Tribute: Hollis Pobarr

Age: 17

Gender: Male

Hollis stood angrily clutching his bleeding finger. Watching the liquid Crimson slowly trickle down his arm, he watched as it hit the ground, followed shortly by another two drops. "This is abuse, we will have their head yet, boys." Said Ajax, as he too, watched the blood. A scowl on his face. A sigh was heard coming from Durango's general direction, muttering something in Spanish neither Hollis nor Ajax understood.

Hollis floor led off the remaining blood and then slowly, trying to look casual, wiped it on Durango. "I saw that." The Spanish boy's voice stopped Hollis in his tracks. He slowly retreated, a scowl etched across his features. He heard a snort snicker from Ajax, to which Hollis promptly told him to, "Shut up." He pale bond shut up.

Hollis hated these games. They were despicable, great, yet another reason for him to hate the Capitol. How did they ever even have loyalists to begin with? The Capitol was a monster, how in the world did anyone ever think they were in any form right? Hollis didn't understand. Well, he guessed they were getting their share of karma now. You support us? Well, now it's time to die. Happy Hunger games. That was his Capitol impression, good right?

Hollis would be ecstatic to kill the Capitol, thrilled even. Other rebels, not so much. The Capitol was turning them into murderrers, they were forcing him to become a killer. He wouldn't have a problem of it was some stuck up loyalist brat who thought they were God's gift to the world (right?), but another rebel. Someone, just like him. Who helped the rebellion as he had, who in a way, had affected Hollis' life in every sense imaginable? He didn't know.

Hollis had never been extremely poetic with his words. No over blown hyperboles or metaphors, he was blunt and straight to the point. Here games weren't anything other than sick. He didn't care about anything, other than the fact that these games were created by the same people who killed his brother. And now they were asking him to kill too. The Capitol could burn in hell, for all Holis cared. He just wanted his brother back.

The Capitol was a tyrant, a monster of manipulation. They were good, so good, it hurt at what they did. That was pain, they inflicted hurt and pain and Hollis wanted out. He didn't want to watch this train wreck of a game unfold, he didn't want any part of it. He didn't even want to show up to this stupid reaping because what were the chances he'd get picked. Almost as high as the chances these games were rigged, had been Ajax's respond to the Hollis question.

That'd been a turning point for Hollis, what if they were rigged? Well, then he certainly had a giant chance of been pulled didn't he? Then he would kill, and it would be in the name of the Capitol. Because it was the Capitol who were killing all these children not him. It was the Capitol who'd even arranged these stupid games in the first place. Could he murder? Could he, Hollis Pobarr, kill another? He liked to think he was strong enough to be able to kill and then sleep the next day. He told both Ajax and Dirango so. That he could kill if he wanted, that he could kill and feel nothing of it. Think nothing of it.

Hollis felt the mask as he'd spoken those words, tighten around his features. And he hadn't cared. He just kept telling himself, you can kill, you can kill, you can kill. He would take a knife and bring it down, he could take a knife and stab. And kill, and he would convince himself he wasn't doing it for the Capitol. He wasn't doing it for those who'd killed his brother. That he was doing it for him, he was doing it for him, which only made him feel worse, because what kind of sicko kills for himself? The Capitol. But he didn't care, he would just keep saying it. It wasn't the Capitol controlling him, it wasn't the monsters eating away at him. It was al, him, all him. He wouldn't let them win. He wouldn't kill for them. He would kill for him. No matter how messed up that was, he'd rather kill for himself, then do it because the Capitol had told him to.

He could easily blame it on them couldn't he? Say, that it as self defence and that he had no choice. The Capitol made him. But he was Hollis freakin' Pobarr, and the Capitol wouldn't make him do anything. He would never let them control him, not like they'd done to countless others. Anything those sick bastards would throw at him, he would throw back. He wasn't killing because they made him, he was killing because he made him. He would become a murderer because he was a rebel. Not because he was a tribute. Because the second he killed and thought, The Capitol made me, he was no longer a rebel. He was just another brainwashed idiot.

He wouldn't let that happen. He would fight for his brother, he would kill for him. He was going to show the Capitol that not everyone had succumbed to their stupid selves. Because he was going to defy every single freakin' thing they forced him to do. And he was gonna laugh about it, because none of it was because he had no choice, or the fact that the Capitol forced him to, nope, he was doing it all to show that he was the only one who made him do anything. He did everything he did, because he said so. And he was going to prove that.

He looked at the boys next to him, Durango who was saying something in rapid Spanish under his breath. And Ajax who seemed bored out of his mind. He caught Hollis starring and deadpanned, "Like what you see, Pobarr?" Hollis rolled his eyes, "Don't flatter yourself, Blondie." Ajax promptly turned away. Hollis looked up at the stage and struggled to not burst out laughing. Ajax didn't have as much luck.

The pale boy completely lost his cool and let out the biggest snort Hollis had ever heard. "What the Hell is she wearing?!" The pale blond managed between gasps. Suddenly all eyes turned to him. In the absolute silence of the courtyard, the blond boy'd comment certainly did not go unnoticed. "Sorry, Sorry, it's just- just what the Hell made her think... That was a good idea? Oh my God, Capitol citizens what the Hell is wrong with them? Oh my god."

Hollis heard some scattered snickering. And he, Hollis, would admit to being guilty of some of those snickers. That was when he heard his other best friend speak up as well. "You shouldn't laugh, Ajax. She might be going through some emotional strains right now and dressing like that is the only way she knows how to cope." That was when Hollis lost it. And suddenly he felt something grab his arms and hold him up, he feels pain shoot through his left arm, which is being help painfully behind his back. He sees the same happen to Durango and Ajax.

He looked up to see a mask of white and black. A peacekeeper. How the hell did they get here so quickly? "Boys, for disturbing the ceremony punishments will be enforced. After the reaping public wipppings for the three of you. This is a new era, one where leniency from the Capitol will not be given. Rules will be enforced and they will be obeyed." Hollis nodded? At least it wasn't execution, Hollis grimaced. "Well it's not my fault she chose to freakin dye her skin green." Came Hollis' snippy reply, no way in hell was he just submitting that easy. He wasn't going to shut up just because the Capitol made him.

"She has a name. It's Sylvia Silvertongue. The Captiol escort for District 9." The woman said, her teeth gritting together in frustration. "Well sorry, sweetie. Didn't mean to hurt your feelings, while we're at it, were you drunk when you picked out that hair?" He continued on, he didn't care. He briefly saw Durango shaking his head, but he ignored it. That's when he saw Sylvia's face erupt into a flame of red. "Shut up!" She screeched. "Ooh, now I've got little miss Capitol escort screaming, I'm so scared." He hollered back, Hollis barely even noticed how quiet the place was, or how all eyes were focused on the pair.

He felt a sharp tug at his arm and he winced in pain, but he had a high tolerance and a measly sprain wasn't going to make him cry. "Just get on with the ceremony, lady." He saw her huff in annoyance, "Up his number of whippings." She said, calmly, Hollis didn't even flinch. "Bring it." Anything was better than what his scar was living evidence of. He could take Anyang they threw and it and more. He watched the green skinned, purple haired woman strut across the stage. "I'll now be out ting on a video, if you-" "A video? Are you serious? Just get to picking the tributes." Hollis shouted out. He felt another tug on his other arm this time, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard to stop the pain. He thinks his arm is broken, he's sure it's broken. But he isn't giving the Capitol the pleasure of seeing him cry. They didn't deserve his tears.

"Fine." She lets out in an indignant huf. He smirks, she's weak. He feels the pain in his arm build back up, he bits his tongue harder. He isn't going to cry, no way in Hell. The pain is actually unbearable, and he starts to see black spots dance around the corner of his vision. His head starts to drop, before he feel a sharp pain in his wrist. He jerks back up, he looks down and sees that his wrist has been twisted completely, sprained, maybe broken by the peacekeeper. "Pay attention." The man holding him says aggressively. Hollis growls in response.

He does look up though, to see Sylvia with a slip of paper in her hand, her green hand. She clears her throat once, before licking her lips, black lipstick still staying on, unfazed. "Leilani Tareyn." He hears a gasp. And his head immediately snaps to the side, despite still being held tightly by the peacekeeper. A girl of around his age, blonde hair, pushes her way through the crowd. Angrily growling and hissing. She looks on the verge of tears though, despite her angry attitude. She scrambles up the stage and stand tall and challenging. She smirks.

And then Hollis meets her eyes, he raises an eyebrow, responding to her challenge. Her mouth pulls into a thin line, he winks before nodding towards the escort. Her head snaps to the green skinned woman. Holding a slip of white, slightly stained yellow, paper. Leilani turns back towards him, she raises an eyebrow in question. Hollis knows the ballots are rigged. He watches Sylvia glance at the young blonde tribute, before focusing back on the paper. He tries to catch her eye again and succeeds, he watches as Sylvia's mouth opens to speak. Then he winks at the young Tareyn.

"Hollis Pobarr." That's when al Hell breaks loose. He kicks the peacekeeper roughly and he's dropped. He spins and manages a punch in. That was just for fun, he thinks. He manages to catch himself and his broken arm and wrist is hurting like hell, but he just grits his teeth and runs. His arm's stinging still and he hurts, and suddenly he sees his brother's face behind his eyelids and he's shocked out of his stupor. He continues to run. He's pushing through crowds and he vaguely hears screaming behind him. He doesn't care. At one point he's struggling because some boy won't move and he's frustrated and now he's throwing desperate punches because he doesn't want to get caught and then-

Suddenly he hears a gun cock, Hollis freezes and turns around, slowly. It's a peacekeeper. Holding out his defence towards Hollis, he looks young, maybe only eighteen, his mask is off and his brown locks are falling into his eyes. He looks eighteen, maybe twenty at the latest. Hollis can't help but pity him. He looks to the stage where he sees Leilani, looking poised and curious. She gives him an intrigued look, before he winks at her and everything goes black. He's officially passed out from the excruciating pain coming from his left side. That, or he's just been shot.

Tribute: Haizea Lobo

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Haizea looks around bored, her eyes barely wandering across the mass of children. She sighs. It's like watching ants. She hates the Capitol, absolutely despises them. Her revenge seems barely fulfilled by what she's already done, but she knows that she can't do more. Not unless she wants to end up dead. They'd killed her parents, burnt them to the ground, because they thought. Not because they knew. Because they thought, guessed, assumed. Now they were killing more. They were killing children.

At least after this, she'd be done. She was eighteen, next year they couldn't hold her down. Not for anything. She'd be free, like Mikel. Finally, free of the Capitol. Not really, but better than what this was. Haizea looked composed, she knew she did. Her arms were crossed lazily acros her chest, her face slack, but still dignified. She was creating an aura of calm. She needed to look calm. Fear, an assassin learned to mask it. They had to, they were dead if they couldn't.

When you're told to kill, you can't be afraid to pierce the heart. You can't hesitate to plunge the knife. You can't show your fear, or they'll take advantage of it. She wasn't going to show the Capitol that she was scared, because she wasn't. She couldn't be. Haizea'd done the math, though she was sure an amateur could do the same, the probability of her being reaped was little to none. She noticed out of the corner of her eye a girl, her age, long blonde hair, trying to subtly gaze up at her. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. And Haizea knew she was being either admired, or feared. She didn't know which one she'd prefer.

Somehwre along the way, she'd come to terms that both were equally acceptable. Maybe it was her fourth kill, when the man she'd stabbed in the heart had told her she was strong, maybe it was her fifth kill when the woman she'd murdered had trembled before her blade. Perhaps number seven, when the man had looked at her, both impressed and scared. Before she stuck the blade to his throat and cut. A good assassin was feared. Just the very mention of her name would strike fear throughout your core. Of course, not now really, not her actual name. They'd given her some sort of code name, she didn't pay much heed to what it'd been.

Sometimes she wished that it wasn't her. That she hadn't been chosen to kill. That she'd gotten her revenge in a different way. But Haizea was smart, nothing would come of thinking about it. Noting would change, nothing would happen, if only she thought about it. The Capitol were monsters, but perhaps somewhere along the way, she too had turned. Which made her mask of maturity falter, for just the briefest of moments, before she had it under control once more. Because that wasn't right. She wasn't the monster, the Capitol was.

They were the ones murderring children, they were the ones tearing apart families, they were the ones destroying everything. But Haizea, hadn't you done the same. Those peacekeepers you killed that night, they had families didn't they? Those parties you crashed, you destroyed them didn't you? The bombs your team set up, you didn't try to stop them. Children died, but you didn't really stop it did you? Shut up!

Haizea felt like panicking, because that wasn't true. None of it was true. Right? She hadn't, she hadn't gone to their level. She would never be as bad as the Capitol. She'd made a difference, Mikel and her had made a difference. They killed Capitol men, people with so much blood on their hands that they looked like gloves. Almost subconsciously she glanced down at her own hands. Exactly how many had she murderred. She'd lost count. How many deaths had been because of bombs her team had set up? It didn't matter. War made monsters of men and women, it seemed. Haizea just had to hope her monster was better than the rest.

She kept her head up, made sure that no sign that she'd even had those thoughts was visible. She was strong, and she made sure that what people saw of her wasn't some broken little girl, it was a strong warrior. Most of all,she made sure they didn't see the killing beauty, the assassin, the monster.

Especially people like Mikel, Buck, people who didn't deserve her burdens. The weight her internal struggles supplied was something she would carry. She didn't need the help. She wouldn't need the help. Her secrets, her struggles, were ones that she'd take to the grave. She was positive of that fact. If the word that she'd been an assassin ever got out, it would be Mikel's fault alone. Not hers.

God, she sounded so strange to herself. Haizea was confident in her abilities, if she did 't want people finding out they wouldn't. And Mikel, he wouldn't betray her like that, he couldn't. Wouldn't. She looked towards the stage. There was slight movement coming from the officials, they seemed to be disvussing something. She didn't pay much bother towards it though. She looked back towards the other children, though she could hardly call some of them that. Haizea was strong, but she had hidden muscles, underneath her slim figure and elegant features. She was lean, like a swimmer. So she could move, like an assassin should, so she was graceful and sly, like an assassin should be. Too much bulk o pin someone of steals was never a good thing.

A cough Into the microphone grabs Haizea's attention away from the other potential tributes and towards the stage. Standing there is a man, tall, at least 6"5", he was very slim though. Unnaturally so. His hair is dyed a midnight blue, strands of violet mixed in. His skin is a dark mocha colour. Gold tattoos line his arms, some reaching up towards his face, a sharp contrast towards the dark of his skin. When he speaks, it's heavily accented. Capitol. Haizea curls away in disgust internally, but she knows she can't really do it. Not in front of all these people, the slightest hint could give her away.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for the reapings to begin?" He spreads his hands, as oif waiting for an answer, when no one does, he coughs lightly before proceeding on. "Before we begin, though, the Capitol has prepared a video for you." He points to a screen gradually being lowered down. And a projecter is shined onto it. A video starts playing.

"District in chaos. War raging..." Haizea listens. She can't help but grit her teeth a small he videos goes on. "Rebels, hundreds of them, destroying the peace. Not caring about those around them. Only about their own personal gain." They keep going on, showing numorous tapes. Haizea can feel her anger growing, not that her outwards appearence changes throughout. The Capitol continues to go on about the war, making them seem like the victors, the winners. The unlikely heroes, only to reign victorious. History is written by the winners. Haizea, for the first time that day, lets so of her anger shine through. Expressed through the grit of teeth, concealed behind chapped lips.

Finally the video ends, Haizea would say it was about three and a half minutes long. She breathes again. Her attention fixtated once more on the man on the stage. Fake smile and all, his black lipstick seeming to clash with the happy vibe his clothes and hair present. Strange. "We'll start with the ladies then, shall we?" He then proceeds to jump slightly, before starting his way towards the bowl. His actions strangely skit sh, his eyes glancing upwards towards the cameras once before proceeding. Strange.

He reaches the bowl, his mocha fingers dipping into the bowl. They trap a long slip of paper between its fingers. He pulls it out slowly, building suspense. She feels the sudden urge to snort at the predictable outcome. He licks his lips, before glancing at the cameras again. Haizea frowns, why does he keep looking over there. She suppresses the urge to look at the cameras herself. His mouth parts before he speaks.

"Haizea Lobo." She freezes internally, he was kidding. But no, she knew she wouldn't be doing herself any favours by denying it. She waits for a path to be made for her. When the children part after a moment's hesitation she steps forward. Slowly and calculated, daring anybody to say anything. She reaches the stage and accepts the hand offered to her by the escort. She pretends not to notice how his eyes linger monetarily on her chest.

"Well aren't you a doll?" She manages a smile. Trying to look as calm and collected as possible. He clasps his hands together. "Onto the men, now." He quickly strides over towards the bowl, holding the names of all eligible males of the District. He reaches inside, his fingers seeming to dance trying to choose the right slip. Finally it grabs it.

"Buck Chandler." Haizea freezes and her head whips around. Her defence faltering slightly. Ok, her mask falling almost entirely off. Buck, little sweet, scared, Buck. They called Buck. She watches as path clears for him in the thirteen year old section. He looks scarred practically to death. She watches as he shakily makes his way up to the stage, looking on the verge of tears. She swallows. His eyes are trained on hers, he's looking fearful. He looks terrified.

It's at that moment that Haizea vows to protect him. She has to. Haizea isn't for these games, someone good deserves to win. Someone pure, someone like Buck. She was going to bring him home, he was coming home. That was a promise.

He makes his way onto the stage. His legs threatening to let out. She stares at him, scarred, so scarred. He's crying now, silent tears. No sobs, no cries, just tears. Trailing down his cheeks. "Shake hands you two." So she does. She reaches out. Hoping that Buck won't plan on killing her, that her vow of safety for the little boy wouldn't be betrayed. That he wouldn't turn his back on her and kill. She trusts him enough not to.

They shake hands and then they turn. Haizea won't cry. Doesn't cry. But now, she definitely feels like doing so. She raises their hands high, she needs to look proud to be here. She needs to look confident.

"District 10. Look at your tributes!"

Tribute: Thorn Willows

Age: 16

Gender: Male

Thorn bit his lip nervously. This was it. He was in the middle of the sixteen year old section, he was ready. Thorn knew that realistically, he wasn't going to get picked. That didn't stop the insane pit of fear bubbling in his chest. Because Thorn wanted out, he didn't want to have to sit here and wait for them to pick a name, he just wanted them to do it now.

Pick a name already, please. So far, not all the kids had even gotten their finger pricked. And his last name was Willows, that's pretty far down the line, if you asked him. Thorn was just very impatient. God, he remembered wishing for something exciting to happen, remembered wishing for a new adventure. This wasn't what he meant. This wasn't what he meant at all. He'd give anything to go back to his life of the grocer's son.

Thorn didn't even know what to think of these games. Well, they were bad, obviously. But just how bad? And how good? Thorn didn't know. The thing that probably disgusted him the most was the fact that the Capitol citizens were probably enjoying it right now. They were probably loving it up. A new reality TV show to add to their roster of favourite. How exciting. Not. At least, not for any of them.

Tear streaked faces and whimpering children, Thorn had never seen the District look worse. Not even, when they'd been in the midst of war. There, it'd been chaos, but you knew what to expect. Here, nothing. The continuous silence was unnerving and the only sounds were those of children trying to hold back tears. Thorn didn't know, it was just such a false allure of calm that scared him. It was all so nonchalant that Thorn didn't know what to think. They were trying to make him feel less nervous, maybe even less hateful, with their sense of goodness. Well, Thorn, was scared.

He looked at the other children. Because of... Certain habits, more like being too bored for anything else, Thorn was a master at reading people. Or, at least, he was very good. He liked to think so, at least. He was. He could tell almost always what they were thinking, save for a few. Those who could lie excellently and those who couldn't. He didn't know, just something he'd never been able to pick up on.

Thorn wasn't sure how he'd fare in the games, if chosen. Sure like mentioned, he could read people, but other than that, what did he really have that bested everyone else's? He didn't really have any prior training. Unless you counted stacking vegetables training. He was strong enough, he guessed, and pretty fast. Other than that, he didn't think there was anything too special about him, He thought. He glanced at the children. Some looked as if they were trying to appear brave, they weren't succeeding. He saw the cracks in their masks, the flaws in their physique. They weren't the best, but then again, neither was Thorn.

He'd cried after he'd gotten home that day. Actually cried. As much as he hated to admit to it, he had. Good thing everyone'd been gone, out doing whatever it was they did on weekends. He usually just kept the shop up. Oh, his sweet little shop. How he longed to return to it, pretend none of this had ever happened. He'd just have to do it for the next two to three years, then he was free. Because what're the odds, that he'd get picked out of the thousands, him. Plain old Thorn, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Right?

He kept watching, maybe to catch of glimpse of anyone passing by, who looked extremely distressed. He saw one girl, who was hiding the fact that she'd been crying very well. With her hair in front of her face, her posture talks confident. He nodded appreciatively. See, she knew what she was doing, it helped that the red rinming her eyes had almoust completely faded. Compared to say, the young boy over in the fifteen year olds section, just next to THorn, looked completely disheveled. His hair was a mess, his eyes still sporting some tears, not to mention him biting his nails, or closing his eyes respectively. Thorn grimaced slightly.

"Ehem. Hello, District 11" His head wiped to the stage, only to be treated by a man, with pink hair and yellow skin. Makeup on point, if not a little extra. Thorn cocked his head to the side curiously, he was pretty short, and it made it a little difficult to properly see everything. Perhaps it was just his imagination. It has to be, right? "I'm Deduc Harmony. The escort for your District, assigned by the Capitol." Deduc started clapping at the mention of the Capitol. He received some applause as well, but just barely.

"Now, will you all please turn your attention towards the screen over here?" Thorn did so, a large screen was lowered down, and a projections started to play. "War raging, District in chaos." Thorn bent down, his head bowed slightly, he didn't want to see this. He didnt want a reminder. He wasn't crying, although he felt his eyes prickle with them. He wasn't freaking out, no matter how uncomfortable the video made him. He himself, being a neutral, hadn't lost to much over the war. But he'd just been eleven, he did have the PTSD to show.

The video, shortly after, came to a close. Thorn's head came back up. To face Mr. Harmony, the escort. A smile was plastered onto his face, and Thorn realized, he couldn't read him. Curious. He watched the flamboyant outfit Mr. Harmony wore, glimmer in the sunlight. His fluorescent hair seeming strangely out of place on the grim District. "Well, onto the reapings, yes?" Some scattered applause once more, Thorn this time joined in. "We'll start with the ladies? Yeah?" He watched as their escort sauntered across the stage, his black lips curl curling upwards, in a sort of smile. Still Thorn couldn't read him. Curiouser.

He watched as Mr. Harmony, the escort, stuck his hand into the bowl. His fingers circling the names carefully, until finally, he grasped one. He pulled it out. "Sage Blythe." His head wiped around, towards the seventeen year old section. A girl with dark, milky, skin, like most of the District, and short cropped hair, stepped forward. Until, an arm reached out and stopped her. "No. I volunteer for Sage." The arm steps out, a body is now visible. A pathway clears for the girl, and Thorn has to admire her bravery. He just has to. But Thorn also wondered why, she'd volunteered.

She walks up the stage confidently, but Thorn can see that she's on the verge of tears. He sees her whisper something under her breath. Thorn looks down, he could never imagine having that amount of bravery. Never in hiS lifetime. He has to admire her, he has to. For doing something he never could.

The girl's on the stage now. And Thorn watches. The escort approaches her. "Hello, darling, what's your name?" The girl takes a breath before answering, her voice noy quivering like Thorn would have expected. "Sparrow Blackmore." Her arms are still by her sides, not fidgeting like Thorn's would have been. He sees Mr. Harmony's eyes soften. "And why'd you volunteer, did you know her?" Sparrow licks her lips once before answering. The District is silent, her voice carries over the thousands of kids. "Yes. She was my best friend."

The escort nods at her answer. "So why'd you volunteer? Do you not think she's strong enough to survive?" Did they have a script? Is the thought that popped into Thorn's head next. Was there a script that they read off of, when chosen as the escorts. And just how, were the escorts chosen? He's baiting her, is what Thorn soon comes to realize next. He's baiting her, to look bad. Why the hell would he do that. He sees Sparrow stiffen and give him a look, one he can't quite decipher. "Sage is blind." That seems to end the conversation.

The escort clears his throat. "Very well then, onto the boys." He sees the man walk calmly aCross the stage. Over towards the glass bowl which contains his name, it must. Thorn wasn't sure how they fit all of the names into the bowl. Sure the population had dropped since the rebellion, but they weren't that little.

He watches the man reach into the bowl and pick a name. No stalling like he had for Sparrows. Or maybe it's just him. He pulls out the slip, he reads it over once, then twice. Thorn bits his lip, and his hands tighten into fists.

"Thorn Willows." Thorn freezes, that's his name. They didn't just call his name. Oh God, they did. They called his name. He sees the children glance in his direction before clears, singeling him out for the Cpitol. But Thorn is frozen, because what were the odds? What were the odds that it'd be him that was chosen. He still hasn't moved. "Thorn Willows." He still hasn't moved. "Him! It's him!" Thorn's head whips around. He did not. He did not. That boy did not just-

"You! Thorn Willows. Get up here, now!" That boy didn't. He couldn't have. He freakin' ratted Thorn out! Thorn feels his legs start to move, slowly but surely. His mind is racing, his breath is ragged. He's standing on the stage now. "Hello there." He turns to face the escort, who's just spoken. "Hi." Was what he managed to say in response. Cringing at how frail his own words sound to himself.

The man smiled, and Thorn tried to read him once more. Failure once more. Why couldn't he read him? There wasn't anything special about this man, besides weird styles, so why couldn't he just read him? Thorn didn't know.

"Shake hands you two." Thorn turned towards the girl, Sparrow. Who'd volunteered for her blind best friend. Thorn tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, that the District favourite was already decided. Completely. She stuck out her hand, Thorn did the same. Breathing, still raggedy, but she wasn't much better.

They turned and it was him who raised their hands. He didn't care if she was the favourite, he would show those sponsors exactly what they were missing out on.

"District 11! Your tributes!"

Tribute: Alarik Dayne

Age: 15

Gender: Male

His head was bowed, He felt like crap. Hus eyes were clenched shut, to avoid any tears falling. This was just his day wasn't it. Just mhiss freakin' day. First, He fails all of my exams, guess He can say goodbye Medical school, right? Then it's right on to the reapings. The death games, oh, how wonderful.

He just wished he wasn't such a failure sometimes, that for once in his life he could make his family proud. Like his brother, mister golden boy of the family, who of course graduated a year earlier and moved straight into his oh-so-fancy medical school in the Capitol. Yet here he was, Alarik Dayne, having to repeat a grade if he ever wanted even a chance of getting to be a doctor. Why was he such a damn failure?

Now, he was standing, a child among hundreds, waiting for them to just get on with the reapings so the day could end. Please, let it end. His name was pretty early on in the alphabet, so he had to wait for everyone to finish. Please finish. He wasn't the only kid crying, or the only one wanting out, but it sure felt like that. He saw others with puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes and knew that they'd been crying. He wasn't crying, but he was pretty sure he was going to be soon. But he had different reasons then them.

Of course his dad had yelled at him, why wouldn't he? Telling him things Alarik was already very aware of. His brother's name was mentioned a few times, obviously. Why would his father ever miss the chance of comparing him to his better, older brother? It was safe to say that no matter how hard he tried, he was never good enough. Lots and lots of failed expectations. And he was embarrassed by it. He just wanted to cry, but he was not crying in front of all these people.

He didn't care if crying was good for him, that it was Ok to show emotions, because Alarik didn't want another reason to be called a failure. His eyes were still closed and his mind was practically entirely consumed by his thoughts, self-loathing and hurt circling through his brain. Because Alarik was a happy kid, but he could barely grasp even a feeling of that happiness now. And he hated it.

His fist clenched, he could feel his nails biting into his flesh. No blood, not that he could see anything anyways. But he was fairly certain that he'd be able to feel it if so. Slowly, he peeled open his eyes. The light seemed blinding after the darkness his eyelids had provided. He suddenly felt the urge to close them again, but knew that he wouldn't gain anything from it, so no point right? He tried looking around for his friends, and strangely he couldn't see any of them, not a single one. Strange.

He didn't think much of it later though. He couldn't. His mind too focused on himself, call him selfish but he wasn't going to deny it. He looked around again, hoping to see someone he at least partially knew. But he couldn't, very strange indeed. He decided to ignore it though.

Which brought his mind to the games, a subject, he'd been trying to ignore. And failing at apparently. He didn't know what to think of these games, he tried not to think of them. He was a neutral, which of course made him pissed at the fact that he too was included in these games. He didn't do anything wrong, he hadn't rebelled, why should he be punished. It wasn't fair. District twelve had been mostly rebel, but he wasn't. It was annoying, because even though chances of him being picked were very slim, he still could be. And that little 'could be' may be what ends up with him dead. Him dead, because of a war he didn't start, and a punishment he didn't deserve.

Which made him very, very bitter about the whole ordeal. Alarik knew that his friends had been upset about it, too. Not that he'd talked to them about it much. Too busy trying to cram in some last minute studying for his exams. Which he of course failed, ceremoniously. He wanted to cry. Snap out of it. Focus on the games. The games. That's right, the games.

What kind of bastard though of these games? A sick one that's for sure. They were forcing children, little kids, twelve year olds who hadn't even reached puberty yet, to kill one another. To murder. A classic game of killed or be killed. And the Capitol was proud of it. The mayor seemed reluctant about the idea, but he didn't see him complaining. Which made him all the more angry. Because these games, they were so unfair. To those Capitol trained soldiers with a Chance of getting picked, those perfect Capitol citizens. They had an advantage. They had prior training towards killing, towards hurt.

Alarik was pissed, he was most definitely pissed. But most of all,he was scared. And too scared to admit to the fact. Because he was well aware that if he was chosen, then his chances of survival were slim. Sure he could make traps, woohoo. But what if he couldn't find anything to make them with? He was experienced in the field of medical emergencies, not the best but he was willing to bet he was better than most, but once again what if was too injured to find the proper things to heal himself with?

Well, then he was screwed wasn't he?

He groaned, earning a few looks from the other potential tributes, but they didn't say anything. Nobody said anything. Which only enerved him more, because why was everyone so silent? It was freaking him out.

Tap. Tap. Two taps, to a microphone, resounded in the silent courtyard. Almost as if planned, the whole mass turned towards the stage. Standing there was their mayor. He was straightening a tie as he waited for complete silence. Not from the children, oh no, but from the other officials behind him. Finally they stopped. And all attention was focused on the young man at the front. He put on a smile. "Welcome, to the first annual reaping of District 12!" A few halfhearted claps were heard throughout the courtyard. His smile became strained.

"Well, if you'd all focus your attention to the screen. The Capitol presents to you, a video on the games." All heads turn to the strange screen situated on the stage, a little to the right. An image starts playing. "War raging. Districts in chaos..." And Alarik keeps watching. The words no longer reaching him as all he can see is the screen, the images flashing. And he's horribly fascinated by them. Death, blood, war, chaos. It's all there and Alarik can't tear his eyes away from it. He's fixtated.

Afte a few moments later, the video comes to a close. And all attention is once again brought back to the stage, after a few simple taps. This time, he's seeing a woman, dressed in all blue, weirdly enough, with green and yellow hair, and poca-dotted skin. Long eyelashes and big lips, he cringes away. She is... Interesting. Her smile look too big for her face and he bits his lip. She scares him a little to be honest.

He watches as she speaks. "Hello, my name is Maia Lucarcy. I'm your Districts Capitol escort!" She starts clapping and once again only a few claps may be heard. Her smile remains, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Ladies first then?" She doesn't wait for an answer and starts walking over. She pauses over the bowl, and reaches in, her tongue sticking out of her mouth in concentration, But only slightly. He watches her strangely well manicured fingers into he bowl. Is that what all Capitol citizens looked like, and that accent, too?

Suddenly she grips onto one and Alarik leans forward slightly. Not even noticing that he does so. Not even realizing that suddenly he's kinda into these games. That for the first time he can understand why the Caoitol citizens like the games so. She pulls out the slip dramatically and then pauses. Before she looks at the paper, her eyes narrowing slightly, before speaking. In that Capitol accent of hers.

"L-Lilith Cadow." Alarik barely notices the stutter, but doesn't pay much heed towards it. Because that name, everyone knows that name. That's Lilith, their resident crazy. A thirteen or twelve year old girl who is absolutely mad. And suddenly he feels bad, he pitied her. Even more when she stumbles onto the stage, looking scared and frightful. She's mumbling something and even in the absolute silence, Alarik can't pick up on what she's saying. Her eyes are madly dancing between the children, seeming to be looking for someone and Alarik softens.

He sees the escort soften visibly as well. Before she immediately perks up once again. Polka dots dancing across her skin. And there goes all human emotions, back to weird Capitol alien once agin. "Now onto the men, yes?" This time she gets an answer. Some smart-ass girl, probably relieved that it isn't her going into games, shouts out a, "Yes!" Followed suite by several giggles. All it does is make Alarik feel even more sick. How can they be happy at a time like this.

Sure it isn't you going into the games, but can you some compassion? Because Lilith is. So what, she's crazy, she's still human. She's also twelve, twelve years old. Maybe thirteen, she's a mere child. And she's most likely going to die, and you're joking and laughing around. Alarik feels strangely disgusted, because how can someone be so sick?

He turns back towards the escort, her hand already in the bowl. He watches as her thumb and middle finger grasp onto the slip of paper. She pulls it out. Smiling once again, and once agin, it doesn't seem to reach her eyes. Her eyes glaze over it once, before she softly clears her throat and speaks.

"Alarik Dayne." And suddenly all eyes are on him. And more than ever does he feel sick. He starts to panic, his mind spiralling out of control, his breath is ragged. He doesn't understand, before he straightens up and clears his mind. He tries to calm down, barely noticing the path that's been created for him. He straightens up further and breathes, before walking up to the stage under his own power. He tries to smile. But it comes out looking more somber than he intended.

He reaches the stage. Staring out to the sea of children below him. He tries looking for his friends, but can't see them still. "Well aren't you handsome." He blushes at the compliment, before turning to face her. She smiles, her strange, strange smile. "Shake hands you two." Alarik turns again, to face the little crazy that is Lilith. He smiles at her, a real genuine smile. She doesn't smile back. Even though she's looking at him, it's like she's seeing through him.

They shake hands and Alarik turns them both to face the crowd. And it's him who raises their hands. His smile is long gone, he stares at the crowd. Challenging them to do something about it.

"District 12, may I present to you, your tributes!"

?

He frowned and clenched both of his fists. He watches as the tributes, Sparrow and Thorn walk up the stage respectively. He watches as they shake hands before raising them both into the air. He knows he should feel sad, but instead he somehow feels relief. Relief that it isn't him. It isn't him dying. He feels guilty about it later though.

Thorn seems familiar and he's crunches up his eyes to see him better. Where had he seen Thorn before? He doesn't know. Perhaps in passing they'd seen one another, maybe. He didn't know, and hoped never to find out. Knowing would make it all the more painful when he had to see Thorn die. When they both died. He knew that the two tributes weren't weak, but he also knew they weren't Victor materiel. The whole District knew, but no one was going to say anything.

He should be relieved that it isn't him going to the games, but he still can't shake the feeling of something bad happening. Something beyond his control and something strange. He can't seem to shake it. He senses hurt, and the horrible feeling in his stomach is telling him to beware, to take caution. Trying to warm him about something. He watches as the two are lead away. The escort following behind them. Ushering them Somewhere beyond his view.

He closes his eyes and breathes, hopefully that feeling is just his imagination. He hopes that it is just that. He wants to go see his sister, he needs to go see his sister. So not waiting to be dismissed, he silently slips out of the masses. He was near the border anyways and runs. Not looking back once. He hopes that no one noticed.

How wrong, he'd been.

Finally! We are done the reapings! Also, who's the mysterious dude at the end? Also Happy New Years!