And now onto District Six!

Cara Soledad, 15

The fourth pregnancy was never meant to happen, Cara's mother often said. Cooper had rounded their brood of three, no more. Yet her she was, pregnant yet again against her wishes.

Perhaps it wouldn't've been so bad had Cara's father not turned to morphling after the stress of finances caught up to him. Cara supposed she'd never know.

Her family used to be close. Though they were never rich, they would often try and save time and money to do things together; game nights, nice meals in some of Six's restaurants or just having fun, wholesome days at home. That family only existed in Cara's memories now.

Her father had developed his addiction to morphling not soon after her mother announced the fourth pregnancy. Though the Soledads had managed to live above the poverty line for years, preparing for another child had plunged them below it. At first, everything went according to plan; the money both parents made went into funding the house for the baby. Clothes, equipment and long lasting food. Over weeks, the pot of money became less and less as only her mother's wages filled it. With his wages, his father bought morphling from Six's various black markets to escape the growing world of stress he found himself trapped in.

He had been able to hide it at first, so much so that Cara hadn't noticed. Then, after a while, the tell-tale signs of morphling addiction began to show. His face became gaunter and his movements sluggish; he became irritable and would snap at any of his children without a second warning. To begin with, he showed guilt at reprimanding them so harshly, apologising and smiling warmly like he used to, but as time went on he became closer and closer to a shell of the man he once was.

Cara felt a lot of sadness at first, then anger, then helplessness. Of course, her mother tried to pick up the love the children received and, though she appreciated the attempt, Cara knew that life couldn't be like it once was. Although at thirteen Cooper seemed to be a little less attuned to the change in their life, Cara could tell their older brother Remus had felt something similar to her. He had said as much after she confided in him and, from then, the two had taken to talking to one another to try and make life a little more bearable.

The reaping day was a particularly hard one, Cara had noticed. Sure the Quell that loomed over their heads hadn't eased the nerves of the Soledad household, but independent of it, Cara felt something amiss. It became more obvious when only she, her brothers and mother were at the small table in their kitchen. They never used to have luxurious breakfasts for reaping mornings but her mother would always try to do something. This year, however, all they had were the pitiful pieces of toast made from the tesserae-grain bread.

Cara had glanced at Remus with a raised eyebrow when she had sat down and saw their breakfast, the unspoken word being shared between them. Morphling.

It was obvious that their mother was aware that her elder children could guess the likely reason for their less than stellar breakfast, for she remained quiet with her nose buried in the small local newspaper. Both Cara and Remus knew the lead story of someone's cat going missing wasn't that interesting; nor was the story of the District's air quality and the pollution it was causing their bodies.

The four of them sat in silence for a little while, each eating as much of the toast as they could. Cooper was able to eat with more enthusiasm compared to his older siblings; his name was only in the pool twice. Since their father had turned to morphling, both Cara and Remus forgot how many times they had taken out tesserae.

"Are you two worried about getting reaped?" Cooper's innocent voice broke the silence that the Soledad family found themselves in. He had long since finished his breakfast, instead occupying himself by looking at the faces of his siblings. Since their father had gave himself to the addiction, both Cara and Remus had adopted expressionless faces whenever they could. Best to not let people know about how they felt deep down.

"I don't know," Cara replied after a few seconds of silence, letting herself consider the question. She felt guilty that part of her wanted to say no, wondering how nice it'd be to be away from their father. "I hope I'm not."

"Well nobody hopes they're reaped," Remus said quickly, biting his lip as he rolled his eyes. As Cara had moved to a lack of self-confidence following their father's decisions, Remus had become more agitated. "We'll be fine. We always are."

"We'll just have to see," Cara's mother's voice was quiet, face still not moving from behind the newspaper. "None of you deserve to be reaped. We just need to hope the odds are favourable this year."

Cara supressed a small snort; the odds hadn't looked kindly upon her recently.

Carter Amalthia, 18

Carter's father always looked older on reaping days; his face looked less full of colour and his eyes often became hollow. Carter never blamed him; winning the Hunger Games and having to take children upon children to face their deaths must've been hard. He didn't even have anything to show for it; Carter's father himself had been the one Kailin had managed to bring back home.

Reaping days were the only time either of the Amalthia boys saw their father in such a manner - by the time he returned home from the Capitol after two, maybe three weeks, everything was back to normal. He was back to normal. Or, at least, as normal as he could be. Carter was very young when he came to grips with his father having regular nightmares, waking up screaming or even crying about the things he had seen and done in the arena. Once they were fairly common, now they only seemed to happen the month or so after the Games.

Carter had watched his father's Games more than once and had seen the way he had killed other the other tributes. It was of little wonder to him as to why his father would often spend more time than necessary washing his hands - employing a precision that others would deem unusual. His father had been called 'the Career that never was;' a non-Career tribute that showed just as much drive and determination as the ones from One, Two and Four. Such popularity remained with him; even though he was from Six, Trane Amalthia remained a popular Victor.

Carter never forgot the words his father said to him, nor their seriousness.

"If you get reaped, join the Careers. Use that alliance and get yourself to end - then win."

His father trained Carter and his younger brother Aaron to be pseudo-Careers too. Though it was all kept quiet and closed behind the doors of the Amalthia mansion, the two boys were trained to be adept with a weapon of their choice. As Aaron became a proficient swordsman, Carter came to throw a knife with pinpoint accuracy. His mother used to complain, Carter vaguely remembered whenever he took his knife and threw it to the target, but she saw the logic behind his father's words and trusted him.

As he always was on any reaping morning, Carter seemed more aware of what exactly it was that his father taught him to do. Be a killer, so they don't kill you.

His father seemed more stressed this year, no doubt the nature of the quell weighing heavy on his heart. Taking one teen to their deaths was hard enough but two in one year? Carter shuddered to think about how it felt. Nobody mentioned the tension his father displayed - the way all smiles were forced and he had a hand on his pocket, as if his phone would ring at any moment and he'd have to leave prematurely. Instead, they all did their best to make the day as easy as they could; Carter and Aaron had done all the chores both inside and outside the home and their mother had made breakfast the night before. Trane Amalthia was rarely a stern man but the reaping changed him - forced him into mentor mode.

"I hope he'll be alright..." Carter heard his mother talk from where she fried some bacon away. Being from a Victor family, they could afford the imports from District Ten. "He knows it's not his fault..."

It didn't take Carter much thought to know she was talking about his father. His parents had met before his father's victory and often his mouther called the smaller ways her husband had changed. "It's like his eyes lost a little sparkle," She'd say, a defeated sigh accompanying her words. There was little she could do and she knew that. "He still has it - thank 'Keepers - but he lost some."

Carter coughed a stubborn piece of toast down his throat and offered an earnest smile to his mother when she turned around. "I'm sure he'll turn his brain off - said he does that sometimes."

"We can't even do that here," His mother replied, smiling grimly as if she could imagine her husband's inner dialogue as he mentored. "I'm sure it's hard to do that all the time in the Capitol."

Carter had never really given much thought to it; his father had discouraged it, telling his children time and time again that he was fine. For the most part, Carter believed him. Though the month after was always rocky, whatever happened in the arena that year would leave and he'd be back to normal. He had faith in his father - after all, he survived the First Quarter Quell and that was brutal.

"I'll be fine, don't worry about me." The voice of his father had stopped Carter from making whatever reply he had prepared.

Trane stood at the door, a sad smile on his face. Carter could tell that he appreciated that his wife and oldest child were concerned about him, yet vehemently believed that needn't concern themselves with such matters. The fights he fought in his head were his alone; a burden only a Victor could endure.

For a brief second, Carter wondered if volunteering so his Dad had someone who understood what it was to be a Victor was something viable.

He doubted his father would be too pleased.

Scarlet Madelin, 13

Sometimes on reaping day, Scarlet wondered if her father had ever escorted any tributes to the Capitol.

Once, he had been a Peacekeeper who was based in District Eleven. She knew little of what happened during that time - only that he heroically stood his ground against dissenters and the Capitol gave him a lot of money to compensate. It was why she and her family were able to live in one of the nicer District Six towns, away from the gangs and encroaching grasp of morphling. Instead of violence and drug addicts, they lived near the Victors and other people who made enough money to live comfortably. It always led to a shock whenever Scarlet made her way back to District Six's main city for school but, as her father said, it was a small price to pay for the life they led.

She wondered if he had taken tributes to the Justice Building, set them neatly in a room and listened as families wailed their goodbyes. She also often thought about how he felt - did being among Peacekeepers from the Capitol, One and Two change his mind? Peacekeepers from other Districts beyond One and Two were rare, memories of people's own experiences clouding any reason to join their ranks. Scarlet had asked her father why he joined them, to which he simply told her it was one of the best possible things for him.

Since hearing stories of his family and how hard it was, she believed him.

Yet her father never let on how he felt as being a symbol of the Capitol's terror. She naively liked to think he was an exception like some of the ones in Six - kind and helpful to the people of Eleven. Her older siblings had told her, however, that so much wasn't the case. Her father had withstood a small riot by himself - he had used all the skills he had been trained to in an impeccable manner. So much so, he got rewarded.

That was why she lived the life she did.

Scarlet never particularly worried about the reaping day. She, after all, only had her name in their twice. Her siblings and her never had to take out tesserae, nor forgo extra names in the pool for basic survival in Panem. Instead, they got to live their life of respectable luxury in a town that could be mistaken as one of the smaller ones surrounding the Capitol. Unlike some of her classmates, she would never know the encroaching smog of Six's factories, nor know anyone who had succumbed to morphling's numbing temptations. She, very happily, lived with very few cares in the world.

Scarlet found her mother sat at the breakfast table, head engrossed in one of the latest magazines from the Capitol. A popular carriage designer, Scarlet's mother often updated herself on the latest Capitolite trends. Naturally, Scarlet had begun to pick up on a few herself and seemed to amuse her parents as she tried to emulate fashion trends with whatever she had. That, of course, was a lot nicer than most in District Six; with a mother in favour of the Capitol and a rich Peacekeeper-turned-Investor father, Scarlet had access to most luxuries some could only imagine.

She, for her own good, was humble but that came mostly from not understanding her life situation fully. No, Scarlet just assumed she was lucky.

"Ah Scarlet," Her mother said no sooner than she had entered the room, barely looking up from her magazine. "Breakfast is next to the stove, help yourself."

She lowered the magazine to get a look at her daughter, smiling when she saw her reaping dress. The Madelins never indulged in the sadness of the reaping - in their eyes, they were untouchable. So far out of the realm of possibility to be reaped. Instead, they celebrated how nice each other looked and saw it as a day to celebrate their close family.

"You look gorgeous," She continued, her smile still strong. "So much prettier than the Capitolite models in this magazine."

"Maybe the upper school girls will use me as their model if I tell them that," Scarlet replied, bearing a toothy grin at her mother. She giggled slightly as the response was an upturned eyebrow, moving to collect some of the food from the counter.

Ever someone who liked to be prepared, Scarlet's mother had made all of the food the night before, reheating it just as she expected her family to begin stirring form their slumbers.

"I wouldn't go that far." A new voice entered the mix, Scarlet's older brother Brunel appearing from view and laughing. His tone was full of sarcasm, though his cheeky smile made both his mother and sister laugh. "You wouldn't want the girls in my grade to photograph you anyway - they're gross."

"But they take the nicest photos..." Scarlet's voice sounded wistful, a hint of excitement already suggesting she had begun to imagine herself as their muse.

"They're still gross, no matter how nice their photos are," Brunel chuckled, taking a seat next to Scarlet and biting into an apple from the pile of fruit in the middle of the table. "Ew. That type of gross."

"Maybe we can see if they'd like a bit of extra money and get them to take pictures of you three in your reaping outfits?" Scarlet's mother suggested, lips pursed momentarily in thought. "You do all look nice and that's rare..."

Her voice trailed off into a laugh, accompanied by a loving smile.

Brunel snorted, causing Scarlet to laugh. "That's unfair."

Scarlet continued to smile and laugh, enjoying the reaping breakfast for what it was; a nice, close time with family.

Jett Vanian, 15

The only solace Jett ever found in reaping days was that it was the day that his father was guaranteed to be home. A conductor for Capitol trains that ferried officials across the country, Jett rarely saw his father. For months at a time, his father would either be in the Capitol or somewhere in Panem, helping the trains run smoothly. He never knew too much about the nature of his father's job, nor even how the Capitol viewed him, but he assumed that their comfortable life meant there was some positivity there.

Reaping days also meant that his mother, a headmistress in a school just outside the main city of Six, also had nothing taking her away from the family home. Too often had Jett and his brothers Piston and Axel spent time in their home alone. Their parents, naturally, made up for it where they could but it still never took away the general empty feeling the house held during the day or the hours in which the three sons were on their own.

If he was honest, Jett scarcely minded the arrangements. A naturally competitive person with two brothers yet overbearing, oftentimes too strict parents, he enjoyed trying to best Piston and Axel in anyway he could. With their parents gone, he could indulge in whatever small competitions they could create. Sometimes, they'd go for physical trials; fighting one another to see who would be declared as the strongest. Other times, they would do more trivial things. Jett much preferred the former, mostly on the account that his brain couldn't keep up with the wicked mind of Axel. Though he didn't say it, Jett was sure Piston felt the same way.

More often than not, the three brothers spent their time trying to best one another, having little regard to the rules their parents tried to implement. Reaping mornings, however, were different. Although he was defiant to their rules, Jett did enjoy having everyone together. Always wanting to show the best version of himself, he considered being a golden child (or close enough to it, at least) to be something high on the list to achieve said version. He, also, disliked the prospect of being reaped. He never knew what chances he had of being reaped - he had long since stopped trying to calculate -but that didn't prevent him from being anxious. Being with his parents and brothers comforted him, as if it was a way of telling him that he'd be fine for another year.

This year, however, his anxiety flickered towards his younger brother; it was Axel's first year of being able to be reaped. Everyone in the Vanian family had discussed this known fact for hours on end, coming to the conclusion that with one name in the bowl, it'd be impossible for Axel to be reaped. Jett, secretly, nursed the thought that it was a possibility. An unlikely one, the rational part of his brain told him, but one nonetheless. Many a night he had woken up from the nightmare of Axel being reaped - just like he used to when he was younger, watching Piston attend the reapings. His parents had removed most of his worries when he was younger but, with a more in tune mind to the reapings, Jett was hard to convince.

It was a good thing that Axel didn't seem too concerned.

The Vanians had long since had a tradition that on the reaping morning, the family would go on a walk in the nearby forest. They were lucky enough to afford a house in the suburbs of District Six's main city, close enough to nature to not inherently feel the effects of the city's smog. Jett had found the walks to be cumbersome at first, disliking how much effort they exerted before the tiring reaping but, as he got older, he found it to be a solace. Under Jett's own recommendation, they had started to do another walk after the reaping too.

"Whatever happens today boys," Jett's father, Wendell, said as he interrupted the sound of their footsteps on the dirt path. "You know your mother and I love you both very much. We'll turn a blind eye to whatever happens in the arena."

"You say this every year Dad..." Piston's voice sounded exasperated, as if hearing it was suffocating to a degree. Jett figured it was likely because it, to Piston, felt as if their father had already decided that one of them was to be reaped.

"I know, I know." His father stopped, pursing his lips. He seemed to have a guilty look on his face, afraid to suddenly look at any of his sons. "I just feel like it might be one of you... and I wanted to say this now rather than in the Justice Building."

The idea seemed grave to Jett, as if somehow the Justice Building would be a place that wouldn't allow for things like that to be said. As if it was dirty to suggest killing to come home in District Six - the district where so many, as soon as they were reaped, just wondered what place they'd die.

"Well it hasn't been one of us yet," Piston carried on, voice softening just a little. Perhaps he felt the same sense of dread that Jett did. "So let's hope it's not for another year."

Nobody's PoV

District Six's District Square

Factories littered the skyline of most of Six's settlements. Whilst the children of Six looked at the factories as the inevitable destination of their lives, Capitolite children took joy in finding out it was in those factories where their cars and trains came from. The idyllic, rose-tinted view the Capitol had of Six's industry often clashed with the grim reality of the District itself; the morphling addiction plain as day. Souls left battered and bruised were oftentimes hidden away during the year, their gaunt faces turned from the outside world. On the reaping day, congregations appeared as far as the eye - or camera - could see. Morphling addicts in Six were as much as the scenery as the Justice Building was. Less of the focus, yet they always managed to earn a feature shot.

District Six was bleaker than the other two districts that shared a similar electronic theme with. Whilst Three looked cramped and crowded, austere and undesirable and Five was clean and a click off the Career road, District Six looked miserable. It always seemed, year after year, that nobody was ever content living there. Not the citizens that worked day in and day out in the factories, nor the rich that lived in hidden villages away from the smog of the city and it's addiction. Many Capitolite historians had commented that, seeing Six, it was no wonder their tributes were often Bloodbathed; death's embrace was clearly a welcomed escape. They were only half wrong.

"Well isn't District Six something special? It might not be as nice as the other districts but there is a charm! I can see it - can you?"

The Quell had been something of a welcomed nightmare in District Six. The adults who hadn't lost their minds to the addiction of morphling had been abhorred by the idea of double the tributes going up into the Games - fear striking deep into their hearts. For the reapees, it was seen as some sort of welcomed gift. Though they tried to be optimistic, many of Six's teenagers knew their futures were bleak. Often times, in class, people tried to figure out who among their classmates would end up joining the statistics of addicts, who would take their own life out of sheer desperation for something better and who would be of the lucky few to have an elevated life. Conversations like that, however, often ended too soon as the reality hit that they too would be among those options. Thus, the reaping was seen as something that could bring only good - death or riches beyond imagination. Both being welcomed. Life after the Games was scarcely considered; Six was often one of the first to lose both its tributes.

As was the case with all the Districts, those of Six wore their best to the reaping. A sea of colours washed over the streets of Six's square, the variety of fabrics and riches showing that the district could, when required, match the grandeur of some of the others. The bright colours and luscious fabrics, for a brief second, distracted from the depressive shots of the district's citizens. If they hadn't suffered from a morphling addiction, most of Six's population looked hungry or sad with the life they had been given.

It was of little wonder why the district's escort despised her district.

"What a wonderful turnout - we could have a Victor standing in that crowd!"

Tatiana had been District Six's escort for the past fifteen years. She had been told it would be an ice-breaker district to prepare her for one of the bigger, better ones and, like a fool, she had believed it. Now she felt trapped under the monotony that her district's tributes induced onto her; they were depressing in the train rides, in the Training Centre and they always, always died too soon. How she was expected to show her escorting skills when her highest placing tribute was fifth, she had no clue. Still, as she did every year, she forced a smile as she strode onto the stage from the Justice Building.

Wearing lilac, Tatiana overshadowed even the best-dressed of District Six. Her clothes seemingly being more vibrant than anyone in the crowd could muster the courage to wear. That was what Tatiana had resorted to doing - being so undeniably Capitolite in her reaping that there was something to look forward to when it came to the reaping. She often considered it a service to the district.

"Oh, doesn't Tatiana look divine? I really hope she gets promoted soon - too good of talent wasted on a district like Six..."

With lips tightly pursed, Tatiana offered a smile to the crowd before her. A large, impoverished district, Six spilled everywhere around the vicinity. She really was too glamorous for such a run down district.

"Welcome, welcome District Six to the reaping of the Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games - the Second Quarter Quell!" Tatiana was a professional, however, and no matter how much she hated her district, she would always put on a show. "As it was decreed, to remind the rebels that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen killed, Panem's Districts would offer up double the amount of tributes."

Many in the crowd couldn't help but wonder if Tatiana found some joy in the Quell.

Even not knowing what thoughts and feelings their escort had towards the Quell, District Six seemed rather placid about it.

"Of course, District Six, as respectable as always! So quiet... so attentive."

"As you all know, last year our tributes Eugene Tissel and Velocity Martins did die in the Bloodbath but they both nearly made it out! We can only go up from here."

Most in the District rolled their eyes at thinly veiled, fake sincerity Tatiana tried to inject into her voice. They saw through her quite clearly and, had it not been that many had long since passed caring, something may have been said or done about it. The mention of last year's tributes didn't stir anything inside anyone; everyone could tell they were Bloodbaths the moment they were reaped. Eugene was a weedy fourteen-year-old and Velocity was an eighteen-year-old already plagued by addiction to morphling. It was no shock to anyone that Capitol popularity polls ranked them at the bottom end of the spectrum.

"As always, our tributes this year will be mentored by Trane Amalthia, Victor of the Nineteenth Hunger Games and Kailin Siena, Victor of the Tenth Hunger Games!"

Both Trane and Kailin smiled and waved at their district. They were, as expected of Victors, some of the healthiest looking as to provide an example on how to live. Both had managed to avoid falling into the pit that was morphling, however having to watch children die year after year weighed heavy on them. In earlier reapings, both of their eyes had been much brighter and full of life - now, they were duller as their owners became more accustomed to their tributes dying.

"We have a film, specially filmed, straight from the Capitol!"

District Six switched off when the reaping film was played. Most could recite it word for word inside their heads and, if they didn't outwardly show it, some even fell asleep. The film was a lull - a break - before what would be the hardest part of the day. Even if Six had become unfazed by the reaping or even welcomed the death sentence it brought, some would still feel dread and worry. Some in the reaping pool would have a cold stab in the pits of their stomachs if their names were read out. For however placi the morphling epidemic had made District Six, a growing number still worried about the Hunger Games.

The film fading to silence brought many back to the reality of the day. Attention was required and, if needed, some sorrowful, pained expressions would be worn or some fake courtesies of hope. Rarely was it the latter.

"Now we can get onto the fun part!" Tatiana's smile seemed much more genuine at the prospect of reaping her tributes. Though she'd deny it, this was the most exciting part of the reaping for her. Often times she wondered if she'd finally get a Victor. "As we always do, we shall start with the ladies."

Tatiana still continued to do the grand pomp that characterised many of the escort's reaping styles. She made her way slowly towards the large, crystalline bowl containing the names and waved her hand in. She shuffled around for a brief second before fishing two envelopes. Her movements were fluid and graceful, like a ballerina performing the most important stage of her life. Tatiana glanced at them, scrutinising them for a quick second, before returning back to the microphone.

"Our first tribute that shall represent District Six in the Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games is... Cara Soledad!"

A choked noise from the crowd that stood around the reapee area indicated that Cara belonged to a family that still held some fear towards the Hunger Games. That or she was of a family untouched by morphling and still had parents that cared for her.

Cara walked into the centre aisle from the fifteen-year-old's section. Though small and slim, it was obvious to those that watched as she made the first tentative steps towards the stage that she was healthy. The Peackeepers' snow white suits were a stark contrast to her tanned skin that only helped to give her a glow. Her black hair fell ceremoniously at her shoulders, straightened by some water. Her brown eyes, encased by rounded glasses, stared straight ahead towards the stage. It was unclear whether her reddened cheeks were natural or the result of the entirety of Panem staring at her. In any case, she held her head high and gave Tatiana a curt nod as she took her place on the stage.

People murmured around her as to how quickly she'd die. For the first of their four tributes, District Six seemed optimistic that she wouldn't be Bloodbathed.

Tatiana seemed content with the choice of tribute, evidenced by how her promenade of exaggeration only increased.

"And our second lovely lady to represent District Six is... Scarlet Madelin!"

Scarlet emerged considerably more timid than Cara had been. Being only thirteen, it was obvious that she was trying to prepare herself for the weeks ahead. Those in the crowd immediately began to whisper the dreaded word - Bloodbath. Although she couldn't hear them, Scarlet undoubtedly felt the weight of their predictions. The fear of dying in the Bloodbath was reflected in her eyes; as Cara's had looked ahead, Scarlet's darted around. She looked for help and, then, someone who could guide her through the next few weeks. Though taller than Cara, Scarlet looked considerably smaller. Her red hair bunched into two pigtails, her freckled face and drooped brown eyes made for the visual of a scared tribute. Tatiana couldn't help but sigh internally as Scarlet took her place next to Cara; of course she needed a reminder that Six would always participate in being Bloodbathed.

After all, it was a tradition for them.

"Well, we have one promising looking tribute, Cara, and one that looks like such a little doll. Anyone else wanting to grab a tissue just in case Scarlet cries?"

Tatiana gave them a second to take in the district before smiling.

"And now, for the gentlemen."

She repeated the same gestures she had done so before, returning back to the microphone quicker. Perhaps Cara had given her a taste of a good tribute.

"The first young man who has the honour of representing District Six is... Carter Amalthia!"

No sooner had she said the name, Tatiana could feel the weight of who was reaped. Trane Amalthia had made it no secret that his sons were of reaping age and that he was worried they would have to go into the arena like he had done; time after time he said that he just was glad he was able to give them a good life. Now, it seemed, one of those good lives was about to be jeopardised. Six knew that, Tatiana knew that and, when she looked at Trane's attempt at a neutral expression, even he knew that.

Carter stepped out from the eighteen-year-old's section and anticipation of a Victor swelled within the escort. It had been a rumour that Trane had put his sons under a regime not too dissimilar from what those from One, Two and Four undertook - just in case they were reaped. Carter stood taller than some of the Peacekeepers that escorted him and his physique confirmed all those rumours. Though perhaps not as muscular as the volunteers from the Careers, there was strength Carter possessed that had to be respected. He looked a spit of his father; thick blonde hair that was untamed, dark blue eyes that seemed to give away the thoughts he felt and even a similar scar to his father on his eyebrow. There was a promising aura Carter brought with him, accentuated with how he gave away little to how he felt.

Tatiana, and the district, seemed pleased as he took his place on the other side of her. The only indication that Carter felt anything other than strength was the scared look he flashed his father.

"And our second gentleman is... Jett Vanian!"

Another fifteen-year-old presented himself as the tribute. He, like Carter, was of the taller persuasion. Unlike his fellow male tribute, however, Jett was lanky and thin. Definitely not lithe by any means but, unlike Carter, he possessed little muscle. He shared a skin tone with Cara and even had the same shade of brown for his eyes that Scarlet had. His brown hair was the laziest styling of all the tributes, it being somewhat clear he cared little for how he looked. Tatiana, usually, would've been annoyed but she could work with what she had. He seemed promising too, the dreaded word having not been uttered since Scarlet.

Tatiana could work with three out of four tributes; she could feel a promising aura, especially as Jett took his place alongside Carter.

"I think District Six is really pulling out all the stocks for the Quell. Anyone else think the Careers need to be a little more careful this year?"

Tatiana gave District Six a second to take in their tributes before smiling and clapping, the happiness she felt for having competent tributes oozing over into her words.

"District Six, your tributes for the Fiftieth Annual Hunger Games, the Second Quarter Quell! Cara Soledad, Scarlet Madelin, Carter Amalthia and Jett Vanian! May the odds be ever in your favour!"

The four tributes shook hands with one another, each trying to size up what the others would be like. One unspoken thing that many across the Districts as a whole felt was the potential that the Quell could lead to district alliances. It was obvious to all that watched that the tributes of District Six were considering if that was a viable option for them.

The cameras panned as the four tributes made their way into the Justice Building. Many in the Capitol took note about how those of District Six who hadn't lost their minds to morphling seemed to be optimistic about their crop of tributes for the Quarter Quell.

And District Six is down!

These kiddos were really hard to write (bar Carter) and I think that's because were all made during a time where I could write their types of characters better and now I'm a little rusty. I still love them all the same though!

But halfway done of the reapings! We're very nearly getting there!

- Oli