The 65th Hunger Games

[Tonks]

The Hunger Games are a morbid and brutal competition which takes place annually in the country of Panem. Every year, one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18 are selected from each of the twelve districts as tributes, who prepare for a week and then are sent into an outdoor arena to fight to the death. This is to remind the districts, whose sole purpose is to create products for the Capitol, of the power that the Capitol holds over them. The Games began after District 13 rebelled, and was then destroyed. The event is nationally televised as mandatory viewing for all citizens. The last living tribute is declared the victor and is allowed to live in comfort in their home district.

The tributes are selected by pulling their names out of a hat. When you are 12 your name is put in once, then twice when you are 13 and so on. You may, however, enter your name more times in exchange for food rations.

Everyone who would like to enter this RP: please provide in your first post your name, age, district, where your skills lie and as much back story as you would like to provide. This RP will not attempt to be canon; it will be a random game with a made-up arena, before the books. Once everyone has given their character descriptions I will begin as Gamemaker, directing the plot etc. I will add in as many NPCs as needed. You may play up to two characters each, from any district, but there must not be more than one male and one female from each district.

If I write that your character is killed in one way or another, please do not take it personally, as I will be pulling names out of a hat to determine what the NPCs do etc. I will try to keep as many of you in for as long as possible, though.

District descriptions can be found of the Character Profiles thread. If you’d prefer to go on the wiki that they are from, here is the link:

thehungergames.wikia.com/wiki/The_Hunger_Games_Wiki

Happy Hunger Games!


p.s. If anyone doesn't want to win or would like me to kill off their character(s) at any point, just send me a message

[PenguinNinja]

Eighteen year old Tara Fielding of District three sighed as people started to prepare for the 65th Hunger Games. There was hope that as this was her final year, she could escape it with her life. She hoped that she could relax in the comforts of her district with her Dad.

There wouldn't be much comfort but it would be enough. She shoved black hair behind her ears and focused harder on the small device in her hands. Give her a screwdriver and she could do anything. Make car or train parts. The television screens that were placed all over the Capitol.

This was the last five minutes and she wanted to pretend she could spend the rest of her life in this little factory doing nothing but making and fixing electronics for the other districts. She finally finished the motherboard for a computer and stepped away and made her way home.

Home wasn't much. Just a small four roomed first floor place with another place just like it on top of it. And another on top of that. Two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen/living room combination. It wasn't much but it was enough for her. "Dad?" There was no response and she sighed. It was the same as last year, and the year before that. Every year on the day of the Reaping her Dad disappeared. She had no idea where but she guessed it was to avoid seeing his last family disappear into the hands of the Capitol. It had been hard when her Mum died from an explosion in a factory many years ago. Tara had been on the other of the same factory and it had taken all of her willpower to not go running into the fire.

She shook her head, deposited her bag and pulled out the dress she'd managed to grab for this day. Another sigh. Ten minutes later and she was checking her reflection in the only mirror in the tiny bathroom. Then she was heading to the Reaping.

---

Seventeen year old Alex Hammond of District seven bounced into his house. He loved working the lumberyard and even enjoyed the simple actions of chopping down the trees. Manual labour was one of those things he just loved to do. Even at home he enjoyed helping out with the general upkeep of the house.

His two brothers and sister always complained about how he was so happy and he always shrugged it off. It was true, there was a bleak outlook on life from here on out. But he took what he got and he dealt with it the best he could. And he tried to be happy. Or at least made up for his siblings grouchy moods. "Just three more years after today," His oldest brother Corin muttered as he shoved a shirt and pair of pants into his younger brothers hands.

"It'll be fine," Alex said.

"It better be," his father said. "Three kids down, one to go."

Alex laughed. It was true. None of his siblings had had to face the Hunger Games. As the years had ticked by and the names were drawn not a one had been called out. It was a miracle and he'd already managed to avoid the first five Reapings he'd been in. This was his sixth but he was feeling lucky. He moved into the shared bedroom with his brothers and changed. It didn't take him long to show off his Reaping clothes and his family followed him down to the Reaping area. They pressed mouths to his face and slung arms round his shoulders. Corin threw a punch to his shoulder and told him, "Be home for tea. Mum managed to get some meat."

Then he was alone.

[Playle]

The atmosphere was the same as the reaping the year before, and the one before that, and all the ones that Onyx had witnessed. District 1’s Justice Building was laden with Capitol insignia, pictures of President Snow, decorations to make the live footage seem all that more glamorous of a fairly rich region. In their swathes, the potential picks for this year’s reaping gathered in the square. Family members watched on from a distance, dressed smart for the occasion. There was an air of excitement, of fear, of anticipation. Onyx had his father’s navy coloured shirt tucked into black trousers, on his feet were a pair of brown leather shoes two sizes too small – they had to do, there wasn’t much other choice. He could feel his toes crushing against each other, toenails slicing into pink flesh which was becoming ever slicker with blood the more he was stood there. He couldn’t wince though; this was the year. This was the final year that Onyx could volunteer.

Onyx Quentin-Dewitt had his name in the reaping ball a mere seven times, the bare minimum. He came from a family of jewellers – his mother had an innovative artistic eye into designing necklaces and rings, whilst his father cut and shaped rocks into perfect shapes. With three younger sisters, he bore the brunt of his father’s pride as “the next man of the house”. Except there was an alien pride beyond simple paternal hope; there was hope Onyx too would be a victor.

Onyx’s father, Pierre, once beat the Hunger Games. The 46th Hunger Games to be exact. The year before, the victor had lost his arm to earn his chance to survive, so Pierre was quite fearful. However, the odds were somewhat in his favour – the arena was a subterranean labyrinth of caverns with plenty of minerals. His expert knowledge of gems gave him some leeway. He knew which could be utilized for what purposes, such as making torchlight brighter or using certain jewels as cat’s eyes in order to navigate back to his base. Sure the miner kids from District 12 were in their zone, and District 3’s techno-savvy male had rigged some kind of explosions using leaking natural gas sources within the caves. It was Pierre’s ruthless brutality which had won him the game though – one by one, he used his raw strength from career training against lone tributes, beating them to death. Finally, a faulty tripwire had damned the District 3 male to a premature explosion in which he didn’t escape. Since then, the Quentin-Dewitts had lived in the Victor’s Village. And since then, a lot of hope had been put on Onyx that he too could follow in his father’s footsteps as a Hunger games victor. He had utilized any free time to train as a career tribute; a multitude of melee weapons and training exercises left him in good physical condition.

Onyx was away in his thoughts, thinking about his father’s reaction and the previous games. A vacant look, a blank expression, until suddenly he heard the escort’s announcement from the Justice Building:

”…boy tribute, Gleam Maximillion!”

Onyx realized he had been absent-minded long enough for the male reaping to have been chosen. Around him, he could see other males like him who were raring to volunteer for this stranger – to throw themselves in for a chance of victory. Many were younger than him, with the youngest being around fourteen. He couldn’t simply ask to volunteer, he had to demand it.

As the blonde-haired boy known as Gleam began to make his way through the crowd of people, Onyx barrelled through and managed to barge past other teenagers. The glares and stares he received were countless, but he had to do this. He had to volunteer, had to continue the Quentin-Dewitt legacy. By this point, he was even ahead of Gleam, as he made haste towards the Justice Building.

“I will take his place! I volunteer myself as tribute!” Onyx shouted.

“No, I demand to be tribute!”

The retort from an aggravated Gleam was interesting, but Onyx wasn’t about to let up. Both boys, both in their shirts and shoes, they eyed up each other intensely.

“You’ll be tribute over my dead body!” snarled Onyx. There was more than ferocity in his voice. There was murderous intent. Gleam skulked off, withdrawing into the crowd, whilst Onyx spun on his heel and began to approach the stage. Hushed whispers and mutterings left the crowd, whilst the District 1 tribute let out a coy little smile to himself.

[PenguinNinja]

"Tara Fielding!" Her heart froze in her chest. This couldn't be happening. "Tara Fielding! Where are you?" Her feet carried her slowly forward and she could feel all of the eyes from District three on her. A lump started in her throat and she swallowed it away. Or tried to.

Her feet touched the stage and before she knew it, the glaze over her eyes lifted to show the eyes peering up at her. The girls looked relaxed and happy. They had been saved another year.

"Tara Fielding," the District Representative shouted. Her eyes traveled through the crowded streets. She hoped that at least she could see her Dad before she was gone from her home forever. Anything else that was said or happened was drowned out as the beating of her blood in her ears grew louder.

---

Alex's heart sank into the acid in his stomach and dissolved in a instant. No. It can't be. Not me. No. "Alex Hammond!" It felt like his entirely world had been dragged out from underneath him and he was being sent straight to the devil himself.

He choked back the tears and managed to get his brain to tell his feet to move. His eyes were fixed to the floor. There was no telling what his family were feeling. They'd had three children escape the Reapings and to have their youngest ripped from them, just two Reapings away from freedom was cruel. Teeth bit down on the inside of his cheek and forced his eyes up.

He was going to be brave.

Gritting his teeth and tightening his jaw he stepped onto the stage and glared down at the people before him. Eyes skipped over his family. There would be no doubt that his Mum and Sister were crying. "Alex Hammond!" The Representative shouted.

[Playle]

The cameras focussed upon Onyx. His defined cheekbones, his auburn buzzcut blending into the beginnings of facial hair – all of Panem would be witnessing his face, witnessing the future winner of the Hunger Games. Onyx made it clear by his posture, his arms crossed amongst his wide chest and his legs apart. His eyes stared into the nearest camera which was just off the stage. He walked away from the escort who seemed a bit muddled. But Onyx knew what he was doing. He locked eyes with the camera.

“I am Onyx Quentin-Dewitt, son of the victor Pierre Quentin-Dewitt. President Snow, citizens of the Capitol… hell, all of Panem! I will be taking this Hunger Games by storm, and will bring great pride to my old man and to the whole of District 1! And fellow tributes; you can throw whatever you want at me, but you will be killed by my hand!”

There was a roaring cheer from a great deal of district 1, and the escort let out a little clap and a smile. He beckoned Onyx back over to the centre stage before he began ruffling his hand through the girl’s reaping ball.

“Well, it’s good to see that kind of spunk from a tribute! Now, time for District 1’s girl tribute.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Hanya Thorne had repeated her job as she had done daily for the past nine years of her life. Her hunting knife at the ready, she grabbed the heifer by the head and plunged the blade straight into its neck. Slicing away, the blade grew slick with a crimson stream and the cattle’s legs began their unconscious dance of reflexive twitches. Before long, it was just another dead hunk of animal to be taken away and stripped for meat. Day in, day out, butchering the cows was Hanya’s job. It was a common job in District Ten.

She had repeated it, and repeated it, and even in her dreams repeated it. The monotony of slaughtering livestock, that was all her life was. And each year, as the reapings approached, she’d get the nightmares again.

The knife would go in, the slice would begin. But then instead of the braying of bovine, the dying animal would mutter out human words: “mercy”, “please, no” or “don’t do this!”. The human scream would startle Hanya awake in a cold sweat, and this would go on every night until the reaping period and the actual hunger games was over for the year. Then she could go back to her boring job without fear of being picked, or without the horror of watching children kill one another.

Reaping day morning was always a struggle, and through tear-glazed eyes she managed to follow the crowd to the plaza. Like animals to the slaughter. She was sixteen, and her name was in the reaping ball fifteen times – three per year, one compulsory and two for tesserae to feed herself and her mother. It was substantially less than others in the district had their name in, but still enough.

She fiddled with her ugly pink dress yet again, waiting as the escort swished her hand through the reaping ball to pick a girl tribute. She was a face among hundreds, surely she wouldn’t be picked?

Cruel fate would have otherwise. Hanya heard her name over the speaker system, and fainted into the muddy ground.

[Light]

In District 2’s central square, the clamour of voices, the shuffle of feet, and the excited murmurings filled the air. The main square before the Justice Building was packed with hordes of potential candidates for the Reaping, and their families. The usual fare for a Reaping, and the usual airs of anticipation, suspense, though unlike many of the other Districts, the sense of fear and foreboding was smothered by the overpowering buzz of excitement.

Capitol insignias and displays of authority lined the area, interspersed with a ring of peacekeepers, more for show here than anything else amidst the smiling faces of the crowds, to show their loyalty and commitment to the rulership of Panem, and the Hunger Games themselves. Being amongst the richer Districts, and very close to the Capitol itself, they were eager to show their support, and as such the quality of the clothing was high, so the whole scene seemed very much the festivity that the Capitol authorities intended it to be.

The groups of tributes stood a little way in front of their families, before the great podium housing the officials and the escort. Persephone was stood amongst the girls, easy to spot in a midnight blue dress that fell below her knees, black high heels, complimented by a golden chain and matching ring, both set with small blue jewels, and pale skin. She wore icy blonde hair in a long ponytail down her back, and watched the scene before her with powder blue eyes, her expression blank in the din of excitement. She felt out of place dressed like this, like a woman.

Persephone, or to give her full name, Persephone Lilly Wylding, was 18, daughter of a plasterer mother, and a blacksmith father, if one could call him a father. She had three brothers, aged 13, 16 and 17, and her family lived in one of the nicer areas of the District, in what seemed to outsiders an idyllic life outside of the Capitol; indeed they lived a good enough life that none of the children needed to apply for tesserae, and she found herself in the Reaping ball for the final year, for a total of the minimum 7 times. Her home life, however, was far from the ideal as it may seem to the neighbours.

Her father disliked women, saw them as weak. He’d only married her mother because he wanted sons, heirs. She was his eldest, and would have very much liked to have seen his face when she had been born. Apparently, he’d stormed out of the hospital for hours before finally coming back, and it hadn’t gotten much better from there. A year later, he had his son, then another the year after. It took another two for her final brother, though her mother had another boy on the way. Five children, three grown sons, another due, and a daughter, or rather, his mistake, his something to atone for, daddy’s little shame.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried. She’d tried for years to love him, and only received coldness in return. So she loved her mother instead, the only one who cared for her in that house. Her brothers did what brothers did, the siblings acting as siblings are wont to do, and her father doted entirely on his boys. By the time she was old enough for her first Reaping, her father had made sure she had started Career training for the Hunger Games, and she was certain that by the time she was 12 he was hoping to get rid of her in the arena, or gain a victor, win-win for him; but she hadn’t been called, and hadn’t that incensed him so?

She wasn’t treated like a girl, she wasn’t treated like a boy, she was treated like an object; something to project his disappointment and desire for a winner of the games onto. He made her a schedule: One day working with her mother, one day in the forge with him, five days training to be a Career Tribute. She wasn’t wanted; that much was abundantly clear, and he had only one use for her. She’d objected at first, but it was useless, so she followed the schedule, day by day, year by year, and each and every Reaping, she watched as someone else was called, and she stole a small glance at her father’s face; saw him hating her for not stepping up and volunteering. It gave a pleasant tingle. He beat her afterwards in the early days. He stopped that quickly, when he saw what he was shaping her into. It was always the same, every year, and this was her last.

She honestly couldn’t tell which would be more entertaining: Being called, winning and coming home, finally telling her father what a bastard he was, denying him and his precious sons the victor’s village, living with her mother, and making sure that her father and his legacy had to live without protection, making them so poor they’d have to take the tesserae. Or maybe it would be funnier if she wasn’t called, going home again afterwards and watching as her father cowered away from the monster he’d made for nothing. Perhaps she may not be called, but one of his precious little boys would. No, the funniest thing, she was sure, was if she was called as girl tribute, alongside her oldest brother as the boy. That would be glorious. She’d work with him, make sure that it was them as the final two, and kill the fucker in a heartbeat, right there in front of Panem. In front of daddy dearest. Then she’d march back to District 2 in Victory, and cast her weeping father and his other sons out, making sure they fell out into poverty, out into the harsh world of the tesserae and the Reaping. Then maybe he’d see how he’d made her feel in those days before she just stopped giving a fuck. Before she changed from a girl to a cold hearted, dead-eyed husk; whatever happened, she only cared so long as that wretch of a man, that excuse for a father, suffered for it.

Her work and training had made her strong, put her in a good physical condition, instructed her in the use of weapons; melee being her chosen area, and slowly numbed her to the world around her, having only her mother’s love, her hatred of the man she only grudgingly called father, and the training. That was her life. That had been everything for her, for as long as she could remember. Most girls her age had their father’s concerned about the boys they liked, not hoping against hope she’d be selected for the Reaping. It was strange; at first, she had been something he’d wanted to die in the games, but as the years progressed, she had become, ironically, one of his most important investments, with everything he’d put her through. Whether or not that investment paid off was to be revealed in the next few minutes. Her father was probably wracked with worry about the choice of tribute, hoping it was her, and not one of his legacies that would be going into the arena.

The din died down suddenly, as the District escort approached the podium: “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!” she intoned, then reached into the Reaping ball for the girls: “Starting it off for District 2 are the ladies! Persephone Wylding! Come on up here dear!”

That was that then. She started towards the stage.

__________


It didn’t seem like he had been shifting the hay bales into the barn for storage just a few hours ago, and now, he was stood here, in the press of fear and bodies assembled in District 10.

Pod Steed was a lad of 16, made broad by the work around the farms, the harvest, the herding; all the little jobs that needed doing to meet the stock quota in time. He wore one of his father’s best grey shirts and somewhat shiny black shoes, with some neatly pressed trousers of matching colour. It was about the smartest gear that they owned, and he was lucky to have it, with three brothers and two sisters to smarten up, along with their parents for Reaping day.

Every year he felt the same; sick, trembling, stomach tied in all sorts of knots, and petrified for his life. Forget dignity and composure, which wasn’t something a farmboy had in abundance anyway; petrified was an understatement. It was impossible for him to voice the sheer, all pervading fear that crept up on him each and every year, the fear that had him start jumping at shadows and shivering in the barns in the months running up to it. The fear that he kept away from his family, but they’d know by his sudden withdrawal from the usual cheery boy who weathered the toils for his family to the meek and near silent one who sat with them in the run up to the Reapings.

With all the mouths to feed, he had to take the tesserae, like many others in the District: one for himself, two for his parents. He’d have taken more for their sakes, but his other siblings took one each for themselves, so that he wouldn’t be risking his life quite as much each year. Even so, he was in the ball 20 times this year. Not good odds, but not so stacked against him that he was inescapably doomed. Two more years to go after this one, 24, and then 28 names. Then he could get a better job as soon as he was free of the Reaping and make sure his family didn’t need so many tesserae in the following years, so that his brothers and sisters wouldn’t have to live under that shadow any longer. All he had to do was last out this one, and then two more years.

‘Please, not me.’ He thought desperately.

He always hated himself for wishing this on someone else; those Careers from Districts 1, 2 and 4 were brutal death machines, and the Hunger Games had worse than them in the form of the arena itself, and whatever the cruel and twisted minds of the Gamemakers could dream up. He was shaken out of his fearful worries as the girl’s name was called out, a name he’d heard from time to time around the district, and saw her faint. More self-loathing at the relief it wasn’t one of his sisters, which was replaced by terror, as he heard the escort move to the other Reaping ball, pull out a slip, and read: “Pod Steed for the District 10 boys!”

No. That couldn’t be right. He almost vomited then and there, almost bolted, but his feet were rooted to the floor in sheer dumbstruck terror.

Silent moments passed, before finally, automatically, he moved, because what else could he do? His brain acting before he received a beating made him begin to slowly shuffle towards the stage, unable to look up beyond the floor. He got about a quarter of the way before two Peacekeepers took an arm each and dragged him up the steps, plonking him in front of the smiling escort.

[Playle]

Hanya got to her feet, her pink dress covered in brown stains now. She didn’t look presentable for television, but she managed to begin a slow walk towards the stage at the Justice Building. She sobbed a little bit, but bit her lip to try and hold it in. The boy on the stage, Pod, he seemed almost familiar. Maybe the friend of a friend? Now was not the time to think about idle things like that.

The eyes of farmers, butchers, herders, shearers – all watching. All watching Hanya as she made her way up. Walking up to the slaughter block. She was the wandering heifer. She was waiting for the knife to plunge in. It already felt like someone had twisted a blade into her heart, rendering her emotions asunder. There was a lump in her throat, hard to swallow. Each step up the stage to the Justice Building was closer and closer to the inevitability of death. Hanya was no winner’s material. She’d be a hunk of dead meat in no time.

She looked at Pod, and then trembled on the stage in front of all.

[Light]

'Poor girl' was his only thought as he saw Hanya get back up again, her dress now smeared with mud and dirt; he was certain he'd seen her at school as well as here and there, though never really met her personally, he realised. Well, he would get to know her over the course of the travel and the training, right before they were expected to head into the arena and start trying to kill each other. That last part he put out of his mind, before he dwelled on it long enough to turn his stomach even more than it was already churning.

He managed to force himself to smile briefly for the cameras; nothing more complex than a small nervous twitch of his lips, but it was either try and put on a brave face, or be written off now as weak and helpless, which was how he felt, but he tried his hardest not to show it; the smile was more directed at his family, when he found their faces, trying to reassure them, though he himself was terrified of what was to come in just a few short weeks, and wasn't sure what good it would do if he knew he was going to his death in that arena.

He looked to Hanya as she came up onto the stage, and offered her a tiny smile of encouragement, for what little good it would do, if any at all. Better that than ignore his fellow Tribute.

He didn't feel any of it; he just knew from previous years that you got noticed from this point onwards. He probably wasn't doing a good job of hiding his fear, but he tried nonetheless; however it would come across to the audience he just didn't know.

[Tonks]

Ladies and Gentlemen! May I announce the Tributes of the 65th Hunger Games!

From District One:
Amethyst (Amee) Ricken, aged 18 volunteer, slender and small with both elegance and agility. Definitely one who'll slip through your grasp!

Onyx Quentin-Dewitt, aged 18 again and another volunteer for district one. Definitely a fighter this one, lots of aggression, sure to show a lot of violence in the arena.

From District Two:
Persephone Lilly Wylding , the 18-year old beautiful blonde, stronger than she looks, I think she'll surprise us a few times this year!

And from the boys, we have Neil Mason, 18 years old and definitely the stockiest tribute! He's like a boulder of muscle this one and volunteering to show us what he's got! Wouldn't want to get in his way!

District three then!

For the girls we have yet another 18-year old! Lots of oldies this year. Tara Fielding: boy she looked shocked when they pulled her name out! Let's hope she's come to terms with it now that her life depends on it!

Marvin Tummel is our male tribute from three, only thirteen years old and a clumsy little thing, fell up the steps at the reaping if I remember rightly!

District Four:

Catalina Fern, 17-years old and haven't seen her smile yet! Mean with a spear that one, I don't think she'll be showing much mercy!

Terrence Chum, 17 again, hard to know what he's up to, very quiet but a bit of an evil genius!


In five we have 13-year old Evelyn Hart, tiny little thing, I hear she cooks for her household at home, how sweet! Let's hope she has some fire in her!

She is joined by Lorton Newton, fourteen and crying at the reaping. Tut Tut, think that one needs to grow up if he wants to stand a chance!


Now district six is interesting!

Mya Coupler, 16-year old little darling, very clever but not so strong. Maybe the male tribute from six will protect her, as I heard a rumour that they were childhood sweethearts. Awww!

Chrys Ironwood, 18 and incredibly strong! Already got some scars that one, let's hope his experience helps him in the games and he doesn't spend too much time looking after Mya!

District Seven!

June Winterberry, 14, good with an axe apparently but not much of a talker. Let's hope that goes in her favour!

Alex Hammond from 7 makes up for that though! Seventeen years old and never without a smile on his face! Very chirpy! Not sure how mean he can be when it gets down to it though!

District 8 presents us with two very different tributes:
Kerry Livendale is seventeen and a fast-worker who really tries to put her all into everything.

Dill Gusset is twelve, awww, and still very much a child at heart. Hopefully he'll surprise us and stay in for a while!

District Nine:

Chyme Rigan, 15, accurate with her throwing but only small, we'll have to wait and see if that's a good or bad feature!

Michael Finch is 16 and is quite a bit bigger and stronger, lacks in agility though but maybe he won't need it!

District Ten and We're nearly at the end!

Hanya Thorne, 16, hahaha, passing out at the reaping always sets a bad tone! But she is good with a knife! Wouldn't want to sit next to that one at the dinner table I'll tell you that much!

Pod Steed, also 16, now he didn't pass out but he certainly looked as though he was about to! I think they must be putting something in the water in district ten! Hahaha, he's a much broader lad anyway, so if he manages to make it to the arena conscious he may do well!

I don't think we've seen much of district eleven's tributes potential yet, I think they must be saving it for the arena!

For the girls we have 16 year-old Windra Anden, tall girl, I think she likes the knives! Let's hope there are plenty in the cornucopia!

And for the boys we have 14 year-old Finley Thompson, tiny and fast on his feet, they'll have a hard job chasing him!

Finally we get to district number twelve, certainly the underdogs of the annual hunger games!

Little Lorna Hirren, or "lolly" as she likes to be called. Awww! Definitely our sweetest tribute! Twelve years old and you could just put her in your pocket couldn't you? I think we have some images here we can show you of her hugging her mother and sisters, aww there they are! What a precious little gem!

Joining her is 18 year-old Timley Auger! Now I did hear, that poor Timley has a lot of medical problems. BUT, as long as he has sponsors to send him his medications he'll have just as good'a chance as the rest of them!

Let's hear it for the tributes of the 65th annual Hunger Games!!

[Tonks]

It was time. They'd done the parades, they'd had their training and now here they were, 24 tributes stepping into their pods ready to ascend to the arena.

10..9...8...

The countdown began.

3...2....1..

As the pods ascended the tributes found that there were two cornucopias this year, twelve tributes surrounding each one, boys facing the one on the right hand side, girls facing the one on the left.


The second countdown began.

10..9...8...

If the tributes were to step from their podium even a fraction earlier than they were supposed to, they would face a gruesome death. Which is exactly what happened when Marvin Tummel from district three lost his balance at the number seven, and exploded into tiny pieces.

6...5...4...3...2...

[Playle]

His father had slated him for being overly aggressive in his speech. ”Son, you fool, you’ll make no friends in the arena with such an attitude. Brains are as necessary as brawn!” That was what hovered over his mind as the countdown carried on. It was overriding in the time between selection and now – not one person seemed to approach Onyx. Even his mentor, Gemmeus Desiree, she seemed to treat Onyx like he was a rabid dog. She would give him advice, but avoided patronising out of fear. Even Amethyst, his fellow District 1 tribute, seemed to be distant. Maybe his father had been right? Maybe he’d made himself targeted?

Excelling through training, receiving a training score of 10 for his ferocity in hand-to-hand combat against a programmed fighting dummy, Onyx was pumped. He couldn’t wait for the games to start. He eyed up the cornucopia – a hammer, a backpack full of medical supplies, a tinderbox – they all looked ripe to be picked. Those were his targets. Not to get greedy, but they would keep him going. The hammer was blunt, would require force behind it, but his strength would do all the work with that kind of weapon. He was bound to get roughed up, medical supplies would help. And fire would be necessary for cooking meat.

The gore-spattered remains of District Three’s male tribute were sickening. And disappointing. ”I wanted that first kill” Onyx muttered under his breath. But then it was time to play. The 65th Annual Hunger Games were kicking off.

As the males rushed towards the cornucopia, he managed to grab the hammer and the tinderbox before some runt’s hands got in the way of other supplies. There was a real frenzy now for items, and he didn’t have time to watch the whole affair. Little Dill Gusset clambered in the way of Onyx. With one upwards swing from the hammer, he smashed into the youngster’s face splitting his face in twain. Bone crunched, blood streamed, tears poured down. Another blow or three from the hammer, the boy of District Eight was a smashed pulp of his former self.

Onyx bellowed victoriously, before running away with his gains towards the wooden bridge.

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Hanya was a klutz, evidently so by her stumbling towards and then away from the cornucopia. A drunken cow would have more stability. She wasn’t in the brawl of girls, but she wasn’t anywhere that close to the mountain of items. She hovered about, watching violence ensue, and reached for something – anything – before making a dash westwards. She couldn’t tell if it was a flashlight, a water bottle, something else – it was a cylindrical plastic item, with a string that she was holding. She ran away from the sounds, the scramble, the screams. All she felt was fear. All she had felt was fear, even during training and showing off. This was the real thing. This was the Hunger Games. Most probably, this would be her final hours, final days.

As she continued her westerly running, a barrage of stray arrows hailed after her. One struck true, right in her left forearm. The pain of the projectile was extreme, but the adrenaline rush kept her going. Her anatomical knowledge came in handy, knowing that the injury would be minorly disabling at best.

[PenguinNinja]

Alex had let the smile remain on his face as his pod came to the surface. All through training his plan had been to look too chipper to be here. Make him look soft. He'd avoided picking up anything. Had avoided doing much. What his Mentor had told him was to hold back. train but don't train. Look easy but pack a punch. And that was his plan. A measly four in training. A smirk started to ride his features. As he eyed the other boys in the area he couldn't help but let his eyes travel to the girls. An explosion dragged his eyes back and he bit his tongue to stop his smile from faltering.

6
5

Alex narrowed his eyes into the most menacing stare he could and finally settled on looking around the items. If he could grab an axe and a water bottle he would be fine. Fingers curled by his sides and he let the muscles in his arms tense. Chopping trees for a living had built up the muscles in his arms. Then everyone was moving. He moved straight for the axe that sat near the center, pushed the district twelve boy out of the way and even shoved district four so that he could wrap his fingers around the axe.

Next was a water bottle and he spotted a flourescent green thing on his way to the axe. He turned. Sprinted, let the axe wave in his arms to keep people away from him and spotted the green thing. He jumped a dead body. Ducked a sword and scooped the bottle up as he'd gone. Years of playing games through thick forests helped him dodge any other flailing arms and bodies as he followed the district one lad. At the last minute Alex continued on to the forest at the side of the lake. Trees were his homeground.
________________________________________________________

Tara gulped when they podium had risen. Trees. Water. Weapons. Nothing in the way of electronics or even a screwdriver. 'Please,' she said mentally. 'Let there be something.' As the countdown reached 7 she jumped and almost slipped from her own podium. Somebody was already gone.

She swallowed and focused on the items. In training she'd paid attention to the herbs and plants lessons, had foolishly mishandled weapons and had tried to stay out of the way of anybody and anything. Yet she'd scored a nice 8 with a nice mechanism she'd rigged to explode and catch fire to the training dummy from almost nothing.

Give her a screwdriver and something to work with.

It was time to move. She ran forward, halted, fumbled, whimpered and even stopped to turn and run a couple of times. After a few scary seconds she turned her eyes to the abandoned materials along the floor and spotted some wiring poking out of a bag. Her heart jumped into her mouth and she hoped, begged whoever was listening that there was something in there. With awkward steps and a whole lot of biting her lip and crouching she was able to grab the bag, throw it over her shoulder, turn and run.

Somebody nicked her arm with a sword, sent her flying but she managed to get herself back up and running within seconds. She ran for the forest nearest to the girls and just kept going through the trees.

[Tonks]

The atmosphere in the arena was full of adrenaline and fear. Shock spread quickly as Marvin from district three exploded across the field. Evelyn Hart from district five threw up in her mouth when she realised what had happened, but managed to swallow it quickly and stare at the girl's cornucopia.

Catalina from 4 noticed the bow straight away and didn't take her eyes off of it. As soon as the countdown ended she dived for it, grabbed it and rolled out of the way. She stood and began to run towards the trees, taking the opportunity to shoot Hanya from 10 with an arrow. She ran and ran and hoped the other careers would follow.

Amee Ricken from 1 went for the swords at the edge and grabbed two short swords, silver and shining with the reflection of the sun. She turned to see Windra from 11 stumbling about looking through bags, so stabbed her through the stomach with her right sword as she slit her throat with the left. She stopped to smile at Persephone from 2 before running after Catalina into the trees.

---------------------------------

Timley Auger from 12 went straight for what looked like a first aid kit, just as his mentor had suggested. In the blink of an eye he had been shoved to the floor by the boy from 7, and as his arm flailed forward a hidden bear trap in the grass clamped around his arm, blood and bone forced through his flesh. His screams travelled through the air as Chum from 4 was shoved. Chum looked at Timley and smiled, noticing several more bear traps around that side of the cornucopia. As Lorton from 5 went to run past him, Chum stopped him with his arm, grabbed the back of his head and threw him into another two bear traps. One smashed through his left knee cap but there were no screams, as the other pierced his neck and face; he was gone.

[Light]

The goodbyes had been as she had expected; her mother tearful, her father, a prick. The simple reassurances between her and her mother, the only one to whom she showed real affection, and then the train had whisked them away and the spectacle of the Capitol had engulfed them.

During the training, she had carefully watched the other Tributes, gauging what they could do, and mentally ticking off who needed to die first. 23 walking throats to slit. She'd also made some arrangements with the other Career Tributes, barring Onyx, who had seemed determined by his speech to alienate himself from the other Careers. The alliance with the others would be simply for mutual convenience, and she was by no means willing to trust any of them. Working alongside them simply got you closer, and when you were closer, it was much easier to get rid of them when they stopped being useful. Watch your back, sleep light with one eye open, trust no-one and don't discount your enemies. Anyone could be hiding skills they didn't want to come to light in the arena. So much training, and time with their previous Victors, and viewing the previous Games had proved this to be true in the past.

The training being what she was used to, she breezed through it, not ignoring the survival classes, which were deceptively important, and by the end of it all she had received a score of 10 from the Gamemakers, because she'd kept secret several of the weapons she was versed with, and the level of brutality in hand to hand combat to which she would go until the private sessions for the Gamemakers against the dummies, and sparring partners. That 10 was just another reason to watch her back as far as she was concerned. High numbers may as well be targets on your back sooner or later.

Now, during the countdown was just running over her mental rankings of the others when the explosion rocked the air, sending the gory giblets of the Male Tribute from Three showering the area around the second Cornucopia; the one where the males were gathered: 'Idiot' she thought briefly; that was half of District Three's prospects gone within four seconds. She eyed the Cornucopia, searching for useful items before the games started.

When the gong sounded, she leapt from the podium, straight towards the Cornucopia, and the curved sword she had spotted gleaming in the sun. With that in hand she spun round again, finding her first target: Kerry Livendale from District 8 was closest to her, reaching for a backpack. Persephone sliced through the other girl's outstretched arm, then as she reeled back, drove the blade into her chest. Wrenching it free, she caught a glimpse of Amee's smile, seeing her and Catalina run in the direction of the trees. The hunting was already starting. The Career boys would probably be done soon.

Who next? Lorna Hirren from 12 had either gotten bold or desperate, or hoped that she would be ignored for her size, because she had ventured close to the Cornucopia itself to grab some of the better survival equipment which lay close to the great horn. They wanted a show, she'd give them a show. Rushing at the District 12 girl, she lifted her with her free hand and slammed her against the Cornucopia, once, twice, and one final time. 'Fuck they're underfed in 12!" she thought; the girl had weighed almost nothing. She dropped the girl to the ground in a heap then stabbed the sword blade into her for good measure, before pulling it free again, grabbing a second sword from the rack and looking for another target.


______________________


Pod had to force himself not to cringe away from the splatter from the unfortunate boy from Three, lest he himself fall and be blasted apart by the mines. It was all he could do not to vomit, and force himself to look back to the Cornucopia. 'Think of the plan, think of the plan!' he forced himself to think it over.

He and Hanya had worked very closely with one another during the training, and they had agreed to work together for as long as possible to keep themselves and one another alive as long as they could. They'd also managed to get the two Tributes from Five on board; it had been difficult approaching anyone else really, and no way would the Careers take them, nor would they want to work with such brutal killers either. He just hoped that everyone else could make it to meet up; the Cornucopia split raised the stakes very high for them.

Then the gong sounded, and he made for the Cornucopia; he figured that they'd need at least one weapon, and of the Tributes, he probably had the best chance of bull-rushing his way through and back again whilst the Careers were busy gorging on kills. By some miracle, a fair amount of shoulder-barging, and staying the hell away from the Career males, he made it far enough to grab a knife, and much to his surprise, something he could actually use to a degree, a sickle, like the ones back home. He grabbed them, then ran back the way he had come, grabbing a backpack along the way, and taking a slice across the side from a thrown knife. He didn't look where it had come from, merely carried on running, catching a glimpse of little Lorton being killed by the boy from Four. He almost stopped there and turned back to avenge the poor boy, then realised all he'd be doing was getting himself killed, and leaving the two girls without another ally; he steeled himself and then carried on away from the Cornucopia, spotting Hanya pelting his way "Lets go!" he called to her, choking back tears; he hoped that Evelyn was out of the press at the second Cornucopia now, otherwise they'd have to go back towards the girl's Cornucopia to get her.

[Playle]

He planted one foot in front of the other, closing ground between himself and the bridge. It looked quite solid, it would definitely hold above the water and it wasn’t like Onyx could break it to give himself a head start on the others. In his striding bounds, he dashed from the violence. The hammer and tinderbox were under his arm, he had no real way to store and carry them in a manageable method at the moment. Maybe he could make a sling out of leaves or something? Practical skills weren’t his mainstay – maybe being from a richer district and having life served to you on a platter would be a problem. He would cope.

In his peripheral, he watched one of the fellow male tributes run into the woods. He could’ve sworn it was the boy from 7 – Alan Salmon was it? He couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t care. He eyed up the bridge with caution – it could be rigged with some kind of explosive or simply crumble under his step. But before he knew it, he was bolting across the wooden structure. The careers would be forming in their pack soon enough, and he had a gut feeling that at least the majority of them would be out to get Onyx. To clear as much distance as possible would be advantageous. Maybe he could get a feel for the arena, know how it worked, and then utilize it against them. He’d drive the hammer through the skulls of each and every tribute who came under his path.

He kept at his steady pace, heading over the bridge and then into some trees. He continued quick movements, he wouldn’t halt until the din of the cornucopia was gone.


--------------------------------

Hanya caught Pod in her sight. She went to wave before remembering the arrow lodged into her arm. The jarring pain made her feel sick, but she pressed on. She almost collided into Pod, and then she blurted out that she didn’t know where they needed to go. She hadn’t even had time to check the item in her hand, she just wanted to get out of the flurry of fighting occurring here. The tributes they were meant to work with were nowhere in sight – hopefully the hadn’t been killed. Another arrow flew past her head and brought her back to her senses.

“Pod, we need to go, NOW!”

Where, anywhere, but Hanya couldn’t stay in this cornucopia any longer.