Shine Scott, 19
District Twelve Quell Female

A loud clap of thunder shocked Shine Scott out of her sleep. She sat straight up, noticed the torrents of rain pouring outside of her window and the date on her calendar, and immediately buried her head back under her covers. This was the day that she had hoped would never come, because if it did, it meant that everything she'd dreamed of would never come to fruition.

Today, Shine Scott would not be volunteering for the 99th Hunger Games.

Like the rest of the top ten girls in her year, Shine had spent her whole life striving to volunteer. But even after pouring her heart and soul out into training, even after doing everything she possibly could to secure a spot, Shine fell just short. Shine had even trained all the way through this year's unusually long prelock, the period of time during which Two's chosen volunteers would practice working together to learn about each other's combat skills and style of working. Though unlikely, it was not impossible for the chosen volunteers to switch during prelock, either because of misconduct, an injury, a health condition, or other extenuating circumstances. Keeping her hopes up, Shine trained through the entire prelock period, but she was royally crushed when, two days before the Reaping, the volunteers were finally locked in. Devastated, she had packed up her locker and returned home, and she hadn't left her bed since. She really had no idea what to do now.

As much as Shine would prefer to stay in her room for eternity, she knew that not going to the Reaping would make things much, much worse. So, begrudgingly, Shine got out of bed and went downstairs to eat breakfast. When she got to the ground floor, she found her mother sitting on their sofa, watching some sort of Capitol TV show. "Hi, darling," Shine's mother said softly as she caught a glimpse of her daughter coming down the stairs. "How are you doing?"

"Meh."

"Yeah, I understand. I went through the same struggle when I was training. It's hard to get so close to your dream and then just have it ripped away."

"Yeah."

Shine went into the kitchen, where she found her father mixing up some pancake batter. "Hi, darling. Want some pancakes?"

"Sure," Shine replied, sliding onto a barstool at their island.

"Do you want me to make you Reaping Day pancakes like I made when you were younger?" asked her father, giving her a kiss on the forehead as he passed behind her to get to the stove.

"I guess."

Shine watched as her father deftly ladled the pancake batter into an array of squeeze bottles and colored it a variety of bright colors. Checking to see that his pan was hot, he delicately squeezed the batter out into some of Shine's favorite childhood shapes: a bunch of colorful balloons, a rainbow, and a bright yellow smiley face. Shine couldn't help but smile as she watched her father cook. She knew that his reputation in the district was of a big, strong, powerful man who was one of the most revered and feared Peacekeepers to ever enter the force, and she couldn't help but smirk when other adults in the district tried not to cower in fear in front of Atticus Scott, or when other children were threatened with being "turned over to the Scotts" as a punishment. But Shine knew Atticus as her dad, as a man who dreamed from a young age to have a family and who cherished every second he spent with his wife and daughter, as the person who was and did everything that Shine wanted to do and be. There was no person kinder and more capable of love than her father, but because Atticus was sometimes called for government business even now that he'd been out of the force for twenty years, Atticus's true nature had to stay their family's little secret.

"Order up!" proclaimed Atticus, sliding the plate of pancakes in front of his daughter. "It only took me eighteen years but I finally made a perfect circle."

"A mostly perfect one," Shine replied. "I see a little bit that looks off over on this edge."

"Yeah, yeah. You're just jealous because you can't make one." Atticus took off his apron and sat next to his daughter. "Do you want to turn on the Reapings live?"

Shine sighed. "Not really. But there's not anything else on."

"Nope. And that way you can get excused later and do whatever you need to do after the Reaping."

"Yep."

Atticus turned on the television to Good Morning District Two, whose hosts were, for the seventieth day in a row, discussing rumors about the Arena and a claim that had been circulating that this year's Games would somehow provide a clue to the next year's Games. Of course, all of these rumors and claims and speculations were almost definitely false, but that didn't stop the talking airheads from regurgitating the same four talking points about the falsehoods over and over again. Abruptly, one of the airheads cut off her counterpart; holding her fingers to her ear, she said, "Good news! We're getting word that District Twelve is about to get their Reaping underway. We'll throw there live in a moment. Remember to pay attention throughout the Reaping broadcasts for the letters, numbers, or symbols that form the code that you must submit to be exempt from the mandatory broadcast tonight. And as always, we'll be back throughout the day to provide commentary and any exclusive information we can gather about the newest batch of tributes. With that, Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

"Finally," groaned Shine. "I can't listen to those numbskulls anymore."

"Hey, they can provide good commentary," replied Atticus.

"Key word there is can. Most of the time, they don't."

The image on the screen shifted to the decrepit town square of District Twelve. Shine always looked at the poor, malnourished people in that square with a mix of about ten percent pity and ninety percent disgust; she could not imagine living in those conditions, and she didn't understand why, year in and year out, the people in Twelve did nothing about it.

After some establishing shots with "Horn of Plenty" playing in the background, the camera zoomed in on the mayor of District Twelve, who was completing reading the Treaty of Treason (as all of Two would hear the Treaty of Treason later at their Reaping, there was no need to show it at all of the Reapings that Two and One had the privilege of watching live). Shine felt her heartbeat pick up as the mayor turned the proceedings over to Twelve's new escort choose the first tributes of the 99th Games. There was always something exciting about seeing the competition that the Careers would inevitably mow down, but this year, Shine couldn't help but feel frustrated. These kids would always look so devastated entering the Reaping, but she would kill for the chance to take their place.

With an amount of fanfare that felt rather out of place in District Twelve, the escort reached into the bowl of girls and retrieved the first slip. She returned to the microphone and announced, "Emberlyn Millhone!"

The girl in question emerged from the section of sixteen-year-olds, immediately causing whispers to ripple all around Twelve's square. Not only did her blonde hair, blue eyes, and clean, pale, white skin indicate that she was wealthier than the average tribute from Twelve, but her stomach revealed that she was seven months pregnant. The escort frantically tried to get the chatter to cease so she could ask for volunteers and progress the reaping, but the more she tried, the harder she failed. Finally, one of the Peacekeepers, presumably a commander, took his gun out of his holster and fired it straight up in the air. The crowd immediately stopped talking. Satisfied, the commander put his gun back into the holster, then, for some odd reason, turned around and walked away, which struck Shine as odd. "Why would a Peacekeeper be walking away during the Reaping?" Shine muttered.

"What's that, honey?"

"Nothing. It's silly."

"Nothing is silly. If you noticed something, there's probably a reason."

"Well, I just noticed that one of the Peacekeepers was walking away, but he could just be moving to another post or something."

"You know, I picked up on that too. Peacekeepers don't usually change posts in the middle of the Reaping unless something happens."

The two turned back to the Reaping. Evidently, nobody had volunteered for poor Emberlyn, as a small, underfed boy was already making his way to the stage. The escort attempted to make small talk with the boy, then fruitlessly asked for volunteers, a request met with absolute silence. Resigning herself to the children's fate, the escort presented them to the district, then swiftly paraded them into the Justice Building. As "Horn of Plenty" began to play again, dramatic, slow-motion video played of the two tributes' reactions to their names being called. Shine noticed something unusual happen with the Peacekeepers in the background of the footage of Emberlyn. She grabbed the remote and rewound the footage, then watched it again more carefully.

"Did that Peacekeeper in the background faint?" Shine asked.

"It seems so," her father replied, squinting his eyes to get a good view.

"And they're dragging him back into that building. Maybe that's where the commander went."

"Maybe, though if that were the case, it would certainly be unlike anything that happened during my time in the Peacekeepers. A medical emergency is handled by another Peacekeeper and the squad medic, not the commander. But I do wonder…" The two fell silent.

"Well, I gotta go get ready for the Reaping," Shine said. "Call me when the next reaping comes on."

"Will do."

Shine went up to her room and began to put some makeup, an act of torture that she only endured on Reaping Day. She grabbed her bottle of foundation and began to rummage through her drawers to look for a sponge. Suddenly, she heard the phone ring. Startled, she dropped the bottle of foundation she was holding, which shattered and spilled all over the floor. Shine ran down to the kitchen to get a rag to clean up her floor. But, when she stormed into the kitchen, she stopped short, noticing the purple, government-issued phone her father was using and the concerned look on his face. "Yes. Yes. I understand that you're making special accommodations, and I appreciate it. I'm aware. Yes, sir. Around midday. Of course. Goodbye."

Shine's father put down his phone and noticed his daughter. He thought for a moment, then explained, "Well, but you were right."

"About what?"

"The Peacekeeper fainting. I'm willing to tell you more, but you must keep this a secret no matter what, OK?" Shine nodded. "Turns out he fainted from shock because he fathered the child that that tribute girl from Twelve is bearing. President Snow has asked me to relocate to Twelve with my family to whip the Peacekeepers into shape and show them that you can have a family after you finish your service…"

"…and it's the president, so you can't say no," Shine concluded dejectedly.

"Right. My understanding is that we can return to Two once the Peacekeepers are in shape, but until then… well, at least it's an adventure!"

Shine could not believe her misfortune. Not only was Shine not the chosen volunteer, not only had everything she'd worked towards for so many years gone to waste, but now she was being forced to move to the lowest of the low districts of Panem for who knows how long, which would probably screw up her chances of being a trainer in the Academy, or of joining the Peacekeepers like her father did, or of doing anything actually worthwhile ever.

This was the worst day of her life.

Rowena Wayland, 16
District Ten Standard Female

"Everyone ready back there?" Ariel Wayland called back to their four kids.

"Ready!"

"Great! Let's head out." The kids heard the crack of a whip and, slowly but surely, the covered wagon in which they were seated began to move. As she did every year, Rowena Wayland watched out the back of the wagon as her family's ranch faded out of view, praying that she'd be able to see it again. Once their house was just a speck in the distance, she turned around and lay down on the floor of the wagon, preparing for the long trip ahead.

As their last name suggested, the Waylands owned a plot of land that was way out on the outskirts of Ten, the edge of which was just a stone's throw from the fence that enclosed the district. As such, the journey to North City for the Reaping was a long one that took days of preparation and an entire night of travel with no break. While it was a long journey, it didn't feel arduous to the children who rode in the wagon. Their Baba's careful navigation helped the oxen move at a smooth, steady pace that, year after year, put the two younger Waylands, Wolf and Fleur, to sleep before the sun even set.

Once they were both sure that their siblings were asleep, the two older Wayland siblings, Viktor and Rowena, scooted closer to each other. The time was some of the only time that they could spend together, as all four kids shared a room, and they both treasured it tremendously. But this was not exactly the kind of conversation they would look back on fondly in their old age.

"Who are you planning on voting for?" asked Viktor, talking in a low voice so as not to wake up the younger pair.

"What kind of a question is that?" Rowena replied, scooching closer to her brother. "We know so few other people in this district because of how far we live from any other ranch. I might as well flip to a random page and point to a name. This voting thing is just so absurd."

"I know. But we have to think carefully about how we do this, and also who we tell Wolf and Fleur to vote for because we know that they're both going to vote for whoever we tell them to."

"So how do you propose we do that?"

"We need to find a way to figure out who other people are going to vote for, and then vote for them. The fewer different people get votes, the less likely it is that people will randomly vote for Fleur and Wolf. We can protect them by volunteering for them if they get Reaped, but we can't do anything if they are voted in."

"So your plan is to just read the minds of the population of North City. Easy."

"No, no, no," Viktor said, shaking his head. "We either need to pay attention to who people in North City steer away from, or we need to find someone who is such a pariah that everyone in the district would vote for them."

"Like who?"

"Well, think about the most powerful people in Ten. The Winchesters, the Fowlers, the Picketts, the Marshalls. I don't know exactly how wealthy or poor the rest of Ten is, but from watching the Reapings in other districts, I would assume there's a decent wealth gap. This is the way that we lower-class people can get revenge on the wealthy."

"I don't know any of those people, though. Like, what if there are multiple people with that last name? How would we choose which one to vote for?"

Suddenly, something bumped into the back of the wagon, sending the Wayland kids first flying up and then crashing down. A weird scent, like the mix of burning rubber, scorched wood, and either kerosene or gasoline, floated into the wagon. "What was that?" asked Fleur groggily, rubbing her eyes as she tried to process what was going on.

"I'm not sure," Viktor replied. "Let me go check. You guys stay here."

"I'm coming with you, Viktor," Rowena insisted.

"Rowena. This is not a good idea. We both know what happens when you get upset."

"I'm coming!"

"Fine. Just… don't talk. Please."

Viktor hopped out of the wagon, closely followed by Rowena. The two came upon a bit of an unexpected scene; in all their years making this trip to North City, they had maybe run into a car twice, and they'd never seen one this early in the trip. Their parent was already talking with a man in a very nice suit who must have just come out of the car. It took Rowena a moment to figure out why the man looked familiar: it was none other than Mayor Mosule Rose himself! Rowena was always a bit wary of the mayor; he was mostly good at his job, from what she saw at the Readings and other mandatory broadcasts, but anyone with half a brain should be scared of a man that managed to both win the Hunger Games and maneuver his way into the position of mayor.

"Is everything OK?" asked Viktor.

"Yes, I'm fine," replied Ariel.

"It's entirely our fault," Mayor Rose insisted. "We're not used to seeing other vehicles in this area and so we were going way too fast up into this intersection. We were able to stop most of the way, but we, unfortunately, crashed into the wheel of your vehicle. And it looks like it took quite a bit of damage."

"Oh, no, don't worry about it," replied Ariel, being far kinder to the mayor than Rowena might have been. It was totally inappropriate for the mayor to be going so fast on any road in the district as to cause damage to other people's property, regardless of whether or not it was intentional. "This is fixable, no different than the damage that might be caused by a stray root or boulder. I keep a repair kit in the wagon all the time."

"Well, I insist on helping as well. My chauffeur is knowledgeable about repair type things. And perhaps your children can wait in our car while we repair the damage?"

"That's very kind of you. Thank you."

"It's the least I can do."

Viktor and Rowena fetched their siblings from the back of the wagon and escorted the groggy youngsters into the Roses' car. As they slid in and closed the door behind them, Rowena couldn't help but notice how opulent the car was. Sitting in the car were three kids, two of whom were asleep, but the third, despite probably being around Fleur's age, was wide awake, playing with some weird, thin, glowing object that Rowena didn't recognize. The girl crinkled her nose, then looked up, a disgusted expression on her face, and scanned the intruders. Rowena could see the gears turning in her head before the girl spoke up and asked, "Who are you?"

"We're the kids who were riding in the wagon that this car ran into," replied Rowena.

"Oh." The girl turned back to her device, clearly not interested in engaging in conversation, letting an awkward silence fall over the car. Rowena felt so out of place in this vehicle, almost like she was being stifled by the opulence and wealth that surrounded her. And this girl absolutely was not making her feel any more welcome, which was shocking to Rowena, as the people of Ten were known for their hospitality. Every year, a massive community effort was undertaken leading up to the Reaping to ensure that everyone who traveled to North City (and, Rowena assumed, South City) was fed and had a place to sleep indoors if it rained. Rowena had stayed in at least five different homes in her life, and every time, the kids were just as hospitable as their parents; even as young as three or four, they were taught to offer a glass of water or an extra blanket to their guests, or to play with their visitors so the parents could have Adult Conversations. And if the people from the outskirts ever had guests from the cities, they would, of course, return the favor. This girl was clearly not educated in Ten's culture of hospitality that was core to the identities of so many in the lower classes. Were the rich really that out of touch?

"So, what's your name?" asked Fleur, trying to strike up a conversation and break up the silence.

"What's it to you?" replied the girl. "And also how do you not know who I am? I'm the mayor's oldest daughter. I'm going to be the mayor too someday, because Daddy's gonna make sure I can. There's no way either of you will be able to do that."

"How do you know? Anything is possible," Rowena retorted, not catching Viktor's wary glance.

"No it's not. You're peasants. You're poor," the girl spat out, as if just saying that word made her feel disgusting. "Poor people don't amount to much of anything. They exist to make food for the Capitol and get reaped into the Games."

"You have got to be kidding me!" exclaimed Rowena. "We 'poor people' are the reason you have food on your table, and the reason that your father keeps his job. Society doesn't need wealthy people who sit in their houses all day doing nothing useful and taking up space, they need people who will actually work and make sure that this country can function. Without us 'poor people,' you would not have clothes on your back or food on your plate."

The girl was unfazed by Rowena's outburst. As she looked up from the device she was holding, Rowena saw a glint in the child's eye, like she knew exactly what she was doing with every word she spoke. "You're just saying that to make yourselves feel better. You're dispensable and redundant, and no different from any of the thousands of other poor people in this country."

Rowena could have punched the bitch. Fortunately for the girl's face, the door to the vehicle opened at that precise moment. "Everything OK in here, Lambell?" asked the mayor.

Immediately, the girl's demeanor changed, from malicious to charming. "Totally fine, daddy! We're getting along swimmingly."

"Well, that's very good. We've got the wagon up and ready to go. Your mother-"

"Parent," Rowena interrupted sullenly.

"My apologies. Your parent is rather adept with tools. Sh…they did a far better job than I could do."

"That's my Baba. Come on, guys, let's get back on the road." Rowena got up and stormed through the door of the vehicle, her rather relieved siblings following suit. The four got back into the wagon, but instead of going to her corner to go back to sleep, Fleur sat right next to Rowena and snuggled into her side. "Hey, Rowena?"

"What's up?"

The girl looked up at her older sister. "I'm scared I won't come back again. What if that girl – Lambell – what if she was right? What if we really are expendable and just here to die?"

"Oh, Fleur," Rowena said caringly, trying to hold back the anger that pushed up against her stomach and her throat. "The odds of you getting voted in are so slim, because we live so far away from people that very few people know who you are, certainly not people all the way down in South City. And the odds of you getting picked are almost none, considering that you only have one slip in the bowl."

"But what happens if I do get picked?"

Rowena looked at her brother, who gave her a solemn nod. "We'll find a way to protect you. I promise."

Rowena and Fleur sat together for some time, the older girl rubbing the younger girl's back until the smooth motion of the oxen lulled her to sleep. Once she was sure Fleur was out again, Rowena looked up at her older brother.

"I get what you were talking about earlier, Vik."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. No doubt the entire district is going to be voting for her."

Well, that took much longer than anticipated.

I really do apologize for these delays between chapters. I've found it hard to get anything done these past few months, to be honest, and it's been far more challenging for me to get motivated to do, well, anything than it has been in years. But I really do want to keep writing, and I'm hoping that, with my fall plans more set at this point, I'll be able to spend more time writing. I have written a lot in a little bit of time before, though, so maybe I'll be able to get more done? We'll see.

Anyway, what do you think of these two? While it took me a while to write them, they actually came out rather nicely for me, so I'm very excited to keep working with them!

One thing that I wanted to mention is that the story is going to be shifting to what I call a modified first come first serve. What that means is that if I get a character in, I like it, and it fits, they'll be accepted, but I might not close their slot because I see them as district flexible and reserve the right to move them around to better fit the story. So if you've submitted and you don't hear from me about your tributes in the next four days, please shoot me a message either on here or on Discord. And if you haven't subbed, please do! If you have an idea for a closed slot, feel free to reach out to me! I have a number of my own characters that I'm willing to move around if you have an idea that fits better in a slot that I initially claimed for myself. Those slots are in italics on the list on my profile, but feel free to reach out about any of the closed slots! I'm probably going to make it such that any slot that's truly locked is bolded as an indicator of where I really can't move characters around, but we'll see.

Thanks again for sticking with me. I'm hoping to have an IDIDE update next if I can, but we will have to see. Next chapter over here, though, a rather familiar face reappears…

Yours,

goldie031