I am sincerely sorry for the super late update. I will try to give you a really good chapter, and Fri13Girl is working on District 6!
I'm about to watch District 12 - I need something to take my mind off of the date I just had with Winngaard. Yeah. Winngaard. Don't judge me; I only went out to dinner with him. I need a favor.
See, I've watched almost all of the Reapings now. The only ones I have left (after this District) are Districts 6, 8, and 10. Ooh, it's almost time for me to write the Parade! Yay!
Oh yeah. My dinner. So I called Winngaard (we're on a first-name basis now, so I'll call him Lector from now on) and asked him if he wanted to go to dinner. OF COURSE he said yes, so I put on a really sultry dress (blue with silver accents, like my hair - it's dyed dark navy blue with beautiful silver streaks. It looks kinda like a winter wonderland!) that showed off my curves really well. I also applied a light coating of dark blue eye shadow to contrast my (duh) silver eyes. I couldn't wait to ask him about the Arena and Mutts!
When I got to the Speidelli Restaurant, a quaint pasta place, Lector was already there, holding a table for two. He gasped when he saw me, and I was actually surprised to see him also. He had actually lost weight! He must have gone through that new surgery called RE-DUCIO! that completely eradicates all unnecessary fat in your body.
I ordered the fettuccini Alfredo, an old but classic dish that never failed to satisfy. We ate for a while, and then Lector brought up the Mutts I had suggested.
"Madame President absolutely loved the idea of Rabicoons. She said that they would go perfectly with this year's slightly urban arena, and she gave me the go-ahead! I just want to thank you, Aurora, for saving me. If there's anything I can ever do for you, anytime, please tell me. Even if it means an Arena favor..."
I giggled slightly. "Oh, Lector, you do flatter me. Really, it wasn't that hard. I've had that idea for a long time, and was just very happy to be able to finally have the idea used! Did you say an "urban" setting?"
"Oh, not really," he sighed, no doubt a result of much hard work and many stressful nights. "The arena has a little bit of an urban area, but not much. There's a bunch of water, a really cool bridge that's been somewhat rigged, a huge park, and some of those old cars. You know, the ones that run off of a system? I can't remember what they are called, but they have been outfitted with mutts and the antidotes to the mutt venom. This Arena is nothing compared to the Quarter Quell Arena for next year, though. That one's going to be awesome!"
"Why don't you tell me about it?" I purred. He looked at me doubtfully as I refilled his wine glass. "I dunno," he slurred slightly. "If I tell too much, I'm dead already. Can't tell too many state secrets, and Arenas count as state secrets."
Mentally, I scowled. How can he not tell me? I need him to! It will be necessary to the survival of my favorite tribute once I have a favorite tribute!
I decided that it was time to convince Lector to go home. If I could just get him to tell me exactly where the Arena was set, I would be golden.
I poured more wine into his glass in a futile effort to get him talk more before we left. It didn't do any good, and he paid the waiter. "Time to go home, darlin'," his voice woke me from my reverie. I had been thinking about the few clues I had been given about the Arena. Too bad I hadn't been able to get a few more...
So he dropped me off at my house. It had been a weird evening, and I needed a break, so I watched the Reapings. I decided on District 12, because they are always anti-climactic, and I needed something to calm me down. Strange, isn't it? Watching children go to their deaths is calming for me.
So I turned my TV onto my recording of the District 12 Reapings. I'd started the recording a little late, so I missed the Treaty of Treason and the Escort's speech. The only part I got to see was actual Reaping, so I settled into my deep chair and relaxed.
On the screen, the Escort, Clayton Azrael, plunged his hand into the Reaping... shark? This Reaping bowl was shaped like a shark standing on its tail. His mouth was wide open, and the sides were just clear enough that you could see the slips of paper crowding together inside. Maybe it was a hint of the mutts in the arena... I'll have to watch out for that.
Clayton slowly drew a slip out of the shark. He brought it up slowly, the corners well defined against his black vest and his grey button-down shirt. Moving to the microphone, he opened the slip and read it loudly and clearly, with no dramatics. Just two words came boldly out of his mouth: "Marian Hallchanser!"
A girl started moving toward the stage as if in a dream, and she looks as though she is caught in a daze. Eventually, she makes it to the stage and stands next to Clayton. He looks down at her with an expression of compassion. I can understand why; her metallic gold dress is faded and patched in many placed with what looks like denim. Her stringy black hair was long and thin, but it looked as though she had made an effort to clean herself up for the Reaping. Imagine that- an outlier, a poor one at that, who tried to dress up for the Reapings! How sweet is that?
Anyways, Clayton looked down at her and in a low tone asked "How old are you, darling?"
She looked up at him and flashed all of her fingers once, then held up seven more. "I'm sorry?" He said. "I don't quite understand. Could you please STATE how old you are?"
She shook her head. Then she pulled out a notebook and pencil from a pocket in her dress. I couldn't see what she was writing, but she handed the paper to Clayton. "I have never been able to speak, but I am seventeen," he read slowly. Then he stared at her sadly. "I'm so sorry," he muttered. "I didn't know."
Clayton walked back to the other Reaping shark and repeated the process. After walking back to the microphone, he read the name for the boy. "Harrison Baleiv!"
A commotion began in the middle section of the square. After the camera focused on that spot, and I could see people pushing a small, thin, sickly boy in dirty mining overalls and shaggy brown hair toward the stage. He looked so confused until the Peacekeepers surrounded him. As soon as they did, you could see the confusion leave his face and realization set in. Once he was jerked onto the stage, he started to cry. The sounds he made were unearthly.
Clayton looked distressed, whether or not it was because he had two completely weak tributes or because the boy was crying, I don't know. He bent down and helped the quivering boy up. "How old are you?" he asked hesitantly. The boy didn't answer, he just kept sobbing. Clayton looked even more distressed.
Suddenly, he jumped. From behind him, I saw Marian hand him another page from her notebook. He glanced at it and thanked her with his eyes, nodding in appreciation. He walked to the microphone and read the paper aloud.
"Harrison is fourteen, and deaf, like I am mute. He can't hear anything, not even loud sounds."
He smiled brightly at the crowd. "Well, folks, here are your tributes for District 12! Let's applaud our tributes and have a Happy Hunger Games! See you again next year!"
I noticed that he did not have the Tributes shake hands... probably because he didn't want any more difficulty. Anyway, I hadn't been sufficiently relaxed, so I decided to watch the District 6 Reapings next. They might have a little less agitated Reaping...
