Author's Note
I do not own the Hunger Games.
St Clarance woke them early the next morning, banging on the door and shouting. "Come on, come on, get up up up! You need to be ready in an hour and there's so much to do!"
Luciente looked at Hyperion.
He looked back and deliberately closed his eyes.
They napped for another five minutes before St Clarance came charging into the room to pester them.
"You can't still be sleeping! You have your Private Sessions this morning, and then you must be prepared for your interviews this evening."
Of course.
Interviews.
Joy.
That was going to be the hardest part.
They were hunters, scavengers, creatures from the shadows, and tonight they were going to have the eyes of the nation on them.
What could possibly go wrong?
They showered slowly, and ate breakfast slower, wearing their soft training clothes.
This would be their last day.
Tomorrow they would be launched into the arena.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, kids would start dying.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, they might die.
Tomorrow.
It was close, too close, too close, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it.
Luciente smiled. "You should worry less. All will be fine."
They were going to be free.
St Clarance bustled them from their apartment and through to a waiting room off the side of the training hall. Most of the other tributes were already there; the pair from Two and the boy from Twelve were not. They took the chairs labelled for them and waited.
Once the three remaining tributes arrived, a man with shocking blue hair and purple eyes came out to speak with them. "Tributes of the Ninety Fourth Hunger Games! You are to wait here until your name and District are called. Once you enter the hall, you will have ten minutes to impress the Gamemakers using any skill you possess. The scores you receive for this may help or hinder your sponsorship."
"Yada yada yada," muttered the girl from Two.
"Wait here until you are called through."
The boy from One went first, five minutes later, and swaggered out ten minutes after that, a smirk plastered across his face.
Next was the girl from One. She was an odd one, when they'd seen her in training she barely seemed to know how to hold a weapon despite being a Career.
The boy from Two was called through after her.
They were in for a long wait.
As tributes entered the hall and came out to leave those waiting shifted, clustering into their alliances. Shelley and Azrayk spoke quietly, but he and Luciente remained quiet, as did Nathaniel.
Finally Nathaniel was called in. He came out looking anxious and uncomfortable. Shelley was next. That left them with just Azrayk.
"You know they're going to ask during the interviews," he said.
"Ask what?" Luciente replied.
"How it comes that both of you got reaped. I mean, I'm not saying they rigged it, but… What are the odds?"
The odds were low.
The odds had always been low.
But the odds had always been there, too, and this had always been coming.
Azrayk was the last of their allies to enter the hall, coming out again less than ten minutes later. His District partner was next, and then it was his turn.
She gave him one last smile as he stepped through the doors.
He didn't spare the Gamemakers a look, instead heading straight for the spears and stepping into the ring with the trainers.
He lost, but that wasn't the point.
Done with that, he selected one of the weaponised slingshots.
The projectiles drove deep into the target, shot after shot.
There were a few murmurs.
He slid one of the arrows into place. Luciente had grown better with these over the last three days, but he could still fire straight. The first shot drove deep into the stomach of the dummy used for spear practise. Not what he was aiming for. The second hit true, driving through the skull.
There were a few wide shots, but more flew true, driving into the dummies time and again.
Finally the buzzer went off and he was dismissed. She took his place. Unlike him, she did not go for the weapons. Or the survival stations. She sat down, square in the middle of the training hall, crossed her legs and closed her eyes.
After a few minutes a speaker came to life. "Miss Ripley, you are required to show the Gamemakers a selected talent."
She didn't even flinch.
Her time passed, and the buzzer dismissed her.
St Clarance guided them both back to the District Ten apartment. "You'll see your scores this afternoon. You need to be preparing for the interviews."
They followed him back up to the District Ten apartment.
Neither of them spoke.
It felt unreal, he thought, but then half their life had felt unreal, like they weren't quite here, weren't quite like other people, ghosts like the ones she saw sometimes, trying to navigate a society not quite intended for the likes of them.
Meadow and Holden had already spoken about the interviews and what they thought would be best. Apparently the Capitol already knew what it wanted from them, and they were expected to dance to the tune.
She would not, but then she rarely did anything expected or demanded of her.
"Play up your killing of him. Be confident, smile," Meadow said.
"But absolutely don't tell them all the bloody details. That'd be a way to get yourself cut off," Holden advised.
As if he wanted to tell them all the bloody details.
Most days and nights he didn't want to remember how it felt himself, the crunch of bone, the warm coppery wetness of blood splattering across his face.
"They want to see you as a monster. Make yourself human."
That was going to be a problem.
They weren't human.
They were ghosts, coyotes, wild animals screaming at the moon.
Meadow moved on to Luciente. "Now, you're going to have an easier time of it. All you have to do is show them yourself, and how much you love your brother. You're not afraid of him, which means people are going to want to see love and devotion and tears. Remember, this is your best shot to earn sponsors."
"We're not going to perform for them like fucking puppets!" he snapped.
Meadow smiled. "What do you think the interviews are? They're a performance. You play the game, or those that will get favoured over you."
