Metal blades crashed against each other as Hailey fought for the upper hand and her opponent struggled to defend off her attacks. Swords moved dizzyingly fast and her opponent was starting to tire, he was getting sloppy; every thrust losing its power, every move to parry becoming slower. Hailey revelled in it; combat competitions which were almost a mindless act at this point. When people fought, they relied more on instinct then they did anywhere else, they became predictable and forgot to remember what their instructors had been teaching them for years. Playing dirty never hurt too. If she was entirely truthful, it was occasionally playing dirty and acting like the simple, dedicated working-class student that people thought she was that had got her so far. She wasn't manipulative and was a rather terrible liar most of the time – she just knew how to be smart in combat. The female mentor for the 57th – a distant woman who wasn't ever in 1 for more than a week at a time – watched Hailey critically.
"Come with me." She said sharply once Hailey had won, much to the enjoyment of her friends who all smiled and congratulated her. Eyes followed them as they left the room. Quartz led her through an office full of cube-like spaces where staff did paperwork and communicated with one another, while the door at the back led to a great hallway lined with doors – some painted, others left in their plain wood colour. They were private offices for current and future victors, Quartz opened the door of a bright white door and they sat down. Inside, the room was almost entirely the same colour as the door, matching with the woman's chalky skin and hair. "Do you know why I brought you here?" She said, voice so deep it was jarring in comparison to her appearance.
"No," Hailey replied, aware of the mind games trainers and victors liked to play.
"I've been watching you for a while now. If you pass the final tests and get your stealth marks to 90%, I may consider advocating for your selection as volunteer."
"Doesn't everyone want Palla to be volunteer?"
"I'm sure you'd be a fine reserve in case something happens to her." There it was. The point of walking through the length of the academy and entering this clinical and making painful small talk; her final task, a chance to prove herself. Hailey needed to figure out how to maim or murder her adversary in the impossibly small space of time between volunteers being announced and the reaping. Such a thing wasn't uncommon in 1's academy, Hailey suspected that such actions were encouraged behind the scenes, that this small meeting wasn't a unique occasion. The academy actively encouraged volunteers to drink and have one last grandiose night in 1. It was rumoured Quartz herself had almost faced an assassination attempt by a jealous ex-girlfriend. For a moment Hailey craved raw honesty, finding the academy's constant scheming rather exhausting.
"I'm certain I can do that," Hailey replied.
"You are not to tell the details of this meeting to anyone."
"Who were you, before you won?" Hailey blurted. Momentary surprise crossed the woman's face before a defeated, haunted expression replaced it.
"I was a different person. The arena changes you, don't think for one second it won't." She sighed deeply, then regained her composure. "I'll escort you back to the gymnasium." Hailey thought about what the woman had told her for a moment, of course, the arena changed you, she wasn't that stupid. It seemed rather silly that Quartz would say the arena changed you, out of all the potentially helpful answers. Maybe Hailey was being naive. It was just killing people, she'd seen it done countless times that she looked forward to it, well more the praise she'd receive rather than the action itself - but they were the same thing in her head, one moment of killing and a lifetime of attention and fame. Surely a couple of weeks in the arena wouldn't drive her insane like a lot of the other victors. Back at the gymnasium her best friend, Talent, was by her side immediately, peppering Hailey with questions she couldn't answer.
In a room she shared with three other girls, she laid awake, planning, writing anything down wasn't worth the risk so she had to be careful and keep every shred of information in her head, not sharing so much as a sentence with anyone else, not even her family who she loved and trusted dearly. The Academy was a training facility unlike any other; most students lived in rooms shared with others, hours of training were long and tedious but the majority preferred it to what they would have at home. From age 12 students applied by taking several written tests, a fitness test and were evaluated on physical appearance - after all, the Capitol didn't like to sponsor ugly tributes. Hailey enjoyed watching the children apply, you could always tell how poor they were based on the way they dressed; shining blazers of the elite compared to the stinking t-shirts of the underground. When she was 13, she took pity on a girl from the underground who got rejected because of her crooked teeth and she felt compelled to slip her a few coins. Trainers punished Hailey immediately, forcing her to fight kids at least four years older than her for the next year. A chance for the soft-hearted older students to practise on a child and for her to learn her lesson. That her kindness and her failure to check if trainers were watching were weaknesses that others in the arena would exploit at all costs. Still, the kindness never really left her, as she left fighting rings with black eyes and broken noses and purple welts covering her body. Try as they might, no one could stamp out her favourite part of herself.
But if she was so kind, why did she look forward to murder? She wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question.
While everyone knew what girl was going to be selected as the volunteer for the 57th hunger games, the competition between the boys was far more unpredictable. The games were three weeks away. Fights between boys were becoming more and more common, the boy who scored highest in any test was guaranteed to end up giving or receiving a bruise or broken bone or two. Fortunately for Finnegan Armani, being the target of such attacks proved to be more of an extra chance to practise his hand-to-hand skills than it was detrimental for his health. Recently he'd started going out of his way to be targeted; roaming the halls at night, flirting with lovers that weren't his, stirring the pot when the backs of trainers backs were turned. Fighting and studying were easier than thinking and feeling. The world had become too much, so he lost himself in his work instead. Three days ago Morris Feldon, his personal trainer, 22 years old and incredible in every way, had broken up with him and now everything was worse than it already was. It wasn't a bitter breakup, they'd simply changed and Morris knew it was better for them to spend time apart. He wasn't wrong. Like everyone, Finnegan had issues and they were starting to destroy his relationship, a relationship that was already dangerously fragile at times, the sneaking around, hiding from staff and students alike had made it feel incredibly magical and fantastical - but also frustratingly exhausting and it maybe in the future they'd make a great couple, or maybe they wouldn't. Regardless, it hurt and Finnegan wasn't feeling okay. Moving kept him sane.
At one point or another, exhaustion started to take over and he drifted back to bed, his heavy footsteps on blonde wood echoing through the hall. The following morning started as almost every Sunday had started; exercise, shower, breakfast before starting the long walk to his parent's mansion. Sundays were the only day where students at the academy were usually allocated long periods of free time, except in his case it wasn't careless freedom other students had, it was spending four excruciating hours in the company of his parents, counting down the hours until he could go back to the safety of the academy, where he could swear and make raunchy jokes and act like the stupid teenager he was without fear of judgement.
"Hello, Finnegan!" His mother, Rivia, embraced him immediately after knocking on the door. "Welcome home." It felt like he was watching reruns of a Capitol tv show at this point and they were all following a script written by people whose only concept of family had come from everywhere but the real world. His father, Willem, greeted him with a handshake and a curt 'hi.' The house was magnificent, sure, but it was also a shrine to the person his parents wanted him to be - the person he never could be. Photos of a brother he never met covered the walls and children's toys that never belonged to him sat on shelves. Arturo Armani had died of a brain tumour at the tender age of 6. They never got over it, even after Finnegan was born, they expected him to be a copy of his brother and not his own person. Being compared to a brother who couldn't make mistakes or have flaws or could ever dare to disappoint them because he died before he could be anything more than a mindless, sweet child. Finnegan wasn't exaggerating when he said he hated them, his parents and brother. They sat in a living room adorned with religious imagery and Arturo.
"I see you've been doing well at school," Willem said.
"I have, sir. I'm very excited for the Hunger Games." Finnegan replied. "The trainers think I'm likely to be selected as a volunteer."
"What of the female competition?" Rivia asked.
"Everyone knows Palla Ermine will be chosen. It is unclear who will be her reserve. Quartz had a meeting with Hailey Bailey the day before last, perhaps she will be it." Already he was exhausted of talking. He felt like two people, the man he was at the academy and the obedient and religious, worshipping God and only speaking when spoken to when he was in the company of his family, he yearned for the freedom of existence away from them.
"Have you studied their strengths and weaknesses?" Willem said. "Arturo would have done that already."
"Yes, I have." He gritted his teeth. He decided at that moment that there was only one thing that would make him happy; volunteering. It meant death or life as victor. Either way, he'd be free from their constraints.
Students dressed in clean pressed uniforms as they walked in unison to the assembly hall, sitting in alphabetical order and listening to grand speeches of honour and cleverness. All while their families waited in the foyer, watching it streamed live, hoping that their child would be selected to volunteer. Slick and Quartz recited their own speeches at the start, before being introduced to the microphone almost an hour later to announce the year's tributes. Finnegan rose and giddily accepted the honour while the girl wasn't at all surprised, no one cared about the reserves, they weren't likely threats to those who had already been chosen
Or Slick thought. At dawn, the next day - reaping day - Palla Ermine was found hanging in a supply closet and while her friends and family wept, Hailey Bailey happily readied herself for the reaping with not so much as a fresh bruise on her tan skin. Finnegan Armani, on the other hand, had survived the night and was practically jumping with excitement as he and Hailey walked side-by-side to the reaping. His shirt was partly unbuttoned - more than enough to offend his religious parents - and was a cherry-red, contrasting with his partner's rather modest burgundy dress. Quartz and Slick pretended as if they weren't watching their tributes with harsh scrutiny, they hadn't done anything to disappoint them yet - though Slick was concerned for who the 2 and 4 had selected, already Eris - a usually humble woman - had called him that morning, telling him how doomed 1 was this year. According to Quartz, both Apt and Scion had texted her with their typical teasing - though they were a little too confident for her liking. It would be a lie to say he wasn't nervous.
Their escort, a short man with silver skin reached into the reaping ball and pulled out a name, Hailey volunteered, clearly not noticing that it was her name he'd reaped. His fellow mentor looked ready to launch out of her seat and strangle the girl. A move like that showed the Capitol and her competitors that she was oblivious of the world around her to a degree. He envisioned the smug smiles and snarky comments of the mentors from the outer districts. Thankfully, Finnegan was far more graceful. Announcing his volunteering with a clear voice - tinted with a hint of arrogance, ascending the stage with ease and looking out the crowd with calm confidence.
With a girl who'd murdered before setting foot in the arena and a boy who resented being from old money, Slick was certain his tributes would at least be unusually interesting.
A/N: Hey! First and foremost, I must apologise for the very late update - it took longer than it should have to get used to writing a reaping instead of a prologue. Special thanks to foxfox12 who submitted Hailey Bailey and Paradigm of Writing who submitted the character of Finnegan Armani. They were loads of fun to write and to get into the heads of. I hope everyone enjoyed reading. The next chapter should be up within the next week. x