Post #1858455 in The Final Hunger Games, a roleplay on RPG

Plumeria Snow

Standing there was petrifying. Plum didn’t know what it was, but the moment she was forced to stand on her own beside the other tremoring tributes she could feel the hatred enimating from the crowd. She hadn’t truly experienced it since she’d been so secluded by the new government. But there, on that stage, she felt like the equivalent of a fire ant under a magnifying glass. Pinto Flickerman seemed to go on after her comment with slight hesitation but he got back into the swing of things quickly. It was like she didn’t even exist. Plum swallowed, sweat beading on her forehead. She could feel the sun on the crown of her hair, burning her scalp. She felt like her chest was constricting the longer she had to stand there, her eyes gazing over the faces of many people who pointed at her with sneers of vengeance. Her grandfather’s words echoed through her head. “They will hold you accountable for my actions…”

Plum felt her eyes swell and her body seemed to tremor. She reached out for something to hold onto and all she found was the arm of the girl next to her, a nobody with black hair and gold stars tattooed beside her eyes. The girl held her hand, squeezed it with reassurance, and just patted her hand. It was suffocating to be standing there. All of a sudden she exhaled, her breath panicked. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it for so long. Her chest constricted and her stomach twisted. The nausea of nerves and fear seemed to constrict her jaw. She stifled her desires to scream. Everything in her wanted to jump out at the crowd and claw their eyes out and to turn their hands away from them. The spectacle had her faint and sick. By the time Pinto finished his speech she heard only one other thing.

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” he smiled, his words ending as a fanfare of music and confetti shot out from over the stage. Plum tossed her hair over her shoulders, her lips curling as she suppressed a cry. The stranger squeezed her hand again but was soon separated from them as the guides closed in on them, arms extended with black gloves to push them into the mansion that she had used to call home.

The foyer was baron and Plum’s mouth dropped in horror. All traces of her family’s presence in the building had disappeared. The walls were still a rich blue, the floors a dark mahogany. The elegant chandeliers were gone, the paintings too. As she glanced at the walls she could see the evident traces f repairs. They’d stormed the building in their capture of Snow, this she knew. But it was horrifying. Her home felt desecrated. And here they all stood, in a place she knew so well. It sickened her to see it this way. They were occupying it and treating it like a government building. The drastic changes to it hurt her heart and seemed to reinforce the idea even more so that there was no going back to her old life. Her family was gone and she was alone. This home was no longer her home. Where else was she to go? No wonder they sent her to the games. It was a means to get rid of her and to free up the half dozen military men who’d kept her prisoner.

It was in the moment of horror, looking up at the walls of the building, her mind wandering and her attention on anything but Pinto that she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders. Startled, she turned to look at one of the older boys who had been picked as a tribute. She remembered his face and how many of her friends had gone after him. He was another victim of a family history bearing heavily on his name. Sorrel Crane, now Allowark, held her tightly to him, allowing her head to lean on his shoulder. He held hands with another girl too, as if to reassure them both of what was to come, that more than one of them would survive.

* * *

Sorrel Allowark

As Pinto Flickerman said his regards, Sorrel held onto Plum, fearing that she might fall apart before they even arrived at the training center. He’d watched them all on stage, wondering for his friends’ safety. He’d noticed that halfway through the reaping the change in tone on Plum’s face. She gone whiter than white and looked ready to snap. She’d grabbed onto the arm of the girl next to her, who surprisingly held her steady. Perhaps he was nurturing. When he’d seen her grow even more uncomfortable at the sight of her former home he’d reached out to her. He wasn’t sure why. It would certainly make it harder to for him to kill her. Then again, alliances were always useful in the beginning and that spite and spark in her initial composure led him to believe that maybe she might be useful.

Then there was the other girl, one he’d played with since he was a child due to their father’s mutual occupation in running the games: Sable Blomgren. He saw the rage in her eyes, the betrayal. She was so proud of the games, that he’d always sensed from her. She wanted to be just like her father. She found the games a work of genius and mechanics. Sorrel hadn’t. But if any of them had any semblance of how the arena would work it was the two of them.

As they were escorted out of the lobby, Sorrel transitioned his arm from around Plum to simply holding her hand. They walked in pairs down a long formerly elegant hallway. The farther they walked, the more chips and scars of the revolution on the walls became evident. They exited through a pair of large double doors out onto a private deck and terrain. There, a large hovercraft was waiting for them. The guards had them all lifted into the large vehicles, sat and buckled into seats that faced one another. As Plum seemed to close her eyes and drift off into some deep through Sorrel sat forward, eyeing his competitors who seemed to sit in silence. One of them, however, was not silent and instead took to shredding the papers of her rather large sketchbook.

“Sable!” he shouted. “Sable no! If there’s anyone who inspires your father it’s you. If he’s being forced to run the games the way my father is, then he’ll do all that he can for you, which means using your inventions because he knows that you’ll be able to defeat them.”

His words seemed to break the silence. A few of the younger ones immediately stared at him and their glares made him swallow any additional words.

“I’m sure we’ll all introduce ourselves to one another later,” he murmured, sitting back into his seat and sighing. The silence returning and beside him Plum turned her head up to the ceiling, silent tears running down her cheeks.

* * *

Plumeria Snow

“You have the most gorgeous skin my love,” the stylist told her. Plumeria Snow found herself in a long hospital type wing, only instead surrounded by various beauticians who seemed very wild in their tastes. She’d always been conservative in her dress, keeping away from violent colors and styles. They poked at her cheeks and chin and body, wishing for implants of various types. “What if we dyed it a subtle gold or silver? What do you think Fen? She's so natural she could be from district two for all I know.”

“No,” Plum said bluntly. The team practically dropped their brushes and tweasers. The blond hadn't so much as breathed a word as she'd been delivered to her prep team. They'd asked her all kinds of questions, trying to be chatty and finding her cold as ivory. “So she speaks!” her lead stylist said, stepping forward with his arms on his hips and his chin length blond hair in his eyes. “Why my dear are you against looking like the very Capitol you are from?” he asked, his eyes a deep hue of green. Plum sat up off the table to eliminate how much he seemed to stand over her. “I have not been tainted by my grandfather or my family’s legacy. I am not like the Old Capitol and I refuse to look like I am.”

Her words were sharp, and her spiteful tone seemed to resurface. The stylist’s frown broke into a smile. “Then our visions align Ms. Snow. My name is Stark, how very nice to finally meet a woman who’ll stand a chance in this arena.”

When Stark had given her the gown she was to wear for dinner, Plum could still recognize herself in the mirror. They had plucked her eyebrows and waxed every inch of her body it seemed. Her legs still stung when she stood up to dress, turning for a moment to look in the mirror. Her normally wavy platinum hair was pin straight, so long it nearly reached her belly button. Her skin was unbelievably clean and shimmered under the light due to a lotion they had lathered her with. Her cheeks were flushed with blue and her lips a soft pink, not the trademark red of her family. Her eyes were luminous and bright, the blue irises standing out against her palour. She liked what she saw and even more so once she doned the dinner gown, a unique dress that while short, was a flash of white at the hip but otherwise black lace sewn into a bodice of her skin tone to appear as if she was tattooed over the upper promotion of her body. She liked the daring patterns that wore up the length of her leg and her arm and chest. She liked that it wasn’t all white.

* * *

Sorrel Allowark

“Would you stop plucking my damn eyebrows!” Sorrel shouted, his arm reaching out to swat at the tiny woman who hovered between his eyes, fingers poised with a pair of clippers and various grooming tools. “But they’re so hairy! Gross!” As he looked up at her face, Sorrel realized that the beautician had no eyebrows at all, only lines drawn onto her face to simulate them. He swallowed, finding her rather alien looking.

“That’s enough Velvet, he’s to be dressed now. We’ve plucked and soaked him enough. Not much to change when it comes to him. Plus, we want him to be recognized as the boy from the square who raised his hand upon being selected. He’s facing his fate with a strength and dignity most others don’t have.”

“That was unintentional,” Sorrel countered. It was a habit built into him by school to raise his hand when his name was called. The various stylists, each creepily dressed all in one color, their faces contorted and stretched by treatments and enhancements. He could hardly read their expressions. “Don’t tell anyone that!” Velvet snapped. “You’re heroic already! So many people are talking about you. Plus they got a picture of you holding up that poor Snow girl. You look dignified and she’s a wreck.” The girl chuckled but Sorrel snorted and shook his head.

“You’ve been paired together,” his stylist added. “Just so you know. I’m working with her stylist to keep your looks in sync. My name is Modena, Sorrel. I'll also be your mentor.”

The woman was gifted, that was for sure. His hair was died beyond it’s dark brown color to a jet black, the ends trimmed and styled. He was bathed in a series of vats meant to help his skin recover from sun damage and various scars throughout life. When he stepped out the girls on his team seemed to giggle with excitement. “If you weren’t a tribute, I’d jump you right here!” Velvet snickered as she helped him towel off. His modesty annoyed them.

When he was sent up to his room he was one of the first. A guard escorted him to the lift and up to the one floor where all of them would be living. He wasn’t left to his own devices but immediately escorted to a large ballroom for dinner, all the places set so that all 24 of them would sit. He saw that the room was set for additional people to join them. He was alone initially, standing in a black dress shirt, the collar open a button, and his black dress pants. He looked down on the city he had felt some contempt for for some time. When a second figure entered the room he whirled around to face her. Plumeria Snow stood there, a vision in white and black. Behind her were several others. Time for dinner and then, more ominously, the tribute’s parade through the city.

Snippet #1858455

located in Panem, a part of The Final Hunger Games, one of the many universes on RPG.

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