So, Chapter Two. Again, the first few chapters will just cover the two Reapings, and the character's responses to what they've been thrown into. Oh, and it won't be this serious the entire way through, so if you can manage the angst, read on? :P Once again, please review, if you could - constructive criticism especially!

As was the fashion for Arizona, she made her way over to another run down house – the one nearest to her – on the way to the Reaping. And as was the fashion for her best friend, Teddy was standing directly outside the dishevelled place. Nothing was said as the two fell into step beside each other, but a weak, phantom smile was exchanged between the two.

From behind (and the front, for that matter) it was clear that they were entirely dissimilar – almost contradicting each other with their appearances. One tall, rail thin young woman, her honey coloured hair pulled into a tight, but pretty ponytail; one slighter, more curved, younger girl, her own lighter flaxen tresses loose down her back.

Despite these differences, it was clear that the two women were homologous in more subtle ways – the set of their jaws was near identical, as was the steel in their eyes, and their measured paces. With Teddy, Arizona felt as if she was not entirely on her own – especially headed to the place that they were.

Both had lost a sibling to the building that lay ahead, and what it represented, and that made them more similar than any physical trait could have.

...

The process before the Reaping went quickly - the blood taking & name checking barely given a cursory thought in Arizona's mind, as she stood and waited for the moment she dreaded the most.

Time sped forwards as that moment approached, however. The presenter seemed to be talking far to quickly, and stumbled consistently over their lines. The video on the giant screen played out at double time, or so it seemed to Arizona.

Teddy was in the roped off section next to her, and the blonde could not help but throw her a pained look as the presenter – Althea Meniscus – drew the first name from the hideous goldfish bowl that contained the slips of paper which could change the course of lives.

"Arizona Robbins", came the words, in a crisp Capitol accent. Shock, and fear coursed through Arizona's body, taking a while to recognize that the name being called was her own.

Slowly, she began to move, in a dreamlike state, through the crowds to the stage. She caught sight of the horrified expression on her friend's face, but gave her a curt shake of her head, in one gesture explicitly stating that nothing was to be done. They had agreed on this. Teddy still had two younger siblings, and Arizona…Arizona had been picked once before, and her brother had volunteered in her place. She would not let some one loose their life for her again.

Arizona's legs grew heavier and heavier, and the blonde strained to keep them moving onwards. She could not stop now. This was where she was headed now, and there was nothing neither she, nor anybody else could do about it.

"Congratulations Arizona", came a voice, sparking the girl from her weary thoughts, "How does it feel to be part of the Games, at last?"

What did it feel like? It felt like the time she had fallen from the roof of her house whilst helping her father fix a leak. It felt like the pain she had experienced when she saw a wire snap tight around her brother's neck, choking him. It felt like the first time she had cut herself whilst in the woods – the huge gash that had stretched from her wrist to her elbow.

She would take the pain of those a thousand times over, and it would still not amount to what she was feeling now. Those feelings were a feather bed at night, a cool drink on a hot day compared to how she felt now.

A few more rough words pulled her from her reverie, and she jumped as a calloused hand was thrust towards her. Startled, she looked up, her eyes wide and her movements abrupt. Evidently, the Capitol lapdog presenter had given up on trying to extract a response from his first tribute, and had already called the second one. Slowly, she extended her own, smaller, palm to the paw that was outstretched and shook it firmly.

Looking up finally, she saw the face watching her own. It was broad, with dark hair and even darker eyes. 'Percy. Charles Percy', her mind informed her, dredging up an images of a boy as he grew up – changing in size and muscularity, but never in the colour of his eyes or hair.

It was then that it hit her. She stood no chance. Here stood a mountain of a man, with a year of age, and edging towards 100lbs on her. And he was just one of twenty-three people out to kill her.

A rough hand settled itself firmly onto her shoulder, and gave her a gentle shove into the mayor's hall building that stood behind her. Everything was blurring now, and she barely had time to register the fading light before she realised the doors were closing behind her. One echoing slam, and she was away from what she had always known.

The day of the Reaping had arrived, and it flew past. There were some celebrations in the streets, and people were laughing and chatting to each other. Only a few faces were sombre in District Two.

The line to register moved quickly and smoothly, as there were no disturbances in this place. Every one was too eager to get things moving. Like every boy and girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen, in every district of Panem, every person in the crowds was praying that their name would not be picked.

However, in this District, it was for an entirely different reason than in the other ten.

If you were picked, it meant that you were basically out of the running. If you were picked, immediately, nearly every person in the square would volunteer immediately. And if you were picked, it meant that you could not volunteer. If you were picked, you would not be participating in the Hunger Games.

Because of this, the actual name calling ceremony was rather rushed through, as it always was.

Two names were picked and Callie breathed a sigh, as her name was not called. In an orderly fashion, the youths assembled in the plaza began to call out two words, one by one. 'I volunteer. I volunteer as Tribute' was heard all through the town, echoing off the marble buildings.

Callie added her voice to the fray, and began to smile a little. 'Let the fun begin'.

...

It took three hours of waiting – a comparatively short time – before the mayor & the chief peacekeepers entered the square once more. How they picked the Tributes from among those who had volunteered was unknown, but Callie had settled in for a long wait, and was surprised to see the stout figures of power march from the building.

An amplified click was heard as the speaker system was turned on once more, and the chatter in the plaza became void. All eyes were fixed on the men on the platform. Not a soul seemed to even breathe.

"The volunteers have been chosen." came the echoing voice – one that seemed oddly mismatched with the stout, bald man speaking, "Marcus Sloan, and Calliope Torres, are our Tributes."

A frown was already in place on Callie's brow. Preparing to not be picked - for the last eighteen years to be in vain – Callie had steeled herself, had shut herself off from the hive mentality around her.

This was her last chance, her last reaping.

What she was not prepared for was her name to be called. And it was. The Latina's mouth dropped open in shock, before moving soundless for a few moments. An unknown hand gave her a gentle shove in the small of her back, and she was pushed forwards, towards the oak platform. On the other side of the square, she could see ripples in the crowd where the same was being done to her fellow Tribute.

She was hurried inside, for things quickly became volatile after the volunteer Tributes were announced, and not given time to digest the new she was given. She was the female tribute for District Two. She would represent the district of masonry in the eighty-ninth annual Hunger Games.

Not only would she do that, but in her mind, there was not a question about it: she would win.