98th Reaping [District Twelve]

Umber spent the morning of the 98th reaping staring out his second-story bedroom window and wondering which of his relatives would be the first to leave him. He cycled through every option, none of them good, each more terrifying than the next. His mother? His father? Neither of them had ever been the warm hugs type, but even Umber knew that losing either of them would've been catastrophic. The whole family would've collapsed in on itself, like the birthday cake Roslyn made him for his tenth birthday. His siblings? There was no way that could happen and not be an absolutely life-defining tragedy either. It only left one answer, but that was the part he always liked to skip when he thought about death. Which was a strange amount for someone so young, to be fair, but death was the family business. He didn't really have much of a choice on the matter.

Absently strumming self-taught chords on a dead man's guitar, the youngest Vivuus watched as bloodred groundwater slowly sank back into the earth from which it had come, back to the iron deposit below which gave it the terrifying crimson hue in the first place. As always, the sight was made more haunting to look at when paired with the looming cemetery his family owned out back- one could easily imagine they were witnessing the blood of the dead, pouring out from the burial sites and all the way down the briney, overcast estate. As the sun began to rise the water's job of disappearing was quickened, and by the time Umber's batty old father had come to summon him for breakfast, there was no evidence that the puddles of red water had been there at all. Umber wouldn't have believed it himself if he hadn't witnessed it dozens of times in his life already. In the winter it was easier to prove- the harsh temperatures froze the water just as it broke the surface, blanketed by the snow so that it looked like walking upon its surface caused it to bleed with injury..

"Been watching the springs?" his father asked, unkempt dark curls much like Umber's own pushed out of his face by a pair of thick spectacles which doubled the size of his curious eyes when he peered through them, "Must be a heatwave coming. It doesn't usually stay out 'til morning this early in the year." He walked over and bent at the waist to peer out and see if he could find any glimpses of red still remaining.

There was a subtext to his tone that told Umber he was trying to check in. They were talking about the crimson pools, but they weren't actually talking about the crimson pools. They were proving they were fine. Begrudgingly, Umber sat his guitar down and stood. His most recent growth spurt had left him taller and more lanky than ever but his father still had him beat by a full head, so Umber still had to crane his neck to look up at him.

"You ready to go?" Dad asked, doing a onceover of Umber's outfit, which consisted of a few different layers of black shirts hanging off him loosely and oversized, and his curly hair an unstyled mess just like his father's.

Brave face time. Big boy time. As stupid as it sounded, he always had to remind himself when stuff like this happened, when he could feel himself being tested. Was he still a child? Might he burst into tears due to his fear at any moment? Did they need to prepare for a meltdown like when he was twelve and the guy right behind him got reaped? He hadn't slept for weeks. Or was he older now, and wiser and more capable of keeping himself calm? Chin forced steady, he nodded. "Yep. Ready."


Liaison Kerrigan was intimidating to look at so Umber kept his gaze focused on other things, like the birds chasing each other around the pillars of the justice building behind them, or the train cars parked on the tracks to account for all the traffic coming and going. He caught glimpses of his siblings every once in a while: Roslyn laughing with a group of girls she knew from school, Terrence standing silently next to a tall boy with blue eyes, Sigrid smoothing her pristine outfit to ensure there were no wrinkles.

He even saw a few of the Mortuuses, though they knew not to interact with each other in public. Umber wasn't too sure he liked them too much, anyway. They might've been Twelve natives like the Vivuus family originally, but the kids Umber's age were apparently raised in the Capitol for more than a decade before they had to come back here when their parents divorced. They weren't exactly easy to please in a place like District Twelve to say the least, so Umber didn't mind the unspoken rule that they were to limit their contact outside of work.

District Twelve's escort wore black fingerless gloves and looked like she owned and smelled like several cats. Her hauntingly electric blue eyes could be seen peering out from a mass of poofy hair, and it seemed like she'd purposefully painted her face stark white like a mime. She also looked like she was enjoying herself up there a little too much for such a somber affair. Umber hadn't ever met her and hopefully he wouldn't ever have to, but he already knew he didn't like her from that alone.

"It is time," she said in a high, reedy voice. She kept her tone casual, like she was announcing the lunch menu at a school, "to once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping!"

No one clapped.

She didn't seem to care, stalking across the stage in painful-looking heels and dipping her hand into the lottery bowl.

"Tick-! Uh, Tick something? The machine seems to have cut off the last name," there was a moment of scrambling as the crowd and the official tried to sort out the situation. Seeing things not go perfectly lightened the mood a bit, took a bit of weight off his shoulders. He didn't know who Tick was, and that's what was most important. There was still one name to go, but so far so good. He craned his neck to scan the crowd. Eventually, an unfamiliar boy made his way up onto the stage. It wasn't any of his friends, it wasn't any of his siblings, and it wasn't-

"Umber Vivuus! That one looks correct!"

His eyes widened with shock but he did not move. Maybe he thought that if he stayed perfectly still and minimized his reaction, no one would know it was him. Maybe he just couldn't process what was happening in the moment. It should've come as no surprise when those standing closest to him began to gasp and look towards him- he gulped down the knot forming in his throat. What did surprise him was the first person he looked to for help: not his parents, (they wouldn't have been able to save him now, anyway,) but Sigrid. Maybe because she was the oldest, or because she would've done the best job of surviving something so horrible in Umber's mind. He opened his lips to call out for her, but then he stopped himself.

Just because her chances were better didn't mean they were good. Part of him knew that if he asked his older sister to volunteer, she would do it. But could he live with himself if something happened to her?

As his worst fear began to take form around him, his pulse became alarmingly loud inside his skull, and Umber blacked out. He thought he may have fainted, even. But when he came to, he was still standing. All on his own, now on the stage next to Tick whoever and the edgelord escort from hell. The crowd stared at him expectantly, and for just a small instance he felt tears welling up in his eyes. No. Don't. Anything but crying. Where was Sigrid? Terrence? Roslyn? He couldn't seem to find any of them in that moment. His mouth twisted into the most extreme version of a frown he could muster, and he found himself holding up a middle finger to the camera. A peacekeeper quickly yanked his arm back down to his side and the escort quickly moved things along. Umber squeezed his hands into fists at his side. He kept that same twisted, contorted expression locked right into the lens of the camera, chest heaving in heated convulsions until the crew yelled 'cut' and the ceremony came to an end.

It was when they began escorting him off the stage that Umber Vivuus finally lost it. He thrashed his long, spindly arms out wildly- at no one and everyone. He screamed, and cursed, and kicked when they lifted him from his feet. He was hoisted over someone's shoulder- "Fucking fucker! Stupid bitc-" He groaned and strained with effort, gritted and gnashed his teeth trying relentlessly to free himself. They could take him to his death, but he would not go willingly.

Eventually, he felt the sharp sting of something- a needle, he'd realize later- in his hip, and after that it was only a matter of seconds before his vision began to darken and he started to fall asleep.

[umber accepts 12a position]