Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: And that's it for the reapings! Whew! Just a couple things before we move on to the rest of the Games.

First, there's a poll on my profile asking which tributes are your favorites. Mostly I'm just curious, but this also helps me get a feel for who people are connecting with and who might need a little more time to shine. Feel free to vote for as many or as few tributes as you like. Obviously, I can't stop you from voting for your own tributes, but try to avoid only voting for your own. If they're the only one you like, I'm doing something wrong. ;)

Second, if you have any suggestions for allies for your tribute, feel free to shoot me a PM. I've got some ideas of my own, and depending on how many suggestions I get, I may not be able to accommodate everyone, but I always like to hear your ideas.

Last, thank you to 97Bo97 and paperairline for David and Orphelia, respectively.

District Twelve
Away

Kyra Presper, 13
Victor of the 49th Hunger Games

She still couldn't escape the smell.

Kyra glanced up at Brennan as the pair of them headed for the square. She was safe now; she kept reminding herself of that. But every now and then, she'd catch a whiff of something. Something that would remind her of the stench in the arena. The rotting corpses in the hospital she had been trapped in for nearly four weeks. Every now and then, when the wind blew past the morgue, or when there was a dead animal in the street, everything would come rushing back. The fear. The panic. The desire – the urgent need – to escape. To get away from…

From what? There was nothing to get away from – not anymore. And nowhere to go, even if she wanted to get away. She was back in District Twelve, and she would spend the rest of her life there. Sometimes she wondered if that was what she really wanted.

But not often. Because the only other option was being dead, and if she'd wanted that … well, she'd had plenty of chances in the arena. She could have given up then, but she hadn't. She'd fought. For twenty-six days, she'd fought to stay alive. And she'd won. She'd survived.

She was still alive.

And now it was her job to help someone else do the same. Kyra held her breath, trying to block out the smell as they walked. But she couldn't hold her breath forever. And she couldn't afford to break down now. Not when someone was counting on her – someone who didn't even know it yet. Someone who would be depending on her for their life, who—

She could feel Brennan's hand on her shoulder before she even realized she had stopped in her tracks. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

No. "Getting there." She barely managed to squeak out the words, gripping his gloved hand tightly. You can do this. It's just a smell. Just a dead animal somewhere. A dead animal wasn't going to hurt her. Not like the mummified corpses that had driven her to the finale. Not like the bodies of her fellow tributes that had been left to rot in the arena. This wasn't the same. This wasn't the Games.

Except it was. Or, at least, it was about to be. Brennan had done his best to prepare her, but there was no telling what might await them in the Capitol this year. No way of knowing what the Gamemakers had planned. As horrible as her own Games had been, what if this was worse? It was a Quarter Quell, after all. Only one person had survived one of those.

And he was standing right beside her.

Brennan gave her hand a squeeze as the wind changed, and the smell died down. "It's all right. You can do this."

"Not if I can't even get to the square."

"You can. It'll always be worse when it's time for the Games, but it'll get easier. What you're going through – it happens to all of us."

"Even you?" In the year since her Games, she'd never seen him break down. Never seen him lose his cool. She'd never even heard him shout.

Brennan chuckled a little as they started walking again. "Even me. For me … for me, it's music."

"Music?"

"Before the end of the Games, my district partner Blythe and I separated. I wandered the space station for a while, eating whatever I could find. Rats, mostly. They lived in the ducts running through the station. I followed them in, and I could hear singing. At first, I thought it was just the engines humming, but then I found the mutt. Some sort of creature. And it was … singing. Chanting, really. It was strange. Beautiful."

Beautiful. That wasn't a word she would have used to describe anything in the Games. "I know," Brennan agreed. "An odd thing to find in the arena – beauty. But it didn't last. The next time I heard the music, my mentor sent me a message, telling me to follow it. And … well, I think you know what happened next."

She did. For a long time, she hadn't, and it had come as a surprise when she'd finally seen it on tape. The music had led Brennan to his district partner and former ally, Blythe, and he had killed her in cold blood. She'd been unarmed. She'd barely had the chance to fight back. Just like…

Just like Amber, her own ally from District Ten. They'd gotten separated during the bloodbath, when Amber had rushed in to get supplies. When Amber had finally found her, she'd offered Kyra a knife that she'd retrieved from the pile. But no sooner had Kyra taken the weapon than she'd turned on Amber and attacked. It had been easier than she'd thought – driving the knife into her own ally's throat. Amber had been her first kill, but not her last. Five more had followed before the Games were finally over.

"So you don't like music?" Kyra ventured.

Brennan shook his head. "Not all music. Mind you, there's little enough music in District Twelve as it is, but in the Capitol … there's always more. And every so often, a snippet here or there will bring the memories back, just as strong as ever. It's not something you ever get rid of – not really. Not something you'll ever escape. But it's something you can learn to live with."

Kyra nodded as they reached the square. She hoped so. "Thanks," she whispered as the two of them made their way through the crowd.

Brennan shook his head. "Thank you. Having someone with me this year … that already makes it a little easier."

"Even though the tributes will probably be older than me?"

Brennan shrugged. "I was sixteen the first year I mentored – alone. Both of my tributes that year were older than me. That doesn't matter. You're the one who's been in the Games – and you were in the arena longer than anyone else in Hunger Games history. If anyone has a right to give advice, it's you."

Kyra managed a smile. He was trying to make her feel better; that much was obvious. There were plenty of people more qualified to give advice on the Games. Every other Victor had been mentoring longer than her. She'd survived the longest Games in history, but Brennan had survived a Quarter Quell, and mentored alone for twenty-four years.

But not this year. This year, they would face the Games together. The crowd quieted as the pair of them took the stage. Maybe they weren't considered heroes the way that Victors in Career districts were, but the district still looked to them as examples. As proof that the Games weren't as hopeless as they usually seemed to be.

Still, the fact remained that District Twelve had only won the Games twice. Which was why they were only sending two tributes this year – just like every other year. She was barely old enough to have any clear memories of the rebellion during the 41st Games, but everyone knew that District Twelve had played no part in it. That Brennan had convinced his tributes to fight despite the rebels' efforts to bring the Games to a halt.

Brennan's expression was carefully neutral as they took their seats onstage. He didn't have any particular love for the Capitol; no one in District Twelve did. He hadn't been motivated by loyalty – just the realization that the rebels' cause was hopeless. That they didn't stand a chance. If there was one thing that people learned growing up in District Twelve, it was how to recognize a lost cause.

Still, the Capitol had rewarded District Twelve for what they perceived as loyalty. In addition to being spared retribution for the rebellion and not having to send extra tributes since then, the Capitol had arranged to send some of the resources from District Four's former training center to District Twelve. Weapons, mostly – but not the experienced trainers to go with them. So the weapons hadn't really seen much use. Just the odd rich teenager with nothing better to occupy their time than wandering down to Victors' Village for an improvised lesson from someone who didn't really know what he was doing.

Brennan would have used the same phrase – and had, in fact. He hadn't won his Games due to any particular skill with a weapon, and his crippled right hand left him at a bit of a disadvantage trying to train anyone who might have been interested. Still, the offer remained open, and the Capitol played it up every year, wondering if this might be the year that District Twelve finally had a Career volunteer.

It never was. And it wouldn't be this year, either – not when volunteers weren't allowed at all. Twelve had never had any volunteers, let alone a volunteer with training. There was no reason to think this year would have been any different even without the quell twist.

Still, their escort, Valentine Sullivan, seemed even more cheerful than usual as he took the stage, clapping Brennan on the back and beaming as he approached Kyra. "And how's our newest Victor doing? Ready for your first year as a mentor?"

Ready? No. She wasn't ready for this. But maybe no one was ever ready for this. Kyra nodded a little. "Absolutely," she lied. "Are you?"

"Oh, yes, I am!" Valentine called, turning towards the crowd. "Did you hear that, District Twelve? Your brand new Victor is ready to help District Twelve bring home another win! Let's hear it for her!"

The crowd didn't clap. They barely stirred. But she hadn't really expected anything else. The Games weren't something that deserved applause – not in District Twelve. Not when, for twenty-four years, Brennan had been the only Victor sitting on that stage – a stage that had been empty for years before his own victory. They were still alive, and that was something. But it wasn't a win.

The crowd remained silent as Valentine reached into the single reaping bowl onstage and swished the papers around a little to mix them up before drawing a name. He unfolded it slowly – so slowly – but finally read the name. "David Abadi!"

The fourteen-year-old section slowly parted around a boy in a black t-shirt, jeans, and shiny black shoes. He was a little taller than her and a bit chubby, with pale skin, curly black hair, and brown eyes surrounded by round, black-rimmed glasses. He looked around, surprised, as if trying to figure out why everyone was looking at him.

When he finally figured it out, he took a step backwards – but only one. His next step was towards the stage – and the next. Slowly, ever so slowly, he made his way forward, glancing this way and that as if waiting for something – something that wasn't going to happen. Not in this district. And certainly not this year. Even so, the Peacekeepers didn't step in to hurry him up. They usually didn't step in during a reaping unless they were absolutely needed. Not in District Twelve, which they now considered a loyal district.

Sure enough, the boy eventually reached the stage on his own and climbed the stairs. "Dav-eed," he corrected quietly. "It's pronounced Dav-eed."

"Oops, I'm terribly sorry about that," Valentine quickly apologized. "Dav-EED Abadi, everyone!" he announced before turning his attention back to the reaping bowl and drawing a second slip. "And joining Dav-EED will be … Orphelis Mykonos!"

This time, it was the seventeen-year-old section that parted around a girl in a long, silver dress. She was about as tall as the boy, with fair skin and curly strawberry blonde hair that hung to the middle of her chest. There were freckles across her face, and her dull green eyes widened as she realized what was happening. She shook her head as she took one step forward, and then another, half-walking, half-stumbling towards the stage.

Suddenly, she veered sharply off to the right, towards the adult section of the crowd. Towards a man in the crowd who was probably her father. Kyra couldn't hear what the girl was saying, but she could imagine. She was probably begging for help, for someone to do something. But no one would. They knew better.

Sure enough, the Peacekeepers started towards her, and the man stepped back into the crowd. He knew better than to do anything to interfere. One of the Peacekeepers took hold of the girl's arm, and, for a moment, Kyra thought she might try to run. To fight back. Instead, she broke into tears, sobbing as the Peacekeeper led her to the stage.

Valentine quickly helped her up the stairs and offered a pat on the shoulder that was probably supposed to be comforting. "There, there, my dear. Come shake hands with your new district partner." He nodded to David, who held out his hand to Orphelia. She wiped away a few tears, but, by the time they'd shaken hands, more tears had taken their place.

"It's not fair," Orphelia sobbed as the Peacekeepers led the two of them away. "It's not fair. Please. Please, just let me go home."

"I'll take her," Brennan offered once they were out of earshot. "You'll have enough to worry about without having to calm her down."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I'm just glad I don't have to take them both this year."

Kyra nodded. He kept saying that – that he was glad she was there, that he was just grateful not to be alone this year. Did he really mean it, or was he just trying to make sure that she felt wanted? That she felt needed? Was he worried about what might happen if she didn't?

Kyra shook the thought from her head. He was just being kind; that was all. Just kind. Almost a full year after Brennan had offered to take her into his home, the thought of someone being kind just because they could – or maybe because they should – was still so unfamiliar. So unlike anything in her life before the Games.

That alone made escaping the arena worth it.

Orphelia Mykonos, 17

She would never be able to escape now.

Orphelia wiped the tears from her eyes as her parents and younger brother Quinton entered the room. Immediately, her mother threw her arms around her. "I'm so sorry. If there was anything we could have done—"

"Why didn't you?" Orphelia insisted. "You didn't even try. You could have told the Peacekeepers to let me go. You could have offered them anything. But you just stood there and let them take me! And now I won't be able to get away."

"Orphelia—" her father started.

"I won't get another chance," Orphelia interrupted. "They'll be watching me now – every second. If you had done something to distract them, then—"

"Then what?" her father asked firmly. "What do you think would have happened?"

"I…" She hadn't really thought that far. She'd only been thinking about getting away – not about what she might do afterwards. "I don't know," she admitted. "But anything would be better than this."

Her father shook his head. "No. There are no better scenarios – not once they called your name. You have to understand, Orphelia. From that moment, anything we might do to try to help you would actually put you in danger. There's nothing we could have done that would actually have made them let you go."

"How do you know? You didn't even try?"

"Because I've seen it. I've seen what happens when people try to interfere with the reapings, and the Capitol wouldn't hesitate to take it out on you once the Games began. The safest thing to do is to let things play out."

"Safest for me? Or safest for you?"

"For everyone."

Orphelia clenched her fists. This certainly didn't feel safe. But the worst part was, her father was making sense. Her family was one of the wealthiest in District Twelve, yes, but it had only been eight years since the mayor had lost his own daughter to the Games. If he hadn't been able to bribe the Peacekeepers into letting his daughter go, could she really expect her own father to succeed?

Her father pulled her close and slipped something into her hand – a small coin. "It won't save you," he admitted. "But you can save yourself. You'll have to work for it. You'll have to fight for it. But you can do this, and we'll be here waiting for you when you come home."

When you come home. Did he really believe that? Did he really believe that she would be coming home, or was he just trying to say something nice? If this was the last time he was going to see her, of course he wouldn't want to admit that he didn't believe she had what it took. That she wouldn't be coming home. That…

Orphelia buried her face in her father's shirt. "I just want to go home," she whispered. But in order for that to happen, she would have to win. She would have to fight and kill. She'd never been in a fight in her life – not really. Certainly not a physical one. She'd gotten angry, yes, but never angry enough to hurt someone. Never angry enough to actually kill anyone.

Now all of that would have to change.

David Abadi, 14

At least his sister had escaped the reapings.

David took a deep breath, trying to force a smile onto his face as his family entered the room. His parents, his grandmother, his older sister – they had all come to say goodbye. Maybe they would get lucky and his grandmother would actually remember who he was … but not why he was there. Not where he was about to go.

David threw his arms around his grandmother, and she grinned back at him. "Well, hello there, Abe. How are things going today?"

Abe. That was his father's name. Close enough. "I'm going to have to go away for a while," David answered quietly. "I wish I didn't have to, but—"

"Oh, you're always up to something, aren't you," the old woman smiled fondly. "Always off on adventures, coming back with such stories. Why, I remember when you were younger … funny, you look so young now."

David nodded a little as his sister Sydney wrapped her arms around him. Maybe their grandmother didn't quite remember who he was, but she knew that she loved him. She loved all of them. And that was enough.

That had always been enough.

David squeezed Sydney a little tighter. She was safe. Technically, she had been safe since last year, but she had only turned nineteen a few days before this reaping. And with a Quell twist, none of them had really felt safe until it had been officially announced that the reaping ages would remain as normal. In fact, this was as normal a reaping as Twelve could have had. Two tributes. One boy, one girl. All perfectly normal.

Except they had picked him.

"It'll be all right," Sydney whispered, squeezing him a little tighter. David said nothing. There was nothing to say – not really. He was glad she was safe, of course, but that wasn't really going to help him. Maybe the fact that he wouldn't be facing his sister in the Games should have been comforting, but why did it have to be him going into the Games at all?

It isn't fair. That was what his district partner hadn't been able to stop saying as the Peacekeepers had led them to the Justice Building. And she was right. It wasn't fair – to either of them. Maybe he wasn't going into the Games with his sister, but everyone in the arena was someone's brother or sister or son or daughter. Maybe a few of them didn't have families, like Kyra the year before, but that didn't mean that there wasn't anyone who cared about them, who was waiting for them to come home just like his family would be waiting for him.

David held back his tears as his sister slipped something into his hand – the ring he'd given her only a few days before, for her birthday. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly. "If I don't come back—"

"Then make sure you come back," Sydney finished. David nodded. It was the only thing he could really do. He didn't want to tell them the truth – that he wasn't sure he had it in him to kill anybody. To win the Games. Especially during a Quarter Quell. And especially now that no one would be underestimating a younger kid from District Twelve. Kyra had won the year before, after all. And no one had thought that she had it in her to kill, either.

So maybe he did have a chance of getting out of this alive.

"And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, but shift away: there's warrant in that theft which steals itself, when there's no mercy left."