Disclaimer: Hunger Games does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Suzanne Collins, etc.
CHAPTER TWO
the bookworm archer
Raelle Dowd, female tribute of District One
My name is Raelle Dowd. I live in District One, in the middle class section of the main town. Today is the day of the second reaping where my name will be entered, and today is also the day when I'll be volunteering.
I've spent most of my life – since I was five, actually – training to volunteer, and I feel like I'm ready to challenge, and win, the Hunger Games.
The instructors at the training center I attend are always telling us that punctuality is important. It's important to wake up on time; it's important to show up for class, training and other events on time, you get the idea.
It's a habit to wake up early, so that I can visit the District's library as soon as it opens. My family values literature, and my mother is the English teacher at the local high school. However, like I mentioned, I'm a Career, someone who trains to volunteer for the Hunger Games, and then live a rich life afterward on the prize money. Careers aren't the bookworm type – unless they're from District Five, which I am not.
So, I keep my bookworm-ness quiet, and act the part of someone who's training to win the most bloodthirsty form of entertainment that Panem has to offer.
Today, I woke up at the same time that I always do, only to remember that the library is closed today. Well, I'm not used to sleeping in, so I get up anyway. I still have a book that I haven't finished, and let's face it: I won't be able to take any books (beyond my token) with me to the Capitol.
When I get back, as a Victor, I can take out all the books I want.
As usual, I'm the first one to use the bathroom, which is always nice. Showering without hot water is a pain, but with two parents and three siblings, it's always a threat unless I'm one of the first people in here.
I spend another fifteen minutes carefully brushing my reddish-brown hair, not wanting a single strand to be out of place when I volunteer this afternoon. First impressions are important (another lesson from the instructors, but it's pretty common sense) and a neat appearance is a necessity. Not to mention, my District has a reputation for producing 'beautiful' tributes. I don't want to be the one to break that tradition.
My older brother (he's adopted) knocks impatiently on the door, demanding to know when I'm going to be coming out. I take one last look at my hair in the mirror, then walk out.
"About time," he sighs, walking past me. "I hope you didn't use all the hot water, Raelle."
I smile innocently at him, to which he just rolls his eyes and shuts the door.
I share a room with my younger sister, and my two brothers share a room as well. My sister's still asleep when I come back in, but it's not a problem because I'm used to walking about quietly. Downstairs, it sounds like someone – probably my mom – has started preparing breakfast.
I hope she's making pancakes. I don't like eating waffles. I'm kind of a picky eater.
What to wear for the reaping? I have several outfits in mind, but I haven't decided on the one, yet. Like I said before, the first impression is important and I need to look my best today. After hesitating between two of my long tee shirts – the pink and the green one – I finally decide on the latter.
Skinny jeans, and a pale green long tee shirt will be my reaping outfit this year. But it's too soon to change just yet, so I put an older tee shirt and a pair of worn out jeans.
I glance at my sister – still asleep – and decide to let her sleep some more. I grab my book of fairytales and walk down to the kitchen.
Sure enough, my mother is making pancakes, just like I was hoping. We even have some fresh fruit from District Eleven, to mark the special occasion. None of it is the kind I like, though.
"What time were you planning on going to the reaping, Raelle?" my mother asks, expertly flipping the finished pancake from the pan onto a growing stack on the counter.
"I was going to leave at twelve," I reply, flipping through the book until I reached my favourite story. I know it off by heart, but I still like to read it.
"Ok, I'll make sure Raymond is ready by then," she tells me, naming my younger brother. "I was thinking you two could go together, since it's his first reaping."
"As long as he's ready when I want to go," I agree.
In the background, I hear the shower turn off. "I hope that's Raymond," she remarks, glancing at the clock. It's around nine, already.
"It's Lance," I reply. "I can make him wake Raymond up, if you want," I add, feeling restless. Usually reading the fairytales calms me down, but it's understandable that I'd be nervous about volunteering.
"Please do," my mother says distractedly, flipping the pancakes again. "Get your sister too, breakfast is almost ready."
The door to my brothers' room is closed, so I knock and say, "Lance, mom wants you to wake Raymond up. She says breakfast is almost ready."
I get a muffled grunt in response, so I take that to mean 'ok'. I then go back into my room, where, sure enough, Lucille is still asleep.
"Hey, sleepyhead, wake up," I singsong, flipping her blankets back with a small amount of glee.
Lucille starts whining – she's only six – but when I say, "We're having pancakes and fresh fruit for breakfast. Mom says it's almost ready," she starts paying attention.
I help her pick out an outfit – a light blue dress that used to be mine – and pull her hair up into two pigtails. I tug on them for good measure, just to see her wrinkle her nose in annoyance.
"Raelle! Stop it," she insists, pulling away.
I grin at her, but stop. "Hungry yet? Breakfast's probably done by now," I remark, and we both return to the kitchen. Sure enough, a dish of fruit, as well as the platter of pancakes, has been set on the table.
"Raelle, Lucille, please help your father set the table," my mother requests, in the process of frying some eggs. Raymond and Lance are nowhere to be seen – not surprising, considering all boys seem to have an aversion to chores.
"I'll do the cutlery, you do the plates," I tell Lucille, handing the stack of dishes. She dutifully sets them out, with me following behind with forks and knives. My dad sets out the glasses.
There's a bit of a commotion because Raymond doesn't want to come out of his room – first reaping jitters. It's a bit silly, considering this is District One, but my parents eventually manage to coax him out of the room and convince him to eat some breakfast.
I'm glad for the distraction, because usually my parents nag me to eat all the things that I don't like. This way, I'm done my pancakes by the time they come back out, and I still have about two hours until my self-set deadline to leave.
"I'm going to get some practice at the training center – the instructor said I could come in," I announce casually. I haven't told my parents that I plan on volunteering today. It'll be a surprise.
"Ok, what time will you be home?" my father asks, predictably.
"I'll be back by eleven thirty, and Raymond and I can leave for the reaping at twelve," I answer. At my parents' nod, I let myself out of the house and set off for the training center.
"Hey, Raelle! Wait up," a familiar voice calls, and Lance jogs up when I stop walking. He's in training too, though he's not going to volunteer this year.
We've got a friendly sibling rivalry going, Lance and I. While I'd say he's overall a better fighter, he's not really great at anything. I, on the other hand, am probably the best archer in the training center, though my strength in other fighting domains isn't anywhere near Lance's level – except hand-to-hand combat. I think we're pretty evenly matched in that aspect as well.
Anyway, after a few minutes of silence, when the training center is in sight, Lance neutrally asks, "So you're still planning on volunteering, right?"
I glance up at him – although I'm pretty tall for my age, around five foot five, Lance is still taller than me. He's also the only person I've confided in about my decision to volunteer for the 324th Hunger Games. Mostly because, I think he's the only person in my family who would understand and support that decision.
"Yeah, I'm still going to volunteer," I agree, increasing my pace slightly. I don't really want to talk about it, with Lance or anyone else.
"It's not that I don't think you can do it, Raelle," Lance adds, easily keeping pace. "But don't you think a few more years of experience would be an asset?" The note of worry in his voice is understandable, but I find it annoying that he's voicing the exact doubts that I've been having.
"People will underestimate me because I'm younger than them," I answer, trying for confidence. I'm pretty good at sounding confident, though; now if only I could feel that way, I'd be set...
"That's true... Most of the Careers will be over sixteen, anyway," Lance acknowledges as we enter the training center. "Archery, I'm guessing?" he asks drily.
I grin at him. "Of course."
Most trained tributes don't like to rely on archery, because it's a long-range form of fighting. If someone gets close, it'd be easier to stick an arrow in them, obviously, but they could easily knock your bow away and then engage you closer, so in that sense it's riskier than, say, using a sword or a spear. However, since I'm not that strong (for my age I'd say I am, but against teenagers nearing adulthood, the outcome would be fairly obvious) archery is perfect. And like I said, not many people use it, so they wouldn't be expecting it.
There's only one instructor present today, since it is a holiday. They're not getting paid, and training isn't mandatory like it usually is, so no one besides Lance and I is present.
"Lance, Raelle," the instructor greets, nodding to us. "Are you thinking of volunteering today, Lance?" he asks, correctly assuming that one of us volunteering would be the reason we came in for some last minute training.
"Uh, well..." Lance stalls, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. I haven't mentioned my plans to any of the instructors, either.
"I'm the one who wants to volunteer," I tell the man.
He raises his eyebrows, but otherwise doesn't react. "Ah. Well, if you got your hands on a bow... Yes, you'd certainly stand a chance," he agrees at length. "So, you two want to spend a bit of time at the archery station?"
"Yes, please," I agree, smiling, and he disappears into the back room to set it up.
The training center consists of several gymnasiums; the one Lance and I go to is for weapons fighting. At one end is the archery range, which has several types of targets: stationary and moving ones.
I can hit a bull's eye on the stationary targets ten out of ten times, though my accuracy on the moving ones is a bit lower. I never hit less than eight of them, though.
I collect one of the practice bows and a quiver of arrows, Lance following suit. We start off with the stationary targets, just to warm up. Unsurprisingly I score a bull's eye on all ten of them. Lance's record is seven; today is no except, and he scores six.
The instructor then drops the moving targets – they hang from the ceiling and move in a random pattern each time, so a person can't memorize which way they're going to turn next.
Lance is awful at this type of archery, but he does manage to score three hits. With his quiver now empty, he steps back with a laugh.
"It's all yours, Raelle."
I grin at him and get myself into position. Lance's problem is he waits too long. You need to spot the target, then draw your bow and shoot. He does it the other way around.
I hit nine moving targets, six of which are bull's eyes. Not bad.
Lance whistles. "I'll never be that good," he says, patting my head.
"Careful of my hair!" I retort, ducking away. Lance rolls his eyes.
"Want to go again?" he asks good-naturedly, but I think he's a little annoyed at being shown up like he just was.
"No, but I do have some pointers for your style, if you're interested," I answer.
"Well, you are the best... But don't you want to get a bit more practice in?" he hedges.
"It's ok. And there's three days to train when we get to the Capitol," I point out.
"But you won't be showing off your skills to the others... Will you?" Lance asks.
I shrug. I haven't really decided yet. "I'll figure it out, Lance."
He looks like he wants to say more, but then changes the subject. "So, what sort of pointers do you have?"
Lance and I spend about half an hour on his stance, and then the lone instructor makes us leave. It's only eleven, but he insists that we need to be ready because, after all, punctuality is important.
"So, Raymond looked pretty nervous," Lance remarks. "That kid isn't cut out for training."
"Mm. Good thing mom and dad didn't enroll him," I agree. Then again, maybe Raymond would feel better about the upcoming reaping if he had gotten some training.
Raymond is sitting at the table, all dressed up but looking very unhappy when we get home. Lucille is prancing around in her dress, and this just reminds me that I need to get dressed.
Leaving Lance to deal with the two younger siblings, I hurry to my room and put on the outfit I'm going to wear when I volunteer. After a few hours of training, my hair is a bit windswept so I quickly brush it back into shape.
I notice that Lance has managed to cajole Raymond and Lucille (even though they're a little old for it) into reading my book of fairytales that I left on the table. My parents must still be in their room, getting ready.
"Hey, given any thought to what your token would be, you know, if you ever volunteered," Lance asks innocently, and I give the book in his hands a pointed look. He nods once, to show that he understands. Raymond is looking a little pale at the prospect of tokens and volunteering, so Lance and I quickly distract him with questions about school and such, with Lucille unwittingly pitching in.
"All right, let's go Raymond," I say, noticing that it's now twelve.
He shakes his head immediately, but when Lucille shows that she is perfectly happy to go, he grudgingly gets up to leave.
"Mom, dad! We're leaving now!" I call over my shoulder, and lead Raymond out. Lance stays behind with Lucille, who'll be going with our parents.
The line is getting pretty long when we show up, so it takes about fifteen minutes until Raymond and I can sign in. Upon seeing his friends, he immediately forgets his anxiety and runs over to join them in the twelve year old section.
Really. I roll my eyes and walk into the thirteen year old section. I don't have any friends, so I end up standing off by myself, at the front of the section. This suits me fine, though. It'll be that much easier to run up to the stage when I volunteer, this way.
I notice that the eighteen year old section (which is much closer to the stairs) is quite packed at the front. Seeing them is a pretty stark reminder that I'm going to be one of the youngest tributes in this year's arena...
I distract myself with thoughts of the book about mutts I took out recently. It has a pretty comprehensive list of the different mutts that have been created – though usually there's new ones in the arena most years – and I tried to remember the main types.
Lance pushes his way to the front of his age section (sixteen) and nods to me. I give him a smile that only feels a little bit shaky. I can't stop myself from pacing in a tight line; as the time to volunteer draws closer, I only get more and more tense.
Finally, the mayor and our escort – Lettie Knack – take the stage, and once everyone stops talking the mayor begins his annual speech about Panem's history...
Lettie calls the first tribute's name: a girl named Casey Taylor. I open my mouth to announce my intention to volunteer, but an eighteen year old boy gets there first, swiftly mounting to the stage before anyone can dispute his claim.
I need to be faster!
I tune out whatever Lettie says to the boy, though I do catch his name: Trance Arkins. The escort finally walks over to the other reaping bowl- she pulls out the first name and-
Before I know it, I'm running up to the stage. Ah! What did I just do! Lettie didn't even read the name yet!
Everyone's staring at me like I'm some kind of fool so I say, with as much confidence as I can muster, "I volunteer for whoever you just drew."
Lettie stares at me for a moment, then breaks out into her enthusiastic smile again. "Aren't you eager!" she cheers, taking my arm and leading me over to stand beside Trance. "And what's your name, dear?"
"Raelle Dowd," I answer, smiling back.
I just volunteered. I just volunteered and got accepted.
I'm going to the Hunger Games.
Most of the people in the crowd are staring at me like they can't believe what just happened. The eighteen year olds in particular look rather angry.
Lance offers me a smile, which I return.
"Well, everyone, cheer for District One's lucky tributes: Trance Arkins and Raelle Dowd!" Lettie tells the crowd while Trance and I shake hands.
And it's off to the Justice Building.
In the few minutes between being shown to this room, and my family entering, I realize that I'm a little nervous – scratch that, I'm actually terrified – about what their reactions are going to be.
My parents enter first, clearly with the intention to speaking to me alone, but then Lance just happens to let go of Lucille's hand and she runs in to hug me. Raymond follows, and then Lance does too.
"Raelle, what were you thinking?" my mother demands, sounding angry and fearful. "You're only thirteen! Did you see that boy who's your partner? The other volunteers are going to be just like him!"
"He was only like two inches taller than me," I say defensively – and he was, honestly. Maybe three. And he was pretty slender. But he was definitely trained, he just wasn't the overly muscular type...
"You know what your mother means," my father puts in, frowning worriedly at me. "They have age and experience that you don't."
"His name was just like Lance's," Lucille puts in, jumping around on the sofa. At least someone is enjoying this...
"Lucille, behave," my mother scolds, and my younger sister somewhat grudgingly sits down.
"Raelle, you're gonna have to kill people in the arena if you wanna come back," Raymond says, gazing at me fearfully.
Thankfully, none of my family says anything against the idea of me coming back at all.
"She's good with a bow – better than good, she's the best at the training center," Lance remarks. "And you know she reads every spare chance she gets. Her odds are pretty good."
"Did you know about this, Lance?" my mother demands, and she and my father round on him.
"Don't get mad at him," I speak up. "I asked him not to tell you, because I knew you would react like this, instead of being supportive..." Annoyingly, I feel tears prickling at my eyes.
"Raelle..." my mother sighs, bending down slightly to hug me. I bury my face in her shoulder. "It's not that we think you can't do it... We just wish you'd waited."
My father nods, "And a bit of warning would have been nice."
My mother and I step apart, and I rub the lingering tears from my eyes. "If I'd warned you, you would have forbidden me from volunteering," I mutter by way of explanation.
"Lance, you're not to volunteer until you're seventeen," my father says sternly, glancing at him.
"Good thing I turn seventeen next year," Lance answers, grinning.
"When can I volunteer?" Lucille asks. In case it wasn't obvious, she doesn't quite understand what the Hunger Games are all about, and my parents don't let us watch them until we turn eight.
"There won't be any need to, when I come back as a Victor," I tell her, when my parents exchange horrified glances.
Lucille pouts. "'kay," she mutters sulkily.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Lance says, pulling my book out of his pocket. "Here you go."
"That's your token?" my mother asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," I respond, a little defiantly. It's not like anything really practical is allowed as a tribute's token. This will do just fine.
"Time's almost up," a Peacekeeper interrupts, sticking his head around the door to make sure we heard.
"Ok. Well, Raelle... Good luck," my father says, and the rest of my family echoes him. Lucille gives me a hug, as does Lance, and then both my parents. It looks like Raymond is going to leave without doing so, but he suddenly turns and hugs me fiercely.
"I know you can win, Raelle," he whispers, then runs out.
The Peacekeepers close the door again, and I'm left alone for the remainder of the hour.
I spend the car ride to the train station staring at Trance, and he does the same. He's not handsome, exactly – his features are too delicate to be considered as such. I'd say he's pretty, but only privately. I don't think boys like being called pretty, or cute. I'll just stick with calling him 'attractive'.
I'm expecting the Capitol reporters and photographers to be at the train station, and I smile and wave to them when we exit the car. Glancing at Trance, I notice that he's just giving them an almost bored look.
"Smile and wave," I mutter to him, my smile not faltering. Seriously, doesn't he want to make a good impression? Annoyingly, he only raises his hand in a lazy sort of wave. Before I can make him do more, we're inside the train.
Avox servants bring out a feast, for a late lunch. I pick at the unfamiliar foods, not wanting to try something that I don't know, even if it does look good...
"Try some of the stew," Lettie suggests, smiling. My reluctance being noticed by the other adults – though Trance seems to be ignoring me; oh well, the feeling's mutual – I'm eventually coerced into trying a bit of nearly all the dishes.
It's not so bad, most of it is actually really good, but I still don't appreciate being forced to eat.
The mentors and Lettie don't talk much about strategies, except for Trance's mentor telling us, "You're both attractive, so you should play up your good looks," when we pull into the station at the Capitol.
I blush faintly under the praise – like most of District One's past Victors, he's very attractive, so I take the compliment at face value.
"Will do," Trance responds, sounding a little bored with everything.
Trying to engage him, I add, "We're probably the best-looking pair this year." Just because we started off on the wrong foot doesn't mean I can just write him off. I need to have allies if I want to make it into the Career Alliance.
Trance smirks. "I am pretty good-looking," he agrees, and oh. If he's going to be like that- "But you're not so hard on the eyes yourself," he adds, possibly sensing that I'm starting to get really annoyed with him.
Before I can say anything I might come to regret, our mentors hustle us off the train, and then we're driving through the Capitol to the Training Center. The Capitol is like nothing I've ever seen; I can't even imagine living in a place like this.
And then I see my room at the Training Center. I could get used to luxury like this, I decide, flopping back onto the comfy bed. Then I spring up to explore – I have a gigantic closet (clothes all in my size) and bathroom and-
It's amazing.
After dinner, we watch the reaping recaps. I commit every face and name to memory, though Trance only seems to pay attention to the Careers.
I have to wonder if he's really serious about being in the Games, but I don't ask him. Talking to my partner is, I've already found, kind of annoying.
A/N: HOLY LONG CHAPTER BATMAN. I dunno, I started writing, thinking that Raelle's chapter would be shorter than Trance's - nope, nuh-uh. Hers is like 1500 words longer.
I hope everyone doesn't expect long chapters like this D: If they are, I think it'll be a while before I even get to training, much less the arena! I'm trying to write around 2500 words for each character, and from now on I am going to stick to that.
(...Probably.)
Anyway, feedback's very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!