Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, only my characters.
A/N: The main character's name is pronounced per-see-eye.
Chapter One
Reaping Day
When I open my eyes, the barn is still dark. I can hear the horses below me padding softly in their stalls. Epona always tells us that the horses can sense our anxiety. Maybe that's why they're as restless as us on Reaping Day.
The girls around me are beginning to stir. I lay still, counting my breaths as I wait for the sunlight to trickle through the cracks of the barn. This is the time we always get up to feed and water the horses, muck out the stalls and round up the cattle. But there will be no work today. Today we will scrub our skin clean, drag combs through our hair and wear our nice clothes. We'll file into District 10's town square like cattle and wait for the Reaping.
"Persei? Are you awake?" I turn my head a little to see Margo's wide set blue eyes shining at me in the dim light.
"I'm awake." Epona's ranch has two small barns in edition to her tiny house. The female ranch hands sleep in the loft of one barn and the male ranch hands sleep in the loft of the other barn. Epona lives in her house with her two big herding dogs. There are about 15 of us living here year round in the barns. Epona will cycle in seasonal workers if there's too much for us to do.
Epona runs a small cattle ranch. District 10 provides the livestock for the Capitol, along with any livestock byproduct including milk, cheese, meat, leather and fibers for textiles. The wool we shear from sheep is the only thing that isn't sent directly to the Capitol. We load it onto trains for District 8, the textiles district.
"How did you sleep?" Margo asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Alright." I lie. Margo is the same age as I am, seventeen, and brown from the sun. I've known her for about four years. That was when Epona brought her in for work. Epona likes to grumble that she has the terrible habit of picking up strays but I think it was her years in the community house that make her sympathetic to orphans. I almost went to the community house when both my parents died of fever but Epona took me in. I was ten.
"Do you have anything to wear today?" Margo's question feels silly, normal almost. Something one would ask living the high life in the Capitol. I humor her.
"Yeah. A hand me down from Channing after she got married." Channing used to be one of Epona's strays too, before she married a goat breeder last year. She gave me her old Reaping dress before she left. It's folded in a trunk in Epona's house right now. All of our Reaping clothes are.
The horses get more restless beneath us and the golden light from the sun is beginning to flood the cracks. All the other girls are awake now. I sit up and get to my feet, moving to open the loft doors. District 10 is an expanse of tall green grass and a few trees here and there. There are some small hills but they're few and far between. The mountains are so far in the distance, they're blue. The sky is clear and the summer heat is already rising so early in the morning. Today will be uncomfortably hot; I can taste it in the air.
I take the ladder down to the ground level of the barn. Margo is close behind me. We begin feeding and watering the horses with the other girls. Normally, there's more chatter and work is assigned. Today we are quiet. The Reaping is at noon so there's time for us to get ready. We let the horses out before taking the small trek to Epona's house. The boys are quick to join us.
Epona is already standing on her front porch waiting for us when we get within earshot of her cottage. She's a short woman with wiry gray hair and a hawkish nose. She smokes a pipe and her two dogs perk their ears at us.
"You know where the buckets are. I'll lay your clothes out for you." She says with a nod.
Of the 19 ranch hands Epona currently has employed, 11 of us are eligible for the Reaping. Margo, myself, fourteen year old Pam and thirteen year old Elle for the girls; eighteen year old Cord, sixteen year olds Alto and Gunnar, fifteen year old Struve and three new boys whose names I didn't know. Epona had brought them in over the past two weeks.
Epona has two stalls in the back, both with big basins. There are towels hung on the stalls and a well pump nearby, along with a couple buckets. I grab one bucket and make my way to the pump. Cord joins me at the well, observing me with his strong arms folded across his chest as I pumped the water.
"Happy Hunger Games." He quips as towers over me. Most people tower over me. I'm small by nature, even Elle, who's four years younger than me, is taller. I straighten as I finish pumping and wipe my forehead of sweat. Cord barely reaches eye level with me when he bends down to set his bucket beneath the spout.
"Good luck today, Cord." I keep my features neutral and he doesn't look at me as he starts pumping.
"Good luck, short stuff." I lug my bucket back to washing stalls and think about how many times my name is entered this year. Because Epona runs an alternative to the state run community home that the Capitol does not sponsor, we are allowed to enter our names for tesserae as a de facto family. Epona has never forced us to enter our names more than once but if we didn't, we would probably starve. My name is in the lottery 20 times. While District 10 is one of the poorer districts, we don't have it as bad as 12. Not everyone needs tessera as badly every year.
But my name is still in there 20 times.
We each scrub down in the basin, emptying it before the next person gets in. The water is cold and there's only enough privacy to hide us from the boys. My teeth chatter when it's my turn and Margo washes my dark brown hair as I use a bristle brush to scrub my hands and feet. I'm the last to go and the towel is a bit damp but it's better than nothing. Pam and Elle are already dressed in their Reaping clothes and empty the basin for me as Margo and I head inside.
The boys get ready in the kitchen while I follow Margo into Epona's bedroom. It's small and sparse but neat. The bed is made and the dress Channing left for me is displayed on the sheets. I hand the towel to Margo; we're no longer embarrassed to be naked in front of one another. Living in such close quarters does that to you.
I put on my bra and underwear before pulling on the thin, white cotton dress. Margo dresses faster than I do and is towel drying my hair while I struggle with the tiny buttons. We comb each other's hair out and I braid her curls around her head like a crown. I leave my own hair damp and loose around my shoulders. We stand side by side to inspect our reflection in Epona's old spotted mirror. Margo stands taller than me, her caramel skin freckled and warm. Her auburn crown glows dully in the light and her blue eyes are set on my round face. She squeezes my hand reassuringly.
"You'll be okay, moon face." She says lightly. Moon face is something Epona began calling me when she first brought me on and most of the other ranch hands call me that too. Some people in town assume my round face comes from being well fed but my mother had a round face too, from what I remember, and I don't recall the last time my stomach was ever really full. My bangs are already beginning to dry, hanging to just below my thick eyebrows and above my almond shaped eyes.
"You'll be okay too." I try to promise but I can't. None of us can promise that. The door creaks open and Epona puffs on her pipe.
"Time to go." I turn to face her and while her face is hard, something in her gaze softens. She smoothes a wrinkle in Margo's dress and fluffs my bangs, "The wagon's ready." She states shortly and we follow her out.
Epona normally takes the wagon into town to buy feed for the horses and sell milk and cows to the butcher. On Reaping days, she hooks the wagon up to three horses and we all pile into the back and drive into town. I suppose it's not much different.
All the stalls of the town square are closed and the shops are dark. Workers from the Capitol have erected a platform in front of the Great Hall, where district meetings occur. Immense flat screens tower above us, images of people filing in projected onto them. District 10 doesn't have many tall buildings and cameramen are perched at the highest points, pointing their lenses down at us.
The boys clamber off the wagon first and Cord picks me up by the waist and hoists me off. He sets me on my feet. Normally, I'd snap at him for acting like I can't do anything myself but instead I just tell him thanks. I'm not in the mood to bicker.
Peacekeepers sit at two large tables in front of roped off areas. The girls and I nod tersely at the boys and Epona before we make our way to the female section. I keep my gaze focused straight ahead as I fall into line, painfully aware of the huge crowd. The hum is tense, likes bees in a hive.
"Next." I step forward and offer my finger to a female Peacekeeper. Her expression is blank as she pricks me with her handheld machine. I see my name Persei Moon displayed in green letters while she presses my bleeding finger into her giant book. I move to stand with other girls my age. Margo stands beside me.
On the platform, there are two small tables with giant glass bowls. One for the boys and one for the girls. To the left is a podium. Behind them, four chairs are lined up. Mayor Temple sits in one of them. His face is like stone.
"His son just turned twelve." Margo whispers in my ear. I nod. Any parent would fear their child's name being chosen but this would be little Temple's first Reaping. His name is only in there once.
Sitting beside Mayor Temple is Loc Rhod, District 10's escort. He speaks animatedly to Mayor Temple, who seems to be barely paying attention. Loc's white blonde hair is styled in a strange coil that almost protrudes from the crown of his head like a horn. If this weren't Reaping Day, I'd probably laugh. His dark brown skin glistens with golden powder and he wears a velvet body suit with a large, stiff off shoulder collar. Propped up next to him appears to be a bejeweled cane.
Capitol citizens always baffle me. At least, Loc does. He's the only Capitol citizen I've ever seen and if the rest of the Capitol is like him, I don't know how they can tolerate each other.
Sitting on Loc's other side is the brooding winner of the 35th Hunger Games, Ramsay Wellwood. He was reaped at sixteen and proved to be a fierce competitor, ruthlessly slaughtering his opponents when they attacked him. The final battle took place between himself and two Careers. He ended up losing his left eye. While victors are allowed to live in luxury for the rest of their lives, Ramsay went back to being a butcher's apprentice and now owns his own shop. He'll only buy cattle from Epona.
On Ramsay's right is Bourdain Swift, winner of the 26th Hunger Games. While Ramsay is stocky with straw blonde hair, Bourdain is lanky with ruddy skin and salt and pepper curls. He's sprawled in his chair and drinking from a flask. Neither of them looks at each other. I don't know too much about Bourdain, other than he was reaped at 18 and came from a family of apothecaries. He was an unlikely victor.
Out of the past sixty-three Hunger Games, District 10 has only produced three victors. Two of them sit on the platform. The first died before I was born.
The Great Hall's clock tower strikes one and Loc gracefully stands, his lanky limbs moving like ribbon in the wind. He snaps his cane on the platform a few times to get our attention.
"Welcome, lovely denizens of District 10! How y'all feelin' on this beautiful summer day?" Loc beams down at us, his treble voice rattling out words rapid fire. The crowd is quiet. Unperturbed, Loc continues, "Well, the Capitol has sent this amazing film to watch so how 'bout we get that started?" We stare up at the screens and President Snow's voice booms from the speakers.
I've seen this video at every Reaping and every time, my stomach twists into knots. I always wonder if the Capitol would still treat the Hunger Games as a festivity if their own children were sent into the arena every year. I've never uttered those words out loud. As far as the poor districts go, District 10 has it pretty good and I don't want to be the one to ruin it for everyone else.
The film ends and Loc stands to the side, still beaming, as Mayor Temple rises to the podium. He reads off the names of District 10's three victors: Elena Holdway, Bourdain Swift and Ramsay Wellwood. Bourdain raises his flask in toast. I can't tell if he's drunk or really bold enough to mock the Games. Ramsay sits there smoldering with his arms crossed.
"Happy Hunger Games!" Loc chimes, taking over the spotlight. The mayor sits back down. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Token applause ripple through the crowd. He goes on to say how happy he is to be back and how he's missed the smell of District 10 and the beautiful skies. To his credit, Loc does sound genuine. From my knowledge, he's never resented being assigned to a poor district. But it could just be that his smile is surgically implanted and he's incapable of frowning. What do I know?
I can see the back of Elle's head from where I'm standing and when I look to my left, I can see my fellow ranch hands. One of the younger boys, whose name I can't remember, looks piqued. Cord stands further back, staring straight ahead and his jaw clenched.
"Ladies first!" Loc sings, gesturing to the girls' section. My chest gets tight and I bite the inside of my lip. He reaches into the glass bowl and shuffles the papers around. He hums himself a little song and I feel like vomiting. It feels like a million years and then he pulls his hand out with a flourish and waves a single slip above his head with a chuckle, "And the lucky lady is…"
All I can think is please don't be me, please don't be me.
"Persei Moon!" I feel my face and my fingers get cold. The sun is blazing above me but I'm slowly freezing where I stand. Margo's holding on to my elbow but all I can see are Loc's shining white teeth in his wide mouth, "Did I say that right?" He turns to the mayor, concerned. Mayor Temple doesn't respond and Loc repeats, "Persei Moon? Dear, where are you?"
The girls part a path for me and I remember to walk, one foot first then the other. My stride is more confident than I feel and my head is about to explode with my heart pounding blood so hard. My palms sweat and I'm sure the burning in my eyes is the stress of tears. But my face isn't wet. I can't let myself cry. Not now. Not in front of my district. Not on live television. I climb the steps of the platform and stand next to Loc who places what I'm sure is supposed to be a congratulatory arm around my shoulder. Instead, it feels like I'm about to be suffocated by a giant snake.
"Hello, hello, Persei Moon! What a fabulous name! Why don't we have a round of applause?" He leads the clapping but while his is excited, the crowd's is scattered, hesitant almost. This can't be real. I think. I'm still asleep in the barn. I see Epona's face in the crowd. There's a pained expression on her face. Next to her are Channing and her goat breeder husband. What was his name again? I can't remember. Channing's face is contorted, like she's trying not to cry.
Loc moves on to the boys. With the same flourish, he picks a name. My heart is still pounding in my ears and the cold has spread to my arms and legs. I'm going to die. I think. I'll be dead in two weeks. They'll send my body back to be buried here.
"Brisby Temple!" If my heart could explode, it would. I can see the mayor from the corner of my eye and his face is like stone. There's a murmur running through the crowd but no one volunteers. No one ever volunteers. A small boy walks up the stairs to stand beside Loc. Compared to the tall, lithe Capitol citizen, Brisby is tiny, frail even. As the mayor's son, I doubt he's never had to go a day without eating but suddenly it seems that even the softest breeze would blow this boy away. Loc turns gentle,
"Hello there, Brisby." Brisby's face is ashen and he can only nod. Guilt wells up in my throat and Margo's voice echoes in my ear. "His son just turned twelve." I'm sick to my stomach when Loc tells us to shake hands. I'm briefly thankful for not eating breakfast or I'd vomit all over Loc's velvet body suit. I try to give Brisby a reassuring hand squeeze and his hazel eyes are full of tears. He nods and blinks furiously.
I wonder how long both of us can keep up this bravery act.
A/N: This started as a joke between a friend and I about how funny it would be if Gordon Ramsay and Anthony Bourdain were your mentors for the Hunger Games. It's evolved into this. I haven't come across any Hunger Games fics that have the same concept I'm going to use. I'll do some more digging. If you have difficulty picturing Loc, I based (a lot of) him off of Ruby Rhod from The Fifth Element.