The fandom's getting busier than usual. Probably the movie but it took ages to find my own story I updated yesterday.
On a more related note; LAST REAPING!
Lulu: (well and anyone else who reads it) spot the BBYO reference.
outofthesun: after reviewing all my chapters, I really hope I did Ivy justice.
Poll is now up. You get two votes: one for the favourite character you submitted (if you submitted one, otherwise free choice) and your favourite character overall. You can vote up until the last Pre-Games chapter so you should probably wait a short while, I'd say until training for alliances and stuff but you can submit whenever. (I'm not nay-saying voting now) I would like everyone to vote especially if you didn't submit a character just to see a totally unbiased view on the tributes.
Another serve of hormone–charged teenage guy coming up. They're funny but really weird to write. (See District 8)
A little comic relief in this chapter and a not-really-that-bad goodbye.
District 12: Wesley "Wes" Faulkner
"Yo, bro," Waverly yells as I groan and open my eyes,
"Ys, sis?" I reply vaguely, my brain still dead from waking up too recently.
"You're so thick headed," Waverly shakes her head as I finally focus on her sitting on my legs at the end of the bed.
"Yeah, my skull is pretty thick… remember that time that I head-butted that brick wall?"
She laughs as he replies, "How could I forget? You're still so slow to pick things up."
"I've got good reflexes!"
"If you say so, bro," she replies doubtfully, "Anyway, get up, it's 2 pm already."
Oh right, Reapings. Waverly and I are both 18 this year and my nerves are unbelievably frayed. Not for me- for Waverly. Having a twin sister who is one of the most likely kids in the District to get Reaped, alongside yourself, is the most nerve-wracking thing I've ever faced.
Worst of all is knowing that I can't even volunteer for her because she's female but I'm glad to know that she can't volunteer for me since there can't be two female tributes.
I would happily turn the world for Waverly's safety and knowing I can't is more terrifying than anything I feel for myself.
So I attempt to block it out, focus on something else like the fact that Piar Kelva's prodigious… implants haven't helped her leave District 12, the kicked puppy of Panem.
"Nice weather out, eh Wave?" I ask as the door slams open and shut, giving us a great view of the almost pitch black thunderheads rolling over the District, the hinge rusted away totally and termites are slowly working towards the halfway mark of eating our door. Well the termites and Fred, the friendly neighbourhood hobo who keeps attacking our door for firewood. We even give him a few pieces when the termites crack them off by eating away too much of the support. Apparently baked termites are good eating.
"Oh yeah, fabulous. I just love the feeling of rain pulverising my best dress on the happiest day of the year."
I love my sister's sense of humour- it almost rivals my own, "And here I thought that the sopping wet look was in this season," I grin as Waverly laughs slightly before frowning. I guess fashion is too much of a Capitol thing to talk about it on Reaping Day, especially for an 18 year old who looks like a District 11 slave.
Can't think about Reapings… haha those implants…
District 12: Ivy Laurel
Reaping Day.
Big whoop.
Not so different to every other day if you're a kid in District 12 except for the whole 'chance you're going to die' part.
It might sound stupid to want more work but I'm envious of all the kids in the other Districts who have something to do with their life. District 1 and 2 get to train for the Games, District 3 can work in factories, District 4 get to fish (which would be awesome… if I could swim), District 5 get construction and proper schooling, District 6 get to make their medicines (and actually learn skills at school), District 7 spend their days with axes out in the wilderness, District 8 get the textiles, District 9 all get to hunt, District 10 get their pets and District 11 swing around the orchard vines.
I don't want to grow up to be just another down-and-out in District 12, spending my days as a housewife until my husband dies in a mine 'accident.' I want to do something with my life, to actually be someone instead of mingling in the crowd. I'd rather be down in the mines with the men than spend my days working my fingers to the bone washing overworn clothes. Years back I could have; the Capitol kept a few poor kids down in the mines for a few pennies just to get more work done. Well they did until some pretty-boy miner showed up in the 25th Hunger Games and the Capitol complained it was 'inhumane.'
District 12 is the trash of Panem. We aren't just the poorest, the weakest and the most downtrodden but we're the combined human trash of generations. The other Districts are more or less segmented racially, some have dark skin, others light hair, others have eye colours specific to each District. Well all except District 12; dark skin, dark hair, light hair, green eyes, blue eyes, whatever the heck you want eyes. Every person who's ever been banished, arrested or demoted since before the Dark Days gets shunted to good old District 12.
That doesn't mean I want to be in the Games but sometimes I find myself wondering if I wouldn't be able to do something with myself. I want to succeed in life more than I want to live if I was just another girl.
It's not like I'm a total waste of resources out in the Seam; my parents own a general store in the merchant part of the District. Not that it matters when most people can't afford to actually buy food of their own. As appalling as it sounds, a lot of kids are born to attract tesserae for food as most deaths occur between 18 and 30 before people can have kids to get more food from the tesserae.
Our shop is all of about five metres across and five metres long with a storeroom in the back. The Seam kids are mostly served by the black market the 'Hob' and even that would be doing something more important in life than helping with the general store. At least there I'd be helping the more disadvantaged but instead I'm slightly better fed but by far one of the poorest in the merchant District. Selling food involves buying from other Districts, transporting, tax, goods 'security' and some other hellish combination of theft by the Capitol. Mother won't sell up the store because it was handed down through her family since the Dark Days.
We get to actually eat some food we sell on Reaping Day since Mother saves up to try and earn some 'karma,' as if she believed in it, so I won't get Reaped. It's almost impossible not to be an atheist in District 12… unless you're Pastor Steve who was volunteered for as a child and now spends his days preaching about the will of God saving him. The volunteer had his head hacked off with a club in the blood bath. Other than him, there is no divine faith in District 12 and yet everyone believes in luck.
My opinion? Bull.
Not that my opinion matters, something which I will devote my entire life to changing.
I can't let myself believe that I can't change anything or I never will.
Wes:
Our family is only a year away from being out of the grips of the Reapings. Wanda is 4 years too old, Wade 3 years and both Waverly and I are 18, duh. After our parents realised their first names both started with 'W' they shared the joy with all of their children.
It's with my fingers crossed until they ache that Waverly and I join in with the mingling 18s in the square. My heart's thumping and I want to grip onto her and never let go.
Our escort's almost incomprehensibly… warped speech doesn't make me laugh this year. It's probably a good thing because of all the grey faces of terrified 18 year olds surrounding me. There's a certain pallor a person gets when they're panicked and they almost all have it. Except one guy… Everdeen I think his name is. I wish I had his confidence, I really do.
It appears that my lack of confidence was well founded as the escort manages to shriek, "Waverly Faulkner!"
All my senses seem to have snapped together in a moment where time freezes. I'm seeing sounds and hearing smells in a confused jumble of noise, the smell of the people packed around me and the sight of that azure blue glove and the tiny white slip of paper it holds.
Time seems to start again as I sprint into the path between the age groups. The Peacekeepers run towards me as I yell, "Please, let me go instead, I volunteer! You need one girl and one guy, let me go as the male! I VOLUNTEER!" I roar as the entire square turns to face me in shock.
"NO, WES!" Waverly yells but I ignore her and march onwards. The escort leans forward to study me and I finally see an unnaturally hawkish face framed by brown feathers.
"Well isn't this exciting!" the escort shrieks, killing all of our ears with her now uninterrupted flow of sound, "Come on up young lad and let's get a name from you."
"Wes-Wesley Faulkner," I mumble into the awkwardly positioned microphone.
"Next up this year is a girl!" Piar screeches, once again muffled, "Ivy Laurel!"
I swear I've never seen someone give me a glare as full of hate as the one Ivy shoots me ever before in my life.
Enemy number 1: check.
Ivy:
I walk alone to the Reapings.
No brothers, no sisters, no friends and no one to remember me if I die except my parents who are so enraptured by their business I doubt they'd notice my death. The TV is crammed into the storeroom behind bundles of stuff; I doubt they could even watch me die in HD if I got Reaped if they wanted to. I hope for my own sake as much as theirs that they don't want to watch me die.
That's just something else to add to my list of things I want to do before I die: be remembered for something. Martyrdom isn't exactly my idea of success; I want to be remembered for being alive. Being remembered for killing is just as bad. I would hate to be remembered only because you've killed so many times that it seems like an achievement.
Piar Kelva is notorious for her horrible plastic surgery, even when you could still see her face, and she hasn't improved since. I guess she thinks it'll make her more popular and get her a promotion but really it's just hideous. I'd say she hasn't been replaced for the sole reason that no one wants to use the mike after her, least of all after her using it for years on end.
Even the thought of touching it makes me want to puke.
I can't even hear her speech as my heart beat fills my eardrums which is both a blessing and a curse; a blessing because we don't have to listen to her and a curse because we're alone with our thoughts while we pray we aren't going to our death. It remains this way until "Waverley Faulkner" is suddenly picked up by the mike and parroted around the square by dodgy speakers.
A wave of relief so strong rolls over me and dulls my senses so that I barely even notice that there's a commotion as her brother finally gets on the stage as a volunteer.
It takes me a second to realise that this means a girl can still be Reaped. It takes only a second longer to hear the name.
Not just any name, my name.
"Ivy Laurel!"
I know that in my heart I would do the same thing if I was in his shoes, I couldn't watch my sister go to her death, to be hurt by another person, but right now I'm not exactly thinking logically.
Instead, my first target has been located, Wesley Faulkner is so, so dead.
Wes:
Wade and Wanda are the first two to come in to say goodbye.
"Hey little bro… good luck," Wade manages to say, his tears leaving tracks through the coal dust on his face.
Wanda just sobs and hugs her little brother goodbye. I know that she's saying goodbye, I can feel it in the desperation of her hug and the wracking sobs as she grips me like a lifeline.
Eventually Wade descends on the group hug to join in the tear-shedding family sobfest until they both get pulled out.
Wanda tries to keep holding on, but the Peacekeepers just drag her away without as much as a glance at her or me.
Next are my parents.
I don't see them too often; Mother is a maid for a richer family in the merchant part of District 12 and father works in the mines just like everyone else in this hole.
That doesn't change the fact that they're the faces of my childhood. The people I turned to when I had a nightmare, the ones who buy me everything I own but most importantly they're my parents. I came out of them and I still owe them that, even if I can't repay them.
"You were so brave," Mother sobs as she runs forward and hugs me, running her fingers through my hair like I'm 5 again, leaping into her arms after I had a bad dream, "I'm so proud of you."
I nod into her arms as if to tell her 'I know' without making it obvious that tears are streaming down my cheeks and that the lump in my throat has rendered me mute.
Father tries to mask his emotions but I can still see the trickle of tears from the corners of his eyes.
Seeing my father cry is somehow worse than Wade and Wanda's hugging and sobbing, worse even than Mother's tears. Father is the rock, the one who's always there for us and never cries. Father is always the one who can't be talked down or abused, he's always just… him.
His tears shatter my resolve; my hopes of winning seem watered down by the trickle of his tears.
Then they too have to leave- forever.
Leaving Waverly. The one I want to see the most but also the one I'll never be able to say goodbye to.
The last thing I expect is Waverly storming in and slapping me right across the face, "Wave- what are you doing?" I take a step back from her as she suddenly bursts into tears- females.
"How can you leave me, Wes?" she sobs, "How can you let me go on without my big twin brother? I need you! I can't go on without you here…"
"I couldn't just let you go and die, Wave. You're my sister and you're more important than little old me."
She manages a weak smile at 'old.' All of about 5 minutes of old. "I'm not more important than you Wes… I need you…"
"I need you too but sometimes you have to think about more than yourself and I won't let you die when I could take your place. You know I have the better chance if nothing else. My thick skull will ensure that."
She can't even manage a wan smile as she leaps into my arms and I hug her until the Peacekeepers lead her away.
She hasn't even been gone for 5 seconds when I feel her absence like a hole in my heart. A hole that's never going to be filled. I may have the better chance of the two of us but that's barely a chance at all.
Ivy:
I've gone from promising Wes Faulkner's death at the Reapings to sobbing at the Goodbyes. Yay for mood swings…
No guests come for me.
I guess it's easier for my parents to stay at their shop and pretend they don't have a daughter than to come and visit her when they know she's probably headed towards her doom.
Instead of the bubbling anger that my Reaping inspired in me, the lack of goodbyes makes me feel empty. I'm definitely independent and not exactly the open, friendly type but does that really mean that no one cares enough to come see me off to my death?
It's not like I'm a bad person, I try to help people whenever I can and the idea of having to intentionally harm another human being is almost physically repulsive to me. Killing for your own safety is never going to be right in my eyes. Never.
I don't know how I'll be able to pull through the Games if I have to hurt or kill other people. The only reason I'm not a vegetarian is because it would kill me to decrease my food intake so much by eating no meat.
I still desperately want to prove myself to the Capitol, to the whole of Panem. I want to shine and be able to be different from everyone else and while I know that I can do that in the Capitol, I don't know if I can force myself to lift a weapon to kill so many other people. 23 kids who are just like me, poor and dragged away from their families while faced with the enormity of the eternal night every second.
While I have a party with myself, I can hear Wes' family each taking their turn to wish him good luck and see him off onto the train.
I can't avoid being envious of the compassion he receives while I'm here, all alone.
Story of my life.
It's kinda short but totally done; NO MORE REAPINGS! PARTY!
Also: Page 6 of the archive, really? I updated yesterday.