'Cause we all wanna party when the funeral ends and we all get together when we bury our friends

[etcircenses]

Who| TYP Children and You?
What| TYP Children have the opportunity to look around.
Where| The Tribute Tower main floor.
When| Now through the week leading up to the arena.
Warnings/Notes| TYP children showing up early is not mandatory. This is merely an avenue for those NPC players who were interested.

In part with the President’s wishes, the District children are not training or living in the same building, but rather, a refurbished old Tribute tower as was used in the days before Tributes were offworlders of vast number. Mentors, Escorts, and Stylists alike will need to travel to the new building to work with them, then travel back to see to their offworld Tributes. Public appearances are minimal so long as the Tribute is kept busy with training and private interviews. There is, however, a brief chance to meet a few of them before the arena, should you catch them on a visit to the offworlder’s tower, restricted to the main floor. Through this, the lucky few District children able to show are allowed fleeting glimpses in person of those they will be competing with and possibly even a chance to talk to them in person.

Comments

[lockedinthechrysalis]

Hemlock doesn't look like she considers this lucky. She looks surly and tired, refusing to let herself be wonderstruck by the Capitol and its riches. It's better, she figures, to play herself off as aloof and angry than to try to pretend she feels like smiling. She wouldn't convince anybody, anyway.

She goes along with the trip anyway, though, hoping to see her new enemies face to face and get a bit more of a sense of them. Besides, although she hates to admit it, she's kind of curious to know how they've been living all this time, after talking to them through the letters. She trails after the others, toying with the dragonfly necklace she wears and looking around suspiciously with dark, heavy-lidded eyes.

[conifer]

Emily had wanted to avoid this meeting if at all possible. She'd become a little complacent when it came to the new format of the Games, not having the same attachment to the offworlders, and knowing that most of the time the Capitol revived them after their death in the Arena anyway. She knew it wouldn't be this way for Hemlock, just as it hadn't been for Calder and for Thorne and for the multitude of Tributes she'd sent off to die for the amusement of the Capitol.

"Hello Hemlock," she says softly as she approaches, knowing the media would comment on her ignoring the District Seven Tribute as she crosses the main floor far more than it would pick up on them talking a little. Even in those two words, her tone is full of sorrow.

Irri, D9

[caryopsis]

Irri hangs back a little as the new group of Tributes file into the offworlders' tower. The announcement that he'd been reaped had come as a complete surprise to him, a very nasty one, and he isn't sure if even worse surprises will be waiting here for them.

When instead he just sees the magnificence of the place before him, and screens showing all of the Tributes he's been watching and rooting for back home, a brilliant yet cocky smile spreads across his face and he struts around the tower as though he owns the place, as though he can see himself up there with the current Victors, even though he knows in reality he hasn't got a ghost of a chance of surviving.

Mollusc, District 4

[m0llusc]

The District 4 tribute, Mollusc, doesn't smile much. Bearing the anger of his entire region, he is polite enough, but clearly unhappy about being here. There are some big changes in the Capitol lately, but the throwback to the days before this Quell is certainly his least favorite.

He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to kill, and more than anything, he doesn't want to leave his sister all alone.

He is braiding some strands into knots, practicing twining them into various shapes, looking like the doesn't really want to talk to anyone, but the right approach can probably soothe and soften him into having a conversation.

[furgood]

Mollusc is easy enough to pick out from the crowd. She'd seen him on television and--well, there was the knots he was making over and over. Not in the mood, she can only assume, but there's some vague sense of responsibility to her. He's from her District, she left--this could have been Taria if they hadn't left. And she has so little to show for her time here, not much to help her District when people are sent to die anyways.

She didn't know he'd be here when she showed up or she would have dressed plainer. All glitter and shimmer, she suddenly feels more Capitol than she ever has. There's no time to change, so she hopes she doesn't look as alien as she fears.

"Mollusc?" She leans in a little to get his attention, as absorbed as he is in those knots. If he acknowledges her, a soft smile greets him.

"I was never much good at those complicated ones. Give me a harpoon any day or set me diving, just not net duty."

[crabmunicator]

It's hard to miss Karkat in a place like this. He's an offworlder, alien even among the others, horns and grey skin serving beacons or warning lights as he passes through. He walks with no fuck-off swagger, no scowl; instead, he carries himself as something fragile and out of place, wary to step wrong or look too hard at anything.

A pall of guilt lays over him. The kids here are all his age, plus or minus a couple years, most of them looking worse off than him for the weight of what bears down on them. He hasn't forgotten (can't, won't) that they have a single life to their names. It's hard to face.

He told Phil first thing that he could only save one.

So here now lie the other lambs awaiting slaughter, 23 at least of which will have to die, if not all 24. He shuffles here and there as he scans through the lot, but he's not seeing...

There's a kid he sees, not remotely who he's looking for, but the unmistakable posture of someone who's not there to talk draws him. He ignores the braids and knots on his approach, barely even looks at his face to ask in a voice rough and distracted, "Have you seen the District 6 girl? Blonde, older than me. Named Maglev."

[actually112]

Aang's never met Mollusc in person, but he remembers what he looks like from the videos of the Reapings. He's the Tribute he most wants to meet, and yet who he most wishes weren't here. He had thought that his pen pal friend was the only friend the Capitol couldn't hurt.

But Mollusc is here, and Mollusc is probably going to die.

Putting that aside for now, Aang approaches slowly, picking up his own length of rope before sitting in front of the other boy. He tries to imitate Mollusc's knots. His style is different from a fisherman's--all his knots are careful, made like art instead of anchors.

He doesn't doubt that Mollusc will know who he is. There aren't many boys with arrows tattoo'd on their skin in the Tribute Center.

"I liked your story. What you have so far, at least." Maybe he should say something more profound about going into the Games or something, but this is what comes to mind.

[ka_sera_sera]

Could the right approach possibly be not trying to find the right approach at all? Could it be just standing in front of the boy and starting in on business? Too bad if not. It's what Roland's doing, regardless.

"Roland Deschain. I represent your district," he says, and the one bit of politeness that Roland does see sense in is the one where you give the other person space. He's stopped at least an arm's length away from the boy, paying the most attention to his face but noting the movements of his fingers, the types of knots he twists that cord into. "I'd like to know your skills so I can better help you in the arena, but at the very least you ought to know my face, so if you can get to me in the cornucopia, you know to do it. Will you do that?"

Roland's struck with the urge to squat on his haunches in front of the boy, lower his voice a little. He resists it. Whether or not it's shame that drives that urge, shame that this boy is likely going to die and maybe on his watch, doesn't matter. What matters is that this boy has been shoved into adult matters, is most likely going to die for them. The least Roland can do is treat him with adult manners, as well, and not waste anyone's time by giving in to that urge to talk down to him.

sorry this is late!

[theyoungperish]

Mollusc doesn't smile much, but then again, neither does Chuck. Especially now, when he's got another kid to Mentor who won't come back the way these Offworld Tributes do. He's pissed, but he can't show that much.

Still -- Chuck has a fucking job to do, and he'll do his absolute best to help this kid. He knows his name, his face, and eventually he makes his way down to the Center to see what he's got to work with. He's done this before and he'll do it again. It's a part of life -- even if it wasn't supposed to be, anymore.

So he moves silently, watching from out of sight, and damn the kid's good at knots. Chuck'd been good himself, you couldn't live in Four and not be if you wanted to keep on living. But at his age, well, he'd probably be beat. Then again, at Mollusc's age, Chuck was already a Victor, bloodied and snarling, chemical burns scarring up his skin. In some ways, he never left that Arena. Right about now, he crosses the room, leaves space enough between them. He doesn't need to introduce himself -- the kid'll know his face.

"What else've you got, kid?"

There's the sea in his voice, even if he's got a bit of D2, too.

[sociopathicwolf]

Mollusc isn't the only districter from 4 who doesn't smile much. Derek's angrier than usual since the announcement about the reapings - the only thing these offworlder Tributes are good for is that they were supposed to stop this. It wasn't supposed to be their kids anymore.

Maybe it's misplaced anger, directing it at the Tributes when it was the Capitol who reaped them in the first place, but Derek knows better than to display any kind of anger towards the Capitol. There's nothing he can do about it anyway, nothing but do the best he can to help Mollusc.

He doesn't bother to introduce himself as he approaches the kid tying knots. Whether or not people in his district have forgiven him for winning when most of them wanted the female tribute to be the Victor, they all know who he is.

"Don't worry about sponsors."

Rotor- District 5

[rotor]

5's Tribute is a soft-looking young man, both physically and emotionally. His dark, close-set eyes are often on the floor, and when someone gets his attention and tries to congratulate him for the honor of representing his District, he sniffles and seems to be barely holding back tears.

Images from previous Games are played at various points, and he seems determined not to watch them. This one is squeamish, and he avoids looking at the screens. His warm skin blanches and takes on a grey hue, and during a particularly gory scene, he's on the hunt for something in a hurry. He finds a potted plant, doubles over, and is promptly very violently ill.

[atouchofka]

Alain is nearby, blending unobtrusively into the background as he's wont to do, watching everything quietly. When the boy rushes past him, though, Alain pulls away from the wall he's leaning on and goes to his side, dropping to one knee to pat the child's back and support him as he vomits.

"There's no shame in it," he says quietly, digging in his pocket for a handkerchief so Rotor can clean his mouth. "First time I saw real fighting, I had to run for a ditch too."

That's not entirely true. The first time he saw real fighting, at least from close range, was at Hambry, and he hadn't had time then to feel sick. They'd had to keep moving, to do what needed to be done. But sometimes, there's no shame in lying, either.

[voiceinthephone]

Phillip was hoping to meet District 6's Maglev before the real work began...but he recognized that sort of illness anywhere. This is a child that had no need to be here, a cruel impositiong by a man who clearly had no kids of his own. Gray sighed out and got the young man a bottle of water and a nearby chair. He knows the chances of these children are slim to none in the Arena...but he can try to make it better for all of them.

"Wanna sit down?" he asked, a warm tone to his voice, "You're...Rotor, right?" From Venus and Hat-Nick's District.

Aemila, D2

[timetoshine]

Aemila has something on her side that none of these other reaped children have: she volunteered. She wants to be here and it's clear in the way the Capitol brings a huge grin to her face as though she's finally seeing someplace she'd only ever dreamed of. When she's in the tower, though, she's determined and focused, but clearly much more at ease and comfortable in her surroundings. It's true, District 2 wasn't nearly so nice as all this, but coming from a prestigious peacekeeping family means she's prepared enough for everything around her.

In the lobby, she sits comfortably with her legs crossed on the couch cushion, sometimes playing with a necklace that's around her neck at all times, sometimes writing something down and sometimes simply watching the competition come and go, sizing them up.

Where she's most active is the training center where it's clear she's no pushover. The dummies she hits with her fists sustain damage and the targets she takes more than one weapon to are left riddled with slices, holes and dents. She's never tried this on another person before, but it's clear she's had plenty of practice on her own long before coming to the Capitol.

you rang?

[lionhearted_victor]

Leonidas wasn't one to delay in meeting his Tributes, even less so when he watches Aemila tear the targets apart. It's been too damn long since he's seen a District Career take up the arms and perform so well...it makes the man homesick for his old training studio.

"At ease," he makes his presence known as he would in the District he was so loyal to. There a needling feeling in the back of his mind that he can't quite place, but he shows a familiar pride. "I see you've made yourself welcome in the Training facilities."

[expurge]

He's been working hard. He knows he needs to expand his horizons - it's difficult locating a bat or blunt instrument in the arenas, but there are plenty of knives and daggers usually within easy reach. If he can't find a bat this time, he'll have to know how to better use a blade, and increase his chances of success this time.

As such, he's spent more time in the training center than ever. It's almost routine now. Wake up, train, rest, train some more. He's running himself ragged, but it'll surely pay off.

But now he's exhausted, taking a break near the sidelines to clear his head. That, and to keep an eye on the competition - the training center is usually pretty busy, and this time there's more younger tributes than before. He keeps watch, not out of a parental or guardian sort of need to, but simply out of curiosity. Curiosity that piques watching a young girl practically demolish a practice dummy.

"Impressive."

You know. For a child.

Char, District 12

[whenirun]

Char had intended to come to the Tribute Tower and blend in. She could use the opportunity to get a sense of her competition, maybe even lay some groundwork for alliances in the arena. After all, the offworlders seemed to like alliances a lot more than the Tributes from the old games, and it would be much better for her to try to get in on one than risk being the only one in the arena without a group to help her.

She vastly underestimated how hard it would be to blend in here. There are people with whiskers growing from their cheeks and rhinestones surgically affixed to their brows. Between the gleaming clothes and colorful makeup and surgical modifications, she stands paralyzed, her eyes darting around and her hands twisting in the legs of her pants.

There's so much here. So much food and wealth and glamour. She feels woozy in the middle of it all, and maybe even angry. She'd always heard that the Capitol had far more than it could eat, but hearing and seeing are different things.

She can't just stand there, though. That makes her look like a weak link. Looking a little more lost than she would like, she wanders towards the bar, trying to look like she has some idea of what she's doing.

"May I just have some water, please?"

[beckstitch]

Beck has been looking for her new charges, trying not to let herself think too hard about what's waiting for them. Sending children to the old Games was bad enough when she was only an assistant. But now she's the Head Stylist for them, and the chances are stacked even more against them.

She finds Char first, seeing her at the bar, and hurries over, putting on her warmest smile. She's dressed, today, in a kind of black bodysuit seamed with gold, with 12's logo detailed in sheer gold mesh over her cleavage. Her heels are a good eight inches, with their platforms full of artificial, glowing coals. She looks very Capitolite, of course, but she's trying to show solidarity.

"Hey." She sits down next to Char, smiling at her, and offers her hand to shake. Her acrylic nails are transparent, delicately filigreed with gold, and long enough to look like claws. "I'm Beck. Your Stylist? You're Char, right?"

Bacopa, District 11

[silencedriot]

Bacopa has nothing but contempt for this whole process. She's having some trouble hiding that.

When she's brought to the Tribute Tower, she goes straight for the restaurant area. She orders lots of food, and a keen eye can see that she swipes from her plate and stores more food in pockets and little compartments in her clothes. She gives an impressive death glare to anyone who stares at her and her food, and will often just stuff more food into her pockets or her mouth as if to prove a point.

She doesn't want to die. She doesn't intend to allow herself to die, but she knows that no Districter below the age of fourteen has ever won before, and her odds aren't good. Well, if she dies, she's going to own the time she has left. The Capitol will just have to put up with her taking as much of the food they have denied her and her people in the meantime.

[shieldofrohan]

Éowyn's excuse for being here is that she wants to meet her new District partner, but the truth is, District doesn't matter much to her. They're children, being forced into this after all the indignities the Capitol already puts on them, and it makes her blood boil. She'll protect them, she decided the moment they heard about this Arena's twist. She'll protect them to the last drop of her blood.

But she can't do that if they see her as an enemy, which is the actual reason she makes every effort to be around when they visit.

Bacopa catches her eye, those squirelly little movements making Éowyn's heart tighten. She gives the girl space for a little while, but eventually crosses over in long, unhurried strides, sitting down opposite the young girl without waiting to be asked and holding out a bread roll. "You dropped this."

[decommission]

He's here getting a quick meal for himself, not planning on sticking around too long. Ten minutes after he's got what he's needed he's still hanging around, keeping an eye on her as she pockets things from her plate.

When he gets one of her impressive death glares (possibly more than one), he frowns back at her from where he's seated - then jerks his chin at her.

"Good way to attract animals."

Hiding food like that in your clothes. Not something you really want where they're going, if she makes a habit of it.

[contrarianlibrarian]

China isn't a big fan of this shake-up. Not because of any sympathy for the children or their families--no, she never minded what was done to them--but because it seems to show a possibly unfavorable shift in strategy. But she can't be remiss in her duties, so she's smiling as brightly as always while she searches the Tower for her new charge.

China glides to the girl's side, surveying the impressive stash of food. "Hello, dear. If you're running out of pockets, I can find an Avox to help you carry it all."

Deniera, D8

[piroudeath]

Deniera had heard stories about life in the Capitol growing up from her step-father. They fueled her dreams for years and she always believed that she would eventually make her way to the Capitol, somehow. She never imagined she'd be reaped as a Tribute. It was a possibility that occurred to her once or twice as a child, of course, but with the start of the Neverending Quell, it was a worry that had been lifted off her shoulders.

The little she's seen of the Capitol since she's gotten here is everything she's dreamed of. It's not that her quality of life in District 8 was poor (she can't remember the last time she went to bed hungry like the other children in her District), but this is all so much more and she can't even go out and enjoy it. Which is why she keeps finding herself on the main floor when she isn't busy training. It's the closest she can get to the city outside without getting in trouble for trying to leave (tempted as she may be).

She doesn't mean to be that weirdo, but she can't resist trailing after the people who pass through, trying to mimic how the people of the Capitol walk or see what her (potential killers) competitors look like in person.

[cigne]

"Hiiiiii," comes a tiny, sing-song voice, and it's floating out a tiny woman, fluttering toward Deniera with a huge grin on her face. Her dress is in exaggerated blue gingham with a blue ribbon and bow at her little waist, white petticoats bouncing around as they hit her knees. Platinum hair is all pulled up to the top of her head and crafted into the shape of a bow, then studded with little sapphires. Her heels are sky high and her long eyelashes are cobalt. "You're Deniera, right? Hi!"

She's trailed by a pink dog and a cub-sized white tiger with pink stripes, both in tutus and with little bows on their heads, and an Avox follows the animals, carrying a large stack of exquisitely wrapped presents, pretty gift bags with coordinating tissue paper hanging from its arms.

"I'm Swann Honeymead, I'm the Escort for Eight!" the little woman says excitedly, wasting no time in hugging Deniera whether she wants to be hugged or not. Swann smells faintly of sugar, among the other notes in her perfume. "I'm so happy to see you!"

Bison | D10

[byeson]

Bison's going to die, and yet that doesn't make the food here taste any less indulgent, doesn't make the hot showers here any less delightful to rest in. He's taken four showers already today, and is already planning a fifth, even though he no longer smells like the cattle of home and thinks the flowery shampoos are a bit hard to stomach. He goes to get a meal and can't help but sniff all the strange smells Capitolites put on everything, from scented candles to greeting cards that smell like lilacs. He sits at a table, lifting each forkful of food and taking a good, deep inhale before he puts it into his mouth.

He's going to die. He knows it, because sometimes Bison just knows things, not like being psychic but like he's made up his mind about something and that has made it true. He's going to die relatively soon, probably in the first week. It's easier, he thinks, knowing that he'll die soon and not waste his District's resources. It's easier to put the needs of many over the needs of a few.

Back home, the elders always said that he was an old soul. They didn't know what Bison thinks he knows: that each soul can only age so far before it has to gutter out, and by reaching his limit so prematurely he's lived out everything there is. His soul cannot mature anymore, and so it'll be alright that he dies, because he already reached that apex of appreciating everything, including his youth before he even had to lose it.

These are his thoughts as he picks at his food, finding his appetite suddenly waning. He takes his plate to the sink, not realizing he should have left it for an Avox.

[seestheman]

Clara can tell that there's something going on behind the scenes, anyone who pays enough attention can. It goes beyond the parade and the pageantry, or the children (which makes her heart hurt in a way she didn't realize was possible), but she doesn't know exactly what it is. Right now isn't the time to focus on that, though. Right now is the time to focus on this boy who's suddenly become her charge, this boy who's circumstances make her feel guilty in a way that she hasn't felt since Alex's death.

She doesn't have the heart to tell him that he should just leave the plate. She never does, if she's going to be honest with herself. She tries to clear her plates and do her own dishes so the Avoxes don't have to do it for her. Instead, she forces back the urge to tell him to try to find a way to run, to find a way to escape to 13, and instead smiles at him sweetly. She's dressed down compared to the Capitolites or the interviews she's had in the past and has a tablet that she keeps looking at, trying to memorize every fact about him possible. "Hi, you're Bison, right?" She knows who he is, but it's better to ask, it's better to put him as much at ease as possible.

For PG

[jackiewashere]

It wasn't real. She told herself that when they called her name. She told herself that when Cable called her other name. She walked up and glanced numbly out over the crowd, at her parents already in tears like she'd ceased to exist, at the boy beside her just as numb, one of the younger ones she used to read to. She was afraid because nightmares were frightening, but it wasn't real. They kept her in that room, her parents hugged her goodbye and she hugged them back. It wasn't real. It was just a bunch of nothing, happening in front of her and in her head but not really happening. And then Cable walked in. In her dreams before he would say things, finally, just telling her what she meant, maybe even building up to what she meant to him, but he didn't do that then. He did something else and she shoved him and screamed at him. Why would you do that!? It replays in her head over and over. It's real now. It's real and everything broken. The bow and arrow she's holding are fumbled and dropped as tears well up again. No, no, she can't do this...

[voiceinthephone]

Phil would give his soul to have Maglev return to her parents' embrace, to never worry about being reaped for this glamorous hellhole. She needed to go back, she had to- this was no place for a District child. He doesn't want her to die. But that's his job isn't it? To make sure she got through the other side. Karkat assured Phil that he would lay down his life for Maglev, they were friends after all.

So Gray straightened his back and remembered Linden's advice: he'd have to find strength to face hard decisions even if he wasn't ready for them. He found it in remembering what brought him here: the Missing Children. He wants to make sure Maglev doesn't suffer that face.

"Hi-hello...?" He greeted her as he picked up the bow and arrow, don't stutter, assure her, "I think we can take a little break. I'm not an expert at this but uh, you're not...you're not all right."