Our final reaping! Yeehaw.

Lenora "Leo" Lucchese, 14

Spring, 115 ADD

The record player didn't work as well as it used to, but it got the job done. It's turntable was glittered with rust, the copper colour being a sight that Lenora often yearned for when at school. The music it sung was often distorted, marred by the age of the thing, but listenable and didn't stop her from singing the tune nonetheless. Singing always felt choked at home; the grip of technology ever squeezing its fingers around the music's throat. Keepers, for years her parents had threatened with replacing the old record player with a newer model so at least it'd be bearable to listen to - whatever that meant - knowing the riddance of the old thing would break her.

Lenora thought the music it produced was lovely and told its own beautiful story of ageing and perseverance. Both things felt foreign in Panem.

"Really Lenora? Music? In District Three?" Her mother's exasperation was tinted with the frequency of the lecture given to Lenora; the tiredness, boredom and subtle desperation almost making Lenora feel bad. Almost. "I mean, how many times must we say it? Gadgets and gizmos sell here, not music. District Fourteen isn't going to be the 'entertainment district!' It'll be science so if you insist on disgracing District Three then the least you could do is learn some science!"

Her words didn't mean much to Lenora, not anymore at least. Once it had hurt her, made her heart ache that her parents didn't support her dream and would rather stamp it out for technology instead of nurturing it. Back then she had tried to argue that every district needed singers; that, as the Capitol's old concert machinery began to trickle its way into the districts, singers would be needed to populate them and entertain. Nowadays, she had given up and decided it wasn't worth the potential damage of her voice to try and make her parents see reason.

Instead, as she had done for the past few years, Lenora simply hummed noncommittally. Most other times Lenora would've tried once more to persuade her mother to see reason; to at least not view the idea of her daughter performing with as much disdain as she did. Had it not been for Luca who was undoubtedly waiting in the square for their performance, Lenora was sure she'd do it again.

Lenora concerned herself with the record player as a silence settled, fiddling with the knobs and the needle. Once, a family friend had speculated it came from before Panem - a relic of a time lost to history. The idea had enamoured her, worsening her obsession with the machine and concocting the stories it could tell in her head. She always took silent respite that, no matter how many times they threatened to rid of it, her parents would never willingly part with such archaic technology.

"Are you with Luca today?"

The slight disappointment in her mother's voice was unmissable; whilst she was thrilled her daughter had a friend, Lenora knew her mother would've much preferred someone who could nudge her towards the whirring computers of Three - not an indulgence in music and performance.

Lenora hummed in acknowledgement, briefly turning to flash her mother a warm smile. "In half an hour on the dot - we're doing our favourite medley."

...

The central square of Three was bustling like it usually was; an extension of the industry its district produced, with people rushing to wherever they needed to go not too dissimilar from messages and signals being sent from a motherboard. It wasn't unusual or out of the ordinary but, as she did every time, Lenora allowed herself a second to marvel at its own unique beauty. There was a comfort to be found in the quickened ebb and flow of the district, something familiar and reassuring. Lenora could never tell if she liked it simply because it was home or if the idea of disappearing into the crowd and shedding overbearing expectations was appealing. She decided, firmly, it wasn't the second. Being a performer negated any wishes of becoming another face in an endless crowd, motives and thoughts unknown to a stranger. She was a performer - an entertainer - somebody who was far bigger than their own needs.

That was why, as she did most weekends, she stood with a grin on her face with Luca beside her.

Luca was undoubtedly a best friend, albeit he scarcely held a flame to her other best friend; Felice, her pet parrot. Oftentimes had Luca argued she could have more than one 'true' best friend but, resolute as ever, Lenora would always smile sweetly and insist Felice just had that extra special something about her. Luca'd always smile, roll his eyes and the two would continue with whatever antics they had planned for the day. The boy's presence as someone else who shared her vision was reassuring and made Lenora feel appreciated; he, unlike her parents, would listen to her talk away about musical and performance ideas and he'd indulge her on her theories about blending technology and music together in ways Panem just hadn't done yet.

The day's performance was one they had done countless times before, a simple square-side medley of songs. Lenora sometimes preferred the simplicity of the smaller gigs; larger performances in the park were fun but the beauty of something simple couldn't be understated. That and Lenora knew that Luca found managing a single lightbulb far better than working with a motherboard of lights and switches. The way the crowd amassed was also something Lenora both loved and took pride in; as she sung, more and more people flocked to where they stood in the square, their loud words being reduced to whispers or silence in hopes to hear her or to let her voice bounce off the walls of the surrounding buildings. A large concert crowd was exhilarating but they were expected - a crowd gathering because they liked what they heard was worthwhile.

The effects of an applause never diminished, not to Lenora at least. Full of appreciation, admiration and some devotion, it was as much the audience's gift to the performer as the performer's performance was to the audience. The cycle was full of gratitude and was one Lenora knew she'd never tire of.

Paxton Yukawa, 12

Summer, 115 ADD

The car meet before the reaping was often the most competitive of the year. Paxton had learnt that when the older teenagers feared their lives could be on the line, they were more carefree and boisterous with their racing. He never minded - in fact, it made it easier to predict when they would slip up and make mistakes. Remote controlled cars that had so many hours poured into them were happily destroyed; the delicate, handcrafted technology and wiring disregarded for what many hoped wouldn't be their last hurrah. Everyone let go in that car meet; competitive, but with a distinct air of enjoying the time they had. Even those who were the most dedicated to the sport would relax and take what the races threw at them with a big smile rather than cursing and letting anger consume them.

Except for Paxton.

It wasn't that he didn't find the car meet exciting or thrilling (quite the contrary, really), he simply failed to see the logic behind placing so much emphasis on the meet's time during the year. With most of those attending the car races either wealthy enough to construct the contraptions they raced or earning enough through the winnings, nobody had any due cause to worry about being reaped. Yet, year after year, the teenagers often drove, spoke and acted as if they had received the death sentence themselves.

Although the odds hadn't ever selected someone who attended the car meets, Paxton knew it was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

The racers met in an abandoned warehouse near the centre of Three. As the district got richer, shoving its poorest to the outskirts of the district proper, slums and downtrodden warehouses in the principle city could be demolished and repurposed. If he tried hard enough, often times Paxton could still imagine some of the high rises that were once where parks and artificial lakes now stood. The warehouse itself was reminiscent of a poorer time for District Three; it was stuffy as hot air latched onto and clung to those within it, unwavering in its grasp. Old technological blunders and the results of programmers and engineers being rushed for profit had meant some areas of the building had been cordoned off for health and safety. Worst of all, it felt as if the ghosts of those who had died in the factory or had experienced every sorrow imaginable walked among them; some with envy, others with unfiltered hatred.

Paxton believed that the rumours of ghosts were fake and nothing more than mere excuses by subpar racers trying to blame their own mishaps on mythical forces beyond their control but even he couldn't deny the odd chill that happened on the darkest of nights. Nobody, not even him, wanted to be the last one in the warehouse after a meet.

The racing itself, however, breathed life back into the old place in a way that tried to trump the trauma hidden within the bricks and mortar. Loud noises and laughter that were indicative of fun and good times instead of pain and hardship. Paxton had often overheard some of the more spiritual and superstitious teenagers wonder if it pleased the theoretical ghosts that wisped through the halls - if the current generation's happiness and enjoyment was worth their suffering.

If he had to be logical about it, as he often was, Paxton would quite certainly guess that the 'ghosts' would be annoyed, angered by their rest being disturbed by the racing of ignorant kids.

But 'Keepers was it fun to invent cars and machines for the races.

...

The night had, largely, been successful for Paxton. Out of the seven races he had competed in, he won two, placed on the podium in a further three and hadn't placed below the halfway mark in either of the remaining two. Though the results were subpar compared to his usual records, Paxton chalked it down to the general atmosphere of the meet clouding his judgement. Keepers knew it was hard to concentrate on the loudest night of the year for the races.

"Aren't you worried about the reaping, Pax?" Paxton cringed at the nickname the older boy had bestowed upon him. Despite him saying that he hated nicknames, Daeta scarcely listened. "It being your first one and all."

"Not particularly." His reply was quick and to the point. Sharp, where others his age were still soft around the edges. "Statistically speaking, the likelihood I get reaped is near impossible. Why worry?"

"Well the Odds are unpredictable like that," The boy implored, crossing his arms as he leant against one of the beams of the pitstop area; an area marred with enough smell of petroleum to last a lifetime with the oil spills to match. "Plenty of twelvies get reaped."

"Most of them likely took tesserae." Paxton's reply was non-committal as he fiddled with some of the parts of the car. Based on the race he had just done, the engine modifications had yet to prove fruitful in the way he had desired, thus more work was needed. "Which undermines the 'Odds' entirely."

Belief in the Odds was a strange thing, Paxton often reflected. They were mythical in nature yet still controlled the lives of many district citizens. Refuting them was always easy yet nobody seemed to accept the reality that they didn't exist. Paxton knew it was a comfort to many, yet never could pinpoint the exact, logical reason for their existence.

"You're really not worried at all?" The older boy's voice was dashed with mirth, unwilling to believe he was speaking to a twelve-year-old who was unafraid of being reaped who wasn't a Career. "Not even just a little bit?"

Paxton's huff was slight, spurred by one of the fine screwdrivers snapping. He hated it when people spoke to him when precision was needed - he hated it even more when they spoke nonsense. "To be worried implies we're working with the assumption that my chances of being reaped are significant," He said, finally giving the boy a glance. Paxton almost felt guilty at the way the other's eyebrows were knitted in some sort of worry as if he truly cared about him. "Assumptions aren't worth taking any notice of, especially when built upon false information -"

Daeta raised an eyebrow, almost as if he were challenging Paxton to explain himself. For a brief moment, Paxton debated doing so. Maybe he's trying to tempt me to test the 'Odds.'

The deliverance of facts, however, would always prevail; it was a given when in the presence of Paxton.

"- With only one ballot in the reaping pool, statistically I have a near impossible chance of being reaped. The fringe cities of the district still require tesserae according to my mother and that alone adds in more than enough twelve-year-olds to negate any chance of me being reaped."

The older boy was silent for a moment before the etchings of a smirk curled his lips. He made a satisfied noise from his throat and nodded. "Hope you and your mom are right Pax. Plenty of twelvies with one slips have gone in."

Paxton watched as his company turned and left, leaving him once more with his car and the inklings of doubt in his facts.

Lenora "Leo" Lucchese, 14

Reaping Day, July 4, 115 ADD

Lenora had come to find some solace and love towards the reapings. Not for the very, very tragic thing that happened during them (that still made her sick, even in her third year) but for the unmatched energy. Ever since District Three had moved up on the wealth ladder of Panem and saw some of the richest train their children for the Games, there was no longer as much fear. Parties were thrown after the reaping, most of the district celebrating their family's survival for another year. Instead, the district teemed with an odd sort of energy; anticipation at what was to come and excitement in knowing they'd be safe. Lenora had fallen in love with the energy itself and was eager to feel it each year, wishing every single day she could replicate it outside of the pageantry, whether it be in song, dance or prose.

And one day, she would. She knew she would.

For now, however, she had to be satisfied with bearing through the awful condemnations of death to feel the excitement she dreamed about. The parties and the small celebration festivals held were otherworldly and had only ever gotten better as District Three amassed more and more money. It truly was something special; she just wished it didn't need to have the unfortunate preceding events.

Life was unfair, sometimes, just like it was when it placed her in Three to grow up and not somewhere else; somewhere that appreciated the music more than Three's technology.

Lenora also thought District Three looked brighter on the reaping day. The Justice Building and the surrounding square were always cleaned to perfection, the skyscrapers standing tall like magnificent guards of their tiny pocket of Panem seemed to stand more protectively. People wore their best; swarths of purples, pinks and light blues replaced the usual, non-committal neutral tones they usually wore. It was a sight to see and one that Lenora decided to make one of her comforts about the reapings. She believed she could ignore the death sentences if she focused on the pretty clothes people wore.

She was so confident in fact, she had written a song about it a few years back.

The best dressed of them all, the true paragon of fashion, was District Three's escort. Lenora had been brought up to be weary of the Capitol and its people; ready to lambast them if needed but side with them if it meant survival.

"Be neutral to them," Her mother had told her once. "Do what suits you."

What her parents hadn't said was how stunning the fashion that they wore could be. Three's last escort, an older man, had never wowed the crowd like Jabulile did. Even Lenora, with her limited fashion knowledge, could appreciate just how perfect Jabulile looked for the few years she had escorted for them. The first year she had looked as if she had stepped from a graffiti piece the delinquent kids drew on the school walls and the past two years she looked like some fever dream manifested in the real world.

This year - gosh, it took Lenora's breath away - the escort looked as if she had walked out of an old storybook. Pale blue shades on the woman's deep complexion created something that Lenora could stare at for hours (she was sure to get a picture of it, just so she could). Lyrics whirred in her head and the girl resisted the urge to hum a rustic melody to her non-existent song. The reaping wasn't the right place for that. As much as Lenora scorned what her parents said (they didn't know what was right for her - who'd willingly want to be a businesswoman anyways?), she understood their warnings and trepidations when it came to the Hunger Games - even with her own beloved atmosphere caused by it.

Nobody wanted to do anything to draw the Odds close to them.

Instead, she admired the fashion piece from afar, the ballgown reminiscent of the one the Victor of last year's games, Axis, had worn during the Victory Ball that spring. There was an ebb and flow to it that Lenora could learn to like; the Capitol gave a Victor the chance of life and, in turn, the Victors inspired fashion for the years to come. The relationship didn't seem to dissimilar to that of a performer and their audience - both needed the other to survive. She wondered, albeit only for a second, if people had compared the Capitol and the Districts to that as well; two entities wholly reliant on one another.

Lenora shuddered at the thought, it stark in its chill. She oftentimes tried not to think about the grim reality of life in Panem - the greater life that was beyond Three - but, at the reaping, those thoughts always seemed to find their way to the forefront of her mind. Not even an admiration for the festivities that had developed as time had gone by could stop them and she hated the reaping for that.

The thoughts eventually silenced themselves, however, as Jabulile made her way across to the bowl of female names. Lenora had never really feared the bowl, not like her parents told her they once had. As a result of their hardwork over the years, her name was only in the bowl three times. They had taken some pride in that - work hard so their daughter had a better chance of being safe.

Even though she realised how lucky she was, as she always did, Lenora hoped she'd be safe for another year.

"Our tribute for the one hundredth and fifteenth Hunger Games, the courageous young lady representing District Three is... Lenora Lucchese!"

Lenora's blood ran cold, the sensation of dread washing over her. Her stomach lurched, the familiar sensation of being sick at the reaping returning all too fast. All too real. For a brief second, nobody in the crowd could find her. She allowed herself to wince as those around her began to look at her - first classmates, then people who recognised her from her performances and finally the district proper - before forcing herself to smile.

As she walked out to the centre aisle, the pearled Peacekeepers flanking her instantly, Lenora reminded herself of the good parts of the sentence. We can make friends and cause a bit of chaos. It doesn't have to be doom and gloom.

The thought of enacting the harmless fun in somewhere like the Capitol brought a more genuine smile to her lips, one that looked more natural and perplexed people as she stood on the stage.

District Three looked different when stood on the stage; the high rises seemed to compete in both dominating stature and feeling smaller, paired with every eye on her. For a moment, Lenora allowed herself to imagine what the singers of the Capitol felt, comparing her feeling of standing on the stage to theirs. It felt real, tangible in a moment where she knew her mind needed to be focused on something else. Lenora chose not to care. Not because she didn't, no, but because the reality of her situation could come later. For now, time was better spent taking in what was her dream.

For now, she would do what she was good at - perform.

Paxton Yukawa, 12

Reaping Day, July 4, 115 ADD

The girl, Lenora, looked far too happy to be reaped.

Paxton didn't understand why but concluded quickly it had something to do with the way she performed on the streets with her parrot and friend.

Though he himself might've found the reaping less melancholic than usual - anyone who expressed happiness at being reaped clearly wanted to go to the arena, surely - it was hard to deny the growing sense of sadness that clung to the air. Whether that came from the oldest in Three who still remembered a time before the economic prosperity and still mourned the reaped or those who enjoyed the shows Lenora put on, it was unclear. It was undeniable, however, especially as it felt thick enough to choke the joy out of anyone. Paxton couldn't remember a time when a reaping was met with such sadness and for that reason alone Lenora intrigued him.

Even Jabulile was interested, her gaze scarcely being removed from Lenora's face as if her smile was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Perhaps seeing someone from Three being so enthusiastic on a reaping day is strange enough?

Paxton shrugged the thought away. A think piece on the excitement of tributes from District Three wasn't one he wanted to pay mind to; it'd serve little purpose and the energy would best be used somewhere else. Instead, he took what he saw at face value; one of the few natural performers of District Three revelling at their time on the biggest stages in the world.

Lenora's smiles couldn't take away the melancholy that sat firmly in the air, if anything only making it all the more sadder if Paxton were to estimate. Victors from Three, though not entirely unheard of, were unlikely and only three in numbers themselves. Lenora - and whoever was to be reaped alongside her - were faced with an upwards battle towards victory and it seemed that the district was all too aware of that.

Jabulile noticed the smog-like sadness and, in true Capitolite fashion, offered a false smile of sadness and empathy; a smile that feigned an understanding towards the district losing one of its fixtures that made life interesting and unpredictable. More sinister, a smile that threatened to foretell warnings of doom and greater sadness. She let it linger for a second like a performer would for their pinnacle moment before leaning into the microphone once again. "And now, for Miss Lucchese's partner!"

The walk to the bowl that contained his name was more unnerving than Paxton had ever realised. Before, as in when he stood to the side of the square as an eleven-year-old, it didn't hold the perspective it did now. Even if he disproved the Odds and thought belief in them were rooted in nonsensical luck, Paxton couldn't deny there was a sense of foreboding that loomed, dread accompanying it as if they were poised to do a double punch.

Involuntarily, his mind flashed back to the conversation he had the night before with Daeta, the older boy's questions of fear and nervousness echoing in his head. He wondered, for a moment, if he needed to be worried. Was there something that Daeta knew that he didn't? Were the chances and odds of him being reaped statistically plausible? Should he have raced last night as if he were to be reaped today?

Paxton grit his teeth and reminded himself of the Odds. His Odds. His singular name in a sea of those who needed tesserae; his name that could be anywhere in the bowl. What was the use of worrying about some older kids words? Then stop.

The escort plucked a name from the top of the bowl, a name from the very top. Paxton allowed himself a moment to wonder how they placed the names into the bowls; were they random? Was it separated by class? Area? Wealth? Age? He shuddered at the possibility that all escorts knew that the names of the twelve-year-olds were at the very top and Jabulile had chosen one with ease.

As she walked back to the microphone, Daeta's words continued to echo in his head - chidings that twelve-year-olds got reaped. Some of the ones he could remember filled his brain; the twelvies who were slaughtered in the Bloodbath, the ones who manage to hide away for a bit, the ones who were used as pawns and means to an end and, of course, the one who's safety caused the rebellion.

It can't be me. It won't be me. There's just no logical expla-

"Paxton Yukawa!"

Paxton's mind went blank, devoid of any thoughts for the first time in a while, as he made his way to the aisle.

Talk From The Capitol:

[GadgetsandGizmos] someone buy me a DRINK its hard to be a D3 stan

[Leo4LongerThanBloodbath] honestly crying leo's in the games... i love her music :((((

And with that, all the reapings are done!

I feel like I always say something about how long the reaping took me or that I'm sorry it's late but it's true! I've learned that we won't be doing that again in the future! For this chapter, I had to do a lot of rearranging of how I wanted certain information to be portrayed and when to reveal other snippets; I feel like both of these tributes'll flourish when we have them interacting with other people, as opposed to a glimpse in their lives prior to the Games. If any part feels a bit out of place/shoved in, that'll be why! (I also rambled far too much about both the car racing and performances in the square for both of their PoVs to the point it was boring to read oops)

In any case, here's Paxton and Lenora! I absolutely love the dichotomy between them and I can't wait to see them interact moving forward! Thank-you so much to Harley and Miri for these two!

Now that the reapings are done, we should see some more frequent updates! I've found as a writer I thrive when I can jump around between PoVs and the next few sequences in the pageantry mean I can do that!

In our next chapter, we'll be seeing the Goodbyes for Velvereen, Cosima, Jasper, Kaz, Miles and Asriel!

As always, reviews are always appreciated B)

~ Oli