A/N Hey! We have now begun the Non-Reapings! For those of you who are new to my SYOTs, I don't write Reaping chapters. I abhor writing them, so I write Non-Reapings, which just show a certain day before the Reapings.
Also, I have to thank y'all for 60 reviews! That's an average of 12 reviews per chapter! I haven't had this many since the prologues for Meaningless! Let's hope that people don't drop from reviewing…
About the blog, I'll address some common concerns. First of all, Tyson is not black. There is a good reason for that. Clover is half black, so that works out.
that's about it
Let's go!
Splendor Boucher, 18, District One Female
My father backs our car out of the parking space, filling my ears with beeping, before shifting gears and taking us out of the lot and onto the main road home. I am sitting in the passenger seat, and I watch as our vineyards fade away into the distance. Our vineyards. The Boucher seal on a wine bottle marks it as the highest quality in all of Panem. It's not grown in District Eleven, where the cheap families grow their grapes. We only settle for the best land in District One, and now that we've beaten the Armins in control of this area, we've firmly got our hands on the best grape-growing land in all of Panem.
"You are volunteering?" my father says, pronouncing the words more like a statement than a question.
"I have thought about it," I say, enunciating every word carefully, "I'm not going to volunteer."
He slows to a stop as the traffic light turns red, and he turns to look at me, narrowing his steel blue eyes. "Why not?"
"It's not necessary," I say, "There are better, more reliable ways to become successful. I don't need to be a victor."
The light turns green, and we speed forward. "Being a victor is a class of its own," he says, "No matter how successful I am, I'll never be equal to a victor. It will be the same for you."
"I don't look up to anyone," I say, my words sharp and biting.
"Watch your words," he returns, "Be very careful about what you say and how you act. It might be taken as rebellious."
Rebellious. May I never be associated with that word. Rebels burn, pillage, and destroy. Nothing good ever comes out of them.
"Still," I say, "I have made up my mind. I am not volunteering. I know they picked me at the ceremony yesterday, but I know that at least six of them are desperate to volunteer. I am not needed."
He pulls into our driveway and parks the car. "I cannot force you," he says, "Since you have made up your mind, go clean out your locker in the Training Center. You will not be needing it anymore."
When I step into the house, I see Pearl, one of our three maids, cooking lunch. I walk past her and into the living room, where Glory, my fourteen-year-old brother, has his eyes glued to the television screen, playing some Hunger Games simulation.
"You aren't volunteering, are you," he says without looking up.
"How did you know?" I ask.
"I saw Dad's face."
"Oh."
I keep going and go up to the room I share with my sixteen-year-old sister Elegance. She doesn't have any intention of ever volunteering. I can't imagine her in the Games at all; right now, she's busy embroidering a handkerchief with my cousin Prada, who is one year younger than I am. Her twin sister Gucci is probably somewhere nearby; they're always close to each other. She doesn't have the patience for this, though. If I had a guess, she probably just joined Glory downstairs.
I quickly change into clothes more suitable for the Training Center before hurrying out the door and going to the Center.
The sliding glass doors open for me as I enter the building. Though it's not hot outside yet, the air conditioning is blasting frigid air. The temperature in here is different every day; it's so that we get used to all weathers. I walk through the huge, main training room, where I see Onyx Avington throwing huge knives at the targets.
"Hello," I say, greeting him. The Avingtons are high class, equal in rank to our family. They're deserving of my respect, and so, I give it. Respect is needed when it's due.
"Good morning," he replies, turning his head. That's a pretty good start. He usually doesn't say much.
"Congratulations on yesterday," I say, "Being chosen is no small honor."
"Hmph." He throws another knife, "There are always higher honors."
"Very true."
He turns back to his knives, and I continue towards the locker rooms. When I sweep my eyes across the room, I lock eyes with Julieus Armin, son of the Armins, our major competition in wine production. We recently took hold of a piece of land they had their eyes set on, and they're not too happy. He glares at me with his cold blue eyes before breaking eye contact and going back to his spears. I hope his sister isn't around. She only makes my life harder.
I enter the locker room and find mine: Number 024. I twist the dial for what will probably be the last time, and the door pops open, revealing two jackets, a book, and a folder. That's all I have here.
I fold my jackets and stack everything together. That's it. I gave the locker a thorough cleaning when I first received it, so there's no need to clean it now—I've kept it as clean as a well-kept sword.
I pick everything up and hurry to the door. Goodbye. I won't be coming back here often, mainly because I'll be busy working under the Boucher seal. It's not that I haven't been doing so, but now I'm going to be a full-time worker. Of course, higher education is always a possibility, but only government officials need it. Whatever happens, life is going to change.
I shift everything I'm holding to my other arm to open the metal door, but at this moment, someone opens the door and walks right into me.
"I'm so-" She stops and narrows her eyes. "Splendor Boucher," she says, pronouncing the words as if they were poison.
"Iluma Armin," I say. Iluma is the oldest of the Armin children, and she was also selected to volunteer. She's the last person I want to see; it's even worse than running into a beggar.
She looks at the small pile of things in my arms. "Cleaning out your locker?"
"I'm sorry, but it's really none of your business," I say, wishing to blow up in her face. It's so hard to be composed around her.
"Oh…" she says, her thin lips twisting into a pale smile, "You're not volunteering, are you."
"What makes you say that?"
"You're too scared," she says, "Of course you are. You don't want to leave your precious little vineyards."
Or maybe I'm smart enough to see where my best odds are. And talking about our "precious little vineyards," we bought them fairly. But I keep myself from saying these things.
"As I said before," I say, trying to avoid sounding too rude, "It's none of your business."
"You won't confess it either," she sneers, "I am volunteering, and I'm not afraid of it."
I hope you die in the Games. "Then good for you," I choke out, "Now, even if you mind, I have to go."
I turn around and leave. That Iluma Armin. Sh thinks she can rub it in my face just because she thinks she's better than I am. She's not even full upper class; her eyes are brown, which mean that one of her ancestors was a commoner. She doesn't even fully deserve my respect.
I storm down the road home. Iluma Armin. I might never see her again; I need to get back at her for this. I might seem to overlook a person's mistakes, but mark my words, I will never fully let her go. I've never let anyone get away with anything, and I don't intend to make Iluma an exception. But she's volunteering in a little over a month, and then she'll be out of my grasps. Unless…
I've made up my mind by the time I get home. I drop my stuff off in my room and hurry over to the study. Hesitating, I knock on the mahogany door.
"Come in," my father says.
I open the door.
"What is it?" he says, not looking up from his paperwork.
"Father," I say, "I've changed my mind."
"About what?"
I take a deep breath. "I will volunteer."
Onyx Avington, 18, District One Male
I toss a foot-long knife at the target, hurling it like a small javelin. Sure, some people think that this form of knife-throwing is only for beginners, but it's effective. Spinning it end over end decreases its strength, and it's harder to get a good stick. It's much easier and much more effective to hurl it straight forward.
It hits about a half inch away from the center of the target. That would usually be enough in the Hunger Games—it's the number we're told to aim for—but it's not good enough. Even though pretty much everyone else is gone, I'm staying here until I can reliably hit dead center. Here I go again. Since I don't plan to volunteer, I officially don't need this training, but really, if I mean to remain as a weapon, I have to keep myself in tip-top shape.
I throw another knife, and it barely misses the center dot. Not good enough. And another-
"Rrrrrriiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnggggggggggg!"
That would be my cell phone. I put down the knife and go to the metal bench by the cold blue wall, where my bag—and my phone—is.
I flip it open. "Hello?"
"Hey, Onyx, it's Sterling." My brother.
"Oh," I say, "How was your game? Did District Two whip your butt again?"
He laughs on the other end of the line. "Ha ha, very funny," he says, "And for the record, we won the game."
"I bet," I say, "Why'd you call?"
"I just wanted to make that my observant little brother knew that it's almost nine o'clock and that he'd better get home because his brilliant older brother will be home tonight," he says. I swear he's holding back laughter. "I considered not calling, but I just had to make sure, you know? Of course, you already know this, but-"
"I got it, Sterling," I say cutting him off, "See you at home."
"Hey-"
I snap the phone shut and put it into my bag. After a quick shower, I hop on my bike and ride home. As I pass the Peacekeeper base, some of the white-clad monsters turn their heads to look at me. I don't flinch. They don't know that I burned down their local headquarters and stole their secrets three years ago. They think they're so scary; it was too easy. The security is really easy to get past if you know where to go. That's a part of my job, I guess. At least, my father treats me like a weapon half the time.
My phone rings as I approach the house, and I slow to a stop to pick it up. I'm home anyway.
"Hello?"
"Onyx, it's Alex."
Alex, otherwise known as Alexander Sierra. "Oh, hey."
"Can I come over tonight?" he asks.
"Why?"
"Please."
"Sure," I say, "If you don't mind Sterling in the house, that is. Marvelle also has a few friends over."
"I don't care," he says, "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. See you."
I push the bike into its spot and enter the house. It's surprisingly quiet; everyone must be upstairs. Alex takes fifteen minutes to get here, so I have a small chunk of time with nothing to do. I'll cook, I guess. I haven't eaten dinner anyway.
When I check the pantry, the first thing that catches my attention is a box of dried spaghetti noodles. I take it and throw the noodles in hot water to soften. I poke my head into the refrigerator, and I find one last bottle of the base for the sauce, which I made a while back. There are also mushrooms, so I prepare them too. According to the clock, I have five minutes left, so I grab all the materials and toss them in the pot with the strained noodles. I would do it one at a time, but I don't think I have that time. I turn down the fire on the stove to let it simmer.
There's a knock on the door, and I go to let Alex in.
"Hey," I say, "Come on in."
He takes a seat on the couch, and I sit opposite him.
"Thanks for letting me come here on such short notice," he says.
"Anytime," I say.
"I just needed to talk," he says, "I'm so tired of my life. I want to do something. You know, like you did when you burned down the Peacekeeper base. I'm so sick and tired of sitting around doing nothing."
"Makes sense."
"I talked to my dad the other day, and he told me to be patient. According to him, I'll be able to do more for the movement if I lie low until I have power. I completely get it in my head, but it doesn't make me feel any better, you know?"
"Yes."
"And then I found Ava crying last night because she misses Aria, and I got so mad," he says, his hands tightly clenched in fists, "Ava is thirteen. She shouldn't have to deal with losing her older sister. Aria was her example. The d*mn*d Capitol completely broke her when they killed Aria. It's almost like I've lost two sisters. Does this make sense?"
"Yes."
"So I found myself staring at the Justice Building today, " he says, twitching with anger, "And I so wanted to tear it down. I wish I could get into the Capitol and tear it down from inside. I can't hold it in any longer, Onyx. Any longer and I'll burst."
The smell from the pasta is beginning to waft into the room.
"You know what you need?" I say.
"What," he says.
"A good, fresh bowl of pasta," I say, "C'mon, it'll make you feel better."
"What?"
I go to the kitchen, Alex in tow, take some noodles from the pot, and put it into a bowl for him. I place the bowl along with a fork in front of him.
"Here. Eat," I say.
"What about you?"
"I'll eat too," I say, getting some for myself.
"Thanks," he says, looking down at the food and beginning to eat.
Sure enough, by the time he's finished, he's calmed down significantly. He thanks me and leaves.
As I wash the dishes—the maids are done for the day—I mull over what he said. "If only I could get into the Capitol and tear it down fro the inside." That's it. The way to take down the Capitol is to bring it down from within, not fire at it from outside. Alex doesn't have the opportunity, but I do. I was picked to volunteer yesterday. If I made it in, I would be able to start stirring things up from within. This means one thing.
I'm volunteering.
Questions (Remember, this is only for you if you don't know what to say. Feel free to completely ignore these):
1. What do you think of Splendor? How does she compare to the average District One Female? Do you like or dislike her?
2. How many of you were completely wrong in your expectations of Onyx? Did this surprise you? What do you think of him?
3. Predictions for both of them?
4. Which tributes are you waiting for?
5. Do you hate my long A/Ns? Do you actually read them?
A/N That's it for District One. School starts for me in less than a week, so I may get busy. I'll try my best to get the next chapter out within a week.
See y'all!
~Joseph