Here's some more intros.
Kendra Shogana District 12: 18F
Day Before the Reaping
Light flickered off the walls of the tunnel, illuminating sections of the walls, but leaving the more mined out sections shrouded in darkness. The lamps hanging from the ceiling slowly burned, giving off the slightly noxious scent of kerosene, but that paled in comparison to the dust in the air.
Working in a coal mine had certain benefits, but they were few and far between. The major industry of District 12 was, of course, run entirely by the Capitol, and everyone was paid according to a basic flat wage scale. No one made anymore than anyone else, and no one received raises in their pay.
Fortunately, though, that wage, while small, was barely enough to live on, if you lived alone. For Kendra, it was enough.
Life was made simpler, and she was more independent as a result of the work. She obviously wasn't entirely independent, as she relied on the Capitol for her paycheck, but at least she wasn't a burden on her sister or anyone else.
Kendra's sister Emmaline took care of her from an early age. She was twelve years older than Kendra, and when Kendra was ten years old took on the job of caring for Kendra.
As she grew older, Kendra became more conscious of the burden she was putting on Emmaline and her family. Her sister had a husband and a daughter to worry about, and Kendra was only adding to the weight on Emmaline's shoulders.
Kendra stepped back along with the other workers in the small vein of coal to allow the demolitions man to wire and prepare the dynamite to blow the wall.
The heat of the machinery combined with the fumes of the coal and lamps burned her sensitive skin. Kendra was an albino, born with an abnormally low level of melanin in her skin. Her hair was equally white, giving her an almost ghost like appearance.
Unfortunately, there were many downsides to her albino skin, the first of which was its extreme tendency to get sunburnt. Even underground when surrounded by heat, fire, and chemicals, Kendra's skin was dry and peeling. Though, she'd long ago learned to ignore the pain of peeling skin. It was simply a reality of having albino skin.
Each of the workers, standing back from the site of the explosives, placed on a pair of noise cancelling headphones. It wouldn't do to have the workers' eardrums blown out by the back pressure of the explosion.
A shout came from near the site, but it was undecipherable thanks to the protection. Seconds later a massive concussion rippled through the ranks of workers. The tunnel shook slightly and dust filtered down from the ceiling above.
Then came the second shout, the all-clear. Kendra removed her headphones and chucked them aside, taking up her pickax. She entered the now cleared out space alongside her mining partner, Jinzen. In the mines, for the majority of the workers, they were either breakers or shovelers.
Breakers were the ones who held the pickaxes. Their job was to crumble the coal and remove the black rock from the walls. The shovelers lifted up the broken coal from the floor and dropped it into large containers mounted on wheels. Those containers travelled up a rail and outside where they would be unloaded.
Kendra slammed her pick into the rock, dislodging the coal from the wall. It spilled over the floor clacking loudly. Jinzen jumped in and lifted the coal into the cart behind them while Kendra continued whaling on the wall with the pickax.
Her muscles strained back and forth, tightening and loosening to keep the pick in motion. Each time the heavy metal tip slammed into the rock, Kendra felt the vibration extend up her arms and shake her body. Her arms were muscular, but not terribly powerful, making the pick weightier in her hands.
Still, during all the physical exertion, Kendra's skin was on fire. Using the power of her mind, Kendra pushed down her pain, ignoring it nearly completely. It lingered well beneath the surface of her conscious mind but still affected her deeply.
She remembered being made fun of for her appearance, and no matter how much Emmaline or anyone else told her those words didn't matter, Kendra was simply too sensitive to not feel the effects of the harshness. It was cruel and pointless, and it didn't harm her personally, but it was nonetheless wrong. Kendra was so much more than her appearance.
As the pickax fell again, Kendra wondered if all the turmoil she experienced was simply a result of her own weakness.
Surely, if she was stronger, she would be less affected. Maybe she simply needed to be more powerful and dangerous. If she was dangerous, then by the nature of her threat to others, she wouldn't be picked on. No one would say anything if they knew she didn't care, right?
Kendra tossed the thoughts from her mind, focusing on the task of slamming his pick into the rocks again and again. There was a comfort to the constant repetition of the pickax's motion. It calmed her and took her attention away from the complexity of her thoughts.
Edison Oswald District 5: 13M
Day Before the Reaping
The back of the class was Edison's favorite place to stay. He wasn't comfortable enough to stay at the front, but it didn't mean he wasn't capable of speaking or advanced thought.
Smart kids tended to sit at the front of class, but Edison wasn't into that. When you were at the front, you held the attention of the group and therefore, their ridicule. He'd experienced far too much of that to find any appeal in spending time with others.
Edison had been burned too many times by those who claimed to be his friends. He found the same repetition of events over and over again. Edison would meet someone he thought he could trust and call his friend, and inevitably they would betray him, taking advantage of his generous nature.
It was always the same. Everyone turned on Edison. Even his father, Hydro Oswald, made life hard for his son.
In this stage of his life, like so many, Edison felt somewhat purposeless. His father continuously pushed him to find a meaning for his life, but Edison simply couldn't find one. He knew that, one day, he needed to find a purpose, but he just wasn't that ambitious.
His father on the other hand was highly competitive and ambitious. He expected the same level of ambition from his son, yet never saw such interest in the future from Edison.
Edison just wasn't sure what he wanted to do with his life. He had the smarts to accomplish essentially whatever job he could have wanted to, but there was one small problem: he didn't want to accomplish a job.
Edison wasn't stupid enough to think that it was possible for him to go through life with no meaning. One day though, Edison would find what he was meant to do, just not today.
"Alright class," The geography teacher addressed the kids. "We resume after Reaping Day, so make sure to get that homework done."
Over the next few minutes, the class cleared out, each kid going a different direction. Edison made his own way towards the doors with his backpack strapped on tight. He was grateful for the break he had from school, but simultaneously he was nervous for the reaping. He wasn't afraid that he would be reaped, but this time of year always gave him anxiety.
"Where you going kid?" A voice spoke behind him.
Edison spun on his heels nervously. The voice came from an older kid, probably around sixteen. He was heavy set with a jowly face and a seemingly permanent scowl. There were three other sixteen-year-olds standing with him, all equally derisive.
Edison stood frozen, unable to really speak. He was terrified. Being a consistent target of bullies all throughout his life, Edison knew what was coming. He recognized the threatening signs.
"You scared?" The big kid asked.
Edison crept backwards, trying to escape, but not wanting to run. If he ran, things would be made much worse for him. He wasn't particularly athletic, and the big kids would certainly catch up to him from behind, then pound him into the dirt.
His brain worked on overdrive, trying desperately to find a way out of this situation that didn't involve getting his ass handed to him.
"He looks like he's going to wet his pants," One of the lackeys said. "Look at him."
Edison was indeed scared, but he was a long way from wetting his pants.
The four kids stalked towards him while he crept backwards. With a slight bump, Edison felt his back bump into the wall. He had nowhere to go now.
"Where are you going to go now?" The big guy asked.
Edison swallowed hard, trying to find some courage. It wasn't like he had much of that, but if he wanted to escape, he'd need it.
"Let's see what you've got in that backpack," One of the other lackeys said.
"No," Edison returned, trying to sound brave, but his voice was still too high to have any threatening tone to it.
They laughed at him.
"No," One of the guys said mockingly. He intentionally pitched his voice in a high and nasally place, making fun of him.
They laughed even harder.
"Leave me alone," Edison said, finding a modicum of bravery.
The mocking continued. Edison felt himself internally shrinking back, as there was nowhere to go. Inside his own mind, he grew smaller and smaller while the comments and derision from the older kids flooded over him.
One of the kids reached out towards Edison's backpack. Edison turned away, snatching back against the much stronger hand. The backpack broke free of the kid's grip, sending Edison slamming into the wall due to the lack of pressure pushing against him.
The leader laughed maniacally and shoved Edison forcefully. Much smaller than the jowly kid, Edison slammed into the wall again but barely managed to remain standing.
Edison felt a powerful shove again, only this time he fell. He smacked against the tile floor, crying out in pain.
The kids laughed out loud at his expense. Their ridiculing continued while Edison retreated deep inside himself, hiding from the outpouring of malice directed at him.
It rained on him like a hurricane, the relentless pain pounding against him. The attacks went on longer than Edison could track as he remained curled into his ball. Then, he felt the physical abuse begin.
They kicked him, sending the air rushing violently from his lungs. Edison cried out in pain, for someone to help, but no one came. He was still alone, and no one cared.
He didn't know how long they beat on him, but eventually the attacks stopped, and Edison attempted to regain his breath. He didn't notice the older kids leave, too wrapped up in his own pain and suffering to register any exterior events.
Why? That was Edison's only question. Why was it always him who was bullied? Why was he the target of the dregs of society?
As he pondered that question, Edison cried.
Peter Vogel District 12: 15M
Day Before the Reaping
"The question is actually quite simple to answer," Peter said. "I think you might be over complicating it a bit."
"How?" Peace questioned. "It's meat in between two pieces of bread. A hot dog must be a sandwich."
"Are all sandwiches meat in between two pieces of bread?" Peter asked in return. "What if the sandwich is filled with lettuce and carrots in between two slices of bread? Is that still a sandwich?"
Debate was Peter's life. He loved engaging in verbal spars but avoided dangerous topics of discussion. There were some things that were best left unsaid in Panem. Generally, it was for the safety of the speaker to avoid topics regarding the Capitol.
"Well," Peace spoke slowly, obviously thinking while she was speaking. "I suppose it could be, but I'm not really sure. How often do people eat all vegetable sandwiches anyway?"
"Just because they aren't eaten doesn't make them not sandwiches," Peter pointed out.
"I agree," Picks jumped in.
Peter and his four friends regularly engaged in conversations such as these. They were outliers amongst the general population of the district. Most kids weren't in the position of Peter and his friends. They were, financially, better off than most but there wasn't a large gap.
A great deal of their time was spent in just these sorts of conversations. Debate was both entertaining and very intellectually stimulating. They each took different positions, sometimes directly opposed to their actual thoughts.
"I'm just saying a veggie sandwich doesn't deserve to be a sandwich," Peace joked.
They all laughed together, enjoying the emotion of the moment.
"I think we can all agree on that," Digger said.
Slowly the chuckling died down, leaving them to their debate once again.
"So a veggie sandwich is a sandwich then?" Peter asked for clarification.
"Unfortunately," Peace answered with a smirk.
"So then why must a hot dog be a sandwich?" Peter questioned. "If a sandwich can be made with materials other than meat, then can mud slapped between two pieces of bread be a sandwich?"
"No," Peace said incredulously. "Of course mud in between two pieces of bread isn't a sandwich."
"So then why is a hot dog a sandwich but a mud sandwich isn't a sandwich?" Peter continued. "What's your definition of a sandwich?"
Peace remained silent for a minute, contemplating exactly how to define a sandwich. She knew that, if she misspoke, Peter would be all over her definition, attempting to poke holes in her argument.
Peter was somewhat of a master at debate. His natural charisma and excellent logic often broke lesser arguments. It wasn't a regular occasion that anyone was capable of standing up to Peter's relentless mental attacks, much less defeating them.
"A sandwich is food put in between two pieces of bread," Peace said finally.
Peter hummed to himself in thought. Peace chose a decent definition, difficult to assail properly. The issue with her argument though was that she left another term undefined.
"What are you defining as food?" Peter asked.
"Uh…food," Peace said like it was obvious. "It's pretty simple."
"Is it though?" Peter replied. "Maple leaves are edible. Would a maple leaf between two pieces of bread be a sandwich?"
"Yes," Peace answered simply. "So why isn't a hot dog a sandwich? I've done all the talking so far, but I haven't heard any reasons why a hot dog would not be a sandwich."
"This is the issue with defining terms," Peter said. "Because your definition of what a sandwich is may be different than mine, we will never agree on the hot dog argument."
Peter went silent for a moment, thinking over his next statement.
"Your definition is that a sandwich is two pieces of bread and something in between," Peter continued. "But what if the hot dog bun is broken in half? Then, by your definition, a hot dog turned into a sandwich just because the bread was cut."
"So what's your point?" Peace asked.
"My point is that attempting to define these universally understandable yet difficult to describe terms is pointless," Peter explained. "These terms, like sandwich, everyone has a concept of, but no one can define properly."
"Is a hot dog a sandwich then?" Picks interrupted.
"No," Peter said. "It's obvious that a hot dog isn't a sandwich."
All his friends just stared at him, awaiting his response, but Peter held his silence, building drama.
"Why not?" Peace finally asked.
"Because a hot dog is called a hot dog and a sandwich is called a sandwich," Peter answered with a small smirk. "If a hot dog was a sandwich, it wouldn't be called a hot dog. It would be called a hot dog sandwich."
They all looked at Peter with some shock. Peter was normally one to give quite sophisticated reasoning, but in this case, he made the simplest argument possible. Only Digger looked convinced by Peter's answer to the question while the others looked skeptical.
"Is that argument too simple?" Picks asked.
"Sometimes the simplest argument is the best," Peter said simply. "Occam's Razor is right more often than you'd think."
"Isn't there some objective way to determine what a sandwich is though?" Peace questioned.
"We just found out that your definition of a sandwich is different from mine," Peter replied. "How can it be objective if we come to vastly different conclusions?"
"It can't," Digger, the one who still agreed most with him, said.
Peter was happy his friends drew their own conclusions. So often, thanks to his arguments and natural charisma, people simply accepted his word. They were so easily persuaded by him, and that terrified Peter.
He didn't appreciate that he was the constant gold standard for correctness in the world, but he still did his best to strive for the truth, if there even was such a thing. Part of him respected the fact that people searched for the truth and tried to find someone more capable to guide their thoughts, but Peter wasn't sure that he was the one to guide them.
Eira Carielle District 5: 15F
Day Before the Reaping
As was the case most days, Eira found herself mindlessly following a schedule. Sometimes she wished she could go back to the way things were, but that was a pointless consideration.
She made her way to the market along with her younger brother Kavan. With school out for the day and their father still at work, it was up to Eira to prepare dinner for the family. Kavan would be of no help with preparation, as the fourteen-year-old was nothing short of a sloth. Eira didn't even particularly want him here.
"Let's make do this quickly, okay?" Eira said. "I really don't want to be here too long."
"Well I don't want to be here at all," Kavan replied. "I hate it here."
"Honestly I don't care," Eira shot back. "I also would rather you weren't here."
"Then why am I here?" Kavan whined. "You were the one who asked me to come all the way out here."
"It's only a twenty-minute walk," Eira said. "Quit complaining. And, you're here because I need someone to help me carry stuff."
"So I'm a pack mule, is that it?" Kavan questioned.
"Yes," Eira responded with complete seriousness.
"God I hate you," Kavan grumbled.
"Trust me, it's mutual," Eira returned. "Now shut up and help me find stuff for dinner."
Kavan harumphed, then walked off on his own without consulting Eira about what sort of goods she was looking for. Eira wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do, considering that Kavan had no money with which to buy anything.
She shrugged. It was probably best that Kavan had no money. That way he couldn't buy anything she wasn't going to use. It would protect both the family's wallet and Eira's sanity.
Kavan wasn't a bad kid per se, but he had no concept of practicality. All he cared about was how he felt and how others treated him. Kavan was an intelligent kid, just like his parents and Eira, yet he seemingly couldn't detach himself from his emotions to look at the world objectively.
Then there was the complaining. God, her brother was constantly whining about something or other. It was not lost on Eira, the irony of her own complaint regarding her brother's complaining.
Eira spent the next thirty minutes or so searching for what to make for dinner. There were a few shops selling imported meat from District 10, some selling fish from District 4, and others selling crops from District 11. The importation taxes on those goods were unbelievable.
Generally, the local goods were cheaper, but they were also vastly lower quality, as the conditions for getting those goods were not ideal in District 5. There were also the market restrictions placed by the Capitol that made it impossibly difficult to become a successful independent businessman.
Finding everything she needed was difficult, but eventually she managed it, purchasing a single large fish imported from District 4 and a few locally grown vegetables. After haggling over prices with an old lady Eira also managed to strike a good deal on a small cake for dessert.
Mysteriously, once all the work was done, Kavan reappeared, ready to return home. Eira eyed him suspiciously for a moment.
"Where did you go?" She asked.
"None of your business," Kavan shrugged nonchalantly.
Eira raised a single eyebrow in response. She stared up and her younger brother for a moment, before deciding that it wasn't worth her time to question any deeper.
"Here," Eira handed over two of the bags she held, one with the fish, the other with vegetables. "Make those muscles useful for once."
Kavan sighed heavily as he took the bags from Eira.
"Don't drop those," Eira cautioned as they started off back to their home.
Kavan stood far taller and broader than Eira. She was fairly average size wise. Meanwhile, Kavan, at only fourteen, stood over six feet tall. His muscles were large too. How that happened was beyond Eira's capacity to reason. Kavan didn't work out at all, nor was he generally athletic or even active.
They arrived home less than twenty minutes later, neither speaking to the other or feeling particularly excited to be in the other's company for more than three minutes.
Kavan slammed the door open and tossed the bags carelessly on the counter before stomping off to his room. The door to his own space shut loudly leaving Eira alone with the food.
She rolled her eyes monumentally at her brother's antics. She didn't understand him in the slightest.
Eira removed her purchased goods from the bags. She spent the next few minutes cutting the fish and preparing it to be cooked. The fish's skin was smooth and slightly slimy. It sizzled as she laid it on the pan.
The fragrant aroma of cooking fish wafted through the kitchen and surrounding rooms. Eira kept careful attention on the fish while quickly creating a simple salad with the available vegetables. Dinner wouldn't be gourmet, but that wasn't anything new for District life. When compared to many this dinner actually wasn't so bad.
Kendra Shogana District 12: 18F
Reaping Day
Kendra loathed Reaping Day, though, to be fair, she didn't know anyone who didn't. It was a disgusting example of the power of the state and how little ordinary people could do to fight it. The kids stood in the pen like drones, unfocused eyes and dejected postures abounded. They were all terrified, and rightfully so. District 12 wasn't exactly an easy one to claim victory in.
She joined her fellow eighteen-year-old girls, trying to find a place where she could remain alone. Kendra was willing to speak with others and spend time with them, but given her choice, she preferred to remain unobtrusive.
It was unlikely that her name would be taken from the bowl considering that she took no tesserae. The odds were stacked in her favor in this situation, and she would be shocked if she was chosen from the crowd.
Nearly twenty minutes later the district entourage took the stage. There was the escort, Ezekiel Shinto, a dark-skinned man whose teeth were all replaced with gold counterparts. Then, there were the two victors, Yew LaBrie and Courtney Daimon.
Courtney was the victor of the seventy-sixth Games and performed well thanks to her craftiness. She was somewhat of a traitor throughout and that reputation held up after she won. Many refused to do business with her, though Kendra wasn't sure whether that was because Courtney was actually disreputable.
Yew was much more famous and beloved. He won the one-hundredth Hunger Games. The quarter quell twist required that tributes be reaped one year in advance. That meant that each one could enter the arena with a higher level of skill. Through some creative fighting techniques that enabled a then fifteen-year-old to defeat eighteen-year-olds, Yew claimed his victory.
Furthermore, the arena regaled the very first Games in its appearance. That decision proved incredibly popular, as did the year's twist. Even the Districts appreciated the twist for that year and the preemptive knowledge of the arena. First, volunteering was banned, which seemingly made things more equal.
As it turned out, the same tributes that were expected to perform well when they were reaped were the ones who performed well in the Games a year later. Some unique strategies were employed, and two tributes committed suicide before the Games, unable to deal with the psychological pressure of facing the Games and the absence from their families.
The tributes were left in the Capitol for a year, likely imprisoned or something. They were provided top tier training for the entire year, pushed to the brink, then eventually thrown into the arena. Yew was the winner.
"Hello," Ezekiel greeted in a tone far too mellow.
Generally, escorts were upbeat and excitable, trying to bring hope to the crowd, but Ezekiel sounded like he had a huge hangover. He did have a bit of a reputation as a partier.
"Welcome to the one-hundred-seventh annual reaping," He continued, eyes glazed over like he was reading his words from a prompter. "Once again I – ah forget it. Here's the fucking President."
Ezekiel grumbled to himself as the video displayed Viktor's stern face to the crowd. Kendra kept her eyes on Ezekiel as he turned his eyes to the ground and rubbed at his forehead. He shook his head like a dog trying to rid itself of a flea.
Minutes later President Viktor's face disappeared from the screen, leaving the crowd with just Ezekiel to watch.
"Man, that's great guys," Ezekiel didn't even try to fake excitement. "Why don't we get this show on the road."
He snatched one slip of paper from the bowl on the right. His motion was violent, and he sent the bowl rocking off the edge of the table it stood on. The glass shattered against the ground with a crash.
Ezekiel groaned loudly and stared directly upwards in frustration. Then, after being blinded, he set his eyes flying away from the sun with a hiss. Today really wasn't going well for him.
"Can somebody clean that up?" Ezekiel complained lazily. He didn't have the energy to summon up the righteous indignation many Capitolians would display.
Two sheepish young women hurried onto the stage with brooms and swished away the broken glass as quickly as possible.
"Oh yeah, this is from the boy's bowl," Ezekiel mentioned as though he had forgotten it.
He waited with obvious frustration for the women to remove the bowl he himself had knocked over. With a shake of his head and a hand to his forehead, Ezekiel announced the male tribute in the same tired voice.
"Peter Vogel."
Kendra didn't recognize the name, which was a good sign. As with everyone else, she looked around awkwardly, trying to find the poor kid. Eventually, she noticed a knot made in the fifteen-year-old pen where everyone stared at a hidden figure. He was obviously afraid, not that Kendra blamed him.
Finally, after some soft words from others in the vicinity the boy emerged. His hair was parted neatly, and he wore a nice white button up, though his clothes appeared a little big on him. His cheeks were narrow and his eyes sunken into his skull slightly, probably thanks to a lack of food. Despite all that, Peter put on a strong face with a confident smile.
He stopped next to Ezekiel and stared out into the crowd.
"Got anything to say kid?" Ezekiel questioned, leaning against Peter tiredly.
"Uh…" Peter stammered. "Uh…don't count me out yet."
"How inspirational," Ezekiel said, sounding completely uninspired.
He removed the female tribute from the bowl without incident. Then, still hiding his eyes from the sun, he read the paper.
"Kendra Shogana."
It took a second for the words to register in her mind. That was her name.
Kendra's jaw dropped. She genuinely couldn't believe what had just happened as she walked towards the stage trance like. The odds were so against her being selected.
The only thing she could think of as she took her place alongside Peter was how different they looked. They were both thin, but Peter seemed well put together, while Kendra was quite obviously not. She went to sleep last night without cleaning herself up after work. Kendra was an absolute mess, and Peter was properly dressed in nice clothes.
"Do you have anything to say?" Ezekiel held the microphone out to Kendra.
"No," Kendra answered calmly.
"Well, you two are real exciting," Ezekiel quipped in obvious boredom.
Edison Oswald District 5: 13M
Reaping Day
His nerves were heightened, and Edison shook with fright. Reaping Day was terrifying every year and could be even more so if Edison found himself surrounded by some of the more disreputable kids from school.
Edison clenched his hands tightly, quietly shuffling towards the corner of the pen. He didn't want to be around anyone, especially not after yesterday.
In his nice shirt and khakis, Edison felt so out of place considering the injuries sustained to his person. His left eye was swollen shut and his body was covered in bruises. He was numb to the feeling of pain in his body and to the thoughts of others. He knew the other thirteen-year-old boys looked on him with contempt and condescension, but it didn't really matter all that much.
He cautiously eyed the surrounding kids, trying to remain unobtrusive. A few people looked back at him, but generally he was ignored. Edison breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that no one wanted to speak to him.
With a flurry of sparkling lights, the escort finally took the stage. Her name was Hana Mystic, and she certainly acted the part, trying to appear as mysterious and magical as possible. Edison didn't particularly care what she did. That was her business, not his.
The lightshow intensified, expanding into various crackling sparks. The whole thing looked ridiculous in Edison's mind, but it bothered him that he couldn't figure out how it all worked. It certainly wasn't magic as Hana would have them all believe. Still, the lights and bangs appeared seemingly from nowhere.
"Hello my friends," Hana greeted in a grandiose tone. "Isn't this exciting?"
Her voice remained somewhat neutral in volume but sounded like it came from far away and echoed down a long tunnel to reach his ears. Edison supposed that was all part of the vibe Hana was attempting to create.
"This is a grave time for us all," Hana said. "We must remember why things are the way they are. And two of our young must be sacrificed for the sake of our remembrance."
Hana was frank, something that many escorts were not. Under all the layers of strangeness, she completely acknowledged what the Games were but still seemed to be okay with them. That was probably the only reason she still had a job.
"Let us begin with a word from our esteemed leader," Hana announced.
Edison wasn't sure what she meant by esteemed leader, but the President's speech continued on anyway. Edison paid little heed to the words of what Hana would call their 'Esteemed leader'. Instead, he spent his time trying to avoid the presence of others.
One of the boys kept sidling closer to him, and in response Edison would slide further away from him. He didn't want to be near anyone.
"Excellent," Hana whispered as Viktor's speech came to a close. "Now it is time."
She turned a stern glance towards the crowd. Instantly, under the smoldering eyes they went quiet. Those eyes were practically orange.
"Thank you for your silence," Hana said. "Silence is reverence."
It was an odd thing to say. The statement seemed to grab the attention of everyone and demand their silence.
"Ladies first shall we?" Hana spoke with a mysterious smile.
She reached her hand into the bowl and stirred it about, searching for a slip of paper. She grabbed one, then put it back. Finally, Hana settled on a slip of paper and removed it.
"Eira Carielle," Hana said.
The girl appeared from the fifteen-year-old pen, walking towards the stage surprisingly calmly. Her hair was a brunette color, and her face was somewhat angular. It took a few seconds for Edison to notice the slight shaking of her hands.
She was obviously nervous but was hiding it well.
Hana hid nothing, staring straight at Eira with what appeared to be disappointment. Her orange eyes narrowed slightly, watching Eira critically. Eira turned her face away from Hana nervously, unable to meet the escort's eyes as she took her place on stage.
"Well, let's see who we get from the boys," Hana drew a slip from the other bowl with no preamble. "Edison Oswald."
Edison blinked a few times, realizing what was happening. For the first few seconds, it didn't compute, but gradually Edison did realize. His entire body shook, crumbling internally. Edison wanted to crumble externally but held himself together squeezing his hands for comfort.
He slowly shuffled forward, glancing around at the crowd nervously. No one was going to volunteer for him, not Edison Oswald.
Edison stood next to Eira, receiving a more approving glance from Hana than his District partner had received.
Edison stared at the ground, silently hoping that everything within the last two days was all a dream. It wasn't though, no matter how much he wished it was.
"Please honor your tributes for the one-hundred-seventh Hunger Games," Hana hissed. "Eira Carielle and Edison Oswald."
The crowd didn't clap or cheer, unsurprisingly. They simply stared.
Edison looked away from the crowd, unable to meet their eyes. As he turned, he almost jumped out of his socks when those creepy orange eyes stared right back at him.
Peter Vogel District 12: 15M
Goodbye Lounge
His family and friends all surrounded him, comforting themselves and also him, but Peter's mind was elsewhere. He couldn't focus on the world around him while the Games lay ahead.
Peter had a gift of words. He knew just what to say and how pretty much all the time, a hereditary gift it seemed.
That gift came from Peter's great-grandfather, Alexander Barba. Barba was, according to all accounts, a terrifying and horrible man, but, more importantly, he was impossibly persuasive. Barba held a place as one of the most dangerous and ruthlessly effective generals of the rebellion. He put down thousands of rebels with his men and struck fear into the hearts of all who faced him.
Barba's natural persuasive gift affected everyone yet living in Panem, and that was no exaggeration. He was the man who originally persuaded the first President to institute the Hunger Games as punishment for the districts. Peter couldn't live that down. He knew it wasn't his fault, but a part of him felt responsible. His family agreed and decided never to let out the secrets of their heritage. The consequences of such a thing could be disastrous.
The Vogel family traced its lineage back to a monster and to a monstrous action. He knew what action Barba took to bear a line of children, and Peter hated that. He couldn't even think of the word that described what his great-grandfather did for fear that he would lash out in anger.
Peter lived in constant fear that his gift would become Barba's, and that he would harm others in the same way. He was careful with how he used his persuasive talents, not wanting to be just like his ancestor.
Now though, that he was going into the Hunger Games, Peter wondered whether he would be able to get away without use of his gift. He doubted it.
Peter's silver tongue would be his key to victory unquestionably. The only question was how he could use it to achieve his goals. Peter wasn't entirely sure what his plan was yet, but he assumed that making allies would be quite easy for him. It was the fighting he was most concerned about.
He wondered if there was a way he could remove the careers from the playing field. They posed the biggest threat to him. They were all well-trained, capable of bashing in heads, but usually not the brightest, especially not the ones from District 2. They would have no interest in Peter's speech, preferring instead to kill him on the spot.
Peter needed to make capable allies. There were usually two or three outer district tributes who were competent enough in a fight. The only issue was Peter didn't really see what he had to bring to the table, as his strengths weren't exactly of the physical conflict variety.
There had to be something he could do.
"Peter," His mother broke him from his reverie with a soft voice. "I want you to take this."
She held out her hand with a feather pen in the palm. Peter instantly recognized it as his own. He used it to write out all his work, whether it was speeches or just notes. The feather touched his hand comfortingly as he curled his fingers around it. At least he would have something to remember his former life by. If he came back, he knew he would not be the same as when he left.
"You've got to make some strong allies," Peace said. "Try to find people who are trustworthy."
"I will, thanks," Peter replied.
"Don't forget to learn how to start fires and build shelters," Picks said. "You don't want to be out in the cold at night."
Peter agreed with that comment. The survival aspects of training were by far the most important available. Regardless of what district the tribute came from, it was unquestionable that everyone ended up on their own at some point. If you were alone, you had to know how to survive.
"Just be safe Peter," His mother said. "Try not to make too many enemies."
Peter nodded solemnly, thankful that his family and friends weren't losing themselves over his reaping. If they could retain their cool, then perhaps they could retain their strength if he was to die. It was a morbid thought, but it gave Peter hope that things would be okay.
Eira Carielle District 5: 15F
Goodbye Lounge
Eira wondered what the point of all this was. She would be whisked away to the Capitol where her life would be forever altered and probably taken from her. Eira had no desire to go to the Capitol, but it seemed she had little choice.
She sat in her own chair, with Kavan and her father, Vincent, sitting on the couch. The three of them sat in silence for a moment, but it wasn't a comfortable silence. Vincent seemed totally out of it, unable to focus at all. Kavan even seemed somewhat sorrowful.
Eira wasn't sure what to make of the silence. She wasn't the type to sit around in the quiet. Boredom was a constant plague to her, and she was forever unable to fight it. The only problem was that Eira was concerned what would happen if she did speak.
She wouldn't put it past Kavan to rage out of his mind, but it didn't seem terribly likely considering the circumstances. Even Kavan wouldn't be that bad.
"Eira," Vincent said. "I don't know what to say."
Eira just shook her head and wrung her hands nervously, trying not to lose control of her emotions. There was too much to sort through, and she didn't have the time to come to terms with what she was feeling.
"I don't either," Eira replied with a sigh.
"That's a first," Kavan quipped.
Eira glared at him. She didn't appreciate his attempt at joking at all. Today was not a day for joking, not when Eira the next stop for Eira was a Capitol training center where she would be surrounded by twenty-three people all willing to kill her. Well, twenty-two, that Edison kid didn't seem like a killer to her.
"Cut it out Kavan," Eira admonished. "Just for once in your life, can you try to be a good brother?"
"If you were ever a good sister, then maybe I could," Kavan shot back.
"What are you talking about?" Eira questioned. "I've only ever tried to be kind and helpful to you, and you've only ever repaid me by behaving like a little shit!"
"Eira!" Vincent shouted. "Enough!"
"Enough?!" Eira questioned incredulously. "You're seriously going to lecture me now? I'm going to the Capitol to be sacrificed in the Hunger Games, and all you can do is berate me for my language?!"
"Eira," Vincent said more calmly, but the dangerous tone wasn't lost. "Calm down. I don't want you two fighting today."
His voice broke slightly. Vincent looked down to the floor taking a deep breath. It almost looked like her father was going to cry.
"Not today…" Vincent repeated.
Then, for the first time since her mother's funeral, Eira saw her father cry. His tears were heavy and strong, but quite obviously born of a broken man. He couldn't bear to see his daughter taken to the Capitol.
"Dad…" Kavan whispered.
"It's okay son," Vincent sniffed, wiping at his eyes.
He stood and promptly exited the room without saying goodbye. Eira was slightly hurt, but she understood. Vincent didn't want to say goodbye, because he couldn't face a possibility of life without his daughter. Despite the action, Eira was glad she didn't have to say goodbye. She wasn't sure she'd be able to handle it either.
Eira and Kavan met eyes without hate for the first time in seemingly forever. Without the familiar smoldering anger, Kavan seemed like a completely different person. There was a kindness and a sadness in those brown eyes.
"I uh…" Kavan stumbled over his words, trying to figure out what to say.
Eira knew he was attempting to wish her well. In his eyes, there was a deep-seated regret, like he wished he could take back his actions of his previous years.
"I hope you…" Kavan trailed off, now holding back his own tears.
"I know," Eira responded. "And thank you."
They shared a smile for the first time in years. It only took Eira being reaped to bring them together again.
Alright! Reaping four done. Today you met Kendra Shogana by rawlimad000, Peter Vogel by Very New To This, Edison Oswald by illuminating-spirit, and Eira Carielle by LittleAvery88.
On another note, you also finally found out what happened during the fourth Quarter-Quell. That's pretty cool I suppose. Then, there were the two weirdest escorts so far in Ezekiel and Hana, or at least they're the weirdest ones in my opinion.
So, who was your favorite of these four tributes? Who goes the farthest? Who dies first?
Anyway, this was fun. Only two more reapings to go now! We're nearly to the fun stuff!
Thanks for reading guys.