Tallis Drake; District Three
A soft, lonely sound filled a particular room in District Three's Justice Building, a rhythmic, anxious noise. As Tallis Drake sat on the edge of the sofa provided for him, he tapped his foot on the dark hardwood floor, creating the sound that mimicked the beating of his racing heart. Tallis did not handle shock very well; it was something he was not used to in his average, uneventful life. Though the threat of the Reaping had hung over his head like a dark cloud ever since he turned twelve, it had always seemed like something that would happen to someone else, not him. Now that he was here, instead of another poor boy, it forced the rest of his life into an entirely new perspective.
Tallis was a wiry kid, not the kind of person who could stand out in a crowd. He had gray eyes that matched the color of the once-blue couch, now faded. As he sat, waiting, his foot-tapping growing faster until the double doors on the other side of the room burst open.
A girl raced in, her eyes wide, her soft, light brown hair flying out behind her as she ran towards Tallis, her arms already outstretched. As soon as she reached the boy on the couch, she wrapped her thin arms around his stiff figure, burying her pretty face in his chest and letting out a choked sob. Slightly taken aback by his friend's dramatic entrance, Tallis hugged her back, one of his hands soothingly patting her on the back.
How funny, he thought, I'm the one who has just been sentenced to my death, yet I'm not the one being comforted.
The girl drew back, prying herself from Tallis. His shirt was damp with her tears, little dark spots speckled across the plain white shirt he had worn to the Reaping. Her sweet, normally perfect face was streaked with tears, her light blue eyes red and puffy. With one slim hand she wiped both her cheeks; first her left, then her right. The movement caused what little makeup she wore to smear over her already messed-up face. However, she took no notice to the dark, blurry lines near her eyes and proceeded to burst out sobbing again. Tallis resisted the urge to let out an exasperated sigh.
"H-h-how c-could y-you?"
Even though his friend was prone to making unjust statements, the question that escaped her lips at the present moment stunned him. As he stared at her, slanted eyes wide, even more tears rolled down her face.
"I'm s-s-sorry," she mumbled, attempting to wipe the big, fat tears off her cheeks. "It's just, I'm s-so afraid for you."
This time, Tallis did sigh. "Rose," he murmured, reaching for her hand. His slim, nimble, and admittedly feminine fingers wrapped around her slippery, tear-drenched ones. "I'll let you in on a secret."
"Hm?" Rose asked, looking down at him with misty eyes. "What?"
"I'm scared for myself, too. In fact, I'm terrified. Scared out of my wits. Petrified. But you know what? I have to be strong, if I want to get out of this thing alive. You have to be strong, Rose. Be strong for me."
Tallis' friend sniffled pathetically and took her free hand to wipe her nose.
"I'll try, Tal. I'll try really hard, but-"
If it had been any other situation, if it hadn't been as serious as it was, if his life wasn't in danger, Tallis would have slapped her. Right then and there. It was something the two of them did, sometimes on a daily basis. A simple gesture, meant to show one's annoyance towards the other. Both of them had learned to expect it. Rose obviously was, because she flinched backwards. Looking down, Tallis found he had raised his hand from the arm of the sofa. Though his hand had only moved an inch or so, it was enough for Rose to instinctively expect a stinging clap on the cheek.
"No buts," he said softly. "Promise me, Rose. Promise me you'll be strong. If I die, you'll move on with your life. Don't forget me, but don't let my death ruin you. I'm not worth it."
"B-but you a-are," Rose whimpered, her fingers closing more tightly around Tallis' own. "You are, Tallis. And don't you ever forget it."
A weak smile appeared on Tallis' face. He tasted a salty liquid in his mouth, and found that he too was crying.
"Thanks," he said, taking the hand not holding Rose's and wiping his face. He found the taste of his own tears rather unpleasant. It reminded him of one where his cousin had accidentally cut himself on a wire Tallis had left lying around. It had been a simple, honest mistake, one that he was never able to live down. He had been working on a mine, trying to create one with a two-inch diameter. It was difficult work; no one else in the entire District had ever managed to accomplish such a feat. Tallis had thought he could complete one successfully, it seemed like easy work to him. He had done similar things, made mines that amazed even the professionals. When he grew up, Tallis had planned on moving to the center of the District, making mines for a living. If he ever grew up.
After a long day at work, he had neglected his duty of cleaning up after himself. Instead, he had left the various wires as they were, lithely making his way up the dark basement stairs. Tallis had an excellent memory; it was something he prided himself on. He never had to be reminded who was the victor of the tenth Hunger Games, what day the Rebellion leaders surrendered, or how the use of the Cornucopia first came into practice. Most importantly, he could remember the placement of all the wires left around the basement. Using only his memory and the dim light of the bulb that hung from the unfinished ceiling, Tallis had made his way upstairs without injury. His cousin, however, wasn't so lucky.
The thing about wires is that they don't cause much injury when simply run into. However, a wire stretched taught can easily behead someone, if they are unfortunate enough to run into one at neck height. Just walking into one won't do the job either. You must be going at a certain speed or above to sustain yourself an injury worth crying about.
Tallis had been ten, his cousin, Will, six. He had ran downstairs, giggling madly in his high-pitched, childish voice as Tallis chased him, arms outstretched, growling loudly like the monsters in his old books.
Will had stumbled down the steps, still laughing, Tallis still growling, smiling more than he had in a long time. Though he could have ran much faster if he had wanted to, he wanted to give his cousin the chance to beat him; he was, after all, only six. He never handled it well; being caught. To him, it was like being beat. Once, when they were both younger, Tallis had outrun him in a race. Will had sat down on the floor, screaming and crying, beating his tiny toddler fists into the dirt. Tallis had made an effort not to beat him ever since.
Will had launched himself off the last stair into the basement. Suddenly, he had tripped and fell. He could have landed on his face if he had not managed to twist himself around and land on his behind. At first, Tallis had been confused, but then he saw the thin trickle of blood dripping onto the floor. As he had looked at his cousin's appalled face, Will burst into tears, his little hands clutching his ankle as he rocked back and forth. Tallis had instantly rushed forward, muttering soothing words as he attempted to calm his screaming cousin. His uncle was out; though he greatly disapproved of leaving his son and nephew alone at the house, he had no choice. Therefore, there was no one around to hear Will's cries of pain.
Being the small boy Tallis was, he had been forced to half-carry, half-drag his cousin up the stairs. The even smaller boy had resigned to whimpering softly, clutching tightly onto Tallis' t-shirt as his tears soaked the sleeve. Tallis had dressed the wound as best as he could, wrapping a piece of cloth tightly around Will's bleeding ankle. Being so close to the injury made his nose tingle; and not in a good way. Although the scent (and taste) of his tears wasn't as unpleasant as the stench of blood, Tallis found the salty liquids a little too alike for his taste.
At the precise moment, Rose leaned forward. Tallis didn't have time to react before their lips met. As the pair kissed, his mind was reeling.
What? He thought, feeling tingly and unsure. Rose? Me? What? I just doesn't make sense! We- we were just friends! Just friends! She can't have liked me! No way! But maybe, no, Tallis, you're being stupid. She's never shown any inter-, wait, maybe she has. And I've just been too blind to see it. Oh man, I've been an idiot.
Suddenly, Rose pulled away. She was crying again, her button nose running. She didn't bother to do anything about it. Instead, she gave him a sad, frightened face, shoved something into his hand, and bolted out of the room.
Well then, Tallis thought, feeling slightly bemused. That was...nice.
He didn't have time to ponder what had just happened however, because only a minute or two after Rose had left, the now-eleven-year-old Will walked in.
"Bad luck, bro."
"I'm not your 'bro'," Tallis said through gritted teeth. He greatly disapproved of his cousin's new 'lingo', which Will had picked up when he started hanging out with the 'bad boys' in his grade. "I'm your cousin."
Will grinned. "No prob, cuz."
"Shut up!"
The younger boy held his hands up as if to protect his face. "Hey, settle down, bro, I mean, Tallis." He emphasized his cousin's name, knowing better than to annoy his relative when he was already on edge. "I'm sorry. I know how you must feel."
"No you don't!" He hissed. After the event with his best friend, Tallis found his emotions rather, well, all over the place. Though usually he made it through the day without yelling at his younger cousin, he felt...angry. It wasn't an emotion he could explain, but he felt furious, enraged, though he didn't know why. Tallis didn't like it. He liked, no loved, knowing things. Though he wasn't your typical nerdy smart-aleck, it made him feel good to be one of the top students in his class, to tell the teacher the answer while the rest of the children were still puzzled. It made him feel special, important. Now that he was uncertain, particularly about himself, Tallis hated it. He realized what it must be like to be one of the average pupils, to not know things. Though never one for violence, at the moment he felt like punching something.
"Hey. What's that?" Will pointed to his cousin's hand. Tallis had, unknowingly of course, curled his fingers tightly around whatever it was that Rose had given to him, and the threatening cracking sound was the thing that brought it to his attention.
Slowly loosening his fingers to reveal what lay beneath, Tallis' breath caught in his throat. Though the thing was admittedly very small, it was still very detailed and beautiful. It made him want to cry all over again.
It was a dreamcatcher. It was not large and extravagant like the extremely expensive ones he sometimes glanced in the nearby antique store, it was much smaller than that. Tallis guessed it could fit in his pocket. As he held it, he realized one more difference; it felt so much more special to him than any other he could ever have. The thing didn't have the quality, the plain, boring perfect that came with an object made with a practiced hand. Rose must have made it herself, he realized. The more and more he thought about the time and effort she must have put into it, the more breakable it looked. Tallis closed his fingers around it once more, gentler this time.
"She must have meant it to be my token," he whispered, wanting to see Rose again, to tell her how he was sorry, how it was all going to be okay, how he would come back. Then again, Tallis didn't want to lie.
"Who?" Will's loud, slightly impatient voice broke through his thoughts.
"Rose," Tallis murmured, grasping his new token like it was some kind of sacred object. "Rose gave it to me,"
"Oh, that's nice," Well responded, staring at Tallis as though he was slightly crazy. "She made it herself?"
Tallis nodded. "It's pretty, isn't it?"
"I guess."
Tallis sighed. Though he most definitely loved his cousin, loved him like a brother, sometimes he could really get on his nerves. Not directly admitting the beauty of Rose's wonderful creature stirred something inside of him, but Tallis didn't berate him like he wanted to. Instead, he gave a small, sad smile up at Will, who was only slightly taller than him when Tallis was sitting.
A Peacekeeper stationed at the dark oak doors turned. "Two more minutes," the man said in a flat, expressionless voice.
"Well, good luck. Try your best to come home. Really try?"
"I'll try, Will. I promise I'll try."
Tallis' cousin laid his hand on his shoulder. "Dad's coming in. I'll see you on TV."
The older boy gave another weak smile. "See you."
The double doors hadn't even swung closed before a familiar, friendly face appeared.
"Bad luck today, eh, sport?"
Tallis nodded. "Yeah, I guess.
His uncle laughed, a loud, raucous laugh that Tallis had come to love during his past ten years at his uncle's home. It was a sound that made the Peacekeeper at the exit grunt disapprovingly.
"I guess! I guess! Tallis, this is the thing that kids your age dread all year, and you're saying that you guess you're unlucky?"
"It's gotta happen to somebody," Tallis mumbled, which made his uncle laugh again.
"What are the chances that that somebody would be you?"
"Four in thousands, apparently."
"What about the chances of you winning?"
Tallis didn't answer. Somewhere, deep inside him, he knew that he wasn't going to win, but somewhere even deeper he knew that he could do it, if he really, really tried. And that's what he was going to do. He was going to really, really try. He was going to be a tribute, whether he wanted to or not. Why give up so soon?
Marin Stelz; District One
Marin Stelz felt like screaming.
It was, at this moment, that he felt like he truly hated District One. Of course, the younger kids who adored him and followed him around (a young girl had even asked for his autograph) gave him a nice self-esteem boost and he had a lot of 'friends' who would do anything and everything for him. Sometimes, Marin felt like they would die for him if need be. Although being so popular was nice, even wonderful, it had its downfalls. Kids trailing him like some kind of dog when he just wanted to be left alone, girls always trying to flirt with him even though he obviously had no interest in them whatsoever, it could get annoying. After dealing with this for more than five years, Marin wanted nothing more to lock himself in his large, lavish room and be free of the world.
However, this was nothing new. It was something that happened to him on a daily basis, just a regular irritation, like a fly buzzing endlessly around his head. Today, it felt like the whole of Panem was out to get him.
Marin felt like he had a hard life. He was not an orphan sleeping in the alleys of District Twelve, nor was he a starving child who was forced to take out astronomical amounts of tesserae just to feed himself and his family. No, he was a Career. He could take everyday showers with heated water, had three meals a day, and dressed in fancy clothes, like the gold tuxedo he had worn to the Reaping. However, compared to most of the kids in the Career Districts, he was a poor, poor soul.
It seemed like a regular day. In District One, the Reaping was something of a celebration, with elaborate meals and clothes. Most wore their best, in an effort to look their best even if they weren't planning on volunteering. Along with the traditional race to the stage to volunteer, there was also the competition to see who would look the best. Girls would survey the other girls, examining their clothes, trying to see who had worn the most glittery, expensive, and revealing dress. Of course, there was always a few girls who came to the Reaping dressed in almost nothing, whether it was see-through or short or just plain small. Marin remembered a girl last year who had dressed herself in a skin-tight, strapless lilac outfit that just barely reached her thighs. The girl had worn extremely tall black stilettos and had put on so much makeup her face looked fake. It was his impression that the girl had dressed this way in order to seduce the escort into letting her be the tribute for that year, as she was eighteen. He remembered the girl's face when the escort had pranced on stage. The man last year had been replaced by a woman with sky blue skin and freakishly large indigo eyes. The girl had still run towards the stage, her well-toned arms failing desperately. However, with her tall, thin heels, it was a fight already lost, and she had broken one of them before she could make it to the stage.
Still haunted by what had happened last year, none of the girls had worn anything so flashy, but just in case the man came back, no one had worn anything loose or comfortable, even the boys. A boy could seduce a female escort just as well as a girl could seduce a male escort. It was all about appearance, in the Games. A skinny, wide-eyed tribute from one of the lower Districts would never get any sponsors. Besides, it wasn't like they were going to survive the Cornucopia. Now, a muscular, well-dressed Career was like a magnet for Capitol people with money. That's what Marin was, or at least he wanted to be.
It didn't help his plan to win through sponsors when he had seen the look that the female tribute had given him. It didn't help that this was the same girl that he had admired from afar for a year. Just thinking about her made Marin's heart flutter. It ashamed him so. Girls were supposed to be the ones who fell at the feet of their male counterparts, but he felt like he was about to slip to his knees and beg her to go out with him. She hadn't so much as glanced at him in all the years he'd known her, except for today, when she'd given him what seemed like the dirtiest look she could muster.
Oh well, Marin thought to his melancholy self, I guess negative attention is better that no attention at all.
As much as he tried to convince himself, a nagging voice in the back of his head told him he was wrong. He'd much rather be ignored than have his guts hated by who he thought was the most beautiful girl in the entire District.
Just when it seemed his day couldn't get any worse, the elegant wooden doors adjacent to him and the sofa he was sitting on burst open and a large, imposing figure stormed in.
Marin's father was angry. Really, really, really angry. He knew it as soon as he got a good glimpse of his parent's eyes.
"Why?" Was the first word out of his mouth. Why? It was such a simple question. Marin should have been able to answer it within seconds. He had done it before, dozens of times. This time, however, he just sat there, stiff and silent, his mouth slightly agape.
The same word had been asked so many times before, in the Hunger Games. Marin started watching them when he turned eight. He got a deluxe set of all twelve Games for his ninth birthday. It was his favorite gift that year. Within a week he had watched them all. He particularly remembered the female tribute from District Five in the seventh Hunger Games. She had teamed up with the girl from District Three and the boy from Nine. Eventually, the Three girl was killed by some sort of mutant creature, who were later called "muttations" by the Games' famous commentator. They had been a new addition that year, and according to rumors had been a riot with the Capitol viewers. Every year, from then on, there had been some new freak show, sometimes several. After the muttation had killed Three, the tension had grown between Five and Nine as the number of tributes still in the Game continued to dwindle. Finally, when there were only four left, the boy ended up killing his ally. As she had looked up, blood dripping from her lips, she had mouthed one word, and one word only, "Why?" It haunted him for the rest of his life, gave him nightmares for the first three weeks. He couldn't stop that single, horrible syllable from reverberating through his mind. Why?
Now his father stood before him, asking the very same question. As much as he tried to resist it, his brain filled with images of the girl, weak from hunger, her blond hair knotted and messy and streaked with blood. Her mouth was open with a scream that would never sound.
Marin blinked, and found himself staring up at his father's contorted face. "I-I'm sorry."
Of course, he had nothing to be sorry for. It was his life he was risking, not his father's. In fact, it wasn't like the man was going to cry for him if he did die. He'd probably only feel disappointed. He hated being disappointed. It didn't matter the reason behind it, he hated being let down. His mother had been smart. She had left him as soon as she realized his true self. The sugar-sweet words, the roses in intricate glass vases, it had all been a lie. Or, at least that's what Marin heard the night she left. They had gotten into a fight. A huge one. He had hid upstairs, hugging his knees to his chest, willing the shouting to stop so his mother could come tuck him into bed. She did, eventually, late at night. She had walked stiffly into her son's large bedroom, her cheeks flushed with anger. As soon as he had seen her, he scrambled up into bed, hastily pulling the covers over himself. She had smoothed back the sheets, more slowly than usual. She had kissed him on the top of his head and said, "Good night, Marin honey. Mommy loves you."
He never heard from her again. Oh, why couldn't she have taken him with her?
Marin sighed. It didn't matter that his father was not a yard away, perfectly capable of giving his son a clap on the cheek right then and there. The larger, older man pushed his face up against Marin's.
"You're going to die, son," he hissed through his teeth. Marin could smell the expensive Capitol wine on his breath. "Stupid boy, you're going to die."
He spoke before his father could finish. "Gee, thanks Dad. I love you too."
He scowled, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Haven't I raised you to be better? To be smarter? How could you hurt me like this?"
"No, Dad, you haven't. In fact, you've barely raised me at all. You've spent all your time away in the stupid Capitol, doing your stupid job, and neglecting me. You're not fit to call yourself a father."
"Your eyes!" His father shrieked, his voice rising dramatically. "Your eyes! Do you know how much money it cost me for you to get your eyes done?"
"A blip in the budget," Marin replied coolly. "You make enough money a year to get every single freaking person in District One's eyes done."
"Don't be so dramatic," he replied, his volume falling again. "That's an exaggeration, you know it is."
"Not by much. You're practically a freaking Gamemaker."
"Gamemakers make at least twice as much as me."
"You're a millionaire, while people in the other Districts are starving to death. I'd think you're pretty lucky, don't you?"
"Don't you like it? Don't you like being so rich that you can afford whatever you want? Don't you like being treated like royalty by all the kids your age? Well, don't you?"
"I'd give it all up in an instant, just to have an actual father. An actual mother. Someone who I can talk to, someone who will hold me when I'm sad, someone who I love and who loves me."
Mr. Stelz let out some sort of high-pitched laugh, one that was so uncharacteristic for him that it took Marin by surprise. "See? There's no way you'll survive the Games. You're still a freaking kid. You want someone to hold you when you're sad? Ha! You're nothing more than a stupid, naïve kid."
Without really thinking, Marin raised his hand and brought it, fast, across his father's cheek. It reddened almost immediately afterward. At first, his eyes widened in surprise, as if he could not comprehend what his son had just done. However, several moments afterward, he let out a yelp and clutched at his face with one hand.
"Go. Just go," Marin muttered, averting his eyes from his father's. "I don't want to see you. Ever again. Go."
Mr. Stelz's fist flew towards him. He instinctively flinched backwards, thinking that his father was going to punch him in the nose as punishment for what he had done. However, several inches before it made contact with his face, the fingers unclenched, and something was dropped into the fifteen-year-old's lap. Without bothering to give an explanation, Marin's father left the room, shoulders hunched.
Marin lifted his father's gift to his eyes. It was a watch, very handsome but very old. The strap was leather; he was surprised that it had remained in such good condition over the years. The glass over the face of the watch had a long crack across it, but that was to be expected. He held the thing to his chest. After his argument with his father just minutes ago, he felt like he should hold the watch like it was some form of evil, and that he should throw it out the window, flinging it away so it could no longer contaminate him. However, he felt like it meant something, that his father actually cared for him, no matter what he used to say. It left Marin feeling completely, utterly, terribly confused.
One of the two oak doors slowly opened. Marin, who had been expecting to spend the rest of the hour allotted alone in the room, looked up in surprise. There stood a girl, her dark hair straightened and face doused with so much makeup it almost hurt his eyes to look at her. She batted her admittedly long, thick eyelashes and flirtatiously tossed her hair over her shoulder. He sighed.
Not her again, he though exasperatedly. Why can't she just leave me alone?
The girl had, in fact, been crushing on Marin almost as long as he had been crushing on Amethyst. He was not even quite sure why she was so intent on them becoming an "item", he barely even knew her. All he knew was that, one day, she had started following him around, giggling in a sickening way and attempting to get his attention every chance she got.
"Get out," Marin said coolly, looking at the ground. A yard or two away from him, the girl's dizzyingly tall white heels had stopped moving. He imagined her face, hurt and probably somewhat embarrassed.
"I said get out," he repeated, more firmly again. The girl still didn't move.
"Get out!" Marin stood up, his fists clenched, the watch falling to the floor. "Are you deaf? Get out!"
The girl dropped whatever she had been holding and hurried out of the room, her eyes beginning to fill up with tears.
Half an hour later, a man in a white uniform opened the door again. "Your sixty minutes are up," he said in an indifferent voice. Marin got up, tucking the watch into his pants' pocket, and walked over to the Peacekeeper, trampling the fallen rose as he went.
A/N: Aahhh, so sorry for the wait everybody! Sadly, I don't think I'm going to update much sooner than I did this time. Life for me is super-busy, I barely get to see my friends anymore. However, I will never abandon this story, so you'll know to expect an update sooner or later.
Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter; I hope you liked this one. I love both Tallis and Marin. I loved getting into their heads, they're both great characters.
Got any alliance requests yet? PM me if you do. You can always change your mind later if you want. I already have a few good ideas of who'll get together, but I'd like to hear your opinions.
Reviews are much loved :)
