Chapter Eight.


Goodbyes, Part Two.


Rhaella Cresswell, 18 years old;
District Four Female.


Everyone but her father had left the room. He had his hand on the door, his head twisted to give one last, long, furrowed stare in the direction of his only daughter.

"Lose, you know what will happen. I won't have another disappointment."

It was with him, Rhaella felt the gravity of her entire life forcing her into the floor, like a puddle of her insecurities because of this man she so despised. But all she could do was nod, with a polite smile, and a gracious look in her eye.

"Of course father. Believe me. I've been doing everything I can to make sure nothing will ever embarrass you again." No, I've been embarrassing you in other ways. Oh, how I hate you.

"Good. I'll see you in a few weeks." He closed the door without another word, leaving a heavy, painful silence in the air.

"Yeah you will," Rhaella muttered to the empty room, relaxing in the chair now he wasn't anywhere near her, "and then I can finally get the fuck away from you."

The moment Devina and Alecton replaced a presence she wanted no part of, Rhaella immediately felt the tension leave her body. A piece of her long, blonde, flowing hair made its way into her hand and she twirled it round one finger, winking at the boy before her, and giggling at the eyebrow rise from her cousin.

"How'd it go?" Devina asked, perched near to Rhaella's knees.

"The bastard gave me the whole don't embarrass me like your brother speech again." She rolled her eyes and waved it off, like it didn't affect her. Because in front of her friends, nothing would. She refused to be the kind of person that would let others in so far deep they could see the cracks corrupting a girl that strove to be perfect in every way.

She did want this. Very much. Training had been important in her life, but it was more important in her father's eyes, so important he'd kill anyone to ensure his daughter behaved. A man with his influence had power. She had her own, though. A power only a female possessed.

"Alecton, you're awfully quiet," she puckered her lips, leaning forwards. It was no mistake when she chose to wear a shirt with three of the buttons undone. His eyes widened and a flush crept into his cheeks. Devina on his side rolled her eyes and laughed. Both girls were natural at this, and both girls had been with Alecton countless times, it didn't bother either party.

Why not use what you had, as a teenager, it wouldn't last forever. Life was too good, especially if you were attractive.

"I-I was…" he gulped, tugging at his collar and smirking. "I was thinking about how to offer my congratulations."

"A kiss?" She stood up and wrapped her arms round his shoulders, pecking his nose, then his two cheeks, and pulling away just as his eyes closed and he leaned forwards. "Nuh-uh. Later. When I'm back."

"I swear you go between two emotions. Annoying and horny." Devina pushed her way between the two, glancing over at an embarrassed Alecton and then at her cousin.

Rhaella shrugged her shoulders. Truthfully, she was just doing whatever she could to get her father and her deceased brother out of her mind. Her mother had no say in anything she did, and her younger brother was an annoying bastard, so what he thought didn't matter.

No, honestly it was him and him alone. It helped she wanted this and her friends supported her, but what would life have been like if his iron fist had been made out of something else? Like plastic. If he actually knew how to raise a daughter in a way that didn't involve threatening to kill anyone that got in the way of training.

She looked at her cousin, then at Alecton, and hid her frown behind a dazzling smile. The kind of smile that would win her the Capitol's affection, and more importantly, her allies' affection. Tristian Fortier would crumble eventually, all boys did.

"I'm trying to have a good time, Devina." Rhaella pushed her away, laughing. "Liven up."

"I'm just… well, no I'm not scared. But worried. You're going into a place with people just like you."

Rhaella pouted. "No one's like me."

Alecton nodded, his eyes glancing once at her chest, once at her legs, and then back into her eyes. "Too true, too true."

"Do all you boys literally think with your dicks, I'm trying to help her? Back the fuck off." Devina snapped at Alecton. He looked hurt. But Devina, with her back to their male friend, grinned playfully. They'd make up the second they left, with a kiss and maybe a little more if he was lucky.

She'd get none in the Capitol, but she had one thing right. Boys did in fact think with what was between their legs. And lucky for Rhaella, she was the very thing they wanted most.

If she gave them that, they'd be putty in her hands. She might not win it the way her father would want her to, he'd look at their television set and probably blow up knowing his precious little daughter had assets that weren't just a sword and two fists.

But whatever it took to win, Rhaella would do it. Her body. Her mind. Everything. It was all at her disposal. Why not use it?

"Devina, I love you alright." Rhaella hugged her, closing her eyes. Because I do, you're my cousin, my best friend… I don't want him to hurt you… "I'm not some cheap whore off the street. Or some lousy idiot who can't tell a spear from a bow. I know what I'm doing, okay? Believe me," she pulled away, punching her in the shoulder, "I got this."

Devina nodded her head, smiling. "Course you do. You're Rhaella."

"That's right."

And there's only one me.

Rhaella Cresswell. The future Victor.


Chip Flexan, 16 years old;
District Five Male.


The wait was agonizing, but Chip complied. He was the good boy, the patient boy, the boy who smiled as the Peacekeeper closed the door. But the wait was excruciating. He wanted it to start. He wanted this whole charade to end.

Standing on a chariot, training when no one would be able to really learn anything in such a short time, and then those godforsaken interviews. What a pile of crap, he thought, scowling in his chair. If anything, he wanted to throw the piece of furniture he sat on into the wall, anything to waste the amount of time that had to pass.

He looked at the clock, but like it always seemed to do, it dragged on and on. Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes like the hour he got before being taken to the train.

First, though, he knew they'd come. And he knew what they wanted to see.

His mother, the Mayor of District Five, of course, opened the door and her grim face immediately made Chip want to roll his eyes. Instead he smiled graciously, without being too happy. After all, he had just been reaped. A kid who had just been reaped would not come across like he was excited, no, he'd come across scared. Chip had never given off that kind of negative emotion anyway.

So he let his small smile, and then the twitch in his cheek, do the talking. It was enough. His mother strode in, and despite their lack of any form of connection, pulled him up and pressed her poor darling son into the closest form of affection he believed they'd ever shared.

"Mother, honestly. I'm fine-" he let his voice falter, before swallowing a fake lump down, shaking his head. "Honestly. Don't worry. It'll… work out the way it's supposed to. You know these things always do."

When they pulled away, he touched her cheek. She wasn't crying, but she definitely looked shocked. It was rather absurd to see his mother show anything but contempt for her son. All his life, since his father had taken his own way out of this world, she'd seen him as a constant reminder of the man she lost.

He was the one who found the body, though. Me, I saw my dad, dead. Hanging there. He held back what he really wanted to say, like he always did, because he had to. Not just because he had to be the Chip everyone knew him as, but because feeling like he was losing control made him want to ball his hands into fists and punch his mother in her stupid, emotional, ugly face.

He took a deep breath. His mother looked none the wiser. Of course, everything going through his head was fear about being the chosen tribute, fear about having to kill, fear about dying. That's what she interpreted by the way he remained silent, brow furrowed, with a small smile on his face to cover everything up.

It was funny, though, to see his mother go through a whole range of emotions over her life, culminating in this fascinating display. If only he had the time to really focus in on it, work why, what, how and everything that encompassed her show of affection for a son she'd all but abandoned.

He didn't have that time. He knew, come the Capitol, he would. Time to be with the other poor sods sitting in their chairs, saying goodbye to their mothers, and wishing to be anywhere but on their way to the Capitol.

Chip would miss Five for totally different reasons. Reasons no one would understand. Reasons no one suspected.

"I know we've never seen eye to eye," he started, looking down, ashamed. "But you've always worked so hard. And you have so much responsibility. I understand. It never made me love you less."

"Chip… I-I…" she shook her head and lowered her gaze, avoiding eye contact. He stepped forwards and tilted her chin, looking at his mother. She saw a smile on his face, a smile in his eyes.

"I should have tried harder. But it was always difficult. Still, that's no excuse. No excuse for being a bad mother to a wonderful son."

Wonderful indeed. In a very, very different way everyone thinks, mother.

She touched his cheek and Chip hugged her again. That's all it was, them standing there, hugging. His mother holding him as tight as she could, scared to let him go. And Chip, wanting to pull away because he hated this feeling, this emotion she was showing, but also wanting to stay in the embrace because it was so… interesting.

She really did love him. He felt almost guilty for not feeling like the love was mutual, because it wasn't. He didn't hate the woman, she was his mother, but like everyone else, she was just a means to an end. Friends were a funny ideal, just as much as calling this woman a parent.

He had no family. No friends. But everyone believed he did. He was awfully good at making people believe what he wanted them to.

It's why the Capitol would want him to live. Because of the show he'd give them all.

"You're a Flexan. You have your father's strength-" Oh yeah, so strong. What a strong man to abandon his wife and son -"and a way with words that'll give you a real shot. We all believe in you. Five has your back, son."

"Thanks mother, I really appreciate it."

Honestly, he didn't. But he guessed it was good enough to know they'd be cheering his name until they saw what he could do. When they saw that, he was pretty sure they'd want the little girl to win instead of him. But she'd die in the bloodbath because she was just that, a bloodbath waiting to happen.

But he wasn't. I'm not. "I'm going to come back and we'll make things right."

"We will Chip," she kissed him on the forehead, "we will."

They wouldn't. No one would want to see his face when he returned, after what he was prepared to do.

It was brilliant.


Sherina Harney, 16 years old;
District Seven Female.


Sherina sat with her hands gripped to the underside of the chair, tapping her feet, looking at the carpet, then at the door, and then up at the ceiling. Every inch of her body felt like it was on haywire, her nerves frantic, her thoughts whizzing through one ear and out of the next at a million miles an hour.

But the one thing she could pin down, like a red light flashing for attention in the front of her face, was the fact she was… terrified. Absolutely, without a doubt, terrified.

She didn't hide anything. Not her emotions. Not to herself when no one was around. So it was why she couldn't keep still, because the fear was a living, breathing nightmare that bore so much weight on her shoulders she felt like her bones might snap.

Breathe… in, out… in, out. Nothing was working, not until the door at least clicked open and a distraction presented itself. Sherina's eyes glanced up, blown wide as a few tears peppered her eyelashes. There, in front of her, were her family.

The last time she'd see them- or the last time she believed she'd see them. Maybe they thought she'd come home, which meant she had to at least give them a sense of belief to cling to, right? I can't… hurt them, like I'm hurting now.

Or maybe it was stupid to think about others in a time like this. Sherina sat in the chair with her nails practically scratching splinters out of the chair, fidgeting as her mother, her elder sister, and her niece stepped forwards to stand in front of her, all gazing down with sad, teary eyes.

Or at least she thought they were tears. No one was actually crying. Everyone was holding it back for the sake of either the others around them, or the fact they didn't actually… feel sad. She was thankful, in a way, they weren't being so overbearing.

That way she wouldn't have to lie to calm them down. Because she would have done that, over and over. Lie upon lie so she felt better about herself, better that her family weren't weeping messes of tears on the carpet.

"This shouldn't have happened," her sister said, shaking her head. If it were that easy to simply forget about the fact it had happened, that forgetting meant she could go home, Sherina would be back in their awful shack in a heartbeat.

But she wasn't, she was here. And mixed in with the fear that continued to shoot painful spikes every which way in her body, was the anger. The anger that it had happened to her and not someone else. And then the guilt, because by saying that, she was wishing death on someone else. A stranger. Or a friend. Someone she knew, and it made Sherina even more upset. And then grateful, because she had this fate and not someone else.

And then, again the anger. Because, honestly, those people she cared about, were… acquaintances really. She had people she knew, people that knew her back. But when it boiled down to who she really cared about, it came to these people in front of her. And by the way they just stood there, she could tell even that was a stretch too far.

She loved them, but she didn't feel… in love with them. It was the saddest truth she had to admit to herself.

"Do you think you'll make it back…?" Robin said, with her cute little eyes full of hope. Maybe she was the only one too oblivious to sense the tension, sense the emotion, sense the fact that they were literally hanging by a thread from catastrophe. Sherina was doing everything she could not to explode in their faces. Because her nails were still digging into the chair, and her feet were still tapping.

It was hard to distract herself. Maybe the hardest thing she'd ever had to do: keep it all in.

"Someone has to," she smiled, forcing an expression that conflicted against everything she really felt. A smile was the last thing she wanted to give, but it would please her niece, and through this all, that was also important to her. Pleasing those around her. Because if she was pleasing them, it would occupy them. Keep them out of her hair.

Again, the guilt. Again she felt like she hated herself for thinking like that. But it didn't stop her from thinking like that. Maybe I really think too much… going over this, going over that. It never stops.

"Make allies. That's important you know, I see it happen all the time. We all do." Her mother said, for once actually calm. There was a twitch in her jaw, but that was about it. She wasn't exploding into tears like she might have done, or throwing a fist into the wall, or smiling in that dazed, confused way she sometimes did.

The one occasion Sherina felt like the cracks were only cracking further, her mother decided to be… normal. Ironic, huh?

"I can do that," Sherina nodded, however. It gave her a moment of relief, a momentary distraction. It was the one thing she was good at. Being around other people, people were that distraction she was finding so blissful right now. A distraction she was content to make work. They would see a girl that knew how to fit in, because it was the girl Sherina would always be.

She couldn't do this alone. She wouldn't.

"They'll like you for sure," Robin took her hand. Sherina reacted by giving it a squeeze- first contact since being reaped. Since being hauled to the death. It made her feel surprisingly empty.

"Course they will, I'll do my best." As they stood there, in an uncomfortable silence, mixed in with forced goodbyes, fake promises and false hope, Sherina thought through everything that was in her future.

How she'd act, what she'd do. Plan this, plan that. Maybe if she overthought things, like she had done since she'd pretty much got here, a coherent thought that would help her win would surface somewhere.

She looked back up, not noticing her eyes had fallen to the carpet.

Her family were gone.

"Oh," Sherina breathed out. Then the first tear fell. Then the second.

They didn't stop until another knock on the door. Until it was time to go.


Lazaro Aden, 17 years old;
District Ten Male.


If he could turn back time, he would. Again and again.

Lazaro looked at the clock, then at the ground, and finally at the door. His family had just left him after perhaps what he'd call the worst moment of his life. Having to say goodbye to them… he'd never felt anything like that.

And it would only get worse in a few days time.

As he waited for someone else, anyone else to come, Lazaro thought over and over what he could have said to his family. What he should have said. Maybe it had gone well, but he still felt like there were better ways he could have expressed his emotions. Better ways to cheer up his parents, seeing them cry made him angry- seeing them cry knowing it was because of this shitty situation and their tears would only intensify as they saw him in the Arena.

He kicked out furiously and sank back into the chair, frowning. He hadn't cried yet, but he definitely felt like he should. If they came, he wouldn't hold them back. Not because he valued vulnerability, but because he refused to be fake. Someone he wasn't.

If he was going to cry, he would let everyone see. It was a normal reaction. Tears from a boy sentenced to die.

Finally, the door did open again, and Lazaro bolted right up, flinging himself into his best friend's arms before she had fully turned round. It took the breath from her and she staggered back, knocking the door closed. Lazaro didn't care. It was good to see her. He didn't… he couldn't… he wouldn't let her go.

"I'm… I don't know what to say." He breathed into her shoulder, shaking. He was terrified.

"Then say nothing."

So they didn't. Minutes flew by and they stood there, hugging. Rasia ignored the fact it felt like he was crushing her ribs- because this was it, maybe their last hug ever. No one wanted to sugar-coat the fact that his chances were practically pointless to consider. Sure, he was strong. Sure, Lazaro knew, no matter the circumstance, no matter who or what he had to face, he'd give it his all. Anything to come back.

But what didn't change, no matter how much enthusiasm he'd give it, the dedication to fighting for his life, was the fact the chances still sucked. His chances of dying were so much higher than his chances of living.

He wanted to scream. Punch something. If he knew it wouldn't result in anything bad, that Peacekeeper out there, or the prissy, uptight, frilly, ignorant moron who pulled his name… they'd be good targets for his bottled up rage.

"You're shaking."

Maybe I'm not hiding it as well as I thought. He pulled back and frowned, then smiled, trying to ease the tension just a little. He'd never exactly been the best guy at conveying his emotions in the right way – sensing when to stop, his limits, what other people wanted.

He was just… himself. And he hated that it might not be good enough to keep him alive.

"I feel like there's two sides to how I see this and they're both pushing to get out. It's painful."

Rasia took his hand, shaking her head. "What are they both saying?"

"The chances suck so I'm dead. Screw the chances, you can do this. You're Lazaro Aden. Since when did you give up?"

"And which one are you going to listen to?" Rasia's voice was surprisingly calm for a girl that usually refused to keep her mouth shut. Lazaro admired that in her. Both of them were never the quietest people around, mainly because they always had a word to give, an opinion to share. Even in a situation where maybe peace was the better option.

"Well the chances do suck…"

"And they sucked just as much at the reaping. The odds of your name being drawn," Rasia made a noise, like it was ridiculous, like it should have been impossible he had been chosen. "They happened, so obviously chances don't mean that much."

"I…" he faltered, frowning. Lazaro's eyes trailed to the ground. Maybe she's right. He'd always been confident enough to get through life with a certain… hope. Other people saw it, some loved it, some hated it.

"You're my best friend, and if I know my best friend like I think I do, he's not gonna back down until he's made it all the way to the end." Rasia grinned, raising her eyebrows as if waiting for him to cheer himself on, smile, fist-pump the air. Lazaro didn't feel like that. Not quite. But he had to admit, he felt a little better… he felt like himself.

"I just don't want you guys, you and my parents, to see me… do what I have to do."

Rasia touched his arm. "You have to."

"It's not that simple Rasia," Lazaro snapped. She flinched. He immediately went red, guilt swarmed the faint sense of anger that must have been deep down mixed with the sorrow, the anguish, but also the slight sensation of hope that had always been a part of him.

"I'm sorry… I didn't-"

"You're going to the Hunger Games. Shout at me all you want. Throw that goddamn ugly chair into the window, I don't care. You deserve it."

Lazaro laughed, sighing. "It is a pretty ugly chair."

"The ugliest."

They hugged again. Rasia would miss her best friend, but Lazaro knew that if she thought he could do it, there wasn't really anything stopping him from believing it too. She was right, one hundred percent. The chances of him being the one stood here, hugging someone he loved, were so small that it shouldn't have happened.

The chances of him winning were horrible, but not as bad as the chances of him being reaped. So he could do it. He would do it.

The anger was still there, but in some ways, Lazaro's smiles and attitude had always had a hint of anger present, because he had every right to be angry. If he could use it in a productive way, adapt, fit in… fight, then he had a good shot at making it to the finish line.

"See you in a few weeks, alright." He gave her one last squeeze, savouring the moment, before she turned to go.

"Do what you have to do."

He would.

Even if it hurt beyond anything, he would. Anything to see her face. Anything to say he did do it. He did win the Hunger Games.


And here we are, the last pre-Capitol chapter! Every tribute has now been introduced. Now that you've seen everyone, there's a poll on my profile asking for your favourite tributes. It asks for six, so please actually vote for six xD

Maybe now you've seen everyone you can make those charts that are all popular, y'know, like/neutral etc, just so I have some rough overall idea from each person!

Anyway, see you all with the train rides!