Chirping of Tributes// Open

As the Sixty Fourth Annual Hunger Games gear up in the Capitol, your season is just beginning as well. With the Games, come the bets, and that's where you shine. Others might say you have a talent for prediction, because you'll always leave with a nice pocket full of winnings by the end of the night. Of course the Games haven't started yet, but your mind started firing off potential Victors before the Reaping was even over.

The short heel of your shoes click against the sidewalk, but soon the sharp sound is muffled when you turn down a dirt alleyway. Often times the betting rings are set in undesirable areas of the District, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. So while you might not like griming up yours clothes, it's worth it to make the trip to the seedy under belly of Nine because by the time you leave you'll be able to buy two new pairs of shoes with a little left over.

It is not so hot in the District right now. With the sun hidden beneath the horizon and the moon taking its place in the sky, it's somewhat pleasant, if not a bit muggy. That's one thing you'd never bet on- the weather. Mother Nature seems to come and go as she pleases bringing all kinds of odd temperatures with her.

Knocking on the scrap metal door of the abandoned warehouse, you quickly wipe the rust off your knuckles and wait for an answer. The sad excuse for a door creeps open a crack, and an eye surrounded by wrinkles inspects you. "Password?"

"Chirp, Chirp," you say, smirking. The door flings inward and the transition from the empty dirt alley to the busy warehouse is startling. Well, it would be if you had not already experienced it so many times. The first time is always a nice surprise, though.

There's a large roster of this year's tributes plastered on the wall above the betting counter. While technically they all have a 24:1 shot at the title right now, you know that the odds are not in favor for some of those kids. However, you are pretty sure they are for the girl from District Four. Maybe it's just a hunch, but her name makes you chuckle. After all a Locust winning right after a Cricket? That would quite ironic.

There were some unique names this year- Locust, Mikhail, Opal (those District One parents are always using those stupid shiny, gem names), even some kid name Motel. They get weirder and weirder every year. Sometimes you wish that you'd be reaped just to have a normal name in the mix. However the odds of not being reaped are in your favor and you'd like to keep them that way.

You could place your bet now, but where's the fun in that? Smoothing back your hair you take to the commons area where chairs and tables are set up, alone with a few TVs so all the gamblers can be up to date with all the Games stats. There's a few dice and card games going on, even a round of checkers in the corner. This is much more than a place to earn your paycheck. Oh no, this crummy old warehouse is more a home to you than any shingled roof piece of crap you sleep in at night.

Taking a seat on the outside of the activities, you're immediately approached by a young woman asking if you'd like a drink. You really shouldn't but you order one anyway before taking out your pack of cigarettes. Sliding one of the sticks out, you ruffle through your jacket pockets looking for your lighter only to find it's missing. Left it at home again? Sticking the cigarette between your lips, you search your pants pockets but your journey has proved fruitless. "Damn it," you curse around the thin white stick hanging from your lips, searching the near by end tables for a pack of matches. There's got to be something in here you could use somewhere.