Chapter One: The Asking Price
A/N: Hey guys. I'm still really disappointed and upset by the loss of Cruel Games and Death Games – but I'm determined to move past it. Yeah, I know this sort of story is different to what I've previously been writing for the Hunger Games, so please review and let me know how I'm doing. It's a Gloss/OC, but don't expect romance for a while. I'm going to be using the perspectives of Gloss and my OC, Storm.
Gloss's POV
I won the 68th Hunger Games when I was sixteen. There, I said it. Normally that's the sort of thing that merits handshakes and pats on the back. It's like…being a Victor should be a celebration or something. But I've been a Victor for six years now, and I'm telling you, it doesn't get any easier. Sure, there's the fame, that everyone in Panem knows your face. But it's an empty fame considering that you had to give up your humanity to achieve it.
I didn't volunteer because I wanted the fame and glory. Well, actually, that's a lie. I wanted it, but that wasn't the main reason. The main reason was because of Cashmere. Three years older than me, she'd won the 67th Hunger Games the year before. That was back when I was naïve and I thought the Victors were treated like superstars. And they are…most of the time. But there are always things you have to do to stay like that, prices you have to pay. When I found out the price Cashmere was paying, I didn't want her to be alone anymore.
It was scary to see how much my sister had changed, when she returned from the 67th Hunger Games. Cashmere had been confident to the point of near arrogance, but after all that she had experienced she seemed…well, no less confident really, but she was withdrawn. Introverted. She wasn't the same sister I'd grown up with. That scared me, the thought that the real Cashmere died in the arena along with the other twenty-three tributes.
She was horrified when I volunteered. She knew that she would have to mentor me and for some time, all she could do was berate me for how stupid I had been. I didn't care though. I was filled with a steely determination: I would win the 68th Hunger Games, no matter what. My district partner was a girl a year younger than me, Honey. I still remember watching District 6 cut her open in the final eight.
It's the sort of thing you don't forget. Every death you see haunts you. It plagues your dreams. You are never safe from what you've done in that arena, and to be honest, I don't think you should be. It would be way too easy to forget the people you've killed, the lives you've destroyed. I don't see myself as a human anymore. I was a Career, and some of the things I did during those Games were the actions of a monster.
The 69th Hunger Games were no better. It was like I was reliving my own Games, watching as tributes died once again. Thank God I had Cashmere or I don't think I would have survived. It's been like that these past few years – mentoring tributes, basically shaping them up and them sending them in to their deaths. Sometimes, they're kids you vaguely know. It doesn't make it any better or worse seeing them die if you know them. After a while, you just become numb to the whole thing, because feeling hurts too much.
Cashmere told me once that I should never fall in love. I sneered at that. How could a Victor ever fall in love, when they had already lost so much? The prospect was almost amusing. For some time I wondered why she was warning me about this. Cashmere herself had long ago lost the ability to love when she had been forced to serve herself to greedy Capitol men. The only person she loved anymore was me.
There would be a day when I would remember Cashmere's words, when I would think on them carefully. Love…it makes people weak. It makes them do stupid things. The prospect of it made me sick. That was before everything changed.
"Gloss! Get up."
I sit bolt upright at my sister's sharp voice, tossing around to free myself from the prison of my cotton sheets. That happens sometimes, when my nightmares are extreme. I toss and turn and tie myself into knots in the bedclothes. Once I've unwound myself from the bedclothes, I stagger to my feet, raking a hand through my blond hair.
Cashmere is leaning in the doorframe watching me. By the wry look about her face and the sympathetic light in her eyes, she knows that last night was especially difficult for me. Both of us know what today is, what it means. The nightmares of the past few years are about to repeat themselves.
"Reaping day." Cashmere voices what I already knew. "We need to be down in the square in half an hour. Apparently they've loaded a new escort on us."
I snort. Escorts…why do we really need them? They're just stuck-up Capitolians who are perhaps curious about the districts, who haven't had to work a hard job a day in their lives. They're beyond contempt. I've never liked or trusted them. Cashmere's the one who's always nice to them. Most of the rest of the Victors can't be bothered putting in the effort.
The smell of eggs and bacon prompts me to go downstairs. Cashmere never used to cook before the Games, but as Victors who don't have to work, sometimes we need to have something to stop us from going completely crazy. Some of the other district's Victors are just…weird. We talk to them a bit, although most of the time we keep to ourselves. Still, no harm in getting friendly with the other Career Victors, especially when they might unintentionally give away tactics.
Cashmere saunters downstairs in a deep blue dress that brings out her eyes. She's always been beautiful, my sister. She's the sort of girl that the guys used to go after, only now they're intimidated by her fame as a Victor. If I was older than her, I could be the sort of overprotective brother who'd beat them away with a stick.
I wonder how long this year's tributes will last. In the 73rd Hunger Games last year, the girl got herself decapitated in the bloodbath, and the boy died of the cold during the night only a few days later. Needless to say, the Games weren't very eventful for District 1, but I feel like it's better when it's over quickly. It's like ripping off a bandaid rather than working it off slowly.
District 1 has a big pool of Victors, a lot like other Career districts such as District 2. The difference is that while I hear District 2 selects Victors from their variety, District 1 has a policy of always sending their latest two Victors to be the mentors for the tributes. It shouldn't really be surprising that Cashmere and I are the latest two. It's why I'm rather selfishly hoping that someday soon, another District 1 tribute will win, so at least Cashmere can have some breathing space.
"Gloss?" Cashmere glances across at me and I realize that, once again, I've been caught up in my train of thought. My sister's been growing increasingly worried about the fact that I just seem to zone out sometimes. She says it's like I'm living on another planet now. Sometimes I wish I was.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I mutter, getting up and putting my plate in the sink before trudging upstairs. I check the clock. Twenty minutes…twenty minutes to prepare for an event that will ruin the lives of two families in District 1 irrevocably.
Storm's POV
The train from the Capitol to District 1 only takes a couple of hours, but trust me to catch the late one in. As the train pulls into the station, I start making some frantic last-minute checks in the mirror. The last thing this district needs is another colourful, super-bubbly escort who just reminds them of the Capitol. That's why I had all the fire-engine red rinsed from my naturally mouse-brown hair, took out the green contacts I'd been wearing so my eyes were their normal hazel.
I want District 1 to see me as another person, someone they can relate to. Not that it's really going to happen. They hate us, the people from the district. I can see why. I mean, I've never done anything to the people of District 1 personally, but they're going to treat me with contempt. It's just the way things go.
"Storm!" There's an insistent hammering on my door. I groan and pop another aspirin. I'm really going to need it at the rate things are going. The press team who came with me are annoying the crap out of me. "We've reached the station, get your stuff."
Which means I'm up at the podium in fifteen minutes. Shit. I gather my things as fast as I can, smoothing down my black pencil skirt. First up is meeting the Victors, which should be interesting. I'm young for this job, so I'm told. Freshly turned twenty and I've been thrown into the deep end. Before I was just another face in the media gig, then the former escort for District 1 retirees and bam, I'm right in the thick of it.
I clack onto the platform in three-inch black heels, still valiantly attempting to adjust my skirt. I went for the businesswoman look, I think to try and disguise how young I am. I gnaw at my lip, before stopping when I realize I'm only going to get red lipstick on my teeth by doing it. The rest of the press team file off the train, assembling cameras and microphones as they go.
The Mayor of District 1 greets me enthusiastically. He's a puffed-up round ball of a man who constantly wipes his sweaty hands on his suit pants. I get the feeling that he doesn't like me, although he doesn't even know me yet. It's all just a show, a small segment of the big show we put on the Capitol: the Hunger Games. He keeps calling me Sky instead of Storm, but I let it slide.
"This way, Sky." The Mayor leads me into the Justice Building to meet the Victors I'm going to be working with. The place is full of appetizers and small glasses of wine red as blood. I'm immediately nervous when I notice the Victors. Both of them are so…okay, it sounds weird, but beautiful. They're quite clearly brother and sister.
The sister is the older one. She offers me a saccharine smile, but I can see that it doesn't reach her eyes. Hair the colour of bright gold reaches her waist and her eyes are a deep sapphire blue. I'm immediately jealous of her beauty. She's perhaps in her mid-twenties, and she walks over to me and extends a hand.
"You must be the new escort. I'm Cashmere Delucan."
I shake her hand firmly. "Storm Asterbury."
The young man ignores me. He's perhaps only a little older than me, with striking good looks like his sister. Unlike Cashmere, however, there's a scowl across his face, and I can see the disdain in his eyes when he looks at me. He catches me looking and I immediately drop my gaze, flushing. He already hates me.
"That's my brother, Gloss," Cashmere heaves a sigh. "You'll have to excuse him. He's not exactly very social."
I remember Cashmere and Gloss's Games. Cashmere was lethal, although at first underestimated because of her beauty. She proved that she was capable of killing without remorse. Gloss displayed a similar ruthlessness during his Games, and although they seemed harmless enough now, I knew better than to underestimate them.
Ever since I'd been a little girl, I'd hated the Games. Not because I'd thought them wrong, not then. I had always been weak-stomached, and the sight of blood and death upset me. I would often have nightmares even though the horrors of the Games were not my burdens to bear. I was just a little Capitol girl. It was the districts who were supposed to suffer, not me.
The Mayor ushers us outside into the square before I've even had the chance to eye off the appetizers. Gloss and Cashmere saunter across to take their allocated seats, but as the escort, it's my job to go up the microphone and officially get the reaping started. They'll all hate me, all the teenagers of age in District 1. It's because I'm the one picking their names out, like some sort of god choosing who lives and who dies.
I swallow and switch the microphone on, watching as the last kids file into their respective sections. I pity them. I've never known the fear of having to stand there, scared for my life, scared for someone I know and care about. I've always been sheltered, I know that. So why should it be me to pick out who's sentenced to the Hunger Games?
"Welcome." My voice is loud and confident, although inside I'm shrivelling up at the thought of addressing so many people – but this isn't about me and my insecurities. Two kids are going to die from this district, and already I'm focusing on my own fears. I'm selfish. Most Capitolians are. "My name's Storm Asterbury, and I'm the new escort for District 1."
I'm met with silence. I suppose it's better having a Career district rather than one of the lower ones. The kids here are actually enthusiastic about the Hunger Games. It's about honour and glory for them. How little they know. I immediately distance myself. I don't know any of these kids. I suppose that's another aspect of my weak heart coming through. Good thing I was never in a district. I never would have made it as a tribute.
They listen in boredom, fidgeting as I push through the history of Panem, the Dark Days, how the Hunger Games came about. They don't want to hear about it, and I don't blame them. No one wants to be reminded of their failure. Afterwards, I paste a plastic smile across my features as I announce the drawing of tributes. Of course, I've been informed that in District 1, I won't have to actually draw names. There are volunteers left, right and centre. It sends shivers down my spine to know how eager some of these kids are.
"I volunteer." It's a girl of around seventeen, with silvery blonde hair. She steps out, causing a few other girls to don disappointed expressions. She tosses back her hair as she approaches the stage, and I can see that this girl has a bright confidence to her. She'll need more than confidence, though. "I'm Glimmer."
I haven't even opened my mouth to announce the boy tribute when a brown-haired boy from the eighteen-year-old section moves forward. He's tall, easily over six feet, and like the girl, has a cocky smirk across his face. That's the problem with Career districts, that's their downfall, they're too full of themselves to see anyone else as a viable threat.
"Marvel," the boy says.
I force a smile and turn back to the microphone. "District 1, I give you your tributes!"
As applause thunders through the square, I turn and glance towards the Victors. Perhaps they'll be impressed by Marvel and Glimmer, perhaps they won't really care. But all I see is the hatred in Gloss's eyes…and it's directed at me.