65th Reaping [D5]

[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, "Cassie Radke!"

[/color] He then reached into the other ball. "Shadow Bison!"

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]

[Deleted]

Cassie Radke

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Ask me if I care. Ask me if I care about the changing leaves falling from the trees or the fact that I could be sent to my imminent death. Because I don’t, actually, I couldn’t care less. I don’t care much about anything anymore, except for the obvious exceptions. Well, more like exception, for the only thing I cared about anymore was my brother. That’s pretty corny I understand, but what else is there worth caring about anymore? No friends, no future (I mean I don’t have anything going for me anyways). So, at least, if I die—well actually when I die, I’m going out with a bang. That’s respectable right? Dying for the cause, dying for someone else so that they might live?

But time stands still when you’re petrified.

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“Cassie Radke.” I laughed at the thought; I mean it couldn’t be me. It couldn’t be the girl no one paid attention to—or liked for that matter. It didn’t seem real, for it felt like maybe if I turned over or shook myself I would wake back up in my bed, having kicked all the covers off from the nightmare I was now living.

“You’re joking right?” I looked over at my brother on the other side, letting my fear fight through the flood of tension surrounding me on every side. But he wasn’t even looking over at me; his eyes had traveled to the floor, as he obviously tried to hide his hurt. He was helpless, and I think that’s what scared me the most. We were codependent, almost to an unhealthy level.

I’m leaving him alone. I’m abandoning him. But what else can I do?

I had to do my job, no matter the consequence. That’s pretty much the bottom for everyone right? The whole you’re here for a purpose and the crap that goes along with it? I guess maybe that is the purpose for twenty-four teenagers each year. Quite the petty purpose if I say so myself, but who am I to say considering that seems to be my fate as well. Takes one to know one I suppose.[/color]

However, time was running out, and standing here looking like a deer in the headlights wasn’t going to do me any good. I looked over at Cole one last time, mentally begging him to give me one last look of care, of promise that he would take care of himself. Maybe it was good, maybe it just made it worse, but his eyes met mine, possibly for the last time, and he gave me that little nod, the slightest affirmation that he would be alright and that he would take care of himself. I think it helped; I’m not quite sure, but eventually my feet unstuck from the ground I was planted upon and made their way slowly towards the towering stage that, at the time, seemed so far away.

Just one more step. That’s it; carry on.

Each step was like thunder, and everywhere I turned, the glares struck me like lightning. It’s now or never right? Wait no, that’s not what I want to be remembered by. In fact, I don’t know if I want to be remembered at all. The people that I want to remember me, all one of them, will remember me. This entirety of public that will be watching doesn’t need to remember me. I don’t want them to. I don’t want people to think of me as one of the unfortunates who lost their lives in a fight to the death; I want to be forgotten. I guess I wouldn’t mind be remembered generally, you know she was[/color] “one of them,” “one of many.” That wouldn’t be so bad.

What’s the point in remembering someone? We all fade eventually. We all move on.

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The steps seemed taller, as I know that I tripped over one for sure, maybe more. I’m not exactly sure what happened, as time is standing still at one moment and flying past another. I do, however, remember the flare of the lights and the noise of the whole affair pounding in my eardrums. Even though things were quite hectic, I felt quite calm. I was going in, not my brother, and that made everything okay. I gave a nod, not quite sure whether I was trying to reassure him, or accept my spot, but either way, the ride was starting.

{OOC: Cassie Radke accepts her spot as District 5 female}

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[semper]

s h a d o w b i s o n

It hardly felt like a year had passed before you found yourself trudging alongside your father, tightly holding onto his hand so as to not lose him due to the silent crowd. You hid behind him (all the while avoiding his shadow, of course) and let him break the tidewaters to give you calm shallow water to wade through in his wake. You swallowed hard against the growing anxiety and clutched his hand tighter as you neared the age groups.

He stopped and turned to you, squatting down to your level and giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry, alright?” His tone was gruff but you knew he meant nothing but kindness. He loved you and you were certain of that. “It’ll only be about ten minutes and then I’ll come get you and we’ll go have lunch.” A frown drew across his face as the tears began to well in your eyes. “Hey, hey—“ he cooed, using his free hand to caress your face and wipe away the tears “—remember that story I told you? About the knight you were named after?” You hesitated before nodding, lip quivering with the threat of oncoming sobs. “Good. Everything’ll be okay, just remember that. The good knight always wins and gets to go home.” The salty droplets streamed down from your glistening eyes and you let go of his hand to throw your arms around his neck in a tight hug. Your father returned it without any hesitation. “I’ll make your favorite lunch. Buttered toast and cheese. See you in a little bit, Shadow.”

You didn’t want to let go of him but the throng of people coming in nearly forced you to, so you watched with teary eyes as he retreated back to the other fretting parents and older siblings. A rather gentle shove from behind nudged you toward your age pen so you carefully stepped your way over shadows and settled yourself as best you could on the outskirts of the youngest group. Fighting back the fear was impossible, so you worked your little hands by clenching and unclenching them, putting one hand on the rope and giving yourself something to be grounded to.

The vast majority of the mayor’s speech did not make its way into your head, much like how it happened last year. You stared at the ground and quietly whimpered, recalling your father’s words of encouragement. You truly did want to believe that you were, in fact, a knight, but you knew you could never take such a (even if only somewhat) confident approach to the games like the male tribute had last year. Andy, that’s what his friends called him. You weren’t tall like him, or agile like him, and you certainly weren’t as strong as him – perhaps he knew, as he walked up the steps to the stage, that he wouldn’t be coming home. That’s what bravery is, isn’t it? He accepted his fate and did the absolute best he could so surely you could do that too, right? Unfortunately he was easily forgotten – but you would be too – and so no one really mourned him when he finally died. Even the 64th victor hardly had anything to say about him other than he lasted longer than anticipated.

No one would mourn you but your father.

That thought alone made you realize how small and weak you really were: you cracked under the slightest pressure and any fearful situation made you cry, much like the one you were in for the moment. You remembered, however, a short time in the games where Andy completely broke down; he cried and wept, vulnerability all about him, telling everything that ailed him to his companion from Six. It was okay to cry – even those who have killed people shed tears. Would you soon be one of them?

The fear that struck you when your name was called was unimaginable. You stood absolutely petrified, a new wave of warm, salty tears running down your face, until another shove from behind propelled you forward. Hastily you moved your feet in order to avoid stepping on the shadows, reaching the middle aisle where no one but you stood. Vividly you remembered how the older ginger tribute walked down the stretch of dirt to the stage and so you tried to mimic it by standing up straight, only to have the crushing fear push you back down.

(“Everything’ll be okay, just remember that.”)

Your hands balled into little trembling fists at your side and you took a step toward the stage.

(“The good knight always wins and gets to go home.”)

That’s what you were, right? A good knight – just like Andy – but a smaller and frailer version. The tears fell relentlessly from your eyes but you continued down the path, step after step, drawing closer and closer to the stage.

(Don’t turn back, not now.)

Just like the ginger knight you travelled slowly up the stairs and shook the mayor’s hand, but you refused to look out at the crowd.

(“Everything’ll be okay, just remember that. I’ll make your favorite lunch. Buttered toast and cheese. See you in a little bit, Shadow.”)





((Shadow accepts his position as d5m))

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