Allure Beldam, District One female (18)
It's not easy being beautiful. Oh, who am I kidding. It's wonderful being beautiful.
Before I even started my tryout I knew I had it in the bag. All around me were other Academy hopefuls. Most of them just wore their uniforms- generic-looking dark green shirts and athletic shorts. They blurred into one solid mass of boring mediocrity. Others were wearing baggy sweatpants or plain white shirts. Tanzanite was wearing the same outdated outfit she wore just a week ago. I couldn't imagine being that repetitive. Me, I'd picked out my ensemble months in advance. The black panel on my dark purple leggings accentuated my muscles, the planes of my legs, and my signature violet eyes. I'd had them tailored just before the audition. Even a skintight pair of leggings can be customized for the perfect fit. My matching dark purple sports bra gave the illusion that I'd just thrown the outfit on and didn't even know how good it made me look. And it did make me look good.
I allowed myself only a small smile when my name was called. It wouldn't do to look arrogant, even if I deserved to. Before I could take my place in the Games there was the small matter of my audition. There were eight other girls who had a shot at volunteering this year. Three of them were skilled enough that I had to keep an eye on them and one, to be honest, was stronger than I was. But I was the prettiest. That wasn't a question. And I knew my way around my bow and my rapier. All I had to do was do what I did every day and let the council see I was the right choice.
The rapier is a noblewoman's weapon. I loved its slender lines and the way it arced through the air in graceful curves. It was so narrow, so seemingly fragile, and yet, like a dangerous woman, it could kill you before you knew it. Let my victims give thanks that I granted them such a lovely death. I'd planned my routine as meticulously as I'd planned my outfit. My tutor Donna worked with me to put together an intricate choreography that showed both my skills as a fighter but also my inimitable style. I danced across the floor like the priceless flower I was. I was obviously the one to pick to represent One. This is what we are. Refined. Beautiful. Unbeatable.
I ended my routine with a killing strike and pirouetted to wheel around and face the council. I could read on their faces that they knew they'd found their volunteer. Everything about me, from my posture to my makeup, announced my destiny to win the Games and attain adoration. I looked out at the ten impressed faces and waited politely for the interview portion to start.
"Miss Beldam," Versailles, the rapier instructor, began. "What makes you a better choice than all the other qualified candidates?"
"My skills speak for themselves," I replied nonchalantly, smoothing an errant strand of hair. "More than that, I'm an ideal representative. The Hunger Games are a chance for each District to show the very best they have to offer. As we all well know, District One has a unique pride that no other District can match. We're the best our nation has. We need to live up to that. We need someone who exemplifies all the elegance and style of the best District in the nation. You can see that my outside is just as beautiful as my inside. I should be modest but now is hardly the time. You should pick me because, in every way possible, I'm the most attractive option."
Dionysus Bacchus- District One male (17)
It was nice to be at a party for me, even though the reason was kind of sad. I mean, it was exciting that I got picked for the Hunger Games I was riding high off the support and celebration for me. But it was kind of funny I got picked. I trained and all, but I wasn't exactly the greatest thing One had ever seen. I was a good student but not, like, an amazing student. I'd seen better. But then, I'd seen worse. But then, the worse ones all died. But then, most people One sent died, even though we bragged about our statistics. Truth be told it just wasn't that great a year for us. Some years the Academy just doesn't have a very good crop to work with. There were some good ones. I was actually the third pick. Platinum tore a ligament in his knee and then Glitz's mother had a stroke and he dropped out to be her caretaker. That left me.
The official Academy party was already over. It was always a big boring thing where instructors were recognized and given awards and people made long speeches about the importance of the Academy and the bravery of the winners and blah blah. The real party came afterwards, when we gathered at someone's house and did all the things the instructors didn't want us to do even though they did the same thing when they were students. Luxe's parents were at a business conference and they had a ton of alcohol in their basement so he gracefully offered himself as Tribute.
"Shots shots shots shots!"
A dozen riled-up Academy students cheered as I downed another shot of burning liquid. Life is fun without alcohol but it's more fun with alcohol. Careers are pretty much all about short-sighted instant gratification. The instructors can't be mad at us for being exactly like they told us to be. I'd gotten so used to having a few drinks pretty much every day that I felt blah on the days I didn't. And at the party I didn't really have a choice. I was the guest of honor, since Chrysolite wasn't there. She'd been acting weird since a few days before she got picked. Most people thought she was having doubts. Me, I put money on her being pregnant. Why else would she not want all this free alcohol?
It was a good thing Luxe's family had a cleaning woman and he'd already made arrangements with her. Careers like to have fun and parties multiply everything. The house was a wreck and the night wasn't even half-over. But kids will be kids. We're only young once.
A few hours later I realized perhaps there is such a thing as "too much fun". Slumped over a toilet, gross-tasting ooze trailing from my mouth in a thin string, I reflected that I had had enough to drink. Usually I knew my body and caught it before that but sometimes things sneak up on you. You make a mixed drink and pour a little heavily, you don't eat enough before the party… it happens. As long as I wasn't faceup on the floor drowning in my own vomit, it was all good. I'd limp to bed, sleep with my head over the side just in case, and in the morning I'd be fine. I never even got hangovers. I was young and strong.
