[tw, mentions of death, starvation, deadnaming, the arena] Angler’s paws padded heavy around the ground as he headed towards the center of the district. Faer family was on the outskirts, and they dreaded the long walk, as a light rain beat the ground, salt and mud pungent and vivid. His long, flowing tail dragged, braid beat up, and he hunched faer shoulders, attempting to hide from the downpour. Soon enough, he had reached the crowd, and shuffled in with the other 16-year-olds, waiting patiently. His family had never had to deal with starvation, given that they had enough working hands and time so that they could make a day’s catch and still have leftovers. His name was only in there the normal amount of times, and he knew it meant he probably wouldn’t be picked. Keyword probably. He felt a shiver run up his spine as each other name was called, waiting, waiting… “Sea’s Angel Hookmouth” For a moment, Angler didn’t even look up. That, after all, wasn’t his name. Fae did’t realize it was them until strong paws and shoulders jostled them along, helmeted cats pushing them forward. Glee stumbled up onto the strange and looked about, stunned. He had an urge to run, but they knew it would be fruitless. There was just one thing to do at this point, really. “That’s not my name.” He awaited the laughing, the rude comments. But instead, there sat a stunned silence. The announcer leaned over and whispered to a cat by their side, a quizzical look on their face. “Are you sure, honey? Everyone says we have the right cat.” They said, and he hated how their voice was sweet. “I said, that’s not my name. Since it’s not mine, I can’t have been reaped. I’m /Angler/ Hookmouth, middle-oldest /son/ of the Hookmouth family.” He repeated, hating how his voice wavered in front of everyone. “Hmm. I suppose we must’ve messed up the records, not like it matters anyway, really.” Said the announcer, a hint of suspicion in their voice. Angler was surprised how well that’d went. He was so surprised, in fact, that he barely noticed being carted off, being told the rules, being thrown into the traincar. He was on his way to the games. and every cat knew his real name. [note: this SRP is really important to me, bc I wanna spread awareness about deadnaming, and why real names are important!! Respect trans people, okay? Their name is what they tell you it is, and you have no right to call them the wrong thing] [also help, he’s too caught up in gender euphoria to realize he’s in a death sentence rn, my sweet lil child]
