𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐀𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬 | ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ ꜱɴᴏᴡ

001. The Reaping

Florian chuckled and placed the gun in his belt. "Sorry sweetheart. I had to catch your attention somehow." Said Florian, looking up at her with a smile, completely used to Valeria's temper and punches.

"Why did you need my attention? And how did you get that gun?" Said Valeria in a questioning tone.

"Okay, one— I stole the gun. Two— I didn't want you to shoot that deer because I've already been hunting." Florian explained to Valeria.

You see, Valeria and Florian went hunting together. Florian had three siblings and a divorced father. Money wasn't the greatest. Especially in these times. So, he started hunting so his family could survive. Being the noisy best friend Valeria was, she found out his secret and started to help him — more so she was in the same boat as him except she was an only child.

"When did you go hunting?" Valeria asked, ignoring the gun situation for now. She'd deal with that later.

"Late yesterday afternoon when you got kept back at school. I got some good gigs." Said Florian with a proud smile.

"Like that gun?"

Florian paused, thought about something, and then smiled. "Yes..."

"I don't believe you about that gun part." Said Valeria, rolling her eyes.

"I know. Come on let's get back. The reaping starts in a few hours." Said Florian, turning back in the direction District 12 was located.

Nerves filled Valeria's body. She was never the nervous type, but when it came to the reaping, she was. Sighing, Valeria followed Florian back to district 12.

***

CORIOLANUS SNOW WANTED TO WIN the 10th annual Hunger Games. He hoped for someone in the higher districts. They would help him have more of a chance to prove himself worthy.

Coriolanus followed his friend, Sejanus, into a special section of chairs, six rows by four, that had been set up for the mentors. More than ever, it was essential that he excel, and to excel, he must be assigned a competitive tribute.

Dean Casca Highbottom, the man credited with the creation of the Hunger Games, was overseeing the mentor program personally. He presented himself to the students with all the verve of a sleepwalker, dreamy-eyed and, as usual, doped up on morphling.

His once-fine physique was shrunken and draped with sagging skin. The close-clipped precision of a recent haircut and crisp suit only threw his deterioration into relief. Due to his fame as the Games' inventor, he still had a tenuous hold on his position, but there were rumours that the Academy Board was losing patience.

"Ho there," he slurred, waving a crumpled piece of paper over his head. "Reading the things off now."

The students hushed, trying hard to hear him above the din of the hall. "Read you a name, then you who gets that one. Right? So, fine. District One, boy, goes to . . ." Dean Highbottom squinted at the paper, trying hard to focus. "Glasses," he mumbled. "Forgot them."

Everyone stared at his glasses, already perched on his nose, and waited while his fingers found them. "Ah, here we go. Livia Cardew."

Livia's pointed little face broke into a grin and she punched the air in victory, shouting "Yes!" in her shrill voice. She had always been prone to gloating. As if the plum assignment was solely a reflection on her, and not on her mother running the largest bank in the Capitol.

Coriolanus felt increasing desperation as Dean Highbottom stumbled through the list, assigning each district's boy and girl a mentor. After ten years, a pattern had emerged. The better-fed, more Capitol-friendly districts of 1 and 2 produced more victors, with the fishing and farming tributes from 4 and 11 also being contenders. Coriolanus had hoped for either a 1 or a 2, but neither was assigned to him, which was made more insulting when Sejanus scored the District 2 boy.