Chapter Twenty-Five: Glass Half Empty

I Mean, What Other Day Could It Possibly Be?

Ash Quinonez, District Seven Mentor and Victor of the 69th Hunger Games

The bottle of alcohol in my hand feels warm and damp.

I brought the thing along in case the memories threaten to come surging back, but I think I'm safe from them here. For now, at least. I hope I don't have to drink it here, though- getting a first look at the tributes before you see them is essential if you want to get a head start. Thus, I set the bottle under my chair for now.

Every inch of space anywhere near the stage is filled with a person, to the point where viewing the scene from above would reveal nothing but a multicolored mosaic of hair. Luckily enough, it's sunny and warm out, so there's no need for umbrellas today.

However, the beautiful weather won't change how rotten this day is and always will be. I had the exact same feeling when it was my turn to get on that stage.

Our hideous escort, some middle-aged lady who's only known as Rainbow, doesn't seem bothered, though. She has so many implants that I'm pretty confident she's more metal than human, and with her rainbow-dyed hair, color-changing eyes, and clothes so bright that I'm worried looking at them too long will make them go blind. As of now, she's trying to make some stupid puns or something, but she's so bad at it that the only reactions she's getting are groans.

After a few failed attempts, the lady looks hurt. "Whatever. Let's just see which two of you will be coming along with me!"

She lazily makes her way over towards Bowl Number One- I don't even know if the boys or the girls are going first. As she digs through, I try to scan the names and figure out what gender this picking is for, but to no avail.

When she finally makes her pick, it's pretty obvious that whoever is coming will be a girl. "Alexa Dobio, wherever you are, you're our girl for the year!"

Well, this tribute isn't mine, but I pay attention anyway. The girl who pushes her way out of the crowd doesn't seem shy. I've seen people have to get dragged out of their age group before, and none of them have been pretty. However, this girl appears to have no time for that, despite the fact that she's definitely on the smaller side. She isn't running full-out for the stage, but she's moving a lot faster than most would. To top it all off, she isn't crying or even showing a hint of fear. I'm not sure she's showing any emotion at all, to be honest.

She vaults onto the stage, sort of like a deer, before moving to stand as far away from Rainbow as possible. As Rainbow goes to select a boy, she noticeably moves to stay out of her way. "Okay, it's time to find your match!" As she giggles at her own private joke, she plunges her hand into the other bowl. It's in there for what feels like an eternity before she finally picks the tribute.

"We've found your match, Alexa! It's going to be Leaf Viagon!"

Leaf gets pulled out of the eighteen-year-old section by a Peacekeeper, fear evident on his face. But before he makes it more than a few steps forward, a voice cries out "I volunteer!"

Wow. Now that is surprising. Especially since that's the second one in two years for this District. And once the volunteer boy makes himself known, I become even more confused. Last year, the volunteer was clearly the older brother of the twelve-year-old who got Reaped. This kid looks absolutely nothing like Leaf did. While Leaf was wearing brightly colored hand-me-down clothes, this kid's wearing all-black clothing that screams "I'm depressed and I need everyone else to see it." (I know that because I went through a phase like that at some point, too.) This guy doesn't look like someone who's eligible for the Hunger Games- he looks like a kid who needs some mental help.

Rainbow steps to block his path as he hurries towards Alexa. "What's your name, dude?"

"It's Aryion. Aryion Hylus."

"Nice to know! Now what prompted you to step up for the boy who would have been here instead?"

Aryion says nothing. Thankfully, after about fifteen seconds of awkward silence, Rainbow realizes that it's in her best interest to stop asking about it.

"Thanks for the information!" Rainbow's shout is so loud and obnoxious that Aryion makes a move to cover her ears. "Would anyone like to volunteer for Alexa?"

Silence. It feels blissful, after all of Rainbow's auditory torture. Even if Alexa is hoping for someone, anyone to take her place, it doesn't look like today is her lucky day.

After a few moments, Rainbow's voice fills the air. "Well, it's time to send Alexa Dobio and Aryion Hylus off! Let's wish them luck in these Games!"

A few people clap, halfheartedly. Most do nothing. Not surprising in the slightest.

Before I get up to accompany the girls' mentor back to the train that will take us to the Capitol, I remember to snatch the bottle from where I left it, and clench the thing in one hand as I walk.

Something tells me that I'm going to need it soon.

Button Nishum, Reaping-Eligible District Eight Citizen

Before the mayor finishes his long, long, long speech about the Treaty of Treason, I feel the back of my head to make sure my lucky hair ribbon is safely in place.

Every day someone in my family is eligible to be Reaped, they always wear one of the four faded, fraying hair ribbons that have been passed down for generations. Even if it's a guy. (In that case, they just wrap it around their wrist like a bracelet.) It's a sort of lucky charm- no one in my family has ever been Reaped while wearing that, or ever, for that matter. However, that doesn't make me feel any safer.

I currently have the bright pink one tied in a bow around my dirty brown hair. In the twelve-year-old section, my younger brother, Fabric, has the green one. I'm standing in a crowd of fifteen-year-olds, some nervously talking to each other, most silent. I'm among the silent ones. I don't want to do anything that will make me stand out.

The feeling of dread sloshing around inside me only intensifies when the mayor's speech finally ends. I didn't process a word of it, I'm so nervous.

Our escort, a spindly man named Sunrise Vinson, mounts the stage. His hair and face has been painted in a way so that if you look at it from just the right angle, it looks like the rising sun. The only problem is that any other angle makes it look like he has a nasty sunburn that somehow spread to his hair. No one's called him out on it, since it probably took him hours to get the look that he wanted, but it still makes him look ridiculous.

He looks exhausted, and honestly, I can't really blame him. It's a sort of urban legend that the smoke that prevents us from being able to see the actual sun is laced with chemicals that make people pass out. While it's never been scientifically proven, I still believe it.

My nervousness is especially prevalent when he gets to the Reaping Bowl, I'm assuming for the girls. My heart threatens to explode out my chest, I think I could throw up any second, and I'm pretty confident the pounding headache I have right now was not there five minutes ago.

He fishes through the bowl for what feels like forever. Every moment stretches out. It feels like everyone here is collectively holding their breath. A slip gets pulled out, and everything grinds to a halt.

For a second, anyway.

"Button Nishum, please come up to the stage."

And then my world shatters.

The Peacekeepers are coming. Oh crap, this is really happening.

I'm dead. No doubt. I can't fight to save my life, I have no upper body strength, and I can't differentiate between plants for the life of me. As I get yanked out into the straightaway towards the stage, all I can think is "I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die…"

"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

Great, now I'm hearing things. No one's coming to save me, that's for sure.

However, the moment the girl stepped out of the crowd and began running at a full sprint for the stage, I realize I was not, in fact, hearing things. I've been saved. Saved! In a District where Victors are pretty rare, no less. I want to burst out into laughter, but now is not the time.

The girl darts past. I start to say, "Thank you," but I'm not sure if she even hears it. With a couple of swishes of pale blue fabric, she makes it onstage, right as Sunrise jams the microphone into her face. "Wow, a surprise volunteer! What's your name?"

"My name is Lacey Loveless, and-"

Sunrise cuts her off. "That's an odd last name, if I've ever heard one."

Lacey does not take that kindly. "You think I chose my last name? Don't ask me, ask the first Loveless out of all of us. Never mind, he's probably dead by now."

Sunrise is taken aback, but manages to keep his composure. "And why did you volunteer? Any relation to Button?"

"No, not at all. I volunteered because I wanted to. I'm ready to go."

Sunrise tries the prompt a few more times, but Lacey continually dances around the question until Sunrise decides that it'd be easier to drop the subject. "Well, after that shocker, we still have one more tribute left to go. Time to select a boy," he says as he goes over to the Reaping bowl.

I've been swallowed up by the mass of fifteen-year-olds and deemed safe, but that doesn't mean we're out of the woods yet. Fabric still has to weather it out for a few more minutes.

I'm thinking, "If he gets picked, I'm going to scream."

However, my voice stays down, as this pick seems to come by a lot faster. "Romeo Brady, please come up to the stage."

A spindly boy pushes his way out of the crowd from the other side, one section in front of me. His clothes look kind of saggy, and his stride doesn't exactly help, as the folds of fabric swish back and forth in the barely-existing breeze. Every step looks like it hurts, and his arms, unlike Lacey's, swing fruitlessly by his sides.

That's when I notice his hands. It might just be the way the light- or whatever bits of light slip through the smoky sky- is hitting his arms, but it looks like he's several fingers short. He only has three fingers plus a stump that used to be another finger left on the hand that I can see from here. I don't see enough of his other hand to see if he has five fingers on that one, but I'm not too keen to find out.

As Romeo makes it to the spot next to Lacey, Sunrise calls out "Anyone want to volunteer for this guy?"

Nothing. I feel horrible for him: if whoever this Lacey girl is hadn't stepped up for me, then I'd be in the same situation as him.

Sunrise only waits for a few seconds. Then, he shouts, "Well, give it up for this year's tributes: Lacey Loveless and Romeo Brady!"

No one cheers. No one claps. The square remains silent, even as the crowd begins to disperse and go back to whatever they'd normally be doing.

Before I can even get out of my section, my mother finds me and wraps her arms around my chest. "Button, my baby! I thought you were dead!"

Her hug is a sweet gesture, but I'm also worried she's going to break my ribs in the process. A weepy Fabric comes along soon enough, followed by my father, who still has an expression of utter shock on his face. I don't blame him. Not when I was about fifteen seconds away from a very painful death. Speaking of which…

"Mom, can you let me go? I want to go see the girl who saved me."

"But-"

"But what? The girl just saved my freakin' life! I should be allowed to say thank you, or at least something!"

She doesn't object to that, so I make the decision to run like hell for the Goodbye Room, as I call it.

Even though I'm not coming along with her, I can at least wish her luck.

Miller Eaton, District Nine Mentor and Victor of the 94th Hunger Games

I'm getting intense deja vu, just from sitting here.

Every detail remains crisp and vivid in my memory. The girl they sent up to the stage before me, the escort picking my slip and calling me to the stage, the utter silence when they asked for volunteers, the sheer terror radiating from the two of us as armed Peacekeepers escorted us to holding room where we received our goodbyes, and all the rest.

As I look over to try and talk to Anisa, my female counterpart, I find that she has thick headphones over her ears, and they're attached to some kind of music player. I've seen her a lot, and she spends more time with those bulky monstrosities on her ears than without. Her husband said that she needed it as a way to drown out the screams she keeps hearing. I know that such a thing makes sense, but it's still annoying when she's the only help I have in this game.

I should know. Ever since Anisa and her husband survived the games in consecutive years, earning the title of "The Miracle Couple," they've had to cope with the monsters they unleashed. Even though I only made one kill, I still have my own to deal with.

Boy, mentoring for the first time must be tough. For all I know, I could be helping a kid older than me try and avoid a grisly fate. And from the knowledge of the Games that I have, that's not going to be easy.

I think I had to learn the escort's name on the train, but I've since forgotten it. All I know is that she tries to be all hip and edgy by wearing all dark colors, including painting her face midnight blue. Instead, she comes off as the type of person who would throw herself off a building if it meant getting sympathy from someone else.

Wordlessly, she moves over to grab a slip for a girl. After what feels like endless searching and half-picking slips before dropping them and plunging her hand back in, she finally, finally makes her choice.

"I'm looking for Toren Laris."

My stomach clutches in a knot. The mayor's false smile falls right off his face. The entire square- well, a lot of the children are attempting to hold back smiles, but at least the adults are pretending to be concerned.

As soon as she begins to make the trek to the stage, her lime-colored dress rippling around her and her face obscured by too much makeup, the thought I had becomes a certainty.

Holy crap, that's the mayor's daughter.

Half the pool of eligible kids are smiling at this point, and a few are even laughing out loud, even as she- and the mayor- glare at them with everything that they have, willing for them to shut up. They don't. It's a noise that only gets worse the closer she gets to the stage.

The escort gets bored of waiting, so before Toren even makes it all the way, she makes her move to choose a boy. It's the same long, drawn-out process, that she stretches out enough for Toren to finish the walk to the stage.

"I need Marius Coin to join her, please."

The snickering from the crowd gets louder, somehow. Marius, unlike Toren, seems collected as he steps out into the lane. However, I recognize him almost instantly as soon as he lifts his head. We might not be friends, but I see him at the bakery I work in at least three times a week. No matter the weather, no matter the season. Eventually, you just start to connect the dots as soon as you see these people.

Marius is sure as hell doing a lot better job walking up to the stage than I was. The Peacekeepers are mostly behind him, just making sure he doesn't go too slow or try to make a break for it. When I had to do that walk, the Peacekeepers practically had to drag me onto the stage. While I didn't care at the time, since I figured I'd be dead soon anyway, that did not make a good first impression for my potential sponsors.

Marius makes it there, and stands next to Toren as the escort finishes reading her script. "Well, these are the tributes of the 95th Hunger Games: Toren Laris, and Marius Coin. May the odds be ever in their favor."

She doesn't even wait for applause, she's been here for three years and gotten used to this crowd. Instead, she takes both of them toward the familiar room where those they care about will say their goodbyes.

Anisa gets up, heading for the Tribute Train, where we'll meet them as soon as their loved ones see them off. She does not, however, take off her headphones.

All I know is that mentoring them, especially since this is my first time around, is not going to be easy.

Garden Flowers, Gamemaker

Everyone around me is passed out. Well, almost everyone.

Except for Summer, who wants to actually watch the Reapings and get to know the tributes a little early, and Achilles, who always has a firm limit of three drinks per session, I'm the only one still awake. I don't drink yet; I don't want the alcohol to ruin my pretty face. Especially with all these people telling me that might be all I'll ever be.

Then, I notice one of the snoring Gamemakers subconsciously trying to hug my leg. I move it out of the way, and then he starts drooling. So. Gross.

Summer's entire apartment is filled with passed-out people, even though it isn't even two in the afternoon yet. I guess the fancy champagne was too sweet to resist for everyone here, except for the three of us.

While Seven and Eight surprised everyone who was still awake, including me, Nine was standard enough that Achilles is starting to nod off, meaning that Summer and I are the only two still watching. She's on the far end of the couch, a bottle of water in hand, and I'm on the close end with two of the last cupcakes balanced on a plastic plate.

District Ten finally comes into view on the screen, breaking up the monotony that has started to set in. It's not like District Ten is super impressive viewed from above- mile after mile of farmland and pastures and occasionally some cropland for animal feed- but it's better than the commercials and static that have plagued us for the past fifteen minutes.

The escort, some lady named Swan Reperibos, looks almost exactly like her namesake. From the beak to the white feathers to even the wings, although she left her fingers intact so she could still hold a microphone. She's been doing this District for ten years, so her face is pretty recognizable at this point (like it wasn't already).

Anyway, it's time to see who will represent the District in the Games. I can't wait!

Swan daintily strides over to the bowl, plunging her hand into the mass of slips. She doesn't see fit to just pick one and go, though- she digs all the way to the bottom of the bowl to pull out the one she wants.

"Artesia Alexander," she says, her beak mangling her voice quite a bit.

As the girl pushes her way out of the crowd, I get to take her in for the first time. Her hair looks nice, but the good things about her looks end there. Her shirt is messy and stained, her jeans are ragged, ripped, and several sizes too big (she has to hold it up with one hand to make sure it doesn't fall down on the walk to the stage) and her shoes, while they might have looked nice at one point, are so worn down that it looks like any sense of life fled the things screaming.

The expression on her face- it's almost not an expression at all. Not sad, but not smiling, either. I can't tell if she has no idea what the Games are or what, because you'd think a girl like that would be crying at this point.

Swan moves on once Artesia gets to the stage, doing the same thing again for the other bowl, presumably to pick a boy to join her. Once again, the slip is dug out from the very bottom of the bowl before Swan opens and reads it.

"Faolan Drover."

The square stays still for a few seconds. No one steps up to claim their spot. Time appears to slow to a standstill.

Then the Peacekeepers are moving and moving fast, combing the boys' section to find this guy. About fifteen seconds in, there's a shout, and suddenly a taller kid is being shoved out into the center by five different Peacekeepers.

As soon as he looks up at the camera, though, my jaw drops. I lose the ability to speak. The plate slides off my lap and lands on the carpet, and I don't even care.

This guy is such a hunk. He's almost certainly taller than I am, and he's ripped. His expression doesn't really match his body, though- he's appeared to have frozen up. Panic attack. He wouldn't be the first tribute to have one. However, he appears to recover about halfway to the stage, dusting off his clothes and breaking into a jog to join Artesia on the stage. Then, he smiles for the camera, looking soooooo handsome...

"Garden. Garden! GARDEN!"

Annoyed, I turn over to look at Summer. "What's the big deal?"

"You got a case of the dreamy eyes again. Sorry, but we can't have that here, it makes people biased. No crushing on the tributes, OK?"

"Fine," I say with a huff. He just looks so handsome!

Faolan has made his way next to Artesia at this point, and Swan's so used to this that she doesn't even ask for volunteers. "Well, if no one's volunteered by now, chances are they're not ever doing so. So, let's say goodbye to this year's tributes: Artesia Alexander and Faolan Drover."

No applause, but there is some concern, mostly occurring in a few big clusters. If I had to guess, that's where their parents are.

Then the screen cuts to static, and it's time to wait once more for the final two Reapings.

Picking up the cupcakes and plate I dropped earlier, I tell Summer, "This was a great party, but I'm ready to go home. Hope you enjoy the last two Reapings. Thanks for all this."

I walk out the door, heading for the nearly-empty streets of the place I love so much.

Aleena Carroway, Capitol Talk Show Host

Our show is off the air right now, and I'm currently watching the Reapings with Miracle, my co-host.

We go back on the air at six o'clock to talk about the Reapings and make our own predictions. So right now, we're watching them with an intense fervor, taking notes on every tribute to try and figure out who they are before everyone else. The big screen in front of us is showing nothing but commercials right now, so we're utilizing the spare time to take notes.

As of now, I'm wrapping up, the boy from 10 near done. I finish the notes off with a simple, definite contender. Largest Outer District kid since at least Flare. Definite Anti-Career, if they form up this year.

My timing couldn't be any better, for as soon as I put down the pen, the commercials turn off and the parched hellhole that is District Eleven shows up. I swear the temperature in the room goes up just from being exposed to that place.

District Eleven doesn't bother with a stage for the Reaping- just a square of dirt that's been baking in the sun for Panem knows how long. Even the escort, some guy named Elysium, is sweating profusely, and he's gotten used to temperatures like this over the years.

As the sun beats down on the populace, Elysium desperately waves his handheld fan to try and counter the oppressive heat. It doesn't work one bit, judging by his expression, and the nonexistent breeze isn't helping.

Not wanting to spend any more time outside than necessary, he takes the microphone off the mayor's hands immediately and makes a move for the bowl. He doesn't even try to make it look random, just sticking his hand a few inches in and grabbing something. I don't even know if this is supposed to be a boy or a girl yet.

"Thomiah Marshall."

Just two words, and they're some of the fateful ones that anyone could say. Thomiah definitely seems like a boy's name, but who knows?

Sure enough, it does belong to a boy. Or at least a guy. This kid definitely looks more like a man than a boy. He's taller than just about everyone I've seen so far, and while not a tower of muscle like some of the Careers, he's not scrawny. Even better, a winning smile is stretched across his face, even as he marches towards almost certain death. His plain brown shirt and ripped pants help too, both showing off his body and projecting that he's just another one of them.

While they cover his walk to the stage, I manage to scribble down, Scratch what I just wrote, this kid's even bigger. This is definitely a good year for outliers. Seems really confident.

By the time I've finished, Elysium has already made the move to pick a girl. The entire process takes seconds.

"Odysea Davos."

The girl that pulls away from the crowd looks smaller than Thomiah, but not by too much. Her dark hair is tied behind her in some attempt at a braid, and her scrunched-up facial features make it so that I can't really tell the color of her eyes yet. While she isn't smiling like Thomiah was, she's not a crier. And trust me, we've had a few so far today.

Just like with the last kid, I'm scribbling down assumptions about this kid as she heads over to stand by Thomiah. Definitely pretty. Looks like she might have some skill, though. Might be a contender, might be nothing. Hard to see yet.

She keeps her cool as she stands next to Thomiah on the stage, even if she looks a bit small by comparison. Elysium just does his standard thing once he gets there, not wasting a single second. "Anybody here want to replace one of them?"

Dead silence. I'm pretty confident that if someone had an allergic reaction or started getting choked in the background, we'd hear it. However, no reactions, attempted chokings, or cries of "I volunteer as tribute!" occur in the background. After a few seconds, Elysium gets tired of waiting and raises the tributes' arms.

"Well, these are your tributes, District Eleven: Thomiah Marshall and Odysea Davos!"

As the screen cuts to static, Miracle and I immediately start scribbling in the journals, writing down every possible thing that comes to mind about the two of them.

We have an hour to fill about these tributes, so every second of material counts.

Vincent Wainwright, President of Panem

All twenty-two tributes before me looked like possible contenders.

Even the kid with the missing fingers (The camera made that very clear on his walk to the stage) looked like he could have a shot if he played his cards right. However, it's time for District Twelve, the district who sends in candidates who have the least hope of all.

Even though District Six has had a longer stretch between victors than District Twelve has (twenty-seven years vs. twenty years) District Six has at least gotten close a few times. Ever since District Twelve escaped with its third victor, it's gotten a grand total of three tributes to the final eight, and two of them got eighth. (District Six has gotten eight, and one made it to second.)

It's been an unofficial rumor for the past ten years that it's near-impossible to get Reaped in District Twelve once you turn sixteen. Some suspected that President Snow (the man whose reign I followed up) ordered that any capable kids in District Twelve got their names taken out of the Reaping Bowl, so they would never had a chance to win. While no one was able to confirm said rumor, District Twelve was pretty hopeless for a while.

Once I took over, I believe it stopped, or at least is practiced to a much lesser extent. At the very least, some older kids have been Reaped in the last decade. However, the four Games before have all been pretty pathetic showings for this District.

The District's Escort is a new face who was just hired a few months ago. She's a young lady named Ribbon, and she's wearing an outfit designed to make her look like some kind of toddler, complete with a onesie, pink hair ribbons, and the mind-numbingly innocent expression she's wearing on her face like a mask.

"Look, I like doing this about as much as you do," she says. "Let's make this quick and painless."

As much as someone could take that as saying that she hates her job, it's clear she's just trying to forge a connection to them. I respect that; people who get ingrained in a specific District tend to have better reception, especially here in the Capitol.

She takes quick, deliberate steps over to the bowl closer to her, and shuffles all the slips around with her hands for a few seconds before pulling one out.

"Satchel… Fox?" Then, she turns to the camera. "Did you guys give me District Eight's bowl by mistake? I've never heard that name before."

However, that dilemma gets solved in record time, before anyone in the Capitol can start to well and truly panic. A pint-sized girl, twelve or maybe thirteen, is being dragged out of the crowd by several Peacekeepers. And I do mean that literally. She hasn't moved her feet once the entire time. She's light enough that the Peacekeepers can carry her up to the stage without much difficulty, but her size does not match the expression of pure and utter hate in her eyes. The black pants and old, ripped-up jacket fit the profile a little better, though.

When the Peacekeepers drop her- literally- on the stage, she scrambles to her feet and begins to speak, drowning out whatever Ribbon is trying to say. "Uh, I go by Fox now. Fox Angel. So just call me that, please." That last word has a sharp bite to it, one that I probably should have seen coming, given that her entire face is still twisted into a grotesque snarl.

"Okay! Thanks for sharing," Ribbon says, as she hurriedly moves over to pick a boy. Chances are, she wants to spend as little time near Fox as possible. I get why. A girl that young should never look that enraged.

Fox is pacing back and forth across the stage as Ribbon scoops a slip off the very top of the bowl. She opens the thing so fast that a big rip appears, nearly tearing the thing in half. Luckily, enough of the thing remains readable for her to decipher a name after a few uneasy seconds.

"Maxxer Bent," she says. Then, she mumbles something under her breath that the subtitle staff doesn't catch.

This Maxxer kid steps out on his own, and my first thought is, "What is it with these tributes and the color black?"

I don't know how many kids have come out onto the stage in all-black at this point, but it's at least three. What happened to the tributes, especially the Careers, having some kind of signature color other than black? Is that some kind of weird fashion trend that I've just never noticed?

Either way, he's headed up to the stage. While he's not crying yet, his ability to mask his emotions isn't quite as strong as most of the others. Unlike some of the tributes, who simply look like nothing has gone wrong, you can tell this kid is trying to hide tears.

Only one more event of note occurs on the way up to the stage. About three-quarters of the way there, a hand shoots out from the crowd and grabs him for a few seconds. Whoever the hand belongs to seems to try and talk to Maxxer, but he shrugs it off and keeps going. Eventually, he sort-of joins Fox on the stage, but he stands still as Fox just keeps on marching back and forth across the thing.

Once Fox passes by Ribbon once more, she grabs Fox's arm in some kind of attempt to hold her in place. "Anyone want to volunteer for these two?"

There's silence in response to that. Or at least I think there's silence. Fox is struggling against Ribbon's grip, and the noises she's making trying to wrench herself loose drowns out everything else. After fifteen endless seconds, when Fox has started to make real progress, Ribbon tries to end the ceremony in some kind of orderly fashion.

"I present to you, your, ugh, two tributes," she gets out, her voice strained as Fox begins to wriggle free. Peacekeepers are moving in from both sides to try and restore order, but it might be too late. "Maxxer Bent, and, and-"

Then the recording cuts off and it goes to commercial. I can only assume what happened after that point did not work out well. If I really want the details, I'll have plenty of opportunities to ask Ribbon over the next week.

Quietly, I click the remote and turn off the television.

This Games is going to be interesting, that's for sure.

Author's Notes:

-And there's the other twelve tributes! Sorry for the lack of variety towards the end, there's only so many POVs I can come up with for this. (At least I spread it to two chapters- I can only imagine how boring it would have been if it was just one 11,000 word nightmare.)

-Next up is the Goodbyes chapter. We'll be seeing Clara, Rhaemyr, Vick, Catarina, Aryion and Lacey having their time in their own Goodbye Rooms, although not necessarily in that order.

-A poll is going up on my profile. Who is/are your favorite tribute(s) so far? If you have a really strong opinion, please vote! (EDIT, 2/3/20: Poll is now closed.)

-See you next chapter!