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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 30, 2019 11:43:02 GMT -5
Pascal Libelle There is no darkness but ignorance [Okay forgive me but I wrote a flashback thing]
Pascal Libelle was sitting on the train heading to the Capitol, as the sun was beginning to set outside. His sister was taking a brief nap, her head leaning against the window, but Pascal wasn’t tired. Mallory would probably wake up soon, rejuvenated, or else she’d still be tired and she’d head across to her bedroom in her compartment.
Pascal had never been on a train before, and so he found himself enjoying watching the landscape flash past the windows. He liked how when it rained, the raindrops moved horizontally across the window because of the speed of the train.
He moved his gaze to his sister’s sleeping form, how she looked so much younger than 17 when she was asleep. He forgot she was a kid too, really. She pretended not to be scared, she was trying to be strong for him, but he knew she must be scared. Not only was she probably scared about the Games, but she was probably now scared too because she felt she had to take care of him and protect him; she felt responsible for Pascal.
He appreciated her pretence, but he knew he couldn’t hinder her.
She’d protected him ever since they were children, in small ways. Making sure he was never late for his job at the factory so he wouldn’t get in trouble or be punished, helping him when he got hurt, working on problems with him. Together they’d made a brilliant team; she’d come up with incredible and innovative ideas, and Pascal would make them a reality. Sometimes he would steal old parts that the factory was going to throw out. It wasn’t exactly safe for him to do so, but he didn’t care. Because with them they could make incredible things. And Mallory tried to protect him if he got caught, though she wasn’t always successful.
And now Pascal was thirteen, and he didn’t want Mallory to see him as a child anymore, someone who needed protection. He wouldn’t be the strongest tribute in the Arena by any means, but he would try no matter what it took. He’d ally with Mallory, of course, but God forbid he should let someone die for him.
Mallory has always said she’d die for him if she had to, but Pascal couldn’t accept that. They were here, together, and he couldn’t let her throw away her chances for his sake. She was older, stronger, so smart and innovative. She had every chance of winning. Brains could win a person the Hunger Games just as much as brawn could, Pascal knew that. Innovation and creativity even more so. Mallory’s ability to think on her feet made her a good tribute. Pascal got caught up in his thoughts too often, he was too much in his own head.
“Mallory,” Pascal said in a whisper so she wouldn’t wake up “You’ll be the winner of the 100th Hunger Games if I have any say in it. If we can’t go home together, it has to be you.”
He’d die for her if he had to, just like she said she would do for him. And he wouldn’t regret it. As long as he knew Mallory was okay, Pascal would be alright. He wouldn’t be afraid to die, even if he and Mallory were separated.
He would rather have Mallory cry on his birthdays, or miss him from time to time, than for her to die. For his parents to have two empty chairs around the dinner table.
He’d have to kill, and he’d have to die. Not for the Capitol, because the boy knew the Capitol was neither worth his life nor blood on his hands, but for Mallory. She was worth it.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on Apr 30, 2019 13:43:49 GMT -5
(Update on that bio test btw: I got a B I’m need an A in my final which is in about a month to get into university so I won’t pretend I wasn’t hoping for better, but I’m not mad at a B so )
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on Apr 30, 2019 19:43:42 GMT -5
(That was honestly heartbreaking and beautiful and I loved it.
Pascal was a doll, I feel so bad that his own sister killed him.)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 1, 2019 0:34:29 GMT -5
Aww thanks I’m glad you liked it x
I like Pascal too, it’s so sad he got killed by his sister. But I’m amazed he lasted as long as he did tbh)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 1, 2019 13:07:39 GMT -5
Whoop I’m bored and procrastinating)
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on May 1, 2019 13:15:41 GMT -5
(I’m sick.)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 1, 2019 13:16:12 GMT -5
Oh no that sucks are you okay?)
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on May 1, 2019 13:25:47 GMT -5
(Yeah. Just missing school which sucks.)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 1, 2019 13:26:49 GMT -5
(Ahhhh that’s not great! I hope you feel better soon x in the meantime I’m happy to distract you with chatting or rping )
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on May 1, 2019 14:03:46 GMT -5
Well, if there’s something you want to RP, just let me know. :3.)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 1, 2019 14:05:00 GMT -5
Hmmm I’m not sure, do you have any specific thoughts?
Oh my gosh okay I just saw the cutest thing my baby niece is about ten months old and my sister is sending cute videos of her crawling and trying to start to walk and stuff and it’s so cute)
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on May 1, 2019 14:36:25 GMT -5
(Aww, I remember when my nieces were like that, and my nephew :3.
And not really? I’m open to introducing new characters, doing flashbacks, or whatever.
I’m also thinking about what kind of character I want to help out with running the games?)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 1, 2019 14:38:12 GMT -5
It’s the cutest thing I swear x
Well I’m happy to help can you plan stuff for the next games if you like)
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on May 1, 2019 19:08:09 GMT -5
(Sure.
Cause I don’t have a ton of ideas XD.)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 2, 2019 1:13:54 GMT -5
(No problem x
So are you thinking in terms of whether you want a stylist, a mentor, etc?)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 5, 2019 10:24:08 GMT -5
{Okay I'm bored and have time so I may or may not write some more stuff for my other characters - maybe stuff for Demi or Cordelia (don't know if anyone has any preferences as to who they'd wanna see), partly just so I have an excuse to make more headers for those guys}
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on May 5, 2019 12:11:15 GMT -5
(I’d love to see both :3.)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 5, 2019 12:12:31 GMT -5
[Hahah will do]
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 5, 2019 13:19:18 GMT -5
Cordelia Farnham No legacy is so rich as honesty
"Cordelia Farnham"
The breath hitched in the girl's throat as her name was called at her reaping, but she was quick to plaster a confident smile on her face. This was an honour, after all, and people in districts like hers practised for this very event. Some even tried to volunteer for the honour of going into the Arena, often forgetting that this wasn't just some game. A lot of people from the Career districts forgot what the stakes were. Cordelia didn't. She never had after her neighbours had lost their son a few years ago.
But nobody volunteered as she climbed the steps onto the stage. She wasn't sure why. Maybe people were less likely to take risks what with it being a Quarter Quell - and not just any Quell, but the 100th Games to boot. Maybe people didn't want to take her place because they had heard the rumours that had been spreading that she'd ruined Finn Harley's chances in training or whatever. His family had always hated the Farnhams, and the Harley family now had a brand new rumour to spread about Cordelia. Maybe people knew about that, and they didn't volunteer because they wanted to see Cordelia in the Games. She didn't know, and she had decided that she didn't really care.
She took her place on the stage, trying to project the confidence she wanted to feel, and watched with some satisfaction as Finn joined her on stage moments later. If she was going into this, a part of her was happy he was there with her. Maybe they'd have a chance to settle their problem in the Arena, properly.
She let the Capitol woman's voice fade into the background as she waited for the reaping to be over, trying to focus on not letting her emotions come to the fore. She didn't want anyone in her district to know she was actually a little bit scared.
So she simply waited as she smoothed down the material of her floaty blue off-the-shoulder dress. She was wearing her nicest clothes, as was customary, and her hair was braided down to the top of her neck, from which point it was in a ponytail.
The reaping seemed to fly by, and it was over a couple of minutes later, after which point she was whisked away. In her dazed state, she didn't seem to be taking anything in until she was in a small room, where she waited for her family to come and bid her farewell before the Games.
Her parents were first, her father saying how excited he was for her, and how he knew his little girl was going to win. His mother had the same attitude, but she also made Cordelia promise to try and come home, to which the girl nodded.
But it wasn't them she was most nervous about seeing. After her parents left, a girl of about nineteen entered. She was a little taller than Cordelia and possessed a grace that Cordelia didn't quite have yet. She looked much like her, though, with the same blonde hair (though hers was a little lighter than Cordelia's), and the same dark blue-green eyes.
"Oriana," Cordelia said in a soft greeting to her older sister.
Oriana gave a small smile and embraced her sister, but then held her at arms' length.
"Congratulations, Lia, what an honour," Oriana smiled "and on the 100th Games, too."
"Thanks," Cordelia responded, though really she was a little disappointed. Could none of her family see past the prestige of the Games? Were they even worried?
"Now, you listen to me, little sister," Oriana said a little sternly "Don't you dare do anything dumb in that Arena. Get your hands on a trident. Find some water, you're good there, you can fish and swim well; play to your strengths."
"Don't worry, Ori, I'm not a child, I know what I'm doing. I'm trained just as much as you are."
"Good, because we can't afford for you to mess this one up. You're representing our family and our district, so you'd better make us proud."
And with that, Oriana was gone, she'd left the room without another word. It broke Cordelia's heart that her family was treating her like this. They'd always been so loving and supportive all her life, but the moment she was picked for the Games it was all about that and not at all about her safety. THough she supposed maybe it was. It was just their very strange way of telling her they loved her. Telling her that they cared and they were worried. Telling her she needed to win the Games was just telling her she needed to live and to come home. They just had a strange way of telling her.
Oriana really cared, she was giving her tips about the Games, giving her last advice. Cordelia knew she just wanted her to survive. This wasn't about making the family proud, it wasn't about the honour of the Games. This was about a sister's love and concern for her younger sister in a district that had always taught her not to show it
"I love you too," she murmured into the silence
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 5, 2019 14:10:10 GMT -5
Demeter Fargrove Nature has music for those who listen
"Demeter Fargrove"
A girl stood in the crowd wearing a mustard-coloured dress with a white flower pattern on it, and with her hair in an updo she had carefully done herself in front of the mirror - her father had never been any good at hair, she'd gone to school with the most terrible hairstyles before she'd learned to do it herself.
Upon hearing her name called in the reaping she stepped forward, trying to ignore the cries ringing in her ears. Two boys in the other section of the crowd - the boy's section - were watching, a younger boy sobbing and being held back by the older one, whose eyes were trained on Demi as she walked towards the stage.
Nobody volunteered for her, but she expected that anyway. People in her district didn't do that. Nobody earned much money, everyone had families relying on them. It wasn't something people could just do on a whim. Besides, there was no honour in going into the Arena to die. Demeter couldn't remember how long ago the last District 11 victor was, but it was long enough ago to be discouraging.
She kept her gaze away from the male side of the crowd as she listened numbly to the words of District 11's rather excitable Capitol escort. She honestly didn't care what she was saying, Demeter was just trying not to worry. Her being reaped had so many implications, and so many new thoughts were running through her head. She didn't want to think about them. She didn't want to be here right now. She would rather be anywhere but here.
She recognised the male tribute that was called - Lucas. She remembered him from school before they'd started to work. When she shook his hand, she gave it the lightest squeeze, just to remind him that she was an ally for him should he need it. She might even be able to properly ally with him in the Games if it was possible.
After that, though, she was taken to a room to wait to speak to her family. And surely enough, three males entered the room, all sharing a distinct resemblance with one another and with Demeter. There was an older man, Demeter's father, and two boys. One boy was Demeter's age and looked extremely similar to her, the other was about fourteen and he looked similar to the older siblings, though he didn't look as similar to them as they did to one another.
"Dad, Milo, Harvey," Demeter said, tears already in her eyes as she hugged each in turn
"Demi," her father said "I won't stay long, because I can't bear the goodbyes. But I want you to know that I love you, and that I'm sorry you've had to do so much for this family, you and Milo. You have to try and win, and come home to us, okay? I can't lose you too, not my little girl."
The girl hugged her father again, squeezing him tight and resting her head on his shoulder. A few tears fell as she did so, but she felt no need to wipe them away.
"I love you, pops," she said softly "be strong for me, look after the boys."
They hugged in silence for a few more seconds, but then her father left her with her brothers, probably realising they needed to talk on their own. Milo, Demeter's twin, wrapped his sister in a big bear hug, though he was far too skinny for it to really have the desired effect.
"You can't go," Milo said after a moment
"I have to," Demi said with a small chuckle and a sniff as she wiped a tear away
"You look after yourself in there, Mimi, I'm serious. I can't live without my little sister."
"You're only a minute older than me, Milo," Demi replied with a raised eyebrow, but she gave the smallest of smiles
"Seriously, though," Milo responded "you're my twin and we do everything together, I need you to come back for me. I love you."
"I love you too," she responded
Milo stepped aside then, to let Harvey hug Demi. He practically tackled his sister, and he was already crying.
"Promise me you'll be okay, Demi, and you'll come back." Harvey sniffed "This isn't fair."
"I can't promise that, Harvey, but I promise that I'll try. I'll come home to you or I'll die trying." Demi assured him, before adding "I know it isn't fair, I'm sorry. I love you."
Harvey murmured an 'I love you' in return, but then she saw Milo lean forward and whisper something in Harvey's ear. The younger boy said his last goodbyes to Demi before he left, leaving the two twins alone.
"If I die..." Demi began as soon as the room was empty, her eyes having taken on a more serious look as she gazed at her twin.
"You shouldn't talk like that," Milo interrupted
"Oh, come on, Milo, don't be stupid, of course I should. Chances are I am not coming back."
The boy didn't have a retort to that, so Demi took that as her chance to continue. She had to get all of this off her chest, she had to tell Milo everything she needed him to know.
"If I die, here is what I need you to know. Under no circumstances does our little brother take tesserae, I do not care how bad it gets, take extra hours at work if you have to. He does not go in that Arena. If he gets reaped next year, you volunteer in his place. After next year you'll be too old but it doesn't matter, don't let him take tesserae. Make sure Dad takes care of himself and gets to work on time, brush Harvey's hair every morning. Use the bigger comb, the smaller one hurts him. Just...look after everyone for me, okay? Take care of Harvey and Dad."
"You got it, ma'am," Milo said with a mock salute, but afterwards he did give a serious nod to show he had understood. He was always the jokey type, and though it helped a little bit Demi knew it wasn't the time.
And after that, the girl just sat with her twin for a couple of minutes, chatting about absolutely nothing as they would on a normal day. Until Milo had to go, and there was one last tear-filled hug before he was escorted out of the room by peacekeepers.
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Post by 𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨 on May 5, 2019 19:05:14 GMT -5
Mallory stood in her home, rushing to get ready. Today was a scary day, and she was shaking as she woke up a bit late. Though it really wasn’t late, at all. It was hours before the event, and she was already mostly dressed. But she wasn’t shaking at the prospect of being late.
She was scared beyond belief. Because she was scared, not only for herself.
She herad a voice behind her, turning her head, her little brother was in the process of getting ready, and her mother was helping him. She wanted him to be fine, she needed him to. She would scream and cry if she heard his name today. She was scared for herself too, she didn’t want to be a part of the games, nor did she want to be a part of a Quarter Quell, they tended to have nasty twists. Game 25, each tribute was voted on by their district. It might not have been bad for a career district, but being chosen meant hate was being put upon you, that you were wanted dead. Game 50, double the tributes, twice the heartbreak, the games themselves were bloody, and she learned from her parents the dangerous drawbacks of rebellion, the winner lost his family, from what she heard, though she found the fact that his friend, also from District 12, was killed by a candy-colored bird.
She never had heard of such a bird before learning of the story. Though, being stabbed in the neck by a bird’s beak sounded painful.
The 75th, as she was told, were terrible as well. The winners of previous games were made to compete again, and the winners of the 74th? Killed, from what she was told. Though she doubted it was by another tribute, from what her parents explained, it was an arena event that took them out, and again, perhaps rebellion sparked that.
Then the 91rst games, the ones she dreaded when a close family friend died. 91 brought her attention to Catallus, the winner she held anger towards, as 7 year old her lost her babysitter, but he lived on to be some pet for the Capital. But he spoke out, his words marred in her mind. All we do is Kill and Die.
He lost took at that point, because his rebellion caused death. She could never confirm that, but she knew.
So she stood, shaking, because what in the world would they have planned for number 100? She was thinking maybe half the tributes, make the fight much harder. Maybe bring in 100 tributes? Take 10 year olds too? She had no idea, but all the worst scenarios were in her mind, and she was scared.
Because no matter what the probability was, what if she, Pascal, or Opal, the younger sister of the family friend, were chosen from the hundreds and hundreds of names?
That scared her. Because there was a chance, no matter how small.
“Mal? What are you moping about?” Her father asked, bluntly, his glasses resting on his face as he inspected her, fixing her dress jacket, a dark nightshade color, and pulling her in for a hug. “Just think, you got this year, and one more, and you never have to worry about being reaped.” He comforted, sighing as he pulled back, worried for her.
“But what about Cal?” She questioned back, glancing at her brother.
“Well, He has a 1 in about 30,000 chance of being one of those tributes. District 3 has a large population, honey. Up to 190,000! You shouldn’t worry, okay?”
Number did little to calm her. But her mother was shooting them out the door.
In Mallory’s opinion, her parents looked too concerned to believe in the numbers either.
........... ”Opal Swiftly!” The capital’s women chirped, reading aloud the name in a cheerful tone, and everyone went silent, looking around expectantly.
Mallory felt her heartbeat quicken in panic. Waiting for someone to object, someone to volunteer in the 12 year olds place. For her family! They lost one kid already to the games, why should they lose their only one left?
One second.
Silence, a cry rang out somewhere farther back, soft tears, and Mallory was whipping her head around to find the shocked girl. Waiting still.
Two Seconds.
People shuffled, automatically, so the girl could reach the stage, and Mallory locked eyes with the girl she would often babysit. Her hand twitched, instrinct driving it. Someone would volunteer soon.
Three Seconds.
“I Volunteer!” Someone called out, strangely sounding like her, and her shock swept away because, indeed, now everyone was looking at her, parting for her. Opal screamed out for her not to go. Pascal...
She wasn’t going to address that.
Her feet moved on their own, her eyes coldly staring up, as she made her way to the stage, waiting for the male to be chosen. Blocking out all the eyes on her, all the cries, or sympathetic looks she was given. She didn’t want pity. She wanted to go home, and grow up, and build like he father, create like her mother. Make clothes, like her mother made for others, even her own dress was made at her mother’s hands. It was crafted well, gorgeous really, her mother was a great seamstress.
”Pascal Libelle!” The women chirped out, and Mallory was screaming. She was screaming, and crying, because that wasn’t fair. How could that happen! There wasn’t a chance it could. “No!” She cried out, fighting against a peacekeeper, “That’s not fair! He’s a kid! Someone please!” She begged, screaming at the crowd now, “Someone volunteer for him!”
No one did. No one moved. They just wore faces full of pity and fear.
She stopped fighting, she waited now. For her family. For her friends to come.
Her father and mother came first, hugging her. They visited Pascal first, and they were crying. She was crying too.
“I’m going to protect him,” she gasped out, having long since taken out the bun her hair was in, but still dressed in the baby blue long dress, darker tights and jacket. Her black flats remained as well. But protecting turned to tears of fear.
“I’m sorry,” her mother croaked, “I’m so sorry, honey.” She said, she was crying too. “We’re proud of you. But please, please protect your brother. But protect yourself too.”
Her father was humming a lullaby to her, to help calm her down, “Your going to do great, I know it. You’re brave, and innovative. Team up with your brother. I want both of you to try and get home, Alright?”
“Dad, only one tribute goes home. I-“
“Just try to make that two, okay?” Her father, a blunt man, strict to numbers, said. His cheeks wet from tears.
Time was up soon, and she was alone.
Until some new, unexpected visitors came. A few of her friends, not close ones, but ones who apologized to her. She didn’t want to hear it, she didn’t talk. None of the girls did a thing, and mostly, none of the boys would volunteer in place of a child, a brother.
Opal and her parents came, they thanked her. But she stopped them before they could leave, talking finally.
”Take care of my family, please.” She asked, smirking just a tiny bit, through her tears.
Opal nodded, tears in her own eyes, before they left too.
Mallory didn’t sleep that night, she pretended too. But the whole night was haunted by the strange motto that haunted her
All we do is kill and die.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 6, 2019 1:41:49 GMT -5
(Wow that was really good and also heartbreaking. I’m very tempted to do the reaping from Pascal’s point of view now I probably will
I feel so bad for Mallory honestly. I hope she goes home and visits her parents before moving to the Capitol)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 6, 2019 4:00:02 GMT -5
Pascal Libelle There is no darkness but ignorance
Pascal could remember his first reaping last year. He had been so scared while he was getting ready, but Mallory had reassured him, told him that he had almost no chance of being chosen for the Games. And so he'd put on his best clothes and went to the reaping of the 99th Hunger Games. He hadn't been picked, as predicted, and he and Mallory had watched 23 kids close to their own age die just so one could be crowned victor.
He remembered Mallory telling him years ago that she would always take care of him. That all they did was kill and die but she would kill and die for him. Those words stuck with him just as they had stuck with his sister. He knew she'd heard them from Catullus Acton, but he had been too young to remember Catullus saying those words or Catullus' Games. He hadn't watched the Games until he was about nine or ten, maybe a little younger.
But now it was the 100th Hunger Games, and Pascal knew he should probably be more scared. It was a Quarter Quell, and he knew they were vicious, and it was an extra special one with it being the 100th Games. He knew the Quarter Quells had their twists, the boy had done enough research on the Games to know how awful Quells could be. The 25th, the tributes were voted for. The 50th, Haymitch Abernathy's year, double the number of tributes. The 75th, the tributes were chosen from the existing pool of victors. This year's twist could be anything, but he had to assume it wouldn't affect his likelihood of being chosen because they'd already doubled the number of victors and used a voting system.
Which meant he had - he'd calculated it - a 1 in 30,000 chance.
And that was why he wasn't nervous; the numbers told him he didn't need to be. Numbers were comforting. Of course, he was prepared for the possibility that he might be reaped, but he wasn't going to let himself get too scared about it. He knew his parents were too scared just to trust the numbers, and he knew Mallory felt the same. But he still had this year and five more reapings to go, and it was easier for him just to hide behind the data and the maths. It would make it bearable for the next five years.
His mother was adjusting the collar on his outfit. For the reaping that year he was wearing a pair of dark trousers, a white collared shirt and with a navy v-neck jumper over it. He didn't wear a tie, he'd done so on his first reaping but he has just felt like it was choking him and he didn't want to wear one this year.
"Mom, honestly, it's okay," Pascal said softly "my clothes are fine."
But she just shushed him and he didn't press her any further on the issue because he knew why she was really doing it. She was taking care of him one last time that morning just in case she never saw him again.
"Is Mal okay?" the boy asked his mother after a moment, meeting her gaze.
"She's just fine," his mother assured him "she's done this plenty of times before, and she knows she only has a couple more years to go."
Pascal nodded, but he knew that didn't make any difference. All of that was true but Mallory was probably still scared. The Games and the reapings didn't get better with time. An 18-year-old was probably as scared as the 12-year-olds at a reaping. And she was probably scared for him, just like he was scared for her.
But his mother obviously decided that Pascal was presentable, and so the two siblings were hurried out of the door.
He made his way to the square with Mallory, let them prick his finger with only a wince and a slight intake of breath - at his first reaping he had been very hesitant to give them his hand, he'd been very nervous - and then he was separated from Mallory. The two went into separate cordoned-off areas, and the boy couldn't even see his sister anymore. He was closer to the front with the younger kids while she was closer to the back with the older ones.
First it was time for the girls, and he silently prayed, chanting over and over again in his head 'not Mallory, not Mallory'
"Opal Swiftly!"
The boy's stomach dropped. She was a year younger than him, it was her first reaping. She'd lost her big brother in the 91st Games, Pascal knew that, and he had a dim memory of her older brother, who had often babysat Mallory and Pascal when they were kids.
This was awful, he so wanted someone to volunteer for her, he willed it. It just wasn't fair on her family.
"I volunteer!"
The words would have relieved him if he didn't recognise the voice. If he didn't instantly know that was the voice of his big sister.
And as the crowds parted, he saw her standing there, looking as if she couldn't quite believe that she'd just done that. Pascal couldn't quite believe it either, though maybe he should have expected it of Mallory, who had a soft spot for kids and a strong sense of right and wrong.
"Mallory!" he cried, and he had never heart his voice like that. It was fear and heartbreak and despair.
His chances of losing his sister were now 1 in 24.
The other kids held him back, kept him from rushing forward, and later on when the emotions died down he would be grateful for that. The other kids had stopped him from drawing attention to himself and getting into trouble in front of the peacekeepers.
Pascal was considering whether or not to volunteer. He knew he could choose to go in there and be by his sister's side. But he didn't know if that would help. He wanted to be with her in the Arena, but he worried he would hold her back. She would spend all of her time worrying about him and no time focussing on winning. Him being there would make Mallory's chances drop. But maybe it was better that way; Pascal was more likely to die early, which would be one more person out of Mallory's way.
And could he bear to watch her be in the Arena from his own home? How could he bear to go to work every day and live like everything was normal while his sister was in the Arena?
But he never had to decide, because...
"Pascal Libelle!"
His dilemma was solved, his decision made, and so he just watched as the crowd parted in front of him. He could see the looks of pity, could hear Mallory crying and begging people to volunteer for him. But Pascal knew this was better. Yes he was a kid, and yes it wasn't fair, but he wasn't afraid for himself. He was scared for Mallory, but it would be okay. And so when he climbed the steps to the stage, he locked his gaze on his sister.
"It's okay," he mouthed to her, giving the slightest nod.
He didn't want her to cry or worry or be upset. He wanted her to know that he was alright with this.
May the odds be ever in your favour. 1 in 30,000 turned 1 in 24. All we do is kill and die.
It was a blur, but then he found himself waiting to see his family. It wasn't long before his parents rushed in, already in tears. Not that he blamed them, both of their kids were heading into the Arena. He was embraced by both of them in some strange tear-filled group hug.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, baby," his mother sobbed
"I'm sorry too, Mom, I really am," Pascal murmured
"Listen, son, you're going to come home. 1 in 24 chance," his father assured him "you're smart and fast."
"Sure, Dad, 1 in 24," Pascal agreed "but one of those 24 is Mallory."
"You'll both come home, you have to both come home, okay? You look after your sister, stick with her and you can both come home."
Pascal nodded, but it was purely to reassure his father. He knew it wasn't true. They couldn't both come home, they wouldn't both come home. He had accepted from the moment he was reaped that all he could do in these Games was give Mallory the best chance he could. Because what if he made it to the final two? That was a game of close-range fighting, brute strength most of the time, and that was a fight Pascal had no chance of winning.
His father said 1 in 24, but Pascal knew he hadn't taken other factors into account. Like the Career tributes, or Pascal's age. He had almost no chance of winning. It wasn't impossible, but it was less of a chance than his sister.
"I know, Dad. I'll team up with Mallory, I'll do what I can. But don't think 1 in 24. Think 1 in 12. You have a 1 in 12 chance of getting one of us back," Pascal said softly "and I intend to make that a certainty - one of us will come home to you."
He didn't want to have his parents get their hopes up that both of their children could come home. Sure, anything could happen in a Quarter Quell, but the Capitol made the rules. If they didn't say two tributes could come home, two tributes couldn't come home.
"I'm sorry, Mom and Dad," he said softly as he hugged them one last time "I love you."
He spent a few last precious moments with them, knowing full well that the chances were that he would never see them again. But then they left to go and visit Mallory, and Pascal was alone.
But he was visited by friends, all of whom were worried about him, scared he would die in the Games. He assured them that he'd do his best, that if he had anything to do with it either he or Mallory would come home. He wanted to make that happen. He also made sure his friends kept an eye on his parents for him, that they'd help his family if neither he nor Mallory made it.
He didn't have long with them, and soon he was alone once again, tear tracks on his cheeks. But he knew he would see his sister on the train.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 6, 2019 4:15:58 GMT -5
(Also omg I found a perfect kid Pascal
And a random au older Pascal cos I stumbled on the picture and why not? The hair would be darker and the eyes lighter blue but idk it kinda works.
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 7, 2019 1:02:57 GMT -5
Hahaha yeah it’s mainly just extra writings and chatting and stuff I think? It looks like a lot but it’s not that bad)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 7, 2019 1:14:02 GMT -5
Hahaha that’s a mood though, I have my characters set up for the next Games but it took me ages.
See you on the weekend! I think things should pick up then)
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Post by 𝐸𝓁𝑜𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒟𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇 on May 7, 2019 22:08:08 GMT -5
(hi guys!! I am almost done with exams!! I just have one more on Thursday. But I’m trying out a new barn this weekend so depending on how tired I am it may be Sunday or Monday when I finally get back into the swing of RPing)
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Post by ƤαƖƖαѕ ✧ on May 8, 2019 0:20:49 GMT -5
Hey dream! I’m glad your exams are done, hope they went well! Don’t worry that it might be a little before you’re fully back and able to rp, we’re not going anywhere)
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