"Light always underestimates the viciousness of darkness."
- P.C. Cast
So I realize it's been a really long wait and sjdlfkj school started up again and my sister got married and also depression hit so I was not here for writing a lot of the time. But... hopefully I don't keep repeating this lmao. I'm gonna try to make myself stick to a POV a day for every day that I physically can but sometimes executive dysfunction/life just doesn't let you do shit lol
I don't think I should be as slow now that school has started tho bc school always makes me write more. And anyway I don't think I'm gonna disappear for that long again bc I hated doing that and I feel really bad sdjfljd but some things are out of my control I guess
Also I know that this isn't the full three districts as was planned, but I'll do four districts next time. I think part of my problem is I know I'm so late, and I'm so bothered with getting all three districts out that it's stressing me out more than it should. So starting a new chapter will hopefully allow me to write more without worrying about that!
Anyway on a less upsetting note, here's the chapter! I hope you all enjoy and let me know if you do!
Broehain Greene (15) — District Three
Every reaping morning, Broehain's mother and father would relax on him. His mother would usually wake him up once breakfast was almost done and they would eat as a family, and for a moment it would always seem like the two of them were okay. Like they were calming down, and he could take a deep breath and not fear returning home more than he feared his name being drawn from the reaping bowl.
When he woke up in the tub instead, it was certainly a surprise. The water was half full and freezing, and his skin was pruny. His neck ached like hell from sleeping in such a horrible position, and it seemed like at some point he woke up and vomited, but he couldn't remember anything.
His lip ached and there was a cut on his knee he couldn't remember getting. He must have cleaned himself off after something particularly bad the night before. Maybe he and Silas got drunk.
He remembered going out to see Silas, and he knew that if his parents found out he was still seeing him, they would do whatever it took to impress upon him that that was unacceptable, but he couldn't drag forth any memories of them catching him sneaking back in.
When he tried to move, he found that more of them was hurting than his knee and his lip. His whole body felt a little weak and bruised, and there was another cut on his cheek and forehead when he reached up to feel. He let out a gasp when he put weight on his injured knee. "Fuck," he breathed, feeling disgusting. He was still a little covered in vomit, and he had been sleeping in water mixed with it. But he didn't have time to empty the tub and run another bath. It wasn't long before the reaping. Why hadn't his parents come to wake him up?
He turned the faucet on and grabbed a rag hanging off of a hook by the sink. He wiped himself down the best he could and then dunked his head under the water. That was probably the best he could do. He went and got dressed in his room, knowing that his parents would probably be angry with him for waking up so late. They were probably oversleeping too, but they would still blame him.
Once he felt like he was presentably clean, he checked the time. There was still time for a make-do breakfast before they left, so he went toward their room. After knocking a couple times with no answer, he opened the door cautiously, frowning and looking around the door as he opened it.
There was no one.
He was starting to get really confused. He didn't know where they could have gone. He didn't know what they would be doing that they were nowhere to be found. It was a little frightening, really, as they had never done this before on reaping morning. They all had to be there, so why would they just leave him here to potentially not wake up?
"Mom? Dad?" he called, checking in the kitchen next. He turned the corner into the little room where they cooked and ate, with the wooden floors and the light cabinets.
Blood.
It was splattered along the cabinets and pooled around the center of the kitchen. The kitchen that his mother had always called "quaint" was stained with red, a sharp contrast to the homely feeling that his parents tried to give their house.
Broehain stumbled away from it and walked out of the house without a thought in his head. He didn't notice where he was going until he was a block away from his house, his hands shaking as he gripped the hem of his shirt tightly. He didn't know what to do. He turned around and looked back, his breaths coming quicker and quicker.
What happened? How did all of that blood get there? Where were his parents?
Why couldn't he remember the night before? Why did he wake up in the tub?
There was a patch of trees between his house and Silas's—he realized he was heading in that direction—so he stopped over there for long enough to throw up. When that was over, he was left feeling dirty and raw, and his stomach ached and his head pounded. He felt like someone had taken sandpaper over more than his whole body, but his mind and his soul, too. He was so confused. He was so scared.
He walked to Silas's house, wishing that he had something to give him support. The moment that Silas opened the door to Broehain's knocks, he collapsed against him, shaking.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's wrong?" Silas asked, though his arms snaked around Broehain like he would never let go. Broehain was scared of the moment when he inevitably would. "Eha, what's going on? You're shaking. A lot."
Normally when things were wrong and Silas called him "Eha," the silly nicknamed that originated from his name being unnicknameable, it made him feel better. It made him feel at home when he knew that he was close to Silas and he remembered how much his boyfriend cared about him. But now, he didn't know if anything could help how he was feeling. He didn't know if anything could give him the answers, and he was scared of whatever they were.
"My parents are gone and there— Silas, there was blood. There was so much blood. It was all over the kitchen, I…" He trailed off, remembering the pool, the light-colored cabinets and the way that the crimson looked, speckled like a paint-splattered design over where they kept their pots and rags and food. He felt out of his head, like slowly everything that was him was being pulled gently out of his body, until he was aching distantly but he couldn't feel himself shaking, could only barely feel Silas's arms as they came around him.
"It's okay, it's okay," Silas breathed, his lips against Broehain's hair, but none of that really mattered. He felt like the world was tinted red, and he was watching it from afar. "It's okay. Let's go sit down and you can tell me what happened."
They walked in the house. It didn't feel right that their house felt normal. It was the same as it had ever been, with Silas's sister walking from the hallway to the kitchen, barely sending them a glance, and his parents were in the other room.
"Silas, who was here?" his dad called from the other room.
"Broehain. We're gonna go to my room for a minute."
There was a pause, as there was always hesitation and uncertainty when Broehain came over. Silas's parents didn't like seeing him with the bruises on his face or the busted lips he wore around when his parents were angry with him—and he was sure that they would like it even less if they knew that a lot of the time, they were angry about him spending any time around Silas.
"We're leaving soon," his dad finally called.
Silas led him through the hallway down to the room at the end, and Broehain didn't really care where he was being taken so long as there was somewhere to sit when they got there. He had been in this bedroom plenty of times before, though, after years of being school friends. He had spent the night in this room, had snuck into this room, had found solace in this room. It was the safest place in the world, as far as he knew.
He sat down on Silas's bed and looked up at the white ceiling. He gripped the sheets underneath him, and when he looked down at his hands, his knuckles were white. Silas sat down next to him, so he looked over at him. His eyes were so dark, so beautifully brown. There was a little bit of gold in there.
"Eha, you don't… you look funny." There was so much worry in Silas's voice, and Broehain hated it but he couldn't remember how not to feel separated and scared. He didn't remember how to seem like he was okay, and it didn't matter anyway. What Silas needed was for Broehain to be okay, not to pretend like he was. "Tell me what happened."
It took him a moment to think of what to say, not because anything Silas said required a difficult answer but because he was scared of reorienting himself. He was scared of what it would feel like to get that feeling in his stomach again, and how much it would hurt to think of what could happen if the world wasn't muted. "I did," he finally settled on.
"You just said they were missing and there was blood." Silas took his hand and held it close to his chest. He could feel his heartbeat against his fingers. He wanted to live in the rhythm of that heartbeat, instead of the world, where he found blood on kitchen floors and cabinets and he listened to Silas's father's voice and remembered his own father's voice the night before after he snuck back in the house.
"That's all I saw."
He put his head in his hands and shut his eyes. Silas's hand, now vacated, went to his back gently.
"Eha, if someone came in your house, why didn't they come for you?"
"I don't know!" He looked up at Silas, angry now. He didn't fucking know why any of this happened, or even what happened, so how was he supposed to know why he was okay? He didn't even know for sure if his parents had been killed, but it sure seemed like they had. How the hell was he supposed to be able to interpret the killer's motives?
Silas looked a lot more nervous than he did a moment ago. "We should go," he said gently. "We can figure this out after the reaping, okay?"
He nodded a little bit, feeling some sense come to him, but he could still feel how badly his hands were shaking. Silas stood up and held out his hand, which Broehain took thankfully. He squeezed slightly, but he felt weak. Silas wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"It'll be okay." Silas looked at him steadily, through the fear in his eyes. "I promise you that it'll be okay, Eha."
He didn't know if he believed him, but he walked out of his room with him.
His parents were standing at the door and it looked like his sister had been sent to go retrieve him, as she was at mouth of the hallway and turned around upon seeing them.
"Are you going to the reaping with us, Broehain?" Silas's mother asked him.
He nodded a little bit, looking between the door and his shoes. "Yes."
"Okay," she said pleasantly, but it was impossible not to hear the worry in her voice.
The five of them left the house and began to walk toward the square. It wasn't far from Silas's house, so they didn't need to take the train in, but they would be cutting it close. Broehain didn't care if they were leaving late, if they were going to have to hurry along to make it on time. He didn't care about anything. The reaping seemed like such a small problem now.
Silas's mother and father were chattering the whole way there, filling the fearful void with their words. Talyn, Silas's sister, stuck close to the two of them, but she didn't say anything. She was twelve. This was the first year their parents had to worry about both of them.
He was sure that, to them, the reaping seemed like the biggest problem in the world.
He just wanted to know what was going on. Nothing was making sense. His mind wasn't making sense. He saw the ground that they were walking on and he heard the words around him and he understood the fear of the people he was with, but none of it felt connected to him. He felt a little bit like he was walking through fog. The closest he felt to anything was to Silas's arm around him and the vague nausea brewing inside him.
It'll be okay. It'll be okay.
He knew that it wasn't true, but the words echoed around in his head.
It'll be okay. It'll be okay.
Pandora Alvarez (15) — District Three
The line to check in for the reaping had nothing to block the wind from whipping her hair in her face. She held her tied-back hair away from her face, irritated that she hadn't thought to braid it and even more irritated that her little brother had kept them and their mother from getting to the square sooner. The line was long now, and it would be several more minutes of hair annoyances before she could finally get into the roped-off groups of people, where the stage set up seemed to be blocking a lot of the wind.
She didn't want to admit it, but it was much easier to focus on how stupid her hair was being than to think about what could happen at the reaping that day. It didn't help to tell herself that her worrying was irrational, because it wasn't. Probability didn't matter as much when names were scrambled in their randomly. Yeah, it was more likely that an eighteen-year-old with a poor family of twelve would be reaped, but her name was still in there. It was still possible.
So she worried still, and glared at her hair as a strand slipped free from her grip and flew in her face.
And as much as she disliked her brother, as much as he got on her nerves, she hated that Quinn's name was in there, too.
Finally the line stopped seeming so impossibly long—at least in front of her—and there were only a handful of people left to have their fingers pricked and their names checked before being told to carry along to their sections.
She saw Optima Rufus, a friend-ish from school, walking out of line. Pandora hadn't noticed that she was up there.
"Hey, Optima," she called. The girl turned around and saw Pandora standing there, and she walked over toward the line. "Good luck."
Optima smiled at her. The two of them always battled for the best at school, and right then Pandora found that Optima was another one of her pet peeves for the time being—at least while she held first place in class rankings, and Pandora struggled to steal that spot back for herself—but she wouldn't wish for Optima to be a tribute, ever. "You too, Pandora."
Once she was checked in, she hesitated and looked back at Quinn. He had fussed all morning with whatever the hell he fussed over—probably something to do with the shady fucks he was starting to hang around—probably just another way to cope as much as worrying about her hair was for Pandora, but at least hers involved her thinking in her head along the way instead of actively making them late.
Still, she ruffled his hair. "See you afterward."
He hated it when she ruffled his hair, but it looked like he couldn't even muster a glare.
In the section full of fifteen-year-olds, she sat and listened to the people around the square filling their anxious minds with chitchat. People talked about school or what they were doing with their families later. She heard the snippets of the conversations, not necessarily eavesdropping but unable to avoid it, and wondered if any one of them would be going.
She watched and listened, and kept a hold of her hair—which still was flying around—until the reaping started up, the mayor mounting the stage and the previous victors being announced and introduced. It was the same every year, but Pandora had heard of indoctrination. It worked in the Career districts, but in places where it was harder to deny that life was hell, no one could see parading victors around as heroes as anything spectacular.
And hell, no one really ever paid attention. Pandora surely didn't.
It was hard to tune out the escort's voice, though. The mayor's voice was smooth and always a little monotonous as he gave the same yearly speeches, and read out the Treaty of Treason. Plus, the words were so ingrained into her, they felt more like silence than the sounds of birds chirping in the distance.
But the escort's voice was different. Her accent was different. Her words were sharp and they hissed. It wasn't pleasant, nor even boring enough to ignore.
Pandora never listened to the words, but she couldn't help but hear Ebba's voice. She was grating and annoying. She wondered if there was anyone in all twelve districts who didn't find their escort annoying, wondered if any of them at all listened to the speeches told at reapings. She hoped not. That would be a really boring, goody-two-shoes person, and not the kind of person she wanted to share oxygen with.
"I am truly grateful to be able to present this year's tributes to you," Ebba gushed, looking out at the crowd as if any of them wanted her to be there, like they were so grateful for her presence in return. She was such a kiss-ass. Pandora supposed all non-Career escorts must have been. They all wanted to be promoted. "Well, I think I've been rambling."
Mmm, you think, lady? She could feel the disdain ripple through the crowd like a tangible wave of dislike.
"Let's do the girls first," she said into the microphone with a smile that looked plastered on. She dipped her hand into the glass bowl and drew out a name with very little flair or glamor. At least she was straight-to-the-point in that. "Pandora Alvarez!"
Pandora? Pandora Alvarez?
She had been reaped?
She stared up at Ebba for a long second, before around at the people in the section. Pandora Alvarez. Some of them who knew her from school looked around and spotted her, their eyes filled with pity. Some were still looking around in confusion. Some just had their heads bowed.
Pandora Alvarez.
"Pandora?"
Pandora Alvarez.
Her whole body felt like static. She dropped her hand down to her side and her hand began whipping her in the face. She felt every annoying moment of it, and felt how a path outside of the section began to form as people realized who everyone was staring at.
No. She didn't want to go. She shrunk back, away from the people who were parting in front of her. She didn't want to be taken to the Capitol. She didn't want to be taken to an arena.
A Peacekeeper walked through the path that people had made for her. She looked up at them with wide eyes, but snapped back into herself when they reached out to grab her. She pulled her arm away and glared. "Get away from me," she hissed, not caring if she wasn't supposed to talk that way to a Peacekeeper. What did it matter? She was going to the Hunger Games.
She brushed past the Peacekeeper through the path and walked toward the stage, her breaths short but her steps even. She was terrified and she couldn't hide it entirely, but she was going to hide it the best she could.
"Congratulations," Ebba said once she was on the stage. "Are there any volunteers for the spot?"
She looked out over the crowd, a small part of her hoping that someone would have some reason to go into the Games so that she didn't have to—but of course no one spoke up. She stood on the stage like she was separated from everyone in Three by an island, shaking as death become an imminent prospect, and no one called out to build her a bridge back to the mainland. No one offered to take her place in this isolation.
She wouldn't have either, but it didn't stop her from feeling anger well up inside.
"Alright, onto the boys," Ebba announced. She stepped in her tall heels over to the boys' bowl, her hand swimming in the names once again. Pandora watched her, waiting for her to grip one of the little slips, waiting for her partner in these stupid fucking Games. She finally pulled one out and held the slip up so she could read it. "Bro—" She paused, struggling a little with the name. "Bro-hane Greene?"
There was silence, as there always was right after a name was announced, like the preemptive mourning of the fallen, and then a boy stepped out of the same age section as her. Much quicker to respond than she was. He was kind of short, and his brown hair was a mess. He looked like a mess all over, actually. There were bags under his eyes and he looked like he'd been sweating a lot.
He didn't look like much of a threat. He seemed kind of strong, but he also seemed really out of it.
When he came on the stage, she watched him closer, sizing up this person. So much for partnering with him. Unless he was far more there than she was guessing, she didn't think he would be much of anything.
At least she had a head decent enough on her shoulders to know that she would need an ally—and it would be best to gain their trust early.
She asked for volunteers. No one came up, so it seemed like Broehain had an island all of his own too.
"Did I pronounce your name correctly, Mr. Greene?" Ebba asked.
He shook his head. "Broehain," he mumbled, but Pandora could barely hear him.
Ebba heard him well enough, because she spoke clearly into the microphone: "Let's give a round of applause to the tributes of this year's Hunger Games, Pandora Alvarez and Broehain Greene of District Three!"
They were made to shake hands. His grip was weak. His hand was moist.
They were shuffled into the Justice Building and Pandora kept her head down on the way there. The crowd shifting sadly behind them as they walked away and the knowledge that the cameras were following them every step of the way made her feel strange. Like each gaze was sticky, and she couldn't wash the feeling off of her skin.
She sat down in the room that she was led to, looking around at all of the luxurious furniture. She wondered if this was what the Capitol looked like everywhere, or if it was even better. The couch was far comfier than anything in her house. She sunk into it like it could take away all of her problems.
Unsurprisingly, her mother and her brother come in first. Her mother's eyes were sad and afraid, which was more than they usually were.
It wasn't that her mother didn't love them, because Pandora and Quinn knew that she really did. It was just that she wasn't always mother material—she far preferred bars and men over diapers and bedtime stories.
"Pandora," she whispered, coming over and sitting next to her. That word was enough. Pandora knew everything she wanted to say in the sound of her voice, but she didn't want them to go. As much as her home life could be described as "dysfunctional," the thought of them walking out of the Justice Building soon, without her, made her heart ache and twist. "I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry."
"I know." She didn't mean to sound short, but she was scared and listening to them apologizing was too much. She knew how sorry they were. The whole district was sorry for her and they didn't even know her. So she knew how sorry her own family was, and she didn't need to hear it, or see them get all teary. Then there was a chance she would get teary too, and she didn't want to do that. "I want to come home, Mom."
It fell out of her mouth before she could stop it, but it felt almost good to say it.
"I know, Pandora. And you can. You can. You listen to everyone and you train hard." She was pursing her lips. That meant she was going to cry.
Pandora looked over at her brother so she wouldn't have to see that. He was in shock. His eyes were wide. "I'm sorry too."
She let out a breath. "I know."
The rest of their time went about the same. A couple of other people came in to see her—a girl from school, Reina, came after her mother and brother. Pandora didn't know what to say to her more than she didn't know what to say to anyone else. She had always thought that Reina was really pretty, the prettiest girl she knew, but she never let herself think about that for long. Reina was also really smart, and Pandora knew indulging herself in those feelings wouldn't help her be at the top of the class—especially not when she was falling behind Optima.
Reina did a lot of the talking, though. She didn't stay for long, because Pandora's time was running out, but she told her how cool of a person she was. It made Pandora feel fractionally better.
The last person to come in was Optima. She talked about how much she would miss her.
"I don't know what I'd do without some decent competition at school," she teased with a small, shaky smile.
Pandora smiled back. "You had better make sure you stay first until I come back, then. I don't want anyone else trying to steal our spot."
Optima nodded and looked away from Pandora. "Okay, I think I have to go. They said you didn't have much time left," she told her.
Pandora nodded. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course." She stood up and went over to the door, saying, "Good luck, Pandora," before leaving Pandora alone on her island again.
Dylan Waterhole (16) — District Four
Dylan woke to the sound of yelling. It wasn't uncommon and he wasn't surprised, but even as it was all the way across the house, he flinched at the ferocity in his dad's voice. It sounded like he was yelling at his mother.
He sat up and got dressed, ready to go to the reaping. He knew that if they started off the day fighting, his dad's mood was going to be horrible for the rest of the day.
Out in the hallway, Rain was leaning against the bathroom door. She looked at him and rolled her eyes, so he knew she must have been waiting for Wade to get out of the bathroom. He came and leaned against the wall with her, saying nothing as the sound of their parents' yelling carried through the walls.
After a couple minutes, he leaned over and knocked on the door. "Come on, Wade, both of us are waiting now," he said.
Wade didn't usually care about what the two of them wanted, of course. Actually, the two of them saying they needed in would probably get him to take even longer in there, but Dylan needed to pee and Rain needed to do whatever else she needed to do.
"I'm in here, Dylan," Wade called out, his voice sharp. Dylan rolled his eyes. He didn't let the way Wade talked to him do more than fly straight through him. He was always looking to be as nasty as he could, and as Dylan had been living with him since he was four, he had learned that the little brat wasn't worth listening to.
"I've got to piss, Wade," he snapped back.
"Piss out the window."
He looked at Rain, who let out a breath. The two of them were always on the same side, but that didn't matter; two against one was nothing when the one had the favor of their father, and none of them wanted on the bad side of their father.
She pulled away from the bathroom door. "I left my brush in there, so I can barely get ready at all until he fucks off," she muttered, glaring over at the bathroom door.
Something slammed against the wall and both of them jumped, Dylan's shoulders tensing as he wondered if his father had thrown something.
He knew the way to make him act better. He knew the way to make him happy at last, and he was finally going to fulfill that today. He was ready, he knew, and maybe he would be readier next year—but he didn't know how much longer he could take his father's attitudes.
He had been pressed to train his entire life. If he wasn't ready now, then the last eight years since he joined the swimming team was a waste. He had swam, wrestled, and trained, all to his father's approval, for the majority of his life, and had been sworn away from dancing—"Dancing is a little girl's support, and you aren't a little girl, are you, Dylan?"—and if he didn't volunteer now, when he felt it was the right time, then there was no point at all.
He was the most worried about leaving Rain behind. The two of them always had their backs when their mother couldn't have their backs, but he knew that she could hold her own for the weeks that he was away. And then he would be home.
She might have made a good tribute too, but their father wanted male victors. That didn't make sense to him. She was fourteen and seemed, even untrained, to hold potential—the same potential that had brought Dylan himself to this point. But it was brushed away.
It didn't matter now. He would bring their family the honor of a victory, and Wade would probably try to as well when he grew older.
Wade eventually came out and Rain said he could go first. He did his business and looked at himself in the mirror. He had to look like a competitor that the Capitol would want to support. He wanted to be able to win them over from One and Two—because although they liked tributes from Four, they always favored those from in the first two districts.
It didn't matter what they thought, though. He was going to win with or without the support of the Capitol, but their support would certainly help.
Rain went into the bathroom behind him and he went out to the kitchen, grabbing a yogurt to eat before they headed out. The yelling in the bedroom stopped finally. It had been fizzling out for the last couple of minutes, and Dylan was relieved enough that his shoulders let loose some of their tension—but only some. They would be coming out soon, and he braced himself for the yelling to be directed at someone else.
Rain joined him in the kitchen, not eating anything herself. "Are you excited?" she asked him.
She had asked similar things plenty of times before, so he knew that she was worried about him. She believed in him, and had told him that she was proud of him, but he knew that she wanted her brother to come back home. And he didn't want to leave behind his little sister, his best friend.
"I'm most excited for all the good food in the Capitol," he said, smiling at her. "Not that I don't love having fish five nights in a row, but I think a change of pace will be refreshing."
She grinned and rolled her eyes. "You're not excited for all the boys in the Capitol?" She kept her voice low, in case their father came out, but Dylan didn't keep that a secret from her.
"Well, that too." He smiled more and looked back as their parents' bedroom door opened. First out was his mother, pulling her shirt down like she always did when she felt uncomfortable or upset. "Hey, Mom."
Their mom smiled at both of them, the strained smile that always came after the yelling sessions, and walked quickly away from the kitchen. She left the house entirely without looking back at them.
"Let's go," his father said gruffly when he came out of the room. He looked between the two of them. "Where's Wade?"
"I think he went to his room," Dylan told him.
Father nodded. "Get him and then let's go."
Dylan walked down the hallway to Wade's door, which was cracked open. "Come on, we're leaving," he said gruffly to his brother. He wanted to get out of this house. One way or another, this was the last time he was ever going to be in this house, except maybe to come and get his things.
He didn't want his parents to come live with him in the Victors' Village, but he wondered if his dad would come anyway, would move in with or without Dylan's permission. And he wondered what kind of hell Rain would live alone in that household, surrounded by Dad's shouting and the favoritism shoved at Wade. He didn't want to think about how Dad would harp on her for not being the right kind of daughter just as he harped on Dylan for not being a masculine enough son. He didn't want to think about all the times Wade would come home sporting a detention from being a little shithead at school and get praised for "holding his ground" and "establishing his place" to the other kids.
He was so tired of it. He wanted to make Dad happy so he would stop with all of it, but the closer he got to volunteering, the more he wondered if it was ever going to stop.
Outside on the way to the train, Dylan looked up at the cloudy sky and the birds peppering the blue with their dark silhouettes. His mother saw him staring and smiled at him, the quiet smile that she always shared with him and Rain. He loved his mother and wanted to make her proud more than he wanted anything in the world, more than he even wanted to bring pride to his father.
They reached the stop for the train, the bundle of cars on the track carrying bundles of people to the square, where they would sit and listen to a droning speech before hearing him call out to the whole of District Four that he was taking the place as tribute. He was claiming that as his own, and the one thing that he could truly be proud of. It was the only thing he had been allowed to feel pride in, as wrestling had always been a hobby more than a passion.
But training—he could revel in training, in finding ways to bring a smile to Dad's face or to feel the strength that came with all of it.
In the train, he sat between Rain and their mom, Dad and Wade across the aisle since the train was starting to get full. He looked down at the floor of the car, feeling the train move across the world around them, the passengers stuck in the movement. He felt acutely aware of how the world spun without the passengers' constant awareness, and how time dragged everyone along without thought. It was strange to think of this, the way life kept on moving no matter who tried to hold up a hand and push it back.
He guessed he was just worried about the Games. He was worried about the way time wouldn't stop for him to think in the arena. The way the train wouldn't halt if he decided he wasn't ready on the way to the Capitol. The way the world would keep on spinning if he returned to his family surrounded in light-colored wood rather than the adoration of the Capitolites.
The train ride to the square wasn't long for them, but it would have taken far too long if they had walked. Dylan stood up when they came to a stop and inched out of the car with the rest of the mob of people looking for reaping day to be over. District Four may have been a Career district, but no one treated the reaping quite as much like a holiday there as they did in One and Two—but it wasn't a horrible harbinger of death as it was in the other districts, either. It was just a burden, when they all knew it would be much easier to volunteer through the trainers and carry on like that.
But there was tradition, and the Capitol liked to drill that into them.
When he was finally out of the stuffy train and into the open air, he looked around for his friend, Lynn. He wondered how his morning had gone, but just as Dylan's always were, Lynn's were usually something that he didn't want to talk about. But the two of them had bonded over that shared feeling.
He looked over at the stage, drifting toward the line to register since he couldn't see Lynn anywhere. He would be up on that stage soon. He felt his stomach twist. He was nervous, but he was ready.
He knew that he couldn't stop the world and its spinning, but he could reach his hand out and push back as hard as he could. And that was something that he was going to learn how to do today. It was time to finally take that into his own hands.
Parker Dorian (17) — District Four
Parker looked at the stage intently as the speeches droned on, the voices of the mayor and the escort carrying through the district like birds carried by their wings, bouncing in and out as they moved toward and away from the microphone. Claude Orchid was dressed as his namesake this year, which was interesting, although she felt like maybe his representation was not anatomically correct. The petals flared out around him in the dress the he'd donned, and his head was all a bright yellow as though it was supposed to be the anther or, at least, some part of the reproductive system.
She wondered if Claude knew that one way or another, his head was representing a flower dick.
She didn't know if Capitolites thought that far ahead, though; she was certain that people who were watching this reaping in the Capitol live were fawning over how amazing his outfit was. It was colorful and lively, she had to admit, but lively in the way that all Capitolites were. A splattering of colors that a toddler could put on a piece of paper was lively, but it was often too much, a scribble that truly meant nothing except chaos and an interest but lack of understanding in how colors could go together. They were hard to look at, but they were certainly something to look at, just as Capitolitian outfits tended to be.
She listened closer toward the end of Claude's speech about the integrity and strength of District Four, and of how proud he was to be their escort, knowing full well that he would kill to be assigned District One or Two, just as they all would be. She wondered how long it had taken him and his literal dickhead to claw his way up to District Four, but ultimately she didn't care. It wouldn't be forever that she spent with him, and it wouldn't be forever that she wasted thinking about him.
Instead she thought about how she would present herself on that stage, a thought that had crossed through her mind a million times. She had gone over it with Stephanie, her guardian, a countless number of times, but neither of them had come to the conclusion of whether she should stride to the stage with confidence or if she should walk with unparalleled and unbreakable power. It wasn't that much difference, but she wasn't sure if her stoicism could win over the hearts of the Capitolites as much as a head held high and a little smirk could. But she was sure that her blank face and her deadly eyes could intimidate.
She decided to leave it up to the moment when she called out for her position to choose. She would pick whatever felt right in the moment, and she was sure that she could work with either angle that she solidified when the time came.
She felt like she should have known something like this sooner; Stephanie had been preparing her to be her little victor for her whole life, since she was old enough to start studying the things that would be helpful in the arena.
"Now, for what we've all been waiting for!" Claude called out in that same voice that he always announced that he was about to pluck out the lucky names of the individuals chosen, despite the fact that their places would be taken from them anyway. "I'll start with the girls."
He reached into the pool, fingers swimming, until the plucked out a name. He called it out, Heather Something Or Other, and she left the section of eighteen-year-olds. She was dressed in what seemed like the best rags she could likely afford. Parker didn't recognize her, but she could tell from a distance that this girl was from the poorest areas of the district; the fact that she was reaped might have been horrifying for her if this wasn't a Career district, where a volunteer was guaranteed. She couldn't have been prepared for the arena in the slightest.
"Congratulations, Heather," Claude said, with a bright smile plastered across his dick-themed head. His lips were even yellow, and the bright white teeth and gaping black mouth behind them were alarming. He looked out at the crowd. "Now, if there is anyone who would like to take Heather's place as a tribute for these Hunger Games, I am now ready to hear their proclamation."
Claude always felt the need to read out the fancy speech as Parker imagined it was written. She knew his phrase by heart now, so she knew exactly when to breathe in, ready to call out at the right moment, "I volunteer!"
There were a few others around her, and since of course no one could verify that it was her voice that rang out first, she struggled out of the section of seventeen-year-olds, pushing past an eighteen-year-old vying for the position. She wasn't very strong, but her determination and drive to do this, to do what she was trained to do, carried her through to the stage.
She was the first one on the steps and she didn't look back to see if there was anyone else trying to leap up to the stage after her, but as soon as her foot was on the ground past the last step, she held her head high with a smirk.
This felt right. After having fought for her spot in the Games, it felt the best to show pride for her position.
The Heather girl left the stage, nodding her head to Parker as she went past. Parker nodded her head in return, acknowledging her, acknowledging her thanks for being saved from the Games.
"And what is your name?" Claude asked.
She stepped up to the microphone, watching as things settled down, the identity of the tribute now sealed with her standing securely next to the escort. "Parker Dorian," she announced. She stepped aside so he could speak and draw the boy's name, but kept an eye out on the crowd, scanning them. She had gotten into the habit of constantly sizing up a situation. People were excited; the people struggling to take the place of tribute every year was always interesting.
She looked over at Claude, watching him for a moment as he announced that it was time for the boys'. He took two short strides and pulled out a name, with the appropriate flair for drawing a name for the reaping. Then he returned to the microphone and called the name out. She looked back into the ocean of people standing out there, and saw a thirteen-year-old walk into the middle aisle. He fidgeted with his hands in front of him, looking down at the ground as he walked.
As it went with her, Claude congratulated the young boy, and then asked for volunteers. There was a struggle from the seventeen-year-olds and eighteen-year-olds searching for the spot, and a couple sixteen-year-olds who thought that they could get there in time. She watched as the pushing ensued, and through this, chaos started to break out. One fell down and the one who pushed him tripped from the collision. Others struggled to get around the two of them, who were both forcing each other down and blocking the path.
They looked like animals, grappling in the middle of the aisle with other boys trying to circle around them in the small space provided. It was entertaining when she stood on the stage before them, like it was entertainment staged for her amusement.
One of the sixteen-year-olds pulled through the group of boys in their pile, tall and skinny, but obviously muscular. He made it to the stage first, striding confidently over to the microphone.
"Well, that was exciting," Claude commented with a grin—anything new and different at the reaping was exciting for the Capitolites, and certainly District Four tended to have different reapings since they didn't plan who volunteered ahead of time. The Academy in District Four was more of a private thing, with no way of receiving any sort of free entry through scholarships or help from the Academy itself. It was more disconnected from the affairs of the tributes, concerned only with training those who could pay to be there, so they didn't bother themselves with choosing the volunteers as well. "What is your name?"
"Dylan Waterhole," he said clearly, steadily, readily. She would watch him through training. She could tell he was determined—as all Careers were, but she felt there was some particular strength in him. Maybe the two of them could be the victors together. She didn't think she really cared who came out with her, so long as she came out on top.
The two of them were made to shake hands, being congratulated. The district clapped for them as they were presented with their tributes, the contenders that they were to root for in these Games. She looked out at the crowd before being herded into the Justice Building, seeing the waves of faces looking back at her and at Dylan, those wondering if these would be the two who returned, or if they would leave a hole in District Four before the coming weeks ended.
The Justice Building was very professional on the inside, but the furniture was nice. She noted when they took her into the elevator and finally into the room where she would be saying goodbyes that Stephanie had a similar couch at their house. Stephanie had good money and had always wanted the glory of raising a victor after she was unable to volunteer, so it wasn't like it was surprising that she poured her money into owning the nicest of things.
She assumed the only person coming in would be Stephanie, which was not disproved when her guardian entered the room. She always looked so regal: her shoulders back, her strides long, her arms down at her sides and moving gracefully with the rest of her. Parker aspired to be like her one day, aspired to emanate all of that same power. She had worked her whole life to achieve that.
"Parker," she said, a smile on her face as she sat down, her hands crossed in her lap. Even in the softest of moments, she had that professional aura on the edges of her actions and her words. There was a barrier there that Parker felt she had never been able to break, but she wondered if it would come down once Parker returned from the Games. She wondered if Stephanie was scared for her. She knew that she must have been, but sometimes it was hard to know exactly what Stephanie thought. "You did perfectly up on that stage."
Parker grinned, a warm swell of pride growing inside her chest. "I was concerned with what I was going to do when I got up there—"
"You did exactly as I would have," Stephanie told her, and that was no small compliment. Parker felt so good, felt like everything was going wonderfully. She felt on top of the world, actually, and she was ready to be launched into the arena immediately. She was ready to show her mentor everything else she could do. She didn't want to party around in the Capitol and waste time—there would be plenty of room for that once she had won.
They had a lot of time together, with no one else coming to say goodbye to Parker, and Stephanie reminded her of everything she would need to know in the upcoming weeks. She listened closely, despite knowing all of it like it was as easy as two plus two. It was ingrained into her, a part of her, and she enjoyed hearing it like a review for a test. But she was ready, and she knew the moment she stepped out of this Justice Building, she would walk as though she was already a victor.
