Minthe Alexopoulos, 18, District Two Female

June 5th, 19 ADD, 3:14am - Just under one month until Reaping Day


Today had been, in all honesty, the happiest day of her life. Sure, it was hard for her to measure them as of late - she'd had a great deal of days over the last month that could easily have qualified for the title themselves, and even in failure to achieve that had rounded out her top ten quite nicely - but for Minthe Alexopoulos, there was truly nothing comparing to today, the fourth of June, nineteen years after the signing of the Treaty of Treason.

Because the fourth of June, as it was within the brick walls of District Two's Career academy, was the date that the lucky boy or girl whom the five victors had agreed would be chosen for the Games was announced to the rest of the Academy. Or boy and girl, as it was this year, not that Minthe particularly minded. She could, after all, care less about sharing the spotlight when the fact that her ultimate dream that she'd nursed for a decade was finally coming true.

And truly, nothing could beat standing on the stage in the middle of the cafeteria, listening as Leonidas's booming voice called out her name, announcing that she would follow in the footsteps of eighteen other girls who'd been reaped or volunteered for the Games, that she would be one of the two tributes that would enter the arena and kill for the district. Not that those were the words that had been used, per say - Leonidas had said the same things he had every year, after all, something about honor and glory and proving the strength of District Two as if they hadn't already accomplished that by bringing home more than twice as many victors than any other district had thus far - but that was what truly mattered.

That was what she had been looking forward to, year after year after year.

She'd started her training at eight, after all, a month after Vulcan Kardos's victory as the first truly trained Career tribute had ignited a nationalistic fervor in both herself and the district alike. And why wouldn't she have? She'd been aware almost from gaining consciousness that she was stuck with an unfortunate case of middle child's syndrome, often overlooked in favor of a golden child older sister and a wannabe delinquent younger sister, and her parents had found out rather early that she could be entertained and enraptured for hours at a time by being plopped down in front of the television. And if a girl's going to watch enough television in Two, well, then she's going to see the Games, right? And if she sees enough Games, sees enough defeats and victories alike for Two's proud, honorable warriors, seen enough blood spilled and twenty three unique methods of death year after year after year, then what is a girl supposed to do but not gain some sort of fascination with the art itself?

And here she was, on the precipice of her greatest dream. Here she was, exactly one month out from volunteering for the Hunger Games. She'd allowed herself yesterday to celebrate privately, allowed herself the first part of today to enjoy the party thrown in her and her district partner's honor to the best of her ability and to revel in the pure unadulterated joy that she felt. And yet, though the party was entertaining, for a time, her mind kept flashing back to other, more substantial moments.

The sound of her name through Leonidas Feldspar's lips, booming throughout the cafeteria.

His offer towards her to become the female tribute for District Two, uttered two days prior.

The last test of the potentials, meant to weed out the weak from the strong - not just physically, but mentally too - and her passing with flying colors while one by one, her peers broke under the pressure.

And all of the pageantry and whatnot was fun, yes, but as the minutes turned to hours, as the sun set and the moon rose and the party dragged on and on, Minthe found herself growing, well, bored. Social settings had never been her strong suit, both out of personal preference and a lack of relatability amongst most of the rest of her peers, and as it would turn out, even tying one to her greatest achievement did little to change that.

So she endured for as long as she could, and when the itch became too great to ignore, she quietly made her exit, vanishing into the night like one of the specters sent to test her fortitude.

Her family, as one, were all asleep by the time she returned home. Unsurprising, perhaps - if the blinking clock flashing 1:22AM in fluorescent green over the kitchen stove was anything to go by - but far from feeling tired or worn out by the party, Minthe found her exhilaration growing.

She was to be a tribute of the 19th Annual Hunger Games. And that meant there was work to be done.

That was how she found herself curled up in her favorite blanket in front of the television, her trusty sketchbook in her lap and an old tape of the 18th playing on the screen. Last year's showing wasn't her favorite by any means - that honor went towards unorthodox games like the 5th (from what could be seen of Jaeyoon Kim's successful endeavor to crush more than a third of his rivals to death with the arena itself, at least) or the 7th (where survival tactics were only just starting to hit the mainstream and many tributes had died truly fascinating deaths from exposure or dehydration) - but it was important nonetheless. Unlike the 17th, in which Gunnar's victory had been repeated a dozen times in the month that followed, the 18th and Trajan's failure was almost hidden in shame in comparison.

But she needed to know. For scientific purposes, of course - his weaknesses would become her strengths - but for fascination as well. How had a boy who was so musclebound he probably could have snapped her spine in half like a twig lost in a straight up duel of martial wills, even when outnumbered two to one?

She watched the scene play out, as Trajan locked blades with Kingsley and Silk, killing the former before dying to the latter, with rapt attention. Then, she rewound the tape back to the beginning of the fight and watched it again.

And again, noticing how neither One was able to match him in raw strength, yet both were his superior in speed.

And again, watching as Silk stumbled at a crucial moment, and Trajan's would-be killing blows were intercepted first by Kingsley's sword, and then by his sword arm.

And again, watching the wild abandon in the whites of Trajan's eyes as he ran Kingsley through with his polearm - not of glee or satisfaction, but of raw, primal bloodlust.

And again, when she saw the exact moment that that raw emotion turned to shock and then to horror before fading entirely as Silk's spear ran Trajan through from behind right in the chest.

And again, how Silk broke down, clutching Kingsley close to her own body as the boy from One bled out in her arms and shuddered his last breath.

And then one more time, watching the entire thing through just for good measure.

With each rewatch, her smile grew ever so slightly. And upon the conclusion of the last one, she at last turned her attention to her sketchbook. For now, she knew just how Trajan's last moments would be reflected in her art.

(Not of the proud warrior that Leonidas and the rest had touted him to be in their speeches last year, but of the raw, primal self he'd been in his last moments).


Wyatt Frescott, 18, District Two Male

June 3rd, 19 ADD, 5:02pm - Just over one month until Reaping Day


It wasn't that he didn't expect the meeting, not really. There'd always been the nagging hook in his gut, the feeling that came when he had a hunch that more often than not turned out to have some merit behind it, that this would happen eventually. One does not hear the whispers throughout the academy, those that speak of him as "the perfect pick", and does not at the very least entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, there is some merit to them. Especially when one is a teenage boy who has spent a sizeable chunk of his life training for the very purpose that the others believed him worthy of.

But Wyatt Frescott was not stupid. He knew that of all of Two's victors the one he's most compared to is the most recent, Gunnar Bellum-Fierro. He knew that his own easygoing and charming nature and good looks weren't compared to those of the victor of the 17th for no reason. And knew that, while he'd passed each and every one of his own trials, so had Gunnar - and everyone knew that even now, two years later, he'd yet to return to his former self in full.

Those facts had tempered his expectations, and had already set his focus on a true and honorable career beyond the academy. His father, after all, had been one of the first to invest in it, back when it was still Leonidas Feldspar and Miles Brazier's wild idea instead of a tried and tested system that churned out trained fighters on the regular, and there was no doubt that whatever path he chose after the academy, it'd be one of prestige and honor.

But here he was, nonetheless, a month and a day before Reaping Day, in Leonidas's personal office, being told that he was the first to be considered for the male tribute for the upcoming Games. And to say that he was surprised was, well, putting it lightly.

"I'm honored, sir, truly," he said after a moment's hesitation. "But why me?"

If he was buttered by the respect or perturbed by the doubts, Two's first victor didn't show it. Not that Wyatt expected anything else - Leonidas was notorious both within and without the academy for his legendary control over his own emotions to the point that many doubted he even had them - but it did make the current situation just that much more unnerving.

"Why not you, Mr. Frescott?" the man in question asked, tilting his head ever so slightly.

Wyatt swallowed. "Well, sir, I didn't place first overall in all of my trials, only the strength and endurance. I got third in the agility and weapons proficiency trials and fourth in the spirit. Whereas Charlie got first in agility and weapons, Hadrian got first in spirit, and they both got third and in strength and endurance, respectively. And after, uh." He paused, trying to get a read on Leonidas's face, and upon finding not so much as a raised eyebrow, continued. "After Gunnar's victory, I would have thought that spirit would be the most important trial we faced. It was for Trajan, last year."

For a moment, Leonidas didn't respond, and Wyatt felt a bead of sweat from at the nape of his neck. When he did, it was not with an acknowledgement, but with a question. "And what would you consider the greatest strengths of yourself, Mr. Abrams, and Mr. Pakfront are, Mr. Frescott?"

That, at least, was easy. Partly. "Charlie's greatest is his speed and his mastery over small weapons, while Hadrian's is his unflappableness. And mine, uh, would probably be my strength, sir."

"And of the three of you, who would you consider the most charismatic?" Leonidas asked.

The bead of sweat began its migration down Wyatt's neck. "Um, me, probably?" he responded, phrasing it as a question in return. "But isn't charisma more One's thing than ours, sir?"

"In some respects, yes. And don't worry, Mr. Frescott, if you do accept, I will not expect you to blow kisses and flirt with the audience in the way that Royale's trainees no doubt will be." Were it said by anyone else, Wyatt might have expected the statement to be a joke, but Leonidas's expression remained every bit as stoney as before. "But charisma can take many forms beyond pandering to the masses however they see fit." Leonidas's head straightened itself, once again seemingly boring through Wyatt with a steel gaze. "Would, say, leadership fall under the umbrella of charisma in your opinion?"

The bead reached the hem of his shirt. "Yes, sir."

"And who amongst the three of you would you consider to be the best leader?"

A beat. "Me, sir."

Finally, finally, Leonidas cracked a hint of a smile (which was disturbing in its own way, but Wyatt was quite frankly halfway to a conclusion and had bigger things to ponder). "And therein lies the answer to your question, Mr. Frescott."

"Leadership?" When Leonidas nodded, a puzzle piece slotted itself into the idea forming in his head. "Does that mean we're going to try Vulcan's strategy again this year?"

"Yes and no." Leonidas's hands intertwined on his flat wooden desk. "Should Royale agree to it - and after last year's success I currently have no reason to believe she won't - we will indeed be looking to ally our volunteers with each other once again. And like last year, I intend to have Two lead the pact all the way to victory."

"Naturally, sir."

"The difference this time, of course, is that this year, at worst, we'll be on even footing. Like Royale did last year, you will not be the only one we send into the arena, Mr. Frescott."

Wyatt nodded. He'd expected as much after One's dynamic duo had beaten Two's best and brightest the previous year. It was, after all, no secret that the two rival Career academies consistently borrowed strategies from each other, each doing what they could to improve their own chances and jostle for overall supremacy within the Games.

But one thing nagged at him still. "But why choose me as the leader from the get go?" he asked. "Surely the girls have their own potential leaders within their ranks too, right?" It was an honest question in his mind - for obvious reasons, Wyatt had never paid as much attention to the girls' rankings as he did the boys ever since they'd split last year.

"In a year or two, perhaps," Leonidas replied, and oh, Wyatt could sense something ominous in his tone now. "But not this year. This year, it will have to be you."

Wyatt swallowed again. "And why is that? Sir?"

"Because for the girls, we've unanimously chosen Minthe Alexopoulos to be your partner."

Wyatt didn't wince at the name drop, but it was a near thing. Minthe was a name he recognized, and for good reason - she was as well known across the academy for her unique skill in dual-wielding and pain tolerance as she was for her lack of social skills and the quite frankly disturbing sketches she drew up in her free time.

"And before you ask, Mr. Frescott, yes, we believe that Miss Alexopoulos's spirit, endurance, and weapons skills outweigh the…less appealing aspects of her character, for lack of a better word." Leonidas's smile had faded, yet the steel in his eyes glinted in a way that Wyatt couldn't read. "In our ideal pairing, you would be the brains of the pairing, leading it to victory and gathering the audience's love, while she would be the brawn, acting as an enforcer of your will wherever you saw fit."

"And she's agreed to this already?" Wyatt responded incredulously.

"That will be one of the terms that she must agree to if she's to get chosen, yes."

Silence fell as Wyatt pondered the situation. On the one hand, he barely knew Minthe outside of reputation, and that reputation was one that was mixed at best - and in a situation of life and death, he'd much rather prefer someone he knew he could count on at his back than a wild card with strange habits and questionable integrity. On the other, Minthe's skill in battle was one of the best in the academy, as were apparently her spirit and endurance (someone who'd placed first on three of the trials was no one to turn his head at), and should it come down to it, well, he still remembered the devastation in Silk's eyes when Kingsley had died in her arms. Maybe having someone he didn't have a connection to would make that inevitable betrayal and victory at the end easier, should everything else go according to plan.

"So I'll be the star general, and she'll be the assassin lurking in my shadow ready to strike at our enemies," he mused.

"Correct." Leonidas's not-quite-a-smile had returned.

And really, at this point Wyatt knew he was just delaying the inevitable. This had been what he had trained for, was it not?

(Later, still high off of the adrenaline, he'll return home with more pep in his step than usual, an ecstatic grin on his flushed face as he races to tell his father the news.

Oh, if only he knew what would be in store when he found him.)


Valeria Wayland, Victor of the Fourteenth Annual Hunger Games

July 4th, 19 ADD, 9:58am - Two minutes before Reaping Day


"So, have you decided which one you want yet?" Vulcan piped up from her right. "Cause right now, I'm leaning towards Minthe myself. Something about her unsettles me, which makes me curious as to how she'll treat the arena."

Valeria Wayland, victor of the 14th Games, did not dignify her friend's musings with a response, at least not right away with the Reaping literally minutes away. At least that's what she told herself, and that's what she hoped would come across - because even now, one month and one day after she and the rest of Two's victors had decided on their boy and their girl for the first time in Two's history, even after having read over Wyatt and Minthe's files enough times to have practically memorized them, she still wasn't certain which one she'd take to mentor herself.

"Though, now that I think about it, it could be fun to mentor our Wyatt and introduce him to Ten's Wyatt just for the sake of it. Be all like 'Hey, we have Wyatts over here in Two as well, but they're better overall and less naked', don'tcha think?"

Instead of responding, Valeria raised a single finger in Vulcan's direction, her universal sign for shut up before I choke you out. And like always, her friend complied.

But only for a moment.

"C'mon, you have to think that'd be at least a little funny, right?"

And, okay, Valeria did, even if she acknowledged it with a single nod and nothing more, for there were more pressing matters at hand - Steele, their escort of seven years, had just stepped up to the stage in his usual metallic suit, tie, hair, and makeup, and that meant that the Reapings themselves were soon to follow.

And though Two's reapings were never quiet affairs, this one would be more momentous than most. For one, it would be the first time since the 6th that the district didn't have to wonder whether it'd be the boy that was saved from their otherwise certain doom or their girl - not that they knew it right now. And for two, it'd be the first time that all five of Two's victors would grace the reaping stage since Gunnar's victory two years ago.

The boy in question sat off to Valeria's left, at the end of the row as the youngest of the five, and frankly, he was doing better than Valeria would have expected. She knew her first reaping after winning had left her fraught with nerves within and without, and she hadn't left her own desert arena with half the baggage that Gunnar had left his forest with. Whether his acting skills had returned to the form that they had been during his own Games or the extra year he'd been allotted to recover was doing him good, Valeria couldn't tell, even if inwardly, she was relieved that her comfort skills wouldn't be needed for the moment.

(She never was quite as good at that whole thing as Miles and Vulcan were, after all).

Still, if there was one thing she'd learned in the years since her victory, it was that just because she knew the idea of the Reaping didn't mean she'd know how it would actually go down once Steele drew the names from the bowls. It was those precious few seconds at the very beginning of it all that made the most difference in how the Capitol viewed the tributes, and that more than anything was what she would focus on.

She almost missed Minthe's, however, for the name that Steele picked - that of "Claudia Chevalier!" - drew her attention instead, for it was one she recognized. Claudia was a burly fifteen year old currently enrolled at the academy that Valeria had trained from time to time, and in two or three years had the potential to be a formidable Career in her own right. And, perhaps more notably, she was the first academy trainee to ever have their name pulled out of the bowl in the academy's thirteen year history.

If either of those facts phased her, Claudia didn't show it, and by the time Minthe had raised her hand to volunteer Valeria had regained her wits enough - after sharing a surprised glance with Vulcan - to refocus on their chosen girl. The girl in question had gone little in the way of surprise for her appearance, wearing an elegant black dress complete with a matching petticoat and lace gloves that, from what Valeria had been able to discern, matched her preferred aesthetic almost perfectly. Minthe herself took her time stepping up to the stage, all the while plastering a grin on her face - and yeah, she could see where Vulcan had gotten "unsettling" from.

Interesting.

The boy's reaping, in contrast, went as expected, with neither the name - "Vel Carbine!" - nor the spindly sixteen year old boy proving to be familiar to her. Neither was the crowd's almost collective gasp when a second call of "I volunteer!" echoed throughout the square, and Wyatt Frescott stepped up to the plate. Like Minthe, he'd gone for a statement that matched him quite well in his outfit - namely, wearing an old army uniform that could have only belonged to his father for how authentic it looked even as it hugged his figure rather tightly - and like Minthe, he stepped up to the stage surely but with a grin on his face - though in his case, it looked much more authentically cheerful instead of creepy.

Even more interesting.

Two very distinct showings, both strong in their own rights. The girl in elegant black and the patriotic golden boy couldn't have looked more different in their respective outfits and demeanors alike, yet their handshake was true and their smiles unwavering, and when Steele rose their hands with his own, the cheers from Two's crowd were the loudest Valeria had ever heard.

To her left, she noticed Gunnar had stilled. To her right, Vulcan had joined in on the cheering.

As for Valeria? Well, she was no closer to deciding who she wanted to mentor than she had been a few minutes ago.

(Not that that would matter, not really, as the choice would, in the end, turn out not to be her own.)


Welcome back to An Illusion of Instability, for tonight (this morning, technically, since it's just after 1am my time when I'm posting this lololol) we're introducing none other than District Two, in this universe at this point and time the most established of the Career districts with five victors and an academy already over a decade old as of the 19th. As always, many thanks both to QueenOfMorning37 for submitting Minthe and HumanWiki for submitting Wyatt!

For our second Reapings, we see two very different personalities at work here from the usually stable and reliable Careers of Two. Both Minthe and Wyatt alike seem about as opposite as two can get in the arena, even amongst Careers, with Minthe's fascination for the Games and death contrasting with Wyatt's sense of patriotism. Yet where District One seemed uncertain, District Two is nothing but confident in their pair of opposite Careers this time, including Valeria Wayland, a no-nonsense young woman who thus far is the only other mentor from Two aside from Leonidas himself to successfully bring a mentee home. Will Minthe and Wyatt's differences come together in a case of opposites attract, or will they prove to be too great for their shared home to handle? Will Twos' victors' confidence in their charges be rewarded as they attempt to repeat last games' winning strategy, or will they be shaken? And will Two's picturesque image survive without any hiccups, or is not quite everything as it might seem for Panem's most patriotic district? Like always, y'all will find out - in due time, of course.

Hope y'all enjoyed our second set of Careers the same way I did! We'll tune in quite soon with the pair of tributes from District Three, and their once-rebellious mentor as well...