Valion Paduk (District 12 Escort)
I don't know how much more of Sextus's crap I can take. I mean, I get that he's not exactly thrilled about being assigned to Twelve — I'm not any more excited about it than he is. But that's not an excuse for him to act like a petulant child. But that is how he's been behaving since we stepped off the train.
Hell, he was acting that way before we even boarded the train back in the Capitol. But he's only gotten worse — more unbearable — if that's possible — since we arrived in Twelve.
He's gotten so bad that no one wants to be around him anymore, not even the people who get paid to put up with his crap.
Why? Because when he's not whining about how unfair everything is — which is the only thing other than eating that I've seen him do when he's moving his mouth — he's sitting in a corner sulking.
Which, at this point, is infinitely preferable to the alternative — but still isn't the best look for a first-time mentor.
In short, things are going terribly. And they're only going to get worse once Sextus — who is one hundred percent responsible for his current predicament — has to stop sulking and start doing his job.
I almost feel sorry for the poor little girls who are about to get stuck with this mopey primadonna as their mentor.
"So, how long do you think this is going to take?" he asks, emerging from his most recent bout of brooding to ask me a stupid question he knows I'm not going to have an answer to.
"It depends," I say, sliding out of my own chair and tossing my cue cards on the small coffee table in front of me before moving over to the bar and pouring myself a glass of water.
"On?" he asks, rolling his eyes in annoyance.
"On how good the mayor is at staying on topic," I joke — shooting him a playful smile that he returns with a sneer before quickly downing my drink and pouring myself another.
"He's the one in charge of the majority of the Quell-related pomp and ceremony, so how quickly and efficiently he does his job plays a huge role in how long the reaping takes. And, by extension, how much longer we'll be in Twelve."
"So we'll be here forever," he growls, a sour, disgusted look on his face as he throws himself back into the plush confines of his chair and crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. "This place sucks."
"It's not that bad," I say, turning around to face him and leaning against the bar as he rolls his eyes so hard, he nearly rolls them out the back of his head. "Once you get used to it, that is."
"Well, I'll take your word for it. Because this will be the only time, I visit this shithole of a district. Unless I'm taking part in a victory tour for one of my future, non-District Twelve tributes, that is."
I can't help but laugh at that. I don't do it very loudly, and I do my level best to hide the fact that I'm doing it at all, but I do nonetheless. And, because that's just how rotten my luck has been all day, Sextus notices it.
"You think that's funny?" he sneers, his voice low and angry, his eyes burning.
There are two ways I can answer that question. I can lie to him and do my best to avoid getting into an argument. Or I can tell him the truth and bruise his already fragile ego to the point that a fight is inevitable.
Now, normally, I would go with option one out of habit. I've never been a big fan of confrontation. So if there's any way for me to avoid it, I'll take it. But after putting up with Sextus's crap all day, I'm sort of in the mood for an argument.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
"And what, may I ask, is so funny?"
"The fact that you think you have a snowball's chance in hell of mentoring a tribute to victory with your shitty attitude."
"I don't have a shitty attitude," he snaps. "Do I?"
"I don't know, Sextus. Do you?"
He doesn't answer that question. He just sits there in his chair and glares at me, his face alternating between furious and curious with each tick of the clock as I pour myself a final drink and return to my chair so I can go over my cards one last time before the reaping starts.
And that's how we spend our last few minutes pre-reaping. Me sipping on water and studying my speech cards for the millionth time today — and Sextus sitting in his chair and having a minor mental breakdown. Until, at long last, our producer scurries over to collect us just a fraction of a second or so before the mayor starts our introductions.
"our new Capitol mentor. The young man who graduated at the top of his class. And who asked to be assigned to our district so he could be the one to break our twenty-six-year-long drought. Sextus Septimianus!"
It takes Sextus a couple of seconds to collect himself after the mayor calls his name. But once he starts out the door, he does so with a cocky smile on his lips and a quiet confidence burning in his eyes — reminding me ever so briefly of the incredibly hard-working and stupidly talented young man that he was and can be again.
But I don't have time to dwell on that possibility. Because within maybe thirty seconds of Sextus exiting the building, he's taken his place on stage, and the mayor has started my portion of the introduction.
"And his partner. One of only two Capitol Escorts talented and deserving enough to be brought back for the Fourth Quarter Quell. The one — the only — Valion Paduk!"
I quickly tuck my cue cards into my jacket pocket and give myself a quick once over in the little mirror next to the door before confidently making my way out onto the stage. Treating the crowd to a playful wave as I quickly make my way over to the podium with a shy little smile on my lips and a happy little spring in my step.
"Good afternoon, District Twelve! My name, as I'm sure you all remember from last year — or possibly from the speech five seconds ago — is Valion Paduk. And it is my pleasure to be here once again to serve as your Capitol Escort for this, the One Hundredth Annual Hunger Games and Fourth Quarter Quell.
"Now, in the interest of expediency. In part because you've all been trapped here for a few hours listening to boring speeches. And in part because my partner Sextus has a hot date with his sister's girlfriend once we get back to the Capitol. I'm going to skip over my portion of the boring stuff and get right to the part you've all been waiting so patiently to see. The selection of your brave and selfless tributes."
So, I know that I shouldn't have said that about Sextus, but I couldn't help myself. He's been such a massive pain in the ass for the last two days that I couldn't in good conscience pass up the chance to get back at him. Especially about something that I know bugs the ever-loving crap out of him.
Am I being childish about this? Yes, I am. Was it unbecoming, possibly even cruel of me? Most definitely. Would I do it to him again in a heartbeat if I had the chance? Abso-fucking-lutely.
I'm sure he'll make me pay for it once we get back on the train. But right now, all he can do is sit there and glare daggers at me while smiling confidently as half the cameras in the square zoom in on his face while the other half watch me as I make my way over to the massive, intricately decorated, red-iron minecart that has been packed full of coal-black slips of paper that Twelve is using as a reaping ball.
I have to say. I'm actually sort of impressed with Twelve's choice of balls. It's not exactly inspired, and no one in their right mind would say that it's pretty to look at, but it definitely makes a statement. I may not be entirely sure what that statement is, but I do know that it makes one. Or, at least I think it does.
Fortunately, it's not my job to understand what message, if any, Twelve was trying to send with its choice of reaping ball. It's my job to reap them a pair of tributes. And to do that, I need to pluck one of those coal-black slips out of the ball. So that's what I do.
I carefully but dramatically thrust my arm into the middle of the inky-black sea of slips. Mix them around for a couple of seconds. And then gently slide my arm back out of the ball with my chosen slip nestled snugly between my index finger and thumb before quickly making my way back to the podium so I can read off the name of District Twelve's newest tribute.
"The name of the first tribute from District Twelve is … Maira Renault!" I say, my voice light and playful as one of the little girls near the front of the stage — most likely Maira — lets out a blood-curdling scream and begins to sob — shattering my heart into a zillion tiny pieces and forcing me to pretend that I don't hear what's going on less than ten feet in front of my face.
"I say again, the name of your first tribute is Maira Renault!" I repeat, my resolve wavering by the second as Maira, or at least the girl I assume is Maira, continues to sob uncontrollably just a few feet away from me.
Eventually, after it becomes painfully clear that Maira's not going to do so on her own, I'm forced to step over and ask the district's peacekeeper commander to go and fetch her for me.
"I'm sorry to bother you, commander," I say, my voice low and laced with concern, "but would you be so kind as to go out and fetch our tribute for me?".
"Of course, sir," he says, nodding in the direction of the pair of faceless, white-clad specters standing at the foot of the stage. "It would be my pleasure."
It only takes his people a few seconds to find Maira — who was, in fact, that sad little girl I saw crying in the crowd — and escort her up on stage. And when I say they escorted her up on stage, I mean that one of them carried her up here with tears streaming down her sweet, slightly chubby little face and all but dropped her at my feet before silently returning to their post at the foot of the stage.
"Welcome, Maira," I say, offering her my hand and helping her back to her feet before wrapping her in a big hug. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," I say, taking a second to give her a quick once over as she carefully removes her glasses from her face and uses the sleeve of her shirt to wipe the tears from her eyes.
Now, I hate to admit this, but the fact that she wears glasses might be the most memorable and physically impressive thing there is to say about Maira.
For starters, she's worryingly thin, even by the admittedly low standards of District Twelve. She's not emaciated or anything like that, but it's painfully clear that she's been decently underfed for most, if not all, of her life.
She's also on the shorter side. Which is normal for a girl her age, but when coupled with her low weight could be an issue at some point.
That's not to say it's all bad news for Maira. She does have her share of redeeming physical qualities. Her hauntingly beautiful steel-blue eyes — soft, shoulder-length caramel-blonde hair — and pale-ivory skin are all incredibly marketable. But her glasses are going to be one of the first things most people notice about her.
In short, Maira is small, sad, and utterly forgettable, which could spell doom for her in the arena if she's not incredibly charming and personable, or skillfully hiding a game-changing talent. Neither of which seems very likely at this point. But you never know, though in this case I wouldn't put my money on it.
"Now, we don't have a lot of time," I say, doing my best to calm her down even as my words — my soft, simple words — draw a fresh batch of tears to her eyes and a frightened yelp from her trembling lips. "So, I'm not going to ask you to give us your life story or anything like that. But, if you would like to say something to the people of Twelve, or to those watching all around this great nation, this is the time." I coo, gently offering her the microphone with a gentle nod and soft, reassuring smile.
But she doesn't take it. She just stands there and sobs quietly, alternating between looking down at her feet and up at the small bank of puffy white clouds that just rolled into the area on a gust of wind until I finally take the hint.
"Ok then," I squeak, taking her by the hand and gently leading her over to the far side of the stage before gliding back over to the ball and deftly plucking a second slip off the tippy top of the pile and returning to the podium to read it.
"The name of the second tribute from District Twelve is … Ashlynn Haskell!" I say, my voice just as loud as it was the first time but nowhere near as light and playful as I silently brace myself for a repeat of what happened with Maira.
But it never comes. Instead, I'm treated to something that's almost as bad, silence — utter, total, and complete silence. It's so quiet here in the square that I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as I passively scan the faces in the crowd for some sign of Ashlynn. Hoping against hope that I won't have to call her name a second time — or, god forbid, send the peacekeepers out to find her.
But I might have to, especially if she doesn't quickly respond to my second announcement. "I say again, the name of your first tribute is Ashlynn Haskell!" I croak out, my voice low and pleading as the seconds continue to tick by without any sign of Ashlynn.
I'm just about ready to turn this over to the commander when, at long last, I spy the faintest hint of movement near the middle of the square where one young woman is untangling herself from another and slowly making her way towards the center aisle. Eliciting a smattering of whispers from the rest of the crowd as she slides into the aisle and slowly makes her way towards the foot of the stage.
This gives me plenty of time to size her up, and to my surprise, I'm actually sort of impressed with what I see. Though that could be because of how utterly forgettable and unimpressive Maira was.
That's not to say that Ashlynn is perfect or anything — because she's not. In addition to having an obvious hearing problem, which is apparently hereditary in this district, she's a little on the short and thin side. Though, she's not nearly as bad off as Maira is, which is a definite plus.
She's also got fun, dark-green hair that she has pulled back in a messy ponytail. Playful hazel-green eyes that seem to sparkle in the mid-afternoon sun. A playful smattering of freckles that cover the bridge of her nose and both of her soft, beige cheeks. And a warm, cute little smile that, while obviously fake right now, would be incredibly endearing when genuine.
"Welcome, Ashlynn," I beam, my voice warm and excited even as my brain screams at me to tread lightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear."
"Thank you, Mr. Paduk," she stammers, her voice wavering with every word as tears start to bubble up in the corners of her soft and suddenly terrified hazel-green eyes. "It's a … it's a pleasure to be here."
"I'm sure it is," I coo, moving to hug her but stopping short and offering her my hand instead when she recoils at my approach. "And please, call me Valion. All of my friends call me Valion. And I would very much like for us to be friends."
"I … I think I would like that," she says, her lower lip quivering, her voice soft and almost robotic as she stares past me and out into the crowd in the direction of the girl she had been hugging before coming up on stage.
"Fantastic," I declare, a happy smile on my face as I motion for Maira to join us. Which she eventually does, but only after Sextus takes her by the hand and gently leads her over to us.
"All four of us will be the best of friends. And, if luck is on our side — and I have a good feeling that it will be — one of you will be back here in Twelve celebrating your fought Quarter Quell victory in just a few short weeks."
I meant for that to be reassuring, but I don't think it came off that way. Because within seconds of me saying it, Maira is sobbing openly, and Ashlynn is doing everything she can to avoid joining her. So, instead of dragging things out, I shift gears and sprint into the home stretch of the Reaping.
"But we can worry about that later. Right now, we're celebrating!" I roar, my eyes burning bright and my face a mask of excitement as I gently maneuver Maira and Ashlynn into the forefront and myself next to Sextus as the crowd shower them with a warm but tepid round of applause.
"Ladies and gentlemen of District Twelve, allow me to present to you the two brave young women who will seek to bring glory back to your storied and illustrious district. The small but mighty Maira Renault! And her partner, the kind and resourceful Ashlynn Haskell!
"And as always, I hope all of you here in Twelve, and those of you watching all over the great nation of Panem, have a happy and safe Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor."
Maira Renault-12 (District 12 Female)
"Did your mom and dad come and say goodbye yet or am I your first visitor?" asks my friend, Carly. Her voice just as happy as it always is despite the steady stream of tears running down her cheeks.
"They stopped by for a second, but they couldn't stay," I say, doing my best to sound like it doesn't bother me even though it hurts worse than anything has ever hurt before. "The twins were hungry, one of them was wet, and my dad said he has forty pairs of shoes to resole before tomorrow morning."
"Your little brothers are always wet and hungry. I'm pretty sure they came into the world that way," she says, smiling that silly little smile of hers that she always has whenever she makes a bad joke, and she knows it. "I don't see why that would stop them from spending a little time with you before you have to go."
She's right. It shouldn't have. My mom could have sat on the same couch Carly is sitting on and nursed my brothers while she and my dad spent some time with me. There's even a bathroom with diapers and wipes in it that she could have used to change them if she wanted to.
But she didn't. She didn't want to be here anymore than my dad did, and the fact that the twins needed to be fed and changed was her way out. Just like my dad needing to resole forty pairs of shoes before tomorrow, which he could have easily gotten an extension on even if he didn't have the excuse of his daughter getting reaped for the Hunger Games to fall back on, was his way out. Neither of them wanted to be here with me, so they're not.
"Are you ok, Maira? You look sad."
"Oh, I'm fine," I lie, doing my best to hold back the tears as she continues to look at me with her big, sad, tear-filled blue eyes. "I was just thinking."
"What about?"
"Nothing in particular," I lie, though not very convincingly.
"You're a terrible liar, Maira. You know that, right?"
"I am not," I say, doing my best to look offended even though all I really want to do is laugh. Or maybe cry. It's hard for me to tell at this point.
"Yes, you are," she says, her eyes sparkling mischievously while a fresh string of tears starts to bubble up in the corners. "But that's not important. What is, is that you're trying to hide something from me, and you're not doing a good job of it."
"Or, maybe I'm doing an excellent job of it, and you've just known me for so long my tricks don't work on you anymore. Did you ever think of that?" I giggle, hoping once again that she'll take the hint and change the subject.
"I don't think that's it," she says, smiling at me as she slides off the couch and jumps over the small table in the middle of the room before nudging me over and sliding into my chair with me. "But we can say that's the case if it'll make you feel better."
"Can we?" I giggle, punching her in the arm playfully.
"Of course, we can," she laughs, returning my punch with a soft, playful one of her own. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to let you wiggle out of telling me what's wrong.
"Come on, Maira. I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything."
"I know that Carly. But this is different," I admit, my eyes burning as I start to sob. "How do I tell you how it feels to be abandoned by my parents like this?" I cry, burying my face in the arm of my chair and screaming even as she tries to pull me up so she can hug me like a good friend would.
And that's how we spend my last few seconds of freedom. Sitting here in a big armchair — my best friend hugging me as hard as she can — and me doing my best to hug her back between sobs.
At some point, I feel her slip something small into my jacket pocket. But I don't ask her what it is. Talking would ruin the mood, and I'm all talked out anyway. All I want to do is sit here and wait for the end with the only person in the whole world who actually cares about me. So that's what I'm going to do.
Ashlynn 'Ash' Haskell-15 (District 12 Female)
"I passed your nanna on my way in. I was going to ask her how you were doing, but I got the feeling she wasn't in the mood to talk," says my friend, Suvi, as she nervously runs her hands through her short, ginger hair and licks her lips. "So I didn't ask her anything. I just hugged her and told her I was on my way in to see you."
"Thank you, Suvi," I sob, pulling my knees in tighter to my chest and burying my face in them as I fight back the urge to scream like a lunatic.
"For what?" she asks, her voice low and thick with concern.
"I don't … I don't know," I admit. My already shaky resolve buckling by the second as I push my face even deeper into my knees, driving out what little light had seeped into my face's hidey-hole and screaming silently into the abyss before continuing. "For being nice to my nanna. For being here for me when I need you. For being the best friend, a weirdo like me could ever hope to have. Take your pick," I say, my lame attempt at a joke falling flat on its face and making an already awkward and tense situation even worse.
"You don't have to thank me for any of that," she says, her voice low but happy as she slides off the couch and makes her way over to the corner I've been sitting in ever since my nanna left and plopping down next to me with a cute little umph. "I was happy to do it."
"Still, you didn't have to do it, and I appreciate the fact that you did."
"Yes, I did. She's important to you, Ash. So she's important to me too," she says, her voice low and quivering with every word as she expertly snakes her soft, delicate little hand under my chin and pulls my head up off my knees. "You matter to me," she sobs, tears sparkling in her big, sad, beautiful green eyes.
"Why?" I ask, my breath catching in my throat as I stare up at her soft angelic face. "Why do you care so much about me, Suvi? I'm a weirdo with all the social graces of a toddler."
"Yes, you are," she says, leaning in close and pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to my lips as she presses something small, jagged, and hard into my hand. "But you're my weirdo. And I don't know what I'll do if you don't come back from the Capitol. So please, try to come back. For me," she whispers, pushing herself up off the floor and darting out of the room before I have a chance to say anything.
Leaving me sitting there on the floor, dumbstruck. The taste of her kiss still fresh on my lips and the little geode we found together in my nanna's backyard resting snuggly in my hand. My heart, screaming at my brain to go after her, to ask her if that kiss means what I think it means, and tell her that I feel the same way. While my brain refuses to budge — insisting that I'm being selfish and that nothing good can come from this because I'm most likely going to die in the arena.
But I'm not going to die. Because I have a reason to make it back alive besides sparing my nanna the pain of losing another family member to tragedy, and that reason is Suvi Harper.
A/N: First off, I'd like to give an extra special thanks to Victoria the Bipolar Tribute and SnowyWyvern for submitting Maira and Ashlynn, respectively. Both of them were an absolute joy to write, and I can't wait to show you what else I have in store for them.
Well, we did it. Despite my best efforts and this funny thing we call life, we've managed to get through the Reapings and have now arrived at the Train Rides! Or, at least we will have after I post one more little world-building chapter. I have a couple of things to flesh out back in the Capitol, as well as a sponsor system to finalize, and I'll be doing both in that chapter. Then it's on to the Train Rides!
As a reminder, there will be 3 Train chapters and 1 Capitol Arrival/Remake Center chapter, with each tribute getting a POV in one of them. This is when we'll start to flesh out the game-related ideas and strategies, and it's one of my favorite parts of the whole process. So, I hope you're all ready to have some fun!
But that's a concern for a different time. Right now, I'm much more interested in hearing what everyone thinks of Maira and Ashlynn. So, I have a few questions. They are entirely optional, but I would greatly appreciate the feedback offered by the final two and your insights on the other four.
1. Which tribute was your favorite?
2. Which one was your least favorite?
3. Who was the most memorable?
4. Who, outside of the careers, do you think has the best chance of winning?
5. What did you like and dislike about the reapings and the format in general?
6. And finally, what can I do in the future to make the Reaping experience better for you as a reader?
Other than that, thank you again for reading. It means a lot to me. And I'll be looking for all of your happy faces at the next update :D