Disclaimer: I don't own the character theme songs or THG.

~The Reaping, District 7~

District 7: Almandine Bandica

Join all the millions
Of victims who prescribe
To this mediocre life

~Rise Against, Join The Ranks~

I turn my nose up at the foul-smelling protein shake Dad places before me, thinking of at least twenty different things I'd rather be eating. Grass, sweat socks, garbage, carrots—and I hate carrots more than any other vegetable he tries to force me to eat. They taste like shit, and I've told him so on more than one occasion.

"Drink it." he commands, like I'll actually listen to him if he sounds menacing enough.

Yeah right!

"I'd rather rip my hair out of my scalp."

His frown turns into a sneer, and he starts to speak through clenched teeth. "I don't care what you want to do, you do what I tell you."

"No." I walk out of the room.

It's easier to tune out his shouting when I put some distance between us. I've been told (not by anyone who's opinion means anything to me.) that Old Harold a.k.a King Of The Assholes and I are a lot alike. And it doesn't stop there, sometimes the word exactly is involved. But I don't see it, he's some old loser who spends his time trying to boss me around in a pathetic attempt to relive his glory days. I guess those include the days after he won his Games, when Harold Bandica and not Johanna Mason, was the coolest victor of District 7. When he met my mom and fell in love. It is absolutely pathetic, if you ask me.

"Those days" are over, with a capital O-V-E-R, and it's my turn to win.

That's why I've come up with an alternate exercise regime, because my father's daily pep talks, nasty shakes, and strength-building routines just don't work. He's living in a world where I do what he says because he experienced the Hunger Games, but I'm smarter than him. The Careers in the past few years have been smarter, stronger, faster than they have in the earlier Games—namely Dad's. I have to work even harder than he did if I am going to ally with them. And then, I still have to be better, though I already am in the brain department, if I'm going to kill every last one of them. And believe me, I will.

I creep upstairs and down the hallway, a very dark and secluded section of the house. Pictures of my dead mother and my once-happy father line the walls. I keep telling him that we need a fucking lamp or something in here, but he never agrees with me.

It feels like they're spying on me, especially because their faces cover every inch of the plaster. And every time I see Dad, I think he'll know that I haven't exactly followed his instructions to the letter.

But he never does.

I stop in front of the door covered in little posters proclaiming the proper ways to stretch, and a training schedule that lists the hours that Dad wants me to spend in each area of our training room.

I want to rip them off, but I don't, choosing to walk inside and head straight to the treadmill.

The machine beeps three times when I turn it on, and I press several buttons until the belt is at the highest inclination and speed possible.

After twenty minutes of running, I head over to the barbells. Dad has warned me that he should always be present when I use them. Something about needing a spotter... whatever.

I'm able to lift the bar at least twice before it falls on my chest.

The impact knocks the breath out of me. I sit there, struggling to lift it off me, but it soon becomes painfully obvious that the damn thing won't budge an inch. I even go as far as to kick my legs in the air, as if that would actually help me.

It doesn't—big surprise there.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Dad's face hovers in the air, eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth pulled down. I can almost feel the disapproval he's aiming at me.

"Working out." I answer, voice catching in my throat.

He rolls his eyes at me. What kind of person treats their kid like they are an idiot? "Well, that turned out nicely. That's why I need to be here to supervise, so you don't turn your lungs into freaking pancakes!"

Blah blah blah. "Just get this thing off me, okay?"

"Fine, Almandine, but next time wait for me."

Dad takes hold of the barbell and lifts it over my head in one swift motion, and I grumble about him being a show-off under my breath. I don't say thank-you or even tell him what a relief it is to be able to breath properly again—I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Go get ready, the reaping starts in less than an hour." my father says, and for once, I don't need to be told twice.

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I like to look nice almost as much as I like winning—if I don't look good kicking everybody's ass, what's the point?

You know, besides the notoriety and money.

I put on the nicest dress I own, a light green ensemble, and matching earrings. I try to put on my make-up quickly without messing up and I'm pleased to say that I only had to fix one or two mistakes.

When Dad comes to the door, I'm putting my favorite pair of shoes on.

"Come on, we have to leave!"

Normally, I'd be pretty pissed off by his attitude, but I hate having to walk into town alone.

District 7: Beech Lignum

And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.

~Lynyrd Skynyrd, Simple Man~

Little Maggie is only really happy when she's outside, running around.

She takes me by the hand and drags me towards the front door, giggling as I feebly protest to her demand that we play tag for hours and hours and hours—she doesn't bother to listen when I tell her that there aren't enough hours in the day, and even if there was, our time would still be cut short, just because of what day it is.

She asks the same question every year, or at least every year that she could talk. "What's today, Bee-Bee?"

"Reaping day," I remind her for the millionth time.

"What's that?"

How can I possibly explain that today means certain death for twenty-three kids? "Just a holiday for Panem," I say, "all of the other districts have it, too. That's why we have off school."

"Oh, sounds like fun!"

"Not fun," I say carefully. "You have to remember that, Maggie."

She is deep in thought for what seems like a very long time. "Okay!" she finally says, voice bright.

We play hide-and-go-seek for an hour before I see Aspen leave the house.

Out of my three siblings, only Aspen is eligible for the reaping, and he's only escaped the Hunger Games once. Hopefully, this will prove to be true for today's reaping. The odds are in his favor, that's for sure. I've told him time and time again that it's my job—and only my job—to take things like tesserae, so they have as little a chance of getting reaped as possible.

Aspen walks over to us, cringing when Maggie asks him to join in the fun. "Time to go."

I sigh. "Already?"

My brother nods. "Sadly. Dad said to take Maggie with us, he'll have Willow wheel him over later."

"Okay... did you eat your breakfast?" Aspen is always skipping meals and my concern probably makes him eat even less, but I can't stop myself from asking.

"Yup. Cereal. Yum." he pauses, and what he says next surprises me. "Start worrying about yourself, bro. I'll be fine, and God knows you need someone taking care of you."

"Yeah Bee-Bee!" Maggie chimes in, and somehow this makes Aspen's warning ten times more important.

And with that, we walk hand in hand in reluctant hand down the road, headed straight towards something that nobody really understands.

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District 7 has the smallest excuse for a shopping center in all of Panem. The general store is really the only "store" worth keeping around, the candy store is hardly ever stocked with anything edible and the toy store has such a little selection that Maggie hardly ever asks me to take her there. The rest of the area is pretty much empty, with the doctor's office located on the other side of the district. Trees encircle the entire place, and they're so big you can hardly ever see the sun through their leaves.

That being said, the sections for the twelve through eighteen year olds are so huge you can fit at least fifty people in the middle alone. I take Maggie with me into the eighteens and tell Aspen to keep his fingers crossed.

My little sister jumps into my arms the second he disappears in the thirteen section. "What happens next, Bee-Bee?"

"We wait for Daddy and Willow to come get you."

"But I want to stay with you!" she exclaims, punching my shoulder.

I try to calm her down, but nothing I say to her seems to have any effect—until Sheena Hans comes into her view.

"Look!" I say, pointing to the fat woman standing next to Mayor Oakley. She is covered in orange polka dots, and Maggie claps.

Orange has always been her favorite color.

"And our female tribute is—"

She is cut off by a loud, "I volunteer!"

The crowd of people falls silent—District 7 never has any volunteers. Ever.

A girl comes out of the fifteens, and I recognize her almost immediately.

Almandine Bandica, daughter of District 7's oldest victor.

Her expression is one of pride, she clearly thinks the world of herself.

Sheena doesn't give her much thought, sticking her hand in the second glass ball. "Our male tribute is..." a pause, "Beech Lignum!"

My world stops.

I can only think of my family, of Maggie, and Willow, and Aspen, and Dad. They need me.

I walk to Aspen, who stands in the front of his section. I hand him Maggie, who starts to scream like a banshee.

"Take care of them."

He nods.

The last thing I hear as I make my way to the stage is Maggie, shouting, "Come back, Bee-Bee! Don't go!"

Okay, I only did D7's reaping because they were almost done and I wanted to post them. I'm bored of writing reapings, so I'm going to do the chariots for the rest, because I really want to get to the Games. The next update should come today or tomorrow.