Whatever he'd heard about Medea Mizuko, good and bad, was an understatement. Alluring, sure, but equally as intimidating. His muscles involuntarily clenched up as he started his way towards her. After seeing what she'd done in the arena, Smith was willing to take any advice she wanted to offer. He might not have been the best student, but funny how life and death situations made him an eager listener.
"Medea, I gotta say you look even better in person," he said, hating that he started with a cheesy line. It was just second nature to Smith. "Yeah, I'm Smith. Actually heading into the Games myself in case you didn't know. Hope it's not too much to ask, but are you able to spare some words of wisdom for little 'ole me?"
Smith couldn't bear to look at him. They forced him out of Two, but a part of his father still followed him all the way to Capitol. Really, what a fucking coincidence that both of his brothers just so happened to be involved in the Games this time around. Did they plan this? Did they know? Smith wouldn't dare to imagine a thing from Mason, but Miller? Once so far removed and now Smith couldn't avoid him no matter how desperately he wanted to. He was sure that the guy was so up their father's ass that he would be happy to go along with whatever half-baked plan to make a son of his a victor. He'd felt no comfort having Miller there. No, his leering presence made it that much worse.
Just as he had gone the entire day without seeing him, Smith eyed his brother at the other end of the hall. Too embarrassed to turn the other way, he decided that it might be best to face him head-on. That he would make it clear that he wanted nothing to do with Miller. "Watch where you're going," he spat out, shoving him with his shoulder.
where; the cafeteria of the Tribute Facility
whomst; open
Vybe was staring. They knew it. But god, where on earth did the Capitol get so much food? According to their Mentor they needed to fatten up before the Games started but they could only do that if they made up their mind as to what to eat. This just felt excessive. Vybe didn't even recognize most of it.
"We're really allowed to eat any of this?" They asked incredulously. "This feels like some kind of test. Or trap. Or both? Probably both."
Smith was shoveling his plate into his mouth as passersby glared at him in disgust. If anything, he was only enjoying what the Capitol had to offer. It was only fair considering that they were going to starve him for the next few weeks. If it was some sort of test, Smith was more than happy to fail.
"Who cares? It's not like they're gonna poison us. Hey, you gonna eat that?" Without waiting for an answer, he stole a piece of fruit off the other's plate.
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."
Smith let out a low whistle as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. Everyone in the Capitol was so fucking dramatic. If anything, the escort should have kept their mouth shut and let them go. Not like they really cared, right? He looked up only to lock eyes with the other tribute, giving them an understanding nod. They were made to be their shiny new toys and yet they couldn't even remember their faces.
"Commotion? It's fucked is what is it," he spat out under his breath. "Who'd they vote in from your district? Or, are you someone from the Capitol I should give a shit about?"
Where: District Two
When: Reaping Day
Who: @smithsbrick
Today was the day. The day where Mason got to start his new job as District Two's Escort. He was excited to get a bit of independence and even make his own money, but he couldn't help but have a bit of dread deep in his stomach. It would only be a week or two, but he was really going to miss his brother.
The day had started early but that was okay, Mason had hardly slept anyway. The two younger brothers had arrived at the Reaping earlier than most. Not only was it because Mason just hated being late, he wanted to get there early enough to say proper goodbyes to his brother before having to go to the stage and then leave for the Capitol.
Mason got checked in and once Smith was as well, he turned to look at his older brother. "You feeling okay?" He asked, small smile on his face. "I'm gonna miss you a lot but I swear the time will fly by and I'll be back before you know it. Or, you know, it's not too late to sneak into my suitcase." Mason suggested, holding his hands up innocently. "What are you going to do to keep yourself entertained?" He asked curiously. "Nothing too bad, I hope?"
Today was bullshit. Everyone knew it. Some overeager kid from the academy would be voted in as tribute while the rest of them had to pretend to be excited. Smith would have gladly skipped the reaping altogether if he wasn't already on thin ice with the district's Peacekeepers.
It had nothing to do with the fact that it would be the last day he would have with Mason before he got shipped off to the Capitol. Nope. He wasn't even thinking about the fact that he was going to be stuck with their shitty parents for the next few weeks in a few hours. Smith plastered on a smile for Mason's sake, ignoring the anger simmering in his head.
"I'll be fine, Mase. I get to look through your shit while you're gone," he joked before elbowing his brother. He was fine. Smith Brick would be fine. At least he wasn't being thrown into the arena. "I still got the boys, you know. Maybe I'll even hit up that trainer who's always giving me the eyes." Smith mimicked the look for Mason, trying to get a laugh out of him. "You're gonna have to tell me all about the babes in the Capitol when you get back. Just don't party too much without me, alright?"
✗ CONFIDENTIAL TRIBUTE FACILITY SIGN UP SHEET records the attendance of SMITH BRICK, a TRIBUTE from DISTRICT TWO. The applicable authorities may note, that the 19 year old MALE (HE/HIS) is PROUD, SOCIABLE, ENERGETIC, but has also been known to be ANTAGONISTIC, IMPULSIVE, AGGRESSIVE. Similarities in appearance can be seen with CHARLIE GILLESPIE. According to previous reports, they’re often associated with THE EARLY DAWN FOLLOWING A BAD NIGHT OUT AND BLOODY, BRUISED KNUCKLES AFTER ONE TOO MANY DRINKS.
BIO
Smith Brick–blink and you’ll miss it. As the resident shit-stain on the family name, it’s hard to believe that he stands alongside his brothers, Miller and Mason. While his parents had worked hard to bring up the Bricks as the institution it is today, Smith’s very existence seems to be contrary to the name altogether. His father may have stressed how important their legacy is, but the troublesome middle child had other plans. Not that Smith cared to listen to the guy who treated his children like trophies. No, he’d sooner follow his brothers into war than hear what his parents had to say. Despite their differences, Smith couldn’t imagine not having both Mason and Miller by his side through it all.
Hot-headed and temperamental, Smith always thought that he got the short end of the stick. They might have been hard on Miller with all the responsibilities they put on the poor guy and they got on Mason’s case cause the kid was too soft, but Clayton and Paloma looked at Smith as if he were nothing more than dirt on their all-too expensive shoes. Then again, he wasn’t one to argue if they were funding his lifestyle. So what if he set a fire or two and became a regular in the Peacekeeper’s holding cells? The two never expected much from him anyway.
Everyone said the Hunger Games used to be scary–bad, even. That kids from Two worried about hearing their names called to the stage. Smith, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit. What did he care about people from his district volunteering for their deaths? With so many kids offering themselves as tributes, it wasn’t as if he’d seen it as a threat. Those idiots could chase the glory if they wanted–Smith Brick had better things to do.
Maybe that’s why it made being at the Career Academy all the more a pain in Smith’s ass. Well, not that he had much of a choice. Smith struggled during his time there, constantly getting into fist-fights with other students and landing himself in detention more often than he attended class. He might have been a gifted fighter but Smith lacked the focus and discipline as a Career. The training was pointless when violence seemed inherent in the Brick bloodline.
After pulling Miller out of the Career Academy, Smith was naturally next in line as a potential volunteer. As fucking if. Clayton Brick being on his deathbed was not his problem. All he had to do was coast by like he always had at his family’s expense until he could collect his inheritance. Shocking just about everybody, the old man got better and his parents returned to their old ways. Miller, heir apparent, was moved up the ladder in the family company while Smith remained an afterthought.
When the 25th Hunger Games came around, Smith was dealt a crushing blow–Mason would be leaving for the Capitol as District Two’s new escort. A cause for celebration for the newly announced Quarter Quell but, to Smith, it meant being left alone with his parents. Even though he wasn’t jumping at the chance to join them, the thought of being the only kid to deal with his father’s harsh criticisms made it that much worse. As his older brother was already implanted among those rich snobs and his younger onto bigger and better things, it was clear that Smith wasn’t deemed worthy enough to stand alongside them after all.
Or, so he thought. He learned that his father planned to send him to the Capitol when his brother called his name during the reaping. Smith Brick would be a tribute for the first Quarter Quell, voted in by his neighbours. It was a miracle that his father managed to wrangle up the votes and keep it under wraps, but Smith wouldn’t put anything past him. With two sons involved in the Hunger Games for the first time, it was inevitable that they would throw the disposable child into the fold. And, of course, Smith wasn’t going to volunteer. No, his father would just have to do it for him. Clayton would get his victor one way or another.
As a Career, he understands the importance of strategy and technique but isn’t afraid to hit below the belt if he has to. As skilled as he is in a bare-knuckle brawl, Smith’s at his best with a mace or club in hand. Known as “Smit-head” in Two, his need for attention (as the typical middle child) comes at the cost of looking like an asshole. Though, you might catch his sentimental side at the mention of his brothers. It would explain why he brought a ring from Two, stolen from his brother’s desk, to remind him what he’s fighting for. None of that shit his father wants him from him. ‘Cause if Smith has to play the game, fuck it, he’s going to play it his own way.
