Sorry for the ~ridiculously late~ update. We didn't quite have time for a bit. Here we go, and this story is not abandoned! We still need more tributes, though *cough*

Noah Songe (16) D8M

It was my favorite time of day, and my favorite type of day. There was a big party going on, where most of the kids in the District were going. I wasn't, partially because I hadn't been invited, and partially because I wasn't interested. It was also the middle of the night, which meant that nobody would be moving around much, and nobody would be able to see very far. The time was set for a crime scene straight from a horror novel, or from a juvenile fanfiction.

Denim Fab, one of Eight's richest kids, was hosting the town. Jute Poppin, one of Eight's meanest kids, was attending. That meant that his house would be unoccupied, so I could make my way to it. I was doing just that, trying to plan out how I was going to get in while I worked my way over. I didn't want to break anything. That would be extra illegal, and I didn't want to risk anything if his parents were home, even though they worked night shifts.

My plan was made a lot simpler when I decided to try the front door. Jute, who wasn't the brightest nail in the shed, had left it unlocked. I twisted the handle and walked into the house, looking around and trying to decide where I was. I recognized the area as a kitchen, and I noticed a staircase. I assumed the upper floor would hold any personal rooms, which were what I wanted to find, so I worked my way slowly up the stairs, doing a scan of the lower floor while I did that.

People still do that? Jute's parents had a sign hanging in their door with Mr & Mrs. inscribed in it. Jute's said #1 Son. That was easy for Jute. He was an only child. I knew that from eavesdropping. What I learned from his room was that he actually had good enough grades to be high up in sports, he loved cats, and he collected baseballs. I noticed that his bed had turtle sheets, and guessed that was a favorite animal.

I kept looking slowly through Jute's room, picking everything up and putting it back where it belonged. I wanted to know exactly who I was looking at, past what society showed. People often put on masks while in public. I found a picture of someone that looked like Jute's girlfriend, with a locket beside it. So he isn't a complete jerk, I thought absentmindedly. I noticed that he had a Mardi Gras mask, though I couldn't imagine why. I noticed that his baseballs were the most important thing in the room, making them the perfect thing to steal.

Jute would notice the missing ball right away. It was front and center of his collection. He would be torn apart by it. He wouldn't know who stole it, because he wouldn't want to get the police involved, and because I was wearing gloves. He would never suspect that I had stolen it. I never talked to him, or about him, and I rarely looked like him. It was an untraceable crime, and it was perfect karma for shoving Chiffon into puddle after puddle.

Beatrix "Bea" Abercrombie (14) D8F

Some time ago

I was walking down the street, taking out the trash, like I did every Thursday. It had only become my regular job a couple of months ago, though I had done it for a long time. I had to do it once every week at a minimum, and Thursday was the day to do it. I couldn't say why; it simply was. Maybe it was because then my Friday afternoons were free, and my entire Saturday was mostly free, but whatever it was, I liked my schedule, and I wasn't going to change it. I didn't often change my schedule.

Sometimes, my schedule decided to change without me making it, however. There wasn't much you could do when you saw a little girl, about your height, rummaging through your garbage can. The girl looked like she could be beautiful, with her long brown hair, and her green eyes, but her beauty was dulled by her filth. It didn't take me long to realize that she was a street kid, but she didn't seem like most. She didn't skitter away when she noticed me, though she did seem ready to run. She didn't attack me, like Ma and Pa always said street kids might. She just stared at me.

"You know, that trash is almost a week old. Our newest leftovers are in this bag," I said, offering the girl a trash bag I knew to contain last night's supper. I didn't know what else was in there, but the food was probably near the top. I didn't shake the bag much, so it would likely stay there.

"Really? How do you know?" the girl replied, taking the bag. She sat on the dumpster, apparently accepting that I wasn't going to shoo her away.

"Thursday is trash day," I replied. By the looks of the girl, the amount of my clothing she was wearing, and the amount of our past suppers she had caked on her, she had been in our trash for a while. She should have known that.

"I thought you took it out earlier."

"I normally do," I replied, smiling. So the girl did know that. She seemed pretty smart. "What's your name? I'm Beatrix, but all my friends call me Bea. You can, if you like."

"Okay, Bea. I'm Genevieve, though I don't get called much of anything too often these days," the girl said, rummaging through the bag. I helped her find the best leftovers - my mother's, since my dad fed her the most and she never wanted to eat it all.