Inevitable | PJO

Annabeth

POV: Annabeth Chase

Annabeth stood impassively, facing the stage, the worn- out, calloused hand of the girl next to her in a bone-shattering clasp. It was something to hold onto. The breeze blew through her blonde curls and fluttered the edge of her pale blue dress, causing it to spiral out to the side of her, flickering shadows over the grass. The heads of thousands of children splayed out in front, most of them scared sick, and stood stiff as she watched, the sea of clean, pretty dresses and pressed suits at a frozen standstill. She fingered her pale grey dress with her free hand, rubbing the heavy cotton between her fingers. 

It was like this every year.

Annabeth Chase would wake up in a panic, screaming and crying until her father stormed in to tell her she was disturbing her little brothers. He would always tell what an honour it would be to represent her district; How she should show some pride.
In her opinion, dying for a place that would forget you only too fast was not heroic; It wasn't something she should aim for. Because despite all her training, Annabeth Chase would not be able to win the games.

She could hit the target every time with a knife.
But she wouldn't ever stab a person.
She could swing a mace with such force that it smashed the practise dummy to smithereens.
But she'd rather that happened to her than she had to do that to someone.
She knew how to find water, how to kill and gut any number of wild animals.
But...
Ok, Annabeth didn't have an argument for that one.

Staring up at the empty stage, she tightened her grip on Thalia's wrist. The friend in question tossed her raven hair and leaned over to whisper.

"Annie. Annie please calm down. If you're picked you know someone will volunteer in your place. Clarisse, Kym, someone like them. You've heard Clarisse boasting about how she's going to win this year!"

Thalia' s choppy black bob swung in the breeze as she smiled reassuringly up at Annabeth. It was alright for her. She only had her name in four times. Annabeth had hers in ten times. Sure, people in other districts must have theirs in many more, but to them, ten was a hell of a lot.

Annabeth stared down at Thalia, hoping with everything she had that that was the case. Worst case scenario: She got picked, Clarisse volunteered. Simple. Nothing to worry about.

So why was she still frozen stiff with fear?

Because.... , Because....

Screeching static boomed through the ears of the spectators, causing all eyes to fly to the stage set up in the middle of the square. A middle aged Capitol man in a disgusting leopard-print shirt and shockingly green shorts was hunched over, coughing into the microphone.

Oh Gods. It was starting.
The presenter, dubbed Dionysus, (Probably by himself, after he'd been drinking, Annabeth though sourly.) straightened up and proceeded to start the ceremony.

"Well here we are again, at another brilliant reaping!" He managed, voice scratchy and laden with sarcasm. The introduction was carried on in the same tone: " Now everyone turn their heads to watch the video so kindly brought to you by the Capitol."

"I think they've written him a script" Thalia whispered over to Annabeth. "He's not usually that polite. Or able to speak in anything but drunken grunts!"

Annabeth sniggered, earning her a filthy look from the white-uniformed peacekeepers guarding the different groups of children. She hastily turned her eyes to the screen.
Then immediately looked away again.
They were showing scenes from last year's Hunger Games. A vicious-looking tribute was hurling knives at a sobbing young boy. A blonde girl was choking to death, the same tribute's hand wrapped around her neck. The body of a dark-skinned boy lay in a pool of blood and dirt, a sword sticking out his chest.
The images made her feel physically sick. They wanted volunteers, yet they showed them those videos. Like they were meant to make them want victory; Like they thought the children of the districts were to stupid to know what happened to the other 23 tributes.

Annabeth held her breath as Dionysus stumbled over to the two reaping balls. He seemed to deliberate between the two, before opting to pick the male tribute first.
" Sherman Yang." He drawled, completely uninterested. The new tribute, a massively muscular guy with a bellicose attitude that stuck out a mile, whooped as he ran up to the stage, before composing himself slightly and standing at the front of the stage, taking a bow, then shuffled along to his designated spot on the left.
Dionysus turned to the girls ball. Forget heart-in-your-throat, Annabeth's heart was now balancing on the very tip of her nose, ready to fall and shatter at the slightest movement.
The presenter cleared his throat, causing static to come bursting out the speakers. Even that didn't break Annabeth's concentration as she stared at the slip of paper he held in his hands.
Not me. She prayed. Please. I'll look after my little brothers, I'll try harder in school!!! Just... Please!!!!
Dionysus coughed again and tore open the slip.
"Our other lucky contestant is... Annabell.... No. A... Annabeth Chase!"
The wind whistled through the banners decorating the square.

Not one breath of a volunteer could be heard.