Introducing some new tributes.
Tanya Mills District 9: 17F
Day Before The Reaping
"Hands Tanya," Timothy admonished. "Hands higher. Keep your defense up. That's it!"
Tanya's right hand pounded the pad on Timothy's hand. Her straight right was one of her best punches. She had knockout power with the backhand, though she preferred the overhand right to the straight right.
She stepped back slightly, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet with her wrapped hands planted against her cheeks. It was the moments like these that Tanya lived for, when the complexity of the world around her was reduced to a simple task. All the problems in her life fell away as her mind took singular focus on the mission before her. That mission was to hit the pads as fast and hard as possible.
Performing the combination again, Tanya jabbed twice with her left hand, planted a straight with her right, hooked with her left, uppercutted with her right, jabbed and created space with her left, then finished with a powerful straight right.
"Good!" Timothy encouraged. "Faster!"
Jab, jab, straight, hook, upper, jab, and…straight.
She performed the combination three more times as sweat dripped off her brow onto the mats below. Yet, Tanya breathed calmly remaining in complete control of herself as she struck the target again and again. Her consciousness was centered when she was training. It was the other times when she had trouble with remaining in complete control of her emotions.
"Nice work!" Timothy said. "Change it up. Work jab, straight, upper, overhand."
Tanya complied, circling Timothy and waiting for the pads to come up before she struck. As soon as Timothy lifted his hands, Tanya would strike out like a cobra.
Timothy was the head trainer of the fight club. He was like a father to Tanya. His laugh lined dark-skinned face had become so familiar to Tanya over the years that she could picture it perfectly in her mind.
Timothy held a special place in her life that no one would ever take away from him. Tanya was born to underage parents with no hope of finding a way to raise Tanya safely and comfortably. Timothy, an old friend of her parents', had offered that they leave Tanya with him. Her parents, whom Tanya had only met on occasion, quite gratefully agreed and left her with Timothy.
It seemed harsh, and many people might hold a grudge against their parents for such actions. Tanya held no such grudge. Her life was affected by the decisions of her parents, but only positively it seemed to her. She had grown up in a decently comfortable environment behind the gym with a man who stood as the perfect father, regardless of the fact that he wasn't even related to Tanya.
The pads went up and Tanya's thoughts fell away as her fists slammed into them. Her overhand right landed powerfully as it always did.
"Damn that overhand's good," Timothy shook his hand back and forth.
Tanya smirked but kept up her footwork. Now was not the time to rest, not during training. She could rest when the training was done.
Tanya hit the combination again, feeling totally at home and at peace with herself and the world.
It wasn't every person who had this opportunity. She grew up in a boxing gym, finding her life's purpose in the training simultaneously. When she was eighteen, Timothy had promised to pay her a salary in return for performing basic work around the gym and helping him coach the students. So, not only did she have personal purpose, but she also had security for the future, or as much security as you could have in Panem.
Tanya's fists flew, pounding the targets viciously.
She trained for another hour or so before she finally got a break. Tanya gratefully sat back on a bench as she took a sip from her water bottle. One of many things she had learned during her time training was that you shouldn't drink so quickly, even when you felt you needed the water desperately. If you weren't careful, you'd throw up all over the floor.
She watched idly as some of the regular students worked on the bags or the weight machines. One of the students, a man she was quite familiar with, Joseph Borat, trained on the pads in the ring with Christopher, the head trainer.
Chris was a tall skinny white guy with a raspy voice from smoking way too many cigarettes. Yet, somehow, his stamina was better than anyone in the whole gym. He was twenty-two years old and fairly good-looking.
"Come on man faster!" Chris berated Joseph.
Joseph did his best to respond but didn't find much extra speed. Joseph Borat was a farmer, like most people in District 9. His occupation gave him strength a lot of people didn't have, but he was rather slow. He did hit like a truck though.
Just as she suspected, Joseph's son, Noah trained in the back corner on the weights. He was working on his deadlift. Noah, like his father, had farm boy strength, but wasn't particularly technical in his fighting. God he could lift a lot of weight though. Five twenty on the deadlift was a lot.
Noah was nineteen years old, and Tanya's closest friend of anyone who didn't work at the gym. Chris and Timothy of course both worked at the gym, so they didn't count. She had trouble making friends thanks to her generally combative nature. She wouldn't back down from her opinion, unless it was obvious to her she was wrong.
Noah looked up from his weights and noticed her. He sent a smile and a wave her way as he walked over to speak with her. Noah's blue eyes nearly matched her own, but his blonde hair stood in stark contrast to her dark hair.
"You already done for today?" Noah asked.
"Yeah," Tanya answered. "Dad had me working on the pads. Then he gave me fucking core exercises."
"Yikes," Noah replied with a cringe. "Glad I don't have core today."
"Damn right you are," Tanya said.
Timothy had a bit of a reputation for handing out rough core workouts. He practically lived to see the students throwing up when they were done. Tanya knew that was just because he wanted to see them all succeed, but it didn't make the core workout any less hellish.
"Hey, I'm going to be done in twenty minutes or so," Noah said. "You want to go get a cup of coffee when I'm done?"
Tanya cocked her head to the side curiously. Was this Noah asking her out?
"Coffee's so expensive though," Tanya said. "The taxes on beans are insane."
"I'm buying," Noah said, enticing her.
Tanya smiled and decided that it wouldn't be so bad to go out with Noah. It was his money after all, and, if it was a date, Tanya certainly didn't mind.
She wasn't exactly sure how she felt about Noah, but there was no doubt that he was an attractive guy. He was tall and muscular with a chiseled jaw and a light stubble just starting to grow in.
"Fine," Tanya grumbled jokingly. "If you insist."
"Great," Noah responded with a grin. "See you in thirty?"
"Sure," Tanya nodded and smiled. "Might as well have some fun before the reapings."
Tesler Valdes District 3: 18M
Day Before The Reaping
Tesler took another hit from the bong. His mind and body relaxed as he considered the problem before him. Weed helped him think, helped him reason his way through his problems.
The problem he considered was deeply serious and complex. He needed the money from the War Department. The Capitol didn't call it a military, because, for some reason, they found that idea to be abhorrent. A military implied that the state required a military, and the Capitol wanted to be seen as benevolent and helpful to all its citizens, regardless of reality.
"Hold that shit Moe!" Electro shouted excitedly.
"It didn't fucking register!" Moe complained. "I hit you!"
"Then why didn't I take any damage?" Electro questioned mockingly.
Tesler spun his swivel chair around to face his companions. In the small warehouse with him were Moe, Electro, Fred, John, and Electra. They were the closest Tesler had to friends. More importantly though, they made up his hacking team. Yet somehow, despite having some talent at hacking, they were all idots.
"Can you shut up for just one minute?" Tesler questioned in frustration. "I'm trying to think."
"Sorry," Electro said quickly. "We'll be quieter."
"Thank you," Tesler replied.
He spun back towards his computer. His team loved playing video games. Even Tesler enjoyed video games every now and then. Most of the time, they played shooters or fighting games. Tesler always won, which made playing boring. He preferred to think than to play.
Tesler was, unquestionably, a genius, and he knew it too. At an early age, his parents had his IQ tested. The result of the test proclaimed Tesler's IQ stood at one-seventy-seven. He didn't consider himself arrogant, so much as realistic. He was brilliant and reaped the rewards of his brilliance.
At age eleven, Tesler started hacking. He primarily stole data from Capitolians who had the wealth to pay him back the necessary ransom. Occasionally, Tesler took a contract from a company to steal some code, cause a blackout, or some other such less than legal activity.
Since then, the lowly income of his family had multiplied many times over. Tesler had provided his janitor parents with wealth and happiness but elected not to tell them how exactly he earned his money. He told them that he worked for a programming company where he was well paid for his excellent work.
Tesler took another hit as his mind returned to the problem at hand, the War Department.
He had hacked into their network one week ago, discovering video evidence of war crimes committed by the Capitol during the first rebellion. The things Tesler saw on that tape haunted him and convinced him even more that the Capitol was a blight on the face of this planet, a blight that needed to be wiped out.
Tesler had already begun developing his own network of allies prepping for rebellion. He formed a communication network on the dark web. It was untraceable to anyone searching for it, a place where privacy was protected and one day would build the rebellion. If the Capitol ever found his network, it would be shut down on the spot because it was a place where everyone had a voice and could speak as they pleased without fear of repercussions, save from the singular person they spoke against. His network was his ultimate achievement, the place where the individual was sovereign and the collective irrelevant.
Once he discovered the crimes, Tesler found a golden opportunity to extort a boat load of money from the Capitolian government. He sent an anonymous email containing the videos he had discovered and some stern words suggesting that, unless they paid out, he would release the videos to the public.
Tesler was not concerned that he would be discovered, as his message was untraceable. He was concerned that it had been a full week, and that his deadline was fast approaching. Tesler ordered the War Department to pay up by reaping day. They still hadn't paid.
Now, Tesler was beginning to grow concerned as he took another hit from his bong. He ran through the possibilities in his head, trying to discern the most likely action that would be taken by the War Department. Something had to be wrong, or else, they likely would've paid up already.
The Department was probably trying to locate Tesler through the code of his hack and through his email. They wouldn't find anything. It just seemed too unlikely. They were probably just struggling to find him, putting off the payment until the very last moment.
But what if they weren't? The question played over and over again in Tesler's mind. What would happen if they did find him? He would surely be killed, and not in a merciful way. Hopefully they wouldn't draw and quarter him.
"It's because they're using some kind of top-secret lasers," Fred insisted loudly.
"No way," Electra replied. "It's chemicals in the water that's turning the frogs gay."
Tesler sighed and facepalmed. His gang of rogues really could be too much to handle sometimes. Their ridiculous conspiracies grinded his gears. Tesler was a man of science, proofs, and reality. Conspiracies surely existed, but proving them was the difficult part.
"So that's what happened to Tesler," John joked. "He drank some of that Capitol water."
Tesler rolled his eyes at John's joking. His sexuality made no difference to him. He just didn't care enough for it to be relevant. He took no offense at the jokes. Tesler knew some people who would flip out if they heard those words, but he simply couldn't care less. A joke was a joke.
"Hah, got you again!" Electro shouted triumphantly from his spot on the couch.
Tesler swiveled around to see the two duking it out on Streetfighter again.
"Damn it," Moe grumbled. "None of my hits are fucking registering!"
"Ooh gamer rage," Electra quipped.
"Shut up," Moe shot back, but he still had a smile on his face.
Tesler sighed and shook his head. There probably wasn't any reason to be so worried about the War Department. They would make their payment on time and keep Tesler's hack under the radar.
He sat back in his chair and propped his feet up on the arm of the couch as he took a hit from the bong contentedly. For Tesler Valdes, life was pretty damn good.
William Young District 9: 18M
Day Before The Reaping
The scythe whooshed through the air in a downward arc, cutting through the stalks like butter. The plants separated and fell to the ground gently, floating a few feet in the wind. William found the sight calming, witnessing the world falling into order in accordance with natural law.
Nature was a beautiful thing, yet difficult to describe. Many people saw plants and animals and said, 'wow how pretty'. That was their concept of nature. To William, nature was far more complex.
His understanding of nature was of a harsh but unavoidable reality. He was fascinated by nature, the animals, plants, and also the rules that seemingly designed and molded the world, including humanity.
William didn't understand how so many people deluded themselves into believing that humanity was somehow separate from nature. They said that humanity manufactured its own reality from consciousness that only it possessed. I think therefore I am, in other words. To William, that was ridiculous.
Humanity, just like the plants and animals was manufactured by reality. The only difference between humans and animals was the capacity for reason and logic. That ability to reason didn't grant humanity its existence. Reason was the tool that involved in humans, permitting them to survive in the harsh world hundreds of thousands of years ago. I am therefore I think, was much more accurate in William's view.
Two sparrows whizzed past his head, twittering loudly and cheerfully. Their wings flapped periodically, automatically balancing the birds without any thought. They lifted suddenly twenty feet higher, carried upwards by an updraft.
William often imagined how it would feel to fly like a bird. He could picture the wind blowing through his hair and over his face. The feeling of weightlessness would be so wonderful.
Despite all the brilliance of nature, William found his mind occupied by the fear of the reaping tomorrow. A feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach around this time of year, truly grating against his natural state of calm and oneness with the world.
Somehow, he knew something bad was going to happen. Premonition might be the perfect word to describe his feeling regarding this upcoming event. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say he was warned by nature herself.
William knew nature was a woman because she had seen her, repeatedly at that. Nature was a woman in a stark white flowing dress with long dark hair. Her name, though she had never told William, was Roslyn. He was certain of that.
It was Roslyn who warned William of the approaching danger. She convinced him that something was coming, and that he should prepare for it.
So, William took up running, spending all his free time working out. His work in the fields of District 10 would certainly keep him reasonably strong, plus he could wield a scythe like nobody's business.
William's logical side had begun to wonder if it was the upcoming reaping he'd been warned of. Every year as reaping day came around, William wondered if this would be the year where he'd be reaped and Roslyn's advice to be better prepared would come good. One day, the event had to come. He was told directly by nature herself that something bad was going to happen. Since nature made the rules, William would be a fool not to listen.
He swung his scythe again, splitting more of the stalks of grain at his waist. The field of gold was so achingly beautiful that William wanted nothing more than to lie on his back and stay there forever.
"Keep going," A voice whispered gently in his ear.
William started, jumping clear off the ground. His scythe dropped to the earth as he turned quickly around to see where the voice came from.
Waiting behind him, was Roslyn. Her dress blew about in the wind, rippling like waves on a beach. Her dark hair whipped behind her head. Roslyn displayed the full beauty and elegance of nature. Yet, in her eyes there was a hint of untamed intensity. She was beautiful but savage.
"You're almost there," Roslyn whispered.
It was like she was far away or at the end of a tunnel. The voice echoed in his ears ethereally.
"Almost where?" William asked.
Roslyn stared at him enigmatically. Her brilliance seemed to drown out the sunlight and all the world around her. William simply stared at her.
"Destiny," She said vaguely.
"What does that mean?" William questioned. "What is my destiny?"
Roslyn sent him a small smile but said nothing.
"Tell me," William said desperately. "I need to know."
Roslyn just continued to smile as she slowly disappeared from William's vision. Something was coming soon. William just wished he had a little more information.
Ayla Ithico District 3: 17F
Night Before The Reaping
The surroundings were unfamiliar at first to Ayla. She was surrounded by darkness, laying down against a raised concrete slab. Mist descended on her, chilling her skin and covering her in goosebumps.
Ayla sat up, noticing she wore nothing more than a simple nightgown. She narrowed her eyes in confusion as she glanced around the environment, trying to understand what was going on.
She was in some sort of crypt or temple built of mossy columns of gray stone. Ayla couldn't identify the kind of rock that made up the columns, but it looked and felt ancient, like ruins from a bygone era. The temple was pyramidal in structure with a square top covered by a pavilion.
In the expanse beyond the bottom of the pyramid, there was nothing. The darkness there swallowed the mist that settled over the pyramid, eating it up like a black hole.
As Ayla exhaled, her breath was visible in the air as fog. It was deadly cold, sucking at her soul.
Ayla placed her bare feet on the ground. She gasped when she touched the ground. The chill in the air extended to the ground it seemed and pulled her down towards the ground. Her knees went weak as she glanced down to the bottom of the pyramid. Something called her there.
Trance like, Ayla stumbled down the hundreds of steps to the flat path leading out into the endless darkness. Ayla felt the dark pulling her towards it, much like the black hole she had conceived of.
A slow echoing breath reached her ears from the darkness. Ayla turned back towards the pyramid with a fearful glance, but the pyramid was no longer there. Instead, there was only the black maw, seemingly stretching her skin while it pulled her in.
The breath became a slow mirthless laugh. An eerie feeling grasped at her heart, squeezing her. The laugh echoed all around her, surrounding her and enveloping her in a similarly dark state as the environment around her.
Then, from the shadows, appeared a figure. It was a tall gaunt faced old man in a dark robe. He floated in the darkness like a wraith, his robe flowing slightly.
Ayla recognized the gaunt figure. It was death, who she'd seen three times before.
"Ayla," Death hissed. "Welcome back. It's good to see you again."
Ayla remained silent, unsure of what to say. That was the thing about speaking with death, conversation didn't come easy.
"I've come to remind you of your debt," Death whispered.
Though the old man's mouth moved up and down, the words didn't come from the black robed figure. The words continued to echo through the mist surrounding her, like Death had simply selected an avatar to ease her ability to comprehend what was happening.
"Debt?" Ayla questioned. "What debt?"
"Four years it has been since I gave you the loan of life," Death said. "That debt has come due."
The reaping. That was what he was talking about. Four years ago, Ayla was reaped. She remembered the moment clear as day, her name being called, the shock and fear, her plea for survival, then the answer of that plea when an older girl she didn't even know volunteered for her.
"I provided you with an answer to your wish," Death said. "It is time you pay back your loan."
"And what happens if I don't?" Ayla questioned fearlessly.
Death did not speak his answer. He imparted it to her.
A pain engulfed her body, sending her to the ground writhing in agony. Ayla screamed as she witnessed her mother experiencing the same pain for days on end, before she finally died. Then, the same pain befell her body in the image provided by Death before she died as well.
The pain finally stopped. Ayla quivered on the ground, unable to move or breathe. Now, the effects lingered in her mind. The psychological pain now was even worse than the physiological pain before. The dull ache absorbed her thoughts and reason, as she found herself unable to concentrate on anything else.
"You see," Death hissed. "This is what will happen if your debt is not paid."
Ayla gasped for breath as the crushing weight finally lifted from her mind. She still remained motionless on the floor, grasping feebly at the cobblestones beneath her, trying to stand. Yet, Ayla was still too weak.
"How," Ayla managed to say with great difficulty. "How do I repay my debt?"
She would do anything to avoid that pain, to save her mother from that agony. Ayla didn't care what the requirement was. She would do it.
"Just as you were provided with a loan of life," Death spoke cryptically. "You will provide the same loan to another."
Too tired to speak, Ayla rolled over to her back and reached for the mist above her as if it would help her stand. Ayla clenched her abs, pulling herself to a sitting position before the effort became too great. She collapsed to the ground again.
"What does that mean?" Ayla asked breathlessly.
Death just laughed in response.
Ayla gasped as she sat up in her bed, soaked in sweat. The surroundings were familiar. She was in her bedroom back in a normal place. Gone were the creepy curling tendrils of mist. The gaunt face of Death no longer loomed over her.
The pain had disappeared, but Ayla was exhausted, like she'd just run a marathon. Ayla climbed out from under the covers, trying to cool down. She opened every window in her room, hoping the night air would help cool her down.
Ayla fell back against her bed facing sideways. She didn't even have the energy to place her head back on the pillows.
Her thoughts turned to the words of Death, but only briefly.
"You will provide the same loan to another," Ayla whispered to herself.
She was too tired to tease out the meaning right now. But tired didn't mean sleepy. Ayla doubted she'd sleep comfortably for the next week after the events of that dream.
William Young District 9: 18M
Reaping Day
The cold stares from his father and older sister were almost enough to convince William that he should go speak to them. He hated that they held such resentment for him, yet he wasn't sure what the resentment was for.
A gap affected William's memory. The most recent thing he remembered was eating breakfast with his father and sister when he was twelve years old. His sister, ten-years-older than William, cooked them blueberry pancakes. Before that day, William remembered nothing. He wondered if something had happened during the gap that caused them to hold ill feelings towards him.
It didn't help that his father's health was declining, and his sister was the only one there to help him. William no longer lived with his family and hadn't for two years. His sister begged him to return home to help their father, but William found himself unable to do so.
Maybe it was because of their grudge against him, or maybe it had something to do with Roslyn. They didn't know about her, but William was deeply affected by her, behaving completely differently as a result of meeting her.
The feeling of dread settled in William's stomach again just as it had done yesterday. He felt the time was nearing where that event that Roslyn explained to him was approaching. It was his destiny whatever it was.
He soundlessly allowed the peacekeeper at the edge of the pen to take a sample of his blood. There wasn't much point in protesting for fighting back. This was the way things were, regardless of how bad or good it might be.
William stood alone amongst the eighteen-year-old boys. Not that he was literally by himself. It was more a figurative alone. Though the boys stood shoulder to shoulder with him, William didn't relate to them or have much of an opinion regarding them. It wasn't that he didn't care about any of them. He simply didn't understand them, the way they talked to each other and joked around. William felt like an outcast.
He watched idly as District 9's escort, victors, and mayor took the stage before them. The escort Helen Opal, an old Asian woman with a scowling face, had been the District 9 escort for years. According to his father, Helen had been there since he was a kid. Obviously the years of working as the escort for an outer district had worn on her.
Behind her stood a much happier old woman, Ilia Jameson, one of District 9's two victors. She actually smiled and tried to look like she was happy to be there. Based on what William has seen, Ilia was excellent at rolling with the punches of life, maintaining optimism. It was amazing how differently age could affect people.
"Well let's get this show on the road," Helen grumbled into her face mic. "Roll the President's speech."
It was a few minutes before the screen shut down with President Viktor's speech complete. Helena looked as grumpy as ever when she wandered back toward the two glass bowls set out on stage.
She unceremoniously drew a slip of paper from the bowl on the left. Helen hadn't even announced whether it was the girl or boy she would be drawing first.
William's stomach crawled as the feeling of impending doom crept up his spine. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon. He could feel it.
"Tanya Mills," Helen read.
Or maybe not. William's stomach settled somewhat, and he relaxed just slightly.
The guy next to William looked at him strangely as William exhaled, trying to release his pent up nerves. The feeling came over him again when a girl from the seventeen-year-old section stalked toward the stage.
Her face was contorted into an expression of rage while shouts came from outside the pen with equal anger. William saw a tall skinny guy shouting over the head of a peacekeeper attempting to hold him back. The guy waved a cigarette around in the peacekeeper's face while he shouted. A stockily built black man with gray tinged hair attempted to calm the viciously angry smoker.
Tanya's long dark hair billowed behind her as she quickly ascended the steps and stared daggers at Helen. She was definitely pissed.
Helen didn't ask for any words from Tanya as most escorts would, instead she drew a name from the other bowl.
"William Young," She pronounced with obvious displeasure.
William's eyes went wide, then the feeling of dread simply disappeared. He stood stock still for a moment in surprise. Replacing his nerves was a feeling of elation. Now it all made sense.
"I knew it!" William shouted joyously.
He chuckled to himself shaking his head as he walked towards the stage. The crowd murmured at William's reaction, but he didn't care. He knew what all the confusion and pain was for now. He knew what Roslyn had been warning him of.
William took his place to Tanya with a smile on his face. He shook her hand with the same jubilant grin on his face. Tanya eyed him strangely but shook his hand anyway. Her hands were shockingly calloused and strong, even though she didn't look like someone who worked in the fields.
That moment he'd been dreading. The bad thing Roslyn had warned him of was his reaping. William was going to the Hunger Games. That's why Roslyn had insisted that he prepare himself. Now, he had a chance to succeed.
He spotted a familiar white dressed figure in the onlookers with a smile on her face. She sent William an encouraging nod. William replied in kind.
"There's your tributes District 9," Helen said gruffly. "You're welcome."
Ayla Ithico District 3: 17F
Reaping Day
Ayla wrapped her mother, Ciara Ithico, in a tight hug. She loved her mother and her mother loved her, but there was a hint of mistrust between the two of them. An incident earlier in life that Ayla couldn't clearly remember had put her in a coma for a week. It was the first time she'd seen the old gaunt man that was Death.
When she woke, Ayla was convinced that one of her neighbors was her mother. Her actual mother had never recovered from that incident. Ayla wasn't sure if her mother blamed her or not, but there wasn't much she could do about it.
"I love you," Ayla whispered.
"I love you too," Ciara replied.
They held each other for a few more seconds before Ayla figured it was about time for her to enter the pen.
"I'm sorry," Ayla said as she broke away.
Her mother sent a confused and concerned glance after her as Ayla walked away. She wasn't sure what to make of that vaguely worded apology.
It was a preemptive apology. Once she was recovered enough to think reasonably well, Ayla had quickly worked out the meaning of Death's words, 'You will provide the same loan to another.'
Once she thought about it, it was fairly obvious. Her debt was owed to the girl who had volunteered for her four years ago. Now, Death demanded she pay off the debt by providing the same service the mysterious girl had provided to Ayla.
She had to volunteer. The consequences of not volunteering would be grave. It was basic math really. If she didn't volunteer, then she and her mother would die painful deaths. If she did, then she at least had a chance to survive. But would her debt be paid if she won? That question bothered Ayla more than anything at the moment.
Ayla joined the other seventeen-year-old girls. She greeted some of them who were familiar to her but held back her true nature slightly. Ayla was not a person who trusted easily. She didn't have friends.
Ayla did her best to maintain her calm as the District 3 leaders climbed the steps to the stage. The four victors all appeared shockingly calm, but that was because they had seen all this before. District 3 hadn't won the Games since the hundredth anniversary, meaning the victors were all older. They didn't have a single one under the age of thirty-five.
The escort, Yelena Knitz, a short and lithe young woman with silvery skin smiled brightly at the crowd. She waved cheerfully like she was going to give a motivational speech. Ayla rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness.
"Hello all you wonderful people," Yelena greeted animatedly. "How are we doing today?"
The crowd mumbled. No one responded with anywhere approaching the same level of enthusiasm.
"Oh come on now," Yelena pouted. "It's a holiday. Enjoy yourselves! How are we doing today?"
This time they managed a half-hearted cheer. Yelena obviously wanted a more excited reaction, but she managed to settle for the poor one she got.
"Alright," She said with a smile. "Now that we're ready. It's time to get a bit more serious. President Viktor will give his address to the people."
Ayla vaguely paid attention to the President's words. There was something about him that seemed different from all the other Presidents and Capitolians. Maybe it was the grass roots connection to the Districts, but Viktor actually held some sway with the people, while he was disliked by many of the Capitolians.
"Thank you very much President Viktor," Yelena said with that same grin plastered on her face.
She was doing a good job of hiding her displeasure at speaking those words. Ayla could tell she was lying though. Ayla just had a natural talent for spotting bullshit.
"Ladies first shall we?" Yelena slowly reached her hand into the bowl.
She swished her hand about, searching for just the right slip of paper, then finally withdrew the name of the girl that Ayla would be saving.
"Samantha Jenkins," Yelena read loudly.
A scared cry came from the front of the crowd. A little twelve-year-old girl collapsed to her knees in full view of the cameras. It all came full circle. Ayla would save a young girl, just as an older girl had saved her when she was young.
Just as peacekeepers walked toward the girl threateningly, the crowd began to whisper. No one was a fan of this. It was now or never.
"I volunteer!" Ayla cried over the noise.
The whole crowd went silent instantly. Yelena even looked shocked. Beneath their helmets, Ayla thought she detected hints of disappointment from the peacekeepers.
Slowly, they turned to face her with wide eyes. Then, to her shock the crowd cheered. They applauded her for what they saw as sacrifice.
Ayla met her mother's eyes with a regretful expression. Her mother returned her look with a solemn nod, looking almost proud of her.
"Well come on then," Yelena finally managed to recover. "Let's see our brave volunteer!"
The crowd's cheer picked up as Ayla took the stage. Now that they clearly saw her, they had someone to cheer for. Most of the faces were grateful. Samantha, the little girl she'd saved cried as she lay on the ground.
They all saw Ayla as a hero, someone who was selfless and kind. If only they knew why she'd volunteered. She volunteered solely for her own reasons. Her decision hadn't been altruistic, but maybe that didn't matter. Regardless of why she decided what she did, Ayla had saved a little girl's life. It made her feel good and accomplished.
"What's your name hero?" Yelena asked.
"Ayla Ithico," She answered.
"Let's hear it for Ayla!" Yelena called out.
The crowd cheered again. Yelena was living the moment up. She finally had the crowd excited, even if it wasn't her doing. She was ready to ride the wave as far as it went.
Gradually the sound calmed down and Yelena approached the second bowl.
"Now for the boys," She quickly drew a slip this time, holding it high in the air. "Tesler Valdes."
The crowd went silent as a group of boys in the eighteen-year-old section stared at a dark-haired Hispanic guy. He looked around curiously, then seemed to realize he'd been reaped.
That was when all hell broke loose.
"Oh hell no," Tesler pronounced loudly as he stalked towards the stage angrily. "You will all pay for this mark my words!"
One of the kids in the twelve-year-old section tugged on Tesler's sleeve, stopping him. He said something to him but was too far away to understand.
"Stay tuned for the interviews if you want to find out why I'm pissed!" Tesler shouted.
He took his place next to Ayla with smoldering eyes. Yet, behind the anger, there was a deeply intelligent look.
Ayla reached out her hand to shake his politely. Tesler seemed surprised by her hand, then looked down at it and scoffed.
"I don't believe in sacrifice," He said flatly.
Yelena quickly grabbed each of them by the wrists and thrust their hands into the air, though neither of them had their arm fully extended thanks to Yelena's diminutive stature.
"Your tributes District 3!" Yelena announced. "Tesler Valdes and Ayla Ithico!"
Tanya Mills District 9: 17F
Goodbye Lounge
Chris lit up his third cigarette in the past half hour. If the guy wasn't careful, he would really be in trouble later in life.
"Chris, you really should try to quit," Timothy advised in a concerned voice.
"I'm just too damn stressed Tim," Chris grumbled as he paced back and forth, puffing on the cigarette rapidly.
He blew smoke from his mouth and removed the cigarette for a moment as he turned to face Tanya. There was a desperate look in his yellowish eyes.
"You need to promise me you're going to learn how to use a weapon," Chris said. "You could probably take on most of them if you were in a ring, but this ain't a ring. You need to learn to disarm those careers so you can beat them hand to hand. Listen to the instructors as best you can. You learn fast, I'm sure you can figure it out. A-"
"Chris," Timothy admonished gently. "Give the poor girl a break."
Tanya could second that. As much as she appreciated Chris's attempts to help, she really needed a break to think and calm down. The reaping caught her completely off guard. She was in a bad way right now, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions engulfing her.
"Hey Tanya," Timothy sat on the couch next to her. "You're going to be okay. You're strong. I know you can pull through and come home."
"Yeah," Chris said, trying to be less overbearing. "Just think of how many more people we'll get in the gym when they learn we trained someone to survive the fucking Hunger Games."
Tanya smiled tightly, trying to enjoy Chris's joke. She just felt so lost. Her life was finally coming together, and now it was falling apart.
Timothy pulled Tanya into a tight hug, simply holding her as she had no desire to speak. Chris kept pacing back and forth running hands through his hair, smoking like a chimney.
They sat there like that for a few minutes before there was a gentle knock at the door. Timothy looked to Tanya to be sure that she was amenable to having another guest in the room. She nodded slightly and did her best to get a hold of herself.
"Come in," Timothy said.
The door opened to reveal the nervous face of Noah Borat.
"Hey Noah," Timothy greeted softly.
"Hey," Noah spoke dejectedly, like a kicked puppy.
Tanya met Noah's eyes, knowing that the vestiges of tears still lingered there, but tried to remain strong anyway. She didn't want Noah to see her looking weak.
"I uh-" Noah said awkwardly, unsure of how to continue.
He looked between Chris and Timothy, like they were giving him anxiety.
"Dad," Tanya spoke for the first time in a croaky voice. "Could you and Chris give us a minute?"
"Sure," Timothy responded.
He bent over and kissed the top of her head before leading Chris and his cigarettes out of the room. The door closed softly behind them, leaving Noah and Tanya alone.
They sat in complete silence for a long while, neither willing to speak to the other.
"Chris give you too many plans?" Noah asked finally, breaking the silence.
"Yeah," Tanya chuckled. "He's just looking out for me."
Noah laughed awkwardly in return.
"Tanya I-" Noah's voice broke as he looked to the floor. "I don't know what to say."
"I don't either," Tanya admitted honestly.
The silence stretched for a few more seconds before Tanya worked up the strength to speak again.
"Come here," She patted the spot beside her on the couch.
Noah eyed the couch for a moment, then sat down beside her stiffly. Not knowing what came over her, Tanya grabbed his hand and laced her fingers through his.
"Thanks for taking me out last night," She said softly as she leaned against his shoulder.
Noah gave a miserable smile. He accepted Tanya's presence leaning against him, though was still obviously uncomfortable.
"Noah…" Tanya began to speak, then stopped, unsure of how to phrase the words she wanted. "I'm really glad I knew you."
"Don't say that," Noah said stoically. "Don't say it like it's over."
"Bu-" Tanya started.
"No buts Tanya," Noah interrupted. "You are going to make it home, okay?"
His blue eyes bore into her blue eyes like fire. He was deadly serious.
Tanya could only nod in response, not sure she would be able to speak for fear of crying.
"How else would we get to go on that second date?" Noah asked with a small smile.
Tanya sniffed and chuckled wetly. She found Noah still staring at her intensely as she looked back up.
This time, it was Noah who initiated the surprise gesture. He leaned over and reached gently behind her head, kissing her lovingly.
Tanya felt no surprise. She only felt the butterflies in her stomach as she kissed him back. Tanya tilted her head upwards to better meet Noah's lips.
She'd just had her first kiss, only a week before she would likely be killed.
Tesler Valdes District 3: 18M
Goodbye Lounge
"How the hell did they find us?" Electra question incredulously.
"They couldn't trace your hack," Fred said. "We're lightyears ahead of the chumps at the Capitol."
"Doesn't matter," Tesler said definitively. "What does is how we retaliate."
Tesler hummed to himself deep in thought. The choice for retaliation was obvious. They had to release the videos to the public. The War Department would be in serious trouble with the public and likely with the rest of the government as well. Though, he doubted most of the repercussions would come from the congressmen. It would be President Viktor who was most pissed.
What Tesler actually thought of was slightly more irrelevant. His thoughts drifted to his upcoming birthday. Why, he couldn't explain. Tesler's birthday was in just four days, meaning he would be nineteen by the time he entered the arena, that was if the Capitol didn't have him assassinated before then.
If his mother had just given birth to him on time, Tesler wouldn't even be dealing with this problem. He wouldn't be of reaping age.
"And how are we going to do that?" Moe asked. "They didn't pay up. Are we going to release the videos?"
Tesler stroked at the goatee on his chin, thinking over that question. There were two schools of thought. One was to release the videos now, the other was to wait until Tesler did his interview. If they released the videos now, then the chaos created would likely be less than if they waited and allowed Tesler to reveal them on interview night.
Though, there was the chance that the Capitol could attempt to take Tesler out before the Games so he wouldn't have a chance of talking. Joke was on them. They didn't know he had a whole team backing him up.
"Wait to release the videos," Tesler spoke finally. "Do it during my interview so I can talk about the footage. If they disappear me before then, release the videos."
His team nodded along with his instructions, doing their best to be helpful. Tesler wasn't sure how heartbroken any of them were to see him go. Tesler wouldn't have been heartbroken if one of them was reaped. That was for damn sure.
"Until then," Tesler continued his instructions. "Put the copies on USB drives. Keep them in physical form and don't plug them in anywhere. The War Department could use the signature of the videos to trace your location and find out who you are. Don't lose the copies, understand?"
"You got it boss," Electro nodded surely. "We'll wreak havoc in your absence."
"No," Tesler ordered sternly. "Keep a low profile until my interview. I want you to be ready to go the second I go on okay?"
"How do we broadcast the videos?" John asked.
"Use the big screen behind us," Tesler answered. "You know the one that's always there behind Amethyst Stadler every single year. For god's sake don't take over the TV station. Let them watch the interviews. I don't want anymore heat than necessary to come down on us."
"So keep a low profile until then," Electra said. "What about after?"
"Don't start up again until after the Games," Tesler said. "I probably won't make it back, but I have a chance. If I'm back, wait for directions. If not, cause as much chaos as possible when I'm killed."
That's it, reaping number two. You just met Tanya Mills D9F by wiifan2002, Tesler Valdes D3M by Very New To This, William Young D9M by Paradigm of Writing, and Ayla Ithico D3F by Paradigm of Writing.
Who was your favorite of these four? Who lasts the longest? Who dies first?
Guys, we only need three more tributes. Nearly there!
Hopefully this is the last time I'll need to leave the form on one of the chapters.
Name:
Age:
Gender:
Sexuality:
District:
Face Claim:
Appearance (Any edits to the face claim?):
Personality:
MBTI:
History:
Strengths (No more than 4):
Weaknesses (No less than 3):
Weapon of choice:
Other weapons:
Family (Include significant others):
Friends:
Special Skills (These are things that they do well that might make them stand out from the other tributes):
Alliances?:
Open to Romance in Games?:
Volunteer/Chosen?:
Reaction to reaping:
Token:
Chariot Outfit (I will probably use these since I'm shit at outfits):
Interview Outfit:
Interview Angle (i.e. aloof, flirty, dangerous, mysterious, etc.) :
Reaping Outfit:
Training room strategy:
What skill did they show to gamemakers?:
Score estimate(10-8 for careers. 7-8 for strong outer districts. 4-6 for average outer districts. 4 for rare cases.):
Interview Quote:
Victor material?:
Creative Liberties? (Is it okay if I change some things about your tribute to fit him or her into the story better? Things like district, age, weapons. Nothing major like personality.):
Other (Anything else you want to add?):
Thanks for reading guys.