AN: Here it is, the next Reapings chapter, like 3 weeks late or something. It's pretty dramatic, tbh.


D3-D4 Reapings: Hey Brother

"Hey, brother! There's an endless road to rediscover,

Hey, sister! Know the water's sweet, but blood is thicker,
Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you,
There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do."


Yoshiro Varsley, Victor of the 13th Annual Hunger Games, D3

When Yoshiro woke up, it was to an empty, quiet house.

The young man slowly sat up in his bed, rubbing a hand through his hair in irritation. He'd been dreaming of when he lived with his family. It was such a vivid dream, he literally heard the cacophony of chaos ringing in his ears.

But then he woke up to his large, dead-silent house in the Victor's Village. The difference was jarring, even 8 years later.

"Not like I ever liked the fuckers that made all the racket, though," Yoshiro muttered under his breath, as he shuffled his way towards the kitchen.

And wasn't that the truth? Yoshiro despised his siblings—almost every single one of them was annoying, or an attention hog. He only got lost within the mass of bodies and noise. Never recognized. Never loved. Just the expendable second-youngest.

The man gave a snort whilst he made himself a cup of strongly caffeinated tea. "I should just get over it. Mom and Dad chose those shitstains over me. Old news."

Yoshiro trudged over to his kitchen table, posture weighed down, plunking himself on his usual seat. The table was much too large for one person, and yet he never changed the sitting arrangement.

Maybe a part of him—the attention-craving, love-starved, childish part—thought that one day, someone would join him at the table. Maybe his parents. Maybe a friend.

But Yoshiro Varsley didn't have a family, or friends. He was never one for making friends. And he'd been cast from his family ever since he was Reaped for the Hunger Games. Victory and riches didn't do shit to mend his relationship with his parents, and he hated his siblings anyways, so he was estranged from the Varsleys.

Yoshiro took a long drag from his mug, giving a small sigh. He didn't even know how his (former) family was doing...

The young man drifted off to his room. He was itching to play some chess—even though he would have to play against himself. Again.

A knock on his door caused him to raise an eyebrow inquisitively, before changing directions.

"Brats, I just bought some cookies from you yesterday," Yoshiro called in annoyance, as he yanked the door open. But standing before him wasn't those little uniformed girls from the bakery that sold him some damn delicious cookies just yesterday evening.

Standing before him was a strangely handsome man. Yoshiro's eyes widened, as he gave an incredulous look at the man. He had to look upwards; this guy towered him at least a half fucking foot. "Who the hell are you?"

The guy—who seemed to be around his age— gave Yoshiro an amused grin. The Victor noted that he had messy dark navy hair, and almond-shaped golden eyes. He was dressed in an expensive-looking navy suit, embroidered with a complex circuitry pattern. So a Capitol bastard, eh?

"It's nice to meet you, Victor Varsley. I'm your new Escort—Maraquiis Harmajav," the strange Capitolite said.

"Who the fuck names their kid Mah-rah-qwees?" Yoshiro wondered aloud, nose wrinkling at the weird name. He gave a scoff, grumbling under his breath, "Capitolites…"

"My parents decided that mashing together consonants from two obscure languages would produce a great name. You should see how it's spelt," the golden-eyed man responded with a lopsided grin, not looking at all offended.

Yoshiro paused, staring straight into Maraquiis's eyes critically, before giving a slow nod. "Well, at least you didn't burst into hysterics like the last one. Welcome to your new shitty job, Harmajav," the younger man noted with a bark of humorless laughter.

The taller man gave an exaggerated bow. "A pleasure, I'm sure," he drawled, smirking.

Yoshiro cocked an eyebrow; this guy was way different from all the past Escorts for Three. Interesting.

About damn time the Capitol managed to give him someone who could tough him out.

"And you have a sense of humor. Here's me to hoping you're half as competent as you are pretty," Yoshiro noted dryly, before standing aside and jerking his head in towards the interior of his house. "I assume you're here to drag my ass to the Reapings, so come in—I need to get dressed properly, unless oversized sweaters are 'in' this season."

Maraquiis stepped inside, as Yoshiro closed the door. "Well, they usually are…for young women."

"Do I look like a little girl?!" Yoshiro spluttered, looking up at the amused smirk of the Escort.

Maraquiis blinked innocently, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking oddly endearing. "I was simply stating a fact, Victor Varsley. However, I believe that you can change the trend, if you really wanted to."

"Oh hell no," Yoshiro groused. "I'm already short as shit—If I wear oversized clothes, I'll look like a brat. No thanks," he snarked, before turning on his heel and striding purposefully towards his room.

Five minutes later, and Yoshiro was in black slacks and a black collared button-up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and first two buttons undone. Maraquiis gave an appreciative bout of applause, and Yoshiro gave an exaggerated, pompous thank you. The duo left his home, making their way through the packed, cracked cement streets towards the Reaping.

They ascended the stage, Yoshiro complaining all the while to Maraquiis, who humored him. The Victor then had to soldier through the mind-numbingly boring speeches, before the ceremony got to the part that everyone actually gave a fuck about: the names.

"To change it up a bit, as my first year Escorting Three…Gentlemen first," the Escort noted, giving a pleasant smile to the crowd. He strode towards one of the glass bowls, quickly choosing a name, before returning to the microphone.

"Malcolm Fritz."

Yoshiro looked at the crowd critically. The 17 year old male section parts almost instantaneously, the boys looking relieved to distance themselves from the brown-skinned boy that wore all black.

The tall boy looked shocked for approximately three seconds, before his face is set in a mulish expression. He marches right up to the stage, and when he's next to Maraquiis, demands something so ludicrous that Yoshiro bursts into a disbelieving exclamation of "What in the everlasting fuck?".

"I want—nay, I demand—you to show me the slip of paper, Escort Harmajav! As proof that it is, in fact, my name that was called!" the boy states heatedly, arms crossed. "Well?"

Maraquiis took the fiasco in stride. He merely gave a placating, amused grin, before holding the slip of paper right in front of the teen's gaze. The boy ripped the piece of paper from the Capitolite's grip, intently staring down at it, his face set in a grim line.

Malcolm then proceeded to make a bigger ass of himself, if that was even possible. "Is there any other citizen of Reaping age in District Three with the same name as Malcolm Fritz, who might have also been called forth?" he asked loudly to the Square.

His question, of course, was met with silence. Yoshiro literally facepalmed at the utterly moronic theatrics that this Reaping was, so far.

Somewhere in the crowd of kids, one girl yelled, "You're the only loser named Malcolm Fritz, you tool! Get on with the Reaping!"

Yoshiro gave a snort of laughter. Whoever the bitch was, she had an irritating voice—but at least she was to the point.

Malcolm gave a pointed glare at a spot in the crowd. So he most likely knew the girl. That was hilarious.

Through this entire debacle, Maraquiis was still standing coolly, a bemused grin on his face. "Well, Reaping the boys first has given us an…interesting…start. Now, for the ladies."

The Capitolite strode over to the second glass bowl, quickly snatching a slip, and returned to the microphone.

"Hanako Varsley."

Yoshiro felt his blood go cold. Everything suddenly seemed to slow down to a crawl.

No. No, no, no. How was this possible?

Hanako was the youngest, but she should be safe. She was only about three years younger than him, so she should be 19. She shouldn't be Reaped.

Unless...Unless he got her birthday wrong.

"Oh shit," Yoshiro muttered aloud. He watched with wide eyes as his little sister nervously skittered forwards, looking as pale and shocked as he felt. As she slowly ascended the steps, he was suddenly hit with the realization that Hanako would be turning 19 in a week's time.

"Are there any Volunteers?" Maraquiis asked, tone somewhat solemn. To Yoshiro, he sounded miles away.

And then the most beautiful, irritating screech in the history of Yoshiro's young life burst through the silent Square like a jackhammer to cement. "I Volunteer!"

"What the hell?" Yoshiro muttered shakily, watching as a dark-haired girl from the 17 year old female section strut confidently towards the stage.

Hanako gave a relieved, strangled squeak. Much to his shock, she threw herself into Yoshiro's arms into a tight hug that knocked the wind out of him, before quickly skittering off the stage.

Yoshiro watched his little sister rush off to hug and cry into his parents' embrace, before ripping his gaze away and onto the insane girl that had decided to Volunteer.

The girl was around average height, and yet was still at least three inches taller than Yoshiro. She had long, straight black hair, blue eyes, and a snobbish upturned nose. She was confident, looking upon the crowd imperiously. She might have been attractive, if she didn't look like a royal bitch.

"Your name, Miss…?" the Capitolite asked, intrigued, as he angled the microphone towards the girl.

"Vulca Spark!" she answered, somehow injecting the very essence of snobbery into her voice. "I'm going to be your next Victor—and then I'll make Three a strong, Career District, like it deserves!"

"My, my, how interesting," the navy-haired man noted. "Well, you sure look like a Victor—that red dress of yours reminds me of something from Victor Angel Shine."

Vulca puffed up in pride, throwing out her chest exaggeratedly. "Well of course—I only wear the best," she purred. Malcolm scoffed, rolling his eyes besides Vulca, who threw an ugly sneer at him.

"Didn't the Career girl from One last year wear the same damn thing?" Yoshiro muttered under his breath, eyeing the cloth that was considered a 'dress' dubiously. Maraquiis gave a twitch and a small cough, looking like he wanted to laugh.

"Tributes, shake hands," the golden-eyed man ordered. The two teens faced one another with disgusted sneers on their faces, reluctantly shaking hands. The second their hands parted, they furiously wiped them on their clothing.

"District Three, your Tributes!" Maraquiis called. Oddly enough, the Square burst into applause and cheers.

Yoshiro scrunched his brow, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. He then came to the realization that those cheering were close to the duo's age group—16 to 18—as well as those from rich families.

So apparently Malcolm and Vulca's peers found them really fucking annoying, and one or both of them somehow pissed off people in rich families. Plus, the cheering was more in the sense of "thank god they're gone" and "I'm glad it's not me", rather than actual support for them.

Great, so he was stuck with some annoying brats for Tributes.

Yoshiro watched as the two teens were escorted off the stage and towards the Justice Building. A part of him told him that he should be grateful that the Tributes this year looked at least somewhat competent—they weren't small, weak, and underfed. The boy seemed intelligent, and the girl would gain Sponsors from the Capitol.

As the Square slowly dispersed, Yoshiro was also painfully reminded that despite whatever scathing thoughts he had over them, it still stood that Vulca Spark Volunteered to take Hanako's place. His sister just barely managed to escape an impending death because of the overconfident girl who held a voice of nails on a chalkboard. And Malcolm had fight in him—he didn't want to believe that he was Reaped, wanted to go against the Capitol however he could.

He could respect that.

No matter how grating this duo could be, Yoshiro still gave them a basic modicum of respect.

Maraquiis slowly walked over, standing next to the short man. The two looked out at the Square, staring at the large family of half-Asians that were hugging and fussing over the girl that had been Reaped.

"You should go to them," the Capitolite stated. Yoshiro snapped his head over to shoot a look at him.

"I haven't been a part of the family for 8 years," he stated dully, his gaze soon falling back on the Varsley family. He felt sick to his stomach, something deep within him yearning for him to go to them.

"I think they can make an exception for today. Go. Your sister would want it," Maraquiis said, gently pushing Yoshiro towards the stairs.

Taking a large breath, Yoshiro squared his shoulders, and walked towards the Varsley family.

His family.

Yoshiro knew that he had made the right decision, when Hanako latched herself onto him, his parents quickly following suit, before his entire family enveloped him in an embrace.

In that moment, now matter how fleeting it would be, Yoshiro had a family again.


Malcolm Fritz, 17, D3

Malcolm sat on a comfortable chair inside the ornate room, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. He wanted to get this trainwreck of sentimentality over and done with as quickly as possible.

Malcolm's dark eyebrows ascended to his untidy hairline when his parents passed through the door.

He had considered the possibility of them coming to send him off, of course, but it was still odd to see his uptight, traditional parents place themselves in the presence of their disowned son.

His mother looked awful—sunken face, hunched posture, red-rimmed and tear-filled eyes. His father looked mildly distressed, which was odd for the usually reserved man.

Before anyone could speak, Azariah Fritz wrapped her petite body around her son, and sobbed noisily into his chest. "It's all my fault!" she wailed. "You and your sister only made bad decisions because I didn't teach you well enough! And now you're being shipped off to a deathmatch!"

Malcolm felt baffled and lost. At that moment, he wished he had read how to comfort others, if only to make his mother stop weeping and dispel the tension. Logan Fritz stood off to the side, arms crossed, looking the mirror image of his son.

The next hour was spent in painful awkwardness as his parents tried to reconcile with him, and mend their destroyed relationship. It got so frustrating that Malcolm finally just stood up in a huff, and dismissively told them to leave, because they were wasting his time for goodbyes.

Their relationship wasn't exactly that good to begin with, and it's been about a year and change since he was disowned. An hour was a paltry attempt to make either party satisfied.

Next skittered in his sister, Felicity. Malcolm relaxed his stiff stance slightly, giving a curt grin down at the timid young woman. A staring contest ensued between the siblings, before Malcolm finally gave in. He gave a sigh, opening his arms slightly. "Come now—I know that you want to hug me, and spout sentimental and uplifting things to me."

Felicity did just that. It was definitely much less awkward than the goodbye with his parents—although, Malcolm regrettably could hear Vulca's annoying screeching from the other room.

After a half hour, Felicity finally left, replaced by the person that Malcolm had been looking forwards to seeing.

"Malcolm, my boy!" boomed good old Amadeus Kingsley, sweeping the tall teen in a bear hug. "It's a shame that your argumentative skills could not get you out of the Reaping, eh? It was still a token effort, all the same!"

"Thank you, Professor Kingsley," Malcolm said fondly, giving the wisened man the largest, most genuine smile he'd ever given in his life.

The next few hours were spent pleasantly. Malcolm felt confident and at ease with his caretaker-slash-professor-slash-friend. When a peacekeeper knocked at the door to inform them that Malcolm was to board the train in five minutes, Amadeus stopped his stream of soothing small talk.

Malcolm eyed Amadeus critically as he dug through his pockets, before presenting his protégée with a small flask.

"For your Token—it can hold water, and other liquids, in a pinch," the old man said, giving a bright smile. Malcolm just couldn't say no to taking the object as his Token, unlike how declined his parents and sister of providing him one.

Carefully, the teen took the flask on his hands, unscrewing the top to look inside. There was already liquid in it. Malcolm took a sniff, wrinkling his nose and jerking back at the foul smell.

"Alcohol? And for a minor?" he questioned, befuddled. Amadeus scratched the back of his head, giving a sheepish chuckle.

"Forgot I didn't empty it. Oh well—you can do whatever you please with the rum," the old man said lightly, giving a shrug of his shoulders.

Malcolm shook his head fondly, giving Amadeus a soft smile, and one final hug. "Thank you."


Vulca Spark, 17, D3

When Vulca's family entered the room, Vulca stomped right to her stepfather.

"You get one hug, then you either stay in the corner, or you leave," she ordered imperiously, jabbing a manicured nail at the man.

"Vulca!" exclaimed Remilia Spark, looking at her daughter, aghast. Edmund gave a tight, fake smile, gritting his teeth.

"No, honey, I understand," he said tightly, placing a calming hand on the woman's shoulder. "I can't ever replace her birth father. It pains me deeply, but I suppose I'll just have to say goodbye, and leave you to speak with her."

Vulca glared venomously at the man, who matched her glare. They slowly, stiffly stepped forwards, embracing each other coldly for three seconds. Then they quickly parted, sneers on their faces, stepping back away from each other.

"Good luck, princess. You'll need it," her stepfather stated dryly, before shooting a charming grin at her mother and exiting the room.

Soon enough, her sister and mother were smothering her in hugs, whilst Vulca smiled smugly. She spent the rest of the goodbyes prattling away in her shrill voice, a pretty necklace her mother gave her displayed proudly on her neck. It was great, having such supportive family members.

And she was sure that the Hunger Games would be a cakewalk.


Mags Cohen, Victor of the 9th Annual Hunger Games, D4

Mags woke up early in the morning to the sound of Festus' snores. She rolled to her side, looking over at the edge of the bed, noting that Festus was sleeping like a rock despite camping out on the floor.

Then again, the carpet was very soft and cushiony. Her little nieces and nephews dragging her to sit down on the floor constantly made her an expert on the comfort of her mansions' carpet.

Mags kept looking down at the young man with a fond smile. She'd managed to convince him that it was okay for him to camp out in her room the night before the Reaping—and he's done so ever since his first year of Mentorship, during the 17th Games. He'd always be embarrassed, but also grateful for the support.

Festus just really needed someone to be there for him. To be his family. It had been obvious to her, ever since he'd been a fresh-faced Victor. So she'd adopted him into her family, and he's been an unofficial Cohen ever since. Like a little brother to her.

Which was why she would do whatever she could to protect him, like he was any other Cohen. Lie for him. Act for him. Cheat for him.

Mags flopped down a hand, pensively running it through his soft, wavy hair. Maybe if she wasn't already committed to someone, she would tie herself to him. Just so she could protect him more. So that he wouldn't get…Sold.

The thought brings bile to her throat, even if she's calmed by the little blissful smile on his face, and how he unconsciously snuggles into her hand like a puppy.

She would try to protect Festus as long as she could, but she doesn't know how long that would even be. Eventually, things could fall apart. Maybe her girlfriend will get tired of keeping their relationship secret, or the Capitol will figure out that she and Festus aren't romantically inclined to each other.

The rushing tide of the sea will eventually sweep them away, crushing their castles to fine sand.

But for now, things are holding up. The castle is still strong. The tide is still low.

A sudden knock on her bedroom door dispelled her poetic, and somewhat morbid, thoughts.

Festus gave a sleepy snort, jerking awake. Mags instantly placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him, to keep him from jumping to his feet and attacking invisible enemies.

"Dears, you should get ready for breakfast!" came the voice of Mags' mother through the wood. "It'll take us a high-tide-and-a-half to get the entire clan ready and to the Reaping, you know how it is!"

"Coming Mama!" Mags called out, followed by a groggy thanks from Festus. The two went down to the 'main' kitchen of the mansion, Mags all but dragging the sleepy man despite her smaller frame.

The hour and a half that followed was a cacophony of chaos. The main kitchen, dining room, and living room were packed with various family members. That was the beauty of having a mansion—Mags was able to host and house many people, even her siblings' families.

Festus constantly growled about all her nieces and nephews that ate messily or got themselves dirty. He fussed over them, cleaning them up before they touched him and got him "full of snot and germs and syrup".

Although, he did have a point. The blouse and pants she was wearing were dirty and sticky from all the children sitting on her lap or tugging at her to get her attention. Festus' muscle shirt and workout pants weren't in a better state.

After breakfast, many of the Cohens doubled back to change themselves into their Reaping best. Festus told her he would meet up with them later, before jogging over to his mansion to change properly.

Before Mags could get to her bedroom, someone latched onto her from behind with a giggle. The blonde relaxed, a grin on her face as she realized that it was her secret girlfriend.

"Hey, Felisa. Glad you could come over," Mags hummed serenely.

"Of course I'd be here—you're my favorite girl, after all," Felisa answered with a tinkling laugh, before letting go. "You need help putting on your Reaping clothes?" she asked with a cheeky smile and a raised eyebrow.

Mags tilted her head, giving an amused grin. "I don't even know what I'm going to wear."

"Well, I can help with that!" the other woman chimed, bouncing into Mags' room, her long, brown hair swaying behind her.

The next twenty minutes were spent with Felisa critically dressing and re-dressing Mags in many outfits. Felisa was always a physical person, so the questionable and constant contact wouldn't seem suspicious to anyone—not to family, and not to any spies.

They were both careful, after all. Mags was sure to tell Felisa that they couldn't get romantic in her mansion, since it was a large possibility that it was bugged. And so far, Felisa's managed to act like she was simply Mags' best friend, instead of girlfriend.

Honestly, the ironclad grip the Capitol had on even the Victors was getting ridiculous.

Eventually, Mags was dressed in a blue sundress. The family managed to coral themselves together in front of the entrance, ready to leave. Festus jogged over, in a white button-up, navy vest, and navy slacks. After everyone double-checked that they were ready, the large congregation ambled out of the Victor's Village.

After a very noisy, upbeat journey, the Cohens stepped into the large cobblestoned area that would hold the Reapings. No matter how many times the Cohen clan tried to leave early for the Reapings, they always barely managed to arrive before the Reaping would start. The area was mostly filled, the Mayor and Escort waiting on the stage.

The Escort for District Four smiled at them, clad in a sparkly blue dress that left little to the imagination, her gaze lingering hungrily on Festus. The young man shifted uncomfortably, trying to discreetly ignore the plastic, spray tanned, glittery leech that was Gucci Sweets.

Mags politely smiled out at the crowd, carefully tuning out the grating sound of Gucci's voice. From Festus's glazed look, he was doing the same.

Honestly, the speeches became much less enjoyable, since Gucci became Escort 5 years ago. Before, at least Mags had listened.

Gucci's squeal pierced through Mags' reverie with the force of a tsunami upon the shoreline, but much less pleasant. "And now, to choose the Tributes! I think I'll keep up my little tradition—So gentlemen first!"

Mags was suddenly struck with a bout of panic. Her family was extensive—what if a Cohen was Reaped? One of her nephews, or cousins?

Mags gave a sigh in relief when the name was called, and it didn't belong to someone she was related to. She then instantly felt guilty at her selfishness, especially when the trembling, scrawny boy slowly ascended the steps.

"Are there any Volunteers?" The Capitolite asked, eyes roving around the crowd, obviously hoping to have a Tribute that was more competent than the quivering boy. Four was slowly morphing into a Career District that gave training to the children of the District, after all. It's possible that there would be someone daring enough to Volunteer, who had a modicum of Training.

Although, Volunteering in Four wasn't very popular, yet. Neither was the Training Center that Festus created. But it was a way to prepare future Tributes. That was the shining benefit of the Training Center—so it had to pay off, at some point.

There was a long silence. Gucci pouted in disappointment, ready to stride over to the next bowl, but a voice stopped her.

"I Volunteer as Tribute!" rang the exclamation across the clearing.

The boys in the 16 year old section parted. A tall, olive-toned boy strode confidently towards the stage, wearing a tight black muscle shirt and low-riding pants. He looked like he could be a poster boy for Four in the Capitol—he had all the Four traits that the Capitol loved, barring his dark eyes.

The teen ran a hand through his hair, making it artfully tussled, as he took the stage. He gave a smile cranked up to 11 on the charming scale; Mags could almost see the cheesy romance novel rose petals surrounding him.

"What's your name, handsome?" Gucci purred, leering at the boy as she passed the microphone to him.

"Lex Calder. Best fighter in Four—and your newest Victor," Lex answered with a broad smile and wink towards the crowd. Mags raised her eyebrows when a roar of squealing accompanied the statement.

So Lex already had fangirls…? Oh boy.

He'll be very…popular…in the Capitol.

Mags felt slightly ill, knowing that the boy didn't know of his possible future profession, if he managed to win this year's Games.

Gucci have an ear-piercing squeal. "Oh, wonderful! And now, for the ladies!"

Once again, Mags sent a small prayer to the heavens to protect her nieces and cousins from getting Reaped.

Her hopes crashed down around her when the name "Briar Indigo!" was called. Loud gasps erupted across the clearing, coming mostly from the Cohens.

Briar didn't share the Cohen surname, but she was still part of the family through her mother, Pearl. Oftentimes, when the girl's parents were too busy at work, Briar and her younger siblings would visit Mags—who would be more than happy to spend time with them.

The fifteen year old female section parted slowly to show Mags' niece, clad in a tan-colored, knee-length dress, her blonde hair tied up. Briar looked shocked, her face pale, eyes wide.

"Did…Did she really say my name?" Briar asked listlessly, turning to a girl next to her for confirmation. The girl whispered in Briar's functioning ear, causing Briar to sag and slowly trudge towards the stage.

Every step Briar took felt like a nail getting hammered into Mags' heart.

Halfway to the stage, a tall, dark-skinned girl burst from the pens. "Briar!" she screamed, running over to the blonde girl.

"Georgia!" Briar responded. But instead of hugging her, like Mags expected, Briar shoved the dark-skinned girl away. "Go back to your section, before you get in trouble!"

Georgia gaped like a fish. "Y-You just got Reaped, and you're worried about me? Please, Briar, let me…"

"No," Briar stated firmly, before biting her lip, looking lost. "No, I…You've never trained. I couldn't let you do that, Georgia."

"No fuckin' way…" Festus muttered incomprehensibly. "Did she really just…?" he hissed into Mags' ear.

"Yes," Mags muttered, pained. She wanted to blame Briar for not taking the option of saving herself, but she just couldn't. She understood where Briar came from, since they shared similar temperaments. Mags wouldn't want one of her good friends to Volunteer to take her place; she'd never forgive herself.

And even though Briar looked like she was in a fierce struggle with the issue, she was too soft-hearted to throw Georgia to the sharks.

When Briar finally stepped up onto the stage, she used her swiftness to hug Mags fiercely before someone could try and stop her.

"Oh…? Are you two…related?!" the Capitolite squealed, eyes gleaming in interest, a hungry smile on her face.

"Briar is my niece," Mags stated curtly, her mouth a hard line. She then gently coaxed the girl from her. Briar sniffed, but slowly made her way back towards her District partner and Escort.

"Well, this Reaping has been exciting, hasn't it, folks?!" Gucci exclaimed giddily, looking like she won a prize. "Now Tributes, shake hands!"

Lex took Briar's hand in his, giving a comforting, sympathetic grin down at her. Mags noted that Briar ducked her head, cheeks flushing pink.

Soon enough, Gucci was asking for a standing ovation, obviously proud of her new Tributes. Lex's fangirls were going wild, but at least half of the District was stonily silent. Out of respect, no doubt, for the bravery of both Tributes.

Mags watched as the two teens were taken away to the Justice Building for their goodbyes. She would be seeing Briar in a few hours, and from then on, they would be spending a lot of time together.

"Out of all the kids that coulda been Reaped…It had to be Briar," Festus muttered, eyes dark and mouth taut.

Mags sagged under the weight of the daunting journey ahead. "We'd been lucky before, since I'd been the only Cohen to get Reaped. But now our luck's run out."

The two were silent, staring solemnly at the flock of Cohens that were making their way towards the Justice Building. The sea breeze caressed their faces, causing their eyes to sting.

"I'll do the best I can for her, even if I ain't her mentor," Festus said, breaking the silence. Mags looked over at him in surprise. "I'm still her uncle, yeah? So even if I got Lex to worry over, I'll still have your back in helpin' her."

"Thank you, Festus," she answered softly.

He gently took her hand in his, giving a wane smile down at her. "C'mon, we're a team, ain't we? You've helped me so many times, it's 'bout time I give back and be useful."

At least Festus would be by her side, when their castle would come crashing down. Like family.


Briar Indigo, 15, D4

Briar hadn't even been sitting on the large black couch for five seconds before the door burst open.

From that moment on, there was a constant stream of people coming in and out of the room. All of them were family members of hers. Cohens, no matter how distantly related, came to wish her good luck and tell her how proud they were of her strength of character.

It was rather disorienting, all these people. And yet, it was much better to be surrounded by family, than to be alone in a quiet room. Briar was used to always being in a crowd, and liked being close to people.

Thankfully, she had enough time to properly interact with the Cohen clan. District Four was close to the Capitol, so she had a few hours before she was to leave. Briar sat, surrounded by her parents and siblings on the couch, talking warmly with all her visitors.

After three hours, the stream died down. Now it was only a few people loitering in the large, ornate room. And yet, Georgia Rose hadn't come in at all.

Briar's heart clenched painfully when she realized this. Was Georgia so angry at Briar declining her offer of Volunteering in her place, that she wouldn't say goodbye…?

That thought hurt her deeply. Briar looked down sadly at the coral blue ring on her right hand, fiddling with it.

Briar didn't let Georgia Volunteer for her, for the girl's own good. Georgia might be older and taller than her, but she'd never Trained. She didn't even have the intent to spear a worm on a hook—so how could she just expect Briar to stand back and let someone as pacifistic as her head into a death match, like a lamb to slaughter?

Then again, maybe she was being hypocritical. Who was she kidding—Briar didn't have any actual killing intent within her, either. She was great at archery because she used against targets and dummies, not living, breathing people.

And Briar would have definitely Volunteered for Georgia Rose, if she'd been Reaped instead. Even if it was stupid or impulsive or downright suicidal, she would've.

As Briar worried and debated in her head, she was bodily shaken from her thoughts by her siblings.

"Briar, you'll come back…right?" Penelope asked her big sister, eyes wide and imploring, a tight grip on her arm.

"Of course she will! Right, Briar?" Augustus asked, staring up at Briar as well from the other side.

Briar was at a loss of words, belatedly noticing that her immediate family were the only ones left in the room. Her eyes burned with tears as she looked down at the sight of her naïve, hopeful brother and sister.

"I'll try," she said, voice thick, unable to come up with a more satisfying answer. Briar was then brought into a tight hug from her mother, who started to cry wetly into her shoulder.

Marlin Indigo took that time to try and redirect his youngest children's questions. "Your Aunt Mags and Uncle Festus will do their best to bring Briar back," he told the little ones, voice deep and rumbling.

"But there's a chance that Briar can't come back, and will stay in the Capitol. And no—complaining can't change that," he added, noting the mulish expressions on the Augustus and Penelope's faces. "But you can support your sister by cheering for her, and believing in her, like good little siblings are supposed to."

The two young ones seemed to buy their father's explanation. To them, he was big and strong, and knew everything.

Once her mother let her go, Briar was drawn into a tight hug by her father. "I'm sorry I haven't been at home as much as I should have," he murmured in her good ear. She felt her already wet shoulder get even wetter, but her father didn't shake or sob. He was like a peaceful tide, in his grief.

A knock came on the door, and a Peacekeeper stuck his head inside. "You should start wrapping up. There's one more visitor to see you—and you'll be cutting it close."

There was a frantic flurry of hugs and farewells, before her family left. After a few seconds, Georgia Rose tentatively stepped into the room.

Before Briar could apologize or exclaim happily, the dark-skinned girl barreled into her, crying hysterically.

"You…Y-you better c-come back!" Georgia wailed, clutching the shorter girl protectively. "I can look after P-Penelope and Augustus, b-but they'll need their big sister, y-you hear?!"

"Of course," Briar said thickly, burying her head in the other girl's chest. "I'll come back, for all of you."


Lex Calder, 16, D4

Lex let out an exasperated sigh when his large, dysfunctional family started to loudly fight outside his door. He wouldn't be surprised if it came down to a full out brawl, the way it was escalating.

Lex didn't really care about any of them. He's had so many step mothers and half-fathers and partial-siblings, that it was a headache. After his birth parents divorced, they went around cheating, marrying, remarrying, and birthing kids left, right, and center. He didn't even know half of his family—his family tree was that much of a clusterfuck.

The sad part was that Lex literally did not give a shit about anyone in his family other than his birth father. His Dad was the one who taught him to box, who helped him become the best, who showed him how to become emotionally detached from others.

So, ironically, Lex wasn't even that attached to his Dad.

Whilst his family kept debating hotly over who had the right to say goodbye to him, Lex's fangirls had come in to say goodbye and cheer him on. He gave them very fake, tired smiles, yet they still ate it up.

Then came some trainees from the Training Center. That was slightly more interesting.

The kid that Lex Volunteered for, accompanied by his family, came in to thank him and grovel. Lex shrugged dismissively at them. "I felt bad for someone so obviously unprepared to go into the Games, and I'm one of the best fighters. You do the math," he told them bluntly.

As the family awkwardly shuffled out of the room, Leila Breen and Gavin Detrench entered. "Sorry, it was hard getting in…" Leila muttered.

"Your family is insane, dude," Gavin noted with a snort, sitting down next to him. "They've started some twisted version of Family Feud."

Lex gave his two best friends a fond smile, before bringing both of them into a group hug. They were the only people he was attached to, the only ones he would completely drop his walls and masks for.

The three say in silence, before Leila murmured, "So, this is really happening."

"Yup. But don't worry—I'll be back," Lex told them. "And hopefully, it won't be in a casket."

In that moment, Lex decided that his family was worthless to him. He'll be coming back, crowned Victor, for his friends.