EVERYONE AROUND! Love them! Love them!! [ALL D10 PEEPS!]

[Raeoki]

Oh, his father truly was a silly old fool! Never, in all of Caritas’s life, could he have known a sillier man than Joshua Devhish! For – bless his addling brain! – the elderly idiot had made quite a fool of himself back at the Justice Building; almost as foolish as he had acted when Caritas had been attacked by that damn, demonic rooster; more foolish than he had been when he had warned Caritas of the reaping the night before. For, the moment the Peacekeepers had permitted his parents to enter, Joshua Devhish had surged forward, and ensnared his little son into his arms, and permitted himself to literally weep into his hair. Oh! It had been so embarrassing! It reminded Caritas of the aforementioned event in which he had been attacked by some demented cock; the aftermath essentially being a sea of Joshua Devhish’s tears as he watched his wife – who didn’t even bat an eyelash – sowed the skin of Caritas’s legs back together.

Caritas sighed, and rested the back of his skull against the wall he was sitting against. He wondered for how long Joshua Devhish had been weeping for him – since the moment he heard the escort read his name aloud? Or was it when he had actually seen him up at the stage? Or had just burst into the tears the moment he entered the Justice Building? Oh! Why was Caritas even thinking on it? It was all so foolish. All that his father had moaned about how this was the Capitol’s fault – what a fool he was! Pretending that the godly men of authority in the Capitol could cause such misery! Truly, Devhish’s melancholy was an invention of his own undertaking; for if only Devhish would release all those silly notions of “partiality” and “love” that he felt for his son, then all would be well within him, and he would no longer weep and proclaim to his wife that Caritas was dead the moment the escort had said his name.

In some ways, Devhish was right about that. Caritas did, in fact, intend on not going very far in the Games; in fact, it had occurred to him whilst he was in the car transporting him, the escort, and his district partner to the train that he might as well throw himself from the pedestal too early and let the bombs do whatever they wished to him. Not that Caritas was suicidal – oh, no! Not in the least! It was merely his hyper-altruistic philosophy that drove him to such muses; for, if Caritas was to fight for his life in the Games that would be a most selfish act, for that meant usurping the opportunity from some other contender. And that would mean that Caritas only cared about himself, not the others; and being a morally superior being to all the other members of humanity who weren’t of political background, he would have to be the one to sacrifice in the name of altruism, and die for the sake of the selfish, morally inferior future victor of the Twenty-Eighth Hunger Games.

Caritas’s mind wandered. He thought about Amelia Walker, his district partner, who had responded amiably to him when he had extended his hand out to her. She had even offered to become allies*. He had yet to accept her offer; firstly, the escort had interrupted their conversation by bringing a swift and unceremonious ending to the reaping, thus not giving Caritas enough time to even open his mouth, and secondly, he really had to consider it. It pained him to say “nay”, because that would mean that Amelia would be a sorry and slowly dying individual in the Games, and everyone knows that being an individual is sinful, and it brought him much pangs to his heart to think that he might degrade the poor girl to such an awful, vice-filled position. However, how could he truly say “yea”? What of his plans to die early on in the Games? He couldn’t really do that if he was committed to an ally, or an ally was committed to him; they would help each other, thus declining either’s chances of dying. However, it made him feel selfish, unaccepting Amelia’s offer, for that would make his future altruistic demise an exploitation of selfishness, for he had denied another. And yet, if he was to agree to her offer, just the simple act of dying – whether he wanted it or otherwise – would be another exploitation of selfishness, for then he would be abandoning Amelia and – oh! Why was this all so complicated?!

Caritas closed his eyes, in an attempt to shut out the world. He tried his hardest not to wish that he hadn’t said anything to the girl – for if he did would be a selfish thing to do…and yet it was so hard not to wish…

His eyelids flickered open; his pupils darted about in their sockets. He sat on the floor of a small, gray closet in one of the cars – the stodgiest room he could find. Caritas did not really like the train the Capitol had set him in, though he wished he did, for to not like it would be going against the government, who was the mightiest and holiest mass of beings on the planet – but, again, it was difficult not to dislike the train. It was so extravagant; so outrageous; so…selfish. All the ritzy furniture, all the rich and sweet tasting food, all the regal and bright colors…heck, even the people (meaning the Capitol attendants on the train and his escort) were ritzy, and rich, and bright, with their purple hair and their dyed skin – perfect, humanized copies of the train’s furnishing. Why? Didn’t the government – the only thing that was equal to Caritas in brains and superior morality – know that being poor and undergoing suffering (no matter one was a tribute or no) was the best for the people of Earth? That it was best for the tributes to be lashed than be spoiled by such outrageous people and extravagant settings?

Caritas frowned, and looked down, his eyes fixated on a wooden badge with an engraving of a hen and her trio of chicks (the Devhish family crest; an ancient symbol often forgotten by the modern residents of the family, but may easily be remembered when they looked at the simple painting that hung on the family chimney, which bears the crest on its face) – the token his father had pressed into his palm before the Peacekeepers forced him to leave. He had to stop this thinking; he was dissenting. Submit. Submit. Submit, he chanted to himself; and, gradually, the rebellious thoughts and feelings that had risen like yeast within his mind and heart proceeded to deflate. His lips twitched into a soft, gentle, complacent grin. Ah! Much better!

Suddenly, the door swung open. Caritas did not flinch in surprise; instead, he looked up, and smiled at the newcomer with a long and cordial and innocent grin, and greeted the fellow with bright eyes and warm words: “Hello there!”



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*I know, this hasn’t actually transpired yet in the reaping thread, but Fox and I discussed it and agreed to it via PM, so’s all well.

[Fox.]

Amelia had settled herself back near the windows of the train to watch as the sceneries go by. She had taken the moment to speak briefly to their escort and assure them that she'd find her partner soon. She made up some excuse for him to keep his peace and quiet wherever he had found it for a while longer than their escort would have liked. She purposely avoided the escort herself for a while afterwards.

She moved down in the cars of the train and explored the general extravagance she was locked in. Admist most of this time, she picked at food and drink as she went back past it in the main car as she explored. It was one of the few times she could actually eat more than just enough to live and that made the train likable to her. The food was good and the drink didn't taste like dirty water. Therefore, she was contented by it as she continued her explorations of the train.

Amelia found several different cars that were each decorated to be their own separate one for the train. It was like a miniature rolling house, or so that was how she deducted. Stretching her arms above her head and then to her sides, she figured she should probably find her partner. Afterall, they had a little to talk about between them even if their mentor didn't show up to talk with them as well. She began to open doors and cubby holes to see if she could find where the boy had gone to hide himself.

After a good twenty minutes, she finally found a closet she hadn't checked yet. When she opened it she was greeted with "Hello there!" and an innocent grin. Amelia couldn't help but return the grin with a smile and she offered Caritas her hand to help him up. "Come on now, you're going to get us in more trouble by our escort if we don't come out so we can be seen more." Her smile lit up her eyes as she fancied the idea of becoming the Victor of the Games even though that possibility was one of the slimmest actually imaginable.

[Raeoki]

Oh, it always so very warm and happy and gaily euphoric to be smiled on by another member of the human race! For smiles were tokens of love, untouched and pure; tokens of life's greatest purpose: "to love and be loved." What made smiles even more wonderful was when they were shared, for it was always more fun to share, you know; for then, with each shared object, especially of the token of love - "the smile" - the more love was spread around. And love is the greatest thing to have ever been conspired by the human elite: for what else was love but servitude? After all, one wouldn't serve something one hated - that was why some great and archaic scholar once said, "Love thine enemies, love thine neighbors," to ensure that everyone, whether they were enemies or neighbors, was served. And that is probably the greatest thing to ever happen to another person, the only thing that Caritas would permit boasting about: the reduction to slavery.

He didn't really recognize Amelia right away - well, of course one fragment of his brain accepted that it was she who had entered his closet of solitude, but, aside from that one fragment, her face was not truly processed. Rather, it was her smile that Caritas found himself so fixated on, for he knew that it was an automatic trade - no, no, he meant sharing! - of the warm grin and cordial welcome that he had just offered. Now, he didn't really know why this trade - sharing! - of smiles so intrigued him, made him muse on how smiles were the tokens of love (a thought that had already crossed his mind long ago, and Caritas usually refrained from thinking the same thought over and over again). It simply did. And Caritas was certainly content with leaving the "simply" in there - for what could be wrong with being simple, hm? Simplicity - the award of servitude, of suffering - the thing that could not harm, could not spoil, only buoy...

Amelia extended a hand his way; it was then that his eyes focused on Amelia's face as a whole, and not just her traded - shared! - smile; he did not notice the flash of her eyes, and if he had, he would not have been able to place it with any presumed emotion or thought. "Come on now," he saw her lips move, "you're going to get us in more trouble by our escort if we don't come out so we can be seen more."

Though her words were obvious and Caritas's ears had most certainly heard each one of them, most of them just sort of slammed against the side of his brain and fell screaming into oblivion. The survivors of the leap over the gap that yawned between ear and brain were as follows: "Come...you're going to get us in more trouble by our escort..." The addition went into his mind screaming like a highlight and blinking with a thousand red lights, and the surprise was like a million slaps being dealt across his little features. I've...I've gotten her in trouble...? Oh, no! What a horrible, selfish thing for me to do! Beneath the glow of the screeching highlight and the red blinks, Caritas's skin fell pinkish pale, as if his flesh could not decide whether it should dye itself the color of humiliation or the color of terror. For not once had Caritas ever gotten someone else in any form of trouble, whether it was as minor as a quick admonishment from an escort or a terrible and cacophonous holocaust. It went against his very nature to do such a thing, unless it was morally upright, like turning someone in for blaspheming against the government; but of the sort that Amelia had just described it to him was...was...was...simply and absolutely demonic!

"Oh!" he cried as he sprang to his feet, the wedged shoulders that were set atop his lofty little body making unwanted and jarring contact with various shelves, but he did not seem to notice their touch. "Oh, golly, Amelia - 'ow - just exactly 'ow mad izee, anyway? Ah'm - Ah'm ahf'ly sorry. Ah - Ah didn't realize..." he stammered and stumbled, his fingers dancing against each other in a flurried flight of anxiety.

(ooc: Yaaaay innocent Caritas! It was slightly refreshing to go back to the mindset of his early posts. Kinda gave me a chance to explore him as a person rather than the embodiment of an abstraction - even though said abstraction is still the main motivation of the entire post. Yup! I considered making him harder on himself than this, but I decided that self-cruelty was better suited to the later posts. However, one thing that the younger posts and older posts will now have in common: Cari's accent! Which is supposed to be Southern (hopefully Texan), and which is written a lot like Jimmy's old suspiciously non-New York New York accent, but hey, SCREW THAT! Oh, and I just thought I should add that it was kinda fun writing him beneath a more humorous inflection, too.

Oh, and I just thought I should clarify that Cari's only as tall as thirteen-year-olds go. Whether or not that means he's taller than Amelia, I really don't know - but probably, cause, y'know, TESTOSTERONE! I can't recall his exact measurement, however, so...just kinda do whatever the heck you want...I'm pretty sure there's an inaccuracy with his measurement on his app anyway that I need to fix sometime soon, so...yeah...have at it...)