How odd this girl is.
Isn't she from 8?
She is? Then why is she like this?
Like how? Don't you see it? The monster hidden in the deep?
Well this might be fun.
(I know, not the type of title you expect for a Hunger Games fic, but I couldn't hold myse...
District 8 was an urban place stinking of industrial fumes, and the people were housed in run-down tenements. Barely a blade of grass in sight, and yet Bera had still found a patch of itchy plants to be thrown in by Valerius... How lucky.
But, well, today's fuckfest of a training day had been cut short by the event everyone knew about.
People shepherded around, separating mothers from daughters, fathers from sons, brothers from sisters, older from younger.
Bera stood near in the middle of the masses of nervous chatter, listening to the same whispers about their worries and fears once again. At the same time, she stayed silent and watched the stage, able to tell just which peacekeeper Valerius was.
She then looked at Woof, the old and withdrawn male victor, a darkness in his eyes she didn't envy but felt close to. Both of them have hate bustling deep in their hearts for different reasons. He seemed so weak and strong simultaneously, present and distracted.
Then came Cecelia, the young victor still could look at them all with a kind smile even if the unshed tears of agony were seen in her eyes. Bera couldn't really understand why she made such a choice, but if she remembered, the oldest of her three children would be twelve next year, entering into the raffle. In fact, it has often turned out that Victor's children or little siblings are reaped as tributes. She's seen it enough to make that theory concrete for her; that was also the reason Woof gave trouble once in a drunken fight she assisted to.
The third person she felt nothing for was V, just V. Not only did she have a weird name, but her attire was even weirder, and she was the Capitol escort for District 8. She was wearing a feathered purple head, making her head look like a peacock exploded on it with all the glitter flying with each movement of it, that poofy violet purple hair, those huge ass fake lashes that were so heavy they always made her look high... Bera wouldn't be surprised if she admitted that she was tall... She might even like her more... That large inflated mouth, as if trackerjackers stung her, but she overdid it with her makeup and pushed her lips out. Face powdered so pale she looked like the living dead, the dress is the only passable thing, a long-sleeved ball gown that looked metallic blue but dragged on the ground and was made of horribly cheap fabric, and those shoes, compensating for something? She looked like an old lady trying to hide her age.
"Welcome, everyone!" A nasal voice that annoyed Bera less than her atrocious outfit came out of V's mouth as she waved her two arms at the crowd like the diva she was. "Oh, I am so happy to see you all again for another year of the Hunger Games! Ah! So exciting!"
According to Valerius, since he had the right to those documents, district 8 claims just under seventy thousand in tesserae, equaling 0.5 tesserae per person, which was a lot, one every two people.
"Let's get to the draw right away, shall we? As always, ladies, you are the first!" She pranced her way to the bowl of glass with all the names in it, able to move even if those heels were the size of her whole hand. She can respect that, but that's the only thing she respects.
But she thinks it is more. Her name is at least fifty times in there to get herself food when she was younger. Honestly, how long she lasted as the black sheep of 8 is a surprise.
"Our first tribute! Bera Helfir."
She... Thought too fast.
She saw the people move away from her, almost like touching her would make them tributes instead.
She lifted her chin with an annoyed look, scoffing at all the asshats gleaming in relief.
She stepped out and let the peacekeepers walk her to the stage.
Alright... She needed to admit that now that this was happening, she felt nervous. Feeling her heartbeat in her chest like this was uncomfortable.
"Come on up!" V said with a smile as she stepped beside her, looking over the sea of people. "Anyone wants to volunteer for dear Bera here?" But there was a silence of death. "Alright! For the boys!"
She felt a hand on her shoulder; she looked at Cecelia, smiling at her gently and apologetically. It made her gulp, not liking the feeling it gave her, making her look away.
"James Lancer!"
The boy looked around her age, but much more worried and scared, fist tight and shoulders pulled up.
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(The clothes they have in these pictures will be the ones in the Hunger Games, so you know.)
He was rigid in walking, stiff as a board, walking up to her side on the right of V.
"Any volunteers for our darling James?" Once again, there was silence; only the careers saw volunteers anyway. What a useless question. "Alright then, shake your hands, and let's get going to the 66th, my lovelies!" (since I looked and enobaria won 62, gloss 63, cashmere 64, finnick 65, so she gets 66 like Athena, my d2 oc)
Bera held up her hand first, James squeezing it. She shook it back.
She had never met him, yet, currently in the world, only he and she understood each other.
Both were on the point of signing their lives away even if they didn't want it.
But Bera felt like she was born for this, while James felt like he'd die for this.
