Keiji Abidas (District 9 Escort)
Part of me knew this would happen. I knew that staying up late and getting drunk with Nyxeris was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. It started innocently enough. Nyxeris suggested we share a glass of wine over dinner — to celebrate both our recent marriage and our impending success in the reaping.
Of course, it didn't end there. One drink led to another. And then another, and another, until we had drained every bottle we could get our hands on and the avox cut us off.
So we moved on to shots — which I knew was an even worse idea than the wine — but I let her talk my drunk ass into doing them all the same. And that was it — the next thing I remember is being shaken awake by a disgustingly happy and perky Nyxeris — and I've been zoning in and out ever since.
"Is everything ok, Keiji? You look a little — pale."
"Really? Because I feel incredible," I snap, immediately regretting it as my head starts to throb. "Oh — my — god. I can't believe I let you talk me into getting drunk last night."
"I didn't have to talk you into anything." she laughs. "You were looking for an excuse to cut loose just like I was. It's not my fault that you can't handle your liquor."
"I can handle my liquor just fine. It was that flaming green shit that did me in."
"I told you not to drink it. But you insisted that if I could handle it, you could handle it. As long as I let you do the shot out of my belly button."
"Yeah, that sounds like something I would say. Or at least something that drunk me would say."
"I like drunk Keiji," she says, a playful and flirty smile on her face. "He's fun."
"So you've said," I chuckle, returning her smile with one of my own. "Unfortunately, drunk Keiji doesn't get along with sober Keiji — and he's not on speaking terms with hungover Keiji. That's why I don't bring him out to play very often."
"So, does that mean he won't be back tonight for round two?" she asks, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"No, he will not."
"That's too bad," she pouts. A playful smile on her lips as she slips out of her chair and slides into my lap. "I was hoping he'd make another appearance."
"And why is that?" I ask, her smile widening as she adjusts herself in my lap and throws her arms around my neck.
"Because I won't be able to do this again tomorrow if he doesn't." she purrs, leaning in close to my ear and nibbling on it playfully.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, putting two and two together and getting six as she leans in and screams in my ear before hopping off my lap and blowing me a kiss as my brain shatters into a billion tiny pieces.
"What the hell was that for?" I scream, my head throbbing with every word as the room starts to spin like a carnival ride.
"What do you mean?" she asks innocently.
"You know — you know damn well what I mean," I say, trying and failing to stand up.
"Oh, that. That was for trying to out drink me last night." she coos, grabbing me by the collar and pulling me in for a searing kiss. "And that was for what you did after you took that shot of green shit out of my belly button."
"Oh, shit. Did we?"
"If you don't remember, does it really matter?" she asks, turning her back to me and skipping across the foyer in the direction of the black-oak double doors at the front of the building. Stopping just long enough to look back over her shoulder and say, "Let's go. The mayor started our introduction a few minutes ago."
"Why didn't you say something earlier?" I ask, jumping out of my chair and fighting back the urge to vomit as the room starts to spin again.
"Because we were having fun."
"You were having fun — I was in hell."
She can't help but laugh at that, and I honestly can't say that I blame her. I know I'm being dramatic, but I honestly don't care. My head is throbbing, the world is spinning, I'm sweating alcohol, and I have to find a way to make it through the reaping. One of those issues would be bad enough, but all four of them together is a recipe for disaster. And the more I move, the more likely that disaster becomes.
But, to my astonishment, I find a way to push through it. I find a way to get myself across the hall without falling. I find a way — with a little help from Nyxeris — not to vomit. I even manage to find a way to straighten out my clothes and make my hair look somewhat presentable. And I do it all with like three or four seconds to spare.
"... my extreme pleasure to introduce the power couple that will help shepherd our tributes to victory in the Quell. The husband-and-wife team of Keiji and Nyxeris Abidas!"
"Are you ready for this, baby?"
"Not really," I admit. "But that doesn't matter. Let's do it." I say, slipping my hand into hers and steeling myself for the pain to come as the doors glide open and bathe the two of us in the warm, painfully bright embrace of the mid-afternoon sun. The soft, forced smattering of applause rising up from the gaunt, hollowed-out shell of a crowd beyond welcoming us to District Nine.
We walk out together, our hands held triumphantly over our heads as the crowd tries and ultimately fails to shower us with the praise and adulation we deserve. Even so, we decide to spend a few minutes doing what we do best, having fun. We play it up for the cameras — we wave happily to the crowd — we trade increasingly inappropriate kisses — before finally parting ways with one last, long, deep kiss.
"Good afternoon, District Nine!" I scream, my head throbbing so hard I'm afraid it might split in two with every word. "My name is Keiji Abidas, and that stunning young woman over there next to your mayor is my blushing bride and your new mentor, Nyxeris. And it is our privilege to be here in District Nine on the eve of the most anticipated event in the history of Panem. The One-Hundredth Annual Hunger Games!"
The crowd does its best to sound excited about my statement, but they just can't bring themselves to mean it. Which, if I'm being honest, would annoy the crap out of me under normal circumstances. But these are far from normal circumstances.
Today, I could give a shit less if they want to get loud and show the rest of Panem their future tributes deserve to be respected and feared. All I care about is making it through the reaping without my head exploding.
"Now, we all know why we're here. And, since that's the case — and my insatiable bride and I are on our honeymoon — I'm not going to spend a lot of time going over it again. Instead, I think it would be in all of our best interest for me to skip right to the good part. The selection of the two brave young titans who will represent all of you in the Quarter Quell arena. Any objections?"
No one speaks up, not that I expected them to. More importantly, I'm not interested in giving anyone the chance to speak up. That's why I'm already halfway over to the miniature grain silo Nine is using as a reaping ball by the time I've finished asking the question. And it's why I don't hesitate to quickly snatch up the first slip of wheat-blonde paper I run my fingers over once I'm finally standing in front of the aluminum-sided curiosity.
"The name of District Nine's first Fourth Quarter Quell tribute is … Sedge Hamilton!"
I hate to admit this, but I actually felt a little excited as I read out Sedge's name. I mean sure, this day has been mostly shit — and I still have what I'm pretty sure is either a life-threatening hangover or minor alcohol poisoning — but I just reaped my first ever tribute, and his name is Sedge Hamilton.
This is a moment Nyxeris and I will tell our future children and grandchildren about. Provided Sedge ever actually shows up, that is. He's already made me wait for nearly half a minute, and if he takes any longer, I might have to call his name a second time.
Fortunately, I don't have to do that. Because within seconds of the idea popping into my head, I lock eyes with a forgettably average-looking young man with tired, fear-filled hazel-blue eyes as he slowly but surely makes his way through the crowd and into the center aisle.
He may not be in any hurry to get up here, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Because the longer it takes him to get up here, the longer the cameras are fixed on him and him alone. And the longer the cameras stay fixed on him, the easier it will be for the people of Panem to remember his otherwise plain and forgettable face.
Ok, so maybe that's not fair. Sedge's face isn't forgettable so much as it doesn't really stand out in a crowd. He's got an average face that perfectly compliments his average body. He's of average height — with an average build — soft, light-brown hair — pale, mostly unblemished white skin —and hazel-blue eyes — just like half the people in his district.
The only thing about him that's not average, at least physically, is his smile. He's got a small, weak, warm little smile that makes his face light up when he flashes it. It's not much, but it's a start. And if anyone can turn that start into something that can be sold to a sponsor, it's Nyxeris.
"Welcome, Sedge," I shout, fighting back a renewed urge to vomit as I slap him playfully on the back and pull him in for a massive bear hug. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Thank you, Mr. Abidas," he says, his voice as flat and neutral as his appearance with just a hint of exhaustion lurking in the background. "It's a … pleasure to meet you as well."
"Please, call me Keiji. If we're going to be working together, we should at least be on a first-name basis. Don't you agree?"
"I … I guess that makes sense," he replies, looking down at his feet and fidgeting nervously. "As long as you're ok with it, then I'm ok with it. Though, I wonder, does this apply to your wife as well?"
"That's an excellent question, Sedge. How 'bout it, dear?" I ask, turning my head towards her and smiling. "Is it ok for Sedge and his future partner to call you Nyxeris? Or would you prefer Mrs. Abidas?"
"Nyxeris is fine. Mrs. Abidas is my mother-in-law, and that bitch hates my guts." she laughs, rolling her eyes.
"She's not kidding either," I say, doing my best to stifle a laugh of my own as a small smattering of them starts to trickle out of the crowd. "My mother really does hate her. Though, not as much as her mother hates me." I joke, blowing her a playful kiss before turning back to Sedge and slapping him on the back just hard enough to snap him out of his bleary-eyed stupor. "I guess that answers our question."
"I guess it does."
"Fantastic.
"So, we don't have a lot of time, but I want to make sure you get the chance to say a few words to the people you're about to represent in the most important Hunger Games in Panem's history. So ..."
"That's ... that's not necessary, Keiji." he laughs. "Honestly, this is all happening so fast I don't know what to say. All I could do is make a fool of myself, and I'd rather hold off on doing that for as long as I possibly can."
"That's a normal response to such a life-changing event," I say, wrapping my arm around his shoulder. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, but I understand where you're coming from. So, why don't we save the heart to heart with the people of Nine for your interview? Sound good?"
"Sounds good to me," he says, a sense of relief washing over his tired face.
"Then that's the plan," I say, taking his hand in mine and thrusting both of them triumphantly into the air as the crowd showers Sedge with a small, sad, and mildly insulting smattering of applause. "Ladies and gentlemen of District Nine, allow me to present to you your first champion, Sedge Hamilton!"
Ok, so I didn't honestly expect that statement to elicit a better response than my last one did, but I damn sure didn't expect it to elicit a worse response either. Unfortunately, it did. And after a few incredibly tense and awkward seconds of applause, I quickly shuffle Sedge off to the far side of the stage in an attempt to shield him from further embarrassment.
"Well now, that was certainly something, wasn't it?" I snap. My earlier statement about not caring if these people want to get loud or not, long forgotten as my blood boils at the disgusting way they're treating Sedge.
I'm so mad that I genuinely do not trust myself not to say something rude, so I force myself to leave it alone and move on to the selection of Sedge's district partner.
So that's what I do. I even manage to prevent myself from stomping over to the ball or glaring at the crowd as I go. But that's as far as my patience will let me go.
I've tried to be patient with these people. I've even let them get away with crap I wouldn't normally let slide, but no more. My tributes deserve better than this, and if these people aren't interested in giving it to them, if they aren't interested in showing them the love and respect they deserve, that's fine. But I'm not going to stand here while they ignore them either.
"The name of your second Fourth Quarter Quell Tribute is … Sentri Baroslav!" I say, my voice tinged with anger — the rough outline of a plan beginning to take shape in my rage-filled, booze-addled mind as I scan the crowd for Sentri.
Eventually, I see him, though he does his best to pretend that he doesn't see me, quickly looking down and hiding his angry dark-blue eyes from me as he slowly makes his way towards the center aisle. And by the time he makes his way into the aisle proper, there's no trace of the anger I very clearly saw burning in his eyes a few moments earlier.
Maybe I imagined it — maybe I'm trying to project MY anger onto him — or maybe Sentri's just amazing at hiding his emotions. Whatever the case may be, he looks every bit the calm, confident, slightly overwhelmed young man he probably thinks everyone else expects him to be.
Which, if I'm being honest, isn't a bad thing. Faking it, if done correctly, is a perfectly viable strategy — especially when you can blend into the background as well as Sentri looks like he can.
For the record, this isn't a knock on him for being short, scrawny, and utterly unassuming. So much as it's a reality of who he is. And, while his shaggy, golden-blonde hair — prominent, slightly crooked nose — cute little ears — dimples in his chin and cheeks — sun-kissed white skin — and those beautiful dark-blue eyes would normally make blending in to the background more difficult, I don't think that will be an issue for Sentri.
At least not if he's half as smart and adaptable as his sudden lack of anger makes me think he is.
Though, I'll have to find that out for myself on the train — because I'm giving these people maybe a minute and a half to meet their second champion before I'm taking him and Sedge off the stage.
"Welcome, Sentri," I say, slapping him on the back and pulling him in for a hug the same way I did Sedge while mentally starting the clock on his ninety seconds of stage time. "It's a pleasure to meet you." eighty-five seconds.
"Thank you, Keiji. It's a pleasure to meet you as well."
"I'm sure it is, Sentri." seventy seconds. "So, we don't have a lot of time. Sedge's introduction ran a bit long," I lie, "so we only have about a minute before they're going to cut us off. But, that minute is yours if you want it."
"I appreciate it, Keiji. But, like Sedge, I really don't know what to say. My head has just stopped spinning, and I still haven't been able to make sense of all of — this," he says, gesturing to the sea of people and the bank of cameras staring back at him with a sheepish grin on his face.
"Very well," I say, a wave of relief washing over me as I motion for Sedge to join us in front of the ball, my anger seeping out of my body as the urge to vomit comes rushing back with a vengeance.
"In that case, I think it's time for us to put a bow on this historic event. Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, allow me to introduce you to the second of District Nine's titans, Sentri Baroslav! And his partner, Sedge Hamilton!
"Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor!"
Sedge Hamilton-18 (District 9 Male)
"How are you feeling, Sedge?"
I wish people would stop asking me that question. I know that they mean well, but it's such a complex and loaded question. I don't think they understand just how hard it really is for me to answer it.
I've been trying to come up with one ever since my name slipped past Keiji's lips, and I'm no closer now than I was when I started. I mean, I know how I'm supposed to feel — how everyone probably expects me to feel — but I'm not sure that's how I actually feel.
To be honest — I'm not sure that I feel anything right now. That's not to say I'm not scared shitless — because I am. I don't think I've ever been more terrified in my entire life than I am right now. But I don't feel that way. I know that I should — and the logical part of me wants to feel that way — but I don't. And I'm tired of trying and failing to explain why.
"Hello? Earth to Sedge. Are you there, Sedge?" asks my friend, Zeya, a concerned look on her face as she waves her hand in front of my face in an attempt to get me to respond.
"Huh?"
"I asked if you were ok? You haven't said more than two words to me since I walked in, and you keep spacing out. It's honestly starting to scare me."
"I didn't mean to scare you," I reply. Staring down at my feet sheepishly for a second as I try to find the right way to say what I want to say. "But I just don't know how to answer that question, Zeya."
"What do you mean you don't know how to answer it? It's not a difficult question, Sedge."
"That's the problem — it is a difficult question. It shouldn't be, but it is. And I can't for the life of me figure out how to answer it without sounding crazy."
"Why would your answer sound crazy?"
"Because I don't feel anything, Zeya. I don't."
"How can … how can you not feel anything, Sedge?" she asks, her face confused, her eyes bleeding concern.
"Because … because I expected this to happen." I finally admit — all of the tension and angst I had been wishing to feel suddenly washing over me as I slump down into a chair and bury my face in my hands. "I ... I expected this to happen."
"You … expected this to happen?"
"Well, not this specifically," I say, gesturing to the room. "But something like this, yes. My life had been going way too well for way too long. Something bad was bound to happen eventually. I just — didn't expect it to be this bad."
"That is the — stupidest — thing I've ever heard."
"I'm sure it is. That doesn't mean it's not true, though."
"Doesn't it?" she asks, jumping up off the couch and throwing her arms up in disbelief. "How can someone as smart and rational as you believe in something that silly, Sedge?"
"Because it's the only way to explain how I managed to get reaped despite my name being in the ball a grand total of seven times. Do you have any idea how astronomically unlikely that is?"
"I don't, but I'm sure you do." she laughs, rolling her eyes and sticking her tongue out at me in what I think is an attempt to lighten a mood that has gotten incredibly tense incredibly fast.
"Of course I do. I was up 'till three in the morning calculating it because I couldn't shake the feeling that it was going to happen."
"And?"
"And the odds were so astronomical that the only logical explanation for how this happened is that the universe made it happen because it wasn't supposed to happen."
"That's what passes for logic with you in this situation?"
"I guess it is." I laugh. "Look, I know it doesn't make sense to you, but trust me. This only happened to me because it could happen to me. The fact that it took seven years is just the universe's way of making me feel safe before pulling the rug out from under me."
"You're right. It doesn't make sense. And I don't think there's anything you can say that will change that."
"Of course, there's not. So, why don't we change the subject and spend our last few minutes before I have to leave talking about anything else?"
"Like what?"
"I don't care, anything. Ask me about my family."
"Ok. How did your goodbyes with your family go?"
"Better than I feared, worse than I'd hoped. My brother did have some rather helpful advice on how a nerd like me can make friends with the more athletic tributes. …"
Sentri Baroslav-16 (District 9 Male)
I wish someone would ask me how I feel. I mean, I understand why they're not — they all have more important things to worry about than how someone as insignificant as I am is feeling — but it would still be nice if someone cared enough to ask me the one question I actually want them to ask.
But that's not going to happen. They would much rather talk about how hard this is for them. Or how scary it is that someone they know got reaped. Or, in my dad's case, how he can use this as an excuse to get drunk and pick a fight with a peacekeeper. Like he's ever needed an excuse to get drunk or pick a fight.
"Is everything ok, Sentri?" asks my friend, Farro. A disgusted look on his face as he carefully steps over the small pile of puke my dad left on the floor as a present for the Capitol hack who has to clean the room. "You look upset."
He doesn't really want me to answer that question. I've known him long enough to know that he only asked me because he saw my face and felt obligated to ask.
What he wants me to do is pretend there's nothing wrong. Or, at the very least, to keep my complaining to a minimum. That's just who he is, and I don't want to lose one of the few friends that I have right before I die. I'd like to think that there's at least one person besides my mom who will feel bad for me when I die — even if he won't admit it.
So, even though I would love nothing more than to give him an honest answer — to tell him how scared and mad I am about everything that's just happened to me — or how frustrating it is that no one seems to care — I don't.
Instead, I force myself to smile like I don't have a care in the world before shrugging my shoulders and lying right to my best friend's face.
"There's nothing wrong." I laugh. "I was just — thinking."
"What about?" he asks.
"You know, this and that. How much fun I'm going to have in the Capitol. How lucky I am that I get to see it before I — before I. ..."
"Before you?"
"Before I have to go into the arena." I lie, doing my best to smile even though all I want to do is scream. But I know I can't — because that's not who I am around Farro. So I don't. I force myself to sit there and look happy — to play the role I know he wants me to play even though all I want to do is scream.
"It should be quite the adventure," he says, a playful smile on his lips. "I'm honestly a little jealous."
No, you're not. You'd have to be an even bigger idiot than our friend Sunnoria thinks you are for that to be true. Seriously, the things he says are enough to make me worry. But I'm not going to tell him that.
Instead, I force myself to sit there and do what I do best when I'm with Farro, pretend to be happy. I pretend right up until the second the peacekeepers walk into the room to escort him out. And then, once he's gone and I'm finally alone, I do the one thing I've wanted to do since the moment Keiji said my name. I scream.
I scream as loud and as hard as I can. I scream until my throat hurts and my voice starts to give out. I scream until my knees give out, and I collapse into a heap on the floor. And then I cry.
A/N: First, I'd like to give an extra special thank you to ladyqueerfoot and Josephm611 for sending in Sentri and Sedge. They're both amazing tributes, and I hope I did them justice in your eyes. I have big things planned for both of them, and I can't wait to show you.
And so goes District Nine, we've finally passed the 3/4th mark of the Reapings, and I'm hoping that the last three will go as smoothly as the first nine have. It's getting to be a bit of a challenge to come up with unique mentor/escort interactions, but I'm enjoying the challenge, and I think the results have been solid so far :D
Also, I want to say that I'm sorry that this took a week longer than I'd hoped it would. Between the holiday and a personal loss, I just wasn't able to write as much as I wanted and what I did get done just wasn't good enough. I feel like this is a solid chapter overall, so the wait was worth it in my eyes, and I hope it's the same for you. I'm also curious about what everyone thinks of Sentri and Sedge, so please, drop a review and let me know.
That's really all I have. I appreciate your patience and support, and I look forward to seeing all of your smiling faces at the District Ten reaping next week :D