I never have to
Carefully shape sentences
When I've got some words to say,
They're falling from my mouth from the time
That they hit my brain

~ Waterparks

Disclaimer: Although Echo is assigned as the Male for their district due to their sex, their gender is non-binary. Hence the pronouns.

INTROS II

Excelsior Hearst, 18
District 1 Male

If anyone asks - Excelsior was headed towards the training yard. He wasn't looking for a fight. His face wasn't flushed red with fury this time, like it sometimes is. It all just... happened.

Skirting around the elegant pillars lining the corridors, Excelsior remembers being lost in thought. What thoughts they were, in hindsight, he couldn't say. These days, his thoughts always seem to be a blur, more often than not wrapped in a familiar red haze. He's known that haze for so long that it feels like a comfort. A lifeline. It keeps him grounded and he can't imagine anything else.

But when Rian shoulders past him roughly, he blanches. Maybe, maybe, he could let it slide, but then Rian hisses under his breath, "Jackass."

The insult cuts at old wounds, and Excelsior rounds on him, grabbing his shoulder as his arm muscles ripple beneath his shirt. A pool of molten anger sizzles and spits in his stomach, as Rian is pulled to a stop and immediately twists to face the older boy, unfazed, eyes darkening.

"What's your problem?" He spits.

Excelsior can see the childish stubbornness in the other boy's eyes. Excelsior is at least a head taller than him, and a tiny part of him feels pity for Rian's foolishness. That doesn't help the acidic fury pouring through his veins, getting hotter and hotter with every second. Even the smallest insult is enough to ignite the permanently-smoldering flames inside him.

Rian should have known better.

"Just letting you know, you're pathetic." Excelsior quirks an eyebrow as he pushes the other boy back. He's fighting an internal battle with himself, between his head and his heart, and his head takes the lead just long enough to be able to contain his rage to give Rian one last chance.

"You're a bully. That's more pathetic." Rian retorts, desperate to get the last word in.

And, just like that, Rian loses that chance. He's hit a nerve; Excelsior makes no attempt to hide that. He knows that people don't understand the shit that he's been through, and frankly, he doesn't care.

His entire fucking childhood was a petri dish of violence. If Excelsior is a product of that, then that's his problem, not theirs. He's dealing with it. He's fighting against the mental scars with every breath. If people only knew how hard he was trying...

No. Excelsior squeezes his hands into fists. They aren't worthy to judge him. He's become more than they will ever be. Just because his life hasn't been easy like theirs has. If he lashes out as people then it's their fault, not his. He has better things to spend his time on.

He doesn't register his fist moving until it connects with Rian's nose.

He swallows, convulsively, at the sensation of bones crunching beneath his fist. It thrusts him back into the past; memories of physical fights with his father, memories of blood and bruises and can't-breathe and shouting and-

It doesn't bring him joy, but he can't stop himself.

Rian recoils. One hand goes straight to his nose and comes away red, and the impact leaves his eyes visibly watering. The defiance that blazes in these irises is mingled with humiliation as they both become aware of other academy students stopping in their tracks and watching them. Rian springs, demon-eyed, at Excelsior, who dodges.

He's faster than he looks. Years of dodging his father's blows have infused him with the instinctive dodging abilities of a ribbon of fire, dancing out of the way, before lashing back in retaliation. He kicks Rian's legs out from beneath him, his heart thumping aggressively in his chest.

He catches a glimpse of Rian's nose, which is pouring blood. His skin prickles with guilt, and Rian, on the cold, hard cobbles, seizes the opportunity to swing his legs into Excelsior's, knocking him down. Excelsior tumbles to the floor.

A waterfall of swearing pours out of him and any traces of guilt about his actions towards the other boy are immediately forgotten, replaced by a volcano of molten rage, directed straight at the boy in front of him. From the floor, he throws himself at Rian. Dust clings to his hair and clothes as they scuffle on the floor.

His ears are ringing.

He can hear the blood roaring through his veins.

His hands find themself pressed against Rian's throat, and he squeezes.

Voices sound from nearby, but they're muffled. Excelsior is too submerged in the pools of his own surging, suppressed emotions to distinguish words.

Rian's eyes widen, but Excelsior isn't seeing his features. The face beneath him is the face of his father. Just like he was the outlet for his father's maelstrom of emotions, Rian becomes his outlet.

It's not his fault he's the way he is.

Excelsior grits his teeth.

It's your fault, he screams, internally, at the face of his father.

I'm just as good as Celestia, why can't you see that.

I'll make you see, and you'll pay for how you treated me.

Blinded by crimson, he barely registers the rough hands suddenly dragging him away from Rian. Rian is curled up in a defensive ball, gasping for breath. Excelsior struggles, but the grip on him is as strong and as unyielding as iron.

It's the Headmaster of the Academy.

Excelsior's heart skips a beat as he twists, and observes the Headmaster's thunderous expression. He already knows that he's fucked up, majorly. It's been a while since he's had an eruption of anger like this in such a public place, and the fact that the trigger was so minor brings a fresh surge of self-resentment flooding through him. He hates that he's like this. Hates that he's always so angry: at himself, at the world, and at every perceived slight. Hates it, even more, when people point this out. People like Rian.

Excelsior's spent his life trying to escape his father's shadow, but it's too late; his father's darkness infected him long ago. It's not his fault that he's doomed to a life of misery and rage, as a result. All he can do is resent that somehow, his stupid sister has seemingly managed to avoid the same fate. She was never the outlet he was. And he hates her for it.

"Sir-" Excelsior starts.

"Save it." The Headmaster interrupts, every syllable drenched with acid, "My office. Now."

"..."

Celestia Hearst, 16
District 1 Female

Absently, Celestia tucks a strand of hair back into her ponytail as she waits in the Headmaster's office. There was a pen in her pocket, but now, she flicks it from finger to finger, hand to hand, never missing and never hesitating. At the same time, she watches the seconds hand turn on the clock on the smooth, painted wall. Second by second, minute by minute. Celestia can practically feel herself growing older as time passes.

Impatience wells up inside her. Screw this.

What's Excelsior done now?

It's not that she wants to see her brother; nothing could be further from the truth. But it's not just his time he's wasting. A growl reverberates in the back of her throat at the idea of him holding her back, again, because she has things she could be doing and practices she could be perfecting right now. After all, she already suspects what this meeting might be about - having ruled out most of the other possibilities - and she'd much rather just get it over and done with.

Celestia is used to getting what she wants, so she hates waiting like this.

She exhales, sharply. She puts on a cold face, refusing to let her irritation show.

It's just in time. Without warning, the door swings open with force, and she jerks her head around, tearing her eyes away from the clock as she does so. The edges of her lips twitch at the sight of her older brother practically being dragged in by the Headmaster. Celestia observes - with a glimmer of triumph - Excelsior's face as it flashes with surprise at her presence. Said surprise also reeks with the permanent undertone of resentment at her existence.

Celestia just raises an eyebrow, knowing that it will aggravate him. Her message is clear.

Deal with it.

"What the Hell is she doing here?" Excelsior bites out, as soon as the Headmaster has released his grip on him. Headmaster Arcus strides over to his desk, but his voice ricochets off the walls at the same time, even though he's not facing either of them.

"Be quiet, and I'll tell you."

Celestia shoots Excelsior a dirty side-glare. She sees Excelsior stiffen, stuffing his hands aggressively into his pockets.

Moments like that make her time with her older brother more bearable. Unlike everyone else she encounters, she's never been able to force Excelsior into doing what she wants. Even when they were kids, even when she was sick, she could never guilt-trip him into bringing her food; that's just one example.

She knows that, one way or another, her charms do work - and have always worked - on everyone else. Just not with Excelsior.

So, annoying him will have to suffice. And who can blame her? After all, it's so easy to set him off, and life's too short to avoid guilty pleasures. Watching him fight to stay calm in front of the Headmaster just so happens one of them.

She redirects her attention back to the Headmaster as he turns back to the two siblings.

"Despite your differences, you two are some of the best students at this academy." He says. "That said, don't delude yourself into thinking you're perfect, either of you. You both leave a lot to be desired. You just happen to be better than the rest of the poor pickings in your respective years."

Celestia bites her tongue. She knows what's coming next. The thrill of joy fluttering inside her is dampened by the prospect of being burdened with her stupid brother.

"The games are coming up, which has thrown a wrench into the annual volunteering for all our fellow volunteering districts." He continues, "However-"

"Me and Excelsior," Celestia says.

The Headmaster shoots her a murderous glare. Her stubbornness means that she refuses to flinch or show doubt, but deep inside, Celestia regrets speaking up. She craves praise, not criticism. She should have known better.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see understanding dawn in Excelsior's expression.

"Wait-"

"This is your chance," The Headmaster states, in a voice that takes no argument. There's no way he doesn't feel the reluctance bleeding out from both of them, but he plows ahead, regardless, "Frankly, I care little for your petty feuding. You both have your talents. You-" at this, he fixates on Excelsior- "You have the strength to win. You were always going to be a contender for volunteering this year. Just keep your bloody temper in line, and don't piss anyone off too much."

Celestia rolls her eyes when he isn't looking at her. That, she thinks, is statistically impossible.

"And you," He turns on her, and Celestia jerks her head up to show she's listening, "For some reason, people follow you. I won't pretend you're ready, you've still got two years of training before I'd normally even consider you. But you and your brother are the only siblings in the academy who, combined are worth more than the dirt on my shoes. So count yourself lucky."

"Yes, sir." Excelsior says, flatly.

"Yes, sir." She repeats, bitterly, quelling her raging unhappiness. The thought of being stuck with Excelsior for the indefinite future makes her wants to heave. She'd rather claw her own eyeballs out, frankly.

The only consolation is that Excelsior must hate this as much as she does.

"..."

Celestia closes her eyes, mind whirring as she looks for the positives, to try and make this more bearable for herself. She squares her shoulders, brimming with cold determination that freezes the blood in her veins. The ideas leap up at her, blossoming in her mind like fresh, blood-stained fruit, and she can't help but smile.

She's always being given opportunities to prove herself. To prove she's not just 'Excelsior's younger sister.'

What's one more?

Fine. she'll play her part. Make people love her. Manipulate, lie and survive, like she always has.

She won't try to kill Excelsior - not without good reason. His strength makes him useful, even if she hates to admit it.

But if it comes down to it...

Let's just say that she wouldn't run from the opportunity.

Echo Grigg, 18
District 6 Male

In one of the nightclubs of District 6, surrounded by bodies and laughter, Echo comes alive.

Jennie tugs them through the sea of people. The flashing lights make it impossible to distinguish any individual features, but Echo doesn't care. Their face splits into an involuntary grin, letting themself be guided across the dancefloor; they don't dare to let go of Jennie's hand, instead blindly trusting her to know where she's going.

They've never been here before - which is unusual given that Echo's group of friends hang out in places like these most nights. Staying up late and waking up late, particularly on weekends; Echo couldn't ask for more excitement. They love the feeling of adrenaline through their veins. It's all they could ever ask for.

They bask in the sensation.

"Here!" Jennie finally pulls the two of them into a more quiet area of the club. Echo's vision has gone fuzzy from the flashing lights and blaring music, and they have to blink a couple of times in order to clear it.

"You good?" Jennie asks them.

A bubble of laughter escapes Echo, "It's all a little blurry," they confess, "But... in a good way. I don't want to stop just yet."

Jennie snorts, "Let's go join the others then." She indicates towards one of the tables tucked up against the wall, and Echo immediately recognizes the faces looking back at them, various states of amusement reflected in eyes that they've looked into so many times before. Mercedes and Lyra are sat together on one of the scruffy sofas, hands intertwined, as if they can't live without each other's physical contact.

Echo feels a warm glow inside their chest as they observe how happy Mercedes and Lyra make each other. They shoot the couple a warm look as they half-walk, and are half-pulled by Jennie, towards the table.

Ford is also there, shooting Echo a playful look as he notices the pair approaching.

"You got here fast. I thought you'd gotten lost," he says.

"I did." Echo admits, "Jennie had to pull me out."

"Drink?" Mercedes asks them, lifting up a half-drained bottle as she does so.

"No thanks, I'm already shattered. Besides, I've got work tomorrow."

"Fair enough."

Echo exhales. They've never been thankful for the lack of judgment from their friends. Instead of pressuring them, they just brush past it; Echo gratefully accepts Ford's offer to sit down next to him as he pats the empty spot on the sofa next to him.

"Did you bring the cards?" Lyra asks them.

"Of course."

Echo pulls the pack of tarot cards out from the pocket of his jacket, feeling the familiar pang of nostalgia at the intricately detailed, hand-drawn illustrations on each card. The pack is held together by a shimmering blue ribbon that catches the sparkling lights overhead, and reminds Echo of the midnight sky.

Or at least, what the midnight sky might look like in District 6 if the stars weren't all blotted out by factory smoke and floodlights.

This tarot pack has been passed down his family, from generation to generation, for as long as anyone in Echo's family can remember. Much like the art itself. Echo has always been taught that it's woven into their very blood, and their earliest memories are of one of their dads patiently explaining the meaning of every card, one by one. At this point, Echo could recite them in their sleep.

The Star represents faith and hope. The reversed Star represents despair and insecurity.

The Moon represents secrets and confusion. The reversed Moon represents understanding and fear.

Echo pulls themself back into reality.

"Who wants to go first?" he asks.

"I'll go," Lyra says, eyes dancing with excitement, "I want to know my future."

"Don't take it too seriously." says Echo, "Don't be like my sister." Although their words are light, they swallow, thickly, at their own reminder. Thinking of Freya back at home, resigned to a future that might never happen - despite her utter conviction that it will - always leaves a bad taste in their mouth. Tarot reading fascinates them, and it's meant to bring people clarity and to offer them guidance. But for Freya, it's consumed her.

And there's nothing they can do about it.

Echo goes through the motions instinctively, aware of the intrigued gaze of their audience staring at them. Scattering the cards face-down on the table, they collect them up in a pile. They move the top few into their other hand and spread them out, poker-style, in front of Lyra

"Pick." They instruct.

Jennie hesitates for a moment, before plucking one card out. Her body is tense with apprehension, like there's a live wire charged with electricity inside her, as she lays it face-up on the table.

"The Lovers, and it's upright." Echo tells her. Lyra stares at them, wide-eyed and flushing. As Echo watches, she turns towards Mercedes.

"That's.. good, right?"

"It represents a pair that works well together." Echo allows themself a small smile. "Balance and perfect unity. I think I can guess what it means for you."

The smile that Lyra gives Echo in return is as bright as the rising sun, as she twists round in her seat and curls up to Mercedes. "So can I."

In that one shining moment, Echo remembers, with blinding clarity, why they love tarot reading.

Some cards are harder to interpret than others. But sometimes, the meaning just comes to them, naturally, from some deep area inside their heart. An unshakeable certainty, resounding with every beat of their heart.

This art, this... gift. It's in their blood, and it always will be.

They'll always know exactly who they are.

Freya Grigg, 13
District 6 Female

Sitting, cross-legged, on her bed, Freya stares at the wall. From the factory next to her family home, she can hear the constant, never-ending whirring of machinery. Engines thrumming and wheels spinning; her leg thumps against the leg of her bed to the rhythm. She lost track of time a long time ago.

That's normal. She doesn't see the point of counting up the individual seconds when every second is just ticking down to her own death.

The reversed Wheel of Fortune represents the inevitability of fate, and the lack of control.

That's fine. Being swept up in the river of what fate has intended for her is just the reality that Freya lives with.

"..."

"The Wheel of Fortune can also mean change, and the promise of better days," Her father, Alaric insists, clearly disturbed by the conclusions that his daughter has leaped to. "It doesn't always mean inevitability."

Even back then, his words had rung hollow in Freya's ears. She knows better than anyone what that card means for her future, and nothing he can say will change that. Nothing he can say will change the gut feeling that has already burrowed itself deep into her chest. But she doesn't want to get into a debate, so she just nods.

"Maybe." Her face is empty as she returns her gaze to the two remaining cards on the table. They're for her. Her thirteenth birthday present. So why does the sight of them leave her stomach crawling?

"..."

Having been seated for so long, the stiffening of her muscles drives Freya to her feet. She stumbles towards the door and holds a hand out to steady herself against the wall as she passes. As she does so, her gaze flits towards the window of her room and immediately, Freya regrets the decision. Their house looks onto the courtyard outside the Justice Building and the sight of faceless peacekeepers buzzing around the cobbles like bees, erecting fencing and signs for the upcoming Reaping, hits her harder than she anticipates; it's like crashing into a solid wall, head-on.

She's always thought of herself as a realist. Freya's not scared - she's not. She just... hadn't realized the Reaping was so soon.

I need more time, Freya thinks, as her head pounds in a rare moment of panic.

The Judgement card represents reckoning and a moment of awakening.

"..."

"Reckoning... that could represent The Reaping?" Echo says, furrowing their eyebrows as they stare at the second card.

"The Reaping's already happened, though." Corbin, her other dad, interjects. "Freya didn't get reaped, so it's not that."

Freya stays silent. What about next Reaping? She wants to scream, but her own stubbornness denies any scrap of emotion the chance to breach her poker face. Nonetheless, the realization settles on her like a blanket of ash. The stars are telling her when her day of reckoning will be - but why is she the only one who's prepared to listen?

The last card sits there face-down, in front of the family. So small, yet so threatening. As Echo moves to turn it over, every nerve in Freya's body is set alight with warning signals.

"..."

Freya pushes the door open and makes her way downstairs, trying to blank her mind. Just because she's accepted her fate, that doesn't mean she wants that knowledge to be permanently etched against the forefront her mind at all times. The thought of that is, frankly, depressing.

The majority of her classmates can call her 'weird' and 'crazy' all they want, but death isn't the only thing on her mind. She's got Miriam, her best friend, to distract her during the school day, and Echo talks enough for both of them combined when they both get home.

But at this precise moment, there's no way she's can avoid the swarm of her own memories.

The Death card represents an ending.

"..."

Wheel of Fortune. Judgement. Death

The stars have already written out Freya's path, and there's nothing she can do about it.

It's her destiny to die in The Games.

Thanks to harley00 for submitting Celestia and Excelsior, and to Victoria the Bipolar Tribute for submitting Echo and Freya. I found it really interesting to research tarot cards for this chapter, so, that was pretty fun. As always, I'd love to know what people think of this set of introductions. I'm finding it really enjoyable to work out how the different tributes are going to interact after the introductions stage, and I hope to have the next set of introductions finished in the next week or two.

Thanks for all the feedback so far, and, if you celebrate them, Happy holidays as well.

~Carnival