Hey!
Back with the District Two reapings/goodbyes. The update was a little later (okay, maybe a lot) than I had hoped :/ Mainly because it was school holidays. :(
Percy was submitted by Sorceress of the False and Crystal was submitted by K Drama Queen.

Sorry for the late update!This was partially my fault, I edited this chapter later than planned!

The 174th Hunger Games: Pandora

"Anna—"

"I volunteer!"

Blade Stonewell searched through the crowd for the volunteer. She emerged from the sixteen-year-olds section: a girl with wavy chestnut hair flowing almost down to her waist and green eyes the colour of the new daffodil shoots in spring. She walked up to the stage confidently, her face like stone, a sort of brave smirk etched upon it. Andromeda Platinum grasped her shoulders with her white gloves, as if the girl was her particularly difficult child. The girl cringed slightly, not used to having a Capitol escort treat her like a disobedient daughter. Blade thought her saw an splotch of angry red on her neck, but the girl swept her hair over her shoulder, and Blade wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not…

"And your name is?" asked the Capitol escort, her silver lipstick flashing.

"Crystal Rynolds," she answered, her eyes fixed on the crowd. A hint of a smile played on her lips.

"Well, Crystal, let's find out about your district partner, hm?" said Andromeda in a voice as sweet as sugar. Honestly, all the capitol escorts were twerps with ridiculous accents and wigs.

Blade and his partner, Acalia, had already got a pretty good idea of the tributes for this year. Deadly kids, trained at the Center for years, able to find fifty different ways of killing off the outer districts. Even if there were no volunteers, they still had a fighting chance. Basic training was compulsory. The old Victor smirked.

Andromeda tottered over to the boys' reaping bowl. She daintily plucked out a slip and…

"Perseus Romulus Zermellious!"

Instead of a beefy eighteen-year-old stepping up to volunteer, whispers rippled through the crowd of teens; and it was obvious why. A short, black-haired boy stepped out from the sixteen-year-olds' section. Percy's skin was as pale as snow, and his outfit of a pristine white shirt and black dress pants made him look even more vampire-esque. His eyes were adorned with coloured contact lenses, which made his irises a vivid shade of fiery red, with flecks of orange and yellow, making it look like contained flames were raging behind his eyelids. He was slightly skinny, just enough for you to think he needed feeding up: which Andromeda obviously thought as she looked at him distastefully - although she herself was thin as a pin. He walked up to the stage, looking very afraid, until a burly silver-haired boy started to volunteer.

"I volun—"

"DON'T YOU DARE TAKE MY PLACE!"

Percy had spun around and shouted at the boy, his eyes literally flaming. The volunteer was at least a foot taller than him, yet the small teen had an eerie power, as if he was protected by other means than fists and weapons. Silver-Hair looked unsure – not a good move on national TV. Apparently, having Hunger Games training in District 2 didn't reach much further than weapons and survival skills. Some of his friends were muttering to him – a boy with brown eyes and a shaved head seemed to be convinced that this was some sort of trick to stop his friend competing; a pretty black-haired girl stared at the would-be volunteer with pity from across the square. The crowd murmured anxiously – they obviously had no clue about protocols for reaped tributes unwilling to be volunteered for. Even Andromeda teetered on her high heels, looking profoundly as if she needed to relieve herself. It was time for the mentors to step in.

Blade shot a look at Acalia. She nodded, a strange look in her eyes, like she was ready to test this strange new power housed in a skinny boy. Blade looked at Silver-Hair and raised his chin slightly. The boy cursed, furious. He couldn't volunteer when he was nineteen, but hey, trained Careers were abundant in District 2. Blade was sure that there was a seventeen-year old winner somewhere in the crowd.

He fixed his attention on Percy and Crystal. Crystal looked at the sixteen-year-old with a look of mild disgust – Careers weren't fond of unskilled tributes they had to drag behind, and Crystal looked every inch a Career: brutal, ruthless and unafraid to show it. She casually flipped her hair over her shoulder, then suddenly a look of panic ran across her face and she covered her bare neck with her hair again. Blade was almost certain he'd saw something there… A scar…

Percy, on the other hand, looked as if he had swallowed all his fear from before, and it was giving him indigestion. He was trying hard to hide it, with mixed results: he didn't quite look brave; more slightly queasy. All the traces of his outburst were gone from before, and he avoided looking back out into the crowd. Blade sensed that this was not out of anxiety, but barely controlled anger, which was disguised expertly. He couldn't see Percy's eyes, but he knew they were almost laughing. This one, he thought, is going to be a tricky one…

Crystal Rynolds gasped with relief the moment she was locked safely in the Justice Building room. She took deep breaths, sinking into the black leather couch, her eyes stinging. The brute girl she was playing for the cameras was every inch a fake. For a moment, she was engulfed in the immediate terror of being thrown into the Games, teens after her blood, Careers which would look upon her in an insultingly scrutinising way, eventually to accept her and then probably kill her while she slept. And even if she survived the chaotic breakup of the Careers, how could she possibly survive on her own with no help, just other people like her ready to destroy if they caught sight of one another-

Then she remembered her dad.

As if on cue, Steve Rynolds opened the door and slumped into an armchair opposite Crystal, examining its intricate stitching. Crystal's siblings, Stephanie and Kyle, both in their mid-twenties, sat on the couch, either side of Crystal. Stephanie hugged her, dousing Crystal in the stench of expensive perfume and scratching her skin with the weirdly trendy plate mail top she wore on special occasions. Then Steph sat up straight and composed herself, ready to give Crystal her strategy speech which Crystal had heard her reciting in her bedroom in her spare time. Kyle almost hugged her, then restrained himself and just shook her hand firmly, the way Blade and Acalia had done to her earlier, in the courteous, restrained way Victors were supposed to behave.

Being Victors had turned her brother and sister into twits.

Steph started blabbering on in a slight Capitol accent about how to best impress the Career gang, and benefits of being in their alliance. Kyle occasionally cut in, giving her advice about which weapons she should pick, their advantages, their weaknesses. Crystal didn't really listen. When she looked at her siblings, she only saw some bizarre clones that had replaced her loving brother and sister after their Games'. Living in a Victor's Village house had only washed away all the friendship between them: replacing memories of smiling teen faces playing with a toddler Crystal, using some sticks for mock-fencing contest, with a cold reality of dinner-parties where Steph faffed around with silk dresses and jewelled necklaces without noticing Crystal had been omitted from the invitation; a world where her big brother disappeared to the senior boy's training every other afternoon without giving a thought to how Crystal was progressing. After a while, Steph awkwardly pecked Crystal on the cheek and left, probably going to laugh with her friends and discuss their predictions for the chariot ride. Kyle grasped Crystal's shoulder's and beamed at her, only seeing the Victor he was certain she would become. Crystal wasn't so sure.

Steve Rynolds stood up slowly, picking the dirt from beneath his fingernails, a slight expression of distaste on his face which made him look like a spoiled prince. Unlike Crystal's siblings, though, her father had been this way as long as she could remember. She had heard from some of her neighbours that Steve Rynolds had been one of those despicably low people to bet on tributes' outcomes in the Games. Her father had no place in his life for the burden of kids – so, when his wife had given him three , his solution was to train them, then make them volunteer as soon as they were supposedly ready, either winning riches and fame or removing another hungry mouth. And with two out of three already Victors, Crystal was expected to uphold the new family tradition.

Only she didn't want to. She had already watched many Games. While others cheered at the gory downfalls of outer district kids, she silently fumed at the Career pack. Why could no one else see them for what they were – brutal killers? When she was signed up for training at nine years old, she realised the only way not to get bullied into oblivion was to act tough, like the Careers in the Games. And the charade continued, all the way to sixteen years old, when her father told her to volunteer. That was when she couldn't keep up the act anymore.

"Dad, I can't! I'll die!" Crystal screamed. Steve just laughed.

"Crystal, honey, you've been training for seven years. You're by far the best in the academy. You'll win for sure," laughed Steve, seeming to think that twenty-two other tributes were a piece of cake.

"Dad, the other Careers will kill me in my sleep! And there's always an outer district pair that comes to try and do us in at the end! If you put me in there it's as good as a death sentence!" Crystal's eyes stung. Tears were threatening to spill over her eyelashes. She stared at her father, unblinking. Steve was starting to look angry. Crystal knew she was playing with fire here: her father had the temper of a hungry bulldog, one whose bark and bight were equally terrifying.

"Crystal, don't be stupid. Steph and Kyle both won. Who says you'll be any different?" growled her father, anger slowly seeping into his voice. He spat a little on the last word.

"Dad, I can't kill," said Crystal, spitting out the words so fast that they were barely recognisable. A twitch in Steve's eye showed that he has heard her though. He clenched his fists.

"Say that again, honey?" he said, his voice dangerously calm. His eyes were almost sparking with rage. Crystal took a deep breath.

"I can't kill other kids," she whispered.

It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck Steve Rynolds. He shouted obscenities at his daughter, who sunk inter her chair and flinched at every word. At an attempt to plug her fingers into her ears, Steve seized his daughter and shook her, while screaming about how she had disgraced her family and he had thought she was a runt from the start. When she started screaming, he slapped her with a beefy hand across the face. It felt as if he had smashed a burning rock into her cheek. She desperately tried to force his arms away from her, but he shoved her back into the chair, which she clung to, paralysed with fear. She covered her eyes with her arms.

An ice cold stinging sensation crawled across the back of her neck. She howled. She put her hand up to the pain, and felt the chill of polished steel. Her father had cut her with a knife from the training centre – the very one she had been practicing with in the backyard. She gasped and fell onto the floor. Steve held up the knife for her to see, stained with her own blood. Crystal felt as if she was going to puke.

"A token to remind you of me in the arena," he said, looking down at her furiously.

All of this passed through her mind in the Justice Building. Crystal's hand instinctively went to her neck, where the scar reminded her of that terrible night, one of many nights when she had cried herself to sleep. She hated her father more than anyone she had ever known – but fear kept her in check.

Steve Rynolds turned to leave the room. He looked back at his daughter for a second, steel grey eyes flashing.

"You'd better win," he growled, closing the door behind him.

The Peacekeepers shoved Percy into the Justice Building's stylish living room. They turned and shut the door behind him. One gave him a dirty look, as if saying "Don't even try it." As if he would dare try anything in here. District Two, where the tributes are trained to have perfect manners and take your coats. Well, he wasn't exactly up to standard here.

Percy slumped in the chair, slowly combing his longish curly black hair with his fingers, and wondered if anyone really liked him enough to visit before he died.

The first to visit was his family. His mother, Helena, squeezed him in a rib-crushing embrace. He tried to protest, but his face was full of Helena's long, copper coloured hair, so Percy just hugged her back instead. She broke away after what seemed like a full torturous minute, her heart-shaped face beaming at him, grey eyes warm with hope. Weird time for that, thought Percy, seeing as I'm going to the Capitol to murder other innocent kids. Panem really is a wonderful place. He decided to not shout his sarcastic thoughts aloud, though. If his mother wanted to be happy, who was he to deny happiness?

"My little Perseus, off to the Capitol," she whispered, smiling. "You'll come back a Victor, darling. You can win." She stroked his messy hair as she talked. Percy gave a faint smile.

Percy's father, a tall man named Jerome, sat down on the couch with him, squeezing his shoulders. He was smiling too, his green eyes shining.

"I have always known you would be a champion, son," he said, eyes slightly watery. "I know you won't disappoint me."

Percy sighed slightly, his mouth still stuck in a half-smile. His family were seriously besotted with the Games. Although Percy had been training since he was eight, he didn't really want to be in the Games. As bad as life in the hellhole known as Panem was, ending it wouldn't do anything to make the situation better. And who would care for the hidden dog and rabbits he was secretly caring for in his room?

His sisters, Juniper and Kelli sat on the couch beside him. Juniper, the youngest, cuddled up to her father like a toddler, even though she was almost 11 years old. Kelli, the pretty popular thirteen-year-old, was idly examining her nails. It was clear neither of them was showing much concern for Percy. They were certain he was to win. Or maybe, said the dark little voice in Percy's head, they really just don't care about you. Percy knew this wasn't true; even though they teased him for being "weird and depressed", they must have some sort of attachment to him.

"You know," said Kelli, "when you win, I might start telling people I'm actually related to you."

Helena and Jerome laughed, and Juniper let out a little giggle in amusement, but the dark voice in Percy's head was sniggering.

Juniper stood up and approached Percy warily.

"What is it?" he said in a tired voice. "I won't bite, Junie."

"Daddy wanted me to give you this," she said, dropping a small object into Percy's lap. He picked it up and examined it. It was a silver chain with a chunk of amber as a pendant.

"Hm," said Percy.

"It's from District Four," said Jerome. "To remind you of the sea. We remember how much you loved swimming there."

Percy had moved to District Two from Four when he was about thirteen, a fact he really despised, as the only reason was so he could have better training for the Games: which showed how much his family really loved the Games. Percy really missed the sea now – the warm days spent swimming in the shallows, the storms that turned the sea into a fearsome beast. District Two was disappointing in comparison – the roar of the waves was nowhere to be found, and the climate was considerably colder. He knew that the outer district's citizens certainly couldn't immigrate into other districts, but in the Career districts they were allowed some leverage. The paperwork was atrocious, though.

Percy's family had recently installed a swimming pool in their large estate, which he enjoyed swimming in. He was exceptionally good at it, and his mother was amazed at his enthusiasm. He was especially motivated by his morbid fear of drowning.

Staring at the chunk of hard orange tree sap, he still couldn't see the point in moving to District Two. And a swimming pool was crappy compensation.

"Thanks, Dad. I'll use this to strangle the other tributes," said Percy in a steely voice, shoving the necklace in his pocket. He could hear the roar of stormy waves pounding in his ears.

There was a very awkward silence for about twenty seconds.

Jerome gave an overly hearty "There's my boy," and got up to leave. Kelli was wearing the expression she used whenever Percy said something weird in front of her friends. Helena gave Percy a peck on the cheek and hurried out of the door, tugging Juniper out by the wrist, who was looking very surprised indeed.

Percy breathed in and out, taking in the silence of the now empty room.

The door opened quietly, the handle turning slowly as to make as little noise as possible. Percy spied a lock of curly purple hair, quickly followed by a pale, pretty face and neon green eyes.

"What did you say to your family just then?" asked Olivia Larson, her head hanging around the door.

"Something stupid," Percy sighed. "I got mad. My father gave me this stupid token to 'remind me of Four'. Screw remembering Four, why can't we just move back there?"

Percy's voice rose to a shout at the end of the sentence, but instead of getting mad he just put his head in his hands. Olivia looked pitifully at him.

"And as soon as I settle in to District Two, actually find people who care about me—" he glanced at Olivia with a small smile "—I get shipped off to the Hunger Games." Percy snorted.

Olivia stepped into the room, and walked daintily over to the couch where Percy sat. She had pale skin like Percy, and was short for her age too. Her diamond studded ears flashed behind her indigo curls.

"Perce, you're only gonna be in the Games for a while," she said, sitting down next to Percy and taking his hands. "I'll see you in a few weeks, that's all."

Percy grasped Olivia's small hands in his slender fingers. "I was going to propose to you, Liv," he said quietly, his voice sounding less sharp this time. "I was saving up for a ring to buy you on your next birthday."

Olivia laughed. Her laugh sounded like birdsong to Percy. "Stealing money to buy a ring, more like."

Percy pretended to look insulted. "I, stealing? I was simply practicing my technique of being sneaky and silent. I might need it, after all; I might get reaped!"

Olivia giggled, and Percy even chuckled slightly. Percy wasn't a serious thief – he had only ever stolen things like change lying around people's houses, practicing a skill he had discovered whilst training in District Four.

"Anyway," continued Olivia, "when you win, you won't need to steal—" she poked Percy's nose on this word "—any more money, not with all the Victor's winnings." She smiled.

"What do you mean, when I win?" asked Percy.

"You're not exactly going to try and lose, are you?" said Olivia.

"No, but—"

"Then you will win, Perce," said Olivia, smiling. "You're the most determined person I know. You just don't have anything to be determined for. Until now."

She was right. Percy knew the instinct to live was too strong – even in a fractured world like Panem, there was a reason to go on, and his was Olivia. She hugged him, wrapping her skinny arms around his waist, burying her head in his chest. Percy realised she was crying.

"Hey, I'll come back, Liv," she said softly. Olivia looked up and smiled at him.

"No getting rid of you," she said, kissing the end of his nose.

Percy stroked her purple hair, tracing the strands from the auburn roots just starting to grow back in, to the ends of her long curls. She was the most precious thing in the world to him, far more than jewels or riches or a Victor's crown. She could make him smile, or laugh with joy even on days when he felt like screaming at the sky for being born into the torturous world they lived in. Because even when all he felt was death, Olivia Larson reminded him what it was like to be alive again. Without her, there was nothing.

The door opened, and a Peacekeeper stomped in.

"It's time," he said gruffly.

Olivia stood up, ready to leave.

"Wait!" said Percy. The Peacekeeper shot him a murderous look.

"Tell my family I'm sorry," said Percy. "I got angry, and that was stupid. I love them, and I shouldn't have forgotten that." Normally Percy was more stubborn and didn't apologise, but on the off chance that he never spoke to them…

"Ok," said Olivia with a smile.

"Love you, Liv," said Percy, kissing the top of her head.

"Love you, Percy," laughed Olivia. "See you soon, ok?" she said as she left the room.

Later, in the car driving them to the station, Blade observed the tributes. Percy had a slight glint in his eyes, like he was already planning out something. Crystal looked like she had been crying. Percy turned to observe Crystal as well.

"What are you looking at?" she said immediately, the skin around her eyes still red and slightly puffy.

"Nothing."

Next chapter as soon as I get the D3 tributes!
D4 chapter should be following on shortly after: I already have the D4 characters and I have begun writing :)