Hello. As I said in the summary, this is a take on the "choose your own tribute" fics. I stole the 'sponsoring' idea from that genre, and have added my own spin on things. Rather than creating your own tributes (which is admittedly fun) the tributes in this fic are main characters from other books/movies/TV shows. I have assigned them different names, and slightly twisted their background stories to fit within the Hunger Games universe, but they still share many of their inspiration's key traits. I will describe the rules of sponsorship after the end of this chapter, until then, Happy Hunger Games.

Chapter 1, The Reaping, Part 1

District 1

Sapphire donned a form-fitting blue dress, one with a neckline that plunged far more scandalously than she would have liked. She pulled on a string of pearls and a pair of white gloves to add the semblance of sophistication to the attire. Her mother knocked on the door, before entering with a frown. Her mother had never approved of her idea to volunteer, despite being a Victor herself, but hadn't gone so far as to forbid her training. She kissed her mother's cheek and walked out the door, mourning that her ambition to do something other than sit nicely and not waste money had driven such a wedge between them.

Although Pyrrhus would never admit it to anyone else, he was nervous. It was the Reaping. His Reaping. Almost 9 years of training boiled down to this one moment. This was the official start of the Games. He put on a suit, but had the Training center's stylist mess his hair up for him. He was going for a bit of a rebellious persona, according to his Mentor's stern instructions. Not that he minded. Tornac was the best teacher he had ever had. Well, maybe he was the only teacher he had ever had, but that didn't make him any less good. Tornac had been more than just an instructor; he had also been a friend to Pyrrhus, as he was adjusting to life in the Districts. Pyrrhus couldn't help but wonder if, while he was in the Capitol, he would ever run into his father.

Onscreen, a man with wickedly green and black hair with violent eyes was speaking, pumping everyone up for the Games. Not that they needed it. The first Reaping began at 1am, and everyone had been partying since 6 the previous evening. By District 12, they'd be worn out, but that was still far off.

"Welcome, to the kickoff of the 56th annual Hunger Games. We're live now in District 1, and things are shaping up to be one heck of the party." The camera panned around the square, where adults and children dressed in the latest fashions danced fervently. Lights flashed and music played, and fireworks were set off intermittently. Essentially, the scene was almost completely identical to ones playing out all over the Capitol, although there was a slightly frantic air to the District's gathering.

"Welcome, Welcome, to another fabulous year, and another fabulous Game." Cheers cut off the District escort's speech, but the woman didn't seem to mind. She was a newer face in District 1, but had bounced around some of the lower Districts before then. "Would you rather I gave a long speech, or we got down to the fun bit?" She chuckled good naturedly as she was almost blown back by the force of the noise greeting her. "First, our fantastic female tribute." As she drew a slip of paper from the bowl, the country held its breath. "Diamond Evara." A thin young girl of about fourteen was lifted into the air and passed onstage amidst raging cheers. She seemed a little concerned at first, but quickly regained her composure.

"Lovely, my dear. And will there be any volunteers?" The square went quiet so the predetermined girl could be heard over the crowd.

"I volunteer." Diamond Evara let out a quiet breath of relief, not that anyone could see her do it. Instead all eyes were fixed on the eighteen year old section. The crowd parted as a slender young woman with dark hair and tantalizing blue eyes glided to the stage.

"Well done miss! And might I ask what your name is?"

"Sapphire Silvae." After the District escort gave the customary short response, the camera's focus zoomed out to the commentators to wait for the District's cheering to die down.

"Looks like we've got a beauty from one this year."

"I quite agree, and she'll be a real contender too. Her mother, Isabella Silvae nee Luna was the Victor for the 37rd Hunger Games."

"That was a good year. I hope we can expect as stunning an appearance as her mother put in."

"I expect we will, I expect we will." The camera focused once again on District 1 as its escort once again approached the Reaping bowl.

"Pyrrhus Aeacid." A smartly dressed boy approached from the seventeen year old section, smirking.

"It's a shame," began one of the commentators, "he would have made a lovely tribute." However, the commentator's presumption that the District would offer up a different tribute was proved invalid, as absolute silence filled the District Square when volunteers were asked for.

"This is strange," said one commentator gleefully. "Only one volunteer from 1. Although the Reaped boy doesn't look too shabby either." In any other District, he would have thrilled them, but since he was from 1, he was dubbed "not too shabby." The camera paused lovingly over them for the rest of the hour, before changing over to District 2.

District 2

Camilla was practically jumping up and down with excitement. Her father didn't know it, but she was planning on volunteering. She put on a small pink dress that accentuated her youth. Although she was only 13, Camilla knew she was ready to be in the Games. She had trained with swords every day since she grew old enough to hold one, and had watched her brothers fight before she reached that glorious age. One of those brothers, Perseus, had already volunteered and won three years before, and now it was her turn. This was going to be fun.

Pine wasn't nervous. He wasn't thrilled either. Rather, he was determined. Determined to prove he was worth it, to prove that he could be an asset to the District, not some forgotten, abandoned orphan. In the training center, he had found his place, and had found his family, and now it was for them that he would fight. He would win. For them, and for himself. His only concern was how exactly to do it.

"That was a lovely Reaping in District 1, wouldn't you agree, Elissa?"

"Quite, Aeneas. Those two are going to go far. Now let's see if District 2 can match them." The camera's focused on District 2's square. The party was a little more subdued, but most attending were still quietly elegant. Unknown to the rest of Panem, the square itself only contained the crème de la crème of District 2's citizens. The elegant parents socialized in the background, as the refined children stood in their age groupings, with the twelve year olds closest to the front, and the eighteen year olds farthest away. The District escort gave a few customary greetings, as District 2 dignifiedly responded.

"And now, I present to you our female tribute." The escort's hand fished around a bowl for a while. "Mable Sinnera." A girl approached from the sixteen year old section, and quickly ascended the stage. "Any girls wishing to volunteer must reach the stage first. On my signal, ready, go!" With her shout, several large girls bolted from the eighteen year old section, as well as a few from the seventeen year old section, and even one fifteen year old. Unfortunately for them, a girl darted up from the thirteen year old section, before any of them could even begin to gain momentum.

"Well, well, well, this is a pleasant surprise! And what might your name be?"

"Camilla Hastae."

"That wouldn't be the same Hastae as the one glaring at you from the other side of the stage, would it?" She asked conspiratorially. In response, Camilla turned to her brother.

"You don't get to have all the fun!" she called, sticking out her tongue. The Capitol laughed in unison.

"No he doesn't," agreed the District escort joyfully. "Now, lets see who else gets to have a little fun," she added walking over to the bowl of names.

"Granite Ferre." This time a boy from the twelve-year-old section walked up. He looked anxious to dart back in with the rest of his classmates. "Any volunteers must be the first to reach the stage. On my signal, ready, go!" This time only a few boys ran up. One from the fifteen year olds, who was quickly overtaken and shoved aside by a sixteen year old, who was then mysteriously tripped, allowing the only seventeen year old to gain the stage.

"And what is your name?"

"Pine Frigus." The District Escort's assessment was drowned out by the commentators.

"What an extraordinary volunteer. I believe young Camilla is the youngest volunteer in seven years."

"And don't forget that Pine Frigus. Look at those muscles. And the way one of the younger boys tripped up that sixteen year old. Some people have faith in him."

"Only time will tell. On to District 3."

District 3

Neon sat in front of her window, gazing out at her District. It was lit up in fantastic colors as far as she could see. Which, admittedly, wasn't that far considering all the smog. She was tired. It was past 2am, and although she knew she could sleep in later, after the Reaping, that wasn't much comfort for her. It was her last year, and although she was thrilled by the prospect, she wasn't thrilled about the 26 times her name was in the running. 7 for her age, and nineteen for taking out tesserae for three the past six years, and for two this year. God, she missed her mother. She had always known what to say to make her feel better. Neon put on her best work clothes to brave the outdoors, the crowds, and the Reaping.

Orion Partridge was not a child to mess with. Once, a schoolyard bully had decided to poke fun at his name, and Orion had him in tears in less than thirty seconds. He wasn't a physically powerful boy, but his astonishing intellect dumbfounded those he came in contact with. Orion, at the age of twelve, was already one of the district's top inventors, making in excess of 1,000,000 Coins a year. Not that he truly needed the money. His family had always been powerful, and despite his father's recent disappearance and his mother's retreat from the sane world, their finances had never been better. But Orion was nervous. It was his first year eligible for the Hunger Games, and suspected it might be his last. His father had disappeared two years ago, after making some decisions unfavorably looked upon by the Capitol. Orion could only hope that the Capitol's ire at his paternal progenitor's actions would not extend to himself. He had learned rudimentary self-defense from his Butler, and was confident in his ability to gain every possible advantage should he be Reaped, but the idea made him nervous. He didn't like that it was out of his control.

"District three is looking magical this year," began one commentator, to start off the night's events. And it was true. The district itself looked gorgeous, in the dark, the smog looked intentional, and caught the multitude of lights beautifully. Similar compliments could not be bestowed upon its inhabitants. Dreary row after dreary row formed the ranks of District 3's potential tributes. Only a few children here and there possessed any clothing other than work uniforms, and rarely did even they wear anything remotely nice.

"Attention. It is time to select our female tribute." The escort from three suited his District. He was short, to the point, and efficient. Likely he just didn't want to be seen on screen long in such an unfashionable place, but his concise manner was still appreciated. "Neon Lep." A small girl from eighteen year olds began walking toward the stage amidst sparse applause. She kept her head held high, but her slight frame and elven features didn't much impress the commentators.

"I don't think she's even five foot!" exclaimed one. The escort moved quickly on after sparing a moment to ask for volunteers.

"For our male tribute, Orion Partridge." Murmurs rippled through the crowd at this name, as a small twelve year old took the stage. One of the commentators was interested enough to do his job and look up the tribute's information.

"My goodness, what an extraordinary tribute."

"The girl?"

"No, of course not. The boy. Orion Partridge. Under his file it says that not only does he have an IQ of over 200, but he is also inventor of several major new gadgets, such as the new line of Evraydons." The commentators hummed over the IQ score, but at the mention of Evraydons, a popular new type of personal computer, they went ballistic.

"Evraydons, no no no, that was Emmesey Squire, everyone knows that."

"One of his aliases. He's also published a large number of scientific journals under the name Dr. F. Roy Dean Schlippe."

"What a busy boy!" Exclaimed one.

"This will be a fascinating Game to watch!"

District 4

Moray glared at her brother over the large pile of laundry in front of her. "You had to wait until Reaping day to tell me about this?"

"Yes, yes I did. Now I'm going to go fish a bit before we have to go." As her brother left, Moray groaned. Laundry was not her favorite activity, especially at three in the morning. But she didn't want to wake her Gran Gran, so she didn't really have any other options. Moray's main job wasn't laundry, and it wasn't fishing either, like almost everyone else in her District. No, Moray was primarily a healer, but what with the Reaping, people were extra cautious, and remained mostly uninjured. The Reaping. The event terrified Moray. Yes, most years someone trained and volunteered, but what if they didn't? Moray knew she didn't have any fighting skills whatsoever. She'd be helpless if she was chosen. And what if her brother, Trout, was chosen? She didn't know what she would do.

Alexander was meditating when his sister walked into his room. "How's it going Lex Lex?" He continued his deep breathing exercises, ignoring her. "Finally going to volunteer," she paused for a moment, smirking then continued, "You'd better do it soon, I saw dad filling out forms to sign you up as a Target." Targets were usually poor, orphaned, starving children worth nothing to no one. They were used as live targets by the training centers, and were supposed to live and be protected. But, as the saying goes, accidents happen. Frequently.

"Stop lying Phoenix." He broke out of his meditation to see his younger sister leaning against the door to his room, a cruel grin on her face.

"Oh Lex Lex, you know he doesn't want you. We all know he wished he had stuck a little harder two years ago." Two years ago, as part of his training, Alexander had been forced to duel his father. He lost, badly, and had the scar to prove it.

"Leave me alone Phoenix."

"Happy Hunger Games." She blew him a kiss before slinking out. Alexander tried to begin meditating again, but his thoughts were skewed. Phoenix always lied, but something about her words struck him as true. Alexander's father had always hated him. Hated how weak and pathetic he was, especially compared to his perfect sister. His sister was the main reason he had decided on volunteering this year. Alexander knew that he would have to compete sometime, and he would much rather do in on a year his sister wasn't in the running as well. Not for sentimental reasons, but because she'd butcher him at the first chance she got. Alexander shrugged his shoulders and began doing warm-up exercises. It was going to be a long day.

"And now to District 4! Let's see what amazing tributes they can rustle up this year," began the main commentator.

"They've had a good few years," replied another, "let's see if they can keep their streak going!"

District 4's town square was filled with a strange mix of people. While many of the children and adults had the worn-down look of a hard life, none possessed that absolutely hopeless air that radiated off of the lower Districts. There were still scattered bits of bright fabric and fashion, but the majority of the population was relatively plain and unassuming. But not weak. Physical labor and regular meals had changed that in District 4.

"And now, for our wonderful female tribute," the district escort paused here for a while, relishing in the moment, before finishing, "Moray Kannae!" A young girl, Hair done up in a braid, approached. You could tell she was nervous, despite the low probability of her being selected as a tribute. She walked up the stage to stand next to the District escort. "Fabulous, and now, are there any volunteers?" Silence. Moray's face grew more panicked, as the commentators gleefully noted. The district escort carried on, unperturbed.

"And for our male tribute, Marlin Fisher!" A boy rose from the sixteen year old section, face awash with nerves. As he ascended the stage, his eyes scanned the audience, begging anyone to take his place. "Any volunteers?"

"I volunteer," came a voice from the sixteen-year-old section. A boy with a large scar across his face approached the stage with an arrogant gate. Without the scar, he would have been hansom. With it, the commentators barely mentioned him, besides vacantly referencing his bulging muscles.

"And you are?"

"Alexander Ursa." The escort smiled in recognition.

"And you must be Mark's son!" The boy smiled, but it was a harsh smile.

"Of course."

"Mark, which Mark," began one of the commentators.

"Mark Ursa. He won about 20 years ago with that brutal finishing blow to the head of his District partner."

"Oh yes, that was a fun year. I hope young Alexander can be half as entertaining!"

District 5

Anna shook off the newspapers she had been using as a blanket, and began muttering as she sulked to the District Square. It had only been a week since she had been turned out of the orphanage, but things hadn't exactly been going as planned. The little money she had been given was dwindling quickly, and she refused to take Olga's advice and just go to one of the many factories. Anna wanted to do something with her life. Not put in X number of years of productive service before keeling over from the fumes. But now it was looking like she didn't have much choice in the matter.

Oat looked around the burned-out Governor's mansion that he called a home. It wasn't much, but it was much more than most people had. He carelessly stuffed some of the papers he had been working on, forged Require Immediate Power papers, and slouched out the door. He turned over a steady profit forging papers for people who wanted a little extra power, or a few more scraps of grain, but he knew deep down it wasn't going anywhere. He was barely making enough to avoid tesserae, and he knew he was in constant danger of being caught and killed. It was a horrible lifestyle. But it was still better than being slowly poisoned by the radiation leaking off the power plants.

"And here's District 5!" The commentators didn't really have anything else to add after that. No one really cared all that much, and until the tributes were Reaped, they usually filled the time with empty chatter and sponsor mentions. Thankfully, the District escort, a woman with pink hair and orange skin, was anxious to start.

"Let's see who our female tribute will be," she bubbled, oblivious to her District's glares. "Anna Rome!" A girl slouched in from the eighteen year olds. She was thin, very thin, but so was everyone else. And at least she wasn't crying.

"She might even live past the first day," one commentator optimistically remarked.

"And our male tribute," the escort continued, forgetting to ask for volunteers, "Oat Rubble." Another eighteen year old approached the stage, this one a little less angry, but face still stony. The escort was growing more exuberant by the second, as it didn't appear to her that either of her tributes were going to do something to make her look bad. The commentators barely spared the boy a glance, as they got caught up in some tangent debating how long it had been since District 5 had put forth a decent candidate.

District 6

Lizzie fidgeted as a washerwoman tried futily to get her to hold still while she scrubbed the dirt off her face. The woman's touch burned, and Lizzie sulked, know she wouldn't have time to meet up with her friends before the Reaping. She really wanted to see them. Reassure them through teasing that everything was going to be all right. Lizzie was a ward of the one further educational institution in the whole District, and as such often got involved in fights with the other children. They would wage wars all though the city, dodging buses, trains, and swearing adults. But not on Reaping day. On Reaping day, everyone was allied. The games and torment would resume tomorrow, but today, everyone was a friend.

Adam wasn't nervous. He knew, without a doubt, that he should be, but he wasn't. As he crouched under a bridge, waiting for the last possible moment to dart out and sign in for the Reaping, he was only passive. He had been on the run for three weeks, but now that was all coming to an end. There were too many Peacekeepers in the city to avoid capture for long, and he knew he'd rather give himself a fighting chance, than be taken into an alley and shot in the back of the head. As soon as no one looked like they were paying attention, he stood slowly, and began walking, practically invisible to all amid the crowd of other children doing the same, up to the tables. As he looked at the Peacekeeper signing him in, he couldn't help but give a bitter grin.

"And now, on to District 6!" At parties in the Capitol, most citizens had the privilege of being completely drunk by this point in the proceedings, but sadly the commentators did not have that same luxury. It was starting to get late, even for them, but this was their last broadcast before they could turn the job over to less popular commentators and catch the tail end of some parties. Sadly, this was one of the District escorts who liked to drone on, and they were forced to wait patiently for a speech about District pride to end before they got to the good part.

"And now, our female tribute." The commentator's ears pricked up at the phrase. "Lizzie Brooks." A small thirteen-year-old girl began glaring at the cameras as she walked up the steps.

"Looks like this one's got some fight in her," remarked one commentator, as the District escort called out for volunteers.

"And now, for our male tribute, Omni Reed." A sixteen year old walked bravely forward. A girl could bee seen braking out into full sobs on the female side. As he walked up to the stage, his District partner sized him up, before sticking up her nose at him.

"Any volunteers? Now, I-" The escort barely paused for volunteers before moving on, but he was cut off.

"I volunteer." Whispers ricocheted around the square, as a boy stepped up from the fourteen year old section. The boy on stage, Omni, darted down to rejoin his friends before his savior could change his mind.

"And your name?"

"Adam Grumman."

"Wonderful." The crowd continued to chatter, and the commentators joined them.

"Isn't this extraordinary," remarked one.

"Oh, my goodness, yes," replied another, before they turned to their viewers.

"It seems Adam Grumman is currently on the run! He killed a Peacekeeper three weeks ago!"

"Can he still volunteer? Will he be tried for his crimes?"

"I don't know! This is a new question for the Gamemakers, we'll have to wait to hear their final verdict." The commentators began a debate on the legality of Adam's status as a tribute, and whether it would be fair to let in someone who had already killed. The debate raged on until the first round of commentators was dismissed, and continued with the second round of commentators the moment they went on air.

Alright, so here are the rules. I have devised a complex system of points for sponsorship, and various actions by you readers earns your chosen tribute points. Reviews are worth 1, 2, or 3 points depending on how complete they are. Additionally, users who submit multiple reviews gain more points than those for whom it is their first time submitting. (+1 point for the number of times you have reviewed previously.) Another way to earn points is to guess tribute's identity. Doing so will earn 10 points for your chosen tribute, if you are the first to guess. I will post when tribute's identities have been guessed, but for now, here is a list of their assumed names. (As a tip on guessing, many of the names I assigned are somehow related to their inspiration, for instance had I used Hunger Games characters, Gale Hawthorne's name might have been Storm Thornapple.)

Here is a list of the tributes by District. I will update this as people correctly guess names.

District 1:

F: Sapphire Silvae
M: Pyrrhus Aeacid

District 2:

F: Camilla Hastae
M: Pine Frigus

District 3:

F: Neon Lep
M: Orion Partridge

District 4:

F: Moray Kannae
M: Alexander Ursa

District 5:

F: Anna Rome
M: Oat Rubble

District 6:

F: Lizzie Brooks
M: Adam Grumman

District 7:

F: Poppy Gordon
M: Valarian (Val) Papaveris

District 8:

F: Dove Darling
M: Cire (Tramp) Challis

District 9:

F: June Flewett
M: Wolfsbane (Wolf) Narni

District 10:

F: Sable Joy
M: Hunter Friend

District 11:

F: Jean Wilkins
M: James Evans

District 12:

F: Belladonna (Donna) Mallard
M: Mason Anthony

P.S. If you guess correctly this time, you might want to save your points and give them to someone in the lower Districts.