Alana Reshial, District One

"There's still time to step down, you know."

Alana's eyes flicked to the reflection of her father as he leaned in her doorway. She looked away, adjusting the gold mini-sickle that hung on a matching chain around her neck. It had been her father's weapon, when he was a victor, and it would be her weapon in the Quell.

"I ea-earned my p-place," She replied, rising from the seat of her vanity, and stepping over to the

"This is the Quell, Alana. No one will blame you if you let someone else take your place."

Someone capable of winning, Alana filled in the unspoken phrase. She had heard the same routine from her mother and her father both -but mostly from her father - since she'd finished up the combat trials this year and came in first. It had been nine long years since her injury. Her father still acted like she would be killed a moment after the games began, like she would bring shame down on their family.

Wouldn't he be surprised when she won?

"Alana! Alana!"

Her train of thoughts was quickly interrupted as her younger sister, Aisha, squeezed past their father and into her bedroom. She twirled in her new reaping day dress, a fluffy, light pink affair. "Don't I look beautiful? Do you think they'll call my name before you volunteer? Then I'll get to be on TV! But I'll get to be on TV anyway when you're in the final eight…"

Alana patted her sister's head as she continued with her excited babbling. At least one person in this family believed in her. If she won for anyone, it would be Aisha, rather than herself. Her sister had always, always believed in her wholeheartedly. Alana wanted to prove her sister's faith in her had never been misplaced. "V-very pretty," She assured, before gently taking her hand and guiding her out of the room, knowing it was time for them all to get going.

As she waited in the square for the reaping, her father barely looked Alana's way from where he sat on the stage. The other victors - even if some were as skeptical of her abilities as her father - would occasionally glance her way, and give a polite smile or nod. As the main event grew closer, though, she couldn't help but wonder if her father and the other nay-sayers might be right. She might not be good enough, as much as she wanted to believe otherwise. She wanted to win. But there were twenty-three others who would want to win too, five of whom probably trained as hard as she had. There was a very real possibility that she might die, even if she fought her hardest, that like so many in the District believed, she would not be enough. And that thought frightened her to her core.

She shoved those feelings, down, though, as the girl was reaped, and she called out to volunteer. She stomped up to the stage, standing tall and proud and determined as the escort introduced her.

She looked out over the square, knowing she would be back in Two soon enough, as a victor.

Wouldn't she?

Jamie Alora, District Two

Jamie could feel eyes on her, judging her, as she waited for her time to volunteer. Some, she knew, were simply disappointed in her choice in clothing. The reaping was viewed as a chance for Two to remind the Capitol - or in reality, the rest of Panem - of their power and their wealth. Her outfit did not quite reflect that, being the simple, comfortably fitting clothes she wore for training. Several of the other girls, once they had accepted that they would not be in the Quell, had offered to lend her a nicer outfit, since she had none. She refused, feeling more herself in the training clothes. The training center had been her only true home for years, and she wanted Panem to see her as herself.

The rest of the judging eyes belonged to those who believed much more fervently in the importance of lineage for the tributes and victors of District Two. The two neat rows of chairs on stage were filled with past victors, and for all of them, she could pick out some familial connection to another victor or a fallen tribute in her mind. To many, she was a nobody, who'd taken a spot from one of the families that lived for the games. To those who actually knew about her family, it was all the worse. She was the daughter of a sleazebag who dealt in morphling. A rich sleazebag, granted, but one connected in all the wrong circles. Even she had cut ties with him as soon as she'd had the chance.

She was lucky that the District would sponsor any child wishing to attend the Training Center, and that boarding was mandatory for those attending. Otherwise she'd have nowhere else to go, except back to her father's house - and she did not want to go back there under any circumstances. The trainers had taken a liking to her soon after she'd arrived. They'd seen her raw talent and honed it, and she knew she would be ready because of them. She was sad that she would be parting ways from them, from the Training Center as a whole, really. But when she returned, she'd be living in the Victor's Village.

As the reaping drew closer, her eyes searched the crowd for Charlie. He stood not far from the eighteen-year-olds' section, and smiled at her as she caught his eye. Though he hadn't made it into the games himself - and had been past reaping age for the entirety of a week - he had still trained with her at the center. They had become close friends quickly, and eventually, even closer than that. It would be hard to be away from him in the coming weeks, but she would fight to see him again. She'd win and dedicate her victory to him.

She smiled at him, thinking of the bright future that lay ahead for them both. Her eyes flicked to the stage as a hush fell over the crowd as their escort stepped forward to begin the reaping. Jamie stood tall and straight, feeling a rush of exhilaration.

Now was her time.

Rhonna Faran, District Nine

Rhonna's pockets were full as she made her way to the square, trailing behind her brother. The night before the reaping, and the morning of, were always the best time for her. She saved her best stuff for this time of year. Any time she could spare, she used to scour the district for anything small and odd. She'd found all sorts of things over the years - oddly shaped rocks, pretty bird feathers, beads from broken jewelry, tarnished pendants. Whatever she found she tucked away, sometimes stringing them together so they'd both be more worthwhile than they'd be on their own. And then, she sold it. She spun tales about how lucky it would make whoever bought it. Young men and women might be caught by promises of finding their true loves. Old folks wanted strength to survive the harvest. And parents and children always, always, wanted the odds to be in their favor on reaping day.

Not that Rhonna believed any of it. But it was less risky than stealing. No one was stupid enough to go to a peacekeeper to complain that their good luck charm didn't work. It kept clothes on her back and, sometimes, food in her belly. More important, it made sure that her brother, Kiernan, was clothed and fed.

Kiernan believed in the charms, a little too much for a thirteen-year-old, as far as Rhonna was concerned. Even now, she could see him fiddling with the one he always carried in his pocket. It had been right before her first reaping that she'd found it, three years ago. There had been a storm, and Rhonna had gone to check the river. There was always something worthwhile after a storm, and often times, a lot of it. As she'd shifted through bits of wood and stone that washed up along the shore, she found it: a rock, shaped like a spiralling shell. It took a while for her dredge up the memory of what it actually was, from some old lesson back when she'd actually attended school: a fossil. She knew she could have made it a killing with that. But Kiernan hadn't been sleeping well, worried that Rhonna would be reaped. She'd given it to him for his own peace of mind. And she supposed it had worked, technically, as she hadn't been reaped for the past three years.

While she waited for the reaping, she could see many in the audience - both the other children around and the adult surrounding her - clutching at something that hung around their necks or sat hidden away in their pockets. Her good luck charms. For most of them, they would bring good luck. Out of all the children there, only two would be called.

"Rhonna Faran!"

Rhonna blanched as she looked to the stage, not wanting to believe it. It was only when the escort called her name a second time did the shock wear off and she hurried to take the stage. The escort said something to her as she came up, but her mind didn't register. Her eyes were fervently searching through the crowd of thirteen year olds until she saw Kiernan's face, looking just as stricken as she felt. She couldn't bear the thought of having to leave him alone. He had no one else - what would happen to him when she was gone?

She searched the crowd again. Someone volunteer, She thought desperately, Please, I don't want to leave him. Someone volunteer. Already, the escort was moving to the other ball, dipping his hand in to reap the male tribute.

Not Kiernan. We can't both go. Don't be Kiernan.

It wasn't Kiernan, and her shoulders sagged with relief. At least he wouldn't be in the Games with her. At least there was that. But he'd still have to survive on his own for weeks, at least.

And if she wanted to get back to him, she'd have to survive the Quarter Quell.

A/N: And here's our next chapter! Hope you've been enjoying it so far, and make sure to tell me which tributes are standing out to you! There's still some spots for tributes open, so keep those submissions coming! After this, we'll be moving onto the train rides (I'll try to weave in goodbye details where I can). I also added a bit to the prologue chapter, so be sure to revisit it if you haven't yet!