Raja Ali, 18
District One Female
The moment Goud made his first move it became apparently clear to Raja that he wasn't going to be an ally she could trust in the long-term. Their chess match was over as soon as it started. The District One boy showed no interest in protecting any other pieces but his king, sacrificing all his pawns early on. He then proceeded to throw his bishops, knights, and rooks in the middle of the battlefield as if they were tiles to a wall that would protect his king. Although Raja knew that he wasn't getting anywhere with his approach, Goud only noticed his inevitable loss once he was left with one remaining piece. The same piece he put so much effort into protecting that he neglected all his other pieces.
Chess was a great way to figure out someone's strategy, someone's approach in battle. It strips you down to your naked self and although you might not realize it, the way you play chess is the way you will undoubtedly handle yourself in the Hunger Games. So what has Raja learned from her match against her fellow District partner? Well, she's learned that he'll always put himself before others, sacrificing all his teammates just to make sure that he makes it out alive.
Goud is certainly not Raja's ideal partner for the Games and in no way whatsoever will she put any trust in him and as much as she'd love to just confront him about it, Raja knows when to shut her mouth. She'll let him be, for now, pretend to trust him, pretend to be allied with him, but he won't be her ride or die. Never.
'Ugh, I lost…' Goud says, actually sounding surprised. Cerulean, their mentor puts the newspaper down, taking one last sip from his coffee mug.
'Let's get started, shall we? I suggest we begin by watching the reapings of your competition.' he gestures for them to tag along behind him into the main living area of the train.
Raja makes her way to the living room but realizes that her ally isn't following. 'What's the matter, Goud?' He looks damaged, lost, sad.
'I don't know. It's not even supposed to bother me that much that I lost, but I don't know, for some reason it does.' His eyes still gaze at the empty battlefield of the chessboard. Raja is surprised. Why his insignificant loss seems to tug at his nerves, puzzles Raja but she won't make too much of it just yet.
'I've been playing chess for a long time now, buddy.' She smirks. 'Not to sound arrogant or anything, but you're by far not in the minority when it comes to losing against me, trust me.' Raja gives him a gentle pat on the back.
He smiles at her. 'Alright, let's do this.'
Raja and Goud make themselves comfortable on the couch while Cerulean keeps his distance, sitting at the small table in the corner of the room, tablet in his hands. He presses a few buttons and swipes a couple of times, then the tv illuminates and they're introduced to their fellow careers from Two.
'Please, give a warm welcome to this year's selectee from Two, Nastya Romanov!'
The crowd stays silent, almost as if everyone is too scared to clap or, for some reason, feels the need not to applaud her. Interesting, very interesting. 'Well, that's awkward,' Goud comments next to her and he's not wrong.
After she's done walking up to the stage, the click-clack of her heels, echoing hauntingly in everyone's ears, the male selectee is announced.
'A large applause for our male selectee, Dimitris Apostolos!'
The crowd goes wild, arms raised, kids cheering from left and right, whistles coming from the adult's section in the back. Raja almost feels sorry for the girl standing awkwardly in the front after she'd been greeted so coldly, just to have her District Partner receive the complete opposite of a welcome.
'Thank you, everyone, thank you. I hear all of your cheers and whistles and, let me tell you, it is an honor to represent my District, because I know that many of you don't know me as Dimitris but as the Greek God!' The vowel of his last word keeps dragging on and on, as if he was a rockstar trying to hype up his crowd and it seems like it's working. The girl, Nastya, rolls her eyes. Something tells Raja that the two of them will get along. The boy, Dimitris, however, is going to be a handful and Raja's going to have to figure out a way to keep his big mouth under control.
They move on to District Three. A girl is called. Her name is Voxel Phong. For a while, no one moves in the crowd, until a petite little thing, limps out slowly, both her hands clinging to a walker, so she doesn't fall over. Raja's heart melts. It reminds her too much of home that she almost has to look away. The girl doesn't deserve this, at all.
Then the boy is called. Both Raja and Goud aren't sure if they heard his name correctly. He has a certain ego to him, walking up that stage all confidently. 'Hiya, I'm Alpha, Alpha Mail. And I'll be the one to bring home another victory for our District! Cheer for me, please!'
Goud spits out his water next to Raja, rolling on the floor with laughter. Raja tries to contain herself but lets a few giggles escape. The crowd claps awkwardly until the two of them are hurried away from the stage.
The pair from Four doesn't seem that special for now. Both Zoë and her District partner, Barracuda, seem like average careers. Something about the male though sticks out, but she can't really tell what it is. He speaks like a natural-born leader. Raja will have to challenge him to a chess dual to figure him out more.
The pair from Five both seem to have no problem being reaped. The girl just seems really angry, while the boy smiles coyly and struts up the stage. She'll definitely have to keep an eye on them in the future.
The pair from Six isn't really noteworthy. Both look like they're going to die in the bloodbath.
The girl from Seven looks almost deranged on that stage, with her wide smile, talking about how she won't disappoint her District. The kid, Morse, on the other hand can barely manage to speak.
District Eight, on the other hand, really pops out. There's a volunteer coming from the girl's section. Her name is Hilda Van Kirsten and from the way she's dressed, it looks like her family is quite wealthy. Definitely wealthier than Raja's, that's for sure. Her family shouts and cries in the back, clearly having not expected their daughter to volunteer. The boy, Mune, makes his way to the stage but starts to sign, instead of speaking. 'Is he deaf?' Goud asks.
'No, you dummy. He heard his name. He's probably just mute,' Raja says.
'Keep an eye out for those two,' Cerulean intervenes for the first time. Raja trusts her mentor's gut instinct. He's played the Game before and Raja remembers how he didn't take notice of the girl from Nine, Jane. Cerulean has probably learned not to underestimate any of his opponents.
'Got it.' Raja nods at him.
District Nine both pass as rather average. The girl tries to smile sweetly but Raja sees the anger boiling inside of her while the boy has the typical reaction anybody his age would have after being reaped. He cries. The crowd, on the other hand, shows no empathy for him whatsoever. Peculiar, but not remarkable.
The girl from Ten is forgettable while the boy looks like he's the only one who could actually keep up with the careers so far. He's tall and muscular and his words exude confidence.
The pair from Eleven both have nothing really remarkable about them. The boy, Urid, however, did break down on stage crying.
And Twelve also has nothing special to offer, as per usual, other than that both the reaped tributes are rather old.
Cerulean switches the television off. 'Anything you'd like to comment on? Anything you've noticed?'
'The only Districts that really stood out to me other than the career Districts were Three, Five, and Eight. Then as individuals, the girl from Seven, Phoenix, and the boy from Ten, Aditya, left a bit of a mark. Six, Nine, Eleven, and Twelve have yet to prove to me that they are competition,' Raja remarks.
'But don't count them out. Don't make the same mistake that I did in my Games. I almost died because of it.'
Goud stares at the reflection of himself on the pitch-black television screen, inspecting his face, and brushing his hair back with his hands. 'I'm going to get some rest.' Raja gets up and makes her way out of the common room.
This year's Games are going to be unpredictable, that's for sure.
Mune Silk, 16
District Eight Male
It's an odd feeling. Just moments ago Mune was telling his parents goodbye, them crying in his arms, begging him to come home again. And although he should have been the one in tears, the one shattered in tiny little fragments on the floor, no tears flow down his pale cheeks. He can't describe what he's feeling, but it isn't somberness. It's more a mixture between confusion and… more confusion.
'Hi!' a high-pitched voice interrupts his thought process, causing Mune to jump up, hitting his back against the wall, facing the intruder.
His District Partner waves with excitement. 'I'm Hilda, in case you forgot!' she reaches out and grabs his right palm with both of her hands and shakes them. Mune, still in shock, stares at her emptily, blinking twice before zapping out of his temporary paralysis.
All Mune can do to respond is shrug. He isn't capable of communicating with words and Hilda most likely doesn't know sign language and so the barrier of communication sets itself between the two, making it impossible for the conversation to carry on. 'Oh my gosh, I'm so stupid, sorry!'
Mune asks himself if her voice is always this loud as she grabs a notebook from a nearby desk and tosses a pencil to him. 'Here, write it down!'
Mune scribbles on the paper. It's pointless, what should he say that she doesn't already know? He flips the notebook so that she can read the writing. 'Hey there, I'm Mune. Sorry for the confusion. I'm mute as you can probably tell.'
'Can you teach me sign-language sometime? That way I can understand you easier.'
'I'm happy that you're interested in learning but it isn't something you can teach in just a few days.'
Hilda's smile fades a bit. 'Yeah, I guess you're right...'
It's been hard for Mune to belong. Fitting in wasn't something he was just privileged to like most people. Growing up it always felt like there was a barrier between him and the rest of the world and while he could hear everyone speak their words, he couldn't speak his.
It all started with bullying when he was still young. He was easy prey for other kids, given in inability to fight back with words or shout for them to stop. There were countless nights, Mune would return home, eyes red, cheeks still stained from his tears and yet there was no one to keep his emotions at bay. His parents fought all the time, but neither wanted to give in and file for divorce because both wanted to profit from their economic income. And so Mune was stuck with two parents who had no love for each other or their son but were only interested in their own wellbeing.
When Mune got older, the bullying stopped. The kids realized that it wasn't acceptable for them to be picking on someone who was at a disadvantage. They pitied him. They spared him because of pure, simple pity. It was disgusting, however, that pity was his only shield back then. His friends would greet him on the hallways but would never stay to actually talk with him. Nobody wanted to talk to him. Why would they? Why make life harder for yourself by trying to break the communication barrier if you could just interact with people who possessed the ability to actually talk back? Why make life harder for yourself if you can just get rid of all your guilt by acknowledging that one mute kid at your school and move on with your life, feeling like you've done a good deed by giving a desperate and isolated person their daily dose of attention?
Mune knew how it worked. They did it all because they didn't want to feel bad about themselves.
They come but never stay. This is how it is. This is how it will always be.
Mune gazes into Hilda's eyes who seems to be lost in her own thoughts, her soul having crawled into the back of her mind, leaving a hollow statue-like exterior. He lost her. She doesn't know what to say. She tried to talk to him, just to realize how hard it is. At this point, she's probably contemplating what to say next, how to break it to him that she doesn't want to-
'I mean, so what if I don't know sign language, right?' she brushes her soft and silky red hair back. 'So what if… I dunno, you can't really talk or whatever. It doesn't mean we can't have fun. You just keep writing whatever you want to say on that notebook and, voilà, problem solved!' she giggles, her eyes reflecting manic excitement.
Why is she different? Why doesn't she just want to leave him behind slowly like everyone else in his life? Why hasn't she already given up on him? Hilda isn't normal. She volunteered for the Games. Something that Mune still wants to approach her about, but not now. Now is not the right time to ask her about something that might be very delicate and break the bond he's just built with her. He has to nurture his relationship with Hilda gently and carefully. If he makes one wrong move, he might lose her and she's the only person, for years, who's showing genuine interest in spending time with Mune.
'I have an idea! Let's grab ourselves some ice cream and watch tv.' Hilda waits, anticipating a reaction from Mune. He gives her an OK sign before the girl latched on to him and drags Mune behind her like a ragdoll. Midway, she halts and faces him. 'Oh my gosh, I forgot. We should like totally ally, right?'
A small part of Mune's pitch black soul lights up. He found himself an ally. No, a friend.
Pamela 'Pam' Chrysanth, 16
District Nine Female
'Pam, can you pass me the flour?' Johar whisks the liquid ingredients in a glass bowl. Pam watches the egg yolks and dairy milk, blend together through the gentle yet elegant movements of Johar's crafty hands.
'Yeah, of course...' she opens one of the drawers, pinned to the kitchen wall above her. 'Here you go.'
'Thank you so much.'
The chefs were shocked when Pam and Johar first stepped into the kitchen, asking if they could prepare something for themselves. By the looks on their faces, it must have been the first time that tributes have made such a request. Pam was about to crack up, the way they stood there, meeting each other's eyes cluelessly, not knowing how to answer. It amused Pam to her core.
Pamela adds some water to a pre-heated saucepan. When the water starts to simmer, she adds the sugar and stirs it until it dissolves completely. She turns the heat off, and removes the pan, letting the syrup cool.
'This is going to be so delicious!' Johar exclaims, adding cacao-powder to the mix. The boy actually has some muscle on his arm, Pam sees small details like these. It helps her get around in life, using people's strengths and weaknesses to her advantage.
'I can tell you've done this before.' she looks over to him.
'Yeah,' he chuckles. 'My mom and dad own...owned a bakery in Nine. They trained me, taught me all their skills. I was supposed to take over one day, so it made sense, y'know?' he sighs, dropping the batter into a cake form, carefully.
The boy is hiding something for sure but no need to nag on him, he's been through enough for today. She'll let him be.
'And how do you know how to make milk tea? I've never met someone who actually makes it and I've met a lot of different chefs.' Johar slides the batter into the oven and sets the baking time.
'Oh, well, I work at a milk tea shop. It's super small and not in the main town so you probably haven't heard of it.' While that is true, she does really work at a milk tea shop, it's not the whole truth she's sharing with him. She'll keep her darker side to herself. You don't really want to be the one to tell a little kid that you sell drugs at an underground bar.
'That must be a lot of fun…'
Fun. That's one word to describe it. At first, it was hard for Pam to stretch her cheek muscles all day, maintaining that damn smile for her impatient, rude customers. No matter how disgustingly or disrespectfully someone treated her, she was still taught to act all nice and friendly and welcoming, as to not scare away the customers. It was painful at first, especially during the times when she'd want to punch a hole into someone's face or toss a chair at them. That forced kindness, however, gave her a new talent. The talent for manipulation. The ability to convince a customer to buy whatever drink you want them to buy, just by flashing them with a cheeky little smile or giggling at their cringy jokes. The knowledge she gained during the day, she also used at night. The same techniques could be applied to get a drunk customer to buy the most expensive - and riskiest - drugs. It was harder with sober ones. Though most of the time she'd still get them to do whatever she wanted them to do. It was her gift. Her dark little gift.
'It's definitely a lot of fun, Johar. Especially when you get to meet all these people, from all walks of life, you know what I mean?'
'I totally get you! That's why I love baking for people.'
Her skills always help her make connections with others. It's easy for Pam to get people to trust her.
Johar is a nice kid. Young, yet mature. Kind, but not stupid. It must be horrible for him to be ripped away from home at such a young age and as much as she'd want to comfort him right now, promise her loyalty to him and promise to protect him at all costs because that's what she'd want someone to do for her if she were in his position, she can't. And she won't. She's not a good person and she knows it. There's no point in allying with a little boy who won't help her get far in the Game. That's just, sadly, the case. Will she hesitate to kill him if it comes down to it? No. She'll slice his throat open if she has to.
It's just how it works.
Pam removes the tray, stacked with the cooled tea, from the fridge. She sets four mugs in front of her, adding two ice cubes to each. Finally, she ads the dissolved sugar and some milk to each mug, after pouring the tea in, and stirs to mix the ingredients into sweet and comforting deliciousness.
A dark and evil laugh fills the room, creeping up behind Pam. Pamela's instincts take over. She turns around, ready to pounce at the attacker. Instead, she finds her escort, Victor, pushed up against a wall in fear, holding a voice-recording-device-kind-of-thing.
'PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! I-I-I have money…' his blue hands shake. Pamela never understood the Capitol, ever. Why would a grown man like him, paint his whole body blue, including his teeth, and dress up like someone who just came freshly out of a steam-punk novel.
Just now does she realize the knife latched onto her right hand, pointed at Victor. 'Oh, sorry. I'm not gonna kill you, man… I'd be executed for that. You should know that kind of stuff, coming from the Capitol and all.'
'Right…' he hurries back to his feet and brushes his shoulder-length, dark-blue hair away from his face. 'So..what are you guys doing?' he asks curiously.
'Cooking, we're almost done,' Johar says with a smile.
'Ouuh, that sounds like fun!' Victor claps his hands together and jumps up and down like an excited little child with a giddy grin on his face. 'Can I try some when you're done?'
'No.' Pam shuts his request down.
'Whyyy?'
'I'm joking, of course you can.' As much as she meant that initial 'no', she'd get nowhere with her naturally hot and aggressive attitude. If she is to profit from her escort's advice, she better treat him with respect. The same goes for her mentor, Applebee, and her future allies. Fake it til you make it… or go down in flames.
Dirk Latimer, 18
District Twelve Male
Of course people keep complaining. It's all anyone does these days. Complain about, injustice, complain about societal norms, complain about why things are the way that they are. And Dirk has had just about enough of hearing Diana's rude and aggressive tone.
The book he's reading is a very interesting biography about a rebel, by the name of Corianne Gerode, who, all her life, has been so caught up in doing what she thought was right that she forgot what side she was on in the first place. A very interesting literary piece that poses a lot of open questions, left to be interpreted by the reader. And yet, sadly, Dirk cannot turn his whole attention towards this beautiful book due to his District partner's unresting, relentless complaining.
'And I can't believe that although I've made it very fucking clear that I am in no way playing the goverments little games that they'd still, after everything I've been through, put me in a position where-'
'Just shut up.' Dirk closes his book abruptly, interrupting Diana's long and uninteresting speech about… something.
'What did you just say?' Her cheeks start to heat up, reddening to an extent where Dirk thinks her head might go off and burst into a glorious explosion that would finally silence this girl's exasperating voice.
'Listen,' he put his hands together and sets them on the table in front of her like a father about to tell his daughter a goodnight story. 'I am trying to read my book.' he lifts his thumb. 'You are very loud.' he lifts his index finger. 'I need silence to read my book.' he lifts his middle finger. 'You talking and me reading in peace just don't go together.' he lifts his ring finger. 'So, please, understand when I tell you that you need to either be quiet or move somewhere else.' finally, he lifts his last finger, covering all his points.
Diana stares at him blankly. The red tone in her cheeks disappears. Needless to say, Dirk is surprised. He'd already prepared a speech to counter her counter-attack but it seems like his partner is mature enough to realize when it is enough. 'Whatever dude…' she says, shaking her hands in the air.
Just now does Dirk notice the food stains on her fingers. A shiver crawls down his spine. It's clear that Diana doesn't care about her hygiene which is something that infuriates Dirk. How can you not care about keeping your body clean and appealing to others? Not that Dirk has a need to appeal to others but it is respectful, not only for other people but also for yourself, to be decent enough to cleanse yourself of all the bacteria and viruses that cover every corner as far as the eye can see. If Dirk had to count the number of times he washes his hands per day, he wouldn't be able to. Cleaning himself has become such a norm to him that he doesn't even realize the physical action of doing it anymore.
'Lemme see your book.' with one swift, unexpected movement, the book is snatched out of Dirk's grip. His heart shatters into tiny little fragments, as he watches the beautifully artistic cover, getting smudged with food remainders and the pages being folded carelessly.
'Don't touch my book with your filthy, fucking hands!' Dirk rises, slamming his fists against the table.
'Oh, would you look at that? Not as calm and collected as you pretend to be, huh?' she teases him, rubbing her fingers, purposefully, on all pages. Dirk is about to lose it. He tries to reach for her to reclaim his prized possession but she evades the attack, moving away from the table. Without thinking, he pounces, ripping the book free from her hands. Diana laughs, clearly not caring at all about anything. 'But tell me, why are you so calm? You should be sad, no? Heck, I'm fucking sad, and I try not to show it, but look at you, solid as a rock.' she prances around the train compartment. 'You're going to die, Dirk Latimer.' she stops, her eyes stabbing little holes into his. 'And there's nothing you can do about it. So, again, tell me, why are you so calm?'
'Death doesn't scare me.' Diana rolls her eyes, clearly bored by his reasoning. 'What none of you folks understand is that we Districts lost this battle the moment it began.'
'What are you talking about?'
'I'm talking about the Rebellion. I might not have been there but I've read all the history books. It was clear that we stood no chance against the Capitol. It was abundantly clear. Did we care? No. Obviously we didn't. We gave away the freedom we had left because we were ignorant, foolish, greedy. The punishment? This. All of this is our punishment. I've come to accept that a long time ago. I knew there was a chance I'd be reaped and, obviously, I would've preferred not to be caught in the cross-fire of the Capitol's power, but now I am.'
'Dirk, I've not known you for long but you better tread carefully, my friend, because I am about to release a goddamn lightning storm on you. How dare you say we deserve this... How dare you,' she hisses at him, composure still calm but on the verge of breaking. 'Are you trying to tell me that the Capitol couldn't have been more merciful? Are you trying to tell me that my parents deserved to be executed in front of the entire fucking District for stealing a purse to feed my brother and I?!' she stomps across the room now, face reddening again. 'Are you trying to tell me that my little brother deserves to be alone because his sister is ripped away from him to play the Capitol's little game for their entertainment, huh?! Tell me, Dirk! Tell me!' she smashes one of the more expensive looking vases against a wall. 'Why does the Capitol have this?!' she points at the shards on the floor. 'Why does the Capitol have this, or this, or this, or this?' her fingers point at different expensive looking objects that blemish the compartment.'
'Alright, let's calm down a little here, got it?' Dirk gets up, making his way out of the room, but Diana blocks his way and presses bother her hands against his chest, pushing him back.
'You're not going anywhere!'
'What do you want from me?' Dirk's starting to lose his patients with her. Why does he have to defend his political opinion for her? Who is she to put him on the spot like that?
'I want you to explain to me how the hell any of us deserve this treatment!'
'I don't need to explain anything to you, quite frankly.'
'You bastard! You stupid idiot! You have no idea! No idea!' her eyes well up and her formerly pure rage turns into sadness, masked by wrath. She pushes him back again, and again, until he reaches the wall. She hits his chest with her fists repeatedly. He's not going to be the one to stop her, he won't hit a mentally unstable girl.
Dodge and Bavezda rush into the room to see what all the commotion is about. 'Oh my goodness!' Bavezda covers her mouth with her hands once she lays her eyes on the mess. Dodge immediately wraps his arms around Diana, pulling her away from Dirk.
'I'm going to fucking murder you! You hear me?!' Her last words echo in Dirk's ears as Dodge drags Diana out of the room.
ALLIANCES:
Careers: Raja (D1F), Goud (D1M)
New Friends: Hilda (D8F), Mune (D8M)
Well hello there! Welcome to the main story. I hope you're ready because I am and it is going to be a lot of fun. This was the first Trainrides chapter and, yes, I know, most of you probably expected intros for each tribute first but that's not happening. I'm changing the formula a bit to make it easier for myself. Each featured tribute will receive around 4 POVs during the pre-games, before the looming Bloodbath which will give us enough time to see every tribute make connections and develop in their own way. I might reveal a tribute's backstory right away, I might reveal a tribute's backstory right before the actual Games, I might not reveal a tribute's backstory at all until I think it is right, but, I promise you, every tribute will have enough screen-time and development. I will try my best to honor your characters as wella s my characters and make them fully fleshed out. What I'm trying to say is, don't be worried that there are no intros or that your tribute isn't fully revealed right away. With 4 POVs, that gives us plenty of time.
Okay! I'd like to thank Platrium for sending in Pam and Victor, IVolunteerAsAuthor for Raja, Paradigm Of Writing for Dirk, Guesttwelve for Mune, AlexFalTon for Diana and Bavezda, and Zacksteel for Goud! All beautiful tributes that I can't wait to explore more! Next, we will have the second Trainrides where we'll meet eight more tributes. Again, there's a gorgeous blog to check out if you haven't done that yet.
Tell me what you think of these tributes, I'm curious to see your opinions!
