The Show Must Go On (Caesar Flickerman) Chapter 1: The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, a hunger games fanfic. Reaping day. Willow sighed loudly to herself, hating the way her voice shook as she did so. Two years, two more reapings, and she'd no longer be eligible, no longer have to place her name in the enormous glass bowl that was, more often than not, synonymous with death. Not for the first time that week, she cursed the fact that she had been born nine days after reaping day. Still, she reasoned, better to be reaped now she was almost eighteen as opposed to when she was only just twelve.. She pulled the blanket up tight around her chin, and snuggled back down into the thin, lumpy mastress - the reaping didn't begin until eleven thirty, and today was the one day of the year when the factory wasn't open for business. She might as well sleep a while longer. Twenty minutes and fifteen different positions later, Willow threw off the blanket with another sigh, this one more exasperated than nervous, and slid out of bed, almost standing on the ancient tabby cat that didn't belong to her, but which had appeared every morning like clockwork for the past year. She'd started to think she was the only one feeding it. It mewed whinily, and wound itself through her legs, wrapping its tail around her calf. She slopped some milk into a chipped china bowl, and placed it by the door. The cat glanced up at her haughtily, and stuck its nose into the dish. It was the best they were ever going to achieve. Ten minutes later, stood beneath the miserable trickle of lukewarm water that dripped from her showerhead, Willow started singing in an attempt to allay her current fears. She'd been scared before, that wasn't anything unusual, but reaping day brought out the best and the worst traits in everybody. Up until the moment it really mattered, people would be kinder than normal, be far more generous, but as soon as a name was pulled from that glass bowl, it became immediately apparent that loyalty only went so far, and it could easily make a person distrustful of their loved ones. Pale green, with short sleeves, it fell to just below her knees, and a matching wide silk ribbon encircled her waist, tying into a neat bow in the centre of her back. The slightly gathered bodice fitted her beautifully, and all in all Willow was happy with the effect. She left her waist- length hair loose, attempting to tame the dark waves, but giving up almost immediately when one bounced out of her fingers as she pulled the hairbrush through it. She walked into town with Pam, her neighbour - they worked in the same factory - and as they entered the market place, the older woman gave her a swift hug. Caesar Flickerman Caesar Flickerman is the host for the Hunger Games. Caesar with Katniss for her 74th Hunger Games. Caesar is featured in a Capitol announcement about the alleged death of Katniss and Squad 451 in a. VIBE / Celebuzz / The Superficial / The Frisky / Death and Taxes / Stereogum /. Stanley Tucci Is 'The Hunger Games' Host With the Most, Caesar Flickerman. Caesar Flickerman: Well, I'll tell you what Peeta. And those things only come from sponsors, and to get sponsors. When Carla finds out she will be fighting to the death in The Hunger Games, will she find victory or die a painful death? Her life is in her hands. Heresyrp > Mandatory Broadcasting > Tribute Interviews with Caesar Flickerman! Title: Tribute Interviews with Caesar. My life was over, and my death's shadow loomed over me. Caesar maintained his fame because he was the best spokesperson for the annual systematic sacrifice. I’m not going to argue it to death, because I like Natalie. Maybe Caesar Flickerman is a time traveler?! Caesar Flickerman Videos; Playlists; Channels; Discussion; About. Peeta's interview with Caesar Hunger Games - Duration: 71 seconds. This is a really cool remake of the Hunger Games scene Rue's death. A quick prick of a needle drew a drop of blood from her finger, and signed her in, and she shuffled along behind a group of particularly slow group of her peers - like cattle being driven in to the slaughterhouse, she thought grimly. Willow felt her chest begin to tighten as more and more people began to herd into the main square, and that sense of claustrophobia began to grip her. She wasn't used to being crammed into anywhere so tightly, and she hated it, but she knew people were watching her, so she sucked it down, and dealt with it as best she could. Allegedly, the sixth wealthiest district in Panem. Their population was around twenty- six thousand, and unless they were at death's door, every single person was here at the reaping. Attendance was, of course, mandatory. Willow glanced around her at the other seventeen year old girls. Most of them she knew by sight, if not to talk to, and lots of them she'd been at school with. She now worked with one or two of them at the factory, and it was with those girls that she exchanged brief nods. She knew what they were thinking - legally they were old enough to have jobs, own homes, raise families, and yet they were still eligible for the reaping. Somehow it didn't seem fair. Not that any of it was fair, she corrected herself. She focused her attention on the temporary stage in front of the Justice Building. Three of the four chairs were already occupied - Delta Jones and Vinnie Andrews, District 7's only living victors appeared to be resigned; Chilton Meadows, the escort from the Capitol, with his jade- green hair and royal purple suit, looked very excited and totally out of place; and Willow knew the empty chair was for Mayor Strickland, when he decided to put in an appearance. At precisely 1. 1: 2. Mayor Strickland pushed through the massive oak doors of the Justice Building, inclined his head curtly to Delta and Vinnie, deliberately ignored Chilton, and stepped straight up to the podium in the centre of the stage. As with every other year since Willow could remember, and probably many more before that, the mayor read out the story of the history of Panem, how their country had risen from the ashes of a place once called North America. The natural disasters, the battles over sustainable land masses, fires, storms, droughts, the list was endless, but it had eventually culminated in Panem, a dazzling Capitol surrounded by thirteen districts. Then had come the Dark Days, an uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth completely obliterated. The Treaty of Treason came into effect the following year, and the annual reminder that the Capitol never wanted a repeat of the Dark Days was born: the Hunger Games. The rules were simple. As retribution for their part in the rebellion, each of the twelve remaining districts must deliver one boy and one girl, each between the ages of twelve and eighteen, into the Capitol's custody. And from there the twenty- four teenagers, affectionately referred to as 'tributes', were imprisoned in an enormous outdoor arena, and made to fight to the death. The last tribute standing was known as the victor. And as a reward for winning, he or she, received a life of ease back in their district, a lifetime's supply of money from the Capitol, and the district itself received gifts, usually food, whilst the others battled starvation for another year.! May the odds be ever in your favour! He paused, possibly for effect, possibly to make sure everyone was listening, but it was completely unnecessary. The town centre was so silent that even the hardest of hearing amongst them could clearly hear the stream babbling away merrily to itself - and the water was over a mile away from where they all stood packed into the square. The escort smoothed out the slip of paper in his slim white hands. In itself, that wasn't unusual, he was often there to collect his own children and drive them up into the forest, but that day he had been wearing a tired and distressed expression, and before he'd even said anything, Willow had known what he was there to tell her. Her mother's gift to her father for their wedding anniversary. At that point, Willow had stumbled backwards, clutching at the wall for support, feeling her chest squeezing tighter and tighter around her heart, threatening to crush it. She had been gasping for air, unable to inhale, struggling to exhale, barely able to even move. That was how she felt the moment she realised her name had been called. Not somebody else's, hers. Willow Monroe. Those standing around Willow heard her sharp intake of breath and watched the colour drain from her already pale face. They knew, just as she did, that no one would volunteer for her. She had no siblings, her parents, even though they weren't allowed to volunteer, were dead, killed in a logging accident three years before, and her eighteenth birthday was the following week, making her long past the age where an older child might step up and volunteer. The crowd around her parted, and Willow moved numbly into the aisle, flanked immediately by two peacekeepers in white armour. They marched her down to the stage, and Willow couldn't help noticing that none of the girls met her eye. She could understand that, she'd done it enough times herself. Nobody wanted to outwardly flaunt their relief that they hadn't been chosen that year. Chilton Meadows beckoned her up onto the stage. His eyes held some sympathy when she found the courage to look into them, but he was professional to the hilt, leaving her beside the enormous glass sphere containing the names of all the other girls in the district, some several times over, as he skipped over to the boys bowl and rummaged around for a moment before drawing out a slip of paper. He was a good- looking youth, stocky, with dirty blond hair, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old. Wide- eyed and suddenly ashen in colour, he looked utterly terrified. Chilton Meadows asked for volunteers, but nobody came forward to take either Willow's place, which was no surprise; nor Ash's, which was, and so Mayor Strickland stepped back up to the podium and began to read the dreary Treaty of Treason in a monotone. How many young men and women had he seen leave his district for the last time, Willow wondered vaguely? As the mayor finished his final speech of the day, Chilton indicated that Willow and Ash should shake hands. She noticed his were trembling, he couldn't believe how cold hers were, and then Chilton did his spiel, trying in vain, as always, to persuade the inhabitants of District 7 to applaud their selected tributes, and, as always, not a single person clapped. They simply stood in silence, even the ones who wouldn't usually care. Reaping day, everybody knew, was not a normal day. Reaping day was a day where unity was key. Everyone agreed: nobody in the district condoned the Hunger Games. The anthem of Panem played them off the stage, and the pair were promptly surrounded by an escort of peacekeepers, and marched up the front steps of the building behind them. They were given an hour to say goodbye to their loved ones. Willow could hear the constant click click of the door to the adjacent room where Ash had been taken.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
January 2017
Categories |