A/N: The format we used is that each character takes a perspective leading up to the games. Once we get to the arena we'll skip around more as plot demands. These are the first three districts, from before the reaping to the end of the train ride.
Katerina Emerald, District 1
A crash sounded from the kitchen. Katerina groaned and rolled over. Prying open a mascara-pasted eye, she focused on the clock on the bedside table. Seven o'clock. Of course her mother would be making an unholy racket in the early hours of the morning, because she knew Katerina'd be hung over from yesterday's reaping party. Love you too, Mom.
She forced herself to sit upright, performed a sort of barrel roll out of bed, and shuffled into silk slippers. The clanging of pots and pans continued as she tripped her way to the bathroom for a shower. Turning on the lights was out of the question.
As Katerina stood under the warm water, she reviewed the events of last night. She and Bluebell had a few drinks, hung out with a couple of guys… what were their names? One of them started with a D, or an E, or something like that. She had a vague memory of an intoxicated Rosalie hopping up on a chair to announce that she was volunteering. Well, all power to Rosie, but not Katerina. Not this year. She could do with another year of training, so she wanted to wait until she was at least seventeen or eighteen.
She stepped out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed. Her dress had been picked out at least a week in advance. It was a little emerald green number with a halter neck and an empire waist. The color matched her eyes exactly. She knew it was beautiful, but she had to ascertain that it looked as good as she remembered. Bracing herself, she flipped on the light for half an instant.
Huh. Pretty good. Her dark hair was still damp, and it was already falling into perfect waves. Eyes a little bloodshot but nothing too noticeable. The dress looked fantastic. She managed a satisfied smirk before shutting off the lights and staggering down to the kitchen.
Her mother was drying dishes at the sink. Katerina had a faint hope that she would say something nice about the dress, but when she saw her daughter, her nose wrinkled and she turned away again. Of course not. Sixteen years of living with this woman and Katerina still hadn't earned anything close to human affection.
"Good morning, Mother."
"I thought you might be up," Mrs. Emerald replied, her lip curling. "I could smell the booze from down the hallway. So you were…celebrating last night?"
"So what if I was?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Underage drinking. Classy."
" 'Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this liquor clean from my breath?' " Katerina muttered.
"Some mouthwash might help, at least."
She walked over to the counter and got herself a slice of bread. Her mother wasn't actually making breakfast for her. Mrs. Emerald was just making noise for the sake of making noise. Katerina resolved to grab some toast and escape the sub-zero zone as soon as possible.
"Why are you dressed like that? Working the street corner today?"
"I didn't realize that you'd familiarized yourself with my covert whoring schedule," Katerina sneered. "I'm flattered. Maybe we can make it a joint effort."
She ignored her. "You know the reapings are televised, right? Oh, wait, that must be your advertising strategy."
Katerina tried to end the conversation. It was reaping day—Quell day, no less. It was a day for celebration. It was not a day to be bickering with her mother during breakfast. However, the conversation was following the inevitable downward slope. If her mother ever showed an iota of interest in her progress, things could be different. Katerina had been training so long and so intensely-how hard would it be for her mother to say something encouraging like 'keep up the good work' and pat her on the back? Even that was too much to expect.
"When are you leaving?" Mrs. Emerald demanded. "Soon? Because now I have a headache and you're making too much noise."
"How? All I did was put a piece of toast in the toaster!"
"Your smell is making my sinuses hurt."
"Good God! Every time we're together for more than five minutes, you have to criticize me for something!" Katerina shouted. "Yeah, I know you were perfect when you were my age and you won the Games and everything, but seriously? Just let me eat in peace!"
"Oh, I'm the villain now? And because I don't like you running around like a drunken floozy every night-"
"-thanks to the great parenting I received!" Katerina finished sarcastically. "I'm glad I have such a fantastic role model in my life!"
"Like any well-adjusted adult would spend time with you! No wonder your father ran off!"
Both of them stood there for a moment, too angry to speak. When Katerina finally found words, her eyes were stinging but her voice was steady. "I'm volunteering."
"Good for you," was her mother's unaffected response. She walked out of the kitchen.
Katerina picked up her plate and hurled it after her, not even wincing when it shattered against the door frame. Then she stomped out the door.
Noah Hearth, District 1
The arena thundered with the cheers of half the district. Noah and the rest of the 14-year olds huddled together in the floor section. From the stage, his usually cheerful Aunt Andromeda watched the proceedings with a grim solemnity. She seemed to be avoiding Noah's gaze on purpose. Seeing her like that made cold dread settle in his stomach, a little like her cooking did. Before they separated, she had given him and his younger brother Finncast their yearly reminder that if they volunteered, they would be in serious trouble. As usual, Noah had only paid attention to the first minute or so. As if he'd ever go to the Games. The older, bigger kids already had a monopoly on the volunteering system.
The crowd was excitable; several shouting matches had already broken out between would-be volunteers. When the mayor strode out onto the stage, however, the noise died down instantly. Amandla Manyaka raised her hands over the arena in a welcoming gesture. "Let's hear it for our mentor this year, only sixteen when she last stood on this stage with me. The victor from the 90th games, Andromeda Hearth!" She gave Noah's aunt a poisonous smile. Andromeda had never hidden her dislike for District 1's governing body, but she curtsied to the crowd anyway. "This year's escort will be Elis Holm." The tall, bespectacled blond man beside Andromeda nodded. Polite applause. "I want to thank everyone for joining us here today," she continued, "and what a day it is!"
Yeah, Noah thought. I had to wake up at 11 in the blessed A.M. for this. That's just cruel.
Tall as he was for his age, Noah still couldn't catch a glimpse of his tiny brother. Somewhere in the arena, his older sister Athena sat with her fiancé (he would say she was too good for the chump, but that would just be jealousy talking). His father was at work.
"…And now we'll begin the Reaping. The lucky tribute will have the chance to bring honor and fortune to our district…"
Waylon Hearth was a busy man, Noah knew.
"…As parents, you should be proud if your son or daughter is selected. We send our tributes not into death, but immortality. Your children will become heroes and heroines."
Even so, his father's absence pulled at the inside of his skin, like an itch he couldn't scratch.
"Finncast Hearth!"
The name tore through his thoughts and jerked him back to the stadium. Immediately, hands shot up all across the floor. Noah's included. His brother was not going. That was certain. Aunt Andromeda clutched Finncast's forearm as he took the stage. It looked like he was the one supporting her.
"Well, this is a twist." Manyaka clapped his aunt on the back. She staggered forward from the blow. "Now the escort may choose one of the volunteers. Who will you send to fight instead of young Finncast?"
Noah stretched his fingertips as high up as they could reach, and Andromeda's eyes hardened as they caught his. Mayor Manyaka glanced at his aunt before she bent her head towards Elis Holm and whispered something. The action was lost in the confusion taking place on the floor. Volunteers had gone from shouting at one another to full-on brawling. Noah sidestepped a boy biting another on the arm. Like dogs over a bone. Probably a radius. Ouch.
"Noah Hearth!" Elis called. Instantly the entire arena's attention was turned towards him.
The most attention anyone's paid to me, Noah thought. Gee, I guess this is what it's like to be famous. Low hisses of too young followed him up to the stage. Finncast, terror-stricken, didn't move even as Noah approached. Andromeda gave the boy a gentle push toward the stairs. She said nothing to her older nephew.
"Let's continue, shall we?" Manyaka said, and Elis drew the next name.
"Lyre Callistus," he read. A small fourteen-year-old wobbled to the stage. Elis then looked out at the sea of raised hands. "You. With the green dress."
Katerina Emerald sauntered up to the stage. Noah was a Village kid, so he didn't know many of the District 1 eligibles, but this girl, she was the best knife-thrower in the district. Pretty, in a haughty way. She tossed her long hair and smiled out at the crowd.
"This year's District 1 representatives!" Mayor Manyaka led the arena in thunderous applause.
"This way," a security guard called, and directed the tributes off stage.
Fang Meither, District 2
The guards seated Fang in the conference room of the Justice Building. She waved a hand, dismissing them, and then they filed out the door. This goodbye business irritated her. She just wanted to get up and go. The Capitol was waiting, the Games were waiting. Her family already knew she was going. Why drag it out any longer than it needed to be? ...Then again, a daylong train ride with that irritating bastard Zen didn't sound so appealing. Perhaps that could be put off a little.
Her mom and dad, followed by her younger sisters Kay and Saphir, entered the room. They were all smiling.
"Honey," her mom said, enveloping her in a hug, "we're so proud of you."
"You've worked hard for this. We know you'll do well," her father added.
"Of course I will," Fang agreed.
Saphir skipped over to join them, while Kay stayed shyly back. "If you win, then we can be famous and live in a big house," Saphir announced in her typical blunt fashion, making them all laugh. "So be sure to win."
Mrs. Meither drew back and looked at her eldest daughter. Her smile was sad now. "We'd better let Farah see you before you go." She smoothed Fang's long blond hair behind her ear. "We all love you, you know. Do your best, and have a great time."
"I will," Fang promised.
As they left the room, Fang couldn't help but feel a little depressed. She tried to console herself with the fact that she would be back soon.
A few seconds later, Farah, Fang's best friend, strolled in like she owned the place. She took a seat across from Fang.
"Hey," Fang said.
Farah chose to forgo the pleasantries. "Do you have a plan?"
"Duh." Fang scoffed.
"Good. Stick to it. Find some allies and stay with them to hunt."
"You're honestly worried about me?" Fang asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No. If anything, I'm worried that this will be too easy for you." Her gaze was intense. "Kill before you're killed, Fang. Don't get conceited."
"Me? Never," Fang said with a grin.
Farah paused. "Do you have a token?"
"Oh, shoot. I forgot."
"Here. Take this." She slipped a ring off her right hand and gave it to Fang. Fang turned it over, examining it with satisfaction. It was black and skull-themed, just like her earrings. "Thanks," she said.
"Well? Put it on."
She obliged. It looked natural there.
"Bust some noses with it," Farah commanded, finally returning Fang's grin. "And give it back when you visit on your Victory Tour."
"No way. I'm keeping it," Fang joked.
They heard a noise at the door and saw that the guards had returned. One spoke. "Time to go."
"Yeah, whatever. Give me a second," Farah replied. She turned to Fang and held out a fist. Fang bumped it with her own. "Remember what I said! Good luck."
Several guards led her away, and the rest motioned to Fang. With a sigh, she stood up and followed them from the room.
Zen Marikse, District 2
Zen and Fang stood by the door of the train, blinded by the flashes of a hundred cameras. Zen was completely relaxed, but Fang seemed tense, and she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
"You'll look a lot hotter in the pictures if you're not squirming around," Zen pointed out in a stage whisper.
Fang glared at him.
"I'm just saying," he continued out of the corner of his mouth. His skills at grinning charismatically and talking at the same time were unmatched. "We want to look our best for the sponsors, don't we? I mean, obviously we'll get some, attractive people as we are, but we want as many as possible. Hey, we should work together, because we're from the same district. I know I have a girlfriend, but she won't mind because she wants me home in one piece. Oh, come on. Smile. Don't be such a downer. No one likes a mopey girl."
"I am so sick of your shit," Fang snapped, and she turned around and walked into the train.
"...Plus, it's not like you would be able to ally with anyone else. I mean- hey! Wow. Okay. Cool." Whatever. He didn't need her, anyway. God, this was going to be a long ride.
"Cute, isn't she?" he said to the photographers, and winked at them before following her into the compartment.
When he arrived in his room, he explored the so-called amenities. It was slightly worse than the average District 7 slum. Or at least, how he imagined a slum in District 7 to be, judging from the way they dressed. Disgusted at the lack of a mini-bar, he travelled to the dining car resolving to notify his father. His mentor, Enobaria, was already waiting there. If the talk he heard was to be believed, she once ripped out a tribute's throat with her teeth. Charming.
"Zen, right?"
"Yeah. You were alive during the rebellion, weren't you?" he asked her. That would make her ancient. Like 50, or something.
"Why?"
"I thought you might have an idea about the arena."
She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, kid."
"Great," Zen mumbled, then in a louder voice, he said, "Just wondering."
"So do you have a strategy?"
"Sure. Find some other stunning people and hang with them. Rack up the sponsor points with my wit and grace."
Enobaria looked at him pityingly. "I'm afraid that will not be enough," she said.
"Well, what else do I need to do?" he asked, insulted. "Feast upon human flesh?"
She snarled at him, and he caught a glimpse of those infamous teeth filed to points. "Your life is in my hands, Zen Marikse. Remember that."
A very long train ride, indeed.
Sandra Bennett, District 3
Plancor was still not speaking to her. The silence clearly made their escort, Enoe Meloxi, uncomfortable. Although Enoe had already tried several times to make peace between the quarreling couple, his attempts were thwarted by his feeble presence. Sandra helped herself to more apple dumpling and roast pork. She found no reason to force conversation while Plancor was upset.
"Isn't tonight romantic, though?" Enoe suggested, his hands shaking as he lifted his fork up to his mouth. "Candlelight dinner on the train together?"
Plancor brought his fist down on the table, causing Enoe to start and drop apple dumpling down his front. "This is none of your business," he growled.
Their mentor laughed. "Careful, Balbon. You're gonna make the little guy piss his pants."
Plancor barely glanced at her. The force of his scowl sent Meloxi deep into his seat, skinny shoulders pushed up around his ears. Sandra dabbed at her lips with a napkin. She felt with some certainty that sponsors would be no problem for them. The Capital loved a doomed romance.
The train car rumbled beneath them in a steady rhythm. Sandra listened as Plancor's harsh breathing quieted. A year ago, beneath the pale green streetlights of District 3, she had promised herself to make him happy for as long as he lived. The end of his life was approaching faster than she originally planned for.
"You two go ahead," their mentor told them. "I'll join you in a bit."
Plancor stood, and his hand found hers in a too-tight grip as they left the compartment together to watch the recaps. Through the window, stars glittered in the blackness. District 3 was usually too full of light pollution to see the stars.
Plancor Balbon, District 3
The program began with a review of the Quell's announcement. President Brassicale spoke of a special arena to commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the failed rebellion. Plancor had already considered what the arena might be, taking into account the vague and ominous use of the word 'special,' and he had deduced that it could be nothing good. A battlefield, perhaps, or a model of the Capitol itself. They would likely make the Games twice as deadly as usual just to make a point.
District 1's tributes were the standard beautiful, deadly Careers, although there was something of a disturbance with the volunteering because the male tribute's aunt happened to be his mentor. Plancor shuddered at the thought of having his father as a mentor-he would end up starting the Games in worse shape than he already was. Upon watching District 2's reaping, he resolved to keep Sandra as far away from both tributes as possible.
Then there was their reaping, with Sandra calmly taking her place on the stage as he looked on, helpless and furious. She had insisted upon volunteering, because she hadn't wanted him to die alone or some bull like that. Watching it again almost made him angry, but as on-screen Sandra smiled vacantly through the proceedings, he came to an understanding. Sandra had no one. Her parents were dead, her grandmother was dying. He was all she had left. To let her stay in District 3 alone while she watched him die-it would be cruelty. At least now they could spend their last few days together. Plancor slipped his arm around her and brushed her long red hair behind her shoulders. Having her here was more comforting than he would be willing to admit.
District 4 had two tributes on the opposite ends of the spectrum; the girl seemed almost reluctant as she volunteered, and the boy didn't hesitate a second. The rest of the reapings passed by in a blur, although Plancor did wonder whether the reaping of the children of several District 13 refugees was too coincidental. Most of the others looked fairly weak, especially the tiny girl from 7. Only two other tributes caught his attention, a boy from 10 and a girl from 12. Both seemed tough. Trustworthy. They were good ally material. Plancor made a mental note to approach them later.
Just then, the door opened, and their mentor stepped in. "Though I'd give you two a little time alone. Have the recaps finished?"
Plancor nodded.
"You two had better get to bed. Tomorrow will be a busy day."