[D1] The Reaping

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

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, "Inertia Rae!" He then reached into the other ball. "Justice Fray!"

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, June 7th, 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.

[Onyx]

[attr="class","borntodie"]

Is it Autumn when you die?

Is the sun shining, giving your delicate skin the ethereal glow you always aspired to have as you breathe your last breath? Or is it cold, causing gooseflesh to raise on your limpening arms like soft braille? Are you alone? Are you asleep? Are you afraid?

Your life has been rich, and as colourful as you could possibly imagine. No one else will ever be able comprehend the extent of your travels or how much they have taught you. You wanted desperately to become an artist just like your mother, able to move a whole crowd to tears with a single action, and an artist is exactly what you have become. Who's to say if she would be proud of you if she knew you and your profession now, but she will surely miss you after you're gone. She'll sing songs for you, and they'll be filled with the sweet sorrow of longing, and she'll bring you flowers, and write you letters too, all concluded with her autograph like you always dreamed they would be. Won't she?

When you were a girl, you thought that your seventh birthday was the happiest day of your life. The day smelt of ponderosa pines and tasted of floral lemonade, and the beautiful wooden boat that you celebrated on rocked tenderly in the lake away from the Capitol as your parents' stories lulled you to sleep. For years you revered that day like the perfect dream, letting time and joy slowly evolve it in your mind but never take away its happiness. Its memory filled your heart with love, all the way until you left for the Districts to lose the name your family had made for you in the City.

After that, as you found your place among the tooth-and-claw Careers and their lipstick-and-manicure mothers, that blossom-tinted day all those years ago was superceded by another: the first day you felt true power. You reveled in the fear that pooled in your lover's eyes as he watched you develop the photos with a sinister precision. His struggling efforts to beg, to offer up anything you wanted in return for total confidentiality finally settled it for you - no day could possibly be happier than that one.

And now? Do you still think that your happiest moment has already passed? When you watch the sand fall in the hourglass (truly a twenty-minuteglass) that times the intimacies you share with your clients, do you think the one grain that shines the brightest and the most gloriously has already passed through the waist of your life's own timer, or is it still to dawn on you? And if you do hold out hope that perhaps there are still happier moments to come, how long do you think it will be until you run out of moments altogether?

Are you afraid of death? When it comes to you, will you be scared? Will you understand what's happening to you - what that tightness in your throat is, how the black comets that dart across your vision aren't signs of momentary faintness but impending, permanent blindness? You have always loved knowledge, truly, and craved secrets like they were the purest, most precious drugs in the world - but knowing that all the things you know are about to become totally worthless as your brain turns in on itself like a parched flower and your trembling fingers lose their ability to write? Wouldn't it drive you mad?

"Inertia Rae."

And what about how you die? You would love it if your sins finally caught up with you, accepting your own retribution as willingly as you deal it out to your clueless customers. There was never a time when you believed that your protection was limitless, and so dying at the vengeful hand of someone that you knew would be a neat cast-off at the end of your intricately woven life. Will you be killed by someone that you loved - one of the few who you regretted exercising your power over? Or will it be at the hand of one that you are more than delighted to incriminate with murder?

Then there's that other part of you - the one that seeks total control over everything, including your own death - that would be entirely dissatisfied with anything other than a choice to die. Will you let it dictate you, like it so urgently tries to do? Will you let the words that batter your teeth as they force themselves out of your mouth escape? Will you take death by the hand and walk with it like a reunited lover towards the end?

"I volunteer!"

For a woman who so loves to be in Control, you do struggle to see the illogic in acting on impulse in its name.

And so here you are, letting death take you in its arms, with no more questions about how it will finally seize you. You know. It will come in the wide, guilty eyes of twenty-three terrified children, whose visions of home are slowly becoming obscured by the nightmare images of violence that they're presently living. It will come in the feel of a metal hilt in your own hand, a hand much more used to caressing flesh than steel. It will come in the bloodthirsty shrieks from a million mouths, all upturned to the screens that broadcast your actions as an offering, to be analysed and judged. And more than anything, you fear, it will come in your own regret that you didn't realise Death couldn't be overpowered like a human being, and that when it finally seizes you there will be absolutely nothing else you can do about it. With the two words you just spoke, your sentence has already been passed. And you suddenly find yourself scared of it.

ooc: Renée Perdris volunteers in the place of Inertia Rae. Inertia's reaction to follow.

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[arx!!]

---

justice fray.

---

it's a ceremony

but the crowd's gone

"Justice, wake up."

I force my eyes open as fingers dance through my hair. Shit.

"Morning sleepyhead," she giggles, still running her fingers through my hair. It takes every ounce of control I have not to grumble in frustration. Damn it.

My head pounds as I sit up, but I fake a smile. I don't remember sleeping with this girl last night, but the odds are high considering the way she is fawning over me.

"Hey--" And I have to pause, look at her more closely. But no matter how hard I think back, I can't remember her name.

"Baby."

Always best to finish with a term of endearment when you can't be certain of a name.

She smiles brightly before crawling out of bed. She's saying something about breakfast—("I made pancakes. You could stay if you wanted?")—but all my mind is focusing on is whether or not she would make a good routine booty call or not. She's definitely got the figure for it--

"Justice?"

I crawl out of bed, quickly slipping into my pants. "Ah, sorry," Damn I wish I knew her name. "Darling. I totally would stay, but I gotta get going. Busy day."

She looks thoroughly disappointed. "Maybe next time?"

This conversation is exactly why I always leave before the girls wake up. Can't anyone enjoy hookups anymore? Good sex, no strings? Poor girl doesn't seem to get it: There will not be a next time. She isn't worth my time.

"Of course," I say, smiling at her as I begin buttoning up my shirt. "Next time."

She smiles and rushes over to me as I open her bedroom window, readying myself to leap. She kisses me on the cheek and wishes me a good reaping day. Almost makes me regret lying to her.

Almost.

---

Even after a shower I don't feel any better. As I style my hair I cringe, my head protesting against me. My stomach flips and flops until I'm dry heaving into the sink. Mostly I pray my siblings don't hear me. They might confuse a hangover with anxiety or fear. ("Aw, look! Justice can't handle the Reaping anymore. What's the matter? Too much since Scout died?") And though I do miss my sister, I think what I miss more is parents that didn't ride us so hard.

We are a Career family. Strong, proud, brave, glory-seeking, money-hungry Careers. But ever since Scout died our parents have used the excuse that we clearly need to train harder. ("Scout failed us, but none of you will.") Frankly I'm sick of it. As if I wasn't getting rode hard enough by Kellan for "slacking off." At least I know how to live a little. Pretty sure hall my siblings walk around with sticks up their--

"Come on, Justice! Hurry the fuck up!"

I growl and glance at the mirror again. I still look like complete shit. And unlike everyone else in this damn house I actually like looking nice. But I can hear everyone readying themselves to leave, so I throw some more gel in my hair, leave the stubble on on my face, and follow everyone out the door.

---

I've always enjoyed the Reaping. An abundance of girls all packed into one spot? Best day ever. Of course there was the promise of death and glory written into some tiny slips of paper, but I've never been too concerned. The worst that could happen in the Games is that I come back with a few unattractive scars or a broken nose. And I suppose with all the extra attention a victor gets I could live with a few blemishes. I've heard the ladies like battle scars anyway.

And the other 23 tributes? Well I'm Justice Fray—I'd make short work of them with a devilish smile and swish of a sword.  I'm not scared of anything.

I don't even hear the name of the female tribute. I've got my attention turned towards a girl eyeing me from across the square. The dark eyes, the pink lips, the hair, the hips—damn, maybe I'm still a little drunk. I point to her as discreetly as I can. (You.) Point to myself. (Me.) Point to my watch. (Tonight.)

And just as I'm making a nice sexual gesture complete with thrusting hips and scrunched eyes I hear my name echo through the square. ("Justice Fray!") A few people turn to look at me mid thrust, some with smirks and others with looks of disgust.

"Well, shit."

I mutter it loud enough for people to hear as I shove my way through the crowd. I blow a kiss to the girl as I walk past her with a shrug of my shoulders. "Sorry, love, duty calls."

I get shoved by a few Peacekeepers to keep moving; I chuckle. Clearly these poor guys don't bone enough. As I step onto the stage and look out over the crowd, I hold my head high and don't hesitate to put myself in front of the escort and press my lips to the microphone.

"If anyone wants a quickie with a future Victor, come visit me bef--"

I'm cut short when a Peacekeeper pulls me away from the microphone, but I don't mind. My message got across. I wink at my district partner before I'm shoved into the Justice Building with a smirk still hovering on my lips.

But now that the crowd is gone—now that there is no one in front of me to impress or entertain—I feel fear creeping into my mind.

My name is Justice Fucking Fray.

And I'm terrified.

and you got nothing

but my crown on

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table creds to avalon


ooc: Justice Fray is joining the ranks of the 73st waddup