Author Games: World Seasons

Task One - Parade - Fools Tributes

Alec Q Ate

Q is annoyed. His costume is stupid, the girl beside him only glares at her fellow tributes, and to top it off, no one pronounces his name right. Alec. With a 'C', no 'X', he thinks, picking at his sleeve; the elastic digs into his wrist.

Of course, he doesn't look annoyed. He looks like the model of a tribute, taking in the Capitol with wide eyes. A grin slips onto his face every once in awhile, while he thinks. 

The noise from outside is deafening, even before the doors are opened. Stylists run about, doing last minute costume checks. Jemma's stylist is doing so, while Q's couldn't care less. He sighs, doing a check of his own costume. 

The black and white hat's tilt is irritating, and the front is heavy due to the red pom poms, but it is in place, so Q leaves it. The shirt, red and white striped on one side, and black on the other, has elastics that dig into Q's wrists, the white gloves not helpng. He plays with the white pom poms on the shirt before deciding there's no danger of them falling off.

The elastics are around Q's ankles too, and Jemma gives him a look as adjusts them for the fifth time. He simply rubs out a scuff mark on his black shoes and stands up. They're almost going, the gates have been opened and chariots roll out. Q looks one last time at his pants, at how stupid they look with the black and white stripes on one leg, red on the other, before the chariot is pulled out of the building. 

Q smiles brightly, waving at the crowd and chancing a look at Jemma. She has also decided that this would be the best course of action, and is looking ecstatic to be here. Q notes that the girl version of the costume is much more suited for this- the clash of patterns actually seems to work on her short dress, as does the white ruffle around her neck, which looks idiotic on him. They both wear the same style of make up, white diamonds over the eyes, features comically enhanced. 

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Jemma Fools

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Jefferson Craene

"You look like the stylists barfed on you." Victoria snorts

"Your one to talk!" Jefferson lightheartedly replies, eyeing the lime green tuxedo dress hybrid the stylists chocked her with, before fingering at his own neon suit. 

Atleast he got to wear his hat, he would say to himself. It helped him, reminded him of his other. When he was down a sparse sight of the worn out toppeling hat would remind him that he will indeed come back up. When he was on a high, the news of a perilous future but his audacious life in perspective.

The two clambered onto the bright float, which frankl,; looked like a tea party in a pig sty; of course neither of them would think that. Last time Panam had pigs was when the Thanksgiving district went down. But nobody remembered that. Vinella made sure of it.

The float boasted a poreclein table, ornate swirls embedded in the pinkish wood. The table was adorned with childish silverware and miniscule tea pots. Remenants of plush animals were stren across the floor, their cotton innards tangled within posies sprouting from the faux grass.

As they both sat in the deep crimson armchairs, only so soon before the low hum of an engine turned on and clapping pounded in their ears.

Jefferson was okay though, the float reminded him of home; useless and impractical. He desperatly tried to ignore his next realization though, it wasn't his home.

It was him.

He was useless.He was impractical He was deadly.

The crowd collectivly gasped as his calm facade swirled into distorted rage. His finger nails pursed the arms of his chair, clawing to stay sane.

His eyes dilated rapidly as the world melded into a fluxating blur. The clapping and hollering got louder, louder, LOUDER!  His body went numb and there was blackness.

All he knew was that someone was going to get him, and that he had to run. Light flooded into his eyes and Victoria was holding him back. She pulled against him as he tried to crawl over.

Than he broke free and ran.

Untill he switched.

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Victoria Iocus

 The chariot is a explosion of colors, cannons filled with bright confetti just waiting to be shot out of the cannon into the air. Jefferson's crooked nose casts a long shadow along his face making his face dark. Victoria sits small and frail in the seat next to the jumpy man, even her own lime green top hat barely going over the window of the identical lime green chariot.   

Victoria peeks up as the chariot starts to move and the blaring cheers pound in her small eardrums pulsing in her brain as she shrinks down in her seat, letting only the hat be seen.   

The crowd is only playing attention to the winter chariot ahead of them, pure snow covering them in a shower of sparkles as Mistletoe sits in the chariot bright red lips and pampered face making every Capitol male fall before her.   

The cheering quiets once the winter chariot leaves, causing Victoria to peek above the window until a loud crack brings her right back down.   

"Jefferson! What was that?"  

She asks in a hushed whisper as the smirk is clear on his face.   

"That, was the thing that is going to make the capitol love us."   

The confetti and various small pranks shoot out of the hidden cannon on top of the chariot. Capitol citizens lean in to try and catch them, people in the front rows already grasping a handful.  

Maybe they can sell them and get rich once we die, because they came from the chariot that we now sit in, parading to our deaths.