So! Normally, of course, District 3 would follow District 2. But, because of annoying laptops, *glares pointedly at laptop* I can't download the document on which I had started writing the D3 reapings. And since I was traveling and had spotty wifi, I didn't figure that out until today. That's why there's been no more updates. I apologize, though, and I promise that updates will be much quicker from here on.

I will also be posting the tribute list, so you can follow things.

So, D4 reapings~

District Four: Caristonia Lucien

I wake up to the cries of the early morning seagulls circling around the beach where Edge and I had decided to stay for the night. The ancient-looking log of driftwood provided shelter from the wind, and I'll take the warm sand of the beach over a dirty street anyday.

I carefully stand up, not wanting to wake Edge. He's not related to me in any way, but I consider him my brother. He's all the family I've had for the past thirteen years.

The sea breeze whips my hair into a tangled mess behind me as I gaze out into the sea. It's beautiful today, blue-green like my eyes, the waves crashing against the beach. I can see a few fishing boats bobbing in the surf.

Sparkling, breathtaking, and deadly.

The sea took my parents thirteen years ago. They were fishermen, like so many other District Four adults. I was four when it happened. They were out at sea in their little boat when a sudden squall came on. No one could take a boat out to rescue them, and by the time the storm cleared, their boat was gone, taking my parents with it.

I had been relocated to the community home, but I detested the matrons and the sad faces of the other children. I couldn't stand it. So one day, I slipped out and took to the streets. I went around, asking people if they knew where my parents were. I remember their faces: they all smiled and shook their heads, pitying me. They would direct me to the community home, and I would run off again.

Then I met Edge. He was only ten, then, but he took me in. He was homeless, just like I was. He showed me how to fish for food, how to avoid adults, lest you risk being marched off by Peacekeepers to the Home. He became my family.

I walk along the surf, letting the waves wash the sand from my feet. Gradually, I wade in, shivering as the freezing water washes over me. I scrub the sand off myself and brush my curly red hair with my fingers. I can't see my reflection in the tumbling water, but I can only hope that I look semi presentable for the reapings.

The reapings. The Games. They are only two words each, but they chill my heart. How could someone be so cruel as to do this, let alone reinstate it after we thought they were gone for good. It's like giving someone a false hope. It is giving people a false hope.

And now it's gone.

Finished with my 'bath,' I walk out of the ocean, clothes dripping wet. Normally, I wouldn't mind, and I would let the sun dry my clothes while I wore them, but I can't do that today. The reapings are in the morning in District Four, so I have to break out my only other pair of clothes.

It's nice enough, Edge bought it for me as a birthday present when I was twelve. He got it from a secondhand shop, and it was much too large for me then, but I've grown into it so it fits me perfectly now. It's a white sundress, faded and patched in some places, but it's better than my regular t-shirt and sweatpants.

Ducking behind a rock, I change into the sundress. My feet are bare.

Once I'm done changing, I walk over to Edge.

"Edge. Hey, Edge, it's time to wake up."

He opens his eyes blearily. "Hey, Christie."

"Edge, you have to wake up. It's the reapings."

His mind is obviously still muddled by sleep, because he protests, "I'm twenty-three. I don't have to go to the reapings anymore."

"Edge, I have to go."

He sits up straight, suddenly awake. His eyes turn a steely gray. "Yeah. They started the reapings again."

"It's going to start in a half hour. You have to get ready."

He staggered to his feet. "Right." he stood up and brushed the sand off himself and rubbed the sand out of his hair. He now looks mildly presentable, but his hair is standing up straight with sand and salt. I laugh and smooth it down.

He grins. "Sometimes I feel like you're taking care of me, not the other way around."

I blush. "You take care of me. I'm just returning the favor, that's all."

He smooths out his clothes a bit. "Come on. I know the reapings are in a half hour, but we can get there early, right?"

"Yep."

We walk off the beach and onto the streets. The cobblestones are uncomfortable on my bare feet, but I've walked barefoot for so long, callouses have built up and I hardly feel the pebbles.

The stage has been erected and they are beginning to drape it with blue, green, and purple ribbons to represent the sea. The escort is running around in earnest, but he's not really doing anything. His hair is lime green and spiked up in a mohawk that looks like it makes up at least half of his height.

A couple stage hands are erecting the microphone onto the stage, while another one is struggling erecting the stairs that lead up to the stage.

"I'm going to run over and help them with the stairs, okay?"

"Okay, just stay where I can see you."

I look at him slightly reproachfully. "Okay, but I can take care of myself, you know. I'm seventeen, after all."

He mock-glares at me. "Fine."

I rush over to the helper. "Do you need any help with those stairs?"

He looks over at me. "If you could just straighten that bar at the side, do you see it?"

I nodded.

"Just press that in so it's straight. Otherwise, the stairs will collapse."

I wriggled my hand into the opening and pressed it down while he held the stairs in place. I can hear tumblers falling into place, and the stairs shudder slightly as they straighten out.

He relaxes. "That's good. Thanks for your help, girl. What's your name?"

"Christie. You?"

"Morant."

I hold out my hand. "Nice to meet you, Morant."

He shakes it. "You too."

A Peacekeeper calls for him to get back to work. Morant scowls slightly, but he comes over to help with the white cloth that will cover the stage.

I follow him.

He glances over his shoulder. "Do I have a shadow?" he asks in a teasing voice.

"I guess. I'm here early and have nothing better to do, so I figured I'd lend a hand."

He smiles. "Thanks, Christie. I appriciate the help."

For the next half hour, I follow Morant around, doing odd jobs, from painting the stage District Four's designated sea foam green to helping the escort find his hair spray.

When the crowds start to flood in, I say goodbye to Morant. He wishes me luck and we part ways.

I check in with a Peacekeeper, then head to the Seventeens section. Some of the girls shy away from me: they recognize me as the homeless girl. I ignore them, although their words do sting.

Mayor Clarae mounts the stage, her black hair, streaked with gray, held back in a tight bun. In a stiff voice, she reads the now slightly-changed Treaty of Treason.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," she finishes.

She exits the stage and the green-haired escort mounts the stage. There are a few giggles about his hair from the younger kids, and even more once he starts talking.

"!"

I could barely understand him. I had seen him running around all day, but I didn't think that he would be as fast-paced as his walking, if you could call it walking.

"Okaylet''sHungerGames!"

Raldy scampered over to the girl's reaping ball. My breath caught in my throat. I had taken out tesserae for Edge and I. I didn't know the exact number of slips, but I knew it was many more than the other girls in our District.

"Ladiesfirst!"

His hand dipped in and out of the bowl so quickly, that if I blinked, I would have missed it.

"CARISTONIALUCIEN!"

My breath catches in my throat, and I feel the color drain from my face. Was that really the name he just called? I must have heard him wrong.

"Caristonia? Canyoucomeuphere?"

I stumble up to the stage. Raldy looks pleased.

"OhIknowyou! Youfoundmyhairspray!"

I blush and duck my head. Maybe some hairspray-loving Capitolians will sponsor me...?

Wait. If there's a volunteer, I don't have to go into the Games! I'll be safe!

I cross my fingers. Please, let there be a volunteer!

"? Anyone? Novolunteers? Okay! Let'!"

There was hardly a pause at all between the sentences. Barely any time for a volunteer to step up. But if there had been a volunteer, they would have.

My heart sank.

I can't believe it.

I'm going into the Hunger Games.

But if I'm going in, I'm going in as myself.

"Can I say something?"

"Sureokay!"

I grab the microphone. "My name is Christie Lucien. Never Caristonia."

District Four: Shadow Lipinskii

The escort is insane looking and has a peppy attitude to match, as usual. He has a stranger hairstyle than most, and I must give him credit for uniqueness to some extent for that. But other than that, he's pretty much the normal, detestable Capitolian.

"Ladiesfirst!" he pipes.

My shoulders stiffen. Please, not her. Please, anyone but her...

He picks a name.

"CARISTONIALUCIEN!"

I relax. It's not her. Now all I have to worry about is myself.

The escort keeps calling the poor girl's name.

Finally, I see a movement from the other side, the girl's side, of the Seventeen's girl must be coming up to the stage, finally.

She walks up, and I look up boredly.

I freeze.

It is her.

It's Christie, standing up there on that stage. That killer stage. Christie.

All I can think is that I never knew that her full name was Caristonia.

"? Anyone?"

Volunteers. Please, someone, volunteer for Christie. Please.

"Novolunteers? Okay! Let'!"

No. My Christie can't be going into the Games. Those cold, ruthless Games...it would crush a girl like her.

Kill a girl like her.

"Nowit'stimefortheboys!"

The boy...maybe I could tell him, whoever it is, how important she is to me. How he has to protect her.

"FROSTNOMEIN!"

A boy with blonde hair climbs up to the stage. Probably where he got his name.

I look him over. Would he protect Christie?

Would I, if asked, protect a girl with my life, just because her boyfriend asked me?

I knew the answer.

I raise my hand into the air.

"I VOLUNTEER!"

Frost steps down from the stage and I hurry up. Christie's eyes widen slightly. I think she recognizes me.

"Andwhatmightyournamebe?"

"Shadow. Shadow Lipinskii."

"Well,!"

The crowd applauds, but it sounds fake.

All I can think is that I will protect her with my life.

I can do, I will do, what Frost never could.

I will make sure Christie is the victor.

District Four: Caristonia Lucien

Edge is my first visitor, as I expected. In fact, I expect him to be my only visitor.

He rushes over to me, and I can see him crying. I'm shocked. Even when he was ten, living on his own, I have never seen him cry.

He cries silently for a little while. I sit there, shocked, and I can feel tears starting to form in my own eyes. I blink rapidly.

"Christie..." he says, a little clogged up. "I can't...I don't...how do I say this..."

I wrap my arms around his neck reassuringly.

"It's okay, Edge. I'll be okay, don't you worry."

"No, Christie." he pulls back angrily. "What if you don't come back? Christie..." fresh tears bloom in his eyes, "What if you...die?"

I swallow hard. "Let's not think about that, okay? And if I do...don't worry about me. I'll be fine..."

Edge is still crying. "Christie, I love you. You've always felt like the sister I never had." he sniffles a little. "I was going to give this to you for your birthday, but I had it made early."

He presses something into my hand. I look at it, and tears start rolling down my cheeks. I can't help it.

It's a silver locket. It must have cost a fortune. It's beautiful, absolutley beautiful. Gleaming silver, with a complex twisting engraving on the front.

"Open it," he says quietly.

I do. I recognize the picture on the inside, and I bury my face in Edge's shoulder and cry.

The picture is the only one we have ever taken together. The only time we have our pictures taken is in school. To save money, the District Four school takes family pictures, so they can use less paper and less ink. Edge and I were only together in school for one year, so there was only one picture we ever took together. We both look much younger than we do now: Edge is eighteen, and I am twelve. I never knew that he bought a copy.

"Oh, Edge," I sob. "Thank you so much."

"Only the best for my Christie," he replies, which makes me cry even more.

We sit there, crying into each other's shoulders. It's quiet and comforting, in a way.

The Peacekeeper signals that it's time to leave.

Edge gets up, his eyes red. "Goodbye, Christie. I love you."

"I love you too, Edge."

It's hard to see him go, because I know that that picture of him, red-eyed and crying, might be the last time I'll ever see him.

After he leaves, I sit on the couch and try to regain my composure. I doubt I'll have any more visitors, but I want to look strong for the cameras.

But lo and behold, the door opens, and another person comes in.

It's Morant. I look up at him, surprised he cared enough to come and visit me.

"Hey, Christie."

"Hey, Morant."

We sit in silence for awhile, acutely aware that we are really strangers, for the most part.

"I want you to know that I'll be rooting for you, all the way."

This simple phrase, the simple act of kindness of him coming here, nearly makes me cry again.

"Thank you, Morant. Thanks so much. You have no idea how much this means to me."

He smiles, but there's sorrow lurking behind it.

"You know," he said, "before the rebellion started, I had a daughter who went into the Games." he smiled sadly. "She was so confident. She thought she would win. I thought she would, too. I encouraged her. And then, a boy from seven came out as victor."

I was surprised. You didn't really think about the familes of the losers. You think about how sad they must be, but you don't think about who they are. Who they might be.

Morant looked a little awkward. "Anyway. I guess that's not very confidence inspiring, but..." he smiled sheepishly.

"It's okay. I understand what you were trying to get across."

He nodded. "Good." he stood up to leave.

"Good luck, Christie."

"Thanks, Morant."

He left the tent.

No one else came to visit.

When the escort came to hurry us to the train, I didn't do anything. Didn't acknowledge the boy whose life I'd once saved. Didn't look up from the ground.

Didn't show the cameras my tear-streaked face.

Well, I think that was a pretty good chapter! R&R! Reviews are always lovely~