Chapter Twenty-Four: Glass Half Full

Finally, Finally, FINALLY Reaping Day

Summer Coxell, Head Gamemaker

It always feels like the day before the Reapings takes forever.

When I was young, I always wanted to have the show hurried up a bit, to see the people we'd be fully immersed with for the next few weeks. Now, I'm so desperate to have my creation tested that I don't care if we get tossed into that arena at this point. No matter what, I want to see it happen.

It's become tradition for the Head Gamemaker to host a party on Reaping Day, which is what I'm currently doing. The other Gamemakers are also here, helping themselves to snacks (including a wide variety of baked goods a few of them brought) and alcohol (even though it's only ten in the morning at this point).

One moment, everyone is scattered throughout the apartment that I call home. The next, the Capitol's anthem is playing, and everyone's rushing to get a decent seat on the couch facing the television. Five seconds later, all the Gamemakers (including me) are either on or around the couch, too many bodies clustered in too little space.

As the view on screen shifts to the lush landscapes of District One, Garden, sitting to my right, lets out a childish squeal. "It's starting!"

Sure enough, after a beautiful view of the District from above, it immediately transitions to the stage that has been hastily set up in the largest town square they have (District One has a wide enough expanse of area that a lot of people have to migrate a significant distance to make the Reaping in time) as the mayor finishes the last bit of the eternally-long Treaty of Treason. Once he gets off the stage, the drop-dead gorgeous escort steps on, and based on the noises I'm hearing around me, I'm pretty confident at least half the girls- and maybe one or two of the guys- have a major crush on him.

Diamond Iverson has been escorting since I was little, and it shows. He's done it for just about every District, being promoted to One only recently. However, from the looks the girls near the front of the packed crowd are giving him, you'd think that he'd been living there his whole life.

"Alright, everyone! You ready to see who our lucky couple is going to be?" He waits for the inevitable applause and shouting, and then saunters over to the girls' Reaping Bowl. "As always, ladies first!"

He fishes around in the bowl for a few seconds, pretending to try and make it seem random, but it's not like it matters at all. District One hasn't had a Reaped tribute in over thirty years at this point. It isn't likely that this year will be the streak-breaker.

He closes his hand around a slip, pulls it out, and reads it for a split second before addressing the audience. "And our female tribute is Miracle Tomesco!"

"I volunteer as tribute!" No surprise, a girl overrides the Reaped tribute, sparing Miracle of her almost-certain fate. As the volunteer girl extricates herself from the crowd, the first thing I notice is how- dark she seems. Her skin is so pale you'd think she dunked herself in white paint, but everything else is black- black shoes, black dress, even a black hat that's jammed onto her head so I don't know what her hair color is.

Once she makes it to the stage, she turns to face Diamond. He smiles, like any good Escort should, and asks her "What's your name, sweetie?"

"I'm Clara. Clara Ridley. And please, do not call me Sweetie."

"Okay! My bad," Diamond replies. "Now, let's see who'll join this bundle of joy!"

Clara scowls at Diamond as he sticks his hand into the boys' equivalent ball, and repeats the same process as last time. "And joining her will be Moonlight Hawzer!"

Moonlight actually manages to move a few steps over and smile quickly at the cameras before someone shouts "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Thankfully, this boy seems more normal. While the girl's outfit looks like it could suck the sun out of the sky if she wanted it to, he's wearing a simple blue shirt and black pants. As he gets on the stage, Diamond once again asks "What's your name?"

"My name is Nascar Galluci. Merchandise, Jewel, this is for you."

"And who are Merchandise and Jewel?"

"My siblings."

The audience, appropriately, lets out an "awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww," and Nascar moves to stand next to Clara.

Diamond gets in between them, and raises one of their arms apiece. "Ladies and gentlemen of District One, give it up for this year's tributes: Clara Ridley and Nascar Galluci!"

The audience erupts into thunderous applause, Nascar and Clara bow and wave to the crowd, and then the Peacekeepers escort them towards the Justice Building, where they'll get their final goodbyes.

Then, the image cuts to some commercials, which will be running until it's District Two's turn to pick their tributes.

All I can think is "two down, twenty-two more to go."

I can't wait to see what the other tributes will be like.

Cassidy Ervine, District Two Mentor and Victor of the 92nd Hunger Games

It's a little tradition of ours that the mentors for the Career Districts all meet up for an informal lunch in the Capitol the week before the Reapings happen.

Considering our tributes and trainees will be working together throughout most of the Games (theoretically, anyway) it's nice to get to know things about them beforehand that will help us coach them on how to work better with the others.

We also have a brief discussion (usually towards the end when our tongues are a bit looser) about why we think our tribute could win. All of us were one-hundred percent confident that our tribute, not anyone else's, would eventually be standing as the sole victor of the Hunger Games.

I don't have even a shred of doubt that this year is my year. Iridium, the girl who I'll be mentoring, is an absolute beast. While I might have to work a little bit with some of her anger issues, she can do things with heavy weapons that I myself had difficulty with. Not to mention, she's more determined than any tribute I've seen in quite some time, having lost a cousin to the Games two years back.

So, when Champagne, our escort, takes the stage in her sky-high heels and dress made of fabric so fine it looks like a strong wind could demolish it, all I want her to do is hurry up. This Reaping has a foregone conclusion, lady! Stop pretending like what you pick matters!

In her bubbly voice, she tells the audience, "Time to pick a girl!" Then, she grabs a slip off the top, not even bothering to dig into the bowl to give a pretense of caring. "And this year's girl is-"

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" A girl is shouting this at the top of their lungs before the escort can even finish her sentence. Well, someone's clearly an eager beaver.

However, once the girl steps out into the crowd, I realize that all of my carefully-plotted plans- pumping her up, spurring her on right when she needs it, helping her calm down, and getting our third Victor in the past ten years- have just been flushed down the toilet. The girl sprinting like crazy for the stage is most certainly not Iridium, meaning I'm going to have to spend more time figuring out how this girl works and what makes her tick than helping her get along with the other Careers.

She takes a little while to traverse the distance between her area and the stage- her green dress and high heels don't exactly make for speedy running. Once she makes it to the stage, Champagne asks the obligatory question. "What's your name?"

Rasping a lot- which is not a good sign considering the run to the stage was not that long- the volunteer girl chokes out "Galadia. Galadia Devinson."

Something clicks in my head about a half second after Champagne's. "Oh, are you related to Slate at all?"

"Yes, yes I am. I'm his daughter, and I'm ready to become a second-generation Victor."

Okay, so she was born to a previous Victor. Meaning she probably lives only a few houses down from me. I might have seen her once or twice, but I never really got to know her, since I'd never been close with Slate himself. At the very least, it means she probably has some decent training going for her, and she might get some sponsors just based on her last name.

I zone out as Champagne picks the guy, since I won't be mentoring whoever volunteers to replace him. However, I still hear it clear as day when she announces "And this year's boy is Shale Cebedil!"

"I volunteer as tribute!" Sure enough, someone in the crowd volunteers, and immediately begins rushing to the stage. And just based on the look, I can tell it's actually the person who was supposed to volunteer this time. Heavily scarred, taller than most, dressed in dark colors, determined look in his eyes.

As he gets next to Galadia, Champagne shoves the microphone in his face. "And your name is?"

"I'm Godric, and I'm proud to be this year's volunteer for this fine District."

"And your last name is?"

Godric swallows hard, but he manages to spit it out in one fluid statement. "Runestone."

Well, crap. If he's also a legacy tribute, most of the sponsors that might have gone to Galadia will probably pick him instead. Not that I don't have faith that I can still come up with a win, but just because I'm pretty confident nine people out of ten would say that Godric could beat Galadia in a fair fight before seeing what they could do.

"Oh, so you're-"

Godric cuts her off, and says, "Yes, I am. I'd like to be seen separately from him, though."

"Well, alright then."

Champagne gets between them, and announces the obvious. "Everyone give a round of applause to this year's tributes: Galadia Devinson and Godric Runestone!"

The crowd complies, cheering their lungs out as I get out of my seat to head for the train, where I'll get to know Galadia for who she really is.

Hopefully, I'm not as screwed as I think I am.

Corey Everett, Reaping-Eligible District Three Citizen

I am so, so, so scared.

I've heard every excuse in the book to not be worried. I know it's only a few slips in the bowl and that it's never going to be me and that I've done nothing against the Capitol. That's not going to stop me from being nervous, and it never will.

I've been eligible for five years at this point, and since I take one tesserae each year to use as a backup in case things get really bad, my name is in that bowl ten times. Ten slips have Corey Everett written on them in careful handwriting. Any one of those ten slips could cut my life short. Any one could throw me into a death match.

The tension doesn't ease up when the mayor stops speaking, only getting worse. Our ridiculous escort, Mirabile Steinberg, steps onto the stage, looking ridiculous with his deep red skin and his bright green suit. He looks like a pine tree with a really bad sunburn.

As soon as he gets the microphone, he says, "Okay, let's get on with the show, everyone!"

No one applauds. Not even those who actually like this stupid death match. Their friends or family could very easily become the next victim.

Mirabile strides over to the girls' Reaping Bowl first, and fishes around in it, looking for a slip that he's satisfied with. It takes a while, but he eventually closes his hand around one and yanks it out of the bowl, before reading the name written on it.

"Could I please get a Miss Sotia Vance on the stage, please?"

Thankfully, that's not someone I know. I'd never even heard of her before this very moment.

As I look over to the side to figure out who it is, I see whoever this Sotia girl is step out into the empty lane. Her hair is neatly parted, and her dress is so yellow that it could probably rival the sun. She starts off with a few small steps towards the stage, but they gradually get longer and longer, and she picks her head up as she hops up the stairs to stand next to the escort.

Once Sotia gets situated on the stage, Mirabile moves over to the boys' Reaping Bowl and begins digging around in it.

I see it all. Every movement of his hand, every slip he grasps for a second before letting go to choose another one, every time he shakes his head. Each second feels like an hour. Once he finally grabs a slip and pulls it out of the bowl, everything seems to freeze. Nobody moves. Nobody blinks. I don't think anyone even breathes.

Please don't be me, please don't be me, please don't be me, please don't be me…

"Could I please get a Mister Rhaemyr North on the stage, please?"

Then, everything comes back in a rush. The faded colors of the crowd become a hundred times brighter. The sun seems just a little bit warmer. Even the tight packing of my section doesn't seem so bad.

It wasn't me this time. I'm safe for another year. I know it's selfish to think this way, but I don't care.

As the chosen boy- Rhaemyr- moves up to the stage, I notice just how casual he looks. Ripped jeans, plain T-shirt, plain shoes, hair not even close to combed. Unlike Sotia, who looks so frilly and fancy and delicate that she resembles a life-sized doll, everything about Rhaemyr screams that he doesn't care that much about anything. Even his stride is casual and easy as he makes his way to the stage.

Once Rhaemyr is standing next to Sotia, Mirabile says two fateful words. "Any volunteers?"

Radio silence. No one raises their hand to save these two from their fate. It's not worth their lives. I feel the same way, unfortunately for them.

After about ten seconds, Mirabile yells out "Well, then here our your tributes for the year: Sotia Vance and Rhaemyr North!"

He pauses as if he's expecting applause, but nothing happens. No surprises there.

As he leads Rhaemyr and Sotia towards the Justice Building, the crowd begins to disperse, and I find myself pushed along by the thousands of others who have gathered here. Yet again, even though it's packed so tightly I can barely breathe, I'm happy to be here. Even if it's not the best position to be in.

You don't complain about much when the alternative is certain death.

Zinnia Goldfinch, Capitol Citizen

The Career Districts are always my favorite Reapings to watch.

As much fun as it is to get an early look at the tributes, once you get past the Career Districts it gets depressing, really fast. I'm not a huge fan of depressing stuff.

Since it's summer break, Daria and Janice are perched on opposite ends of the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn, while Burton is "out at his day job," as he told me. Sure, he's probably just at a bar, watching the Reapings with friends right now, but isn't that what ninety percent of the Capitolites do today? It's one of the most important days of the year for us, so it's not like I blame them or anything.

My attention goes back to the television when the never-ending stream of commercials finally cuts off, leaving me with a view of the lovely escort for District Four, Turquoise Aluxam. Every inch of her skin is dyed the shade she's named after, as is her hair. She's also wearing gigantic hoop earrings with a vibrant blue sapphire dangling from each one, and a similarly-shaded, rippling dress I would kill for, it looks so gorgeous.

As the camera pans to show the crowd, there's more smiles than frowns. Apart from One and Two, this is the only District you can count on for that. Even the kids know that the odds of being Reaped are so small that they'd have a better chance of being struck by lightning. (The escort for Four did get struck by lightning once, but that's another story.)

Then, the shot cuts back to Turquoise, who flashes a dazzling smile at the masses before yelling, "Okay, people! Let's do this!" As sporadic cheers begin to escape from the crowd, Turquoise sashays over to the girls' Reaping Ball and begins digging around in it.

She takes forever, to the point that I want to scream at her to hurry up. The first half-dozen slips, she shakes her head and lets it drop. Eventually, and I do mean eventually, she comes up with one and opens it wide.

"Our lucky lady is Sandy Powers!"

The crowd parts, revealing a pitiful, shaking girl who can't be any older than thirteen, as she slowly begins making her way up to the stage. This whole time, questions are racing through my brain. Did something happen to the volunteer? Why hasn't she spoken up yet? Are we really going to be left with this mess as the District Four Female?

However, all those worries are dispelled when a voice cries "I volunteer as tribute!" Relieved, Sandy runs back to the safety of her section, as a tall, thin girl steps out of the crowd to make her way to the waiting escort.

Her reddish-brown hair is tied up in a neat bun, and, strangely enough, she alternates between running and taking little steps towards the stage. The thing that catches my eye the most, oddly, is her dress. It's a standard, if fancy-looking dress, but that's not the strange thing about it…

I swear I've seen that dress before!

Once she gets to Turquoise, she asks her the obvious question. "What's your name?"

"I'm Sienna Starboard," is her simple reply.

Wait, that means…

"Related to Sirena at all?"

Sienna nods. "Well, duh. Just look at me!"

Turquoise grins widely as Sienna goes to stand by her sister. "I can see the resemblance already. Let's see who our boy is going to be!"

She moves to the boys' bowl, repeats the same eternal process, and finally yanks something out of the bowl before revealing the name.

"And joining her, Jetty Wicski!"

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" Someone's shouted that so loud, they drowned out whatever else Turquoise was going to say. A little rude, but hey, enthusiasm is never a bad thing in my book.

Whoever this volunteer is is tearing through the crowd, running at absolute top speed. His white shirt is getting damp from all the exertion, and I cringe at the sight of his pants getting covered in muck from the puddles he's not even trying to avoid. When he finally reaches the stage, sweaty and panting, Turquoise takes a moment to get the microphone in front of him. "And your name is…"

"I'm… Vick. Vick Even," he squeezes out.

"Well, okay then, Vick! Welcome," Turquoise says. Sienna breaks away from her sister to go stand by Vick, and Turquoise flashes one last dazzling smile for the audience. "Well, there you have it, everyone! Let's give a round of applause for Sienna Starboard and Vick Even!"

The crowd does just that, as expected, and then the television cuts to yet another commercial.

I'm honestly kind of happy it did- I need a break to make something to eat for everyone. Daria and Janice are probably starving right about now.

And trust me, even if the Reapings come back on earlier than expected, I won't be missing anything.

Terry Franzine, Gamemaker

My mind is currently a swirling haze.

There was some good alcohol up for grabs when this party started, and even though I'm not a heavy drinker, the stuff tasted so good that it was easy to drink a glass of it. And then another. And another. Pretty soon, I lost count.

Even though I feel like I could pass out any second, I want to stay awake for one more District. District Five has always been a soft spot for me, and they've brought in contenders each of the last two years. Here's to hoping this one will send in Contender Number Three.

"To District Five!" I raise a silent toast to myself before downing my umpteenth glass of whatever this is. All of a sudden, the Capitol's anthem plays once more, and I bounce up and down on the couch cushions like a child as District Five's barren landscape fills the screen.

As the power plants whirl in the background, creating a sound effect that never goes away, the mayor hands off his microphone to the escort for Five, Ivy Sappaluck. Her vivid-green hair is entwined with flowers and hangs well down her back, trying to give off the impression of her namesake. On top of that, she has these mesmerizing purple eyes that I swear are trying to hypnotize me…

As I begin to rock back and forth, wondering why the room is starting to spin around, Ivy says something about the girls' Reaping Bowl before moving over to it. Craning my neck up towards the ceiling so I can get a good view of whatever's going on, Ivy appears to be upside down as she yanks a slip out from off the top. How she does that without them all falling out is beyond me.

"Is Catarina Lynn here today? Because I think this belongs to you," she says, giggling at her own private little joke. I'm giggling, too, but it's more because her dress has suddenly disappeared into thin air, and she's made no attempt to cover her… well… chest.

This Catarina Lynn girl begins to make her way to the stage, one small step at a time. She's really small, and she weighs ninety pounds, maximum. Every second feels like an hour as she slowly heads for the stage, an expression on her face that makes it clear she's repressing all her emotions, for now at least.

Once she's finally standing on the stage and wistfully staring into the crowd, probably hoping someone will save her, Ivy nonchalantly goes to choose a boy. One smooth motion later, she's holding a new slip in her hand and has opened it wide.

"Spark Emmersen! Is there a Spark Emmersen here today?"

As I get increasingly dizzy, this Spark kid ambles for the stage. He has a really absentminded smile on his face that makes me wonder if he's just as blasted as I am. In contrast to Catarina, this kid is tall and heavy, especially for District Five, where the lines of work usually don't involve that much exercise. His clothes aren't very fancy, but at least he looks clean, which is better than can be said for a good quarter of the Reaping-eligible population here.

"Any volunteers?" Ivy shouts this to the crowd as Spark finally gets on the stage, standing next to a shaking Catarina. To no one's surprise, the square becomes dead silent, and then Spark and Catarina become this year's District Five tributes.

"Well, Spark and Catarina, may the odds be ever in your favor!" Ivy's voice oozes with excess sweetness as she tries to figure out how she's going to make it for the next few weeks with these kids.

I'd try to figure it out myself, but all of a sudden a shade of red explodes across my vision. As I stand up, trying to blink it out of my eyes, I bump into someone else, and then my shirt becomes wet and sticky.

One instant, I'm upright. The next, I'm tumbling toward the carpeted floor, luckily avoiding everyone else on the way down.

A laugh echoes across the room, and then my brain checks out for some quick repairs.

Bacchus Varngel, District Six Escort

In all honesty, I hate my job.

When I accepted this position three years ago, I knew that all the most desirable Districts, like One and Four, were already going to be filled. I knew only the worst ones would be left. I thought I could take it on- that I could slog my way through the mire of Twelve or the thick, choking smoke of Eight for a few years until the time came to move up a level on the totem pole.

Maybe I could. But District Six is sad on a whole new level.

Unlike the aforementioned Twelve and Eight, where there's resentment constantly brewing between us and them and you get dirty looks and dirt clods every step of the way, Six just seems… resigned. I guess year after year of losing has just hardened them so much that they no longer care anymore. I'm not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing for the District, but it sure is a negative for me. My self-motivational skills are not the best, and every second I'm here, the "no one else cares, so why should I" feeling gets just a little bit stronger.

Obviously, I can't say that. I don't know the exact number, but at least three hundred Capitolites applied for the position that I got. I'd be replaced in a heartbeat and no one would miss me.

As bad as this job is, unemployment in a place as lavish as the Capitol is even worse.

Oh, well. The mayor's finished talking, so it's time to see which two kids are going to die this year. I start for the girls' Reaping Bowl, but get interrupted by Jet (the male mentor for our District) falling off the chair he was supposedly paying attention from, hitting his head on the floor, and passing out.

Sadly enough, this isn't even the first time I've seen that. "Can someone carry him back to the tribute train?"

In seconds, four Avoxes- one for each limb- grab his arms and legs, hoist him up and start taking him back to the train. We've already had quite a show here, and I haven't even picked the tributes yet. Better speed this up.

Darting over to the girls' Reaping Bowl, I sift through the slips for less than five seconds before pulling one out. Trying to make sense of the handwriting (whoever does the Reaping Bowls for Six really needs to take a penmanship class or two), I begin to stumble over the poor girl's name.

"Uh, Z-Zari… Morleat? Morlotte? I'm sorry, I can't really tell from this crappy handwriting…"

The bone-dry clearing everyone who's Reaping-eligible stays still for a few moments, but then Peacekeepers move in and begin inspecting the crowd. However, before they can find whoever it was that the slip was written for, a girl steps out on her own. The nearest Peacekeeper, a burly woman with red hair creeping out her helmet, tries to put a hand on her shoulder, but the girl brushes it off and starts for the stage on her own.

Halfway there, she begins walking backward, and then she begins to move her hands frantically as she slows down a bit, staring at a particular spot in the seventeen-year-old section. At first, nothing happens there, but then another girl, who has thick earmuffs on despite the sweltering heat, begins to move her own hands. I know there has to be a reason for this, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

When she gets to the stage, she gives me a sunny smile, which to me either means she's already accepted her death or she doesn't comprehend what's going on.

"Hey. Just so you know, my name is Zari. Zari Morelett. Just so you know."

Or, maybe neither. Then again, everything I think about tributes is proven wrong at least twice a day, so I shouldn't even be surprised anymore.

So, I decide to ignore Zari for now and focus on getting my other tribute up here. I take two steps towards the girls' bowl again, correct myself, and soon find myself standing by the bowl full of boys' slips. I do the same quick grab-and-go thing from before, opening it to find, yet again, that I have no idea what this tribute's name is supposed to be.

"Rem… Hemlok? Is someone here named Rem Hemlok?" As I scan the crowd to see who I'm getting, I think, "What kind of stupid name is that?"

However, that mishap soon gets fixed when the Peacekeepers manage to find a boy in the thirteen-year-old section. I'm guessing this is Rem Hemlok, but nothing expected me for this to be the type of kid who got Reaped. Everything about this guy screams "rich kid," from the fact that he's wearing a suit and tie to the expression of utter shock that her has on his face.

He's taking little baby steps to the stage, getting pushed along by Peacekeepers whenever he moves too slowly. After what feels like an eternity, he's finally joined the rest of us on the stage.

"My name's Remi, dude. Not Rem. And Hamick, not Hemlok," he says, obvious displeasure tinging his voice. I'm not sure whether he's angrier about him getting Reaped or the fact that I got his name wrong, but those are worries for another time.

"Anyone willing to volunteer?" All I get in response to that futile statement is a sudden wind kicking up, feeling like it could knock someone over. Luckily, everyone remains upright.

After about ten solid seconds of absolutely nothing happening, I cut it off then and there. "Well, here's your tributes, everyone: Zari Morelett and Remi Hamick!"

The crowd doesn't seem to react. Normally, I'd expect cheering (hell, I'd be fine with booing at this point) but everyone remains still and silent. A few more seconds crawl by, and then I scramble to gather my belongings so I can get away from these walking corpses as fast as possible.

The only problem with that is that I'll have to deal with at least two of them later. And unless this District somehow gets another victor, they're going to haunt me until the day they die.

Author's Notes:

-I was originally going to make this one big chapter, but considering what a behemoth this chapter is, I don't even want to think about what a nightmare it would have been to read all twelve Reapings slapped together at once. So, I'm breaking it up into two slightly less nightmarish sections.

-Thanks to everyone who sent me tributes from Districts 1-6.

-Districts 7-12 are next. See you then!