96th Reaping [District Twelve]

[dars]

Panem's latest victor, Marik Shadow, stood next to Nico Thorne and Stella Blakesly as the pair listened quietly. Escort Dynamo didn't seem interested in being here any longer than necessary, and quickly moved to begin. "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 children. "First up," the Escort announced, pulling out a slip of paper. He unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Juno Brimstone!" He then reached into the ball again, selecting another name. "Xov Thao!"


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, January 30th, 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.

[xov thao 12b [Bella]]

X O V t h a o

When she was five, Xov almost drowned in the river.

Barefoot on the wet rocks, she still remembered how the earth was swept out from under her, that heavy sensation in the pit of her stomach. The right big toe caught under a rock, broke the nail as she cried out to her mother. Cold water enveloped her body, her ears, her raven hair as the current sucked her under, filling and chilling her nose and throat. She coughed but there was no air, only more water. Something hard met her cranium and made everything go blacker than black.

Her mother was kneeling over her when she awoke, tears betraying her panic. Clutching her head with tiny, quivering hands, Xov coughed up a foul mixture of bile and river water. All her pain and fear came out of her at once—she sobbed so forcefully that her mother could no longer hold in her own sadness. Her voice was a weak gurgling sound.

”N-niam, my head is empty. Please help me. My head is empty.”

Niam threw her head back and wailed at the heavens.

She begged the river for three days and three nights to return her daughter’s soul. Xov’s dented, aching head lay in Niam’s lap as she listened to the rhythmic sound of the rattle accent her mother’s cries, shh ka shh ka shh.

On the third day, she felt something. A ready stillness in her mind like a brand new sheet of paper.

Niam was relieved and gave thanks to the river. Xov learned something about forgiveness then, as she watched her mother’s anger float away like the leaves atop the water. Niam soaked a length of string in the cold water and tied it around Xov’s wrist. “Wear it until Thursday.” The day Xov was born. ”Do not swim in the river again. You were born in the year of the rooster. The rooster cannot swim.”

Xov, with her soul tied back on, never learned how to swim.

As usual, Xov is up early. Last night’s sleep still clings to the corners of her almond-shaped eyes, and she splashes it away with cold water from the basin beside her bed. She wakes Houa, Paj, and Alang with a gentle nudge, leaving her fourth and smallest sibling to enjoy the peaceful dreams of the not-yet-Reaping-aged. “Good morning,” she lies to each of them sweetly.

They devour their breakfast: eggs and crusty bread with goat cheese and Xov’s favorite apple butter jam. It has to be the best thing she’s tasted in a month. She leaves one bite on her plate for good luck, and washes the rest down with warm chamomile tea.

Niam has laid out a new outfit for her on the bed as a surprise, a sky-blue satin dress with narrow straps over the shoulders. ”It’s beautiful,” Xov breathes, embracing her mother. The fabric is so smooth it’s like real silk against her skin. At the other end of the bedroom, she watches her reflection change into someone older, more ladylike, although her bony frame and flat chest still reveal her girlishness.

“You’re beautiful,” Niam corrects her softly. Muttering a blessing under her breath, she fastens something around Xov’s neck with a fine leather cord—it’s a necklace, but the pendant drapes over her back rather than her chest. The piece of metal feels cold where it touches the place between her shoulder blades, but Xov feels comforted by the anchoring weight of it.

”Remember to stand up straight. Don’t be nervous. You will all make it home to us. Our ancestors will keep you safe.”

I hope so, Xov thinks. The earthy smell of burning incense follows them out the door.

Alang, her oldest brother, walks in the front on the forty-minute walk to the Square, almost running. They take their places towards the front of the crowd, because none of them are very tall. It’s the perfect spot to marvel at the bizarre outfit of the district’s escort, and Marik, the newest victor, here in the flesh.

Last time she saw him, he was on TV, teetering on the verge of death. He couldn’t be much older than Alang—maybe eighteen? “There is nowhere unless you’re dead,” Vin had said, before Marik sliced into his arm, sending him into the great hereafter. Seeing someone in person that she only ever met on a screen felt strange, like he had stepped out of one of her dreams.

Houa clasps Xov’s right hand, which is starting to sweat, and sways back and forth, her green tulle skirt swishing like a metronome. Xov watches her older brother carefully; he’s just two Reapings away from escaping the Capitol’s grasp, and she can feel the anxiety oozing from his pores. He opens and closes his fists, bounces his shoe against the pavement. Pinning his sneaker down with her left foot, she smiles up at him, willing her eyes to shine out all her hope for his sake. Making people feel better is something she’s consistently good at.

”Hshh. You have nothing to worry about. The ancestors always liked you best.” He was born on Tuesday, and has never broken a bone. He has always been the lucky one out of the five of them. Alang laughs nervously, dismissively. ”Thanks. I hope you’re right.” His eyes flit sideways towards hers, then back to the stage like he’ll be jinxed if he looks away. ”Good luck.”

The escort’s hand plunges into the glass bowl, and they all hold their breath. Xov closes her eyes, clutches her sister’s hand, calls into the past with her fluttering heart.

”Nunna, Papa. Niam, Txiv. Bring me home safe. Bring Alang home safe. Bring Houa and Paj home safe. Please please please please please.”

“Juno Brimstone!”

The name sounds familiar to Xov, maybe from school. Not any of her siblings, thank heavens.

“Xov Thao!”

Oh.

Paj and Houa both cry out like sirens, their voices shrill and pleading. Xov’s feet are glued to the pavement. She feels like she is in one of those dreams where she needs to move but her limbs are like lead underwater. She looks at Alang, searching his eyes for some comfort, but he has none to offer. Tears trickle down his flushed cheeks, and his hand presses lightly against her back. Go, it says.

”Thursday’s child has far to go,” her brother reminds her. ”Don’t be afraid of your fate. It will come to meet you, always. It knows your scent.”

Xov’s mouth is hanging open; she closes it and swallows hard, but her throat stays dry. She wants to be brave. She wants to say she loves them, but it’s not something they say to each other. It's always best to keep the precious things inside, where bad spirits won’t get jealous.

”I’ll make you proud,” she says instead, her voice cracking as she projects it over the lamentation of her sisters.

And she goes.

{xov accepts. tribwall 1 2 3}

[Python]

j u n o
b r i m s t o n e.

Peaches, Cream, Milk, Cookies, Peanut, Butter, Jelly, Cheddar...

He had a mental checklist to account for each cat. Most of them were strays he picked up in the woods, seeking shelter from the wilds beyond the broken electric fence. He would lure them in with food and makeshift cat-houses in his backyard, then slowly but surely introduce his scent. After a few days of hissing and biting, they would accept his friendship, and some would even call his little cottage a forever home.

After a quick headcount of cats and bowls of food and water, he turned on their favorite night light (an old street light he picked up in the junkyard and fixed up) - and locked up the place. His folks' house was a five-minute bike ride down the dirt trail. Mom would have oatmeal and blueberries waiting for him, his favorite. He always told her it wasn't worth the money spent on expensive fruit, but she never listened. She was hellbent on spoiling him 'just in case.'

He kissed her on the cheek and waved at his father off after the meal. Despite his age and labor-worn body, he was on the roof fixing another leak. Juno concealed his eye-roll as he put on his grey hat. The old man was stubborn, and should've been resting in the rocking chair Juno built for him over the holiday. Couldn't he wait just one more hour? Juno would be back in no time to help. That's what he did - he was the handyman of the neighborhood, and they were lucky enough to still own this plot of land behind the mansions of Twelve. Juno had friends and neighbors rich and poor, and even rich folks wanted to save money and hire one guy instead of seven. That's how he made his living, and how he afforded his own humble abode at the edge of the woods.

The Reaping was a depressing hassle. Every year it stunted his pay for the day, and dampened his mood on account of realizing two kids would continue to die every year until Juno himself retired. It never occurred to him that he was somewhere in those names. He just felt for everyone else - including their newest victor, Marik. The buzz in Twelve was louder, livelier, since he returned. Juno guessed that he was an unhappy man. Alive, but unhappy.

Happiness could always be earned back. That's what Juno believed. Otherwise, why did he come back?

He didn't register fear or shock when his name was called. His head swiveled instead, searching for the next volunteer. It wasn't uncommon for people to volunteer and find a way out of here. Lots of places in Twelve were miserable.

The silence after "Juno Brimstone" was deafening. Nobody wanted to die this year, perhaps. That was good, but not for him.

He held his hands up in harmless defeat when white coats approached him. Now it was too late for a volunteer. Now Juno was supposed to - what? Abandon his home? His life? Confusion took hold as he walked up to the stage. It never occurred to him that any of this could happen to him. The odds were so low, the Games was such a distant prospect. He watched it every year and wrote everything off as unrelated. This didn't happen to normal people, and Juno was perfectly normal.

He wondered if he was insane for thinking about who would take care of his cats.


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accepts. trib wall x x x