Disclaimer: I still don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Whew, it's been a while. Sometimes real life happens. Long story short: I got out of teaching, moved to a different state, and got a new job. I'm working at a bank now, and so far, it's a nice change of pace. So ... yeah, that's why the lengthy absence, but now I'm back. :)

Also ... wow, it's been a long time since I wrote actual reapings. o.O Bios will be updated on the website as the tributes are introduced. Thank you to Lupus Overkill and Acereader55 for Bellona and Clive.

District One
One of Your Assumptions

Jasper Floren, 35
Victor of the 38th Hunger Games

It didn't make any sense.

Jasper shook his head as he paced back and forth across the training room floor, only pausing to note that they hadn't even cleaned up the blood yet. Ever since Harakuise's warning a few days ago that there might be trouble brewing – maybe even some sort of rebel activity – the Victors had all been on alert, but he still hadn't seen this coming. No one could have. It was the morning of the reaping. The only tributes still at the academy to get some training in before the reaping would be the volunteers, their potential backups, and anyone really dedicated to putting every minute of free time to good use.

That didn't usually mean shooting the designated volunteer.

Jasper clenched his fists. It could have been worse. Would have been worse, if he hadn't been paying attention. Meredith's first arrow had hit Octavia's shoulder, but she'd been preparing to shoot again – and might have had the chance, if Jasper hadn't been close enough. If he hadn't been out on the training floor just in case something happened. If they hadn't been warned.

Who would she have shot next? Their backup volunteer? Or maybe Clive and his backup, just for good measure? Or maybe even him. Jasper shuddered. "Remind me to thank Harakuise when we see him. And Nicodemus." Apparently, it had been Nicodemus who had brought it to Harakuise's attention that something might be happening in the Career districts. That was unexpected, but whoever was to thank, he was grateful for the warning.

Pacing beside him, jogging a little to keep up with Jasper's longer strides, Aramis nodded. "You still think it should be the two of us, then?"

Jasper slowed down a little. "Getting cold feet?"

Aramis shook his head. "No, but you seem a bit … shaken up. If you don't want to deal with the hassle of having a first-time mentor to work with … well, I wouldn't blame you."

For a moment, Jasper had to admit he was tempted. It would be more comforting to have one of his parents there instead, to be certain that he was working with someone who knew what they were doing. But mentoring wasn't about what was best for him. "Clive's been expecting to work with you," he reasoned. "Probably best if we don't throw our tributes any more curveballs than we have to."

"You're probably right. It's just…" He trailed off.

Jasper slowed to a stop. "What is it?"

Aramis shook his head. "I didn't see it coming. Meredith was one of my recruits, and I still didn't see it. Maybe I didn't want to see it. I knew she was impulsive, but this … Why would she do this?"

Jasper's mind drifted back to Harakuise's warning that there might be unrest – even in the Career districts. Maybe especially in the Career districts, where nothing seemed to have changed since the Capitol's victory over Thirteen. The other districts that had played a part in the plan to bring down Thirteen had seen improvements. Small, incremental improvements, but improvements nonetheless. Jasper hadn't thought anything of it; life in District One was already pretty good, after all.

But some people had disagreed. Maybe Meredith had disagreed. But what had she been hoping to accomplish? "I don't know," Jasper admitted. "It doesn't make any sense. But that doesn't make it your fault. Sure, she was one of your recruits, but you didn't force her to stay, or to train, and you're not the one who decided she wasn't ready for the Games."

"Do you think that's what this was about?"

"Maybe." No. No, it wasn't. They'd occasionally had a backup volunteer try to sabotage the front-runner, but Meredith hadn't been in that position. She hadn't even been close. Jasper's instincts were screaming that this was something else, but what?

"Do you think Bellona will go through with it?" Aramis asked, shaking Jasper back to the moment. "It's awfully short notice."

Jasper shrugged. "I guess we'll find out in a few minutes. We should get going, or we'll be late."

They weren't late, but they were the last to arrive. Jasper flashed his parents an apologetic smile as he joined them onstage, along with Felix, Scarlet, and Amelia. Aramis followed close behind him, taking the seat on the end that, until recently, had been Jasper's. Their newest Victor. Fifteen years after his own victory, he had finally brought a tribute home. Choosing Aramis as a tribute had been a gamble, but that gamble had paid off. Now…

Now he and the other trainers had to deal with the consequences. The training academy had been flooded by Aramis' new recruits, few of whom fit the typical Career mold. Some were simply starstruck, delighted to see someone like Aramis succeed and wanting to share in that glory. Their interest tended to fizzle once they realized just how demanding training was.

But others … others were serious. Intensely serious. Maybe even dangerously serious.

Like Meredith.

Focus. Right now, Meredith was someone else's problem. The situation here in One – whatever that situation even was – was someone else's problem. The only thing he had to worry about was the Games, and that would be plenty. He would just have to hope that Bellona would come through. She had said she would, but…

But nothing. If she didn't, someone else would. There would be no shortage of people eager to volunteer for the Games. That was why they even had pre-selected volunteers in the first place. If they didn't, there could be dozens of hopeful prospects rushing to the stage during the reaping. Instead, they selected their volunteers in advance. And a backup. Situations like this were why they had a backup. The system worked. It would work.

"Hello, District One!" their escort, Ishmael Scimone, called, and the crowd cheered, largely oblivious to the tension onstage. Oh, rumors would eventually get out; there was no stopping that. But for now, at least, they'd managed to hush things up. Only for a little while, but a little while was all they needed. Things just had to appear normal during the reaping, and then the focus would be on their tributes.

With a theatrical flourish, Ishmael dipped his hand into the first reaping bowl and wasted no time in drawing out a slip of paper. There was no point in prolonging the process. Everyone knew that whoever's name was on the paper, they wouldn't be the one going into the Games. Aside from the Quarter Quells, it had been ages since District One's tributes hadn't been volunteers.

"Dahlia Valentine!" Ishmael announced.

For the briefest of moments, there was silence, but then a call of, "I volunteer!" came from the row nearest the stage. Jasper relaxed as Bellona stepped out of the row and made her way forward. In all the excitement, she hadn't even had time to change out of her training clothes: black athletic jacket, white tee shirt, black and red training shorts, and well-worn shoes. She was tall and lithe, with straight, dark hair down to her upper back and dark brown eyes that, for a moment, met Jasper's before she turned to the crowd. If she had any second thoughts about volunteering, they certainly didn't show. Anyone who didn't know she was actually the backup volunteer probably wouldn't be able to tell.

Ishmael certainly didn't seem to notice that anything was different. "And what's your name, young lady?" he asked, beaming.

For an instant, there was just a hint – just a flicker – of a smile on Bellona's lips. "Bellona Harlow," she answered simply. "It's an honor to be here."

Ishmael beamed. "It certainly is, and it's wonderful that District One realizes that."

Jasper raised an eyebrow. Had that been for the benefit of those in Thirteen who might be watching the reapings for the very first time? Or did Ishmael know something? Could he have heard about what had happened at the academy? If he had, what did that mean? Had that been a hint? A threat?

Focus.

Bellona didn't seem to know what to make of the comment, either, and said nothing as Ishmael turned his attention to the second reaping bowl. "Bruno Cortez!"

"I volunteer!" a voice sang out almost before Ishmael had a chance to finish the name, and Clive strode out of the eighteen-year-old section. He clearly had made a point of dressing up for the reaping, his three-piece deep maroon suit studded with diamonds, his gold tie glittering in the sunlight. He was an inch or two taller than Bellona, with pale skin, slicked-back brown hair, and deep sea-blue eyes that practically twinkled as he took the stairs to the stage two at a time, ending with a jump-skip and clapping his heels together before landing next to Bellona.

"Well, well, looks like someone's excited," Ishmael beamed. "And what's your name, young man?"

"Clive Van Morren, and it's not only an honor but an absolute pleasure to be representing District One here with my lovely district partner. Not the one I was expecting, but I'm sure we'll give you quite a show nonetheless."

Ishmael took the bait. "Not the one you were expecting?"

Clive gasped over-dramatically. "Oh, you hadn't heard? There was a little accident at the academy this morning involving the first-choice volunteer, and Bellona here has graciously stepped up to fill the role." He held out his hand to Bellona. "I guess we'll just have to see if you'll be as much fun as Octavia would have been."

Bellona raised an eyebrow. "I guess we will." She shook his hand, gripping it a little longer – and perhaps a little tighter – than necessary. The crowd erupted into cheers as the pair of them made their way offstage.

As soon as the cameras were off, Jasper turned to Aramis. "Did you tell him to–" But before he could finish, he stopped himself. No. No, that was silly. Aramis had been with him the whole time. They'd come straight to the reaping. He'd had no time to discuss this with Clive.

Sure enough, Aramis shook his head. "No, but it makes sense. It was bound to get out eventually. At least this way, they're ahead of it."

"He's ahead of it," Jasper corrected. "Now they'll all think Bellona was our second choice."

Aramis shrugged. "She was your second choice. So what? You think they'll doubt her because of that? Underestimate her? If they do, they probably won't live long enough to regret it. Second-best at the academy is still head and shoulders above most of the tributes they'll be facing." He smirked. "I should know."

"You were my first choice."

"For the male spot. Between me and Soraya, how many people thought I would be the one coming home? Being underestimated isn't such a bad thing."

Jasper nodded. Try as he might, he still had a hard time wrapping his head around that. Because of his parents, he'd gone into his own Games as the Capitol's favorite, and he'd never lost that favor, even when the Career pack had turned on him because he was too much of a favorite, too much of a threat. He'd generally assumed that was best for his tributes, as well – for the Capitol to see them as strong, legitimate contenders, and for the other tributes to see them as a threat.

Maybe that assumption had been wrong.

Bellona Harlow, 18

They'd all assumed it wouldn't come to this.

Bellona relaxed a little as the door opened, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the three of them – her father, her brother Leander, and her. They'd finally warmed up to the idea of her being the backup volunteer, which brought nearly as much prestige as being the chosen volunteer without any of the danger. They'd been able to stomach that – the idea that she was next in line for the Games, but wouldn't actually be putting her life at risk.

Except now she was.

That was why they had backup volunteers, after all – in case of something like this. Just in case. That was what Jasper had told her a few months ago, when he'd offered her the position. Just in case. Just in case something happens. Just in case things go wrong. No one really expected them to. No one ever did. Now…

Now Leander was pressing something into her hand. A bracelet – grey string with an obsidian medallion charm. "It was supposed to be a birthday present," he explained. "But I figured you probably didn't bring a district token."

Bellona nodded. She hadn't. She'd gone to the academy in the morning more out of habit than any expectation of needing to get in the extra practice. She hadn't even brought any proper reaping clothes, because what was the point? Quite a few teenagers didn't even bother dressing up for the reaping, because they knew that even if their name was called, they wouldn't be the ones up onstage in front of the cameras.

Bellona stood up as the door closed behind her father and brother. They were doing their best to be supportive, she knew, but they were worried about the risk. And the Games were a risk, not a guarantee. Even here in District One, there had only been seven Victors. Fifty-four Games, and seven Victors. Over a hundred dead tributes. Only seven of them had come back.

"I expect to see you back here soon, you know."

Bellona looked up. "Octavia! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be–"

"Oh, I practically had to beat those doctors off me in order to get over here," Octavia agreed with a smirk. "But I wasn't going to miss the chance to see you off." She took a step forward, swaying a little, and sank down into a chair. Her arm was in a sling, and she was frighteningly pale, but she was grinning nonetheless. "You go get 'em, you hear. Show that twerp she can't keep District One from winning this year."

Bellona hesitated. She hadn't expected that. She hadn't expected Octavia to come at all, but even if she had, she would've thought she would be more upset. Bitter. Bellona took a seat next to Octavia. "Look, I'm sorry about…" She trailed off, almost surprised to hear herself admit it. She was sorry. Not that she'd had the opportunity to volunteer, but about the way it had happened. Octavia might be too arrogant and hot headed for her own good, but she'd won the honor of volunteering fair and square.

Octavia shook her head. "Not your fault. That rat will get what's coming to her; you can count on that. And if it couldn't be me … well, I'm glad it's you, War Goddess."

Bellona rolled her eyes at the nickname. When she'd come out as transgender a few years ago, she'd considered a few different names before deciding on Bellona. Now, she couldn't imagine going by anything else, and even Octavia's playful nickname felt right. "Thanks, Eighth."

Octavia returned the eye-roll. "You know, I thought it was fitting – Octavia meaning eighth, and me being poised to be our eighth Victor. What does it mean now?"

Bellona looked away. Octavia had spent her whole life training for the Games, and now … now she had nothing. Up until a few hours ago, of course, Bellona had thought she was in the same position, but at least she'd had time to adjust to the idea that she would be doing something else with her life. She hadn't been sure exactly what, but what eighteen-year-old was certain what they wanted out of life?

Careers. Careers were certain. The Games were what she wanted. After that, the possibilities were endless. Victors could do practically anything. Victors had even accomplished what the Capitol couldn't – bringing down Thirteen. Once she won, all those possibilities would be hers.

If she won. It was a risk, yes, but it was a chance most people would never have. A chance Octavia would never have. Bellona laid a hand on Octavia's good shoulder. "You'll find something else," she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. After all, she would have found something else.

But now she didn't have to.

Clive Van Morren, 18

They'd made the wrong assumption for years.

Clive leaned back in his chair as the last of his friends left. Well, some of them were friends. Most of them were fellow trainees, which meant there had been a healthy element of rivalry between them, but a good number of them had still come to wish him luck. People liked him – sometimes without seeming to have a choice in the matter. He was popular. It was a knack.

And it was something the academy had overlooked for too long.

Oh, skill was important, of course. A winning personality wouldn't get you far in the Games if you didn't know how to use a sword or spear or bow or any number of other weapons he'd had years of training with. But it wasn't the only thing that was important.

Maybe it had been, back in the day. Back when the training academy had been founded. Jade and Stellar had won the Seventh and Eleventh Games, after all. Back then, a tribute with even a modest amount of training could run circles around the others, because most of them didn't have a clue how to handle a weapon. Just the fact that they had some training was enough to make an impression on the audience.

But that wasn't enough anymore. So many tributes had that sort of training now. Maybe not the same level of training as those from the older, more established academies, but enough to make a difference. If you weren't counting Quarter Quells, it had been ages since a tribute from One, Two, and Five hadn't been a Career. Four's training had ebbed a bit when they'd lost their training center, but rumor had it the new one was in full swing. And even tributes in Twelve were beginning to train. Twelve.

No, simply knowing how to use a weapon well wasn't enough to wow the audience anymore. If tributes from Twelve could do it, anyone could. Training was still important, of course, but it wasn't the guarantee of the audience's approval that it used to be. You had to give them a show.

So that was exactly what he was going to do.

Clive smiled as he felt in his pocket for his district token – a small diamond that Grandfather Allono had given him. It was small, but his grandfather had treasured it for years as one of the first diamonds he had ever owned. Grandfather had built the Van Morren family fortune from nothing, working as a lowly diamond miner after the rebellion and clawing his way up through the ranks of District One. Because of him, the Van Morren name meant something. It meant wealth, power, influence. It meant respect.

And once Clive was finished with the Games, it would mean even more. It would mean a new kind of Career, maybe even a new Career academy, to focus on developing some of the skills the Florens had neglected over the years. The Florens had made a good start, and for that, District One would always owe them a debt of gratitude. But the system could be better. He could make it better.

Clive twirled the diamond in his fingers. One thing at a time. First, he had to win. Getting here had been the first step – beating out enough of his fellow trainees and impressing the trainers enough to convince them that he deserved a place in the Games. Now he had to convince the Capitol audience that he deserved a place as a Victor, as well. A place in history.

Clive looked up, shaken from his thoughts, as the door opened one last time, revealing his mentor, Aramis. "Ready to go, Mr. Sunbeam?"

Clive chuckled at the nickname, smiling like … well, like a sunbeam, probably. Aramis might tease a little, but he understood the value of good impressions. He'd made a different sort of impression on the audience himself. He'd played the underdog angle, and played it to perfection, a rare thing in a Career district. It was a tactic that wouldn't work for Clive, but that was part of the fun of the Games. Everyone's style was different.

And at least the dwarf understood the importance of having a style, of giving the audience a way to remember you, of standing out from the group. He reached up and clapped Clive on the back as the pair of them headed out of the room. "Been ready for weeks now," Clive assured him. And he had been. This was what he'd been preparing for for … well, for practically all his life. Everything had been leading up to this.

And now it was his time to shine.

"If something doesn't make sense, one of your assumptions has to be wrong."