Okay, here is the first real chapter! District 1's reapings. I hope you guys like it, but I won't know unless you review, now will I? So, please leave your comments. I'd love to improve, but I can't do that without critiquing, so feel welcome to.

Also, I've posted a list of all the other submitted characters under the Tribute List in case you want to check that out.

I did a disclaimer at the beginning of the story, but I'm going to go ahead and just start doing one for every chapter (not that the status is really ever going to change, though). So here it is:

DISCLAIMER: *sigh* I do not own any part of The Hunger Games. I know, it's a sad fact. For me, anyway. I also do not own any of the characters in this chapter.

-Chatreuse Thatcher, District 1-

It's amazing the patterns that can be found hiding in the ceiling if you look hard and long enough. I spy a rat… and there's a tree. And if I really use my imagination, I can just make out a badger's head in that corner.

The candle on my bedside table allows me to see a couple feet around me. Everything is thrown into sharp shadows, the light and the dark, yin and yang.

I've been lying in bed for hours. I've tried everything I can think of to fall asleep: reading, burying my head under the pillows, flipping around so my feet are at the head of the bed, reading some more, lying on my stomach, even more reading, everything. Now I've settled for just leaving my eyes open until they are too tired to stay up. So far, it hasn't been working out for me too well.

Tomorrow — or maybe later today would be more appropriate — the reapings will be held, my second official one. And decidedly my last. Having an older brother who's a Victor does have its influences.

Sighing, I close my eyes hoping that now I might finally be able to sleep. It wouldn't be a very good thing to appear bushed at the reapings, now would it? That's definitely not a turn-on for sponsors. It's not a very good way to start off the Games, either. If I have bouts of insomnia every time I worry, I'll die from exhaustion in the arena. Not a good thing.

-Onyx Gem, District 1-

"Skylar?" I whisper.

I gently shake her shoulder to wake her up. She moans and peels back her eyelids. "I'm sleeping," she whines, and rolls away from me. I smirk.

"Come on," I say, crouching so my chin rests on the edge of her bed. I pat her head affectionately and wait to see if she will respond. She doesn't. "Skylar?" I repeat.

Still no response.

"Okay, well, I guess I'll just go to the reapings without you." I get up and start walking towards the door. A squeak from the mattress's springs announces that Skylar is out of bed. It's followed by the pitter-patter of tiny feet, and then her small arms wrap around my leg.

She sniffs. "No, don't leave me, Onick." Her pronunciation of my name always makes me chuckle; it's one of the few things that do.

I look down at her wide green eyes. "You know I'd never do that."

After prying her chubby hands off of my leg, I keep a hold on one of them and lead her into the kitchen for breakfast. It is a quick affair; Mom already had toast and some scrambled eggs set out on the table. She and Dad weren't in the room though, probably getting prepared for the reapings. My final reaping, thank God. Still, no matter what happens, today will no doubt be bittersweet.

-Chatreuse Thatcher, District 1-

Light pierces through the blinds in my room and insists I wake up. I guess that means I did eventually fall asleep. I groan and stretch before forcing myself into a sitting position. Reaping day.

With the speed of a slug, I drag myself out of bed and trudge over to my closet. After absentmindedly flipping through my clothes, I pull out a suitable dress. I go to my full-length mirror and hold it up in front of my body. With my bed head hair and bleary eyes, it's hard to tell, but I think it will do.

In a kind of daze, I strip off my pajamas and slide into the dress. It's strapless and dark purple in color. The only problem with it is that it does nothing to hide the scar on my arm from when I fell out of that tree. I doubt anything nice will, though. Actually, it might be best if the cameras catch it when I volunteer. Give me a bit of interest.

Still standing in front of the mirror, I unweave my hair from its usual braids and let it fall around my face. It's blonde and wavy from the braids. I run my fingers through it, hoping to tame it a bit, but it's resilient, so I pull it up into a bun and claim myself presentable.

I pad out of my room on bare feet across the hall to my brother's room. Just two years ago, he was reaped. When he won, it was as if the whole family let out a giant breath that we had all been holding the entire time he was in the arena. The day he came home, my parents decided to have me start training for the Games in case I was ever a part of them. It's a good thing they made me. Practice will definitely help me in the Games.

I knock on his door and shout, "Knock, knock, anybody named Merlin home?" When the door doesn't open, I deepen my voice and recite from an old nursery tale my parents read to me when I was younger. "Little pig, little pig, let me come in!"

A faint, "Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin," sounds through the door.

Suppressing a giggle, I reply, "Well, then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow you're door in!"

"I'd like to see you try," I hear Merlin say. "I don't think the Capitol would be too pleased with one of its finest Victor's houses destroyed. I can see tomorrow's news now. 'We have lost one of our finest in District 1, today. This pile of dust was the once-magnificent Victor's home. It was our pride, but now it has been damaged beyond repair. District 1 mourns at its loss," he begins in a sarcastic, nasal accent. "Oh, and also it appears that some remains of, um… Mervin Satcher were found on the site," Merlin adds as though it is an afterthought.

I can't help but laugh. The lock clicks, and I push on the door. It swings out without resistance, and I gingerly step into Merlin's room. Clothes lay scattered on the floor, his bed is a tangled mess of pillows and blankets, and a disturbing smell seems to be diffusing from a particularly large pile of filth by his wide-open closet door. Merlin is nowhere to be found.

Maybe he tripped and then suffocated in all of his own [crud]…?

I creep farther into Merlin's room. As I make to get a closer look at the putrid heap, I hear a click. I spin on my heal to see Merlin fling himself out from behind the closet door straight at me. Before I have time to do anything but squeak, Merlin has his arm around my neck and his other fist holding an imaginary blade pointed at my side. My shock must have pleased him because he sniggers and slackens his hold on me.

"You know," he says, "if you want to have any chance at winning the Games, you're going to need to pay more attention."

I shove him off. "How so?"

Merlin strides back to the closet door. "For starters, start thinking of life as one of those pictures where you have to spot the things that just aren't right." He steps behind the door again and asks, "What's wrong with this picture?"

"There's a shadow from your feet under the crack between the door and floor," I state after a moment.

"Exactly," Merlin says smugly as he walks back out. "Those are the kinds of things you need to look for. That will be the difference between your life and death in that arena."

Since I told him I was planning to volunteer a couple days ago, he's been doing all sorts of crazy things in 'preparation.' Mostly I think he just enjoys making a fool out of me, but I there seems to be a genuine want to help me in his actions. Except for the time he snuck a fly into my dinner. I'm pretty sure that was just to irritate me, but he claimed he did it because I was bound to eat a bug or two in the arena, whether on purpose or not, and that I needed to get used to the idea, and because I needed to take more notice of things. The latter seems to be a reoccurring theme in Merlin's lessons.

Merlin and I leave his room to get breakfast in a good humor, poking fun at each other the whole way.

After we eat, Merlin goes to get dressed for the reapings. Mom insists on helping him, much to his annoyance, with choosing his outfit and with good reason. For the last reaping — his first as a Victor, no less — he wore a wrinkled black shirt, navy blue pants, and dark brown shoes. To say the least, Mom was not pleased. The escort, Zafrine Sylvie, looked downright appalled. I was just doing all I could not to burst into hysterics the whole time he was up on stage.

Since I am already ready besides my lack of shoes, I plop down on the couch in our living room, close my eyes, and try to make up for a bit of the sleep I was deprived of last night.

-Onyx Gem, District 1-

Mom, Dad, Skylar, and I head for the reapings with thirty minutes to spare. We live in the Victor's Village, which is relatively close to the square, but my dad insists on getting there early. He's a Victor and would never do anything to make himself look bad in front of a camera.

Even though we make it to the square quite a while before the reapings were to start, it was already teeming with people. I say goodbye to my parents and pat Skylar's head before wandering over to the section roped off for eighteen-year-olds. I don't make any effort to talk to anybody, and nobody tries to talk to me. I push my sleeves up to my elbows and simply stand slouched in the corner farthest from the stage with my hands in my pockets, a bored expression on my face. No point in hiding the fact that I have no desire to be here.

My father is the first person on stage, and I can tell he takes pride in that. Glancing around, I'm able to find my mom in the crowd. She's having a conversation with another lady who probably also has a child at risk of being reaped. They both have frowns on their faces, and Mom's green eyes are downcast. Skylar, on the other hand, is completely oblivious to what is about to happen and is sitting on the floor by Mom's skirt, coloring with a blue crayon. She's only four and still has no idea what exactly the reapings entail, the lucky girl.

The square continues to load with people, and the stage at the front also fills with past the Victors, now including my grandparents on my mom's side, and the single escort. I just stare at the floor the whole time; even when the mayor begins his speech, I make no effort to listen. All I care about is getting this over with and moving on with my life. There are better things to do than sit around while the Capitol pulls our strings to make us dance, things like getting married and having a family. Much better things.

Only when the escort, Zafrine, the same one we've had forever, begins to head to the podium do I take notice of anything besides the beetle crawling along the floor a couple feet away from my feet.

Her rainbow metallic dress shines in the morning sunlight as Zafrine saunters over to the podium and grabs the mike.

"Hello, my district! Aren't you guys excited to see who your tributes are?"

Some people clap awkwardly, but a group of people standing in front of me who I recognize from training whoop and holler. Zafrine takes this as a positive response, and beams. "Well, then without further ado," she says as she plucks a piece of paper from the girls' bowl, "the female tribute shall be—"

She gets cut off by a young girl running towards the stage. "I volunteer!" she cries, her hand held up as if it wasn't already clear who was speaking. The girl skips up the stairs to meet a taken aback Zafrine.

"Oh," she scrambles to collect her thoughts, "right. And what might your name be?"

"Chatreuse," the girl gasps. "Chatreuse Thatcher."

Her name causes a stir in the crowd; most people recognize her last name. Her brother was the one who won the 98th Games. He was a tribute who was quite hard to forget. Chatreuse glances at him, and he nods encouragement.

The diamond studs beneath Zafrine's eyebrows glint as she raises them. She too knows the name. "Well, congratulations, Chatreuse. You are now District 1's female tribute! And the male tribute shall be…"

Come on; let's get this over with….

"… Onyx Gem! Come on up here!"

I blink. That is my name. Huh.

-Chatreuse Thatcher, District 1-

The guy, Onyx, meanders to the stage, a smug smile planted on his face. His hair is black to the point where it almost appears blue and through his white button up shirt — with the top two buttons left undone — his muscles are prominent enough to be intimidating. He looked like he knew what he was doing, like he would be the one to come back. Like he could kill without remorse… kill me without remorse.

Oh no. What have I done?

So, there it is! Please let me know what you guys think — especially the people who submitted these tributes so that I know if I portrayed them right — and I'll be working to get District 2 up soon.

-Tasting Raindrops-