After The Storm (A Hunger Games Fanfic)

District One Reapings

The sun pokes tentatively over the craggy hills of District One as if it is worried about what the day might bring.

The inhabitants aren't. Everyone has a huge smile on their face. The girls have been up for hours making sure they were looking their best. Well, so have the boys, not that any of the fearsome chunks of meat would admit it. The streets are full of people already, clumps of impossibly beautiful teenagers swaggering to the square while the adults stand by, clapping their brave warriors and remembering fondly when they used to do the same things themselves. The adults themselves are dressed cleanly, but plainly. Today is the day for the children.

Reapings in District One are colourful occasions. Unlike in many of the other districts, the teenagers feel under no obligation to wear white. Even those who know there's no chance of them being 'chosen' are dressed as colourfully as they can, and many have had their outfits specially made. They can wear them again at the victory parties. Tonight there will be fireworks and feasts, and the families of the two chosen ones will be congratulated by everyone they meet.

But first, the reapings. A mere formality; everyone knows who will be going to the Capitol. But they're all agreed that something as big as the Hunger Games deserves some real celebration. So there's banners pinned up everywhere, pictures of past winners. The winners themselves are mobbed by admirers from the moment they leave the nearly-full Victor's Village on the edge of town. Even Onyx, who is pushing sixty by now, has a crowd of loyal old women who coo over him just like they did when they were seventeen.

The square is nearly full, although the Mayor notices that there are one or two promising youngsters missing from the pens. Most are sat or leaning on the fences, chatting to the people in the next pen. The girls flirt with the boys, the boys brag about what they did in training at the top of their voices, not caring if the panning camera picks them up. This is the start of the show, where it all begins. The Capitol rep, in the spirit of things, is decked out in magnificent jewels and sparkles in the early morning light. The cameramen are setting up, and a voice in her ear mutters, "Okay, Carmine, they're showing the logo...a few sponsor details...montage...clip of the moment Chardonnay won last year...and we are live in three, two, one..."

"Hello Panem!" she bellows at the nearest camera, and the crowd goes wild. Underneath the whoops and cheers, the Mayor groans and mutters, "Should have known, they're always late..."

A large group of teenagers have burst through the entrance to the square as the lady tries desperately to take all their blood samples. They laugh and giggle loudly enough to make themselves obvious, but Carmine doesn't budge an inch.

"Shame on you, late to the reapings!" she calls, and they laugh up at her, catcalling. They're not drunk; District One tributes are like this. "Stop it; I'm old enough to be your mother!" she tells them, and imagines Panem laughing along with 1. Well, the Capitol anyway.

"No offense, Carmine, but we're on a limited schedule here..." the voice mutters at her.

"Get in the pens, you lot, while I do the speech," she urges. One of the past victors, all sat proudly on stage for maximum intimidation, scowls at the latecomers and they scuttle into place with excited giggles. They all stand to attention through the speech, thousands of faces scowling as one as she tells of the rebellion in Thirteen and how it spread, all smiling when she reminds them of the might of the Capitol, faces sombre when she points out the price they must pay for their forefather's mistakes.

Most faces sombre.

"Not much of a price!" shouts one of the latecomers, looking around and grinning as people turn to him. The Mayor rolls his eyes and drones, "Thank you, Trey."

"You're welcome!" Trey retorts cheekily.

"Get on with it!" calls a creaky voice from the back of the square. Somebody's grandma; she must have powerful voice to be heard from the other side of the fountain.