Disclaimer: Hunger Games and the world of Panem do not belong to me, but their rightful owners, I just borrowed it and don't make any money from it.

Chapter 9: Reaping – Plans thwarted… and not (District 4)

Capitol – Caesar Flickerman

Caesar knew his job well. He had to, or else he would not have kept the job for as long as he had. And right now his job meant making the audience not overly upset about the fact that a twelve-year-old had been reaped in District 5.

Twelve-year-olds were always a bit tricky. It was law versus social habits in this case. The law said that with twelve a person was no longer a child but a youth, along with the responsibilities as well as the freedoms that came with being a youth. It meant a youth was eligible for tesserae in the districts, as well as free to work, but also old enough to share in the responsibility of the crime that was the rebellion. Hence old enough for being reaped. In the Capitol, where more or less the same laws applied, including the fact that if they wanted, the children of the Capitolites could seek employment at the age of twelve, wealth allowed social habits to take greater importance. As such Capitolites tended to consider only those who could be called 'teens' as youths, and to them a twelve-year-old was a year shy of that label. Perhaps it would have been easier for the Capitolites to have youths from age thirteen to nineteen being reaped for the Hunger Games, but at nineteen the youths would have finished school and entered the workforce for real and the government did not want to reap full workers and thereby seriously impact an industry. So by theory all Capitolites knew this, but social habits were hard to shake off. At the same time, Caesar knew that once the tribute was all dolled up and presented at the parade, people would forget about age for the most part and just enjoy the spectacle, no longer thinking how it might be unfair to pitch a twelve-year-old against an eighteen-year-old. So all Caesar had to do was divert their attention until then.

"My dear friends, have you looked at the clock? And do you see the same thing I see? Yes? Yes!" he said enthusiastically. "It's time for a four o'clock snack. And what better to snack on than lovely tiny toast triangles topped with the food treasures of the sea! All courtesy to District Four, which we will now give our divided attention as of course you will also get to see the latest pictures from District Eight."

District 4 – Rufa Coley, 17 Years

For the first time in possibly forever, Rufa felt real trepidation, when she woke up on the morning of Reaping Day. By habit she had woken early, despite the fact that today there were no classes to attend and for once she might really sleep in. Yet her mind was too active to allow her to slip back into Morpheus' embrace.

With a sigh, the seventeen-year-old girl got up. Perhaps she should go running, holiday or not. It might clear her mind. Quickly donning her training clothes and shoes, she slipped out of the house.

The sun was already making its way up in the sky, but it was still low enough to keep the air pleasantly cool. There was even a lingering light mist coming from the sea, though this would soon enough be expelled by the sun. Rufa inhaled the salty mist and could not help the smile which spread over her face. She just loved living by the sea. Yes, it was a hard life, even a dangerous one as the sea was never really predictable – it had after all claimed her own father –, but it also held a freedom that to her no other place in Panem could offer.

It did not take her long to reach the docks where quite a few boats were getting ready to head out for a quick turn of fishing before the holiday claimed them. Further out on the sea, Rufa could see that those at the docks were not the first boats to head out.

As she jogged past the harbour and out to the beach track, she found herself wondering how life working on such a ship would be. Was it something she would want to do, possibly for the rest of her life? She had only one more year in school left, and while she was lucky enough that her skills with the spear and her overall fitness allowed her to stay enrolled in the academy, she knew that the role of tribute for the Hunger Games was not hers. And even if by miracle the trainers and mentors would encourage her to volunteer, believing in her abilities, she was sure she did not want these honours. Yes, for years she had been training for a possible participation in the Hunger Games – all of course under the disguise of training for a District 4 job – and for years she had thought that there was nothing grander than representing her district as tribute. But as she matured she began to see the reality more clearly until truth had finally hit home the year before. Spears was her only class where she trained with those kids who would be encouraged to volunteer, so of course she had known Tamara, had even been something akin to friends with her. Then, last year, Tamara had been encouraged to volunteer and beaming with pride, her friend had mounted to the challenge. Rufa herself had been proud of her friend being chosen. And while it was rare that a district won two years in a row, it was not impossible. Rufa had had a lot of faith in Tamara. After all, theirs was a Career district, a district where the kids were trained properly for the games and therefore stood a better chance at winning.

Tamara had not come home. It had been her own district partner who had killed her as well as two other Careers in their sleep. And instead of being angry with Algy, Rufa had in that instant understood that even if District 4 was to have a new victor, it also meant that the second tribute of their district had to die. So even victory would mean death to a district.

Algernon had not won either. The girl from District 8, Cecilia, had won and for a few minutes Rufa had been relieved. She was not sure how she would have reacted had she had to face a victorious Algy. But the truth was that now she knew that the supposed honour of representing one's district was merely an illusion. An illusion she did not want to have forced upon her. So in a way it was good that she was not even good enough at spears to think that she might be kept as apprentice trainer, where she would then see that illusion foisted on the kids year after year. But it meant that for the upcoming year she would have to choose her courses carefully and finally choose a career outside of the academy.

Many of her former classmates had already made this decision. Either because their training performance had lead to the trainers encouraging them to seek field practice instead of academy training – which, despite the mild phrasing, resembled pretty much a dismissal from the academy –, or because they had reached the point Rufa was now facing earlier than she had. Perhaps she should check out meteorology next year…

But to get there she first had to make it through this day. And this was where the trepidation came back. There was always the slight risk that the trainee who had been encouraged to volunteer would in the last moment decide against it, leaving mostly a younger and possibly frightened reaped tribute to face the arena instead. This was what made the difference between District 4 and the other two Career districts. Here, the best of the graduation year were merely encouraged to volunteer, but the pressure put on them was nowhere near as high as it was in Districts 1 or 2. There, failing to volunteer when chosen was absolutely unthinkable. But District 4 lived by the philosophy that everyone should be able to make their own decisions and live by them. As such it had happened two years ago that all boys of the graduation class had already other plans, and nobody had held it against them. Even though it had meant that a fourteen-year-old had been sent to face the arena. Of course any other boy of any other year could have volunteered in his stead, but it was only the graduation class which received that special 'special' training. The training which took them out on the ships to wrestle with and kill the largest fish the people of District 4 dared to catch. Only the graduation class had this killing experience to guide them in the arena. Miraculously the young boy two years ago had won. The odds had been in his favour and Finnick Odair, with the help of their long-time mentor and first victor of the district, Mags, had been able to play all of his strengths at the best possible angle to make this miracle come true.

Now however Finnick was part of Rufa's problem. When he had shown up at the academy together with Mags about three weeks ago to see which of the students of the graduation year would be especially encouraged to volunteer, it had been safe to assume that this year Finnick would be one of the mentors. The government only allowed a maximum of two mentors per district to accompany the tributes to the Capitol and in District 4 it meant that the victors who would show up to scout at the training were the most likely mentors for the upcoming games. And while all students of the academy had a lot of faith in Mags' abilities, nobody of the older students really wanted to be mentored by a boy who would be younger than themselves, victor or not. From what Rufa had heard from her graduating classmates at spears every single one of them intended to refrain from volunteering, not willing to be mentored by someone younger than them. And the girl tribute by longstanding tradition in their district would be mentored by a male victor. Rufa was not sure how or when this tradition had developed, but the way the trainers reasoned it was to give each tribute an insight how the other gender would work in the arena. So this year there was a really high chance that whichever girl was reaped would actually face the arena. And at seventeen with a couple of tesserae from back when her mother had been ill that one year, Rufa knew that the odds might not be in her favour.

While the run had not allowed her to clear her mind, at least her body was sufficiently tired by the time she reached the cannery and turned back home to hide her trepidation. She could even enjoy the hot bath her mother had waiting for her, as well as the hearty breakfast and light lunch later. Finally it was time to put on their good clothes and head to the bay, a large stretch of beach, reaching further into the country than at any other part of the coastline, which was used as Reaping Field.

As they left the house they were joined by the neighbours who were heading in the same direction. Rufa was glad to see her mother in animated conversation with the neighbours; at times her mother tended to give in to the melancholia which had invaded her life the day Mr. Coley had died out on the sea.

Walking beside her fourteen-year-old sister Saffia Rufa was content to let the younger girl prattle on about one thing or another; she did not really listen. But then again, it was only understandable that Saffia should be so carefree… At fourteen and without tesserae, the odds were certainly in her favour, even if there was no girl-volunteer this year. Eventually however the constant repetition of the name Finnick Odair forced Rufa's attention and to her horror she finally understood that Saffia intended to volunteer. Because, as was the younger girl's logic, if Finnick could win at fourteen, so could every other person from their district. Plus, since she would have Finnick himself as mentor, there simply was no chance for things going wrong.

"Saffia!" Rufa cried out. All she wanted to do was grab her sister by the shoulders and shake her till the day was over, but this would not do. Not now, not in the growing crowd as they neared the bay. "Saffia, don't! You will die!"

"How can you say that? Finnick was just fourteen, like me, and he…"

"Yes," Rufa interrupted her, "I know, he won. But that was also by luck! He was lucky that the arena that year was a coastline. The type of area we know. So he had the advantage there. He also got lucky that his district partner got killed in the bloodbath by the Careers who perceived her to be a threat in light of the arena, while they thought him too young to be a threat to them. Yes, he was good with the nets and the trident he got sent, but Saffia, don't you see? In an open meadow, his skills with a trident would have him gotten nowhere. Tell me, honestly, do you think that Tamara or Algy were in any way weaker or less skilled than Finnick?"

The mention of last year's tributes had Saffia stop in her rash answer and she took a moment to consider Rufa's arguments. Finally she shook her head.

"I'll tell you what," continued Rufa, "Algernon was even better with a trident than Finnick. I sometimes saw him in class when we from the spears were waiting for our turn at the fish-targets. He never missed his target. He could handle the trident equally well with both hands. Finnick can only use the trident well with his strong hand. And yet… it was of no use to him in his arena. All mountains with lots of caves and trees… not trident territory, even with all the rivers and pools. So, what do you think chances are that this year we get a trident-friendly arena? Not that you are really skilled with tridents, sister dearest. So what do you think the chances are that we at least get a territory which gives District Four the advantage?"

From the shaken look on her sister's face, Rufa could tell that the truth was finally hitting home, that Saffia was finally understanding that volunteering at so young an age was absolutely not a good idea.

"Promise me that you won't volunteer!" Rufa pressed on.

Reluctantly Saffia nodded. "I promise," she said, clearly not happy to have the harsh truth presented to her when all she really wanted was to be close to Finnick Odair.

As they reached the counter to sign in, Rufa waited for a few friends of her year to catch up to her, while Saffia went ahead to join her own year-mates. When Rufa together with her friends however passed the group of fourteen-year-old girls she could see the excitement she had just extinguished in her own sister glow on several of the other girls' faces and she inwardly groaned. Her sister obviously was not the only one with such foolhardy notions of volunteering. And she knew her sister well enough to know that among her peers, it would not take long for Saffia to come to the conclusion that she should not abide by the promise she had just given Rufa; that her sister was just jealous because she, little Saffia, was going to be District 4's next tribute, victor, and possibly Finnick Odair's sweetheart. Yes, by the time the History of Panem began, Rufa was certain that her sister was going to volunteer.

Looking around her own peers, she saw that the determination not to volunteer this year was just the same as it had been yesterday during their final lunch break at the academy, and Rufa was sure that the eighteen-year-olds in front of her were much of the same opinion. Indeed, the telltale straight stance which gave away a volunteer was missing, nor was anyone trying to edge their way closer to the aisle to be in a better position to walk up to the stage.

No! Rufa could not let this happen. She might not be the best of her year, she might not have had the killing training, but she was certainly much better prepared than any of the fourteen-year-olds.

As the History came to a close and the escort was presented, Rufa steeled herself. With baited breath she waited, hoping that whichever name the escort picked was not one of the fourteen-year-old section.

"Milena Meyer!"

Rufa's heart fell as she saw a slender girl step into the aisle from right behind her sister. A fourteen-year-old? But no, a motion went through the girls in front of Saffia. Rufa immediately understood. Saffia had been standing in the last row of the fourteen-year-olds, Milena was in the first row of the thirteen-year-olds. A thirteen-year-old! And of course now all the fourteen-year-old girls were getting ready to volunteer.

Quickly jostling her way through her surprised peers, Rufa reached the edge of the aisle just as Milena Meyer walked by. Protocol demanded that she mount the stage and only then a volunteer could take her place, that was if the reaped tribute was willing to accept a volunteer. Rufa was relieved to see that at least the thirteen-year-olds seemed to have enough sense to fear the arena. Milena was not likely to refuse a volunteer. Carefully timing her own movements with that of the girl as she walked to the microphone, Rufa stepped into the aisle. "I volunteer!" she said with a strong voice, a conviction ringing in her words that made sure that no fourteen-year-old dared to contradict her.

District 4 – Connor Tobin, 18 Years

Connor lay on the floor of the training hall and gazed up into the ropes which formed an intricate net. One wrong step and one tumbled and fell to the ground. Or got twisted in the ropes and dangled upside down for all to see, trapped by the course. But Connor knew this course well. He had had twelve years to master it, to become acquainted with every fibre of it. And it was without a doubt his favourite part of the whole training hall. None of the weapon stations could offer him what the ropes did: freedom. Often his trainers had chided him for being too daring among the ropes, but somehow, from the first moment he had laid eyes on it, he had known that his heart had found the place it belonged.

His mind travelled back to the day so many years ago when his parents had taken him to the harbour to see the annual performance of the graduation class of the academy. There were sparring matches where some of the students donned fish costumes while others wore the regular fishermen attire, there was a swimming competition and there was the rope act. Large, skyward reaching poles had been rigged to resemble the masts of sailing ships of old, and amidst the myriad of ropes – all a confusing chaos in the eyes of a five-year-old boy – graceful young men and women had climbed up and down as if they were merely walking up steps. They had even walked on the ropes, walking the sky, from one pole to the next. Others had dangled upside down, swinging almost lazily only to catch an item thrown at them and pass it on to the next one. That had been the moment Connor knew he wanted to attend the district's academy. No, not only attend, for every child in the first six years of school attended the academy as well as the regular classes, he also wanted to graduate from the academy. He wanted to stay there possibly forever, to become one of the sky walkers.

He had worked hard and had excelled in his classes, be it regular school or academy courses. Never once had a teacher given him 'the look' which meant that sooner or later he would be advised to seek further practice in an actual job. But at the same time, while Connor worked hard to retain the privilege of staying where his rope course was, the pressure had increased. The academy's goal, besides the official one of preparing the district's children for the jobs that awaited them upon graduation, was to prepare the kids as tributes for the Hunger Games. To win the games. To bring honour and plenty to the district.

Connor had gone through three different opinions about the games throughout the years. As a kid he had simply not cared about them. The games were something that happened to others, to the graduation class, but never to kids like him who had years and years and years before they would face that possibility. That had lasted for about the first six years. Then, as he turned twelve and realized that his name would indeed be in the Reaping Bowl and that he could face the arena should he be reaped and nobody volunteered for him, he became opposed to the games. Simply because the games had the power to take the rope course from him. Luckily his opposition did not cause him any trouble, since all kids usually became rebellious at this age. Not at the games in particular, but rebellious in general as part of the process of growing up. When he had turned fifteen, his point of view had shifted once more. Since he loved the rope course so much, he had been allowed to advance faster in this class and by then found himself training with the graduation class. There were eight boys and nine girls left in the graduation class. All others had either dropped out on their own free will or had been told by the trainers that it was time to gain practice with a real job. There were about another five who stayed at the academy to take the more theoretical classes on meteorology and desalination technology. But out of those seventeen eighteen-year-olds only one girl and one boy would get to volunteer. Only those two got to represent their district in the games. Only those two had a clear path ahead of what they would do upon graduation. And as he interacted with those boys and girls, Connor realized that the other fifteen, whoever they might be at the end of the year, had no idea what they would do with their lives after graduation.

It was then that he realized that the system of the academy, for all the advantages it offered the kids and the district as a whole, was flawed. It simply expected the majority of the graduation class to join their former classmates in working on the ships, on the docks, in the cannery and whatever else offered a job in the district and to forget about all the years they had been slowly brainwashed that they had a destiny to fulfil in terms of becoming Hunger Games tributes. There was no help in the transition, no help in weaning off those students from literally living and breathing the academy. Only a very few got offered the chance to become trainers at the academy, but most years most of the graduation class upon graduating were honestly and utterly lost in the reality that was life in District 4. Some of them managed to find a job, accept the reality, and live with it, but they usually were rather miserable. Some got lucky and found a significant other with more experience in the real life and pulled through with the help of that significant other. And some only wasted away, accepting odd jobs only to earn enough money to buy cheap liquor and get drunk. Those would be found one morning, lifeless, and altered so much by the alcohol that one never would have guessed that once they had been considered District 4's brightest hopes at winning the Hunger Games.

It was then that Connor decided two things. One: He would become the boy-tribute for his graduation class so that he did not have to face being lost. Even if it meant spending more times with weapons and less with his beloved ropes. Two: He would win and use his position as victor to help the lost ones. Because those lost ones were not without skills. There was just nothing the district currently offered them where they could use their skills. And yet, once every year the graduation class showed a skill nobody really acknowledged. They had the skill to entertain as was obvious by the crowds which gathered every year to watch the class' performance. So why not make performance, entertainment a job? And that was where the part of being victor came in. Usually any non-productive venue was not tolerated in the districts. But on the other hand every victor of the Hunger Games was expected to develop an artistic, a non-productive, a rather useless talent, now that they had so much money that they never needed to work again. And the talent was then presented to the Capitolites for their entertainment. So a victor had the power to become a performer, an entertainer as talent. And what if for a good performance, a good entertainment he had to recruit a few other people from the district to make it work? To give the Capitol the entertainment they craved?

Yet what had the past victors of District 4 done as talent? Each and every one of them had picked up sea shell decorating. They spent their days walking the beach to collect the shells and glue them to the walls of the official building such as the town hall, the Peacekeeper barracks, or the Justice Building. They created pictures, geometric designs, worked with the subtle shades of what the sea offered them. At least that was what the victors told the reporters for the TV-program. To Connor it was just a pathetic waste of time. Every child could glue random sea shells to a wall and call it an intricate design. Toying around with sea shells did nothing to help the district. And did not a victor have a certain responsibility to the district? He certainly would not neglect this responsibility; he would change the district for the better.

It was this he reminded himself of, as he lay on the floor and looked up into the ropes. In just about two hours he would volunteer – he smiled at the fact that none of his classmates would dare contest his claim to be this year's volunteer, the last training had ensured that –, he would win, and he would return to the ropes.

District 4 – Rufa Coley, 17Y

"I hate you!" With these words, Saffia entered the room Rufa had been assigned and threw herself on the plush sofa to scowl darkly at her older sister.

Rufa huffed in annoyance, crossing her arms in front of her chest and turned to her mother. She did not have the time to deal with this. She did not even have the emotional strength to deal with this. She needed every shred of it to accept the reality that she had volunteered for something which would most likely kill her. After she had just this morning decided that she would face the truth that she was not that spectacular at the academy training and would focus on meteorology instead the upcoming year. Now there would most likely not be an upcoming year for her at all. Not when her own district partner was so much more prepared for this than she was. So she certainly could not deal with her sister being selfishly childish right now. Flatly she informed her mother, who had been watching her daughters with a worried and confused look: "Mama, Saffia wanted to volunteer herself. Because Finnick won at fourteen. And she is angry because I pre-empted her."

"What?" Mrs. Coley's face had gone from pale – the result of seeing her eldest volunteer without dropping even a hint in advance to her mother – to deadly white. But this lack of colour only lasted for a second or so, then it reversed to an angry dark red. Giving her older daughter a quick embrace, she then turned to her youngest. Given her flushed face, one would have expected her to yell at Saffia, but Mrs. Coley possessed a weapon far more effective than that: icy, dripping sarcasm in a frighteningly calm voice. "So, you are scowling, because your sister chose your life over hers? You are angry that you get to live another year? You claim to hate her because she is going to possibly die? Why, instead you should be happy to have found so nicely a way to get rid of your older sister and ensure that all your mother's attentions will henceforth be focussed on you, my dear. So, I do congratulate you for convincing your sister that you'd be so stupid to volunteer at fourteen while all the while you just wanted her out of the house. Clever plan, Saffia."

Rufa couldn't help but secretly smile at all the nonsense her mother was saying. But she knew that tactic all too well. She knew that to a stubborn teenager who was not willing to really listen it sounded all like the truth. She was just happy that in her own case it had only been a nightly swimming competition her mother had talked her out of a few years ago with this tactic.

Indeed, the tactic bore instant fruit as Saffia first stopped pouting, while still staring stoically ahead, but at each new sentiment was brought up, her face fell more and more until she wailed out: "This is not how it was! I did not want her to volunteer! I did not…" She faltered.

Rufa took pity on her sister and laid an arm over her shoulder. "Saffia? Did we not discuss it before the Reaping? Did you not agree that you were not really prepared for this? That Finnick was just lucky?"

"Then why did you volunteer?" Saffia countered. "You know it would have been much easier to convince me not to attempt this had you said that you wanted to volunteer. I would have been proud and…"

"Boasted?" Rufa shook her head, her red hair swaying softly. "But I did not intend to volunteer. I intended to pick meteorology as elective next year. But then I saw how all your friends and soon you were looking at each other, the excitement, the anticipation, especially when you espied Finnick on the stage. And I knew that none of the graduating girls intended to volunteer this year. I…" Her voice faltered. "I simply could not let you make such a stupid mistake. And even if you had kept your promise, had I allowed one of your friends to volunteer it would not have been much better. I would have always known that it could have been you in her place. I just could not." Tears were streaming down her face as she said that.

It was her mother who gave her comfort, drawing her into a soothing embrace. "Hush!" she said. "As sad as I am that you volunteered, I am also proud of you. In face of this, you did the right thing. You might have a chance, more chance than any of these harebrained girls. They have much to thank you for. And Saffia and I will make sure they know it. That they in turn will do everything in their power to prevent other classes of fourteen-year-olds to attempt the same mistake. Even if it means they volunteer when they least want it." With this Mrs. Coley reached for the head of her younger daughter to unclasp the barrette the girl was wearing in her hair. "Take this as token. Wear it in the arena and every time you are on the screen, the girls will know."

Next to her, Saffia was sobbing quietly. The loss of the barrette somehow had broken the last mental wall, making her understand that she was in all likelihood losing her sister as well. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…," she sniffed.

Rufa hugged her. "Don't cry. Hey, come on, we are Careers. Which means I'll get a few strong allies and who knows, maybe I get lucky with the arena and can navigate it better than my allies so that I can outwit them once the Career alliance is over and then I'll win and come back home. You know that I'm quite good at spears. It is perhaps the only reason they let me stay at the academy."

Saffia shook her head. "You are also good at running," she offered.

"Ah, see? And running is always helpful in the arena. Especially when I feel that the alliance is nearing its end, then I'll simply pack up some things and run away during the night. I'll be fine." She would be, Rufa knew somehow. She had to be. After all, she was a Career.

District 4 – Connor Tobin, 18Y

Connor's parents entered the room, but they appeared to be at a loss at what to say. They had known that their son wanted to volunteer, they had tried to convince him against it, but it had been useless. They simply did not understand him, could not understand why he would risk his life in the games only to potentially become the Capitol's puppet rather than join his father on a fisher boat and have a nice, but most importantly free life.

Connor was equally at a loss at what to say. It was as if all words had already been said. He had tried to make his parents understand his views on the district and the flaws of the academy system, but in vain. If not for a similarity in looks between his father and himself, Connor might have come to believe that they were not related at all.

It was eventually his mother who broke the somewhat awkward silence. "Carla is pregnant. Myra told me just yesterday."

Connor was somewhat stunned by this inconsequential information. Carla was his cousin, about two years older than himself, had left the academy at the age of sixteen and had been working ever since in the fish market. As children they had been close, but well, lately they had each lived separate lives, too separate to do more than occasionally meet at family gatherings. So he had known that she was seeing someone on a somewhat regular basis, so ultimately the information that she was pregnant was not that surprising. But why would his mother bring up this topic right now?

"They want to have the wedding in late fall, when the hurricane season is over", his mother continued.

Another inconsequential information. All weddings in District 4 were scheduled to be outside the hurricane season, as weddings in District 4 usually involved the newly-wed couple to row around a certain cliff to show how well they work together and one never attempted this when a hurricane could all too easily end the married bliss by crashing the couple into the cliff.

"Although by then the pregnancy will surely show. Myra is quite concerned about the dress… Carla will not fit into her good dress anymore by then."

Ah, yes, Connor mused. No matter how dire circumstances are, women and dress were always two things to go together and always sure to cause the former some worries. However, he refrained from mentioning that once he won, they could simply order a pretty maternity dress from the Capitol as gift for Carla. For one, he had not yet won, and for two, he did not want to remind his parents of the games and risk his father making a last minute attempt to persuade him to not go through with his plans. It was too late for that, so it would be futile and just cost both sides too much energy for nothing.

"I just hope that the responsibility of wife and child will bring Marsten around," his father grunted, having obviously decided to join his wife's babble.

Connor secretly rolled his eyes. Marsten, Carla's future husband, was a prime example why he was volunteering. As second best of his year he did not get to volunteer four years ago and was ever since making his way with low paid jobs as day labourer. He had met Carla when he had been hired for that day to deliver the fish to the respective market stalls. It had been truly romantic… or not. Yet Marsten was so much more… Give the man a harpoon and he was a deadly force to be reckoned with. Unfortunately only few had the licenses for catching fish which required the use of harpoons such as whaling, so there were too few jobs for all those young people who left the academy with harpooning skills.

"Perhaps he could join you on the boat," Mrs. Tobin suggested.

Connor felt his mouth go dry. Here he was, ready to be shipped off to a deadly arena – by his own choice, yes, and he most certainly planned to return alive and victoriously – and his parents were already planning to replace him as his father's aid on the ship by his future cousin-in-law. Okay, he had never wanted to accompany his father on the boat, but still, it hurt to listen to his parents speak about a life he obviously was no longer part of.

"We could make it a wedding present…" Mr. Tobin mused.

Connor had had enough. Waiting a few moments longer he realized that his parents truly had gotten so immersed in the subject of his cousin, the wedding and the future that they no longer took notice of his presence, he slowly walked to the door and snuck outside.

"Back!" The Peacekeeper snarled.

Connor jus looked at him and said: "I won't run. I volunteered, right? I just want to get away from my parents."

"Too much hugging?" the Peacekeeper asked mildly annoyed.

"Nope. Too much ordinary life!"

Capitol – Caesar Flickerman

Caesar was relieved. At least this Reaping had gone as planned. Career district, two volunteers, both looking capable, so no problems he'd have to skirt around when he made the next bridge.

"Marvellous as always, District Four!" he commended them. "And, my dear audience in front of the screens at home, did you notice the delicate decoration of the Justice Building? This, my dear friends, is sea shell decoration, done by District Four's dedicated victors. Every year I marvel at its beauty. And nothing reminds me more of vacations than these decorations. Speaking of vacations – should you not yet know where to spend your next vacations, our team from the commercial department will now supply you with a few suggestions."

Sunny pictures of wooded glens, sizzling deserts and snowy mountains flickered over the screens, interrupted occasionally by imposing edifice ruins. As varying as these impressions were, the message was always the same: Visit one of the past Hunger Games arenas. Relive those exciting days of your favourite victor. Become part of the re-enactment spectacles of bloodbath and final fight – with artificial blood of course and no injuries.

Caesar could easily identify each arena by year, but it was not till the 65th games arena came on the screen that he seriously contemplated booking a vacation there. All those beaches… might be a nice place to go for an escape with his wife. But then he recalled his children's request that they please visit the deathly laboratories as next vacations – the arena from the 48th games. His children were too young to have witnessed the games, but they were unfortunately old enough to think that laboratories with traps which could dump you into vessels full of deadly substances – now replaced by annoying goo – were ever so cool.

Well, those were the pleasures for being a family man.

A/N: Thanks for reading. And a Happy New Year to you! May the odds be ever in your favour ;-)