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The 25th Hunger Games

Panem

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a part of The 25th Hunger Games, by Imagine That!.

None

Imagine That! holds sovereignty over Panem, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

669 readers have been here.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

http://thehungergames.wikia.com/wiki/the_hunger_games_wiki

Setting

Default Location for The 25th Hunger Games
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Panem

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Minimap

Panem is a part of The 25th Hunger Games.

24 Characters Here

Keeth Diggett [8] "Um. Hi."
Reutruse Ferran Haervic [6] "Might as well try to keep some semblance of honor, a valiant death is a tolerable fate..."
Saffron Lockhearst [6] "I will fight for District Twelve. And I will fight for my family."
Tyke Delfino [6] "All I ever wanted was change. But this? I think this is too much."
Mildred Tarzia [5] "Did anyone else get lost? Because I did..."
Zyker Lintsy [5] "Why should I be happy when I am being faced with death?"
Marvelos Strong [5] How many lives with so much potential will be thrown away?
Magna Aerosta [4] ::ON HOLD:: If only I had an enemy bigger than my apathy I could have won.
Yossarian Caulfield [3] "You know, I'm starting to think I put my name in all those times for a reason. I could get used to living here."
Solara Brinx [3] "Nine more months of guaranteed life? I'll take that."

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Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Zyker Lintsy Character Portrait: Tyke Delfino Character Portrait: Saffron Lockhearst
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ImageThe Capitol train, filled with the twenty-four tributes from the twelve districts of Panem was flying at light speed towards the House that had been built especially for them. The rail-way line had again, only been created for the soul purpose of transporting the tributes to their new home; the last long journey that all but one of them were going to have. The train was built for the rich and the powerful, the stunning décor marvelling that of royal palaces and temples, but the atmosphere inside the cabins was entirely contrasting. The shuttle was eerily silent, as the tributes were getting themselves ready for their second main meal together. The first time that they had all met had been after the reaping, in the Capitol. This would now be the second time that all of them would be together in one room, free to talk about, and do, anything.




Saffron Lockhearst

Chug-a-chug-a, chug-a-chug-a, chug-a-chug-a.

The long haired brunette girl stared out of the window, the sound of the train flying along the tracks being the only audible noise from her room She was watching the large skyscrapers with tall domes and windows brightly lit up flash past – a whirlwind of electric lights. Saffron Lockhearst had never seen anything so beautiful, nor anything move so fast. Yes, she had been on the train before on her way from District Twelve, but there had been no lights, and the train had been powered by steam, not electricity. Her long, manicured finger nails dug into the wood panelling on the side of the train as her eyes danced, trying to trace the lines that the lights made before they disappeared, however futilely. The lights were too fast, and soon, the girl was pouting to herself. She wanted catch the lights and keep them in a ball forever, like the firefly Wyatt had once caught. It was so beautiful, yet, he wasn’t able to keep it forever.

Saffy moved away from the window when she realized that she had to start getting ready for the feast, and soon, she was humming a soft tune as she peeled off her travelling clothes, put them in the hamper in the side of the room, and then jumped into the shower. Warm showers were a rarity in District Twelve – most of the people didn’t even know what warm water felt like on their bare skin, so to be able to have different temperatures, powers and strange smelling shampoos and soaps around her was one of the brunette girl’s favourite things about the Capitol. Soon, she was stepping out of the shower smelling like strawberries and cream, drying her hair and applying a minimal amount of make-up. Her prep team had showed her how to use this thing called “mascara” and she liked the way it made her eyelashes longer. She also liked the thing called “lip-gloss” – it was shiny, glittery, and it made her lips stand out from the rest of her outfit. Then, she walked over to the wardrobe in her cabin, pulling out the outfit that her stylists had prepared for. She had asked to get ready and dressed on her own tonight, purely for her own privacy. It felt like ages since she had had any “alone” time. The girl had decided on a pretty striped dress with a pair of flat gladiator sandals, seeing as she didn’t feel all that comfortable walking in heels yet, with a few small bangles on her wrist, and her signature feather earring in her left ear.

Once she was certain she looked ready, Saffron left her room, the door of her cabin clicking behind her as she closed it. With only a few steps, she was standing outside Zyker’s cabin, and she tenderly knocked at the door. Even this small action caused little butterflies arise in her stomach, thinking about seeing him.

“Zy? Are you ready yet? I'm starving!”




Tyke Delfino

Tyke Delfino had been sitting in a lounge-like room on the train for what had seemed like hours now. Unlike the females, and the vain males on the train, the boy didn’t really care for his appearance tonight. He had thrown on a pair of black pants and a white t-shirt, with his signature leather jacket thrown over the top. He looked fair enough, and that was all right with him. Instead of staying in his room and primping himself with his prep team, Ty had decided to explore the train a little. His little adventure had taken him around the train, visiting the kitchen, where the food for their feast tonight had smelt delicious, the corridors of the cabins, the dining room itself, and then he had found this room.

Upon finding it, Ty had declared it to be the most beautiful room in the entire locomotive. The décor in here was different from the rest, the rich reds and browns of the rest of the train being replaced by bright blues and golds. Something about this room caught his attention, and soon, the boy was running back to his own cabin, grabbing his art supplies, and bringing them back. He had set up his sketch pencils and sketch pad on the table nearest the corner of the room, giving him a wide view of the design and layout. He began sketching it, his pencil taking swift strokes down the paper, his finger expertly smudging the lines to blend in together. Sketching for the boy was very therapeutic, and once he was in that zone, no-one could break him out of it.

Soon, hours had passed, and Tyke hadn’t even noticed. The finished drawing in front of him should have signified how long he had been sitting there, but it was the smells coming from the kitchen that had informed him of the time. However, instead of rushing to go and clean up his hands, and hide his work, the brunette boy took a few more minutes to check over his newest masterpiece, adding in any missing lines, and correcting any of the mistakes that he had made. Someone would call them when dinner was served, or at least, he hoped they would; but for now, he was just going to sit here and draw.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magna Aerosta Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett Character Portrait: Scipio Hardin
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#, as written by throne
Image

”Oh no. No no no no no, not again.”

Those had been Keeth’s words, upon seeing the gleaming train that would bring them from the Capitol proper to their dwelling for the next nine months. Dwelling was the word that he’d decided on for the place, for it would never be his home. He’d probably never see his real home, the small boxy apartment that he had kept so free of clutter, dust, and grime, again, but that didn’t mean he was simply going to forget it.

The Peacekeepers in attendance to escort them onto the train had been warned of Keeth’s liability as a flight risk. When the dark-haired boy, wide eyed and in the beginning throes of hyperventilation, tried to bolt, a stocky man all in white caught him by one of his spindly arms and kept him from running off. Keeth struggled for a moment before realizing that he had no hope of winning free, but he had to be all but half-carried or dragged to his cabin, and then locked in until the train was underway. He gladly accepted the sedative that someone, he wasn’t sure who, offered him. Even with it coursing through his system, he was still pacing across his room like a nervous crane as the shuttle came to life. He’d drawn all of the shades; the landscape blurring backwards past them would be too much.

Not long after they were moving, he heard the lock on his door click open. Even though he had no intentions whatsoever of going to dinner, he did have preparations to make. He was wearing the same get-up his stylists had picked out for him that morning, and his hair was a mess from the many, many times he’d run his hands through it (sometimes tugging quite hard) in the course of his mad pacing. He didn’t need to primp or change or any of that, though: what he needed were pillows. And blankets. As many as he could come by. He didn’t remember if the meal was mandatory or not, but if it was, they’d have to find him and drag him there as well. It was less a matter of open defiance and more a matter of survival. He’d accepted that he was going to die in the arena, sort of, but he’d do everything in his power to avoid death by train.

He’d grown up in Six. His father and both brothers had worked in the factories that made the rail lines and often worked on laying them down as well. He remembered well the many graphic descriptions his father had laid out for him, of trains derailing, and the reason for the calamity was always something innocuous. ”Oh, there was a defect in the rail, no bigger than your thumb. Doesn’t take much when the thing’s going hundreds of miles an hour, Keeth. Doesn’t take much at all.” How could the other tributes not know what danger they were all in? The train was more dangerous than any muttation or trap they’d encounter during the games, but they were… what, doing their hair? It boggled the mind. Keeth’s mind, anyway. How could they even keep the rich fare that the Capitol served down while they were smoothly speeding toward fiery death?

He stripped his bed of all the bedclothes and pillows and bundled them up. The first place they’d look for him, if dinner was compulsory, was his room, and that meant he needed to find a better hiding place. There were bathrooms that weren’t attached to any cabins, and those would do just fine. Using a bit of tenuous reverse psychology, Keeth decided that any pursuers would almost certainly assume he’d get as far away from the dining car as possible, and so in a fit of what might pass for cunning, he decided to stow himself in the lavatory second-closest to that very place. If the Gamemakers had scored them on cowardly ingenuity, Keeth would have swept the competition.

He bumbled out of his cabin, barely able to see above the bundle of goose-down pillows and heavy comforters he’d taken with him, and nearly ran into Magna as she exited her nearby cabin. Peering at her from the side of his padding-to-be, he opened his mouth to say something and then thought better of it. He’d tried to talk to her the other night, after she’d gotten back from wherever the Peacekeepers had dragged her after her outburst on the show, and she’d barely said a word to him. He’d been hoping to speak with her, about that, about the boy from eleven, about… well, everything, but then she’d just stalked into her room.

”You do realize that no one’s allowed to kill you before we get into the arena, right?” That was what she said to him as he peeked at her in the train corridor. Anxiety had knotted his stomach, he needed to get to bathtub ground as soon as possible, before a squirrel got caught in the engine or something, and so he just squeaked ”Yes, I realize that” and then scurried off with his soft, fluffy spoils.

After depositing the bundle in the bathtub of the lavatory (why a public use bathroom would need a great huge claw-footed bathtub that would have comfortably fit three tributes was beyond him, but he’d stopped questioning the ostentatiousness of the Capitol shortly after he’d witnessed a man puking up his dinner for the sole purpose of being able to stuff himself all over again), he trekked back out into the corridor, raiding a nearby linen closet for more pillows. He only dared take another armload, and hoped it would be proof against the inevitable doom that waited for the lot of them at the end of the line.

He turned the lights off. Darkness would make it easier to imagine that he wasn’t on a train, that he was in his own bed at home, squeezing his eyes shut in the wake of the nightmare that the past few days had been. His life had never been exceptionally great, but he would have gone back to his brothers making him wear their mother’s frilly apron while he cooked for them in a heartbeat if it meant someone else had been Reaped instead of him.

He arranged the blankets and pillows as best he could, then climbed over the high edge of the tub with some difficulty. He actually wound up falling into his little nest, but fortunately, it was… well, a nest of pillows and blankets, and he suffered no harm. Burrowing down into them and wrapping himself up in a tight cocoon, he closed his eyes and prayed that he might be able to sleep through the whole voyage, or with luck, the next nine months. Or maybe he’d just die in his sleep. That would have been a boon, at this point. He knew he’d get no sleep, though. However he tried to distract himself, he’d always drift back to the fact that he was on a train, and a lance of terror would skewer him anew.



Image



Scipio was starting to believe he had a telepathic ally somewhere very high up in the Capitol.

Things were going well. Very well. Too well. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of suspicion, but then, when one spent the bulk of his existence living a very elaborate lie, paranoia was practically an old friend. One of the few true friends he had. It made him sharp to consider every angle, every possibility. Perhaps some savvy oppressor had seen through his act, and was merely giving him enough rope to hang himself with? Scipio had very little interest in rope tricks. He’d leave that to Niles and Diomache. Even if someone did suspect him, it wasn’t as if they could pull him from the games. Not after he’d scored an eleven (tied for highest, which was mildly irritating and only reinforced the need to both sway the girl from Four to his side and then figure out a way to deal with her) and nailed his interview. Not after gladiatorial couture had already begun sweeping the Capitol.

He’d be sharing his room with the very girl he’d alluded to at the end of his interview. He’d been keeping track of the time, adding little pauses or jokes here and there to run out the clock in order to create suspense on that front. It was perfect. He wouldn’t even have to try to get her alone in order to woo her. He did need to get her would-be paramour alone though, for a gentlemanly discussion, but that could wait.

He couldn’t help but grin remembering his interview. How perfectly his double-talk had carried off. He’d restore the honor of his family, alright, but not as the empty-headed cravens of the Capitol thought he meant to. He’d even managed to work in a reference to the Thirteenth District that had been obliterated at the end of the Dark Days, in such a way that most wouldn’t even think it was defiance. Retrospectively, though, the truth of that three minutes would be undeniable. Proof positive that he’d been on this course all along, when he eventually needed to show the world who he really was.

His grin persisted as he remembered his session before the Gamemakers. The looks on their faces had been priceless as he rampaged through the training area with a mace in each hand, obliterating anything that came in his path. He imagined that a targeting dummy was Caesar Flickerman as he took its head clean off and then doubled it over with a blow to the midsection. He imposed the face of President Argent over a punching bag as he knocked it off its chain and then smashed it flat with a flurry of hateful blows. By the time they’d regained their senses enough to dismiss him, gawking, he’d damn near wrecked everything. Poor Stiletto had probably been quite cross, waiting for them to set things right before she could enter.

He was in front of the mirror, making a few last minute adjustments. He’d opted for a much more casual attire for the evening- a pair of nice but unremarkable pants of some sturdy brown cloth, along with a simple white t-shirt that showcased his upper body very well. He used a comb and some clear goo to sweep his hair to one side of his head, and then used his fingers to poke and prod the pale blond coif into perfection. He wanted to seem approachable. Normal. Just another teenager. None would fall for it, of course, at least not at the onset. His mission tonight was to convince as many as possible that even though they’d all be at each other’s throats in nine months, there was no reason they couldn’t be friends in the meantime. He’d seize any opportunities for drama that might present themselves, of course, but he didn’t plan to push. Not yet.

Satisfied that he was camera-ready, he made his way out into the hall. He had some time left before the meal would start in earnest, so he decided to do a bit of wandering… making his way slowly through the train in hopes of finding open doors with tributes within who he might talk with. His brow knit as he spotted The Boy Who Cried hurrying past him, hugging a mass of blankets, but he just shook his head and continued onward toward the back of the train at a lazy pace.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Yossarian Caulfield Character Portrait: Emberly Byrne
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Yossarian Caulfield


Screw dressing up. It was only a dinner with a bunch of people he was planning to kill, anyway.

And there'd be hundreds more like before the end, right? So who really cared if Yossarian Caulfield was wearing his old red and black plaid hoodie. It was indeed the same hoodie he'd been wearing when that bitch had called out his name at the District Eight reaping. It was old, patched up by his own hand from years of wear and tear. He liked to keep around all the things that had been through everything he had. Those Capitol fucksticks had tried to take it from him on the train, insisting that he be made to look respectable. Of course, there could be no arguing on occasions such as the chariot parade (oh, if only he could have argued that one) and the interview, but other than, Yossarian wore whatever Yossarian damn well felt like wearing. The Capitol be damned, he was going to at least going to wear his own clothes for these last nine months before he died.

But the thought of the clothes debacle, and particularly the chariot attire (if Ashe kept going on about the shaved legs, Yossarian had decided he'd cook up something special for her in the arena) made him feel rather down, and Yossarian hated feeling down. So he'd worked his way to the back of the train, saying an overly cheery hello to anyone he saw along the way, and likely causing something of a disturbance to those tributes who wished to prepare for their second family dinner in utter silence, but hey, that's how he was wired. Eventually he came to a stop at the very back end, and leaned up against the window, taking a moment to marvel at the astounding lights and the remarkable speed at which everything moved by.

If the train hadn't been going so damn fast, Yossarian would have considered an escape attempt, perhaps trying to kick out a window and jump for it. But then he figured there wouldn't really be anywhere to go. He was in the Capitol now, and though District Eight wasn't so far from here (it lay along the Capitol's northern border), he felt no particular urge to return there. Memories from not so long ago came back, of the other eighteen year olds practically shoving him onto the stage when his name was called, even though he was already going. Most people there more or less despised him, and he fully deserved. Yossarian hadn't done anything to help anyone in District Eight but himself since he was twelve. It wasn't exactly the best way to make long term friends.

Although, it was a decent way to make short term ones. And since he didn't plan on getting attached to any of the people here, he figured his usual strategy would work just fine.




Emberly Byrne


It seemed like there was never anything to do but wait.

Emberly Byrne couldn't help but feel that she had terrible luck, for a tribute. The previous years had just been able to get it out of the way, a few days, and then peace. But no, she was going to have to endure this for nine months. Living with the people who were going to try to kill you. There would be so much analyzing going on, so much preparation. Plans would be laid, and then ruined, and then rebuilt, altered, torn down, built back up again. Alliances would form and crumble before they even set foot in the arena. Em herself was hoping to be able to get into one of these alliances. Alone, she stood no chance, and she knew that. But with others... well, Em was crafty, likely more so than anyone gave her credit for. If she could get with the right group, a group of strong, trusting people, she could potentially ride with them to the top.

Of course, then she'd have to turn on them. This thought more than anything would haunt her when she tried to select her allies. Of course she wanted to be with good people, people who deserved to be protected, and people who were worth fighting alongside. But were she to ally with them, she doubted she have the stomach to kill them when the time came. Perhaps it was better she try and work her way in with those she liked less. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, they said. That was another plan.

But for now, Em would have to wait. There would be plenty of time for analyzing and strategy making later. The District Three girl sat in her private compartment of the train, gazing out the window at the landscape that flashed by so brilliantly quickly. She supposed she'd have to get ready for dinner soon, but truth be told, she wasn't feeling that hungry, nor did she intend to be the first one there. Somewhere in the middle would do. Too much attention was drawn to the earliest birds, and the latest arrivals. And Em wasn't looking to be the center of attention.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mildred Tarzia Character Portrait: Tyke Delfino
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#, as written by Caille
Mildred Tarzia

Mildred had been boarded onto the train with all the other tributes, while waiting for the train the small blonde had been bouncing and giggling a bit all the while fiddling with her hair. She was all bubbly and absolutely excited for the whole experience of going to the house and meeting the people and having fun for the first nine months before they were thrown into the games for their doom! Of course Mildred knew what the games were all about, she wasn't as naive as she seemed to be and a lot of people seemed to lack the ability knowledge that. Millie was looking on the positive part of things but for a good reason, she was taught to do that if something terrible happen, Mildred had her plans but being all bubbly and happy just made her seem like a weak person to save off to kill last, an easy kill right? Well Mildred was fairly sneaky and quiet on her feet and not many people knew that. Mildred wasn't a quitter, she was there for the whole run and nothing would stop her from that.

Honestly, waiting and dying to get on that train was a must for Mildred because as soon as she boarded that train and got on and took her seat going, "Onwards!" in her captain voice, she had taken her shoes off and then her socks, her darn stylists made her wear shoes, no one wore shoes. Well certainly not Mildred, you couldn't give her all the food in Panem to wear shoes, her feet had to breathe and that was simple. Mildred walked to her room where she took her shoes. She loved her cabin and honestly it screamed home to her in a sense, there were odd touches of green and brown in there and the pictures hung up gave it a district seven feel. Plus there was carpet in here and carpet was the next best thing to having grass and an earthy feel to it. She noticed she had something laid out for her. It was something nice and simple in all honesty. Mildred got into her the colourful polka doted dress. It wasn't too bright and noticeable but it worked. She had a thin white belt that defined her waist line. She soon kept to her bare feet but her stylist would make her wear flats or something she was sure of it. Mildred brushed her hair and then she smiled at herself in the mirror.

After being changed Mildred decided to head out of her cabin and explore the whole train, she needed to know what it looked like, every room and every detail of it so she could store it in her collection of memories. She soon found the kitchen, dinning room, living room, and bathroom. They were all small areas but it was the train and it was taking them to the house so all was great. Now Mildred looked at the rows of cabins for the train. Most of them were empty so far from Mildred opening a few of them and poking her head inside to see what everyone's room looked like, she was almost positive no one would like it though. After checking a majority of them and having them empty she came across one of them that was occupied! Or so she had thought.

Peering in the room and looking around her eyes landed on a boy or so she thought she had seen a boy but she had been wrong and her face had fell. After checking all of the cabins and looking around inside them all she decided that they were all incredibly nice and it made her anxious to see the rooms at the house. Millie started to walk back the the lounge and when she did this time there was someone in it! A boy! He seemed to be doing something and Mildred tilted her head a bit. A boy from district ten she was thinking, she was almost positive that's where he was from. He seemed to be drawing of sorts and Mildred's head tilted again and then she smiled. "My apologies for prying." She said bowing. "I just find things on here fascinating, same with the people." She said beaming him a smile. "I hope it's quite alright if you have a bit of company" Millie said and after a short pause she walked in and took a better look of the lounge. His name was Tyke! That was his name! Tyke, it was a lovely name. Millie only took three additional steps into the lounge so she wasn't too close to him and her eyes skirted around. "The lounge seems really nice, and comforting." Mildred said softly.


(I shall add in Malila soon.. Wanted to post this before something happened to it!)

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lor Pellet Character Portrait: Magna Aerosta Character Portrait: Pip Pypin Character Portrait: Saffron Lockhearst Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett
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I find it an extremely out-of-body experience, the knowledge that I'm hurtling past outdoor objects at a speed which would (in any other contraption) be considered ludicrous and yet, surprisingly, I feel as though I sit still. The scenery explodes and implodes from view so quickly my eyes barely have time to focus before shifting to the next onslaught of foliage. This is frustrating and makes looking out of any window quite pointless. So I sit, confined to this tiny compartment. All the riches that can be fathomed and they choose to waste it by inventing trains that move so quickly one cannot enjoy the natural beauty of our world. The luxury that is wasted... If even the smallest amount of what they spend on their grand balls and dinners could be put towards the outlying districts! I've lamented on that too much though, and what good would another entry in this journal about the disparities of our world really do? Nothing. Just the hateful musings of a young man destined for doom.


Lor sighed and leaned back, away from his desk. He tucked the pencil he'd been using behind his ear and stretched, yawning. Against his better judgement he was thankful that the pencil existed, his left hand had finally stopped carrying the signs of his writing. In Nine he'd always had to use charcoal or ink on a stick, anything that would leave a mark on a page. His penmanship was better due to this crazy luxury, true, but it was the fact that his hand remained clean that he didn't mind. He glanced out the window out of habit and a new scowl crossed his face. He'd wanted to watch the country-side, see the sights, out of sheer curiosity. The damn train moved so fast you could barely keep yourself from creating a headache if you even tried to look outside for longer than a minute. Disgusted, he pulled the pencil from his ear and tossed it onto the desk. Rising, he shut the blinds. The light outside had been beginning to darken, and it occurred to Lor that the tribute's dinner would be starting soon. He pursed his lips and looked about his room. It was the last night he'd have a room completely to himself. Sitting on his bed, he let his shoulders sag as he stared hard at the floor, going over the past few days in his head.

Lor knew he'd killed his interview, was confident that he did, but so had many of the other tributes. He wondered briefly just how many sponsors there actually were and, guessing at a number, tried to divvy them up to different tributes. He felt confident that he had a fair chance, but fair didn't keep you alive. He knew that he'd have to keep up appearances and (no matter what) never let anyone know about his deeper feelings on the Capitol and most of Panem. He looked at his journal then. If the wrong person read it... He shook his head to stop his mind from thinking that way. It was his possession, his "trinket" as it were. No one would be allowed to read it, even in the event that he was killed right off. He'd made sure to bring a new journal with him, one that didn't mention any of his family's views, but he'd been writing in it since his first train ride to the Capitol in the first place. Many of his rants about the people in the Capitol and the Games in general had already been rehashed in the first couple of pages, and could be incriminatory if found under any other circumstances. As it was, Lor felt comfortable knowing that there wasn't much worse they could do to him, he'd already been sentenced to death.

Standing, he walked over to his desk and picked up the journal. Tying it closed he tucked it into the pouch he kept around his waist, under his shirt. From now on, it was where he'd always carry the journal. Then, moving over to his closet, he looked in. A suit bag with the word "Dinner" printed on it was in the front of a row of clothing that had been tailored for him. He took it out and unzipped it. Inside he found a charcoal suit that fit snugly, but comfortably, a pair of combat boots, and an undershirt. Confused, he checked the rest of the bag. No tie, no collared shirt. His brow wrinkled and he cocked his head slightly, hadn't Silver said that all suits must be worn with collared shirts? Then he noticed a note in one of the shoes. Grabbing it, he flicked it open. He smiled as he read the four words that were scrawled on the page in such a no-nonsense hand that there was no room for a question of who'd left it:

No shirt. More Masculine.


Once again struck by how grateful he was for his stylist, he finished dressing, messed wit his hair a bit, then stood back to take in the final product. Approvingly, he nodded, then moved the blinds to get a bearing on what time it was. It was late. Time to go. He took one last moment to compose himself, then stepped out into the hallway, turning towards the dining car.

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Pip laughed boisterously as she burst from the dining car into the lounge car, a large piece of chocolate in her hand. She'd made sure to befriend the Avoxes as soon as possible, and so far had not been let down. Not only had she come to love the fact that they pretended to not listen to her (even though their silent gurgles indicated laughter at her jokes) but over the short amount of time the tributes had been on the car she'd already had 5 chocolate bars, 2 cookies, and at least a dozen fruits she didn't know the name of but was already addicted to. She plopped down onto a lush couch in the middle of the room and kicked her feet up over the back of it. Biting into the bittersweet dark chocolate again, a contented sigh bubbled it's way up and out of her system.

"Yes, this. This is defffffinitely the life!" She drawled quietly to no on in particular, seeing as no one was in the room with her. She lay there for a while, lounging. Half-sleeping and half awake as she relished in the chocolate bar, eating slowly. She finally finished it and lay, hands on her stomach for quite some time, staring at the ceiling. She was having such a good time already, and still nine months awaited! She drifted then, into a light slumber. She didn't rest for very long, though, because as her eyes had drifted closed her mind had drifted back to Nine and Lua. Jerking up-right she nearly toppled off the couch as the sadness washed over her. Lua... he'd been left behind. By Jesh and now her... And he knew that she'd do anything in her power to help the right person win, whoever that turned out to be. She felt the familiar tingle/burn in the upper portion of her nose, the warning sign that tears would soon follow.

Shaking her head, she smiled and rolled off the couch. Bouncing up to a standing position she stared at the door to the dining cart... "Hmmm do I want a donut?" Pip thought aloud, then noticed the clock hanging on the left wall of the train. "Aw! 5:30 already?" She stomped her small foot and pouted prettily, "Guess I'll wait then! It's almost dinner time..." Her eyes widening, she looked down at herself. "Woooopsie!" Giggling she took two steps backwards, then turned and began moving back towards the hallway where all the rooms were situated. Matt would have her head on a platter if she showed up to the televised dinner in her bright pink bath towel. Hurrying towards her door she nearly bumped into Saffron as was standing in front of one of the guy's doors. "Sorry!" She trilled over her shoulder, bouncing past, "Gotta get all hot and sexy for dinner tonight. You know how it goes!" Then she turned into her room.

Shutting the door behind her she went to work. She'd already successfully destroyed the room by creating different piles of "stuff" for lack of a better term when she'd first boarded the train. Really, she'd just been interested in what all the compartment could hold, so she'd gone through everything, the downfall being that Pip didn't have time nor want to put anything away herself. Thus, piles of clothing, shoes, books, things she'd never seen before were strewn across her floor and bed. Her desk was covered with all sorts of things she'd seen her stylists use on her hair and face and her bed was already torn to shreds because she'd jumped in immediately and wiggled around in it, reveling in how soft the sheets were. At the memory, she giddily tore her bathrobe off, revealing her nude body and slid into the bed again. Rolling around in the sheets she stretched and smiled, making a mental note of how wonderful this sensation would feel with another human body involved.

Catching sight of the clock on the wall Pip rolled her eyes. "6 already?" She mumbled impertinently. "Looks like I'm late, again!" She sighed, took a few more minutes to enjoy the sheets, then stood and began to get dressed for the dinner. She rummaged around in the dress pile until she found a powder blue soft thing that looked like it'd be pretty cute and still help her come off as one of the "young ones." Putting it on, she mussed with her hair, found some shoes in that pile, then knocked everything on her desk onto the floor in her mad search for lipstick to finish off her attire. Biting her lip she realized that she was now at least 15 minutes late for the dinner and decided that another couple minutes wouldn't hurt, so she ran over and snuggled up in her bed one more time, letting her hands run back and forth across the silk.

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Magna blew the bangs out of her face as she lay on her back on the floor in the middle of her compartment, her hands linked across her stomach and her legs crossed. It had been a long few days and now began the longest nine months of her life for certain. She sat listening to the lack of sound the luxurious train made and stared at the ceiling. To her surprise, her eyes focused on a black dot in one of the ceiling corners. A spider? She could almost laugh at the absurdity, I didn't know the Capitol allowed things like... oh, wait. Standing, she grabbed the desk chair and moved it over. Stepping on it she moved closer to the 'spider' and rolled her eyes. Of course. The creature had all eight limbs and the abdomen of a spider, but instead of the multitude of eyes Magna had grown accustomed to seeing on normal spiders there was one, large, subtly glowing orb in their place. She smiled ferally into it then, "Hey President Argent! Gonna watch me change?" She quickly smooshed the tiny muttation with her bare hand. "Pathetic."

Jumping off the chair, she turned and looked at her room. After unceremoniously dumping her onto the train earlier they'd stationed a Peacekeeper outside of her cabin door. A little while ago he'd knocked on it to tell her they were moving at fast enough speeds that she was allowed to leave the room, but she chose not to. Not long after, she'd listened as his boots had clunked away, probably bored with guarding a girl who wouldn't try anything. She couldn't say that she would have done things differently in her interview had she known she'd spend her last couple days in the Capitol locking herself into her room to avoid Keeth's expectant and worried stares, it wasn't in her nature to lie, but she had pondered what more tact might have bought her. Shrugging it off, she opened her door curiously and looked out. She'd only seen Keeth when getting on the train and he'd given her a look that reeked of pity and remorse. Well, he could save that for another time. In the arena maybe. No... not even there. There won't be time for remorse there and it's going to be hard enough for Keeth to stay alive anyway. She pursed her lips as fire grew in her eyes, then, thinking better of it, breathed out and let the emotion go again. Turning, she wandered off to the left, unsure of what she'd find.

Some way down the cars of the train she'd passed a clothing car, (Ridiculous), what seemed to be a car for the nail things (Mani-cures? Pedi-cures?) that the Capitol so loved, and a car full of boxes. She became aware that she was heading towards the back of the train and decided to change direction and come back. She knew what these trains entailed. She thought back to what Mr. Diggett always used to say, something about the tiniest crack in the railway causing the train to derail... or explosions due to poorly manufactured engines. For a millisecond she was worried, then realized it didn't really matter and shrugged to herself, That'd be alright.

Magna returned to the car with all the living quarters and was moving toward her door, overly bored with the train already, when a giant pillow monster exploded from the door to her left. She sidestepped quickly as a reflex and stared at the pillows. Suddenly, from behind them a head popped out with disheveled hair and wide, terrified eyes. Keeth. You idiot. Pillows won't save you against a train explosion. She rolled her eyes and pushed a finger into one of the pillows. It gave way as if it were made of clouds.

She looked at him then with disinterested eyes, "You do realize that no one's allowed to kill you before we get into the arena, right?" She watched as the fear spread afresh over his face and squelched the tiny bud of remorse before it even began in her stomach. No time or need for emotions, she turned and moved into her room, listening as he scurried off down the hall with his cumbersome load.

Sitting on her bed, she looked out the window. Her eyes unfocused and she sat for a moment, just letting the world blur by her vision. She knew she'd have to get dressed soon, show up for the pomp and circumstance of the dinner, but it was the last thing she wanted to do. The knock on the door broke her from her trance on the landscape. "Miss Aerosta, I'm here to take you to dinner." It was that idiot Peacekeeper again. She didn't respond, just stood and started to de-robe.

"Miss...?" Another knock on the door, this time a little louder. Instead of a response, she locked the door. She knew he'd wait outside, it was his Capitol duty, but at least he'd know she was in there now instead of rattling her door every five seconds. Taking her time, she mustered the energy to get dressed and do her make up. If anything, she'd at least look pretty at the dinner. What was two hours in front of a camera compared to nine months anyway? Gritting her teeth, she opened her door and looked up at him. He smiled, she stared blankly, he turned, she followed after.

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Character Portrait: Solara Brinx Character Portrait: Pip Pypin Character Portrait: Zyker Lintsy Character Portrait: Saffron Lockhearst
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Solara Brinx


Don't throw up. Don't thr- Solara leaned against the toilet seat as she pulled her hair from her face. This was the result of nerves that had now started taking over her body. Her mind had been to so many places on the train ride since the Capitol that she now knew that this was the start of the end. Her mother seemed to be the only thing to upset her in her thoughts, so she tried to keep her mother's face a distant memory from here on out. As she seemed to throwing up the acid from her empty stomach, she pushed the bottom at the top to wash away the disgust. Breathe, Sol. Breathe. She was becoming a hot mess. She needed to get out of this room.

Peeling herself off the floor, Sol found herself looking into the mirror that now showed a girl that could easily be broken. Be strong. The phrase seemed to repeat itself several times silently until she spoke the words aloud. It only took a few minutes to fix the make-up that had taken her stylist hours to do, but she was thankful that Hiva wouldn't notice. Now time to grab the dress that was hanging on the back of the door, she hadn't even looked at the dress long enough to know if she liked it. She had began to trust her stylist Hiva a lot. so when she had finally saw her final look, she was more than pleased. You couldn't even tell that she'd been in the floor most of the night.

Pinching her cheeks to bring color back into her face, Solara grabbed the small purse that went with the outfit and headed to the door. Feeling the cold knob underneath her hand tensed a majority of her body until she final turned it, pulling it into her room. With the door open you could only see the other side of the hall, so until she stepped out she didn't realize that she wasn't alone. Saffron. She guess that the girl had to be waiting for her other half because she was clearing in front of one of the boy's rooms. This would be a mood bringer-upper.

Slamming the door closed behind her to make her presence known, Sol spoke up towards the District Twelve girl. "Let me guess. You want to get in a quick fuck before the cameras start rolling?" Approaching the girl was the easy part, but leaving the girl was definitely the harder of the two. Solara wanted to stay to hear the girl's response, but she could honestly not care what the twelve had to say to her. Brushing past Saffron, Sol leaned in to the girl's ear so only she could hear the words that came from her mouth. "Sweetheart, they're already on. Just ask Zyker how we found out." She gave the sound of a kiss at the end, departing from the hall. She threw up a hand as a farewell, showing a little respect at least.

Making it into the room that seemed to be the destination for the dinner, Solara found herself making a straight shot for a window view. She hadn't even bothered to look around the room for fellow tributes, but she did know that quiet a few Avoxes and chefs were hard at work. Stepping up into one of the chairs, Solara crossed her legs to get comfortable because she didn't know how long it'd be before one of her tribute friends came walking in. She was ready to get in the house because in moments like this she could just go outside and get some air. Instead, she was stuck looking out the window until she was saved by conversation.





Zyker Lintsy


Zyker had been in his attire for what seemed like hours now. Winque, his stylist, had been very precise with the look he was trying to give Zyker, so when he mentioned shaving his head, it went a little too far. Now that he stood in his room though, Zyker started liking the new do that was only given to him by command that he'd get more sponsors with an arena ready look.

Zyker rubbed his head back-and-forth feeling what was left. This is how the whole Capitol will now see me as. He shook his hand as he turned on the water, rinsing his face several times. "Time to socialize." He slipped on the most comfortable shoes he'd ever worn (which wasn't saying much for a twelve), taking a last glance at his look. He was more impressed that his stylist could manage to scrub off all the dirt that had been built up from years of living in twelve. Just as he reached for the doorknob, a knock came through the door. He took a step back, hearing her voice. Saffron was just on the other side of the door. He would have normally just welcomed in her, but things were different now.

Zyker returned to the mirror for one more look over to make sure that his new hairdo would be accepted by Saffron. She had always played with his hair, so now that it was all gone he wondered what she'd think. Opening the door to Saffron, he didn't give her time to respond because he just wrapped her up in his arms. "Saffy." He whispered into her hair before moving it aside, so he could plant a kiss on her forehead. "My fellow twelve. How are you today?" He joked as he wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her in the direction of the dinner.





OOC: I didn't mean to tag Pip.

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Character Portrait: Diomache Rayn Character Portrait: Niles Bayou
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#, as written by Attie
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What is it with these fancy trains? And how the hell are we going this fast without falling backwards?

Let's be honest, Niles was no physics specialists, and to further add to the feeling of uneducated, he was baffled as he stood in the bathroom, staring at all the gizmos and gadgets. For one, there were buttons on the toilet. BUTTONS! And they weren't marked, 'flush, cleanse, whatever else rich people have for an option', either. They were blank, metallic buttons. And sure, okay, his district had tooth brushes, paste, and faucets... But in his slums, you were lucky to have the whole works altogether at one time. He'd known how to use each one, but the problem with these were that they were.. electric? How does one make a toothbrush in to a machine? Wasn't it all about your motion, not it's? When he pressed the button, he literally stared at it until it flung the toothpaste back up his direction - splattering his face and clothing.

Well, I suppose that's why the stylist kept saying to dress last.

Throwing his shirt over his shoulders and using it to wipe the rest off of his face, he entered back in to the bedroom and tossed it on to his bed. Striding over to the wooden dresser, he noted all of the 'dress up' shirts he'd crammed in there were now terribly wrinkled. I think it's safe to assume that I no housekeeper, and I have no idea how to do all this junk. Worst part? He hadn't brought anything else. Hesitantly, he reached for one, slipped it on unbuttoned, and then walked out in to the hallway, calling down the rows of doors,

"Hey! Who's got a spare shirt?" Before anyone could answer him in that direction, he turned around to face the other direction of the corridor, calling out again, "Anyone? Apparently, they've given us killer toothbrushes in this train! Bout as fast as the damn thing, too!"

Spinning back around, that's when he spotted her leaving her assigned room. He choked up a little, but kept his posture relaxed and carefree, just in case someone else came out and tossed him a shirt. He opened his mouth to say something, but she looked like the last person who gave a damn about what might come out of his mouth. Naturally, he settled with a greeting, instead. Nothing formal, nothing personal, just.. Simple and distant, the way she seemed to want things.

"Hey."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ashe Besra Character Portrait: Solara Brinx Character Portrait: Zyker Lintsy Character Portrait: Saffron Lockhearst Character Portrait: Yossarian Caulfield
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#, as written by Korrye
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Some said it was easy to get caught up in the lore of the games but even in her youth Ashe had been horrified by the displays put on to honor the uprisings and to punish the districts. The Capitol residents were all safe gluttonous individuals. In her short time there, Ashe had seen more than enough of the prideful inhuman looking crowds. They worried about eating too much food, about the way their hair curled or laid flat. They worried about a scuff on a perfectly fine shoe or a blemish on their skin. Their thought process seemed perfectly tedious and only had her mood further darkened.

To have so many people worry about the pallor of her skin or the clothes she wore had her irritated. While her stylist was a relatively calm and collected young man, his mind didn’t worry the way hers did. When she frowned, he threatened to pin her lips into a smile. When she brushed him away he nearly clocked her. Yolo had no patience for her bitterness or the frizz her hair became after a night's rest. Yet in the days he’d spent dressing her and trying to make her care for the interviews he’d come to realize it was far more than a tart mood. Ashe didn’t like the luxury of it all. It made her jumpy to be seated in a train car with velvet and satin seat cushions, to look beyond glass that wasn’t dusted with dyes or industrial exhaust. It wasn’t her. It was foreign and alien instead.

The interview had made Ashe feel so far from herself. Yolo had been beyond ecstatic with her scores in the training room and following her flirtatiousness with the crowd he’d been grinning over her shoulder as he teased her short blond hair that morning. “You’re marvelous, keep up the act sourpuss,” he had encouraged her with a beaming smile. She was unnerved by his excitement and more than anything she hadn't believed him.

Recalling the nickname made her wince, closing her eyes as she remembered Yolo's words. Ashe sat close to the window and as the side of her face leaned into the glass she could only sigh with relief to have escaped the Capitol for now. She had dressed earlier in the outfit she’d been given for the feast. It was all arranged given that they would enter the house in the same clothes and be seen for the first time on camera. It was all to make yet another statement, as if there was one left to give.

Ashe couldn’t help but be contrite the more she thought about the costume she’d worn for the parade, the things she’d said to Caesar and more than anything the last words she’d had with her family members before being whisked away. With the exuberance of the tributes from two and four, the lovestruck girl from twelve and her male counterpart, Ashe knew she was disappearing into a crowd. Having been collected and pleasant during her interview, even as flirtatious as she had been, did her no good. The same act had been put on by half a dozen of the other girls. She had been nice and likeable but not enough to be memorable. There was no fact that stood out. She'd confessed to liking a boy who liked another boy. Ashe felt more like a fool than accomplished.

There was the girl who’d been escorted back to her seat by peacekeepers, the boy from eleven who liked the crier even. Scandals! And then the rest seemed very obsessed with the boy from two. They were unique characters, people you empathized with and yet wanted to win. She found herself lost to the charade and hating it all the while, trying to mask her fear with a smile that she had never worn.

Sourpuss.

She could just remember Jasper saying it, her brother looking up at her from the treetops as he balanced himself on a beam, reaching out for a bundle of hidden fishing spears and tools they used to scour the land for something more edible than the bitter porridge and hard tack brought in from the factories. Memories of his swollen body filled her mind, enough to make her bite the inside of her cheek to bring her back from the reverie.

With her family so beyond reach and her brother dead, she felt completely and utterly alone. The silence of the train compartment was compounded by the sound of muffled voices from the hall. She could hear the slam of a door and the click of another as some of the other tributes began to leave for the feast. Ashe pushed her lips and looked at a small clock on the wall opposite her, feeling her cheek off the glass to stand and smooth the folds of her dress, another black lace ensemble with a leather corset cinched around her waist to show off her thin body. Sighing she moved to exit the cabin, finding that Yossarian had left already. He didn’t seem to approve of what she thought of him. When he’d mounted their chariot dressed as she had been and as hairless as she was, the blond couldn’t help but laugh. “Serves you right all things considered,” she’d thought. Now whenever she saw him, remembering the slightly mortified look on his face when she’d noticed his shaved arms and legs, she couldn’t help but smirk much to his disdain. “I always have at least one enemy.”

As Ashe entered the hallway she scanned it attentively, finding two of the female tributes down the length of the railcar talking curtly before one turned away with a blown kiss to walk away. As she squinted to take them in, Ashe recognized the male and female tributes from District 12. The lovers, she thought bitterly. They had been memorable too, especially since they had gone first and she’d nearly cried at the thought of her friend dying. The more she looked at them, the more she felt her odds slipping. The girl was loved and the boy she liked was handsome. He wouldn't want you, Ashe chided herself in thought before turning her glance away.

I’d have no problem killing Yossarian, Ashe thought bitterly, moving to walk slowly in her heels across to the feast car where the others were congregating. Her frown was gone, replaced by a weak smile and determined eyes.

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Character Portrait: Tanager Rollo Character Portrait: Mildred Tarzia
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The seats were so soft. Tanager found himself seated on a plush velour bench so deep and cushioned that he sank into them. It was a world away from the hard cedar furniture that had adorned his family’s small house in seven. The smells weren’t something he liked but the feel of it was heaven to his body. He was sore from walking around so tense these past few days. His interview seemed to have gone well and his chariot costume was all most people talked about. He was one of at least three clusters of tributes that had been virtually paraded around in the nude for the joy of the crowds. Tanager wondered how well Mildred was fairing with the residual bronze body paint. He still had some in places he didn’t care to share. Stupid shit. Ugh. As if out of habit he scratched his head, half expecting yet another stray leaf or twig to fall into his hand.

He found himself dressed in a black denim dress shirt and suit jacket over grey jeans. The shirt felt too tight again but his stylist team had no other choice but to leave him with it while they fumbled to find him enough clothing in the right size for the duration of his stay in the house. They promised to deliver him a trunk of things later on and throughout the nine month stay. The last thing they wanted was for him to be unnoticeable. So far they were going a good job.

As Tanager reclined into his seat, his fingers lightly brushed over a newspaper in his lap. As he looked at the pictures plastered in vibrant color across the cover all he could think about was whether or not the tree that had produced the pulp to make such paper had come from his district. While he was comfortable he missed his mother and their simple life. To be surrounded by such luxury was nice but it was not the same as home. Things felt different and they smelt different as well. There was no industrial haze to the Capitol but the air did lack a certain freshness. As they rode away from the center of Panem he couldn’t help but miss seven. His dorky siblings were likely engrossed in books. As he looked at the images before him his eyes danced over the words, not even caring to try and read the stories that were almost beyond him entirely.

Front and center was a large image of the male tribute from two from his interview, and next to that was none other than Saffron. Himself and Mildred were pictured beside the tributes from four and eleven in their nearly nonexistent chariot costumes. From the way he stood pictured he may well have worn nothing. They seemed to like him well enough and that was good. Far better him than his younger brother Griffen. He wouldn’t have stood a chance he told himself again, content to be there in place of his sibling and yet all the while anxious. There were so many people to contend with, all individuals he would meet and get to know. They wouldn’t be as nameless as they were to him now in a matter of weeks, making this harder. The game masters would be the ones killing most of them given this twist, that he didn’t doubt. He had a hard time chopping down a young tree, let alone throwing an axe into the back of a human skull.

As he flipped the paper shut he caught a glance at his watch, pulling himself to stand. Tanager knew he was alone, having seen Mildred sneak out earlier and again barefoot. It had taken him awhile to place the girl from seven but now that she was tromping around without shoes, a wild excited grin on her face, he remembered her from one encounter as he headed out with the loggers on a clear cutting run by the river. Outside of a small residential area they’d seen her leaping from tree to tree without any shoes. He had to smirk at that but her smiles now had him slightly on edge, if anything awkward around her. Fact was he found himself floundering around a lot of the more excited and prepared individuals, or careers as most people called them. They were ready to kill others. The idea scared him shitless instead. Violence begets violence.

With a sigh he moved across the cabin to slide open the door, stepping into the hall and moving beyond the halls towards the feast. He found himself behind the blond from District 8, a rather dour looking girl in his opinion. She didn’t seem to notice him until the train took a sudden turn. Tanager shot his arm out to catch himself on the wall, immediately wincing at the sound of shredding fabric as his hand caught the door frame before him. Fortunately for the district 8 tribute she was still upright and the others behind her seemed relatively unphased as well. Straightening himself up, Tanager tugged at the collar of his shirt, catching sight of a few of his buttons rolling down the length of carpet back towards his quarters.

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Character Portrait: Aristata Colleen O'Rourke Character Portrait: Tyke Delfino
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Aristata

Aristata looked out at the fields of rolling greens, yellows, and browns, speeding by as the train ran along the tracks. A tear fell down her face as she remembered the wide open fields of vegetables, fruit trees, and other plants that grew in the orchards and many vast acres of land throughout her home district. How much she missed District 11 with it's starving children and women lining up at the mayors, peacekeepers, and other wealthy people's doorsteps. They all in the an old situation that Aristata had been in just before the Reaping. She was selling her body and working hard at night in the fields to support her many siblings. Her family was her number one priority.

Another two tears fell down her face as she left the window and her glimpse of home. She went over the closet and pressed the button and selected an outfit that her stylist Blighter had picked out for her to wear to the dinner tonight. She waited only a mere two seconds before her dress came to her fingertips. Blighter had choosen a golden dress with the top breasts covered in sparkling gold glitter and sparkles that made her skin have a glowing aspect to it. Aristata slipped the dress on, over her head, and went over to the body length mirror right next to the closet. She stared at herself and admired how evenly tanned her skin was and yet it made all of her skin glow. Being from District 11 might mean that you are poor and hunger, but District 11er's sure have a god's skin and body to make up for it. Aristata didn't want to think of herself as better or prettier than everyone else on the train, but she thought that her body was so well trimmed and curved and perfect. She didn't have many self esteem issues that related to her feeling like she was the ugliest thing on earth but rather, well now, she wouldn't be good enough to win the Hunger Games. Aristata gave a tiny smile at her reflection and fell in love with her dress immediately. It showed off her breasts and especially her legs in a flattering and sexy way. She twirled around and did a little slow dance with herself in front of the mirror. She looked up at her face and saw that her stylists had come in a made her put heavy, yet not too much to make her look like a goth or hooker. They made the purpley, blue, green, and black eye shadow create different dimensions of colors and reflections, depending on the angle that someone looked at her. She smiled at how they made the shadow come out and made her eyelashes look fuller, thicker, and sexy.

'If only people would look at me long enough to notice I'm in the room.' She thought to herself and walked out of the room. "Oops!" She said and ran back inside. She skipped to the closet and slipped on the 3 and a half inches of gold high heeled shoes onto her feet. She ran back out to the hallway and walked to the food car. She walked in and saw the array of food. Her stomach growled and she walked over to the appetizing table of all kinds of meats. She stared at the Roast Beef stew with potatoes, celery, carrots, and other kinds of vegetables. She decided to walk around the dining car waiting for the other tributes to come as she analyzed the food by looking at it closely and seeing how she could or would have made some of the dishes at home with her ingredients and pay.


(And in case anyone wanted to see it here's her dress. ;P http://img.fewdress.com/images/wedding/Short_Gold_Party_Dress_by_Night.jpg )

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Character Portrait: Stiletto Switchblade
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Results from the interview told Stiletto that they wanted her to focus on making friends. Especially since she was 'sick and dying'. She was pretty sure she'd be remembered for that alone, but the cameras were still rolling and would be for the better part of the rest of her life. Until this was over, that is.

Her bed was made, her room was tidied up to a strict, militaristic setting, and she had been ready for dinner for the past couple of hours. Not that she was starving, but it seemed like time moved at the pace of a snail. If she couldn't be patient through the train ride, how would she survive nine months? And, to make matters worse, she was sharing one of those months with the kid who's face was lit up in more emotions than she expressed in a year. What the fuck, Capitol? You might as well have asked him if he wanted to be the first to die, because Stiletto was dead set that he would drive her to murder.

That's just it, though. The whole idea got her thinking, Could I really kill someone like that, ourside of the arena? In the Arena, it's forgivable to the Capitol. It's part of the games to win, and to do so, you kill. So, could she still do the same outside? She wasn't sure, which made her think that maybe she had a moral compass after all, which pissed her off and she immediately slammed the door to her room as soon as they boarded the train.

Since then, she'd gotten ready,dressed in what was casual and comfortable for her, and laid on her bed with her high heeled, knee-high boots crossed at the ankle. She may have actually dozed off once or twice in the process, but here she was... Still... Waiting.

Stiletto could hear the voices outside, the petty comment that girl from District Five had said to someone else, the idiot from District Four asking for a shirt... But it was relatively quiet in the hallways despite that. Maybe everyone had already gone? Or maybe, as per usual, time was trickling slowly and she was just growing impatient.

What the hell. She sat up, threw her legs over to the side and rose. Looking over at the long-length mirror, she gave herself a quick check before winking in the mirror and finding the door. An female avox stood there, looking up at her with hopeful eyes. "Don't bother." She glared, threateningly at the girl. Her voice was a low, harsh whisper. "Touch my room, and you'll wish you had a voice left to scream."

With the image of the girl's frightened face in her mind, Stiletto grinned to herself and made her way to the dining car.

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Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett
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#, as written by Nori
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With a start Reutruse lunged from the waters that engulfed him, sputtering the mass of scented bubbles that had worked their way into his mouth as he did so. By the faint light of an army of aromatic candles that surrounded him, he could make out slick porcelain slopes extending a good foot or so above where he'd submerged, a multitude of care supplies too vast for his own comprehension stacked on the ledges, and his own horribly bewildered face staring back at him from above. Why anyone would need an eight by ten foot mirror directly above them--literally on the ceiling--when they bathed was far beyond him, but the glimmering expanse of glass did well to remind him of where he was.

So he'd fallen asleep in the tub, hardly surprising. The scalding embrace of bubbles galore was essentially the same as any plush, extravagant bed and ran a far greater risk of having his unmentionables broadcasted across Panem--a fear he held with probable cause, he'd never quite been able to stand the irritation of clothes while he slept and they always found a way to somehow shed themselves in the night.

Bringing a hand from the depths of the tub, he grimaced at the fate his skin had suffered for the cause, pruned and gnarled as it now was after who knows how long submerged in tepid water; water that had essentially been boiling when he'd first stepped in, having absolutely no idea to the workings of any of the many contraptions that dotted the train, temperature control hardly an exception.

A deep sigh, and a great deal of effort later, the blonde boy had forced his way out of the far too tempting hold the waters held on him, throwing five of the impossibly soft bath towels that dotted the room over his soaked form. The Capitol may have been an evil omniscient force that had essentially doomed him to death, but damn they made comfy towels. If it wasn't so vastly inappropriate and he'd be likely to have his stylist hunt him down for it, Reu was definitely considering staying draped in his oh so fuzzy towel rather than bother changing.

But Miri was already quite the crazed one, even as far as the eccentricities of stylists went, and she had threatened to chop off his manly bits and serve them to him with a side of buttered squash if he in any way challenged the structural integrity of his chariot wear...probably best to just take her "expert" advice and not run the risk of castration next time he saw her. It wasn't like she had any particularly horrendous taste for fashion either, when compared to some of the other stylists, he really ought be happy she cared so much for his looks and outfit that she'd resort to threats for their safety. But he wasn't, and with no small amount of resentment, he shed his fluffy towel exterior and haphazardly began to throw on the dark blazer trimmed with an odd--though not unpleasant--weaving olive branch design, the accompanying light grey undershirt, next the slacks that actually fit this time, and then finally struggled through the process of tying his matching flora-inspired tie.

The end result could hardly be considered a tie any longer, more akin to a noose or scarf in the manner it was worn, yet in the views of the fashion-challenged Reutruse it was acceptable enough that, with a triumphant grin to his own reflection, he set out to find the dining cart.

Which, as it turned out, was far, far easier to do in theory than in action. The train was essentially a glorified maze, with its collection of massive, senseless rooms dedicated to one and only one aspect of appearance, care, or comfort, all swarming with peace keepers and avoxes alike. The mutilated Avox servants he avoided for obvious reason, the Peacekeepers even more obvious than that, and so he stubbornly wandered his way, completely lost, through the twisted system of corridors, the entire while pondering to himself just how massive the barreling bulk of extravagant metal he resided in truly was. As of the moment, he was fairly sure it expanded further and taller than even the largest of the trains back in 11, the ones that came for their quotas at the end of every month. To believe anyone had built such an imposing beast of machinery for the sole purpose of transporting the tributes to their prison for the next nine months seemed sheer and utter madness; yet it was exactly what they had done and he doubted anyone had put more than a seconds consideration into the cost. Momentary worth was all that concerned the Capitol and it wasn't as though they had any fear for resources or manpower, it was the districts who would toil away, day after day, to create their own children's glorified hearse, after all, never them.

Though he probably would have dwelled on that thought until he somehow miraculously found his way to the dining car, another, much more crucial, thought had worked its way into his head. With a fervor uncharacteristic of the normally subdued Reu, he raced down the corridors with no regard for direction or courtesy. So be it if he found himself even more terribly lost, or accidentally peered in on one of the ladies rooms, he had to peeeeeeeeee. It wasn't as though his own decency wasn't compromised either!--his pants had all but been shed in his race for a bathroom, it was only by the limp grip of his left hand that they even managed to stay half strewn around his hips as they were.

When all seemed lost and Reu was sure there were no bathrooms in the sea of pointless, gaudy cosmetic rooms, was it that a spark of pity was shown to the poor boy and a glorious bathroom appeared behind door number 15-ish. The prevailing darkness of the room hardly bothered him; he had just been soaking in a tub for a few hours in fear of the cameras broadcasting what no one should ever see, so honestly, it was probably a boon. At least until the darkness called out in a shrill, panicked voice for him to stop as soon as he'd begun to pull at his briefs. It was at this point that Reu practically flew across the massive bathroom, twirling away from the source of the voice mid jump to claw at his slipping pants--only realizing then how desperately he needed to cover his shame.

"What the hell are you doing in here?!" He called out in the single least masculine tone he had ever heard from himself, cheeks burning bright as he continued to struggle with his somehow knotted pant legs. Internally, he couldn't help but curse his shitty luck, of all the bathrooms to stumble into, he found the one with someone already stowed away in it. Of course.

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Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett
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#, as written by throne
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The sedative was helping, but only just so. Cloistered in his womb-like tub-full-o’-bedding, Keeth nearly managed to drift off several times. Every time drowsiness descended, though, there would be some jolt as the train passed over a curve in the track, or the sudden sensation of motion, or even just a tiny vibration (possibly imagined) working its way up the wrought-iron clawed legs of the tub into the polished ceramic basin to stir him back into terrifying reality. He’d been verging on drifting off again when a new sound intruded on his dark cocoon of safety, making its way through the layers of muffling comforter to make his breath freeze taut in his lungs and every muscle in his body go rigid.

It was the door opening. Someone is here, in this room, right now. He cursed himself in silence, for not locking the door. Then he remembered that he’d consciously chosen not to lock the door, because it would have been conspicuous. More conspicuous than a bathtub full of blankets and pillows? Probably not, but… well, it didn’t matter, because someone was there, in that room, right then.

He didn’t dare breathe, or move at all. He listened to the sound of his own heart, pounding away in his chest like the scary boy from Two with the mace he’d boasted about in his interview, and somehow, he managed to pick out the fast, shuffling footsteps crossing from the door to… the toilet.

Rapidly, the cons of choosing a public restroom for a hiding place unfolded in Keeth’s mind. He’d never been comfortable with the human body, with the inherent messiness of it. Part of it had to do with his own physicality. He couldn’t help but compare, even if it was only to his strapping brothers. He was smaller, frailer, less masculine by design. The idea of being seen in any state of undress made his stomach twist, and the idea of seeing other men undressed was so, so much worse. What resulted was something he couldn’t even begin to describe, a mix of wonder and shame and longing that he was hard-pressed to identify correctly, never mind acknowledge or act upon. Being exposed to the styling team in the Capitol had been torturous, but not nearly so much as seeing several of the male tributes in practically nothing on the chariot ride in.

The other part of it had more to do with… well, Keeth could be somewhat prickly when it came to mess. He was unable to count the number of times he’d had to timidly ask his brothers to be a little more careful with their, ah, aim, since he was the one who wound up scrubbing the toilet and floor surrounding it back to gleaming white every day after school. Wiping up stale urine with an array of cloths, sponges, and disinfectant chemicals was one thing; being in the same room with someone who was urinating was entirely another.

He was faced with a grave decision. He could either continue huddling beneath his blankets in silence, hoping that this phantom pee-er would simply finish up his business and move on (after washing his hands, oh god, oh god, Keeth didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t wash his hands!) without noticing the swaddled stowaway in the tub… which meant being subjected to the sound of it, and thus being forced to imagine it… He cut off his thinking there, and considered the alternative. He could reveal himself, since really, he doubted anyone would be letting loose at the latrine if they knew there was someone else present… but that would mean revealing himself, making it much, much easier for him to be dragged out of his theoretically safe nest.

Death by train, or listening to someone pee? Death by train, or listening to someone pee? Death by train, or-

”Stop stop stop stop stop, someone’s in here, occupied!” Shrill was certainly a word for it; panicked and imperative were probably a better combination to do the job. He hadn’t surfaced yet; he’d done such a good job of entombing himself in comforters that he actually had to fight his way out of them. The mass of fabric would seem to shudder in the darkness, until, at last, a single small hand shot out and latched onto the edge of the massive tub. With a grunt, Keeth heaved himself up, popping up, head visible now. He looked alarmed and disheveled, and then froze, staring, when he realized the identity of the intruder.

It’s him, the boy from eleven, the one that made such confusing claims in front of THE ENTIRE WORLD about you. He stared, mouth agape, not even comprehending just yet that Reutruse was sort of exposed. It was dark, but more than that, he’d been dreading the moment that they’d first be alone together since the interviews. Literally dreading it, thinking about it all the time and feeling nothing but dread. Now it was here, in a bathroom of all places, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t…

What the hell are you doing in here?

Reutruse’s astonished, strained cry dashed his shocked paralysis to pieces. He was so used to being the one in the wrong that accepting blame came naturally to him, naturally enough to easily eclipse the embarrassment of the situation, even the intense fear of derailment.

”Um, sorry, I’m so sorry, I-“ It was then that he noticed the other boy’s pants. The fact that they were open, and half-falling down his legs. It was dark enough that he couldn’t make out any scandalous details, but it still sent him fleeing back into the dark, warm safety of his pillow fort. Just go away, just go away, just go away…He thought it over and over and over, turning it into a pathetic mantra as he hugged one of the pillows for dear life.

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Emosa Polijîn

This was all so asinine! Why couldn't they all be in the arena at this moment, bashing each other's brains in?! "Because that would be too damned easy." Emosa mumbled to herself as her own thoughts raced as fast as the train was now moving. Tiny clips and pictures continued in her mind; all ranging from the Capitol back to her district. So this is what they mean when they say you see your life flash before your eyes right before death. Yeah, we'll she's not dying yet. Emosa frowned at her thoughts and snapped her mind to the present. She was supposed to get ready for the little feast she was supposed to attend with the other tributes. Standing up with the lack of motivation, Emosa dragged herself to the restroom. Finding no use in getting "pretty" Emosa took one of the many brushes her prep team had provided. One of the few perks she liked in the Capitol were the brushes. 

Weird, she knows. But all the different types; soft bristles, hard bristles, gooey handles, stiff handles, and so much more! Emosa knew not many others would find the brushes the most fun but it was one of the small things most lower class citizens in District 10 didn't have. After brushing through the not many knots in her pale blonde hair Emosa glanced down at the outfit she was wearing at the moment. It would have to do considering everything else in the little room were dresses. Thanks to the prep team no doubt… It took them a few hours to get Emosa to wear that dress to the interview and she was not about to wear another out of her own free will. Hell, her legs still burned from them ripping off her hair. Emosa slightly shivered at the thought. They should be happy she's even wearing the heals! Taking another glance in the mirror Emosa slightly shrugged and made her way out if the compartment. Making her way through the halls and around a few twists Emosa found herself exploring the train. 

Passing by a few of the tributes who didn't really seem to notice her - which she liked - and continued her little adventure around the train. The way Emosa was alone know, she liked it. Solitary and not having to care about a damned thing. If only…. Her mind didn't seem to want to stay blank for it continued to think about how her sisters were. Were they eating well enough? Did Haliled send them to the orphanage yet? Were they scared? These questions frightened Emosa worse then anything else. Suddenly Emosa didn't want to be alone anymore, but talking meant she had to get to know someone. And that was one of the last things she wanted to do. 

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Character Portrait: Diomache Rayn Character Portrait: Niles Bayou
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Diomache Rayn


The others were no doubt still a little astounded by the marvel that was the Capitol's technology, but the novelty had long since worn off for Dio. The cameras, and by extension all of Panem, would see that Rayn, the girl from District Four, was the heir to a victor in not only name, but in her composure as well. Her mother had set to her task with a grim determination, twenty years ago. She made allies, formed bonds, swayed others into protecting her, convinced them that she could certainly pull her own weight. And then, in the arena, she took them by storm. No one laid a hand on her for the entirety of the games.

Dio had seen the footage countless times. How she'd made a beeline for the fishing net she saw at the Cornucopia, snagged it, managing to get her hands on a knife as well. Then she'd bolted for the treeline. The tropical forest setting of that year's games had suited her perfectly. She had stalked the jungle, living off the land, mainly a diet of fish and the edible berries. That net saved her life. She caught all her prey with it, in both the animal and human varieties. It had been so hard for the massive boy from Eleven to swing his fists when all tangled up in that.

Of course, Dio knew more tricks than just the net. It was not openly condoned, but of course her mother had trained her. There was no one here that was quicker in a knife fight, lighter on their feet, or as deceptively strong. Her score of eleven with the Gamemakers had proved that. Only one other competitor had scored that high, the boy from District Two, Scipio. Needless to say, she was very interested in meeting him. Their respective strengths would compliment each other very well. Scipio had given away his skill with the mace in his interview. Dio had to say the idea of shadowing someone like him was ideal. He'd draw a good deal of attention. Dio would certainly be willing to watch his back... to a certain extent.

But all that would come later. For now, there was dinner to attend to. As with the other things, Dio was more accustomed to Capitol foods than most. Being the daughter of a previous champion had its advantages, after all. And the train was... well, a train. The one that had taken her to the Capitol from her district was the first she'd ridden on, but still, her mother had prepared her even for this. Occasionally, Dio found herself wishing she were here, as her mentor, but then she reminded herself that this was her time, her chance for glory. Her mother being here would have lessened Dio's achievements.

Her hair had been perfected to a gleaming, shining black, smooth and silky. She didn't worry too much about dressing up; it wasn't as though her outfits were going to intimidate anyone, and her score had done more than enough to speak for her strength. She wasn't here to impress her fellow tributes, she was here to kill them. So she settled on a simple dark blue cotton shirt, a comfortable pair of jeans and... sandals. She wasn't really in the mood to wear shoes today.

Dio didn't really hear the ruckus of her fellow Four yelling outside, or else she probably would have waited longer. But she was a little absorbed in her thoughts as she left her room, and it was only once she'd stepped outside that she noticed him. He gave her a casual 'hey' as she fumbled for the briefest of moments thinking what to do. But nothing needed to be done. He was just another of the tributes. It was stupid that she even had to remind herself of that.

Her face settled into a stony look, not a piercing glare or anything, like the one she'd given him after the interview, when the last question had been about him, and she'd nearly ruined her entire performance. It was indifference, more like. Dio felt that it was important to not show any emotion around him. Or rather, to prevent him from bringing out her emotions, as he was the only one who seemed capable of doing so.

"Niles," was all she gave in greeting, but it was in fact more than he'd given her. Perhaps he was catching on to the fact that she wasn't interested in pretending they were still the childhood friends they had once been, or the teenage lovers they had almost been. That was a different time, and a different girl.

She deftly slid by him, not making any kind of contact with him, before carrying on towards the dining room, a definite sense of purpose in her step. Sooner or later the subject of her interview would come up, she knew. She had practically (and stupidly) offered him a place in the alliance she was planning to create. And Niles would be a fool to pass that up, for any reason. She was an incredibly strong competitor and a useful ally and, well... if he was planning to get close enough to her to try and develop something these last nine months, that would be the way to do it. But she wouldn't let him in.

She couldn't.

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Character Portrait: Cloud Deverell
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#, as written by xKyrie
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(⊙_◎) ( ̄(エ) ̄)ゞ \(-___________-;)/ ~(>_<~) (´A`。) (*´;ェ;`*) ヽ(゚Д゚)ノ


Nervousness. (;_・) That was only thing he felt ever since they had boarded the train. Smiling wryly as he thought about his family’s faces, he wondered how they were faring right now. If he knew better, his sisters along with his mother were currently at home, praying fervently and wishing for his safety as they cried rivers of tears. That was how they work -his little family that is; when his father died it had been the hardest. Cloud and his family had cried, almost accused everyone else, and begged the mayor to make an immediate and thorough investigation of the incident. They had pestered the rescue team, the authority and even the doctors all for the sake of bringing justice for his father. Ciel's death was heavily publicized (after all everyone had seen the explosion of the research laboratories) around the district. The laboratory was one of the many establishments dedicated for researching about nuclear-related items and was among the largest, which is why the mayor had made a fuss about it. o(╥﹏╥)o

It was only due to his grandparents that they had snapped out of the depression. A day after, his grandparents (and the current head of the clan) visited them. They ‘encouraged’ them to stop all nonsense and just accept Ciel’s death as peacefully and solemnly as they could. It was an accident and it was apparent that nobody wanted it. It would not do them good to be consumed by the loss. His grandparents had called them on their behavior, stating that they are causing the family name deliberate shame and utter humiliation.

It was hard to let go and to stop pestering anyone they can to ask for justice, but unusually enough after awhile, they succeeded. Cloud, while still grieving and angry… had learned to let go. Instead of wallowing in self-pity and his hatred for the perpetrators of his father’s death, he worked harder to strive better.

Staring at the four walls of his cabin, he then remembered the recent interviews. It was interesting… very interesting to say the least. He recalled the faces and personalities of the other tributes as they took a seat at the stage. There were some that scared him with the way how intimidating they appeared when Caeser Flickerman interviewed them: especially Diomache Rayne, she was… so terrifying (with how confident and ready she was for this game, subsequently too confident enough to kill them). Scipio Hardin, Yossarian Caulfield and Gavril Scynthe were also among the many others that intimidated him. They looked strong and as skillful as ever.

Sighing, he shook of thoughts about the interview and instead focused on his stylist. Unable to keep the smile off his face, Cloud remembered with great happiness, the details about his goodbye to Isabella. It was enlightening and very liberating. Once he heard that his mentor would not be coming with him any longer, he almost jumped for joy. He wasn’t a savvy about the Game or this Quarter Quell, seeing that he was more concerned with the archives and researches related to his district’s specialty but at least he is quite happy to see that this may be his last interaction with him. ( ̄ω ̄;) Isabella… was one eccentric individual. (ノ´ー`)ノ According to his endless sharing about his personal background when they were prepping him up for the interview, CC learned that Isabella had undergone surgery thrice: twice of that was to get a female body and once to return back to his original male assets. Isa- as what he liked to be called had stated that he had been confused on what he wanted to be. He told Cloud that when he was a child, becoming a woman greatly fascinated him. Isa said that since he had won the game, he decided to take a surgery. Only to reroll back to a man when he wasn’t able to adopt as well as he could. After several years of living at the Victor’s village though, becoming a woman had captivated him again, causing Isabella to strive to get womanly assets for the second time.

With his mentor being a transgender, Cloud was totally terrified out of his wits. He followed all of Isa’s quirks and whims even going as far as dressing up as a girl for the interview in avoidance from his wrath. Because of that, he had totally regretted wearing that dress and presenting himself to the public. He didn’t know if people taking him as a girl would work to his advantage for the game, but he is quite sure that parading as such had great a definite blow to his masculinity. Even so despite this... CC was undeniably ecstatic. He was finally free from Isa’s clutches!

His happiness about his apparent freedom from the terror lasted for several moments before he actually grew tired of gloating about his mentor’s absence. φ( ̄ー ̄ )ノ Finally, with the boredom and his current situation sinking in, CC decided to watch the view outside and count the trees or whatever he can see from his position at the train. He was used to being active that sitting still in this place had bothered him. His planned activity however proved to be quite an impossible feat, since after staring for no less than five minutes Cloud had gotten cross-eyed. The train was just moving totally fast, hindering his eyes to register anything else clearly.

Feeling bummed by being unable to finish his challenge, he tried to stifle the boredom and concurrent drowsiness by counting the patterns on the wall of the cabin. ‘…That thing looked like a cloud, or a flower, or a leaf ⊙△⊙’, Cloud thought. His eyes concentrated to the design directly in front of him. After a few moments of getting confused with the drawings, he groaned loudly. He abruptly stood up, and turned to his small belongings. Searching for some ways to be entertained, Cloud opened the bag which Isabella gave him when they parted.

Upon finding a familiar package in his hand, he panicked. It was an experimental bomb! ( ꒪Д꒪)ノ “Why is this here?!” He squeaked, terribly frightened and still holding it. Σ(゜ロ゜;) He looked wide-eyed at the familiar shape of a time bomb in his hand, and jumped around his cabin as he tried of various ways to explain how the thing happened to get in his bag. ‘Is this one of Isabella’s cruel joke? For all those times that I have both mentally and physically shuddered about his ideas?’ It took him a moment or so of panicking, jumping and running comically, he almost stumbled face-down into the seat when the train made a turn as he frantically looked around for a way to dispose it.

He had only stopped when he noticed the small note attached to it: “Cloud, take care, little brother! We had to beg Bella to give this to you. I hope that you always remember us. Do not worry, this wouldn’t possibly explode, it's not a bomb. Laugh and live well, CC! We love you so much. Take care <3, ---your family.” (〃 ̄ω ̄〃ゞ

After awhile of staring dubiously in silence, he laughed out loud. Glancing at the "bomb" in his hand, he took a seat and continued laughing. He pouted awhile after, knowing how ridiculous he looked as he was jumping around, and smiled fondly. “Gah!” was the only thing he was able to say before one of the staffs knocked on his door and informed him about the dinner. Shaking his head in amusement, Cloud shouted back in affirmative and safely kept the bomb back to the bag. Standing, he tried to straighten the creases on his shirt that were caused by his recent antics and opened the door as he walked towards the dining area. With the bright smile still present in his face, Cloud cheerfully greeted anyone he might come across with a "Hello". ((*^▽^*))o

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Character Portrait: Mildred Tarzia Character Portrait: Tyke Delfino Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett Character Portrait: Cloud Deverell Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong
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The Train Ride to 'Home'

As I sit here, and I think about how everyone in this place must feel - the tensions rising, the fear, the submission, the lust, and even hatred from some... We are twenty-four souls being placed in to fish bowl without a promise for food. It's basically like we've been told it's coming, and we all gather in a pack, optimism winning us over until we find out one day that... Food isn't coming. Then your mind wanders off in the distance, and it comes to the conclusion that everyone around you is coming to: you're going to have to kill them, to survive.

Is that my coping mechanism this time? Thinking about it as survivalism to cope with the idea that I may actually have to kill someone? That's really what I'm going for? Fucking. Stupid. Shit. But it makes sense, I mean, I hadn't anticipated being reaped. No one does. And I hadn't thought about it much other than mourning the others who went off to their doom. Honestly, I didn't give a second thought until it was Kaylianna's turn.

Kaylianna... I miss you. Is this how you felt when it was your time? Did you ever get a second to meet the people you were destined to end lives next to? I wonder if you'd meant to kill your two victims. It all looked so mistaken, so accidental. Before then, all I had known was the gentle fawn that you always were - always would be - to me, but in the Games, you were completely different. Your attitude, your looks - though now I can lend over most of that blame to your stylist now that I realize what a huge part they are in appearances of the tributes.

It's like this whole thing was planned. You, Kaylianna, were the spark inside of me that ignited as soon as you were killed and I realized at that instance... You'd become a memory. And this whole year that's gone by, I should have been tending to the fire, letting it shine and making a difference to light up this world.

I've let you down, but I promise to make it up to you. I won't let them take me without a fight.

Not without a good memory.

-Marvel


Marvelos hadn't been a writer originally. Sure, he'd written a few diaries because memories were a big deal to him. Did anyone gather that yet? But still, with diaries, he wasn't a huge fan of the pencil and paper, and creating something of an art. Really, his passion was to get his feelings out on paper, because it was easier to unleash them on something that wouldn't spin them into it's own problems and hurt you. He could just open the wound, spill the blood, and apply a bandage as necessary. She was always going to be a tough subject for him, even if they weren't in true love. It was the idea, the theory behind it all. He'd never know what she was to him. They weren't permitted that time to find out.

Despite his mood, Marvel let out a smile. He'd chosen to chill out in the lounging area next to the dining car, his feet propped up on the coffee table as he sat back, his journal laying flat on his stomach, hand over it, and another leaning back behind his head to catch it from hiding the back of the couch. He appeared to be completely relaxed and at ease. He let his gaze scan the area before he'd realized he completely forgot that Tyke was here the whole time, drawing or something. It was Mildred that had brought him out to Marvel, her smile and the way the atmosphere in the room just brightened up with her presence.

This was the kind of girl that needed to be around... All day, every day.

Marvel nodded to her, waving with his free hand with a, "Hey there," and then a respective nod to Tyke, though he didn't want to interrupt the artist at his 'desk'. It wouldn't be too much longer that the car would be filled, and that didn't bother Marvel, but he wasn't sure what he expected out of the other tributes when they would enter through and find the dining car. He let out a laugh to himself at the thought of that one.. Cloud, meeting up with Stiletto at the same end of the table. Sharing elbow room. He laughed again, and that's when he noticed the slight pain in his lower stomach. Signal! Warning! Nature's calling!

With that, he folded his journal under his arm and winked at the others entering through, kindly waiting for each one to pass him and allow entry in the opposite direction. He hadn't quite figured out the way this outline of this machine worked, but he knew somewhere, hopefully some place very near, would provide him the necessary... well, you know. When a man's got to go, it's a timer waiting to go off.

I should really just go to my room. That's the only way I know for certain - But he couldn't remember where it was. Annoyed, he started banging through doors, trying to see if they'd open. His strength was present as he grew more and more frustrated with the idea of not finding an applicable location. Out the window is starting to sound fascinating, but I wonder how that would look at this speed? It would definitely come back at me.

Finally, he slammed hard enough in to one door that he heard a few startled noises and shuffling of bodies - like one being flung from next to the door he'd just barged in. Had he smashed a nose? Run over a toe? He regretted it, but he was worried about the cameras thinking he was attacking someone - and he'd be damned if it was for the world to see. He slipped inside, slammed the door shut with a lock and then turned around to meet his current dilemma in the face.

"I am -SO- sorry, I swear, and this is going to sound like a dick move, but if I don't... Well, I've got to piss like a race horse, so if you guys don't mind having this discussion until after I'm done, that'd be great. Two seconds."
He blurted out, wincing at his choice of words before he noted the two were undoubtedly two of the males he'd been staring at during the interview. Both attractive, both definitely on different sides of the world as far as personalities... Both undeniably out for each other before he intruded.

I'm a c*** block. Fantastic.

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Character Portrait: Gavril Scynthe
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#, as written by xKyrie
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Not caring about the unstable motions of the train as it travelled towards a currently unknown destination, Gavril continued sketching with relative ease on a piece of paper taken from his journal. Lifting his pen mid-air, he studied the draft with curious eyes. The features were still unrecognizable; aside from the familiar lines marking the face with ears at both sides and a nose in the middle… it was nonetheless nothing but only a scratch yet. He made two almond shaped-circles on the upper part of the paper, drawing it on top of the guidelines that he placed before in order to represent his subject’s eye. Tracing the lines in order to darken the circles, he sketched the irises of the eyes.

He was just suddenly inspired to do something, and though he drew different images normally, this one had been greatly bothering him for quite a while now. He did not know what encouraged him to start the picture but knowing that once he started drawing, he would see it until completion now that he could still recall some of the details.

He then stopped drawing momentarily, when he was done softening the edges by removing the unnecessary lines, and tried to recall the other notable details about the subject. He was not certain about his memory and what he currently knew was not sufficient enough to provide all the information that he needed. The only thing he can vividly remember about the person was the color of the eyelids. It was bright blue and if he had some colored pens with him right now, he would try to capture it. It was just like Gavril to be as accurate as he could. Despite his knack of forgetting even the most obvious details, he would copy the features of the person to the best of his abilities. He then continued where he left off, taking deliberate attention to outline the rest of the features. While his current illustration was somewhat comical, a cartoon-like face of a man, complete with widely smiling lips and the shining shimmering teeth represented by the sparkles over it, Gavril have precisely proportioned the picture to look slightly realistic.

Still fully concentrated on his drawing, he continued to work in silence, only stopping when he was done. Once he had completed it, he stared at the representation of a smiling man wearing a tailored suit with light bulbs on it. He racked his mind for the identity of his newest sketch and it took him several moments to remember the name.

Caeser Flickerman.

It seemed like he had spent more than an hour just for drawing Caeser. Raising the paper at eye-level, he looked at his drawing. It was an almost perfect cartoon replica, and Gavril wondered why he had the sudden urge to draw him. There were many questions that have been plaguing him, ever since he started doing this minutes prior, but there was one thing that was most tempting for him to know.

.

..

...

Who the hell was this Caeser Flickerman?


He did remember the name and the features that were for certain, but all along, Gavril had no clue who he was sketching. This was common for him – to draw someone unfamiliar but today had been strange. He didn't know what compelled him to sketch Caeser and for that he silently wondered. Running a hand through his hair in exasperation, he then took his journal and browsed his recent entries. It was highly likely that he would write something about Caeser… perhaps.

Turning the journal a few pages, he placed the piece of paper into the seat and he browsed through several drawings of faces and some timed events. It took him few a while to read through his journal. His notes were meticulous and he kept it updated as much as he could. He usually wrote and drew about the faces of the recent people that he met along with a basic description about his first impressions for them and some additional details. He would also write the last activity that he did, always making sure that he include the date and time of the activity. He knew that he would be simply lost if he don’t make an effort to update his journal.

Having your memory literally refreshed every now and then—after an hour or so was something that he was not truly happy with. It was pathetic and laughable. Though he had gotten used to this, having had to take notes since his childhood, he was not satisfied. Forgetting others momentarily had given him the excuse to be detached as what he normally wanted, but it was also a pain to overlook even things that are of significant value to him. He could handle not recalling about other people, but there were moments that he had even forgotten what he did which had inadvertently almost caused him great trouble.

Sighing, he then stared at the ceiling and thought of what he wanted to do next. He can now recall who this man was supposed to be. He was interviewer for the Game and he had asked him along with the other tributes about their ‘reaction’ for this year’s quarter quell. Among the recent happenings in his life, the game was something that he could clearly remember. It would have to do something with the fact that the game could either help him to give him a chance to get a cure for this memory loss or kill him.

Glancing at the image once again, he had the sudden urge to do something. Taking the paper, he started drawing some objects into the picture, placing additional details on it. Two small triangles on top of the head to represent devil’s horn, a pointed tooth aligning with the rest over the wide-opened mouth and the end of the devil’s tail somewhere from the bottom, he then added a large trident along the left side. Smirking at his finished product, Gavril shook his head at his display of childishness. 'Served him right', he smugly thought. He hated the man, and he hated the way they needed to be called on stage looking like idiots as they answered chirpy inquiries from him. It was stupid, and nothing else but stupid. Just like what happened on their ‘chariot’ ride or anything else that he had recently read from his journal, he was still questioning why they had to do things like those.

Gradually getting bored with thrashing his drawing, he stood up moments later and stashed off his things in his bag. He then decided to get some food, feeling hungry all of a sudden. He left his room, taking a pen and journal, and walked outside, not really having a direction in mind. A while after of getting lost and reaching the front of the train, he found the dining area on the back and nodded in acknowledgement towards a chirpy black-haired short boy's greeting. He took a seat, and quietly observed everyone else. 'Why did everyone else seem to be here?' He could not help but ask mentally, somewhat confused with their presence. Though this was obviously a dining car, he didn't think that the others would be here as the same time that he was. If he knew there would be people around, he would have gone later instead of now.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mildred Tarzia Character Portrait: Solara Brinx Character Portrait: Zyker Lintsy Character Portrait: Tyke Delfino Character Portrait: Saffron Lockhearst Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong
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Saffron leaned on the wall outside Zyker's room, waiting for the handsome boy that she had fallen for over and over again to come out. She felt a small smile appear on her face as she thought about Zyker; how she always smiled when he there, how her skin tingled whenever he touched her, and just how happy he made her when he around around. She smiled softly at the bouncing red-head running through the corridor in a pink towel. However, the brunette girl was quickly snapped out of her little reverie of Zyker when a loud bang interrupted her thoughts. Her head snapped up from his resting position on the wall, and she followed the sound to see the girl from District Five leaving her room. Loudly. What was her name again? Oh yeah, Solara.

Saffy didn't like Solara - she hit on Zyker quite a lot, and she made her feel extremely uncomfortable. She crossed her arms across her chest as the stunning brunette girl made her way towards her, her hips swaying as she walked. There's just no need for that, is there? She's such an-- Before she could finished her thoughts however, the girl was speaking to her, shouting down the corridor of cabins, again jolting her out of her own little dream. She bit her lip as she registered what Solara was saying, turning her eyes to the floor instead of looking at her. She decided not to answer, to ignore the snide comments, keeping her eyes downcast to the floor.

Ignoring the bump on her shoulder as well, Saffron's face contorted into a wince at the second comment from Solara. Okay, that one had hurt a little. She bit down on her bottom lip softly, to keep herself from saying something that she would regret later on. "I have a feeling that Zyker wouldn't lower himself to the standards of you." She muttered underneath her breath, once Solara had turned the corner and was out of earshot. A relaxed sigh escaped her lips once she realized that she was alone again, and she rested against the wall. But, as soon as she had positioned herself comfortable, her best friend emerged from the room, enveloping her in his arms in a warm embrace. Her mouth hung open in shock as she took in his handsome appearance, and she just stared at him as he placed a loving kiss on her forehead.

Saffron's skin tingled where his lips had once been, but she continued to be lead by him, his arm around her waist keeping her moving. Suddenly, she stopped, turning towards him, pointing her finger at him accusingly. "Zyker Obediah Linsty. What the hell happened to your hair?" She asked him, her other hand resting on her hip. She also wanted to ask him about the whole Solara incident, but that would come after the whole hair thing.





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Tyke had been sitting in that lounge like room for what seemed like hours now, with that Marvel boy from District Five... he believed anyway. Neither of them had acknowledged each other, and surprisingly, it was quite comfortable like that. He didn't feel like the male was going to stab him in the back and kill him at any time, which was good, and he also didn't feel any need to spark up a conversation with him to keep the atmosphere comfortable. It was nice. However, soon their uncomfortable silence was broken by the introduction of another body in the room - that of the pretty petite girl from District Seven. Mildred, was her name. Yes, he remembered her from the interviews and from their first meeting. She really was quite pretty, and her bubbly aura lit up the room as she entered. It was a refreshing change from the silence.

Then, Marvel got up and walked away, leaving the two of them alone. He nodded back curly to the male, a farewell gesture to the comfortable and quiet silence, and turned back to Mildred, welcoming the upbeat and chatty girl. He didn't feel extremely flirtatious right now; he never really did after he had been sketching, but he knew that when he was in the mood, some of his attention would be directed specifically at this girl. So, for now, he would be friendly, and sweet, a large smile on his face as he spoke. Hopefully, he could spark up some sort of relationship with her now.


"I don't mind." His voice was soft, quiet as it always was after he had been drawing, and he gestured to the many seats throughout the room. "Please, make yourself comfortable." A crooked smile flittered across his face as he offered her a place to sit. He followed her gaze around the room, nodding as he again took in the details of the cabin that he had been sketching. "It is quite nice, isn't it?" He nodded in reply, before looking back down at his sketch book. He then lifted it up to show the girl, hoping that she would like his handiwork. "What do you think? Does it capture the beauty of the room?"

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ashe Besra Character Portrait: Tanager Rollo
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#, as written by Korrye
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The boy from seven was much taller than her and Ashe found herself caught between his arm and her own two feet when the train took a sharp turn and nearly had her slammed into the wall closest to her. As he braced himself, her own hands shot out for the wall, her knees bobbing together. She couldn’t help but hear the shrill tear of fabric when Tanager’s arms swooped out to catch the door frame. When they were both steady she smiled with an exhale of relief at him before ducking under his arm and passing through into the feast rail car.

What she saw before her had Ashe more nauseated than the motion of the train itself. The railcar was dominated by a lengthy table made of rich woods and gold ornate trim. The curtains were thick and heavy, lined with satin fabrics and heavy velvet. The smell of their meal was heavy in the air. She could tell the food was rich in flavor, a reality that had her stomach churning. After years of simple tasting bare bones meals, and at times extended periods without food at all, eating as well as she had been the past week had not hit her very well. She’d thrown up on the train twice after dinner, having not been able to help herself from nearly binging on the food available. In the city it had been almost a nightly occurrence with her stress. The past few days she’d simply had an upset stomach. With time it seemed that the quality of food wasn’t hitting her so hard. It was nice not to constantly feel hungry anymore. That said, the room was far beyond her comfort zone. It bled everything she wasn’t familiar with and as she took a seat closer to the far end – if anything to get a good look at everyone as they ate and to study them as they ate – Ashe could barely lean back into her chair.

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Tanager could feel the tears in his shirt. The rips appeared to have occurred along the seams lining his shoulder blades. His shirt sleeves felt loose and he was irritated by that fact. He had no other clothes to replace what he had ripped and given his build and height, he wasn’t so sure that any of the other tributes had a shirt to spare that might fit him. As he shook his head and allowed the girl from eight to pass into the feast car, he couldn’t help but smirk at the idea of walking into the house and on camera shirtless. Wouldn’t his stylist and the sponsors go insane. And no body paint either. They would have a field day.

That said, Tanager knew it would be inappropriate and slightly awkward if he ripped the thing off entirely during dinner so he simply buttoned up the first few snaps on his jacket instead. Once finished, he stepped into the feast car. At once he was struck with the delicious smells emanating from their table. Several dishes were still covered but that didn’t prevent them from filling the air with a delectable scent. Tanager couldn’t help but lick his lips, feeling his stomach roll with hunger. He had been enjoying the fact that most of their dinners came with soft rolls of bread. It was loads better than anything their local baker or his mother could have ever conjured up. They lacked decent yeast in seven and as a result their breads were often thick and heavy.

Of out eagerness and perhaps his appetite, the district seven tribute settled himself closest to the largest bread basket. He wasn’t truly bothered by the décor. If anything he was pleased with how comfortable his chair was. As he settled himself before his plate, he reclined into his seat, closing his eyes and sighed with a slight smile.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong
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#, as written by Nori
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There'd barely been time for Reutruse to secure his pants and regain his balance once more, before he found himself knocked stumbling across the room, the door he'd been leaning against thrown open with a force he'd hardly anticipated. Catching himself on the brim of the tub--a tub he only then really registered as being there--and narrowly avoiding barreling into the sea of plush pillows held within, he stared, dumbfounded, into the mass of trembling pillows beneath him, illuminated as they were by the momentary flood of light. Eh? Wha...? No way.

As realization dawned on him and his mind's preoccupation with the ever growing need to relieve itself ebbed into guilt, it was difficult to resist the urge to kick himself. Of course it was Keeth, who else would be hiding in a bathtub intertwined in a practical womb of pillows other than the boy. He'd seen him struggle with the Peace Keepers, watched weakly as they practically dragged him aboard and whisked him away to his quarters; that he'd forgotten to check on him, see that he was alright and not burrowing into some strange pillow-y contraption, was inconceivable. To believe he'd abandon the boy to his fears after such a public declaration of fealty--to think him truly such a, well, ass!--there went his entire notion of decency...

"Don't worry about it, it's fine Keeth, really, it's partially my fault anyways, just, could you--" he began to apologize himself, only stopping as another all too familiar voice cut in from behind him, "--I am -SO- sorry, I swear, and this is going to sound like a dick move, but if I don't... Well, I've got to piss like a race horse, so if you guys don't mind having this discussion until after I'm done, that'd be great. Two seconds." Nooooo, it wouldn't--couldn't be him, no way, not even, that's just, cruel, what would even be the chances..? Pivoting around on his heel to face the latest entry into the room, Reu was aghast, yet hardly surprised, to see that, why, yes, it was in fact Marvel. It was at this point that the blonde had come to a conclusion: chance no longer factored into anything in his life, fate was out to get him.

It'd been luck that his hands still remained on the tub's ridge, seeing as how his knees buckled under the weight of his latest revelations, eyes darting between the two occupants of the room, himself, and everything in between as he struggled for words. That expression of Marvel's he'd only managed to catch a glimpse of, how he avoided even glancing in their direction, the way he himself loomed over Keeth even still, disheveled and flustered as he was, a tub shoved full of fluffy cushions and the like--"Oh, no, no, nonononono! It's not what it looks like, with the me, and the him, and the you walking in--I came in here to pee too, just pee, nothing more--not that I'd have any problems doing anything with um, actually, ignore that last bit, yeah, I just, pee--have to--really bad--pleaseee?" Reutruse forced out in a hardly coherent blur, voice dying down to a pathetic plea by the end as the all consuming urge to peeeee wrought it's torment upon his body. It was a dam about to break, sapping every ounce of willpower in his body's efforts to resist relieving himself right there, right then; if his pained, contorted expression, previous rambling, and antsy pacing from foot to foot failed to speak exactly how intense his need to urinate truly was, he'd...Mnmdfer, happy thoughts, they'd be able to tell, Marvel can hold it, everything would be fine, happy thoughts! Happy. Thoughts.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magna Aerosta Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong
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#, as written by throne
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His mantra was not working. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect, drawing yet another physically imposing tribute into the bathroom as well. Reutruse had started to stammer (which struck Keeth as strange in an unidentifiable way; he was used to being the stammerer, not the stammeree) out that it was okay, even though it was most definitely not okay. Nothing was okay about the current situation. He was supposed to be snugly nestled in the tub, like he had been on the way from Six to The Capitol. No one was supposed to come in at all, never mind come in to relieve themselves!

And then it was even less okay. It shouldn’t have struck him as so strange that some people actually wanted to use the bathroom for its intended purpose, but it did. He felt very, very small, hiding in his blankets, with the two daunting young men towering over his less and less adequate bathtub of protection. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The only thing that came to mind would actually have been more of a shrill scream, to the tune of GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GO AWAY LEAVE ME ALONE. He’d learned his lessons about screaming long ago. It was better to just consent to whatever hurt or humiliation was coming. He’d probably end up hauled up over one of their heads, or maybe one would take him by the wrists and the other by the ankles and they’d swing him to the count of three before launching him into the corridor. No, that wouldn’t do at all. He’d been thrown like that before, when bigger boys from Six had caught him one day and chucked him into a fountain outside the Hall of Justice. A filthy fountain. Birds pooped all over it, and for all he knew, tall, handsome boys who made his stomach feel funny and warm peed in it all the time. He’d thrashed and gasped as if it had been twenty feet of water rather than less than one, spurring laughter from the ones who’d tossed him and most other people in eye- or earshot.

He heard their words, even as he hid. Reutruse’s stuck in his head. He failed to grasp Marvel’s appraisal of the situation in the initial exchange, but then the boy from eleven protested, it’s not what it looks like. What did it look like? He had no idea. Was there something that one meek coward hiding in a bathtub that just happened to be in the same bathroom as a powerful hero who’d volunteered to save a similar boy looked like? If there was, it was well beyond his kenning. It was like they were speaking in code. Maybe there was a male universal language, hidden between the lines of normal words, which he was not privy to? Maybe it came along with puberty, but only if you got muscles and the need to shave more than once a fortnight as well?

It was when the words doing anything somehow passed through the fabric cocoon and reached his ears that he realized, to a degree, what it looked like. Keeth may have been naïve, but he was fairly observant, and probably too clever for his own good. It was part of always being at the edge of every group, always wearing the outside-looking-in perspective. He’d heard other boys talk about things they had done or would have liked to have done. He was vaguely aware that, for some reason, he was supposed to want to do those things too, whatever, exactly, they were. He had a sneaking suspicion that part of why he was so often the target of bullies was intricately tied to his lack of wanting to learn more about, never mind actually participate in, those activities. He was also reasonably sure that Reutruse and Marvel were talking about those things right now, only it involved him, and Reutruse, and…

… it made him wish the train would derail, right then and there, and consume them all in fiery doom.

He waited about three seconds, bracing himself for the screech of metal. Of course, the world was cruel, so it never came. That meant he had to go with Plan B. Plan B was really more instinctive than anything else. It involved hurtling over the side of the bathtub and dashing out of the bathroom as if he were being chased by a flock of birds that were attended by trackerjackers. He was fast, he knew that, and they both seemed pretty focused on peeing, so he had a good shot at escaping, in his estimation, and then they could do whatever they wanted and just leave him out of it.

Initiate Plan B!

He grabbed the side of the bathtub yet again, and this time got his legs beneath him, erupting with all the awkward grace of an antelope wearing work boots out of his blankety confines and over the edge of the tub. So far so good. He darted in the darkness, avoiding the silhouettes of the two other tributes, and realized, oddly, that his cheeks felt very warm. No time to think about that, even if he wanted to. Every second was precious, if he wanted to make a clean getaway. If either got their hands on him, he’d be as helpless to wriggle free as he had been with the Peacekeeper. Anxious adrenaline had burned the drugs out of his system, it seemed, which was good. He made it to the door unscathed and then grabbed the knob. He was free of the incredibly strange situation!

Or he would have been, if the door weren’t locked. Panic seized him, and rather than work the lock, he tugged and turned and grunted and then started to cry. He was trapped, trapped in the dark (the lightswitch was like, two feet away, but never mind that), and they were going to do who-knew-what to him. He felt very stupid all of three seconds later when Smart Keeth reappeared and undid the lock. Success!

The split-second he spent congratulating himself proved to be his undoing. Before he could pull the door open, someone much stronger than him pushed it open from without. He let out a yelp as he was driven back, and his legs got all tangled up, causing him to stumble and then fall, flat on his back with a very audible ”Oof!” of pain. It radiated up and down his spine, carrying through his limbs. The light pouring in from the doorway was blinding him, forcing him to squint, and even then the amount of time he’d spent in the dark bathroom made it impossible for him to identify the newest participant in this nightmarish experience as anything more than a black shadow in stark contrast to the whiteness that filled the doorframe.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Magna Aerosta Character Portrait: Reutruse Ferran Haervic Character Portrait: Keeth Diggett Character Portrait: Marvelos Strong
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Magna followed the Peacekeepr in silence. She briefly wondered if he'd stay with her for the remainder of her life before teh Games began. Deciding that whether he did or not, it wouldn't truly affect her in anyway, she let her gaze drop to his booted feet. So militaristic, and yet she'd bet money she didn't have that he didn't know the first thing of having to use the weaponry on his being. He was a Capitol Peacekeeper after all, and very little happened in the Capitol to call for Peacekeepers who could actually accomplish anything other than looking formidable. Even so, this particular one had hard enough time even attempting that. Perhaps he was terrified of how "radical" she was. Smirking, she looked back up at the back of his head, covered with the helmet of his kind. Breathing in through her nose, she decided to test him. Reaching up decisively, she tapped him on the shoulder. To his credit, he didn't jump, but turned quietly and looked at her. Even though his demeanor was calm, she could read his eyes. He was confused, and yes, she'd been right, a little scared. She stopped moving, causing him to also cease his forward trajectory.

"Yes, Miss Aerosta?" His eyes had calmed, but Magna was positive that underneath all the padding of his uniform he was tense, ready to run. She could have laughed, would have, if he'd even had the smallest idea of who she really was, deep inside. As it was, he knew the 'new' Magna, the Magna who pushed the old one deep down inside any time the pain started again. She let him sit for a moment, expectation and the smallest amount of worry settling in. She was patient and could wait out the awkwardness, so instead of responding she turned and walked slowly over to a window. She stood there, and crossed her arms softly across her chest. The Peacekeeper shuffled his foot, obviously uncomfortable, and let a small cough escape his lips. A smile spread across Magna's face. The absurdity of it all. Shouldn't she be the one uncomfortable in his presence? Smiling feraly she turned and looked at him dead on. She felt more than saw his tension build. Then, in her sweetest voice possible, she made a simple request.

"I believe I need to use the restroom. Will you please show me the way?" She watched as the suited man untensed and expelled a breath. Seriously, what was she going to do? Stab him? A thought occurred to her, "Actually, you're dismissed." She wasn't sure if it would work, but it was worth a shot. The Peacekeeper stood for a second, obviously slightly confused, "I can't go anywhere, we're on a bullet train. Besides, I have to be on air in 3 minutes." He wasn't moving and she was almost positive that she couldn't pull of what she'd planned, then another thought, "I want privacy. So shoo." As she had in her interview, she kept her voice level, knowing that even the slightest change in vocal patterns cued people to emotions that weren't always necessarily there. Another minute passed as the two looked at one another, then the Peacekeeper looked sidelong as if listening to and concentrating on something that Magna couldn't hear. Nodding once, curtly, he turned and left the room.

Magna's eyebrows raised as she watched him retreat away from her. He'd obviously been given some order by the Gamemakers. She may not be on Panem LIVE yet, but she'd be damned if she didn't think they had her on watch somehow. The spider muttation in her room had told her as much. She made a mental note to undress subtly, knowing that it didn't really matter after all the time with the stylists, but for her own peace of mind.

Clearing her thoughts, she started heading towards the dining car. As she made her way along the cars, a few sounds caught her attention. She heard some high pitched squeaking, then two more manly voices. Interest slightly piqued, she wandered to the door the sounds were coming from. If there was an alliance being made, she wanted to hear it. She needed every tiny bit of information she could get if she was going to win. She listened intently, a scowl crossing her face as she craned her neck back to give the door a look that dripped of, "What the...?"

She put her hand on the knob then to steady herself as she leaned on it to listen better, on some level curious of what was really happening in the community restroom. She heard some clamoring about, and something that sounded like grunts of exertion giving way to helpless whimpers as the doorknob jiggled in her hand. Someone was breaking the rules, it was obvious. It sounded as though two of the larger guys had gotten a hold of one of the weaker ones or even a girl. Not that she really cared about the Games rules, but she did have morals and that just wasn't fair. They weren't even to the house yet, disgusting pigs. It was probably the Careers and that Tyke kid or something. Her eyes narrowed as she realized that she recognized the whimpers. Well shit Keeth. Magna looked skyward briefly, What have you gotten yourself into? She heard the lock click and without a hesitation pushed the door open with all her strength. Rules and stoicism be damned, no one, and she meant no one was allowed to hurt Keeth if she was around.

As the door flew open a yelp and movement pulled her line of sight to the crumpled Keeth flailing backwards to the ground. She watched him hit the ground, then looked at the two figures standing behind him. Mild surprise hit her as the light from the doorway shone past her and illuminated the men. The only outward show of this surprise was her eyebrows raising ever so slightly as she looked from one man to the other, then to the boy, and flicked the light on. Now that she could fully see them all, she assessed the situation. Reutruse, the guy who stands up for the little man but doesn't give a thought to how the people who care about him feel. Marvelos, the one who caused a twinge of pain and tight aching in her chest that she didn't want to name or remember . And Keeth. Enough said.

A tiny smile crept onto her lips she looked down at the third, letting a softness fall over her features that was rarely seen. Arching a pretty eyebrow, she set aside her amusement and the softness was gone again. "Did you just want to prove me wrong?" She asked him not unkindly, then looked at the two larger boys. Again, without raising her voice or adding any venom what-so-ever, she continued "You know the rules. Don't mess with the other Tributes, especially not the defenseless ones, before the Games." Stepping forward so that Keeth was behind her, Magna's tiny body only stood about shoulder height on the other boys. "I know first hand what they do to you for breaking their precious rules," she stated matter-of-factly, "You boys won't like it." She was not threatening them or being menacing in any way, as she shrugged to punctuate her sentence. It was as though she were stating they couldn't wear her shoes because they wouldn't like 3 inch heels.

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Yossarian Caulfield Character Portrait: Niles Bayou Character Portrait: Scipio Hardin
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Yossarian Caulfield, Niles Bayou, and Scipio Hardin
(Collaboration between AugustArria, Attie, and throne)


The fuck was that shouting?

Yossarian turned his head to see. It was some ways further down the train, towards the dining hall. Figuring he'd stared out the back of the train long enough, and that he wouldn't mind some of that delicious Capitol food anyway, he headed in that direction, squinting to better see the source of the commotion. It was some dude... yelling something about a shirt... killer toothbrushes... and it was Niles! And he needed a shirt. This was brilliant. Such an opportunity. And here Yossarian was starting to think this train ride's only attraction would be the speeding lights and sounds and images of the world going by at ludicrous speed.

He vaguely remembered mentioning something about Niles Bayou in his interview, something along the lines of "could that man's chest look any better?" And as he approached the District Four tribute, he concluded that... no, it could not. Swaggering up to him and leaning on the opposite wall, Yossarian hooked his thumbs into his jean pockets, and stared rather blatantly at the boy's chest, even as he spoke.

"You know, you'll probably do better with the sponsors, and the girls, and the guys, and hell, even the Peacekeepers, or shit, even the Gamemakers, or fuck, even President Argent... if you just go without a shirt. But, uh... I might be willing to part with one of mine, if you'd be willing to do a favor for me."

To be honest, the boy from District Four was still a bit lost in his own world after the brief encounter with Diomache; however, she'd passed him a long while ago and left him shouting a bit more. It was well enough time to get over it, at least for now. It was a voice he'd not expected that woke him back up to reality -- despite the fact that he'd watched Yossarian on his way up the corridor. Niles tilted his head a bit at him, arched a brow as he clearly seemed to be talking to his chest, rather than Niles himself. Okay. That's.. normal, I guess. Just not from a dude. Whatever.

"I would hate to start off with my best show for the ladies and leave them with nothing else to the imagination. I mean, all the muscles you can clearly see - they're going to catch on sooner or later that the muscle continues down south... I'd better save them from losing an appetite for food. At least for the first night or so." He winked at the guy -- What the hell was his name again? -- and with the playful banter, he almost felt... normal. It was almost as if he were back home and his friends would giving him shit about his flawless appearance, and all the girls - no, they were women now. All the women he'd seduced and all their scorned stories.. It was true that Niles' never gone the full mile with any of them, but... The stories just sounded better when it came out that he had. "So, what's your flavor-- favor?"

Yossarian wondered if any cameras were on him at the moment. Well, of course there were, there were cameras on everyone, weren't there? Little flying bug-cameras or something. Even though he was doing this entirely for his own pleasure, perhaps the sponsors would get a kick out of it. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth as Niles talked about muscles and appetites and flavors... it was almost too much. Almost. If Niles went along with this... well, sponsors or no, this would be a fun way to kick off the nine months.

"Wrestle me for it. My shirt, I mean." He unzipped his hoodie and let it fall to the ground. His shirt underneath was clean, white, and probably big enough for Niles. Maybe a little small, but there was certainly no harm in that. Niles was a bit more built in the upper body than Yossarian was. "It'll be fun. Maybe it'll make that pretty girl of yours jealous. Maybe the sponsors'll love it. Maybe why the fuck not?"

Niles nodded with a sly grin on his face, listening to the suggestion with a playful spirit. Just like home.. He gave the guy a look from top to bottom, sizing up the fight before it would began. He looked sturdy enough, or maybe just confident, or maybe just crazy. It was coming back to him, now. His first impression of this guy was, Holy shit, he's nucking futs. Yossarian Something. Part of this didn't seem like a good idea, but at the same time, he needed a shirt. Do I need it that badly, though? What the hell.

"Right on, man. Alright, and what if you win?" He wanted to trust the other tributes. He really wanted to just befriend them and make nothing of it, but there was a nagging since ringing in his ears, What if he's got a weapon? What if it's a trick? What if you die before the games even start? - Or what if he blackmails you with this? Shaking it out as he slipped off his own wrinkly button up, Niles let it slide to the floor with as much care as he'd applied to it that got him in to this mess in the first place. Rolling his shoulders to loosen up, he remained standing upright for the conversation rather than hunching down defensively. The game wasn't on yet, after all.

"If I win? Uh... well, this is kinda it's own reward for me, you know?' He pushed away from the wall slightly, standing straight. Just the agreement Niles had made to go along was reward enough for Yossarian... the knowledge that in a few small seconds he have his hands all over the chest that he had spoken so fondly of. "Right then," he said, stretching a little. "We'll have to make this quick. Peacekeepers will be along to break it up in a bit."

Without any further ado, and without any warning whatsoever, the boy from District Eight launched himelf into Niles, putting all of his weight into a tackle, burying his shoulder in Niles' gut, and wrapping his arms firmly around his midsection. The pair of them rammed backwards into Niles' half-closed door, causing it to blow open and slam against the wall with a loud crack. They tumbled to the ground in his room, grappling for position. Yossarian pressed his advantage, sliding his legs deftly around Niles' waist and locking his feet together behind him. This was not Yossarian's first time wrestling, and it wouldn't be his last. He reached one arm up in an attempt to get Niles in a headlock, the other arm... well, it was wandering a bit. First to the pectoral muscle. Over and around his back, down... until the boy's resistance reminded him he was wrestling, not... something else.

His weight was thrown off balance when Niles pushed back, hard. He was stronger than Yossarian, and had no doubt been in quite a few friendly scuffles himself. Yossarian toppled over to the side, still maintaining the headlock, but his other hand was now focused on defending and preventing Niles from escaping his grasp. He was vaguely aware of a hand on his head, but paid it no mind, instead using Niles' momentum against him and continuing their roll, to the point where they crashed into a stand of bathroom supplies, sending killer toothbrushes and their bottles of paste crashing down. It occurred to Yossarian that he was actually laughing, even as Niles broke from the headlock and gained the upper hand.




Wandering had proven an extremely unproductive use of Scipio's time. The Career Tribute hadn't found much of anything towards the back of the train, but a sort of perverse desire to know thy enemy had led him to explore a bit more than he otherwise might have. He'd been in a room that seemed entirely devoted toward soaking feet in mineral baths when he'd heard footsteps padding by in the corridor, back toward the front. Shaking his head in bemused disgust, he put thoughts of drowning a certain President in three inches of foot water aside and gave chase. Quiet chase, when he stepped into the hall and noticed who it exactly it was. Caulfield, Yossarian, Male Tribute from District Eight, Strengths Unknown flashed through his mind, along with a far less clinical assessment: the mad one.

The faint hum of the train in motion and the soft carpeting of the hallway made stealth a little easier than it would have otherwise been. He kept a good distance back, only losing sight of his prey when the other boy passed between train cars, and then, only for a count of seven. He heard the same dim shouting- dim in the sense that it was quieter, carrying further down the hall, and in the sense that the shouter was proving that he was not entirely bright. Technologically advanced as it may have been, it was still only a toothbrush. Perhaps this year, the male tribute from Four would be left out of the alliance. Bayou, Niles. Apparently an attractive moron. He paused just before the doorway that led into the car the pair now occupied, and watched. One blond eyebrow hiked up as they agreed to... wrestle for a shirt? He had a dozen shirts in his room, and unless the stylists for Four were inept as one of their tributes seemingly was, Niles no doubt had replacements as well. Maybe he can't read, he mused as the show began.

Scipio glanced to his right, as if someone might conveniently appear for him to wager with. Wager what? If you win, I won't kill you until at least the third day. If you win, I'll save you for last. If you win, I'll sing a little song while you gasp your last breaths. They had no currency save for time, and when the arena came, it would be precious indeed. His brow creased faintly at the first impact after the toussle, and then they were inside the room, out of sight. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he strolled along down to stand outside the doorway and watch, making note of Yossarian's... technique. His eyes flicked back down the corridor, watching for the inevitable white-garbed interlopers.




There was a lot of fun to be had in this. Of course, Niles was oblivious to the feels of Yossarian, and oblivious that another boy joined them in same area, just as he had been oblivious that while Yossarian had been feeling on him, he'd managed to really lock his head. It was beyond impressive - even if it was a bit disgusting in Niles' perspective of how he'd accomplished it. However, now his head was back in the game - and a little lighter after a lack of circulation. Whatever he'd attempted to do with a handfull of Yossarian's hair, it was lost to him as they began rolling like a boulder that was too big for the doorway, catching their elbows, knees, and toes. The sense of pain was all lost to the adrenaline rush, though, and when they smacked in to the stand and it's contents flew like missiles from a until then neutral country, Niles overheard laughter escape from Yossarian. It took breath to do so, and with that crack in the wall, Niles rolled the opposite direction from which they came, his head free, and Yossarian's weight lifted from him and against the neighboring wall just a foot away. The space between them didn't last. Niles let out one of his own laughs - something he'd have shared with a buddy or two back home when skirmishes broke out on the docks and led to drenched shirts in the river - before hurdling himself in the same manner Yossarian had initiated the whole ordeal, attempting to carry the force of his weight through his shoulder's impact to Yossarian's stomach.

Yossarian yelped in a pleased sort of surprise when Niles charged at him with full force, not daunted in the slightest by how their confrontation had began. They flew backwards together again, this time Yossarian on the receiving end. His back rammed into the side of a dresser, tipping it over, cracking a window slightly. Yossarian shifted his weight, tipping the pair of them over onto the next nearest object... the bed. They thrashed around for a few seconds, the sheets getting tossed about and tangled as they struggled. Eventually Yossarian found himself on top. It perhaps made sense that his wrestling skill was multiplied seemingly threefold when he was in a bed. It was a comfortable environment after all. In any case, Yossarian had straddled Niles once more.

And there they were; heavy, rapid footfalls indicated that the bout would soon be over. Perhaps it was his internal resentment toward the Peacekeepers as a whole, or simply some natural flair for showmanship, but either way, Scipio wasn't letting them be the ones to spoil the boyish fun. Three long strides had him clearing the doorway, and he came up on Yossarian from behind, hooking his arms underneath the other tribute's armpits and then hauling him bodily off of Niles and the bed. "Now now, boys. You should save this sort of thing for the arena." The smirk he was wearing could be heard, if not seen, as he sought to restrain the feisty tribute from Eight.

Yossarian had just been about to go for another headlock when he was taken from behind by a pair of powerful arms, hooking under his armpits and yanking him forcefully away from Niles. He resisted for a moment, before recognizing that whoever it was had a serious strength advantage, and that there was no escape from this one. Damn fucking Peacekeepers, he thought as his feet were set on the ground. He turned to glare at the white clad man, only to find that--

"The fuck?!" he shouted, upon seeing the boy from District Two, Scipio, to be the one that had broken up the fight, and his fun. "You some kind of fucking Peacekeeper now, Two?" Scipio released him; well, it was more a half-shove. "I'm as much a Peacekeeper as you are a wrestler, apparently," he replied dryly, and not without amusement. At this point, the two actual Peacekeepers entered the room, looking annoyed. "Ah, fuck it," Yossarian said, before he swiftly removed his shirt and tossed it to Niles, still on the bed. "Thanks for the ride, you can have it. There's no problem here. Just trying to enjoy ourselves is all. Guess that's too much for a Capitol fuck like you to let go," he said, directing the last bit at Scipio. He then made his way from the room and slipped back into his hoodie, zipping it up about halfway. One of the Peacekeepers trailed him as he headed off towards the dining car without another word.

Scipio didn't bother pointing out that his intervention had probably saved Yossarian from being roughly dragged to the dining car. Then again, maybe a messed-up individual like him would have enjoyed that sort of thing. While Niles dressed, he let his gaze travel lazily to the remaining Peacekeeper. "Duty discharged. You really don't have anything better to do at the moment?" How's that, Panem? Scipio Hardin, breaking up fights and talking down to Peacekeepers. He glanced to Niles. "We might as well head down now, mm?"

Finishing the last button, Niles smoothed his hands over the tighter shirt, numbing over the parts of him he was sure would be sore in the morrow. Running a quick hand through his hair, he offered a laughing smile at Scipio, having ignored the outburst from Yossarian. If it wasn't directed to him, he didn't have to worry about the crazy coming after him. "Yeah. Sounds about right." There was really no reason to point out what was really going on. Yossarian had already done that, and everyone who didn't catch on was more of an air-head than Niles at this point. He let out a sigh, keeping his smile hanging from his lips as he offered a hand-waving gesture to the door to see them out and shut it behind them. Sure, the Peacekeeper could have done it, but damn it, if Niles had already given up his life, his family, and his realy home.. He was going to kindly see him the fuck out of his last bit of space. Until they got to the Capitol House, that is. They couldn't get there fast enough, in his opinion.

Scipio moved to saunter along at his side, shaking his head. What would the actual dinner have in store?

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mildred Tarzia Character Portrait: Tyke Delfino Character Portrait: Malila Felicity Fox
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#, as written by Caille
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Upon entering the room Millie had noticed Marvel and she was jumping up and down inside her mind. Marvel had been one of the people Mildred took interest in and she became all smiley about the subject. Soon enough though, Marvel left and it had just been her and Tyke which was absolutely fine with Mildred. Her hands brushed down her dress several times just so they were doing something and not nothing because when they dangled it felt weird and they felt useless, Mildred couldn't stand that feeling and so soon enough she'd play with her own fingers, twisting them together, locking them together or basically just twiddling her thumbs. Millie wasn't too sure what to do but as her arms dangled a bit she moved them back and forth just messing around and it brought a smile to her face oddly enough.

Soon enough Mildred noticed the smile on his face and hers mirrored, the mirror games was something that often happened by accident with Millie where her facial expression would try and be a replica of who ever she was facing but it wasn't her fault, sometimes it was funny when people were grumpy and Mildred had to try on the look sometimes but with Tyke she already had a smile on her face by the time he had one on, so it was more like he had been the mirror to her. Which made her feel absolutely giddy inside. When he spoke, it was soft and quiet.

When he didn't mind that meant the world to Mildred because nothing put her down more than when someone hadn't liked her presence, she liked to keep people happy and hated to see upset people, the next thing that he had told her was to make herself comfortable, usually Mildred would ask where it'd best be where she were to sit because a lot of people often preferred her to be across the room or something but he told her to make herself comfortable which put a big bright smile on the blonde's face.

She looked over at him again when he agreed with her about her comments about the room and that deserved a small smile, he was nice for the most part, he wasn't exactly like a lot of people back in district seven where they neglected her but that's why Mildred loved to climb trees. Soon enough she had her eyes on the seat she wanted and then he showed her his drawing. She walked up closer and looked at it with a serious expression on her face as she tiled her head from side to side to capture other angles to get a better look at him. After a few minutes she smiled, "I think it's beautiful. You seem rather skilled, Tyke." She said with a sweet smile aimed in his direction and then she walked over to the chair nearby and she carefully sat down in it. "Do you reckon there will be any trees where we're headed?" She asked biting her lips. "I like trees." She said softly and quietly.


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(editing I have to go finish off some other things first and then I will come back to Mal.)