thecapitol | The Tribute Youth Programme: July

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The Tribute Youth Programme: July

Who| Adults who act as chaperones on the field trips. Any Tribute character aged 18 and under. This is ICly Mandatory for Tributes under 18 so your character will be there even if you don't tag in.
What| July's TYP round; Summer School Blues, field trips, and more...
Where| A private school building within the Capitol, a waterpark, a zoo.
When| Regular school hours (8 AM to 3 PM) four days a week (Monday-Thursday)
WARNINGS| Mind-altering juice boxes, indoctrination. Place any needed warnings within comment headers.
NOTES| If you would like your character to be caught trouble-making, please contact mods. We are looking for both Mentors to speak of the District they hail from (or represent), and Capitolite characters to talk of Panem's greatness. If you would like your character to stand as a guest speaker for the next round, please refer to this post. The fantastic Tribute Youth Programme uniforms are designed and drawn by Reiko.

The Tribute Youth Programme is back in full force. The Teacher missed you all!

Class will go much like it did before, anthems, uniforms, and all. By now the new badges should all be sewn right in. You still have the opportunity to earn more, and on top of all this, your letter replies have at last come in! Along with all the (questionably subsisting) pet bats promised of Panem Nightly.

This time is extra special, however, for there is a secret surprise planned for next month that the Teacher is preparing for. Something about partners for tents and canoes? Whatever that means. Maybe if you sign up early you'll get a partner you like. And perhaps asking among the adults if any would like to chaperone for the mystery trip.

As for this current trip, those who earned the bonus will get a free ride around the park on one of the elephants, front row seats to a live performance in the aquarium area, and a custom photo souvenir with their favourite animal.

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He raises a sceptical eyebrow. It seems to him that it's just as bad whether you're the only one scarred or your friends and comrades join you in suffering. For him, the thing that had been a comfort to him was that despite his own brutal punishment, Regal hadn't found the Fool or the Queen-in-Waiting. Most of his surviving friends had escaped, if not unharmed then at least free, and though if they had been found and killed he would perhaps have suffered less, he is eternally grateful they didn't.

"True," he agrees, feigning another sip from the juice box and putting it down in such a way that the last remaining liquid drips out of the straw and onto the grass. Now there's no way to prove he didn't drink it. "Perhaps I'd better not win. I've seen enough of the fighters here to expect a few new scars if I did."

He smiles humourlessly. He does not want to go through death and resurrection again, not in any form. But it's true he doesn't hugely rate his chances. His sword and axe skills are rustier than he'd like, and more importantly, he doesn't think he could kill a child. Even one trying to kill him. He looks at Sandy, imagines burying his axe in her, or even poisoning her cleanly, and his stomach flips over. How can he do something like that, come the Arena?

Sandy smiled a little sardonically acknowledging he might be right. "If they aren't on the outside they're on the inside."

She seemed somewhat pleased with that. It sounded cool to her and when she was such a dork or a gloomy grumpy child most the time she clung desperately to the ability to sound cool in front of "Adults". Because clearly anyone with a beard had to be an adult. He was right they had just made a mistake with him...or maybe it had been on purpose.

"I'd take some new scars to get out though. Eleven arenas is long enough." She declared letting the grass she'd plucked drop back to the ground. "Maybe this one will be my last."

And there was at least two potential ways that could happen.

"Eleven arenas," he repeats under his breath, shocked by the magnitude of it. Dying and being dragged back once was bad enough. But eleven times? For the first time, it occurs to him that there might be no way out. That this could go on forever. After all, what's age if you're reset every time you die? He realises his hands are shaking, and does his best to still them. "Do you get to leave if you win? To stop...competing?"

She'll admit it...it's sometimes a source of comfort to her when people are amazed with how much crap she's put up with. His reaction to the number makes her feel better about how many times she's failed.

"If you win they make you a mentor. That means you get to live in Tribute Tower and don't have to go back to the arena...usually. But you're responsible for the other tributes in your district so it's your job to train them for survival and maybe even help them earn some sponsorships so they can get items in the arena."

Why the Capitol hadn't been better about informing people about this was a source of great confusion to Sandy. Was it because they wanted to see how long the tributes would go without finding out the rules? Maybe. Or maybe it was a trick of some sort...

"Sometimes they have special arenas with special rules. And that means sometimes the mentors who have already won will get sent back into an arena. I've seen it happen a couple of times since I got here."

He nods, to show that he has heard and understood her, but his mind is whirring. For him, he isn't sure that being a Mentor would suit him any better than being a Tribute. He'd still be trapped here, still watched, still held, and now with responsibility for other people's lives that he can hardly walk away from. The concept of dying and being brought back fills him with a kind of heart-stopping, belly-flopping horror that turns his blood to ice, but if Sandy can bear it eleven times, he can take it once or twice at least.

Silently, he decides that if he's put in the Arena with Sandy, she'll win. She's been through enough. It's the sort of impulsive promise he makes to himself that tends to get him in a lot of trouble (and after all, why save her instead of anyone else who's stuck here?) but looking at the little girl next to him he can't imagine how he could make any other decision.

"Still. A couple of times is a better chance than being drawn every time."

He wouldn't be the first to make that silent promise, and while Sandy might suspect it of some of her other allies she's never heard them say it out loud. It would make her feel guilty to think people who barely knew her would put her life before their own. Then again could she honestly say she wouldn't do the same for some people?

"That's true. And being forced to go to fancy parties is way better then the arena. At least at the end of the night you get to go to bed in an actual bed instead of in the dirt hoping that no one kills you in your sleep."

Is she bitter? No not at all why would you think that?

Either way her stoic expression turns to a soft smile.

"I got really close once. I was one of the last like...three people in the arena. It was me, that guy Black Tom and that woman Clara. But I'd gotten really sick drinking the water because I didn't know someone had poisoned it. I started hallucinating and thought Black Tom was a monster-"

She'd gotten used to saying it that way. What she really saw Black Tom turn into was a vision of a woman she had personally murdered. Seeing the shambling corpse of one of the Capitol's most decorated employees had scared her over the edge.

"So I tried to kill the monster before it killed me but Black Tom saw me coming of course and took me out with one shot. Watching the videos later it was...really stupid looking." She smiled sardonically shaking her head.

"Clara took him out in the end and won. But he won a later arena so they're both mentors now."

He quirks a bitter smile at her observation. Sleeping in the dirt waiting for people to come and kill you is a particularly familiar state of affairs for him, and he fully concurs. Frankly, the only good thing to come of his kidnapping to the Capitol is sleeping in an actual bed for the first time in months (not counting the time he spent convalescing with a horrendous infection and a gaping arrow wound in his back, which was hardly restful).

Listening to her story, though, his face softens in sympathy. His hands dance a tense tattoo on his knees, thinking about what she's been through. "You did very well, then. You and two grown adults? Out of, what..." He counts up in his head. "...twenty-four people? It's hard to be proud of surviving in all that death, and certainly hard to be proud of what you have to do to get there. But you must be very tough." He speaks like someone who knows what he's talking about. He hasn't been in the Arena yet, but he thinks he more or less knows the feeling.

She doesn't even bother correcting him on just how many tributes had entered that arena, there were decidedly more then twenty four but she was latching onto his praise like she always did. Being told she was tough made her feel tough and a little sheepish.

"I've had a lot of help. Teachers, friends. I think it's the only way to really win. Get as strong as you can be, work with others...then get lucky."

There were other ways obviously, including betrayal but she was hoping it would never come to that for her.

"Thank you though." She added very quickly not wanting to appear ungrateful for his praise.

He nods, thinking about that. "I think everyone needs help, sometimes. That's true," he agrees reluctantly. He's never been much good at accepting help, but he has to admit without his friends and allies he'd be dead a hundred times over by now. "But finding good allies is its own skill."

She hadn't actually thought about it like that but...she actually had a pretty great track record of finding good allies didn't she? It makes her smile with a flicker of pride.

"So how good of an ally would you be?" She half teased accepting him in the same breath as someone she could go to for help...probably.

He seems to think fairly carefully about that, scratching at his thick thatch of beard. "I suppose I couldn't say. I've little enough idea what I'm up against. I've fought in wars before, but this isn't a war, is it? And I know not how strong our enemies would be. For all I know, I'd be struck down the moment I entered the arena, and then I'd not be much of an ally to anyone." He smiles dryly, picking his words carefully. He wants her to know he isn't rejecting her as an ally, but that doesn't mean he wants to show his whole hand, or make a threat of himself. From what he knows of the Arena, his chances are pretty good, but it's best if she doesn't rely on that, and if he doesn't seem overconfident.

She nods pretending to look thoughtful about it.

"Well if you wanna avoid being killed then as soon as the arena starts run the other way. There's usually a big cornucopia in the middle of where we start full of weapons and gear. I always take a chance to get some gear but...sometimes it doesn't work out."

Her face hardens for just a flash, throat tightens and she breathes in through her nose forcing the air into her chest and letting it out smoothly. Just like that she's fine again. Another unfortunate memory prickling at her brain.

"But even if you run from the Cornucopia if you can survive a couple days then usually the mentors, the fans or even the District will send you supplies."

Information was her trade for anyone, but it didn't hurt to use it as a lure for potential allies right?

He smiles dryly. "I don't know how long I'd last without weapons. Historically, where I've gone unarmed against an enemy with a sword or a bow, I've not fared so well." Almost unconsciously, his hand moves to his upper back, resting across his shoulder, fingertips brushing the fresh-ish scar where an arrow between the shoulders almost killed him a few months back. He doesn't press for more details at the moment, though. It's clearly a sore subject. "I hunt well enough bare-handed, but I'd as soon not try to wrestle down a man who's trying to stick a blade in me. It can be done, but it's rarely a fun experience."

She nodded in understanding, there was a reason she always went for the cornucopia even if it killed her.

"If you don't get a weapon on day one, maybe your sponsors can send you a knife. It's not much in a fair fight but it could save your life. Those are about the only weapons that you can get your sponsors to send you." Then she looked thoughtful and corrected herself "Well I mean, they've sent bullets before too, and alcohol which you could light on fire, but they can't send like swords or guns or spears. Just tools."

"You could do worse than a knife," he muses, almost absently. "With a sword or a spear, you can hunt and you can kill, but with a knife you can mark your path, cut ropes or vines for snares, gather herbs and leaves, gut and skin your meat, and, for that matter, kill a man before he knows you've a blade. I'd sooner have a sword or an axe at my side when it came to a fight, but if the game's survival, a heavy weapon can be as much of a hindrance as a help. Especially for someone your size," he adds hastily, realising he's rambling away from her in the conversation. "Anything with an edge can be a weapon, in a tight spot. How are you with a small blade?"

There was a faintly confident smile.

"I don't like them, but I'm good with them." In all honesty Sandy felt more comfortable with large blunt weapons. A little range, a lot of heft. Good for blocking.

"I mostly use them to clean things I've hunted or to make tools. I've only killed maybe...two or three people."

Three people directly. More indirectly. But if she kept it vague perhaps the Capitol microphones wouldn't fact check just how many people she'd really killed since arriving here.

"I can even throw them pretty good."

"Huh." He looks at her thoughtfully, sizing her up. "You'll have to show me some time. That's not a skill I've ever taken the time to truly master, though in a pinch I could throw true enough to wound, at least."

"Sure. Just come find me when I'm in the training hall. I go there every day after school." She promised feeling a flicker of pride that she could share something useful that she'd worked so hard for.

He may be new, but it was becoming clear he was going to be an ally. How strong of one was yet to be determined.

The bell rang and her face fell "Back to work." She sighed picking herself up out of the grass.

But over all, it had been a good little recess.

He smiled at that, and nodded assent, following her back inside in silence. But he was happier than he had been. He liked Sandy, and it was good to feel like he had made a friend, even one who was practically half his age. It might even make the rest of the day of pretending to care about their propaganda bearable.

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The Tribute Youth Programme: July

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