✓ | Iron ↠ The Hunger Games

two ━ the epicentre

CHAPTER TWO;
the epicentre

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     That isn't Vesper's Reaping dress lying folded on the chair.

     It can't be. Or if it is, it isn't the same charcoal grey, slightly itchy one she's been wearing to the Reaping for the past four years. She was expecting the same as per usual — her usual dress sitting there, slightly warm from being excessively ironed whilst Blythe waits patiently outside the door with a hairbrush, ready to pounce when she emerges from her room.

But this morning is different. It begins as every morning on this occasion has, of course, with the excruciatingly early start — with everyone in Six so spread out, the transport required to get to The Epicentre produces traffic like no other day of the year. Not to mention that when she gets up, it's there.

Her mother's Reaping dress.

She's going to stick out like a sore thumb, that's for sure. The dress code in Six, unspoken of but somehow universally known and adhered to, is darker and consists of neutral colours — along the lines of greys, browns, blacks and, on rare occasions, whites. Mainly blacks, although in summer the sweltering heat doesn't bode well with the absorbent fabric, so most will resort to grey for the Reaping. Her mother's dress, however, is an off-pale blue, slightly faded from years of sitting packed away, with minuscule patterns of cobalt flowers swarming it from hem to hem. The neckline dips in a slim V shape, a collar of navy blue stitching aligned beside it. It isn't much — but comparatively speaking, she'll look like a rainbow in that square, along with a few of the other more well-off children.

This dress is possibly the only clue Vesper has as to her mother's background. The more colourful your Reaping dress, the richer you are — but according to her father, even that didn't do her any favours...

"Blythe?" Vesper calls out, sounding more uneasy than she'd intended. "Where's my Reaping dress?" Her hands linger at her sides as she hovers by the chair, reluctant to even touch the thing.

"It's on the chair, like it is every year."

"I meant my Reaping dress."

Simultaneously slipping a pin into her hair, Blythe comes to the doorway, cheeks dashed with blotches of red from rushing around. She folds her arms and leans against the chipped door frame. "I threw it out," she answers, breathlessly.

"Why?" Vesper retorts, although deep down she already knows. She'd had her old Reaping dress since she was twelve, bought in a couple sizes bigger so it would last longer — but she was a growing girl at a faster rate than anticipated, especially with her sudden growth spurt last year. She should have seen this coming.

"Because you've outgrown it. It was getting far too tight on you anyway. And it's good to change sometimes, you know?"

"Okay, but this —" she traces her hand along a sleeve, the tips of her fingers breaking out into a sweat immediately at the contact. "I can't— I can't wear... this."

And she should know why. Blythe recognises her subtle hints and sighs, tucking a frizzed hair behind her ear. "Look..." the pause before she continues suggests the careful weighing of her words, "I know how weird it must feel. But it'll fit you perfectly now — I mean, if it bothers you, you could've bought your own if you didn't procrastinate all the time."