Twenty Four Shades of Blood [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

District Two Reaping - Vasilissa and Basilius Mara

It is always cold in District Two on reaping day.

That being said, it could hardly be said that the district was ever really warm.  The winds that blow off the permanently snow-capped mountains around the borders of the district always carry with them a bitter taste of winter, even in the warmer summer months.

Today is no exception, with the wind gusting intermittently across the square in front of the Justice Building.  This hasn’t stopped the citizens from putting on their usual display of finery.  It’s not as flashy as District One, with fewer colours, but it’s obvious by the cut and fabric of their clothing that these people care about appearance.

 Inside the Justice Building, out of the cold, the Capitol escort, a short woman with hair dyed an interesting, if somewhat neauseating shade of plum, watches the proceedings in the square through one of the tinted windows.  She’s feeling a little annoyed; after the fiasco at last year’s reaping where her wig had blown off, she’d requested a stint in District One.  Nice weather, nicer kids and the beds were probably a hell of a lot comfier too. Oh well, at least she hasn’t been moved to Twelve or that awful district with the cows. That's a small comfort.

Her earpiece crackles, and she jumps, tottering in her ridiculously high heels.  They’re new, a present from her latest fling in the Capitol.  He might be old, but he’s rich, and generous to those around him. So in her eyes, he's perfect. For the next few weeks, anyway.

“We’re going live in three minutes, Violet!  Let’s see some action!”

Her assistant hands her a purple fur wrap - another present - and tight leather gloves as she heads towards the door, the heels of her shoes skittering slightly on the smooth tiles. The doors of the Justice Building are swung open and she shivers as the wind barrels into her, one hand flying up to ensure her curls are still in place.  They are, so she fixes her photogenic smile on her face and makes her way out onto the platform.

There’s a hearty round of applause, and a few whistles from the crowd, and she thinks maybe this isn’t so bad after all.  She waves as she approaches the platform, and blows a kiss into the crowd for the cameras.  They’re not quite as enthusiastic as the people in One, and it took quite a bit for them to show much excitement.  The voice in her ear tells her to liven things up, get some action.

She has reached the podium, which is slightly taller than she is even with the heels.  This gets a bit of a laugh from the crowd as she tries peering over the top, and then moves to one side, pouting.  She has to pull this together; the thought of the stench of cows in District 10 is more than enough encouragement. Twinkle ended up there a few years back and resigned the next.

“Well, helloooo District 2!  It’s lovely to be back!”  There’s applause, and a few cheers.  She shakes her finger at them playfully.

“Oh, come one!  Let’s try outdoing District One – you should have heard them this year!”

It works like gold every time. The roar of noise from the crowd threatens to blow her wig off again, and she can even see some of the older boys in the pens stamping their feet.  The rivalry between the districts is always high – the tributes might almost always end up allies, but that also means a lot of District Two tributes are killed by those from One, and vice versa, and the rich history of both means that competition for who can have the most winners is inevitable. Currently, District One are ahead by three.

She reluctantly waves the noise down - now is the time for serious business - and pulls out the sheet of paper with the standard speech outlining the origins of the Games, and the history of Panem.  She should probably know it off by heart by now, but it's just too boring. The crowd shuffles restlessly as she reads; they’ve all heard it many times before.  She’s almost to the end when the cruel wind whips the paper from her hands and carries off over the square, a flake of snow in the autumn air. The crowd don't even turn to watch it go, keeping their largely steel-grey eyes fixed on her. They're smaller and wirier than One, but no less intimidating.