(A/N: Hello, Hungry Gamers! I've decided to step out of my comfort zone for a little bit and expand my horizons from the world of cartoons and anime to -whoom!- books… Excitement!

First and foremost, this will not be an SYOT. Disappointing for many, I know but I'd really prefer not to catch flak from the rule-sticklers who can be -very- rude at times… No tribute submissions and no sponsor point system.

But that doesn't mean you still can't enjoy the story and root for your favorite tribute, maybe taunt your least favorites? Hm? Hehe.

Alright, enough stalling! On with the show! Here's how I'll try and make it go: I'll be posting 12 pre-written chapters for each District's Reaping. One per day. Once District 12's Reaping has been posted, there's going to be a week's interval between that day and the day I'll start posting things about the prep work that'll be done on each tribute. During that interval, you can give your suggestions on maybe what I can do regarding the characters during the prepping stages. Most likely there will be a two-day interval between those chapters, and most likely, it'll be another 12 chapters, which won't be pre-written, so depending on my schedule, I may not be able to post on time. Don't hate me if that occurs! n_n;

After prepping is the fun part: The Games! I have not decided on a winner yet, but my tilt will probably depend on your reviews! Arena ideas are very, very welcome, as are traps and/or Muttations.

Now, let's get down to the first Reaping!)

~Dolla's POV~

I decided I hated the color pink the moment I woke with a start and got two eyefuls of the color, my surprised jolt being an automatic response to the fact that I couldn't breathe. I immediately lifted my head and supported myself on my arms, the fact slowly sinking in that I had slept on my face. Again.

An unbecoming growl escaped my supple lips, but I didn't care. I was always cranky when I woke up. Like a baby. Most likely due to the fact that I had been treated like a baby all my life. I still get treated like a baby at 16, and I love it.

I look around my room as if I'm unfamiliar with it. Friggin' pink everywhere… Pink walls with white swirly-ish designs. A large and regal dresser painted pink. Hot pink fur carpeting… Ugh…

I push up on my arms and whirl around, flopping down onto my back on the bed and sighing. Today's important for some reason, but I'm not sure why, and I don't care, frankly. I just want to fall back asleep… Then it hits me. The Reapings are today!

The very thought puts new energy into my groggy joints. I begin to flail about, wrestling with my sheets as if they were holding me down, begging for me to stay. When I finally free myself, I leap off the bed and frantically strip off my silky pink pajamas.

Even though I'm energized, I'm still tired. I know this because I run stark naked around my room for about thirty seconds, forgetting why I took off my clothes in the first place. Clothes… I turn to my dresser and bonk myself on the noggin. Clothes, of course!

By some sort of miracle, I slip on the carpeting and fly headfirst into the armoire, bouncing off of it and laying sprawled on the floor, dazed, nude, and pissed off.

Aw, hell… I can feel the knot rising on my forehead. My pale pink bedroom door opens and my mother pokes her head in. "I-Is everything alright, de-"

She doesn't finish. Not after I twist around and grab a picture off of my hot pink jewelry box before twisting again and hurling it like a discus at the door. Unfortunately, I miss her and shatter the thing against the door frame… She gasps and closes the door again, catching a strand of dirty blonde hair as it shuts. She yelps as it painfully slides free.

I sigh and stand. I'll have to apologize later. 'Sorry' will probably be the last thing I say to her before I'm shipped off to the Games today. I'm aware it also might be the last word I ever say to her, period, but I don't focus on that. I'm supposed to be desensitized to the fear of death, like all Careers.

My eyes turn to the carnage of the frame. It's a picture of me and my brother. I'm ten in the picture and my bro's fifteen. It was taken the day he volunteered for the 32nd Hunger Games and didn't come home. He liked to piss me off for sport when he was alive, so I pretended I didn't miss him. Meh, the frame's replaceable. It's just glass and plastic.

I turn and throw open my wardrobe, staring in absolute disgust at all of the pink inside of it... I pick out a dress that looks white and hang it on the door before prancing swiftly into my bathroom. Minutes later, I prance back out, toweling off just enough so that I'm not soaking and uncomfortable, but leaving enough water on me so that when I catch the sun, my gorgeous body glistens like that of a goddess.

I throw on the dress immediately and admire myself in a huge mirror by the door. Of course I don't put on panties. What have they ever done for me besides give me wedgies? None of my friends wear panties, anyway. I grimace at the raised bump on the upper right quadrant of my forehead, then focus on my attire. The sleeveless dress is pretty plain and comes up to a little above my knees.

Too long… I groan in my mind. Any dress that doesn't show at least half of your thighs is not worth wearing. Who wears fancy clothes for modesty? That's what pants are for. Why did my mother buy this..? The alternative, however, is wearing something more pink, and since I'm sick of pink at the moment, I suck it up, slip on some squishy slippers and run out of my room.

~Phoenix's POV~

Today is going to be a good day. I just know it is. I stand with my arms crossed at the front of the pack of 18-year olds. This is my year. I've been beat out of being a volunteer since I was fifteen, but not this year. This year, no one will stop me, and the people around me know it. One kid in my year reaches up and firmly pats me on the shoulder. "You got this, Nick!" he said with a thumbs-up. I just nod slowly. Of course I got this. I stare up at District One's escort, Julian Moss, and my eyes can't help but lock on his sewage-green curly hair and wide smile. I shoot him a more-than-chalant wink and his chest begins to rumble in what I'm guessing is a chuckle. He then shoots me a wink right back. Now I know this is my year.

Julian turns his head and his mouth moves. he's talking to someone off-stage. I can't tell to who until I see Mayor Pimmsbrook nod. It's time to start.

"Welcome, welcome, one and all, to the Reaping of the 38th Annual Hunger Games!" he yells out in that signature Capitol accent. Just hearing it makes me want to vomit, but I clap along with the others, rolling my eyes.

"As always, it is a pleasure as well as an honor to be this fine town's escort. I can't begin to tell you how many people want to be me right now!" He then begins to point at random people in the crowd. "Let's see, you do. And you, and you! Oh, and you, too!"

This gets a good laugh out of the audience and playfully scrunched noses out of the people he pointed to. I shrug, wishing he'd skip to the good part.

"Now, as much as I'd like to stand here and make fun of you, I must introduce the woman of the hour! Miss Abernethy Pimmsbrook!"

It took me a little bit to get over the fact that our mayor was named after a flat, crunchy biscuit. Once I did, I joined in the applause. She was a plump little woman with short golden locks and a modest pantsuit and golden tie. I began to tune her out as she introduced herself, then began with the obligatory recitation of the history of Panem, the failed revolt of the Districts, yadda yadda… I must've dozed off standing up, because I can't remember anything between the words 'embarrassing submittal' and 'Hancock'.

It dawned on me that Moss had taken the center stage again and had just read the name of the reaped girl tribute. I glance to one side and my lip curls slightly in recognition. Pattie Hancock. Pattie wasn't her real name, of course, but her first name was unpronounceable, so everyone just shortened it to Pattie. It was something Latin, but I can't remember what it was supposed to be Latin for… Didn't matter, though, because no sooner than she hit the first step, several girls were yelling and clawing at each other to volunteer.

Pattie stared blankly at the storm of nails, weaves, and swear words. A dainty shoe came flying out of the violence and nearly hit me in the face, but my reflexes didn't let me down. I caught the silver slipper and held it, wondering who it belonged to.

"I volunteer!" a voice called out. One girl managed to force her way out of the sad, tangled mess of hair and makeup and very nearly pushed Pattie aside to run up the steps in front of Moss. I smirked as I noticed that she only had one shoe on. "I volunteer as tribute."

Pattie rolled her eyes and walked back to her place among the 14-year-olds, shaking her head with disappointment at the web of defeated girls.

"Excellent, excellent! Your name, my dear?" Julian squeaked.

"Dolla Cunningham!" she said proudly.

Dolla. I couldn't help but smirk. What silly names some families gave their children here in District One. I was glad that I was lucky enough to get a name like mine. Phoenix Centari. Was there ever a name so perfect?

"Very good, very good! Everyone, a hand for Miss Dolla Cunningham!"

There was much whooping and applause. Dolla gave a polite little bow and took her seat, looking down at her feet and grimacing at her one bare foot. I tried hard not to stare, but I couldn't help but notice she wasn't wearing any underwear…

~Dolla's POV~

Hollow victory… I got my spot in the Games, but I lost my right shoe… Oh, well. I consider just throwing the other one off, but I don't think that would been in good taste. Besides, I hate walking barefoot. I hate it so much, I'd really rather just walk around with one shoe on than with both off. I'd sleep in my shoes if my night-shifting didn't wrinkle the sheets. Not that I care; fixing the sheets is the maid's job. I just wake up with sore toes when I sleep in shoes.

I was snapped from my thoughts at the sound of applause. A boy was making his way to the stage. A gorgeous boy. He was going up to take the place of a twelve-years old who clearly hadn't been training. He was a friggin' toothpick. But this guy…

Phoenix Centari was clearly very popular amongst his year. One kid with a really loud and obnoxious voice began to chant: "Phoe-nix! Phoe-nix! Phoe-nix!"

The entire 18-year-old division immediately joins in, followed by the rest of the boys' half. Some of the girls join in, too, and naturally, the rest followed, me included. After about a minute, the entire audience was chanting his name and he just stood there, egging them on, pumping his fist in rhythm.

Julian Moss gestures to me and I stand, walking as elegantly as one can with only one shoe and standing in front of Phoenix. I hear a few wolf whistles, as well as a distinct, "That's my boy!" I extend a hand to shake, but he places my shoe in my palm instead. I look up at him, utterly stunned, and he just smirks and winks.

That was the kill shot. I faint for a half a second and teeter backward, about to embarrass myself in front of all of District One. However, Phoenix swoops in immediately, catching me in his arms and pulling me back to my feet.

"You alright?" he asks. I don't know what comes out of my mouth, but it isn't English. It didn't even sound like any language. It was enough to make him laugh, though and I laugh, too. Moss laughs. Pimmsbrook laughs. The whole audience was laughing. At me. I didn't care not one bit. If I had any feeling in my right arm, I'd probably flip off the whole lot of them. But I was frozen, my eyes locked to his.

I almost bite Moss's hand off as he takes my shoulder and turns me to face the audience. I would've, if I had tried, but I resist the urge.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Your tributes for the 38th Annual Hunger Games! May the odds ever be in their favor!" he yells out cheerfully. Phoenix woots and pumps his fist again. I smile and wave like a pageant girl, sliding the slipper back onto my foot.

The odds were certainly in my favor right now.

(A/N: There you have it! Tell me what you think! The D2 Reapings will be up tomorrow, so look forward to it! n_n)