A/N: Still looking for a District Eight boy! I'm going to call Open Season on him, meaning that anyone can make him, regardless of how many tributes you've already made, but he will be bloodbathed. Thanks to all who answered QotD 1, I feel the best answer goes to Alcatraz Incarnation. A sweet, young Career with all the skills of an older one would be great as they would be able to pull the wool over other tributes eyes! Good job! Also, can anyone spot the very subtle shout out to my previous SYOT?

The following tributes belong to the wonderful RazieDazie, the fantastic Narcissa-Weasley and the astoundingly awesome TheSkyCries. I found all of these very hard to write, especially TheSkyCries, since they wrote so much. As such, not all of the History will be revealed here, but instead will be shown later. This may also be a very long chapter (seriously it's 5'500 words!), since I've been planning this one since I got the characters.

The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games

District Three

Lexi Saint-Helen age 15

"Tea?" I ask, staring down at the five men who sit in chairs around the fine oak table. Four shake their heads, one of them nods, and I curtsy, leaving the porch for the tea machine, which lies just inside the rather mansion like home.

I will admit that this isn't shaping up into one of the greatest celebrations we have ever had, but I am still rather glad of it. Looking out through the window as the kettle hisses behind me, I watch the five figures sit in silence, moody and completely neglecting to speak to one another. It was to be expected, I suppose, everyone is always like this around the time of the Hunger Games, but I had hoped... Oh, I don't know what I had hoped! I was just so excited when Uncle Sparks had told me that he would be allowed to visit us this year. Well, at least he let me make him tea, just like old times.

They let him come for the reapings but, of course he was not allowed to come alone. They would never allow it. Even as he sits here, he's flanked by two angry looking Peacekeepers, who I have instantly begun to dislike. They weren't invited and they refused my offer of tea, both of which are rather rude. The third man is even more rude, another victor like Uncle, but much older. He sits there constantly fidgeting and occasionally looking over his glasses and rubbing his balding head. He never looks in any of our eyes, instead staring wistfully away and making it terribly clear that he would rather not be here, four hours before the reapings start.

I know that all this stuff about manners sounds really, really stupid, but it has always been rather important to me. Ever since Uncle Sparks bought me in back when I was eight, he's raised me to be a 'proper' lady. Uncle grew up in very different times and for some reason it has always been his goal to raise me like people did in the 'old days'. He used to say it would be a shame for such a pretty girl not to be a proper lady and that always used to make me laugh and then he'd laugh, and Uncle would laugh. I sigh, as the kettle hisses and I pour the boiling water onto the tea leaves, adding a pinch of sugar as he always used to like. I smile, taking the tray and staggering outside again. As I make my way past the door, I stumble slightly, gripping the frame and gasping slightly. My leg's hurting me again. It always does that when I lift things. The two men at the table who I actually care about look up, concern in their eyes. I force a smile and step curtly over the frame, desperately hoping that neither of them notice that I'm gritting my teeth. I walk over to him the man who used to be so clever and handsome with his blond curls and thin, smiling face. He looks so different now, like his face has melted, with watery, bagged eyes and a face covered in untrimmed bristles. It's sad really, what the Peacekeepers have done to him. His breathing quickens as I draw near, and he starts to look from one Peacekeeper to the other as tears form in his eyes. I look down sympathetically as I place the tea on the table and he takes it in shaking hands.

"L-L-L..." He stutters, his throat dry as he tries to mouth my name through chaffed and broken lips, "I'm s-so, so, s-s-so-sor..." He gives a sad little gasp and buries himself in his sweet tea, and all of a sudden I simply want to bend down and wrap my arms around him.

Step away from Larx now, Alexandra." Uncle sighs, his eyes filled with desperate sorrow.

Larx. My Larx. They took him away from me. They tell me they're protecting me, but he never hurt me! He didn't! And every time I see him he looks so miserable, and he's being dragged around by those awful Peacekeepers, even though I don't even remember why!

Larx is bustled out as soon as he finishes his drink, staring at me with those heartbreaking eyes that fill my stomach with guilt. I try to go with him to the Reapings, but Uncle's hand catches me as I try to leave.

"Go and get yourself ready please, Alexandra." Uncle says, quite calmly. His eyes tell me not to argue though. Those savage eyes, with that cool fire hiding just behind the surface. I have only seen that face a few times, most notably in Uncle's Games, and on that horrible night. I shudder, as though the fire could leap from his eyes and consume me at any minute, and turn, hurrying up the stairs of the mansion in search of my best dress.

The next three and a half hours go past in record time and, after a short tea and a brief discussion about what will happen if I'm reaped.

"Worried?" He asks as we make our way out of the Victor's Village.

"No, Uncle." I smile sweetly. It's not a lie.

We do this every year, so it's unsurprising that I'm not at all scared when it comes time to go down to the Games. You would think I'd be scared, but I'm really not! I mean, I've been through this for three years already. That means I've seen thirty of my friends and neighbors go to die, and I don't remember one of them coming back, although I didn't watch too carefully, so I might be wrong. I should be scared, I really should, but I am not. I'm the niece of Simon 'Sparks' Saint-Helen, the loon of District Three! I have Saint-Helen blood, so, even though I'm young, I have nothing to worry about!

I spot my parents as I take my place in the fifteen's section, but I don't approach them. Why should I, they never cared for me, so there is no point in acknowledging them. They are neglecters. They have done far more to hurt me than the man who was locked away for it!

"Hellooo District Tw- err Three!" The punk haired escort, the amusingly named Hams, giggles as she corrects herself. Poor dear, probably wishing she had District Two and their Careers. I don't blame her, they always win. "I know some of you always feel a little miserable this time of year, but I hope we can all be best of friends this year and really bring home a win for District Three! OK?" This woman is clearly delusional. The mayor rolls his eyes, and turns to a balding, rather haggard looking man, who presses a button. A drum roll starts, and Hams gives a flustered bow, drawing the first name.

"Alexandra Saint-Helen" She reads, clipping the words with that chirpy Capitol accent of hers. I smile sadly at the other fifteen year olds as the group parts and I begin to make my way up onto the stage.

"NO!"

The audience look around, surprised by the voice that comes from near the back of the crowd. I stop, startled, and begin to turn, knowing before I do that I'll see his haggard form with his dirty blond hair and his glasses askew. Larx.

"YOU CAN'T!" Larx bawls, slamming his fist into the face of a Peacekeeper who steps forward to restrain him, and beginning to wade through the twelves section. The children flinch and back away from him, each obviously scared off by the stories they were told of him. Up on stage, Hams reads the name of my District partner, but nobody hears it, as her voice is drowned out by the mournful shouts of Larx. "YOU CAN'T TAKE LEXI! YOU CAN'T!" I stare at the man and, before I know it, silent tears are welling up in my eyes. They force their way out, roll down my cheeks and push into my gaping mouth as the man breaks the cover of the crowds and runs out into the path to the stage, kneeling and wrapping his arms around me. I sink into his tearful embrace, letting the sound of his sobbed apologies muffle into my hair.

"Don't go Lexi." He whispers through sobs, "Please, please. You're the only thing keeping me sane!" I want to tell him it's alright, that it's not his fault. I want to tell him it's my fault, that it's always been my fault, but no words come to me.

And then it all happens.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Uncle shout something, a warning, and begin to run towards the edge of the stage. Next thing I hear is a deafening bang, followed by a quiet whirring noise, and then a final, unmistakable crunching, followed by a breathy gasp. Larx slumps forwards, opening his mouth and giving a hoarse breath. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a sick gurgle and a trickle of reddened drool. Pain and horror fills my head as I feel something warm and wet and sticky spread out against my dress. The man's head lols and his eyes blur, he looks up at me again with that all too familiar heartbreaking smile, and, as a wheeze of air and blood escapes his mouth, he gives his final apology.

"I'm so sorry Lexi. I'm sorry for all of this..." He croaks, before his eyes glass over and his breathing becomes silent. But, it's not his fault! It's never, never, ever his fault! It's the Peacekeepers' fault! It's the Capitol's fault! It's my fault! My fault! It's all my fault! It's always been my fault! Mine! Mine! Mine!

A scream forces its way out of my mouth, drawing all eyes that weren't already on me to where I stand as Larx is pulled away from me. I stare down in horror, taking in the blood of my tutor smeared over my sapphire blue sundress and the gouge cut in my side by the Peacekeeper's bullet and then the pain hits for real. I double over as the world shudders and breaks like glass. Everything suddenly feels very cold and very dark as time grinds to a very sudden halt. My Uncle gives another cry, wrenching the gun from the hands of the offending Peacekeeper and wrapping his arms around me. Hams calls another name, but I still don't hear it.

The last thing to fade from my sight is Larx's body, and my Uncle holding the gun.

Then everything goes black and I am sucked away from consciousness.

Legend Faktyr age 15

There are three words to describe my life. Simple, Fun and Easy. I wake up, I work in the industry five days a week making headphones for whiny Capitol kids and maybe prank a few people every day. Nothing too spectacular really. It's not that bad, I'm actually quite glad that I'm not, like, the kid of a victor, since they're always chosen first. Normal people never get chosen, they always choose interesting kids so that people will sponsor them. So, as our family slowly wanders down to the Mayor's office, outside which the Reapings are held, I'm not exactly the most timid guy in the world. In fact I find it really difficult to hold back my trademark grin as we worm our way through the clumps of people going in the same direction. My father looks disdainfully down at it as the family is signed in.

"Ogdir Faktyr, wife Mhayn and sons Legend, fifteen, Cornu, Hugo and Millo, all below reaping age." My father mutters gruffly, and I can't help snickering, gaining myself a smack round the ear from my father. I grit my teeth, twisting away from his grip and slamming my fist into his stomach, before darting into the crowd, careful to avoid his grasping fingers. It's gonna be hell for me when I get back home later but it was totally worth it You'd think, what with the entire family looking like some sort of elves with curly red hair, freckles and pointy ears, life would be more fun! But, despite the mischievous glints in the eye of all our family despite the hilarious names my parents gave us, they have a serious sense of humour malfunction. Especially at this time of year, all my younger brothers and parents do is yammer on about how bad this whole situation is and how our so-called 'great nation' is destroying itself with its own barbarism. Really I can't see it, to me it's just a great chance for normal kids to watch the Capitol act all gooey and go weak at the knees about a bunch of kids who they themselves are sending to their deaths. It's just funny to me. I guess maybe I'm the only one who actually lives up to our families nickname of 'The Faktyr Pixies'. I smile coolly as I siddle up next to a tall pale kid with a kind of dark afro. Hazzerd Jate, Another misleading kid as, despite the weird afro and the odd name, he's actually a really calm kid. We District Three kids are misleading like that.

"Problems?" He asks dryly, instantly seeing through my mask of a smile. I hate it when he does that but, for some reason, my smile grows wider and more genuine.

"Not on your life." I whisper. A couple of guys turn round and shush us, shuffling their feet nervously like they always do. I shush them back before turning to Hazzerd, making sure my voice is as loud as humanly possible without attracting Peacekeeper attention.

"Ya ready?" I ask, a huge toothy grin plastered all over my face as he laughs, "Gonna be a great Games this year, eh? Might even sponsor one of those Career kids this year if I can afford it! Sounds like it's gonna be a good one!" OK, I know I sound like a jerk, yammering about how great these Games are going to be to, like, the twelve and thirteen year old kids who are going to be in them, but it's really not that much to worry about.

"Dude! Shut up!" Hazzerd whines, once again trying to be the voice of reason in the circus of weirdness that my mind lives in. Unfortunately what this particular circus needs is clowns.

"Why?" I smile, "District Three is one of the best Districts not to have Careers. Whoever goes down should be able to escape some stupid Arena without any problems!"

"No seriously, shut up! The Thing's about to start!" I snicker apologetically, turning my attention to the stage.

Behind the stage, a hollow faced bald man begins to turn a giant handle, like the sort you find on a hurdy gurdy and a giant machine that surrounds the square puffs and whistles into action. A tinny, grinding sound pushes its way out of the machine as the man cranks the machine and, as he lets go of the handle, the unmistakable tune of the Capitol anthem fills the square. In District Three, we don't have a band to play it like so many other's the sounds are all recreated by machines. The mayor strides up the steps to the stage, followed by the Victors, who have just arrived. The mayor regards the crowd with the gaze of a factory owner inspecting his workers as he twirls his incredibly elaborate mustache with his right hand. I can't help but laugh at the oddity of our mayor, with his small, watery eyes, large mustache and elephant like ears. Once again I am greeted only by shushes. No one round here has any sense of humour. When the anthem ends, the mayor begins his speech and the Treaty of Treason. It's all very long and pretty boring so I don't really pay attention, and instead play a game with Hazzerd entitled, who can yawn the loudest without getting throttled by Peacekeepers. Once the man has finally stopped speaking, we're introduced to our escort, Hams, the only person I'm remotely interested in in this whole affair. When you first look at Hams, with her purple Mohawk and otherwise bald head, red eyes and black tongue, complimented by the unbelievably tall heels and the purple clown ruff, you really don't expect the ditzy idiot who we have as a Escort, and it's always hilarious to see the looks of fear on the little kids see her for the first time, only to realise how harmless she is! I wonder if she's still as stupid as ever?

"Hellooo District Tw- err Three!" Yep. Sounds pretty thick to me. The escort giggles dizzily, apologising for her mistake and then continuing with her speech. "I know some of you always feel a little miserable this time of year," No kidding. "But I hope we can all be best of friends this year and really bring home a win for District Three! OK?" I snigger at her as a drumroll starts in the background, and Hams gives a theatrical bow, drawing the first name.

"Alexandra Saint-Helen!" She calls, and a confident looking girl strides out into the middle of the passage. As the crowd erupts with murmurs and the occasional shout, I take a passing second to wonder why the girl looks as confident as she does. Maybe she's a pseudo Career, one of this kids who trains just in case. If she is she doesn't look it, not with those big green eyes and the wispy brown hair.

"Saint-Helen?" Hazzerd whispers to me, raising an eyebrow and suddenly the memories come flooding back to me. No wonder Alexandra doesn't look worried, she's a relative of The Loon, Simon Saint-Helen victor of the Seventy Sixth Hunger Games! The crazy guy who adopted his own niece despite the fact both parents are still alive. The guy who set fire to the Victor's Village three years ago on Reaping day. The guy who, rumour has it, destroyed the Arena he fought in with lightning! Freaking lightning!

The girl certainly doesn't look like a winner though. In fact, she looks rather frail and somehow inhuman. Dressed in a simple blue dress and with her spindly arms and legs, Alex-whatever looks almost exactly like a doll.

It's only then that I realise that someone is screaming. A gaunt looking man in a battered suit barges his way through the crowd, screaming blue murder as he shoves the twelve year olds opposite me out of the way and wraps his arms around the girl. I'd guess he's a relative. He somehow manages to knock a Peacekeeper out of the way and wraps his arms around the girl, mumbling something to her even as the Peacekeepers encircle him. The mayor and Hams are obviously trying to restore order, and the drum roll machine has been turned on again, but this time no one is listening with bated breath. All attention is turned on the two figures, and no one hears the name that Hams calls out, instead staring at the man as his arms wrap around the little girl.

For a second it's rather sweet. Then the gunshot goes off and both figures crumple on the ground. The girl is immediately surrounded by people, but no one pays attention to the man. That bothers me somewhat. Why not try to help the guy as well? Sure he's not a tribute but what the hell?

"Errr? Excuse me? I'm still here you know?" The unintentionally hilarious escort yammers. I turn my attention back to her, ready to find out which unlucky soul will be trying to get more sponsors that Alex-whatever.

"Leg-L-Lage-Legend F-Fak-F-katyr-Fu..." She doesn't need to end the name. There's only one set of parents dumb enough to call I child Legend and I know exactly who they are.

Mine.

I step out into the alley, waiting for the uncertain applause, the apologetic gazes, the lamentations, but none come. I roll my eyes, so they're all still simpering over Lexi, huh? Well I'll show them!

Lashing out with my fist I catch a nearby thirteen year old in the jaw, sending him tumbling to the floor. My other fist smacks into the groin of a Peacekeeper who steps forwards to stop me. I dodge past him, ducking under the nearest Peacekeeper and bringing my leg up into the stomach of a third as I skid through his legs. Another one tries to stop me, but ends up with a kick in the crotch for his troubles. I grin wildly, ducking and weaving through the crowd as I make my way to the exits and away from the escort, finally garnering stares from all the audience. I give a frenzied laugh. Imagine me, first guy to escape the Games before it starts! That's like the best victory ever!

I'm not looking where I'm going, so it's no surprise when I collide with someones fist, falling to the floor, my head in disarray.

As two Peacekeepers heft me to my feet and drag me to the stage where I'm supposed to pick the Capitol kid who's going with us, I look down and finally see the face of the man who got shot for the first time. I look down at his glassy, bagged eyes and I can't help but recoil. Larx. Suddenly I know why there isn't a crowd gathered around his corpse, why no one bothered to help him.

After all, who's going to cry over some old rapist.

Asphalt Blomma age 14

I heave a little sigh as I sink further into the blue grey liquid of the bubbling chemical bath, clutching a book in between my dull grey fingers, glad that the heavy tome is dye proof, otherwise it would be impossible to read. I would really hate to end up reading a dyed grey book, it just wouldn't be comfortable. District kids might say I'm shallow, just because I've got grey skin and green eyes but, really, they're idiots for believing that.

Skin dying is not a nice, easy job like many people in the Districts think it is. Basically you buy a special tub and a bucket load of chemicals and then, twice every year you go and just sit in there for a whole twenty four hours with this weird pack on your face and try to move as little as possible. It's a real chore, but well worth it if you don't want to be socially exiled for the rest of the year. District kids would probably say it was wasteful, decedent and useless but, you know what? It's called beauty. I don't think many kids outside the Capitol really have time for things like that.

Next to the white pod-like bath in which I sit, my brother and father sit in front of the television, laughing at something that someone has just said. I groan, secretly wishing that dad's manic chuckle will stop so that I can just read my book in peace. Folding the corner of the page to keep my place, I quickly close the book and place it by my feet, pressing the button that lowers the head cover of the pod, and I swivel round, staring at the two. A smile covers my face as I take them in. Seeing both of the 'men of the house' sitting next to each other always makes me giggle, since they're both so different and so odd. My father, with the manic grin, paper white skin and bright green hair, looks like a villain out of some old cartoon, and my brother, Fredericus (yes that is actually a name), or Fred for short, with his tangled purple hair and thousands of tattoos, might look threatening if I didn't know what he was really like. They're both outdated looks really, not up there with the current trends like peacock feathers, glow in the dark stuff and so called 'District' clothes, but then again it's as much as I can expect. I'm not exactly the most fashionable myself, the grey skin is really more to help me blend in as I stand pressed against the wall at lunch break, pretending to read while I listen into other people's conversations. Dad's not exactly hip either. He's still stuck in the age of Jivemental, a weird sub-genre twenty years back which had a thing for odd dances and weird clothes. Fred, my smile falters as I stare down at his bandaged legs and the wheelchair in which he sits, used to be cool. Since the 'accident' though, he's kind of drifted away from fashion, sports and friends and spends most of his time scooting around the house, moping.

It always makes me feel terrible whenever I look at his legs. I can't help feeling that it's all my fault. Seeing me looking at his legs, my brother grunts and moves them stiffly up to his chest, so that their blocked from my view by the arm rest.

"What's so funny?" I ask, trying to ignore the nonsensical blatherings of a random District One teen on the screen. My dad grins widely, pointing at the screen and giving another giggle.

"Get in the loop, Phelty!" He says. He's using that weird slang again, and calling me Phelty! I really hate it when he does that, "Check out this!" I stare at the screen, taking in the name of the teenager on screen, Glamor Pearlson. From what I've read, since all the Careers in District One are trained in schools in a sort of 'Youth Program' scheme, the Careers are chosen by a panel a year in advance and it's all very controlled. This boy was apparently meant to be doing it this year, but some non-Career kid stepped in at the last second and took the job. I'd be pretty mad if I were him, so I can't figure out why my family finds this so funny.

"So?" I ask, causing the pair to start laughing again.

"So it's bleeding hilarious!" Dad laughs, "You should be watching this Phelty, not messing about in some bath in the sitting room!"

Yes I realise that, technically, I am in the bath in the middle of our sitting room and in full view of the window that makes up the room's wall, but it doesn't matter that much. The only bit not covered by the bath is my head, which I can cover with the click of a button to read a book or watch a film on the entertainment system. Besides, I'm going to be in this thing for twenty four hours! Life has to go on you know!

"This guy's only on because the District Three competition draw got postponed," Fred drawls, jealousy obvious on in his eyes despite his large grin. He obviously notices that I know and bends down, smiling as he mutters into my ear. "Stupid kid. If I could walk I'd march right down to District One and let him no he's got it good, getting to live as long as he's supposed to!" My brother winks conspiratorially at me and I feign a giggle. Personally I love the Hunger Games, at age four I actually got to meet Claudius Templesmith and still cherish the memory as one of the greatest of my life, but my brother has never enjoyed them. The problem is as far as he believes, I hate them too and he hates them so much that he joined some 'Liberation' movement a couple of years back to stop them. It's named the 'People of Panem Against the Hunger Games', or PPAHG for short. Personally I thought this was a stupid idea, and I still do. Maybe I'm just being prejudice because I like the Games, but from all the books I've read, going against the Hunger Games is a really, really stupid idea, and I can't believe my brother would be foolish enough to fall in with one, let alone get me to keep quiet by subconsciously blackmailing me with those dead legs of his. I look back at the screen, glad that he doesn't know which book I've been reading as I lie in this vat of chemicals. If he ever realised I had a copy of 'Odds in my Favour: The Claudius Templesmith Story' he would probably blow a lid. I turn back to the screen just as the tall, handsome body of Glamor Pearlson disappears from the screen, to be replaced by the dark eyes of a man I don't recognise, standing at the podium in front of the golden reaping ball.

"Hello." The man begins nervously, obviously quite unused to public speaking, "I realise that a tribute is supposed to draw the name of the lucky guest but, unfortunately, the male tribute has been detained by Peacekeepers, and the female is currently recovering from a bullet wound." My brother gives a snort of a laugh, and both me and dad look at him. The man on stage smiles sadly, looking down into the golden Reaping ball and pressing a button. Names shoot from the ball, spraying everywhere in a rather spectacular fashion that garners several 'oohs' from Capitol crowds, but is quite out of place when compared to the misery on the face of the man. Even Hams looks slightly tearful, having just experienced a shooting, as she reaches out and grips a small piece of paper, the rest fluttering down on the heads of the crowd.

"Asphalt Blomma!" Hams calls, sounding definitely less cheerful than usual, despite her normal chipper demeanor.

As Claudius reappears on the screen, our house is filled with silence, and I can well imagine the office where my mother is watching going silent as they hear the name.

It's not a comfortable silence, though, my brother glaring at me over the voice of the wonderful Claudius and my dad sitting there, a grin slowly spreading over his face.

And then my dad bursts out laughing, he leaps to his feet, roaring with high pitched laughter. Normally this really creeps me out, but right now, as a big grin crosses my own face, it seems the perfect time to laugh. My father skips around the room, laughing all the while and, when the phone rings to let us know the good news, he is out the door before either of us can even register that the phone is ringing. I turn to Fred, his face still covered in that odd scowl.

"Don't you have anything to say?" I ask him, and his face curls into a sort of creepy smile.

"You've been given a chance Asphalt." He says, his voice dripping with something I don't quite recognise, "Really bring them down!" I shudder, there's something in that voice, something that really just creeps me out as I watch him.

I press a button, and the head visor rolls back over, covering my face and blocking out that horrifying smile from my sight.

A/N: Question of the Day: Is there a character in the Hunger Games who you love for no reason? (For example I really like Woof, despite the fact he does nothing in the books!)