Lanson Cartwright, 18
District Twelve Male
It's a cold morning the day of the Reapings in Twelve - not that it would have affected how many people were out in the morning, the district was tense enough as it was with the thought of another reapings - but Lanson is surprised to see frost dancing up the side of his window as he slips on a pair of shoes and walks to the door. It doesn't get this cold in Twelve in the spring, the temperature is always warm enough to let wildflowers bloom in the small meadow to the edge of the district as the town prepares for summer.
At least, it usually doesn't get this cold. Not this year.
He grabs his best coat for good measure, a mosaic of green and brown patches that his mother has faithfully stitched to the side of the coat. It's made of thin material, but it's better than nothing on a day like this. But he knows that he's luckier than others. Some teens in his class sell their jackets in the spring to get another plate of food onto the table.
"Will today be the day to say goodbye to this place?" he asks himself. Sure, speaking to himself is weird, but no one cares on a day like today. People have been jumping at the sight of their own shadow for the past month. And no one ever minds if someone has odd tendencies in District Twelve - all you have to do to stay hidden in the crowd is get your work done quietly and not speak up against the authorities.
It's simple enough. Some of his classmates laugh at him for being anxious at times like these and how Lanson overreacts to whatever's worrying him that day in school, but it doesn't matter in the long run. What District Twelve focuses on, first and foremost, is survival. Prejudice is merely a runner-up.
His parents are still eating the rest of their lunch, but Lanson ate early and is ready to head to the square. He always likes to get in before the rush - there's no use in getting caught in the crowd and wasting time standing to get checked in when he can get in early, linger in the square, and be ready for the Reapings. He doesn't mind the long time it takes to get all of District Twelve into the small square.
After all, it helps him find the best place to not be noticed by the cameras.
As he walks into town and past the merchant shops, all closed up for the Reapings, his friends appear on the street and wave at Lanson. He scrambles to catch up to them both, and they fall into an easy pace to the square.
"Do you think that we'll have a new escort this year, or if it'll be the same one as last year?" Joan asks, grinning at the two boys walking by her side. "I'm hoping for the one from last year who decided that it would be a good idea to come in that wig. How much glue do you think that they have to use to make sure that it sticks upon their head? It can't be their natural hair, can they?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if we have Arbor again this year," Merrill says quietly. Despite being one of the few merchant kids who bother to interact with kids from the Seam, all blond hair and pale skin, he's quiet enough to blend in with any crowd. Whenever he does decide to speak up, most look up in surprise. They're not used to hearing Merrill talk when he isn't spoken to. "Although whatever coal he managed to smear all over that suit so he could 'match the district' might have choked up his lungs enough to net us a new escort."
Lanson snickers. "I'm guessing that we're going to have Arbour again. It's not like he's done anything wrong enough to get kicked out the position, right? And District Twelve did well last year, with the two making it to the final ten."
They all pause, remembering the tributes from last year. Sure, Moon had never been the most stable, but she was from their district and that was enough to garner their respect. And Bernard?
He was just a little kid, someone who wanted to come home and have a chance to have a childhood. He died with two tributes standing between him and that dream.
After passing by another street of shops closed up and the homes above them bustling with parents helping the youngest in their families to dress up for the Reapings, the three reach the town square and get into the line for checking in. It isn't long, with only three or four people getting their blood sampled and walking into the square before it's Lanson's turn. He holds his arm out, grimaces at the sting, and then walks to the back of the square. The part where the eighteen-year-olds is marked out in chalk, and he finds a spot in the left to stand in as more start to flow into the square.
As Merrill and Jean get checked in and find their own spots to stand, the square gets louder with the hum of families standing in line before filing into the square. Lanson enjoys watching the rest of his district find their own places. There's something fascinating about watching others, eavesdropping on conversations and snatching tidbits of information about lives that aren't his own. It's a strange feeling, but a good one.
Then he adjusts his position, finding a spot behind a tall merchant boy to wait until the reapings begin. There, now he won't be seen by any cameras.
The pre-ceremony passes quickly. Lanson pretends not to yawn when the short film explaining why the districts deserved to be put in the Hunger Games began, then adjusts his patchwork coat to lie on his shoulders as the escort - Arbor again, this time in some green suit that looks like the withered trees that grow under the coal dust of District Twelve - reaches his hand into the girl's bowl.
After a merchant girl is reaped and reacts poorly, scratching at the hand of the mayor and stepping on the escort's foot before two peacekeepers grab her arms and haul her over to the right of the stage. Merrill, standing next to Lanson, taps his shoulder, but Lanson ignores him. He's listening to Arbor clumsily attempt to crack a joke in light of the fact that he's bringing these kids back to the Capitol to play in the Hunger Games, and he wants to hear who'll be going to the Capitol this year.
Only a few more seconds, and Lanson will be safe from the Hunger Games for the rest of his life. It feels good.
Yes, it feels good to be free indeed.
Lanson's worldview will be rudely interrupted by Twelve's escort in ten... nine... eight...
Another intro! Hurrah! I'm still making my way through this story - I've written myself all the way to the final four chapters of the story by now because I am obsessed with stockpiling - and I have a lot in store for you guys! For now, however, I hope you're pleased with our ninth intro. Four more to go!
How was Lanson? Any interesting observations? Anything you want to say? Do you merely want to lurk and read? I'm good with anything y'all do because even just reading is amazing, but I hope you enjoyed this! I'm excited to get to the Capitol soon :D
Enjoy. Until our tenth intro, TheAmazingJAJ