Hey, hey, hey! Welcome to District Four! Sorry about the long wait. Really, I am. It's just that I've been busy, and I wasn't sure on how I wanted to do this chapter, and….. Ah, I love visiting this District. Do you smell that? That's a sea breeze. Do you feel that sand? It's warm, comforting, isn't it? Makes you almost forget that you're in a world where children are brought together, once a year, to fight and kill each other for a country to watch and enjoy.

Killjoy, aren't I.

So, once again thank you to reviewers and supporters! Without all of you, this story would not be possible. *alarm sounds* Oh, sorry, got to go. This is my stop, so I'll be getting off here. Enjoy the rest of the train ride. You still have a while until you get to the Capitol, so sit tight and relax.

Jaspróe Kings, age 17

Before anyone asks me, it's pronounced JAZZ-PRO. Got it? I'm not explaining it again. I've had to explain it all my life, and it's gotten pretty annoying. And don't ask me about the accent; I don't know why it's there, it just is.

So, that's all cleared up. Don't ask again. So where am I now? I'm on the beach, alone. I suppose, in a while, I'll have to go to the Reaping ceremony, but that's not pressing. Currently, I'm thinking about my family. I'm not related to a single one of them. Yes, I'm adopted. I don't know much about my real parents. The only thing I have to remind myself of them is my name and this golden hair clip that I have here, in my hand. It was my mothers. My only real memory is of her, and it's vague. She was kind, always laughing and smiling. Other than that… nothing.

"Hey, Jaspróe." I turn around to see who it is, even though I already know. Cole McFarland, a friend of mine. I use "friend" loosely, as I don't really associate a lot with others. I prefer my own company, but he's one of the few people I don't mind, along with Greg Koviowski, Marshall Mithes, and Melody Oceana. Melody, I know her the least, but she's nice enough. The girl is a crazy good fisherman (AN: would that make her a fisherwoman?) to the point where you could give her almost anything, and she could catch a fish with it.

"Hello, Cole. How are you?" I ask him, without much emotion.

"I'm good."

"And the rest of you?" The rest of them replied similarly. "That is good. What brings you out here?"

"We came to get you. It's almost time for the Reaping, you know." Ah. That would be Melody. She has a soft voice, but don't let that fool you. She's disarmed every single trainer in the Academy. With a trident. And an axe. Each twice.

"So it is. Let's go, then," I say to our small group of friends. It's quite the walk, so we walk rather quickly. Walking in the back, I notice towards the end of our walk that Melody is wearing rather short jean shorts. My eyes drift and—SMACK! I rub the back of my head, and look to see who it was. Of course, it's Marshall.

"Now, now, Jaspóe…." He says to me, grinning.

"Hey, listen you, you are JUST as guilty as I am," I tell him, smiling. It's rare that this happens, me smiling.

"Yeah, but you're the one who's been caught." He grins even larger. "Hey, Melodyyyyy," he says quickly, but holding out the 'ee' sound. "Guess what? Jaspr—" he starts, but stops when Melody turns to look at him. There's a look in her eyes that tells you that maybe she doesn't want to hear it.

"Yes?"

"Never mind." His face glows red. What's this? He looks embarrassed… No, wait, he looks more nervous than anything… I gasp quietly. Suddenly, Melody stops.

"Crap! Guys, go on ahead. I have to go home and get something real quick. Go on without me, and I'll meet you there," she says. The rest of us mutter agreement, and she runs off down a street close by.

"So, Marshall," I say when she's out of sight. "Why didn't you tell us you had a crush on Melody?" Immediately, Cole and Greg turn towards Marshall, and we stop walking.

"Ooooooo-ooooooo, Marshall," they tease, their voices mocking the preppy girls at our school. "Marshall and Melody," they start to say in a sing-songy voice.

"Guys, I don't—" Marshall starts to argue, his face turning a deep red, but no amount of arguing and denying will make them stop.

"Sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," Cole and Greg continue.

"Whatever, guys." Marshall hits me in the shoulder, hard.

"OW! What was that for?" I ask (and shamefully I will admit that I sound like a whiny kid) him.

"For telling those two idiots. Do you know how long they'll be doing that?" Marshall asks me, also sounding whiny.

"Yes, and that's EXACTLY why I did it, too," I tell him. "Also, you're not denying it."

Melody Oceana, age 17

After I leave Jaspróe and the others, I start to run home. It doesn't take me long to get there, since I'm a fast runner. I burst into the door.

"Dad, I'm home!" I yell. "Time to go to the Reaping!" I walk into the dark living room. Dad, as usual, is laying down on the couch. He groans as he sits up, indicating that he's been sleeping.

"Ugggnnnh."

"Come on, Dad!" I tell him, shaking him by his shoulders.

"Ugn! Stahppit! I'm up!" he complains. "Get your sisters ready. I'll be leaving in a few," and with that, he stands up, going to his room down the hallway. I walk towards the other part of the house, where our rooms are. Stepping into my sisters' room, I see them already dressed up.

"Fantasia, Erika, you two ready?" I ask.

"Melody, you're home! Yes, we're ready," answers Fantasia. Her dress is yellow, and comes to below her knees. Erika's, however, disappoints me. Green, it comes down to her mid-thigh.

"Oh, no you don't, Erika. That is too short for a thirteen-year-old," I tell her. "Put something else on, at least jeans."

"What!?" she says, pouting. "This is not too short! And besides, look at you! Your shorts are super short!"

"Yes, but I'm seventeen. It's okay if I wear it. You, however, are young, and not allowed to wear short dresses. I'm older, and allowed to wear short jean shorts. So, change quickly. We need to hurry!" I tell her, the final word. "Come on, Fantasia," I say, and she follows me into the front room, where Dad is brushing crumbs off of his shirt. Hmm. I gues it'll do for him, considering he's not going to the Capitol. Well, neither am I, hopefully, but he's not at risk.

"Almost ready, Melody," my father tells me. Good. Moments later, Erika comes out, wearing a nice green shirt with tight jeans. It's better, but still…

"Okay, let's go!" I say, and we all squeeze out the door, rushing to get out of the door. Walking to the Reaping Ceremony, I wonder about Jaspróe. He's an odd person at times, but he's pretty nice when you get to know him. I honestly can't say we're good friends, but we get along. And he doesn't make perverted jokes like Marshall, Greg, and Cole.

When we arrive and Dad goes to the adult area, Erika, Fantasia, and I all sign in and stand in our respective age group areas. After the most boring video that we see every single year, Peter Twen, our Capitol Escourt (The "official" title. I don't even know why there's an extra 'u' in there. It's weird!) comes to the microphone, and he delivers some silly speech about how wonderful it is to be in District Four again. Honestly, he doesn't need to say that. He's here during the summer, anyway, when it's nice and wonderful. I saw him the other day.

"And now, it's time for the Tributes! This year, I'd like to shake it up a little, and pick the boys first!" He reaches into the bowl, and eventually picks out a name. "And now, without further ado—whatever ado is—" he jokes, making the audience groan. He says this every freaking year. It's not even that funny the first time. "—Jaspróe Kings, please come on up!" I look over at him, and he looks okay, but something tells me he's not. Call it…. an instinct of some sort. He walks up to the stage. When he gets up there, he looks Peter dead in the eyes, and says, "It's Jazz-pro. Not Jass-prwo."

"Thank you, Jazz-pro," says Peter, emphasizing the zz sound, "for correcting me. But now, for your girl, District Four!" And again, his hand goes into the bowl, and this time I'm worried.

Jaspróe Kings

This can't be happening. Not to me. Please, anyone but me, I think in vain. Nobody will volunteer for me. On the outside, of course, I look calm. Everything from this point out will be used to judge me, to determine if I'm worth sponsoring. So I may be shaken, but I have to look relaxed. After correcting our stupid escort about my name, what follows almost shatters my concentration.

"Melody Oceana! Please, come to the stage!" Oh no. Poor Marshall. The kid might have had a chance with her, if he had just acted mature. But now, he can't. Unless she wins. Which she may, but that means that… Then…. I have to die. And as much I like Marshall, I'm not dying for Melody. I'm oblivious to the rest of the world as Melody and I shake hands. I give her an attempt at a sorrowful look, and she returns it, because we both know that only one of us to come home, assuming it is either of us who wins. And it won't be her.

I have unfinished business. See, remember how I'm adopted? Well, I've been searching for my birth parents. I need to find them, tell them I'm sorry for whatever I did that made them get rid of me. Chances are, I'll never know. But I guess I was never meant to. I can spend the rest of my life preparing for its end, which will probably happen soon. Maybe I'll meet a Tribute who deserves to win, and help them. Oh well, there'll be plenty of time later to think about that. Right now, I can look forward to intense luxury on the train, which I definitely plan on taking advantage of.

Melody Oceana

Me and Jaspróe. We're the Tributes. My mind keeps obsessing over this fact, despite already knowing it. The fact that I know him decently enough will make it harder when he dies. It may even be me who kills him. But I really hope not. He's a good guy, but I guess that the odds aren't in his favor. Thinking over this, I look out to the crowd, and that's when I see Dad. I almost break down right there. Oh, my poor father, losing yet another child to the damn Games. I have to win, I decide. To keep him sober, and so that Erika and Fantasia will have their big sister. I can't imagine the devastation if I die.

I'm going to win the Sixty-Fourth Annual Hunger Games. I will. I'll kill anyone who gets in my way, and now it's time to start acting like it. Goodbye, Miss Nice-Girl. Here comes Melody Oceana, with a trident ready to strike. Let's do this, Panem.

And there you go, your Tributes from District 4! Thank you to the two who submitted these amazing Tributes! Again, sorry for the long wait, and chances are it will be a little while before the next chapter. Maybe I'll make another filler chapter. Also, I'm curious, how are you all enjoying the interludes? I really like writing them, because I get to introduce all sort of neat stuff without telling the Tributes! *SMACK—OW!* Hey, what was that for, Melody? That was for giving me a short second part. And also because we don't find out what happens in the interludes. Well, I better go before she beats me up. Also, quick self-advertisement, please check out my other story "The Problems Caused by Control Freak," if you have time. Shameful self-advertisement, I know. It's a Teen Titans/Portal crossover, and I plan on updating it soon!

One last bit, I'm going to start yet another story or two, but they'll be side projects until this is completely done. Go to my profile to see what they're about, and PM if you think they're good!

Or not. It depends. You don't have to. Bye, y'all!