Daisy is an original story by RedPandaPotter.
A Shadowhunters/Hunger Games Crossover.
Shadowhunters, the superior race. All others - faeries, vampires, werewolves, and warlocks are inferior. Shadowhunters have stamped out mundanes, and have evolved into the cruelest, most beautiful type of angel-human yet, infused with blood from the inferior races to make them supreme.
Daisy Ravenwine had some of the purest blood there was. Her father, Mason Ravenwine, created the Flora Games. Naturally, Daisy was treated like royalty - which she was.
The beginning of the twenty-fifth annual Flora Games is drawing near, and faeries, vampires, werewolves, and warlocks are preparing themselves for the Reaping, where three of their species will be selected to participate in the battle to the death. The sole winner of the Flora Games will receive the Black Orchid, a restorative floral potion to drink whenever their health declines. The Black Orchid is coveted by all, and is hidden in the arena. Designating the location for the Black Orchid is the most dangerous task, for after it's done, the placer of the Orchid will be questioned and their lives might even be in danger, for the supernatural species will do anything to find the Orchid and to win.
And Daisy has got to place the Orchid.
Brightly-colored flowers decorated the plain wooden table that stood atop the platform. In front of the platform stood a crowd, a massive crowd, roped off in sections. Small children were off to the left, the oldest of whom appeared to be about eight. In the middle were children and young adults, and on the right were senior citizens. All of the gathered crowd had hair in vivid shades, green, blue, red, gold. Their eyes sparkled in the high sun, but their skin was pale, as though they spent all of their time underground.
An elegantly dressed man stepped out of the building behind the platform, and gracefully ascended the steps up towards the wooden table adorned with the flowers. Two glass bowls sat atop the flowers, with folded strips of pale pink paper. The man smiled pleasantly at the anxious crowd, and stepped forward to the microphone, pressing pale lips against the voice magnifier.
"Good morning," he said, his voice echoing around the crowded field. "My name is Claudius Morgenstern, I am a representative on the Faerie Council, and it is my duty to perform your Reaping this year." Morgenstern drifted back to the bowls of paper, and withdrew the first slip of paper from the bowl on the left, adjusting his spectacles.
"Jay Halow," he read off, raising his head to stare at the group of faeries. The crowd parted as a silver-haired male with dark eyes pushed through, stepping up to the podium. He took a seat on Morgenstern's left. Morgenstern moved to the other bowl, retrieving a slip of the rosy paper. "Erin Grace." This time, a red-haired girl stepped forward, fear written on her face. She took a seat on Morgenstern's left, as the man continued to draw names.
In addition to Jay Halow and Erin Grace, Bailey Brinteen, Jasper Hathaway, Austin Trace, and Eve Caroway were called up, with varying expressions of fear on their face. Morgenstern gave them each a hearty handshake, before leading them into the building out of which he had come. The faerie crowd dispersed quickly.
Many, many miles away, a similar scene was set up. A glass-and-steel table was covered in a sheer white table cloth that was knotted around the legs of the table with the stems of blood-red roses. Atop the table sat two clear glass bowls, identical to the ones at the faerie Reaping. Folded white papers were nestled, nearly to the brim, in the bowls.
The crowd gathered was not separated, and they all appeared about the same age, with perfect features, perfect hair, perfect grace. Vampires.
"Ch-Charles Freepoint," stammered the nervous woman performing the Reaping. Her colorless, wispy hair was done up in a very lose knot at the nape of her neck, and her high voice was thin, not melodic in the slightest, almost as though it had been broken. Despite the knives and swords at her belt, she wasn't confident.
A lean man with a head of gold stepped forward. He gave off an aura of lazy arrogance, clearly at ease. He took a seat to the left of the Reaper, folding his hands and smiling slightly.
"Arthur Madley. Jack Brearmoth. Eleanor Marati. Dora Lopez. Constance Belmont." The woman read off the next names so quickly that the vampires barely had time to register the chosen tributes. Despite the swiftness of the woman's words, though, the vampires were able to remember the names of the tributes quite clearly, and five vampires rose from the crowd, all smiling, as though this were merely a game.
The last woman, tall, slim, and with a head of shimmering blonde hair, shot a point-toothed smile at the Reaper, who appeared absolutely terrified.
"Constance," warned Charles, laying a pale, gentle hand on Constance's shoulder. She tossed her hair, but heeded her fellow's words, and ignored the Reaper, who just followed them with a flutter of her arms and a nervous glance behind her at the crowd.
A young man with auburn hair stepped out of the massive building. He smiled genially at the stony-faced assembly below him. A golden-haired boy had three little girls hanging onto his legs, sobbing into his pants. Aside from the small family, the area was eerily silent.
There was a mutter.
"I am Vernon Nightwine, I'll be your Reaper for this morning! Now, when I call your name, you know the process, plese come forward and we'll...well, we'll go from there!" he boomed, his loud voice echoing around the plaza. The crowd remained stoic, though Nightwine didn't seem to lose any of his cheer. With the ghost of a smile, he plucked a slim hand into a a clear glass bowl, and withdrew a slip of white paper. "Mercator Leeson!"
A middle-aged man with a growing beard pushed his way through the crowd, raising a hand. He was gestured onto the platform behind Nightwine.
"Terra Van Holden!" A thick-haired woman with caramel skin.