Chapter 2.

Eamon hadn't slept well. He'd spent half the night contemplating Nott's words from after training and was starting to second-guess whether or not to go through with his plan. Was it really worth it? How much did he value his own life? He knew Nott had similar troubles every year before the Games but for different reasons. It must be horrible trying to teach young kids every year in vain how to survive and deal with this kind of glorified torture, only to watch them die horribly. Eventually Eamon had tossed and turned himself into his standard, pre-Reaping nightmares.

In the morning he and Nott got dressed and headed out of Victor's Village towards the Hall of Justice in the town center. As they headed down the stone steps towards the chiselled, grey amphitheatre Eamon became just another face in the crowd, looking exactly like every other potential male tribute dressed in a plain white collared shirt and brown pants. Nott was slightly more decorated as the District 9 mentor in a dark coat and scarf, with white pants.

"Relax," said Nott, noticing Eamon's hands shaking. "It's not going to be you. And if it is, you'll be ready."

"Like you say though, someone will."
"That's true. We've done all we can do though."
"Yeah…" said Eamon still feeling uneasy.

Nott may have been his adoptive father, but Eamon never felt like he was a father figure. More like an older friend or a guide. He'd never been sure whether that was a good thing or not.

"Well I'm proud of you no matter what happens, okay?"

"You mean that?"
Another question asked overly innocently.

"'Course I do," said Nott kindly. "Now go get ready. And you take care of yourself while I'm gone. Make sure to help Leslie out as much as you can."

"Assuming I don't get picked," Eamon pointed out.

If Nott heard that last remark, he certainly didn't acknowledge it. He headed on over to the stage to speak with a few of the Peacekeepers before taking his rightful position as mentor with his arms folded.

Left to his own devices, Eamon lined up single file with the rest of the children for the unnecessarily painful attendance marking. Once they'd pricked his hand he was left to head down with the other decidedly morose 18-year-old boys to sit in the front-right rows of the amphitheatre. There was no hustle and no noise, aside from the occasional blaring of the Capitol sirens and the marching of the Peacekeepers.

At just before midday with the sun overhead blotted out and overcast winds rising slightly, the heavy iron doors of the Hall of Justice creaked open and out bumbled an all-too-familiar figure. If any part of the Reaping could be considered remotely funny, it would be the sight of Vivian Goldfeather, the District 9 escort. She was an oddity, like most people of the Capitol from what Eamon had learned. As usual she was dressed in her signature striped ocean-blue dress, accentuated by an absurd number of feathers around the neckline and glittering scales down at her legs. Eamon felt like those individual elements could have made someone look somewhat attractive, but with all of them together Vivian just looked like a bizarre duck-mermaid hybrid. With a skittish look on her heavily eye-shadowed face and her neon orange hair blowing slightly in the wind, she approached the podium in a none-too-elegant manner. She coughed slightly before speaking.

"Welcome! Welcome one and all," Vivian stuttered anxiously, reading from her cards. "It is that time once again, gosh it comes around fast, doesn't it? Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour."

It always struck Eamon as funny that she was just as nervous as a lot of the tributes. He'd figured the Capitol would send someone a little bit more confident at public speaking, but everyone seemed to enjoy her presence. She was oddly reassuring for something so grim, he realised.

"N-Now before we begin the Capitol has a very special video to share with you all," she said pointing to the large screen above the stage.

"Yeah, so special we've seen it a thousand times before," muttered a boy behind Eamon under his breath. The boys around him sniggered, but Eamon was just impatient for it to be over with.

The screen flickered and the voice of Tobias Bishop, President of Panem echoed out over the amphitheatre. His voice was delicate, yet commanding, waxing lyrical about the benevolence of the Capitol in allowing the Districts to participate in the Hunger Games as penance for their misdeeds so very long ago. It wasn't hard for Eamon to see why the Capitol liked him so; his words were almost entrancing. He hated him for it.

"Wasn't that just wonderful?" Vivian asked overly brightly when it ended, as though expecting a rousing response.

She looked somewhat crestfallen when she didn't get one.

"So then, onto the main attraction. It is time now for us to select one valiant young male and female to represent District 9 with pride in the 68th Annual Hunger Games. As is customary, ladies first."
Officials from the Capitol had placed two tables on either side of Vivian with a large glass bowl filled with the male and female tributes on each of them. She walked over to the one on her right and suddenly the doubt in his stomach had returned, and the insides of his mouth tasted like iron.

Her hand descended into the bowl, filtering through hundreds of entries, fishing almost hungrily for that one doomed girl.

"Ah! Slippery little one wasn't it?" she said eventually, holding up the slip of paper.

Eamon turned away, unable to watch.

"Now then, the female tribute for District 9 is…. Madeline Skylock."

Eamon blinked, sure he'd heard incorrectly. Instinctively he looked up towards the rear-left corner of the amphitheatre and others were slowly were doing the same. He felt like he'd been hit in the gut with a sledgehammer. Sure enough, Peacekeepers were having to forcibly escort the tiny, 13-year-old figure of Madeline Skylock down the aisle. The tears in her eyes betrayed the bouncing of her dirty-blonde pigtails behind her as she moved towards the stage. Eamon looked at the middle of the amphitheatre where the parents were sitting and as expected saw the face of her mother, Leslie, buried in her hands. He knew Nott was concerned, even though he hid it well. It would not do well for her mentor to appear scared.

Well this makes things much more straightforward, he thought.

"Down you come, sweetie. Don't be shy," said Vivian.

Madeline didn't say a word as she stood next to Vivian and faced the crowd. She didn't need to, her face said more than enough. Enough to make Eamon's resolve return to him.

"And now for the male tribute," she said walking over to the second glass bowl.

Once again, her hand angled through the entries for what seemed like ages, and Eamon felt like screaming at her to hurry up and get on with it.

"Aha. And the male tribute for District 9 is…. Aiden Gibly."

He and the other boys turned to look up at the rows behind them, as a short, pudgy 12-year-old was again forcibly extracted. Eamon had heard of the Gibly family but never spoken to them. All he really knew was that they had a lot of children.

He must have taken a lot of tesserae, he grimaced. A kid like that is only good for one thing in the Games. Fodder.

This was it, now or never. Eamon stood up and walked to the end of his row just before Aiden and the Peacekeepers flanking him made it.

"Hold up," he said unusually loudly. "I'll volunteer in his place."

Several things happened at once. The peacekeepers stopped in place, completely bewildered. Vivian became so flustered she dropped her notes. The crowd went into shock, and Nott stood up so fast his chair went flying backwards. Eamon made a point not to look at him.

"I'll volunteer," he said a second time, calmer and quieter, trying to reassure himself. He looked back at Aiden and muttered, "Go on kid, find your parents and go home."

Aiden didn't need to be told twice and ran back up the aisle as fast his stubby legs would carry him, scanning the crowd frantically for his family.

"Oh my!" stuttered Vivian, who clearly was not used to surprises of this caliber. "It appears we have a volunteer! Umm…uhm…. why don't you come on down?"

Eamon crossed the floor in a few seconds to stand alongside her. He nodded at Madeline encouragingly, still refusing to look at Nott a few paces away. Her mouth was agape, and she was completely astonished by his sudden appearance.

"Well now dear, why don't you...umm…. introduce yourself? Yes, that'll do!" said Vivian.

"Eamon Cunningham," he said shortly, with all eyes on him.

"Well Mr. Cunningham, that was certainly very…. bold of you just now."

"Yeah I guess it was."

"Okay…uhm…. A man of few words, apparently. People of District 9, I give you your two tributes for the 68th Annual Hunger Games. Madeline Skylock and Eamon Cunningham. Thank you all for attending and once again, may the odds be ever in your favour, I guess!"

And with that, she ushered them past a still-stunned Nott and through the iron doors of the Hall of Justice.