74th hunger games

jules charbonnier. district 12. tribute in the 74th hunger games.

[wastefulyears]

oxford-dwitt‌:

Ox opened his fist against the wall to press his fingertips into the texture. The roughness soothed him for a moment. He turned and pressed his back against the wall. Crossing his arms across his chest, he sized up the man in front of him again. D12 had a small, retreating figure and a slouch that betrayed his insecurity. Ox only recognized it because he had it himself.

“Everyone Reaped is the unluckiest in their family, as are most of those who volunteer.” Luck seemed to have nothing to do with the Games, though the odds were ever in their favor. It was a shame - D12′s family had almost made it through. Four brothers, and they had almost made it through.

Oxford’s mind flashed back to the moment of Delta’s Reaping - how small she had seemed on that stage. Ox probably hadn’t - at his height, it was hard to look small anywhere. He silently regarded the man in front of him for a moment. His gaze was deep and sorrowful - and perhaps he stayed silent a bit too long. 

“No. My older sister was Reaped a few years back. Didn’t last long. If I don’t make it back, my parents will have lost half their children to the Games. I’m one of four as well.” Another deep breath. Breath in, breath out. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”

the sound of his fist against the wall sliced though the air and made jules bite his lip - hard. he was too focused on the tribute in front of him to notice he had drawn blood, the bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. for a moment he tried to make himself bigger, straightening his back, and puffing out his chest. an attempt at intimidation, which obviously fell short. he quickly retreated back into himself.  

“if they volunteer they bring it on themselves. some of these tributes live for this, you know that. everyone does.” the career districts were vicious beings. they volunteered to win the games, not participate. why anyone would be delusional enough to willingly put themselves through the games, is a mystery to jules. he listened carefully, taking in every melancholic word the man voiced. he looked every bit as defeated. truthfully, jules had no idea how to comfort him, he had never allowed anyone close enough to burden him in the likely chance that they were another lost to the games. he wished he could say he remembered the girl from district nine, but that would be a lie. too many were lost. she wasn’t special. 

“we aren’t supposed to do anything. we’ll try, like every other tribute has before. we’ll most likely die, unless luck is on your side and you happen to be the one that emerges victorious. just... make peace that your family will lose you too.” he shrugged, he was never good a sugarcoating the truth. “you could... gain a few allies to help your chances. surely, you’ve made a few friends here.” to use oxford would be cruel, but nonetheless a good idea.

[wastefulyears]

vclcanic‌:

𝐀  𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓  𝐘𝐄𝐓  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘  𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇  tumbled  from  her  lips  at  the  other’s  comment  on  crestfallen  spirits  ,  the  conley  girl  in  full  awareness  of  what  he  meant  —  only  yesterday  her  despondent  spirits  had  threatened  to  keep  her  bed  -  ridden  but  alas  ,  extravagant  sports  such  as  the  hunger  games  required  her  fully  functioning  body  to  be  constantly  paraded  and  carefully  analysed  under  the  eyes  of  the  capitol’s  citizens  .  but  her  stylist’s  and  escorts  fervent  dedication  to  the  games  had  her  up  and  (  partially  )  functioning  and  that  was  enough  to  turn  the  gears  in  her  mind  for  activities  of  mischief  and  disobedience  .  ❛  great  !  ❜  the  conley  girl  grinned  .  ❛  also  ,  just  a  quick  side  note  ,  you’re  constantly  calm  facade  is  annoying  and  you  are  frustratingly  pretty  so  you’re  really  the  last  person  i  want  to  do  this  with  .  but  you’ll  do  .  i  was  thinking  of  writing  something  on  the  walls  ,  like  cockiolanus  snow  or  something  cryptic  like  the  odds  are  never  in  our  favour  . ❜

the corner of his lips upturned ever so slightly at that. perhaps it could be a facade, but it was one he was good at, and had kept going for years now. growing up with an apathetic family will do such a thing to you. and well, the compliment on his appearance just fed his ego. he hadn’t been completely aware of his good looks until he arrived at the capitol. “and what will that achieve? an avox will clean it up before anyone of interest would see it.” he could not give into this girls delusions, it would be of no help to either of them. “a quick side note-” he started, echoing the words back to her. “your recklessness is pointless and your desire of any rebellion against these people is a waste of both my time and yours.” however, he had no desire to be back in the company of his stylists and escorts. this girl showed potential for fun. “surely, you can think of something better than that.” 

[wastefulyears]

sylvener‌:

after fishing out her small, sleek camera, she said, “in my room, of course!” she pressed a button on the interface and a hologram sprang from the device, bringing them to her gallery. she swiped at the images. “see? i keep the statues i make in my room.” there were various deftly wrought sculptures in the images, awash in strokes of vibrant paint. not realizing that he was talking about her clothing choices, she said, “how many times do i have to tell you that you aren’t ugly? i had to scrub you up to bring out your beauty, but it’s there! you’re very pretty. and i love pretty things. so of course i’ll capture your good side.” her dreamy gaze settling on him, she went on breezily, “i’ve studied your face a lot since you arrived.” 

jules had jumped back at the surprise of the hologram. the inventions here were something he could hardly dream of when you’re from a place such as the seam. he bent forward with focused eyes, carefully analysing the foreign device. he felt the urge to reach out and touch it, as a small curious child would, but he remained in control of himself. call him bizarre, but somehow he found the thought of being preserved in the form of a statue and stored in the gallery of a woman of the capitol to be utterly terrifying. yet, he could accept such a fate. “a tough task, but you managed. you know, I didn’t think someone like you could appreciate someone as unsettling as me.” he said as he examined the hologram, he was growing used to her compliments rather quickly, only turning to look at her after her last comment. “you’ve studied my face?” what there was to study, he would never know. “well, get a good look while you still can.” 

[wastefulyears]

oxford-dwitt‌:

Oxford looked down at the smaller man who had followed him. His sleeve labeled him District 12. Some of the panic that had been coursing through Ox’s veins subsided, but he still felt his fists balling up instinctively. To his surprise, this man seemed to be afraid of him. No. No no no, if there was one thing Oxford didn’t want to be labeled as - it was scary.

“I, uh… wasn’t following you.”

Ox stared down at him, his jaw tightening. “It just seems like we’re being followed - everywhere. Can’t escape anything. Can’t get -”

“A moment alone is rare in these parts, so it seems.”

The comment made Ox’s lip quiver into s small smirk for a mere moment. “Yeah. Seems like. And I agree - it is bullshit. Absolute bullshit. BULLSHIT!” The last word ripped from his lungs much louder than he had intended. The acid bit at the back of his throat and he abruptly turned to smash a fist against the wall behind him. 

Keeping his back to the District 12 Tribute, Ox took a few deep breaths. “Are you the first of your family to be Reaped?”

for a moment, he blinked up at the taller tribute, eyelashes fluttering gently as he studied him. he had to get on this mans good side fast, as jules knew dying from his hands would be a painful way to go. he laughed nervously, trying to put him at ease. jules was no threat to him, not yet anyway. 

“yeah, I am. I’m the youngest of four brothers, and clearly the least fortunate.” he stepped forward, slowly and calculated. it was quiet in the hallway, the only sounds a faint rumbling of the training happening not too far from where they were standing. he wondered if oxford could hear the heaviness in his breathing. “what about you? the first?” he managed to get out the question without the sound of fear trembling in his voice. it hit him that he could be standing before a future victor. jules was not sure how he felt about that. he had never expected to win, but witnessing his future truly disappearing was moderately upsetting, even to him. not too long ago his demise was certain, but the events leading to it had been a blur - it was getting clearer each passing day at the capitol.

[wastefulyears]

sylvene grew weary of objecting to his words. yet at the same time, she found this alien sensation intriguing. life in the capitol was akin to walking upon a cloud, or drifting through a rosy-hued dream. the more he wore down her hubris, the stronger the strange pull she felt towards him became. this was new. “you’re some of my best work.” she grasped the side of his jaw, as if she herself had been seized by abrupt emotion. round eyes looked into his, a rare moment of focus for her normally darting attentions. “i have to take a picture of you now! i’ll preserve you in a statue, if you insist on dying! stand still.”

her best work? all she had done was put him in unbearable and frankly, embarrassing clothes. anything beyond that he owed to his mother. he had opened his mouth to protest, but quickly became speechless when he felt the touch of her delicate hand on his jaw. his first reaction was to move away - after all he was here with the intentions to be killed. however, he paused the moment he smelt a trace of her perfume in the air - something fruity or floral, he didn’t know. but it was something he hadn’t smelt in a long time. the moment their eyes met, was perhaps the first time he had felt truly uncomfortable during his time here at the capitol. he felt as though she was looking through him. seeing him. he despised it. “and where will this statue be stored? no one would want to look at such a hideous thing.” he moved then, a soft whine falling upon his lips, his simple attempt at a protest. still, he remained in her hold. “if you must take a picture, make sure you get my good side.”

[wastefulyears]

“but why?” she demanded once more. even with all her fluff, her penchant for creativity and creation endowed her with something of an independent streak. she viewed life from the perspective of an artist who wielded the brush, ferociously in control of their destiny. she never understood why so many tributes insisted on nihilistic moping. the capitol, to her, was a golden land of opportunity. she heaved a sigh at his resolute despair. “yes, that’s the deal! dead or not, i make you prettier.” she wasn’t sure why, but she sniffled when he asked if stylists watch tributes die. growing up, she never cried at these things. if she gave it enough thought, she’d realize it was because her occupation brought her closer to the tributes who would die, and thus emotional distancing was harder. but she was never one for examining herself too deeply. “this is only my second year styling! i watched my tributes die last year, and i was… well, i was shocked! i have lots of faith in my tributes, you know!”

he sighed heavily, he was quickly learning that honesty was no way to communicate with sylvene. “okay, how about ... I would rather die than live this way? I’m not cut out for it.” maybe that will make her feel better. jules couldn’t take the constant irritation of this woman’s optimism. "at least you can take comfort in the fact that when I die, I’ll be looking the best I ever have.” he offered her a small, insincere smile. he had no intentions to upset his stylist, but perhaps she deserved it. her feelings were nothing compared to those of the tributes. and to give them the slightest chance of hope was cruel. “faith? we’re from district twelve, no one has ever had faith in us. we don’t win the games. maybe I’ll just get it over with and step off my plate a second too early.” he grinned then, a smile that reached his eyes. he was no antagonist, but even he could not pass up the temptation to cause a citizen of the capitol a little bit of disturbance.

[oxford-dwitt]

location outside the main training floor closed thread for @wastefulyears

Oxford suddenly found his breath catching in his throat, and it had nothing to do with the treadmill he was running on. He could feel eyes on him all around. It was as if the “D9″ on his sleeve was a beacon for ridicule and belittlement. Added to the fact that he towered over most of the people in the room, Ox couldn’t find a moment of solitude for himself. With his face turning red, Oxford pushed his way out of the training room and into the hallway, which he found mercifully empty. 

He leaned up against a wall, ducking his head to find his breath again. However, it just wouldn’t come. Instead, hot tears started forming in his eyes - it just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. The door opening behind him caught him off guard, and he yelped, spinning and raising to his full height.

“Sorry, I just - I’ll get out of the way I just…” Ox realized he was speaking a little louder than needed. “I don’t need people following me. I’m just taking a moment outside, you know? Can’t I just have that?”

[wastefulyears]

jules huffed as he made his way out of the training room, he was bored and tired of it all. there was absolutely no way he was going to learn any new skills in the short amount of time he had left. the annoyance of the day taking form of a frown and furrowed brow on his face. however as the man from district nine crossed his path, this quickly turned to fear - something he hadn’t felt since being here. the district nine tribute was one who demanded the attention of people without any effort and was by far the scariest of all the tributes, mostly due to his size and stature. jules calculated how he should approach this situation, with spite or caution? 

“I, uh... wasn’t following you.” he took a step back - the further away, the better. jules could tell by the level of his voice, he was unhinged. “a moment alone is rare in these parts, so it seems.” chances are you were always going to be bothered by someone, a mentor or stylist, or worse - another tribute. he glanced around to see if there were any witnesses around, in case the circumstance of the large tribute deciding to kill him early were to arise. “it’s all bullshit anyway... right? they’ll decide who lives and dies. training won’t help us at all.”

[wastefulyears]

chills crept up sei’s skin when he leaned towards her. when she did this, it was out of genuine curiosity. but she couldn’t help feeling that this gesture, coming from this guy, was laced with aggression. she shifted, though she didn’t want him to know or think it was because of unease. she forced a small laugh from herself. “my family cares about me about as much as i care about you,” she said. leaning even closer than he had, she whispered into his ear, “i don’t give a damn about you. fuck off.” beaming, she pulled away and sent him a flying kiss, knowing that other people were eyeing them.

the moment she shifted, he knew he had accomplished his goal. he unsettled her - perfect. he listened to her intently, and smiled as if she had just complimented him. knowing that they had eyes on them, he had to be careful. there was no such thing as privacy in the capitol, after all. although it would be a lie to say he hadn’t stilled as he felt the warmth of her breath on his cool skin. “two things we have in common then.” as she pulled away, he thought that would be the last of it. what he wasn’t expecting was a flying kiss - just. for. him. he held his chest, as if she had just wounded him. “putting on a spectacle for the people, are you? I hate to break it to you, but mingling with a boy from twelve won’t do you any favours.”

[wastefulyears]

sylvene sat in silence, allowing him to speak. then a somewhat mischievous smile further pronounced the high apples of her cheeks, a rare one that let her dewy youth shine through even with all the makeup practically tattooed to her face. a reminder that she was a mere year older than he was. indulging in a moment of vanity, she told him, “i think you’ll find that i look good regardless of the circumstances.” at the reminder of his probable death, the look on her face flickered, ever so slightly. “i could, but i’m encouraging you for your own sake. don’t you have dreams? can’t you see a future for yourself? why don’t you look in your mind’s eye and dream? you’re here, jules. you can paint your own future from now on!” the aspirational spin she put to the games would certainly perturb any reasonable person, but she liked to think that she had a point. the games were a risk, but the rewards were plentiful if he emerged victorious.

jules was certain that was true, he on the other hand would not look so great. his eyes flickered across her face. for the first time he could see passed the pretentious makeup the stylist is so clearly attached to. a youthful charm - she could be pretty if she did without, he thought. just another thing about the capitol he would not understand in his lifetime. “dreams? the only dream I have is one of a quick death.” if he had dreamed at one point, he was too young to remember now. his future was in the ground. “but promise to make me look good while doing so?” he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity. “tell me. do stylists watch their tributes die?” how deep the sickening antics of the capitol ran, he did not know. he wondered if they partied when the tributes died. would she be making a toast in his name?

[wastefulyears]

“don’t be silly! sponsors and viewers love confident, lovely tributes. now that i’ve scrubbed you and karma up, all you two need is some confidence.” she tilted her head at him. “sometimes, i wonder if you even want to survive or not. you know, i’m sure i don’t have to tell you, there are great things awaiting you if you win.” painted, wine red lips formed a pout as she closed her eyes and hummed. “and… you know, i hate to sound overly sentimental, but i do believe in you.” she opened them again and said, “but i don’t believe that for a second. i saw your old clothes. don’t lie to an expert! oh, you poor, poor boy, with your lifeless old wear.”

“lie to an expert? I wouldn’t dare.” he was in over his head, clearly. confident or lovely wouldn’t be attributes jules used to describe himself. not that it mattered, there was no hope for him, that he already knew. “I’m afraid your efforts are wasted on me, sylv.” he had no time for her optimism - it was in vain. he sighed, running his fingers though his hair, it was soft to touch, an unusual feel to him. there was a recurring problem of the capitol citizens not understanding. there was no point in allowing himself the thoughts of survival, the chances were too slim. it would be foolish. “why should I survive? to make you look good?” the stylist almost sounded as if she cared, despite her obvious distaste in his clothing of choice or the fact that he was from district twelve. he found that possibility strange, maybe even disturbing. “your belief is misplaced, trust me. but you can try again next year.”

[wastefulyears]

𝐀  𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄  𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃  across  her  cheeks  .  the  other’s  rejection  only  fuelled  her  desire  to  persuade  him  into  her activities  of nonsense –  she  was  never  one  to  refuse  a  challenge  . and  attempting  to  turn  such  a  fervently  serene  and nonchalant boy  into  some  sort  of  troublesome  maniac  –  or  at  least  something  close  to  it  –  would  CERTAINLY  be  enough  entertainment  as  she  counted  down  to  her  doom  day  .   a  chuckled  slipped  from  her  lips  and  she  let  out  an  exasperated  sigh   .  ❛  oh  twelve ,  ever  the  party  pooper  .  seriously  ,  do  you  have  a  mound  of  coal  stuck  up  your  butt  cheeks  or  something ? wait  –  hey  come  on ! admit  it ,  this  is  the  most  fun  you’ve  had  in  all  your  twenty  -  five  years  .  we  might  as  well  live  a  little  , cause  a  little  chaos  with  our  limited  time  here  .  don’t  you  agree ? ❜

twenty-five? for a moment he feared living in the seam had aged him quicker than the rest of those unfortunate to live in the twelve districts; however the fact he would never live to be twenty-five seemed to be a bigger issue. he allowed a breathy laugh to slip passed his lips as he turned back to her. “I’m sorry, I think the doom of my impending death has put a damper on my spirits.” being stuck in a broom closet wasn’t his idea of fun. to make matters worse he wasn’t alone. sensing this girl was not one to give up so easily, he decided to appease her. “you have thirty seconds to convince me. if not, I’m out that door.” what limited time she spoke of, jules did not know. their deaths started the day they were reaped. their time belonged to the capitol now.

[wastefulyears]

vidia could sense his words, how there was much more to them than what he expressed up front. she knew that she could never fully imagine what the tributes and victors had gone through. she was aware of the luxury she had grown up in, and though it made her feel guilty from time to time, she kept aware of it. she didn’t have the same childhoods they all did. vidia was aware that trying to relate to any of them would be pointless and honestly insensitive. that’s not what she was there to do, anyways. all she could do was put them at ease as best she could. “it’s never too late to win over a couple capitol members.”

he stiffened for a moment, then shrugged it off. she was trying to be nice. they did that a lot at the capitol, so it seemed. “and what will that do for me? look, I know you’re trying to help. but that sort of stuff doesn’t work on me.” anything he could take comfort in now was long gone. his death was inevitable, and he was fine with that. though he wondered if it had bothered her. dressing people up to parade, then die. or perhaps, it was about the competition for her - helping her tribute become a victor. jules himself wouldn’t have the stomach for such a job. “but don’t worry. it doesn’t affect you at all, you’ll have new tributes to dress up the next games.” 

[wastefulyears]

she didn’t have to think hard about it. the company. but he wouldn’t give this guy the satisfaction. “the clothes,” she answered, with the dullest inflection she could manage and a wry hint of a smile. sei didn’t volunteer for these games to kill, per se, but he sure made the prospect of getting her hands bloody a little appealing. she wanted to tell him in plain terms to shut the fuck up. instead, she sealed her lips, actively avoiding facing this nuisance.

“no, the clothes suit you.” he stepped closer to her and leaned in. “it’s a shame you won’t be able to get used to this.” he gestured into the empty space around them. he knew he wouldn’t be getting used to the capitol either. the minute he steps into the games, he would never be stepping out. but alunsei volunteered, and he couldn’t show any hint of weakness around her, that he knew. “maybe they’ll send something nice home to your family to express their condolences.”

[wastefulyears]

“oh, we’d all hate to see him annoyed,” her words were soft, (as to not be heard by any eavesdroppers), but still dripping with sarcasm. deep down, she wanted to get under that man’s skin sometimes, just see what would happen. it wasn’t wise, but she thought about it sometimes. she let out a small laugh at his remark. “the rules for the parade are a bit more straight forward than the other outfits you all get put in over the next few days. these are meant to represent your district, no matter how outlandish they seem, there’s always a purpose. but the real special thing is what your stylist has you wear during your interview. those are always show stopping pieces.” of course, the clothes didn’t matter in the long run for these victors– they were things that they’d forget about the moment they step foot into the arena, but the least she could do is give him something to look forward to. 

his eyes wondered as she began to discuss the interview. “I can’t wait.” his tone dull and blunt. “if this is what they have me wearing now, I can’t imagine what I’ll be wearing for my interview. it’s a privilege, I suppose.” that’s what they want to hear, it’s a privilege to die for your amusement. it would make him sick if he hadn’t grown up knowing this would likely be his destiny. “I somehow doubt show stopping pieces will save us now. the people of panem have already decided if they love or hate us.” he looked her up and down, taking in her excessive look that is surely common in the capitol. “now we just have to wait to die.”

[wastefulyears]

“you poor boy. it doesn’t look good, because it looks spectacular! i know you’re not used to having such finery draped on your shoulders…” at this, she gestured at the bulky diamonds embellishing his suit. coal turns to diamonds, the saying went. “but you shouldn’t fret. your face is a wonderful canvas. have a bit more confidence and you may wear it well.” if not for how she viewed herself as utterly above both of her tributes, he very well could’ve been another one of her infatuations. but as things were, she was not an annoying person who had a crush on him, just an annoying stylist who fancied herself to be so much worldlier than he was.

he scoffed, it was said the capitol had an obsession with the shiny stones on his ensemble; however, he didn’t get the fascination. what it had to do with district twelve, he did not know either. though he dared not get into that discussion with his stylist. “confidence?” he raised his brows in disbelief, before brushing his fingers along his jawline, stunned by the comment on his face. “that’s the last thing I need.” confidence would be of no help to him. “trust me, the finery of my old clothes were good enough for me.”  he was told the stylists were to be their friends. they were there to help. that remains to be seen. 

[vclcanic]

𝒔𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 :  post – parade / in a broom closet ?  𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔 : open starter

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍  𝐅𝐎𝐑  the  past thirty  seconds  or  so  , the  blonde  came  to  a  sudden  realisation that    doing   this   would   not   be   fun   without   an   accomplice  and   also   ,  maybe ,  someone   to   put   the   blame   on   when   things   take   a   turn   for   the   worst  .  so  she     reached   out   an   arm   and   grabbed   whatever   article   of   clothing   she  could  reach  before  she  tugged  on  it  and  pulled  the  person  in  the  itty  bitty  broom  closet  that  she  had  been  hiding  in  . ❛  okay  so  ,  hear  me  out  .   ❜  she  left  a  second  for  suspense  ( krista  had  always  been  on  for  theatrics  . ) ❛  vandalism  . ❜

[wastefulyears]

jules kept to himself, he minded his own business. so to say he was surprised when he felt a strong pull on his shirt (if you could even call it that), was an understatement. the frown on his face was apparent and immediate. “are you lost?” he broke free of her hold, and shifted uncomfortably, finding himself in a small space. “of all the places to be, you chose a broom closet. huh.” his frown was replaced with a fake smile. he had no interest in hearing this girl’s plan for vandalism. “well, i wish i could say this was fun - but it wasn’t.” he turned to leave, intimacy was not something jules did well.

[alunsei]

SETTING: somewhere post-parade.

it hasn’t been long since sei hopped off her chariot. yet sei’s long, jet black locks, which had been forcibly styled in place with copious hair products, are back to looking the way they usually do. which is to say, like a stringy curtain. the face of the young woman behind it appears reminiscent of a ghost, though her skin has a natural brown gleam. she does not speak, simply glaring at the others. she’s obviously uncomfortable in her clothes that day, and one could easily perceive the intense dislike she had for other people.

[wastefulyears]

jules found himself looking over at the the small girl dressed in what he could only describe as a curtain-like garment. sensing her discomfort, he couldn’t help but approach. he figured if he could maximise her discomfort, it would only benefit him. “what’s wrong, district eight? clothes aren’t to your liking? or is it the company?” he crossed his arms casually, and tilted his head as he looked at her. “careful what you wish for, right?” he looked around, taking in the foreign environment, the unfamiliar people. they were both a long way from home.