Hi guys! I apologise for the long wait. You weren't expecting it (unless you have ESP... which sometimes I actually seem to have o.0) and to be honest, neither was I. I've just been busy lately and didn't even realise how long it had been. I guess I accidentally went on hiatus there. It's not just this story, but all of them, including my Foxface story (which should be updating soon for those that read that). So I apologise!
Anywaaaay... I feel kind of dumb for calling Coral and her boyfriend star-crossed lovers last chapter. I always assumed it meant a head-over-heels type thing, but now I realise that actually, it means 'doomed to love'. So that's kinda awkward.
But sorry! Blabbering on here... hope you enjoy reading this chapter, that I do your characters justice and blah-blah-blah, you get my drift. Don't forget to review to keep your own and your favourite tributes out of the bloodbath! Please not that some of the escorts have been changed or merged together with the other idea for a district's escort! Now here it is!
Ivory Glint, 17, District One
Brookie's perfectly-manicured hand reaches deep into the bowl, feeling around until she finds the slip she wants. Come on! Get the torture over with! She dashes back over to the mike and reads out as cordially as possible, "Silken Grate!" As soon as this is spoken, a short girl with her hair in two gold braids skips out of the thirteen-year-old section, smiling. I've seen her in training – she's good – but there's no way she'll go in the Games this year; she's just too young.
Once Silken is on stage, Brookie calls out those most loved words in the district – "Any volunteers?"
Before I know what's happening, I'm shouting, "I do! I volunteer! I do! Me! Me!" In no time at all I've beaten off about ten other girls and I'm mounting the stage. What? How did that happen? No! I'm not volunteering this year! No! Well, apparently, now I am.
I glance over to my mother, who is seated on stage with the other victors. She shakes her head at me, but there's a smile on her face that's saying, "That's my girl!" I just hope they'll switch her with one of the other victors to be my mentor. Oh, she's going to be so proud when I come back home! I'll have all the glory and fame I've ever dreamed of! And I'll be able to get a proper man, not just some make-do like Kyle.
I'm so busy daydreaming I don't even realise Silken's gone until Brookie's asking my name. "My name?" I laugh, "My name is Ivory Glint, and I'm going to win this thing, just like my mum did!" I smile over to my mother, and she punches the air for the cameras, then does a little eye gesture that reminds me to smile over at them. As if I'd forget. I turn back towards all the cameras and smile and growl and grin and pose. The male tribute's already been called and replaced by the time they're done with me. Can't blame them – I am beautiful, I get it from my mother.
The boy tribute is smug and crosses his arms when he gets up, eyeing somebody over in the adults' section of the crowd, and his eyebrows say it all. Then his mouth announces that his name is Titanium Gold, but we can call him 'Titan', because that's exactly what he is. I roll my eyes. The boys are all the same. Snarky, arrogant, naive – not like us girls. We are smart. We can control the boys with our looks – this one is especially true for me. What can they do? Throw a few spears? Maybe use a sword? Pur-lease! That isn't the true skill you need for winning. Sure, it helps, but it can't get you far. I'll have sponsors queuing round twelve blocks, while he... well, at least he's blonde, he's lucky with that.
Brookie tells us to shake hands and we oblige. From this moment on, as I stare up coldly into Titan's eyes, he is both my sworn enemy and ally. It will be so fun if I get the chance to kill him myself.
Tiberius Naysmith, 18, District Two
"Phobia Flint!" trills Faerie Diadem, our extremely red escort. Well huh. Guess she wasn't lying about going in the Games this year. Shame. She would have made a good victor. No matter. District 2 is still going to win, unlike my dumb brother last year. He's the only reason I didn't volunteer – it was his moment. Of course, he had to go and ruin it by dying. That Six bastard. I'll make sure to go after those precious little tributes of his.
Phobia laughs maniacally and bounds up to the stage, clearly on cloud nine. She's still laughing when Faerie asks for volunteers, at which point she abruptly stops and death glares the audience. It's a little surprising that nobody even attempts to run against her. Hm. Maybe she will be one to watch after all. She continues to glare, this time to the cameras – at least she'll be getting us sponsors – before Faerie trots over to the boys' bowl and plucks a slip straight off the top.
"Phineas Co-"
"I volunteer!" yell me and several others. Shit. I have to be there first. I thunder through the crowd to the steps and easily drag some sixteen-year-old off them by the ankles. Another guy – maybe about fifteen – tries to wriggle along by, but his futile attempt is rewarded with nothing short of a broken jaw. I stand defiantly in front of the steps, folding my arms and narrowing my eyes. "Anybody else want a try?" I boom, and the only thing that ensues is silence. "I thought so."
I walk up to the stage with a smirk, before telling the escort my name. Phobia glares at me all the while. Poor her. She's terrified. We shake hands extremely briefly before entering the Justice Building.
Mars Elroid, 16, District Three
"Electra Watts!" Aquamarine Shimmer, our blue-addicted escort, calls out. I know that name. Electra Watts... she's the girl whose parents died in a house fire. Doesn't leave the community home much, or else I would have seen her before on some of my exploits. But I know enough that there must be something wrong with her. Probably went a bit crazy after the fire. And now she's getting reaped. Shame. At least there'll be less people for her to be missed by, I suppose.
The young girl – almost too innocent for words in her completely white outfit – shakily walks up to the stage. The look on her face is sheer terror, but doesn't totally fill her eyes with it. Hanging onto the hopes of a volunteer, I guess. None come, and she fights the urge to cry but eventually her face is in a downpour. A stray tear lands on one of the ground-speakers because there's a brief crackle as Aquamarine walks over to the boys' reaping bowl. And the winner is...
"Mars Elroid!" Nice. It's me. There are whispers to my left.
"How did somebody manage to get a fake name like that in there?"
"I dunno, but they've got some guts. There's definitely no 'Mars Elroid' here."
"Yeah, we would have met him. Or seen him. Or at least heard about him." I blow air out the corner of my mouth. My eyebrows furrow as I walk up to the stage, having to push away quite a few people, as they aren't expecting me. Very few know who I am, and that's how I like it. It's always worked for me. I mount the stage, seeing lots of confused faces wondering who the heck their male tribute even is. In response, I smile.
I look out to those that know me in some way. My parents. Finally taking notice in me. Bit late now. My brother, Jupiter. With his girlfriend – of course. He hasn't seen us in over a year. Then there's Kris, still stood with all the sixteen-year-old boys. I wish I was there now. He's got the same serious expression on his face as always. And finally there's Jony over with the girls. Her smile is fainter than normal. Trying to look cheerful but not overly happy either. It doesn't suit her.
Soon our escort is telling us to shake hands, and we do. I'm still beaming while Electra's in sobs. Only there's something wrong. The intensity of her reaction. The firmness of the handshake. The way she shakes herself. It isn't terror. It's staged. No, maybe not all staged. The shakiness – shaking the way one does in excitement. There's something here that Miss Electra Watts is hiding. A secret. And I'm the best at finding out secrets.
Coral Mar, 17, District Four
"I volunteer! I volunteer! I volunteer!" I call, not even acknowledging the name leaving Tiffany Wonderwall's slime-green lips. Three other girls have shouted back too, but I easily punch the first in the jaw, second in the breast, and the third gets an elbowing in the stomach. They aren't weak, I'm just strong. And they don't realise that my calmness with most people doesn't include my enemies. And at that moment even Arianna is my enemy, though we've been best friends since kindergarten. She won't mind. Much. She'll be grateful she wasn't enemy number two, at least.
"And what's your name, then?" Tiffany asks me like I'm five as I bound up to the stage. The reaped girl didn't even get the chance to leave her area. My pupils stare at the sky as I let out a small breath to calm myself down after getting so geared up to get here. I smile for the audience. They're all loving you...
"My name is Coral Mar, and you'd better not forget this face of your future victor!" I blow kisses to the camera, going through smiles, pouts, grins, every pose that'll get me sponsors.
"Now it's the boys' turn!" sings our purple-haired escort. She dips her hand in dramatically, fishes out a slip and then runs back over to the mike. "Flounder Perstash!" Immediately, there are shouts of volunteers from the boys. Around eight make it out, but two boys from the seventeen-year-old section start pushing them all back. Of course I know who these boys are. They're the biggest jerks in the district. Crush comes a closely-ranked number two after Sebastian Aqueor. And of course, he just would be the one given the thumbs-up by Crush and marching up towards me now. Ugh. I shall take pleasure in watching him die. Or even killing him myself. The way he thinks he's a god... The way he thinks that fish hook in his ear is the ultimate fashion accessory... Just ugh.
He announces himself to Tiffany and then we're going into the Justice Building. He gives me what he likely thinks is a seductive smile, and raises an eyebrow in what he likely thinks is sexy way. I whip a half-smile, half-grimace back at him, "I'd rather not, thanks."
Spark Nightrush, 16, District Five
"Applia Frebosky!" Poor soul. It's another twelve-year-old. That's the third in a row. Over in the girls' section, Singe shoots me a grimace. That means we don't like it, but at least it isn't her or somebody close. It could be worse.
The poor girl's teeth are chattering, knees knocking as she comes to rest on stage. I doubt it's possible for her to make it past the first day, as bad as it sounds. "Any volunteers?" Zalinia Sparkles pointlessly sing-songs. Applia hopelessly glances about, as if there could be a saviour on the way. Lost cause.
"Yes! I volunteer as tribute! I volunteer!" shouts some crazy girl. The whole of District Five turns towards the noise. A girl with long and wavy blonde hair steps out of the fourteen-year-old section. She raises her head a little, then marches along the gravel in those worn-out boots towards the stage. I know her name before it's screamed out by her sisters, before she tells the escort it herself. Everyone knows the Versonas; they're a bit weird, quirky, especially Ellie, the one walking to her coffin right now – they get taken the mick out of a little. I knew they were odd. But this... this isn't odd. This... is just mad. Mad. Crazy. Reckless. Stupid, to put it in one word. Ellie Versona is just stupid. At least she's saving a twelve-year-old's life. That's the one good thing.
"Spark Nightrush!" The boys. I didn't know they were up to the boys. Apparently so.
My stomach sinks. How... how can it be me? A glance to Singe. Is this real? Is this happening? A nod. A sad, regretful nod. A nod that wishes it was not. I gulp. I step forwards. And again. And again. Until I'm stood on the stage. Now I'm that poor soul, that cursed breed with only false hopes and lost causes to cling to. I am not as lucky as Applia.
As we two shake hands, the briefest of smiles forms on her face. A smile that is saying that this is just how it goes. I return the gesture. Even if it turns out she is mad, I could do with an ally.
"Harry" Kline, 12, District Six
Lucretia Charm reaches her hand down, down, down into the girls' reaping bowl. This is the first time I've not Annabel to worry about. Whoever she picks, it shan't affect me in any way. No siree, nuh-uh. Even Gregor and Logan are quiet now. I'm the only one daring to breathe, it seems. Works for me. Nobody to stare at me or tease me and make me cry and then tease me more.
The white-haired Capitolite slowly peels back the black tape on the slip. "Naomi Steel!" she announces into the mike. Maybe five seconds later, there's a girl wearing a yellow dress and with light-brown hair making her way towards the stage. Her shoulders are stiff, attempting to stay calm, but her hands shake like they've been shocked by some sort of current. When she's stood on the stage her face is a pale shade of green and it's clear she feels sickly. I would too, if it were me. Wait, it still could be me.
After asking for volunteers, Lucretia moves on to the boys' bowl. My bowl. Nausea. Pounding head. Pounding heart. This is what I feel as she withdraws the slip and readies herself to read it out. She gives a little cough to clear her throat. "Ahem, Henry Kline!" Phew, I think at first, not me. But it's the same surname... Oh. Henry's my official name. It's me. I freeze on the spot.
There's laughing and jeering from behind me in the thirteen-year-olds' section. Logan and Gregor. They begin to poke me, they tease me, they... force me to run straight out of the twelve-year-old section and into the aisle. Oops. Now I look eager. I switch to slow movements, plod, plod, plod. I'm scared. I'm scared. One... foot... after... the other. On stage, Michael Shutter, last year's victor, appears relieved, yet terrified. I didn't know that was possible. In just moments I'm on stage too, and the nausea's got worse. Much worse.
Lucretia asks for any volunteers but I know none will come. But... but... I'm just so... scared. I shake in my boots. This isn't real. I shake like a leaf. This isn't real. I shake like a fully-charged electron. This is real.
I can't control it. The last thing I remember is vomiting up breakfast all over my escort's shoes, before falling onto my back. Then it's the blackout.
Paul Oakenwood, 14, District Seven
Barbarella Beaumont – or 'BB' as most of us call her to save our tongues – reaches her pale pink hand into the glass bowl. She giggles girlishly as she runs over to the mike. "Franchesca Willowton-Fortescue!" I know that name. Well, the last name at least. Whoever this girl is, she's related to our mayor.
From the seventeen-year-old section out steps a girl with golden-blonde hair. Her face distorts into an expression I can't believe. Delight? The girl dashes up to the stage with a huge grin on her face before snatching the microphone straight out of BB's grip. She flips her hair dramatically, or maybe attempting to appear sexy, and waves to people in the crowd at random. The mayor, for the first time ever, is stiff with shock.
"Oh! Em! See! That's like; oh my Capitol!" Franchesca yells so hard into the microphone it fractures the sound system for a moment. OMC? Is this girl serious? Well, I suppose she is the mayor's daughter. I guess rich people's kids end up all ditzy like that when they've no need to be smart, or do well in school because their family's just rich. "It's going to be, like, the best holiday ever! I'm sooooo excited!" She turns to BB. "Is it true you really pave the streets with gold? Like, with diamonds instead of pebbles? No matter! This is still gonna be like, soooo fabulous! And you look amazing by the way! Pink on pink?! HOT! Sorry, sorry, sorry! I'm just soooo excited to be here and like, everything!"
At that point BB grapples the microphone back off her, flustered after the unexpected outburst. "Well, uh, any volunteers? ...No? Then, ahem... Franchesca Willowton-Fortescue, everyone!" The Mayor's still glued down to his seat. A short, strained applause as Franchesca giggles and smiles and blows kisses and... blargh. She seems a pretty useless hope as a Victor, but... erm... she's pretty, so she could get sponsors and still win! Maybe...
"How about the boys, then?" BB asks after the clapping dies down, which takes all of two seconds. She frolics over to the boys', pulls out a slip and... and... "Paul Oakenwood!" What? I'm stunned. With robotic steps I somehow manage to make my way to the stage. My regular composure only returns when I make it up the third step. I cross my fingers there'll be a volunteer, but none are forthcoming. Oh well. I could still do this. Just need to stay... motivated, like how I motivate my family. My family... I hope they'll be all right while I'm gone. Hopefully gone won't mean forever.
Paisley Hanover, 15, District Eight
"Paisley Hanover," says Hadrian Wells solemnly. Not solemnly because he doesn't enjoy it, or because he thinks the Games are bad, but more just because he's Hadrian Wells. This is his third year as Eight's escort, and he never steps out of black. It's really odd for a Capitol person, being all goth like that, but I think that could be a good thing. Wait... Paisley Hanover? That's me! Oh my gosh... that's me!
I can't enter the Games. I can't. I'm too small, too weak to do something like that. I- I- I've no chance. No, I do. I do. Everybody has a chance. Oh, but-
I lose the fight against my conflicting emotions, and though the crowd has parted for me, I stay glued to the spot, crying. How can I-? How can I-? Peacekeepers seize my arms and it just makes me sob more and more and more as they drag me to the stage. One last push from them and I'm climbing the steps up to Hadrian. I can't stop crying, so I try to smile to make myself a bit happier, but I'm still sniffling by the time the male tribute's walking up.
No, not walking up. Bounding, more like. And then pouncing up the steps. Like a... like a... like a cat! I've heard of him. Marcus Herrington, or as a lot of people call him, 'crazy cat-kid'. I don't call him that. I tell the others it's mean, but he actually seems to like it. I suppose they think that because of his tiny pupils and his... somewhat lack of sanity, but people say that he can actually sniff them out at hide-and-seek. I'm not so sure.
I continue crying and crying and crying no matter how many times my brain orders my body to stop. Salt water drops on both mine and Marcus' hands when we shake. So... maybe the crying will mean no sponsors. And the fact of my size. And my weak appearance. But... I could still win this, right? I could still win? Everybody has a chance.
Artemis Tsuki, 16, District Nine
"Goren Vare!" No. NO! That stupid, prissy escort! Why does she have to call my name, and then call his as well? Stupid, stupid, STUPID! I was going to ask him out! I mean, yes, he'd probably say no, but... then when I was called I was going to win for him! Now I can't! Stupid, stupid, STUPID!
I take in every last detail of him as he starts to walk up. Scuffed black-turning-to-grey shoes that must never have had time to be cleaned. Black trousers starting to fray at the bottom of the legs. A dark green shirt that's too big for him. And his face is straight but conflicting. His eyes show shock, but he has 'thinking' eyebrows, pushed down so the shock isn't as obvious. I bet he's already planning a whole strategy out. He's smart enough. I'm sure he'll be smarter than me. Only smart thing I ever do is read books all day.
He maintains the same straight expression as we shake hands, but from the burning in my cheeks I can tell they're beetroot by now. He just looks... right into my eyes. Never been close enough for him to do that before. I like it.
I hope he wins. Rather him than me. I will definitely ally with him – I have to. I can't let him die. Because then, what hope would District Nine have? None with me.
Amber Black, 14, District Ten
I stumble towards the stage after they've called my name. I wish they hadn't. But I suppose that's what everybody wishes. They also all wish for a volunteer, same as me right now. And same as me, they don't get one. Well, except the ones from Career districts. They always get one. Lucky buggers.
I hope they can't tell I'm scared. They can't know I'm scared. I won't let them know I'm scared. Fear is a weak emotion – I won't let myself show it! Only this is a feeble attempt.
The only things I hear are the clunk-chink, clunk-clink of my loose buckled shoes as I climb each step until I'm beside Timacio Collins. Gazing out at the crowd, there is relief among the girls, as well as bitterness. I know why the bitterness. With me, they're certain of no female victor – I barely get to leave the house I'm that ill half the time. But they have hope too, that perhaps my counterpart could still be good enough. I stare over to Bill. I hope he isn't picked too...
"Bill Black!" announces the Capitol man beside me. No. No! Did I- did I just jinx it? I didn't touch wood. I'm frozen in place whilst he walks forward, his expression morphing between ones of first surprise, then craziness, anger, and eventually hopelessness. His dark hair messily hangs over his green eyes as always. I can just tell he's desperately hoping for a volunteer. He won't look me in the eye as he comes onstage, and still hasn't by the time we're shaking hands.
Well. At least one of us could win. He could. He's strong. I'm anything but.
I just wish he'd look me in the eyes.
Linden Cormac, 12, District Eleven
A perfect 'O' rests on Aimee Terra's lips as she makes her way to the stage. Her hands are clenched in little balls at her sides and her arms are straight as planks stiffly hanging. She regains the composure in her face to appear more calm, but it's taken too long so that everyone's noticed.
I don't witness this directly, of course. I'm just going by the big screen behind Ophelia Sarris. She doesn't smile like most of the escorts do. In fact, I'd go as far as to say she's simply bored. Bored that a girl thinks she'll be dead within weeks, and is probably right. How nice.
There are yells as she walks. A shout that somebody will volunteer for her. Whether this was a true statement or not I guess we'll never know, because the girl shoots an imploring look to the fourteen-year-old section she just left. No, that look says. Don't. Just don't.
She reaches the stage and there are no volunteers. She almost seems pleased about it. Well, as pleased as you can be when you're about to be sent into a battle to the death. It's only then I register that this means Maple is safe for another year. Now time to see if it's the same for me.
It's not.
The pink-afro woman has spoken. It's me.
How? HOW? The chances were... they were tiny! Miniscule! Even with the tesserae! How could-?
My body starts to tremble. My knees knock and my hands shake and my teeth chatter. I bite my lip to hide the chattering. I thrust my hands in my pockets to hide the shaking. I walk dead ahead with large steps to prevent my knees knocking together.
At the steps, I stop. They are the final part of this. Just the final part before I get a rest on the stage. After attempting to keep my gigantic grey socks pulled up, I take the first step of many.
A thought pops into my head. Maybe Dory was right this morning. Maybe the time it takes for me to grow into my socks will be never after all.
Malachite Cicero, 17, District Twelve
Quick little breaths, quick little breaths. Don't let them know what you're about to do. The girl reaches the stage shaking. Galeno Travis sighs exasperatedly.
"Any volunteers, then?"
Everyone anticipates the silence awaiting the crying child, but then they don't know yet. There's never any volunteers in Twelve. Until today.
"I do! I volunteer!" I shout as loud as possible. A thousand faces turn round to me, looks of bewilderment and confusion on their faces. I laugh at them and skip my way up to the stage. The little girl's frozen in shock still when I get there. "Run along now," I say to her. Then I tease, "Or else I might change my mind." That makes her scarper pretty quickly. I announce my name to the escort before he's even the chance to ask. He claps wholeheartedly at something finally going on around here.
Few others do. Most just stand there with mixed expressions. Some tilt their heads to one side and several pinch their arms. Nope, you're not dreaming. You really did just get a decent tribute.
"Well, then! I suppose it's time for the boys, then!" Galeno beams, practically skipping over to the boys' bowl. I haven't a clue why he says 'then' after every sentence. "Ahem, Julies Dust!" he reads. Fine, not every sentence. The boy steps angrily out of the sixteen-year-old section and stomps to the stage, though it's obvious he's hiding his terror. Ha. He'll be fun to watch die. Or even to kill him myself. He is the most annoying boy in the entire district. Always using the fact that he's the mayor's son against us. He gets the Peacekeepers to support him in whatever it is he's doing, get normal people – mostly from the Seam – in trouble. Yup, I bet the whole district's reasonably pleased about this outcome.
"Oh my, my, my, then!" Galeno trills, pressing his hands against his ribcage, "You're the mayor's son, aren't you, then? Oh my, then! Such drama we have today, then!"
As the pale-faced mayor reluctantly tells us to shake hands a minute later, there's the false belief of superiority in Julies' eyes. He thinks he's smarter than me. Thinks he'll win for sure, certainly beat me. Ha. As if. But they are also questioning me. Why? They say. Why the hell did you volunteer for this? Ah. Now that would be telling.
Soooo... you guys remember how to vote, right? If not, just go back a chapter, it's there. And you need to review if you want your tribute to stay in! If you aren't reviewing, I don't know you're reading, and if you're not reading, why shouldn't I kill your character straight off?
Hope you guys liked this chapter and that I did all your tributes justice!