A/N: Sorry it's been so long since my last update, I've just been kind of distracted at the moment, partly by A level homework (So many essays!) And partly by a Hunger Games project that I and Twenty Three other writers are currently working on! I'll give you more info on that as it goes on!
As for the question, I saw some of you had some problems understanding it. To clear up the slight mistake I made, I meant characters from the real Hunger Games, not my SYOT since you don't even know all the characters yet!
Talking of characters todays one's were submitted by wildone93, laralulu and HelloPoppet. I don't really know whether the latter two are still reading but I hope they are, since they both submitted some wonderful tributes! I'm afraid that, while writing this I don't have access to all of the character sheets, so parts of this are done by memory. Be sure to tell me if I make any mistakes! Anyway, on with the story!
The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games
Distrct Ten
Echo Tektra, age 14
Lots of Capitol guys look at District Ten and think it's a really nice place to live. They see a group of big guys riding around on horses and the vast open country and they start dreaming about cowboys. They imagine a lawless District where the weak are punished without mercy. Where stern, moustached Peackeepers dish out justice with the end of a gun. Where a guy can be shot through the back simply by making a dumb comment or looking too girly.
Which would be a real shame for me if it were true, 'cos I'd be dead by now! Truth is, most guys here are more mouth than muscle, and if they see some kid like me, well they just go all weak at the knees and try not to look like they're staring, which I honestly feel is kind of pathetic. Heck, near no one even wears a stetson if the cameras aren't around! All in all, it's pretty much a normal District, regardless of what people think.
And then there are people who totally fit into those stereotypes exactly, regardless of whether or not it's Reaping day. People who just can't help dressing in rough leather and wearing cowboy hats and spurs whatever the weather! People, in short, like my mom, dad and older brother Savidge.
"Ah c'mon Echo!" Dad bellows as he pushes my wheelchair down the middle of the old dirt track, "Don't ya realise how expensive this here corn is? Have another cob!" I heave a sigh. They're always trying to feed me up and, for some ungodly reason, it's always vegetables. I guess the same meat diet they feed Savidge doesn't apply to me because he's a sports star and I'm crippled. And, to top it all, they pay all the extra money to get those vegetables when they could just be buying meat like everyone else. God damn them, I don't need their sympathy. I pout and say nothing. Why should I?
"I'll have 'em." Savidge grins from under his stetson, tilting it back and slipping the cob into his mouth. Sure, because Dad wants me to have it Savidge wants it. Why not? At least he's not flaunting the fact he can run this year. That got annoying pretty fast. He's such a jerk.
"Savidge," My mother warns him, shaking her fist, "Be nice to ya brother ya here?" Oh god, she's using that stupid 'cowgirl slang' again. How I hate that.
"I ain't done nothing!" Savidge grumbles, his voice muffled by a mouthful of sweetcorn.
"Don't ya 'ain't done anything' me!" My mother growls, "I ain't falling for it. Echo needs his brain food, he can't walk like you ya know!" I cough loudly, just to remind them that Dad is still pushing my wheelchair. I don't like not being able to walk, but I positively hate it when mom tries to use it to gain me pity. I don't need pity.
And what's this about brain food? Just 'cos I can't stand doesn't mean I need stinking brain food to live a decent life.
Doesn't mean I want my brother scoffing my food though.
"Jerk." I scoff at him as he continues chewing, and he quickly claps me around the head before stomping off into the swelling crowd, which has been slowly drifting down to the center of the District since three in the morning. I clench my fists as my mom chases Savidge, trying to get an apology. It seems kind of harsh but I've often wished that Savidge would be Reaped. It would get him out of my hair forever. There's only one problem with this plan. Savidge is nineteen, one year too old to be Reaped. And even if he did go he'd probably win. Goddamn Savidge. I really wish there was some way I could just get away from him.
The crowd has grown bigger by now, and I suddenly find myself pushed into my spot in the fourteen's section. Since it's such a big District, and so few people actually have any sort of vehicle, most people start walking as soon as sunrise. Sunrise the day before if they live particularly far away.
The square where the Reapings always take place is comprised mostly of shops, with the Mayor's office crammed up at one side and the stage set out infront of us. The whole space has been painted in vibrant colours with cowprint posters hanging from every window, displaying images of past Victors, including a tall, angry looking teen with a scythe, a woman who looks rather frazzled under all that curly red hair and a black haired guy in full cowboy gear sporting a big grin and a bigger axe. I hear that last one's going to be mentoring this year. He seems like a nice guy, so I don't think I'd mind being Reaped if I were going to be mentored by him. I think he may even have a couple of kids of my age.
"Mornin' girly." A voice mutters from behind me, and I turn my head to see the goofy expression of Farleigh Hards.
"How's it going, Farls?" I chuckle, "Anyone tried to kill you yet?" Farleigh takes some time to work out that I'm making fun of him, but when he does he bursts out laughing an claps me on the back.
"Nah," Farleigh laughs, "I think they're all waiting for the Games to start taking shots at me!" We both know he's joking, there's no way anyone would ever want to try and take on Farleigh. Farleigh's a giant of a guy with spiked, almost unrealistically red hair and rather too many freckles. He's also the only guy who's allowed to call me girly on account of the curly blond hair, blue eyes and feminine features. That's mostly because he's the one who beats up all the other kids who call me 'girly'. He's a bit of an idiot, but he's nice enough, and having him standing behind me means that no one will dare lay a finger on me.
The Escort, up on the stage, seems to be trying to hold some sort of karate pose, standing on one leg with her hand held up high above her head and her leg thrust out behind her like some form of statue. Her name's Mandia and she's never spoken a word on stage which, considering she was our mentor's assisstant last year, before he quit to spend more time with his family and took a job in government, means she must be doing something right. Although, I can't help feeling that the legless denim jeans, high heeled boots, skin tight shirt and rather buxom appearance might be something more to do with it. She smiles down at the crowd, her bright, brick red hair twisting and twirling around her head like a snake as she steps down from her pose and drifts over to the first Reaping ball. She dips her hand in and, on the side of the square that houses the most X chromosomes, thousands of girl's hold their breath. Mandia smiles at them, before passing the slip to the Mayor, who clutches it in her hands and reads the name.
"Merlyn Drake." The woman calls. Down in the crowd, something chokes, and then a girl, about my age drags her way out of the crowd. She's shorter than me, with wavy, tangled red hair and lots of freckles. She's good looking alright, but not as good looking as the golden haired, busty chick who pushes her way through the crowds of relieved girls to try and get close to her friend. That girl's name is Melissa, and she lives near me. I've only talked to her a couple of times and she spent the whole time staring at my legs and muttering stuff about how I was a 'poor soul', so we didn't really hit it off, but no one can deny she's beautiful. She stares at that Merlyn chick through doe-like hazel eyes, her face streaked with tears. Farleigh, being just as thick as ever, wolf whistles her and is immediately smacked in the face by some black haired guy who's standing nearby. I've definitely seen him hanging around with Melissa, so I'm not surprised that he seems so mad. Merlyn tries to smile, hugging Melissa tight and clenching her fists as she turns to the stage. She's blinking rapidly and there are tears hanging from her eyelashes. She's fighting it, but I can tell she's going to cry. It's only a matter of time. She makes it to the stage, pushing past any Peacekeepers who step out to try and speed her up, and stares at her shoes as, spining on her heels, Mandia pulls out another slip and passes it to the Mayor with a flourish. The Mayor nods and calls another name.
Mine.
There are sympathetic murmurs as I wheel my way through the crowd, taking great satisfaction in just how many Peacekeepers it takes to heft me onto the stage.
I know I should be scared. I should be terrified! I should be bawling my eyes out and trying to wheel myself away. But I don't. I don't know why but there's only thoughts going through my head right now are ones of victory. I'll show them all I'm not weak. I'll make everyone who ever bullied me pay. Everyone who took me for a sap, who made me, or any member of my family (except maybe Savidge) suffer. I'll get away from Savidge and, when it's all over, I'll settle down in the Capitol, find myself a honey and start a family, and then I'll never have to see this miserable cowboy District ever again. Except maybe Farleigh, I'm Ok with him I guess.
"So." I fix Mandia with my largest smile and give a wink, "Let's get this Games on the road, toots!" She sniffs and turns away, passing me a name she swipes from the Golden Reaping ball in the center. Some kid called Xiomara Bellum. Whatever. My hand is pushed into Merlyn's and for a moment I see a flash of sympathy. I quickly dispel that with a quick compliment about her butt, and watch with glee as her sympathy quickly dissolves into rage. Good. I'd feel bad about having to fight some girl who liked me!
Merlyn Drake, age 14
Death is nothing new to me, I've experienced it many times before. My families never really been that rich and, when I was a kid I had the job of helping to kill rabid or diseased animals. It was the only way we could make ends meat. I hated it, I would have nightmares of ghostly cattle chasing me through the town, asking me why I had done it. But I grew, I toughened up and I learnt to live with death. I became used to it and, for a while, I thought I was invincible to sadness. That I'd seen it all.
My brother died when I was twelve, and it tore me apart. I remember my surviving siblings, little Jonah and Jemima still asking where Yonas was six weeks after we buried him, and four weeks after I ran out of tears. They didn't understand why he was being buried. They used to be triplets. Now they're twins. And people ask me why I'm so serious. It's because I've lost my heart. It disappeared when Yonas died, to be replaced by a huge void of panic, fear and anger. I can't laugh for the pain and I can't cry for the fury. I'm hollow, and I'm pretty sure it's killing me.
I sit silently, staring out of the window, my expression one of passive rage. I wanted to burst into tears and beg them to let me go. I wanted to hug my friends and family and tell them it would be alright, but I don't want them to suffer. I don't want them to see me suffer. I even tried to laugh at a few jokes which Rudi made, but it just didn't feel right. I just can't do anything like that. I'm too hollow. Far too hollow. All I've actually come close to doing today is strangling the Escort.
"Nice seat." Echo snickers, nodding at the cushy sofa I'm seated on. I force a smile, nodding slightly. Then I realise that that's another veiled quip about my butt. Jerk. I can't believe I pitied him just because he can't walk.
He didn't cry either, in fact he laughed and joked his way through the goodbyes. It reminded me of slightly of Rudi, except Rudi never made jokes about my butt. I heard Rudi hit that Echo kids friend in the Reapings, which I have to say was sort of satisfying to hear from the horse's mouth. I smile at the memory, climbing to my feet and looking around the room. I never would have expected them to be able to cram so many pieces into one train. There are sofas, TVs, radios a table, a buffet, a kitchen, a staff chambers and almost fifty servants! It''s the kind of wealth that a girl like me, who spends most of her life in abject poverty, couldn't have ever imagined. If only we'd had this back when I was twelve. Then we never would have gone hungry, and Yonas never would have died. My fists clench and my teeth grind together as anger bubbles up in my stomach. I shut my eyes tightly, forcing it all down until it chokes up into a pit of rage in my stomach. It's not going to help me, or my family and friends if I try to rip that little crippled creep a new one. What will help them, however, is actually surviving the Hunger Games and going home to help my family! I can't deal with making enemies this early on. I need an ally. Well, since there are only three other people in the carriage, I guess don't have a lot of choice. I weigh up my options. My Escort's a selective mute and gets her pay from the Games Makers, so there's no way she'll help me win, my Mentor has spent the whole journey so far looking at a picture of his kids and occasionally shouting at passing Avoxes. I don't think he'll be much use, even if he did win the Games before I was born. That only leaves the servants, who won't even look at me as they pass from carriage to carriage and my jackass District partner who keeps making passes at me. I admit he's not the first choice when you want an ally, but he's the only tribute I know so far and he must be able to do something. Fire a bow or find food or something, anything, to help me live through this nightmare! I sigh, swallowing my pride and turn in my seat towards Echo.
"So." I say. There's a long, awkward silence, as he looks up at me, his bright blue eyes flashing, an odd mix of confusion and glee displayed upon them.
"Yes?" He asks. There's another long pause as I try to think of what to say next. God I wish I was better at this sort of thing.
"Nice trip?"
"Wonderful." Echo sneers, "I've always wanted to go and fight older kids in an arena of death." I can't work out whether he's being sarcastic or not, which is slightly creepy. He turns away from me. I wait a few more minutes, before giving in and trying to start a conversations again.
"I'm Merlyn, by the way." I mutter, trying my best to sound friendly as I stretch out my hand towards Echo, who sits hunched over in his wheelchair, an unnerving smile crossing his features.
"I know," He mutters back, a glint in his eye, "The Mayor called your name out, remember. Listen next time." I force a smile, trying to stay as pleasant as I can. "Now, why're you suddenly talking to me when before you were glaring lasers every time I opened my mouth?" I sigh again. I might as well tell him.
"Look." I groan, "I'm looking for allies and I thought maybe..."
"Not interested." He cuts across me, his face wrinkling up in disgust at the very thought, "Look Mer, can I call you Mer?"
"No." I snarl under my breath, my knuckles turning white and my nails dig into the skin in my palms as my fists clench. The idiot either doesn't hear me or ignores me, because he continues on unabashed.
"I mean, your cute Mer and I like your attitude, but, thing is, I don't need your help, toots. In fact you'd probably just die as soon as some big scary Career came along. I don't need a chick like you." He gives a cocky little laugh and my anger flares up, consuming like a fireball. I lash out, scooping up a pillow and throw it head long at his face. He snickers, as if expecting something to come out of nowhere and block the blow. Whatever he thought was going to happen though doesn't, and the pillow catches him on the side of the head. It's not exactly a powerful blow, but the shock of it seems to knock the wind out of him, and it certainly knocks that stupid smile off his face!
"Don't need help?" I bellow at him, "You can't walk! How can you not need help?" The boy looks at me, scooping up the remote and turning on the TV. Claudius yammers away on all channels, recaping the Reapings as the final pair of Tributes (District Twelve's and both easily older than me), stomp off the stage.
"I didn't say I don't need help." Echo mutters. There's an odd quality to his voice. It's darker than the last time he spoke, more serious. "I said I don't need help from you. I have something to prove, and no chick is gonna take credit for looking after me just because I can't walk. I'm getting through this on my own steam! Got that?" I nod slowly, before turning to watch the highlights of the Reapings passing before my eyes. There's a guy in pinstripe and a fedora from One, a lanky girl with a glint in her eye from two, another girl standing, quivering on the train as it pulls away from District Three, a shorter boy who speaks in a really old style from District Four. The list of tributes parading past goes on and on. Gang members, teen moms, blind girls, big, silent guys, two psychos who pick fights with Peacekeepers. The list goes on and on. And I know, sitting on a train speeding towards the Capitol, that I'm heading into a war.
And not one of those kids looks like they want to help me.
Xiomara Bellum, age 15
I remember meeting Cesse Pete a few years, or maybe it was months, ago at a party which my Mom was hosting. He was a nice kid who looked a bit like a ferret and spent half of the night dancing with all the girls and the other half listening to me, which is nice beause people often don't listen to me. Except for Sherrie, but she's my friend, so that's her job. After the party he gave me my number and told me to keep in touch. Then he fainted. I sent him texts every day, with interesting bits of information about faked moon landings and other countries beyond the waves in Ancient Europe, that the government know exist but keep quiet about, but he never replied. And then, just when I was starting to think that he was some sort of robot created to talk to me at a party, I bump into him in a crowd, fully sober and slightly more boring than last time, but still fun to talk to. A couple of minutes ago Cesse was chosen to go and watch the Games. He swaggered through those big golden gates in front of me with his head, not to mention tail and whiskers, held high. I liked that tail, it was really smooth and soft, kind of like a feather duster except made of fur and not so tickly. Now he's gone and I don't have anything to do, except wander around and wait for the next name to be called, and that's not really that big a draw to me. Really the thing that interests me the most about the Games is the fact that Dad works as a camera man on it. And the Victors are pretty interesting too I guess.
I really wish I could go with Dad like I did last year and sit on the desk and watch the Games through his cameras. It's always great fun to watch the Escorts silly acts first hand and tell the young Avox who serves the coffee about the Districts and the secret under-empire that stretches from one to the other that was built during the reign of President Coin. Sometimes, if I was good, Dad lets me have a look through the X-Ray camera to see if the tributes are trying to smuggle any weapons onto the train. Last year Dad made up anagrams for all the Victors that described their personalities, and then we all tried to guess who would win before anyone was actually Reaped! I would have done that all this year too but, sadly, I woke up late, and Dad said there just wasn't time for me to get washed and dressed before he went, so I had to come down here and stand in the crowd. It's not all bad though. I got to meet Cesse again, for one, and his tail was nice and soft, which sort makes up for the fact he hasn't got an X-Ray camera. Or at least I don't think he has an X-Ray camera. I'll ask him next time I see him.
My attention is quickly turned as Vato Voltaire climbs back onto the stage, looking slightly white.
"I'M SORRY FOR THE SLIGHT DELAY EVERYONE!" Vato booms. How does he get his voice all loud like that? Maybe he uses voice steroids. "I'M AFRAID THERE WERE SOME COMPLICATIONS REGARDING YOUNG CESSE PETE!" I am instantly alert, my purple eyes widen and my mouth opens in a grin of delight. Complications! That's code word for conspiracy theory! I really, really, really need to look into that soon. Maybe Sherrie can tell me something about it, she's a clever girl after all. "SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO!" I'd forgotten Vato was up there for a second. I turn my attention back to him just in time to miss the name they call out. Ah well, I'll ask Dad who it was later,
"Xio!" A voice calls from the crowd, and I turn to see Sherrie rushing towards me, her eyes and hair the same vibrant blue as ever, dressed in what looks like some sort of school uniform, except I don't think our teachers would let us wear so many spikes on our shoulders, or cut holes in the side from just under the sleeves to the waist, or make the whole thing out of an odd transluscent material. Lousy dictators, I'd really like to wear something like that too! "Xio! Hey over here!" I am about to ask what the heavy book she's waving in the air is, when she crashes into me, knocking me to the ground and causing me to miss the next name that Vato calls out. My earings jangle together as I roll onto my back, pulling myself up and then helping Sherrie up along with me.
"Hey Sherrie," I giggle, quickly reading the girl's palm as I help to her feet. Yeah, I know some people say palm reading is crazy, but they just can't do it. I can, and I'm awesome at it! "Oo, bad day. Sorry about that. Hey, what's the book about?"
"Freeking Awesome." Sherrie mumbles, "I've read almost the whole thing and there's nothing about him getting raised by wolves. I knew you were lying." I frown, stung by the insult.
"Lying? I wasn't lying, that books just been doctored by the Capitol Intelligence Agency!"
"Why? It makes no logical sense for them to doctor that!" Sherrie groans, exassperated, before quickly changing the subject. "Anyway, weren't you supposed to be with your Dad today?"
"Woke up late." I shrug, "I'll go next year." Sherrie nods and I smile at her, about to say something insightful about mice being the most intelligent species on the earth and the rightful heirs of the planet (which I know is true, I've read it!), when Sherrie grips me by the shoulders and turns me to look at Vato, who has just said another name.
"XIOMARA BELLUM!" Vato roars, "WE'VE JUST BEEN GIVEN THE NAME XIOMARA BELLUM! CONGRATULATIONS XIOMARA, YOU'RE THE CAPITOL GUEST OF DISTRICT TEN!"
No way. I'm going to the Games? And I thought these things were rigged!
I'm kind of neutral to the Hunger Games. I mean, I don't love it, and I know there are supposed to be all those moral guardians who don't like it but, really, I don't see why. It's just like a normal Gameshow. If you win you get loads of prizes. If you lose you go to a better place. Unless you were a really, really, really bad in which case you go somewhere else, but then you probably deserved to die in the Games so I don't think it really matters. Anyway, where was I?
"Wahoo!" I shout, bouncing up and down as Sherrie pushes me forwards, introduces me to the guards on the gate and shoves me through, "Look out Cesse Pete, I'm coming after you!"
The gates slam closed behind me and, almost immediately, the crowd is pushed back away from the gates again and a short, crooked man with very little hair and a nervous twitch steps forward. He introduces himself as Thebes Horrors, an envoy for the President, and I vaguely remember something about him being an Escort a couple of years ago.
"It's nice to have someone who came down today to be picked," Thebes mutters, his voice low and morose as grips my hand and shakes it. "The only kids who have done that are the really rich one's who have private boxes and the loyal fans like you. Most kids expect us to just come and collect them. It's lazy I tell you." I nod, trying to read his palm as he turns to walk away. All I get is that he's stressed, which I think I could have guessed, and I fall in behind him, listening to him mutter as he leads me down lavishly carpeted hall after lavishly carpeted hall. We walk quickly, with him occasionally mumbling things about how lucky I am and how I'm going to get a chance to meet the tributes and see what life is like for them on their path to either death or glory, until we arrive at a really nice room with a big chandelier, several marble statues and a few small tables with seats around them. "The other guests will arrive shortly," Thebes groans, "There's a party in their honour at the Presidents mansion. They will arrive once that's ended." I nod, and try to thank the man, but he quickly shuts the door in my face and hurries down the corridor. It's like he's scared of something. Bad luck probably. I forgot I'm still wearing my bad luck deflecting earings. He probably didn't want to catch any of my bad luck.
Apart from me, and a large variety of servants and Avoxes, there are only two people in the room. Cesse, who appears to be unconscious and an older girl with what appears to be golden skin. She smiles at me as I come near, rubbing Cesse's arm.
"Hi." She says, giving off the immediate impression of a party animal who is not only just very, very drunk, but also quite used to getting very, very drunk. "Welcome to the party! Well, not the party, obviously, I was just at that but, whatever!" She bursts out into a drunken giggle and I flip out a tarot card from my pocket. It's a formality for me to check someone's future when I meet them, and tarot cards are always the most reliable. I quickly inspect the card. Skeleton dude with a scythe? Nasty.
"I'd lay off the drink if I were you," I inform her quite kindly, "The card says your not in for a good future if you carry like this." The girl giggles again, rummaging around in her handbag and pulling out a soda bottle, which I'm almost certain has some form of alcohol in it. She downs the drink, giggling even louder and turning her attention to Cesse.
"What about him then?" She giggles, "He's younger than me and he stinks of drink. You know that kind that, like, blots your memory and stuff," I shake my head, "Yeah, well he smells like that!" He strokes his arm and her face softens, "Poor little mite. I was fourteen when I first had that stuff. It's nice but it messes up your head pretty bad." I nod, trying to pretend I know what this girl's talking about. As far as I'm concerned though she's pretty obviously crazy. I decide to change the subject to something more interesting.
"My Dad's ne of the cameramen." I smile, "They gave all the staff a couple of extra slips for their kids and Dad put all of mine in the District 10 ball. He must be so pleased that I won." The girl nods, the drunken smile on her face showing me that she is paying far more attention to the tatoos on my stomach and my purple and yellow hair than she is to what I'm saying. I carry on regardless, it's good just to get what I'm saying out there. "District 10 isn't actually a District you know. It' too spread out and it doesn't have any walls or fences. It just has desert. So it's actually just a big group of villages which all work for Panem and all do the same thing." The girl nods, and I stiffen suddenly as Cesse's tail twitches in his sleep, rubbing against my leg. The other girl breaks into giggles again and I smile. She seems nice, but I have no idea what she's laughing about. It's probably just because she's drunk. Cesse moans a little in his sleep and the girl giggles even more, falling off her chair and crashing onto the floor.
"Owww." She whines, getting to her feet and rubbing the back of her head in pain. I've decided something. I'm the only sane person here. I think it's kind of sad that I have to be the voice of reason. I smile slightly, flicking away Cesse's tail as the boy begins to stir. I just remembered, I don't think I've ever read his future. I draw another tarot card from my pocket. A spiral and a clock? That's something to do with time isn't it. I guess I'll ask Mom when I get back home.
"Wuh-wuh-what's happening..." Cesse groans, lifting his head off of the table and staring around "Ah, my head. W-was there a party last night?"
"Probably." The other girl grins, toppling onto the table as she tries to sit down.
"Y-your Xio-Xiomara right?" Cesse mutters, as though he's trying to remember something, "Did I get knocked out or something. And why am in your pajamas."
"You were camping out," I tell him, "Apparently you walked into a pipe or something. You'd just been chosen as a guest for the Games. I think you were kind of happy."
"Was I supposed to be remembering something..."
"I don't think so."
"No," Cesse clutches his head and catches a whisker on his hand, causing him to leap up and give a little yelp, which makes the girl on the table laugh again. "No, there was something I had to remember. It was something... something important." I nod, this sounds interesting. I must remind myself to ask about that later.
"Hey Cesse?"
"Yeah?" Cesse groans, picking a couple of ice cubes out of a bowl and stuffing it into his mouth. Weird. I guess it's some sort of ritual to deal with a hangover. I wouldn't know, I don't drink. Much. Alcohol shrinks your brain you know.
"Did you know that Claudius Templesmith has changed his hair exactly ninety three times over the course of his life. He actually managed to avoid capture when President Coin took power by letting his hair turn its natural colour, changing his name and finding employment under Coin herself." Cesse groans, unable to take in so many words so quickly. He clutches his head and sighs.
"Okay..." He winces as I reel off a long list of facts about the Hunger Games, all stored inside my head from whenever I heard them.
"Hey, hey Cesse?"
"Yeah..." Cesse sighs, by this point tweaking his whiskers for some reason.
"Does your camera have an X-Ray function?"
A/N: Question of the Day: What would you put in an Arena?