Warning: I rushed to get this chapter out; it's not proofread. Sorry for any grammar mistakes.

Silena Sinclair (16)

Pre-Reapings

When I wake up, I check the clock; its luminescent hands glowing although there's no need for them to. It's day out, anyways. Sunlight streams through the windows, enough to make out the number 8:30.

Dammit. The reaping's at 11:30. Only three hours.

Quickly, I throw off the covers and rush down the hallway, still in my dirty clothes from yesterday. A cold bowl of oatmeal is on the table. Really, dad? A cold bowl of oatmeal is all you gave me for my last day home? Shaking my head, I dump the bowl down the drain (call me wasteful, but a starving kitten wouldn't eat something like this) and decide for breakfast at the Academy. They always provide a free breakfast, and I decide they'll give me something much better than this slop.

Running to my room, I quickly put on a white top, jeans, and my black combat boots—a favorite for the Academy. Heading out the door for possibly the last time ever, I kind of linger in the doorway for a few seconds. But it's not as if the place brings pleasant memories, so I get moving.

The Academy is decked out in ribbons of black and red, the Academy colors. Unlike most districts, we celebrate the reapings. I enter, take a turn left and find myself at the dining hall. Large letters say Good luck Silena and Mithras near the front. I grab a tray and gladly accept the cinnamon French Toast they're dishing out. As I sit down at a table with some other 16 year old girls from the Academy, their words flow over each other's like a river.

"Silena! Good luck, girl, and happy Hunger Games!" one of them, a girl with very long black hair, congratulates.

I laugh. "Thanks, Jas! Hope you get the spot next year!" I know that Jas is kind of jealous, but hey, at least there are two other years left for her to compete. It's one of the good things about this Quell.

"It's probably not even going to be that hard this year. You'll be fighting against a bunch of twelve year olds, and your only competition will be the other careers. Kind of a lame year to win, if you ask me," another girl scoffs. I feel heat building up inside of me. Of course Cresta would want to antagonize me.

"Oh, really Cresta? Well, I'm actually going to win the Games. What are you, the twelfth volunteer in line?" I can't control it, I stand up, silently fuming. But Cresta's not one to forgive grudges easily. And I'm not backing down. Not like there's any choice, considering I just hit her hard. She hates it whenever someone teases her for not being good enough to volunteer. Even someone who's joking would be lucky to get away with just a bloody nose. Shit, shit, shit, what did I get myself into? You know this is what she wants you to do, Silena.

But I'm not standing down. Besides, even though Cresta's punches hurt, there's a reason why I was the chosen volunteer. I won't back down, oh no. I'll stand tall and proud.

That's when I realize that the entire cafeteria has gone silent. Not even a whisper can be heard. Everyone's staring at us, dumbfounded.

"I'm sorry, what did you say, Silena? Want to say that to my face, scum? Huh?"

And then the fight breaks loose.

She swings her arm at me, but I spot it a moment before and duck my head down. It flies by, and her arm swings back into herself...ouch. A taste of her own medicine, literally. I can't help but (inwardly) snicker at the thought. She makes a guttural sound, like a mix between a growl and a snarl, and shakes her arm. It's red and slightly puffed. You wouldn't survive in the Games with that. She prepares herself for another punch, then delivers it. Once again I duck, but she doesn't get injured, either. She lets her rage loose, and—

"That's enough, you two! Cresta, with me! Silena, to the nurse! Everyone else, please continue!" the headmaster interrupted before anything else could happen. I'm mostly unscathed, my adrenaline pumping being the main concern, but I suppose she wants a good chance at victory, and I can't blame her. Nodding tersely, I run down the hallway to the nurse's office.

The woman blinks as I enter, but after a quick observation she deems me fine. I smile gratefully, then rush out. No time to lose, I have to go. I figured that I would do maybe half an hour of practice. Then, there's the matter of going back to my house just in case I've missed anything.

Well, with no time to waste, I'd better get started.

I decide to start in the archery room. I take a bow—silver, the kind they use in the Games—and a sheath of arrows. Nocking the first, I let it fly into the target. It lodges into the second innermost ring, closer to the bullseye though. Huh, not bad. It probably wouldn't be a fatal hit if I was in the Games. But still pretty close. I try again, repeatedly firing the arrows. There's some improvement, and I manage to hit the bullseye maybe two-thirds of the time. I suppose that's all I'm going to get, but I want to try something. I step into the simulator, where silhouettes of opponents stand everywhere. I load the bow and begin.

The silhouettes begin moving, and I string my bow and let the arrows fly. Wham. Wham. I release a volley of three arrows, one of which misses and the others hit. Another. And another. The number of opponents increases. Come on. One. Two. Three. Four. And suddenly I can't make another. A sound goes off. I exit. The trainer gives me my score. 70%. I smile at her compliments. Then, dropping the bow and arrows off at the station, I move to the next place. Swordfighting.

Hand-to-hand combat has always been a weakness, but surprisingly swordfighting doesn't count. I work on my techniques against a training dummy, slashing it and such. Finally, after twenty minutes' practice, I decide to finish. That's enough training, and there will be plenty more time to train before the Games start. I have one more 'task' before I can leave: reaping clothes.

It's a good thing that the Academy has a selection of reaping clothes, because otherwise I probably would be wearing rags to the reaping. It's a small room at the front, and a few people are renting out their clothes. The attendant rushes over when I come in. "Ah, hello, Miss Sinclair. Here to pick out your clothes?" I nod. "I'll look for some that look nice."

I walk by the racks, running my fingers over the fabrics. I love a brick-red one, but the attendant doesn't think it will look good, so I leave it. There are lots of bright green ones left, probably because they don't look very good. Finally, I settle on a dark purple one, and I leave the place. Back home, to the store. To my dad.

I enter the door to the sound of shouting. It's one of the workers fighting my dad. And, as I suspected, it's about payment. Of course it is.

"...Do you know how much I've been struggling? I have a growing daughter to feed, I need money!" he shouts. Wow, we must be losing an employee. Dad only uses the 'my daughter is underfed' card when he's desperate. Although, to be honest, I don't really care what's happening. If I win the Games, Dad and I will be so stinking rich it doesn't matter how many employees we have. If I lose...well, Dad has never cared, so I don't see why I should care how much he'll struggle without the money.

"Well, I have two sons! And they already take out tesserae! Besides, your daughter is entering the Hunger Games!"

"You don't understand! I—" my dad is cut off.

"It doesn't matter whether I understand. I quit," the worker snaps suddenly. "Goodbye. And I hope the rest of you are still capable of thought and can see that this man is causing you nothing but misery." He marches out and slams the door.

"Silena, go to your room," my dad barks once he sees me. "Straight to your room. Right now."

I go to the direction of my room, but I don't go inside. As soon as my dad thinks I'm in my bedroom, I veer out to the small garden outside. Sitting on the steps is Antony, a boy my age who works for my dad. He doesn't train at the Academy, but who cares? He's a friend—a real one at that—and that's all that matters.

"Hey," he says once he sees me. "How was training?"

I shrug. "Alright. Got into a fight with Cresta, but I'm fine. What 'bout your morning?"

"Good. I saw my family, we had breakfast together. But you know what they're like. Too many kids to worry about without me."

I give a short laugh. "Ready for the reaping?"

He smiles. "I have nothing to worry about, so I guess so. My dad gave me something of his to wear. You're going to win, Silena, I just know it. You're gonna win and then you won't have to worry about your father anymore."

"Wouldn't that be nice," I comment. "Of course, I'd give 30 percent of my winnings to you and your family. Maybe that would help them along. And then you wouldn't need the job. Or your older siblings." Antony's parents have seven children, and he's second oldest. Fourteen year old Sara is promised a future job as the apprentice of a sculpture-maker, a carver of stone, and eighteen year old Granite is a junior trainer at the academy. They're middle-class, but all that money isn't enough with a family of nine, so the children have to help out.

"Oh, yes please. If we have spare money in the weeks to come I'll try to convince them to sponsor you. You'll have to hide the gifts from the other Careers, though. Use them as your own secret weapons."

"Good idea." I check the sky. "I guess it's almost time to leave? Should we get ready?" I ask

He nods. "Yeah. I'll meet you by the front door to go." He stands up and opens the door, holding it out to me. We both walk inside, then he goes upstairs while I go to my room. I change into the dress, then after a quick brush of my hair I'm ready to go. I walk outside to the front door, trying to avoid stepping on any swords or getting my dress caught in one of the machines, but it's really not that hard to do as I've lived here my entire life. Antony meets me at the door a few minutes later, and we head out to the reaping.

2M: Mithras Peak (16)

Pre-Reapings, Reapings

I take the spear and throw it to the target, about 15 yards away. It hits dead center. I smile.

"Nice one, Mithras. Hey, can I have a try?" My best friend, Silvius, compliments.

I pull out the spear, careful not to damage it. "Sure, go ahead." He takes it, and throws it at the target. It hits the outside of the bullseye, not quite perfect but pretty close. "Not bad," I comment.

The day of the reapings, and I'm where I started off my career as a Career—the Academy, surrounded by friends. Silvius is here, my best friend, and so is everyone else that I've met along the years. Next time I'm here, it'll be as a victor. And I have to admit, Victor Mithras Peak does have a good ring to it. I mean, I've been training all my life for this, and not just I'll win a Hunger Games, I'll win a Quarter Quell, too. Not quite the Quell I'd hoped for, but I got to win two years early, so what does it matter?

"You guys want to go outside? The Victor garden or something?" I suggest. The others nod, and out we go.

I've always liked the Victor garden, a place dedicated to the Victors of District Two. At the front are our earliest victors, from the first Hunger Games century. A bit further back are the victors from the second Hunger Games century, and even further back then that is the most recent victors, those (mostly) alive today. There's lush green grass beneath your feet, and a bubbling fountain in the middle. Around the fountain are our Quell victors, the ones that I will join soon. Our district's only had two, but all the other districts have one, and Eight and Ten don't even have any. Besides, the sheer number of Two victors overwhelms even One and Four. We have ninety seven victors total. One, in second place, only has seventy four. Four, in third, has sixty six. And Ten, the lowest, has six victors, only one of which is alive. Haliya, I think her name is.

I've read up on each of the Quarter Quells. Personally, I think that the first Quarter Quell was the best, followed by the seventh. I mean, that arena! The tributes were in the middle of the air at the start, what could beat that? The second was my least favorite; although One would have had one more victor if Alexandrite had won, rather than Haymitch.

But soon, the twelfth Quarter Quell will be my favorite. All my hard work will have paid off, and what's not to like about that? All the fame, the glory, the honor—and the money, but that's not important. Maybe Silvius would volunteer next year. But that doesn't matter, not really.

My friends start doing what they do every year at this time—betting. Without knowing who the tributes are, they make random guesses, choosing ages, deaths, arenas, and such.

"I bet the girl from One will be a bitch."

"Nah, I'm guessing she'll be alright."

"The boy from Seven will be second place."

"The arena will be a desert."

"No. You know Skyes, she doesn't like extreme climates. My guess is an indoor arena."

"I'll give you five on that one."

My friends go on like this, shouting out facts. The Six girl will be the first to go, the Nine boy will be twelve years old, the Twelve boy will be fifteen. Then, I get an idea. I'll be rich as anything once I get back, but why not make some extra money if I can?

"I bet that the Twelve girl won't last past the bloodbath," one of my friends says.

"I'll give you fifty," I respond, sticking out my hand. He takes it. Now all I have to do is make sure she lives past the bloodbath. Simple.

Silvius realizes this. "You're betting with Mithras? Seriously?" He shakes his head. "Talk about bad ideas."

"Shut up, Silvius," he responds frustratedly, realizing his mistake. Turning to me, he asks, "Can I take it back?"

I shake my head. "Sorry, a deal's a deal," I say. "Maybe she'll die in the Bloodbath, you don't know." But I know that it's highly unlikely.

He shrugs. "Eh, but it's unlikely. C'mon, I feel like we should get going.

"Alright then."

We walk together for a while, my friends and I. Silvius' house is the first one we see, and after saying goodbye (until the reaping), we keep on moving. Finally, we get to my house. Mom has a day off from work, and Dad's a trainer, so when we have a break, he does, too. I wave goodbye, one of them yells, "we'll be cheering for ya!", and then I walk inside.

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," I greet. My dad gives a friendly smile, while my mom just gives a nod. It might not seem like much, but considering her work, that's a sign of affection.

"I need to go ten minutes beforehand, but you can stay behind until you need to leave, Mithras," my mother reminds.

I go to the bathroom—being a 'rich' family in Two means we can afford running water at all times—and give my face a quick wash. After all, it's a certainty that I'm going to the Capitol, so I want to look neat and presentable. As my mother says, first impressions are everything. Even if the prep team ruins my hard work. My reaping outfit was ironed yesterday and hangs on a clothes hanger on the doorknob. I change, them once I'm certain I look nice enough, I walk calmly to the door, where my dad waits. We walk together a few blocks to the square, then I sign in. Mithras Peak, your newest victor.

2F: Silena Sinclair (16)

Reapings

I'm with the other sixteen year old girls, waiting for the escort to pick a slip. I see that Jas is sporting a black eye. Ouch. Although I can't honestly say I'm sorry for her. She deserved it.

I turn my attention back to the escort, who looks happy to be in Two. Her hand snatches up a name, and reads it out. "Cilina-"

I raise my hand and shout out the classic two words. "I volunteer!" Jas scowls as I walk up proudly to the stage. The escort runs one of her deep magenta nails through my hair.

"My, my. You're so pretty!" she comments.

"Thank you," I respond.

"What's your name?"

"Silena. Silena Sinclair."

The woman interrogates me for about another minute, asking about everything from my family to why I volunteered. I decide to play the graceful-but-deadly character, saying things like, 'I know that I can do this' and 'I'm very thankful to everyone at the Academy who trained me and prepared me for today'. Lots of thank yous and smiles. I may be from the poorer part of Two, but that doesn't mean that I don't know about presentation and manners.

"And now, time to pick a gentleman to join our lovely Silena here!" she says, although we all know it's Mithras who will join me here. Her fingers snatch the first slip that they meet, and she unfolds it quickly. "Jupiter Monret!"

2M: Mithras Peak (16)

Reapings & Post-Reaping

"I volunteer!" I say semi-casually. I want to show people that I'm not afraid, but I still want to be presentable, taken as a real enemy. I walk up, and take my place as District Two's newest tribute.

"Hello! What's your name?" she asks.

"Mithras Peak," I respond formally.

Her face lights up in recognition. "Oh! The son of Victoria Peak?" she asks.

I smile and nod. "Yes, that's me." The escort asks me more questions, but they're all easy to answer and not really that important anyways. Like, what Capitol citizen cares whether my favorite color is blue or red? Any that do are stupid, although I wouldn't count it out. All Capitol citizens are stupid.

"Well, that's all from District Two! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" the escort chirps. And then it's time for the goodbyes, the last of home I'll see for a while.

My parents are the first ones in, naturally. "Take care," my dad says, "And hopefully we'll see you in a month or so."

"Yes, remember everything we've taught you and you'll be fine," Mom adds. We stay together, just staring, as the minutes slip by. Soon, my mom has to go. "Duties aren't relaxed just because my son's in the Hunger Games. I had ten minutes to say goodbye to you, and then I had to go." She gives me a quick kiss—certainly surprising—and then leaves.

"Well, that was surprising," my dad chuckles. "Who know that she could be that affectionate. Anyways," he says, changing the topic, "Have you thought about your token? You know you're allowed to bring one—"

"Why do I need a token when I'll be back soon?" I laugh. "Nope, haven't got anything. Don't need it though."

"I want you to have something, though. Too bad I didn't bring anything, I thought you already had a token with you." He rummages around in his pockets and pulls out a small coin, the ones that we use sometimes in the market. "I don't have anything else...take this, okay?"

I nod. "Alright," I accept. "Thanks."

Soon, the Peacekeepers came along and took them away, Silvius and a few of the other guys came next. "Good luck, alright? You know you're the best person out there. Nobody else's going to win. Nobody else is as good as you."

"Don't worry, Silvius, I know. I didn't volunteer just to die," I assure him.

"I know, but I just want to make sure," he responds. We (all of us) chat for a while until it's time for them to leave. "I guess I'll see you soon," I say. And then it's over.

Now that that's over; let the Hunger Games begin!

2F: Silena Sinclair (16)

Post-Reaping

As I wait for my only visitor (apart from dad), my mind runs through what just happened. I. Can't. Fucking. Believe. Him. I might never see him again, and all he has the decency to say is 'try to win'? I mean, sixteen years of experience have told me this won't be too much of an emotional moment, but all he says is one sentence and then just...leaves?

I wish Mom was still alive.

"Silena?' a voice asks. "I thought it would be longer until I came in. Guess they let me come in before your dad, eh?"

I look up and shake my head. "Son of a bitch didn't bother to stay too long."

"Oh, so your grandmother..." he trails off with a light chuckle.

I nod. "She was that bad, too." I sigh. "On a lighter note, it's good to see you here."

He smiles. "Yeah. Hey Silena...you know they let you have a token, right? Could-could you take this?" He holds out a small wooden box, and I hesitantly open it. Inside is the most beautiful bracelet I have ever seen. It's a silver chain, inlaid with eight or so small diamonds that gleam. "Think of us when you wear it. Sara, Granite, me...we're all cheering for you."

"You shouldn't have. This money should have been spent on your family." But I take it and undo the clasp, fastening it to my left wrist. "But thank you."

"You can win. I know it," he responds. Sincerely. "God luck, Silena."

And then he's gone. Everyone I've ever known is gone and my life is taking a whole new turn.

Well I hope you've enjoyed! I'm certainly glad that I got this out here! Warning: long note ahead, skip if you don't have a reserved tribute (or read if you want to potentially submit one):

I'm currently letting the reservations go by because I realize you guys might've forgotten about this story. However, I have the D3 chapter 3/4 written, so when I publish that, all reservations will expire. If you don't have a reservation but want to, I won't have you ask 'can I reserve the backup spot' but if you want to send in a backup form, then that's alright. If the tribute gets submitted by the original reserver, include a backup district.

I'll see you guys in a week to 1 + 1/2 weeks!

~Dragon

EDIT: Forgot the mini quiz! I'll keep track of the points at the end of the chapters, too.

1. What are the D2 Academy colors?

2. What was the accuracy rate (percentage) of Silena in the archery station?

3. What was the name of Haymitch's final competitor? (in here)

4. What is Mithras' mother's first name?

Points

Nautics: 6 points

Azke: 8 points

Blouish: 8 points