(A/N: After a period of hiatus on this story, I'm back! Summer has begun! Anywho, I still need a male tribute for this District. Send the form (see reviews for the form) by May 10th by PRIVATE MESSAGE ONLY! I couldn't find the documentation for this tribute, so I made up everything. If you submitted her, please let me know the proper information soon. I re-wrote Javok's chapter, so please read that. Thanks for being patient!)
Kassandra Umber, District 6
I pouted in my room. I was refusing to go to the Reaping in my new dress. I looked like I belonged on a cupcake. The three-laced, three-tulled cream-colored dress was corseted in the front. I had the faintest idea that the dress was supposed to attract suitors from the wealthy Peacekeeper neighborhoods. I sighed.
"Are you coming out of there yet, Kassandra?" shouted my mother. I followed her voice to the foyer of our home. Potted plants fringed the room, along with tasteful art.
"Oh, don't you just look darling!" my mother doted. My father grunted approvingly. They had hired Matrer Tottle to do my hair. He was an import from the Capitol seeking the 'rugged' way of life in District 6. The first time I laid eyes on him, I asked him if he'd rather District thirteen with its radioactive waste. He had simply smiled and slicked his oily black hair back with his fingers. I hated him with a passion. The hairstyle he had created of my fine blond hair was no exception. Princess curls dangled around the complex updo. What kind of boys my parents hoped to attract, I had no idea. They'd rather drool over punk goddess Rachelle DiLont than ever flock to my wedding-worthy torture outfit. Rachelle had been my enemy since birth, when she kicked me in the face. Technically, she was my twin sister. My parents chose a favorite child of the set (me) and gave the other one to adoptive rich family DiLonts. I was the younger sister. My parents had no fears that I would get Reaped, so the Reaping was an annual excuse to dress me up in ridiculous outfits. I never protested. Fortunately, my parents were an endless spring of wealth, so money wasn't an object. We piled onto our carriages (another frivolous invention for the Reaping) and told our chauffeur to hurry. When we arrived, the Reaping had begun. The first name was the girls'. The announcer cleared his throat before reading a name into the microphone. I held my breath. Maybe I would get chosen. Maybe I wouldn't have to stay here. Maybe—
"Rachelle Umber"
What?
That was my sister's original name! She looked horrified to be associated with me. Her outfit was ani-mine, with a short, ripped gray minidress and large, high silver pumps. She swallowed and took the stage. Several of the guys from our age group whistled at her. She winked. No. This couldn't be happening! After all this, she still gets the attention! I can't let this happen. I took a shaky breath in and spoke loud enough for those gathered to hear me.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
Shocked faces turned to me. I smiled under them, because this kind of attention was better than none at all.