Chapter Three.
Pre-Reapings, Part One.
Reyan Nalara, 18 years old;
Sector One Male.
He wasn't one for sticking to the background, but just this once, Reyan felt an unease that caused him to slink into the shadows.
Across the main floor of their Training Academy, the most prestigious in Two, he saw them. A small group of well-to-do, powerfully trained, fame-hungry socialites. He knew each of them by name but in the heat of the moment, fear prickling at his side, a sweat on his forehead, whoever they were completely evaded Reyan.
He'd arrived early, as early as the Peacekeepers would allow him into the building, to get in some last-minute practice. He'd thought about just dashing some water on his forehead to convey to the cameras some sort of determination to train and train hard when they saw him tomorrow. But the more he thought about it at home, the more he felt compelled to actually pick up a weapon and have a go at perfecting something that he knew no longer needed perfecting.
Reyan had spent his whole life with a silver spoon in his mouth, being fed compliment after sugar-coated compliment, that he knew, in his bones, he was the cream of the crop. Cliches aside – he felt it. And the status as Sector One's chosen candidate reassured him of that.
He knew that this was no ordinary games, but this was also his last opportunity. He hadn't spent his entire teenage life rearing himself to be in the Hunger Games to simply give up just because it might be a little bit harder.
That was not Reyan's style.
The group opposite him, battering away at dummies half-heartedly, were definitely the sort of people Reyan did not like. They reminded him too much of himself. Between them all, they looked shady and complicit in something. Whatever that something was, it was what made Reyan feel a sense of nervousness he did not like.
Am I fuck going to let all this fall apart at the last hurdle.
He sauntered over, ear to ear wearing the notoriously large smile of the third Nalara child, and waved cheerfully at the group, calling out to them without having to force himself to remember their names. He knew them, but he didn't know them.
"How's it going guys?" he said enthusiastically, wrapping his arm around the shortest one, a meagre boy in terms of muscle but the torn apart dummy at his feet was testament to some inward strength. Reyan always loved this bit – some people grew tired of pretending, but Reyan did not. Wearing a smile for the sake of coming across a bit too nice made Reyan feel indestructible.
People liked him. And why shouldn't they?
The small boy sheepishly twisted himself away from Reyan's hand and smiled awkwardly. "Oh – hi Reyan. Nothing much, we're just—"
"You look like you're getting some last-minute training in," Reyan said, laughing. "Which of course is silly, isn't it? Didn't Carmichael already decide that it would be me?" He had done this so many times, using this voice, that it came so naturally to him. He made sure that he didn't sound bothered. He made sure that they didn't think it was getting to him.
Underneath, Reyan's entire system was on the urge of punching out at this laughable bunch of unimportant nobodies. The fact they hadn't been chosen surely hammered home their innate undesirability? Reyan wished he was the type of person to just say that to someone's face. But he hadn't got to where he was now by simply being honest.
Honesty was a fool's game.
This time, it was the stockier boy who stepped up, grinning at Reyan with a rather piggish looking face. He looked a cake away from diabetes. "Don't sweat it Reyan. Honestly – we're just here to have a bit of fun. Tristan wanted to get some final time in training before these doors are closed to us. Y'know how it is. After you volunteer we're last year's news. No one cares about the trainees that didn't make it."
His entire tone was laced with bitterness but now that Reyan remembered who the smaller character was called – Tristan Vautier – he knew immediately that he had been riding high on the hope that he would be chosen. It was utterly ridiculous, the concept of someone of his stature and financial reputation, to even consider the idea that he'd be chosen to represent District Two. But as it goes, Reyan knew immediately what was going on.
Tristan was going to try and volunteer instead.
I should have known this would happen, Reyan thought to himself. They're never content with sitting on the bottom rung.
He patted Tristan on the back and beamed at him. "I totally get it. Why not enjoy your last day? Ignore me – I was just coming over to say hello anyway."
Reyan sauntered off, leaving the group to their own devices, and found his group of friends watching him from afar. Florian stepped up and shook his head, gnawing on his bottom lip nervously. Reyan continued to smile – they were his friends, but calling them friends was a bit of a stretch. They all came from money and those that were so high up on the ladder usually stuck together. He didn't actually feel much for them.
"He's going to try it, isn't he?" Florian asked.
Reyan shrugged. "It's okay. We'll wait."
Florian knew what Reyan was suggesting and stopped biting his lip and nodded. Reyan's group of friends continued to "train" together, talking in hushed whispers about everything that had gone on so far. It had been a quick thing – this establishing of Sectors. They'd had since the Quell had been announced to arrange the boundaries but finding himself being in the highest Sector instilled in Reyan that profound sense of achievement.
It reminded him of why he held his head so high and believed the things he did. It affirmed what he already knew about himself.
As the minutes slowly trickled into an hour, Reyan and his friends watched as Tristan continued to train and his own group of wannabes slowly dwindled in number. It took another twenty minutes for Tristan to be left by himself and Reyan felt excitement swirl around in the pit of his stomach.
He was angry that someone would dare try and take what was rightfully his, but he knew it was never something to become too bothered by. The Nalara family knew exactly how to get what they wanted -by stepping on the people that dared rear their heads above their station.
Tristan Vautier was just another ant.
Reyan nodded when Florian met his eye and the group of them moved towards Tristan. Reyan just watched from where he stood, the smile growing ever bigger at the wide eyes of Tristan as he took in his new audience, the feeble shriek as Florian grabbed him by the shoulder, and the side-door slamming shut as they took him into the alley.
Reyan didn't need to see what was happening. He just knew that as always, he was getting what he wanted, and he was squashing the competition without having to raise a finger.
Such was the life of a Nalara.
A splash of espionage, a sprinkle of violence and a heap of deception.
It was just how Reyan liked it.
Viorica Dain, 17 years old;
Sector Seven Female.
With less than twenty-four hours to go until Reaping Day, Viorica could just feel it in the air.
It was a sense of pride and community that filtered through the sky – infecting everyone whether they really believed in the Games or not. Growing up in a District that bred such strength in its champions, it was hard for Viorica to escape the idea that she could be on that pedestal with them all.
Some called her delusional, but those people were far and few between. Most bought into the fantasy because for Two, with all its Victors, it didn't seem so much of a fantasy. More an inevitability.
Viorica yawned and stretched her arms out, picking her head up from her pillow and grinning at the sunlight that streamed through from her open window. It was a delightful day – fluffy marshmallow clouds in the sky, birds chirping and conversation buzzing outside her window. She recognised some of the voices that her ears picked up, whilst others blended into one mish-mash of chit-chat. Either way, she loved it. It was the sound of life. Of people enjoying themselves. Living in the moment. Existing.
She threw herself from her bed, threw on the top she'd worn yesterday, some leggings that were beginning to become a bit too tight as she continued working on her muscle-mass, and ran downstairs. She could smell bacon burning and licked her lips hungrily. Viorica was excited for tomorrow – she didn't really have any plans on volunteering until next year, especially given the Quell twist, but part of Viorica couldn't help but always see herself up there one day.
Most people had a lot of confidence because of where they came from. So many loud voices meant that just by speaking didn't actually make you much of a presence. Viorica had made it her life's mission to try to stand out above the masses. She revelled in the competition that living in Two wrought. By just being in Two, Viorica had found her calling.
It would be funny if that bitch was reaped, Viorica mused, launching herself into a chair round the kitchen table. Her mind formed a picture of her arch-enemy Violetta and she cringed inwardly, her cheerfulness warping into momentary hatred. If she was ever called, I think I'd just have to volunteer. If only to wipe that smirk off her face.
Viorica knew the odds of that were so small, anyway. And if next year, Viorica wasn't chosen as the female tribute from Two, well… no. She didn't allow herself to think about that. She'd fought hard all her life for that moment, worked her ass off, no way would she not be offered the chance to be a tribute.
It had her name written all over it.
"Good morning my wonderful little brother," she chirped, as Viorel waltzed into the room, skater-boy hair dangling from his forehead. Or was it emo hair? Either way – he looked positively miserable which only made Viorica's grin grow even bigger. "How are we this morning?"
"We," Viorel drawled, cringing at Viorica's loud voice, "are feeling tired. And I'm not your little brother."
"Yes you are."
"We're twins, idiot."
"Fifteen minutes older makes you younger."
Viorel just rolled his eyes and before Viorica could say anything else on the matter, in walked their father, a rolled newspaper under his arm, and her mood instantly soured. It wasn't that she didn't love her father, but she knew what this morning would be like, especially so close to the Reaping. It just brought out the worst in him.
"You two are having breakfast late," he said, sitting down and sipping from a glass of fresh orange juice. He smacked his lips together and smiled at Viorel, and then nodded at Viorica. Subtle. "Seeing your friends today?"
Viorica couldn't resist the urge to rub salt into the open wound. She shook her head, hair bouncing around, and beamed at him. "Nope. Training."
The mood froze and Viorel muttered something under his breath. If possible, he would have excused himself from the room immediately but Viorica's hand found his knee and she gave it a friendly, but firm pat. Stay right where you are, little brother. She didn't like being alone.
"Training? Today?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
She knew exactly why he asked the question the way he did. How funny it was that Trainer Dain had fallen from grace, a much-revered man in their gymnasium, cultivating plenty of future tributes. He had been the very reason why Viorica had taken up the mantle of a Career in the first place. Because of him.
She could feel her fingers clenching into fists and immediately wished she hadn't said anything in the first place. It always seemed like such a good idea – sticking up for her ideals, shouting in the face of adversaries, being who she was. And then as soon as someone tried to fight back, she hated it. It made her angry, and when she got angry, she only got louder.
It was a defence mechanism. If she shouted the loudest, then surely she was right?
"All I'm going to say is his name. Surely that should remind you why I don't approve of this lifestyle any longer?"
She shook her head. "Don't. I'm fucking tired of it."
"Language!" her father shouted, putting the newspaper aside, his glasses resting atop the black and white print. "I won't have you speaking like that under—"
"—my roof. We get it. Your house, your rules. I'm not a little child."
"Then stop acting like it."
Viorica could feel the anger, hot and red curdling under her skin. She looked at Viorel who was doing everything he could to avoid eye contact. In situations where he was getting picked on and pushed around, she had always been there, she had the scars to prove it. But when it was her in the hot-seat, most people shied away.
It just proved another side to Two that she'd always known was there, but had tried to smother under layer upon layer of self-assuredness. The fact that she had to focus on number one. Herself and herself alone.
"I'm not Klaus," Viorica said.
Her father's anger turned to sadness and before he could reply, she pushed away from the table and stormed out the room, throwing open the front door and marching out into the heat of District Two. As she stomped away, her breath coming out harsh and fast, slowly her mood started to calm and her pace slowed, her heart becoming less and less forceful in her chest.
She thought of Klaus – her father's prized trainee, someone he had helped since he was twelve, someone he had truly believed to be worth everything. She thought of him dying so soon in the Games. And her father's belief in his own daughter shattering to pieces.
If his own prized Klaus could die, then surely Viorica had no chance.
She refused. Point blank, not fucking happening, refused. She'd always been stubborn and this was just one of those things – being raised in Two, breathing in that air of superiority, she'd always known she was cut from a certain cloth.
She had it in her to be great. She had it in her to always remain who she was. Whether that meant standing up to the idiots who tried to push her or others around, or have some friendly competition with those she got in with, it had always been pointed towards the Hunger Games.
They made sense.
Without them, Viorica felt lost.
And by feeling lost, she was no longer Viorica Dain.
Aurelian Eldridge, 18 years old;
Sector Eight Male.
Aurelian had never seen the town square so packed full of people.
District Two, simply because of its sheer size, had many little communities within it. Sector Eight happened to include one of the bigger towns within the District and here and now, Aurelian could see the Games' spirit injected into everything.
Even the decorations hanging over the coffee shop seemed to have been glittered up a bit, golden writing emblazoned in huge decorative calligraphy. It made his heart flutter with nerves – he still hadn't completely made up his mind about tomorrow. He hated the way the indecision was eating away at him. He didn't do indecision. If something wasn't worth being fully committed towards, then in Aurelian's mind, perhaps there was a better way of going about things.
But he didn't have time to think. It was tomorrow!
"Jeez, what's a girl gotta do to get a cup of coffee?"
Aurelian blinked and smiled calmly at his friend, maybe his only real friend, Verity as the two of them joined the queue inside the quaint little coffee shop. The smell made Aurelian feel comfortable – a sense of home and familiarity. Verity was right, though. It was packed! Teeming with life, Aurelian didn't feel exactly comfortable with this many people around him, but he admired their spirit and the fact that everyone seemed to be carrying themselves so happily.
As much as he prided himself on the skills he'd perfected over the years in the Academy, there was always an undertone of faux cheerfulness. Like no one actually cared about anyone except themselves. Here, simply by people-watching, Aurelian felt everyone was genuine in their excitement.
It made Aurelian less nervous and slowly his mind began to secure itself in his future.
Verity tapped her foot against the ground, impatiently crossing her arms around her chest. "It'll be the Victory tour by the time I get my drink," she complained.
Aurelian felt himself growing slightly embarrassed as an older woman scowled in her direction. "Verity – maybe we should just wait our turn patiently?" Aurelian suggested, not one to make a scene. Plus – he didn't like the fact that Verity was coming across a little rude. Whilst he admired her spirit, there was a right and wrong way of going about things.
She didn't seem to care and just nudged Aurelian with her elbow, glaring back at the old woman. Before she could open her mouth to say anything though, the queue began to move forwards and Aurelian looked at the menu written in chalk behind the counter.
He didn't really care for any of this. Aurelian's mind was on his home, only a few blocks away. On his father who had callously dismissed him without so much as a goodbye. The way his brother had gnawed nervously on his lip, saying his own sort of farewell with his eyes, too scared to vocalise anything in their father's presence.
Aurelian had been a sacrificial pig in the Eldridge household since he was a child. One son with the business acumen to take over the company, the other trained in case of that heir's slim chance of being reaped. Aurelian was just that child. It made him feel bitter at his father, even though he would never voice those opinions. Aurelian just kept his head down and did things the right way. That was probably why his brother was the desirable candidate.
Because being on top of the ladder meant having to step on people, and Aurelian just couldn't do that. He could barely stand next to Verity as she rudely announced her impatience, let alone stick to the shadows and cut people down to get to the top.
He wasn't above what training really meant, what his path in life was veering towards, but with everything, there was always a better way of doing things. A right way.
Aurelian had to tell himself that. Otherwise, he'd continue to doubt himself.
"Can I help you?"
The barista had a pleasant voice and Aurelian recognised her as the older sister of someone he'd trained with over the years. She looked at Verity without noticing Aurelian and took her order. Aurelian hadn't made up his mind yet about what he wanted. He stood, tapping his own foot against the floor, as her eyes landed on him and she smiled.
Aurelian wasn't sure if she recognised him. He didn't want to be the one to say anything. He didn't mind chatting to people, but he had to know them really to feel comfortable opening up. If someone said hello, he wouldn't ignore them, but he wouldn't go out of his way to—
"Hey Aurelian, it's been a while."
His tongue suddenly felt very heavy in his mouth. He nodded and smiled at her, trying to find the right way of being polite. "Morning. Yeah – yeah I guess I've just been busy with my dad and training and yeah – there's always something."
"Someone's gotta make coffee," she said, laughing. "What do you fancy?"
Aurelian looked at Verity and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever she ordered."
"Oh boy, you'll love it!"
Aurelian didn't really care but he wasn't rude and simply smiled, nodding his head. Part of him wanted to get back to something he felt more comfortable at – being back in the Academy, slicing up dummies or sparring with one of his fellow trainees. It wasn't exactly the life a normal teenager should be living, but it was the only life he'd ever known, and being raised to be a potential volunteer had always made Aurelian feel like he was only good for that one thing.
Maybe Verity was a living testament to what life could be like. After she'd dropped out, she seemed to smile a lot more and not care so much. But Aurelian wasn't wired that way. It wasn't so simple for him to just take a back-seat and ignore what he'd spent his entire life doing.
He intended to do it a different way. A way that sat right with him.
Aurelian watched as Verity's grin split open even wider and two coffees were placed in front of them. He gawped at it, black ink all over the cup, and raised an eyebrow at Verity.
"What on earth?"
"It's two large half-whole milk, half 1%, extra hot no foam latte with two pumps of vanilla, cinnamon and a drizzle of caramel," she paused, raising her own eyebrow, "what's the big deal?"
He shook his head laughing.
Sometimes he wished he could be like her. Escape it all.
But then he remembered his father and his brother and knew that such simplicity in life was not meant for him. He'd had his life mapped out for him before he'd even been able to decide the destination for himself. This was just the way it had to be.
For Aurelian, nothing else made sense.
Vinicius Grecco, 17 years old;
Sector Ten Male.
Vinicius watched the two in front of him chat at a million miles an hour and struggled to keep up.
His eyes went between the two, his own mind whirring to think up something to say, as he became more and more estranged from the conversation and could feel himself becoming agitated.
"—so just because we live here on the outskirts, they're saying that we're somehow not as important?"
Okay – okay, I can keep up with that. He understood exactly what – Nico? Nikolai? – was saying. It annoyed Vinicius beyond anything to know that he was now even more of a second-class citizen purely because of where his parents had decided to settle. It further enraged him, deep down, in some murky swamp of his inner-thoughts he didn't like to linger on, that if his parents had just pushed themselves a little more, maybe he'd be lapping up a life of luxury.
But Vinicius never let those thoughts linger. He was living a life that he had been working hard for. Surely that was enough. Right?
"I think—" Vinicius raised his finger, his thoughts finally piecing together into a sentence, but he clamped his mouth shut and furrowed his brow as the conversation again skipped to something else.
He wouldn't have called these two strangers, not really, but he didn't exactly know who they were either. So many faces blurred into one, in every walk of life in Two. It didn't matter where you came from or how far from the central Academies you were – people started to look and sound the same. Vinicius knew he was better than that – better than a lot of them. Because so many had been offered a life with a silver spoon in their mouth and he hadn't. He'd worked his hands raw for a slice of the opportunity that prissy Miss Darlings had barely chipped a fingernail for.
I'm not jealous, Vinicius thought, gritting his teeth together, I'm not.
There was silence, and for a moment, Vinicius was confused. He looked between the two boys in front of him and realised their eyes were on him. He arched an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders, flippantly waving the comment away.
"What were you saying?"
Nicholas – Vinicius decided he was called Nicholas, it didn't really matter if he wasn't – grinned and poked him in the shoulder. Vinicius almost grabbed it. He hated being touched.
"What is the point in having you here if you're just going to ignore us?"
"Yeah dude," Pretty Boy No.7836 drawled, rolling his eyes. "Anyone in there?" He went to knock a fist against Vinicius' forehead but he was too quick, grabbing him by the arm and holding it there.
"I don't know where those hands have been," he sneered, throwing his arm away. "I'd rather you didn't."
He meant for it to come across a bit more airy and carefree but by the offended looks on their faces, Vinicius' intentions clearly hadn't landed. He shrugged his shoulders and glanced behind them at the procession of Sector Ten's newly labelled citizens hurrying around to throw banners across balconies, set up merchandise stands and booths that sold all different assortments of knick-knacks. It worried Vinicius that so many of Two's citizens, even out here, bought into the barbaric delusion of what the Games stood for.
He'd never really wasted his time on them. There was always too much to do in the real world rather than focusing on the grandiose ideas of two steroid-riddled idiots who seemed to forget that only one of them could win and One and Four also had Training Academies.
It just didn't make sense, and Vinicius did not like things that didn't make sense. It made his brain feel a bit clouded and it was something he'd never let anyone, especially said meatheads, ever rip apart. It was the only thing that would get Vinicius up the proverbial ladder and closer to the centre of Two. It wasn't that he particularly cared about being there, but being there meant that he had actually made it, and even to Vinicius proving himself to himself was a very important thing.
Nicholas and Blonde Boy, however. They were just irrelevant nobodies.
"Have you heard any goss' about if we have any volunteers?"
Vinicius shook his head, but again, Nicholas, ever the loudmouth, spoke over him before he could answer. "They drew up the Sector lines so quickly. I don't think we even have a proper facility in the boundaries they've made. Do they?"
Vinicius, if he could, would have shouldered the other kid away to get his response in. But he didn't. Instead, he made sure his voice carried louder and for once, he didn't think too much about what he was going to say.
"There's always someone stabbing someone in our District," Vinicius said, again repulsed thoughts making him hate the fact that the very place he wanted to be – the heart of Two – was home to such neanderthals. It was a Catch-22 situation he hadn't solved just yet. "Whether we have facilities or not, we'll surely have some volunteers."
"Isn't it weird that we sort of have to root for our Sector as opposed to our District?" Fuck Boy, Blonde Boy, Pretty Boy, whatever his name was, said with a casual wave of his hand. "Like. For real? I don't want to be Sector Ten."
"Boo-hoo," Vinicius said. "I don't think we get much choice."
He narrowed his eyes at Vinicius but he didn't care. He never cared what people thought of him. He didn't go out of his way to be disliked but it was very hard in certain company to be the sort of person that they expected. Vinicius just didn't like to change who he was – he was proud of where he'd come from, what he'd worked himself up to be, and the idea of changing that just made him feel like it all had been for naught.
Plus – if he kept telling himself that he didn't care what people thought of him, he knew that one day he'd convince himself of that fact.
"Cindy is hosting a bit of a day before the Reaping get-together," Nicholas said, smiling at Empty-Head. "Wanna come?" They looked at Vinicius and for a moment, he was offended that the invite hadn't stretched to him. "It's not really your vibe is it Vinny?"
Please for the love of all that is good and true in this world, do not call me fucking Vinny.
"Nah," he said, trying to laugh casually, unoffended. "I best get home anyway. Parents are on the late shift and someone's got to be in."
He didn't wait for their goodbyes. He didn't want them. Didn't need them.
Vinicius had forced himself into his own little bubble because of how he perceived the world, but day by day, he was convincing himself of the fact that being in his own little bubble was exactly what he needed. If he could do that, then life would be a lot easier. Maybe he'd stop trying so hard.
One day, Vinicius thought. But not today.
Besides – his parents would be returning from work.
Every day was an early start for the Grecco family.
I still have the Forever Neverland tributes in my head. This was fun but difficult. I hope you liked the first four!
Not much to say here. We've got so many different Career types to work with in this story that I'm excited to keep going. It's nice to see them in Two before they get shipped to the Capitol. Normal scenes like sitting in a coffee shop or round the breakfast table, for me, are great ways of introducing characters.
Up next: Ozias, Kasiani, Juliet and Gormlaith.
Thanks everyone!