Here's the last reaping! About damn time!
Rel Imperatore District 10: 18M
Day Before the Reaping
The roar of the crowd dissipated behind him. Rel wiped the sweat from his forehead breathing heavily as his chest rose and fell.
He was guided by two men into a back room and promptly sat on a stool. Just seconds later, two women entered the room. One came with a bag of what Rel perceived to be medical supplies. He recognized her to be the on-hand doctor at the arena. Rel didn't remember her name. It was quite difficult to pronounce as he recalled, something German. Rel could remember the name of the other woman. She was his friend Mariela.
Mariela had a manic look in her eyes as she always did. There was something slightly off about her, even before she lost her brother. She was always wrapped up in the events at the arena and quite often a little too excited when blood and guts were spilled.
"That was the best showing you've had in a while," Mariela commented lightly as she leaned against the wall.
"Less injured than usual," The doctor added. "I'm glad to see you're learning to stay away from the bulls' horns."
Rel rolled his eyes and shook his head. He smirked slightly at the words of the two women.
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Rel returned noncommittally as the doctor sat beside him and attended to his few scratches.
He hissed as the doctor dabbed a rag to the marks on his skin.
The door creaked slightly as another man entered into the room. He was tall and broad shouldered just like Rel. His hair was blonde, and his eyes were a cold sharp blue. Rel picked out his face immediately. It was Leonder, mayor of District 10 and Rel's father.
"Releón," Leonder greeted smoothly.
His tone matched just what one would imagine a politician to sound like. It was perfectly polite and calm, but there was a threatening hint to the voice.
"Leonder," Rel replied mimicking his father's tone.
"When you're finished, I'd like to speak with you," Leonder said. "It is rather important."
Leonder closed the door without another word.
Rel was left wondering what this was about. Leonder wasn't really much of a father to him. The old man knocked up a prostitute who later gave birth to Rel himself. She died in childbirth.
Rel was then adopted by his uncle Toto who looked much like his brother Leonder. Toto raised Rel as his own and introduced him to his birth father who still paid little to no attention to Rel. He had no idea why Leonder wished to speak to him now out of all times.
Rel found himself walking alongside his father in silence for the next thirty minutes. Leonder said nothing for a long time, appearing deep in thought. Eventually, they reached the upper-class section of town where houses grew in size somewhat. These homes belonged to those who worked in the District 10 government and business owners with close ties to the Capitol. No one ever became wealthy due to their own achievements and creations without becoming a mere arm of their overlords.
"Releón, I'm sure you know just how important my job is," Leonder spoke for the first time. "There are so many things to attend to. It's not easy."
Rel very much doubted it was easy to be a district mayor, but it was easier than going hungry.
"One day, I will need someone to take my place," Leonder continued. "It saddens me to know that there is no suitable candidate."
"Afraid you're going to drop dead old man?" Rel quipped sarcastically.
"Being mayor can be a dangerous job," Leonder responded, his voice devoid of emotion. "With all those rebellious anarchists from the poorer wards running around, one can never be too careful."
"You think your power might be in trouble?" Rel asked.
"My power is always in danger of being taken," Leonder said. "No one holds a permanent position. Death comes for us all, as do ambitious young men seek out my position."
"What's your point Leonder?" Rel jumped in. "I have to admit. I'm getting bored."
Rel faked a yawn for dramatic effect.
"I need a successor you idiot," Leonder hissed as they stopped just in front of the mayoral mansion.
"You have a son, Leotor," Rel said viciously. "Or did you forget about him?"
"Leotor is far too young," Leonder continued on heedless of Rel's angered tone. "He is weak, both physically and mentally. The boy is bedridden most days. Sickness has an unyielding hold on him. I doubt he will survive to adulthood."
Leonder turned towards Rel and stared directly into his eyes with an intensity all too familiar.
"Releón, I want you to succeed me," Leonder said.
What? That didn't make any sense.
Rel was taken aback. He stumbled momentarily but managed to regain his balance and composure. Leonder wanted him to be his successor. Why?
"You can't deny that already hold a certain sway with the people of the district," Leonder said. "Thanks to your exploits in the bullfighting arena, you've captured the hearts and minds of people from lower- and upper-class backgrounds. They chant your name like I've never heard before. You are beloved. Those people would follow your command. They would respect you and obey you. Imagine what you could accomplish my son."
Instantly Rel's eyes narrowed. His short break from reality was quickly cut off as Leonder said the words 'my son'. Leonder had never once referred to Rel, his bastard child, as his son. For all intents and purposes, Leonder considered Rel irrelevant, a mere nuisance in his life. Never would the mayor have called the son of a whore his son.
"Why now?" Rel asked suspiciously. "This is the first time you've ever called me your son. Am I just a tool for you to use as you see fit? Oh yeah! Now that I've seen that Rel is actually worth a damn, I might just try to use that for my own ends!"
"Releón, you know that isn't what I think of you," Leonder said with false sympathy.
"Could've fooled me Leonder," Rel said. "You know, I was actually starting to feel happy. I had a good life. I can see my little brother. I have a few friends. I make a little bit of money fighting bulls, at least enough to put food on the table. What do you think will happen if I become mayor? All that is gone!"
"You can make new friends Releón," Leonder returned. "You'll make more money, and think of the good work you'll be able to do besides."
"Sounds great!" Rel exclaimed sarcastically. "It'll only cost me my soul! You think I want to end up like you?! You think I want to be a lapdog like you are?!"
"I understand I've made some mistakes son," Leonder said, lying through his teeth. "But you could do so much more than I was able to. You could be better."
"Will you ever stop force feeding me these stories?" Rel asked incredulously. "All my life, all you've ever done is lie to me. That's all you've ever done to everyone: lie! You're just a hermit crab that crawls into whichever shell fits it best for that moment. I've never seen an honest genuine expression from you in my entire life."
Anger poured from Rel as he ripped into his father verbally. He had no ability to control his emotions any longer. He was consumed by righteous fury.
"You know what you are father?" Rel spat. "A construct. You're the combination of all the false narratives you've ever created in your life. I doubt there's anything real about you."
Rel turned sharply on his heel, stalking away from the slug that was his father.
"Releón!" Leonder called out. "Come back here! You'll regret this!"
Rel ignored him. The construct was not worth his time.
Nebraska Wilmington District 6: 16M
Day Before the Reaping
He eyed the street up and down as people passed them by. With each passerby, Nebraska felt his nerves tighten. They were onto them. He knew it.
"You okay Neb?" Axel asked from his left.
Nebraska's head snapped around to make eye contact with his friend. The concerned faces of two more boys, Turbo and Wrench stared back at him. Nebraska inhaled deeply, then exhaled.
"I'm fine," Nebraska answered. "Just a little nervous."
"What for?" Turbo questioned.
Nebraska watched silently while a tall dark-skinned man approached him. Nebraska didn't recognize him, but he seemed like just the guy that was supposed to meet them. The tall guy just oozed drug dealer vibes.
"You with Maine?" The guy questioned abruptly.
"Yeah," Nebraska answered. "You got the money?"
"Depends. You got the product?"
"Show me the money first," Nebraska ordered. "This isn't my first day."
The guy grumbled to himself as he eyed the bats in Axel and Wrench's hands warily. He was clearly calculating whether the kids in front of him would be willing to use force to take his money or not.
"These bats ain't for show," Wrench said.
The tall man's eyes flicked back and forth, then he removed his backpack and unzipped it. Inside was the cash, crumpled and piled in with no regard for organization.
"Is it all there?" Nebraska questioned, trying to sound strong. Negotiations like this weren't exactly easy for him.
"You know what happens if you don't provide a complete payment," Wrench added threateningly. He smacked his bat against his hand for show.
"It's all there," The guy said.
Nebraska nodded, then jerked his head, signaling Turbo to go gather the product.
That product was morphine, procured by Nebraska's older brother Maine through unknown means. Ever since dad died, Maine just hadn't been the same kid. It was like a switch was flipped in his mind and he went from a gentle, quiet, but incredibly intelligent kid to a conniving, violent, yet still intelligent drug dealer.
Maine's shift wasn't all for bad though. His dealing did manage to provide the family some food. Nebraska worked alongside Maine so as to provide the family a slightly bigger piece of income.
"Hey! You there!"
The shout caught Nebraska's attention immediately. He whipped around, eyes darting back and forth searching for threats. They settled over the two bulky men in white armor sprinting towards them with batons in hand.
"Oh shit!" The tall guy paying for the morphine cried.
He dashed off like nobody's business.
"We need to warn Turbo," Nebraska said quickly.
"We can't stick around though," Axel replied.
Nebraska banged on the door four times, hoping that Turbo would hear the meaning in the nonverbal message. Then, he took off running with his two companions just behind him.
"Get back here!" One of the peacekeepers shouted.
Nebraska looked back over his shoulder for just long enough to see the two peacekeepers bullying their way past pedestrians.
Nebraska turned his attention forward again and sprinted harder. He was quite the runner. Events like this were a constant in his life, giving him a great deal of practice at running and hiding from people. It was probably why Nebraska was so paranoid too.
He vaulted over a railing while the peacekeepers came screaming after him and his two friends. A cry of shock and surprise came from one of the two peacekeepers as he tripped and fell over the railing. With a clang, his head slammed into the railing, and he went limp.
Nebraska ducked down a back alley while the peacekeepers were distracted. He jumped up and clambered onto a fire escape. Axel and Wrench followed after him. They laid low while the two peacekeepers dashed by, one of them with his helmet askew and blood running from his forehead.
"Well that was a close call," Wrench commented.
"Where's Turbo?" Axel whispered.
"No idea," Nebraska said. "Should we go look for him?"
"We can't leave him behind," Axel insisted. "We have to try."
Nebraska was not entirely sure. Turbo was as street savvy as any of them. He knew the best places to hide from the peacekeepers. Though, if he hadn't managed to escape the drug warehouse, then Turbo could be in trouble.
"Your call boss," Wrench said.
Nebraska sighed slowly and thoughtfully.
"Let's go find Turbo," he said.
They climbed down from the fire escape and carefully snuck their way back towards the warehouse from which they came. Nebraska kept his head down and kept to the shadows. It was best for him to remain unobtrusive as possible.
Finally, they reached the warehouse. Nebraska opened the door carefully, and light spilled inside. There was no sign of Turbo anywhere.
"Let's search around," Nebraska said. "He might still be here. Just be quiet. We don't want to draw too much attention."
They split up and each boy crept quietly amongst the boxes in the warehouse. Shadows flickered off the walls, but there was still no sign of Turbo.
"What are you doing here kid?"
Nebraska whirled around to see a shorter female peacekeeper. He gasped and backed away frantically, smacking into the wall behind him.
The peacekeeper laughed at him.
"Looks like this is the end of the line for you," she said.
Butch Pelt District 10: 18F
Day Before the Reaping
"Woah there!" She cried.
The bull tugged against the rope in her hands. Butch dug her heels into the dirt, keeping herself anchored against the muscular pulling of the bull. Thanks to her strong stance, Butch managed to remain on her feet.
Butch edged closer to the bull, trying to avoid spooking him. She didn't want him to panic. As comfortable as Butch was handling bulls, she knew she would be no match for a young panicking bull. He would throw her on her ass and trample her, or worse gore her with one of his massive horns.
She cooed soothingly, placing a gentle hand on the bull's neck. Butch stroked him calmingly. With each movement of her hand, Butch felt the bull relax.
"It's okay," Butch whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you."
The bull snorted and stomped his feet. Butch chuckled lightly to herself.
"You're a feisty one aren't you?" Butch asked softly. "You need to calm down though."
He shook his head proudly, as if he was unwilling to admit that he needed to calm down. Butch laughed out loud then.
"Come on," Butch said pulling on the rope lightly. "You need to relax. Let's walk a little bit."
At first, the bull did not comply with her commands. He fought back, pulling against her, but Butch maintained a strong guiding hand, and eventually, the bull fell in line. He walked alongside Butch snorting and shaking his head but staying mostly calm.
"See, this isn't so bad is it?" Butch murmured. "You're doing great buddy."
The bull seemed to prance along at the words of praise. He looked happier already.
Butch spent the next few minutes guiding the bull around, keeping him calm and giving him some exercise. The poor guy needed to get comfortable with people again. He'd been raised to fight in the Bullslaying arena. His previous caretakers obviously didn't care how they treated him.
"You need a name there buddy," Butch said. "How about Rick?"
The bull looked at her in disbelief.
"Maybe not Rick then," Butch said. "Godfrey?"
The bull's expression appeared simply tired, like he was unwilling to put up with her.
"Godfrey it is," Butch nodded with certainty.
Godfrey the bull trotted around Butch, almost prancing. He was ecstatic to be in an environment where he was actually cared for.
Butch despised Bullslaying. She was of the mind that all life was sacred. On the ranch, cows were killed for their meat. Butch knew that was both necessary and beneficial to the people of District 10. But Bullslaying did not benefit anyone. It was slaughter for the sake of entertainment, and it was evil.
Butch was glad the Skinner ranch took in mistreated animals from the Bullslaying ranches. Sure, she appreciated the job provided to her by the Skinners, but she appreciated the work they did rescuing abused bulls more.
She simply couldn't understand how some people could be so cruel, especially to animals who meant them no harm.
"I see the new guy's already getting comfortable," A familiar voice quipped.
Leaning over the fence was her grandfather, Baron Pelt. He was a kindly faced old man with a hunched back and bowed legs from years of working on the ranch.
Butch had taken on her position as a ranch hand because of her grandfather's advancing age. Everyone, including Baron himself, knew there would come a time when he simply could not work any longer. In anticipation, Butch began her working, building her experience with the animals.
"It's a lot more comfortable here than it was back on that Bullslaying ranch," Butch replied. "I'm not surprised he's adjusting well."
"I'm sure you're no small part of that quick transition," Baron complimented. "You really have a way with the animals."
Butch glowed with her grandfather's praise. Baron was a master at handling the animals thanks to years and years of experience. Hearing from him that she was doing good work was incredibly gratifying.
"It'll be a lot tougher when you're gone," Butch said.
"You can handle the work," Baron smirked.
"Yeah, but it won't be the same without you," Butch returned.
"No," Baron said. "It'll be better. This place is expanding. You'll have more opportunities than ever."
"I'll miss you," Butch said.
"I'm not leaving yet," Baron laughed. "No need to get all upset."
Butch smiled happily as she idly rubbed her hand up and down Godfrey's shoulder.
"Big things are in store for you Baby Butch," Baron continued. "Just stick with it. You have a big future waiting."
Liz Adler District 6: 14F
Night Before the Reaping
"What?" Liz asked brusquely, not taking the proffered seat.
"Now now, is that any way to treat your father?" Charles asked politely, with not a detectable hint of malice.
Liz knew better than to believe her father. His tone was all butter and honey on the outside but contained nothing but spite and hatred in reality. She knew just what type of man Charles Adler was.
"Why am I here?" Liz asked.
"You know why," Charles said.
"No I don't."
Charles hummed, then picked up a stack of papers and slammed it on the desk in front of him. Liz shrunk back slightly and stared at the papers.
They displayed pictures of her taking action against her father's corruption. She was talking with a young man who she knew to be a hacker, and she had been discussing transferring all funds from her father's recently assembled charity to people in need.
"What's this then?" Charles questioned, dark brown eyes boring into her.
"I have no idea," Liz lied.
Charles's eyes narrowed slightly, indicating he didn't believe her words in the slightest.
"Are you aware that this man, Ahmed Akbari, is a rather notorious hacker?" Charles asked. "Why were you meeting with him Liz?"
Liz remained totally silence. There was very little that she could hide from her father. It infuriated her that he always knew everything she was thinking. She supposed that skill came from years of work in politics trying to discern truth from falsehood and determine motives.
Liz sat down with a huff and crossed her arms. She stared straight at the wall, unwilling to meet her father's eyes.
"Liz, do try to sit up straight," Charles requested. "I did teach you better than that didn't I?"
Liz remained stoically silent.
"Right," Charles continued. "Since you obviously have no interest in keeping this conversation civil then why don't you tell me how you found out? No need for me to call in security. I'd prefer to avoid violence if at all possible."
Avoid violence? Liz couldn't believe this. Charles was her own father and he was willing to beat the information he wanted to know out of her. His depravity knew no bounds.
"I looked into your charity," Liz spat. "You were embezzling money, pocketing donations willingly given by others. You are nothing but a corrupt leech on this world, a looter, someone who steals and lives off the achievements of others."
"So you set out to right my wrongs? How very noble of you Liz."
"I wanted to give away every penny that you stole. Since you apparently are incapable of giving opportunities to the poor, I decided I would help."
"How touching," Charles said. "But in the attempt to make right my evils, you took on an equally immoral action. You have done exactly the same thing I did. You stole from me, and this crime cannot go unpunished."
Liz stared fearlessly into her father's dark brown eyes. That face was the embodiment of evil. He smirked at her condescendingly, knowing that he had her beat.
"I'm sure you're aware what the punishment for treason is?"
"Death."
"Indeed, but since you are my daughter, I am willing to give you a chance. You have a choice. Reaping day is two days from now, and, as an alternative punishment, you may volunteer for the Games. You could win and come back alive. If you do, I will forgive all your transgressions, but I never want to see you again. If you don't volunteer, your execution will be the next day."
With that, Charles stood from his high-backed armchair and whooshed from the room with dignity. Liz was left in shock, unaware of what to think or feel.
That was yesterday, and now Liz couldn't sleep. Tomorrow was reaping day, the day her fate was sealed.
Liz knew she had to volunteer. What other choice did she have, sit quietly while she was hanged?
No. Liz would not go quietly.
Her chances were slim, but they weren't zero. Liz had some basic combat training thanks to her father. He had hired a former victor, Trey Williams, victor of the eighty-first Games, to train her and her older brother Wilford.
More importantly though, Liz was going to expose her corrupt father if it was the last thing she did. Apparently, Charles was too consumed in his own schemes to realize that allowing her to volunteer for the Games was providing her with a national stage. Liz could make it known to all of Panem just what sort of man her father was. She did not care what he would do when she came back. Liz just wanted him to face justice for his actions.
No one deserved to get away with the sort of wickedness that her father had. Liz could make him pay for all that. Giving the stolen money to the needy did not give her father the punishment he deserved. All her life, Charles had demanded the best out of her, yet had no interest in attaining his own standards. His rules were for thee but not for me. Just like a politician to apply a disgusting double standard.
Nearly every soul Liz had ever met just sought their own ends at the expense of everyone else. She couldn't understand how people could live with themselves when they used others merely as a means.
Liz rolled over in her bed with a deep sigh. Her mind reeled constantly. She doubted she could ever fall asleep, given what she knew of her near future. Would she die? She didn't know.
Liz would have to use every ounce of hate and resentment stored up from years of living as a tool of her father's ambitions to survive the Games. As Liz had come to realize, hate was a great means of motivation. Hopefully that hatred would be enough to carry her through the trial of fire she would soon endure.
With no one to comfort her and no feelings of contentment or pleasure, Liz finally fell asleep.
Rel Imperatore District 10: 18M
Reaping Day
Rel looked brilliant on the outside. He wore his favorite white leather jacket with no shirt on underneath, black pants, and boots. Atop his head sat his signature black and green cowboy hat.
On the inside however, Rel felt uneasy. He hadn't been able to stop thinking of his conversation with Leonder. He constantly wondered just what action his father would take in response to Rel's harsh words. Leonder was not the kind of man to simply let things go. Punishment would come around, Rel knew.
He stood calmly and unusually silently while the pens slowly filled up. People whispered quietly while Rel eyed the stage, waiting for his specter of a father to appear.
Eventually he did. Leonder led the others onto the stage, walking slowly and somberly. Behind him were District 10's only two victors, a woman in her early thirties and a man nearly sixty. The woman was Gabby Silva. She was pretty but bore a haunted expression on her face. The man was Wayne Erikson, and he too appeared broken.
The last person to take the stage was the escort, a woman called Emerald Tinkle. She loved the color green. Her earrings were large emeralds, her lips were green, her eyes were green, her eye makeup was green, and her clothes were green. Even her hair was dyed green.
Rel caught Leonder's eyes. His father stared directly at him as if they were all alone in the square. Rel had seen that look on Leonder's face before. It was the look he gave to his sickly son Leotor right before he punished him.
"Welcome friends," Emerald greeted with a wave. "Today is a wonderful day isn't it?"
Rel tuned out the words of the escort, focusing on Leonder's face. He was no longer looking at Rel now. Instead his cruel eyes were focused on another face in the crowd. Rel couldn't tell who it was his father looked at.
The President's speech came and went while Emerald smiled happily. She was all too excited for the horror this day brought. Rel could understand the need to keep up an appearance, but he couldn't believe that Emerald was entirely unaware of the evil reaping day represented. No one could be that delusional.
"Well let's begin with the girls shall we?" Emerald questioned.
Rel's attention was brought back to the events on stage with those words. Which poor soul would be condemned to suffer in the arena?
Emerald snatched a slip of paper from the bowl. She held it up in front of her as if to display it.
"Suzanne Pelt!"
The crowd whispered lowly, and faces turned this way and that, searching for the girl.
From the eighteen-year-old pen, a tall blonde-haired girl appeared. Her jaw was tight like she was fighting not to show her own fear. She was quite muscular, especially in her legs and forearms. Rel thought he spotted a rope burn or two on her skin. She looked like a ranch hand.
"Anything you'd like to say to the district?" Emerald asked, holding the microphone out to Suzanne.
"You can call me Butch," she said stiffly.
Apparently, the nerves were still lurking beneath the surface.
"Ooh, I like it," Emerald commented. "Now let's see if our boy can match Butch here."
From he face, it seemed that she doubted anyone would match Butch. Rel tended to agree. It would take quite a guy to be better than Butch.
Emerald glanced hesitantly back to Leonder as she took a piece of paper from the bowl. Instantly, Rel's eyes narrowed. It was an odd exchange, like Emerald was asking Leonder for his permission. Leonder nodded his assent.
Emerald drew a slip of paper and read the name.
"Leotor Imperatore!"
Everything clicked into place. It all made sense, Leonder's look as he took the stage, his desire for Rel to take his place, and his anger at Rel. He had wanted to punish Rel for his insolence. He wanted to put Rel in his place, show him who was truly powerful. Leotor was the only thing standing in between Rel and the seat of power in District 10. Leonder was willing to remove his own son to set Rel up to be his successor.
The reaping had to be rigged, but no reaping was truly determined. There was another option at his fingertips. Rel had only to act. He knew what he had to do.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
Everyone turned to face him in shock, but Rel had already walked from the eighteen-year-old pen. He stared at Leonder the entire time he walked to the stage. Rel spotted Leotor watching him just as everyone else was. His half-brother cried. Rel sent him a nod of strength.
"Well look who it is! I recognize you!" Emerald cried giddily as Rel took the stage. "You're Releón Imperatore, the famous bullslayer! Wow, what a treat to see you compete in the Games! Any words Releón?"
The mic was thrust in his face, but Rel continued to stare at his father in disgust. The stare was returned in kind.
"Just call me Rel," He answered.
"I can do that," Emerald continued. "So Rel, how do you feel?"
Rel turned his withering gaze to Emerald. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then decided answering wasn't worth his time. Instead, he turned his attention to his district partner Butch.
She glared at him with flaming eyes. The hatred there was obvious, but Rel just smirked back confidently. He'd have to figure out why she seemed to hate him so much, because she looked like she would make a powerful ally.
Rel stuck his hand out for her to shake. Butch snorted and turned her nose up at his gesture.
Nebraska Wilmington District 6: 16M
Reaping Day
"Keep moving!" The peacekeeper ordered.
Nebraska felt a shove to his back. He stumbled forward trying to catch his balance before he faceplanted into the dirt.
"You should count yourselves lucky," The peacekeeper continued. "If it wasn't reaping day, you'd all be locked up already."
Nebraska didn't see it as particularly merciful that the peacekeepers were allowing them to attend the reaping. It wasn't like Nebraska wanted to see two kids being sent off to their deaths.
They were shoved roughly into the sixteen-year-old boys' pen. Turbo flopped on his face in the mud while Nebraska skidded into the barrier, barely catching himself. Wrench and Axel kept their feet but bashed into two other boys.
"Try that again bitch! I dare you!" Wrench shouted angrily.
"Knock it off," Nebraska hissed. "Don't make things worse than they already are."
Wrench grumbled angrily while the escort took the stage. Alongside the blonde woman was a short round man with cruel beady eyes. Nebraska recognized the man as the district mayor, Charles Adler.
He knew that Adler had recently started up a charity with the intention of helping the poorer areas of the district. The mayor's charity was supposed to help pull the poor areas out of poverty, but so far, Nebraska hadn't noticed any difference in his quality of life.
"Welcome all to the District 6 reaping," The blonde escort greeted. "My name is Kassandra Delain. I have the pleasure of being your new escort."
She stood expectantly on the stage, but no one applauded. No one found the same pleasure in her new position that Kassandra did.
"Well alright then…" Kassandra continued, sounding almost depressed. "Let's hear from the President…"
Nebraska and the others remained silent throughout the speech, but some kids whispered back and forth. One kid was zapped by a peacekeeper's shock baton. Nebraska drew back as the kid cried out in pain.
Gradually the speech wrapped up while Nebraska eyed the peacekeepers fearfully. He couldn't stop thinking about what would happen tomorrow. Would he be thrown in prison for the rest of his life? Would he be executed?
Nebraska didn't know what to think, but he certainly wasn't waiting with bated breath. He was scared.
"Let's begin with the drawing. We'll start with the boys," Kassandra said.
She walked elegantly towards the glass bowls and drew one slip of paper.
"Nebraska Wilmington!" Kassandra announced.
That was not how Nebraska saw this day going. He hadn't expected to be reaped.
His friends all looked at him in shock and Nebraska looked back at them. Their communication was instant. None of them were going to volunteer for him, but Nebraska didn't mind. He didn't want his friends to die for him.
Nebraska took in a deep breath while all the sixteen-year-old boys stared at him. He then exhaled, pushing out all of his negative emotions. He could control himself if he just stayed calm.
Nebraska made the long walk towards the stage. He knew everyone was staring at him. He just wanted to run, hide his face from all of them.
"Any words?" Kassandra held the microphone in his face when he took his place on stage.
Nebraska shrugged and remained silent.
Kassandra almost looked angry with him. Nebraska stepped backwards nervously.
"And now for the ladies," Kassandra drew a slip of paper from the other bowl. "Laura-"
Before she could even finish, a shout interrupted her.
"I volunteer!" A young voice cried.
Heads in the crowd turned back and forth searching for the source of the sound. Eventually, a young girl with long black hair emerged from the fourteen-year-old pen. She was quite young. Normally young kids didn't volunteer. Actually, no one volunteered normally.
She ascended the stairs to the stage with fire in her eyes. An intense glare locked on the mayor's face, the girl stood beside Nebraska.
"What's your name?" Kassandra asked awkwardly.
"Liz Adler," the girl pronounced proudly, then sent another glare at the mayor, her father Nebraska now realized.
"Wow, would you like to tell us why you chose to volunteer?" Kassandra questioned.
"No," Liz replied sternly.
She shoved her hand, covered in a fingerless glove, toward Nebraska. He grasped her hand and shook it, surprised by her determined grip.
Nebraska's mind wandered back to his friends as he caught eyes with each of them. He wondered what would happen to Turbo, Wrench, and Axel. Hopefully their odds of survival were better than his, not like that was saying a lot.
Butch Pelt District 10: 18F
Goodbye Lounge
Butch exhaled slowly while her leg bounced up and down quickly. The nerves were getting to her now. She couldn't stop thinking about what could happen over the next week or so. She could die or she could make it home a winner.
The winning wasn't really Butch's major motivator though. She just wanted to come back alive. She had no interest in the Games themselves, but it wasn't like she had much choice now.
Baron Pelt put on the strongest face of all the men in the room. His eyes were closed and his head was bowed, but his jaw was set in a determined fashion. Her father Channing wrung his hands nervously, and like her leg, his leg bounced up and down. Nolan, Butch's older brother, unlike the others, stood. He paced back and forth seemingly unable to relax.
Butch closed her eyes, trying to center herself. The knowledge that her immediate future seemed so fixed was terrifying. There would be no escaping The Hunger Games. The approach of the Games was inevitable. They were going to happen no matter how she felt or what she did.
"This is ridiculous!" Nolan shouted. "It's not fair! It's not right!"
"Nolan…" Baron started, but then stopped as if the effort required to speak was too great.
"How could this happen?! Why?!" Nolan's rant continued. "I won't let them take you Butch. Hell no."
"Calm down please," Butch said. "Screaming isn't going to change anything."
"I don't care! This is wrong!"
Butch threw her hands in the air and shook her head in annoyance.
"Nolan," Baron spoke up for the first time. "There's no use protesting things that aren't going to change. There isn't anything we can do."
He looked directly at Butch with a sincere expression on his face.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Butch smiled in sad appreciation of Baron's apology.
Baron took in a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes, trying his hardest to contain his pain. She knew how much Baron loved her, and she had to work hard to keep her own tears contained.
It was as if crying would somehow make the situation more real. Butch knew that was ridiculous, but she and her family lived it like it was true. They all refused to cry.
"Hey guys," Butch said trying to sound inspiring. "Stay strong okay? I know this is hard, but I also know that you can make it through this."
"We'll be cheering for you," Channing said, his face broken. "I know you can make it back."
Butch nodded, but her father's words sounded hollow and empty, like he didn't believe them to be true. Butch knew he was trying to be strong for her, to show her that he had faith in her. That in itself was enough, despite her father's doubts.
She slowly stood from the couch only to be crushed in a tight embrace by Nolan. Butch stood nearly as tall as him and looked just as muscular.
"I love you," Nolan said softly.
Butch almost gasped. Nolan was never one to say how he felt. He would show his feelings regularly, but never would he admit them.
"I love you too bro," Butch replied.
They broke apart sadly while Butch moved to hug her father. Hugging Channing was much like talking to him had been for the last few minutes. He was barely present, barely able to observe the world around him. Butch's arms wrapped tightly around her father while he placed his hands on her back vacantly.
Baron did not shy away from his embrace with his granddaughter. He held her for a long time, almost unable to let go. Eventually Butch had to pry him away. Tears touched the corners of his eyes.
Butch wanted nothing more than to break down right there on the spot, but she didn't. Butch refused to do such a thing. She wouldn't allow her family to lose faith in her now.
Liz Adler District 6: 14F
Goodbye Lounge
"Get out!" Liz screamed in anger. "I don't want you here!"
"We have to keep up appearances Liz," Charles said. "We can't let anyone think that I forced you to volunteer."
Charles smirked at her evilly while Liz clenched her fist wanting to punch him in the face. She might be able to get away with that, considering her father's small stature.
Liz stalked towards her father, returning his cold-hearted stare with pure fury. Charles did not shrink back. He stood his ground looking on her as one would look at a cute cat.
"Get…out…" Liz spoke threateningly.
Charles remained exactly where he stood facing Liz nose to nose.
"Father," Wilford spoke up. "Maybe it would be okay to give Liz some space? It wouldn't seem out of the ordinary for a tribute to want to be alone after the reaping."
Charles continued to stare at Liz, but obviously considered the words of his son. Liz meanwhile boiled at her brother's words. He spoke about her like she was less than human, like she had to obey his every word.
"That is an interesting idea Wilford," Charles said finally.
Wilford seemed to glow with pride as Charles praised his reasoning.
"But it's too risky," Charles continued, and Wilford deflated instantly. "I couldn't allow for the people to question my daughter's love for me or let them believe that I could have orchestrated this."
"Of course you're right father," Wilford said, just like the good little boy he was.
Wilford would never question Charles. He would only accept everything his father told him as gospel, regardless of how insane or immoral it was.
"Listen," Liz said forcefully. "I don't care about your damn appearances. I want you to leave now. This day is already bad enough. I don't need you two making it worse."
"Your mother would be appalled to hear you speak in such a way," Charles said.
"Where is she anyway?" Liz asked. "Oh that's right, you hide her away from the world because you're afraid she might decide that there's a better life out there for her than the hell you force her to live in."
"How dare you speak of father that way?" Wilford questioned.
"It's okay Wilford," Charles spoke softly. "She is young. She will learn. That is if she returns to District 6."
"Oh I'll be back," Liz assured them. "I'll be back, and your time as mayor will be over. I'd be surprised if you didn't end up in jail."
"What are you talking about?" Wilford asked, stepping closer to Liz. "Are you threatening father?"
Charles held up a placating hand to Wilford, signaling him to shut up. Wilford followed Charles direction, just as he always did.
"Yes I am," Liz said. "What you don't realize, is that in your arrogance, you just made me your undoing. You just gave me the ear of all of Panem. I'll be able to tell everyone about your corruption. On interview night, I'll tell everyone what you did and there's nothing you can do about it."
"Nothing?" Charles questioned. "I'm the mayor."
"But you have to keep up appearances, don't you?" Liz questioned in return. "If you do anything to try to stop me, then you reveal that you coerced me into volunteering. That's also illegal by the way."
Charles's cold eyes now smoldered with anger.
"See what you've done?" Liz asked with a small smirk on her face. "You convinced yourself that you were smarter than everyone else. You thought you were untouchable, and then you became the reason for your own demise."
Charles was enraged now. His fat folds flapped up and down as his entire face turned red. He screamed at her, throwing all his pent-up frustrations out, but Liz just stared back calmly. She didn't even hear his words. They meant nothing to her, because she had won, and her father had lost.
His reign of terror was over at last. It might have cost Liz her life, but she wasn't sure she cared. All her life she had sought to right wrongs and make the world a better place, and now she had. The cost was irrelevant. Liz had achieved her goal.
That's the last one! Our final four characters are Rel Imperatore by DracarysWolf, Butch Pelt by illuminating-spirit, Nebraska Wilmington by Payresse, and Liz Adler by Paradigm of Writing.
Finally the reapings are complete. I am extremely relieved to be free of the constraints I put on myself during that section. I feel like my writing took a bit of a dip in quality after the first two reapings because I was just copying and pasting the same format over and over. Anyway, I'm just glad to get them done so I can explore interactions between these tributes and their mentors. That's exciting.
It did end up being longer than I thought it would be before this chapter was posted. Sorry about that, but I've been stupid busy lately. Now I have somewhat of a break and I'm back to a normal schedule at least a little bit. Updates should be coming more regularly again.
So, who was your favorite of these four tributes? Who do you think will last the longest? Who do you think will die first?
Also, since all twenty-four tributes have been introduced I can finally ask some new questions!
Who was your favorite overall tribute? Who do you think will win the Games? Which tribute would you like to see win? Who do you think will have the most interesting arc? Which tributes will ally together? Which tribute do you personally relate to the most?
I'd love to hear from you guys! I hope ya'll are as excited as I am to get into the Pre Games!
Thanks for reading guys.