titaniawilcox-of11
Peacekeepers, in a way, did the job they intended to do. When one entered the glass dome, each tribute fell silent one by one, turning to watch with a range of emotions flashing over their features. Honora felt her heart sink right down into the pit of her stomach at the sight, and even lower when the video message began to play. Her grandma’s mantra for her repeated in her head -- Bad luck runs in your veins, girl. Typically the President plus Peacekeepers plus a party for lunatics equaled something along the lines of horrible. The beginning of the message was a little lost over her head, dreading what the fuss would be about. “...Two tributes will partake in a small fight, not to the death, as our entertainment for the evening. This is to be just a small preview into what we have in store for the games. The tributes, having been randomly selected, will be as follows: Honora Bancroft.”
And there it was. The bad luck. Bile raising in Honora’s throat, she wet her dry lips with an even drier tongue, wishing for a goblet of the cool purple liquid back in her fingers. In her moment of panic, she nearly missed the next name called out, eyes locking on to the brunette girl who reacted to the name. Titania Wilcox. At least it wasn’t one of the other larger tributes, though this one looked a little menacing despite the overly floral designs patterning her body. Stepping forward into the growing empty space, Honora did her best to shake that lingering feeling that this couldn’t be happening. The Reaping had started it, hearing her name for the first time. The party didn’t help her denial, and now once more, her name had been announced. Eyes flashed up and down the girl, scanning for hints. Honora wasn’t a fighter. Tumbles with her brothers, sure. Beating through a crowd, absolutely. But her arms were strong, and unlike the brunette, her feet were free of heels and the once hated lack of clothing coverage now seemed to benefit her, unlike the folds of the heavy looking dress draping over Titania. Next, Honora’s gaze turned to the other tributes, searching out a couple of familiar faces, hoping to find something similar of support. And then, to Titania’s striking blue hues. “Best of luck,” She mumbled, offering what she could muster of a smile, though the words rang with obvious insincerity. Honora had a thing about killing, but not about defense.