Richard Franklin- District Five male (18)

My parents never wanted me. I can tell by the way they left me at an orphanage the day I was born. Some people would be really torn up about that but it's hard to miss something you never had and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want parents who leave their babies on a doorstep anyway, so kind of a win/win I guess. I can stomach worse things that that.

"Hey fatso, what's your act? Eating cake?" a heckler's voice came from the crowd gathered around our little circus show. I tended to attract the jerks in every one of our performances. Lucky thing I had broad shoulders to go with my broad waistband. I followed the voice and picked out a dull-looking middle-aged man who seemed like he should have better things to do in life than yell insults at a fat kid.

"At least give me some original material," I called back as Calla prepared the cannon. "Like one time a heckler thanked me for providing my pants as the circus tent. Now that was funny. And now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to impress people."

Calla signaled that the cannon was ready. I'd like to say my impressive girth is all muscle. It's not, but some of it is. A strongman act requires some strength but honestly a lot more technique. My stunts took years of practice with breathing techniques and learning to control and alter my body. I got into position, feet wide apart and slightly bent over, as Calla aimed the cannon. I slipped my earplugs in before she lit the fuse. It doesn't matter how strong you think you are, a cannon going off in your ear will cause damage.

BOOM!

I heard the noise at the same instant as a huge punch reverberated off my stomach. The cannonball bounced off my stomach as I carefully rolled with the blow and tensed my muscles firmly but not immediately. Smoke billowed all around me, making the scene look much more dramatic while not adding any actual difficulty or danger. The cannon was loaded far more sparsely than a real cannon could be, of course, and the ball was much lighter, but it was still a significant weight. I could seriously injure myself if I didn't relax and take the blow properly. But the stunt went off without a hitch, like it always did, and I took my bow as the crowd went wild.

My parents didn't want me but I still had a family. I wasn't about that orphanage life so when I met Lanky, one of the circus clowns, I ran off and hitched my wagon with him and the rest of our gang. I got to see all of Panem and take a cannonball to the stomach multiple times a week. Another win/win.

Skada Socket- District Five female (15)

There's a lot of reasons it's good to be able to escape from things. Maybe you don't want to do your chores. Maybe a school assignment is really boring. Maybe you're a professional escape artist with a traveling circus. Or maybe you only took that job to smuggle religious material and need to escape the Peacekeeper's notice.

Or maybe you're in jail.

At first glance it seemed ironic to put an escape artist in jail. It was actually the opposite of ironic because irony meant that expectations were inverted while I was in jail precisely because I was an escape artist. My side hustle, when circus season was over, was working as a consultant to test the efficiency of jails. I'd found some pretty creative weaknesses in the course of my job, like the security guard who switched the camera screen over to play video games every night to the garbage bags that were perfectly breathable and never got opened before they got dumped outside. It was kind of ironic that I worked with the Peacekeepers when I was also an enemy of the state for my religious activities. Or maybe it wasn't ironic. It might just be stupid. I'm not too good with words.

This time I'd been in prison for more than a week. It didn't matter as far as conditions went, since I was kept in a separate cell to keep me from getting murdered and also to keep any cellmates from learning my tricks. Some of the workers thought I was stumped but actually I was just in it for the long haul. It took a long time to gather up what I needed. Specifically, lots and lots of toilet paper. It wasn't hard to find toilet paper but it was slow going smuggling it back to my cell. I would take half a roll every time I went out on my prearranged movements throughout jail to simulate what space a normal inmate would have access to. I got patted down like the other inmates when I returned to my cell but it was impossible to notice I was just a little bit fluffy around the bikini area.

It takes a lot of toilet paper to braid a rope thick enough to support a human. I stored my ever-growing coil under the blankets in my cell. If my cell ever got searched it would be found but the idea was to simulate an average inmate, not an escape artist, and the prison didn't have the staff or budget for regular searches. So I had about two months before I could expect a full-scale search. It only took me three weeks.

Whatever the guards were expecting, it wasn't a toilet paper braid. Mostly because that sounded really really stupid. Most people just used their blankets. Usually escapes are a simple process done by trickery or lock-picking but once in a while they're just something so silly no one even thought to consider it. I leaned out my cell window, having twisted myself through the bars with a combination of being pretty skinny and a few things I learned from Lester, and looked down at the relatively easy-to-scale razor wire fence that was my last obstacle.

Another reason the guards didn't expect a rope escape was that it would take a lot time to get into place and then carefully climb down the rope without burning your hands. That was where the blankets came in. I did use them... as hot pads, basically. I slid down the rope lickety-split right at the witching hour, that time around three in the morning when guards get lazy and tired and stick to routine checks instead of mixing it up randomly. I crept across the partially-lit courtyard, avoiding the line-of-sights for the guard towers, shimmied over the fence and was off like a shot. I was out of there forever except tomorrow, when I would return to pick up my check.

Richard: Overweight, with a blonde buzz cut, usually grinning ear to ear

Skada: Skada is white with black hair she keeps in a pixie. She has really dark eyes. She's about 5'6" and has a pretty small frame. Definitely skinny.

Time for the first vote! What does everyone want for the Arena?

1. Wild West

2. Vietnamese-style thick jungle

3. Ancient Egypt

4. Taiga