[D3] 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, "Hypatia Anning!" He then reached into the other ball. "Burke Aurthurs!"

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.

[Kire]

Burke Aurthurs

Someone saved my life today.

This is not an understatement for some small favour, or someone getting me out of a jam. Another guy actually took a metaphorical bullet for me, and potentially a literal barrage of attacks as well. I owe him more than I will ever be able to repay.

As you may or may not know, today was the reaping. Everyone dragged themselves out of bed and cleaned up and pulled on their best clothes for the worst day of the year. Once we all were ready to face the end of two worlds, two lives surrounded by their own shifting patterns of relationships and events, we waited at attention for the ceremony to proceed. No one breathed, or at least not audibly, as the first name rang out over the hush.

"Hypatia Anning!"

My seclusion saved me from knowing many people in the District, which in turn saved me from knowing most of those who were reaped. My heart always went out to them, but I thankfully had never known anyone whose name was called.

Until today.

"Burke Aurthurs!"

I remember the cold sensation that crawled up my spine as my heart stopped. My stomach dropped through my body to hit the ground; my head snapped up as my wide eyes stared at the escort. "What?!" was all I could think to say. No one laughed or made fun of me, though, instead they just looked at me with pity.

I felt like I was about to pass out when I heard a rough voice say, "I'll go."

This was the guy who saved my life.

Burke Aurthurs steps down from his position as tribute

please note, there will be an acceptance post from another char of mine coming

[Kire]

Ross Wolfe

because you could never find
what's this life for

Does, Says, Thinks

You were tired of dealing with the reaping. After six years of standing around and watching while two others were taken away to die, or not in the case of Atticus Manor, you were here for the seventh and final time. Final time on this side of the rope, at least. After this, you would be watching without being at risk yourself. However, you knew that you weren't at risk even now and so nothing would change much for you. Ten years from now you would be standing in a spot not far from here, watching as two young people were lead off to face hell incarnate.

There are always two moments of even deeper silence after the names are called - like still pools in the middle of a quiet forest. The called names are two drops dripping into the pools, causing the smallest of ripples as the molecules of water are jostled and must reshuffle their position. When that moment ends, the lack of motion feels like life has been sucked from the entire area. It is in this moment that you consider what it would mean to return to life as it has been, to retreat back to your home and live out the rest of your life on the other side of the rope.

The girl is quiet as she takes her place, wordless as she moves to accept her fate. The boy, though, is immediately vocal. "What?!" A good question. What were all of you doing, standing around as children were sent to death? What kept anyone from acting? What kept you from acting? In that moment, nothing.

"I'll go." Your voice was rough, unused for some time and almost a growl for it. The boy stares at you as though you suddenly sprouted wings. Perhaps, to him, you had. Only yours would never be white: they would be pitch black. You push past the gawking, cowardly boys that surround you and climb the stairs to the stage in only a few bounds. While not eager to enter the arena, you feel that there is no reason to drag your feet. Change, after all, is said to be good. Even such change as this.

The distant spot where you once stood is still vacant, like a ward is keeping everyone out - or perhaps a curse. In their eyes you are doomed, a self-sacrifice for a boy no one knew. You are not a boy they know, either, but you have always had a presence about you that people learn very quickly. Silence is what you thrive in, and it was silence that lead you to know your new life. Suicide it may be, but you were on the path to change.

Ross Wolfe volunteers for Burke Aurthurs

[ali]

Hypatia Anning {district three tribute}

When the words weigh heavy on the heart I am lost and led only by the stars

The morning broke, a soft tide of gold slowly washing across the world, light creeping in through wind and through open doorway, in every dark shadowed crevasse until the world is awash in golden sunlight as the world is pulled from the darkness of night; the silence which night brings is broken as the birds awaken and begin to whisper their bird song, twittering to one another musically until a whole chorus erupts over the rooftops of District 3. Despite this fact, most of the District still lolled in slumber, houses quiet and still as their occupants slept restlessly. Except for one. Hypatia Anning sat, perched on her window sill with her violin resting in the crook of her neck as her nimble fingers plucked at the strings in tune with the birds outside her window. Her soft brown eyes twinkled as she glanced to the starlings sat on the tree branch before her, ruffling their feathers of dew in the sunrise, chattering as if in response to the delicate twangs of the young woman’s violin. As a small smile spread across her lips, casting her eyes down to the violin as her fingers danced across the strings, mirroring the bird song, Hypatia couldn’t help but notice the shadow that was cast over the world. Although District Three was awash in golden sunlight, there was still a darkness lingering. Like a steady breath, it crept across everyone’s hearts, filled their dreams with a demon that was a lingering reminder of what would await them when they woke. And though Hypatia was awake, playing her violin, mind focused on the notes that vibrated with in the hollow wooden shell of the instrument, the shadow was consuming her too. It ate away at her, as it did every year, a whisper that felt like a scream inside her mind; eventually the shadow became overwhelming, and her finger strummed the wrong key, eliciting a sour note in the almost perfect song. The young brunette let out a humph, her brow furrowing gently in distaste at her failure as the breaking dawn bought that shadow of a reminder what lay ahead. She knew it was coming, there had been no escaping this day or the reminder of it. It had been all anyone had talked about, in nervous whispers at school and in hushed tones in the kitchen, it had been the theme of the nightmares of the little ones and it had also plagued her with anxiety which had only gotten worse as the days passed by. She’d tried her best to distract herself in her music, playing the piano and the cello and her treasured violin but with the day’s arrival, not even that was enough to draw her thoughts from the fact that today was the reaping. Hypatia wasn’t willing to admit it, but the prospect of being reaped frightened her as much as the next person. She told no one, wanting to keep hold of her pride she cherished so dearly, that the thought of the reaping drew her away from the lulls of sleep at night or woke her before dawn in a cold sweat, gasping for air she didn’t need. Even awake, her breath was uneasy. The exhale rattled as it left her chest, thick with fear that caused her stomach to churn and bubble, making her feel queasy and light headed; as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply in an attempt to ground herself and smite the nerves before they could consume her, she reminded herself that there were over 2000 inhabitants of District 3, several hundred of which had their names entered many more than her own. Her chances of being reaped were a million to one, the chances of her name being called were extremely slim, but it wasn’t impossible. However Hypatia still dwelled on this small possibility for the rest of the morning, as she pondered eating her breakfast with her brother and cousins at the breakfast table, discussions of the party they’d be throwing that evening to celebrate another year safe. The chatter was overly positive, with assurance of cornbread and honey for dinner, but the young musician could see right through the falsifications of the sickly sweet conversation. Her lip twitched, threatening to curl into a sneer at the seemingly bubbly small talk going on around her, she could see through the unintentional ruse of the words; she could see that her family were being fake. She knew that they too, as they nibbled on their own breakfast- while Hypatia’s lay untouched on her plate- they were considering their own small possibilities. The way they scampered around the subject of the actual reaping made their true feelings more obvious, stark against the fear that swirled in 15 sets of big brown eyes. Eventually, the play ran dry and the gossip of what the rest of their lives would hold fell into dead silence, leaving only the thunderous click of the clock above the fire place announcing each passing second. Unlike the rest of the family, who’s eyes are cast down at their plates and bowls of breakfast foods, Hypatia’s eyes keep locked with the hands of the clock, her brown eyed gaze unhesitatingly watching the hand tentatively move forward on the face. She only drew her eyes away from its captivating dance when the other family began to scuff their chairs against the cold stone floor of the kitchen, rising from their seats to head to the reaping. Hypatia followed suit, leaving her toast untouched, and rose from her place at the table. As she pushed out from the table, resting her hand against the table, the hard wood feeling rough against the delicate skin on her fingers, she couldn’t help but notice the shadow again, tickling at her fingers as if it was trying to inject the fear it bought with it deeper under her skin. The young woman held her gaze on her hand, imaging the shadows hand wrapping round hers and digging its nails into her skin until blood leaked to the surface, before she withdrew it cautiously, as if she expected an unseen force to drag her hand back to the surface of the table, before she grabbed her moleskin note book from beside her plate and following the rest of the family out of the door. The street was busy with people, as it was usually on any other day but the silence that drowned the world was all but normal. The people marched towards the town square, their footsteps pounding against the cobbled streets in a rhythmic symmetry, like the ticking hand of the clock above the hearth of the fire, their only purpose was the move forward because it was near impossible to go back; just like time the people flowed forward, not pausing to stop and say hello as they would have done on any other day. Hypatia paused on the doorstep for a moment to watch the crowd pass on by, watching the shadow weave between them in the light of the morning sun, before she took a step onto the street and joined the flow of people. Soon enough, the Justice Building came into view, its outdated architecture loomed over the crumbling district around it; the capitol insignia, worn and weathered by time, looked down at them from the front of the building like an all seeing eye. Hypatia almost scoffed at this thought, knowing that the Capitol always kept a watchful eye on its citizen and to compare its stamp to an eye was almost too fitting. They were already watching, from the cameras stationed around the square, and they remind her of the first time she was reapable and her mother telling her not to pay attention to the cameras but the moment they were pointed out, they’d stuck out against the bricks and mortar buildings, their shiny silver surfaces manned by men in white; today was no different. Hypatia drew her gaze momentarily from one of the cameras, a frown pressed into her brow, towards the stage where the mayors and the victors- Colgate O’Leary and Atticus Manor- sat in their chairs alongside the escort from the capitol. Her eyes lingered on Atticus, deciding that he- like the cameras being pointed out- was the most obvious person on that stage. He was young, familiar, having only stood on that stage less than a year ago to make a speech woven by the Capitol; yet Hypatia could see that he had changed from the boy he’d been a year ago to this day when his name had been called but she decided that the fear still remained. Taking her place among the other eighteen year olds, Hypatia shifts awkward in the dress her mother gave her to wear that morning. The fabric was moth eaten at the hems and the colour- once a beautiful rich red tone- had faded into a duller colour, almost black; which was almost fitting because today would be a funeral for two poor kids. They’d had a procession and there was even a speech about why they were all gathered here today; Hypatia may have laughed at this comparison if the mood had not been as sombre and if she had not felt that tingling her heart, the same sense of forboding as she had watched the clock. Her gaze watched closely as the escort delved her hand into the bowl of names to withdraw the name; the girl could feel the tension as everyone held their breath to find out who’s name the coffins would bear. “Hypatia Anning!” Hers. Hypatia exhaled her breath sharply as that tingling in her chest ignited into flame, spreading the fear through her core, burning through her veins. It made her feel numb as she watched the curdling smile of the escort as she waited for her to appear from the crowd and take her place on the stage beside her but Hypatia, at first, could barely move. That small possibility had exploded, backfired in her place and now the tables had turned. There was no such thing as an impossibility, like Schrödinger’s cat, a state of life or death was not impossible until someone opened the box to find the cat dead or alive. Hypatia had hoped for an impossibility but the laws of science had withheld that and someone had opened her box. The girl found herself moving, head held high and mouth hardened into a straight line as she tried to cling to her pride, pushing through the crowd against the protests of her mother’s screams. Her gaze hardened on what lay ahead of her. It was the only direction she could move in, like time her destination lay before her and not behind. Hypatia knew that going back now was outside the grounds of possibility. Hypatia Anning accepts her place as District 3 tribute