Averil Alderdine; 17; District 2
"Finally," I breathe as the slick metal base of the spear slips through my fingers. I don't bother to watch where it goes. I know where it'll hit; and it's confirmed by the looks on the near-by Tribute's faces. I catch my "allies" huddled by the sword area out of the corner of my eye. Gregory gave a whoop at my little show with the spear. He gestures towards the group in a sort of "I told you so!" manner. They didn't think I was anything special.
Shows them, I think as I hurl another spear into a target, striding away before it even fully leaves my grasp. A smile twitches at the corners of the girl from 1's agape mouth, her eyebrows raised in pleasant shock. What was her name again? Phoebe? Who knows? I didn't much associate with them; or anyone, for that matter. Who wanted to be friends with creepy, fierce Averil? I don't have much going for me; the only time I felt at peace was when I had a weapon in my hand in determination in my heart.
I bump into the little mermaid from 4 as I reach the rack of knives; she says something but I'm not paying attention. What would I say anyways? I'm too concerned with the hundreds of gleaming blades; my blues eyes reflecting awe in the shiny metal. I grab three and hurl them into a smooth dummy, each one plunging into its plastic belly. I toss around a few more, practice jabbing a few with the longer daggers. I finally was starting to feel like Averil; not cold, bitter, void of emotion Averil. But the real me, the me that rarely made an appearance. But when I saw the Trainers nod their heads in my direction and the various looks of dread and jealousy in my competition's eyes, I felt it. That rare, fleeting feeling. Confidence. I wasn't a nothing here. I had originally volunteered just so that my training wouldn't go to waste. What did I have to lose, anyways? No family, no friends, not much worth in general. I looked back towards my allies. My mood had lightened significantly, border-line happiness, an occurrence as rare as my sudden raise of certainty. The boy from 4 had joined them, as expected. He winked in my direction, and I gave a sort-of wave back. Maybe I would open up to them, be a little friendlier. But with my chances of survival as high as I had come to see they were, I wasn't sure it was necessary. Others will still as beneath my notice as I was to them. I picked up a heavy dagger, twirling it towards one of the bulls-eye's at the archery station across the floor. I didn't care about the other kids gaping, taking mental notes to avoid me in the weeks to come. This is the only place where I wasn't painfully shy. I looked back over my shoulder. A perfect hit.
Burl Lichten; 12; District 6
I almost laughed out loud every time some sappy Capitol chump sighed at the "poor little boy from District 6". These idiots really fell for me being a child. Technically, I was, I suppose. But I'd learned long ago that this world is no place for innocence. It's eat or be eaten. Not that any of these freaks would ever have to put that phrase to use. I'd bet their idea of 'survival of the fittest' is beating out another babbling dunce on a hot pursuit for the lipstick stand. They are ripe for the pickings, I'll give them that. If only I had more time to spend here, I could rob them below the poverty line. But unfortunately, there's a chance I might never come back. A small chance. Looking around, it's plain to see these kids are going nowhere. Either teary-eyed schmucks or over-confident jar-heads, all brawn no brain.
I walk over to the knives, where the girl from 2 was previously wreaking havoc. It was a little chilling, I'll admit, but it'd be far too easy to dash up and stab her right in the back, before she could even process it. I grabbed a dagger, gripping the pointed end between my two forefinger and thumb; recreating the delicate method I watched her execute so many times. Jerking my hand forward, it sunk straight into the dummy's blank, cloth face. Not bad, considering I'd never touched a blade in my life. All I had to do was watch the girl screw around with one a few times, easy as pie. After throwing a few more until I could get a good stick without fail, I walked over to the swords. The boy from 1 was there, since the typical alliance of 1, 2 and 4 had finally dispersed to attempt to intimidate the others with their weaponry skill. We called this usual group the 'Freight Trains' back in 6. It was pretty clever; and I'm sure the pack would take it as a compliment if I told them. But as strong and mighty as the freight train may seem, they are slow, clunky, malfunctioning cans on wheels, falling much out of favor next to the smooth high-speed electric trams we have today. I can't even remember the last time I'd seen a freight leave the District. Much like the tough yet brainless 'Freight Train' tributes rarely leave the Arena. The District 1 boy, Linus I remember his name being, gives me a little grin, probably thinking he's giving me a ray of hope with his kindness. For a second I consider playing up this meek front, but I suppose my lack of good taste wins out. I sneer back, rolling my dark eyes and snatching up the lightest looking sword I can find. I'm not completely naïve; I know I'm not as strong and well-trained as the other Tributes. But that doesn't stop me from pretending I am. It's harder to imitate Linus's moves with the sword than it was picking up the knives, but after a bit, I can plunge it into the mannequins with a fair amount of ease. I try out all the stations I can, mostly to scope out the competition. By the end of the day, after watching Tribute after Tribute fail to impress, I'm reassured I'm the only one worthy of being Victor. No more life as a Community Home rat for me. I can't say I won't keep up my stealing after I win, though. I snicker while imagining some fat-ass Capitol woman screeching about her missing jewels, shaking her stupid blue wig off. I'm surrounded by idiots.
Arden Wade; 18; District 11
District 7 was giving me the evil-eye, and I didn't like it. I thought about going over there and seeing if he could hold up the tough-guy act, but the axe in his hands stopped me. I may be brash, but I'm not stupid. I'll bet there's a rule against that sort of thing here anyways. Not that I was much of a follower of those things back home, but here it was different. Definitely not the same-old same-old of life in District 11.
Glaring about the training floor with a frown I'm sure out-matched anything District 7 could pull up, I saw the other Tributes were tearing up targets and juggling weapons; but I decided just to cruise. I was pretty well-known for walking around in 11. I'd get caught creeping through yards and alleys after curfew all the time; most people thought that from the scuffles and broken bottles that tended to surround my friends at night that I was roaming around looking for trouble, but that usually wasn't the case. Sometimes I just liked to be alone, clear my head. Although I was usually surrounded by friends in the fields and a few enemies in the streets, I was used to being alone, and I liked it more than getting into brawls and mischief- most of the time. My dad was a volunteer Peacekeeper; an opportunity that was always open for those in District 11. People rarely took it though; although you got much more food and cash than the average citizen, lots of people felt like it was betrayal, like working with the Capitol. They kept it sort of hush-hush from the President and the other big guys, but they always needed more "protection" for our big home. My dad rarely did anything intimidating, but he was never at the house, and the only bit of my mom I saw was a clean room when I got home from school in the afternoons. She was one of the night-workers in the orchards. So I was home-free.
The short guy from 4 chucked one of those big tridents into a table across the room, pushing me back into more important thoughts. I'd been into lots of fights before, but nothing too serious. I was always just backing up one of my friends, or getting back at a moron for running his mouth about me. I'd never had to really fight for myself before, and now I'd be battling for my life. I'd already ruined any rough act I could've played up for sponsors when that fool from District 10 hopped up on those horses on the chariot. It was always too easy to make me laugh, and my goofiness messed up a lot of man-points for me back home. The crowd seemed to like me enough as just me, but just me wouldn't cut it in the Hunger Games. I was strong from working in the fields, but I needed to buff up a bit. I'd have to pick up some weapon soon enough. But what I really needed was an ally. I may like solitude, but I'd never been too far away from my friends. I needed someone to have my back, and I'd have theirs.
I stopped strolling and looked around again. The little girl from 6, the pretty lady from 9, the beefy guy from 8. I could make friends with all of these people, but I had to be more calculating than that now. Lila, the girl from my District, was tough of course; but a little too tough, not friendly enough for my liking; or anyone's for that matter. She was a nice girl, just another one turned bitter by the Capitol. I remembered the District 10 guy who made me laugh on Opening Night; he already had my back in a way, making to loosen up a little for the crowd. He was flinging a rope he tied around a trainer, yanking him yards backwards; strong, too. I went up and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around.
"What the hell?" he started. Maybe I didn't like him after all.
"Easy big guy, just saw that thing you did with that rope, wondered if you'd care to show me how it's done,"
"Why, so you can use it to snap my neck later? I don't think so. Back off," He retorted.
Definitely an ass, not the kind of guy I want to be stuck hanging around for what could be the rest of my life. I flicked the stupid-looking hat off his head and turned onto the sword floor, where District 1 was shredding it up and no one would dare to follow me. I decided to lap around the place another time. I could use a little relaxation at a time like this.
Keishi Tayne; 13; District 12
Mother always told me that if I was reaped, to lay low. Stay hidden, don't call any attention to yourself, and wait for the others to kill each other off. I never thought I'd ever have to put her advice to use. But now, her words buzzed through my head, reminding me not to ask for axe lessons from the girl from 7, or show the struggling boy at the fire station how to make that flint spark. This was no place for a people person. Especially not me. I don't think I had ever hurt someone in my life, not their bodies or feelings. I couldn't work with any weapons, even the smallest of blades was intimidating for me. There were other ways of surviving, I suppose. A girl from 11 won a few years ago by sticking it out until the others died of starvation. But she still had to drive a sword into the other final Tribute's belly. Maybe if I got lucky enough, I could pull off her tactic too, maybe even avoid having to be part of any deaths. I was used to being hungry; my family never had enough money or food. We weren't living in the Seam, as my father did odd jobs for the shop workers and my mother worked a laundry business instead of toiling in the mines, but the shacks on the outskirts of the merchant section were just as run-down as any other part of 12.
I had other things working in my favor as well. I wasn't the youngest Tribute here, for one. But the twelve year old girl from 6's knowing eyes darted about in the way only a true survivor could, and the boy could chill you to the bone with mere eye contact. Even the boy from 9, who looked to be about my age, could swing a scythe around as well as charm everyone who approached him. I walked over to the bow and arrows, picking one up and aiming it towards the target. I pulled back the string, and the arrow spun dreadfully out of control, hitting a target three rows over, where the girl from 8 was practicing as well. She looked down at the arrow she had in place, ready to let fly, as if checking to make sure she hadn't let it go on accident. She looked form left to right, obviously confused. I slunk away, with my mother's warning repeating in my mind, giggling despite myself. At least I tried! I tugged on one of my spiral curls; pulling it down to the bottom of my ribs and watching it sharply bounce back up.
Suddenly a whizzing noise beside me caused me to leap sideways; the girl from District 3 was flinging knives, and she laughed out loud at my terror. I wasn't like these people. I didn't want to win for glory or riches or to wreak havoc on the Capitol. I didn't want to be here in the first place, never in a thousand years. I just wanted to make it home to my family, to my friends in back home, to my safe bed. All of the cold suffering of 12 never put me down before; the fearsome Capitol could never choke my optimism. But I had lost hope that even my light could shine through what would most likely be my death.
Sorry this took so long, guys! This is the absolute longest I'll ever take between chapters! I've already written private training, and I'm starting on the interviews soon. I already have the arena and first day mapped out as well, and I have a basic feel of how the Games are going to go. This is the final group of Tributes, so now if you haven't already; PLEASE let me know about how you feel about how I've written your Tribute and who your favorite few are so far! Feel free to give me any criticism as well!
