Aquilina Septimianus (District 4 Escort)
I don't know how I'm supposed to get anything done with Cleopatra as my partner. It took us almost three hours to get ready this morning — mainly because every time I tried to put something on, like my shirt — she would take something off, like her pants. And while I would normally find such lewd behavior — intoxicating — that wasn't the case this morning.
Not that it mattered. We still ended up doing what she wanted — hopping into bed and ignoring our responsibilities in favor of something far more enjoyable. Which, even though I did thoroughly enjoy every second of it, is the problem.
I knew for a fact that we didn't have time to fool around like that, and I did it anyway. I'm supposed to be the responsible one, at least in theory. But I just could not bring myself to say no to her — which is why, despite my best efforts, we were almost late to the freaking Reaping. Our first — and arguably most important day on the job — and we were almost late because I couldn't say no to my girlfriend.
The fact that she genuinely doesn't seem to care only makes it that much more frustrating. I'm taking our job seriously — she's not. And, when our different approaches to this come into conflict, which has been nearly every five minutes so far today — she wins.
And again, I would normally love this — her sultry, seductive, I don't give a damn nature is a huge part of what attracted me to her in the first place — it's just not a good thing on such an important day.
"You look, tense babe. Do we need to find a quiet place so I can help you — relieve some of that tension?"
I didn't feel tense until she asked me that question. I might have looked the part, but I didn't feel it until she offered to help me fix it. The things this woman can do to me with her voice are unbelievable. "No, I'm … I'm fine," I manage to croak out, my wavering resolve evident in every word.
"You don't sound fine," she responds, a wicked grin on her perfect lips and a lustful glint in her mesmerizing eyes. "You sound like you know I'm right, and you want to take me up on my offer."
"That's not … that's not true," I insist, lying through my teeth as she walks up behind me, her breath hot on the back of my neck.
"Who are you trying to convince," she purrs, slipping her arm around my waist and pulling me back into her body, "Me, or yourself?"
I can't — I can't think straight. And it only gets worse when she pulls me in closer, her breath sending chills down my spine as she softly nips at my ear before gently kissing down the side of my neck to my bare shoulder. I want to give in, and I almost do when she sinks her teeth into the soft, freckled flesh of my shoulder — drawing a soft needy moan from my lips as I bask in the delicious glory of the pain.
"You know what you want, Aquilina. Just tell me, and I'll make it better."
I want to, I really do — but I know I can't. I can hear the mayor through the pearl and coral studded double doors that separate the two of us from the rest of District Four. I can tell that he's almost done with his speech, which means we only have the Dark Days video between us and our introductions. And the last thing either of us can afford is for him to introduce us while we're hiding in a closet having a quickie.
No, I have to be firm on this, and I have to do it while I have the resolve to follow through. So, with a pained groan, I manage to croak out a response that I know isn't nearly as convincing as it needs to be. "We can't — we don't have time, and you know it."
"Who cares," she giggles, sinking her teeth even deeper into my shoulder before pulling back and planting a soft kiss on my fresh mark. "It's not like they can start the reaping without you."
"That's … that's not the point," I whine. My already shaky resolve buckling by the second. "We've already pushed our luck as far as we should, given the circumstances."
"You're no fun," she pouts, turning me around and planting a soft kiss on my lips, that same wicked, knowing little smile on her perfect lips from before. "You're going to have to find a way to make it up to me once we're back on the train."
"Of course I will," I manage to stutter out, my knees shaking, my heart pounding like a drum as I continue to stare longingly into her hungry emerald eyes.
"Good," she whispers. Leaning in to plant a soft, almost teasingly erotic little kiss on the bruise her earlier bite has left on my shoulder. "And I promise to make that up to you."
That was almost it. That right there nearly broke me, and it took every ounce of self-control I have in my entire body to resist the urge to scream, screw it, and drag her into the nearest closet.
But I don't, and I'm glad that I didn't. Because within maybe fifteen seconds, I pick up the faint but unmistakable sound of the last few notes of the Anthem of Panem blaring out in the square — signaling the end of the mayor's portion of the Reaping and the beginning of mine.
"It is my unique honor and distinct pleasure to introduce the two fiery young women who will lead our great District into this new era. The exceedingly clever and charming Cleopatra Datari …"
She leans in closer to me, waiting patiently as the doors slowly glide open before planting a soft, sensual kiss on my cheek once she's sure they're open enough for everyone in the world to see her do it. "Just remember your promise," she purrs, shooting me a flirty and suggestive wink before gracefully sauntering out onto the stage — leaving me a flustered mess as the mayor motions, unsuccessfully, for the crowd to quiet down so he can introduce me as well.
I'm thankful for the extra time — however brief it might be — that the crowds' refusal to calm down is giving me. And, by the time they finally quiet down enough for the mayor to continue, I'm reasonably sure I'm capable of walking again. Or at least I hope I am.
"And the exceptionally bright and clever Aquilina Septimianus!"
I do my best to mimic the confident, seductive strides that Cleopatra used just moments earlier — but after three or so steps, it becomes plainly and painfully obvious that all I'm doing is embarrassing myself. So, I give up on my plan of trying to mesmerize and seduce them as she had in favor of a slow but confident stroll. Pausing just long enough to admire the breathtaking pink conch shell reaping ball — and to shoot my girlfriend one last, longing look — which was a monumentally stupid thing for me to do — before finally taking my place behind the recently vacated podium.
Why was it so stupid? Because the mischievous, almost primarily animalistic look burning in her ravenous emerald eyes is enough to send my heart into overdrive. Only this time, I don't have the benefit of having a door between me and the world while I try to work through my arousal. I'm on stage. The entire country is watching — waiting, patiently, for me to do the job I'm supposed to be here to do. And all I can think about is racing through it, so I can get back to the train and have some fun.
Which, as much as I hate to admit it, is what I'm going to do. At least to some degree. There is a need for some minor pomp and pageantry on my part — that's just a reality of the situation. This is a career district, and there are certain expectations of how an escort will conduct themselves while serving in one — and I refuse to ignore that responsibility just because I'm — excited.
So, I force myself to take a couple of deep, supposedly calming breaths, which work about as well as I expected them to, before turning my attention to the microphone resting snuggly in its faux coral mini-tripod. And, with my heart still thumping loudly in my chest and all the blood in my body running everywhere but my brain, I lean in close to the microphone and pray that I don't embarrass myself over the next few minutes.
"Good afternoon District Four. My name, as I'm sure you have probably guessed, is Aquilina Septimianus. And that absolutely ravishing woman over there next to your mayor is my partner and your new mentor, Cleopatra Datari.
"She will have the rare honor of training the two brave and selfless young titanesses who will have the once-in-a-generation privilege of representing all of you in the arena. While I will have the responsibility of serving as both their voice and official guide to the glorious wonders and unmatched grandeur of the Capitol and her people."
I'm not sure what kind of response I expected that statement to elicit. But I'm pretty sure that it wasn't the small smattering of applause that it got. Maybe I need to switch up my approach? Or should I just say bag the pomp and focus on getting through this as fast as I can? Decisions, decisions. …
"Come on everyone, you're going to have to get louder than that," I shout, my decision made with relative ease. "I know you can do better. Or have you all decided to cede your crown as the loudest district in Panem to someone else? District Two, perhaps?"
Oh, I touched a nerve with that last part, I can tell. Let's see how much harder I can poke the bear before it bares its fangs.
"Or maybe you ceded it to District One? Their tributes have always said they were better than yours. And their people claim to be the most passionate in all of Panem. Is that it? Have you finally accepted the reality that they are better than you?"
"NO!" They scream, their defiant, uplifting declaration echoing through the square loudly and proudly at least a dozen times before finally dissipating enough for me to continue.
"Now that is the District Four we all know and love," I say, a playful smirk on my face. "If anyone is ever foolish enough to doubt just how deep your passion runs, remind them of this."
The roar they let loose at that might be just a hair louder than the last one — which is actually fairly impressive all-things-considered. So I decide to let them have a little fun — despite my still-burning desire to get this done as quickly as possible so I can spend a little time with Cleopatra before she has to start being a mentor. And, after nearly a full minute of uninterrupted cheering, they've finally tired themselves out enough that I can continue.
"Now, we all know why we're here — in addition to all of you being incredibly bright — your wonderful mayor did an excellent job of explaining it. So I think we can safely skip some of the less-stimulating parts of the traditional escort spiel in favor of the things that will provide us with more — immediate gratification. Like the selection of the first of the two incredibly-lucky young women who will get to compete in the single most important Hunger Games in Panem's history. …"
I let that sentence hang in the air for a fraction of a second — giving everyone in the crowd more than enough time to process the importance of what I'm about to do. Before calmly and decisively pushing myself away from the podium triumphantly strolling across the stage — my eyes fixed firmly on the pink-tinted conch shell reaping ball and the small sea of turquoise-colored slips of paper nestled safely within.
It only takes me a couple of seconds to cover the fifteen or so feet between the podium and the ball, but with every eye in the world on me as I go, it feels like a lifetime. While the rest of the process — me gently slipping my hand into the sea of turquoise papers — carefully snaking my way through them in search of the perfect slip — finding said slip — retrieving it — carefully withdrawing both it and my hand from the ever-shifting mass — and retreating back to the podium — takes nearly a minute and a half but feels like it happens in the blink of an eye.
Maybe my job and my sex life have more in common than I thought. …
"The name of first tribute for the Fourth Quarter Quell is —"
"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"
I expected this, but it doesn't make it any less exciting. I've always loved volunteers — they're easily the most exciting part of the entire reaping process — and I can't wait to meet mine.
And, as luck would have it, my volunteer seems to be just as excited about meeting me as I am to meet her — or maybe she was just smart enough to realize that standing as close as she can to the central aisle is a good idea. Either way, it takes, at most, fifteen seconds for her to go from screaming out her intention to volunteer to the second she steps out of the crowd and into the aisle — forever separating herself from those not bold enough to take the same chance at greatness.
That's not the only thing about her that sets her apart from her peers, mind you. No, her soft, wavy, shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair — gorgeous sun-kissed skin — deep, blue eyes — and the adorable smattering of freckles that cover her otherwise flawless face help with that as well. Her calm, confident demeanor and gorgeous, determined smile are also fairly beneficial.
Her only noticeable flaw, at least from a physical standpoint, is that she's short. She's not small by any stretch of the imagination— and her lean, athletic build does a lot to offset her diminutive height. But she is shorter than I am, and I'm considered tiny by all but one of the most commonly used metrics in the Capitol. But that can, and will, be overlooked if she's half as confident and charismatic as she looks like she is.
Well, I guess it's time to find out if that's the case — and whether or not I struck gold with my first ever volunteer. …
"Well, hello there —"
"Ariadne. My name is Ariadne Whitlock."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ariadne."
"I'm sure it is. It's not every day you're lucky enough to meet a future Hunger Games victor for the first time."
Oh, I like this girl. "You're a confident one, aren't you," I quip, a fun, playful smile spreading across my face despite my best efforts to maintain a confident and professional appearance.
"Well, of course, I am — they don't just let anyone volunteer, you know.
"In fact, 'Are you a confident person,' is the first question they ask when you apply for the advanced training program in the academy — and the last one they ask before selecting you as a volunteer."
"Confident and funny, you're going to be a huge hit in the Capitol."
"That's the plan. And if my confidence and humor don't win them over, I have other skills that will.
"I may not be the —"
Oh, crap. What is she doing?!
"... or the strongest," she says, matter-of-factly. "But I'm a hard worker, and I've never met a challenge that I couldn't overcome with hard work. And I plan to bring that same approach to the games. I will outwork every other tribute in the arena, and I will prove that I'm worthy of the love and support of the people and the title of victor I will eventually claim as my own."
Well, that wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. ... I am way too high strung for this.
"Well then, it looks like Cleopatra, and I will need to enjoy our time together while we can," I say, turning my gaze longingly towards my girlfriend, who returns it with one of pure, unadulterated lust, causing me to lose my train of thought and stutter like a fool. "Di-di-did you hear that, babe? Ariadne is gunning for your job. Or maybe it's my company she's after."
"She can have my job," she purrs, her every word dripping with lust, "but she can't have you. You're mine — and I don't share."
Ok, it was obviously a mistake to involve Cleopatra in this. I should have known that she would use the opening to rev me up like that — she lives for it — especially when we're in public. We're going to end up breaking the bed when we get back to the train at this rate. … But first, I have a reaping to finish.
"You heard it here first, Panem. Ariadne is going to be your Quarter Quell Victor — and Cleopatra absolutely does not share. Which I can tell you from experience is one-hundred percent true.
"However, we still have to reap her a district partner. So, why don't we go ahead and take care of that?"
The atmosphere in the square is electric right now — I can almost feel the energy buzzing around me. It's the second most electrifying thing I've felt today — and I can't help but revel in it as I quickly make my way back over to the ball and repeat my earlier ritual of gently rummaging through the sea of turquoise slips in search of the perfect slip. The one with the name of a young woman who will more than likely never be my tribute scribbled within.
But I force myself to go through the motions anyway. Mainly because I need a second to myself to calm down enough that I can get through the second half of this without losing my mind — and this is as close to a private moment that I'm likely to get. So I'll have to make do.
"And the name of our second, lucky Quarter Quell tribute is —"
"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"
I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that as a mentor. I've only heard it twice, at least in an official capacity, and I'm already hooked on the rush it gives me.
I'm also hooked on the rush of seeing my tributes for the first time. And, much like Ariadne, my newest tribute doesn't make me wait too long to indulge in that enjoyment. Sure, it takes her a few seconds longer to make her first appearance, but she is well worth the wait.
She's tall, taller than most of the other girls around her by an inch or two — with a lithe, lightly muscled frame — beautiful chocolate-brown eyes — wavy, shoulder-length dark-brown hair — and a breathtaking mocha complexion that perfectly complements both of them.
She's not perfect, though no tribute ever is. She looks like she's a year or two younger than her new partner Ariadne — but I can't imagine that being an issue unless she's incredibly immature.
She also seems to be a little unsure of herself. She's not exactly timid, which would be a disaster, but she's quite obviously not as comfortable with what she just did as she should be. But, if she's able to play that off as being awestruck — which is a fairly common tactic that has been used by younger careers in the past — it shouldn't be any more of an issue than her age is.
Again, all of this rests on her being mature and smart enough to take advantage of those opportunities. I can lead her to them, but it's up to her to take advantage of them. And I think it's about time for me to find out if she can. …
"Welcome my dear, welcome. It's a pleasure to meet you —"
"Cornelia Harbor," she says, her voice soft but confident with no trace of the hesitation she had displayed just a few seconds ago.
"Cornelia Harbor! A strong name for a beautiful, determined young woman."
"Thank you, Aquilina. That was very kind of you to say."
"I'm simply speaking the truth," I respond, a playful smile on my face. "Now I know this is a huge moment for you, and I'm sure you have a lot on your mind, but I have a question I know everyone is dying for me to ask. If you don't mind?"
"You have a question," she asks, a look of feigned shock plastered on her face as she does her best not to giggle. "I am shocked. You don't seem like the questioning type, Aquilina. You really don't."
"You're … you're not teasing me, are you, Cornelia?"
"Do I look like the kind of person who would tease her new escort?"
I feel like I'm being baited, but I'm too far down the rabbit hole to turn back now. "Well, I obviously don't know you very well yet — but that question makes you seem like exactly the type of person who would tease her escort."
"You know something," she asks, a curiously playful look burning in her big, brown eyes. "You're right," she says, letting out a small giggle. "I am exactly the kind of person who would do that. That's why I did it.
"One of the many things you'll learn about me over the next few days is that I have a prodigious sense of humor."
"In that case, I think the two of us are going to get along very well," I say, a relieved smile on my face as I motion for Ariadne and Cleopatra to join us next to the podium. My heart racing as Cleopatra wraps her arm around my waist, pulling me in close as our new tributes take position on either flank, wide, confident smiles lighting up both their faces and the square.
"I also want to thank everyone here in District Four for making this experience truly memorable for all of us. Especially these two amazing young women. None of this would have been possible without them, so I want all of you here in Four to get as loud as you can for them. Show them how much you love them!
"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"
Cornelia Harbor-16 (District 4 Female)
"I can't believe you did this to us. Does our tradition of going surfing after the Reaping mean nothing to you, little sister?"
"You don't have to come, Sorrel," I remind my brother, rolling my eyes as a sarcastic smile spreads across his face. "You guys could have told mom and dad what you wanted to say and left it at that."
"And miss the chance to give you crap for it? You don't know a thing about us — Do you?" he retorts, a look of genuine shock on his 'hurt' face as he turns towards our sister, Cordelia, and throws his hands up in disgust. "She doesn't know anything about us?!"
I do my best not to laugh at that. I really do. But that goofy look is just too much, and before I know what's happening, I'm holding my sides and gasping for air as he slides out of his chair with a smug smile on his face and pumps his fist in triumph. Causing me to fall out of my chair and laugh even harder.
"Be careful, Cornelia," snaps Cordelia, the seriousness of her voice betrayed by the amused smile on her face. "You don't want to hurt yourself before you even set foot in the Capitol."
"Relax, she's our little sister. If we couldn't break her growing up, there's no way a small fall from a short chair onto a soft floor is going to do it."
"What are you talking about?" I ask, popping up into the sitting position and looking up at the two of them with a massive smile on my face. "The two of you 'hurt' me all the time. Or have you forgotten about last Christmas?"
"She's never going to let us live that down, is she?" laughs Sorrel, rolling his eyes as Cordelia does her best not to laugh at the stupid face he's making.
"I don't think she is," she concedes. "And I don't blame her. She almost broke her back when she wiped out on those rocks."
"When did a small bruise and a sick scar become 'nearly breaking your back'?"
"When the doctor at the academy told me I missed being paralyzed by a couple of inches," I say, chiming in before my sister has a chance to lob another wit-grenade into the middle of this potentially dangerous conversation, earning me a playful but slightly disapproving grin from her and an eye roll from Sorrel.
"You're such a drama queen. It must be a family trait for you girls. Mom is the same way."
I can't let that 'insult' stand. Making fun of me is one thing, and making fun of Cordelia is our second most important family tradition, behind only the post-reaping surfing trip, but I can't let him make fun of mom. So, with a playful shriek, I pop up and shoot across the room, ducking under his flailing arms and scooping up the soft-looking throw-pillow Cordelia had tossed on the floor and bonking him softly on the top of the head with a determined grunt and a giggle.
The look on Sorrel's face is absolutely priceless, though I'm pretty sure that if looks could kill, I would have dropped dead the second I looked at him. I still might, if I'm not able to control the laughter that threatens to bring me to my knees as I watch him flail around like I hit him with a brick instead of a pillow.
"I can't believe you did that," he scoffs indignantly. "This is the thanks I get for sacrificing a perfectly good day at the beach to come and say goodbye to my little sister? I tell you; I get no respect —"
"Stop being a baby, you drama queen," chuckles Cordelia, tears of laughter streaming down her face and mine as Sorrel throws himself back into his chair. Sticking his tongue out and contorting his face like he's just died as I double over and drop to my knees, laughing uncontrollably for the second time today.
"I ca-I can't-stop it you goof!" I wheeze, my sides on fire as I continue to laugh uncontrollably. "I ca-I ca-I can't breathe."
I really can't, and I honestly don't care. I'm having fun, laughing, and goofing off with my siblings for what might be the final time. Part of me wishes this moment could last forever, but I know it can't. And, after nearly two minutes of laughing and making funny faces, we all start to calm down, and the reality of the moment begins to slowly creep back in.
"I'm going to miss both of you. Promise me you'll cheer for me, even when everyone else is screaming for Ariadne."
"Of course, we will," Cordelia says, pulling me in for a tight hug while Sorrel affectionately ruffles my hair. Which, even though he knows I hate it when he does that, I allow him to do because it just feels like I should. "As long as you promise us, you'll come home. We're not the three musketeers without you."
I don't know if I can make that promise. I want to, and I know there's no harm in doing so, but I can't bring myself to say the words. So I don't, and we just stand there in silence for a few seconds, holding one another like we've done so many times before until at long last the peacekeepers barge in and all but drag them out of the room before ushering my boyfriend William and best friend Indigo into the room in their place.
Well then, I guess it's time for part three of the incredibly sad and awkward goodbye trilogy. I just hope this one is closer to the last one than it is the one I had with my parents. That one almost killed me.
Ariadne Whitlock-18 (District 4 Female)
"Your mother would be so proud of you, dear," says my dad, hot, salty tears streaming down his face and onto my cheek as he pulls me in for a tight, warm hug. "She knew that you and Marius would be special, and you've both proved her right."
"Come on dad," chides Marius, his voice wavering ever so slightly as tears seep out of the corners of his big, blue eyes. The same eyes he and I share with our late mother and one of the few things about her that I can vividly remember after all these years. "This is supposed to be a happy moment. A chance to celebrate all of Ariadne's hard work finally paying off. We don't need to —"
"It's ok, Marius. I don't mind talking about mom. In fact, I sort of like it. We don't talk about her nearly as much as we used to or should.
"Besides, this is just as much her day as it is mine."
I mean that. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for my mom. She never pushed me to be a tribute or anything — she died four years before I was even old enough to think about enrolling in the academy — and nearly a decade before I could start thinking about volunteering. But she did push me to follow my dreams, find something that I want, and work to get it. Like she and my dad did.
So, when I decided to volunteer, I did it all the way. I dedicated every spare moment I had for the first few years, proving that I could do it, despite being shorter, slower, and weaker than some of my peers. And I thrived — I wouldn't be here today if I didn't. And while I'm sure my dad and brother might have preferred that to be the case, I know that both of them are proud of what I've accomplished. Just like mom would be.
"Are you ok, squirt?" asks Marius, palpable concern evident in his face and his words. "You look sad."
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just thinking about — everything."
"It's ok to be nervous, sweetheart."
"I'm not nervous, dad," again, a lie. "I'm just — thinking. This is a huge day for me, and I want to make mom proud. I know she's watching up there, and I want to give her a good show."
"You don't need to worry about that stuff," he says, trying and failing to choke back the tears as he motions for Marius to take over as he excuses himself to the bathroom to collect himself.
"Dad's right, you don't have to 'put on a good show' for mom. She would be proud of you no matter what you do. Just like dad and I will be."
"I know that. But —"
"But nothing," he says, punching me softly in the arm. "You have nothing left to prove, and you know it. You made it. Everything from this point on is just gravy."
"Not if I don't win," I snap, my anger and frustration boiling over at the worst possible time. "I'm only doing this because I know that winning the Hunger Games would make mom proud. It's all for naught if I don't come out on top."
"Then come out on top. Go out there and win. No one is stopping you."
"That's what I'm planning to do."
"No, don't 'plan' to win, just win."
"What's the difference?" I ask, my frustration threatening to boil over again. "How is planning to win any different than 'just winning'?"
Plans can change," he says, shrugging his shoulders and sliding back into the chair across from the couch I'm currently sitting on, leaning forward and focusing on my face. The face everyone says I share with my mom. "Plans can, and often do, go wrong. They're far from perfect and can only be relied on to carry you so far. Just doing something, on the other hand, is certain. It's strong, it's solid, and with someone as determined as you, it's certain."
"I — I understand. I'm going to win, Marius. I'm going to win for mom."
"I know you are. Now, let's go check on dad. We've only got a couple of minutes left, and I want to make sure he gets the chance to say goodbye before you go."
A/N: First, I'd like to give a special shout-out to VeneratedArt and Victoria the Bipolar Tribute for submitting Ariadne and Cornelia. They were both incredibly fun to write, and I look forward to seeing more of them in the coming chapters.
So I know that the first third of the Reaping POV is a bit of a slog, it reads like a bad romance novel in a couple of places, but I sort of backed myself into a corner with it. I had already established who both Cleopatra and Aquilina were in previous chapters, so I didn't have as much flexibility with them as I might have liked. Either way, I feel like it turned out pretty well, and I hope that it's at least somewhat enjoyable for everyone else. Or, at the very least, that the rest of the chapter makes up for it.
That being said, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please drop a review and let me know what you thought of Ariadne and Cornelia. And I'll be looking for all of your happy and smiling faces next week at the District Five Reaping!