The girl from District 8 wasted no time in securing her spot in the Games. Tryphosa Blanchett strided atop the stage with a proud air. She was a five foot tall hunk of muscle, unusual for a girl from her District. Her parents were worried when they saw their daughter volunteering to compete in a real life deathmatch, something they had fought in the war on her behalf to protect her from. But Tryphosa was was completely resolute in her decision to participate.
Tresha Chloette Madison, the escort for District 8's soon-to-be tributes, swirled her hands theatrically over the container of boys' names. She plucked an envelope from the top, cut it open with a swift cut of her bejewelled nail, and read the name of the Reaped:
"Flix Quigley!"
A child shuffled out of the ranks of boys and joined Tresha and Tryphosa onstage. Although he tried to at least seem brave, he was shaking like a leaf. He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped. It was Tryphosa, whose smile was somewhat of a reassurance to him.
"We're gonna do great!" Tryphosa said. "Don't beat yourself up over getting picked. All there is to do now is get your head in the game."
"Thank you," Flix replied.
Tresha concluded the Reaping and led the two of them to the train. As they walked, Tryphosa and Flix chatted like schoolmates, and Flix's worries continued to ease. Tryphosa had that effect on people. She always had a particular knack for leadership.
Tresha was perplexed by their comeraderie. The two of them had just been cast for the most brutal and cutthroat reality show the Capitol has yet to see. And yet, the prospect of being forced to kill one another in bloodsport didn't seem to drive a wedge between them. Or was it all just part of their strategy? Tresha hoped not. Seeing an ounce of actual good cracked the ice that encased her heart, and she didn't want that feeling to cease. It crushed her realizing that one, if not both of them, were soon going to die.
