roxana and ruth / social

[jackson thomas [d6m] arc]

r. burke

Along with the interviews, one extra thing they've come up with this year is some sort of party for us to attend. What kind of party is for 23 dead people? Is it a funeral where we're going to get to pick out our casket? I wonder if we get to pick the casket anyway. Do they just send us as a body? We haven't had anyone close to us sent back from the Games, so I'm not sure. I just hope it's not some stupid, half-assed apology letter tucked inside the wooden sarcophagus. Regardless, they say that the tributes would be there, which sounds like a nice way to get to know people before I kill them. Like how in the colosseum they typically learn their stories as they fight, maybe it's worth knowing them before.

We were placed in some holding cell before ushered out into the bottom sandpit of the Colosseum like sheep. Somepeople moved, some people just sat there in a pit of panic. I took my time looking around, observing the very place that once called for battle, and now was a place for partying. The Capitol had such weird ways of trying to "treat" us. There was a table of food, which looked arguably more interesting than the rest of the group of tributes, so my feet soon directed their attention to that direction. I got there at the same time as another girl, and I looked up at her as if she walked into a secret board meeting.

Sadly, I'm no board meeting, so I have to be nice. I give a weak smile, knowing our inevitable fates as both dead or one alive and raise the glass of whatever liquid I just poured. "Cheers." I take a sip of the drink before continuing. "Roxana Burke, I'm from District 11. What about you?"

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

ruth baran

A celebration for their pre-deaths. Seemed a bit morbid, but everything about the capitol seemed that way. Like they’re pried all the power out of death and left a veneer which amused capitolites because it couldn’t carry any real weight. Ruth supposed they were devoid of belief that death had consequence for them, or perhaps every sort of real consequence. To believe in nothing meant that it could not matter whether they lived or died. And yet if they – capitolites – died, it would mean the party had ended.

She didn’t bother to become part of the festivities. It had never been her style. She’d much rather have spent her night in a quiet room with a real bed sleeping the hours away than here, arm to arm with people who could never know what sort of life she’d lived, treating her like she was a curiosity. But then she didn’t think she would be sleeping much, anyway.

At least she could stand next to the food table. It reminded her of the sad sort of dances her school would throw, with paper streamers and a table with watered down lemonade and sugared rice cakes for them to eat. She’d stand next to the table with her best friend Evangeline, and they’d sway in time to the music.

When Roxana raised her glass, Ruth turned and offered a stare.

“Cheers, I guess.” Ruth grabbed a glass and raised it in return. “Ruth. District Eight.”

She took a sip and scrunched her nose at the bubbles and sour taste.

“I can’t believe they live like this every day, can you?”