Dakota Torelli
I wake to the feel of rough fur against my face and the smell of damp wool clinging to the back of my throat.
I can feel the dirt and dried sweat of yesterday's work encrusted on my skin. My hair is tangled and greasy and smells like the back end of a sheep. The taste isn't much better, I muse, spitting out a clump.
I stretch and aching muscles scream their complaints. Bruises bump against the bony asses of my many, many sleeping companions, and my pained yelps stir up their own groans of complaint.
The air is hot and so humid that I can practically feel myself boiling alive in my own sweat, nestled as I am in a furry cocoon of overgrown puppies. The sun shines unmercifully through the old kennel roof at the exact right angle to pierce my corneas the moment I open my eyes.
I could not be happier if I tried.
I carefully extract myself from my family's current crop of sheepdogs. My crop, I think with a shiver of intense satisfaction. These particular dogs were bred and raised by the one and only Dakota Torelli, with only minimal help from my parents. These lazy brutes are my first taste of adulthood responsibilities, my first ginger step towards coming of age, and I've basically nailed it. I mean, not to brag, but my pack is totally killer, like you don't even know.
Sure, they might look like totally unremarkable fluff balls, all curled up in a big adorable pile like that, but inside each and every one of these mutts beats the heart of a wolf!
Except, you know, they protect sheep instead of eat them. Of course they don't eat them. Duh. Don't take things so literally.
My wide grins cracked open a scab on my chin, but I don't even care because I feel absolutely great, and you know what? I deserve to. After the shit I've been through, I damn well deserve to be happy.
It's taken me a long time to get from where I was to where I am now. Though, if you ask anyone outside my family they'd have no idea...
Nope. Nope. Not gonna think about it. Not gonna let it ruin my mood.
Fuck facing your problems. I've spent two years being healthy and responsible. I can stand to be stupid for once.
In the spirit of stupidity, I decide to let my girls sleep in for once. I mean, what they heck, they've worked hard. A few extra Zs won't ruin them.
I creep my way across the old, heat warped floor, carefully avoiding the creaky boards with the ease of long practice, and exit through the broken window. The squeeze gets tighter every year, and I just barely squeak by, biting back a long string of curses.
The day is just as beautiful and hellishly hot as always, with not a single cloud to block that cruel bastard sun from turning me lobster red and peeling within a matter of minutes.
I've lost my hat somewhere, and my long black hair is like an itchy and slightly damp blanket hanging from my head.
Damn, this day just keeps getting better and better.
I tromp towards the big house as fast as the heat and my own groggy state allows for, finger combing my hair as I go. I pause for a second to fiddle with a particularly stubborn knot, only to realize just how empty the commune fields are.
I check the sun and estimate the time to be nearly 9:00 AM, which is like noon for farm people. This place should be bustling with activity at this hour.
"What... the hell?"
There are chickens squawking in the henhouse and cows screaming to be milked and no one is doing anything and my good mood is leaking out my ears.
I mean, I know these people and they would never leave work undone, something must have happened, oh god where are my parents, where is Meredith, Christ alive what the hell is going on- oh right, that was today.
Shit. Shit.
Today is going to be terrible.
Antler Chez
Reaping Day is about as much a holiday as a funeral is a vacation.
Sure school is out and work delayed, sure streamers are hung in gaudy clumps off every available splintering corner of Old Town, sure many end the night soaked in cheap booze, but no amount of government mandated merriment can disguise the stench of raw despair that permeates the district.
It's been thirty plus years since the Rebellion failed to overthrow a regime that has only gotten crueler with time.
It's been thirty plus years of ever increasing demands for meat and milk and eggs for fat Capitolites to gorge on, while people here starve to death surrounded by food.
Thirty years of hardship and no end in sight.
It's enough to make even the most chipper of men contemplate a noose.
And no one has ever accused me of being an optimist.
"Antman! Dude! Over here!"
Trust a girl like Jen to ruin a good sulk like that. I can feel my carefully crafted smirk melt into an idiot grin as I pirouette dramatically in the direction of her voice.
"What? Who said that? That sounded a lot like one Jenny Carter, but I don't see her, so it couldn't possibly have been her!"
"Pfft, like I haven't heard that before. You're not funny, dude."
I feign shock, and keep my eyes pointed firmly above the crowd. "Jen? Jen? Where are you?" I spin rapidly in place, craning my neck and shading my eyes.
"Fuck you, you butt!"
I gasp and throw my hand dramatically over my heart. "Surely such vulgarity could not have come from one of my best friends! It must be a tiny, tiny imposter!"
"This here? This is you beating a dead horse. Everyone is trying not to stare at you 'cause it's just about the saddest thing anyone has ever done. You're like a legless puppy trying desperately to fetch a ball, Ant. That's how pathetic you are."
"An impossibly, inhumanely tiny little imp-oof!"
I clutch my side and groan. Girl's got a punch like a horse's kick. Odd, considering her frail appearance. I guess protruding knuckle bones act sort of like brass knuckles in a pinch. Or maybe I'm just a wimp.
She draws herself up, all four foot eleven inches of skin wrapped bones and hair, and aims a glare that has no business being as threatening as it is at me.
I am forever a slave to my baser urges.
"Now now, Jen. Craning like that can't be good for your neck. Give me a second, I'll get on my knees. We can finally talk face to face!"
"You're about as funny as a dead ox, dude, and now I don't want to talk to you anymore. Go bug Harry." She turns and stalks off, the picture of wounded dignity.
"Bye bye, Jen! I'll be over later to eat all your food!"
She calmly extends her arm above her head and flips me the bird without looking back, before being swallowed by the crowd.
I chuckle fondly to myself as I turn towards the cordoned off M-16 zone. No matter what Jen says, being abnormally tall is often just as lame as being stupid short, but one of it's few advantages is my unparalleled ability to navigate crowds. Of course, my other superpower is being a midget magnet, so they kind of cancel each other out.
Lucky for me, Harry's superpower is always finding me and Jen no matter where we are. He pretty much ruined hide and seek for both of us.
I actually see him slipping through the crowd before he can materialize out of thin air and startle me, so, hooray for small victories.
Dude's like a cat. You only see him once you've already tripped over him and busted open your knee.
He sidles up to me and nods. I nod back and raise him a smirk. He ignores me and begins to speak quietly enough that I am forced to bend down a bit to hear him over the crowd.
"Come to my house after this. We have food. I won't have you bothering Jen again."
"Aww, but your food is all vegetarian crap. No offence, but I'm a man and I have needs. Meat based man needs. You wouldn't understand, you herbivore."
He looks me up and down and raises an eyebrow, blatantly measuring my boney, marble-pale butt against his own gloriously bronzed, muscular physique.
Ouch. Point taken.
"... sure, whatever. Free food is free food."
He quirks his lip in what passes for a smirk among stoics like him and opens his mouth to make some sort of comment, but is mercifully cut short by a dramatic fanfare signaling the start of the festivities.
I have never been happy to hear another repetition of the same speech I've been hearing since birth, and I am not about to start now. However, it would be a dirty lie to say I am not pleased with the opportunity to shush Harry as often and as obnoxiously as I can.
The speech is over all too soon, but I am able to console myself with the appearance of my absolute favorite person, Vidal Yvante.
Good old Vidal never fails to fail spectacularly, and this year is no exception.
He trots to center stage from wherever he's been lurking like a candy coated god to bestow upon us all the gift of his magnificent presence.
His hair is an absolute marvel of science, defying the laws of physics, chemistry, and good taste all in one fell swoop. His artfully arranged mass of bulging muscles and veins is highlighted by what can only be pure grape Kool Aid running through his veins, showing up black against the baby powder pale of his skin. His voice, oh glory of glories, rings out like a chorus of dead cows all releasing one final gaseous build up before being ground up in an industrial size meat grinder.
"Good moooooorning, District Ten! Are you ready to make your Nation proud?"
"That is the man I intend to marry." I whisper. Harry snorts and rolls his eyes.
"Are you ready to bring honor and glory to your beloved District or die trying?"
"Oh god, take me now!" I moan, earning more than a few odd looks.
"Then let us not waste a moment more!" He thrusts his arm into the girl's ball and rapidly pulls out, scattering bits of paper all over the floor. "I give you, your female competitor in the 31st Anuaaaal, Hunger Gaaaaaaaaaaaaames! I give you..." He pauses to scan the scrap of paper clutched in his meaty fist, "Dakota... Torr.. Torelli?" My future husband pauses awkwardly, glancing off stage, perhaps to check his pronunciation, before shouting the name once again.
"Come on down, Miiiiiiiiiss Torelli!"
Miss Torelli walks less than enthusiastically from what looks to be section F-15 to the stage, all while my darling heaps encouragements and congratulations on the poor little ragamuffin.
Girl looks like she sleeps in a barn. Her hair's a black nest with a white straw hat perched atop it like some oversized pigeon, and her sunburned face is streaked with what I hope is dirt.
But my baby, bless his little heart, doesn't even seem to notice her general veneer of grime as he hoists her bodily onto the stage and wraps her up in an incredibly awkward bear hug.
I pretend to swoon into Harry's arms. He promptly drops me.
Vidal, perfect, beautiful Vidal, still has Miss Torelli clutched to his bare, gleaming chest as he stomps over to the boy's ball.
God above, Vidal, don't ever change, you fabulous winner you.
"And this lovely young lady's male counterpart iiiiiiiis... Antler Chez! Would Miiiiister Chez please come on down and let us all applaud you!"
What.
What.
Burn in hell, Vidal.
Dakota Torelli
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck with a shit sandwich and a side of hell fucking fire on the side.
Fuck.
I am so fucking screwed.
And I smell like fucking baby powder and armpit.
FUCK!
Okay. Okay. Okay. Dammit, fuck! I have to get it together! If not for my own sake then for my parents. For Mere.
Shit.
I bury my head in my hands and press my palms against my eyes as hard as I can. The dull pain helps bring the world into focus.
The gaudy, musty smelling world that has sentenced me to die for the crime of being born in a certain place at a certain time.
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK
I slam the heels of my palms into my forehead and breathe heavily through my nose.
I can't let myself cry. If I cry now I will never stop.
My throat constricts and my eyes burn, but I force myself to open both.
"*Sniffle* A wolf is a pack animal. A... a wolf would d-d-die for a member of its pack at a m-moments notice. A pack consists of a mated pair and their... their offspring. This family bond is the strongest bond in the animal kingdom. The strongest bond..."
My breath slows and calms with every sentence.
My family means the world to me, and I would gladly die to see them happy.
The... the commune is great and all, but. But of I win. If I win, I can buy us a nice lot with lots of room to roam, and, and a proper kennel, not just a rickety old barn. I can give us a little room to experiment, maybe even design a new breed, a breed as smart and strong and loyal as a wolf. If I win.
If.
If I win, I will live to argue with mom again about the proper way to handle a conflict.
If I win, I get to wake up at the crack of dawn to tend our flock. He's always at his funniest when it's the ass crack of dawn.
If I win, I can spend another day goofing off with Meredith. We can hide out by the watering hole together and swim for hours and lay by the side just kissing each other breathless till nightfall.
If I win, I live.
My hands are shaking when they let my parents into the room with me. I can't bear to look at them, to let my memory of them be tainted by pain and fear.
I examine every crack in the wallpaper, every faded velvet cushion, every tarnished gold statue to a soundtrack of muffled sobbing.
My father excuses himself long before our time is up, but not before hugging me so tight I think for a moment that he'll just pick me up and whisk me away from danger, like he's done so many times before, back when I was little and the dangers were mostly imaginary.
But I'm too old to be saved by my Daddy anymore.
When he shuts the door, my resolve breaks, and tears drip down my cheeks.
I swipe at them angrily, ashamed of my weakness. Ashamed to give my mother even one hint that I can not handle what is coming.
She stands, and I wince, suddenly afraid. What I am afraid of I do not know, but I am afraid of my own mother at this moment.
I almost laugh. What kind of fucking weirdo is scared of her own mother, especially at a time like this?
"Honey..." She says, voice steady and gentle. "We love you dearly and... and... do try to come back to us, okay? Please, just. Try your best. We love you no matter what happens."
I do laugh at that, just a little. It sounds a lot like a scream.
She pats me once on the shoulder and the flees the room. I don't hold it against her. How could I? I love her too much to want to see her suffer when I can do nothing. I get that from her.
Meredith is next.
Of course she is.
She wouldn't just let me go without saying goodbye.
I glance at the clock and moan. Not enough time, not enough time. Meredith needs to get here soon, or else I won't be able to kiss her all over and cry on her shoulder and tell her that she has nothing to worry about because I'm her Hound Dog and I won't even wince at the nickname, god, I swear I won't if you just get her here in time, please.
She shows up with five minutes to spare. She hovers in the doorway for a second like she can't quite bring herself to share space with a dead woman, before squaring her shoulders and marching into the room like she's going to conquer it.
Like she's going to carve us out a little slice of reality to hide out in until Panem is dust and the Hunger Games are a footnote in someone's history textbook.
Ha. Like that'd ever happen.
She presses something wrapped in brown paper into my palm and sits by my side. I bite my lip and place the package against my thigh.
We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity. There's too much to say, too much to do. There's nowhere to start and no end that will be satisfactory. I just. Lean on her shoulder. Take comfort in her warm, solid presence. Pretend that I have a snowball's chance in hell to make it back.
When the Peacekeeper comes, it's like my heart is being ripped out of my chest.
I fiddle with Mere's package to keep from watching her leave.
There's a pendant inside. An ugly little oval of fake gold and chipped black plastic, portraying a silhouetted wolf's head, howling up at the moon.
It's just about the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Antler Chez
The bonds of familial love only go so far.
Ideally, your family loves and cares for you passionately and unconditionally, but, well. This is not an ideal world.
Still, one can't help but feel a bit disappointed when one has three older, wiser, stronger brothers capable of taking one's place in a televised death match, who see fit to just leave me to my fate, like someone like me has even the slightest chance of coming back alive.
I'll freely admit to being a selfish bastard.
I really, really don't want to die.
So, I have decided, I will not.
The train is a spectacularly beautiful machine, all graceful arches and gleaming metal, hovering above the tracks through some strange process someone like me can't even begin to understand. It looks like a toy next to the hulking grey masses of our stations usual wheeled meat lockers, but Vidal assures me and Miss Torelli that it can travel at speeds of over 200 mph and withstand the force of something something, science talk.
I crane my neck and peer through the stone pillars of the station loading bay, hoping against hope to catch one final glimpse of my Auntie Kat's butcher shop. Of home.
I don't see it of course. It's so damn close I can practically smell the congealed blood, but like hell anything in my life can go my way.
"Come now, good fellows! Your destiny awaits in the Capitol!" Vidal beams and booms and Christ this guy is a cartoon.
I dodge an enthusiastic pat on the back and stumble up tiny, impossibly delicate looking stairs and into fucking Candyland.
Everything looks like it's made of spun sugar and frosting, all impossibly intricate designs and gaudy colors, so bright it makes my eyes hurt.
Miss Torelli looks sick, and I can't blame her, not with my own face trying to curl up unto itself to escape this offensive place.
Vidal hops aboard, our mentor, a thickly muscled woman of about forty, following in a much more subdued manner.
She introduces herself as "Mab", in a gruff and greatly uninterested tone, before disappearing into what I can only presume to be her room.
"Well, she's a charmer." I grumble.
Vidal gives me a sheepish look.
"Oh, Mab is a lovely woman, really she is. It's just. Well. She just doesn't have much faith in her District, I suppose. It's not her fault, I mean." He looks crestfallen for a moment. "We've lost so many lovely young competitors in our years together. And she's a sensitive woman, no matter how gruff and uncouth she comes off. Each loss hits her hard, you know? Poor girl. I keep telling her that she should just let someone else take over her duties, but... OH!" He straightens his spine and his expression shifts to one of exaggerated alarm. "I didn't mean to give you a bad impression of her capabilities as a Mentor! Do not get me wrong, she is absolutely brilliant and will do her best to guide you safely through your trials! I only meant to imply that the mental strain of the job might be hurting her personally. Not professionally! She's great, you'll love her, really!"
I'm sure there are about ten million jokes to be made about that pile of word vomit, but for the life of me I can't think of any.
"Well, anyways, I'm sure you're all tired and hungry from your very busy day, so I'll go see if I can get the chefs to hurry up a bit and the both of you can take an early meal in your quarters, okay? I know how you tributes are the first day. You're in no mood for strategy, so, we'll let you turn in early, just this once. And don't you worry, me and Mab will scope out the competition for you!"
Now that doesn't sit right with me. If I want to win, I need to start preparing. I open my mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a gross, jaw cracking yawn.
Well then. Maybe an early bedtime isn't so terrible an idea.
He grins broadly at Miss Torelli and me before ushering us down the hall and into our respective rooms.
I barely glance over the garish green and purple décor before diving headfirst into the plushest bed in the universe. I bite back a moan, rubbing my cheek against sheets that feel like warm dry water. Say what you will about the Capitol's sense of style, they at least know how to make a heavenly bed.
I am asleep before the food even gets there.
AN: So, this is about how introductory chapters will go. Sorry for the length, but I feel like it's necessary for me to get a handle on the characters. Feel free to skip these if you want.