Chapter Six.
Pre-Reapings, Part Four.
Svanna Hyland, 18 years old;
Sector One Female.
If there was anywhere in the world Svanna could be right this very moment, it would be far away from the double-doors of her parents' board room.
Set atop the tallest of Two's inner skyscrapers, glass panels lining each side, the entire place smelt of money. Svanna was a part of this empire. Her name ingrained in the walls. But for all Svanna cared, she could have been the lonely janitor mopping behind the receptionist's desk, because she had no inkling to ever sit at the head of the table behind the doors in front of her.
A life of being told who she was supposed to be, what job she'd have, no doubt who she'd have to damn well marry, had forced Svanna down another road. And today – a day before the Reaping, she knew what her parents were about to do. One final shot of swaying Svanna into the structured, proper pathway they'd try to smother her under since she was a little girl clinging to her mother's manicured hand.
A buzzing sound startled Svanna and she glared over at the receptionist. It wasn't her fault, but Svanna was already a mess of emotions ranging from nerves over tomorrow, to excitement, to utter despondency of having to be here in the first place, that she couldn't help but shoot daggers in the direction of the poor little woman who cowered at Svanna's pointed stare.
"Mr and Mrs Hyland will see you now, Svanna."
She patted her dress down and then instantly wanted to vomit in her mouth. A silly crease in an otherwise perfect daytime look was the old Svanna. The Svanna that cared about stuff like that. She knew it was still there, somewhere in the back of her brain, a subconscious way of perceiving the world and the perfection she had to exude.
She took a moment to smile at the receptionist. She hadn't done anything wrong. "Thank you very much." Wrapping both hands round the door handles, Svanna threw them open, and she walked across the threshold into the peak of what Two's money and power could buy.
Hyland was emblazoned in gold lettering above the far wall. Underneath it, Svanna's parents were sat side by side. She did not force a smile on her face. Svanna was not happy to see them and would she fuck try to pretend that she was. If looks could kill, both her parents would be dead and she'd be receiving a large sum of inheritance in a few days. Instead, her parents remained rooted in their seats, and her mother's wrinkle-free, puckered face twisted into something that looked like a maternal grin but was nothing more than a snake peeling back its lips to reveal a pointed tongue.
Svanna sat as far away from them as possible and placed her hands atop the table. She knew they hated that. She did it to simply rub it in that their table manners mattered to her no longer. With one leg crossed over the other, Svanna met the stares of her parents, allowing the awkwardness of their silence to linger in the air.
When her mother finally coughed, her father seemed to snap out of his weird trance and Svanna noticed him click his pen absent-mindedly. It was a tick of her father's she'd picked up from a young age. He always did it before a serious conversation.
A younger Svanna would have hated that she was being called out on something. Now, she simply waited, completely at ease.
"Svanna."
"Parents."
He clicked the pen again and placed it atop his briefcase. "It hasn't escaped our attention – both myself and your mother's – that you've been frequenting the Academy again."
Svanna shrugged. "I told you I like it. You can try and pay them to kick me out but when I'm top of the table, they aren't about to shun their biggest shot at winning another Victor."
"Two has enough Victors." Svanna could hear the venom in her mother's tone, even as she continued to wear that smile on her face. Svanna wanted to slap it away. Despite trying to appear at ease, Svanna could feel the anger rising in heatwaves from her skin, a sweat creeping from her brow. Her hands opened and closed as she tried to shift some of the emotion out of her. "The last thing we need is for you to run like a headless chicken up to that filthy stage tomorrow and declare your intention to die for the whole country to see."
"Lose the smile, mother."
With those words, she did just that, and Svanna finally saw the true grand high bitch herself glare back at her only daughter. Svanna could laugh and make jokes with the best of them but they had to be the type of people that made her feel like she could laugh and joke. The last time she'd ever shared a genuine moment with her mother was… I can't remember. Where once she'd longed for that connection, now it just made Svanna surer of who she was. It was the opposite of what the Hyland Empire wanted.
"The Nalara boy is volunteering."
Reyan? Interesting. "So?"
"He comes from money too. In fact, a lot of it."
"I don't expect that'll matter much when I'm in the Arena with him. Your wallet can only go so far."
Her father cleared his throat awkwardly and exchanged a look with his wife that made Svanna immediately sure of what was going to come out of it next. She was good at reading the sorts of people that thought they were unreadable. She came from that sort of life – it was a talent she'd carefully honed. If her parents wanted to treat her like a stain on their shoe, then she'd much rather they were honest and true about it. Svanna couldn't deal with the pettiness of lying and stepping on the little people and everything to climb another rung up the ladder. It was all white noise. Stupid, really.
"Just say what you want to say and let me go get a damn iced-coffee," Svanna said, rolling her eyes excessively. "I'm bored of this."
Her father cleared his throat one more time and nodded his head. "We have disapproved of this lifestyle for long enough now, made our intentions clear, and yet you still perpetuate a way of living that we can no longer just sit idly by and allow to happen. If you volunteer tomorrow, consider yourself cut from the Hyland business. That Nalara boy you seem to think so little of – yes it may be the Hunger Games, but reputation and more importantly money can go a long way to securing sponsors. Especially in a game full of Two tributes. You won't get anything."
Svanna stood up, red in the face, anger now radiating from her. "I don't care about your stupid money," she spat. "Don't you get it by now. I really couldn't give two shits about the name hanging behind the wall above your heads. I never have. And yet you still continue to think you can use that to get what you want."
"Everyone cares about money, darling," Svanna's mother said, her lip curling into a sneer. "Don't play the fool. Now get out."
Svanna pushed the chair backwards and let it clatter harshly against the wall. She let her emotions be known as she threw open the door and felt the glass vibrate as it closed. She did not care about losing her parents' support – she'd never wanted it anyway. But they always managed to dig their claws in – everyone did. She could no longer be the sort of person to let shit slide and wear a smile for the sake of looking pretty.
That was not Svanna anymore.
Her new life began tomorrow and it was a life that she was ready for – a life the Academy had deemed her worthy of. If her parents thought her last name mattered so much, then maybe when she returned home she could get it changed. Cut ties completely.
Svanna was committed to the Games. Committed to being the best version of herself she could be. But also, the most honest version as well. No more lies. No more facades. No more being the Hyland girl – a quiet shadow lingering in the background.
Her voice would be heard.
And starting from tomorrow, the whole of Panem would see her.
Tayte Vasburg, 18 years old;
Sector Two Male.
The training hall was buzzing with life.
With not long left to go until the Reaping, Tayte and the rest of his fellow trainees had opted to spend the entire day in the grandiose building, both for a mixture of socialising amongst those that hadn't made the cut and would be leaving, and to exercise, spar a little and generally have a bit of fun. Tayte was happy that despite being so close to the centre of Two, he was part of an Academy that seemed to actually value its candidates.
It wasn't so much dog eat dog as everyone sitting around a campfire singing songs and looking up at the clouds. Speaking of which, Tayte thought as he swung his sword around, he made a mental note to enjoy such an activity when he got home.
There wasn't much time for Tayte to be so in his head, something he had tackled his whole life with and was finally coming out the other lightened end of, because everyone that walked past Tayte had something to say. A congratulations here. A clap on the back. Occasionally, and very rarely, a darker look shot by the more jealous candidate across the room.
This particular Academy might have prided itself on creating lasting relationships, but it was also a very strict place. No one dared volunteer if they weren't chosen. If they survived the Games, even with the status of Victor, their life would be a miserable one.
Tayte thought of that life as his sword swung into the neck of a nearby dummy and refocused his mind on the group in front of him as a cheer erupted from the mouth of the younger trainee.
"There are plenty of points on a human body that I would recommend you aim for," Tayte started, ignoring the morbidity of such a comment, because life in Two was what life in Two always had been. Maybe outside the Career Districts such things would be looked down on, but here it was part of life. A system Tayte was proud of. "But there are others, like here-" Tayte gestured to parts of the body that weren't as lethal to attack, serious-face on, "-and here, that I would advice against unless you have no other choice. Your potential enemies are not toys to play with. They don't deserve a painful ending."
"Does that really matter though?" Sarion, thirteen-year-old trainee, eager-eyed with a certain whimsical charm that Tayte found endearing, said. "I mean – we're from Two. Aren't we supposed to have a little fun with it?"
Tayte had faced this moral quandary plenty of times. There were loads in this Academy that didn't shy away from the fact they found entertainment in not just fighting, but who they were fighting. Tayte had dedicated his life to the skills he was honing because he was good at them and it felt fantastic to be deemed worthy of a mantle that so many would never achieve. It was all he really knew – and what felt even better about the whole thing was that he was finally able to be proud of something. So, no matter who he was or where he came from, Tayte knew he did not enjoy the idea of killing, but knew it was a necessary evil for what his main purpose in life was. It was what he'd tell himself when shit got real and he had to face the others that hadn't volunteered in the first place.
Despite how hard it would be, at least the first Games would be full of a majority of volunteered tributes. Tributes that had chosen this lifestyle in the first place. It made him feel a little less guilty.
Tayte lowered the sword and walked over to Sarion, who standing next to his younger sister, just as eager of a trainee, seemed to lower his eyes towards the floor. Tayte was a fun mentor as part of the programme their head trainer had started, but he could be stern if needed. Sabella nudged her elder brother and as Tayte looked at him, their eyes finally met.
"I don't want you rushing into a fight without properly thinking it through," Tayte said. He then tried to smile, a placating sort of grin and passed the heavy sword over. "Try to pick it up. Go on, over your head."
As Sarion struggled with the duller blade, his arms went wobbly and he shook his head. His younger sister laughed but as Tayte glanced over at her, she silenced herself and looked at Tayte as he took the sword back off the boy.
"Maybe you should lift some weights before we move you onto the bigger weapons," Tayte joked, poking him in the arm. "I'm kidding. You're doing well." His eyes went over to Sabella, smiling with a nod. "Both of you. You should be proud of what you're achieving."
"So should you, Tayte. Honestly – I can't believe our mentor is going to be in the Hunger Games. It's surreal."
Before Tayte could reply, he felt an arm wrap round his neck and part of him grunted in a measly sense of pain as his hair was ruffled, but also laughed at the familiar warmth that came from Locke as his boyfriend shook him around and the two youngsters in front of him giggled. He loved scenes like this. Friendship. Love. Warmth.
Kindness in a place like Two was not silly. It could be found.
"That's if he makes it to the stage," Locke said. "Don't forget, I've been given the chance too."
Tayte's heart fluttered but he ignored it. He relished the competition. Part of what Tayte also did in this Academy was work with the trainees his age too – his actual competitors. He wanted to fight the best of the best and beat them because that meant his skill was actually honest and true. His capability was not false simply because he had been matched with someone weak. That was not how he wanted to win a fight.
Locke had been given the same opportunity. They loved each other deeply and sincerely but it made it interesting having the competitive edge to their relationship. Both pushed each other to succeed and tomorrow one would finally have the chance of a lifetime.
The idea of Locke winning, despite the fact Tayte was proud of him, also made him feel uneasy. It was a complicated time in their relationship. He wanted Locke to achieve his dreams, but they were in direct conflict of what Tayte wanted to achieve.
Still, Tayte was not the envious kind. He loved Locke and Locke loved him. They made it work.
"We'll see," Tayte said laughing, shoving him playfully.
"May the best man win."
As Locke and Tayte shared a kiss, Tayte's mind whirred and he pictured himself in the Arena. He had dedicated his life to this path and it made total sense with the way he viewed himself. There was a right way of going about this. And a wrong way he tried to steer others away from or ignored totally if he realised they were too far gone.
He wanted to succeed tomorrow. He had to. But Tayte knew, as he pulled away from Locke, that behind those blue eyes staring back at him, the same drive existed.
It was the same sort of drive he would see in all of his competitors this year. Because they were all from Two. A District that prided itself on its strength.
If he always wanted to fight the best, then here was his opportunity.
To be the best of the best.
Briel Novack, 18 years old;
Sector Nine Female.
Fuck's sake, Briel. Get your shit together!
Inwardly, she continued to curse as another arrow missed its mark, an inch or so from the central target. Her hands gripped tightly around the bow and for a second she almost envisaged herself snapping it, channelling her shortcomings into the rage that continued to shake her arms with every miserably shot attempt at success.
She knew by being angry her aim was only becoming worse, but it was a trick she'd never learnt how to control. She took a deep breath, lifted the bow up, pulled the string taut, aaanddddd… "FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"
Briel threw the bow down in a rage and brought her training boot down on it as hard as she could. The snap was only momentarily pleasing because when she looked down at the splintered weapon, she knew she was about to get it from her father. Whatever satisfaction she felt became minute and she gritted her teeth together, gnawing on her bottom lip nervously.
I shouldn't have done that.
"Briel, our neighbour has just been categorized as completely and utterly deaf. I'm sure even she can hear your temper-tantrum."
Briel sighed irritably and turned to gaze into the smug eyes of her younger sister, Drey. As always, she was dappled in what could only be described as sunlight stitched into a dress. It was stunning and it made Briel want to be sick. Her own sweaty hair hung down from her forehead and even with the damp of the rain seeping into every crevice of her body, she knew from training for the past few hours she was also beginning to smell a little bit.
Drey, as always, was resplendent in a gown that would have swallowed Briel whole. And Drey was shorter than Briel.
"Surprised to see you outside, sis. What with the rain and your hair and everything."
"Funny," Drey said, snorting. "I just thought I'd come out to hear what all the racket is about. Not that I expected much less. Briel – you're not in the Academy. I don't know what you think you're playing at but father isn't going to be—"
"Shut up," Briel snapped. She did not want to hear about what her damn parents wanted for her. And even the mention of that disgusting Academy left her feeling even more aggravated than her stupid inability to shoot an arrow straight made her feel. "I can do what I like."
"Stubborn like a mule."
"Oh, go shove your head up father's ass. I don't need this right now."
"Whatever," Drey said, whisking away. "By the way, Briel. You reek. Take a shower."
Briel watched as the back door slid shut and the curtain was pulled, blocking Briel from the rest of the Novacks. She couldn't help herself. Even though every fibre of her being told her to resume training, not let Drey get to her, she found her hand wrapping its way round the splintered top-half of the bow, picking it up from the ground.
She threw it against the wall. "Why don't you take a shower!" Briel shouted.
God I'm pathetic.
All Briel wanted to do was be the best version of herself that she could. The Academy, even though it was smaller out in the further reaches of Two, was the surest way of working up the ladder. But for some reason, even though Briel knew that despite the fact she wasn't top of the class, she was still competent enough, they'd kicked her out.
She had entered that hall with a summery smile and wonder in her eyes. And in an hour flat, despite being ranked midway through the table, Briel had been sent out on her ass. Well screw them! In her garden she'd done her best to set up some sort of makeshift training facility. Her parents didn't seem to mind so long as she didn't make too much noise. Which meant they definitely minded because Briel, when outside and focused, only seemed to get even louder.
There were dents in the wooden fence, the marble patio looked unkempt and messy and one of the trees looked charred from where Briel had accidentally started a fire. In her defence, she'd been trying her best at some of the other stations she knew the Academy tucked away in the shadows. In the Games, a week from now after Briel would say fuck it and volunteer anyway, making some sort of shelter for herself would be important.
"One more try, c'mon."
Briel wrapped her fingers around another bow and placed the quiver of arrows over her shoulder. The target was starting to fall apart in the distance so she made a mental note to get it fixed when she got home from the Games. In Briel's mind, that just had to be an eventuality. The idea of not succeeding was too much for her mind to handle.
She hated being labelled a failure when all she did was try her best.
Briel looked up at the clouds and watched as a streak of lightning cut through the bitter sky. She smiled, exhaling sharply to blow a strand of hair from her view, and pulled the string back, levelling the arrow. Briel liked this sort of weather. The wind around her wasn't so strong but she quickly gauged it enough and corrected her stance.
The shake in her hand from only growing ever angrier at herself was dissipating. She shoved Drey from her mind, right to the very back, filed under Fucking Annoying Humans, and took a deep breath. One… two… three…
She released the string and watched the arrow zip through the air with a whistle as it caught the breeze and hit the central ring. Briel's immediate reaction was to jump in the air and clap her hands together. If she failed, it was hard to get a word out of her that wasn't a curse. If she succeeded, it left her grinning and beaming like a kid in a candy store. She mentally high-fived herself.
Knew you could do it, girl.
Briel threw a middle finger at the wall behind her, hoping that Drey could hear her self-congratulations. It wasn't that she hated her family, she just never really felt a part of them. They all had their own set paths in life but this was what Briel liked doing. It was easy to get swept up in the tidal wave of the Games when you had them shoved down your throat every which-way you looked.
As Briel plucked the arrow from the target and settled her feet firmly on the grass, elation now replacing anger, she shot the arrow again and for the second time running managed to hit the central circle.
It was the validation Briel needed but also it provided her with satisfaction knowing the Academy had got it wrong. Briel could do this. She would do this.
A chance to show them all how wrong they were about her.
So very wrong.
Tavius Otho, 18 years old;
Sector Eleven Male.
"And what's that one?"
Tavius pointed a finger in the direction of a small pink-petalled flower, sprouting from a wild bed brimming with life. His father was sat on a deck chair, leg crossed over the other, book perched atop his knee. He wore an expression on his face that told Tavius today he was going to get another speech about who Tavius had to be for his family, the life that they could lead after the Games – blah, blah, blah, blah.
It was all noise to Tavius. Still, he knew better than to voice such thoughts. Whether he cared or not, Tavius had a charming smile from ear to ear, a loving and inquisitive air to the way he pondered over the plants that his father loved.
"That's echinacea. It's sometimes used to prevent colds and infections," Philo Otho told his son proudly, "quite a useful little plant if you ask me."
A stupid plant, Tavius thought. For a second, a cruel image flashed through his mind. A childish thought of stamping through the flowers his father so lovingly tendered. Plucking the petals one by one. He only wanted to do it because right now he was bored and his friends were out there training with the other specialists in areas that didn't mean poking around in the dirt.
Especially given the fact that Tavius was going to volunteer tomorrow, he had no idea why his mother had scheduled him to spend time with his father. This was meaningless. Stupid. Especially in a Games full of the strength Two was sure to possess – knowing what the fuck an enchilada – I have no idea what it's called – could do did not matter to Tavius. But he smothered the thought down and listened to his father rattle off several other facts that went in one ear and out the other.
There was the sound of a sliding door being opened behind Tavius and he silently thanked his sister for interrupting their father in one of his dull ramblings. "Mum made lemonade."
"Yummy," Tavius said with a smile. "You want one dad?"
His father blinked once, seemingly so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't realised he'd been interrupted. He looked over at his daughter, then at the refreshing glasses of the best damn lemonade Two had to offer, and his misty eyes seemed to focus. "Oh yeah. Thanks son."
Tavius sauntered over and grabbed two glasses. He beamed at Aula. She was getting taller and definitely seemed to be changing into the potential volunteer that she longed to be. One of the things Tavius enjoyed so much about his little sister was the fact that she doted on him. Every breath she took was to please her big brother.
He loved her, but it was something he'd identified very early on. It was something that had gotten him out of trouble in plenty of boring family arguments. Aula was quick to take the blame and Tavius had used it right from the word go. His mother didn't take kindly to someone stealing her Peacekeeper weapons – especially when her acceptance into law enforcement wasn't guaranteed as a trainee. Still, Tavius hated being shipped around these trite stations when all he wanted to do was batter a dummy and show off his strength and bravado. The real face of a Victor. His dad was pathetic.
"Having fun?" Aula asked.
Tavius looked at her with an eye-roll. "What do you think?"
"He's sweet when he's in the zone. Don't be mean."
"You know me well enough to know I'd never be mean to him. When am I ever?"
Aula hadn't seen that side of Tavius. Anyone that was worth anything, Tavius knew what to say and how to act. It was the people worth stepping on, the people Tavius knew wouldn't make a sound or bleat like the sheep they were, that Tavius could rely on to keep quiet.
Aula took a sip from her own drink and smacked her lips together. "Mum says you've got twenty minutes left and Trent will see you."
Ugh. The butcher.
The last thing Tavius wanted to do was listen to a spiel on the best way to skin and gut a rabbit. It didn't look that difficult and it wasn't as if it was the first time he'd ever had to listen to such boring people talk about boring things. Tavius wasn't a part of any real Academy. Parents from all walks of life in their little neighbourhood had come together to offer their children a range of different real-life, practical skills.
Tavius knew that it made him a bit more rudimentary in his skill-set. He had no idea about the fancy foot work that the pampered tools of the Academy learnt. But he could pummel anyone or anything into a squealing pulp and for Tavius that was good enough.
He was good enough.
"It's going to be quiet without you here," Aula said.
Tavius looked at her and realised how sullen her face suddenly seemed. Tavius didn't know what guilt or sorrow felt like. He didn't do those sorts of emotions. But his sister was sad and he realised what a big brother was supposed to do and quickly he placed the glasses down and gently rested a hand on her shoulder.
"It's me, sis. You know I can do this."
She gulped and nodded her head. "I'll just miss you. That's all."
Before Tavius could say anything that might sound fitting for this sort of emotional scene, the door slid open again and Tavius looked up at the arrival of another person in his life that he actually did have time for. Though everyone, even his little sister, had their uses, Tavius' heart wasn't completely black and cold.
It still beat for some people. Cole being another.
Tavius wasn't the mushy kind of person though and neither was Cole. The two stood opposite each other and Cole ruffled Aula's hair playfully, grinning as she tried to swat his big hand away. "Got one of those for me?" he asked, eyeing the lemonade.
"Have this one," Tavius said, handing over the one that he'd picked up for his dad. Aula looked at him and Tavius just shrugged. "He won't miss it. Tell me if I'm wrong, but is he or is he not now snoring in his chair?" Cole and Aula looked over Tavius' shoulder and both laughed, nodding. "Told you."
"So, you're off tomorrow?" Cole asked.
Tavius rolled his eyes. "Not this again. C'mon. Honestly, Aula. Last night he wouldn't shut up about it."
"Oh, I don't know. He shut up long enough to make some other noises."
Cole's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed red. Tavius wanted to thump Aula, not meanly, but because he himself felt almost embarrassed at the idea. No one gave Tavius or Cole shit for their relationship because of their size and stature. Still – part of Tavius was still bogged down by not fitting the perfect norm.
He didn't do insecurities or anything like that. But the world was still a shit place.
"That's disgusting," Tavius said. "I'm your brother."
"And your wall is my wall. Remember who's on the other side."
The three of them fell into a back and forth of playful banter and all Tavius could think about was what his future looked like. Maybe his training wasn't the traditional way of progressing to becoming a volunteer in the Hunger Games, but he still felt prepared. None of his emotional connections would be with him and Tavius knew he cared very little for anyone else. He knew the right way to play them. The right way to look and act. A script written that he'd memorized.
But part of him would miss Cole and Aula. Even his dead-beat father playing with his flowers. They were home and familiarity.
A home he would fight to return to.
I love giving tributes a pre-Reaping POV, but at the same time getting through them is toughhhh. Almost there tho!
Did some people die? Honestly – I love writing this so one review or twenty-four, I'll still write. But it'd still be nice to know people are still out there… especially this early in the story. Hope that didn't sound too desperate lmao.
My good friend Megan (Da Member Hogwarts 2.0) has a new SYOT published on her profile. Please go and submit!
Up next: Manfred, Palatine, Callisto and Sivan.