Chapter Text
Wisps of smoke danced in the humid summer breeze of district nine. Marlene Mckinnon leant against the flaying brick of her childhood home, smoking a cigarette as a wall of grey collated to conceal the beaming sun. A storm was brewing.
With a last inhale, Marlene dropped the cigarette to the sun-baked pavement and stubbed it out. She normally wouldn't indulge in such luxuries, but she needed to take the edge off. It was reaping day. She was sixteen years of age and thus eligible to be chosen — for all she knew, she could be livestock awaiting slaughter in a matter of hours.
She held the smoke, let it fester — char her lungs and singe away at the edges of her being. It would be a blessing, to die in that moment. When the burn became too much, she let go. The vapour plumed around her face and distorted her vision before dissipating.
"What will the Peacekeepers say if they see you smoking that?" A familiar voice interrupted her moment of reprieve. Peter. The pudgy boy made his way to her side, seating himself by her feet.
"They'd probably ask to bum one," Marlene responded as she lowered herself to sit beside him.
"Maybe the ones we know. Not the ones from out of town."
Marlene didn't respond to that, she hated when Peter was right. Looking out into the horizon, she could just make out the rigid line of Peacekeeper trucks. District nine was one of the larger districts in terms of land. Its vast nature resulted in disparities in access to the Justice Building — leaving some families no choice but to be hauled into trucks and escorted there in time for the reaping.
"Glad I'm not them," Marlene remarked in reference to those families.
Peter hummed affirmatively in response, didn't ask what she meant. He always knew. Her Daddy used to say they were born of the same stardust. That they were destined to meet, osmose into one another until they shined as brightly as the star from which they came.
A moment of silence ensued. Not uncomfortable. It never was with Peter. Marlene and he had been friends for as long as she could remember — ever since Marlene had taken it upon herself to protect the poor boy from the snide remarks aimed his way.
He had been five, and she six. The rude comments were a result of Peter's being the Mayor's son. The other kids resented him; made comments on his weight while they starved away, made fun of his clothing while their Mother's stitched patches into the holes of their own. Marlene got it, she really did. Some days, jealousy would burn away at her, leave her empty save for the sensation of scorching envy. Even so, not a day went by where she would regret defending the sweet boy with the rosy cheeks and the sandy blonde hair.
Pete was her only friend in the whole of Panem. Marlene found that she was too reserved to appeal to anyone else. Her quiet nature wasn't so much for lack of desire for companionship as it was for lack of trust; one could never be sure of who was friend and who was foe when every day you lived was a fight for survival.
Hell, just yesterday Elena Whitaker had been shot dead for stealing a loaf of bread. She'd been ratted out by one of her closest friends in exchange for his own sum of food. Starvation turned people cruel, and district nine ran rampant with it.
"Are you scared?" Peter's timid words broke Marlene from her reverie.
"Hm? Of the reaping?"
"What else?"
Marlene looked to the sky. Dark clouds held their breath, their presence foreboding. A single moment and they could exhale, release a torrent of destruction and eliminate the crops that brought district nine any semblance of wealth. Yet there, amongst the grey, lay a sliver of light. A piece of sky the threat of wreckage had not yet claimed — hope.
"Nah. We'll be alright. I know it." A lie. Marlene knew nothing, but the sky was consumed by clouds and light still survived, so why couldn't she?
"Yeah, but it's a quarter quell."
"It makes no difference, Pete. Just keep your head down and you won't get picked."
The coming Hunger Games marked a century of brutality, of violence under the guise of 'teaching the districts a lesson' — as if they hadn't learnt it already, over and over again. This year, rather than have the district escort pick a name out of the batch at random, one member of the royal family would be choosing a tribute personally. To demonstrate that it was not fate that decided the outcome of the district's lives, but the Capitol.
A harsh bristling of wind put an abrupt end to their conversation. A hovercraft broke through the dark of the sky as it made raucous noise. The two fell silent as they watched the aircraft fly over their heads. Prince Sirius would be in there — the monarch assigned to reap for district nine. Marlene hated how such knowledge intimidated her, how she allowed The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black any more power over her than they already had.
"What time is it?" She asked when the hovercraft had passed and the deafening hum had subsided.
Looking at his watch, Peter responded. "Quarter to one."
"I better get going. I got something I wanna do before the reaping."
"Alright, I gotta get back home soon anyway," Peter replied, though neither made a move to get up.
If Marlene could bend the universe to her will, she'd freeze time. Save them both the fear they were too young to hold. Or perhaps she'd reverse it, go back to five and six, when their worries were minuscule and their joy knew no bounds. As it was, time would continue to move forward — and with it, the inevitable would creep in.
"I'll see you after the reaping, okay?" Marlene said once their stagnancy had stretched on too long — prolonged peace was not a privilege the districts were allowed.
"Alright," Peter looked awfully pale as he made to get up, it struck a cord in Marlene's heart. The boy had always been her weakness.
"I mean it," she continued as she stood up herself, "we won't be picked. Never have been, never will be. Just blend in and you'll be fine."
Peter offered her a small smile, though the words hadn't seemed to reach him. "Okay, Marls. I'll see you later."
With a final wave, the two departed.
*****
Marlene stood outside the shiny red door of Mr. Lupin's new home. In her hand she held a loaf of bread — hard to come by in district nine, despite it's being the Capitol's main provider of grain. She'd acquired it through relentless begging of her older brother. Eventually, he'd given in, stealing a loaf for her while he slaved away in the mill. There was nothing Marlene hated more than being in debt, and this day was a long time coming.
Marlene had been fourteen and starving, more so than ever before. Her ribcage poked through her skin and her stomach was gnawing away at itself, but it was not herself she was worried about; it was her Father.
He had fallen severely ill only a month prior, and already he was bedridden. Disease was a murderous thing, ate away at her household like a termite, a black hole consuming everything in it's path. Marlene no longer had it in herself to look at her Daddy — once so healthy, now rendered to a thinning corpse of himself. His eyes were sunken in, his words — what few he tried to speak — slurred.
At night, she heard her Mother weeping. Marlene never let her own tears spill, not when anyone was looking — kept up a facade of apathy. At times, when her Daddy spoke to her, she could tell he was grasping desperately onto the tendrils of the man he was before, the Father he had been. But he could not take care of her anymore, not as he once had, so instead she resolved to repay the favour.
That resolve had lead her there, sitting patiently outside the mill. Oliver did not yet work in the factory, and so thievery had not been quite as easy back then. She watched, awaiting an opening. When the gates had finally parted, she made her swift entrance.
Adrenaline pumped through Marlene's veins as she weaved through the mill. She'd been there before — a school trip from the years before she had been forced to spend her days harvesting grain in the fields — and thus knew her way around. She had a destination in mind; the conveyor belts. That was where they cooled the bread.
Her memory of that day was a blur. She had somehow found herself hiding in a stack of boxes, scoping the area around the conveyor to ensure not a soul would witness her crime. She knew the consequences would be dire were she to be caught stealing the cooling bread. Padding hesitantly out from behind the boxes, her fingertips had just scraped a loaf before heavy footsteps alerted her of another's presence. She retreated back to safety in a frenzied rush.
That was where the memory became clearer. Long, tanned fingers had reached out into her hiding place. She braced herself for something; a hit, a shove, death. Instead, they lightly tapped her shoulder before handing her the loaf of bread.
Looking up, chocolate brown eyes locked with her own. They were not volatile, but kind. She recognised the honey coloured hair and the tentative smile; Remus Lupin. She'd shared a grade with him, up until ten. Until the both of them had been subject to the fate of everyone else in the district — to feed the Capitol while they themselves starved.
They had never spoken before, though Marlene couldn't help but feel a mutual understanding simmering between them. Both were quieter students, lacked a multitude of friends. Marlene always suspected Remus' quiet was different from hers — an inherent thing rather than an attitude of choice. Still, the boy minded his business in much the same manner as she minded her own. And so, for him she harboured much respect.
"Mckinnon, yeah? Your Dad's sick?" He had asked.
She only nodded in response, trepidation still painting her features.
"Come, I'll escort you out. Promise I won't tell the Peacekeepers if you don't."
And he hadn't. Marlene had never gotten to thank him — too shy that day and too scared all the days following. Now, it was too late. A few months ago, a fire had ravaged Remus' house, taking with it everything in its wake — including his life.
When she had heard of Remus' death, Marlene had surprised herself by crying. The news had been delivered to her in the fields through a web of whispered gossip. No one had told her directly, of course — her peers always avoided her, had since she was young, though why they did so was beyond her. Instead, she'd overheard it; Did you hear about the Lupin boy? Dead! His poor Father, but that's just life I s'pose. Marlene had sewn seeds into the soil that day with salty tears rolling down her cheeks. If they noticed, no one offered her comfort, that was not the way in district nine.
Lyall Lupin was the only survivor of his kin, and Marlene hadn't caught sight of the man since. If all went according to plan, today was the day she would. Something about the reaping had Marlene feeling sentimental. Knowing she may never spend another day in district nine, she felt the impending need to pay her debt weighing heavier on her shoulders than ever before.
Mustering all the courage she had, Marlene knocked. Three firm taps — nothing. Again. Nothing. Minutes passed and Marlene was debating simply leaving the bread at his doorstep and fleeing, when an irritated voice called out from within the house.
"It's unlocked!" Mr. Lupin.
Hesitantly, Marlene turned the doorknob. Unlocked. As the man had suggested. He must've been mad, leaving one's home so open was a death sentence in district nine. It was practically an invitation to steal, and where most stole, they left a lifeless body behind — they couldn't risk being caught by the Peacekeepers, after all.
Though, stepping into the one room home, Marlene suspected the man had already died long ago; that his spirit had departed from his body right along with his son. It certainly smelt like it. The pungent essence of alcohol occupied the space like a stifling blanket — it intermixed with a musty scent, something akin to sweat. Thin strands of light fought their way through the slits on the blinds, the room otherwise dark. One would think the house was dilapidated; though it was anything but.
There he sat, in the center of the bed. A lone figure, seeming so small in the depths of his grief. "Gonna storm later," he exclaimed blatantly, peering through the gaps in the blinds.
Marlene didn't respond, was never one for small talk. She had come with a mission, and she was determined to fulfill it. So, she stood — towered over the man and waited for a signal. When none came, she merely held out the bread, cleared her throat to get his attention.
It worked. The man looked up, his eyes impossibly sad. Bags resided beneath them, speaking of sleepless nights. He wore a haggard look and a patchy beard — as if he had taken a razor to his face and given up half way through. He reminded her of her Daddy, almost. In the days where sickness had eaten away at him and left him decaying. Disease could present itself in more ways than one, Marlene supposed, and it would consume a household all the same.
"Who're you?" He asked, no alarm evident in his voice.
"Marlene Mckinnon," she responded, carefully, "I knew your son. He was a good person." She didn't know what more to say, wasn't one for kind words. Instead, she let the man pry the bread from her hands, hoped it would be enough to convey her thanks.
"Mckinnon," he seemed to consider the name as he looked at the bread in his hands, "your Dad died, ain't that right? An illness?"
Marlene nodded feebly in response, fighting back the tears that still arose when her Father was mentioned. The man hummed, broke off a bit of the bread and ate it.
"'S good," he spoke his words almost dismissively, but Marlene knew better. She could almost see herself in him; a man who hid his grief behind a wall of indifference. Their shared mourning was a cruel reality that tied them together in one way or another.
"I'll get going now," Marlene offered with a tense smile, turning to make her way back home. Mr. Lupin's voice gave her pause.
"Mckinnon," she watched on curiously as he pondered his next words, "good luck… at the reaping."
Marlene almost laughed at the awkward delivery of such surface-level lines. She knew, though, that when uttered from the lips of a man like Mr. Lupin, they were meant with utmost vulnerability. And so, she gave a single, firm nod before exiting the liminal house, closing the door gently behind her.
She left the strange interaction with an intrinsic feeling that it would be seared into her memory for years to come, and the weight of one less burden to bear.
*****
The expected pandemonium greeted Marlene as she stepped inside her home. The twins wailed as her Mama made an attempt at shushing them, though her ministrations seemed to be in vain. She looked to be multi-tasking; taking care of the two year olds whilst simultaneously laying Marlene and Oliver's reaping outfits down for them on the bed.
Marlene's house consisted of three rooms. The entry led into the kitchen, which was shared with her Mama's bed and the twin's cots. A small hall between the kitchen and the makeshift bedroom branched off into two compartments. One was the bathroom, and the other Marlene and Oliver's bedroom. It wasn't a particularly comfortable living situation, but it was all she knew.
"Marlene! Where the hell were you? I thought you were just going out for a smoke," her Mama berated her as she all but dumped Rosie and Bella into Marlene's arms. She'd been like this since her Daddy's passing, high-strung and stringent — a robot programmed only to keep the house in order. It didn't clash well with Marlene's opinionated nature, left them with many a teary night, throats raw from yelling.
"Sorry, Mama. I was with Pete," Marlene responded, her Mama didn't need to know where she really was. She bounced the two toddlers in her arms. They cried louder, she'd never been great with kids.
At the mention of Peter, her Mama directed an amused glance her way. Marlene felt sick. She knew what her family expected of her. Wanted her to marry Peter one day, especially after her Daddy died. Probably thought there was already something going on between them.
It would be a lot easier, were that the case. She could set her family up with a decent amount of wealth — neither she, nor Oliver would have to work a day in the fields or the mill again. The twins would never touch the strains of labour, could get an education. Life would be as good as it could get in the districts.
There lay the problem. She had the opportunity at her fingertips, and yet she still could not bring herself to grasp at it. Peter was as good as her brother, and the prospect of marriage — of being tied to a man of whom she was expected to start a family with — had never appealed to her. In fact, there didn't seem anything worse.
Instead of voicing her thoughts, Marlene merely rolled her eyes and sighed. She didn't feel like reiterating the catastrophic argument that always broke out when she chose to speak her mind. Least of all on reaping day.
The bathroom door opened and out walked Oliver, donning a pristine white button up and a pair of jeans. He made a show of it, posing like the Capitol models they sometimes saw on TV as he walked down the hall. Marlene knew her brother well, knew he always took it upon himself to lighten the mood — she appreciated him for it more deeply than he would ever know. When her Daddy died, Oliver was the only one she allowed herself to cry to. He got it, knew what she needed, made her laugh with his stupid jokes.
Still, he was annoying.
"Would you stop that?" She huffed, "you've been hogging the bathroom just to come out looking rather plain."
"How would you know if I was hogging the bathroom or not? I heard you come in like five minutes ago," he counteracted.
"Yeah, and you were probably still in there twenty minutes before that."
"As if!"
"Quit your bickering, you two," their Mama interjected, "Marlene. Get ready. The reaping's in half an hour and you've already wasted enough of our damn time."
With a scowl, Marlene set the toddlers down. She stomped over to her outfit — the same unblemished white dress she wore every year. The couple of reapings before her Daddy fell ill, Marlene's Mama would dress her. Would comb her hair and sing a lullaby to calm her nerves, watch her in the mirror and tell her she looked as radiant as the sun. In those moments, even with the looming threat of being sent off to the Hunger Games, Marlene had felt safe.
She knew better than to ask that of her Mama now, so she simply snatched the dress and carried herself angrily to the bathroom.
*****
The approaching storm was more prevalent than ever as Marlene walked down the dismal streets of district nine. The air was so humid that it felt as if her lungs were constricting with each breath she took, or perhaps that was just the nerves. The clouds had grown a darker shade of grey and not a sliver of sky was left visible, all hope of a rainless evening diminished.
She took her steps amongst the crowd of children, her brother by her side. Each face was rife with melancholy as they waited for their blood to be drawn.
Earlier, when Marlene had regarded herself in the mirror, she had felt pretty. Something rare when her daily attire consisted of patched-up jeans and thinning shirts. But the white of the dress had complimented the tan of her skin, the blonde of her hair, the deep brown of her eyes. She wanted to laugh at herself now, she had been too vain to admire her beauty when it came at the price of appeasing the Capitol.
Marlene worried. Not just for herself, but for Oliver, for Peter especially. Oliver was eighteen, had learnt resilience at long hours in the mill — he could handle himself if it came down to it. Peter, on the other hand, had never experienced a day of true struggle in his life. Marlene dreaded to think what would become of him were Prince Sirius to appoint him the male tribute.
Standing, now, in front of the Peacekeepers, Marlene allowed them to prick at her fingertip. Blood spilled out and she pressed it to the parchment, as had become routine over the years. How strange it was — that she let the people who had leached the most from her take even more, down to the prints on the ends of her hands.
"Go stand with the sixteen year old females," the Peacekeeper stated. They'd identified her, then. She sent one last forlorn look Oliver's way — to which he sent back a bright, yet strained, grin — before turning around to follow orders. It was okay, she thought, she would see him after the reaping.
Marlene made her way through the masses of resigned children. Cameras were pointed every direction, ensuring the entertainment of the Capitol. Ensuring the worst moment of someone's life would be immortalised.
Taking her place next to a girl her age, Marlene hoped that that someone would not be Peter. She risked a glance toward the row of males beside her. It didn't take long to find the blue eyes of Peter. He looked positively ill — his face turning that sick shade of green it did when he was feeling anxious. Offering what infinitesimal tendrils of comfort she could, she smiled kindly at him. His eyes welled up.
'Chocolate,' she mouthed. A reference to their yearly celebration of eating dates together after the reaping. They called them chocolates because they'd only ever seen the treats on television, and had always wanted to try them when they were younger — hence, the tradition was born.
That got a snort out of him, and a genuine smile out of Marlene.
Marlene's neck prickled, her smile dimming. She felt as if she was being watched. Looking to the stage, she saw Mayor Pettigrew, Dorcas Meadowes — the only living victor of district nine, and Sirius Black. He was even more formidable in person; the sharp angles of his face, the piercing grey of his eyes. Eyes that were locked directly onto her, a calculating look shining within them.
Marlene snapped her head down, her heart racing. Blend in, don't stand out. She'd be okay if she followed the formula.
Marlene raised her head again as the low murmur of the crowd began to settle, piercing grey no longer aimed her way. The Mayor got up and stood in front of the microphone. He made his usual speech; commending the previous two winners for their courage, for bringing honour to district nine. A small word was said in remembrance of the victor passed, though he won so long ago that most would never have seen his face. Then, he handed the mic over to Sirius Black.
"Welcome," the prince spoke with confidence, his accent teeming with that posh Capitol lilt. "This year marks a century of Hunger Games, and thus, the third quarter quell. To remind the districts of what little power they hold over the Capitol, it is within my honour to pick one male and one female tribute from district nine. May the odds be ever in your favour. But first, a film."
The same film played over the projector that did every reaping; reprimanding the districts for rebelling over a hundred years ago, reminding them of the consequences of war. Marlene pondered Prince Sirius' speech. It was too formal, too precise — as if he were a machine simply reciting what had been forged into his code. It sent a chill down her spine.
The film ended. Sirius Black took a moment to watch the crowd appraisingly. The throng of children held their breath. Somewhere, a flash of lightning struck.
The prince took careful steps down the stairs of the platform. Marlene supposed he was coming to inspect his options. After all, the House of Black fed on the misery of the districts, and Prince Sirius was too regal for spoiled meat.
Utter silence as he walked leisurely down the rows of girls. The message of this quarter quell was certainly leaving its impact; the fate of the districts was in the palm of the Capitol's hands.
Marlene kept her posture straight, her breathing calm — she couldn't show fear. Then, something calamitous happened. The footfalls of Sirius Black paused — and they paused in front of Marlene. Distantly, thunder rumbled.
"You. What's your name?" He directed the question her way. Brown eyes met icy grey and Marlene swore she could feel her heart stop beating. A prelude to her imminent death, perhaps.
"Marlene Mckinnon," she responded evenly, proud at her voice's lack of waver despite the tumultuous emotions raging war inside her.
A mischievous glint formed in Sirius Black's cold gaze as a sly grin adorned his countenance. Marlene tasted bile, she knew she was a goner.
"I think we just found district nine's female tribute."
The clouds exhaled, the rain poured.