Author's Note: Ok. I said that I was going to write about 6 tributes in this chapter but I did not. I'm sorry I updated late, I needed to study Chemistry and its alkali metals. 'sighs'
Also, I will not be writing reapings the next chapter. I'm getting tired of good old Phebe Stunn. Too bubbly for me. Now, don't fret! I will introduce the remaining characters by the 'farewells' part. You know, where the tribute says goodbye to family and friends. And after that, I will introduce other characters in their interviews in the justice building after the reaping. Ok, if you ask: they have interviews? Yes they do. In the book, Collins was describing how Peeta was crying so much when they were interviewing him after he was called in the reaping. NOTE! It's not the official interviews they have those with Caesar Flickerman! It's the one AFTER THE REAPING.
What do you think?
...
She stared at the woman with the great blue hair. Her constant static smile only looked toxic to the girl. She watched her delicate, flawless hands make their way to the glass ball and for once, she prayed, she prayed to the gods in the universe that it won't be her. "And for the third girl to walk in this stage for the honor..." Phebe roared at the audience, her voice making an impact to the open air, "who will it be?"
Who will it be? The Capitol asked themselves. Phebe answered with sing-song voice, "Sisu Alros! Everybody!"
The young girl could only choke on her own tears. Her prayers went against her and she wasn't ready for death. For a moment, she thought that she could hide in the crowd; pretend that she was not Sisu Alros. Not many knew her anyways; she was always hidden in that godforsaken mansion, quietly doing her chores and allowing herself to be bossed around by despicable co-servants. She could have fought back and would have, if only she had the blessing of voice.
She was mute.
"Come now, sweetheart." Phebe fleeted her eyes through the anticipating crowd, she can't see the girl, "where are you?"
She fell down to her knees, clutching her cotton dress until her knuckles turned white. When a boy about her age, 14, realized that with her grieving tears that she was the reaped girl, he shoved her up. "Are you that girl?" he asked in a hostile tone of voice. She couldn't reply. She never knew how. Being one of the several illegitimate daughters of an influential politician, she was always hated. Her disability made them think she was stupid and illiterate. In fact, working as a maid in her father's mansion, they always implied that she was an avox.
Why don't they look at her tongue first? She still has a tongue.
The boy gripped her and shoved her to the stage. Then he laughed, "good luck with your fate, you wretched squatter." She glanced at him in damned tears. She faced Phebe next. She's going to die anyways and will fail at life. As she, step by step, worked her way in the stairs, she only wished for one thing. And this time, she wished the gods will answer her.
She wanted to be strong.
...
Phebe Stunn swayed her hips, all the energy in the world was bursting through her. Pitiful girls had crossed her stage, it gets annoying after a while. What happened to feminism? She automatically places her hand inside the reaping ball; it was like a reflex now. After she drew out a name, she faced the crowd and with great suspense, she announced, "The boy who shall participate is...Apollo Jolt!"
The announcement was then followed by an outcry of gasps. The boy of 16 years was obviously known and not for the high society reputation his family earned as renowned interior designers, of course not. His reputation was by his own doing. And it was the women who they had caught an eye on him. Consequentially, it was the women who owned the gasps. Apollo though, as the young girls wouldn't have thought, he was shaking quite terribly. His enhanced, flawless features were overshadowed with terror. He was one of those who were shaking grotesquely.
He was a social being, the life of the party and a manipulator of women but he wasn't a contender of the games. He just carried all his life an invisible crown and of course, magnificent sex appeal. But he's not smart and he knows that. Several stared at disbelief and he could even hear them swear under their breaths. He could still think straight enough to understand the whimpers were the damned women who are heartbroken that he will never be under their bed sheets again. How dismal, really. He didn't really care about them.
But the shock in his body was so great that his knees were numb while climbing his way to the stairs. Phebe extended an arm for help, her brilliant eyes adoring such handsome young boy. "Sweet, don't you worry."
She was only saying that because she was a woman.
But he was a man for all women.
...
She was a young girl of fame, of fur coats, of cigars and alcohol. Her life was pioneered by the half-witted, moronic media of the Capitol and beyond that, she was no one. Cordelia Betram was only a woman of celebrity status, a luxurious doll decked by her father to gain a farther elite status as an influential politician. He would train her to look superior, hold her head high and her back erect in the most dignified manner. This was until she became a famous socialite, a young girl of self-possession, confidence and dignity.
She watched as the woman of many capitol enhancements and blue hair leaped across the stage and trying to excite the audience. She was charismatic but she also did look stupid with overjoyed movements. Cordelia's mind whooshed and whooshed and buzzed. She can't even keep her balance. Her body swayed left and right and she wasn't even aware that the people around her were getting irritated. When her body finally gained balance, she had the most terrible, terrible headache of her life. Ugh, it wasn't like she still didn't get used to it. Being drunk felt good. She had drunk too many bottles and she didn't care. It wasn't like she would do something stupid when she was in influence with liquor. No, she's used to it.
Phebe lifted a name and spread the audience a great ludicrous smile. "A lovely young girl has been reaped," she roared which was followed by an infectious laugh, "who could it be?" Her words triggered an air of suspense and the air was shadowed with silence.
"Elerrine Caster!"
Cordelia watched as a girl of 12 climb the stage which was twenty times as big as her. She was in a daze; the shock was probably too much for her. As she shook the hand of Phebe's extended arm, she turned almost pale as a ghost. It was like she just suddenly realized she was going to die. But who would not feel such terror when Phebe's eyes were eating her. When the blue-haired woman was about to announce Elerrine as tribute, she heard a faint voice from the crowd.
"I volunteer."
Cordelia didn't know how it happened. She had lost most of her sense and the liquor was heaving hard into her brain worse than she imagined. She just realized she had climbed through the stairs and she was arm to arm with the host. "Finally! Some feminism you showed me!" she told Cordelia with great animation in her face. She could not realize the girl was not in her proper mind, no one did. Her father's training taught her how to facade anything with a sole dignified face.
But what would her father think now? This was public mistake. She was a contender of political parties, theatre shows and extensive schools brought by the need of adapting to the social network her parents built. She wasn't a competitor of life and death!
"Cordelia Betram as female tribute!"
She was a woman of fame, of fur coats, of cigars and alcohol. But she was not a woman of death.
...
Luce Evory cursed and cursed and cursed under his breath. You could feel the tension in his words. What the fucking hell? He watched as Cordelia made her way to the stage and to her predicted death. Why couldn't she just stay put beside him? Why did she have to escape and wander off to her fancy street pubs? She made such a moronic mistake and she wasn't conscious enough to realize it. No one seemed to know that she was in influence of alcohol, something she was greatly trained at, but he could know. He was her personal guardian.
Hired guardian.
He watched as both women onstage shone such magnetic smiles. Then she exited the stage, her head still high with unwavering dignity and drunkenness. Both of his parents sold Luce to the Bertram family due to an exorbitant amount of debts to the said family. He was still as fresh in seven years old when he was sent to protect Cordelia who was being pursued by hitmen of the Bertrams' enemies. He was trained. He served her like another servant. He guided her when she was riding her horses. He made sure her dress never touched mud. He protected her when she was harassed by thick-headed camera men. He brought her home whenever she was drunk. He hated his life.
He hated her.
And now he watched how Phebe Stunn takes a hand to the reaping ball, "Which gentleman is next?" The audience shifted uncomfortably again. It was time for suspense again. He didn't know how this woman lived ten years of reaping children who would die. But she did. And now he knows what responsibility he would have to take.
If he did not protect her at the games her family would have had blamed him that it would be his fault for her death. They would accuse him of letting her die. If they do, being a powerful family that they are, have him and have his family executed. He could not let that happen. He loved his family to much. He will have to volunteer for that woman of a bitch.
The next time he opened his mouth, two words came out.
"I volunteer."
I love the Sisu Alros part! Which do you like?
And please do not just give 'I love this chappie', I really appreciate criticizes.
