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The Final Hunger Games

The Final Hunger Games

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The victors from the 75th Hunger Games voted in favor of a final series of games involving the children of Capitol rulers. This is their story.

753 readers have visited The Final Hunger Games since Korrye created it.

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

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/the_hunger_games http://www.thehungergames.co.uk/ http://hungergamesmovie.org/ http://thehungergames.wikia.com/wiki/the_hunger_games_wiki

Introduction

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100 years ago the world fell into a state of war over resources. Humanity fell apart in it's desperate search for water, food and shelter. The atmosphere was damaged in several places and warfare ravaged the world. A collective state of 13 districts and the Capitol emerged in North America, calling themselves the state of Panem. Each district was assigned a provision for the capitol and in return it would receive protection and goods. The state was to be run one by one individual, President Snow. 78 years ago the 13th district initiated a rebellion and effectively the Dark Days. For two years the rebellion raged. Though the number of casualties is unknown, the Capitol remained in power, and sought to restrict the districts and to punish them for their revolts. The 13th district, and intiator of the rebellion, was made an example of what would happen to any district that sought to free itself from Panem. The district was obliterated with nuclear weapons, the footage televised on a closed stream network across the states. Every year after, the district announced, they would hold the Hunger Games to remind those districts of their misdeeds.

The Hunger Games were initiated, enlisting one boy and one girl from each of the remaining 12 districts between the ages of 12 and 18 to participate. The children of each district would be entered into a lottery on a holiday called The Reaping. Those elected would face the games, while those not had the option to save friends or family by volunteering to take their place. Those elected would then have one hour in their district's Justice Building to say their goodbyes before boarding the Tribute train and entering the Capitol. There, the tributes would be made over by their own unique prep team and designer. Once made over and costumed to reflect their respective district, the tributes are paraded in a tribute chariot through the Capitol to the Hunger Games training center. Once there they are given three days to train in an underground center, learning from experts anything from the art of sword throwing to knot tying. On the last day the tributes are to individually go before the gamemasters and demonstrate their skills in whatever fashion their choose, earning a score between 0 and 12, 12 being high, depicting their potential. The next day the tributes are again made up and participate in live interviews for three minutes each. The benefit of winning the crowd over and scoring high with the gamemasters translated into sponsors who can send gifts to those tributes they wish to help.

The games served their purpose for 75 sessions, until Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark became the tributes from District 12. In an act of cunning they defied the Capitol and sought to both win the games or both die from poison berries. Their defiance against the Games initiated the grumblings of rebellion. Katniss would become a symbol of the revolution which would, though difficult, would successfully overturn the government.

While successful, the rebellion left the state of Panem in despair, suffering heavy casualties and those long wronged by the government still seething for revenge. The surviving victors found themselves presented with an option from the president incumbent of hosting a final round of hunger games, punishing those families who had long ruled Panem and never suffering by having their children become tributes in a final round. Though split, Katniss Everdeen voted in favor and while she left in exile to a destroyed District 12 and was never heard from again, the games were put into development.

In one final display of power and of revenge, the Final Hunger Games will be held with tributes coming from only the Capitol. Those who worked under the former President Snow whose children are between the ages of 12 and 18 will be placed into a lottery pool. 12 girls will be pulled and 12 boys will be pulled and forced through the same motions of hundreds of those before them. Only they know nothing of hunger or survival or repression.

The games had long served two purposes. The first was to demonstrate the sheer power of the Capitol by taking children from the twelve districts and forcing them to kill each other, little rules applying to how it was done. The second purpose was purely for entertainment. The Hunger Games are a nationally televised event in the same vein as a reality show, its entrants practically considered celebrities and the events themselves dramatized and glorified.

So, will you volunteer for the Final Hunger Games or will you go unwillingly to your death for sport?

* * *

24 tributes will be chosen. As is typical to the games, between 10-16 can die on the first day in the battle for supplies and weapons at the Cornucopia in the center of the arena. As such, I'd rather have 8 dedicated writers participate as tributes from the Capitol. It's up to you as to who they're related to or worked with or where they lived in the Capitol. Please give your characters depth! And use only real models and people. Remember, the Capitol does hold bizarre surgically altered people, those used to luxury. No poor people live within it's boundaries. These are privileged people being brought down to the level of the districts. If you want more information, then ask me or look up on the Hunger Games Wiki for details.

Toggle Rules

CHARACTERS
_____No John or Jane Does, no Mary or Gary sues. Original unique characters with lovable flaws. O yes, and real people/models for pictures, not anime ones. They can be actors but not famous ones and they cannot be actors that have been chosen for the movie.

QUALITY & QUANITITY
_____I don't believe in length requirements. It kills threads. It sucks the life out of them when a person can't describe their character's emotions for that amount of words. I am still looking for advanced writers however if all you need to write is a paragraph in return then that's all you should be posting. SO LONG AS THINGS KEEP MOVING FORWARD. C:

TALK HERE
_____Feel free to plot both through PMs with me or in the OOC. I'll act as my own character but also as the gamesmaster. If you want something unique to happen then message me and we'll see if it fits into the grand scheme of things.

TOLERANCE
_____There are so many different characters, plots and locations that I've used it's hard to look back and think that I stick to a certain genre. But there are a few things that I won't do. I am a heterosexual writer only. I have nothing against gays, lesbians or bis but it's not my thing. Please understand this when you post here. In the past I have played quite a few male characters but I'm now back to play my own gender and what I'm looking for are people who play male characters. At the same time I'm not a fan of extreme gore, anime, zombie or anything extremely graphic in terms of relationships. I don't need the details and Gaia is nothing above PG13. My characters swear but they don't give illicit details about what happens in Vegas, if you know what I mean. Keep this is mind as you post your ideas.

ACTION > ROMANCE
_____Group or one on one roleplays that are NOT 100% focused on romance. There has to be a plot in there. Yes, a lot of my ideas surround romance but it's the actions that get two people there. If a romance develops it has to develop. I'd rather write it developing than say it pre-existed the roleplay's start. It's just better that way. Lastly, throwing it up here because this section is long already, dedication and commitment. We all have lives, I know this well, but please, I would appreciate it if you kept me up to date on why you're not able to post, whether it's a block or it's life. I don't need details, just that something is going on and I shouldn't be waiting with my hopes up.

DEATH
_____This is a series of games that are based on death, where only one character emerges victor. I'll tell you right now, it won't be my character. It may not be yours. A good writer can lead their character to their death. It's important that characters are not invincible in this thread as well. No Godmodding.

The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 6 authors

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#, as written by Korrye
NPC Pinto Flickerman

The season was verging on summer. The day was particularly warm with the skies clear of any clouds. The sun hung overhead and beat down on the Capitol, much of it rebuilt and restored to its former glory. The city was anxious and decorated for the Reaping. It was a holiday after all. But the people were hesitant to rejoice. This was no party. This was punishment. The town square in front of the president’s palace was particularly decorated. Large television screens hung from the sides of mansions and shops throughout the city, but paneled the area in which those between 12 and 18 were to stand. High concrete barriers blocked off all entrances to the square. The children were to arrive from one entrance on main street where they would line up and have themselves accounted for, their finger prints taken, and their place to stand given. Once they had passed the identification station, they would be led to a line up that corresponded to their gender and age. The square was split between boys and girls, youngest in the front and eldest in the back. A large podium and stage had been built on the lawns of the presidential palace. The Reaping would commence at 12 noon on the dot.

Twenty-four names were to be drawn, twelve boys and twelve girls. The one responsible for pulling the names was from district 1, a man with slicked back blond hair and pale skin. His face however, was decorated to the Capitol’s style. His cheeks were a blaze of red, his lips and eyes painted gold. His suit was a sheer platinum color with intricate gold patterns woven into it. He looked something akin to Caesar Flickerman and was, in fact, his brother, Pinto.

The city was awake by 8 am when the children were expected to line up and begin in the day’s festivities. As they began to arrived, a pair of televised reporters began to scower the crowds for family faces. These children, after all, were no strangers to the Capitol population after all. And some had lived lives in the limelight for some time. Music played in the background, loud and party mixes.

As noon approached, Pinto took the stage. Several guards lined the district, dressed in grey military uniforms from District 13. A microphone was attached to his cheek and his gestures were very much for the entertainment of the district. He was comfortable and at ease on the stage, not at all bothered by the fact that he was sending twenty-three Capitol children to their deaths.

“Hellllllllllllo Panem!” he shouted, a grin plastering his face. The crowds beyond the barriers cheered loudly, caught up on the moment. The sounds died off quickly. “Welcome to the final Reaping and our kickoff of the Final. Hunger. Games!”

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Character Portrait: Eliana Faith Simmons
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Eliana Faith Simmons woke up early. She couldn't sleep. She knew hat there was an 80% chance of her name being drawn. The odds were certainly not in her favour. She had a shower before slipping into her golden dress, the most expensive thing she owned, bought especially for reaping day. The maids did her hair.

At eleven forty-five, Eliana headed to the square. "Good luck," her mother whispered. Her eyes were red. Eliananodded and headed to her alotted place, where the seventeen year old girls stood. "Helllllllllllllllllo Panem!" a black haired man named Pinto shouted, walking onto the stage. The crowd cheered loudly. "Welcome to the Final Reaping andour kickoffof the Final.Hunger.Games!"

Eliana couldn't breath. She twisted her fingers through her dark brown hair. Pinto walked over to the reaping ball. "Lady's first!" he yelled. He took out a strip of paper, and Eliana waited for the first of twenty-four tributes to be called out. Pinto shushed the crowd, and read the slim strip of paper. "Eliana Simmons." Eliana felt weak. Her legs were shaking. She was doomed. She had never held a weapon in her life. Fortunately, most of the other kids probably hadn't either. She had known her name was going to be chosen. She should have prepared herself. She walked slowly and shakily towards the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, our first female tribute of the Final Hunger Games!" The crowd screamed their admiration. Eliana was really regretting wearing heels. She was going to collapse.

She looked at the crowd, the millions of people screaming for her blood. It was ironic, really. These people had rebeled to stop innocent children from being slaughtered just because their ancestors had rebelled, when that was exactly what they were doing. Punishing the children for the adults crimes.

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Character Portrait: Plumeria Snow
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#, as written by Korrye
Plumeria Snow
On Stage in the Capitol's Main Square


In the past two years, Plumeria Snow hadn’t slept well. In fact, she was fortunate if she slept at all. As soon as she lost consciousness she fell into a hopeless spell of nightmares, all twisted imagined images of her grandfather committing his endless crimes. Worst of all, and by far the most reoccurring, involved her parents. She constantly envisioned her mother at the dinner party with her grandfather and the elite of elites from the Capitol, of her sipping from that damned cup, of her lips splitting and her mouth bleeding. The veins in her face would then turn black, showing through the thick makeup that hid her age spots and blemishes. While she suffered the party went on, ignoring the woman as she began to choke on her own blood. Plum would find herself behind some sort of barrier, screaming and struggling to hold herself together. But it was strange at the same time. Plum didn’t remember her mother well and so as she screamed it felt as if she was doing so for a perfect stranger. But she did. And then her father would come to console her. The dinner party would fade away and she would find herself sitting at the windows at the front end of her grandfather’s mansion, forced to watch again and again as Katniss Everdeen burned and her sister and all those children died.

The nights were always filled with fits of screams and shrieks. More often than not she would wake up with a hoarse voice and bloodshot eyes. Her body would shake uncontrollably for some period of time. She would suffer this alone, day in and out, as her family’s staff had either all been executed or dismissed.

This morning was particularly dreadful. She found herself awake at the crack of dawn, clutching her white sheets in her fists so tightly that her fingers were growing numb. Her eyes were red and burned from the tears. She stared hopelessly forward and out the window across from her bed. Her body quivered occasionally as the draft from one of the poorly reconstructed windows caught her shoulder. She wore nothing but her undergarments. They hadn’t given her much to wear in this prison.

At seven the guards unceremoniously opened the door. They stared down at her in their grey uniforms, weapons holstered, as they went about preparing her clothes and the meager breakfast she was allotted. They didn’t seem to care for her privacy. When she refused to move one grabbed the blankets off of her and tossed them onto the floor.

“Get up. You have five minutes or I’ll force you up,” one grunted, nudging her shoulder with a cold hand. Plum rolled away from him, swiveling her feet out from under her and onto the bare floor. She shivered and clutched the end of the mattress now, hanging her head licking her cracked lips. She stood and grabbed the white dress they had brought her off the end of the bed, walking past the guards without a glance and into the small attached bathroom. As she brushed her teeth and hair out, she noticed how frail she looked. Her shoulders were bony and her collarbone stuck out. She hadn’t looked this unhealthy since her bulimia at fourteen. She wrapped her arms around her chest and watched herself cry silently, sniffing her nose as she dressed herself and did her best to make herself up. This was the last time she would allow herself to cry, she told herself. No more tears. She had to be strong. She had to show them all that she was far from grandfather in character and spirit. She was a sounder and brighter spirit. He had told her this himself when he was dying. She remembered his words clear as day.

* * *


“When they kill me, they will come for you,” he coughed. They were in the gardens, his body hunched over in pain while a well dressed Plum stood next to him, a shell shocked expression on her face. “You possess something within you Plumeria. You are spirited. You have shown to me that in the face of a challenge you are capable of adapting and understanding. You have a mind child, use it. You are better than me, than your mother or father. Be above what I’ve done. Show them and you may live.”

She felt as if she was choking on her own breath. “You can’t mean…” she stammered. “They will hold me responsible for what you’ve done?” The tone was accusing. He had just spent several hours detailing his time as president, the horrors he had committed against the people. She didn’t know if he was trying to absolve himself of the actions or if he simply wanted her to know. But she had thrown up twice while hearing him detail his crimes. He listed people she had to be especially weary of. “I mean just that Plumeria,” he answered her. “Do not seek revenge as they do. You are better than that. I know you are.”


* * *


It was hard not to hate those who imprisoned you. It was horrifying to know that the men who ‘protected’ you were the very same who had slaughtered her father. It was hardest, perhaps, to understand why the girl who had lost everything to the games would seek to hurt others. Katniss Everdeen, throughout her two stints in the games and during the revolution, had seemed to stand as something above President Snow. But she wasn’t. The girl was now in exile. No one had seen her since the execution. They claimed her sister’s death had shattered her. Plum didn’t get it. Perhaps no one would now.

A hard knock on the door startled her as she finished applying powder to her cheeks. She opened the door and walked out, her dress skin tight until just below her hips where it puffed out with goose feathers. She wore tights over her bruised legs and white heels on her feet. Her platinum hair was loose on her shoulders, pin straight. Her eyes now appeared determined.

I will be above all of this, she thought to herself. The self reassurance was the first of months that she had given herself.

As the guards escorted her from the house, she found herself surrounded by crowds of sneering citizens. Though the walk to the square was no less than 10 blocks she found that it took a lifetime. People continuously tried to spit at her, claw at her dress. Some shouted profanities while others looked on with pity. She marched behind the guards with her head low, her eyes avoiding the stares of anyone who watched her proceed. When she approached the tables she was immediately identified and processed, her hand scanned by a guard, and then led into the corrals for the reaping.

As she stood amongst her fellow seventeen year olds, she appeared dressed down compared to most. Her face was made up simply and her dress was a standard, far from the extreme elegance most had been dressed up in. When she finally stood in her spot she once again felt that choking feeling in her chest, the unbearable was about to occur. Her hands remained clenched in fists and she inhaled short breaths while her heart beat loudly in her ears.

When Pinto took the stage, her ears began to ring. It was almost as if everything else faded from her mind. The noises of the crowds disappeared. The heat of the day didn’t seem to phase her. The smile on their host’s face didn’t sicken her. Her attention was focused entirely on the large globes holding the names of all the girls in the Capitol between the ages of 12 and 18. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears that the only other thing she could hear was her breath. She bit down on her lower lip, a nasty habit, and watched as Pinto proceeded to name the first female tribute.

“Eliana Simmons!” he shouted, his eyes sweeping the crowd. Plum’s eyes immediately caught sight of the girl. She was the only one moving. Guards immediately led her to the stage. She stood in a vibrant and elegant gold dress. Plum closed her eyes and swallowed, the noise of the square coming back all at once. "Ladies and gentlemen, our first female tribute of the Final Hunger Games!" Pinto congratulated her. The crowds seemed to scream again, this time in favor of the tribute. It was as if they were glad!

We are part of you! Plum wanted to scream. We are your children! I know all of your faces and yet you take such pleasure in seeing me squirm! You’re all monsters! Her lip trembled and she shook her head to stop it. You will not cry, she thought to herself. You will not give them the satisfaction.

“And now for the first male tribute,” Pinto smiled, his voice taking great pleasure in his action as he moved toward the second clear glass bowl full of names. Plum didn’t even pay attention to the boy who stepped forward. He was twelve, so young, and shell shocked. When his mother’s screams ripped through the crowds Plum was shaken. She bit down on her tongue and sighed, shaking wisps of her blond hair from her eyes and raising her head for the first time in the crowd.

“Our second female,” Pinto continued. “Plumeria Snow!”

Her heart seemed to stop in that moment. She locked eyes with Pinto who suddenly stepped back, his eyes turning to the stage’s floor. Oh yes, Plum thought. You know my face very well. You dined with my family. You knew my father from school. As a guard came towards her, she shook off the arm he placed on her shoulder. She walked with as much dignity as she could muster, her feet solid despite her three inch heels. She stood next to Pinto, her eyes level with his. Her mouth was a solid cold line until he met her gaze. He looked at her unsurely before she leaned over, a slight smile on her lips, to kiss him on the cheek. “Nice to see you again Pinto,” she told him, her voice catching the microphone. “Haven’t seen you since you fled the Capitol.”

Pinto stammered and one of the guards pushed her forward to stand next to the girl in the golden dress.

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Character Portrait: Flicker Rosewood
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Flicker woke up and layed in bed for a few hours after her alarm. Reaping day had finally come she felt weak and drained as the day before she watched as they put up the last of the decorations up. "monsters, heartless monsters." She thought bitterly to herself as she picked up her same as her hair blue dress. She got out of bed and let her mother in to help her get ready. She put on a pair of flats and walked with her mother to the gate of the holding ens for the kids. "Be strong my Flicker bell." She smiled at her mom putting on a brave face as she watched her walk over to the rest of the parents all of which looked grim.

“Hellllllllllllo Panem!” he shouted, a grin plastering his face. The crowds beyond the barriers cheered loudly, caught up on the moment. The sounds died off quickly. “Welcome to the final Reaping and our kickoff of the Final. Hunger. Games!” Pinto Flickerman's voice rang out like a bullet. Like wild animal the crowd burst into shouts. "Ladies and gentlemen, Eliana Simmons! our first female tribute of the Final Hunger Games!" Flicker watched as the girl walked through the crowd in a gold dress she looked like a beam of rich sunlight as she took her potential death march on to the stage. Flicker fought her shoulder from slumping. “And now for the first male tribute,” his name was blocked out as his mother wailed a small boy was taken for the 12 year old pin and walked up on stage. Her heart dropped. "How can the be cheering like this.." “Our second female,” Pinto continued. “Plumeria Snow!” Flicker only shook her head muttering to herself "Yup that bowl isnt rigged at all." "And for third female," He dug around in the bowl for what felt like hours before pulling out one "Flicker Rosewood."

Flicker felt her feet move forward but she couldn't hear anything else her eyes met her mother when she saw the broken look of her mother losing the only person she had left in the world she knew she'd have to fight harder then the rest to get back to her she just had to. She went to the stage lining up next to the girl in gold and snow. She gave a half hearted smile to the crowd.

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Character Portrait: Sable Blomgren
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Sable headed outside into the warm sunny day in her usual fashion, khaki pants with a white tank top, with her father at her side. Her hair was let down, as today was a day of no importance to Sable. They marched along with the rest of the Capitol families around the block to former President Snow's home, the presidential palace. Those of high social and political ranking lived relatively close to it.

Sable clutched her trusty notebook and a quill at her side; in it were years and years’ worth of her sketches for inventions, arenas, and contraptions. She turned to her father and asked him the question she always did every year when they would sit in their home theater, preparing to watch a recap of the day’s reapings from the 12 districts. “Do you think it will be good this year, Papa?”
Mr. Blomgren glanced over at his daughter. “Pardon, dear?”
“I said do you think it will be good this year? The Games?”
“As always.”
“I can’t wait.”
Instead of a hearty Neither can I, Mr. Blomgren looked ahead and made a slight twitch.
“What’s wrong, Papa?”
“Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it, dear. It’s just… this year is different. The tributes are going to come from one of us, from the Capitol. I don’t think that’s quite right.”
“However so?”
“We are civilized people, humans who have manners and know how to work a government. If they had to choose anyone for the Hunger Games, it would be best to choose the swine from the 12 other districts. We don’t deserve to be put in a foolish game like this, do we, dear?”
“No, Papa.” Sable did notice a change in her father a few days before. He acted distant from her, and wouldn’t let her hang around in the Gamemakers’ center anymore. It was ever since that girl Katniss Everdeen and the rebels won the war.

But worry about it, Sable did not. As they approached the podium and stage, a man walked out dressed in Capitol fashion, his platinum suit gleaming with patterns of gold. Sable couldn’t help but marvel.

“To your peers you go,” her father prompted, giving her a slight nudge.
Sable remembered she was in the reaping pool this year. She gave her father a quick hug and whispered, “I’ll be back by two.” She hurried along and went to the gates where many her age were standing. District 13 guards identified and processed her. Soon she was in a crowd of other Capitol girls, some in the most extravagant dresses she’s ever seen, and others in plain clothing like her.
Sable whipped out her notebook and began reading her old notes. Octagon-shaped arena, contraptions in each edge, Cornucopia in the middle; fist-shaped arena, Arctic-like climate, spontaneous avalanches; leaf trap, disguised as plain dirt on the ground, drops tribute into a 8 feet by 5 feet hole with insect mutts. Everything became quiet. She could hear a faint Helllllllllllllo Panem! and a few cheers occasionally.
Strangely, two particular words came to her loud and clear: “Sable Blomgren!”
Sable looked up. Everyone was looking over at her, and the announcer man was beckoning to her on the platform.
“Good luck in there,” the girl next to her whispered.
No,” Sable replied sharply, as the harsh reality hit her like a torpedo. “I’m not going in there, anywhere.” She couldn’t have been reaped. It was impossible. She told her father she’d be back by two. She was going home.

“Papa?” Sable shouted, her eyes searching frantically for her father behind the gates. She spotted him, but he wasn’t looking anywhere near her. “Papa!” She made a mad dash for the gates, to the safety of her family, but District 13 guards quickly grabbed her and carried her off her feet.

On the platform, she looked at him again, but to her dismay, he wasn’t looking back.

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Lira shot straight up in bed, gasping for air as she shook uncontrollably. Sure enough she had another nightmare, the same nightmare that had been occurring for awhile. The nightmare of her running, as if she was running from someone. Her back was burned, hair was matted and dirty, face was covered in dirt, arms and hands were cut up and bloodied, and her eyes were wild and frantically searching for a place to hide. She thought she had found a place when there was a sharp pain in her side. She would look down and see the blade lodged in her side as she stumbled and fell to the ground in pain. A dark human like figure would jump on top of her, eyes blood red and wild, and would pull out the knife slowly as Lira screamed in pain and struggled to get her captor off of her. The dark figure would lick the blood off the blade, making her feel sick and wanting to vomit right before the figure lunged the blade down towards her and shed wake up with a gasp and out of breath.

So much like the times before, Lira shakily got up and walked to the bathroom to get in the shower. That's when she saw her reaping day dress staring her right in the face and her heart sank. She had completely forgotten that today was the reaping day and so she reluctantly got ready for the dreaded day.

Once she was finished dressing, putting some careless makeup on, and finishing off her hair with wavy curls, she walked downstairs to find her father drinking some coffee and staring off into the distance. "Oh Lira, you look gorgeous." He said as he noticed her and forced a smile on her face. He wasn't in a good mood and she could tell and it broke her heart.

"Thank you Papa." She said with a small smile as she walked over and hugged him tightly, hoping it would make him feel a little better. "Papa don't worry, I'll be fine. There's plenty of people to choose from, I very well won't be chosen and I'll be home with you as soon as possible." She said as she kissed his cheek. He forced a smile and nodded, but not before a single tear rolled down his face. This made tears well up in Lira's eyes as she quickly stood up and held her hand out to him. "Come on Papa, walk me there?" She asked him and he nodded, standing and taking her hand.

As they walked, she watched all the other families with their children heading in the same direction, all their faces covered in the same dread as her's and her father's. As they made it to the line of kids, her father looked at her. "I'm so sorry Lira, I'm sorry for bringing this upon you." He said as his eyes filled with tears. Lira sickly threw her arms around him in a big hug.

"Stop it Papa! It's all going to be okay. I love you." She said to him as she gave him one last kiss on the cheek before going and joining the others. They took her fingerprints and everything and she went to join the 18 year old girls.

As things started, she watched the boys and girls being called up onto the stage, a lot of which she recognized and had several conversations with before. A lot of which she would never see again and that saddened her. Then it happened. "Lira Dashwillow!" She heard her name and she felt her stomach churn and her heart drop as she closed her eyes and held back tears.

"No! Lira run! Don't go!" She heard her father's desperate shouts for her to run. He had lost his wife when Snow became paranoid and thought she was a conspirator with the rebels and he executed her. Then he lost the twins, Lira's little 3 year old brother and sister, when running home when the rebels broke through the city. They fell into one of the Capitol's traps to stop the rebels. Now he was going to lose his daughter, the only one of his family left so if one knew this they would understand his desperate cries.

"No Papa, I can't run." She whispered, more to herself than him since she knew he very well couldn't hear her. And with those words, she made her way through the crowd of girls and up onto the stage. She refused to show fear as she was congratulated and joined the others, staring out straight in front of her blankly.

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Character Portrait: Ember Marrs
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Ember awoke the morning of the Reaping. For a minute, she felt as if it was just a normal day. But then the cold, true meaning came to her, crawling up her spine like frost. THe Reaping. She sighed, and ran a hand through her hair before getting changed into some old denim shorts, and a gray sweatshirt. She fishtailed her hair into the loose yet tight braid and went to the central area where the reapings took place, standing between her mother Violet, and her brother Griffin. They were greeted by Pinto Flickerman, with his cheerful voice. But everybody knew, that was not he case.

Ember had tensed up when he began calling female tributes. So far, girl named Eliana, another named Plumeria, and another named Flicker. But ember still knew more were coming. Griffins grip around her shoulder tightened as if her knew what was going to happen. And he was right.

"Ember Marrs!" Pinto called next. Ember felt as if all life was drained from her. Her usual energetic and friendly mood ripped from her. Like everything else was about to be. Violet sucked in a sharp breath, a hand over her mouth in surprise. Then, the full shock hit her and she grabbed onto Ember, behind her not to go. But, the sad, but determined look in Ember's eyes gave away what she had in mind.

"I'm sorry mom, I have to."s he said softly and then gently brushed her mother off, walking towards the Peacekeepers who escorted her to the stage. Ember refused to look weak. She had her head held high, and she walked perfectly straight up tall. And her deep blue eyes shone with rage. One, for doing this to her family, and two, because she would not let them strip the one thing she had left now. Her pride.

Ember silently vowed that moment, that she was not going to let the tributes in the Games get to her. She knew they would be changed into bloodthirsty monsters sometime during them. But, Ember wouldn't. She would keep sane, and she wouldn't give in the the others without a fight. Because frankly, she planned to make it out of there.

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Character Portrait: Sorrel Allowark
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#, as written by Korrye
Sorrel Allowark
On stage in the Capitol's Main Square


This is a tragedy, Sorrel Allowark thought. This is a true horror.

He stood at the front bay window of his family home, donning a clean charcoal sweater and fine black dress pants. His family butler held out his coat to him, a fine supple white leather, before harrumphing and limping away at a leisurely pace. Swallowing the spittle that gathered in his mouth, Sorrel turned to view the faces of his mother and sisters. He was the only member of the Crane children eligible for the games. His sisters Shimmer and Patience were in their mid twenties, clinging to their sense of lost youth. Their hopes of glamorous weddings and luxury seemed dashed. As he looked them in the eye, his sisters avoided him. Patience turned her gaze to the floor, her fingers preoccupied with picking at her nails, the polish long since chipped. Shimmer instead looked to the left, watching the doorway in anticipation, wanting desperately to leave the suffocating room.

Worst, perhaps, was the look his mouth gave him. Sorrel eyed her and watched as she raised her chin in a prissy manner, rolling her eyes at her sons attire and wrinkling her nose in dismay. “You should wear your finest Sorrel. You make us look as if we live in a poor house,” she snorted.

“Is that all you care about?” he yelled in response. His voice snapped the tension. His irritation was immediately apparent. “You care merely for how I look when I die, but not that I am going to die?”

The woman’s features suddenly melted before him, morphing into a furious state. His mother’s nostrils flared and in an instant she backhanded him, her hand flying across the left side of his face. The blow was strong enough to send him reeling. Sorrel struggled to keep his footing. He immediately threw his weight back at her, screaming in anger. “You bitch! I cannot believe that you don’t even care about your own son! Me! You pretentious narcissistic witch!” He pushed her, his arms aggressively slamming her shoulders. His mother was thrown back and into the glass table in their sitting room. It shattered amongst her, catching her hands and face in hundreds of tiny cuts.

She gaped at him, her anger turning to horror as she held her bleeding hands in front of her face. “What have you done to my skin!” she shrieked.

Again, she cared for her looks more than anything. Sorrel stood there, shaking his head, hating her with every fiber of his being. Why hadn’t they stormed this goddamn house and killed her! The world was so much better without her! Yet at the same time he was astonished. This was the first time he had ever fought back. The years of beatings by her and his father, the slaps and punches and kicks, every ounce of pain they had inflicted upon him seemed to rush into thought at that moment. The left side of his face swelled, the skin pulsing and puckering into a lovely bruise.

“Sorrel!” Patience called out to him. The dark haired boy shook his head as his sisters tried to console him. He immediately rushed from the room, throwing open the front door and rushing into the thick of the crowds proceeding to the square. Despite his sister’s pleas to come back, to wait for them, that they loved him, he didn’t dare look back. Maybe he could restore honor to his family by winning, but he knew it was far better if he died. Then maybe, just maybe, his mother’s shell would crack open and she would realize that her materialism was the very reason by the rebellion had been as ugly as it had been. At least in his mind that explained it.

When he arrived in the square for processing the day was still quite warm. He was dressed down compared to most. He lacked the makeup and color of most children. Despite his family’s wealth, he looked as if he might have been from one of the districts and not the Capitol. He eyed the families that hugged their children dearly. He shook his head, his eyes watering for but a moment. When the games had affected the districts, you always saw the desperation in the family of any tributes named. Their life had been tied up in their offspring. Here in the Capitol, a child was a vehicle for your reputation and a means by which to continue your legacy. If they weren’t doing a good job then good riddens and be gone with you. It was obvious whose parents cared and those that didn't.

As he stood in the crowd of eighteen year old boys, he realized that there were few of them. It appeared as if the average age for the boys in the Capitol was verging on the lower end of the spectrum. Still, the sheer number of people who had turned out to be potential tributes astonished him. It wasn’t often you saw so many children in one place in the Capitol.

When Pinto Flickerman took the stage, Sorrel watched. As the girls began to get called, he felt for them. More than anything he realized that he knew many of them, a few particularly well given that their fathers had all worked together in the running of the previous games. His attention was very much caught by their colored hair and features, by the parents who shrieked for them to run or didn’t respond. So he wasn’t alone in being abandoned by his parents. Part of him very much wished his family would be there, screaming out for his life, showing him that they cared.

Then there was Plumeria Snow. He had met her once. She’d been as horrible as his own mother back then. Indulgent. Vain. Yet the girl who walked up to the stage, and amongst a great deal of booing from the crowd, was different. There was an awareness in her eyes and a sadness that matched his own. This is a tragedy, he thought again. And when she reached out and spoke to Pinto and her voice caught the mic, he could do nothing but smirk at her minor act of rebellion. She showed him to be a coward. He had run from the capitol and into hiding until it was over. She had stayed. She had experienced it and she was there, bold and defiant, facing this death sentence head on. He swallowed, watching as they accumulated on the stage.

For the girls, Eliana Simmons, Plumeria Snow, Flicker Rosewood, Sable Blomgren, Lira Dashwillow, Ember Marrs. 6 girls stood before him, all various heights and personalities. Some were dressed up, others simply like himself. They were a motley crew, one that definitely depicted the diversity of the Capitol in and of itself.

The boys seemed sparse and ill chosen. A twelve year old named Quin Dunn had been called first. He seemed to tremble on stage, becoming more and more of a wreck as time wore on. The other four were barely noticeable, the highly educated and material types dressed in flashy suits, even one in a dress. Coal Rousseau, Sawyer Necker, Jupiter Huntington and Ambrose Tennikin. Pinto had regained his composure after Plum’s little joust and proceeded to plucking the name of the sixth male tribute with a skip to his step. “Sorrel Crane,” he announced. Sorrel swallowed, closing his eyes and knowing that there was no duplicate in the crowd. Only recently had his family started to sign using his mother’s maiden name. He stepped forward, waving a hand in the air without even thinking.

“This one seems glad to have been picked!” Pinto teased, a sly grin plastering his plastic features. Sorrel walked up onto the stage, quite a bit taller than the other boys on stage already. Far from it, Sorrel thought as he folded his arms over his chest squarely. The teen paid a great deal of attention to the crowds who seemed to recognize a few of them. Yet the cries did not grow lower. They became happier. They had faces they knew, people to hold accountable for the crimes of the Capitol. This, he knew, was clearly a tragedy.

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#, as written by Korrye
NPC Pinto Flickerman

It had taken a lot to get Pinto Flickerman to host the reaping. Now he was suffering silently as he plucked the names of these kids, smiling all the while his winning mouthful of pearly whites. It wasn’t even Plumeria’s Snow little jab that had him on edge, but the looks of the parents in the crowd that got him. There was dismay and joy, no in between. This was no district 12 where the people remained silent. There was noise and guffawing. He could sense the mounting bets already that Snow’s granddaughter would be slaughtered. Then there were the gamesmaster’s children. So many of them. It felt rigged but he simply plucked the names from the bowls.

Once all 24 tributes, twelve girls and twelve boys, lined the stage it felt crowded. One pair of boys held hands, appearing to be siblings. This round was so confusing and would be so different. Most of these kids knew one another of at least of one another. The sweat on his brow was masked by his makeup.

“And that concludes our Reaping. I have been instructed to read a prepared message, mirroring the former reminders of our previous government of the purpose of these games,” he smiled, stepping forward to a podium in front of the children, sensing that all eyes were on him and for once feeling nervous. It was that creeping feeling of being surrounded by people who would give anything to wring your neck. There was a reason he’d fled during the rebellion. He didn’t deny it.

“This final round of Hunger Games are to serve a reminder of the horrors inflicted upon the 12 districts for 75 years,” he began, finding himself speaking in a tone and continuing on to detail the number of victims and frightening statistics about how many had died for the pleasure of the Capitol. The people quieted as he concluded with, “The new government has elected to impose only one round of games on the Capitol. Discussion abounded around the idea of 75 years of them. One round, however, was voted upon by the surviving victors of the 3rd Quarter Quell and deemed enough.”

Well, he hadn’t known that.

“Tributes, may the odds be ever in your favor,” Pinto finished, smirking and turning towards them. As he and several guards ushered them into the presidential mansion behind them a fanfare erupted on the stage.

The tributes were ushered into the large main foyer of the mansion, stripped relatively bare of it’s former grandeur under President Snow.

“Tributes,” Pinto called to them. “You will be delivered to the training center to meet your prep teams and then reassemble for a group dinner at 5pm. I wish you well.”

And with that he was able to take his leave as the guards ushered the tributes beyond the mansion and out back where they were to board a hovercraft that would deliver them over the crowds and safely to their next destination.



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Ember still had that certain gleam in her eyes as Pinto Flickerman finished up the Reaping. Her blue eyes scanned the line of tributes and she winced. It wasn't specifically because she saw people she knew, it was because she knew that pretty much all of these tributes were being sentenced to death.

As the guards herded the 24 tributes to a large mansion. As Flickerman announced that this is where the meeting of their prep team she tensed. Oh goodness,she thought. It wasn't a hostile thought, just an annoyed thought. She knew that the prep crew usually wasn't harsh, maybe a little dull in the head, but not harsh. And also, she knew that they would shape her into some personalized doll.

She was one of the first people to enter the large room, and she stopped along with all of the rest of the tributes. They would probably be assigning them, so she waited, running a hand through her naturally blond hair. She was glad she hadn't had any body modifications, because by the look of pretty much all of the stylists, it was gruesome, most of them. Ember was perfectly fine with her sun-blond hair, outdoorsy tanned skin, and natural blue eyes. She was slender and athletic, and not surgically skinny, or short. Just average. Now some other tributes, well, most other tributes, didn't take the same path as her. She could see that Ember was one of only maybe four or five tributes that kept her natural look.

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Character Portrait: Sable Blomgren
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Sable remained silent the entire time on stage after her little tantrum. She watched as the people she was going to have to face in the arena file up next to her. Although Sable was standing in front of hundreds of people and was in the television broadcast she watched practically every year, it still didn't seem real. She could've have been reaped; it isn't possible.

"Tributes, may the odds be ever in your favor," the announcer, Pinto Flickerman, turned around and smirked at Sable and her helpless fellow tributes. A phrase she once ignored suddenly hit her with a pang.
After the Reaping, everyone went into the old mansion President Snow used to live in. Flickerman informed them that they would be boarding a hovercraft to the training centers, where they will meet their prep teams. Prep teams? Sable thought. She looked down at her multi-colored hair and felt her tattooed face. Hopefully I look prepped enough.

On the hovercraft, Sable didn't bother to socialize with the people she knew would be dead before the end of this month. She opened her notebook, and one by one tore the pages out.

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Character Portrait: Plumeria Snow Character Portrait: Sorrel Allowark
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Plumeria Snow

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Sorrel Allowark

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Plumeria Snow

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

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

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

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

* * *

Sorrel Allowark

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Character Portrait: Eliana Faith Simmons
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Eliana Simmons
"Don't worry, sugar, once we're through with you, you will be gorgeous!" a tall, thin man with blue tattoos surrounding his face and green hair trilled as he ripped a waxing strip off her leg. He was part of the prep team, one of three. Eliana winced and jerked her leg upwards at the force. "Stop it!" Herella, a short girl with bubblegum pink hair said angrily. "You've done that every time we've done that! It's annoying!" Eliana glared at the roof to stop herself from glaring at her prep team. They were ignorant and self-absorbed. Just like the rest of the Capitol.

When her body was rid of all hair, they moved onto her hair, washing it and then tying it up into a simple ponytail. Eliana noted that Jezelle, the last member of the prep team, who had a dogs tail and red skin, was unusually quiet. Maybe she had a heart, or maybe she was just shy. The door opened and a slender woman of only about 5 foot with long,purple hair and blue eyes that sparkled in the light walked in. "That's fine," the woman said, and the prep team scurried off. She must be my stylist, Eliana thought. The woman looked at Eliana, then motioned for her to stand up, which Eliana did. The woman studied her some more before saying, " My name is Mirella. And you are Eliana." Eliana nodded at Mirella's comment. Her voice was untainted with the sound of the Capitol. She must have been from one of the Districts. "I've always wanted to do this job," Mirella murmured as she walked behind Eliana and undid Eliana's ponytail hairstyle. "But, being from District One, that wasn't really an option." Mirella's fingers stroked Eliana's hair and ran down her back, making her shudder. "You have lovely hair," Mirella appraised. "Thank you," Eliana whispered. This woman scared her. She left Eliana's hair down and got her dressed in a silver dress

She was escorted to her room, and the ballroom, where a few people already were. She sat down in her seat and waited.


((Please tell me if I need to change anything.))

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Character Portrait: Ember Marrs
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Pain trickled through her skin. Ember muttered some rather unkind words under her breath as the hair was ripped from her legs and such.Her prep team said that it made her look smoother, more elegant, but she just felt like raw meat. Okay Ember, you got this. You'll face worse in the arena. so unintentionally, She grinned. "Bring it on..." she whispered and a stylist who was hovering over her face, plucking her brows into thin arches heard her. "Yep, we have a fighter here. I'll bet she will make it at least to the final five." the petite, unnaturally aqua-ish woman said. Her hair hung in ringlets bouncing around her head like blond springs. Apparently her name was Zina. The other two stylists, Valentina and Shade were getting her makeup set up at a mirror. Zina had picked out a superb outfit she says.

While Ember swears she had lost two layers of skin, she pulled through it and was now standing stark naked on a little circular pedestal while Zina examined her. Ember would admit, it was awkward, but at least Valentina and Shade had left for who knows what. Without a warning, they had snuck up behind Ember and pierced her ears. One normally, and another above it. They said that her natural appearance would keep her unique. Just then. Zina pulled out a beautiful dress with gorgeous shoes.

"This..." she said and pulled the outfit from a protective bag. "...is how you, my dear, will get sponsors." she said and revealed the dress to Ember, which was followed by awed and admiring silence...

(dress- http://www.google.com/imgres?q=beautifu ... ,r:33,s:77

shoes- http://www.google.com/imgres?q=teal+hee ... 9,r:13,s:0)

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Character Portrait: Plumeria Snow
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Plumeria Snow

Plum kept her arms solemnly ahead of her, moving slowly to stand near Sorrel. There was some comfort in his proximity. She couldn’t say where it came from. Perhaps it was their shared misery in being cooped up as they had been, out of the hearts and minds of a population that knew them by name. They had gone from celebrity status to that of an outsider. There simply was no place for them when their families had done such crimes. Worse yet, there was no option of simply ‘leaving’ Panem. They knew nothing else. Was there even anything else?

Plum licked her lips and kept her head down, the confidence her mentor and stylist seemed to disappear as others came into the room, made over. Some of the others had been radically changed within the few hours they had been down at the base of the training center. One of the boys had a pale blue hue to his skin and his hair had been bleached blonde. She reached her hand to weave her fingers through her long straight blond hair, offset by the oddity of the boy’s features. His blue eyes were darker than his skin and popped, staring at her often. He’d been the twelve year old called, she remembered. But his name was beyond her. Maybe it was better that way. They’d all be at each other’s throats in a matter of days.

As soon as all 24 of them had assembled they were instructed to sit. Men and women in white suits attended to them silently. She’d remembered hearing about the Avox population that had serviced the capital. Her family had personally never made use of them but the prospect of it scared her. Her grandfather had said little about his decision to remove the tongues of dissenters. He simply told her that he’d done all that he thought was necessary for the stability of their state, for the continued existence of the human race.

Sorrel seemed as discontent with the situation as she was. As they were seated, Plum continued to look at the tall dark haired boy next to her out of the corner of her eye. Most often she noticed that he too was looking at her. But she noticed more so that Sorrel was paying a fair amount of attention to their competitors. Once they were all seated their stylists and mentors joined them. Plum found herself face to face with Stark who sat across from her. A stylist woman sat across from Sorrel, trying to get him to participate in idle chat. The buzz of conversation seemed to fill the air amongst the elders. Plum remained silent and when a large dinner platter was set in front of her she didn’t touch the rich food. She recognized the presence of tomatoes and rich vegetables, things she’d been denied in captivity. She kept her hands in her lap, finding her reflection in a bowl of soup.

She was snapped from her reverie when Stark reached over and placed his hand over her wrist. Immediately Plum twisted her hand out of his grasp, grabbing his wrist instead and pressing her thumb violently into his palm. The older man hissed and slammed her hand down into the edge of the table. It hit the edge at the right angle that one of her nerves seemed to pinch. Her arm was suddenly jolted with pain and she released him, grunting. Sorrel had stopped eating, dropping his fork and knife to his plate. Modena smiled, “Fighting over the last potato I see?” she chuckled. Her joke broke the tension and the rest of the room returned to livelihood.

“Sorry,” Plum swallowed, her voice cracking. She reached for a glass of water beside her plate and sipped from it, licking her drip lips and massaging her elbow with her better hand.

“Are you bi-polar?” Stark shot, drawing a steak knife across his tongue. Plum watched as the blood from his meat gathered on his tongue and teeth, pooling in the middle before he swallowed. It was crude of him but Plum merely narrowed her eyes.

“What is with you? Bouncing between this fiery girl who can win and this,” he paused to gesture at her current state before concluding, “sorry excuse for a human being.”

“When I’m threatened I fight back,” she snarled in response, sitting taller in her chair and glaring at him.

“This entire country is threatening you as we speak,” Stark responded. “You no longer have the luxury of hiding behind guards and drowning in your sorrows.”

It was funny, she thought, to think of privacy in such a way, as a luxury. Stark’s words were sharp and pointed, enough to make her inhale and seemingly hold her breath.

“The parade will start in half an hour, the people are gathering. For the first time the Capitol has visitors from all 12 districts. These are people who will relay back to their friends and family who they support. If you can prove to them as you have to me that you are far from your grandfather, you may have a group of people behind you. Do not let them try you for your father’s crimes. You are your own person. You’ve shown me as much. You have a heart and soul. Tap into it,” he told her, bumping a fist over the left side of his chest. “Show that you have fight in you, like the rest of them did. Don’t let them deny you your existence.”

Plum sighed and closed her eyes, shifting her chair back as if to get up. Sorrel put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “You can’t leave, Plumeria.”

She shook her head, watching as the Avoxes moved in to clear their plates. They took away her untouched food. Guards lined up by the doors and tapped on the frame. Stark looked over his shoulder before shaking his head. “That is our instruction to have you downstairs by the carriages. Modena,” he called out to his fellow stylist, “Let’s give the world a show.”

Plum found herself ushered out of her seat. Sorrel was right behind her, kept in line between two grey-suited military personnel who spoke to Stark as if they were old friends. She’d never thought that he was potentially from outside the Capitol. She’d have to ask him later. Before she knew it they had taken the lift down to the base of the Capitol tower and organized into their pairings. Sorrel stayed close to her, locking arms with her at one point when a crowd of make-up and hair personnel drifted through to find their respective teams. They were escorted into the carriages and Stark began to fluff her dress. He personally re-applied her makeup, thickening her eye liner before sitting in front of her with a large plate of white powder in hand.

“Close your eyes, both of you,” Stark instructed both Sorrel and Plumeria. Plum did as she was told and felt Stark suddenly blow the dust into her face. The idea disgusted her and she bunched up her nose. Sorrel sneezed when it was his turn. Stark dismounted from the carriage, handing the plate over to one of his team members. “Show them that you are a brave one, Plumeria. I have faith in you.”

And with that the carriage pulled out, the last in a line of twelve. The moment they emerged from the building they were swathed in colorful lights. The screams of the crowds caught her off guard. Without thinking she grabbed Sorrel’s hand. He held it tightly on his knee, using his left hand to immediately wave. The crowd roared. Plum smiled weakly before she looked up to see their faces on a monstrous screen above the crowd. They were dazzling and glittering in the midst of the light, almost as if they were diamonds. Stark’s powder caught their cheekbones and features, brightening their faces so that the both of them looked beautiful. But it was not something that made their skin appear fake or altered. It highlighted the natural curves of their cheekbones, their eyes and their smile lines. She looked prettier than she ever had. She looked human again.

Plum smiled, sitting high and tall in her seat. She knew not to wave at the crowds. That would make it seem as if she was proud to be there. But she did smile, her eyes focused, looking occasionally at Sorrel who waved and made connections with many faces in the crowds. The carriage ride felt so quick. Before she knew it they had circled the whole city, brought back into the training tower, and were dismounting from their carriages. Sorrel squeezed her hand, reassuring her, before he was whisked away by Modena. Plum found herself ushered away and to her private quarters by Stark’s crew, her stylist himself nowhere to be found.

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#, as written by Korrye
Sorrel Alloward

Dinner was nothing but uncomfortable. Even with the top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, Sorrel felt as if he was choking. As he sat down to dinner, Plumeria was beside him and once again tense and withdrawn. The stress she felt was contagious and he found himself keeping his shoulders raised and his jaw clenched. Modena reappeared, her hair looped to the side of her head in a mass of curls, the ends died a deep pink. She was older than he had thought and the more he looked at her, the more he noticed. As they were seated the Avox servants began to attend them and immediately Sorrel recognized one young man serving the far end of the table. He held his tongue, looking down at the table, knowing fully well that that man had once upon a time served his family. His family had treated the boy like a dog because they had been told to be hard on him. Sorrel recalled his mother taking particular joy in torturing the political prisoner. The action had him biting his tongue in frustration. He tasted blood within a few seconds of doing so. Swallowing, Sorrel took his class of water and kept his attention diverted and on the three people in his immediate surroundings: Plum, Stark and Modena. They appeared to be all he had.

Sable hadn’t responded to him. Maybe she thought poorly of him, hated him. He didn’t know and he didn’t have time to care. The teen looked over at Plum, constantly feeling her attention on him. They met glances often, and he felt sorry for her. She was struggling and he couldn’t do anything to stop any of it. He was struggling too. It seemed that was their only thing in common.

When he wasn’t watching Plum, Sorrel’s eyes took in their competition. He noticed that several of them had been severely made over, some representing the utter extravagance of the Capitol and with reason. One of the boys had a blue sheen to his skin, another several had had their hair radically altered. They weren’t meant to be relatable individuals for the crowds. They were meant to be children of the Capitol and that meant dressing them in radical pieces, adding alterations to their bodies and contort ing them. It made them appear as plastic and fake as the most radical of residents. It upset him and he was thankful that Modena had done little to him.

“Sorrel,” Modena asked, drawing his attention back to their immediate section of the long table. “Where did you grow up?”

“I was in the eastern district in my parents’ summer house most often, with a nanny or tutor. My mother worked in fashion for some time before she retired. My father was…well. You know who he was,” Sorrel answered, initially content but slowly fading in his volume.

“You’re related to Seneca Crane?” she asked innocently. “Yes,” Sorrel sighed. “He was my uncle.”

"And he dragged my father into working on those goddamn games. Now he’s at the other end of a control panel handling my fate and being tested as he does it," he thought angrily. If his father biased the games in his favor there was no doubt that they would all be executed. The success of these games was a demonstration of power on behalf of the revolutionary government. He hated that he was a pawn. More so he hated that his family would suffer if he did well or tried to help him survive.

He was going to die.

The idea hit him then. Funny how it hadn’t come to him when they had called his name. Sorrel’s stomach fell and he dropped his fork. At that instant Plum and Stark were in the midst of an altercation. He turned to her defensively, watching as she snatched Stark’s wrist only to have hers slammed into the edge of the table so that she would let him go. The room grew quiet and everyone was watching them it seemed.

“Fighting over the last potato I see?” Modena chuckled. Sorrel smiled weakly, his hand trembling as he took his fork back into his right hand.

“Sorry,” Plum swallowed, her voice cracking. Sorrel closed his eyes for a moment. “Sorrel, I’m sorry,” Modena added. “We cannot control who we’re related to,” he replied in a tired voice. “I am who I am and I am not my father or my Uncle.” Sorrel shrugged and popped a potato into his mouth, the food try and causing his stomach to turn further. Modena tilted her head and sighed, smiling at him with pity. Her attention was drawn away from them as a the stylist next to her leaned over her shoulder and whispered something into her ear. The two began a conversation of their own and Sorrel found that he had nothing else to do but listen to Plum struggle with her stylist and her sanity.

The exchange was harsh but Sorrel found himself nodding along to Stark’s words. They were true and just as much as Plum, they applied to him. He didn’t want the government to own him like property, to just be done with him as they sought fit. He was not a tool in some scheme to settle the new government’s stronghold. He was an individual and he had a right to life. Plum didn’t take it as well as him and immediately seemed frustrated and insulted with Stark’s words. As she pulled her chair out Sorrel reached out to her before she could stand up.

“You can’t leave, Plumeria,” Sorrel told her calmly. He leaned out to place his hand on her wrist but thought better of it. He sighed and they both seemed to stare at each other and then the floor as dinner was cleared. Within minutes they were being ushered downstairs by their guards and into the carriages. Sorrel felt removed from the situation and very much caught up in his head. He walked along as directed and felt as if he was weightless. In his head his thoughts doubled over themselves, screaming in repetition. “You’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re doing to die…”

It wasn’t until they were in the carriage, his shirt collar being rearranged and his face re-made up with make-up that Sorrel seemed to come back to the present. A make-up brush caught his eye and the stabbing pain forced him out of his thoughts. He winced and tucked his head down, grunting unhappily. The noise around them and the craziness of preparation caught him off guard. He found himself nervous, his shoulders again tight and raised. His neck was getting sore from where he held his tension.

“Close your eyes, both of you,” Stark instructed both Sorrel and Plumeria. Sorrel looked over to Modena who stood on his left where she nodded and smiled so he did as ordered. A few seconds later he inhaled at the exact moment that Stark blew a mysterious powder over his face and neck. Immediately Sorrel couldn’t breath and the airborne substance had him sneeze violently.

Stark dismounted from the carriage, handing the plate over to one of his team members. “Show them that you are a brave one, Plumeria. I have faith in you.”

“Sorrel, show them that you’re the man who caught their attention in the crowd. You raised your hand when they called you. You accepted your fate with dignity. Don’t let them take that from you,” Modena called out to him. Sorrel nodded. Before he could shout something back to her they were moving.

As they emerged from the tunnel Plum immediately grabbed hold of his hand. Sorrel looked down at her small fingers as they gripped his palm like a vice. He squeezed hers back in an attempt to be reassuring, settling their hands on his knee, not caring if anyone read into it.

The crowd was deafening but Sorrel was used to being a public figure. Immediately he grinned and the screams for the two of them pushed out any sort of dark thought that had pre-occupied him. He threw his hand into the air in a fist before he began to wave, seeking the eyes of as many people as he could as they went by.

The teen noticed that it took a few minutes for Plum to ease up, to sit up taller, to feel comfortable and yet chique. He leaned over into her ear as he waved, resting his chin on her shoulder for a moment. “Laugh like I’ve said something funny,” he said huskily and she giggled in the most unexpected way. It was a small laugh but one that stretched her cheeks into a wider more natural smile. She leaned her head back into his for a moment before resuming their posture.

The ride was both long and short. The continuity of the crowds screaming at them seemed to stretch on and on for miles. They toured through hthe entire city and different stretches of the parade were populated by people from different districts. He knew that Katniss Everdeen was not watching. Something within him told him that she was dealing with other inner demons. But perhaps her partner Peeta was, or any of the other former victors. He wanted to show them that he was worthy of their ranks, not egotistical, not from the Capitol, but humble and a fighter.

As they returned to the base of the training tower the chaos continued as ushered hurried to pull the tributes from their carriages. Modena was pulling him down from his seat rather hurriedly. Sorrel squeezed Plum’s hand one more time knowing that they had done well. He was pulled by his stylist and immediately surrounded by guards. Unlike the others who headed for the elevators up into the tower Sorrel found himself led down a long stretch of hallway and settled into a smaller room. He was forced to sit down and Modena was alone with him then. They emerged from chaos into silence and the teen looked up at his mentor confused.

“Did we do something wrong?” he asked his stylist who shook her head and kept her back turned from him for a moment. When she faced him her eyes were somewhat hopeful. “We’ve received word that tributes will be permitted to work in pairs. No tricks, no lies or last minute rule changes. You’ll be bound together and forced to work together with the person they assigned you with. This means that you’re with-”

“Plum,” Sorrel answered for her. Modena nodded, and her lips pursed and she seemed very unhappy. “I wanted to tell you now. I saw that look on your face at dinner Sorrel. You like her and the gamesmasters are already seeing this as repetition of Katniss’ games. They don’t want Plum to be another Katniss. She might insight a counter-revolution. This makes it hard on you…very hard…”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked her, taken aback. “So that you can prepare yourself Sorrel. So that you won’t love her. Hate her. Hate everything she represents and you might stand a chance."

Sorrel swallowed, murmuring “How can I hate a girl who is just like me?”

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(Ack! Horrible Writers block... I'm positive I'm not posting something that long.... xD but I dont know what to say....)

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#, as written by Korrye
Plumeria Snow

Sorrel was ushered out of her line of sight within seconds. The crowds seemed to swallow him up as people moved in erratic directions. She found herself pulled from the chariot by a firm hand. Plumeria’s head swung quickly to face her prep team. They ushered her away from the elevators and into a side room. Stark was there, his back turned to her, standing at a counter preparing some sort of solution. Wordlessly her team left and Plum found herself startled when the door slammed.

“You were great Plumeria,” Stark began. “More than I could hope for. More than…they would have liked to see.”

“What did we do wrong?” the blond stuttered, her eyes narrowing and her hands shaking. The adrenalin of the crowds dissipated and she found herself nervous and suddenly fearful of what had happened to Sorrel.

“You remember when Katniss and Peeta made their first entrance in the 74th games?” Stark asked her.

“How could anyone forget?” Plum scoffed. She’d been in those stands and gasped at the girl on fire. She’d been a different person then, excited for the games. Now was another story. That girl in those stands was a monster who manipulated people. She had been so ignorant then.

“Exactly. The new government is fearful Plum because you have the old elite watching you and very closely. They know exactly who you are and they expected you to look like you’ve been in captivity and beaten down, suffering. But you’re strong and they have a spark in them, a spark of hope to regain what was lost. Possibly. Or so the government has told me.”

“A spark…” Plum trailed. She remembered her Grandfather’s using the word over and over in the last few years as tension mounted. She remembered him saying it to her that day in the gardens and her eyes widened. His voice ran through her head. “That Katniss ignited all of Panem Plumeria. She lit a spirit of hope within these people and it couldn’t be stop. Nothing is more powerful than that spark if the conditions are ripe. Pay attention to that in your life. A spark can mean everything…”

“They think I’m a spark?” she murmured, sitting down into a chair as her legs grew shaky.

“They think you’re a martyr,” Stark corrected. “Who could very well become a spark.”

“I’m too strong then?” Plum whispered, her mouth agape and her thoughts so clouded. “I just don’t want to be owned by them, made an example of. I don’t want to suffer. I don’t want anyone to die at my behalf. My grandfather always told me that he felt that he had done what he thought was necessary for all of Panem. He was wrong. He tortured that girl and now look at her. She’s broken! I don’t want to be broken…and yet I’m so close…”

She was barely holding it together as it was, fading between a strength that had her bold and making sly remarks to Pinto and then silent and removed, bitter and close to crying every minute of every day. “They can’t have my weakness…” she murmured. “They can’t take my humanity from me.”

Stark sighed, leaning over the table that separate them and handing her a cloth lathered in a light grey lotion. “Wipe your face, it’ll get that dust off your skin without scratching the crap out of you.”

Plum accepted the cloth and for a few minutes they were both quiet as she wiped down her cheeks. Stark took the time to sit down and fold his hands on the table, leaning on his elbows and narrowing the space between them.

“I’ve been instructed to tell you to accept your fate and to not pull any stunts. I beg to differ. No person should be put through this. I don’t intend to inspire a counter-revolution. You have a right to life, as does every one of you in that arena. I know that Katniss and the victors voted in favor of these games. But I feel as if that was committed in a moment of weakness. You’re right, they did break her. But you have a strong spirit. You need to tap into that and leave behind that depression that keeps creeping up on you. It’s like I said at dinner. Now come on, time for bed for you. We have training to do and gamesmasters to win over with those mad skills of yours.”

Plum sighed, the weight of this news heavy on her shoulders. The girl had no other choice but to stand up and nod unhappily. She was suddenly being used as the face of a counter-revolution. She didn’t want that! The last thing they needed was more conflict. What she wanted most was to be left alone in a house somewhere in the wilderness without all this commercialization and craziness. But who was she kidding if she claimed to have the capacity to hunt and live off the land. The prospect of training terrified her. Tonight would likely be another sleepless night.

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Ember had been through her finished styles, and was now in her flowing, tealish blue dress. Zina had told her, it showed her off as sexy, which she didn't get, but it showed her off as dangerous, a threat, which Ember still doubted, but Zina had her thoughts set differently. Her sandy, sun bleached hair hung in beautiful feathery wisps around her body, rather long, and her deep blue eyes shone. She was in a chariot with some minor, she didn't know the name of. She flashed the crowd a beaming smile, pure white, and her naturally tan skin seemed to glow radiantly. She blew kisses to everybody, wanting to get on their good side. Ember wasn't one for people not to like if they knew her. But, although she can be very sweet, she is lethal as well.

Finally, the chariot ride was over, and Ember rushed to Zina. She saw some other people talking to their stylists, for example, a girl she had recognized as Plumeria Snow. Ember let her gaze linger on her and her partner a few moment, then turned back to Zina, Ember's eyes radiating power but nerves. She was nervous, but she felt as if, for the first time, she could stand a chance in the Games. BUt,Ember, she wasn't one to kill people... She couldn't... and she wanted to stay that way, no let the people change her, and who she is naturally.


(Horrible Writers block again >.< i don't know how to post in this... lol)

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#, as written by Korrye
Plumeria Snow
Training Center


Plum had woken to her prep team jumping on her bed at the crack of dawn. They seemed impatient with her and tsked at the sight of dark circles under her eyes. It was getting harder to sleep despite the fact that she was needing it more. Her fears were growing. It was hard not be afraid of what was to come. She foresaw torture before death. Maybe that's what scared her most.

They had her shower before they put a mild amount of makeup on her face - enough to make her look livelier than her current tired features. Her hair was braided first and then pinned into a bun over her neck. She felt lighter as she dressed in the spandex training suits so typical of tributes. They were black with differing colors on the shoulder to mark each pair as they all came from the same district. Her's was white, a fact not missed on her. As she was escorted down the hall she met up with a handful of the other tributes, Sorrel among them with his white and black training suit on as well.

As she ate a croissant Plum kept to herself, pulling at the flaky bread with a hopelessness as some of the boys chattered excitedly across the room. This concerned her. She heard laughter between them as they addressed to one another about their skillsets. What weapons were they going to use? Could they teach one another? Plum swallowed her breakfast bitterly. They would all be trying to kill each other in a matter of days.

Breakfast concluded at 6:30am and they were ushered into the basement for training. Three days of this, trying out tools and learning, before they would demonstrate their skills to the gamesmasters and be scored. All this before the interviews and then finally their launch into the final arena. All she wanted it to do was go by quickly.

As they approached downstairs she was surprised by how many of them there were. It disturbed her to think that 23 would die. Would history view them as the final victims of the revolution? Or as the final tributes in a cruelly imposed games? Would they be remembered with time at all?

A woman approached them, standing on a small platform before the door into the training center, and began to instruct them about how the center worked. There were twenty experts in different areas of the room teaching them everything from snares to swimming. The weapons, she told them, were not all guaranteed to be in the arena and she advocated that they spend more time learning survival skills. Plum tuned the woman's voice out, focusing on her nails. She'd chewed them down with her nerves. Her hands trembled and she fought a growing headache from the stress of it all.

When the doors opened, many others raced inside. She knew they had 36 hours between today and the next two days to learn. It was no race and if it was it was only to the arena and their death.

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Character Portrait: Flicker Rosewood
1 sightings Flicker Rosewood played by Lux_Disraeli
An eye for an eye it seems is the answer.
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"And Then Will There Be None? I hope I survive, I'm not ready to die."
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Tell me again how this is pay back?
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"But we both wont die, right?"

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Character Portrait: Plumeria Snow
Character Portrait: Eliana Faith Simmons
Character Portrait: Lira Dashwillow
Character Portrait: Sorrel Allowark
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Character Portrait: Zarina Elizabeth Veltor

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Character Portrait: Zarina Elizabeth Veltor
Zarina Elizabeth Veltor

Zarina Veltor is seventeen years old. Her life had been perfect, with her father as president Snow's right hand man. But that was before everything had gone to hell. Now she was a terrified, surgically altered, seventeen year old girl.

Character Portrait: Sable Blomgren
Sable Blomgren

Future Gamemaker turned tribute.

Character Portrait: Sorrel Allowark
Sorrel Allowark

I know nothing of hunger but I do know pain.

Character Portrait: Lira Dashwillow
Lira Dashwillow

I'm not going to lie, I saw this coming...

Character Portrait: Plumeria Snow
Plumeria Snow

My grandfather was the most horrific man in the world, I know.

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Character Portrait: Lira Dashwillow
Lira Dashwillow

I'm not going to lie, I saw this coming...

Character Portrait: Sable Blomgren
Sable Blomgren

Future Gamemaker turned tribute.

Character Portrait: Sorrel Allowark
Sorrel Allowark

I know nothing of hunger but I do know pain.

Character Portrait: Zarina Elizabeth Veltor
Zarina Elizabeth Veltor

Zarina Veltor is seventeen years old. Her life had been perfect, with her father as president Snow's right hand man. But that was before everything had gone to hell. Now she was a terrified, surgically altered, seventeen year old girl.

Character Portrait: Plumeria Snow
Plumeria Snow

My grandfather was the most horrific man in the world, I know.

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Character Portrait: Zarina Elizabeth Veltor
Zarina Elizabeth Veltor

Zarina Veltor is seventeen years old. Her life had been perfect, with her father as president Snow's right hand man. But that was before everything had gone to hell. Now she was a terrified, surgically altered, seventeen year old girl.

Character Portrait: Sable Blomgren
Sable Blomgren

Future Gamemaker turned tribute.

Character Portrait: Lira Dashwillow
Lira Dashwillow

I'm not going to lie, I saw this coming...

Character Portrait: Plumeria Snow
Plumeria Snow

My grandfather was the most horrific man in the world, I know.

Character Portrait: Sorrel Allowark
Sorrel Allowark

I know nothing of hunger but I do know pain.


Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » The Final Hunger Games: Out of Character

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Most recent OOC posts in The Final Hunger Games

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

On a side note, I don't intend for Plum to be the face of a counter-revolution. Anyone of our characters could technically fall into that position. Interest can easily shift to another tribute. Let me know if you're interested.

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

Hey all. Does anyone want me to move the plot forward? And where to?

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

I feel like this board is for announcements. I just wanted to say that if people are busy, I understand life. I'm a university student and I'm busy myself, just finished midterms. I also wanted to say that just because my posts are uber long (and they're longer than normal at the moment) doesn't mean yours have to be. When I'm stressed I write and so I spend a lot of time on it. I don't expect you guys to do the same. If you do, great. If you don't great. (:

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

The more the merrier. (:
And on a side note, writers are more than able to NPC a gamesmaster or mentor if they'd like. Just clear it with me first.

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

hey all, I would be interested in joining if there are still spaces and characters open. let me know if you might have me. :)
thanks,
Mist

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

Hey all, after the Reaping the tributes will immediately be brought to the training center where they will meet their prep teams, face initial make-overs, and then meet for a group dinner. I feel like they should interact a little. They'll also all be housed on the same floor of the training center.

I also wanted to ask if anyone had a suggestion as to who would mentor the tributes? Anyone have ideas?

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

Hey Synicate! Welcome. I hope to start the roleplay tomorrow. I'll post first to set the stage. I think we'll start with the day of the reaping in the Capitol.

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

I submitted a character. Her name is Ember Marrs from District Two. Can't wait for this RP to get rollin'! Hopefully her profile is okay (: I have a lot of ideas >:D

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

No problem at all Kirai-chan.

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

I loved these books! I can't wait for the movie to come out either. Anywho I was wondering if you'd be okay with me making a girl?

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

I look forward to you joining in. And I have never assumed the Capitol's residents to be weaklings. But they are a privileged group that hasn't experienced Hunger. At least this is the interpretation I got from the books. The Capitol is a highly concentrated and evenly distributed region of wealth. All of them were rich. This isn't to say they're all weaklings and inexperienced in terms of military presence - it would have been intense and the monitoring severe since Snow was depicted as paranoid and killing off those he suspected of opposition. And yes, they did have a military before they used District 2's soldiers but it wasn't substantial enough to cover the districts through time. It was described in Mockingjay that after District 13 rebelled they were pretty quick about putting the base into the mountain. Regardless, there will still be a diversity amongst the characters. They will all have experienced the rebellion from different points of view and have lived different lives.

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

I may join you, the books were great. However, it should be noted that not ALL of the Capital's residents were posh weaklings, they DID have a military even before they began using District(?)'s(I forget what one) population as soldiers.

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

On a side note, I'd like to have an even ratio of boys to girls when we head into the thick of things. And I'm also willing to NPC the nameless who will die off early in the games. If you guys would like you control some of these characters you can but they don't have to be well defined.

If the ratio of boys to girls is off, I'll double as well. Hopefully it won't be too difficult.

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

I don't think that would be a problem, Lloyd. If 8-10 characters are made up, that works for me as well. But I know that having 24 to start is a little difficult to imagine, given that so many die at the start.

And I read the books recently as well. While I was disappointed with the last two, I really liked the first. Sorry if my information has ruined anything for you. I should put a spoiler alert on the top there. Haha.

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

Funny how I was just reading The Hunger Games today. I've only just started it. Right now, I've just finished Chapter 4. I could imagine myself playing the hunger games. Mind if I reserve two characters? 1 male and 1 female. It would take me a while to get both of their pictures, so is it okay if one, if not both, doesn't have a picture for a little bit?

They are Joshua and Lucy Mitchell. They are brother and sister, one of which is a writer, a soccer player, and a coward of death, who just wants to live. The other may seem innocent and clueless, but as soon as she's seen enough blood, she'll go insane. Both play a caring role for each other.

Re: [OOC] The Final Hunger Games

Alright. Hopefully I have enough information on the front page and this place garners some attention. (:

[OOC] The Final Hunger Games

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