task oo1. the reaping
The animals didn't care that it was the day of the Reaping. The chickens still had eggs to collect, the cows and horses still needed their hay and their water, and the cats still meowed and wanted to rub their bodies against the coarse denim of Courtney's jeans. In particular, Barny - aptly named by little brother Brooks based on where the cat was discovered - was especially needy. The little tuxedo weaved in and out of Courtney's steps as he trudged across the dying grass towards the stables.
"Get outta here, Barny," he grumbled, but the cat was relentless. He hooked a claw into the hem of Courtney's jeans and flopped over, forcing Courtney into a decision: continue on and drag the cat behind him, or stop and pay him the requisite attention. With a sigh, Court stopped to reach down to the animal. Barny immediately sprung up and, in three quick bounds, climbed Court's arm to settle on his shoulder. Courtney gasped at the claws against his skin, but was quickly muted as Barny smushed his face into the slight prickle of his beard.
Courtney gently kissed the cat's nose, who responded with a contented chirp. "What is up with you?" he mumbled, continuing on his way. "You're never like this." Barny, for his part, pressed his face against the side of Court's head. But hey - as long as he was on a shoulder, he was out of the way.
The horses were lazy in the morning, but Courtney loved them in the early mist. He winced slightly as Barny leapt from his shoulder to greet both of their favorite mare - a thoroughbred called Maisie. With a soft smile on his face, Courtney took a moment to stroke her long nose. Barny nuzzled into her, causing her to blink slowly. After checking the horses, he went to leave the stables. He glanced over his shoulder, slightly unnerved by the image of Barny, sitting on the gate next to Maisie, the two of them watching him go.
The sun was just starting to think about rising when he pushed the door open to enter the home. He was greeted with a mix of smells and emotions. Scrambled eggs with extra cheese, fresh bacon, and the special coffee that Pa had brought back from District Seven, with hints of hazelnut. It was the very specific breakfast that Ma made every Reaping day - twice a year for the past thirteen years. The day made his stomach churn, but the ritualistic good-luck meal always settled it. He passed his mother, Marti, hunched over the stovetop. He pecked her on the cheek and shooed her away, taking over the cooking of the bacon.
"Court, no, I can -"
"Ma, you're pregnant. Sit down."
She swatted his arm in defiance, but took a seat at the long table in the center of the room. "When are you going to change?"
"I think I look fine."
"You look like you live on a ranch."
"I do live on a ranch. And I don't think that's a bad look." He flipped the bacon strip by strip, grinning at the hiss.
"Will you please just wear the shirt we got you? You need to look nice for." She paused.
"Okay." He glanced over his shoulder to give her a tense smile. He caught her staring, eyes welling up already. "Ma..." She got to her feet to put her arms around his waist, hugging into his back as he cooked.
"Your last one, my baby. And Neena's first."
"Don't say it like that, Ma. She's only in there once."
"And you're in there -"
"Don't do the math. None of us took tessarae. And your lucky meal always works." He snatched a piece of bacon off the pan with his fingers, flinching as he handed it over to her. She waved it in the air before crunching into it. She smiled and nodded her approval. There was a sound of shuffle from the back of the home, and Tomas entered the kitchen. He patted Courtney on the shoulder as he went to kiss his wife.
"Last one, Court," he grunted. "It's a good day."
One by one, the rest of the Ganhadors filed in. The second born, Lobo, with his hair wild and frizzy in the dry Ten heat; the twins, Irina and Grant, who couldn't be more different in looks or personality; Neena, already dressed and with nervous tears in her eyes; and then finally, the youngest boy, Brooks, who only knew these days as a morning of great food and then a few minutes of standing protected between his parents.
There was a tension in the mood: veiled and tempered excitement that Courtney was about to finish his eligibility pulling against the empathetic worry for Neena, who was starting hers. For the most part, the Reaping was discussed as a chore, something to go into town to finish up. It was good timing, they said to themselves; they needed a new part for the family truck anyway, and Lobo was due for a new pair of dress slacks for school. After all that was done, they could get back to the ranch with plenty of time for Courtney to teach the twins (particularly Irina) the proper way to coil a rope. Don’t worry, Neena, they all said. The pinprick hurts no more than a chicken taking food from your hand.
As always, breakfast was ended with the family holding hands, thanking Ma (and, at her insistence, Courtney) for the meal. Maybe Courtney imagined it, but it seemed like they all held on slightly longer than usual. Then, like clockwork, each of the children stood and deposited their plates in the kitchen before having a few moments to themselves. Courtney took the time to change into the chestnut brown shirt his parents had picked out for him last time they had gone into Hoostin. He smiled as he ran a thumb over the material.
Courtney had a few moments with each of his siblings, as always, reaffirming the dedication they made to each other. If one of them was Reaped, the others would not Volunteer. The only thing worse than being Reaped would be for a sibling to be sent in their place. And after what happened to the Durums in Nine last Games, there was no guarantee that Volunteering would even save the Reaped Ganhador. It was decided and reaffirmed every six months: you do not Volunteer in place of another Ganhador. Each would face their fate as it was written, and the others would be needed to support those still in Ten.
Of course, for Courtney, it was all a lie. If any Ganhador was Reaped, it would be him going into the Arena.
The short drive into the capital, Hoostin, was a bit chaotic as always. The whole family still technically fit in the truck, with the twins in the pickup in the back and with younger siblings sitting in the laps of Lobo and Courtney, but it was apparent they'd soon outgrow this mode of transport, especially with another kid on the way. Then it was time. Pinpricks all around, small drops of blood offered up. Courtney barely felt his at this point. Twenty eight pinpricks, from age twelve to twenty five. He was turning twenty six in a few months. Neena, finding a bravery they hadn't expected, taking her first pinprick like a champion, biting deep into her lip to brace herself. A brief moment where the siblings had only one chance to take a hand or pat a shoulder before they were ushered off to their age groups.
Courtney joined the rest of the folks in his age group, nodding tense acknowledgement to the ones he recognized. Farragut Tyre, who he served with in the same firefighting brigade. Dmitry Aire, who he had gone to school with. Hilary Jinson, who had a crush on him back in the day but who he hadn't ever noticed. Rebeccander Polacki, whose little sister had been Reaped a few years ago and not returned. All of them, now twenty five and on the brink of freedom.
It was a privilege, being in the oldest group. About half of the twenty five year olds were on their final draw, and the energy, while somber, was electric. This was the group also against the outer side of the assembly, so Courtney was able to easily pick out his parents, each with a hand on Brooks' shoulders. The two locked eyes, and a bright smile flashed onto the young boy's face as he waved. Court gave a tense smile and a small reply wave, but more contact was cut off by the start of the ceremony.
Courtney probably could have recited the entire event by rote. The names of the Tributes and Escort would change, but Greer would still be there - the lonesome Victor from their District. He wondered how she could stand there, stoic and strong, year after year, knowing that her own name was still in that bowl. How shaken she must have been by Sawyer Bell last Games.
The typical rabble was raised as it was every six months - some people would spit on the ground anytime Nerissa Snow was mentioned, some would purposefully and unabashedly stare at the big blue sky the entire time. Courtney, though, joined most people in his own sanctuary - forgetting to breathe and retreating into his own mind.
It was meant to be an easy ceremony. Just one more day, one more release of breath. The overdressed Capitolite escort stepped up to the doomsday bowl, sweating even though it was a mild day in Ten. Their hand dipped in, and plucked out the unlucky name. Courtney tried to force his breath out - it wouldn't be any of his siblings. It wouldn't be -
"Courtney Ganhador!"
The sky wasn't big enough. He felt it grab him, pulling him into the air as if he would never walk again. It ripped the air from his lungs and the warmth from his blood, and in one moment he was crushed by the eyes of everyone around him - and most of all his parents and Brooks.
In that instant he knew no Volunteer would come. As well there shouldn't. Each Ganhador would face their fate as written, and the others would be there to help the ones left in Ten. Without prompting from his conscious mind, his feet began walking. A pathway of disappointed, despondent freemen opened in front of him. One or two put hands out to steady him on his way. The stage seemed as far away as the sky, but that was the trick - he was already soaring through the clouds and so before he could recognize where he was, he was on stage, overwhelmed by the perfume of the Escort. Citrus. Acidic lemon - something he so rarely smelled.
As if highlighted by lightning, he instantly saw all the Ganhadors in the crowd. Lobo, with his hair still frizzy. The twins, with Irina sobbing into Grant's shoulder. And then Neena, paler than the dress she had on, cheeks sparkling with tears that hadn't stopped since the morning.
The nameless Escort's smile was duller up close than Courtney would have expected. Nothing was shiny, after all. He followed the prompts without thought, shaking their hand and standing beside them. But something in the back of his mind was still churning. His shoulders rolled back and his chest puffed out. His jaw squared and his eyebrows furrowed. He would not be viewed as small, defeated, or weak.
"Prairie Fire Quartz!"
Courtney didn't register the name or face of the second Tribute. His eyes were drawn to the group of twenty five year olds, about half of whom were crying, smiling, celebrating. Thirteen years - over half of their lives - this threat had loomed over them. And now they were free of it. Farragut, Dmitry, Hilary, Rebeccander, and so many others had done it. They could start their lives, thanks to Prairie and Courtney. And over their shoulders, Marti and Tomas Ganhador, barely able to support each other, with Brooks burying his face in their legs.
He made sure to keep his steps measured and proud as he was escorted by the elbow into the capital building. The building was opulent in the way District Ten was seen by the Capitol. Black and brown leather, cowhide rugs, and animal skulls - polished to an unnaturally bright white. Was this to be his last memory of Ten: a rich-washed, false version of his home?
No. No. No. He'd be back. He had to.
The silence in the room was broken by the opening of a door and the influx of Ganhadors. In typical chaotic fashion, each of them grabbed him, hugged him, watered his shirt with their tears. Words failed them all, and were mostly made up of Courtney muttering platitudes like, "It's gonna be okay," and "You gotta stay strong for Ma."
It was his father who finally found his voice to speak. He pulled Courtney into a tight hug, then pushed him out to arms length to put his hands on either side of his son's face. "You're gonna come back, you hear me?" he grunted.
Courtney nodded, eyes wide and brimming with tears. "Yeah, I know, I -"
"You listen to me. You know how to do this. The rest of 'em? They are just animals on the ranch, okay?"
"Tomas - " Marti tried to interrupt.
"No, no. Listen to me. They are young bucks who need to be broken. Just like you know how to do. They are lame horses who need to be put down. Hogs that need to be prepped for slaughter. Nothing you haven't done before."
"That's not -"
"Yes it is, Marti. It has to be. Courtney, you listen to me good. All of them are just animals on the farm that you know how to deal with. Some of them are snakes that you can leave alone but will have to kill eventually. Some of them are the runts of kitten litters that can be nice to keep around for a while, but will get picked off by hawks. And when the hawk is feasting? You can snare it and break it's neck. And some of them will look and feel like people you know. And that will be hard. But Courtney - it's you or them. And the people you do know need you back here. So they are all animals on the ranch. Watch out for the angry bulls, but they'll twist their ankles eventually. Watch out for the loud birds who make a big fuss, but they'll draw attention to themselves in bad ways. Watch out for the foxes who look harmless and are stealing your chickens' eggs, but they always get too clever for their own good. Just do your job. Like you always do."
Courtney couldn't control the tears falling from his eyes, and he had no reason to try. He simply nodded, then nodded again, then again. Then he pressed forward to hug his dad tighter than he had in his whole life.
The Peacekeepers in the room were growing more antsy the longer this large crowd of people were there, so there was a final round of hugs from his family before Brooks stepped forward and pressed something into his hand. "Just so you won't forget us," he said, his voice small and mousy.
"I'd never forget you, Brooks," Courtney replied, with a slight smile amidst the tears.
"Well just in case." And then he was gone, shepherded out with the rest of the Ganhadors. Courtney's breath caught in his stomach, and then again in his chest, and yet again in his throat as he tried to force air into his lungs. With a final effort, it connected, and he felt his knees buckle. Luckily there was a bench just behind him as he collapsed, his head rolling back and a guttural, primal roar thundering out of his throat.
When his voice was exhausted, he opened his hand. Inside it was a small piece of wood, crudely chiseled out in the shape of a fox head. There was a clear attempt at ears, at eyes, at a pointed snout and whiskers.
He barely had time to shove it into his pocket before the demonic Escort was back with their less-than-shiny smile. Their head was tilted at a stilted angle, their eyes nearly unseeable under the makeup and false eyelashes. Everything about them seemed wrong, unnatural, not of this Earth. And yet they were here. With a gesture, they ushered Prairie and Courtney out the back door. With an escort of Peacekeepers behind them and only the Escort ahead, Courtney did the only thing he could: he followed them onto the train.
It was time to bring District Ten to the Capitol.