( chris hemsworth , cis man , he/him ) did you see them ?! that was STONE OAKLAND, the winner of the 67TH hunger games. they’re back for the 92nd games as a TRIBUTE, and you know they’re one of my favourites! the FORTY ONE year old brought such honour to DISTRICT 7 when they won their games with AN AXE AND BRUTE STRENGTH. they’re known all over panem for being so CHARISMATIC despite being so STOIC. they remind me of the peace and calmness of wild rain in the woods, joy and laughter in the empty skeleton of a burned down house,worn out leather boots after a long day of work, and and when i think of them, i think of DEAD MAN WALKING by nomy.
stats
Full Name: Stone Brian Oakland
District: Seven
Age: 41
Date of Birth: July 26th
Eye Color: Ice Blue (original) ice blue and brown (current)
Hair Color: Blonde (appears dark blonde when short)
Skin Color / Ethnicity: Caucasian
Distinctive Physical Features: one eye replaced with robotics post his Games
Height: 6′8
Weight: 255 lbs
Income Level: Wealthy
Education Level: dropped out of school at the age of sixteen
Occupation: Tribute Victor/ TV personality
Biological Parents: Flint and Summer Oakland (deceased)
Siblings: Evelyn Oakland (deceased)
Children: daughter (TBC)
bio
tw:death, ptsd, young parenthood
It's a life he's never thought he'd have.
Reckless, curious and instinctive was what Stone's father used to describe him as. Rebellious. When his best friend was reaped during the 66th Games, Stone got in trouble for voicing his opinions way too loudly. When his best friend's body was brought back to District 7 in a wooden box, discarded like the boy was nothing, Stone did everything he could to prove otherwise. When he was reaped for the 67th Games at the age of sixteen, no one in his family were too surprised.
Like many tributes before him, and then after him, Stone tried to rebel. Speaking up for the injustices only resulted in more of them pilling up, but the young man never stopped. Handsome, and tall, and with fit from all the hard work that was signature to his district, he was a Sponsor favourite, but it did little to help him in his Arena. Not killing was not an option, and when he left his arena victorious and with the nickname of The Executioner attached to him, everyone knew why. Stone knew he would never be able to wash the blood off his hands. When he returned to his District, only to find his parents and his younger sister dead from mysterious circumstances, he knew the blood would never be coming off.
But the law of surprise visited even someone as unlucky as a boy who celebrated his 16th birthday in the Arena. Months later, his daughter was born, when both parents were so young themselves. A family lost and mourned soon followed another family gained, and whilst he was too young and too stupid to marry the mother of his daughter, he looked after them. When the Capitol demands came, he listened, squelching that rebellious spirit and doing as told, slowly but surely drowning in the nightmares that never went away. His daughter was his world, and he wanted a better future for the world, even if it was an impossible task.
Every attempt to stray away, to break the rules, to rebel, were squashed just as quickly as they were found out. A warning came in the form of the death of Stone's daughter's mother, and he was left a single father. To many, the Games never ended, and to Stone, the Capitol had a leverage he wasn't willing to give up. So he broke himself, played the puppet, sent someone else's kids away to their deaths every year, only managing to get a few of them back whilst his own daughter grew. And when she finally became of age when she couldn't be reaped, Stone knew that his horrors weren't over. He was nothing but a toy, a plaything, a puppet to the regime he loathed.
So when his name was pulled out of the reaping bowl once more - and it wasn't so surprising - he finally knew that it was time to go all in. A nightmare had to end someday.
they really do feel for those going back into the arena. all of them, reaped or volunteered, being faced with all that they had believed to be buried in the past. he thinks of his own arena, revisits it in the night and jolts awake with a scream lodged in the back of his throat. sweating, breathless, quivering with a fear they attempt to smother with each new day that greets them. it never will leave them, so integral to who they are, and siku cannot even begin to imagine the prospect of facing it all over again. “oh, man. i’m sorry.” he sighs, his head tilting as he looks to stone. he knows all of their names, eager to connect with the other victors, all of them who know what it feels like to have survived it all. “i can’t even imagine.” head shaking, siku falls back against the couch and glances to the large windows, the fireworks erupting into the night sky, the sounds of which make them flinch.
it’s weird to sit here and watch these screens, to judge the outfits, the reactions that come with them. to mentor those tributes he has already seen through a games, and not that long ago either. sighing, he reaches to run a hand over the back of his neck, tension stiffening his spine. “maybe i had too high expectations. i almost thought… maybe they’d gotten attached to us at some point.”
“It’s okay. A sorry’s not going to do much now.” Perhaps it was harsh, but it was the unfortunate truth. What would help, is people standing up against all of it, people rioting and finally bringing all of this horror down. Then again, no one cares when children go and do the same, so who’d care about some older Victors going through fresh horrors again? Perhaps a few Capitolites will cry, but those who matter the most are most likely long gone. “And I’d rather you don’t get to imagine or experience it.” Stone was getting used to his life probably ending soon anyway, because in a way, that’d mean he’d be finally free; no one would watch his every step, control his life, tell him what he do. He could finally breathe.
That thought alone was freeing, in a way, and for the first time in a very long time, Stone felt like speaking up. Almost gone was the need to monitor his every word – at least in front of other Victors. “Do you really have such high hopes? We’re like puppies for spoilt children. They’ll be upset for a few moments, then move on once someone better is presented to them.”
Dyna caught the way his balance faltered, but not without adjustment, and gave the smallest nod of approval. He wasn’t wrong. Offense was often the best defense. They just knew too well how fast instincts like that could cut both ways in an arena that thrived on punishing habits. “That’s not a bad instinct,” Dyna said, steady and matter‑of‑fact, their tone wrapped in that polished Capitol clarity but softened at the edges. “It got you out alive before. But it also leaves you open in case someone’s waiting for that exact reaction. You grab, you’re rooted. Momentum dies. Makes you an easier target for whoever’s circling.”
They stepped back into stance again, shifting their weight with that quiet fluidity that came from thousands of drills, a sharp contrast to the lumbering strength he carried. Their eyes didn’t leave his. “So we’ll build on it. Keep the instinct, but give it flexibility. Let yourself redirect instead of just anchoring down.”
Dyna pressed forward again, just enough pressure to test, watching the way his body adjusted. This time, they nudged a little higher, toward his chest. “Breathe with it, don’t brace against it. Let me move you, then take the space it gives you instead of fighting the pressure head‑on.”
A faint smile tugged at their mouth then, the rare, companionable kind that slipped through when they weren’t thinking about the eyes above the glass. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep the timber jokes out of it. Though,” they added, almost wry, “I can’t promise I won’t laugh if you take me down by accident.”
Inside, though, something twisted. Stone’s jokes, his composure; none of it hid the fact that he was here again, a man who’d already survived the Capitol’s spectacle once being dragged back for another round. And all Dyna could do was stand here, training him to bend and shift against pressure, when every part of them wanted to find a way to push back at the system itself.
“Again?” they asked quietly, settling into stance once more.
For now least, he wasn’t making a fool out of himself. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that whilst he could manage a lot with the strength and other advantages he had, Stone could only do so much with agility. He wasn’t as flexible as perhaps he was twenty five years ago, and he certainly had gone through plenty since to keep him from improving in that sense. “I’d say, that’s pretty bad.” Or so it seemed from his standpoint as a mentor. Funny how he had mentors of his own now. “Isn’t that exactly what everyone else will focus on? Using our strengths against us. All of us were winners once.” Funny how those people who’d probably try to murder him in a week’s time will be someone he joked, interacted, drank and remained friendly with for quarter of a century. That alone was horrifying, absolutely anger-inducing, and it took everything in him to constantly remain calm.
He nodded along as the trainer spoke, taking in every word that was told to him. He had to, if he wanted to have some sort of chance of survival. Besides, she was actually decent, not fawning over him or acting completely out of line, lost most did. It was refreshing.
“By accident? I bet you’re more likely to take me out like that.” Stone joked back. It was easier to joke than be serious, because serious actually meant focusing on his thoughts. And there was nothing happy there.
At their offer, he settled once more, moving to stand in preparedness for another supposed attack. “If you’ve got plenty of time, I’d like to keep going until I’m confident in this. It’d probably take weeks and weeks, but I don’t exactly have all the time in the world.”
"n-no, i don't think i that's why i came here." the way she said it, she seemed terribly unsure herself. like her feet had carried her here without her even noticing, without any real involvement from her mind. iris often felt like that -- like she had to figure herself out, like she wasn't entirely in control of her body. so she lingered near the wall, palm pressed to it to keep herself upright, or keep herself grounded, maybe. she frowned.
"i think i was just looking for people." she thought that to be a reasonable conclusion -- she hated being on her own. especially now, especially when she couldn't sleep anyway, now every minute seemed like a dreadful hour, but an hour iris couldn't miss. she swallowed down some rising panic at the thought -- oh jeez, she was gonna be dead soon. she couldn't really afford to sleep, could she?? she eyed the tv, tried to distract herself from how tired she felt, how close she was to just falling asleep on the spot--
"hey, it's that me?" it was. just for a split second as stone flipped through channels, iris caught a glimpse of herself. she reminisced on it immediately, skeptically. like it had never truly dawned on her that she'd been on camera plenty of times, that people would watch the footage, that she could stumble across it like this. huh. how interesting. it made her wander closer, however hesitantly, like the image would come back to her that way so she could linger on it further. it didn't come back. she crossed her arms.
"i... i can't really sleep, y'know? but then i guess you can't either. maybe i could sleep, if i really wanted to, i mean. i think i'm just scared to. are you scared to go sleep?" she didn't look at stone as she asked, staring at the tv instead.
“You’re missing out, then.” Stone joked dryly, keeping his eyes on the screens but not really watching anything. It was all the same, over and over again, the same horror. Until familiar faces began flashing on the screen, jolting him out of that peaceful numbness, finally making him look away. “I’m sure there’s plenty of us who can’t exactly get a good night’s sleep nowadays.” His composure softened when he looked over at the visitor. She was even younger than his daughter, and already having to face something so horrific twice in her lifetime. Anger flared, not at her, but at the injustice, at the Capitol, at the people who were sitting around being nothing but complacent. Excited, even.
“Probably.” Stone was quick to reach for the remote. And whilst he wasn‘t the best when it came to technology, at least he knew how to change the channel to something a little less drastic. Although nowadays, everything on TV was about the sensational new-but-old tributes. „We will be all they‘ll be paying attention to for the next couple of weeks. Until we‘re no longer around.“
It was awful, honestly, seeing someone so young struggling so much already. „No, I can‘t.“ Stone admitted with a small nod, offering the girl a smile. „I think most of us are scared of that, and I‘d be lying to you if I said it changes. Nothing ever really goes away, and you get used to running on little sleep.“
status: open
where: one of the floors of the tribute center
Flicking through the limited amount of Capitol's TV channels, Stone was met with just about the same thing. One channel was reviewing the chariot rides, dissecting every single outfit, every single look on every single Victor-turned-Tribute faces. Every single movement. As if there was something to it, as if they were overjoyed to be back to the horrors they never thought they'd return to.
Another channel showed snippets of the previous Games, and the debates was something Stone couldn't listen to. Would one of the tributes use the same tactics that turned them into a Victor? Or would they try something new?
The third channel was a mix of the previous two, going over and over about which Victor they would miss the most. Like all of this was nothing but a game.
Continuing to flip through the channels, Stone didn't react when footsteps approaching him. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep, and he knew he had to get used to that once more. "Came here for some prime time Capitol entertainment?"
Dyna let out a short breath ( close to a laugh, if a restrained one ) and shook their head slightly. Stone’s voice still carried that dry, grounded humor that came from people who’d lived long enough to understand just how little was ever really in their control. It was oddly comforting, in a way. Most of the tributes walked in trying too hard to act unshaken. Stone didn’t bother.
“Stronger winds,” Dyna echoed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of their mouth. “Well, good thing I don’t plan on letting you get knocked down that easy.”
They stepped back onto the mat, motioning for him to join with a quiet, fluid gesture. No fanfare. Just intention. Their stance shifted as they moved; balanced, measured, a clear contrast to Stone’s heavier presence.
“Alright, we’ll keep it simple to start,” Dyna said. “Weight distribution and movement. You plant too hard, you’re easier to take down. Stay light, use your momentum, especially against someone smaller or faster.”
They raised their hands slightly, palms open in a neutral stance.
“I’m going to press into your shoulder, nothing sharp, just enough force to knock you off balance. You don’t resist. You adjust. Let your body shift with the pressure instead of pushing back.”
At least the other laughed, accepting Stone’s cheesy sense of humor. Granted, many people laughed, often Capitolites who were after very particular things from him; but the trainer had nothing to gain out of him. If anything, even when he was pushing forty, Stone still had plenty of learn; especially now that he was going back into the Arena. „Bit of a goal you got there. Although, if that keeps away the ‚Timber!’ jokes, I’ll do whatever it takes.” Stone mused. Perhaps he was in a too good of a mood for someone who was certainly a dead man walking, but over the years, he had learned to see things in a more joyful light. Or, to some, it might just be a macabre light.
Following the guidelines, Stone positioned himself on the mat, looking down at his feet as the other pointed out him planting too hard. “Most of my tactic used to be not to let anyone that near.” His words remained light, despite the weight it actually carried. The mechanical eye and the light scarring around the eye socket were proof that all of the attempts weren’t really dodged. There was never leaving the Games, and the memories remained the reality many years down the line. „Always ready.“
Furrowing his brows a little in concentration, pushing the jokes aside, Stone let the trainer push him lightly, relaxing his body enough to allow it to react to the push. Taking a step back to balance himself, maybe not as gracefully as one would wish. "See, my first instinct is to grab one of the hands and twist them. Offense is the best defense and all."
open to — everyone, location — ground floor of the training centre, a few hours following the tribute parade.
they watch the reruns playing out on screens larger than their pre-arena home, dark eyes examining every movement from the way their tributes wave, to the reaction of the crowd as it roars in response to such a momentous hunger games. it’s hard not to despair, to watch friends going back into the hell he himself had lived through. it feels like so long ago now, like the arena spat him out into the world and turned him into someone new, someone broken and battered, but primed to fight. eyes closing, exhaustion seems to wear heavily upon them, drooping their shoulders as the night ticks its way towards morning. the floor is mostly empty, with siku watching the screens from one of the plush sofas, a drink clutched between long fingers, grip growing tighter as they take in the tribute parade from just hours before. footsteps call their attention, dragging their eyes from the screen to a new companion, another awake at such an ungodly hour. “couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice retaining its almost boyish quality despite the hour. “it’s too loud outside. they always party after the parade. makes me wonder what exactly they’re celebrating.”
"Gotta start getting used to it again." Stone joked dryly as he approached the sofa, and the large screens. Then again, when had he stopped getting used to it? Twenty five years ago, good food, fancy clothes or fancy roof over his head were luxuries, but now, it was sleep. A good night's sleep was as rare as a blue moon, and at this point, Stone had stopped chasing it.
Settling down on the couch, the tribute looked back at the screen, trying to judge it as if he was a mentor again. Instead, seeing himself on the screen made him feel like he was a kid once more. "Really, you still wonder? The folk out there are about to see people they've been watching on these screens for years, battle it out once again. They're thrilled for our upcoming deaths."
who: dyna emery & open
where: the training center, combat station 4
Dyna stood near the hand-to-hand mat, arms loosely crossed, one hip resting against the edge of a padded divider. The training hall buzzed around her. Metal clashing, voices murmuring, tributes rotating between stations like pieces on a game board. Above it all, the Gamemakers watched from their perch, sipping from crystal glasses like they were here for a show.
She’d learned not to look up at them.
Instead, she focused on the mat beneath her feet, the scuff marks worn in from too many hours of contact drills. The station had always been her favorite, something about the simplicity of it. No weapons. No theatrics. Just movement. Precision. Breath.
Footsteps approached. She glanced up as a victor turned tribute stepped into the station. Someone familiar, though that wasn’t saying much. They were all familiar.
She offered a small nod, letting her arms drop to her sides.
“Morning,” she said, voice low but even, the Capitol crispness softened at the edges. “This is Station Four. Hand-to-hand.” A faint breath of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “We’ll start slow. Basic stance, then reaction drills. No need to impress anyone.”
Her eyes flicked briefly - just once - toward the glass above.
Twenty five years ago he stood here as a tribute, a terrified kid, thinking that this would be it. Now, as Stone approached the place he often had to lead his tributes to, everything felt surreal. Suddenly, he was back to being that stubborn and reckless kid from Seven, someone who thought that they could bring the world down but also not live to see another day.
Not much had changed changed over that quarter of a century, and now, as Stone approached one of the stations, he expected the exact same thing; to not see another sunrise on Seven.
"Morning." He mumbled in return, tired from the lack of sleep. That was a given nowadays, and something he knew he'd have to quickly switch back to. And whilst he kept in quite the shape over those years - as required - his age was starting to show.
"Might not be as easy." He was tall, and big, and was well aware of his strengths, as well as many weaknesses. And whilst the occassion was a grim one, he knew he had to at least have some kind of fun. Otherwise, going even more insane was not an option. Still, the older man followed the trainer's requests. "The taller one is, the harder it is to stay on their feet. Stronger winds and all." He added jokingly.
