The Reaping days always confused him. He usually followed a strict schedule: wake up at the crack of dawn and head out to sea to go diving for fish for a few hours, come back home, attend school, study, play some guitar, go back out into the ocean, and then sleep. It was a rather set schedule that required no difficulty to follow. Even on weekends, where there was no school, he had his own schedule to follow.

On the Reaping day, however, working was prohibited, at least for the morning. Thus, he found himself with nothing and too much to do.

Always early to rise, he stared out his bedroom window. His calloused fingers gently touched the pendant of his necklace: a shark tooth, its edges jagged.

He could see the ocean from here.

He was floating on the pool, facing the windowed ceiling, when his father appeared.

"Mason," he said, looking at his apparently dormant son with curiosity. "The Reaping's going to be soon, isn't it?"

"It's not until a few hours," Mason replied flatly, flipping his hands in the water to maintain leverage. He sunk one hand under the surface and brought it up, observing the water drip from his fingertips and back into the pool.

"Is Tiffany going to be here?" he asked.

Mason glanced at him. "Maybe. She has her own family, after all."

"Maybe you should visit her instead," his father suggested.

Mason contemplated it. "We're right here by the city square, though," he said slowly. "It'd make more sense for her to come here instead. I'll give her a call and see if she's available."

"If you say so," his father replied. "Go and get ready soon. I want you to be in prime condition during the Reaping."

"Do you know who the volunteer this year will be?" Mason asked.

"No. According to rumors the male dropped out when the female was forced to abandon her position as this year's volunteer. It's a bit disgraceful, in my opinion-many people share the same notion, too-but what has happened has happened. It seems like District 4 will only have tributes this year, not volunteers."

Mason thought about this as his father walked away. No volunteers. He was used to watching the Games and rooting for the volunteers of his district, as they were extremely likely to win. Nothing like the scum from the other districts, yes? But this year they would be no one to root for... I can always support one of the other districts, he reminded himself, but that didn't seem to have any fun in it. The point of the Games was to support your District and that alone. There was no reason to do that if your District was sure to not win.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and dunked his head under the water.

A couple hours later, freshly showered and his hair dampened to a dark brown, Mason sat in his room. A guitar sat on his lap. His fingertips, already calloused from years of rope, tridents, and hooks, sat over the sharp strings. He began to pluck at the strings, allowing a soft tune to glide through the room.

It was, however, interrupted by an abrupt twang as a hand flew out of seemingly nowhere and smacked itself on Mason's back. He jumped.

"Garret!"

"Yo Shark," Garret replied, grinning at his friend. "Your hair's still wet? Tiffany's gonna go nuts if you let it dry like that on the Reaping day."

"It looks fine when it dries by itself," Mason said quietly, reaching up with a hand and patting down his hair nonetheless. "When did you get here?"

"I snuck in through the backyard. Of course your dog found me, but hey it already knew me so I was fine."

"If we ever get robbed, you're going to be the main suspect," Mason replied.

Garret put a hand over his heart in mock shock. "Are you actually saying you would throw me, your best pal, into jail?"

"Only if the circumstances make it so that I have to," Mason replied. "Besides, I'm not going to be a Peacekeeper. Drake would do it, not me."

"Hearing that your brother would arrest me instead makes me feel so much better," Garret replied jokingly, rolling his eyes and patting his friend on the shoulder. "Well, unless you're going to strum away, let's get something to eat. I'm starved."

"You couldn't have the decency to eat something before coming here?" Mason asked.

"Of course not. Your place has the best food."

Lunch was pasta doused in a creamy shrimp sauce and anchovy salad with lemon vinegar dressing, courtesy of the Sharp Chef. They ate while chatting, gossiping about the tributes this year.

"You watched any of the Reapings?" Garret asked.

"Nope. How are they?"

"District 3 are goners of course, but District 1 and 2? They're not bad-not bad at all. District 2's volunteer looks superbly young-"

Mason raised his eyebrows at this.

"-but their male looks like a winner. Have to say the same for District 1 though. The female looked insane-she was Reaped, but according to rumors she was going to volunteer anyway. Talk about fate, huh?"

"Yeah.. Fate," Mason replied, twirling the noodles of his meal into a neat bundle.

The doorbell rang then. A minute or so later the Sharp butler came in, guiding Tiffany. Mason and Garret both smiled at her.

"Caught us while we were eating, Tiff," Garret said.

"You look nice," Mason commented. It was true; she was in a teal dress that stopped above her knees and matching sandals that strung around her ankles. It suited her well.

Tiffany, meanwhile, was staring at them both. "You're not dressed!"

"Oh, crap, you're right. Oops," Garret said, staring at his own t-shirt and shorts. "Of course I left all my clothes at home-dude, gotta scram."

"Of course you do," Mason replied. "Dress up nicely."

"And you, wear some shoes," Garret said before dashing away from the dining room, the Sharp butler skirting after him.

Mason stood up, patting his mouth with a napkin before walking to Tiffany. She smiled at him and threw her arms around his neck, closing the space between them. "Nice to see you."

"And you," he replied, kissing her briefly. "Sorry if that tasted like shrimp. I need get ready."

"That you do. I thought you would've been prepared by now," Tiffany replied. "It's alright; I brought a book to bring my company. Go and make yourself look handsome-and dry your hair properly for once."

"Alright," he replied, smiling softly.

It didn't take him long to get dressed up in a neat suit and to style his hair back. He went downstairs. Tiffany sat in a beach chair and looked up from her book when she saw him. Her blue eyes immediately went down to his shoes. She frowned.

"You're wearing socks to the Reaping?"

"I'm sure there's a pair of shoes somewhere out at the front," Mason simply replied, holding out his hand for her. She took it and rose it, neatly bookmarking her novel and placing it inside her purse. They drifted to the door, where Mason took a pair of dress shoes, and then walked out.

"It's so nice that you live literally in front of the city square," Tiffany commented as they skirted around a couple buildings. There, in front of them past some palm trees, was the city square, already crowded with plenty of people. He nodded.

They went together, holding hands, to the blood registration. He waved to Tiffany, giving her a final depart kiss, before walking to the fourteen year old section. Garret was already there.

"You tell me to remember to wear shoes, but here you are with an incomplete tie," Mason commented, eying the cloth with distaste.

Garret snorted. "What can I say? I hate this sort of stuff."

"If you get chosen you're going to look like a ruffian," Mason replied.

"As if that's going to happen. The chances of me getting in are near minimum," Garret replied.

They both knew this to be true, and instead focused to the stage. There was Mason's father, reading the Capitol's decree.

"Don't you ever get embarrassed seeing your father up there?" Garret whispered.

"No," Mason simply replied. "I'm used to it."

The mayor finished his speech, and they watched Terra choose the female victor.

"Wow, she's young," Garret noted as she stepped up onto the stage. They, like the rest of the crowd, waited expectantly for a volunteer. Silence only greeted them, though, and they stared as she waved at the crowd.

"She must be a Career or she wouldn't have that sort of confidence," Garret snorted. Mason nodded, eying the girl. She definitely had a muscular build, though it was hidden by the youthfulness of her dress.

Terra dipped a hand into the male tribute bowl. After a few moments of swishing the slips of paper, she carefully drew one out and called a name.

To the surprise and-admittedly, horror-of the district, twelve-year-old boy stepped up on the stage.

It was easy to tell what District 4 was thinking:

A twelve year old boy could never win the Games!

He wasn't thinking. If there was a puppeteer in the sky, he had definitely cast his string down on Mason's hand and lifted it when Terra asked for volunteers.

Garret stared at him, his mouth open in surprise. Mason blinked, staring at his own hand, and blankly went out to the stage.

It only dawned on him what he had truly done when he shook the girl's hand. She stared at him with a bit of confusion-he realized, with a grit of his teeth, that she was taller than him, too.

What was I thinking?

"I'm surprised," Mr. Sharp said, looking at his son with confused eyes. "You're only fourteen. What possessed you to do such a thing?"

Mrs. Sharp and Blake, their older son, sat down on elegant couches. Blake held a conch shell in his hand, observing it minutely.

"I don't know," Mason replied, truthfully. "I thought for a second-that-District 4 would be humiliated."

"That's truthful thinking," Mr. Sharp replied thoughtfully. "There were rumors that no one would volunteer, and if a twelve year old-no doubt a destitute-were put in we would be the laughing stock of Panem."

"Didn't it occur to you, though, that another seventeen year old or sixteen year old might volunteer instead?" Mrs. Sharp inquired.

"Not really," Mason replied. "I wasn't thinking."

They stared at his son, unsure whether to be concerned or proud or both. Blake finally stood up, sighing and checking the elegant clock that hung at the wall.

"We're running out of time," he said. "Shark, you have your necklace?"

"It's not a necklace," Mason muttered, but his hand dipped beneath his dress shirt and pulled out the shark tooth.

Blake nodded. "If you didn't have that, I would have seriously doubted you. But you know what? You actually have a chance."

Mason smiled a little. Blake held out his fist for his little brother, and they bumped their knuckles together.

Some Peacekeepers came and hoarded them out (Blake greeting them casually) before Garret stepped into the room.

"You're crazy, Shark," was the first thing he said as he plopped down on a sofa. He took a pillow, squishing it between his hands and then throwing it at his friend. Mason caught it quickly. "I have no fishing partner now! You willingly decided to throw yourself in a pit of killing kids."

"Well, I'm technically one myself," Mason said with a shrug.

"You never killed anyone," Garret replied.

"I killed things."

Mason glanced down at the shark tooth and narrowed his eyes. "You're gonna get more than a shark bite down there, Mason."

Mason didn't reply, and Garret finally patted him on his shoulder. "Whatever, dude. Try to get out."

"I know."

Garret left, and Tiffany soon replaced him. She closed the door quietly behind her and stood with her back against it, looking down. Mason stared at her, and suddenly the guilt that he had been oppressing filled him. He stood up.

"Tiffan-"

"We're over," she replied quietly, looking up and smiling at him. "Unless you come back."

Mason's outstretched hand fell, but he smiled quietly at her. "Understood."

She walked up to him and kissed him, gently, before suddenly slapping him. "I just felt like I had to do that," she commented, brushing off her palms. He held his stinging cheek and grinned at his now ex-girlfriend.

"I guess I deserved that."

"That you did," she replied.

Author's Note: Yeah, he's only fourteen years old

Here's a quick update as an apology for taking so long with Cordelia. Hopefully I'll be able to post another one or two chapters this weekend.