Underdog.
Hey, that sounds like my luck. I get the short end of it.
Head Peacekeeper Fredrico of District One.
The door opens, revealing Augustus Kingston, and everyone in the room but me straightens up. We've only been waiting for the man for over an hour now. He's always been known for being fashionably late; that's why he's not really allowed to mentor anymore. He's only doing it this year because the other mentor, Diamond Hanley, had a relapse in his therapy and was advised to not mentor, for fear of stress and undoing years of psycho-mending. If it weren't for that and the other mentors being far too busy - apart from Augustus - he wouldn't be allowed to.
"Afternoon Fredrico, what a beautiful day, am I right?" Augustus grins, premature white hair sleeked back, suit shining and snake eyes piercing. "Have you seen Sheer as of recently?"
"I haven't, no."
"Good."
"Isn't she mentoring alongside you?"
Augustus grins that knowing smile he's been famous, and feared, for. "She is indeed. But she knows better than that, Freddy. Now, is my human shield ready?"
Augustus Kingston is our most famous Victor. The only Victor from District One to survive the Victor's Purge, and even then, it had nothing to do with him. Augustus' father was best friends with Coriolanus Snow. He owned an academy - the only one now - that produced One's most famous Victors, including the likes of the Arvoy siblings, Cashmere and Gloss. Augustus was trained, naturally, and emerged victorious of the Seventy-Third Hunger Games, a year before the disaster struck. He was simply saved as a favour to his father, whilst the rest, including innocent Victors, perished with a single bullet ripping through their skull. With money and power, he's even more important than our dear, elderly mayor.
"Of course we are, like every year, sir." I respond, trying not to sound so disgusted by the man. Two Peacekeepers slip behind him, one of either side, and then the remaining two stand in front. I led the procession as we leave the room in the Justice Building.
Every year, Augustus fears for his life. Why? Because there are many upon many people within District One that wouldn't mind seeing him whipped to raw flesh, me included. His Victor's house, in Victor's Village, has become more of a brothel as of recent years. The weak and poor go there to earn money, whilst the rich and powerful go there to spend cash for "tricks". In simpler terms, Augustus is a pimp. Many girls whom I know, mainly from the poor part of District One known as Blackdamp, earn their money in his mansion. Disgusting behaviour, and everyone turns a blind eye, because he's ridiculously important and our elderly mayor is not very wise.
I slip open the doors, finding the crowd staring at me, the escort quietly waiting by a bowl, a slip in her hand.
"Are we ready to go?" she asks politely.
"Go for it." Augustus smirks and takes a seat. I usher away the Peacekeepers, and they take their positions. As Head Peacekeeper, I stand by Augustus and the empty seat, belonging to Sheer, who is missing. Augustus smiles knowingly as he scans the crowd, maybe for her.
"Our female tribute is..." the escort pipes up, cutting through silence. I watch as a lean, beautiful blonde girl slips through the crowd, a fire in her eyes. She silently walks the fated path, up the steps, and then across the gap. The escort looks up, smiles, before a frown forms on her face as the girl rips the microphone from her hand. The escort, however, refuses to lose attention, and simply slips forward. "And your name is, my dear?"
"I'm Fawn Asprey." she states calmly, before throwing the microphone back at the red-haired woman, causing a bounce of static to waver in the air. I smirk at her obvious lack of tact, realising Augustus is doing the same. That is never good. If Augustus liked someone, well... Sheer is the future for her.
"How lovely," the escort chirps. "Okay, and now for our boys! I hope you're all as excited as I am!"
Before her claws grab a paper slip, though, a boy is throwing himself - literally - through the air into the walkway. He kicks and knocks into some boys, accidentally of course, and falls spectacular onto the floor. A few chuckles ring out as he gets up, dusts himself off, and then runs for the stage in a determined sprint, eyes squeezed shut. He makes the stage and slips to the escort's side. She seems surprised, and even gasps at his presence.
"I-I'm sorry, young man," she giggles. "And your name is?"
"Kit, Kit Felix," he breathes heavily, before looking out into the crowd, standing up straight and then grinning a toothy grin. "Hi everyone."
Fawn plays coy by his side, but keeps her eyes locked on his obvious hyperactive form. I can even feel Augustus practically wiggling with the excitement and prospects. Kit seems good, but Fawn is what he wants. Sadly, Augustus rarely fails.
Head Peacekeeper Albatross of District Two.
Maverick James spectacularly waltz onto stage, swaying slightly on his steps. He laughs, obviously intoxicated, and stops by me. I keep my pose rigid and straight, repeating the simple rule of mine in my mind; do not punch him. The smell of stale whiskey floats into my nose, and I gag. He laughs again.
"You look good in that uniform, you know," he speaks, slurring at the end. "But it'd look even better on my floor. How about after this, you c-come back to my place, m'?"
"You'll be going to the Capitol to mentor, not back home." I say as emotionless as I can.
"M', that's a shame," Maverick frowns, raising his hand towards my breast. "We could'a had some fun."
Instinctively, I break my rule. My hands wraps around the baton I possess, and quick as a flash, as he prepares himself to block my hit, I jerk my knee out, connecting with his groin. He buckles over, falling into my waiting hands.
"Touch me and I'll castrate you, got it?" I hiss into his ear, throwing him into the seat next to me, listening to him groaning and moaning.
"You aren't suppose to do that, Jorgie." I hear a familiar voice, like music to my ears.
Maverick's fellow mentor, Tarzana, walks onto the stage not long after. Compared to most Victors, even Career Victors, Tarzana has fared well. She didn't turn to drugs or alcohol or even violence like must do when returning home. Instead, she turned to me, Jorgie Albatross, her girlfriend. Me and Tarzana are the same age, friends from the Training Center. We trained together, grew up together, grew to love each other. She was selected as the volunteer and had no choice but to go in. She came back to me, of course, and rather than ruin her body and mind with alcohol and drugs, I comfort her and help rebuild the girl that I grew to love with every piece of my heart.
"Tell him that. He should know better."
Tarzana smirks, but she doesn't have to say what I'm thinking; no-one knows about us. District Two's Head Peacekeeper and a Victor, lesbian lovers? It'd cause a scandal. She walks past me, leaning in and allowing her breath to ghost over my ear. "I love you."
She takes her seat next to the moaning Maverick, and we wait patiently in silence. Me and Tarzana share glances as the escort takes the stage, the video plays, the mayor walks on and the potential tributes. Tarzana filled me in on the representatives from the Training Center, because of course, everyone, every year, is tested in the Training Center to see who deserves to walk into it. Only the best - or bribed - get a shot. I was good, good enough to rise to Head Peacekeeper in the matter of four years, but not as good as Tarzana and her nimble shot with knives. The trainees - black leather jackets and silver dog tags hanging around their necks - come out last in groups of four or six. Obvious, but not obvious.
I hold my breath as the escort picks up the female slip. Just like Tarzana mentioned, a girl, Asian, tall and lean and sinister walks to the stage, head held high. She looks particularly bored with everything around, but also like a rotten smell is underneath her nose. She mounts the steps and collects the microphone from the escort.
"Minerva Li." she states simply, handing it back and proceeding to look at her fingernails as the escort seems ecstatic.
"Thank you, dear."
"You're welcome, sweetheart." Minerva replies without looking up.
A male slip is collected within seconds. Apparently, this one is a boy with a rather strange name. Ransom, apparently. I know of his mother, Lienza, since she's a constant advocate at the Training Center. One of her four children was bribed into the Games alongside Tarzana. He was extremely weak because, well, he was by far one of the lower trainees in score and ability in our year; he was bloodbathed within seconds. According to Tarzana, Lienza refuses to give up, and Ransom is the last child left to carry the torch.
"And you are?"
I look back at the stage and see Ransom - shaggy dark hair and a muscular frame - holding the microphone with a perplexed look. "Ransom Denvir."
"We have another Denvir child! Yay!"
The poor boy.
Head Peacekeeper Angelo of District Three.
District Three has never been one for me. I was trained in District Two, like most Peacekeepers, and then transferred to here. I admit, I'm probably not as horrid as many Peacekeepers are, but I do rule this district with an iron fist. Nothing happens without me knowing about it. I made sure to learn the names of all previous convicts and made sure to keep an eye out for them. I'm not cruel; I don't believe in public whippings, but I believe in an orderly way of life. I guess that's why I was transferred to Three amongst the more clever, controlled civilians, since I portray many traits that fit their stereotype.
I wait on the bottom of the stage, watching as children, young and old, gather around in their pens. Parents wait on the outskirts, fingernails clenched between teeth and huddled together for comfort, security, any hope they can cling to that their child isn't stripped away.
Compared to Career districts, or the more unruly districts like Seven and Eleven, Three is mild-mannered in general. The selected tributes - never volunteers - usually break down and admit defeat, slumping towards the steps. Careers are overjoyed and usually never depressed, whilst Seven and Eleven are more aggressive. It's something that has grown over the last few years since the Quell. That's why I wait down here; to help the chosen climb the steps, a small gesture of encouragement.
Bolt and Mercury come out of the Justice Building, faces conflicted and emotionally drained.
Neither have brought a Victor home yet. Bolt won, brought Mercury home, and that's been it. Always one of their tributes end up as a bloodbath, and it's been a while since one has made the final ten, let alone the finale in general. Nowadays, smarts just don't go as far as throwing a spear or knife.
Bolt nods at me curtly, and I reply.
We have a mild relationship; I ignore him, he ignores me. Why Bolt in particular? Because Bolt is a known carer. Many years after winning, he found his life empty, and began to adopt street children, those without homes. Six adopted children thus far. It's suppose to be in the rules that a child or person, not of blood or marriage, is not allowed to live in a Victor's home.
But he does good, he isn't breaking any laws, and I allow it.
"Shall we begin with the reapings, hmm?" the escort, a male this time, asks politely. "Males first this time."
He crosses the stage, collecting the first slip. I watch the children attentively, their eyes widened or slamming shut, all in the prospects that they can avoid the dreaded sentence contained on the white piece of paper.
"Terris Avar." he states calmly.
A small, forced laugh fills the air. Everyone turns to the boy in question - bright blue eyes and shaggy hair - who seems to be the owner of a laugh. He looks around and tries to laugh again, but it flounders in the air and people slip apart rather quickly. He moves quietly through the crowds and towards the stage. He passes me, without a single look, and climbs the steps, arm clamped by the escort. I know somewhat of Terris - his name drifts in the air in random conversations. Apparently, the boy has an unusual love of fireworks, and people think him as "dangerous" because of it.
"And now, the ladies."
I move my eyes to the females. Every girl, young and old, seems slightly terrified. It's become a curse of Three to not do that well.
"Nova Watts."
Everyone turns around again, finding the girl. Her wide eyes seem terrified, her body pressed on the edge of the pens. Two people behind her - possibly parents - have their hands locked around her elbows, keeping her on the edge of the pen, like that might save her. She manages to shake free of the adults grasp and moves forward rather quickly. Compared to Terris, though, she passes me and cracks a faint, defeated smile. She looks about thirteen.
She knows the odds aren't high; both her age and origin are huge downfalls. District Three will more than likely not prevail again.
Head Peacekeeper Tydel of District Four.
I shouldn't be surprised, as I walk past the door, to hear Creek and River arguing once more. I stop, eavesdropping, ear pressed to the door. I can hear Creek murmuring about lying and deceit; River countering with weak and pitiful. River screams and something smashes against a wall, a loud crack breaking out.
"Shouldn't be eavesdropping, you should know better," I hear a voice, startling me enough to spin around. Calypso stands there, smug. "Arguing once more are they?"
"Indeed." I respond, scratching the back of my neck.
Calypso hums, stepping forward and knocking on the door carelessly. It swings open a moment later, revealing River, flustered with tear-stained cheeks.
"What?" she hisses.
"Quit being children and get out onto the stage," Calypso hisses just as good. "Otherwise I'll do it and you can go see Annie."
River growls, throwing her hands in the air and storming past both me and Calypso. I can see Creek on the inside, head in his hands. Calypso coughs and Creek looks up, rolling his eyes and following pursuit of River towards the stage. Calypso Thame is a Victor, too, but has since given up, passing mentoring duties to River and Creek, despite their obvious hatred for the other. Instead, he spends his time over at the Cresta household, checking up on Annie and her son, even though he's much older now.
"Tydel, make sure they don't kill each other, would you?"
"Yes sir," I bow, scurrying past him. He can be quite... overwhelming when he's angry.
I push open the door that leads out of the Justice Building, not surprised to find the two seats that are occupied by mentors - River and Creek in this case - are on two separate sides of the stage. Both sit down, postures held angrily and, overall, not setting the best of examples. I can see Calypso's creeping form escape too, heading out to the Victor's Village located on the edge of District Four, sandy beaches and beautiful marble. I'm jealous not to say the least. The same escort we've had for many years now also comes out the crowd, shaking hands with children who either look bored, or shake back just as eagerly. He laps up the attention just a bit too much, if you ask me.
"District Four!" he calls as he climbs the steps. "Lets show Panem why they should all be jealous of us!"
A lot of the teenagers - no doubt potential volunteers - all scream back ferociously, eyes wild and teeth bared like animals. The escort grabs hold of the microphone and yanks it off the stand, watching it fall. He chuckles and boots the metal across the floorboards, clearly seeing this as more of a party rather than a reaping.
The cameras begin to roll since his attitude tones down. He catches a kiss blown at him; though no idea who would bother. He makes his way over to the first bowl, the females, when I already see a girl in particular beginning to move. She places a foot out the pen, getting ready to lift the rope up and run. As the escort snags onto the first slip, she makes her move, brutally slapping a girl that also has the same idea. She runs with arms and legs pumping, jumping onto the stage, landing perfectly.
The escort isn't surprised and simply hands her the microphone.
"Odette Leith. Your tribute, District Four." she hisses into the object, passing it back to the escort with fire in her eyes.
"Oh, you're just precious," he feigns sweetness, taking the slip from the males bowl. "And your district partner, dear Odette, is L-"
"I volunteer!" a voice calls out.
I scan the area, noticing the boy duck underneath the rope - dark hair and thin frame - and a devil's smile worn on his face. He crosses the gap to a few cheers and claps, climbing the steps to Odette's glare and the escort's obvious excitement. He wraps the boy in a hug before handing him the microphone.
"Percival Harlin," he speaks clearly, a twinge of superiority in his voice. "Better than Odette over here."
She only responds with a glare I know all too well. I can't see our district partners getting along this year; much like their mentors.
Head Peacekeeper Ruben of District Five.
Once more, I watch with sad eyes as Cordelia Ethon is escorted onto the stage, still in her handcuffs. Zeke Wallace follows, a withdrawn look in his eyes and the way he holds himself. It doesn't surprise me that he's tired - Cordelia has no family, and for some reason, Zeke opted himself as her carer, and that means dealing with her many suicidal attempts. God knows how many times I've been to Cordelia's residence, alongside my crew, trying to detract her from the blade held against her wrist.
She gazes my way, eyes grey and glossed over, and I snap my head in the opposite direction. I won't make eye contact with her - I'm one of the many people that are keeping her from dying.
"Oh Ruben dear!" I hear the voice before I even see the mass of hair hurtling my way.
I notice the mass of golden hair, shaped in a cone, and instantly know that it's Ursula, the escort. One night. One night the alcohol got to our heads and something happened. Now, every year, Ursula returns, smitten and wanting to lead me astray. I might be young, but I'm much wiser now. And by now, I mean two years later from that, an only recently having become the Head Peacekeeper. I mean, when it happened, I was in the Capitol, sent on suicide watch for Cordelia. Now, well, I won't be able to go since the district is my responsibility to run; sure, it's the mayor's too, but he doesn't deal with the hands-on stuff, just the nasty politics.
"Ruben, how have you been? I feel like it's been forever."
"It has indeed; way too long if you ask me," I lie through my teeth. "Back again are we?"
"I did get offered my promotion, but I turned it down," Ursula giggles. "Why would I want to be in District One when I can come back here every year and see you?"
The woman is truly delusional - countless times I have said to her that nothing can happen now that I've become the Head Peacekeeper; my job and reputation are on the line, and so are hers, but she's willing to throw it all away for a moments passion that has apparently sent her off the deep end into a pool of clueless romance. She doesn't even realise that my feelings will never, ever be reciprocated.
"Mustn't you get onto the stage and start the reapings soon?" I ask, trying to urge the woman away.
She looks behind and then front again, tugging her lip between her teeth and biting lightly. "Oh... oh I suppose I have to. I'll be quick, and then we can go back to yours?"
"You'll have to be on the train by then, Ursula."
"Oh, shoot, yeah you're right. Can't you come to the Capitol with me?"
"That was for the one year only, Ursula; I'm Head Peacekeeper now, I have a duty to everyone in this district."
Ursula frowns like some child and walks to the stage, head hanging low and an unenthusiastic smile planted on her face. She climbs the steps and passes Cordelia, not making contact with her. Cordelia looks at me slowly, eyes gazing wide, and I once again look. I'm ashamed to keep saving her; just because she's a Victor, doesn't mean she should be held captive in a life she clearly doesn't want to lead.
"Hello District Five and welcome to the Hunger Games once more," Ursula drones, voice dead and eyes slightly wet. "I will present you with your female tribute."
She crosses the gap and takes the first slip. She peels it open and sighs heavily. "India Cross, please come to the stage."
A girl with a pointed face and long hair shuffles awkwardly to the stage, eyes wide and scared as she takes each step carefully. She moves to Ursula and holds out her hand. Ursula sighs, trying to bring the microphone to her lips, but India grabs it awkwardly and brings it to her lips, "I'm nervous you know, in case you were all wondering."
Ursula snatches it back and drags herself to the boy's bowl. She glances down at me from the stage, pouting and clearly forcing the brimming tears to spill; obviously to try and guilt-trip me into attending the Capitol. I shrug and she huffs, yanking the slip with anger and slipping it open. She looks at me the entire time as she reads out the boy's name.
"Stellan Kingsley, come on down." she deadpans, eyes never leaving mine.
A boy with blistering white hair parts from the crowd and walks down neutrally. But as my eyes flick back to Ursula, I watch her silently bring her thumb to her throat, and then slice along. Fear takes hold of my heart; what is that suppose to mean?
Head Peacekeeper Hertz of District Six.
Lorcan Trump and Wisp Brucknall stop, the latter backing his steps to come face-to-face with me.
"Did you say something?"
"Yes, I did," I admit honestly. "Not that it's any of your business."
"So you talk about us but keep your mouth shut? Wise boy, Hertz." Lorcan chimes in.
"Always was a coward." Wisp hisses, moving way once more.
I've never, ever liked either of them. I've never liked any of our Victors, come to think of it. Each one claims that they saw horrors untold of and things that the mind could never erase. And, yet, they parade around like celebrities, flashing money and pretending to be vigilantes. I'll never understand why the Hunger Games have to let anyone live; they should all just die. Wisp and Lorcan climb the stage and take their seats. See? They get special treatment because they're "Victors", a term that should be used more loosely. Not to mention the fact that it's my job to make sure they're safe and everything. I basically have to act like their personal underdogs. It disgusts me enough as it is to be near them, let alone save them.
That's why every year, I pray we never win. It just boasts arrogance and egos, and we have enough of those here in District Six.
I watch as some children pack into the appropriate sections, eyes glossed over in fear.
The escort waits patiently, a comforting smile on her face. She almost looks sad; but why do the job if you felt depressed? Then again, I do this job despite hating it, but for me, money is money. That's the thing that keeps me going; knowing I can have more money and can escape poverty compared to the others.
"We'll do our male tribute first," she states calmly, a slip already in her hand. She silently apologises to the name, before peeling back the slip. "Theon Sykes."
Theon? Oh, this should be good. I hear a young woman cry, no doubt his girlfriend, Savannah. Theon and Savannah are well known around the districts; parents have tender ages. I find her face easily, bright red and painted with tears, a small child wrapped in her arms and another latched onto her leg. He doesn't understand what's going on as daddy solemnly walks to the stage. Theon is well-known, too. I've dealt with him many times, both as a teenager and a father.
He ascends the steps and the escort wraps him in a comforting hug. He doesn't respond; eyes willingly watching Savannah and his children openly sob.
"Lets keep moving," the escort seems slightly down after that. She takes the next slip and flips it. "Your female tribute is... Justice Florence."
A loud, piercing shriek is heard from the females. A bright redhead moves forward with tiny steps, tears leaking from her eyes and quivering lips ready to beg for her life. I know her, too; the youngest child and only daughter of Doctor Eugene Florence, the loyal mortician. She seems far too tearful than what I would expect of a girl that spends her days working alongside her father and dead people. When she reaches the stage, I expect Theon to look at her, but he doesn't.
Not the reaping I expected. I look to Wisp and Lorcan, conversing quietly. Lorcan catches my eye and flips his middle finger in my direction.
Really, I hope neither tribute lives; Theon's children are young and will forget, Justice's father has always been far too strange for anyone's liking. With them dead, we can avoid another arrogant Victor, much like Wisp and Lorcan.
"District Six, your tributes." the escort deadpans.
She's responded with nothing but silence.
Head Peacekeeper Popplyn of District Seven.
I've always hated District Seven. I asked for a new post, but no, I'm left like a wretched soul amongst jungle life. Of course there are no jungles out here, but the barbarians might as well live in huts in the trees. Over the more recent years since my posting, District Seven has grown more cocky, arrogant and self-assured. Their previous mayor, Mayor Root, seemed to like the idea of having many upon many Victors. He even wanted to classify District Seven as a Career district, despite only having three tributes return home victorious.
Deluded, really. I am so glad they re-elected the position once he was assassinated. By whom? Well, many say the new mayor, his opposer, Mayor Cole poisoned him. Some believed that Districts One, Two and Four were unimpressed by the note that District Seven would become a Career district - despite never getting into the Careers as far as I know - and sent over someone trained to show him what a real Career would look like, not some gorilla child.
No-one really knows, but either way, the man is dead, buried six foot under, whilst the new mayor is much more calm and collected, albeit a bit stressed.
I still hate the district though. The way the sun peaks the sky, setting down rays on green grass, green trees and just green everything. Last year, the Seven tributes died, one after the other, in the bloodbath. Both twelve year olds. Should I feel sorry? Possibly. But I don't; neither child was a good person, and in my mind, both deserved it. The boy was a common thief and the girl was nothing more than a pauper's daughter.
"Popplyn, would you mind standing on the other side of the steps?"
I snap out my trance and look up at the man. One of the mentors, Spruce, towers above me, stood on the stage. Spruce Groven himself is a nasty piece of work; the self-assured, cocky Victor who seems bigger than his boots.
"And why is that?"
"Because, if you haven't noticed, the cameras will want to look at the stage and not you. You're pretty, Popplyn, but that doesn't mean your face needs to broadcasted around the whole of Panem," he smiles, stepping back. I follow his order, begrudingly, and he smirks. "That'll do nicely."
I growl under my breath as he takes his seat next to Maple Palmer. Another wretched, gorilla woman. She, too, is cocky and arrogant, and I don't like her. Plain and simple. I don't like many inhabitants in this place, albeit a few, and even then, they are either Peacekeepers or workers that could benefit me in any way possible. Eveyone else has hair on their knuckles and likes to bang their chests.
The escort takes the stage and smiles wildly. Children flock into the Square, all looking rather scared. I hold back a scoff as a particular eighteen year old boy fails and falls, tripped by his own two feet. My fellow Peacekeeper, Adrian, smirks and helps the boy out, jabbing his finger just a bit too hard with the needle, sapping him of a tiny amount of blood. The boy has tears in his eyes, and that itself only enlightens Adrian to the point of him grinning just as wild as the escort.
"We'll do females first, I suppose," the escort seems slightly deflated after his limelight was stolen, but who wouldn't be? "And our female this year is... Laurel Aston!"
A little girl, around fourteen or so, steps apart from the crowd of girls. Her eyes are the size of saucers, wide and accusing and sad, all rolled into one. She doesn't know which emotion wants to play, and tears brim and spill down her cheeks finely. My heart, for once, goes out to this girl - she seems innocent and not at all ape-like. She moves solemnly towards the stage, whilst the escort - obviously in a rush after the whole attitude problem - snaps up a male slip and waits not-so-patiently.
Laurel climbs the stage and the escort sighs into the microphone. "And our male tribute is..."
He pauses, and a small smirk forms on his face. Everyone waits on edge - why is he seeming happy? I smile in response. Be a bad child. Be a bad child.
"Ewan Cole."
The new mayor's son? How interesting. Everyone knows him; the aggressive playboy is well-known around this district. His blonde hair and chiseled features makes him stand apart from the crowd. He snarls, teeth bared for a moment, before he angrily shoves the kid next to him out of the way, causing the boy to stumble. He storms to the crowd, a flurry of anger and accusations baring across his face, knocking any person that dares cross his path. I turn to his father, Mayor Cole, who seems to be so absorbed into his mind, he doesn't seem to realise his son climbs the steps and almost pushes Laurel, too.
Ewan, of course, is what I hate the most. An ape-child. Good riddance to him.
Head Peacekeeper Harlequin of District Eight.
The little girl stumbles, falling to the floor, banging her knee. Tears instantly prick her eyes, and as I watch from the side, my maternal instinct kicks in. I cross the small gap, ushering teenagers to move aside, and grab the girl by the shoulders. I lean her head up, to face me, and she smiles.
"Are you okay sweetheart? Did you hurt your knee?"
Her lips quiver and she nods hurriedly. "I-I was tryin' to find my momma..."
"How old are you darling?"
"5," she replies. "Where's my momma?"
I scoop the girl up into my arms, ignoring the glare from my second-in-command, Ruly. He doesn't approve of me treating this district like a home - rather than a place I work in. I care for these people compared to most people in my position. Every child, teenager, elderly person or adult are my responsibility. I'm to keep them safe and sound. Ruly believes I let my emotions cloud my judgement. Maybe I do, but that's why District Eight has always been a safe haven. We never get problems because everyone knows the Peacekeepers are here to keep peace, not introduce unknown fear.
A woman, frantic and scared, whips her head in my direction and sighs in relief. The little girl claws the air until her arms are wrapped securely around her mother's neck.
"Thank you."
"Glad to help," I smile, watching the young woman and child escape the busy crowd. I feel his breath on my neck before I see him. "What do you want Ruly?"
"You let emotions cloud your judgement."
"You sound like a broken record," I reply, turning to the younger man. "Remember whose the boss and whose the underling, Ruly. Should really learn your place."
"I do, and it'll be Head Peacekeeper soon enough." Ruly smirks.
"I'm sure it will."
Ruly smirks once again, winking as he struts pass me towards the stage, gun rattling in his holster. Even though I'm Head Peacekeeper, I hate to be at that stage when two helpless children are plucked from their innocence. Ruly, on the other hand, bathes in the power and the fear. I let him do it every year, just so I don't have to worry about their drawn, large-eyed faces staring at mine for help, when they know I'm as helpless as they are. I rub my hand over my face, truly exhausted. I take my position, on the sides alongside the others, and wait for everyone to fill in. I watch the narrow faces and sunken eyes, children I watch grow and want to protect. My own children will be in there, somewhere, but rules are rules and I'm not allowed to see them on reaping day.
The escort clips onto the stage, a drawn looking on her face. Her smile looks like a cartoon, whilst everything - hair and clothes - are a stained bubblegum pink. She doesn't stay anything, not even grabbing the microphone, before she trots to collect a slip. She swirls her hand around the glass mockingly, digging to the bottom for a slip. It could be anyone; I just hope not a young child.
She motions back to the microphone and unhooks it. "Our female tribute this year is Challis Glenley. Do I have a Challis Glenley?"
I know the girl personally. Challis has had a sheltered, humble life, with the fine riches and the luxury of food on the table every night; not something every child is lucky to get these days. Her father is close to the mayor, Mayor Burlap. Challis' beautiful face and blonde hair comes into view, tears staining her cheeks, smudging the mascara she so neatly wears. She climbs the stage and waits at the steps. Why at the steps?
"Our male tribute is..." I didn't even see the escort pick a male's name. "Anubis Cotton!"
I hear a man's voice complain, and a boy steps forward, anger flared into his eyes. This one doesn't seem so innocent compared to Challis. He moves forward, shoving a kid out the way. He storms onto the stage, finger raised in the air. "Nobody volunteers, nobody!" he calls out.
Ruly steps forward to unite both Anubis and Challis, but Anubis does nothing but send an angry kick into Ruly's knee, causing him to fall to the floor. Silence and gasps fill the air, Ruly's whiny voice vibrating from the stage. Anubis walks with determination into the Justice Building, ahead of Challis, and she kindly smiles and follows after him, leaving a stunned escort on the stage, alone.
I move forward and help pick Ruly up, making sure that he sees my smirk. "That is what you get for being a complete asshole all the time."
Head Peacekeeper Jasper of District Nine.
"I just hope no little children are reaped," Buck says quietly from our position on the stage. "I'd hate to go through what happened last year, and the year before, and the year before."
I nod in agreement. "Is Bailey joining you, or is Remy?"
"Bailey again. Trying to keep it even gendered, and, well, Bailey is the only female..."
"Yeah." I reply.
I like Buck Kamut. Compared to what you expect most Victors to be like, Buck is rather laid back and actually caring. One of the few to survive the Victor's Purge, Buck took it upon himself to ensure that all children were given a fair shot at trying. He never discriminated against the district partner. Him and Bailey, his usual fellow mentor, work as a team rather than opposites. Buck mentions that they pool sponsor money together, and try to keep both the male and female representatives alive for as long as possible. Add that to the fact that District Nine is a relatively calm district, full of simple people living simple lives, it works best. The most danger these kids have seen is what happens in their homes. As a whole, District Nine doesn't face problems like the other districts do. I've been Head Peacekeeper for almost fourty years, and I've never faced a troublesome soul.
"Jasper," I hear a voice, turning around to see Bailey's kind face. "How are you today?"
"I'm fine. Nervous for my grandchildren."
"As one would expect," Bailey smiles warmly. "Don't fear; I'm sure the odds aren't in their favor."
I nod once again, moving aside so that Bailey can sit down alongside Buck. Both are content with their lives; and it's not hidden that Buck was once apart of the rebel alliance building amongst Victors. And whilst our Victor pool is a lot smaller compared to most districts, we've fared well. I'm proud to be apart of such a warm, welcoming district. I quiet down when I watch the escort - an elderly looking woman with narrow eyes - walk onto stage and glare at the children that pack in.
"Hurry up, hurry up, we haven't got all day!" she protests into the microphone with a droning voice.
Buck and Bailey share glances as the pens are locked by my fellow Peacekeepers. I allow myself to find my grandchildren, Ricki and Asher, both holding hands in the twelve-years old section, tearful eyes and grim expressions. It won't be them. It can't be them. Surely not...
"We'll spice things up since we've waited long enough and boredom has set in," the escort drawls, "So, our males."
She grabs a slip straight from the top, teasing it with a finger. She smiles and looks into the crowd, flipping up the slip so painfully slow. She presses the microphone to her lips once more, and hushes.
"Our male tribute is..." she whispers. "Quinlan Nour."
Is that Ardere's son? Yes, I'm almost sure, and when I see the same bright blue eyes that stare at me on a daily basis, I quickly scan to find Ardere. She stands on the side, white Peacekeeper uniform spectacularly clean, staring at her son hard as he splits from the crowd. His face is a mask of boredom, almost matching Ardere's exactly. Neither care? Ardere had always been strict and rather narrow, but I didn't expect her to seem so cold against her son's sentence.
"Oh, how lovely, another young one," the escort seems unimpressed. "How about our females and some more luck, folks?"
What a wicked woman. No care for the tributes. I try to stop looking at Ardere, her eyes glued to her child, but I can't ignore the cold hatred that seems to radiate from her brightened orbs. I don't even know what other name has been called out. A scream bounds into the air, and I focus back to the scene. The girl in question seems frozen on the spot, eyes staring blankly. A boy on the outside - over reaping age clearly - is screaming her name over and over again.
Fay! Fay! Fay!
She moves slowly, willing her body to take each painful step towards her possible doom. The fear is set in her eyes. The boy is sobbing, heartbroken. Quinlan stands there with eyes locked on the floor. Ardere is on the side, studying her son. Bailey and Buck seem pained at the surroundings. Me, on the other hand, is thinking selfishly. I feel bad for the girl, I really do. For the boy and Quinlan and his mother. But my grandchildren are safe; and that's all that matters to me.
Head Peacekeeper Bale of District Ten.
"Hay Bale," Sunny says once she notices me stood on the stage. "Get it? Like Hay and Bale, your name and the round thing."
"Your banter amuses me, sister."
"So it should, I've been working on that all morning," Sunny smirks. "Have you seen Lylac? I can't find her."
"She's already out there because she turns up on time."
Sunny ponders on something for a moment. "And why are you in here then?"
"Not allowed, remember? Being your brother, I can't be on the stage; favouritism or something."
"I keep forgetting; I'm so used to seeing your ugly face everyday, I forget that I don't see it on the stage." she replies, an edge of wickedness in her voice.
"That's not very nice."
"I suppose I'm not very nice," Sunny winks. "Oh, lighten up, Bale-boy, your job is easy."
"Just go, you're late." I point, watching her bow mockingly and then disappear through the doors. Being a Victor's brother, I have to avoid showing favouritism. The Garth name has already been dragged through the mud after Sunny won her Games the most brutal of ways. I can't do the same. I mindlessly walk to the window, hands folded across my chest.
She takes her seat next to Lylac, who smacks her across the arm. I snigger, watching Sunny threaten Lylac playfully with a closed fist. The escort skips past them, nothing but a blur of green and gold. I can't hear her, so I turn around and cross the room, flicking the switch so I can hear the tanoy that sits in the corner of the room.
"Welcome District Ten! I just love your animals!"
Ew. Too enthusiastic and just a bad liar in general.
"We'll start with your female tribute," I walk to the window and watch her collect the slip, showing it to the crowd for some strange reason. "And the lucky person is Serena Pierce!"
I can't see too well from this position - an advantage, really - but I notice the girl climb the steps, body vibrating with each breath she takes. She's hyperventilating, but keeping back tears. Good on her; definitely reminds me of Sunny. Her light hair and pale complexion might be able to pull her in some sponsors once she's beautified a bit. Yeah, she might do alright. The escort grabs Serena and plops her on her left, and I watch Serena instantly go rigid. The escort crosses the stage once more to collect the male.
"And now, District Ten, your wonderful male tribute will be... Ezra Zinnia!"
Again, like Serena, I don't notice the boy until he's on stage. That's when something seems strange; he looks boyish, sure, but his features seem very delicate and if anything, his complexion is a lot smoother and cleaner than what I managed to glimpse of Serena. It must be the windows. Yeah, it must distort the tributes and everything. Like Serena, too, he stands rigid and doesn't dare move as the escort places him on Serena's side. She forcibly links their hands together and raises them in the air.
"District Ten, you wonderful district you, meet your tributes!"
She then leads both into the Justice Building. I glance at Ezra and Serena once more. And no, the window didn't distort anything, because I'm almost positive that Ezra is a girl.
Head Peacekeeper Hector of District Eleven.
Our district is the poorest. No, correction, District Twelve is poorer, but we aren't that much better. After having all our previous Victors obliterated - which wasn't even a lot anyway - we got to keep one; my sister-in-law, Ida Noire. She managed to bring home Mako, and then, the water went dry. District Eleven hasn't won since Mako and that was... the Eighty-Second Games; two decades ago. When a Victor wins, the district benefits; Mako's winning meant a lot of grain and small rewards for the families. Now, we're suffering.
Our tributes are either usually bloodbathed - the common occurence - or managed to last a day or two. Use to starvation and dehydration, they can brave a lot - a benefit over those with weapons - and yeah, they aren't completely useless, but we have never, ever fared well. Careers are more common. Since the Quarter Quell, the four Victors were dominated with three being from either Districts One or Two. The last one, last year, happened to be a frail, meek boy from District Twelve who won by pure luck.
The hollow cheeks and sunken eyes are the first sight I see when I emerge from the Justice Building, Ida and Mako in tow.
They line the pens, enlarged more than average. District Eleven, whilst poor, also happens to have a very large population. That's why we're poor; too many people fighting for minor jobs, especially when children as young as twelve are often employed more.
"Lets get this over with," Mako whispers into Ida's ear, but I manage to catch the words. "I hate this part the most."
"Don't we all." Ida responds.
They take their seat and I stand by the door, acknowledging the male escort. We are only allowed male escorts now since Eleven riots. A lot. And the Capitol doesn't feel safe sending female escorts in case they are caught in the crossfire, even though Peacekeepers are targeted the most. We are hated because the line of work we took. I was trained and employed by District Two, born and bred there too, but I was sent to District Eleven specifically because of my skin colour - Eleven is dominated by dark-skinned and olive-skinned people, with Caucasians acting as the minority. It's safer, they kept telling me over and over again.
"Shall we begin with the reapings?" the escort asks in a burly voice. "Hey! Kid! Get in the pen now and let me start!"
The kid obeys once a Peacekeeper steps forward, poking him in the back with the holster of his gun. The children are unruly due to their treatment. It's only ever getting worst, never better, and unless we provide a Victor soon, the downward tumble will only go faster.
"Our female tribute is... Lena Romero!"
A tall girl - beautiful with dark hair and tanned skin - looks bewildered for a second, before a hardened look replaces her stunning features. I know slightly of Lena; an orphan that seems motherly to the younger ones. She steals food and protects them with her own life; I should know, her arguments with the other Peacekeepers have circled back to me. They expect me to deal with her, and I did. I passed her name onto the Capitol in the hopes of this.
I smile as she climbs the stage. All done to prove that I have power over others.
"Welcome lovely lady," he smirks rather predatory. "And your district partner is..."
He moves to the male bowl and takes a slip. This, I know, isn't my fault.
"Bracken Mathis!"
I don't know this boy, thankfully. I feel bad for doing that to Lena - somewhere in my body at least - but it was for the greater good. He strides to the stage rather confidently, the pale complexion that was quickly taken when he heard his name vanishing with each step. He mounts the stage, and playfully turns around, back to the audience, Lena and the escort. She glares at his attitude - but it's an act of defiance, and isn't meant to please anyone.
Maybe, just maybe, we might have a winner after all; we really do need it.
Head Peacekeeper Magnus of District Twelve.
"Shall I do our female tribute now, folks, and then our male? Or switch it up and have some fun, hmm?"
I grin, my eyes glaring at any child who dares make any eye contact with me. Everyone in this pathetic district fears me; and they should. Well, only minutes ago, I smacked a kid around the head with my gun because he spit on my shoes, the nasty vermin. Of course he was a Seam child; they're the worse critters that could ever scurry around.
The crowd doesn't respond to the escort's cheerfulness, preventing her from having the "time of her life". She frowns, skipping across the gap past both Peeta Mellark and Crispin Ricknor, two of the few Victors that Twelve has ever gained. Being poor, this lousy district has nothing but starving, frail children, who go in and die within seconds. If they actually had the balls to volunteer every now and then, then they might win, get food, and stop being so damn pathetic.
Crispin looks at me carefully, quickly avoiding my gaze when he sees that I return the look. He's one of the frail, weak children I was on about. Winning only last year - by pure luck - he's only seventeen and not exactly the brightest bulb. From the Seam, rough as rough, a constant glaze over his eyes. I'm surprised he managed, but again, he won by pure luck; he hid and avoided everything, running like a coward, and his final opponent - some airhead from District One - was badly injured and the silly girl ran straight into a Mutt's jaws. He was declared victorious without actually breaking his soul apart to kill.
"Okay then, everyone," she mumbles, taking a slip. "We'll just keep traditional; don't want to start a trend now, do we?"
Again, no reply. I laugh under my breath; stupid woman.
"District Twelve, your female tribute this year happens to be... Katerine Holloway!"
A girl who looks seemingly normal extracts herself from the crowd - though it takes a while for Katerine to pry the hand of another girl off of her - and walks slowly towards us. Her eyes shake with fright, but she tries to hold on hope. I wouldn't, girl, you're as good as dead. The escort clutches her hand and pulls her to the centre of attention. From here, I can make out the way her hair is thin in some places, but what distracts me the most is the way she seems to be curling her fingers against her side.
Strange girl; probably Seam, all the broken, twisted, tormented, weird or just plain idiotic children seem to come from that area of District Twelve.
"Is everyone excited for the male? Are you Katerine?"
She nods without looking, eyes cast on something outwards. The escort sighs and collects the male slip with ease, simply leaning around Katerine. She folds it open and I grin, eyeing up many of the younger males, taunting them with my eyes.
"Colton Dacanay!"
A crowd parts, leaving two boys in the middle. One looks petrified, the other seems almost clueless. The petrified one nudges the other forward, who stumbles and turns, realising what is actually happening. He sinks into the crowd, leaving the obvious Colton alone. He sighs and moves forward slowly, some other boys quietly encouraging and supporting him. As he ascends the steps, like before, the escort catches him with sharp nails and lines him against Katerine.
"Oh, now, we have a great pair here, wouldn't you agree?" the escort chirps, nails digging into their shoulder blades.
He isn't Seam; his looks give that much away. Ah, well, next year we'll lose another rat. What am I saying, we'll lose both again. We're the underdogs and they are always meant to die, one way or another. That's what we get for coming from such a pathetic district.
Underdog by Imagine Dragons.
The blog for this story is wildone hunger games . blogspot - all deaths will be notified here!
All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.
I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!
Any reapings stand out to you, or POVs?
And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!
Firstly, I apologise for the length - I didn't mean for it to be so long but I just wanted it over with!
Secondly, this chapter was dreadful to write. Anyone who knows me knows I loathe reapings with my whole being. Writing this destroyed my creativity and fun. So, I apologise that this might well and truly suck. I promise it'll get better; again, I just wanted this over and done with so I can get into the characters!
All the tributes got a little bit to shine, they'll be developed some more in the Capitol! Oh, and yeah, some POVs are shorter than others, so again, I'm sorry!
