Warning: Lots of cursing from the girl here. Nothing you haven't heard before if you are of age to read T rated fiction. I've just heard so many people talking like this, I wanted to portray one among my tributes. Think about is as an experiment^^
Drake Stanhope, 15, District Six
They were all going to the work rooms. Cramped little places with just enough light to be able to read the tiny print of their handouts. The students were speaking fast, asking questions about the last lecture, hoping the person next to them would know, hoping that, despite the competition, their friends would be loyal enough to give them the right answer.
And for what? A whole life of experimenting on dead bodies and artificial organs, at best. Drake had to get out.
"Drake, no!" Ether said as he made his way out of the pack of students. "It's the third time this week, you need to study!"
Drake's dark brown eyes met his former best friend's. He couldn't see their color, huge purple bags hid them in deep shadows.
He looked away. "I can't, Ether, I'm not made for this."
Ether grabbed his shoulder. Drake almost smiled. The other was wasting precious energy for his sake.
"Drake, if you fail, you'll be scrubbing floors and packing boxes. You'll have to become a lab rat to pay for food! That's no life! It's just another couple of months."
Drake shook his head."No. Even with the exam it's no life. You just don't want to see it. Look at you all, you're like old men already."
"Leave that idiot alone, that's one less to worry about, Ether," Willow said, pulling the boy away. Ether didn't fight back.
Former best friend. Ether had neither the time, nor the energy to spare for friendship anymore. Very few had. Drake had to get out. He rushed out of the school, away from the hospitals -not that anyone ever got cured in there- away from anything remotely sterilized. He only stopped when he began to raise dust, the well paved roads giving way to beaten earth trails. His sides were aching but he didn't care. There the factories began. Trains and hovercrafts, tractors, cars and motorcycles. They would then be sent to Three where the more advanced functions would be fitted in.
His parents had named him Drake because it sounded powerful. Drake just wanted real wings to get out of there.
"Boy, do you ever learn?" Fusel sighed as the boy poked his head in the big garage.
"Learn? This is paradise!" Drake said with a huge grin.
Fusel sold spare parts, any part. The man knew what they were for and how to set them right. Him and his wife worked day and night, making enough of a living to get his boys educated in pharmaceuticals. The irony always made Drake sad: with that money, Fusel and Pippa could've supported two more children in a bigger apartment.
"You're never telling your parents are you?"
Drake looked down, because it was expected he show embarrassment, but he wasn't sorry.
"You're three months away from your final exam, Drake. I've seen you poking your head where it shouldn't have been even before you started crowding my shop. Why throw it all away?"
Drake stared, a genuine laugh escaped his lips.
"It's not what it's made out to be, you know. Mom works on crash tests, Dad tests drugs, it's great jobs, right? But I hardly ever see them and they have nothing to talk about, aside from work. My sister did great, she's in DNA research, and they threaten her every day that there are hundreds of people waiting for her job if she disappoints, I haven't taken a walk with her in four years." Drake took a deep breath, hating how his voice cracked in outrage.
"My brother did well enough to get into drug manufacturing. He's a morphling now," Drake said, his jaw tight. It had been like losing him. "I'm the only one who laughs, the only one who still dreams and they call me an idiot," he added, disbelief lacing his voice. "Here you talk and laugh with your wife. Its hard work. Your clothes are cheaper, your food tastes off but you're still alive!" Drake had to make the man understand. "You're a real family. I want to work for you. I'll work so hard and I'll never complain. I'll see people and maybe one day I'll pilot a Hovercraft. At least I might meet a pilot here. At least you don't do morphling."
"Oh you'll meet pilots alright." Fusel said, looking tired all of a sudden.
Drake looked down, feeling bad for saying such things to a man that had worked so hard to send his kids into the Hospitals, where the jobs were more and paid better than transport. "You know, maybe Mum's right and I'm not right in the head. They all keep studying back there, no matter how tough it gets. It's just me. But I need this."
This tiny taste of freedom. Touching something that will fly.
"Come, Boy," Fusel said, a small smile creasing his weathered face.
Drake grinned and let out a whoop of joy.
Drake was curled up next to the heating pipes of the Hovercraft launching bay. The pilots came here for their exams. He wondered how many were actually from Six. Many were peacekeepers but a fair few were not. Drake couldn't tear his eyes away from the machines. He'd flown once and it had become an obsession.
"Who's there?" a voice asked sharply. It was the right voice.
He'd spent the whole day between the walls of the modern building. Getting in was always easier than getting out. He didn't know if it was on purpose: to make thieves confident and then spring on them, or if it was just chance. His mother would be shaking her head now, saying getting caught showed how hopeless he was. His grandfather would take out the belt. Except Drake wasn't hopeless. He'd chosen the person who'd find him. He'd grown good at seeing who would be good help.
"I'm coming out, I'm not armed or anything," he said, making sure his hands were the first thing visible.
He'd learned long ago that no-one looked at old camera footage unless the Capitol investigated something, and whoever did surveillance cared little about who walked the corridors. All the stuff stored there had alarm-raising tracking chips on them anyway.
The woman pilot was tall, strong-looking with a stern bun and a perfectly ironed uniform. Only she was over forty so she couldn't be a new recruit trying to impress her bosses by being very professional. Drake had found that people who tried too hard to look like something were often very different than what they appeared.
Her eyes almost popped from her head as she saw him. "Child! Are you out of your mind? Get out, come."
She had him by the scruff of the neck. She was leading him outside. Drake had to fight a grin.
"Shirt off," she said crisply once they were outside.
That was not part of the plan. But she had his arm held tight and a phone in her vest. Drake complied. He heard her sigh as she examined his scarred back.
"Just ten old lashes? You are either very good or have just today forgotten your lessons."
"Lesson," Drake corrected without thinking.
The woman frowned. The maximum penalty for a child in Six was seven lashes.
"What happened?"
Drake should have shut up, but he was way too proud of his accomplishment. "I was nine. I went on a Hovercraft. It was near the border when they found me."
He'd seen that day that the world was a bigger place than what he'd ever imagined. A place he wanted to see. He knew every street in the city already. He felt caged, he wanted out.
"Dear Capitol," the woman whispered, her horror completely at odds with Drake's wistful smile. "You are indecently lucky to be alive. Such foolishness..." She had no words.
"I know. I'm not doing it again, ever, not illegally. I just wish I could fly someplace better."
Her lips twitched. "Don't let dreams steal your life. I'm from Two, I'm happier here."
Drake's jaw dropped. Two? But that was like the best place in the whole world after the Capitol!
"Now get out of my sight, Chipmunk, I've got work to do."
She closed the personnel only door in his face.
He started walking back home, not quite dragging his feet. Why would she leave Two? It was awfully confusing. Maybe he'd just keep flying and flying then, all around the world.
Hawk Dorkas, 18, District 6.
"Still reading those books, Doc?"
"It's lab assistant, I'm no Doc, and you know I've got finals in a week."
"Whatever, Doctor, want me to agonize in front of you for practice?"
He puffed up like a crowing cock when she called him Doctor so she pretended she'd never bothered to learn the difference between the two. She had no clue why the nerd liked her, with all the loose bimbos begging to get laid by a guy with a chance at money. But Towler did, and she'd found herself liking him right back. He couldn't throw a punch to save his life, but as he'd once joked: every relationship needs a girl in it. Except he was no pussy, working day and night for his smart job.
"Paint smell bothers you?" Hawk said.
"Nah."
She had stuff both at her place and his, painting was the one thing that really got her to relax, even more than the occasional morphling drag.
"Why don't you do my back, Baby?" Towler said.
"Sure, won't that ruin you focus?"
"Nah," he said, flashing her a grin as he took his shirt off.
Hawk eyed him critically. Yup, she had some killer ideas. She liked her body art waterproof, the remover cost a bleeding arm but she'd probably use the money for morphling or other dangerous crap otherwise. She had the brains of a lab rat sometimes. She began to mix the colors.
When Hawk returned home from the railway station her father was in a bathrobe. Man lived in his bathrobe like some senile old fart when he got back from the railways. She went to grab a bite.
"You finished at six, why aren't you back 'till freaking ten?"
Let it go already, she was fucking eighteen.
"Chill, I got held up," Hawk said.
"How? By whom?"
Now he was asking for serious trouble.
She smirked. "Towler, against the wall, pretty fucking hard too."
A murderous expression crossed the burly man's face. Hawk dodged the low uppercut and squared a punch at his chest. He groaned as he parried, Hawk hoped it hurt like hell. She was sweating like a pig when she finally wrestled him to the floor. After counting to ten in a smug tone, she let him get up.
He chuckled. "Soon, I'll have to stop holding back."
"You haven't held back nothing in two years, Daddy. It's just plain old age," Hawk shot back, earning herself a smack on the arm.
"You're the only thing that stands between me and that little fuck, don't force yourself to protect him, Hawk," he said, wiping his head with his sleeve.
"Who ever forced me to do a fucking thing, Dad?" In a town full of morphling dealers and peacekeepers, he thought it was Towler she needed protection from?
"No harm in checking." He grinned, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "There are some biscuits in my room."
Hawk perked up and went to get the box.
"And wash up! You stink!"
And whose bloody fault was that?
Drake Stanhope, 15, District Six
He hated Reaping Day.
He took as much time as he could to dress and wash. His fat chestnut curls were almost shining when he was through. He'd even taken the few hair he had on his shoulders off with tweezers. It still stung.
On Reaping Day he had to stay with his family the whole morning since physical attendance was mandatory for anyone who had a child or sibling at risk. And that was almost worse than the Reapings themselves. At least the Reapings ended with a feast.
"You've been skipping class again," his mother said. She sounded disappointed, as always. He almost preferred his grandparents' anger. At least he felt like a person then. He knew neither would come out of their room today, and it was for the best.
"I've found a job. One I like. You won't need to spend money on me anymore, Mom."
"But why, Drake? Being a biologist or a doctor is the best you can hope for. We've done everything we could to ensure you a future."
"Mom, when is the last time you smiled? When is the last time Fibula laughed?" Drake challenged, knowing she didn't want to understand.
"Drake, if you don't get either a job or a kid by twenty, you'll get avoxed. You don't want a kid, and that's smart of you, but you have to understand that secure, safe job is the only thing -"
The boy tuned her out. He knew his brother was close. He could smell the morphling. He sometimes wondered why his parents had never touched the stuff but he feared the answer would just make him sad. He shut his eyes. He didn't want to see Masseter. He wanted to remember his big brother, the tall smart boy who'd told him wild stories, not this… mutt.
His mother had taken Drake to an analyst a few times despite the insane waiting times and the cost, probably hoping he had some rare mental disease. Unfortunately what he had couldn't be cured. Well… His father had tried slipping him some drugs one evening. It was the first time he'd ever heard his sister shout. The man had never tried again. Fibula stood between him and the rest of the family during the whole bus ride, not saying a word. She was the one who'd taught Drake to watch, really watch, people all those years before. He knew she still paid attention, but she looked so exhausted all the time.
The Capitol woman had a song name, Carol. Her voice was a weird little song itself. Drake imagined a whole choir of Carols, fluffy pink long gloves and all. He smothered a snicker.
"Care to share the joke?" a guy said next to him. He sounded cocky. He looked scared.
"Picture twenty escorts like her, clucking in a chicken pen," Drake whispered.
The boy's lips twitched. Drake started to count the necklaces the woman was wearing, trying to make sense of the colored tangle.
"This year's lucky draw is… Drake Stanhope."
Drake stopped counting. His eyes were now focused on the giant screens showing the crest of the Capitol.
The Capitol, he was going to see the Capitol.
The words ran over and over in his head as he walked up to the escort, the mirror-like scales on her dress making his eyes sting. He gazed back at the crowd without seeing them. Him, going to the Capitol. Wow.
A tough, angry-looking woman, with big muscles, short spiky hair and lots of rings all over her face and ears was soon standing next to him.
"Hi," he heard himself say. But he just couldn't bring himself to focus.
The Capitol.
"You know there's something called the Hunger Games at the end of your little vacation, Drake," Fibula said, when he barely reacted at her entering the little room they'd put him in.
"Right. Yeah…."
The Hunger Games. It was beginning to sink in. The Capitol. His eyes were full of stars. The Capitol was clean and beautiful, and the food was delicious and -
"Drake," Fibula said sternly.
"They won't come, the others. Not enough energy to deal with this, emotionally. They kept Masseter back too, he doesn't need extra reasons to smoke," he said in a little voice.
For some reason he was okay with that. He knew his parents loved him just as he did love them. He also knew they had been living in different words for too long.
"I'm sorry. I think this whole life programs us to become selfish shells. I'm trying to see the cracks, Drake, and there are plenty actually," his sister said in her slow, tired tones. "Some people in my lab are nice, genuinely non-morphling nice. Sometimes cheerful too. Mum and Dad have it bad. I'll learn to be like those people, I swear."
Drake kissed her cheek, clasping her hands. "That's great! You should have friends, sis, everyone should."
He really wanted friends again. Ether had put up with him the longest but he'd finally gone, like all the others. Drake had been a great distraction, one they could no longer afford. Med School had killed them all.
"Yeah... Listen Drake, just… be happy, until the end. Make friends, avoid bad things and yeah… There's no point of living on if you sink too far. I'd miss you anyway and you'd just hate yourself forever."
Drake paled. His dreams of the Capitol evaporating. She was telling him to die?
Fibula tweaked his nose, her eyes soft. "Hey, if you feel up to it, win. I'd rather have you back."
"That'd be peachy all right," Pippa said, arm entwined in Fusel's.
"Figured you might want a pat on the back, Son," Fusel said with a tight smile, doing just that.
"And we've got you this," his wife added, handing him a little sphere with a trembling hand.
Drake steadied her hand and took the token. His eyes widened when he remembered what it was for. A hover magnet. They weren't fully solid, they glued themselves to one another and created a magnetic fields big enough to make hovercrafts soar fifty feet off the ground.
"That much closer to flying," Fusel said, tousling his hair.
Drake was grinning from ear to ear despite the tears in his eyes. "Thank you!" He said, hugging them both. "Thank you for everything, for taking me seriously!"
"Don't ever stop laughing, Drake," Fibula whispered, her tone ever so sad.
"Never ever," Drake promised, his eyes distant once more as he remembered the glimpse of far away Capitol towers he'd caught six years before.
Hawk Dorkas, 18, District 6
Hawk huffed. She'd completely forgotten about reaping clothes. Her stuff was all as good as junk. She didn't give a flying fuck. Her painted tattoos and rings were forth a fuckton of sparkling pussy dresses.
She heard a knock on the door.
"What?"
"Your mother sent those over," her father said, sounding sour.
Hawk grabbed the shirt and large pants. Black. With a wicked printed leopard head on the shirt.
"She sent them by mail? She lives a measly half-hour away."
Not that her father would have let her mum in, but she didn't want the man to go on a rant about his ex-wife so she didn't show the clothes were a fucking blessing.
He shrugged. "Don't come out for another hour."
"Which one are you boning this time?" Hawk half-joked.
"None you know." He smirked, shutting the door.
Damn. She'd liked Chapel. Pity the kind nurse had made a major fail, talking about marriage and spawning kids so soon. She hoped her father would get his head out of his ass and beg her to come back. Chapel was a saint. Also, he needed a woman, to share the costs. Hawk didn't want him to go back to the hospitals, he was too old to be a lab rat, and Hawk already sold her body as much as she dared. If she got herself sick doing that... the Capitol didn't give a damn.
Hawk crossed her thick painted arms, giving the evil eye to anyone who stared. No bleeding manners nowhere. Just because she painted didn't mean she was an addict. There was hardly any space to breathe.
"Good day, District Six, I'm Carol Flutter-Chime, I welcome you to the opening of the Sixty-Third..."
Hawk stopped listening. It was the same shit every year. That high-strung bitch talked slowly in that ridiculous voice of hers, as if they were all fucking retarded. Maybe that's how people had to talk to each other in the Capitol to be understood. It would make some serious sense. She had to avert her eyes away from the giant screen less the shine from the escorts' dress make her go blind. Did she have freaking light bulbs in the folds?
The boy was fifteen, not tall but pretty fit looking, still a boy though. Cutish in his way. Looking more bewildered than upset. Anyhow, his name was awesome. Drake. Why couldn't she have been called Dragon?
" ... Hawk Dorkas will be joining us this year."
Oh fuck.
Joining them? The little lady planned on dying too? That'd be something real to cheer for.
Some bint shoved her. Hawk turned with a snarl and punched her straight between the eyes. "Don't touch me," she spat.
Shit, peacekeepers.
Hawk stormed to the platform before they could grab her, a string of curses falling out of her mouth. She hoped all the little Capitol brats would repeat those words to their parents and get slapped hard for it.
"Hi," Drake said with a shy smile. He looked on automatic mode. His eyes were all glassy. What a weirdo. Cute weirdo.
Hawk patted him on the shoulder. He didn't deserve this shit.
"Tributes, salute the cameras!"
She'd rather give them the finger, but since everyone was a fucking wimp as far as the Capitol went, she saluted like a good little dog.
"Mom, what a surprise." Hawk said, sarcasm evident in her voice. Not that she was surprised her mother cared, she knew she'd come. She just hated pretending things were fixable when the world was just one big screw-up.
"Spare me, Hawk," the woman said. "You've been much better off with me and your father not living together and you know it. You're still my daughter and you still treat me like your mother. So take out your fucking temper on the other tributes will you?"
Hawk's eyebrows rose to her hairline. Someone got defensive for nothing...
"Yes, Ma'am," she said, crossing her arms, "didn't know you ever cussed."
"Married your father once, didn't I?" the woman replied with a thin smile.
Hawk appreciated the fact her mother stopped right there and didn't go on a rant on how the man was late right now or any other shit. She knew she had half-siblings of reaping age and now felt damn dumb for never having seen them. She could have taught them a trick or two, leaving a legacy and all...
"Fuck," Hawk pointedly said.
Fuck didn't cover it, she said 'fuck' all the damn time, fate had dunked her in a mountain-full of cow-shit and was keeping her down deep.
"That's what I want people to think when they see you, and not the babies making kind."
Yup. She did love her mom, even if she was a smart-mouth who found excuses for every tiny thing. Hawk hugged her gently, afraid to snap her in pieces. She was so scary skinny, working herself raw to provide for herself and her old mom. Hawk had loved Grandma, tough woman, but now she was out of her mind, and a horrible drain.
"I'll work on it," Hawk promised before stepping back.
She cracked her knuckles, wishing she could've mashed the painted escort's head to a pulp as she'd begun saying her name. She might even have chosen to keep the bruises, starting a new fashion among those capitol freaks.
"I need a drag," Hawk spat.
"Do you really?" Her mother said, worry in her voice now.
Hawk snorted. "I'm no fucking morphling, Mom, I'll keep it under control. Relax, people'd think you are the fucking tribute."
"Do you even hear yourself speak, young lady?" The woman said, wrinkling her nose.
"Mom, is it really the time? Mind you, if people freak out on me because they want me to change my fucking speech, I'd get to throw the first punch while they bitch," Hawk said with a small grin.
Her mother chuckled weakly. "I won't be the one to tell you to neglect your strengths."
"Uh, Six?"
Six? She was a fucking number now? Was her name too hard to remember? Hawk, H-A-W-K, peabrain!
"What?" She barked at the peacekeeper. "Sir," she added, because she didn't want Mom or Dad to pay for her mouth.
"There's an old man who looks like he's trying to pummel a younger bloke into not visiting."
Hawk's face twisted in fury. Couldn't the man stop being a pain in the ass? At least not today?
She rushed out of the room, hurt her father would make such a horrible day about him. And of course the bloody cops were just watching.
"Dad, get off him," she said, her elbow accidentally colliding with her father's head as she tried to grab him.
She stared at the unmoving result of her blow. Fuck, her old man was out cold. Her mother was laughing herself silly behind them, typical. A red faced Towler rose from under the larger man.
"Someone get me some frigging pen and paper," Hawk ordered through clenched teeth. "Please." Damn it, Dad!
Towler had a notebook on him. Hawk snorted, of course he had. Hawk ripped a page out. I love you, you asshole, Hawk. She wrote before stuffing it in her father's pocket.
She swung her arm around Towler, trying to be tough. "Told you the old jerk kicked ass."
"Well you inherited the best, not only you laid him out but you're much more attractive," Towler said with his easy smile, rubbing his swelling jaw. "You thing we can make out in a way so gross they'll let us finish rather than get anywhere near us?" he added with a smirk.
Hawk grinned, pretending his eyes weren't screaming for help. He was so handsome he made this screwed-up world seem okay."And that's why you're my man."
Those thrice-damned peacecops still pulled them apart, Hawk wanted to kill them. She'd get killed but at least she'd get the satisfaction of hurting someone who deserved every bit of pain and more.
"Six, you can keep only one of your piercings as a trinket. Which one will it be?"
The fuck? Hawk snarled, barely refraining from hitting the little shit. No one took anything off her face. She would've hit him, had Towler not gotten in the way.
"She'll look way more show worthy with them all, Sirs, the Capitol likes this kind of stuff," he said.
"We've got to get her to the train now, Leo," one of them whispered.
"Whatever, keep them then."
Hawk shot her boyfriend a grateful look, biting her tongue as they took him away. Smart-tongued prick. But then, he'd be a doc later, of course he'd awe them all with his brains.
"Can't he come with me?" She whispered brokenly, but there was no one to hear.
The Capitol's exploitation of its district citizens grows more and more visible as we reach the higher numbers.
The industry in Six is portrayed in different fashions. For me it's transport and all the kind of medicine that isn't the direct patient-healing kind (so no surgeons or actual doctors, but clinical trials, drug development and manufacturing, everything you can do on dead bodies, and some on the side biological research, but nothing that could be of big use in a rebellion). The Capitol does all the advanced medicine and mutt growth, because its the only place where having people in perfect health matters and mutts are too big a weapon to leave to the districts.
Please review!^^