District 7 Reapings "I'll be gone"
Author's note and disclaimer: I still do not own the Hunger Games. Thank you to "The Millenium Falcon" for Madison Vesper, I am Nightlocked for Eureka Eisen, fat necrosis for Eilidh le Blaca, and Finnick17 for Kye Nicolini
Jonas Tanner – District 7 victor of the 18th Annual Hunger Games.
"I cannot fathom why you are yet so melancholy, Aeden," Jonas persisted at the door to Aeden's house, which remained obstinately secured
"Let me handle this," Marlene implored him for the second time. "You know how hard this day is for him. Just let me go in to him."
"Categorically out of the question. He is a victor and this day, above all other days, he must comport himself like one. This year of all the years, is a victory already, for the people have had their selection."
"You don't actually believe that bogus, do you?" Aeden's voice emerged from the house. For all of the experience Aeden had, Jonas understood why the reapings discomfited him. But this reaping was different.
"In an scarce display of justice, Panem is making an attempt at democracy, Aeden. The minimum effort you could exert would be not to tarnish it by your morose appearance."
A crash resounded from within and then a string of curses.
"This behavior is erratic, unexpected even from you. I suggest you repair yourself proximately before there are corollaries for our district."
"There already will be. I can't do it!"
Jonas took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure and patience, but his endurance of ridiculous sentimentality had its parameters.
"I'm going in," Marlene declared and this time he conceded the point without debate. After all, if sentimentality was the realm in which both his girlfriend and Aeden dominated he saw no reason any longer to prevent her entrance.
"Make certain you emphasize that time is of the essence," he instructed even as Marlene shut the door in his face, rolling her eyes. They did not always understand each other, but she was a suitable mate. After all, as a victor, it was practically his obligation to ultimately procreate with a suitable partner. Besides being a positive influence on district seven, it would be a means to ensure his legacy lived on. Only time would tell, though, if Marlene and her sentimentality could withstand his greatness.
Moments later and after several disturbing noises in the house, Marlene emerged, this time with Aeden behind her in tow. He squinted at the sunlight.
"Is the morning here already?"
"Morning? The hour is nearly on us or had your summoner failed to mention that?" The wreak of alcohol reached Jonas's nose.
"You're intoxicated?!" Jonas exclaimed. This was highly irregular. Never in the years that he had been a mentor nor the years before when Aeden had mentored alone had he been given to drowning his sorrows in a bottle. As a matter of fact, he had cultivated a reputation of sentimentality and sobriety.
"I'm sorry," was Aeden's only response. He held his head low, any of the fight that had been in his words just a moment ago had vanished into thin air. Now, bereft of all cynicism, simply a lamb to the slaughter, he stood before Jonas, unable to move, unable to speak. He hadn't seen him so distraught since the 18th games, since he had been targeted by one of the children and a fire had destroyed his first house in the victor's village.
"What's wrong?" Jonas asked, keeping his words simple. There was empathy there, really there was. It was in everyone's best interests that Aeden be sufficiently prepared for the task of mentoring and it as clear that he simply wasn't. Jonas was determined to do everything he could to remedy that.
"We're choosing them," Aeden whispered, delicately, his voice trembling. Even he was afraid they would be overheard and his words would be misconstrued as rebellion. "It isn't better; it's brutal. Their blood is on our hands, Jonas. Each of us had to write a name of a child. Of an innocent."
Marlene made a move to put her arm around Aeden to comfort him, but then met Jonas's eyes and must have read his thoughts in them. This was a conversation only they could have, District Seven's two victors. She stepped aside.
"I'll see you both there," she said by way of a farewell. And she would. She certainly didn't have to be there. Marlene had no children of reaping age, she had no children at all, as a matter of fact, nor was she herself of reaping age. She could have easily not attended and not been missed at all by anyone but Aeden. But Marlene was loyal, and though she was Jonas's girlfriend, her friendship with Aeden and loyalty to him would keep her there through the reapings. For the moment, though, she was gone.
"It's a heavy responsibility, Aeden, but it is better this way. The people we've chosen, I have no doubt they have more of a fighting chance than anyone the Capitol would have reaped. We're a district that needs to discover their fighting spirit. We'll never be the loyalists that places like one and two are, but we can show people the fight that we have. Sending two people in ready this year, ready like I was, that can be the start to redeeming the nightmare that is the game from the bane of small children to something that can instill pride. It's a necessary evil, Aeden. We might as well persevere and make the best of it." Jonas's words poured over his colleague, his friend, like water. Jonas believed them, he truly did, in equal proportion to what Aeden said next.
"We're murdering them, as surely as the Capitol is. We're murdering them, as surely as we had taken up the swords ourselves."
"As I established, it is far from the ideal situation, but when faced with the choice of having the names in their hands or ours, ours are the most secure every time." Aeden didn't respond. After all, how could he? There was nothing they could do to change the status quo. The Hunger Games had been the only consistent for twenty five years and showed no sign of ceasing. They had to make the best of it.
"Whose names did you write down?" Jonas asked, making every attempt to assuage his friend's guild. Aeden simply shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to say the name, lest it be the one that was on the new escort's lips in just a few short minutes. Time was escaping them, so Jonas did the only thing he was able to think of, even though he was not even certain he could.
"This year, stay home. There will not be blood on your hands this year. You've done your duty."
Aeden looked at him, his face blank in confusion, in terror. Jonas refused to think of whether there would be repercussions for either of them if Aeden were to stay home, but they would worry about that later. This time he had to insist.
"But two tributes," Aeden began to protest.
"You mentored two tributes for ten years. I esteem myself to be up to the task for a minimum of one year, more if necessary. Your current state identifies you as unfit for duty. Aeden, after this long, my belief is that you have earned a respite. I shall notify the Capitol that I will be district seven's only mentor for this year."
Aeden's face visibly relaxed and he hiccupped.
"That scotch is terrible and has an awful aftertaste," he offered meagerly, trying to change the subject. The gratitude on Aeden's face, though, was more thanks than he required.
Jonas smirked. He had his faults, certainly, but over the years the two of them had formed an unusual bond, one that only survivors of something as horrendous as the Hunger Games could have any hope of understanding. Together in that bond, they made their way to the stage.
Aeden Sanderling – Victor of the 7th Annual Hunger Games.
It was almost too good to be true. Aeden stood beside Jonas, looking out at the faces, and simply struggling not to think of them. The alcohol hadn't helped; he'd never really thought it would, but with the responsibility in their hands he had to try everything he could.
All the eyes looked up at him, as though he alone decided their fates. Could his fate truly be so kind that he would not be forced to go himself to the Capitol this year? Each time that he did, it felt as though a small part of him died, as though he returned home a little less. Even with his victory with Jonas, there would always be the guilt that, in his heart, he knew if he had had his choice of the tributes, if he had been able to write a name for a victor as easily as he had written two names of potential tributes, potential victors, that it would have been Bailey, sweet little Bailey, turned by a monster by the Games, that he would have brought home instead of Jonas. What would that have done to the district? Could the man whose choice, if he'd had it, would have led to that, truly be trusted to write names as he had yesterday, to vote his conscience.
Goodwin Landen, the new escort for their district stood far too boldly, a broad smile plastered across his face. As though today were something to be proud of.
"Welcome, district seven. Today is a patriotic and historic day, one of which I am infinitely glad you were able to partake. You and your two victors, Aeden Sanderling, victor of the seventh annual Hunger Games and Jonas Tanner, victor of the eighteenth Annual Hunger Games, have much to celebrate. First and foremost, we celebrate them, and their continued dedication to the purity of the Games. Your patriotism and sacrifice is to be commended."
This one was more pompous than the previous escorts had been. He could only hope that he would tone it down a tad throughout the Games.
"Now, for the moment you have all been waiting for, your selected tributes. First, for the girls, your district, by popular vote has selected Ms. Madison Vesper."
It wasn't the name he had written down; of course it wasn't. There was no good candidate, but it was better than he could have hoped when the seventeen-year-old section parted. At least the district had the sense to choose someone older, someone more experienced and physically fit.
She hadn't been expecting it, though. He could tell from the tears in her eyes, the look on her face as she took the stage, hesitantly, trembling as so many had before her, as so many tributes would after her. But she was different; she hadn't been reaped, she hadn't volunteered, her district, people she lived with, people her family interacted with on a daily basis, had selected her. Madison's blue eyes, brimming with tears, met Aeden's for a brief moment, then they dashed away, trying to look strong, brave, trying to fit the description that the windbag had rattled off.
"For the boys, Eureka Eisen," the man's voice boomed out.
The sixteen-year-old section parted and a boy who looked nothing like the girl emerged. Instead of tears, he almost cracked a grin. He had been expecting this. His name was not familiar either. There was reason enough in that. Maybe Jonas had been right. They had a sixteen-year-old and a seventeen-year-old. Too young, certainly, but they stood a much better chance than any of the younglings.
"Thank you, thank you," Goodwin's voice erupted again. Aeden expected him to conclude the ceremonies and allow the tributes their farewells, but he did not. "I have a surprise for you, my good district seven. As a special treat, there will be a second round of reapings in honor of the twenty-fifth Hunger Games."
The blood drained from Aeden's face and he felt Jonas's hand on his back, supporting him, lest he fall due to a combination of the unusually excessive amount of alcohol, the fast he had self-imposed and the pure shock of the statement.
"There will be no volunteers for this round. By reaping only." As if there would be. As though anyone in their right mind would volunteer for a quarter quell, a quarter quell, now, presumably with double the amount of tributes, even less chance than usual than emerging alive.
"For the ladies, we have Ms. Eilidh la Blaca."
The reapings were not as kind as the district had been, Aeden saw as a fourteen-year-old emerged. She was taller than the rest of her age group, but wore a patch on one of her eyes, the other was brimming with tears. There were no screams, no sobs as she approached the stage, just the numbness and terror of silence.
"For the gentlemen, Mr. Kye Nicolini."
Even worse, if it were possible, the thirteen-year-old section parted for a short, thin boy with brown hair. The section parted, but the boy didn't move forward. In a split second, he darted away, willing all of the speed in his legs to bear him away from the place, to wake him from the nightmare. Of course it would not. One of the peacekeepers made a grab at him and snatched him by his hair. He kicked and bit at the Peacekeeper as he was dragged, not by one, not two, but by three Peacekeepers to the front. Two of them even kept their hands on his shoulders as he stood there. Mercifully, all four of them were ushered to their separate areas to say goodbye.
"Aeden," Jonas started. Who knows what would have followed, if Aeden hadn't cut him off.
"I'll go," Aeden said, loudly enough for Jonas to hear him, but no one else. He knew he had to. Despite Jonas's earlier offer, he couldn't let him mentor four tributes. It wouldn't be fair to anyone. Four would be far too much for one mentor to handle on his own.
"Do you want the first girl and the second boy?" Jonas, for all of his insensitivity, could certainly be perceptive.
"Madison and Kye," Aeden responded. He could say their names. He had to.
"Very well. I'll mentor Eureka and Eilidh," Jonas agreed. "One out of four are certainly not unacceptable odds. Eureka was my candidate after all." Aeden nodded. He had figured as much from the look on the first boy's face. There was method in his madness.
"Now that the course is determined, whose names did you write?" Jonas asked him. "The girl I deemed most worthy was Claudia." Aeden nodded. He remembered her as a strong eighteen-year-old, one who was now, mercifully, out of harm's way, but at Madison's expense.
"Ones that wouldn't have made a difference at all." He unveiled the sheet of paper he had carried with him since yesterday, a written copy of the same ballot he had cast: for the girls, Calliope Willow, the boys Aeden Sanderling. Jonas gave him an understanding smile and, for once, said nothing.
Madison Vesper – 17 first round female tribute
"You can't give up." Madison knew it was the sort of thing her father should be saying to her, but in their case it was the exact opposite. It was over for her, she all but knew it. The voting was a scam. Ever since her mother's death in the riot years ago she had feared, year after year, that she would be reaped. And now it had finally happened. That was what had struck the font of tears, knowing that, if the Capitol got their way, there was no way she was leaving that arena alive. And the Capitol always got their way.
Her father met her eyes. He'd already been crushed after losing her mother; Madison was his world and now she would be gone.
"I won't be gone," she whispered. "I'll be here. Make it better for me, for our people."
"All the times we talked of a better world, a better country, it's so terrible that those in charge don't know what better is. They think this showboating and this so-called democracy is fair, but they're all living- "
"Dad, even the walls had ears." It was true. She couldn't let him suffer on her account.
It was then that he slipped something on her finger.
"I'll keep my promise, you keep yours." Her mother's wedding wing. Madison's eyes began to tear up again as she looked at it. "It's so beautiful," she whispered. Just like the love she and her father had, just like the bond that they shared.
Eilidh le Blaca – Second Round female 14.
"I wish you still had your eye," her brother bemoaned again. He'd been saying that for the last several years on and off, but moreso today.
"Che, I've got one good one. That'll make people underestimate me," Eilidh said. She was trying hard to keep her composure but it was so hard with her whole family there. So many good people in this room; what had they done to deserve this? Why had she gotten reaped? She knew she couldn't dissolve in self-pity; that would do her no good. Yet at the same time she could barely manage to speak.
Her parents and her older brothers all engulfed her in a group hug. That was actually better. Why speak when clinging to her family for what could be the last time seemed to be the most important thing in the world? She knew it was unlike her, and she wished she could find the right words, but for once, she was uncharacteristically speechless.
"This year is full of surprises," her brother Beckham whispered, his voice low. "Unfair second rounds, extra tributes, but everyone is going to be in for a big surprise when you come home."
He held out her hairbrush and everyone laughed. It certainly wasn't what most tributes would have picked as their token, but Beck somehow had known it's what Eilidh would want.
"Worst case scenario you might be able to hit somebody over the head with it," her father commented and for a brief moment, the levity that characterized their home returned. Hopefully soon it would return, along with her.
Eureka Eisen – Male First round tribute 17
"Everything is going according to plan!" Eurkea exclaimed. He was nervous, of course, but this was precisely where he had planned to be. Once he returned and sprung his father from prison he would thank the district that had nominated him. He would demonstrate his faith and generosity ten-fold.
"I always knew you would, Urie" his best friend, Oakley said. He put his hands on his shoulders. "I couldn't be more proud of you. You're risking a lot, you know."
"I know," Eureka replied. "But it's worth it. If you've been through what I have, it's worth it. When I walked to the stage, Oak, all I saw was my dad's face, my dad finally getting free. So many years in jail only catching glimpses of him through the bars, only stealing conversations when the guards aren't looking, I can barely even remember what he looks like when he's not caked in layers of dirt and grime. But I'm going to see that! I've got to believe."
"You're brave, Urie. Crazy, but brave. I'll be rooting you on. Is there anything you want? Anything you need?"
"I've got everything I need right here," he patted the tiny doll he still carried with him. Once in a while he got made fun of for carting a doll around, but he didn't care. In order to stay connected to his father he would risk a thousand insults or injuries. It was worth it, indeed.
Kye Nicolini – Male Tribute round 2 age 13
It wasn't fair!
He had no one to return to, no one who would come and see him.
Kye kicked the walls of the room in frustration. He'd been living on his own for years! Didn't that give him a free pass. "Hey kid, your parents are dead, you have no one to care for you, you get a pass on everything terrible." He couldn't believe it when he'd heard his name.
He kicked the wall again, drawing a look from a Peacekeeper. Let them keep an eye on him. He was too tired to run now, but he could still kick and bite. And he would. Kye was many things, and a survivor had always been chief among them.
"You can let me on the train now. No one is coming for me!" Kye called out. The Peacekeeper looming outside only turned his head. Ignoring him, typical. Everyone did. Everyone except the reaping bowl. Except the Capitol.
It was a moment later, when a second Peacekeeper passed by that he saw his chance. They were engaged in conversation and both of them were completely ignoring him. The perfect opportunity!
Small as he was, he slipped past the Peacekeeper and willed his legs to move one more time. To persevere to freedom one more time. It was his only chance.
He could almost see it! He was almost out of sight of the train when he felt a sharp pain in his leg and he went tumbling down. No! He couldn't be brought down by this. But he was. He felt sleep overcome his body. They must have tranqued him! No, it felt worse than that. Maybe he was dying now. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. He saw a shadow in front of him, a shadow growing hazier with each second. With his last vision he reached out and punched the figure before him, hoping it wouldn't be his last act.
"When the lights go out and we open our eyes,
Out there in the silence, I'll be gone, I'll be gone"