A/N: Slight trigger warning for some very strong language from Caltryx.
Caltryx Mortem, age 18
District 3 Female
Today is going to be shit.
I just feel it. No, I know it.
Of course, every day is shit, but today is going to be the shittiest shit that was ever shat. It's my last Reaping Day, which should be a cause to celebrate, but that's only if I'm not Reaped. And knowing my luck, that's exactly what's going to happen.
I'm tempted to just stay in bed, but I have to get out of bed eventually anyways to get to the Reaping so what's the point? Even if life is shit, I'd rather not spend the rest of it in prison. So I groan, sitting up and blinking the sleep out of my eyes.
My tiny apartment is shit. Cracked walls, leaky faucets, you name it. I have the talent to freshen it up a little with some nice paintings or something, but I need to sell my creations to afford this shitty roof over my head so I'm stuck with shit. Also it's the only thing I have, and I'd rather live by myself than bring my bad luck to Grandmother.
I wash up and eat some slop for breakfast, and then pick up my Magic 8 Ball. Might as well confirm that today is going to suck.
"Magic 8 Ball, is today going to suck?" I ask.
IT IS CERTAIN, is the response when I flip it over.
"Magic 8 Ball, will my life ever get better?" I ask.
MY REPLY IS NO, I read.
"Magic 8 Ball, will I get Reaped today?" I say, asking my third and final question.
WITHOUT A DOUBT.
"FUCK!" I scream, putting the Magic 8 Ball down harshly. Whenever I ask it questions I always ask questions in groups of three, because that's a lucky number. But today it seems that I'm fucked. I probably jinxed myself with that last question, but it's too late now.
"This sucks," I mutter as I get to work on my projects. The rent isn't going to pay itself.
I feel a lot calmer as I get lost in my painting. I also have a few half-finished electronic trinkets lying around, but I decided early on that today I would work on my art as opposed to my gadgets. I mean, it's Reaping Day, and a gloomy painting is perfect for today's mood. My painting is dark and foreboding, with blacks and other dark colors forming a dreary scene. I never bother with yellow. Yellow is a disgustingly happy color, and there's nothing in my life that's happy so it's not worth wasting my money on it.
Around an hour into my work, I hear a knock on my apartment door. I curse internally to myself, but I make sure to keep quiet. If I do, they'll think no one is home and leave me alone. Unless it's Grandmother. I hear another series of knocks, which I ignore.
"Caltryx, honey, it's Grandmother," a voice sounds from the other side of the door.
Speak of the devil…
I continue to ignore the woman on the other side of the door. I don't want to interact with her. Grandmother knocks on the door again.
"I brought you some chicken noodle soup," Grandmother says.
Hmm. It's been a while since I had chicken noodle soup. But I still don't want to talk to anyone, so I stay quiet.
"Caltryx, I know you're in there," Grandmother says as she continues knocking on the door. "You wouldn't be out at this hour."
Fuck.
"Fine, I'm here," I yell, "but go away."
"I just came to see how you were doing, and give you some soup," Grandmother says.
I sigh, putting my brush down with a clatter and massaging my temples. I'm not that hungry because I had breakfast pretty recently. But chicken noodle soup does sound good. It's definitely better than cold milk and cereal.
I'm not going to admit that to Grandmother, though. The last thing I want is for her to think she's welcome here.
"Please stop being kind to me," I say. "I don't deserve it, and it's for your own good anyways."
Grandmother is silent for a few moments. Then she speaks up again in a voice that's kind and understanding, but defeated.
"I'll just leave the soup at the door, then," she says. "You'd better come get it before it gets cold."
"Will you go away please?" I ask.
"Alright, Caltryx."
I tiptoe to the door so I can make sure that she's gone. I wait for a few minutes, and then look through the peephole. I don't see Grandmother, so hopefully that means that she really decided to leave. I quickly inch open the front door of my apartment, grab the plastic soup container from the ground, and slam the door shut.
I sigh as I take a seat and examine the food Grandmother brought me. She's very thoughtful, having included a spoon and a napkin and everything.
I don't deserve this. But I drink the soup anyways, taking care to not do it too close to my projects. Considering my luck, I'm probably going to spill the soup all over my hard work.
I don't have anything better to do, so I take my time emptying the plastic container Grandmother gave me. It's good food - definitely better than anything I'm capable of cooking. Part of me is tempted to stop pushing Grandmother away so much, so I can have more of her cooking.
Who am I kidding? I think bitterly. If I got close to Grandmother she'd probably die just like Calvina and Data.
When I finish the soup, I throw everything towards the trash can, not wanting to bother with getting up. The container and utensils clatter on the ground, though, so I'm left getting up from my seat and placing everything into the garbage.
My stomach full, I go back to my painting.
Andir Marx, age 18
District 3 Male
The streets of Three are pretty empty on the morning of the Reaping, but I'm sure that I can find some poor sap or another to mess with. Franck Delicos, my annoying fifteen-year-old neighbor, follows me and talks my ear off as I walk down the street, looking for someone to study and manipulate.
"Andir, are you going to volunteer for the Games today?" Franck asks for the hundredth time today.
"Of course," I respond. I've been planning to volunteer for the Games for a while now and I'm determined to go through with it.
I think about just leaving it like that, but then I realize that if I can't find anyone to mess with I might as well mess with Franck. It's not like I'll drive him away or anything, because the kid has stuck with me no matter what I've done. If I didn't know better I'd think he's enamored with me.
The thought makes me disgusted, but it's a good place to start.
"You seem awfully willing to talk to me, Franck," I say, sneering at the kid. "Are you going to ask me to marry you before the Reaping?"
"What? No!" Franck exclaims, looking mortified. "Where did that idea come from?"
"Well, you follow me around everywhere, and you always talk about how smart I am," I answer, my sneer turning into a real smile. "You in love with me or something?"
"I-I-I just think you're really cool!" Franck stammers. "Geez Andir, I don't know how you got that idea, but-"
"Nah man, I'm just messing with you," I laugh, ruffling Franck's hair. "You should've seen your face, so mortified."
"I thought you really meant it, Andir!" Franck says, laughing. "Man, you really made me freak out there."
"Mission accomplished, then," I say. I stop walking quickly when I spot a girl a bit younger than me coming up the street towards me. I grin.
"Stay here Franck, I'm going to have some fun," I declare, striding confidently up to the girl. The girl looks at me curiously.
"Are you sure you're not forgetting your daughter at home?" I ask the girl once I reach her.
"What are you talking about?" the girl says, taking a step back. I grin and take a step forward towards her, but I don't push it further.
"I'm sixteen, do I really look old enough to be a mom?" the girl asks, her brow furrowing.
"I thought you looked the motherly type," I say, gleeful that she's already getting angry. "Motherly, but forgetful. You sure you aren't forgetting that you even have a daughter?"
"Dude, knock it off," the girl says angrily, turning away and trying to leave the direction she was walking in.
"I'm just trying to be helpful here," I say, following her. "I'm a helpful person, you know. You seem really angry and impatient about something. Maybe you're angry that you forget about your daughter so much."
"Really, I don't have a daughter," the girl says, looking flustered. "Why are you following me?"
"Your daughter's in danger, I just know it," I say, acting serious but having a lot of fun.
"For the last time, I don't have a daughter, now please leave me alone," the girl says, walking faster. I chase after her a bit, but then decide to let her go. She isn't worth my time, and besides I'm not malicious enough to really hurt someone. Most of the time, that is. When I'm in the Hunger Games I know I'll have to do whatever I can to bring the other tributes down. And I'm willing to use my words to hurt them, if that means I can win and impress Father.
I walk back to Franck, who's looking at me with awe.
"Andir, that was awesome!" he exclaims, jumping up and down. "The way you made her all flustered with your words was super cool. Hey, are you planning on doing that in the Arena?"
"Doing what?" I ask.
"Your whole thing of messing with people," Franck responds. "What was it you said it was? Psychic warfare? I think it's-"
"Psychological warfare, Franck," I say. "It's far too complex for someone like you."
"Of course!" Franck exclaims. "I wish I was as smart as you, Andir. I know you can win the Hunger Games so your dad can pay attention to you. Hey, when you're a Victor can I have some of your money so I can buy a lot of cool stuff? I'd love to have a dog, or a parrot, or a horse. Do you think a horse would be a good pet? Man, it'd be great to just ride it around Three, wouldn't it? Hey, do you think people ride horses everywhere in Ten?"
I smile to myself as I continue walking and let Franck chatter meaninglessly. Maybe I'll get the kid a horse with my Victor money. He's a total ditz, but at least he puts up with me.
I wonder briefly whether volunteering for the Hunger Games is worth it. But I quickly push the thought aside. Father has raised me on his own ever since Mother died giving birth to me, but he never gave me any attention or respect, always busy with one job or another. He's one of the brightest programming minds in Three, but that doesn't excuse him never paying attention to me. He respects Digit Keyes though, and admires her Games strategy of tormenting her fellow tributes. If I want Father to notice me, I have to be a Victor, just like her.
And I know I have the ability to do just that.
Pixie Diaz, age 32
District 3 Escort
"Tecna, honey, listen to me," Digit Keyes, Victor of the 30th Games, says to Tecna Watson, Victor of the 24th. "No normal mentor indulges in her addiction while there's a Reaping going on. Can you please leave your laptop in Three? There's no way you can help your tribute if you're stuck on there coding all day."
"You know that if I left my laptop in Three I'll just code on P.C.'s computer," Tecna says, turning back to her laptop, which she brings to the Reaping every year. "And I don't have an addiction. I'm not like Sonata from Six, doing morphling all day."
"Addictions aren't always chemical, Tecna, I've told you this before," Digit says unhappily. "You clearly have a problem with coding, doing it so much that you barely get any sleep and your house is a mess. Please, just step away from your laptop for a few hours. You'll feel better."
"No," Tecna says simply, not looking up from her furious typing.
I sigh unhappily as I listen to the two women talk, Digit pestering Tecna a lot more than she should. I don't intervene, because I did a few years ago but quickly gave up on trying to get Tecna and Digit to be normal human beings.
Tecna was the first tribute I brought home, doing so on my first year of escorting for Three at age eighteen. She won her Games at the young age of fifteen and went through a lot of trauma, which is why after the Games she started shutting herself in her room coding nonstop. Copper Jones, Victor of the 3rd Games, was a great father figure to Tecna and helped her heal a lot, but after he died of a stroke three years ago Tecna went right back to her old ways. Digit tries to help, but she's so much of a goody two-shoes that it's irritating and I can understand why Tecna is pushing Digit away.
I wish I could escort for a District where the Victors are functional. Instead, I'm stuck in Three, where one of the Victors is freaking dead and the two living Victors are both insufferable in one way or another.
Sometimes I wish I could change my name, but I love my parents too much to go through with it. It's because of my unique moniker that even though I've brought two Victors home I'm still stuck in District 3, the unfortunate urban dump sandwiched between two beautiful places that send volunteers that come back from the Games in one piece. I don't complain about my position, though. Someone has to be the District 3 Escort, and if I'm not there to teach my tributes manners and help one of them get home the District will be working with someone far less competent.
"Pixie, the dinner offer is still on the table," the Mayor of District 3, a guy in his forties named Lawson Jobs, says to me from his seat next to me with a wink and a smile. I'm pulled out of my thoughts as I suppress the urge to vomit.
Not only does Three have the least functional Victors, their Mayor is a total sleazeball. He flirts with me when he's married with three kids, for God's sake!
"Eat dick, you bastard," I growl at Mayor Jobs, shooting him a death glare.
"Whoa, honey, you're a feisty one," Mayor Jobs says, holding up his hands and smiling in a sleazy manner. "I like it."
"Look, sleazeball, I'm a Capitolite and you're not, so you'd better shut your trap," I snap at the Mayor, crossing my arms.
"I swear, darling, I'm a really nice guy if you get to know me," Mayor Jobs says, leaning closer to me. I look to Tecna and Digit for help, and thankfully Digit stops bothering Tecna for a moment to glare at the Mayor. Mayor Jobs leans back, holding up his hands in defeat, and I sigh heavily. Why can't the Mayor listen to me for once?
Oh well, the show must go on. I smooth my orange pixie cut as Mayor Jobs finally gets up from his seat - good riddance - and starts his speech, signaling the beginning of this year's Reaping. I get ready to put on a good show, because as long as I'm stuck in District 3 I might as well make the Reaping as entertaining as possible for everyone.
"And now, I'll turn things over to our escort, the lovely, beautiful, sexy, and wonderful Pixie Diaz!"
There's a smattering of polite applause as I bolt upright from my seat and dash to the microphone, trying to avoid Mayor Jobs as much as possible. I smile at the District I hate, showing off bright orange braces. I don't need them to correct my teeth - rather, they're there for aesthetic.
Since I'm stuck in Three for the foreseeable future I might as well embrace the whole technology aspect of that District. I've dyed my skin black to represent a turned-off screen, and every year I tattoo differently colored digits onto my skin. This year, the numbers tattooed onto my skin are orange, and so is my pixie cut and sparkling high heels. My knee-length dress, which is patterned with code, is orange as well.
I spend quite a bit of time chattering about how much of an honor it is for me to escort for Three, and how much of an honor it should be for the District to have an opportunity to participate in this year's Games. As usual, Three is deathly silent as my attempts to entertain everyone fall flat. I keep smiling, though, because even if the District isn't having fun I'd better keep up my enthusiasm for Capitol audiences.
"Since we started with the girls last year, let's start with the boys this time around," I say, pretending to be excited to be here. I walk primly to the boys' Reaping Bowl and put on a good show in choosing a name. I skip back to the microphone as I open up the slip of paper.
"Will Cathode Bishop please come to the stage?" I say in a singsong voice.
"I volunteer as tribute!" a voice sounds.
This catches me off-guard. There are never volunteers in Three, and throughout my fourteen years of escorting for this dumb District nobody has been brave enough to volunteer for the Games. I grin as I gather myself, realizing that I've finally lucked out. My male tribute this year will be a fighter.
The tribute steps calmly out of the section of eighteen-year-old boys, walking towards the stage with a stone-faced expression. I study the volunteer carefully. He's very tall and thin, almost hawk-like, with pale skin and short brown hair. He definitely knows what he's doing. I smile as the boy reaches the stage and climbs the steps.
"What's your name?" I ask, holding the microphone to the boy.
"Andir Marx," the volunteer replies.
"Well, isn't this exciting?" I ask, bouncing up and down. "We finally have a volunteer! Everyone give a round of applause for your brave tribute, Andir!"
There's a half-hearted round of applause, and I sigh at the District's lack of enthusiasm.
"I guess it's time to move on to the girls, then," I say, taking some time to draw a slip from the girls' bowl.
My eyes widen as I see the name on the slip. Even I'm not this cruel, but drawing a new name is against the rules, so I walk to the microphone and read out the name I see.
"Caltryx Mortem!"
"FUCK!" a voice screams from the eighteen-year-old section. I'm quickly able to find the source of the voice because I've heard it before.
I Reaped Caltryx Mortem when she was a twelve-year-old, but her sixteen-year-old sister, Calvina Mortem, volunteered to save her. Calvina died in the 38th Games despite her best efforts, but her death was in vain because four years later Caltryx Mortem, now sixteen years old, was drawn from the Reaping Bowl again. Her girlfriend volunteered to save her, only to die in the 42nd Hunger Games.
This is Caltryx's third time being Reaped. I whistle softly to myself. Anyone with that amount of bad luck has got to be cursed.
"No one volunteer for me!" Caltryx screeches as she stomps towards the stage angrily. "I'm fucking cursed! The world hates me! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
I'm silent as Caltryx reaches the stage and climbs the steps loudly. I decide to just say the required words so as not to make the Reaped girl even more livid.
"District 3, your female tribute, Caltryx Mortem," I say, trying to ignore Caltryx's rage. "District 3, presenting, your two tributes for the 44th Annual Hunger Games, Andir Marx and Caltryx Mortem. Tributes, shake hands."
I take a step back as Caltryx and Andir shake hands, Caltryx's eyes burning with rage and Andir studying his District Partner coolly. I'm convinced that Caltryx is a lost cause, but maybe Andir stands a chance. But I'm determined to do my job as an escort and guide them both through the Capitol.
Caltryx Mortem, age 18
District 3 Female
Fuck this. Fuck everything. Fuck my shitty luck and my shitty life. I'm fucking cursed - that's the only fucking explanation for me being Reaped three times.
I stomp angrily around the Goodbye Room, stopping only to punch the plush pillows on the couches. I'm fucking pissed. What have I ever done to deserve this fate? I've been law-abiding and good to people my whole life, but it seems that no matter what I do my life sucks. Sure, I may push everyone away, but that's only because I fucking care about them and don't want them to have bad luck because of me!
I know I'm doomed to have bad luck forever, though. As I continue stomping around the room, I think about my unlucky life that I know won't get better anytime soon. When I was eight years old my father died, electrocuted during a thunderstorm while tinkering with a computer. When I was ten years old my grandfather died of a stroke. Things only got worse from there during the following years, with me being Reaped twice, losing my sister and my girlfriend in the process, and my mother dying of breast cancer.
Needless to say, it didn't take long for me to become convinced that I'm bad luck.
I don't expect anyone to visit me. I don't want anyone to visit me. I don't love anyone, and I don't have any friends. Everyone close to me fucking dies so I've come to the conclusion that it's best if I just stayed away from everyone.
But the door to the room opens, and Grandmother walks in anyways.
"Go away, Grandmother," I say harshly.
"Caltryx-"
"Go away!"
"Do your best," she says quickly, tossing something small and flimsy towards my direction before shutting the door behind her.
Thank goodness Grandmother didn't push it. At least she knows better than to wish me good luck. Still, I'm curious about what she tossed towards me. I look towards where the object landed and spot a four-leaf clover with one of its leaves torn off. It must have come off while it was being thrown.
Of course.
I crush the broken four-leaf clover under my foot. The last thing I need in the Games is more bad luck.
But knowing me, that's exactly what's going to happen.
Fuck everything.
Andir Marx, age 18
District 3 Male
I sit quietly in the Goodbye Room, staring at a random point in space as I wait for Father. Franck just left after wishing me luck in the Games and mindlessly chattering, as always. I was very tempted to tell Franck to shut up, but I was feeling merciful so I thought I might as well let the kid have his fun.
I hope Father shows up soon. I can't help but worry that he won't visit me. But I volunteered for the Hunger Games. He has to visit me.
The door opens, and I perk up, hoping that it's Father. I smile when my dad walks into the room, the door closing behind him.
"Hey Father," I say.
"I need to do some programming work soon," Father says, his face neutral.
I frown as I study him. He doesn't seem to be having any emotion. I can't believe this. His son just volunteered for the Hunger Games without him knowing beforehand, so he has to at least feel surprised. He isn't sad or upset, either, which makes me angry. Father has never paid any attention to me, but how can he just not care that I'm going into the Hunger Games?
"Can't you stay a bit?" I ask. "I mean, I just volunteered for the Hunger Games. Don't you care enough about your own son to send him off?"
"You're making a big mistake, Andir," Father says, turning and opening the door.
"Father, wait!" I exclaim, standing up, but the door closes behind him and he's gone.
I sigh angrily as I plop down into the couch. I can't believe this. But I can't stay upset. I'll have to start strategizing so I can win the Games.
I think about how Father admires the psychological warfare strategy Digit Keyes used in her Games. Digit is different now, but it's clear that Father has respect for the way the Victor won - tormenting people by getting in their heads. I've always been observant and good at messing with people, so I'm confident that I can win the way Digit won.
I just need to do the actual winning. Father may not notice me now, but once I'm a Victor he will finally pay attention to me.
A/N: Many thanks to paperairline for submitting Caltryx, our District 3 Female, and thank you Lilah32 for submitting Andir, our District 3 Male! What do you think of Caltryx, Andir, and Pixie? If I wrote your character, how did I do? Please let me know what you think of the characters and the chapter in the reviews! Next up will be the District 4 Reaping, which will introduce Catalina Asbury and Mako Bailey.
Thanks for reading, and may the odds be ever in your favor!