Reaping
Haymitch spent the rest of the time until the Reaping on the couch. He tried his best to ignore the many voices around him while he slowly drifted into a sleep-like state.
It was Petunia's shrill voice that jolted him awake. "Haymitch! Will you finally get up? You're not here for your pleasure!"
His facial expression hardened, and he sat up to get a better view of the entire room. Another reason why he hated Reaping day. It always reminded him a little of his own Reaping. Of course, he wasn't here for his own pleasure. What was this woman thinking?
The room had emptied, only Effie Trinket still stood in the doorway, looking a bit uncertain over at him. In two large strides, he stood beside her and looked down at her skeptically, without deigning to give Petunia even a single glance.
"It's best if you just stand next to me while Petunia begins her farewell speech," she whispered in his ear as Petunia passed by them with her head held high.
The two followed her silently, but Haymitch couldn't help but grin. He nodded at Effie, who looked at him expectantly, as he couldn't think of anything better to do. Attendance was a mandatory affair, so he couldn't avoid the Reaping anyway.
Petunia strode purposefully through the long corridors, leading the group to the main entrance in less than two minutes. The large double doors, weathered from years of exposure, were already wide open. Beyond them, Haymitch caught sight of the square where the Reaping was held every year. The place where his fate had begun to unfold. It had been fourteen years since Petunia had drawn his name. As he stared out into the midday sun, it didn't feel as if so much time had passed. On the contrary. If he tried hard enough, he could see the distraught faces of his family; the suppressed tears in the eyes of his girl. Not as vivid as back then, but they were still here. Just like every year.
"You sit over there." Haymitch abruptly turned his gaze away from the square. Petunia had beckoned Effie over and was giving her instructions even before she came pattering with small, bouncy steps.
Haymitch blinked several times, staring dazedly down at himself. He hadn't even noticed that he had stepped outside. To avoid making his heart heavier, he dared not meet the hundreds of pairs of eyes that watched his every step. Instead, he turned his head and followed Petunia's finger, which pointed to the two chairs located to the right of the microphone. Behind the bowl for the boys. Behind his bowl.
Something itched and ached in his fingers, and as his focus shifted to his former escort, he caught the mischievous glance she threw him from the corner of her eye. For a moment, blind rage seized him, sweeping over him like an icy wave, making him shiver. He didn't even know why. Usually, he didn't let Petunia provoke him so easily, otherwise, he surely would have killed her in the fourteen years of their collaboration. And he could proudly claim that he had barely harmed a hair on her head during that time – except for a few glass-bottles he had thrown at her or the occasional dress of hers that had, of course, accidentally fallen victim to red wine. He was better than many of the other victors, even though he had suffered worse than most. Hopefully, Effie would turn out to be less terrible than the dragon.
For a second, Haymitch stared almost absently at his bowl. Petunia must have heard Effie's words in the corridor. Why she wanted to turn this into a personal feud with him was a mystery to him. Without giving the two Capitol women another glance, he walked past them and was about to sit on the left side when Effie grabbed his arm.
"Please, just do what she says for today," she murmured, and the look in her eyes was almost pleading. She bit her lip. If that wasn't manipulation, he didn't know what was. Her surprisingly strong grip on his wrist, considering her stature, made it clear that she was determined to have her way.
Haymitch raised an eyebrow and silently examined Effie. How much he would have liked to test the limits of this new escort; how much he would have liked to evade her ridiculous fuss and do the exact opposite of what she asked. But today, he lacked the strength for it. Any other day, but not today. The day of the Reaping was probably the only day in the year when he let the Capitol have its way, because his own burdens weighed on him more heavily than usual.
So, Haymitch sighed and conceded defeat. Angry at his own weakness, he violently wrenched his arm away from Effie and marched to the chairs Petunia had assigned them, wondering why he had given in. Was it really just his exhaustion? His automatic response was Yes, but after all these years with Petunia at his side, he had almost forgotten what this freshness felt like. Even for a pessimist like Haymitch, it seemed like a spark in eternal darkness at first. At least until it turned out that the Capitol had a different use for sparks than the Districts. Effie's enthusiasm and eagerness were evident. These would vanish as quickly as her tributes died, leaving nothing for her to boast about. All Effie Trinket wanted was to deliver a good first performance. She was just another arrogant woman wanting to boost her career here. A tame victor played right into her hands. Because the Capitol turned even the most innocent spark into a show in no time.
A mix of relief and discomfort reflected on Effie's features as she took her seat to his left, ready to step up to the microphone with little effort in a few moments. A nervous expression accompanied the others. The whys and wherefores didn't interest Haymitch. If he was lucky, she would embarrass herself in front of the whole nation, giving him something to laugh at. As she adjusted her dress, as if the cameras would zoom in close enough to focus on her figure, as if anyone was actually interested in her, Haymitch irritably chewed on the inside of his cheek, annoyed at having lost the first power struggle against her. Furthermore, voluntarily.
The cameras were not live yet, which Effie apparently used to get her breath under control. Haymitch cast a reluctant sidelong glance at her and watched as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The tension that suddenly emanated from her made him roll his eyes.
"You can save yourself that fake nervousness," he said spitefully. "Here in Twelve, no one cares what you have to say. You don't need to bother, because everyone already hates you anyway."
Effie's eyes fluttered open as quickly as a bird's wings. Her pupils bored into his, and the blue of her irises was an excellent reflection of the cloudless sky above them. For a second, all the earlier enthusiasm seemed replaced by exaggerated concern. But then one of Effie's perfectly plucked eyebrows arched in feigned surprise, erecting a barrier between them. Oh, she was good at appearing human, he had to give her that.
"Don't worry, Haymitch, the rest of Panem gets to enjoy my presence too," Effie replied cheerfully and straightforward at once, giving him a maternal smile as if to calm him. She gestured with her fingers at some of the most obvious cameras. "You do know what television is, right? So, let my nervousness be my problem, okay?"
Haymitch bit his lip to hold back a grin. She had punch, that much was certain. He wondered how she managed to give her voice that perfect balance between politeness and sharpness. His attention drifted to her lap, where her hands rested. Both were clenched into fists, the skin already snow-white from the loss of blood. Big words aside, she was still nervous.
"But there's no reason to be nervous," Haymitch retorted with the same obviousness as Effie, as if he knew something she didn't. He tilted his head slightly and now couldn't hold back a mocking grin. "Although ... knowing you Capitol folks, you're probably hoping that some high-up is watching and sees how wonderful, incomparable, and extraordinary you are, to then immediately move you to a better District. Because let's be honest, there's no one like you among the other eleven beautiful, unique, well-born women. If not you, then who?"
"We've known each other for an hour, and you've already figured me out completely," Effie remarked coldly, abruptly turning her gaze away from him. There was no longer anything instructional in her tone, only the Capitol-typical suppression of her irritation. He must have hit a nerve. "But if your rudeness will finally come to an end in this way ... You're right, I worry about what my employers will think of me. I also worry about what my family will think and–" Effie stopped unexpectedly and shook herself. Then she sealed her lips.
And, what?, Haymitch wanted to ask, more fascinated by her outburst than he should have been – more curious than he should have been. The rhythm of her words was typically Capitol, only that in all her irritability, she had forgotten to put on the fake accent. The sound of her voice was not typically Capitol at all; too many raw emotions were audible, probably because she wasn't used to engaging in such dialogues. Hardly likely. Where she came from, etiquette alone forbade showing any emotions other than joy, enthusiasm, and occasional superiority over District people.
"Well, the truth is, five minutes in your company is enough to know everything there is to know," Haymitch replied provocatively, feeling an unfamiliar anticipation coursing through his veins. Effie had deliberately directed her gaze forward, allowing him to study her features without difficulty. She was making an effort to maintain her neutrality.
"Perhaps the people you surround yourself with reflect a very one-sided truth," Effie said, with all the arrogance the Capitol had to offer.
Haymitch was about to dismiss her comment as one of those typical statements Capitol citizens loved to throw at the Districts. You are the problem, not us. As he turned his head, he met her eyes for a split second before they darted forward again. What he saw there made no sense to him. Something on her mask shifted, suddenly crumbling, as if she was trying to hold back emotions. Snippets surfaced. Fragments of foreign incomprehension. Pieces of unfamiliar discomfort. None of it belonged on Effie Trinket's face. Especially not when Haymitch followed her attention and suddenly couldn't tell if this reaction stemmed from his statement or from the rows of children that she now seemed to be truly noticing for the first time.
His instincts acted on their own. He put distance between himself and this woman. What he saw made no sense, couldn't be true. She must be playing with him, wanting to torment him. There was no other possibility because... Because Capitol citizens don't feel, a quiet voice whispered in the back of his mind, one that should be certain of its statement. Why, then, did the sentence echo like a half-question in his brain?
"Are you ..." Effie hesitated and to his surprise, her cheeks colored with shame. "I don't mean to presume, but ... are you sure that the children in the front rows are not younger than twelve?"
Haymitch, now completely and irrevocably thrown off course, felt his mouth fall open. Wordless. Speechless. It must have shown on his face, because Effie pressed her lips together in embarrassment and lowered her head. "Of course, they are twelve," he managed to say hoarsely. "Your people are quite precise about that."
The intensity of his stare put Effie under pressure to offer an explanation. "They ... they look so young. On television, they always seem older."
"Oh, I can tell you exactly why they always look older on television. Because you only have eyes for the tributes from One, Two, and Four," Haymitch spat out angrily through clenched teeth. "They almost never have twelve- or thirteen-year-olds."
Effie swallowed visibly, suddenly unhappy. The reason was obvious.
The children were crammed into the designated areas, staring blankly around. Some at the stage, some at their neighbors, some into the sky. In these moments, any distraction was welcome. Even a new escort would be interesting now.
They were sorted by age groups. The youngest stood at the front, the twelve-year-olds, and the eighteen-year-olds at the back. Placing the smallest in the front row was terribly unfortunate. They were always the thinnest, most starved, and palest of all the children and teenagers. Haymitch couldn't bear to look at them. And Effie seemed to feel similarly if her expression was anything to go by. At least judging by the paleness around her nose.
This woman had no right to look so surprised. As a new escort, she should have known what she was getting into. Apparently, she couldn't even accurately gauge the ages of children. Which shouldn't have been a surprise, considering how quickly kids in the Capitol matured – or at least pretended to.
Before he could further ponder Effie Trinket's incompetence, the camera crew finally signaled for the live broadcast to begin. Effie, on his left, immediately straightened up in her chair and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead. Then, Petunia moved to the microphone from the other side, smiling broadly as if there were something being given away for free today. Her lips seemed too wide for her face. Too artificial. Fake from start to finish, both of them.
Petunia gazed at herself on the screen for a moment before opening her mouth, as if she wanted to torture the young audience with suspense. Haymitch snorted, a bit too loudly, and Effie's eyes bored into his with a clear warning to behave. As if she were his mother with the right to reprimand him. A perfectly constructed puppet of the Capitol: With everything there was to be upset about at this event, her brain cells only extended to manners. As if everything else was filtered through a lens that transformed her perception into something else, something better.
"Welcome, welcome to the sixty-fourth annual Hunger Games! As every year, the time has come again to select two tributes who will have the honor of representing District Twelve in this wonderful spectacle!" Petunia announced in her commanding voice, trying to sound cheerful, but to Haymitch, she only left a grotesque impression. Just like her words.
The crowd didn't react. Just like every year. They simply stared at her as if she were a rotten apple in a basket full of fresh ones. To emphasize her excitement, she raised both hands and clapped twice, but the crowd remained silent, and one could see that Petunia was struggling to maintain composure. Her left eye twitched, but Haymitch was not in the mood to grin. His mind longed for a drink to forget this Reaping as quickly as possible. Until the train. Just until the train.
"The Games move forward, and with them, the years. And slowly, it's about time to make room for our new generation. Therefore, I am especially pleased to introduce to you all today my successor." Petunia continued her speech, and Haymitch used the moment to lean over to Effie.
"Don't be surprised if your entrance isn't quite what you've dreamed of all these years," Haymitch whispered amusedly in Effie's ear.
The schadenfreude in his tone was muted by Effie's clear blue eyes, which suddenly leaned towards him.
"Why–" she began, but then froze as she noticed his face was only a few centimeters from hers.
She was so close to him that Haymitch could discern the exact shade of her eyes. He had been wrong. On closer inspection, the sky blue was interrupted by occasional speckles reminiscent of the cornflowers that grew behind his house around this time of year. Every thought that had been stinging him suddenly evaporated. His mind hit a void, and he couldn't even remember what he had intended with his comment in the first place.
Too late, Haymitch realized that Effie was still studying his eyes. He hesitated. What the fuck was going on her? Surprise still lingered on her features, but she didn't avert her gaze; she waited. He was so close to her that he couldn't detect any trace of the barrier the Capitol always maintained around itself. Too close to see the bright color of her lips or the artificial curls of her wig. Haymitch wanted to pull back, but he had forgotten how to think.
"Please give a warm welcome to your new escort, Effie Trinket!"
Never in his life had Haymitch been as grateful for Petunia's nonsense as he was in that moment.
Effie snapped out of her trance so suddenly that he almost recoiled. The walls of the Capitol shot up, hiding any glimpse of what had just been visible. Her big eyes shifted from Haymitch to Petunia and the crowd behind her. Within a fraction of a second, a huge, artificial smile spread across Effie's pink lips. Then, she rose from her chair and scuttled to the microphone, which Petunia had now completely relinquished to her.
Petunia was the only one clapping. The children stared at Effie as if she had just fallen from the moon. The younger ones curious, the older ones derogatory, and the adults reproachful. Haymitch didn't clap. He simply watched Effie as she turned to face the children and remained speechless for a moment. Yet, her smile didn't fade.
Finally, she began to speak. "Dear girls and boys of District Twelve, it's a delight to meet you all! My name is Effie Trinket, and from this year on, I will be accompanying you on your journey through the Hunger Games. As in the sixty-three years before you, you too must face the ritual of the Reaping." She asserted how much she looked forward to working with them, as if the entire District was involved.
Haymitch sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Now is the moment when a brave young woman and a brave young man will be chosen to honorably represent your District in this year's Hunger Games. Ladies first!" Effie Trinket's broad smile was not nearly as bad as Petunia's, Haymitch realized.
The thought almost brought him back to that unprecedented moment from before. If his stomach hadn't turned in anticipation. As Effie stepped towards the girls' bowl with small strides, he felt nauseous. She dipped her hand into the bowl, and for a moment, there was dead silence. Haymitch could almost hear the silent prayers. Everyone hoped the newcomer might bring some luck after all. But in his eyes, there was no such thing as luck. Not anymore ...
He loathed the Reaping. He detested having to watch as the lives of two children were torn apart. He hated the feeling in his stomach, as if he was about to vomit. Without the alcohol in his blood, it felt like he had traveled back in time. Before him stood not the young Effie, but his girl. Her face distorted with fear when he was called onto the stage. Her attempt to reach him. He could smell her scent, feel her hair on the back of his neck, and her delicate hand in his. The wide eyes of his little brother, whom he had wanted to protect more than anything in the world.
Effie took her time, probably wanting to draw a bit more attention to herself, before she finally plucked a slip of paper from the bowl and, with a raised hand, headed straight back to the microphone. In her exaggerated attire, she really did look like a doll. A doll sent by the Capitol to bring death.
The silence persisted. Haymitch hated the feeling. It was as if time stood still for a moment. As if some supernatural being was deciding whether to intervene or to continue in silence. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. The feeling of loneliness weighed him down, more than it had in a long time. He was alone. They are all dead.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Effie Trinket unfolded the slip of paper and read the name aloud, this time without hesitation. Her voice echoed clear and distinct across the square. Too gentle. Too kind. Too naive. A true angel of death. "Elowen Tarnvald."
But Haymitch knew the truth. Better than most. The truth was that it would always hit someone. It was inevitable.
Since returning from the arena, he had avoided contact with the residents of District 12 as much as he could, without having to forego essential provisions. Yet, he couldn't help but angrily turn away as he saw the young girl, bewildered, stepping out from among the children. Fate is not kind to us.
The girl came from the line of thirteen-year-olds. She had long, slightly curly, blond-brown hair and was definitely one of the smaller, thinner thirteen-year-olds.
Haymitch sighed. His gaze hardened as he watched her make her way through the crowd with a reserved and lowered head, climbing the steps to the podium with a slight sway. It seemed as though she hoped to wake up from a terrible nightmare any moment. But this was worse than any nightmare. This were the Hunger Games.
Effie greeted the girl quietly and with a big smile, but Haymitch could see the surprise in her eyes. The same surprise as earlier when she had first really taken a good look at the children. The ignorance of reality was nothing new, rather it was what he expected from an average person from the Capitol – but the anger it ignited in him burned with the same intensity every time. What had she thought? Good-looking and well-nourished children who would turn out to be secret killing machines? In that case, she was definitely in the wrong place in 12.
Effie led the girl to the microphone and leaned in towards her. "How old are you, Elowen?" she asked in a calm tone, probably to assure her that there was nothing to worry about. Create the illusion of safety, and the children will cooperate more quickly, making it easier for everyone. Haymitch could almost hear President Snow speaking those words.
Elowen didn't pay any attention to Effie. Her gaze scanned the crowd and settled on a woman staring back with tears in her eyes. Her mother. How much effort had it taken her to feed her daughter, only to lose her to the Games now? The only thing evident on Elowen's youthful face was a mix of panic and relief. Haymitch had seen this look enough times over the past fourteen years. The fear of the Games and the certainty of her death were undoubtedly eating away at her. Yet, the fact that she would no longer be a burden to her parents and siblings – one less mouth to feed – was often a small consolation.
With difficulty, the girl turned her gaze away. "Thirteen," she said. The tremble in her voice was unmistakable. She clenched her hands into small fists and pressed her lips together. To keep the fear under control. To avoid losing her mind. To prevent herself from breaking down.
oOo
Effie didn't let the disappointment show, which relentlessly flowed through her veins. She can't be thirteen, her mind repeated over and over. This girl was too small, too thin to be anything older than ten. She had watched enough years of the Hunger Games on television to be sure of that. Even though Haymitch Abernathy's comment wasn't wrong. When she had watched the Games, her attention had usually been on the first four Districts. Like most people. Sometimes, if a tribute was particularly attractive or otherwise stood out, she might have shown interest. When she was younger, still a child herself, she often rooted for the underdogs. But those days were long gone, and the Games had faded in priority amidst the everyday realities of adulthood. At least until now.
Now, Effie was an escort in the Hunger Games, a career path she had only recently started to consider. And now she could barely remember when she last noticed a thirteen-year-old tribute, let alone when she last took the time for a closer look. The tributes from the Districts her mother favored were usually much older. There, the youths volunteered in droves, not wanting to miss the annual honor.
Here in District 12, the word 'honor' seemed unknown to everyone. No one volunteered to take Elowen's place. When Effie looked over the rows of older children, many of them appeared just as thin and starved. This might not have been noticeable on television, but now, standing live before them, it was painfully clear.
Contrary to how Haymitch wanted to portray her, Effie was neither foolish nor clueless. Quite the opposite. As soon as she had received the offer for the position, she had started to prepare for it. She had researched District 12 as much as she could with the limited information available. She had watched recordings from the few years when District 12 had performed above average in the Hunger Games. She had sought advice from Petunia, who had explained the differences between this District and others to her.
Effie had hoped to draw someone she could present with pride in the Capitol. Someone who had the potential to win. The chances of this little girl were close to none. And looking around, she suddenly felt quite unsure whether anyone in the crowd possessed that potential. In her mind, she tried to compare some of the past victors she remembered with these children. Something was off, and Effie couldn't understand what it was.
However, there was one thing she must not forget. The Reaping was purely a matter of chance. It could happen to anyone. Some Districts had simply been luckier in the past. If the children from 12 looked different in reality, those from 1 would too. So, what was the difference that made District 1 produce victors so often, and District 12 not? A question for another time ...
Despite the slim chances of this girl, Effie was not someone who gave up hope easily. She was someone who strived to make the best out of any situation. And that's exactly what she would do with Elowen. She might not be a model, but with her natural charisma, surely something could be done. At least, that's what Effie hoped.
"Wonderful! A round of applause for this year's female tribute from District Twelve!" Effie's high voice echoed across the square. With every word, with every gesture, her confidence grew. It was not much different from events in the Capitol, and Effie was experienced in being on stage.
Effie and Petunia were the only ones clapping. Petunia seemed accustomed to this, but Effie wondered why the residents of District 12 were so dismissive. After all, this was about their own child, a member of their community. From the corner of her eye, she saw that even Haymitch Abernathy wasn't clapping and made a mental note to speak to him about it later. It had taken less than five minutes in his presence to realize that this team lacked a united front. Petunia might let him get away with such things, but she definitely wouldn't. These small details were important for the bigger picture.
As she patted Elowen on the shoulder, Effie examined the girl more closely. She had a sweet face. Lots of freckles that made a pretty contrast to her fair complexion. But for Effie, the girl's intense green eyes were the highlight. The first impression said a lot to the sponsors, but once they saw the close-up shots, no one could deny Elowen's beauty.
"Now, let's move on to the boys," Effie announced, refocusing the attention on herself. Reaching the boys' bowl, she let her hand wander a bit before drawing a slip of paper. "Ramon Clangor."
For a moment, silence reigned again. Even the birds had fallen silent. This time, it took longer for the boy to emerge from the crowd. He was from the group of seventeen-year-olds. Average height, but broader than many others, and with tousled dark brown hair.
Effie beamed and quickly proceeded to bring the young man onto the stage. His expression was grim, and he seemed to deliberately avoid looking at her. Instead, he too scanned the crowd, probably searching for his family.
"And how old are you?" Effie asked once more, but it was evident that this time she was visibly pleased. Ramon was a perfect candidate. He was more than a head taller than her, muscular, and quite handsome. Olive skin, dark eyes – the sponsors would pounce on him like wild animals on meat.
After some hesitation, Ramon answered. His dark eyes met Effie's defiantly. "Seventeen." His voice was cold and calculating, sending a shiver down her spine. So hostile, as if he harbored a personal grudge against her. Effie slightly raised her eyebrow, ensuring it went unnoticed by the cameras, and Ramon continued to gaze around expressionlessly. He definitely lacked manners ...
Everything seemed to pass more quickly now. Effie addressed a few words to the residents of District 12, wished everyone happy Hunger Games, and then waved Haymitch over as the two tributes disappeared into the Justice Building. They had exactly one hour to say goodbye to their families.
"What do you think of them?" Effie asked, falling back to join Haymitch, who was walking somewhat apart from the rest of the group. His gray eyes were half-closed, as if the Reaping had drained all his strength. Yet, all he had done was sit around and make uncouth comments.
Abernathy shrugged, his gaze never leaving the floor of the Justice Building they were traversing. "No idea, get me a drink and I'll tell you."
Effie narrowed her eyes. "There's more than enough on the train," she retorted, smoothing her dress. Then she remembered who she was talking to. "But that will have to wait. Business before pleasure." She gave him a confident smile, covering up the knot of uncertainty that this first day as an escort had left in her stomach.
The expression that flitted across Haymitch's face suggested he was not in the mood for smiles. But considering his appearance – unkempt, unshaven, and unstylish – Effie might have guessed as much. He didn't seem like someone who had much humor or zest for life, but more like someone who was of a grumpy disposition.
District 12 had held many surprises for Effie today – none of them positive. A victor who didn't want to contribute. Tributes whose chances might be worse than expected. Residents lacking a sense of honor, more inclined to resist the traditions.
A District full of outsiders.
-
Welcome, welcome! Another week, another chapter.
Did you like it? What do you think about Effie's first reaping? Do you understand her thoughts and opinions or is she as strange as for Haymitch? Let me know! Please like or comment if you liked the chapter! :)
Skyllen