Notes: And here we are, with our Quarter Quell of the Avenger Games. If you haven't read "There Will Be No Kneeling," we'd recommend you pop over there real quick so you can follow all the storylines we're tying together. If you have, hello! We're here to introduce the first four districts' worth of tributes for the final Avenger Games. We think a few of the faces might surprise you ;)
Chapter 1: "Meet the Careers"
July 1: Reaping Day
District One
After the disastrous showing One had put up for last year's tributes — an insane boy who didn't make it far at all and a criminal who betrayed her own alliance — the Academy had looked much closer at this year's candidates, looking for something different.
And that was what they found with Zebediah Kilgrave.
Before last year, he had certainly caught the eyes of the trainers, but as a possible teacher for the Academy more than anything else. He had a way of getting anyone to do what he wanted them to do, talking them into decisions even against their better judgement. The instructors were still trying to figure out how he had orchestrated an entire theft of the kitchen's contents and convinced three younger boys to take the blame for it.
The other students were unsettled by him and gave him a wide berth when they could — and yet he seemed oddly charismatic at other times, seemingly able to walk the line between hated and worshiped, depending on how susceptible the other children were to his suggestions.
But as the Academy looked to someone with a little less flash than last year's Wade Wilson and toward someone who could lead the Careers, put One back in the spotlight instead of letting Two and Four hog most of it as usual — the young man with a strategic mind and a terrifying manipulative ability was starting to look better and better. They hadn't had any victors since the Four, and even Johnny Storm was getting old, around thirty years old… it had been far too long since One had been anything but an "also billed" in the Career alliance. A leader, even one like Kilgrave, would be their best shot at ending the cycle of obscurity.
The decision was made, however, after Kilgrave's final test before graduation. At eighteen, this was his last chance for the Games, and every Academy graduate his age would go through the same final trial, pitted against one of the trainers to see how well they would fare in a fight with higher stakes. The only rule was that the trainer could not kill or seriously injure the students in the fight, not that close to the Games and the Reaping — though any hesitation would mean an instant disqualification for the students, and there were rumors that necks had been snapped for 'disqualification,' just to keep them on their toes. It had been ages since that had happened, and the trainees at the Academy were getting to the point that none of them were old enough to remember it — so they were due for a wakeup call.
And that was what Kilgrave provided — albeit not quite in the way that the Academy had expected.
Kilgrave's evaluation was unique in that he didn't hesitate — but he didn't spring right into battle, either. He had gone right for the weapons rack to simply run his hands over it, lingering on different knives and swords as he almost easily chatted with the trainer watching him in a ready position.
And yet somehow, by the time Kilgrave actually crossed the span and cut the man's throat — it was the easiest kill any in the Academy had seen, because the trainer's guard was down and he had even dropped his weapons. All because Kilgrave asked him to.
Of course, there was some uproar from the higher-ups. Kilgrave wasn't actually supposed to kill anyone. But those with the final say loved it, and so did their SHIELD sponsors. If he could do that in training — they were practically salivating at the idea of what he could do in the Games themselves.
And Kilgrave himself was pleased with the outcome, having gotten what he wanted — as usual. So on the day of the Reaping, he wore his best suit — in royal purples, already thinking of his win and his fame and riches — to the celebration.
Outside of the rigor of the Academy, One was best known for its finery and glittering jewels, and that was on full display for the Reaping. No one there was in danger, after all — the volunteers had been chosen well ahead of time, and the rest of the citizenry was content to just… celebrate the excuse for a big party.
The lights and decorations in the colors of Marvel were a sight to behold as they lined the square where all the children in One were gathered in their best clothes, their parents and the rest of One gathered as well in what was basically heaven for pickpockets.
Their escort, Wilson Fisk, stepped up to the mic surrounded by the Fantastic Four — who as usual, were in blue and looked like they'd just stepped out of a fashion shoot. One's stylists were sure to maintain that image as much as possible. As for Fisk, well, there wasn't much to be done for looks, but he was elegantly dressed and an eloquent speaker as usual, his rousing speech about the 'sacrifice' and 'honor' of the Games going even longer this year as he spoke about the excitement that came with a Quarter Quell.
Kilgrave couldn't wait for him to stop talking.
After all the pomp and circumstance, there was, of course, the anthem and the video, and some of the citizens could be seen mouthing the words along with the recording for as many times as they'd heard it. This close to the Capitol, with the Academy to keep their kids safe, they honestly believed the words of all that propaganda, too.
But then finally, mercifully, all of the i's had been dotted and the t's crossed, and it was time for the main event, the only part that actually mattered.
Kilgrave leaned forward the slightest bit, his hands in his pockets as he licked his lips in anticipation.
"We'll start with the boys this year," Fisk said, but before he could put one massive hand into the bowl, Kilgrave stepped forward, hand in the air.
"I volunteer!" he called out, and there was no murmur of surprise around him, just a slight flurry of motion as the rest of the eighteen-year-olds parted to allow him to climb up to the stage. This was all expected, nothing new.
Fisk shook Kilgrave's hand and asked his name, and while Fisk introduced One to their new male victor, Kilgrave studied him for a moment. His clothes were immaculate, his speech careful and measured. This was a man who cared about appearances. Kilgrave could use that.
When the applause died down, Kilgrave stood where he was expected to on the stage, though he already had an eye on the spot he planned to occupy in the center of the Four — soon to be the Five — though he would of course be wearing purple. A royal color befitting his station — and setting him apart from the others, the has-beens.
Fisk then headed for the bowl of the girls' names, and he seemed to pause before he reached in, expecting another quick volunteer. But no one stepped forward — not yet, anyway.
That wasn't surprising, though. Sometimes the Academy had advance notice of the names expected to be drawn, and if the names belonged to small, slight things, they would ask their chosen tribute to wait to volunteer. It was always good for the cameras and for sponsors if they volunteered for a small, crying wisp of a thing. After all, this was One. Nothing was unplanned here.
Kilgrave looked out over the crowd and wasn't surprised to see that when Fisk called out the name "Madeline Pryor," it belonged to a scrawny little redhead, a nobody with hardly any flash or substance who looked at most fourteen. Her expression had turned to one of pure terror as, for a long moment, there was silence. Whoever the Academy had chosen, they were dragging this out for the scrawny girl as the crowd slowly parted around her.
And then... "I volunteer!"
The breath of relief from the Pryor girl was audible even in such a large crowd, and Kilgrave looked with the rest of the gathered audience to see who had stepped forward, a deep frown on his face when he saw the girl who looked… exactly like the first.
Sisters, he thought to himself and shrugged it off as the girl made her ascent to the stage, already considering how he could use that kind of bond to break her and make her work for him, though when she gave her name as "Jean Grey," he had to pause and reconsider.
Cousins, then, he surmised, falling back into his earlier confidence. Not as close of a bond, but still one that he could use, though as he extended his hand to the girl on the stage with him, the look she gave him was not one of terror or of heroic determination.
No, there was something different about this one. A fire somewhere he couldn't place. But when he did, he was sure he could get it to work for him.
Last year had been the start of terrible things for the little red-haired girl. She'd been singled out by the tall, curvy blonde that she'd come to refer to as the White Queen after the Reaping last year, when her name — out of all the possible names — had been called and the White Queen had volunteered for her.
But when Elektra had taken the spot instead, Jean Grey been picked on and pestered by this older girl for months. Months of mental abuse and pointing out that she'd have done better than the criminal that had taken her place in the Games. Months of twisted things whispered to her in a superior tone that sank into her bones, even if they were just words.
Until little Jean just couldn't take it any more. Then it was the White Queen's turn to take the abuse as the little redhead turned the tables on her and started giving back the twisted lies and mental torture until the White Queen began to crack her diamond-like facade. She thought she was unbreakable, but the redhead had finally found the imperfection and taken advantage.
Breaking Emma Frost down was much easier than she'd thought it would be from all the mud she'd thrown. The girl wanted desperately to be better than everyone, wanted to be in charge, wanted to be liked, but on her terms. And it was only too easy for Jean to take that and twist it, to show the White Queen that she was anything but. She was unloved, unwanted, hated. Her twisted words meant nothing, and she would always be alone.
A few weeks before the Reaping ceremony, Jean had finally broken her — and the White Witch from District One threw herself off of a tall building.
Now, Jean had plans of her own, plans that she had been setting in motion since freeing herself from the White Witch. She been spared last year in the Reaping — first by Emma, and then by the prisoner that had bumbled her way on stage.
Nobody in One talked about it — about the way people looked at the children whose names were drawn for the Reaping only for the Academy choices to step in. There was no coming back from it for so many of the kids — they were the sad little victims, picked out by the Academy because they were worth nothing more than their youth and their terror.
But Jean didn't want or need the pity that had come from being 'rescued' by the kids from the Academy. She wanted to set it right. It was Jean that had been meant to go into the Games last year, and she was going to make sure that she got her chance.
She'd discovered from Emma who it was that had been chosen to volunteer, and she spent a whole week before the Games hunting this … Morgan Le Fay down. Whatever happened, this girl could not be allowed to volunteer, but she also knew that she couldn't fail to show up the morning of the Reaping either.
Two days before the Reaping, she'd finally cornered Le Fay. She started with flattery to get to know her — and to find out what she'd need to do to stop her — and then in a sneaky little move, she managed to hypnotize the girl and not only put in a suggestion for her not to volunteer but also to wrangle the name of her replacement should she fail to step forward.
As the crowd gathered that morning, she watched closely for the kids from the Academy to show. When the little knot of girls appeared with the so-called Black Lotus in the center of them, with all the girls like satellites consoling her for losing out to Morgan — Jean moved.
She worked her way close into the knot of girls, and as she moved through the crowd, she pulled her gloved hand carefully out of her pocket and grabbed a hold of the girl's arm, apologizing profusely for her clumsiness as the transdural poison took just a moment to leach into Lotus' skin.
By the time Jean had passed her by and gotten to the aisle, the girl was unable to speak — though if it was from the pain of her flesh bubbling away or from the effects of the poison, the redhead simply wasn't sure, though she considered for just a moment keeping the glove for when she shook Fisk's hand on the Reaping stage.
After that, it was a simple enough matter of going to the center square so that her finger could be pricked and she could stand with all the other girls her age — and wait.
She watched the excitement build as Fisk called out the male tribute first, and the boy confidently walked to the stage. Just like that, she peeled off the glove and got to an area that would make it easier on her to throw her hat into the ring.
When they called Maddie Pryor's name, she had to roll her eyes. Of course. Little goodie two shoes Maddie. Another pathetic little face that the Academy was trying to use to drum up sympathy and support, the way they had done with her last year. This would be interesting.
She stepped out into the aisle just before she called out to volunteer and unlike little snivelling Maddie, Jean walked up to the stage with her head held high.
She gingerly took Fisk's hand and confidently told him her name, though when she looked out to the audience, she quickly found Le Fay and glared at her, almost daring her to go against the hypnotic command she'd given her.
Fisk's voice boomed out over the roar of the crowd as he made to gently direct the two tributes toward the staging area to say goodbye to family and friends, but as soon as he touched Jean, she shrugged his hand off of her shoulder. But to the shock of their escort, both tributes simply walked past the rooms. Neither tribute had anyone to say goodbye to, but it was Jean that turned her attention to Fisk.
"Are we leaving?" she asked, one hand on her hip.
"We can board the train, but it won't leave for another ten minutes," Fisk told her with a small frown and a look of suspicion.
She turned on her heel and headed off in the direction of the platform without another word said his way.
"No tearful farewell with your… cousin, I take it?" Kilgrave asked as he matched her stride.
"I don't have a cousin," Jean said. "But feel free to cry over yourself on the way."
"I never do," Kilgrave replied.
"You will."
The purple-clad tribute frowned her way before he simply shook his head, turning his attention to an easier target in Sue Storm, who introduced herself as his mentor for the Games. She was blonde, kind, and genuinely seemed interested in helping. Easy enough to use to his advantage.
When her brother, Johnny, approached and tried to give Jean the same warm greeting, Jean gave him a tight smile, though she seemed about as approachable with him as she could possibly be as they started chatting quietly between themselves.
July 1: Reaping Day
District Two
Even though Hunter was only her boyfriend for the cameras, Bobbi was glad that he made it a point to come to her house on Reaping Days to share a chat over some tea and just… catch up together. It was one of the few "normal" things she had left in her hectic schedule, and she appreciated that he knew she even needed it.
"You're looking better, love," he said as he made himself at home in her kitchen — he had always been the better cook of the two of them, for some reason. Maybe it was just that she considered food an afterthought when she had so many other things that she could be doing — but either way, he teased her endlessly about it, about how she was a scientific genius who couldn't master the simple chemical art of baking.
She smirked at him. "It's not really a fair comparison when I was sick the last time you saw me."
"And now you're not — so you look better," he replied easily as he got the tea started.
She rolled her eyes at him, but the smirk stretched into a real smile at his antics as she sat down at the table, and he sat across from her while they waited on the kettle.
"Seriously, though — you doing alright, Bob?" he asked. "You've been out of sorts."
"I told you; I was sick," Bobbi said gently.
"Right." He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the chair directly across from him. "That's not what I meant, though."
"Then maybe you should say what you mean," she teased him lightly.
"Alright." He seemed to consider her for a moment. "You've been trailing Miss Ophelia Sarkissian for months, and that just doesn't seem like you. Something's got into you lately."
"Maybe I want to keep an eye on things."
"And maybe someone else would buy that load of tripe. Try again."
She couldn't help but smile at that as she leaned back, matching his body language, though not quite propping up her feet. "It's a long story, Hunter," she said. "I wasn't exactly expecting it, either." She paused, aware of the fact that even in her home, they wouldn't go unheard. "Just trust me; I know what I'm doing."
"I always trust you," he replied easily. "You know that."
She smiled a bit wider at him and then leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. "So," she said. "Are you glad you're not the one giving the speech this year?"
"You have no idea," he said thickly.
She laughed at that and got up to get the cups ready for them both. "Well. We'll just see how it goes, then."
Reaping Day was always a ceremonial thing in District Two. There was always a volunteer for both the boys and the girls, so it really should have been simplified to just having those two show up instead of gathering the crowd. Or at least, that's how Elizabeth Braddock saw it.
As far as well-to-do families went, hers was at the top of the heap. She'd been a model as a child and appeared in many ads that still were plastered across Marvel. Even though she didn't model as much anymore, the one lasting thing from her time as a Capitol darling was the unfortunate permanent dye job that she'd been given as a child when purple was the 'in' color. Her skin remained untouched, but her hair was an incredibly vibrant shade that glowed in the sun.
She and her brother, Brian, had gone through a lazy morning in preparation for the Reaping ceremony, drinking tea and watching the lead in all the way up until she kissed her mother's cheek and the two of them headed out with full intentions of returning in an hour or two like they always did.
They checked in, and parted company — boys to one side, girls to the other — and both quickly found their friends to chat in the morning sun while they waited for things to start up.
The music began as it always did — too loud, too brassy. And the entourage went through their usual pontificating while Betsy chatted with a few close friends at a whisper, barely even pretending to pay attention, though when they got down to business and their escort stepped forward to draw the name of the girl, she couldn't help but hold her breath along with everyone else.
So it was that much more shocking when Betsy heard her own name called out over the silent crowd. She blinked a couple of times and turned her head both ways to see who the Red Room was sending in this year … but no one called out. She took a few steps forward and looked on her tip toes .. surely someone from the Academy would step forward then … but still no one. When they called her name the second time, the Sentinels were already headed her way — and she was suddenly terrified at the prospect. This simply wasn't something that happened in Two.
She was pulled from the crowd, but once she was in the aisle, she pulled herself free from the Sentinel that had yanked her out and made her way up to the stage, scanning the crowd the whole time. This was just … unacceptable.
The kind-sounding escort offered her a smile as she finally took the stage and offered her his hand, and somehow, she managed to look sincere as she took it and scanned the crowd.
She found Brian — stock still and standing with his mouth halfway open, clearly shocked as much as Betsy had been. When they had called her name, he was half holding his breath and just hoping, waiting for someone to step forward for his sister.
But when no one did, when the Sentinels pulled her out of the crowd and started to drag her… he moved on from shock to near panic. He had to do something. He couldn't just… he couldn't stand by while his sister was sent off to the Games. But he couldn't volunteer for her either.
Except ... he could.
Jarvis, Two's escort, had just turned from shaking Betsy's hand and was reaching for the bowl by the time Brian made his decision, and he all but burst forward before he even got the words out. "I volunteer!" he called out, and there was a murmur of displeasure from further out in the crowd as it was clear he'd gotten in the way of some plans, but he didn't care.
Betsy's head whipped up to search him out in the crowd, and she started to silently shake her head 'no'. But he'd already made his decision, and he didn't wait for the Sentinels to escort him up, taking the stairs two at a time before he shook Jarvis' hand. "Brian Braddock," he told the older escort clearly, and he saw the understanding light up first in Jarvis' eyes and then around the rest of the crowd when Jarvis introduced him by name.
Betsy looked up at Brian and gave him a shake of her head as she took his hand. "You're an idiot," she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.
"Yeah, maybe," he whispered right back in a tone that said he was clearly not sorry about it in the least.
She let out a sigh and the two shared a nod before they raised their chins up and stood in solidarity together.
July 1: Reaping Day
District Three
Giuletta Nefaria was comfortable in Three, even more so since Tony Stark's death last year.
Of course, it was socially unacceptable for her to admit that her family had profited enormously from the loss of the golden goose of Stark Industries, and she would never do so in public, but in private, she was actually looking forward to the Games this year. Maybe they'd pick another golden boy or girl — and she and her father could buy in to take advantage where they could.
Her father was grooming her to take over his empire when she turned eighteen, though at seventeen, she still had another two years of Reapings to attend. She wasn't worried: her name was only in there the bare minimum amount of times. If anything, she was looking forward to it.
There was an element to the Games that she had always enjoyed, that moment of pleasure knowing, outside the Games as she was, that she knew far more than the ones in the arena did. Last year had been especially satisfying, watching the manipulations and the psychological terror. She would have taken it a step further, pushed the tributes more into violence instead of into despair, but she had limited resources, even in Three.
Not that she didn't keep in practice. Her father's business empire was rife with employees desperate to get ahead, to keep their jobs — so easy to toy with and manipulate. She'd mastered the art of making a new employee cry by the age of seven, and by age thirteen, she had moved on to experimentation. Questionable deaths from the Nefaria buildings were almost commonplace, attributed to working with experimental metals and technology.
She loved it. She loved the dawning comprehension she could see on their faces as they started to realize something was wrong. She loved to lean over their shoulders and tell them they were dying.
The Reapings were only different in that she wasn't the one orchestrating the deaths. But it was still the same — the dawning horror, the quick and desperate struggle not to fall apart too quickly, too publicly.
Giuletta took her place with the other seventeen-year-old girls at the square, remembering with a fond smile how last year's had gone. Little Pepper Potts might not have done what she set out to do, but Giuletta had to admire her goals. Her drive. She had simply lacked the tools to make it happen.
She remembered the horror on Stark's face when he'd learned what his district partner had done as she stared absently at the stage, the escort, Happy Hogan, droning on about something or other - it didn't really matter. The Quarter Quell, or whatever they wanted to call it, was the same show no matter how they dressed it up.
Giuletta had taken to scanning the crowd, hoping she would be the one to catch that first expression, that first little wince that gave away the person whose name had been called, when Happy reached into the bowl and frowned a bit at the name. "Gee…. Giuletta? Am I pronouncing that right? Giuletta Nefaria?"
"Uh-oh," the little blonde girl behind her hissed over Giuletta's shoulder. "Someone's going to di-ie."
Nefaria didn't hesitate to simply jam her sharp heel into the girl's foot with a sweet little smile on her face like a mask that didn't drop as the cameras found her. No one was going to volunteer for her — she knew that. But… there were possibilities here. More hands-on than she was used to, but she had been wanting to step up her games…
She strode forward with the slight mark of blood on her heel leaving little red drops on the cobblestone up to the stage and grasped Happy's hand in hers. She didn't need to find her father in the crowd to know he was already leaving to call his contacts, business partners in the Capitol. She would have sponsors, she would have backing, and she had no qualms about killing.
She'd be home in a matter of days.
Happy seemed to size her up for a moment after she'd shaken his hand, likely expecting a little more terror or emotion or something, but when he got nothing but a stony mask, he just moved on, calling out "Trevor Slattery" for the boys' names.
This ... was interesting. Giuletta knew the name from her father's business ventures, and she knew that the Slattery empire was nearly as large as Stark's ... though it might have surpassed Stark since Tony's death.
Two children of business empires; she was sure that couldn't be a coincidence, not so soon after Stark. Maybe Stark had been chosen because of Pepper's actions, but this? This was no accident.
Giuletta almost smiled at the thought. Her father had always said that when people came to fear you, it meant that you were powerful. If the Capitol saw fit to try to break their power by pulling their names, imagine their disappointment when she came back even more powerful. A victor, with a run of the Capitol? She would be running Three by the end of the year.
Her lips curled up into a genuine smile as she considered it, which was excellent timing for the cameras as Happy asked them to shake hands, and when she looked up to meet Trevor's gaze, the so-called Mandarin, as he was known in the business world, had seemingly come to the same conclusions she had, and he gave her the slightest of nods.
The Sentinels escorted them to where they would be expected to say goodbye, though of course, Giuletta's father had more important things to do — people to call, sponsors to buy — so it was hardly any time at all before she found herself on the train with her new district partner.
He had already started chatting with Rhodes, and while Giuletta knew him as cunning, crafty, and even rather bloodthirsty, the persona he was putting out for the young victor was almost… charmingly stupid.
Rhodes looked honestly concerned about the state of his tribute, who had gone directly for the liquor cabinet in the train with a bit of a hitch to his step.
"Woah, hey, wait a minute," Rhodes said as he snatched the bottle back from Trevor.
Trevor looked genuinely put out, almost pouting as he looked toward his stolen booze. "Hey, it's a party, innit?"
"You don't want to get started this early," Rhodes told him. "And you're, what, sixteen?"
"Well, I can't count on waiting until I'm twenty one, can I now?" Trevor asked with wide eyes and an almost condescending tone. "Lighten up!"
Rhodes just shook his head. "I can't believe it," he muttered to himself as Trevor managed to snatch the bottle back and popped it open.
Trevor dropped into the seat across from Rhodes and drained half the bottle before he started to sing loudly, at which point Giuletta had to leave. She was sure if she stayed, she would spoil the charm Trevor was putting on, and if they were going to be district partners, she would need that. Let him attract sponsors with honey, as was apparently his plan for the more public side of the Games; she would do the rest of the work and kill him when he stopped being useful.
She tipped her head at Stane as she listened to Trevor introducing himself as "Tre-vah" repeatedly and babbling — something about riches and a boat, she wasn't entirely sure — before she slid into the seat across from her new mentor. "Make me a winner," she told him outright, and he tore his gaze from the open door and the increasingly ridiculous Trevor show to grin her way and lean forward the slightest bit.
"What are you willing to do?" he asked.
She smirked in answer. This was going to go well.
July 1: Reaping Day
Noh-Varr and Jubilee's Apartment Party
Although the Reapings all took place at the same time across the districts, more or less within hours of each other, they were staggered for broadcasting purposes. That meant the entire day was dedicated to the Reapings, and so far, the stylists watching weren't quite sure what to make of it.
They just weren't sure about this year's Career pack. District Two's brother-sister duo looked like they weren't actually trained for this, and One's pair weren't exactly built like fighters. Sure, they had the confident walk down pat, but that just meant a great parade showing, really.
With Three's strange pair of steely-eyed tributes gone, it was time to round out the Career pack, and honestly, they were hoping for more of the same that they'd seen in One and Two. The gathered stylists all had tributes from outer districts, after all, so a Career pack that didn't look like they could kill you with their pinkie fingers was great.
"Am I the only one that doesn't get half of what they say in Four?" Jubilee asked as she dropped down into the seat between Noh and Doreen with a large bowl of popcorn.
"I bet Noh gets it," GoGo teased. "All high speech and poetry."
"And vanity and a strange code of honor in war," Noh added, shaking his head. "I don't understand anything but the words themselves."
"Oh yeah, because you're not vain at all," GoGo said with a widening smirk.
"This is my house, GoGo," Noh shot back, pointing a finger her way, and she smirked wider at him and leaned over him to grab a handful of popcorn.
The gathering on the screen for District Four was on the beach, as usual, the waves in the background a bit higher than usual as there were clouds gathering in the distance, so it was hard for the mics to pick up what Bill Cobb was saying. It must have been even louder in the district itself, and several of the kids looked miserable and ready to get inside away from the summer storm before it hit them.
When Cobb got to the bowl with the names, he had to repeat himself three times before he could be heard over the waves and winds — "Amora."
"Another one with the single names," GoGo muttered. "They let Four get away with it."
"That's because I think they're scared of Four," Honey replied with a little smile before their attention was drawn to the blonde on the screen, who looked absolutely furious. She was dressed in all green and looked like the storm sounded as she strode up to the stage.
"That's because Four's last names are boring," Jubilee pointed out. "They have them; they just don't hold them to them."
"Unless it's someone big like the Odinsons last year," MJ said.
"They must have to know someone important for anyone to care," Honey said thoughtfully.
"Must be," GoGo said, though she was distracted from saying anything else as a very large and muscular, dark-haired boy rushed forward to volunteer, hand held high as he couldn't be heard over the waves.
"Oh, here we go," Jubilee said quietly. "She's got an entourage."
"Of course she does. Why break the pattern? Last year worked so well," MJ said, rolling her eyes.
"Hopefully these two aren't kissing cousins like last time," Fred said in a drawl.
"See the way he's looking at her, though?" MJ replied, pointing her pencil at the screen. She already had her sketchbook out, because Five was next, and she was ready to go.
"Yeah, just hoping they're not cousins."
"Hard to tell without the last names," Jubilee pointed out as the boy simply gave his name as "Skurge."
"Fitting," GoGo muttered.
"Is that even really his name, or is he trying to get ahead on the Games monikers?" Wasabi asked with a frown.
"It might be what they need to do to clean him up," Jubilee said under her breath.
GoGo snickered at that, though watching the two Four tributes wave at the camera had the stylists a little more nervous. These Careers actually looked like they could do some damage, so they'd just have to wait and see what they got now that they were moving out of the Career districts.
Already, Noh was passing some chocolate MJ's way. In between Reaping broadcasts, the Capitol always played a recap of not only the tributes from the previous year for each district but also the victor or victors in the districts. This — this was the beginning of the reason they were all watching together, because that recap was always difficult to watch, not only watching the ones that lost but the ones that won and had to live with it.
"You ready?" Wasabi asked MJ, who simply nodded and put her pencil behind her ear.
"Let's see what we've got."