The Reaping District 3

[Tori]

Wonda carried herself proudly as she step onto the stage. This was her moment to shine. She would pull the names of two tributes and they would make her shine. She would make them shine.

"Hello. May the odds, be ever in your favour." I pursed her lips and shot her hand into the girl's bowl. "Do we have a Alilia Goodnite?" She looked around until she spoted the girl.

"And now boys." She walked briskly over to the boy's bowl and dug around for a few seconds before her hand resurfaced. "A Jeremy Houser?"

((You may RP your character seeing the reaping/being picked. RPing will continue for 3 days, and then we will move on.))

[Micra]

It was the same every year, the reaping. Micra really tried to appear as if didn't care much about it. "It's all staged," she whispered to herself. It was a lie, she knew. The Capitol that let children in the districts starve to death and live in poverty would have no qualms about throwing those same children into an arena to kill each other. But that wouldn't stop her from pretending. As she knew well from her job, fantasy was better than reality.

If you like that sort of thing, commented the voice in her head. You realize that hunger games video game you tested was real enough to give you nightmares. Micra shook it off. She needed to focus on the ongoing events. If she were called, she would need to look strong. Like you could pull that off, Platel.

Without warning, the district escort's hand plunged for the girl's reaping ball. Ailia Goodnite was called. Micra recognized the name as one of her classmates. The girl emerged from the roped off 15 year-old section and many of the crowd gasped. Ailia was small. Like, really small. She looked maybe ten, eleven at most. As usual from district three, nobody volunteered. Maybe she would be clever enough to outsmart them, or quick enough to outrun the competition.

The boy's name was next. Not Shale, she thought. Please not him!. No, it was Jeremy Houser. He was a boy a few years older than herself. He was a bit of a loner, though she had seen him running around the edge of the district with a group of tightly knit kids. Like some kind of gang. When Jeremy mounted the stage, it was obvious who had the better chance of survival. Jeremy was probably average height, but next to poor Ailia, he was a giant. As the reaping concluded, Micra let a sigh of relief escape her. Only one thought could occupy her mind. She was safe. For now.

[ja'mie]

A i l i a

The defiant one.

"It's Ailia."

The small girl's voice wafted out from behind a rather tall group of chattering teens stationed near the back of the crowd. Stepping out onto the cleared walkway leading to the stage, Ailia's blue gaze was hardened.

This had not been expected.

The Hunger Games... a special event held every year. Famous for killing 23 innocent children, two from each district. She had watched others like her walk up this path and never return. They'd die in the games, bitten to pieces or starved. They're families would shut their doors and cover their windows. The District would move on.

And so would she. Sure, she would watch the games, it was mandatory, but she wouldn't pay attention. What did it matter to her? The tributes would die, and that would be that. She hardly called that entertainment.

But what if she were the one doing the killing? Her life challeneged every second? If she was an actual participant?

Heading towards the stage with a muddied mind, Ailia only paused breifly to pull up her oversized cream-colored dress. It had been her aunt's reaping dress, it's cloth made of a silky flowing material. A maroon sash cinched the waist, complimenting the matching hair bow that held her blonde curls into a tight side-pony tail. She had obviously not dressed herself.

After the dress was safely secured, Ailia continued on her way, stepping up the last few stairs leading to the platform and taking her place beside the Capitolite woman.

She stared out over the crowd. She could see the faces of those who were relieved. She could see one's full of post-shock. Most were blank, emotionless. Out of the corner of her eye, Ailie made out the small group of wealthier women. They seemed to be the only ones who recognized her. She had never actually met them, of course, but her mother had always been the social butterfly of the household. Her mother stood out side of the group, her hand clutched into her husband's palm. Her face was buried in her other hand, her shoulders trembling slightly.

She wasn't crying because she was loosig Ailia. She was crying because she was loosing a daughter she could dress up and take out for a walk.

Her father was ever the strong one, his face twisted into a grimace. He was just there by mandatory law, just grimacing as a mandatory reaction. Her father had never been emotional in anyway. She had inherited that trait, as well.

For a moment, Ailia's gaze wavered on the couple, the ones who had never truely been guardians. Rather, they had been aquaintances. But she was done with aquaintances.

A smirk played across her lips lightly. She was a tribute now. This was not the end; this was a grande beginning.

And she intended to enjoy it.

[rizzo13]

Jason jumped from his bed and threw on a suit. Oh crap! I'm gonna be late! he thought, the Peacekeepers will kill me!

Jason ran in to the den area and yelled, “Mom! We're gonna be late for The Reaping!”

“What?” His mother replied angrily.

Jason could hear the shuffling of feet as his mother hurried to get ready. He could hear her muttering to herself. As she came out of her room, clothed in a long white dress, Jason was already at the door, ready to go. It was the Reaping, and Jeremy definitely not looking forward to it, but if they did not arrive on time there was no telling what the Peacekeepers would do to them.

When Jeremy and his mother arrived in the district square, a woman had already drawn the name of a girl.

The woman reached her hand into the bowl for the boys and Jeremy bit his lip.

Please don't be me. Please don't be me...

The woman seemed to take an eternity to finally draw out a name and call it out to the crowd.

“Jeremy Houser!”

Jeremy could feel his legs beginning to give way. He could hear his mother's cries and wails. Jason slowly made his way to the stage. He took his time on his walk, knowing this may be the last time he was ever in District 3... alive. He could feel the eyes of his friends on him as he made his journey.

Once Jeremy finally made it to the stage he tried to stand tall, to appear strong and capable of winning even though all hope was lost. He was going to die in the Hunger Games and everyone standing in front of him knew it. He was never going to be able to walk along with his friends or work in the factories or anything. There was no point in arguing any more, Jeremy Houser was dead.

As Jeremy stood in front of the faces of all his friends and family and the workers he had grown close to he began to feel sorry for himself. He should be feeling sorry for the girl standing next to him but he couldnt help but think to himself that he shouldn't have been picked. As an act of kindness Jeremy reached over and patted the girl on the back and said, "I won't let anything happen to you out there." Jeremy knew it was a stupid thing to say but he wanted her to stay alive. She had so much life ahead of her and she deserved to live it. Jeremy was not going to live. Ailia was.

[/size]

[Micra]

A boy and his family walked leisurely to the square. They were one of many in District 3, come to the mandatory reaping. Cristelle took her place with the twelves- it would be her first reaping. She was nervous as hell. The rest, well they weren't old enough yet. Shale, the boy, was supposed to be with the fourteen year olds. Instead, he wormed is way into the section of fifteen year olds to stand beside two of his best friends, Micra and Tyne.

"Ready?" he asked them, not expecting a response. Tyne had his younger brother, a thirteen, in this year too. Micra's brother Calco was facing his second to last year, at seventeen. He had taken tesserae a few times, and his odds were worse than any of ours.

Shale himself was ready for the reaping to begin, though he knew it was more than twenty minutes now. Only one worry consumed Shale. Micra. Cristelle, with only one slip, was safe as could be. But Micra had needed the occasional tesserae, like her brother. He worried for both of them. But not too much.

Shale loved reaping day. Yet, at the same time, he hated it. He had made bets on an eighteen year old boy with 46 entries, and, on a whim, the small girl Micra sometimes hung out with. Ailia, her name was. They told him betting was wrong. That it was immoral to bet on a human life. Losing bets after the winnings were awarded went over to the sponsor pool anyway, so why not go ahead and have a bit of fun however he could? Now, though, he found himself standing next to Ailia, and hoped she wasn't picked. He had never realized how fragile she looked. The woman moved toward the ball. Not Micra Platel. Just don't pick her. Shale hoped. Or Cristelle, he added.

"Do we have a Ailia Goodnite?" The crowd, including Micra gasped. Shale gave a small shake of the head. Pity, that. He was going to be sure to sponsor her with the money she just won for him.

"And now boys. A Jeremy Houser?" Shale sized him up as he reached the stage. Standing next to Ailia, he looked strong and formidable, but get him alone, and he was just an average 17 year old from district 3. He was tall enough, and looked fit though. Maybe the district would finally have a winner in him. Shale would be sponsoring Ailia, yes, but betting on Jeremy. That is, unless another tribute impressed him more. They probably would. He saw Jeremy lean over and offer words of comfort to the girl.

Or maybe, thought Shale Jeremy is the one to be impressed by. Because it was obvious now. Betting on Jeremy Houser would not be worth it. Even from this distance Shale could see it. Ailia's life meant more to the boy's than his own.

[ja'mie]

A i l i a

The defiant one.

Her eyes were focused on nothing in paticular, her mind reeling with ideas as she stood in the sullen silence of the reaping's end. Scenarios played out behind her eyes with surreal clearity, applying themselves to different territories, with different people, and different objects. There were so many combinations with so many results.

It was all just a puzzle really, or an equation... a really dangerous, really long puzzle/equation. She had dealt with other puzzle-equations before. That wasn't the problem. The problem was, she was not controlling the pieces; she was one of them.

So what do you do when you do not like an equation? You switch it up and manipulate it into something different.

Speaking of equations...

Lifting her head to gaze at the crowd once again, Ailie wondered what would happen to the bets she had made on the the children who were to be reaped. She had set her money on the boy with the 46 entries (It was only logical), and Anberlin Jacks... She had lost, obviously. Both bets were were way off. But she supposed her money would go to the sponsor pool. It would have been nice to have an extra buck... but it didn't matter now...

Atleast someone else had had some luck. She had spotted a regular gamble-man at the betting house earlier, someone she knew only by appearance but had never actually met in person. Shale Manson. She had overheard him betting on her and the same 46-entry-boy she had placed a bet on. She hadn't commented at the time because she knew he would be wrong. The odds of her getting chosen were so slim. Obviously, she was wrong. He knew what he was doing.

She tried to scout him out suddenly, her eyes scanning the crowds. To congratulate him somehow on his decision. He deserved it. He was an exceptional gambler... she could have learned a lot from him, playing the betting game all those years.

She knew it wasn't the time to get distracted right now, but what else was she going to do? The reaping was over, and she had been chosen. This could be her last time in District Three. Standing on her tiptoes to get a better look, she finally spotted him...

Suddenly, she was distracted from her thoughts by a pat on the back. Turning to her left, Ailia found the source. A boy, maybe a bit older then she, was standing next to her. Ah, so he was her fellow District Three tribute.

He seemed pretty sturdy, with good height and good muscle. Brown hair, blue eyes. She didn't take a complete dislike to him, but that could change throughout the train ride to the capitol... She turned away with disinterest. The time would come to meet him, but later.

"I won't let anything happen to you out there." The words were soft, and Ailie didn't really take notice to them until after a few moments. Finally, she made sense of what the boy had just said.

Her mouth opened slightly, as if she were going to reply, her eyes curious as she spun back around to face him.

A moment to think. A moment to analyze.

Pursing her lips, Ailia turned back to look straight ahead once more. The time to meet this boy would be later. And that was that. She refused to let cameras catch anything but her strategy for the games. Talking was for private moments.

Glancing back at the crowd, where Shale still stood, Ailia turned away from that too. Ah well. She could only focus on one thing at a time. And right now, that was making it through training.