District One

Wolfgang Othello Kelar, 18.

The training academy is empty besides the youngest two Kelar children and their mother. Wolf sits with his back to the wall, watching his mother coaching his younger sister Vinnie as he tries to catch his breath, winded a little from the exercise he'd just done.

Vinnie's eyes are narrowed and face screwed up as she strikes the dummy again and again with her sword in a frenzy of attacks, and Wolf wrinkles his nose when he thinks about her entering the games. Their mom says that she shows the most promise and Vinnie echoes that, proclaiming herself as a psychopath. Wolf doesn't exactly think that it's something to be proud of, and he doesn't even believe it—not that he'll ever voice that opinion—but it'll make the Games interesting he guesses. See how she'll fare when she's not in the academy.

She joins him when she finishes, flopping down beside him and grabbing the water bottle from his hands without even asking. He doesn't bother reprimanding her though however much it annoys him.

"You're so lucky," she pouts eventually, eyes on their mom who was putting away the weapons they'd been practicing with. "I can't wait to volunteer."

"You'll get your turn," Wolf says, taking the bottle from her when she holds it out to him. "In three years."

She groans, letting her head fall back onto the wall behind them. "Well. If mom doesn't hurry up we'll both miss our chances."

Wolf glances at his watch, confused. "We have four hours to get ready," he says. "And you're only fifteen. Mom's not going to ta—"

"I was joking, Wolf," Vinnie snaps, rolling her eyes. "Of course she's not going to take three years."

They settle into an awkward silence, Wolf not able to come up with a rebuttal. He knows he's not good at identifying jokes, and Vinnie knows that too so he doesn't understand why she had to snap at him. She's an angry kid, he thinks, but maybe that's part of her psychopathic act. He keeps his eyes downcast, on edge of the practice mats, until Vinnie gets up and storms out, apparently excited to get home.

It's another ten minutes before Wolf and his mom leave, walking side by side through the district. Wolf is itching to get back and play his violin, something that's been part of his morning routine for years, but his mom is walking so slowly that he doesn't know how much time he's going to actually be able to play for.

"Are you excited?" His mom asks as they near the house. Wolf shrugs. "You're not going to do what Blush did, are you?"

"No."

"Good," his mom smiles. "I want at least one victor out of you kids and since Blush didn't take her chance, although I guess her engagement makes up for that, and Mosaic..." she trails off. Died, Wolf fills in the missing word mentally, since Mosaic died in training. "Well since Mosaic can't compete, it falls down to you and Vin—"

"I can do it," Wolf says. "I've planned it all out. I know what I need to do."

There's something akin to pride in his mom's eyes when he glances at her, and she claps him on the back. He doesn't know how to react to that, or what to say, so he just keeps his gaze forward and the silence that falls between them isn't awkward like the one in the training academy earlier.

When they get back the shower is running and Blush is sitting in the living room. Wolf greets her, and the mayor's son, her fiancé, before he heads up to his room. He'd been hoping that Vinnie was in the bathroom when he got back, cracking open his violin case. His mom will be fussing all over him once he's dressed, and so having a few moments to spare before he has to start getting ready means that he's free to play.

His mom and dad are downstairs with Blush, Vinnie's in the shower and so he's free to do what he wants.

As the music fills the air, Wolf starts to feel less on edge. His muscles relax, his eyes close, and his breathing evens out. It's just him and his violin; the downstairs chatter filters out, the sound of the water hitting the floor of the shower filters out, Vinnie's loud and off key singing filters out, and it's just Wolf and his violin. Just how he likes it.

He stops playing when Vinnie pounds on his door, yelling that it's his turn in the shower, and he puts it away. He'll miss it when he's in the arena, but when he gets back he'll have all of the time in the world to play.

Wolf showers, gets dressed, and prepares for what's going to happen this afternoon. He practices how he'll say that he'll volunteer, practices what tone he'll say his name in. He counted last year that there were seventeen steps between the stage and the eighteen-year-old-section, so he keeps that in the back of his head too.

When the horn rings out, Wolf is more than ready.

Martini Briefroz, 15.

"You'd better stop that, Rummy," Martini hisses, cheeks red as her brother screams and pounds his fists against the floor of the bakery. She knows that others are watching them, and she regrets telling her father that she could do this alone. "I'm being serious. Get up! We need to go home."

The boy doesn't listen, his cries only getting louder and louder. Martini groans. thanking the baker for the loaf of bread currently tucked into her backpack, bending down to prise her brother from the floor. He kicks and screams, scratching at her hands and arms as she carries him outside where they receive more and more judgemental looks from other citizens.

"You're such a spoiled brat," Martini huffs as Rummy scratches hard enough to draw blood. She puts him down, seizing his wrist. "Come on."

He stares at her, eyes filled with tears and bottom lip pouting. He'd stopped screaming for now, evidently realising that Martini was reaching the end of her tether with him. Martini feels somewhat relieved, although it's short lived because the boy stomps his foot and points back to the bakery.

"Go get the cake," he demands. Using his free hand to point back towards the bakery. "I want it."

"Well I want to go home," Martini says. "Besides, father didn't give us enough money. Maybe you can get it next time."

That sets her brother off again. Martini considers just leaving him there, just walking home without the demon in tow, but she eventually scoops him into her arms and starts to walk home. She won't take him out again, that's for sure. Not alone anyway. Her father is a lot better at dealing with him than Martini is.

Rummy screams all the way home, and ends up scratching her more than once. Martini isn't overly concerned; she's never liked the 'perfect and ditzy' angle that a lot of girl play from her district. She's a fighter, she's smart, and she shouldn't need to dumb that down just to get sponsors. She can pretend that the scratches are from training or something.

When she gets home, she puts him down, where he continues to wail, and kicks off her shoes, walking through to where her father is sat in the kitchen. She takes the loaf of bread from her backpack and hands it to him.

"Why's Rummy crying?" He asks.

"He wanted cake," Martini rolls her eyes. "I said no. So he started pitching a fit in the middle of the bakery, still hasn't stopped. Scratched me to all hell. You need to do something about it; he's only doing it because he can get away with it."

"You're too harsh on him sometimes," her father sighs as he starts to slice the bread. Martini huffs, crossing her arms. "He's five, kiddo. That's what five-year-olds do. Can you finish this for me? I'll go sort him out."

His wailing was still echoing through the house. Martini nods, pressing her lips into a thin line; there was no point in arguing, she'd tried before. Besides, Rummy will have to listen to her when she returns from the Games. They'll be living in her house, using her money to buy their food. He'll have to start respecting her then.

In the two minutes that it takes for her to finish slicing the bread, her father has somehow placated her younger brother, carrying him into the kitchen where he sits him at the table.

"Do you want to go get ready?" Her fathers asks, hand on her shoulder. "It's a big day."

The last part is said with a smile, and he pulls her into a hug before she heads upstairs and showers, changing into a black long sleeves shirt and a pair of shorts given to her by the academy.

Taking a few minutes to dry her hair, she heads downstairs where her father and Rummy are sat waiting for her to join them. She takes her seat and digs into the French toast. It's divine, and the trip down to the bakery might have been worth it if it hadn't been for Rummy's tantrum. Looking at him now, syrup on his chin and laughing at their father's jokes, its almost impossible to believe that he's the same kid who roars and screams when he doesn't get his way.

There's even been a few times that Martini has had to defend herself from him using force, although her father hates it when she dies that, and Martini has to say that she's interested in what he'll be like when he can redirect his anger into training. A fearsome tribute if there ever was one.

Then she pictures him throwing a fit in the arena, and the corners of her lips quirk up.

She might not be as fearsome as he turns out to be, or even as fearsome as the male tribute this year, but she's talented and that's all that matters.

She washes up after breakfast, when her father and Rummy disappear to get ready. The horn rings out and they join her downstairs, heading to the square with their chins up and confidence that she'll come back home.

Wolfgang Othello Kelar, 18.

Wolf gets to the square earlier that most. He says goodbye to his family, thanking them for the wishes of good luck, and heads to get his finger pricked. Once thats done he heads to the eighteen-year-old section, standing by the aisle.

There's a few people already there who look at him a bit weirdly when he doesn't join them at the other end of the section, but he needs to be as close to the aisle as possible. It adds two more steps onto the seventeen already, and that's all he needs.

He's aware that he hasn't been chosen to volunteer, but someone has, and he needs to beat them. He needs to grab this opportunity and he needs to come home victorious. For his mom. For himself. For Mosaic who should have been last years' victor.

The square slowly fills up and Wolf is able to keep his position by the aisle. In less that twenty minutes the section is filled, and the escort appears on stage alongside their mentors and the mayor. Having the speech and the video memorised from the many Reapings he'd been forced to attend, he tunes out until the escort moves towards the bowls.

The girls name is picked, but the girl has barely moved from her section when another girl is yelling that she volunteers. The tribute, dressed in clothes that, in Wolf's opinion aren't really suited for a Reaping (the other girls are mostly wearing dresses after all), announces that her name is Martini Briefroz.

Then it's Wolf's turn. He clenches his fists when the boy's name is called. He doesn't even stop to see who it is before he's taking those two steps into the aisle, hand raised high as he shouts the practiced words. Then he's taking the seventeen steps to the stage, the six steps, and four more strides to reach the escort. Being in front of the crowd is nerve-wracking, but he tries not to think too much of it as he holds out his hand to shake Martini's, then he's ushered through into the Justice Building to say his goodbyes.

The first in is Blush, congratulating him in doing what she could never stomach. She hugs him, tells him that she's proud of him, and then she leaves. Wolf hugs her back, but he doesn't quite know how to respond to her compliments.

His mom, dad and Vinnie pile in next. His mom pulls him into a bone crushing hug, rambling about how proud she is of him. Like Blush, but worse. He thanks her, thanks his dad and even Vinnie gives him a hug.

"I can't wait to be mentored by you," she says.

"That's providing our male tribute doesn't win in the three years between our games," Wolf says and Vinnie rolls her eyes again. "Which could happ—"

"I know," she says softly. "But it would be cool if you could mentor me."

"Yeah," Wolf nods with a small smile. The peacekeepers open the door. "I'll see you guys in a few weeks."

He sits back down on the couch, ready for the Games to be over and done with already.

Martini Briefroz, 15.

Yeah. Martini definitely isn't as fearsome as the male tribute this year. She doesn't let that bother her though; the man had guts, volunteering when he wasn't picked by the academy. She'd seen the face of the supposed to be volunteer in the crowd. He'd been eighteen. Now there was no chance in going into the Games.

Still, that wasn't what was important. The important thing now was that she was in the games. She was representing the Briefroz family. She takes a seat on the velvet couch, waiting for her father and Rummy to appear and say goodbye.

They do eventually, her father out of breath.

"Rummy was having a funny five minutes," he says. Martini looks at the toddler in his arms, cheeks streaked with tears. She can't hate him, but she's almost glad that she won't have to put up with him when she's in the arena.

But her father palms the kid off on her for a minute, and he nestles against her neck, thumb in his mouth. He's definitely too old to be doing that, but Martini doesn't bother saying anything.

"We're proud of you, kiddo," her father says. Rummy nods against her shoulder. "Do us proud out there, okay?"

"I will," Martini says, chin up again. Rummy slips off of her lap and stands next to their dad. "You don't have to worry about that."

"I know you will," her father nods. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a necklace. "I had this made for you." He hands it to her.

"It's beautiful," she whispers, looking at the peridot stone, the small diamonds spelling out her name and the wine glass charm. She hands it back to him, pulling her hair over her shoulder before turning around so that he can clip it around her neck. "Thank you so much."

They hug a final time and then he leaves with a final kiss on the top of her head. Martini curls her hand around the necklace, the metal cool against her hand.

She'd miss her father in the arena but it was fine; she'd be home in a couple of weeks.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed!