The rainwater is cold against her skin. Theia dips her cupped hand into the puddle again, closing her eyes as she splashes the water against her face, palms rubbing at her cheeks and fingernails scraping against her forehead as she tries to rid her skin of dirt and grime.
She can feel her cheeks flushing, and it's not only against the cold. No matter how many times they do this, Theia will never not find it just the tiniest bit embarrassing. In the houses around them, there are no doubt kids their age having warm baths or showers. Even in the slums, siblings crowded into rusted metal bathtubs, it's less dehumanising. Theia hasn't been to school in years but she can still hear the laughter of the other girls ringing in her ears. If they thought she was poor then, they'd have an absolute hoot if they could see her now.
Even the thought makes her shiver slightly, water dripping off of the tip of her chin and onto the front of her shirt. Theia rolls back onto her heels, staring down at her rippling reflection to try and gauge if she's clean enough. After scrubbing her arms as best as she can, Theia finally straightens up. A furtive glance around the abandoned rail yard reveals nobody else but her brother, though Theia can't shake the feeling of embarrassment. She rakes a hand through her curls as she walks over to the small campfire Abraxas has going, and tries not to think about the girls on the playground and what they would think of her now.
Theia has never considered herself particularly caught up in what others think of her - that's a slippery slope when you're a street urchin - but for some reason she just can't shake them.
"Kiran's still sleeping," Abraxas says. "I'll wake him up once breakfast is ready."
"I vote you wake him up never," Theia yawns, sitting down on one of the plastic oil drums. "He's going to be particularly annoying today."
"He's always particularly annoying, T."
Theia smiles, holding out her mess tin for Abraxas to scoop a portion of scrambled eggs into. She'd gone without dinner last night in favour of their younger brother but, thankfully, if they were short this morning, it would be Abraxas's turn to go hungry. Are they spoiling Kiran? Maybe. But a hungry ten-year-old isn't easy to wrangle and, though the boy can talk them out of almost any situation, Theia would rather not have to run from the peacekeepers after he tries to steal food from the bakery.
You would think that Kiran spending more than half of his life on the streets would drum something into him. Apparently not.
Where Theia and Abraxas have an aversion, Kiran has a taste for trouble. And if they're not able to nip it in the bud soon, he'll end up getting in a situation that he can't talk himself out of. That Abraxas can't punch their way through. That Theia can't find a solution to.
It scares Theia more than she would like to admit - her baby brother at the mercy of the peacekeepers who wouldn't know actual mercy if it smacked them in the face. But that might be a lesson that he needs to learn himself; Theia and Abraxas learned it over and over in those first few months, nine and eleven respectively, tugging a four year old along behind them, with no idea of how to keep themselves alive. She isn't entirely sure how they made it through that first winter, but it got easier from then as the two oldest grew wise to the workings of the streets.
Abraxas has told her many times that Kiran has to figure it all out himself, but as she watches the curly-headed boy emerge from the abandoned train car he was sleeping in, bleary-eyed and gap-toothed, her heart twinges.
There has to be a better way to curb his behaviour than letting the peacekeepers beat it out of him.
"Mornin' T!" Kiran's voice is practically a shout, even though he's only half awake. She scolds him gently, pressing a finger to his lips. "Sorry," he murmurs around a mouthful of eggs, his eyes looking her up and down. "You look clean this morning."
She gestures to the ground. "It rained last night."
"Lucky for us," Abraxas says. "I'll help you clean up once you've finished your breakfast."
"I'm not dirty!"
Abraxas and Theia laugh. "Sure you aren't," she says. "But we've got to be practically gleaming for the Capitol. If we get fined today, we won't have enough money for extra beans and rice tonight."
The tradition in District Five of giving money for luck would never get old. Combining it with heavy crowds, and the Sonnens's wandering hands, Reaping Day makes for a considerable uptick in their finances year after year.
They're not foolish with the money, though, a good portion of it is stashed away for emergencies - money that has come in handy more than once - and though they always feast on Reaping Day night, it's never expensive food. Only larger quantities of what they already survive on.
There's no point in splurging on food you can only get a taste for once or twice every year. Hunger is awful, but Theia thinks that cravings might be worse.
But tonight nobody will have to go without; there will be enough beans and rice to fill them all up. Maybe even some leftovers they can eat tomorrow. And Kiran will be placated; an hour or two of pickpocketing squarely under his belt. Enough adrenaline to keep him going.
It doesn't take long for Theia to finish her meal. There's a permanent sort of hunger clawing at her insides, but she's just grateful that it's quelled a little. She leaves her brothers arguing at the campfire, skirting around the edge of the train car to grab the dress she and Abraxas had draped out of one of the broken windows to dry after scrubbing at the stains this morning.
It hadn't completely worked, but the dress was clean enough for Theia. Hopefully for the peacekeepers, too. Last year she had been fined for a stain on her dress and if that happens again this year, she will be more than peeved. What does it even matter? Theia will be hiding in a crowd for the majority of the reaping, her hands dipping into any pockets and handbags she can find.
Theia lucks out a little bit, with the majority of the other girls' money tucked into socks and shoes rather than pockets, but Abraxas and Kiran can pick up where she slacks. Abraxas is the best pickpocket that Theia has ever known and Kiran isn't too shabby either. She's always maintained that she isn't too good at the actual stealing; scheming is her talent, and she was the one to pitch the idea of stealing the good luck money in the first place. To her, it's a no brainer.
The bottom of the skirt is still damp when Theia pulls the dress on. She wrinkles her nose a little at the uncomfortable feeling of it against her skin, but there's nothing they can do. By the time that they've headed to the reaping, it will likely be dry anyway. Theia just has to stomach it for now.
"Abbie, you're hurting me!" Kiran's cry echoes through the train yard.
Theia rushes around to see what's happening, heart hammering in her chest.
"Really?" She asks when she rounds the corner, and Kiran is sniffling as Abraxas tries to comb through his hair. She huffs loudly. "I thought something was wrong. You know it wouldn't hurt as much if you combed your hair everyday, right? Like Abs and I both tell you to."
Kiran doesn't give her a response, crossing his arms across his chest whilst Abraxas tugs the comb through a knot. As soon as he's done with Kiran, Theia claims the comb for herself, dragging it through her own curls which she ties into a low ponytail. If they had more time, Abraxas might have offered to braid it for her but they're cutting it close as it is.
They've learned not to trust the reaping horn; leaving the train yards at that time never works out in their favour. They've never been punished for being late, but it's not worth the dirty looks and the stares. Being early means more time and more money, anyway.
They climb the hill out of the abandoned rail yard with practiced ease, and join the few families starting their trek. She watches with mournful eyes as mothers hug their children close to them, whispering comforts into their hair. Even when she was alive, their mother never bothered with anything like that, and Theia pretends that it doesn't bother her - just like she pretends the other girls in the playground never got underneath her skin - but her heart longs all the same. Abraxas squeezes her shoulder, giving her a knowing look.
"We have each other," he whispers to her.
"We'd still be better off if we had her ," she whispers back. It's not supposed to be a mean statement; Theia is just stating a fact, but her brother's eyes flash with surprise and hurt. "Abs, I didn't mean-"
"I know what you meant," Abraxas says. "I agree, but..."
"She's not coming back." Theia finishes his sentence for him. "Yeah. Figured that one out six years ago."
"Even if she did, I think that seeing us like this would send her back to her grave anyway."
"Technically it's her fault, you know. Step one in the parenting handbook for not screwing up your kids should definitely be 'don't die'."
"I didn't know you missed her so much," Abraxas murmurs, squeezing her shoulder again.
"I don't," Theia shrugs. Abraxas gives her a pointed look, and her shoulder sag. "Okay... I don't miss her most of the time." Abraxas raises his eyebrows. "I'm serious, Abs. And you're not a therapist."
He flips his hair dramatically. "Maybe one day I could be."
"As if. You'll turn eighteen at the end of summer and go and work in the west power plant until you die."
"I can't believe you think so lowly of me, Theia."
"I'm not thinking lowly of you, Abs. I'm being realistic."
Abraxas laughs, his eyes scanning the crowd in front of them for their youngest brother. He's not too far ahead, thankfully, giving Theia and Abraxas a wave when the latter hollers his name to get his attention. Abraxas beckons him back, Theia taking it as a sign that their conversation has, thankfully, come to an end. The rest of the walk is spent listening to Kiran moan that he had run ahead to find a friend to walk with, because everybody knows that walking to the reaping with your siblings is lame, and although Theia loves her younger brother, he's awfully easy to tune out.
Abraxas pulls them aside just before they reach the booths. Bunting stretches above their heads, fluttering in the gentle breeze blowing through the district. It's a little morbid, painting today as a celebration, Theia thinks, but that's how it has always been…
Abraxas hands Theia a copper coin. "For good luck."
She digs one of her own out of her own pockets. "For good luck," she says, giving it to him.
Kiran echoes the words again, handing each of them a coin. Theia thanks him quietly, holding the coins in her palm. Around them, other families are doing the same, and Theia's hands are already itching. Thankfully, the tradition is more about the exchange than the money itself, otherwise she would feel terrible. But she and her brothers have to do what they have to do, and it's not as if money is in abundance like this all the time. The money is better off in their hands than it is some spoiled kid's, right? At least they will be using it for important things, not just on whatever their heart desires.
By the time she's signed in and waiting with the other girls her age, Theia's pockets are considerably heavier. It gets harder the more that they are crammed in, but she still manages to not draw any suspicion. When the mayor finally starts to read the Treaty of Treason, and Five's pitiful list of Victors, the girls around her crowd even closer for some reason. Theia takes it as an invitation; she's thankful that there's a good enough distraction. Without asking, the girl beside her drapes an arm over Theia's shoulder. It catches Theia off guard at first and she almost pushes it off, but she realises that the girl is only trying to be nice. If she didn't have to be rough around the edges just to survive, Theia thinks she would quite like to be… nice. A girl who pulls people closer instead of pushing them away.
She watches their escort Algernon Montgomery, a man who's sequined suit shines brighter than all the lights District Five helps power, shoo the mayor from the microphone. There's a muted laughter that ripples through the crowd as the mayor slinks back to his seat, but it dies away when Algernon takes the time to introduce himself. He doesn't really need to; at this point, he's as much a part of District Five as the actual citizens are.
"Ladies first!" Algernon announces, skipping across the stage to the pink-tinted bowl. Theia cocks her eyebrow at his antics; he's beaming as he unfolds the slip he fishes out. The district seems to take in a collective breath before Algernon speaks again. "Theia Sonnen!"
When the realisation hits, Theia doesn't fall into the same whirlpool of panic that seems to suck in the other tributes. Last year, the girl chosen had screamed so loud that Theia could still hear it ringing in her ears hours later. The panic is still there; her stomach dropping and a sudden nausea overcoming her, but it's not overwhelming. Theia can't let it be.
She's always had a good head on her shoulders. It's come in handy more than once. Swallowing thickly, Theia shoves her hands into her pockets so the camera can't pick up on them shaking, and her hands quickly pull at the hairband, letting her hair loose from it's ponytail. She can hear Kiran shrieking somewhere, echoing across the unusually quiet square, and she angles her head downwards to let her hair fall and obscure her expression from the cameras.
With small steps, Theia makes her way into the aisle and up to the stage. She focuses on keeping her breathing even, and her expression neutral; her goal right now isn't to convince the Capitol that she's a winner, but only that she's not to be completely written off. A training score and an interview only compliment your first impression. They don't completely overwrite it. So, crying won't do her any good - especially when she doesn't know what the outcome of her training score and interview are going to be.
"Welcome up!" Algernon grips Theia's shoulder, not unlike Abraxas earlier. Theia wants to run to her brothers, but she pushes the urge to pull away from Algernon down. "How old are you, Theia?" He asks.
"Fifteen." She tries to keep her voice level against the rising panic.
"And do you have anything you want to say to your district?"
"Thank you," she lies. "For everything."
Algernon is still beaming when Theia lets her gaze dart upwards and quickly across the crowd. Kiran has quietened down, although she can't find him or Abraxas anywhere in the mixes of citizens. She sucks in a deep breath, the tips of her ears and her cheeks flushing red when she realises that everybody's eyes are on her.
Algernon, thankfully, takes away some of that attention. The blue-tinted bowl is his next stop, and then he's back at Theia's side with another one of those damned slips. "Uri Berwin!"
The boy that joins her on stage isn't remarkable in the slightest. He's taller than Theia is - though that's not a hard feat - and he's not crying either, though tears do well up in his eyes. He's seventeen, he tells the district, and no, he doesn't have anything to say to them.
He takes Theia's hand gently, as if he's scared he's going to crush it, and she feels a small lick of anger. She's not fragile; she's not going to break. She's not a little girl, even though the small amount of pity in Uri's eyes tells her that he views her that way. Straightening her back, Theia grips his hand with all of her might and gives him a firm handshake, her lips set in a thin line when the two of them finally make eye contact. She'll have time to persuade him in the Capitol, she supposes, but she wants to make it clear now.
Theia Sonnen is not going to roll over. Theia Sonnen is not going to die.
As Algernon tugs her towards the open doors of the Justice Building Theia clenches her jaw, looking over her shoulder at the stage and the crowd and the square…
She's spent the last six years surviving.
Her life isn't going to be thrown away in an arena.
She'll be back. There's no other alternative.
The next time she's standing on this stage will be during her Victory Tour.
Theia Sonnen is not going to die.
