Peyton Francisco, District Nine Female, 14 years old

I bet when my father had a daughter neither he, nor my mother, nor the Capitol for that matter, would expect her to be as punk as I am. It's said he was the most popular tribute of his Games, his looks being largely attributed to that (though his skills with a scythe aren't anything to discredit). 'The Adonis from Nine,' I think was his nickname. I think most thought I'd be preppy or a mini Career in the making.

I don't disobey the rules for any bigger reason like I think something is institutionalised or I'm inherently against something, no, I break rules because I can and it gets my father's attention. Growing up he never paid any attention to me, or at least that's what it always felt like, and was always going up to the Capitol. I always remember it being me and my mother and, for her, I'm a little less punkish but still enough to warrant her telling my father about my behaviour.

I always knew my father was a victor; we live in the Victor's Village and are able to have a good life in comparison to some of my school friends but it never warranted an explanation as to why he always left. My mother, when I was younger, told me it was due to him having to escort the tributes but I soon learnt the difference between the Hunger Games period and all the other times he went up to the Capitol. I always knew my mother knew more and that she was keeping it from me and, until a few years ago, I never understood why. Finding out about the Victor Prostitution Ring was the first big shock, the second being that my father was still part of it despite being among the older victors still in it. I guess being the 'Adonis' had it's downfalls. As I'm older I understand why he doesn't pay as much attention to me or why he goes to the Capitol but I still act out to get his attention - old habits die hard.

Some districts get to have their victor parents with them during this quell but not District Nine; we, or at least my family, have to eat just me and my mother because my father was called to the Justice Building early, probably to learn the protocol if I'm reaped. Usually we might have a bigger breakfast formally at the table but today we sit with plates on our laps as we watch the rerun of my father's Games; as suggested by my mother.

It's only the highlights but it's enough for me to understand him better. I've watched his Games before but this time it feels different, it feels more real as I'm even more closer to being reaped. We watch as he allies with the Careers, how the District One and Two males are killed in the Bloodbath by some of the older outer tributes. We watch how, on the third night, my father kills the rest of the Careers on his own and then allies with his District partner until she dies because of an earthquake. The final three is the most jarring image, the biggest contrast to then and now. The final three is him, the girl from Ten and the boy from Five. It's as if something snaps within my father because he turns into a ruthless killing machine; cutting the girl from Ten's arm off and leaving her to bleed to death and slitting the neck of Five. Never would I have imagined that my father was like that.

"I'm not hungry anymore," I say as I put my plate onto the table in front of me, suddenly I'm not in the mood for the extravagant breakfast.

"You should try and eat some more Peyton," My mother says, looking over at me with a small smile. I know she means well but that's not going to stop me from acting up.

"No, I said I'm not hungry," I huff before going upstairs to get ready for the reaping.

Cleave McLonrot-Roneban, District Nine Male, 15 years old

I don't know who my victor parent is; none of my family do. I share the same last name with the victor of the 66th Hunger Games, Barley McLonrot, but my family's told me it's just a coincidence. Besides, the resemblance is little. I've never seen the rest of his family but from judging his looks to my own reflection, I doubt we're related. We have the same caramel tone to our skin but that's where the similarities end. His caramel isn't disturbed, mine is. My brothers used to joke with me that I was one of those caramel puddings we'd try and steal from the dessert cafes in the main square; mostly caramel with spots of white peeking through. My mother told me the condition I have but I can't remember the name. vitiligo? Something along those lines. All I know is it makes me different and it makes it easy to hold grudges against people because, quite simply, they're assholes.

I remember when I got the letter I asked my mother if she ever was involved with Barley McLonrot, wondering how I got the name.

"Me? With that McLonrot? I've never seen a victor so hated in my life," She had said, disgust contorting onto her face, "He'd probably spit on me if he ever saw me."

I'd heard things about Barley, how he was popular until he came home and exposed his true colours. Apparently he exposed himself by openly hating poorer tributes - a problem, seeing as Nine is one of the poorest Districts. Subsequently my mother's comments were right; I'd hate to imagine what'd happen to her if he ever stumbled across her... across us. Seeing Barley at the reapings is always intimidating; it's as if he can tell who the poorest are and he scowls at them. It might be my mind playing tricks on me but I always feel as if he stares at me in particular.

As I said, we're poor. Like, living in the alleyway poor. There's four of us and I'm the youngest; my older brothers Philip and Reed take care of me and teach me how to steal the good food without getting caught. I used to be bad at it but now I'm one of the best - kids from other alleyways come to me for advice. It's because of my skills that we're able to have a decent meal. It's not fancy by any standards - some soft bread, some goat's cheese we pawned from another family and a few of those caramel puddings I get compared to - but it's definitely better than we're used to. Mother won't let us take tesserae; it'll expose that we're homeless and we'll be put into the orphanage and I don't know what'd happen to her.

We eat mostly in silence, the odd joke being cracked here and there. My family seems restless, as if they know something and I don't.

"What's up?" I ask as I take a bite out of a piece of bread, watching them all intently. If they know something that I don't... well, understandable I'd want to know.

"No-" Philip begins with the tone he sometimes uses when he tries to overpower me. It's not rare that we fight but we're siblings; fighting is an integral part of that.

"What's up?" I cut him off, my stubbornness coming through. I want to know whatever he knows.

My mother looks flustered for a few seconds before she smiles at me warmly, "We love you very much Cleave, you know that, right?"

My eyes shift from Philip to her and I nod slowly, "Of course... why?"

Her smile turns sadder, albeit slightly, "We want you to know that, like, really know that."

I eat another piece of bread as I look at them all suspiciously. Guess I won't be finding out anytime soon.

Genevieva Goldengem

I've been escorting District Nine since the 50th Hunger Games and I was eighteen. In my sixties, I'm the oldest escort and I haven't been given a promotion! It's terribly insulting, mostly because the tributes (and victors, when you consider Barley) are so intolerable. Julian Farncisco was nice, it made a change. Most see me as boring but when your feet hurt after years of wearing heels, it's comfort over fashion! Besides, I don't know how anyone can call my extravagant dresses boring - I'm insulted at the mere thought.

When you get to my age and have escorted for as long as I have, you get bored with the film. I'm as loyal to the Capitol, my home, as the next Capitolite but fifty years of watching the same film? The least they could've done is refilm it! There is some humour in it though; the youngsters from the twelve-year-old and thirteen-year-old section always look at it with bewildered eyes, as if they're taking it all for gospel. At least we can trust them not to try and rise up against us. You can't help but feel sorry for them, they always have the big doe eyes and it's always hard to see them killed without mercy. One does have to look away sometimes.

But this year's Games! Exciting! I skip the film just to talk about it! The quell is such a unique one, one that makes a statement. I remember thinking double the tributes was ingenious and then sending the victors in? Great! And now, now sending in the victors children? It truly does show how much the Districts owe to us. I can tell my speech is boring the citizens to pieces but it's my time! We only have about six in each reaping pool so I need to pass the time somehow. Besides, the mayor's speech is always only a few minutes long. All he ever does is ramble about how Nine is the grain in the golden bread... or something. Nobody ever listens - can we replace his allocated spot for more speaking time for me? No?

"As standard, ladies first!" I say as I walk to the bowl of female names. When you get to my age you forgo all the fancy, elaborate ways of picking a name. Just pick it! The tributes are going to die, let's not prolong their suffering now.

I choose the paper in the very centre and return to the centre of the stage, opening it up and beaming to the crowd.

"Daughter of Julian Francisco, Victor of the 88th Hunger Games - Peyton Francisco!"

Oh! Exciting! The Capitol loves Julian and no doubt his daughter will be received well! I expect to see someone was beautiful and preppy as him and I only get the first part. As beautiful as Miss Peyton is, her style and the incredibly annoying piece of chain jewellery that makes a godawful noise as she walks are both unbearable. I can't help but turn up my nose as she walks with her fists balled.

If we take away her attitude (something I will be making attempts to do!) she could be quite marketable to the sponsors; she has a pixie face which makes her cute and I have no reservations that she'll be vicious, if her fashion is anything to go by. She's trying to look annoyed, bless her, but she only looks cuter. I smile at Julian as he steps forward and stands behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder which she tries to shake off, obviously still going for the annoyed charade.

"And now, the boys!"

Again, with no flamboyancy, I walk to the bowl full of male names and pick the paper that looks misplaced among the others.

"Son of Barley McLonrot, Victor of the 66th Hunger Games - Cleave McLonrot!"

I smile out to the six boys but none of them step forward. One... spotty one, looks confused and it isn't until someone rushes to tell me to add another name on the end that I perhaps see the reason why.

"My apologies!" I say, smiling, "Son of Barley McLonrot, Victor of the 66th Hunger Games - Cleave McLonrot-Roneban!"

The confused boy resembles Peyton now; he walks to the stage annoyed with his fists balled but, unlike her, there's an undeniable sense of shock. People look shocked as he walks up, presumably because the condition isn't as common here as it is in the Capitol? It's a growing trend and it's a shame the Districts don't share our fashion sense.

Instead of standing still at the stage, Cleave punches and shouts at Barley (something we'd all like to do - it's nice to see Cleave taking one for the District Nine team), screaming about being abandoned before being pulled off the stage. Barley looks unfazed and nods at me expectantly to carry on.

Flustered, I smile at the crowd as I clap, "Your tributes! Please shake hands."

Peyton still looks annoyed as she shakes Barley's hands, glaring at it slightly before being led into the Justice Building.

Well, don't I have my work cut out for me?

DISTRICT NINEEEE!

I like these tributes, two strong personalities. If it's not clear, the family Cleave talks about aren't his biological family - more'll be revealed soon!

Thank you so much to District 9 Tribute and 66samvr for Peyton and Cleave respectively! I hope I did them justice :)

We only have three more districts left! I can't wait to blast through the Goodbyes and Train Rides and arrive in the Capitol!

Also, as a reminder, I have another SYOT open (125th Hunger Games) that still desperately needs submissions! I'll be posting a chapter later today hopefully from the perspective of that year's victor, as I always do, so do submit if you haven't!

As always, reviews make me happy!

~ Oli