Tribute Intros Part IV
Baoba, Quint, Fermi, Vicarys
Baoba Pitblossom, 17
District One
The museum was practically empty as Baoba wandered the halls, but that suited him just fine. He came here to think, after all, not to stand around in a crowd trying to get a better look at the exhibits. Reaping day meant a day off from school, and from learning to work in his parents' silver ornament shop. Sure, he had to go to the reaping just like everyone else, but he could always come back here afterwards, and then he would have the rest of the day to himself.
Some of his classmates, he knew, already had parties planned to celebrate what they hoped would be another year of victory for District One. They hadn't forgotten how it had felt four years ago when Phoenix had brought home the crown, and they were hungry for more. Baoba shook his head as he wandered to the next exhibit, which was dedicated to the Games. Some people got way too caught up in them.
Of course, that was easy to do in a Career district, and he was grateful that he'd been born in District One. In the outer districts, the reaping was probably terrifying. Here, for him, it was just another day – another day with a bit more free time than normal. Oh, there had been whispers. Rumors that the volunteers might chicken out, but even if they did, there were plenty more willing to take their place.
Baoba had never been interested in that – never that athletic, that competitive, that hungry for victory. A quiet life in his parents' shop – that was what he really wanted. Actually, come to think of it, working in back of the shop – just working the metal, not having to deal with the customers – would be ideal.
People were … well, they were just not his thing. He did his best to be polite, but they still got on his nerves. Always in a hurry, always rushing here and there, never taking the time to stop and appreciate what they had in front of them.
"Hey, kid, shouldn't you be getting to the reaping?" asked someone behind him.
Baoba nodded and headed for the door. Would anyone really notice if he wasn't there? Probably not. Besides, he realized as he glanced at the clock, he still had ten minutes. More than enough time to get to the square. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes at the reaping, and he could come right back here and enjoy the rest of the day. What more could he ask for?
Quint Delgado, 13
District Two
"Twenty minutes to the reaping! Step right up! Step right up and place your bets! Will either of our brave volunteers get cold feet? Ages for the reaped tributes, and whether anyone will volunteer? Place your bets, folks, place your bets!"
Quint couldn't help a smile as their uncle Gari moved through the crowd like water, bellowing all the while. Business usually didn't pick up until after the reapings, but after the reaping in District One had produced a reaped seventeen-year-old and a fourteen-year-old volunteer, people had come streaming in, wondering if the same thing was about to befall District Two, and whether this was their chance to win big.
Betting would continue throughout the day – ages of the tributes in different districts, overall spread, and whether there were any outer-district volunteers. That was always a popular bet, and though they didn't happen as often as volunteers in One, Two, and Four, it was always a good show when someone did step up. Quint had placed a small wager on a volunteer in Six after what had happened last year – maybe someone trying to restore their district's good name or something like that.
A hand shot up at one of the tables, and Quint slid through the crowd, trying to mimic the ease with which their uncle seemed to avoid bumping into people. It didn't work. They collided with two patrons on the way over, but no one seemed to mind. A crowd was a crowd. "Another round of drinks here…" The patron peered at Quint's name badge. "Quint. Quint today, then?"
Quint nodded, and poured another round of drinks. The badge had been their uncle's idea. It was circular, and the end rotated to produce different variations – either Quint, Quintus, or Quinta, depending on what felt right at the time. It kept people from having to ask every time, and saved Quint from answering questions about why their name was different than the last time someone had seen them. They were usually more than happy to explain what 'genderfluid' meant, but the truth was, most customers weren't sober enough to listen that long.
"Hey Quint!" Gari called over the bustle. "Better get over to the square soon! I'll be along once betting closes; don't wait for me."
Quint nodded and headed upstairs. Once they caught their breath, they chose a blue and green plaid shirt and a nice, floor-length black skirt, rotated their name badge to "Quinta," and headed to the square. Quinta smiled when they saw the crowd that was already gathered, and took their place near the front. It was going to be an exciting day.
Fermi Schoenberg, 15
District Three
"Fermi! Fermi!" called a voice from downstairs. "Get down here! It's almost time for the reaping!"
Fermi ignored the voice and plunked out a few more notes, adjusting the keyboard slightly to get the tone just right. There was a knock on the door. "Fermi, quit making all that noise and come on down. We're going to be late."
Fermi laughed. It wasn't noise. It was music. Just because it wasn't the stuffy, boring kind of music that their parents liked didn't mean it wasn't music. It was chaotic. It was beautiful. And it was hers. If his parents couldn't understand that, then that was their problem.
Fermi looked up as their younger sister, Caesura, poked her head in the door. "Mom says to come downstairs for the reaping, or you'll be in trouble later."
Fermi didn't even try to hide a grin as a thought occurred to her. "No, I won't. And do you want to know why?"
"Why?"
"Because I won't be here later. I'm going into the Games."
Caesura shook her head. "That's not funny, Fermi. I mean, sure, there's a chance you'll be reaped, but we've never had to take tesserae. You're name's only in there four times—"
Fermi giggled, straightening his dress. "Oh, I'm not going to be reaped – well, probably. I'm going to volunteer." Yes. Yes, that was the answer. The Games. The Games were the perfect place for a little chaos, a little discord. Oh, it was all well and good causing a little trouble here in District Three, but here there were rules. There were schedules.
There were no rules in the Games – well, aside from the big one. One person survived; beyond that, nothing mattered. Nothing was going too far. They had proven that last year. But Fermi knew they could do even better. Last year's Games had been entertaining, to be sure, but the pair from Six had no sense of fun.
Fermi knew about fun.
Caesura was already edging her way back towards the door when Fermi caught her by the arm. Their younger sisters were usually perfectly willing to go along with whatever adventures they had planned, but telling Caesura this might have been expecting a bit too much. Still, what could she do? There was nothing his parents could do to stop her from volunteering, even if they knew. Fermi shrugged and let Caesura's arm go. It might be funny, really, to see their parents' reaction. Fermi reached for their pen, jotted down the last few notes of his composition, grabbed her jacket, and headed down the stairs. This was going to be so much fun.
Vicarys Flask, 15
District Six
They were all so afraid. Vicarys glanced around at the crowd, silent in the square, waiting for the reaping to begin. They were terrified – terrified of the Games, terrified of the possible retribution from the other tributes for what happened last year. A half-smile crept over Vicarys' face. They didn't understand – not most of them, at least. It was all a joke. Life. Death. And especially the Games.
Especially the Games, because why was it so upsetting that twenty-three people died? People died every day in the districts. People died of hunger, people died when the gangs fought, people died from drug overdoses, and people died in freak accidents. Freak accidents like the one that had killed her three siblings almost a year ago. Three people, all in one power surge – three times as many as District Six had lost in the Games that year. But was anyone crying for them?
No. No, even she wasn't crying for them anymore. They were gone, but maybe the joke was really on her. Maybe they were the lucky ones. Wherever they were, after all, whatever came after, it had to be better than life in Six.
"What's so funny?"
Vicarys glanced around, then realized the boy was talking to her. She hadn't realized she'd been chuckling out loud. "Just thinking of how scared the Careers must be this year," she lied. "We really showed 'em last year, huh?"
The boy actually smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess we did. I just hope it doesn't come back to bite our tributes this year.
Vicarys shrugged. "If it does, it does. You can't win 'em all, right?"
"I guess not." He held out a hand. "I'm Valentino, by the way."
"That's a mouthful." She shook it. "I'm Vic."
"Vic?"
"Short for Vicarys. Good luck."
"Hmm?"
"For the reaping. You know, may the odds be ever in your favor."
It was Valentino's turn to chuckle. "You too."
And then he was gone, swallowed by the crowd. Vicarys nodded, turning to the stage. That was how things went. People were here, and then they were gone. She would probably never see him again; it was a big district. A big, bustling, grimy, stifling district with too much smoke and not enough food. And so, so many people. What were one or two – or even three – lives compared to all that? Why did any of it really matter?
