A/N:Hey everyone, Lemonquill here. First chapter of my first story is up! :D Soo exciting!
Firstly, I do not own the Hunger Games. The rights to the Hunger Games trilogy and any characters appearing in those books are owned by Suzanne Collins, and, frankly, she deserves them for writing an amazing story.
Secondly, my Beta/Co-writer/friend helping me write this is MidnightRaven323. If you haven't already, go check out her profile! She has written some really amazing stories and she's starting up some amazing new ones now.
Finally - let the 174th Hunger Games begin...
Heyy,this is Midnight here,not Lemonquill :) You can tell us apart by our font in the A/Ns starting from...now.
174th Hunger Games: Pandora
Chapter One
The 174th Hunger Games are dawning.
Lysander Belacqua leaned back in his swivelling office chair. Beads of sweat washed over his pale forehead adorned with a straight, dark hairstyle somewhat vacant of the variable shades of blue that were the norm right now in the ever-changing current of Capitol fashion. His tailored black and bright blue suit was crumpled after days of wear. His glowing neon blue eyes – a product of a luminescent serum he had invented a few months back that could be used as a pigment in living things –were darting around, the eyes of a panicked young animal. Lysander had locked himself in his office when he heard the news. Turned all his computers off and unplugged them, and the landline, too – he even flushed his new mobile phone inlaid with sapphires down the lavatory. Shaking, he had set the hexagonal glass panels of the windows to opaque, and he sat at his desk, shaking.
That was sixteen hours ago. He hadn't moved in five.
He had received a letter from the President three days ago, in fluid dark green ink, containing the flowing signature that chief executives dreamed of. It innocently implied that, should he wish, he might be offered a place in the Gamemaking team's Arena Division, or possibly Muttations Division. Indeed, she had noticed his work at the University - Dean Globe held him in very high esteem – and thought he deserved a chance to work in the Hunger Games; since he had obviously worked so hard towards gaining a place in the Gamemaking team. She wanted him to reply by the month prior to the Reapings, and looked forward to working with him.
Or, as his contacts perceived it:
She wanted him on the Gamemaking team this year, whatever the cost. She was closely watching his studies at the University – possibly she had gotten the information off the oblivious Dean Globe – and was going to make him work on the Gamemaking team he feared so much. She was going to kidnap him right in the heart of the Capitol if he didn't come forward by the 1st of May.
And the time was 11:55pm, on the night of the 30th of April.
Once his contacts had received a copy of the letter, they simply gave him the 'translation', as they called it, and cut all ties with him. The closest one to him, known as Shades, since he wore plain black lenses even on the darkest night, was sent to meet him on the second day after the letter.
"The boss is afraid of you," he said bluntly, adjusting his low-rimmed bowler hat. "He reckons you're too weak, and would give away information if we kept in touch with you."
"That's ridiculous," sputtered Lysander, although a tiny voice in the back of his head told him he sounded reminiscent of a small handbag dog.
"That's the truth, son," Shades stated, leaning back in his chair. "You've been contacted by the enemy, and we can't guarantee your safety anymore. And if we kept trying to help you, we'd probably get discovered. So, our only option is to stop all contact." He brushed some dust off his long trench coat, as if he had simply made a comment on the weather. Lysander looked at his shoes. This man, this person who could probably reduce a concrete block to cinders, seemed to think that the all-powerful rebels he had put so much trust into, who promised over and over that they could protect him with fake identification or hack into government files about him should the authorities came knocking on his door, were so vulnerable to a simple letter written in dark green ink.
Lysander checked his watch – black and midnight blue atomic time – and let out a whimper. 11:57, twenty seconds past. He glanced at a faintly glowing neon pink orchid, potted on his desk. He was going to give it to his girlfriend, before that letter came.
Astrid Fuchsia was her name. They met at the University. He worked on muttation creation and fine-tuning. She was studying arena micro-climates and forestation. One look at those platinum blond curls, the deep pink lipstick and curling eyebrow tattoos, and he knew he was a goner. It took three weeks to work up the nerve to talk to her, and another four to ask her on a date. It turned out she had been doing the exact same thing. In fact, they both asked each other out at exactly the same time, tripping over each other's words. Everyone else agreed they were made for each other. The perfect couple.
As well as pretty, Astrid was ambitious and smart. She worked almost every hour of the day, trying to qualify for the Gamemaking team. She haggled the professors at the university for more, always wanting to know some irritating little detail, like how a seemingly random species of beetle reacted to synthetic plant type used in the arenas. When an exam was announced, she seemed to speed up everything she could to cram in extra revision time. The assigned Head Gamemakers never seemed to want her on the team, thinking she would be far too stressed and worrisome for an actual place in the Games. Lysander disagreed with them, ever sympathetic when Astrid announced people turning her down. He felt as if no one could truly see her as he did – a truly spirited woman striving for a job she had dreamed of her whole life. An unstoppable adversary. A talented hard worker. A Gamemaker.
Astrid saw her prince in an unfaltering light. When they met, she had admired him for his work. Now she worked with him, a helpful voice Lysander was grateful for. She was bold, too, and often had angry arguments on the phone when she or Lysander were given mediocre feedback from the university. That was her one fatal flaw. For Miss Fuchsia, failure wasn't an option. Success was the only thing she could have, by any means, for her and her prince.
Lysander looked at the small, glinting silver ring in the soil of the plant pot, inlaid with a rose-pink diamond and shining under the light of the flower. He was going to propose to her, before, well, that letter. He sighed. That letter just had to go and screw everything up.
He checked his watch again. 11:58, forty seconds past.
Those damn resistance people. Yes, he was against the games. Just a childhood prejudice, really. He used to have a brother – Baby Demetrius. For two days he had a brother, a tiny thing wrapped in a perfectly white embroidered cloth. He remembered his mother's joy at a second child, his father's jolly demeanour and glow in his cheeks as he looked at his sons. The baby never cried once, a wisp of joy with strands of baby-soft hair as black as coal dust, and one eye of blue, one eye of light brown like the crinkly leaves of autumn. His family had been preparing a room, a secluded sky-blue realm in their house were everything was cuddly and fluffy, with a cot of dark ocean hues in a small niche in the wall, and a pretty tinfoil mobile that Lysander had made himself with his fumbling five-year-old hands. The Belacquas were overjoyed for the new arrival, especially Lysander, who felt almost as if he had been invited to tag along with the Victors on a Victory Tour. Demetrius was perfect in every way. Except for the slight cough, the tiny thing that seemed to escape everyone's notice, or just make them laugh at the baby's adorable natures.
He died of pneumonia after just three days of life.
The young Lysander had screamed in anger and hatred for no one in particular. For the invisible people that had taken his brother away. The tragedy of death forced upon one so lost in the new fullness of life, the whole unfairness of it, the way the universe never seemed to care how much people shouted at it, begged for their baby back. The hollowness twisted and warped into a many-pointed thing, a creature that attacked just when you thought you had forgotten, just when you were at your most vulnerable, a cruel instrument of torture, an aggravating fact of life.
Sacrifices had to be made, but it didn't stop them from hurting like hell.
The Belacqua's grief, coincidentally, ended on the day of the 159th Hunger Games Interviews, the day when they decided to re-join the flow of normal life, to pick themselves off the ground and start again. The grief never felt like it would end, but it did. Then the most extraordinary coincidence in Panem occurred.
Lysander shook his head to keep the memories away. A lot of good the past could do him now. 11:59, twenty-five seconds past. His eyelids were drooping. The faint light of the flower was fuzzy, pulsing. His head fell and he let the release of sleep envelope him.
When he woke up, it was clear to him what he must do, the hazy dream fading fast. 4:29 in the morning, seven seconds past. A video phone was ringing on his computer. Taking a deep breath, he clicked Pick Up.
"Hello, Miss President," he said, his voice not shaking as he had thought it might.
"Have you made a decision yet, Mr Belacqua? My patience is fading as the light of day grows," sighed a cold, smooth voice.
"Yes, Miss President," His heart was pounding as he said the words he had dreaded his whole life until now.
"I volunteer as Gamemaker."
A History of the District Partners Decree
Until the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Panem was only ever graced with one victor every Games. But, after the tragic train accident of District Twelve's star-crossed lovers, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, it was decreed by President of Panem, Coriolanus Snow that the Hunger Games were to annually produce two victors, if they each originated from the same district. This rule change brought many new attitudes to Panem. The government thought highly of the decree, as it promoted even more competition between the districts, further stemming a rising rebellion. The districts were overjoyed to have a much greater chance of their children returning, and, of course, the citizens of the Capitol were in for an even greater show…
A/N: So, what do you think? Please leave a review if you want, I really valueconstructive criticism (if you just want to hate on me you can leave), and without further ado, here's Midnight's Tribute Form :) (We might start up a sponsor shop depending on how it goes.) New chapter up soon!
Okay, this will NOT be a First Come, First Serve story,but if you submit first, there will be a higher chance of being accepted. The more detailed, the better. And absolutely NO Mary-Sues or Gary-Stus, Lemonquill may accept them, but I will make them die a horrible death :D
Tribuet Form~ Send Via PM only, no Reviews.
Name:
Age:
Gender:
District: (Careers from 1, 2, and 4 ONLY, unless you have some interesting reason in which case me and Lemonquill will consult)
Backup District:
Apearance: (Describe their eyes, hair, features that stand out, heritage, scars/birthmarks etc)
Personality:
History:
Family/Friends: (Name, age, short description)
Fears:
Volunteered or Reaped?:
If Volunteered,why?:
If Reaped,reaction?:
Who says Goodbye? :
Opinion Of The Capitol?:
Opinion Of The Hunger Games?:
Training Strategy:
Strengths: (Limited to 4)
Weaknesses: ( At least 2)
Weapon Of Choice: (And give a reason why)
What They Show The Gamemakers:
Possible Training Score:
Romance?:
Possible Death:
Token:
Other: (Optional Reaping, Chariots, Interview outfits)
And last but not least, opinions on Lysander?