Emmaline "Emme" Allaband- 17
District 2F
The Morning of the Reapings
A/N Emme is pronounced as Emmy
I pace around my dingey bedroom, nervously tugging at my dark hair. This can't be happening. The world must be cruel because it was- in fact- happening. I was to be married to Jared Elliot; the most feared peacekeeper in the district.
How someone as sweet as myself, ended up with a man as ruthless as Elliot can be summed up in two words: Adina Worthwell. I'm not sure how my uncle Liam was stupid enough to marry a hag such as her, and that's putting it nicely.
For whatever reason, my aunt hasn't taken too fondly of me since I was promptly dumped upon her and Liam's doorstep at 3 o'clock one morning. She's always been a penny-pinching prick who's doted over my twin cousins, Gracie and Harrison.
Gracie is a ditzy pretty-girl and Harrison is just… Harrison. He's the typical District Two academy drop-out who practically lives at the local pub. I, on the other hand, actively participate in house-cleaning and cooking, alongside trying to keep up with my schooling.
Don't get me wrong, I am quite the bookworm when I get the chance to unwind. Too bad there is always something to do around the house. Regardless of my schedule, everything has changed since my aunt arranged my marriage with the cruel, yet affluent peacekeeper by the name of Jared Elliot.
What better way to get rid of your useless niece, than to marry her off to a richie who would conjure up an impressive number of gifts to gain the chance at a pretty girl's hand?
I can't give her that satisfaction- not after how she's ruined my life. The way I see it I have three options: allow myself to be married to a mannerless psychopath, refuse the marriage resulting in my expulsion from the household (which meant living penniless on the street) or volunteering for my freedom.
Not once did I see myself volunteering for the Hunger Games. The idea came to me just this morning, during one of my daily reflective sessions. Most of my decisions were calculated; executed only after consideration, reconsideration and further consideration following that.
My thoughts are interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door:
"Emmaline, you'd better be down here in five minutes, or I'll leave you to the peacekeepers." Speak of the devil. "Coming!" I shout, with a hint of frustration.
I smoothen out the wrinkles in my faded blue reaping dress, not bothering with ironing the outfit. It's not as if I'm attending some jolly dinner party. I make a show of stomping down the stairs for my aunt, causing the rickety light fixtures to swing dangerously.
My uncle curses from the living room, causing me to smirk. I grab a piece of stale toast and storm out the door, paying no mind to the members of the peanut gallery.
Harrison and Gracie follow me outside, each having put careful consideration into their reaping attire. Adina must have paid Harrison to leave the sofa. "Your dress is wrinkled ner,," a voice sneers at me. I whip around to see Gracie blinking at me innocently, while Harrision shoots me a lopsided grin.
"Careful Gracie, I've heard it's dangerous to use your entire vocabulary in one sentence," I chirp, facing her with a toothy grin. "You little-" I tune her out. Harrison chuckles, earning him a sharp jab in the ribs from Gracie "Sorry I can't pick up the phone right now, I'll get back to you later.". Gracie seethes in anger attempting to take a chunk out of my face with her meticulously painted talons. I side-step her attack, sprinting out of her reach.
I reach the registration station, sweaty and out of breath. The peacekeeper shoots me a look of confusion before drawing my blood and waving me through. I guess he's not used to someone running towards the reaping, even in two.
I file through the crowd, standing near the back of the seventeen year-old section. Excited teenagers chatter around me, spreading rumors and offering praise and criticization for this year's tributes. Someone is going to throw a fit… If I'm not too nervous to go through with it.
The rest of the pre-reaping technicalities pass in a blur. Before I know it the district escort, Cordelia Pleasance takes the stage with impressive balance, considering the heels she's in.
"Ladies first, as always," Cordelia pipes, much too cheerily. Her pale hand descends into the reaping bowl, drawing out a white piece of parchment.
"Athena Meadows-" I steel myself, shouting with all the power my trembling voice could muster. "I- I volunteer as tribute!" A shocked gasp fills the district square as the girl who was clearly meant to become the volunteer starts shrieking at me. An air of shock and anger envelopes the crowd as I make my way up to the stage.
"My, my what a surprise!" Cordelia smiles down at me like a shark sizing up a minnow. "What's your name dear?" As I take a breath to expose the identity of the female volunteer swindler, I begin to have second thoughts. How did I ever think this would be a good idea?
I scan the crowd, meeting a pair of piercing blue eyes which smolder dangerously.
Konstantin Petrov- 18
District 2M
The Morning of the Reapings
A/N I did my best to research fundamentals of the Russian Orthodox Church for Konstantin's POV but I won't be surprised if I accidentally misinterpreted some religious practices. Please forgive me if this offends you in any way! I'd love to hear some feedback if any of you align with this religion.
I open my eyes, stepping back from my position in front of the immense, stained glass image of Jesus Christ. I set the flickering candle I had been holding down near the pulpit, sending one last look at the mural before exiting the room of worship with a silent closing of the double doors.
I nod towards one of the priests as I make my way out of the chapel, towards my sleeping quarters on the far side of the church's grounds. On my way outside I glance towards the front stoop of the church, where a golden plaque reads: "Царство Божие внутри вас," or the kingdom of God is within you.
I imagine myself as an infant, placed upon the front steps of the church, as if the burden of my parents abandoning me would be lessened should I gain a religious upbringing.
Intentions aside, I had no need for my blood parents. I had found eternal solace in the Lord Jesus Christ. None of it would have been possible without Bishop Pyotr raising me as my earthly father. Today was the day that I would fulfill my sole purpose on this earth, by pleasing both my Earthly and Heavenly Fathers as their tribute.
I grin as I enter my chamber, quickly changing from my formal church-wear into my training outfit, which included a tight tank top. As a man inches short of being a giant, I have to duck heavily in order to fit under the doorframe. I had learned to do so instinctually after many previous unpleasant collisions.
I flex my muscles, winking at various street-going women as I make my way to District Two's most prestigious academy. Even a man of religion deserves some kind of pleasure. As I enter the Academy, three of my buddies greet me with goofy grins. I clap each of them on the backs before heading towards the weapons room.
My best friend, Titus, offers me a double thumbs-up: "You've got this man!" I smile back at him before expressing my gratitude. I walk into the training room, picking up the large claymore that I so easily wield. I slice through one dummy after another, placing my full concentration into thrusting and parrying imaginary blows.
It wasn't always that I had such a supportive rapport of friends. Nine years ago, I had no higher chances of being the chosen volunteer than the average brawler from two. But Pyotr and my personal trainer- Nathaniel- had seen potential in me and provided me with the support and encouragement to excel. It took a while for me to form a deep understanding of English, being one of the only Russian speakers in Panem, from what I've heard. But nevertheless, I got where I am today through constant prayer and rigorous practice.
Not to say I hadn't lost loved ones along the way. My longtime girlfriend Kara, had left me on the pretext of me being "too involved with the church." As much as it saddened me, I believed that God had a better purpose for me, and I still have faith in His plan to this day. Win or lose, I will use my publicity to share the Lord's message and demonstrate His power by killing the hethenistic tributes that I encounter in the arena.
Once I'm out of breath, I set down the claymore in its rack and send God a prayer of safe passage to and from the arena. I pull out my silver chain with a large crucifix which gleams in the light. I pull it over my neck, placing the large cross visibly over my heart. The devil might have sent tributes to spread his false message, but I will make it my duty to slay them in God's name. I recite my daily mantra before taking the well-beaten path to the District Square.
I pull out a cigarette and light it, in an act to diminish any nerves that might be lingering. After the peacekeeper draws my blood, I make my way to the eighteen year-olds section, cigarette between my teeth.
My friends draw near to me, while others back away in fear. It's not everyday that you encounter a 6'10" dude. I listen to the pre-reaping speeches politely, itching for my chance to shine.
Once the district escort has taken the stage, I wait in anticipation for the female reaping. I secretly hope that the female tribute that has been chosen is from my church, so that we might spread the Holy message together. I'm not usually too fond of individuals outside the churches' reach, unless they have respectable qualities.
As the female name is drawn, a scrawny-looking girl volunteers in her place. I size her up curiously, wondering why such a woman would subject herself to the violence of the games in the place of an experienced career.
As the escort removes her hand from the male's bowl, my voice booms out from the eighteen year olds' section: "I volunteer as tribute." I stride up to the stage, fingering my silver chain.
I take the microphone from Cordelia, speaking in a clear, strong voice. "My name is Konstantin Petrov and I volunteer in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ." This garners a few looks of confusion, but I couldn't care less.
Besides, I am one step closer to bringing God's presence to the nation of Panem.
A/N
Hey guys, welcome back to chapter two of Nameless Faces! I hope you found both Emmaline and Konstantin enjoyable, and I especially hope that you enjoy their individualism. To the creators of these two lovely tributes, KatDog42 and DrRedneck, thank you for your submissions! Fingers crossed that you enjoy them.
Here are the physical descriptions of both tributes:
Emmaline: Emme has dark hair, dark eyes and is about 5'6"
Konstantin: He's as close as you can get to being a giant without having giantism. Every part of his body is massive and almost completely muscle. Konstantin is not cut, and he doesn't really have abs. His frame is filled out with muscle especially his legs. He has to find tailors to make him clothes that fit him. He has short hair and a relatively thick beard for his age, both of ash brown color. His chest and arms are covered in tattoos, mostly ones that make him look like he came from the gulag and is part of the Russian mob.
Height: 6'10"
Weight: 390lbs
Faceclaim: Hafthor Bjornsoon
Until next time,
-Archer