"Hidden Bruises and Shallow Smiles"
A/N: Fun fact about how schools work in D3: Instead of elementary, middle, and high school- they have Tier 1, 2, and 3 school. It's still the same amount of grades and all, it's just that age has nothing to do with it, instead the only thing mattering being your intelligence. For example, an 11 year old could easily be anywhere from tier 1 to tier 3. So yeah, that's a thing. Just putting that out there so you aren't confused about wtf "tier 2 school" means, or why Cyril is in a school with kids of all sorts of ages when he should still be in 6th grade.
Warning: Some really dark themes this chapter, including some pretty dark lines of thinking and graphic displays of abuse.
~Somebody cries in the middle
Of the night
The neighbors hear, but they turn
Out the lights
A fragile soul caught in the hands
Of fate
When morning comes
It'll be too late~
Picaboo "Peeka" Benner, 17, District Ten
July 27th, Year 99
100 Pineview Street, District Ten
As I stand outside of the Larenz ranch, foot tapping nervously against the creaky wooden floorboards- to say that I'm anxious is an understatement. It's been a whole two days since I've seen Deke, and every single moment of those two days has been spent heart-achingly wandering around my home, mother having to chastise me to not bite my nails ever other minute. It isn't ladylike to bite my nails, and if Deke were to see me with chewed nails. . . no, it's good that mother scolded me. She always knows best.
But now, just a half hour ago a servant knocked on our front door, telling me that my presence has been requested. He didn't say anything else, but I just know that it was Deke. Who else could it be? I'm too giddy still to knock on the door, shakily bringing my hands up to my hair, tucking it under my cowgirl hat as I steel myself up to see Deke again. Last time he said he had a surprise for me- he's always so thoughtful like that- and my head is filled with all the grandiose things he could have in store for me. But whatever it is, I'm just happy to be here with Deke again. Nobody else will ever love me like Deke does, he's so sweet, and caring, and. . .
While I'm lost in my daydreams, imagining Deke's smiling lips, his warm smile- I barely notice the door swinging open, jumping up as soon as I do.
"Why hello there," Roone greets me, and I let out a breath of relief that it wasn't Deke that saw me so startled. The next time I see him I have to look perfect.
"Hello, Roone, is Deke here?" I ask sweetly. I don't want to be dismissive of Roone, he's real nice and all, but my heart is aching from how long it's been since I've seen Deke, and I don't think I can wait another moment to be with him.
He smiles casually at this, nodding his head. "Of course, big bro wouldn't send for you and then leave, would he? I'll go tell him you're here."
I quickly nod my head, flashing a smile. "Thank you," I quickly call after him as he disappears back into their ranch, not wanting to sound rude or ungrateful. He really is a nice boy, and I've been on the lookout for a good girl for him for a while now.
All of those thoughts vanish from my head the instant that Deke steps out into the doorway. My heart leaps the moment I see him, his sly grin and casual demeanor as he leans against the wall, tipping his hat in my direction as I just about sway, bringing a hand up to my heart.
"Hello Boo," he says in his charming voice, his brown eyes scanning over me as I quickly bring my hand down, holding my hands together in front of me, staying steady on my feet as I bend my knees just a little bit, smiling sheepishly at him.
"Hi Deke," the words come out quietly, and I nearly melt from the warmth of his smile that he returns towards me.
Deke kicks off from the frame, clapping his hands together louder and giving me a mischievous grin. "I got a surprise for you," he tells me, barely containing the excitement in his voice as he hops down the step and lands down next to me, cupping my chin with his hand, lifting my head up as he looks to lean in for a kiss for a moment, my eyes closing in expectation, only for the warm touch to never come.
When I open my eyes back up, I see his deep brown eyes staring at me, barely blinking as if he's memorizing the very moment in front of him. Once he notices my eyes open, he drops his hand, flashing me a carefree smile as he motions me towards the fields in between our two ranches. "Come on," he tells me, grabbing onto my hand and practically running forward, my small legs barely able to keep up, leaving me grateful I chose to wear boots instead of heels.
I squeal as he leads us into a mud patch, but he doesn't seem to even notice it, romping through it, his jeans staining as I lift my skirt up, barely able to keep myself from falling over as he continues to tug me forward, the mud just barely missing my bright white skirt, but still managing to splotch over my leg and boots. "Deke!" I exclaim, my voice cracked up with giggles, not wanting to ruin the mood by telling him to slow down, but still not wanting to look anything other than perfect for Deke right now.
He stops, still with that same giddy smile on his lips, rubbing his hands together before placing them on my shoulders, looking my dead in the eye, his smile dropping for just a moment as he adopts a serious expression. "Do you trust me?"
"Of course," I laugh instantly, causing his smile to reappear.
"Alright, then let's go," he says, and with that he has my hand again, tugging me forward as I give up on attempting to save my skirt, running after him through the grass and mud, giggling the entire time while his smile gets wider and wider as we approach an open field, one that in an instant reminds me of my childhood. Of me and Deke running through these same mudlands, out into this same open field, playing pretend for hours, until we both collapsed onto the grass, not a care in the world but the two of us having fun.
I remember getting home, and both of our sets of parents being positive we were "destined for each other." And I remember the two of us having the same reaction as every little kid who's told they and their friend will ever be anything but just friends- disgust and disbelief. But as we clomp out of the mud and step out into that same open area that we spent so much of our childhood in, I feel a bright burst of thankfulness at just how right our parents were. Where in the world would I be right now, if I wasn't right here, with Deke's hand in mine. Who else out there could there ever be for me?
Once we hit the grass, Deke drops my hand, and just for the fun of it I find myself spinning in circles, still madly giggling, while he just watches with a smile from a few feet away, stepping forward and steadying me when I'm about to fall, the world spinning as I stumble in every direction. He let's out an exasperated laugh, and for a moment it's like we really are just kids again, the two of us just completely carefree.
But then as soon as that starts it ends, a serious look falling over his face as he raises an eyebrow suggestively, holding out a hand. Doing my best to suppress a giggle, I daintily hold out a hand for him to take, allowing him to quaintly lead me over to the near-center of the field, when he suddenly drops my hand, continuing to stare out into the distance, a jitter running through his body as he jumps in place quickly, before turning towards me, still with an unreadable expression.
"Peeka. . . my boo," he takes my hand and smiles, and I smile too, always loving his cute nickname that he's adopted for me. "Without you I'm nothing. You make me happy whenever I'm feeling down, you're always there for me when I need you, and really. . . I need you." I place a hand over my heart, my smile wobbling as I slowly nod my head, attempting to keep tears out my eyes as I piece together where he's going with this. "I could say this a million different ways, but really the only way that truly describes it is that I love you." He takes in a deep breath, and I nearly gasp as he drops down onto one knee, hand reaching into his pocket. "Picaboo Benner, will you marry me?"
He looks almost scared, eyes shining up at me with hope and anxiousness, and I make sure to waste no time with my answer, my heart breaking to see him feeling that way. "Yes!" The words come out easily, and I find myself flinging into his arms, him laughing in relief as he pulls me in tight, squeezing me so hard that I can't breathe. But I don't say anything, not wanting to ruin this moment, not wanting to end this long string of perfection, not wanting Deke to see me as anything less than perfect, and not wanting him to think of himself as any less.
When he finally pulls back I take in a deep breath, disguising it with laughter as I look into his twinkling eyes. And this time when he leans in, and my eyes drift shut, I feel his lips pressed against mine, a comfortable warmth falling over every inch as my body slumps downwards, never wanting this moment to end- sure that this feeling will never go away.
Cyril Lovelace, 11, District Three
January 2nd, Year 101
A.B. Miller Tier Two School, District Three
Lunch used to be my least favorite part of the day. It would be thirty long minutes, tray in hand as I awkwardly wander around the cafeteria. Everywhere I would go, people would avoid my gaze, squeezing in their chairs to block out any open space, tossing bags and books on chairs to 'save' them. Usually I would just end up sitting below the staircase, eyes glued to the clock as I hope for the time to quickly pass by.
Now lunch is one of the only parts of school that I can say I like. Not because of the food, the grey-colored mashed potatoes and boiled celery sticks not exactly appetizing, but because of the people that I get to see. I already have algebra and Panem history with Endian, but this is the one time I get to talk with Peri and Firefly. They may not be my best friends like Endian is, but it's still nice to have somebody to talk to, especially Firefly.
But today, when I walk up to our set table near the staircase, a slight skip in my step, nobody is there. While Peri and Firefly being late isn't anything strange- the two getting hot lunch too, Endian packs his own lunch- and gets let out of class a few minutes early in order to get here before the rush of students.
I do my best to mask my anxiety, not wanting to be worried on a day like today, sliding into my seat and quietly sitting, absently beginning to softly chew on my fingers, needing something to take my mind off wondering where Endian is. With my free hand, I twiddle the stick of celery between my fingers, not feeling in the mood to eat and just desperate for something to happen.
Thankfully, I get my wish before I manage to gnaw through my finger- a teacher's aide walking up to me and handing me a note before quickly walking away. It takes until my initial surprise wears off to recognize her as Miss Hash's assistant.
I don't even have to open the note to know what it'll say, but do anyways, quickly reading through the instructions to meet Miss Hash in her office. Normally I would hate to be taken away from lunch, even for one of my meetings with her, but one look around my empty table quickly sends me grabbing my bag and heading towards her office, not even being bothered to toss my food in the garbage.
One year ago, the idea of having to see a school counselor was terrifying to me. After all, if you're going there, that means there's something wrong with you, doesn't it? But after the Games last year. . . even if I was never super close with Alt, it wasn't even just losing her that hurt. It was that nobody else was grieving. They made me feel like a black sheep just for feeling bad about my sister dying. Maybe if it weren't for Miss Hash I would think they were right.
Even in my dazed, still a bit confused state, I'm able to easily make my way to the office. I'm just starting to piece together some of the oddities going on around me, the fact that Endian didn't show up to lunch, and then Miss Hash had me called to her office just a minute into lunch, when there's no way I could have finished eating yet, and she should have no way of knowing I was sitting alone. . . .
I shake my head, giving up on trying to sort my thoughts and just deciding to just let Miss Hash explain it to me, my hand wrapping around the doorknob as I take in a deep breath, and open the door. When I step into the room, any confusion I had tried hiding comes bubbling back up, the room totally empty.
"Surprise!" The voices ring out in near unison, Miss Hash, Endian, and even Peri and Firefly popping up from behind their hiding spots, everyone but Peri(who never cracks a smile for anything) having a wide grin on their lips. That confusion disappears in an instant, replaced by surprise as I jump up in the air, my mind racing and heart beating in fear for just a moment- before I realize where I am and who I'm with, and force myself to calm down.
"Wh-" My breath is still shoddy, and I barely get the words out as I look around the room exasperatedly.
"Never had a surprise party before?" Peri asks in a tone that could easily be mistaken as taunting, but in reality I've gotten to know is just her way of teasing.
"No," I reply honestly, taken off-guard that they even know what day it is today, I don't remember ever telling any of them. . . .
"Well," Miss Hash smiles, reaching below her desk and grabbing hold of something. "Better late than never."
I peek up on my tip-toes to steal a look at what she's got, and my eyes widen in shock as soon as she pulls it up and places it on her desk, a tiny little angel cake with white frosting causing my jaw to drop, suddenly feeling the need to take my glasses off and clean them to make sure what I'm seeing is real.
"Happy birthday, Cyril," the soft voice of Firefly comes from my left, hands outstretched with a paper crown as she offers me a cheeky smile. "I'm glad I stole your lunch from you that day," she teases me as she places the crown on my head.
My cheeks blush a bit at the memory, scratching the back of my neck, unsure how to respond, as the embarrassing yet bittersweet memory plays through my mind.
"I meant that in a good way," she tells me, sticking her thumbs in her pockets and flashing a reassuring smile.
"Yeah," I laugh quietly, shaking my head. "I know."
"Good," she affirms, wide grin back in place as she slaps me on the back, jolting me forward a bit with the force. "C'mon, enjoy your party, there's cake."
I smile at her, following behind her as we walk over to the desk to get a piece, a mixed up mess of thoughts, memories, and emotions swirling around my head so fast and wildly it makes my head hurt, unable to piece anything together out of it. There's that embarrassing first encounter with Firefly, the heart-stopping shock of walking through this door, the warmth in Firefly's voice when she wished me happy birthday- all of it speeding through my mind, bouncing off my skull and dizzying me every time I attempt to focus in on anything in particular, just a jumbled mess of emotions all blending together.
"You coming?" She asks, raising an eyebrow and giving me a sly grin.
Shaking my head, I put away all of those thoughts, giving up on trying to understand what I'm feeling and just going with the moment, plastering a smile onto my lips to match Firefly's. "Yeah, I'm coming."
Picaboo "Peeka" Benner, 18, District Ten
December 31st, 100
Morgan Square, District Ten
"Come on, Peeka, stop gazing and let's go already!" My head peeks over to Maya to see her impatiently waiting, arms crossed as she taps her foot.
I glance back over to the hat shop storefront, feeling a small burst in me, wanting to go in and look around, but I quickly squash it, turning over and hustling over to Maya. I don't want to make her do something that she doesn't want to do, that would be selfish of me. . . .
"Ooh, I know!" She snaps, turning to walk backwards as she faces me, her light blue eyes lighting up in excitement. "We should go to that new years celebration in the town center!"
Again I'm holding my tongue, not wanting to argue with Maya, but having zero desire to go to that party. Just as I'm about to give in and agree, I remember something else, and quickly pipe up, "I would, but I was going to meet Deke-"
"You've been with him every day," she moans, slouching her shoulders and frowning. "Why don't you just take a break from him for one night and have some fun with me?"
"Oh, I don't think Deke would want me to go to a party. . ."
Maya just sighs, placing her hands on her hips and shaking her head. "Look, I get you two are like, relationship goals, but that doesn't mean you two have to spend every moment together. I'm sure he'll understand if you tell him you just wanted to go out with your best friend for one night."
". . . is the party going to have boys at it?" I ask timidly, already cringing back from having to argue with Maya.
"Well, it wouldn't be much of a party if there weren't, would it?" She answers dumbfoundedly.
"I really shouldn't," I plead. "Deke-"
"Deke will be happy that you had a fun time," she tells me assuredly. "Especially when you tell him you were helping your old friend find a boy for me that's as amazing as Deke is for you."
"M-maybe I should go run home and ask Deke if he wants to go-"
"There's no time!" She exclaims, pointing up to the sun, which is just beginning to fall underneath the skyline and out of sight. "C'mon," she moans, grabbing onto my arm and starting to walk me towards the direction of the town center. "Don't make me go all alone. I think I'd about cry if I lost out on a cute boy because I didn't have my wing-girl with me!"
I bite my lip, anxiety bubbling up in me as I glance between the plantations of my home in the one direction, and the town center in the other. Every ounce of my being doesn't want to go that party. I know that Deke will be worried sick if he knew I were at a party with a bunch of boys, but I don't want to make Maya sad. . . darnit, I never should have come to the town without Deke! If he were here it would all be okay. . . .
"Peeka," she whines again, tugging on my arm and giving me a pair of puppy eyes. "Pleaseee."
"Oh-okay," I choke out nervously, eyes flirting over towards the plantation again as I feel an instant pang of guilt. Before it can amount to anything though, Maya is already tugging me along giddily, giggling as she encourages me to keep up with her.
"Come on! You'll have plenty of time for your perfect boyfriend later, for now it's time to get me one!"
By the time the party is over it's late. When it ended exactly I have no clue, but it had to have been past midnight, judging by the shouts of a 'happy new year' towards the end of the party.
The entire party was spent wandering around, a nervous wreck as Maya dragged me from one boy to the next- with the job of helping pair her up with a nice boy, and making sure that she didn't do anything too stupid towards the end of the night- when she had had a few too many drinks, and her decision making was a bit iffy. In the end, by the time she had found anybody she felt a connection with she was a bit too out of it to be making any decisions about that, and I had to walk her back to her home and leave her with her parents.
After that I just about ran back home, sprinting past my own house and across the field to Deke's, anxiety building up in me as I hope that he isn't too worried. For all he knows I could be anywhere right now. . . gosh I feel so guilty already, I hope he isn't too upset. . . .
As I tip-toe my way around the front of the ranch and to the back entrance, I cross my fingers that Deke fell asleep and didn't notice that I never came back tonight, but instantly hit myself for thinking that. No matter if he noticed or not, I went out to a party without him. . . why do I have to do such awful things to Deke? I don't deserve him. . . .
It's with thought that I quietly open the sliding screen door, walking on egg-shells as I nervously step into the first story of the ranch- which belongs solely to Deke, the rest of the family living on the next two floors. As soon as I walk in, the lights flicker on, and my eyes strain against the sudden burst of light, shielding my vision from the harsh rays as I rapidly blink away the white light that blocks my vision.
"It's pretty late," Deke's voice rings out, dripping with hurt as he crosses his arms, his brown eyes strained red as he looks at me expectantly.
I just timidly nod my head, holding onto my shoulders as they shiver, eyes darting around guiltily.
"Where were you?" He asks in that same pained, cracking voice. His eyes bear into me like I'm some sort of monster, who's done some despicable, unforgivable act- and that look is exactly how I feel on the inside, hating myself for going to that party. It's not even like I didn't know it was bad, I knew that I shouldn't have. . . .
"Where were you?!" Deke demands loudly, taking one step towards me as I flinch backwards, tensing up as I shut my eyes, unable to even look him in the eyes.
"Maya wanted me to go to a party with her," I squeak out guiltily, not even wanting to try to justify it, just feeling wholly sick and terrible, far too much to possibly try to convince myself, much less Deke, that what I did was anybody's fault but my own.
"You went to a party?" He asks me in disbelief, and when I peek my eyes open I see him just a few feet in front of me, looking down at me with shock and so much pain that it causes my heart to feel mushed, wanting to do nothing more than drop down to my knees, hug him, and tell him how sorry I am. But even doing that feels terrible, why do I say sorry? I don't deserve for him to forgive me.
"And were there other boys at this party?" He demands from me, his voice still shaky as he clenches his fists at his side, his eyes bearing into me so hard I shrink back under his gaze. Even as I'm in this vulnerable, tiny position, I force myself to feebly nod my head, cringing as he tenses up even further, even more anger simmering in him as he takes a step closer to me to compensate for my step back.
"And you did something with one of them? Didn't you?" He less asks than tells me, his trust in me seemingly snapping in half as he looks to be on the verge of tears.
"N-no," I stammer out quietly, managing to shrink even further back from him, nearly at the door now and just about curled up into a ball as I hug my shoulders tightly. The look in his eyes just causes me to hate myself even further, every bone in my body aching for him, wishing that I could go back and time and stop myself from being so selfish. This is all my fault!
"Why should I believe you?" He snaps, taking another step towards me as his hurt melts into a feral look of anger. "Since apparently you're going out and partying with boys behind my back? Is this even the first time you've done this? Or am I just nothing to you anymore?"
"I-I-I," the words come out a jumbled mess, stammered and half-witted, my mind incoherent, my heart still racing too quickly, pumping guilt and regret and fear throughout my entire body, my legs wobbling as I begin to tear up, attempting to hold them back but failing as they come out in choked gasps.
"You're crying?!" He demands, stepping closer to me, so close that his face is just inches from mine, his hot breath in my face as his anger intensifies into full blown rage, so all-encompassing that his entire body is shaking- all because of me. All because I'm a selfish, horrible person. . . .
"I'm sorry," I choke out through the tears, not knowing what else to say at this point, just clinging to some hope that somehow Deke could ever forgive me. He has to forgive me. He's the only one for me, I can't lose him. . . .
He takes a step back, my apology doing nothing to simmer his anger as he lets loose a torrent of awful words at me that I don't hear, the entire time too focused on his hand, rearing back and slapping against my cheek, sending a hot pain as I'm flung back against the glass door, more tears continuing to fall, burning up against my red cheek as they trail downwards.
Deke takes another step towards me, and I let out a gasp, cowering as I cover myself up, a blubber of incomprehensible apologies escaping from me in a rush, hoping beyond hope that he can forgive me. Why am I so awful to him? This is all my fault. If I would've just stayed with Deke, this never would have happened. I never would have hurt him, and he would never have to get so mad. . . .
He raises his hand again, and I flinch as he slaps me again, hitting the same spot and stinging my cheek with an intense pain, even the numbed feeling of guilt doing nothing to ease the awful pain I feel. I bring a hand up to the spot, covering it as I continue to try and fail to keep back the tears, feeling sick to my stomach to even be crying right now. Why should I be crying right now? When I'm the one that's hurting him. . . .
Deke doesn't even spare me another glance after that, stalking away and slamming the door to his room, flipping the lights on the way out and leaving me in the cold darkness, left shivering on the floor, warm tears streaming down my hot red cheeks, dripping to the floor that I'm curled up on, crumpled into a tiny ball.
What if Deke doesn't forgive me? What if I went too far, and he can never forgive me again. . . no, he has to forgive me. He always does. Deke is so much better than I am, he always forgives me, no matter how bad I am, and how mad he gets. He'll forgive me. . . .
He has to.
Cyril Lovelace, 11, District Three
May 24th, Year 101
047 Moffet Avenue, District Three
There will be no sleep tonight. Everything about this entire day, this whole night, the idea of what will come tomorrow. . . it's all too much. A bad day at school is nothing too new, a teacher scolding me for not paying attention and a few kids snickering at Endian and I behind our backs are pretty much daily events at this point. Hearing the whirring sounds of machinery from the other side of my thin walls, the occasional swears and crying being heard from mom- even that isn't exactly unheard of, as much as I wish it were. I'm not even sure if I want to know what she's doing in there, but I just wish that I didn't have to hear it every time it happens, her office separated from my room by just inches of wood.
But today is the first time in an entire year that I've had to worry about the Games. Even last year I wasn't too nervous, the tiny chance of me being reaped constantly running through my mind whenever I began to worry. But no amount of convincing myself, attempting to crunch the numbers, will stop the worry that wracks my body.
If Alt got chosen, what's to stop me from being reaped too? To say that it's not going to happen to me is just an impossible hurdle to leap over, and the mind-numbing fear that I have over an entire decade left of being eligible for the Games does nothing to calm me down. Even if I don't get reaped this year, what about next year? Or the next one, or the one after that. . . .
How can I think of anything else but the Games, when in a single moment of bad luck my life could be torn away from me, sentenced to death in the arena. Because it would be death. Alt was smart, resourceful, and so much stronger than I am- and even she couldn't win. Maybe if you aren't a Career, then the only way to really win is to be like Dalton: a cold, uncaring person that is willing to throw their own best friend at an enemy just to slow them down. Could I sacrifice Endian, just to give myself a few seconds head start on running away?
I'm not even fully sure what I want the answer to that question to be.
I turn over in my bed, my eyes closed but not a single drop of drowsiness slipping over me. My mind is still racing, all of these thoughts and fears of the Games leaping up, sprouting off in every which direction, taking my mind on tangents as I distract myself- doing anything and everything but relaxing and calming myself down.
Giving up on sleeping, I slip out from under my covers and drop to the ground, timing my jump with the loud sound of metal cutting against metal coming from the next room, the soft thump barely audible for even me. The second my bare feet touch against the cold metal my toes curl up, anxiety pumping through my veins, adding to the fear that I'm already feeling and morphing into a hefty shot of adrenaline that gets my bones shaking.
My eyes flirt to my pillowcase, the hidden stitching that hides my small USB stick, the only possession that I truly care about. Containing just about the only thing that I ever do for fun- or the one thing that I do for fun that my parents haven't ripped away from me.
They can't take everything from me though, and the programs on that small electronic are about the only thing that keeps me sane on nights when the awful sounds from the next room get too much to bear, the words that are constantly whispered behind my back getting to me and breaking past my thin shell that I've tried so hard to build up. When it all builds up to be too much, the three-D modeling and basic web design that I do for fun becomes the one thing that allows me to feel some semblance of meaning, some tiny shard of normality that I can cling to and clutch for the rest of the night as I lose myself in it, until I collapse in exhaustion on my keyboard, sleeping away any pain that's left. Just resetting myself until the next time that I overload again, and have to repeat the whole process all over again.
It may be an awful, unhealthy system that Miss Hash would be horrified to hear I have in place- but it's my system. It isn't mom's, not dad's, not a piece of schoolwork from some teacher that hates me, or an allowed task that the Lovelace family has approved. It's my silly, useless little way of rebelling, I guess.
But right now even that little, secret victory over my parents isn't enough to outweigh this awful, jittery feeling that pervades every little nerve in my body. I don't think anything is enough. Or at least not anything that I'm brave enough to do. I'm sure it were Peri in my shoes she could come up with something to do, and if I were Firefly than I would have the guts to do it.
But instead I'm Cyril Lovelace, the boy who sneaks down to the kitchen at one A.M. to get snacks he doesn't even want as his form of rebellion- shaking in fear the entire way down, flinching at every sound, jumping at every shadow, and dashing back to his room with an apple that will go unnoticed the next morning, and uneaten that night as it's tossed into the garbage with just a few small bite marks.
This time I shake even more than usual, feel an even stronger rush of adrenaline as I open the fridge, be just a bit bolder as I slip the door shut and reach for a roll instead. Tonight I bound through the halls quicker than usual, tip-toe with slightly longer steps past mom's office, and slide the door shut behind me just a bit faster, cringing just a bit more as it sounds off just a tad louder than normal.
Tonight I force myself to anxiously nibble for just a bit longer, and let the clock tick just a couple more minutes past one before burying the evidence in the trash, leaving it just a few places further from the bottom.
I jump onto my bed with minimally less caution, holding my breath for one second less with my eyes closed slightly less tight, before letting out my breath feeling just one notch more confident, one shred less nervous as I drop my head onto the pillow.
And when I finally do fall asleep, hours later, I fall asleep feeling just a tiny bit braver.
Kyle Braddock, 33, District Ten Mentor
May 25th, Year 101
The Town Center, District Ten
Whether or not you like District Ten, you sure as hell got to respect them. I've seen enough of the reapings today to know that all throughout the other districts, the entire reaping was one somber, tense event, intermixed with a hell of a lot of drama, screaming, and crying. In any of the other crowds, you'd be hard-pressed to find a single smile. Yet here today, despite the horrible event that's about to be underway, most everyone has a sunny disposition.
Even if it only takes someone a few seconds of staring at any single person to realize most everyone is faking, a hollow smile plastered on their lips, it's still better than nothing. Fake it 'till you make it, right? I know for certain that I've used that motto more than a few times before, and while it hasn't exactly given me the best results, I'm still alive, so I can't exactly complain. A heart beat and enough energy to fake a smile is more than most victors have going for them.
The mayor is among the minority with a serious complexion, looking dead serious as he lists of the crimes that the districts have made that must be paid in the blood of our ancestors children for a millennia to come. Mayor Sunning always has had a bit of a flare for the dramatic, and always loves to match the tone of his announcements. I honest to god wonder if the man even has an actual personality, or if he's just a Capitol engineered drone designed to perfectly deliver speeches.
Once he's done thoroughly cursing our ancestors and demeaning 'us' for being unlucky enough to be their offspring, he announces our escort, just a hint of disappointment as a new name is given, the 'elderly' Mace Lotu(previously of District Seven) calmly walking out onto stage, a wide smile matching that of the rest of the district, the only difference being his looking thoroughly genuine. Eh, wishing for an escort who isn't happy to be reaping kids is a bit much to hope for, I just hope the man isn't a giant asshole. There's more than enough of those escorts to go around.
"Hello, everybody, I am extremely pleased to be here in your lovely district!" He is greeted with a thin layer of applause and half-hearted cheering, though he seems satisfied by it, his grin widening as he continues. "Now, I never have been much of one with a flair for long speeches, so let's get to the main event and figure out who our tributes will be!"
This time there's barely a scattering of applause, mostly coming from those outside of reaping age, and probably from the few who don't have any loved ones in danger of the Games. Mace doesn't seem to notice though, pretty much prancing over to the bowl, whistling as he plunges his hand to the very bottom of the bowl, and slowly pulling it out, his hand shaking in excitement as he clutches onto it, holding it against his chest as he walks over to the mic.
I suppose it makes sense that to still be an escort past the age of fifty, a bit of enthusiasm is required- and I sure as hell aren't one to shy away from some energy- but even for me this is a bit much. There's plenty of time for fun in the Capitol, but you shouldn't be literally bouncing in excitement as you hold a slip that says the name of a child who your dropping into a deathmatch. That kid could be an innocent eight-year-old, a twenty-something single parent, or any other horrible possibility that we've already seen in previous reapings today.
Mace doesn't seem to hold any sort of realization to that, though, tearing open the slip and leaning into the mic as he excitedly reads off, "Cedric Stetson!"
It only takes a single moment for a boy to storm out of the eighteen-year-old section, a fire burning in his eyes and no hint of even an attempt at a fake smile appearing. Oh well, spitfires are tough to reel in, but if you manage to coach them well enough, you got as sure of a bet at victor as possible. Just as long as he doesn't antagonize himself here with his selection.
Mace meets Cedric at the stairs, holding out his hand to help the boy up, though Cedric slaps it away, marching up to the stage and standing next to the mic, breathing heavily as he stares daggers at Mace, who seems unfazed as he skips over to the boy. "Lovely to meet you Cedric!" He announces cheerily, and it takes all my willpower to not cringe, keeping up my shallow smile as I give Mace an odd eye, channeling all my strength into the boy and praying that he doesn't straight up sock the preppy escort.
Cedric seems ready to aim his anger in another direction though, not even playing along and doing the silly mini-interview. "I choose the goddamn Benner's kid."
Mace seems taken aback just a bit, squinting at the boy for a moment before shrugging. "Alright, could you give a full name please?"
"There's only one of them," he grunts in reply, and it's only now that I notice the harsh sunburn, thin stomach, cut up hands, and manage to connect it to the name I just heard. Benner. Benner plantations. One of the larger scale agricultural productions our humble district offers, and judging by this boys messed up appearance and burning hatred- most likely not a very nice place to work. Not the worst choice I suppose, at least there's no personal hatred there, maybe I can manage to pull something out of my ass for these two. I just hope that the Benner kid is less of a firecracker than Cedric seems to be.
It's as soon as this thought crosses my mind that a girl steps out of the nineteen-year-old section, a very weak smile stuck on her lips as she fights back tears. My heart aches at the sight, even after all these years my resistance to crying kids still not built up. The girl looks harmless too, a cute cowboy hat hanging over her dark brown hair. Overall, the girl just about spells out the word cute, and even with all these younger tributes this year, she'll definitely be gaining her fair share of sponsors from her looks alone. Hopefully her personality matches that initial assumption, it'll sure as hell make things easier on my end.
By the time the girl manages to inch her way to the stairs, she's sniffling back the tears, her eyes constantly flirting over towards her section as she chokes out a few sobs, graciously taking Mace's hand as he helps her out, the man adopting a more gentle aura as he carefully leads her next to Cedric, who seems to hold no regret towards his choice, staring daggers at the poor girl as she walks by him.
The girl flinches back from the gaze, inching away from him and looking at him with a look so guilty I would swear that she was the one to choose him. To call her skittish would be an understatement, the boy shuffling his feet sending her hopping backwards and causing her to hug onto her shoulders.
Mace offers the girl a reassuring smile, patting her on the back lightly before moving onto the questions. "Hello darling, can we get your name?"
"Picaboo Benner," she softly murmurs, tightening her grip on her shoulders. "You can call me Peeka though."
"Peeka, I love it, such a cute name!"
"Thanks," Peeka smiles, seeming genuinely pleased by Mace's compliment.
"And so fitting for such an adorable young woman," Mace smiles, causing Peeka to blush and avert her eyes to the ground.
Done with his short interview, Mace turns around to face the crowd, though I keep my gaze on Picaboo, sensing something from her that gets me just a bit uneasy. The way she carries herself, the tone of her voice. . . she reminds me of somebody.
"Well!" Mace's voice booms out, ruining any chance of managing to remember who I'm thinking of. Eh, I'll have another few days to figure her out. Shouldn't be too hard. "Today has certainly been a fantastic reaping, and we've got two dazzling tributes here to represent District Ten, and bring home that victory crown!"
The crowd cheers at this, everybody out there just as desperate as I am for another victor, having waited patiently long enough. All the other districts have gotten their time to shine, now this year is ours.
Mace doesn't even bother trying to grab Cedric's arm, instead settling for just hoisting Peeka's hand high into the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes, Cedric Stetson and Picaboo Benner!"
Dalton Faux, 23, District Three Mentor
May 25th, Year 101
The Town Center, District Three
This year has potential to be quite the interesting Games. With every district pair starting off the Games with a grudge against each other, many will be a lot more desperate for alliances with other districts, and much more vulnerable to making irrational, emotion decisions. There's also of course the high ability for the chosen tribute to throw a pity party about being chosen for some awful reason, or on the flip side of that coin- the chance for a good 'ol revenge story to garner hype and sympathy from others.
Either way, everybody is going to be highly strung up this year, both tributes and mentors alike(half of them just about broke after last year). High emotions leads to poor decision making. Poor decision making leads to vulnerability towards manipulation, a particular talent that I have. As long as I get a tribute even half as willing as Alt was last year, and with at least a fraction more tact, I'll be gifted my best chance at victor in ages. Just don't give me any whiny little kids or angsty, vengeful teenagers and I'll be fine.
I don't even bother to pretend to pay attention to that same, dull speech the mayor gives, picking at my fingernails as he finally begins to finish up, everybody in this grey district ready to move on with the main event. Everyone has their work they need to get to, and stalling this any longer does nothing to temper any fear in the pens. Not that any of the cocky, analytical bastards think that they have any chance of being reaped. They're all too sure of themselves, too trusting in statistics to see any universe in which their reaped.
That always has been the main flaw of District Three tributes. Too sure of themselves, too trusting in their brain power, and too tactless to attempt to approach the problem the Games present from a new angle aside from the typical cocky brainiac. We've been going at this for over a hundred years now, and yet still we still manage to produce tributes like Alt, who portray our flaws so clearly. But Alt is old news, and now all that matters is which two tributes I'll be gifted(or more likely- stuck with) this year.
The young escort Acestes Cinnabar steps out on stage, an easy smile and no signs of nerves for his first assignment, the nineteen-year-old seeming genuinely glad to be here in our district that Capitolites tend to dislike so strongly. Not that I particularly blame them, it's a lot of grey to take in at once, not a smidgen of color on any of the buildings or walkways. Paint costs money, after all, and as our fine district loves to proclaim: waste not, want not. That lack of creativity is exactly what makes my job so hard compared to the dimwits in the outer districts.
"Hello everybody," Acestes greets casually, his posture even slouching as he grins out at the audience, running a hand through his thick, dark brown hair. "It's my distinguished pleasure to be here today in District Three this fine evening, and I look forward to seeing the fantastic tribute that Panem has come to expect out of this brilliant district."
I nearly snort at the amount of sucking up the new escort is doing, and find my thoughts mixed on him. On the one hand, if he's not just playing it up for the cameras- he's going to get annoying fast. But still, I suppose it makes sense for a young escort to make a good impression on his first district.
And if that was his goal, he's certainly accomplished it, the mood in the square seeming to go just marginally up, the mayor- vein as he is- tilting his head into the air proudly. What a bunch of easily flattered dimwits.
My respect goes up for Acestes just a small bit, watching him closely as he walks over to our massive reaping bowl, taking a slip from the center of the bowl and taking his time to walk back up to the podium, a slight kick in his step, genuine excitement running through him as he readjusts the microphone.
I'm tapping my foot impatiently now, the soft thud of my shoe against the stage one of the few noises in the giant square, echoing out to even the furthest back reaches of the town center. Acestes spares me a side glance, smirking as he gives me an expectant look, before quickly turning back to the crowd, wasting no more time to tear open the slip.
I force myself to hold my foot still, a slight smirk appearing on my own lips as well. This man better be as intriguing as I'm beginning to think of him as being, because if he turns out to just be exactly how he's acting, and having no deeper thoughts than innocent giddiness and flattery, disappointment won't even begin to cover what I'll feel.
"And now, the moment all of you are waiting for, our tribute for the one-hundred and first Hunger Games is. . . Cyril Lovelace!"
As soon as the name is announced, I let out a short laugh, unable to help myself. Thankfully the distasteful reaction is mostly blocked out by the murmurs of surprise and confusion running through the crowds, Acestes letting on no further signs that he even recognizes the name, continuing to stare blankly at the crowd, waiting for somebody to come out of one of the sections.
My smile that has now firmly found its way onto my lips drops off the instant Cyril steps out. The boy isn't a cold, logical Lovelace ready to do whatever it takes to win. He's the goddamn little kid with ADD. Wrong. Fucking. Lovelace.
The rest of the district, not having access to Alt's family's medical, work, and school records- seems to not come to the realization as soon as I do that this is a completely different tribute than our most recent Lovelace, but Cyril doesn't take long to show them that himself.
By the time he's made even two steps towards the stage he's already tearing up, shaking wildly as he flinches back, Peacekeepers having to walk him up, his wobbly legs barely carrying him as tears begin to stain his cheeks. While I've already switched my attention from the lost cause, sorry excuse of a tribute- Acestes seems to have genuine sympathy for the boy. His features are soft as he helps Cyril up the stage, gently taking his hand and rubbing him on the back, giving him shallow words of encouragement.
Even more surprising than his reaction, however, is his lack of an interview, not pressing the teary-eyed boy on his last name or his relationship to the late Alt Lovelace. Not that I particularly care to hear a dull, meaningless interview, but still. Capitolites love their drama, and Acestes is missing out on a chance to make this reaping one of the highest rated of the year.
Instead, Acestes waits patiently for Cyril to collect himself, before finally popping the question that has to be asked, "Cyril, who would you like to choose as your partner in the Games?"
Now my interest is restored, and I find myself leaning forward, hands clasped together as I try to predict who this may be. An older sibling that speaks down to him? A bully from school? Because he's sure to have loads of those.
All of the ideas swirling around in my head all share the same trait of being unethical assholes, a small light at the end of the tunnel that gives me some hope of having a worthwhile tribute this year. After all, if you're willing to harass an eleven-year-old to the point of making him want you dead, odds are you won't be shying away from some good 'ol manipulation to ensure that you make your way home.
Cyril looks to be thoroughly conflicted by the question, shifting uncomfortably as he closes his eyes, whispering to himself as he attempts to come up with a name, before his eyes suddenly snap open, alight with determination as he rips the mic from Acestes' hand. "Malcolm Hall," he announces assuredly.
This time I'm not able to contain myself with just a chuckle, full on laughter rising from my throat at the pick. Man, this boy may be a surefire bloodbath, but he's made for one interesting reaping, I'll give him that.
Again my laughter is hidden by the shocked whispers running through the square, it taking just a few seconds for a boy to get shoved out of the thirteen-year-old section, sure enough being the same exact boy that exposed his older brother during the final eight interviews last year.
"What the fuck?" He yells, showing no signs of sadness or fear, but instead just complete anger at the boy.
As soon as he says this, Cyril's face goes pale, his whole body shaking as he scrambles for the microphone. "I-I m-meant the other one! Liam!"
I'm barely able to contain myself, mouth shielded by my hand is I bite back laughter, suddenly wishing for a bag of popcorn. He picked the wrong fucking one. Oh snow, this is too good to be true.
Malcolm seems to get even more mad at this revelation, the scrawny little boy looking none the more intimidating with this anger, but still seeming to send Cyril quivering back in fear.
Acestes meanwhile just looks overwhelmed, awkwardly taking the microphone back from Cyril as he coughs into his fist. "I'm afraid that you are not allowed to change your selection, as per the stipulations given for this year's quell."
"This is fucking bullshit," Malcolm yells, his pre-pubescent voice cracking as he does. Peacekeepers come up to either side of him and drag the boy kicking and screaming up the stage, a blend of high-pitched insults being flung Cyril's way.
One of the Peacekeepers even has to remain on stage with Malcolm, holding onto him and keeping him from attacking the boy(not that he looks like he could do much damage).
"Well, District Three," Acestes smiles, ignoring the complete mess his two tributes are in. "Your tributes, Cyril Lovelace and Malcolm Hall!"
As my two hopeless tributes are dragged away into the mayors building to say their goodbyes, any hope of having a victor vaporizes into thin air. But, while I may not be getting a fellow mentor out of these Games, one thing is for sure: there won't be a single boring moment.
A/N: Ow.
Reaping Recap next chapter.
Trivia(1 point): Now that we've seen all 12 tributes, who is your favorite? Why?
Trivia(1 point): Super early pick for victor? Why?
Trivia(1 point): We haven't done one of these in a while, so what state is D10 located in?
