Disclaimer: The Hunger Games isn't mine.

Note: Thank you to LokiThisIsMadness and Too Old For This Shtick for Dinah and Merrik, respectively.

District Three
Custom

Miriam Valence, 49
Victor of the 15th Hunger Games

It was almost unnerving how normal this year felt.

Miriam glanced over at Percival and Avery as the three of them headed for the square. A reaping would never truly be normal, and it would certainly never be right, but this year was almost a relief. Would be a relief, if not for the nagging suspicion that the Capitol had something special planned for the Quell beyond the twist itself. And maybe they did. But, for the moment, things didn't seem quite as horrible as they had for the past several years.

Maybe that wasn't a particularly high bar to reach. Ever since the 41st Games, the situation in most districts had been grim, but even more so for those who had played an active part in the attempted rebellion. The Games themselves, along with the executions that followed, had frightened the districts back into submission. Avery had technically won, but it seemed that everyone had lost.

Especially Avery. Her family had been executed, despite the fact that she had only joined the rebels after being persuaded by her district partner. For a long time, she had blamed herself, but, ever since the 42nd Games, it seemed, things had been slowly getting better. During the Games themselves, she'd formed an unusual friendship with Vester, of all people, and they'd kept in contact ever since. What they spoke about, Miriam wasn't sure, and, on the surface, they seemed to have little in common. But whatever the reason she had decided to latch onto him, he'd always been there to offer his support.

Miriam squeezed Avery's hand gently as they neared the square. Was that the reason, she wondered, why Vester had decided to mentor this year? He and Avery spoke often on the phone, but they rarely had the opportunity to see each other in person. Maybe he was hoping to see her this year, to be able to help her through the Quell.

It was her first Quell, after all. But it was Vester's second. And Miriam's second, which made her the most experienced of District Three's mentors. Which wasn't a particularly high bar to clear, either, since there were only three of them. Now was hardly the time to complain about that, however. It was because there were only three of them, after all, that District Three only had to send two tributes this time.

Two tributes. Just like a normal year. And, if everything went as planned inside the Games themselves, President Grisom had promised that things would return to normal following the Quell. Two tributes per district. Two children who would probably die, rather than three or four. It was terrible that it felt like a relief. But she couldn't deny that it did.

The rest of the district, however, didn't seem particularly relieved, and the children in the reaping section didn't seem any less anxious than normal. Whether they had two chances to be reaped or three didn't seem to make much difference to them. There was still a chance – even for the younger ones. Percival had been reaped when he was seventeen, but both she and Avery had been only fourteen. And there had been others, as well, even younger than them. Tributes who had never made it back from the Games.

Stop it. Miriam tore her gaze away from the younger children as the three of them climbed the stairs to the stage. After returning from her own Games, she'd gone back to school and completed the studies she'd been forced to abandon at a young age when her family had died, leaving her to fend for herself. After completing her own schooling, she'd taken a job as a teacher, free of charge. She helped out wherever she was needed, but she was always drawn to the younger students.

Maybe they reminded her of her own childhood – a childhood that had been far too short. Whatever the case, the younger tributes were always the hardest. Always the ones who needed her the most, the ones who relied on her advice. The ones she always felt she had somehow failed.

It wasn't her fault. That was what she would tell Avery or Percival, she knew, if they said anything of the sort. Tributes died in the Games, and the mentors weren't to blame for that. The tributes weren't really to blame for it, either, but she knew better than to say so. Better than to admit what they all knew – that it was the Capitol's fault. That they were really the only ones to blame for what happened in the Games.

Miriam took a seat, and the others followed. There was no applause, no cheering, none of the celebration that might happen in other districts. They knew her, as they knew all the Victors, but here in District Three they weren't celebrities. They were survivors – nothing more, nothing less. There were a few looks of admiration in the crowd, and there were a few looks of sympathy, but they were both outnumbered by the looks of indifference.

Not that she blamed them for that. Before her own reaping, she hadn't thought much of the Games. She'd been too concerned with her own survival, and the same, she knew, was true of most of the people in the square. They just wanted to get through this alive. That was all any of them were really asking for today.

Just get through it.

Even District Three's escort, Richmond Elmore, didn't seem particularly excited as he joined the three of them onstage. This was just another year to get through. Another year of drawing names out of a bowl and watching children die. Whether it was two names or three didn't seem to matter to him.

But it would matter to the tributes he was about to call to the stage. Miriam tensed as he dipped his hand into the single reaping bowl. There was no show. No fuss. He simply reached in and drew the first slip of paper his fingers found. "Dinah Peralta."

To Miriam's relief, it was the eighteen-year-old section that parted around a girl in a green shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans, and boots. She was tall and pale, with long, wavy red hair and grey eyes. For a moment, she didn't move. But when she finally stepped forward and started making her way to the stage, there was no sign of tears in her eyes. She held her head high as she walked – maybe trying to ignore the crowd.

Trying a little too hard, perhaps, Miriam realized a little too late to do anything as the girl tripped over the first step on her way up the stairs. Miriam cringed, suppressing her natural urge to leap up and help the girl. That might help her right now, but, in the Capitol's eyes, it would be a sign of weakness. And that was something none of them could afford.

The girl quickly got to her feet and took the rest of the stairs as carefully as she could, her eyes now on the ground. Only once she reached the center of the stage and was standing beside Richmond did she finally look up at the crowd. There had been a few chuckles when she had tripped, but they were silent now as Richmond approached the reaping bowl once more. One more name. Just one more…

"Merrik Haims."

This time it was the fifteen-year-old section that parted around a small boy in a dark blue button-down shirt and black pants. He was pale and thin, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes that were quickly growing wider, glancing around frantically as if looking for something. Someone. Maybe hoping that someone would save him. Maybe forgetting, for a moment, that no one could. That no one could volunteer even if they wanted to.

The boy took a step back. Then a step forward. As if trying to decide which way to go. A boy beside him put a hand on his arm, trying to steady him, but the boy was shaking now. Swaying this way and that, trying to regain his composure. Trying to keep his balance. But he was soon leaning on the other boy, his chest heaving wildly as he struggled to breathe.

It didn't take long for the Peacekeepers to reach him, and they quickly tore him from the other boy's grasp, dragged him to the stage, and dumped him in front of the girl, who took a step back, unsure. What was she supposed to do? At last, she reached down, offering her hand, but the boy was still shaking too violently to grab it.

Finally, Miriam made her way to the boy's side. Maybe helping him would make him look weak, but it certainly wouldn't be any worse than what was happening now. She tried to wave the cameras away, but, when that did no good, knelt down beside him anyway, taking hold of his shoulders. "Merrik. Merrik, listen to me. You have to stand up now."

The boy muttered something she couldn't make out, but she was pretty sure he was saying he didn't want to. She couldn't blame him for that, really. None of them wanted to be here. None of them wanted any of this. But this was where they were, and nothing he could do would change that. Miriam squeezed his shoulders tightly. "Listen to me. Get up."

Finally, the shaking began to subside a little. Merrik's wide, terrified eyes finally met hers, and he nodded a little as she helped him to his feet. He was still trembling, but, after a moment, he managed to stand on his own. Dinah held out her hand again, smiling a little. Maybe grateful that whatever impression she'd made by tripping over the stairs had been swept from everyone's minds.

Or maybe she was simply trying to be kind. Either way, Merrik gripped her hand tightly for a moment before Dinah pulled away. The cameras finally switched off, and the Peacekeepers led the pair of them away.

"I'll take Merrik," Miriam offered before either of the others could say anything. Avery opened her mouth to object, but Miriam shook her head. "It's my call. I'll do it." She rarely used her position as the senior mentor to insist on anything, but she couldn't let Avery do this to herself. Not this year.

Percival quickly took the hint. "I'll take Dinah, then, if that's all right with you, Avery."

Avery hesitated for a moment. But only a moment. She was still coming to the Capitol; that had been the plan all along. The three of them could go, but only two needed to mentor. "All right," Avery agreed at last. "But I'll mentor next year."

Miriam nodded. That seemed fair. They could alternate years between the three of them – two of them mentoring, one accompanying them – at least until they managed to bring another tribute home.

And maybe that would be this year. There was a chance. There was always a chance. But in the last forty-nine years, that had only happened three times. As much as she hoped this year would bring another Victor to District Three, they couldn't count on it. They never could.

Nothing was ever certain in the Games.

Dinah Peralta, 18

This was no different from a normal year.

Dinah took a deep breath as she held her brother Jon a little tighter. Her parents and younger sister Laurel sat near them, trying to look confident. Trying not to think of what was really about to happen. But ignoring it wouldn't change anything. She had been reaped. She was going to be in the Hunger Games. Seven years of being in the reaping, and this was the year she was picked.

But was it really any different? Sure, the twist had prevented anyone from volunteering in her place, but it wasn't as if she would have expected anyone to. There were more tributes this year, but there had been thirty-five tributes ever since the 43rd Games – a year before she'd been eligible for the reaping. If she was going to be reaped, maybe this was the best year for it, after all. She was eighteen. It was a Quarter Quell. If she won…

If she won, the rewards would be even greater than they would in a normal year. District Three might finally be able to recover from the effects of the rebellion. They might be able to begin to rebuild their relationship with the Capitol. The whole district would benefit. And her family – they would be able to live in peace for the rest of their lives, free from a life of hardship in the factories.

If she won. That was the catch, of course. In order to earn that life of ease, she would have to outlast, outfight, and outmaneuver thirty-four other tributes. Thirty-four other people, each of whom would be fighting for his or her life just as fiercely as she would fight for hers. She would try, of course – they all would – but only one person came out of the Games alive. She hoped it would be her, but she couldn't be certain.

No one could be certain of anything in the Games.

"I'll see you again," Jon whispered as the Peacekeepers came to take her family away. He was trying to sound certain. Confident. But his voice was trembling as the words left his mouth. He wanted them to be true. But did he really believe them?

Did she?

Dinah shook her head as the door closed, leaving her alone. She had to believe it. That was the only way she was going to survive the Games. She had to believe that she had a chance. If she gave that up…

No. No, she wouldn't do that. She couldn't. Dinah clenched her fists tightly. She would come back. And then … then life would be better. Certainly better than it was now. Maybe their Victors' lives weren't perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than being dead. And certainly better than the life that had been waiting for her. A life of working in the factories alongside her parents, never really able to climb out of the poverty her family had lived in for generations.

Maybe it was even a good thing she was here. It certainly wasn't something she would have chosen. Not something she would have volunteered for. But, now that she was here, maybe it would be best to make the most of it. She had a chance at a better life now.

Of course, there was also a chance that she would die. But where was the good in focusing on that? If she was going to die, it would happen – no matter how much she worried and fretted about it. And if she was going to live – however long she was going to live – then she was going to live now.

She was certain of that, at least.

Merrik Haims, 15

His mind was racing even faster than normal.

Merrik took a deep breath, trying to calm himself a little as the Peacekeepers dragged his mother from the room. He turned away as the door closed behind her. This wasn't how he'd wanted to say goodbye. Then again, he hadn't wanted to say goodbye at all. He hadn't wanted any of this.

But maybe it was what he deserved.

Merrik closed his eyes, trying to ignore that thought – the thought that had haunted him ever since Richmond had called his name. Maybe this was payback from … who? The Capitol? But he was always careful. He was certain they couldn't have found out. After all, who would suspect him? Who would suspect that a fifteen-year-old boy, of all people, was involved in his trade?

His trade. It hadn't started out that way. For a while, he'd simply accompanied his mother when she was performing her duties as a midwife. He'd been content with that. He'd never wanted it to turn into anything more. But, one day, his mother had been too ill to keep an appointment, and had sent him in her place.

The woman had given birth to twins. Beautiful, healthy baby girls. But the family had asked – no, begged – him to only report one. To give them a chance to raise the second one in secret, beyond the Capitol's reach. Beyond the reach of the Games. With only a few months left before his own first reaping, Merrik had been terrified to defy the Capitol – but even more afraid for the baby girl's life.

He sometimes wondered what had happened to her – the girl he hadn't reported. The child the Capitol knew nothing about. And the others who had followed. Not twins, but babies who had been reported as stillborn. Babies – some two or three years old now – who were growing up in the silence of their homes, their parents afraid to let them outside lest the Capitol discover their existence. How could a child live like that?

Merrik swallowed hard. They lived like that because he had lied. He had made it possible for their parents to hide them, to keep their lives a secret. And this … this was his reward. His punishment. He had condemned them to a life of silence and seclusion, and now his life was about to be cut short in return.

Maybe. Possibly. Probably, even. There were thirty-five tributes, and only one of them would be coming home. He had no reason to think it would be him. No reason to believe he would be able to survive when so many tributes from District Three had failed. One in thirty-five wasn't good odds, and those odds would only get worse once the other tributes saw the scene he'd caused onstage at the reaping.

Merrik took another deep breath. Then another. He hadn't meant to cause such a fuss. He had just been so scared. He still was. But it was a little better now – now that there was no one watching him. Well, no one except the Peacekeeper who was almost certainly still outside the door. And, soon enough, all of Panem would be watching him.

That wasn't a very comforting thought.

Not that there were many comforting thoughts available to him. He was going to be in the Games. He was probably going to die. His mother … What would happen to her? She'd begun to rely on his help, on the extra income from his job in the factories. He was all she had, in the end. What would happen if she had to get along without him?

He wasn't certain he wanted to know.

"Think of this, good peers, but as a thing of custom: 'tis no other."