Hi, everyone! I'm finally back also with this story! As you can read from the summary, SUBMISSIONS for SPONSORS are now available also for this fanfic and not only for Love Is the Deadliest Weapon *. SUBMITTERS can assign EXTRA POINTS to tributes once all the Reapings are done (actually, you won't need to wait long, since only District 7 and District 12 are left). All info is on my profile, but you can PM me for any doubts. If you're not interested in submitting though, you can still support tributes with your reviews. Readers and reviewers are always welcome :)

And now, enjoy the Reaping of District 12!

2 years ago

Rita Hollenthorpe (15)- Citizen of District 12

It's not winter, yet the nights are freaking cold in District 12. But maybe I feel so cold because I'm not wearing warm clothes. I cannot wear warm clothes though, I couldn't do my job otherwise. Even if it's late, you can always meet someone- mainly peacekeepers patrolling the streets- but there might be also some prowlers out here, that's why I have always a knife with me. Better safe than sorry, right?

I enter a pub just to get out of the cold and to see if I can find someone to solicit. A man is singing a folk song- something about a woman looking for her lover lost in the depths of a mine- while playing the guitar. You can see some drunkards seated at the wooden tables or at the counter. They're already too drunk, even for my liking. Eventually, a person catches my eye: it's a young peacekeeper, who's seated all alone at the counter, a glass of liquor in his hand, but he's not drinking it, he limits himself to gaze at it, as if he was unsure about what to do. I smirk. Peacekeepers are the best customers, in the end. They often come from other districts, and, whether they have a family or not, they usually feel either homesick or tired after a hard day of work and are usually willing to pay for someone to- let's say- console them.

I sit at the counter next to the young peacekeeper, but I pretend not to notice him. For his part, he just takes a quick look at me, but he turns again to his glass immediately afterwards. Umm... okay, you're not the talkative type, but I'm not going to give up!

"Hey, Warren! Why don't you pour me a drink?" I address the bartender- a man in his seventies whom I know very well, since I often hang out at his pub.

"Have you got any money, bitch?" he replies in a grumpy tone.

In response, I show him the content of my purse.

He bites his lip. "What a pity! Well, even if you had no money, you would find a way to pay me, right?" he comments, looking at my breast, which is highlighted by the corset I'm wearing under my brown dress.

"If I did have no money, I wouldn't come here," I rebut, forcing a smile.

Yes, I am a prostitute… the "cold whore of the Seam"- a nickname I invented myself. "Cold" because I do my job without passion, I do it because there aren't many opportunities for a poor girl from the Seam. My father died in a mine accident years ago, my mother is bedridden, my little sister Isla is too weak to work. I am the breadwinner of my family. In the end, this job is like any other as long as it enables me to put food on the table. I just need to flirt with men, get them drunk (and occasionally myself), satisfy their desires, and eventually empty their purses. Sometimes, they're so drunk that they fall unconscious on the bed, I don't even need to sleep with them, and I definitely prefer it. Anyway, the fact that I'm a prostitute doesn't necessarily mean that any man can be my customer. Even the "cold whore of the Seam" has some scruples. I flirt with older men, but the age gap between us shall not be too great. Actually, my oldest customers are in their forties. Warren knows what I do for a living, but I will never share the bed with him. He could be my grandfather!

"What do you wanna drink?" Warren asks me, again in a grumpy tone.

"You choose," I answer with a shrug.

He pours me a glass of what looks like whiskey (but I suspect it's bad), and then he goes serve other customers. I drink my glass in only one shot- yes, it's bad. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that the young peacekeeper is now staring at me. His eyes are blue, I didn't notice it before.

"Seeing a young girl boozing like that is sad," he comments.

I turn to him. "I've never seen you round here. What's your name?"

"Paris. Yours?" he replies.

"Misty," I answer.

I never tell my customers my real name. Better safe than sorry. If someone isn't drunk enough to forget everything and wants to reclaim what I stole from him, finding me will be much harder.

"A gloomy name," he comments.

"Life is gloomy when you're alone."

"That's why you booze?"

"Maybe. Why do you booze?"

He sighs in response and looks away from me.

"I'm sorry, I was too blunt," I apologize.

"No, it's okay. Just…"- he sighs again- "… it's a sad story. I found out that my girlfriend cheated on me. I got itchy feet, so I applied for a transfer, and I ended up in District 12. I'm here, but… I don't know… honestly, I've never drunk alcohol in my life. I don't want to become a drunkard, just…"

"…you want to let yourself go a little bit," I complete his utterance.

He turns to me. "Yes."

"I can understand you, I feel the same sometimes."

In response, a slight smile forms on his lips.

Looks like the empathy card is working…

"I'm not that desperate not to understand that you might be lying, Misty. The bartender didn't call you bitch just to insult you, right? You aren't talking to me just for the pleasure of conversation, you're here 'cause you want something in exchange, don't you?"

He catches me momentarily off guard, but luckily I'm used to finding quick responses. "It's my job. If you don't want to take the next step, we can just stay here and talk… for the pleasure of conversation. If you say no, I won't feel offended, I cannot oblige you."

In response, he watches me for head to toe, then he smirks. "No, it's okay. I don't think I'll find the courage to drink this glass tonight."

"One transgression at a time," I say with a smile.

My usual customers are rarely sober, but Paris is young and good-looking, so I can make a little sacrifice this time, right?

He takes me to the block of flats where he lives, which is not far away from Warren's pub. There aren't many tall buildings in the Seam, and even the tallest have no more than two or three floors. Those buildings are usually dwelled by low rank peacekeepers and their families, when they have one. Paris's flat is on the ground floor, so we don't need to take the stairs. It's quite modest but seems cozy enough. The furniture is reduced to the minimum necessary… exactly what one would expect to see in a peacekeeper's dwelling.

"Tell me… from which district do you come?" I ask him, while looking around.

"Two," he promptly answers.

"Oh, yeah, I heard about new recruits coming from Two, but I didn't expect to meet one of them in the forgotten hole of the Seam."

That said, I turn to Paris. The smile on my lips fades away as soon as our eyes meet. Something has changed in his gaze. Now, he's watching me in the way a predator watches its prey before killing it. I instinctively put my hand close to my belt, where my knife is hidden. That's precisely the kind of gaze that makes you want to run away, but I try to keep calm.

Paris gets closer to me.

Please, don't tell me that he's a maniac!

He's getting closer and closer.

Please, don't tell me that he's a maniac!

Now, we're face to face. I hold his gaze. For his part, he grabs my waist and drags me closer to him. I wince in response.

"Come on, it's not your first time, I suppose," he whispers.

Now, I can feel both his breath and his heartbeat. He takes me to his room, where he makes me lay on the bed. He gets above me, grabs my wrists, and starts kissing my neck… but he's tightening too much!

"You're hurting me!" I protest, but he doesn't listen to me.

I start squirming. When he finally frees my wrists, I manage to escape his hold by pushing him away. I run towards the front door, but I find it locked.

"Where are you going?" Paris asks me in a menacing tone.

I have not the time to turn around, since he has already hugged me tight and dragged me closer to him. Now, he's morbidly kissing my neck and shoulders. I repeatedly elbow him in his stomach until I can free myself. I quickly grab my knife and then turn to him.

"Unlock the door or I'll kill you!" I warn him, pointing my knife at him with a trembling hand.

He bursts out laughing in response. "You won't do anything of the sort," he replies, amused.

He starts to get closer.

"Keep your distance!" I shout.

He doesn't stop instead. Now, we're almost face to face… again. But at this point something happens. Before I can even realize it, my hand has instinctively stabbed him in the stomach. In response, he covers his wound with both his hands, trying to stop the blood that is quickly soaking his clothes. He tries to scream, but I promptly silence him by putting my free hand on his mouth, then I push him against the wall. He's moaning and wheezing. His blue eyes express pure terror. But I don't feel pity for him. In one fluid motion, I use my knife to slice his throat, thus ending his life. I release my hold and step aside, while Paris's body is crumbling to the ground in a pool of blood. I hear him wheeze for a couple of seconds, but then everything is over. I don't dare to look at his corpse. I've never killed a person before… this is my first kill, and yet I feel nothing… nothing! I feel like my very soul was hollow… hollow and cold like a desert by night.

Eventually, my survival instinct makes me recover.

You cannot stay here, you cannot stay here… these words start to echo through my mind.

Then, my thief instinct pops up.

Yeah, I cannot stay here, but nobody is coming to see what happened, so I've got time to see if there's something of value to steal…

I search the flat, but the only thing I find is a gold medallion on the bedside table. I grab it. Then, I- don't know how- manage to frisk Paris's corpse till I find the key to unlock the door. As soon as I am again on the streets, I immediately start running. I stop only when I feel safe. I examine the medallion I stole. If I find a good dealer, my family won't have money problems for a while. There's a picture inside the medallion- a man and a woman. They must be Paris's parents.

"Well, your son was a maniac," I comment under my breath.

Then, I take the photo, tear it up, and throw its pieces on the ground.

…...

Some days before the Reaping

Kairo Redfield (40)- Peacekeeper

I'm at the shooting range along with my son Canaan. It's a good thing that he learns not only to fight with fists and bladed weapons, but also to use guns. He will become a peacekeeper like me in the future; that's what I want for him, that's the best for him. Our family is well-off enough to ensure him a fast track, he won't end up in filthy places like the Seam of District 12 or the slums of District 6. I would have been moved to a better district myself by now, if I hadn't started a family here in Twelve. But I don't regret it; Enya was a wonderful woman and a caring wife. Besides, there's still room for gaining further rank.

"Father?"

I'm suddenly dragged back into reality. I look down and see that Canaan has turned to me, his blue-grey eyes watching mine with a searching attitude. I slap him.

"I'm not your father now, I'm your trainer and your superior. You should learn to separate family and work," I scold him.

"I'm sorry, sir," he apologizes, lowering his gaze.

"What were you going to tell me?"

"May I get your permission to practice with knives instead of guns?"

Actually, Canaan is more capable with bladed weapons than with firearms. Not surprisingly, he's nicknamed "silver knife", given that his weapon of choice are knives and that he's part of the upper echelon of society. But a good peacekeeper needs to possess a wide range of skills, they cannot focus exclusively on one kind of weapon. After all, peacekeepers are more likely to use a gun than a knife.

"Didn't I tell you before that answering a question with another question is irritating?" I say.

"Well, you did say it before, but you just did what you find irritating, and you even changed the subject before completing it- another thing that you find irritating, if I don't mistake," he points out, looking at me in an arrogant manner.

I feel anger seething in my stomach. How can he even dare to speak to me like that? Canaan is usually obedient and respectful of authority, but sometimes he's capable of acts of rebelliousness. This rebelliousness has to be eradicated from the start, and nothing is better than a prompt belt lash in the face to solve the problem… and that's precisely what I'll do. I take my belt and hit my son's face with it. He falls to the ground on his stomach. I give him some lashes on his back just to be sure he understands that this is a punishment. For his part, he doesn't try to defend himself, he doesn't even moan. I must be harsh to him. If I want to become Head Peacekeeper, our family has to be an example of perfection and discipline. Rebelliousness cannot be tolerated. The fact that I come from Capitol City would certainly favour my appointment, but my son has to do his part as well.

"Stand up! You're a soldier, not a worm!" I order him, as soon as I finish whipping him.

He obeys. "Yes, sir," he replies, keeping his head down.

"Rules are made by those in power. I'm your superior, which means that I have power over you and that you have to obey me. It's all a matter of hierarchy. Hierarchies are everywhere in society; you cannot escape them, so you'd better learn to accept them. There are those who command and those who obey. But you're not meant to be a servant, Canaan. If you want more power, you can have it, but you need to deserve it first. Power is no fun, it means responsibility, self-abnegation, and discipline. Is that understood?"

He nods in response.

"Speak, Canaan! I want to hear your voice! Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. As for your request… no, you're not allowed to practice with knives today. I want you to use guns, and that's what you'll do, end of story. Now, resume your exercise."

"Yes, sir."

Canaan turns to the human-shaped silhouettes that are his targets, he aims and eventually fires.

…...

Present day

Rita Hollenthorpe (17)- Citizen of District 12

I wake up with a terrible headache. Jeez, I drank too much alcohol last night, but it was worth it: my customer paid me well. In addition, I managed to steal a wristwatch. I'll be able to buy something decent to eat this week and maybe also a new dress. I'm sick and tired of wearing only old rags. A nice dress would attract more customers, after all.

I try to get up, but I still feel a bit dizzy, so I immediately lose balance and fall on the bed again. I snort. I let a couple of minutes pass before trying again… and it works this time. Rather unsteadily, I head to my closet- well, calling it closet is kind of flattering, since it is made only of wooden planks roughly bolted together, but it's better than nothing. I pick the first dress I see and wear it. The one I wore yesterday stinks of alcohol, so I cannot wear it at the Reaping. Yeah, the Reaping… not an occasion to find customers, but certainly an occasion to steal. People are too afraid of being reaped to pay attention to their belongings. I don't see why one should wear precious things like jewels at the Reaping; not that I'm complaining, but it doesn't make sense to me. Maybe it's just a way of displaying one's wealth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see that my sister is getting out of our mother's room with a tray in her hands. She goes to the kitchen, and I follow her. She lays the tray on the kitchen's table.

"Isla, how's mum?" I ask her.

She turns to me. "Good morning to you too, sis," she replies.

I roll my eyes.

"She's okay. I prepared a soup for her, but she ate only half. I'll heat the rest for this evening," she continues.

"We could buy extra food with the money I earned yesterday," I offer.

She looks down in response. "I… you know I don't like the way you earn money… the way you live… we could get the food we need by…"

I interrupt her: "No, Isla. No tesserae!"

She looks at me again. "But they could help us!"

"Yeah, they could help us to get killed!" I retort.

"We wouldn't necessarily end up in the Games!"

I put my hands on her shoulders. "But our chances would be higher! Isla, please, don't think of tesserae. I live like this 'cause I want it. What I don't want is seeing you in the Games. I won't let anyone hurt you! If you get reaped, I'll volunteer for you, don't worry."

"And what if you got reaped?" she enquires.

"You'd no nothing," I promptly answer.

"What?"

"Promise me that you will never volunteer for me."

"But…"

"Isla, promise," I insist.

She sighs in response. "Okay, I promise."

We have breakfast together- just some crusts of bread soaked in milk. After that, we both head to the main square by foot. Since our mother is too sick to move from her bed, she is allowed to stay at home. Isla and I are going to come back home immediately after the Reaping, so she won't be alone for too long. She has a viral disease due to drinking contaminated water for many years. Once, I spared enough money to take her to a doctor in town, but he told us that she cannot fully heal. All she can do is avoiding drinking dirty water by first purifying it with iodine. But iodine is not that easy to find in District 12.

Once in the main square, I part from my sister, and then we both join our respective sections. Neither of us said a word while we were coming here. I truly hope Isla won't get reaped. She's only fourteen, she's too young to die… well, anyone is too young to die, but I cannot care about everybody, I care only about my family. If Isla gets reaped for real, I'm ready to volunteer for her, but I'm not ready to die. These are the 76th Hunger Games; they serve to remind the districts that they were defeated twice, so the tributes coming from the most rebellious districts- Twelve and Thirteen- are very likely to lose their lives in an exemplary way. There's no hope for my district, not this year.

Both the mayor and the escort are new. The mayor is a Capitolite. He mounts the stage, reads the Treaty of Treason, and eventually leaves the word to the escort without making a comment. The escort is no longer Effie Trinket but another woman.

"Good morning, District 12! I'm your new escort! You've been quite nasty recently, that's why I'm here. Still, no time to dilly-dally! Let's move to the actual Reaping! Ladies first!" she says.

I already hate her.

She approaches the girls' ball and then picks up one slip at random, touching it only with her fingertips, as if she was afraid of getting dirty. "Rita Hollenthorpe!"

What? Me? It cannot be true, it cannot… who will take care of my family while I'm away? Who will take care of my family after my death? My head starts spinning like crazy, following the movement of these thoughts in my mind. Who will take care of my family while I'm away? Who will take care of my family after my death?

"Rita Hollenthorpe! Come on, don't be shy!" insists the escort.

At this point, a peacekeeper drags me out of my section. I head to the stage. I walk slowly. I feel like the earth under my feet is about to crack in two to swallow me in its depths. I'm afraid, I'd like to disappear, but I am mostly angry. I've never taken out tesserae to protect me and my family. I don't deserve this!

When I'm eventually onstage, the escort doesn't say a word. She doesn't even ask for volunteers-luckily, since I don't want Isla to take my place in the Games- she immediately moves to boys. "Canaan Redfield!"

A boy emerges from the fifteen-year-old section. He's wearing fine clothes; he doesn't live in the Seam, that's for sure. In addition, I can tell by his rigid posture and by the way he keeps his chin high that he belongs to a family of peacekeepers. I know peacekeepers too well not to recognize them even in civilian clothes. My district partner has clenched fists. He must be as angry as I. I bite my lip. An angry peacekeeper is definitely a threat. Peacekeepers are trained to fight, they know how to use different weapons. For my part, I can handle only knives and use them to kill… yeah, I had to kill more than one customer in the past, when things got messy, and this is an advantage, yet… I lack a proper training, what my district partner certainly has, given that his face is covered in red welts, as if all his blood was concentrated there. Discipline and hard training, that's the life of a peacekeeper. It's not the first time I see whip marks on somebody's skin, so I'm not bewildered. I must beware him, though.

"The tributes of District 12, Rita Hollenthorpe and Canaan Redfield! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour! Shake hands, you two!" says the escort.

I stretch my hand out, but Canaan doesn't take it at first. He watches me from head to toe, and only afterwards he reluctantly shakes hands with me. My district partner is a peacekeeper, he's spoiled and picky… great!

We enter the Justice Building, where we're assigned a private waiting room for visitors. Isla comes to visit me almost immediately. She's teary. I hug her.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"What for?" she asks, while sobbing.

"Because you didn't volunteer," I answer.

"I promised you not to do it, don't you remember?"

I break our embrace. Then, I duck to watch her right in the eye. "We haven't got much time, so listen to me, please. Will you?"

She nods in response.

"Yesterday, I stole a wristwatch. If you sell it, you should have enough money to live for a while. You can ask our neighbour Xavier, he's a good dealer… a little stingy sometimes, but I sold him many items in the past, so he should have a special regard for you. You'll need to manage well the money you get… I don't know… I don't know when you need other money…"

"I could find a part-time job," she offers.

"Okay, but our mother?"

"I'll find someone to look after her."

"Try to do your best, Isla, I know you can… I… I'll come back, I promise."

"Be careful."

I hug my sister again. She's crying like a baby. I don't want her to see that I'm about to cry as well. I must stay strong for our family.

Suddenly, a peacekeeper enters the room, thus interrupting us. "Time's up!" he shouts.

"No! Rita!" cries Isla, as the peacekeeper is shoving her out.

"I have to go now, but I'll come back soon, I promise! I love you!" I reply in a desperate tone.

The peacekeeper slams the door, leaving me alone. I won't see my sister again… I won't see her again, and the last thing I told her was a lie. I won't come back, I'm sure I won't. All I can do is trying to survive as long as possible… but it's a cruel choice, since it will nurture the hope of those I love. But what can I do otherwise? I feel so weak and powerless now that I cannot stand any longer. I sit on one of the couches that are in this room. I sit down and then burst into tears.

…...

Canaan Redfield (15)- District 12 male tribute

I've been reaped! I've been reaped! How is that possible? The Hunger Games are not for me, they're only for bloodthirsty Careers and starving children with tons of entries! I've never taken out tesserae, so why am I here? There should be someone else in my place, anyone would be okay but me! The escort should have picked one of those wrecks coming from the Seam like my district partner! She doesn't belong to the merchant class, that's for sure, and I had even to touch her! I'm so outraged that I push over all the couches of this damn room, and I keep on kicking them until I'm out of breath.

I hear the door open behind my back. I turn around. It's my father. As soon as I see him, all my muscles stiffen. His arrival has turned the fire of my rage into ice out of a sudden. My father looks first at me and then at the couches. I bite my lip. He will certainly scold me, I can already prepare to receive the first whiplash. In fact, I look down, waiting for the pain, but nothing happens… or, rather, nothing expected happens. He gets closer to me. My heart is now beating like crazy.

I'm sorry, father, I didn't want to freak out like that... forgive me, please…

He puts both his hands on my shoulders. What does it mean? Am I in trouble or not? "Canaan, my son… I… I have no words to describe how I feel at the moment,"-he sighs- "All I can do is asking you to do your best. I'll be rooting for you."

Is it tenderness what I hear in his voice? I look at him. His eyes are watery. Tears? My father? No way! I've never seen him cry!

"Thank you," I reply.

What else can I say? If I speak too much, he always scolds me. At some point, he composes himself. He puts his hands behind his back.

Okay, no more tenderness, I suppose…

"Ahem… you'll represent District 12 in the Games, but you should tell them that your father comes from the Capitol, it will certainly make you score points. As for allies, the Career pack is the natural alliance considering your talent, but you're young, they won't accept you easily. You'll need to show them what you can do. Every edition has its own history, and this one is going to be particularly tough for tributes. The former leader of the rebellion came from Twelve like you, so it's extremely important that you distance yourself from the rebellion. Remember, Canaan, you're not a rebel, you hate rebels. Is that understood?" he continues.

"Yes, sir. I come from Twelve, but my heart is that of a loyal Career. You'll be proud of me," I reply.

A slight smile forms on his lips- another unexpected event. "I'm already proud of you, Canaan."

I don't know what to say in response, I just keep staring at him. He's never so tender to me! He loves me, then! He cares about me! I'm more than a piece of flesh to whip to him! I'm his son, and he's proud of me! I've never felt so happy before! I'd like so badly to hug him, but it would mean pushing it too far, so I give up.

At this stage, a peacekeeper enters the room.

"Sir, I'm sorry to inform you that you need to leave," she says.

"Okay," he replies, turning to her, and then he looks at me again. "Good luck, my son."

"Thank you. I'll do my best," I say.

He nods. "I know you will."

That said, my father leaves the room. Now, I'm alone… alone and with a strange mixture of happiness, sadness, and confusion filling my soul.

So, another Reaping is done. I know that it has been a while since my last update, but I've got still some exams to do, so I'm focusing on them at the moment. Anyway, the tributes of District 12 are Rita Hollenthorpe and Canaan Redfield, both submitted by Paradigm of Writing. Do you think Rita's prediction will come true? Will the tributes of Twelve die? Or do they stand a chance?

Thank you a lot for reading. Please, leave a review, if you liked this chapter :)

*Sponsor chapters consist mainly of dialogues between sponsors and mentors. I've already uploaded two chapters about sponsors in Love Is the Deadliest Weapon (chapters 19 and 24); if you want, you can have a look at them