Disclaimer: I don't own most of the tributes, the lyrics, or The Hunger Games.

Here is the first set of reapings. (District 1-2) I was going to do it in two chapters, but I really wanted to get this up ASAP, so... I'll be doing more reaping chapters. It's less overwhelming that way. Thanks for everyone who made tributes, I hope I do them justice. And if I didn't, tell me. I'm particularly worried about Adrian, so I hope he's okay. Okay, without further adieu, here is the first official chapter!

~The Reapings, District 1 through 2~

District 1: Angelina Devon

Then when I'm thirsty, I drink their blood
Carnivore animal, I am a Cannibal

~Ke$ha, Cannibal~

"I think I'm going to volunteer," Alonna muses, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger.

I glare at her. She knows I'm planning on volunteering this year. "Really? Because I thought we agreed that I'd volunteer this year, I said that you could next year. You know, after I win."

She frowns, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on her shirt.

"Well?" I demand, crushing a plastic drinking straw between my fingers. A geyser of juice flies upward, hitting Alonna in the face and staining her brand-new blouse.

"I, uh, thought about that... and, well, I decided that you could volunteer next year."

"I. Don't. Think. So." I tell her carefully.

She looks down at her shirt, as if she's just noticing the huge orange splotch for the first time. "Angel, I love this blouse, it cost me thirty dollars!"

"I know." That's why I ruined it. Alonna and I spent the entire day yesterday shopping for new reaping outfits. My parents had given me eighty dollars and Alonna had only gotten thirty-five. The shirt originally cost forty bucks, but she bargained with the shopkeeper. And by bargained, of course I mean flirted. The guy had been pretty hot, too, and he wasn't paying any attention to me, like, at all! And I couldn't have that, could I?

"Honestly Angelina, do you care about anyone besides yourself?" Alonna looks at me with something like anger in her eyes.

"No," I lie smoothly. "Obviously I care about plenty of people. Duh."

"Name three," says Alonna. "At least."

I randomly pick three names out of my head, figuring that the last one will make her pretty happy. "My mom, because she gave me money for this dress." I point to it, a sparkly pink number that just barely covers my thighs, let alone my chest. "That hot guy over there, because, well, look at hi—"

"You mean Erik?" She asks, gesturing towards the blonde boy I mentioned.

I nod.

"I went out with him last night, Angelina!"

I glance at the boy one more time. He has the the best-looking face I've ever seen—the only exception is mine, but that's a total give-in. His bone structure is awesome, and we'd look like a great couple, especially because his blue eye provide a slight contrast to my green ones. Yup, we'd be perfect together and the more I think about it, the more I realize that this Erik-person and Alonna are totally wrong for each other. She's stupid to even think that he'd like her better than he would like me.

"Well, he'll go out with me after I get back from kicking ass and taking names in the Hunger Games," I smile to myself, happy that I'm clever enough to come up with a rhyme off the top of my head like that.

"Funny." Alonna says, smirking. "Who's that unlucky third person that you care about?"

"You." I put a self-righteous expression on my face.

She doesn't even bat an eyelash. "Why?"

"Because we've been best friends since, like, forever." I roll my eyes at her.

"Like I really believe that!" says Alonna with a snort.

"Suit yourself," I grin at her, a devious glint in my eyes.

"I will!"

I stand up, smoothing out the wrinkles in my dress and picking at a scab on my elbow. I always seem to get them whenever I scratch my skin, and even I have to admit that they look a little unsightly.

I then proceed to drag Alonna out of her seat, she whines in protest, and her chair tips over, a clattering noise follows it.

"Angelina!" she protests, pulling her arm back. "You're making a mess!"

I look at the table and its two matching chairs. Both are made of metal, and only one is lying on the ground, an arm half-buried in the dirt. The table is littered with those fancy napkins they give you, proclaiming the name of the café, Sparkling Wonder, in a swirly script. They are sopping wet, absorbing an unhealthy portion of my smoothie. And even then, it's still making a puddle on the sidewalk.

I shrug. "I don't see the problem."

"We're going to have to clean it up!"

"No we're not," I tap the worn watch that she always wears. It's ugly and brown and falling apart. "We have to get to the reaping."

I pull her in the direction of the square before she can come up with another excuse—she will not ruin my day, not if she knows what's good for her.

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The town square is filled to the brim with District 1 citizens, who are chatting animatedly and happily, taking bets on this year's volunteers. Rex Lusterfeld is the man in charge of the betting pool, and I march up to him, Alonna in tow. He makes eye contact with me and holds out his hand expectantly, a greedy gleam in his eyes.

I place a hefty amount of cash in his palm.

"For who?" he asks in a gravelly voice.

"Me, of course." I answer confidently, giving him my most brilliant smile.

He raises an eyebrow, a questioning look on his face. "Really? I thought your brother was the volunteer for the Devon family."

I plant my hands on my hips. "Who gave you that idea?"

"Your brother."

Well, I had taken care of that. "He lied, I'm the volunteer, not him."

"Well, that's not what—"

"I don't care about what he said!" I stomp my feet, and my voice rises in pitch. "I'm the volunteer! Me, me, me, me! Got it?"

He doesn't respond, but he makes sure he has a firm hold on the money before backing away.

That word echoes again and again in my head.

Me.

District 1: Scout Penumbra

I'm your Night Prowler, make a mess of you, yes I will
Night Prowler, and I am telling this to you
There ain't nothing you can do

~AC/DC, Night Prowler~

I look out my window, watching as large groups of people file into the roped-off sections of the square.

I see a lot of people I know, mainly the kids who bullied me when I was younger. They were all idiots—every last fucking one of them. They wouldn't know a lie if it smacked them in the face, especially Corey Cane and Grey Wist, two of the biggest guys I know. They used to hate each other in grade school, when I convinced them to beat the living shit out of each other. Strangely, after they realized what had happened, they became fairly close. Though instead of making fun of me, they lowered the self-esteem of the other kids.

I made them friends.

And here I am, sitting in my room all alone.

I shake my head, reminding myself that I have absolutely no interest in being friends with anyone in my district. Nobody around here could hold up their end of an intellectual conversation, their heads are filled with dead weight, thinking only of diamonds and money and romance—stupid shit like that. The things I have very little patience for.

"Scout!" a nasally voices calls out, snapping me out of reverie. "Time to go!"

I suppress a sigh. "Coming Kaleb!"

My ten year-old brother is the only one I can stand to be around at times, he hasn't been corrupted by the superficial air of our district yet, and for that I'm thankful.

I'm reluctant to actually make the effort to move from my spot. The reapings are boring and horrifically mundane, a routine event I'm forced to go to year in and year out. Last year's had been particularly dull, our two tributes had been Crystal Flutter, a thin and air-headed girl, and Gould Wells, a boy who's only strength was just that—his muscles.

Well, I knew right away that District 1 would not be hosting the Victory Banquet that year. I predicted that Gould would poison himself and Crystal would get her throat slit in the middle of the night.

And it went down almost exactly like that, the only discrepancy was that Crystal actually got bludgeoned to death in the middle of the night, her head split open by District 2's latest victor, Gabriel Ashford.

I laugh quietly to myself, at least I found out she wasn't completely brainless...

"Scout," Kaleb whines, "we don't have the time for this!"

He hits the door with about as much force as a mouse, and I get up from my perch near the window, glancing at the clock as I make my way to the other side of the room.

2 'o clock.

Crap.

I open the door to find Kaleb standing there, hand poised to knock yet again. He looks like a toddler, rather than a school-age kid. Blonde hair and chubby cheeks—the picture of innocence.

"Ready to go?" I ask, trying my best to sound sincere.

He considers this for a moment. "Um, yeah!"

"Move it, then."

I follow him as he breaks into a run and flies through the door.

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Kaleb pushes past a bunch of people, not bothering to say sorry, not that I mind.

We are almost there, I can see my mother standing on the outskirts of the reaping pens. She is making conversation with a woman I know of as Jewel Devon, mother of this year's standard volunteer, Jordan, and still grieving over the death of her youngest daughter, Abbi. No one knows how that little girl died, it's a mystery...

And then I hear a loud, "Hey!"

I turn around and see Kaleb smack into Grey, who looks pissed off. I'm tempted to go over there and reduce Grey into a blubbering mess, courtesy of a mental breakdown, but my mom catches sight of this as well. And lets just say she's over-protective of "her babies" and that's putting it mildly.

A smile spreads across his ugly face. "Hey, you're Scout's brother."

"So?"

"So, whats it like living with an untrustworthy asshole?"

"He's not an untrustworthy asshole, you're a dickwad!" Kaleb glares at Grey, who smirks back at him.

"Really? I bet he takes money from your parents and blames it on you."

Before Kaleb can come up with a rebuttal, Mom marches up to them and grabs Kaleb, shielding him from Grey's stupidity with her arms.

"What's going on here?" She demands as I walk away, and I can't hide the smile that crosses my face. That's what he gets for messing with me.

I find the pen for the eighteen year-olds. It's always located to the left of Shimmer Dye's jewelery shop. I take my spot in the front of the pack, next to a girl with unnaturally long brown hair and a boy whose name is Shadow. I pretend not to notice when the brunette takes a huge step away from me, nearly bumping into the person standing next to her.

Our mayor comes onstage and begins The Speech, as Kaleb and I call it. He also reads from the list of past victors, we've had ten and eight of them are still kicking. He then proceeds to introduce out escort, Mare Bobble, who is neither a man or a woman and has bright orange tattoos and yellowish hair.

"Hello District 1!" He/she shouts as if we are all deaf.

A few dim-wits actually cheer, and I don't even pretend to care.

"Let's get this thing started, shall we?" he/she walks over to the girl's reaping ball and retrieves a slip of paper.

"Crimson Ire!"

"I volunteer!" a girl shouts, pushing past several others who are standing there open-mouthed.

She just about makes it to the stage, when a shrill screams blows up in the air.

"You little fame whore!"

Uh oh. Bitch fight.

A girl with short hair and scabby arms emerges from her designated section. Her name is Angelina Devon, and she is one crazy bitch.

Said crazy bitch descends on the girl and starts punching her in the back, she kind of reminds me of a manic kangaroo... At any rate, she is a horrible fighter. Angelina has absolutely no tact and she attacks her victims blindly and without cause, or at least a legitimate one. Of course, she's still kicking the crap out of the poor would-be volunteer, so I have to assume that she'll get somewhere in the Games.

Angelina rushes onto the platform, smiling like she didn't just mow down a defenseless girl. My bet is she'll be the first one to go cannibal in the arena.

"I volunteer!"

The escort rolls his/her eyes. "So you've told us. What makes you think you can be this year's victor?" A standard question. Potential volunteers used to have to go through an entire interview process, but we got rid of that in the recent years.

She thinks it over for all of one second. "I'm smart, kind, pretty, and perfect."

"O-kay." Mare holds up Angelina's hand. "Meet the first official volunteer for the seventy-third Hunger Games! Um..."

"Angelina," she fills in pointedly. "Devon."

"Angelina Devon!"

Mare moves to the last reaping ball—the one for males—and shoves his/her hand in. He/she reads the slip aloud "Come on up... Scout Penumbra!"

I half-expect some dipshit to volunteer to take my place, but nobody comes forward.

Crap.

I can't fight... someone like Grey could kill my ass in ten second flat. How am I supposed to do this? I feel tears forming behind my eyes. I can't cry... I have to stop it.

It's okay, Scout. I tell myself. You're smart, you can do this. You will win.

District 2: Mercy Tenebrae

She seems dressed in all the rings... of past fatalities
So fragile, yet so devious - she continues to see
climatic hands that press her temples and my chest

~Slipknot, Vermilion~

I'm awakened by the sound of his screams.

At first, I feel the overwhelming need to hit him, but then I open my eyes and see just how bad this one actually is.

He's shouting and his arms are flailing every which way and if he doesn't shut up soon, James will come in and that is not an option. And, besides, if this gets any worse I'm going to actually feel concerned, and that's worse than James' wrath.

I sigh and attempt to get a hold of his arms, but I can't. He's moving around way too much and I can't even get a good grip one of his wrists, let alone two of them. I don't see any other option, I have to roll over and actually pinion him to the bed, and he's still fighting me. I guess I should be glad he isn't sleeping with a knife as if it's his teddy bear, then I'd be in major trouble. I still can't get over the fact that he did that the first few nights he returned home—it was like his fucking security blanket.

"Gabriel," I whisper, not bothering to hide my irritation. "Shut the hell up!"

I get another scream as my answer.

I dig my fingernails into the flesh on his wrists, and red marks appear almost immediately. Damn it! Now he's going to bring this up every time we argue... I put that out of my head for a minute, thinking of other ways to silence him instead. I decide to try the rarely used "nicer approach" Iona is always babbling about.

I put my my lips next to his ear. "Wake up, Gabriel, it's alright."

But I'm lying, because in the next second James—my moronic and over-protective older brother—barges into my bedroom.

He looks like he just put his head in a blender, his dark hair is a total mess and he seems angry as hell, probably because I woke him up, that's his main reason for acting like a pissy little girl. Either way, it doesn't give him the right to slam the door and disrupt the peace—actually, his entrance got Gabriel to wake up...

I watch his reaction with a smug expression on my face. He tries to sit up, but he can't since I'm quite literally on top of him, and he still doesn't realize that he's not inside of his nightmare anymore.

Moments like these were priceless.

"What the fuck is going on in here?"

In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have said what I did.

"I don't know James... what would two teenagers be doing in bed on a Saturday morning?"

James marches over to my bed and literally lifts me off of my best friend. The douche. "Whatever it is, he has five seconds to get out of here before I crush his jaw."

Gabe blinks, rubs his eyes, and finally catches sight of James. I highly doubt that he even knew what my brother was bitching about, but her rushes out of the room via my window—the same way he came in.

"Why would you do that? We weren't doing anything."

"I don't really care what you two were doing because if mom and dad were home that little shit wouldn't be alive right now." There's an unspoken challenge in the air, he's daring me to contradict him.

I roll my eyes. "Cut him some slack, he was having another bad dream."

"Oh." says James. That's it. Oh.

Of course, this is utter bullshit, I don't really care about his nightmares, as bad as it may sound. Gabriel and I spent years training to be part of the Games, and now that he's won, he's acting stupid. I honestly don't understand why and I don't like having to dwell on it too much, it makes me worry and I never worry.

Everyone else seems to sympathize with him though, so I don't really know why he comes for my help every night, because I'm clearly not good with touchy feely crap.

My brother clears his throat, and I smile. I've won this round. "Well... Iona is downstairs, and you guys should head out... the reaping starts soon."

ѮѼѮ

I meet my younger sister by the front door. She is like a mini-me in a lot of ways, and I hate it. What happened to being your own person?

She's similar to me in looks, though she actually bothered to make herself look presentable—in an old dress of mine, no less! Iona has combed her black hair and pinned it away from her face, she is grinning like a mad woman.

"Ready to go?" she asks me.

"No."

She regards me like I'm something to be shunned and ushers me out of the house, grabbing my umbrella before the door slams shut.

"Mom and Dad are going to be mad we aren't there early." Iona scolds, as if she's the older sister.

I want to smack her, but I keep my composure. "They're working."

My parents are Peacekeepers, and every year they go into the town square earlier than everyone else to keep out the troublemakers, as well as rope-off the sections. They won't even notice that James' isn't with us.

"It doesn't matter," she says, still using her Mother Goose voice. "They'll still be mad."

"Why don't you—"

Iona interrupts me—again. "Look! There's Docia and Mara! See ya!" She runs off to the section for the fifteens and leaves me standing all alone, in the pouring rain, looking like a moron—without the umbrella.

I curse to myself and wish that Gabriel didn't have to be onstage with the other victors... I'm going to look like a loser now, and that's the farthest thing form the truth. I consider this for a second, coming to the conclusion that I don't care what I look like, I don't need anybody.

District 2: Adrian Perham

This used to be a funhouse
But now it's full of evil clowns
It's time to start the countdown

~P!nk, Funhouse~

It's raining.

That's the first thing I notice when I open my eyes on the morning of the reaping.

Rain is a bad omen, and everyone in their right mind knows it.

I want to roll over and go back to sleep. I want to forget about the sheeting downpour and the terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. Today isn't a day for bad karma, because today I want to volunteer.

I mean, I went through the entire process of training, and I've been evaluated. I'm in good health, I've passed the standardized physical they gave me, and I know for a fact that I had been the only person the mentors deemed suitable enough to represent the district—even the latest victor had no issues with it, and he isn't right in the head, stepped on one too many cracks, I guess.

I debate on whether or not I should put my head under the pillow for a few minutes longer, when I hear Felicia cursing from the other room.

When my sister's in a bad mood, it usually lasts for hours. She kicks and screams and has the biggest tantrum anyone has ever seen.

One time, she threw her hairbrush at the bathroom mirror and it cracked—I still think our house has seven years of bad luck—and she started complaining about not being able to do her makeup.

I force myself to get out of bed and face the day, trying not to think that one phrase that will ruin everything.

I dress in my reaping finest and take the stairs two at a time.

Two has been my lucky number ever since I started believing in karma. It had taken me two weeks to get back on my feet after my accident and all good things come in twos, at least I think they do. There's shoes and socks and Felicia's earrings... and I live in District 2, so that sort of trumps any of my other reasons for liking the number.

I greet my parents, who are waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. My mother, whom I like to call Bitchy Bellona when she's not looking, gives me The Look. You know, the one that makes me want to have my lucky rabbit's foot and my four-leaf clover with me.

She points to the clock on the wall. "You were supposed to be ready to go thirty minutes ago!"

"I'm here now, though." I say sheepishly.

"Well, if we aren't there soon we'll all be shot to death." says my father.

I flinch.

I can't even think about the bad karma that will come with murdering a human being. It scares the crap out of me, I mean, what if the bad spirits decide to haunt me for all of eternity?

Felicia runs down the staircase when Mom calls her name, the shrill tone of voice is enough to set anyone on edge. In Felicia's hand is a bright pink umbrella, because when her hair get wet it frizzes or something.

She opens it at the same time Dad yanks the front door open.

I nearly have a heart attack.

"Felicia!" I gasp, stumbling over my next words. "Th-that's bad l-luck!"

"So?"

"Both of you, stop fighting and get out the door! Now!"

I don't think either of us has ever been so eager to leave the house before.

ѮѼѮ

Awnings hang over storefronts and restaurants in the square. Ladders are propped up against buildings while men repair leaks. I stay as far away from them as humanly possible and I spot my best friends under a huge umbrella, huddling together and presumably looking for me.

I rush over to them, and we walk over to the eighteens, trying to avoid getting wet.

I see a bulge in Geneva's jacket, and I'm curious as to what it could possibly be.

"Gen, is there something you want to tell me?"

She smiles, "Yup, I found a cat and decided to keep it."

I ignore the looks on Benedict's and Cameo's faces, though I should have taken it as another omen, but I opt to poke the lump instead.

Sure enough, it meows.

"What did you decide to name it?"

"Midnight." My girlfriend says, a smirk on her face.

I'm starting to worry now... this doesn't sound pleasant. "Why?"

Without a word, she pulls her new pet from her coat. It's a cute cat with yellow eyes and a small body, but that doesn't mean it isn't Satanic. It's all black. Gen has decided to adopt a black cat.

A demon.

I back away from her, my hands outstretched. She knows how I feel about those things, those terrible little monsters. She knows they're bad luck. And she actually touched one!

All three of them are laughing like hyenas—so they think it's funny! They're all aware that I'm volunteering today and they take it as one big joke!

I disappear into my section, no one follows me.

Good. I think, who needs them anyway?

The mayor walks onto the stage. He's a portly man of about forty, and he's famous around school for his receding hairline. He talks about the formation of Panem, the Dark Days (one huge case of bad luck, if you ask me,) and it's result: a yearly event called the Hunger Games. Mayor Bloom names the previous victors, and the crowd applauds. Even I manage to clap weakly a few times, but then I go back to clutching my lucky charm... I have to get rid of all the negative energy pronto.

The mayor gives us the "settle down" hand gesture and we oblige. "Please welcome our escort... Caspian Grimm!"

Caspian gallops onto the platform, waving and smiling, though I suspect the smiling-thing is due to a Capitol drug called Botox. This year, his skin is the color of the sun on a cloudless day. He looks like a lightbulb for God's sake!

"Hellooooo District 2! How are you guys today?"

Not good. That cat really threw off my equilibrium.

"Good!" he exclaims. "Let's move on!"

He goes over to the first reaping ball and pulls a name out of it.

"Mercy Tenebrae, you're our female tribute!"

A girl with dark hair and a smug expression pushes me out of the way so she can claim her glory. It's protocol that keeps every other girl from jumping up to volunteer, as I said earlier, potential volunteers have to pass a test. Caspian has a list of those who passed it on his clipboard, after Mercy gets up there, he will ask the expected question and only those on the list may answer it.

She mounts the stairs and Caspian puts his bony arm around her shoulder. "Any volu—"

"Nope." says Mercy shortly. "They're aren't."

"What?" one of the victors says, distraught.

She turns around, gives him the evil eye, faces the crowd again, gives us a shit-eating smile.

She's got a pole up her ass, probably has major karma issues, too...

"So... let's get our male tribute, shall we?"

I take a deep breath, rubbing my wooden charm again.

"Stark Fields!"

A short boy, who is fourteen years old, makes his way to the stage... walks up the steps... stands next to Caspian... I rub my charm once more for good measure.

"Any volunteers?" Caspian asks.

"Me!" I shout, whilst jumping over the velvet rope. "I volunteer!"

"Name?" he inquires once I'm in earshot.

"Adrian Perham." I say proudly.

He reads over the list, smiling even more when he comes across my name. "District 2, I give you your tributes!" Instead of stopping there, he continues on with his monologue, complimenting us. "Nothing can go wrong with these guys as our competitors!"

That phrase I didn't think of this morning comes back to haunt me. I can't believe he said it. Now I'm screwed.

I hoped you guys liked it... tell me what you thought of the tributes so far... I'll make an attempt to do three reapings next chapter, but I'll see how it works out. And sorry for any typos I might not have seen/corrected.