Alright, we're at District 10. Just two more to go before we hit the halfway mark for the Reapings!

This character was sent in by mukkou! I hope you all enjoy!

10 - To the Slaughter

"Oh, you still have it! I'll take the last of the brisket."

"Reaping day sale! Fifty percent off all beef cuts!"

"Can I get two of the tenderloins?"

"Mom, I want ham!"

"Ugh, fine. A handful of the ham too."

"You heard right—every piece of our fine cattle, fifty percent off! But only today!"

"Dad, do we have any shanks left in the back?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we sold the last of it this morning. Can I interest you in the barbeque-marinated ribs?"

"I'm sorry, everyone, but the T-bones are officially sold out! If you're desperate, Tanner's Family Butchers across town may have what you need!"

"Gosh, it sure is busy in here. How do you keep up with it all, Octavia?"

She wraps the pork cutlets tightly in the paper and slides it over to the old woman and her grandchildren. She almost doesn't hear the younger voice talking to her, let alone notice the stationary teen amongst the flitting adults. The old woman hands money back to Octavia, leaves with her grandchildren, and another woman steps up.

Octavia is always busy on Reaping day. Every year they hold a sale to draw in customers, hoping to keep up payments with everything they earn in that one day. What mystery meat will be half-price this year? What will the Faye family surprise everyone this side of District 10 with next year? By now it's like clockwork, right down to the well-practiced actions of wrapping, grabbing, and charging that Octavia and her father have had to hone.

She grabs a tightly-wrapped pound of ground beef and shoves it into a bag, waiting for the woman to bark out more orders. Five marinated drumsticks, a very expensive serving of calamari, pork mignon, two large bottles of milk. It's the biggest order of the day, definitely the most money Octavia's made so far. With a very limited supply of imported goods like calamari from District 4, paying extra just for a handful is a given.

The crowd starts to thin out a bit. It's much easier to notice the individual people standing before the glass, browsing the meat with furrowed brows. The teen who'd spoken to Octavia earlier, going ignored through the rush of the crowd, is finally visible to the teen as she slides a bag of chicken necks to a man wanting snacks for his herding dog.

The brown-eyed girl waves meekly to her, her colourful bracelets swishing lightly around her wrist. Octavia does her best not to look displeased by her presence—at the very least she looks bored from the day's work.

"How can I help you, Camelia?" Octavia says in a practised tone. Camelia simply smiles shyly at her, doe eyes flickering between Octavia and the shelf behind her.

"My parents gave me a list of things we need," she explains. "I think you've run out of a few though."

Octavia purses her lips. As Camelia slides a small list across the counter to her, Octavia's father shuffles past in an attempt to refill the sausage container. "I'll see what we have," Octavia sighs. While she reaches behind her for a carton of eggs, she adds, "Tanner's Family Butchers might have some of these in stock."

"I see." Camelia's smile takes an embarrassed turn. "We'll just have to make do with what you have here. Tanner's is too far from home."

Octavia just shrugs at her. It's a short list with a hefty amount of each item required, but it looks doable. If anything, it'll help to keep Adolphe busy by keeping the store stocked as best he can. He's always been better at operating the meat grinder, anyway.

She hands the list to Adolphe wordlessly, and immediately her father rushes back to the cold room. There must be just enough left with how fast he moves, leaving Octavia to gather the tenderloins and jerky on her own. Camelia watches with an almost intrigued gaze, taking in every movement Octavia makes.

Another woman enters—a regular, Dianne Atreus—just as Adolphe starts to wrap the first of the order. He disappears into the cold room once again, leaving Octavia to deal with other customers. She leaves Camelia standing on her own as she waves down Dianne to serve her.

Despite being a well-known vegetarian in this part of town, Dianne Atreus still supports her local butchers by buying some of their other goods. Every week she buys a combination of cow and goat milk, plus a half-dozen eggs from the endless supply behind Octavia. This week is no different, especially if the cow's milk is half-price.

She reaches into a box with a gloved hand, barely paying attention to what she grabs as she waits for Dianne to start with her order. Camelia squeaks, stopping Dianne before she can even speak, and hurriedly warns Octavia, "That's the seafood mix, not the marinated skewers."

Octavia jumps slightly, startled by the warning. True to Camelia's word, she'd just stuck her hand into the wrong box. Octavia sneers and pulls her hand out, quickly removing her gloves and searching under the bench for a new pair.

"It really pays to be observant of your surroundings, Octavia," Camelia sighs. Octavia can't help giving her the stink eye as she stands back up to her full height, snapping the gloves on with an annoyed curl of her lip. She really doesn't need the lecture about being alert at all times from a fourteen-year-old.

"So it would seem," she grates out. She pulls out a few of the skewers, wrapping them tightly in the paper and sliding it down the counter. It bumps into the two already packed meats Camelia has yet to collect.

After no one says anything for another few seconds, Dianne finally steps closer to place her order. She browses the meat available as she says, "Just my usual, Miss Faye. I'll take some pork rind, too—just a small handful."

With a single nod, Octavia moves to collect the items. Four bottles of milk sit at the counter, and it's not long before the eggs join them. The pork rinds are easy enough to sift through, being a new addition to the list of items available at Faye Butchers. Adolphe had had the genius idea of deep frying the leftover pork rinds that weren't big enough to stay on the pork itself and then advertising them as an "on the go" snack. Some people seem to like it a lot, including Dianne's nephew.

Dianne is still scanning the various meats—focusing particularly hard on the chicken breasts—as Camelia tucks her hands into her pockets patiently. "Have you ever tried spiders, Miss Faye?" Dianne says absentmindedly.

The woman always asks strange questions like this. Octavia's almost thankful for her habit of answering questions with questions, or else she'd probably be at a loss for words when answering.

"In this lifetime?" she throws back. Her tone is equally absent, willing to participate just as much as Dianne is.

The woman hums once. She runs a finger over the glass before tapping it twice over the chicken wings.

"Tastes remarkably close to chicken. The body is soft and delicate, like fish cooked properly." She sighs down at the meat. "Hard to enjoy such trivial pleasures again once you taste it."

Octavia doesn't need to know this. Though she's sure it'll gross out poor little Camelia—who looks appropriately appalled at the description.

"What about the legs?" Camelia says softly.

Dianne just looks at her once as she hands the money to Octavia. Without much else to say to the girl, she reaches into the bag of pork rinds and hands one to her. Camelia takes it hesitantly, bites into it with just as much uncertainty.

"Exactly like the crunch of pork rinds," Dianne answers.

Adolphe rushes back out of the cold room just as Camelia begins to choke on the pork rind, coughing and hacking with a horrified expression on her face. Dianne doesn't pay her much mind, simply nodding in greeting to the man as she walks out with her order. A few people standing around, still deciding what to order, try to help Camelia out and offer her drinks from their canteens. She accepts one graciously and takes careful sips.

While Dianne leaves she holds the door open for someone else to enter—someone Octavia doesn't mind seeing after all the rush, but still feels almost too exhausted to spend much time with. She supposes there's going to be no end to her customer service mode today.

Hugo is a nice boy. He's nice. Loyal, too, and he's there for her when she needs him. He's artistic and all, spoiling her as much as possible ever since they began dating ten months ago. But lately things have been… mediocre. Octavia was never big on the whole relationship thing—too much going on at home to fully invest her time in a partner—but even her own brother can see how uninvolved she is with Hugo compared to the boy's grand gestures. He holds her hand and gushes over how lucky he is that someone like Octavia agreed to date him, and she just watches the road ahead of her with a dull gaze.

That's all normal, though. Hugo's always been fine with her being emotionally distant—he understands how much she has to care for Adolphe on a good day. It's yesterday that has her doubting whether or not she wants to continue the relationship, especially with the subject of the Reaping happening for another year.

Camelia reaches for her bag as she clears her throat once more, face redder than some of the meat on display. Octavia watches with an easy smile as the girl leaves with watery eyes, taking an almost sick satisfaction in seeing the know-it-all's curiosity get the better of her. The door jingles after Camelia, and then Hugo is right in her point of view.

He's bristling. Watching after Camelia with a scrutinising gaze. It takes everything Octavia has in her not to sigh loudly and growl a warning.

Hugo is nice. Hugo is loyal. Hugo is also jealous. Ever since she'd confided in him that she's bisexual, he's become almost possessive of his relationship with her. He gets competitive every time she looks at another girl for more than two seconds, and even now when she addresses girls close to her age at her own work he becomes a green-eyed monster.

He looks to her with a pout. Octavia rolls her eyes, undoing her apron and pulling off her gloves. As Adolphe walks by her, she tells him, "I'm taking a five minute break. That okay with you?"

Her father nods with a smile. "Thanks for the help so far," he says softly.

There's barely a pause long enough for a breath to get in when she and Hugo enter the break room before Hugo blurts out, "That girl was pretty."

Here he goes again. "She's also fourteen," Octavia growls.

"Three years isn't a big gap," he defends.

Octavia glares at him. "Are you listening to yourself?"

He pouts again. It's like Hugo desperately wants her to reassure him that she only wants to date him—but after yesterday, half of her isn't so sure he deserves to be told someone so strong.

Hugo is nice. Hugo is loyal. But Hugo is also weak on an emotional level.

The first thing he'd said to her yesterday upon meeting up had been, "I won't volunteer if you're Reaped." Everything after was a great big defense about how he isn't as strong as Octavia, isn't as brave as Octavia—cower, flatter, repeat. She'd been furious yesterday, had considered breaking up with him on the spot for saying something so heartless, even by his standards. But she'd held back, convinced that she was just being impulsive and that she'd forgive him the next day.

Well. It's the next day. And Hugo hasn't done a lot to help his case.

"Are you…" He shifts on his feet nervously, rubbing his arm. "Are you still mad about what I said?"

She blinks up at him once. "I'm breaking up with you."

The silence only lasts for a second, but the slow journey of horror across his features and the visual comparison to an illusion shattering in his eyes makes it feel like much, much longer. Octavia just crosses her arms over her chest, waiting patiently as he begins to blubber and tear up.

Hugo is nice. Hugo is loyal. Hugo is dense.

He doesn't understand why she'd want to break up with him over something he wasn't entirely set on, promises he can do better and that he'll volunteer today for her. Octavia just watches him with a dull expression—and it makes him panic even more. Is there something he did wrong? Is there a girl she likes more than him? Has he been too affectionate? Not affectionate enough? He's begging her to talk with him and make them work.

So Octavia talks.

"You're too much on an emotional level," she starts. "Even my dad sees how uninterested I am in half of the dates we go on, and everyone around us thinks you've just made up us dating entirely. Your constant jealousy whenever I talk to girls my age is overbearing and makes me wish I'd stayed in the closet entirely instead of testing the waters with you. You're spineless. You're constantly craving my attention when my own family needs it more. The fact that you even insinuated that I'd be interested in someone a little over the age of twelve is disgusting—"

"Octavia, please, don't—"

"You're not right for me. We're done."

His mouth opens and closes repeatedly. Hugo's voice even begins to crack as he says, "You're not even gonna sugarcoat it? No 'it's not you, it's me'?"

"I'm not a liar, Hugo."

The most pitiful whine comes out of his throat. Hugo's not even bothering to stop himself from crying now, wiping at his face with the sleeves of his shirt.

As much as Octavia wants this to be an entirely spite-driven occasion, there is some pity behind her motives. Hugo is emotionally weak. She sees bits and pieces of what he could become in him, all leading back to the same things that caused her own dad to become a broken man relying on his daughter to see each day through. She wants this to be spiteful. But if Octavia is Reaped—and if she dies—as Hugo Boyer's girlfriend, he'll crumble. He'll be racked with guilt over letting her go if no one volunteers, and he'll constantly blame himself for her dying if she doesn't come back alive.

Better to have him blame himself for a dead relationship rather than a dead body, Octavia thinks.

He runs out with a red face and a loud sob. Octavia just watches as he crashes into customers, knocks over one of the kids standing by the display. He's out of the store like he wants to put as much distance between him and Octavia as possible, and she can't deny that the feeling is mutual.

She leans against the doorframe with a sigh. She knew it'd come to this one day, but she didn't think it'd be a day that gives her so many mixed emotions. She feels happy to be free of the constant jealousy and neediness, but it also hurts to let go of quite possibly the longest relationship she's ever had.

"Trouble in paradise?"

Octavia looks over her shoulder lazily. Victor is entering through the back door, a bundle of papers rolled up under his arm. He doesn't work at the shop like Octavia, instead following his own dreams—much like their mother before him.

"Broke up with him." She says it nonchalantly, but she knows Victor is going to be overjoyed by the news.

"Oh," he says, and it comes out so monotonously that even Adolphe would know Victor meant nothing of what he says next. "That must've been so hard for you. He was a great catch."

"Don't pretend you're not happy." Octavia nods to the papers. She slides the break room door shut behind her, walking towards her brother. "What's with the papers?"

He pulls one out and struggles to unfurl it. It takes a few tries, but soon enough Victor is flattening the poster out on the table and heaving out a sigh of his own.

It's a wanted poster—and a defaced one at that. Written in bold, neat letters is the phrase, "WANTED. ISABELLE EULANE. Possibly seen in Districts 10, 11 and 12, last known sighting in District 10." Just below the name is a face, and it's one Octavia misses to this day.

Isabelle leaving had been what pushed Adolphe to the point he's at now. Losing his wife—his beloved wife, who he supported no matter what she desired—after raising two kids with her had been hard on him. A lot of her photos have been taken down from the house, but Octavia still remembers clearly what she looks like.

The image on the poster is supposed to be from her ID, back when Isabelle worked in one of District 10's factories. No smile, tired eyes, and a beautiful face that Octavia has no doubt Adolphe would still love after it became wrinkled and grey. That's all that should be on the poster, but someone's decided to play a sick joke and scribble things over her face.

One poster has her with devil horns and phallic shapes on her face. Another has the words "traitor" and "rebel slut" scrawled over her features. Octavia feels a pang of guilt at the sight of it. She may not have known Isabelle the best, but she knows enough to respect her for doing what she felt was right—even if what was right meant leaving behind a family for the sake of countless others' lives.

"I got permission from the Head Peacekeeper to take down the graffitied ones. Sick bastards can't just leave a poster be," Victor growls.

"They're angry," Octavia sighs. She picks up one of the posters, staring at the phrase "go back to District 12" written over Isabelle's forehead. "Mom was never from here in the first place, and her actions are coming back on the rest of us. They're mad at her for leaving everyone else in the dust."

"But she's coming back."

Victor tears up some of the posters and shoves them into the nearby bin. It's small, just barely deep enough to fit all of the posters. Octavia watches him silently, waits for the right time to slide the poster in her hands back to him.

As he takes it from her, he continues, "I'm gonna make sure she comes back. I'm old enough to leave without consequence, so long as I have a good reason to go wherever I want to. If they don't let me leave…"

"You'll do what Mom did."

He grins at her, almost sheepish. "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh?"

Octavia smiles back at him. "You got her good traits, though," she reassures him.

"So did you." He shakes the bin before setting it a small distance away from the table and chairs. Octavia moves over to the window, jiggling it open with a grunt. It sits just a few inches open, a cool breeze hitting her arms before disappearing entirely. Victor digs around in his pocket for a matchbox; he lights three, throwing them all into the bin with an almost relieved smile. "We both got her best traits."

"Getting in some last minute training?" Adolphe is so silent when he asks this, Octavia almost doesn't hear him over her own ragged breaths.

She wipes at her brow and steps away from the slab of meat hanging from the ceiling. Octavia turns to face Adolphe, her father watching from the plastic flaps sealing off the cold room from the rest of the shop. In one hand is a flask, and Octavia has no doubts about what's in it.

"Missed it this morning with Victor," she wheezes. "Close up already?"

Adolphe nods. He walks further into the room, his breaths slowly turning into the same fog Octavia exhales. "Victor went out to deliver the last of the orders. Told me not to disturb you for something even he could do on his own."

She huffs out a short laugh. "That was nice of him."

Awkward silence. It lasts all of two minutes as Adolphe settles himself down on a bench, unscrewing the cap of the flask and taking a deep swig of its contents. Octavia just watches him while shifting on her feet. She can't quite tell if he's come to have a talk with her, or if he just wants to hang around and watch her practice her boxing. They don't look at each other—not entirely, at least—for just a few moments longer. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of waiting in cold, horrific silence, Adolphe extends the flask to her.

"Need a break?" he sighs.

Octavia takes it without hesitation. With all the stress of Reapings happening, she could use something other than a fleshy punching bag to take the edge off.

She groans at the warm taste the whiskey leaves in her throat, handing the flask back to Adolphe almost immediately. Normally she stays away from the stuff, even going so far as to keep Adolphe away from it all, but everyone has one compromise they're willing to make on Reaping day. Like Octavia's is letting the bad habit slide, Adolphe's is offering her to partake in it. He's always hated the idea of seeing his kids spiral down into the same depression he's been in the past few years. But at least he does his best to support his kids with what he has.

He takes another swig and coughs. Octavia pats his back as best she can, listening as the coughs become more clear and his breaths stop getting interrupted.

"Have I ever told you," he starts, only to stop as he clears his throat. "Have I ever told you kids how glad I am that you started all this?"

Adolphe gestures to the pig. Octavia feels all too aware of the wrist wraps she still has on, the dulling ache in her knuckles from her afternoon of training.

She just shrugs. "Have you ever needed to tell us?"

Adolphe grins at her. "As my role as a dad, I probably do need to. I really am happy, though." He takes another swig, this one longer than the other two. The flask must nearly be empty by now. "When Victor's name was pulled, I didn't know what I'd do. All I could think was that I'd lost one of the only pieces of Isabelle I had left, and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

She remembers that day clearly. Victor had been fifteen, Octavia thirteen, and his name had been the one pulled out to go with one of the Tanner daughters. Adolphe had been screaming, horrified and seemingly forgetting that Octavia was also in the crowd, and then it had all come to an abrupt stop when someone shouted two little words. Neither Octavia nor Victor knew Ahmeer Rayne personally—his family never once shopped at Faye Butchers, and as far as they knew he went to a different school than them—but this older boy had just taken Victor's place and spared his life.

Victor—headstrong, heartbroken Victor—had vowed upon Ahmeer's death to never let someone else die for him or Octavia after that. Octavia had been on board entirely, though it's hard to believe by this point that it's been four whole years since they'd started their training in the cold room. It feels longer, Ahmeer's brutal death an almost distant memory. She can't even remember a day where she hasn't picked a fight with a giant slab of meat, every day prior feeling like a dream rather than fact.

Octavia knows that Adolphe is relieved that the two of them are stronger. He doesn't need to say it out loud, not when the look in his eye is proof enough for them.

"Now look at you both," he says, and his breathing starts to quake. She can see the tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "Victor's ready to explore and make a name for himself, and you…"

Octavia watches him eagerly.

"My baby girl could probably carry this old man around like livestock in a couple more years," he jokes. Octavia throws him a half-smile, a small chuckle at the mental image. "It just feels like you kids have grown up too fast, y'know?"

In Octavia's defense, she and Victor needed to if they were going to survive in a place like District 10. In Adolphe's defense, he'd needed Octavia and Victor to mature quickly after the pain of losing Isabelle left him unable to take care of even himself.

"I'm still only seventeen," she points out. "You've got plenty of time to keep treating me like your baby. Before I start demanding the adult treatment, that is."

He slings an arm over her shoulder and gives it a reassuring pat. Octavia leans against Adolphe, heaving out a sigh as the silence settles over them again.

"Are you going to be okay today?" Adolphe asks after a while.

Octavia shrugs. "I'm not worried."

Except she is worried. She always worries. Not a day goes by in this damn country without her being worried.

"What about you?" she asks.

"I'm a little worried. We've had to take a lot of tesserae under your name."

"We needed it. It's fine."

She wishes they'd been better off like the families across town. They barely had enough money to keep feeding the livestock, and that bread was all they ever ate for a good few months.

"How many times would that mean your name is in that bowl today, though? And next year?" Adolphe's bottom lip shakes, his brows creasing as he tries to hold back his tears. "We just keep pushing you closer and closer to their grasp—how can it be okay?"

Octavia shrugs again. "Who cares how many is in there?" Twenty-four. "It's all going to be in one bowl, so it's not like my name will be the most common one there. I'm still safe." She'll never be safe, not until she's nineteen.

Before the man can even respond and worry even more, Octavia wraps her arms around his shoulders and gives him a tight hug. Adolphe returns it reluctantly, taken aback by the action. It's not every day that Octavia hugs him out of the blue, especially during such touching subjects like this one. Normally she just reassures him endlessly and tells him everything is fine.

Today is full of exceptions, though.

"I need to start getting ready," she tells him. "They'll probably flog me if I'm late."

Adolphe hums in agreement. He lets her go and remains in the cold room, even as Octavia exits and peels away her wrist wraps.

Her nicest dress never gets worn unless it's for Reapings or special events. The last time she put it on, it was to attend Victor's birthday just a week prior at the town square. Hugo had walked with her, marvelling at the nude dress and matching heels, and Victor had joked about thinking Octavia had come in just tights at first glance. The jokes from her brother and the awe-struck stares don't deter her from wearing it, though; she likes the design, likes the way it gives her a break from everyday life. When she wears her nicest dress, she knows she'll have a good time.

Unless it's for a Reaping, of course. But those only come once a year, and she's had a lucky streak so far.

So far.

Her heels click against the cobblestone and cement, louder than all of the other footsteps that follow her as the children make their ways to the Justice Building. She recognises a few faces from school, from the families who enter the shop, but no one approaches her. She doesn't approach them, either; if anything, she needs to focus on herself and make sure something doesn't go wrong with her simple stroll.

Hugo's not far from her, and he looks as forlorn as when he'd left the shop. He's dressed in his Sunday best as well, and she distinctly remembers the pattern of his shirt from Victor's birthday. If walking in close proximity to Octavia is awkward for him as the crowd becomes more dense, he doesn't show it.

She spots Camelia again, the girl dressed in all black save for her bright orange shirt and the colourful bracelets around her arm. To Octavia's luck the girl doesn't even notice when Octavia gets stuck behind her in their line, too busy listening to another girl in front of her to notice. She can't help glowering at the back of the fourteen-year-old's head, spitefully recalling her "advice" to be more observant of her surroundings.

Octavia's plenty observant. Camelia's the one who should take her own advice.

As though reading her mind, Camelia glances over her shoulder at Octavia. The glower is still on her face, and all she gets in response is a kind smile and a small wave from the girl. The one in front of her—loud and domineering—is quick to notice Camelia's attention is elsewhere.

"Aren't you that Faye girl?" the girl blurts out. Octavia blinks slowly at her, unimpressed by her lack of tact.

Camelia smiles at her friend. "Yeah, she's Octavia," she says. "Have you guys never met before?"

Octavia blinks slowly yet again. Oh, the amount of remarks she could make about how large this District is compared to others.

"Octavia, this is Goldie Bakar—her family shepherds livestock for a living. Goldie, meet Octavia Faye." Camelia looks almost proud that she'd introduced the two of them.

"Nice dress," Goldie adds.

Octavia remains silent.

They give up on talking to her, returning to whatever conversation they'd been at prior. She can't wait for today to be over, and most importantly she can't wait for the day where she no longer has to worry about getting stuck in line behind Camelia again. The line shuffles forward every few seconds, children piling into the town square in search of their own sections. It's not long before she hears, "Camelia Caballo," and she has to steel herself for the identification. The prick of the needle against her finger will always feel like a nuisance, but at least it doesn't blood for long after.

"Octavia Faye?" She nods. The official points towards the front end of the crowd. "Second section on the right."

Click-clack, click-clack. The sound of her heels is all she focuses on as she makes her way towards the seventeens section. She recognises a few faces from earlier today, from school, from the lines to collect tesserae. None of them she knows personally, but each one easy enough to point out in passing.

Octavia settles in line next to a mousy looking girl. Neither of them speak to each other or deign to greet the other. It's all a matter of simply standing and waiting patiently in line as the escort takes her place onstage. Children chatter amongst themselves while the adults talk about whatever it is they talk about on a day like this, and Octavia just keeps her head forward and her chin up high.

A bowl is lifted onto the stage—it looks big enough to hold one of the micro pigs Octavia had to tend to earlier this week—and a gradual silence settles over the rows. Octavia makes sure to stand up straight and keep her eyes to the front.

Rosso has been the escort for a few years now, staying after Dianne won. No one's won since, and every year it gets harder and harder to recognise Rosso with how much she tries to "improve" her appearance to get a pitty reassignment. In the years Octavia's been in the drawings, Rosso has had almost all of the fat sucked out of her midsection and legs, her torso shaped more like an hourglass, her chest enlarged threefold, and multiple months of work done to her nose.

Today she sports gigantic lips, which pull her already taught face into an immovable mask. Octavia's stomach churns in disgust as those beady green eyes scan over the crowd. Rosso's expression barely changes as she prepares herself to start the opening speech. It's unsettling to look at.

As though it can't get any worse, Rosso's lips are so tightly packed that they barely move when she speaks. Octavia scrunches up her face as she listens to the near-mumbled, "Welcome, citizens of District Ten."

This is by far the worst thing she's done to herself. Octavia had been stumped over the decision to enlarge her breasts—the back pain it causes must be horrifying—but the lips almost look to be too much. Where in the world would they have gotten the fat to plump up her lips when she'd had it mostly removed years ago? The only place Octavia can think of is…

The mousy girl beside her leans back a bit, peeking behind Octavia. She tries her best not to watch the girl directly, curious enough to listen in as Rosso drones on into the microphone.

"I'll bet my entire allowance that they used the fat in her butt to make her lips bigger," the mousy girl whispers. There's a snicker behind Octavia, coming from a girl with an almost squeaky voice.

"That's so gross, Agnes!" she hisses.

"Where else would they get it?"

Well. Mystery solved. Octavia was right. Or at the very least, the mousy girl and her friend share her thoughts. She mutters to herself, "There's a joke about talking shit that can be made there somewhere."

Mousy girl slaps a hand over her mouth and stifles a laugh. Her squeaky friend lets out a delicate giggle. Octavia smiles to herself somewhat; she hadn't intended for them to hear her, but knowing they find it funny saves her at least some embarrassment.

There's a mumble from Rosso that sounds fairly close to, "Dianne Atreus will be mentoring this year." Everyone snaps to attention again—a name is about to be read out, and no one can afford to miss knowing that they won't be the ones being sent to the slaughter.

Dianne takes the stage on her own, still wearing the casual farming gear she'd walked into Faye Butchers in. She's covered in more dirt now, her hair wild, but she looks so nonchalant about it that no one questions her. If Octavia wanted to make a guess, she'd say that Dianne had tried to fit in some of her daily routine before the Reapings like Octavia had.

Rosso reaches into the bowl with a bone-thin hand, swishing the papers about with little care in the world. She's been like that for a while, according to Victor; she no longer cares about being careful to choose a card that feels right, just desperate to leave District 10 with a random winner. She pulls one out, snapping it open with a heave of a sigh.

Octavia doesn't understand her the first time—no one does, actually, and the Peacekeepers just shrug at each other and shake their heads. The lip enlargements were a really bad choice, it seems. Rosso tries to repeat herself, but Dianne is quick to snatch the slip from her and make the announcement herself.

A booming voice comes from Dianne, louder than anything Octavia could ever imagine coming from a person. "Octavia Faye," she bellows.

Ah.

Everyone else's reactions are immediate and exaggerated, but Octavia remains calm. It was bound to happen at some point with all the tesserae taken under her name, and she is one of the older kids after all.

"I volunteer!" comes a masculine cry.

Thank God, is Octavia's first thought. But then the recognition sets in, and Victor's voice becomes loud and clear in her mind.

"I volunteer you assholes, take me!"

He can't volunteer.

"I only turned nineteen a week ago—it should still count!"

But it doesn't. He can't stop Octavia from leaving.

She needs to focus. She can't focus. There's no point in breaking down now when she's the last pillar of strength left for Victor and Adolphe. God, who's going to watch after her family? She has to ignore Adolphe screaming hysterically and Victor calling the Peacekeepers assholes for ignoring him. It's too hard to listen to them begging for her life. It'd be embarrassing if she tripped over the stairs for not paying attention. She won't make it past the bloodbath if she can't make it up a set of stairs.

Her chin is still held up high as she nods to Dianne in greeting. Dianne in turn responds with a curt, "Miss Faye." She makes her way to Rosso, shaking her hand as Rosso looks her up and down greedily. As soon as the uncomfortable exchange is over, the microphone is handed to her for her parting words.

Octavia looks down at the crowd. She looks to Hugo, over in the eighteens section—he's trembling and red-faced—and then she looks to her family, collapsed to the ground and hysterical over Octavia being sent away. She inhales deeply and steels herself. This'll be the last thing she'll get to say to her home. It has to count.

"Vic," she starts. Victor startles, letting out a pained squeak in response. Adolphe stares up at his daughter with tears in his eyes, clinging to Victor helplessly. "Take care of Dad while I'm gone."

It's amazing how words that are intended to be supportive, reassuring, can have the opposite effect on people. She only meant to make a simple request, to leave some hope for Victor and Adolphe that she'll be coming home. But instead she sees her father crumble into the biggest mess she's seen him become since Isabelle leaving. He's losing someone dear to him again.

Victor screeches at the top of his lungs again, screaming at Hugo, "Volunteer for her, you coward!"

He won't.

"I thought you loved her!"

He did.

"Why isn't anyone volunteering!?"

Because everyone wants to live.

The doors to the Justice Building close behind her. She's left with the sight of her family in disarray as a parting image, even as they enter the building to say their goodbyes. She's quite possibly shattered the last of Adolphe's emotional resolve with such a simple, heartfelt request.

Maybe she really does take after Isabelle.

Aaaand that's District 10! I hope you all liked it, and I'll see you all again in District 11. While we wait, here's this chapter's Quell Question!

QQ #5: Would you still seek out romantic or platonic relationships while being of Reaping age, especially if you had to take tesserae and increase a risk of harsh separation?

Till next time!