Nighttime. The district is deathly silent except the occasional sound of booted feet walking down a street in perfect unison. Once those patrols have passed, the streets are once again still, cold uniform strips of gray. Squat, blocky houses of stone line either side of the streets.
The streets wind around a large stone building, two columns of the style that might've once been referred to as Doric adorning the doorway that leads deep, deep underground. It is a dark place in a dark district, where people die but not for any particular morbid enjoyment. It may not be as bad as District Twelvem here, but it is still a mining district.
Rosy's house is the one directly in front of the building called the mining center. Even at first glance it is different from the other houses; the stone is whiter, the walls are smoother, the house is bigger and grander and proud columns hold up the heavy stone roof.
Beneath which, every night there is a spark, a bit too much friction.
" - if you're not going to act like a proper father - "
The bestial man roars and throws a plate, shards of glass flying everywhere. "Always that! When do you ever stop?"
His son cowers from beneath the kitchen table, a slip of a boy with spectacles sliding down his nose. It's just his luck that he couldn't sleep tonight and was attempting to read in his little cranny in a forgotten corner of the kitchen.
His wife is strong, steady, yet three seconds from bursting. "Look at our family! Look at our lives! Do you know what they say about us?"
"Bullshit - !"
Fists fly, only to be intercepted midair.
"Father. Mom."
A girl is standing in the faint light of the only kitchen lamp that hasn't been broken yet. Strongly built, plenty of muscle and a sight to frighten even in a dainty purple nightgown. Her fingers are steel as they circle her father's thick wrist, forcing it down, squeezing the fight out of him.
Her expression is midwinter frost, stern lips and hard eyes and sallow flush.
"Father - "
The beefy man looks almost scared, the redness of his cheeks dying down a little as he rubs his wrists almost sheepishly. The woman looks at her daughter, eyes sad and wistful, even a little guilty.
"Leah Rose - " The woman steps forward, round face a stark contrast to her daughter's hard features. Her blue eyes widen. "Matt!"
The seven-year-old boy crawls out from under the table, still clutching his copy of A History of Panem. He walks over to to his big sister, bare feet slapping the ground.
"I - " Their father has no words.
Leah Rose looks up at him, eyes flashing. "What, can't bear to apologize, father?" Her tongue is sharp, spiteful, angry. "You're not the alpha wolf anymore, not with those white streaks in your hair."
Then the girl turns, gently lays her scarred hand on the little boy's back and leads him back to his room.
"It's okay, Matt..." It is a breath, a whisper that escapes her lips as she closes her brother's door behind him. "I won't let them hurt you."
Location: District Two, Panem
Date: Reaping Day
"But I don't wan't you to go!"
The boy's screams echo around the district square. It is still quite early in the morning, and most of the district citizens haven't arrived yet. The grand, stone-paved square is mostly empty, only a few early risers scattered in bunches here and there. The huge town hall looms over the square, majestic and foreboding. It is, after all, where the work life of the Peacekeepers start and end.
There is a myth in District Two, that their town hall is modeled after a building in ancient America - the Silver House.
Leah Rose sighs and sets a hand on her brother's shoulder, ignoring her twitching fingers. She knew this would happen, leave it to her brother to be the only one to really shake her up.
"Who am I?" she asks her brother.
Matt scowls and glares. "Rosey. Who's supposed to protect me."
"Exactly." Leah Rose tries for her best smile. It's not very successful, not surprising considering her normal expression is a deadpan or a disapproving half-frown. "Once I win the Games, we'll move out. Victor's village, or wherever else you want. I'll have enough money then to do that and anything else you want."
"If you win the Games."
Leah Rose raises an eyebrow. "You believe in your older sister so much."
She's made her mind, Leah Rose reminds herself. I'll go and win the Hunger Games, and then... Then Matt will be happy. I'll be able to protect Matt. Now mom and father's problems, they're a different story altogether.
Her parent's problems are, Leah Rose knows, partly because of their financial situation. Daryl Sadlestine is already in his mid-fifties and quickly getting out of shape, and no one wants a weedy Peacekeeper trainer.
That problem will be easily solved with her newfound wealth.
But there's also the long-argued but never forgotten problem of who Matt's parents really are, and that is a knot alike to the knots Matt used to make on his shoes; humongous, tight, messy, impossible to untie.
but that's a bit too messy for Leah Rose to think of right now.
Today her mission is simple.
A group of boys snicker at the two as the siblings stand there in the middle of the district square, little skinny Matt with his button-up swamping him like a giant plaid octopus, Leah Rose towering over him, brown wedges further pronouncing the height different between them.
The girl glances up at them, and her stone-hard mask slides on with out hitch.
Paying no attention to the freaked-out boys, Leah Rose faces her brother again.
"Trust me," she says. "I'll make it back."
Bubblette Morosa is in District Two for the thirty-eight time - Reapings and Victory tours - during her long, long career of Hunger Games escort. The crowd cheers for her; five foot tall, green-haired, and bunny-eared, she's practically the only part of the bloody Games they so adore that they get to see annually.
"Ladies - !" She shouts. It's impossible to believe that the tiny woman possesses lungs of such caliber, but District Two is used to the idea.
The fight lasts a lot longer, this time. At the end of it, though, it is eighteen-year-old Leah Rose Sadlestine who walks up to the scanning screen, bruise darkening on her chin and fingernails sticky with blood.
"Leah Rose Sadlestine," she tells Bubblette as her face lights up behind her. It is a sharp, angled face, black hair let loose and blue eyes like chips of ice.
And as of the moment, her odds for victory are 4-1.
HA HA HA I'M SUCH A GOOD UPDATER. Yeah, feel free to hate me forever. I'm just going to update whatever tributes I've got right now, so coming up next is either the District 3 girl or District 6 boy, Lex or Duncan.
As of right now District 1 and 2 are taken, and so is the D3 girl and D6 boy, as well as the D4 girl. Otherwise... Feel free to PM or review with a tribute! It'd be awesome if you did ;DDD
And thank you The Knife Throwing Expert for Rosy-!
The goal as of right now is the update the next chapter September 1st. Let's see how it goes.
...Did I mention reviews motivate me?