Chapter Text
Martyn sighed as he lay in bed, the sun not even fully up. Jimmy lay by his side on the bed, snoring.
He and his parents had come at one in the morning, saying better early than later. That caused the quick-solution sleep arrangement of Jimmy and Martyn sharing a bed while his parents were in the guest room.
Jimmy, and his parents' rooms weren’t ‘ready yet’, so these were the temporary arrangements until they were.
(Martyn figured they were ready, his dad just did this as a punishment for every time his aunt and uncle were ever rude to them, and for Martyn sneaking out. He hated having to share a bed.)
At any rate, Martyn was starving. He got up and changed out of his thin white T-shirt and boxer shorts for an ironed, delectable shirt with a pocket on the top right of his chest and some black jeans.
He would wait for the socks, shoes, and belt until after breakfast. He knew if he put them on right now, his dad would make him go somewhere before breakfast to make him wait longer to eat. He had already skipped dinner, but his father loved to make sure all the breakfast was gone so Martyn would come back just in time to be told there was no more breakfast.
Jimmy groaned awake, snapping away Martyn’s thoughts. The blonde raised his head, looking mildly confused before realization struck him. He groaned again, flopping his face back into the pillows.
Martyn sighed (again) and headed to breakfast, feeling mildly sympathetic towards Jimmy. He’d always been kind to Martyn, and his parents' bad decisions weren’t his fault. Martyn had always been rude to him. Holding grudges was a habit of his, even if the grudge he had wasn’t towards Jimmy at all.
“Ah, you’re awake, dear.” His mother greeted him in the kitchen. She wore a simple blue gown with her blonde hair tucked in a bun. She was baking a large breakfast of scrambled eggs, rolls, toast, breakfast sausage, and she discreetly handed Martyn a hot pancake.
Martyn mouthed a ‘Thank you’ to his mom before hurriedly eating it and sitting at the table where his father was reading the newspaper, not seeming to catch the small exchange. He merely grunted in greeting and flipped the page.
He was wearing his usual gold suit, white pants, and white undershirt. He looked like he had just come from a meeting. Martyn would’ve believed it if his father’s hair was also styled, but it lay a mess on his graying head.
“Good morning, everyone!” That was always Aunt Merold's greeting to them in the morning. The woman was wearing a gold dress with black fastening. She already had stylish make-up that consisted of winged eyeliner, mascara, eye-shadow, blush, foundation, and so on.
She didn’t really need the heavy make-up, she was naturally beautiful, but she always liked to look like a woman on the cover of a models magazine. Her chocolate brown eyes shone in delight as she sat at the table and surveyed the food.
‘All a mask.’ Martyn thought. ‘Make-up hiding her true ugly nature.’
“I need to thank you two again, and apologize for the short notice! We are ever so grateful.” Martyn’s aunt said with her heavy ‘rich people’ accent.
“It’s no problem at all, Meri!” Martyn’s mother said. Though, as she said this, her eye twitched slightly. She breathed deeply, however, and continued.
“Where would your husband and son be?” Merold sighed.
“My poor dear is a bit tired. He’s been under so much stress lately. And James is probably still sleeping, the poor bird. He’s been putting too much responsibility upon himself.” Martyn knew she didn’t believe a word she said. No amount of work was enough for her.
“Oh, well I’m glad they're taking it easy, but the Reaping is going to be starting soon, and you know how harsh they are with punctuation.” Martyn’s eyes widened at his mothers words.
He had completely forgotten the Reaping would be today. By the look on his aunt and dad’s face, they had forgotten too.
His father’s surprise was a lot more hidden, as he was used to hiding his true emotions. His eyebrow twitched as he continued to read his newspaper like he hadn’t heard anything, but Martyn knew his father. That slight twitch indicated his surprise.
“Now that I think about it, maybe it is time for the boys to get ready.” Aunt Merold said, standing up from her chair.
“I’ll go wake up Harry. Martyn, dear, would you be so kind as to go get James?”
Martyn sighed and got up to wake up his cousin.
***
Jimmy had an overwhelming urge to throw up as he waited in line to get his finger pricked before the Reaping. Martyn could see it in his face. He felt the same feeling.
“Next!” Martyn sighed (he seemed to be doing that a lot recently), and stepped forward, holding back a wince at the sharp poke on his finger. His hand was then roughly grabbed and his sore finger was pressed against a paper.
“Next!” The man hurried Martyn along, and he went to go, begrudgingly, stand next to his father.
Jimmy gave a barely audible whimper and stepped forward. After his turn was done, he took a shaky step forward to stand next to Martyn.
Martyn, again, felt bad for him. He remembered his first prick. Even though this wasn’t Jimmy’s first, it hurt like hell. After his first prick, his father had slapped him afterwards for crying.
He now knew not to make even the slightest change in expression. It would only bring more lectures and pain.
“Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?” Martyn whispered to his cousin in an attempt to cheer him up. Jimmy jumped slightly, not expecting small-talk, but nodded.
“I never get used to it.” Jimmy whispered back, careful to make sure Martyn’s father didn’t notice their talk.
“How did you not flinch at least!?” Martyn looked away uncomfortably.
“My father thinks it's ‘unmanly’ to indicate any sort of pain towards something ‘so small’. Best not to make him mad by being a wuss.” Jimmy opened his mouth to whisper something back, but was cut off by the announcer on the stage tapping the mic.
The announcer had a purple suit on with black jeans, and gold boots. Her gold dyed hair was pulled into a big bun in the pack, and her face was full of makeup. Thick, dramatic, gold eyeliner, black eyeshadow, and dark red lipstick.
Her teeth were glowingly white, and one of her teeth was gold. Her big diamond earrings were down to her shoulders, and she had eye contacts that made her eyes a glowing pink color.
“Hello District One! And happy Reaping! This Hunger Games drawing will be a bit different this year!” This caused many whispers in the crowd, and the announcer held up her hand for silence.
The crowd hurriedly complied.
Many thoughts were racing through Martyn’s head. It wasn’t unusual for a surprise change for a Hunger Games year, but those were usually anniversal.
There wasn’t anything special about the forty-eighth Hunger Games. But at the same time, President Snow was unpredictable.
“This year’s Hunger Games will be stripped of a few rules! The first one: gender will not matter this year! The lucky two can be two males, two females, or the traditional one female, and one male!” More whispers in the crowd. Martyn glanced at Jimmy, who was looking at the announcer fearfully. Martyn was a bit nervous himself.
“Second! People who have only had their name once in the drawing have had their name taken out! A free pass for you!” The enthusiasm in the announcer’s voice was starting to grate on Martyn’s patience.
Martyn tuned out the last rule, not really caring, to do the math in his head (though he was very bad at math) and calculated his odds were not in his favor.
Since there could be two males or two females, he couldn’t relax after the first name was drawn. It could be him both times. There were also many people getting a free pass, which meant even more chances for him to get it.
Martyn tried to relax himself. If he didn’t get it, he wouldn’t have to worry about it again, and though his chances were definitely not so great, they were still slim.
“The first name!” The announcer said, drawing Martyn’s attention. The announcer slowly walked to the bowl full of names. Martyn had wondered why there was only one bowl, but had figured it out after the announcer had revealed the first new rule of the year’s Hunger Games.
The announcer snatched a name from the bowl and dramatically unraveled the paper. She walked back to the microphone and opened her mouth. Martyn held his breath.
“James Solidarity!" Martyn sucked in a breath and slowly looked over to his cousin. Jimmy was breathing quickly, his face pale and fear-ridden. He was frozen, not moving.
“James Solidarity?”
Martyn gently nudged his back with his hand. Jimmy swiveled his head to look at Martyn. The dirty-blonde gave him a reassuring smile and nodded to the stage.
“You’ll be okay.” Martyn really hoped he could keep that promise. Jimmy nodded slowly and walked towards the stage.
“Ah, a fine young gentleman! And how old are you, young man?” The announcer asked as the shaking blonde made his way up the stairs to the stage. Jimmy stood next to the announcer stiffly, looking warily at the microphone being held to his face.
“U-um… sixteen.” The announcer nodded like Jimmy had said something wise.
“Now, ready to meet your teammate?” Jimmy didn’t respond, so the announcer left his side and went to the bowl again. She made the same dramatic show of taking a name and unfurling the paper.
Martyn wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy running scenarios through his head.
‘Would Jimmy win?’
“The next-”
‘If he did, would he ever be the same?’
“-lucky person-”
‘What would Martyn do if Jimmy died?’
“-is…!”
‘Would Martyn ever be the same?’
“Martyn Littlewood!”
‘What if- what?’
Martyn froze. Did the announcer just say his name? He… Martyn couldn’t breathe.
Thump!
Couldn’t breathe.
Thump!
Couldn’t move.
Thump!
This wasn’t real.
Thump!
Couldn’t be real!
Thump!
Thump!
Thump!
A hand on his back broke him out of his panic. He barely registered his feet moving on their own, taking him to the stage.
He was still in a state of shock, but he managed to keep his face neutral and walk steadily. By the content look on the announcer's face, he guessed she was pleased she only had to call his name once.
Jimmy was giving him a look of shock. Martyn avoided his gaze.
“Well, we have a blonde duo this year! And how old are you?” Martyn forced his voice to remain steady.
“Eighteen.” The announcer laughed, though Martyn didn’t find any of this funny.
“Why, if you hadn’t been chosen this year, you would have been free for the rest of your life! Couldn’t escape from it, could ya!” Martyn gritted his teeth but kept his facial expression neutral.
“Please welcome our two contestants!” The announcer took Martyn and Jimmy’s wrists and thrust them into the air.
Light clapping was admitted from the crowd, but most just gave sympathetic looks. Martyn saw Jimmy swallow thickly, a tear rolling down his face.
“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.”
Hell dressed like Heaven. Heaven and Luxury.
***
Scott woke with a start, sitting up fast, and blinking away the dark spots that clouded his vision. He vaguely registered the smell of bacon before a body was on top of him. He fell back onto his bed with a groan.
“Gem! Get your sister!” Gem ran into the room and sighed at the sight. Gem’s little sister, Taylor, on top of a half asleep Scott.
“Tay, come on. Let's get you some breakfast.” The three year old gave a toothless grin before climbing off of Scott and hobbling to her sister. Gem picked her up and carried her to the kitchen before returning to help Scott detangle from his messy blanket.
“It is time to get up, though.” Gem said as Scott rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“The Reapings in a few hours. You’re usually up way earlier than this.” Scott sighed.
“Yeah… I’m fine.” Scott assured at Gem’s worried look as he climbed off his bed.
“I just… have a bad feeling about this Reaping.” Gem’s eyes widened.
“You… you think you’ll get called?” Scott paused before nodding. Gem bit her bottom lip. She knew Scott could have godly foreseeing skills. If he had a feeling, it was not to be ignored.
Gem tugged her friend into a hug. Scott usually hated physical touch, but he didn’t mind if Gem or himself really needed it. Scott sighed, patting the back of Gem’s head.
“Don’t you dare die on me.” Gem said fiercely, her voice muffled by her face stuffed in his chest. Scott pulled away, looking her in the eyes.
“I won’t. Promise.” What he didn’t mention was that his bad feeling only went away slightly. Usually when Scott could pinpoint the feeling, it would disappear, but this time, only half of the feeling left him.
“Well, think you could leave so I can get dressed?” Gem nodded and left. Scott pulled off his pajama shirt and pants and slipped into a white dress shirt tucked into some black jeans. He pulled a navy blue suit over it, not bothering to button it or add a tie to the mix.
He pulled on some flat black shoes, applied some mascara and navy blue eyeshadow, before heading into the kitchen. Taylor was eating some bread and cheese, while Gem nibbled on some buttered toast. She handed him an apple and a bowl of oatmeal when he walked in.
“So, how’d you two sleep?” Gem’s mother, Georgia, asked. Scott nodded shortly. Georgia picked up on his mood and they ate in silence apart from Taylor’s babbles.
Gem went into her room to change, and Georgia took Taylor into her room to feed her. Scott was left alone with his thoughts, though not for long.
Gem came out of her room with her fiery red hair in a braid over her shoulder and twin buns on her head with a sunflower in her hair.
She wore a white, short sleeved dress that went to her knees with a buttoned brown vest. She had tall, dark brown boots and wore a black choker and some white gloves.
Scott nodded in approval of her outfit and she gave him a twirl with a giggle. The duo turned their attention to Taylor and her mother, who both came out of their room with their outfits.
Little Taylor wore a simple blue dress with some small black shoes and white socks. She kicked her feet excitedly, her dark blue headband slightly slipping off her blonde head. Her mother secured it, and Scott took the time to admire her outfit as well.
She had on a long sleeved, light green dress with a brown vest much like her eldest daughter’s, and some short, light brown boots. Her hair was in a simple ponytail, with her bangs braided into it.
She turned to greet her wife, who was also a redhead, and wore a cold-shoulder, short sleeved navy blue dress and black boots. Her red hair was down, but embedded with flowers and leaves.
She was slightly shorter than her wife, with a longer nose, brown eyes instead of blue, and did not wear make-up, unlike Georgia. She was a bit of an adjustment for Scott, as she was recently introduced to him, but he vaguely remembered her name to be Charlie.
Gem’s mother and father had divorced on good terms as Georgia had realized she was lesbian. They had never wanted to marry in the first place, just wanting to remain friends, but were pressured by their parents.
***
Scott was getting antsy. He still was unable to pinpoint the bad feeling after having his finger pricked and the first two new rules of this year's Hunger Games explained.
The new rules scared him slightly, though he would never let himself show it.
“And the third rule!” The rule announcer, Reagan, said brightly. Reagan wore a frilly pink dress and tall, silver boots. She had big ruby earrings, and thick mascara, and hot pink lipstick and eyeliner with glitter on her cheeks and eyelids. Her light brown hair was tied in a ponytail and had a large pink bow on the back of her head.
“There will be two winners this year! They do not have to be in the same faction, but the last two winners will be the victors of the Hunger Games! Unless one or the other wants to take the win for themselves, of course.” She giggled, like she found all this hilarious.
“Then maybe they’ll just kill the other person and take the solo win for themselves. It’s inside the rules, if you want!”
He sucked in a breath as he watched the name drawer, Clark Ringdell, step onto the stage. Yes, they had an announcer and a drawer so one person didn’t have to do both, that’s just how their district was.
“Yes, thank you, Reagan, for explaining the new rules, but let's just get this over with, shall we?” Clark said through his teeth. Reagan gave a huff before stepping off the stage, handing him the mic. Clark put on a bright, fake smile before drawing the first name.
Clark wore a light brown suit, unbuttoned to show a dark brown shirt tucked into some high-rise brown pants and black boots. His outfit definitely fit more of district two’s criteria than Reagan. He wore a necklace that had two crossed swords, and his black hair was slicked back.
He had some light lip gloss, one ruby earring, similar to Reagan’s except smaller, and only on one ear, and wore some light eye liner.
“Scott Major!” Scott sighed, expecting this. He walked down the road towards the stage, making eye contact with Gem before focusing his attention forward. She had tears in her eyes and looked like she desperately wanted to do something, but she knew better.
“Ah, yes, come on up.” Clark seemed to do a double take. Scott could understand it, he probably couldn’t tell if he was a boy or a girl. Or he was just that beautiful. Scott shook the thought from his head with a smirk. Keeping his spirit light would keep him from spiraling.
“And how old are you?” Clark asked as Scott stepped onto the stage, suddenly way more interested in the drawing.
“Sixteen.” Scott said, not brightly, but not depressed, either. The man nodded.
“And, I might have to ask, what gender are you? Because I can’t tell!” This earned a slight laugh from the crowd, which seemed to startle Clark. He didn’t seem to be used to being tolerable.
“I am male.” Scott answered.
“But I can see where your confusion comes from.” Clark nodded with a laugh. Clark seemed to be almost the same age as him. This thought both made Scott uncomfortable and explained the way he was leaning slightly towards Scott. The teen inwardly threw up.
“Ah, and, yes, the next drawing!” Clark said, seemingly distracted. He walked towards the bowl before pulling out a name.
“Gemini Tay!” Scott felt dizzy.
‘No, no, no-’ He repeated in his head.
‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’ Scott could see Gem swallow thickly, press a kiss to the top of both her mothers heads, hug her sister, and then make her way to the stage. Gem kept a straight face, straightening her skirt and standing next to Clark.
“And how old are you, miss?” Clark said, slightly not very interested anymore. Though, he seemed confused. Scott guessed he hadn’t discovered his sexuality yet.
“Sixteen. Almost seventeen.” Gem answered curtly, not making eye contact.
“Ah, close in age!” Clark said, voice lacking conviction of enthusiasm.
“This should be a fun year!” Clark stepped off the stage without raising their hands, and was gone. Scott glanced at Gem. Gem looked towards Scott. A single tear traced down her cheek.
“Gem.” Scott whispered thickly.
“I-” Two guards stepped on stage, leading them off. Gem and Scott kept eye contact as they walked.
“Yeah.” Gem whispered back, never once looking away.
“Me too.” It wasn’t until they were in two separate rooms, getting ready for visitors to come and say their goodbyes, before Scott realized the bad feeling in his gut was completely gone.
It dissipated as soon as Gem’s name had been called.
***
Tango jumped awake at the sound of a knock on the door. He shook Impulse awake and the pair headed to the door. There was a peacekeeper there…
That would wake anyone up.
“Hello, sirs.” The peacekeeper said.
“I am here to inform you that you two are late for the Reaping.” Tango could’ve sworn he felt his heart stop.
“We expect you to be ready and come to the crowd, not before getting your finger pricked, for the Reaping in less than ten minutes. Thank you.” With that, the peacekeeper turned and walked away.
Tango and Impulse looked at each other for a moment before running back inside.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot, I can’t believe we forgot!" Tango yelled.
“Why did we pick last night of all nights to have a sleepover!?” Impulse said, tugging on a black dress shirt. They were both close enough to be comfortable changing in front of each other, thankfully, otherwise they’d have to go into two separate rooms, and that would just take longer.
“I don’t know! My mom probably also forgot since she let me come over!” Tango panicked, pulling on some black leggings, and tall, dark blue boots. He tugged on a tight black shirt, some black gloves, (that he always wears to hide the burns on his hands), and a cropped, long sleeved, navy blue vest.
Impulse pulled on a dark gray buttoned dress shirt and some dark brown dress shoes. He got paid semi good at his job. Tango felt guilty having to borrow his clothes, he would have also worn something less tight. Even though he did have a good body, he didn't like to wear something that showed his legs and body frame.
“Come on, dude, you look good, now let's go!” Impulse said, pulling Tango by his arm out the door. Tango blushed and ran after him.
***
After they got their fingers pricked and the new rules explained to them, they stood with the other males with batted breaths. Their fingers were very sore as the finger pricer had been very sour with them for being late, so they were very much less careful and nice when pricking their finger.
“Hello, hello!” The announcer, Berry Gray, said. No one could ever tell if they were a male, a female, both, neither, or something else, but everyone, including Tango and Impulse, were way too scared to ask.
Berry Gray was in their seventies, with pink dyed hair, blue eyes, and always wore gray clothes. Today, they wore a light gray suit with a navy blue tie, and a matching skirt. They wore a large chain on their hit, with some black leggings under their skirt and black high heels. They had a large frown on their face. They were always in a sour mood.
“Yes, yes. Attention, please.” Berry said solemnly. No one had been talking, but nobody was keen on pointing it out.
“Now, to explain some new rules for this year before we carry on!” Berry said, and Tango could have sworn he also mumbled, ‘...as if we need to spend extra time on this.’
After the rules were explained, Tango felt his gut tighten, especially over the fact that his chances were significantly less in his favor. He was glad less little kids were going to be picked, but he was also not keen to be picked.
And the ‘any gender’ thing… he and Impulse could be picked…
‘No.’ Tango thought.
‘No, I can’t be that unlucky. The chances of that are crazy.’ He took a deep breath. He always stressed out over the drawings, but they were never him. No use stressing over something that most likely won’t happen.
“The first name!” Berry announced, snapping Tango out of his spiraling thoughts. Impulse squeezed his hand.
“Zedaph Sheep!” Tango almost audibly gasped, and Impulse squeezed his hand tighter, though Tango suspected it was for his own comfort as well as Tango’s.
“Impulse-” Tango whispered.
“I know, I know.” Impulse responded.
“I’m sorry.” Tango swallowed the lump in his throat. Zedaph was one of the sweetest kids out there, only a year younger than Tango. He couldn’t let this happen.
“I volunteer!” Tango screamed, jumping out of the crowd, ripping his hand away from Impulse. Impulse tried to catch him, but Tango escaped his grasp.
“No, no, no, what are you doing Tango!?” Impulse scream-whispered desperately.
“I volunteer as tribute!” Tango said, calmly this time. Berry seemed too stunned to speak, but they quickly nodded and urged Zedaph back to his family. He was looking at Tango in shock, and his parents had to come get him off the stage and carry him in the crowd.
“Well, I guess we have a volunteer?” Berry said, unsure. Tango nodded, and Berry urged him to the stage. Tango tried to stay calm but it was hard when he could hear his mother screaming, being held back by a peacekeeper.
Tango could feel Impulse’s eyes on him, and knew Impulse wanted to volunteer for Tango, but the rules (at least in their district) was that there could only be one volunteer. And Tango had signed his death warrant.
“And… your name is?” Berry asked as Tango stepped onto the stage, standing next to the old announcer.
“T-Tango.” Tango cleared his throat.
“Tango Tek.” Berry nodded.
“And how old are you?”
“Fifteen.” Tango took measured breaths, trying to keep calm.
“And may I ask why you volunteered for young Zedaph? Do you know him?” Tango shook his head. Berry looked surprised.
“Did you… want to be in the Hunger Games?” Berry asked incredulously. Tango shook his head, feeling a tear run down his cheek, but he ignored it.
“I… I couldn’t let a sweet boy like him be in a death game.” Tango felt as if a metal bar was stuck in his throat.
“Couldn’t let him die like that.” Berry nodded sadly.
“The next person.” Berry said, his dampened mood by the events evident. He wobbled over to the bowl and drew a name.
“Impulse Svee.” Tango felt more tears run down his cheeks, his eyes widening, and his breath quickened. No, no, no, not Impulse! Wait…
Tango remembered something… there could be two winners. Tango took a deep breath and tried to keep himself composed, apart from the tears running down his face, as he thought. He and Impulse could win this. Together. They could both come home alive if they won.
Though, those odds were basically impossible. But so was both of them being in the Hunger Games. Zedaph being picked and Tango volunteering was a circumstance of that specific person being chosen, who only had two names in the bowl.
And Impulse being picked was also close to impossible as he only had three names. If those odds could happen against them, maybe they could work with it to be in their favor.
Impulse met his eyes as he climbed up the stage, and could see the glint in Tango’s eyes that meant he was brewing a plan. Impulse managed a smile and Tango nodded.
When Berry raised their hands and wished them a good Hunger Games, Impulse and Tango locked eyes and nodded to each other. Though they were unlucky, and the odds of this happening were totally bananas, they could do this.
Together.
***
Grian woke with a shout of pain. He was definitely bruised everywhere, and he could’ve sworn his arm was at an odd angle. Lizzie came rushing over, pressing an ice pack to his arm, and dabbing his forehead with a wet cloth.
“Easy, easy.” She whispered.
“You were beaten to hell and back! Still can’t believe you did that, you little stubborn shi- poop.” Lizzie quickly corrected herself at Grian’s hard glare. Grian sighed.
“I… couldn’t let you get hurt.” Grian winced as he sat up, rubbing his tender arm. It wasn’t broken, but was definitely not good as new. There were bruises all over his body, his face left mostly untouched so people wouldn’t see, though he would definitely be limping. The only evident mark on his face was a cut over his left eyebrow and a black eye.
“He didn’t go easy on you, huh?” Lizzie said. Grian nodded and sighed.
“It’s not as bad as it could’ve been. Left me good enough to be able to attend the Reaping.” Lizzie groaned.
“They're the worst. Here, have some fish. Managed to pull off the ‘I’m broke and starving’ to get some food. After you eat, you should wash up and then we can head to the Reaping.” Grian nodded and ate his fish quickly to keep washed up.
He limped to the stream outside their shack and Lizzie went behind a tree to change and give him privacy. Grian stripped himself of his clothes, being mindful of his injuries, and slid into the cool water.
He sighed in relief as the cold stream numbed the dull pain of his bruises. He knew he’d get sick if he stayed too long, though, so he got out his and Lizzie’s makeshift soap- tree sap mixed with leaves and a chunk of a regular bar of soap.
Soap wasn’t a luxury poor people could get, so they looked around, finding small crumbs of soap that had dropped from soap shop cargoes to create a small chunk of regular soap to mix with tree sap. It wasn’t the most satisfying solution, but it did get the job done of cleaning the germs off their bodies and making them smell somewhat nice.
Grian slipped out of the water, using a small cloth to dry him up (mostly) so he could slip into clothes. He didn’t have many pairs, or much in general, but he did have a red oversized sweater and black leggings. He had a tight, black long sleeved shirt under the sweater, and then rolled the sleeves of the sweater to his elbows. The black shirt came up to his neck, peeking up under the sweater.
It was somewhat fashionable and he could be mistaken for a person with money. Imagine that.
Lizzie came from behind the tree, after confirming Grian was dressed, in a plain white dress with a navy blue, cropped vest and black shoes over some long white socks. Handed down from her grandma.
“Nice! Let's go.” Grian nodded and the pair headed to the Reaping.
***
After getting their fingers pricked, Lizzie and Grian, unfortunately, had to separate to their groups. Lizzie squeezed Grian’s hand before heading to go stand next to her friend, Katherine. Grian gave both the girls a smile before standing in the male group, next to an old man who seemed nice enough.
Grian liked to be at the edge of the group so he only had to stand next to one person and wasn’t sandwiched, could be closer to Lizzie, who also stood at the edge of the female group, and so if there was any sort of problem or stampede, Grian wouldn’t have to be caught in the middle of it.
The announcer walked on stage, Grian never bothered to learn his name, and she gave the audience a nervous smile. She was shy, no older than seventeen, and was very guilty every single time she had to announce the next person to be in a death game.
She had dark purple dyed hair that was shaved on one side. She had silver earrings, dark brown eyes, and a white fishing shirt with a brown skirt and tall, black boots with fishnet leggings.
She walked over to the large bowl after explaining the new rules, and pulled out a name slowly.
“U-um… G-Grian Moon.” She stuttered, looking out into the crowd. Grian sighed. He wasn’t surprised, honestly, just sad. He slowly walked up to the stage, trying to hide his limp. The women on stage helped him up with an apologetic look, and went to the bowl to grab the second name.
All the while, Grian looked into the crowd at Lizzie’s face, and hated the fact that tears streamed down her face. He knew she would have volunteered for him, but she was on probation from breaking too many rules, so she was unable. Grian gave her a watery smile, blinking back tears.
“K-Katherine F-Flower-r.” The announcer practically whispered into the mic. Lizzie gave a wail of despair as Katherine carefully pulled herself from her friend's grip and walked to the stage.
“No, n-no I volunteer as tribute!” Lizzie screamed. The announcer gave her a bewildered look but sighed.
“You’re on probation, Liz-”
“But I just got off today!” Grian gasped as he remembered she was right. Her probation ended today. Both had completely forgotten until then.
The announcer stuttered and looked at a peacekeeper for confirmation. The peacekeeper looked through Lizzie’s files on a tablet and nodded. The announcer sighed again.
“Confirmed. Katherine, you can go back to your family.” Katherine had to be pulled back by a few peacekeepers.
“No, Lizzie!” She screamed, crying. Lizzie gave her a small smile and stepped onto the stage.
“And what’s your name?” The announcer asked. She already knew, but it was tradition for volunteers. Now that Grian was close enough, he could see her name tag. Konya Gardener.
“Elizabeth. Elizabeth Shadowlady, but you can call me Lizzie.” Lizzie said to the crowd.
“And how old are you, and you?” She continued, facing both, now.
“Seventeen.” Lizzie answered.
“S-sixteen.” Grian said. Konya raised the pair's wrists, her grip gentle.
“Please applaud district four’s Hunger Games champions. And may the odds be ever in your favor.” Konya whispered, seeming to cringe at every word. Lizzie and Grian glanced at each other.
“Now we’re both gonna die, Liz! Why did you do that?” Grian whispered. Lizzie looked away.
“Couldn’t let you be in this alone. Besides, Katherine isn’t built for the Hunger Games.” Grian still looked at her incredulously.
“And we are!?” He whispered.
“Shh.” Lizzie said. Grian sighed as they were led off stage. Grian then just remembered that yesterday was his birthday. He groaned as he remembered how bad yesterday was. So much for a day off. Why was he thinking about that when he was literally about to be in the Hunger Games!? This would be a fun few weeks.
Assuming he even lasted a day in the Hunger Games.
***
Ren sighed as he laid in his bed. It had been two weeks since he had his stern talk with Martin, and his brother was doing much better about becoming more responsible. He didn’t seem to be mad at Ren, which was good, and Ren believed he had done some serious self reflection and came to the conclusion that he had been a jerk his whole life.
‘Gee.’ Ren thought.
‘Wonder how he came to that conclusion.’ Martin would still have his tantrums, but he was getting better at listening to Ren’s words, and realizing he was being stubborn and unfair. He also seemed to understand the weight of Ren buying food from the market, and realizing how wrong it was to act indifferent when Ren was putting his life on the line.
Martin had actually woken up in the middle of the night recently, crying for his older brother. Since they lived in such a small hut, Ren heard him right away and hurried to his room.
“Martin?” Ren whispered soothingly, walking slowly to the smaller boy’s bed. Martin looked up at him, tears streaming down his face.
“R-Ren.” Martin stammered, a sob ripping from his throat. Ren sat on the edge of his bed, leaving his stance open and his arms to his side. It showed he was open and available for comfort, and was not a threat if Martin was in that deep of a headspace.
Martin seemed to relax, gripping onto Ren’s shirt. Ren wrapped his arms around his little brother, threading his fingers through his hair to calm him down.
“R-Ren-” Ren tightened his hold on Martin.
“Shhh, you're okay. It's okay.” Martin whimpered.
“I- I always acted so s-selfish! I mean, with o-other things too, but m-mostly with just acting so indifferent w-when you're literally putting your l-life on the line for food. For m-me! I-I-” Ren cut him off, pulling him closer to his chest.
“Shhh, that was old you. Yes, it hurt when you would do that, definitely, but you’ve changed. You’ve said sorry, maybe not verbally, but through actions.” Martin sighed, relaxing into Ren’s embrace finally.
“But… you put your name in almost twenty times because of food. And I-” Ren shooshed him again, laying him back down in his bed. Martin closed his eyes immediately, but wasn’t asleep. Ren softly used his fingers to stroke his forehead until his breathing evened out, and he fell asleep.
The next morning, Mumbo came over. It was tradition for Ren’s sorta-friend to come over every morning before the Reaping started. He wore his usual black suit, with his red tie, white under shirt, and black dress pants and shoes. Though, for the Reaping, he had his hair slicked back more than usual, and had his mustache brushed, and polished.
Mumbo was poor as well, but he had rich relatives that he borrowed grease, polish, and suits from, so he could always dress formally for his low-paying job.
“Hey, mate. How’s Martin?” Mumbo had warmed up to Ren’s little brother when he straightened up his act. He congratulated Ren for being stern with him, and Martin for learning responsibility. However awkward the situation was, Ren was appreciative.
“He’s doing good! He had a nightmare last night, but he’s okay now.” Mumbo nodded, before checking his watch and observing Ren’s ‘just-got-out-of-bed’ state.
“You’re not ready mate!? Come on, come on, the Reaping starts in, like, twenty minutes!”
***
Mumbo, Ren, and Martin arrived at the Reaping exactly on time. As soon as the trio got their finger pricked, and went to their group, the horn blew for the Reaping to begin. Ren wore a red button up shirt and black straps that went over his shoulders that connected to his belt that held up his jeans, which were tucked into some red shoes.
Martin wore a blue cap over his curly brown head, and had a purple shirt with a black, unbuttoned suit, navy blue jeans, and black boots. He glanced around nervously, holding Ren’s hand. He had been much better at showing his emotions to Ren when they had a talk about Martin hiding his emotions.
After the Hunger Games rules were explained, the announcer, Johnny Knack, drew a name. He wore a navy blue suit with black pants, black dress shoes, and his blonde hair slicked back to perfection. Ren sighed, and bent down to Martin.
“Martin… if I get chosen, take care of yourself.” Martin nodded, wiping a tear from his cheek. They had done a longer talk about this topic beforehand, but it still hurt for Martin to accept. Ren then turned to Mumbo.
“Take care of him.” Mumbo nodded.
“Ren Dog!” Johnny announced. Ren sighed, gave Martin a big hug, and walked up to the stage while Mumbo held Martin in his arms, partly for comfort, but mostly to keep him from running to Ren and getting himself in trouble.
Once Ren reached the stage, Johnny asked his age and drew the next name.
“Mumbo Jumbo!” Ren’s eyes widened, blinking back tears. This was not part of the plan. Who would take care of Martin? Who would take care of Mumbo!? He would surely die in the Hunger Games! Ren took a breath. He would. He would take care of Mumbo, and make sure he made it.
No matter the cost.
Mumbo walked to the stage, told the announcer his age, and stood beside Ren. The announcer raised their wrists, and Ren’s last view of Martin before being led off stage was him being held back by two peacekeepers, tears streaming down his face.
***
Pearl had woken up the night before under the sun. She had fallen asleep counting the stars, and was late to her job, but it was worth it. Worth it to be one with nature. She hadn't slept that good in years.
Now she sat at the desk of her job, sighing as she stacked papers. Her mail job was very busy, but very boring, and she forced herself to keep her mind from wondering. It usually went to weird, specifically gay, thoughts when she was this bored.
Once Pearl was done with her last stack of envelopes, she pulled on her brown jacket over her job outfit consisting of a white blouse tucked into some black jeans, a black belt, and some black high heels. She grabbed her blue purse, pulled it over her jacket, and headed out the door, waving goodbye to some of her work friends.
Joel was outside, wearing a white shirt, the top buttons unbuttoned, that tucked into some brown pants. He had some light brown boots, and a watch on his wrist.
“Hey.” Pearl greeted her friend.
“Thanks again for covering for me for my birthday.” Joel smirked.
“Course, Pearl. A workaholic like you needs a break every once and awhile.” Pearl’s cheeks flushed, and she punched her friend in the arm.
“Whatever. Want some dinner? On me.” Pearl added the last part when Joel opened his mouth to speak. Joel smiled.
“Touche. ‘Spose I could eat. You're the best, Pearl!” Pearl laughed.
“Don’t I know it. Race you to that pizza place you love!”
“Aw, you know me too well!” Joel said, pushing his green bangs out of his eyes as he raced after his friend, his brown hair billowing behind him.
After they ate, the two parted ways, and Pearl rested easy that night. A night out with Joel always did that for her. Pearl woke up the next morning, immediately eating some waffles, and an apple before brushing her teeth, showering, and getting ready to change for the Reaping before she heard a knock on the door.
Joel had come over to her house to tell her he wouldn’t be able to walk her to the Reaping since his brother had gone into a panic attack. Pearl assured him it was okay, and started to get ready for the Reaping herself.
Pearl pulled on a nice blue blouse that tucked into a matching blue skirt, with some sandals. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail with a blue bow tied at the black band that held her hair up.
She observed herself in the mirror, smoothing her brown hair, and tucking a blonde highlight behind her ear. She nodded to herself, and pulled on her purse before heading out the door to the Reaping.
***
After Pearl got her finger pricked, she met with Joel to wish him luck before heading to her spot in the group of females. Joel made sure to be close to her, on the outside of his group like her. They watched as the announcer walked on stage.
The announcer wore a red shirt that tucked into some black jeans. She wore tall, dark brown boots, and had a big, beefy, light brown train conductor's jacket.
She had short, dyed navy blue hair that was slicked to one side, and covered half of one of her pink, contact lensed eyes. She wore no makeup apart from some mascara and lip gloss.
‘What's her name again?’ Joel mouthed to Pearl.
‘Erica Glenning.’ Pearl mouthed back. Joel nodded, and looked back at the stage. Pearl rolled her eyes. Joel had the memory of a goldfish.
Erica announced the new rules of the Hunger Games, which Pearl felt herself be indifferent about, before going to the name bucket. She pulled out a name, reading it, before announcing its contents.
“Pearlecent Moon!” Pearl felt herself stiffen. She had been chosen for the Hunger Games. The odds were definitely against her. She slowly stepped out of the crowd, walking towards the stage.
“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” Joel shouted. Pearl whirled on him with a glare, but, to her surprise, Erica laughed.
“You can’t volunteer until after both competitors are chosen, silly! You’ll have to wait.” Joel glowered at the announcer, but she paid him no mind as she drew the next name. Pearl fidgeted with the hem of her dress, lost in thought.
Joel couldn’t volunteer for her! She didn’t want him to die, but she couldn’t do anything about it. If he volunteered, she was powerless to stop it. Pearl caught Joel’s eye, trying to send the message through her eyes. Joel just smiled sadly.
“Joel Smallishbeans!” Pearl startled, forgetting there was another name that needed to be drawn. And that person was… shoot. Pearl processed the name, praying Joel had just tried to volunteer and Erica had gotten on to him again.
Her prayers were not answered as she helplessly watched Joel walk up to the stage, shooting Pearl an apologetic glance.
“I have a good feeling about this group.” Erica said with a smile. Pearl weighed if her feeling good about them was in their favor or not. She decided on the latter.
“Please welcome our two competitors! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.” As Pearl and Joel’s wrists were raised, and bright lights shone on their faces, Pearl made a promise in that moment. That she would keep the two of them safe, and they would win together…
…or die trying.
***
Scar woke up in the grass, feeling a strange sense of deja vu at waking up in the wild. He sat up quickly, ignoring the black spots that clouded his vision from sitting up too fast after waking up.
‘Oh no, oh no, oh shoot!’ Scar thought frantically. He had slept outside instead of going home! His mother and father were most likely panicking. On the day of the Reaping no less!
He couldn’t face them right now!
Scar heard distant bells in the distance, signalling the Reaping would start in less than two hours. He yelped and stood up, swaying a bit before grabbing his cane and hobbling to a direction he knew too well.
Skizz woke up to frantic pounding on the door of his family's home. He heard his mother answer the door, and be greeted by a familiar voice. Skizz sat up straight in his bed and hurried to the door, gently pushing his mother out of the way.
“Hey mom! You should probably finish cooking breakfast, I’ll take care of my friend here!” His mother sent him a confused look before walking back to the kitchen.
Skizz breathed slowly, letting out a deep sigh before facing his friend, looking him up and down.
His hair was ruffled like he just woke up and was covered in leaves. He leaned heavily on his cane, his legs shaking and his face red like he had just ran a marathon.
His clothes, a brown suit with a white breech, dark brown jeans that were tucked into some light brown dress shoes, were ruffled and covered in dirt stains.
“You fell asleep outside and can’t face your parents?” Skizz said. Scar nodded, a pleading look in his eyes. Skizz sighed, looked both ways to make sure the coast was clear, and led his friend into his room.
“You’re a lifesaver, Skizz!” Scar exclaimed as Skizz threw him some fresh clothes. Skizz waved a dismissive hand.
“Anything for you, buddy. But don’t get used to it. I’ll bring you some food and make sure your folks don’t get wind of this.” Scar thanked him again before Skizz left the room. Scar pulled off his dirty clothes and took a short cleaning before pulling on the clean clothes.
Skizz gave him a white, long sleeved shirt with puffy sleeves, a brown vest with a new white breech, light brown jeans, and dark brown dress shoes. Scar sighed, reminding himself to never take Skizz for granted again.
Skizz came back after Scar was decent with some strawberries, and a waffle. Scar was very careful not to get even a crumb on his clothes.
“We should be leaving for the Reaping soon.” Skizz said.
“I’ll urge mom and dad to leave earlier so after we leave, you’ll have some time to wait about ten minutes to leave for the Reaping so you’ll be on time, but my parents won’t see you leaving their home.” Scar nodded and watched as Skizz hurried his family out of the door, and left Scar alone with his thoughts.
***
Scar straightened his breech nervously as he stood in line to get his finger pricked. His eyes swiveled anxiously, and he prayed they would not land on anyone familiar. Thankfully, Scar got his finger pricked and got in the group of men for the Reaping without seeing anyone he didn’t want to.
Though, that luck was, unknowest to Scar, about to run out.
Scar tapped his leg anxiously as he watched the announcer step on stage and draw the first name.
The announcer, Robin Red, wore a green suit with a black tie, a white undershirt, and long, black hair that was tied in a ponytail. He had a short, stubby beard, an eyebrow piercing, black dress shoes, and dark green pants.
Scar’s cane was gripped tighter as he caught a glance at Skizz and his father, looking away to cut any unnecessary attention.
“Skizzle Man!” Scar sucked in a breath as the world seemed to go in slow motion. He watched his friend walk on stage. He couldn’t speak, didn’t think he had the ability to do anything as he watched the announcer draw the second name.
“Ryan Goodtimes!” Scar let out a breath he’d been holding. At least he’d be with Skizz. He heard his mother’s wail of despair and his fathers angry cries, but he ignored them as he hobbles to the stage, gripping his cane even tighter.
The announcer looked apologetically at him as he took notice of Scar's cane, but he was only met with determined eyes. Maybe this was the way Scar proved himself, that he wasn’t weak just because he had a cane. He would win the Hunger Games with Skizz.
Scar met Skizz’s eyes and he knew Skizz could tell what he was thinking. Skizz nodded to him, a glint in his eyes. He and Scar were on the same page. They would win.
They had to.
***