Chapter Text
"Get out, Billy! GET OUT!" Louis Rein cried angrily as he threw a bronze harmonica. It was the closest object nearby that could inflict some pain with enough force. Even drunk, Billy Trope dodged the little instrument with ease.
He taunted Louis with a laugh and waved his whiskey bottle in the air.
"You're not welcome here anymore!" Louis screams, "I never wanna see you ever again!"
"Why not?" Billy teased. "I came to say goodbye, darling."
Louis froze, tears staining his red puffy cheeks. "What?" His voice fell quiet. A bitter night wind blew in through the open door, making the hairs on his arms stand up.
Billy leaned on the wooden frame to balance himself after a large gulp of whiskey. He slurred, "I came to say goodbye. I came to give you one last kiss before you go."
“What the hell are you talking about? We're through! Now get out!"
Louis lay restless on his couch, replaying last night's events in his throbbing head. He was so furious and at such a loss of patience with Billy Trope showing up intoxicated every night that he just lost it. He rarely raises his voice in that matter, even when upset. That man knows how to get under his skin with his drunken power trips.
The first night was, "I'm here for my guitar back.”
The second night, "Let's run up north to escape my father."
The third night, "So now you're whoring yourself out to Peacekeepers!"
The fourth night, "I need you more than anything in this world."
The fifth night, "You can't push me away forever! You need me!"
But last night was something different. Billy was saying goodbye. A daunting one at that. What did he mean by it? Is he finally moving on and following his father's orders or was he trying to taunt Louis about today's Reaping Ceremony?
He has no clue whose name will be picked. It's a dime a dozen.
For six years, Louis Rein has been in the Reaping Pool, and has never been selected. There is nothing worry about, nothing to fear. He will ease himself with a beautiful melody written by his darling mother while they whisk away two innocent children.
Considering a 10-year-old girl was chosen last year for her first Reaping Day, the duration of time spent in the poll didn't really matter. It was an intense and emotional day as her parents wept and struggled with the Peacekeepers. Even worse when the girl's neck was snapped in the first two minutes of the game. They never had one that young, and hopefully, they never do again.
Speaking of children, what's the point of having any in a society like this? Intimacy is inevitable but raising an innocent little boy or girl in a world of starvation, suffering, and The Hunger Games is just cruel. Louis does not want children. He can barely take care of himself, and when would he have the time to babysit? He'd be too busy writing songs to perform at the pub every weekend for a couple of coins in tips. Or using up his charms at the brothel for better rewards. It's not the proudest thing he's ever done for money, but what other options does he have? He's not strong enough to work in the coal mines and besides, his passions are singing and writing. It's the one thing he prefers to do with the rest of this miserable life.
Performing at the brothel is part of the reason Louis' relationship with Billy Trope didn't work out. He was envious of all the people that got to hold and dance with his boy. Even though he knew it was a means to survive, a way to get food on the table, he didn't care. Louis was his toy, and no one else could play with him. Of course, there were more critical reasons he had to end it with the older man. Billy Trope was an abusive, possessive alcoholic who treated Louis like a prize and whose father hated him for not being a worthy companion. His father was the mayor of District 12, and he's as classist as any Capitol figure, always looking down on his people as poor scum. He sees Louis as a talentless whore.
He once overheard the mayor talking about him to his wife the last time he went over for dinner. "The boy can't even sing. He sounds like a cat drowning. He should find a real job—start working in the mines like a real man!"
He felt extremely self-conscious whenever he performed at the pub. But deep down, he knew his voice was unique, and people loved to hear it. The cheers, the encores, and the praises Louis gets after a show were all he needed to keep going. Maybe everyone was too drunk to really pay attention, but even during the day when he sang in the streets, everyone nodded, gave a smile, dropped a coin in his hand, or said he has the voice of an angel.
That's more than enough praise. Bite me, Mayor Trope.
Louis Rein lifted himself off the uncomfortable couch and stretched his limbs like a feline. He brewed herbal tea obtained from the black market using hot rocks. He then drank the tea to alleviate his headache and got dressed for the Reaping Ceremony. His daily attire consisted of old dark pants, an ivory long-sleeve shirt, and his mother's elegant oversized brown cardigan that kept him cozy. His chestnut blonde hair can never be managed adequately with just his fingers, but he fluffs it and shakes it out as best he can. He opened his worn leather-bound songbook he got from a Peacekeeper years ago in exchange for a pleasurable hand, and searched for a poem called 'Take Everything, I'll Leave with Nothing.' Louis warmed up his vocals with the rest of the tea before heading out the door so he could sing his poem in the street. It's a reminder they can't take what's not worth keeping.
Oddly, there are an excessive number of unrecognizable Peacekeepers outside, making it hard for Louis to sing when they're on the lookout for any sign of rebellion. The districts aren't lenient, and he'd rather avoid being disciplined in public or detained over an innocuous tune. Instead, he'll hum to himself as softly as possible. Why are the streets filled with so many officers anyway? We rarely ever have these many eyes on us.
Leisurely strolling down the street, he observes his neighbors slumming beside him. Kids clung to their mother's skirts, sobbing, and shaking. Men dropped their heads with hands deep in their pockets. Women glazed blankly into the distance. Everyone was exhausted and saddened, fearing which of their children would be selected for this year's reaping. They all hoped that someday the Capitol would put an end to The Hunger Games and the exploitation of the districts. They made their point. They've been punishing us for ten years now—why keep The Hunger Games going? Louis thought, unaware that his hands had tightened into fists, causing thin crescent-shaped wounds in his palm. It isn't healthy for him to dwell on the war or the suffering that followed, as it trudges back traumatic memories of losing his family and being forced to live with the mayor's abusive son. Releasing his hands, he felt a slight sting followed by a warm dampness. Oh well. What is a little blood anyway? Better inflicted by myself than by someone else.
Listening to the sound of shoes scraping against the concrete and the tiny rocks underneath, Louis heard a hiss. He ignored it at first until his eye caught a wiggle of green slithering past him. Gasping softly in awe, he stops in his tracks and gently picks the baby snake up, lifting it to examine its beautiful scales.
"Keep it moving." A peacekeeper forcefully pushed from behind.
Louis quickly concealed the snake and placed it inside his pants pocket. He kept walking towards the square with everyone else, until he arrived at the Hall of Justice. Anyone aged between twelve and eighteen were split into groups, had their fingers pricked, marked in an official record, and made to line up in front of the stage where the mayor, a tall man with a stiff expression, was already waiting.
Louis stood at the back, observing as everyone settled in or attempted to comfort crying children. He noticed that the camera crew were perched on rooftops like flies, ready to broadcast the show live for all The Capitol to watch. Billy Trope stood five rows ahead, making uncomfortable eye contact with him.
"I came to say goodbye, darling" played in his head once more, causing him distress. Why was he saying goodbye? Could he have spoken to his father, who already hates my guts and wants me gone, and is planning to...? No, there's no way that's true. They can't do that.
Louis attempted to calm his racing mind by taking a deep breath and humming his mother's poem, hoping to avoid drifting to the worst possible scenario. Names were picked at random. Billy Trope is only teasing him, right? He's probably still drunk. Just look at how he can't keep his feet planted on the ground. Looking away from his ex, he focused on the stage where Mayor Trope stood between two large bowls containing the names of District 12, one for the boys and one for the girls. His heart skipped a beat when he realized the man was staring at him too. At least it seems like he's being stared at. Maybe he's just getting all worked up, giving Billy exactly what he wants.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please." The mayor announced loud and clear through the podium's microphone.
A wave of silence washed over the square, leaving only the sound of the purring speakers around them.
"Thank you for your participation in today's Reaping Ceremony."
Louis rolled his eyes. As if we had a choice.
"I would like everyone to join me for the national anthem." Mayor Trope held up a small remote and pressed the play button. The sudden eruption of music from the speakers startled the whole room, and everyone cringed at the mayor's patriotic singing. "Gem of Panem! Mighty city! Through the ages, you shine anew!" With great vigor, he waves his arms, signifying that all should join in, yet only a few intone the words with him. "We humbly kneel to your ideal and pledge our love to you!"
Sighing in boredom, Louis casts a quick glance at Billy Trope, who was loudly singing the anthem with a pretense of pride, appearing to be devoted to Panem, when he loathes this country.
"Gem of Panem! Heart of justice! Wisdom crowns your marble brow!"
Louis felt a tickle in his pocket and remembered slipping a little friend in there. He smirks to himself and pats the cloth gently. "Hang in there just a little while longer, buddy."
"You give us light! You reunite! To you, we make our vow!"
"I need the bathroom." Louis says to himself. If only he could sneak away for a moment. But then he wouldn't return, would he?
"Gem of Panem! Seat of power! Strength in peacetime, shield in strife! Protect our land with armored hands! OUR CAPITOL, OUR LIFE!"
The music stops, and it's dead silent again. Only this time, it's an awkward silence. The district never had to participate in the national anthem before, and they never got to listen to the music either. Usually, the mayor gets right on with the ceremony, but he seems to be making the most out of today.
"Happy 10th Hunger Games!" Mayor Trope projects. "It was only a decade ago that we faced the Dark Days of an uprising from every District. Thus, the Treaty of Treason was established to ensure peace. In atonement for the Capitol's heavy losses in its confrontation with the rebels, each of the twelve districts must offer up one boy and one girl as representation in The Hunger Games." The mayor shoots a smug grin at the crowd who stares blankly at him. "Let us move to the reaping, shall we? Ladies, you're up first..."
He slowly sifts through the pile of white papers with names of women written on them, and the atmosphere is tense with anticipation. Several young girls pleaded that it was not them in his grasp as he eventually held up a sheet between his fingers. "The District Twelve girl tribute is..." He unfolds the sheet of paper and reads off the name, "Edith Mayfield!"
Everyone in the square scanned the area, trying to find this Edith girl. With her dark poofy pigtails and dingy white dress, a look of fear and surprise was evident on her face. Hesitantly, she lifted her head and moved closer to the stage.
Poor thing, Louis thought.
"And now, onto the boys." Mayor Trope's tone darkened. He wasted no time. He snatched a folded slip of paper from the bowl and bellowed out a boy's name without bothering to check it first, "LOUIS REIN."