Ametrine Margaritum, 18
District One Female
My mother and I sit in silence as I comb out her hair, still wet from the shower I just helped her take. She says nothing, her eyes pressed closed, her lips drawn tightly together. I know it's not really my combing that is bothering her, although it takes some force to rake through the knots in her hair. There's more hurting for her than some hard pulls from the wooden comb. Still, I try to be gentler as I go; there's no harm in being nicer to my sick mother. It's consuming, the rhythmic sweeping of the comb through her long, well-kept hair. It's beautiful, like her, and it's not her fault that I'm not as good at taking care of it as she used to be. The knots are all my fault, so I do my best to comb them all out. I just want her hair to be beautiful again, when she gets well enough to take care of it on her own.
It's too dark to see it well now, since it's the early morning and the lights are off to save money. But when the light is better, you can see that her hair is the same golden-yellow color as mine. Almost the same exact shade, really, if you were to look it up in one of those color flipbooks they have at the IDE. The thought makes me want to laugh; the memory of any of those design courses that I did shittily at is always hilarious to me. It was clear from the start that I wasn't meant to be an entertainer or designer or whatever else the kids not training to kill do in the IDE. I couldn't even tell you the difference between burnt sienna and copper after a semester of that horrible class. Waste of time, in my opinion, when there's bigger things for me in this world. Better to laugh at all the crazy color names then try to remember them all.
Still, I don't laugh at the memory. It doesn't feel right, in the darkness of almost-dawn, raking a comb through my mother's wet hair. It's hard to laugh at anything, with everything going on. The blight and all the hysteria it's causing, my mom being sick, my dad always on my back to find work, the volunteer selections coming up at the end of the week. There's so much pressing down on me, and while I know that everything will eventually end up in my favor, it's still hard to not get stressed over it all. I might be fated for all of this, I know I am. Why would I be here if I wasn't, with everything that's gone my way through the years, with all the signs I've seen? There's proof I'm meant for this, everywhere I go, everything that happens to me. That doesn't mean I can't get nervous about meeting my fate head-on, though. It's difficult to know the time of reckoning has come, and my instincts are screaming to be anxious even though I know for certain that things will work out for me in the end.
"Ametrine," my mother whispers, her voice hoarse, pushing me out of my own head. "I know you like to comb it thoroughly, but it's been three times now."
"Sorry Mom," I mutter, shaking my head as I set the comb down on the sink in front of us. "Just got lost in my own head."
"It's okay, it's a big week for you." She tries to smile for me. I see it in the cloudy mirror in front of us; her lips look like they're fighting to conceal the teeth behind them. Her lips ultimately win; I see a flash of her teeth and then they're gone, and all I can see are her doleful eyes in the dark silver mirror.
I check the clock on the wall above the sink and I curse quietly. Fucking six already. "Mom, can you dress yourself today? I'm gonna be late for first call, and I can't be late this close to the selection."
"Of course I can dress myself every once in a while, honey. I'm not a frail old woman yet," she chuckles, shaking her head. "Just help me to the bedroom. Dad can help me if I need anything."
I don't question her twice, grabbing her hand and helping her stand up from the stool before helping her walk back to the bedroom. She winces a bit with every step, but leaning on me helps with the pain. Her body seems completely normal; she just experiences excruciating pain all over, and even little tasks hurt to do. It's stopped her from working, from leaving the house even. We don't have the money to take her to a good doctor that'll actually be able to tell us what's going on, the type that can do all the fancy tests to diagnose her. Yet, that is. We don't have the money for a good doctor yet.
Once my mother is back on her bed, I give her a quick peck on the head before sprinting out of the room. I quickly duck into my own room to grab my IDE-issued duffel bag before sprinting into the common room of our apartment. As I dive for the door, however, I spot my father standing next to it with his arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face.
I stop, cocking my head, waiting for him to speak, but he remains silent. I motion at him in confusion as I turn for the door. "What's going on here? Got something to say? I'm gonna be late."
"I talked to the foreman after the shift yesterday," my father murmurs, his drowsy eyes drifting down to the floor. "He's the brother-in-law of one of the ladies on the selection committee."
The mention of the selection committee stops me right in my tracks. Fuck it, I can be a little late to training if my dad has some information on the fucking selection committee. Just the words get my heart pumping faster; the thought of facing them at the end of the week makes me simultaneously hyped and nauseous.
"Well? What did they say, was it about anyone in particular?"
"Am, it's not good," he sighs, rubbing his temples. "It's like I told you. They're leaning towards Urba Maarten."
"What?!" I exclaim incredulously, my fists instantly clenching together. I begin chuckling lowly. "Dad, come on, knock it off. They're not gonna pick Urba over me. I beat her fair and square in the fucking final duel last week. It's done, it's all she wrote, mic dropped. The spot's mine, unless I go missing or something."
"You know the final duels aren't everything, the committee can pick whoever they want, and Urba comes from a guild family and has more decorum-"
"Dad, I fucking beat her," I say slowly, coldly, narrowing my eyes at him. "You know I did. I could break her bones over and over, and I will if I have to. I'm getting into that fucking arena if it's the last thing I do. So don't go telling me you heard from some random joe that the spot's not mine."
"Foreman Anders isn't some random joe, he has connections, Ametrine," my father replies simply. "I'm just trying to prepare you. This is why I wanted you to quit after Mom got sick and the blight hit, so you could come work with me in the plant. We could've made a lot of money all the time you've been wasting in that place."
"It's not a waste, Dad, because I'm fucking volunteering!" I snap. "The cash from a factory job is gonna be diddly squat when I come back with the Victor's salary. You agreed with that a couple months ago! You were totally on board!"
"But now my worries were proven right. Am, I just don't want you to be unprepared if things don't go your way," he sighs. "I know you have a lot of confidence in your concept of destiny, but-"
"Because they will go my way," I say matter-of-factly, because it is a matter of fact. This is my fate, it always has been, even when I didn't know it yet. "I don't have time for this today, Dad. I love you, but you're so fucking wrong on this it hurts. I'll see you after training."
"Ametrine-" my father starts, but I don't stick around to hear it, ducking around him and slipping out the door. It slams behind me, but I don't mind; it's a good reminder to him of how serious I am about all of this.
I expect him to follow me into the hallway, but he doesn't, the door staying stubbornly closed behind me. It's good he doesn't try to stop me. He's never been one to make a scene, and he knows my mind's set in stone anyways. Even if my fate wasn't real, even if the universe hadn't shown me so many times that it was looking out for me, I would still go for this, and he knows it.
He just gets so cynical sometimes, with Mom's sickness, and I guess I can't blame him. Things are tough as hell right now. It's hard to make it by with one salary when the food's starting to run thin even here in One, where we're growing stuff in the vineyards. It's scary, and maybe it would be the dutiful thing to quit the IDE and go work in the factories. But he knows I can't do that, not after everything I've been through, all the work I've put in. He's stressed about all of this, but so am I. I take care of Mom just as much, and I'm working just as hard at the IDE so I can win for all three of us. It's not fun and games in that place. He's never understood that, really, but I know he'll be behind me in the end. He loves me; he's just worried about everything, and he's not wrong to get upset.
I just wish he wouldn't put that shit on me during such an important week. He knows how hard I've worked for this, harder than those dumb rich kids like Urba who've had their lives handed to them on silver platters, who've had private trainers since they could walk. They're the types of kids who get money thrown at them, who use their privilege to walk around the rules. Not me, I've fought for this, every inch of it, and I won't let them take it away from me at the last minute. They can't pick Urba just because she has more connections than me. She's probably still sporting that black eye I gave her during our final fight. Probably still would be by the time she made it to the arena. They won't pick Urba Maarten over me; they just can't.
It's always been the two of us for so many years, equally matched, vying so hard for the spot, and I finally came out on top in that final fight. Played by the rules all these years while she hasn't, and I still came out on top, decorum and influence be damned. So no, they can't pick her after I finally beat her fair and square. Things go my way, they always do. I was fated for this, and all those rich kids are just wasting their time if they think they're getting my spot for the Games. They don't get to take that from me, after all the things they've been given all their lives. This is my one thing, and I will have it no matter what.
I push thoughts of shitty Urba Maarten and her family's big house in the guild quarters out of my mind as I run down the stairwell. My family lives on the fourth floor, so it takes a minute to reach the ground level, but when I do, a small smile breaks out onto my face. I might live in the poorer section of town, up at the top of the hills with the buildings all crowded together, but San Oro is still beautiful even here. The apartment buildings only go up to five or six stories, and most families can afford to have a whole floor of rooms to themselves on the generous factory salaries the District supplies. The buildings are pressed up against each other, but they're all elegant, with white stucco walls and shiny copper roofs. They spread out around me as far as the eye can see, a sea of creamy white and flashing copper. While they might not be like the pretty villas of the guild families at the town center or the expansive manors of the vineyard dynasties down by the sea, they're enough for simple people like me.
When I finally get to the street, I break out into a brisk jog, speeding downhill towards where the IDE is nestled far below in the center of the city. I always run to the IDE; I live an hour's walk away, so it's faster to run, and it also gives me a good warmup before a day of training that gives me an extra edge on the rich kids. They all can afford dorms there, or their families' homes are close by enough to walk. Just another little privilege they have, getting to live in the dorms together and eating those decadent meals and partying every weekend. I don't get any of that, but I don't need it, it's all just distractions from the real work ahead. Thinking of those little twerps with their styled hair and haughty laughter just makes me run faster. There's no better motivation than those guild-born brats.
People walk through the streets around me in their factory clothes, looking content as they all head uphill to where the factories are clustered at the highest reaches of San Oro. My dad will join them soon, after he helps my mother get comfortable for another day of laying in bed. A few of the workers wave to me as they go by, calling out my name cheerily. I do my best to wave back to all of them. Everyone in the neighborhood is excited, especially those who work with my parents. Not many kids from this part of town get to go to the IDE; I'm lucky I got a good scholarship. And it's been a long time since someone from around here has been in contention for the volunteer spot. I'm just a bit of a local celebrity, and it's nice to know the people I've grown up with are rooting for me, even if there's stupid fucking rumors that things aren't going my way.
First bell rings at seven in the morning, and I left at a little after six, so I have to move fast to be there on time. Still, I find pleasure in running, and it's not hard for me to jog to the IDE on time. The skies are clear blue and beginning to brighten as the sun rises behind me, and the late June air is crisp in my lungs. I get lost in the rhythm of my legs churning against the smooth cobblestone roads until I find myself in the heart of town. Things are bustling about; the merchant stores are overcrowded with people running errands, while a lot of the guild members go this way and that on official business. I don't think about anyone around me, weaving through the crowds as I head towards where the IDE complex is nestled just past the merchant streets. Its tall terracotta-peaked roofs loom above everything, and the sight warms my heart. The people there might be largely shitty, but the IDE is the one place in the world where I can just let go completely and do the thing I was fated to do.
I slip through one of the gated entrances after flashing my pass to the Peacekeeper on guard outside, and then I jog across the tiled walkways swiftly. I run into the central courtyard of the complex with a few minutes to spare. All of the Games trainees of all genders are organized here, a couple hundred of us divided by age group. Most of the kids are already here since they live in the dorms, decked out in shiny new IDE-issued training uniforms. Most of the rich kids get new ones every month. Mine's a good two years old, and it's stained with sweat from my run here. I don't mind, though; it reminds them of how much harder I work than the lot of them.
I slow down to a walk once I get into the courtyard, calming my heaving breaths as I march over to the few dozen senior cadets still training for the Games. Some of them have dropped out recently after it became clear who the top few were for both slots. Most of the other kids from the hills are already gone, too weak to keep up with years of intense conditioning. I'm not friends with any of the kids in my age group now; I've always been too competitive and cold-blooded to make friends in training, and almost all of them are prissy rich kids. Not worth my time, to talk to them about how many silver spoons got stuck in their mouths when they were born. However, they seem especially grouchy as I walk over today, shooting me withering stares. I glower back while smiling cruelly, making a few of the more timid ones look away nervously. I stand on the edge of the group with my arms crossed behind my back, waiting for the trainers to come out and give us the mind-numbing daily briefing.
As I wait, I glance over at the other senior cadets because I notice something off in their moods. That when I realize there's someone missing. I look intently for the impeccably kept high ponytail that Urba Maarten wears everyday, but it's nowhere in sight. She's the tallest girl in our age group, taller than even some of the boys. She's also one of the few without blond hair, as she has mousy brown tresses, so she usually sticks out like a sore thumb. Today, she's nowhere to be seen, and my heart begins to thump excitedly. Urba Maarten dorms at the IDE, and she's always whispering with her little clique, but today they are all silent, staring at their feet. Urba's not here for the role call, even though I've never seen her miss role call in all the years we've fought for the volunteer spot. Where the fuck is she?
The trainers all begin walking out into the courtyard then, two dozen of them in total. Head Trainer DiAngelis stands at the front of the group and begins going through the laundry list of today's events in his deep, booming voice. My mind begins to drift as he talks until I notice one of the trainers edging their way over to where I'm standing. A smile breaks out onto my face as I spot my personal mentor Orelia walking over. She looms over me at six foot three, with ropes of muscle bulging under her dark skin. She narrowly missed volunteering a decade ago, and now all she does is train kids for the Games. She plays favorites, thankfully for me. Orelia was the one who singled me out as a good Victor candidate when I was little, when she gave me a flyer for the IDE on the street. She even helped me get the scholarship that allows me to attend for a smaller fee than the other kids. She's the only person I really trust here, so the way she's creeping over to see me with a huge smile on her face makes my heart beat even faster.
"What the fuck is going on? Why are you sneaking over here?" I whisper under my breath as she shuffles over to stand next to me.
Orelia's eyes are shining as she turns to me, her smile so wide it looks like it's going to split her mouth in half. "Guess."
"Come on, Orelia, just tell me, you know I hate guessing games," I snap back.
"Okay, okay, I'll tell you," she laughs, shaking her head. "You're going to lose your goddamn mind."
"What?!"
"Urba Maarten was visiting her family's villa last night. She fell down the stairs in the middle of the night and broke her ankle. The doctor said it won't heal quick enough for the Games, so she's out of contention."
"Out of contention?" I gasp, not bothering to keep quiet now. DiAngelis has stopped talking anyway, and most of the other kids are walking away to start their drills. Not me though; I'm in disbelief. "You mean, like, really out of contention? Like that fucking ankle is snapped in half for good? Like she's...she's out out of contention?!"
"Yes, Ammy, yes!" Orelia laughs, wrapping me in a sudden hug and squeezing me so hard I can barely breathe. "She's out, she's completely out. You have no competition now. That spot is gonna be yours."
The screech that comes out of my throat is earsplitting, but I don't care. I never express myself like this, I always keep myself calm and composed, but I can't hold my emotions in right now. I begin jumping up and down excitedly with Orelia, our arms wrapped around each other as we dance in celebration. Yes, fucking yes! I knew it! I knew everything was on my side! I knew this was my purpose, I just knew it.
Maybe Dad was right, maybe they were really leaning towards Urba because of her decorum or whatever, but that's not the case now. Things went my way again, fate is on my side because of a freak accident, a snapped ankle. Some would call it a conincidence, but not me, not after how many coincidences have worked in my favor year after year. Now I'm the strongest choice for volunteer by far. They can't pass me over. It's mine, it's all mine, it's all going to pay off. All this hard work, all the times people told me I was crazy for thinking I was fated for this, crazy for thinking a little girl from the hills could be the volunteer, it's all worth it now. I'm proving them all wrong, and this is going to be mine, it's all going to be fucking mine, and no one can stop me. I was fated to come to the IDE and meet Orelia, fated to fight against Urba and become the volunteer. Fated all along.
And now I'm fated to become the twenty-fourth Victor. I can't wait to show Panem what the fates have in store.
A/N: Hello y'all! I hope you enjoyed this look into Ametrine; I had an absolute blast writing her today! Massive thanks to lexi486 for submitting her! Hopefully I did her character justice; let me know if there's anything I missed.
This intro was almost exactly 4k long; I intended for it to be half that length, but the writing just flowed. I have a feeling I'm going to want to write that much for most of these kids, so I've decided to split each tribute into their own introduction chapter instead of pairing them up with their District partners. It's going to be lots of intro chapters, but these are great kids and I think they all deserve their own chapter to shine and so we can lay the groundwork of knowing them all. I'm aiming for a loose range of 3-5k for each of these intros, so the lengths might vary a bit, but they will all be long enough to deserve their own chapter at least.
That's really it, though. I haven't written an intro since 2016, so it was a lot of fun to get into it again with Ametrine, and I hope y'all enjoyed reading her. Next one we'll be visiting the other tribute from District 1, Regulus Aurelian!
Until Next Time,
Tracee