65th Reaping [D4]

[Lulu]

The escort of the district stepped out onto the stage, a smile plastered across his face as he stared into the cameras that surrounded it. It was time once again to choose two children to compete in the Hunger Games, and it was his job to do so.

"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, "Sophia Landros!"

[/color] He then reached into the other ball. "Ewe Saw!"

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 15th, 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. [/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Sophia Landros
District Four
Age Twelve

Every year the Landros Home is chaotic on reaping morning, the numbers of children preparing themselves and helping a sibling. It's a large household of six children, the typical mother and father training their District Four youngsters to be the best Career and bring home a victory. So every year anticipation ran through the hallways, maybe that year a Landros child will be reaped, or able to volunteer. That was all of their dreams to bring home the victory, fame, and fortune...All of them for the exception of the youngest Landros baby. Sophia was not gifted with the strength and skills that all of her siblings held, even if she's attempted to train beside them on a daily.

As one can predict this reaping day held depressing energy though they all faked a smile. The baby of the family had reached the reaping age of twelve, and her first year held a quell twist; the tributes will all be between the ages of twelve and fourteen. Only an older brother of fourteen was at risk, but he at least held a better chance. There was no opportunities to protect little Sophia, only to hope that she'd go unnoticed this year.

The family all waited in the kitchen, getting ready and preparing a small breakfast. As soon as Sophia twirled into the room everyone went silent, even though their Mother had warned them to not act any differently. "That dress looks beautiful on you baby girl." Sophia's Mom pulled her youngest into her arms and kissed the curly blonde locks. It was her only child that shared the same blond hair and fare skin, the others being dark haired and quite tan like their dad. "Would you like me to straighten your hair today?" Her Mother offered, it was a rarity but something promised on her first reaping day.

"No I like it curly." Sophia answered with her usually perky voice, a smile plastered to her face as always. It seemed that she was the only one not concerned or effected by today.

Slowly but surely the other siblings began distracting themselves with their tasks; the girls wore simple sundresses while the boys dressed in jeans, button-ups, and ties. Nothing compared to the usual attire when any of them could get reaped. Of course the fourteen year old son was a bit more fancy incase he'd be the lucky first at the opportunity to bring home victory. A simple meal of eggs and toast was served, but too no surprise neither of the two youngest had any appetite. The large bell rang indicating it was time for families to make their way over to the town center.

To no surprise it wasn't only the Landros household that held a sorrow feeling to it; the entire walk and wait felt like a funeral. District Four was famous for holding it's Careers, so usually the reaping was filled with excitement and bets on who'd actually bring this District victory. But no one was thrilled about the quell twist, leaving a sour taste in everyone's mouth. Careers were at their prime between the ages of sixteen to eighteen, and some eighteen yr olds were pissed about their last opportunity being stolen. But the youngsters weren't too happy about taking it either.

Instead of the large seven rows for the different ages, there was only three; twelve, thirteen, and fourteen, all separated by genders as well. Sophia counted the other twelve year old girls, quite a few, and then the thirteen, even more, and lastly the fourteen yr olds girls...all together the chances of her being reaped were slim. She forced her smile to grow a little; it'd bring better luck then a frown. Usually she'd be sitting on her mom's lap during the reaping, now the majority of her siblings sit around with mother and father. The escort enters the stage, this would be the time everyone quiets down, but the entire town already stood silent since the beginning.

"Ladies first," He announces before making his way over to the large glass ball that holds much fewer papers then last year... "Sophia Landros!" All of the air escapes little Sophia as if someone had badly kicked her stomach, and she could hear the identical gasps coming from her family. The knees under her felt wobbly, like she was going to pass out. It didn't help that the other twelve year old girls moved as far away from her as they could, as if Sophia had a deadly contagious virus.

A gulp, then Sophia brought a grin back to her face, not a large one, just enough to illustrate her lack of fear. The common dance in her step didn't join her to the stage, only a smile and a fast beating heart. Had it really been little Sophia, or was she about to wake up from her nightly nightmare? Either way she had to keep it together, she had to stay strong, she had to show a good representation of the Landros Family. A smile was much more useful then a frown.

((OOC: Sophia Landros Accepts))

[shrimp]

[bg=000000][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] Tremble for yourself, my man You know that you have seen this all before Tremble, little lion man, You'll never settle any of your scores Mum once said that I could talk my way out of anything. “Ewe, you’re a talker, a conversationalist, a master of dialogue. You could sell President Snow a toilet plunger if you set your mind to it.” She then sent me to the market to haggle with the merchants for a discount on ropes. But I’m not, not really. I just like talking – it’s fun and it helps you exercise your vocal chords and sometimes you can make friends. Or at least, on those rare occasions you do, (like when it’s late and you can see the tides crashing against the beachfront again and again and again, caught in their endless wax-on-wax-off motion that’s really pretty to watch when the moonlight glistens off the water and blinds you with its brightness) when there’s no one else around to talk to and it would be rude to just be ignored. It’s those days when I feel most at home with the sea-salt breeze whistling past my ears, my trusty sword latching onto paper, creating vanishing points, looking for the horizon line. It was on that day, when the sun finally left its slumber and began to rise above the sea, that I saw the sky turn a magnificent red, the same hue as the pencil gripped between my fingers. It was pretty awesome, to say the least because I’ve never ever seen one before – the sailors in the docks have always told me that a “Red Sky at morning is a warning” or something like that, but how can something so ruby red, so unlike the pearls that dad fishes up from the deep, so powerful, so strong, so bold, be dangerous? I mean yeah it’s the color of blood and of violence and I guess death if you think of blood as death but RED means so much more than that. I guess that’s why I chose to wear the red button down shirt today, 1) because everything else was wrinkled beyond repair and 2) red. Eye and Mum looked at me like I was insane - “superstitions are only silly until they become true. Don’t wear red today, dear. That’s just asking for you to stand out” – and normally I’d follow their rules but today is just different because that red was so pure, so awesome that I have to replicate it somehow and my red pencil broke halfway through the drawing and I haven’t had time to sharpen it yet. “It’s just slips of paper mom, someone wearing red can’t make the escort’s hand gravitate to their name.” Mum looks at me with an exasperated expression on her face. “Fine, but if you get reaped I told you so –“ which she would only say if she herself didn’t believe the superstition because what kind of parent would let their child do something if they knew it was going to severely bite them in the butt later? The sky turned rose quartz, then aquamarine as we wandered to the market with our fresh crabs and shining pearls, exchanging what we could for a steaming loaf of bread – “You can tell when a bread’s fresh by how it sounds, dear,” Mum says as she squeezes ever so slightly, the crackling sending shivers up my spine – and a “mature” slab of steak that smells so good as she roasts it in the oven with salt and pepper and you can smell the juices and I can’t wait to eat this when we get back. Small slivers are cut off for breakfast though, and the four of us nibble on our slices of steak as we walk to the square, the bright banners hanging from the rafters and the music booming from the speakers. It’s almost like a celebration, and I mean I guess to Capitolites it is a celebration because really all they do is bet on tributes and eat until they can’t eat anymore I mean that’s kind of a boring life no offense, but to us it’s not a fiesta. For obvious reasons. Twelve year olds are crying. I can see them from where I’m standing and while the cacophony is deafening to my ears it is a lot more likely that one of them is going to die – I mean the quell this year cut off everyone over the age of 14 so that’s like three-quarters of the normal pool. Now it’s us, the fourteen year olds with tesserae, the poor, the tired, the hungry, who will be swept into the current. And even though we’ve been trained to not fight the tides, my feet want to leave, to scamper across the square and back into the horizon line where the possibilities are limitless and the future is just beyond your view. But I mean, that’s not going to happen and everyone here is in the same figurative boat the literal boats that we are in are scattered across the harbor, docked for the night of mourning and celebration. It’s kind of an oxymoron, or maybe exactly the opposite. And today that mourning must be for me, because that’s my name booming from the loudspeakers, my call to arms, my swan song, my eulogy. Ewe Saw, District 4 Male Tribute of the 65th Hunger Games. Loved and Lost. Definitely Lost. For the first few moments I stand there, shellshocked, unsure of what to do because nobody has prepared you for this moment I don’t know how to deal with this doesn’t this mean that the Capitol’s looking at me now, glaring and judging with their eyes and deciding whether or not I have a chance of returning back to the land of the ruby red skies? Now everything has changed, from the moment that those two syllables rang out in the crowd until my dying breath, everything is no longer mine. Everything is false, everything is fake, everything about me is judged and judged and judged and I can’t handle that; the kids at school already laughed at every word I said – if the entire world were to do the same… I have to be strong then, strong like Eye, who doesn’t care about what anyone thinks, who defends the weak and is too cool for school. I mean I’ve always wanted to be like him; I guess now’s a better time than any. So all I can do is walk up to the stage, my feet tapping on the ground like the beat to a death march. Mum and Dad stare, their expressions unreadable. I can see Eye too, and I hope I can make them all proud. That’s all I’ve wanted to do, and all I can do at this point. Mum once said that I could talk my way out of everything. But she was wrong. There is no way out from the Hunger Games. ewe saw accepts his position as male tribute of District 4

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[м е ш]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 000000; border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 420px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 50px 0px 50px 0px;] tellira west letani I will open my arms So I can embrace the world I might not see it again The c o l o r s and the f u n Days were made for people to have fun, not to sulk all day just because two of us are probably going to die. So what? People die all the time, so the reaping really isn’t that big of a deal. I just don’t get why people stay indoors and be boring today. If they’re going to get reaped, they may as well have as much fun as they can today. Apparently everyone thinks that doing nothing is a great way to spend your maybe-last-day here in District Four. I don’t. I want to have fun today and play with the younger children, but they’re dull today too. Nobody wants to play or enjoy today. Even I know that you’ve got to enjoy each day like it’s your last. And who knows, maybe it is going to be your last. Each year, we have one day that’s this. No fun, no happiness. If a person lives to be seventy, that’s seventy whole days they’ve wasted on reaping day. It’s sickening at how less cheerfulness there is today, like the storm clouds of the games chased them all away. Even the sun rose weak and watery-looking, like it just spilled itself over the horizon and was too lazy to clean itself up. The toast I had this morning was burnt, and my reaping shoes were too big for me to walk in. Why does misfortune always happen today? Today, the only thing that joins me in my fun is the wind. It whistles around me like it’s trying to tell me something. It swirls around my bare arms and then blows itself away. All I long for is some adventure. I want to fly, just like that breeze. Just fly into space and laugh as I do flips in midair, with the wind joining me as we whisk around the trees, rustling leaves with gentle breezes. When the reaping rolls around, I don’t even bother to put on fancy clothes. If it were possible to drown in a sea of people, I'd be dead and floating on the waters by now. Standing on my tiptoes, I peek over the person in front of me’s head and see the escort stepping onto the stage. The following might scare some of us, but it doesn’t even make me flinch. He unfolds a piece of paper and reads the name I don’t recognize. That girl will be going on an adventure, and how I long for that. It’s an adventure with lots of death in it and possibly her own, but isn’t that what makes it more exciting and mystical? I’ve read stories about brave explorers who discovered so many things and became heros. Their stories were remembered and treasured for so many years. This girl’s story will be an adventure that no one will forget, even if it’s the one of the first one dead. And suddenly, I feel like I want to go on her adventure, too. I want a story, a legend of my own. I want to be the main character in her story. So I open my hands and try to grasp what’s supposed to be her story and morph it into mine. “I volunteer!” I yell in a confident voice, and indeed I am. I, Tellira West Letani, am sure of what I want today. The Hunger Games. But I'm too late. The girl had already stepped up to claim her adventure for herself. Even though I've missed my story this year, I don't get emotional and instead brush it off. The gap between now and when my legend really starts is a time for me to have more fun and possibly prepare for this. After all, doesn't the explorer always have some kind of false start to their journey? It can always start next year, and today can be the prologue.

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