District One & Two Non-Reapings


Adora Noble, 18, District One

The hour was late. Party guests had finally begun to trickle out of the Noble palace, a splendid mansion in the Tourmaline sector of District One. From a silk-curtained window in a dark side room, Adora watched the limousines leave, one after another in an exhausting parade of lights that extended from the marble fountain at the mansion's front door down the winding road through the rose gardens to the imposing wrought-iron gates, whose silhouettes were barely visible under the starry sky.

So… tired.

Why had her father chosen to hold a party on that day? Breaking up with Valor had sapped more of her energy than she had anticipated; a party that same night was too much for her. She rested her elbow on the windowsill and her chin on her hand, allowing herself to catch a breath of much-needed solitude. For a moment, she shut her eyes and waited, recharging in the dark room.

Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Time's up.

She pushed herself away from the window, letting the silk curtain flutter down behind her as she steeled her face with a charming smile in the dark, hoping that she hadn't accidentally smudged her makeup or messed up her golden hair during her fleeting moment of rest. Any flaw would reflect poorly on her father, and he couldn't afford another hit to his reputation.

Once composed, she slinked out of the room and hurried down the hallway, following the soft piano music that led her back to the final vestiges of the party. As she glided across the marble floor in her three-and-a-half-inch heels, click-clicking along to the arpeggios from the piano, she put on her very best smile, exuding the gentle confidence everyone expected from the daughter of Governor Noble with every delicate wave of her hand, even though she wanted nothing more than to retreat to the corner of her room and soak in silence.

When the pianist hit the familiar fermata at the end of the piece, her lips tightened, frowning ever so slightly. Whoever was on the keys held the note for too long; she would've done a better job. She held back the unbecoming sigh—there was no way her father would've let her play, even if she asked. He needed every bit of support he could get, and Adora would best fulfill that role mingling among the guests, charming them with her dainty laugh. Still, she couldn't help but imagine what'd it be like to be on that sleek, black bench, gliding her fingers across the keys instead of her heels across the floor, retreating into the music, away from all the people.

"Can you imagine how his wife must feel?"

The female voice came from the corner, where two ladies chatted by the mahogany arches that leaped across the walls. Adora didn't miss a beat, floating by as if she weren't listening to them gossip about her parents in her own house.

"I'd be positively enraged if my husband had an affair!"

"And with a… necessitous woman too!"

"Poor lady—she's smiling at his side right now."

"Of course she is! She's a politician's wife."

"She must be heart-broken under that smile."

Adora wanted to snort at how wrong the statement was—Oh, if only you knew the full extent—but that would be ungraceful. Her mother was smiling at her father's side, but her mother most definitely wasn't heartbroken at her father's affair. If anything, the woman was just disappointed that her bumbling husband had so easily tarnished his pristine image that she'd spent years crafting.

The music stopped; the party was over. As the remaining guests finally made their own merry way to the front door, her father shook their hands and thanked them for coming, his wife at his side, her hand on his arm. Adora lurked in the shadows of a side hall, watching them, willing the District One elite to hurry up and leave.

Her brother Hermes' voice interrupted her detached observation as he leaned over her shoulder, watching their father at the front door, waving to some big-name businessman.

"It's over," he said.

Automatically, the smile dropped from her face like a mask, and she leaned back against the wall. "Finally."

"Rough day, huh?"

"Not too bad," she said, spending another precious bit of energy to curl the corner of her lips. "Valor took it well."

"That's good," he said, "Poor guy. It's not his fault."

She bit the inside of her cheek rather than her lip, which would've been far too noticeable. It wasn't Valor's fault. He might've been a bit of a snob, but she didn't mind that. If anything, it was her father's fault. Plans changed, and now that she was set to volunteer… their relationship wouldn't work out. The ones left behind every year inevitably suffered, and Valor didn't deserve that.

Bam!

The front door slammed shut. Immediately, her mother let go of her father's arm and stalked up the marble staircase without so much as a word or a look back. Adora sighed. Perhaps the family dynamic was… less than ideal, but she welcomed the silence anyway. For a moment, her father stared up at where his wife had disappeared, as if ready to pursue her, but he sighed and trudged by the hall where the two of them watched. His twinkling eyes landed on her, and she inwardly groaned.

"Did you end the relationship with the Milliken boy?" The smile on his face was genuine, just like it was when he insisted that he most definitely did not have a mistress, when he announced on District One television that the new taxes were for the improved infrastructure that would help the District catch up to the Capitol.

"Yes, father," she said, so accustomed to holding back a sneer that it was effortless. "It's over." She pictured Valor's face; she remembered his laugh—she would miss it, but there was no sting. It was a simple description of reality with no need for emotional complications.

His look of sympathy seemed so real; she would've believed it if she didn't know better. "I'm sorry, dear; it's—"

"For the family, I know." She almost surprised herself by how cold she sounded, but she felt no need to act charming around her father. If he was going to demand that she give up her life for him, then she deserved to be herself.

"My condolences."

I'm sure you're so sorry. She stared at him blankly for a moment. He was using her again, just like they all did as far back as she could remember. When she wasn't useful, her only purpose was to marry into a good family. Now that they needed a little help, she needed to volunteer, to procure the good publicity that the family needed.

She bowed her head anyway. What good would resistance do?


Ven Piersson, 18, District One

The football players ambled out of the Training Center in a large group after practice, teasing and laughing with enough sweaty slaps on the backs to go around. Ven found himself sandwiched in the very heart of the group, right where he didn't want to be, his red hair and stocky, well-built figure jutting out from the blur of blonde and blue.

"Losing your edge, Valor?" Jerreau teased, elbowing the golden-haired boy to Ven's left. "Rough practice today!"

"Oh shut it, Jerreau." Valor grinned, inviting a new round of nudges and backslaps that came his way from every direction.

Well, every direction except Ven's. Instead of joining in, he smiled awkwardly, looking around, wondering if anyone else noticed the strain at the edges of Valor's cheeks or the forced edge to his voice. Apparently no one did because the ignorant ribbing didn't stop, so Ven, disappointed with their obliviousness, stuck his hands in his pockets and fixed his eyes on what was ahead, from the long winding road out from the Training Center to the split rail fence that marked the perimeter of Training Center property, where a small figure waited, leaning on the fence.

Oh… Kellan. Ven sighed, biting his lip with worry for his eight-year-old brother. How did the other kids bully him today? The kid didn't have any friends, but who could blame him? The Pierssons stuck out like a sore thumb in District One, and the kids inevitably suffered for it.

As the team wandered further and further away from the entrance to the Training Center, the group eventually scattered, each to his own home, until only Ven and Valor were left, walking in the same direction. Ven glanced at the other boy, whose face had lost its smile and was now staring off into the sky.

You should say something. Ven hesitated—he wasn't close friends at all with Valor Miliken. They existed in different spheres, Valor in the upper echelons of One and Ven with the common folk, only ever crossing paths because of the football team.

Yet he's hurting. Now that the rest of the team was gone, he felt a slight surge of confidence.

"You good?" Ven said, still a little nervous.

"Huh?" Valor whirled around to look; a weak smile quickly returned to his face. "Oh—of course. Thank you for asking."

Ven raised an eyebrow. "There's no need to pretend."

The smile faltered, and Valor sighed. "I'm fine."

"Huh."

"Really!"

It clearly wasn't true, yet he didn't want to push… "Hmm."

Valor sighed. "My girlfriend broke up with me yesterday. Happy now?"

"I'm sorry, man."

"I…" The boy seemed confused at the confession that had just slipped out of his mouth, faltering for words. "I don't know—she's volunteering, so I guess I should be happy for her?" He threw his hands up. "This is stupid. We weren't even that close… I barely know you—why am I telling you this?"

"No worries." Ven patted him on the back. "If it's the way you feel, then it's the way you feel."

Valor stopped and stared. "I…"

"No need to force yourself to feel something you're not feeling." Ven shrugged. "But you be you."

The boy gave him a funny look, but he nodded in appreciation. "…Thanks, I guess."

"Anytime, bro."

Soon, Ven was alone, Valor having taken a left turn. His eyes brightened as he approached Kellan, tearing the petals off a wildflower as he waited.

"Ven!"

"How was school today?"

Kellan frowned. "I hate school."

His heart ached with Kellan's, and he rubbed him on the shoulder. "Why?"

"No one wants to play with me."

"I'm sorry." Ven said, wrapping his arms around his brother in a big hug. He wished he could say that the other kids didn't mean it, but that'd be a lie—he had experienced their cruelty firsthand.

"Why do we look so different?"

There it was. The million dollar question, one that Ven had struggled with himself many years ago. "I still don't know," he confessed. "But our red hair is just as nice as their blonde."

"Other kids don't think so."

"You know? The way we look makes us special."

Kellan seemed unconvinced. "Can we not be special?"

Ven's throat constricted. The innocent question sucked the air out of his lungs, leaving him reeling emotionally as he tried to process an answer.

"It's… good to be special," he said. "It doesn't feel like it now, but it's actually part of why you're awesome."

"Really?"

"Well… Think about me. If I were like all the other guys, why would they want me on the football team? I'm needed on the team because I can do something the others can't."

Kellan looked up with a little hope in his eyes. "O-Okay."

Ven grinned. "Then let's get home."

When the spring returned to his brother's steps, Ven breathed a deep sigh of relief. He should've known that the question would come sooner or later; with the way the other kids treated Kellan it was inevitable. He was just grateful that he had found a suitable answer. Still, "Can we not be special?" continued to echo in the chamber of his heart.

Come on, Ven. You're over this. It had been years since he actively tried to lose weight, before the coaches that his weight was an asset on the field as an offensive lineman. The nicknames had stopped a long time ago, now replaced with compliments for his skill and strength both on the field and in weapons training. And he had done it all without yielding to their standards.

Yet it'd be a lie to say that he didn't see them. The whispers that disappeared the moment he got too close. The jealous eyes from the corners of the rooms. The glares that became smiles when he looked at them.

He had long earned their recognition for his ability. When would he earn their respect as a person?


Ilithyia Aella, 18, District Two

"Do you know why I called you here?"

Head Trainer Timura's voice was stern, as if disappointed beyond repair. In her hands was a sheet of paper, the incident write-up concerning the bloody trainee fight that happened three days ago at three in the afternoon behind the Training Center on the last week before the spring break.

With shoulders squared and chin steady, Ilithyia stared back into her disapproving eyes. "I beat up Athanasios."

"Beat up is an understatement, Ms. Aella."

She grinned—slightly. "Fine. I broke his arms and nose and knocked out a few teeth."

The Head Trainer raised an eyebrow. "You don't regret it at all?"

"Oh no," she said. "He absolutely deserved it." She fidgeted in the hard wooden seat, running through the million things she wanted to do before had to catch her train to District One. This is important, Ilithyia! Focus!

"And why is that?"

"Let's call it… revenge for a friend. Athanasios picks on the guy, so I figured I'd get him back." She paused to remember how the boy had made Balios' life miserable with the relentless teasing, shoving, shaming… Yep. Every last drop of blood was worth it.

"By physically disqualifying him from volunteering for the Games?"

Now she really grinned. "He deserves it."

Head Trainer Timura sighed, resting her hands on the mahogany desk. "What am I supposed to do with you?" she said, "Mr. Dezino was one of the top trainees in the district. His family will be furious when they find out he won't be able to volunteer."

All the better. She smirked. Athanasios had considered himself above any and all consequences. He'd have time to consider his actions as he recovered at home, watching some other boy volunteer at the District Two Reaping. She didn't say any of this, of course, simply staring back smugly without a shred of remorse.

Well… only a tiny shred of remorse. This meeting was such a waste of precious time on the last day before Spring Break. She could be packing, shopping, training…

Living.

"Do you understand the severity of your actions?"

"Yes," she said, "But perhaps I wouldn't have needed to go that far if the Training Center kept its trainees from bullying each other."

Head Trained Timura was unamused. "Regardless of the circumstances, there will be disciplinary action, plus Mr. Dezino's hospital fees and…"

Ilithyia tapped her foot underneath the table out of the Head Trainer's sight, waiting for the woman to finish listing off the various fees and restrictions that she'd face for severely injuring another trainee. Money wasn't an issue; it never had, and this wouldn't be an exception. Some of the restrictions stung, but they were small prices to pay for ridding Balios of his tormetor.

Besides, she hadn't ever beat up someone like that before. She couldn't deny that it felt exciting, felt powerful, felt fresh. Next time anyone dared to tease Balios for his weight, she'd have to step in earlier.

"…Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ilithyia chimed, just glad to be done with the conversation.

"You are dismissed."

In a flash, Ilithyia was up and out, swinging out the door, which she shoved close with a sing-song slam. Right outside, she found Franziska, leaning against the wall with worry, who instantly brightened the moment she saw her.

"Ilithyia—Oh my gosh!" she said, rushing over. "How was it? They aren't punishing you too bad, are they?"

Ilithyia shrugged, glancing out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the beautiful world outside. The Training Center was built atop a hill, and she could see most of District Two's sprawling downtown below them. She wanted to be there, not here; doing, not talking.

But her friend required an answer, so she set her attention on the conversation (for now). "It's nothing. Just a couple privilege suspensions… fines… restrictions… Nothing, really."

"If that ever happened to me…" Franziska shuddered. "My parents would throw a fit."

"I'll be fine," Ilithyia said, reassuring her. "Mine are too busy with business trips to care."

"Lucky…"

"I promise—I'm not. But speaking of trips…" She broke into a run down the hall, dragging her friend behind her. "C'mon! We leave tonight and I haven't packed a thing!"

"Slow down! You'll get in trouble!" Franziska protested, tugging at Ilithyia in an unsuccessful attempt to slow them down. "You literally just left the Head Trainer's office."

"So? At this point, all they can do is kick me out." Ilithyia laughed, skipping out the door. "We're short on time!"

"What do you even have to pack? We're only going to be there for two days."

"We're going to District effin' One! You have to dress up."

"Don't you have enough clothes already?" Franziska checked her watch. "We have six hours, Ilithyia!"

"Do you think I'm gonna pass up the opportunity for more clothes shopping? Let's go!" Ilithyia cheered, skipping down the hill from the Training Center.

Franziska rolled her eyes. "You're crazy."

"Don't you love it?"

The two strolled into the shopping sector of downtown District Two, which was ornamented in uncharacteristic color with hanging baskets from every lamp post and store, trailing flowers down towards the ground in cascades of red and purple, white and pink. Against the stone and brick architecture, dominated by greys and browns, the flowers looked out of place, yet Ilithyia still loved it, drinking in the welcome burst of color that only happened right before tourist seasons, its only purpose being to satisfy Capitolites and their "garish" tastes.

"Capitolite season," Franziska commented, taking in the drastic change in scenery.

"It's about time! Normal is boring…" Ilithyia said, gazing at the wares in the storefronts, most of which she'd seen before. Her eyes landed on a woven map of Panem hanging in a window. "Oh. My. Gosh."

"Clothes—" her friend started, but Ilithya was already at the window, admiring the gorgeous tapestry with its red and brown patches, each district outlined in gold embroidery.

She placed her hand against the window where District Two was and then moved on to District One, both now-familiar locations to her. Ever since the Capitol opened up travel to District One, she had gone at every opportunity, and now, even the Luxury District was losing its thrill. Where would she go next? The Capitol… Ten… possibly even Seven? Those were on the near horizon, as restrictions slowly loosened. And then where from there? Three… Nine… Twelve… the odds of every visiting those places were slim to none, but she could dream, couldn't she?

Franziska's voice interrupted her enraptured gaze. "Five hours…"

"Fine…" She sighed as she tore her eyes away from the map, following her friend down the street to buy the clothes she'd need for her trip. Yet the map lingered in her mind's eye, a picture of places to go, locations to see, excitement to experience

If only…


Eros Worshire, 18, District Two

It was the shopping mall's opening day. The very first shopping mall in all of District Two, a novelty imported from District One. Eros found himself inspecting his own reflection in a mirror at a kiosk, dabbing blush on his cheek while his aunt's daughter giggled behind him.

He winked at her through his reflection. "Am I pretty, or am I pretty?"

"Hmm…" Eunomia, four years younger, cocked her head and rubbed her chin exaggeratedly. "I don't know… I think it makes your eyelashes look fat."

"Oh no!" he gasped in mock horror, scrunching his face up. "Not my eyelashes!"

"Let me help!" she said, leaning in with a brush, with which she dabbled a line of lime green across his cheek. "There we go! I hear the reptile look is all the rage in the Capitol."

He chuckled, wiping away the ugly green so that not even a passerby would see him with it. "Don't worry—you'll always be prettier anyway."

"Aww…. Eros!" She beamed at him, twirling her long caramel locks. "You're fun to shop with, you know?"

"More fun than Glamora?" he said, referencing her older sister, his cousin.

She paused for a moment to think. "Yeah, I think so. You're more helpful."

As he smiled back at her, he felt warmth all over—those words felt good. He enjoyed shopping with her too; it was better than letting his father talk his ear off with how absolutely imperative it was that Eros brought home a Hunger Games victory, not his uncle's son Aegon. That's how it always was at home—Aegon this, Aegon that, even though the only remarkable thing about Aegon were his dumb muscles he was so proud of. By any measure, Eunomia clearly found him more fun than that meathead Aegon.

But before he had enough time to bask in the compliment, she was off, speed-walking through the brightly lit mall, trying to take the entire scene in.

"Hey! Wait up!" he called, quickly catching up to her shorter strides. "What do you want to do next?"

"Uh…" She spun in a circle, her wide eyes struggling to focus on a single attraction. "Ooh! Fried Cheese Pretzels!"

The thought sent rumbles through his stomach that only intensified when he caught a whiff of the aroma diffusing through the air, but he objected. "That's terrible for my skin! Brrgh—I can already feel the pimples coming."

"Fine… What about… a movie?" She pointed to the flashing sign, which read SHOWING NOW: NAPPING ALLURE. Below it was a picture of a young lady in a cerulean dress, sleeping on a velvet bed with her gorgeous blonde hair splayed out all around her.

Eros raised an eyebrow, almost afraid to show interest, but before he could respond, Eunomia spoke again.

"Ugh! Never mind…"

"No?" he said, half in earnest. "Why not?"

"It looks cheesier than the pretzel." She pretended to gag. "Bleh! I don't want any of it."

He pouted. "You mean you don't want a charming prince to come rescue you with a true love's kiss?"

"No! It's just some unrealistic fantasy anyway."

"I see that," he said, sighing a little. His cousin was going through that phase again, where she'd vehemently deny interest in anything remotely romantic. "Are they showing any other movies?"

"I don't think so… Maybe we should come back when they have—" She paused and turned to him with a twinkle in her eye. "Wait… you aren't interested, are you?"

"Me?" he said, feigning ignorance. "What are you talking about?"

"The movie! You want to see it, don't you!"

"Well…" He grinned, intentionally wavering to give her the feeling that she had stumbled on some great secret. Nothing like a sprinkle of vulnerability to make someone like you. "Maybe?"

She laughed, patting him on the back even though he was much taller than she was. "Aww! Oh my gosh—that's actually kind of cute!"

"I thought you said it was an unrealistic fantasy."

"It is! But it's funny that you're interested." She gazed down the long line of shops. In this section of the building, most of them catered to young ladies. "Let's just shop for today then. How about…. down that way?"

"Sounds good!" he agreed, even though the idea did not sound good at all. Alas, such was the cost of being liked. As he followed after her, he looked back at the movie poster with longing in his eye. Even in slumber, the woman seemed so calm and content, as if she already knew that she'd be rescued, as if she already anticipated her happily after ever.

How wonderful

By the time the two left the mall, both Eros' arms were sore from carrying Eunomia's purchases, yet he still wore a smile on his face, basking in her delight. It felt good to be valued, even if she only valued him as her shopping partner (and her self-driving shopping cart). With a contented sigh, he dropped her back at his aunt's mansion and drove home to his own.

When he stepped over the threshold into the foyer, he heard his parents' faint voices from the living room.

"They say Athanosios Dezino has been disqualified from volunteering." It was his father's business tone, the one he used when a new opportunity for financial gain caught his attention.

"Oh?" His mother's gentle voice held a quiver, anticipating what his father was hinting towards.

"Eros has a real chance now."

"I suppose so."

Eros pressed his lips into a firm line, stalking down the hall to hear more clearly. Athanosios? The boy was one of the top trainees in the district, ranked slightly above Eros and Aegon.

"Now he just has to beat out Aegon and we'll be set!" his father said,"I believe in Eros—Heracles is going to throw a fit!"

"Perhaps…" his mother said, rather slowly, "But wouldn't it be wise to consider your brother's feelings?"

"My brother already robbed me of my victory." Eros could almost hear the snarl on his father's face. "I'm not letting his bastard son rob my son of his."

As he listened to the conversation with his back against the wall, he sighed. He didn't want to be the very best, to reach the coveted position of designated volunteer. Why couldn't his father understand that? Everyone else seemed to like him well enough—his cousins each would call him their favorite; not a single one of his classmates hated him. Even Aegon, his greatest rival, liked him, never once suspecting that Eros intentionally lost every single match.

But did anyone know him? His father evidently didn't—and the man clearly didn't care. It was unlikely that any of his "friends" even knew his favorite color. He'd volunteer and go to the Games, and everyone would just assume that he was happy, that he was living his dream, that he wanted nothing more than to win the Hunger Games.

His heart sank. As his odds of becoming designated volunteer improved, his happily-ever-after slipped further and further out of reach.


A/N We begin the Non-Reapings! It's been too long :'( With school and Premonition and submissions…. whew! Things are much slower than I anticipated. Thanks y'all for putting up with me.

Oh! I love reviews. I'm not going to threaten y'all with them, but I will say that receiving reviews makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! I welcome criticism too—no need to worry about offending me. If you don't feel comfortable saying it in a review, you can DM or PM me too.

Thoughts?