A/N: Crust me, this chapter will be muy divertido. This naantastic chapter brings us to District 9, where we're going to meet Maize Forgetti and Milo Silo! Unfortunately, District 9 is often overlooked by many authors of HG fics. Don't get sour dough, I assure you the Grain District has plenty to offer!

Trigger warning for swearing, sexual references, alcohol use, underage drinking, dark thoughts, more bread jokes/puns, and all sorts of other stuff.

Maize Forgetti, 18

District 9 Female

Our school never gets to do anything fun. But last week, we were blessed with the most enjoyable thing that's happened there since I was little: an end-of-the-year talent show! As soon as it was announced, I knew I had to enter. I practiced, practiced, and practiced some more, but it all paid off on the day of the show. Some of the other talents were good, like Breddy Baguette's ability to summon a lamp. But no one could outdo my triad of talents (rum-chugging, mini-golfing, and turning water into a sprawling feast). I was awarded first place, tears of joy streaming down my face as the whole school cheered and whistled and threw flowers.

But now, no one seems to remember me. Come to think of it, that happens a lot.

I look over the selection of candies in the sweetshop, searching for the strawberry ones my brother loves so much. I really shouldn't be spending this money, but I promised Milton a treat for Reaping Day, and he's so kawaii that I havta bring him something so I can see the look on his face when he receives the gift. I reach down to grab the strawberry candies at the same time as another girl to my left. I recognize Bryony, the richest and most popular girl in school.

"Hi, Bryony," I say with a smile, "how's it going?"

"Um, excuse me, but who are you?" asks Bryony, still chewing her gum obnoxiously like every bitchy teen girl ever.

"It's me, Maize! I won the talent show last week. You said you thought I was so cool it made you cry and pee at the same time." I really want her to remember.

"Sounds like a liiiie," replies Bryony, drawing out the i sound like a valley girl would. "4 reals I have no idea who you are and tbh u look like shit. Get lost, loser. U wish u knew meh."

I'm left alone as Bryony snaps her head to one side and walks away, money falling from her pockets as she does so. I sigh as loud as I can manage, hoping the man to my right will ask if I'm okay or something. The man acts like he didn't hear my sigh at all, so I grab some strawberry candies for Milton and go on my way.

The line at check-out is several people long, but I don't mind. I've got time. I listen in on the conversation of the mother and son in front of me. The son is several years behind me in school, but he's notorious for being a prissy little bitch. I can't help but think of Bryony as the boy whines to his mother that this store isn't clean enough, that it needs more pizzazz and imagination, that one of the employees had the audacity to ask him if he needed help finding anything today.

"Whiny little bitch," I whisper a bit too loud for comfort. It's okay though. Nobody seems to hear.

I'm relieved when I make it up to the register. I want to get home to Milton and give him his gift! He's awfully nervous about the Reaping for someone who only has two slips. I greet the cashier and put the strawberry candies up to the counter, when I recognize the boy at the register.

"Hey Eddy, how's it going?" I ask.

"Oh my Snow, who's there? Who threw these on the counter?" Eddy's panic increases. "GHOST! Boss, we HAVE A GHO-"

Slap! I slap Eddy across the face as hard as I can. "Eddy, stop it! It's me!"

"Who would that be? Sorry, but I don't think we've met," says Eddy, rubbing his cheek.

"You're in my class at school. I won the talent show last week." No response. "We're cousins!" Still no response, just a blank stare from Eddy. "Oh never mind, just sell me the fucking candy!"

Milo Silo, 15

District 9 Male

With a swig of beer and a strum of my guitar, I'm set to launch into my next melodramatic masterpiece. I've been writing songs for years, and drinking for even longer. See, District 9 is the district that makes the booze, so it's totes easy to get. And it's not like my stupid parents will be able to stop me. Just like they can't stop me from getting a Snuggie even though I'm not 18 or older to order. I finish off my beer and launch into the next song.

They say to look on the other hand

But I'm always far too numb

Others are so blind and dumb

Too stupid to understand

"Milo!" yells my father, banging on my bedroom door. "Not again with the singing! Can't you please help with the farm, for one Snow-damn day?"

"No I can't, Dad!" I scream, smashing my guitar in anger. It's okay - I have at least thirty more. "IT'S REAPING DAY! I MIGHT GET PICKED TO DIE TODAY! DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT THAT, OR ME, OR ANYTHING? I DON'T CARE ABOUT SOME STUPID GRAIN FARM!"

"Christ, Milo. Fine. You'll help with the farm tomorrow. For today, you can just worry about being presentable at the Reaping. And I swear to bread almighty, if I hear one more song today I'll shove that guitar up your hole," says my father through the door. I'm relieved when I hear him walk away.

Angry tears stream down my face as I select my Reaping clothes and throw them on the floor like a big, strong badass. I stare at my reflection in the mirror for now, because I'm too angry to get dressed. I have light brown eyes, ashen hair, and somewhat tanned skin exactly like the book description of the boy from District 9 but don't quote me on it. I have a few freckles dotting my face and a massive fire-skull tattoo down my back that my parents don't know about. I have a scar down my left cheek from a broken beer bottle, with some of the glass still sticking out of my face.

I throw on my beige pants and my fancy shirt, with a huge Fall-In Boy logo on the front and a mural of Chester Remington, Curt Rogain, Freddy Venus, and Amy Ginhouse on the back. May they rest in peace, and may I look like a freaking badass!

"Milo Xylo Silo!" hollers my mother. Oh shit, not the full name. "Get down here, boy! It's time to go to the Reaping!"

I lunge at my closet, securing a new guitar before my POV ends. I'm realize I'm thirsty, so I open another beer with my teeth and ignore the two that fall out. I really don't want to leave my room and go into the cold, cruel world where my parents are mean and my brothers and classmates judge me and Dr. Bill refused to help me cause I'm 2 kool 4 skool. But I know that if I don't go to the Reaping, the Peacekeepers will come and probably kill me. I don't wanna die like that - I wanna drink to death when I'm thirty!

"Holy hell, Milo. Can't you lay off the booze at some point?" asks my brother Qilo, disgusted.

"It's way gross. I can smell the alcohol from a mile away!" says my brother Lilo, making a mock puking noise.

"We really have to get you off that crap," says my third brother, Dilo, with a shake of his head.

"Don't wanna go to rehab, I say no, no, no," I sing, happy when my stupid brothers cover their ears. Sigh. They just don't understand.

Maize Forgetti, 18

District 9 Female

I'm glad when the finger pricking is over - I've never been fond of needles (unlike 98% of District 6). I usher wittwe Miwwton to the twelve-year-old section before joining the rest of the eighteens. District 9 is one of the largest districts, thus we use a preliminary system to decide who has to attend the actual Reaping each year. Both Milton and I were selected, of course. Milton only has two slips in the Reaping - one because he has to, and one for his Tesserae - but that isn't anything compared to my total of twenty-seven entries. I've had to take Tesserae for Milton, our father, and myself each year since I was twelve. But now that Milton's eligible this year, he convinced me to let him take one for himself. After this year, when I'm no longer eligible, Milton will have to take the Tesserae from now on... but I don't want to think about it.

The tense whispers and conversations around me come to a stop when our mayor comes onstage. He gives a long, boring-ass speech about the Dark Days and war and the rules of the Fatality Fiesta and stuff. I ignore the speech, instead posting on Fwitter about how cute and cuddwy Milton looked eating his candies earlier. All eleven of my followers will love it!

I pay attention to the part where the mayor lists the Victors from District 9 so that the reader can tell if the author hates this district or not. We have five Victors, a moderate number, which means it's a secret. Then the author tells me he doesn't hate my district so I post that on Fwitter too and get a like immediately because I'm so popular I've just earned follower number twelve! Of our five Victors, five of them are alive, which is all of them. From the looks of it, it looks like Rye Rhyland and Tryptolemos Miller will be the Mentors this year.

"What?" whines every new HG writer on FF ever, "you can't have two male mentors!" In response, Demeter, our only female Victor, throws a bottle of gin at one of the offenders and announces that she's taking the year off.

At this time, District 9's escort prances onto the stage. Stephie Trinket is Effie's younger cousin, always living in the latter's shadow. Stephie always tries extra hard with her kindness and favors and bread puns, but she'll never be as good as Effie cause she isn't canon. "Hi, District 9! Hope everyone is bready for the 74th Annual Fatality Fiesta! Now, for the Reaping: Ladies first!"

"Maize Forgetti!"

No way!1!i!i! It can't be me! Everyone in the Square looks around, confused, unsure of who I am. That really pisses me off. I jump up and down jumping-jack style, screaming that it's me, I'm Maize Forgetti, the girl who won everyone's hearts at the talent show and deserves to be remembered!

"That's great, dear, you're on a roll! Now come on up here and join me!" says Stephie with a smile.

Oh fuck. I hadn't thought of that happening. I make my way to the stage in the most forgettable manner possible, standing meekly next to Stephie. Stephie asks for volunteers, but nobody steps up, not even Bryony my BFF. "Bryony, why don't you volunteer for me? We're defs BFFSZIES!" I shout.

"No, we're not, bitch. I don't even know u and I don't wanna either. Enjoy the arena tho :)," says Bryony from the eighteen-year-old section.

"Sorry that things have gone a-rye for you today, Maize," says Stephie. "Time for the gentlemen!" Stephie digs her hand into the boys' Reaping Ball as I make obscene gestures in Bryony's direction. I stop, embarrassed, when I see that she posted it on Fwitter.

"Milo Silo!"

"I TOLD YOU THIS WOULD HAPPEN YOU ABUSIVE SACK OF SHIT!" shouts a boy from the fifteen-year-old section. Demeter throws some gin at him, and Milo drinks the booze but leaves the glass stuck in his face.

Milo wears some Fall In Boy shirt even though that band hasn't been popular in like nine years. Did they break up? Idk, idc. Milo looks a lot like what Katniss said the boy from 9 looked like when the Mutts were attacking her, except he also manages to look like a total bitch. When none of his brothers step up to volunteer for Milo, even though they're all eligible, Demeter and Tryptolemos hand him some booze. Rye and another one of our Victors, Breadward Harvest, give me some warm bread for my troubles. Our oldest Victor, Bourbon Pumpernickel, has a big, heart-healthy bowl of Frawsted Flaykes because they're grrrrreat! (This Reaping is sponsored by Kelton's Frawsted Flaykes).

"District 9, your tributes for the 74th Annual Fatality Fiesta: Maize Forgetti and Milo Silo! If one of you wants to join our lovely cast of Victors, then you'll knead to win!" shouts Stephie.

Before I have to shake Milo's hand, I whisper something to Rye and Demeter. They both nod before smiling just a little bit. Blood splatters on the eighteens surrounding her when the bottles of booze smash into Bryony's head. Her family shrieks in horror, but everyone else claps. She was a total bitch, I'm glad she ain't my BFF no more.

Milo Silo, 15

District 9 Male

Look on the other hand, you say

You say it every single day

You dunno what you're talking about

Just let me go my own waaaaay

"Son of a bitch, Milo!" hollers my mother as my family enters the goodbye room. She takes a few deep breaths and whispers something about living, laughing, and loving in order to calm herself. "Now isn't the time for a song, sweetie. We came to wish you good luck!"

I look to my brothers. "Why the HELL didn't any of you VOLUNTEER FOR ME? I'm your BROTHER, for Frawsted Flaykes sake! Don't you care about me at all?"

"Nope, we don't," says 12-year-old Qilo.

"Your bitchy attitude is why," says 16-year-old Lilo.

"You think you're cool but honestly you're just mad annoying. Everyone wants u to put your asshole back cause it's relocated to where your mouth should be," says 18-year-old Dilo.

"Good luck in the arena, son," says my father, embracing me in a hug. My mother is quick to join. I don't want to hug them back but I do because I really wanna go home but I know I never will again now. Life has always been against me, like that time I stubbed my toe before my solo at the school concert or the time I lost my lucky bottle opener so now I have to use my teeth.

"I'm gonna die in the Fiesta," I say. "Life hates me too much for me to win. That girl who convinced Rye and Demeter to kill that snobby chick has much more of a chance."

"Omg stop being so melodramatic," whines Lilo.

"You won't die. You'll knock 'em dead in the arena with your music!" shouts my mother.

"Really? You really think so?" I ask.

"We know so!" says Qilo.

"Absoluts u will," says Lilo.

"If you play the other tributes a song, they're sure to die!" says Dilo.

"Wow, thanks guys," I say, smiling for the first time in my edgy-ass life.

"Go get 'em, champ!" says my father, and then we all hug for the rest of the time before the Peacekeeper comes because the author is getting bored. I'm honestly a teeny bit sad to see my family go, but I comfort myself by launching back into my musical melodies. The bitch-ass Peacekeeper puts earplugs into his ears about 10 seconds in, but screw him. He dunno what he's missing.

A/N: That chapter was so fantastic, I'm sure you're all kneading more right about now. Thoughts on Maize and Milo? They might've been more tame sometimes than some of the others but not everyone can have a 5x Victor for a dad or invent a kazoo-taser. And yes I know the expression is just "on the other hand" and not "look on the other hand". Milo is just dumb is all.

Snitches get stitches, but bitches get... well, you'll see. Next time, we're off to District 13! Hope to see you there.