Firstly, this is a SYOT. Visit my profile and please submit! All spots except the D1F, D3F, and D6M, are open, and the last one might be open if I can't get in contact with the promised submitter... after all these months. Fail.

Now onto the writing!

Location: District One, Panem

Date: Reaping Day

Tall, bright buildings, obsidian factories spewing glitter waste, rows of shops where diamonds were cut, and a glass dome even bigger than the marble temple-style town hall, where teens are taught to kill, complete with immaculately swept streets. Streams of trucks polished bright red and gleaming with the insignia of the Capital make their traffic-jammed way out of the stylish silver gates, packed full of fur coats, luxury furniture, and jewelry. This is District One, the Capital's favorite pet. Its indulgent beehive, so busily churning out twelve-pound golden crowns by the dozen.

A helicopter lands on the roof of the town hall with thirty-one cameras attached in varying angles on every available surface it has to offer. A Peacekeeper salutes as its occupants as they hop down from their seats.

"How charming!" squeals Lissa, the escort and/or MC for part one of the Hunger Games Reapings. Holding a neon-pink microphone accentuated by bits of even more neon green, she bounces around on her heels and gushes about how lovely the luxury district is. "Ladies and gents, District One is looking adorable today. Shall we pop over to the training center for a brief chat with the tributes before we see the Reaping?"

The clock on the town hall, a huge glass circle less than five feet from where Lissa is making an absolute fool of herself, shows that the time is 0628AM. The Reaping is held bright and early in the morning, so that the Capital watchers could have them streamed live, from One all the way to Twelve. Everything is arranged for the pleasure of the audience.

Lissa leads the way to the sparkling training center. It's a huge glass dome, its doors hissing open to let Lissa and her camera crew inside. Technically, it's illegal, but the Capital entertainment division has long since found that the watchers seem to love the idea of a training center with kids from four to eighteen almost as much as a fight to the death.

"As well-kept as always!" Lissa exclaims. Quite short, although she could've gotten height surgery years ago - if she feels dwarfed by the muscled brutes surrounding her, she doesn't show it.

The cameramen give watchers a long view of the training center. They're in the big gymn now, full of boys and girls of all ages busy trying to kill each other in controlled environments. A strongly-built, blonde-haired boy tackles a shorter boy and forces him into a painful hold. A sharp-eyed girl shoots a heart pattern on her target. A narrow, lean boy smirks at the camera.

Lissa wanders up to a random tribute - or at least, it seems to be.

"Hello, there!" she pipes, pink eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "You seem to be quite skilled with that axe!"

The girl looks up. Brown-haired and brown-eyed, she'd be quite average if not for the obvious and large amount muscle that she's built up. She holds her axe proudly, a four-foot long thing with a razor-sharp end and a well-worn handle.

"Yes, I am. Nice to meet you."

Lissa coos. "Such confidence! What's your name?"

"Majesty," the Career replies. "Majesty Kaufmann."

"And your specialty's the axe?"

"Yes - would you like a demonstration?" Majesty smiles, already facing the practice rings.

"Yes please, Majesty!"

The cameramen gather around the ring towards which Majesty strides, shoulders squared and confident. One of her friends nods to her, and Majesty nods back, axe ready. The girl presses down on a blue button.

A barrage of balls the size of oranges blast from pipes circling the ring. Majesty freezes, then lunges, slicing a ball - the only ball with spikes. The rest bounce of harmlessly.

"Lovely!" squeaks Lissa.

In the next ten seconds Majesty slices twelve spiked balls out of the air and faces the camera proudly.

"The objective of the practice is the find the one lethal ball in the thirty that are blasted towards you, and eliminate the threat," says a man who must be her coach, coming over from where he was watching Majesty. "Observation and quick reaction time. I try to teach my students that."

"Oh! Mr. Kaufmann!" Lissa's eyes widen in fake shock. "Was that young warrior over there your daughter?"

Carnelian Kaufmann smiles, a tall, lithe man in his late forties. One of the most famed Games coaches in District One, he holds his knives and clipboard as naturally as one would hold a couple of hot irons. "Yes, she is, Miss Jorkins."

"Oh my, you must be so proud!" Lissa giggles. "But please call me Lissa! We'll be looking forward to seeing dear Majesty in the Games!" She turns, blonde curls whirling. "Now, to the Reaping!"

The lawn in front of the town hall is crowded with people. Excited, yelling, an obstreperous gaggle of people who were all too excited for the blood-spilling to begin. The other half of the district hang back, talking quietly among themselves, some not even daring to do that. Not everyone loves the Hunger Games, even in the Capital's favorite district.

Lissa Jorkins stands at the podium at the front, a small, but violent clash of neon green cloth and pink sparkles and blonde hair. She twirls, facing the entirety of District One.

"Hello, hello!" She shouts.

District One bellows back.

"Happy Hunger Games," she screams.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor!" the district cries.

"Yay~" Lissa claps and smiles beatifically. "Mr. Mayor?"

The mayor steps forward to recite the Treaty of Treason - possibly the most boring part of the Reaping. He seems to know this as he hurries through the speech - "Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games." - and finishes quite quickly. The whole district breathes a sigh of relief when Lissa takes over again.

"Thank you, Mr. Mayor!" she sings happily. Her hands dance over to the Reaping ball, before she freezes, looking almost comically surprised. "Oh, dear me! I almost forgot!"

The short woman prances over to a square, black column that stands in the middle of the podium. "Any girl wishing to volunteer for this year's Reaping, please come forward and press your thumb to the screen on this scanner here!"

The district shouts something in complaint.

"My, my, I'm really ditzy today!" laughs Majesty. "Alright then - three, two, one, go!"

Two girls trip over each other as they run for the scanner, tumbling across each other and quickly getting caught in their own little catfight, punching and twisting and screaming.

"Ooooh!" Lissa's voice is breathless as Majesty bursts from her line. Heads turn and voices cheer as the eighteen-year-old lopes, unrivaled, to the podium. She's a fighter rather than a charmer, but with more wits than most, is the message she's sending as she steps up to the scanner. Grinning smugly, she leans over to press her thumb onto the screen when -

"Gadfly."

It's a taller girl - taller, but not younger, with waves of dark brown hair curling around her shoulders and a round face that's quite similar to Majesty's. She punches, steps back, steps right, twirls, and kicks back with a satisfying crunch.

"Oh my, my, my!"

Majesty gasps, hands flitting up to a face smeared with makeup and blood. The other girl steps forward and drops low before sweeping Majesty's legs from beneath her. All her training hasn't been for nothing, for she manages to turn and keep herself from falling. The other girl swoops in again, punching at stomach, chest, and jaw, then kicking her square in the gut before cartwheeling forward to slam her heel into Majesty's right side.

It's an unnecessarily fancy move, but it works.

Majesty falls off the podium, nose considerably squishier, hair flying free of her bun, white dress stained red and right arm twisted at an unnatural angle. A boy rushes from the eighteen-year-olds sector to gather her up and get her to the medics, who are always present at a Reaping. District One is always prepared, although this was the first time a prospective tribute was actually knocked unconscious.

The girl

The district is silent. Then;

"Woohoo!"

A dark-haired boy climbs onto a chair and cheers. "Go, Pros!"

The girl smiles. She walks up to the scanner and dries her hands of blood on her skirt before pressing her thumb into the scanner. The screen behind them lits up with her picture; a seventeen-year-old girl, dark, almost black hair tied up in a messy ponytail, looking a little disheveled with those round gray eyes and strands of hair scattered across her forehead. Her name flashes beneath her photo, alongside the number one.

Lissa smiles like a child and reaches up to put Prosperity's arm. She manages - barely.

"Lades and gents, may I introduce this year's first tribute - Prosperity Kaufmann!"

Thank you, Lupus Overkill, for Prosperity. (And her sister, too, I s'pose!) This fic is oooooooold, but with not that much development. Buuut I'm changing that. Please submit, everyone! :D You can find the form on my profile and on District 15.

I own nothin'~