Hey guys, Chase here with my newest project—an SYOT! It's been literally FOREVER since I've done one (almost two years I think) and I honestly think my writing style was… pretty damn bad then; I've taken the time to practice and I think my writing has gotten literally leaps and bounds better, so I figured I'd attempt it again. For the most part, I'm going to be devoting most of my writing time to this, considering I've hit a bit of a wall with Halfling.

Anyway, I'll get into the details of this all now—this is the 87th Annual Hunger Games. The president of Panem at this time is Alexandre Ivre (if you're familiar with French, you'll see a pattern in his last name ;) ) and he has brought about a time of peace—he destroyed District 13 and has even made the Districts a little richer through his own generosity and improving life in the Capitol a little more. Now for the history—in the 74th Hunger Games, Thresh managed to survive his battle with Cato—barely. Cato managed to kill Peeta in their skirmish at the Cornucopia before being shot by Katniss. Thresh came in hard and was planning to avenge Rue by killing Cato (he hadn't seen that he had died) and killed Katniss by mistake. Thresh ended up winning, though he sent a third of his prize money to Rue's family, another third to Katniss's family, then kept the rest.

Now, on with the chapter! The tribute application is at the end of the chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does, and while I hardly agree with what she did with the series, it's still not mine.

August 17th, 21:00 – The Capitol

The burgundy curtain rises from the stage. A sea of spectators in impossibly ridiculous outfits with grotesque body alterations and insanely stupid hairstyles and colours lays before it, quiet with anticipation. On the dark wood of the stage rests a single brown leather armchair, with a lone spotlight beating down upon it.

Darkness has enveloped the area; a small dome has been put up to keep out the lights and sound of the city. A rounded hole about as wide as a car is open at the top, to provide fresh air; the beautiful night sky serves as the only other light for the crowd, the rest of the lighting had been extinguished to enhance the spotlight. The various nebulae and celestial bodies act as observers for this event…

…this barbaric, bloody event. A man in a black suit ambles onto the stage, a drunken smile pasted on his pale face. He is very tall, with shaggy brown hair and pale eyes; his suit jacket is loose and unbuttoned, revealing a wrinkled, though pristinely clean white shirt with a stained orange tie. With every other step he stumbles, making his way over to the chair. As he finally gets to the leather armchair, he closes his eyes and his smile softens as he seems to fall backward—landing almost perfectly in it. "WOO!" he yells loudly, his voice being amplified to levels that hurt the crowd's ears (well, the ones whose ears hadn't been worked on or anything). "Welcome, citizens of the Capitol!"

As the man gets no response, he calls out again, "Come on, Capitol! Let me here you—good evening, Capitolites!" he says in a somewhat slurred voice, giggling happily.

"Good evening, President Ivre," the citizens respond with a lack of emotion; they had been subject to this for several years now, though they couldn't find a reason to impeach this imbecile.

Alexandre Ivre, President of the country of Panem, is by all means a drunk. Normally, that alone would be enough to get rid of the man, especially considering he had concealed it until his Inauguration ceremony. However, the fact that this man has proved to be a better president than the past three (Kyler, Quinn and Snow, in chronological order) combined had been enough to save his intoxicated ass. Oh—and the fact that his vice president is a raving lunatic who belongs in an asylum.

Through his presidency, Ivre has showed up to important events in at least two of the three manners at the same time: drunk, sloppy and/or half-asleep. Nonetheless, his record is impeccable—he has ensured the safety of Panem by sending an army to completely destroy District 13; everyone had believed it to be destroyed, though it was a closely guarded secret amongst the leaders that it was still very much there—and very much a threat. He has presided over three of the bloodiest Hunger Games in history—the 80th, 81st and 85th; in each game more than fourteen tributes were killed at the Cornucopia and there had been at least one psychopath in each game—usually they died in a disaster caused by the Gamemakers, though one went on to eliminate all six Career tributes (and nearly won before being knocked into a volcano by a boy from District 11). Somehow, the Districts were at least not verbally abusive of him—he had managed to make them just a tiny bit richer by divvying up part of his paycheck (which was rather impressive) and donating it to each District; in turn, they worked harder and produced more product, and getting more supplies for the Capitol.

All in all, the citizens of the Capitol were content with a drunk who improved the conditions of the country, even if it were only slightly. And so, each year around this time, they put up with his drunken antics of how he would make each years' Hunger Games gory and entertaining—because let's face it: gory means entertaining. No one could particularly argue with that logic—especially since it wasn't THEIR children going to fight to the death.

"Muuuuuuch better~" says Ivre with a happy gurgling noise. "So, I suppose you're here to hear what'll be going down this year! He-hey, that rhymed~~" he says, reclining in his chair and flailing his arms. In the catwalk, the spotlight operator takes one of his gloved hands away from the rig and smacks himself in the face, causing the orb of light to waver a little. Unfortunately, the drunken president's eyes had been barely open, and they snap wide awake and his hand points up at the operator. "GUARDS! Execute and replace the operator."

"No please! I have children!" cries the man, trying to run to the other end of the catwalk, only to be dragged away by a man in a black suit.

Oh yes—forgot to mention one thing. Ivre is an insane type of drunk.

As soon as the man was dragged away, another operator rushed to take his place, careful not to allow the spotlight to move. His smile returning, the president continues. "Excellent. Now, back to what I was saying~~ this year, we're going to be stealing… er, implementing… heheh, that's a big word. Implementing… c'mon, Capitolites, say it with me!"

"Implementing…" drones the crowd.

"Anyways, we're going to be implementing a tactic I found in a book I read called Royal Battlestar Galactica… or some shit like that. The whole map is going to be divided up into a sector—each day, twice a day, random sectors will be chosen to be designated as 'Forbidden Zones,'" says Ivre, doing the air quotes and drawing out the 'Zones'. "Zooooooonesssss…" he laughs drunkenly. "…Where was I again? Oh yes! Forbidden Zones. Should a tribute step into these, cake will rain from the sky~! No wait, that's my plan for expansion. Um… what happens if a tribute steps into a forbidden zone?" he asks, moving a hand to an earpiece that hung loosely from the side of his head.

After a brief moment of chatter from that end, he nods and then continues. "That's right—they'll be blown up immediately! To keep note of the Forbidden Zones, each tribute will be given a map and a marker to draw on. The map will not provide any details besides locations that will determine where they are—say, a lighthouse would signify… I don't know, A1 steak sauce? It's not my job to make this stuff... I'm still not sure if we're doing this or not. Too druuuuuuunk~" Ivre shrugs again. "Anyway… yeah, I's thinkin' that that's it, y'all!" he slurs out, lounging his legs over one of the arms of his chair, putting one of his arms over his eyes. "Now get the hell out of here, I'm tired and I want to go to bed."

A round of chatter broke the sudden silence as the lights on the stage went out, followed by Ivre yelling, "Alright, next person who talks is going to die!" which effectively silences everyone. Directed by men with flashlights, the crowd shuffles out of the arena in complete quiet—100% sure that the president would keep true to his promise of killing the next person to speak.

And Ivre slept in that very chair without disturbance for two whole days. When he finally woke up, he ordered for his twin Secretaries of Press, Darwin and Donnel Raedwulf, to be executed and replaced by his horse in a bout of hung-over fury.

Then he demanded another bottle of whiskey.

Tribute Application

Name of Tribute: (First and last. Middle name unnecessary)

Age: (12-18, obviously)

Gender: (No need to explain)

District (Top 3):

Reaped or Volunteered:

Appearance: (I'd prefer a little bit of description here; how they usually style their hair, how tall they are, body style, etc.)

Personality: ("Cool, calm, collective" isn't going to cut it—I need a pretty decent setup here. Phobias, things they like, strange tendencies they have, etc.)

History: (Self-explanatory. I'd prefer a decent bit of backstory, but make sure it's REALISTIC. If you're in District 12, you more than likely didn't learn to hunt like Katniss did. You were probably poor and struggling, even if you lived in the Merchant area. That's just a fact.)

Family:

Friends:

Token: (Optional)

Have they had training? If yes, how?: (NOT every tribute should have training. I may end up changing a few things on tributes to keep things balanced)

Are they willing to join the Careers?: (Obviously it depends on if they're good enough or not)

Are they willing to join an alliance?:

Strengths: (Minimum 3, Maximum 5)

Weaknesses: (Minimum 3, no maximum)

Weapon of choice: (No major thought needs to be put into this—just something they'd be able to use. Strong tributes may use heavy weapons like spears, maces, maybe even fists. Weaker tributes would probably use slings, blowguns or bows if they can find them, maybe even traps)

Would they be open to a relationship with another tribute?

Interview angle: (I.e. Witty, smart, quiet, distant, etc.)

And that should be it! I prefer your applications by PM, though I will accept them through reviews. Thanks for checking this out, hope to see you later~

~Chase

P.S. Depending on the reaction, I may or may not do the Battle Royale idea of Forbidden Zones. So make sure to include your opinion with your application! ALSO: Reserves ARE welcome, but you must, I repeat, MUST have the application in within a weeks' time. If not, you forfeit your spot on the tribute and may have to settle (that is to say, if you can get it in). All reserves MUST be requested through PM.