A/N: Welcome to another chapter! I suppose I might as well reveal the Quell twist at some point, so why not now? Also, gotta kill time with something while waiting for people to submit tributes... So far, only seven slots are taken, so you have plenty of opportunities!
Collen Bostain, District 12
"Collen!" I turn around at the sound of my friend's voice, smiling brightly.
"Ian, there you are! I've been looking for you." He runs to catch up with me, gray Seam eyes crinkling with his smile. Ian never seems to be without a smile, and he never smiles halfway. His whole face gets involved.
"Wanna go toss a ball around for a bit?" He brushes his dark hair out of his eyes as he looks up at me with an almost begging look. I laugh, then shake my head.
"Sorry, Mom's expecting me home soon. Besides, we have that mandatory programming to watch, remember?" I roll my eyes, knowing that whatever it is is just going to be some more ridiculous Capitol propaganda. Ian clearly feels the same way, as his reaction to my statement is a snort.
"Yeah, whatever. Like it'll be anything interesting anyways." Then he shrugs and puts on an impish grin. "Well, I might as well watch it at your place, then. Maybe your mom will be nice enough to make me some snacks!" He turns and starts heading off towards my home, knowing I won't be too far behind. I shake my head, grinning myself as I speed-walk a few steps before falling into step next to him.
"Actually, I think Steffen's got some cake left over, if Kyra didn't eat it all this afternoon." My little sister really loves cake. Of course, it is cake, and everyone loves cake. But she's also a vicious little sneak-thief when it comes to things that her brothers have and she wants, so she probably did eat it all.
"Oh, yeah! His birthday was yesterday! I completely forgot." Ian lets out a wistful sigh. "Must be nice. Is he completely loving it yet?" Ian is, of course, referring to my oldest brother now being nineteen and officially outside the eligible age for the Hunger Games.
"I don't see how he couldn't. I offered to trade with him, but he didn't seem too keen on the idea..." I frown, as if I couldn't understand why, and Ian laughs. He has this big laugh that makes everyone around look at us for a moment before smiling and returning to whatever they were doing. Everyone loves Ian (it's impossible not to. His good mood is infectious!). "Anyway, Mom sent me to get you. She's fixed your pants and would really appreciate it if you would get them out of her way already." Once again, Ian laughs.
"You mean Mark's fixed my pants, right?" I roll my eyes before nodding. My mother is the seamstress, but her arthritic hands have been getting increasingly worse for years, and my youngest brother has all but taken over the shop. It's funny, really. You'd expect that our mother's only daughter would have, but our sister insisted it was the stupidest thing she could possibly do with her life and that she would much rather run around roughhousing with all the boys in her class instead. Mark really enjoys it, though, and he's actually really good with clothes, so no one minds.
My thoughts are cut short when we enter my house and Kyra jumps out at us from behind the door, yelling at the top of her lungs. I jump about half a foot in the air while Ian covers his head with his arms as if expecting a blow. Then she starts laughing.
"Oh, I got you good. You should have seen the looks on your faces!" She wipes tears from her eyes as she laughs harder, and I immediately reach out and grab her long dark hair, twisting it around my hand and using it to pull her face close to mine. She stops laughing immediately and instead starts struggling to get away, but I'm bigger and stronger.
"Kyra, you are sixteen, not five. Grow up." I make sure not to yell, because I know the one thing that will make her stop listening is yelling at her. Instead, I keep my voice low and calm. When she nods, release her and smile. "Good! Now, go-"
"Collen! Ian! You're just in time! Get in here!" Mark's excited yelling from the family room cuts me off and I look toward the noise, frowning.
"Just in time for what?" I half-shout back at him as we all move to join him, Kyra rubbing her head where I pulled her hair a little too hard and Ian already reverted back to his natural state of joy. Mark just rolls his bright blue eyes (so different than everyone else's Seam-grey ones inherited from our Mother) at me and points to the television.
"For the mandatory programming, of course! It's going to be Katniss's wedding stuff, I just know it! I heard they did the photo shoot for the dresses yesterday!" He's gushing with excitement, and our mother puts a hand on his shoulder from the seat she's sitting in and gently forces him to sit down.
"Calm down, Marky." she says gently. "I'm sure the boys don't care about any of that stuff." Kyra gives an indignant snort, and our mother quickly amends her statement with an eye roll. "I'm sure the boys and Kyra don't care about any of that stuff." Mark pouts a little, but nods and settles back to watch what I can tell he's sure is going to be the best thing the Capitol has ever aired. I chuckle a bit as I find my own seat and my mother yells to Steffen to "get your butt in here already!"
After a few moments, and much scuffling and pushing from Kyra and Steffen, we're all settled and ready as the program begins and Mark begins hushing us loudly. And, sure enough, we see Caesar Flickerman in front of the Training Center at the Capitol, talking about our latest Victor's upcoming nuptials. Mark gets even more excited when he introduces Cinna and the two of them engage in a couple minutes of chit-chat.
I think, if Mark had been born in the Capitol, he would grow up to be a famous designer like Cinna. I know that Mark would love to be like his idol. As it stands, though, we're here in District 12, and his love of clothing and fashion makes him more of an outcast and target than an idol. Throw that in with his tendency to get upset very easily and cry over things like harsh words, and you get the perfect target for every bully in the district. It still makes me mad now, even though Mark has long since learned to defend himself, and they have learned that if they mess with him they end up with black eyes and broken noses. But dammit, he's my little brother! No matter how old he gets, that's not going to change, and I was raised to always put my little siblings first.
Now they're showing Katniss in all the wedding gowns (Mark insists I have to call them gowns, as he thinks "dresses" is not an adequate word to describe them), and while the crowd cheers for their favorites and boos the others, Mark keeps up a steady commentary on what he likes and dislikes about each (and, of course, praise for Cinna's genius between each sentence). I start to space out, really not caring about wedding dresses and plans and really anything about this. Why did the Capitol insist on us watching this junk?
I tune back in when Caesar hollers to the crowd, "Let's get Katniss to her wedding in style!" Finally done with this stupid television program, I'm halfway out of my seat when Caesar tells us to stay tuned for the other big event of the evening. "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"
I groan, remembering that this year is going to be one of those wonderful "special" Games that will undoubtedly be ten times more entertaining for the Capitol, and ten times more horrible for the Districts. Mark frowns, looking at our mother from behind his dirty-blonde bangs.
"But the Games aren't for months yet." He has a worried tone to his voice, probably wondering if the twist this year is that the Games are happening right now and everyone watching is going in, or something like that.
Our mother sighs. "Yes, but they have to read the card. It wouldn't be much fun for them if we weren't quaking in fear even more than usual for the next few months." She has a haunted look in her eyes, and I remember that she has already lived through a Quarter Quell. I wonder what is was, but I don't dare ask her. It would just upset her.
The anthem plays and President Snow takes the stage. I resist the urge to boo as him like the Capitol citizens did at the dresses. Barely. He's followed onto the stage by a young boy dressed in a white suit, holding a simple wooden box. I find myself wondering how they chose this boy. Is he related to someone important? Or maybe he won some kind of contest... the "Who's the Biggest Little Monster in the Capitol" Contest, where he had to send in drawings and letters about how he would torment the Districts if he were in charge.
After the anthem ends, the President begins to speak about the Dark Days that gave birth to the Hunger Games. He says that when the laws for the Games were laid out, they dictated that every twenty-five years, the anniversary would be marked by a Quarter Quell, and it would call for a glorified version of the Games to make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion. As if it weren't already terrible enough for us to lose twenty-three of our children every year.
He then goes on to describe the previous Quarter Quells. Despite my disgust, I find myself listening closely, intrigued. How could they possibly make the games worse for us? "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."
I shudder at the thought, imagining the poor children that had to go into the Games knowing that their entire district wanted them to die. Or at least that's how I imagine it must feel, even if you logically know that not every single person voted for you. Although, in the Career districts it was probably the opposite. Children were probably upset that no one had voted them to go and kill other children. Monsters.
"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."
My sister's hands go to her mouth, and I have to force myself not to do the same. Forty-seven dead kids that year, and each one of those kids and their families would have had less hope than usual. The bloodbath alone must have had as many casualties as the whole Games in a normal year! And I'm sure no one stood much of a chance against the twice-as-large Career pack. How had Haymitch won against those odds?
"And now we honour our third Quarter Quell," President Snow says. The little boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. This is probably going to be the highlight of that child's life, the little psychopath. Inside the box, we can see tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes. There's centuries worth of Quells in there! How could the people that devised this even have come up with that many variances? I suddenly feel very cold as a terrible thought enters my mind. With that many options, what's to say this year's isn't something like having the tributes reaped from outside the age limit? What if Steffen really isn't safe this year? I clench my fists and force myself to breathe. Going crazy from worry about something that may not even happen will certainly not help anything, I tell myself.
The president removes an envelope clearly marked with the number 75. He runs his finger under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper. I expect him to pause dramatically, like our escort always does when reading the names, but he goes on without hesitation and reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, to remind the rebels that without the Capitol they truly have nothing, all of the supplies and weapons within the arena will come from Capitol sponsors."
I groan as I realize what that means. No one is getting anything without getting it from a sponsor. I look at Ian, and for once his face is covered with a scowl, and when he speaks it's with a darkness that is so unlike him that we all shiver at it.
"We're not going to have a chance this year. No one but the Careers are." In the background, we hear the president going on about some new rule where the sponsors can choose to pay extra to give their Tributes a gift before the game begins and have it in the Cornucopia, or pay even more extra to have their Tribute start off with it.
"How are we supposed to beat that?" I exclaim, jumping to my feet angrily. "The Careers are going to come off the discs with weapons in their hands, and everyone else is going to have nothing! This is so unf-"
Then the president speaks one final sentence that stops my tirade mid-sentence. "Furthermore, this year there will be no volunteers accepted."
We all stare at the screen for a moment before a smile begins to spread across my face. "Well, I take it back. We do have a chance this year." I chuckle a little. "No volunteers means no Careers. For once, those damned districts will know what these games are for the rest of us!" Then I dissolve into laughter.
A/N: Well, there you have it! Don't forget to send in your tributes, please! And as always, thank you for reading and please review! THX!
Tributes available: D7 and D10 Males. I NEED YOUNGER TRIBUTES, PLEASE! I will not accept anyone over the age of 13 now.
