"Defeats and Victories"

A/N: Just a quick note: The reapings are on May 25th, year 101. Also, the ages in the headers are what their age was at the time of the POV, so keep that in mind, and glance at the blog or my profile quickly if you want to see what their current ages are before reading. That aside, enjoy our first introduction chapter!

Warning: Vulgar language throughout. Expect this with the whole story, really.

~Lately I've been hard to reach, I've been too long on my own

Everybody has a private world where they can be alone

Are you calling me? Are you trying to get through?

Are you reaching out for me, like I'm reaching out for you?~

Hailey Hills, 13, District One

June 10th, Year 100

Skyway Drive, District One

I don't look up as I walk down the street, head bowed towards the pavement, ignoring the red trail I leave behind me. I bring a hand up to my hair, sighing as it comes back down dripping with fake blood. With a flick of the wrist most of it is off, and I wipe my hand on my jeans to get rid of the rest, not having it in myself to care that my pants will be stained.

A few kids are playing tag at the field, and all of them pause for a moment as I walk by, gawking and pointing, a few quietly giggling as their friends hit them on the shoulder, barely holding in laughter themselves. A drop of the red liquid runs down my cheek, and I bite my tongue as I trudge forward. The paint drips down my chin and lands on my bare feet, my hands tightening the towel around my shoulders as I turn my head away from the field.

As I walk down my block, it feels like all eyes are on me, peering through the windows and wondering what in the hell is wrong with the half-naked girl coated in blood. With that thought I bury my face into the towel, ignoring the sticky feeling of paint pressing against my cheeks.

I've walked this route so many times I don't even have to look as I turn into my driveway, quickly running up the steps and trying the front door, only to find it locked. My hands fumble around in my pockets, the towel falling to my feet as I attempt to dig through the drenched, gooey garbage in my pockets to find the key.

Just as my hands wrap around the small piece of metal and pull it out, the door is yanked open, and I lurch backwards as I see an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway. The two of us both stand still, frozen for a moment as we exchange glances, before after a moment he points to the towel and lets out a heavy sigh. "You wanna throw that on?"

I wordlessly snatch the towel and drape it around my shoulders, arms crossed as I glare up at him. "You wanna tell me why the hell you're in my house?'

He just snorts, shaking his head as he leans against the door frame and staring out somewhere past me. "Spunky is a hell of a way to put it, Logan," he murmurs to himself.

My eyes narrow and I quietly reach for the into my pocket for my knife. "Logan?"

"You don't know your own dad's name?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. When I sharpen my glare, he just sighs and backs up, nodding his head in the direction of indoors. "Come in, there's something you oughta know."

When I don't move to follow he doesn't seem to mind, continuing to walk towards the living room, and so I hesitantly follow, pocket knife gripped in my hand just behind my back. Something about the guy seems familiar, but I can't put my finger on what it is. And who the fuck does he think that he is talking about my dad? I tighten my grip on the knife at the thought, cautiously following after the towering old man.

By the time I reach the living room he's already sprawled out on the couch, eyes half-shut as he lets out a satisfied grunt. "You just gonna stand there all day?"

"Listen," I warn him with a trembling voice. "What the fuck do you want?"

He peers open an eye and with a heavy sigh, heaves himself up into sitting position, dragging his hands down his tired face, his dark brown eyes drowsily bearing into me. "I'm an old friend of your dad's," he says bitterly, glancing me up one last time before leaning back into the couch. "And, it seems, your god-father," he pauses for a moment, letting out a deep breath. "And legal guardian."

"Where the hell is my mom," I tell him with crossed arms, not even bothering to hide the knife as worry seeps into my voice. I cringe at my self as soon as the words leave my lips, hating how much of a freaking kid I sound like with my stupid trembling voice.

He pulls an envelope out of his jacket and tosses it at my feet, letting his eyes drift shut as I snatch up the letter and tear it open, unfolding the scratch paper and reading it over. I read it over a second time, and a third, and still can't believe what I'm reading, shaking my head as I crumple it up and throw it at the man. "What the hell is this?" I ask with that same pathetic voice.

"Exactly what it says," he replies with a sharp annoyance.

"Listen," I warn as I step towards him, trembling as I clutch onto the knife in my hand, my other hand pointing at him accusingly. "I have had a shitty day, and I don't have time for this bullshit." The words are a jumble as they stutter out, and I have to take a deep breath, quickly wiping at any tears before they start to drop.

"Neither do I," he replies coldly, not even offering me a passing glance as I turn and stomp away, pacing the living room.

"She may be a shitty mom, but she would never leave me," I argue, more to myself than to him. "It's only been a week," I choke out, tears again threatening to spill as I bring both hands up to my eyes, turning away from the man as I let in a deep breath, rapidly shaking my head.

"People are real pieces of shit, aren't they?" He murmurs casually.

I spin around, not caring anymore about the tears streaming down my cheeks as I flick the blade of my knife and march over to him, the edge pointed just a foot away from his neck. "Who the FUCK EVEN ARE YOU?" I scream, hand shaking uncontrollably as I attempt to wipe away the tears from my face.

"I told you already," he says through gritted teeth, in a flash gripping onto my wrist and squeezing it tightly, the knife falling out of my hand and clattering harmlessly against the ground. "Your dad put me down as your god-father, and since he went and got himself killed, and married a real piece of work of a wife who apparently don't love you- here I am." He holds his grip on my wrist for another minute before he finally lets go, and I jerk backwards, stumbling to the ground and shakily picking up my knife, clutching it closely with both hands. "Now go put some clothes on, I don't wanna see you walking around in your underwear."

I snort as I hold my arms over my chest, tears brimming at my eyes as I glare at him. "What, don't you care about how I got soaked in FUCKING. BLOOD. . . dad," I spit out shakily.

He doesn't even look back at me, lying down on his back and sighing. "I ain't your dad."

"Yeah," I mutter, snatching my towel from off the ground and walking past him. "Fuck you too."

Prestige Freeman, 14, District One

June 10th, Year 100

Ramey Park, District One

My lungs are burning, my legs aching, head throbbing in pain as I keel over the metal bench, gasping in for air between gulps of water. Behind me, coach is attempting to hype the team up, snapping at them to pay attention, but he knows well enough to leave me be. I've been running back and forth saving our sorry asses for the past fort-five minutes without break- I'm not the one who needs a talking to.

The first half of the game went like every other one has this season, with us kicking ourselves off to an early lead and holding on to it. It was two to zero going into the half, but the team has fallen apart since, constantly falling under pressure and being unable to get the ball onto their side of the field, and even giving up a stupid goal just a few minutes ago to cut our lead to just one.

"Now do you guys want to have the first perfect regular season in this league's history? Or do you want to squander it away because your too tired?" Coach demands, earning cheers of approval from my teammates as they all huddle up.

I stay leaned over for just a moment longer before crawling to my feet, and with heavy breath place my hand in the middle of the circle. A thousand words are running through my head that I want to say right now about how important this game is. This is about more than a new record, or an impressive looking stat sheet when people look at the standings. I've poured everything into this sport, and if after everything that I've put in, it still isn't enough to be the undisputed best? What use am I at all?

Instead though I just take a moment more to catch my breath, and in a raspy voice cheer out, "Grizzlies on three! One! Two! Three!"

I fall back as the rest of my team screams out, "Grizzlies," putting the fact that none of them seem out of breath to the back of my mind. This isn't their game to lose, it's mine.

Despite my lungs harshest protests, I jog out to the box, nodding to our goalie as I mark number twelve, by far their best player, who's feet are jittering just a bit too much to only be nerves about this being their last possession. Over in the corner number eight is lining up behind the ball, her eyes locked on the ball, flirting up to meet number twelve's for just a moment before skirting back down.

With a determined look, I dance my way in front of twelve, the two of us running forward, sideways, and backwards as she attempts to get just an inch of leeway. As fast as I am, going so long without a break still wears me out, a problem that my opponent hasn't had to deal with, and for just a moment she manages to get a step on me.

As soon as she does the girl in the corner boots the ball into the center, a rocket that sits just inches above the other girl's head, yet towers a foot above mine. Damn eighteen-year-olds. The girl jumps in the air, head cocked back and ready to hit the ball, but she jumps to early, and I'm able to leap past her and towards the ball, stumbling just a bit as I make the jump to the side, the ball skidding against the side of my head and towards the goal.

My heart stops as I collide roughly with the grass, my shoulder bursting in pain as I land on it awkwardly, falling off my side and onto my back, everything going by in just a blink of the eye as the ball slowly dribbles into the corner, the goalie attempting to correct herself and dive for the ball, with it sliding just past her fingertips and crossing past the white line.

The ref blows his whistle, and the other team explodes into cheering, the bench and stands alike emptying as what feels like millions of people all jump up and down at our goal, everybody on our team slowly walking to our bench, heads hung in shame. Everybody but me. I stay flat on my back, staring up at the grey sky, the faintest outlines of stars fluttering up above.

The screams and cheers all blend into one single noise, fading away into background noise as I stay still, frozen in a mixture of emotions so wide that I can't even begin to pick apart what it is I'm feeling. I'm shocked, embarrassed, pained, terrified, disappointed, and more than anything else. . . I feel fucking worthless.

One of my teammates taps me on the shoulder and offers a hand up, her mouth moving but no words making their way through to me as I ignore her, continuing to stare at the sky with wide eyes, a tiny part of me hoping that if I just keep on looking up that the world around me will disappear. Eventually, it almost seems to. My teammate gets the point and leaves me alone, as does coach, even if he takes a bit longer to give up. Even the other team all filter off the field soon enough, going off to celebrate the fact that they tied the team that was supposed to be untouchable.

The team that would have been untouchable, if I wasn't a giant fuck up. It doesn't even matter that I scored our only two goals, or how damn hard I worked to stop any chance of a goal they had for the rest of the game. When it mattered most, and my whole team was relying on me, I scored an own goal. An own fucking goal. Even a six-year-old would be embarrassed to do that, much less someone who's supposed to be a fucking prodigy. Prodigies don't screw up when everyone is counting on them. Prodigies don't make mistakes.

After a while the only person left on the field is the ball boy, quietly walking past me and towards the street with a bundle of balls slung over his shoulder. "Wait!" I call out to him desperately, stumbling to my feet as he looks back at me with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. Second-hand for me, probably.

"Yeah?" He calls back, dropping the bundle to the ground.

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I scratch the back of my neck, eyes flirting to the white and orange cleats on my feet. "Do you have the game-tying ball in there?" I ask shakily, having to force the words out in just above a whisper.

"Um, yeah," he fumbles out, scrambling to pick a ball out of the sack, and holding it in the air. "You want it?" He asks bemusedly, giving me an odd look.

I nod my head, and after a moment of confusion, he shrugs and rolls the ball over to me before turning and walking away, not even glancing back as I clutch the ball tightly to my chest, taking in deep breaths. I don't even have to look to the stands to know that they're empty too- mom and dad and Amber never come to my games, and there's nobody out there that cares enough to stay and wait for me.

Instead, I plant the ball on the ground, right on the penalty shot marker, and take three steps back, letting in a deep breath and bouncing in place a few times, letting out my nerves. Once my body is still, I lock my eyes on the ball, and take one more step backwards. "Bottom left," I whisper to myself.

Jogging up to the ball, I plant my left foot and rip the ball with my right foot, the ball blazing its way to the bottom left corner, dinging against the pole as it ricochets in.

I don't even crack a smile as I walk over to the goal with heavy steps, panting as I pick the ball back up and smack myself on the forehead with it. "Prodigies don't score own goals," I mutter bitterly, placing the ball back onto the marker.

"Top left," I murmur, lining up and belting the ball, again hitting it off the pole and in.

"Prodigies don't tie," I choke out angrily, snatching the ball and dropping to my knees as I forcefully push it down onto the marker.

"Top down," I say, backing up and chipping the ball into the air, the ball colliding against the crossbar and dropping down, just past the white line and in. I don't feel even a hint of pride at the shot, again marching over and grabbing the ball.

"Prodigies aren't colossal fuck-ups that are worthless pieces of SHIT," I yell out in a muted scream, throwing the ball at the net and kicking the pole with all my might, falling flat on my ass as I hit the ground with a thud, my breath escaping me for a moment as I gasp for air, tears spilling down my cheeks as I turn onto my stomach, curling into a ball as I choke out sobs, clutching onto the grass and yanking it out in anger. "Worthless piece of shit," I repeat to myself softly, my anger simmered as I run my hands down my arms, clutching onto myself desperately.

My tears dry up as I crawl to my feet, wiping my eyes as I stagger over to the ball, picking it up and holding it tightly to my chest, eyes closing as I rest my head on it, holding on for my dear life. "Prodigies don't make mistakes," I whisper to myself, holding out the ball and staring out at it with watery eyes before bringing it back to my chest, hugging onto it as I take steady steps towards the street, feeling completely and utterly hollow.

Hailey Hills, 13, District One

April 25th, Year 101

Skyway Drive, District One

Academy kids are all jackasses. Ever since Glory won, the academy has kicked it into another drive, with everyone looking to be the one to complete District One's second three-peat. Once the quell twist was announced, that just made things even more extreme, with only one person able to be the chosen volunteer, and genders now combined into one class. Add into that a bunch of twenty-somethings that missed their chance a few years back looking to redeem themselves, and it's no surprise things have gotten a bit tense. Doesn't change the fact that every one of those kids is an ass, though.

In practice spars there's no official rules, but since it's just practice, there's the unspoken rule that you don't fight dirty. But apparently when it's against me, nobody gives a damn about playing clean. In every single other match-up everybody fought fair and reserved, but against me they brought out every dirty trick they could muster. Luckily for me I know how to play dirty a hell of a lot better than any of those assholes do.

I turn the corner up to my home, pull the rag off of my arm and throw it in the trash, the cut on my arm mostly stopping to bleed. Pulling the key out from my pocket, I swing the door open and stomp in, kicking off my shoes and slinging my bag onto the floor before walking into the living room.

Surely enough, Joel is seated on the couch, his gaze flickering up from his newspaper for just a moment to look at me before looking back down. I stand still in the middle of the room for a moment before sighing, and begin to trudge towards my bedroom, before Joel interrupts me. "You look like hell," he sighs, setting down the newspaper on the table.

"They look worse," I reply coldly, bringing up the sleeve of my shirt and wiping a trickle of blood on my chin.

"Didn't realize that the academy allowed kids to dice each other up," he snorts, shaking his head. "Or that they don't dish out first aid."

"It's just a few cuts," I murmur offhandedly, waving my hand at him as I wipe my cheek with my other.

"You look like someone carved the alphabet onto your face," he grunts.

"Yeah?" I ask with mock enthusiasm as I pull off my socks and bring them up to my face to wipe up the blood.

"Yeah," he replies, eyeing me up for a moment before sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You wanna talk about what happened?" He sighs, looking at me with unsure eyes.

I eye him back with equal hesitation, sock pressed against my cheek as I tilt my head, trying to figure out his game. "Since when do you care," I murmur, crumpling up the sock and tossing it onto the ground.

He shuffles in his seat uncomfortably, eyes drifting to the ground. "You just look like something's bothering you," he mutters hesitantly.

"Yeah," I reply softly, crossing my arms. "That's been a pretty common thing lately," I murmur bitterly, taking on a sudden interest with the rest of the room as I avoid eye contact with Joel, who looks equally keen to do the same.

"This time seems different."

I snort at that, shaking my head. "What, you mean the fact that Tracey tried to fucking kill me in training? Or all the other kids that pulled my hair, gouged my eyes, and tried to choke me in fucking spars?"

"Eye gouging?" He asks with a scoff and a raised eyebrow.

"She tried," I mutter. "Put me in a choke hold, pulled my hair, and tried to jam her fat fingers into my eyes."

"Tried to?"

I crack a half smile, shrugging. "Her choke hold was a bit loose. Bit her right in the arm, apparently it's gonna scar."

He laughs at that, a real laugh, the first one I've heard from him in the past nine months. "And the Tracey girl? The one that tried to kill you?" He asks amusedly, a thin smile appearing on his lips.

A smile forms on my lips too, and I shrug casually, pulling my pocket knife out to show him. "She's lower in the ranking in me, so they gave her a sword to my knife as a handicap. She needs it," I whisper, earning another chuckle from Joel. "So instead of just, you know, sparring and practicing moves, she went freaking crazy and started slashing out at my neck and head, gave me a nasty cut on the cheek," I run my finger along the slice, frowning as my hand comes down covered in red.

"So what'd you do?" Joel asks with a wide grin, leaning forward, fully immersed in the story.

"We-ell," I drawl, a smirk on my lips as I twirl the knife around in my hand. "I'm not undefeated in spars for nothing. Gave her the 'ol one-two," I slash out my knife into the air. "Slit her wrist and cut up her pretty little face."

Joel seems to be just barely holding in laughter as he looks at me with wide eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "Seems like they learned their lesson."

"Academy kids are dumbasses," I wave off, folding up my knife and slipping it into my pocket. "They'll be back for more tomorrow, Tracey challenges me to a dual once a week."

"Sounds like a smart kid."

"Yeah, she's a real piece of work," I mutter, shaking my head bitterly. "I won't have to deal with her much longer though."

"You're moving up an age group?" He asks bemusedly.

"Well, I am on a forty-eight spar win streak," I shrug sheepishly.

He just shakes his head in disbelief. "So you're gonna be with the fourteens then?"

"Fifteens," I correct him with a small burst of pride. It's not like I'm a cocky person or anything that needs to brag about their accomplishments, but it's pretty nice to have someone to be just a bit of a braggart with. Ever since Tracey turned into a complete ass. . . I haven't really had anybody to talk to. I forgot how nice it felt to be able to just talk with someone, without worrying about them having some sort of ulterior motive to it.

He quirks a half smile. "That's mighty impressive. Your. . ." he pauses for a moment, before offering a reassuring smile. "Your dad'd be proud," he says softly.

"Yeah," I reply quietly, tucking my hands into my pockets and staring down at my feet. "He would."

Prestige Freeman, 15, District One

May 18th, Year 101

Pioneer Field, The Capitol

The ball is an extension of my foot as I dribble down the side, tip-toeing the out of bounds line, sprinting past the defenders. There's only two more defenders between me and their goalie, and I do a fake pass to the middle, fooling one of them as I run head on at the other, making a sharp diagonal cut towards the goal.

The boy is the only one on the field that doesn't tower over me, only being a couple inches higher than me, and an idea forms in my brain, a smug smile slipping onto my lips as I come to a sharp stop in front of him. He stabs out at the ball and I swiftly roll it the right and pick the ball up in between my heels, flicking it over the head of the boy. He dully glances upwards as I slide around him and slowly dribble up, fake a shot to the right that has the goalie diving, and just for the fun of it- Rabona it into the left corner.

A whistle blows and I throw my hands up into the air, an easy smile on my lips as my teammates rush up to me, patting me on the back and head and laughing at my shot. Even the goalie doesn't seem upset, just shaking his head in disbelief as he dusts off his legs.

"And with that," the booming voice of the announcer calls out. "The score is now seven to one, with District One taking a commanding lead over the Capitol here in the final minutes of the Youth League Championship, as number zero scores her fifth goal and seventh point of the contest."

"Prestige!" Coach calls from the sidelines, a beaming smile on his lips as he waves me in.

I do my best to hide my disappointment as I sprint over, one of the older boys taking my spot at center mid-field. Coach nods at me with that same wide grin, tossing me a bottle of water that I greedily down, forcing myself to stop drinking at halfway empty. I plan on doing some sprints after the game, and don't want to be cramping up for that, no matter how good water feels on my throat right now.

"Hey," Coach says, patting me on the shoulder. "Great job out there, I just want to give some of the older kids a chance to get in there. It'll probably be their last game they play, and I think this is a good finisher for 'em."

"I understand, coach," I pant out. "I was just having fun out there is all," I say honestly, bouncing up and down and rolling my head back and forth, eyes locked on the clock fast approaching ninety minutes.

"I could tell," he chuckles. "I'm sure that rainbow will get some time on Capitol TV."

"It wasn't that good," I wave off. "He stabbed out at me, it'd be more impressive if I managed to not get past him."

He just smiles and hits me lightly on the shoulder. "Don't be so humble, you just styled on a Capitol team, go ahead and be a little bit cocky. Just not too much," he winks, earning a genuine smile from me as I lightly nod.

"Sure thing, coach," I say softly, bouncing in excitement as the last possession is called, our defenders stealing away the ball just a moment later as the whistles blow.

Our whole sideline goes insane, whooping and hollering, throwing balls, water bottles, and anything else they can get their hands on into the air, running circles around the field. I just stay on the sideline and watch, taking a quick step back as a few of the boys pour a container of water on coach, barely holding in laughter as he chases after them, waving his dripping wet clipboard like a maniac.

The whole audience seems to be in complete shock at the outcome, split halfway between stunned silence and thrilled excitement. When the 'District vs Capitol soccer showcase' was announced, everyone thought that it was going to just be a quick vacation before we get publicly embarrassed by an actual team. I remember in warm-up overhearing a few of the Capitol kids joking about how we couldn't find enough players, so we had to bring a girl along just to fill the roster. Their smiles got wiped pretty quickly when I had a hat trick by the fifteen minute mark.

The celebration on the field is beginning to temper down, and after taking a last sip of water, I give myself one more moment to take in the feeling of winning. The cheering crowd, the stunned Capitolites, my teammates running up and down the field, jumping and pumping their fists into the air. Over the speakers they announce the award ceremonies will start in just ten minutes, and with that I toss my near empty bottle onto the turf and begin to jog along the sidelines, slowly picking up my speed as I move along.

When I pass by the stands, a light cheer rises, a few men and women with notepads calling out my name as I sheepishly avert my eyes to the ground, a shy smile on my lips as my cheeks turn red.

With my eyes on the ground, I find myself bumping into the back of somebody, both of us stumbling and barely keeping ourselves on our feet. Instantly my cheeks burn about twenty shades darker, and I scratch the back of my neck nervously. "Sorry, I-" I glance up mid-sentence and immediately cut myself off as I see the man standing in front of me, looking down at me with an easy smile.

"Number Zero," he reads my jersey, then looks up to my face, extending his hand. "Prestige Freeman, I presume?"

"Y-y-yeah," I stutter out, trying and failing to sound suave as I take his handshake, cringing as I realize how sweaty my hands are.

He doesn't seem to care, though, keeping his eyes locked on me as he looks to be in thought. "You seem like you recognize me?" He asks with just a bit of surprise.

"Lars Atrius," I reply breathlessly, not even attempting to sound any less star-struck than I am. "Of course I do," I say, bouncing on my toes as I do my best to remain calm. "You're the manager for the Sabres." He raises an eyebrow at this, and I quickly explain. "They-You've been my favorite team forever."

"You've seen us play? Well, now I'm embarrassed," he laughs.

I shrug. "My trainer bought me access to the sports station for my birthday a few years ago."

"Ah, so you've seen our glory years," he jokes.

"You'll get out of last place eventually," I shrug, giving a small smile.

"That would be why I'm here," he says with a knowing smile that causes my heart to skip a beat.

"Yeah?" Is all I can choke out, causing his smile to grow wider.

"Yup, I originally came here to scout the talent on the 'best the Capitol youth has to offer,' but," he leans in, and whispers into my ear, "I didn't see much talent."

I let out a quick laugh, before shyly shrugging. "Their goalie was okay, his defenders just kind of stunk. . . he's not better than Marcellus though," I quickly add, not wanting to dis the teams 'star' player. "You guys just need a few scorers so you can average more than zero point four goals per game."

He widens an eyebrow at this, chuckling into his fist. "Seems you know more about my team than I do," he jokes, causing my cheeks to burn a bright red. "But no, there definitely wasn't anyone from the Capitol that was scoring many goals. . ." he pauses for a moment, tapping his clipboard with a pen as he stares at me thoughtfully. I do my best to look calm under his gaze, but can't help the jitters that run through my body.

"Tell you what," he finally says, jotting something down quickly. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen," I reply quickly.

He frowns at this, bringing the cap of the pen up to his chin, tapping it thoughtfully. "And when do you turn sixteen?"

"November twenty-sixth, sir."

Nodding his head, he scribbles a few more things down before tearing off a piece of paper and handing it to me. "Here," he says.

I cautiously take the slip, almost afraid to even look at it as I grasp it tightly in my hands. "What is it?" I shakily ask.

"That's my personal cell number," he tells me casually. "The day that you turn sixteen I want to bring you in to the Capitol for tryouts, I think Coach Cartier will want to see you in action personally."

I'm at a complete loss of words, staring between the man in front of me and the paper in my hands, sure that if I look away from either of them for even a moment that they'll disappear. This can't be possible, this has to just be a dream. . . "Th-th-thank you," I stammer out, a stupid smile forming on my lips as I continue to look up at him in disbelief.

"Now, I don't know the full logistics of how this all works, but I skimmed the new rules during halftime, and from what I gathered it seems like once we sign you on the team, you become a permanent Capitol citizen. Now, your family won't be able to live in the Capitol with you, so if that's a problem-"

"Not a problem," I quickly answer, staring at him slack-jawed, eyes wide in awe. Now I really can't believe this is happening. I'll get to move to the Capitol to play soccer for a living. Even in my absolute wildest dreams I never thought that I could ever do that. I'd call myself crazy to even wish for something so ridiculous.

"Don't get me wrong, it won't be all a cake-walk," he warns. "You're a five foot tall girl who'll be playing in a league dominated by men. Even on our team, some people won't be happy to see a 'little girl' taking up a roster spot, and they won't hesitate to say that to your face."

"That's fine," I shrug, nothing else that he can possibly say to bring me down right now. "I'll just prove them wrong," I promise, a fire burning in my eyes as I look up at him in determination.

"That's the attitude," he slaps me on the shoulder, offering me a smile which I widely return. "You get in contact with me as soon as you get back home and we'll figure out all the logistics, all right? Nobody's moved from District One to the Capitol yet, so there's gonna be a lot of yellow tape to get through, even if it is technically legal now."

"Yes sir," I reply automatically, practically bouncing in place as I nod my head.

Over the speakers they call for our team to come to the center of the field for the awards ceremony, and he nods his head over to the stage. "Go on, I'll be speaking with you soon."

I quickly nod my head, turning and bounding over to the rest of my team, a stupid grin locked onto my lips, walking on air as I cross the field. "Yes sir," I whisper to myself.

Glory Fairfax, 10, District One Mentor

May 25th, Year 101

The Town Center, District One

Every bone in my body seems to be wildly shaking, fighting its way past my skin and out of my body as I steadily rock back and forth, deep breaths as I stare dully ahead. On stage the mayor is giving an introductory speech, talking briefly about all of the other victors, even offering a quick eulogy for Lucian before moving on to me. Right as he says my name thunderous applause rises from the crowd, and I swallow a lump in my throat as the mayor laughs, attempting to calm everyone down.

I shut my eyes, and go back to Melody's words she gave me before she went out to take her seat, leaving me back here alone. "Just ignore the crowd and look at me, I'm with you all the way."

Those words oddly manage to calm me down, and I open my eyes back up just in time to see the mayor motioning over to me. "Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you our most recent, and youngest ever victor, Glory Fairfax!"

The cheers are deafening as I walk out with small steps, glancing at the endless rows of people filling the square for just a moment before switching my gaze to the row of chairs for the victors, Melody turning around and giving me a warm smile while Galavant politely applauds, Luxor stone-faced as he stares forward. With another deep breath, I nod to the mayor and give him a polite smile, before quickly walking over to the row of chairs and taking my seat next to Melody, who pats me on the shoulder as I sit, giving me a reassuring smile.

"And now," the mayors booming voice echoes through the square. "It is my distinguished honor to introduce to you our new escort, the seasoned Aurelia Thylos!"

Another round of applause comes from the crowd, this one less deafening than mine, but still ridiculously loud. Our escort, a forty-year-old woman who doesn't look a day past her late twenties(although, which Capitolite does?), struts out on stage with a serious look, lifting a leg daintily behind her as she taps the mic. She looks pretty normal, for a Capitolite that is, with platinum blonde hair in a bun and an only slightly ridiculous outfit- decked out in all sorts of jewels and gems.

"Hello, thank you all for the warm greeting. It is my pleasure to escort for this fine district in Helix's unfortunate passing, and I am as eager as all of you are to meet the fine tributes you will surely produce. Before we get into the reaping, as a short reminder, volunteering is not allowed for either the reaped tribute, nor the person chosen by the originally reaped tribute. The age limit for both the reaping and selection will be from eight to twenty-two, you may choose a partner from either gender, and once a name is selected, that decision is final."

She pauses a moment to both catch her breath, and allow the information to sink in. Most of the district already knew these rules, with a lot of people in the academy angry about the no volunteering rule, but she still has to go through them first anyways, just to be sure.

"So with that out of the way, let's select our first tribute, shall we?" She asks, still stone-faced as ever despite her cheery tone. It's honestly a bit creepy how she manages to sound so excited yet look so uncaring.

Aurelia walks over to the lone reaping ball, a gigantic one filled with well over double the amount of names as usual. She doesn't waste any time with flashiness, snatching the first slip that her fingers touch from the very top of the ball, plucking it out and strutting back to the podium. Once there she unfolds the paper and pauses for a moment, a thick silence filling the air.

For the first time in nearly a hundred years, people are scared for the District One reaping. Whoever gets chosen this time won't have a volunteer to bail them out, they'll have to face the Games, just like every other district. The fact seems to hang in the air, a thick tension throughout the town center, and even though I'm not in the pool, even my heart stops. Noble is eighteen, and is hoping to get reaped so he can get a chance to go in the Games, unsure if the extended age limit will last longer than one year. Modesty is less excited about going into the Games, but seemed casual about the idea of her being reaped earlier today. But even if they may not care if, or even want to get reaped, I still keep my fingers crossed in between my knees, praying that neither of them get chosen. I can't lose a sibling to the Games, not again.

"And your tribute for the One-Hundred and first Annual Hunger Games is. . . Hailey Hills!"

I let out my breath, and Melody gives my shoulder a squeeze, letting out an audible breath of her own. With how worried about my siblings going into the Games I've been, I can't begin to imagine how Melody and Gal have been feeling. The thought of having your kid ripped away and forced into the Games against their will. . . I'm never having kids.

I'm snapped back into reality as there's a struggle in one of the middle sections, two Peacekeepers gripping onto the arms of a girl, dragging her out into the aisle. The girl is small, probably in her early teens, and looks vaguely familiar- maybe someone from Modesty's class. She has light brown hair that drapes over her shoulders and down to her chest, the sides of the hair nearly covering up her right eye as she struggles against the Peacekeepers, kicking back and forth, her light brown eyes bearing into the two angrily.

"Let. Me. Fucking. Go," she grunts, sending a wild kick at one of the Peacekeepers groin, sending the man down to his knees. The girl turns to the other Peacekeeper and punches him in the gut, shoving him away as he keels over. Instead of running once she's free though, she just dusts herself off, tugging on her jacket. "I know how to walk, assholes," she mutters, quickly walking up to the stage, the Peacekeepers all looking between the girl and themselves uneasily.

"Dibs," Galavant whispers, earning an eye roll as Melody hits him on the shoulder.

The girl manages to make it the rest of the way up the stage without incident, and Aurelia, seemingly un-phased by what just happened, offers her a hand up the stage, but she ignores the help, brushing past Aurelia and climbing up the steps.

"Well, you're certainly a spunky one, aren't you?" Aurelia comments casually, holding up the microphone to Hailey to let her respond.

She just glares back in response, before a wistful smile appears on her lips for just a moment. "That's one hell of a way to put it," she murmurs quietly, staring out to the crowd, eyes scanning the audience.

Aurelia just nods her head. "Well, as you know, there can be no volunteers, which means you're officially the first District One's tributes this year. How do you feel?"

"Like a victor," she replies with confidence, eyes still dodging around the crowd. She finally seems to find who she's looking for, her eyes locking as a fiery look falls over her features. "I'm coming home, I promise," she says quietly, and she sounds so serious that it's hard to not believe her.

"Confidence, I like it. Now, it's your turn to choose who your partner will be in the Games with you."

The realization seems to hit Hailey by surprise, her features faltering as nervousness seeps into her eyes, darting around the sections wildly. "Um. . ." she trails off, a light shake in her leg that she attempts to stomp out, biting her lip as she scans the crowd.

"Take your time, it's an important decision," Aurelia says, offering her first smile of the day, even if it seems forced and quickly dissipates.

"I-" Hailey cuts herself off, shaking her head and closing her eyes, taking in a deep breath.

"Wednesday Harper," Galavant murmurs under his breath. "C'mon, just say her name, don't pull any BS on us here."

A few murmurs begin to run through the crowd, and a few people even shout out Wednesday's name. With just one look at Hailey though, it's obvious that she knows the name of the chosen volunteer, but something is stopping her from saying it. After a long minute, she swallows a lump in her throat, and takes a step forward, letting out a deep breath as she slams her eyes shut. "Prestige Freeman," she chokes out in a pained voice, recoiling as soon as the words leave her lips.

The whole center falls into a stunned silence, not even an inch of movement in the pens as everyone stares at Hailey slack-jawed.

"Shit," Galavant mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I think I recognize the name. . ." Melody murmurs, looking deep in thought.

We don't have to wait much longer to see Prestige, as a girl steps out from the fifteens section, looking just as shocked as the rest of the district. Along with that shock is something else though, as soon as she steps out into the aisle and locks eyes with Hailey, she looks absolutely furious for just an instant, before it fades away and is replaced by hurt.

The girl is even smaller than Hailey is despite having a couple of years on her, and looks fairly similar to Hailey, except for having lighter features and a younger looking face. She's wearing what most be the most casual outfit of a District One tribute in history, just athletic shorts and a grey t-shirt, with a too-big-for-her green jacket thrown lazily over her shoulders.

With careful steps the girl walks forward, eyes locked with Hailey the whole way through, enough pain in the two of their eyes to know that there's something more than just anger between the pair.

Prestige also denies the help up the steps, seeming to not even notice Aurelia as she continues to walk towards Hailey, stopping just a few inches away from her, the two face to face, Hailey looking sick with guilty while Prestige looks unsure whether to cry or scream.

Aurelia steps in between the two, and turns to Prestige with the microphone raised. "Prestige, you are now the second tribute for District One who will be looking to complete the three-peat, how do you feel?"

Prestige just stares back with a look of disbelief, before turning to the crowd with a similar look, her eyes filled with so much pain and confusion that I get a sick feeling in my stomach. "I-" she shakes her head, and turns to Hailey, bringing her hands up to her hair, pulling on it anxiously. "Why?" She chokes out, and Hailey averts her gaze to the ground, her eyes watery as she forces them shut.

Aurelia seems to sense that now would be a good time to end things, and with a cough, places the microphone down on the podium and turns to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announces, reaching out to each of the girls for their hands, and ignoring them once they both forcefully tug away from her grip. "Your tributes for the One-Hundred and first Annual Hunger Games, Hailey Hills and Prestige Freeman!"

A/N: Here's our first introduction chapter! A bit long, I know, but I really do want to develop all of these tributes a ton before we get to the Games, and I just have a lot of fun writing these introductions. On top of these intros, each tribute will be getting either a goodbye or train ride, an alliance POV during training, and one other miscellaneous POV throughout the pre-games.

While I have most of the alliances plotted out right now, if you see a tribute that you want your character to ally with, drop me a PM or review and tell me, and I'll see what I can do!

I'm not totally sure what I'm going to do sponsor-system wise, but for now I'm going to keep in place the same system as last time, with one point being awarded for each review, and then points also awarded for answering Trivia questions at the end of each chapter, which will be both actual trivia, and just general chapter questions.

I hope that you guys liked our first chapter, and make sure to let me know your thoughts on anything and everything about this chapter! The writing, the tributes, Glory, Aurelia, the format. . . I love hearing what you guys think!

Trivia(1 point): In my HC, what state is D1 located in? I left a good amount of hints in the chapter about it, so take your best bet!

Trivia(1 point): Who did you like better, Hailey or Prestige?