THE CAPITOL

Draco : Domitian

The Reaping

There was always a huge party at the president's house for The Reaping. It contained most of the movers and shakers of The Capitol—the only more exclusive invitation being the ability to watch District 1's Reaping in person, a right and privilege which the president controlled just as much as the party—and it was a time of drinking, and eating, and drinking, and laughing, and, for many, of choosing who to sponsor.

Domitian had made it clear months beforehand who he was rooting for, so he already knew that the thirteen year-olds would be receiving much more support than they would have otherwise.

And now all that was left (for today at least) was watching the thing go down.

Domitian grabbed a seafood hors d'oeuvre from a passing avox as the screen finally panned to show District 12's escort reading the first name: Tim.

"Feeling good about your chances?" Someone—oh, it was Flush—said next to him.

Domitian smirked. "They haven't even announced the first thirteen year-old yet."

"Hasn't stopped you from rooting for them already." Flush jibed. He was... not an awful person, Domitian supposed. Could take a joke, treated him like a human, was an actively happy man... really, if you looked past how his career had been spent tracking down and enslaving any and all 'traitors' until he'd finally been promoted enough to run the whole avox division, he was a nice fellow.

"Well, I kind of had to," Domitian said, "what with them being my age and all. Oh, but you wouldn't know how that'd feel, would you—it being so long since you could relate?"

Flush laughed, then both their eyes snapped to the screen as the escort prepared to call out the third name.

She cleared her throat and began rattling off "Frank—" only to be interrupted by a voice and face Domitian knew only too well.

"First volunteer!" Flush said, surprised. "I figured we'd have to wait until they got to the eighteen-year-olds before the poorer districts would bother."

Domitian was still enraptured by the screen, however, and by the miraculous appearance of another, unexpected, face.

Huh.

He subtly glanced around as much of the crowd (persuaded just as much by his own support as by the surprise volunteer) cheered at Sean Kint, better known to him and few others as either Gred or Forge.

"Want to make a bet?" Domitian said.

"What, so soon?" Flush laughed.

"I bet you that a majority of the thirteen year-olds will be volunteers." Domitian said. "If I'm right you sponsor them rather than the eighteen year-olds and if not... if not I will root for whomever you want me to root for... after any thirteen year-old volunteer tributes have been killed."

"What an interesting bet!" Flush said. "I'll have to take it up, of course, but I do hope you don't hate me to much when I make you root for the elevens or some such."

Domitian's lips twitched in a half smile. "I'll try not to."

They both turned and watched the rest of the District 12 tributes get quickly and efficiently lined up. As the district only had one living victor—Lenny, the 89th Hunger Games winner—there was no need to wait for him to select his teams, either, so the screen quickly cut to Fuzzy Glow, District 11's escort.

After the 11 and 12 year-olds were quickly and efficiently picked it was almost a shock (even, admittedly, to Domitian) to see exactly how quickly the 13-year old group got a volunteer.

Of course, it was less surprising when Neville—Antwan now, he had to remember that—explained that the boy he volunteered for was missing a leg, but still. His 'benevolent' act had earned him plenty of cooing support from many in the room, and the oldest surviving Victor—Birdie, 77th Hunger Games winner—to pick him immediately.

"Good luck, that." Flush said. "I bet he only volunteered because of the leg thing—hey, have you seen my other cocktail? I could have sworn I was holding two a second ago..."

District 10: Luna, who was exactly the same as he remembered her, if with slightly shorter hair.

Neither Flush nor anyone else in the party knew quite how to react to her and were very happy when the fourteen year-old's name was called. She always had been good at acting eerie, and Draco had never been quite sure whether the act was just that.

Still, the surprise of having three volunteers in a row for the one team seemed to have been good for something, as she was picked by the oldest Victor too—Chogan, 83rd winner.

District 9: Katie, another girl who had shockingly kept her name into this new life. She seemed... honestly, he didn't know. They'd never been close. Still, she fit in with her District: perfectly, shockingly forgettable if not for the (to the Capitol at least) disturbing behavior.

They were glad to get finish with the district entirely after that, and the victors (all two of them) spent no time selecting seemingly random teams to determine whether they lived or died. One ended with all the odds, the other with all the evens. Neither seemed to care.

District 8's 13 year-old was Alicia, now called Verona. After the disturbing reaction the governor's wife had had to her 12 year-old son being chosen—which was treated, more or less, as a de-humanizing comedy show by the Capitol—she was yet another badly-needed palette cleanse.

Despite her less-than-impressive physique ("There's a reason no one ever bets on the textile district," Flush had muttered, "hell, I don't even get many runaways or the like from there—everyone's too sickly to do anything.") she seemed healthier than many of her other district competitors, and she actually went back and forth with Lyric the escort, a habit generally not seen until District 4 or even 2 was reached.

It—as well as the general volunteering trend (Domitian had nearly won already)—guaranteed her the support of District 8's oldest Victor: Nelda, winner of the 87th.

District 7 had... Oliver, Domitian thought. Or rather Alman, a well-built stocky boy from the fourth most successful district in Games. Of course, the downside to that was that all of his other competitors looked disturbingly athletic and capable as well, including a massive eighteen year-old whose fellows actively leaned away from him as he passed by.

So, unfortunately, that ended the trend of the 13 year-old competitors looking to be some of the healthiest and best-off of all tributes.

That said, there was still some good news.

"I can't believe you won that fast!" Flush said, grabbing a full bottle of Vodka from a passing avox. "I mean, really! Hey, you wanna go double or nothing? Bet on whether or not every team 13 member is gonna be a volunteer."

Domitian laughed. "Ask me when we get to District 4—then I'll want to raise my bet."

Flush laughed back.

District 6 brought Angelina—or maybe Angelica? It had been a while. Her name was Anika now anyway.

Flush had things to say about District 6. "Rotten district. We've tried to crack down, you know, time and time again. We know they supply the rest of Panem with their goddamn invisible drug supply lines, and we know they have shit like illegal fighting rings there, but every time we try to wipe them out completely it's like the second we turn our backs for even one second they're back to using whatever they can get their hands on—we're basically just relying on keeping some of the market alive and in check, now, rather than trying to destroy it completely."

"Better than rebellion, I guess," He added, after a second's thought, "but I guarantee you that none of their tributes have spent an entire year sober since their names were drawn."

Draco cared a lot more about the invisible drug supply lines he'd mentioned, but knew now wasn't the time to question the man. Not drunk enough, not yet—maybe after every tribute had been announced, when all that was left was talking for hours.

Regardless, Anika got pinned with the only surviving Victor District 6 had—the 18 year-old Gerik, who'd won only two years ago and looked very much like he wished he hadn't won at all (to be fair, his victory had come after he'd been forced to literally throw his last competitor—an eleven year-old girl from District 7—off of a cliff, so there was that.)

District 5, Domitian thought, would have trouble getting Capitol support for a very long while.

He'd honestly been stunned when Harry's face was brought up after Hugo's name was called, having already gotten accustomed to his former enemies/allies/acquaintances/friends being the volunteers, not the chosen, but there he was.

And there he stayed.

"Ooh." Flush said. "It's a good thing you didn't make that second bet with me, isn't it?"

"Seems so." Domitian said. He picked at his fifth meal of the day—something porky—and eyed the muttering people surrounding them. "Certainly hasn't won the district any favors."

Flush laughed. "Of course not! That string of volunteering—which I'll hold to my dying day was caused by you—was the most fascinating thing I've ever remembered happening during the Reaping, and they went and ruined it! And now your team has... oh, I don't remember his name. Anyway, it's not like he looks good. Weak looking, from a district that only has two living victors, and I'll bet he's dumb as a bag of rocks too."

Domitian smirked. "Looks like a natural leader to me."

Flush snorted, then started coughing—"Wrong pipe, wrong pipe. Sorry."

Harry was picked by the second Victor: Geralyn, 92nd winner.

District 4, at least, got them back on track.

"Oh, he looks weak, too! And I bet you'd figured District 4 would give you a good competitor!"

Domitian didn't bother reacting, this time. Few could argue that Garin was capable of much athletically, even when his name was Percy and he had magic on his side. Still, it was clear from the Victors' reactions that he was a planned volunteer. Garin, Domitian was sure, already had a few tricks under his sleeves.

He was picked by Carel (90th).

District 3 was, as always, a shock.

Domitian wasn't quite sure when they'd gotten that reputation, but it was one that held strong: you were never quite sure whether it would be a year when their tributes died in the first fifteen minutes or survived to the final three without issue.

Of course, they only had three living victors, and seven overall, so you were better off betting on the former than the latter.

Still, it was never best to bet on them about anything, and the 100th Reaping was a damned good example of that.

Their eleven year-old volunteer looked like he'd have trouble reading his first name, and their twelve year-old volunteer had to be reminded that she had to remain on stage.

Their thirteen year-old, on the other hand, was a bit of a competition, with Hermione winning.

That is to say, Hermosa Geder got the words out before anyone else, including the clearly intended volunteer.

For what happened next context was needed. District 3 split each and every age group up into whether they did or did not attend the elite district school so as to remind those that didn't that they needed to volunteer if any of the elite were at risk of dying.

Hermosa was in the elite group.

Not only was she in the elite group, she was being actively deferred to by her peers: it was clear she had, once again, reached top-of-class.

And then she volunteered.

The oldest victor Serafina (38th victor) picked the 11, 12, and 14 year-olds. Feron, the 80th victor, chose teams 15 and 16.

Alanza, the youngest but clearly the favorite victor (82nd—it had been a while), chose the 13, 17, and 19 year-olds.

"That was... huh." Flush said, too drink now to talk much. "That was surprising." Then he smiled. "Only careers left. This'll be fun."

The eleven year-old volunteer from District 2 looked like she'd be ranked in the top 10 strongest of those already selected, and the twelve year-old looked twice as large.

The Team 13 volunteer kept up the trend handily.

"My name is Roman Lare," he told the escort after he volunteered. "and I'm ready to win." He smiled, and the group of women who stood like male peacocks in the corner of the room swooned.

He was chosen second, by Rosemary, 76th winner.

Finally, District 1.

"I know who's going to volunteer for Team 13 in this district." Domitian said.

"Really?" Flush said, jerking back in conversation from his whooping over the clear size and power over District 2's 18 year-old (he'd apparently forgotten that he'd lost the bet.)

"Malie."

"Aha! Your little girlfriend!"

Domitian rolled his eyes.

"Wait—why would she volunteer? She's not from any career family."

Domitian snorted. "Wait and see."

He, of course, was right, and Malie—despite being the only District 1 volunteer to have not been blatantly training her whole life—was clearly already a Capitol favorite.

Not only that, she was also chosen by the only person to have ever won two Games: Gloss, winner of the 63rd and 75th.

"Well, damn." Flush said. "This really will be an interesting Games."