Before you read the episode, can I just say I am really upset with some of you. I understand some of you are eager to read, and I am glad to hear it! Put please PLEASE don't pester me about posting. I've had the flu the last few days and i've had an issue with one of the tributes details and its only been 3 days since the initial casting so have some patience, please. This doesn't apply to all of you. So i've had to post what I have early to keep the impatient ones happy. Sorry if your tributes story hasnt been posted yet. It will be shortly.
I'm sorry if I sound harsh. It just really hurts when I put all my effort into writing a good story for all of you and spend hours on each episode, only for people to accuse me of forgetting about the series.
District 12:
Female- ROSE KRIMSON, 14 ( Pegasus1234)
Male- COLE SCHWINN, 18 ( AintItFun)
"I know other districts traditionally start with the girls," the escort says, "but shall we start with the boys this year?"
There is a silence
"Sucopia Jillian" The District 2 escort trumpets across the audience. A poor 13-year-old boy in the public takes a few steps forward, ready to enter the stage with eagerness, yet fear. Even though it was a career district, he was still a little too young to be prepared to honour his district.
"However young man, you may stay where you are," he, the escort smiles, "as I believe we have male volunteers to represent our district! What an honour!"
From the right, and up the concrete steps, over twenty male volunteers strut and take a stand on the stage. They are dressed very impressively, wearing lots of great fabrics and shiny jewels imported from district 1 and 8. They all seemed around the ages of 17-18. How it works in District 2: your personal arena trainers (P.A.T.s) decide when a teenager is ready to be a volunteer. It is not the norm for a volunteer to be below the age of 16, but it occasionally happens, simply because they are usually still undeveloped in their lethal skills. Once all the young men take their lofty positions on stage, the escort dwindles his glamorous hands into the volunteer bowl.
"Mason Balk," he calls into the microphone calmly. He wore a white tunic with glitter down one sleeve, and a beautiful gold belt. He was ready for this moment and seemed one of the eldest of the volunteers. The crowd cheered for his selection, except for his mother who stood at the very back of the crowd. Her face was unimpressed and concerned. She was herself, a victor. She knew herself what the games truly were, but Mason couldn't hear her all those years through the honour being a victor brought, supposedly. But Mason was the child of a victor. Not many victor's children escaping the Hunger Games themselves as it makes quite a show. Mason's name was most likely the only name in that bowl. While the other candidates sighed, tutted and complained amongst themselves for not being selected, Mason took a stand next to the escort. He seemed a young man of intelligence and was handsome too.
"Now the ladies. We may as well skip to the volunteer bowl!" And he does so, unprofessionally. The tribute should be reaped first, and then the volunteers are reaped to replace them. Volunteering in career districts was always a confusing process.
Roughly 15 girls walked on stage, decorated in a similar manner to the boys: nice, fancy dresses and hairstyles.
"GARNET CHELLE" The escort bellows. Once again, the other tributes sigh in disbelief while the pride-filled, beautiful girl that was chosen steps forward on the stage. Garnet was only 16, but she was district known for being relentless and a female warrior. She must have had the best sword skills of her generation. She was also known for being hit on by half the males her age. She wore a headband that pulled her hair back behind her ears. The headband was decorated with jewellery. This was her personal fashion statement and wore it every reaping.
"Please, give another round of applause for this year's tributes, MASON AND GARNET!"
The tributes, while remaining leaning out to the audience below, chins high and smiles wide, slowly faced each other. They clutched each other's hand and raised it high above their heads, roaring out to the audience, baring their teeth and tensing their muscles, giving confidence to District 2 that they shall have a victor this year, as usual. The public roared back, except Mason's mother, the previous victor. She fled the reaping early in tears.
"DAYTA DRAYSON, where are you?" The escort for District 3 called aggressively from the stand, holding the paper slip with her name on it. Her name was only in their once! How could this be? She hadn't applied for tessera: she was only 12. She had, in secret, prepared a little for the games. It was illegal, but what wasn't illegal, she thought. If she had got chosen, she had guessed it would have happened a little later in her years, if even at all.
"Don't keep the capital waiting!" The escort scolded. The young girl took her first step out into the isle. The youngest tributes were positioned at the back of the candidates. Her hand was still slightly bleeding from the prick they gave her small finger to sample and record her DNA. It was official procedure. A devastated mother bellowed her eyes out in the background, clawing at the ground, but Dayta did not turn around. She could sense the eyes staring her down as she stuttered down the aisle, breathing faster and panicking. Other mothers in the crowd began muttering in dismay. "This is sick, she's 12!" They were apparently whispering until hushed by the peacekeepers. It was rare for 12-year-olds to be picked; their age group was least likely to be chosen. But, there is usually always at least one every year.
"Wow, you are a young one, aren't you!" The escort called down the microphone, "oh, stop crying will you, you have been chosen to represent your district!"
After what seems a lifetime, she reaches the stage, sobbing behind her hair as she stared at the floor.
"NOW... for the gentleman," the female escort announces, tiptoeing over to the male bowl. She washes her hand around the bowl for what seems like an eternity and plucks a name.
"ECHO BERTS"
An irrelevant, many children, though. He was bullied at school for having an autistic brother and for being the classic know-it-all in class. His brother couldn't enter the reaping as he was considered too disabled. In other words, 'wouldn't be entertaining enough in the show'. Echo was a young man of 16, who had put his names in a few times for tessera. While walking to the stage, he went through a journey of emotions, ending with almost joy. His bullies may think they are cool, but what are they compared to him if he wins The Hunger Games. He would be a legend for eternity. An additional, he would get to save his family from starvation. Although District 3 was a wealthy district, his family was not. Neither was Dayta's. She had a twin brother named Huxley, and three older brothers: Binary, Bolt and Fuse. All of them were in the reaping. None of them volunteered.
"OUR TRIBUTES..." The escort howled "DAYTA AND ECHO". The audience did not cheer in return but pitied their future dead children.
The female escort of district 4 coughs calmly into the microphone to clear her throat. She is wearing a mask over her mouth to protect herself from the current Typhoid outbreak in the swamps and city centre of District 4. But she is clearly smiling overwhelmingly behind her mask.
"CORAL SYDELL, come on up honey!" She calls sweetly. This escort seemed fairly nice. She was new this year. Her hair was multi coloured and her she had a welcoming atmosphere to her personality. But this wasn't enough to keep Coral calm. She was kind, innocent, and cared for others. She knew she didn't deserve this, no one did. Her sister, Lantis swore, crossed her heart and hoped to die, that she would volunteer for Coral. But her sister turned 19 last year. She was no longer a possible candidate for The Hunger Games. Also, there were no female volunteers this year. With the typhoid outbreak, too many are sick. There are never too many female volunteers anyway. Maybe two or three. No one was going to take her place. But under the radar that is the capitol, she has practised for the Hunger Games. District 4 is a career district but training before the games is stricter there than District 1 and 2. Coral was praying that the other careers would see her as an asset. No one else was praying for her except her older sister: their parents died a long time ago., but she finds comfort in believing someone special is guiding her.
"Oh my Lord," The escort squeals, "we are so lucky to have such a pretty female tribute."
Coral did not react to this but instead stared at the floor.
"Now let me pick the next lucky, handsome male volunteer!" She calls with passion, fluttering to the other bowl, and the audience rolls their eyes. District 4 is a career district, but have more wisdom. And less arrogance. Only three male volunteers stand on stage. They all looked 17 or 18. One of them looked very poorly, with bags under his eyes and appeared ill with Typhoid.
"DANNY LUMIAN," but when the escort realises this is the sick boy, she readjusts her mouth mask nervously, "oh wow," she continues, "you look... so handsome! Come step forward, darling!" And he does so. He takes place next to Coral on the stage. Danny was relieved to be selected. Half his family was sick with the outbreak. If he could win this year's games, he could save his family from death. He was sick himself, so entering the games would get him free treatment. Danny was currently oblivious to the true nature of the games. He was brave, confident, fearless and thankful for being the District 4 male tribute.
"Our tributes this year, Coral and Danny!" The crowd claps, but sarcastically and sympathetically. Once again, they were not as arrogant as District 1 and 2 and did not see the games as anything to honestly celebrate. Coral and Danny held hands and raised them into the air as a sign of pride and honour. While the crowd remained the clap, the tributes stared at each other. Coral looked up Danny with a gloomy face, but Danny's was blank with determination and confidence.
"CLEOPATRA HECKER!" The stern female escort voice called. It was District 5, with electricity grids stretching for miles beyond the reaping grounds. This escort was not dressed magnificently but rather black and white. You would not have guessed she was from the capital. After a few moments of silence, the escort repeated herself.
"CLEOPATRA HECKER!"
Finally, a 16-year-old girl steps forward from her section.
"Cleo..." Her friend whispers as she whimpers. Cleopatra and her friend, Atoma, had been holding hands in the reaping. They had been friends since their first day of school. Cleopatra took her steps down the aisle, and the escort had already begun to call the second name.
"THUNDER SKERRIT!"
Just as the girl had reached the stage, the boy stepped forward unwillingly. He was clearly trying to hold back his tears in public, but all the other teenagers watched him walk onto the stage, glad it wasn't them. He seemed a little younger than Cleopatra.
"Clap for our tributes. CLEOPATRA HECKER and THUNDER SKERRIT."
There were the few odd claps in the audience, but that was only to avoid upsetting the capital and the peacekeepers. But mostly the crowd was silent, with a few members of the tribute's families wailing in tears.
Cleopatra's eyes had begun to water, but Thunder was allowing a few tears to roll down his cheek, feeling sorry for himself. Cleopatra took this minute, while the escort made some random, improvised speech, to examine her competition. He looked intelligent and as if he didn't think himself of any importance. She always seemed to have good judgement of character.
It was almost time for the tributes to exit District 5, probably forever, or at least for one of them. Cleopatra would not wish this on her worst enemy. It was essentially a death wish.
"DAWN NING! Come on up here, you lucky flower!" A very camp male escort calls in District 6. Although scared, like any non-career tribute usually was, her legs immediately began ambling down the aisle. Her mind had gone blank, as if she had not even heard her name been called, she had gone into shock. Or maybe it was confidence. She had taught herself martial arts from a young age, so she doesn't need a weapon to survive. She was strong; she was sneaky. She had a good chance, for a District 6 tribute anyway. Her biggest concern wasn't death, but her mother. They are so close. It has only been the both of them for a long time. What will her mother do without her?
Dawn reaches the stage and looks out above the heads of all the teenagers, all the females sighing in relief.
"You are looking gorgeous today, Dawn. You would have thought it was a wedding, not a reaping! Haha!" He laughs. But this laughter becomes stiff when half the crowd, tut, cross their arms or roll their eyes.
"Tough crowd," he mutters under his breath.
"KYLE TRELL!"
Like Dawn, he is confident and did not hesitate to walk up onto the stage beside her. They recognised each other as they went to the same school, but they were not friends. He would have rather not been reaped, but he felt ready to kill if he had to. Especially the careers, 'the arrogant bastards deserve it,' his Dad would always say.
He then heard his father causing a scene at the back of the assembly, crying out for Kyle. This touched his heart, but what could Kyle do? He couldn't just leave the stage. Him and his dad, like Dawn, were very close. They refurnished and redecorated damaged train carriages together as a career since he was a child. His father was alway so close to Kyle, because he looked like his mother, who wasn't around anymore. Kyle had to experience watching a peacekeeper knock his father unconscious.
"WELL," The escort says, "I'm guessing that was daddy, yes?" But Kyle did not look impressed at all, cursing his escort with his eyes.
In District 7, there was a high demand of lumber from the capital, and from District 10 who needed new enclosures for their large stocks of animals, so the only people at the reaping were the teenagers and the occasional family member. Most parents and adults had to work, alas their families starve. The female escort for District 7 has to scream over the noise of rusty vehicles and burly men shouting 'timber' in the distance.
"First, the girls," she speaks fluently. Her chocolate fingers swirl around the glass bowl, mixing in and out of the paper slips. District 7 was quite high on tessera this year, but not as high as, say, District 12.
"WILLOW MAREX"
No parent cried or grieved, or rebelled. This daughter's mother and father must have been either dead, or at work, unaware their precious daughter had been stolen from them. A young adult, 18-years-old, steps forward into the aisle, stops for a moment, inhales a breath of air, and prowls down the aisle. She was ready. A smile radiated across her face as she reached the stage, and even the escort seemed disturbed. Anyone would have thought her a career. She was cocky, and simply hated the way of life.
"That was a might proud walk," the escort chuckles, readjusting her wig.
"Thankyou," Willow replies down the microphone. She faces straight ahead, closing her lips, putting the crowd beneath her. She was glad she was chosen. She would have volunteered otherwise.
"BIRCH MAREX"
And all of a sudden, her heart stopped. Her senses failed her. She hadn't felt pathos quite like this in years. The only person she actually cared for anymore, her younger brother, has been reaped beside her. But at least he wasn't pathetic or weak; he had skills. He could run, he was good at making all types of friends. Maybe he could even get them into the traditional career alliance. But for her to win, he must die, and vice versa.
"Well I say," the escort flattered, "how wonderful is this? Brother and sister! Sharing the best experience the capital has to offer to its citizens!" The escort smiles, adjusting her afro wig.
Willow and Birch look each other in the eyes, knowing they cannot speak. Willow's eyes begin to tear up, but Birch's do not. He could only offer a comforting grin. But this was to let her know that it would all be okay. That he would be fine.
"You are siblings, yes?" She says with an inflection.
But Willow just stares at the escort, and her tears become that of anger.
"Yes," Birch answers.
"Well, happy Hunger Games!"
"THORNE STAYTON! You have been reaped! How exciting!"
Just like the District 7 girl, her eyes were full of so much hate. Thorne hated the capital, Panem, with a passion. As if it was a hobby. For her soul enemy to make a further point that Thorne was owned property of the capital churned her insides and poisoned her good spirit, or what was left of it. But she complied and took her place on stage.
"So, are we ready, Thorne?" The male escort asks, holding the microphone to her lips, a little too close. After Thorne gently nudges the microphone away, she speaks.
"I will win, for my district, for my friends. Not for the capital."
When Thorne touched the escort to move the microphone away, the peacekeepers almost stormed the stage in chaos, but the escort held up a hand while she spoke, to let the guards know there was no harm.
"Oh," he paused, "well, may the odds be in your favour!" and his smile returned.
"Now, let's pick a young man, shall we?" His hand goes stirring around the glass bowl.
"PORK KOTTER"
'What an unfortunate name," Thorne thought. But when a fat, ugly looking tween stepped into the aisle, even the escort's mouth dropped in almost hysterics, until he controlled himself. Thorne did not know this boy by name, but everyone knew him by appearance. He was the only fat kid in District 7. His parents were bakers, and everyone knew where the extra ones went.
"Well aren't you a..." the escort laughs behind a serious face, "a charming young man!"
But the boy does not smile and his face is rather blank from shock. He hadn't entered for tessera. His family was wealthy; his mother was the mayor of District 7, who was sitting on stage during the entire event. His mother did not even seem that upset he was chosen. His mother always saw Pork as a disappointment who could never possibly win The Hunger Games.
"I volunteer," a boastful female voice calls from the crowd of District 9.
"That is shocking! Most wonderfully shocking! A female volunteer!" The escort sings, dancing on stage in delight. As the girl, who looked 18, walked purposefully to the front of the assembly and onto the stage. What seems to be her brothers and sisters could be heard whimpering in the audience.
"And what might your name be?"
"Katherine Gallina."
Katherine always wanted to enter the arena since she was a teenager, but for cliche reasoning. Her family was poor, thirsty, starving, like everyone else in District 9. Her tessera count was beyond 40. Yet she had still not been chosen. She wanted to give her mother, her father, her siblings a better life. A life worth living. She had let this unrealistic dream of winning the show poison her mind into illegally training for years until her act of volunteering. She was not too worried. She was strong, she was smart, and she was brutal. A perfect combination for The Hunger Games.
"Now, for the boys!"
She, the escort, walks to the boy's bowl.
"DIELDRIN SIPSI, come on up, please!"
Everyone knew this child. A 12-year-old, sick with mid-stage cancer. He was such a sweet boy. So caring and so gentle. His condition was considered life-threatening, yet, so he still had to attend the reaping.
"I volunteer too!" An older boy calls from the front of the candidates. He calls this before Dieldrin could even make himself present. Another older tribute, around 17-years-old, makes their way to the front of the stage, but hesitantly.
"And you might be..."
But the boy tribute froze for a few seconds: "Wheaton Sneed"
He was afraid, afraid of dying, just like any other traditional tribute. But he had to volunteer, just like Katherine. It was his personal effort at rebelling against the norm. The capital had killed his brother and mother when he was young. He was forced to be raised by people he did not know. He was not going to let the capital claim an innocent child again, just like so many previous years. Wheaton even knew Dieldrin personaly, he wouldn't have hurt a soul, despite dying from cancer and not recieving any help from Panem.
"I cannot believe it! Our first two District 9 volunteers, in the same year! This causes for celebration!" And the escort claps tremendously. But the audience stand in utter silence, proud of their children to represent their district.
Please comment! If you comment, I'll know your reading and I'm less likely to kill you :P
Comments
Alright, I'm back. I'll read the other 2 eps some time soon.
I needed time to regroup for myself HaloKing lol Anyway, I am actually getting ready to post the midseason finale of Evolution before I read this. But I will give you my thoughts once I read these 2 episodes.
Okay, so this is great writing as usual HaloKing! :) I read the top bit as well, and to those people, always be patient with him. Halo is a great writer and tries his best to bring his best quality to the table. I know from other blog series he has written.
Dang man, this is awesome! Can't wait to see more of this, i'm actually making my own hunger games story, but this is much better than mine already and only 9 tributes are left.
OMG I already love this! Queen Katherine volunteering slayed my life and beyond! You described her perfectly!! She is such an icon!! Keep the good work!
Pegasus1234 Yeah, you kind of have to be patient because Blog Series can be like that when introducing new characters. If it's any consolation, I wasn't in the previous episode either and I'm not complaining.
