[EDIT 8/3/17 - The end of the chapter/goodbyes has been fixed somewhat, hopefully making the end feel less rushed]

Hoo boy District 7. Heads up, this character was created by me!

At the time I opened Ad Mortem, I had no idea how many submissions I'd even get and decided I'd need at least one character of my own to keep from being short in a few Districts - any others I needed to include would've been automatic bloodbaths so the focus could stay on everyone else's characters. I was very fortunate to be invited to the SYOT Forum by Celtic, and I'm so thankful to everyone who helped me fill those spots with their wonderful characters. Y'all rock!

07 - Brother, Sister

She spends more time than necessary in the shower this morning.

It really was a thing she should've expected. It only happened every twenty-five years, and the chances of one falling within Ham's years as a potential Tribute were pretty high to begin with. The chances of anyone having to sit through the Reapings for a Quell are pretty high. It should come as no surprise that she's about to sit through one.

Ham scrubs at her hair in frustration. Her scalp burns, the shampoo more than likely bubbling around her temples. Today's going to be a relief once it's over, she thinks. She won't even bother watching the live showing of the Quell once it begins. As much as she loves the fact that Capitol kids are going to die this year too, Ham's just too tired to bother—too tired! At eighteen!

She rinses the shampoo and begins to scrub in her conditioner just as the door to the bathroom flies open. Ham half-expects it to be Ashley or her dad—they always complain that she takes too long—but to her surprise it's Willow. Hair sticking out in all directions as she peeks around the shower curtain, Ham can't help but feel a little awkward as she looks the woman up and down.

Willow's crouched at the seat of the toilet, long hair held back by one hand as the other supports her slightly protruding belly. The baggy clothes and bare feet don't suit Willow one bit, and Ham isn't sure how to tell her sister-in-law this without offending the woman.

As Ham opens her mouth to ask how the woman is feeling, Willow dry heaves into the toilet loudly. Ham is quick to cover her mouth and hide behind the curtain again. She doesn't want to see last night's dinner come out of someone else right now. Not while she's in the middle of washing her hair. It doesn't take long for Ewan—Ham's brother and the lucky husband of the sick woman at the toilet—to come into the bathroom and comfort his wife, deliberately ignoring Ham as she hurries to finish her shower. She doesn't even bother to grab an extra towel for her hair as she rushes out from behind the curtain and covers herself with the one already hanging on the door handle.

The Hamilton residence has never been a bustling one. Despite the active status of Lennox—the Hamilton head; the man at the stand, as Ham calls him—not a lot of things go on around the place. Willow's pregnancy has been the biggest thing to happen in the family since, well, Ewan and Willow's wedding. Unlike other families in their area filled to the brim with children, the Hamilton house is quiet. Solemn, almost.

Ham chews her lip nervously as she runs at full speed for her room. It's the farthest away, the smallest room in the house, which makes it difficult to go unnoticed by anyone else awake at the moment. She hears the gruff call of her name from downstairs, almost as though someone is looking up and waiting for her to backtrack to the top step obediently. It isn't like Ham has a choice if she does or not—when someone calls out your name in the Hamilton house, you respond.

She finds her father standing at the bottom step, a hand hovering over the rail of the staircase. There's a hesitant look in his eye, his brows furrowed ever so slightly.

"What's up?" she asks, and she has to ignore all of the water dripping onto the floor from her arms. If Ewan hadn't been in the bathroom, she would've had some time to dry herself off.

Lennox Hamilton is not usually a man who looks concerned. He's usually the one who looks most in control, who looks ready to take action at the drop of a hat with an impromptu plan. There's only one day a year that Lennox Hamilton ever looks worried, and Ham supposes it's no surprise that today would be that day—the day of the 100th Hunger Games' Reapings. He inhales deeply, burly chest expanding visibly, before he starts to ascend the stairs with a soft gaze.

"Does your mother's dress still fit you?" he asks. Ham stares at him for a moment, blinking as the gears whir slowly in her mind, before she finally figures out just which dress he'd meant.

Yvonne's old Reaping dress. "I don't think so?" she says slowly. It's been a year since she'd last worn it, but it had been tight in some areas and too short in others. Ham had been surprised, since Yvonne had been much taller as a teen than Ham is now. She'd hoped the dress would last a while. "Want me to check?"

Lennox shakes a hand at her. "No, no, it's fine. I have something else in mind. Dry off and meet me at the shed, okay?"

He doesn't leave her time to respond, making his way past the girl and heading in the direction of the bathroom. Willow and Ewan still haven't emerged, leaving Ham to wonder if the woman has food poisoning instead of morning sickness. Ham stares after him, watches as the door is left ajar after Lennox asks about Willow.

She changes into some of her work clothes, not wanting to doll herself up for the Reaping quite yet. It's only nine, plenty of time before she needs to get herself ready and actually walk to the town square. As soon as her hair is damp enough to leave without catching a cold, Ham exits her room and heads back in the direction of the bathroom. From the sounds of things, Willow and Ewan aren't in there anymore. Part of Ham is relieved, while another worries just a little over how violently Willow had been retching.

True to her expectations, Lennox is no longer in the bathroom either. He's already headed off to the shed, never one to waste time. Ham hums softly to herself as she backtracks to the stairs once more.

Lining the halls of their wood house are countless photos, all of them from different periods of time. It always feels so nostalgic walking past them, glancing at the memories within them. Ham's first day of school, standing proudly next to her older brothers. Willow and Ewan's wedding, capturing Willow's gorgeous dress before she'd dirtied it with sawdust and dirt. Lennox and Yvonne posing with their four children, all sitting in matching sweaters and looking every bit the awkward family they were.

Ham pauses towards the bottom stop, eyes glued to the wall as something feels amiss. There's normally more photos along here, a picture of Ashley and Fern sitting between the baby pictures of both Ham and Ewan. Instead, though, she sees only an empty space and the vague outline of dust from where it had been sitting.

She inhales deeply. Ashley must be awake. The picture only ever goes missing when he comes out of his room during the Reapings.

She tucks on the shoes left at the front door and makes a beeline for the kitchen—from there, the only door to the backyard is present. She almost sprints out, hoping to see what Lennox has to show her, but skids to a slow walk when she spots Ashley himself sitting at the table. He's sitting in his own spot, directly across from Fern's.

And in Fern's spot is the missing picture.

There's a lost look on his face, bottle blue eyes appearing almost dimmer than usual. There's bags under his eyes and an overall saggy look to his face. Ham isn't even sure he's noticed her enter, his gaze resting entirely on the picture of himself and his brother. Ham decides to take a chance with greeting him, though doesn't expect much of a response in return.

"Morning, Ash," she tries loudly. Ashley doesn't budge. Doesn't even make a sound. "Ashley?"

He just sits there, unfazed. Ham scratches the back of her head and frowns. This is a routine for them by now: Ashley struggles during most days—Reapings the most—and Ham walks into a wall trying to figure out how to bring him back out. There's really not a lot she can do for him, other than just be there.

She settles to fill a glass of water for him, leaving it by his side and saying, "Don't forget to hydrate." When she first started trying to take care of him, it felt weird—he's two years older than her after all—but now it feels like second nature. Ham feels almost guilty when she doesn't try to be the older sibling nowadays.

Ashley doesn't respond, but she still leaves knowing that he has something for when he gets thirsty. Ham shuts the door behind her softly. She wiggles her feet in her shoes to get them to fit properly, and then starts into a lazy jog. The shed is a short distance away from the Hamilton residence, shared by practically everyone who works under Lennox. It's not big or fancy by any means, but it still manages to snuggly fit everything they need in the one place.

As she approaches, Lennox's voice stands out as a few choice words register in her mind. Ham slows her jog to a walk, rounding the corner of the gate almost cautiously as she peeks between each gap in the pickets. She can make out dark skin and a long ponytail of hair, but otherwise can't place who might be with Lennox.

"You need more people in your shift, Maggie," Lennox is going on as Ham spots him coming out of the shed. He's got a small box tucked under his arm, labelled messily as ROPES. The person beside him—who, Ham notices, is a decidedly tall woman—simply shifts on her feet and crosses her arms in front of her chest. "I can personally vouch for her work ethic— Ah, Ham!"

Ham jumps when Lennox calls out to her. She'd hoped he would let her walk over without drawing attention to her. Maggie turns her head ever so slightly to look over her shoulder, almost disdainfully as her brown eyes lock with Ham's. From where she stands, Ham can see how much Maggie's arms bulge out from the sleeves of her shirt. It's almost intimidating—the only thing keeping her from stuttering her greeting is having a burlier man for a father.

"Good morning," she says politely. She's quick to look to Lennox, gesturing back to the house. "Are you busy…? Because I can go back in and see if Ash will—"

"No need," Lennox says with a grimace. "At this point you just have to wait it out. Besides, Maggie here was a surprise I had in mind for you." He hands Maggie the rope box and grins at Ham.

Maggie simply purses her lips, still looking almost like she's inconvenienced by Ham's presence. "Len, please," she sighs. "We have enough for now—"

"For now," Lennox interrupts. "A good chunk of the others are retiring after this year. You're going to be working the same area my group does—what you have won't be enough."

Ham blinks at the two of them. "Is this work talk?"

Maggie lets out a scoff. "Why else would I be here?" she spits. "I have better things to do, but clearly being begged to take you into my shift demands more of my attention."

Almost immediately, Ham squints up at Lennox. He looks down at her with his brows raised, as though he's daring her to make a big deal out of his efforts.

"What if I want to work in Ewan's shop?" she tries.

"You broke a mahogany table while trying to sand it and declared it the most embarrassing moment of your life. Unlikely."

"Paper making?"

Lennox laughs once. "Next one."

"Carpentry."

"You hate heights."

"I could always carry—"

Maggie sighs loudly, cutting her off, and turns on her heel. Lennox calls after her. "Maggie, wait! I promise, she'll be a valuable member of the team—just shadow her during my next shift!"

The woman barely even looks back at him as she walks through the gate. "Good day, Mr. Hamilton."

"Maggie—"

"Good. Day."

She disappears from their lines of sight. Lennox lets out a deflated sigh, an almost disappointed expression on his face. Ham looks up at him guiltily. He turns to the shed and reaches in for another box, and then shuts the door behind him. Once the padlock is in place, he turns back to Ham with an almost apologetic smile.

"Sorry, kiddo," he sighs. "Thought I'd have you set with Maggie."

Ham shrugs. "There'll be other shifts," she reassures him. "I'm sure I can last being a temp for some until a spot opens up. Won't be any different to being in your shift."

He smiles a little more warmly.

"So what's with the box?" She gestures to it vaguely, trying to spot a label on it as Lennox moves to walk around her. He simply smiles knowingly and nods for her to follow, heading back in the direction of the kitchen door.

They head back to the house at a slow pace, the box's mystery left up in the air between them. Ham peeks around Lennox's arm as often as she can for some kind of hint, the curiosity almost too agonising for her to bear. She knows almost every box in that shed, having been in there many times herself to fetch things for Lennox's shift, but this one has never been touched by her, let alone seen. It's not worn down like the other boxes, no frayed edges or faded marker detailing what might be inside. She can't hear rattling, suggesting either tightly compact contents or even something fitting inside snuggly.

Lennox opens the door to the kitchen quietly, peeking inside. Around him Ham can see Ashley at the table, the glass of water in his hand and his thumb softly drumming against his chin. He's moved, at least. And he's hydrating.

"Ash, I need a favour," Lennox announces. Ashley slowly brings his gaze up to his father. Lennox walks inside and slides the box across the table to him, speaking with a soft voice Ham knows he only saves for hard times. "Help Ham with this—you might need to use some material from your own clothes to alter it."

Ham shuffles in behind Lennox, unable to meet Ashley's eye. Her older brother merely opens the box and peeks within, stifling a gasp within seconds of seeing its contents. She watches as he chews his lip and lets out a pained sound, and then Ashley's rising with the box and staring Ham down almost dejectedly.

"I'll warm up the sewing machine," he tells her in a dull, almost lifeless voice. "You don't need to change. Just bring one of your shirts so I can measure it right."

With that, he stalks out of the kitchen.

Ham looks between the retreating Ashley and their father, almost bewildered. Clearly Ashley knew what was in the box the moment he looked in, but she can't imagine what it'd be.

"What'd you give him?" she blurts out. Lennox winks down at her. He starts to walk out of the kitchen, heading in the direction of the living room. Ham scrunches up her face at him. "No, Dad— What's in the box?"

Lennox ignores her almost tauntingly as he calls out, "Ewan, how's Willow doing?"

She stamps her foot childishly on the floor. Lennox continues to ignore her. Ham groans loudly, making extra certain that Lennox—and perhaps even Ewan and Willow—can hear her. She stalks in the direction Ashley had moved for, ascending the stairs and stomping down the upper hall towards her room. Ashley and Fern's room is a short distance from her own, so it'll be no problem dropping off some shirts for Ashley to measure. She still can't figure out why he'd need to, but she at least hopes he lets her peek into the box.

Her hopes are dashed when Ashley only opens his door a crack, snatching her shirt from her and shutting it in her face before she has time to even flinch. Ham's brows twitch in annoyance. She never likes it when her family conducts secret squirrel business about her.

With a final huff and another stamp of her foot, Ham loudly proclaims, "I'm going for a walk!"

Context can be a funny thing sometimes. She finds it clears things up a lot more than simply putting pieces together on your own. But, Ham thinks to herself, no amount of context in the world will make how Head Peacekeeper Burrow came to this agreement make sense.

Two stools pushed on either side of a tree stump, a small crowd gathered around as people shout out their bets to the punters. Ham scratches at her shoulder and chews her lip as she looks over the line of rookie Peacekeepers standing near Burrow; the moment they look over at her, she averts her gaze and stares at the tree stump.

A chorus of laughter rings out, and she can hear one person boldly proclaim, "Not only is she small, she can't even look at us!"

Another one chimes in, "You're pulling our legs here, boss."

Burrow ignores their jeers. Instead, they look over to Ham and call out, "Sorry to do this on short notice, Miss Hamilton."

"No problem," Ham calls back. She takes a few steps to the stump, begins to pull out her chair. "I had time to kill anyway."

The small crowd starts to rile up the rookies. Burrow joins Ham's side as the two wait for the rookies to decide who will go first. "I also heard Mr. Hamilton was hoping to get you into Magnolia's shift," they observe. "My squad supervises hers, coincidentally."

Ham stares up at them blankly. "He was talking to a lady named Maggie today about it," she says slowly.

Burrow smiles wryly. "That would be Magnolia, yes."

Ham blinks. Then she flushes red at the obvious connection between the two names.

"Not everyone gets it," Burrow laughs. "Let's just say her first name doesn't fit her 'image'. Something you'd know about."

"Boss!"

They both look over to the rookies, who have now lined up messily in front of the stump. A tall, albeit wiry man is at the front. Burrow looks him up and down once, before announcing, "First up: Peacekeeper Hale!"

And so begins the series of arm wrestling matches. Burrow lists off the rookies one by one, each one complaining loudly after their turns that Ham must be cheating somehow. Ham can only roll her eyes and stretch her hand each time, her impatience slowly growing along with the portion of winnings Burrow had promised her for her time.

Halfway through the line, the burliest of all the rookies is up next. He looks like he'd been raised in 7, from the way his shoulders poke out and his arms bulge, but Ham would be willing to bet he's from 2 and lived off of a strict training regime. A lot of them are like that, which is why most of them get pissy whenever Burrow makes her beat them in arm wrestling matches.

The rookie—Burrow announces his name as Russo—stops his superior from starting the match when he sits down, raising a calming hand as he removes his helmet. Unlike the others, he actually tries to look Ham in the eye; Ham is quick to look away, focusing on the helmet he sits on his lap.

"You work a lot, kid?" Russo starts. Ham nods.

"I fill in for some of the cutters and loaders," she says. "Mostly in my dad's group."

"How much do you think you could carry at once?"

Ham scrunches up her face. She's never really thought about that before. "I dunno. One-thirty? One-forty?"

Russo smirks. He positions his arm on the stump and flexes his fingers. With a single glance to Burrow, he signals that he's ready to challenge Ham.

Unlike the others, Russo takes a little more of Ham's effort to beat. He throws all of his strength into his first push, clenching her hand so tightly she swears she can't feel it at one point. The two of them wind up holding the same position for more than half a minute, giving Ham enough time to wonder if whatever lesson Burrow wanted to teach will be lost here.

She feels his nails dig into her hand, the smug smile on his face growing by the second. Ham can feel her veins bulging as she applies more pressure, scrunching up her face and glaring at his meaty fingers.

"Should've looked for work in the paper factories," Russo mutters teasingly. Ham lets out a snarl, offended by the statement. "Little girls like you aren't suited for chopping trees."

With a burst of anger and energy, Ham slams his hand down onto the stump. The glove of his uniform gathers splinters, scraping against the wood. Russo stares down at the hand, flabbergasted.

"Should've requested District Twelve," she throws back at him. "At least there you wouldn't have to worry about the Avoxes talking back to you."

Russo jumps to his feet and reaches for his belt. Ham watches the taser dangling from it, jumping into her own fighting stance as she spots his fingers brush the handle. She barely has time to raise her fists high before Burrow interrupts them. They throw down their riding crop down against the surface of stump—Ham's certain that Burrow is the only Head Peacekeeper who carries one around.

Without missing a beat as the two flinch, Burrow announces, "You've had your turn, Russo. Acknowledge her."

Russo stares at Ham. She keeps her eyes on his uniform, on the taser at his belt. She hears him spit loudly at his side; without so much as a word of acknowledgement towards Ham, Russo turns on his heel and storms through the crowd.

Definitely a man raised in 2, Ham thinks.

The matches proceed without much fuss after that. One woman even goes so far as to compliment how long Ham can keep up her strength with each match. She's not sure just how long it all takes, but it certainly feels like hours by the time the last rookie takes their walk of shame. The lumberjacks from 7 who had all gathered around and taken bets hoot and holler each time, one of them even yelling out slurs against the Peacekeepers in his excitement. Burrow lets it slide, to Ham's surprise, and they have no trouble pulling Ham's hand into the air and declaring her "better than the fresh meat".

The rookies merely concede their defeat as they march away, back to the areas Burrow tells them to head to. One man from Lennox's shift excitedly hands Ham a wad of notes and a bag of coins as he makes his leave, and soon it's just Ham and Burrow left to clean the place up.

Ham tucks both of the chairs over her shoulders, leaving her money with Burrow, as she asks them, "So what was that all about?"

"Hm?" Burrow looks down at her through their visor. It's easier for Ham to look at their face this way. She can't see their eyes, can't feel naked under someone else's gaze. "Oh, right. Normally we get Mr. Hamilton—Lennox—to do it each year. A lot of rookies request Seven and use the District as a show of strength against each other. Call it a pissing contest, even."

"And normally Dad just… arm wrestles them?"

"Oh, no. Normally it's a full-on wrestling match, no armour or protection given." Burrow adjusts their gloves. Ham can hear her money jingle in their shoulder pocket. "This is just a way to show that respect is a two-way street in this District. The kids from Two can't lord over everyone without consequence, and the ones from the Capitol are just as much a citizen here as you and me. The ones like Russo tend to get sent away after Reapings; too high a risk of displaying their 'power' against citizens over minor issues."

Ham flinches, but is quick to see the caution in Burrow's plan. She has no doubt it goes against most Peacekeeper policies, letting someone in the District attack a troop, but she will agree that it's a good way to weed out the ones who want to use their power to brutalise the residents. From what Ham had seen, everyone but Russo had come to quickly accept the lesson.

"Speaking of Reapings," Burrow goes on, "it's your last year, right?"

"Yeah." Ham nods. "Can't wait to get a good night's sleep for another twelve years."

"A relief, I'm sure." The two make it out of the closed off area, back into the bustle of District 7 during its morning markets. Burrow zips open their shoulder pocket and pulls out Ham's winnings. In one fluid motion, they take one of the chairs and slide her money into her hand. As Ham passes them the other chair, Burrow says, "Good luck with Magnolia."

This'll be the last time Ham sees Burrow before the Reapings, she thinks as she turns on her heel. It's a short jog from the clearing to the gate of her house. Not quite close to the town square, but still close enough that she won't waste her time running the whole way home. It's peaceful for her, taking a break from the ups and downs this morning has provided so far.

And she has money. Money can be pretty good.

She stops by one of the stalls on her way and purchases a snack. It's quick to munch on for the rest of the walk home, something to keep her from getting peckish later on. From there it's a non-stop trip home.

When she walks inside the front door, Ashley is the first to greet her. He looks to have taken a break from whatever Lennox had given him to work on, measuring tape slung around his neck like a scarf as he pours himself a glass of juice. He notices her almost immediately and nods for her to follow him. Ham barely has time to set down the remainder of her money, let alone take off her shoes, as she follows.

Ashley's always been good with delicate work, like sewing and carving patterns. His eyesight is better than Lennox's by far, and his fingers are just thin and steady enough to avoid mistakes. Fern was the same, though recently Ashley's stopped sewing as frequently. Ham finds it almost miraculous that a mere box had convinced him to do anything today.

He swings open his door with a yawn, the bags under his eyes obvious now that she's closer to him; Ashley barely wastes any time directing Ham's attention toward the far side of his room—to where his old bunk bed used to reside—as he sips at his juice. She can see bits and pieces of cloth strewn about the floor, a few sewing tools littering the carpet.

"It's not the best job done," he tells her slowly, "but you only need it for today."

Laid out on the shelf, folded up into a neat pile, are two items of clothing. The same colour as the scraps on the floor, and the same material. There's obvious stitches in some areas, but otherwise Ham can't even tell they'd been altered.

She pulls up the soft, white shirt—and upon looking at the tag, she drops it back onto the bed. F.H., it declares in black marker.

"Dad kept Fern's old Reaping clothes?" she asks, more shocked than anything.

Ashley takes a long gulp of his juice. He sets the empty glass on his desk and sinks into his chair. "Waste not, want not," he sighs. "Two of us had enough similar clothes to pass onto you, at least."

"Yeah, but…" She bites her lip. "Are you sure?"

"Ham, seriously," Ashley sighs. "Just try it on. You only have to wear it once."

With that, he stands back up and exits his room. Ashley slides the door shut behind him with a soft click. Ham is left alone with the clothes.

Now is a better time than any to try on the shirt and pants. Ham makes quick work of it all, frowning as she avoids the mirror until she's absolutely certain she's done. The shirt is buttoned up with a little difficulty—were Fern and Ashley smaller around the arms than her?—and the pants sit a little loosely, though that at least is fixed by the suspenders Ashley left behind. Ham breathes in deeply and clenches her fists tightly by her sides, and then in one jerky movement she turns for the mirror.

From the other side of the room, a short young woman in neat clothes stares back at her. For a second she thinks it's someone else in her family—they all have those bottle blue eyes, the short black hair—but when she spots the large birthmark on her cheek, Ham knows it's her. And boy, does Ham clean up nicely.

She gives her reflection a sheepish grin. It still feels awkward wearing her brothers' old clothes, but at least she can smile back at herself instead of furiously fiddling with buttons on a dress. It looks nice.

Ashley isn't back by the time fifteen minutes pass. Ham sits at the end of his bed patiently, cracking her knuckles as she looks around at his belongings. The silence almost feels eerie, uncomfortable. Ham thinks she can sit through it until Ashley comes back—but it's all too soon before she's sneaking out through the door and looking up and down the hall. There's no sign of him waiting outside, nor at the top of the staircase. The bathroom door is wide open, and she can't hear anyone inside her own room.

Downstairs, she thinks. Ham walks quickly to the stairs, ready to call out to him. Just as she opens her mouth and gets ready to say his name, an shrill voice cuts her off. Ham flinches at the sound of it. She knows that voice: It's the unmistakable sound of Lola Amos getting giddy over something "scandalous".

Ham practically sprints for the living room.

District 3's Reaping is being broadcast live with Lola's commentary, three Hamiltons sitting anxiously on the couch with their hands over their mouths. Ashley sits between Willow and Ewan, Willow's arm draped comfortingly over his shoulder as she watches the screen anxiously. Ham watches as the four-eyed escort calls for their Tribute—a small girl, immediately noted to have Tourettes when she shrieks onstage at the escort; after what feels like forever, she notices something's missing.

There's no mentor standing by the Tribute yet. Normally they shake hands or something, pose together to appeal to the Capitol. But the 3 girl is alone. Ham blinks in confusion as someone comes up onstage, wondering just what circumstances led District 3 to not show their mentor.

And then Ashley screams at the top of his lungs.

Ewan immediately drags him to the floor, Willow quick to jump away and shield her belly. Ham jolts forward as well, landing on one of Ashley's flailing arms as he screams obscenities at the TV. What starts out as angry yelling and a commotion that would normally attract Peacekeeper intervention turns into weak sobbing, Ashley's limp body trapped under his older brother and younger sister.

"I'll get Dad," Ewan mutters to Ham. Ham nods and hurriedly brings Ashley into an embrace, doing her best to comfort him and keep his eyes away from the screen. By the time she has a chance to see what had made him snap in such a way, the 3 girl is being led into the Justice Building.

Willow seems to pick up on Ham's curiosity. With a great deal of reluctance on her face, hands still shielding her belly, Willow says, "It was Synthia. Synthia's the mentor."

Recognition flares in Ham's gut, right alongside her own fury. She and everyone else in this house knew the name Synthia Quanta all too well. In her eyes, Ashley had every right to be mad.

Synthia Quanta, the bitch of the 96th Games, is the mentor for District 3.

The bitter feeling isn't gone, even when she gets a front row seat to the Quell's Reaping.

Ham squints at the stage with an almost spiteful groan, occasionally shuffling as other girls her age join her. They're all gushing about how it's their last year in the Reapings, letting out relieved sighs at making it to eighteen so far. Ham would normally join them, but the surprise with Synthia is a little bit hard to get over.

She hopes District 3 tanks this year.

An elbow digs into her side, leaving an ache in her ribs as she glances over to a girl beside her. Bespectacled and covered in freckles, she smiles down at Ham with the familiarity of friends. Only Ham doesn't know who she is.

"It'll all be over today," the girl cheers. Ham smiles awkwardly back to her.

"Yay," she says weakly.

"I can't wait to start working at my mom's furniture shop—she says I have a natural talent for sanding and carving!" She looks at Ham expectedly. "What're you gonna do after today?"

Ham shrugs. "What I've always done?" she tries. "I'm pretty good at cutting and loading, so I mean…"

The girl nods in agreement. "You look like a loader to me."

"The build?" Ham guesses. Most people make the assumption based on the amount of bulk she's accumulated, so it wouldn't come as a surprise if this girl thinks on the same reasoning.

Instead of agreeing, she shakes her head. "Your hands—they're scarred and calloused. Dad says the loaders get that the most."

"Huh." Ham looks down at her hands in bewilderment. "I never noticed…"

A hand is shoved in her face. It's held like it wants to be shaken, accompanied by the girl's sweet voice saying, "I'm Myrtle."

"H—Ham." She shakes Myrtle's hand with wide eyes. Myrtle laughs softly.

"That's an odd name," she notes. "Your parents like ham a lot?"

"No, no!" Ham scratches the back of her neck. "Ham's a nickname—my surname's Hamilton. My first name's kinda embarrassing."

Myrtle raises a brow. "More then mine?"

It sounds almost like a challenge. A challenge Ham won't take right now. "Take my word for it," she says instead.

There's more girls in their section, pushing Myrtle and Ham closer to the front more and more. They bump into each other a lot, laughing to themselves each time. Almost all of the bitterness is gone, Ham notes. Every time Myrtle tries to grab her attention, it just feels like it'll melt away.

She takes the time to really take in Myrtle's appearance as they shuffle around. She's taller than Ham, even a little paler, and everything about her looks too refined for a 7 girl. Delicately dulled nails, expertly plucked brows, and stylish hair swept over her shoulder. If Ham had a type, Myrtle would fit right to a T.

Myrtle glances down at Ham—crap, was she staring?—and smiles sweetly at her again. Ham smiles back, a little more confident than at the beginning of their interactions.

"When this is all done," Myrtle starts, "do you wanna… I dunno, I don't want to be presumptuous, but do you wanna hang out and get something to eat together?"

Something to eat together. Hang out. That's code for something, right? For a date? Ham's stomach does a backflip. Is Myrtle asking her on a date?

There's a loud thump from in front of them before Ham can even answer, startling the two girls into attention. Myrtle grabs Ham's hand out of fright, only to immediately drop it with a deep flush on her face. Ham tries not to laugh, covering her mouth with her hand and focusing on the escort.

This year is the year of a new escort, and Ham can't help thinking District 7 got the worst escort this year. There's rude ones and gaudy ones, and even loud ones that damaged Tributes' hearings. But this one takes the cake.

Prosthetic cat ears at the top of her head, whiskers implanted on her face and a giant, fluffy prosthetic tail protruding from the back of her dress. This is what Ham is being farewelled from the Reapings by.

To make things worse, the escort immediately says to the crowd, "Good afternoon, effurryone!"

Cat puns. She's dressed as a cat and using cat puns. Ham can feel her soul leaving her body.

"My nyame is Cirrus and I'll be the escort for District Seven! I hope mew all have a purrfect day today!" Cirrus winks at the camera crew residing by the rows. It all must be for show, all for the Capitol. God, Ham hopes it is. "Befurr we start, I'd love to introduce mew all to the mentor: Meowgnolia Hammond!"

There's a weak, confused clapping from all directions. Ham watches as Maggie—Magnolia—walks onstage with an almost dead gaze trained at Cirrus. She can only assume Magnolia hates the cat puns as much as everyone else.

"Meowgnolia won the Ninety-Fifth Games and volunteered to help with mentoring this year. I've got a good feline about her, don't mew all?"

No response. No one wants to respond—at least for Ham, she doesn't want to say anything out of fear that Cirrus will just keep talking. Instead of looking upset by the lack of response, Cirrus just smiles mischievously at the children before her.

"Tough crowd," she muses. "No purroblem. We'll just get on with the Reaping!"

Myrtle leans down and whispers to Ham, "I pity whoever gets Reaped by her."

"I pity Meowgnolia," Ham whispers back. "She looks like she's not getting paid enough to deal with Cirrus."

Cirrus plunges her hand into the Reaping Ball that had been dropped a short distance from her. "May the odds be efur in your favour, effurryone!"

Ever so faintly, Ham can hear Magnolia wheeze out, "Christ."

The paper is plucked out ferociously, a triumphant meow sounding from Cirrus as she waves it about. Ham really hopes whoever gets stuck with her doesn't murder her before the Games start. Better yet, she hopes Cirrus drops the cat puns once the cameras are off. There would be no greater mercy to that poor kid than the absence of cat puns.

Cirrus pops open the paper and grins down at the name. She reads it to herself once, rolls her eyes up in thought—she's trying to turn this kid's name into a cat pun!

"Phyllhiss Nyamilton!" she announces.

Phyllhiss… Phyllis. Nyamitlon… Hamilton. Phyllis Goddamn Hamilton. That's Ham!

As the terrible cat pun registers—as well as the fact that she just got Reaped—Ham glances left and right for signs of Peacekeepers. She can see Burrow looking right at her, hand slowly moving for their taser as the two stare each other down. Surrounding the children in the square are the ones Ham had beaten in the arm wrestling matches—and closest to her is Russo.

Myrtle looks down at her in horror. She barely gets any time to say anything before Ham bolts from her line.

Ashley breaks away from the rest of the family, almost knocking over Ewan in his rush to get to Ham. She watches him as she sprints with all her might, Russo at her tail. The last thing Ham wants is to be taken away from Ashley. The last thing Ashley wants is to lose another sibling to the Hunger Games. Ashley calls out to her, almost desperately, and Ham can feel her lungs burn as she passes the thirteens section.

She almost makes it to Ashley, reaching out for him. He reaches for her as well, and for a fleeting second Ham thinks she'll be able to escape with him—hide somewhere. But when the taser hits Ashley's arm and the man screams through the shocks, all hope is shattered to pieces. Ham skids to a stop as she watches him convulse on the ground, pained sounds coming from him as the Peacekeepers gather around him menacingly. She can only watch in horror, before finally being dragged back to her own predicament by Russo tackling her from behind.

It's a short struggle. He tries to lift her and carry her onstage, she pulls off his helmet and headbutts him. Ham herself winds up tasered from the abdomen, a smug, "Acknowledge this," whispered in her ear as Russo takes her to the stage.

No one volunteers. No one listens as Ashley sobs for someone—anyone else—to take Ham's place. Magnolia helps her to stand once Russo backs off, and everything Cirrus says after falls on deaf ears. Ham watches with an almost hopeless gaze as Ashley is pulled away from the proceedings by the Peacekeepers. He's clearly going to be charged for trying to help her run, and she's not even sure if Lennox will be able to convince Burrow to lessen the punishment.

Lennox says something to Ewan and Willow before running off after Ashley and the Peacekeepers. A man with a plan, Ham thinks as she stares at his retreating figure. Always ready to take action in a time of need.

As the Reaping comes to an end, Cirrus using a godawful amount of cat puns to wrap things up, she can feel her limbs start to cooperate with her again. Magnolia still helps her into the Justice Building, but for the most part acts like this is just like any other day in District 7.

They make it into the waiting room with enough time for a visit to spare. With an almost amused tone, Magnolia tells her, "I guess you're in my shift after all."

Ham laughs bitterly. "Not that you wanted me in the first place."

There's a pause, and then, "Would you have wanted to leave your father, either?"

Only Ewan and Willow can visit Ham. Magnolia sits with Ham the whole time, watching her like a hawk as she says her goodbyes. It's a claustrophobic affair, the two engulfing Ham in a tight hug that she can hardly breathe through. All the while, apologies are whispered in her ears.

Willow hands Ham her old ring—a small wooden one that Ewan had carved as an engagement ring. She makes sure Ham has a surefire grip on it as she says, "For luck. I don't care if you have to leave it behind or if you lose it—a ring is nothing compared to a little sister, okay?"

Ham nods. The weight of the ring feels almost heavy in her hand at Willow's words, but she knows she'll need all the luck she'll get with the Tributes in the Games so far. Willow takes a step back and moves for Magnolia, saying something Ham can't quite hear. Magnolia watches stoically as Ewan pulls Ham's attention back to him. His hands clamp down on her shoulders, his grip almost desperately as he bends down to look her in the eye.

"Be smart about it," Ewan tells her. "Learn from the mistakes made during Fern's Games."

It's hard to say goodbye. All of the bitterness that had been settled by Myrtle is back, a stark reminder that she's really in the Games. She's really going to be facing off against kids mentored by her brother's murderer. The door closes behind Ewan and Willow ever so silently, leaving Ham and Magnolia to sit wordlessly through the rest of their allotted time. She taps her finger against her knee insistently as the seconds tick by.

What would happen if she got a chance to see Synthia one on one? What would happen if Ham was left with the choice of taking the life of the girl with Tourettes? Would Magnolia even help her with such a goal, knowing how Synthia had won her own Games? Regardless of Magnolia's moral standpoint, Ham makes her decision then and there.

"Maggie?" Ham says. Magnolia hums, inviting her to go on. Ham clenches her fists tightly. The ring digs into her palm almost painfully. "I'm going to destroy District Three."

There we go! Ham is done and I can get back to the better characters good lord i'm free

Fun fact: The weight Ham estimated first (130lbs) is her own weight, meaning she can carry roughly her own weight.

Another fun fact: Cetronia Livius is still the most physically strong Tribute so far, however.

All that aside, it was really difficult to keep this at a good pace once I hit Cirrus's dialogue. All the cat puns killed me, and it's for that reason that our Quell Question this chapter is this:

QQ #2: If Cirrus met your Tribute, what kind of cat pun would she use for their name? (e.g., Phyllhiss "Nyam" Nyamilton)

If you can't think of any, feel free to try with other characters you have or with other Tributes yet to be introduced! Till District 8, folks!