Welcome to District Two: Thank you to LokiThisIsMadness and SomeDays for Dane and Nero respectively. For those of you aptly following the tribute list, yes, there was a switcheroo because I made a mistake assigning the ladies of Districts 2 and 4, but all is righted now. And, in case you've forgotten, I still don't own the Hunger Games. I'm out of town this weekend, but am hoping to have a blog up for the tributes by next weekend. (the first weekend of October)

Cheers

*MGB

A Voluntary Wound

District Two:

Mentor: Glade Harborn – male Victor of the 3rd Annual Hunger Games (age 15 when won (reaped) 30 now

Mentor: Echo Banner – female Victor of the 8th Annual Hunger Games (18 when volunteered. Currently 28.)

Escort: Hiero Hisham

POV Glade Harbrook

Glade would almost have rather returned to the games himself. He couldn't bring himself to look at the masses before him, so he stared right through them. After fifteen years the faces looked the same, the names sounded the same. Maybe that was the point, the torment of mentoring. The Capitol was never really done torturing the Victors of the games. For the past ten years, Glade had been thinking that perhaps those who died in the games truly had the fortune. Yes, they suffered. Not everyone in the arena had a quick death, he knew that better than most, having sat beside his district partner as he knew she was dying of a poison, but she was too proud to admit it. Her agony had lasted for days and he had done nothing to stop it. Yet, as the oldest person on the stage, feeling eons older than his physical body was, he couldn't help but envy her. At peace at eighteen. Despite the horrific mask that the games had forced upon her, when she had breathed her last breath he had been at her side; he had witnessed her face turn peaceful and all the troubles of this world simply vanish. Into heaven? He wasn't sure if he believed that, but it was certainly better than this hell. This hell of living in blood day in, day out, of having deaths on your conscience and having to hide it. That was the worst part of it all. The permanent mask that he had to wear.

As the Capitol anthem played, he secured a hand on Echo's shoulder. He had to protect her. She'd been the only person he'd been able to bring back from the games in his fifteen years as a mentor. She was his Victor, his success and she kept shrugging him off. Couldn't she see that she meant the world to him? Echo firmly stepped away from his touch and glared angrily at him.

The anthem over, the worst part began. He would see the face of his next wound.

"The time has come to select our rising representatives for the ravishing second district." Hiero Hisham announced. Glade cringed; the escort was far too enthusiastic for him. A black ghoul would have been more appropriate instead of this neon orange bathed buffoon who insisted that his hairstyle must exceed his head's proper size. His unusually small hands circled the bowl only once; he didn't have the patience to make it dramatic, no matter how much Brutus had pleaded with him. "For our ladies, Dane Vautier!" Hiero announced in his sing-song.

"No!" Came a shout, but it wasn't Dane's voice. It certainly wasn't the voice of anyone who could take her place, either, for Glade knew that voice wouldn't come. He recognized it as her husband, Kellian's. The Peacekeepers were coming for him, far off in the audience with the rest of the adults, in case he made a fuss. He was shouting, but the eighteen year old walking towards the stage was anything but frightened. If she was as terrified as her husband seemed to be, her façade did its job of disguising any emotion. She confidently took the stage and stood in front of Echo. Echo made no move of trying to comfort the girl and Glade knew better than to try. She stood as still as stone, just as tall as he was, determined and unyielding beside the two mentors, as if she almost belonged there.

"For the boys. Let us have a warm welcome to the stage for Rufinus Glazer." Hiero had already picked the name as Dane approached the stage. He truly was impatient. A boy from the fifteen year old section, who could almost have been the spitting image of Glade half a lifetime ago, but before he could go very far a voice called "I volunteer" from the eighteen year old section. A handsome brown haired boy emerged, waving confidently through the male's section and the fifteen year old disappeared back with his peers. The boy smiled widely on his way to the stage, his entire appearance exuberating confidence. His black jacket unbuttoned slightly to see his crisp white shirt and his dress pants. He was prepared. That in itself always baffled Glade. How could someone prepare for this? He would never truly understand anyone who came in and knew they were volunteering. In his mind, it was a roadmap for either suicide or a mass murderer.

"Now, what is your name, son."

"I'm Nero Taplin. It's an honor to be here."

"Nero, it's a pleasure to have you. Dane, Nero, shake hands." Nero offered his hand to shake, but Dane seemed to be staring him down first. Glade wondered if she thought the same thing that he had about Nero, that he was the next candidate for the insane asylum. For a moment, it seemed like Dane would punch him out instead of shaking his hand, but then the tension faded and the two tributes disappeared into their respective retreats. Glade reached for Echo's hand but she immediately withdrew wordlessly, presumably to prepare for this most deadly of duties. After fifteen years, Glade was as ready as he could ever be.

Tribute Dane Vautier:

"I'll kill them all to get back to you. Don't think I won't," Dane promised. Kelian hadn't released her since they'd allowed him in the room. For an eternity they just sat there, wordless in each other's embrace, hoping that some miracle would stop time and right this wrong. Surely fate couldn't be this cruel. After her parents' death at a young age, years of mockery at the orphanage, certainly some reward was meant for her. Undoubtedly, after enduring so many years of her adopted mother's hatred, her adopted sister Aoife's resentment, there had to be some sort of compensation. She'd been married to Kel for two years and they had been the happiest of her life. Was that some sort of crime?

A knock at the door came and Dane knew their time was nearly spent. It was imperative that she be strong for him now. He had to believe as fervently as she did that she would return.

"I've trained. You know I can do this," she reassured Kelian.

"I know," he replied simply, pressing his lips to hers in an embrace that the Peacekeepers had to break.

As soon as he disappeared, the only other person Dane wanted to see rushed into the room, her adopted younger sister Kendra. The girl's curly red hair bounced as the sixteen-year old dashed to Dane.

"I'm so sorry!" Kendra exclaimed, the tears choking up her throat as she threw her arms around Dane.

"It's okay, Kendra. I'll be back before you know it," the more she said it the more doubt began to haunt at the back of her mind, little by little and Dane closed her eyes as she regained control. She could analyze the situation and now she needed to be in control. There would be time to panic later if she needed to. As easily as that, the rock solid feeling of her façade returned to her and she was impenetrable once more.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, one that could only belong to Koran, her foster father. That was the closest she would ever get to a hug from him; Koran was far from the touchy feely type, something he and Dane usually had in common. Not today, though. Today she held onto Kendra as though her very life depended on it.

"Be smart in there," Koran said. "You're a tough girl. You always have been."

"You're coming back," Kendra whispered, her voice quivering and Dane knew her sister was trying to convince herself.

"You know you don't deserve this," a voice came from the doorway and Dane braced for whatever atrocities were to come. It would figure that her oldest sister wouldn't have any pleasant parting words for her.

"Aiofe where is your mother?" Koran asked.

"Not coming. You really think she would say goodbye to the maid?" Aiofe snooted.

"If you wanted to go so badly, why didn't you volunteer for her?" Kendra demanded.

"First of all, check your age limits and secondly," Aiofe's voice began going into the high pitched whine it always did before a major temper tantrum. It was hard to believe that girl was nineteen and was looked upon as having her life together.

"This is where we make our exit," Koran said, grabbing his oldest daughter firmly, but allowing Kendra to remain behind. "Good luck, Dane." He was gone.

With only her and Kendra remaining things became simpler.

"Look after Kelian while I'm away. Make sure none of the girls go near him, or even think about going near him. I know he's charming, but he is mine," Dane said emphatically.

"He wouldn't dare," Kendra affirmed and Dane smirked. She would take that as a compliment.

"You'll have to look out for yourselves for a while, you and Kelian. Make yourselves your own little family. I won't be here to look out for you or prank our evil sister." Kendra rested her forehead against Dane's and another firm knock on the door told them that time was up. The sisters squeezed each other tight and Kendra turned away, but not before fastening her necklace around Dane's neck. Dane smiled. She really wouldn't be alone.

Tribute: Nero Taplin

"What did you do, Nero?" Nero almost wished he were alone right now for all the grief his mother was giving him. She hadn't hugged him goodbye, yet, so the lecture was obviously not over yet.

"I thought you would be happy," Nero said, truly baffled by the looks his sisters and his parents were giving him.

"I just want to know why," his mother demanded. His father tried to step in before the commanded the floor the way her fiery personality tended to. "Why would you volunteer? You're eighteen you could have been done with this whole mess. What in the name of goodness possessed you?"

"Mom, we need the money. We've been making ends meet, but we could be better. We could be so much better and I can make it happen."

"Money isn't worth your life, son."

"Amelia, the decision has already been made," his father stepped in, trying to be the voice of reason.

Nero could feel the tone in the room beginning to shift again. His mother was coming around and now was his time to work the charm that always got him out of trouble. He went up to her and stroked her cheek.

"Mom, I've been training for eight years. I know my strengths and I know the games. I can do this. Believe in me. Just imagine in two weeks I'll be coming back with all of the riches you could ever imagine." His mother couldn't reject the smile that lit up his eyes just thinking of the perfect life for his family, carefree for the rest of their days and all because he had the strength to put up with a week or two of hard work. His mother didn't say anything; there was nothing more Amelia could do than put her arms around her son and hold him tight for what might be the last time. His father was next and then he put the girls in his arms.

"Tami," he said to the fifteen year old "those boys had better keep their distance until I get back. You're turning into a beautiful young lady and if any of the hooligans think they're going to see you without my permission, they've got another thing coming." Nero could hear his father chuckling, probably from imagining Nero hurting someone for giving his sister a blade of grass like he had so many years ago.

"Flora, look after mom and dad. You're the most responsible one around the house now." This time his mother chuckled. It was a nightmare to get Flora to clean her pigsty of a room, any other responsibility was an impossibility.

The door opened and his family was gone. Nero breathed. The next time he saw them, they would be bathed in riches.

Glade Harborn – District 2 Mentor

Glade had triple checked the corridor to ensure that no one was around before diving into his room on the train and bolting the door. Hiero was too busy making last minute preparations around the train or something of that sort, Glade didn't really care. Echo was anywhere but nearby; he didn't even have the faintest idea of where she might be. He was secure in the knowledge that for once he was truly alone; not even the Capitol cameras could see him. He fingered his whip, his cat o nine tails, the very instrument with which he had won his victory fifteen years prior, and in one swift motion he let it soar through the air and it made a great impact upon his back.

"Dane," he whispered the name of the first tribute, breathed deeply and summoned his strength as he swung the weapon again. "Nero," he said at the impact and then put the instrument down again. It had done its work. His mirrors revealed that his back was bleeding, not profusely, but enough that it should have been painful. It wasn't. Glade felt nothing physical, no pleasure, no pain, not anymore. So year by year his body built up unfelt, unseen scars, each bearing the name of a tribute unalterably destroyed by the games. This was his power. He could not control anything within the tributes, within the arena, or truly anything at all. He could not give himself a peaceful death, but he could do this, show his body that he had at least the power to make it endure a voluntary wound.