Ashamed
I of V. Segovia Parthenick
Oh, it was absolutely trilling. She's been alive to see sixteen Hunger Games and old enough to remember probably ten of them — yet, by far, the Seventy Fourth Games have been the absolute best. Of course she has all of her friends from school over to watch them, subtly flaunting her father's newest trinket from District Three: an impressively large, sharp television screen, a hulking thing that consumes an entire wall. Segovia, of course, accepts their compliments with perfectly feigned abashment. And why shouldn't she? It amplifies the adventure of the Hunger Games, larger than life, or, at least, than the televisions or her companions. So together they join Segovia in her mammoth of a home, lounging together with good food, excitedly chattering. It starts out with just the reapings: the pre-cursor to the games. Of course, it is what Segovia and her like-minded companions have waited for all year, with only the filler of the Victory Tour to shorten the gap.
So they gather together in a congregation of wildly colored skin and hair, scanning the crowded Districts wondering who the Tributes might be. First One and Two go by, then Three and Four — Five, Six, Seven, Eight. In them Segovia notes a few Careers, usually in the earliest Districts. She's heard that training for the games is against the policy, but nobody, especially the Gamemakers, enforces the rule. Truly, the games are much more entertaining and bloody when there are trained players among the reaped. They certainly don't bother Segovia or her company. But as Eleven goes by, an odd taste settles into the back of her mouth, coating her tongue, a taste like rust. No blood — just an off taste. Segovia ignores it and watches a little girl trudge toward the green-haired announcer, pulling away from several smaller children, obviously relations. The little girl walks stiffly up to the stage, pupils big and fists clenched at her side as the crowd latches open for her. That girl knows with her size and age, she'll be dead for sure. Segovia knows it too, and Segovia reckons that Marid, her little sister, knows the same. Marid can't be much older than the little District Eleven girl. Segovia swallows hard.
The audience does not applaud as the announcer suggests to them. After another few admirable but ultimately unsuccessful attempts, she waves her green locks and calls for the boy Tribute. Like for the girl, the crowd splits and a towering boy climbs the stage to take his fate. He does not smile.
Segovia's friends let their thoughts be known about the reapings thus far — who they like, don't like, think will win. Districts One and Two are always popular, District Four too. A few of the girls offer racy remarks about Finnick Odair's utter appeal, and Segovia cannot altogether blame them. He is probably the most gorgeous man in all of Panem, almost, and the Capitol has had a love affair with him since he won a decade back. But Segovia has reserved her admiration for someone else and keeps her own comments about Finnick's glorious beauty to herself. He's a heart-breaker anyhow; everybody in the Capitol knows his romantic exploits are always brief — plenty of them from experience. But it doesn't matter because the reapings are such a celebration and Finnick Odair really is beauty personified. Some of the boys retort with suggestive comments about Enobaria, a vicious Victor from District Two, and Johanna Mason of District Seven. It's just light banter and they all get laughs out of it as Caesar Flickerman, live from the Capitol, segues into District Twelve. Hmm.
Segovia eyes the screen and frowns. District Twelve is always disappointing, with only two Victors ever. Hardly impressive. They're known to be the weakest District all-around and their Tributes usually die during the Bloodbath. Boring, really. Their last Victor was over twenty years ago, handsome but sullen as dirt. They're quite a disgrace to themselves and the Capitol. Needless to say, nobody really ever talks about how their Tributes will fair, not really. They'll die and be forgotten until the mockery of next year's reapings in District Twelve. Still, their shame is not enough to ward Segovia and her company to stop watching.
The District Twelve announcer, a loud-mouthed Effie Trinket with tussled pink hair, mimics what most her fellow announcers open with and suggests that ladies go first.
So they do, and Effie struggles to snatch a thin slip of paper. There are thousands to choose from, and when she does, the name she reads is Primrose Everdeen.
The audience is usually silent to Capitol viewers, but Segovia, with her superior surround sound system, hears small moans of dissent from the coal-dusted crowd. When they let the Tribute forward, Segovia instantly remembers District Eleven — another twelve-year-old, blond and small and absolutely stiff with fright. Segovia's company is relatively silent as Primrose Everdeen walks across the screen, until:
"What kind of name is Primrose?" Fry, a schoolmate, shrieks, pointing towards the screen with bouncing orange spirals and a look of indignation.
Several heads nod furiously in acquiesce, but Segovia doesn't move any closer to agree. Primrose, although highly unusual, is not a horrible name. And she doesn't really care beyond that; Primrose Everdeen will be dead soon enough, so what will her name even mean? She'll be dead, and Segovia knows they'll all enjoy seeing it happen.
Just then Segovia peeks at him from the corner of her eye. The object of her want, affections, secret longing — Bliss Gilly. Segovia has not wanted for much in her life, not money or education or food or stylish clothing. But even affection has to be earned somewhat in the Capitol, if only a little. The money helps, to be sure, and being from one of the most prominent families in all of Panem certainly has it's benefits. But Bliss is in a fairly high social class, too, so whatever advantage that is to her means little. Segovia considered more alterations, emphasizing certain portions of her body, but went with a mild body dye instead, a light gold to compliment Bliss' cerulean curls. It had been worth it, to be more beautiful.
A loud gasp emits Bliss' lips then, their golden tint shaping around an astonished, "Oh!"
Quickly Bliss locks golden eyes with Segovia and finally she sees the source of his surprise — surely it was not her appraising his handsome face, she'd done it so discretely. But then the room quiets and several sets of eyes turn to the screen.
Segovia is still unsure of all that has happened, what with her being lost in her own thoughts and wants.
But Segovia does learn that it is no longer Primrose Everdeen walking to her certain death. Instead, another girl is running after her, screaming and pulling her back. A volunteer? Segovia shakes her head at first. Has there ever been a volunteer in District Twelve? She can't recall there ever being one, for usually the volunteers occur in the earliest Districts, the ones that produce Careers. But, lo and behold, there is a volunteer and she is taking the stage as a frantic Primrose Everdeen is hauled back into the filthy crowd. Interesting, at least, and that is something District Twelve has never been. Segovia leans forward, Bliss momentarily forgotten.
When Effie Trinket asks the name of the new Tribute, she says in a gravelly voice, "Katniss Everdeen," and that Primrose is her younger sister. Though, to Segovia, the resemblance is scarce.
So, the new female Tribute is Katniss Everdeen, throwing her life away so she can send the little twelve-year-old girl back into the arms of her mother. Segovia knows that will give Katniss an empathetic edge with the sponsors. Fry stops complaining about names and inches closer to the screen, as do they all. A cacophony of colors, children from some of the finest families in all of Panem, quiet as Katniss holds her head up on the stage, dark braid thrown over her head, looking away from the crowd. Nobody says a word about the name Katniss, but Bliss does make an off-handed comment about her being rather pretty.
Segovia seethes, losing all sympathy for the wretched tribute. She doesn't deserve it, anyhow.
Between the female and male reapings, the sole living District Twelve Victor leaps over to Katniss and offers her a drunken compliment of bravery-something-or-other, challenging the crowd. Eventually he is off of Katniss and wrestling with Effie until his nosedive, which will make its reappearance throughout the games and after. Though those outrageous events warrant laugher and side comments from the viewers, they all quiet when the crowd offers Katniss some sort of symbolic gesture. Segovia notes how they never speak of that and, instead, wait for the male reaping as the inebriated Victor is taken away via stretcher. What a sad little District. Unlike before, frazzled Effie doesn't take any particular care while choosing the name. She just grabs the first strip of paper within her reach and reads the name Peeta Mellark.
It takes a while, but eventually the broad-shouldered blond who must be Peeta Mellark marches up the stage.
"Oh, he's handsome!" Bellum and Floss Ernopp exclaim simultaneously as his face is brought to the screen in closer detail.
Immediately Fry picks apart that comment, managing to be imperious and nasal at the same time, "He's no Finnick Odair," she says, "But with some alterations, he would be wonderful," she agrees.
Segovia looks at him earnestly, surveying his light hair and honest eyes. If it weren't for Bliss sitting so close to her, she'd have shown more outward interest in the Tribute's chiseled, handsome face like Bellum and Floss — well, that and the fact that Peeta Mellark will be dead within the month, and who dreams of dead men? District Twelve has only ever had two Victors to boast of; the odds are not even remotely in his favor.
There is no volunteer for him, so he stays.
But, just for added measure, Segovia scoots over to Fry and mentions, "It's a shame. But if by some miracle he's crowned Victor, I'll have to get in touch with him." Segovia hopes Bliss hears the words and the suggestions laced into them.
Effie Trinket spews a few more meaningless words, mentions something or other about sole District Twelve Victor Haymitch Abernathy and the tributes are ushered away.