Lovers' Quarrel Chapter 1: District One and Three Reapings, a hunger games fanfic

Beau Peterson's POV (D1M, 18)

I yawn when I wake up, pleased to see breakfast on a table beside me. I'm glad that my servants— or my mother, if our servants have the day off— decided to give me breakfast in bed today, especially with what day it is.

Right! I remember with a jolt that I'm supposed to volunteer for the Games today, which I'n admittedly not overjoyed at the thought of. I've been training at the Academy, of course, and I'm the top of my class or else they wouldn't have chosen me, but I hadn't really thought about being in the Arena much. All I know is that it's going to be very unpleasant, even with the Cornucopia.

It doesn't help that it's the Quarter Quell. All things considered, I feel like they're just trying to get rid of me— even though I know that definitely isn't true. They only want the best of the best to participate, and the Academy cares too much about District pride to throw away a chance at willing the Quell, of all things.

I can't even begin to imagine the fury all the other boys who will be pissed that I was the one chosen, and not them.

After finishing my breakfast, I shove my worries to the back of my mind and get out of bed. I put on a nice tight white shirt and a tie, as well as some neat black jeans— My mother will go crazy if I don't look nice for the Reaping.

I slowly open the door to my bedroom and peer out. I can hear people walking around, but nobody is nearby.

Stepping on the smooth wooden floor outside my room, I start to descend the short stairs and turn into the living room, sitting down with a huff. I want to sit here and watch television or something before the Reaping— I want to have some fun while I still can.

Unfortunately, my mother has other plans.

"Go to the training room in the Academy!" My mother scolds upon entering the room. "It's your big day, and this is the last chance you'll get to hone your abilities for your entire life."

I stand up with a frown, looking away.

"Fine," I sigh, heading towards the door. "I'll see you later, then." I swing a small backpack over my shoulder and slip into my shoes.

My mother nods in satisfaction. "Only come back when it's time for the Reaping."

I give a halfhearted mumble of agreement, and when I exit my house and close the door behind me, I immediately start sprinting in the opposite direction of the Academy. I'll have plenty of time to train in the training center at the Capitol. I want to have some fun first.

I fiddle furiously with some twigs, trying desperately to tie them together. I'm sitting on my backpack after emptying its contents, so I don't get my nice pants dirty from sitting on the soil.

Finally, I hear a snap and the twigs break. No! I think with a groan. I'll never be able to get this stupid bracelet right.

"You look like you could use some help."

I look up to see my older brother, Denim, staring down at me with an affectionate smirk. I frown and place the broken twigs on the ground with a slight nod, patting the grass beside me so he can sit down

"Sorry, Denni," I say apologetically. "I was trying to make you one of those cool twig and flower bracelets that Dad used to make, but I'm useless at it, just like how I'm useless at everything else I do." Except for knowing how to chop someone's head off, I suppose.

"You're not useless, Beau. For one, you've got your good looks going for you— your name literally means handsome!" He jokes, elbowing me gently as he sits down. "Want me to show you how to do it?"

"Alright." I stare wordlessly at Denim's nimble fingers as they make quick work of a few sturdy twigs he finds nearby, twisting them impossibly and binding them together with pieces of grass and hands it to me. I'm a Career, I shouldn't have someone teaching me something like I'm a little kid... especially not something like this! I frown, trying my very best to push the thought away. Just because this could be considered a childish activity doesn't mean that I'm immature.

"How about we each make each other a bracelet?" Denim suggests with a smile. "You can put flowers on that one for me and I'll make another one for you."

I beam, my spirits lifted for the first time today. "That's a great idea!" I realize that I really do feel like a child again, like I'm not really an eighteen-year-old trained killer. A smile crosses my face as I leave my brother's side.

I rush off to find some fallen flowers that aren't wilting yet. I love my brother so much, and sometimes, it feels like he's the only one that really cares for me. I'm very glad he's past Reaping age, and that he hadn't been chosen to go into the Games.

I come across a patch of blue flowers, almost the shade of denim, perfectly fitting my brother's namesake. A lucky find, for sure.

I pick up any petals on the ground, as well as pluck some from the stems, taking them back to fasten them on. I pay no attention to Denim as he makes a bracelet for me, bending over so he can't see the flowers just yet. I slip each one through the holes in the twigs, making sure none are droopy or folded in.

"I've finished yours," I announce once I'm done, holding out the bracelet to my brother. He smiles and passes me the bracelet he's been making, beautiful white flowers and leaves poking out.

I'm a bit deterred at how much faster he was, but I don't let that stop me from being happy. I slip the bracelet he made onto my wrist, and he copies me. I examine it, brushing it gently with my fingertips.

"I love it," I hear Denim say softly. "You got the perfect flowers to fit my name. Thank you."

His words warm my heart— I genuinely don't know what I would do without him. I gently slip off the bracelet, handing it to him.

"Here, hold on to this for me until I see you again after the Games. Mom won't want me wearing it for the Reaping."

Denim gives me a weary smile and nods, taking the bracelet from me and pocketing it.

"Of course."

Then, we get up, heading to the Town Square. The Reaping is about to begin, so we each take our respective places. I wince when my finger is pricked but I don't let the pain get to me— no doubt I'll face injuries far worse in the Games.

The escort on the stage clears her throat.

"Hello, Panem! Today, we are holding District One's Reaping for the 150th Hunger Games, the sixth quarter quell! I'm so very excited. Now, it's time to pick the names. First, the girls, as always."

She rummages through the glass bowl with slips of names, pulling a random one out and reading it.

"Bella Jewler!"

"I volunteer!" The chosen girl from the Academy, Cervelt, calls immediately from the crowd. I remember being brought to the head trainers at the Academy and being told she would be going into the Games with me. She was unfriendly then, and still is now— and I've always had a nagging suspicion that she does not like me, for one reason or another.

"Excellent!" The escort almost purrs in her thick accent. "What's your name, dear?"

"My name is Cervelt Barron, but please, everyone, get used to calling me the Victor of the 150th Hunger Games." She flashes a smirk at the camera.

Visibly pleased, the escort goes back to grab another name from the bowl.

"Mason Winters!"

The boy in question starts to mount the stage with a confused frown, looking around nervously for the person who was supposed to volunteer, and I realize I have to speak up before it's too late.

"I volunteer!" I call, raising my hand. I wave to the cameras as I step up onto the stage.

"My name is Beau Peterson," I say, as loudly and confidently as I can, "and I'm going to win the Games this year!" Cervelt scowls at the last part, but says nothing.

"Well, please shake hands, you two." The escort smiles at the two of us.

Cervelt and I share a quick, curt handshake, neither of our faces betraying any emotion.

The escort looks back to the camera, clasping her hands together."

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds ever be in your favour!"

In an instant, be and Cervelt are swept away to the Justice Building.

The first person to enter the Justice Building to see me is my mother. She gives me an awkward pat on the back and goes on and on about how I'll be strong and make our District proud by coming back as a Victor.

Once she's finally gone, my brother arrives. He smiles as he fishes something out of his pocket.

"Hold out your hand," he says gently.

I do what he says, palm open wide to get ready to hold a pendant or necklace or ring or whatever I'm assuming he'll give me to take into the Arena.

Instead, I feel something rough being slipped onto my wrist. I look down at the twig bracelet that he made for me earlier.

"I'll always be with you, little bro, even in the Arena." He grins. "This was the only thing I had to give to you, other than the clothes off my back, and personally, I don't want to walk around District One naked."

I laugh at that and caress the bracelet on my wrist, before pulling Denim in for a long hug.

"Thanks, Denni. I'll see you soon, it'll only be a matter of weeks before I win."

It's true. Yes. I was trained for this. I'll be fine— I'll win for sure. I have to. For District One... and for my brother.

"Goodbye, Beau," He says eventually, before being taken away by the Peacekeepers.

"Goodbye, Denni," I whisper towards the door, even though I know he can't hear me.

Sparks Ashlock's POV (D3F, 17)

I hum quietly to myself, sitting at my rough oak workbench. Nothing is out of place as I adjust the lamp on its corner and tap my new invention— a rack that you can fixate on a wall. It looks like a basic metal rod, but I screw open a temporary end and fiddle with some wires inside. I want the rack to be able to spin— it could potentially become an easy way of drying laundry or towels. I really do feel like a stereotypical ternager from Three, I think absently as I work, but the thought doesn't bother me.

Right as I'm flicking a makeshift protective mask down on my face, I hear someone bang on the door of my workshop.

"Sparks! Get out here!"

I huff, standing up. I put my tools down on the workbench I'm currently using and take off the helmet. I wrinkle my nose, unhappy that I've been snapped out of my own thoughts. I usually hide inside my head to try and ignore the things happening around me, instead channeling my emotions into my machines.

I sit there for a moment, debating whether I can ignore the voice and go back go my work.

I suppose it is about time for the Reaping, so I should probably hurry up. They'll literally kill me if I don't show up, I think, sighing. I put my tools down and take my mask off, looking regretfully at the rod sitting on my workbench. I'll only be gone a while, I promise it like it's a person. Well, I'll either be gone a few hours or a few weeks.

"Coming!" I call, walking over the door and pushing the door open.

I hear a yell of pain and I blink slowly, peering behind the door where I've just slammed it on my mother's face.

"Oops."

"Oops?!" My mother says angrily. "Just get to the Reaping. No breakfast for you today," she snaps, inhaling sharply at the pain.

I shrug. It won't be the first time I've messed up and gone without food, so I'm used to it. I frown, walking across the hallway and out the front door. I do hope we get another District Three win this year— most years, we get hopeless, terrified tributes, but last year, our male tribute managed to pull through and win the games.

That could be me, I think— a fleeting thought. I stop and frown at myself, shaking my head. What a stupid thought. I couldn't win even if I wanted to go into the games— which I do not.

I falter for a moment, though, quickly taking in my odds. Six slips from age. Six more from mock tessarae my mother forces me to take if I do something particularly stupid. Twelve slips in total— that might actually be the highest number of slips anyone in Three has. It definitely is in our town, at the very least. For once, I wish I were in one of the poorer Districts— at least then, everyone would have a much higher chance of being chosen for the Games than me.

I take a deep breath and go back to the safe place in my mind, squashing all the uneasiness and fear I'm feeling down to the pit of my stomach.

Everything happens so quickly. When I reach the square, I immediately have my finger pricked so they can take my blood. It makes me feel a bit dizzy, but all I can feel is a distant sensation of pain as I wince and move on.

The seventeen-year-old girls' section is quiet, a lot quieter than the sixteen-year-olds' section had been last year. Im glad I dont have to listen to all the latest school gossip like I did last year, I think with a grimace at the memory. Everyone this year seems to be holding a collective breath, waiting to see if one of us will get Reaped.

"Sparks?"

I look over to the source of the voice, smiling slightly when I see my best friend, Annie, leaning on the ropes of the sixteen-year-old section to talk to me. I push through the crowd to shuffle closer.

"Hey, An." We speak in quiet tones so we don't disturb the people around us, or— heaven forbid— make the Peacekeepers mad.

Annie's eyes are wide, filled with anticipation and anxiety. "Who do you think will get Reaped? I hope they're strong, so they can take home the victory again."

I give a small nod.

"What are you going to do after the Reaping?" Annie asks, trying to lighten the mood. "My family will probably have a party. Will you come?"

I frown, shrugging. Maybe I could make some time for her.

"I'm working on something at the moment, but I'll see what I can do. No way I'm spending tonight with that old hag back home." I wrinkle my nose disdainfully at the thought of my mother.

Annie giggles. "Noted. I'll see you then?"

I nod, backing up and looking up at the stage when the escort starts to speak.

I can barely imagine spending another Reaping with my mother, I think with a shudder. She'll just ruin it for me, like she always does. Saying I don't deserve anything, even as celebration for avoiding getting Reaped.

I'm staring at the escort just in time to see a small piece of paper thrown to the back of the stage. I tilt my head and squint to try and make it out, but it's barely visible anymore.

After her introduction, the escort goes over to the girls' bowl and picks out a name from the top. I barely have enough time to pray it's not me before she reads the name out loud.

"Sparks Ashlock!"

I blink slowly. Me? Of course. Of course. This does seem like something that would happen to me. Are you happy now, Mom?

"Okay..." I mutter to myself, taking my deep breath and stepping up the stairs and onto the stage. I try desperately not to let my mind wander as I stare dazedly at the cameras. "This is bad."

The escort walks over to the boys' bowl now, and I really hope I get a good partner.

"Rusty Lowville!" She announces with a toothy grin.

I see a small, trembling boy mount the stage, glancing behind him with wide eyes, and I sigh. I can tell he won't be this year's Victor. I guess I'll just have to be the Victor, then.

I turn to face my partner, and he seems to shrink back as I look at him with one eyebrow raised.

"How wonderful!" The escort chirps, her strange, thick Capitolite accent showing as she speaks. "Now, you two, shake hands."

The boy in front of me doesn't move, so I'm forced to extent my hand as far as I can, frowning slightly as he puts his trembling hand in mine. I shake it firmly, then swat his arm away. He recoils quickly. Eurgh, having to shake hands has been the worst part of this by far.

The escort probably said something about how great Panem is, but I had turned her out at that point and am now being taken away to a large, imposing building by some Peacekeepers.

I learn that it's called the Justice Building— which is about the worst name they could have chosen. I'm escorted to a small room, where I let myself sit down on a long bench.

I don't expect my mother to come, and, unsurprisingly, she doesn't. The only person who comes to see me is Annie, who has broken down in tears.

"Oh, Sparks!" She says in between sobs. "Why did it have to be you who got Reaped? Why not any other girl in the entire district?!" She hugs me tightly and I hug her back— though I'm really not a fan of physical contact— patting her shoulder awkwardly.

"I'll be fine," I say nonchalantly. "Most of the other tributes are probably too stupid to even have a chance at winning, so I'll probably come out on top. Even if I die, it's not like I had anything to live for anyways."

"Don't say that!" Annie scolds in horror. "What about me? Your work? Even your mother!"

"What about my mother?" I huff, and it comes out more hostile than I intended. "Er, sorry. But you know how I feel about her." Suddenly, a realization dawns on me.

"Plus," I say, more gently, "I'm free now. Even if I die— I never have to go home again. Period. If I win, I can go back to doing what I love and never have to see my mother again. And if I don't... well, I'm sure my skills will come in handy in the Arena, anyways."

"I guess you're right..." Annie sniffled. "I'm sorry, Sparks, but I just— I just can't be happy for you. Not when you might be about to die." She looks away and the Peacekeepers come to escort her out.

I just give her a short nod, my thoughts blurring together already.

"Bye," I say.

Annie doesn't reply.

"Fine," I sigh, heading towards the door. "I'll see you later, then." I swing a small backpack over my shoulder and slip into my shoes.

My mother nods in satisfaction. "Only come back when it's time for the Reaping."

I fiddle furiously with some twigs, trying desperately to tie them together. I'm sitting on my backpack after emptying its contents, so I don't get my pants dirty from sitting on the soil.

Finally, I hear a snap and the twigs break. No! I think with a groan. I'll never be able to get this stupid bracelet right.

"You look like you need some help."

"Sorry, Denni," I start apologetically. "I was trying to make you one of those cool twig and flower bracelets that Dad used to make, but I'm useless at it, just like how I'm useless at everything else I do."

"You're not useless, Beau. For one, you've got your good looks going for you— your name is literally handsome!" He jokes, elbowing me gently as he sits down. "Want me to show you how to do it?"

"Okay." I stare wordlessly at Denim's nimble fingers as they make quick work of a few sturdy twigs he finds nearby, twisting them impossibly and binding them together with pieces of grass and hands it to me.

"How about we each make each other a bracelet?" Denim suggests with a smile. "You can put flowers on that one for me and I'll make another one for you."

I beam, my spirits lifted for the first time today. "That's a great idea!"

I rush off to find some fallen flowers that aren't wilting yet. I love my brother so much, and sometimes, it feels like he's the only one that really cares for me. I'm really glad he's past reaping age.

I come across a patch of blue flowers, almost the shade of denim— perfectly fitting my brother's name. A lucky find.

"Ta-da!" I announce once I'm done, holding out the bracelet to my brother. He smiles and passes me the bracelet he's been making, beautiful white flowers and leaves poking out.

"I love it," I hear Denim say softly. "You got the perfect flowers to fit my name. Thank you."

His words warm my heart. I don't know what I would do without him. I gently slip off the bracelet, handing it to him.

"Here, hold on to this for me until I see you again after the games. Mom won't want me wearing it."

Denim gives me a weary smile and nods, taking the bracelet from me and pocketing it.

"I will."

Then, we get up, heading to the Town Square. The Reaping is about to begin, so we each take our respective places. I wince when my finger is pricked and I grimace— no doubt I'll face injuries far worse in the Games.

The escort on the stage clears her throat.

"Hello, Panem! Today, we are holding District One's reaping for the 150th Hunger Games, the sixth quarter quell! I'm so very excited. Now, it's time to pick the names. First, the boys, as always."

She rummages through the glass bowl with slips of names, pulling a random one out and reading it.

"Mason Winters!"

The boy in question starts to mount the stage with a frown, and I realize I have to speak up before it's too late.

"Uh— I volunteer!" I call, raising my hand. Damn, I must look stupid. I shuffle forwards, mounting the stage and giving a shy wave to the cameras.

I give a brief introduction, consisting of, "hello everyone! My name is Beau Peterson." I don't have much else to say, so I just stand there awkwardly.

"Now for the girls!" The escort announces. "Bella Jewel!"

"I volunteer!" Cervelt immediately calls from the crowd. I remember being brought to the head trainers at the Academy with her to be told we were the chosen tributes this year. I've always had a nagging suspicion that Cervelt doesn't like me very much.

"Excellent!" The escort almost purrs in her strange accent. "What's your name, miss?"

"Cervelt Barron. But please, everyone, get used to calling me the Victor of the 150th Hunger Games!" She flashes a smirk at the cameras.

"Now, please shake hands."

I shake Cervelt's hand, and I can see her try not to cringe as she can visibly feel my sweaty palms. I feel my face go hot with embarrassment.

The escort looks back up to the camera when we're done.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds ever be in your favour!"

In an instant, me and Cervelt are swept away to the Justice Building.

The first people to enter the Justice Building to see me are my parents. They give me an awkward pat on the back and my mother goes on and on about how I'll be strong and make our district proud by coming back as a Victor.

Once they're finally gone— a thought I feel guilty about having— my brother arrives. He smiles as he fishes something out of his pocket.

"Hold out your hand," he says gently.

I do what he says, palm open wide to get ready to hold a pendant or necklace or ring or whatever he's probably about to give me.

Instead, I feel something rough being slipped onto my wrist. I look down at the twig bracelet that he made for me earlier.

"I'll always be with you, little bro, even in the Arena." He grins. "This was the closest thing I had to give to you, other than the clothes off my back, and personally, I don't want to walk around District One naked."

I laugh at that and caress the bracelet on my wrist, before pulling Denim in for a long hug.

"Thanks, Denni. I'll see you soon, it'll only be a matter of weeks before I win."

Even I doubt those words, but it's more to reassure me and Denim than anything.

"Goodbye, Beau," He says finally, before being taken away by the Peacekeepers.

"Goodbye, Denni," I whisper towards the door, even though I know he can't hear me.

Sparks' POV (D3F, 17)

As I'm working on one of my projects, a protective welding helmet covering my face, I hear someone bang on the door of my workshop.

"Sparks! Get out here!"

I huff, standing up. I put my tools down on the workbench I'm currently using and take off the helmet. I wrinkle my nose, not amused that I've been snapped out of my own serene thoughts. I usually hide inside my head to try and ignore the things happening around me, channeling my emotions into my machines.

I stand there for a moment, debating whether I can ignore the voice and go back go my work.

I suppose it is about time for the Reaping, so I should probably hurry up. They'll literally kill me if I don't show up, I think, sighing and walk over to the door.

"Coming!" I call, twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

I hear a yell of pain and I blink slowly, peering behind the door where I've just slammed it on my mother's face.

"Oops."

"Oops?!" My mother says angrily. "Just get to the Reaping. No breakfast for you today," she hisses, inhaling sharply at the pain.

I shrug. It won't be the first time I've messed up and gone without food, so I'm used to it. I frown, walking across the hallway and out the front door. I hope we get another District 3 win this year.

I falter for a moment, taking in my odds. Six slips from age. Six more from mock tessarae my mother forces me to take if I do something particularly stupid. Twelve slips in total— that might actually be the highest number of slips anyone in Three has. It definitely is in our town, at the very least.

I take a deep breath and go back to the safe place in my mind, squashing all the uneasiness and fear I'm feeling down to the pit of my stomach.

The seventeen-year-old girls' section is quiet, much quieter than the sixteens last year. Everyone seems to be holding a collective breath, waiting to see if one of us will get Reaped.

"Sparks?"

"Hey, Ann." We speak in quiet tones so we don't disturb the people around us or make the Peacekeepers mad.

Annie's eyes are wide, filled with anticipation and worry. "Who do you think will get Reaped? I hope they're strong, so they can take home the victory."

I give a small nod.

"What are you going to do after the Reaping?" Annie asks, trying to lighten the mood. "My family will probably have a party. Will you come?"

I frown, shrugging. Maybe I could make some time for her.

"I might be working on an invention, but I'll see what I can do. No way I'm spending tonight with that old hag back home." I wrinkle my nose disdainfully at the thought of my mother.

Annie giggles. "Noted. I'll see you then?"

I nod, backing up and looking up at the stage when the escort starts to speak.

I'm staring at her just in time to see a small piece of paper thrown to the back of the stage. I tilt my head and squint to try and make it out, but it's barely visible anymore.

After her introduction, the escort goes over to the boys' bowl and picks out a name from the top.

"Rusty Lowville!" She announces with a toothy grin.

I see a small, trembling boy mount the stage, glancing behind him with wide eyes, and I sigh. I can tell he won't be this year's Victor.

The escort walks over to the girls' bowl now, and I barely have time to hope I don't get picked before she calls out the name.

"Sparks Ashlock!"

I blink slowly. Me? Did I seriously just get Reaped?

"Okay..." I mutter to myself, taking my deep breath and stepping up the stairs and onto the stage. I try desperately not to let my mind wanders as I turn to face my partner with a stone gaze. He seems to shrink back as I look at him.

"How wonderful!" The escort sighs, her strange, thick Capitolite accent showing as she speaks. "Now, you two, shake hands."

The boy in front of me— I think his name is Rusty or something like that— doesn't move, so I'm forced to extent my hand as far as I can, frowning slightly as he puts his trembling hand in mine. I shake it firmly, then swat his arm away. He recoils quickly.

The escort probably said something about how great Panem is, but I had turned her out at that point and am now being taken away to a large, imposing building by some Peacekeepers.

I learn that it's called the Justice Building— not that I care much. I'm escorted to a small room, where I let myself sit down on a long bench.

I don't expect my mother to come, and she doesn't. The only person who comes to see me is Annie, who has broken down in tears.

"Oh, Sparks!" She says in between sobs. "Why did it have to be you who got Reaped? Why not any other girl in the entire district?!" She hugs me tightly and I reluctantly hug back, patting her shoulder awkwardly.

"Don't say that!" Annie scolds, horrified. "What about me? Your work? Even your mother!"

"What about my mother?" I growl. It comes out more hostile than I intended, and Annie takes a hesitant step back.

"Sorry," I sigh. "But you know how I feel about her. Sure, I'm passionate about my work, but would I really stay alive just to do that? What you don't realize, Annie, is that I'm finally free. I can't go back there now, no matter what happens to me— I don't want to go back there."

Annie gives a respectful nod, and has a pained look on her face as she's taken away by some Peacekeepers.

Once they've all left, I put my head in my hands and try to go back to my happy place.