[D10] 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, "Ellerie Tibideaux!" He then reached into the other ball. "Calder Hughes!"

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.

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

DANE _______ ALLORE

Eyes opened, and closed once more: one blue, one brown. When they were opened, he saw Paige smiling in front of him, and she was beautiful. She was older now than when they had met, but that didn't change things. She was still Paige Lowe: the Victor's sister, the mystery, the girl that he still was not sure about.

When his eyes closed, though, he did not see her.

He saw him.

Dark hair, curious eyes, and a mouth that never said what was on the tip of his tongue. He clenched his jaw. He didn't want to open his eyes, because things in his imagination were safe, and unknown, and perfectly how he wanted them.

No, not wanted. Not exactly. He never wanted to feel the way he did, but he decided it was okay. He accepted it, quietly and all alone. Because it didn't make a difference:

Paige was who he was supposed to love.

Andy was who he loved anyway.

He walked between them and made it a point to cross his arms over his chest so that neither hand would brush the person standing next to him. Andy was tall, but not quite as tall as he was. Paige was short, reaching the bottom of his chest. They were different in every way, and Dane had made his choice. The right choice.

Was it the right choice?

He closed his eyes and opened them again: one blue, one brown.

He didn't know.


This would be his last reaping. It seemed serendipitous and downright cheesy, but he felt a sort of pressure rise from his chest, even as the escort walked out onto the stage, tapping the microphone for good measure, he knew it wasn't him. Alida and Andy made it so that he never had to buy tessera and, other than Paige, he hadn't ever known anyone who was reaped on a personal level, and Saffron won the games.

He looked at her then, standing on the edge of the stage next to Mace and his arsenal of children. She looked like an older version of Paige. Not much older: still beautiful, still young, still strong. Then his gaze fell to Paige standing next to him, staring forward.

"Hey," Andy said from his other side. Dane held up a finger and shushed him as the escort began to speak.

"Dane." he insisted. "Andy."

"It is time," said the escort, "To once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping!"

Even though he knew it wasn't him, there was a small swell in his chest. He guessed it would be like that regardless: no matter a person's age or gender or social class. Worry would always be there in the moments before.

But the name was not his, and it was not Paige's, and it couldn't be Andy's or Alida's, and everything was okay. He smiled. Things were fine then, from then on out.

"I'm in love with you." whispered Andy, and for a moment Dane didn't understand. He looked back at Andy, opened and closed his eyes: one brown, one blue.

"I volunteer." he said, because his heart wouldn't beat and he had to get away. He wasn't supposed to say that. He was supposed to not feel the same way, because Paige was who Dane was supposed to fucking love. With time whatever it was he felt for Andy would disappear, and things were supposed to work out.

Things were supposed to work out, and now they were completely ruined, and he didn't know if he would ever have the chance to fix them again.

He opened and closed his eyes: one blue, one brown.

But this time, he didn't see Paige or Andy. He saw himself, lying in the ground.

Dead.

{zoe}

ooc: dane allore takes the place of calder hughes!

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

The first thing they gave me was her diary.

And at first, I promised myself I wouldn't open it. 

It felt wrong to read the the thoughts, the feelings and emotions of a dead girl. Writings of immense pain and of birthday parties and school—my mind was at war with itself about whether or not to pull open the leather cover and read it.

A fighting head, bridges burned between sense and what's right—I read it.

The first page was not anything special. It was her first entry from her twelve year old self. Her language was not great and neither was her handwriting but the words she wrote were so expressive. Beautiful and telling, I could already begin to understand why and how she managed to encase herself in an aura of mystery and retain it until her death.

Leather bound with crusty old beige pages, white pages, nice pages, thin pages, thin handwriting, strange code, emptiness, dog-eared pages, drawings, sketches, art, masterpieces, notes in margins and dates as a header—each page told it's own story of rise and fall, remnants of secrecy dying with every sentence read.

It was my own secret that I was reading it. I'd lie awake and hide it underneath my covers and tear it open, my eyes focussed on ink after ink, reading it until the day killed the night. I know that if my mother found out what I was doing she'd be more than upset and then would want to read it herself.

And page 16 explicitly says—("Mother shall never read this. Ever.")

The little book brought an enlightening each time I delved between the pages. I did not know my sister was struggling under illusions, I did not know that this was her escape. I had not swallowed the key to my mysterious sister, the whereabouts of said key was just her best kept secret.

Eventually, I stumbled across an entry about Ellerie. A page filled with worries and wonder, the page brings to life her fear of the games and plays it before my eyes. Captured nightmares compressed into her writing, one page tells the story of how she'd volunteer if she was reaped. 

My sister was not much of a brave girl, she was no hero or fighter and so the words startle me—("I'd volunteer for Ellerie, there's no doubt about it.")

—

"Ellerie Tibideaux!"

Her hands slips from mine and I'm lost in a calamity of thoughts. Collisions in my mind happening beneath a simple sky, emptiness swells within me. I feel Ellerie's eyes drift onto me and I watch out of the corner of my eye as she takes one single step.

One single step too many.

My mind races with flashbacks from last year. Two made to watch as their own flesh and blood grew weaker, diminishing and wilting like a thirsty and unloved flower. Rage swelled within but it remained contained, and emotion was the only side seen. A mirage and an illusion—

our mirage, our illusion.

Now solved by her writings, dewdrops fall from the grass like pieces into place and the stars align. Her strength not defined by a placement or number, but by a promise made to herself.

My sister was not a brave girl, but she was willing to die for the security of another—("I'd volunteer for Ellerie, there's no doubt about it.")

What does that make me if I remain frozen for a second time?

"I volunteer!"

Emerging from the crowd, the gasps of other girls echoing around me. Wrapped in whispers of scepticism and drained worry, even the escort widens their eyes as I appear. Gentle paces taken as I weave between the crowds to reach the stage. My head held high, I refuse to show weakness.

There is no excuse for it, not when Leticia suffered all things inhuman.

For a short moment, my eyes meet with Ellerie's. Her face is unreadable amongst the pain indulged but the wounds made are sewn together tightly as the delivery of another name distracts me from the hurricane of emotion.

But only for a moment.

The fight against death continues on in me. It is a silent killer and may already have my sister and my mind, but I refuse to let it strike at my heart.

I can't lose. I can't and I won't—I'm going to win.

I have to win.

Leticia was no brave girl or fighter, but I am half dead,

never half alive.

noelia tibideaux volunteers as tribute

[✨ zozo.]

and i am in them and that is eternity.

his heart is on fire
his soul alight.

andy remembers the feeling of their bodies pressed together, tumbling through the air and the grass and the night.

light,
irredescent,
full of unspoken promises.

he almost speaks in that moment. almost spills out his heart's desire.
almost.

and then he laughed, pulling his life's purpose up with a hand, leaving the stars to their own devices.

(take my hand, he says without words.
always.
forever.)

a brother born not of blood but the shed of sweat, of tears, of years from their lives spent together. intertwined, balancing out the other, holding each-other back from danger and throwing themselves into hardship.

always together, never apart, dane allore and anderson da monte.

the way it should be.
the way it shall always be.

"hey" he whispers, lips lifted at the corners by the hands of rebellion.

"andy-"

"dane..."

dane is his safety.
dane is his sanction.
dane is his soulmate.

two names. strangers.

five words.

breathe in-

"i'm in love with you."

- breathe out.

(dane is his:

safety.
sanction.
soulmate.

safety.
sanction.
soulmate.

safety.
sanction.
soulmate.

he writes this over and over and over until his hand aches and his skin is stained with lead.)

two words.

breathe in-

me too.
i know.
same here.
my love.
we're safe.
together, always.

"i volunteer."

- stop breathing.

"NO!" he screams,
as if crying to the heavens in hopes of being heard
could save his soul from damnation
to stop dane from throwing himself into the pits of tartarus
as he himself is dragged into the depths of hell.

falling forward and wincing as the concrete sends scorching shivers up his knees, he gets back up.

"NO!"

again.

"NO, DANE!"

this is not what he meant
this is not what he meant
this is not-

real,
but the prison of arms holding him back from launching into the crowds where dane once stood are.
the sounds of dane's footsteps
the melody of rejection
the echoes of his suicide
are.

(they bounce through his skull, his ribs, his heart - tearing, ripping, destroying.)

"TAKE ME" he screams,
self-sacrificing
because there is no anderson without dane
not in this world
not in this life.

(perhaps, in another, but that's another story.)

"TAKE ME INSTEAD!"

it's impossible.
once split apart by nothing but two years,
and now everything but.

alida tries to stop him
tries to throw him back into the crowds of the useless, the selfish, the unobtainable.

there's a gun pointed at his head
(he doesn't care)
there's a gun pointed at his sister
(he stops screaming.)

here comes the darkness,
slowly now
creeping up from the very core of him.

he is more than anger
he is more than rage
he feels dead inside.
because if dane's heart ever stops beating he's sure his own will cease, too.

(this is my fault
this is my fault
this is my-)

destruction.
end.
finish.

his heart breaks.
his soul dies.

ave atque vale.

. . .


[ credit - briar ]

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

ELLERIE

I'd played my own games before. Each one slightly different from the one previous, I'd become a master at creating rules and conjuring imaginative worlds to explore within the barriers of the back garden. Carefully crafting swords and shields with twigs and wood, I'd rampage through ancient towns and cities, making sure that all who crossed my path felt the wrath of Supreme Ruler Ellerie Tibideaux.

Rounded cattle were enemies from a distant world. Minions from a mutant rebel leader, my swordplay went hand in hand with sound effects from my mouth—I'd take the defiant by storm and creating a feigned scene of fallen monsters in the mud.

Leticia and Noelia would be my loyal sidekicks in battle, each with their own special power. Leticia aided those injured and Noelia shot fire from her palms. Alone, our kingdoms would crumble to painful ruins, but together we were an unstoppable force worthy of Ripred's recognition.

Our own protection, a serenity found in each other.

Iron sisterhood: unbent, unbroken, unbowed.

Until judgement from ivory towers shone a light onto our name—"Leticia Tibideaux!". Judgement from ivory towers which thrust our name into the public eye. Thievery beneath our skin, memories of victory in childish games were robbed from my heart and mind, and with they took the sister who made sure a frosty heart was warm enough to beat.

I prayed that someone was say those unholy words, yet the hole was filled by a silence like death. 

Silence is the bone holding the universe together.

There was no force in Ten strong enough to break it. It was a titanium bone, whispers caught in a shallow breeze were not of a great enough strength to tamper with it. Words were stolen from the breaths of power remaining—and it has taught me there is no such thing as honour among thieves.

There is no such thing as honour among thieves.

Even in the games played within the barriers of the back garden, thievery was not a thing considered just under my rule.

That year, Leticia's life was stolen. I watched it with my own eyes, the pole hammer of Kitty Keeni getting caught in the light of her eye and reaping her essence in short, bittersweet moments. A helpless body, victim of a hopeless boy; I pledged to seek retribution for her sake. 

I was still Supreme Ruler Ellerie Tibideaux, I was determined that anything could happen.

Yet serenity was weakened, the shield of Tibideaux was starting to rot under the salt waters from our eyes. Frail and delicate, all that was strong when forged together was coming apart at the seams.

This year:

"Ellerie Tibideaux!"

a bullet to the head.

I inhale fire,

exhale ice.

"I volunteer!" A voice shouts, events unfolding like soaking wet paper. A year between earthquake forces, the rotting shield was not strong enough to withstand this tragedy.

I blink and wish it all could stop: for time to slow and for Supreme Ruler Ellerie Tibideaux to save the day. I was a master at games in every aspect, but these games are that of nightmares. My own were a collection of dreams.

The reign of Supreme Ruler Ellerie Tibideaux becomes the lie it always has been.

Noelia of the elements rises from the ashes made in her previous footsteps.

No one tries to stop her.

(Not even me.)

I watch as she joins the taken. The Capitol's plaything on the stage; I am hopeless, my childhood royalty escaping from the opened wounds on my skin to become a body on the ground. Here I stand only as Ellerie Tibideaux, no title, no sword or armour.

Not a slayer of mutant beasts.

Not opposition for another world's rebel leader.

I am just Ellerie, and I am becoming part of a game I don't want to play.