ＷＩＴＳ | ＭＡＲＶＥＬ ＨＵＮＧＥＲ ＧＡＭＥＳ ✅

ｔｈｒｅｅ

Jolting slightly, Rybbon winces at the feeling of the needle pricking her middle finger. She feels it go beneath her skin for less than a moment before extracting itself. It doesn't bother her though, as her mind has drifted elsewhere, as have her eyes, looking for her brother in the large sea of boys across from her. She continues looking for him as she's forced to the front of the crowd, being eighteen and all. She cranes her neck the best she can, looking for Cook among the young boys at the back of the crowd, but can't seem to find his curly head among them.

A sinking feeling forms at the bottom of her heart, her lungs being constricted of air. However, she takes in a heavy breath, easing the dead weight in her gut the tiniest bit. Still, when she turns her attention to the stage in front of her, she can still feel the weight on her shoulders. It's muted a bit when she sees the lady from the Capitol come back again this year, finding her outfits ever more amusing with each passing year. She remembers the year prior when she wore a diamond-encrusted dress that fell to her knees. Her hair was also done up, adding a foot or two to her small stature, as did her large studded heels. And the paint on her face matched the rest of her look, her eyelids glistening beneath the artificial light shining the stage. Her lips were a light beige, however, blending in with her fair skin tone.

This year wasn't different. The Capitol woman stands in front of the poor boys and girl of District Three wearing a soft pink and blue dress, the colors mixing at certain parts to create an even softer purple. The dress fell to her mid-thigh but poofed out at least half a foot out around her. The heels she wears are as tall as ever. Small winged creatures are glued to the tip of them. It makes Rye raise a brow, never seeing something like that in District Three. She ignores the curiosity forming at the back of her throat, forcing herself to listen to what she has to say.

"It is time for us to select one courageous man and woman for the honor of representing District Three for the 74th Annual Hunger Games." Rye can tell the Capitol woman is forcing her voice to be a higher pitch, watching the muscles in her neck tighten with each word being forced passed her full lips. There's gloss over them, but they still blend in with her skin, nevertheless. "This year, let's mix it up." A giggle leaves her, making Rybbon react with wide eyes and a stiffer posture. "This year, the men will be picked first."

The palms of her hands become sweaty in an instant, thoughts racing through her mind. Her brother's name and face flash in her mind, making the blood drain from her features. She grabs onto the person standing beside her. They tense up but don't force her hand away, so Rye keeps it there, trying her best not to scream or cry or do anything stupid or attention-drawing.

Her eyes follow the Capitol woman as she takes short steps towards the large bowl, her steps echoing thanks to the concrete stage she walks upon and the dreadful silence she receives. She stops a few inches from the bowl before bring her hand halfway into the bowl. Her hand hovers for a few moments, wondering who she'll send to their demise. Hell, Rybbon swears she can she the woman drooling. Still, she picks a card after digging deep into the bowl. She pulls out the small envelope, eyeing it with an uncomfortable amount of glee before walking back towards the mic she stood in front of before. Her long painted nails slowly unfold the small envelope, soon becoming a long strip of paper. Her eyes trail the paper for a few moments before her lips pucker, forming the name in her mouth before letting it roll off her tongue.

"Chase Nelson."

Rybbon knows she shouldn't, but she does something she's never done at the reaping: She gives a sigh of relief. The weight that once pressed against her chest disappears as soon as the boy's name rolls from the Capitol woman's tongue. She shouldn't be happy for someone else's demise, watching as the boy walk towards the stage, his shoulders rolled forward as his eyes seem to be glossed with tears. But even then, despite seeing the fear in the boy's eyes and the few tears rolling down his face before he wipes them away with the sleeve of his oversized button-up shirt, she is so relieved. And she can't help the small quirk of her lips, feeling the smallest smile forming before the eccentric woman speak again.

"Now, the ladies." Rye still can't seem to care. Maybe it's because she's become arrogant in the span of a few seconds or she simply doesn't give a damn, she doesn't react how she usually did when it was the ladies' turn. She didn't feel a cold shiver run up and down her spine. She didn't feel her right eye begin to twitch, something it does when she's under intense stress. She doesn't even hold her breath, waiting to let it out once someone else's name is called. Instead, Rye can only watch silently, her mind still trying to process that Cook is safe. That he'll be okay.

The Capitol woman doesn't take her time picking from the female's bowl, picking the one she had been eyeing for some time. She holds it above her head once more, a look of glee on her face once more. However, a sly grin forms on her lips this time. She walks back to the mic, doing what she did before. She takes a moment to stop when her nail nearly creates a cut on her finger, but still ends up puckering her lips, letting the name on the paper become familiar with her tongue. When it is, her mouth opens the smallest bit, pulling in a small amount of air before exhaling, the name on the paper going with it.

"Rybbon Fyrnsby."