NOTE: I've converted to AO3 so I post my stories over there now. My handle is marcat, and this story is published as Fear of the Water.
Thank you for reading!
(ANNIE)
"Annie," a voice says. There's something pressing on my shoulder. "Annie, wake up."
I try to hide my face behind my hair. "Nooooo," I moan, drawing out the word.
"Come on. It's reaping day."
I crack my eyes open. My twin brother Bosun is standing over me. He's bathed and dressed already. Must have been awake for hours. His strawberry hair is combed for once, but bags and purple shadows hang under his blue-green eyes. I wonder if he slept at all.
He forces a smile. "I don't know how you sleep so late. I can never sleep at all before the Reaping."
The only reason I'm able to is because I stole a sleeping draught from our aunt's medicine cabinet. She doesn't know, of course – she'd have one of her episodes. Probably threaten to send Bosun and me back to the community home. But we're seventeen now, and we can work full time now that we've finished school, and I doubt she'd be willing to part with our salaries. But it also means we can live on our own. Bosun and I constantly promise ourselves that day will come soon, but people usually only move out of their family homes when they get married.
My cousins and I help each other into our dresses and comb one another's hair. One must look their absolute best on Reaping Day in case one gets called up. Don't want the sponsors' first impression of you to be in swimming clothes.
Adrie ties my hair up in a ribbon as I braid Coraline's hair from behind. Coraline is nearly eighteen; Adrie is fifteen. We all qualify for the reaping, and even though a girl named Coastia Is set to volunteer, we're still nervous wrecks. Everybody is.
My aunt Chelsea looks us all over one more time to be sure we're presentable.
We don't bother with breakfast since none of us will be able to eat anything anyway. We walk toward the pavilion where the reaping is held in relative silence. I give Bosun's hand a quick squeeze before he joins his friends on the boys' side of the crowd.
"Dodge got his hands on a bottle of rum," Bosun says to me. "When all this is over, we'll get drunk and go for a swim. Okay?"
I lower my voice and try not to move my lips too much as I speak. "Do we have to bring the cousins?"
"God, no. They'd ruin it." Bosun gives me a quick squeeze. "It'll be you, me, Dodge, and Ondine. And Gill, I think. And maybe a couple of Dodge's cousins, but they'll bring their own liquor."
"I hate most of Dodge's cousins."
"Doesn't matter. You'll be drunk." He goes off toward the boys' side and I look around for Ondine. She'll need somebody to hold her hand through all this, the awful memories it will drag up.
Ondine, who's been with Bosun for as long as anybody can remember, is my best friend. Maybe my only proper friend – except for Dodge, I guess. Bosun's the social one; as his twin, I can just insert myself into whatever relationships he has without putting in the work of getting to know someone and then his friends become mine.
Ondine's sister Liffey was my proper best friend until she died of an infected cut on her arm in the arena last year. Ondine, already an orphan, is now totally alone except for Bosun, who she'll probably marry in a few years.
"Annie!"
I turn at the sound of my name. "Ondine."
Lithe, lovely Ondine rushes toward me and grabs my hands so hard that my knuckles crack. "Oh, I'm so glad I found you. I couldn't stand to be alone for this."
"Me neither."
She talks when she's anxious, so I'm prepared when she starts speaking a mile a minute. "We just have to remember that we're nearly done. This is my last reaping, and you and Bosun will be done next year. And then we'll all be safe." Her throat bounces as she swallows back tears. "Right?"
I smile. "Right."
She catches sight of a few of her friends and drags me over to them.
(FINNICK)
I sit with the other victors on the platform in the shade. Everybody else stands on the ground facing the stage, the sun shining directly into their eyes. They've probably all ruined their clothes with sweat by now.
An attendant comes around to us and offers to powder our faces so we don't look "too damp." Mags is the only one polite enough to say no; the rest of us just ignore the attendant altogether. I let her give me a light dusting.
Eefa is half-asleep, Mags has her hands folded in her lap, and Broadsea keeps itching his beard and occasionally baring his teeth at people who stare too long. Proteus hasn't taken his seat yet; he's chatting with the mayor and the harbormaster about spatchcocking, which I guess is a cooking thing since that's his passion. Maybe 'passion' is too strong a word; Proteus is too apathetic to experience any strong urge or emotion. His hobby, perhaps, is a better description.
We sit in order of victory, which means that as the most recent victor, I'm at the end of the line. I'm stuck next to damn Broadsea, and, since I sit on his left, I'm stuck looking at the mangled side of his face from the corner of my eye.
Mags is the only one I get along with. She's the only one I like and she's one of the only people in the world who genuinely likes me. As our district's first victor, she's seated at the other end of the line.
The microphone at the front of the stage shrieks as our Capitol escort adjusts it. She's gotten even more surgery done to disguise her age since last summer, but instead of looking younger she just looks strange. She gives the introductory speech reminding us why the Hunger Games exist and what an honor it is to be chosen.
Piers Brewre volunteers for the boys.
The Career is about average height, maybe a little taller, and well-built. His muscles don't bulge out of his body the way other Careers' sometimes do, but they're just big enough to see that they're there.
Most of our tributes are Careers; regular kids get called up about a third of the time. We don't have as many Careers as 1 and 2, but it's practical to have a few. Careers have a real shot at winning and they save someone else's life by volunteering to compete. I've always wondered why other districts don't have this practice. It would save them a lot of heartache.
Piers takes his spot on the stage and crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for his partner to be called.
Brae clears her throat. "Now for the girls!"
There's confusion in the crowd. An eighteen-year-old girl named Coastia was set to volunteer this year. Most people don't change their minds about volunteering, and those who do aren't usually allowed to withdraw. Coastia must've bribed somebody to get out of it.
Someone angrily shouts "Coastia! What did you do?" and a girl of about eighteen that must be her shrinks to the back of the crowd. The other girls begin to cluster into little pockets, all holding hands and whispering to each other. Other people start to scream out all sorts of horrible things, and most of the girls begin to panic. They thought, at least this year, they were safe. Now the odds are their only protection.
Brae, our escort, prances over to the other bowl and reaches in. She accidentally grabs two, and takes her sweet time choosing which to keep and which to toss back with the others. She opens the slip of paper and clears her throat before reading, "Annie Cresta!"
After a few seconds, a girl emerges from the crowd. Flowing hair. Wide eyes. Maybe sixteen or seventeen. Visibly trembling. She stumbles a few times as she climbs the steps to the stage, anxiously wiping her sweaty palms on her blue dress. Her chin quivers from the strain of holding back tears. She's going to lose the battle.
There's a commotion near the front of the boys' group. A boy says something and surges forward, but another boy, who I know to be the grandson of one of our other victors, catches him by the arm and pulls him back.
Brae smiles brightly. "Ladies and gentlemen of District Four, I present to you – your tributes!"
There's plenty of mandatory clapping, then the tributes are led into the Justice Building. The Head Peacekeeper steps to the front of the stage and starts barking instructions. "Those of you wishing to bid farewell to the tributes, line up here in order of closest relation."
Broadsea pulls a large bottle of liquor from a hidden pocket in his coat and takes a large drink. He wakes Eefa up to offer her some.
It's the same every year. Eefa will stay in her rooms and avoid other people at all costs, Broadsea will be drunk or high or both, Proteus will be charming and ass-kissing Capitol citizens whenever possible, and Mags and I will try to keep a pair of children alive for as long as possible.