Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Writing normal reapings again felt a bit weird ... but a good sort of weird. I'm one of those strange writers who actually enjoys reapings, so here we go. Thank you to CreativeAJL, TheEngineeringGames, Flintlightning, and BamItsTyler for Consus, Genevieve, Justus, and Mae, respectively.

District One
Unprepared

Jasper Floren, 30
Victor of the 38th Hunger Games

He'd never felt so unprepared for the Games before.

Jasper forced a smile as he and his family headed for the district square. He hadn't expected to be this nervous. But, now that it was actually time for the reaping, he was more anxious than he'd been even before his own Games. Because now he had no idea what to expect.

For the last few decades, reapings in District One had been a mere formality. Volunteers were selected weeks in advance, and incidents during the reapings themselves were few and far between. The tributes knew each other – and their mentors – long before the Games. They knew each other's strengths and weaknesses. How to work as a team – and when to strike out on their own. This year…

This year would be different. But they couldn't appear any different. The district looked up to them. Their tributes would be looking to them to set an example. They had to treat this like any other year. Any other Games. Any other tributes.

But these weren't any other tributes. For the first time in years, they had no idea who their tributes would be in advance. But at least his parents had some experience. Jade had mentored untrained tributes for a few years before Career training really took hold, and Stellar had mentored during the last Quarter Quell, which had also forbidden volunteers. Still, it had been twenty-five years since then. Twenty-five years since anyone in their district had needed to worry about being forced into the Games against their will.

"It'll be all right." Jade laid a hand gently on his son's shoulder as they approached the square. "We'll work through this together – the four of us."

The four of us. Felix and his family joined them as they neared the square. Felix smiled warmly, ruffling Thea's hair. "Take care of my family while I'm away, you hear?"

Thea swatted his hand away. "Only if you take care of mine."

Felix grinned. "More likely, they'll be taking care of me." He turned to Jade. "You sure you wouldn't rather have Scarlet?"

Jade shook his head. "Scarlet and Amelia both declined – and Scarlet said you've been dodging your turn the longest."

Felix smirked. "Thirty-four years. I guess it's time I gave it a try. But don't get used to it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jade assured him, and the four of them headed for the stage while Thea and Felix's family slipped into the audience, which was unusually silent. Anxious. Jade stared out at the faces – at the frightened twelve and thirteen year olds, who usually wouldn't have to worry. At the older trainees who were waiting. Hoping. Who knew this was their last chance at the Games. Normally, they selected volunteers weeks in advance, but this year, they'd agreed to wait until after the quell twist was announced. And now he was glad they had. The two eighteen-year-olds they'd been leaning towards selecting would never know how close they had come. Maybe it was better that way.

As the teenagers continued to trickle in, Amelia and Scarlet arrived and took their places onstage, smiling and waving at the rest of them, then at the audience. Six Victors – a number second only to District Two. Normally, that was something to be proud of, but this year … this year it meant that they were sending four tributes – something District One had never been required to do. A reminder that every success brings a greater danger.

It still didn't quite seem fair – being punished for doing well. For having success in the Games. But he was sure there was a reason for it, in the end.

There was always a reason.

Maybe that reason was as simple as reminding them of how good they usually had it. Even their escort, Ishmael Scimone, was unusually quiet as he took the stage. The crowd cheered. He waved. But something was off. Something was different.

This year, his job actually meant something.

Jasper's gaze strayed to the single reaping bowl onstage. Normally, the names drawn out of the reaping bowl meant nothing. This year, there would be nothing to save the children whose names were drawn. No volunteers to step forward. Of the four names that Ishmael drew out of the bowl, at least three would die – without any choice in the matter.

Just as the crowd was starting to murmur, however, Stellar stepped up to the microphone. "Welcome, everyone, to the reaping for this year's Quarter Quell!" She raised her hands for applause, and the crowd quickly obliged. "This year, District One has the special honor of sending four tributes to compete in the Games – an honor because it demonstrates the success we've had in the past, and our continued commitment to our district and to the Capitol. So, Ishmael, if you'll do the honors…" She stepped aside as the crowd cheered again, this time applauding Ishmael, who flashed Stellar a grateful smile before approaching the reaping bowl.

Stellar took her seat as Ishmael swirled the papers – hoping, Jasper knew, for the name of one of the academy's trainees. Someone who would be eager – or, at least, prepared – to enter the Games. So many of the older trainees had been taking tesserae. Maybe it would pay off. Maybe…

"Justus Freeman!"

Jasper hid a sigh of relief at the sound of a familiar name. The seventeen-year-old section parted around a boy in a simple black suit. He was tall and athletic, with dark skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. The look of surprise on his face quickly gave way to a smile as he made his way to the stage, taking the stairs two at a time. He gave the crowd a wave before holding out his hand to Ishmael, who shook it. Justus quickly took the microphone. "Thank you for the opportunity to represent this district."

Jasper nodded as Justus took a step back. Short. Polite. To the point. If his reaction set the tone for the rest of the reaping, maybe this wouldn't be so hard, after all. Ishmael, too, seemed a bit more relaxed as he drew another name from the bowl. "Mae Swenson!"

This time, it was the thirteen-year-old section the parted around a lanky girl in a black and white polka dot dress, a black belt, and white stockings. She was dark-skinned, and her long, black hair was neatly brushed. For a moment, nothing happened. The girl simply kept staring off into the distance, as if she hadn't heard her name. But, after a moment, she seemed to notice the people – all staring at her. Watching. Waiting. Her hands flew to her ears, and she began rocking back and forth. Swaying this way and that. Her lips were moving – maybe muttering something to herself.

Jasper glanced over at the Peacekeepers, who were still standing off to the side, waiting. How long had it been since they'd had to step in during a reaping? By the time they started to make their way towards the girl, several other girls were already coaxing her forward into the aisle. The girl followed the Peacekeepers to the stage, but stopped, flustered, when she saw Justus, who was already holding out his hand for her to shake. "Hello. My name is Mae," she muttered, grabbing hold of one of his fingers for a few seconds before letting go and turning stiffly back towards the audience, her dark brown eyes fixed on the stage at her feet.

But Justus wasn't deterred. "Hello, Mae. Thank you for joining me in representing District One." He turned back to Ishmael. "And who else will have the honor of joining us?"

Ishmael was already reaching into the bowl. "Genevieve Odele!"

The seventeen-year-old section parted again, this time around a girl in a light grey pantsuit, light pink shirt, and low black heels. She was tall and thin, with light brown skin, long black hair, and dark brown eyes. For a moment, she simply stared, her mouth hanging open as her eyes darted from Ishmael to Jasper to her two district partners. Finally, she took a step forward, and then another. Her lips began to curl upwards a little, and, by the time she made her way to the top of the stairs, she'd managed to smile. A small, nervous smile, but it was better than nothing.

Genevieve quickly shook hands with Justus, then extended her hand to Mae, who reluctantly grasped her finger quickly before letting go and taking a step back. Genevieve then turned to Ishmael, who shook her hand quickly, and then to each of the Victors in turn. By the time she got to Jasper, her smile seemed a bit firmer, but her hand was still trembling and cold as he shook it. Jasper nodded towards the audience, and Genevieve turned back towards them, giving a little wave as Ishmael reached into the bowl one last time.

"Consus Caepio!"

There were sighs of relief from the younger teens and disappointed grumbling from the older ones at the sound of the final name. The fifteen-year-old section parted around a boy in a light blue button-down shirt and dark blue pants. He was tall for his age – almost as tall as Justus – with pale skin, curly dirty blonde hair, and sky blue eyes. But it was his mouth that caught Jasper's eye. He seemed to be almost … laughing. Yes, he was, Jasper realized as the boy continued to chuckle, still not making a move towards the stage.

After a few moments, the Peacekeepers stepped closer, and one of them put a hand on the boy's arm. The boy quickly shrugged it away. "Let go of me," he grumbled, finally making his way towards the stage. He was still chuckling to himself as he climbed the stairs, but he managed to shake the others' hands before crossing his arms across his chest, still laughing wryly.

Ishmael decided to make the most of it. "Well, we're delighted to have you, too, Consus. District One, your tributes for this year's Quarter Quell! Justus, Mae, Genevieve, and Consus!"

The crowd cheered – more out of habit than anything else. These weren't the sort of tributes they were used to. But they were the tributes they had. The tributes that their hopes rested on this year.

Jasper watched silently as the cameras switched off and the tributes were led away. The crowd began to disperse, leaving the Victors alone onstage. Jade turned to the rest of them. "So, Jasper, what do you think?"

Jasper tensed. "What do I think?"

Jade nodded. "You spend the most time at the academy these days. Who do you know? Thoughts on who should mentor whom?"

Why are you asking me? But, deep down, he already knew the answer to that. It was only a matter of time before he wouldn't have his parents mentoring with him every year. Once they brought home another Victor, Jade and Stellar would probably take a step back, and he would be the senior mentor. The one calling the shots.

Just think. "I know most of them. Justus' older sister is one of our trainers – works mostly with the younger students. He was at the top of his a few years back, but lately he hasn't been as focused."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"Nothing in particular that I know of. Sometimes people just realize that volunteering isn't really for them, and they back off – let the more serious trainees take the lead. He wouldn't have been our choice for a volunteer, but he's capable."

Stellar nodded. "And the older girl – Genevieve. I've seen her around the academy."

Jasper smiled a little. "Not training. Flirting. She's got her eye on a few of our top prospects. But she may have picked up a thing or two."

"And the younger two?" Jade asked.

"Both of them have older siblings who are training. I've seen Mae around, training with the younger students. Consus … I don't think so. His older sister has some promise, but I haven't met him before."

"I'll take Consus, then," Stellar offered. "Jade?"

"I'll take Mae."

Jasper couldn't help a look of surprise. Were they trying to help him? Offering to take the younger tributes so he could focus on the older ones? The ones who had more promise? Or was this simply an acknowledgement of the fact that at least they had some experience with untrained tributes? He glanced over at Felix, who shrugged. "Your call. You've done this before."

You've done this before. Did that mean he should take Justus, the one who actually had the most training? Or maybe…

"I'll take Genevieve," he blurted out before he could change his mind.

Felix smiled a little. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"All right, then," Felix agreed. "Guess we're ready."

Ready. He wasn't ready. None of them were ready. But, as they rose and headed for the train, Jasper managed a smile. Maybe their tributes weren't the most prepared, but it could have been worse.

It could have been a lot worse.

Justus Freeman, 17

They would all assume he was the most prepared.

Justus took a deep breath as his parents finally left the room, leaving him alone with his sister, Aurora. "I know this isn't really what you wanted," she offered quietly – too quietly for their parents to hear, even if they were listening.

Not that it was really a secret. He'd decided a few years ago that he wouldn't volunteer for the Games. Training had been exciting, at first – the thrill, the lure of glory, the promise of excitement in the Games. But after seeing tribute after tribute fail to come back, year after year, some of that enthusiasm had begun to fade. He didn't want to die. He wanted to do something with his life.

He still did.

Justus clenched his fists. It was his own damn fault. It hadn't been his idea to start taking out tesserae, but he had been the one to spread the word around the older trainees. It had seemed like a natural thing to do. And, naturally, he had been expected to take out his share, as well. He could have said no, but then his friends, his classmates, his fellow trainees – they would have wondered why. Why he wasn't brave enough to take the same risk as them.

Aurora leaned forward a little. "Look, maybe this is a good thing. It's not what you would have chosen, but … Justus, you always had a knack for training. Any other year, there would be more competition, but this year…"

Justus nodded. He knew what she was trying to say. This year, most of the other tributes – even the others from Career districts – wouldn't have much training. He might very well be the most experienced Career in the arena. Certainly that was true among his district partners. "I'd trade that for an actual Career pack," he muttered.

But was that true? If the rest of the Careers were as unprepared as his district partners, whatever Career pack there was would probably look to him for guidance. For leadership. Any other year, he might have had to compete for leadership of the pack. Any other year…

Any other year, he wouldn't be here. But that didn't matter now. He was here. He had no other choice. All he could do was make the best of it.

"Mae has some training," Aurora offered.

"Mae? The one who can't even shake hands right?"

Aurora let out a chuckle. "Planning to shake hands much in the arena?"

"The sponsors—"

"Will be hoping for some sort of Career pack. Talk it over with whichever mentor you end up with. Watch the other reapings; see what your options are. But don't write her off just because she's a bit … off. She might surprise you."

"As long as that surprise isn't a knife in the back."

"Fair point. Remember, I want you home." She gave him one last hug as a knock on the door reminded them their time was almost up. "Be smart. Be careful. We're all rooting for you."

Justus nodded as she left. That was probably true. The rest of the district probably realized it, too – that he was their best chance.

He just hoped they were right.

Genevieve Odele, 17

She hadn't been prepared for them all.

Genevieve forced a smile as her parents and older brother left, only to be replaced by her friends – all grinning excitedly. Anastasia was the first to enter, quickly followed by Rena, Cass, and Lucia. "I can't believe it!" Lucia exclaimed. "You're actually going to be in the Games!"

"You're going to the Capitol!" Rena gushed.

"You're going to have so much fun!" Anastasia insisted.

Fun. Any other year, she would have agreed. The Games were fun. Fun to watch. And here in District One, she and her friends were usually safe. Free to enjoy the thrill of the Games without having to worry about actually being in them. Without having to worry about dying.

Don't think about that. Not right now. Not yet. Her friends were still enjoying themselves. Still basking in the excitement of one of their best friends being chosen for the Games. It was supposed to be an honor. A privilege. To be chosen for the Games was an honor reserved for the best, the strongest, the smartest. The ones who worked the hardest, who earned the right to volunteer.

But she hadn't earned it.

Stop it. She hadn't earned the right to be here, but neither had her district partners. The younger two certainly weren't the tributes the Victors would have chosen. Even Justus … would he have been their choice – either this year or the next? Maybe. But probably not. There were so many trainees. So many who would have been perfectly capable.

But she had been chosen, instead. How had she been chosen? So many of the older trainees had been taking tesserae. She had never needed to. Her name had only been in the bowl six times. Only six slips out of thousands. Tens or even hundreds of thousands. And Ishmael had somehow found her name.

"Are you all right?" Anastasia's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Aren't you excited?"

Excited. Right. She was supposed to be excited. "Of course." She hoped her smile was convincing. Hoped it would be enough to satisfy them. "It's just a bit … unbelievable."

Rena beamed. "It sure is. The one year non-trainees have a shot at getting in the Games, and you're the one they pick! What are the odds?"

Small. The odds were small. So small, she hadn't even been worried – not really – that her name might be called. She hadn't been concerned – for herself, or for her friends. Genevieve glanced from one to another, their smiles barely hiding a hint of jealousy. If one of them had been chosen, instead, would she be smiling at them? Would she be acting exactly the same if one of her friends was days away from fighting for her life?

It was almost a relief when they left. Genevieve leaned back in her chair, fingering the gold choker necklace. Usually, she welcomed their presence – anyone's presence. But now … now the silence was almost better. Better than their smiles, their eagerness to see her in the Games. Maybe it hadn't really sunk in yet – what was about to happen. Maybe they didn't realize.

Or maybe they just didn't care.

Consus Caepio, 15

It was his own fault he was unprepared.

Consus shook his head as the door closed behind his father and older sister. Neither of them had said it, but the thought had been clear in his father's eyes. He was the one who had chosen not to train at the academy like his sister. He had refused to join his classmates, no matter how much his father had insisted that training was his duty. He hadn't wanted to fight. Hadn't wanted to kill.

He hadn't wanted to die.

Consus glanced up as the door opened again, and his friend Eris made her way past the Peacekeeper standing by the door. He started to stand, but she shook her head and immediately took a seat next to him, instead. "This … this isn't fair," she blurted out before she could stop herself, barely holding back her tears.

She was right. It wasn't fair. Of course, the Games were never really fair, but District One was usually spared the worst of it. He'd never wanted to be a Career himself, but he couldn't deny the fact that the Career system protected people who didn't want to be in the Games. People who were usually safe from the reapings because there would always be a volunteer willing to step in.

People like him.

But not this year. This year, they were being treated like any other district. And maybe that was fair. But it certainly didn't feel fair. Maybe it never did – for the tributes who weren't prepared, anyway. Consus gripped Eris' hand tightly. "I can't do this."

Eris shook her head emphatically. "Yes, you can. The others probably don't have any training, either – or, at least, not much. One of them's younger than you—"

"It's not just them. There are thirty-five of us. Thirty-five. Only one of us is going to survive. You really think it's going to be me?"

Eris looked away, silent. Consus swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's not your fault. I just…"

"It's all right," Eris said softly. "It's not your fault, either. It's not anyone's fault. It's just … really bad luck."

Bad luck. Just bad luck that his name had been called at the reaping, rather than his sister's. She would have wanted this. Hundreds of hopeful trainees at the academy would have wanted this. But they hadn't been chosen. He had. Just his luck.

Eris squeezed his hand gently. "I hope it's going to be you. I hope you…"

"Don't die?" Consus finished.

"Yeah."

Consus nodded. Neither of them wanted to say the rest. Neither of them wanted to point out that, in order to not die, he would have to kill. That was something he'd never wanted to do. Something he had never thought he would have to do.

"I hope so, too," Consus agreed quietly as the Peacekeepers opened the door again. He wrapped Eris tightly in one last hug before finally letting go, then looked away as she left. He couldn't watch. He didn't want her to go. He didn't want any of this. He had never wanted this.

But now he didn't have a choice.

Mae Swenson, 13

She wasn't prepared for this.

Mae paced silently across the room, fingering the diary her mother had given her. They had already left. Her parents. Her brothers and sisters. James and Nora. Quincy and Ivette. Her baby sister, Jubilee. They were all gone. And being alone was usually better. It was usually a relief. But now…

Now, being alone with her thoughts wasn't as comforting as it usually was. Because none of those thoughts were pleasant. Soon, she would be going to the Capitol – and then the Games. And she wasn't ready.

Yes, she had some training. She'd joined her siblings at the academy mostly to appease her parents, because it was something that they considered 'normal.' Whatever that meant. As far as she could tell, there wasn't anything normal about the desire to hack other people to bits, but she'd never bothered to argue that point with them. Simply studying at the academy wasn't going to do her any harm.

And now, it turned out, it might actually do her some good. She certainly wouldn't have chosen to volunteer this year. Not when she was only thirteen. Not when there would be extra tributes. But now that she was here, maybe it was a good thing she had at least a little training. At least a little experience.

It certainly wasn't going to hurt.

Mae jumped a little as the door creaked open. "Sorry if I startled you," Jade apologized. "I just came to see if you're all right – and to make sure everyone gets to the train in one piece."

"Because we don't want to start cutting each other to pieces until the Games start," Mae finished, avoiding Jade's gaze. "Are you my mentor?"

"Pardon?"

"My mentor. For the Games. That's what I would do – pair the most experienced mentors with the tributes you assume have the least experience." She glanced up at his face, then back at her diary. Then back again. His expression almost looked like one on the page. "You're … surprised."

"Pleasantly surprised," Jade agreed. "I wasn't expecting you to want to talk about strategy quite this soon. Yes, I'm your mentor."

"Good."

"Good?"

"You're mentored younger tributes before. One of your tributes during the Ninth Games was my age. The year before that, one of them was twelve." She remembered that. Tapes of previous Games were required viewing at the academy. Even footage from much older Games could end up being beneficial. "But neither of them won."

"No, but younger tributes have won."

"A few times."

"All it takes is once."

Maybe he was right. She didn't need the odds to be in her favor every year. Just now. Just this year. Just once.

But it wasn't all about luck. She would have to play smart, she reminded herself as she followed Jade out the door. The Games didn't always go to the strongest or the fastest. Sometimes they went to the smartest. The cleverest. The one who took everyone by surprise.

Maybe she had a chance, after all.

"Being unprepared, our will became the servant to defect; which else should free have wrought."