Felicity Wellington, 17, D1F - 5:45AM, 01/07/207
Felicity ran through the forest, the canopy providing shade so she didn't overheat. She clutched her notebook tightly, not daring to let it slip from her fingers. The early morning breeze tickled her face, and made her feel alive. It gently brushed the stray curls from her face, and passed through the trees. The leaves waved to Felicity, lives connected by the wind.
She returned their greeting, pretending it was a sign of her sister's presence. She knew it couldn't be, she knew that the towering trunk had no relation to her sister. But Felicity noticed the branches moving in the same way her sister used to dance. Felicity noticed the leaves floating to the ground as her sister would on a particularly difficult day.
Felicity noticed one tree, a bit shorter and thinner than the others. Its bark was not as bold, its fruit not yet ripe. She noticed the pattern on its exterior, just like her smile. Starline's smile. The one she hadn't seen in so long. The image she had craved above all others for two years.
Felicity didn't believe in signs, but she knew from deep within her that this was her sister, and she had come to wish her luck.
She stretched her back against it, sitting cross-legged on a particularly soft patch of grass. Unclenching her hand, she released her notebook and removed the pen she stored in her high ponytail in one swift motion. A strong gust of wind pushed her bouncy blonde curls to the left.
Relaxing her muscles, Felicity explored her notebook, thumbing through the pages to reach one which was empty. The book was filled with scribbles and inky black masses, incomprehensible to anyone but her. Poems and fiction, dreams and tales. Stories of heroes and villains, love and hatred, victory and bitter defeat. Every little thing she picked up on, every minute detail she perceived, she used it for her own self-expression. They made her art more real; a mirror of the world.
As the light streamed in through the leaves, Felicity wrote. Her paintbrush was her pen, which brought to life the image she created in her brain.
She was free.
The chains of her past did not bind her. The overwhelming emotions which flooded her every thought were centralised into something controllable and understandable. Here, writing, she was not trapped by her intense feelings, but she could set them free. They were no longer puppeteering her, but an expressible part of her being.
The story had reached a natural halt, the flow of the river of prose had slowed. Felicity twirled her hair as she pondered where to next take the story. There were two paths the tale could go down. The easy trail, safe and secure, but boring and ultimately meaningless. The difficult trail, steep and rocky. Dangerous and full of heartbreak, but worthwhile if success was achieved.
She had already chosen one in her real life, but reality and fiction are two very different things.
Having reached this roadblock, she checked the time on Starline's old watch. Deciding to train one last time before she left for the Capitol, she popped up from her patch of grass to run home for a quick breakfast.
Before leaving, she caressed the tree trunk. At least here she could bid her sister farewell knowing they would not see each other for a long time.
Eros Vaccaria, 18, D1M - 7:30AM, 01/07/207
Eros made himself some toast and spread on some butter and jam. Nothing too fancy, but the sweet raspberry topping was a treat for a day like today. Reaping Day.
"Morning, morning, time for some theft," a voice announced, walking through the door.
"Gleam, what are you doing?" Eros rolled his eyes as he scarfed down his toast. "Also," he gulped, "you're lucky my parents are working. Be more subtle next time."
"Sorry, sorry, that's my bad. You still on for today's mission?"
"Dude, stop calling it a mission. That's so lame."
"I will call it whatever I want to call it. Give me a higher cut and maybe I'll change my mind."
"Never."
"It's your funeral."
The boys left the dining table and collapsed onto the couch.
"Bro, this couch is nasty. Why don't you fix it?" Gleam asked, picking at the patchy fabric and exposed inner material.
"I, well you see I, uh…" Eros didn't know how to answer Gleam's question. Over their years of theft, he had purposefully avoided that very question. He didn't want one of his only friends to judge him.
"I'm just messing with you. What we do with the money is no one else's business. Let's run over our plan one more time."
Eros breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll go into the Academy, say that I've been chosen instead of Blackwell Delaire." Blackwell Delaire, the most pretentious, upper-class snob in the Academy. He wasn't as skilled as Eros, but he had just edged him out as the Volunteer for this year. And the kid was only 16! Eros knew that he had only been passed over because the Delaires, while not the strongest fighters, made generous donations to the Academy every year, and no one had to guess as to why. "Then, I'll break into his locker and take the wad of cash he keeps in there, grab anyone else's stuff if it's easy to carry, and split it with you. An easy one, but I think we've earned it."
"A bit boring, isn't it? What if I came in through the skylight-"
Eros cut him off. "That's not how we do things. You're brain, I'm brawn. And, also brains."
The pair jogged to the Academy. Its five stories flaunted the intimidating practices that occurred inside its walls as it towered over the boys.
"Give me a signal if someone comes," Eros said, dashing into the building.
He walked up to one of the punching bags and started going for it. Brute force may not have been his strength, but the jealousy and resentment he felt in that moment more than made up for it.
How could Blackwell be selected for the Games instead of him? This was his future, his reason for being. Coming from the poorer section of District One, the area most people ignored, he was never a priority. His parents pushed him past the limit so he could save the family name. Then all of that was taken away from him because the heir of the Delaire fortune had joined the Academy. Never mind that his failures would have kicked anyone else out of the Academy by the age of 12, he was the rich darling of One. Everyone had to cater to each of his desires. And he wasn't the only one.
The wealthy children of the Academy were the cream of the crop, perfection. They would spend the most time with trainers, be put on specialised paths in advance, while those from more desperate families lagged behind. The wealth disparity was clearest in the Academy. Even when he snuck into mansion parties to steal from One's elite, Eros was never as much of an outcast as he was in the Academy, even when he accidentally let slip he was poor.
The door creaked open, and Eros heard Gleam make a poor imitation of a bird's call.
Felicity Wellington, the selected female tribute for One, came through the door. She was the only rich kid in the Academy he didn't hate with a burning passion. When she realised he didn't have much money, she would give him some money and jewellery he could resell, albeit not very discreetly. He admired her for her generosity, and as such he could tolerate her intense emotions.
"Hey, Eros!" she said.
"'Sup, Eros," another voice echoed. Eros recognised him immediately.
Blackwell.
Felicity Wellington, 17, D1F - 8:00AM, 01/07/207
Felicity greeted Eros and she immediately realised something was off. The hatred radiating from him towards Blackwell was palpable.
"How nice to see you, Blackwell." His voice was coated in sarcasm as he held in the urge to strangle the younger boy.
"Likewise." Felicity wasn't exactly sure why or how this rivalry was built, but she suspected it was because Eros wasn't chosen to be this year's Volunteer. While she thought Eros was a better fighter, Blackwell was far more charming. She knew he would be a strong leader of the Main Alliance and melt the hearts of the Capitolites who would potentially sponsor them.
"I was just wondering why you were training so soon before the Games? After all, it's not like you were chosen, were you? Oh, that's right. The Victors and trainers unanimously voted for me because I'm better than you." She had never seen this side of Blackwell before. He wasn't the funny, flirty guy she knew. This person was egocentric and bratty, and held his position over everyone else's head. Felicity began to feel uncomfortable that she would have to work with this Blackwell for the coming weeks. If he had hidden this side of himself, what else had he been hiding.
"Oh, I was just… training before talking to the Victors."
"I'm sure their priority isn't you. What could they possibly want to talk to a lowlife like you about?"
"Becoming a trainer," Eros responded, his voice wavering, but barely.
"Why," Blackwell eyed him, "you?"
"You know I'm eighteen. No more Games for me. Of course, being the person from this class with the highest success rate among the younger trainees, not to mention almost being accepted into the Games, I'm the obvious option now Jamie's retiring." Felicity saw through this lie, though she had to admit it was well thought out. Blackwell wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and his dim witted nature gave the exchange an entertaining edge for her.
"Jaime's retiring?"
"I'm sorry, that's your priority?" Felicity had to cut in, even though it wasn't necessary. She had reached a certain point with Blackwell that day that made him unbearable.
"Yes," the boys answered in unison, before glaring at each other.
"I'm going to the lockers, you two enjoy each other's company," Eros said.
"I'm going to cardio. See you at the Reaping!" Felicity said, before bolting up the stairs to escape the awkward situation.
Eros Vaccaria, 18, D1M - 9:00AM, 01/07/207
Eros had dropped the loot off at home before going to the heart of District 1. He got his blood taken, and went to the section reserved for eighteen-year-olds.
He waited in his section, thinking about what had already happened that day. It wasn't fair that he was a stronger tribute than Blackwell in every conceivable way.
His insatiable ambition overpowered him to such a great extent that it gave him an idea. What if he Volunteered for the Games before Blackwell? There was no one more deserving than him. Eros wanted that glory at any cost. If - no, when - he won, he would be able to revolutionise the Academy system. People like him wouldn't be dismissed so quickly. He would bring honour to his family name. He would prove himself superior to Blackwell in an instant. He would win the Hunger Games.
The escort's words were meaningless noise to Eros, a backing track while he plotted to pull the rug from under Blackwell for the first time in his life.
"Time to select your female tribute, District One!" the escort, Flo Adrenalina, exclaimed. Her hand, dyed shades of pastel pink and purple with lines of gold, reached into the bowl. "Katie Shimmer!" she shouted.
"I Volunteer!" Felicity yelled, strutting up to the stage, her strawberry blonde ponytail bouncing behind her.
"You must be Felicity Wellington, is that right? I am so excited to see you in the Arena!"
"So am I! I think I'll put on a show for you all," she said, winking at the camera filming her.
"Now for the boys!"
Flo plunged her hand into the large glass bowl once more, pulling out a slip of paper.
Eros braced himself, preparing to beat his rival to the two words that would change their lives.
Flo read out the name on the paper. "Blackwell Delaire! Come on up here!"
"I Volunteer!" Eros shouted, marching up to the stage before Blackwell could even move.
"Well, who might you be, sir."
"My name is Eros Vaccaria, and I am your male tribute for District One!" he announced to the audience.
"What?" Felicity yelped, taken aback.
Eros nudged her, hoping she would take the hint and not give away that he wasn't meant to be on the stage.
"What luck do I have to get such a marvellous district partner?" she asked rhetorically, understanding the signals he was giving her immediately and hyping up the audience.
"Congratulations then, to your tributes for District One in the 97th Hunger Games: Felicity Wellington and Eros Vaccaria!"
After the pair waved to the audience, as they walked backstage, Felicity and Flo said in unison, "What did you do, Eros?"
A/N: Hey! So somehow I finished this chapter really quickly! Don't expect it, judging by my track record, I'll next update in three months. How did we like those tributes? A big thank you to MeTheFanatic19 for Felicity and TheWatcherOfTheVoid for Eros. I took a couple of liberties, but I hope I did them justice nonetheless! Please drop a review if you can, but don't feel forced if you can't. Thanks for reading!