Umm.. Hello. This is the story Bloody Games. I'm nina amina and i adopted it from Fekete. As soon as I get all the chapters they wrote up I will begin updating thisstory. Please be patient and have faith. I will make sure it is finished.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia
Chapter 1: The Reaping
When I wake up, I find the other side of the bed cold. I try to press my body to Feli's, seeking his warmth, but instead I only find the mattress. I try to think of every reason why he wouldn't be here, with me, and only find one. He must have went to our mother's bed, looking for protection, hoping that she'll defend him. What a joke, as if that woman could do anything of the sort. But I can't blame him. He's turned twelve this March, and today is the day of the reaping. The nightmare of every citizen of Panem.
I sit up and squint my eyes, the room too bright for me. My eyes automatically follow my instinct to protect Feli and I see him, curled up against our mother. I can see dried tears on my brother's cheeks, he probably cried himself to sleep. Mother's arm is holding him protectively, her face relaxed. I can't help but think that she's beautiful like that, when she's asleep and free of worries. Feli, too, seems brighter and more lovely, his smooth cheek pressed against mother's. I stare at them for a while, before a very annoying and disturbing sound makes me look down.
Pasta is the ugliest, most irritating and hateful cat I have seen in my life. I haven't seen a lot of them, that is true, but he would make the top list even if I have seen thousands of them. He's my brother's pet and honestly, Feli is the only reason why that little bastard is still alive. My fratellino found him and insisted on keeping him, saying that the poor kitty can't be left alone. I tried to drown him and then maybe sell to Heracles, the distributor from black market. I'm sure Heracles would make a delicious soup using that disgusting thing's meat. Unfortunately Feli got to me before I could actually kill the damn thing. I knew that stupid Pasta would stay in our house as soon as Feliciano started crying. Well, whatever. The damned cat hates me, I hate him, it's all fine. There's been an improvement though. Sometimes when I give him scraps of food, he doesn't hiss on me. But that's only because I feed him. Well, it's fine. I won't get closer to loving him than that.
I sigh, my eyes lingering on Feli's delicate form for a few more seconds. There's not time to waste, I think to myself. I get up quickly, sliding into my hunting boots, putting on trousers, shirt and grabbing my bag that I always fill with game. I'm ready to go before I notice something lying on a table, a small smile spreading across my face. There, under a wooden bowl, I can see perfectly shaped piece of goat cheese. There's no doubt it's Feliciano's present for me, to keep evil, hungry little beasts from the woods. I put it into my pocket and slip out from the house.
Me and my family live in a poor part of district 12 that was nicknamed the Seam. Usually in the mornings it's already crowded by coal miners getting ready for work, or already heading towards the mines. There is no time to waste, the faster they begin the better, or so they say. Coal miners' faces are always so hollow, sunken, lifeless, so unlike the face of the coal miner that I remember so well, that I loved so much. And perhaps it was that incident, that one fatal day that made coal miners hate their work even more. Even so, the streets were usually crowded with them by this hour. But not today, not on the reaping day. It's that one day in the whole year where they can sleep in, when they don't have to go to work, when the shutters on their houses can be closed till late. The reaping day.
I shake my head, trying to get these depressing thoughts out of my head. I pick up the pace, my feet navigating me towards the Meadow. It's close to my house and separated from my happy place only by a high chain-link fence, that was supposed to be electrified twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. In reality, it pretty much wasn't electrified, ever. We're really lucky if we get two or three hours of electricity in the evening. It did help keep the wild animals at bay, though, so you could say that this thing did kind of fulfill its' duties. The fact that it wasn't alive most of the time never kept me from listening carefully for a hum, a sound that meant that it was, in fact, live. I grin despite myself when I hear nothing. It's dead and silent, just like I like it most. I flatted on my belly and slide under a stretch in the fence that has been loose since I can remember. It's not the only weak spot in the fence, but it's the closest to my house, so I usually end up using it whenever I go to the woods.
As soon as I enter the woods, I snatch my bow and sheath of arrows from the log, my secret place for them. It's not safe to roam the woods without weapon, unless you have a death wish. My father taught me how to use bow and arrows and showed me some of the places where I can find food before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. It was five years ago when I was eleven. Five years have passed and I still wake up sweating, screaming for him to run. He never does, he just stands there, waiting for his death. Five years. I'm not sure if they passed far too quick, of far too slow.
After my father's death, my mother fell apart. She stopped talking to us, stopped caring. Me and Feli were on verge of death too, and that's exactly because of her. When dad died, it was as if the whole family lost their lives completely. I was, am, so mad at her. She gave up on herself, on us, she was ready to let us starve to death. There was a time when I was ready to do so too, but then I looked at Feli, cute, innocent, lovely, dear little Feli and I knew that I can't do it. That I can't let them die. Mother's death would kill Feliciano, his death would kill me. So I learnt how to use bow and arrows, I went to the woods, I killed my first prey and brought it back home.
Hunting is illegal and if anyone will ever catch me doing it, I'll be probably killed or severely punished. At least that's what is supposed to happen. Most of the Peacekeepers in district 12 pretend not to notice that I and other people do illegal stuff. They are just as hungry for fresh meat as we are. Truthfully, Peacekeepers are one of my best customers.
There are some people, who instead of hunting come here in the fall to harvest apples. They mostly keep in the Meadow, though, too afraid that something will chase and kill them. Really, stupid people. What are they scared of? Wild animals? Right, because starving to death is so much better than being torn apart.
"District twelve, where you can fucking starve to death with a smile on your face" I grumble, not really caring if somehow, by some miracle someone could hear me. Maybe it'd be better if these stupid spies from Capitol heard. But then I shake my head again, chasing away those stupid thoughts. 'Mom would be outraged', I think to myself.
When I was younger I would often mutter offensive words about district twelve and Capitol under my breath. It always terrified my mother. She lived in fear that someone might hear and that Peacekeepers might sentence me or our whole family to death. My dad just laughed and told me not to say something like that, because those Capitol assholes can turn one word against you. Mother nearly slapped him when he said 'assholes', scolding him for teaching me blasphemy. In all honesty, I'm pretty sure that she had similar thoughts. After my father's death I started controlling myself, not stating my offensive opinions out loud. It would be disastrous if little Feli heard be say something like that and then repeat it somewhere in town. What if he heard me talking too much about the Hob – the black market where I trade most of my game – or Hunger Games, or Reaping itself? Or calling everyone bastards? Better not risk that, I thought.
With no possibility to be myself, whether it's at town, at school or even at my precious home, I found myself falling even more in love with the woods. Because that's the place where my one and only relief awaits me. Gilbert. He's the only person with whom I can stop pretending. My muscles relax and I can feel myself smiling at the mere thought of him. How stupid, I think, before quickening my pace. Faster, faster, I climb faster to reach our place, our rock protected by berry bushes. When I'm nearly there I can see him, standing tall with a smile on his face and I can't help but smile back. He says I only smile when I'm in the woods.
"Hey there, Domino" I scowl, mostly because it's a habit though. My name is not nearly is retarded as Domino, it's actually Lovino. Gilbert calls me Domino because the first time we met, I had whispered my name and he caught it wrongly. Stupid bastard. It wouldn't be nearly as bad if the only time he called me that was here, in the woods. Unfortunately, he tends to scream it out loud in the city, which humors 12's citizens a lot.
"Look at what my awesomeness hunted down" with a smirk, he holds up a loaf of bread pierced by an arrow. I snicker and take it in my arms. It's rare to find such delicious thing here. Only the wealthy, snobbish merchants can afford it. Real bread from bakery with amazing scent, that we from Seam can only dream of, usually. We don't have nearly enough money to buy it, and there is no way that we could make it from grain that we get, even if we had enough of it.
"Just what in the fuck did it cost you?" I ask, finally looking up. His eyes, crimson red, were focused on the sky, a ghost of a smile still playing on his lips.
"Well aren't you a curious one, Domino" he laughs when he catches my glare "Juts a squirrel. One, furry little squirrel. I think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning. Kinda unawesome. He even wished me luck" we both laugh.
"We all feel closer on the Reaping day though, don't we? Funny that it's the only time of the year when these merchant bastards pay attention to us. Feli left us cheese. Little idiot is feeling generous too"
His expression brightens, a crazy grin spreads across his face. He looks like a mad lunatic sometimes.
"Thank you, Feli! Thanks to your kind soul, me and your unawesome brother will have a real feast today!" his voice falls into Capitol accent, mimicking the crazy blond haired male that comes here for the Reaping every year – Feliks Łukasiewicz, I always have problems pronouncing his name. "How, like, totally unawesome! How could have I forgotten to wish you Happy Hunger Games, dear!" he rips a tiny bit of bread and tosses it into the air, towards me "And may the odds –"
I catch it easily, years of playing this game with him made it easier than getting up in the morning " – be ever in your favor!" I finish, trying my best to make my Capitol accent sound perfect. Gilbert laughs again, pinching my cheek. The Reaping Day is feared by everyone here, probably everyone by us. Maybe we are scared too, but at least we found alternate way to express it. We laugh it off. It's better than shivering or crying. And who could resist making fun of that stupid Capitol citizens? Stuck up bastards with walls of make up on. They look disgusting and dumb to us, poor Seam kids. I watch Gilbert as he takes out his knife and slices the bread in two equal parts before passing me one half. We could be siblings, even though we look nothing alike. Normal Seam kids have dark brown or black hair and hazel or black eyes, our skin is also slightly tanned. But Gilbert and his family? They could pass as merchants. Maybe not Gilbert nor his mother, but his siblings and their late father for sure. Ludwig, the second oldest son of the Beilschmidt family, has blond hair and blue eyes, like most of merchants. The third oldest son and the only daughter, Vash and Lili, have blond hair too, just their eyes are green. Gilbert was the freak of the family. His soft hair used to be the same color as his brothers and sister's, but they turned to silvery white with years. His eyes, crimson, blood-red, terrifying, but quite enchanting were like no one else's. The thing is, he was born with hazel eyes, the Seam eyes, but four years later they slowly started changing color. No one knows why though. Aunt Lisa, Gil's mom, said that it's because he was too awesome for Seam or merchant or Victors. He was unique, so he had to show off his awesomeness right before his fifth birthday.
The first time me and Gilbert met was four years ago. I was a skinny twelve year old, ready to murder the whole world if it meant Feli's safety, and he was a fourteen year old jackass, already looking like a man with his gigantic height. Well okay, not gigantic, but it was un-fucking-fair. Why was he taller than me? He is only two years older! It makes me wonder how we even became friends, seeing as we were ready to kill each other the first time we met. I guess we both just noticed that the other's existence might help get a bigger game.
I pass cheese goat to Gilbert to spread it on both halves of the bread while I pick up some berries. As soon as he's finished, we both sit in a nook of the rock. It's funny how safe I feel here, really. Anything could kill me out here, be it a bear or a pack of wild dogs. And I'm not scared, not in the least. The day is beautiful, sky seems bluer than ever today. It's cloudless, the sun shines brightly, birds chirp in their squeaky voices. I feel truly relaxed and at ease here, in the woods with Gilbert. I could spend here the whole day. Instead we'll have to go and stand like idiots in the square at two o'clock, waiting for our names to be called out for Capitol's sick entertainment.
"We could do it, you know" Gil says quietly, his eyes focused on a bird sitting on a tree.
"Do what?" I ask, a part of me already knowing the answer. We've talked about it a few times already.
"Run away. We could take our families and run away from district twelve and the unawesome Capitol crap"
"To where? Here? Can you imagine Lili and Feli here, in the woods, surrounded by these carnivorous beasts?"
"We could make it. You and I. We could protect them"
"There are too many of them" we fall silent, staring off into the distance. It's not like the idea have never crossed my mind. It have. A lot of times, really. But every time I even thought about it, Feliciano's smiling face would pop up in my head. He wouldn't make it here, and I could never leave the district without him. Both Gilbert and I hunt daily not to let these children, my brother and his three siblings, get hungry. But there are still days when they are hungry, when they go the whole day without food. "I don't want to have children, ever"
"Kids would be awesome. Really, really awesome. If only we didn't live here, I mean"
"Well we fucking do!" I yell, annoyed. I don't know why but a thought of Gilbert having children annoys me more than his stupid talk. I don't think it's jealousy. I've never considered Gilbert a potential lover material. It's not because he's a man, in Panem it doesn't really matter that much, because there are much more men than women here and homosexual relationships aren't that unusual. It's just… albino bastard is more like a brother to me. I can't imagine myself kissing him or adopting a kid with him. So really, I know it would be easy for him to find a wife or even a husband. He's good-looking and people talk about him, throw lustful gazes his way. And it makes me jealous, yes, but not that way. He's my only friend and a hunting partner. Those a really hard to find.
"Gott, forget it!" he snaps back, standing up. Oh great, he just frightened the birds that could have been our food! But I bite my tongue. He's already irritated anyway, and when he's irritated I'm irritated, too, and it's hard to catch anything.
"What do you want to do now? Hunt? Gather? Fish?" our eyes meet for a while and the tension from before is gone.
"Let's go fishing. The fish will catch themselves and we can gather some greens. Maybe we'll find some nice rabbit too. We need a feast for tonight, after all" if neither of us is reaped, I think. Every year most of the families celebrate on the Reaping Day, thankful that their children weren't chosen for the Games. But there are always two families who shut themselves out from the whole world. Who can blame them, really?
"Great. Come on then, bastard" it is a good day. By late morning we've gathered a lot of greens and a gallon of strawberries, which Mayor just adores. We also have a dozen of fish. Before Gilbert I did just fine, but the amount of food I gathered wasn't even half as much. See why I would be jealous? That guy is fucking useful and one in a million hunter. I'm still better though.
As always when we go back home, we stop by the black market that we call the Hob. That's where we trade most of the goods we gather, kill or pick up. It's never a problem to find someone here with whom we could make a deal. It takes six fish for a good bread and another two for salt. I'm sure that my brother will be very happy to see bread, it's been such a long time. Heracles, a middle aged man that sells bowls of hot soup gives us couple of chunks of paraffin in exchange for half of the greens. He's a weird guy. Pasta likes him a lot, and he likes Pasta too, even insists that I bring him here sometimes. Anyone that likes Pasta is weird. Look at Feliciano, now at me. Which one is more normal? Me. And who does Pasta dislike? Me. That juts proves that Heracles is a weird guy. But me and Gil try to be in good relations with him, because he is the only person who is willing to buy a wild dog that we somehow end up killing. We don't hunt them down on purpose, but if they attack us we have no other option but to kill it. What Heracles does with them? Well…
"Once it's in my delicious soup, it is beef" he says, and I laugh. I like him, kind of. He isn't an asshole like most of the people and his soups are good. And here, in Seam, no one really minds even if it's a wild dog that they're eating. People are starving and meat is meat. It's better not to let Peacekeepers know though. They're picky about their food.
After finishing Heracles' soup that he gave us for free – Gilbert was right, people do seem more sentimental today – we go to the back door of the Mayor's house. He loves strawberries and pays us quite an amount. He's a precious customer, but he's rarely the one to open the door. It's usually Matthew, his only son. It's not different today.
Matt is my classmate and the closest I'll get to someone who I can get along with at school, apart from albino bastard. He's a quiet kid and most of the people don't even remember that he exists. When they do, it's either to get on his good side – he is rich – or because they hate him or think that he's a snob. Most of the Seam kids do, really. But I don't. I think that he's just shy and prefers to keep to himself rather than associate with assholes. He's like me, in some ways. Not all, because our statuses area different and I doubt he was ever desperate for food, but personality wise. We're both rather antisocial and don't have many friends. I guess it's the reason why the two us often ends up together at school. We eat lunch together, partner for sport activities, sit next to each other in class, do projects together. We don't talk a lot, but it suits both of us just fine. Are we friends? I don't know.
He isn't wearing his usual school clothes today. Instead he's wearing neat, white shirt and dark blue jacket. A tie is carefully tied around his neck. It matches his trousers. They look expensive. Reaping clothes.
"Nice suit" Gilbert say and I'm sure that I caught a mocking note in his voice. Matthew must have, too, because he's staring at him in confusion. Probably deciding if Gil was making fun of him or not. He catches me by surprise when a sweet smile crosses his face.
"Thank you. If I end up reaped it's obvious I'd like to look nice in the Capitol, no? Can't bring shame no my father" now it's Gilbert's time to furrow his brows. Did Matt mean it or was he mocking my friend? I'm betting a bread on the second one.
"You reaped? Stop fucking around" Gilbert's voice is cold, his crimson eyes staring holes in Matthew's chest where a golden pin is placed. It's real gold, I can tell, and it could keep a family in bread for months, maybe even a year if played well. "Rich kids like you have, what, five entries? Six? I had six when I was twelve! Do you even know how many I have right now?"
"Shut up, bastard. It's not like it's his fault" it's not his fault that he was born as merchants' son, hah, as Mayor's son! But it's not a reason to hate him. Even I know that much.
"I know! I know, okay? Not his fault. Who cares. Rich kids like them should be reaped to teach all these snobs a lesson" Gilbert stomps away, acting like an immature bastard that he is. It's his last Hunger Games as a possible tribute. He's probably just nervous. Yeah right. He's just a prick.
"Good luck today, Lovino" Matthew whispers, his face unreadable. Was he hurt? Why? Was it because the rumors were true and he had a crush on Gilbert?
"You too, Matt" I say and take the money he offers me. The door closes and I follow albino bastard.
When I catch up with him, we walk in silence. I'm sort of annoyed with his outburst at Matt. It's not like I didn't understand. I did. The reaping system was unfair for the poorer.
Everyone can become a tribute as long as they're from twelve to eighteen years old. It means that at the age of twelve we get one entry, one piece of paper with our name on it. Two when we're thirteen and so on. But here's a thing. If a family was poor, they could get a year worth of grain and oil in exchange for an additional piece of name thrown into the pot with the names. A tesserae. And a person could take it for every family member. That's why, when I was only 12, I had already four entries. One because I had to, and three tesserae. Gilbert, who has to take care of a family of five has forty-two entries this year. In compression, a rich merchant kid who is eighteen, I don't remember his name I just know that he's a dick, has his name thrown only eight times, once for every year. It's not fair now, is it?
That's why it's easy to hate people like Matthew. They grew up in wealth and prosperity, not knowing what hardship or starvation is. Most of the town kids have healthy skin color, some of them are even slightly chubby, something people from Seam could never afford, no matter how hard we tried. Most of us are rather skinny. If we get to live, that is. Gilbert's and my family are fine, with the two of us hunting, but not every Seam family is that lucky. Some of them live on grain from tesserae only, which equals waiting for starvation. Even so, Gilbert knows he shouldn't have shouted at Matthew, I can see it on his face. The two of often discuss this topic in the woods. How the starving coal miners from Seam and well fed towns people are divided because of Capitol's unfair system. How tesserae is just another thing to keep us from trusting each other. And damn, is he right. Because of general hate from the poorer people, merchants started to detest us as well, call us names sometimes. I don't know too many rich people who think that they're better than us, at least not at school, but it's not such a rare occurrence among the adults. It's childish, really. And Gilbert is, too. What good is there about his rage outburst? They're pointless, childish. They don't make sense. His complains won't get us anywhere, won't take down these freak shows from the Capitol, won't make rich and poor friends. It'll only piss me off and we'll end up catching next to nothing. But I let him shout. I know better than anyone else that it's no good to bottle up everything in yourself. I just wish I could call everyone a bastard at least once. I mean, the people that I think that are bastards. Meaning everyone.
As we come to a halt, Gilbert divides our spoils in two. There's two fish for each of us, some bread, some salt, some greens, paraffin and a quarter of strawberries. Plus some money. Feliciano will be happy, I think. He likes strawberries and hopefully it'll brighten up his gloomy day.
"See you at two" I say, looking away.
"Yeah. Wear something sexy" he jokes, but I don't laugh. It's too close to reaping hour and I'm mad about Matthew. Besides the joke wasn't even funny.
At home I find my mother and Feli ready to go. My mother is dressed in her old outfit, a beautiful sunny dress from her apothecary days. It makes her look younger and more like the woman that I knew before father's death. Certainly prettier too. For a while I want to smile, but I quickly stop myself from doing so. Just because she's dressed properly and her hair is done doesn't mean she's back. Even if she were, I couldn't forgive her. Not for leaving me and Feli alone. That's right. Feliciano. My eyes stop on a boy standing next to mother. He's wearing my outfit from my first reaping. White buttoned-up shirt and patched, worn out trousers. We couldn't afford anything else, still I think it's nice. But it's clearly too big on him, because his shirt is sticking up from his pants, forming a little duck tail. Mother probably tried to make it less loose, but it was all she could do. It's not that surprising. Feli is slightly shorter and slimmer than I was that age.
I leave them to take a bath, a warm tub of water waiting for me. I wonder for a second who made it, Feli? Mother?, before I shrug and sunk into pleasant warm liquid. I scrub off the dirt and sweat from the woods, I even wash my hair. I don't do that often. No time and no water for that. When I get out from the tub, I head to the room. I was wondering what I should wear, but to my surprise mother has prepared everything. She laid out a nice suit that I immidietly recognize as dad's from his days as a teenager – his first present from mom. After my father's death, she kept it closed in the small closet.
"Are you sure?" I ask, turning back to look at her. She's standing at the door, smiling uncertainly. She's came back to us in recent months. She's tried to make up for the time she spent in her own world, trying to do a lot of things for me and Feliciano. But no matter what she tried, I only felt like rejecting her. I didn't want help from her, her pity, her kindness. I just couldn't afford to do that. And now she's laid out something very precious to her and dad, something from her past. Everything from her past was precious, very precious to her.
"Si, Certo. We should make your hair as well. Come here" she says in a gentle voice and just this one time I can't hate her. Because it's her voice from five years ago. It's her smile from five years ago. It's her kindness from five years ago. It's her from before the accident. The her that I didn't hate. Couldn't hate. She crosses the room and stands in front of me, drying my wet hair with a towel. Then she takes out a hairbrush and combs my hair gently, without pulling. Soon I can see myself in a mirror and I have to blink in surprise. I look good in the suit, but it's more about my hair. They weren't like that in a long time. Smooth and shiny. And my haircurl, which is usually more down and tangled, is standing out, as if showing my pride. It's the typical Vargas haircurl, dad said. He had one, too. Or more like he had a few of them, always sticking up in the weirdest of ways. No one had a curl like that, no one expect for our family. It was weird, but it made me proud. It showed that I'm my father's son. I haven't looked like one for a long time.
"Vee. You look very handsome, fratello. Like papà" Feliciano says in a hushed voice.
"Yeah, and like a freak from the Capitol. Does this suit look like me, Feli, or more like the show presenter from Capitol, the wicked Tino?" I ask, slipping into Capitol accent. He giggles, his eyes locking with mine. I smile, hugging him, because I know that cheering him up with words will be useless. This day is absolutely awful and stressing for him, I know. It's his first reaping. Of course he's pretty safe, because his name is in there only once. I'm taking the tesserae and there is no way I would let him take any. No, he's as safe as he can be. There is no way they could chose him from all the names, right?
But a part of me knows that he isn't afraid about his reaping, at least not so much. It's me that he's worried about. He knows that with twenty they might chose me. He's so innocent, so precious in every possible way. He's always been more worried about others than about himself. 'What if they'll catch you? What if something bad happens?' he'd say when I first started hunting. 'I can take tesserae too! Fratello, I don't want them to pick you!' he'd cry a week ago. Him being that way only makes me want to protect him more. He's the most important person on Earth for me right now. There is no one that could make me stop protecting him, not now, not ever. The mere thought of losing him, of letting him go to Hunger Games makes me terrified.
"Tuck in your tail, little duck, or others everyone will make fun of you" I choke out. Why the fuck do I feel like crying? Stupid, loveable Feli and his charm. He giggles agin, though, so I'm happy with the results.
"Quack!" I look at him with amusement, trying my hardest not to roll my eyes.
"Quack yourself, uccellino" I pinch his cheek with a laugh. It's amazing how quickly he can bring a smile to my face, really. "Come here, idiot. It's time to eat" he nods and follows me to the table. We don't eat much. Fish and greens are already cooking, preparing for an evening meal. Strawberries, too, will be for the evening, for our celebrations. Since no one is hungry, we just drink milk from Feliciano's goat, Amore, and try to read rough bread from tesserae grain. Like I said, try. We're all a little bit too nervous to stuff ourselves with food.
A little bit before one o'clock we head to the square. It's usually a very nice place, full with shops and kind people. Flashy words and amazing smells. Crowded but cozy. Yes, a very nice place. Well, not on the Reaping Day. The square is where they hold the entire 'ceremony'. Attendance is mandatory, too, unless you're on a verge of dying. If you aren't and they catch you, which they always do, you are a dead meat. Well, okay, only imprisoned. Which means that you're pretty fucking much screwed anyway. Death would be better.
With time more and more people fill in on the square, signing up. The children from the age of 12 to 18 line up in groups of their age, the oldest ones, like Gilbert, in the front, the youngest, like Feli and Ludwig in the back. I'm two rows behind Gil, four in front of Feli. I just hope these two years pass quickly, so that I'll be the one standing in Gil's line. So that it'll be my last reaping. People older than eighteen and younger than twelve line up around the perimeter. I can see mother holding Lisa Beilschmidt's hand tightly. Our mothers, mine and Gilbert's, have been good friends for a long time. Our fathers were too. Next to Lisa I can see Vash, hugging Lili protectively. He's like Gilbert in a lot of ways. Annoying and overprotective. Funnily enough, he seems to dot on Lili only, not really caring about Ludwig – I really don't like that kid – or Gilbert. Among the people that actually do care about what will happen during the reaping, there are also people who gave up, stopped caring or already lost their precious ones in previous Hunger Games. There are also the shady bastards that are disgusting enough to make bets on who'll be chosen. Seam kid or merchant? What age? Will they cry? If I knew at least one fucker like that in person, I'd kill him right on the spot. They break the law but I'm not really one to talk. I could be shot on daily basis for hunting. I still think a bullet in the head is better than starvation though. Quicker and less painful.
I can feel myself get a claustrophobic feeling as more people arrive. The square might be quite big, but it's not nearly big enough to hold whole population of District 12. There are around eight fucking thousands of us here, for God's sake.
I look around. I'm surrounded by other sixteens' from twelve. I can easily notice Matthew. He seems to be shining next to that kid from Seam. We all exchange a curt nod. Was it supposed to encourage us? I don't know. We all just simply do it, every year, every line. I turn around trying to spot Feli, but I can't. There are too many people. I focus on the stage in front of the Justice Building instead. There are three chairs, a podium and two large glass balls. The ball on the right holds twenty pieces of paper with my name on it, and one with Feliciano's. Twenty eight years ago the ball on the right contained the girls' names, the one on the left the boys' names. However, twenty years ago a lot of women have died. 70% of the civilization in Panem were men. Because of that the president of this corrupted country, "Prissy Idiot" as Gilbert liked to call him, changed the rules. Ever since twenty years ago, the names in two balls were divided into the surnames from A to M (the left ball) and from N to Z (the right ball). Unless there were two volunteers. Then there could be two people from the same ball. And if there was only one, they ended up asking the tribute whether he or she wanted to mix all the names in one bowl or let the other tribute be from the other bowl. The answer usually was "I don't care".
Two of the three sits are filled in with Matthew's father, Mayor Williams, and District 12's escort, Feliks Łukasiewicz, fresh from the Crazyland with blond hair with pink strands and scary grin. He's as weird as every year. The two of them whisper to each other, looking at the empty chair with concern. I can't help a smirk creeping up on my face. I know exactly who and why is missing.
Carlos Maceo Covada is twelve's only alive victor. He won the fiftieth Hunger Games. It was twenty four year ago. I think that this old bastard is around forty now. I don't really know how he's won exactly and I can't say that I care. Watching the Games every year is awful enough, there is no one in twelve who would willingly re-watch this inhuman event, no matter from which year, even if it was the year of 12's 'victory'. Many don't even call it a victory, because what is there to celebrate? During the fiftieth Hunger Games, not two but four tributes were chosen from each district. So really, what is there to celebrate? We had one victor, but three people died. Only ones who found it entertaining were people from Capitol.
I watched the Mayor rise from his sit and stumble to the podium. He begins telling the history of our country. It's always like that, every year. And every year I can't help but think that it's all a load of crap. How much truth is in the story they're telling us? It's hard to say, but I bet more than half of it is made up. Huge, merciless war destroyed the place once known as North America. In its' place Panem was born. Beautiful, ideal Panem, divided into thirteen districts. Everyone wanted to live here, because it was so peaceful, so perfect, before the Dark Days came. That's when the greedy districts rebelled against the most gracious Capitol. Rebellion that came seventy four years ago. The districts lost, twelve of them were simply defeated, the thirteenth, the one which started the rebellion, destroyed. To prevent new revolutions, Capitol decided to punish the remaining district, as if showing of that they own us. This punishment was Hunger Games.
The rules in the Games are easy. Every district has to send two tributes from twelve to eighteen years old to the Capitol. There they train before going to the area, which can be a desert, a forest or frozen wasteland. The last rule is simple. Everyone must die, for there is only one person who will stand a victor. Hunger Games are just a bloodbath, where children kill each other for Capitol's sick entertainment. The punishment for uprising.
To humiliate us more, Panem's president and other 'important' jackasses made it an event, something like a carnival, a good fun. Watching it is mandatory, citizens are supposed to be happy and cheer on their tributes, wish others death. That's what they're expecting from us. They made it clear that the victor should be enough to pay us for watching this thing. The victors get to live in luxury and ease for the rest of their lives, with food supplied to the winning district for the whole year, while other districts battle starvation. There is a 'Victors' village' in every district. That's where old Maceo lives.
As Mayor begins to read the names of our victors, our only alive one staggers on the stage and with a thud falls on the empty chair. I suppress a snicker. He's drunk, like always. There isn't a single day when he's sober, at least I've never seen him like that. Always tipsy. He's a reason why 12 is a laughing stock of the whole Panem – Mayor Williams must understand it, too, because he looks like he wants to burn from embarrassment and slap Maceo – but he's also the most enjoyable thing during the reaping. It's funny how a bastard like him can easily get on Panem's nerves. I try to suppress a smile when I see how he's trying to hug Feliks Łukasiewicz, who crunches his nose in disgust. Hilarious and pitiful, these guys from the Capitol. Mayor Williams tries to save the day and introduces the blond weirdo – as if we didn't already know the irritating guy – and the reaping begins.
Feliks hurries to the stage, as hyper as ever "Happy Hunger Games, skarbeczki! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" he giggles, looking around. I suppress a shiver when our eyes meet. He starts blabbering about how he likes to be here, in 12, and that it's, like, an honor. It's a lie, obviously. He hates this district and Carlos.
I start to feel nervous again, which is utterly stupid. There's no way they'd pick me, there are thousand slips in these balls, there's no way they'd pick me. My eyes lock with Gilbert's crimson, and I blink in surprise. He's grinning, like always, and I can see him mouthing 'I'm awesome'. I roll my eyes, sending him a small smile as a reward. But then I realize that there are forty-two slips of paper with his name in the first ball, and I'm worried. Because these numbers are not in his favor at all. His grin fades and I know that he's thinking about me as well. We break our eye contact.
Feliks goes to the ball on the right. Unlike most of the districts, we never start with A-M letters. We start with N-Z. Feliks said it's because his good friend's name starts with N and that it's a pleasant reminder. It makes no sense, but then again, not much of Capitol crap does. As he gets to the ball, his pale hand digs in the papers and pulls one out. The people around me don't breath, and I realize that I'm not breathing either. I stare at the little paper in his hand and thing desperately: Please, only not me, only not me, only not fucking me.
Feliks crosses back to the podium, the already smothered piece of paper in his hand. He smiles and brings the fateful near his eyes. He opens his mouth. I manage one more: Please, don't let it be me; in my mind, before words leave blond's lips.
It's not me.
It's Feliciano Vargas.
Fratellino – It. 'little brother'
Si, Certo – It. 'Yes, of course'
Uccellino – It 'little bird'
Skarbeczki – Pol. 'darlings'
Lovino Vargas (South Italy) as Katniss Everdeen
Feliciano Vargas (North Italy) as Primrose Everdeen
Gilbert Beilschmidt (Prussia) as Gale Hawthorne
Carlos Maceo Cavada (Cuba) as Haymitch Abernathy
Alice Vargas (OC purposely for this fic) as Mrs. Everdeen
Romulus Vargas (Ancient Rome) as Mr. Everdeen
Ludwig Beilschmidt (Germany) as Rory Hawthorne
Vash (Zwingli) Beilschmidt (Switzerland) as Vick Hawthorne
Lili (Zwingli) Beilschmidt (Liechtenstein) as Posy Hawthorne
Lisa Beilschmidt (OC purposely for this fic) as Hazelle Hawthorne
Regis Beilschmidt (Germania) as Mr. Hawthorne
Matthew Williams (Canada) as Madge Undersee
Mayor Williams (OC purposely for this fic) as Mayor Undersee
Feliks Łukasiewicz (Poland) as Effie Trinket
Heracles Karpusi (Greece) as Greasy Sae
XXXXX (YYYY) as President Coriolanus Snow – it's a secret~
Cuba's name:
First name; Carlos [Carlos Manuel de Céspedes] - Cuban planter who freed his slaves and made the declaration of Cuban independence in 1868 which started the Ten Years' War.
First last name; Maceo [Antonio Maceo Grajales] - second-in-command of the Cuban Army of Independence.
Second last name; Cavada [Federico Fernández Cavada] - Commander-in-Chief of all the Cuban forces during Ten Year War for independence