District Six Reapings: Holding Rocks on the Shelves

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games (still). Once again, my apologies for the delay. Once again computer problems, except this time my old computer bit the dust. So now, thanks to my backup sister, I've got most of my stuff, but it did cause a time delay. Sorry about all of that. On the upside, my new computer is pretty awesome! So, there's that. Also, reapings are tedious!

Thank you to when-is-winter-coming for Francesca, SnowKat15 for Linus, Isteed for Adelaide, and anonymous-pitcher-plant for Carson.

Ava Ermingard: District 6 Mentor

"Mommy, how do I look?" Ava's daughter's voice shocked her out of her reverie. It was only one more year, Ava promised herself. One more year and then she would be free to spend the games here, with Jasmine, here keeping her family strong.

At six, the little girl still didn't understand the Games, and it was better that way. She hoped by some miracle she could keep Jasmine safe for the years to come, all the way until she turned nineteen, too old for the reapings, and only then explain to her the terrors from which she had been spared. But of course she couldn't. Jasmine didn't know anyone aside from her mother who had been in the Games already, but she would. Within a few short years, it would become inevitable. The first couple years from twelve to fifteen, it would be less probable, but of course Ava couldn't shake the fear that the Capitol would want to see a victor's relative in the arena, especially given the poor turnout district six had had in the years since Joran's victory. Since then, they had stood alone at all of the ceremonies for so many years.

She had promised herself at the eighteenth games when she learned of her pregnancy, sworn she would bring one of her tributes home. It was funny how she could barely even remember their names. She could, if she focused hard enough, recall their faces, but those had always been easier than names. There were just so many of them by now, too many.

"I want to come with you," Jasmine protested. "Look at me, I'm pretty enough."

"It's not about that," Ava managed to laugh. She was all about telling her daughter what the reapings weren't about, what the games weren't about, always defining the atrocities by what they were not. It was not dangerous for Jasmine's mother, it was not something that would keep her away from Jasmine forever, only for a little while and she would come back. "It's not about who is the prettiest. It's about who will . . ." she paused, choosing her words carefully. "who will stand up for us. And you're not old enough. So even though you're the most beautiful girl in district six, you're going to stay back with daddy."

"When I'm old enough, I want to go with you." Ava froze. The girl didn't know what she was saying. Ava brushed it off as that and put the finishing touch, a white bow, in Jasmine's hair.

"There," she coddled, "you're all ready. Now go show your father."

Edmund was already waiting in the living room, scooping up Jasmine. He'd doubtless overheard the conversation, but said nothing, only laughed as he threw his daughter high in the air. As she was giggling, he leaned in and kissed Ava.

"I'll see you when it's all over," he encouraged her, squeezing her hand. Ava nodded and managed a smile as she dashed out of the house. Better to keep the goodbyes short. That was the way she always wanted it. Short goodbyes and long "hellos."

Joran Duff – District Six Victor

He could feel the weight of the Games on his shoulders again. No, not the weight of the Games, the weight of Ava's desperation. She needed to be out of this and he needed to do whatever was in his power to ensure that this happened.

It was frustrating that he knew there was nothing in his power to ensure that happened. Never in the Games had he felt so helpless. Only now, as a mentor, did he feel utterly sidelined, even in his own life. He was owned by the Games, imprisoned by them. At least that's what every girl he'd been with since the Games had told him. But they didn't understand. They didn't know what he'd gone through. Only Ava did and now she had grown beyond them. She had her daughter and her husband. And what did he have?

Now he had the Games. He had two tributes who would soon be his to mentor, his to instruct and his to, hopefully, return one of them home.

He managed a serious smile at Ava as she took the stage with him and then at the Escort, Grimwold, as he began announcing.

"As you are all aware, this year, you have had the privilege and the honor of selecting your own tributes for the twenty-fifth annual Hunger Games. I will now read the names of the male and female tributes selected."

Joran braced himself, trying to trust in the judgment of his district. After all, they had two victors, surely he could trust that the masses knew what to look for, someone strong, someone who would do well. . .

"For the girls, Francesca Flores."

"Damn it!" came a loud curse from the fourteen-year-old section and Joran immediately began to question his district's judgment. A fourteen-year-old, while not necessarily an immediate loss to the Games would certainly not have been his pick. He had voted for one of the eighteen year olds, a girl who would have done well. This girl, stomped forward, before the Peacekeepers had to come and get her, her fists clenched into balls and her face glaring, spewing hatred to the entire world. This was their selection to represent their district?

As she took the stage, he tried to size her up, struggling to give her a second look, to see something in her that would have turned the populous against her. After all, the point of having a tribute was to have an opportunity to win, not to send them to the wolves. This short girl, despite her fury, certainly didn't have any physical imposition. She was underfed, despite her larger build with dark curly hair. She might have seen him sizing her up, because she looked over her shoulder at him with a look of equal accusation.

"For the boys, Linus Rathborne."

Almost as suddenly as the curse from the girl, a laugh rose from the seventeen-year-old boy's section. Joran was so taken aback that he nearly stepped back, but for Ava's sake held his ground. A slightly shorter than average male with long brown hair stepped forward and, with an odd spring in his step, made his way to the stage. He wasn't smiling when he made his way up, but a slight smirk, almost like a bit of irony was on his face.

Why these two, Joran wondered? What had possessed his district to believe this was the best they have to offer. He started for the edge of the stage, but was interrupted by Grimwold's voice.

"Now, in addition to your selected tributes, as repercussion for some of the actions of individuals in the previous games, the Capitol has decreed that there will be a second reaping held. This reaping will be selected only by raffle as in years before, but no volunteers will be permitted for the boys or the girls."

So there would be four tributes from each district this year. Perhaps the odds would be more merciful and just than his own people had been. Joran still didn't understand their logic, but right now it didn't matter. Now they only had to deal the hand that they had been dealt.

"For the girls, Adelaide Thomas." The fourteen-year-old section parted again. What were the odds?!

The first thing Joran noticed were her green eyes, highlighted by their size and terror as she approached the stage. She stumbled once or twice, surprising because of her graceful looking body. Her face, which ordinarily may have had a kind expression, only held fear, holding back the tears that were threatening to seep from her eyes.

"For the boys, Carson Trundle."

At least the boy stepped forward, without hesitation from the sixteen-year-old section. His brown eyes appeared stoic and strong as he stepped forward towards the stage and joined the two girls and his counterpart for the boys. They were quite an odd mix, and would certainly be a handful for Ava and he to handle. It was difficult enough to feel as though they were doing their tributes justice in the Games when they were able to give them one-on-one attention, sometimes two on one if one of the tributes passed early on, but now, with four of them, their attention would be divided. Everything would become more difficult.

"Which ones do you want?" he asked Ava.

"The second girl," she answered immediately. "And the first boy." She was sure, for some reason, and Joran allowed it. Hopefully one of those two would be their ace.

Ava wasn't good with names, but Joran was. "That leaves me with Francesca and Carson, then," he agreed. "We're going to get through this," he encouraged her, resting his hand firmly on Ava's shoulder. She nodded and smiled. She had to; her daughter was waving goodbye to her from the stands.

Francesca Flores Round 1 District 6 Tribute:

"It doesn't make any sense!" Francesca screamed. She wasn't crying; that would be a useless sign of weakness and that wasn't who she was. She never showed weakness, not when her drunk parents were abusing each other, not when they were neglecting, abusing or ignoring her. Never. She had to be strong because no one would be strong for her.

And that was exactly who was left to come and comfort her now. No one. She sat in the cell, screaming injustice at the walls, holding out. But what was she holding out for? That something would come and save her, that something would take back time and declare that everything that had happened had been a mistake, a terrible misunderstanding. She was far too grown up to believe that would happen. She had stopped believing in the fairy tales that used to be on her shelves a long time ago.

Much to her surprise, the door creaked open.

"Francie?" a voice questioned and a somewhat familiar face popped in. She didn't believe it at first, it couldn't be. But surely enough as he continued talking, words without meaning, the voice, the face, the stature they all came together in the figure of Randolph.

"I'm so. . ." he started.

"How dare you!" she stared him down, coldly, cutting him off mid-sentence. "How dare you come back, today of all days. For all I know you voted for me yourself."

"Francie, I didn't you have to . . ."

"No, you don't get to tell me what I have to do. I don't have to believe you or a single word that comes out of your mouth, not after what you pulled," she growled, her eyes dangerously dark. This was worse than being alone. This was the universe slapping in her face with the one figure who could have saved her years ago, the one who had escaped and had never returned.

"Get out." She said.

"Francesca, you're my sister."

"I don't care. I'm going to the Games and I'm going to be ready. Do you want me to practice with you?" That did it! Randolph, with a sad look in his eyes, turning out of her life again. Good riddance.

Carson Trundle District 6 Second Round Male Tribute:

It would have made sense, Carson thought. If his district had had any sense at all, they would have voted him in the first round.

He shrugged He could never get into people's heads that much. In the end, the reasons didn't matter, only the facts. Only the fact that the second round had happened and now he was bound for the Hunger Games.

He didn't even bother looking at the door. He knew it wouldn't open, just as the door to his home, or what used to be his home would never open again. He was okay with that. After all, it was what it was and there was nothing that he could do about it.

He would fight, to be sure. When it came down to it, if he had to look at anyone with whom he had stood on the stage today and look them in the eyes as he killed them, he could. At least he thought he could now. He'd been on his own for a very long time now, and everyone in the district knew it. Had that been fear he had seen in the boy in his district's eyes. He looked vaguely familiar, like they might have been in around the same year in school, back in the days when Carson used to go to school, but Carson might have just been making that up, having a true human longing for some sort of connection, no matter how temporary, how distant before he was thrown into the Games.

But he knew this was the worst time to look for that. No. He, Carson Trundle, was on his own.

Adelaide Thomas District 6 Female Tribute Round Two:

Breathe, just breathe, she repeated as her family filed into the room. She put on a smile for them, for the sake of her parents and her two younger sisters.

For a moment, she envisioned their family together, in the rare moments when her parents were home from work and they were all enjoying each other's company. The sunlight lit the room and illuminated it, much like her yellow dress now.

She had put it on this morning thinking to cheer those being reaped. After all, there was no way that the district would vote in a fourteen-year-old, not when they had the choice. Even when they had, she had believed she was safe. No one could have known about the second round.

Her sisters clung to her and she gave them a quick hug. She could feel energy surging in her, the desire to run, to escape, to be anywhere else. She had the speed, after all. Could she make a go of it as her family was leaving? She might be able to dash away while no one was looking and then escape the district.

No, she dismissed the thought as she looked at her family, their encouraging eyes, their confidence. Despite the odds she could make it home. Despite her two older district partners, the larger number of tributes and the threat of a looming quarter quell, she could do this.

"Breathe, Adelaide," her father whispered in her ear. He had coached her through track when he could, watched her fight to run, watched her struggle with her nerves before every race. But this was no mere race, no competition that was done in a heartbeat, this was her life she was dealing with and this was a competition she intended to win.

Her bangs flopped in her face and, instinctively, her younger sister knew what to do. She handed her one of her yellow running shoes, the ones that Adelaide had chosen not to wear this morning, for fear that, despite what Fiona, her eight-year-old sister, insisted, they would not match her dress. Now she unlaced the shoe, just like her family was being unlaced and tied the lace firmly in her hair, tying it back and out of her face. Everything was clear now, Her vision had never been more perfect, her goal more succinct as she watched her family exit the room. They were once again her goal.

Linus Rathborne District 6 First Round Male Tribute

"Why did you laugh?" his mother scolded.

"Mother, please, since when is laughing a crime?"

"They did this! The people you live with, the people we live with. Linus, you're my son. I don't understand why they did this to you!"

"Mildred, would you please calm down. They had to vote someone in."

"How do you think this is a time for calm, Wallace. They targeted our son."

"Come on, mom. At least it won't be boring," Linus offered. No, he was not excited at the prospect of being a tribute, but he wasn't going to explain his rationale or his reason for laughing, or even his optimism to his mother. It was a change of pace, to be sure a dangerous business, but what was there to be done about it now. After all, he wasn't very well going to challenge the Capitol and stop the Games, not from here. He had no choice but to play the Game.

As his mother ranted on, his sister, Melina handed him the object he'd been hoping she would bring, his old pocket watch. As words poured from his mother's mouth, lectures about this and that, he played with the nobs absentmindedly, nodding at the right times, responding with the right words, everything he needed to do to play the part of dutiful son.

"Why do you have that thing?" His mother's shrill voice and tone and a question, clearly directed at him demanded his attention.

"It was a gift from Melina. You wouldn't deny my only sister that luxury, would you?"

"It's broken, Linus. What good is a broken pocket watch going to do you?"

"Now, mother. Even a broken pocket watch is right twice a day," he pointed out. "And you know, everything is about time. So I want you all to relax, enjoy and have the time of your life." Hopefully he would return with his life.

"Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth it was worth all the while"