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XXX. Reaping
While it's no surprise to me that Marlene Summers steps forth to volunteer for the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games, my heart still pounds rapidly and my fists clench by my sides. This is probably one of the poorest decisions I've ever watched anyone make. I keep the stone-faced charade up as the camera pans over to me and I watch as a measly, thirteen-year-old boy limps his way onto the stage.
Fantastic, I think to myself. A girl who's planning to mutilate every single tribute in the arena, and a boy who can barely walk. What would go wrong?
I watch as visitors trickle in of the Justice Building, several coming back out bawling their eyes out. I lean against the wall with my arms casually folded across my chest, and watch the never-ending stream of visitors that make their way into Marlene's room. They chatter amongst themselves in excitement as they surge forward to most likely, shower her with compliments.
Meanwhile, I throw a few cheeky grins and winks over at the girls in the group, most of whom go to school with me and in turn, their cheeks blossom into rosy shades of pink. My mind's in another place, as I ponder over how I'm supposed to mentor a tribute who's older than me. She's only about seven months older but if she doesn't take shit from her elders, then it would undoubtedly prove to be a nearly impossible task to have her listen to me.
A sturdy force to my shoulder brings me out of my thoughts and I look down at my sister. "When are you coming back home?"
"At least two weeks," I reply. "After the victor's interview."
Her shoulders sag and Rhea stares at me, in an almost disappointed manner. "You're never home anymore," she whispers so softly that I nearly think she's talking to herself.
"I'm sorry." An apologetic smile is all I can offer. "You know I have to go."
"But, why?" she demands. "The Victors are supposed to take turns mentoring. You already mentored two years ago, and you go to the Capital even when the Games aren't on."
"Rhea, I hav-"
"You don't tell me anything!" she exclaims. "You know, I found out that you like Annie, out of all people, from Oliver! She's my best friend."
"I don't like Annie," I deny, stubbornly.
"That's not my point. My point is tha-"
"Do you think it's my choice?" I argue. "I don't want to go. I do want to tell you why I need to go but you're too young to understand."
"I'm fifteen." Rhea stomps her foot down, resembling like her seven-year-old self. "I think I understand enough to know that you've been screwing the Capital women."
I stare at her in shock, raising my eyebrows. "Who told you?"
"No one had to tell me. When you're gone, you're always on TV. You always have yours hands under some woman's dress. It's not hard to figure it out. How do you think Annie feels?"
Suddenly aware of the film and audio recorders in the Justice Building, I simply reply with, "I don't care about how she feels," before I'm whisked off onto the train by the Peacekeepers. The last glance of my sister is her appalled expression as she screams to me that this conversation isn't over.
"I'll take the kid," says Joseph.
And that's the only bit of conversation we have on the train ride. Marlene scowls but doesn't say anything. She stays within my field of vision, without saying a word and avoids any eye contact with me as she stares out the window with an impassive, unreadable expression. Her blue eyes, cold as ever, seem to pierce through the window and reflect back from the glass as we pass the tunnel, which only lasts a few seconds long. In her right hand, she holds a butter knife and as innocent as such an act could be, I know just how dangerous it is for her to hold an object, which merely spreads butter onto bread. Her left index finger traces down the jagged edge of the knife, her nail scraping along it every so often. Sometimes, she lifts it up to scratch it against the window and dragging it down, which consequently emits a sound that resembles much like nails running down a chalkboard.
Absentmindedly, I watch her every move, popping sugar cube after sugar cube into my mouth. Unaware of the now empty bowl, I scoop in for another block of sugar, only to frown in disappointment when I touch nothing but glass. The door slams loudly, as Joseph walks out the room with his puny tribute, most likely sick of the tense silence in the carriage.
"So are you going to keep staring at me?"
I blink, yawning and finally come to my senses that I've been watching her every move like a hawk. "Sorry," I apologise. "Tired."
She snorts, rolling her eyes as I yawn again. "Obviously. You stay up too late screwing your neighbour?"
"No," I deny, shooting her a dirty look. I almost say, 'Stayed awake, worrying if you were going to volunteer or not.'
"Are you going to mentor me? Because you're doing quite a bad job at it now."
"I already know everything about you: your best weapon, your worst weapon, your strengths and weaknesses, how you fight and what you'll do in the arena," I list, ticking off my fingers as I do.
"Yeah?" Marlene replies, "And what exactly am I going to do in the arena?"
"You'll probably be one of the first ones to the Cornucopia, assuming it's flat ground, of course. You'll grab a sword and tear through as many people as you can and that's what you'll do for the rest of the Games with the Careers."
"Well, you're wrong." She pauses for a brief moment before admitting, "Okay, you're only half correct."
I stay silent for a moment, unable to come up with a coherent response and end up asking, "Are you going to team up with the kid?"
Marlene scoffs, looking at me as if I've gone nuts. "No. Who do you think I am? A desperate loser?"
"With the way you're talking like you've got the world in your hands? Yes."
"I'm not going to team up with him, but if he tags along with the Careers then who am I to care?"
I groan in frustration, running my hands through my hair and shaking my head. At least we've come to the mutual - and silent - agreement that we're not bringing up that feud we'd had a few months back. "No, Marlene. Do you not care for anyone? Not even an innocent kid from your own district?"
"Of course I care."
"Then why are you so difficult to work with?"
"Because you suck at mentoring?" she offers. A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. "Joking. I just can't find it in myself to care enough for anyone else when they haven't proved to me why I should care for them."
And finally, Marlene Summers says something deep - kind of. It's probably the deepest thing I'll ever be able to get out of her, considering the minimal chances of her survival within the next few weeks. I can't help but ponder, why do I care for someone I don't know and hasn't done anything to prove themselves worthy for my care? "I suppose you're right," I say, quietly, "I've never really thought of it that way."
"Most people treat others the way they want to be treated, for the sake of being the better person. But really, you're supposed to treat another the way they treat you."
"It's not a 'supposed to' thing," I argue. "It's the person's choice."
She shrugs and we leave the conversation there, enjoying the silence for a while before we enter the Capital's premises. It's no wonder to me anymore. I don't find myself awestruck as I gaze out into the Inner Circle of the Capital, mostly because I'm sick of the sight already. Marlene stares out in amazement, her jaw slightly dropped and mouths a few words that I don't catch.
If only she knew what it's really like, I think to myself.
The butter knife is still clutched tightly in her hand but her attention has strayed too far to even notice it anymore, as she attempts to press herself closer to the glass window to take a better peek of the city. The train rolls in to a halt and once the door opens, all hell breaks loose. The high-pitched screams of the Capital men and women flood into our field of hearing. Marlene pulls a face at the ungodly sound and cringes, following me outside as we make our way through the crowd right behind Joseph and his tribute.
Leaning down to Marlene's height, I whisper in her ear through clench teeth, "Smile."
She forces a smile upon her face, and it's a sight which seems to be almost unnatural since I've never seen her smile all that much. Her stone-faced expression is the one I've grown used to over the years. I wink at Aurelia Winters, one of my regular customers and place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand, causing the rest of the women to crowd around her and swoon. Marlene rolls her eyes and scoffs in disgust at me, but I ignore her actions, placing a hand on her back and lead her through the crowd.
"It's a pleasure seeing you again, Miss Puffings," I greet a familiar redhead beside me, shooting a dirty look at Marlene as she snorts at the name. As hilarious as the woman's name is - Buttina Puffings -, my reputation would be ruined with one laugh that emits from me.
She smiles back at me, innocently. When we reach the Justice Building, it seems that Districts Two and Three have arrived just before us. I offer a polite nod and smile to Wiress and Beetee, two familiar figures who I'd grown to like, when I'd come to mentor Maxwell. District Two's Enobaria and Drakula offer nothing but a couple of sinister smiles as they stroll past me with their two tributes, who act as if everyone else is inferior to them.
I can almost hear their thoughts as the two tributes smirk at our own two tributes.
"We have about at least a day in the Capital before Districts Ten, Eleven and Twelve arrive," Joseph says as we enter the fourth storey's living room - a room I've grown to be all too familiar with. "Would you like to be trained separately or together?"
"Separately," Marlene replies within an instant. The boy snaps his head up, looking at Marlene in fear and gulps nervously. He hesitantly nods in agreement.
Joseph purses his lips and nods, stiffly. "Alright. We'll watch the recaps together to analyse each and every tribute, and then we'll split off."
The two of us sit on the far corners of the couch, with the boy and Marlene situated between us. Marlene eyes the kid warily, attempting to subtly move away from him slow and inches towards me. I don't blame her though; the kid reeks of raw fish, like he hasn't bothered attempting to clean himself up. His blonde, or maybe it was brown, hair is slicked back with the oil that I suspect that has been resulted from days or maybe even weeks of not showering. His bones stick out awkwardly, and he seems to have a back problem, which I think Doctor Audrye has mentioned to be scoliosis. His plain, white clothes sag down on his body, emphasising just how skinny the kid is and how pale he is, even wearing white.
Sighing, I stand up to allow Marlene to move to my spot, and I take her place next to the stinky kid. Joseph watches along in amusement as he takes a swig of his beer.
The credits of the Annual Hunger Games rolls on screen and the audio blasts through the speakers loudly, almost deafening me. Joseph's quick to lower the volume down as we watch District One's reaping. Down on the side, Cashmere and Gloss are in matching attire - a short, white dress with a black waistband, and a white dress shirt with black trousers. Cashmere has her usual serene expression, while Gloss looks as bored as he usually seems to be. And this time, there are no bruises and scratches, and shattered beer bottles.
Thank fucking God.
"That girl might be short and not look all that muscular," Joseph says, "But don't you dare underestimate her. Most Careers with a lean body shape are often great archers and runners."
The girl from District One has purple eyes.
"The boys from One and Two are often huge, and can find about twenty-five different ways to kill you with their bare hands in two seconds."
The kid next to me flinches and if it's possible, his skin turns even paler. Joseph jumps in to the rescue, to help as much as he can, which isn't much. "Don't worry, Thomas. You can run."
Marlene roars in laughter, then coughs rather exaggeratedly to cover it up.
Orion, the tribute for One this year, looks like a goth with his jet black hair, dark brown eyes and black attire - and not to mention, his piercing glare. "You'd probably want to stay on this guy's good side."
"No shit," Marlene replies with an eye roll.
Choosing to ignore her, Joseph continues on with the tributes from Two. "Damn, that girl's huge," he breathes out with wide eyes.
I stare at the screen, my jaw slack. "Is it even possible for a girl to be that big?" I ask, rhetorically.
The kid next to me whimpers softly and I can even hear Marlene gulp nervously as she leans back for a moment. "And they say I'm tall for a girl."
She's five foot eleven now. Of course, she's tall.
"You are tall," I reply. "This girl's just… taller and bigger."
Marlene might have visited the Training Centre everyday, but she wasn't massive like most who went as often as her. While she wasn't completely skinny, she was more towards the lean side, though it was evident that she had plenty of muscle. The girl from Two however, seemed to dwarf the boy from Two, and the sight was utterly absurd.
The only good thing I can point out is that she's ugly, and won't be able to receive all that many sponsors. Ugly isn't a word I usually describe a woman but bad looking wouldn't be too much of an understatement to describe her.
"How in the world…" Joseph trails off and shakes his head before continuing on. "This year, the field of tributes is probably at a pretty high level of skill and training. District Two's at an advantage this year."
District Three's tributes seem to be of average height and weight this year, unlike the past few years. When we come up on screen, Marlene walks her way upstage as probably the only girl to have ever worn a shirt and shorts to a Reaping. It's slightly disrespectful but no one seems to pay any attention to her clothing choice. A close-up of the top half of her face appears before us, showing the audience her eyes before zooming back out and displaying Thomas. His stage presence is just how he currently looks: feeble, pale and skinny.
District Four's male is usually comparable to the standards of District Two, but not this year.
The rest of the tributes are average. There don't seem to be any particularly weak tributes this year, not even from District Twelve. Even with Marlene's exceedingly, great skills, we're at a disadvantage this year.
I feel a hand snaking its way around my heart, squeezing it with a vice-like grip. It crushes my confidence of bringing Marlene back home into the tiniest sliver of hope.
A/N: What do you think Marlene's game plan will be?