so, here's how this is going to work: i have around 19 characters (too many? probably. too late to do anything about that? definitely). each character has their own POV. my job is to make them all different and interesting; your job is to keep up with my complete lack of ability to do so. each character gets to narrate one thing before the arena (reapings, train, interviews - all that), and once we're in the arena, it's just a free-for-all of whoever is the most interesting at the time being the one who narrates. there will be around ten pre-arena chapters. this is the first: the day of the reapings, narrated by the wonderful Andronicus/Adriatus Lockvale and Nora Liu.
enjoy! ^_^
Adriatus Lockvale, District Two
Reaping Day, 4am
The cold, uncaring walls of the hospital glare down on us, throwing the sounds of my mother's sobs back towards me as my father mutters words of comfort to her and tries to pretend he isn't about to cry.
Perhaps I should be crying too. Perhaps I'm as uncaring as these walls for not wailing along with my mother. But it doesn't seem real yet. Perhaps I'll wake up soon, and tell Andronicus about the ridiculous dream I had where he died the day before he volunteered. And he'll laugh and call me a weak wimp for caring.
But I know this is a nightmare I will never wake up from.
Then they come. The tears. They pour down my face like waterfalls of pain, because how many times have I hated him? How many times have I wished to be the only twin, to not be second best to his perfection?
Oh, Andronicus, you absolute idiot. You foolish, stupid, arrogant, narcissistic... Screw you. Screw you for being so good, and screw you for leaving me. What about our plans, Andronicus? You, me, Victors' Village... Screw that. Screw you.
I turn my head away from my father, hiding my tears behind my blond mess of a fringe. Andronicus wouldn't want father to be disappointed in me.
The door at the far end of the room swings open, and a furious Petra Leonhardt storms in, her blonde hair sticking out from behind her head like a terrifying halo in the harsh hospital lights. Petra is a mentor and a legend here in Two. She won her Games aged only fourteen and using just her hands. My brother is honoured to be trained by her.
Was. He was honoured.
Oh, Andronicus...
"Mr and Mrs Lockvale?" Her dark eyes burn holes in my parents, and a shiver runs through me. The room temperature seems to have dropped under her icy glare. "I have heard that Andronicus is dead."
My mother and I flinch at the certainty of the last word. Dead. A scream rises in my throat. Don't call him that, you bitch. He isn't that.
"I am afraid that is true," my father says, meeting Petra's gaze.
"But he was this year's volunteer." Her voice cracks ever so slightly, and I almost see some emotion on her face. Then it goes. "He can't be. He can't be dead." If she weren't so good at hand-to-hand, I would launch myself at her. He was not yours to lose.
Or was he? He spent far more time with her than with me, I'm sure. She probably knew him better than any of us.
"Your family promised to provide Two with a volunteer," Petra says, her voice monotonous and stern again. "Now you are breaking that promise. Do you know the consequences of this?" We haven't done anything. This is your fault, if anyone's. "Mr and Mrs Lockvale, your children will be sent to the District Advancement for Elite Youth Academy, and you will both be publicly executed."
My father stands. "What are we supposed to do? Andronicus is dead! None of our other children can go. They aren't trained, they'll-"
"I'll do it."
Petra and my parents stare at me. I clench my teeth against the urge to sit down and hide again. Andronicus would have wanted you to stay strong.
"Good," Petra says. Her voice is crisp and efficient, as though I have solved all her problems, but I can see the pain she is trying to hide. Perhaps she pities me. Perhaps she is ashamed to know that District Two will not provide a male victor this year. Perhaps it hurts to see me, standing here, so similar to Andronicus but not quite the boy she spent all ten of her mentoring years training.
"No one even needs to know Andronicus is... Is gone." The words are coming from my mouth, but I feel no attachment to them. "I can become him."
No, that's an awful idea. Stop this. But my parents look at me with hope in their grief-stricken eyes. What is the alternative? Them, executed; little Darius, my brother, learning how to kill at only seven. I couldn't live with that.
I have to do this.
Oh, Andronicus. What have we done?
Nora Liu, District Ten
Reaping Day, 7am
Nora opens her eyes and, for half a second, it is a normal day. And then the solid weight of the day falls onto her chest, and breathing goes back to being difficult again.
Reaping Day.
This Reaping Day.
Swarms of tracker jackers buzz around her insides as she climbs out of bed, wincing at the pain across her thighs from last night's cuts. She leaves the curtains closed, so as to not disturb Lia, dresses in the half-light and slips through to the kitchen.
A loaf of bread sits on the side. Breakfast would be sensible, but when has she ever been sensible?
Remembering Lia's peaceful sleeping face, she closes the door silently, pulling her hood up as if to protect her face from the world. Or maybe the other way round. She looks up through her eyelashes at the sky. It is infuriatingly blue, the sun streaming down onto the roofs of the houses of District Ten. Something about that jars with her; did no one tell the weather that it is Reaping Day? Did no one let it know that today is a terrible, terrible day?
By the time she gets to her hiding place, however, it is starting to cloud over. It may even be raining by this afternoon. Perfect. Just in time. Nora smiles at the clouds, rolls her shoulders back and settles into the only place in the whole of Panem where she feels like herself. It may only be a damp little corner of a disused barn, but it smells safe. It is all Nora needs.
Feather is probably wondering where she is, but Nora isn't in a people mood this morning. Poetry is much easier to deal with: so much more understanding. Her fingers run over the worn pages of her notebook, feeling the verses already written there.
The buzzing tracker jackers dissolve in her words.
Reaping Day, 12pm
The Reaping starts in twenty-nine minutes and ten seconds. Nora knows this because she has been counting since 11am. She has been ready for the last half hour, but Lia hasn't and Nora needs to talk to her sister before she goes.
To say goodbye.
Not that Lia will know that is what it is. She can't know; she might try to stop it from happening. And if she tried, she would succeed.
"I'm ready, Nor!" Lia's shiny face pokes around the door. She is only eleven, with big dark eyes and unnaturally tan skin from days spent in the fields. A mini Nora. But better. So much better. And you know it, Nora.
The rest of Nora's family will be leaving soon, but Nora doesn't want to spend this time with them. Only Lia. The eleven year old seems to sense her older sister's unrest, and, knowing that to pry is the worst thing to do, they walk to the square in silence.
Rain starts to fall as promised, soaring down and crash-landing on Nora's face. If she could afford eye makeup or be bothered with it, it would be running now. The drops trickle over Lia and Nora's intertwined hands.
Up ahead, the square looms; they will have to split up soon. The finality of it all is like concrete in Nora's lungs and she is scared she will suffocate.
"Okay, Lia." The words are no more than a whisper, almost lost in the sea of people around them. "I have to go now." Forever.
Lia smiles that perfect smile of hers and wraps her thin arms around her big sister's waist. She is so thin. With you gone, she'll be able to eat more. You should have left before, then she wouldn't be this thin now.
"I love you so much, Lia." A rare tear slides down Nora's face, mixing with the rain as she wraps her favourite person in the whole world in a huge hug. "Stay safe, yeah? Promise me you'll stay safe."
"It's only a Reaping. I'll see you soon, Nor!" Lia beams at Nora and disappears into the non-eligible viewing area.
And Nora isn't sure how it happens, but she is in the right roped-off pen, at the edge, and the escort is sliving the slip of paper open.
This is it. This. Is. It.
She wobbles over to the microphone.
Don't fail this time.
Opens her mouth to read the name.
Finally embrace the fate you deserve.
"Lucy Brauckmann!"
Do it!
Nora steps out under the rope.
Say it! Say it now!
"I volunteer!"
Adratius Lockvale, District Two
Reaping Day, 1am
The rain beats down on the expectant people of Two, as though trying to wash away the escort and Petra and the other mentors, sitting at the back, and my parents, watching with their stomachs tied in knots like mine. I want to drown in it. I want to world to drown.
"And now the boys."
I think I am going to throw up all over the shoes of the boy next to me. My heartbeat is like thunder in my ears.
"Timothy Wheeler!"
My feet are glued to the ground. It seems to take years to step forward.
"Any volunteers?"
District Two holds its breath. The silence is thick and all-emcompassing, like snow.
And then my voice calls across the square. "I volunteer as tribute."
Who knows how my feet move me to the stage, but they do, and, by incredible luck, I manage to climb the stairs without tripping, and even attempt my brother's signature cocky smile.
"And who are you?"
I swallow Adratius. The rain washes him away.
"I am Andronicus Lockvale."
