Take My Place

District 10 Reapings

Disclaimer: I do apologize that this is dragging on so long. This will get finished, but it might take a while, so bear with me. Life comes up and, speaking 100% plainly, this story is not my top priority right now. Work and the people that I care about come first and I will not apologize for that. That said, I fully intend to make sure this story gets completed. Even if it is at the speed of George R.R. Martin. That said, I do not own the Hunger Games.

Thank you to Aosta Rathlin Age: 15 (Wannabe Mischief) Tyson Brindle Age: 17 (Elim9) Olivia Summers Age: 12 (S.M.M. 2002) Alaric Skinner Age: 18 (where-the-stars-fall-softly)

Steric didn't need to wake up to make it to the stage. She was already there. She knew she didn't want to wake up as normal in her bed and have to rush here, so she had saved herself the trouble. She and her flask of rum had been sitting on the stage by themselves all night. Now she saw the sun rising.

"How appropriate," she scoffed to no one in particular. "The sun is blood red." She took another swig and didn't feel it. She knew her limits, knew just how in control she had to be for the Reapings, just how much she could tolerate before actually taking on the Escort and the Peacekeepers like she wanted to. Steric knew just enough to keep herself in check. Just enough to keep her sane. It's how she'd made it through all those years of the Games. It was the only way she could live with herself.

It would still be several hours before anyone else was here, but Steric had already discovered something, something the Capitol, no doubt wanted to be kept secret. Hidden behind the podium precisely poised were two Reaping bowls. If the district had indeed selected only two tributes there would be no need of these bowls, no need for further bloodshed. But there was always a need. The Capitol had an insatiable thirst for blood. That would never change

"You're here early," the escort, Nora Shade commented hours later when she arrived on the scene. At that Steric finally stood and gave Nora a forced smile. No one could manage a real smile today, but she would fake, and with that fake smile imbue all of the venom she wished she had in her system. They would pay. One day they would surely pay. But she would have to be patient, for that day had not yet arrived.

"You know I didn't vote," Steric stated defiantly. "I didn't want to, so I didn't." She took another swig of rum from her ever draining glass and looked defiantly at Nora, as though she represented everything that was wrong with the system. In a sense, she did, because she was just a pawn, but, even then, Steric knew that she was only following orders, much like she was when she mentored.

"Don't say that so loud," Nora hushed her. "I won't do anything. You should know that, but the Capitol. They won't hesitate to take it out on you, even though you're a victor. Not this year."

"I know. Let them try," Steric hissed defiantly and stood stoically staring into the sun.

At long last the crowd trickled in. Little by little. They all looked so assured, like there was no chance that it would be them. They were fools.

Steric had never felt so calm about a Reaping. Instead of cutting it close like she usually did, she had arrived punctually, drawing confused looks from the escorts and everyone else in the district. Nora Bard, the escort even looked at her in admiration as she took her spot on the stage.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, playfully and Steric managed a smile. At least this year they had some control. At least, for the first time in years, the people in District Ten knew what to expect.

Twenty-five years they had doing this. Countless families affected by the terror of the Capitol. Steric couldn't help but feel there was a change in this. Not only with the Quell, but also with the change in the districts, in the conversations that had been happening with the voting. It had opened a dialogue. It was a terrible dialogue to be sure. Children should never have to consider campaigning, for whatever reason, for a fight to the death. The Capitol had, without knowing it, ignited a spark. Steric had a feeling they might not like where that spark led.

After so many years, she no longer felt fear or anxiety as the hordes of children rushed in. She felt as though she should feel a protective instinct, to reach out and protect them as she had so many years ago at her own reaping when she had volunteered. Her practical side had prevailed, though. She knew she would do what she could, but today none of this was in her control. She had had her say yesterday during the voting. Today was all about what was unfolding in front of her.

She looked to her side as Nora began the introductions. There was a look on her face that made Steric wonder, just for a split second, whether something darker was in store, something even she, with her experienced eyes couldn't have expected. Of course there was, she knew, and she settled herself back into a passive expression. Yet she felt a twinge of fight re-surging in her, something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

"Welcome to the first Quarter Quell," Nora addressed the crowd. She went into an even more long-winded history than usual, displaying the traditional video, saying the same words over and over. She was stalling. Steric could see it in the way she praised her victory years ago, re-hashing her games so vividly that she became convinced that the escort had watched them directly before the Reapings. There was something coming up that Nora didn't want to do. But no amount of words could prevent what was predetermined.

"As you know, yesterday the people of your district selected two tributes for the distinguished honor of entering The Hunger Games. As usual, these two tributes, a male and female, will have their names called." She was nervously playing with the Reaping bowl, but there was no reason for that. Nora already had the paper in her hand. Just get it over with, Steric thought.

"For the girls, Aosta Rathlin." A girl from the 15-year-old section timidly stepped forward. She wore a pale green dress and her long brown hair just hit her collar. She stood around 5'5" and, as she forced herself towards the stage, it seemed she had the same thought that Steric did: why had she been chosen.

"As I mentioned earlier," Nora's voice resounded, "there will be no volunteers this year." Her voice sounded decidedly reluctant, as though she herself hated making that announcement. Maybe it was because the next choice didn't seem any better.

"For the boys, Tyson Brindle," she announced.

Steric sighed as a boy from the 17-year-old section walked forward, completely dazed. She recognized this boy. No, it wasn't the boy who had nearly knifed her when she threatened him not to campaign. This boy wasn't that stupid. He'd been going around the district the last couple of weeks becoming more and more bold with his actions, anything that involved difficult labor. Steric had been worried that he'd been campaigning, but just the opposite. And now, clearly it had backfired.

He certainly wasn't someone that Steric would have picked if she had voted. He was stocky and around 5' 4", shorter than the girl and just as ill-suited to the Games, Steric knew as the two shook hands.

"Please do not go anywhere," Nora's voice pierced the crowd, hesitantly. In celebration of the Quarter Quell, and as retribution for the acts of some, the Capitol has deemed it necessary to add a Reaping to these elections. For these selections there will not be any volunteers either. First, the ladies."

She drew a name from one of the bowls, her hands trembling.

"For the girls, Olivia Summers.

Steric sighed as the twelve-year-old section parted. This time a girl in the () twelve year old section emerged hesitantly. Some of it was probably shock from there being a second reaping, some of it probably hoping it wasn't true. Steric sighed in frustration as the girl made it to the stage, her pale skin even paler than usual as her brown hair waved in the wind. She looked up at her district partners with her brown eyes wide, wondering what would come next.

Finally Nora got up the courage to announce the boys "The second male tribute will be Alaric Skinner."

This time was a little more merciful as a boy emerged from the eighteen year old section. As fate would have it, the second round seemed as though it would be more merciful than the first as a muscular boy emerged and made it towards the stage. He was blonde haired and tall and his blue eyes betrayed none of the terror that shown in the girl's. He did look back once at the girls' section, as though there was someone over there he meant to protect. Once he got to the stage he shook hands with his district partners, putting his hand on his fellow second rounder's shoulder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes for the twenty-fifth Hunger Games," Nora announced, her voice catching. It was Steric who had to step in and usher the tributes to the Justice Building. She took a deep breath. This only got harder and harder. At some point, she knew something would have to give.

Alaric Skinner:

"Are you okay?" Alaric asked as Violet held him tight. He knew it was a foolish question, but it was his responsibility in these last moments to make her feel as safe as he could. She was losing her refuge, her stronghold, so these last few moments were for her.

It worried him that she didn't answer. She was usually so vocal, even when times were tough. He lowered himself to her level and looked into her eyes. He saw the adoration there, but also the terror, the terror that had filled her nights recently. He didn't want to add to that fear, but the Games had left him no choice.

"Violet, I'm going to come back. Just two or three weeks you have to make it and I'll be back to protect you. Just stay in the house."

"Okay," his sister agreed. She was brave. She always had been. He knew if those boys tried to mess with her again, even if he wasn't there, she would hide in the house, she would tell her parents, she would do whatever she had to do, at least that's what he had to tell himself. He couldn't dwell on how he had come across them just far enough away from the house where they thought they wouldn't be found just about to do who knows what. He wouldn't think about the dreams that Violet still had about what they had tried to do. He wouldn't think about what could have happened if he hadn't been there and beaten those boys to a pulp. He wouldn't think about it because he would ensure it wouldn't happen.

"I love you," he said," hugging her tightly to his chest and fighting the tears that threatened his eyes. They had already brimmed over in Violet's and he had to stay strong for her.

"I love you too," she replied as the door opened. She bravely wiped her eyes and was gone.

Olivia Summers:

She stared at her parents' faces, terrified the memory would evaporate in the next several weeks. This is why she had to be strong, this is what had to keep her going.

Her mother couldn't even look at her. The memory of her sister's death from pneumonia all those years ago still haunted her. How could she think of her only daughter being sent to the Games?

Olivia tried to be strong, but she couldn't. The tears came.

"I don't want to go," she whispered. She knew she was defenseless in the matter, that she could do nothing. She was going to the Capitol, to the Hunger Games. Everything was fixed and it was impossible to change. Her anger, her fear, her arguments that her parents needed her, that they couldn't take another heartbreak, all of them were futile.

"Here," her father extended his hand. Something soft and comforting touched hers. It was something she desparately needed and the tears continued to fall at the touch.

"You can take it into the arena. It shows how innocent you are. Play that up and maybe . . ." her father's voice trailed off in hope, in fear. "You will come back," he finished, stronger, more confidently, as though it were he himself going into the arena.

Olivia cradled the lamb's wool tightly in her hand, clutching it as though her very life depended upon it.

Her father hugged her tightly, and in his arms, Olivia seemed to sense a fury, a fight, something she had never sensed in him before.

Aosta Rathlin:

"It shouldn't have been me," Aosta growled. Her fury was in full force. Her parents had already left the room, her mother in tears. Of her five other family members, the only one left was her younger brother, Hal. At thirteen, he was just old enough to deal with what was going on, to truly understand, because he himself had been at risk. Her other siblings were too young, too stupid to understand the risks that she took just by growing up. It was a stupid way to run a society, but some president in his high tower had deemed it to be completely necessary and now all of the population was subject to his will.

"It's definitely the short end of the stick." Hal agreed. "Maybe you did do something, like mom said." Aosta scoffed.

"Then everyone is just as daft as we thought. So if I do win. I come back and I exact vengeance on everyone who voted me in. Do they really think I won't?"

That's where anyone else would have backed away, would have shut up or gotten out. Not Hal. He was just stupid enough, just stubborn or thick skinned enough to keep up with her. That's the real reason he was her favorite sibling.

He only hesitated a split second before asking his next question.

"If the worst happens, is there anything that you want?"

"It's not going to happen," Aosta hissed bluntly, her fury hiding just behind her eyes. "It's not, it's not." She knew she sounded like a spoiled child, but this was supposed to be a moment of encouragement, one last moment with someone who believed in her unconditionally and her brother wasn't giving her that.

"Of course it won't," Hal stepped back, his eyes firm. "I'll see you soon." He was succumbing to her will for once, taking Aosta aback. "Here's your necklace. It's fit for a victor," he stated as he held out her favorite necklace with two gold leaves enameled on it. He'd gotten it for her for her birthday last year. He placed it in her hand and, before she could say another word, vanished.

Tyson Brindle – 17 District 10 Male Tribute round 1

He still couldn't quite believe what had happened. Tyson stared at his parents in disbelief, trying to be brave. He had worked so hard to not be in the Games only to have this all blow up in his face.

His older sister Aster was hugging him tightly, not in a babyish way, but in a way that comforted him. It made it almost bearable to think about what was about to happen; so much so Tyson could almost feel his sense of humor returning.

Almost. There was a look on his brother's face that Tyson almost didn't recognize. His brother, only a year older than Tyson, had always been the opposite of Tyson in temperament, a loose cannon, as it were. But now he wore an expression Tyson didn't recognize. His eyes seemed furious, yet there was something else behind them.

"Listen," Triston said. "I've been impressed with how hard you've been working the last couple of months. You're going to need to keep it up in the Games. I know you can, though. I mean, our whole district knows."

"Triston, that's enough, maybe it's just best to be silent right now," Deanna, their mother said.

"Tyson, look what I got you," Aster said revealing a headband signed by the whole family. "We're all with you and all wishing you the best."

"Wait," Tyson asked. "What do you mean the whole district knows?"

"Well, son," his father, Weston continued, "it means that we all have faith you'll do well. That's why you've taken on so much responsibility, to prepare for this. And them voting you in is their vote of confidence that next year you'll stand next to Steric as a victor."

"Wait, what do you mean the responsibility I've taken on. Preparing for this?" Tyson exclaimed. It seemed as though something was beginning to fall into place. He looked at Nelson, not wanting to believe it.

"You told me if I was lazy I'd get voted in," Tyson's voice broke. "I thought I did everything right! Are you saying . . ."

"Allright, folks, time's up," a voice said from the doorway. Aster embraced him on more time and handed him her headband. Nelson, though, wouldn't even meet his gaze as he left and Tyson's eyes filled with tears.

"So lately, been wondering
Who will be there to take my place
When I'm gone you'll need love to light the shadows on your face"