#games: 25

[medeamizuko]

where: the lobby of the tribute facility who: anyone

"No- No, they're a tribute," Medea overheard the annoyed voice of the District 1 escort. Deeply engrossed in a heated discussion with a member of staff at the Tribute Facility, keeping a tribute from being cast out on the streets. Well, Medea thought, it might not have been the worst fate for a tribute. If they'd gone about it in a smart way, it could've meant freedom. A life of hiding and the fear of being caught, but freedom nonetheless. For whatever it was worth. "Did you not watch the Reaping?" came the shrill and final reprimand, before the escort herded the tribute away.

Medea snorted to herself. "This reaping twist is causing quite the commotion everywhere, it seems."

[miller-brick]

@mason-brick

By the time the Tribute Facility came into view, the tenderness across his cheek and around his throat had dulled, almost forgotten. He could pretend to forget about them anyway, at least until someone pointed them out. Right in that moment, only one thing demanded all of his attention.

Miller went up to the District 2 quarters. He wasn't strictly allowed there as a sponsor, but he managed. It wasn't difficult with the look of urgency on his face and a few bills in his hands to butter up the security guards. The District 2-trained peacekeepers who recognised him were even easier to get past, asking no questions and demanding nothing from him.

It was Mason that he found first in the common space of the third floor. A sigh slipped past his lips as he held his youngest brother by the arms. "How is he?" They needed a gameplan, needed to strategise, and they had so little time.

[calder-mizuko]

@coro-ryder

Admittedly, it had got a little late. Admittedly, there was nothing left in her to-do list pertaining to the Tribute Facility. Admittedly, she was supposed to be on her way back to Lucky's offices. She couldn't be compelled to do that just yet, though, given how utterly boring the network's office building was compared to this place. What was the rush anyway? Instead of rushing out like most of the other interns, Calder lounged on a sofa in the lobby, unbothered.

There was a woman nearby. She looked familiar enough that Calder knew the woman had to be a victor, though which district Calder couldn't say. "What do you usually do here after sundown?" she asked, solely because it was what was on her mind. "Do the tributes sleep at all?" What happened behind the scenes, when the cameras weren't running?

[cedarbirch]

For all the begging he'd done, Cedar had felt strangely intimidated by the pomp of it all. Lavishly dressed peoply, speaking of things he couldn't quite grasp. An axe, that he could grasp. An axe and a block of wood that needed splitting. Only when he'd set foot into the Tribute Facility did Cedar realize that the next time he'd be touching an axe would be to kill someone.

He wrangled with his conscience, fought hard to remember that he'd done this for those who wouldn't be able to defend themselves like he would.

Only problem? He had not yet figured out whether he wanted to fight to live or die for those who deserved it more.

With the tribute parade over and the tree bark that had clung to his skin discarded, Cedar made his way back up to his floor. The Tower was horribly crowded once those festivities had concluded. All tributes presented, wheeled back and forth on those devilish chariots, and now all the sponsors were back to see the tributes from up close. "Uh, could I pass, perhaps?" Cedar spoke, deep voice rumbling in his chest as he tried to reach the elevators.

[julemaxwell]

where: rooftop of the tribute facility who: open

Her fingers wrapped around the metal of the fence that surrounded the rooftop. Jule leaned her forehead against the cool surface, looking out over the lower rooftops of the city as her teeth sank into her bottom lip.

When she looked back towards the expanse of the rooftop, a person had joined the sad collection of potted plants. "D'you think someone just had a couple too many of these dumb plants in their apartment and was looking for a place to dispose of them?" she halfheartedly joked. "Seems like it."

[mars-bellegarde]

task one: self para | reaping

With the announcement of the rules for the first Quarter Quell, Mars was required to put in their votes to elect the two tributes for the Games. Despite not having stepped foot in District Three for almost thirteen years, they hadn’t been isolated from people from their home district. Though they wouldn’t vote for any of the people that they worked with, or the students that they had taught briefly when they came for internships. Instead, Mars opted to vote for an old teacher that they thought had been a bitch to them along with a boy–now an adult man--that had played a prank to embarrass Mars in front of their class. Mars hoped that they were still alive, at least.

The reaping itself had usually become background noise for Mars while they worked on whatever project preoccupied them. They’d listen in when it was time for District Three before returning the majority of their focus back to work. This year it was a little different, when they were reminded that the Reaping was about to air, Mars simply told the woman, a coworker who grew up in the Capitol, that they were too busy and they’d find out who was reaped when they arrived at the Capitol anyway.  “You do realize that you are also a potential candidate for these games right?” she said, a look of disbelief on her face as Mars shrugged and turned their music back up. The woman yelled over the music, “You can be reaped, Mars, wouldn’t you want to know that you were or not?”

Mars sighed, looking back at their coworker with a smile, “Let it be a surprise!” They turned back to their work and didn’t know how long their coworker remained there; if they were reaped, they knew that the Capitol would send people to let them know and to remove them from their work. Besides, who would really vote for them – are there a lot of people in Three that actually remember them at this point?

[theoldtherebeforehq]

Panem - July 4th, Year 25

On July 4th, assembling for the annual Reaping Ceremony is a quiet affair. This is not unusual in the slightest, though for the 25th Anniversary of the Hunger Games, the atmosphere is one of resolve instead of resignation.

The registration stations have been intensively upgraded. In every district, there are now twice the registers than ever before, twice the administrators, and twice the peacekeepers maintaining order. This year, it is not just the 12-21 year-olds who need to report for attendance. Nobody is exempt.

25 long years after the Capitol smashed the rebels' efforts to pieces even in the furthest corners of the nation, this occasion is a special one. The votes have been counted. Where the bowls usually brim with with names to the very top, only one piece of paper now sits on the bottom of each.

The tributes are called to the stage. Farewells are delivered, some more tearful than others. Then, along with everyone within their teams, they board the trains bound for the Capitol, where the Tribute Facility has been made ready yet again to welcome them.

Interactions in the Tribute Facility are now open!

[margotflint]

Margot'd had high hopes that perhaps, if she simply stayed in her room enough, avoided her escort and mentors, kept her head low during the parade, maybe she would be forgotten about. Existence and mere presence overwritten by something more interest, someone more eager to be here.

She knew none of this was fate. None of this was particularly fair.

All she had done was follow whispers, spread leaflets with ink on them, words calling for District Twelve's people to take a stand against the Capitol's relentless exploitation.

She hadn't blown up that mine. She had been nothing but a politicians last ditch effort at saving himself.

Her high hopes went unanswered. Come morning of the 6th of July, cameras barged onto the floor they shared with other Districts, and sooner rather than later, she found herself out on the hallway at the behest of her escort. Confronted with a camera at every angel, eager crew members asking for commentary of the elusive tribute from District Twelve.

It was entirely overwhelming. While Margot tried to make sense of things, she instinctively clung onto a person passing by, grabbing for their wrist to pull them into her room. To safety, to somewhere calmer. "Help me," she hissed.

It was a split second decision. One that, perhaps, she would come to regret in just a moment.

[scribble-of-stars]

I need neil josten to chew somebody out again like he did with riko so vehemently, no mercy to be found, he was locked and loaded within seconds. He took one look at riko and decided to ruin his ENTIRE LIFE without hesitation. I miss it. The antagonism of it all. Neil "I have a bit of an attitude problem" Josten was not only there to play stupid games, he was there to win those stupid prizes. And he sure won those stupid prizes and more.

[ruiiplume]

Happy 25th anniversary to Ocarina of Time 🎉🎉🎉

[thelostmoongazer]

project sekai girlies....................... heed my call...........

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[miller-brick]

@mars-bellegarde

Even without checking the time, Miller knew he was running late to the Canvilles' party. That was usually something inconsequential. This time, however, he felt a slight unease, if only because there was something he needed from them now. Unlike him, the Canvilles had sponsored for the Games for years. Their support and sway might just be critical in getting Smith out of the arena.

It was on his way for the exit that he noticed Marcene Bellegarde sitting in the lobby with a drink.

The Canvilles certainly weren't the only people he needed to win over.

"Can I get you another?" Miller offered, gesturing to the glass in their hand. "And before you say no, don't worry, I'm not trying to poach you this time. But I do have a different offer."

[calder-mizuko]

@mason-brick

"Are you-" Calder looked down at her notes, which were written on a crumpled piece of paper. "Brick? Escort- Mason Brick?" She switched to her phone and scrolled down even more notes. It took a second, but the right entry finally popped up. "Okay, here we go. Lucky wants to know if Three's tributes have any questions they want asked in the interviews. Any--and I'm quoting here--'fun techy anecdotes'? And also--again, quoting--'are they smart, like District Three smart'? Lucky's people want everything emailed by EOD." That seemed to be the end of the message. After reading a few more lines down to herself, however, Calder frowned, beginning to doubt herself. "Wait, are you the escort for District Three?"

[soapyakships]

this heat sure is abnormal

[julemaxwell]

IS EVERYBODY GOING CRAZY? // SELF PARA.

"As for the female Tribute for District 5... Jule Maxwell."

Jule would've snorted in disbelief had she not felt so numb in that moment. Blood rushing in her ears as she made her way through the suffocating crowd, people of all ages mingled in the Reaping square. A minute minute sigh of relief seemed to leave them as a collective, some looking at her pityingly, some with satisfaction, the rest not at all.

She shoulder checked a girl who didn't get out of her way on her own who smirked to her friends as Jule passed by.

Jule had to grit her teeth too keep the venomous words from passing over her tongue, clenched her hands to fists while walking towards the stage.

Up there, she was met with much of the same. What surprised her, was that they mayor himself, who had blown their entire shared story up like he had, didn't look at her.

Perhaps he simply wouldn't. Or, he couldn't.

Perhaps, he hadn't quite considered that her choice had merely robbed him of an expensive bottle of booze. His choice would kill her.

Jule shook Vybe's hand on stage, glancing at them for only a moment before they were both herded off towards the train. She didn't yet know why they were here, but Jule knew she would find out one way or another. It seemed the people from Five voted with hatred in their heart. It would not surprise her if it were the same when it came to Vybe.

Did that make them allies, though?

She pondered that thought as she sat in a seat near the window of the train, watching the landscape flit by. An electronic cage, moving at high speed.

Allies or not, she probably wouldn't be able to trust anyone.

Lies looked better gilded, but they were lies nonetheless.