Micah Piprick, 19
District Twelve Quell Male

"Asphodel, get your shoes on!"

"I can't find them!"

"Piper, come play with me!"

"No, that's too full, don't grab it!"

"Shale and Slate! How many times do I have to tell you not to throw rocks at the house?"

"Come inside, Dustin. You're gonna get your clothes all dirty."

"Lydia? Can you help me?"

"Aiden! Give me back my brush!"

"It was mine first, Ember!"

It had been quite a long time since Micah Piprick had been home in the morning. Like most other young men in Twelve, Micah had taken on a shift in the mines pretty much as soon as he aged out of the Reaping. He had been assigned to a night shift, from one in the morning until three in the afternoon. Consequently, Micah would wake up when the youngest Piprick children were already in bed, and he'd go to sleep before the older kids had gotten back from school. There were very few times that he got to see all of his siblings at once, and that was far from a bad thing. That wasn't to say that he didn't love his siblings; Micah genuinely adored and cared for each and every one of them. But the eight younger Pipricks could be a lot when they all had to get ready to leave the house at the same time. And Micah couldn't exactly say that he missed the chaos of mornings.

Nor did he miss being eligible for the Reaping. Last year was supposed to be Micah's final year of eligibility; he was supposed to be done, able to finally give back to his parents by taking on a mine shift to bring in a little more money for his family. But no, now he was back in the Reaping pool, and Micah did not feel good about his chances. Twelve was already a small enough district, but normally the pool at least encompassed seven age groups; Micah's name was only in the bowl with people exactly his age. Not only that, but he was sure that that number had shrunk since he was twelve, whether because of the Games or mining accidents or other dangers of living in Twelve. Combine that with the fact that the number of slips Micah would have in the bowl was equivalent to however many slips he had the previous year plus one, and Micah was fairly confident that his name was in there more than any other boy.

Sure, Lydia had explained to him that the combined odds of anyone else getting picked were still probably higher than the odds of him getting picked. But Micah still didn't feel too good about his chances.

Micah had already been up for a while; he'd tried to sleep in, but he was so set in his sleep schedule that, by one in the morning, he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. So Micah had spent most of the morning sitting at the Pipricks' rickety dining room table, trying his best not to think about the impending Reaping as he watched the storm that was the rest of his family slowly built up around him. Eight small bodies ran around, kicking up the dirt that was caked up on the floor of every house in the Seam. It was chaotic, yet oddly comforting. Micah could only hope he wouldn't have to leave.

A calloused, heavy hand slid onto Micah's shoulder. Looking up, he saw his mother standing over him, her sad grey eyes undoubtedly a mirror of his. The two had exchanged a few words earlier in the morning, when his mother was still barely conscious, making breakfast for the family on autopilot. But as soon as the first kid woke up, Georgette snapped into action, keeping the household running as close to like a well-oiled machine as she could. Only now that the kids were beginning to funnel outside, into the stream of citizens walking towards the square, could she finally relax.

But she couldn't relax too much; five of her kids were eligible for the Reaping, after all.

"How are you feeling, my dear?"

Micah shrugged. "As fine as I can feel."

"I know."

"We gotta go?"

"Yeah."

Moving slowly and deliberately, Micah stood up and pushed his chair into the table. He wanted to soak up every last second in his house, within these four worn, familiar walls. He didn't want to believe this would be the last time he ever saw this place. But he couldn't manage to think of any other outcome.

Exhaling deeply, Micah stepped across the threshold, his senses assaulted by the world around him. He shielded his eyes as he felt Twelve's bright summer sun on his face and arms, heard the muted chatter of families trying to enjoy what could be their last whole moments, smelled and tasted the ash and dust that seemingly never left the air. Twelve was not the most pleasant place to grow up – nobody could argue that it was – but it was all Micah had ever known.

But if it meant he could stay with his family, with the people he loved the most, he didn't really want to know anything else.

Almost as if in a trance, Micah ushered Shale, Slate, Lydia, and Dustin into the regular reaping lines, then took his place in the special, additional line for Quell tributes. The Peacekeeper pricked his thumb, then directed him to a special, cordoned-off section on the outer aisle of the square, perpendicular to the standard male reaping pens. Micah found a place to stand close to the thirteen-year-olds, waiting for Dustin to get checked in. A few moments later, he caught sight of his brothers, Shale and Slate pointing Micah out to Dustin through the crowd. As Dustin beelined for his oldest brother, Micah extended his hand; Dustin grabbed it as soon as he was in range, nuzzling up against his older brother's side.

It seemed like an eternity, and also no time at all, before the Reaping began. The Mayor stepped up to the microphone first, to address the district and to recite the Treaty of Treason. Then, he read out the names of Twelve's six Victors, five of whom were still alive. Two of them, Katniss Everdeen of the 74th Games and Damien O'Donnel of the 76th, had won legitimately. Two, Haymitch Abernathy of the 50th Games and Delilah Laurel of the 85th, had won by playing the Arena. And most of Twelve agreed that the fifth, Lilac Laurel of the 84th, couldn't have won by any way other than Gamemaker intervention. It almost made too much sense that Twelve hadn't gotten a Victor since Delilah won.

Then, Ellessa Trinket stepped up to the front of the stage, taking her place behind four Reaping bowls, two larger, two smaller. "Happy Hunger Games, District Twelve," she said, "and may the odds be ever in your favor.

"As our Quell tributes are not elected tributes, we'll begin with the two standard tributes and then progress to the Quell tributes."

Micah didn't pay much attention to the first three names drawn; he was more concerned about hearing the last name Piprick, which, thankfully, he did not. Unsurprisingly, the two kids reaped in the standard slots were both clearly Seam-both, though the boy had a blonde head of hair that made Micah raise his eyebrows. And they seemed to be taking similar approaches to the Games from the jump; while both were shocked to hear their names called, they quickly calmed down, looks of calculation and planning plastered on both of their faces. But everyone was shocked when a volunteer stepped forward for the Quell girls. Her broad, muscular frame, deep skin, and sharp brown eyes told everyone that Shine was not originally from Twelve, but a quick check-in with the Peacekeepers revealed that she was, in fact, a legal resident of the district. And the Merchant girl for whom she volunteered certainly wasn't complaining.

Finally, it was time for the Quell male to be picked. Ellessa stepped up to the last of the bowls, then swirled the slips around before choosing one. She brought it back to the microphone and read the name on it in a clear voice.

"Micah Piprick."

It was strange. Every time that Micah had envisioned this moment, hearing his name called by one Trinket or another, he'd assumed he would feel sad, angry, scared, something in that vein. But for some reason, all he felt was relief. He'd known this was going to happen; he'd known since the Quell announcement. But now he didn't have to think about it. Instead, Micah could shift his focus to what mattered most: getting back home to his family.

And get back home he would.

Poise Baroque, 15
District Eight Standard Female

TW: Mentions of Abuse

As quietly as she could, Poise Baroque pushed on the door to her house, wincing as its old, rusted, hinges creaked loudly. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder to confirm that her father hadn't stirred. But Poise needn't have worried, as her father hadn't moved a muscle. In fact, he was still passed out on the floor, in exactly the same position as she found him in when she woke up in the morning. Po

Poise shut the door with a small scoff. Some things never changed.

The streets of Eight were quiet, or at least quieter than they were in a normal day; as all of the factories were closed, the normal whirling, whistling, clinking and clanking of the factories that permeated every wall in the district was noticeably missing. One might think that the quiet would be nice, but in a district like Eight that was normally busy and bustling, the absence of sound was more eerie than enjoyable.

Maneuvering through Eight's narrow streets, Poise watched as the fence that encircled the district grew ever closer. She wasn't particularly interested in slipping through the fence. Poise had done it once or twice before when she was feeling particularly trapped by her home situation, but if slipping through the fence was risky on a normal day, it was even worse on Reaping Day when the fence was undoubtedly electrified. Besides, she had no interest in anything beyond the fence, per se, so long as she could find a few things to sell in the market after the Reaping inside of the fence. She wasn't interested in much; if she could find a few springs of wild cotton growing under the fence, or some thick branches that fell from the trees that poked over it, she could easily sell them for a few coins here and there. It wasn't much, but nobody had much in Eight, and any little bit she could earn was a little bit more that she could put away to someday move out of her house. She didn't know how much longer she could last living with her father, forced to tiptoe around his passed-out form in the mornings and his unpredictable outbursts in the evenings. How he held onto a job, Poise did not know, but he earned enough for the two of them to just get by. Until Poise could support herself financially, she couldn't justify leaving; she might be better off emotionally on her own, but she'd be without a roof over her head or protection from the elements, which Poise felt was a worse situation for her to be in.

Arriving at the fence, Poise dropped to her knees and began to look for anything that caught her eye, any color or sparkle that broke through the drab grays of the district, or the wall of brown and green that faced her through the fence. And sure enough, her trained eye soon caught sight of a small patch of yellow peeking out from under the fence. She moved over a few feet to get a closer look at the patch, which turned out to be a bunch of yellow wildflowers, growing in a small area where the fence didn't quite reach the ground. The flowers were small and delicate, like the simple act of picking them would cause them to wither and fall apart. But Poise had to give it a shot, at least; perhaps she could sell them for a couple of pennies to someone after the Reaping, to brighten up the otherwise dreary day.

As Poise delicately plucked the flowers out of the ground, she found her mind wandering, as it often did when she was doing slow, methodical tasks. She began to imagine a winding trail of wildflowers, leading from the fence out into the woods, far, far away from Eight, towards a gorgeous, deep green meadow dotted with pinks and purples and reds and oranges, a bright yellow sun and white clouds against the clear blue sky. Poise knew there was a world out there, but she would never get to really experience it, as there would never be a chance to leave the boundaries of District Eight. So instead, she chose to envision the world past the fence; that world could never disappoint her because it could be anything that she wanted it to be.

Poise got so lost imagining her meadow that she didn't hear the footsteps approaching her from behind; in fact, it wasn't until a delicate hand slid onto her shoulder that she had any idea that someone else was there. "Oh!" Poise exclaimed, dropping the flowers she held in her hand. She turned over her shoulder to find her best friend, Tilla, standing above her. "You startled me."

"I'm sorry," Tilla replied earnestly, a smile forming on her face nonetheless. "I've been looking for you! We've got to get going to the Reaping."

"Oh, is it that time already?"

"It is."

"Oh, shit." Poise had no idea how long she'd been over by the fence. She knew she was supposed to check in with her father at home before the Reaping started, but it seemed like she didn't have quite enough time to make it home and back to the square. She'd just have to hope that she didn't run into her father once she got there.

Poise quickly gathered up the flowers, then stood up and began to walk alongside Tilla to the center of the district. The two had been friends for a very long time, so they didn't feel a need to make small talk as they walked; no, they could just exist together, which was all anyone wanted on a day like Reaping Day. Tilla was the person that Poise trusted the most, and therefore the only person to know what exactly was going on in Poise's house. So as the girls approached the square, Tilla deftly stepped in front of Poise, hiding the shorter girl's face from the people that were funneling in from every street, just in case her father were to appear out of nowhere. Thankfully, Poise managed to check in without incident, and the two friends deftly slipped into the section of fifteen-year-old girls.

For the moment, they were safe.

As it turned out, Poise and Tilla arrived at the Reaping just in time; it was only a few moments after they checked in that Eight's two living Victors joined the mayor on stage. Eight had been surprisingly successful in the first half-century of the Games, producing five Victors in that time span. But only two tributes had survived since, Neelee Hem of the 98th Games and Cecelia Claremont of the 69th. Cecelia was lucky that she'd been able to bring home a Victor when she did. Otherwise, she would have been stuck mentoring four kids, two of whom were just eleven, all on her own, and for a Quell at that - not that two mentors working with four tributes was all that much better.

Technically, there was an escort to help. But Eight hadn't kept an escort around for more than two years since… well, since the Second Quell. And given that Eight's escort for the Quell couldn't be much older than 25, it didn't seem like he'd be sticking around for very long.

Once the mayor finished reading the Treaty of Treason, the escort stepped up to the microphone and explained the procedures for the Reaping. Then, he reached his hand into one of two larger bowls on stage and began to swirl his hand around, debating what slip of paper to pick. Poise could almost feel the air around her tense up, as every girl drew a breath and braced herself to hear her own name. But for some reason, Poise didn't feel the same nerves as the others, didn't feel that sense of existential dread looming over her. In fact, when she heard the escort read the name "Poise Baroque" in his crystal-clear voice, all Poise could feel was relief.

Sure, Poise was likely going to die in the Games. But at least she'd spend her last few days free from her father.

Wasn't that all she'd ever wanted?

Astrid Evans, 16
District Five Standard Female

TW: Allusions to Abuse

As soon as the needle was out of her finger, Astrid Evans was off.

The girl wove through the crowd, desperate to get to the section of sixteen-year-old girls as fast as she could. It was sparse at this hour, though that did not come as a surprise; after all Astrid was at least an hour early for the Reaping. But despite being so early, time was still short; Astrid only got this hour or so to spend with Lucy every year, and she didn't want to miss a second of it.

Once she got into her section, Astrid positioned herself at her and Lucy's agreed-upon meeting place, the upper left corner of their section. This was where the two girls had met four years prior, two nervous twelve-year-olds both facing their first Reaping. They'd decided then and there to meet there every year, as early as they could get there, as Reaping Day was the only day that both girls were in the same area of the district. Until they aged out of the Reaping and could move out on their own, this was the most time they could really spend together, so they had to cherish every second they could.

Astrid watched the check-in table like a hawk until she caught sight of a familiar set of brown braids. Almost instinctively, Astrid perked up, standing up a little bit straighter as she tried to catch Lucy's attention. But she needn't have worried; Lucy knew precisely where to go.

"Astrid!" Lucy exclaimed as the two locked eyes.

"Lucy!"

Lucy beelined to Astrid, the girls enveloping each other in a tight embrace. "Hi," Lucy said breathlessly.

"Hi."

"How's Mom?"

"She's good. How's Dad?"

Lucy shrugged. "As he always is."

After a moment, Astrid pulled away, taking a moment to revel in Lucy's presence: her deep brown eyes, her warm caramel skin, the small freckle on her chin, all perfect parallels to Astrid's own features. It was no wonder that the two girls were drawn together at their first Reaping; who wouldn't feel a magnetic connection to someone who looked so similar to themself?

Being young and perhaps too unafraid of strangers, Astrid and Lucy had quickly struck up a conversation, talking about their lives at home and their families. They soon realized an even bigger coincidence: Astrid was the only child of a single mother, while Lucy was the only child of a single father. The thought they could be twins crossed Astrid's mind, but it felt too good to be true; it had to just be one big coincidence, right? But she couldn't deny that she was curious to learn more. Given that the girls literally lived on opposite ends of the district, Astrid and Lucy parted after the Reaping with a promise to ask their parents questions, to get to the bottom of the mystery, and to meet up before the Reaping the next year. A few well-placed questions to her mother had confirmed Astrid's suspicions: she and Lucy were identical twins, separated as a result of her parents' divorce.

Of course, Astrid then had to wait a full year to meet her twin again. So when their second Reaping rolled around, Astrid was oddly excited, a single bright spot in the otherwise somber district. She figured that Lucy had gotten the information out of her father as well, but when Lucy arrived, Astrid's discoveries seemed to come as a surprise; a welcome surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. And so they started making up for lost time, with the little time each year they could spend together.

As Astrid stepped back to look at her sister, she noticed that there were a few changes in Lucy's appearance: a bruise underneath her right eye, a series of bandages on her left arm, one braid shorter than the other. "Are you ok?" Astrid asked.

"I'm fine," Lucy replied, nervously glancing over her shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It'll be OK."

Astrid had a feeling that Lucy was not OK, and a further feeling that their father had something to do with it. After all, Astrid told Lucy much more about their mother than Lucy had said about their father, and that couldn't be for no reason. But Astrid had no proof one way or the other, and even if she didn't have proof, there wasn't that much Astrid could do. Her mother wasn't much more forthcoming than Lucy was about the girls' father, and Astrid didn't really want to push. Besides, the girls had already decided to move in together when they aged out of the Reaping. All Lucy had to do was make it two more years, and then they could begin to fix the problem.

Two years was a long time, though, especially because Lucy seemed a little bit sadder, a little more run-down, a little more hopeless every time the two saw each other. And of course, there was the small matter of the Reaping; they still had to survive three more. But with every day that passed, the girls took one step closer to truly being sisters. And that thought carried Astrid through everything she did. She hoped it was the same for Lucy too.

"So how's school for you?" Lucy asked tentatively.

"It's good, it's good. Nothing too exciting, honestly. School is school. How about you?"

"About the same," Lucy replied, shrugging as she leaned against the rope that held the pen together.

"How are your friends?"

Lucy perked up, as Astrid knew she would. Astrid didn't always know what to ask her sister – it was hard to catch up on a whole year in an hour with someone you barely talked to – but asking her about her friends was always a safe bet. "They're good! Runar made the cross-country team this year and we're very proud of him. Drew got an academic award this year and is likely going to be qualifying for a fast-tracked program that'll get him to jump some of his post-secondary schooling. Abril and Nirel are Abril and Nirel." Astrid smiled; Lucy had told her about the escapades of her twin friends a few times before, and they never ceased to amuse Astrid. "And Vivian…" A small blush crossed Lucy's face as she trailed off.

"What about Vivian?" Astrid nudged, the corners of her mouth curling up into a small grin.

"Well…"

A hush fell over the crowd as the mayor approached the microphone. "Tell me after the Reaping," Astrid instructed as the girls turned to face the stage, instinctively grabbing hands. They might not have been the closest of siblings yet, but they were all each other had; neither wanted to lose the other so soon.

As the mayor read out the Treaty of Treason and the list of Five's Victors, the five living ones took their seats on stage: Porter Tripp of the 38th to the mayor's left, and Wyatt Foster of the 41st, Luna Puede of the 58th, Lyla Orit of the 77th, and Ali Nightingale of the 96th to her right. Both Porter and Wyatt had long retired from mentoring, but with the death of Sammy Sola of the 52nd Games a few years prior, Wyatt chose to step in for the Quell so each tribute could have their own mentor. When the mayor finished, Five's escort stepped up to the microphone and grandiosely greeted the district, explaining the procedures for the Reaping in such detail that it was almost as if she was trying to drag things out as long as possible. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally reached her hand into the standard girls' bowl and pulled out a name.

"Astrid Evans."

It was as if her heart fell out of her chest. Astrid felt Lucy grip her hand tighter as her vision began to blur. Putting on as brave of a face as she could, Astrid stepped around her twin and into the aisle, every single eye in the district watching her as she walked up to the stage. As she walked up the stage, Astrid did her best to greet the Escort with a smile on her face and a firm handshake, but her entire body was shaking as adrenaline coursed through it. Sure, every child in Panem had thought about what might happen if they heard their name called by an escort, but nothing could have prepared Astrid for actually hearing her name called out.

As she stepped back behind the escort, Astrid scanned the crowd for Lucy again, trying desperately to catch her twin's eye. The two locked eyes, Astrid recognizing a look of fear on Lucy's face that she only hoped didn't match her own. Suddenly, a wave of realization hit Astrid; if she went down in the Games, Lucy had no way out of their father's home, at least until she turned eighteen and perhaps longer. But if she won the Games, she would have a status beyond almost anyone else's. She could get Lucy out of there earlier, saving two years of Lucy's childhood and giving the girls all the time they wanted to get to know each other.

Astrid had to come back to Five for herself. But she had to come back for Lucy too.

Well hello everyone from camp! And a decent length between updates at that! I hope you all enjoyed this lovely trio of children. Micah and Astrid are mine, and Poise comes courtesy of glimmerglint! I'd love to hear your thoughts on them in the reviews, or over Discord!

It's proven much easier to write this summer, so I'm cautiously optimistic that the next chapter will come out less than a month from now, but we'll have to see. We'll be meeting Camden and Viktor next chapter, though we've gotten a glimpse of Viktor already, so stay tuned!

xoxo, xxxi