Pre-Reapings Part I.

I tell you to trust nobody, keep them all at a good arm's length.

Marcie Astrup, 18
District One Female

"I'm off to see Castellan and Heidi."

My parents both lay eyes on me from the kitchen table, unsettled but unsurprised. "So early?" my mother cooes with the slightest air of disdain. "But Philippa's just now brought the danishes out for breakfast…"

For the briefest of moments, the maid and I lock eyes. It doesn't take words to communicate with her; a lift of my eyebrow tells her to stay out of our conversation. She tears her gaze away instantly.

"Yeah… sorry Mother, but I won't be in attendance." It takes everything within me to refrain from a snort. "And I trust you know what Heidi always says. A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!"

My parents murmur their disdain to each other, I'm sure, but I'm already out the door. It's always such a long, treacherous walk to Heidi's house – I swear my legs grow longer every day I weave through these alleys.

Castellan is on the porch already, swaying like a reed in the breeze as I approach. His upper lip curls unpleasantly as he sees me, but I'd be damned if it was a bad sign. After all, Castellan's constant state of looking as if he's just sniffed shit is one of his many charms. Castellan Isenya is an anomaly in several different ways, and bestowing me compliments through scowls is just one of them. I slink up Heidi's massive staircase, rapping on the door twice, tickling his forearm, and nodding curtly in welcome. "You look sharp today, babe."

Almost immediately, his sneer melts into a genuine smirk, one that says yeah thanks, I know, I've been waiting for you to notice, bitch. "Daddy just had this shirt hemmed for the Reaping. New Capitol designer he's been eyeing up."

"Suits you well," I hum, scanning the lazy residential street in front of us for the third member of our trio. "Now where in the world is this bitch? I knocked, like, an hour ago."

As if on a cue, the front door swings open and a hulking boy with a knapsack slinks out as if he's not being eyeballed up. He disappears onto the street without a word. Heidi stands just behind in the doorway, cheeks flushed pink and lips quirked up into a smile.

"Newest conquest is hot," I say off-handedly. "You've done better."

A lie. Jealousy bubbles up somewhere in my stomach. As I glance over my shoulder to see the kid silently dipping into an alley, I curse myself for not finding him first. I can already imagine my brains on his carpet.

"His name's Bailey," Heidi says coyly. "And wouldn't you know, I've just sold him an entire two pounds."

"Big moves for a little girl," Castellan croons.

She beams. "He spent the night. Told me some shit. Four kids got hospitalized yesterday, and they think it's because-"

"And that's our problem… why?" I sniff. "Bitches gotta monitor their own shit. Not my monkey, not our circus. Now let us in. I'm starved."

We crowd into the foyer, the scent of cheesy eggs and salty sausages wafting through the air as a pleasant welcome. Heidi's house is large, formidable for our daily hangouts but of course not quite to the standard of my own. For starters, she doesn't have a maid – not that one is needed since Heidi's mom is such a clean freak as it is, but I've always thought it nice to have some hired help tripping around the house to remind you of your own status.

"Marcie, Castellan!" Her father, Pauric, dips his head into the foyer with a genuine smile. "So nice to see you both on Reaping day. Care for some breakfast?"

"Of course," Castellan purrs, hopping up onto a kitchen barstool with ease. He leers at Pauric's back as he turns to dish up some eggs. "You know I'm always down for a sausage from you."

Ew. Heidi and I lock eyes for a brief moment, my lips curled up in amusement and her face aghast.

"I'll have the slightest bit of eggs," I murmur, taking my rightful spot so Castellan sits at my left. "I ate before I came."

"I think I'll skip breakfast, Dad," Heidi says casually. She slides into the other seat next to me.

"Gotta sit this one out to fit into your new Reaping dress, mm?" I cock my head at her. She swallows, but doesn't say another word. My voice lowers, almost imperceptible. "Do a few lines this morning and you'll be set for the day, babe. Castellan says this new shit is otherworldly."

Breakfast at the Adelard residence passes without much commotion; Castellan wolfs down his meal, smacking his lips and casting glances to Heidi's father – admittedly still attractive and trim for his old age – within moments. My own bowl of eggs sits half-finished, and Heidi taps her nails on the counter impatiently till we finish.

"Thanks for the food Dad, I'm sure it was great!" she nearly hollers as soon as Castellan takes his last bite of sausage, snagging my hand and yanking me out of the front door.

"Eager today," I hum without mirth, unsettled at how fast Heidi's decided to move. "I guess you just can't wait to see three kids sent off to their death in an hour, yeah?"

"Please," she snorts, tugging her dress upwards and sending her tits rippling in the aftermath. "I just can't stand being in there when it smells so good."

"…Come here."

We dip into a nearby alley, Castellan in our wake. I glance once, twice to make sure we're alone before drawing a thin vial from my pocket. Heidi's eyes alight at the sight of the powder within, glistening like sugar in the morning light.

"This isn't the nasty shit, yeah?"

"I told you, Castellan approved." I roll my eyes, and he nods his permission. "Why would I give you laced shit, Heidi? You not trust me or something? You're lucky I decided to be in a happy mood today."

I tap the vial onto the back of my hand, dragging my finger alongside it to form a neat, albeit thick line. Heidi bows her head quickly with an unpleasant snort and comes back up, rubbing the side of her nose with a grimace. I look pointedly back down at the white shit remaining on my hand; nearly half of it.

"Okay, I'm done."

"Don't be a bitch," I bark out. "Take the rest. I'm not in the mood to put it back in."

Her eyes flicker to Castellan, pleading. She forgets empathy is not his strong suit. With a caustic shrug, he throws a hand on his hip, as if he's exhausted of putting up with such cowardice.

Luckily, Heidi knows her place; with a frown, her head dips back again and finishes the line off.

"Good girl," Castellan sighs, tired of such festivities. He rubs his stomach, wandering back out onto the street and squinting in the light. "Oh, good God, Pippa's gained ten pounds since we last saw her!"

It doesn't take much to know my favorite person to pick on is in the street; I practically dash out to meet him, catching a glimpse of the redhead in her Sunday's best and letting loose a banshee-like screech. The bitch in question recoils, houses down and flushed already. "Pink on a redhead, did someone order their meat bloody rare?"

Heidi joins the fray, still pinching her nose and wincing. "For fuck's sake, I thought they sent all the pigs to Seven in the merge!"

Pippa shoots us a ferocious glare before darting off down the street to the Reaping, and I can't help but allow myself to develop a beam in her wake. I know she'll be back; rapping on Castellan's door in the dead of night, sweating from withdrawals. No matter the abuse we feed her, anyone in this district, they always come back to us. Heidi and Castellan snicker to themselves at my side, backs straight and heads high. As a unit we trail Pippa down the block, arms swaying in unison and lips perked in superior smiles.

This is how I like my mornings to start; a cup of coffee, my best friends by my side, and a bit of shit-talking.

This is how it's always been. This is how it'll always be.

Silas Garamond, 18
District Three Male

"Morning, Silas."

Thaxton's father grins at me, glancing behind him and calling for his son to come down the stairs. We make pleasant small talk for a moment; a little about how my father's doing and how my mother's been doing with being sick and whatnot, and a bit about how shitty business has been in light of the Reaping, blah, blah, blah. It's pleasant, and I do genuinely enjoy chatting with him about such topics - but I've got other things on my mind today.

But what I enjoy most about him is his son – my best buddy for as long as I could remember, the byproduct of two bored kids at a company mixer. We instantly bonded over our interest in business, in girls, in the pure luxuries of life. It was a platonic match made in heaven. And he's got my back no matter what – if I've ever had just a bit too much to smoke and need to lie down, he's got me. If there's a girl that catches my eye, I can bet Thaxton will be my wingman. He's my best friend, and in turn I'm there for him no matter what he needs.

In the case of this morning, an early pre-Reaping jog.

Thaxton bursts down the stairs, already in workout gear. He hugs his dad goodbye, greets me with a punch on the shoulder, and we're off on our morning run.

"Shit," I choke out, clutching my chest dramatically as we turn the first corner. "Drinking to black last night was not the move."

"I'm feelin' it, I'm feelin' it!" Thaxton exhales, shaking his head and wincing as soon as he does. "Awe, shit, I think I might yak."

"I'm with you on that one," I counter, feeling quite green.

And so we do; we stop at a road sign and promptly empty our guts of everything from last night, and the meager bits of food we managed to get down this morning. Some dude stops to gawk, and I flip him the bird before a second wave hits.

Thaxton finally comes upright, wiping his mouth and clutching his stomach. "Fuck."

I come beside him, trying to remedy the turbulent waves of my stomach. "That wasn't fun."

He gives me a wavery smirk, shaking his head. "Maybe it's not just the drinking."

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm a little nervous about today in general."

The Reaping. My head buzzes uncomfortably, highlighting the fact that maybe I'm not completely unconcerned about how today could unfold. "You'll be fine," I say off-handedly. "Three has no reason to hate you. I mean, no reason besides our dads, and even then, wouldn't that just be out of jealousy?"

"What about you?"

I laugh lightly, wiping a trace of bile off the corner of my lips. "What about me?"

His eyes pierce mine with traces of genuine concern. "About Tallie, and Corrie, and Meliana. You know what they were doing to try and bring you down."

Ah, yes. The bitches.

It was about a week ago when Thaxton flocked to my house in the middle of the night, panting with exertion and worry. I'd thought him to be insane until I saw how contorted with paranoia and concern his face was. A campaign to get me voted in, he'd said with shaking hands. Rumor had it that my three ex-girlfriends were wandering about town, telling people what a shitty person I was and how I truly deserved to get voted in.

So what if my exes thought I was a bastard? They're girls. They didn't like how our relationships ended, and they're taking it out in the worst way possible. I don't see them succeeding.

"I'll be fine." I wave off his words. "Nobody's gonna believe them."

Thaxton gnaws on his bottom lip. "They say they have a recording of you, Silas. They're telling everyone that they have proof of how you treated them."

"I treated them as they deserve to be treated," I argue back. It's unlike Thaxton to be so caught up in his own mind. I decide right here that I don't like it. "You know how good I was to them, Thax – I bought them so many gifts, I went to all their family events and met all their friends. It's not my fault that the relationships went sour."

"Silas, people are believing them."

That strikes a chord with me. It must be Meliana – my most recent ex, and definitely the one with the most fire. That's what drew me to her. She was a spitfire, tempting in every way and exciting to just be in the presence of. But I didn't do her wrong. I treated her like a queen every day until she did me dirty. She picked fights. She accused me of cheating. She got weird. It's not on me. I would never hurt my girlfriend - unless it was warranted.

"How could they?" I try to manage a laugh. "They have literally no proof. And besides, it's not like any of them have a close circle of friends."

"But people are believing them."

My stomach curdles up with a fire that could only be anger. I break away from Thaxton's gaze, ignoring the queasiness and tearing into a jog, pulling myself away from the vomit, the road sign, his accusations, everything. I hear him following, his footsteps pounding on the pavement, but my mind is clouded with other things.

I do not deal in struggles. I don't make things difficult for myself or others – I don't. Anyone could tell you that. Hell, I'm one of the most well-known, well-liked kids of this district. Does Thaxton genuinely think that a few of my crazy exes banding together to form some alliance against me will make my entire district turn on me?

But somewhere, in the back of my mind, is pressing guilt. Brief images of the past few years flitter across my mind, vivid and gone all in an instant.

My hand, pressed up against Corrie's neck, feeling her muscles contract and inflate as she sputtered out a gasp.

Meliana's eyes, full of tears and hate as she looked up from her shattered jade earrings.

The way Tallie's body shook as she accused me of cheating.

That one expression that all of them had at one time or another, a bizarre wide-eyed, open-mouthed look - like a wild animal backed into a corner.

A jovial laugh from my father and a congratulatory clap on the back after I told him my girlfriend would do anything I asked for on a whim. The warm feeling of satisfaction that my father was happy with me, even proud of me. "That's how you do it, Silas," he'd said. "The world is your oyster, and these women are but a part of your world."

My arms pump harder at my side, forcing the memories to flitter away like wretched butterflies. They're my crazy exes, I remind myself as I push myself to sprint faster. You were never in the wrong. Your father told you that, your mother exemplified that, you knew that. Nobody's going to believe them. They're exaggerating, they were crazy. Hell, they made me cry far more than I ever did. Thaxton's paranoid, he gives into gossip and shit like that.

You won't be voted in.

"Silas, wait up!"

"Can't!" I shout over my shoulder, thanking whatever god is out there that Thaxton's got shorter legs than me. "I gotta wash up before the Reaping!"

And he lets it go, at least for now. I glance back a minute later and he's gone – hopefully fucked off back to his own neighborhood.

There's no way this entire district can be listening to these girls. They're crazy. They're exaggerating. They don't know what they're talking about.

…But what if people do believe them?

Pagan Corneal, 17
District Eleven Random

The fresh dew of the morning is wet, glimmering, and ultimately gorgeous.

I sprawl lazily about my front lawn, savoring the way it dampens my hair as I roll about. Somewhere inside my house my mother is humming, moving about with my father, likely dancing. The other houses on the block have odors of breakfast milling about, and unpleasantly does it drift up to my nose.

I don't quite like breakfast. My parents don't either. Food is natural, needed for our physical bodies to go on about, and that's understandable. After all, I'd like to keep going as long as I possibly can, so I do eat sometimes. Not a lot, just enough to curb the growling in my stomach when the time comes and fulfill the nutrients that my body yearns for. The real meat is within us, the bread and bones of who we really are. Physical food is fine, nourishing, sure. But I've always considered the best thing to fill myself with in the mornings are the pure sensations of nature, of just being.

It's the Reaping day, and now more than ever I need to take in the feeling of being grounded.

My fingers extend, the grass beneath tickling my hands and soaking my skin with that lovely dew. This right here is where I'd love to be for as long as possible – under a rising sun, lavishing in the feeling of warm sunshine as it melts onto my skin.

"Pagan."

One of my neighbors, a training center regular named Uriel, comes to a halt at the edge of my property. Their feet just touch the edges of the grass, careful to not overstep any bounds. I can sense that they wish to have a chat, and so I nod back.

I pull myself onto my elbows, meeting their gaze with a soft smile. "Come lay with me."

Uriel draws themselves on the lawn next to me and sighs happily as their clothing slowly becomes saturated on the moist grass. "Somehow I always manage to find you out here."

"It's gorgeous, isn't it?" I squint my eyes, peering as closely as I can to the orange sun without blinding myself. "I think most people tend to underestimate the glories of first morning light. It quite rejuvenates me."

"It's wet."

"It's nature," I counter lightly, slapping the back of my hand against their shoulder playfully. "And it's nourishing."

Uriel shifts on the lawn, the sunlight reflecting off of their black hair in golden streaks. "I was hoping I'd run into you, actually. Came to ask how you're feeling about how today will unfold."

The Reaping. I'd almost pushed it out of my mind, hopeful for a moment of serenity. But the near future looms still on the horizon, tickling my mind with the promise of excitement and a new adventure. "How do you mean?"

They shoot me a pointed glance, lips quirked up into a smile. "I know you'd love to get voted in."

"I would," I say lazily, "and I will be. I can see it already. I know people have been voting up my name."

"Sometimes I think you're crazy," Uriel murmurs.

"And I might be. But the thing is, dear friend, I don't mind." My own lips find their way to a smile, more of a knowing smirk than anything else. "I've been waiting for this moment for quite a while. I've somewhat been hoping this day would never come, though – the deliciousness of the anticipation is something I've been savoring for quite awhile."

"And how funny it is that you're looking forward to death." Their statement hangs in the air as we gaze out at the passersby, most of them glancing over to offer a nod and a genuine smile of greeting.

I hum. "I don't look forward to death, necessarily," I reply. "I don't intend to die."

It's true. Whenever I've fantasized about my own district giving me the opportunity to enter the Hunger Games, rather than by my own doing, I've pictured myself coming out on top. And how could I dream of anything else when I've only known life? I don't quite think that many people could think of death when it's never been within my realm of experiences. No – when I'm selected for the Games, I fully intend to survive.

"Do you look forward to the other side of it, then?" Uriel nudges me. "Of killing others?"

That's a trickier question. If there's one thing I've learned about my friends, neighbors, the people around me, is that sadism is a topic that can be all too quickly brought upon us and the mood is thus brought downwards fast.

"I don't look forward to killing," I murmur, "but I know that I will do it."

"It is inevitable."

"Inevitable, and beautiful."

That catches an odd look from Uriel, and I rush to cover my tracks. "Don't you think? One of the most important things of life is to recognize the beauty that lies within everything. There's something magical about the release of a soul from their humanly body, dancing free finally and off to the next world, whatever it may be. I'm not scared of death when I don't know the experience. I mean, is it freeing? Is it terrifying? Is it a whirlwind of blackness and emptiness and then nothingness?" I shrug. "See, we don't know. And I think that's beautiful."

"You find beauty in the unknown." They sigh. "I feel the opposite. I find it rather intimidating. Scary."

"And that's okay. Everyone experiences everything in every which way."

Conversations like this are what keep me going. Chasing the boundaries of opinion, dancing amongst different viewpoints of different people. One thing I do admire about Uriel is their honesty, and how easily it is to just see inside their soul and what they believe in their heart. I appreciate it. I might not follow their lead all the time, but it is admirable.

They recline further into the ground, heaving a sigh. "I'll miss you when you get voted in. If you get voted in."

I laugh lightly. "When I get voted in. I'm confident that this district will recognize my potential. After all, I don't think I've made myself any sort of small figure in Eleven, no?"

"Still. I'll miss you."

I peer over at my companion with a sort of fondness. "And I'll miss seeing you," I say simply. "But you need not miss me when I'll be broadcasted all over the district for every waking hour. How can you miss someone when they're constantly in your range of seeing?"

Uriel offers nothing but a placid expression, nodding at my mother as she exits the house on her daily walk. It's silent now – but I've grown used to comfortable silence. I'm fully aware that not many people around me enjoy indulging themselves in such soul-searching, and it puts them on edge. But at the same time, I enjoy watching them squirm. Discomfort is one of the smaller joys in life. You're not living unless you're on edge.

Finally they get up, the back of their shirt soaked from the damp lawn. They brush themselves off, shaking free of any small plants that cling to their clothing, and nod to me one final time.

"I'm sure this is the last time I'll be seeing you for a while," they say. "So I'll wish you luck now, Pagan. Not that you'll need it."

"I appreciate your well wishes either way." I allow my eyes to slip shut, sinking back into the lawn with a renewed sense of comfort as Uriel's feet take them away.

Yes, it's a big day for me. Not that it's anything to be nervous about – emotions will come, and it may be tense, and I'll savor them for all they can teach me.

Discomfort, pains, the passions of lives drifting to different ends, they're all things I must confront one day. And so I'll allow them to come, to teach me whatever I need to know. The Games is likely the largest challenge of my young life so far, and I'll welcome it for wherever it takes me.

To put it simply, I just can't wait.

A/N: Trust Nobody by Dalton Rapattoni.

And so we have our first three tributes, albeit a bit late! I apologize for that. Life's been busy and I had a mild corona scare but then I was like uhhhh you being paranoid bitch and yeah it's been a lot. More importantly I've been playing Town of Salem like… eight hours a day. An exaggeration. Maybe.

I don't typically do Pre-Reapings. Honestly, I don't think I've ever done them (bar my first SYOT which was pandemonium all in itself). But I feel like in Quell stories, especially this one where backstory is so vital to each tribute, they just make sense. I'll have one more chapter of Pre-Reapings to cover a single tribute from Six, Seven, and Twelve, and then I'll figure out Reapings. After that, ten Capitol chapters, and each tribute will be featured twice. And we all know what come after that!

Said it before but I'll say it again. I'm so thrilled for this story.

Let me know what you think of these three tributes! I'll see you round next time.