AU: Let the Games Begin

[Dr. Sean Neville]

((OOC: I was chosen as a neutral party to put this together. However, aside from making the initial post and running the simulator and sharing the results, I will not be participating. Have fun, everyone and mind the TOS when writing descriptions.))


District 1
Gryphon Matsuoka - Alive
Georgina Speer - Alive

District 2
Finn Eogeum - Alive
Karalie Heise - Alive

District 3
Rhys Freeman - Alive
Anjali Kedar - Alive

District 4 
Xavier/Jaxon Wright - Alive
Aryana Darcy - Alive

District 5
Julien Duval - Alive
Jade Parrish - Alive

District 6
Monroe Montgomery - Alive
Brooke Llewelyn - Alive

District 7
Oriel Vanguard - Alive
Marnie Sullivan - Alive

District 8
Osiris Jackson - Alive
Josie Raines - Alive

District 9
Salem Hirch - Alive
Glads Thompson - Alive

District 10
Keaton Derrickson - Alive
Eloise Eaton - Alive

District 11
Connor Anderson - Alive
Sam Rixon - Alive

District 12
Dennis Pautler - Alive
Ilonda McCoy - Alive

*************************************

As the tributes stand on their podiums, the horn sounds.

[Josie Raines]

Just one more year, that's all it would have taken. One last year before Josie was no longer eligible to be reaped. Her sister still had a couple years left before she was safe as well, so it wasn't like she could breathe easy just yet. But Ronnie was younger, and Josie had refused to let her enter her name again in exchange for extra provisions. Times had been hard after their father left, but they had managed. It wasn't worth the risk.

Not that it had saved Josie. It had made no difference at all. Or had it? If she'd allowed herself to be entered multiple times - increased her odds of being reaped if it meant her family could live more comfortably - would her name have been pulled earlier? Or had she abstained for nothing? If she was going to die anyway, she might as well have gotten something out of it. Between concern for her family and despair for herself, it was this thought that had her seething with fury from the moment the shock had worn off from hearing her name drawn. She'd been so close to her eighteenth birthday she could taste it, and now -

No. Now, she was going to find a way out.

Around her, the other tributes stood in a circle, some examining the arena, some with their eyes locked on the cornucopia they surrounded. Supplies spilled from its mouth - food, weapons, bags of various sizes with contents unknown. Josie saw a set of knives that gleamed temptingly, but they were deep towards the center. If this year was anything like the previous games she'd seen, half of these other unlucky bastards would head the same direction and rip her throat out. A few of them were kids even smaller than she was, but if she tangled with, say, that big blonde motherfucker from District 9 one space over, she'd never make it to first dusk. Her only hope would be to grab what she could and haul ass into the protection of the forest.

So while the clock ticked - or boomed, more like - further and further down, Josie focused on forcing her limbs to stop trembling. She couldn't let anything slow her down right now - not the fear that sat like lead in her stomach, not any of her doomed fellows. Not if she wanted to win.

[Deleted]

Oriel closed his eyes as he stood upon his podium, amid others who stood upon theirs as well, waiting for the horn to sound, marking the beginning of the game. A game he wasn’t supposed to be playing in the first place. But…when Phoenix’s name had come up to represent their district…Oriel couldn’t let him go. Phoenix would surely perish, he feared, before the first day was out. The other boy wasn’t a fighter. So, at the protests of his beloved, Oriel volunteered to take his place. Surely Oriel, the 17-year-old who was much bigger than his thin lover, had a better chance at surviving? That was the theory anyway.

Oriel couldn’t afford to lose. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He….was he prepared to do what needed to be done?

…..Oriel liked to think so. A lot more than Phoenix, at least. No, Oriel couldn’t doubt himself, because that was the first step to failure.

He opened his eyes and looked sharply across the arena towards the cornucopia, eyeing the weapons and supplies which were stashed there, taking note of which ones he wanted most. Oriel was a runner. A sprinter. He had a good chance of getting there and what he wanted before someone else did. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Oriel was jumpy, anxious…so when the horn sounded, he was off that podium and dashing straight towards the structure, eyes focused only straight ahead and no where else. There were other people there at the same time that he arrived, however, so he stupidly grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on and made a run for it. As he turned to head out of the cornucopia, however, he collided with this ugly, fucking-absent looking chink. The two of them fell to the ground.

He wasn’t sure what happened from there. Maybe the fear got to him(a silly notion!) or maybe he definitely saw the kid about to pull a knife on him(he was unarmed)? But Oriel was up again in an instant with the mace he’d grabbed moments before raised high above his head. With a quick movement, he thrust the blunt weapon down with all his might. It hit something hard. He brought it down again, and there was a crack. A third time and there was a wet spatter across his face. Even after that, he kept raising his club and bashing it down, over and over, until his arms were too tired to swing again and he felt the wetness on his face start to drip from his chin. There was a sharp, ferrous taste on his lips.

Looking down, his eyes took in the image of the sprawled body of a kid who had to be no older than fourteen. Oriel fell back on his hands and crabwalked backwards, his breathing starting to quicken. A small whimper escaped his lips as he swallowed and desperately tried to keep himself from hyperventilating. As the reality of what he’d just done, the memory of it sinking in and replaying across his eyes, he started to scream.

Oriel screamed.

He ran in the other direction, abandoning his weapon and the child he’d just murdered.

[Deleted]

[Trigger Warning: Character death]

Osiris wasn’t confident he could win, but he was at least certain that he could hold out for a few days. If nothing else, he could team up with another person and help them out for as long as they both stayed alive. That was a much better expectation than trying to go at it all, against all 23 other tributes, all by himself. He was an athlete, and clever his elders always told him, but not much else. He simply didn’t believe in killing, and that was his greatest disadvantage. Even if it came down to just himself and one other person, Osiris knew he would falter and let the other person win. He’d thought about this a lot over the past two years since he became eligible to be selected for the Hunger Games. At 14 years old now, he was here, as he expected he might be, and resolved in his strategy.

The horn sounded and Jackson took a breath before making a delayed sprint to the cornucopia. Maybe if he went slower, most people will have grabbed what they wanted and bene gone before he got there. Surely there’d be something he could use. Food, a backpack, any sort of survival gear he could use. After all, his goal wasn’t to win, it was to survive.

As he suspected, it was crowded and chaotic in that direction. A skinny brunette girl sprinted past him like the hounds of hades were on her heels and he watched her snatch up some fishing supplies(at least that’s what it looked like, what else would that bag be filled with when there was a fishing pole in her other hand) and scamper out of there before anyone took notice of her.

It was because his attention was drawn to that girl momentarily that he found himself colliding with a brick wall of a person on his way to the cornucopia. Jackson stumbled back with a grunt and rolled on the ground. He didn’t have any time to waste rolling around like this, though, so he started crawling again towards the open-air edifice, trying to shake his disorientation.

Jackson didn’t have a chance to clear his head enough to get up again, because after a few feet or so of crawling something large and heavy fell down on the back of his head. He collapsed, face-first into the ground, his limbs having gone weak after the impact. Jackson had just enough time to open one eye before the second blow came and his vision went black. There was no further movement from the boy after that.

[Marnie Sullivan]

District seven. Lumber. Tributes from this district were often strong and stout, like the trees that were their livelihood. Often, but not always; where Marnie stood, quaking with fear, she more resembled a leaf than anything else.

When Marnie had been selected as her district's female tribute, she'd vomited after being pulled on stage. Waiting for the horn to turn them loose, she felt like she might just vomit again. What chance did she have? Not much, in the eyes of the gamemakers anyway; when each tribute had given a demonstration of their talent and received a score, Marnie had gotten a two. It hadn't been a surprise, but it had served to cement her sense of hopelessness.

Could she make it to the cornucopia and survive? Or should she run for the hills straight away? As Marnie debated, her knees shook so violently it was a wonder she was standing at all.

It wasn't until the horn sounded that she finally made a decision; Marnie stumbled her first step off the dais and then took off. There was a bag nearby that looked promising, but - oh, no, a tiny blonde girl snatched it up before she could get there. She veered away, eyes darting over the ground. There! A canteen! Everybody needed water, whether they planned to survive hiding in the trees and slaughtering every last competitor.

Marnie sprinted toward the canteen, so laser-focused that she didn't realize that two other tributes had the same idea until they were upon each other, yanking on its cord at the same time.

[Karalie Heise]

She had been training for eighteen years to walk into this arena. After watching the other tributes in the practice and training room, Karalie was sure she stood a good chance at being the soul survivor.  Better than good even.  If she could put money on anyone being the victor it would be herself, save maybe Finn.  In the end it would be just them that stood.  She was smaller than Finn, and faster. At least she thought so.  He wouldn't stand a chance if it came down to only them, and though she didn't necessarily like the idea of taking his life, she wouldn't hold back and risk her own.  She was confident in her abilities, certain of her training and how good she was. She would be victorious. 

There was no weapon Karalie had not mastered, no situation she had not prepared for, no arena that could slow her down.  It had been a great honor to be selected as tribute and she wore her districts.  She wore a kind smile and had a sweet disposition.  She had Panem's Sweetheart written all over her darling face and she knew she would quickly become a favorite.  Gifts would flood to her, for people wouldn't see her for the vicious killer she was, but for the charismatic, tough but assertive young woman she was.

It was in the bag.

Karalie stood on the podium, head held high as she looked around, getting a feel for her surroundings.  She eyed the cornucopia; she had a game plan.  Let the other tributes be a part of the blood bath.  She didn't need to expose herself to the risk, not when she walked into the arena with two of her greatest assets; her hands and mind.  If any of the idiots made it out of there alive she would maul them in the woods and take their bounty. It was smart.  It was safe.

The horn blared and like a bullet she took off for the woods, racing there at neck breaking speed.  She made it quickly, the sounds of children screaming at her back.  It didn't phase her, not the way it should a girl her age.  She made it into the safety of the trees, ducking down into some bushes to watch to show.  She needed to know where the others were, what their game plans were, what to expect.  It was there in the bush that she noticed the Witch's Gloves. Her eyes narrowed curiously at the pink cup shaped flowers.  Add deadly flowers to her list of weapons.  With a sweet curl of her lips she picked the flowers, putting a show on for the cameras.  The viewers at home might not realize how devious her plan might be if given the opportunity.  Knock out the tribute, shove some crushed flowers in their mouth, and let nature do the rest.  She slipped the flowers into her pocket for later.