Apologies for the double chapter in a few hours- I am excessively busy tomorrow, so I wanted to ensure I was still making a chapter a day for you guys. As ever, reviews are always appreciated- thank you for reading.
Volunteering in a District accustomed to it is not as easy as it is made to sound. These Districts have been training their tributes for seven years of their life, to volunteer and win the Hunger Games- but at eighteen, at the peak of your fitness, when you volunteer you only have one chance at it.
And more than one person is trained in each age and gender group.
Theon was one of six volunteering for the male slot this year, and that was purely within the Training Center- there were always one or two outliers who couldn't get into the Center that still fancied themselves as a potential Victor.
Sometimes, they won the slot.
Theon had no intention of allowing any wins today that were not his.
He shook out a cigarette, placing it in his mouth and following it up with a match. Around him in the pen of his peers, smoke billowed and congealed in the warm summer air.
His apparent father was watching. He hoped he was watching.
His so-called father had been in the Training Center too. He had missed his slot for volunteering, a disappointment to his own father before him, a Victor and a terrifying man.
When Theon won, he would share nothing with the Peacekeeper that dared to make him who he was. That dared to call himself Theon's father after what he had done to himself, to Rickon; to Arya.
Smoke clouded his vision. He was comforted.
A Capitolian, experienced and calm under the glare of a camera, made their way to the stage. A slip was pulled from the bowl- little more than formality, little more than that.
The bloodshed began.
While they had only their bare hands, it did not mean they did not move with purpose. Five women broke from the pack, twisting and spinning into the others in their path. Nails sharpened for the occasion drove into faces, eyes, arteries.
Blood fell on the gravel at their feet. They ran on, two only left, others screaming or unable to.
Finally, one spun and attacked the other, eyes trained to be calm even as she took the other by the head and drove her thumbs into her eyes. She screamed, even as she fell, even as she lay writhing on the ground.
One ran on to the stage.
"I volunteer as tribute. Anna Corinna." She is short but strong, every movement calculated for efficiency. Her hair is cut almost to the root to ensure no handhold can be made of it. Her eyes are calm even as blood drips from her hands.
It is an impassionate efficiency Theon understands but hates.
The Capitolian has seen the same for many years- they are not surprised by the blood staining the wooden stage. They go to the male bowl and pluck a name.
"Hi-"
The ranks break and Theon is amongst them, moving to the front easily. He is tall but he is not imposing, and he cannot rely on barreling past the competition at his heels.
He dropped, the five other men skidding to a halt, but not quickly enough; he kicked out, slamming a heel into the kneecap of an opponent. Instead of breaking as Theon anticipated, it shifted under the pressure, superdislocating- he could see his opponent's kneecap move to visibly appear from under his trousers. The man screamed and fell, trying to clutch at his leg but screaming further at the movement this created- Theon used the momentum of the kick to stand again, punch someone in the face and send them crashing back.
The other two had already fought against one another and sent another flying. One more remained to challenge Theon.
Theon was tall, and his opponent was short; but he went low as the man flew at him, wrapping his arms around his torso and lifting him, twisting back and dumping him unceremoniously into the crowd.
He jogs to the front.
"Theon Veux. I volunteer as tribute."
He has not lost his cigarette; it remains clenched between his teeth.
His adoptive father would disapprove. He can see him in the crowd.
Fuck him. Fuck it all.
Theon is going to win, and when he does, he's giving it to himself and his "street rat brethren".
Because Arya couldn't.