#ruleandtask

Dolly was so stunned and so impressed that she was practically shaking. Having had little to drink, she was up, awake, and clear-minded as the arena shifted. She was not at a loss for words, but rather couldn’t quite choose the right one to describe her excitement. “It’s... there’s... more!”

Lara could hear the crickets for the short time that cut the image of the explosion, up until the Hunger Games commentators picked it up, speculating on the Games for the spare few minutes until the official launch. The destruction had been beautiful, even if chaotic and wrecking. She couldn’t pinpoint her own feelings on it. Her nails were clenched on her presidential work phone, waiting for the first instructions, but her eyes couldn’t leave the screen. Speaking to someone nearby, she gasped as the first of her words formed on her lips. “Imagine if the President...” came a muffled sigh of pure concern. “I can’t even say it.”

The launch always made Moxie sick to her stomach; the guilt she felt in nearly condoning the murder of people so young, people who didn’t have the opportunity to truly live their lives yet. Cut short, the string severed in the Bloodbath for some, and for one lucky soul – if Moxie could even call it lucky – they’d win. The concept of being a victor shook her to her core and she couldn’t even begin to reconcile with wanting one person to win more over another – would it be Honey? Could she deal with losing Honey if she didn’t win? What about Kit? Could she let him die just because he wasn’t almost family to her? No. No Moxie had made a promise to Slate that she’d do everything within her power to keep him alive. He was her tribute. 

Beneath the shield of her arms, crossed at her chest, Ariadne was trembling from anxiety. The first mentoring year, after so much of a hiatus and for the wrong district, injected a sort of anxiety she hated, hated, hated. When the two tributes she was guiding turned against each other full-force, she pursed her lips together, but didn't panic too much.

“How long will this go on for?” Leander worriedly asked, as he watched the gravity levels in the Arena go haywire. Tributes were being flung in all directions, at some moments flying while at other points they were smacked back down to the ground as though something had held them up and decided to drop them again. Pepper and Hazel were still doing well enough, but no one could ever be sure when the Gamemaker influence was so dangerous. “Has anyone-” He looked down at his tablet, his tributes’ vitals brightly displayed on the screen. He’d began to speak, and promptly, the vitals for the girl from District One ceased showing any sign of life. “Oh. That’s- Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“I’ve been craving these since my Games,” Juniper said, a metal bowl from the edible plants station tucked unabashedly between her forearm and ribs. Her fingers were stained with the juice from the purple berries inside, something she hadn’t quite been able to find a match for after the jungle of the 126th Games. “Want one?”

“Oh, good, you’re here. Try this on for a second?” Cade shoved a pile of fabric into Everett’s arms as soon as he entered his stylist office-- probably here for something completely different, but he was on a deadline and this tribute was about his size. He started grabbing some pins, measuring tape, and scissors, then cast a glance back over his shoulder. “What are you waiting for? It’s not like I haven’t seen you take your clothes off before.” @everettlance​

He was back into his official title, back to the position that had been taken away from him only in name after the Quell. Things were finally moving ahead, with the trial concluded, and his life as sterile and empty as it’s always been. Lysander tactfully ate his yogurt, the only breakfast he could stomach those days. As another person approached, he moved slightly to make room at the table, unnecessary claiming of personal space just a little more away from them.