[74th] The Reaping - District Three

[gm bourgeois decadence [aya]]

"It is time," he said as he 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!"

He 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," he announced, pulling out a slip of paper. He unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Deja Hatcher!" He then reached into the other ball. "Bolts Spark!"

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, October 4th, 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.

Also, and this is really important: If you have been selected as a tribute and plan on going into the arena, we HIGHLY SUGGEST you take some RP Tutoring lessons ASAP. It doesn't matter what level RPer you are; everyone can use a little help. RPing a tribute is a privilege; if you're not going to put the time and effort into making your posts the best they can be then you can count yourself among the dead.. It's not a requirement, but please please please just consider the lessons. They'll help even the most advanced RPer.

[Chevi]

BOLTS SPARK

DISTRICT THREE

>>"Ladies first."

Not Joule. Not Joule. Not Joule. NOT. JOULE.
Please.

It had been his mantra for the past week. The past year, in fact, since his little sister turned twelve, Reaping age, and lost the shine in her eyes. It was the one thing Bolts could not fix, no matter how he tried; it was like a wire broken somewhere, occasionally sparking a reaction, but not lighting up the room as it used to.

If it was Joseph, he would volunteer. Cal and Dusty were too young yet. But the girls... the girls were on their own, and Joule, his favorite little sister, the youngest one, would be all alone in the arena, and there was nothing he could do about it except stand in the crowd, separated by age and gender, screw his eyes shut, and try to bend the words by sheer force of will.

NOT. JOULE.

>>"Deja Hatcher!"

The breath he had been holding tore up with a sigh. Bolts opened his eyes to see a girl, barely older than Joules, same red hair, walking up to the podium and his heart skipped a beat, only accepting relief once he could see her face.
She was not Joule. With the realization came a flood of guilt. She was not Joule, but she could have been, she looked much like her. She was someone. Someone else's sister.
But not his.

Bolts glanced over the crowd, searching for a glimpse of Joule, wanting to flash her a smile, letting her know that she was okay. She was safe. She had another year.

>>"Bolts Spark!"


There was a terrible silence. For a moment that stretched to eternity, Bolts simply did not register that his name had been called. He froze, between a smile and a stunned expression, trying to puzzle out why he did so, and once he did, everything else ground to a halt as well.

They called his name.

He was not okay. He was not safe. He would not have another year.
As he walked up to the podium, he did not look for Joule in the crowd.

I'm sorry.

BY CHELSEY

Bolts Spark accepts.

[*]

Deja Hatcher
Thirteen | Female | District 3

Darkness invades my room as the light from the moon is hidden behind the clouds blanketing the sky. Threats of a coming storm seem to have its way with the atmosphere around me with that musty odor filling my nose. Although I've been awake since three in the morning, I can not act like I havn't slept. Camille will notice. She's been very kind since taking me and my brother in. Since the others have been reaped in previous games. Everyone in my life has been taken from me and even my own brother blames me for the death of our parents. As the sun begins to lighten the sky, what with the looming storm brings in, I can't help but notice the stillness and quiet that has overcome the group home. Although there are twelve of us living here, it is unusually quiet. No mass chaos of feet pattering down the hallway chasing after someone who has taken something that wasn't theirs. No voices of school work due within the hour strum out from behind my bedroom door. I have evaded capture from my puppetmasters for quite some time and I don't plan on gong back any time soon. However, a dark puppetmaster has been summoned, worse than the one that took me hostage. One that no one can fully escape. The reaping is like the drug that was injected into my skin and forced to flow without stopping; to make me willingly do what I didn't consent to. This entire house will follow a silent calling, drawn out by fear. I am no stranger to fear. While that may be true, I have learned to overcome it - kind of. My tired and numb toes touch the floor and I sit there staring at my feet. I practiced my recital for hours yesterday until my feet gave out and the nail on my left toe broke. The rednessed seeped out from beneath the skin, maring the point shoe that has been stained so many times previous. Does any of that matter? As we are all going to trudge out of this house and herd into town in less than an hour like cattle to a slaughtering? "BREAKFAST!" My caretaker's voice breaks the silence that has befell upon the house. The routine starts like every other day. Her smile intercepts all fights that may be going on between anyone in the house. Her wandering curiosity intercedes all negativity that lingers. "You okay, babygirl?" Camille's sweet tone penetrates the darkest part of my mind and brings my hazel eyes up to meet with her caring ones. I nod to her, without a sound to follow and consume the food that's been placed in front of my body. More words come out, "Don't be worried about today. You have nothing to fear." The sincerity in her voice seems authentic, but I still don't trust her fully. It was her kind that manipulated me. It was those like me that held me against my own will. Even my brother, I can no longer trust. I feel alone in this world. After todays, events, I will feel more alone knowing that two individuals will have fallen upon the horrible drug and be taken away into captivity. There, they will be forced to yeild to their puppetmaster and be made to do things they don't want to do. They will be consumed with an unimaginable dose of hatred. The people of the capitol will be pulling their strings and they will be mere empty caskets of whom they used to be. I refuse to become a puppet again. I stand with the other girls my age in hopes that my life will hold some significance again. After today, I will go back to the ho hum life of an parentless child, sworn off by their last blood relative. Only, that would be for dreamers. I rock back and forth on my toes, drawning pain from my numb toe. Over and over again I repeat the motion until the escort stands on stage and somehow, I feel the pain of the syringe in my arm within moments of their mouth opening. I'm frozen in place. My heart plummets to almost nothing. My breath hitches not allowing anything to escape. My eyes fall to the ground to which I stand. Prism. DJ. Cadman. The names of the ones that I have seen escape this life from the hands of too many puppeteers and now, I add another name to that list. Deja Hatcher. Once again, I have fallen victim to the everlasting drug that I can no longer escape.

Deja accepts her position as D3Female.

[djed carnelian . d8m [kap]]

~Joule Spark~ Don't leave me, dear brother The reaping was the one thing that had surfaced in Joule's mind as a new fear, recently. She had turned twelve not all too long ago, which meant that this reaping was her first. Nerves were surfacing in her mind, making her shake as she stood in the crowds of District Three, waiting for the names to be called. With a large family, there was always the chance that she or one of her siblings would be called, and she wanted to avoid that. The girls would be called first, so Joule simply had to wait and hope that it wasn't she or one of her dear sisters. Waiting impatiently for the name to be chosen and announced, she stood there, fighting back the urge to just run away from the reaping if she were to be chosen. "Deja Hatcher." It wasn't Joule. She was relieved, but still felt bad for whomever that girl was. She'd never met her, so it was a bit reassuring that she may not end up having to lose someone she cared for. There still was a chance, however, that it could be one of her brothers that had to go in, so she waited impatiently as the next name was pulled out. As soon as Joule heard the name escape the lips of the escort, she burst into tears and panic. "Bolts Spark." The name that was called was that of her eldest brother. He was always there for her, protecting her and assuring her that she'd be safe. She always believed him. Although, Bolts never promised that he would be safe. Now, that's what panicked Joule. She may lose her brother to the terrifying death match that is the Hunger Games. Wanting to yell out to him, the young girl knew she shouldn't. She stayed where she was, panicking in her skin. Would her last time seeing her brother be in the Justice Building? Why couldn't someone volunteer for him? Joule noticed that her brother didn't even look at her as he went up to the stage. She wanted to call out to him, and tell him that he couldn't go. If she did that, though, it wouldn't change anything. There was nothing she could do to stop him from going in. The crying girl stayed where she was, waiting for her time to say goodbye. Would it be her last goodbye to Bolts? She didn't want to think that it could be, but she knew that might just be the case, no matter how terrible that was.

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Camille La'Vie Forty-Two | Female | District Three

Fear riddles every ounce of my existence, just as it consistently does on this annual date. Of course it’s been decades since I’ve been plagued by the threat of the Reaping myself, yet it’s exactly that which nauseates my interior. If one of my babies were to be forced into this disgusting Game, there’s absolutely no control I pertain to alter that fate. No amount of jokes will be capable of saving them. Nonetheless today I press for my humor even more so despite, even it may be the single day of the year I fake such.

Months ago I was faced with a similar, heartbreaking, sensation. I was performing one of my numerous checks of the night, to discover an empty bed where a Redhead should have been snoozing peacefully. Had she been captured as she was before being sent to this family? Frantically I searched through the House, despising the size for the first time since I purchased it. It felt as though I was going to collapse right there. And then moist doo of early grass scratched across my bare feet, as a relieving sigh echoed from my lips. Eagerly I laid closely beside Deja across the field, and no words had to be shared to state that things were finally looking up as our eyes were upon the stars.

Life never delivers a perfect scenario. But eventually, a light of hope always rays upon our Foster home. Yet consistently nightmares terrorize my slumber still, images of things crumbling once again. Prism was taken from me, the young boy who first shined upon the dark trauma that used to consume my daily routine. That can’t occur again. I will not lose another.

The replay of Prism’s death was not a preferred brutal awakening to begin today. But thankfully the alluring beauty of Scarlet vaguely makes up for such. “Morning sunshine.” I greet with a peck of a kiss, and waste no time to retrieve from the comfort of our bed. Distraction is key, and things must get done. “I better go start breakfast.” My task is announced, as though she’s not already aware of my routine.

“French toast?” She questions quite rhetorically.

Like usual she enfolds a natural grin across my cheeks, even during the dimmest of events. “It fixes everything.” I reply, my fondness of her glowing from my tone. It’s challenging to even separate from her to the next room, but I must. Soft steps are taken as to hopefully allow the Youngsters to sleep in. Though most likely, sleep has scarcely graced them as it has with me. It must be difficult for anyone to rest the night before what’s about to occur.

“Breakfast!” I call out for the family after the thick aroma of food has prepared a pleasant welcoming for them. Bags underneath eyes greet me from nearly all of them, but I attempt to remain a smile anyways. If worry illustrated from me as well, there’s no explaining the fret that may be evoked in response.

“You okay, Babygirl?” Concern for my Redhead practically breaks my façade, though I somehow maintain. It appears that she didn’t even get a minute of shuteye. Just when things were finally getting better for us all, the Capitol must ruin it. “Sweetie… Don’t be worried about today. You have nothing to fear.” I attempt to sooth, while placing a hefty meal in front of her. “This District’s overpopulated. And I made sure you didn’t have any Tesserae. It’s all going to be okay.” Will it be though? I must keep it together for them all.

Food is shoveled, and teeth chew. This identical picture will be repainted tonight. Each of my Littles will be exactly there in their chairs, and I will find I fretted for nothing once again. “Alright everyone…it’s time to go.” But still my voice drops significantly with our need to depart.

My hand clenches Scarlet’s as we succumb within the audience section, where the too young and too old helplessly wait for the results. Two must be taken. And selfishly, I can solely plead that it’s none of my own that are captured. It feels as though at any moment I may vomit my actual heart, or shrivel from high blood pressure. Stress is an occurrence that grays my hair daily, while this is still something I’m unable to handle. And then…it happens.

“Deja Hatcher.”

No. For the second time in my life I sense my heart plummeting beyond control. No. Scarlet’s nails dig into my fingers. No. Every bone within my body rattles in desperation. No. The air and life escapes my interior. No. This can’t be happening. “No!” My voice makes a break, along with my body. “You can’t! No!” I’m forcing myself through the compacted crowd, not allowing any to hold me back. Not even Scarlet’s able to refrain me.

“I volunteer!” I attempt to no satisfaction. Still I’m pressing closer, determined.

“You’re too old.” Someone scuffles hysterically from somewhere, but that doesn’t matter. Fuck you! I want to scream, despite the fact I’ve never cursed a day in my life.

Violently my hands carve a path to the front of the audience. “You can’t take her!” I demand in ultimate vial. “No!” I will not lose another one of my babies. The first Peacekeeper I encounter I’m prepared to claw. But a chance is not given. Immediately he’s aware of my degree, and is unwilling to allow it. Before I’m even capable of screeching another word, his baton is at the ready. And without warning the side of my head is engraved with his weapon, leaving me to enfold to the unforgiving floor and fade into the misery of the darkness.

Lovely Table By the Breathtaking Ems <3

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