Outside of his door, Blaine was greeted by a Peacekeeper dressed from head to toe in a white suit. He felt incredibly small and weak compared to this person, but followed him silently down the corridor. Blaine was inhaling the strong smell of food before he realised they were even going to give him a proper meal. He couldn’t properly work out what it was, but he could identify some kinds of meat and maybe some vegetables from smell alone. The Peacekeeper signalled to a room and Blaine walked inside, slipping silently into the chair next to Quinn. She was dressed in a simple high topped red dress with her fingernails on her left hand clawing into the wood of the table.

“Where’s Haymitch?” Blaine asked quietly as Effie skipped cheerfully into the room and took her seat across from him.

“He won’t be joining us.” She replied without blinking, her smile never faltering.

“Oh,” Blaine mumbled in reply.

Blaine decided, in that moment, that Effie’s smile was practically stapled onto her face.

“Help yourself!” she shrieked and directed Blaine’s attention towards the rows and rows of food which he’d somehow managed to ignore so far through the conversation. His mouth watered at the sight of it all, and his stomach growled in protest as if asking him why he had not gotten up yet and eaten some of it? A part of him was disgusted with the amount of food they had here when he knew that back home his parents were going to just about get by on the small half of the other roll he left with them this morning. Looking over his shoulder, it was clear that Quinn was reluctant too, but he noticed how her tongue poked out to lick her lips and then she looked intently at him with questioning eyes. He smiled sympathetically at her and then decided to stand up and walk over to the end of the table, gingerly taking a plate from the pile and taking a few things from each tray which was sunken into the table as he walked along. Quinn tagged along immediately behind him. It felt unwelcome, he had no brothers or sisters, and he’d never really had anyone take such an interest in him, especially when he knew they’d both be dead within a few weeks.

They all sat silently through their meal, Blaine and Quinn both eating twice the speed of Effie, who looked up through her fake, jewelled eyelashes in disgust at them before turning back to her own meal and pretending that she hadn’t see anything. Blaine and Quinn both helped themselves to seconds, and then thirds before deciding that their stomachs might just burst if they ate anymore. Effie stood up happily, and just before she left the room she turned to the pair of them and spoke in a cheerful voice.

“Oh, Haymitch has been deemed unfit to be your mentor this year. Your mentor will be Mayor Undersee. He’ll meet you at the Capitol, until then you’ll stay with me.” She skipped happily out of the door while muttering under her breath, and Blaine and Quinn turned to look at each other uncertainly.

“Mayor Undersee is my friend’s dad.” Quinn said quietly, clearing her throat just before she spoke. Neither looked one another in the eye. Mayor Undersee was District 12’s Mayor. He wasn’t exactly a supporter of the games, but his family wasn’t like the others in the District. They were a lot richer, more taken care of by the Capitol so the Capitol could keep them in their good books. Having him as their mentor was a lot more promising than Haymitch, at least if they managed to scrape up anysponsors, they might have a chance of getting something during the games rather than having Haymitch ruin any chance of winning which was something they were clawing onto, though neither was hoping too much.

Blaine left the room soon after and headed back to his chambers. He decided to try the shower. He stabbed his fingers at random buttons and immediately masses of water jetted out of the wall, all with different temperatures and skin treatments. Eventually he managed to get the water at a reasonable temperature that wasn’t going to freeze or scold him, and he stood under it for a few moments,scrubbing at his skin. The air around him steamed up quickly and he prodded his finger into the “Off” button a few times until the water stopped completely and he stepped out of the shower. When he arrived back in his room, he looked through the drawers embedded into the wall and pulled out a simple outfit of jeans and a black shirt. He slid them on and stepped into his boots before brushing his hair down into a presentable style.

A knock on his door brought him away from the mirror in the bathroom as Effie’s voice sounded animatedly outside of his chambers, summoning him to come to and join them in the viewing carriage. He followed silently through the wide corridor until they reached a room with lavish sofas and a huge flat screen television. He’d never seen anything so…extravagant. Quinn was already seated on the edge of the sofa, as close to the edge as she could get, as far away from everything else in the room or the train. Blaine took a seat on the other side of the sofa, curling into himself as Effie sat bolt upright in the middle of the sofa and a Capitol worker turned on the television for them.

The recap of the reapings was a mandatory thing; everyone watched them unless your child was one of the unlucky ones to get picked (but if you were from a career district (1, 2 or 4) where having your child reaped was an honour amongst your family, they watched proudly) and it was the one time of year where electricity was guaranteed in every district, no power outages, no shortages, just the forced brutality of watching young children being shipped off to their vicious deaths.

The reapings went in order of District, starting with 1 and ending with 12. They were scheduled throughout the day, so if someone really wanted they would be able to watch all of them live, however people rarely managed that unless they lived in the Capitol, so the recaps were widespread and everyone generally watched.

The recap started with the President of the Capitol, President Snow, taking his place behind a podium and speaking about the History of Panem. Blaine felt like he was going to throw up when President Snow mentioned that these children’s deaths will make the winning district “worthy of a reward for respecting Panem and the Capitol in the most victorious way.” The commentator mentioned that they would be watching the reapings straight, and the symbol for District 1 flashed on the screen.

Blaine and Quinn shared a worried glance. The District 1, 2, and 4 tributes were always the ones who won, generally. They were the ones who were trained from birth to compete in the games, and they were the ones who banded together as soon as the games began to take out the weaker tributes until it was just them standing, and then they’d take out each other. It was completely barbaric, but that’s how things were. Blaine turned back to the screen, bracing himself for the worst as they introduced the female tribute, and then the male.

Blaine watched with worried eyes as a small young girl was called onto the stage, but was not shocked when they allowed volunteers to step forward. A few of the girls caught his eye as looking completely brutal; nails and hair perfectly preened into what appeared to be the perfect image, but you could practically see them tearing each other apart in their minds. They were coached for this, they were educated in the ability to be able to literally rip each other apart and feel no remorse. After a few moments of the commentators explaining that the volunteers have to show their abilities to the Peacekeepers and the District 1 Mayor before one is chosen, they bought the female tribute out onto the stage and her name flashed up on the bottom of the way-too-wide screen as she glared mercilessly over the heads of her audience.

“Santana Lopez, female tribute, District 1!” the host announced.

“She’s a fighter.” Quinn commented, and Blaine thought it might be the first time he has heard Quinn say anything remotely worth questioning, like maybe she’s actually a part of the games…or maybe she was just making small talk.

Blaine hummed in reply, eyes fixated on the large screen trying to capture every image.

“And now for the male tribute…” the commenter spoke over the host at District 1 and began discussing how this was a “first for this district, or any of the top 4!”

“Turns out, the male tribute who was reaped refused volunteers. He was apparently planning to volunteer anyway; nothing could have made this more perfect for him.” The commentator spoke on and on, but it stuck with Blaine’s mind that this tribute was obviously made for the games. No one refuses volunteers. Well, not where he’s from anyways.

The camera panned out on a boy walking down the aisle, surrounded by 2 Peacekeepers. He walked contentedly onto the stage, and the image of the zoomed in face of the boy was spread across the television screen. Blaine couldn’t drag his gaze away from the boy on the TV screen’s eyes. Light blue, but glimmers of hazel and green every time he blinked, but he told himself that it was probably just the quality of the television even though he’d never seen anything so clear before.

“Kurt Hummel, male tribute, District 1!” the host announced again, thrusting his arm up into the air as he smiled proudly to the cheering audience.

Blaine felt himself staring, not in the curious way that he stared at the fierce brunette…this was different. This was longing, it was a need to know more, know why his smile dropped as he was lead down the stairs from the stage, the need to know why Blaine’s stomach twisted up at the thought of him having a family.

He was a career. There was nothing more he needed to know. Blaine mentally scolded himself for even considering getting to know a tribute before the games, he needed a clear head and that was all he needed.

*

“Kurt Hummel,” Santana drawled out holding her hand out to his.

“Santana Lopez,” he retorted back patronisingly, shaking her hand bitterly.

She left the room almost immediately after, not turning back once to look at him. He waited for her to leave and the door to click shut before sinking down into the chair to his right.

“Fuck” he cursed under his breath.

“Santana Lopez!” He could hear the crowd screaming after her, she was pretty well known in the district, her whole family was. Her father being the Mayor meant that she got whatever she wanted. It didn’t matter that she was meant to be in school and learning a trade to work, she just took regular visits with her family to the Capitol to get on their good side. But that wasn’t why Kurt was annoyed. She was dangerous. Not in the “she loses her temper sometimes” dangerous, either. She was dangerous in the way that killing in the games wouldn’t be her first murder. Some people claimed it was just a rumour, but the other girl involved in their fight hadn’t been seen forover 2 years and it was just an unspoken rule not speaking of it or her. Santana had apparently followed her home after they got into an argument were something no one really knew anything about and people have speculated about the incident, drawing to the conclusion that whilst the girl was walking up towards her house, Santana had stabbed her three times in the back and dragged her off. No one saw Santana for three weeks, but the other girl never came back. Her family moved away and that was the end of that incident.

The cheering stopped after a while and Kurt knew that she’d left the stage. He was already planning how he could possibly manage to take her out of the games early on when the door swung open and she walked in smugly, glancing uninterestedly at him before taking the seat opposite his. Polly walked in straight after her and smiled at them, informing them both that it was time for them to head to the train. It would only take a couple of hours to get to the Capitol. Santana’s smug smile tugged back onto her face as she stared into Kurt’s eyes. He gave her a cold glance and turned away, standing up proudly; he followed Polly out of the room, Santana quick on his tail.

They smiled to the cameras at the train station, grinning proudly but keeping a strong distance between them. Their stunning appearances shone on the screens all around them, zoomed in on their faces and overconfident eyes which glistened with hope and pride. After a while they turned and stepped onto the extravagant train, neither too impressed with it. They’d been on trains hundreds of times and it was just standard transport for them.

They were guided to a large open carriage covered with glass windows and told that they were free to do as they pleased until they arrived at the Capitol which would be in about 3 hours. Kurt looked around and took a seat in the corner of the room, gazing out of the window and tapping casually at his leg. He enjoyed silence, the peace and quiet of just being. It wasn’t something he got very much of at home, Finn was constantly around him, and as much as he absolutely adored his little brother there was only so much noise he could take sometimes. Around the time Finn was born he had started training more seriously for the games and he found himself more often than not, alone in the field behind their street shooting arrows into the distance or trying his hand at tossing a knife. As Finn slowly grew up, Kurt spent more time with him, bonding and helping Finn develop into the man that he knew Finn wanted to be to make his parents proud. Finn never cared about his parents though, at least not really. He obviously loved them but the only person he wanted to make proud was Kurt.

Kurt watched the district go by, the train moving at such a speed he could barely even catch anything for long enough to give him an indication to where they were. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off and to sleep, his body swaying with the movement of the train.

When he awoke a few hours later, Santana sat cross legged on the floor and was painting her nails carefully with a bottle of bright red nail polish. Kurt glanced over at her and then turned his head back towards the window. They were in the Capitol now, the extravagant houses and distinctive cars showed that. Even the people, the way they dressed and looked it just wasn’t like anything Kurt had ever seen in District 1.

After a few more minutes, they pulled into a station and Kurt and Santana were taken away from the train, through a back door into a huge building (trying to keep them away from the Capitol public until their stylists had had their hands on them) and directed to the elevator on the first floor. The elevator was clear glass, it shot up like a bullet but Kurt and Santana stood awkwardly, both of them holding their ground until the doors opened with a bing! and they walked out, Santana leaving first and walking down the hallway, heading to the room she was assigned until the games began. Kurt’s was opposite, and they parted ways silently, the only sound Kurt could hear was the slam and click of the doors shutting adjacently and then his own breath which he let out when he was finally alone.

He showered quickly and changed into some fresh clothes before a knock on his door and Polly’s chirpy voice told him that it was time for dinner.

Kurt ate alone. Well, he felt alone but that was okay. Santana sat at the polar opposite end of the table and picked slowly at a bread roll, dropping small chunks into her mouth every few minutes and taking her time to chew. Kurt finished his meal and excused himself from the room, walking back to his own chamber. Meals wouldn’t be so quiet tomorrow when the other tributes began arriving. District 1 was always the first to arrive, being the closest meant that their travel time was the shortest and they always left early. Kurt styled his hair and then made his way further down the corridor until he reached a viewing room where they would be watching the reapings. Santana was already perched on the floor, again crossed legged as she finished painting her finger nails, adding a dark black pattern on top of the already blood red. Kurt took a seat on the sofa curling his legs under him as Polly walked into the room a few moments later with their mentor for these games, Ronan Lidsok. He was 19 years old, won the games when he was just 17 years old and was the most recent District 1 Victor, meaning that he had to help mentor the next tributes until someone else from their district won and they would take over the chore. He introduced himself and apologised for the late arrival, but they all turned to the TV as they the Capitol anthem blared through the speakers and they introduced the official start of the Hunger Games preparation shows.

The commentator explained the games, gave the highlights from last year’s games and even recapped the final “victorious” death. Kurt and Santana both watched carefully, memorising the movements of the bodies as the final knife slashed through the young boy’s body and resulted in a huge triumphant yell from the winning girl, Harriet Tulung from District 4. By the time they started this year’s reapings, almost an hour had passed, due to the Capitol and gamemakers making sure that all the reapings of the day had finished and the editors had enough time to put together the show with all the best and the most dramatic bits. Kurt and Santana sat silently, neither of them even glancing at each other as they were announced on the screen, followed by two athletic looking Asian tributes from 2. Kurt got a bit bored around the 3rd District’s tributes and began observing the way that the tributes acted around each other and on the stage in front of their audience, searching for weaknesses in all of them. He became focused again around District 10, just in time to see a stocky boy with worried eyes clamber onto the stage, almost falling face first but catching himself just before he fell. Kurt laughed a little bit, and Ronan grinned at him, glad to have another fighter this year. The two ditzy tributes from District 11 were up next, and Santana turned to Kurt with a smile.

“I’ll take them.” She commented and turned back to the screen. Kurt chuckled.

Finally it was time for District 12, Kurt scratched lazily at his cheek, ready to see which two weenie kids they were sending forward this year. District 12 never stood a chance, ever. They were the poorest district so their tributes were always completely starved; they stocked up in the preparation time and then died quickly when they lost sight of what they were meant to be fighting for: survival.

A young girl was introduced first and Kurt immediately knew she didn’t stand a chance. She was 15 years old and looked more innocent than his little brother, which meant that every other tribute would be ready to wipe her out quickly and move onto the more exciting part of the games. Up next was the male tribute, a 17 year old boy with tuffs of curly hair spurting from his head. That’s all Kurt saw for the moment, as the camera panned above his head and he was surrounded by the Peacekeepers.

As he climbed the stage, the camera zoomed in on his face and the way he hesitantly licked his lips before blinking and looking directly into the camera.

Kurt very nearly gasped at the sight of the boy. The way his curls danced on the top of his head, the way his eyes were such a clear, vivid colour, yet so undeterminable. Kurt closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, swallowing and breathing deeply once more, trying to calm himself even though he knew it was very nearly impossible. The image of the boy from district 12 was imprinted in his mind. It was what he saw when he closed his eyes. He opened them, but the image still danced in front of him, as if mocking him. Kurt had to get out of there before his thoughts overwhelmed him, before it all became too much.

He stood silently and left the room.