A/N: The Holiday Non-Update was ok, right? Sorry. ;P

Well, hey. On the bright side, you get a new chapter! I know I say this every time, but Braelynn is one of my favorite tributes to have written for so far. She's not a particularly deep character, unlike some of the others- everything she reveals on the surface to the reader is true and she's not got any secrets. But she's a well designed one. Kudos to FlawlessCatastrophe!

Braelynn Etchnet, 18, D4

I hug my knees and watch the sun rise over the ocean.

My house isn't anywhere near the coast, but it's high up on a hill, near the outskirts of the District, and you can see the ocean from here.

I've been up all night up here on the roof, unable to sleep for fear and excitement of today. I haven't slept a wink, something that I'm sure will come back to bite me, but at the moment I don't even care. I'm too excited.

Not long ago, the sky went form navy to lavender, and now the sun is rising, turning everything pretty shades of orange and red and dashing across the ocean to Four.

I can already feel how tired I am, but it's a bit late- it's time to go down and get ready now, to cook breakfast and get dressed and everything.

(Honestly, living by myself isn't even that different than living with my mom.)

I saved for years for this house, from when it first came available when I was just fifteen, through its various short-lived owners, and the day I turned eighteen I took my saved money and a massive amount of birthday money and bought it.

I pat the shingles beneath me with a loving hand and watch as the sun rises fully above the horizon.

Time to go get ready now.

I scoot back and slip into the house through the small square trapdoor.

I drop through the roof in the kitchen and land on the floor silently, like a cat. It took years of training not to make a massive thud. Now my training center membership has almost expired. Tomorrow I'll never be a Career. I'm only even going to the Reapings today as practically a formality.

I never thought about it before- how for ten years, usually, we train to be killing machines, to be stealthy and strong and smart, and then we have to go get a job and be adults.

Then I think about the fishing crews I've seen, who wrestle giant fish and kill them, about the people that operate the giant machines that produce boats and yachts, about the people who run the training centers and the people who teach stupid tourists how to swim in the ocean and realize that no, we use these skills. No wonder the other Districts are so freaking poor. They never realized that skills for the Games are also life skills.

That's another reason why the Games are such a genius idea: they encourage the District's children to develop important skills that they wouldn't otherwise care about.

I take eggs out of the fridge and start to scramble them.

Cooking is a great example. If it weren't for training, I would never have learned to cook, and I'd probably be eating noodles every day.

Of course, in District Four things can be a bit different than the other Career Districts…

Here, only kids that show consistent good grades (Bs or higher) in certain classes are offered Games Training 1. If they do well in that class, their parents can pay to buy them a membership for the training center, and they can take the three classes that follow Games Training 1. I never got to take 4 because I was recognized as a possible Career my freshman year instead of in middle school like most kids, but if I could, I would have taken the class.

The eggs are finished fairly quickly, so I scarf them down and run upstairs to get dressed and put on makeup.

I dig out the Reaping dress I've worn for the past several years and that will never be worn again. It's sparkly and mint green and pretty tight now, but all the better for the Reapings.

And who knows, maybe this year, my voice will cut through the din and I'll get to go to the Capitol. (Unlikely. My voice is scratchy, soft, and doesn't carry.)

I put it on without the tights I usually wear it with because who cares, I'm an adult and I can do whatever the hell I want.

I look pretty good in the dress, though it's a little hard to breathe, but it'll do since I'm only wearing it for a few hours before returning home to slouch around in underclothes.

Then I go to the bathroom and put my hair in a waterfall braid. Badass. I crouch down and rifle through my makeup.

It takes me a few moments to find a frosty, lip-staining blue lip gloss.

I stare at it for a moment or two, then straighten up and quickly swipe it onto my lips.

Anything to impress the sponsors, right?

I look pretty freaking awesome, so I just brush my hair out again and wash my hands to reassure myself, and I'm ready.

I have plenty of time before the Reapings, and not a lot to do, so I guess I'd better drop by where I used to live with my mother and sister...

I leave, and lock the door to my house behind me.

I have to carry my shoes in my hand, since I'm wearing heels, so that's annoying but also not the worst thing ever to happen. It's several blocks from my place to my family's and usually the streets are both clean and empty, so I'll be fine. (And I am.)

When I arrive at my family's house, I stand primly at the door and knock.

I stand, stand, stand, waiting.

Brooklyn opens the door, not even actually looking at me. She's consumed by blowing on her drying nails. Brooklyn used to look up to me- she still does, I think- but two years ago she got popular and shallow and decided the coolest thing possible for her to do was to fight with me on everything. My senior year was probably awful for her, now that I think of it. I won an award on the cross-country team and was nominated for Homecoming, but in her junior year she's still accomplished literally nothing. I've salted that wound before, and if she tries to fight me today, I'll do it again. I'm not above using people's weaknesses as a weapon against them.

But not yet. She's only opened the door.

"Hi, Brooklyn!" I say.

Brooklyn doesn't even acknowledge that I'm here, just walks back inside, still blowing on her nails, and sits in front of the TV, which is playing Channel 3 pre-Reaping commentary. (I never understood pre-Reaping commentary. What are they talking about?! Nothing has happened yet!)

"Hey, Brooklyn," I say, following her into the living room. She ignores me. "Brooklyn, where's Mom?"

Brooklyn ignores me again. This must be her new method of annoying the shit out of me- the silent treatment. Luckily for her, Mom comes down the stairs just then.

"What was that, Braelynn, sweetie?" she asks.

"I was looking for you," I say, letting a little affection into my voice.

Mom is really graceful and humorous at 53. She did a good job of raising me (less so Brooklyn, as you can probably tell). Her only problem is that she doesn't approve of the Games.

Apparently my aunt on my dad's side died in the Games. Which was why he was so depressed. Which was why he couldn't hold a steady job. Which was why he jumped off a bridge two years ago. Or so Mom says. Me, I think he was just unstable.

But as a result of all this, she really disapproves of my volunteering every year. She only paid for my training center membership when I was younger because she knew Career classes and training taught good life skills, like I talked about earlier. She never wanted me to actually be in the Games. But every year, I volunteer. She knows she really can't stop me from volunteering, but I think she's relieved that this is my last year of being eligible.

"So you're going to volunteer for those nasty Games again? At least you'll look nice," she says, just a little disapproval in her voice. She thinks I look like a slut. Whatever.

"Brooklyn, doesn't your sister look nice?" Mom says.

"As my boyfriend would put it, Braelynn looks like an actual fucking prostitute," Brooklynn says. "Do either of you mind if I change the channel?"

"Go ahead. Do you think you'll get Homecoming next year, Brooklynn?" I ask. Brooklynn digs her recently-dried nails into the couch, but doesn't respond, and her face betrays nothing.

"Have you guys had breakfast yet?" I ask. "Do you want me to cook you something?"

"Oh, we're fine," Mom says airily. "What time did you say we needed to be there?"

"Eight," I tell her. "Best to be early. Actually, considering that I'm walking, I'd better get going. I'll see you after, okay?"

Mom walks over and gives me a quick hug as I walk to the door. Brooklynn changes the channel and pretends I don't exist.

…hey, sometimes we can at least pretend to be a normal family. I think that went surprisingly well.

I walk to the town square, which is paved with these pretty triangular stones right from around here. The stage and ropes are set up, but I must have shown up a little early. The Reaping doesn't start until nine, check-in starts at eight. I check my watch. Seven fifty-five.

All the stores are closed, so I sit on a bench until the Peacekeeper runs out for check-in. I'm the first one to get checked in this year, it seems. I hold out my exposed forearm to him.

He quickly draws my blood. The machine tells him who I am and he marks me as present, and says, "Age?"

"Eighteen," I tell him.

He puts it into the computer. "Look for the roped-off section marked Eighteen," he tells me, nudging his glasses up on his nose. He looks physically weak, probably absent-minded.

Since I arrived so early, I get to see everyone arrive. A few people catch my eye- a couple of my still-eligible friends, who I've drifted apart from since graduation, a lot of younger kids I always see playing in the streets, a tall wild-looking girl whose body is covered in scars, and the fourteen-year-old who always delivers our newspaper.

My ex-boyfriend Dameron weaves through the spectating crowd, taking bets on whether one of the volunteers will be under sixteen. (It's rare, but when it happens, betters make a shit-ton of money.) I guess I always knew Dameron was a shady type, and now I think he probably hangs out at the black market most of the time. Still, it's a little sad to see how his life has gone since he failed to become a Career. If I had a quarrel with him now, it'd be too easy to win- a little shame, a little blackmail, and he'd be back at my feet.

As usual, most of the kids in my age section are almost a year younger than me. My birthday's not far after now- I turn nineteen in just a week and a half. These kids are all still in school, still seniors, not self-sufficient yet. They all look so little- did that happen when I became, technically, an Adult?

I'm at the very, front, right next to the stage this year, thanks to being eighteen and also early to arrive. The crowd murmurs behind me as a black woman with bright yellow clothes strolls onstage arm in arm with our elderly mayor. The escort walks up to the microphone and taps it twice.

"Hello, everyone! I'm Sunny. How nice to meet you all!" she exclaims. Which is ridiculous, since she's been coming to this District every year for as long as I can remember (and somehow still looks the same age). If I pointed this out to her, she'd probably break down slowly, getting more and more desperate.

"Ahem. Mayor Angela Stone, everyone!" Sunny says, and turns to the mayor to a smattering of applause. Mayor Stone makes one of those tiny old-lady coughs, and begins to read the Treaty of Treason.

Once Mayor Stone is finished, Sunny turns to the end table at stage left, which holds one of the Reaping balls. The other, the boy's ball, is presumably being kept somewhere safe until next year.

Sunny reaches in and draws out a name. "Angelica Brady," she reads out.

I open my mouth to shout my name, as do many others, but before I even have the chance to start, a loud, scratchy voice carries through the crowd, shouting, "Thalia Waters! I volunteer!"

Sunny nods, and Thalia weaves her way through the crowd and almost leaps, catlike, onto stage, facing Sunny instead of the crowd, standing just a few feet from my face. "Say your name into the microphone," Sunny suggests.

Thalia stalks to the microphone, whips around to face the crowd. I can practically feel my heart misstep. She has a mature, pretty face, with prominent cheekbones, full lips and cat eyes. Her body is muscular. But one of her eyes doesn't focus, and she has scars covering her entire body. She looks like a wild woman.

"Thalia Waters," she repeats into the microphone.

I keep staring at her face until I notice Sunny is going through the Reaping ball once more. Sunny pulls out a slip and reads out, "Jo Zaberm-"

As always, the crowd starts shouting before the second name is read. I put my hands around my mouth and scream, "Braelynn Etchnet! I volunteer!"

Maybe it's because I'm so close to the stage, maybe it's because my voice broke and is therefore much louder than usual, but somehow, amazingly, Sunny gestures at me.

The crowd goes quiet. They're not stupid. I pull myself up on stage gracefully, stand, wobble just a bit on my heels. I walk to the microphone and say, "Braelynn Etchnet. I volunteer."

I turn on my heel and hold out my hand to the wild woman Thalia Waters. She stares at it for a moment, confused. Then her hand flashes out, gives my hand a single, mighty shake, and shows a leering, toothy smile at me.

I stare at her, but can't think of a single weakness.

…how? I can't focus on anything but her cat eyes and the confusion I'm feeling.

Then the Peacekeepers rush us away into the Justice Building. The room is nice. Decorated for the Games. One banner reads, Congratulations, Tribute!

The first ones in are some of my old friends. I kind of drifted apart from the since we graduated, but the reminisce with me, and congratulate me on volunteering. None of them have found their ways in life but one, who loves being a fisherman but fears he's not strong enough. I could poke that wound until he was mentally compromised. I could get them all bowing at my feet if I wanted, I'm sure.

I smile at them. They leave.

Then my new friend from work, Quinn, comes in. She squeezes my arm and gives me a warm smile. She's very pretty- I've even considered dating her if she flirts enough to indicate interest. But she's also cowardly and insecure about her appearance and intelligence. She's especially scared of the Capitol and the Peacekeepers.

"You look like a real Career," she gasps. "Pretty. No.. otherworldly." I blush. I'd forgotten my outlandish outfit.

We talk for a little bit, she squeezes my arm again. I smile. She leaves.

Then Mom and Brooklynn come in together.

"Braelynn," Mom says. She looks at Brooklynn, decides it's okay for her to hear, and continues slowly, "I can't say I'm proud of you for volunteering. But… I'm glad for you that you get to… live your dream, I suppose."

"I'm going to come back," I say. "Don't worry about it. I'll make you proud of me- I promise."

Mom just shakes her head with a sigh. Then she gives me a one-armed hug. I'm disappointed, but I know that she is, too. "Take care of my house while I'm gone, OK?" I ask her. She nods.

Brooklynn doesn't look up from filing her nails. She doesn't talk to me. "I'll feed your cat," she says.

"I don't have a cat," I tell her. I wonder if I should bring her down, but I'm feeling nice, and I'm leaving soon anyways.

"Really? I assumed you had transformed into a crazy cat lady, since you live on your own and don't have a boyfriend," Brooklynn says, still not looking up.

"Whatever," I say. Bed response. I no longer care, I find. I give my mom another one-armed hug and bid my family farewell, possibly forever.

Then I lean against the door, waiting for the Peacekeepers to come and take me away. Instead I hear a muffled voice speaking to someone.

Voice: Mmmfphpmhm.

Peacekeeper: Yes.

Voice: Mfphmmmmhm?

Peacekeeper: Five minutes.

Voice: Mmmphgood.

As the voice resolves itself, I stumble backwards. Dameron!

He pushes through the door quickly and doesn't even smile at me. "Hi," I say, a little annoyed.

"You're a great Career. You always got all As in Career classes. Remember that? We were the top in the class together," he says.

"Of course I remember."

"And do you remember when I got involved in the black market?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember the day you sold me the hairpin?"

Yes, I remember. Angry at my mother for fighting with my dad, I had run out of the house with an fake emerald-encrusted hairpin and sold it to Dameron at the black market as a real one. Mom never noticed. She still hasn't.

"Yeah," I say aloud.

Dameron gets out something shiny, puts it on his thumb, and flips it across the room like a coin. I catch it. It's the hairpin. "I can't offer you a refund, but I figured you'd want a token," he explains.

I want to thank him, but that's when the Peacekeepers come in, tell me to stay quiet and take me to the train.

The last thing that I see from District Four is Dameron staring dispassionately after me.

What an accurate picture of this District.

A/N: Dameron isn't super important, but he's a key part of Braelynn's past- a part that she's left behind for good. She wasn't happy to see him, but the hairpin was a nice surprise.

Okay, I'm rambling about the chapter that just supposedly ended. Sorry, haha!

Did everyone have a happy holidays? Was I the only one who stayed up until 4 am on New Year's? Haha.

Que tenga un buen dia,

Phannie