[D11] 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, " Iona Holbrook!" He then reached into the other ball. "Weaver Rhodes!"

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.

[Knuckles]

Weaver Rhodes Eighteen | Male | District Eleven

If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody lied
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
Then we'd see the day when nobody died

Vibrant rays of light reflected through the shattered window while birds whistled cheerful songs throughout the district, yet the birds had no idea the pain and sorrow this day held for the citizens living inside. But unlike the district citizens, birds weren't caged animals. They had to freedom to do whatever they wanted; if a person stepped across the line the peacekeepers would pounce on them before anyone had a chance to save them.

A gentle breeze infiltrated the room lifting his sheet from the bed. His heart sank into the pits of his stomach with the weight of an anchor pulling it down, yet Weaver allowed a fake smile to spread across his face masking the fear lingering inside. The reaping was a reality, but for the longest time that reality was a myth until they came and stole Crusader away. Weaver was thirteen when Crusader vanished for the games, and it was a feeling he'd never forget as he watched. Hope was demolished, and any chance of district eleven bringing home someone grew smaller. Yet it all changed after the death of Crusader.

Katelyn.

Kirito.

Harbinger.

Weaver would be lying if he told anyone he thought Harbinger would make it home alive. Many times death knocked at his door, yet he never answered. Despite losing a leg, Harbinger had won. He made it home allowing himself to have a new life, yet Weaver was still vulnerable. Elidor was safe, but what was the odds of the unthinkable happening again?

Just last year, Weaver almost threw his life away protecting the Miristioma boy. He was too young to die. Too young to feel the weapons slicing against his delicate skin, but everyone was too young for the games. The treaty of treason only threw it together to smash the hope that one day the districts would rise again. President Snow wanted to make an example of what happened, and they learned the hard way.

Iain died.

And Kirito was no longer the same.

A soft sigh escaped from his lips as he placed his bare feet against the hard, wooden floor. Chills crawled up his legs inching towards his spine. Weaver shuddered as he lifted himself from the bed - even the floor protest as the wooden floorboard creaked beneath the weight of his hefty body.

His arms reached high towards the sky stretching the night away before making his way over to the wooden chest resting at the foot of his bed. Inside was the reaping clothes, and he only wore them on this dreaded day because they had no other purpose. Working outside in the fields destroyed the clothing he wore, but none of that mattered. The button up shirt he placed his hand on belonged to his father. A silent tear ran down the side of his face as he grabbed a pair of dress pants to match.

"Weaver, hurry up man. We don't got all day." Elidor's deep voice infiltrated the silence as the sound of his footsteps grew louder until they ceased right outside the door. "Well, I guess you ain't ready yet. I'll just cook up some stuff here, and we can take it over to Harbinger's place."

"Works for me bro."

As Elidor disappeared, Weaver couldn't help but feel a bit of resentment towards him, yet he quickly tossed it away realizing that this was his last year. Just this one reaping had to pass then he would never feel the fear again as the escort crept across the stage.

The thundering of his heart echoed through his mind as the muscle pound against the hollow bones holding him together. Every thought vanished while the world slowly turned away from those seeking its help. All the color fled from his face, yet it was impossible to tell how pale he truly was due to his darker skin, but Weaver was afraid; however, the fear hid behind a smile slowly spreading from ear to ear.

His hands quickly wrapped around a wash rag, and he head out back where the wash basin laid, and he filled it with the freezing cold water. Teeth chattered together, chills ran up and down his spine, and Weaver swore his skin was turning blue. Yet he scrubbed himself down wiping away all the dirt and grime except for the dirt permanently embedded in his fingernails.

The fresh aurora of breakfast infiltrated the air as a gentle breeze blew it through his nose into his lungs. Weaver could almost taste the food as though it was seated right in front of him, but it wasn't. He hauled himself away from the basin using a dry towel to wipe the water away before putting on the outfit he picked to wear, and he slid his locket around his neck.

As he pulled the curtain open, Elidor peaked through the window of the house. "I've got this done, come on. Let's go."

With a soft nod of the head, Weaver followed along behind his brother. One step after another wishing he was seated at a table devouring the plate Elidor was carrying. Soon. He told himself. Soon.

Weaver had the capability of walking to the victor's village with his eyes closed, but he couldn't close his eyes because the tension was so high. Sorrow filled the air as he stopped in front of the district square for only a moment taking in the scene the Capitol created every single year.

"You alright, Weaver?" Elidor asked quietly.

"Yeah, man, I'm fine." But in all reality he wasn't. The reaping jitters crawled across his skin as they walked past the district square. Sorrow filled his bones, and it made it almost impossible for him to walk, yet he kept going refusing to show the fear on his face as the victor's village came into view.

His pace quickened, and he realized the reaping was right around the corner, but his stomach howled begging for a bite of something to eat. He never stopped until he was inside the house looking at his family and how much it has truly grown. Sorrow was replaced with happiness as he looked into the eyes of his brother, Harbinger, yet he could see the fear etched into his face knowing that once again he had a duty to the Capitol. With his life came a price, and it was something Weaver couldn't grasp.

Nobody won the games; they only survived them.

"Morning, Harbinger." He stated plainly as Elidor placed the dish on the table. Drogon stood in the distance staring off into space. Weaver could only imagine the pain lingering inside knowing the Capitol wasn't relentless. Yet he held onto a small piece of hope praying to a god his family was safe for one more year. It was a shame. That was all Weaver wanted. One more year. One more chance to hold onto something. Maybe was selfish because this was his last chance. Next year he was safe, and that the day he looked forward to.

"So I guess we're all here." Harbinger stated plainly. "Let's eat."

A genuine smile spread across his face as he made his way through the line piling food onto his plate. This was the one time of year Weaver stuffed his face without any worry or regret. It was a holiday. A chance to devour as much food as possible before human sacrifices were made in honor of Snow.

Breakfast past in silence, and finally the siren blared signaling for the district to attend the reaping. For a moment his heart stopped beating as he looked around at the house wondering what Elidor would fix after Harbinger left for the Capitol.

People flocked the square, and the line grew longer as the adults moved away taking their place behind the roped off section. One step after another he moved forward holding his breath refusing to show any signs of weakness, yet butterflies pranced in his stomach twisting his insides together. His hands gripped the side of his pants to prevent them from shaking. Every hair stood on end. Just one more year. He whispered quietly to himself as he made his way past the peacekeepers towards the other eighteen year old males.

He yawned as he stared into the screens watching the cameras picking up the possible tributes. Panicked eyes dart across the square fighting for a way to escape from the madness lingering in the shadows, but he had no choice.

And finally it had started.

The escort stood on the stage giving the same speech over and over, and in a mocking tone, Weaver repeated every single word. He didn't care that the districts had rebelled against the Capitol. Just look at the way they're living in the districts especially in district eleven. It was all he knew. Weaver didn't know what it was like to have the riches he imagined the Capitol having. He didn't know what it was like to go to sleep constantly with a full stomach, yet he had learned recently from the winnings the victor trio. But it wasn't enough to ever change his mind.

His mind froze as he walked towards the ball holding the name of every eligible female. Part of him wondered what President Snow had up his sleeve his time. But the name wasn't one he knew. His eyes snapped shut as he heard the crowd moving away, and he could hear some of the ladies sighing with relief, but it was short lived. Weaver inhaled sharply -

"Weaver Rhodes!"

What the actual fuck? He raised a hand to his mouth fighting back the words threatening to fly from his lips. Fucking Snow. His heart hammered in the back of his chest. Red spots danced in front of his eyes, and his face became warm as blood rushed towards his cheeks. Weaver bit the back of his lips fighting against the screech forming in the back of his throat. "Weaver!" Someone shouted behind him, but he didn't move. His feet were frozen in place as the people moved out of his way, and he could hear the sigh of relief as he turned towards the aisle. Slowly one step after another he moved forward keeping his gaze on the ground as only one thought stood in his mind. President Snow had rigged the reaping again. First the Miristioma boy. Now him. His hands clenched into fists as he fought to remain quiet, but his mind was racing. I'll kill you, Snow. I'll kill you for this. But he may not have the chance because he was chosen to die.

His eyes lifted for only a moment, and he saw the pain radiated from Harbinger's body, and he could hear the taunts of his maniac brother from behind. But his mind became robotic as everything was blocked. The stage became a blur. An earthquake of emotions tore through his body. But he calmed himself down and placed the fake smile on his face like he had done so many times before.

Step.

Breathe.

Step.

Breathe.

He repeated the process over and over until he was standing on the stage staring out into the people of district eleven. Weaver searched through the crowd until his dark eyes fell onto the eyes of his brother, Wesley. He saw him snarling, and he knew Wes wasn't happy Weaver had been chosen, and part of him prayed the maniac would step forward saving his life, yet nobody moved. All he heard was birds singing in the sky, and the crickets chirping in the background.

Weaver wasn't afraid of dying - he was afraid of what his death would do to Harbinger.

Weaver accepts as d11m

[googlefont="Nothing You Could Do:400"]

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Iona Holbrook

District Eleven

Female Tribute 

73rd Hunger Games

    The best Stories never pertain a fairytale ending in Iona’s perspective. A bittersweet conclusion, a half resolved closure that leaves the Reader frustrated among the edge of their seat, those provide imagination. Those are real endings. In the Panem there’s no happy ever afters. Three Victors in a row are proof of that. They flourished the District with pride and hope for three years straight, continue to now, but could they possibly be healed from the trauma they were forced through? They’re heroes in countless eyes, including Iona’s, but at what expense did they personally pay to finalize their novels? With their chapters broadcasted and saved among all, Iona’s unable to even assume for anyone’s sake it’s possible to recover from such.

If she were offered the opportunity to absorb Katelyn, Kirito, or Harbinger’s experiences and heartache through only beautiful words, she’d probably deny. A novel is much more powerful then a projection, and Iona would never desire to have to endure what they have. There must be incredible memories and tragedies laced among their lips.

Artificial chatter roams the halls that rumble from a mere heavy step; Evangeline’s dress compliments her innocent appearance as per usual, the boys are even more handsome then last year, light snacks are in the kitchen as if eating’s a possibility. And following the generic routine, Iona’s nose has targeted a book for the past three hours. Her neck muscles plead with tension to have another position, but she’s far too preoccupied. Will any last page ever even barely resemble an outcome the Victors had to withstand?

He murders his dependant best friend, a single pulse aches at Iona’s heart. But it was still for the greater good. Within that fable environment his Pal was a danger to all and even himself. A gun wasn’t aimed at his own head as he calmly coaxed his companion into peace, and made a fatal decision through a pull. There wasn’t an Opponent from Six slashing at his exterior as he battled to preserve breath; with the knowledge someone’s family was destined for mental turmoil. Flames didn’t bite through the air, before a magnificent clock tower in the distance, with him as its target. That was the first Game Iona’s could have been reaped into. She can still recall how her legs rattled even after Kirito took the stage in the town square, identical to her body’s motion weeks later as she observed his ultimate combat live upon a screen.

“Iona, are you ready?” A voice calls out for her, and her vision finally breaches from the pages in her lap. “Do you want to try to eat?” As expected, no answer flutters from her exhale. Instead her light steps delicately patter against the decaying floor to indicate she’s listening and begins to prepare. Graceful fabric enfolds across her figure to below her knees, and she actually struggles with a brush through her hair. Today will hopefully be uneventful for the Holbrooks, just as it has always been.

The Character within the book Iona has closed did not have to cope with unbearable frost, with temperatures that could probably freeze blood within it’s pulsing veins. Blood didn’t flood from his neck as he attacked the one that had brutally slaughtered two of his supporters. He never had to question whether a swing of an axe would be his last. It was the finale before Iona’s first Reaping, and Katelyn’s victory supplied unimaginable optimism.

But every streak will meet its end. The Capitol does not accept fantasy, not for District Eleven. Iona’s fingers tremble during the journey to Town Square, and further on. Hope will only ever be temporary. A desirable existence is not for locations such as Districts. Innumerable pleads went towards Iain continuing the legacy, only for numerous hearts to be mutilated. Not even Victors are granted with immunity to sorrow, as it was Kirito’s cousin being rooted for. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the Game Maker’s have banned Eleven survival for decades to come, or if Snow’s displeased with this District altogether.

“Weaver Rhodes.”

He must. Not only is Snow determined to catapult Eleven back into misery, but he despises the Victors as well. A microscopic chance no longer joins the names that are called every year on this day, in this Town Square. A death order is solely what this event is for, and Harbinger’s Brother was just selected for it.

The last Victory. So many weapons clashed together in resistance to overpower. Predictions were impossible to be made. But somehow Eleven was graced with yet another survival. For it to be there very last? As that very Victor’s Brother wisps through the sighing Children, only a miracle can be begged for.

It’s then that Iona realizes the female chosen for this savage call. Her focus is between the ground and Weaver, upon his aged shoes that pertain a golden-like texture that still glistens against the dampened sunrays. But she’s not observing his feet attire from the audience. Her feet are cemented into the stage, and somehow her lungs remain expanding and contracting while her eyes stay fixated on her District Partner’s shoes.

Death.

He encounters the stage, and Iona’s vision draws to her own toes. What has happened? Silence buries deep into the crowd. A blank novel has whistled opened, and for once Iona has no ambition to flip a page.

Iona Holbrook accept D11F position

.

Breathtaking Table by the Amazing Arrows <3

[Cato]

Harbinger Rhodes Twenty | Male | District Eleven

My eyes flicker open, and I'm staring at the clock on the wall as it chimes for another hour. Only this time I realize I have to wake up because it's not just any other day. Elidor will be coming over with some breakfast, and he's going to bring Weaver with him. I guess it's a tradition of sorts now especially on the reaping day. The thought makes me shudder as I stare into the open closet looking at the one outfit hanging from the rack. Last year's reaping was horrible, and I couldn't save either of them. I can only hope this year doesn't go the same. Who am I kidding? It'll happen every single year until I'm finally buried under the ground. At least I have married a wonderful lady. I love Navya with my life, and I wouldn't change a thing.

The moment my foot touches the ground, I realize how chilly it's been inside the house. I don't think I'll ever get used to having the ability to control the temperature without having to turn on a fire. Honestly I prefer that way because it's easier to manage. I reach to the side of the bed grabbing my plastic leg before slipping it onto my stump. Having a fake part serves as a reminder of what I went through in the games, and I'll never forget as long as I live.

I sigh as I reach my hand into the closet pulling out the one nice outfit before realizing I still have to pack my suitcase and prepare for the stay. I'll miss so many things about home. My family. My wife. But at least I know I'll come home. I know I'll be on that train with Katelyn, and Kirito. I don't have to worry about dying, but I do know I have to worry about the two that goes to the Capitol with us.

Before I change into the outfit, I throw a bunch of stuff into my bags. I don't think Navya would approve if she knew I was just throwing stuff into the bags like this, but it doesn't matter. I can always make them look nicer once I'm at the Capitol I suppose.

From there time moves fast.

Elidor is arriving at the house with Weaver behind him. Drogon is standing in the corner, and I can smell the meal my brother has prepared for us. It smells amazing, and I'm sure it taste as good as it smells. I find myself staring into the mirror before running my fingers through my slightly shaggy hair. I need a haircut, but it can wait until after the games.

"Morning Harbinger."

I can tell by how Weaver sounds that he's worried about today, but I know he won't admit to it. I'm worried about today, and I will always be worried until my family is one hundred present safe from the games.

"So I guess we're all here. Let's eat."

The food is massive, and I watch as everyone shovels it down their face like they've never seen food before. Breakfast is in silence, and then it's time to say goodbye. I hug my family before walking out the door making my way towards the justice building taking a different route than my brothers.

Once I'm inside the justice building, I tighten up my tie to make sure it looks nice, and I wait until finally the doors are open. I walk behind the Mayor, Finter, Katelyn, and Kirito. My heart races, and I know it's about to begin, and as soon as it begins it'll end, but I keep my eyes focused on my brother's. I half listen to the speech Finter gives because it doesn't matter to me anymore, and I know I won't ever get used to hearing it because it makes it all so real again. But then he stops talking, and he walks to the ball holding the names of every female from the ages of twelve to eighteen, and I feel my heart stop as he pulls a slip of paper.

"Iona Holbrook!"

My hands clench tightly before unclenching after I watch the girl make her way to the stage. A young girl, but not nearly as young as Carrita or Iain. And maybe I'm wrong for being glad that I don't know her, but it doesn't make this any easier for me. Not at all.

And then I watch as Finter makes his way over towards the other ball. My heart leaps inside my chest as I think about the Mirstioma family as well as my own family. But it won't be them. It can't be them. My heart leaps into the back of my throat as I watch him open the tiny sheet of paper, and I know it's not good by the way he's looking for just a moment, yet he has no option. I take a deep breath -

"Weaver Rhodes!"

My blood boils, and I'm on my feet before anyone can stop me, and I'm staring into the eyes of my brother for only a moment as he makes his way towards the stage with the same fake smile he wears all the time. My hands clench into a tight fist as I stare down the rest of the district, and when nobody stands up to volunteer for him, I turn towards Kate muttering curse words beneath my breath. President Snow has rigged the reaping, and I'm damn sick and tired of it. This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't won the games, but I did win, and now I will make them all pay.

I turn away from the crowd before the reaping is over, and I make my way towards the justice building as a peacekeeper tries to stop me, but I push him out of my way slamming him into the brick walls. I can almost hear Navya begging me to stop as I glare the official in the eye for only a moment. And I think of my family. Of Navya. Of Tamron, Drogon, Wesley, Elidor, and I know I can't cause them any pain.

My feet barely pass the door of the justice building, and I slam my fist into the wall as the door slams behind me. It was a tragedy that Iain was reaped. This isn't a tragedy. This goes to show that the Capitol is gunning for us, and I refuse to let them live it down.

Victor of the 71st Hunger Games

[googlefont="Nothing You Could Do:400"]

[charade]

KATELYN PERSIMMON

Katelyn prepared for the reaping the same way she had for the past few years, eating breakfast quickly and packing her bags neatly. The taste of oatmeal and strawberries was still fresh in her mouth as she folded her clothes and filled a few small boxes with the comforts of home; some presents for her victor friends, a pastry or two for the tributes. The room smelled like cinnamon and she was going to miss it. Another month away from eleven. Two more tributes to worry about. She tried not to think about the pair of coffins that had joined Annora in the graveyard and told herself that this year would be different. The screen in front of her displayed the only thing she could watch. The data that she would use to start formulating a plan to help the tributes.

As she watched the reapings she saw that there were a lot of familiar last names. Was the Capitol trying to increase the games already sky-high ratings? Or were certain families being punished? It was probably a bit of both. She didn’t envy Opal, having another Fray to train. Scout had seemed like a hellion to deal with. When she got to four and saw a Krigel, she couldn’t help but wonder if the Capitol was punishing Leon for failing to bring Someith or Daria home after they had made it so far. The rest of districts turned into a blur until she got to ten. Esme Truus and her cowboy partner had allied with Crusader the year before Katelyn had been reaped.

Some families just couldn’t catch a break.

And looking at some of the tributes, it was Kate’s opinion that every year, more of the tributes were unstable before they even got to the arena. Whether the Capitol was purposefully reaping kids with problems to give Panem a better show or was lacing the water with something was up for debate, but Katelyn decided perhaps it would be a good idea to start boiling her water before she drank it, much as she had in the arena. Those thoughts faded as she made her way up the steps to the stage with the boys. Finter looked less dapper than he usually did and she couldn’t blame him. The escort adored the victors from his district and still blamed himself for picking Iain’s name out of the bowl.

Katelyn assumed chances were high that Kirito did too. She hadn’t asked him though. Didn’t want to reopen that wound.

The three of them sat and waited as the district began to flow into the square.
The mood was subdued. She knew that people were still hopeful, but the loss the previous year had taken the wind out many sails. The worry was creeping back in. Nothing lasted forever, but for a moment, she knew that some people had hoped that it would. The Miristioma’s doorstep had been flooded with condolences after Iain died. And for good reason. The three of them were legends at home. They had ended decades of loss in just three short years. There were a lot of citizens that she didn’t want to let down, but the two most important ones were sitting with her. It took less time than she was comfortable with for everyone to arrive and after the Capitol vid played, Finter made his way across the stage.

“Iona Holbrook.”

The girl was a brunette; young too, though she certainly looked older than Carrita had been. Katelyn put a hand to her temple as Iona drew nearer, thinking of what to say on the train, hoping that Iona wouldn’t be as fatalistic as the last girl. Yeah, it had broken her heart when Iain had been reaped, but she had tried to help Carrita just as much. It wouldn’t have been fair. Family or not, she’d never put the wellbeing of a tribute above another one. Everyone mattered to someone. Iona took to the stage and stared down at her shoes, breathing in and breathing out. Katelyn resolved to make Iona feel welcome on the train. There was a moment of silence in case someone volunteered, but to no avail. But then, there hadn’t been a female volunteer since Stella Calloway, and for the boys, not since…Levi.

Then the escort’s hand reached into the second bowl and unfolded the scrap of paper.

Finter paused for moment, turning to look at the victors with wide eyes and a quivering lip. His hand was trembling when he turned back to the crowd.

No. Katelyn clenched her teeth in a sudden panic. Not again.

“Weaver – Finter’s voice cracked- Rhodes.”

Katelyn inhaled sharply as though she’d just been slapped across the face.

Murmurs of shock arose from the assembled crowd.

Harbinger was on his feet faster than she would have expected given his size and prosthetic and she stood almost as quickly, leaping to her feet like the seat beneath her had caught fire. Unlike with Kirito, she didn’t try to rein him in. Didn’t have to. He stood solid as a mountain, fists clenched and eyes burning like the sun but he didn’t flip out. “This is bullshit!” She snarled in spite of herself, dimly aware of Kirito at her other side as she put a hand on Harbinger’s shoulder. It was like touching granite. Her outburst was carried by the microphone and washed over the crowd like a hot knife through warm butter.

It seemed like just yesterday that all the Rhodes and Miristioma’s had come over for a holiday dinner. How often did she go to their houses to deliver a pie or a jar of cookies? How often had she stood over Iain’s grave and wept? How often did she laugh with the brothers? Weaver strode to the stage with a smile plastered on his face, but his movements were awkward and stiff. Katelyn seethed, standing by the other victors and Finter with rage written all over her features. She turned and stared right at the camera drone, drilling dual holes into the lens with cold fury, knowing that everyone in Panem could see her. The Capitol had sent a message loud and clear.

You will suffer for your victories.

But they wouldn’t break her or the boys, no, not this time.

Katelyn wasn’t horrified this year.

She was angry.

"My friends still stand behind me.
We stuck together through all we lost.
Even when your worst surrounds me,
you'll never get the best of us."

table coding (c) ghosty

[Arrows]

Kirito Miristioma
Victor of the 70th Hunger Games

     Crack!

    Blinding brilliance lept from the dark sky sending its scorching volts searing into the soil. Burning ash danced up through the cool sway of the night's winds. In the distance the sound precise pattering signaled the arrival of droplets drenching the Earth. Just against the wooden window's sill the sound of endless tapping filled the sleeping house. All but one member laid quietly within their dreams as the soft symphony of sleep played within their ears. The gentle sound of the grand father clock's second hand ticking added to the nightly orchestra. It was so peaceful, but it was all a facade. A mirage covered by a veil of grief and of sorrow. A sickening sight laced with the memories of fallen family members. The Miristioma's had not recovered; they had simply learned to cope with their lose just as they always did.

    Dust fluttered free of its home upon the window's sill as Kirito's restless fingers continued to tap. Only for a week had Kirito been back in Eleven. However, in that time he had not emerged from his home, his bunker. He had not comforted Navya about his health or told Harbinger not to blame himself. He had not turned to Katelyn when his nightmares feasted upon his every last emotion. Kirito had become a phantom sentenced into insanity by Iain's death. Kirito's world had crashed down in a cataclysmic cycle of darkness. His every wall designed to contain his demon devoured. His every ounce of humanity broken by the beast's boiling blood. In Kirito's weakness he had snapped bringing harm to a person who shared no more guilt than him. It was only a moment but in that moment Kirito watched Kiri strangle Lethe's life line. Watched his own hands wrap like metal chains around her delicate neck. If not for Patricia's fierceness and swiftness Kirito feared what would have resulted.

    Even long before stepping into the arena Kirito knew how fragile he was. He knew the strength that he lacked whether other's did or not. Even if Kirito was now draped in the golden glory of fame brought upon by the stealing of human blood, he was still fragile. Katelyn was strong with a frozen center incapable of being shattered. Harbinger was brave with the strength to push through the darkest of times even when the sun had burnt out. Kirito was just a boy with a fragmented mind unable to stop his demons like they could. But ever since his incident he was getting better, possibly even stronger. He had found an anchor for himself to replace the one he had lost. Found an anchor to complete the one Katelyn, Harbinger, his family, and Navya had began to form.An anchor to keep himself from drifting off into the dark stormy sea again. In her smile and in her strength Kirito could fall only to be lifted up once again.

    Back in District Four where tragedy surrounded him like the plague he found his diamond in the rough. Yet although he knew what he felt pulsating from his heart he did not fall too swiftly. The aching thought of leaving her when their work was done was too much more grief for Kirito to carry on top of Iain's murder. But in a risky feat Kirito found Oasis and her brother standing outside his door one night only three days ago. Kirito's heart swelled as she fell once again into his blood stained arms, but with the rising tide of love he felt so came the building storm of fear in his mind. The fear Oasis and Rafe would be swept away by Peace Keepers and left bleeding before the entire district. Yet when Kirito stood their watching Rafe while Oasis clung to his skin he was willing to take the risk. Kirito was sick of living the life Snow demanded him to live. If Snow wanted to break them all he could try, but Kirito knew he along with Harbinger and Katelyn would stop him. They weren't the type of people he could simply push around. Kirito may have been vulnerable once but now he was stronger with Oasis by his side. So in that moment three nights ago Kirito let Oasis and Rafe into his house to hide them from any prying eyes.

    A sorrowful sigh slipped out of Kirito's lips rustling the dust he sent&nbsp;spiraling&nbsp;through the still air. Just behind the ending rain storm Kirito could see the beams of morning stretching across the fields. Although beauty shone within the fracturing light Kirito turned away from the small rainbow and walked stiffly to his room. Kirito's emotionless eyes fell upon his reflection in the mirror with annoyance. A disgusting amount of hair clung like fuzz to Kirito's chin and his actual hair looked as though it had never even met a comb before. So as quietly as possible Kirito shaved his scraggly scruff and with vigorous effort mixed with several irritated curse words styled his hair back properly like Zell liked him. From there Kirito made his way across the spacious room to his closet. With a scoff he noticed a reaping outfit already picked and labeled for him. When it came to Zell he never was one to waste time.

    Five minutes later Kirito found himself dressed in an dark blue suit with a dark black tie and shoes while he lifted a cup of coffee to his lips. As the warm liquid ran down his throat he felt his stomach embracing the liquid's heat. Off his side Kirito heard the sound of Imp's hoot and turned to her with a half smile. Gently he scratched the snowy owl's neck before opening the fridge and tossing her a piece of meat for breakfast. However Kirito was pulled away from both his coffee and Imp at the sound of footsteps creaking across the floor boards. Surely enough Ma walked casually into the Kitchen with the same look of worry she always gave him on these days. Kirito only wished he could alleviate her worries but in truth he shared them all the same. With so many of Kirito's cousins still within Reaping Age he knew it was more than possible for Snow to call upon another one. Still Kirito did his best to remove the room's obvious tension by hugging her lightly and saying firmly, "Don't worry Ma, whatever happens out there good or bad Katelyn, Harbinger, and I are gonna handle it. We ain't ready to let anything happen to anyone else we care about."

    With what Kirito believed were his words of calming both he and Ma walked to the front door and just before heading out into the District for the first time since his return Kirito turned to Ma once more. "Also make sure Oasis and Rafe don't leave this house under any circumstances unless Navya is with them." Only then with Oasis and her brother's protection confirmed did Kirito venture out back into the Sun he had so long been avoiding.

    What felt like only seconds later Kirito sat in silence between Katelyn and Harbinger over looking all of District Eleven's youth. As Kirito's eyes scanned the crowd he could tell exactly what each of them were thinking. Each and every last one of them were praying not to get reaped now more than ever. With Snow out for Eleven it was clear the tributes' odds were much lower than they already were. Kirito couldn't exactly disagree with them considering Carrita and Iain had both been mauled in horrific ways. However all of Kirito's thoughts were put to silence when he anxiously watched Finter make his way towards the female's bowl. After several moments of fishing and opening Kirito listened to the name ring out across the District like a call to a hanging.

    "Iona Holbrook!" Not a Miristioma or a Rhodes was Kirito's first thought and it made him sick to think that so swiftly, but family was family and Kirito was not prepared for another one of them to be murdered before his very eyes. However a large amount of grief did swarm into Kirito's veins as he watched Iona take her place firmly onto the stage. She didn't appear to muscular and Kirito knew she certainly wasn't very old but he was neither of those things as well. Kirito wondered if perhaps there was more to Iona than met the eye just as there was more to himself, hopefully her's wasn't as violent and dark as his.

    Then things went wrong. Kirito watched as the horror filled Finter's eyes and Kirito was already clenching his fists. "No fucking way." Kirito muttered just before the name "Weaver Rhodes!" exploded through the District. Within moments Kirito was on his feet along with Katelyn and Harbinger. Rage shot like drugs through Kirito's  veins as he watched the scene unfold. He watched Harbinger slam through the Justice Building doors and in a moment of pure rage Kirito sent his chair flying off the stage, luckily missing any children below.

    War.

    That was what President Snow had declared upon them, and by Ripred Kirito would make sure it was the biggest mistake he had ever made.