Twenty Four Shades of Blood [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

District Four Reaping - Star Paragon and Ryan Tigulier

The huge square before the District Four Justice Building is packed with people, far more than it is designed to hold, but no one minds the squash. After all, it only happens once a year and the celebrations that follow are always worth the wait. The blur of hundreds of voices fills the salty air, and there’s a slightly festive feel to the crowd.  Some of the little kids in the pens are singing, an old sea shanty, their hands clapping out a rhythm, feet stomping along to the sound of the sea.  They’re not afraid; the older kids always volunteer if a young one is reaped.  Tomorrow, life will go on as normal for them, the training, the fishing, the endless song of the sea.

There’s an enthusiastic round of applause as the Capitol escort takes the stage. He waves and bows, feeling his back complain as he does so.  He’s not young anymore, although that’s not immediately obvious, thanks to the great job his surgeons have done with smoothing away the creases and bags. The reapings always leave him feeling stiff – someone really should do something about the moisture in the air around here - but he knows that the second he starts to show it, someone younger will be in his place.  His hair is an impressive mass of bright blue, the colour of the district.  He’s toned things down a bit; apparently not everyone in the Capitol had been a big fan of the fake fishes he’d added last year.

He’s slipped a small stem of coral into his lapel, and scattered a few bright scales across the shoulders of his suit, just to complete the look. They dance in the sunlight, fish in the water.

“District Four!  How are we doing today?” 

The sound crew frantically turn up the volume on his microphone; it sounds like his voice is starting to give out.  There’s talk of reconstructive procedures for such afflictions, and he’s thinking quite seriously about getting it done.  Maybe something with gravelly undertones, just for a change. People respect a guy who sounds like he's swallowed someone's driveway.

There’s a thunderous chorus of cheers.  District Four really do try to keep up with the other Career districts. They never quite match the enthusiasm of One, but he always appreciates their efforts.  And he’s got reason to be proud of them; in his ten term as escort he’s seen a total of three victors crowned. They parade around the crowd, shaking hands with little kids, chatting with the adults, whooping and calling, all three of them wearing golden crowns.

“Formal stuff first!” he announces, and waits for the bored silence that always follows that announcement. He says the speech off by heart; after ten years of saying the same thing he’s not going to forget it in a hurry. 

Some of the children carry on singing under their breath. The older boys lean on the pen to flirt with the pretty girls in the next one over. The girls laugh and toss their plaits and pretend to ignore them, whilst shooting glances out of sea-green eyes. Parents make half-hearted attempts to restrain small children, their sandalled footsteps slapping on the cobbled floor. The sea bounds out a beat not far behind them, the constant rhythm of District Four.

“And now!  Let’s get things underway, shall we?”  The crowd stirs excitedly, the children hushing in anticipation.  He darts his hand into the bowl, stirring it around before pulling out one slip.  He goes as if to open it, and then tosses it back into the bowl. 

“Didn’t quite feel like a winner!” he says, almost conspiratorially, with a little wink at the camera.  The crowd lap it up, just like he knows they would. They need a winner; they’re behind both One and Two by a margin that is getting depressingly larger each year.  He fishes around again, and feels the crowd in front of him holding their breath collectively.

"Petra Paragon!” 

Heads turn this way and that.  The name’s not familiar.

“Petra?  Don’t be shy, love!  Come on up here, there’s much more room!”  That gets a laugh from the crowd, but they’re slightly distracted, still craning to try pick out this year’s girl. Mutters whip around the crowd, the camera panning the pens. She doesn’t appear, and the escort is starting to feel slightly stressed.  This hasn’t ever happened in District Four before. What will the Capitol be thinking?