Hahaaa, See I'm really on a roll today with updates :D I have officially created the D8 Male; The reason I'm updating is because I want to get to the Pre-Games as soon as possible plus it's my friends birthday this weekend and I'll be out most of the time :) Now, lately people's reviews have been slowing down and in all honesty I have to say this is disappointing…So review and I won't whinge like a petulant child ;)
So we're here at the D8 Reapings, and after this there is only 2 chapters (potentially three until the whole Pre-Games which will be over in like 10 chapters, but anticipate longer chapters… and once all this reaping business is done I'll be opening a poll about favourites and all that jazz)
Okay, Credit goes to:
Me for Lyle Carrington
AND
IzzyRoxUrSox14 for Lacey Burton
Lyle Carrington, District 8.
Today is the first step in getting what I want, and I always get what I want because I am Lyle Carrington and the whole world falls before my feet: Today I volunteer for the Hunger Games and then I win, essentially claiming world wide fame and I will be renowned as the greatest Victor the Hunger Games have never known. It's simple and of course I suppose there is a chance that I could lose my life: Not going to happen, I know these games are rigged and everyone will want me to win: I am heartbreakingly handsome and I practically ooze too much charm for most of the whores around here, I will leave District 8 behind and go to the Capitol: where I belong. Seriously, every man, woman and child in the Capitol will be rooting for me to win and who is President Snow to disappoint his beloved Capitol citizens.
To everyone else I am snobbish and have a severe superiority complex; I am a snob at all seeing and I do have a superiority complex but unlike most I am not afraid to admit it: I am superior to most people because I actually have a back bone and I go out and get what I want, I want it all: to be called a Victor, the money, the girl and the glory and I'll do what I have to in order to get it whereas most are happy to sit here content with their lot; Pathetic wastes of space, sometimes I find myself thinking that the world would be a better place if the human race ceased to exist, well apart from the likes of myself of course.
I catch a fleeting glance of myself in the mirror, and I literally have to stop to admire myself for a little while; I mean my superiority over others has actually manifested through my physical appearance: I am a physical phenomena and it truly will be a shame if I die, for Panem will have lost one of the most aesthetically pleasing people to have ever existed but that doesn't matter since I'm coming out. Whether it is my platinum blonde hair that really does feel like silk to the touch; or maybe my amber eyes and how they are framed with thick black lashes; or my bone structure which looks like it was carved by the great artists who once walked this Earth: Michelangelo or Botticelli.
Vanity is not a crime, and people always say you should appreciate what you have and well I am exceptionally handsome and I appreciate it. The midnight blue blazer is tailored to enhance my lean build, bringing attention to my broad shoulders, muscled arms and my stunning abs and then the shirt being left open just a 'little' shows my sculpted chest. Honestly, I don't think I'm human; because I'm pretty damn sure that no other human in the whole of Panem is attractive as I, I slick my hair to one side and just take a moment to admire myself: Literally people should worship the likes of me, I would if I were in anyone else's position.
I walk downstairs and see my family's maid rushing around trying to fix my breakfast; this darn woman is totally scatter brained, she seriously needs to learn how to do her job or she'll be back on the streets from which she came: Pathetic. I stand at the foot of the stairs and watch her flutter around muttering to herself, I mean what kind of world is it when even the hired help is completely useless? Before I depart for the Capitol I will make sure that mother fires her, disgusting woman with stains all along her pinafore: working for the Carrington family you are expected to hold yourself with some decorum which this woman so blatantly lacks.
'Edina, where is my breakfast? You know that I eat at this time every morning and yet you still seem to forget. Do you want to lose this job? Do I have to beat it into you, you disgust me.' The woman pales so much that her skin appears translucent and she tries to stutter out a response but I silence her by raising my hand if I wanted to listen to her pathetic excuses well I would have asked. She flinches as I raise my hand, her face a perfect mask of terror and it feels great: I have the power and I have no qualms about using it; I allow a sadistic smile to curl onto my face as I move towards her, relishing her fear that saturates the air: I may as well give this invalid woman a good beating before I go, for old times sake. She must see the malicious glint in my eye and she tries to escape: doesn't she know that 'Cat and Mouse' is my favourite game.
Lacey Burton, District 8
Oh my goodness, there is so much to do and oh so very little time to do it with this Reaping business; I place the satin back down and re arrange the bobbin before pushing down on the pedal and guiding the luxurious material so that the seam is fully assembled and when I double loop I take my foot from the machine. Being a girl from District 8 you learn at a young age that a sewing machine may as well be your best friend because it'll be the thing you spend most of your time with; being only 12 years old many would expect that schooling would be my primary concern but that isn't the case. I study at night but all day I am working in my mother's boutique creating luxurious clothes for the 'ladies' here in District 8. I think it is funny that although I am the young girl who makes these dresses I'll never be able to afford to wear one, but that is the way life is and I won't question it because it would just cause an unnecessary kerfuffle; and then everything would just fall into chaos and well I don't want that one bit.
'Lacey' I hear my mother's soft voice from the doorway and I swing to look at her, she shakes her head when she see's what I am doing; my mother said I may as well be surgically attached to the sewing machine but she also says I should have my hand glued to a book so I just roll my eyes good naturedly and re direct my attention to the machine; I'm almost finished when the machine literally just stops. I turn to my mother who's still watching from the doorway.
'Mom, I didn't break it, I promise I was doing everything by the book. Oh, what have I done? You can dock my wages and I'll stay up extra late to finish these things by hand; it can be haute couture. I really am so sorry.' I can feel tears in my eyes, I really have messed things up this time; without a working machine we may as well wave goodbye to any food on our table and it's my entire fault. Surprisingly my mother starts laughing and I can feel my mouth fall open in shock: Has she gone loony? This really is not a laughing matter and quite frankly I am bewildered
'Lacey, I shut off the power darling; don't work yourself up over nothing.' I breathe a sigh of relief, but that is soon replaced by my annoyance; why didn't mom warn me? It would of saved me all that stress over thinking I'd broken the sewing machine, it really does seem that people are so inconsiderate of other's feelings and that really irks me; I pout my lips and cross my arms, that'll make sure mom knows that she is in my bad books: However petulant it may make me seem.
'Mom, that wasn't very nice and why have you shut off the power, we've still got another four hours before we close up shop and look at how much I have to do. However bad this may sound, you are not acting like a very good business women: we have a demand and I need to make the supplies' To a stranger it may seem surreal seeing a 12 year old girl lecture one of her elders but sometimes my mom has her head in the clouds; creative people like my mother are prone to getting lost in their own thoughts so sometimes I have to step in and bring her back to reality. But today it doesn't look like she is away with the fairies in fact she is looking at me as though I'm the one who has lost sight of reality, she has raised her eyebrow and looks at me expectantly as if I am meant to able to fill in the blanks: Well I can't and mom must realise this because she lets out an exasperated side and moves toward me.
'Sweetie today is only a half day because of the reapings.' She was right, how could I have forgotten? I've been dreading this day since I turned 12 last month; and now the fear this day brings to me every year returns but 10 times stronger seeing as this is the first year I will actually be eligible; the effect is instantaneous: tears start falling freely down my face, my guts seem to clench in anticipation and I shake uncontrollably; it could be me, and what would I be able to do against the careers? What would I be able to do? I can't catch my breath and I feel all clammed up, I practically feel all of the colour leave my face and the smile I had previously worn disappeared. My mom must sense my distress because she rushes over and pulls me into a fierce hug, stroking my hair and littering my face with kisses.
'Darling, you mustn't get upset about this! You will not get picked; your name is in there only once. The odds are in your favour; the odds are in your favour remember that. Now, be brave my baby girl: I've brought you a present.' My mother's soothing words make me see that the odds are actually in my favour; my name is in that bowl once and there are thousands upon thousands of names; how could I have been so silly? Over reacting like that was pointless and caused unnecessary stress. And a present? I wonder what it is: maybe a new trinket, or a hair ribbon or maybe a new book, or roll of thread.
'Do you promise Mom?' Although my worries had alleviated I still wanted my mom's reassurance but she smiled: she must realise that her words have comforted me, my voice is perkier and full of its usual optimism and I can feel the blush returning to my cheeks. Everything will be okay.
'Yes, I promise. Now, do you want your present or not?' Well, you don't have to ask a girl twice.
Fortuna Demarita, District 8 Escort.
Humph, this escorting business really isn't for me; I wouldn't be here if it weren't for father threatening to cut me off. I just literally collapse in anguish whenever I imagine it; being disowned, having no money: It's a ghastly thought though isn't it, being poor in the Capitol? Heinous is the word I'd use to describe it. That's why for a couple of weeks every year I subject myself to thee torture of visiting District 8 and choosing the two little brats destined for death; Oh, last year did make me giggle: the Mayor's son was chosen and it was so hilarious when he was crying for his mother as he was disembowelled; me and Patricia could not stop laughing for weeks. I swear District 8 is most possibly the worst district in the whole of Panem, with the only exception being District 12; it's very low on Victor's I tell you. 3 and one of them is a bumbling mess of a 21 year old, the other an old man who is as deaf as a dingbat and then some morphling addled freak who stares just a bit too much for my liking. In all honesty I don't think I get paid enough to deal with this: I mean, I literally have to bathe for a whole week in order to rid myself of the stench that contaminates me after my annual visit to District 8.
See at first I thought that with District 8 being the 'textile' district it would be as on point with the latest trends and fashions just like my beloved Capitol but believe me when I say that is not the case. It is full of smog, factories and well nasty, dirty, ugly, smelly people: I mean all the tributes smell like they've never had a bath, there truly is not perfume in the world to mask their malodorous scent; it lingers. Every year I ensure that the sheets the dirty little animal children are burnt; who knows what types of the diseases they might be carrying?
'Fortuna are you ready for the reaping to commence?' Oh there goes the monotonous drone of Mayor Gordon; he always seems so depressed, I mean he only lost one son and he has like four so I really don't get the whole 'upset' thing he has going on. Seriously, just like get over it. But it's not good for the escorts to be too surly so I plaster on my mega watt smile and give a girlish giggle.
'Of course Mayor, Fortuna Demarita is always ready for her loving audience.' He just stares blankly at me before leading the procession out; first him and his advisors who also seem to be robots, seriously what is so difficult about smiling? I do it all of the time. And then there are the Victors, Cecelia is a pretty girl I suppose but she looks sad, and then Frederick the morphling addict is just dawdling along like some mentally challenged child and then Woof the old man who literally shuffles along at the slowest pace imaginable. As soon as the dysfunctional entourage are onstage I make my entrance; walking briskly and making sure to sway my hips I swagger onstage and wave to the audience. No one waves back which is rather rude, were this animal people things never taught manners?
'Hello little people, it's that special time of year again when one lucky boy and one lucky girl get to join me on a journey to the Capitol. Aren't you all excited?' I take a pause and they all seem like corpses, no recognition that I've even spoken. How rude can you get? I move to the bowl at the left right of the stage and snatch up a name, it's not as if I care, and waltz back over to the microphone.
'The lucky little lady is none other than….' I always leave a dramatic pause, it builds tension and drama and well who doesn't love drama? They're hanging on my every word, finally they show some life but instead of applauding my use of pause they look scared. What have they got to be scared of? I mean, like they get to come to the Capitol and to the likes of these dirty people, it is a once in a lifetime opportunity; Yes, they may die but doesn't everyone? And I personally would rather die than have to live somewhere like this. Oh well, let's put them out of their misery.
'Lacey Burton' I hear screams and the whole 'Not them' and in all honesty I'm really tired of people questioning the Capitol; I nod towards the Peacekeepers and they go to collect the tribute. Oh great, a bloody 12 year old well that'll be no fun whatsoever; they always die like right away. She is tiny, even for her age: this little animal person could be 8, she is well a snivelling mess but she is trying to look fierce, not working at all. Right, she's a little closer now so I can see her properly: well this girl is so pale she must never have seen sunlight, honesty she is bone white apart from a blush the colour of raspberry that mars her cheeks; I'm surprised, she is thin but not emaciated so her family must have a bit of money and her hair is the most divine shade of like a warmish chocolate brown with natural lowlights; if I got at it with a good conditioner it would be like beautiful, as long as she took it out of that messy bun. Oh, I think this is a cute little girl, she has the elfin features and the wide blue eyes which seem to sparkle; what a little sweetheart? She walks onstage and I critique her outfit and I'm surprised that it is almost, very nearly stylish: a yellow silk pinafore with white sandals, poor little pumpkin! She'll be dead in a week. I give her an encouraging smile but she just stares ahead, however cute she may be she is going to have to work on her manners. Now, on with the show…
'Our male tribute is…'
'I volunteer' What? I am in District 8 right? I've never heard of such a thing, well some people volunteer from the outlying districts; I mean, like people with death wishes or psychopaths and then the odd elder sibling but this doesn't sound like the voice of some suicidal moron, a psycho and it couldn't be an elder sibling seeing as I never called a name. The voice is confident but smooth like honey, it's a very sexy voice; watch my look it'll be a right minger now won't it? And then I see him, what a man; I think I'm going to enjoy escorting this one and I can think of a million different ways I could escort this one. Sorry little girl, you may be cute but this boy is something else. Blonde hair, gorgeous face and the body of an Adonis; a real volunteer, oh he may be a career and then I'll be able to cosy up to Platinum Herzesky and then oh it'll be fabulous. His onstage now, and if it's even possible he is better looking up close; those amber eyes of his could hold me in a trance from here until kingdom come.
'And what is your name young man?' I slide to his side and stroke his arm, although I'd much rather be stroking something else of his; I even use my 'sexy' voice which means making it lower and more gruff, it really does work wonders. He smiles and I swear I almost faint.
'The name is Lyle Carrington and you'd do well to remember it.' Oh he is so charming and handsome and oh my goodness it's my turn to speak.
'I introduce your tributes, Lyle Carrington and Lacey Burton. Happy Hunger Games and as always, may the odds be ever in your favour.' The tributes shake hands, as tradition dictates. The male dwarfing the young girl, he stands strong and she seems to be shaking like a leaf: As I said, she'll be dead within the week.
Lacey Burton, District 8.
I just can't bring myself to cry; its shock according to my mom, I just can't believe it. It's just a nightmare, I'll wake up and this will never have happened. Oh, who am I trying to kid? I am about to go and die, it sounds morbid and the terrifying fact is that it is true. 12 years old and I've gotten a death sentence, it just sounds weird; I mean, it was my first year: This wasn't mean to happen, not at all. My shock is also tinged with anger, my mom promised it wouldn't happen and it did and she promised that I'd do well which I most likely won't, but I will try at least however much the Hunger Games petrify me; I won't let my fear hold me back because as soon as I enter that arena I will not be Lacey Burton, the sweet little girl who is always sewing or reading; I will be the District 8 female who will kill mercilessly with a knife as my new sewing needle. And if it's not me in the arena, well that means that whatever I do in there won't haunt me.
I can't believe I'm on this train already; time has blurred since my reaping and well I can hardly remember the goodbyes, I can only just about picture the faces of my family and friends and hear just a faint echo of advice but I didn't listen. They were already mourning me, my death a guarantee; I mean my friends used the word 'were' instead of 'are', as in the past tense as if I don't even exist anymore. In a sense they're right, until these games are over I'm no longer Lacey, but the District 8 female but I will be back; Lacey Burton will return home to her sewing machine and her plethora of books and life will return to normal because isn't that what we all crave here in Panem, a sense of normality. I see their faces: Mom, Dad, Weave my brother, Flax and Calico my friends and I feel a sense of longing to see them again, to listen to Mom and Dad's pointless bickering; to watch Calico tease Flax and for Weave to just be the annoying big brother he has always been.
I stroke the bracelet on my wrist: A basic cloth bracelet with multicoloured cotton running through it. It's Weave's and he was my main source of comfort in the Justice Building; he told me to find allies, to strike from a distance and to avoid direct confrontation. He thinks I can win and according to him, he is never wrong and well with my life on the line I sincerely hope that he is right in this instance. In one week it begins, I think I'll allow myself those tears now. As I'm crying I hear someone enter the compartment; I peek over my shoulder and spot my district partner. I think his name is Lyle and simply looking at him almost makes me convulse in fear; he is watching me intently like a cobra before it strikes and it's thoroughly unnerving.
'Lacey isn't it?' I nod, I don't trust myself to speak without breaking down in sobs and I can't show weakness; however much I don't like the idea this boy is my enemy and will more than likely try and kill me at some point. He smiles, showing a perfect set of white teeth and I give him a small smile in response but I know his smile is anything but sincere; it's like the cat that got the cream, with me being the cream and I don't like it one bit.
'Well, when I kill you I will try to ensure that you don't get cut up too badly; I'm sure your family will be able to recognise you whether or not your missing a limb' he has moved forward so that he is looming over me, physically he is scary but what is even more terrifying is that he probably will kill me: He volunteered for this, he must be capable unless he has a death wish. I feel my eyes widen as I scurry away from him, I can't let him inside my head but I cannot be in the same room as someone who has made it very clear they want to kill me. He laughs and I dart out of the room and hopefully as far away from that scary boy as physically possible on this train. His manic laughter seems to ricochet off of the walls and I can imagine him laughing as he slices tributes open, bathing in their blood: The image is so sickening that I find the nearest vase and empty the contents of my stomach into it; I'm so weak, how could I ever do this? Oh right, because I'm no longer Lacey Burton: I am the District 8 female and she isn't scared of the big bad wolf called Lyle whatsoever; in fact she is more than happy to take him and his ego down a peg or two.
Lyle Carrington, District 8.
Scaring that pathetic little girl was the most fun I've had all day; and that is including the nice beating I gave the whore Edina who's blood has crusted beneath my perfectly manicured nails and the shock on every single persons face when I volunteered; I really wish that I could of taken a photograph because I really wanted to laugh. On that thought I do need a shower, I don't want her whore blood lingering on my body anymore. I shuffle over to the window and watch the people outside, just going about their everyday lives; well they can continue living their lives of poverty and work whereas I am on my way to eternal glory, and my final destination is becoming Victor of the 62nd Annual Hunger Games. I close my eyes and let my imagination run wild, a symphony of screams fill my ears like the greatest symphony and I can feel the slickness of warm blood covering my hands and I can taste the fear and the terror on the tip of my tongue and it is phenomenal; what truly excites me however is that this twisted fantasy of mine will become reality before I know it, one week today in fact.
'Lyle, where's Lacey?' I turn to find myself face to face with a young woman who is twenty at the oldest, with pale blonde hair and brown eyes the colour of milk chocolate; rather hot with those pouted lips but she's not worth my time. I think her name is Cecelia, she won the Hunger Games a few years back and however shocking it may seem with her petite frame she was a great warrior and surprised us all with her knack for murdering. She is sweet in her nature I understand, and this is shown by the soft whisper which is her voice: gentle, soothing and totally unnecessary when talking to someone like me. I could learn a few things from her, I force my features into a gracious smile a step towards her, she watches my movements and stares into my eyes.
'I think she excused herself to go to her room, most likely scared; would you like a seat? We have so much to talk about.' I gesture towards the large table; she appears to scrutinise me before throwing her head back and laughing, maybe her time in the arena sent her crazy? Who dare has the nerve to laugh at Lyle Carrington?
'You can keep your charm; I'm not your mentor, and God help me if I find out you hurt that little girl. Well, you won't be making it to the arena.' She is sending me a murderous glare and I feel my rage threatening to bubble to the surface; how dare some pitiful woman like her disrespect me, does she know who I am? She sweeps from the room, most likely to find the little brat, Lacey was it? I am rather angry, she could've taught me quite a lot and I get Woof, who I'm pretty sure is already asleep. I'll make sure to make that little girls death as gruesome as possible, maybe then Cecelia will regret her hasty rebuttal of me.
'Oh Lyle, where is everybody else?' Ah Fortuna, with her tacky fuchsia hair and maroon skin; ugly as they come but I can most probably exploit her in one way or another: Escorts help arrange sponsors and well that'd be very helpful. I give her my most flirtatious smile and I see her sway on her feet; it's good to know I can still put any woman on her back.
'Fortuna, how about we have a little discussion regarding sponsors?' I take a step closer until I'm pressing her against the panelled wall of the train compartment, breathing heavily into her ear; she squirms in evident pleasure, pressing her petite body against my own. She gasps and starts running her hands across my chiselled torso, before looking up at me through her fake eyelashes.
'But where would we go?' Her voice is husky now, she is yearning for me. Stupid woman, eating right out of my hand but I smirk and trail kisses along her collarbone, she groans in pleasure before I answer her question.
'How about your bedroom? More room to … stretch out.' She practically squeals in delight before dragging me from the room with surprising force; I can practically see the silver parachutes falling at my feet. I really would do anything for sponsors: Including sleep with this insufferable woman.
Haha, wonderful readers there are our District 8 tributes; what a pair? Let me know your thoughts about Lyle and Lacey…and Fortuna? I struggled with Cecelia a little bit because there never was much to go off from the books so she may be a bit OOC but hey…
Review, oh and Loves Yah as always xxx