Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.
Note: And here we go. *patiently waits for everyone to jump down to the bottom of the page, check the list, and come back* Next chapter will kick off the reapings. In the meantime, a chapter of Mistakes of the Past will be up once I have a chance to edit it (probably sometime tomorrow), and, now that finals and everything are winding down, I should be able to get back to updating more frequently during the summer. But, first, one more hello to some mentors - some old, some new. (Some borrowed, some blue?)
Prologue Part Four
Safe
Basil Thatch, 17
District Nine Mentor
At least his brothers would be safe this year.
Basil nodded a little as he glanced around his library. He liked to call it that, even though the shelves contained relatively few books. A few dozen, at any given time. He'd collected all he could, but the truth was that most of the books in District Nine were schoolbooks. He had a few of those – history books that were probably full of lies, literature books containing mostly Capitol propaganda. But even those were better than nothing.
Basil couldn't help a smile. He had been only seven years old during the 40th Games, when three younger boys had hidden together in a library that had come to life, using monsters and armies from the books on the shelves to defend themselves until only the three of them remained. Of course, two of the boys had later died – killed by the third after days of refusing to turn on each other – but the power of the books … that was an image that had never left his mind.
His brothers hadn't really understood that. They thought he was lazy. And maybe he was. But if 'lazy' meant not wanting to work a menial job in the fields for the rest of his life … well, then maybe 'lazy' wasn't such a bad thing. And now, thanks to the Games, he could spend the rest of his life surrounded by his books. Safe from a life of labor and hardship.
And, this year, his brothers were safe from the Games. Lance was twenty-three; he had been safe for a few years now. But his twin brothers Heath and Cornell were finally safe, as well; they had turned nineteen only a few months ago.
He had blamed them, at first – right after his own reaping. He had blamed them for not stepping forward to take his place. Despite being only two years older, they had always been much bigger and stronger than him. He had been one of the smallest, scrawniest tributes in the arena.
But it hadn't mattered.
Now … now he was glad neither of them had taken his place. Because neither of them would have come home. Both were hard workers. Both were young men who played by the rules. They would have wanted to win fairly. Honorably. They wouldn't have fought dirty. They wouldn't have taken shortcuts.
They would have died.
Instead, he was alive. Thirty-four tributes were dead, but he had only personally killed one – a girl who had stumbled across his hiding place, providing him with the supplies necessary to collapse the oversized anthill, killing the others. It was something none of his brothers would have thought of. They would have called that cheating. Maybe they still did. But that didn't matter.
Because cheating had kept him alive.
Violet Levine, 22
District Eleven Mentor
At least her sister would be safe this year.
Violet turned her glass around in her hands before draining the wine that was left. After spending seventeen days in a vineyard during the Games, maybe she should have been tired of the smell. Maybe she should have been sick of the taste. But she wasn't, because it was better than the alternative.
It was better than remembering.
It was better than remembering the faces of the tributes she and her allies had killed. The three of them had swept through the arena, avoiding the Careers and targeting the smaller, weaker tributes. They had killed without mercy, without hesitation – because that was how the Games were played. Those were the rules. Kill or be killed. And they had all known that.
Those weren't the faces that haunted her the most. Neither were the Careers she had killed in the finale – the Careers who would have eagerly killed her if she hadn't taken the opportunity to kill them first. It had been their lives or hers. That wasn't what haunted her.
No, it was the faces of her allies, Cyril and Fabian. After a few days of hunting, the three of them had been attacked by the Career pack. They had killed Cyril quickly, but Fabian … he had been tougher. He had lasted longer. They had surrounded him, and she … she had run. She could still hear his screams. She could still hear him calling her name. Calling for her to come back, to save him.
She hadn't been able to save him. She couldn't save any of them. Because if either of them had lived, she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't be alive.
Sometimes she wished she wasn't.
But this year … this year, at least her sister would still be here, too. She would be safe. She was nineteen this year. Safe from the reaping. Her older brother had been safe for years, and his own daughter was still too young – only three years old. Too young to really understand what was going on.
For that, Violet envied her.
A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts. It was probably her sister. But the door was locked. And Violet had no intention of opening it. Not tonight. Not the night before the reaping. She just wanted them to leave her alone – just for one night.
They meant well, of course. They just wanted to make sure that she was all right. But she wasn't. And she didn't want them to see her like this. Not tonight. Not when her sister was finally – finally – safe. They should be relieved – not worried about her. She would be fine. She would finish her drink – or maybe a few more – and then go to bed. She would regret it in the morning, but that was nothing new. And the reaping … well, maybe it was better if she wasn't completely sober for that. Maybe it didn't make a difference, now that she didn't have to worry about her sister being reaped.
There was still mentoring to think about, of course. It would be her, Tamsin, and Elijah again – for this year, at least. After this year, only two of them. Maybe she would get lucky. Maybe Tamsin and Elijah would want to keep mentoring. Or maybe they would bring home another Victor, and they would want to mentor.
Right. Maybe they would want to mentor.
She couldn't really imagine that.
Glenn Chester, 61
District Ten Mentor
At least one more child would be safe this year.
Glenn finished another cookie, glancing around the table at Presley and Tess. They only had to send two tributes. Only. As if sending two children off to what was probably their deaths would ever be a good thing. But it was better than sending three, as they had done for years now. And it was better than sending four the year of the 42nd Games. This year, Districts One, Four, and Five were the ones sending four. And District Two was sending five.
But only two from District Ten – which left them with a decision. "Maybe we should draw for it?" Presley suggested. "Flip a coin? Roll a die?"
Glenn couldn't help a smile. "You two can flip for who gets to stay. I'm going."
Tess raised an eyebrow. "You want to mentor this year? Hell, if anyone has the right to claim a spot at home, it's you. You've been doing this for—"
"Forty-five years," Glenn finished. "This will be my forty-sixth."
"And you're not … tired of it?" Presley ventured.
Glenn nodded. "Of course I am. We're all tired of it. But someone has to go. And getting to know these tributes – these children – there's something special about it." He hadn't always thought of it that way. He had spent years agonizing over being unable to save his tributes. But now … It still hurt. His heart still ached every time he lost a tribute. Every time one of them died on the screen right in front of him. But if he could help even one more of them make it back home, then it would be worth it.
And even those who never made it home, he liked to think that he helped. If his presence as a mentor meant that they saw one more friendly face, heard one more kind voice, in what could very well be their last few days, then how could he stay home? How could he refuse to help? How could he ignore them, their words, their fears, their stories?
Their stories. That was part of the reason he kept insisting on mentoring, even now that he didn't technically have to. Even now that they only needed to send two mentors. He wanted to go with them, because their families were counting on him to preserve their stories – even if the two families didn't know who they were yet.
He collected tributes' memories, their dreams, their fears – whatever they were willing to tell him – and kept them in his books. Maybe it wasn't much, but if it helped one family work through their grief, or if it helped one person somewhere to understand that these were children, that these were people with lives and hopes and memories, just like them … then he needed to do this.
But he didn't tell Presley and Tess that. He didn't want them to feel guilty for not seeing it that way. He knew neither of them liked mentoring. For them, it was simply something that needed to happen. Something they needed to get through. Maybe it was the fact that they were younger – that mentoring was simply a more potent reminder of their own Games. Or maybe his own memories were less troubling. He hadn't enjoyed his time in the Games by any means, and he had seen enough death for a lifetime, but he remained the only Victor who hadn't killed.
"I guess we'll flip for it, then," Tess agreed. And maybe there were worse ways to decide things. Whoever stayed home this year, after all, would probably be the one to mentor with him next year – unless, of course, they managed to bring a tribute home. If not, alternating years between the two of them would be fair.
And both Presley and Tess were usually fair.
Hazel Birnam, 59
District Seven Mentor
It didn't quite seem fair that their children were safer this year.
Hazel closed her eyes, leaning back in her bed, trying her best to sleep. But she never slept well the night before the reaping. And this year … this year was even more unusual. They'd sent two tributes before, yes – for years before the 42nd Games – but the reason they were only sending two this year felt … wrong. It was almost as if they were being rewarded for the fact that she'd been mentoring for forty-six years and only brought one tribute home. That didn't seem right. It didn't seem fair.
And certainly the districts that were sending more wouldn't think it was fair. Some of them might, of course, if not for the ban on volunteers. The year of the 42nd Games, District Four had been required to send six tributes, and they had still had plenty of volunteers willing – eager, even – to risk their lives. And, yes, one of them had come home … but that still meant that five of them had died. Five teenagers – five children – had volunteered for their deaths.
She would never understand that.
But District Four had worked for years to get to that point. Career districts trained year round to increase their chances of bringing home a Victor. District Two had seven Victors now. Districts One, Four, and Five, each had six. And what was their reward for that success? More death.
Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it would be easier if she didn't worry about what the other districts thought, how the Career districts would react. Increasingly, tributes from the outer districts saw the Careers as monstrous, as something less than human because of what they perceived as a thirst for blood.
But they weren't animals. And, most of the time, Hazel had found, they weren't motivated by bloodlust or even anger, really. Most of the tributes from Career districts wanted to prove themselves, to bring honor to their districts, or sometimes simply to escape the life of mindless labor that awaited them as miners, stonemasons, fishermen, or factory workers. She didn't fully understand their willingness to kill in order to do it, but she could appreciate the reasons behind it.
And that made it worse.
It was easier to think of them as animals. Easier to think of the tributes from other districts simply as competition. As pieces in the game that needed to be eliminated in order to achieve an objective. But she'd never been able to think of them like that. The tributes from other districts – they were kids, just like her own tributes. They didn't deserve to be there any more than her own tributes did. Any more than she had when she'd been reaped at the age of twelve. She hadn't deserved to be in the Games, but neither did they – none of them. And her tributes usually understood that, too.
Maybe that was why only one of them had come home.
"This murderous shaft that's shot hath not yet lighted, and our safest way is to avoid the aim."
And here's the tribute list. Congrats to everyone who made it in, and my apologies to those who didn't. I ended up with around sixty submissions, so, even with 35 tributes this time around, cuts had to be made. Make sure to check all the districts, as I had to move some tributes around - and even moved one or two to districts that weren't listed as an option. Sorry about that, but there are always a few places that, for whatever reason, just aren't popular.
The tribute page is also up on the blog at hideyourfires . weebly . com. Bios will be updated on the blog as tributes are introduced during the reapings.
If there's a different picture you'd like for your tribute or I spelled their name wrong - there always seems to be one, despite my checking - please let me know. Also, if you'd like to update your mentor preference (or anything else) based on the district your tribute ended up in, feel free to let me know that, too.
Tribute List:
District One:
Mae Swenson, 13
Consus Caepio, 15
Genevieve Odele, 17
Justus Freeman, 17
District Two:
Etora Nanovi, 12
Darian Travers, 14
Annemae Carty, 18
Leonardo Choi, 18
Margo Devereaux, 18
District Three:
Merrik Haims, 15
Dinah Peralta, 18
District Four:
Aleyn Tillens, 15
Arabel Ford, 15
Emmett Darsier, 18
Ronan Callaway, 18
District Five:
Retro Liu, 12
Vashti Rii, 16
Macauley Tierney, 17
Elliot Stone, 18
District Six:
Lena Khatri, 16
Charu Varma, 18
District Seven:
Nephelle Sorena, 17
Thomas Elliot, 18
District Eight:
Mariska Vasile, 16
Klaudia Almasy, 18
District Nine:
Barlen Rimmonn, 13
Triticum Bulgur, 14
Aven Faraday, 16
District Ten:
Connor Sawyer, 15
Skyton Tate, 16
District Eleven:
Wes Bartoshesky, 16
Kilian Romane, 17
Shanali Theisen, 17
District Twelve:
David Abadi, 14
Orphelia Mykonos, 17