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District 1 Introduction

POV: Decorum Vescovi, District 1 Female - geologyisms

Other featured tribute: Victor Worthington, District 1 Male - goldie031

Other Characters: Jada Opulette (Mentor), Pride Weiss (Mentor)

. . .

The 125th Hunger Games was a secret only name in District One. There was no way a girl like her, Decorum Vescovi, was ever going to get into the training academies without there being a very good reason for it. It wasn't that her family wouldn't have wanted her to, that she had no idea, it was that until recently, they hadn't had the money for it. A daughter of a bartender and a painter, it didn't exactly scream: 'District 1 Pride!' to the audiences that they needed to reach.

Decorum chuckled a little as she pushed the door closed behind her to the academy. It was funny to think about - One would never have chosen a girl like her, but now they were forced to cheer for her. The small ironies of life. The ironies of the Capitol - the games they liked to play.

Her dark brown eyes cast about, surveying the academy. For years it had been what she knew. Deco slid her hand along a table off to one side, tugging a golden necklace that lay abandoned into her pocket. At this point, she had no need for what she stole. Well, that wasn't entirely true, there was use to everything, she supposed, but with a bit of her own light nudging her father had become wealthy enough on his own. He'd make it without her…if he needed to.

Kaimana Vescovi was a famous artist now, but it hadn't always been that way. A lot of what she had learned, she had learned from him. Had she twisted them a bit to make them more…useful? Sure. But the hard work that she had seen him put into his work, the passion, the drive, it was something that a little girl noticed. When her mother had died of cancer, he had taken on multiple other jobs to put her first. It was natural Deco repaid him for that later in life.

"I saw that," A deep, but feminine voice echoed from across the hall. Deco smirked a bit to herself, fishing the necklace out of her pocket and swinging it lightly as though it were a pocket watch.

"What, this?" She asked, holding it by the palm of her hand. "It's not important to me, anyway. Is it yours?"

Her mentor smiled thinly. "Of course it is. One last test before you enter the Games, Decorum." When she had first met Jada, let's just say Deco had a feeling they weren't going to get along. In One, they met their tributes a ways after they had actually begun training - around thirteen. With a few wrinkles, Jada appeared nearly timeless. Her chestnut brown hair had a single blonde streak that fell down to her shoulder.

She could still remember their first meeting. Deco, she had tried to insist to the older mentor. What had she responded with? Nicknames are for silly and unserious people. I am neither….Decorum. That night she set her sights on one of the more audacious thefts - she had seen a pearl necklace on the older woman's neck. The Victor's Village lay to the side of One, and she had snuck into the woman's house. The pearl necklace had just been…laying there on the table. All the lights had been off. It seemed like a piece of cake. She'd take the necklace, return back the next day, and prove with a smirk that she wasn't unserious in the slightest.

Instead, the woman emerged in the doorway in her indecision with a cup of coffee in her hands. There was no berating, no judgment, just a simple request to sit with her in the dining room. The two learned quite a bit about the other that night, ending with Jada returning her to her father before it got too late with the excuse she had been training late.

Since then, they have fit like a glove. Deco had always preferred the shadows, letting her training partners shine and prance, their preening necks craned as trainers showered compliments. By the time they were done, she had already moved on to the next task. Their first conversation after that was about to be repeated.

"Do you remember what I said to you on your second day of training?" Jada asked as she advanced, stopping near where several chairs had been set up for everyone to sit.

She shifted, lips pressed into a tight line. Gloved hands fiddled with the pockets on her pants, sighing heavily. "Yes I do."

The woman's elbows rested on the back of one of the chairs, wood creaking beneath the force of it. "The Hunger Games are named the way it is for a reason. There are plenty of tributes who die not because of other tributes, but hunger, thirst, infection. But more importantly…it is a game, Decorum. You know this better than your district partner." Jada had never gotten along well with Victor, at least in their limited interactions. Jada was one who expected to be listened to, a force to be reckoned with. Victor, well…he just didn't take well to instruction like others did. "This is a show, the Capitol is selling you as a product to its people. Very rarely do tributes win who aren't at least…liked in the Capitol."

Deco had become so adept at leading her life as two different shows almost - the one in the shadows of One where she thieved and sold paintings to benefit her father. The other was the diligent tribute in the academy. Knowing how to put on a show for the Capitol had vexed her more - she didn't know what they wanted. Her life as a thief was something she wanted, and could guide. The life of a tribute was easy to perform, the trainers easy to trick. Jada was clearly the most intelligent of the bunch.

"I've led four tributes to victory since I became a mentor," Jada said with a touch of pride in her voice. "Two were odds favorites in the Capitol. A third was a Capitol darling, well, you know Sapphire. The fourth…she wasn't as well liked, but she was an outlier. Skill alone can take you a long way, and it took her to the end. That is rare. You can be the fifth - you have the skill, you just need to sell yourself to them. I can help you, I can pull strings behind the curtain, but I need to have something to sell."

"You will," Deco shook Jada's outstretched arm as they heard the doors open. The Reaping was tomorrow, which was in itself, a formality. No one would be Volunteering this year, and many tributes already knew their destiny. Tonight would be the last meeting in One between the quad - Jada, herself, Victor, and the boy's mentor, Pride.

To be completely honest, working with Victor was a tall order. He learned on his own time, Deco had found that out herself when she had first started. Generally, she liked to run schedules, at least loose ones to make sure she kept up on things. Jada always encouraged her to leave an hour or two a day to do something she enjoyed - some sort of bladework most times. Victor was completely different.

He was the farthest thing from lazy you could find - quite the contrary, he worked incredibly hard. Victor liked to choose what he worked on and when. He was always in the academy as long as she was, even some days a little longer than Deco spent there. She had begun to think he didn't really have a life outside of it. They were always allotted a day a month to miss training for whatever reason they desired - Deco had usually taken them for some reason or another, but whenever she stayed she always noticed Victor was there as well.

It was why he worked so well with Pride. Deco herself liked the man, a bit younger than Jada with honey blonde hair and a wide smile, but too much of him and he could get on her nerves a bit. He was just like his name - he loved to talk about himself. Victor wasn't as hubristic as Pride, but he believed in himself quite a bit so it didn't bother Victor to just ignore him and let Pride talk. It was what he was best at nowadays.

"Good evening," Jada said coolly as the two made their way towards them. Each took seats in the chairs, Pride extending a pleasantry while Victor remained silent. Not the most sociable, either.

Deco knew better than to sit. Jada was all about speed, and if you remained on your feet, there was less incentive to keep something running too long. That was one of the reasons she had come - she knew it wouldn't last too long and she would get to spend the last night with her father.

"Tomorrow is the Reaping," Pride took over, putting his hands on his knees. Deco caught an ever-so-slight roll of Jada's eyes as the man continued speaking. "Normally this is when we would tell you both that this is your last chance to back out, et cetera, et cetera, but this year, there is no chance. Not that I would expect either of you to want to, considering who's mentored you." He grinned at them. Deco could barely muster a half-smile and the faces of the other two didn't move. It didn't seem to bother him.

"Nothing to worry about." Victor said, dressed finely with his black hair neatly arranged. "It won't be a problem. I wish we would just start tomorrow, it would be far better."

Jada crossed her arms over her chest as she watched the both of them. "Cameras will be all over you two tomorrow. Nearly everyone in One knows who you two are and that you will be representing us. I want you both at the Justice Building early, at eight. You'll need to be at your finest, most personable, most confident. Hear me?"

The two tributes nodded, but Victor looked past her towards the wall. Not just any wall - the Wall. Finely finished portraits of all the Victors from District One. Twenty portraits hung on the wall of 20 Victors from the 1st Games all the way to the 124th. The last one had come in the 121st Games, not long ago for the context of all the districts, but beginning to be a stretch for District One. Two had gone even longer, since the 119th (though they'd had a span of four Victors from the 116th until then). It was the most dominant stretch that many could remember.

Certainly he was imagining his own portrait hung up there - the 21st Victor. Deco couldn't imagine it for herself. She could certainly see herself winning, she knew she could. But the thought of her face up there amongst the rest…that was different. With one of their victories, they would catch District 2 since the 75th Games. Ten each. That likely wasn't gone from Victor's mind either.

"I will personally be doing all I can to ensure your victory," Pride put his hand over his heart as he looked at the two clearly. "We've done this once or twice. With any luck, we will be getting one of you out of there. For District One."

He said it so solemnly that Deco had a hard time not chuckling - gagging would've been more like it, but she knew, well, pride ran deep in the district. This wasn't for them, for her, though. It was for her, and her father. That spot on the wall meant nothing to her other than it was a lifetime ticket to continuing to do what she loved. By the end of it all, she would accept it if her face lined up there with the rest, if for the sole reason that her fate would be handed back to her for the first time since she had been born.

District 6 Introduction

POV: Fritz Castilla, District 6 Male

Other Featured Tribute: Orient Schwabbs, District 6 Female

There wasn't much that could make Fritz truly happy anymore. In some ways, he felt like most of the tributes heading into these Games were remarkably similar in that aspect. He ran as fast as he could over dead, brown grass that gave way to a fence and rocky roads. He tried everything he could to provoke something. There had been the times of just tame fun, and other times where it bordered on…well, worse things.

This wasn't the worst thing he had tried, though, he knew it probably wasn't the smartest idea. What did it matter. In less than a month he was going to be shipped off like a cow for slaughter to the Capitol. Everything that was supposed to be good about his life was gone the day he turned twelve, the day he had been told about the 125th Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell.

His shoes hit the ground hard as he leapt over the fence. In the distance, a train was heard with a low thrum, as it whizzed closer and closer. Behind his eyes he saw his parents, a mother and father who, despite everything, cared about him. They waited so long. For a moment, his steps faltered. It was too late for that. There was no turning back anymore. His life was set on the path it was and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fritz stopped on the outskirts of the area where the tracks lay. It was a long train, likely carrying something into Six. His pace quickened as he thundered towards it, face set into a determined look as he made his way there. Rocks kicked up behind him as his well-worn shoes threw them behind him. Ahead there was a column of a few train cars that were open, carrying just simple crates or boxes. The train had slowed, and a bit of exasperation crossed his face. Not what I had hoped.

He leapt onto the train, and for a moment his foot slipped as it caught the edge of the metal. His fingers curled around a bar to hold onto, swinging him in. The gentle clatter of the tracks beneath him was enough to lull anyone from Six to a better place, but not him. Even the slipping would've caused a reaction in anyone else, but Fritz didn't bat an eye. It wasn't out of some misplaced confidence, but out of a genuine lack of care. It was either here or in the Games, what difference did it make. If he died, they'd haul up some other nobody from Six to take his place. At least they wouldn't have had to deal with that mental strain for the past six years.

Ahead, he could see someone else in the distance. They weren't wearing white, so the thought of peacekeepers left his mind. It was a girl, he thought. She broke off into a run towards the train in much a similar way that Fritz had. He hardly had time to think about anything before she was in line with his own car, her feet carrying her as fast as he had seen anyone run. The girl vaulted into the same car as he was sitting in, brushing her long brown hair out of the way.

It was only after she made it on that a dull thought registered in his brain - she could've died.

"A stowaway?" A thin, clearly impoverished girl she was. Her voice was deeper than he had imagined, and harder too. Not in a judgmental way, but in one where he could easily imagine himself an inconvenience.

"No," Fritz said as he went to sit along the edge of the car, legs dangling. "I'm from Six, same as you."

"Oh," She pushed back some of her hair as she took a seat beside him. He was a little surprised that she had even done that. He wasn't used to anyone really taking an interest in him, even just sitting beside him. Fritz had isolated himself at school and refused to speak to his parents at home since…since he'd been told. "I'm Orient. Orient Schwabbs." Her handshake was stern and rough, filled with callouses that he knew could mark her as someone from any part of Six. Life was tough for everyone, not just those going into the Hunger Games here.

"Fritz." He replied. The name Orient stirred something in him, some recollection, but he came up empty. Probably something from childhood, a name on a paper of kids in some class or another.

"So, Fritz." She said as she patted the train. It appeared as though there was nearly some familiarity between Orient and the train itself, which was progressively slowing down as it approached its destination on the western edge of Six. "Why did you jump into this train, then?"

The boy was quiet for a moment. To feel something, he thought to himself, but he wouldn't dare say such a thing aloud. No, not to her or to anyone else. "It seemed like fun," He said lamely, not able to come up with anything better and truly not caring to.

"Fun?" Orient snorted as hopped off when the train came to a complete stop. "I don't think anyone jumps on a train at the speed it was going when you did and calls it fun. You said your name was Fritz? Care to enlighten me on why you were actually jumping on this train?"

He deigned to scowl as he put his feet on the ground, a spark of defiance lighting up in his chest. "It is fun." The boy insisted, standing up straight. "I've got to do something that makes me feel something before…well…before…" He trailed off.

Orient sighed and rubbed her face, a flash of pain crossing her features as she turned away. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself. "Before you go to the Hunger Games," She said quietly. "For the Quarter Quell."

Astounded, Fritz said nothing. His lips opened and then they closed again. How did she know? He was under the impression he wasn't supposed to tell many people. His parents had told him on his twelfth birthday, at a quiet ceremony as they lit candles to celebrate his birth (supposedly). How could you celebrate someone's birth if you knew when they were to die?

"I know because I've been there," Orient wiped at her raggedy jeans, slapping her knees. "I'm going there with you."

For the first time in almost six years, a feeling rose in him that he couldn't quite place. It wasn't warmth, or even anything particularly kind or along that vein. Belonging was even stretching it to a degree. It was more…understanding.

"How'd it happen for you?" Fritz found himself asking before he could stop himself. "Sorry." He mumbled afterwards, figuring that she wanted to leave and not see him again until they were thrown into the arena to kill each other.

"I hope yours was better," Orient said without much emotion in her voice, hardening as she continued to speak. "I was thirteen. My mother had died of food poisoning and I was at her funeral. I…she died of food poisoning. My father knew it was my fault. I had been obsessed with getting her some certain kind of meat for some time and it gave her the poisoning. He yelled at me in front of everyone all kinds of spittle, all deserved, but it was too much. He told me then I was off to die in the Games at 18 and my sister was the replacement child." A small, humorless smile passed her face as she snorted a little bit. "Well, he ruined his relationship with both of us, so I hope that was worth it for him. What about you?"

None of your business, he wanted to say. It's what he would have said if someone else had just asked him on the street. He could just see some pudgy kid's face in the Capitol asking about the heart wrenching moments he was told he was going to die. The Capitol would love that, they'd eat it up. But this was different.

"I was twelve, so a year before you I guess. It was my birthday, it was pretty lowkey I guess compared to yours, but they just sat me down and told me what it was. I…" He trailed off, unwilling or unable to continue more. I feel bad about what's happened since. They've tried their best and I wouldn't let them. I needed to let them know how much it hurt. And in doing so, I lost the only people who would listen.

"Your birthday?" Orient snorted, the two beginning to walk back towards the district with one another. "That's pretty crappy."

His heart lifted again. Validation. Years and years of worrying, of feeling like he had made a mistake, that he should have been more forgiving, finally someone else got it. It was his birthday. "So was yours," Fritz made sure to add.

"Well, Fritz," Orient stuck out her hand to shake. As they did, she gave a quiet nod. "I'll see you in a month, then?"

Fritz nodded in agreement, watching as the girl disappeared into the bustling streets of Six at a quick pace. As he turned back, he took a longer breath. There was nowhere else to go but home. It would be dark soon. His feet brought him there, willing or unwilling as he may be. It wasn't a long walk to his home from where they had begun, just a few blocks to the east and one to the south.

From outside, he could see a lamp on in the window, illuminating a bit of the house. They weren't the most well off, but they had a better location than most. Six was a big district, incredibly populated - living so close to the edge was a gift in and of itself. Most times he climbed up the edges of the bricks towards where his room window was always waiting open - his mom liked the extra bit of air coming inside, he supposed.

Fritz stopped at the edge of the house, his eyes closing for a long moment. It's just like the other dares and frights. He thought to himself. Just another trick. His fingers curled around the doorknob and pulled the door open quickly, the wood clattering a bit from the force of it.

"Oh, honey you're home," His mother didn't look up from where she was cutting some meat on the counter. "Did you grab the paper?" She assumed it was his father, who always got it on his way home.

Fritz didn't respond, and he began to creep his way towards the stairs. He began to ascend them before she realized. His heart hammered in his chest as he neared his room, his hand holding onto the doorknob and going cold when he heard it.

Her knife had been dropped on the countertop. A few footsteps. "Fritz?" Her voice was barely a whisper, hand over her mouth and brown hair wispy and turning grey in some areas. Not that he had seen, he had hardly changed course. "H-h-how was your day?"

"Fine." Fritz said, twisting the door open and hurrying inside. It had been the first word she'd heard in months, maybe a year. He took heavy breaths on the other side of the door, leaning against it. So little time left. He thought to himself as his hands clenched. Not enough.

A message would arrive at District 13's headquarters, encoded by a private channel from rebels inside the Capitol. The code was old, and the sender was unknown.

Good day, Mr. President.

I trust you will receive this message by the time dawn breaks. You didn't really think that your asset would arrive inside the Capitol without being seen, did you? Luckily for you, I managed to wipe his existence off the map of any and all Peacekeeping services.

A thank you can come in the form of an understanding through this message. Nothing goes through the Capitol without my view of it. You may have an extensive web of informants in the districts, I do not know, but in the Capitol you are spread preciously thin. I am not.

Consider this a warning. Not notifying me of your intentions ahead of time was your first mistake. You will not be allowed any more. Next time, your asset will be terminated. You have been in that hole for quite a while - you do not know how things run here. I recommend stepping away, Mr. President. You are out of your depth.

~ FL

A/N: I hope you enjoyed District 1 and District 6's introductions! Like you saw, neither was a Reaping. There will be some, but I'm trying to primarily find ways to feature both tributes without each needing a POV. Just because one doesn't have a POV here does not mean that they are a non-POV character. It just makes it easier to tell a story from one POV for things like Reapings and intros :) Helps speed it along just a bit more.

Thank you to geologyisms for Deco and goldie031 for Victor! Both were also invaluable with helping me get off my feet a little bit :)

Also a big thank you to BeeBoo15 for Orient and david12341 for Fritz. All of the tributes in this chapter were so alluring in their own ways that it was really tough to choose who to POV for each of them. I mainly chose based on what I could work into the intro!

I hope you all enjoy and have a great end to the weekend.

Son of Arryn