The 39th Annual Hunger Games 

 

A 1x1 with Mystics Apprentice 

 

Character Sign-Ups 

Name: 

Age: 

District: 

Gender:

Appearance:  

(bio will come later) 

 

Name: Alia Cayton 

Age: 16 

District: 4

Gender: Female

Appearance: Standing at about 5"6, Alia's chocolate locks curl slightly and contrast starkly with her emerald green eyes. Her district token is a bracelet decorated with waves. Three charms hang down--a silver trident, a penny-sized clock, and a heart with the number 4 engraved on it. She's of average body build, neither skinny nor overweight, and wears the grey Hunger Games jumpsuit. 

Name: Kievan Reines

Age: 14

District: 12

Gender: Male

Appearance:  A short boy that stands no taller than 5'1".  His pale blond locks are wispy and hang over his ears, while his bangs constantly get in his emerald-green eyes.  Being a part of one of the wealthier families of District 12, Kievan generally wears black dress pants, button-up shirts or hoodies, though now he's wearing the Hunger Games uniform that all participants wear.

Edited March 2, 201312 yr by Mystics Apprentice

Alia had dreaded for months the day of the Reaping. The other career district kids were all clamoring for a shot at winning, but Alia could hardly stand the thought of brutally murdering children. Of course, that was a thought one had to keep hidden in District 4. To save face, she'd have to dramatically try to take someone's place. All of the eligible were desperate for a chance to get in the Games, so Alia knew her chances of being the volunteer tribute chosen was low, but still. Her stomach churned, and she could barely focus as a name was called. She could hardly make it out, but it didn't sound like hers. Before the selected tribute could even reach the stage, the crowds were screeching, begging to be chosen in their place. Alia played along, outstretching her arms and crying out to be chosen. A spotlight cast out over the crowd, shining directly in her eyes. Alia recoiled, shielding her eyes from the light. "You!" The Capitol lady on stage yelled. "What's your name?" Peacekeepers stalked toward Alia, ushering her toward the stage. This couldn't be right, could it? She didn't want to go to the Games! Let one of the psychotic career kids go! The Capitol woman embraced Alia. "Your name, tribute?" 

 

Alia stammered, feeling herself being to shake. "Alia...Cayton." She waited in shock as the woman prattled on a drew a male tribute's name. How could this have happened? How could she--the only person in the crowd who didn't want to be chosen--be selected as tribute? 

 

"Smile and wave!" The Capitol lady cheered. The crowds roared with utter disappointment. They'd wanted to be chosen instead. "Come along now dears," The Capitol lady patted Alia's and the other boy's backs, guiding them offstage and into a waiting detail of Peacekeepers. "If we hurry, we can watch the other tributes get chosen! I always love a good Reaping!" 

Every year was relatively the same around this time.  Children would have nervous breakdowns in classrooms, while others would attempt escaping into the wilderness.  The Reaping wasn't an event that came without many shed tears and several vicious meltdowns; Kievan knew that.  He knew what sort of havoc the Hunger Games brought year upon year, yet it never affected him as it did the others.  Perhaps  because this was only the second year his name had been entered into the drawing, and he wasn't fully aware that his name could be drawn.  Or, rather, perhaps Kievan believed his name wouldn't be drawn at all.  He'd never entered his name multiple times in order to earn Tesserae, since his family was one of those few that were fortunate in District Twelve.  Their clothes always came freshly pressed from the store, and there was always plenty of food to eat on the table.  Indeed, Kievan was one of those privileged boys that weren't exposed to the harsh cruelties of the world--or, in this case, the Capitol.

 

And yet, here he stood, amongst all the other boys and girls of District Twelve, waiting anxiously for a name of the male tribute to be drawn.  Kievan noted that several of his fellow classmates were trembling or shifting nervously from foot to foot.  He'd met a single teen's eye and smiled, yet he refused to acknowledge the smaller boy and looked away.  It was then Kievan noticed that he was the only soul in his line that wasn't in some manner perplexed.  However, he couldn't comprehend why.  He'd summed that, with all the names thrown into that drawing, and that many of the boys he'd known had only been participating for a year or two, what ever were the odds that their names would get picked?  Really, what were they?

 

Apparently, quite greater than Kievan gave them credit for.

 

A tall slender woman whose nose and neck were far too long for the rest of her body smiled, exposing a row of pearly white teeth.  In a clear, loud voice, she announced the name of District Twelve's male tribute.  And at that very moment, Kievan got a dose of what true fear was.

 

"Kievan Reines."

 

The blond boy froze, his muscles paralyzed.  It took the murmurs of the crowd and a few prods from his so-called "friends" to elicit a response from him.  "It can't be me," Kievan thought to himself dully.  The world seemed distant and closed off, by a veil that blinded his vision and a loud static that dulled his ears.  The moment seemed all too real, yet couldn't have felt farther from reality.

In a daze, Alia was led to the Justice Building, where she was locked in a private room. There were no windows or furniture--only a blurry nine inch television screen replaying the Reapings of the other districts. She bet the Capitol pigs were going wild right about now. They were probably already placing bets, selecting favorites. The whole thing was a rigged mess anyway. Alia half believed that the entire Games were just a stage show, where the winner had been selected even before the Reaping, the tributes selected years in advance and their childhoods sculpted to be either as pampered or tragic as would suit the Games. It was ridiculous, but Alia couldn't help but wonder. 

 

She expected to feel her heart wrench with pain. To feel her lungs beat hard with breathlessness, her cheeks to flush with fear, adrenaline to race through her hot veins. Those would have been expected feelings, and something Alia could train herself to deal with. It was the dull, numbing feeling of nothingness that was scarier. What if this was the beginning of what all tributes eventually went through? The deterioration of the human mind to the point that murder was bearable? 

 

Alia decided not to deal with those thoughts. She needed to be cold and calculating if she wanted to at least survive the train ride to the Capitol, let alone the Games. Sizing up her opponents, she warred between despair and hope. The Games would be in the Capitol's terms a good one. 

Kievan was led from the roaring crowd by peacekeepers.  Many journalists came swooping down for filming and photography, yet the peacekeepers did an excellent job of keeping them away.  Normally Kievan would've been relieved, but at this point he was merely too stunned to notice.  There were always very slim chances of being chosen in the reaping; how could the odds have been so greatly against him?

 

Finally they came to a small building.  The peacekeepers led the small blond inside to a room with heavy draperies, a lush persian rug, and two identical sofas facing one another.  On a coffee table in the center sat a tray with sweets, though Kievan had little interest in them; food was the very last thing he wanted.

 

 "Wait here," they said impersonally, before releasing him and departing.  This left the blond all alone.  Alone, it was a concept that he'd truly never grasped--until then.