"I know a place where the bruised and broken

Live like the kings and the queens of tragedy

Just freaks

Like you and me…"

~Freaks (Jordan Clarke)

Two Weeks Before the 97th Annual Hunger Games

Carinne Melvin (18) Tribute of District Two

Carinne Melvin rose before the dawn. Normally, she'd wake with the sun, preparing herself for the day ahead while pink and gold streaked across the sky in brilliant rays of light.

This day, however, is different. The seventh day of the third month.

This day, marking the five year anniversary of her brother's death.

She did not dress in the mourning gown she'd worn to his funeral. She did not take a veil to hide tears that she already knew would fall. Instead, Carinne dressed in her training leathers. The ones that marked her as the Academy's top trainee. They would do nothing to shield her from the cold, nothing to hide the vicious scar running from her left hip bone to the nape of her neck, but she didn't mind. Nox would want to see her at her best. He would be proud of what his sister had become.

Pride, Carinne thinks, as she steps through the gates of the small graveyard. The one emotion she's ever truly wanted her parents to feel. The one emotion she's ever wanted to feel. I want to make my District proud.

For the past ten years, District Two has not had a Victor. Two of those ten years, it had been Melvins who represented one half of the duo. Two of those ten years, neither of her brothers had returned home alive.

This year, she vows to herself. This year will be different.

On any other occasion, journeying through a graveyard might be eerie. The slight rustle of the wind through the trees a cause for disrest. Instead, she welcomes the stirring, the whisper of air across her cheeks, through her hair as she continues onwards.

Carinne picks pebbles from the ground as she passes through the cemetery. Her way is illuminated only by the lightning of the sky and the lantern she carries with her. She discards the rough, misshapen rocks as she goes- but keeps the others in a tight grip as she continues- those sparkling with veins of quartz, smoother than the finest silk under her touch.

Her heart stutters as she nears the headstone. She can barely make it out- still far enough away that the lantern's light doesn't quite illuminate her brother's grave. It is a lovely one, her brother's grave, if simplistic in design. It was clean, with only the barest hint of age, and on the white stone was written:

Nox Melvin

Beloved

She reads the words- over and over and over again, until they sear themselves into the space behind her eyelids, so she might never forget them. So when she closes her eyes in the days to come, she would see those words, and remember what she was to fight for. Why she was Volunteering for these Games, come in two weeks time.

Beloved. Not just by her, but many. Family and friends alike. Even the other Careers in the Arena adored him. Even the small girl from District 10, with steel in her eyes and a spirit of untamable fire loved him.

If only love was enough to save his life.

For a moment, all she could do was stare at that stretch of grass. For a moment, she can almost see her brother's face- his midnight eyes, his blue-green eyes the same colour as her own. She can almost hear his voice calling out to her- his brilliant laughter as she shows her how to fight with daggers, with a sword, how to shoot a bow and arrow.

She opens her palm, and stares down at her selection of stones, and picks out the six loveliest. Five for every year she'd lived without him, and one for what he'd meant to her.

Then she sits, with her back against the headstone, head tipped back as she watches the stars blink out above her, one by one. "Hello, Nox," she says.

She doesn't say anything for a long while after that- simply content to be near him, even in this form. She exhales- long and slow through her teeth, before finally speaking.

"I miss you," she confesses into the cool air. "Every day, I miss you, And I wonder what you would have made of all this. Made of me. I think- I think you would have made a wonderful Victor. A wonderful Mentor." Her throat tightens. "I never told you I loved you, in those last moments we had together. I just told you to come back alive, and thought that would be enough. But you're my brother, and I love you. Sometimes, I wonder if I had told you those words, if you'd heard them from our entire family and not just from the lips of five, you would have made it out. Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life wondering about that. Maybe I'll see you again in whatever life comes after this one, and you'll tell me that it did matter, but that you forgave me because it was your destiny. Maybe you'll tell me it wouldn't have made the difference, and then I'll know for sure. But until then… until then, I'll miss you, and wish you were here."

She wouldn't apologize for his death, because his death was not her fault. And in two weeks time… in two weeks time she would settle that debt. Make sure the tributes from District Seven paid for what their predecessors had done to her brother. They commit the sins, and now their sons and daughters pay.

And she will be the one to make them pay. She will make them pay because she is strong, because she's the best, because she's the top of her class. She is vengeance, she is death, she is retribution. No one will escape the flame of her wrath, no one will escape the path of her blade. She will cut through them like they are no more than stalks of wheat in her way.

There are tears sliding down her cheeks now. Hot, stinging tears that she can't hold back- tears of anger, tears of loss. Carinne doesn't try to wipe them away as she watches the sun rise over the rooftops of District Two. She lets them fall freely, her lantern light dimming beside her as the sun blooms on the horizon, goldeen petals stretching ever outwards into the rich colors of the sunrise. Before this rising sun, she may be only a silhouette, yet as its rays, golden and strong, touch my skin, she will be every colour she was born to radiate.

And in a moment Carinne is cast in crimson, bathed in a rosy glow; how the sun gives each dawn without the asking or earning of the light. She moves her fingers through the air that grows brighter with each passing moment until it becomes a new bold day. Even in the chill spring air, as she watches my breath rise skyward, she feels the promise of the rich summer passing into blood and bone, becoming a deeper part of who she is. Carinne will see that summer- it's a vow she makes as she watches a great ball of fire rise over the horizon.

No matter her anger, no matter her loss, no matter what will drive her to win these Games, Carinne knows that she will live to see the summer sunrise. She swears it on her life.

She is Carinne Melvin, and these Hunger Games belong to her.

Icarus Chapman (18) Tribute of District One

The steel makes a sharp ringing sound as it collides with his sister's own blade. Their rooftop sparring sessions weren't anything out of the ordinary- one might even call it a tradition. Brother and sister, blood against blood, heart against heart, fighting under the stars. Nothing but them, the stars and the clash of metal on metal.

Icarus Chapman faces his older sister, mouth set in a determined line. "Again."

Tanaquil's brow furrows. "We've already gone several times tonight, Icarus. Don't you think that's enough for one day?"

He shakes his head. Dirty blonde hair falling into his face, before he brushes it away with an impatient sweep of his hand. "Again," is all he says, breath coming hard and fast, the taste of metal in the back of his throat.

His sister just sighs. Resignation in the set of her shoulders as she goes to raise her own blade. Icarus can smell the sweat that drips from her brow, and he revels in the fact that she's beginning to tire. It's taken him months to finally be able to keep up with his sister- and longer still for him to begin to wear her down. The fact that he's able to now is something that he prides himself on.

He doesn't give her any warning- he simply moves. Feints, lunging left, before twisting right, angling his blade to strike against Tanaquil's ribs. She catches the blow near the hilt of her own sword- muscles flexing as she parries his blow aside and makes her own attack. Strike, parry, lunge, strike. Icarus meets her blow for blow- weapons meeting with a clang. He presses her, she presses him, and their blades remain locked in place. She's stronger, and he grunts at the force needed to hold his weapon against hers. But, strong as she might be, she is not as quick.

Icarus withdraws and feints again, feet jabbing and flexing on the rooftop, balance steady. Caught off guard, Tanaquil only has time to deflect, her parry lost. He surges forward- arm coming down again and again and again, loving the smooth ache in his shoulder. He's moving fast- fast like the wind, fast like a river. She keeps up, allowing him to advance before reclaiming her position. Tanaquil's arm flashes out- trying to catch him unawares with a blow to the face, but something awakens inside of him as his elbow snaps up and deflects, slamming into her fist and forcing it down.

They exchange grins- wild and untamable- before they're colliding again: block and parry, lunge and strike. Icarus feels unstoppable as he moves- untouchable as he deflects his sister's blows and nearly lands a few of his own.

There's nothing that can slow him down. Nothing that can hit him- until something cuts into his feet, and-

He has the sickening feeling of falling. The air leaves his lungs as his spine collides with the concrete, sword clattering out of his hand. He finds himself with Tanaquil's blade at his neck, and a smug smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "I win."

A slow clap sounds from the edge of the roof. Icarus turns to see Micah Blecher, sitting with his back against the chimney of the house. The shadows are too deep to do much more than hint at the shape of the dancer's body, but Icarus's palms tingle with the knowledge of each jut of bone, every sinewy muscle. The darker tail of his hair curls over one shoulder, a softly sweeping caress.

Icarus glares up at his sister. "You had to resort to tripping me! That's hardly winning."

Micah smirks. "She's not the one with a sword at her throat."

Icarus only groans, before rolling out from under his sister's blade and getting to his feet. He retrieves his weapon from where it's lying on the ground, before facing Micah again. His best friend's lip curls. "Are you asking me to help you throw your life away, Icar?"

"Quite the contrary." Icarus tosses his weapon to the side.

This time, Micah's mouth curves into a smile. There's a glint in his eyes that Icarus can't quite read as he angles his head. "Care for a dance, then, Chapman?"

Icarus can already feel his lips tilting up as he offers his friend a hand. "It would be my pleasure."

Micah's hand is solid in his as Icarus draws him to his feet, and leads him further out onto the rooftop. Further out under the stars. Icarus's feet are bare, and the concrete of the rooftop offers no spring, only the cool shock of stone against his heels, but the pull is irresistible. Dancing was how Icarus's soul and heart grew, how they were nurtured with a free sense of joy.

Because in those moments, the vibrations became a part of his energy. Dancing, for Icarus, was being alive. How else could he feel that way, so free and welded to his own internal spark? For Icarus, at fourteen years old, he felt as if he had finally found his elixir. His lifeblood. The thing that he wanted to do for the rest of his young life.

And then he had discovered what it was to fight. The heft and weight of a weapon in his hands. He learned about the beauty of a saber like he learned about the beauty of the human body- through trial and error and trial again.

There's nothing quite like dancing. The grace, the style, the element of it. One move flowing into the other, easy as rushing water.

There's nothing quite like fighting, either. The burn in his muscles as he moves through forms, the familiar feel of a sword in his hands. It's a wicked dance in its own right, and one that will only end in death.

And so he's learned to put two and two together.

Dancing and fighting. Grace and elegance, combined with lethality and the unavoidable song of danger. A style that he's perfected over hours on hours of training at the studio and the academy,

But dancing with Micah has never been about fighting. It's about the competition. The drive to prove that he's better, that he's stronger and faster than his opponent. This time, there is no intention to truly defeat, not like there was when he was sparring with Tanaquil. This time, there is only the desire to prove.

The same desire that burned in his stomach when he'd been notified that he was the trainee chosen to Volunteer for the 97th annual Hunger Games. It's the same rush of adrenaline that floods through him as he and Micah whirl across the rooftop, constantly in motion, never stopping, never hesitating. There is no music, but Icarus feels as if he is a slave to the beat, to the movement, and some wild part of him never wants to stop.

There's a song in his blood, a fire in his veins as he and Micah dance. It's intoxicating. It feels like there's liquid ecstasy running through his veins, a joy so fierce and wild that nothing can dampen it, nothing can tame it. Dancing. It's something he's grown up doing, something he knows he's good at, and Icarus Chapman, the underdog of District One, is on cloud nine.

Here, on the rooftops in District One, with Micah by his side, high off the aftermath of a fight and an unparalleled feeling of rapture pulsing in his chest, Icarus Chapman knows what it is to live.

Their dance ends abruptly. There is nothing to ease them into the finish of it, just a breath of shared understanding before everything slams to a close, all movement cut short. Icarus's breath is little more than a rasp in his chest, his pulse a throb in his ears. Micah's breath is hot against his ear as he slowly disentangles himself, stepping away. Icarus catches his breath at the sudden chill of Micah's absence.

Crossing his arms over his chest to hide his shiver, Icarus moves over to the rooftop's edge- pulling his knees up close and wrapping his arms around himself. He pats the space next to him in a silent invitation.

Micah laughs, breathless, before perching beside him, legs dangling off the edge of the roof, swinging like he hasn't a care in the world. Somewhere during their dance, Tanaquil had vanished- presumably back into the house. "I nearly forgot how quick you are, Icar. That was a much needed reminder."

Icarus smiles at the nickname- a flush high on his cheeks as he leans back on his hands, the slight nighttime breeze ruffling his hair, running chill fingers over his sweaty face.

A beat of silence echoes between them, broken only by Micah's long, strangely defeated exhale. "So. Tribute of District One, huh?"

Icarus doesn't bother asking how he knows. Micah has his way around the District- and news gets around fast, even if Icarus himself had just found out a day earlier. "Yeah."

Micah cards a hand through his flame-bright hair, darkened to crimson in the night. "Come back alive, Icarus," Micah breathes into his ear. "Don't die."

An impossible laugh steals its way out of Icarus's throat, but his voice is soft as he swears, "I won't."

A quiet, biting smile twists at Micah's mouth. "All hail the underdog."

Icarus Chapman only stares out over the rooftops of his District, adrenaline still singing through his blood, and makes a silent vow. Yes, he'll come back alive. There's no question in his mind on that front. Instead, the promise he makes is meant for the Capitol. Spearing straight for the dark heart of this nation.

They'll never know what hit them.

Mimmi Cafes (18) Tribute of District Four

Some days, she wonders if she'll ever escape the docks of District Four. If she'll ever be able to get away from the bustling sea ports of Four and run far away, to a small town nestled in the rocky cliffs of her District.

Some days, she feels suffocated by the chaos- a never-ending tide, ebbing and flowing, constantly in motion. It sweeps her off her feet, knocks her off balance, and some days, Mimmi Cafes feels like she's drowning.

There's too much going on in her District. When people think of Four, they imagine peaceful sunsets over tranquil waters. They imagine a beautiful silence, broken only by the cry of seagulls or the occasional hunting bird. Not… this. The constant noise- the clanging of sea bells as ships come in from their morning fishing trip, or the shouting of sailors as they work on the docks. The noise filtering from the town's taverns and bars is enough to make Mimmi want to submerge her head underwater and never come back up.

The only time she truly finds serenity is when she's high on bluff overlooking the ocean. When there's only her and her thoughts and her voice, when she can lose herself in her melodies.

She does that as often as possible. Vanishes up her ridge and into the long grasses, steps just on the wrong side of running. Of fleeing from the dissonant sounds of her District. Mimmi loves this beach- loves the driftwood that comes up on the buoyant waves like tiny rescue boats. The seaweed, the flora of those salty waves, as deep green as any foliage. The sand, the gentlest hue of gold, nearly earthen, muted, the humble star of the scene. Her favorite though, of everything upon the softly rolling dunes of her cape, is the tall, tall grass that whispers so sweetly into the gusting breeze. The waving fronds that welcome her as she escapes from the noise of her District and into her sanctuary.

And yet, whispers follow her everywhere, Mimmi reflects. Even up to the clifftops, where she'll sing to the sky and brine-kissed winds. She knows people talk. Talk of a siren, who can be heard, late at night, accompanied only by the crashing waves, the moon and stars the only things for what feels like miles around her. Even if they don't know exactly who sings up on the rocks, the people still talk.

Mimmi stares down at the ocean, emerald and azure swirling together under the summer sun. She wants to be in that water. Under it. Diving to the sands below before resurfacing for her next breath. Frolicking with the dolphins, laughing with the fish. Playing in the surf and watching the sunset over the horizon, with a towel draped over her shoulders and her damp hair hanging down her back. She wants it more than anything. Because in those perfect moments, when she's surrounded by water and floating on waves, she can forget the past, cease to analyze the future. She doesn't worry about who she is, who she'll become, who she might never be. In the ocean's embrace, there is only the present. Nothing more. Nothing less. Underneath the surface she can escape the dull drag of gravity. It's as free as she's ever been.

Sometimes, she wonders if it's blood or seawater that runs through her veins.

She sighs, running her fingers through her blonde locks, lush, and full of volume from the sea-salt. Spending the day before the Reapings on the cliffs has always been a tradition of hers- a day made for somber anticipation. One to be spent in solitude. She's always been better on her own, hasn't she? There's something about being alone that's strangely soothing- quieting the buzzing in her veins until there is only blessed quiet. If only she could have her piano here with her… then, perhaps, her day would be made perfect. The feeling of her fingers dancing across the ivory keys is almost as enchanting as the feeling of diving into the deep blue depths.

Her parents, luckily, had understood when she'd left the Academy at age 15. Had understood when she'd finally worked up the courage to ask her dad for vocal lessons, right alongside her piano ones.

She'd thrown herself into her learning. Diving into learning the art of an instrument as surely as she would dive into the ocean waves. Determined to know, determined to create, until she knew what it was to have a melody blooming from her fingertips and a song spiraling from her lips.

Her dedication had been set in stone, then. Unshakable, unmovable, unquenchable. While other girls from her District might have been training with a trident and net and spear, Mimmi was training with her voice. Teaching her fingers how to dance over ivory keys, with a simple precision and graceful execution.

The only moments when her determination wavers is when she's with Henry. Henry, with his midnight-coloured hair and ocean-hued eyes. Henry, who makes her doubt everything she's ever known about herself, who makes her want to abandon everything and run away, to let him take her apart and rebuild her into something she could be proud of: a creature of the free sea winds and crashing waves, and not the lonely girl who sings to the cliffs in the moonlight.

She remembers every second of him. She remembers every moment they've spent together- laughing under the stars, curling together under the blankets, kissing under the ocean waves.

They'd met at the young age of twelve, and a young Mimmi had been enchanted. Some call it bewitched; Mimmi calls it love. For there is an emptiness in the freedom of being alone, and a liberty caught in that divine spell. She would know it better than anyone. And so when she sees in his eyes the feelings of her heart, she feels full- full of life, full of joy, and if that isn't magic, she's not sure what is. Because the way Henry loved her- loves her- her missing pieces appear. Because his touch carries such care and reverence, what was scarred becomes soft once more. Because he is steady and patient, her open wounds have time to seal and vanish. Perhaps that is why they say love is magic, on the docks in her District. Such a gift from the universe, the sweet addiction to the boy she was born to find.

The memory crashes over her like an ocean wave. The colors unfold behind her eyes, fragments of sea-green and raven's-wing black piecing together until the memory of Henry's smile shimmers into focus behind her eyelids.

The coastline was a rugged kiss of grey meeting blue, the rocks in love with the oceanic depths. The sea was an unbroken calm, showing no sign of roiling waves or tumultuous currents it was prone to sport. She'd been on her daily walk across the twilight-cast sands of her native beaches- and had been farther out along the coast than she usually went. Much farther, actually. She hadn't realized how far she'd come until the jut of a jetty loomed up in the distance.

At least, she'd thought it was a jetty. Thought it was, right up until the moment when it got smaller the closer she came.

Her heart dropped in her chest, drowning like a sinking ship, the moment she saw the 'jetty' for what it really was.

It was a whale. One of the big, friendly giants of the big bold blue, of the ocean expanse she prays is a happy home for their kind. But this one, massive in size and majestic were it not lying stranded on the sand, was clearly out of its element.

Mimmi fought down her rising horror. Fought it down because there was no time for pity if she wanted to save the gentle giant. She rushed back down the beach- going as fast as her feet could carry her, sand spraying up in her wake. Her legs burned at the resistance the sand offered, but she pushed on- tears stinging the corners of her eyes as she thought of the whale dying somewhere behind her. Her voice was ragged in her throat as she screamed- screamed for help, screamed for anyone who would hear her. For anyone who might help her.

She nearly ran him over in her rush to get back to the District. Henry Powell, the son of a rich fisherman, freshly returned from a day out on the seas. There was a crowd of men behind him- all of whom turned as he caught her in his arms like she was a swooning maiden. She resolutely ignored the way her heart skipped a beat, then two as he peered down into her face, asked her what was wrong, if there was anything he could do to help.

She could only point the way she had come- point and gasp out her plea for help between her desperate gulps of oxygen. It was coherent enough that they all understood- a tide of men flooding out over the beach, racing to save the whale dying by the sea cliffs.

The whale had been saved, in the end. Towed back out to sea by a massive fishing boat and an even bigger effort by Henry's fishing crew.

Her heart had swelled as she'd watched that mighty tail send up a plume of water before vanishing beneath the blue-green depths, a smile stealing its way across her face. As if an angel had graffitied rainbow flame across the evening sky, the sunset blossomed in reds and oranges and golds, a bold splash of color across the otherwise grey horizons.

She almost hadn't noticed the raven-haired boy come up behind her. She'd even jumped a little as his arm had wrapped around her waist- warm and solid, in stark contrast to the cool ocean breeze and the water that lapped at her bare feet.

His name had left her lips on a soft exhale as he'd stepped back and offered her a hand as he waded deeper into the tide, sea-green eyes sparkling. There had been a joyous laugh in her throat as she followed him out into the sea- uncaring as the water soaked through her pants, her shirt as her feet left the sand and she began swimming, chasing the horizon's reflection.

And when she finally halted her movements, laying back and simply floating on the waves, Henry had swept her up- hair dripping and eyes bright. The sunset had painted them in pink and orange as his lips found hers in the dying light, and Mimmi's wandering heart finally remembered what it was to be home.

A/N: Awwww, you stuck around! Welcome back to The Queen's Gambit! It is my honor to present you with this first batch of tributes! Thanks to abookoftears for Carinne, YawningAbyss for Icarus, and KitKathy520 for Mimmi! They were all a blast to write, and I have some exciting things planned for them in the Arena. What are your thoughts on these three? I know I said it last chapter, but I'm incredibly hyped for this cast, and can't wait to delve more into them!

Fun fact for this chapter: Despite the chapter theme song, the song I was looping while writing this chapter was Airplanes, by B.o.B, featuring Hayley Williams.

The next chapter, An Opulent Masquerade, will be out sometime around April 20th!

I hope you all have a lovely day / night, wherever you are! As always, feedback is more than welcome, so go ahead and drop your thoughts in the review box down below, I love hearing from my readers.

Thank you so much for reading!

-Rune