There seemed to be a lot of people in the crowd. Saoirse was standing with her brother and sister and pretending she wasn't worried. She knew now that fifty six slips was about normal - there was a boy in her hairdressing class who had over three hundred, and he treated it like a badge of honour. He felt he'd earned those slips by being the son of the gamemaker who had designed the mutts used at the end of the seventy-fourth games. Saoirse had never liked him. He was standing across from them now, smirking and waving to any girl who caught his eye. Saoirse almost hoped he got picked. Idiot.
It was a bright, sunny day and the three Rudolphine siblings were standing in the full sun. Saoirse wished she'd thought about that when they'd tried to get a position near the front so they could see what was going on. With almost eight hundred children here, the square felt oddly claustrophobic, and when she tried to move into the shade, she realised they were too closely packed to be able to move more than a few inches in any direction. It was a scary thought, so she made herself think about something useful. Her hair, that was always worth thinking about. Each child had dyed theirs a different colour so they'd look their best for the reapings - Saoirse's was a cheerful shade of candy pink, Lyssa's was bright green and Victor had chosen dark purple. Hopefully the colours wouldn't fade as a result of being exposed to the strong sunlight. There just wasn't the money to choose a new colour every couple of weeks like there used to be.
Having expected a well-dressed, attractive escort the girl was surprised when an old man dressed in simple clothes stepped into the stage. He started to talk, introduced himself as Eller Bright, representative for District Five, and already Saoirse had tuned his voice out. Lyssa had begged a stick of bubble gum from another girl and was blowing large blue bubbles, much to Victor's amusement and he jumped and tried to pop them. The man droned on about these being the final games, and how the surviving victors had voted by a majority to hold them. Blah, blah, blah. Saoirse nudged them both to pay attention as the old man crossed to the reaping bowl.
"The female District Five tribute representative is... Saoirse Rudolphine!"
There was silence. Saoirse heard her name, but it didn't seem to belong to her. Neither did her legs, which felt shaky and numb, or her eyes, which couldn't seem to focus on anything. Why had the man read her name out? Couldn't he have picked someone else instead? Saoirse remembered now how much she hated being singled out for attention; how she tried not to be called out to demonstrate a new style of eyebrow jewellery in front of the class and the time she'd pretended to be ill when it was her turn to read out her essay on Capitol architecture.
"Don't just stand there, idiot!" It wasn't until Lyssa elbowed her sharply in the ribs that she remembered what she had to do now. Strangely, the crowd had parted to allow her a clear path up to the stage, and she wondered vaguely how they all knew her name. She walked slowly, remembering that crying would be shown on the recaps later, that she shouldn't look frightened and she should act like this was a great honour...
Saoirse had always liked the tributes who claimed being reaped or volunteering was a great honour. They had seemed brave and clever to her, special so that she wanted to be like them. On that interminable walk to the stage, they suddenly seemed incredibly stupid. She suddenly realised that they didn't stand and stare silently out into the crowd because they were brave or clever. They did it because their minds had somehow stopped working and they couldn't think what else to do. The old man spoke to her, and somehow she managed to say her name into the microphone, to tell everyone how it was spelt, because nobody ever imagines that "Saw-sha" is spelt with an a, o and i in the middle. Even more blessedly she managed to stop talking before her voice cracked and she started to cry. Lyssa grinned and waved, as if she still thought it was a huge game. Mr Bright asked if there were any volunteers in a voice that sounded as if he didn't expect anyone, then patted her on the shoulder in what felt like it could have been a sympathetic fashion before he moved over to the boy's reaping bowl.
"The male tribute representative is... Argon Skymark!"
There was another hush and a boy would couldn't have been more than eight or nine years old made his way slowly towards the stage. At first Saoirse thought he was just scared, then she realised he was walking with an ornate cane. Perhaps he'd been injured during the final days of the Capitol siege, during that horrible time when Mum had kept them all indoors with the curtains drawn and there hadn't been enough to eat. Saoirse could still taste the cold tinned potatoes they'd shared on the day before the rebellion ended...
The old man held out a hand to help Argon up the steps, almost lifting him onto the stage (Saoirse noted in a vague, faraway manner that he must be stronger, and perhaps younger than he looked to be able to do that) and asking his name as he had with Saoirse. Then, in the same resigned voice he asked for volunteers, clearly expecting no response.
"I von'teer as tribute!"
A lone voice, very young, sounding excited and delighted as if this was the best game that could possibly be played. Two gasps of "No!" one from Saoirse herself and one from her mother as they both realised that the volunteer was little Victor, dancing happily to the stage and climbing up all by himself even though he had to lift his knees almost to waist height to mount the steps one at a time. He stood on tiptoe in his eagerness to speak into the microphone.
"I'm Victor Rudolphine and I'm six years and three months old and now that boy doesn't have to play games with his poorly leg and I'm going to play the games with my big sister!"
Saoirse remembered that she wasn't supposed to cry, but her nose was stinging and prickling, and even with her jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, she couldn't prevent the tears that trickled down her cheeks.
They were escorted into a nearby building that smelled of paper and cleaning fluid and taken to a small room. Saoirse was still gripping her brother's hand tightly to make sure he didn't wander off anywhere, and her mind was racing. She had watched the games since she was four years old, but they never showed what happened right after the reapings. It wasn't until Mum came into the room and scooped Victor up in her arms that a surprising thought hit her for the first time. The relatives that were interviewed for the final eight each year must really be related to the tributes. They actually loved them and cared for them. That was followed by another thought, that if they weren't actors, then all the tributes must have families who loved them. That was...kind of sad. Saoirse wasn't sure if -
"If you don't come back I'm getting a room all to myself again!"
Saoirse glared at her sister. Once upon a time they'd been close, but since the fall of the Capitol and poor President Snow things had been different. Lyssa hated having to share a bedroom and was even more annoyed that she had to wear clothes that Saoirse had grown out of while Saoirse still got bought new clothes. The fact that Saoirse had had precisely one new dress and one new pair of shoes in the past eight months, both of which she was wearing today, didn't lessen the rift between them. Swann Rudolphine crossed to the girls and sat down on the squashy sofa. Victor immediately scrambled into her lap.
"Mum, if Saoirse doesn't win can I have her make up?"
Saoirse couldn't help herself. She slapped Lyssa across the face with a shriek and stormed away, though she couldn't go far because the door was closed and when she tried to open it, it felt like someone was holding it from the outside. Her eyes were stinging again, but there was no way she was going to give Lyssa the satisfaction, not while she was pretending to sob and trying to push Victor out of their mother's lap. She clung to the door handle with both hands as she took three deep breaths, like they'd learnt to do in beauty class because it helped you prepare for your first leg wax. Helped you feel calm and tell yourself that it wouldn't hurt. Saoirse told herself very firmly that it didn't hurt at all as she turned round.
"Mum, I love you and I...I promise I'll look after Victor. And...and you can give Lyssa everything, because I don't care about stuff like that anymore..." she had to stop and take another deep breath, but that was good, because she remembered a bit of what was supposed to happen next, and she actually managed a creditable smirk "Don't you remember what happens next, Lyssa? Tributes get new clothes and shiny new apartments to stay in, and whatever food they like. You can keep all my OLD stuff." Her younger sister let out a shriek and started to storm towards her, but years of being sisters meant Saoirse was able to dodge around her and dart over to their mother.
"I mean it, Mum. We're going to be okay. We'll..." she thought hard "we'll get lots of sponsors because everyone will think we're pretty, and we'll get lots of allies and...and we'll see you soon, okay?"
Saoirse didn't believe much of what she was saying, but she hoped with every fibre of her being that at least some of it was true. She knew there were things that came after looking pretty and making allies, but she wasn't going to let herself think about that now, because that was going to be the scary part. At the very least, as her mother burst into tears and pulled all three of her children into a fierce hug, she'd wiped that rotten smirk off her sister's face.
There weren't many children in the square reserved for the District Seven representatives. A couple of hundred, perhaps. Jupiter noted with relief that most of them were older than him; the youngest kid looked about eight, and she was clinging to the hand of a girl at least a foot taller than she was. He hated this, hated everything about it, but at least he wasn't going to have to watch a sobbing six year old climb up onto the stage. If you could even call it a stage, he thought as he looked at the plinth that had formerly held a statue of Athena. Mother had called her a goddess, but she hadn't really known what that meant, just that it was what her grandmother had told her.
The statue was gone now; the rubble long since cleared away and the only remnants left an inch or so of something that might once have represented sandals. The woman who introduced herself claimed to be the wife of the former mayor of District Seven. She looked tired, worn and sad, and Jupiter wondered how much she'd suffered in the war. He had a lot of thoughts like that, these days. Even the other kids at the home who bullied him - he couldn't bring himself to hate them, not knowing that they'd lost their parents as well...and really lost them, to death or disease, not just to incarceration in a faraway district.
"The female tribute representative for District Seven is Aspen Ambrose!"
Jupiter scanned the crowd of girls, surprised when a pretty, smiling girl with a butterfly painted on one side of her face waved to the woman and called out that she was coming, not to worry. Was he imagining things, or were her words slightly indistinct? She was no eighteen year old in with a chance of winning, that was for sure. Jupiter assumed she was the same age as him, only... more innocent. She mounted the stage and immediately asked whether her Mum was allowed to play the games with her, adding that Mum had said there were rules, but she wanted to ask anyway, just in case.
The mayor's wife looked sadder than ever, and without prompting, Aspen hugged her. There were a few scattered sniggers from somewhere in the crowd, but mostly there was silence.
And then Jupiter's name was called, and he felt sadness and resignation and he closed his ears to the shouts of "traitor boy" and blinked hard so he wouldn't cry when he stood up there and faced everyone.
His voice sounded strange and young when he repeated his name into the microphone, like the voice of a child, and it came as a shock, because most days he felt far older than eleven. He felt like he'd lived a whole lifetime already, and now with a nasty jolt Jupiter remembered that he was just a little boy, but he didn't cry, even if he couldn't think of anything else to say. And then, unexpectedly there was a warm hand in his own and Aspen was introducing herself and asking if he wanted to be her friend, and bizarrely, Jupiter felt as if being reaped for these games might just be the best thing that had ever happened to him.
"It's not your fault what your mother was."
Jupiter looked up in surprise. The matron of his childrens' home wasn't his only visitor, but she was the only one who'd been allowed into the room with him. The chanting crowd of his tormentors who had followed him in here and been stopped at the doorway. From in here, the usual cries of 'traitor boy' were muted. Jupiter could almost pretend they weren't really there, like the soundtrack of a TV show.
"I mean it. You're not a bad kid. And you always volunteered to clean out the toilet, that's more than I can say for any of the others"
Jupiter's mind raced, came to the only possible conclusion, and he let out a shocked giggle as he realised the other kids had 'volunteered' him. All this time he'd assumed Matron was using it as a form of punishment. He felt almost fond of the woman at that moment. "Thanks, Miss White. I guess... this is goodbye then" he said, solemnly offering a handshake.
"Maybe. I read about the first games. None of the kids were trained that year. Maybe you've got a chance" she shrugged, and even gave his hand a squeeze as she held it a fraction longer than convention dictated.
Jupiter sat down in the armchair and swung his legs thoughtfully after the woman had left. He actually felt a little better.
A scream rent the air in the District Nine square. One hundred and ninety three girls breathed a sigh of relief that they were going to be safe as a plump, olive-skinned girl with faded blue hair sank to her knees in terror. The peacekeepers were almost gentle as they lifted her to her feet and escorted her to the stage where she continued to have hysterics and beg for her Daddy to rescue her. There was a pause while the escort stared at her, undecided. Maizie Miller, daughter of District Nine's only female victor Abundance Harper, wanted to hate her mother's namesake. As the girl continued to sob though, instead she put a hand briefly on her shoulder as she called for volunteers, quietly, so as not to raise any hope. An uncomfortable silence was broken only by a few whispers, and she crossed to the other side of the stage.
"Bastion Indigo!"
As the girl continued to sob, a boy in his mid teens approached the stage. He looked terrified and ready to throw up, but was at least managing to hold himself together enough to walk unaided. Maizie wished she was somewhere - anywhere - else as the boy introduced himself, and then in the same quiet tones she asked for volunteers.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
Three heads jerked up in surprise from the stage and there were murmurings around the square as a young man approached. Clearly he was still young enough to be reaped, barely, but he was close to six feet tall, well-built and surprisingly calm. At least he would have a sporting chance of lasting past the first five minutes. He gave his name as Richmond Halifax, nodded briefly to the relieved Bastion who scuttled gratefully offstage and whispered something to Abundance that had her looking up at him with a kind of desperate hope in her eyes.
That hope lasted right until she threw herself into her Daddy's arms in the waiting room and they sobbed together in a way that felt exactly like they were saying goodbye.
Most of the people standing in the small holding area for District Thirteen were either bemused or irritated. Right up until the moment he was reaped, Arctic Corbin fell into the former category. The people at the justice building had been very polite and had listen to his request, and had agreed that it was very unfortunate that in another month he would be too old to participate anyway. Even though they had done nothing, he truly believed that his proactive approach would have worked in his favour and they would just forget to put his name into the reaping system.
Apparently it hadn't worked, he thought, heart sinking as he walked into the area where the escort was standing. District Thirteen was such an afterthought that there was no stage here, just a couple of steps up to a kind of platform where a scared-looking fifteen year old called Laurana Pinkerton stood in a ballgown that would have been stunning when it was new. He took the girl's hand when prompted and wondered vaguely why she cringed away from him.
"Will you visit the justice building again? Just in case?"
Arctic still sounded calm, but he didn't feel that way. Logically, he knew that he was probably the eldest tribute and would have decent odd, but for one thing.
"Of course we will" Dad assured him "We're famous, the public won't stand for this. You'll be home by tomorrow afternoon and..."
"Don't lose who you are" Pops interrupted, tearful, and suddenly Arctic was struggling not to cry as he was pulled into a sudden hug.
"I'm not going to kill anyone, if that's what you mean. I promise..." he whispered fiercely.
Pops always was the emotional one, pulling off his wedding ring and pressing it into Arctic's hand. Then he broke down entirely, his voice thick with tears. "What if we never see you again?"
"I'll..." Arctic didn't know what to say. He'd been raised a pacifist, and the mere thought of hurting someone made him feel ill.
"You'll do what you have to do, and remember we're proud of you and we love you no matter what" said Dad fiercely, and after that there didn't seem to be anything left to say.
A/N: So here are my favourites, whose viewpoints you'll be seeing the most of throughout the games prep and beyond. Next chapter you'll see the rest of the tributes as one of the main characters watches the televised reapings. Hope you're enjoying this as much as I am!