With our first tributes officially reaped, let's get the ball rolling! If you've still got a reserved slot, please be sure to get your character in as soon as you possibly can!

The Reaping - District One.

Hyperion Leclair, 17.

"Sixty-five tesserae vouchers?"

The Capitol attendant at the front desk of the ever-present Justice Building raises an eyebrow at the boy standing in front of her. He had beauty common in the district - perfectly tousled brown hair, expressive eyes the color of dark chocolate and the sharp, angular features that made those in the luxury district so desired. Hyperion did not hide who he was. It was common knowledge, that his family wasn't well off. Even in One, the clutches of poverty weren't entirely inescapable. Of course, the reaping helped. There was a volunteer - there always was. Hyperion, 17 years of age, would be dodging the reaping this year. Lucius would be stepping up for the Games tomorrow, the conceited whelp, and hopefully that would be the final time Hyperion was ever forced to lay eyes on him.

"I see no reason not to take advantage of the generosity offered by our Capitol, my friend."

Hyperion lies through his teeth. The woman regards him with a vague disinterest - as if she thinks he's full of it. She's right. This highly touted 'generosity' consisted merely of grain that could be turned into a mealy, bland and entirely disgusting bread. Yet, it always helped to have the extra food around - especially when there was no risk to claiming his reward.

"Your request has been processed, Mr. Leclair. The Capitol thanks you for your continuous support."

Hyperion waits until he's outside of the building to spit on this supposed generosity, the saliva splattering against one of the many pristine marble pillars that supported the building. There are few things he hated more than the Games - a secret he kept close to his chest in a District as patriotic as One, their fervor and support only matched by the brutes from Two. Only select few knew of his distaste, and even then, he watered it down - presented it as more of a mild distaste than the burning hatred it truly was.

Marie - two years his junior, Hyperion's younger sister was one of the rare few whom shared his beliefs. They spent long nights discussing the system and how it kept them all down, pouring over literature long banned by the iron fist of the Capitol. Liberty was a dangerous concept, especially for those whom had trained as Hyperion had.

Theia - a cynic at heart, took his points into consideration. She, too, had shared her own sentiments of displeasure. Perhaps that was why the two had gotten along so well in the past. Well enough to the point of love... or something of the sort. But compatibility had been an issue, each of them too independent to truly allow a relationship to flourish. Perhaps not love, then.

Jean-Paul and Jasper found his distaste to be less inspiring. Jasper, the hedonist he was, laughed it off, stating that the Games were great for those who got to sit back and coast. They had lucked into birth inside of one of the Districts that allowed them to completely forego any worry about the Games, after all. What was the point in moping around when it wouldn't affect you? Jean-Paul was unable to wave off the ideas as Jasper had done. He and Hyperion had butted heads over these beliefs constantly, but friendship had sprouted from their constant arguments. They were a necessary evil, Jean-Paul claimed - it was a brutal, messy sacrifice, but the Capitol must have their reasons.

Regardless, all of them agreed that for a poorer family like the Leclair's taking advantage of the system was a necessity. And that included the free food.

"Out thieving from your betters again, Leclair?"

And then, Lucius. The lapdog. His voice cleaves through the peaceful environment like one of the heavy swords he favored so much. Loyal to the point of blindness, and always willing to flaunt it. Despite the twinge of annoyance at his past being re-surfaced, Hyperion couldn't help but smile at the stitches that spanned from just above his rival's right eye to the edge of his right nostril. Had it already been a week, since he'd left that mark on Lucius's face? Seeing the obnoxious smile melt into terror had felt just wonderful.

Hyperion shakes his head. He was starting to sound like one of the dogs he hated so much.

"Would you like a matching scar on your left, dear Lucius? I've packed my carver's kit with me today. Though, you're no gem - more like one of the dusty rocks the fellows from Two seem to fancy. I'm sure I can make it work, though."

Hyperion feigns reaching towards the small bag that rests strapped to his back, and is delighted to see Lucius take a hesitant half-step backwards.

"This isn't a duel like. You touch me and we'll show you where you belong." Lucius nods to the two other men beside him, equally as haughty and arrogant as their master.
"You waste your mother's blood - you and your carver father." Lucius snarls.

It takes all Hyperion has to keep up his ice-cold, snarky persona. His mother was a dear figure to him - giving up her high status to be with the witty jewel-crafter whom she actually loved, damning the social expectation that surrounded her.

"I hope your allies in the Games will show you the same support that your lackeys do. Will they defend you from the slavering beasts that roam your arena? Or perhaps turn on you when they realize your blind loyalty doesn't make up for your incompetence with a blade? I'll try to watch, when they do - if your death happens to be more interesting than whatever else I've got going on, anyhow. I doubt it."

Lucius's face is turning a satisfying shade of red - like the rubies that Hyperion and his family cut into fine gemstones.

It was nice, having the last laugh. Hyperion almost wished he'd taken out more tesserae. Even if he was reaped, Lucius was far too proud to give up on the goal that he'd been working towards his entire life.

Right?

Avalon Imperio, 18.

The Imperio Vineyard. Avalon's home away from home. Though, 'home' had also been split into two places - her parents' house and the Academy of Excellence. So did that make it a home-away-from-home-away-from-home? That was a mouthful, though, wasn't it? Nobody would find a roundabout phrase like that catchy or fun. No, she could just call it her special place. That much was true. Whenever her mind was clouded, or whenever she simply felt like a walk, Avalon would come here. The sharp, earthy and floral scents that surrounded her were her favorites. The glistening, plump purple grapes that weighed heavy upon emerald vines shone under the sun, which itself was just peaking over puffy white clouds that listed lazily through the shining orange sky.

A perfect evening.

"You ready, Av'?"

Lika speaks, the two walking side by side as Avalon surveys the vineyard one last time. It's just three words, but Avalon knows exactly what her sparring partner and close confidant is referring to.

"I was good enough to beat you, wasn't I?" Avalon jokes, earning a good-natured scoff from Lika. "If I can do that, then they might as well just hand me the trophy now." Avalon pauses for a moment, as if in thought. "Do Victors get trophies? I've never thought about that before. I'll ask Miracle at some point, I guess."

"I think the 'trophy' is coming back alive." Lika speaks, her tone tinged with humor.

"How boring. Who thought that up?" Avalon responds, and the two burst into a fit of giggles as they continue to walk through the vineyard.

They're headed to meet up with another of Avalon's longtime friends. Haidi Brannen was basically the sister than Avalon had never had. Before her mother had elected to work full-time in the vineyards, she had helped run several successful upscale restaurants in One. That's where the two had met, often forced to play and make nice while their own respective parents worked. They quickly had become inseparable, essentially being raised together and their bond had withstood the many tests that time had thrown at it. Fights and squabbles had never been enough to break up their sisterhood before, and Haidi had been over the moon for Avalon when she'd been announced as the volunteer for the Sixty-Third Games.

Avalon knew, though, that she was also worried. Haidi hid her emotions well. Every trained Career from One did. They were rarely as physically strong as Two or as tenacious as Four. The social game was where they shined. Though, it of course meant that they could read people incredibly easily, as well. It had been Haidi's attempt to hide her worry versus Avalon's attempt to sniff it out. Avalon had won. She'd seen the tight corners of Haidi's lips. The jittering of his hands and the flash of shock that appeared for just a moment in her best friend's eyes before she'd gotten each and every involuntary response under control. Most people wouldn't have noticed. Avalon did.

"It's about time you two showed up!"

Another female voice calls from across the way. Haidi.

Having walked many times through the vineyard, Haidi knew where her best friend would usually elect to end her walks. A particularly large willow tree had been planted long ago, even before Avalon had been born. The hanging leaves and foliage sway in the temperate evening breeze, wind whistling softly as it passes through the branches.

Avalon notices quickly two things sitting at the base of the large tree. A small box and a bouquet of sunflowers. Gifts, for her, she assumed.

"Was starting to think you'd gotten cold feet and fled to Twelve or something, Av'." Haidi jokes, earning an eye-roll from her best friend.

"She tried to convince me to go with her." Lika chimes in, smile cracking across her face yet again. "But I convinced her to stay."

"Oh, knock it off, you two." Avalon chides good-naturedly, shaking her head in disbelief. "You wouldn't have come with those-" Avalon points to the gifts under the willow. "-if you expected me to run. Twelve, by the way? Of all the places? You're sick, both of you."

Another fit of laughter overcomes the group of girls as Haidi trots back to pick up her gifts.

"First, the flowers." She proclaims as she makes her way in front of the two girls. Haidi presents the sunflowers - a beautiful looking bouquet - to Avalon. "For our Victor. Throw these out to some lucky Capitolite when you get there. They'll fight over it like a wedding bouquet. Oh, but first -"

Haidi makes some movement, presses something on the back of the bouquet that faces her, and a stream of water spritzes out from the middle of the bouquet, hitting Avalon straight in the forehead. Lika and Haidi burst into laughter, the bouquet falling to the floor.

"HAIDI!" Avalon starts, but she can't hold her own laughter back anymore, either. "I can not believe... that I fell for that." She sighs, wiping at her forehead the best she can. "Oh, the flowers, you've dropped them."

"Don't worry, don't worry." Haidi waves a hand. "They're fake. I've got your real gift right here." Avalon reaches for the box, but Haidi pulls it back.

"Ah-ah-ah. You'll get it tomorrow during visitation. This one we actually want you to take with you, 'kay? Promise?"

"Promise." Avalon nods, smile still present across her face. She trusted the two of them. She'd get her gift tomorrow. On Reaping Day.

"Hyperion Leclair!"

The name rings out across the Glass- the unofficial name for District One's square where the Reaping would be taking place.

Hyperion smirks to himself in the crowd. He'd known that the amount of slips he'd taken out were exorbitant, but it was still funny to hear his name called. A brush with fate, those in the District often called it. Those who were reaped by chance before they were 'saved' by that year's volunteer always enjoyed a week or so of celebrity status. Everyone would ask them what it felt like to hear your name, to see it up on the screen. They say it's the closest you feel like to being one of the helpless children in the outlying districts. Nobody volunteered for them. If their name was called, it was fate working her magic. In One, it was nothing more than a story to tell after the volunteer stepped up.

...

After they stepped up.

Where the fuck was Lucius?

A minute passes. It feels like an hour.

An Instructor from One's Academy races up the side of the stage and whispers something into the escort's ear.

"Hyperion Leclair.. please step forward."

No. No, no, no.

There's no way, right? Lucius wasn't sick. Hyperion had seen him yesterday. He was fit. He was scarred, but still beautiful. That would serve him well, wouldn't it? Give him an element of danger to complement his district-given good looks? Why wasn't he stepping up?

Hyperion is frozen solid. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Was Lucius so vindictive, so vengeful, that he'd taken it upon himself to forfeit the moment he'd been working towards his entire life?

It takes a peacekeeper's confused yet firm tone to snap him back to reality. It was clear that the law enforcement in One wasn't used to dragging unwilling participants up to the stage. The young man dressed in Peacekeeper whites that had found him didn't seem to fully know how to go about it, gently grabbing at Hyperion's arm and tugging him out of line.

Thankfully, Hyperion doesn't remain a statue for long. His mind immediately transfers to survival mode. This was real. It was happening. But he had training. Hell, he'd beaten Lucius. This is what saved him. His training allowed him to conceal his shock within an instant - hopefully before the cameras picked it up - and put on a confident mask. He runs a hand through his perfectly tousled hair, flashing a disarming smile to those he passes.

He stands on stage, looking for the man who was supposed to be in his place. He finds him. The smile on Lucius's face is devilish.

Hyperion is not given time to dwell.

"District One's sixty-third female tribute will be... Garde Bettencourt!"

Immediately, a voice from the crowd, strong and confident.

"I volunteer!"

"Perfect!" The escort speaks into the microphone, shooting a mildly concerned glance towards Hyperion before continuing.

The volunteer makes her way to the stage, where she too meets her new district partner with a concerned eye.

"Your name, dear?"

"Avalon Imperio, ma'am."

"Wonderful." The escort turns back to the crowd. "District One's tributes for the Sixty Third Annual Hunger Games - Hyperion Leclair and Avalon Imperio!"

The applause is deafening. Avalon turns to address her district partner under the cover of the raucous crowd. She appears to be all business.

"We have a lot to talk about, Leclair." Her voice is hard and her gaze is piercing. Her partner is still recovering from the shock of it all.

"I wasn't.. I mean, Lucius. He was supposed to-"

"Doesn't matter. Smile and act like you're good for now. Two will eat you alive if they sniff even a bit of weakness." She cuts him off.

Avalon delivers this grim bit of news with a perfect smile across her face, her lips barely even moving as she speaks and places an arm around Hyperion's shoulder, turning the both of them to face the crowd. She waves and he follows suit, doing his best to follow her lead.

She certainly would have her work cut out for her in the Capitol.

And that's a wrap on the very first official chapter! Thank you all for the submissions and interest - it means a lot to have such engagement on my first foray into this sort of project. I'm pleased to announce that I was able to reach my goal of a full cast of 24 tributes submitted by 24 unique users! Thank you all SO much for the submissions and interest.

How did you feel about Hyperion and Avalon? Any thoughts are welcome, as well as constructive criticism on my writing! I'm always open to ways to improve!

Until next time

logangster out