TW: Outcasting on the basis of appearance (Wren has a vitiligo-esque skin condition that is a source of bullying.)


Wren Ebersol, 16


Looking in the mirror had always been hard for Wren. They knew part of it came from the disconnect; the way what they felt deep down and what they had been given not matching completely in the way they had hoped. That had been remedied with some tactical concealment of areas of their body that needn't be so pronounced and an exploration with information at hand. What couldn't be remedied, however, was the uncharacteristically pale skin with splatters of brown birthmarks all over their body. Whilst her nanny, Juliet, spoke wistfully of saving enough money to go to the Capitol and have some form of cosmetic surgery, Wren knew that the deep, lingered scars of torment would continue to cut in unplumbed ways. She doubted the chemicals and surgery of the Capitol could fix things so deeply embedded.

The kindest simply ignored her, acting as if she didn't exist. The cruellest lambasted her as if she had any choice in deciding what her skin looked like. Often a time had Wren lost themselves in a monotony of thought, all pointing to disliking what they looked like. They had heard all the insults, perhaps the worst being equated to the district's beloved common bovine. As she always did, Wren had taken it. They told her that she deserved it and, slowly, she allowed herself to believe it. That had been years ago and, even with the growing willpower she found deep within herself at sixteen, Wren still found themselves believing. Not as much as once was but enough.

Even if there hadn't been troubles at school, even if everyone treated her like she was normal, problems and hardships swarmed to Wren like flies to honey - or Capitolites to promising tributes. Nobody wanted to hire a 'freak' - as one man had kindly put it - and that had left the Ebersol family with little to no money to live off of. Though it was such the way of life for many in District Ten, Wren couldn't help but feel cheated out of acting pure. In their mind, life had pushed them in the direction of wickedness and trickery. Not stealing, for Juliet would never allow it, but unabashed cruelty. It was all for a good cause - that was what Wren told themselves at least. If they didn't intercept the old women taking the large, poorly baked bread loaves at the bakery or conning someone in the black market for more money or more fabric, what would come of Kacey? Sweet little Kacey who, at four, couldn't understand why the world hated her older sibling.

It was for Kacey and Kacey alone that Wren committed the misdeeds. Certainly not on the level of another famed older sister who risked it all for her sibling, but enough so the love could be felt.

...

"I hope you're still not on about volunteering." Juliet's voice was exasperated, full of an unspoken plead that had yet to surface. Wren knew that she meant well but, truly, how much could she empathise? Besides, she had only mentioned volunteering on a whim - something wistful once upon a time as an escape from the torment. It seemed Juliet had worries the thought would rear its ugly head at the reaping.

"Maybe I am," Wren hummed, biting into their toast. No matter how many times they tried to, ignoring the cardboard texture was harder than anticipated. "Who'll stop me?"

"Think about Kacey," Juliet implored, moving to sit opposite Wren and look into their eyes. "You think it's kind to leave her?"

Wren chewed the inside of their cheek bitterly. As much as volunteering would be a cathartic display of the confidence many assumed they had taken from her, it was to give Kacey the best life she could as well. As Wren had decided long ago, something so pure couldn't be confined to the poorest of District Ten.

A silence settled between the two of them, the unspoken worries and questions being left soundless. Wren knew that Juliet's worry was justified; it'd been twenty-five years since District Ten brought home its last Victor. They had scorned at that, however, sure that the other tributes from Ten lacked the drive and determination that she possessed.

"Wrenny... can we go to the park?" Kacey's voice broke the silence with ease; the childish desire for unrestrained imagination in one of Ten's worn out parks cutting the hardened edge of the mature conversation. When she had arrived, Wren wasn't sure. It was by some benevolent luck that the girl appeared clueless of the conversation taking place; too young to realise the weight of the word volunteer in the districts. A wordless glance exchanged with Juliet and the unspoken desire of wanting to regress back to the age where one's worries were simply when they would go out and play was apparent.

Wren supposed District Ten was nice like that. She wondered, only for a second, if the other districts had fond memories of their childhoods. They brought their thoughts away from that, however, when it wandered to the Careers who, like her, would volunteer. The difference was - one that nobody in the outer districts could forget - they had been trained with weapons. Wren was sure a knife was just as good as a stuffed animal to the kids of One, Two, Four and Seven. Hell, even the rich kids in Three were reaching that point.

Some in Wren's class would argue that District Ten had some sort of shot; that their home's industry leant itself to them gaining an edge on the competition. Though the years had proved that to be somewhat true, Wren could never shake what the statistics said. District Ten had that 'advantage,' only to boast one Victor.

And when we compare that to the Careers' combined 30, Wren would always think, echoing mentally what those around her said, Our advantage's true face is shown.

The older Ebersol child smiled at their younger sister. Unlike the ones they flashed their teachers or even showed to themself in the mirror, it was one of genuineness. One without a need for contempt hidden behind the pursed lips or a mantra of reminders that everything would change upon graduation. For Kacey, Wren's smiles were ordinary.

"We've only got half an hour..." Wren's voice trailed off, raising an eyebrow playfully in her sister's direction.

As Kacey had done many a time before - and how she still would do for a long time, Wren hoped - she bounded for the door, humming some delighted tune.


Asriel Borealis, 17


It wasn't Asriel's fault that Arenna was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nor was it his fault that she boasted incessantly about having information about where those in the orphanage had come from. She should have known that would hit a nerve or, even worse, strike his attention. Perhaps she supposed that she'd never have to converse with him. Usually, since Arenna was as poor as they came, they wouldn't. Luck was a lady, however, and both were vying for a better paying part-time job in the Mayor's office. Unknown to the other, however, and both saw the encounter as some sort of chanced meet.

"Oh my god Asriel, stop being such a creep!"

Asriel rolled his eyes, ignoring the piss poor attempt to get him to stop. He didn't necessarily like using his stature to intimidate people nor did he enjoy being seen as some sort of bully but the search for the truth commanded him to. Deep down he knew he was obsessed; knew that every waking second was another that the intrusive thoughts consumed him. But he had firmly decided long ago it was only natural to yearn for the truth. His real parents had deprived him of that and Asriel knew he was more than deserving to uncover whatever secrets lay hidden. Even if it destroyed him in the process.

As it were, fate agreed, for it wouldn't've thrown Arenna into his clutches so willingly otherwise.

"I'm just trying to make conversation," He replied innocuously, rolling his eyes. He had heard from classroom gossip that the girl was difficult to talk to but this, truly, was something unexpected.

"Pushing someone int'ah corner's a mighty weird way t'ah talk."

Asriel stopped himself from cringing outwardly at the girl's accent, the deeply embedded values of District Ten's elite showing through. I suppose, I'd cringe if I was a Capitolite, so no harm done.

"What're you doin' here anyways?" Though he was still subject to Arenna's accusatory stare, Asriel allowed himself to smile. Having the upper hand or, at least, being the one to dictate the direction a conversation went was preferable. Even if Arenna had asked the question he knew his answer would be one of distinction. After all, not many could say they were in his position.

"A job interview - for the Mayor's PA." He adjusted his suit as he spoke, mind already wandering to how many interactions with the Capitol the job would throw at him. "Yourself?"

It was Arenna's turn to smile, it smug in nature. "Same here sugar. Pa put in a good word for me aftah my trail period at Slaughter House 12's main office."

Asriel quirked an eyebrow. Though the choice of a member of Ten's lowest in society was an odd one, it was a choice he could see the benefit in making. After all, the past few years of the Mayor's tenure had been marred with housing crises, an increase in tesserae and the Uprising of 109. All had served to weaken the man's position as Mayor so, naturally, appeasing the lowly masses was a sound, historic strategy. Unfortunately for Arenna and the stock of people she hailed from, he wanted the position. Not only was Asriel sure he was suited for the role - Slaughter House 1 was far superior to the twelfth one - but he needed it. It would be the key that'd open a thousand doors, or so he had convinced himself to believe.

...

Annoyingly, Arenna proved to be of little help. What little 'information' she had about the orphanage was nothing more than the speculation Asriel had already exhausted the potential of. He sighed as he wrote down her name in his journal, internally wincing at how he had stood over her and threatened her pets' lives over her head if she even considered getting the job over him. Mentally, he compartmentalised that next to Jack Rousenbaum, the boy he had sent one of his father's aids to intimidate. Sometimes chasing the Capitolite lifestyle came with the cost of integrity of character, it seemed.

You're only chasing what you deserve, stop feeling bad.

Looking into his reflection, Asriel tried his hardest to imagine Capitolite features on him; perhaps some bold makeup or the ever popular pastel hair colours. He projected vibrant colours onto his leather blazer, trying to remember what trends seemed to grip the magazines from the Capitol that his mother got imported in. Deep down, Asriel knew he needed to be grateful; being part of Ten's elite was no hard life, it being far easier than most other Districts. Yet, as he did every year, he found himself yearning for the life he never got to lead. Or at least the live he thought he never got to lead.

He swallowed down the bitter thoughts as he pushed and slicked back the wispier hairs, all to ensure his look was perfect. After this, I can dedicate myself fully to it, He thought to himself as he made his way down the stairs. I'll be in the Capitol within a year.

His father's smile was warm as he sat at the table, the same kind eyes he had always shown him unrelenting in their comfort. "You look nice, Azzie."

The outfit he wore in question had been one his parents had bought him for last year's birthday. Imported directly from the Capitol, the woven fabrics were of the colours of the old fabled Aurora Borealis; a fun nod to their surname. "Our little Capitolite," They had said, unaware of just how true they really were.

Sitting diagonal to him on the triangular table, Asriel returned the smile. "Thank-you father." He looked over the older man's outfit, resisting the urge to not approvingly. "You too."

As was customary with most of District Ten's elite, Asriel's father wore an equally elaborate suit. Though less flashy than Asriel's - after all, he, was the one in the reaping square - it was still a fine cut of fabric that many in the District could only dream of owning.

"One more year and then we'll try and get that scholarship going," Asriel's mother quipped as she brought some fried meat from the kitchen. Though his parents had mentioned the scholarship before - some veterinary one the Capitol used to acquire district-born muttation specialists - Asriel hadn't ever thought they'd go through with it. Not wholly.

"Really?" He didn't attempt to hide the glimmer of hope in his voice, nor the twinkle in his eye. Such a route would be a guarantee into the Capitol, just shy of being invited to live there permanently.

Perhaps the PA job could've gone to Arenna after all.


Wren Ebersol, 16


Bloomingdale wasn't taken seriously. Not in District Ten, nor in the Capitol. Those in Ten lamented at his overall underwhelming nature and, in the Capitol, he was scorned for being, well, boring. The son of two District Ten refugees, neither the Capitol or District Ten would let him forget about his heritage. Assigned District Ten as some sort of sadistic joke to have him reap his parents' fellow men, he alluded once that being boring was a way to make it counter productive. Scarcely anyone believed him.

Even now as he stood as the bringer of doom to two families, Wren found it hard to fear the man.

Irrespective of how oaf-like the district found their escort, an air of sombreness laced itself thickly in the district's square. Poverty and poor performances in the Games themselves had worsen an already jaded perspective on the pageant. Many of District Ten lambasted the fortune delivered neatly to the Careers and how it allowed a concise cycle to be kept alive, whilst they and other Districts had to vie for the scraps. Once in the picture, rebellion had long since been stamped out by the District's richest in hopes of keeping what little wealth there was to themselves.

In years past, Wren might've leaned into misery, letting it intermingle with whatever sorrows she had been led to believe by those around her. This year, however, she had resolved to do the opposite and with a budding self-esteem in tow, she was sure she'd prevail.

As Ten did every year, they watched the reaping film with stoic faces. For years those in the Capitol had tried to unpick what laid beneath the nation's farmhands' expressions, only to miss the mark and declare with glee some false resilience. The citizens of District Ten had come to be characterised by their hardy natures, a symbolic stubbornness that matched the animals they reared for Panem. Whilst such a reputation had some truth behind it, many in Ten bemoaned at how, as a caveat to such enshrined qualities, their tributes were often earmarked as difficult to work with.

Wren remembered more times than they could count of Ten's only Victor, Clarabel McShaw, sighing about how the perception hung around Ten's tributes like an overbearing parent on the Capitol's evening talk shows. They naively hoped things would be different this year. It never would be, for the Capitol believed there to be some natural affinity to Ten's tributes, enough where they needn't try as hard as with the other Outer District kids. Crucially, however, Ten's tributes were always seen as lower than a Career, simply lacking the finesse.

As he did every year, Bloomingdale sauntered to the bowl of names, in his step some weak attempt at showmanship. He slunk a hand adorned with far too many rings for it to be fashionable into the bowl, sifting through the sizable pile of pristine white papers. Wren knew it matter little as to who was actually reaped, for she intended her plan to go off without a hitch. Perhaps knowing the solace that few - if any - would stop her should be comforting. They doubted it severely, even giving it a little eyeroll for good measure. I'm sure they'd want the chance of someone ridding the world of me.

Wren gave him barely enough time to begin reading out the name when they shouted the words few in District Ten had heard in person. "I volunteer!"

The weight of the District's stares felt different as they centred on her. Normally they felt suffocating and accusatory, as if those around her were lamenting her very existence. Wren had heard them doing that many a time. This time, as she walked down the aisle and to the stage, the stares felt as if there was awe buried within. Instead of contempt, there was something that Wren couldn't put their finger on. Pity? Admiration? Whatever it was, it felt lighter and, dare she say it, better than how she had been treated before.

Maybe, Wren thought sardonically to themselves, This is what it'll be like when I come back.


Asriel Borealis, 17


Asriel debated in his head if being a volunteer from Ten was foolish or a stroke of genius. He wanted to say the former and lambast the girl with tidings of her idiocy, how she'd be Bloodbath fodder for sure or even ask her what special thing she thought she had that would guarantee her arrival home. Yet, having seen what she endured at school, he found himself intrigued. There were rumours from some of the other upper class kids at school that Wren Ebersol was far sturdier than she looked and, whilst he hadn't necessarily believed it just like nobody else did, her volunteering forcibly painted her in a new light.

His head, like everyone else's, followed the girl as she made her way to the stage. He didn't miss the determination in her stare, yet it looked as if her eyes had glazed over as she took in the district before her. Briefly, he wondered what she was thinking. Did she finally realise that her decision was stupid now she couldn't take it back? Or was she just hoping that she'd have some weak district partner that nobody would want to sponsor? Whatever it was, Asriel couldn't help but give some credit for where it was due; she looked every bit as imposing as the Careers did when they stood on the stage. Or, at least, she was giving it her best shot.

Asriel was so deep in thought that he missed Bloomingdale walk to and from the bowl of boys names, only checking back in when the escort began to speak.

"And Miss Ebersol's district partner, the lovely young man who'll enter the arena in tow, is... Asriel Borealis!"

This was not how it was supposed to go.

For a moment, Asriel's blood ran cold. He had always imagined he'd get to the Capitol, albeit through hard work or luck, not the Hunger Games. Anxiety pooled in his stomach and he knew deep down that some camera on one of the rooftops was capturing the perturbed expression that dominated his face.

Lady Luck had been kind... Perhaps it comes at a price.

Asriel allowed himself only a second to think the jaded, bittered thoughts that this was another huge part of his life he'd never get to control before his brain slipped into a regular routined thought. He would control the expectations people had of him, making them see him in the light that he chose. No sooner had he made his mind up were his legs shaking in apparent fear. Asriel knew that the cameras would be on him by now, marked by the Peacekeepers closing in on him from where he stood statued to the floor, and thus his shaking became choked sobs. To the eyes of many he was nothing more than among the most privileged of Ten and he was sure that some would expect him to act in that way. Good. He thought of things that could perhaps bring a tear to his eye; a childhood pet running away, the first time he saw a dog being put down... thinking of the life he had been robbed of.

Asriel turned to one of the burlier kids in his section, vaguely remembering him as one of the sons of a butcher, and fell to his knees as he tugged at his sleeve. He whispered, then muttered, things about volunteering, about how the other boy would have much better chances. His hysteria only seemed to grow as the Peacekeepers tugged him back to his feet, almost as if Asriel was truly trying to bail himself out of the inevitable. At those actions came choked sobs, distinct pleas of help that echoed through the silent district. Pity flashed over the boy's face for a second and it seemed plausible, if only for a second, that he thought Asriel's words to be true. The reaped boy knew it wouldn't be the case, for nobody would be foolish enough to send themselves willingly into the arena. Except Wren, it'd seem.

Speaking of his district partner, Asriel didn't miss the flashes of embarrassment that flickered over her face. No doubt now she had expected that her partner would be of usual Ten stock; one of the working boys who had acquired muscle mass from arduous days of work. He, though certainly not unfit or emaciated, failed to capture their grit and toughness. Asriel, like the others of his class, was tidy and clean - just like the prized animals he had seen countless times at the district's fairs. The pampered teens of Ten never fared too badly in the Games but Asriel would be damned if he'd let anyone think he was anything less than Bloodbath fodder.

Asriel forced himself to hyperventilate as he was quickly escorted to the stage, eyes cast downwards as he continued to commit to the show he was giving.

"Are you sure it's my name?" Asriel croaked, sobs now sounding into the microphone as he was placed beside the escort. Bloomingdale's eyes were devoid of too much emotion, the routine being something he surely saw when the doomed of Ten made it to their place of death. Asriel could only aspire to be as merciless in his eyes.

"Pretty sure, my boy." Bloomingdale wasted little time in regimenting Asriel to his side, not even bothering to try and keep him standing as he crumpled onto his knees, sobbing into his hands.

The escort cleared his throat into the microphone, clearly unimpressed with his stock of tributes; a volunteer and a wreck of a boy. Two things most unusual for District Ten, that was for sure. "District Ten! Your tributes for the One-Hundredth and Fifteenth Hunger Games! Wren Ebersol and Asriel Borealis! Tributes, may you please shake hands."

Asriel let the Peacekeepers bring him to his knees, even going so far as to lazily outstretch his arm, letting it shake as dutifully as it had done thus far. Instead of taking Wren's hand with the same mutual understanding he had seen in tributes past, Asriel tried to imagine her as some Career; some imposing tribute that had a chance of killing him. He hoped, if all went to plan, he would look scared of her - a terrified, privileged boy entering the place where the District's children go to die. He, someone so pampered, against a tribute wiling to volunteer to leave her cesspit of a district. Wren wasn't a threat, not to him at least, but if people could believe it for just a second...

Stepping into the Justice Building with the brisk escort of the Peacekeepers, Asriel calmly brought a sleeve to his nose to wipe away whatever mucus he had managed to create to secure his act as convincing, before smiling.


Talk from the Capitol:

[CoriolanuwusSnow] Now why Asriel gotta embarrass himself like that? Doesn't he want to win?

[BestellementBeauty] It's tens across the board from us for Wren! Look at that body pigment! Surely a trend, we're expecting to see!


So here's Wren and Asriel! Thank-you so much to Gomex and Paradigm for them!

I have to admit, this chapter really took something out of me. I think it was mostly the balance of not wanting to reveal too much of these complex characters whilst also avoiding simply labelling them as just 'volunteer girl' and 'Capitolite? boy.' I'm honestly not too sure how successful I am in that regard but the show must go on! I'm happy enough with where this chapter is. I think these two will thrive when interacting with the Capitol environment moreso than District Ten.

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter irrespective of it and liked the small Capitol sneak at the bottom... A regular feature incoming I fear...

In any case, next up is District Two!

- Oli