Hey all! Here's our next tribute - sent in by the wonderful ThatOtherAsian. I hope I did right by her!
04 - A Worldly Spearfisher
She squints down at the water, hands on her hips as she leans forward. "This where it fell?"
"Yeah," Hama sighs. She's standing just a little behind Adrianne, an almost shamed expression on her red face. "Mira tried to dive after it, but she can't hold her breath long enough to reach it."
Adrianne nods. She shrugs off her vest and stretches her arms. "Run by me what it looks like again?"
"It's a smooth ring made from coral. I guess the coral's red? I dunno, I could never figure out what to call what colour it is."
"Roger that." Without a second to waste, Adrianne dives gracefully into the water.
It's about 8AM and Adrianne hasn't had a lot of time to gather her bearings, much less properly wake up and prepare for the Reapings. But a request to dive into the water surrounding one of the floating houses to fetch a lost item sounds like the perfect pick-me-up.
The weather's warm, the water refreshingly cold. It chills her to the bone—maybe she should've dove in with more than a sports bra and her boxers—but Adrianne can't complain. The day will only get warmer, and it never takes long for her to get used to the water's temperature. She gathers her bearings and hovers in one spot as her eyes adjust to the salt water. Something is dropped into the water, a bright light shining from it that almost blinds her.
A small underwater torch. Adrianne rolls her eyes and grabs it as it slowly starts to sink; she threads her hand through the loop at the end of it and points the light down at the depths below. She doesn't have much trouble seeing in the dark, but if the ring's fallen between some rocks then Hama's gift may be helpful. Adrianne kicks her legs up and forces herself to start sinking deeper and deeper, until finally she can swim with ease.
The water is where Adrianne feels most at home. As stereotypical as it is, coming from the fishing District, she'd feel hopeless if there wasn't regular rain or somewhere to swim anywhere else. There's no other District that she can kick her feet into the mud, play games with thunderstorms, and spook the small schools of fish some areas breed and farm. She's seen what some of the Districts look like thanks to the job Jack gave her, and it's a travesty that no one can know this joy like she does.
Deeper and deeper she goes. Darker and darker it gets. A few fish take notice of her and quickly swim away; any other time, Adrianne would chase after them with a grin. She gets the feeling Hama won't be happy if she comes up for air the first time without any news about the ring, though. By the time Adrianne genuinely needs the torch to see, she's spent at least forty-five seconds swimming. She can make out the beginnings of the small coral beds layering the bottom of this particular body of water—which means it shouldn't take long to spot that ring and grab it.
She spots the small air dome a little deeper as the coral bed dips. Adrianne nods to herself as the plan forms in her head: If it takes more than two minutes to find the ring and swim back up to the surface, she'll catch her breath at the dome and continue on from there. She's never had to use them often—she's not one of the Careers that train with them due to how busy Jack keeps her—but she knows their purpose at the very least. Some kids train for hours on end without leaving the water, and extending to time you can stay underwater is an essential part of even the work some people partake in. The domes are for anyone wanting to improve to use, but it's primary function is to train its Careers.
The ring doesn't appear to be in the spot Hama had pointed toward. Adrianne stills her arms and feet, a pout on her face as she holds her entire body still for just a few seconds. She keeps her eyes on the coral bed. Ever so slowly, she's pulled away from where Hama pointed and towards the air dome.
Adrianne shines the torch towards the dip in the coral. The ring was carried in the direction of the dome. Handy to know.
She makes for the dome first, checking for any signs of someone inside before she surfaces in the small area within. It's freezing cold and her hair clings to her neck and face, but at least she's more alert than she'd thought she'd be by now.
With a sharp inhale, Adrianne dives back down. She swims as fast as she can to the coral and shines the light along each tiny crevice and sponge. It takes two more trips to the dome before she finally catches sight of the ring drifting towards a small group of hermit crabs. Adrianne rolls her eyes and fights back the urge to huff out a sigh.
One particularly big hermit crab moves for the ring, but she makes quick work of moving it away. It hides in its shell as she places it at the centre of the group, too scared to emerge even after she lets it go. The ring doesn't look to have been damaged by the trip it's taken, though Hama was definitely right about the colour. As pretty as it is, there's just no word that comes to mind other than "blood orange". Whatever it is, it's still a fairly nice colour.
Adrianne inspects it properly in the dome and shines the light on it. Smooth as a newborn's face, maybe a little too wide for Hama's slender fingers. She can see why it'd fallen so easily.
It's been a good ten minutes by the time she emerges by the platform again, and Hama's just sitting there patiently with Mira by her side. The two girls stare down at Adrianne expectantly, not even bothering to comment on how long she'd been submerged. Adrianne holds out the ring and the torch with a grin.
"It almost got away," she says, breathless. Hama takes the ring with a smile, while Mira just pouts almost jealously. She probably wanted to impress her girlfriend by getting her ring for her. "Isn't it a bit big for fingers, though? You're all…"
Adrianne brings her fingers up and waves them about daintily. Hama immediately turns red at the action. She stands up with a huff and stamps her foot on the platform, sending a wave of water towards Adrianne and pushing her away from the duo.
"I'll have you know, Adrianne, that this is my token. It's the bracelet my dad made for me when I was a toddler." She pushes it onto her thumb, clenching her fist tightly to keep the ring from falling off again. "Obviously it's going to need to wait until it can fit again."
"Just put it on a necklace!" Adrianne calls after her. Hama continues to walk away, ignoring her at this point. Mira doesn't follow yet. "Plus, you're only fourteen—you're not gonna need a token unless you volunteer early!"
Mira shakes her head disapprovingly. "You've upset her, Chinook," she sighs. Adriane looks to the blonde with a quizzical expression. "Why couldn't you just give it back and let it be?"
"What if she drops it again?" Adrianne begins to paddle over to the platform. She climbs back up and pulls the hair tie from her hair; with a strained expression, she wrings the long brown locks until they're just barely damp. "Jack and I go out a lot now that I'm older. If I'm not here, do you honestly think some of the Career kids will dive for it?"
The younger girl's cheeks puff out in objection. "I could get it!"
"How far did you make it today?"
"Well— It's like you said, we're only fourteen! I could improve once I start training."
Adrianne laughs at her. It's not a loud guffaw like Jack would let loose. It's a quiet snicker, accompanied by the smallest shake of her head. It only makes Mira angrier, and much like Hama she's quick to stand up and stomp her foot on the platform.
"Why is it funny? You aren't one of the Careers, and you can swim just as deep as they can! Why can't I?"
"Because I work. My job requires strong lungs and powerful swimming ability. Unless you want to get into spearfishing early like I did, you'll need more than the time it'll take for me to leave to improve." With that, Adrianne grabs the shirt she'd discarded and slings it over her shoulder.
There's only anger in Mira's eyes as they start to tear up. Adrianne tries to appear remorseful as encouraging phrases run through her mind, but they're never given a chance to be voiced as Mira stomps away. She sounds almost like she's about to start sobbing as she yells back to Adrianne, "Well I hope you have to leave by tomorrow!"
The words sting a bit. Adrianne's got some pretty tough skin, but sometimes it hurts when she tries to be helpful—only to have it backfire because of stubbornness, her terrible advice filter, or both. Mira's right. Maybe she should've let it be today.
The Reaping won't be for another two hours, and it's pretty clear that everyone's rising to start the day. Adrianne tries to own the pyjamas look as she strides past the small houses to her own, though it's hard to ignore the wolf whistles of some of the students that jog past on their daily route. If she had a spear or harpoon in her hands, they'd probably leave her alone. That's a big "probably", though.
She's mostly dry by the time she walks inside. Sounds come from the kitchen as she walks casually down the hall, the barest trail of water left behind her. There's the vaguest scent of bacon in the air, and she doesn't even bother to grab a towel as she sprints for the kitchen.
Jack's awake—of course he is, he's an early riser—and he's scooping eggs and bacon onto the plates in front of him. Adrianne's mouth waters at the sight of the food, almost ignoring the slogan on his apron. I licked the bowl, it declares. She scowls at it as she drops herself onto a chair at the bench, finally coming face-to-face with her adoptive father.
"Did you really lick it?" she asks dryly. Jack snorts out a laugh.
"The only bowl to lick is the frying pan," he points out, "and it would be most unfortunate if I gave myself the DIY Avox treatment."
He has a point there. Jack douses the pan in water before joining her, a small plate of toast between their own meals. There's little to no conversation between them as they stuff the beginnings of their breakfasts in their mouths.
By the time Adrianne butters some toast and breaks the yolk of her egg, Jack's practically finished his own food. He dabs a napkin at his mouth and asks, "What's got you looking like a drowned mutt this morning?"
Around a mouthful of toast, Adrianne replies, "Kid lost a ring in the water. Asked me to get it. What's with the fancy breakfast?"
On any other day, even the ones they can spare the time to cook, Jack and Adrianne just settle for something as simple as toast or a bar of muesli. It's the pretty rare occasion that Jack even bothers to don the apron, an even rarer one when Adrianne puts it on.
Jack simply shrugs. "Fancy breakfast for a fancy event?" he tries.
She shrugs back at him. "I really wouldn't call a Quell 'fancy'. Have you seen the way they dress?"
The man chuckles. Jack puts his plate into the sink and shrugs off the apron. "Come now, Chinook," he says softly. "They don't dress that badly."
"Their cluelessness with clothing is almost as bad as their cluelessness to the needs of the Districts," Adrianne mumbles. Jack looks over his shoulder at her, a defeated expression on his face. "What? It's true. Glory and honour to all those kids who win the Hunger Games and all, but the Capitol acts like a toddler with tunnel vision hiding under a blanket when it comes to facing the reality of things."
"Hm." Jack crosses his arms over his chest. To a stranger, this can look extremely intimidating—he's big and looks like a rugged outdoorsman, after all—but to Adrianne it's a sign he's reminiscing. "You know, you sound eerily familiar. I swear I knew someone who'd say the same thing."
He's being facetious. Adrianne shoves the last of her toast into her mouth and shoves the plate towards him. "I get it. 'You remind me of your parents more and more'—that kinda spiel."
Jack smirks. "You do," he says. "Everyone here dislikes the Capitol to a degree, but your father complained about it the same way you do. I was almost afraid I'd have to fire him or transfer him to a different area so he wouldn't get into trouble."
If Adrianne had to be honest, she doesn't really pay much attention when her parents are brought up. True, she lost them at a young age. True, she doesn't have a lot of memories of them—only flashes of smiles and silky hair. But to Adrianne, Jack is her family now. He's her boss and her dad, her guardian and her friend.
She's gone seventeen years without knowing even the names of her own parents. She's sure she can last the rest of her life living as an Evans instead of chasing after the Elders.
"That's cheesy and all," Adrianne quickly butts in, "but I need to get changed before I catch a cold. I doubt anyone gets anywhere by sneezing on everyone."
"You never know," Jack calls after her. She's already down the hall and heading to her bedroom before much else can be said. She can hear the sounds of folders being shuffled around even as she slides her bedroom door shut behind her.
Reapings are not her favourite time of the year. Honestly, she can't imagine it being anyone's favourite time of the year—save for District 2, maybe. She really does believe that winning the Games and volunteering can bring honour and glory, but sometimes it's too much. Kids either being slaughtered for crimes committed a century ago, or winners coming back either monsters or empty, almost soulless versions of themselves. If the Games weren't determined by a kill count and a "last tribute standing" mentality, maybe she could appreciate the idea of it more.
Adrianne had six close friends when she turned twelve. Now at seventeen, only three of them are still around. One of those three, Shell, didn't come back the same.
Jett had volunteered for his older brother—a poor decision, but in Jett's defense Heath had broken his leg a week earlier—and ranked twenty-first. Brook was Reaped and no one volunteered for her; she placed third, and the shattered hope that a mere fourteen-year-old could make it left the remaining friends tiptoeing around each other. Shell had won at the cost of her sight. Adrianne couldn't bear to watch that final fight, and the perky girl who'd volunteered after honing her skills was barely recognisable once she returned from her victory tour. She'd been happy to have Shell return two years ago, but what Shell had to sacrifice to entertain the Capitol leaves a bitter taste in Adrianne's mouth.
She tries not think think about Neptune. The way he'd perished… No one deserved something as heinous as that.
She dumps a pile of clothes on her bed. She never knows what to wear to Reapings. It feels disgusting, dressing up for a one in twenty-four chance of victory, but it feels almost disrespectful to dress like a slob if someone she knows gets Reaped. Adrianne tosses shirts and pants left and right, effectively creating a mess of her room.
Reapings are most definitely not her favourite time of the year, she decides once she pulls a white sundress from the pile.
She isn't one for frilly things or even simple and plain dresses, but she at least has to look respectful for whoever winds up onstage today. Don't dress like she's going to a funeral, don't dress like she doesn't care—just be there, and look supportive while she's at it.
Adrianne's still busily drying her hair until it can be put back into its ponytail when she hears someone call out Jack's name. She almost drops one of her flats in surprise, almost not recognising the voice for a second. When Jack replies and invites the person inside, she's quick to peek out of her room and catch even a glimpse of them down the hall.
Jack has a lot of clients and partners. A small portion of them are previous victors, having travelled outside of the District many times—a valuable resource, considering Jack has to constantly report what he can supply to some Districts without getting in trouble with the Peacekeepers. They may sell mostly fish and small pearls, but talking with past victors over what they can get away with is one of the few reasons Jack and Adrianne haven't gotten into trouble yet.
She recognises the man almost immediately, the impossibly long scarf wrapped multiple times around his neck. Adrianne grins as she hops out of her room, struggling to put the leather flats onto her feet, and calls out, "Mr. Pike!"
Melvin Pike pauses in the middle of shaking Jack's hand. He seems confused at first, like he'd almost forgotten that Adrianne lives here. When he finally sees her rushing down the hall to meet the two men, Melvin simply smiles back at her.
"Miss Evans," he greets. "I see you're preparing for the Reaping."
Adrianne rolls her eyes. "Unfortunately."
Jack clears his throat—a wordless sign to let the two men get back to work. Adrianne doesn't usually sit through the talks, mostly because it feels so stuffy and too formal for her tastes. She'd rather work overtime with the other spearfishers than talk business politics. She holds her hands out to Jack in a begging gesture, quickly whispering, "Can I just talk to him for a minute? Please, Jack?"
Jack grins at her. "I'll give you five, Chinook."
She wastes no time leading Melvin to the couch, sitting him down and smoothing out her dress as she joins him. She's known the man for a while thanks to Jack's business, and the two share the same concerns when it comes to the victors who come back from harrowing Games.
"How's Shell going?" she asks. Adrianne watches his expression carefully, waiting for a sign that something's wrong.
Melvin simply rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "She's still trying to get the Capitol to let Undine move in with her as an aide," he reports. "A doctor came last week. Dunno what they offered her, but even I could hear her screaming for them to get lost and go screw themselves. And that's putting it nicely," he adds with a wink.
Adrianne rolls her eyes. There have been rumours floating around that Shell's been offered surgery to restore her sight. Even before leaving for the Games, Shell had always been too proud to accept the easy way out—so her censored rejection, according to Melvin, makes a lot of sense.
"Is anyone spending time with her?" she adds. Melvin looks at her in disbelief. "I'm worried. I don't want her left on her own, but none of us can stay in the Victors' Village with her. I'll be amazed if Undine gets permission to even just visit."
"Miss Evans," Melvin says softly, "Shell is a capable girl. She's had a good year to adjust, and I can assure you that she isn't isolating herself from the other victors. She comes to our sessions and talks to Mr. Odair regularly."
"And they're not…" Adrianne hesitates for a second. "They're not forcing her to mentor anyone yet?"
Melvin is silent. He inhales deeply, a hand rubbing his brow as he thinks on his answer. Adrianne's stomach starts to churn.
"They've given her until her nineteenth birthday to prepare for mentoring. Finnick tried to negotiate and emphasise her… disability," he chokes out with reluctance, "but Head Gamemaker Nero refuses to budge. She says that she's being flexible enough by granting Shell another two years."
"Bastards," Adrianne hisses. She quickly catches herself and mumbles an apology to Melvin. The man simply waves a hand at her, groaning as he rises from the couch. Their five minutes are up, though there's no sign of Jack in the room yet.
Melvin fixes his scarf as he picks up his jacket. He always keeps warm clothing on hand, and it always gets Adrianne's hopes up that it'll rain at some point in the day. "You needn't worry, Miss Evans," he reassures her. "She may be put up for mentorship in two years, but we still have the option to volunteer for mentorship. With luck, Shell won't have to do anything for another decade."
"Thanks, Mr. Pike." Adrianne nods to him. "And tell Mr. Odair that I'm glad he's helping her."
Melvin laughs softly. "Why wouldn't he? Shell reminds him of Annie—he's not going to let her suffer through the aftereffects of the Games on her own."
The words are comforting, at the very least. She's been worried about Shell for a while, about whether or not she'll be required to mentor like the others, but knowing that the legendary Finnick Odair is personally seeing to her needs gives her some form of hope.
She's asked everything she needs to, her worries calmed somewhat. Jack hasn't come back into the room yet, but the way Melvin moves for the study makes it clear he knows where he needs to go. Adrianne sits there for a few seconds—even when the door shuts and the room falls silent, left alone with her thoughts.
She should start heading off to the Justice Building. There's nothing for her to finish here, no further concerns to address. Plus, it's not like it can hurt to arrive early.
The small town Jack had settled the two of them in, where Adrianne became known as the pseudo-Career among the younger kids, is a fair distance from the city; a good half an hour of walking, another fifteen minutes of navigating to the city centre. She considers herself lucky that she doesn't live farther away, given District 4's size, but it can get a bit lonely walking on her own.
Some walks to the city come with company, though not all of them are ideal. The Academy that some of the kids train at isn't far from Adrianne's own town, and through some stroke of luck—be it good or bad—she'll wind up running into at least one of them before she makes it to the city centre. This is what happens as she fixes her hair and fishes a pebble out of one of her flats, the hooting and hollering of pro-Capitol Careers drawing closer and closer. It's a small group from the sound of them, but they're loud and sound cockier than even some of the victors.
Adrianne chews at her lip. She's not big on these kinds of Careers. As much as she loves tough guys and appreciates the rugged appearance of them, it's the personalities of some that make her uncomfortable. When the time comes for her to start a relationship, maybe have some kids, she'll look for a manly man in appearance—but anyone like the five teens that approach her from one of the bushy paths is off the table.
There's one in the lead—baby-faced boy, though his broad shoulders and overall height suggest he's closer to eighteen—while the other four cackle along with him, punching each other's shoulders and bragging about how they'd win and what they'd take as a token. But they're not volunteering this year—no, they make it perfectly clear every five seconds that they're going to wait until the "wannabes" give up trying to be heroic. The boy at the front nods in agreement every time they bring it up, and for a second Adrianne thinks they'll ignore her completely and just walk past her as she moves to the side of the path.
But they notice. Damn this frilly white dress, they notice.
"Chinook, hey!" the one girl of the group calls out. She's Mira's older sister—only related through their dads, from what Adrianne hears—and she certainly likes Adrianne more than Mira does.
"Hey," Adrianne says tiredly. Delta breaks away from the group and almost latches onto Adrianne's side, wide grin on her face. They're the same age, but Delta acts more like she's thirteen than seventeen. Adrianne's wondered at times if she does it on purpose.
"You volunteering this year? Have you seen the mentor yet?" Delta tugs at Adrianne's arm as her friends finally catch up. "Who do you think'll—"
Baby Face scoffs loudly, startling Delta. She loses track of what she was asking and looks back to him like an eager puppy.
"What's it matter what Evans has to say?" Baby Face whines. Adrianne's brow twitches at his tone. "After the last few years, it's pretty obvious she wants nothing to do with it."
After the last few deaths, he means. The faces of Jett and Brook break into the forefront of her mind, a smiling, seeing Shell between them. Compared to the competitive rivalries and hero worship that happens in the Academy, Adrianne's losses were a lot more impactful than the ones they've suffered in the past.
She merely shrugs at him. Baby Face clearly wants to command the attention here, so why should she bother raining on his parade? Adrianne picks up the speed of her walk, intending to leave them behind to their own conversation; she almost doesn't make it ten feet away from them before the chatter about how they'd win the Games begins to get on her nerves.
Glory be to those who win. But screw everyone who thinks killing other children for sport is the best way to get that glory. Adrianne practically breaks into a sprint when Shell gets brought up by Delta—she has no doubt that Baby Face will be a gigantic ass about the topic—and doesn't stop running until she sees the outskirts of the city.
"Adrianne Evans?"
Adrianne nods as she sucks on her finger. The official points to the far end of the city centre, to the slowly gathering group of girls. "Seventeens section. Next!"
The walk to the section feels almost foreboding. Children glance at her, stern-faced and nervous, as the older teens try to keep brave faces. For a Career District, Adrianne can't help noticing how reluctant everyone seems to be to participate. Even Baby Face, who seems to have just arrived, looks a little uncertain of his earlier boasts. When Adrianne lines up with the other seventeen year-old-girls, none of them whisper their usual greeting of, "Hey, Chinook."
It's quiet. Painfully quiet. Adrianne can't stand it.
She shuffles back and forth as she waits for everything to proceed. The mayor taking a seat, the Capitol officials checking the microphone and cameras. The escort reading over his schedule as one of his assistants fixes his coat. Adrianne chews her lip and picks at the skirt of her dress, unable to ignore the ominous air around her. The mayor reads his speech and thanks his citizens for gathering today, and then it's time for the escort to do his thing.
Crowley has got to be the least perky escort Adrianne's ever heard of. He doesn't dress in all bright colours—only muted hues and varying shades of brown—and he never smiles like the other escorts do when they go through with the Reaping. He's only been here for the last two years, transferring up after Shell's victory, and Adrianne can tell that the lanky man doesn't like it here. He used to be the escort for District 2, now disappointed to be in the lowest Career District thanks to Shell's victory.
It serves him right, Adrianne thinks as he fixes the microphone. If District 4 can stand to lose a good chunk of its kids, then Crowley can deal with not getting his preferred District.
His assistants drag the Reaping Ball to his side. Everyone immediately stills, gazes locked on the giant glass ball as Crowley surveys the crowd. He looks like he's surveying the potential Tributes; she wouldn't be surprised if he has a few faces in mind that he hopes will volunteer.
"Welcome to District Four's Reaping for the Fourth Quarter Quell," he says monotonously into the microphone. He isn't looking at any of the kids, instead focusing on the cameras littered through the crowd. "My name is Crowley and I'll be your escort this year. Before we pick a name, it'd be my honour to introduce this year's mentor."
He couldn't make it sound any more like he has better places to be. Adrianne clenches her fists tightly and takes a steadying breath. At least Shell isn't the one that has to deal with the man this year, she reminds herself. At least there's that.
There's weak, slow clapping as Melvin takes the stage—Adrianne's taken aback for a few seconds, though it's easy enough to overcome—and Crowley doesn't even bother to give the man a chance to deliver words of encouragement. At least it's not Shell, Adrianne has to remind herself again.
"As you all know, Mr. Pike won the Eighty-Sixth Games," Crowley drones on. She can see in his exhausted expression that he doesn't consider Melvin a real winner—the man won because he lasted through the hypothermia longer than the boy from Six did, but any victory is a big one for District 4. One of their kids came back, and not a single drop of blood was staining his hands when he stepped off that train. That's all they can ask for. "He'll be looking after one of you and your Capitol partner. Now, let's start the Reaping."
A few whispers break out. The girls in front of Adrianne—sisters?—grab each other's hands desperately. They must be one of the few who take tesserae, because why else would they look so panicked when their names are mixed with the boys'? Adrianne's never had to take tesserae, and she knows with all her heart that if they don't get pulled out, then her own name may as well be non-existent.
One little slip is pulled out by a gloved hand. Crowley sighs heavily, snapping the paper open and reading over the name silently. He leans into the microphone, a cautionary glance at the slip taken as he announces, "Marlowe Walton."
A shriek comes from the back of the crowd. It's not an adult—too young to even be a young parent—and immediately her mind jumps to one conclusion: A twelve-year-old.
He's scrawny and looks more like a porcelain doll than an actual child, skin too pale to belong to someone from District 4. A Peacekeeper has to drag him away, down the middle aisle as horrified teens watch the snot run from his nose and the tears stain his cheeks.
"I'm not ready!" Marlowe screeches. "Please—I'M NOT READY!"
His voice is so shrill it could break glass. Adrianne clamps her hands over her ears, squeezes her eyes shut as he gets closer and closer to the seventeens' group. Even through the barrier of her hands, as she hums softly to herself to block him out, Marlowe's pleas are difficult to ignore.
Stop, she repeats over and over in her head. It's too much to sit through, too nerve-wracking to even think about.
Marlowe must have wiggled out of the Peacekeeper's grasp, because suddenly people are shuffling around and knocking into Adrianne as they move back. They don't want to be near him as he runs for the back of the crowd, screaming for his father. It's almost like he's bad luck, like he's an infection—one second of eye contact with him will jeopardise their resolve to stay home another year.
He's tackled to the ground and slapped harshly across the face. Adrianne can hear Melvin protest, Crowley's bored voice telling him that the Tribute needs to come onstage. All the while, Marlowe's sobs become louder and harsher, his voice sounding as raw as Adrianne's feels.
She can't take this. It's too much, too difficult to sit through. She's never even met Marlowe Walton before today, shouldn't worry about him as much as she's beginning to—but his screams are just too much. Adrianne would be just as bad as the kids who relish in the murder, the Capitolites who cheer with every drop of blood shed, if she keeps her mouth shut.
Her voice sounds hoarse as she opens her mouth, as she yells as loud as she can to overpower Marlowe's screams: "I'll do it!"
Everything seems to freeze at the sound of her voice. There's no doubt everyone heard her—but the eerie silence and countless stares trained on her suggests they're struggling to comprehend what she's done. Honestly, even Adrianne is struggling to understand her actions as panic rises in her chest.
Even Baby Face is surprised, and his mouth opens and closes like a fish's as Marlowe is released. The Peacekeeper advances on Adrianne, looking ready to expect a fight once she's escorted out of her line; he doesn't expect her to just meet him halfway, to ask for help getting to the stage in one piece.
Melvin embraces her tightly with a strangled, "Oh, Chinook," under his breath. Neither of them had seen this coming during their talk, and now neither of them has a choice to back out. Melvin is the mentor for the Fourth Quell, and Adrianne his Tribute. Crowley doesn't look bothered in the slightest by the show of grief. He ends the Reaping, dismisses the teens as he follows his assistants off of the stage.
Adrianne and Melvin practically sprint inside the Justice Building. Through the crowd, there's a clean view of Jack doing the same—even knocking other parents over uncharacteristically in his wake.
There's panic, then anger. Melvin yells at Adrianne for throwing away her life, and Adrianne just whispers, "It was too much."
Then comes sadness. Melvin tugs tightly at his scarf, drops his coat as his lip starts to quiver. He tells Adrianne that he doesn't know if he can teach her enough to come home. Adrianne just whispers, "I know."
When Jack bursts in, they've arrived at acceptance. Adrianne is in the Games, no question about it. Not even Melvin joins in with Jack's pleas to try and get out of volunteering. He just stares out the window, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he ignores his friend. Adrianne doesn't say a word through his begging, waits until he stops to process the situation to whisper, "I'm sorry."
She spends the rest of the goodbyes fiddling with the dulled shark tooth around her neck. Jack sits in the chair beside her with his head in his hands. Melvin paces as they all wait for their allotted time to end. The black string holding the tooth is too short to simply pull over her head and remove—and really, she doesn't want to. It's the only thing natural about her that she's wearing. This damn sundress, the fancy leather flats; it's not her.
"Would…" Adrianne inhales sharply as she raises her voice. "Would this pass regulations?"
Melvin freezes. Jack's head snaps up. They're surprised to hear her speak.
The tooth is inspected, a finger run over its edges and the engravings on it. Melvin frowns and lets out a thoughtful hum, before finally delivering a verdict. "Barely," he says. "If you want that with you in the arena, be prepared to try and harm yourself with it to convince everyone it can't serve as a weapon."
Adrianne nods. Should be easy enough—she's slept with it around her neck countless times, woken up to it digging into her shoulder; never sharp enough to draw blood, even with her full weight against it.
The time for goodbyes comes to a close, and it's a fairly quiet affair. Jack and Adrianne shake hands politely before giving each other a parting hug. Melvin puts a hand on her shoulder in support as Jack is escorted out. All that's left to do is get on the train and meet her Capitol partner.
That's District 4 done! Hope you guys enjoyed it, be sure to let me know what you thought ^^ I'll see you all in District 5!
Also, for those wondering about the mentors - there will be a chapter dedicated to introducing each of them as a sort of interlude, just to give an idea of what the tributes are going to be in for during their training!