Serena May Lenovius, District Seven

How are you feeling about the Parade tomorrow? Tullia, one of the Avoxes on Serena May's floor asked.

Nervous she signed back, It's going to have a lot of people and be very loud. Which was true, if not the complete truth. It was not that Serena May was avoiding talking about architecture, and how despite the circumstances she was looking forward to being in the middle of all of those beautiful buildings. Or how she was getting a little restless being stuck on one floor of a building, unable to feel the dirt under her nails or the wind in her face. It was just that even in her preferred communication method of signing, that took a lot of words. And words were not her favorite thing.

I know someone who works with the horses. I think he could bring you some earplugs. Tullia answered. Serena was about to thank her when her escort Callista barged in.

"Serena, what are you doing in here? This section is for avoxes only."

She reached over to the tablet that the Capitol had provided for her and typed in a few words. "My name is Serena May. Not Serena." The machine read out, a gentle female voice with a Capitolite accent. She had chosen the voice from several options. She liked the way the vowels rolled, like the wind rustling through the trees in her home district.

Serena May found she didn't hate the Capitol as much as she thought she would. Things were too bright and too fast and too focused on flash to have any real substance. And yet underneath all of that needless glitz was the skyline: subtle, understated beauty. Serena May had always enjoyed the shapes of buildings, the geometric designs that walked the line between style and support. There were places here that filled her with a deep awe. But it wasn't Seven. There were no streams she could walk beside. No great oaks to climb to the top of. So she took her reminders where she could get them. Even if it was in the small details of a digitized voice.

"Right. Serena May. You shouldn't be here." Callista said.

"I thought the entire floor was for my use."

"Well… yes. But there's no reason for you to be here I suppose."

"I was talking with my friends." She answered.

"Serena, you've been here a day." Callista was already trying to drag her towards the main living room, "No one makes friends that quickly. And even if you could, these are Avoxes. Best left alone."

Serena May had found that those society said were best left alone were always the most interesting to talk to. I hope I didn't get you in trouble. She signed to Tullia.

It's nothing we can't handle. We can talk after the parade tomorrow. Ask the Avoxes for Polonius. He'll have the earplugs.

Callista didn't notice the conversation, so Serena May was finally able to thank the woman before she was ushered out of the Avox quarters.

Issa Williams, District Eleven

The painting was almost finished. It was a relatively simple one, a still life of some oranges in a bowl. Issa had always liked oranges. The color was so vibrant. He would often look at them and admire them in the oranges before a peacekeeper realized he wasn't working quite quickly enough. Yet despite how straightforward it was, this was probably the most extravagant thing Issa had ever made.

The paints alone were probably worth more than his house. He was used to working with whatever he could scavenge. A piece of charcoal here, a pencil or two there. He had a light blue colored pencil that he had found near the head peacekeeper's house as he was walking home one night that he treasured as if it was a precious gemstone. Being able to work with paints of this fine quality was something he had never truly expected to happen.

For a moment, he thought about what would happen if he won the Hunger Games. He would be rich, so he could afford these kind of paints all of the time. In fact it would be encouraged, since victors all picked up talents. He could paint all day, not having to worry about where his food was coming from or if his mother was all right, or if someone was going to stab in a fight over money like his father. It would just be him and fine white canvases. He would present the art to the Capitol, who would fall in love with it and shower him with praise. Issa would never have to worry about anything ever again.

It was a dream, and a particularly far fetched one. Issa understood that. He knew his chances, and a part of the reason for him painting like this was in order to prepare for his own death. No matter what happened after this night, he had been able to use some of the finest materials in the country. But he couldn't help from dreaming, thinking of a future that could be.

Dreaming was important, he decided. It was the only way he was going to be able to get through this at all. Without a firm picture of what could be, it was always difficult to keep going. So Issa thought up possibilities and alternatives, bright glimmering futures that he could almost reach. Promising himself that if he just kept on this path, and kept his wits about him, he would finally be able to find a way out of his grim life.

He finished the painting with an unnecessary flourish, smiling a bit at what he had oranges shone from inside the ornate porcelain bowl like a sunset A bright happy promise of what could be, just as long as the circumstances were right. He set the canvas over by his window to dry.

Tomorrow, he imagined the oranges would look different. They always did after the paint dried, as things thickened and solidified. But he imagined that brightness would stay. He headed to bed, dreaming of all of the things that would happen far past tomorrow. Of a future where he was out of the Hunger Games and standing in a bright, beautiful world.

Mattock Coccia, District Twelve

It was late. Midnight at the very earliest, probably later. Mattock thought he had heard birds chirping slightly outside his window, something that only happened when dawn was only a few hours away. Yet he found himself wide awake. He mostly justified it as being in a strange place. The birds were the most familiar sound he had heard so far, and even then they were not the same birds as the ones in District Twelve. The calls were different, alien to him. Not a single mockingjay, or any other identifiable sound.

But there was something else. He wasn't sure what exactly, but he had a feeling in his gut that there was a reason he had woken up. That's when he heard it: A soft but unmistakable clamoring coming from somewhere else in the apartment.

He thought briefly about staying in his bed and pretending to sleep until whatever it was passed, but curiosity got the better of him. He slowly rose out of his bed and walked out to where the noise was.

The sounds led him to the kitchen where Anthracite was blindly bumping her way into making a sandwich.

"You know, it's probably easier if you turn the lights on." He said. Mattock could see Anthracite jump slightly in the dark.

"I didn't want to wake anyone. I'm sorry that I did." She fumbled around for a few more moments before giving in and turning on the light switch.

"I don't think it was you. I've been having trouble sleeping." He answered, and started to make his own sandwich beside her. It was a natural feeling, being next to her. Something that had been a constant for years.

"Me too." She admitted, smiling at him slightly. And suddenly, things weren't so constant any more. Mattock had been seeing her smile for years, but lately it had been catching him off guard. It was the kind of smile that lit up the room. There was something angelic about her, hair messy and pajamas rumpled from trying to sleep. He was so busy looking at her that he almost cut himself with the butter knife he was using to spread jam.

"Are you all right?" Anthracite asked.

"Yes. I'm fine. Not fully awake yet, I guess." He answered. Although he was far from fine. It was just a few months ago that Mattock had realized he loved her. There had been a heat wave in District Twelve. It had reached the point that the mayor declared a state of emergency, and created several stations with free water and air conditioning. Unfortunately Anthracite was recovering from a broken leg. She couldn't make her way to the cooling stations, and her parents were busy working. Mattock came to visit her after work one day to find her half delirious from Heat Stroke. Luckily he managed to get her to a medic, but the thought of losing her had made him realize just how much she meant to him.

Except then they were both reaped.

"You're doing that thing aren't you?" Anthracite said.

"What thing?"

"That thing where you hurt yourself instead of worry people. You never know your own limits. Let me see." She said, taking his hand.

"It's fine Double A. It's a butter knife. Have you ever heard of someone cutting themselves on a butter knife?" He was being over dramatic, something far more suited for Anthracite. He was going to have to focus if they were to find a way out of this mess. And he was certain there was a way. Mattock was a firm believer in silver linings. He could find the positive in any situation. He hadn't quite found one for the Hunger Games, but he was working on it. He just had to stop thinking about Anthracite and her heavenly smile.

Anthracite frowned a bit, but when she saw there was no cut let go of his hand. "What are we going to do Matty?" she asked.

"Stick together." He answered, "Like we always have. And like always we'll be ok."

AN: We did it! Every single tribute has been introduced! Everyone give a warm welcome to Serena May Lenovius by Luna's Fanworks, Issa Williams by Civilwarrose, and Mattock Coccia by CuriousClove. This has been a ride, yeah? I'm hoping to keep going next chapter with the Parades. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, I hope you enjoy!