(A/N) We're back, with our Tuesday night chapter for In the End, You Always Kneel! We're at the District Nine Reaping now – boy, hasn't time just flown by – and this one features the creative talents of the wonderful Ophelia Lokisdottir and the incredible Tando!
Vengeful Vixens: Thanks for the reviews, delighted that you're enjoying the fic so far! I particularly appreciate the description of Pepper, as a guy with a "psycho redhead" girlfriend (btw, she'll be writing in this fic with the pen name InDeepDarkWood, so let's hope she forgets to read this one)! As for Silver Fox, we decided to use Kayla Silverfox from the Origins film as her real name, with the Silver Fox as her in-Games nickname, as we're trying to avoid some of the crazier names. For example, you might just see a nod to Drax the Destroyer in this chapter, but what mother in her right mind would name her child that?! Thankfully, most comic book characters have aliases, and we'll be using some of those.
TheMetaReborn: Well, we can't claim the idea as our own, alas. Long before this fic, before I had even set us this collab, I took part in a Hunger Games collaboration by 24tributes24authors – as did JGrayzz, our writer for District One's Elektra Natchios, and Alex, one of our moderators! While the fic – Bring Them to Their Knees – was sadly left unfinished, I did get to take my character, Erik Fiske, to the fullness of his storyline, and I had a great time writing it. Long story short, it directly inspired me to start up this fic – but yes, no one, not even me right now, knows who's going to win this thing!
Whew, those were two long replies! Going to leave you to it so!
Chapter Nine – Grim Reapers
District Nine Reaping
Written by Ophelia Lokisdottir & Tando
Kurt Wagner of District Nine
Written by Ophelia Lokisdottir
"We all have a personal pool of quicksand inside us where we begin to sink and need friends and family to find us and remind us of all the good that has been and will be."
– Regina Brett
It was the dread in the pit of his stomach that woke Kurt that morning. The feeling was heavy and cold. It seemed to be sinking through his gut, weighing him down and pulling him into the mattress. He did not get up right away. He didn't think he could get up right away. He lay on his back, his eyes tracing along a crack in the ceiling. Over and over, along the fractured lines. Eventually, he found himself on his feet, shedding his pyjamas and tugging on pants and a sweater. Margali would make him change for the Reaping, but for now...
On his way to the front door, he passed the twins' room. He eased the door open and peeked in. Amanda and Stefan were sleeping peacefully, unaware of the depth behind the Reaping. It was only their first year, after all. Kurt, now fifteen, had been through it three times. He paused in the kitchen, snagging an apple from the bowl on the counter. The Wagners were not rich, but they weren't struggling, either. Kurt and Margali worked in District Nine's main industry – wheat production. Kurt spent his time out in the fields with a scythe in his hand, while Margali worked in the factories. With both of them bringing a decent income, the family was comfortable.
There would have been three incomes, had the twins' father not been absent. He'd disappeared before they'd been born, leaving a very-pregnant Margali to take care of the recently-adopted Kurt. No one knew who he was. Margali barely remembered him. She had kept no pictures of the man. "If he didn't want to stay in our household then he doesn't deserve a place in our household," she had told her children on many occasions. Kurt was proud of his mother for moving on from the man. He didn't deserve her attention.
Kurt closed the front door quietly and jumped down the steps of the small house. He took a bite of the apple as he wandered towards the wheat fields. A gentle fog had settled upon the streets, echoing the feeling of the sombre day. He felt as though the mist had invaded his body, slowing his mind processes to a crawl. He was dreading the Reaping, yet he felt distanced. The fear was there, but it lurked quietly in the back of his mind instead of attacking his every thought.
The silence was broken by a gentle rustling. The nutty, rich smell of wheat drifted up his nostrils as he tossed his apple core away into the grass on the side of the road. His solid footsteps turned to crunches as the cracked pavement turned to dirt and gravel under his feet. He followed the path through the sprawling wheat fields almost to the district edge. He could see the tree line beyond the tall chain-link fence. It looked weak, but Kurt knew it was positively crackling with electricity. One lone tree sat on his side of the fence. Nearly thirty feet tall and dense with foliage, it towered over the surrounding landscape.
Kurt approached the base and with a swift, fluid motion, he jumped, caught the lowest branch and swung his legs up and over. He pulled himself higher and higher until he was two-thirds of the way up, then perched on a branch. He blew out a long breath. The land around him was brushed in gold as the sun began to climb higher in the sky, burning away the fog. Past the shimmering fields, he could see the shapes of the buildings in the centre of town. The roof of the Justice Building was recognizable, along with several grain factories. No smoke rose from the tall pipes today. His eyes lazily roved across the horizon, taking in the colours of the landscape.
"Kurt!" The sound of a girl's voice snapped him out of his reverie. He nearly fell from the tree, skilfully latching onto his branch as he slipped.
"Kitty?" he called down as he slithered down through the branches. The sun was much higher in the sky. He wasn't late to the Reaping, was he? He would be killed.
He dropped to the ground in front of Katherine 'Kitty' Pryde, his lifelong friend. Her brown hair was pulled back in a curled ponytail and though she wasn't outright smiling at the moment, she always seemed to look pleased. She was one of the happiest people Kurt had ever met, and it seemed not even Reaping Day could put a damper on her mood.
"Am I late?" Kurt asked hurriedly.
Kitty waved a hand. "Nah, you got plenty of time. I came to find you because your mom's looking for you." Kurt glanced down at his clothes and was instantly thankful that he hadn't put his Reaping clothes on earlier. His sweater was stuck through with pine needles and sap clung to the fibres from his unplanned descent.
"Thanks, Kitty." Kitty began walking backwards back the way she'd come.
"Hey, Kurt...raceyouback!" she yelled quickly as she took off down the path. Kurt let out a yell of laughter and raced after her.
"Ow! Mom..." Kurt yelped as his mother pulled a comb through his dark, curly hair. "It's not gonna lie flat, you know! This is – ow! – making it worse!" Margali finally abandoned the comb job.
"I just want you to look your best," she said ruefully.
"I look fine, Mom!" Kurt said, picking up the black dress shirt hanging from the back of his chair. He shrugged it on and did up the buttons. "What about the twins? Are they ready?"
As if in answer to his question, Amanda bounced into the room, sky-blue dress fluttering around her knees. Her blonde hair was curled, falling in gentle waves over her shoulders and held in place with a dark blue ribbon. She grinned at Kurt.
"How do I look?" she chirped, bringing a smile to Kurt's face, though it was tinged with sadness.
"Like a princess," he said playfully. "So your brother must be a prince."
"No I'm not!" a voice yelled from the other room. "I don't wanna wear this! It itches!"
Stefan stomped into the dining room, a scowl marring his face and one hand tugging irritably at the dark blue bow tie around his neck, the same shade as Amanda's ribbon. "It itches and I don't wanna wear it," he repeated sullenly.
"Ah, but you look so handsome, Prince Stefan!" Kurt joked, causing the boy's lip to jut out even further in a pout.
"Here, Kurt, I found this for you," said his mother, holding out a dark red waistcoat.
Kurt pulled it on and admired the way it contrasted his black shirt and pants as the family headed for the door.
As they neared the centre of town, they joined the throng of families flowing sluggishly through the streets. When they finally made it to the square in front of the Justice Building, Margali kissed each of her children on the head and joined the crowd of parents beginning to line the square. Kurt guided his siblings toward the twelve-year-olds' line before joining Kitty and the other fifteen-year-olds. The children oozed forward, checking in with the Sentinel officers and then lining up in the cordoned off areas for each age group.
Kurt scanned the stage. There were the dreaded glass balls, filled with tiny slips of paper. Goosebumps erupted on Kurt's skin just looking at them. He forced himself to look away, focusing his attention on the occupants of the stage. Four men sat in a row of chairs. The mayor sat on the end. To his left were District Nine's mentors. Kurt's gaze lingered on the first man a little longer than the others. The man was ridiculously muscled, skin dyed grey by Capitol surgeons and decorated with intricate red tattoos. Kurt could barely remember his Games, ten years earlier, but what had happened afterward had made him infamous throughout the district.
Before the Games, he'd been Arthur Douglas, an eighteen-year-old tribute with a fiancée waiting for his return. He'd racked up an impressive twelve kills, setting a Games record. He'd returned victorious, and he and his wife soon after had a daughter. The family had been happy for a few years until Douglas had refused to aid the Capitol (in what, it had never been made clear, but many suspected that the Capitol had attempted to recruit him as a mercenary) and his wife and daughter had been slaughtered by the Sentinel forces, sending the man spiralling into depression, often broken by violent rages. With nothing to quell the anger burning inside him, however, the man had become reckless and shunned by the inhabitants of Ten. He had taken on his Games moniker in an attempt to regain people's attention, but it had failed.
The other victor, Erik Lensherr, was older by a decade or so, the winner of the second Games. Many unexpected events had followed his participation in the games – he had been an underdog, expected to go out in the first day or so, and the next year he had formed a friendship with the victor of the third Games.
The mayor rose from his chair and the low murmurs of conversation died away as he stepped up to the microphone. He began to speak about the games, about the honour of competition, something something... Kurt let his eyes drift away from the mayor to the bright colours of the Capitol escort, Robert Kelly. His coiffed hair was a dusty green and his suit was black, adorned with tiny green gems that caught the sun and flashed whenever he shifted in his seat. He had a beard – really more stubble than a full beard – dyed to match his hair and shaved in sharp, crisp lines that arced up to touch his cheekbones. When the mayor finished his speech, Kelly rose and strode over to take the mayor's place in front of the microphone.
"Welcome, everyone!" His Capitol accent was not nearly as thick as some that Kurt had heard, but it was there, and it grated on Kurt's ears. He shuddered as the man continued talking.
"Before we begin, I'd like to show you a wonderful film that the Capitol has provided us!" Kurt nearly left then and there. He would almost rather die than watch the inane propaganda again. Once was one time too many. He glanced across the aisle at the fourteen-year-old girls and sought out Kitty's face. She was looking at him too. Kurt crossed his eyes and faked a gag. Kitty stifled a snicker before snapping back to the front as the film came to a close.
"Beautiful, as always," gushed Kelly. "Let's not waste any time, shall we?" He reached for the first glass ball. "Ladies first, shall we?"
He rifled around in the girls' bowl before pulling out a slip of paper. "Wanda Maximoff!" Kurt, like everyone else, glanced toward the sixteen-year-old girl section. A pair of Sentinels were escorting a brunette toward the stage. The girl was regarded in the district as a little crazy, to be quite frank.
Kurt watched the brunette climb the steps to the stage. His mouth was dry and his palms were wet. His heart began beating double time as Kelly made his way leisurely over to the second bowl. Kelly rifled around in the receptacle, his fingers disappearing in the scraps of paper. Finally, he plucked one out and sauntered back over to the microphone, unfolding it delicately. Kurt tried to swallow the lump rising in his throat. It felt like a boulder was inching down his windpipe.
"And our male tribute is... Kurt Wagner!" All around Kurt, there was a rushing sound as the boys let out the breaths they had been holding.
Not Kurt.
Kurt suddenly found himself unable to breathe at all. Unable to even move. Someone tugged on his arm, prompting him to stumble into the aisle. His feet carried him slowly up to the steps and he climbed them in a daze. Muffled words reached his ears and he looked up. The Maximoff girl was holding out a hand. Kurt reached out and shook it once before letting his hand drop to his side as he turned out to face the audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you your tributes of the twenty fourth annual Avenger Games!" There was a slight ripple in the crowd as a few people gave a couple half-hearted claps. Kurt felt a hand on his shoulder and then he was being steered into the Justice Building.
He was led to a small room containing a worn couch and a desk and chair. He sank into the couch, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in. Kurt hugged his knees to his chest as he began to shake, fighting back tears. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing his mother clutching the twins' hands. The three of them rushed into the room and Margali swept her eldest son into her arms. The floodgates broke, and Kurt began sobbing into his mother's shoulder. He felt small arms wrap around his waist and dropped his arm to enclose his siblings in the hug. The family just stood in an embrace for a couple minutes, taking in one another's touch before they were separated- likely permanently. That new realization brought on a fresh wave of tears for Kurt – he was probably never going to see his family again. They'd only see him when his body was brought back to them for a funeral.
Margali unfolded her arms but didn't let go of her son's shoulders, holding him in front of her and gazing into his eyes.
"Kurt, sweetheart...I love you so much. You know that. I believe in you, my little one." She cupped his face in her hands and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, wiping away the wet tracks that lined the boy's face. Kurt wrapped his arms around her again before he felt a tugging on his sleeve.
"Kurt, you hafta take something with you," said Amanda in a trembling voice. She pulled the ribbon from her hair and held it out. "Will you wear this for me?" Stefan untied his bow tie and held out the strip of fabric.
"No, I want him to take mine!" Kurt pushed up his sleeves and held out one arm out to each child.
"I'd be honoured to wear both of them." The twins set about wrapping the fabric around Kurt's wrists and up his arms before tying it in messy knots. When they were finished, Kurt was assaulted by bear hugs from both sides. "Ooof!" He wrapped one arm around each of his siblings.
The door to the room swung open, revealing a Sentinel officer. "I'm sorry. Time's up." She did sound genuinely apologetic. Kurt kissed the tops of the twins' heads and then his mother's cheek before receiving one from each. They were ushered out and Kurt was expecting to be alone, but to his surprise, Kitty Pryde practically flew into the room and crashed into him, wrapping her arms around him.
"Why did it have to be you?" she said, her voice a half-sob. "I don't want you to go!" Kurt returned the hug.
"I know...believe me, I don't want to go either. But I can't not go. At least I have a chance." Suddenly, the reality of the situation came crashing down on Kurt again. He was trembling and his breaths came in short gasps.
"Kitty – I don't…think…I can do this..." he choked, tears springing to his eyes. Kitty adjusted her hold on the boy, moving one hand up to the back of his head, which he buried in her shoulder. Kurt locked his arms around his friend and sobbed into the sleek fabric of her yellow dress. He didn't think he had any more tears left, but he darkened the fabric on Kitty's shoulder. A wetness on his collar told him that Kitty was doing the same thing. Finally, they broke apart when the Sentinel officer re-entered the room.
"I have faith in you," Kitty said quietly before she was ushered out the door. A second officer escorted Kurt out of the Justice Building and to the train station, where a sleek Capitol engine waited for them. He and Wanda were led towards an open door. Kurt saw his family standing near the platform and raised a hand before he was led up the steps and the door hissed shut behind him.
Wanda Maximoff of District Nine
Written by Tando
"I finally figured out that not every crisis can be managed. As much as we want to keep ourselves safe, we can't protect ourselves from everything. If we want to embrace life, we also have to embrace chaos."
― Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Breathing Room
Wanda Maximoff carried a large bushel of wheat up the dirt road, her work boots scrunching against the gravel and dust blowing in the wind. Other workers passed her by, some of them jogging up the hill to get to their destination. To both of her sides, endless fields of golden wheat surrounded her, with an equally marigold sun beating down, causing her to build up a sweat. Despite the unpleasant smell her worked-up sweat must have been giving off, she didn't really mind. She never kept much company to begin with, so personal appearance didn't mean much to her, and in District Nine, no one cared much for appearances anyway, since everyone either worked in the wheat fields or the processing plant up by the district's border.
She much preferred to admire the scenery around her, however simplistic it may be. Rows of wheat swayed in a light breeze that would blow through her every now and again, lifting the tips of her brown hair for just a few brief moments. Somewhere off in the distance, the slow rush of an irrigated canal broke through the wind, flowing downstream just like a natural river.
She reached the top of the hill, revealing a train depot. Dozens of bushels of wheat were stacked up in pyramids while a set of railroad tracks ran through the middle. The train brought the wheat up to the processing plant, where they're either shipped back to the district, or taken out to the other districts.
Wanda placed her bushel among the others, and she was just about to head back down the hill when a young man about her age with silver white hair came running up after her.
"Hey sis, better pick up the pace, or we'll never finish before sundown!"
She blinked a couple of times. "S-sorry Pietro. I was just...lost in thought."
Pietro Maximoff threw his bushel high up so that it flopped onto the top of the pile. The two of them then began walking back down the hill to the fields below.
"You excited for the Reaping tomorrow?" Pietro asked, his impatience causing him to break into a light jog as they head down the hill.
Wanda shrugged. "What's there to be excited about?"
"What's exciting? Extra rations! I put my name in seven extra times, and I'm hoping they add in some fruit as a bonus," he explained.
"Fruit? In your dreams. We always get grain from our own district, nothing else." Wanda's pessimistic world views gave her voice a sharp, clear tone.
"Hey, a guy can dream. And hey, I heard that the Summers family managed to get their hands on a live chicken during last month's distribution. Maybe we'll be just as lucky."
She rolled her eyes. "That sounds ridiculous. Where do you hear this kind of stuff anyway?"
"Mostly from the guys I work with at the processing plant," he explained. "I'm sure you'd hear a bunch of interesting things too, if you ever interacted with people."
She knew that Pietro didn't intend to be mean, but sometimes the blunt way in which he spoke gave off that impression.
Wanda shrugged again. "I find that most people aren't worth listening to. Too many lies, too much deception. Like, did you even see this chicken they were talking about? How can you prove it's real?"
Picking up a scythe that they'd left on the ground, Pietro began whacking at the stalks of wheat, collecting them in his hand, "Even so, wouldn't it be great? Even if it's completely untrue, isn't the idea alone of eating meat with your family for a whole week just make you wanna smile?"
She had to admit, she couldn't recall the last time she'd had a decent meal, and there's only so many ways to repurpose flour from one of District Nine's many processing plants, especially without any other readily available ingredients.
"Okay, fine. Maybe some chicken every now and then would be nice…" Wanda admitted begrudgingly.
"That's the spirit, sis! Now c'mon, a full feast is less than twenty-four hours away!" Pietro tied up a bushel and threw it toward Wanda. Unprepared, it hit her in the face, knocking her to the ground.
The town square was bustling on the day of the Reaping. Wanda looked out of her bedroom window and watched as myriads of people in faded overalls, dirtied shirts, and straw hats made their way into the heart of the town. She had adorned herself with her best pair of blue jeans, and a thin white blouse with one corner tucked in.
"Wanda, are you ready yet?" her mother called from the living room.
"Almost!" she cried from her room.
With a clay bowl of water at her bedside, Wanda carefully washed her face, making sure not to let any of it spill onto the floor. Most of the district's water goes to the wheat production, so they had to conserve everything they did get.
When she had finished, she walked from her room to the main room of their two-room hut. The morbid heat dried off any droplets of water that clung to her face, and she found her mother and Pietro standing by the door a moment later.
"Now remember children, if you, or any of your friends are chosen. Do not react, do not retaliate. Act natural, and blend in. And if you are chosen–"
"Don't think like that Mom," Pietro interrupted. "I mean, what's the chance of either of us getting chosen anyway? We may put our names in multiple times, but so does everyone else. We'll be fine Mom."
Wanda nodded her head, "Yeah Mom, we'll be fine."
While she may have wished to avoid the Games on the outside, secretly, she wished she would be picked for the Games. Of course, it'd almost certainly mean that she'd die – historically, District Nine tributes were always amongst the first to go, and she wasn't physically intimidating, not by a long shot. No, rather, it was the idea of touring all of Marvel. She'd never been outside of the confines of District Nine's fields of yellow wheat and grass, and she could only catch faint glimpses of the Capital and the other districts from the holographic broadcasts during the Avenger Games. And being able to see all those places in the flesh, even for just a few moments, well, wasn't that worth dying for?
Wanda and Pietro joined the droves of people walking towards District Nine's Justice Building, where the Reaping would be held. As people passed by, they greeted and waved to Pietro – ever the popular socialite among the population of District Nine. But no one waved to, or greeted Wanda, which was just as well. She liked to stay away from people, especially her peers in the district. In all honesty, they bored her. They spoke of growing patterns, a new ball to kick around during the off hours, and relationship rumours as if they were the most invigorating points of conversation. Wanda, on the other hand, preferred to talk about ideas, dreams, things that weren't quite grounded in reality. And apparently, no one else in District Nine was interested in that.
The dull, grey Justice Building loomed over the district, the tallest building in sight among the fields and scattered huts of straw, mud, and other materials. The Justice Building had always fascinated Wanda, how it always matched the skies on a cloudy day, and how the building itself seemed to reach for the sky. While she had never been inside, she bet that if she could climb to the top, she'd be able to see the entire district from there.
The Reaping process was the same every year – give a blood sample, confirm your identity, and then...wait. Wanda was separated from Pietro when they divided the boys from girls. She looked around at the other girls in line with her. Some were just a little older than her, participating in their final Reaping, and some of them were much younger, perhaps this was their first. A pair of girls just in front of her were holding hands, one girl much younger than the other. The older girl went up first to give her fingerprint, and to hold her hand out for one of the Sentinels to jab her with a syringe-like device that took her blood sample, the girl gritting her teeth and shaking slightly as she's hit with a burst of momentary pain. The younger girl went next, having no difficulty stamping her fingerprint in ink and printing it onto the blank piece of paper. But when the Sentinel reached out with his device, the girl instinctively yanked her arm away. The Sentinel reached over from the table and grabbed the girl by the arm, forcing her arm onto the table before stabbing her with the device. The girl screamed, both from the shock and from the fact that the Sentinel probably jabbed her a little harder than he should have. It didn't matter to the Sentinels – to them the members of District Nine were all the same: disobedient, dim-witted, and simplistic.
The older girl pulled the younger one away as Wanda stepped up and gave her fingerprint. She kept a solemn frown, she remembered having a similar reaction during her first Reaping.
Continuing to the crowd gathering by the Justice Building, Wanda peeked out from in between two others as a tall, older man stepped up to the podium, "Welcome District Nine, to the twenty-fourth annual Avenger Games!"
A few sparse claps could be heard from the on-looking audience, but they quickly died down as the majority remained silent. They showed the usual propaganda film, as always showing rows upon rows clips of clean, well-dressed workers walking on paved roads among green fields and shady trees. They're all smiling and carrying baskets full of bread and fruit. The mere sight of food made Wanda's mouth salivate. She hadn't even had any breakfast.
A message was superimposed onto the happy people, a black-and-white cursive text saying. "The Capitol is looking out for you!"
Wanda clenched her fists in anticipation as the film ended and a pair of Sentinels brought out two glass bowls, one filled with boys' names and one with girls' names. The bowls are practically overflowing with the duplicated names of all of the children of District Nine, slips of names flying away with the breeze as they're presented to the man. Guess Pietro and I weren't the only ones who wanted extra rations, she mused wryly.
"Ladies first, shall we?" he asked, before dipping his hand into the bowl to his left. He stirred the pieces of paper around in the bowl for a little while before finally picking one and pulling it out. "...Wanda Maximoff."
Wanda's heart raced as those around her turned around and stared at her, quiet murmurs echoing through the crowd. Words like "crazy", "lunatic", and "weird" flowed through their conversation, but she didn't care. Two Sentinels pushed through the crowd to retrieve her, and she lowered her head as they escorted her to the stage. Her hair fell in front of her face to hide the smile plastered across it. An escape, or a death sentence – the Avenger Games was both, and Wanda was more than happy to participate.
She quelled her smile by the time she reached the stage. The tall man, Robert Kelly, was the district's escort, who, despite his outrageously colourful clothing, was stiff in nature.
He leant down and whispered to Wanda. "Congratulations."
She smiled, not quite sure if he was being sarcastic. "It's an honour, sir."
Wanda stepped to the side as Kelly reached into the male bowl. It didn't really matter which male got picked – as long as it wasn't Pietro, Wanda couldn't care less.
"And our male contestant is...Kurt Wagner!"
Her eyes shifted through the crowd, looking for someone to start walking up. The name wasn't familiar to her, but she thought that maybe she'd recognize his face, maybe he was one of the boys Pietro talked to. She looked to her side and, as if out of thin air, a boy just a few years younger than her was climbing the stairs to the stage. She'd seen him maybe once or twice before, maybe working in the fields, or when she visited her mother working late in the plant. Whoever he was, she didn't know much about him, and that was probably for the best.
"I...I don't know what to say," Pietro's chilled voice floated through the dead air of the waiting room.
After the Reaping had ended, Sentinels had escorted Wanda and Kurt to separate waiting rooms in order to say goodbye to their parents. In the next room over, the sobs of Kurt's family echoed through the thin walls.
Her arms folded, Wanda shrugged. "That's a first."
"You...you don't seem very upset about it," he observed, hands in his pockets.
"What is there to say?" she mumbled. "Getting chosen for the Avenger Games...it's just something that happens. Of course our chances were increased because of how many times we put our name in...we need the food after all–"
"...children?" a soft-spoken voice interrupted Wanda.
They turned to the door to find a frail, older woman being escorted by two Sentinels. They closed the door behind her, and Pietro ran over to her, embracing her in a hug.
"Mom…" he stared into her eyes, looking for answers, for some kind of response.
Their mother's eyes were blank, and vacant. All of their childhood, they'd seen her as the emotional core of the family, the balancing factor between Pietro's manic excitement and Wanda's pessimistic doubt.
How would she respond to her own daughter being sent to her death?
She approached Wanda, and hugged her. "Wanda...this is the greatest thing that could've ever happened to you."
Pietro's jaw dropped open, but Wanda nodded in understanding. "I know, Mom."
"Bu-but...what?!" he shouted. "What are you talking about?!"
Their mother turned around, and placed her hand on her son's shoulder. "You'll understand when you're older Pietro. There's no room for adventure, or expression in District Nine. This is her chance to get out, to see the world."
He looked at the two of them as if they'd gone mad. "But...she might…"
"I think it's worth it," Wanda admitted, interrupting him. "District Nine is known for its losing tributes, and it's not like I could ever hold myself in a fight anyhow. My fate has already been mapped out by the stars; I might as well enjoy it while I can."
Clenching his fists, Pietro lowered his head, his veins nearly popping out from his arms and head. "No! You can't...you can't just accept this! You're going to live, goddamnit! Something...something will happen, I promise!"
He stormed out of the room, pushing past the Sentinel guards by the door. Their mother sighed, and clasped Wanda's shoulders. "Your brother has every right to be upset; to an extent...I am too. But I know this is what's best. You never would've been happy living through the daily grind, and no boy...well, marriage never interested you anyway, did it?"
Wanda chuckled, it was almost impossible to imagine herself as a married woman of District Nine – if finding friends was already so hard, how could she ever cultivate a relationship?
"Oh yes! You need something from your district, right?" her mother asked suddenly.
Wanda watched as her mother removed something from her neck. "No...you're not going to give-"
"What else are you going to bring? A clump of dirt?"
She smiled, rolling her eyes – she'd actually been considering that.
Her mother lifted up the necklace, a plain silver chain with a small golden ring hanging from it. The ring, while dirty and rusty with age, still emanated a slight glow when held up in the light. A pattern of intertwining leaves lined the middle of the ring.
"Mom...your wedding ring...I...I thought you stopped wearing it when-"
She shook her head. "Just not on my finger. Gets in the way when I'm working anyway."
She lowered the chain so that it fell gently around Wanda's neck, before tucking it under her shirt, hiding it away.
"Keep this well-hidden. If there's one thing I've learned about the people in the Capitol, it's that they don't appreciate subtlety."
Wanda nodded, remembering watching the flamboyant Capitol announcers interviewing previous tributes, often shifting the attention away from the tributes and onto themselves.
There was a knock at the door. "One minute warning," a Sentinel's voice echoed from outside.
Wanda's mother gave her one final hug. "I think Pietro's right...you can win the Games. Just make them remember you."