[center]
[h2][b][i]Sector Eight[/i][/b][/h2]
[color=00aeef][h3]Evangaline Clark[/h3][/color][/center]


In all reality, sleep did not come easily -or at all- to Evangaline last night, so she had snuck out on the back porch to look at the stars once more. The night air was warm, but crisp in it's own way as she cleared her head, her father sitting on the living room couch, drinking once again. She sat there, thinking of what was to come the following day. She would either watch someone that she knew, someone that she grew up with, get chosen and walk upon the stage. And then there was one more possibility. She could get chosen herself. Evie shook her head at the thought. No, that couldn't happen... could it? Of course it could. Everyone had the same amount of chance to get thrown into the arena, no matter who you were or what connections that you had. Realizing that it was now two in the morning, she would go inside and try to get some rest, only to find herself tossing and turning. 

The day flying by in a swift motion, she would find herself deciding on something to where. She didn't want something to nice, nor to worn out that it would offer no protection. So, with her decision, she would find herself dressed in a pair of jeans, black combat boots, a  black t-shirt that fit just right and a leather jacket. Taking a look in the mirror, she would see that the dark colors had a very strong contrast with her skin as she tied her hair back into a high-set pony tail. And then the though hit her that this was possibly the last time that she could ever look in the mirror. [i]No, Evie. Don't think like that. Besides, you're a Clark. You have to have the slightest advantage over the others,[/i] she told herself. Picking up her three throwing knives she would run one finger over the length of the knife, causing a scratch on one of her fingers. Perfectly sharp. She would put one in each boot, and strap the other to her side. Then walking across the room, she would also pick up her long sword and put it into the sheath that was strapped across her back. 

Walking down the stairs she would pause to ask if her father would come with her to the ceremony. Fortunately, he had had an okay day and had not been drinking. "I don't see why not," the older man would say, his voice coming out rough. 
[color=00aeef]"Well.. in that case let's get a move on," [/color]she would say, her angelic like voice feeling the void. Both of the figures would walk out of the house, Evie herself taking what would become her possible last look at the place, and beginning down the side walk for the 30 minutes that would take them into the town square. Some where dressed for combat, others in formal wear. Some with weapons, some without. The Council did their usual routine an Evie paid no attention until she heard her name settle over the crowd. [b]"Evangaline Clark,"[/b] the woman's voice said. 

Realizing what in the world had just happened, Evangaline would feel the weight of how she felt towards the council, the silent promise that she had made all those years ago, and the thought of leaving her father there alone come crashing down on her. None the less, the girl put on a brave face and walked up the stage, cracking her knuckles. Her gaze came to rest upon none of other than her father, the mans eyes full of hurt. Her returning look would say that she could do nothing about it as his head hung in the crowd. The second name was called as she seen a some-what familiar face from the streets, a woman moving with cat-like grace. Evie gave a curt nod, her arms now crossed. The ceremony would come to a close and she would catch a glimpse of her father one last time, as well as the look upon his face. His eyes were now cold and hard, his lips pressed to a fine line. She had seen this look all of her life. One that stated: You know what to do. 

And on that note, the lithe figure would walk towards the train.