Valentina Ferrari, 17, District Six Female
July 4th, 19 ADD, 7:49am - A little over two hours until Reaping Day
It's silent in the mansion today, more so than usual. Not that it's ever really noisy to begin with, but for some reason, even the estate seems to realize the importance of today.
To the rest of the district, anyway. As far as Valentina Ferrari is concerned, today is simply another day for Ina to unearth that one fancy red dress she keeps buried in her closet for quote unquote 'special occasions', get caked up in Mother's fancy makeup, and stand tall and strong amongst her peers while some lowly peon or another gets called up to pay for the district's treachery during the Dark Days. Then, it's a rare day of no work-related obligations for anyone in the family, which usually means a day of celebrations and socializing with the other major families in Six. This year, they're not even hosting - that honor happened to go to the Beauclairs, which means at worst Mother will fuss over her and try and shove her towards their eldest son like she has since they were toddlers, and at best means she'll be largely ignored, free to trade gossip and sample exotic appetizers to her heart's delight.
The Reapings, by comparison, are almost an afterthought. The cloudless sky isn't quite ideal for a day like this - that means extra time is required to coat her exposed face and arms in a special cream to ward against burns and prevent wrinkles, and that on top of Mother's expensive makeup an extra quote of sweatproof cosmetics must be added - but if anything, that's a bonus for her. That means more time spent with Ina and less time for her mother to fuss over her before they head to the town square - the Reapings are, after all, one of the few things that even the Ferrari family lacks the influence to delay.
It's not that Valentina despises her mother, really - quite the opposite, in fact - it's just that after five years, her Reaping routine has become predictable; straighten out her dress, personally dab her finger in every part of her makeup that could get smudged as if Ina hasn't been prettying her face for years, and then remind her for the billionth time to never ruin the family reputation and hold herself high. She is, after all, the first Ferrari to ever stand amongst the peons during a Reaping, and will be the last Ferrari to do so until she herself has children to pass on. And yes, even though the Ferraris aren't quite royalty, don't wield quite as much influence as the mayor, that is no excuse to slack off and pretend otherwise.
"Everything okay, dear?" Shit. She really should know better than to ruminate over such things while Ina is around - no matter how much she perfects her mask, no matter how much she follows Mother's lessons in keeping her face emotionless and her true thoughts shoved to the back of her mind, Ina always, always, knows. Such is the curse of having her act as practically her second mother ever since her birth.
"Eeeeee-naaaaaa." Valentina does not whine on principle - such things are below a Ferrari, after all - but it's as near as she can get without summoning her mother if she happened to be anywhere within a fifty foot radius. "Everything's fine, promise."
"Tiiiiiiiiiiii-naaaaa." And fuck, she's good. Even if Valentina has yet to figure out just how, exactly, her nanny figured out how to emulate her voice to that level, it never fails to amuse her. Valentina Ferrari does not chuckle at funny things, yet she cannot fully suppress her grin, either. "You know there's nothing you can hide from me, dear. And right now-" Ina pauses applying Valentina's eyeliner just long enough to gently poke her forehead, "-I can tell that there are a lot of thoughts whirring around in that brilliant mind of yours. Is it the Reapings?"
"No." Valentina answers immediately on instinct, before thinking better of it. "Yes. Maybe. I don't know. Sort of?"
Ina raises an eyebrow.
"It's like. Obviously, I'm not worried about getting Reaped." And that was true - in eighteen years, only one kid from a loyalist family had gotten their name drawn from the bowl, and really, the de la Cruz boy had deserved it, so he didn't even really count. "But you know how Mother is. I guarantee she already has a speech about dignity and decorum ready and waiting for me the second I walk into her room, as if I haven't already heard the same speech five times already and have somehow forgotten it since last year. Like, I know how to hold myself amongst the lower class. I know not to give them the time of day whether they jeer at me with barely disguised jealousy or all but bow before me with naked awe." She sighs. "Yet I guarantee that that is exactly what she'll tell me regardless, as if I'm still just a naive child, and I don't get it - why is Reaping Day so important?"
Ina does not respond immediately, opting instead to finish applying her eyeliner with a steady, focused hand. When she does respond, it's with nothing but the same warm, soothing reassurance that Valentina had always loved. "Your mother loves you a lot, dear."
"I know that." Ferraris do not interrupt, but that does not stop her from interjecting the second Ina's sentence is complete regardless.. "And I love her a lot too, and I know she knows that. Yet I don't understand why she must fuss over me so much regardless."
"That's because Reaping Day is special, whether you think so or not." Ina, long used to Valentina's habits, continues unperturbed. "Amongst all the days of the entire year, it alone is the great equalizer amongst the districts. For a few minutes, when the bowls are filled to the brim with paper and Mr. Bacchus is choosing the unlucky souls to send to the Capitol, there is no difference between a Ferrari and an orphaned street rat simply struggling to survive. And no matter what she does, there is nothing that your mother can do to change that."
"Does she seriously think that I might actually get Reaped?" Surprise bleeds into Valentina's voice unprompted, disbelief momentarily taking over before she's able to recompose herself. "But I only have six slips in the bowl this year - my odds quite literally could not be any better."
"It is in a mother's nature to worry about even the least likely of threats to their children, dear." That, at least, Valentina was all too aware of. "It might seem impossible to you, but to her, I guarantee you that she has nightmares where it is your name that is uttered through Mr. Bacchus's lips and you step up on that stage where she can no longer protect you."
"Mother? Having nightmares?" Now it's Valentina's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I'd imagine it's more likely that our dinner tonight will sprout wings and fly right off of our plates than Mother ever sleeping anything less than a sound, sleepless eight hours."
"Never underestimate a Beauclair's aptitude for grand and meaningless theatrics, my dear," Ina winks.
And Valentina does not giggle, but, well, Ina has always been almost as special to her as Mother has, so maybe she lets that one slide just this one time. "Gregorio was my primary playmate for almost my entire childhood, Ina, I am quite aware."
"Then a smart girl like yourself should also be aware that what your mother does is out of love and concern for you, dear, not a desire to stifle you from blooming." And shit, Valentina couldn't really argue with that without contradicting herself, could she?
"You're right, Ina," she concedes. Mother had never done her wrong before, so she should take that into account, even if sometimes she didn't always agree with her methods. Like with the Terraza boy…
"Think nothing of it, dear. I have worked for your mother since before you were a twinkle in her eye after all, and some things you just pick up through time and experience." Pulling out the last coat of makeup, she paused, giving Valentina a critical eye. "Speaking of, I'd recommend not thinking about the Terraza boy until preferably after the Reapings at the very least - that's not something I can help you with."
Ferraris do not flush with embarrassment, especially not in front of their beloved nannies, but for Valentina it's a near thing. "I was not-" She paused. "Of course, Ina. Thank you."
Ina only winks in response before beginning to apply the last layer of cosmetics.
(She does not think about the boy for the rest of the morning, even though it takes some notable effort. Likewise, she takes Ina's advice with regards to her mother, and even though her predictions were spot on, she found herself somewhat less annoyed than usual. And if she notices an uptick in her mother's step after Valentina hugs her for just a little longer than normal, well, she knows better than to comment on it.
Maybe tonight she'll even take the initiative and ask Gregorio for a dance before she gets nagged to, just as an extra treat.)
Valon Terraza, 18, District Six Male
July 4th, 19 ADD, 8:43am - One hour and seventeen minutes until Reaping Day
It's noisier than one might expect in Maverick's humble abode, even more so than usual. Not that it's ever really quiet, to be fair, thanks to cramped quarters and thin walls, but if there's one thing that Valon Terraza's learned to expect over the years, it's that he has yet to meet a single person who's wholly unaffected by the significance of Reaping Day.
Which is really saying a lot, really, knowing him, cause Reno often takes delight in reminding him, there's really no part of Six that he isn't familiar with, to some degree.
Speaking of Reno-
"Are ya really sure that this is how you want to spend today, Val?" the boy in question asked, half teasing, half genuinely curious. "Slummin' it down here with us shitheads instead of with some fancy pants rich kid or-
"No matter how much you try to kick me out, dude, it's not happening." He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "I mean, seriously, leave you alone with Maverick before the others get here? First, we both know your self preservation instinct is shit, and second, I kinda like seeing you with all of your limbs attached, thank you." Translation: Yes, I'm sure, dumbass.
"Hey, what makes ya think that I couldn't handle myself against Mav?" Reno pushed himself off of the chair he'd been lounging on, dropping into something akin to a boxer's stance. "These fists of fury have never let me down before!"
"Yes, against air, maybe," Valon deadpanned as Reno began to shadowbox in his general direction. "Need I remind you that Maverick is four years older, half a foot taller, and roughly fifty pounds heavier than your twig ass?"
"So?" Reno briefly paused to focus on Valon, an offended look on his face. "That means nothing. I'll just play-act that guy from that one story, David and, uh…"
"Goliath?"
"Yeah, that's right, him. Size didn't matter there, did it?"
"You do realize that's not a real-"
"What's going on here?" A new voice, deep and steady, interrupted, and both boys turned towards the source.
"Oh, hi, Maverick," Valon greeted nonchalantly, before turning back towards Reno with an eyebrow raised. "Just something about how Reno's gonna kick your ass."
"Hey!" the boy in question sputtered. "I didn't say I was going to, just that I probably could if it came to it!"
Valon spared another look at Maverick - tall, muscled, heavily tattooed, and looking very amused - before refocusing on Reno. "If you say so, dude."
"We can try out now if you want," Maverick added, stepping forward.
Reno, to his credit, wasn't that dumb. "Okay, fiiiiiine," he groaned, stepping back and flopping onto his chair. "I can't beat him, you're right as usual, yadda yadda yadda. You can gloat now."
"Maybe in a few years when you've filled out a little," Maverick said, leaning down to pat Reno's head. "For now, the air and the punching bag are plenty good for you, little dude."
Reno groaned again, and Valon couldn't help but snicker. Damn, he loved these idiots.
"Reno did raise a valid point, though," Maverick pivoted, turning his focus towards him with an inquisitive look. "Why are you here today and not elsewhere, Valon?"
Valon shrugged. It's not like he had anything to hide. "Well, it's my last Reaping, isn't it? Aren't those supposed to be symbolic or some shit like that? And the choice was either with you guys, or trying to steal Ramien from the devil for a few hours, so…" He shrugged again. "It was a no-brainer, really." Translation: Yes, I want to be here, Mav, seriously.
Thankfully, Maverick registered the subtext, and nodded, satisfied. Reno, on the other hand, wasn't so easily satisfied.
"Okay, but seriously, you can't tell me you haven't at least been tempted to suck up to one of those fancy ass rich kids you go to school with, right?" If Valon didn't know any better, he'd think Reno was trying to rile him up and or kick him out; thankfully, experience had taught him otherwise - that the boy had a natural lack of filter and that this was his way of soothing his own worries. "Like, surely one of them has a bleeding heart you could use, right? Or what about that old man you used to work with?"
"Reno," Maverick warned, dropping his voice dangerously, but Valon waved a hand in dismissal.
"It's fine, Mav. And Reno," he snorted, cause while it might be something the other boy considered seriously, it was more of a joke than anything to him, "there aren't any bleeding hearts at my school, just a bunch of pampered brats who've never been told 'no' in their lives and view kids like us as lesser than human. And even if there was, do I look like the type that would suck up to someone just for a softer bed to sleep in?"
"No?"
Valon snorted again. "Your trust in me is very reassuring, dude."
"Hey, I trust you." Another thing Reno had taught him - it was, in fact, very possible for nineteen year old gang members to pout so exaggeratedly they looked half their age. "I'm just sayin', I'd be sucking up to whomever I could if I were you. Like shit, man, you know what their houses look like, there has to be at least one bed they aren't using in there-"
"Dude, trust me, if you ever met a rich person you'd understand that there isn't an ounce of sympathy anywhere in their chests for people like us, just superiority complexes and their parents' expectations."
"Still, there has to be something you can use, right? Like, okay, just because you're too noble to pretend that you're not above us gang-"
"You know I don't pretend that I'm not above you-"
"Yeah, but they don't know that-"
"Guys!" A new voice cut through the mix, which for one second was annoying - it was always fun bantering with Reno over these things, okay? - but then another second passed, and it clicked. Cooper.
Cooper, who never yelled like that, unless-
Years of reflexes had Valon snapping around to face the door in an instant, already preparing for whatever shit was about to come. And sure enough, a second later, Cooper bursts through the door, a wild look in his eyes.
"Where's the fire?" Maverick asked, already stepping forward to put himself between the other boys and whatever might be out there.
"That's the thing," Cooper gasped between breaths - he clearly hauled ass to get here, Valon noted - before standing up fully. "There's none."
For a moment, only a stunned silence rests over the room, punctured only by Cooper's rapidly slowing inhales. Reno broke it with a single "Huh?" which, in Valon's opinion, sufficiently summed the situation up - no one ever burst into someone's house like that unless shit was about to go down. "Then, what the fuck happened?"
"We were on our way here, right?" Cooper began. "And things were chill, we're just laughing and minding our own fucking business, right? And then some fuckers from Byron's group ran into us."
A collective sharp inhale echoed across the group - it was no secret, even to Valon, of the enmity between his friends and Byron's gang of knuckleheads, and how even though no one could remember the why as to how it started, neither side was particularly willing to stop, regardless.
"Fuck," Maverick murmured. "Where are the others? We need to-"
"Hold up, Mav, we don't, trust me," Cooper interjected, and the action itself was such a feat (as few people dared get in Maverick's way as anything other than a joke), that it stopped him cold.
"Did we kick their asses that bad?" Reno piped up.
"Nope. Oh, sure, we were planning to, believe me, and they were too." Cooper paused, like any good storyteller, gathering suspense. "And then guess who butted in but the fucking Victor herself."
Mic drop. Pin drop. "As in, Theodora Bellmouth?" Valon asked after a moment of stunned silence. "That Victor?"
"The one and only." Now Valon could see it - Cooper wasn't virtually vibrating from fear, but excitement, too. "I've never seen anything like it. She just, like, stepped right between us and them and told us both off. Something about how it's Reaping Day, and how dare we, and all that shit. It was like the holy mother herself had descended from the heavens to chastise us for tryin' to spill blood on her special day or something like that."
"And it worked." Not a question, just a statement from Maverick.
"Duh, of course it worked. Half of us owe their lives to her, in case you've forgotten, and apparently that goes for Byron's fuckers, too." Valon remembered that too - the monthly food shipments had been an almost literal godsend, back when he'd been living almost exclusively on the complimentary meals from the academy and tesserae rations, and he'd been one of the luckier ones back in the day. "Never seen anything like it. We went one way, those fuckers went another, and she didn't even move until we were well out of sight from each other."
"So why the rush, then?" Maverick asked, eyes narrowed.
"Well, that's because I couldn't wait to get over here and tell you guys about the coolest thing that's happened to us in weeks, duh," Cooper responded, eyes glimmering with mirth.
Reno guffawed at that, saying something along the lines of "Typical Cooper," but Valon was already thinking. Even if he wasn't officially a part of the gang, it wasn't a stretch to say that to a man, they were the closest thing he had to family aside from his brother. And every time, without fail, his heart skipped a beat whenever he heard about some altercation or another that the group had gotten involved with, shifting into overdrive until he'd gotten the confirmation that everyone was okay
(Not that he'd ever admit that, lest that be the only thing he got teased about for the next year.)
Theodora Bellmouth, Victor of the Sixteenth Annual Hunger Games
July 4th, 19 ADD, 9:56am - Four minutes before Reaping Day
In the thirty minutes it took to walk from the Victor's Village to the center of town, she'd stared down a would-be mugger and stopped him from robbing an old lady, accidentally-on-purpose dropped three gold coins in full view of three separate street rats she'd spotted, and stepped into the middle of a gang brawl and not only lived to tell the tale, but managed to de-escalate the fight in enough time to prevent even a single punch from being thrown or knife being swung.
So, all in all, to Theodora Bellmouth, it was a pretty typical Reaping Day.
Tensions are always higher around now, she mused, three years of hypotheses all pointing towards the same conclusion. And three guesses as to why, with the first two rendered null and void.
It was better than last year, when she'd actually failed to stop a mugger from shanking an innocent man, but worse than two years ago, when there had only been one street rat to drop her loose change around and a domestic dispute to break up. And Theodora was no fool; she could see the correlation clear enough.
The year after I won, the people were well fed, and the feelings were hopeful. After all, if I, a lowly orphan, could win, then surely that meant we weren't as fucked as we'd been led to believe, right?
Hell, she'd even believed it herself - right up until she'd sat down with her first two mentees and realized that she didn't know what the fuck to do. Her own Capitolite assigned mentor had been borderline useless, and she'd survived in spite of the odds, not because of them. She'd scrambled and rambled and tried to share what she knew, but it all mattered to naught - her boy died twenty seven seconds into the Games, and her girl, a minute forty one.
Then the next year, everyone realized that just because we had a victor didn't mean shit. The Games were as hopeless as ever, only this time there was no year of food to blunt that edge.
Indeed, if the crowd for the Seventeenth was muted, wary, but overall docile, the crowd for the eighteenth had been anything but, angry and simmering in a way that had unnerved her like only a few things before ever had. Anger made people reckless - that was true from the lowliest orphan all the way up to the mayor themselves - and it had never served her as anything other than a hindrance. In the end, it was almost a relief when both of her tributes were young, emaciated street rats - if either of them had had something of a chance and she'd failed them, well…
This year, if I don't get at least one of them out of the Bloodbath, I don't know what I'll do.
The crowd, at least, seemed calmer than last year. More akin to the year she was reaped - bored, disinterested, resigned to another year of two kids going to the Capitol only to return in coffins. Yet Theodora couldn't help but find herself half-petrified by the nerves roiling inside of her - what good was she as a mentor, what good was she as a victor, if she couldn't do anything about it?
Ambrosia had told her once, after the Seventeenth's bloodbath ended and the elder victor from Eleven had found her sobbing in a corner of the training center, that every victor of the Games won for a reason, and that there were no mistakes. But privately, it was hard to believe that. She'd killed two people - one the girl from Twelve in an act of desperation, one the boy from Two as he lay asleep and half-dead - and had only won because her last two foes had managed to kill each other without ever seeing her. She'd never fooled herself into believing she'd be anyone before the Games came upon her, and why would that have changed just because she'd been a bit lucky?
No matter what she did, no matter who she helped, it never felt good enough. The mugger she'd intimidated would no doubt find a different target, all in the name of desperation. The kids who'd found her coins would find themselves a meal, maybe - and then what? Back to starvation and scrounging. Hell, even the gangs she'd manage to separate clearly had plenty of bad blood between them, and the fight she'd stopped today would only continue tomorrow. What could she do, other than watch helplessly as the world passed her by? Six deserved a better victor, someone like Ambrosia or Leonidas or Triton who hadn't let the Games affect them, who had skills and charisma and an ability to help those around them. And she was just her, a teenager who'd lived off of her wits and a healthy dose of fear, set for life at the expense of twenty three others. And no matter what she does, at best she's putting a bandaid on a hemorrhaging artery - a symbolic gesture that does little to solve the problem at-
She doesn't miss Bacchus, the brilliantly purple-clad escort, stepping onto the stage, but so deep is she in her own head that it's a near thing. And no sooner does the question of do I want some nobody like me who's doomed from the start and not get my hopes up or do I want someone who can actually stand a chance that might crush me when they fail does the slip of paper get drawn and-
-and Theodora's jaw drops when "Valentina Ferrari!"is read off the slip in Bacchus's high, reedy voice. Because she knows that name.
Damn near everyone in Six knows that name. The surname, at least. There's only one family of Ferraris in the entire district, after all. Luxury car owners already richer than some Capitolites before the war started who found their fortunes improved upon even more when they and the rest of the wealthy elite favored the Capitol instead of the rebels during the war. A family so noteworthy that even Theodora, who grew up first in an orphanage and then on the streets, knows its name. A family so untouchable, that she doesn't quite believe her ears.
Neither does the girl in question. She looks as elegant and beautiful as Theodora would expect from one of the elite families (thanks in no part due to the fancy red dress that she's almost sure costs more than half of the real estate in the district), yet all the decorum and dignity in the world cannot hide the fact that she's just as surprised as the rest of them. Moreso, if the fact that she walks up the steps and onto the stage in almost a haze is anything to go by.
When Theodora's brain resumes functioning, only one thought comes to mind. Well, fuck.
It's one thing to fail a burly lower-class kid who might have stood a chance in the arena. It's another thing to fail a girl whose family is so powerful and influential that Theodora would never be able to trust a drink she didn't put in front of herself ever again. And seriously? How was someone like her supposed to mentor someone like a goddamned Ferrari for fuck's sake-
She does miss the action of reaping the boy, because while the district stood as one in shock, Bacchus continued as if nothing had happened. And "Valon Terraza!" might not hit with the same force that the aforementioned fucking Ferrari might have, but it startles her back into reality regardless. Right, she has two tributes this year, like with every year, and no matter how fucked this boy is simply by being reaped alongside one of the district's elite, she owes it to him to know who he is, too.
And with Valon lies the exact conundrum that Theodora was hoping to avoid, because while he's tall and came from the eighteen year olds section, he's also sort of noodly in a way that doesn't suggest much in the way of strength. His clothing betrays him as lower class (not that Theodora can judge him wearing a green hoodie with its sleeves rolled up when she herself wore days-old rags to her own fateful Reaping) and, much to her dismay, he's noticeably struggling to keep himself together. Sure, it's a valiant effort to the unwary - his chin is held high, his face is set in stone - but Theodora has read enough people over the years to see the anguish buried beneath. And if someone like her can see it-
Wait.
Her gaze shifts back towards the Ferrari girl, and Theodora practically feels the blood drain from her own face. Because shock is no longer the predominant emotion on her face - no, is that…glee?
And why is it directed at the boy instead of the cameras?
Bacchus directs the pair to shake hands, yet Theodora barely hears him, so strong is the blood pounding through her ears. How is she supposed to handle this? An eighteen year old boy who's almost a foot taller than her, a girl who can nearly look him in the eye and who seems almost excited for what's ahead in a way that she's only ever seen on the faces of Platinum's and Leonidas's volunteers and, oh, who also happens to be the scion of one of Six's most powerful families? And she's supposed to guide and nurture them to victory?
She's glad that she at least had the foresight to not eat breakfast before coming to the Reapings, if only because the roiling of her stomach would have led to her vomiting in broad daylight and on national television. No one, least of all her, would ever come back from that.
And welcome back to An Illusion of Instability, my dear readers! Today, we bring together a pair of tributes that couldn't be more different from each other at first glance, from their backgrounds, decorum, and even their manner of speaking, yet thanks to the great equalizer of the Hunger Games, find themselves on the same stage heading towards, potentially, the same fate nonetheless. As always, many thanks to goldie031 for Valentina and to ladyqueerfoot for Valon!
In District Six, we get to see two very different points of view when it comes to lives lived thus far - Valentina is practically the posterchild for wealth, having lived her life wanting for little and needing even less, while Valon, who's dipped his toe into this world, currently lives most of his life far from it. What's interesting about them is that, for the first time this series, there seems to be a more personal connection not found anywhere else in the story thus far (even the two sets of Careers only knew of each other instead of personally knowing each other), as at the very least Valentina is aware enough of, quote, 'the Terraza boy' to think of him while preparing for the Reapings. Where could this connection come from, and does that have anything to do with her rather unorthodox reaction upon seeing him Reaped? Speaking of watching people Reaped, Theodora likewise is unlike any victor or mentor we've seen thus far - unlike the experienced Career victors who put the game aspect in the Hunger Games, the jaded, cynical, yet experienced Jaeyoon, the pseudo-sibling bond between Triton and Cove, and even Daphne's enthusiasm, Theodora is the first victor who finds herself hopelessly out of her depth and is aware of it. After an abysmal pair of mentorships in the two years since she's won, she's not looking too optimistic about her own chances or even capabilities to avoid that a third time - and upon seeing two tributes that quite literally tower over her and, in Valentina's case, come from a much greater position of wealth and power than her, is her third attempt at mentoring doomed from the start? Or will she tap into the same energy that helped her step between and break up a gang fight and somehow wrangle this unlikely duo to her first stint of Games success? All will be revealed with time.
Now that we're officially halfway done with Reapings (which is quite wild to me, we've actually met a full half of the cast and are getting relatively close to actual Games shenanigans!) we'll be stopping by in everyone's favorite forest, District Seven, next! There, we'll find our next pair of tributes and a truly interesting pair of victors who, in my opinion, couldn't be more different from each other in many different ways. See y'all next time!