A/N: Finally, here we are! District 1's Reaping! Never thought you'd ever see that, did you? "Finally we've made it to District 1!" Hahaha!

So, I have to apologize for taking so long to get this up. I don't have a computer at home, so I have to time it to when I can get to my parents' place and use theirs. I also have work (Boo!), so I've been forcing myself to write at least two pages in my little notebook every night, even when I really wanna go to bed, lol. I'm going to continue to do this, and try to get a new chapter up at least every Friday, but I apologize in advance if I miss that deadline. Sorry!

Also, please be on the lookout for typos, and tell me if you find one. I am terrible at these, and my fingers really seem to like to type things out of order whenever possible. I try, but I can't always catch every one of them, so I'd appreciate your help in fixing those!

Anyway, on with the story, and thank you so much for reading!


Royal Valterrus, District 1

They only let me take twenty. So, out of literally thousands of slips, my name is only in twenty-seven times. Why didn't I plan for this? Why haven't I been taking out tesserae for years? I shake my head as if I can shake the negative thoughts right out of it. I can't lose faith, not yet. There's still a chance. That's why I'm here, in the square at five in the morning in my pressed white dress shirt and black dress pants, shoes polished and buffed to a stunning mirror-like gloss. Anything I can do to impress the Fates or God or whatever it is that makes this decision. As I look around the empty square slowly filling with the morning's light, I can't help but say a silent prayer.

Please, whoever you are. I need this. Please choose me. Please pull my name.

I don't know how successful my desperate pleading with the unnamed masters of luck will be, but I don't know what else to do at this point. Everything I am depends on our escort saying my name this afternoon.

Please pick me…


Daenin Touk, District 1

Well, here I am again, picking up my father after a night at the Illyminati's. And on the morning of the Reaping, no less! You'd think that, especially on a monumental year like this where there's a real chance I might get reaped, my father would choose to spend the night before with his only child. But of course, the drunken idiot would rather spend even more of our hard-earned money that we really can't spare whoring it up with some of District One's more infamous prostitutes.

I sigh as I knock on the door, hoping that it will be anyone other than Luara that answers it. Don't get me wrong, Luara is a great friend and I like her well enough (not in that way!), but she always gives me the hardest time of all of them. I asked her why once, after an intense teasing session that she and all of her family got in on, and she just insisted that I am adorable when I get all flustered and start blushing. I think she's just a little sadistic.

Unfortunately, my luck is not with me today (although I hope this means it's saving itself for the Reaping later), and Luara's grinning face greets me as the door opens.

"Here for a pre-Reaping romp?"

Naturally, I feel the tell-tale heat of a blush rising in my cheeks, and I grumble at her, "You know I'm not, Luara." Sadist. She, of course, just smiles more and steps aside to allow me entrance to her home. This has become commonplace enough that we both have the routine down; I come over and rouse my (now hung-over) father, he grumbles and uses their bathroom and tries to freshen himself up with some cold water to the face therein, and I wait with Luara while her mother offers us breakfast. As I step past her, however, she nudges her shoulder against me and speaks with a low, sultry voice.

"You could, if you wanted to. I'll even throw in a friends' discount." I shoot her a glare, which is greatly undermined by my face's attempt to imitate the crimson roses in a vase on the table behind her (a gift from a customer, no doubt).

"Stop it, Luara, I'm not in the mood today." I realize as soon as the words leave my mouth that I had phrased that in the entirely worst way, and of course she doesn't hesitate to jump on it.

"But you're never in th—"

"Luara!" She must sense the seriousness in my tone, because she raises her hands in a surrendering motion.

"All right, all right. Not today, I get it. I'll be good." Her dark grey eyes look into mine, clearly attempting to convey her sincerity, and after a moment I sigh and nod, running a hand through my light brown locks. Just the fact that she left me alone so willingly shows her own nervousness about today. For the first time ever, either of us could actually go into the Games. Maybe even both!

Trying to soothe my nerves with the well-known routine, I quickly head into her family's cozy living room, where my father is snoring away on the couch without a care in the world. Seriously, how does he do that? I was so scared about today that I woke up at least five times last night, finally giving up around five and just getting up. I stand over him for a moment, watching him enviously, then I lean down and shake him roughly.

"Wake up!" I yell in his ear, and allow myself a small grin of satisfaction when he grimaces, arms flailing up to cover his head. Okay, maybe I have a bit of a sadistic side, too.

"Garrfmn…" he mumbles almost incomprehensively. I say "almost" because I know him well enough to understand his morning-speech; a stranger would have no idea what he just said. Instead of leaving him alone, as he requested, I shake him again and yell in his ear some more.

"Come on, it's morning! Get up! We have Reaping to get to! We're gonna be late!" Okay, I may have exaggerated, but it was worth it to see him shoot up off the couch in a blind panic, racing for the bathroom while attempting to navigate the room without upsetting any of the furniture.

"M'up! I'll be ready in a minute! Hurry up, Daenin, we don't have all day!" Then he's in the bathroom attempting to make himself presentable while I chuckle. It's really not a laughing matter, or at least it shouldn't be, but I find it funny all the same.

One year, he actually was late, as I had decided to teach him a lesson and go to the Reaping without bothering to wake him. The Peacekeepers had found him while making their rounds as he was heading out the door, hair unkempt and clothes rumpled and barely on. He had managed to convince them that he really was on his way and had just overslept, and they let him off with a slap on the wrist (or possibly the face) and a warning. He's been rather neurotic about showing up on time since.

After taking a moment to enjoy my handiwork, I make my way into the kitchen with Luara, who had watched the whole thing from the doorway and shakes her head at me despite the mirth evident in her own eyes.

"Good morning, Daenin, honey. Want some eggs?" Luara's mother is scrambling up a few to go with the toast she has already made, and I nod. I only feel a little guilty taking their food, but I'm poor enough that I won't refuse, and she did offer, after all. She smiles at me, dark grey eyes so like Luara's crinkling, as she dishes me up. It is clear where from who Luara got her stunning looks; Olyanne Illyminati shares the same exotic dark skin and long black wavy hair as her daughter (though hers has touches of grey attempting to peek through at her temples), as well as a near-perfect petite body with ample curves in all the right places. I frequently catch myself staring at them and have to pull my eyes away while trying not to blush before they can catch me.

"Looks scrumptious!" Kiki, one of Luara's aunts, sweeps into the room (already looking stunning, of course) and winks at me, then looks toward her sister. "Oh, and the breakfast, too." Obviously, Luara has taken after her fun-loving aunt, and they both think that teasing me is the best sport in the world. I swear, sometimes they even compete, trying to one-up each other until I decide I've had enough and leave. I just don't understand it, though! Sure, I'm awkward around a family entirely made up of bombshells prostitutes, but what teenage boy isn't? And sure, I'm a seventeen-year-old virgin, but it really isn't that funny.

Thankfully, Luara doesn't take the bait and start up a new game, instead getting her own helping of eggs and tesserae-grain toast from her mother and joining me at the table. "Leave him be today, Auntie, he's," she takes a small bite of her eggs and chews quickly while I silently beg her say anything about the mood. She swallows and continues after smirking at the look on my face, "apprehensive about the Reaping today." I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, then her smirk morphs into a full-blown grin. "We can have our fun this evening after we're all safe." I groan again and drop my head onto the table and the three of them laugh.

This is an entire family of sadists.

"What's so funny? Is Daenin acting adorable again?" That would be Luara's other aunt, Vivel. She may be the serious one of the bunch, but that doesn't stop her from joining in on the traditional family sport as well. I don't have to see Luara to know that my friend is nodding at her, mouth full of eggs-and-toast and eyes brimming with delight. Why am I friends with her again?

"Yes, but we're leaving him alone until after the Reaping." Kiki talks around the food in her mouth, not caring that most civilized people would call it impolite. "He's quite panic-stricken over it." Trust Kiki Illyminati to make jokes about the Reaping.

"Yeah, yeah," I lift my head again, suddenly angry at them, "make fun of me. But just remember it could happen this year. To Luara, too!" Once again, I realize the implications of what I've said a moment too late, and I immediately feel ashamed of my outburst. Luara's expression softens and she reaches out, putting a silken hand over mine.

"We all know that, Dae. But we also know that worrying won't make it any less likely." She smiles at me, a truly dazzling smile that makes my stomach do a flip. "So lighten up. No sense living if you're going to waste it fearing death!" She gives my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and returning her attention to her food, leaving an odd tingling sensation where it held me.

I sigh, closing my eyes and nodding. "You're right. Sorry." I open my eyes and look at her again. "I think I'll try that." She smiles brightly as she shoves the last of her breakfast in her mouth and stands.

"You done?" I look at my half-eaten food then quickly stuff my own mouth and nod, taking the hand she offers me and getting up. "Then let's go kill some time in town!"

"Bye, Dad!" I yell on my way out after swallowing my food. "See you at the reaping!" I allows myself a smile as I imagine his face when he shows up at the Square in a few minutes, still under the impression that he's about to be late.

Maybe Luara's philosophy is a good one, after all. She really is a good friend.


Teldric Shimeryan, District 1

A sickening crack fills the room, the sound penetrating every crevasse and every pore of my being as he falls to the ground. No! How could this happen? What have I done? Blank eyes stare into my own horrified ones, unseeing yet looking into my very soul with its accusing stare. "You're a monster," they say, "a sick psychotic brute." Blood slowly drips from his nose, each drop echoing sinisterly in my ears.

I wake up to the shrill beeping of the timer I had set before going to sleep last night. I don't have an alarm clock or a parent to wake me, like most other kids in my district, and I know I can't afford to oversleep on Reaping day. I reach over and turn off the alarm, groaning and rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I sit up. Sunlight is filtering its way through the dirty windows high up in the training center I call my home, casting an eerie glow over the dust-covered gym equipment I've pushed against the walls.

As I stand, sighing and shaking my head, I run through my morning routine in my mind, making sure I won't forget anything and have to return here until I absolutely have to tonight. Being Reaped and not being able to return flitters across my mind, but only briefly before I shrug it off. I have only had to take out tesserae the last two years, unlike so many of the less-fortunate in District One that have taken out several tesserae every year of eligibility (or the desperate eighteen-year-old Tribute Academy students that took out as many as they could this year). So, really, I have a near-impossible chance of being reaped and taken to the Capitol, forced to kill again.

Again. I shudder as the memory worms its way into my consciousness, threatening to take me over as it always does. I close my eyes and press my hands into them, trying to distract myself from the haunting incident. When I open them again, I see the shadows of the event everywhere in the gym, and quickly rush out of the room and into the locker room before they have a chance to overcome me.

I strip out of my sweaty clothes quickly and step into the shower, turning the water on. It's cold, since no one has paid for the electricity to heat it for years, but I don't mind at all. It distracts me, grounding me in the present so I don't get lost in the past. After standing under the icy stream for a few minutes, I grab my soap and scrub myself down, washing away the remnants of the nightmare that haunted me last night as it always does. I only turn off the water and step away when my skin is pink and feels raw.

Drying myself off with a towel, I force myself to run through the list again; shower, dress, eat the last of my bread, leave as soon as possible, wander around until the Reaping. Shower, dress, eat the last of my bread, leave as soon as possible, wander around until the Reaping. Shower, dress…

I continue to repeat it, a silent mantra to get me through the day, as I search the lockers for something relatively decent to wear. I find a pair of brown pants that have only been worn a couple times since the last washing and a black tee shirt. This is the best I'm going to do, so I pull them on without a complaint and then step into my shoes, kneeling down to tie them while reflecting on my lack of proper planning last night. We are expected to look our best for the Reapings and not reflect poorly on our district, but I'm clearly not going to be doing that this year. I don't even have clean socks to wear! I don't really mind, though. After all, it's not like everyone can hate me any more than they already do.

I grab my bag out of the locker I have claimed as my own and head out of the Training Center, fishing my hunk of bread out of the bag as I go and steadfastly fixing my eyes only on the door. Once I step out, I squint as I allow my eyes the chance to adjust to the sun's harsh light, then begin to make my way to the city center for the Reaping Day festivities.

As I go, I pass by several groups of District One citizens, all chattering excitedly about the coming event and all falling silent as they notice me drawing near before whispering to each other at my retreating back. It doesn't bother me so much anymore, though. I've grown quite used to the ostracizing and rumormongering of my fellow District One citizens in the last couple of years.

I pass one of the more popular Training Centers, which is filled with students putting in some last-minute training before heading off to the festivities and the Reaping. A lot of them will have been there since the sun rose, pressured by parents, friends, and teachers, and have probably been doing this every morning for the last several weeks. In a normal year, the week leading up to the Reaping plays host to a giant competition between all the students and is wildly popular among the other citizens of District One.

The winner of these games, as judged by the teachers of the district Tribute Academy and the Victors, will have earned the right to volunteer for the Hunger Games. With everyone desperate to prove themselves and holding nothing back, it's always a brutal seven days for the older students. The younger ones, though, are mostly just competing for the sport of it, and to set the tone for their future years when they compete for the right to volunteer themselves. I used to love this week myself, watching it eagerly as a young child and cheering on my favorites, and then competing in the junior games as a young teen. It's hard to believe that I would have been competing to volunteer the last couple of years if it weren't for the incident.

This year, while the event was held as usual, it was purely ceremonial. The younger ones competed the same as always, playful challenges with friendly opponents just looking to have a good time and showcase their hard work. The older ones, though, were rather bitter, using the competition to blow off some steam from not being allowed to volunteer. The ones that aren't eighteen yet did use the time to show off and impress the judges for next year, though, since they still have a chance of volunteering later.

I didn't go, of course, I just know all of this by listening to gossip. I haven't set foot in a gym since the incident, not counting the one that I currently call home. No one else can bear to be in there since the incident, though, so at least it's empty. To tell the truth, I can't really stand it either, but I don't actually have a choice; it's either crash there at night or stay out on the streets, and a grisly roof is better than no roof at all.

I stare at the Training Center for another moment, then clench my fists and move on. All those kids in there, training hard and planning on killing other kids make me sick, and it takes all my effort not to think of myself as one of the sick ones. I decide to make my way to the Square where the Reaping is held every year. I'll probably just hang around there until the ceremony starts, since there won't be too many people waiting while there's festive merriment to be had. At least if I'm alone, I can't hurt anyone.


Luara Illyminati, District 1

I think I've cheered Daenin up quite a bit, or at least distracted him from his depressing dark cloud he insists on hanging over his head. He's smiling and eating a syrup-soaked shaved ice cone that I treated him to. I don't usually buy such delicacies, but Daenin just seemed so down and, even though his blushing is so cute, I wanted to make him smile.

I lick my own shaved-ice-cone (lime flavored, one of my favorites) and look around, idly people-watching. A few of those I see are carefree and happy, celebrating the holiday that is Reaping Day as usual. Most are some level or apprehensive, ranging from looking mildly worried to flat-out panicking. Oddly enough, not all of those pacing anxiously and frantically chewing their nails down to stubs are those like Daenin; poor and terrified of being picked. A lot of them are the Academy students. They must have been planning on volunteering this year and now they don't know if all of their preparations will come to fruition.

Of course, not all of them could have volunteered anyway, considering that each district is only allowed one boy and one girl. But at least in normal years they would have had a decent chance of making it. Now, they all have some of the lowest chances of being reaped. I bet that not a single one of them had ever taken out a single tesserae before, while kids like Daenin and me have been taking out tesserae every year since we turned twelve. Neither of us has ever worried before, though; even if we had been reaped, a dozen aspiring victors would have gladly volunteered to take our places. There would have been competitions for the spots for the past week.

One group of Academy boys I observe, overplaying their rowdiness in an attempt to hide their apprehension, are shoving each other and generally acting as loud and obnoxious as possible. Then, one of them notices me and points me out to the others. They turn and wolf-whistle, a couple making gestures that most would call obscene. I just smile at them and run my tongue along my shave ice seductively. This, naturally, drives them wild. Daenin glances over at the noise, rolling his eyes as he looks back to me before blushing at my antics.

"Must you, Luara?" I know he's not necessarily disgusted by my profession, but he certainly is uncomfortable with it. Which, by the way, is absolutely adorable. Normally I would tease him right now, lean over and whisper something seductive in his ear or press close against him. But today I don't push it, backing off instead. Daenin is nervous enough right now, and I want to help him, so instead I grab his arm and pull him off toward one of the other booths set up around town.

I don't know exactly how it is in other districts (although I do know the outer districts view it as the worst day of the year), but here in One, we go all out in the festivities for the Reaping. Booths with treats, souvenirs, and games line the city streets, and performers put on shows of music, dance, comedy, and drama. Children run through the streets with wooden swords, dodging through the crowds and staging mock battles. Adults go overboard on the spirits (although the respectable ones wait until after the cameras leave, and the less respectable ones are kept out of view in the back of the crowd) and rehash their favorite games, acting them out as the evening goes on and the drinks flow faster. Victors walk around in the morning being assaulted for recounting and autographs. My family and I get a lot of business this night.

I lead Daenin a few streets away to a booth hosting a knife-throwing game. Cardboard cutouts of past Tributes were set up varying distances from the front, depending on how far they'd made it in their Games, and contestants are given sixty seconds to kill as many of them as possible. Of course, District One tributes are never included unless their deaths were particularly disgraceful, like the boy a while back who lost his balance and fell onto the mines.

Usually, booths like this are monopolized by Academy kids showing off, and later on by drunken partiers, so I usually don't spend too much time on them. But they're always a fun way to kill some time, and maybe Daenin will feel better if he's doing something that can be seen as preparing in case of getting reaped.

I walk through the small group of teenage boys gathered there, swaying my hips subtly. Naturally, they part for me (and Daenin by default), and I offer them each an alluring smile. Living like I do and being raised how I was, I've become an expert on seducing and controlling males, as well as a good deal of females.

When we reach the counter, I push half of the pile of blades in front of Daenin, and then pick up a knife from my own pile. Daenin picks up a knife himself and the attendant starts the game, the big red numbers counting down the seconds while the cutouts move side to side jerkily. We then begin throwing the blades, laughing when they bounce off the target or sail right past them and whooping when they stick.

Sixty seconds later, we've killed half of the tributes and Daenin's mood is considerable improved. I can tell the Academy kids aren't impressed by our performance, though I doubt Dae could tell since he isn't as skilled at reading people. They don't say anything, anyway, for fear of driving me (and any chance they may have with me) away. Instead, they complement us on our natural, raw talent, and are sure to add that if we stop but their Academy more often we would be amazing. They would even be willing to give me private pointers!

I smile and thank them sweetly before leaving with Daenin, trying not to laugh at their obviousness. We play a few more games to kill time until we need to check in for the Reaping. Once that time comes and we start picking over to the square, though, all my efforts at calming Daenin begin to evaporate, leaving him biting his lip and wiping his sweaty palms on his simple black dress pants.

"Relax, Daenin. You're going to do fine and we're going to be laughing about how scared you were later tonight." I give him a winning smile, but he doesn't return it. Instead, he stops and scowls at me.

"This isn't some test at school that I can study for, Luara. I can't 'do fine.' So don't act like we're going to be okay if we're not!" His hands are clenched and shaking, and I sigh. This is going to be harder than I had hoped.

"I know." I use a soothing tone and put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, I just don't like to see you so upset and not be able to do anything about it. You're my friend."

That does the trick, and his eyes soften. He forces a small smirk, one corner of his mouth lifting up. "All right." He takes a deep breath and gathers his nerves. "All right, let's just get this over with." I nod and link my arm with his, giving him a cheeky smile as we walk to the steadily growing lines.

Once checked in, though, we have to separate. Hopefully Daenin will hold it together; I really do hate it when he's genuinely upset. I offer him one last comforting squeeze on his forearm before joining my fellow seventeen-year-old girls one section in from the stage where our mayor and our ridiculous escort currently wait.

District One may be close to the Capitol, but we still think most of the people that reside there look like idiots. Take Althea Rose, our perky Capitol escort, for instance. Today, the plump woman wears a deep blue bob wig and royal purple contact lenses, and she's dressed in a frilly purplish-blue skirt suit. Add that to the fact that she has had her skin died a light blue color, and she essentially resembles an overgrown, exuberant blueberry. Who wants to look like a giant fruit? Is that honestly attractive in the Capitol?

The mayor cuts my musings short as he steps up to the podium to begin his speech on the history of our great country and the glorious birth of the Hunger Games. He tries to make it exciting, but it's the same speech every year, and it's rather boring after the seventeenth time hearing it.

Then he gets to the truly exciting part: the reading of the Victors. One by one, they parade onto the stage to energetic applause and cheers, some waving and others raising their arms and cheering along with the crowd. Gloss, Cashmere, Blaze, Tienti, Rarity, and more make their way to the ornate chairs waiting for them. I zone out, since it's not like I don't already know all of our Victors; we're quizzed on them in school in the weeks leading up to the Games every year, after all.

I tune back in when Blueberry is introduced and takes her turn at the podium. She giggles into the microphone and greets us with her bubbly, high-pitched voice.

"Well, well, well! Happy Hunger Games, District One! And may the odds be ever in your favour!" Many of us clap some more, though not so much the ones like myself and Daenin. "And may I say how absolutely proud I am to be here, in what is without a doubt the best district in all of Panem!" Cue more cheers due to district pride. She babbles on a bit more about how wonderful we are, making sure to mention every item she is wearing that she owes to us, before finally moving onto the actual reaping part of the Reaping.

"Ladies first!" she trills, and the tension on our side of the square is tangible as she reaches into the large glass bowl in front of us. After flailing her chubby hand around amongst the thousands of slips for several moments, she finally pulls one out and slowly unfolds it, leaning over the microphone and reading the name in a clear voice.

"Luara Illyminati."

Well. That is unexpected. The cameras are searching for me, and the rest of the girls make it easier for them by looking at me and stepping away, forming a clear pathway to the center aisle. As they train their lenses on me and I see myself on the giant screen above the stage, I figure I ought to give the Capitol what is wants and I direct a winning smile right into the camera. Head held high, I saunter up to the stage, then turn to the crowd and stand proud, knowing that I'm going to have the sponsors eating out of my hands. I am totally going to win this thing.


Royal Valterris, District 1

I watch as the girl, Luara Illyminati, makes her way up to the stage. In that short red dress that reveals far too much cleavage, I can already tell that her angle is going to be along the "sexy goddess" line. I don't care too much, though. I know this girl, if only by her reputation, and she may be a great prostitute, but she won't stand a chance once the Games start and the killing begins. She won't be any threat to me at all, but I'll be able to use her inevitable pull with the audience for sponsor gifts in the Arena.

All the other girls are either sighing with relief, in the case of other poor girls like Luara, or crying out in anger, in the case of all the normal teenage girls. I find myself tensing up, reminding myself to not to hold my breath in expectation. It's time for the boys' drawing, and hopefully for my turn. As Althea moves to the second large glass bowl, digging her hand around the papers clumsily, I find myself praying to the Fates again.

Please pick my name. Please pick my name. I need this, so please pick my name.

She plucks out the lucky slip and returns to the microphone, painfully slowly unfolding the tiny slip holding my destiny. As she leans closer to the microphone to read it out, I feel sweat creeping down my back.

"Teldric Shimeryan."

No! No, I did everything right! It was supposed to be me! I clench my hands into tight fists and will the tears forming in my eyes not to fall. My life is over. I look over to Teldric, the murderer. Well, the good thing is that his life is over, too. I'm going to be rooting for him to die the whole time.

I hate you, Teldric Shimeryan.


Teldric Shimeryan, District 1

I hadn't even really bothered to worry about myself being picked. What were the odds that out of the thousands of slips in there, one of my nine would be drawn? This isn't fair at all. Why can't one of the dozens of boys shooting me hateful glares have been reaped? They wanted to!

I force myself to walk toward the stage, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. It just isn't fair. I don't want to go. I don't want to have to kill kids. I don't want to be a murderer, not again. As I walk through the crowd of hostile boys, they move away from me, not daring to touch me even though I'm sure they all want to just pounce on me and beat me senseless. I hear whispers as I pass, hushed tones calling me a murderer, a monster, a traitor. I fight to ignore them, to keep the words out of my head. It doesn't help, though, and I find tears leaking from my eyes as I mount the steps up to the stage. I don't want to do this again.

I knock his blade from his hands easily, laughing. He's no match for me, and now everyone knows it. I am powerful, truly powerful, and no one could ever stand a chance against me. We may have all trained our whole lives for this, but I was clearly born for it, for the battle.

I sneer at him as he raises his shaking fists. He refuses to back down, even though he's clearly outmatched. Well, he's not such a sniveling coward as I thought, I'll give him that. Then, my sneer turns to a wicked grin as I toss my own weapon aside. After all, there's no fun in beating someone with nothing with which to defend themselves from my blade.

I launch my fist toward him, and even though he tries to dodge, the idiot still gets hit in the face. He's slow, weak, worthless. Why did anyone ever think he might be a match for me? I am his opposite: strong, fast, magnificent in my skills. I launch myself into a roundhouse kick, nailing him straight in the chest. The wind is knocked out of him and I advance on him, landing a quick series of kicks and jabs onto his body. He is whimpering and crying out now with each blow, clearly showing himself to be the lesser student, the lesser man.

I love it.

I toy with him some more, knocking him around the mat and landing small but painful hits everywhere on his body. He will probably be a giant walking bruise by the time I'm done with him, and no one will ever doubt that I am truly omnipotent in the ring. Finally, I direct a hard uppercut at him, all my impressive strength and weight behind it.

A sickening crack fills the room.

I wrench myself out of my memories and find that I am standing on the stage, shaking horribly while Luara holds her hand out to me and everyone stares at me expectantly. I realize I'm supposed to shake her hand, and quickly reach out to do so while tears stream down my face. This can't be happening.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, your tributes from District One!" The mayor announces proudly, probably happy that I have been reaped and hoping that I am going to my death. There's wild applause, though it is only scattered in the eighteen-year-old sections right in front of the stage. As we turn to face the crowd and the cameras once more, I see hate etched onto every one of those faces, and all of them seem to be directed at me.

After a moment, the Peacekeepers escort us into the Justice Building and to our rooms where we will be saying goodbye to our families and friends. The only visitor I get is my father, come to tell me how proud he is. He has always pushed me to be a proper District One boy and volunteer for the Hunger Games. Now that I'm going into the Games, he is oozing with joy and spends the entire time he has with me telling me all about it and giving me last-minute tips, not even letting me get a single word in.

"I'm so excited for you, son!" He practically beams as the Peacekeepers open the door to make him leave, keeping himself under control only for the pretense of being calm and collected. I bet he would jump up and down, squealing like a girl, if he thought he could get away with it. Then he comes to me and presses something into my hand. "Don't forget, Teldric, you already know how to do this."

I look down at the object in my open palm once he's gone, and I see the golden gleam of his pin. Had my father taken this from his body? Had he even waited until it was cold before robbing the dead boy if his possessions? And why had he kept it all these years? To give it to me, I suppose. To motivate me to do the same again and again. I clench my hand into a fist around the small object, though I don't know if I'm angry at my father or myself or both.

In that moment, I lose all hope. I am going to die, or I am going to lose myself and become the sinister beast of my nightmares once again. Either way, Teldric Shimeryan is gone.


Luara Illyminati, District 1

I only get a moment of peace in my temporary room in the Justice Building before my mother and aunts come streaming in through the doorway. They have tears in their eyes, as if they've already written me off. So I smile at them brightly.

"Don't worry, and don't cry." I tell them, taking my mother's hands in one hand and Kiki's in another. "I know what I'm doing. I'm smart, beautiful, and compelling, and I know how to use a knife. I'm going to win, and when I return we're going to be the richest whores ever!" This gets them laughing, even if it's somewhat strained. I turn to Vivel, releasing my mother's and Kiki's hands and instead grasping my second aunt's.

"Luara…" she begins, and I just know she's about to give some objection or other, that she's already weighing everything in that serious brain of hers.

"When I get back, Auntie, we're going to be rich." I smile, knowing that that will mean a lot to her; unlike the rest of us, she doesn't want to have this life forever. "And then you can stop. I promise." I lean in and kiss her cheek as tears threaten to fall from her eyes. "So don't be upset. This is our chance. Okay?" She nods and I step back, ready to give my pep talk to one of the others. Before I get the chance, though, my mother gathers me in a warm embrace.

"I love you, Luara. I always have, and I always will." Before I get a chance to reply, she pulls a beautiful gem-encrusted bracelet out of her pocket. "I was saving this for your eighteenth birthday, but I want you to have it early. I want you to take it with you, as your token, to remember us by."

I'm struck silent as she takes my wrist and lifts it up to fasten the delicate chain around it. I swallow the emotion building up in the back of my throat and smile at her. "Thank you so much, Mom. I'll cherish it."

We spend the rest of our time recounting funny experiences and stories, and planning our future with all the money I'm going to win for us. When the Peacekeepers take them away, I don't let them say a single word, instead insisting that they keep going as normal and to trust that I know what I'm doing. I tell them I love them.

Then Daenin walks in and I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around him tightly.


Daenin Touk, District 1

My heart stopped when my best friend in the world's name was called. I don't want to lose her!

As soon as the ceremony was over, I rushed to the Justice Building. I had to wait for my turn to see her, since family is always in first. I noticed a slew of men filing in and waiting around me, admirers of hers I assume. With Teldric's reputation, they certainly aren't here for him.

My name is called and I wipe my palms on my pants before going in and immediately finding myself wrapped in a warm embrace.

"I was hoping you'd come, Dae." She pulls back and smirks. "But I suppose a visit will have to do, instead." I choke for a moment, then roll my eyes.

"Of course, you've just been reaped into the Hunger Games, and you're making inappropriate jokes at my expense." I should be nervous and blushing, but I just don't have the energy right now. I needed all of it not to start crying. She smiles brightly, letting out a throaty chuckle.

"Well, I don't have much more time to do that for a while, you know. I have to make it last until I can come home!" She pulls back then, eyes searching my face. I bite my lip.

"D… Do you really think you'll come home?" I am almost afraid to ask, but I have to. She nods.

"I do. I mean, look at me," she steps back and motions down over herself. "The Capitol is going to love me, and this year sponsors are everything." She kisses my cheek softly. "I'll be home before you know it, Dae."

Her confidence is somewhat infectious, and I find myself returning her smile as I nod.

"All right then. I'll hold you to that, Luara."

We sit and chat for a bit about nothing of consequence until the Peacekeepers open the door to chase me out, and I give her a small wave as I leave.

Maybe, when she comes home and this is all over, I'll ask her out.


Teldric Shimeryan, District 1

After a while, the Peacekeepers come in again to escort me out. Luara is brought out soon after, then last of her visitors trickling away out the doors, and we are lead to the car that will take us to the train station. I don't say a word to anyone, though I doubt that they will mind at all. They don't like me anyway.

Once at the station, I get out and keep my head down as I walk to the train, steadfastly ignoring the cameras trained on me. I do my best to ignore the incident trying to overtake my thoughts, as well. I focus instead on the pain in my right hand as I clutch the tiny pin as tight as I can, its thin edges digging into the skin of my palm.

Beside me, Luara is flirting with the camera and probably earning herself a dozen sponsors with each seductive laugh, but I can't bring myself to care. Besides, chances are we're both going to be in the Alliance together anyway, so all her sponsors are going to help me.

When we're in the doorway of the train, they make us turn around and give the cameras a few more minutes. I force myself to look up at this point, a hard, steely look on my face. I don't want to be a monster again, and maybe if I try hard enough, I won't be.


Luara Illyminati, District 1

After the stream of my admirers is finally over with, I'm lead out of the room by the Peacekeepers. Teldric is already waiting, of course. He wouldn't have had many visitors, after all. I find myself studying him and wondering if anyone other than his father came. Perhaps the mayor showed up to gloat, but I think that's all that would have bothered. It's too bad, really, since he is rather cute.

The entire car ride is silence, as I can tell that Teldric doesn't want to talk. Right now, I need to focus on preparing for the cameras anyway. I'll spend more time talking to my district partner on the train, once I can corner him and there aren't cameras to watch everything. No sense in upsetting him and making him appear even worse than he already does to them, after all.

When we step out of the car, I instantly turn my flirt to full power, and the cameras are eating it up. Hardly any of them focus on Teldric as we make our way through the station to the train, and I like that just fine. Once we actually get through the crowd and onto the train, we still have to turn and give them some more time, though. There's no way I can pull their attention from Teldric now, since we're both standing side-by-side in a small doorway. My only hope is to look fabulous enough that no one will really look at him, anyway.

So, I give dazzling smiles and blow kisses, and when I glance at Teldric out of the corner of my eye, I find that he actually looks rather intimidating. He is looking straight into one of the cameras, as if daring the viewers to challenge him. Maybe he's going to do well in the Games after all. Maybe all he needed was to get over the shock of it, and now we're going to play the game and come out on top. I know only one of us can win, but we can at least help each other get there, and it will be a lot easier when I don't have to carry him half the way anyway.

I turn my full attention back to the camera in time for one last shot before we are ushered inside and the doors close. The train begins moving immediately, zipping us toward the Capitol at an alarming speed. Within a day, we're going to be there, preparing for the biggest, most intense game in the world, and I can't wait. This is going to be fun.


A/N: so there you have it, the District One tributes!

A big thanks to nightfuries for these two, they're so fun to play with! And hopefully I've done them justice, of course.

As always, thank you for reading, and reviews are appreciated! To all those that have reviewed, favourited, and alerted this story so far, I offer a huge thanks for all your support!

I still need some tributes, of course, so don't be afraid to send in a couple (especially some younger ones, I have a lot of 16-and-olders) ^_^

Tributes available: D7 and D10 Males. I NEED YOUNGER TRIBUTES, PLEASE! I will not accept anyone over the age of 13 now.