24 Tributes, 24 Tragedies, A Hunger Games Roleplay

[Shadsie]

Pitcarin winced hard at the "arrow to the brain" comment.

"It's... not peaceful," he said honestly. "Taking an arrow. I know. I put some in people to win my Games. People tend to be kind of... surprised... for a moment when hit through the eye. It's not clean and it's not pretty. It's even worse through the heart, where they have a few seconds to look at the thing while they throb out their life. Only person I ever knew who went peaceful in the Hunger Games was Marla, and that's only because she was already sick for years and she was probably in more pain than she let on. You really shouldn't wish for that. You should hang on with every scrap you've got - for your family, at least, and for the District. If either of you win, everyone will get extra food for a year. And, well... I won't be so lonely anymore. We're an endangered species, us Victors from the poor Districts.

You don't have to kill anyone, actually. That's a little known secret of the Games. If you're lucky, you can get away with just hiding out by your lonesome until everyone else bites it. It's not easy and it doesn't happen too often, but it can happen."

 

[LittleGumball]

Cotton squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled for a moment before snapping them open to stare into her Mentor's eyes again. "I'm not. Winning. Anyone who says otherwise is kidding themselves."

Her resolve was wavering, but only a little. Cotton had her mind set on the truth. She couldn't deceive herself now.

 

[Shadsie]

Pitcarin sighs. "Would you like to know what I do to prepare people for the funerals?" he asks. "I've done it far too often. I'm still young yet, and I've done it far too often. I will give you honor, though. You see, as a Victor, I get paid a stipend by the Capitol, that whole... showering you with riches if you win thing. Every year, I give some of my money to the families of my Tributes. It helps to cover the burials and so forth. It's the only thing I can do to apologize, I suppose."

 

[LittleGumball]

"That sounds nice," Cotton said quietly. "My mother would like that."

Her poor, poor mother. How disappointed she'd be when her only remaining family member died within 30 seconds of the Games starting. Would she be sad or disappointed? Probably both.

She thought about her mother then. She should at least try to stand up for her mother, she supposed. Give her mother a reason to be proud of her, for once. 'My daughter lasted a whole day in the Hunger Games!'

Not much of a statement, but then again, her life didn't amount to much either.

She wondered what her funeral would be like and whether anyone would attend for her and not just for her mother.

 

[Shadsie]

Mr. Woolworth grabbed a roll of gauze from a first aid kit that was in the room. He took Cotton by the hand, pulled up her sleeve, and began methodically wrapping her hand, down to her fingers, paying meticulous attention to detail. Of course, this was a funeral custom of District 8 * , little known to those in other districts. Being the Textile District, the funeral customs involved things of fabric. Some of the wealthier folks opted for a treatment that was very much like mummification.

Of course, though Pitty was very tender, he was trying to frighten the girl a bit. He thought that if she was made to imagine her own dead body and what it would look like, she'd get a little fire in her to at least *try* to survive. He'd probably have to do the same kind of thing to the boy, later, but he was absorbed in his reading now.

"I clean my Tributes up," he said in a smooth voice - "after they're brought in on the crane-ship. Well, if there's anything left of 'em. Sometimes they step on a mine or the mutts get them or the kids from Districts 1 and 2 decide to be really brutal when they corner 'em. I wash the skin, stitch up the wounds, put on the ointment and begin to wrap them like this for the journey home. The morticians there handle the rest."

He winds gauze up the length of her arm, hoping that his sad, creepy display sets in.



(I have no idea what funeral customs would really be like in the Districts, but I read a fan fiction once that dealt with them. "The Funeral Customs of Tributes" by aimmyarrowshigh - something like that. The author didn't include mummification. I just made that up. Their personal District 8 thing was something else. However, that fic planted into my head the idea that the Districts all might have different little funeral rites, depending upon their respective cultures, so I'm making up junk for this rp, and others are free to do so, as well, if ideas strike them).

 

[LittleGumball]

Cotton was rather fascinated by the wrappings. She wondered what her mother would think of her baby being wrapped up the way a wealthy person would be. She hoped it would make her happy, in a grave way. Bittersweet, that's what they called that. "Yeah, she would probably appreciate that," she murmured, staring at the cloth. "She's sentimental like that. Always looks for the deeper meaning behind things."

 

[Shadsie]

Pitcarin sighed deeply. "I think your mother would be happier having you home. My mother and father were very happy when I came home."

He began unwinding the gauze and rolling it back up. "Though you might be luckier to die than to survive, actually," he said. "I still have nightmares sometimes. I didn't like what my twitchy instincts made me do to people. I've liked even less watching the people under my care slip from my fingers, no matter what I did. Stubborn people who didn't want to pay sponsorship... Career Tributes... Sadistic Gamemakers... Can you promise one one thing, sweetheart?"

He looked at her seriously in the eyes. "Try not to get your face eaten off. That happened a couple of years ago. I think the Capitol censored it for broadcast. I really don't want to have to wrap up half a face again."

 

[LittleGumball]

Cotton returned Pitt's gaze steadily. "I ain't no sweetheart, buckaroo, but I'll do my best."

 

[Shadsie]

"Good. Now, if they let me onto the training floor, maybe I'll have a shot at showing you how to draw a bow. You never know. You might need it."

 

[LittleGumball]

"What about my partner?" Cotton asked, looking at the boy on the other side of the room. "Are you gonna treat him special too or are you gonna get just me to try?"

She didn't know the boy but was certain he had given up hope too, by the look of him. She had been wrong about her Mentor but this boy had the same look she figured she had before Mr. Pitts entered the room.

 

[Shadsie]

"I meant both of you," Mr. Woolworth said.

He went over to talk to the boy for a while, before the stylist was able to arrive.

(If you want, I can give the boy a name since no one's claimed "Male from 8" yet. Just for ease of communication purposes).

 

[LittleGumball]

((go for it :yes: ))

Cotton stared at her hands, lost in thought. She mostly thought about her mother. She thought of her funeral a lot too. Would anyone go because of her? There was no way to know, really, unless she could watch from beyond the grave somehow.

She thought about what would happen to her soul after she died.

 

[Shadsie]

Edmond Taylor, the boy that had come with her, seemed to be having some of the same problems with the Mentor as she had.

Pitcarin Woolworth was sad. He'd been the only living Victor from his District for a long time. It would seem that the entire District of 8 had given up. Were they really that bad off? Were they as depressed as District 12?

 

[Shadsie]

______________________

Vashe stared at the pair of prop-knives given to her, awaiting the final stage of the "fashion."