The air shifted with the soft sound of paper rustling against each other. A hand, large and callused at its fingertips, flipped through pages. A bird, every single strand of each of its feathers made out of a simple, curved stroke of graphite. A rocky canyon, formed entirely out of inky stipples. A pool, reflecting the colors of the trees and lifeforms above it, pastel dust still clinging onto the grooves in the parchment.

The hand slowly flipped to a fresh leaf. The tip of a pen, like the point of a blade, touched the paper, black ink bleeding off the metal and spreading out evenly to create a minuscule mark. The pen slid over the paper, a slow waltz that evolved into a single-handed tango, the pen leaving its trail of ink behind it.

Eyes, golden near the pupils but spreading out into a warmer brown color, glanced up from the sketchbook. They flitted black down, black eyelashes curtaining them, and the hand continued making its piece.

He took another pen with a clatter, and a new pen strode, leaving blood red in its path that mixed with the still-wet black, causing gradients of the two to blossom. Thin cracks of red formed veins, splotches, life.

Another pen, green now. Then yellow. Finally, blue, just to trace in swirls.

He put the pen down to look. A simple rose, velvety petals enfolding the bud in the center, beads of dew balancing on the edges. Its spiky leaves embraced it, leading downward to a stem with red-tipped roses. The flower leaned luxuriously against its yellow vase, seeming to almost kiss the blue-tipped clouds in its background.

The brown eyes flickered back to the rose, the drawing's near replica, that sat on the windowsill. The sky had lightened since he started, and now the rose bath in the soft, pale sunlight.

He breathed, softly, the air a phantom on his lips. Dawn could only last so long.

Two hours passed. Sweat replaced ink, dripping down flushed skin instead of paper. Red-streaked targets, plastered on the walls, had blades of all shapes and sizes, of a sword, a spear, sunken deeply into their centers.

His limbs trembled with exhaustion, but no, not yet––one more target. One more heart of a victim, forced to stop beating by his very own hands. One more––

The door opened. He paused, turning around.

"I believe that's enough, Ross."

He didn't speak for a moment, breathing in and out with barely parted lips. He swallowed in dry air.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Time for you to start preparing," his father replied, leaning against the doorway of the training room. Ross glanced at the area behind his father, noting how the light had gotten even brighter.

He closed his eyes. "I suppose you're right."

"Damn right you do," his father replied with a wry smile, beckoning his son over with a small nod. They walked through the hallway. "Got a bath prepared for you, son. Don't spend too long in it. Your mother will lay out your clothes for you."

The water was lukewarm, not hot. Perfect. He dipped himself into the water, sighing quietly as the tension left his muscles.

He closed his eyes and let himself slip under the surface.

His hair dripped over his eyes, and he combed through it with wax to pull it up. A fluffy towel draped over his waist, Ross walked to his bedroom, discovering an outfit neatly spread on his bed.

He had already dressed into his black slacks and white dress shirt when his mother walked in, smiling. "Well, somebody looks handsome," she commented, plucking a red bow tie from the sheets. She had to stand on tip toe, adjusting the bow tie around his collar, when Mr. Everlark walked in.

"Well, look at this!" he barked, grinning at his son. He strode to the bed, whipping the black blazer off of it and settling it on his son's shoulders. He patted them. "Just like that. Don't bother pulling the sleeves on––it's perfect like this. Formal, yet unruly."

Ross looked at himself in the mirror, and nodded. Yeah. He could do with this.

He slipped into his leather shoes and nodded at his parents. They beamed at him, arm around each other.

"Handsome boy," his mother teased.

His father chuckled. "Your brother's already at the city square," he added, dusting off his suit. "Peacekeeping and readying the stage. Flynn called, too––he says that he'll meet you there before you're both hoarded off."

"Alright," Ross commented shortly, nodding.

The family ate a light breakfast, parents talking with son silent, before walking out. The Victor's Village was almost empty, its inhabitants already out to enjoy the Reapings.

Ross' family hauled a taxi outside the Village. Ross said farewell to his parents as they approached the stairs, lagging behind the tide of adolescents to look for Flynn.

It didn't take long. Soon a hand gripped his soldier, and Ross spun around to find himself face-to-face with the toothy grin of his best friend. "Yo, Ross, found ya!" Flynn exclaimed, holding a fist out. Ross met their knuckles together with a small smile, and the two turned to get their blood checked.

"Ugh, that's hella gross––you can feel the needle just drilling into your skin," Flynn complained as they walked to their area. "Can you believe it, we have to deal with two more years of this! Say, Ross, who do you think will volunteer this year? There's always a volunteer after all––I'm amazed that you don't go to training school, by the way. Everyone goes to training school, why don't you?"

Ross shrugged. "My dad already has weapons. I train at home."

Flynn snorted. "Damn right you do. You're so buff, man, if you get put into the Games you'll definitely have a chance. Though that's only if you volunteer, and that, of course, is meant for the trainees. Oh well––you'll swoon all the ladies with your looks, Mr. Handsome," he said with a sly grin.

Ross snorted, bopping his blond friend on the head with his fist. "Shut up, you're getting weird looks."

"Right, right."

Flynn finally shut up, and the two of them turned their attention back to stage. The Reapings started, Leoporis smoothly starting as usual with his flamboyant voice. Flynn spent the whole time prodding Ross on the side with his elbow, muttering in snide comments about Leoporis' sexuality and how much time it must have taken for him to put on his makeup.

He finally shut up when it was time for the female to be chosen, holding his breath along with the rest of the audience––however, he couldn't keep his lips sealed when the volunteer walked on stage.

"Damn," he pretty much exclaimed, causing the others around them to look disgruntled. "How old is she? She looks hardly younger than us––"

Ross promptly slapped a hand over his friend's mouth, shutting him up efficiently.

"And the male tribute, of course!" Leoporis simpered after greeting the girl, Arden or something, batting his extremely long eyelashes. He plunged his hand into the glass bowl, swirling his hand around and withdrawing one slip of paper.

He unfolded it and held it out before hand.

"Ross Everlark?"

Flynn gasped besides him, then thumped him on the back. "Well, get up there before your volunteer makes you look stupid," he whispered, and pushed him off to the sides. Ross glared at him as the Peacekeepers crowded around him, but his friend only grinned with a thumbs up.

They marched to the stage.

"Any volunteers?" Leoporis asked the audience. Ross stood on the stage, Leoporis the barrier between him and the other female tribute.

They waited.

Silence greeted them.

Among the crowd, Ross could see Flynn's face, his smile slowly disappearing and realization settling on his shoulders.

"Well! We give you the tributes of District 2, Ross Everlark and Arden Carter!" Leopolis announced happily, clapping his hands. "A round of applause for these two, please?"

The audience replied, hands clapping thunderously to greet its two new tributes, though there was hesitance, too. The female, extremely young––the male, while older-looking, not a volunteer.

The odds, it seemed, were not in this district's favor.

Ross narrowed his eyes at them.

The peacekeepers herded him and the girl into the Justice Hall, and Ross went to his own room to wait. As usual, his parents went in first.

"Well, son––I can honestly say I didn't expect this day," his father stated, after embracing Ross. His mother stroked his hair. "But I didn't expect it so soon. Go get them, partner."

"We believe in you," his mother added with a small smile. He looked at them. They didn't have smiles.

"Really?" he asked quietly. "There are better tributes out there. They actually were trained to fight."

"Says the son of a Victor and one of the top weapon-makers in Panem!" Mr. Everlark exclaimed, slapping his son on the shoulder. "You'll be fine out there. I've taught you everything I know about surviving out there in the wild."

Ross observed his two parents, who were smiling again, and simply stood up from his seat to hug them. "I'll miss you."

"We'll miss you too, son."

They departed.

The doors opened again, and Flynn walked in. He took Ross' hand instantly, bringing him in for a quick hug.

"Dude, that was sick––I thought that a volunteer would go up, but when no one came, I was like, Dude, what the hell is happening?" Flynn muttered. His face was pale, golden eyebrows furrowed. "You're going to the Capitol. You're going to go to the Capitol and you're going to be out in an arena with a bunch of ruthless bastards and––Ross––dude––"

"Flynn, calm down," Ross intervened, frowning at his friend. "It's alright. I'll be fine."

Flynn blinked at Ross, then sighed loudly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to insult you or anythin'––it's just that––you know––"

"I know," Ross said, sitting back down. Flynn took a seat besides him. "I don't have that great of a chance."

"More than others, though," Flynn added.

Ross smiled wryly. "Yeah. More than others."

A tense, short silence.

"I think you might actually have a chance at this," Flynn noted, looking up at the ceiling. "You're a weapons master. Your dad's a weapon mechanic, your mom's a Victor, and your half-bro's a Peacekeeper. I think you can make it."

"Thanks," Ross said, words hollow.

"I have a gift for you," Flynn said. He took Ross' wrist, dropping something into his hand. "Keep it, okay? For luck. I'll watch you when I'm not working at the Nut. Who knows, maybe even during then."

A pat on the back and Flynn left. Ross looked down at his hand. A rock, a pretty one albeit, smoothed down with crystals glittering at its surfaces. He tossed it once, twice, and pocketed it. Yeah. He'd keep it.

Ross didn't expect any more visitors, so he blinked when the door opened once more. He looked up at the Peacekeeper striding into the room.

"Hey."

The Peacekeeper took off his helmet and grimaced at Ross. "Yo."

Ross leaned back against the couch, his fingers fluttering over the velvety cushions. "Do they have sketchbooks at the Capitol? I left mine at home."

"I'm sure that they can get you one," the Peacekeeper said, taking a seat besides him.

Ross looked over at his half brother. "Buzz. I'm a bit curious. Why did no one volunteer?"

Buzz just shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe the Training Center didn't cough up any good Careers this year." He looked at Ross. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Ross shrugged in the same manner as Buzz. "Who knows."

The two sat in silence, similar in the way they preferred to not speak. Finally they both got up simultaneously, and Buzz hugged his half-brother. "Fight well out there. Don't turn into a monster."

Ross nodded. "And you."

They high-fived, and Buzz left. Ross watched, then sighed and sat down, finally noticing the room around him.

It was beautiful, a nutty brown that glossed over the floor in tiles and curtains sweeping over the walls. Lights adorned the ceiling that caused the furniture to bask in soft glows. The room whispered elegance, sighing and stretching itself.

Ross closed his eyes.

If only he had an easel and a paintbrush––then, perhaps, his day would have been better.