Like I promised, I'm going to be doing these a bit differently so I can get the reapings done quickly (because who wants twelve chapters worth of the same thing?)

And if you want your say in the arena, vote in the poll on my profile! The poll will be open until the Interviews.

I'm sorry if these are sort of… weird. I'm not feeling well but wanted to get this out asap.

Disclaimer: I disclaim the characters. They belong to other people. The Hunger Games isn't mine either

. . .

District Three

Damon Ledger

"Okay dad, bye. I'll see you afterwards." I listen to the kid standing behind me, giving her dad his goodbyes.

I take a deep breath and move away. It hurts to hear the kids tell their parents goodbye. But I don't need parents, I think as I turn to my 'kids'.

"Myyrah, you're in charge until Tag and I get back, okay?" I instruct, patting the eleven year old on the head.

"Okay." Myyrah takes the hands of Evaline and Haven, Haven taking little Skirret's hand.

I turn to Tag, the only one of them old enough for reapings besides myself, "ready?"

He shakes his head quickly. I chuckle and lead him to the section for thirteen year olds. He quickly disappears among the taller kids and I go up front to my section.

I zone out through the usual drawl of Mayor Mason's readings. I'm thinking about the special dinner I have prepared for the kids back home, how we're going to eat like kings and celebrate because we're all alive for one more year. I don't surface from these thoughts until Proserpine, our incredibly insane escort, takes the mike in her long fingers.

This year her hair- which is dyed in shades of pink, white, purple and blue- is curled tightly around her face, making her blue eyes look bigger than ever. She has on a black skintight tank top and a short skirt that is pink and blue and tapers down to her knees in the back.

"Happy Hunger Games District three!" She shouts, delivering her signature, "let the odds be in our favor this year!"

She bounce across the stage, "ladies first, then?"

She mixes up the slips and pulls one at random, "Adrienne Sadel?"

A girl from the fourteen year old section walks up to the stage. She was muscular and angry looking. Great.

"Well hello Adrienne. Are you ready to find out who your fellow tribute is?"

I can see Adrienne say 'no' but we don't get a chance to hear her because Proserpine is already across the stage, plucking a name out. I think of all of the times I've signed up for tessera, and how Tag insisted he take two for himself so it all wouldn't be on me. I bit my lip and close my eyes, hoping the impossible really is impossible.

"Damon Ledger!" Its possible.

I make my way up to the stage. I can hear my kids crying out. I look to the back and can see a group of boys keeping Tag from bursting forward to volunteer. Those boys know Tag is the oldest now. The girls need Tag. But is that enough?

Adrienne Sadel

"Adrienne Sadel!" Proserpine I-forget-her-last-name calls shrilly, her squeaky accent killing my name.

I walk up on stage slowly. I'm prepared but I'm angry. We haven't had a tribute my age since I can remember. Why does it have to be me? I mean, I've built myself up so I'm ready, but why so early?

"Well hello Adrienne! Are you ready to find out who your fellow tribute is?" Proserpine asks me enthusiastically.

"No." I say, but she doesn't hear me.

She prances across stage and pulls out a boy's slip, "Damon Ledger!"

A seventeen year old joins me on stage. He has curly brown hair and teengirlitis hits me as I find myself wanting to run my fingers through it. I shake my head. No. As I lift my eyes to the crowd, I can see a group of boys sustaining a smaller boy in the thirteens section. That must be Damon's little brother. I consider.

We sit down; listen to the lengthy Treaty of Treason. We're told to stand. I shake Damon's hand. A squad of peacekeepers descends on us and shows us into the Justice Building. They force us into separate rooms to say our goodbyes.

My dad comes in only a few minutes later. His expression is unreadable.

"Dad?" I whisper, standing up.

"Be brave." He begins, "be brave, get a knife. Dazzle them, my little cabbage. They'll love you." Dad kisses my forehead.

"I don't want them to love me." I mumble taking a step forward and embracing him, resting my head against his chest, "love you dad."

"I love you too." Dad kisses my forehead and we stand together until the peacekeepers take him away.

My next visitor is my mother. We haven't been on good terms since she and dad divorced. She traded in my father, who is a hard working, honest man, for a fat, rich merchant who does nothing for himself.

"Adrienne." She says stiffly, holding her head high, like she is above me.

"Mother." I turn away. Just the sight of her, in her nice yellow dress and her prissy white gloves and her little yellow hat; it sickens me.

"Adrienne, darling." I feel a gloved hand on my shoulder. Silk. Mother heaves a tiny sigh, "darling I'm so afraid for you."

"I don't want your sympathy mother." I snap, still not looking at her.

Mother lets out a dainty sob and I roll my eyes. How stupid does she think I am? But when I turn around to tell her off, I see real, genuine tears, not the 'crocodile tears' I used to get what I wanted when I was little. Tears that said she really cared.

"Adrienne, honey, please. I want you to take this into the arena with you." Mother unfastens the necklace from around her neck and holds it out to me.

I'm tempted to take it. It's a dainty silver thing with bits of some blue gem dangling off of it. It was Mother's favorite necklace, and when I was little, touching it meant a telling-off and a time out. But my hand quickly flies to the necklace around my own neck- fake silver with a pink tourmaline gem set into it. My grandmother gave it to me, who got it from her grandmother, who got it from hers, and so-on and so-forth.

"No. I'm taking grandma's necklace." I state.

"Oh. Okay then." I can see the muscles in mother's neck tense. She re-fastens the necklace and stands there awkwardly until she, too, has to leave.

. . . . . . . .

District Four Reaping

Ozean 'Oz' Agua

I turned to my family and smiled, the tension of the day rolling off my shoulders in waves. This is going to be the year that I step up if my name is not called. Of course, I haven't exactly told my family yet.

"We'll see you later son." Dad says, clapping me on the shoulder.

Mom pecks my cheek. I bend down and hug my siblings that are too young to be reaped- eight year old Posi and ten year old Osea. Mom and Dad lead them away, to the section for people too old or too young to get reaped.

I turn to my remaining sibling, Storm, whose silvery hair has been put in two pigtails for the occasion. I hold my arm out to her, "Stormy."

"I told you Oz, don't call me Stormy. It's a stupid little kid name." Storm protests, pushing my arm away, "and I don't need you toting me around. You turn my friends into sputtering idiots."

I hold my hands up in defeat, "Fine, fine. Go with your friends, I'll talk to you later."

I smile and wave at her as she walks away. I myself go towards the front of the square, locating the section for seventeen year olds with ease. We chat quietly through the opening ceremonies, up to the point where our new escort will be announced. We have a new one this year, and nobody particularly liked our last one, so we're excited. They decided to 'spice it up' this year by not showing us her face until the reapings.

"And, District Four, it is my honor to introduce our new escort, Tigress Doe!"

We give her a sincere round of applause as she bounces onto the stage. And I can honestly say she is the most outrageous escort I've ever seen. She has on a short blue skirt, neon blue tights and a white t-shirt under a furry blue vest. And her clothes aren't her weirdest attribute. Atop her head are two furry white ears and I can see a white tail swishing behind her.

"Well, happy Hunger Games District four!" She gives an enthusiastic clap, but we're done applauding her, "let's get started, shall we?"

She struts down the stage to the bowl with the girl's names. My suspicions are confirmed, she truly has a tail.

"Man, normally the escorts are kind of lame, but ours it hot." One of my friends comments with a snicker.

"Oh yeah." I smirk and watch her ears twitch as she draws the girl's name.

"Our female tribute this year is… Orca Swanson!"

A little girl climbs onto the stage. She can't be any older than thirteen, I think. She's wearing a green dress with a black belt around her middle. Her brown hair is tied in two pigtails on top of her head.

She stands there, lips pursed, as we all wait in anticipation for Tigress to call the next tribute's name

Orca Swanson

"Orca Swanson!"

What? No. Some of my friends push me forward. I take a deep breath, adjust my belt, tighten my pigtails, and walk onto stage. My lips are pursed so I can keep from crying.

"Now, let's get our next tribute!" Tigress dances across the stage and I find my eyes drawn to the furry ears atop her head. "This year's male tribute is… Ozean Agua!"

I lift my head as I see a seventeen year old boy come onto stage. He has a deep tan, long brown hair, and the weirdest eyes I've ever seen. He has one green eye and one blue eye. He had on a t-shirt, grey slacks and a jacket.

We're directed to sit through the last bit of ceremony. When I stand to shake his hand, there's nothing close to sympathy in his eyes. He's going to kill me. I think desperately.

And after that, we say our goodbyes. Mom and I held each other until they had to force us apart. I wanted Devi to be there with me. She would've said something that could come off as encouraging. Instead, I'm stuck with mom, sputtering and crying our eyes out.

I may only look innocent, but I need somebody to be there for me where mom and dad have failed.

. . .

I'm sorry if it seems like this chapter got cut short. Again, I've been under the weather. I also have a crapload of stuff to do this week. I've got a church thing tomorrow, my birthday is Monday (Fourteen baby!), and the rest of the week is dedicated to playing and beating the crap out of my new video games. Though I will try to get something up between.