Prosper Mallister (18) D1M

Valor was an amazing model. He didn't know the best poses in the world, and he wasn't the perfect form, which made him great to draw. He showed the imperfection of man. More importantly, though, he could stay still for as long as you needed. I never noticed him twitching or shaking, and he never asked for breaks. He was everything an artist could hope for, hidden amongst the top students in the Academy. He did everything I needed as a friend, dang near perfect at any task he took on.

Unlike you, my mind whispered to me, fighting my knowledge that I was a fine artist. My mind never could agree with me about that. For whatever reason, my inner voices liked to scream that I was nothing special or great. You're hiding from the public eye, working on painting instead of training or writing. Won't your father be disappointed? You should be contributing to society. Art could never do that. It's so... worthless. Just lime you and all your other hobbies. My internal voices knew every string to pull to upset me, and they were letting me go.

"You okay, Prosp?" I heard Valor ask me. His voice woke me up, showing me that I had totally zoned out. That made sense. It was pretty hard for me to focus on my art when half of my thoughts said that it was worthless.

I shook my head, deep in frustration, and stood up. I picked up the portrait I had painted calmly, then smashed it over my knee. What was I doing? I was supposed to be training. The Academy was the only reason I wasn't practicing my journalism, and I couldn't even train right. Instead of practicing killing blows, I was perfecting my brush strokes. It was exactly the sort of thing Dad would disapprove of, or the sort of thing kids would tease me for. I was wasting precious time.

"Not this stuff again," Valor groaned, knowing exactly what I was thinking. He understood all my intrusive thoughts, all my self-doubts. He got me through my hardships, and he knew exactly what I was thinking. Of course he did! I was so predictable. Anybody would have known what was going through my head. It wasn't like I was bright enough to hide it.

"If you're so worried about your Dad's pride, why don't you volunteer?" Valor said, trying to point out how silly I was being. If I was going to train, it may as well be for a cause, he was implying, knowing that I trained partially just to get out of the house. It backfired wildly, because he actually had a point. There was no honor greater than winning the Hunger Games. If I won, Dad would have to leave me alone. He'd have no option but to be proud of me. And if I lost, well, he'd still have to leave me alone.

Alexandria St. John (18) D1F

Nobody liked to beg near the store I worked at. Practically owned, but technically worked at. They knew my father would never give them anything, he'd kill them before wasting any money, and they assumed all the employees would be the same. Most of us would be, hiding from his wrath and not wanting to lose jobs. Luckily for me, he couldn't easily fire me, and he assumed everything I did, I did for a reason. It was a correct assumption, but that didn't mean my reasons always aligned with his.

The darker streets and alleys of One had a couple of poor people, though they were few and far between. I found one old man who was begging on the streets and pretended to be no one important, hoping he wouldn't recognize my father in me. If he did, he might just run off, expecting to be chased away. It wasn't like Dad owned all of One, but he liked to act like he did just because he owned the most important diamond jewelry business in the District.

I dumped the bag I was carrying into the man's hands, smiling brightly at him. It was a normal human thing to do to help other humans, possibly saving his life and making me feel good, so everyone won. If I did it for strategy as well as other things, what did it matter? The man was going to have the time of his life selling the leftover diamonds I had given him, the ones deemed too ugly or small to be worth our time. They were worthless to a big business such as Saint Inc., but they would be worth the world to him.

Out of my peripheral vision, I watched him open the bag. The joy that lit his face made the whole excursion worth wasting my lunch break sneaking out of Father's gaze, even if the guy didn't end up giving us exposure like I hoped. He turned to me quietly and said, "Excuse me, young lady? Where did you get these?" That was a reasonable question. Anyone would assume they were stolen.

"Oh! Those things? I got them from Saint Inc.! The business really wants One to flourish, and that starts at the individual, so of course we'd help you!" I replied brightly, saying the speech I had already thought to myself. It was a bit of shameless advertising, hopeful exposure, and it still made me seem nice. Which was what the company needed, making it what I needed if I wanted to get the company.

Oof. That was a break. I'm sorry it took me so long to write this, but here we are! Things should be slightly less sporadic now. In case anyone's wondering, I'm gonna go in order of full District. If you haven't submitted you'll get skipped until I can come back to you.

Important question: Is it all right for me to kill a tribute pre-Games for the havoc it'll cause (and, you know, maybe subplot)? Keep in mind that if you say yes it could be your baby that dies if I ever decide to break the regular rules.