Short chapter today as I will be busy for the rest of the week, maybe next so I just wanted to put this out so you had something. After Sunbeam's chapter, there will be two tributes per-chapter. How I plan for it to go is the boy's POV's will take place during a single morning and the girls will take place that evening. After that, when we know all the characters and I have got the blog done and story lines all figured out, there will be twelve more chapters, each one being a day before the interviews. It will focus on the relationships of the characters and how the training pairs get on. Let me know of any suggestions as I am new to this and do not know a lot about SYOT's, this is my third.

Please let me know what you think of this chapter and Maurice and remember, feel free to view the blog and let me know what characters would crush on who (purely based on looks). Enjoy.

Maurice Powers:

When his name was called, the previously silent District roared with victory. Even his competitors and their families cheered for him, internally nursing their pride. his father joined in, scooping him up in one arm and throwing his small body into the air. As he looked down at the sea of people who had come to see the reaping, a large, childish smile spread across his face, despite the boy's attempts to seem stoic.

When his father lowered him from his shoulder and back onto the stage, a flustered Sage, the District One escort, continued with his speech about Maurice's victory. "Little Maurice Powers showed great strength in every test and excelled far past his fellow competitors," he turned to the child's sobbing mother and excited father, his green lips pierced like he was sucking a lemon. "Congratulations Mr and Mrs Powers." Maurice's father turned to the man, taking his small, soft hand in his oversized ones, shaped by years of diamond mining. He shook the man's hand violently, grinning from ear to ear.

His mother let out a small whimper and she wrapped her arms around his skinny frame and pulled him into a tight hug. "I am so proud of you my boy," she sobbed into his cloth jacket. "I am going to miss you but I know you will come home," she whispered this, like it was some sort of secret that Maurice was going to see her again. As she pulled away, wiping her runny nose on the sleeve of her coat, Sage glided towards the curly haired boy, placing a large, silver mic in front of him. Maurice looked up at him as he gestured for him to go forward and speak.

He let out a small laugh as he grabbed the mic and pressed the cold metal to his lips. "I am going to win!" he cheered, his voice distorted yet his people still cheered and chanted his name. This year, their tributes were a traitor and suicidal but Maurice knew this year going to be different. He would be home again but as a victor.

Every morning, precisely upon 6am, the tribute house rung with the long drone of twenty-four alarms. Most tributes like Maurice rolled over and slammed their hand into the small white box, their fingerprints being read and allowing it to be shut off. However, there were one or two tributes who had not mastered this technique over the course of ten years and found the need to drag out the piercing sound.

As each alarm was turned off and the house started to spark to life with movement, Maurice could not help but stay wrapped under the covers, the warmth and the well used pillow pulling him back into the depths of sleep. He shut his blue eyes tightly to the sound of clattering cutlery and the low roar of arguing reminding him of where he was. He was in an apartment full of wannabe killers, causing drama and selling their souls in the hope that they would become a fan favorite. The camera's were not due for at least another hour but that did not stop them flaunting their power like peacocks during mating season. It was utterly boring for someone as talented as himself.

Their rooms came with everything growing children would need. Everything but soundproofing, something he had thought about spending his own money to achieve. Sadly, The Capitol barred any attempt he made towards his silent life. At least they allowed the tributes creative freedom with how their rooms looked. Most of the rooms were private, the notion of being invited into another tributes room only meaning one thing and no one wanted to get branded as a couple with someone they were merely friends with. However, this did mean that the bedrooms were their domain, allowing them to go all out on any ventures that The Capitol approved. It also meant Maurice seemed rather dull. He kept his room simple, pastel blue walls, minimalist framed paintings and a few floating shelves that held small trinkets. The only feature he could say was creative was, what he called, the wall of loss, because he was edgy like that. It was nothing big, just a wall of letters from home. The tributes received one each month and instead of piling his in a box, Maurice pinned them to his wall along with any photo's they arrived with. In fact, most of the trinkets that were dotted around his room were from home. Small bits of stone that would cost his family a week of pay but were mere pennies in The Capitol. Despite their lack of worth in the city, he still held onto them, appreciating the time a money that went into choosing them and keeping them as a reminder of where he came from and where he was going. Home.

The Capitol liked to pretend the tributes were home, that the spacious apartment, sprawling gardens, luxaries living conditions and holographic windows could change where they came from. They all remembered home, in some form or another, and it was no this. Here they were reality stars, back in the Districts, we were just another face in the crowd. Once upon a time, being part of the Games and paraded like a cow at a cattle market pleased Maurice but now, he just wanted to go home and spend his life hunting for diamonds for some escort to have implanted into her cheeks. The Warrior life was draining and down right boring. Every waking moment was either having a camera pushed in your face, training or having screaming fangirls pouncing on your from every direction. The small moments like now where he could just sit in the darkness and relax did not make it worth it and neither did a crown situated on his head.

Maurice's windows were set to blackout, allowing his brain to relax and not overload with anger, frustration or boredom that he would be bombarded with questions due to his lack of presence at breakfast. Almost as if on cue, Ares Walker burst through the bedroom door, almost kicking it down as he flooded my room with light. Maurice reeled away from the morning sunrise that blinded him and painted his walls a warm shade of orange.

"Are you ill?" he shouted, announcing him to his far from graceful entrance. The blue eyed boy opened his eyes and scowled at the dark skinned boy who was leaning against the door frame, a few of the other tributes craning their neck to see past his tall frame.

"I'm fine-"

"Then get up, we have a day of training ahead," he laughed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"Oh goodie," Maurice sighed. Training everyday with hunting techniques and traps must have been fun for someone from Eight but from a kid who came from One, he had already been training in that area of expertise three years before he was chosen. The boy rolled his brown eyes at him before turning to the crowd of tributes that had gathered out of curiosity.

"I am sorry my friends, it seems poor Maurice is ill, I worry this will affect his chances in the arena...I feel we should inform the public of this matter so they know not to bet on him," he said with a defeated sigh, like it was heartbreaking to see him so weak.

Maurice sat up, squinting from the sunlight. "You wouldn't-"

"So weak, so fragile," Ares sighed shaking his head in disappointment as pulled the door close behind him. Maurice listened to the laughing tributes that stood outside his door and let out a small growl as he lept from my bed, scraping his knees along the soft carpet of his bedroom. He crawled to the large set of chester draws and pulled out a pair of freshly pressed and jeans. Every item of clothing any of the tributes wore was made by hand in District Eight by a talented seamstress' but that did not make the jeans any easier to get on.

He hopped around the room on one leg, grunting as he pushed his leg through the hole and fell backwards onto the bed. Slamming his head into the metal head board. But he did not let that stop him. He raced towards the door, grabbing a shirt from the wardrobe and pulling it over his head as he opened the door. Once he was out and his vision was no longer blocked by cotton, he noticed the group of tributes looking at him with amusement, Ares at the centre.

"It's a miracle," he gasped, wiping away a fake tear he had poked himself in the eye to create.

"You are a dick," Maurice grumbled, scowling at the smiling boy as he walked past.

"But that's why you love me," he grinned, laughing slightly though his pearly white teeth. A small smile playing on his lips as he looked over to him, offering a small wink as he picked up the bacon sandwich Pallas had made him.

I feel the need to point this out, Ares and Maurice are not together, they are joking with each other.