I'm rebooting this for like the 23493847th time... let's see if I can finish this. I haven't been on this wiki in year's, but I've got some spare time on my hands and wanted to write a games. I'm only using my own so please don't submit any! Although some of the tributes that I'm using are some of my old tributes from before, I have changed some of their backstories and personalities (some these tributes only share a name with their old counterpart because I have reworked them so much). Some of these tributes are brand new as well. I don't expect many to read this because it seems as if this wiki is relatively inactive now, but this is the best place to post it so here we go.
THE 225TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES!
64 Tributes were reaped from the 13 Districts. Specifically, 6 tributes were reaped from each of Districts 1, 2, 4, 7, 8, 10, 11. Four tributes were reaped from each of districts 3, 5, 6, 9, 12. And only two tributes were reaped from District 13.
Format: Name, age. Italics if a volunteer. Listed in the order that they were reaped.
|Topaz Kennedy, 18||Hermes Scarr, 18||Yuki Ling, 17|
|Stunner Blait, 18||Sparkle Cape, 15||Blade Johnson, 18|
|Ebony Bronze, 18||Brass Sater, 18||Courtney Thorna, 17|
|Phoenix Bismouth, 18||Trina Mason, 17||Dare Ward, 17|
|Destiny Bow, 13||Volt Dent, 14|
|Electra Thunder, 16||Gauge Down, 15|
|Neon Sunset, 18||Royal West, 18||Oceania Waves, 18|
|River Blue, 18||Aquamarine Summerton, 17||Reed Crest, 12|
|Trinity Heart, 15||Falcon Generate, 18|
|Tessa Powers, 18||Eric Pierce, 18|
|Hope Perquin, 13||Marcus Kent, 15|
|Kyva Heat, 14||Arun Twist, 17|
|Isa Wood, 16||Stone Wore 18||Olive Coriander, 16|
|Remus Birch, 17||Rania Cutter, 17||Rowan Glover, 18|
|Raquel Numez, 16||Urban Thread, 15||Eunice Fleece, 14|
|Corduroy Jute, 17||Twyla Horn, 16||Down Smith, 12|
|Spring Howards, 12||Barric Oats, 18|
|Mable Frost, 17||Sam Jones, 17|
|Amanda Falco, 16||Everest Strong, 17||Bluebell Grosgrain, 16|
|Draven Raptor, 18||Aurelia Mare, 13||Talon DeMartin, 14|
|Summer Fest, 16||October Fest, 18||Minnie Peare, 12|
|Cyprian Sear, 17||Briony Whyte, 17||Burdock Cane, 18|
|Velma Ready, 16||Kolton Ash, 18|
|Dallas Tinsle, 14||Mike Wear, 17|
|Olympia Harris, 16||Ripley Mach, 17|
Part I: The Calm Before the Storm
"Are you okay Tessa? You haven't touched your food," My mom says from across the kitchen table. She exchanges a worried look with my father. I stare down at the plate in front of me, laden with fried eggs, sausages and toast with black jam smeared on top. As the savory, intoxicating aroma fills my nostrils, I know that I should want to eat it, but I just can't. I dig the nail of my index finger into my thumb, a nervous habit of mine, and respond. "Yes, I'm fine mom. Just lost in my own thoughts."
I flash a reassuring smile and pick up my fork and knife to take a bite. As I slice off a piece of egg and place it into my mouth, she goes back to focusing on her own meal. I chew it slowly, trying not to gag. It tastes like ash and feels like a hot coal sliding down my throat. My knotted stomach screams in protest as the chewed up bite reaches the end of my esophagus. Almost immediately after, I excuse myself to the bathroom and hurl it back up; bile, egg mush and water mixing in the porcelain toilet bowl. Wiping the beads of sweat off my forehead, I flush my vomit down the toilet. With a few gargles of water from the sink, it's almost as if it never happened. Before heading back to my parents in the kitchen, I examine myself in the mirror. Luckily, the strapless lilac dress that I'm wearing didn't get anything on it, and my soft brown hair is still perfectly straightened, my thick bangs concealing everything above my eyebrows. Without even realizing it, I start pressing my right index finger into the soft flesh of my thumb again.
Stop it, I think to myself. I close my eyes and start to take slow, deep breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out. After calming myself down again, I open the bathroom door open and return to the kitchen table. Now I only pick at the food on my plate, shredding the egg and sausage into pieces. My dad watches me swirling the yellow egg yolk and the black jam around on my plate, but says nothing. He's used to this behavior from me on the day of the reaping. On the other 364 days of the year, I'm perfectly normal teen aged girl, but today I'm a mess of nerves, fear and anxiety. Just the thought of being thrust into the games, forced to kill or be killed, is enough to fill my body with dread.
I particularly remember when I was thirteen, I was plagued with nightmares the entire week leading up to the reaping. The year prior, the female tribute from my district had been mauled to death by a pack of mutts with razor sharp fangs and jet black scales. Her entire body was shredded to pieces. It was a closed casket funeral. I dreamt that I was the girl, running through the forest, thorns and branches tearing my clothes and cutting my skin. No matter how fast I ran, there was no escaping them. They would tear me apart, my limbs severed from my body and my entrails torn out and devoured.
For the past few years however, I had managed to keep my anxieties in check, mainly from the help of my then boyfriend and childhood friend, Falcon. He taught me how to fight off my panic attacks and prevent my nerves from getting the best of me. He was the shoulder I could cry on and the person to vent to (I was far too embarrassed to confide in my overprotective parents). Whenever a panic attack would come on, Falcon would hold me in his arms, my face pressed against his chest so I could hear his heartbeat. We would stay there like that for seconds, minutes, or even hours, until I was able to calm down.
I had ruined that relationship though. There was no one to hold me this time around. The absence of Falcon, plus the news that four tributes from my district would be reaped this year, had caused my anxieties to be worse than ever. My nightmares had returned, and I had been struggling to keep food down lately. As I smashed a piece of sausage under my fork, I realized that if I were to be reaped this year, I would never be able to reconcile my relationship with Falcon. For the past two months, he had been completely avoiding and ignoring me. He switched seats away from me in class and told his parents not to answer the door if I knocked. It was frustrating but well deserved. I just wanted a chance to explain myself and apologize for the awful thing I had done.
"Alright, it looks like its time to head to the justice hall," My dad said, glancing up at the clock on the wall. Luckily, our house was located just a few blocks away, so it wouldn't be a long walk. My parents lead me out the door, and I was hit with a wave of sadness. For the past four reapings, Falcon had been waiting outside for me, patiently standing on our small porch just to the left of the door. Today, that spot was empty. Tears welled in my eyes. Why did I have to hurt him? Why was I such an ungrateful bitch? I missed his warm kisses, our late night talks, the way his green eyes would light up when he talked about his passions. I missed everything about him. He was the boy who I had spent my childhood growing up with, the boy who was my my first crush, and eventually the first, and only, boy I fell in love with. To have him ripped from my life so suddenly was traumatizing.
To be honest, I didn't really remember what I happened that night. It was a small party, only about twenty people gathered in someone's house. Falcon and I danced to the music from a scratchy old record player and drank liquor that made our insides warm. He got tired before I did and wanted to go home. I should've gone with him, but I was drunk and decided to stay to talk to my friends. I had another drink, handed to me by a boy with ashy brown hair, chocolate colored eyes and a wide grin. After that, I remember only bits and pieces. Someone's hands in my hair, my dress on the floor, and a pair of chocolate brown eyes. I woke up the next morning in my room, thinking my friends had brought me home and anything else was only a dream. When I got to school, I realized that I was so wrong. The wide grinning boy, Eric, had bragged to the whole school about how I couldn't keep my hands off him. How I, the most popular girl in school, tossed my boyfriend aside just to get a taste of him. I was in disbelief.
Before class, I ran up to Falcon, who was sitting in his seat with a blank stare on his face, only for my path to be blocked by two of his friends.
"He doesn't want to talk to you," the boy on the left snarled.
"P-please, Falcon I-" I stuttered, trying to look past the boys between us.
"I said he doesn't want to talk to you," he interjected.
"I j-just, just want to ex-explain myself. Falcon, please, I'm so sorry," I begged, tears falling down my cheeks. Falcon remained expressionless, not even glancing in my direction. The boy on the right placed his hands in front of my shoulders and roughly pushed me back.
"What about 'he doesn't want to talk' do you not understand?"
I opened my mouth to speak again, but couldn't think of what to say. My mind went completely blank. Suddenly, the teacher walked in, telling everyone to get to their seats. I sheepishly walked to the back of the class, ignoring the giggles and whispers from behind me. I only caught one phrase.
"What a stupid slut."
I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sight of the town square, and I glanced down to realize I cut my thumb with my nail. A small drop of blood fell to the ground. My mother noticed, and quickly pulled out a white handkerchief to wrap it in. You need to stop doing that. What if you get an infection? It's a nasty habit. She chided, her words echoing meaninglessly in my ear.
After a brief hug from both my parents, we parted ways. Me towards the check-in lines, them towards the viewing areas. After I was identified, I was sent in the direction of the eighteen year old female section by a bored looking peacekeeper. I waded through the crowd of nervous girls, ignoring the occasional stare or hushed whisper. Two months later, and I had still not escaped my reputation as a tart. My fair-weather friends had long abandoned me, so I was forced to stand by myself towards the back of the group.
As the Panem anthem blared and the important figure heads and our district's three living victors were brought out on stage in front of the justice hall, I felt my nerves flare up. I managed to resist the urge to dig into my thumb by tightly squeezing my mother's handkerchief around it. I took a deep breath and stared up at the grey, smog filled sky instead of at the stage. Your name is only in there six times. You don't have anything to worry about, I thought to myself in an attempt to keep myself calm. My parents were relatively well off, so I never had to claim tesserae. Still, a small voice spoke in the back of my mind: there's always a chance.
I could vaguely hear our escort reach the mic and begin yammering on about something. I tried to block out the noise, but a few words reached my ears. Quell. Honor. Triumph. I continued to stare upwards, at the sky that was once blue, turned grey by the pollution churned out by our natural gas and coal powered electric plants. Finally, something she said caught my attention. Begin.
My eyes snapped downward, staring at the stage before me in rapt attention. The escort waltzed over to the girl's ball, and pulled out a single slip of paper. As she returned to the microphone and pull open the parchment, time seemed to slow down. I felt bile rising up in the back of my throat, and my pointer finger digging into the skin of my other thumb.
A collective flood of relief washed over myself and all the girl's around me. One down, one to go. I looked at one of the massive screens that flanked both sides of the stage, it showed a girl with short black hair and fearful eyes step out from the crowd. She had come from one of the middle sections, meaning she was somewhere between fourteen and sixteen years old, although she looked slightly stronger than most girls that age. Two peacekeepers marched her up to the platform, and she stood on one side of the escort. I could tell she was on the verge of tears. I wanted to feel bad for her, but only one thought was in my mind. Thank god it wasn't me.
"Next, the first boy!" The escort declared giddily to the silent crowd. The only sound in the whole square was the sound of her purple heels clicking against the metal stage. As she reached into the bowl of boy's names, my fear had substantially subsided. My brain had managed to rationalize that there was only one more female name to call, and with the number of girls who had to claim tesserae, that I had an astronomically, almost impossible chance of getting reaped. The escort was at the microphone again, and had just pulled open the boy parchment.
My heart stopped. An audible gasp escaped my lips. A couple of the girls around me turned to look at me, to gauge my reaction at the sight of my ex-boyfriend getting reaped. As the boy who had been my best friend for over twelve years stepped out of the crowd and headed towards the stage, the world started spinning like a plate on a stick. I stumbled, unable to process what had just happened, and slipped back and fell on my butt, my lilac dress ruined by the dirt. I had been so worried about myself, so fucking selfish that I hadn't even considered the possibility that Falcon would be reaped. Somehow, this was even worse than if I were reaped myself. Despite what had happened between us, despite the wounds we inflicted onto each other, I still loved him. Tears streamed down my face, the horizon still swirling around me, as I struggled to get back up on my feet. Any hope I had at mending what I had broken was gone. The odds of Falcon winning the games were next to none. He was strong from countless days laboring in a power plant, but even if this was a normal games with only 24 tributes, he stood no chance against the trained killers from the career districts. I was never going to see him again. Falcon would almost certainly refuse my visit in the justice hall. I would have no chance to make up for what I did to him.
I managed to right myself, and focus in on Falcon, who was now standing on the stage by Trinity. His normally bright green eyes were aimed down to the ground, obscured by shadows. I placed a hand over my mouth, struggling to stop myself from sobbing. Everyone around me was staring at me now. One girl even snickered.
I couldn't let it end like this. I couldn't let the love of life go without getting to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness. As the escort retrieved the second female slip, I made a decision. As scared as I was to face the games, there was one emotion I had that was stronger than my fear. Love.
Without hesitation, I pushed past the gawking girls and into the open space that separated the boys and girls. My dress was covered in dirt and my eyes were red from sobbing, but I had no shame. As a peacekeeper reached to grab me, to pull me back into the crowds, I stopped him dead in his tracks.
"I volunteer!" I cried out, my voice reverberating throughout the silent square. Thousands and thousands of eyes looked at me at once. The escort was stunned, her jaw hanging wide open. The faces of the previous victors and public officials behind her mirrored the expression. I looked right at Falcon, tears streaming down my face, and for the first time in months- our eyes met. He was in complete awe. The girl, who for so many years he had to coddle and comfort when she even thought of the games, had just willingly volunteered to enter them. Two peacekeepers grabbed me by my arms and led up the steps and to the escort's side.
"Would you like to tell everyone your name, brave young lady?" She asked me, the expression of shock still present in her eyes. I heard someone wailing from the crowd, probably my mother, as I stepped up to the microphone.
"Tessa Powers." The escort grabbed my shoulder and gently nudged me to the left side of her, opposite of Trinity and Falcon. With my sight of him obscured by my female district partner, the reality of what I had done sunk in. I am going to be in the 225th Hunger Games. I would be thrown in some foreign biome, forced to fight against 63 other people, some of which would be very eager to kill me. Memories of previous tributes from my district flashed across my mind. The girl who was torn apart by mutts, the boy from last year that was burned alive in a massive fire, and the pair of tributes who were killed by the careers at the bloodbath, the boy's head bashed in by a club. Thoughts of their gory deaths began to overcome me, and I felt my heart rate skyrocket. Now the boy you love and yourself are going to die horrible deaths, great thinking Tessa, a voice in my head sneered. I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. There was no going back now. What's done is done. I am going to die within two weeks, so I better make my last days on earth count. Lost in my thoughts, I completely missed the reading of the second male tribute's name.
I looked up from the ground and looked at a pair of chocolate brown eyes. It was him. As Eric walked up the steps, he shoot a smug look at me. The escort directed him to stand next to me, and it took every fiber of my being not to lash out and rip his tongue out.
"May I present to you, the District 5's tributes for the 225th Annual Hunger Games!" Our escort declared, her voice filled with excitement. With peacekeeper guns leveled at the crowd, they had no choice but to clap. Under the din of the crowd, Eric leaned over to me and whispered something in my ear.
"Nice outfit. Although I think you look a lot better with nothing on," his eyes gleamed mean as he gave me one look up and down, lingering on the soot stained dress.
What were the odds?
Why did it have to be so hot? It seemed as if every year on reaping day, mother nature decided it was a good time to turn the heater on. It was a windless, dry heat, the kind that saped the moisture from your body and made your mouth feel miserably dry. Normally, on hot days like these when I wasn't working, I would head to the nearest lake in an attempt to cool off. Sure, there would be tons of other people and the water would be tepid at best, but it was better than standing in the town square, crammed shoulder to shoulder next to all the other fifteen year olds. In the smaller districts, it was easier getting everyone together, but in larger districts like 8, it was closer to a nightmare. The line to even get to the reaping area was hundreds of people long and weaved in and out of adjascent streets, so to actually get there on time you had to arrive at least an hour to an hour and a half early. The town square itself was so stuffed with potential tributes that the fourteen through twelve year olds had to stand in connecting streets and watch the proceedings on massive television screens. This was my first year inside the square itself, and it was somehow more awful than I had imagined. Combine the crowds, opressive heat, and the chance that I could be sent to my death, and it was a living nightmare.
Reaping day was generally pretty shitty, but this year bore a special distinction. Quarter Quell. It wasn't enough that every year the Capitol would steal two tributes from each district and slaughter them, they had to do something special every twenty five years. I hadn't been alive for any of the others (obviously) but I had heard enough stories to send chills down my spine. On the 200th year, they reaped adults between the ages of 19 and 49, on the 75th, they reaped from the existing pool of victors, and perhaps the worst, on the 100th, they reaped a grand total of 100 tributes to send into the arena. In comparison, I guess this year's wasn't all that bad. I didn't quite remember the reasoning, but they were randomly increasing the number of tributes reaped from each district. Districts like 4 and 7 had to submit eight tributes, while 13 only had to give up 2. Sadly for District 8, we were one of the unlucky ones. So this year, I had three times the odds of being reaped. It wasn't exactly a comfortable thought.
Suddenly, the Panem anthem began to play and a slew of important people were brought out onto the stage. I reached for the collar of my starchy button up as my district's escort, Delphine Taillevent, strutted up to the microphone in a ridiculous looking dress that was dotted with massive balloons. As she tapped the microphone, an eerie silence fell over the crowd. Everyone's eyes were trained on her. I wish she would just cut to the chase, to grab the slips of paper out and let us just be done with it, but that's not how the Capitol functions. There needed to be a theatrical speech about the importance of the Quarter Quell and the honor of participating and the pride we will bring to our district if we are reaped. Finally, she finished her stupid pep talk and reached into the ball of girl's slips. I tensed up, will someone I know get reaped? A friend? A neighbor? A classmate?
It took me a minute to place the last name, to realize where I recognized it from, but something finally gave it away. How the cameras turned away from Delphine, and focused in on the mayor's stunned face. His daughter was just reaped. Soemone started to scream from the crowd.
"No! No, no no! Daddy! DADDY!" A shrill voice echoed throughout the otherwise silent square. I watched, along with the rest of Panem, in rapt attention as two peacekeepers dragged a sobbing, shouting, fighting girl from the crowd. She clawed at their helments and tried to kick their legs, but their white armor protected them.
"Put me DOWN! Let me go! Daddy! Make them let me go!" She continued to protest, tears streaming down her round cheeks. Despite not knowing her, I couldn't help but feel a little bad. It hadn't even been a minute and she had already doomed herself. No one was going to want to sponsor this train wreck. The peacekeepers hauled her up to the stage and set her down next to the escort. Raquel turned and tried to run towards her father but one of them grabbed her by the arm. She used the other to strike him, and apparently the peacekeepers had had enough of her because one striked her across the face with the back of their hand. Raquel slumped to the floor, screeching and crying even louder, clutching her right cheek. Her father moved to get out of his seat but the people sitting next to him held him back.
"Well..." Delphine began awkwardly, unsure how to proceed. "This is quite the interesting beginning, but we need to move on."
She didn't even glance at Raquel as she reached into the boy's bowl and retrieved a slip. Raquel continued to weep, sitting on the floor in her purple dress. I was so busy thinking about how there's no chance she's winning that I didn't even hear Delphine read my name at first.
But, as some of the people around me turn and stare, it hit me. Urban Thread. The sound of her capitol accent mispronouncing my name rings in my ears. Urban Thread, Urban Thread, Urban Thread. My feet moved without permission from my brain, guiding me from the crowd and towards the stage. I cought a look of myself on one of the jumbotrons. The expression on my face was mournful. I robotically made my way up the stairs and onto the stage where a peacekeeper positioned me next to Delphine. Although my reaction wassn't exactly confident, I didn't look nearly as bad in comparison to Raquel. Suddenly I was feeling a tad lucky that she was reaped just before I was. After all the time it took to get Raquel up on the stage, Delphine seemed to be in a hurry. She didn't let the camera's linger on me, instead quickly pulling out the next slip, a girl's, and reading it out loud.
After a moment, the cameras look on to a young looking girl who was not old enough to be in the town square. I was not really thinking about her much however. My focus wass on my mother. I'm all she had. Her parents were long dead, my father was never in the picture, and I was her only child. If I died in the games, she would have no one. Suddenly, I had the urge to run. To jump off the stage and push through the crowds and find my mom. The woman who had given her entire life towards raising me. She worked from dawn till dusk, slaving away in a dark, stuffy factory sewing sequins into gossamer dressed in order to support me. So that I could go to school to try and earn a better life. And now all that sacrifice wass being thrown in the trash.
Although Delphine moved quickly to call out the other reaped tributes, it felt like an enternity. Corduroy Jute, Twyla Horn, Down Smith. Their names barely register in my ears as Delphine reads them into the microphone. Finally, she gave her closing remarks and the entire square began to clap for us, relieved that none of them would have to face the firing squad this year.
The doors to the justice building openned and Delphine gestured for us to head inside. I noticed the peacekeepers grab Raquel by her arms and yank her up off the ground to get her mvoing, and we all entered. A lone peacekeeper escorted me down a long hall decorated with portraits of previous mayors and pots of flowering plants, and they usherd me into a small room, shutting the door behind me. I sat down on a plush, silk couch that probably costed more than my mother's entire aparment, and I started to cry. With the prying eyes of the Capitol gone, the pressure to hold my emotions in is gone. Tears streamed freely down my cheeks and a low, pained moan escaped my lips. Being reaped for the games was bad enough, but out of all the years, why did it have to be this one?
Suddenly, the door is openned and my mother rushed in. She wrapped her arms around me tightly and we cried together. We stayed like that for a few minutes, simply embracing and sharing our despair, before she finally pulled away and looked me in the eyes. She took my hands into her thin and brittle hands from years of careful needlework, and began to speak.
"Promise me you'll fight as hard as you can," she demanded, her voice unwavering. Her soft blue eyes continued to leak tears.
"I-I will Mom. I'll try to win I promise," I replied tearfully.
"Even if, even if you don't win," she stuttered, her eyes momentarily drifting to the floor. "I just want to know that you tried your hardest, that you put everything you could into winning the games."
"I swear I will."
Instead of speaking again, she pulled me back into a tight hug. We remained like that again until the peacekeepers openned the door.
"I love you so much, more than anything in the whole world," My mom said as a peacekeeper gestured for her to leave. She wiped a tear from her eye, trying to stay strong so that I would stay strong. It doesn't work. I tried to find the words to express how much she means to me, how much I appreciate all that she's done for me, but I couldn't.
"I love you too," I said simply, tears streaming down my face once more. Our eyes locked one last time, and then the peacekeeper slammed the door shut, sealing us apart. Alone with nothing but my thoughts, I buried my face into one of the silk pillows on the couch and continued to weep.
The Train Ride
An uncomfortable silence dominates the train car. The other tributes from 9, Barric, Sam and Spring, and I, all sit around a massive glass table, unable to think of anything to say. The high tech capitol passenger train is so well designed you can't even hear it as it zooms across the tracks, eliminating any white noise to combat the lack of sound. Our escort, Calpurnia, and our mentors, Gaia and Alton, are in another car discussing what the best game plan will be moving forward. Until they figure that out, I'll be stuck in here with my silent district partners. I don't know why they could not just let us go to our rooms. With nothing better to do, I take a moment to examine my district partners a little bit more closely. After all, soon we will all be enemies in the games. Only one of us will be able to make it out of there alive.
Out of the three of them, Sam definitely appears like he has the best chance of winning. He's physically fit and moderately good looking as well. You can tell he's worked in the grain fields, his tan skin, callused hands and strong arms give it away. Usually, the tributes from District 9 who were field hands before they were reaped generally fare the best. It gives you weapon experience. A tribute from 9 armed with a sickle or scythe is nearly as dangerous as a career tribute. Besides the career districts, District 9 has one of the highest number of living victors along with 7 and 10. Knowing how to wield a scythe or ax or pitchfork seems to be more useful than being able load boxes at train stations or how to stitch fabrics together.
Next up is Barric. I recognize him since we go to the same school. He's a son of a shop keep, so he's been decently fed his whole life and probably has no experience with any useful weaponry. He's not charismatic either, I remember him stammering through class presentations more than once. With no sponsors and no skills, I don't think he has much of a shot. Frankly, if he lasts longer than two days I'd be surprised.
And then there's Spring. She looks absolutely petrified. I remember her from the reapings, emerging from the twelve year old section with a hollow look on her face, almost as if she was seeing her own death being played out before her eyes. She's short and lean, meaning she isn't going to have much luck fighting tributes head on, but she looks relatively healthy in comparison to many of the starving, frail kids from 9, so maybe she can at least run quickly or climb well. I think Spring's only real advantage going into the arena is her cuteness. She's got curly, long, honey colored hair that perfectly outlines her small face with two dark brown eyes. With the right stylist, she could play it up perfectly at the chariot rides and during her interview in order to attract some sympathetic sponsors.
Suddenly, Calpurnia, Gaia and Alton enter our train car and sit down at the table with us. Almost immediately afterwards, two silent servants wheel in a cart covered with an assortment of food and drinks. I'm served a bowl chopped vegetables covered in a thin brown sauce, a plate with juicy chicken breast on top of fluffy brown rice and bright green peas, and for dessert, a large slice of chocolate cake. With my mouth watering, I quickly grab my utensils and start to dig in. Spring and Sam abandon the idea of silverware entirely, simply using their fingers to stuff their faces full of food. Calpurnia sends them a disapproving glance, but says nothing. As I finish the bowl of vegetables and start to cut up the chicken breasts, my mentors start to speak.
"Alright, I know you guys just want to eat, but the trip to the Capitol takes less than a day and we have a lot of ground to cover," Gaia says. "First, Alton and I need to know what we're working with here. So I think it would be best to go around the table and talk about what skills we have."
Gaia takes a sip of her dark red drink and looks at me expectantly.
"Well, I've worked in the fields since I was 11, so I know how to use a scythe fairly well," I begin, reluctantly putting my fork down. "I'm a pretty fast runner, and I know how to set snares. My parents taught me how to set them up, we used to catch rabbits in the empty fields behind my house."
I try to say something else, but I can't. I hate sharing things about myself normally, but this is even worse. I don't even know these people, and three of them are going to be trying to kill me in a couple of days. I don't want any of them to know about how my family and I would spend afternoons slipping out of the district walls, setting up clever little traps and using bow and arrows to hunt prey. Of course, we hadn't done that in years. Not since Sunny died anyways. I look at Gaia and shrug, pretending I'm out of skills to mention.
"Don't worry about it, that's plenty enough already. Being able to get food on your own is probably something only a handful of other tributes will be able to do," Alton says reassuringly before shoving a spoonful of rice and peas into his mouth. With my duties complete, I return my attention to my meal, only half listening to what my district partners say. The chicken is particularly delicious, the only meat I'm used to eating are the prairie dogs and squirrel I hunt, or the occasional 'mystery meat stew' my parents purchase from the market. Meanwhile, Gaia and Alton grill Barric, who meekly admits he doesn't really know what skills he has that will be useful in the arena. As I move on to the chocolate cake, Spring talks about being able to use a sickle and her knowledge about foraging for plants. Our mentors seem impressed that she brings anything to the table. Finally, there's Sam. He clears his throat uncomfortably.
"Well, honestly, I'd rather not talk about my skills in front of them," he says firmly, gesturing to Barric, Spring and I. Gaia, Alton and Calpurnia all exchange surprised glances.
"That's fine. We just thought it was a good idea to get the ball rolling," Alton responds after a few seconds. I glance at Sam with an irritated expression on my face and he avoids my gaze. If I had known he was going to pull that, I would've kept my mouth shut too. We haven't even reached the Capitol yet and Sam already has an advantage over me. I make a mental note not to trust Sam under any circumstances, and start licking the leftover chocolate off my plate.
"I know everyone isn't done eating yet, but I think now's a good time to watch the reapings," Calpurnia says cheerfully, getting up from the table and heading over towards the couch. I quickly wipe my mouth off with my napkin and sit between Calpurnia and Barric. Sam opts to sit on a cushioned chair by himself. Once everyone is situated, Calpurnia turns the television on.
With 63 other tributes, it's kind of hard to remember them all. I try and absorb as much information as possible, but as tribute after tribute after tribute is reaped, I realize its pointless. The tributes from 1 and 2 are mostly what you would expect, although there isn't nearly as many people trying to volunteer. The dangers of the quell must've scared a lot of them off. Everyone from 4 is as tan and beautiful as ever, although a meek looking twelve year old boy is reaped and no one volunteers to take his place. A don't remember much from Districts 5 through 8 besides a girl from 8 who screams and cries as peacekeepers are forced to drag her onto the stage. Once District 9 starts to play, I'm relatively satisfied with the expression on my face. I don't look excited, but I don't appear anxious or fearful either. After the District 9 reapings finish, I only remember a boy from 11 volunteer because his sister was reaped and a strong and determined looking pair from 13.
Calpurnia turns the television off and she, Gaia and Alton make a few observations about some of the other tributes. Alton wants us to be wary of the dark skinned boy from 2, the pissed off looking girl with short black hair from 7, and the red headed tribute from 10 who had an uncanny, mischievous grin on his face as he walked up to the stage. Calpurnia predicts that the boy with long, blonde hair from 4 will probably be the capitol favorite, and Gaia simply points out that most of the tributes from 12 look stronger than usual this year. I start to feel overwhelmed, it's a lot to keep track of.
"What now?" Sam asks impatiently.
"Well, I think it's a good time to talk about what the three of us think would be the best strategy for you all going in to the arena," Gaia replies with a hint of cautiousness in her voice. I perk up a little, and make sure to pay attention fully now. The advice my mentors give me could mean the difference between life and death in the arena.
"Since there are going to be so many tributes this year, I think it would be smart for the four of you to work together," Alton continues.
"I'm not quite following, what do you mean?" Sam asks.
"It would be to all of your benefit if you make an alliance going into the games," Alton says. I let the information sink in. He wants us to team up. Usually the only alliance in the arena is the career pack. Sometimes district partners agree to work together, but they either get killed early on or one betrays the other anyways. But, what they're saying makes sense. If we agree to make a pact, it won't be one verses sixty-three, it will be four verses sixty. Slightly better odds if you ask me. I'm the first to nod in agreement.
"I think that could be smart, at least early on. We could watch each other's backs," I offer, looking at Barric, Spring and Sam for confirmation.
"Yeah, if you guy's think it's for the best, I'll do it," Spring speaks up somewhat quietly.
"No. I think it's a bad idea," Sam says, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair. "Sorry to be blunt, but teaming up with Barric and Spring is just going to be like carrying dead weight. I can't trust any of you to not stab me in the back anyways."
I glare at him, feeling somewhat offended. Does Sam think I want to trust him either? He's seriously just going to disregard our mentors' advice because he thinks Spring and Barric aren't good enough for him? I notice Spring look down at the ground, embarrassed.
"I actually agree with Sam. I don't trust any of you. It's a bad idea," Barric says.
"Guys, please listen to us. I know it's tough, but this year there are far too many tributes to go it alone," Gaia says, looking at Sam and Barric with a hint of confusion. She's probably not used to tributes directly throwing her advice in the trash.
"Plus, the arenas are a lot more dangerous during Quarter Quells. Four sets of eyes watching out for mutts and traps are better than one," Calpurnia offers.
"I said no," Sam says flippantly. He points at Spring and looks at Gaia angrily. "She's weak. I don't want to talk about this anymore, I'm going to bed." Without another word, Sam gets up from his chair and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Alright, well, I think we're all a bit tired so let's head to bed now and reconvene in the morning," Alton says, rubbing his temples. Calpurnia sighs in exasperation and gets up from her spot on the couch. She tells us we can have whatever leftover food we want before she leaves with the mentors. Barric mutters something about not being hungry and heads off in the direction that Sam went, towards the private quarters. I'm about to get up to grab another slice of cake, when I realize that Spring is crying. She tried to muffle the noise by clasping one hand over her mouth, but it didn't work. I see the tears streaming down her cheeks, and resist the urge to comfort her.
It's the Hunger Games, you have to look out for yourself, and only yourself. But part of me, seeing Spring's soft yellow hair and red, puffy cheeks, can't help but want to help her out. She looks so much like Sunny did, before she died. My sister was the black sheep of the family, with hair the color of wheat and a short height just like Spring. My parents and I are on the taller side and had soft brown hair. The only major difference between Sunny's and Spring's appearances, really, is that Spring's eyes are much darker shade of brown. Sunny died when she was 11, when a wave of yellow fever swept 9. By the time the Capitol got control of it, scores of elderly and young people had already died. I remember seeing Sunny during those final days, curled up on her bed under a mountain of blankets. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent.
Without a word, I get up and grab a piece of chocolate cake. I return to the couch and set the plate in front of where Spring is sitting. "My mom always says the best way to cheer someone up is with sweets," I say with a smile as I tap her on the shoulder. Sunny- no, Spring, looks up at me, then at the cake, in confusion and embarrassment. She probably doesn't know why I'm bothering to cheer her up and that I saw her crying in the first place.
"I'm promise you, the chocolate will make you feel better," I say.
Somewhat reluctantly, she reaches for the fork and takes a small bite. A small smile creeps onto her mouth as the warm chocolate melts in her mouth. She looks at me and mutters a small 'thank you' before taking another bite. A little voice in the back of my mind warns me not to care, not to get attached to the girl who looks so much like my dead sister. But I can't help it. Sam and Barric may have counted Spring out, but I won't.
The elevator ride down to the training center is a relatively quiet one. For once, all of my district partners are silent. River, Oceania and Royal, in particular, are usually arguing, bragging, or excitedly chattering about how much fun it is going to be to kill the other tributes. It's a bit terrifying to be perfectly honest. I've been receiving career training since I was a little girl, so I have been around people like them my entire life. In fact, I used to be just like them. My thoughts and dreams were filled with scenarios of me in the games, hunting down and taking out the other tributes. I'd return home with a golden crown and everyone from District 4 would be chanting my name. But there's a difference between thinking about the games and actually being in them. Something about actually seeing the other tributes getting reaped, seeing their parents cry as their child is sent to their death, made my blood run cold. For every tribute I kill, there will be at least one person grieving them and possibly even hoping that I'm next.
As far as I know, none of my district partners have had the same change in heart. River, Oceania and Royal have all been very vocal about their desire for knocking off the other tributes. Neon hasn't said much, but I can see the coolness in her eyes. Sometimes I'll catch her staring at me, and the expression on her face makes me think she was calculating her odds of being able to kill me. As for Reed, well... Reed wasn't even a career in the first place. He's only twelve, and he claims his family was too poor to sign him up for training. The rest of my district partners happily informed him that they wouldn't let him join our career alliance. It's probably for the best, he's too nice. Someone probably would've killed him regardless.
I have reluctantly decided to join the careers myself. Despite my new found qualms towards killing other people, I still want to win. Sticking with them gives me the best chance of doing so. District 4 has had a lot of victors, but very few of them did it without the help of the career pack. Being with the careers means I'll probably have access to the cornucopia loot, meaning I won't have to worry about food, water or weaponry. Plus I'll have people watching my back during fights. That doesn't mean I'm going to trust any of them (especially Neon), but hopefully our mutual interest in staying alive will keep people from stabbing each other in the back, at least early on anyways.
With a soft 'ding' our elevator finally arrives on the bottom floor. Neon quickly exits first, leading the rest of us to where most of the other tributes have already assembled. I stand next to River and a boy with light brown hair and the number twelve inscribed on his shirt. I'm surprised at how thin he is. On television, tributes from some of the outlying districts (especially 8, 11 and 12) look dirty and somewhat thinner than average, but in person it looks so much worse. Part of me wonders if his meals at the Capitol have been the only decent ones he's ever had. He catches me staring and glares. I quickly look away, slightly embarrassed.
Finally, the remainder of the tributes arrive and the head trainer begins to speak. He lists off the number of stations and stresses that the survival stations are just as important as the combat ones. In the back of my mind, I think about the years I've spent watching tributes freeze, starve, and dehydrate to death. Maybe it would be smart to check out the survival stations. While she speaks, I make an effort to size up the rest of my competition, since this is the first time we are really up close. I look stronger and healthier than the majority of the girls and even many of the guys. Based on first impression, I only notice a handful of big threats outside of the careers; a massive sized boy from 6, a handful of tough looking tributes from 7, the red haired boy from 10, and the pair from 13. Beyond that, almost all the tributes seem weak and ill-prepared. The head trainer finishes his spiel and tells us to get to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Reed awkwardly walk away from us.
"Come on let's go meet up with 1 and 2," River says, his bright blue eyes gleaming with excitement.
"No. Let them come to us," Neon orders. She shoots out a hand in front of River to make him stand in place. He looks at her in confusion, but I get the idea. Neon wants to make sure District 4, and by extension her, are in charge. As the crowd dissipates, the other careers walk over to us. After a brief, awkward greeting, we all exchange names and size each other up. With so many of us, it's kind of difficult for me to remember.
"So, usually the careers have a leader. Are we going to pick one now, or just figure it out later?" The curly blonde haired girl from 1, named Topaz if I'm remembering correctly, says.
"I'll do it," Brass, the muscular boy from 2 with copper colored hair, says quickly. He steps forward and eyes us, almost daring someone to challenge him.
"What if I want to lead?" Neon asks, stepping in front of Brass, looking him dead in the eyes. "I think I'm more up to the task."
"I've been training my whole life for this. I'm definitely ready," Brass snarls, the expression on his face shooting daggers at Neon.
"We've all been training our whole lives for this," Oceania snaps, moving so that she's standing by Neon's side. She looks towards Royal, River and I for support. "I think Neon should lead."
One of the brunette girls from 2, who's name I can't remember, voices her support for Brass, and suddenly all the careers are in uproar. I look around nervously at all the other tributes staring at us. It isn't good to be showing weakness in front of them. If they think we're fighting, it might motivate them to try and form a counter alliance to take us all out early on. So called 'anti-career' alliances generally haven't fared well in the past, but I'd rather not have to worry about it. I vaguely remember a games from when I was little, where the anti-careers ambushed the careers early on and killed almost all of them with a series of traps. They need to stop arguing, now.
"I think the strongest person should be our leader," I interject, forcibly stepping between the two parties. "So maybe whoever gets the highest training score get to be in charge."
Everyone just stares at me, and suddenly I start to feel very nervous. I can feel the anger radiating off of Neon, and now I'm worried that I've just pissed her off by not out right supporting her. Doesn't she realize that there's more important things than her ego? The pack can't be broken up before the games even begin. There are too many other tributes to worry about. Luckily, I notice a handful of the others nodding in agreement with me. I lock eyes with Brass and his determined expression falters. For a few seconds, it's excruciating silence.
"Fine," Brass hisses. I turn to look at Neon. Her cold green eyes stare at me with such intensity that I instinctively flinch. Thankfully, she nods yes. The tension starts to diffuse, but I know that the damage is already done. Neon and Brass are never going to be able to get along, and they're probably going to drag the rest of 2 and 4 into it. For now, however, the topic changes to training. Everyone agrees that we can't all go to the same station at once, we'll swamp it. So we split up into smaller groups and spread out. I'm with Hermes from 1 (who I quickly learn is completely infatuated with himself) and Ebony from 2 (who's only slightly more tolerable than Neon).
Ebony demands that we practice throwing knives first. The young girl from 11 is already there, and is clearly struggling to figure out the proper technique from the instructor. Ebony makes a point to bump into her as she retrieves her own set of knives. She makes quick work of the dummies while Hermes and I watch on. After her last knife slams right into a bullseye, Ebony turns and winks at the girl from 11. That's enough to scare her off, giving us the station all to ourselves. I'm up next, and step up to the plate. I feel a bit nervous, to be honest. Throwing knives have never been my strong suit, and my performance here is going to be my alliance members first impression of me. A new assortment of dummies and other targets are automatically wheeled out to replace the one's Ebony used, and I aim for a dummy to my left. I intend to hit it in the head, but the knife lands in its shoulder instead. The rest of my throws have similar results, close but not quite. Luckily though, I don't miss any of my targets entirely. My final throw is at a box shaped target, and my knife hits just below the bullseye.
"Aren't you the girl from your district who isn't a volunteer?" Ebony asks from behind me. I turn around and face her.
"Yes," I reply slowly, wondering what her intentions are exactly. "Why do you ask?"
"It was just a hunch I had," Ebony says coyly. She flashes me a warm smile, but there's no emotion in her eyes. Hermes, who has been busy admiring his own reflection in one of the silver knives, starts to chuckle.
"Sparkle, from my district, didn't volunteer either," Hermes says, not looking up from his blade. "She's had training, but I can tell she's weak."
Without further elaboration, he gets up to start practicing. As each knife he throws hits each target exactly where he intends, my anxiety grows. Do they think I'm weak? I was reaped against my will instead of intentionally stepping forward like them, so that somehow makes me inferior? I've trained at a career academy for seven years. If I hadn't been reaped this year, I would've volunteered the next, so what point are they trying to make? That the one extra year of experience they have over me makes them significantly stronger? It's fucking infuriating. I wish I could stab Ebony with one of these knives right now, that would get rid of that smug smile she has on her face.
The rest of the day goes fairly similarly. Despite my soft spoken protests, we only go to combat stations. Hermes and Ebony are better than me at mostly everything. Hand to hand combat, wrestling, fighting with swords, maces, clubs, spears and axes. I'm better at a couple of things; I'm a faster runner than Ebony but not Hermes and I'm a little more accurate with a bow than both. These little victories pale in comparison to theirs. In the arena, Hermes could wrestle me to the ground and slit my throat with a knife in seconds, Ebony could impale me with a spear from fifteen yards away. Though part of me is pissed that they are so much stronger than me, another part is relieved that they're on my side. For at least the first portion of the game, I won't have to deal with these insanely powerful tributes. It's the end game I'm more concerned about.
After a few hours we break briefly for lunch, and I learn that three other tributes have been allowed into the pack. Two boys, one from 5 and one from 6, and a girl from 7. Eric, Arun and Rania. Arun is massive in size, he's actually the boy from 6 I noticed earlier. He could probably crush a skill with his bare hands. Eric is smaller, but also strong looking, and apparently he's skilled with a dagger. Like most tributes from District 7, Rania is deadly with an ax. Frankly, I'm kind of relieved that these three decided to join us. Hopefully this means I won't be at the bottom of the totem pole anymore, and people like Ebony and Hermes can taunt them instead of me.
Once lunch is over, I'm grouped up with Topaz and one of the boys from 2, Dare. Thankfully, the two of them seem much less insufferable than Ebony and Hermes were, so maybe this won't be as bad. I once again voice my desire to check out survival stations, and Dare actually agrees with me. Topaz rolls her eyes but decides to go along with it. We check out the fire starting station and listen to the trainer try and teach us how to make fire without matches. After about half an hour of failed attempts, Topaz gets bored and makes us go back to weaponry. We make idle chit chat while waiting in line to spar with swords, and I realize that there's something slightly off with Dare. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something about the way he carries himself makes me feel like he's hiding something. He always answers my questions with only one or two words, and he never really makes eye contact. I glance at Topaz and I can tell she's thinking the exact same thing. I point it out while he's sparing with a trainer, and she shrugs it off.
"Maybe he's just shy," she offers.
At the end of the day, I make my way over to Neon, Royal, River and Oceania. Neon is as silent as ever, and the other three are chattering away about how much fun they're having. I feel a pit in my stomach start to form, don't these idiots know only one of us is going to be alive at the end of this? The five of us shuffle into an empty elevator, and as soon as the doors close, I feel a pair of hands push me from behind. I fall forward and my hands catch me before my head crashes into the fall. I whip around to see who the culprit is. Neon.
"Don't ever undermine me again!" She screams, her face red with anger. I can feel my mouth drop to the floor.
"N-Neon, what are you talking-" I stammer. I don't understand where all this anger has come from. I haven't even seen the girl display an ounce of emotion up until this point.
"Earlier today. With Brass," Neon interrupts. Venom drips from her voice as she leans over me.
"I wasn't trying to undermine you-- I was just-"
"Shut UP! District 4 needs to stick together, you can't fucking take Brass' side! It makes us look weak," Neon shouts. I look over at Oceania for support, but she only glares at me instead.
"She's right, the five of us need to be the last five standing. It's going to be harder to do that if Brass is in charge," Royal says. All four of them look down at me, and Neon raises an eyebrow. Now would be the time to apologize. Even if I don't mean it.
"Ok, ok. I'm sorry Neon. I didn't mean to make you look bad," I say, my face turning a bright shade of pink. I feel like such a weakling. I'm literally on my hands and knees begging for her forgiveness. Neon crouches down and leans forward so her face is only inches from mine. Suddenly, she is very calm. When she speaks, it is only a whisper.
"Disrespect me like that again and I'll kill you."
As if on cue, the elevator reaches our floor and the doors open. Neon steps over me to exit, and the rest of them follow like the loyal lap dogs they are. All three of them are playing Neon's game at this point. This is exactly what she wants. Control. Control over us, control over the rest of the careers, control over everyone. If Neon gets her way, I will die so that she can win. The others might want to play her game, but I won't.
Briony, Burdock and I head to the training center today with a purpose. A career tribute will not win the games this year, we will not allow it. Eighteen of them were reaped this year, and they've already added three more to their ranks. If we allow them to gain the upper hand during the bloodbath, that mob will just kill us all off one by one until there's no one left. Sadly, three of our other district partners, Minnie, and the siblings Summer and October, don't see it that way. They think forming an anti-career alliance is suicide. During a normal games, that's probably true, but this year is special. If you subtract out the twenty strong career pack (I'm pretty sure the young boy from 4 didn't join them) that leaves forty-four other tributes. If even twenty-five of us band together, it gives us a huge chance of being able to beat them if we play our cards right. I'm sure we'll be able to convince at least that many to join us. Burdock is very strong, and he made sure to show it off yesterday by throwing weights around and wrestling sparing partners. Briony is tough as well, a quick runner and she has a knack for spear throwing. As for me, well, I'm a lot smaller than Burdock and Briony, but I make up for it with my skill with a blowgun. My dad taught me and my brothers how to use them when we were young. Although owning one definitely wasn't legal, food isn't always easy to come by in 11. It was either risk getting caught or starve.
Once we arrive at the training center, we split up to start recruiting. I'm in charge of Districts 3, 5 and 6, Burdock has 7, 8 and 9, and Briony has the rest. I look around for the tributes from 3, and finally spot all of them together at the basket weaving station. They're sitting in a circle, whispering among themselves and pulling strands of seaweed together. I don't know what good a homemade basket is going to do when someone charges them with a sword but, I guess it could come in handy. The young looking blonde girl notices me approaching first and whispers something to the others. Once I reach the station, they're all silent. Undeterred, I take a seat next to them.
"So uh," I start, a bit nervous. "Some of my district partners and I want to put together an alliance and we thought you four might be interested." They all just stare at me with blank looks on their faces. Slowly, three of them turn to look at the black haired boy with large, round glasses. He scrunches his nose at me.
"Why?" He simply asks. I pause for a moment before I answer. Burdock, Briony and I agreed it was smart not to label this as an anti-career group, at least not at first. If it scared off Minnie, October and Summer off, it would probably scare off a lot of the other tributes too. We need to ease them into the idea.
"There's a lot of tributes this year, the more of us that stick together, the better I say," I reply. The boy stares at me again with an inquisitive look on his face. He's still the only one looking at me, the rest are back to weaving baskets. I guess he's their leader or something? Still doesn't explain why none of them are really talking, or at least even paying attention to me. I've always thought tributes from 3 were a bit odd, but this foursome are complete weirdos.
"That doesn't really make any sense," the boy with glasses finally says. A name finally pops into my head- Gauge. "Wouldn't a larger group just attract more attention. The careers would be much eager to snuff us out at the bloodbath and the gamemakers could direct more traps and mutts at all of us at once. I just don't quite understand how more is better."
It takes all of my willpower to stop myself from rolling my eyes. The perplexed look on his face and the haughty tone of his voice is so condescending. Still, we need numbers, so I press him further. "I disagree, the more of us there are together, the more people there are to watch your back and keep you safe when danger does arrive."
"Unlikely. How are you going to keep us safe from... Let's say, a wall of lava sliding down a mountain towards our camp, or what about if we've been completely surrounded by the careers, who knew how to find us because of how much noise a big group makes?" Gauge asks sternly. He wags a finger in my face. "It's a bad idea. It would be better for you and your district partners to just stick together and keep everyone else out of it. A smaller group will have much better odds of making it deep into the games."
"Alright then, good luck with your basket weaving," I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice. I get up and storm off. Who do those twerps think they are? None of those skinny, tiny weaklings are going to last a day in the arena anyways, we're better off without them. Sure, they've got smarts, but that's only half of what's needed in the arena. There's a reason there aren't too many victors from 3.
Shaking off my anger, I look around for the tributes from 5. One of the boys has already joined the careers, but the other three look like they would be good additions to my alliance. I spot the boy, Falcon, with one of the females, Tessa, over at the archery station. Both are clearly struggling, but I assume they have at least some skill in other areas. Unfortunately, the conversation I have with them is similar to the one I had with Gauge (albeit less awkward). The two of them would rather go it alone then risk working with a bigger group. I think it's a little ridiculous but they aren't rude about it like Gauge was, so I don't make any snarky remarks. Before I go, Falcon offers me a piece of advice.
"Don't bother trying to convince our other district partners to join you. Eric's with the careers and Trinity has made it very clear she wants to work by herself," Falcon says. I give him a nod in thanks and move on.
The Day Of
Part II: Bloodbath
- Age wise, there are twenty-one 18 year old tributes, sixteen 17 year old tributes, ten 16 year tributes, five 15 year tributes, five 14 year tributes, three 13 year tributes, and four 12 year old tributes.
- The average age is approximately 15.19 years old.
- Percentage wise, about 33% of the tributes are 18 and 25% are 17, meaning the two oldest groups comprise of over half the tributes. Meanwhile, the 13 and 14 year old groups only comprise of about 10% of the total tributes.