Adrianna Theirin (District 2 Escort)

If I don't get some caffeine in me soon, I am literally going to die. I know that sounds a bit dramatic, but I can assure you that I will legitimately keel over and flop around like a fish-out-of-water if I do not get some caffeine in me. That's just one of the many drawbacks of being forced to pull an all-nighter.

Why did I have to pull an all-nighter, you ask? Because the mentor I have the extreme misfortune to be working with, Alexander, is an anal-retentive perfectionist who refused to let me go to sleep last night. Because we just had to go over every little detail of today's reaping with a fine-tooth comb at least a dozen times. You know, because if every little detail isn't perfect, the reaping will be an unmitigated disaster, and the world will fall into the sun.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like shit, Adrianna."

"I do?" I ask, my words dripping with indignation. "And here I thought pulling an all-nighter was supposed to make me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Is looking like shit a common problem for people who have been up for thirty-two straight hours, or am I a special case?"

"There's no reason to get snotty," he retorts, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I was just making a casual observation."

"No, you weren't," I snap, biting my tongue hard enough to draw blood in the process. "You were insinuating something, and I don't appreciate it.
"Besides, we both know the only reason I look this bad is because you deprived me of my coffee this morning after forcing me to stay up all night."

"Are you still complaining about that? Seriously?" He asks, with a smug grin on his stupid face.

I can't help but roll my eyes at that. I don't necessarily mean to, though it would be an appropriate response to such a stupid question. No, the main reason I roll my eyes is that I'm exhausted and if I don't do something simple like that to relieve a bit of the tension, I might have to hit him. Hit him right in his big, stupid nose.

And I think we would both prefer he not have a bloody nose and me a broken hand when we're called out on stage in a few minutes. So, my annoyed eye roll — "I'm still breathing. Aren't I?" — and that less than biting retort will have to do. For now, anyway.

We spend the next few minutes in awkward silence, me glaring daggers into the back of his head and him doing everything he can to avoid meeting my gaze. Until, finally, we hear the anthem of Panem begin to play over the speakers outside the building. Signaling that, at long last, the Reaping is about to begin.

"my pleasure to introduce you all to our new Capitol team. Our strong and determined mentor, who will do everything in his power to deliver us a victor in this quell, is Alexander Stratton. And his partner, the incredibly bubbly and personable Adrianna Theirin, will serve as our new Escort.
"So, let's get loud and give them a proper District Two welcome!"

"Try not to embarrass yourself out there, Adrianna. Or at the very least, try not to embarrass the Capitol."

"I hope you fall off the stage and break your neck." You flaming bag of dicks! "I can even push you if you want me to?"

He doesn't know how to respond to that, and I can't help but feel a small sense of pride in that fact as the peacekeepers stationed next to the massive black granite double doors that separate us from the legion of screaming fans in the main square — slowly begin to pull those doors open. Bathing the two of us and the small foyer we've been standing in for the better part of an hour in the welcoming embrace of the warm summer sun.

We walk out of the building together — one of the many concessions I made last night in the hopes of convincing Alexander that we had done everything we possibly could and it was ok for me to go to bed — Much to the delight of the assembled masses.

We spend the next minute or two playing it up for the crowd — yet another concession I was forced to make — before he finally takes his seat next to the mayor, and I take my place behind the podium. A warm smile etched on my tired face and an excited twinkle burning in my exhausted eyes.

"Good afternoon, District Two!" Good god that took way more energy to say than it should have. It's going to take a miracle for me to make it through this. "As I'm sure you remember your mayor saying, my name is Adrianna Theirin, your new Capitol Escort. And that exquisite-looking gentleman that accompanied me on stage is your new Mentor, Alexander Stratton."

I motion for Alexander to stand up and take a bow, and after a few seconds of coaxing on my part, and a raucous round of prodding applause from the crowd, he finally concedes and stands up to take one.

"Now, I'm sure you all know why the two of us are here. And if you don't, you must be living under a rock." That joke is awful, and everyone knows it. Pretty much everyone in this district lives under a rock in one way or another. What with that majority of the district sitting within the shadow of the mountain that serves as the beating here of Panem's military. But the lameness of the joke doesn't stop a few people here and there from laughing politely — Which I appreciate.

"Bad jokes aside, we all know why we're here. And since your mayor was kind enough to dispense with the more patriotic formalities before inviting Alexander and me out on stage, we can skip right to the fun part. The selection of the two lucky young women who will represent this storied district in the arena for this, the One-Hundredth annual Hunger Games and Fourth Quarter Quell!"

The crowd absolutely explodes at that statement, letting loose an ear-splitting scream of joy and happiness that I'm fairly certain rocked the stage. I kid you not, they started screaming, and a few seconds later the stage was swaying ever so slightly to-and-fro with the ebb-and-flow of their cheer. It was a little terrifying.

But I don't let that distract me from doing my job. And with the carefully practiced grace of an amateur ballet dancer, I pirouette around the edge of my podium and gracefully glide across the stage. My eyes fixed firmly on the massive black marble reaping ball that the Capitol had flown in specifically for the quell reaping.

The ball itself is stunning. It's made of a highly polished black marble and emblazoned with the Seal of Panem in exquisite fourteen karat gold — and has been carefully packed to the brim with slate-gray slips of paper bearing the names of every potential female tribute in this district. And, after taking a little longer to admire its beauty than I probably should have, I carefully pluck one of the slate-gray slips off the top of the pile and scamper back behind my podium so I can read the name scribbled within.

"The name of our first lucky tribute is —"

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

Thank god. For a second there, I thought I might have to try to pronounce this alphabet soup of a name. In a district full of girls with names similar to those of the women in the Capitol, I managed to find the one name that looks like the parents just scribbled a bunch of random letters on the birth certificate and called it a name. How lucky am I?

The answer is extraordinarily, and not because I managed to pick what I'm sure is the one slip of paper with an unpronounceable name on it. No, I'm lucky because I have myself a volunteer with the good sense to jump in and make her intentions known BEFORE I had to humiliate myself trying to pronounce the name of the girl she was going to volunteer to replace anyway.

"It sounds like we have ourselves a brave volunteer.
"Why don't you come up here and join us on stage? We are all dying to meet you."

"I'M ON MY WAY!"

That she is — I can quite clearly see her, or at the very least the young woman I assume is her, expertly weaving her way through the mass of girls clustered near the back of the square. And, within maybe a minute, she has finally forced her way through said mass and into the central aisle with a look of smug superiority etched on her attractive face.

Her face isn't her only attractive feature either, nor is it her most striking. That distinction belongs to her head full of stunning platinum-blonde hair that she has tied back in two gorgeous, face-framing pigtails. Couple all of that with her long, toned legs — Smooth, flawless ivory-colored skin — And soft sky-blue eyes, and you have yourself an absolute knockout of a tribute.

In short, she's stunning. There's nothing about her that doesn't ooze superiority and sex appeal. She knows that she's beautiful, and what's more, she knows how to make sure that everyone else knows it. And by the time she finally makes it up on stage, I am well and truly in love. And I am pretty sure that I'm the only one.

"Well, well, would you look at her? District Two, our first tribute is an absolute knockout."

"Of course, I am. But that's not all there is to me. I am so much more than just a pretty face, Adrianna."

"I'm sure you are …"

"Bellatrix. My name is Bellatrix Harvey."

"A classic and beautiful name for a stunningly beautiful young woman.
"Though I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that. A young, vibrant beauty like you probably hears compliments like that all the time."

"Of course, I do. But I never get tired of hearing them either."

"If that's the case, you are going to love the Capitol. There will be no end to the admirers you'll have, and each of them will go out of their way to outdo the rest and shower you with gifts while you're in the arena.
"And if you manage to win …"

"I think you mean WHEN I manage to win.
"If there's one thing you need to know about me, apart from the fact that I'm perfect, it's that I never do anything halfway."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"The statement sort of speaks for itself. I'm determined, and once I set my mind to something, nothing and no one can stop me from doing it. I've decided to win the Hunger Games, and anyone stupid enough to get between me and that goal won't be in my way for very long."

She lets that statement hang in the air for a fraction of a second, giving it just enough time to sink in properly before snatching the microphone out of my hand — turning towards the nearest camera — and declaring in a loud and definite voice. "You hear that Panem? Your next victor is standing right here. And her name is Bellatrix Harvey."

She's confident. I'll give her that. Time will tell if she's capable of backing that confidence up. But for now, I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and say that it will.

"You heard it here first Panem. Bellatrix Harvey, District Two's exceptionally confident, stone-cold knockout of a tribute is coming for that crown. And I pity anyone foolish enough to get in her way."

I punctuate my statement by shooting Bellatrix a playful wink, which she politely, if reluctantly, returns before turning her attention back to the people who actually matter and taking one last opportunity to bask in their raucous approval.

And as I stand there watching her. Strong and confident, pumping her fists in triumph to the delighted roar of the crowd, I almost forget that I'm watching a reaping and not a victory tour.

But this is a reaping, and I still have half a job to do. So, after allowing her to play it up for the crowd for a couple of minutes. I calmly but firmly motion for her to take her place next to Alexander and the mayor while I turn my attention back to the task of reaping her a district partner.

Which I have every intention of doing just as soon as I shake off the persistent tentacles of exhaustion — which I'm able to do by biting down on the inside of my cheek just hard enough to draw blood but not quite hard enough to make talking an issue.

Or at least that was the plan. But I'm pretty sure I either underestimated my biting power or overestimated how much force it would take to break the skin without doing any major damage. Because my mouth is filling up with blood right now, and it's all I can do not to hurl.

Instead, I force myself to do the most disgusting thing imaginable, I swallow it. And, after beating back a gag with a small shudder that I think I'll be able to play off as one of excitement. I quickly and confidently make my way back over to the reaping ball and deftly pluck a second slip of paper off the tippy top of the small mountain nestled safely inside it.

From there, it's a simple matter of retreating back behind my podium — gently unfolding my chosen slip — quickly glancing at the name scribbled inside — thanking my lucky stars that this isn't a word salad like the last one was — and then leaning in close to the microphone and announcing in a calm and clear voice.

"Our second lucky young lady is. …"

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

I hate to admit this, but the second time hearing that isn't nearly as thrilling as the first time was. Don't get me wrong — I'm still thrilled beyond measure that I have a second volunteer, not that I expected anything less. I'm just not as excited about it as I was the first time. Though I'm sure that will change if my second tribute is even half as impressive as Bellatrix is.

Then again, there's a fairly good chance that she'll be my favorite person in the world if she keeps this next part as short and sweet as humanly possible. And, at least in that regard, she's off to a good start. Because it takes her maybe forty-five seconds to make her way from where she started in the sea of potential tributes to the central aisle, giving me, and the rest of Panem, our first look at my second tribute.

And she is, I'm not sure how to describe her. Gorgeous isn't the right word, neither is breathtaking. I am gorgeous, Bellatrix is breathtaking, and this girl puts us both to shame, and it's not even close. Perfect might be the only word that comes close, and I'm not even sure that is a strong enough word for her.

This young woman is a goddess. Everything about her, be it her haunting ice-blue eyes. Her flawless milky-white skin — her silky wheat-blonde hair that has been expertly woven into a pair of flawless French braids that oh-so elegantly frame her oval-shaped face — or her soft, delicate lips, oozes confidence and grace.

Even the way she walks, so calculated and in control, not a single wasted or unnecessary movement, screams perfection. It's more than a little unnerving — if I'm being honest. No one, not even a career, should be this perfect.

But she is, at least on the surface. And if she's smart, she'll keep up this façade, if that's what it is, for as long as she can. It'll have the richest sponsors in the Capitol eating out of the palm of her hand and scare the ever-loving shit out of the other tributes.

Provided she doesn't put her foot in her mouth during our informal little meet and greet.

"Well, well, well. I didn't think anyone could be half as enchanting as Bellatrix is, but I'm happy to be wrong.

"You are absolutely ravishing. …?

"Helena. Helena Valentine."

"Well, Helena, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you. It's a … pleasure to meet you too, Adrianna. And you as well, Alexander."

This girl is … odd. I can't get a read on her, and that's never happened to me before. I pride myself on my ability to read just about anyone, but she's not giving me anything to go on. It's almost like I'm talking to a robot, though a robot might show more emotion than she has to this point.

I guess I'll just have to go with the standard spiel and hope to draw something out of her with that.

"Polite and beautiful, a potentially deadly combination.

"Though I'm sure there's much more to you than that. You don't strike me as a simple person, and that's far too simple a statement to describe someone as intricate as you. Is it?"

I don't think she knows how to answer that question. Or maybe, she just doesn't want to.

Either way, the result is the same. I look stupid, she looks out of her element, and we both have to scramble to save face. Or I guess I do since she doesn't seem all that interested in helping herself.

Or maybe she's playing an angle, and I can't tell because she's still one hundred percent impossible to get a read on. I don't know, and I hate that.

I'm also exhausted and not in the mood to play these games. So, I'll give her this one. I'll bail her out by planting the seeds that she might be the strong, silent, sultry type. And do my best not to tear her a new one once we get on the train.

Wait — why would I be mad at her? Didn't I want her to be a woman of few words so we could wrap this mess up and could go back to the train and take a nap? I'm way too tired for this — I'll worry about it later.

"Well, it looks like Helena here is a woman who prefers to let her looks and her actions speak for her. And I can assure everyone watching, they make a very … compelling case for why she'll be the one to go all the way this year.
"Between her and Bellatrix," who joins us without my prompting and takes Helena's hand in hers and thrusts them both into the air with a triumphal roar, "District Two is in good hands this year. So, everyone had better tune in and cheer these two on — because I have a feeling both of them are going deep, and one of them will be coming back as your next victor.
"Happy Hunger Games District Two! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Bellatrix Harvey-18 (District 2 Female)

That was supposed to be my moment. My reward for ten years of long, hard work. The payoff for all the broken bones — burns — scrapes — bruises — and other injuries, big and small, that I had to suffer through while clawing my way to the top. It was MY MOMENT — and that bitch stole it from me!

I know I shouldn't let it bug me, but I can't help it. I worked harder than anyone can possibly imagine for that moment, and to have it snatched away like that is infuriating. And all I want right now, besides the satisfaction of ending Helena's miserable existence, is for my mom and dad to understand why I'm upset about it. But they don't. And they have no interest in changing that.

"I think you're making a bigger deal out of this than you need to." My mom says, ruffling my hair affectionately as she slides into the chair next to mine with a soft smile on her face. "You did exactly what you were supposed to do, you said exactly what you needed to say, and you showed everyone that you're going to be a force to be reckoned with in the arena."

"That's not the point and you know it."

"Then what is the point? What about this am I, a Hunger Games victor and successful former mentor, missing?"

"The part where no one was talking about me at the end!" I didn't mean to yell there. I swear I didn't. It just kind of slipped out.

I'm frustrated, but that's not an excuse for losing my cool. Which, based on the angry glare my dad is shooting my way, is a fact I'm about to be reminded of.

"I don't care how mad you are, you will not talk to your mother like that. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to your mom."

The only thing I hate more than having to apologize is having to apologize twice. Apologizing is something you do when you're wrong, and I'm not wrong about this. It may have been inappropriate for me to snap at my mom like that. But it wasn't wrong.

But this also isn't an argument I want to have right now. So, I'll give him what he wants, I'll … apologize to my mom for answering her question in a way that HE, not SHE, found offensive. If only because it's the only way we can get back on topic here.

"I'm sorry, mom. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

She knows I don't mean that, I can see it in her eyes. But we both know she's not going to call me out on it. Not when she has more important things she would quite obviously rather be talking about.

"There's no need to apologize, dear. Your anger, while misplaced and unnecessary, comes from a place of passion.
"You're going to need that passion if you want to win. And since I want you to win, I want you to nurture that passion, not quench it."

"I'll … I'll try to remember that."

"Good.
"As to your … 'issue' with how the Reaping ended, you need to let that go."

"How? How am I supposed to let it go?" I scream, the faintest hint of tears starting to seep out of the corner of my eyes and run down my flawless cheeks. "That was supposed to be my moment. And Helena stole it from me."

"And you'll get the chance to make her pay for it. If that's what you want. But you have to let it go for now.
"Remember, it's not the first impression that matters, it's the last."

I can't help but roll my eyes at that. It just sounds so … stupid to me. "You keep saying that, but it doesn't make sense. How can the last impression be more important than the first?"

"Because it's the one that sticks with people.
"No one is going to remember that Helena made a better first impression on them after you kill her. And you are going to kill her. Right?"

"Of course, I am."

"Then that's all that matters. The lasting image in people's minds isn't going to be of her standing calmly and confidently in the square. It's going to be of you, standing over her lifeless body, your blood-stained sword thrusting triumphantly towards the heavens as you are declared the victor of the Fourth Quarter Quell. That is your perfect moment. Not the Reaping. Remember that, and nothing will be able to stop you."

Helena Valentine-18 (District 2 Female)

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for us? To watch you stand there and stare off into space like a braindead moron? Do you?!"

"Yes, dad. I do."

"I don't think you do. Because if you did, you never would have let it happen in the first place.
"You knew how important today was. You knew you had one chance to make a good first impression, ONE! And you wasted it!"

He's right. I hate to admit it because I really didn't think I was doing anything wrong at the moment, but looking back on how it went in hindsight, I have no choice but to admit that I screwed up. But I'm not sure what else I was supposed to do.

Could I have done some things —

"For the love of God, Helena," my mother snaps, her voice dripping with contempt. "Would you please stop fidgeting? You know how much we hate that."

"I'm sorry, mom. I'll … I'll try to stop."

"She doesn't want you to try. She wants you to do it.
"Trying is what got you into this mess in the first place. Doing is what will get you out of it and allow your mother and I to save face."

"The only way we save face is if she wins, Winston. And after that showing, I'm not going to hold my breath.
"Face it. We raised a loser. I told you we should have had a second child."

I can't take this anymore — they don't get to talk about me like that. Not after how hard I worked to get here, to make them proud of me. "I AM NOT A LOSER!" I scream, leaping to my feet and cocking my fist back in anger as my dad rolls his eyes and mom stares back into mine with scornful contempt.

"Where was that passion when it mattered, Helena? Where was the fire your dad and I spent eighteen years kindling?"

I don't know how to answer that, and I think that's what pisses my mom off the most. I can see how hard she's struggling not to slap me, and it's a fight she's losing. And, after a few seconds of hesitant compilation, she does slap me.

It's not hard, she's slapped me much harder than this for much less in the past, but it still shocks me. And it takes every ounce of my self-control not to slap her back.

"You were right, Azure. She is pathetic.
"Let's get out of here before her weakness rubs off on us."

"I — AM — NOT — WEAK!"

"Then prove it." My dad snaps, his voice quivering ever so slightly as his eyes burn with barely contained anger. "Talk is cheap. Actions are what matter.
"Prove to us that you're not the loser your performance out there today says you are. Go out there and win. And if you can't do that, at least have the common decency to die in a spectacular and memorable way.

A/N: Another chapter, another pair of amazing tributes. I want to send an extra special thank you to Butter-bluetack and Iron-Doughnut for submitting Bellatrix and Helena. I had a lot of fun bringing them to life and I hope I did them justice in your eyes :D

That's really all I have; we're making good progress and I'm having a blast with this. Thank you for all your amazing support and for helping me rediscover my love for SYOT's and the Hunger Games in general. It means a lot to me.

I'd also like to apologize for this taking a little longer than I meant for it to take. I got a wee bit sidetracked coming up with Parade Outfit ideas and Arena setup. So, I'm sure you'll all forgive me for that :)

So, with that in mind, please drop a review if you enjoyed the chapter, or if you think there's something I could do better, and I'll be looking for all of your happy faces at the District Three Reaping next week :D