Guys, new chapter...YAY! No, this is the reapings of District 12 or more specifically the girl of district 12; we'll be hearing from Effie, Haymitch, and potentially some others :D I seriously like the idea of seeing reapings from these different perspectives. So here we go...

Effie Trinket, District 12 Escort.

I glance out as the landscape float past as the Capitol train flies through the length of Panem at speeds surpassing 200mph, our destination: District 12. It is truly amazing what the Capitol can do. I've heard about the horrors that are found out here in the districts of our beloved Panem, the horrific crime rates, the intellectually challenged inhabitants. Back home in the Capitol, I am safe but now I am escaping the safety blanket of the Capitol with all its luxuries: The fine mahogany frames of our furniture, the gourmet food and the jewels; every little detail is pivotal to everyday life, the Capitol epitomizes glamour and orderliness: the two most important factors in my life.

I will miss home; my chic apartment with the platinum door knobs and the doors inlaid with the finest diamonds that district 1 has to offer. I am only here in the Mining district for one day: but every moment spent away from the Capitol is a moment I face grave danger at the hands of the district, the misguided rebels who wish to bring forth the 'Dark Days' yet again. I allow myself a small prayer of thanks to our government, the blessed people who brought the 'Treaty of Treason' into existence, The Hunger Games are pivotal to reminding the districts that any attempt to bring down the Capitol, the back bone of all that resides here in Panem. Without the Capitol there would be nothing. No structure, no order: oh I draw my perfectly manicured hand to my chest, the thought is simply unthinkable.

I allow myself a moment to deviate from my schedule, all of which has been constructed to ensure that this day runs as smoothly as possible, to think about what the consequences would be of another rebellion: life as I know it would cease to exist, there would be anarchy, any form of culture and etiquette would vanish and it frightens me. It simply cannot happen; and thank you to the genius of the great President Herten and his brilliant creation that is The Hunger Games, thanks to him the 'Dark Days' will never return.

The train rolls into the sight and I am simply flabbergasted, this place is horrific, I don't know if I can even call it a 'place' it is more of a hovel. Where is the colour? The cars? The life? I am such a brave woman, allowing myself to be here of all places. But the training I received has fallen short in preparing my for the sight I am faced with, but I will persist: I, Effie Trinket, am an ambassador for the Capitol, I must symbolise all that what the Capitol represents; beauty, class and utmost decorum. I take one last glance at the train carriage, a memento of life at home with the lavish furnishings, the crystal chandelier before I leave to enter the unknown; I would love to stay in the carriage all day until we depart back for the Capitol but that desire is irrational. I have a duty today, a duty to the Capitol, a duty I signed up for when I became an escort.

I exit onto the platform at 10.30, with the reapings beginning at 2 o'clock that gives me 3 and a half hours in order to over see the construction of the stage, to meet with the camera crews and to introduce myself to Haymitch Abernathy: the only surviving victor who hails from district 12, and Panem renowned alcoholic. Well, he is about to meet Effie Trinket and I will not allow him to disrupt my well thought out schedule: efficiency is my greatest strength and no lowly slob who drowns their sorrows in alcohol is ever going to change that. In fact where is he? I sent word I would be arriving at 10.30 exactly as my schedule said and he is not here, where is he?

I stand there waiting for 12 minutes, which is 720 seconds; there is never an excuse for such tardiness, it is simply awful manners. Today is a big day; a big, big day. Where is he? I look around at my entourage expecting them to answer my unspoken question; they all stare back at me, confusion written across all of their faces. Oh goodness, it is my first year and I can already see that everything is going wrong, Abernathy's blatant disregard for punctuality has thrown my carefully crafted schedule, a schedule specifically designed to make sure today ran as smoothly possible, into disaster. What am I to do? Spontaneity is a sign of being unprepared, and I am nothing but prepared.

Effie Trinket, I will sort this disaster out. I will be renowned as the finest escort Panem has ever known; the reapings will be a big success, and I will move onto bigger and better things: escorting for district 1 or 2, the elite. There is no way that I will become the laughing stock of the Capitol because of some stupid little man. Haymitch Abernathy, prepare yourself, for you are about to go toe-to-toe with Effie Trinket and you will never rain on her parade. But first, to make myself look absolutely stunning, one must always look flawless for the cameras.

'Stylists, we're having a change of plan. But don't worry, everything will be fine. Today is going to be a big, big day and I know, on our presidents word, that today the odds are ever in our favour'

Haymitch Abernathy, District 12 Mentor.

Screams, guttural cries of fear and the squealing sound of metal against metal provide the overture of my nightmares yet again. Nightmares that come every night, visions that have haunted me for every night for 12 years, the axe imbedding itself in the head of Emerald Fortescue, the district 1 tribute: my final obstacle in escaping with my life. The 47 tributes that lost their life. 12 years ago, back in the Quarter Quell.

A question I have tried in years to answer, but the answer eludes me. Pain, grief and every other negative emotion blurs as I see her die, the sharpened beak of the mutt tearing through her neck; the crimson blood bursting for where her jugular had been slashed; I hear her final breaths in my head, pants as she departs this world: deserting me and leaving me alone. Haymitch Abernathy the consummate loner, alone in this world.

My new companion is the only thing that makes it all go away, numbs the pain and allows me to live with any sense of normalcy, the antidote to the poison that is watching 2 people I train perish in the arena. Alcohol, an angel in disguise. I rouse from my restless slumber, the knife still tightly gripped in my right hand; I stand, gently swaying and my vision blurring. Okay, the alcohol has some bad side effects: the throbbing headache, the general nausea but I take these for they are better than the alternative; the realisation I am alone in this world and what for? Another question without an answer. The alcohol keeps the visions at bay, the sights of such horrors that invade my mind reminding me of the horrors I have witnessed.

I reach for the bottle on the table where I had spent the evening slumped over; I knock back the dregs, the bitter taste isn't the most appetising but I drain the bottle waiting for the moment of bliss, when I black out, ignore the world, ignore the pain. I go to the cupboard to grab another bottle of the white liquor and look down at my clothes, stained by sick, dirt and the disgusting smell of body odour permeates the room. Me, a Victor? Ha, I'm meant to look immaculate, live in luxury and be proud of the fact that I have proven myself as a worthy winner of the Hunger Games. I am not a victor as all, I have lost everything and my outward appearance is testament to that fact, haggard and repulsive; a reflection that I am broken on the inside.

I trail my eyes throughout my home, broken bottles and unfinished meals litter the floor, the smell of rotten food evident; a thick layer of dust graces the surfaces and the flickering light throwing shadows against the walls. This house is representative of my life, I see that but to anyone else I know all they see is a haggard tramp who has squandered his fortune on booze; I suppose in a sense they are right. I look towards the phone, ripped rather ungracefully from the wall in a fit of drunken rage: can they Capitol not realise I just want to be left alone, to lick my wounds like the beaten dog that I am.

The silence is broken by a series of raps against my door, who is that, who would be knocking my door down? People know that I am to be left alone, if I craved company I'd bloody well go into town; the only time I go to town is to get some liquor from the Hob, the black market of district 12.

'Mister Abernathy, answer this door this instant' A shrill voice comes from behind the door, the kind of voice that goes right through you and grates on your nerves.

'Go away you god awful woman' what must a man do for peace nowadays?

'Mister Abernathy, I will not be leaving until you answer the door. You have already sabotaged my schedule with your tardiness, which are very poor manners I would like to point out. We have a busy day ahead of us' the voice is continuing to annoy me, busy day? All I intend to do today is to get wasted and blackout.

'Well you'll be waiting a long time won't you cause I'm off to bed now' I shuffle over towards the kitchen table, bottle in hand and intent on ignoring that annoying wench.

'You are taking things too far, today is reaping day and you are to be present at the ceremony in little over an hour, we're taking a big risk leaving it this late. So answer the door this instant, or else I will be forced to contact the authorities' bloody hell, will she be quiet? If the only option is to open the door I will. I rip the door open with such force that the hinges squeak in protest.

'What?' I roar into the woman's face, she looks taken aback at my appearance or maybe she's just shocked that I shouted in her face. Oh well, she'll get over it. I actually look at her, she is from the Capitol that is certainly true, lavender hair, bone white skin, pointed features and crystal blue eyes. The make up and clothes are just as flamboyant and utterly ridiculous: she holds a parasol in the most blinding shade of orange and a dress which appears to be made of duchess satin; also a vile shade of tangerine. The make up where to begin? Her eyes are lined with a sunshine yellow, eye shadow a startling shade of green and then green lipstick, a yellow clutch bag held against her chest covered in emeralds. It hurts to look at her; I avert my eyes before she blinds me.

'Mister Abernathy, I am appalled at your bad manners. Have you never heard of civility or etiquette? This will not help you in approaching sponsors; I'll have to teach you.' Oh great I'm stuck here talking to some bloody control freak, she whips a pad from her bag and a bubble gum pink fountain pen and makes a quick note, the pad has vanished before I have time to blink.

'Well, don't worry, I don't care about sponsors seeing as I'm not mentoring' 11 years I have been the sole mentor of district 12, 22 children have died and there was nothing I can do. I simply won't do it anymore and there's nothing this Capitol wench can do about it.

'I beg to differ, upon your victory of the 50th annual Hunger Games you signed a contract, well not officially but you understand, to mentor the tributes each year. How dare you neglect your duty, to your district, to your Capitol. Have you no sense of honour, have you no compassion?'

Her diatribe is seriously grating on my last nerve; me lacking compassion? Duty to the Capitol? This woman is seriously deluded and there is nothing she can do to make me go to the reapings. I go to close the door in her face, but I'm shocked when her hand shoots out at surprising speed and holds the door open, well she is certainly stronger than she looks and her eyes are blazing with a determination and in that moment she reminds me of her. I am rendered speechless as the similarities between them become more apparent.

'Mister Abernathy, this is not something up for discussion; your prep team are about to come in and make you look as presentable as they possibly can in time for the reapings. You will not resist, you will arrive at the reapings at 1.55 sharp; you will mentor your tributes and I will help you in gaining sponsorships' Her face softens as she seems to take note that my earlier resolve is fading.

'I am sorry to appear so forceful, but if we work together we can do something great. Bring home another district 12 Victor. You are not alone in this, I am here to help. Now your prep team are here, I will see you again shortly' I am shocked, not alone? 'We'? This woman, who's name is still a mystery to me, has captured my interest; somehow this annoying ball of sunshine has given me something I haven't felt in a long time, something I thought had ceased to exist: hope.

Effie Trinket, District 12 Escort.

I am so glad to have escaped from the presence of Haymitch Abernathy, the way he looked at me was severely discomforting but I did what I set out to do, if the prep team are finished with him my new schedule will be perfect; the scent that came from his home, although a more suitable world would be hovel; disgusting. Had the man never heard of a shower? Cleanliness is such an important component in one's life, good personal hygiene shows you are proud of yourself and encourages others to look upon you in a favourable manner. Hopefully the prep team will be able to make him look human once again, seriously how did this man become a Hunger Games Victor? Well, let us move on: the stage is set, lighting fixtures are in place and now all I have to do is wait until I have to introduce myself as the districts new escort and then select the two lucky children who will be joining me in the Capitol.

I practice what I will say to the audience in a mirror in the room I have been allocated in the Justice Building; these people may not exactly like me, and the tributes will most likely hate me but I meant every word I said to Abernathy earlier, I will endeavour to help him in the process, a pseudo mentor in my own right: winning sponsors and such. I will bring back a victor to district 12, because I am determined to do so. When Effie Trinket is determined there is nothing that can stand in her way. Ask Haymitch Abernathy.

Haymitch Abernathy, District 12 Mentor.

Well, I have survived the torture that the prep team inflicted on me, all with the intention of 'making me presentable for public scrutiny, on Miss Trinkets orders'. Well, Miss Trinket: Thank you for the 45 minutes that has been nothing but a pure annoyance; every stray hair on my body has been eradicated, I've bathed in around 40 different tonics all in the name of 'creating a glowing complexion' and someone has managed to tame my wild hair. I now look like a Victor; I am now fit for public scrutiny according to Miss Trinket's stupid standards.

I need a drink, the thought has been present since the torture began but now the need is growing like a tumour; my thoughts solely consumed with getting my hand on a bottle of liquor, my cure for the things that haunt me. I go over to my cupboard before I hear someone clearing their throat; I turn around to find a peacekeeper standing there, identified by his pristine white uniform.

'Mister Haymitch Abernathy?'

'Who else would I bloody be? No, I'm President bloody Snow'

'You are to be escorted to the reaping ceremony, and without that bottle of liquor, on—'

'On Miss Trinket's orders, right?' This woman has been in my life about a day, and turned it upside down; I am starting to miss the previous escort Trojan Gregory, he wasn't so damn persistent and bubbly and well like 'her', the girl I lost forever. I decided to give in, I think today is the first time I will be seen in public looking clean and relatively sober in such a long time; it feels surreal walking through the streets in which I grew up, seeing the shades of grey that are present everywhere in the coal mining district, alongside the poverty, the fear and the general unhappiness that constitutes the atmosphere here.

Today though the fear is increased ten fold, today is reaping day and two children will be snatched from their homes never to return but I remember Miss Trinket's words, how she will help me, how I will not be alone in my struggle to bring at least one of my tributes back; this realisation helps soothe the pain in my stomach. But other pains cannot be healed by the words of this Capitolian woman, the shaking hands and the strange feeling as if spiders are crawling inside my skull. Did I mention that I need a drink?

'Oh, you're on time. Well, I commend you for being punctual at least once today; and I seriously commend your prep team, they have apparently worked a miracle. You look rather dashing if I must say' for some unfathomable reason a blush makes itself known on my face, what the hell?

'And I have specifically ensured that all alcohol has been removed from the train, and the peacekeepers are currently emptying your house of any liquor that remains. I mean what I said earlier, we will mentor a victor; but to do that you must stay sober. Do you understand?' I'm thunderstruck, this woman is scarily efficient and I'm rather annoyed that she'd interfere in my life so thoroughly but I see that determination in her eyes yet again; I feel a pang in my chest, it is so like her, maybe this woman is an angel sent to help me pay her back, so something after so long of merely existing. I begin to share this infectious determination, and I nod my head.

'Yes, I understand. Whatever are your orders now Miss Trinket?' She giggles and bats her eyelashes, it seems that this Capitolite has a sense of humour; it isn't only the prep team who've worked miracles, she is a miracle: a woman from the Capitol who seems to possess a personality, not some being totally devoid of emotion; even if the woman is a little annoying.

'Well I say we get on stage and meet the tribute who'll become the Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games Mister Abernathy' she laughs before turning away.

'Ermmm...You can call me Haymitch.' I'm embarrassed but if we are going to be working together I'd rather get past the whole Miss and Mister formality.

'That's very gracious of you, Haymitch. Now, I suppose you can call me Effie, seeing as we are going to be a team' she flashes me a smile and then holds out her hand for me to shake. Well, this sure seems like the beginning of a beautiful partnership.

Effie Trinket, District 12 Escort.

Well, all of those people who seemed to think that Haymitch Abernathy would seem to cause me any problems have been proven wrong. Doing what I do best, I took control and I solved the situation before me. For once, the tributes of District 12 may stand a chance; and it will be because of me and Haymitch, we will surpass the expectations of what a mentor and escort should do. We will equip these children with every skill they need to survive, both in the Capitol and within the arena. I am waiting for my big entrance, my debut into the world of the Hunger Games.

'And now let me introduce our new district escort...' And that is my cue, I throw the doors open and bounce onto the stage, shouting to address the gathered audience.

'Effie Trinket, is my name and allow me to say that I am honoured to be working here in District 12 as your escort' by now I am standing before the microphone; every camera is trained on me, every person has there eyes trained on me.

'Now, allow me to welcome you all to the beginning of the 64th Annual Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour. Before we select the lucky girl and boy who will be joining me and your district mentor, Mister Haymitch Abernathy, to the Capitol I would like us all to have a warm round of applause for Mister Abernathy' There is a small applause, and Haymitch walks onto the stage he looks petrified.

'Anything you'd like to say Mister Abernathy?' I pull him toward the microphone and he freezes. I lean forward to whisper into his ear.

'Haymitch, say something. It is one of Miss Trinket's orders after all' He laughs awkwardly and begins to talk into the microphone, stumbling through his words. Well, public speaking is something we need to work on; oration is essential in gaining sponsors and Haymitch maybe the worst public speaker I've ever seen.

'Well, that was lovely Haymitch. Now shall we get started now, we'll start with the girls now shall we?' I hear a collective intake of breath from the audience as I walk towards the crystal bowl placed on the far left hand side of the stage, I take a quick peek into the audience and all I see is unadulterated fear; I freeze, am I really prepared to do this? No, I cannot question myself; this is my duty to the Capitol, the Capitol thinks I'm ready so I must be. I quickly snatch a slip from the bowl and call into the audience.

'Livvya Howell'

Livvya Howell, District 12.

I look around, an escape route; anything, I'd do anything to get out of this. I cannot go, really I'll die. But it's useless the Peacekeepers would be on me before I'd even escaped the square. So instead I try to arrange my features into an expressionless mask; a futile task seeing as my father says my face is an open book and easily read; so I just begin to drag myself toward the stage and inevitably to my death, dragging my feet to show my reluctance. I am 12, this is my first reaping and I've been 'chosen'. There are thousands of slips in that bowl but this Effie lady picks the one slip that possesses my name, it's so unfair. So, so unfair.

I look back towards my family; my father is holding my step brother in his arms and my younger siblings are all staring at me. They all have tears in their eyes, even Elaina my step mother whom with I have never had the strongest relationship. They are as resigned to my fate as me: I, Livvya Howell, will be dead within the week; sadly this is more than likely a fact. I mouth to my family.

'I'm going to be okay' they see through my lies and then suddenly I begin to get light headed, the world begins to blur before my eyes and then I feel myself falling, I haven't even made it to the stage and I'm blacking out. I'll be seen as the pathetic one, well too bad for them because even if it is futile I will fight until the end, I want to come home, I want to live and I am not as helpless as I seem; everyone has some form of skill or talent, and I think my few talents could actually help in the arena. Then the world blacks out.

Ford Howell, District 12 Citizen.

Every year two children are taken to their death, it sickens me. Nobody respects life any more, children are killed in cold blood; innocence and childhood are myths nowadays, our children will never experience these things and it is all because of the Capitol.

The young girl is making her way to the stage at a painstakingly slow pace, trying to prevent the inevitable: her death. She looks incredibly young, I look towards the section she has come from; 12 years of age and sentenced to death. I shake my head at the injustice but I dare not speak aloud, I want to stand up and say something but it isn't in my best interest to incur the wrath of the Capitol.

The girl, I'll remember her as I do every tribute is slaughtered in the Capitol's sickening death trap; she appears to be around 4'10'' and her petite frame is made even more obvious by how it trembles in obvious fear, I will always remember her ebony hair and the way her forest green eyes twinkle as she sings lullaby's to her younger siblings at night, her soft yet haunting melodies she composes in the confines of her bedroom; I will always remember her round face, littered with freckled, the high cheekbones she shared with her mother, her lopsided smile and her crooked teeth. She may not be stunning, but to me she will be beautiful forever. I, Ford Howell will never forget my daughter, and I will never forget that it was the Capitol that snatched her from me.

As her father, I am meant to protect her but in this situation I am rendered completely useless. I know my daughter will die; she is too good to survive in the arena, too innocent and too kind to take another's life. You cannot fathom what I am experiencing in this moment: the pain is crippling, to know your child will die and being unable to do anything to prevent it is something which cannot be transferred into words.

Liv turns to us, a wry smile on her features and she mouths the words: 'I'm going to be okay'. The words are empty though, she knows she is as good as dead and yet she tries to appear strong. Tears pour from my eyes. I see the light fade in her eyes, any hope that ever lived there vanquished and then she sways before collapsing to the ground, she is then dragged to the stage and deposited into the arms of Haymitch Abernathy when she should be being brought into my arms, her father's.

My Daughter, Livvya Howell, the light of my life will perish within one week and I cannot do anything about it. I only hope that she joins her mother once she escapes this world, wherever we go when we die and escape the tyranny that is the Capitol's reign. I turn and leave for the Justice Building, I need to speak to my daughter alone.

Oh Little Livv, and her poor Dad- but Livvya isn't truly helpless now is she?. And we get a little insight to Effie and Haymitch's relationship. We'll meet the district 12 boy on the train ride or should I do a second part to this chapter? And we may get a little bit of Effie/Haymitch fluff! Don't worry though, you'll be getting a lot more insight to the characters and I know that in the last two chapters there have been like holes in the plot, things we've missed but do not worry... All the blanks will be filled in as soon as all 24 are introduced and we'll get to know them a lot more.

Let me know what you think though, I'd love to hear what you want to see.

Thanks, and I think we'll go to District 4 next. We'll be seeing the reapings and the train ride through the eyes of Mags, cause don't we all just love Mags? :D x