Of course, the glorious Capitol would never have a recession, but it is having a small little money problem. But you didn't hear that from me! Due to certain cutbacks, only 12 tributes will be reaped this year and the Games will be very short. Don't worry though, we have been assured that the standard of the games will still be the same.
Okay, at the moment please submit one tribute per person. There needs to be 6 males and 6 females, all from different districts. Be as detailed as possible in the descriptions. Lunaiis will not be needed. Due to budget cuts, the reapings will not be broadcast, though chariot rides will still happen.
Note: I write the games, not you. These are going to have some comedic elements, and certain tribute traits may be exagerrated. If your tribute dies, I'm sorry but that's kinda the point of the Hunger Games. These Games will be rather short. If there are long pauses in between posting, I'll probably say I'm building suspense but I'm really procrastinating. Feel free to scold me if there's been two or more days without a post or update.
|6||F||Cherry Fantius||14||AW3SOM3 S4MU3L|
|12||M||Nick Lovizio||12||Maybell Rocks!!|
Zac Watt's POV
I cannot believe the Capitol is putting me through this. I thought the tributes were at least supposed to be spoiled until the Games, but of course the year I get reaped is the year the Capitol decided to be thrifty. The food has been subpar, and my “prep team” was composed of volunteers who spent more time asking me about my band than actually making me presentable. I suppose it doesn’t really matter how I look as more than enough people should be willing to sponsor a CapitolTube celebrity, and I’m sure my stylist will have been picked more carefully than my prep team.
The door opens, and a tall woman with bright blue hair strides in. She does nothing but stare at me for a few minutes. Is it possible that she too is another fan? I’m just about to offer her an autograph when she speaks.
“I can see you wooed the prep team rather than let them actually do their work. You’ll just have to look as sloppy as you play those drums of yours. Maybe if I’m lucky your death will cause your band to break up, and that lovely Annabelle Volt will sing the anthem before the District 5 reaping again. Don’t just sit there, stand up! I see I’ve got plenty of work to do…”
The rags I’m supposed to wear hang before me. It’s the typical District 10 outfit for the lesser stylists: A simple cowboy outfit, with absolutely nothing at all to make me stand out. If I want sponsors, I’m going to need someone with an actual talent with fashion. I tighten my grip on my knife, taken from my plate of food while the stylist berated an avox for tripping.
“Well, what do you think?” My stylist says, positively beaming with pride.
He’s a rather elderly man, who spent a good amount of time complaining that his shop’s sales had gone down. He won’t be missed.
The actual chariot rides, instead of those previous random point of views
The crowd cheers as the tributes come out, each chariot pulled by a tired-looking horse. Volunteer commentators attempt to speak about each tribute, but it is clear they have no idea what they’re talking about.
“There goes Everest… Satire maybe? Like it matters. Anyway, here he comes in an absolutely astonishing costume. My sister is the designer you know. She obviously went for the abstract, just got off the train look. It’s almost as if she just spray-painted whatever he was wearing at the time gold and stuck him on the chariot! Simply brilliant.”
“Nice observation there. Do you think we could get an exclusive interview from her later on?”
“Of course not! I’m sure more high-end journalists and anchors will want to speak with her, she won’t have time for us.”
“Oh… Anyway, here comes Ursula James. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say her costume was the same one used on the District 2 girl last year!”
“That’s right, District 2 stylist Peace Ruse mentioned earlier she wanted to focus on reducing, reusing, and recycling!”
“Fascinating, I don’t suppose we could speak to herafter this?”
“Try to be less stupid, after this she’s chaining herself to a tree.”
“Could we get a story on that?”
“In this weather? I’m not staying outside for a second longer than I have to.”
“You know what, why don’t you just leave now? I’ll pull someone from the audience to fill your place. It’s not like it’ll matter.”
“Oh you lovely thing! I don’t know why I ever thought you were beneath me! See ya!”
The male announcer struts away as the female announcer attempts to choose another volunteer from the roaring crowd.
“You there, come up here. Quickly now!”
An elderly lady is helped by peacekeepers up to the desk where the commentators speak from. Certainly not shy, the lady pinches the other announcer’s cheek before taking her seat. The embarrassed announcer quickly goes back to speaking.
“Oh, here comes Issabella!."
"What a lovely name. My son's mother-in-law was named Issabella. I'm sure this Issabella is actually sane though."
Fireworks explode from Issabella's chariot, and she curls up in a ball. Explosions aren't exactly her thing.