And now I present District 2 Reapings! Tributes courtesy of Petemidnight13 (Hunter Shade. I had tons of fun googling different weapons for a good hour! I get distracted rather easily. I also rekindled my love of cool Asian stuff, but I did have trouble with him. Promise he will be better in the Capitol!) and Europa22 (LuLu Zede and Gertrude Merryweather, both characters that I love)
Hunter Shade
What to play with? What to play with?
I examine the racks of weapons that I've collected over the years. Sure, some of these won't be in the arena, but it was still fun getting to learn them. I know enough about various weapons so that I can use practically anything, which will be to my advantage in the next few days.
Yup, I'm volunteering. Honestly, what District 2 kid doesn't dream of winning? You'd have to be a complete freak to not want to enter the Games.
I slowly take the sheath off of the kama revealing it's smooth, slightly curved blade. I personally love the versatility of this amazing tool. It's great for everything: blocking, trapping, disarming, and most importantly, impaling. To dumb 10 kids (Or is that 11? Both?), it probably looks kind of like a sickle. I quickly slide the cover back on it.
I walk across the room to all my spears. Most people would think about how simple they are. It's just a shaft and a pointed head. They've survived thousands of years of combat in many cultures for a reason. They are amazing. These are sure to be in the arena, so I'm glad I put all those hours of practice into them.
While this room is stock full of beautiful devices, one stands out to me, the one I want in the arena. My katar. Oh yeah. I grip the H-shaped hilt in my fist and stare at the long blade extending from my knuckles. I punch out at a random dummy, easily putting a huge "wound" in its heart. That's the fun part of this particular weapon: I can put as much force as I want into it. I wish it could be my token, but that isn't allowed. Too dangerous and threatening Maybe I can convince my mentor to send me one as a gift. I'm sure to get enough sponsors for that, right?
If only people were like weapons: easily wielded, easily understood, easy to block.
"Hunter!" my mom calls, "Are you ready to go?"
Crap! Biggest day of my life and I'm gonna be late!
"No!"
"Hurry up! We're late enough as it is!" No duh, Captain Obvious.
Lucinda "Lulu" Zede
"Why don't I hear anything down there!" My dad snaps from the top of the stairs.
Right now, I'm supposed to be training. Key word: supposed. Every day from four to eight, I go down to the basement to practice weaponry and the such. I really don't know, exactly. Probably because in my whole life I've never touched one of the swords, knives, and bows that line the walls.
I quickly look down and memorize the page number of my book. "That's because I'm polishing the arrows!" I shout back. I'm surprised at myself; is it even possible to polish arrows? I'm usually better with comebacks than that.
"Good!" he says. Loud footsteps on the stairs warn me that he's coming. I leap up from my chair and stash the book underneath. I make a mad dash for the sink. Turn on! Turn on! Yes! I quickly splash some water on my face: instant "sweat". Arrows! I need arrows. I run across the room and snatch a couple, pretending to reshelf them. By the time my dad's down here, I am trying to catch my breath from the sudden burst of energy. Perfect touch.
"You volunteering?" it comes out like a question, but there is a commanding edge in his voice. When that edge comes out, as it often does, you better listen.
I open my mouth to reply, but he cuts me off, "Of course you are, right?" and the edge got harder, almost threatening.
I nod, making it look eager and excited. My dad seems pleased. He should be. As a peacekeeper, he is always trying to promote himself. Me, I'm just a tool to money and fame for him. That is, if I come back.
"Good. Troila is going to pick you up in an hour," he marches back up the stairs. Emerson Troila, for lack of other words, is a complete douche bag. He treats me as if I was his, all his and no one else can even talk to me. He whines and complains about how he wanted to go in the Hunger Games. I almost wish he would've volunteered last year, that way I wouldn't have to deal with him now. Dad likes him because he is rich. I like him because...well, I don't like him. At all. And here's the kicker: I'm supposed to marry him. Obviously not my choice.
I've got to avoid him. There is no way that I'm going to spend my last day in District 2 with that loser. I quickly brush my hair, throw on a dress, and fasten my mom's silver locket around my neck. I don't look my best, but I only had a few short minutes.
I sneak out the back door and head towards the town's center. I see Emerson heading towards my house, he didn't even notice me, though I had an alibi ready.
I shove my way through the masses of bloodthirsty kids. How they can dream of entering the Games amazes me. Violence really isn't the answer, is it? If you are still pondering the question, the answer is no.
I scan the crowd, looking for the mop of brown hair I love so much. There!
"Hey Titus!" I shout over the din. He turns around, looking for me. His bright blue eyes lock with mine for a minute and the huge familiar grin crosses his face.
"Lulu," he says approaching. He takes one look at my face, "Are you ok?"
No use lying to him, he'd just figure out the truth anyway. "No, I'm volunteering."
He closes his eyes for a minute, "You're not kidding," he says blankly.
"I wish I was." Titus doesn't say anything, but just wraps his arms around me. This is where I want to stay: here with him. Not off in some Games, and then marrying the troll, and then...wait.
If I win the Games, I can do whatever I want. I can come home, tell my dad off, cuss Emerson out like I've wanted to do for the past year, and, best of all, marry Titus instead. With all my wealth, who cares if he is poor and without a status!
A plan starts to form in my head.
Gertrude Merryweather
I stand on the stage, looking out over the crowd. Two of these kids will become my responsibility here in a few minutes. The Games are violent. The Games are cruel. The Games are immoral. The Games are just plain wrong. But if anyone is going to win them, it's my tributes.
How Quilla Mar became escort of this District, I have no idea. Usually 2 is a place of honor and prestige; you have to work your way up to make it here. This girl just kind of showed up. Her dazzling rainbow hair catches the light and practically blinds me. Whatever would possess someone to do that to themselves never ceases to amaze me. Maybe I'm just too old now to understand.
"So District 2!" she shouts, as if she was leading a pep rally. Considering the crowd's response, she might've been. "Let's get this show going, huh?"
She takes light springy steps over to the reaping bowl. Though I don't know why she even bothers.
About five girls make a dash for the stage. Oh! Three of them go down in a rolling on the ground "I'm gonna kill you!" fight. Tenacious girls. Man, they'd do well in the games. This distraction is enough for girl with black hair to make it to the stage. She doesn't look too overly muscular, she's more lithe. She's obviously has speed, so that can help her. I wonder what her weapon knowledge is.
"I'm Lucinda Zede, but you can call me Lulu," she says to Quilla who announces her name.
"Boys' turn!" She shouts, before taking cover behind the podium. Coward. It's not THAT bad. In fact, it's pretty calm and collected. The worst that happened is some punches, tripping, and taunting. Nothing to get worked up over. This is a Career district; we don't hold hands and sing campfire songs.
A six foot guy shoves someone off the stairs and climbs the stage. This one looks strong, a perfect contender.
"Your name?" Quilla asks as she comes back into view.
"Hunter Shade, Victor." He bellows, confidently. I don't have a doubt about him. He's going to do fine.
I examine my tributes on the way to the train. They both have black hair and bright blue eyes, that doesn't happen too often. One of them is the next Victor.
The only question is which one.