A/N

After taking a temporary break from our tributes with a lengthy catch-up with our subplot characters, we are somewhat returning to our tributes, though in a slightly different form. The reapings are here! As mentioned earlier, this will be a different approach to ones I've made in the past and I hope you all enjoy the varying perspectives of our twelve fabulous mentors!

My apologies for the day delay; I am British and it was sunny, therefore I decided to consume alcohol during the day time :)

Cascade Nepeta, Mentor for District One

The sun had only reached the halfway point in its curve across the clear, summer sky and already Cascade was ready for it to be over. In fact, she was ready for the next month to be over.

Returning to her home district had been harder than she had anticipated; a typhoon of conflicting emotions tore up the fragilities of her mind as she grappled for a grip on herself. The reminder of the life she used to live was raw; as the crowds celebrated her return as their precious Victor, Cascade found herself unwelcoming of the attention and affection. Once upon a time she had adored a life basking in a false glory, but Cascade had come far since then to the point where she no longer recognised the girl the people cheered for.

Perhaps one of the most difficult parts about returning to District One was making the inevitable visit to her family's manor. The Nepetas had been aware that Cascade had made it out of the Capitol alive following Aurelia's assassination, courtesy of the letters Farley would arrange to be delivered in secret. But the words she would write never told of the true life she had been living; nor did it tell of what Cascade had felt inside.

Having spent the previous night in her childhood home, Cascade had been served with a cold dish of reality. It quickly became apparent why she'd never wished to visit them before. Of course, they adored meeting Linden, and fussed over him as though he were a king. The moment Linden was out of earshot, however, they scalded Cascade for having kept their grandchild's existence a secret from them, to which Cascade had nonchalantly shrugged in response.

Cascade had told her parents that Linden's father was Farley; that had always been the plan in order to protect him from the consequences of being the President's son. Mr and Mrs Nepeta had easily believed the lie, and seemed quite pleased about it, until they later learned that there was no love between the two of them, with that instead being shared with Aella.

All in all, Cascade was glad it was a flying visit, even if her next destination would be the Capitol.

The Reaping, being the first in a few years, was an even grander event than usual. Whilst the majority of people seemed to enjoy the festivities, Cascade remained sombre; her enthusiasm for the Games having died down many years prior.

Though, in order to show a strong appearance for her son, Cascade smiled throughout and did her best to show even a shred of enjoyment as the newly revamped Capitol film was played and the crucial point drew nearer.

And then it arrived.

Hina, the new escort and Queenie's replacement, lapped up her moment to shine as she twirled across the stage, dipping her jewel-covered hand into the reaping bowl which had been encrusted with diamonds across the rim.

It did not matter which name left her pouting lips as a clear, well-spoken voice called the two expected words, I volunteer.

The girl who was now following the steps of Cascade and Sapphire walked with a confident, though not arrogant, stride as she swept her way towards the stage. Dressed immaculately in a straight black dress with a white blouse underneath, matched with heeled Maryjane shoes and frilled socks that stopped just above her dainty ankles, the volunteer smiled brightly as she nodded towards the cameras.

Peach Bellini. She was beautiful in a very perfect way, Cascade noticed, and whilst she did not reek of hubristic tendencies, she did command authority. A small nuance from her predecessors, but was it enough?

The second volunteer, unlike his district partner, seemed much further from those who had come before him. Whilst he spoke loudly enough to express his intentions, there was a sombre look on his face as his initial smile vanished merely seconds after it had appeared. Taking to the stage, the boy spoke his name quietly, before walking straight up to Peach and sliding his hand between her fingers. At that point, Cascade noticed that Beau's outfit somewhat matched Peach's, with a frilled blouse and dark jeans, and his hair carefully curled. It became clear that the two of them were more than just fellow trainees; even without saying any words, they conveyed a solidarity to be admired.

As Hina excitedly confirmed their names, bringing the ceremony to an end, both Peach and Beau turned to face each other. In perfect synchronisation they embraced each other; a clear sign to not just District One, but to the whole of Panem, that they were in this together.

It was as if they didn't even know that both of them wouldn't walk out of the arena the way they walked into it.

Farley Mir, Mentor for District Two

Farley walked out of the Justice Building in a different way in which he had walked into it several years ago.

To Panem he was a different person, born anew amidst blood and smoke in a world shaken by corruption and chaos, but to Farley he was still the same as he had always been. The only difference was he was no longer wearing a mask.

The freedom he felt with the relief that he wouldn't have to play the part of the idiot fuckboy was invigorating as Farley showed his true nature to the masses of District Two. The previous act had been a defence mechanism, protecting both himself and his family from the suffocating clutches of the Capitol. Farley had always been aware of the altercations Victors found themselves in, how the Capitol would exploit them for whatever purpose they desired, and he had chosen to do all that he could to avoid losing his own identity. And so the fuckboy Farley had been born. Few people sought to control a boy who seemed to be enjoying the Capitol lifestyle a little too much. Girls, booze, parties; whatever it was the Capitol wanted to see, Farley had shown them.

And it had worked, for the most part. His family was never threatened, his life never endangered. He was just dumb Farley Mir, who had won his Games by luck alone.

Taking in a deep breath, the air a lot muggier than it was out in the mountains outside the central district, Farley smiled warmly towards the masses of people gathered around the Justice Building before taking his seat beside the Mayor.

Throughout the years during the Games' suspension, Farley had built a better reputation for himself, making it a lot easier to keep his mask discarded as the cameras swung past him. Though whilst he was pleased that he no longer had to act the fool, he wasn't convinced that his return to the Capitol and the Games was the right decision. It was an uneasy alliance between himself, Cascade, Aella and Ivo, but it was an alliance all the same and what was that famous saying? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

But was Ivo Castellanos his enemy?

The main event soon arrived, with Farley having been clued in by one of the trainers from the Academy as to the expected volunteers. Supposedly the Academy's selected female volunteer had pulled out from the Games less than weeks before the reaping due to injury, and so one of the trainers themselves had stepped forward. Riddle Robello; the name wasn't familiar to Farley, but he had known many trainers and trainees in the past that it was difficult to remember them all. If she was a trainer, then perhaps she had a little more edge than the trainees and could pose a significant threat to the other tributes.

True to their word, the first name was called and a stoic looking girl volunteered, matching the description provided by her colleague to Farley. With a hardened expression on her face, Riddle appeared entirely unbothered by her actions, walking up to the stage with a casual effortless that warned the rest of the world away.

After announcing her name without so much as a flicker of emotion, Riddle remained stern as she stared out into the crowd, awaiting her fellow tribute to join her upon the infamous stage.

He came, soon after. However, there appeared to be a moment of confusion as two boys spoke at once; and it soon transpired that one was from the Academy, whilst the other was a shadow to the district.

But it was the shadow who overcame his competitor, reaching the stage with a quickened pace, taking advantage of the element of surprise to surpass his competition. Like Riddle, the male volunteer kept a firm look on his face as he approached the stage. A loose shirt brushed against the ink that covered his skin, and his sturdy boots hit the steps solidly as he jogged up to join Riddle.

"Ragnar Hellstorm," he announced himself clearly, holding his head high.

Ragnar then shook Riddle's hand firmly, her returning his handshake with just as much strength as he had put into it. Farley raised his eyebrows as the two of them turned their attention away from each other, before heading into the Justice Building behind them.

A formidable pair, they appeared to the naked eye. But what lay beyond their stony stares, Farley wondered to himself as he followed quietly behind.

Linus Abberley, Mentor for District Three

What lay beyond the emotionless faces that stood before the Justice Building, Linus Abberley wondered as he sat quietly to himself as the reaping rolled on.

Fear, there was a lot of fear behind their eyes. As well as anger, and resentment. All very valid responses to the return of the Hunger Games.

Linus was far from pleased at their return, despite an increase in payment from the Capitol for acting as mentor once again. What was money to him now? He had more than he needed; more than he'd ever need. It was as useless to him as a handful of air.

Was it worth it, doing all that he had done in the arena? Was life really worth the price he had paid for it?

He was doubtful.

As he looked sympathetically upon the faces of the young teenagers who awaited their fate, Linus found his mind cast back to five years ago. He thought about Serenity Calloway, a girl who despite her fragilities, remained true to herself to the very end. She seemed not to fear death, but to accept it, even as the blade was held against her throat. Linus was always affected by the deaths of his mentees, but Serenity's memory had lingered with him for the longest. Perhaps it was because five years had passed without anyone else taking her place, or perhaps it was more than that?

Linus remembered Tseng Sinclair too. An enigma of a young person; the sketchy figure had turned out to be the leader of a murderous cult, much to Linus' horror. The eye of the eagle sees all. Did the eagle see Linus now?

Jaw clenched, fingers held together tightly, Linus watched as the first tribute was reaped. A girl by the name of Sayuri Novem was handed her death warrant.

There was a silence across the crowd as they awaited Sayuri's presence. Judging by the directions of the turned heads, Linus spotted the unfortunate soul in the middle of a row, stood beside a girl of similar features. A sister or a cousin, perhaps.

The girl beside her seemed upset as she whispered in Sayuri's ear, giving her a quick hug before Sayuri began the dreaded walk up to the stage. Sayuri composed herself as she placed one foot in front of the other, pushing her glasses up her face as the lights bounced off the reflective surfaces. She remained quiet, but held herself well as she turned to face the second reaping bowl.

Matthew Kwon was the second name chosen.

A tall boy from the furthest corner of the group slowly emerged. He walked with a strong posture; his well-structured shoulders holding his frame with integrity, distracting from his unruly clenched fists which rested by his sides.

At the top of the stairs, Matthew brushed a strand of hair that had fallen across his forehead with a precise, clean movement, before nodding silently to Sayuri, but refusing to shake her hand.

As the reaping concluded, Sayuri and Matthew were escorted into the Justice Building. Linus followed after them, watching as they were both taken into separate rooms.

At a temporary loss, Linus found himself collapsing into a chair in the corridor, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of fatigue. He allowed his eyelids to close for a moment, his fingers pressed against his throbbing temples, but they were soon drawn open by the sound of crashing.

Lifting his head, Linus followed the sound with his eyes, falling upon a set of double doors where he had seen Matthew being taken. The doors were slightly ajar, and as Linus leant to the side for a better angle, he caught the sight of Matthew, a chair in his hand as he brought it crashing through a glass table.

Promptly rising from his seat, Linus walked away, listening as the sound of angst faded into a tolerable, painless quiet.

Risa Delmare, Mentor for District Four

It was anything but quiet in Risa's head.

Endless thoughts crashed like waves against rocks, over and over without remorse. Memories, like a current pulling her back towards her past, the grip on her ankles never ceasing to release her. Worries of the future dawning on the horizon, waiting for her to drift just far enough away from the safety of the land.

But this time, there was a boat, and a hand reaching out towards her to pull her on-board.

Garcia.

His presence was a much needed comfort as Risa wrestled with the pressures that were mounting upon her. The crowd that stood on the other side of the large, double doors were waiting for her, eagerly, with high expectations Risa was unsure she could reach. One may have said that she'd had plenty of time to practise, but in fact the absence of the Games had only made her mentor debut even harder. Believing she could have lived the rest of her life without returning to a world she wished to leave behind had been but a temporary break, one that ended far too soon. Though, she supposed it was more than other Victors had been gifted, so could she really be so dissatisfied?

"You've got this," Garcia said with encouragement, wrapping his arms around Risa's body and pulling her into one of his signature warm hugs. Where the embraces they had shared during the years of their friendship had been welcoming, there was a noticeable shift in them now. It was only the slightest of changes, a nuance, but it meant so much more.

Taking a final deep breath, remnants of the night before still gently clinging to his scent, Risa pulled away.

"I'm ready," she said, finally, hearing the low sound of the Capitol anthem beginning to play as Indira would undoubtedly be enjoying her time back in the spotlight. "Thank you, Garcia."

Garcia smiled warmly. "Nothing to thank me for. Hey, I'll just be standing at the side of the stage. I'm always with you, remember?"

"I wish you could come with me to the Capitol," said Risa with a small sigh. "It would make it all a lot more bearable."

"It will only be a few weeks," Garcia reassured her. "And you'll have Indira with you, and Aella is mentoring for Twelve now so she'll be there too."

Risa smiled a small smile; she had missed her mentor, despite her viscious tongue and lack of manners. It would be a comfort to see her again after she had left District Four to be with Cascade some years ago. They had kept in touch via letters, and Risa had continued to send her books, but a reunion wouldn't go amiss.

As the doors were opened, and a Peacekeeper gestured for Risa to take to the stage, she planted a gentle kiss on Garcia's lips before straightening the seashell necklace that rested upon her collarbone and walking out into the open.

It was impossible to dispel the flashbacks as the reaping commenced, but with frequent glances towards Garcia, whose golden glow kept her grounded, Risa was able to remain politely composed as Indira moved to select the first name.

"Marina Psaras," Indira spoke with clarity, though it was clear that she was not expecting to see Miss Psaras take to the stage.

However, as silence fell upon the people, Indira looked anxiously across the rows of faces.

"Any volunteers?" she asked, the charm in her voice strained as she tried to conceal her disappointment.

Risa frowned to herself, wondering whether Circe Sirona had changed her mind at the final moment. Being her closest trainer, Garcia had already informed Risa of the young girl's intentions on volunteering. Though as the seconds passed slowly, it seemed as though her intentions had been washed away.

Just as Marina Psaras resigned herself to believing she would actually have to face the arena, taking a small step from the fourteen year old block, a thin hand rose from the back of the crowd.

No words were spoken as a tall, thin-framed girl slowly approached the stage. She moved like a ghost, drifting between spaces, her feet barely seeming to disturb the grains of sand that dusted the cobbles. As she climbed the stairs with caution, Risa caught her eyes for just a moment, though the glazed hue that curtained across her irises showed that she did not see Risa. She did not see anyone; blind not in fact but in feeling.

"Oh wonderful," Indira seemed visibly relieved to have had a volunteer, despite her haunted appearance. "And you must be…?"

The girl took a few moments to process the question being asked, before finally responding.

"Circe Sirona."

Clapping her hands, Indira congratulated Circe before turning to the second reaping bowl.

As a name was read out, and Indira asked if there were any volunteers to join Circe, there was a far shorter wait for a response.

"Oooh me! It's me, I volunteer!"

Risa caught the arch in Indira's eyebrow as a small commotion rippled at the back of the crowd. Brushing the other boys aside in a brash, but uncontrolled, waft of their hands, the second volunteer shook their head, swishing their dark, waved hair out behind them. Pink sunglasses covered half of their face as they paraded towards the stage, their narrow hips wiggling from side to side as though the pathway were in fact a catwalk.

The stairs, however, posed an obstacle as the clearly intoxicated volunteer struggled to place their heeled boots onto the flat surface, nearly toppling over. Miraculously, they managed to keep themselves upright as they trotted across the stage, their hot pink ensemble drawing reams of attention.

Bemused, Indira walked towards them, microphone in hand, but the moment she took a step forwards, they raised a finger as though to make an important announcement. However, as they opened their mouth to speak, all that was released was a brief I, before their body, rigid like a tree, fell forwards, toppling off the edge of the stage.

A small gasp left Circe's lips as she rushed down the stairs towards the pink heap. Not knowing what to do, Indira asked if anyone knew the identity of the now unconscious person lying at the front of the stage.

Circe whispered, not loud enough for Risa or the rest of the district to hear. Charging down the steps and thrusting the microphone to Circe's lips, Indira asked her to repeat herself.

"Cephus Sirona," she choked. "My twin…"

At that point, Risa knew that she had her work cut out for her. Being a mentor would be even harder than she'd expected.

Charron Macnair, Mentor for District Five

Life was harder than Charron had expected.

But death was even harder.

Possessed by the sights he had seen, Charron Macnair was but a shadow of a former being. Though no matter how devilish his visions were, he could never quite pull the trigger.

He couldn't even claim that his fear of violence, even towards himself, was a sign of strength; a sign that he believed in living. No, he was anything but strong. He was weak.

Weak little Charron Macnair.

It had taken half a bottle of whiskey to raise him from his bed, and another few mouthfuls to get him to the reapings. His housemaid had dressed him as smartly as she could, but on the way to the Justice Building Charron had been startled by a sound he immediately thought was a gunshot and had spilt a large splash of amber liquid over his white shirt. His jacket had been fastened to hide it, but it was far too hot as Charron sat at the back of the stage, tugging uncomfortably at the sleeves that bound him.

The heat was unbearable. The sun was relentless as ever, but today in particular it had chosen to scorn the district –to scorn Charron especially. It knew he was weak, having kept himself confined to the walls of his home in the Victors Village for the last five years, terrified to step outside into the unknown. But now he was there, exposed, and the sun had seen him, and it was telling him that it knew that he knew that it knew…

A dizziness washed over Charron as he pulled his lolling head from his shoulder, nausea gathering in the back of his throat.

Was it over yet?

He blinked in the sun, a flash of an image forming across the inside of his eyelids as he did so. Startled, he gasped, his eyes flying open to escape the sight.

He looked down at his sweaty palms.

Blood. Her blood stained his hand. And brains. Her brains in tiny clumps stuck to his skin.

Turning to the side, Charron vomited off the edge of the stage.

Eudora's death was the main root of his troubles. Seeing her shot dead right in front of him, having her brain matter splatter across him when she had been the closest thing he had to a friend; it was unbearable. In the chaos that had followed, Charron had been convinced of his own death, seeing Dagmar Drysdell plunge a shard of glass into an escort's throat was the last thing he could remember before the shock that gripped his body then numbed his mind.

He could not escape it.

"And our first tribute for the eighty-seventh Games is…" the escort's voice pierced through Charron's eardrums. It was too loud, too scratchy. "Aida Jones!"

The silence was greatly welcomed as the district waited for Aida to take her place. Taking the opportunity to rest his head in his hands, when Charron looked back up he saw that the girl had graced the stage. With red hair, with a touch of gold as the sun shone down on her, Aida stood perfectly still beside the escort. After straightening himself up, Charron's eyes drifted towards the rows of teenagers.

And there she was again. Stood in the centre of the crowd, Aida appeared to have teleported.

Confused, Charron looked back to the stage, where Aida had returned.

The fuck…Charron rubbed his eyes, wondering if perhaps he was suffering with the early symptoms of sunstroke. He decided he would have a nap the moment he reached the train.

"Now for our boy," the reaping continued on, despite Charron's desperation for it to be over. "Phoenix Cameron!"

Through squinted eyes, Charron watched the boy approach the stage slowly. Dark curls fell across his forehead as he tried his best to make a good impression, but it was clear that the lad was visibly uncomfortable as he climbed the stairs towards Aida and the escort.

There were cries heard from the crowd, or was it just in Charron's head? He had no fucking idea. He just glad that the reapings were over so he could get out of the sun.

Daphne le Fay, Mentor for District Six

Daphne looked forward to the moment the reapings were over. Having sat through many of them (more than she cared to admit), she could still never adjust herself to the misery the day brought.

Her own fateful reaping was but a distant memory in her mind, but she had not entirely forgotten the feeling of awaiting your own execution, and the looks on the faces of the children of District Six were enough for her to relive her youth year after year.

"Oh shit," the mayor of the district swore under her breath, patting her pockets in a panic as the time ticked by.

"Everything ok, ma'am?" asked Daphne politely, approaching the figure of authority.

The mayor shook her head. "I've misplaced my broach and this jacket looks too plain without one. It's my first Reaping as mayor and I cannot even dress myself accordingly. Perhaps my husband was right, politics is not suited to me."

Shaking her head, Daphne tutted. "Do not listen to your husband. He is a man, and therefore he is incapable of telling the truth. Here, you may have my broach."

Unfastening her golden broach from her own jacket, Daphne handed it to the mayor, who looked towards her with immense gratitude.

"Are you sure?" she asked, to which Daphne nodded. "Oh you are an absolute gem, Mrs le Fay."

"Miss," Daphne corrected her, but politely. "I have no place in my life for men any longer."

The mayor chuckled. "You know, I'm tempted to follow you with that one."

Daphne was all too prepared to begin a speech about the imperfections of the opposite gender, but the cue for the start of the ceremony cut their conversation short. With an encouraging nod from Daphne, the mayor gracefully walked onto the stage in front of the Justice Building, with Daphne not far behind her.

At once, Daphne was met with the familiar atmosphere one could only attribute to Reaping Day. It was a sad, sad time, but she had always suspected that the Games would return. Panem without the Hunger Games was just an alternate reality that they had only been so lucky as to touch for a short time.

And so it began. The usual speeches introduced the ceremony, followed by the new Capitol film which, though better than its predecessor, was still dreadfully distasteful. President Castellanos had clearly tried very hard to display himself as the beginning of a new generation of Presidents, but he lacked the grace and integrity that Aurelia had held so well. It was a great shame to have lost such a promising woman, and an even greater shame to have handed the reigns back to the incompetency of the male species.

"Firstly, let us find out who are female tribute this year will be," said Armani with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, though it was obvious that even as a Capitolite, she wasn't so keen on sending children to their deaths. Daphne suspected that she only remained as an escort due to their friendship.

"Moonshine le Gris!"

There was an instant cry from the crowd, but not from the chosen tribute herself. Likely a family member, Daphne suspected.

Though in the momentary distraction, Daphne caught out of the corner of her eye a shuffle in the crowd as a small girl darted towards the exit, ducking under a rope and making a dash for the nearest side street. Unfortunately, the young girl tripped, and was soon caught by two Peacekeepers, who escorted her firmly to the stage.

As Moonshine stood with her arms angrily crossed in front of her chest, Daphne noticed just how young she looked. She couldn't have been older than thirteen, though she possessed enough spite to raise a challenge, it seemed.

Once Moonshine was secure, Armani moved onto the second bowl. Reaching in, she plucked out a slip of paper and read the name aloud.

"Harrison Bentley!"

There was a sigh from the crowd as a boy accepted his fate, dragging his feet towards the stage, leaving small dust clouds in his trail. But before he could reach the stairs, there was a call from further behind him.

"I v-volunteer!"

A wave of gasps bounced around the crowd as the unexpected volunteer made himself known. A boy of fair height strode forwards, with chocolate brown hair plastered to his sun-grazed forehead and a white, grease stained vest clinging to his defined torso.

The boy was quite obviously drunk by the way he staggered towards the stage, grinning and waving to the cameras in a dramatic fashion. Using his hands to help his navigate his way up the stairs, the volunteer crashed into Armani as she asked his name, an exasperated look on her face.

"Mmmm," the boy slurred into the microphone. "M-my name, isssss…"

He wrapped his hands around the microphone, as if would stable his stance. In surprise, Armani pulled her hands back, wiping them delicately on the bottom of her dress.

"Accel Hayessssss," the boy finally managed to get out.

"And may I ask why you volunteered, Accel?" asked Armani with curiosity, trying to regain control of the reaping.

The boy smirked, still clutching onto the microphone.

"Because I ain't no bitch."

Daphne rubbed her temples in disappointment, then covered her face with a weary hand as Accel saluted the crowd before promptly passing out, landing on Armani's toes who squealed in surprise.

As Armani struggled to free her feet, Daphne let out an exasperated noise, unable to remain quiet at the mess before her.

Peyton Tolwood, Mentor for District Seven

The centre of District Seven was quiet, as it usually was. Being cocooned by mother nature's barricade was enough to suffocate out the disturbances of the outside world; the districts and city which reeked of unpleasant smells, and noise. Lots and lots of noise.

Peyton Tolwood despised noise.

Noise reminded him that people existed, and he wasn't a fan of those either. Judgemental, nasty little creatures who always poked their nose into business which did not concern them. Why bother continuing to populate the planet with them when they would only take, take, take, and never give? Peyton for sure had no intentions of spawning more clones to replace the ones that withered and died. Panem needed fewer humans, not more of them.

There were a rather large number of humans stood in front of the Justice Building, where Peyton himself was sat on a chair with his hands folded neatly into his lap. They appeared nervous, as to be expected. Two of them would be sent to their deaths in a matter of minutes, which Peyton supposed would not be normally viewed as a pleasant experience.

Nonetheless, he raised no qualms as he sat through the Capitol propaganda; which had been considerably revamped since before the Games' hiatus. It was still dreadfully exaggerated and cinematically-driven, but what else would be expected from the mediocrities of the sel- proclaimed 'elite'?

Despite the changes in viewing displeasures, the process remained the same. A pompously dressed Capitolite dramatically plucked a slip of paper from one bowl, and then another. People would gasp, cry and embrace. Then the unfortunate souls would be shipped off in a train and Peyton would have to endure their angst until they were tossed into an arena to die.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

The first tribute to be beckoned from the crowd was a girl with an unusual name, Peyton thought. Olivette Beauchene. It sounded rather exotic, had he not seen the bare, saddened face of a sixteen year old girl move out from the crowds slowly, but with an air of grace about her. Young Olivette appeared to be rather popular as a few smaller children in the front rows of the crowd broke tears down their faces as their glazed eyes followed her as she walked to the stage. As she passed the front rows, Olivette passed her hand to one, giving their hand a gentle squeeze as she tried to conceal her own emotions behind a small, but commendable smile. She did a respectable job of holding herself together, which Peyton was relieved with as it could be exhausting when they cried as he could offer not even the slightest shred of comfort.

As Olivette took her place on the stage, just a few steps in front of Peyton, the second name was selected; Cameron Alcatraz.

Unlike his partner, Cameron did not manage to keep a lid on his inner anguish. Erupting in a fit of panic, tears flowing freely down his pale cheeks, the boy remained with his feet firmly planted to the spot, like the old roots of an oak tree. Unmoveable. Or at least until a Peacekeeper approached him, having easily noticed which body the name belonged to, and promptly began to escort him to the stage.

Rather interestingly, as far as the whole tragic debacle could entertain Peyton, the boy attempted to send a small fist into the crotch of the Peacekeeper. It was quite expectedly met with the solid surface of the blue uniform, and did absolutely nothing to deter the guard from dragging his frightened body to the stage, but it was a surprising occurrence nonetheless.

Side by side, Olivette Beauchene and Cameron Alcatraz engaged in a desperate glance, before Olivette slid her hand between the trembling fingers of the sobbing boy. A sweet gesture, but a hopeless one. The sweet ones never survived; not even the physically capable ones like Piken Halbrik and Hesmina Caspum who had fallen at the final hurdle. Emotions were like a virus, and if a Career with a serrated blade didn't kill you, untamed emotions surely would.

And so, the cycle began once again.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Barnabas Absworth, Mentor for District Eight

Reapings were horridly repetitive, Barnabas Absworth thought to himself as he closed his old ears to the sound of the Capitol anthem. Despite all of his years living through reaping after reaping, having been unable to turn a blind eye to the whole gruesome affair due to his Victor title, Reaping Day had never really changed. Whereas Barnabas' skin had creased and dried, and his hair had turned from brown to grey, the reapings had remained largely the same.

It was all a bit of a dull and sombre occasion, which was unsurprising, and Barnabas' mood reflected such.

He had been enjoying what he deemed to be his retirement for the better part of ten years; made up of the years of suspended Games, before which came the handful of years when he was finally able to hand over his mentorship to a younger Victor.

Ah, young Dagmar Drysdell. Perhaps not Barnabas' ideal choice for an apprentice, though the girl had put a temporary pause in District Eight's poor record for victory which could hardly be complained at. The main problem was, of course, her instability. Whilst Barnabas had tried his hardest to keep her on the right track and protect her from the traumas that haunted her, he had ultimately failed. Shortly after the assassination of President Aurelia Snow during the eighty-sixth Games, Dagmar had snapped, killing the escort from District One and landing herself in a prison cell. Despite all assurances, Dagmar had been a resourceful girl, managing to end her own life in a final act of defiance.

It was a shame, Barnabas thought. A waste of a young life who had fought so hard to live, but he supposed, from time to time, the demons were victorious.

But now Barnabas' retirement had come to an end and he was yet again faced with being entrusted with the lives of two teenagers. A fact which brought little joy to his extended life.

Angora Winchester was the selected female tribute for the eighty-seventh Games. A respectively tall girl emerged from the back of the crowd, walking towards the stage with a grace that slightly lingered, as though she were inviting the crowd to follow her every move. A white blouse, pulled tightly across her breasts tucked neatly into a black skirt of questionable length, which in turn brushed across the suspenders at the top of her thighs.

Turning his head to the side, Barnabas placed his eyes elsewhere, though he knew many of the other on-lookers would not follow his lead. Hearing a playful giggle between Angora and the escort, it seemed as though the young girl was already playing to her natural strengths. A smart move, Barnabas considered, and one which may help her to gain sponsors. But he had seen a lot in his years, and whilst Angora Winchester would please the greedy eyes of the Capitol, she would need a lot more than a pretty face to survive the arena.

Shortly following, Aldo Giotti was the chosen male tribute from the cursed district. A small boy with a young face walked to the stage slowly, with an eerie silence hung around him. He appeared meek and withdrawn, like a lamb put out to slaughter. No doubt would the sympathy come flooding in from the masses.

However, Barnabas had been in the game for a long time, and he had seen it all before. Despite his withering body, his mind was still sharp and as he watched the young boy take his place beside Angora, Barnabas caught the subtlest flicker in the boy's narrowed eyes. A flicker alone was not much to go by, but it was enough to convince Barnabas that there was perhaps more to Aldo than met the eye.

He wondered what fate had in store for District Eight.

Ajax Straume, Mentor for District Nine

In an ironic twist of fate, the sound of the Capitol anthem smoothly passing through his ear canals was relieving. It was as though the sun was shining through a dark cloud of depression that had hung around Ajax Straume's head for five years, breaking apart the dense masses and allowing him to see clearly once again.

It wasn't that Ajax enjoyed the sport of children killing children, and he did harbour a handful of unpleasant memories from his own time in the arena; but with the return of the Games also came the return of his purpose.

What was a mentor without mentees?

He was nothing. A forgotten name, no longer heard from the lips of those who did not know him, but knew of him. A figurehead, a celebrity. Whatever label you wanted to slap on it, Ajax would be happy to take. As long as he had something, and could be a someone again.

The hole left by the suspended Games had been felt most strongly in District Nine. Like a bullet wound, Ajax had found himself watching in misery as his homeland had quite literally burnt before his eyes. He had tried to help, of course, but as time passed people stopped noticing his good deeds and he could have been any Tom, Dick or Harry with a spare few coins and a helping hand.

But he wasn't a Tom, a Dick, or a Harry. He was Ajax Straume, Victor of the seventy-seventh Hunger Games.

And who would he be able to impart his wisdom upon next?

"Cathredite Zhuang."

Ajax's eager eyes fell upon the crowd, skimming across the relieved faces of those who had escaped another year of the reaping bowl. His gaze soon settled on a girl from the back of the crowd, obviously on the upper end of the age range, who had released a small sigh judging by the drop in her shoulders as she stepped out of line.

What struck Ajax about Cathredite first was her outfit. The summer heat was intense in District Nine, yet the girl was dressed head to toe in dark colours, with an ankle length skirt and long sleeves edging just below her wrists. As she stepped gracefully onto the stage, Ajax realised that her outfit was in fact a uniform. A religious one at that. She must have come from the small convent near the outskirts of town; her name then seeming appropriately matched in retrospect.

With a sinking feeling, Ajax resigned himself to believing that Cathredite was dead before she even walked off the stage. He had heard of the soft nature of the nuns, and he was certain that one of their guiding principles was that all life was precious, which of course was the exact opposite motivation necessary to survive the arena.

With desperate optimism, Ajax waited for the male tribute to be selected.

Anri Astellin, a well-dressed and impeccably presented young man took to the stage with a delicate posture. His back fully straightened, his shoulders relaxed and his head facing forward, with his chin angled at just a few degrees towards the relentless sun; Anri politely thanked the escort for her hospitality before nodding courteously towards Cathredite.

Ajax wasn't quite sure what to make of Anri, but he supposed he had a whole train journey to find out.

Whether or not Cathredite and Anri performed well was a matter of second regard. At least Ajax Straume's face was back in the spotlight once again.

Abner Fronsac, Mentor for District Ten

Abner squinted as the solid beam from a loose spotlight passed his eyes, succumbing him to near-blindness for a fleeting moment. District Ten was one of the more rural of the districts, and although not a stranger to machinery, the citizens had never quite managed to capture the essence of showmanship that some of the wealthier districts could.

Not that the Reapings were much of a show anyway. Nothing much was a show to Abner, not even the Capitol. At first, as fresh meat after his Victory, the lavish lifestyle of the Capitolites was an utter delight; far from the muddied fields and straw coated pathways of home. But after a while, the smell of perfumes and elixirs became nauseating and the smell of horse shit became increasingly more appealing.

Abner did not miss the Capitol, nor was he particularly enthused to be returning after five years of absence. Though, he supposed it could be pleasant to engage with his old acquaintances, such as Ajax Straume and Elpis Velez, who always kept the debate alive. He supposed perhaps he did miss a good debate, and a Capitol cocktail or two he wouldn't turn his nose up at.

But before the social element of the Games could be enjoyed, he had to sit through the first Reaping in five years. So he sat back in his chair, wincing as he heard it creak beneath his weight, and waited to see whose names would be plucked from the glass bowls of imminent doom.

The first name to be chosen, the female as per tradition, was Lunete Vinter.

A small murmuring rippled through the crowd as faces turned towards the centre of the town square. Abner too found himself leaning forwards in his seat, his eyes casting across the stage to where the mayor of the district, Brigid Vinter, clutched her hands into fists so tight that her knuckles flushed white. It was not too long ago that the mayor's eldest daughter had been murdered, and now her youngest had been selected to enter an arena where the odds were anything but in her favour.

The death of one child must be soul destroying, though a woman as tough as Brigid Vinter had managed to see the other side of an otherwise very dark, and very long, tunnel. But the death of another? That was surely enough to bring even the strongest of people to their knees.

Managing to keep herself restrained, the mayor watched as her daughter was escorted to the stage by two Peacekeepers. Abner, as a father himself, could not imagine the strength it would have taken not to have rushed to Lunete's trembling body to comfort her, but Brigid was a woman of appearance if nothing else.

As Lunete stood at the front of the stage, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, a slip of paper was pulled from the second bowl.

"Martin Dale."

As the crowds began to shuffle once again, a clear and steady voice sounded from the back of the cluster of boys.

"I volunteer."

Abner's eyebrows instantly rose up his forehead as he watched a young man, with hair as dark as a raven, walk confidently towards the stage. With a wiry frame, angular jaw and nimble hands that hung loosely by his side, the boy appeared to be just on the wrong side of perfect. It was as though every factor about him stretched that little too far, like the way in which his eyes, though a calming shade of green, scanned the faces of others as though they were a potential meal.

Abner found himself sinking back into his seat, an uncomfortable feeling growing as the dark figure placed careful feet on each stair. The boy seemed unrelated to the name who had been called, so his reasons for volunteering were as much in the dark as the aura that engulfed him.

Asking his name, the escort even seemed a little on edge as they held the microphone towards the boy's lips.

"Valak Vatican," he said simply, but with a touch of sweetness to his tone.

Valak Vatican and Lunete Vinter; a contrasting pair if ever there were, Abner thought silently to himself.

A wolf, and a deer in the headlights.

Hunting season was upon Panem once again.

Elpis Velez, Mentor for District Eleven

They were just like prey, the teenagers of District Eleven. For a handful of years they had found sanctuary, left to live their lives as they were meant to. Tend to the crops, organise the harvest, arrange the shipping of produce. They were a simple people, if left to their own design, but they were also a fierce people. And now that the predators were back, ready to pick off their young, the tension was mounting

Elpis Velez could feel it as she took her place at the back of the stage; choosing not to sit but rather to stand. Why take a pedestal when all she had done was survive? There was no greater honour bestowed upon her for taking the lives of others so that she may live, no matter what the Capitol crowned her as.

A Victor? There was no victory in a battle that she had not wanted to fight.

With the stone building behind her, Elpis's eyes wandered aimlessly across the rows of worried faces that gathered helplessly in front of the Justice Building.

Justice was an ill-fitting name, Elpis thought to herself bitterly. There was no justice served here, only injustices which would never be redeemed. Aurelia Snow had once offered an opportunity to plant the seeds of hope on the rich soils of the district, but the wheel of misfortune never stopped and yet another hope had been trodden beneath heavy soles.

The atmosphere was heavy as the newly-made Capitol film was played. A reminder of the many young lives that had been lost in the name of Capitol entertainment weighed heavily on the minds of those who stood before Elpis. As it also weighed on her mind too; the memory of her most recent mentees, Pumpkin Plantseed and Camryn Trumon, who had both fallen during the opening of the eighty-sixth Games. Elpis had known before the Games had launched that the young tributes would not survive, though that did not make watching them die any easier. Elpis had simply mastered the art of concealing her own emotions; it was easier that way.

With a small sigh, Elpis stood in silence as the first slip was selected from the reaping bowl.

"Anise Montague."

A non-traditional name for a girl from District Eleven, Elpis was curious to see the face behind the name.

What she did see, was far more than just a face.

A deep blue dress, a shade which oozed wealth, clung to the curvaceous figure of an older girl who made her way carefully towards the stage. The bottom of the dress billowed behind her like a cloak, despite there being little wind in the humid summer air, as beaded lengths of what appeared to be sapphires swished to and fro from her neckline down her spine, stopping just shy of her hips.

The first reaction was silence, as stunned faces watched Anise Montague climb the stairs, a flash of one of her slender legs catching eyes as it extended out from the large slit that rose up the front of the dress. After the silence, came the whispers.

Who is she? Where did she get that dress from?

Questions that would be answered at some point, no doubt. But Anise Montague seemed to have no words to appease the curiosities as she stood beside the escort with a glazed expression on her face, distant.

The chatterings soon turned to silence again, as the second name was chosen.

"Logan Brightberd."

A tall, well-built boy accepted his fate as he walked out from one of the furthest rows. From a distance could have been perceived as threatening, but as he climbed onto the stage, Elpis noticed a softness to his large, dark eyes.

Logan appeared saddened, but somewhat relaxed as he nodded to himself. Elpis wondered whether he had younger siblings, or friends, and he was relieved that they had not been reaped. It brought an ache to her own heart as she was reminded of her own district partner, who too shared a similar compassion in his eyes. When she closed her eyes, sometimes Elpis would see his kind face as he stood between her and a sword.

He had given his life so that Elpis could live. And with that life, Elpis did what she could.

Aella Castro, Mentor for District Twelve

Aella Castro could do anything she put her mind to.

Well, almost anything. And that almost was what niggled at her as she breathed in the dusty air of District Twelve.

Always maintaining a frosty exterior, Aella had built her walls from steel, and had built them high. To the world she was impenetrable; unaffected by mockeries, by typical human weaknesses. Never batting an eyelid, she took on the world head-on and to hell with the consequences. If she made up her mind on something, there was no changing it. She was set in her ways, and if someone challenged her, then they learnt to regret it.

And yet, Aella felt as though there were cracks beginning to form.

Insecurities had never existed in her mind; they were trivial, unnecessary distractions. But now they had manifested, and Aella had no idea how to deal with them. She couldn't shout at them, force them to back down; nor could she fight them, cutting them to ground. No attack could even scratch the anxieties that had made their home in the forefront of her mind, and she was helpless to defend herself.

Was that what love did to a person? If so, then Aella no longer wanted it.

But despite her defiance, Aella's love for Cascade could not so easily be abandoned. It was inescapable, and for all the weaknesses that came with it, it was also everything.

Damn you, Cascade, Aella cursed in her mind as she made her way towards the Justice Building. The two of them had not made amends following their clash over Ivo Castellanos. But Aella would not let the devil in a suit ruin what she and Cascade had; and so she vowed to do something she had never done before when they reached the Capitol.

Aella Castro would apologise.

The thought of speaking the word sorry left a bitter taste on her tongue, but not quite as bitter as the foul taste of the smoke-polluted air of the mining district. Aella had been to District Twelve twice before; the first time during her own Victory Tour, and the second alongside Risa Delmare. It was just as miserable on her third visit, and she found herself wondering why Scout missed it so much.

The sullen faces of the citizens of Twelve seemed to regard Aella with hostility as Tula informed them of her position as mentor. Perhaps it was due to her link with Risa, who was believed to have killed both of the tributes from Twelve in the previous Games? Aella had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from shouting out the truth about Scout, her natural instinct to defend itching to make itself known. But she resisted, and said nothing as she took her place to the side of the stage and waited for the tributes to be reaped.

Velaris Axar was the first name spoken by Tula, and a stillness clung to the crowd. After a few moments, there was a small shuffle of movement as a few girls nudged another, who stood in shock and dismay. Assuming her to be Velaris, Aella's eyes remained on the girl as she eventually began to leave the crowd, just in time before there was any intervention by the many Peacekeepers who scattered themselves around the area.

As Velaris walked to the stage, dressed in a black dress which seemed nicer than the standard of clothing which hung to the frames of most of the other teenagers, murmurs began to pass from person to person. It seemed that Velaris Axar's name was known, though of course Aella had little knowledge about anyone from the District, other than Scout and the pieces she had heard about his sister. Judging by her clothing, perhaps Velaris was from an established family, and with poverty being ripe in the coal mining district, she guessed that there weren't many of those. Whomever Velaris was, there was nothing she could do to escape what lay before her now.

It was peculiar, Aella felt, as she had been so used to attending reapings in Four where the majority of tributes were volunteers like herself. It was grounding, in a way, to see the other side of the coin.

"Kazimir Ilyushin," Tula's monotone voice spoke into the echoing microphone.

A silent figure made his way through the crowds, almost unnoticeable had it not been for the angry shouts of another, who chased behind him.

Slinging out words of profanity, the second boy was restrained by a pair of Peacekeepers, who held him back as he stared in helpless defiance at Kazimir, who had not so much as blinked in response. Remaining silent and emotionless, Kazimir took his place beside Tula, his eyes firmly set in a downwards stare.

As the two tributes were taken into the Justice Building behind, Aella took one more heavy breath, taking a final look at the dreary scene before her, before heading inside after them.

There was a noticeable difference to these Games already, Aella thought to herself, and they hadn't even reached the Capitol.

A/N

And there we have our reapings for all of our tributes! What were your thoughts about each reaping; were there any surprises? Anything else that can give you an insight into what we can expect from our tributes? And what about the mentors; what did you think about them?

A shorter a/n from me here (thank goodness, I always talk far too much), but I'd love to hear your thoughts about both the reapings and your expectations for the rest of pregames!

A special shoutout to Miri for doing such an amazing job with catching up this week! I appreciate your kind words and enthusiasm so much!

The poll is continuing on my profile if you haven't yet voted, so plenty of time still to cast your vote! Also, if you have a little check up on the blog, you may notice there is a new addition...

amaskofshadows .weebly .com

Next time we will be delving straight into pregames, kicking things off with train rides! I am away for a few days this week, so I may post the chapter a little late, just as a heads up! Have a fabulous week my lovelies!

Until next time!

Firefly