A Note From Your Author
Well hello again. Have some more District One, and thanks to the wonderful whisperasweknowit for this dude. He's a pretty interesting guy in my opinion, and I enjoyed fleshing him out, and his friends are fun, too.
On with the show.
~ Madeleine
Basil Saff, Age Sixteen, District One
I go for runs in the morning. It helps to wake me up and warm me up and get ready for training and school. Ruby hates it when I get to training already sweaty, but I don't really care – I'm just going to get gross anyway, so I may as well get a bit of exercise.
Reaping day is no different. I'm up early on the big day, and by the time I've done my run and gotten back to the house, my Dad's awake and already eating. I shower quickly and dress in the shirt and long trousers I set out last night. I set my shoes and socks aside, preferring to stay in my bare feet.
I sit at the kitchen table and Dad slides some bacon onto my plate. The run has left me hungry and the bacon is delicious – I'm done in minutes. I get myself some yoghurt, and I finish by chopping up a green apple and eating it, slice by slice. My dad scowls at me when I use my penknife, but I can't be bothered to get a knife from the drawer.
"You'll hurt yourself mucking around like that," he says.
"Look, I've done it a million times," I say, slicing the seeds out of a segment of apple, and popping into my mouth. "See? Fine."
My dad rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything else.
I check the clock. It's only a few minutes past six, and the reaping's not until 8:30, although my father likes to get there early, because he has to sit on the stage with the other victors, and it looks pretty bad if he's late. Still, I have at least an hour and half before we have to leave.
I could go to Ruby's house, I guess, and kill time, but she's probably primping in preparation for the reaping. I always tell her that she doesn't need to make the effort unless she plans on volunteering, because no one's going to be looking at her in particular otherwise, but she looks at me funny and I feel like I've broken some kind of code of honour or something.
I'll probably meet Aaron and Emeral, then, in the usual place – under the bridge. I pull on my socks with considerable difficulty and lace up my shoes.
"I'm going out," I announce. "Meeting the guys. See you at the square."
Dad looks up. "Alright. See you then."
My Dad and I rarely disagree, which is to say we rarely talk. Just the basic mechanics of "How was your day", "Work hard at training" and "Don't be out past eleven". He works hard most of the time, and I suppose he cares about what I do, but he never really shows it. Most of the time he just tells me to train hard. Today is no different, I guess.
I wander down to the bridge, and I'm not surprised when Emeral and Aaron are already there. Aaron is reading the graffiti on the underside of the brickwork, but he's shorter than me and he has to stand on a pile of bricks to get closer. Emeral is making some joke about it – he's always picking on Aaron's height. Emeral's a bit of a jerk sometimes, but we've been friends for ages, since we were little kids starting school. He's not that bad really.
I duck under the railing and wander over. Aaron almost trips over scrambling down the pile of bricks, and dusts himself off. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up.
"You volunteering today? Emeral bet me you wouldn't."
I roll my eyes in Emeral's direction.
He grins. "Well, you're not gonna, are you? You always said you wanted to wait until you were eighteen."
Which is true. My father and I had it planned out. I'd volunteer at eighteen to give me the maximum amount of training. It made sense. The trainers at the fitness centre where most of us did out group training told me I could enter sooner, but I figured I'd wait.
"Nah, it doesn't matter. It's not like you're going to, anyway."
Aaron laughs at this. It's true, Emeral never even trained. He's actually really smart; he'll probably end up as a doctor or something. An irritating prettyboy doctor. I pity his patients.
Emeral flushes. It's one of the weird things he does. It's hilarious, but Aaron never picks at him for it, which is surprising, given Emeral picks at him over everything. Aaron would rather be armwrestling or jumping on the furniture. He was a hyperactive kid, and he never really got over it.
Emeral checks his watch to change the subject. "'S seven already. We should go into town."
He's right, of course. Walking, it'll take us a while to get to the main square and it always gets crowded fast. Aaron ties his shoelaces up, and we duck back under the railing, and head into town.
We pass a lot of people on the way – the town centre is already busy in preparation for the reaping, although shops are closed. There are decorations hanging between the townhouses and the shops, pennants and baubles. I've always found it a bit garish, but this is a sporting event, an annual thing that you're supposed to get excited about. I guess in my training I've kind of forgotten what it is to most people in the district.
By the time we get to Main Square, it's already filling up. We never all fit in the square, and the adults and younger children who come late watch as the reaping is televised live on screens in Fountain Square.
The amount of noise in the square is pretty ridiculous – a couple thousand teenagers all jammed into one space? Chatter central. I must admit, the girls are the worst offenders – everything is a possible topic of conversation, from what all the other girls are wearing to the weather. I mean sheesh. Who the hell cares that Isabel wore that dress to a party last week?
I spot Ruby standing with a bunch of her friends, who seem to be a study in every irritating quality girls can have. She turns and I try and wipe all the thoughts of how annoying her friends are from my mind in case it shows on my face.
She smiles as she sees me, and I can't help but grin back. "Hey," she says. "How've you been?"
She's been busy for the last few days on something for school, and we've barely spoken even at training. I try and figure out an answer that doesn't tell her I've been enjoying myself without her. "Decent."
"Good to hear. So, you're not volunteering today, are you? Because I heard that like five or six or the eighteen-year-old guys are dead set on it."
"Nah," I say with what I hope is nonchalance. "I'm gonna wait till I'm eighteen, get the most training time possible."
She put her hands on my shoulders, then joins her hands around my neck. There's something about her fingers on the back of my neck, something about the touch that tingles.
"Alright, then," she says, cocking her head to the side. "We should…catch up. Seeing I haven't really seen you for a week almost."
I catch myself staring at her, not really listening, and shake myself. "Uh…alright."
She smiles. "Okay then. See you then." And she slips away to rejoin her irritating friends.
I'm pretty bemused by the whole thing, but frankly I'm just glad to see her. I was beginning to think she was avoiding me, honestly. Girls are freaking impossible.
Aaron and Emeral are grinning by the time I get back to them. Aaron snorts. "Skills, man."
"Shut up," I say. "We better squish in."
The sixteens are already fairly squashed. "They need to build a bigger bloody square," Emeral groans. "It's freaking summer; I'm sweating like a pig here."
It's about time that we got started, and the chairs on stage are filling. The Capitol escort, Filli Schoen, and the mayor, Dale Hathaway, are already there, along with the numerous past victors, including my father. The mentor for the male tribute this year is, according to the program currently showing on the screens, Granite Riverwood, who won seven years ago. The female mentor is the somewhat famous Lazuli Tierce, winner of the 44th Hunger Games. That year was both bizarre and apparently a hit with the Capitol.
The chairs on stage fill, as does the square. We get compacted to the point where personal space is pretty much a joke.
At 8:30 exactly, the mayor reads the history of Panem as he does every year, listing the natural disasters and the wars, and the treachery that gave us the Hunger Games.
He reads the list of past victors from our district, living and dead. There are ten of them.
I'm pretty used to people looking my way when my father's name is read, and since they read the names in chronological order, I know when it's coming.
Once he's finished, Filli steps up to the podium, and speaks in the most irritating voice imaginable: "Ladies and Gentlemen, a very happy Hunger Games to you all!"
There's some applause. "Thank you, thank you, thank you for the absolutely marvellous welcome. It's a pleasure, such a pleasure, to be here again, for the 60th Annual Games!"
Again, the applause. "Really, really, thank you…it's great to be here. Lovely to once again be here to select the tributes for this year's Games! Starting, of course, with our lovely ladies…"
He virtually skips over to where the glass ball containing the girl's names sits on the stage. Everyone knows the reaping's little more than a formality, but it goes along anyway, by protocol.
He swirls his hand around a fair bit, before drawing a slip out between two violently orange fingernails. He smooths it out, and reads in his high-pitched voice: "Tassel Hillman!"
Tassel, a fourteen-year-old, squeezes out between a few other girls, and makes her way to the stage. She isn't worried yet – pretty much safe in the knowledge that someone will take her place.
The crowd is perfectly silent, and Filli beams as the kid climbs the stairs. "Excellent, excellent. Now, Tassel, shall I call for volunteers?"
Tassel doesn't speak, but nods yes.
Filli beams. "Alrighty then," here a pause, to prepare himself for the chaos that almost always follows as several girls try and reach the stage. "Are there any volunteers?"
The previously silent crowd erupts into cheers as several older girls split from their age groups, and begin pushing through the crowd to the foot of the stairs. I can't see quite what's going on, given that the tallest guys are at the front, but eventually a girl who I vaguely remember from training climbs the stairs. I can't remember her name, only that she usually keeps to herself but is a damn good shot with a thrown knife.
She's quite striking, actually, and with her white-blonde hair pinned back, she's quite pale, and she looks good in her silver dress. She's almost as tall as me, and though she's slender, she packs some muscle. She could be a serious contender, and it's clear I'm not the only one thinking this. Much of the crowd is nodding their approval.
"Well, hello there," Filli says. "You would be?"
"Ivory," the girls says.
Ivory, that's it.
"Ivory Kingston," she continues.
"Let's hear it for Ivory Kingston, then!" Filli exclaims, and the square applauds.
Filli leaves Ivory standing on one side of the stage and proceeds to the ball containing the boys' names. He plunges his hand into the pool of slips and digs around for a couple of seconds, before drawing out one slip of folded paper. He unfolds it, smooths it out as best he can with his ludicrous fingernails, then clears his throat with a tiny cough and says:
"Basil Saff!"
What.
Aaron turns to look at me, a funny expression on his face. "Up you go, then."
I squeeze out of the clump of sixteens and make my way to the stage, my mind running about a mile a minute. Should I do it? Go to the Games? I've trained for this most of my life. And besides, what's to say someone won't beat me to the stage in two years' time?
I climb the stairs, and Filli smiles broadly, revealing extremely white teeth embedded with tiny red gems. "Wonderful."
I cringe at the pitch of his voice. It's somehow less nasty over the speakers, but up close it sounds like a five-year-old girl who's been breathing in party balloons.
His tone is patronizing, too. "Wonderful. Now, Basil, shall I call for volunteers?"
I should really do this; I may not get another chance. I may not be as mature or as attractive as Ivory, but as a Career kid from District One, I've got an edge in the survival and sponsorship states, and that's always going to give you an advantage over kids from poorer districts.
I bite my lip. I should, but do I really want to? My father would want me to. For the final confirmation, I glance at Ruby. She's pretty calm, or at least keeping herself that way. She mouths two words. Good Luck.
I turn back to Filli. "No, thanks. I'm in."
The assembled people applaud, Filli sits down, and the mayor comes to the podium and reads the Treaty of Treason. The applause dies away as he reads the dreary thing. It goes on for several minutes, and by the time he's finished people are itching to leave.
The mayor gets Ivory and me to shake hands, which we do, and I'm surprised by the strength of her grip. She's either going to make a great ally or a fearsome enemy. I make a mental note not to get on her bad side.
I always wondered who'd come to my goodbyes, to be teary or proud or give advice. My father, obviously, and Ruby. Aaron and Emeral? I dunno. The guys from training? Probably not. They might be jealous.
My father is first to arrive. He's gruff, as usual, but proud. He tries to give me advice, mostly to make alliances only if I'm sure they won't go sour, and tells me to listen to my mentor. He gives me a rough hug, something a bit unusual, but it's sort of nice.
Ruby is next, which, I have to admit, is also pretty nice. As soon as she comes into the room, she throws her arms around me. She just hangs there for a few moments, and I feel like I should comfort her or something, and I'm just about to try stroking her hair or something, when she kisses me full on the lips.
The force of it surprises me, desperate, her arms still around my neck. I blink rather rapidly for a few seconds before I lean in, my hand finding the back of her neck with ease that comes more from instinct than practice.
She breaks away after a few moments, but stays close. A few strands of dark brown hair have fallen loose from her hairstyle, and I brush them behind her ear, something she always likes. She raises a hand to my throat, to the dark brown choker she gave me last year. "Wear this, will you?" She fiddles with the small ruby that hangs from the centre. "Keep me close to your heart, in the arena."
I nod. "Sure."
She smiles. "Well, good luck."
Ruby stands on tiptoe, and kisses me once on the forehead. Before I have the chance to say anything else, the Peacekeeper who's stationed outside my door comes to get her. Our time's up. I catch a glimpse of a somewhat teary girl leaving. One of Ivory's visitors.
The next people to arrive are, somewhat surprisingly, Emeral and Aaron. They don't say much, just wish me good luck and leave, but I'm glad they came. Today might be the last time I see them.
After our time for goodbyes is up, they escort Ivory and me to the station, and the train that will take us to the Capitol. As we pull out from the station, I stare at the district until we turn a bend and it vanishes from view behind the trees.
It occurs to me that when I return, I'll either be returning victorious or shipped back home in a box.
