The 50th Annual Hunger Games Victory Tour

Joined: 9:39 PM - Apr 01, 2012

3:28 PM - Aug 12, 2015 #1

This was disappointing, his Quarter Quell had come down to a girl from District Two and another from District Four. Every year it seemed that District Four had a tribute enter the finale, he hated seeing the same thing year in and year out, but the people ate it up. In an ideal situation, both of these tributes from their career districts would kill each other and a winner would not be declared, leaving the nation with twenty-four less people to deal with. President Snow had been watching within the confines of his home, after having it thoroughly cleaned after hosting this year's viewing party. Never again did he want that amount of wretched victors and their ilk walking the halls of his home. The thought of opening his home again to those who he didn't like was just sickening. If he had it his was, they would have walked in and then never saw the next day. He had his people check his home extensively, in case anyone had been stupid enough to steal from him. They checked and checked and checked some more, but their results were the same each time. Nothing had been stolen from him, except for his privacy. There were no plans to host another party of that magnitude for some time now. As the finale progressed, President Snow proceeded to prepare himself to receive the winner and present them to the awaiting people of Panem. His eyes were locked onto his multiple viewing screens as his assistants attended to him. Once the winner had been declared, he shooed them away, adjusting his cuffs and collars, it was time to address the people once more, they wanted to see their winner.

President Snow was ushered off to his podium, where the people and the nation's newest victor were waiting for him. Ideally, President Snow would wear gloves when meeting these new victors. They may have been cleaned and taken care of after their retrieval from the arena, but they all looked so....dirty. He took a deep breath in before he stepped out into the public eye, approaching his podium as the crowd cheered and applauded. He held up one hand to silence the gathered crowd as the other gripped the side of the podium. "Victory." began President Snow as the crowd's applause and cheers died down. "Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival." spoke President Snow, his eyes locked straight ahead of him. "We celebrate our Fiftieth Hunger Games, our second Quarter Quell, as they come to a close. We honor District Four and their latest in a long line of victors. I present to you, the people of Panem, our fiftieth victor, winner of the second Quarter Quell, Scurvy Marty." he concluded before stepping away from the podium. President Snow opened the sleek wooden box presented to him by a pair of avoxes. He removed the crown slowly, holding it between his hands before he bestowed it upon the head of their latest victor.

With the presentation done, he pulled his hands away from the dirty looking victor, walking briskly away from the whole scene, dusting his hands off once he was out of the public's eyes, shaking them off. "Why can't they at least look clean?" he said to himself before he got back into his transport back to his home.
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Joined: 9:25 PM - May 04, 2015

3:30 PM - Aug 17, 2015 #2

Everything was a blur from the moment Scurvy Marty was spirited away from that moment. And not just because he was baked most of the time (although that did, admittedly, have a lot to do with it) but because of how action packed every hour, no, every minute was from the moment he stepped off that hovercraft. Fashion teams worked an entire day before giving up on Marty's dreadlocks, which had been that way for years. They donned him in a costume that was supposed to make him look like a sea-god. It was complete with netting and shimmering henna tattoos that looked like scales painted over his muscular abs, which had been injected with something that was currently making them bulge and ripple like never before.

Marty fussed with his silver wrist cuffed and itched at his chest where a decorative chain was tickling him. One of his style team swatted his hand away, chiding him. Marty looked down at him, studying a tattoo that he donned that read 'No woman no cry'. If Scurvy Marty knew how to read he'd have realized that this was one of his own quotes, but that whole thing went way over his head as he was lead out towards the stage where the president awaited him.

People gathered by the thousands, awaiting the presentation of the victor. Many Capitolites now sported full heads of dreadlocks, which had suddenly come into fashion and when Scurvy spotted them he furrowed his brow. As he came up before the president, an assistant shoved something into his hand - his speech - but since Marty couldn't read he paid no mind to it. President Snow was speaking but Marty was staring, dazed, over the crowds and at the screens. All of Panem was watching as the camera's closed in on his face and all grew quiet. It was time for him to speak.

Silence stretched on for several moments and everyone thought the dumb old man would say nothing. Then he blinked, took a breath, and spoke to the people of Panem: "Open yuh eyes, luk witin.... ah yuh satisfied wid de life yuh living?"

Joined: 2:45 AM - Jul 05, 2012

5:49 PM - Aug 17, 2015 #3

Toward the end of the games, when it was announced that Scurvy Marty and the woman from Two were the final tributes remaining, Skipper sighed, finished her drink, and made her way to the coat check to reclaim her wrap. As it was settled over her shoulders, she was making her way swiftly to the exits so that she wouldn't be burdened by sportsmanship. She had no interest in congratulating Guerra on his first win in an entire decade.

Before she got out of there, she heard shouting, and blue confetti began to rain down from the ceiling. She turned around, cerulean eyes wide, plump lips slovenly slack-jawed. "I don't fucking believe it." she murmured, as she stared at the screens proclaiming Scurvy Marty--the tribute who had spent most of his training smoking seaweed declared the winner and standing over the tribute from Two. With a happy screech, she threw her wrap in the face of the avox and nearly tripped over her dress scrambling back inside the party. A lei was placed around her shoulders, and Skipper Teague was hoisted on the shoulders of two shirtless avox.

Inadvertently, another victor from District Four had been crowned. Standing two feet from Marty, and dressed as a mermaid, though she was likely too fat for that costume, Skipper, with long, blond weave tossed over one shoulder and dusted the floor, stood wearing her own crown from the 33rd Hunger Games, in a seashell bikini and her legs with tattooed mermaid scales covering them. The Quarter Quell had been clinched by a Four, and Skipper couldn't be more proud. Well, not as proud as when she had brought Caiman to the Capitol, but proud nonetheless. Without her donation, Marty would have died the same way that beast had that day in the plains.

Skipper was thinking about her own legacy, seeing three tributes as champions would cement her as one of the best mentors of all time, let alone in District Four. Her glitter-smeared eyes scanned the Capitolites, decked out in various shades of blue, with some even sporting dreadlocks like Scurvy Marty, and she couldn't help but wonder how they all had arrived to this particular place in time. After the president had placed the crown on Scurvy Marty, Skipper went forward, and placed a lei around their new champion, before joining in the applause.

Joined: 8:19 PM - Sep 03, 2013

3:22 AM - Aug 24, 2015 #4

There was a woman in the crowd, but no one could see her. Wearing her trademark headband, her dreadlocks dripping in sunshine, wearing the same outfit she died in, Canta Basil weaved through the nearly-apoplectic Capitolites. Gust wandered with his mother, holding her hand as they looked up at the balcony. There would be no more bloodshed for awhile.

Her face was less pinched, the worry lines gone, the sadness that dripped from every harsh word, completely obliterated. She hoisted her son up onto her shoulders, so he could see Marty more clearly, cheering and waving to the victor who would be going home. It was Canta who counted herself lucky, not having to endure another day in Panem, finally having crossed over to a better, peaceful realm. She died the day her son had been taken from her, not in the arena from a poisonous capsule.

When they finally disappeared, a new day was dawning in Panem.

+4 to all roll results if you are alone

Joined: 7:52 PM - Apr 13, 2015

12:00 AM - Aug 25, 2015 #5

Florence welcomed death with a sense of peace and tranquility. Her spirit left the Hunger Games before Barley's weapon was pulled from her corpse. Flo found herself back in her home District of Nine. The town square was solemn when the victory tour rolled in. Adults stood stoic in their finest garbs while children huddled together and fidgeted during the speeches.

Flo liked being with the children. Their playful spirits matched the way Flo felt. Comically, Flo tugged on a pigtale gently or tweaked a nose with the flick of her index finger. Giggling, Florence paid no attention to Marty, the mayor, or any other memorial honours Panem wanted to bestow upon her and Barley. She much rather be with the kids - at least they knew how to party...

Joined: 2:33 AM - Apr 13, 2015

3:57 PM - Aug 28, 2015 #6

Calix did not know what to feel as his ghost hovered over his family. His mother was in tears and his father just looked totally confused. Calix guessed that his father's reason for confusion had to be the fact the four boy had won the games. Calix did not blame his father for his confusion. Although, the blond haired ghost figured that he had much nicer thoughts than his father did. Despite that he was rather surprised to see scurvy up on the stage as the victor of the fifth hunger games. In fact the blond haired man would not be surprised if all of the country was like what the heck how. Calix guessed that it was all the luck of the draw. He guessed that maybe the four man just managed to get one good lucky hit that took down his last opponent. Calix commended the other man for it even if he still wished that it had been him up on the stage in stead. But , there was nothing he could do in the matter. So, he would fly off to heaven and see were the after life took him in the end. After that thought the blond haired man disappeared and floated of to haven.

All pregame activities give you one additional health if completed, you also get +1 to your gamemaker score.
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Joined: 10:59 PM - Apr 16, 2015

4:03 PM - Aug 29, 2015 #7

Teucer had thought he would be the winner, there had been no doubt in his mind that it was his crown to take. When a Career Pack had not formed he had remained calm, thinking him and Mara could take over the Arena and cause havoc, he got a kill early on which really helped his ego go through the roof. And then when Mara died he continued to push forward, the sole Career murdering all the others.

But as he stood on stage, next to his picture banner, he realized that he had been a fool for chasing his dream. He had a good life back at Two, perhaps it didn't have the glory, and he lived with regrets, but he had a good life, and by volunteering he had thrown all of that away. He didn't care if his family was sad to have lost their other son, but he was ashamed to have went out with so little kills, so few battles, and before the finale. His brother had done so much better, and he had died a joke.

Speaking of jokes, he turned to the stage and realized the Victor was not someone he could be proud of being beat by, then again, who would he had been happy to be beat by? He was supposed to be the Victor and now here he was as a ghost one of the biggest Career failures in recent history, his name would be remembered as a joke, and he could not possibly be more glad that he had died.

At least this way he would not have to hear any of it.

Ranged weapons:+5 to the maximum roll of ranged weapons.
Eagle Eye: Ranged attacks deal 2 extra flat damage and have an extra crit (one above current)
Unarmed combat: Doubles the power of unarmed rolls (max of 40)
Searching: Must roll 20 and up to successfully find food/objects, instead of 25. Additionally you can hunt twice in one day if you have this bonus.

Joined: 10:00 PM - Apr 21, 2015

11:13 PM - Aug 29, 2015 #8

It’s normal to have crying children standing on top of the podiums belonging to the families at the victory tours, weeping in front of the moving pictures of their brothers and sisters fallen in battle. This time however, the crying children weren’t joined by the crying parents, wailing for the lost life of their child, whose life had been reaped by the Hunger Games. This time, the parent was the one being mourned, and the kids were left standing alone on the podium.

Qiana couldn’t bare looking at the children she had selfishly left behind. She couldn’t take it to see their broken hearts. Instead she stared at the people of District Eight, searching the crowd for the faces of those she knew would avenge her, and make her death worth it. Except she didn’t find who she was looking for. Most of the rebels she had fought alongside of weren’t there, only those who were older, weaker or not yet completely trained left behind to attend the victory tour.

Perhaps if she had dared to venture further into the afterlife, into the realm where she could travel back and forth between places in a whim and see everything, she would have realized what was going on, of the plan that was being carried out by the rebels at the time. Yet she was grounded to the District square, her feet set surely on the ground next to her crying children, and therefore all she knew was that something was going on. She could feel it, from the look in the eyes of the two older Chambrays, who stood resolute next to the podium watching over Qiana’s kids as if they were their own.

So as Marty stepped on stage, despite the feeling that she had wronged her kids by volunteering, Qiana knew that somehow it would all work out. It always did.

Joined: 6:57 PM - Apr 25, 2015

8:57 PM - Aug 30, 2015 #9

Haloes of silver aurora cascaded from the eye-full moon. The light dipped through a man-sized shaft, plopped and splattered a blank oblong room, blinking off the beakers and test tubes lined against the adjacent wall. They sparkled like rough diamonds. In the center of the room, a morgue's slab stood pale, littered by a sheet heavy with lumps. A man in a white coat and heavy goggles seized a four-foot lever in his ebony gloved hands, and with a great grunt shoved it over. There was a pop from two watermelon-sized nodes over the table; suddenly, lightning crackled blue and blinding over the slab, the moonlight glistened sharp and cruel, the lumps beneath the sheet groaned alive. The scientist lifted his arms to the lightning, cackling: "It's alive! It's alive! It's aliiiive!"

Then, at the rather plainly normal door to the lab, a little pink envelope slipped beneath the crack below the door, and a pleasant doorbell ding-donged away, cutting the scientist off mid-maniac cackle. He froze for a moment, hands still reaching for the ceiling, then with half a shrug he shut off the lightning, and removed his goggles, wiping their lenses with his knuckles. Heuristic Abacus trotted over to the door, passing a family photograph taped to the wall on the way, and picked up the envelope. After a brief inspection, he murmured to himself: "Oh; this is for honey-bear." (Heu had an odd habit of thinking aloud.) Then he reached over to grab at a conveniently placed rotary phone, dialed the number impossibly fast, and listened to the phone buzz for a few seconds.
Agnes Copernican Aeroplonic Abacus, inhabiting the body of her sixteen year old self, swam like a frog through the dense blackness of space, passing dwarf planets and supernovas at speeds unimagined by mortal man. Out the corner of her eye through a jolly swim through the unexplored universe, she noticed a blue dwarf swinging about a red giant like a bumblebee circling a flower before lofting. With a little childlike giggle, she stopped short, turned, and dove closer to the binary system. Humming a randomized tune, she swept out a notebook and a pencil from the pocket of her dress, and with the tip of her tongue stuck out, began to scribble down a rough image of the harmonic-orbiting stars.

Just then, a little white rotary phone poofed into existence beside her, chiming up an inaudible rant. Agnes flinched - that accursed phone always gave her such a start - and the notebook and pencil popped into air. She picked up the receiver; her husband's lilting voice was on the other end. "Yallow honey, it's me. How's it going?"

"Fine, fine," Agnes chirped. "Found a binary system. You know how I like those. Is your monster alive yet?"

"Well, he almost was. This envelope just came in. It's addressed to you. Want me to open it for you, or do you want me to wait or something?"

"Aw, thanks, love, but you can go on ahead if you like. You can sum it up for me."

"Alrighty..." Heuristic paused to open the envelope and scan the message. "It's an invitation to that Victory Tour thing." His voice ruffled itself in confusion: "Victory Tour?"

"Remember, hon, we had to go to those after the Games. To honor the victor?"

"Oh. Yeah. That. Well, ah, you wanna go? Might give us a chance to see the folks."

Agnes frowned. ", I don't think we'd want to see them, or they'd want to see us. Not like that. We better wait for a more pleasant time."

"Yeah, I get yah. yah wanna meet up?"

"Maybe in an hour, sooner if you'd like. We can catch the season finale of Manbusters."

A smirk lingered like a playful kitten on the other line: "Will you call before then?"

Agnes was quick on the uptake: "Who?"

They laughed at their running gag for at least five minutes (happy ghosts tend to laugh a lot), before sighing in unison to express the pleasantness of the moment. "Hey!" Agnes piped. "I saw my old friend earlier today, when I was buying groceries at the Totally-Useless-But-We-Do-It-For-The-Lulz-Mart."

"Yeah? Which one?"

"The one who killed me. Did you know she had a kid? He's almost as adorable as ours!"

"Aaaaaaw! You should invite them over next time you see them!"

"That's what I was going to ask you!"

In unison, they sang out (as if they were at all surprised by the marital mind-meld): "Whaaaaaaaat!"

Giggles sparkled on either side of the phone for another five minutes.

"Love yah, babe," Heuristic snickered.

"Feeling's mutual, honey-suckle," Agnes winked.

They blew kisses into their receivers before they hung up, returning to their respective work with blissful smiles blushing their faces, both of them sparkling with excitement for the climatic finale of this season of Manbusters.

Scientific Method
If you fail a task such as hunting or hiding add 10 to your max roll next time you attempt that task. If you fail again add another 10 and so on until you succeed.

Joined: 7:34 PM - Apr 16, 2015

10:04 PM - Sep 01, 2015 #10

Barley had known when he stepped forward and rose his hand to volunteer that he wouldn't be coming home. He knew that he was going to sacrifice his life for his sister and her family. His son still had a family, he would just have to look to them. He had to protect those he cared about and that was what he'd done. Granted he didn't realize he would start caring about people in the games but that happened. Flo and him fought together till the end and they died together. It was honorable and in the end, he had no regrets.

Now as he stood back in nine saying goodbye to his son, they stood below his picture on the stage. Little Basil was crying and his sister held him close. Barley knew he would grow up to be a strong young man. He would live on and he would remember his father, hopefully with pride. As he looked at his sister, she stood there proud that she was his sister and her husband held her hand. Their children stood there with them crying because their uncle had died. "Don't worry my darlings, I am still here....I will live on in your hearts."

He then looked to his district partner, who was hanging out with the kids. He smiled and shook his head. He then looked up at the stage, Barley didn't care who had won. The winner hadn't mattered, although he would have liked to see Agnes win...but that wasn't what happened. It was a career and it was to be expected. But a district four? He sighed and then heard a familiar voice behind him. "Darling...I hear that you have been looking for me." Barley turned quickly and his jaw dropped to the ground.

"I didn't know if I would ever see you again. But I hoped, oh god I hoped." With that he ran towards his wife and picked her up. He planted a kiss on her so hard that he felt it in his toes. "It is time to go my love. Our little boy is in good hands." With that, Callie took Barley's hand and let him into the light. There would be no 'afterlife' for Barley Whey. He would go with his wife and not come back to the districts. Life would go on. Life always went on.

Barley & Callie

Joined: 2:21 AM - Feb 02, 2015

12:02 AM - Sep 02, 2015 #11

This is the reality of children in the districts of Panem: everyone you know - or have heard of - will be affected by the Games. It could be directly, such as a nucleic relative or a friend being reaped. Or someone you've heard about, someone in the upper classes or the lower classes, someone who spilled their lunch on Tuesday and everyone laughed at him and you never saw him again, until he was picked up by the collar by that awesome god in the far-off mountains. Someone who got in trouble for talking in class. Someone who pushed you over in the hallway. No one was safe. Every summer vacation could be rent in two, either by your tears, or the simple gasp of breath whose message no one can hide from: "Oh, good, it's him, not me. Nobody liked him much anyway."

Abra was one of the gentler folk. She cried with the dead, whether their souls were callous or as fine as diamonds. She asked permission to attend the funerals, hold the hands or the body of the survivors. She was a girl of beauty. Her mind would never process glucose at the rates of her peers - because her heart had taken possesssion of her. In District Three, it was regarded as a yolk to have such an inbalance, especially when it is emotion that pumps the blood of the mind; somehow, Abra missed that ethical memo, and everyone knew about it. Her many friends, her few enemies, her mentors all held her at arms' length because of it - but only barely resisting an urge to pull her into an embrace. For despite her stupidity, her shyness, not one person could deny that she was a diamond in the rough.

She, being a person who rarely acted on self-analysis, had very little clue to this, and just assumed that everybody was kind to her because humanity in essence is a kind species. Wouldn't you agree?

And Newtona was kind. Maybe she was the kindest, and nobody but Abra really knew it.

Abra Fax loved Scurvy Marty - his antics had proven to her that he was one of a gentle heart, even though it seemed his addiction for narcotics had the powers to abase him into a subhuman murderer. But one of her favorite victors could not persuade to take her eyes off the clan clumped together on the pedestals. They were the Polyangulars and the Melvins, two families united by the sisterhood of the mothers, herded onto those podiums of tears by a single little old woman who had blasted the odds, who had victory in her lungs, but never in her sights.

In her thirteens years of breath, Abra had never known what it was like to watch a familiar face crumble beneath the blows of the arena. She felt like a patient under ether to watch Newtona Polyangular, her classmate, stand atop the podium.

Newtona was a girl of curves and morbid wonder-lust. She was curves, and she was fragility. She was brown hairs, cropped and floppy like a boys'. She was luna eyes. Abra had known for almost her entire life - they had gone to the same elementary school, the same middle school, and they would be attending the same high school once fall arrived - yet they had only spoken two words to each other, before Agnes Abacus's death. The one day, as the rain clashed with thunder in the world of the arena and the world of the living, a knife struck down Newtona's only living grandmother. Abra had made it a mission of hers to reach out. When she had found Newtona, sitting atop an old cracked wall in District Three's older regions, full of graffiti and antiquity, Newtona had blended into the environment. "Why" was in her eyes. Abra had said allow, apologized to her for things that Abra had no business grieving in. The girl had said nothing. Only stared. Then, as if Agnes Abacus was still alive, she asked Abra how her day was going. Inquired into her family. Her friends. Abra told her about her best friend, how she was begging her to see her papa once the Games were over and they were freed from the television. Newtona merely grunted in response. Told her that she was glad she didn't have any friends like that - especially now.

Abra's heart had melted. She had seen poor Newtona alone myriads of times before, a fly on the wall in occasions, refuser to all invites, silent even when asked. Abra had tried to gather Newtona into her flock of friends before - but with brazen coolness, Newtona had shrugged her off. The only reason why Abra backed off was because she felt that she was bothering her. Now, however, that an obvious cry for help was before her, Abra felt a calling. A new mission. For days, she had fed her best friend on whatever she could lay her hands on, starving herself in the process. Now 'twas the time to starve for a new best friend, this time without the support of nutrition, but with the support of emotion.

For everyone wants a friend, needs a friend. Even Newtona Polyangular, in her stoic radiance.

Joined: 4:03 AM - Apr 06, 2015

6:35 AM - Sep 02, 2015 #12

At last, a conclusion to this fraudulent stories of quick grins and uneasy eyes. Hospes couldn't say he was looking forward to part two, but at least now he could say he was prepared for it.

This final victory tour would mark the final day of Hospes's freshman year as an escort, an escort to a district that didn't seem to auite understand that one simply doesn't fill a greenhorn's plate first tome around, for his stomach was too small. No. Instead, his district had to corrupt itself with napoleonic mayors, disturbed victors, and a hyper-expectant populous. Or maybe it was the mayor who was hyper-expectant. Or maybe they were all rather expectant of him - him, a goddamn children's doctor who merely rose to the title of escort because of some fortuitous favor with just the right person. or maybe he was just a whiner deep down inside. He couldn't deny that he had certainly been complaining to himself many, many times all throughout the Games. But at least he could say that he never griped out loud.That was basis enough for success, right? Once you get over all the big complaints, one can heal again, right? One can make things right again?

Well...Hospes didn't really know anymore. It seemed that all the luck was going to the wrong people. Such as in the case of the drug addict from Four, managing to scrape by all the other contestants while high (at least in the case of the finale). In the meanwhile, he had totally inspired every other Capitolite and his grandmother into a different breed of dressing: for in the crowd in the Capitol, as Scurvy Marty took the stage, Hospes sat, a fine-haired island in a sea of dreadlocks. Tattoos and trinkets, littered with Scurvy's many words of wisdom, glistened in this sea of man; hoots and hollers of approval pounded down from every corner (except Hospes's). Everyone welcomed Scurvy Marty home. Hospes had no real emotional grudges towards Scurvy for surviving (though he did wish that Calix had managed to win instead), but still - a drug addict. Teamed with a pair of off-kilter females. Surviving the bleeding Hunger Games.

Some people have all the luck. Hospes wondered if they managed to manufacture their luck, or if they stole it from the rest of the world at the time of their conception. Or did they win it. Who was to say. All Hospes knew was that he certainly didn't have a lot, if any, and that he never truly had much, and that he would probably never get much until his death.

But he'd still try, he supposed. He promised himself at the viewing party in District One that he would try.

The man with all the luck, after a considerable pause, began to murmur into his microphone, his drugged lips and heavy accent coarse and disruptive - yet still so very much there. "Open yuh eyes, luk witin...," Scurvy Marty suggested to the world, "ah yuh satisfied wid de life yuh living?"

Maybe if Hospes hadn't woken up that morning on the wrong side of the bed, he wouldn't have felt that rock-hard invisible fist wedged itself between his ribs. He wouldn't have stiffened in his seat, gripped his armrests, choked on his breath.

He didn't have to open his eyes, or really look very deep within. A single tear shivered from his eyes, became a lonsome thread down his face. "No," he whimpered to himself. "No, not really...."

(Ooc Couldn't resist.)