Hi everyone! I am so sorry about how long this first one took, but I got caught up with school, then holidays, and I still had to chase down countless characters. But I've made it my goal to complete the reapings by the end of the holidays, and school restarts on the last day of January. I've got over one third done!
Anyway, here you go. Make sure to leave a review! … Please? :)
Sorry for errors, in advance. I was determined to finish this before I went to bed and it's now 2:30am and I'm positively dead, so editing wasn't on my ultimate list.
DISTRICT 1
"What an idiot," Diamond scoffed, scowling. "Honestly, she can't be serious. Everyone knows I'm volunteering this year."
"I know, Diamond," one of her friends said, shaking her head. "It's so stupid. We, like, totally verbally abused her, and she didn't even listen!"
"God, someone needs to bash some sense into her." Diamond rolled her eyes. "We should say she tried to kill me to get me out of the competition. Make the Peacekeepers chop off her tongue and make her an Avox." Her friends all laughed.
"We so should!" one chimed.
Diamond shrugged and sighed, getting to her feet and brushing off the back of her dress with her hands. "I guess we'll see what happens. But Pearlita's not taking my crown from me unless she wants to fight me for it."
"You're so gonna win the Games, Diamond," one of the girls said admiringly, as they all stood with her. "You're the best fighter there is. Like, you girls have all seen her with swords, right?" The speaker sighed and linked arms with Diamond, playing with a strand of her hair. "I wish I was as talented as you."
"We all do," another of the girls said solemnly.
"She's great with a bow and arrow too!" another chirped up. "Her aim is fantastic."
Diamond smiled proudly. "Thank you girls," she said, flipping back her golden hair. "But I'm really not that great! You should all run along, join your families before the reaping."
A few of the girls bid Diamond goodbye, but others stayed back, sullen at the thought of leaving. "We don't wanna go, Dime!" one complained. "Can't we all go there together?"
Diamond rolled her eyes. "I'm going with mine and Topaz's families," she said, "and you girls don't have an invite." Annoyed, she grabbed Topaz's arm and walked off, head high. Her posse of friends weren't even upset – that was just how Diamond was. And they worshipped her.
"How can they worship her?" Glimmerick said with a curled lip, shaking his head. "She's daft."
"But she can fight, and she's fighting with you this year," Glimmerick's father said disapprovingly. "Tolerate her for now. It will help you later on. Trust me when I say she's not as dumb as she seems."
Rick rolled his own eyes. "I know, Father. But you have to admit it. She's such an idiot! If she's not a valid fighter I'm snapping her on the spot."
"Glimmerick," chided his mother, Shimmer, in a soft tone. "Have some patience."
"She's good with a bow, and swords," Glinton, Glimm's younger brother, added. He didn't add anything more after Glimmerick shot him a withering glare.
"I'm better, with bows," Glimm spat.
They reached the district square. "Good luck, Glimmie," Shimmer said gently, kissing her son on the cheek. "We'll see you in the Justice Building."
"Yes," said Glimmerick's father, stern. "This year's your last. If anyone challenges you, don't have any second thoughts about attacking to get your glory."
"Golderoy," Shimmer chided softly, the same way she had Glimmerick. "Lower your volume."
Glimmerick waved them his final goodbye, then went off to his age sector, Glinton going off to his. For the whole of the reaping he paid little to no attention until it came time for the names to be called, pleased that his mother had given him something to soothe the hangover from last night's celebrations. The street parties were all so huge and extravagant and so full of exquisite liquor, Glimmerick couldn't resist having some – and more – to drink. He could barely remember the night but for the dancing, the music, the women and the drinks.
Just then the crowd stopped, and Peacekeepers began to barge through. Glimmerick frowned, as confused as everyone else in the audience. Even the escort on stage had stopped.
"Where is Pearlita Monroe?" one demanded. The Capitol cameramen directed their lenses to the commotion, and Pearlita's confused and fearful face was projected onto the wide-screens.
"You have been charged for attempted murder," the Peacekeeper said. "You will be taken into custody to await your verdict."
Pearlita stared at them, her face frozen into a mask of shock. "E-Excuse me?" she stuttered. "I didn't do anything! I didn't try to kill anyone! This is a mistake!" But no one stopped to listen to her protests. The Peacekeepers grabbed her arms and hauled her off stage, one injecting her with some sort of serum to stop her struggling. She fell silent, along with the crowd.
Glimmerick didn't know what to think. Pearlita was his ex-girlfriend. And now she was being tried for attempted murder? No.
The on-stage escort cleared her throat, looking just as shaken as everyone else. "Well ... the show must go on," she said weakly. "Ladies first." She walked over to the girls' reaping bowl and pulled out a name, but the sound of her announcement wasn't as jubilant as it should be.
"Pearlita Monroe," she said. A ripple of mutters ran through the crowd, and then the expected voice called to volunteer. But when Diamond Cutter made her way onto the stage, anyone could see her confident grin was faked.
Once the escort was done introducing Diamond to the crowd, Glimmerick prepared himself, straightening his back and forcing his own confidence into his veins. Really, who cared about the girl hauled off into custody? All she was doing was distracting the crowd from Glimm's show. He bit back a smirk as he watched Diamond, thinking of all the ways he could kill her when the time came. Until then, though, he'd make sure they were the very best of friends.
"Platino Shine!" called the escort.
"I volunteer!" Leaving no time for pause, Glimmerick strode up to the stage, proud and pleased. He looked through the audience and spotted his father, nodding approval.
"And your name?" asked the escort, blatantly eyeing Glimm even as the cameras watched.
"Glimmerick Lockhart," he said. He met Diamond's eye and winked, but her own gaze was fleeting over him, focusing on one sole point in the crowd – her age sector, Glimm realized – with unbidden fury.
"District One, everybody!" the escort announced, hauling their hands high into the air. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"
DISTRICT 2
Eclair twirled the tip of his sori on his fingertip, watching the glinting metal with almost fascination. He was sat on his porch outside, listening to the laughter of the rest of the kids his age. The faint sound of yells and clashing swords could be heard from the building at the end of the street, the training center.
A group of boys walked past and their way back from training. One caught Eclair's eye and turned to his friends, nudging them and pointing.
"Hey, it's Squinty!" one of them called.
"Squinty, my main man!" another jibed, laughing.
Eclair didn't look at them, his cheeks heating up with shame and embarrassment. When he didn't respond, the boys continued on their path, laughing jovially and clapping each other on the backs.
"See you later, Squints!" one yelled over his shoulder as they turned the corner.
Once they were gone Eclair dropped his sword, burying his face in his hands. He didn't understand how his parents could be proud of being so different.
The clock tower in the center of the district chimed one. There was still an hour to go before the reaping, but people were already beginning to leave the training center in masses. Among those leaving Eclair spotted the two tributes chosen to volunteer. He couldn't remember either of their names, but the girl wasn't hard to forget with her vivid, bright red hair.
Before anyone spotted him Eclair withdrew indoors, watching from a window. His parents were both out at work and were to return home in half an hour.
Eclair cherished his time home alone. His parents, while they loved him, never really listened to what he had to say. They were strict and were constantly pressuring Eclair to meet their extremely high standards. They'd never accept anything lower than the highest of grades, else they'd make him repeat the class. He had to be perfect. He had to be smart. He had to be proud. He hated it.
He remembered something his father had said that morning, about how the family had saved up enough money. What was it he'd said next? To ... "to move back overseas to the home of our ancestors", that was it. Eclair didn't even know if they'd be allowed to – unlikely – but he didn't want to leave. He couldn't. He was so proud of the learning curve he was on, and he had two best friends and a girlfriend that he didn't want to leave behind. He'd fought with his father that morning until the man had to leave for work, and after that he locked himself into his room and screamed into his pillow until his throat was raw.
The anger that Eclair had felt from the fight with his parents that morning resurfaced with the memories. He walked out and grabbed his sori, shoving it into his belt before storming off to the training center. While his parents weren't approving of the training that Eclair did in his spare time, it was one of the things they didn't stop. Eclair's guess was that they only let him continue because the weapon he had mastered was of Japanese descent, just like the family itself.
Eclair unsheathed the sori and marched towards the closest training dummy he saw, flying through the air and to deliver the first powerful blow. He continued, strike after strike after strike, spinning and moving gracefully around the dummy with undeniable talent. He dodged as he went, as if the dummy was fighting back. Maybe it would be, one day.
By the time Eclair stopped, sliding down the wall and resting his arms on his knees with sweat on his brow and panting uneven, heavy breaths, he was unsure of the time that had passed. He remembered there was a clock on the far wall and looked up. 1:40, it read.
The boy cursed and got to his feet, grabbing his sori before rushing out and running home. He burst in through the door.
"Where have you been, Eclair?" his father said unhappily, as soon as he spotted his son.
"Out," Eclair replied shortly, still out of breath. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and walked to his room, ignoring his parents and shutting the door.
The door reopened barely ten seconds later, revealing Eclair's mother. She was quieter and less pronounced than her husband, but she was still strict on her son and kept the rules enforced.
"Eclair," she said, coming over to sit by him on the bed, "don't tell me honestly you like it here."
Eclair's jaw clenched. "I do. I have friends and my girlfriend and —"
"Life will be better outside Panem, honey," she said, stroking his black hair. He scowled and shook her off.
"I don't want to leave, Mother! Go without me, if you're so desperate to get out. How do you know they'll even let you? How do you know you'll find anything but ruins?" He shook his head and stood up. "You can go, but I am not going with you."
He stormed out of the house and slammed the front door shut behind him, annoyed that he didn't even get a minutes' rest. Before it closed, he heard, "He doesn't have any choice. He's coming."
Furious teared sprung to Eclair's eyes as anger welled inside him. He sprinted down the street, running down lanes until he didn't even know where he was anymore. And as he ran, a vengeful idea began to formulate.
"One ..."
Riley tightened her grip on her sword, and smirked, getting ready to strike.
"Two —"
She flew at her opponent before he could get to three, catching him unawares. He retaliated just in time, stumbling back and throwing his sword up in self-defense. Riley hit it with a clang then spun around and sent a swing from the side before he could even register what was happening. He backed away quickly, before she could come at him again. His eyes darkened as he raised his sword. Riley saw the next move coming and jumped then ducked just in time to avoid the blow of the bladed weapon.
The next move she didn't anticipate; as she was coming back down from her jump her opponent withdrew a second sword from his belt. He came at her fast, spinning both swords skillfully in each hand. Angered, Riley struck at him with renewed strength and vigor. Even with his dual swords, her irritation overpowered him and a few minutes later he was on the floor, the tip of Riley's training sword pressed to his cheek.
"You don't surprise me like that," she hissed. "That was supposed to be a fair game. If you don't learn that lesson, child, you'll never be chosen for your own Games."
Once she was satisfied with the shame-faced expression her fifteen-year-old opponent showed she held out her hand, hauling him to his feet. She looked over to Lime, who nodded slowly and got to her feet.
"The surprise attack could be an advantage in a real fight, Riley," she informed. "But Mason, you need to be prepared for her surprise attacks, too."
Irritated, Riley snapped, "He's not supposed to flip that on me in basic training. It was a fair fight and he disregarded that." She shook her head and left, bored with training younger, aspiring tributes. She knew she was one of the best fighters in the district, but it didn't change the fact that she wanted an equal.
Riley let one of the knives she kept in her belt fly at a target on one of the far walls, giving a satisfied smirk when it hit bullseye. She continued with this, flinging her knives back and forth and even throwing her best weapon, a sickle sword, a few times.
"Come on, it's time to go," one of the trainers called. Riley stopped and looked around, wondering when she'd missed the sound of the one o'clock bell. Wasn't it just twelve?
Shrugging, Riley put her knives back where they belonged (inside her clothes) and sheathed her sword in her belt, even though she knew that once she was in the Justice Building they'd take it off her.
Everyone seemed to be coming up to her when they were leaving, blabbering along in excitement or encouragement. She just grinned, unable to help her own thrill running through her. It wouldn't be long now. She'd been waiting eleven bloody years for this. And now it had finally come.
Through the masses of people Riley met the eyes of her fellow volunteer, an eighteen-year-old named Marco. He looked just as excited as she felt.
She stopped by at her house along the way so she could quickly get changed and pretty herself up. She had to look good – she came from the best district in Panem and no one would forget it if she looked disgraceful on camera. Her mother had already laid out the dress Riley was to wear on her bed, so Riley just slipped that on then went to the mirror to do her hair and face. Once she was satisfied she left for the reaping, knowing her family would already be there waiting for her. Riley guessed it was now about one-thirty or one-forty, so she was doing well.
Another five minutes' walk and she was at the Justice Building. She went and found her family, staying with them for a little while after she had signed in. People kept coming up to congratulate her, or tell her they'd be betting on her to win these games. Riley couldn't help but feel confident and proud.
Soon enough, though, it was time for Riley to head to her age sector. She said goodbye to her parents, who wished her luck, then went with her friends to where the rest of the seventeen-year-old girls stood.
During the mayor's usual speech and the video of the uprising on the screens, Riley could hardly pay any attention. It was stuffy from all the bodies Riley was close to, but the cool of her knives hidden against her skin relieved her. "God, hurry up already," she muttered. The girl beside her snorted a laugh.
"Ladies first!" the escort chirped, clacking over to the name bowls in heels that looked as if they were on the verge of breaking. Riley imagined they'd be good weapons if it came down to it.
She took a deep breath and got ready, herself and the girls around her tensing in anticipation.
"Leed Hurley!"
"I volunteer!"
Smug and proud, Riley strutted up to the stage, pleased no one protested against her. In fact, she could've sworn she heard a few people clap.
The escort smiled warmly at Riley as she came up, not surprised but rather expecting the call to volunteer.
"Riley Sickle," Riley said, before the escort could ask. Just to show everyone how deadly she was, she pulled a knife from her bosom and twirled it on her fingertip, smirking. She felt quite pleased with herself.
After everyone was settled back down and Riley's formalities were over, the escort went back to the reaping bowls. Dug in her hand, clawed through the slips. Looking out at the gathered crowd, Riley saw the same tenseness there must've been for her, and her smirk widened. She waited for the escort's call and Marco's volunteering shout. But when it came, it wasn't the only one.
All eyes shot to the two eighteen-year-old boys, facing off in their age sector. Marco scoffed and even laughed a little when he saw who it was, turning away and beginning his walk to glory. "As if, Squinty," he said. "Keep dreaming. Maybe there are Games in Asia you could try out for."
The crowd laughed, but when Eclair launched himself on Marco it all stopped before it could even begin. The influx of Peacekeepers and Capitol officials, more prominent in 2 than in any of the other districts, didn't bother to step in and fight. Some must have appreciated the entertainment, especially for the television-watchers back in the Capitol.
Everything was silent but for Eclair and Marco's grunts and fists as they fought. Even Riley was enraptured. She'd had no doubts about Marco, but seeing Eclair's skill made her waver that tiny bit. Her eyes narrowed. Squinty couldn't win; she didn't know him like she knew Marco, whose every move she could predict. Squinty was a threat. And winners don't trust threats.
Eclair had Marco pinned under him, his fists working hard. Wherever his parents were, they made no move to stop or cheer for him.
A gasp rippled through the crowd when Marco pulled out his sword – a larger gasp rippled through the crowd when Eclair pulled out his. He pressed the tip to Marco's cheek and leant in to whisper words in his ear. Next thing anyone knew Marco was up and stumbling away, spitting blood and teeth from his mouth and glaring frighteningly harsh daggers at Eclair.
"Fine. You win," he snarled, "but you'll pay for this, Squinty. If it's not by dying in the Games, be sure I'll finish you off when you get back." Marco looked to Riley, who was still on stage. She didn't know what to think now that Marco had lost.
"Make sure he's dead before you are, Riles," he said. She nodded tersely, and then Marco was gone, Eclair was on the stage beside her, and the escort was holding her hand high in the air, shouting, "The volunteers of District Two!"
DISTRICT 3
Sloane rested her chin on her knees and looked out at the forest, her view slightly marred by the high chain-link fence that surrounded her district.
"I don't want you to, Sloane," her father murmured, shaking his head. "There's a twenty-three out of twenty-four chance that you'll be coming back to District Three in a coffin."
"I have to," Sloane replied, frowning. "You're ill."
"I'm not ill," her father said, but his words were contradicting by the harsh coughing fit that followed.
"You're ill," she said again. "The only way we could get enough money for you to get better is if I win this thing." She turned to him, pleading. "Please, Dad. This could be our big chance. And imagine Mother's face, watching on her District Two TV screen with her posh Head Peacekeeper lover, as her daughter wins the Forty-Third Hunger Games! She'll realize just what she missed out on." Sloane beamed at the thought, but the smile slowly fell from her face at the sight of her father's sober expression.
"I'm just worried," he said, then paused to cough heavily. Eventually he continued, "I'm just worried that you ... that you won't come back. I know you're capable," he said, before she could protest. "More than capable. You can run faster than a mockingjay can fly, you can fight. But against those brute Careers, and the strength of the Capitol ..."
"I'll be fine," she assured him. "I promise." They fell silent and continued to look out at the woods from their perch on the top of the hill. Eventually Sloane patted her father on the hand and got to her feet, waiting for him to stand with her. Together they walked to the district square, Sloane's father unable to go any faster than a steady slow. She didn't mind, as long as it suited him. As long as he wasn't feeling strained.
"Good luck, Sloane," her father whispered, pulling her into a hug with the one arm he had left, and she realized he was crying. Tears sprung to her eyes, too, but she shoved them back with the knowledge that people would be watching her.
"You'll be okay," she said. "I'll win for you and then you'll have even more reason to be proud of me."
"I'm sure you will," he said, forcing a smile. "I'll see you in the Justice Building."
Giovanni checked his face in the mirror, running a hand over the his slicked black hair, then kissed his mother's forehead and rushed out onto the street where he knew his girlfriend was waiting. "Come on, let's go," he said, unable to hold back his grin.
She laughed, taking his hand and pulling him up short when his pace was too fast for her. "What's got you so excited?" She shook her head. "I've never seen you like this! Are you sure you're my quiet, intelligent little Giovanni Valencia, and not some replacement from the Capitol? It's not the reaping, is it?"
Giovanni scoffed. "God no, no way." He nudged her shoulder. "And who's calling me little?" His face fell and he sunk back into his usual quietness as he added, "Wait, don't you remember?"
Thalia shook her head, confused. "Remember what?"
Giovanni looked at his feet, disappointed, and subtly freed his hand from her grip as they walked.
"Gio," she prodded. "What am I supposed to be remembering?"
"Our anniversary," he said, voice barely audible. Thalia was used his low tones from all the time they'd spent together, but nevertheless she had to strain her ears. "Three years today," he added, "and you forgot."
"Oh." It was her turn to look at her feet. "I'm sorry."
"I was going to take you out tonight," Giovanni said, "after the reaping was over."
"You still can!" Thalia said, taking his face in her hands. They'd reached the square by then, and were surrounded on all sides by families bidding their children goodbye and good luck. "You still can," she said again. "It's just ... I've had a lot on my mind." She looked at her hands and frowned, seeming to mull something over. Giovanni was confused, but he didn't speak.
"I'm pregnant, Gio," Thalia finally said.
Giovanni stared at her in shock; the world around him seemed to fall still. She had to be lying, this had to be a joke. No way could she be pregnant. But Gio was smarter than that, and he knew she was telling the truth. He remembered that night two weeks ago and berated himself for not thinking of some way to stop an outcome like this.
"Oh," was all he said. He shook his head, looked at his feet, mind haywire. He didn't know what to think, or say, so he shoved it away and bid Thalia farewell until after the reaping via a kiss on the forehead. He tried not to focus on the hurt in her expression, and the hand she rubbed over her belly.
Pregnant!And she announces it on the day of their (forgotten) anniversary? Giovanni frowned. She couldn't have had better timing.
Annoyed at himself for thinking like that, Gio distracted himself with thoughts of his latest invention. And then his thoughts drifted again.
He supposed if he married Thalia due to her pregnancy, he could shower their home with helpful household inventions to take the strain off both of them, especially once the baby arrived. Maybe he could invent something that would remind his girlfriend every time an important anniversary came around, so he wouldn't have to do it himself.
He made himself stop thinking about Thalia or inventions or the baby (or Thalia and inventions and the baby), and focused his attention on the reaping as it started. The mayor spoke his speech, the video of the Dark Days played so loudly Giovanni was sure his ears would ring later, and the escort stepped up to call the names of this year's tributes.
"I think we'll shake things up a bit this year," he said, his voice irritatingly high-pitched. "Boys first, shall we?" His change of plans made the audience stir, but everyone fell silent as he grabbed the first named slip and marched back to the microphone.
"Giovanni Valencia!" he called. "Giovanni, are you there?"
Frozen. That's what Giovanni was. Completely frozen – with fear, with shock, with grief. Distantly, as if Gio and his senses were detached entirely, he heard a scream and guessed it was Thalia's. He couldn't imagine what would be running through her head. He didn't even know what was running through his. For once, he couldn't think of a solution to the problem before him.
"Go," someone hissed, giving him a shove in the back. They startled him, but shook him back to reality enough to walk slowly and unsteadily to the stage.
The escort beamed at him, as if the world hadn't just fallen apart at their feet. "Hello, Giovanni!" he chirped, too brightly. "How old would you be?"
Gio didn't reply.
"Okay then ... The ladies' turn!" The escort went to the second bowl, beaming. Back to the microphone, reading the name —
"I volunteer!" A girl pushed through the crowd eagerly and the cameramen turned, the on-screen focus now her. "I volunteer."
"You volunteer?" echoed the escort, slightly surprised. "Oh. Alright then. Up you come!"
Giovanni recognized the volunteer; Sloane Overton, her name was. She was a year younger than him, and had flirted with him a couple of times at school. He'd turned her down each time, but that had hardly stirred her. She was beautiful and sexy and fit and flirty knew she could get what she wanted with a glance of those jade-green eyes. He couldn't help shaking the feeling that all that– the seduction and the flirting – wasn't as real as she made it seem.
Giovanni disliked her thoroughly.
"A volunteer from District Three! Do tell us, what is your name?" the escort asked.
"Sloane," she replied, flicking back some of her long auburn hair. "Overton."
"Confidence!" said the escort, impressed. "We may find ourselves a victor, this year."
It was blatantly obvious the escort wasn't talking about 3's male tribute. Gio resisted the urge to throttle the man, assuring himself that he'd show the stupid Capitol worker exactly what he was made of. Later.
Gio shook hands with Sloane, as was protocol, as the escort announced, "Giovanni Valencia and Sloane Overton of District Three! May the odds be /ever/ in your favour!"
And then the white-gloved hands of Peacekeepers were grabbing Gio's arms and hauling him through the doors of the Justice Building, Sloane close behind. The doors slammed shut behind them and District 3 disappeared behind white marble.
w! Sorry for errors :3
2:45 now … falling … asleep … at keyboard … God, it isn't even that late. Shame on me.
By the way - District 1's shock at Pearlita's arrest occured because it was fake, and Diamond was shocked because she suggested it as a joke and her friend took said joke seriously and reported Pearlita to the Peacekeepers. So yes :).
