Antonia Kressh (District 6 Escort)
I hate to admit this, but I'm sort of glad that no one will tell me what's going on. What little I do know — like the number of peacekeepers in the square has been tripled while the number of cameras has been cut in half — is terrifying. And, since there's nothing I can do about it anyway, I'm better off not knowing any more than I absolutely need to.
"You would think they would want our input on this," says my partner, Maximus, his eyes hard and angry, his voice thick with annoyance. "We're the ones who have to do the job, so it's only fair that we have some say in the matter."
"I'm sure they have their reasons," I say, doing my best to ignore him as he continues to complain while glaring angrily at the door that separates the two of us from the room where district leadership and my producer are deciding what to do next.
"I'm sure they do," he concedes. "That doesn't mean they're good ones or that we shouldn't have a voice in the process."
I don't understand why this is so hard for him. Why we haven't been told anything yet is irrelevant, all that matters is that we haven't. And standing around complaining about it isn't going to change that. He either needs to demand that they tell him what's going on, or he needs to sit down and shut up. But I am done listening to him complain.
"The quality of their reasons is irrelevant," I say, shrugging my shoulders and turning my back on him as he continues to seethe silently. "You can either accept that for what it is — or go and demand answers. Either way, I'll be in my dressing room if you need me," I finish, walking calmly into the broom closet that is my dressing room and throwing myself into the welcoming embrace of an overstuffed loveseat.
It only takes me a few seconds to space out, my mind wandering off in search of happier memories from less troubling times. The ones it finally settles on are those of past Reapings when my entire family — all thirty-five of us — would get together to eat food, play games, and celebrate the beginning of yet another Hunger Games.
It's easy for me to get lost in those memories. They represent some of the happiest moments of my life, and before I know it, I've drifted off into a state of quasi-relaxing bliss.
I'm not sure how long that moment lasts, and I honestly don't care. It could have been hours, or it could have been minutes — the result is the same. I've just started to truly relax when I'm rudely ripped away from my dreams by a soft but incessant knocking on my door, "I'm coming," I yell, standing up and throwing open the door with a frustrated sigh.
"What is it?!" I snap, not even bothering to look up and see who it is.
Fortunately, it's just Maximus. Who, despite his obvious frustration, responds to my misdirected anger with a calmness I didn't know he possessed. "Sorry to cut your nap short, princess. But the brain trust is finally ready for us ..."
I said he was calmer than I expected, not that he wasn't an ass. "I wasn't taking a nap, and I'm not a … you know what, never mind," I reply, straightening my dress with one hand while running the other through my short, unruly, lilac-tinted curls as I close the door and begrudgingly fall in step beside him. "Did they ever tell you what was going on?"
"No, they said they wanted to brief us at the same time," he replies, opening the door that he had been glaring at earlier and ushering me inside the cramped little office where my producer is waiting with the mayor and the district commander.
"Thank you for joining us, Miss Kressh, Mr. Chutani. Please, sit," says my producer, motioning to the pair of empty folding chairs on our side of the small conference table as the mayor and commander look up from their work just long enough to offer the two of us stiff nods of welcome.
"Thank you," I say, taking the seat across from my producer as Maximus follows suit and takes the one across from the commander. "I'd also like to apologize for making everyone wait. I didn't know how long you would be and —"
"You didn't make us wait," snaps the commander, her voice cold and commanding as she runs her hard, unforgiving eyes over my face. "But we are an hour behind schedule, so, if you don't mind?"
I shake my head, trying my best to disappear into the hard, unforgiving confines of my cheap, metal chair as the commander nods her head and motions for my producer to continue.
"Right. Well, to make a long story short, there's been a bit of an incident in District Five. It's nothing major, but we have been advised to abbreviate the Reaping if at all possible.
"Now, I understand that this is a quell, and certain elements of pageantry have to be observed, but there are a few places where I think we can save time. …"
I don't hear much of anything he or anyone else says after that. I'm too busy trying to avoid having a panic attack to pay too much attention. I vaguely recall someone — I think it was the mayor — mentioning that his deputy mayor was taking care of the traditional welcome speech and the Dark Days video. I remember Maximus asking the commander about our safety — which she guaranteed — and the odds of what happened in Five happening here — which she assured us was impossible. And I remember being rushed out of the room and onto the stage before flying through an abbreviated version of my standard pre Reaping word salad. But everything else is a blur.
By the time I've snapped out of my panic attack preventing trance, I'm standing in front of the reaping ball — my microphone clutched tightly in my left hand while my right carefully sifts through a small mountain of amber-colored slips of paper in search of the one I want. I don't know how I got here, and I genuinely do not care. If I really want to know, I'm sure my producer or Maximus will be more than happy to fill me in during the train ride home.
The only thing that matters now is that I have a job to do — or finish, seeing as I'm currently in the middle of doing it. And that's what I'm going to do.
So, after spending a couple of seconds admiring the creativity of using an oversized model train car as the reaping ball. And giving the small sea of papers nestled within a final stir. I deftly snatch up a slip from somewhere near the middle and head back to my podium to read out the name.
"The name of our first Quarter Quell tribute is … Dana Shouwei!" I say, in as playful and bubbly a voice as I can manage. Which could be totally incompatible with my voice from earlier for all I know. But it feels right, and that's what's — oh, crap.
So, there is one other part of the conversations from earlier that I remember, and it has to do with what is about to happen. You see, at some point, the mayor and the commander were arguing about how to use the peacekeepers — the mayor wanted them to have as small a presence as possible and not to get involved unless they needed to — while the commander argued for an overwhelming presence and for them to find and escort the tributes to the stage as soon as I reaped them.
The commander won out. Which is why there are three peacekeepers expertly weaving their way through a sea of young women in search of Dana. Something that no one seems to be overly excited about but also isn't nearly as disruptive as the mayor feared it would be.
And, as luck would have it, it does help speed up the process. As it only takes them a minute or so to find Dana, who is currently rocking a serious scowl on her otherwise pretty young face.
Of course the scowl wouldn't be that bad if it was the only unfortunate thing about her, but it's not. In addition to her less than jovial demeanor, she has a moderate smattering of disgusting looking cuts and burns on her arms and hands. The fresh burn covering the top part of her right hand is particularly noticeable and disgusting because of the way she keeps clenching and unclenching her fist as she walks — causing the fresh wound to flex and crack in what I have to assume is an incredibly painful way.
Fortunately, her cuts and burns — as disgusting and distracting as they are right now — shouldn't be a huge issue. Neither should the fact that she's on the short and thin side. The former can be corrected with medication, while the latter is normal for a younger tribute from a poorish district like Six. They also do nothing to detract from her vibrant, olive skin — soft, light-brown eyes — and stunning dark-brown hair.
All in all, Dana is a perfectly adequate and moderately attractive young woman with an exotic, far-eastern flair that should play well with sponsors.
She's not my cup of tea — she's way too rough around the edges — but that's not necessarily a bad thing. If she's tough enough to survive whoever or whatever gave her all those cuts and burns, she's tough enough to handle herself in the arena. She might even have an outside shot at winning if she has the right kind of personality.
Which, while not all that likely based on my initial impression of her, is still possible. I've been wrong about that kind of stuff before and would love for that to be the case here. Though, I guess there's only one way to find out if I am.
"Thank you, gentlemen," I say, motioning for the peacekeepers to stop and move out of the way so that Dana can get to the stairs and join me up on stage, "and thank you for joining us, Dana," I say, my voice light and playful as I offer her my hand in greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Thank you," she says, her tone flat and neutral as she extends her hand towards mine, giving me an up-close look at the disgusting burn on the back of her hand which has little trickles of puss oozing out of the handful of small cracks her flexing has created.
It's almost bad enough to make me retch, and while I'm able to prevent myself from doing so, I'm not able to stop myself from letting my disgust show on my face as I quickly jerk my hand away. Leaving Dana looking first hurt and then annoyed once she finally realized why I did what I did.
"Did you … did you have some questions for me?" she asks, her tone quiet and betraying none of the disgust and anger I can see burning in her eyes.
"I did, yes," I reply, sheepishly. "But I can't seem to recall what any of them were," I admit.
"So … we're done then?" she asks, putting me on the spot.
I don't want to say yes, but I don't have much of a choice either. I don't think either of us are going to be able to get past how disgusted I got, and there's nothing I can do to change that. I have to accept it for what it is and hope for better luck with her district partner. Though, there is one thing I can still do to help Dana salvage a decent showing from all this.
I owe her that much. It's not her fault that I have a weak stomach and little to no control over my facial expressions.
"I suppose we are," I say, a mischievous smile on my face. "I guess Panme will just have to wait to find out what secrets lie beneath your exotic exterior.
"Ladies and gentlemen of District Six, allow me to present you your first Fourth Quarter Quell tribute — the exotic enigma from the far-east, Dana Shouwei!"
It takes a few seconds of silent coaxing on my part — but Dana eventually allows me to take her hand — the unburned left one — in mine and raise it triumphantly into the air as the crowd showers the two of us with a lukewarm round of applause.
The applause peaks after a couple of seconds before it starts to taper off — which is probably a good thing because Dana has zero interest in playing it up for the crowd, not that I blame her. I've already screwed her over once, and she has no reason to trust me not to do it again.
Regardless, the cheering eventually dies down, and I'm able to lead Dana to her assigned place on stage before sliding back behind the podium and preparing myself for what I hope will be a much more successful round two.
Then again, it would be pretty hard for that not to be the case. Aside from not butchering Dana's name — and her not running from the peacekeepers, round one went about as bad as it could have gone, at least as far as I'm concerned.
But I can't afford to let that get me down. Dana still needs a district partner, and it's my job to get her one. And, with any luck, her introduction will go so well that no one will remember how badly I bungled Dana's.
That last part is a bit of a long shot, but holding out hope that it might come true is enough to give me the confidence I need to slip out from behind the podium and cover the foot and a half or so between said podium and the reaping ball with a smile on my face and a spring in my step.
Once I'm back in front of the ball, I don't waste any time. I don't pause to admire it, and I don't take a few seconds to bat the slips around like a cat playing with a ball of yarn, I just thrust my hand into the amber-tinted sea and pluck out a slip before retreating back to the podium to read the name.
"And the name of our second lucky tribute is … Leandra Chandri!"
A rush of silence accompanies my announcement as the trio of peacekeepers standing at the foot of the stage step off in unison in search of Leandra.
"No," someone whispers, almost too softly for me to hear. Was that — was that Dana? Does she know Leandra? Are they friends? Family? Enemies? Casual acquaintances? I have so many questions about this that I don't even know where to start!
Unfortunately, it doesn't look like Leandra is in any hurry to get up here — which would be a good thing if I was interested in deciding which questions to ask instead of just blurting them out. But I'm not. Which makes this the most painfully long and annoying three minutes of my entire life.
Heck, by the time the peacekeepers finally find Leandra, I've forgotten most of the questions I wanted to ask her. All I can think about is how much longer this is taking than it did the first time — and just how surprisingly attractive Leandra is. At least by District Six standards.
By those standards, she's a goddess, a tall, exotic goddess. She has flawless tan skin — long, delicate legs — enchanting, greenish-brown eyes that I could lose myself in for hours — and a head of thick, curly, chocolate-brown hair that frames her stunning face and soft, pouty lips oh so delicately. She's every bit as exotic as Dana is but in a much more sultry and marketable way.
If only I could do something about that classic District Six scowl. Maybe on the train?
"Thank you again, gentlemen. I don't know what I would do without you," I lie, offering each of them a forced but hopefully still playful little smile and a nod as they move out of the way and let Leandra climb the stairs. "And thank you for finally joining us, Leandra," I coo, taking her by the arm and pulling her in for a warm hug that she does everything in her power not to return. "I just knew you would be worth the wait," I say, deepening the hug and forcing her to return it so we can move on.
"Thank you," she replies, her voice just as curt and short as Dana's had been. Maybe they really are related. "It's a … pleasure … to meet you too, Antonia."
She doesn't mean that, and that bothers the crap out of me. It shouldn't, but it does. It bugs me so much that it quickly becomes the only thing I can think about, purging my admittedly one-track mind of all the questions I wanted to ask Leandra. Leaving me to stand there with what I'm sure is a stupid look on my face as I scramble to come up with something, really anything, to ask her.
"I'm sure it is," I finally manage to stammer out, doing my best to remain calm as I once again struggle to find my mental footing. "You know, I had a bunch of questions I wanted to ask you, but I can only think of one for some reason."
She doesn't respond to that. Instead, she just stands there, staring through me as I continue to flail mentally. Maybe I should have spent a little more time preparing myself mentally for this when I had the chance — instead of drifting off into la-la land. Why did I have to be such a moron?
"Are you ok?" asks Leandra, her voice flat with just the slightest hint of concern. "You kind of spaced out there for a second."
"I'm fine," I lie, "just a little … overwhelmed … by all of this. I'm sure you understand," I say, motioning for Dana to join us at the podium.
"You have no idea," quips Leandra.
"You're probably right," I conceded, taking a deep breath and praying I don't screw up this last part too, "But it doesn't matter. What matters is that you and Dana are now official Hunger Games tributes, and it's time for everyone here in Six to show you what that means.
"How about it, District Six? Can you get loud for me? Can you show these two brave and beautiful young women how much you love them?!"
"YES!"
That's the loudest they've gotten all day, I like it. "Then do it! Let's have a loud and proud round of applause for your Fourth Quarter Quell Tributes! The exotic and mysterious Dana Shouwei and the alluringly stoic Leandra Chandri!"
At least I didn't screw that part up, I think, as I motion for the two of them to shake hands. Which, after a brief moment of hesitation by Leandra, they do. Leandra, with fire and purpose burning in her stunning eyes — Dana, with fear burning in hers.
"And as always, I want to wish everyone in this great nation a happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor!"
Leandra Chandri-18 (District 6 Female)
It didn't have to be this way. I could have stopped it. All I had to do was say four simple words, I — volunteer — as — tribute — and none of this would have happened. But I couldn't do it. I froze, and now both of our lives are over. How did I let this happen?
I already know the answer to that last question — I just don't want to admit it. Because the truth is, I was scared. No, that's not the right word — scared is what I am when I oversleep and only have an hour to get things ready in the morning. Seeing Dana get reaped didn't scare me — it terrified me.
The look on her face as she fought back the tears with terror in her eyes will haunt me for the rest of my life. And all I can hope is that she'll find a way to forgive me for not saving her from this when I had the chance.
"YOU HAVE A VISITOR."
I've got a what? I wasn't — I wasn't expecting anyone. "Send them in, please," I say, standing up and giving myself a quick once over in the mirror on the door and wiping away the tears on my cheeks as the door is thrown open and a blur shoots across the room and throws its arms around me. "DANA?! How did you …"
"I slipped out of my room and bashed the guard in the head with a lamp," she jokes, tears streaming down her face as she pulls me back in for another hug. "We only have a few seconds to get out of here before someone finds his naked body in the closet I left him in."
"That's such a terrible lie it has to be true," I say, deepening the hug and kissing the top of her head without thinking about how much she hates when I do that. "But where in the world did you find a lamp that isn't bolted down in here?"
"Ok, you caught me," she admits, her smile fading as she looks up at me with fear burning in her normally mischievous and childish brown eyes. "I didn't really sneak out and knock out a peacekeeper."
"You don't say?" I joke, doing my best to lighten the mood enough to calm her down a bit. She'll explode if I don't. "So, how did you escape?"
"I asked our mentor if it would be ok for me to come and see you. No one is coming to say goodbye to me anyway, so I asked him if it would be ok for me to spend some time with you instead."
"And he said yes?"
"Not at first, but I eventually wore him down. I think he feels sorry for us after what happened with Antonia."
"Don't say that bitches name in front of me again," I say, pulling away from the hug so I can hide the fact I'm crying in anger from Dana. "The way she treated you was totally unacceptable. If I make it through the next week without punching her in her stupid face, it'll be a miracle."
That wasn't meant to be funny, but it must have come across that way. Because Dana busts up laughing. And before I know it, I'm laughing too. And it feels good. It shouldn't, but it does.
We both need this. To feel like this is all just a sick joke, if only for a minute. It's the only way Dana's going to be in a good mood when I tell her something she's not going to want to hear.
"I'm sorry, Dana."
Dana Shouwei-15 (District 6 Female)
"What do you mean, you're sorry?"
"I should have saved you from this. I should have volunteered to take your place, but I froze. And I'm sorry for that."
I hate it when Leandra gets like this. I don't know how to handle it. I'm barely equipped to deal with my own feelings. I have no idea how to deal with hers too. She knows that, so why would she say something like that?
"I don't … I'm not sure what to say."
"Then don't say anything," she says, turning back around and wrapping me in a crushing hug that I have no choice but to return as she runs her fingers lovingly through my hair. "Just stand there and listen.
"I'm sorry that I didn't save you when I had the chance. But I promise that I'll save you in the arena. Do you hear me? I'm going to save you, even if it kills me."
"Don't talk like that," I sob, burying my face in her shoulder as the sobs overtake me. "You've already given me so much that I don't deserve. Please don't give me your life on top of it all. I won't be able to live with myself."
"Yes, you will," she coos, continuing to run her fingers through my hair. "You're stronger than you think, and besides, you'll be so busy with the bakery that you won't have time to miss me."
"That's YOUR bakery," I remind her, my voice cracking as the tears continue to fall freely. "I can't take it over for you. I don't know what I'm doing."
"You'll figure it out. And even if you can't, you'll have the money you need to hire someone who does. Like that cute boy who comes in every morning from the other side of the district just to talk to you."
"That weird kid with the funny nose? Why would I hire him?"
"You'll understand that when you're older," she jokes, pulling back just a bit so she can look down into my tear-filled eyes with her tear-filled eyes.
"No, I won't," I snap, my anger bubbling over as I continue to sob softly. "Because I'm not making it back, you are. You've given up so much for me already. I can't ask you to give up your life too."
"I haven't given up anything for you that I wasn't happy to give up, Dana."
"That's a lie, and you know it."
"Maybe it is. But I'm older than you, so I get to lie about stuff like that, and you have to believe me. It's kind of a rule."
I can't help but giggle at that. It's stupid and lame, but I just can't help myself. Leandra has a way of doing that, making me laugh when all I want to do is cry. It's one of the million little reasons I can't let her do this.
But I know I'm not going to get anywhere arguing with her. She's even more stubborn than I am about stuff like this. So I'm not going to waste my time. We have so little of it, and the last thing I want to do is spend any more of it arguing than I already have.
Right now, all I want to do is stand here and enjoy what little time I have left with Leandra before we have to leave. I can worry about coming up with a plan to save her life without her knowing once we get to the Capitol.
And I will — I owe it to her. She saved my life. Now I have to save hers.
A/N: First off, I'd like to give a special thanks to ASlitheringSlytherin and geologyisms for submitting Leandra and Dana. These two were incredibly fun to write and I can't wait to show everyone what I have in store for them.
So I want to say upfront I know that the reaping portion is a bit disjointed, it's intentional. I was trying to convey that the Escort was in way over her head and a little scatterbrained, and this was the only way to show it that didn't come off as cheesy or cliche. I hope it's ok.
Other than that, I want to thank you all for reading and reviewing. It means a lot to me that so many of you seem to enjoy the story and I can't wait to continue the adventure with all of you. So, please review, let me know what you think of Leandra and Dana, and I'll be looking for all of your happy, smiling faces at the District 7 Reaping next week :D