A/N: It's been almost two years. For better or worse, I am still here. Life is busier and less cooperative than I would like, and I lost some motivation to write for a while. But we live in unprecedented times, and unfortunately, current events have… inspired me.
If I post something, I want to be 100% satisfied with it, and the time and attention can become draining. But I'm back for now, and I'm gonna try my best to split my time working on this, my Harry Potter fic, and possibly a third project.
As always, thanks for bearing with me, and thanks for reading!
I've missed you.
Delay, Deny, Depose
The Peacekeeper guiding me through the Justice Building stops before a varnished oak door.
"He's waiting in here," the Peacekeeper says, motioning to the door.
"You have five minutes."
I open the door and step into the room, the Peacekeeper closing it behind me.
The walls are lined with large windows, and the floor is a cold, polished marble, covered only by a small circular carpet in the center of the room.
Marc sits on a velvet couch by the windows, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor.
As I enter, he looks up and a wary smile forms on his face.
Unable to help myself, I run to him as he stands, nearly slamming into him as he wraps his arms around me.
"I'm gonna miss you so much," I whimper.
"I'm gonna miss you too," he laughs. But it's forced, almost scared.
"You're gonna leave me all alone with them," I say apprehensively.
His voice becomes serious. "Hey."
Marc releases me, looking into my eyes.
"I want you to know something."
"I'm so proud of you, Clove. You're smart and talented and brave and so strong. Trust me; you'll be fine by yourself for a little bit."
I nod as I wipe my eyes with my sleeve.
"Besides, with me gone, you won't be the second-best anymore," he jokes.
I force a grin at his attempt to lighten the mood.
He pauses, shifting on his feet nervously.
"I-I have something I want to give you," he says quietly.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a glittering silver chain. On it is a small pendant shaped like an eagle.
"Where'd you get that?" I ask.
"Friend of mine at the academy. His father is a jeweler. Asked him to do me a favor."
Marc undoes the clasp and steps closer, gently brushing my ponytail out of the way as he fastens it around my neck.
My tears fall freely now, and I wrap my arms around him.
"Be brave and work hard," he says.
There's a firm knock at the door. Our time is up.
I hug him tightly, not wanting to let him go.
"I love you," I mumble into his shirt.
I hear the door open and feel a hand on my arm, pulling me towards the door. Marc's embrace loosens.
"I love you too; I'll be back soon."
But he doesn't come back.
-:-:-:-
The main square is already overflowing as we approach the front of the Justice Building. Thousands — tens of thousands — of people are here for the reaping. It's standing room only, with the crowd stretching as far as the eye can see and growing by the minute.
The sound of chatter and excited murmurs fills the air. It seems as if the entire city has come out in full force, here to support their careers for this year's Hunger Games.
We push through the throngs of people, careful not to be underfoot, as we gradually weave towards the center of the square. The air is stifling and hot, and with every step, the pit in my stomach seems to grow.
I nervously play with Marc's pendant as we walk.
It's a habit by now.
After several minutes of navigating the bustling square, my parents and I finally break through the mass of people, ending up near the front of the Justice Building.
The marble edifice looms over the open central square, serving as the grandiose backdrop for the spectacle that is District 2's reaping. Peacekeepers wearing crisp white dress uniforms line the area before the Justice Building's front steps, keeping the crowd at bay.
Large television screens are scattered around the square, broadcasting the proceedings in front of the Justice Building to those at the periphery. The cameras are already rolling, with each screen displaying the podium and the four empty chairs that sit on the front steps.
Everything's just for show.
Mostly everything.
Glancing up at the roof of the Justice Building, I can spot several more Peacekeepers stationed there. Unlike their counterparts down by the square, they are clad in white body armor and hold assault rifles as they scan the sea of people below.
Two gigantic glass balls, each the size of a car, are positioned on the steps adjacent to the podium and chairs.
One for the boys and one for the girls, both of them filled with tens of thousands of paper slips.
A small group of a few dozen intimidating-looking teenagers stand in the open area next to the steps, separated from the rest of the crowd. They talk among themselves, some laughing and talking animatedly, others looking around the square with disinterest.
The District 2 Careers.
I walk to join the other career trainees - my 'friends' - at the front, my parents moving to stand nearby, behind the Peacekeeper line.
Career friendships are… complicated.
We're friends in the most generous of terms. It's not the easiest when the other girls are your competition and one of the boys you have to kill.
Academy life is easier without friends, but they make it less lonely.
Settling into the clump of careers, I exchange friendly nods with several, but before I can say anything, a hush falls over the square.
The front doors of the Justice Building swing open as several people step out onto the front steps.
District 2's mayor, a tall, slightly stocky old man with a tanned complexion, is the first to emerge.
Following close behind the mayor is Adrian Cicero, District 2's escort from the Capitol, with his bleached, cropped hair, reflective sunglasses, and an impeccably-pressed black button-down shirt and matching slacks.
He grins widely at the gathered crowd, his silver teeth contrasting against his perfect skin. As his appearance is met with applause, he jovially waves at the cameras.
Adrian and the mayor take their seats, murmuring to each other.
The two remaining chairs are filled with this year's chosen mentors, Brutus and Lyme.
Each of them is a Capitol darling in their own right, and occasionally a guest trainer at the career academy.
Brutus Harken, a bald, muscular mountain of a man, scowls as he brushes off Adrian's greeting. He's a skilled trainer, but I always felt he placed too much emphasis on raw strength and power.
He wouldn't be my first choice to be a mentor, but he is certainly not the worst.
The other mentor this year is Lyme Wrenfield, a middle-aged woman who stands over six feet tall.
I don't know what to make of Lyme, as she mostly keeps to herself, but from what little I know about her, she's just as capable as any of Two's other victors.
I suppose I'll give her the benefit of the doubt.
The final person to emerge from the Justice Building is District 2's Head Peacekeeper, Octavian Thorne. His white uniform is covered with ribbons, and a holstered pistol is strapped to his leg. He stands slightly behind the now occupied chairs, his arms crossed and his face a neutral mask.
The mayor steps up to the podium, and District 2 is once again regaled with the history of Panem.
Panem was what rose from the ruins of the old world, following the numerous disasters and the ruthless resource wars that forever changed the landscape. An opulent Capitol city, surrounded by thirteen districts that eventually rebelled, leading to the Dark Days.
In the end, twelve districts submitted to the Capitol's might, and the thirteenth was wiped off the map.
As part of the laws to ensure lasting peace, the Treaty of Treason mandated a yearly reminder for the districts of their treachery, the Hunger Games.
A punishment, yet a glorious reward for those who won.
The same bland retelling of the same old story.
Yawn.
"It is a time for repentance, but more importantly, it is an opportunity to prove ourselves," intones the mayor.
"To prove our loyalty and demonstrate our prowess. Our supremacy."
Then he reads the extensive list of past District 2 victors. Brutus and Lyme receive scattered applause as their names are read.
Upon finishing his speech, the mayor introduces Adrian Cicero, who eagerly approaches the podium, nearly knocking the mayor over.
Adrian grins at the camera, his artificial-white teeth sparkling in the sun.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of District 2, and for those watching from home in the Capitol—" he says in his best announcer voice, gesturing at the camera, "Welcome, and we're glad you're here with us!"
"We are just moments away from the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games, where once again, District 2 will deliver its best and fiercest competitors to compete against those from the other districts."
Adrian rubs his hands together, his zealousness barely contained. "Well, there's no sense in waiting."
He clears his throat and leans in towards the microphone, his smile widening.
"May the odds be ever in your favor!" he shouts, his announcer-like voice echoing across the square.
Two trainees stand near the stage, a boy and a girl. Both are eighteen and have been selected from their training class to volunteer as soon as a name — any name — is pulled from the glass ball.
Oh well.
They don't know it yet, but the odds aren't quite in their favor today.
Holding the microphone, Adrian crosses to the glass balls with the girls' names and slides open a little window on the large sphere.
"Ladies first," he exclaims, reaching his hand in and digging deep into the pile. He pulls out a slip of paper.
The square goes silent.
I close my eyes, deliberately taking deep breaths to slow my racing heart.
Adrian Circero walks back to the podium, smoothes out the crumpled paper, and reads the name.
"Victoria Tilly."
He gives a cursory glance at the crowd before turning expectantly towards the two trainees who stand ready next to the stage.
It's time.
I move to put my shaking, sweaty hands in my pockets to hide them, but they only brush along the sides of my pink sundress.
"While we wait for Miss Tilly to approach the stage, I'd like to ask if there are any volun—"
"I volunteer!" I shout.
The crowd stirs.
I suddenly feel out of breath.
Adrian Cicero frowns slightly, his gaze flickering off the selected trainees to search the crowd.
I watch on the large screen as the cameras pan to me.
I stand on my tiptoes, trying to make myself seem above the rest of the other trainees.
"I volunteer as tribute."
Adrian recovers expertly, his wide smile reappearing. "An unexpected volunteer!"
I feel the stares of my friends – the other Career trainees – on me as I push through them toward the stage. Two Peacekeepers stand nearby, moving to use me to approach the stage as I break through the Career cluster into the square.
My eyes flicker to the large screens.
I'm plastered across the square, standing before the stage, broadcast to the entire country.
I smooth down my rose-colored sundress, trying to keep my hands from shaking as I reach the stairs. Nervously, I climb onto the stage, crossing over to Adrian, whose unwavering smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"What's your name?" He asks, tilting the microphone towards me, eager for my response.
I take a deep breath, leaning toward the microphone.
"Clove Kentwell," I say, with more confidence than I feel.
Adrian turns back to the assembled crowd in the square. "Give it up for Clove Kentwell!"
Loud applause fills the square, almost deafening as tens of thousands cheer.
Adrian turns to me, away from the microphone, his voice lowering.
"Now Miss Kentwell, if you could just stand over there –" he says, pointing a few paces away from the podium, where an X of white tape Marcs a spot on the stage.
"– that would be perfect," he finishes, smiling at me. I nod mutely, but Adrian has already turned back to the microphone, not even waiting to see if I have acknowledged him.
I slowly move to stand on the X. The world around me seems to move slower as I turn to face the square, my hands behind my back as I do my best to stand patiently.
The crowd sounds muffled, Adrian's booming voice dulled by the buzzing noise that fills my head.
"And now… the gentlemen!"
I don't see him walk over to the glass ball; I don't see him pull the slip of paper out; I don't see him open it, looking up to smile at the crowd.
I only hear the name he reads, his voice echoing across the square as I continue to watch myself on the screens.
"Felix Ward."
Adrian has barely finished saying the words before a large boy lunges forward from the Career section, snapping me out of my daze as the cameras pan to him.
"I volunteer!" he bellows,
Tall, muscular, with messy blonde hair, blue eyes, and an arrogant smile as he looks up at the cameras, waving off the Peacekeepers who move to usher him to the stage.
It's Cato.
I groan inwardly.
Shit.
"Another unexpected volunteer!" Adrian exclaims into the microphone, briefly glancing at the two Career trainees who were selected to volunteer today. They stand off to the side of the stage, fuming, visible anger on their faces.
But there's nothing they can do about it now.
Cato strides across the stage, eyes flicking over to me as he passes by me, a nod and a smirk in my direction before turning toward the crowded square.
"What's your name son?" Adrian asks, turning to look expectantly at Cato.
"Cato Hadley," Cato says, having to lean down into the microphone.
"Excellent," Adrian says, his smile faltering slightly as applause fills the square once again. He leans in to speak quietly to Cato, pointing at a second tape X on the other side of the podium.
Cato moves to stand on the Marc. I look over at him. He gives me a curt nod, before turning to stare out at the crowd, a self-assured grin on his face.
Adrian turns to the gathered crowd, his white teeth almost blinding as he stares straight into the camera.
"It's my distinct honor to present to you Clove and Cato, District 2's tributes to the 74th Hunger Games!" he shouts, his arms outstretched.
The square erupts into cheers as tens of thousands shout their applause.
As the noise dies down, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read the long, dull Treaty of Treason.
Just like he does every year.
I bite my lip, clenching my hands behind my back, trying to remain calm.
The mayor finishes the Treaty of Treason, turning to motion for me and Cato to shake hands. He grasps mine firmly, looking me right in the eyes, his stupid grin faded slightly. I give him a confident smile, but it probably appears more as a grimace.
We turn to the crowd as the anthem of Panem begins to play, the golden eagle and red field splayed across every screen.
-:-:-:-
The moment the anthem ends, we are ushered into the Justice Building by a group of Peacekeepers in ceremonial attire.
They guide Cato and me through the building, separating us at a point.
I know where we're going.
The Peacekeeper leaning me stops before a familiar varnished oak door.
"Please wait here," he says, cracking open the door, and motioning inside.
It's not a request.
My breath catches as I step into the room. Large windows, a cold polished marble floor, and a small red carpet in the center. A muted, elegant velvet couch sits pushed under the windows.
My eyes sting.
This is the same room from four years ago, where I said goodbye to Marc. The last place I saw him.
And now I'm here.
I sink into the couch, tears threatening to spill as I put my head in my hands, my elbows resting on my knees.
The door clicks open.
I look up as my mother and father enter the room.
My father grins at me, my mother looking concerned beside him.
Several moments of silence pass between us — I don't dare to go to them, and they just stand there, almost inspecting me.
As if they're noticing me for the first time.
"You did it," my father says, sounding impressed. "I didn't think you had it in you."
"That was really brave, sweetheart." My mom whispers, moving to take my hand. "You're going to help our family so much."
I jerk my hand away from her, feeling the tears start to fall.
"I didn't volunteer because you told me to," I spit, standing from the couch. "All you've ever cared about is yourselves."
My father's eyes narrow, my mother withdraws slightly.
"How dare you— " my father starts, stepping forward.
"This is my escape." My voice breaks. "Either way, win or die, I won't have to see either of you again."
We stand there, staring each other down, the tension nearly suffocating.
A Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling that our time is up.
There are no hugs, no 'I love you' — just anger and disgust in my parents' eyes as they leave.
The Peacekeepers walk me back out to the front of the Justice Building, meeting back up with Cato. He purses his lips, his worry slipping through onto his face, but he does his best to hide it
I'm suddenly self-conscious — my eyes must be red from crying. I wipe my eyes gently, slowing my breathing.
I don't want to look weak in front of the cameras.
"Coming out," one of the Peacekeepers says quietly, his hand on a communication device in his ear.
The doors open once again. Once again, we're plastered across the television screens. Reporters swarm around the entrance and the square, their insectlike cameras trained on my face.
I do my best to appear bored, satisfied at my emotionless face as I glance at a nearby screen.
Our escort, in their ceremonial Peacekeeper uniforms, is replaced by others in white armor, armed with assault rifles. They scan the still lingering crowd, rifles held ready and loosely surrounding Cato and me as we cross the square.
The train is waiting for us at the station — a high-speed Capitol model. We are made to stand in the doorway of the train for a few minutes while the cameras continue to flicker, then we're allowed inside.
The train begins moving before the door even shuts fully. It closes on the Justice Building across the square, the still-flashing cameras, and the Peacekeepers arrayed around the train station.
Through the windows, the main square begins to blur. I feel the train accelerate, pulling away from the station, its speed taking my breath away.
I don't look back.
