[D7] The Reaping

[aya]

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, "Eryn Sconosciuto" He then reached into the other ball. "Basil Anatola!"

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, February 2nd, 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.

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Eryn Sconosciuto       D7F Tribute Why must it constantly be her appealing figure that welcomes me from unsettled sleep? Rooming with my enemies’ Leader is conflicting enough, but she’s continuously taunting her breathtaking appearance. “Do you ever require privacy?” I ask quite rhetorically, given Rayne clearly thrives off the control she can abstract from people. Somehow I’ve maintained distance from her captivating power, despite the petite size of our quarters. My laying position shifts upon my thin mattress, and my attention is forced to the wall. Today certainly doesn’t hold the minutes to be disorganized by her for a mere second. Time slowly passes, and the night’s shadow shrivels away and down the ancient trustworthy wood steadying the roof that shelters us all. “Are you ever going to leave so I can change alone?” Now that question is requiring a response, though I assume it won’t evoke a preferred one. As expected she’s patiently applying makeup to her, already heart capturing, features. With her focus distracted I clumsily scan the way her entire body forms beyond belief. A displeased huff whispers from my lips to snap myself out of it. “Right. Well at least I can demand the bathroom.” I’m the Leader, not her. And I need to act it. My back arches against the door that closes Rayne off, as if I must physically hold up the separation between us before it collapses. “Eryn.” Someone respectfully greets while passing through the hall. This morning especially they’ll all be gazing to me; I must be the rightful Commander they’re searching for. Automatically I stand tall, much higher then my height provides. “Tell who’s ever in there to get the hell out. I need to get ready.” I demand as I approach the long wait for the bathroom. No conflict welcomes me. Rather my orders are met with ease. “Commander Eryn wants in, get out now!” A larger Foster that I’ve gained a decent acquaintance with bangs against the door, sending the innocent victim scattering out in a towel and bubbles still occupying her hair. Only an appreciative grin and glance is given, before I flourish past and in the privileges my position has gained me. With, or without, my older Sister I will run this place. With, or without, the diversion of Rayne I will take rule. They all gather in front of me prior to our departure to Town Square. Countless of pupils refuse to budge their desperate stares from me, and the throne I’ve seized. This is the first reaping without Edyn in command, with me in her place. The thirst for reassurance drools from each of their tongues. Instantly chatter fades when I stand to address the dysfunctional house of undesired orphans. “In just a couple of hours two of us could be taken by the Capitol.” But my pitch doesn’t cower to my words. “And we no longer have Edyn to tell us it’s all going to be okay.” No, my confidence doesn’t fret the future. Never has. Never will. “Except this year we’re not going to fear the reaping!” It’s then that my tone rises, determined to strike concern from my People’s vocabulary. “Edyn was cautious with the Capitol. But we won’t be! We’re not scared of anything! We’re stronger without her!” If I haven’t illustrated my proper place as Commander yet, now I did. “If the Capitol wishes to use one us, let them try!” Silence echoes for a moment. And unlike ever before in Edyn’s history of being the Head, our brokenly placed-together family ruptures with courageous cheers. With this I guide them through the miles, towards the yearly event. Again my vision discovers the Blonde named Rayne, among the array of seventeen-year-old females. The corners of her lips arch so delicately upward just as they often do. For a newly foster from money, she is unimaginable valor. Oh so gracefully she illuminates between the other house members that cling thickly to my surroundings. What am I to do if one of them were to be called? Claiming bravery must follow with accruable action. And even so, I must still protect the group that I Command. ‘That’s what it’s like to a be good Leader, Eryn.’ Edyn quietly reminds me, from as far off as she may currently be. ‘You must have loyal warriors, and be able to look into their eyes and say ‘go die for me’.’ Except that I’m not the Commander she was. Fake sugar laced with her tactics to achieve success. As despised as it may make me, I will roughly deliver my instructions with shared knowledge that we’ll all risk our lives for each other. A strong Leader models by example. Urgently my sprawled hand gestures up leveled to the side of my face, directing for no spontaneous decisions. “Eryn Sconosciuto,” was just leashed from the Escort’s announcement. There’s absolutely no possibility that I’ll accept another to volunteer. I am the one in charge of defending our house of unwanted youth. Now I must fight to preserve the last Commander in line. But I won’t endanger any housemate to do so. I will strive for any length to be better then Edyn. Visual contact is shared with Edyn’s advisor as I pass down the audience. Concern consumes her expression as she hardly resists stealing my new calling. Thankfully vocals aren’t required to inform her of what I insist though. She’s learned that I’m in control now. Perhaps this is the single aspect Edyn conspired to preserve me from, just as most older sisters probably would, but she’s no longer present. The stage is stepped with great poise. There’s no guarantee that an untrained Second will be forced to invade my shoes over my grave. Just as life is, anything may happen. My assured stance overrides any other energy that attempts to absorb the focal core. Like the forthcoming consistently is, every marker is completely unpredictable. “Bring it, Capitol.” I provoke, finally prepared to battle for the ones that are actually mine. They will now know where a true Commander derives from. {Eryn Sconosciuto Accepts Position of D7F}

[chelsey]

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BASILANATOLA

Zeros tell me my time's up.

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It’s hardly the crack of dawn’s ass when my dad kicks me out of the house, screaming swears into the frosty air and his knuckles still swelling after kissing my cheek. We fought through the night until our yells sounded like silence, and the silence sounded like war drums. Or, maybe an alarm. Or a warning. There’s a storm coming, it seemed to say, while we heaved heavy breaths and tried to unclench our fists and looked anywhere but at each other. And it’s heading your way. These types of storms are commonplace in my household, where there are more days when I’m not home than days when I am. When the days that I am home only remind me of how much I’ve lost, of how little I still have to lose.

So, it’s fine by me when the bastard kicks me out. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. Just another tick to add to the table of times he regrets ever having me, which is fine by me, because I have regrets, too. At least we have that in common.

Mr. Holloway gave me a key to his place when this started happening way too often and he got tired of waking up at 5 A.M. to let my red-faced ass in. “Try to use it sparingly,” he told me knowingly, but sparingly my ass. This is the third time I’ve let myself into his house in the past four days and, if I know anything about my dad, it’s that, at this point, he won’t let me go back home until at least the end of the month.

So, naturally, I crash here. This odd relationship I’ve forged with my 70-something-year-old art patron was never part of the deal, but Holloway’s seen me at my worst and still thinks I’m worth the big bucks he sells my paintings for to his clients. I’ve got half the decency to feel guilty about it, but my hands are trembling with the aching urge to either create or destroy something and I haven’t decided which one I’m gonna go through with, yet. A mirror immediately greets me in the front hall, and I see dark purples and light yellows and faded blues, all colliding against each other like some kinda dying galaxy on my right cheek. Something inside of me swells at the sight, as if still tensing up from the oncoming fist connected to my dad’s outstretched arm. I slam the front door shut, rattling the frame and the overall foundation of the household, and decide that I’m going through with the latter.

I’m snapping paint brushes in my room by the time Mr. Holloway comes down five minutes later, looking tired and worn and old. “I’m paying for those, you know,” he says, and I roll my eyes but drop them altogether, anyway, because he’s right and I’ve probably already wasted enough of his money as is. “What’s happened, now?”

“What always happens,” I say. “He’s a prick. That’s all there is to it.”

Holloway sighs, and that’s when I know I’m in for it. I resist the urge to cover my ears like a five-year-old boy who doesn’t want to hear that it’s time for him to go to bed because 1.) I am not a five-year-old boy and 2.) I figure it’d probably be a little rude to do that after bursting through his front door before the sunlight even came through his bedroom window. “Basil,” he says. “Sons shouldn’t hate their fathers.”

It’s times like these that I miss Roland more than ever. Roland, who hated my father probably more than I did, wouldn’t be patting me on the back right now while opening his mouth to tell me sweet-nothings. Roland had it just as bad as me. He understood pain (probably a lot more than was good for him, if the rope he tied around his neck was any indication) and didn’t bother to search for the silver linings in every black cloud. He understood that there’s not always a silver lining, that black clouds are sometimes just black clouds; that when it rains it doesn’t just pour, it floods; that the dark doesn’t always give way to the light. Being raised in the gutter, you don’t have much of a choice but to understand that.

Holloway doesn’t get that. He thinks that pain leads to art and art leads to peace and peace leads to some kinda utopic crap where no one hates anyone and everyone loves someone. He thinks the only good artists are the ones who’ve had Pain suckerpunch them in the gut and still fought through it, but when I mention Roland - who was a better artist and an even better person than I ever could be - he tells me all the best artists die young. It’s one of those sayings of his that make me wince, like touching a wound that still hasn’t healed.

“And fathers shouldn’t hate their sons,” I reply, looking hard at him. “Doesn’t it work both ways?”

“Of course it does, but, you can’t live your whole life like this. Give him another chance -”

“I’m done with second chances, Holloway. Done!” I erupt, but Mr. Holloway’s expression is unflinching and unashamed. If anything, his eyes just get softer, and that just pisses me off even more. “Even if there were second chances in life, he sure as hell isn’t the one who deserves it.” Life doesn’t give you second chances, because if it did, I wouldn’t be here, and Roland wouldn’t be dead. Holloway think it’s so damn easy to forgive and forget, but does he know how many times I’ve bargained with the Universe to give me my best friend back? Does he know how many times I’ve begged the Universe to at least allow me to forgive him if I couldn’t have him back? Does he know how much it still hurts? Does he know when the hurting ends? I look for answers in Holloway’s eyes, still searching for the same thing I’ve been searching for ever since they buried Roland, but I come up empty-handed.

“It doesn’t matter if he deserves it or not. What matters is what you deserve,” he says without hesitating. “And you deserve a helluva lot better than scrapping fights with your dad everyday, and crawling all the way over here afterwards just to lick your wounds. What kind of life is that, Basil?”

I laugh, a short staccato sound that mingles uneasily in the air with the particles of the words Holloway just said. I don’t look at him, because looking at him means accepting the fact that he’s right. And, a part of me knows that he is, but the rest of me just isn’t ready to stomach that.

“It’s my life, Mr. Holloway.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

He makes me get up and have breakfast in the kitchen, and doesn’t force me to talk about it anymore, which I’m grateful for. Holloway can really push my buttons, but in a good way - in a way that forces me to remember the heartbeat that’s still kicking underneath all of the dust and dirt and grime I’ve piled over it. I guess he’s good at doing that because he’s been doing it for himself for his whole life. He’s got a dead wife, no kids, and a whiny depressed teen that always overstays his welcome. I wonder how he does it, sometimes. I wonder if he ever allows himself to act as tired as he feels. But, then he starts telling me some story about a client who paid nearly a thousand bucks for some grape juice squeezed over a white canvas, and I allow myself to forget about everything else, even if only for a little while. We have coffee and stale bread until the Sun tumbles into the room, like an old friend, and I’m reminded of how it always shines brightest after a storm.

After breakfast, I start to head back to my room, to clean up the splintered mess I made and maybe finish up on a painting I started last week, but Holloway stops me. “No time,” he says. “It’s a big day for you.” “All the more reason to get back at it, though, right?” A smile is tilting my lips. “Who knows if I’ll ever get to hold a brush again?” I laugh when he frowns and tells me not to kid about stuff like that again.

He walks me to the door. I’m a disheveled, broken mess, but talks with Mr. Holloway always make me feel like I’m capable of putting my parts back together again. We face each other, me on his front step, him behind the threshold, and I feel like I should thank him or shake his hand or something because I know I owe it to him. I owe a lot to this guy. Instead, though, the words get clogged in my throat and I end up just looking at him - at his sunken eyes, at his head of white hair, at the lines that a long life of laughing and crying and living have carved into his skin - and I see the person I want to be sixty years from now.

In typical Holloway fashion, he smiles something crooked at me and says what he always says every time we part ways: “I’ll see ya, kid.”

I smile back. “Yeah. See you, Holloway.”

When my name is called through the speakers and I find my way to the top of the stage, I see Holloway’s face in the crowd - a little shocked, a little dumbfounded - and I think that at least my paintings will be worth a little bit more, now. I see my dad, unwittingly standing a few yards away from Holloway, with eyes finally looking directly at me and with fists that’ve finally unclenched. I see my mother and my sister, who look like they’re getting ready to gear up for yet another storm heading our way.

Most of all, I see Roland, the rope around his neck still tightly fastened, the dark purples and light yellows and faded blues blooming like a supernova from his neck to his jaw to his cheeks to his eyes - and his eyes, they’re staring right at me.

Yeah, Holloway. I’ll see ya.

basil accepts

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[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

RAVEN _______ BARKER

Raven Barker had a graveyard all her own, it seemed.

Every time, it happened with two words:

"I volunteer!"
"Rowan Combe!"

Two words, and someone she loved was gone forever. She had always hoped that loving people would stop, that one day she could watch someone she was supposed to care about leave her behind and not give a fuck, but she still woke up in the middle of the night watching Gavin fall as he attempted to run away, or Rowan fall before she even knew to run. She had dreams of Blair's name being called, because, well, Blair mattered to her. And she had dreams that one day, she'd hear those two words: "Blair Tate!" She lived in fear that she would hear her name, or even that she would hear--

"Basil Anatola!"

No?

Her hand instinctively went to Gavin's necklace in it's usual place around her neck, and she squeezed it tight. Basil. Basil. Basil? No! Yes.

She covered her mouth because it couldn't have been true, could it? Basil was the only family she had left in the world. But it was him on the stage, terror-stricken and broken as always, and... "No." She said.

"No, I can't be all alone. I can't."

(Not again.)

She was sure people would come to her and reassure her; they always did. "Maybe he could win," they would say, "Maybe you'll get to see him again."

Two trees were planted in her backyard, right next to each other. And they were there because two people she loved had left, and when they came back, they were dead. Two trees would become three, wouldn't they?

She didn't get to say goodbye to them, though. And she swallowed the tears and pushed her hair back. This time, she would get the chance to say goodbye. Because two trees would become three, and three would eventually become four, and one day she would be the one leaving. But for now, she was still there, and Basil was leaving.

She shoved person after person out of the way on her way to the Justice Building. She would tell him she loved him if it was the last thing she did.

The world came crashing down in two words, yet again.

"I volunteer."

Gavin was dead.

"Rowan Combe!"

Rowan was dead.

"Basil Anatola."

She squeezed her necklace tight and hoped things would be different.

{zoe}

[Arrows]

Rayne Sylic
District Seven
The Darkest Rose

    Light leaps gently over the wooden shades of the window as a gentle morning breeze kisses Rayne's skin like a gentle Mother rising her child from slumber. Across the ever slowly brightening room the lovely figure of Eyrn laid sleeping within her nest of blankets. Although the day that rose with a brimming morning light was eternally fueled by the darkness of death everything seemed so peaceful when Eyrn slept. Even in the midst of slumber and amidst the tides of her dreams Eyrn's breaths rose and fell with the same power she conveyed in the hours she was awake. Every bit of Eyrn's existence made Rayne's body twinge with sparks of desire and shudder with feelings of hunger. The girl who now slept as if she were a peaceful giant had been the single being to have avoided Rayne's daunting seduction. The girl who went by the commanding name of Eyrn Sconosciuto was the single human who's heart Rayne wished to capture instead of break after a single secretive night entranced under the stars. 

    A light sigh lifted from the delicate surface of Rayne's lips as her toes cascaded slowly down the oaken floor. Chills greeted her feet as they ran swiftly through her body as though she had been doused by a cool cup of iced water. As Rayne's weight shifted to the balls of her feet not a single creak announced her movement as he glided gracefully through her shared room. As Rayne's only memory of her past hung in the form of a gorgeous sunset orange gown within the confines of her closet, she couldn't help but lift it from its place for her to wear. Finally with her dress secured Rayne was just about ready to depart for the bathroom just down the hall when another idea pierced her mind. Letting her lips touch Eyrn's forehead lightly she kissed her sleeping roommate's head just before her own body disappeared into the hall. 

    A barely audible cry was released from the bathroom door as Rayne let it shut slowly behind her. From what Rayne could tell the only person to even be stirring this early in the morning appeared to be herself, which in truth she was more than fine with. On the counter adjacent to the shower Rayne let her dress lie waiting for her as her fingers turned the faucet loose so water could spring from its teeth. Thankfully not much time passed before a trail of steam split from the spilling water of the shower and she allowed herself to enter its warm embrace. 

    Elegantly the warm water streamed across Rayne's nearly untouched skin as she felt the old memories she believed were buried come crawling back to her attention. The gentle sound of her Mother's voice as her fingers laced themselves within the blonde locks of Rayne's head. The strong embrace of her Father's arm whenever Rayne faced fears she couldn't handle alone. Life was filled with anything Rayne could ever want and she even thirsted for the things she couldn't have. Now only months after the blood of her parent's had fed the roots of the forest Rayne found herself struggling to return to the wealth she had been forsaken from. She had been branded the daughter of treasonists by the Capitol and shamed to a life of living with nothing more than people she once avoided at any costs. Yet now as she was purged by water seemingly similar to that of a life she had lost only one thing had been granted to her in the largest loss she had ever faced. 

    Eyrn Sconosciuto.

    Just the thought of Eyrn made Rayne's heart beat quicken with the desire to feel Eyrn's body against her own with nothing more than their skin bound together. Eyrn was unlike anything Rayne had ever encountered before and yet she was sure Eyrn was unaware of how deep her affliction for her was. In fact, Rayne hoped that Eyrn didn't truly know how greatly Rayne desired her affection. Rayne had always held herself highly and was viewed upon by her peers as a leader. If word of any weakness towards her were to spread Rayne's reputation would plummet to the earth just as her life had seemingly done. But then again Rayne couldn't help but dream that the others would simply fear her more if she acquired Eyrn, brimming with power of her own, by her side. 

    A gentle thump from the room next door drew Rayne's conflicting thoughts away from her mind as she quickly exited the shower and let a towel remove any drops of water that remained on her skin. From there Rayne swiftly let her body slip into her gown as she gave her reflection one final smirk before she returned to her room down the hall. As Rayne had been hoping she could see Eyrn was clearly awake and as she entered the room she felt her heart begin to race once again. A smile pricked the corners of Rayne's mouth as she turned her back towards Eyrn and looked at herself within yet another mirror. However, just as Rayne's gaze drifted to Eyrn's reflection in the mirror a fully devilish smirk broke through her teeth as a thought danced through her mind. 

    "You know I don't think the under clothes I am wearing are really necessary." Rayne said with a seductive glance towards Eyrn who surely wasn't ready for Rayne after just awakening, yet then again when was anyone ever ready for her? 

    A gentle breeze greeted Rayne's skin as her dress fell to the floor and she removed the final pieces of clothing she was wearing besides her underwear and so on. Although Rayne had all the experience in the world about being exposed she couldn't help but feel slightly more self conscious as the blush swarmed across her roommate's cheeks. Still, Rayne wasn't even close to letting her fun ended as she pulled her gown back onto her body and let a wink find its way towards Eryn's wavering gaze. Finally though it appeared Eyrn had reached her normally point of flee as she asked if Rayne ever intended to let her change in the room alone. With a slight giggle Rayne turned fully towards Eyrn as another smirk eased its way naturally onto her face.

    "That's a silly question, you know that my answer is obviously not. I showed you so you show me. Whether that be now, tonight, this week, next week, or even years away. It will happen and oh I will be waiting." One final laugh left Rayne as Eyrn vanished from their room with a full coat of red shining from her cheeks like blood. Thankfully Rayne didn't have to wait long to see Eyrn again as she walked causally beside her to the District Square. For most of the stroll Rayne remained silent yet just before the two girls were sent to their designated positions Rayne pushed her lips close to Eyrn's ear as she whispered softly.

    "You know you look really good in that outfit. I can't wait to see how much better you look without it." Little did Rayne know her chance to encounter Eyrn later in the night would be a lot more different than she had anticipated. For the moment Eyrn's name had rung out across the District Rayne felt her heart fall to the floor as frost covered it entirely. Distrct Seven hadn't had a victor in years far beyond Rayne's age yet all she could hope was that Eyrn could break that streak, and in a way Rayne believed she could.