A/N: Finally, I'm getting back into the swing of 23 Cannons! So here is the belated chapter four, introducing our delightful young man from District 2, Dylan Spelunk!
And, it's also been exactly one year to the minute of me writing this AN that I first posted any of my writing online! :D Yay for me!
District 2:
Dylan Spelunk (Male Tribute, 18)
With a decisive punch, the crudely stitched bag broke free of the string it was attached to, falling to the ground with a satisfying thud. It took a while, but it finally fell. Just like people; some would take forever to kill.
Looking over at the destroyed punching bag, Dylan wiped the layer of sweat from his forehead, panting. It had taken him a total of seven minutes to destroy the punching bag; better than yesterday, but nothing to flaunt. No; only perfection would be accepted. After all, he had claimed the place of this year's tribute.
Dylan walked over to the bench on the other side of the training gym, and grabbed the bottle of water. He lifted it up, and brought it to his lips. The cool, refreshing liquid passed his lips, and slid down his throat, hydrating him. Once the bottle was emptied, Dylan placed it down, looking over the gym. His routinely morning exercise program had just been completed, and in record time too. He was ready to volunteer today; he knew for a fact that he was more prepared than that creep last year; Nick or something. Whatever. That loser was dead now, and Dylan would be the one that finally brought glory to District 2.
With this in mind, Dylan quickly walked across the gym, and to the doors on the other end. He reached a hand out, pressing onto the cool, blurred glass, and pushed on the door, opening it silently. He stepped forwards, and began to walk down the hallway. The hallway was dimly lit by a low hanging light, with old doors lining the walls. It also smelled slightly of body sprays; the trainers gave each Career in training a can, to prevent the sweat from smelling. Dylan continued down the hallway, stopping outside one of the doors. It was wooden, and painted green, but the paint was fading from years of use. Everything seemed to stick out to Dylan today; he guessed it was due to being aware that this was his last time using this facility.
He reached down, and grabbed the brass handle, pushing it down. He then pushed the door open, and stepped inside. The private room contained a locker, a shower, and a row of benches to sit on. Dylan stretched, before walking to the other side of the room, reaching his locker.
As Dylan became engrossed in opening the locker, he failed to notice as the door to the private room slid open, and a figure silently entered, walking towards him. Still unaware, Dylan continued to work on opening his locker, when a pair of slender hands ran up his shirt. An almost electric shiver ran up Dylan's spine as the cool feel of the hands ran along his back.
"Who's there?" He said, turning around, causing the hands to stop running up his shirt. However, of all the things he expected to see, the person that stood in front of him was someone Dylan thought he'd never see.
Standing right there, was a tall young woman, with long dark hair that curled at the ends, and perfect skin. Her large brown eyes gazed at him, and her full red lips curled into a sly smirk. She was wearing a white tank top, and a short dark skirt, exposing most of her arms and legs. To say she was attractive would have been an understatement.
"Hey," She said in a low, seductive purr, "Dylan, right?" All Dylan could do was nod, his deep tanned cheeks going red.
"Y-Yeah..." He stammered, his heart pounding in his chest. An extremely attractive female was acting seductively mere inches from him; what else was he supposed to do? "What do you want?"
"Oh, I want many things," She said, not taking her gaze from him for a second, "But from you? I simply want to tell you that you're staring into the eyes of your fellow tribute." Hold on. This girl was going to be the tribute this year? She looked a little old to be a tribute, but she was probably about Dylan's age.
Dylan remained motionless as a small giggle came from the girl's lips, and she reached a tender hand forwards. She ran her elegant fingers through his short, close cropped hair, causing shivers to run all throughout Dylan's body. He was absolutely speechless as she used her other hand to push him onto the bench, against the wall. She then proceeded to straddle him as he slumped down, gazing lustfully at him. Dylan's heart was pounding even more at her actions. This was all a bit extreme; something that would probably need consent, but he couldn't do anything but watch, mesmerised, as this girl seductively played with him.
Continuing with these surprising actions, the girl's hands flew down to Dylan's waist, firmly gripping the bottom of his shirt. She continued to gaze seductively at him as she pulled the garment higher up his body, until it was up over his head, discarded on the floor. Once that was done, her slender fingers ran to his stomach, tracing his perfectly toned abs, running over the birthmark on the right hand side; his mother had always said it looked like the old world continent Africa. The girl's delicate touch then moved along his stomach again, running up to his broad chest, dancing lightly over his pectorals, sparks of sensation tingling all over. The sensation continued to travel upwards, passing his collar bone, before creeping up his neck, finally reaching his jaw.
Dylan wanted to gape in awe; to do anything, but was under some sort of spell; her enticing actions preventing him from being anything other than an inanimate object for her soft, tender, sensational hands to run all over. However, as he thought this, the hands pulled away, and her soft face drew closer to his own, before their lips connected. Dylan closed his eyes, and let the feeling take over; it was like a million electrical explosions around his mouth.
After what could have been an eternity, the girl finally pulled away, leaving Dylan sitting there, dazed and confused.
"That was pretty good," She said coyly, standing up, "Who knows? If you're lucky, we might get to do this again in the Capitol." After this, she gave a sly wink, and blew a kiss to Dylan, before slipping out of the room as silently as she entered.
Dylan was still incapable of forming any coherent thoughts on what had just happened. Some attractive girl had just managed to creep into this private room, and perform a seductive display to him, before telling him that she was the female tribute for this year. It was all highly confusing, to say the least. But he couldn't spend all day sat in a daze; the time was ticking away until the reaping.
Shaking away these thoughts, Dylan slowly stood up, and bent down, picking up his shirt. He then walked across the room, and fully undressed, walking into the shower. He turned the dial, and a warm jet of water rushed out, cleaning his body. As the water rinsed over him, Dylan began to think about the events that had just happened. What was that girl thinking when she did that? Obviously, that performance was probably out of impulse more than anything else; perhaps it was an attempt at her trying to get him to trust her. It seemed pretty smart; make friends before your life was on the line. A smug grin crept onto Dylan's face at this. It was the first step to founding the Career pack without a hitch. And even if the tributes from 1 and 4 didn't want to join such alliance this year, at least the two of them would do pretty far; the deadly attractive duo from District 2. He could see it already.
Dylan reached a hand forward, and turned off the shower, the dripping of water decreasing in frequency until, finally, silence. He pushed open the shower's door, and stepped out, a cloud of steam flowing out into the room, giving it a hot, humid quality. But Dylan didn't mind it; last year's arena had that sort of environment, and this year could have something similar. He continued to walk across to the room, and to his locker. He wasted no time in opening it this time, and the door swung open, revealing the contents inside. There was a small backpack, with clothing sticking out; it wasn't his reaping outfit, but it was what he would be wearing until he got home.
He pulled the bag out, and set it on the bench, before pulling out his outfit; a loose, grey shirt, a pair of shorts, and some running shoes. He quickly slipped the outfit on, and put his other outfit in the bag, putting the bag back in the locker, shutting it once more. It was pretty much the last time he'd use it, so there was no need for him to bring it home to clean. Sighing, Dylan walked across the room, opening the door. It creaked open, unlike when the girl opened it, and he stepped out, the humidity vanishing.
Taking a deep breath, Dylan walked along the hallway, to the double doors at the far end. Warm sunlight filtered through the cracked glass, highlighting the damage done years ago from overuse. Carefully, he pushed open the door, the warm air swarming around him.
It truly was a beautiful day; the sun was shining brightly, and the sounds of people preparing for the Games reached Dylan's ears. The excitement was practically radiating off the district as the majority of the citizens wondered who would be their potential victor this year. And they wouldn't be disappointed; District 2 was definitely going to have a winner this year, no doubt about it. After all, who could be better than Dylan Spelunk? He had managed to win the tribute qualification tournament without a hitch; nobody had been a challenge for him. In fact, it had been the first time in years that somebody had managed to win every match without sustaining any injuries.
Smiling to himself out of confidence, Dylan walked down the street, away from the training centre. It wasn't as good as the one in the Capitol would be, but it did its job, and had secured many a victor over the years. And it would continue the trend this year, or his name wasn't Dylan Spelunk.
A soft breeze carried through the air, cooling the stifling heat slightly. It wasn't much, but it took the edge off it. The breeze also carried the delicious aroma of cooking meat; Dylan found himself almost drooling over it, before inwardly chastising himself. He couldn't be seen doing such things; he needed to make the best impression with the Capitol if he had any hope of getting people to sponsor him. The wind died down, causing the scent of the food to disappear, and Dylan continued onwards.
As he continued walking, the road gradually became a steeper slope. But Dylan couldn't complain; the mild strain this was causing was nothing. Spending pretty much the whole of his childhood in training was probably the main thing that contributed, but being resistant to strain was never a bad thing. The top of the hill grew closer, and Dylan broke out into a slight jog; enough to pick up the pace, but not enough to use up any energy.
Dylan reached the top of the hill, his pulse up, but the slight exhaustion wasn't going to deter his excitement. Breathing heavily, he rested against the wall of the nearest building, another delicious scent reaching his nose. He looked through the window, and soon found where the smell was coming from; he was just outside the bakery, which meant that he still had quite a way to go before he would be home. That was one of the disadvantages of District 2; the best training centre was situated in the poorer section of the district, whilst Dylan was fairly rich.
He could hear the sounds of the residents of the bakery as they prepared for the day ahead; the Games meant that more people were willing to freely part with their money, so the bakery would have to work at least twice its normal amount. Dylan's breath returned, and he stopped leaning against the building, walking down the street calmly.
The sun crept higher into the sky as Dylan turned left at the end of the street, the shadow of the mountain known as the Nut blocking out the strong light, taking the edge off of the summer heat. Dylan sighed at the cool air, and walked along the dark grey road, stopping just outside one of the houses lining the street; his home.
Dylan walked up to the front door of his house, and grabbed the handle, pulling it down, opening it. The smell of toast reached his nose, and he breathed in, enjoying the scent, before walking into his house, closing the door behind him.
As soon as Dylan was inside his house, his mother appeared from the kitchen. She was a fairly small woman, with dark hair on the verge of turning grey, and large eyes that seemed to radiate life and knowledge.
"Hello, Dylan," She said softly, smiling widely, "You've just missed breakfast, but I've saved some for you."
"Thanks," Dylan replied, walking towards the kitchen, enticed by the scent. If there was one thing that he was certain of in life, it was that his mother was one hell of a cook. In fact, he often wondered why she didn't pursue that as a career in life, instead of working in the mines. It probably had something to do with the fact that she came from a poor background.
Walking into the kitchen, Dylan breathed in the aroma of breakfast, his stomach demanding to be fed. Usually he'd try his best to ignore it; it was key for a Career to be able to resist hunger for as long as possible, but hey, it was his last day in District 2. He scanned the surfaces of the kitchen, his eyes eventually settling on the still steaming plate of toast. Eagerly, Dylan ran across the room, grabbing the plate. He lifted the first slice, and wasted no time in devouring it. It tasted truly divine, as always. Smiling, Dylan finished the toast, and after placing the plate back into a cupboard, walked back out.
"Did you enjoy that?" Dylan's mother questioned warmly as he walked past her.
"Yeah," Dylan replied, "It was delicious. Thanks."
"You're welcome," She replied, beaming, "And good luck at the reaping." It was slight, but Dylan noticed that her voice caught at the end of the sentence. Of course, once he was tribute, she'd be alone; Dylan's father and sister were caught up in a mine collapse a couple of weeks ago. Both made it out alive, but they were still in a critical condition in the hospital. This was what compelled Dylan to train even harder; he would be able to use his status as victor to get the treatment for the two of them.
"Just hold on, Melanie," He mumbled under his breath as he climbed the stairs, "You'll be better soon." Melanie was two years younger than Dylan, but was opposed to training as a Career. So after finishing her required education at 15, she joined her parents in the mines. As well as this, Dylan adored her with all his heart, and when he received the news that she was caught up in the accident, it nearly broke him.
Dylan reached the top of the stairs, and made his way across the dusty landing to his bedroom. He pushed open the door, and found his reaping outfit laid out neatly on the bed; a dark suit, which used to be his father's reaping outfit all those years ago. He quickly removed his current clothing, and put the outfit on, walking in front of the mirror in his room to adjust it; his reaping appearance would be judged by the Capitol, so if it wasn't as good as he could make it, then there would be a significant lack of sponsors.
Satisfied with his appearance at last, Dylan walked out of his room, and made his way downstairs again. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Dylan saw his mother standing in the hallway, straightening out her dress. She had owned that dress since she was 18, and all these years later, still managed to make it work. That was just one of the many charms of Dylan's mother. And besides, they couldn't really afford to waste money on trivial things like dresses; Dylan's training fees were enough.
"Hey," Dylan said as he walked towards her, glancing at the cracked wall clock; they had about half an hour before the reaping was due to begin.
"Oh, Dylan!" His mother cried out, embracing him, "You look stunning! Like a future victor!"
"Ha, thanks," Dylan replied, trying to escape being smothered by his own mother, "Could you let go?"
"Of course!" She exclaimed, letting her son go. Dylan took a deep breath, before straightening his tie once more. "Now, are you ready to go to the reaping?"
"You know it." Dylan responded with a confident grin. It was all going to go perfectly.
After sharing one more good luck embrace, the two walked down the hallway, and out of the front door of the house. As he adjusted to the brightness of the summer sun, excitement began to rise up inside Dylan. His lifelong dream was to become a reality today; he was going to compete in the Hunger Games.
"Hey," Dylan said to his mother as they began to walk down the street, "Would you mind if I run off to the reaping square now? Just so that I can ensure that nobody else will try to take my position."
"Sure," She replied with a warm smile, "Just be sure to actually get in as a tribute."
"You speak as if there's some form of doubt surrounding the possibility." Dylan let out a laugh, and left his mother's side, rushing down the street.
A refreshing breeze was blowing through the air, keeping the district at a comfortable temperature; perfect conditions for reaping day. Dylan took in a deep breath, and turned right at the end of the street. Almost immediately after, the sun hit him, and Dylan shielded his eyes as he ran down the road, beginning to descend the sharp hill that led to the road to the reaping square. He reached the bottom of the hill, and soon found the long line of teenagers near the entrance to the reaping square. He joined them, standing in the slowly moving line, and listened to the conversation two boys behind him were having.
"I'm so excited for this year's Games!" One boy said, his voice breaking awkwardly on every word, "From what I've heard in the training academy, our representatives this year will secure victory for sure!"
"I know!" The other boy, his voice lower, and more stable, replied, "I can't wait to actually see them!" Dylan smirked with pride. Boy, were they in for a show, so long as that girl from earlier wasn't actually the tribute, whatever her name was. He felt odd for not knowing her name, but it wasn't like it was the most important thing.
"Next," A voice called out, and Dylan looked at the Peacekeeper at the desk. She was half slouching, a bored expression on her cream coloured face. Dylan walked up to her, and offered his hand. She gripped it firmly, and pricked it with the device that was always used.
SPELUNK, DYLAN
MALE
AGE 18
"You can go through now," The Peacekeeper said.
"Okay," Dylan replied, and walked past the desk, and joined the 18 year old males in the reaping square, calmly standing there as the other guys excitedly talked about the Hunger Games. From the snippets of conversation he heard, Dylan deduced that they were speculating about the arena. As they continued to talk, Dylan realised that he probably should have been thinking about the arena; the current head Gamemaker had been creative with her choices so far, and each arena hadn't been what it seemed to be. But it wasn't worth worrying about it right now; Dylan was pretty certain that training would offer him a hint about the arena.
Before he could think ahead any further, though, the crowd went silent as the escort climbed onto the stage. He was a tall, slender man, with porcelain skin, massive purple hair, a deep purple suit, and what could only be described as talons for hands. He gripped the microphone on the stage, and began to address the crowd.
"Welcome, welcome!" He trilled, "Welcome to District Two's reaping for the sixty ninth annual Hunger Games! And, may the odds be ever in your favour!" The crowd began to clap and cheer, the air tingling with excitement. "But hold onto your excitement for just a moment, because we have a very special film for us all to watch today, courtesy of the Capitol!" Dylan rolled his eyes as the film began to play. This was perhaps the worst part of the reaping; he didn't see any reason to waste nearly 15 minutes on a documentary on the history of Panem; it didn't serve any purpose to the Games. But he held back any negative comments, pretending to pay attention to the video, until it eventually ended.
"Finally," He muttered under his breath.
"Wasn't that delightful?" The escort giggled, the crowd clapping with him. "And now for the main event; selecting our courageous tributes!" The cheering increased in volume as he leapt over to the first bowl, sticking his hand in, "Ladies first!"
He read the name out, but the girl in question, a fourteen year old from Dylan's training centre, didn't move. Of course she wasn't going to be the tribute; the hand-picked representative was. And exactly as planned, a hand shot up from the females' section.
"I volunteer as tribute!" She cried out, the sea of girls parting around her. And as she walked out into the middle of the square, Dylan's jaw dropped.
It was the girl from earlier, wearing the same outfit, and the same sly smile. She sauntered up to the stage, climbing the steps with little effort, and gave out a light giggle.
"Well then!" The escort exclaimed, "It appears we have a volunteer! What's your name, honey?"
"Kylee Harker," The girl said, not missing a beat, "Don't forget it." She winked coyly at the cameras, and Dylan felt an unsettling unease come over him. This Kylee girl was playing the crowd like a harp; she had pretty much everyone wrapped around her finger. And as she flashed a seductive smirk, Dylan realised why she was the chosen tribute; she was manipulative, which explained that performance earlier in the changing room. But the extent of her manipulation remained a mystery.
"How exciting!" The escort cried out, clapping. The crowd erupted into applause, and Dylan looked coldly at Kylee. She was going to be a problem in the arena, that much was certain. "But contain your excitement for just a moment longer! It's time to find out which young man will take the glory of being this year's tribute!"
The crowd fell silent as he skipped over to the males' bowl, and stuck a talon into the bowl. He gripped a single slip, and lifted it out, reading clearly.
"Dylan Spelunk!"
Well, that was one problem solved. Dylan let a confident grin cross his features, and walked through the crowd, and up to the stage, blatantly ignoring the other attempts at volunteering. He took his place next to Kylee, and absorbed the excited cheers of the crowd; he was a celebrity now.
"Hey," Kylee said softly, her voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. "Nice to see a familiar face going into the arena with me, huh?"
"Yeah," Dylan said. "It kind of is."
"Ladies and gentlemen, one more for Dylan Spelunk and Kylee Harker: The tributes from District Two!" The crowd erupted in cheering as Peacekeepers surrounded the pair of tributes. Dylan barely had time to glance at the crowd before he was herded into the Justice Building.
The goodbye room was fairly small, and very plush. Dylan stood in the corner of the room, his hand tracing the intricate pattern on a desk; they were hand-carved flowers. Evening primroses, if he remembered anything from the brief plant identification training he did. It was amazing how someone did this; no doubt the work of District 1.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Dylan looked as his mother walked into the room, wrapping her arms around him.
"Congratulations!" she said. "My boy's this year's tribute!"
"I know," Dylan said bashfully. "No need to smother me."
"Sorry!" she said, pulling away. "I guess old habits die hard." She backed off from Dylan, and reached into her pocket, revealing a pendant with a locket attached to it.
"What's this?" Dylan asked, taking the locket.
"Just open it," his mother said. "You'll realise." Dylan shot her a confused look, before opening the locket up. When he saw the contents, his heart caught in his chest.
It was a picture of his father and sister, smiling happily. Something about this filled Dylan with emotion, and he instantly realised what it was.
"Hey," he said, his voice uneasy. "Why aren't they...?"
"Critical condition," his mother replied. "They have maybe a month left alive, and cannot be moved from the hospital; they're on life support." Dylan felt the colour drain from his cheeks. "Which means that unless you win the Games before two weeks are up, they're both going to die."
"No..." Dylan choked out, desperately trying to hold in the emotion. Keep it together, keep it together, keep it together... The mantra echoed around his head, and Dylan was so focused on it that he didn't notice his mother attach the pendant to his neck, nor did he notice her leaving, and he wasn't aware of the Peacekeepers dragging him out into the car. The only thing he could see was the image of Melanie, lying in a hospital bed, barely alive.
This had gone from Dylan wanting to enter the Games for glory: he had to win this, or his mother would lose everyone she held close to her heart.