And I'm back, with a brand new chapter! Today we will be reaching the Textile District, and meet her tributes. Are you excited? I'm excited!

I'm sorry the chapter took a little longer. I was a little busy stressing over scheduling for the next school year.

Reviews!

faceless eater aka slendergirl: I'm glad you had a good Easter, mine was great too. I'd kill for a new pair of headphones!

Mystical Pine Forest: It's alright if you don't make sense sometimes, it's a miracle I manage to get anything written some days! If I could choose, I'd probably live in 3 or 7, too.

dreams and desperation: Yup, he literally asked me 4 times when it'd be up.

jayman1919: It is okay, you managed to get me to update faster. I hope I did Seven justice.

ElvenRangerRysel: I'm glad you are liking the story, it means a lot. I sorta meant to… imply the fact the Kenzi would do that, and I'm glad you liked it anyway. 4 would be a nice District…

I know people aren't reviewing! On the day I posted Six, I got 131 views, and only seven reviews. Between Monday the 28th and Tuesday the 29th I got 53 views, and only 5 reviews. People are reading, and I'd like your feedback. If you have anything to say, I'd like to hear it. The only criticism I've received was in the first one or two chapters. I can't be too good for negative comments!

Jayman1919 is writing a games where authors submit themselves. I submitted, you should too! The full title is: THE FanFic Games (SYS- Submit Yourself- OPEN).

I must insist that you read all the way through the author's note at the end of the chapter.

Thanks to Mystical Pine Forest and Clis2339 for Tulle and Henry!


Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8


Slowly, I opened my eyes, and lifted my head off the hard, yet surprisingly comfortable surface it was resting on. Squinting in the light, I attempted for many seconds, to no avail, to survey my surroundings.

Once my eyes had adjusted a little, I took note of the space before me. At eye level was a bright rectangle that hurt to gaze upon, so instead, I looked down. Opening my eyes the slightest bit more, I saw a brightly colored sheet of paper, framed in a dark wood. Upon further examination, the "frame" became a desk, littered with pencils, balled-up sheets of paper and a notepad.

I sat upright in my chair, staring out the window onto the streets of District Eight, where people roamed in small clusters, seeking the safety and comfort only found in numbers. My family lived in a richer part of Eight, where we worked our own little fashion shop.

By "we" I of course mean my mother, Velvet, my father, Plaid, my thirteen-year-old brother, Rayon, and my grandfather on my dad's side, Hemp. Mom works as a seamstress, dad a tailor, myself, a designer, and Rayon's an errand boy. My grandfather, being 72, doesn't do a lot, as he practically lives in his wheelchair and bed behind the shop.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stood up, surveying the small, yet fair room. Opposite the wall with the room's only window and desk was a "twin-sized" mattress, resting on the cold wood floor. Lying on the pale blue comforter was a faded purple blouse and a black skirt. On the floor by the foot of the bed sat a pair of black ballet flats, one of them on its side in the open doorway.

Upon seeing them, I remembered the importance of that particular day, and quickly threw them on. After making sure nothing was inside-out or backwards, I walked down the hall to our upper-floor bathroom, where I gazed at myself in the mirror. Zeroing in on my target, I plucked it from where it rested on the cast iron.

I ran the bright pink brush through my hair, annoyed at how much it had gotten tangled overnight. In my frenzy for a new design, I had ruffled my strawberry blonde hair into a rat's nest. Resisting the urge to yank the brush, I caught a peek of my reflection in the mirror.

The first things that stand out are the many zits all over my face. (I've tried to get rid of them, honestly, but they're stubborn as double-stitching.) Once you get past that fact, you see my bright blue eyes, and straight hair that reaches my shoulders. My tall, slender frame makes me seem older than fifteen, and my larger feet always seem to bring me great pain whenever I stub my toes.

Finally finished with brushing, I opened the bathroom door to see my little brother Rayon sitting on the floor, an impatient look on his face.

"Took you long enough!" He whined.

"If you'd wake up earlier, you'd get the bathroom before me." I retorted.

"I'd wake up earlier if I didn't have to go all the way to Cobbler Town to deliver some stupid pattern ideas. That you made!"

"Well maybe if you weren't such a baby and took out more tesserae…" My thought process paused and I walked to the top of the stairway. Very quickly, I called behind me, "speaking of designs, could you get the one I drew up last night? It's on my desk, thanks!" He yelled after me, but I couldn't hear what he was saying.

One of the back rooms of our shop was our kitchen-slash-dining area. In this room I found my father flipping pancakes, my mother getting more sausage out of the fridge, and my grandfather sitting on his lazy butt reading a newspaper, as always.

"Good morning!" I called cheerily to all of them. Grandpa ignored me, mother looked at me with a small smile, and my father dropped his pancake on the floor to embrace me.

"Good morning sweetheart!" He said joyfully. "And how are you this morning?"

"I woke up in the middle of the night with a great idea for a new type of clothing! I saw it in a book once I think, and it came to me in a dream, and-"

"And it's thinking like that that won you this." I turned around to the door between our shop and our living space, where my friend Sofie Frayy was holding up a trophy. "Come on, miss "1st place in a friggin' fashionista contest." We need to get going. Cally's gonna meet us there, remember?"

"I remember." I pulled away from my dad, and turned to my mom. "We're leaving now, okay? I'll see you after."

"Don't leave your brother behind!" She warned.

"We won't. He's already in the shop." I lied.

"I am not!" Rayon yelled as he sprinted down the stairs. He handed my father a sheet of paper, and ran over to us. "Let's blow this pop stand!"

"Sure, Mr. Four-slips." I muttered.


Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8


"Henry, what's this?" I looked up at the old woman, who was holding up some ash grey flowers, with dull orange stems, a color that made it half way up each leaf. The other half was a bright green. I knew from when I had first learned about these flowers that they grew from any living or once-living cells found in volcanic lava or magma. The woman looked at me expectantly, her clear mind showing in the expression on her face.

"That's a lava lily." I answered after less than a moment's hesitation.

"And what can you use it for?" The old woman, Sonia, asked again.

"The roots are edible, the stem, though thin, is coated in drinkable water, and the flower itself can be crushed and mixed with water to create a healing paste." I answered again.

"And the leaves?" She knew I knew the answer. We were just reviewing.

"The orange half is coated with water, like the stem itself. The green half, however, can cause bad skin rashes, and, if consumed, is a slow-working poison."

"Very good, Henry, as usual. It's time for you to leave, now. The new escort won't wait for you, ya know." She smiled at me, and held out her arms. I got up from the chair I was sitting in and embraced her.

"I love you, Grandma. I'll see you after the Reapings."

"I love you too, sweetie. I have a few patients to check up on and I'll be right behind you."

I smiled at her and left the office, walking down a hall of similar offices, and finally, through a heavy wooden door to the waiting room. The yellow wallpaper seemed sickly, rubbed white in some places. Without taking too much time looking around, I left the hospital.

Yes, my grandmother works in a hospital, but calling it a hospital is inaccurate. The building is only one floor, and has an operating room, about a dozen offices, and maybe half as many check-up rooms. My grandmother is one of the main surgeons, and I help her out whenever I can get off work.

My whole family consists of my grandmother, who is seventy-one, and my two older sisters Jessica and Paula, who are twenty-five and twenty. I never knew my parents, as they died in a factory accident when I was really young. I don't remember them, but my sisters and grandmother always seem sad when talking about them.

Once home, I grabbed my reaping outfit, which I had set out on the sofa before I had left, and went straight into the bathroom to throw them on. Looking down at myself, I saw my regular Reaping outfit: a green button up shirt, black pants and matching shoes.

My reflection showed me what I see every day: bushy black hair, brown eyes and a face that could help me pass for twelve. My slightly overweight appearance made me look tough, which surprised the workers at the factory and hospital.

A knock at the door forced me to hurriedly tuck (more like "shove") my shirt into my pants. Leaving the bathroom as quick as I dared, I opened the door and stepped back into the dirty District Eight sunlight.

"Ready to go?" A feminine voice asked. I looked at the two figures standing on the steps.

Turning to the slightly shorter one with the long blonde hair I said, "As I'll ever be, Becks." She smiled at me and started walking away from me, toward the main square, which was over a mile away.

James, Rebecca and I had been friends for only a few years, but we had clicked instantly. We had the same grade 5 class, and were forced to talk to each other to coordinate an art project. Crazy as it sounds, they both lost role models in their lives when they were about as young as I was when my parents died, so they were the only ones I ever opened up to.

"Henry? Heeeenrrryyyy?" Rebecca was waving her hand in front of my face. "Are you even listening?"

I smiled. "Sorry guys, I guess not."

"Where were you all morning? We came by your house like three times!" James whined.

I laughed. "I was at the hospital. Grandma asked me to go with her, but she just had me review the uses of some plants."

"Which ones?" Rebecca asked, genuinely curious.

"Let's see…" I then read off a list of plants that I could remember seeing at the hospital earlier. Among them were mutt roots, howler roses, blue jasmine… "And lava lilies." I finished.

"Wow, you did all that this morning?" James asked incredulously. "Dude, you could win the Games with that knowledge!"

Rebecca's face darkened. "District Eight hasn't had a Victor since Yvonne won fifty-five years ago. Do you really want to think of Henry in there, James?"

James opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, we could hear the anthem playing down the street.


Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8


I winced as the peacekeeper pricked my finger, signing me in. He waved his hands in a shooing motion, and I obliged, walking toward the fifteen-year-old's section. It was weird standing in the back, but sixteen through eighteens weren't eligible, so it was appropriate.

I couldn't find Calico, to my disappointment, but I at least had Sofie to keep me company. We stood there through the new escort's greetings, (her name was Friga. What the heck?) and a video encouraging Eight to "break the streak." We then watched as she called the Victors one by one.

"Woof Thread, the 17th Hunger Games, 21st place in the 3rd Quarter Quell. Velvet Furse, the 57th Hunger Games. Cecelia Furse, the 60th Hunger Games, 22nd place in the 3rd Quarter Quell. Hazel Cardigan, the 67th Hunger Games." An old, ninety nine year-old woman shakily stood on stage, her cane holding her weight. "Satin Turban, the 79th Hunger Games." An eighty-nine year old man stood up, strength rolling off him in waves. "Cotton Ink, the 92nd Hunger Games." Friga wiped her eyes at mentioning his name. Cotton was poisoned in Ten during his Victory Tour. "And finally, the Victor of the 95th Hunger Games, Yvonne Ghetto."

Yvonne got up and looked at us sadly. But Friga didn't notice, and continued. "Now, I shall Reap the tributes from District Eight for the 6th Quarter Quell."


Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8


Friga plucked a sheet of paper from each of the glass bowls on the right side of the stage. At the mic, she called, "Tulle Salane." I looked at the fifteens, where I saw Tulle slowly pull her arm away from the girl next to her and walk up to the stage. I hadn't really known her, but she always brought new design ideas to the factory I worked at.

"Hello dear." Friga greeted her. "Is there anything you'd like to say before we leave for the Capitol?"

She looked down at us, doing her best to hold back the tears. "Ready to break the streak?" She asked.

After a few seconds of silence Friga said, "isn't that nice. Been a while since I saw a patriot in Eight! Now for the boys." She strode confidently to the bowls on the left side of the stage, and drew a sheet of paper from each. "Henry Reynoso!" She called.

James gaped at me in horror, and I realized it was true. I had been reaped for the Hunger Games! I screamed, and my breathing became rapid and deep. Hyperventilating, I stumbled through the back of the crowd, where peacekeepers seized me and dragged me to the steps of the Justice Building. I did nothing to stop them.

Finally gaining control over my emotions, I looked up at Friga offering me a hand. I took it, and she rolled her eyes at me. I looked out at the crowd as she announced, "ladies and gentlemen, your tributes from District Eight!" No applause was heard from below, and she whispered to Tulle and I, "This is the part where you shake hands."

We complied, and Friga herded us into the Justice Building.


Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8


They were the first genuine tears I had seen from Grandpa in a long time, and they only spurred my parents to cry harder. I tried my hardest to keep the tears away, waiting for theirs to stop flowing, but they were taken away before that happened.

Once they were gone, though, Calico and Rayon walked in, running with his arms outstretched, and Cally obviously trying to figure out what to say.

"Calico, I-" I started.

"Stop, T. You're my best friend and I know that if you start talking, you'll start crying and then I'll start crying." She paused. "I know you can make it out. I know it. So what if it hasn't happened in over fifty years? You said so yourself, we're breaking the streak this year. You are an artist, maybe you can for the whole Games, and make a weapon to kill your last opponent. You-" She paused.

"You can make friends, Tulle." Rayon continued through his tears. "Half the Games is about friends. You can do it." He started sobbing again, unable to stop. I looked up at Cally.

"Take care of them, okay?" I asked, lightly pushing Rayon over to her. She nodded, grabbing Ray by the shoulders. She only looked back once.

The door creaked open, and I looked up expecting to see Friga, but saw Sofie instead. "Hey." She said tentatively.

"Can I really do this, Sofe? Could I break Eight's curse? I'm a designer, not a fighter."

She plopped herself on the arm of the chair I was sitting in, and said, "Not everyone wins with a fight. Most do, but some get lucky. With a great deal of luck, anyone could win the Games. They just need the right circumstances."

"Like what?" I challenged.

"Well, you could get one of the cousins as a mentor. They're tributes always make it far. Or you could be launched right next to a weapon, away from the Careers."

I nodded slowly, trying to come up with a plan.


Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8


I wasn't surprised to see Jessica visit me first; she files Capitol papers in the Justice Building, and only briefly took a break from work to see the Reapings.

And say goodbye.

As she walked in, she smiled softly, her eyes watery. She approached me silently, and I stared at her, willing myself not to cry.

Jessica had always been to me what I figured a mother must have felt like. She's 11 years older than me, but she never ignored me or even told me to go away. We were best friends, even though I seldom saw her.

"You okay?" She finally asked.

I gave a weak smile. "I suppose. It's almost unreal, you know? Like, it hasn't really sunk in yet, even though I know it has."

She matched my smile, and said, "You can win, you know. After all, you always seemed to win hide-and-seek when you were little. Little skills can help like that in the Arena." She held me then, rejoicing in old memories, until she had to go. Grandma and Paula walked in after she left.

I stood up, offering the chair to my grandma. She took it, and Paula punched me in the arm.

"You better come back." She said, failing to force a smile. "I'd miss you if something happened. Besides, I'd have to work more at the factory!" She gave a sad laugh, which quickly died.

"You don't have to be a strong fighter to win the Games, Henry." I turned to my grandmother as she spoke, "District Three seldom wins with fights. Most win with clever traps, or analyzing the weaknesses of their opponents."

"What am I supposed to do? Create traps and trick other tributes into them?" I questioned.

She looked at me seriously and answered, "If it comes down to it. If you can, try to align yourself with the Threes. If not, simply play the Game like a Three. You know plants, and their uses. That has also helped many Nines, Elevens and Twelves to win. Just use what you have and come back to us. Do you understand, Henry?"

I nodded, and answered, "I'll do my best, I promise. I know I can make it, I just need a useful Arena." They both nodded, and were herded out by the peacekeeper.


Cecelia Furse, Age 107 (17), District 8


I sat straight up in my hospital bed, grasping at my throat and breathing hard. Not finding a gash, I calmed down a bit, and looked around. Three people to my right were sitting up in their beds, though four lumps were still.

I recognized the place, as I had been there multiple times before. Throwing my legs onto the floor, I groaned. Not again! I thought. I stood up and began walking past the many beds, waving to Ingrid from Three and Matt from Five. I tried to ignore Kinzie's glare.

At the end of the row of beds, I stopped. The very last one had District 1 inscribed in the headboard. Cautiously, I walked to where the Victor's head rested under the blanket. Carefully, I lifted it.

Gloss opened his eyes and I screamed.


Velvet Furse, Age 111 (18), District 8


My head throbbed, and people were shouting. Why won't they stop? I thought. It's bad enough I'm mentoring again, but I'm not the only one who wakes with a headache. Pressing my hands to my head, I opened my eyes to bright lights that only made it all worse.

I tried to take inventory of my situation. I reached to my left and felt another bed, though much closer than I was used to. Maybe I have a deadie for a partner, I thought. But who could it be? Last time I was alive, the only dead Victors were Woof, Cecelia, Cotton and myself. Surely, they wouldn't let me and Cecelia mentor together-? Maybe Hazel died in some freak accident…

Then I recognized the voices, arguing as they always did before they went into the Quell together.

Quickly getting up, I hurried to back up my cousin.


Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know:

dreams and desperation: 80

ElvenRangerRysel: 74

Mystical Pine Forest: 68

faceless eater aka slendergirl: 59

jayman1919: 59

We're All Okay: 56

Rina-The-Fangirl: 56

Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:

The Rsce: 62

Jotunheim Storm: 59

CreativeAJL: 53

InfiniteDespair: 53

HufflePuffleJay: 53

MushtcheNinja29: 53

grimbutnotalways: 53

Alien and Wolfie: 53

Here are the submitters who have not reviewed (If I don't know you're reading, I may kill your tribute(s). Just saying) (and I like your tributes, so don't let them down now!):

superepicstarkette1211

And finally, here are the people who for sure AREN'T Sponsoring:

Clis2339: 62

If you are on none of these lists, you are probably a non-submitter, and I have not included your name because I haven't seen a review in a while. If you'd like to be on any of these lists, let me know. Remember everyone, your donations can save lives!

Alliances!:

Careers: Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2), and Esmeralda (4).

Loners who will likely get alliances eventually:

Cordin (3)

Infiniti (3)

Jasper (4)

Darius (5)

Devon (5)

Aran (6)

Jetta (6)

Logan (7)

Kenzi (7)

Henry (8)

Tulle (8)

Questions!:

Of the above tributes, who would you align yourself with personally?

Which would you be wary of?

Would you like your tribute(s) in an alliance with any of these tributes? (If you'd like to wait to answer this until you've seen all the tributes, wait until then. This won't be made permanent until training begins, so you could say, "I'd like Jetta with the Careers!" If you really wanted to, I suppose):

Thoughts on our present Career pack?

Predictions for upcoming tributes?

Don't die, and remember to brush your teeth,

Lord Zagreus