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Plumeria Snow

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

0 · 733 views · located in Panem

a character in “The Final Hunger Games”, as played by Korrye


Image Image

Name: Plumeria "Plum" Snow
Relation: Former president Snow's granddaughter, her father being his son.
Age: Seventeen
Residence: Smaller estate in the Capitol, behind the President's mansion.
Family: Mother deceased, father killed in the rebellion, no other siblings.
Alterations: Nose job and skin treatments, freckle removal and hair bleaching.

Physical Description: Standing at 5"11, Plum is a tall skinny girl weighing no more than 130 pounds. Her hair is long, reaching just above her belly button, and is pin straight and bleached lighter than her natural blond to a shade close to white.


Plum was the innocent and ignorant type until Katniss' rebellion took hold. She had lived a life of pleasantries, posture, etiquette and parties, suffering at some points from eating disorders due to pressure to remain thin. She was indulged her entire life by her father, especially after her mother died of some strange disease following a dinner gala with the district mayors. She was seven at the time and knew little of what had happened. But she didn't care because she didn't think she needed to. She was selfish and narcissistic and self absorbed until the rebellion. Before then she would speak loudly and in a silly way, brushing off the demands from the rebels and the hungry in a near Marie Antoinette fashion. Then her grandfather explained to her most of what he had done, who he had wronged, who he had killed, and why. He spoke of brutal torture and murder by poison. He spoke, worst of all, of the accidental death of her mother and news that her father had been blown to bits by the rebels. Since that night she has been roughly treated by the rebels who seized governmental power. She has largely remained silent, despite the invading rebels seeking to know her intentions and thoughts. She has become attentive to those around her, trying desperately but most often unsuccessfully to understand the demands of the rebels and just what hardship was. It didn't click. She is defensive, however, of who she is an individual. She is trying to little avail to not be her grandfather as many do nothing but compare her to him. She has begun to define herself as his opposite, with Katniss (of all people) as something of a role-model. She has become blunt and defensive but short with her words. After all, words have power and all she seeks to do before she dies is to redeem herself.


Swiss army knife, bow and arrows, lacquered rope, dehydrated fruit, raisins, beef jerky, pack and her own common sense.


She knows much about Capitol extravagance and was a regular socialite before Katniss Everdeen's Hunger Games aired. Once the District 12 Tribute caught the districts attention and started the fire of a revolution, Plum was immediately sent into hiding by her father. The safest place was thought to be her grandfather's mansion. There she lived, standing by his side, trying to hold her head high as their country began to collapse in on itself. She was unaware of the true nature of her grandfather's way of ruling until the end of the games when she bore witness to the senseless murder of several dozen children. She watched as Katniss nearly died to death and was taken prisoner by the rebels, kept away from her grandfather and secluded, treated harshly due to her relation to the man who had been nothing but a dictator to the people of Panem. When her grandfather was tried and set to die she was able to visit with him. As his only surviving relative, they spent a night together and it was due to her own curiosity that she asked him about the nature of what he had done. The tribute victor from the oceanic district, Finnick, had said rather malicious things. And she had witnessed her seething grandfather in a way she had never known. It was during that time that he opened up to her of what he had done to the girl, Katniss, and the people. Horrified but stunned by his honesty, Plum stood by his side for his execution, only to be ushered away the moment Katniss decided that it was not Snow she wished to kill but that horrible ruler from district 13.

The unjust nature of her grandfather and the rebellion have left her in a quiet stupor. Her socializing has all but stopped as she's been sequestered by the new government, fearing that the population may kill her for her grandfather's crimes. Following the trial of Katniss and her exile to a smoldering District 12, the Final Hunger Games were announced, the rules for which explained. Plum knew immediately that they would rig it for her participation. The day of the reaping is perhaps the most terrifying thing she knows she will experience yet in her life.

So begins...

Plumeria Snow's Story


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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: Plumeria Snow Character Portrait: Sorrel Allowark
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#, as written by Korrye
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: Plumeria Snow
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#, as written by Korrye
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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Character Portrait: Plumeria Snow
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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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Character Portrait: Plumeria Snow Character Portrait: Ember Marrs Character Portrait: Sorrel Allowark
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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.