District 1 and 3 Reapings: Engrave Thy Name

-Cerulean Holst, 18, D1-

I was up early, but too lazy to get out of bed. Being from District 1, the reapings start at 8, which seriously cuts into our beauty sleep! But I couldn't sleep. I was far too excited and nervous for that.

It was reaping day! But it wasn't just any reaping day. It was my reaping day!

I pulled blankets around myself, turning on the television. It was only 5:30 in the morning, but I knew there was no way I'd be able to sleep some more. I was at the Academy training with all my might last night, and crashed at 6:30 after eating, like, the whole kitchen for dinner. I watched the screen, as Conrad and Robin discussed the rerun of the 20th Games, which just ended (damn, I missed it!).

I smiled with pride, though, at the Victor, our District's very own Dutch Krietzer! I wondered how he felt at this time seven years ago. He was probably sleeping in his house in the Victor's Village. The first second-generation Victor, he will always live in luxury. I couldn't believe his victory happened seven years ago! It felt like it was just yesterday!

That very next year, though, when I was 12, I knew it was my destiny to volunteer. Well, Mom knew. And in hindsight, she was right. At the age of 12, not taking any tesserae, mind you, I was reaped.

That's a big deal around here! You got to have a second of spotlight before the volunteer, strong and mighty, took your place. You even got to see them up close! And meet up with them after the reaping and talk to them and tell them good luck and shake their hand! They could be the next Victor!

When I was reaped for the 21st Games, Dutch's brother Osmium volunteered to take my place. Some other guy was there to fight him, but after a battle Os made it up to the stage.

I watched it happen again on the television in front of my eyes.

"Cerulean Holst!" Announced the escort on the screen. I watched as 12-year-old me appeared in the section, walking out. I looked pretty stunned. It's amazing how much I've changed since then. The 12-year-old's blond hair was messy, sticking up everywhere. His blue eyes looked deflated and tired. He looked exhausted, like he hadn't smiled in a million years.

It really felt like a million years. It felt like a million years since my family's financial state took a tumble and we had to move away from everything I ever knew. It seemed like a million years since I had laughed and had friends. As soon as we moved, I was picked on. I was lanky and weak. They took advantage of me. But then I was reaped.

Everything turned around. Suddenly, I was desirable. I got to be volunteered for! I got to talk to Os and I got moments on the TV, for all to see! I found my friends that way, I found my niche, people were bouncing off the walls asking me questions and being interested in me. I found a new home. Now I'm very happy with everything about my life, from my friends Hap and Vent to my family to my training!

This day was going to be the accumulation of every single great day of my life, all rolled up into one! It was going to be the best day ever! And then I was going to win the Games and that day would become the new best day ever! And then every day after that would be great too.

I knew that somewhere in the District, there was a girl that was probably still fast asleep, dreaming fondly about her big moment in the Games. This day was just as much hers as it is mine, I suppose. I hoped that nobody would challenge me, though. Luckily for me, a fight hadn't happened for the spot since all the way back six years prior.

I relaxed, watching the television as the Five boy, a 13-year-old, was dragged to the stage, screaming and trying to fight with the Peacekeepers. Poor, small, starving little rat. Outer District tributes were most always undesirables. The little ones, I knew, would kill themselves off, eventually. Sure, I was aware that sometimes there could come a threat, but honestly I wasn't worried.

Though that boy from 5, Glitch, was so small and helpless, the kid was smart. But, in most all cases, brains weren't as important as brawn, as shown later when the kid was tortured to death. Sure, he made it far, but at what cost? It certainly would've been much easier if he'd just died at the Cornucopia on the first day.

Os didn't win the 21st Games. He was pegged to win by everyone, considering his impressive training scores, brains, and the fact that he descended from Platinum fucking Krietzer, maybe, and has spent his whole life surrounded by Victors. It would've been amazing, two siblings winning the Games in consecutive years. It would've been amazing if Os had won after I had been able to shake his hand and talk to him. But I knew that fate could be cruel and unusual sometimes, for whatever reason. My philosophy was that you just had to keep smiling and keep fighting.

I stayed curled up, my stomach growling. I knew I should get up and eat and piss (I have to pee soooooo bad!), but I just felt too lazy. Besides, I didn't want to disturb Mom and Dad. Mom had a long day working, she came home complaining of her aching body. Dad was barely pleasant in the daytime, let alone if you woke him up at 5:40 in the morning. And if I woke up Chartreuse, my brother, he'd never go back to sleep. I swore the guy was just as excited for this day as I am.

Chartreuse had been hoping he'd be reaped ever since he was 12. By this time, he was 14, and has still had no luck. He asked Mom and Dad if he could take tesserae this year, just so his name could be in the bowl more times. They didn't allow him, though. Mom said it would make us too much like poor people. He really wanted to be reaped for me so that I could volunteer for him. It was very unlikely, but if a 12-year-old with one slip in there could be reaped his first year, maybe that kind of luck ran in the family.

Anyways, my poor bladder would just have to wait. I didn't wanna get out of bed yet. I watched the District 7 reaping, where the Victor, Marlowe Glaiser, was reaped. An ally of Os's, she was bothered when he died, and used that as motivation to win. She was one of the strongest Victors in all of Panem's history. She was romantically involved with Dutch, to top it all off. Talk about a plot twist.

While the chariots were replaying, I finally surrendered and rolled over out of bed. I snuck through the halls in the dark, accustomed to the familiar house as I made my way to the bathroom as quietly as possible. I peed as quietly as I possibly could, and got a glass of water before going back to bed and curling up again in the covers. By the time I got back, the reruns of interviews had already started. Osmium was giving the cameras the most endearing smile I've ever seen.

He was truly even cuter up close. His eyes even more blue, his glasses even more endearing, his cheeks even rosier, his smile even more charming.

I pulled my blanket up to my face, feeling the soft fuzz and rubbing it against my cheek softly as Pleasure Easton took the stage on the TV. I watched intently, taking a special note of how each tribute approached their interview. Marcella Addington from 2 was cute but deadly. Pomponius was a hot-shot and also a giant ham. He ended up howling like a wolf, much like his friends did for him when he was reaped. I felt my eyes closing before they announce Glitch McKinley, and opened them again to watch the trainwreck unfold. I blinked at the screen, watching the 13-year-old act almost drunk up there, spilling all of the horrible secrets about his past: his abusive parents and uncle, being assaulted, his bully cousins. That's one interview strategy to avoid, for sure, I observed.

I watched as the interviews became the Games. The part that I'd trained the hardest for. Interviews and chariots were my strong suits. I had a stage presence planned and perfected, and nothing would make me crack. I was a pretty lanky kid, but I had been training tirelessly so that I knew how to use weapons. I was totally ready for this. I could feel it in my veins.

I watched the Games happen on the screen, the snowy backdrop for the blood and death. I hid under my blanket for the really gruesome parts, like when the boy from 4 had his eye gouged out by mutts or when they ran into the frost-bitten boy from Nine, or when Glitch from 5 was tortured to death by the boy from 3. Marlowe Glaiser from 7 won after a snow monster picked up the boy from 2 and ate him. It was gruesome to watch, but I had watched it happen many times before so this time I barely flinched.

I watched through the replay of the much more boring 22nd Games, checking the time impatiently. I just wanted to get out of bed already and get some breakfast. My stomach was growling! The 22nd Games were won by the boy from District 3, Chrome Vladamire. He didn't live much longer, though, after getting killed off by some Peacekeepers. I was pretty sure that they cut out stuff from his Games when they replayed it, so that the people watching would think of him for as little time as possible. He wasn't the one that was pegged to win. His interview wasn't great, neither was his training score. He was just good at camouflaging, and the Career pack self-destructed, leading him to Victory by dumb luck.

By the end of his Games, my stomach started to ache from being empty, so I surrendered and rolled over out of bed. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders to keep me warm while I walked, and went out to the kitchen. By now it was about 7.

When I walked past Char's room, I saw him lying on his stomach, sketching in his notebook. When he heard my footsteps, he quickly got out of bed to follow me.

"Cerulean!" he exclaimed, happily skipping past me to the kitchen.

"Sh," I whispered quickly, hoping his outburst didn't wake our parents. "Dad won't be happy if you wake him, and neither will Mom."

"Oh, right," he said, whispering this time, "Sorry."

"How about some cinnamon toast for breakfast?" I asked him, and he nodded cheerfully. He sat at the table and watched as I put bread in the toaster and got some butter from the fridge. I got some cinnamon out of the cabinet just as the toast popped. I buttered the toast and sprinkled some cinnamon on it, giving two pieces to him and keeping two for myself.

"Maybe some scrambled eggs?" Char asked hopefully.

"Sure." I put some of the cinnamon toast in my mouth, enjoying the sweet and savory combination of flavors as I put a pan on the stove. I turned on the heat and went to grab some eggs from the fridge. Char liked his eggs overcooked, brown, and rubbery, and I liked mine runnier and with plenty of salt and pepper. I put some butter on the pan as it heated up, and cracked some eggs.

Ever since Mom started working, I was designated as the cook. It was a big argument, Dad said that cooking was Mom's job as the woman, Mom retorted that I would need to learn how to cook on my own for when I moved out and lived in the Victor's Village. Mom eventually won the argument.

I liked to cook, even if it was a feminine thing or a "woman's job." I liked to make my own food, because I knew how I liked it. It's better when you make food that you like how you like it. A feeling of satisfaction.

I put Char's eggs in a bowl and handed them to him before I got some for myself and cracked them into the pan, taking another big bite of cinnamon toast. I remember fondly when my friends had challenged me to swallow a whole spoon of cinnamon, and I had tried and failed. It was disgusting and horrible, but then Vent said he'd try it and it was actually hilarious. Hap didn't try it, saying we were stupid for doing so, but that was one of the few times she actually smiled.

I scrambled my eggs and put them in a bowl, turning off the heat and sitting cheerfully next to Char. He had the same blond hair I do, and bright green eyes. Hence why I was named after a shade of blue, and him a shade of green.

He smiled up at me the whole time we ate, and I could tell he was teeming with excitement for me. Ah, my little brother had always watched out for me with my best interests at heart, and I loved him so much for that. I finished my breakfast and got up, ruffling my brother's hair. I went back to my bedroom, stripping the blanket off my shoulders to get dressed in my nicest clothes, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. Then, I put my shoes on and went back out to the kitchen, where Char was doing the dishes.

"I want to go see Hap and Vent before the reaping. Tell Mom and Dad I'll see them after I volunteer."

"Alright! You can't go without a good luck hug though!" he insisted, quickly drying his hands on a towel and running over to give me a big hug.

I hugged back, smiling. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye," he smiled at me. I started out the door and headed toward Vent's house.

When I got there, Vent was sitting on the steps of his porch, eating a green freezie pop as the summer morning was beginning to heat up.

"Holst!" he called, waving to me. I had tried so hard to give my friends one-syllable nicknames, so they had done the same for me. Since Cer isn't much of a nickname, nor is U or Le or An, they'd just started calling me by my one-syllable last name instead.

"Hey Vent!" His real first name was Adventure, and it really did fit him. He flipped the light brown bangs out of his brown eyes and gave me a smile. "Today's your big day!"

"I know," I laughed, sitting next to him.

"Want an ice pop?"

"Sure. Better give me a pink one, though. Can't be volunteering with blue lips and tongue."

"Okay!" His eyes lit up with realization when he noticed the figure walking towards us, in a blouse and dress pants, her black hair tied up as always and an indifferent look on her face. "Hap's coming! I should get her usual purple!" He smiled and strutted into the house. The girl approached, and put up her hand in recognition when I called, "Hi Hap!"

"Morning Holst," she said, her expression still indifferent as she sat on the steps in her usual spot. "Lemme guess, Vent went off to get freezie pops?"

"Of course!"

"If you get it on your pants I'm going to laugh my ass off."

"I wouldn't expect anything less." I do have to be careful, though.

Vent came back holding three ice pops. He handed me a pink one and Hap a purple, before cheerfully putting a red one in his mouth.

"You're going to have weird dark lips and tongue, y'know?" Hap raised an eyebrow.

"Sucks to that. I'm not volunteering." His lips went up in a grin.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the coldness of the ice pop, nice and solid and crunchy: just how I liked it. Hap always waited for hers to be half-melted to drink the liquid, which I could never understand. That kind of defeated the whole purpose of ice pops, in my opinion. But, to each his own.

The three of us sat and enjoyed our pre-reaping treat silently. There was not much to say. I just enjoyed being in their presence, really. That was all that mattered. Hap ate her ice pop and even she looked satisfied. Amazing.

After a while of just being with them, Vent's sister Genuine went out the door. She was 13, and less carefree than Vent but still far more carefree than most people.

"The reaping starts in an hour, we should be making our way to the Square," she said matter-of-factly.

"Alright, alright," sighed Vent, collecting our wrappers and going inside to throw them away.

"Are you excited for your second reaping Gen?" I asked, to start conversation.

"Sure, I guess," the girl shrugged. "I mean, the video is boring, but watching the volunteers is fun." She blinked at me, admiration in her eyes.

"Yup. You'll understand when you're in the position, if you're ever there."

"I dunno if I care to go into the Games," she said thoughtfully.

"The Games are for people who are just a little bit crazy and extremely confident," Hap shrugged. "Which describes Holst here perfectly." We all laughed, but she wasn't wrong.

Vent appeared again, theatrically announcing his presence. "Let's go!" he said cheerfully. Hap and I stood up, and together the three of us walked to the reaping.

We were in the less fortunate part of the District, so the walk took about 15 minutes alone, half an hour with Vent, who ran ahead off the path and got distracted by an interesting cloud or by chasing the pebble he had been kicking ahead of him for a long while. Not that it mattered to me. I knew I should have going to have to enjoy this time with my friends, because when I came back I would live in the Victor's Village, which is an even longer walk from our houses than the Square.

It could quite possibly be just like it was all those years ago. I promised I wouldn't lose contact with my best friend at the time, Denz, but I did. I don't want the same to happen to Hap and Vent. Hopefully because we're all 18 and more mature, that means we'll actually keep contact. It was still a worry though.

I got my finger pricked and printed, feeling the eyes of kids on me, a lot of who I didn't know. They must have known me, though. Or at least what I was going to do. I looked around, trying to get a view of the female volunteer. Even though I didn't even know what her name was, I figured it would be easy to tell. She would probably have a lot of people surrounding her, I figured, asking her questions and looking at her like she was a star. I looked around, trying to find someone who fit the criteria, but didn't see anyone.

"I'll see ya later Hap," I said, slapping her on the back affectionately. She prefered that to hugs, and I respected that (except for those times when hugs were just plain necessary, of course!).

"Volunteer pretty," she said, giving me a nod and a rare smile. Then, she walked to the girls section, leaving Vent and I to walk together to the boys' section. We stood by the number 18, with me in the very front. After what seemed like forever, the reaping began. The escort was getting older. Her name was Dasdemonda, and though she had multiple plastic surgeries, she was still showing her age.

"Welcome, District 1!" she beamed when she was met with thunderous applause. Vent next to me screamed, clapping gleefully. "Welcome to the reaping for the 27th Annual Hunger Games!" She reveled in the applause as if it was all for her. "Before we get to the best part, let's watch a video!" she played the video, the same thing every year about how the Dark Days were awful, but the Games have become golden! It was wonderful.

"First, our lucky lady," Dasdemonda said, walking to the girls' bowl. She put her hand in and swished it around for a while, before settling on a name and picking it out. "Muse Harmond!" The girl walked out of the 15 section, smiling like a champion. "Ah, yes. Now, do we have any volunteers?"

I heard a voice call out loud and clear, "I volunteer as tribute!" A girl trotted with confidence up to the stage, smiling brightly as the crowd applauded for her.

"Wonderful, just wonderful! Dear, what is your name?"

"Cadenza Santiago!" she announced. I didn't recall ever seeing this girl before, which was dangerous because that meant I had no idea how she trained and how lethal she really was.

Dasdemonda walked to the boys' bowl after that and selected a man. Cadenza was smiling brightly and surveying the crowd for friends and family. She had the looks thing going, and seemingly the personality to match. I was snapped out of my thoughts by Dasdemonda calling out, "Gladness Moffett!" The boy walked out of the 16 section, smiling. "Do we have any volunteers?" she asked.

Now or never, Cerulean, I thought. I put up my hand. "I volunteer!" I call out. As soon as I did it, something connected and I realized that I did know Cadenza Santiago. I shook it off, keeping a confident smile on as I walked up to the stage, Vent yelling and whooping at the top of his lungs. A heavy, guilty feeling was forming in my chest as I hoped that she wouldn't recognize me.

"Very good! Now shake hands you two!" Dasdemonda said, beaming at us. Denz put out her hand, and I shook it.

The look of realization dawned in her eyes when they locked confidently with mine.

Before I could say anything else to my childhood best friend, Dasdemonda guided us back to the Justice Building.

I figured that I'd have plenty of time to catch up with Denz before the Games had begun, after all.

~.~.

-Oberyn Thael, 16, D3-

Anesthesiology, the study of applying the individual cocktail of substances to unique flora and fauna inhabiting each person to induce an artificial coma in the person for medical procedural purposes. The variation is astounding between people, and there is an inherent danger in that there is always a possibility a person cannot be brought out-

I paused in my reading to take a sip of coffee and almost spit it out immediately.

"Ice-fucking- cold," I hissed, slamming the mug onto its coaster as hard as I could without shattering either the coaster or the mug.

I glanced at my wristwatch and expelled a frustrated sigh. 9 am. I had been up for two hours and made only minimal progress on the book my mother had lent me. She said I should consider anesthesiology since I had a knack for details and being thorough. I wanted to politely tell her I couldn't care less and had far higher career goals than hers, but I didn't want her on my bad side. I would never be on the bad side of anyone I lived under the same roof with. It's a rule of thumb.

Since it was reaping day, I figured I had better go out and about my business before noon. Not that I had too much to attend to, but I preferred to get an early start.

I briskly trotted down the steps to the kitchen.

"You're up early, hon." I stalked past my mother, who cheerfully was at making breakfast. The level of enthusiasm she displayed for the most mundane of tasks made me physically ill.

"I'm always up early, Mother," I replied mildly, sitting down at the table.

"I always feel so old when you call me that." she sighed, "Couldn't you call me Mom?" I chose not to respond. She dumped a stack of pancakes onto my plate. "In any case, you need to eat. It's Reaping Day!"

I had no intentions of letting the special air surrounding Reaping Day affect me. There was no reason to "live a little more" on Reaping Day, as if it would be the last day with your friends and family. Statistically, you were far more likely to be struck by lightning, or mauled by a bear than you were to be reaped for the Games. That is to say, if you were me. I can't say anything for anyone with more than four slips in.

"Right." I coolly agreed. We had pancakes every other Saturday, but it wasn't a point to pick a fight over. Pick your battles, Oberyn. My father's advice rang in my head, echoing my thoughts and souring my mood.

"Where is Father?" I inquired. He should be at the house on Reaping Day. Then again, his attachment to the rest of his family was tenuous at best. He probably volunteered to work so that other parents could see their children. It looked altruistic, but he most certainly was doing it for the holiday pay, make no mistake of it. I knew my father.

He would have had to work at some point today anyway, so he may as well maximize profits. He was a doctor. It wasn't like people were going to stop hurting themselves, or falling ill because it was a holiday.

"At the hospital. He'll see us after the Reaping. He even said he would bring home a turkey for us to prepare for dinner tomorrow as an apology for working this morning!" I had deduced correctly, to my complete lack of surprise. I finished my pancakes and grabbed my coat. "Are you going to visit him before the Reaping?" She almost sounded hopeful.

"No. I'm going to the plaza early." She should certainly know better. I was out the door before she could try to convince me to visit that cesspool of plague and death my father calls his workplace.

Ever since my first Reaping, I had made it a point to go early. It was amusing to see the reactions and expressions of all the people bumbling around. The palpable tension was laughable. You threaten to kill two children via lottery and the entire populace is on edge. It's ridiculous, but almost comical to watch. Twelve-year-olds melt down completely, kids with a single slip among several hundred, upwards of a thousand or two. With the sheep-like mentality of my District, and the others as well, if I had to guess, the strategy was effective at striking fear in the hearts of most. Even if it was just paranoia.

I noticed it was going to rain soon, so I cut down a street through the slums of town. Unfortunately I felt a weight on my leg after moments of walking. I had hoped I could get by with no repercussions. So much for outpacing the rain.

"Please, sir...could you spare a dollar or two? Anything...my sister's really sick…" A pitifully filthy and weak boy huddled next to an even more emaciated girl. Normally I would accuse the beggars of acting to get some extra money, but it was clear these two weren't acting.

Of course they had chosen to beg money from me.

"Well…" I paused, thinking of the best way to handle the situation.

"Help…" the girl coughed.

I opened my wallet. I had thirty dollars on hand, one twenty and one ten. I took out the ten and held it out to the boy.

"Are you...serious?" The boy's voice was faded from shock and his eyes were huge. "Really, sir…?"

"This alone could buy you a day's worth of solid meals, three days if you really rationed it," I explained softly, "For both of you, actually. What are your names?"

"I-I'm Gio, and my sister's name is Abri…" he swallowed. I noticed the sibling's skin tone was darker than I originally evaluated. They were filthy, but not that disgusting.

"How old are you both?"

"I'm eight...and Abri is five." I smiled and handed the ten dollar bill to Gio.

"Take this to the Emlinton Hospital. They'll help your sister, give you a warm meal or two, and give you a place to stay for a short while." The smiles on both their faces grew immensely. "After all, you don't have to worry about the Games for awhile. Happy Reaping Day."

"Thank you, sir! Um…" They stood up, Gio supporting Abri.

"It's Oberyn." I supplied.

"Thank you so much!" they chorused and hurried off. Well, as fast as they could manage with Abri's arm over Gio's neck.

What neither of them knew was that the hospital would take their money and do nothing for them. Sure, they would make a big show of trying to figure out what was wrong with the girl, but unless a doctor was feeling particularly compassionate, they would get one warm meal if they were lucky and that would be all. They would either insist nothing is wrong with his sister, though she was clearly quite ill, or give them fake medication. All the better. Best of all, they wouldn't trace their misfortune back to me.

Abri appeared to have hurt her right foot in some way. She must have gotten an infection, and it was whittling her away. She wouldn't live much longer, without help, and neither would her brother. Their health seemed abysmal enough that they wouldn't recover before winter, and would probably freeze to death.

Good riddance. I despise street rats.

I reached the table to be fingerprinted quickly, as there was no line. It was barely 10:30 AM after all. After running through the laboriously inefficient pricking and fingerprinting process, I walked over to the temporary bleachers' 15 section and chose a covered area to sit. It was just starting to drizzle.

There weren't many cannon-fodder low-lifes around to analyze yet, so I turned my attention to the stage. Our laughably overdressed escort scurried around, high strung from the rain ruining her outfit. Ahh, Rinka Morganza: the lovely priss in charge of this three ring circus of a disastrous affair. Today she graced us with an elaborate style that I could regrettably describe out of necessity for business knowledge. Gothic lolita, so in other words, a black frilly dress with lavender highlights and bows. The bodice was laced up with white and the soft pastel purple was visible under the lace. A miniature top hat adorned with needlessly ornate decoration like flowers, lace, and ribbons perched on her head, slightly off-centered. She wore white tights and tall black boots laced up with black ribbons from her knees to her ankles.

Complementing her outfit was makeup that made her appear ghostly white, aside from dark eyes and the same pastel purple applied as lipstick. I suppose it would have been a decent outfit for a Reaping...if she were not already soaked from the rain, her makeup was running, and it was only 10:30.

She shrieked at various members of her media crew to move faster. The few poor Peacekeepers roped into helping set up were running around with their heads cut off from all the orders she gave out. How pathetic. Despite the clouds and rain, it was oddly reminiscent of chasing ants with the focused sunlight from a magnifying glass.

Not long after the rain let up, and Rinkah scurried inside to fix her appearance, more people began to file into the plaza. Wide-eyed young faces and the grim faces of the older teenagers alike were filled with apprehension. Two of them were going to be shipped off to die, just like they were every year, like clockwork. Occasionally people from this District are capable, usually of the upper class since they tend to have the intelligence to avoid stupid situations. However, there are no guarantees.

Take for instance, some basic strategy. Statistically keeping any ally was far more costly than having one. True, they could be kept around and backstabbed conveniently, but people are not robots. They are predictable and have the same handful of thought progressions, but there is a tiny variable present in each person. As a tribute in the Games, you will never know every variable. You will not know when a tiny, innocent statement triggers something deep within a person and they turn on you in that instance.

The best course of action is to keep everything in your control. Anything too variable should be systematically avoided and eliminated. Not that I would ever need to implement this strategy. But considering how omnipresent the Games are, it was worth some rainy day's musing to develop a strategy myself. Just in case, I suppose.

A boy who had sat in front of me, a few rows below suddenly burst into tears. His friend rubbed his back reassuringly. I almost snickered. It's amazing how upset people would get about the Reapings. I never cease to feel amazed. There's a reason I always arrive to the Reapings early, after all.

I was surprised by how quickly noon arrived. Rinkah's boots clicked against the stage loudly as she babbled on about how thankful she was to be there, then rolled the clip they play every year to make the Capitol out to be a peacemaker. Whatever. They weed out some of the District's filth every year, so I couldn't be too upset with them.

"Alright, now let's pick our boy first!" she put on a cheery air despite the dark clouds overhead and palpable fear in the air. Luck was not on her side today. Just as she decided to draw a tribute's name, the skies opened up and downpoured. While the shriek she, and many others let out at the rain was amusing, the prospect of having to leave the plaza in ten minutes or so to walk back home was an unattractive prospect.

"As I was saying…!" she huffed into the microphone, quieting the crowd. She reached into the bowl and fished out a name. "Our boy is Oberyn Thael!"

Oh, so it's going to be like that. I burst out laughing right as a crack of lightning tore a hole in the skies, intensifying the downpour of rain. The others in the sixteen-year-old section gave me bewildered glances and I strode past them into the deluge and towards the stage. The water-logged escort asked mildly if there were any volunteers, and of course, there were none. It was to be expected.

By the time I climbed the steps of the stage, I was absolutely soaked, not that I minded. The Capitol has the capability of curing a common cold, after all. I shook Rinkah's delicately manicured hand and stood, legs shoulder width apart and arms locked behind my back, scanning the crowd, daring anyone that could possibly be chosen next to even try to challenge me.

"And now for our girl!" she delicately walked over to the other bowl, removed the lid that kept the slips from becoming soggy and disintegrated, and produced a slip in moments. "Hazuki Izanami!" It was not the name of anyone I recognized, but that was for the better. The last thing I needed was someone who knew me and wanted revenge.

While Rinkah asked for volunteers, of which there wouldn't be, my mind raced. I fully intended on using the Games to advance my prospects. I could ingrain myself into the District leadership if I was Victor, and possibly expand my sights to the Capitol in the best case scenario.

The girl looked unbothered by the rain, dark hair pulled into a high ponytail reaching her shoulder blades and a single, thin braid hung off the side of her head, reaching her collarbone. She had high cheekbones and wore a scowl. Her pointed eyes were slits, boring over me. I hadn't said a word to her and she already hated me.

"District 3, your tributes!" Their applause was halfhearted in the rain. I glared daggers into the audience. If I had to suffer the rain on my glasses blinding me, they could at least pretend to be happy they weren't reaped.

It couldn't be helped, but it was a sufferable loss. In due time, they'll know who the should be cheering for.

Rinkah ushered the two of us toward the courthouse to say our goodbyes. I was mildly impressed how unshaken Hazuki appeared to be, but the true test would be if she came to the train dry-eyed.

I said goodbye to my mother, who was as hysterical as you would imagine a mother like her would be. My father came and wished me luck, uncertain of what to say. None of my "friends" came. They were too busy congratulating each other on not getting reaped. How shallow they were. I was disappointed. The emotion that so many tributes were weighed down with from home did not burden me. More in my favor, of course. I boarded the train with a smirk.

Time to show the world what I was made of.

A/N: Hey, it's Celtic! Hope you liked this chapter! Your input matters to us a lot! Tell us how you liked this chapter and these characters!