Quinn Bayers, 17

"Family comes first."

(Fourteen Months Before the Reapings)

"Tragedy" is not common in the Bayers household. The saddest thing to ever befall them was the death of an alley cat around a decade ago.

But the death of Quinn's father certainly counts as "tragedy".

However, Quinn expected it. And everything his father has done to his family, he doesn't file this away in the "tragedy" section of his memory. No, it more of lands in the "mild inconvenience" category. Because, yes, Quinn loved his father. But after your father kind of damns you for life, that feeling…dulled, a little bit? Quinn does miss his father sometimes, though…

The thing about his father's death that is not a mild inconvenience is the enormous pile of debt the remaining Bayers are now saddled with. The debt was paid. What the gang demanded of them before was no longer an issue—Quinn's mother had thrown their father out of the house, and he found a way to start making money.

Yet, here they are. The leader of their father's old gang called a meeting with them, so here they sit. Quinn's mother is on one side of him, his younger brother, Bara, on the other. Across the solid wooden desk sits Roy Sader, the current root of their problems. Of course, the real root is all the debt that they're ruminating on, but Roy probably takes second or third place on Quinn's list of issues.

"So, as I'm sure you all know, there is a very large pile of debt sitting on Bayers family," Roy says, his hands folded in front of him as if this is a diplomatic meeting and not a conversation between three average people and a lunatic gang leader. "Krias Bayers owed us quite a large sum of money. A seeing as he is now…indisposed—"

"You mean you killed him," Quinn says curtly. The signs pointing to it are overwhelming. His body was found near the gang's headquarters. He was beaten to death. This gang had a personal vendetta out against him. It's simple to see that it was Roy and his goons who ended his father's life.

Roy turns up his nose at Quinn, his eyes cold as he stares down at them from his high, proud horse. "I would recommend you watch your tone, son."

Quinn glares daggers at him, his nostrils flaring angrily. "I'm not your son."

"Honey…" his mother says, her voice quiet and warning as she puts a hand on Quinn's forearm.

Quinn slumps back in his chair, scowling at the floor instead of Roy's face.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Roy says, eyeing Quinn with disgust. "you are stuck with a rather extensive amount of debt to pay. It is now up to you, remaining Bayers, to pay us back."

Quinn swallows thickly, still staring at the ground. The debt was his father's problem, not theirs. This should not be a problem.

"What more is there that we can do?" his mother asks, her hand still resting on Quinn's forearm.

"You can pay us the remaining money," Roy says, smiling as if that's a nice, easy solution to the problem. And maybe it is to him. But it's obviously not even possible! They don't have enough money to just hand it to Roy and be on their way!

"We owe you nothing," Quinn growls. "Whatever my father owed you doesn't matter. Need I remind you that you killed him? You could have just left him alone, and you would have gotten your money. We have nothing to give you."

"Yes, well…there's plenty of unpaid debt left," Roy amends, his eyebrows raised congenially. "There's more that you have to pay, see. Your father…well, your father really was quite the gambling addict, and there's still quite the large pile of debt that has yet to be paid back."

"That's bullshit!" Quinn says angrily, jumping to his feet and throwing his mother's hand off of his arm. "The debt was Father's problem, not ours! We owe you nothing." He has half the mind to spit on Roy's desk, but decides that that would probably be taking it too far. After all, he would really, really prefer that his family not get killed today.

"That is incorrect, son," Roy says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"I'm not your son."

"We don't care how we get the money. We just need it paid," Roy continues as if Quinn never spoke in the first place. "So, you are, of course, required to pay the remaining money off."

"And if we don't pay you?" Quinn asks, his anger still fighting its way into his voice. It is, indeed, absolute bullshit.

The next thing Quinn knows, Roy is standing beside them and holding a gun to Bara's head. Bara stares at Quinn with terrified, wide eyes. Their mother cries out in horror as she too jumps to her feet. Roy just smiles at them maliciously. "Here are your options, remaining Bayers: either you pay us what we demand from you, or we kill all of you. One. By. One. First, this one—" he indicates Bara with his gun. "—then, your mother. Lastly, we beat you to death." He stares down Quinn as if daring him to look away first. Quinn resolutely stares back, refusing to let Roy win.

That is not part of the plan. "We don't have the money to pay you, even for bullshit reasons," Quinn says. "We barely have enough money to feed ourselves. We cannot pay you back for our father's misguided decisions."

"So, you want to negotiate, do you?" Roy asks, idly messing with one of his pens, meticulously laid out on the desk.

"Yes!" Quinn's mother exclaims, relief flooding her face. "We can negotiate some sort of deal—"

"Here's your deal," Roy interrupts, setting down the pen with a quiet thunk. "You pay us, or we kill you. Simple."

(Three Weeks Before the Reapings)

Rain pours heavy down on Quinn's shoulders as he trudges his way through the muddy District 11 streets. He has his hood pulled up over his head and his hands jammed into his pockets, but he's still getting soaked. Maybe there's a reason no one goes out in this sort of weather.

But, Quinn likes the rain. It's not his favorite sort of weather, but it's more enjoyable to go for a walk in than a warm, sunny afternoon. Besides, Roy's goons don't prowl when the weather is bad. For all they say about being brave, they won't even go outside in the rain. They're like feral cats. They can talk the talk and walk the walk, but when push comes to shove, they really aren't all that scary.

What's really scary is the debt that lays heavy upon Quinn's shoulders. He and Bara dropped out of school so they could go to work in the fields, just to scrounge up a few more caps to hand over to the gang.

Still, Quinn doesn't have it in him to hate his father. Sure, it's his father's fault for gambling away so much money, but it's not his fault that the gang killed him. And besides, when Quinn thinks of his father, he thinks of a man who could make people laugh despite being a little lazy and little rude. He doesn't think of a man who ruined his life. He thinks of his father, not some stranger who threw heaps of debt upon his family.

Quinn has a plan, however.

As he walks through the rain, his worn boots sinking into the mud with each step, he runs the plan over in his head for the seven-hundredth, ninety-third time. No, he has not been counting. Yes, he really has reconsidered the idea that many times, ironing out each little detail to make sure it goes well. If there's one thing that Quinn hates, it's a plan falling apart.

In three weeks, the Reapings for the One-Hundredth, Fifty-Third Annual Hunger Games will take place, right in the very square that Quinn is currently trudging through. Some little kid will probably be Reaped, because that's what usually happens when there's going to be a volunteer, for whatever reason.

The aforementioned volunteer will, obviously, be Quinn Bayers.

It makes so much sense. Not only will there be more money than he knows how to count if he wins, but there will be security for his family. His father's gang can never touch them again. They will be sitting high and dry with enough Caps to pay them off and then some.

…and, obviously, he could die as well. But it doesn't really matter. His family is fucked if something doesn't give.

Besides, the good outweighs the bad. Quinn has never put much stock into his own life; sacrificing himself for the greater good of his family is an honorable way to go out, in his opinion. But, if all goes well…that won't be an issue. He'll be back home in a few weeks, and his family will be safe and sound at last.

Everything will turn out okay. Quinn doesn't really know how, but he knows things will work out.

…maybe.

Eris Rowan, 13

"You absolute tree trunk!"

(Six Years before the Reapings)

Eris has never climbed a tree before. It's, admittedly, a little bit sad for a girl from District 7 to make it so many years without ever scaling a tree, but Eris likes to think she was saving the excitement for the right moment. She's always loved trees, but has never really had that much interest in climbing up one. She's content to look at them and admire their beauty from the ground.

That all changes today. Today, Eris's older sister, Erato, is taking her to climb a tree in one of the forests. Or maybe it's all one big forest? There is, after all, forest pretty much everywhere in District 7. It's not called the lumber district for nothing.

"I'm so excited!" Eris proclaims as she follows Erato down the trail and deeper into the forest. "You've climbed trees before, right?"

"Of course I have," Erato answers, smiling down to her sister. "We should pick a sturdy one, obviously. The last thing we need is to fall, right?"

"Right!" Eris chirps dutifully, bounding ahead of Erato. The sun peeks through the canopy of trees above, making the light into the forest rather odd. Some places are dark, shrouded in shadows, and others are bright and cheery. Eris gravitates toward the bright and cheery parts much more than the shadows. "I'm so excited."

"You said that already," Erato says, laughing and shaking her head. She approaches a tree and presses one of her feet against it. "This one seems good. What do you think, Eris?"

"Yep," Eris agrees without giving it second thought. All of these trees are probably good to climb, right? It doesn't really matter which they choose, surely. "Let's get climbing!"

She grabs ahold of one of the branches and starts to pull herself higher. After around two minutes, she has gained a distance taller than she is. She peers over her shoulder at the ground and spots Erato around a foot below her. "This is so exciting!"

"Just be careful, Eris," Erato says.

"I am being careful," Eris says, rolling her eyes as she pulls herself higher. She keeps staring upward as she climbs, higher and higher, falling into a confident grove. She's going to be doing this all of the time now! How has she not been tree climbing before? This is so much fun!

She pauses and decides to look down to see how much distance she has covered. When she peers over her shoulder, she sees Erato climbing a few feet below her. "Hi!" she calls down to her sister, for a moment relaxing her grip on the trunk of the tree.

"Hey," Erato answers, sounding slightly winded.

Eris grins wider and starts climbing again. Her hand closes around a thin branch above her and she pulls herself up and—

SNAP!

The branch she holds onto snaps in half, sending Eris plummeting some thirty feet toward the ground. She screams as she crashes, back first, into Erato and drags her down with her.

For a long, awful moment, they're both screaming and falling and screaming and falling and oh my god they're going to die and Eris is too young to die she's only seven she can't die yet and she'll be responsible for Erato's death too and oh god oh god oh god—

They slam into the ground all at once, Eris landing on top of Erato's legs and slamming her head backwards against her sister's stomach.

Eris rolls sideways off of her moaning older sister, where she lays on the grass for a few long moments. Her left arm throbs angrily and her head pounds. She probably could have broken her neck from that fall…

For a few moments, Eris's eyelids drift close before she slowly opens them again. She listens to her sister's likely unconscious groans of pain and forces herself into a sitting position. She leans against a tree trunk behind her, noticing that her vision is slightly blurry. Maybe she has a concussion? Is this what concussions feel like? Maybe that's the reason her ears are ringing so much.

Eris sluggishly turns her head to look at Erato's unconscious form. Her legs are bent at odd angles, and she's pretty sure there's some blood dribbling onto the grass…

Her head rests against the tree trunk as she drifts off for another few moments before her eyelids suddenly snap open. She stares at her sister for a good thirty second before she stumbles to her feet, pushing off of the arm that doesn't hurt like hell.

The moment she makes it to her feet, she collapses sideways. Undeterred, Eris tries again and manages to stay standing this time. Immediately, she starts stumbling back down the path, knowing that if she doesn't get help for Erato, it's unlikely that anyone will. And if she left Erato to die out here, well…Eris doesn't quite know how she'd live with the guilt.

(Four Months before the Reapings)

"Hey, Eris, Erebus! How was school?" Erato's optimistic voice greets Eris at the door as she and Erebus stand on the threshold.

"It was okay," Eris responds with a shrug. She walks deeper into the house, leaving Erebus standing in the doorway. As she approaches the table, Erato wheels her chair toward the living room. "We had a test on the sturdiest kinds of wood." She has the oddest urge to spit on the ground at the word "wood".

Eris and trees no longer really…get along. After all, a tree is the reason that Erato is paralyzed from the waist down and that Eris has a nice long scar on her left forearm. Eris remembers the days when she loved to take walks through the woods, just to see all of the trees, but now, the forest just makes her think of falling from trees. Maybe this time, she'd actually snap her neck on impact. Maybe this time, she'd be the one to really take the fallout of it. Maybe this time, she'd be the one in the wheelchair, not Erato.

"How'd that go?" Erato asks, wheeling toward the couch as Erebus flops down in front of the T.V.

"I don't know," Eris says. "It's not been graded yet."

"Well, how do you think it went?"

"I don't know!" Eris repeats, slightly frustrated. "What does it matter to you how the test went? When I'm a lumberjack one day, it's not going to matter what kind of wood is the sturdiest!"

"True," Erato amends, nodding. "You seem kind of frustrated. Is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything's fine," Eris spits out, sitting down on the couch heavily. "I'm just tired."

"Mm," Erato hums, clearly not wanting to take that for an answer.

"When will Daddy be home?" Erebus asks without looking away from the T.V.

"I'm not sure," Erato replies. "You know he comes home late on weekdays."

"He comes home late all of the time," Eris corrects. "I know he's making money, I know he's busy, I know he's the only one bringing in any cash, but…" she trails off, shaking her head and heaving a sigh. "It's like he doesn't even live here anymore. He just comes home and goes to bed. I can't even remember the last time I had a really conversation with him."

"I know," Erato says, picking up a book from the coffee table and paging it open. She falls silent, to which Eris assumes means it's the end of the conversation. Shaking her head, she stands up, grabs her bag, and heads into the bedroom that she and Erato share.

She tosses her bag onto the floor before flopping down on the bed. She misses having her dad around, but it's been years since he had any real presence in the house. He had to work two jobs after the tree climbing accident so he could pay off the medical bills.

Eris knows that it's her fault that her father isn't around. If she had been a bit less cocky on the day she had gone tree climbing, Erato wouldn't be wheelchair bound for the rest of her life. Her father wouldn't have stress coming out of his ears. Everything would still be like it had been.

Of course, her mother wouldn't be here. Eris never even knew her mother. She died giving birth to Erebus when Eris was four. She has just a few vague memories a woman with honey blonde hair and a bright smile, who always smelled like pine trees, and would plant flowers in the backyard. It's just pictures that her mind occasionally conjures up as if to say "Hey, remember this lady? Your mother? Well, she's still dead, you still never knew her, but here's a few fuzzy images of her face to make you sad!"

Eris sighs and shuts her eyes, laying back against the pillows. She faces away from the window, since there are trees planted just outside the glass.

The only good thing that will come in Eris's life is the day she finally gets to start cutting down those wretched trees. At least she can make those stupid trees suffer like they make her sister suffer. After all, it is Eris's fault that her sister can't walk. Even if it's a tiny thing, she can at least make it up to her sister by cutting down as many trees as she possibly can.

Not that that will make her sister's legs work again, but damn will it feel good.

Calista Abbey, 18

"After everything I have worked for, it cannot be for nothing."

(Four Years before the Reapings)

TW for abuse

"You know, Cal, you're so…secretive."

"Don't call me 'Cal'," Calista growls, rolling over and staring at the stark gray walls of her (unfortunately, shared) dormitory. Whoever thought it was a good idea for trainees to have shard dorms was really, really stupid and should probably be thrown through a wood chipper. Although, they're likely long dead so… "And I'm allowed to be as secretive as I want."

"It's just, like, where do you come from?" her roommate, Calista can't quite remember her name…oh, she knows she heard it earlier…it might start with a g? Or is it an h…? "I've heard your name, but I know you're not, like, the cream of the crop but you're not bad…and I've definitely heard the last name 'Abbey' before. There was this trainee a few decades back with the same name."

"Yeah, I know," Calista says, still resolutely staring at the wall beside her bed. "Jason Abbey, my father." She spits the word 'father' with a certain venom that she knows can't go over her roommate's head…

…yet somehow it does. "Oh, cool. I bet he's pretty proud of you, yeah?"

Calista rolls over and scowls at her roommate. "Oh, yes. We're best friends and live a castle in pretty kitten land with rainbows and unicorns as our neighbors."

"You don't have to be a jerk about it," her roommate mutters.

"I don't have to be a jerk, you're right," Calista says. "And I'm only a jerk about that certain subject."

Her roommate, for once, shuts up. Thank Panem, Calista thinks, leaning against the wall beside her bed. She's not usually this impatient. It's just, the frustration of moving dorms and getting a new roommate, having to find her way around a brand new building at Court…well, it's put Calista on a rather short fuse. And her roommate is apparently very good at lighting it.

"So…" her roommate says, laying on her back and messing with a bracelet. "What's your favorite weapon?"

"Sword," Calista answers shortly. "Any kind, really. Although gladiuses are probably the best."

"No way. It's totally a katana that's best."

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say," Calista says, shrugging. There's really no point to arguing about what kind of swords are the best, and she could have avoided the whole issue if she had worded her sentence better. She could have said "Although gladiuses are probably my favorite" instead of what she actually said. But, unfortunately, what's done is done. Calista just prefers to stay out of arguments, that's all. "So…is that what you favor, then? Katanas?"

"Oh, no. I'm a knife-thrower. I just have a friend who uses katanas and damn, is she deadly with them."

"Oh," Calista says, unsure of what else she could say. What else is there to say? All Calista knows is that she's offending her new roommate, probably by simply existing, and there's nothing she can do about it. And she's got to live with this girl for the next year!

Of course, it's better than the alternative. Her only other option is to live from home, and she started training in order to avoid that! After all, home is hell. Home is where arguments transpire. Home is where she gets hit. Home is where her father yells at her for not being better, for not being a boy, for making her mother sick. Calista has seen signs in stores for people to put in their houses that say home is where the heart is, usually with pictures of birds or something. But for Calista, home is where her hell is. She would much rather spend the next year sharing a room with a girl who clearly already hates her and talks too much than go home each day just to get screamed at.

But, if there is one good thing that comes from her father, it that it encourages her to be better. Her father yells at her for not being good enough with ranged weapons? She'll dedicate the next two weeks to it. Her father yells at her for eating too much? She'll start skipping lunch. Her father yells at her for being too emotional? She shuts herself off. It's the best solution, and Calista gets something out of it as well. She becomes better. She becomes stronger. She becomes the trainee that every person employed at Court is happy to speak to.

She becomes…well, not exactly what she wants to be, but what she needs to be. She's spent her whole life being told she's a girl, so there's no way she can volunteer for the Hunger Games. It's her father's philosophy, the reason he wanted a son so badly. After all, he didn't get chosen as the volunteer, and he is the best fighter under the sun. How in Panem could a girl get chosen when not even he did?

Calista will show him. He says she can't get chosen as the volunteer? Well, she's going to be that fucking volunteer. She'll become the volunteer just to spite him. Oh, Calista Abbey will spite them all.

(Three Months Before the Reapings)

Today is Calista's day. Oh, this is the day she finally gets exactly what she wants. She'll go home today, for once, and tell her father that she will be the volunteer for the One-Hundredth, Fifty-Third Annual Hunger Games. She can't wait to see the shock, and the pride on his face. Oh, he'll finally, finally, be proud of her. It's going to be glorious.

Calista has stayed at Court for the past eight years. She has been home around once a month, to visit her mother. Finally, all of her hard work will have paid off.

Of course, if she lived at home, she would simply receive a letter telling her that she will be volunteering. But for those who stay at Court, there's a list posted outside of the Administrator's office.

As Calista approaches it, she can see a group of kids huddled around it, all reading the rankings. Calista sees her friend, Farah, and her boyfriend, Ryder, both reading the list. She scans their faces for signs of jubilation and kinds nothing. That doesn't mean anything, she tells herself. Maybe they're just looking for their own names.

But she doesn't go in feeling very confident. Just minutes ago as she was walking here, she was certain it was going to be her name at the top of the list but…maybe it won't be. She runs through everything she has done at the training sessions for the past two months, trying to think of something she could have possibly done wrong that would have landed herself lower on the list.

No, no, I'm just nervous, she tries to tell herself, but finds herself not even listening. I'm being irrational. Surely I'm at the top of the list…?

As she elbows her way to the bulletin list, she decides to start at the bottom of the list and work her way up. Her eyes scan each name as they pass, as she works her way further and further toward the top spot. With each name she reads, a small fraction of the confidence from before creeps back into her heart. Eleven more to go…ten…nine…eight…se…

Seventh Place: Calista Abbey, 18

She stares at it for a good two minutes. Maybe if she stares at it for long enough, it will hop off the paper, climb to the top spot and kick out whoever is up there in Calista's place.

After another long-suffering moment, Calista looks up to the top spot. Silvera Prowess, 18. The sister of Goldie Prowess, who happened to be the chosen volunteer two years ago…

Calista pushes her way through the crowd, hurrying down the hallway and ignoring the sounds of Farah and Ryder trying to follow her. She walks faster, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Goldie Prowess didn't get to volunteer…and neither will Silvera.

Calista will be damned if she doesn't get her change to prove herself. Seventh place, she thinks. Seventh goddamn place! I thought I was better…

You will never be better, the voice of her father croons in her head. You will never be chosen. You will never be good enough. You're subpar at best! You're a coward, and even if you were chosen as the volunteer—which will never happen, by the way—you could never have the courage to actually volunteer! You are nothing, nothing compared to what I was once. You're just a tiny, weak little girl who will soon have nothing to her name, no claim to fame at all. Face it—there's no point in even trying. You're just going to fail, like always.

Calista clenches her fists harder, if that's even possible. She stops walking, glaring at the floor in front of her.

This time, she thinks. This time, I will not fail. Go fuck yourself, Silvera Prowess. After everything I've worked for, everything I have sacrificed, I will get what I want.

She bites her lip angrily and continues walking. Maybe she didn't get the top spot, or even the reserve spot. But she will be volunteering in three months. She will be coming out on top. She will be crowned the Victor of the One-Hundredth, Fifty-Third Annual Hunger Games, and anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves. Calista has spent her whole life trying to be better, sacrificing things to be better, and she cannot let all of that go to waste.

I can be better, she thinks. I can be the best.

A/N: Halfway through, and I am not yet burned out! It's amazing! In all honesty, I'm kind of enjoying the Reapings this time around because each scene is different. I hope I've been writing these characters to satisfaction so far. And speaking of which…

1. Thoughts on Quinn?

2. Thoughts on Eris?

3. Thoughts on Calista?

4. Which of these three is your favorite?

Random Question of the Chapter: which of these three seems like the most likely Victor?

Also, this will be a double update with an interlude, so make sure to look for that.

Has anyone else here watched The Good Place? I've been marathoning it this weekend and I'm almost done with season two at the moment. There are so many Hamilton references in it for some reason, and I am loving it.

-Amanda