take his mind off of the current state of his training. He hadn’t been too motivated to continue on with all the stuff his father had been throwing at him. He always claimed that he would rise to the occasion, but even Isaac knew when he was just handling a little too much. That’s when he decided to go to the library, because it would give him time to decompress and learn at his own pace. He hated when his father would grill him in front of everyone, and even more so when he was wrong. To Isaiah, Isaac’s wellbeing would always come second to whatever machinations that he wanted him to fulfill. The world would always be thrusted on his shoulder and he never had another pair of hands to hold it up with him.

He was a modern day Perseus, told that one day he would do things that he never imagined he would do. Isaac never believed them one bit, because even he knew that Gods fell from grace. Isaac Le Roux was no God, no infallible creature that could not be at fault. There was no chance of him being a Helen of Troy. People would not kill for him, not unless he stooped down to their level. Isaac always had just a little more pride than to do that. Honor was almost synonymous with the family name Le Roux. They did not do anything without it. Maybe that is why so many have fallen since Ridley had shot up to the sun. 

They might have bitten off way more than they could chew. 

But Isaac was determined to let fate do him in as well. Everything was a failsafe now a days. He always dotted his I’s and crossed his t’s because the more information he did have, the better. He knew that he was no Adonis, nor was he Hercules. He did not believe in heros, and his name was not like the sun. He was just a boy that wanted to show the world that he could in fact, do everything that his father said he could do. It was his oyster and all he had to do was shuck it open. Now whether he had gone too far and stabbed through his hand would be a whole different story.

He pulled out a book that he remembered pretty well. It was the one that he had used in order to help Eden Le Roux try to learn to read. Isaac again, was no stranger to who this boy was, a show dog meant to parade around for Eurydice when the games came around. Isaac was able to gather quickly that his life was nothing like Eden’s and that point about Isaac not being the nice one seemed to be shot right in the foot.  Eden did not deserve to be raised for the slaughter, some human decency was a right to live, and Isaac always thought the most powerful weapon was words. 

And so they spent some time trying to read and sound various words out. They shared a couple hours, behind Eurydices back of course because the last thing that she needed to know what that Eden was starting to become somewhat cultured. It was just another reason for Isaac’s disdain for this woman to grow. If anyone was a monster in this family more than Lion, it was her. After all, what kind of Lioness feasts on her own kids, whether or not they are of their own flesh and blood?

Someone who has lost their way. That’s who.

---

Even on the day of the reaping, the learning had never stopped. There were only shorter lessons that day, and sometimes, Isaac did wonder if Isaiah did get tired of hearing himself talk. He would never ask that to his face though, the last thing that he wanted was to have to spare against his own father. He might be older, but that did not mean that he wasn’t nimble enough to still give Isaac a challenge. Sometimes he would get the best of Venerra and it always made him giggle a little bit because that was supposed to be his first choice into the games. Venerra had set the expectations that the rest of the children had to live up too. However, Isaac had a feeling that Ridley was the one to set the actual expectations. Isaiah was just a little too nice and let his kids believe that they would maybe have a chance in the arena. 

They would, but no one really knew what would transpire in there. Because every arena was different and unique, and a part of Isaac wondered if they would ever try to repeat another one of them. They did it in the early games for quite a while. At least, that is what he had read about.  The games had come a long way, and while Isaac was never for them, it was all he knew. He was always told that it was going to be his destiny unless he was not lucky enough to get chosen. Sometimes he hoped that would happen, because he was sure that he was not ready for whatever was to come if he was reaped into the games. He did not feel like he was cut from the cloth of victors like Ridley was. However, he was all about making his family happy, and if that meant at least giving it a go, then he felt there was nothing wrong with that.

When he stepped out of his room, wearing a white pressed button down shirt, he adjusted his bright red tie that he felt accented the shirt well. He made sure to check up on Vice, Aria, and Icarus. Their father had been trying to plan out the next week worth of lessons, which meant that Venerra and Isaac were charged with getting everyone ready to set out. The Le Roux’s always made a statement at the reaping, mostly because the last couple of games there has been one or sometimes even two going into the games. The talk around the district always got back to one of the children. Most people wondered why they have not been able to recreate exactly what Ridley had done in the 83rd, seeing as all of the Le Roux’s so far have been worthy of the title of victor. Isaac had his guesses, and also, he had the facts as presented by his father.

But he was not Emmett Le Roux, the boy whose innocent looks would deceive the cruelest of people. He was not Silk Le Roux, foolishly brave but righteously confident. He was not Julian Le Roux, full of angst and wonder for the world. And he was not Emerson Le Roux, a star expanded and retrograded in moments. He wondered what Ridley would have thought about all of this. He had a feeling that she was actively choosing to avoid the family unless she absolutely needed to participate. She was the lucky one, even Isaac had to admit it. She was able to forcibly put distance, while Isaac and the rest of his family did not have a choice in the matter.

To be a Le Roux is to have a life of service all planned out for you after all. The collective gain of the pride was always at the forefront of their parents mind, which was selfish and fucked up in their own way, because that meant that the children were subjected to their parents hopes and dreams, not their own. If Isaac didn’t have to be a career, he probably would have been a teacher. There had been collections of books in his room, and all of them had been read, at least twice. There had been times when he had been asked to step into someone else’s training in order to give feedback, and he always felt a certain way when he successfully taught someone something. 

Isaac was not born to be a killer, but he was definitely trained to be one, and while he helped straighten Vice’s tie, he thought about how quickly his hands could be around the boys neck instead of the fabric between his fingers. He would never do that, because his siblings were important to him, all his cousins too. They were the reason why he kept doing this, because at the end of the day, they needed someone that was going to be in their corner when their parents decided to turn. He hoped that day would never come, but Isaac could see the pattern, Eurydice being a perfect example when it came to Eden Le Roux. He did not know what Eden was on his mind in this moment, but he straightened out the sash on Aria’s dress before walking up the stairs with Venerra to grab their father and head out the door.

---

The reaping felt claustrophobic as always, but Isaac was used to it at this point. Sometimes he wished he could bring a book with him just to pass the time. He had to admit, the district one reapings always seemed the most lively, but he had a feeling that was because so many kids from the same family were chosen and or volunteered as the years went on. The Le Roux’s made a name for themselves, and to be quite honest, it created an almost expectation. It was like it would not be the hunger games without at least one Le Roux participating. Patterns would always exist and Isaac wondered when they would break that cycle. 

More boys filed into the area where Isaac had been waiting, him choosing to not stand too close to the other parts of his family because he wasn’t sure if he was going to get shoved out of the way this time in order for one of them to take the glory from someone else. It was always a game of cat and mouse with this family and Isaac for one did not care for it. Keeping his distance was the easiest way for him to not get caught in the lion’s den. If he had a book right now he would be turning the page in a very pointed way.

Isaac looked up to see Vito standing not too far from him. Emmett had volunteered for him, and a part of Isaac wondered what would have happened if Vito had went instead. Would have he fared better? Isaac wasn’t sure, but he did know that they hadn’t talked in a while, and maybe after the reaping, this could have been a good chance for them to reconnect at the very least. A light wave was shared between them, and at the very least, it gave Isaac just a little hope that maybe there was a way to salvage whatever was broken between them. Bridges could be fixed, even when they were burned down and rotted over. Isaac’s family was living proof of that. 

The escort made their presence known, the mic tapped on like it was every year. Here in district one, the children were a little more restless and lively. This was a career district after all, chalk full of kids that wanted to go into the games so they could prove something to someone. Isaac was always the silent observer because his personality was the opposite of most. He felt pride, but not the same way some of these other families did. The Fray’s always came to mind, cocky and arrogant and always ready to jump into the fire. The Le Roux’s were no different, but even Isaac knew that the family heads would all say they had a little more class. Isaac didn’t think that was true, but who was he to argue semantics with crazy people. It was easier if he kept his comments to himself.

They called for silence as they reminded the district of the twist this games, that whoever is reaped can pick someone else in their place, regardless of gender. The escort made it very clear that no one is allowed to Volunteer over that decision, which did cause a little bit of outcry, but nothing a couple peacekeepers couldn’t quell with the raising of their guns. The capitol figured the career districts would probably be a little more rowdier because their right to volunteer was taking away this games, but brute force did wonders, and District 1 citizens were known to make logic based decisions. Isaac could only imagine the chaos in District 2. 

The escort moved from the center of the stage and announced that they were going to pick the ladies first. Isaac stood there solemnly, wondering who was going to have the honor of throwing someone else into the fire. The escort quickly chose the name, and it was not one that Isaac had been familiar with. To be quite honest, he didn’t know many of the families that made up one because he was a little too busy dealing with his own. The Le Roux’s were enough for him to handle for one lifetime and the next. Isaac watched as a girl no taller than Aria walked up to the stage, and then a couple minutes later, noise erupted as she picked the person that would take her place. 

Isaac had to admit, this felt different.  He was used to the chaos that the reaping caused as children climbed over each other to prove that they were ready to be District 1’s next champion. This time around, there was nothing but solace faces and humble tones as one tribute had been chosen. The escort looked up and smiled before moving on to the boy’s bowl.

Isaac watched as the girl had sunk back into the ether and now the escort had their hand in the bowl. It was like they were trying to end this a little quicker than usual. Isaac was nervous, he couldn’t lie. His hands felt clammy as he kept rolling them into a balled up fist waiting for a name to be called. There was something diabolical about the time in between each person being chosen for the reaping.  It felt infinite and short all at the same time. Sometimes Isaac wondered if they could just speed up the process by sending people door to door, but then that would take the show out of it all. At the end of the day, this was a reality show for the capitol, and this was the introduction to future children they are going to watch get slaughtered right before them. 

The thought made Isaac’s stomach do a somersault, but he heard the crinkle of the paper and before he could even blink, the escort had announced something. 

Eden Le Roux.

The sea of people had parted and Isaac had been close enough to at least stand at attention while everyone made room for Eden to be plucked from the garden. They wasted no time, and to be quite honest, Isaac felt a little sorry for him. He was just a boy that was thrown into all of this, expectation being placed on him at such a young age after all. Eurydice looks pleased, like she knows something that no one else knew about Eden. They don’t even look alike, that is what Isaac did not understand. The family did not talk about it like they should have, mostly because they always said that it was no one’s business. However, he might share the same name, but even Isaac knew that the blood that ran deep in his veins was not something that could be just assume. A part of him wished someone would have called out Eurydice, but who? She had too much power as is, and she was desperate to come out on top. Everything was a competition to her and if she was not the winner, she would find any way to get the upper hand next time. 

Eden was just an innocent boy in all of this, or at least, that was Isaac’s perception of him. He had made some effort in trying to learn to read with Isaac, and that told him that Eden had more to offer then just being fodder for Eurydice’s gain. The peacekeepers moved him up on the stage and of course, the air was tense. Isaac stood close by, realizing that all the Le Roux’s had made their way out of the woodwork to see what was going on around them.  The twist was still to be enacted, and it was they all knew one of them could have been chosen.

Eden stood there, mouth agape for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts about what was happening. Isaac watched his facial expressions and the way he looked out into the crowd. Isaac’s head turned to notice that he was looking at the family that he was bought into. There was something going on in his mind, but Isaac could not put his finger on it right away, but his body moved. There was something more going on here, and Isaac felt that it was necessary to at least be close to the warzone. 

When the escort asked if Eden was going to pick someone to go in his place, Isaac shook his head. He wanted to scream that Eden wasn’t going to say anything back to them. Language was not the best way to communicate with Eden, Isaac learned that in the library. Hand gestures were probably the most effect, but that did not stop Eden from looking at them and then back to Eurydice. Isaac wondered what Eden was thinking in that moment. Everyone paused for a moment Eden’s hand starting to raise in the direction of Eurydice. Isaac followed and while he could not tell what exactly was going on, he could see the fear in Cathy’s eyes from where he was standing. 

Eurydice stood stoic as she probably expected Eden to say nothing, but when she watched his hand go up, Isaac saw her hand wrap around Cathy specifically. It didn’t take a scholar to know where this was going, but Isaac wasn’t sure if that was going to be the right choice either. Cathy Le Roux did not deserve to be thrown into the middle of whatever drama was brewing between Eurydice and Eden. Standing up to her was not something many did, and if Isaac had to guess, Eden was tired of whatever Eurydice subjected him too while he lived under the Le Roux name. 

Maybe he found a way to live his own life. 

Eden’s hand extended out fully, and there was no denying that he had been pointing at Cathy Le Roux, but Isaac could tell that would have caused seismic calamity between the family.  Isaac had always wondered if he would get the chance to go into the games. He didn’t have much time to crunch his decision, but one thing was very obvious. No one from Isaiah’s house had thrown their hat in the ring. He knew how he felt about his own father, and the fact that Eurydice probably wouldn’t survive losing another one of her actual flesh and blood. He did not want Eden to make a decision that he might have regretted. So he stepped through the crowd and stood in front of Cathy, his back turned to Eden as he gave Eurydice a scowl that could send shivers down anyone’s spine… probably except for Eurydice. 

He shook his head and then looked at his own father and gave him a half hearted smile, knowing that this decision was crass, but it had to happen in order to finally put his teachings to the test. ”Ill do it Eden. Please don’t make it harder than it needs to be.” Isaac stood forward, facing Eden and giving him a light smile before stepping up to let the peacekeepers surround him. He watched as Eden had nodded, taking his leave off of the stage and back into the crowd away from Eurydice. 

As he was walked up the stage, Isaac knew that there was no going back at this point, that his life might as well now be forfeit. There was a chance that he was going to become another statistic for his father to mention to his siblings, and at this point, Isaac could accept that. Was he ready for any of this? No. But even Isaac knew that Rome was not built in a day. This was seventeen years in the making and Isaac Le Roux’s life was now going to be on the line. 

As he got onto the stage, the escort walked up to him and smiled asking for him to introduce himself to the crowd. ”My name is Isaac Le Roux.”

And the rest would be a story waiting to be told.

Isaac Le Roux is chosen for D1M
anything you choose for trib wall is fine lol. Freedie Pearson is the FC

[Deleted]

I was never worried about reapings to begin with. Money can get you whatever you want - including your life. If my name ever got called, all I'd have to do is pay the right people some money. And boom, the footage is edited and they're shipping in some brat from the lower districts to pretend to be from District One. This year I just got to save some money.

BuT yOu'Re A cArEeR!!!

Who fucking cares? Certainly not me. I'm Prada, bitch. I'm not a career because I think it's a cute look to get a spear through the eye - though Emerson Le Roux did look great in red. I'm a career for status. Being a career shows you have money, it shows that you're ready to do what it takes to win. Not win the games necessarily, just win. And I'm a born winner baby.

I'm here to look cute and get famous, and my head being attached to my body is an important part of looking cute. Besides, this will be a great story to tell when I become a tribute stylist one day. The Capitolite who was almost reaped. Though I am bummed about one thing, my ex will get to meet Sampson Crowe before me.

I was only half-paying attention at the reaping. Versace and I were both smart enough to name someone else if we got picked. It's common fucking sense. When I heard my name get called, I felt excitement course through my veins. Revenge. I could have just nominated him from here in the crowd. But where was the fun in that? This was my debut into stardom. I'm so glad I picked these heels.

I felt everyone's eyes on me as I walked towards the stage, waving at people as I did. One day all of Panem's eyes would be watching me, but not yet. They wouldn't see me struggling to survive. They'd see me thriving! Living my best god damn life!

When I got to the front of the stage, I took the microphone without even asking. Move aside, you're old news is Prada is here now sweetie. My voice was sweet, but my words were laced with venom as I spoke, "Oooh Mr. Vanburen~! Yes Parker, you. sweetie. When you're in the Capitol, give Sampson Crowe my regards, will you? Have fun!"

And this kids, this is why you don't step-on Prada Gucci-Vuitton. I don't forget, and I most certainly do not forgive.

[ prada gucci-vuitton nominates parker vanburen (sidney) to represent district one ]

[ table by ryan ]

[ 408 words ]

[gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

who's a heretic now?
am i making sense?

The dead always pays her a visit on this time of the year.

And the Le Roux manor, or at least her share of it, has become the perfect ballroom for them to dance with its shadows and decay. The walls had been bleached of their laughter, and the light lands grimly when it sneaks in through the windows, less a shower of gold and more spears of yellow. Everything has wilted: the red carnations in the vases, the silk flowers by the picture of a bright-eyed girl, the goldenrods by the paintings of two gold-haired, smiling twins. Her house isn’t a home any longer, but a mausoleum signed under her name, decked with grief and ghosts.

There is so much rot, and she feels at home within it.

Her dress for the day is a scarlet gown and glided armor.

It wraps around her torso like a corset forged from gold, and the surface glints sharply when the sun catches it. The lion embossed upon its chest is the centerpiece, though: its jaws agape, opened mid-roar. It looks hungry, ready to kill whoever wrongs it, and that’s how Eurydice knows this is the right attire for the day. The dead may visit her this morning, but they are always followed by the reaper, her oldest enemy.

And as Eurydice dons herself for war, she knows today is the day she faces it head on.

Her children are gone already, some for the reaping and some for eternity. Tatton hasn’t come back in months, Cathy keeps to her room, and Harper is never home. And the twins … the new twins, they are every inch the shadows Eurydice intended them to be. No money wasted there, perhaps, but she doesn’t know how to feel about them, too. Replaced, Lennon had said. The word has hounded after her for months.

Everything is an ache. She is half-mad with grief, half-crazed with anger, and the two comes together to form a woman twisted, a woman destroyed. If Eurydice’s feelings were a burning pyre before, now they exist as a field of ashes, a place where no flower may bloom again. It’s all ashes and dust. Dust and ashes. She is the queen of ruin, and her kingdom mirrors her title.

“M-Miss,” starts her assistant, walking halfway into her room. ”The press is asking for your comments towards Mayor Izar’s announcement again.”

She holds back a scoff. ”I have no comments.” Let that man be punished. The naivety of him to broadcast such a thing … she has been befuddled. Eurydice hates the capitol with every bone in her body, but she knows them. She knows their cruelty, their ruthlessness. Vasco tucks a flower in the barrel of a gun and calls it a peaceful protest, so it will be small wonder to her if he is rewarded by a bullet. Her protest, on the other hand …

Oh, she has her ideas.

“Prepare the car,” she commands.

Let her see this wretched day through first.



Quiet reigns at the reaping field.

Gold garlands rustle gently in a winter breeze and she feels its chill even through her armory cruel and uncaring. Her children are at the other side of the rope fence, cooped together like animals, and Eurydice is impatient. Where is the reaper? Where is the death that comes to her on this particular day every damn year? Come quick; she has laid a trap for it. This is the year she will have her revenge.

The escort climbs to the podium, leaving glittering and a cloying scent of perfume in their wake. She raises her rosewater handkerchief to her nose and bids her time. Pleasantries are exchanged. The escort cracks a joke no one laughs at.

Then it is finally time. Their hand dips in the bowl for a name as Eurydice braces herself, her armor now skin-thin, her world already on the verge of tilting …

And they say a name she does not know, a name she does not care for.

Her breaths leaves her ragged, as if she has run a great distance. Tatton is safe, Cathy is safe. And this means Echo can volunteer now. That is her plan, her scheme, a way for her investments to prove themselves worthy. Eden and Echo must volunteer, the two a twin force of destruction that will win the crown this year. Everything is in place, everything is according to plan, everything,

“Eden Le Roux!”

Her head snaps up.

What?

A shard of unease carves an icy line down her spine.

She draws in a fortifying breath, reminding herself that it does not matter. That it is good Eden is reaped because there will none of that volunteering hassle. She searches the faces and nearly smiles when she finds his ink-black crown of hair. She does not see him as a son yet, but she could learn. She could heal.

After she burns everything down to ashes and rubble, Eurydice would have her peace.

However, something is … something is amiss.

Looking at Eden, there’s a tension to him that makes her heart stutter. And he is looking back at her, his eyes agleam, his jaw set, and an air of anticipation about him. Then it transforms, from air to cloud, from cloud to storm, and suddenly, her instincts are tugging her onto her feet, carrying her down the steps in a trail of red silk, rushing towards the startled crowd as Eden … No.

No, no, “NO!”

“Do not step closer to her,” she snarls through gritted teeth, toppling over a man in front of her as she puts herself behind Cathy.

Her nails in her daughter’s shoulders are claws. She is a lion ready to pounce. “Eden,” her voice escapes in a thread of sound, a warning enough. Not Cathy. Not her youngest, delivered before she and Lennon fell out of love, the last glittering token of their marriage.

Not her. Not my baby girl.

“What do you want?” she asks, her broken tone a stranger to herself. Her armor is crumbling, fracture lines spider-webbed all over it as she stares down at her own undoing.

All her fault. All her fault. All her fault.

And then a person steps between Cathy and Eden. Isaac. His hair is gold, and he has never looked more heroic than in this moment, standing in front of that cursed finger. Eurydice’s breath scrapes her throat raw when it leaves her, but her claws on Cathy’s shoulders do not loosen. She gleans the crowd, and yes, it is as she suspects: the whole district’s eyes are on them. They know her weakness. They will use it against her.

Put on a strong face. She looks down at Cathy. For them. For your children. The peacekeepers come, carting Isaac away, and the whole square doesn’t make a sound. It’s all baited breaths, the steps of her nephew as he marches towards the stage, and in the quiet, she lets her eyes speak to Eden.

Traitor.

“Seize him.”

Her guards are there in clinks of armor and swords. 

Her tone is a sentencing when she speaks next:

“Throw him in the cells.”

who's a heretic, child?
can you make it stick, now?




lyrics: which witch — florence + the machine

[☢️]

↳ CATHY LE ROUX

The same nightmare evolves every night in the lead up to the reaping. Sometimes it is just Tatton. Sometimes it is a cousin. Sometimes it is just Caterina, all by herself on the stage and all that is staring back up at her is a crowd of Le Rouxs raising their champagne glasses. ”Do us proud Cathy!” The last cheer always returns her to reality, back in her room and to her solitude. It is always quiet inside her personal four walls and a door locked shut. She can tune out from the never to be tamed tornado that she calls her family.

It is a tornado that has taken her for a ride all of her life. Constantly spinning and spinning, she has been swallowed up and there will never be a chance for her to slip away. Her mother pushes the motions, there is a reason behind her welcoming Echo and Eden into the house. A new set of twins to fill their beds. Dust can never settle in an empty room in the Le Roux house. Cathy just hopes her own replacement will water her plants. Something must be kept alive in this house. Her own collection of fauna is the lowest maintenance thing under the roof. Their thirsts quenched with just one drop every day.

One drop today. One drop tomorrow. Would they even remember if her name gets called today? It is no doubt to Cathy that their leaves would be left to wither, petals left to wilt. Once flamboyant colors left to fade. Lions are not herbivores. She knows her family’s priorities are somewhere far away, in a blurry distance that she does not quite understand. They are never at peace.

What even is peace in the Le Roux family?

Every family dinner ends in a brawl. Cousin tearing at each other across the table and Cathy does her best to be the silent audience, to pick up the scraps from the carcass at the end of the day. That is where the runt usually is in the hierarchy, and she does not expect anything more. She doesn’t want anything more. None of this glory that everyone around her yearns for. Just a metal watering can and the sun shining through at the perfect hour of the day.

Her golden locks are cut short today, barely reaching her shoulder. Her youthful curls have sprung into her action, for once her hair feels healthy. Even in the winter air, seeing each breath as she huddles with the pride in The Games Square, she feels healthy today. Eerily at ease. This year has a twist and her commitment to silence may well spare her for another twelve months.

Cathy Le Roux. The one they always forget. Seeking fame has its curses. Blending into the shadows has its blessings.

Except the shadows have begun to fade in the Le Roux house, she is becoming exposed.

The reaper’s scythe is pointing straight at her, held by the charity case that she had no say in welcoming into their own home.

Eden’s finger is all that she can stare at. Frozen into place. Lips sealed but eyes pinned open without a single blink.

Emerson cursed her mother while she battled with her fate on the stage.

Silk accepted her fate with a smile on the stage.

Emmett pointed the finger to himself.

What must Cathy Le Roux do but tremble in the grip of her mother? The ever so familiar voice sends a shudder down her back, can her mother finally save a child? It is the only hope that Cathy has left now that the peacekeepers begin to swarm around the pack.

“I’ll do it Eden. Please don’t make it harder than it needs to be.”

Angels exist in the form of her taller, much bigger cousin who not only blocks her sight of Eden but the gates of hell that were penning in her name. ”Isaac, thank you.” Cathy hopes she said it loud enough before the peacekeepers escort him away. She can’t relax though, not while her own mother is beginning to bruise her skin. Her grip is tight, it always has been. What now for the Le Rouxs in this next chapter of the tornado?

At least the pages will keep turning for Cathy Le Roux, but she has had her first taste of them nearly being torn out. She cannot hold her breath again. Cathy is on the front row now, the District’s eyes are finally on her. Soon escaping to her room will not be enough to save Caterina Le Roux.

[sidney]

LET ME BE SLAIN, REDUCED TO NOTHING.
LET ME BE SPLIT APART.

Honestly, this day is so much better high. Seriously, what’s there to worry about? Statistically, your name won’t be called. If you think about it, really, you’re anxious about nothing. At least that’s what Spinner said to me right before he passed me my usual in exchange for the friendly discounted price. I was barely listening, too focused on getting what he had into my system because there was no fucking way I was facing this day stone-cold sober. Despite Paris’ oh, so sweet, sisterly advice. This coming from the overnight pop star icon, who surely didn’t spend last weekend with a rolled up bill and a mirror to her nose. There’s no way she’s in the Capitol, serving as a pretty little doll, and not completely bombed the entire time. I know my sister, better than anyone. At least I did. This last year, to tell you the truth, has been a blur. I remember I started it with a girlfriend. But she wasn’t really a girlfriend after all, which worked to my benefit really. Turned out she liked kissing girls just as much as I did, which, like I said, just worked. To the upper crest of One, we were the it couple. Especially after that tragic death of the Le Roux boy, Paris’ groom to be. Prada and I filled the void, for a time. We had absolutely no connection, but I know she looked good on my arm and my mother had tears in her eyes because of pride for the first time in my life, not because of any pain I’d caused her. It was a high unlike any other, her approval — at least until a month later when I met Cara, and she introduced me to a whole new world. One that operated entirely on morphling, cash, and lust. Looking back, I should have known better. She was literally the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard my mother say those words, but even as I crossed the threshold into the slums of One, over the literal train tracks into the trailer park where Cara lived, I still didn’t believe them. All I wanted was her, and the easy access to the drug of my choice that she provided. But it worked out about as well as you’d expect. I remember waking up in a motel room, high off my ass, arms wrapped around her. I roll over, scratch my head, and walk to the bathroom to piss. It doesn’t take long, and I take a swig of water from the faucet before waddling back to the bed to cuddle up next to Cara. The next thing I remember are sirens. They’re loud and screaming, lights flashing right outside the window. But when I roll over once more, Cara isn’t there. Instead I’m met by Dax, my mother’s associate. A cleaner, really. I know he handled my uncle Priest’s episode back during the 72nd. Something about the love of his life being reaped and immediately killed in the bloodbath. It sent him over the edge. Paris and I heard stories, at least. About how our father found him straddling the edge of Birmingham Bridge, too deep in his cups to keep his mouth shut, which was unacceptable for the Vanburens. So my grandfather, father, and Dax rolled up. Put him into the back of an SUV and drove off into the night. The next time he was spotted, Priest had his now-wife on his arm and a grin on his face. Like nothing ever happened. My mother still won’t tell me the full story. Even to this day, despite how much I’ve offered him, Dax refuses to say as well. As far as I know, Cara vanished off the face of the Earth. A part of me assumes they killed her. They saw her for what she was, a lowlife deadbeat with a needle in her arm, and wrote her off as just a blip of a problem in a promising young boy’s life. It makes me sick if I look at it for too long. That truth, what knowing me did to her, and my own reflection. All things I still refuse to face. But you know what makes it better? The morphling leaves the syringe and enters my veins for what must be the hundredth time, but it still feels so damn good when it does. So close to the first. I’ve had to increase the dosage, don’t get me wrong — tolerance is a bitch — but it’s one of those drugs that keeps on giving, if you know what I mean. I relax back into the seat of my arranged car and exhale slowly, the breath in my lungs feeling like frozen air in the crisp February morning. Like pins and needles in my chest, I inhale immediately after and hold it in for a bit. Waiting, and hoping, and praying that this high will feel like the first high. Because I’m an addict? Perhaps. Because this is the only way I can see Cara anymore? I look to my left, to what is supposed to be the empty seat beside me. But instead my eyes land on a familiar mane of wild chestnut hair, on mesmerizing hazel eyes, on perfect pink lips turned up into a joyous smile. The kind of grin that pulls at the edges of your eyes, you know? Each time I take a dose, I get this exact memory of her. No matter where I am or who I’m with. And it’s always so vivid. Where we’re sitting in my car, her hand on my lap and my hand in her hair. She’s laughing and so am I, not a care in the world except for each other. It’s all I have left, really. But with the morphling, it’s like she’s really here. One more bump before I exit the SUV, before I walk up to the other kids my age and pretend I give a shit about this day and what it means if my name is called. I’m not honored to be here. I’m not excited for the potential opportunity to represent my district. Although, if I really think about it, say they do call my name and luck isn’t on my side in that arena, maybe I’d get to see her again. I let the ideation ruminate in my head for a few moments, part of me utterly flummoxed at such a ridiculous thought. But another, very large part of me almost relieved at the idea. Maybe then I’d finally get some rest, I think to myself quietly, a little sick to my stomach. Probably from the extra hit I took and the breakfast I didn’t eat. But just as I think I’m gonna need to turn away from my buddy Hugo to hurl up everything in my gut, a familiar voice resounds from the crowd. A familiar and very, very upset one, by the sounds of it. Oh, did I never get around to explaining exactly what happened to that girlfriend I had? Yeah, it wasn’t Cara. At least not officially. She wasn’t the type I could exactly take out to dinner in my neighborhood or show off to the guys at the academy. Are you kidding me? No, that’s what Prada was for. But like I said, she liked kissing girls as much as I did. Although, that little known fact was just that. Little known. As in secret. And you know what an addict is terrible at? Keeping quiet, especially when pissed off and/or easily annoyed by the sound of Prada’s voice. I didn’t do it on purpose, don’t mistake. I would never just put someone’s business out there like that, but everyone makes mistakes, okay? It slipped out, and like a landslide, it brought on a world of shit. There’s no amount of apologies that can fix such a thing. And as Prada calls out my name, intending me as her replacement in this year's games, I knew she had finally gotten even. Apparently eye for an eye wasn't good enough. Now its an eye for my life.

[ pope accepts his spot as d1 tribute ]
trib wall pics: x, x 

[Stare]

Ridley knew, of course.

In a way, she'd been subconsciously aware of it for years, but it wasn't until the 90th Games had finally come to the forefront of the world's attention that she fully faced it. They're going to reap a Le Roux. At least one, maybe even two, to compete in their greatest show yet. The Capitol would go wild for it. The family would lift their chins and rise elegantly to the occasion.

And Ridley Le Roux's list of ghosts would grow.

The last time she had been in the Capitol, pulling at the threads of the seams that held the city together, Copernicus had tried to warn her. She was venturing too far, slipping too deep into the darkness, and any mess she created was going to be his to clean up. "If you get caught..."

She hadn't let him finish, cutting him off with a terrifying smile. "What are they going to do? Kill my family?"

Copernicus didn't quite understand. No one did. Ridley had nothing to lose, because the Capitol was going to keep slaughtering lions regardless of how well she behaved.

And so, when reaping day arrived and the inevitable came to pass, Ridley was ready. She could feel the eyes on her, tracking her reaction. How many hits can the Reaper suffer before she breaks? The Capitol watched her through their screens and lenses and smoke and mirrors, waiting. Ridley turned to the nearest camera with an empty expression.

And she winked.

Because what was a Le Roux tribute now if not a gut-wrenching inside joke between Ridley and the city she was determined to someday drown in its own blood? What was the performance before her if not a convoluted tragicomedy that seemed doomed to repeat over and over again? What was any of it if not a reminder that her family would have been better off if she'd died seven years ago? She almost laughed. She almost cried.

If any of you want to try to show me up, please be my guest.

And oh, they were trying. They were trying so hard to beat her, to upstage her, to shove her back into the shadows where she belonged, because even though the rest of the world saw her as a Le Roux victor, they all knew the truth. She was no lion, and they would drain the family tree of its young blood just to prove it.

No wonder they all hated her so much.