"Thank you, but I'm honestly fine."

Buck Nielssen, 15

District 7

"Good morning! How are you feeling today, Jax?" Buck asked, ruffling his brother's hair and rolling, yawning at the same time, to the wooden table he and his father constructed for breakfast.

Already sitting down at the table, Jax exclaimed, "I'm great, Buck! How are you?"

"I'm good," Buck smiled, rolling himself to the specified side of the table without a wooden chair, and beginning to eat his oatmeal. Between swallows, he asked, "You ready for today?" Even though Jax wouldn't be twelve for a few years, it was good to have him experience the Reaping himself so he wouldn't be too fearful when he was eligible.

"The only ones who get Reaped are the criminals and bad people, anyway," Jax repeated to Buck, who hastily corrected him.

"Well, it's random, of course, but most of the time, criminals get Reaped."

"Oh yeah! I remembered that from school, I think."

Encouraged Buck, "You have such a good memory, Jax."

His brother smiled, corner of his eyes crinkling, and Buck felt his heart melt further. Both continued to eat his oatmeal alone at the table, as their father was at work, and their mother was mending some clothes. When they had finished eating, Buck asked, "Hey, do you want to go outside to play? We can roll down the hill together."

"Oooh, yay!" squealed Jax with excitement, running out the door. Buck followed more slowly and carefully behind his brother.

When they had gotten outside, inhaling the cool morning air, Jax shouted, "Let's do this, Buck!"

Buck smiled and let the ten-year-old clamber into his lap, moving his wheelchair to the top of the hill. Though it would have been easier to have Jax walk up the hill and for Buck to just wheel himself, the hill wasn't that steep. Plus, he enjoyed the feeling of the muscles in his arms working and the strain on his body, just having something to do.

At the top of the hill in a practiced minute, Buck said, "Okay, Jax, here we go!" The wooden wheelchair the people of Seven crafted rolled down the fresh dewy grass, carrying the two boys screaming at the top of their lungs with joy and excitement. The bottom came far too soon for the two, and their sweaty, red faces with wind-blown hair were still pumping with adrenaline. Jax got off Buck's lap and began to catch his breath with his brother.

"That was so fun, Buck! Let's do that again!" he said in between breaths.

The creak of a door sounded loud enough for Jax, the shouter, to hear and flinch. "Do what again?" their mother, Autumn, asked, a shiny metallic needle and spool of string in her hand. Looking them over, their faces still frozen in excitement, taking in Jax's position next to the wheelchair and Buck, her gaze softened but her eyes narrowed. "Buck, I thought I've told you two not to do that. It's dangerous and I don't want you to hurt yourself, all right?"

Jax deflated, but Buck replied, "Don't worry, Mother, I'm paralyzed anyway so there's no risk."

Autumn only let out a deep sigh to that. "Jax, why don't you come inside? Buck has to go to work soon and I can tell you some stories."

"Ooh, yes! I love your stories! Have fun Buck!" He ran inside.

Autumn followed with a reluctant but understanding goodbye, leaving only Buck outside. He knew she always thought his strong work ethic was too hard on him. Ever since he was little, Autumn had told him to play more and work less, but the light-heartedness had never appealed to him, unlike how busy work was.

Wheeling his chair to the forestry area, Buck rolled up the hill he had only just came down with Jax, down the other side, and onto the wooden planks that signified the sidewalk, continuing his commute to work. Seven was more fortunate than most other districts, as lumber was an important industry, and he was thankful for that; in a poorer place like Twelve, he may have been shunted away and out of society after his legs were paralyzed.

Of course, the optimal situation would have been to go to the Capitol and get his legs fixed, but that was a far-away fantasy. Buck knew he was a hard worker, diligent and persistent, but why would they bother wasting their precious resources on a crippled district kid?

No time to dwell on fantasies and dreams, he thought. The important things were in the here and now, such as overall worker efficiency and success in the industry.

The strong smell of pine and dirty alerted him to his surroundings soon before he saw them. Everyday routine, going to work, helped too, of course. A familiar streak of bright red hair, long and hanging by a ponytail, caught his eye and he maneuvered to face it. "Hello, good morning!"

The owner of the ponytail turned around, revealing her face as Acacia's like he expected. She was sitting on a pine branch, basket in hand, being a picker of pinecones to harvest pine nuts in the long run. "Hey, Buck! How are you today? Ready for later?"

"Of course," he replied. Like most of the teenagers in District Seven, he treated the Reaping seriously, but like a legend. It was akin to the slim chances people pre-Panem had in winning "the lottery." They'd taught in class that the lottery was a corrupt thing, though, to which Buck agreed to, so perhaps he shouldn't have compared the Reaping to it...

Easily-earned money is nonexistent, thought Buck, simultaneously responding, "How about you, Acacia?"

"I'm good, thanks for asking." She jumped down from the 10-foot high branch, causing him to flinch a little in fear at first, then relax when she was all right. "A little scared for the Reaping, but you know the chances. Miniscule, for both of us." Acacia placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm done with this basket already and we're pretty much done with the harvesting of pinecones, so may I join you with the acorns? I just have to do something to keep myself occupied or else I'll worry too much, you know?"

Buck returned the touch, which strained his arm a bit, but he didn't mind. "Yeah, that's my thing, too. We've got to work to earn the good things in life, too."

"Just watch all the lazy, fat kids who have never had to work ever, get Reaped today," she joked. "It's natural selection of the weakest; they've got nothing to offer and no skills to help propel our district."

"Hey, let's not talk about that," Buck interposed.

She hesitated, realizing the full weight of her words. "Ah, sorry." An awkward few seconds later, Acacia started, "So how's school going for you? Favorite subject?"

"Fine. It's boring, though. I mean, there's not much use for it here in Seven; the only subject I even bother to pay attention in is Geometry; after all, angles and the like are important for carpentry."

Laughing and faking a sigh, Acacia replied, "Log-bucking. Of course, Buck. You know, I just want to settle down live the best life I can, make good food and sell it if I have extras. Live a nice life with someone I love."

"Same," Buck said. "I just want to hard and overcome whatever difficulties life throws my way. Live a well-earned life with effort and purpose with someone I love, too."

"I only want the best for my family. It's what they deserve."

Heather Rosa-Tran, 18

District 7

Chop! Chop! The satisfying sound of logs hitting the sodden leaves and ground resonated throughout the forest, matching the other alike sounds. Heather moved over to the next tree, swinging the ax there. With each hit, she thought of her siblings, her husband, her family, and her precious child inside her. It was hard, providing for her siblings and a fetus with manual labor, but if she just sped through the work and fulfilled her daily quota...

Being the oldest out of six children meant working hard and working fast. The extra time she had could be spent getting her siblings out of trouble, but if she did all that, she'd have the entire rest of the day to herself, despite her plans to visit them today, anyway. It was habit. Chop! Chop! Another tree fell down.

"Hey, Heather, how are you?" Timothy's voice came from her right.

She smiled at Timothy, eyes crinkling with admiration. "I'm great, Tim! Today's a wonderful day to do some work. Weather's great. You?"

He grinned back, giving her a small fist bump with their non-dominant hands. "Same, I'm doing fantastic. I was thinking that after we finished this last shift, we could go back and comfort your siblings a bit. They must be nervous today. What do you think?"

The unspoken and hinted-at circumstance haunted both of them: the Reaping. Her siblings, especially Rose, must be frightened. After all, it was her second Reaping, and the gossip and stories at school about people getting Reaped had to be flying around like crazy. She wouldn't believe them, of course, but the horror stories may have gotten to her.

"That sounds wonderful, Tim. Looking forward to it!" They filled the space between them with empty chatter, talking about their family, their plans for the future until the shift ended. At last, the pair stored their axes and headed back to the Rosa household, Heather both excited to see her siblings again and willing to take on the responsibility of talking and comforting them.

Tim knocked with his signature wry smile on his face, both of them listening for the soft patter of feet that would undeniably sound as the children came to the door.

A pair of soft brown eyes peeked out from the side of the door, and they all heard Iris's voice, loud and shrill. "Tim! Hi, Tim! Tim and Heather are here! Mom, Dad!"

"Iris, Darling. Why don't you let them in, please?" Her mother's quieter, calm tone came from behind the door. "And Iris, please keep your voice down, all right?" As the hinges creaked open and Heather and Tim stepped inside, she noticed the bags underneath her eyes.

Rather than call attention to them blatantly, Heather asked, voice careful, "Has everything been all right? I hope they," she gestured to the collection of young children with a slight smile on her face, "haven't been too wearing?"

"We've all been really good! But we miss having Tim and you around," Rose piped up before their mother could answer. "Actually, come to think of it, Zinnia has been rather difficult more recently. You know that really cute outfit I showed you before you left? I gave it to her. She wore it once, and then lost it!"

Heather ruffled Zinnia's hair as Tim talked to her parents and John. Offering an understanding smile in Rose's direction, she reasoned, "Well, Rose, I think with Tim and me back, I'm sure we can find it sometime soon." As Rose giggled a thank you, she turned to John, who looked entertained but uncomfortable between their parents and Tim's conversation.

"John!" They embraced each other. "How have you been?" His eyes relaxed with relief, no longer caught awkwardly between two parties. "I'm doing well, Heather. How well have you been settling in?"

"It's been difficult juggling my responsibilities as a wife, sister, and a mother-to-be," she confessed with an earnest shrug. "But I think I've been getting into the rhythm."

"That's good, Heather," said John. "Just keep learning, and I'm sure you'll get the hang of it. You're a great sister, and I don't doubt you'll channel your motherly personality into being a parent."

She hugged him, delighted at his words. "That means so much, John. Thank you."

"And if you ever need help with anything in the future, I can help. Or at least try to help, because I'm better at numbers than I am with little children." He laughed. "But I get along well enough with Rose, Zinnia, and Iris, of course. I've been helping Mother and Father with them like you did."

Heather turned to the three younger girls, engaged in a rather loud conversation, a teasing smile on her lips. "I'm sure you haven't been bad to John, Mother, and Father, haven't you, Rose, Zinnia, and Iris?"

Their facial expressions told her enough, and she took the three of them into a quieter section of the house, leaving John deep in conversation with Tim and Linden, another one of her brothers. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her parents standing by and looking on to her and her sisters. Kneeling down to their eye level, she said, "Okay, I understand you three are bored and have nothing to do, but we have to be considerate of Mom and Dad. They're under a lot of stress because they have to work and take care of you guys. So I think they would appreciate it if you could all eased the pressure off them a bit.

"I'll be away more often, but I'll still try to stop by and play with you. And in a few months, I'll give birth to a lovely baby and introduce them to you, all right?"

"All right," Rose answered, the other two girls nodding. A small frown creased her brows. "It's just that... the Reaping is also today. And I'm scared one of us will be Reaped."

A sigh of sympathy rushed through Heather, remembering her first and her second Reaping, where they had drawn the names out of a bowl with such suspense and randomness. It could have been anyone, and that was where the fear was rooted, and the rumors flying around at school did nothing to quell that apprehensiveness. "Don't worry, Rose. There are a lot of stories surrounding the Reaping you've heard, I bet? But most of them aren't real, and there are thousands of people eligible to be Reaped who have taken far more tesserae than any of us. It might be scary, but the odds of us getting Reaped are very, very small."

The unspoken words haunted her, despite her confident front. It was a small chance, but what if one of them were Reaped? Especially poor Rose or John. They were too sweet to be in the Hunger Games, and she sobered just thinking about it.

But Rose smiled, fears alleviated, and murmured a quiet thanks as Heather got up and walked over to her parents, leaving Tim to play with her sisters.

"We're really proud of how you handled the situation," her mother, Tammy, said with a warm grin. "The girls, your siblings, and we all love having you around, and it's always wonderful when you visit." She paused, letting Heather soak in the praise. "But you should have stayed home and relaxed with Tim, Darling. There's no need to stress out."

Heather hugged her parents. "No, no, this isn't stressful. Staying home would have been more stressful because I wanted to make sure you all are all right and doing well. I've been worried sick."

Hugging her back, her parents replied, "You're too sweet. We love you so much, and we are so proud of the beautiful, strong, responsible woman you've become."

Those words struck a chord with her, and she felt tears welling up in her eyes. They fell for her siblings, for her resilient mother and father, for the uncertainty and chance, the tip of fate which the Reaping would provide if bad luck struck.

"Thank you, Mother and Father. I love you too, and I am so proud to be your daughter."

"There's nothing I despise more than false truths in this world. However inescapable, I do my best to restrain lies from spreading."

Ganges Trefoil, 29

District 7 Mentor

"Welcome to the District Seven Reaping!" It was Reagan Woods, the escort of Seven, infamous for his blunt and uncensored notes on tributes. Honestly, Ganges no longer knew why he was escorting for Seven but wasn't protesting. Reagan and he shared basically the same views, save for thoughts on profanity. "How are you, District Seven?" Reagan smiled, showing pearly white teeth, before continuing, "I'll begin by showing the video."

That gave Ganges time to ponder after shooting a brief smile at his best and only friend. What would his newest tribute be like this year? His previous three tributes had all been terrible. Physically strong, yes. Truthful and straight-forward, no. They were all weak in his eyes, gone over to the side of dishonesty. Of telling little white lies to appease him. At least he didn't have to mentor the females, who usually did that ten times more often than males, or so he had noticed.

A lifetime in a constant quest for knowledge and the pure, undiluted truth, brought out many sides of a man. Including ones that Panem, his country, would have rather ignored. At least he'd stayed off the radar—though Ganges was silently arrogant, constantly correcting others, he wasn't stupid enough to voice anti-Capitol opinions in front of Peacekeepers. Neither did he care for others' opinions about himself; the truth and honesty were better than anything else he could hope for—friendships, relations, love, hobbies.

Oh well. Previous tributes had gotten upset, too sensitive to handle his blunt criticism and correcting. Ganges had to admit a bit to himself that he wasn't the best at handling that, either, when addressed to him, but of all things, he didn't just break down and storm out of rooms. The video was ending now, and he barely restrained himself from bouncing on his seat, forced himself to stay put and wait for the tribute called.

Hopefully, this year would be less disastrous than the previous ones he was forced to mentor.

"Beginning with the males, our tribute shall be... Buck—" The escort paused, hesitating. "I can't pronounce this. So if your first name is Buck and your surname is spelled N-i-e-l-s-s-e-n, come up to the stage, please."

Ah, it was typical Reagan. Perhaps this was a sign. A good one, he hoped. But from the looks of the tribute Reaped, he no longer cut himself that slack.

Wheelchair? Seriously?

That was his first thought. This kid was in a wheelchair, of all things. He—Buck—rolled it, a wooden rickety thing, to the front of the stage deftly, taking his spot without uttering a single word, not that Reagan offered him the microphone anyway. Silently, Ganges pondered what would happen if he demanded Reagan to redraw a name, but the inner moral man inside of him pushed to give Buck a chance. One chance, perhaps he was a straight-forward, hard-working, and honest guy.

The escort continued, "And now, we shall move on to the female bowl. Our female tribute for this year is... Heather Rosa-Tran!"

"No, Heather!" a pained cry came from the 18-year-old boys' section as another 18-year-old female pursed her lips and stormed up the stage, each movement deliberate and furious despite her large belly. She must be pregnant, and he must be her husband. More shouts and sounds of sobbing came from the 13-year-olds' section, the 17-year-olds' section, and the 15-year-olds' section. She must either have a lot of siblings or close friends from different age groups.

He felt a brief pang of pity for both of the Reaped tributes, but it failed to last. He had overcome this as well, and pity had no place in the Games. They had to be strong no matter what; pity would only weaken them. And weaknesses were not a good thing in the Hunger Games.

A/N: Ayy, Tigress is back. I struggled with this chapter but managed to write through it. I hope I did these two wonderful characters justice.

On another note, I've only gotten check-ins from SEVEN people. Check-ins tell me you're reading. Some of you have reviewed but haven't checked in, so I'd suggest going back to Chapter 11 for the check-in information. Just shoot me a quick PM, y'know?

QOTC: What color is Acacia's hair?

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'm glad to be getting back into the writing rhythm.

Veni, vidi, vici,

Tigress