A/N
A day late, but our next three tributes are here! You can blame my returning obsession with Skyrim for this one (sorry not sorry), as I hadn't quite finished with the final POV by Sunday evening and I wasn't prepared to rush it just for the sake of updating on schedule. But we are here now, only 24 hours later, and I am pleased to introduce another three amazing tributes. Today we have Anri (submitted by infinitelydisappointing), Velaris (submitted by Rune Whisperer) and Phoenix (submitted by Tyquavis). Hope you enjoy meeting them!
Anri Astellin, 17, District Nine Male
Anri's hands brushed over the cream pages of the notebook gently, the tips of his fingers caressing across the ink stained paper. The words that filled the pages were words he had once known, words Anri himself had written yet had chosen to forget. He had written too many words to remember them all, and he could keep on writing word after word and would never run out of combinations. So it didn't matter as he tore out the first page, letting out a slow breath as the satisfying sound of tearing broke through the consuming silence.
Pushing the notebook aside, Anri lay the piece of paper against the wooden surface of his desk. He smoothed out any creases, tidying up the slightly curled corners. Then, he made the first fold.
It was a careful fold, perfectly central to divide the paper in exactly equal halves. His precise eye for detail meant no need for a measuring tool, and his dextrous hands handled the piece with caution and care. The following folds were a little more complex, employing angles and requiring a little more daintiness, though they posed only a minor challenge to Anri.
After the final fold, Anri rested his hands upon his lap and looked down at his creation.
A simple dove, though where a live creature would host feathers of pure white, this one's wings were darkened by the strokes of a pen. The ink soaked pages would weigh the dove's wings, just as words weighed the people who spoke them.
Collecting his thoughts, Anri reached for his teacup, looping a finger through its handle. He brought the cup to his lips, feeling the heat of the tea tickle his nostrils before it touched his mouth. It was a green tea; a simple and natural flavour. Not to many people's tastes, Anri assumed, though he was fond of the cleanliness he felt as the leafy drink slid down his throat.
Doves were symbolic; associated with feelings of love, peace and purity. It was ironic, Anri considered, seeing as though doves were a part of the columbidae family of birds as siblings to the common pigeon. As the more scorned part of the columbidae family, pigeons were often viewed as pests, unwanted creatures who were chased away simply for existing.
The irony was almost humorous to Anri; how humanity decided what and who should be held in high regard simply by appearance alone. It was how the world had operated for generations and yet no one really stopped to question how that was so and where the merit was in that way of thinking.
Would a pigeon born with white feathers be entitled to the same respect of a dove? No. It would be judged as an anomaly, perhaps raising an eyebrow or two. Yet a dove, with almost the same genetic makeup of a pigeon would be looked at with awe simply for being a dove.
Frequently, Anri felt like a pigeon. Whilst that may have sounded ridiculous, and perhaps it was; his thinking was not irrational. It was not that he believed he had wings and a beak, but instead he felt the scorn that they experienced.
Like doves and pigeons, Anri came from the same family of humanity as everyone else. And yet, simply because of his status, he was deemed lesser than others. Anri did not want to be a dove, but he wanted to be acknowledged as a person, to receive recognition and approval. He wanted desperately to be more than just the empty shell of a person he was; confined to the four walls of his bedroom, tucked away from the rest of the world.
And yet, what was recognition and praise if but a superficial tactic of control? What did it mean to be complimented; to be wanted? Humans were flawed; the grip of authority always just that little too tight around their necks. Was praise simply their way of gaining a grain of power? Did people really wish to boost another's confidence, or did they simply wish to increase their own morality? Was charity selfless, or was it simply an act to fuel egos?
Anri supposed it must be cold, up there on their high horses.
The sound of chattering drew Anri's attention from his own brooding thoughts and towards his window. The single window that broke the pale walls of his bedroom was situated at the front of the large house. Anri stood up from his desk and wandered across to the window, glancing down at the front lawn where his father, stepmother and half-sisters were strolling down the stoned pathway that parted the lush lawn.
They were dressed well; smart attire and pristinely styled hair. On appearances alone, they seemed to be the perfect model family. A senior Peacekeeper with his beautiful wife, and well-mannered daughters; they resided in one of the few wealthier collections of houses in District Nine. And whilst they attended their dinner parties and rubbed elbows with the elite, the boy in the small bedroom was forgotten.
To most of the world, Anri Astellin did not exist.
Instinctively, Anri reached for the necklace around his neck, his fingers wrapping around the chain. It was silver, just like his mother's silvery voice that could make even the bleakest of words sound wonderful. Nine years had passed since her death; the memory of her face was becoming blurred in Anri's mind, though the sound of her voice was never lost.
Anri lowered his hand from the necklace, though his eyes remained dry. He did not cry; he had not shed a tear in many years. That did not make him void of emotion; in fact, Anri had walked hand-in-hand with many emotions throughout his life. He simply kept his feelings locked within the golden cage of his mind.
Who would care for the tears of a boy who did not exist?
As his father disappeared from his view, Anri turned back into the rest of his room. There was a silence that hung across the house; echoing more than usual. Even though he spent most of his time alone, Anri could still feel and hear the life that existed beneath the roof of the house. His sisters squabbling down the corridor; his father sighing heavily. But now, now there was nothing.
Walking to the door, Anri rested his hand upon the handle. He paused, wondering what the point would be in opening it.
Just as he decided against it, there was a gentle knock at the door which startled Anri.
"Anri?" a voice drenched with age called through the door.
Clearing his throat, Anri opened the door.
It was Hilda; a maid employed by his father. She had been working in the house for longer than Anri had lived there for. Throughout the years Hilda had shown Anri kindness, and their occasional exchange of words provided Anri with enough human interaction to keep insanity at bay; as well as his tutor, who had educated him well.
"Are you hungry?" asked Hilda sweetly, the wrinkles in her aged skin deepening with her smile. "The family are out for dinner tonight, so I could prepare something for you?"
Anri felt an emptiness in his stomach; he supposed he was quite hungry.
"I could eat," he replied simply.
Hilda nodded. "Come along then, let's see what's in the kitchen."
Silently, Anri followed the older woman through the corridors of the house, heading down the stairs and into the large kitchen. Hilda gestured towards a stool at the side of a tall counter and Anri carefully sat down.
"Let's see, hm," Hilda muttered as she searched through the kitchen. "What about some lamb chops? I could rustle up some parsley potatoes and some seasoned vegetables too?"
"That will do," Anri nodded as Hilda looked for his approval. He wanted to add thank you to the end of his sentence, though he found his lips pressing back together quickly.
Anri observed in silence as Hilda cooked the meal. When it was ready, Hilda pointed towards the table in the adjoining dining room.
Anri looked at her blankly. He had never sat at the dining table before.
"But I…" he whispered.
"Your father and Camellia are not here, are they?" pointed out Hilda. "Come along, what they don't know won't harm them."
Reluctantly, Anri followed Hilda into the room. He hesitated firstly, but then allowed himself to sit down on one of the chairs at the table. His posture was rigid as Hilda set his meal down on the table before him.
Slowly picking up his cutlery, Anri began to eat. The lamb was tender; the potatoes fluffy. He found his eyelids fluttering shut as he savoured each mouthful.
And just for the briefest of moments, Anri imagined what it would be like to truly belong.
Velaris 'Vel' Axar, 17, District Twelve Female
"And may her soul be at peace."
Velaris bowed her head, allowing her eyes to gently close as the linen-wrapped body was lowered into the ground. Her eyelashes brushed against her skin with a light tickle as she mentally passed her regards to the fallen angel before them.
Despite it being a summer afternoon, there was a slight chill to the air as the breeze wove its way through the graveyard. Velaris felt it ripple through the bottom of her skirt, knocking the material against her shins.
A few muffled sobs disturbed the silence. People often cried at funerals, Velaris had noticed. She supposed they were a sad affair; it could be overwhelming to accept that you would never see that someone ever again. And yet, she did not share the feeling. Perhaps it was because Velaris had not known the people she watched being buried in the soft earth, or perhaps it was because held such respect for the dead.
A hand touched her arm.
Velaris opened her eyes, looking down at her sleeved arm to see a small hand resting against the soft material.
"How did you know my sister?" a woman in her late thirties asked. "I'm afraid I don't recognise you."
"Oh, I did not know your sister," stated Velaris. "I came to pay my respects."
A small frown knitted at the woman's brow.
"I see," she said slowly, retracting her hand from Velaris' arm. "How…sweet of you."
Velaris dipped her head slightly. "It was my honour."
The woman offered a weak smile before backing away, seemingly a little unnerved by the exchange. It wasn't unusual for Velaris; apparently it wasn't all that common to attend the funerals of those you did not know. Not that it would put Velaris off continuing to pay her respects for those who had passed into whatever came after life.
As the modest gathering of people said their final farewells to the wrapped body, each tossing a handful of earth into her grave, Velaris herself reached down and cupped a small mound of soil into her palm. Waiting until the other attendees had stepped away from the open grave, Velaris then took her turn. Her laced boots teetered close to the edge as she leant over, tipping her hand with a careful motion so that pieces of soil one by one fell from her palm, falling like snow onto the body below.
"May your soul be at peace," she said under her breath, mimicking the words of the leader of the burial service.
She truly did hope that the woman's soul was at peace. Whomever she had been during her life, she deserved peace in her death.
Retreating slowly from the grave, Velaris held back as the rest of the group watched more earth being placed into the grave, though with shovels this time to quickly fill the hole in the ground. Once sealed up, an array of wildflowers were placed on top of the pile of earth, before the handful of people turned and walked away from the final resting place of a woman they had shared a life with.
And then their lives would continue, as they always did. The mediocre lives of mediocre people; a worn pathway tread by the soles of many shoes. Velaris saw the steps they took from the side-lines; mostly observant, she would watch people condemn themselves to the same mistakes over and over. Though very occasionally she would walk out from the shadows to steer a wandering soul towards a better goal, just as she was once guided herself.
Velaris Axar was a drifter; never just an observer, and never just a participant. That was how one would win a game of chess, by striking the perfect balance between watching and moving. Life was just a game of chess, though on a far grander scale, and when it came down to it, those who had a strategy would be the ones who survived the longest.
Turning away from the new burial, Velaris began to walk through the rest of the graveyard. She kept her chin pointing low as she passed the resting places of others –a sign of respect for those who had long breathed their last.
She kept on walking until she came across a particular gravestone.
It was by far the grandest headstone in the graveyard. Most spots were headed with a simple wooden sign, or with nothing at all. District Twelve was still rife with poverty, and those who could afford a burial could not afford much more than just that.
But this particular grave possessed a clean and rounded stone, with a small inscription of well wishes. There was no name carved into the stone, for no one had known the name of the one buried beneath the soil.
"I'm sorry," Velaris dropped to her knees, not caring if the earth would stain her dark clothes. "I truly am."
Her eyes fell shut again as she allowed the silence to embrace her. The dead did not talk back, though she wondered what they would say if they could.
"I thought I'd find you here."
Velaris opened her eyes and rose her head.
"Cassadee," she said, seeing the man who had first found her in the exact spot she was knelt in now.
"There's been another killing, Vel, " Cassadee told her. "I thought you might be able to help me out before there's another."
Velaris nodded, rising to her feet. She brushed off the dried dirt from her skirt.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I'll explain on the way," said Cassadee, beginning to walk towards the exit of the graveyard.
Without question, Velaris fell in step with Cassadee. She knew not where they were headed, though she knew it would be somewhere within the Seam.
As they made their way towards the poorest area of the District, Cassadee filled Velaris in on the recent occurrences. A young boy, around Velaris' age, had been killed following an altercation over some bread. A typical occurrence, unfortunately. Though that did not make it matter less to Cassadee, nor Velaris for that matter.
As the daughter of a merchant, Velaris did not reside in the Seam herself. In fact, she had quite the life of luxury as much as living in District Twelve would allow. It was only through her own choice that she dabbled in the darker side of the District.
Velaris knew they had arrived long before she saw the scene. Just the cries alone were enough to draw her attention.
Also noticing the same, Cassadee nodded to Velaris and increased his speed, with Velaris matching his strides with her long legs.
A small group of people were gathered in front of a small shack. An older boy, perhaps in his early twenties, was stood close to a younger boy, who Velaris assumed to be the one who had committed the murder. There was a slight shimmer in the older boy's hand as Velaris realised he was holding a small blade to the younger boy's throat.
"Please, no!" a woman, presumably the younger boy's mother, cried with desperation. "It was an accident! I swear!"
"It was no accident!" shouted the boy with the knife. His eyes were red with emotion as he stared with fury. "My brother is dead!"
A few yards behind them lay the body of a boy, whose ragged shirt was soaked with blood. His parents wept over his limp body.
"He deserves what's comin' to him," the older boy spat, pushing the tip of his blade against the throat. The younger boy had tears in his eyes that broke down his cheek as he trembled, defenceless.
"I beg you, spare him!" his mother screeched, reaching her arms out to stop the boy. With an angry force, he pushed her to the side, sending the older woman crashing in a heap on the muddy ground.
Without batting an eyelash, Velaris stormed ahead of Cassadee, heading straight towards the two boys.
"Stop this absurdity at once!" she snapped, her face contorted with authority.
"Who the fuck are you?" hissed the boy with the knife, looking at her nice clothes with disgust. "Are you lost? You don't look like you belong here."
"To hell with where I'm from," retorted Velaris, stepping closer towards the boy. "Withdraw your weapon or I promise you'll regret it."
The boy seemed taken aback by both her brashness and her choice of words, but remained still.
"Erm… I think she's Cassadee's girl," gulped the younger boy, though he seemed relieved that someone was fighting for him.
Velaris nodded. "Then you'll both know that it's a wise idea to break this little charade up now."
The older boy seemed hesitant, though there was doubt in his eyes as he looked at Velaris.
Taking the opportunity, Velaris swiped at his hand, knocking the knife from his grip. It landed with a clutter beside his feet.
"Taking another life will not bring back your brother," she told the boy. "Nothing will. But this family is not your enemy. And if you help each other, you may be able to survive."
She reached into her satchel that was strapped across her body.
"Here, take these," she handed a parcel to each of the boys.
Confused, but curious, the boys unwrapped their parcels, finding a selection of finer foods inside. A taste of sugar and butter would provide them with a small escape from the poverty they were drowning in.
The two boys looked at Velaris with both gratitude and loss.
"But… why?" the younger boy asked.
Velaris did not answer.
There were two sides to every story. Velaris belonged to them both.
Phoenix Cameron, 17, District Five Male
"Anyone for more potatoes?" Niles Cameron asked chirpily, holding the large bowl in offering to the rest of the table.
Phoenix waved enthusiastically, though his mouth was already full with a potato which was slightly too hot on his tongue, and there were at least another three potatoes on his plate.
"But you've already got loads of potatoes," sneered his ten year old brother, Tuscon, as Phoenix gladly loaded another few onto his plate. "You'll get fat."
Niles chuckled heartily. "Your brother is a growing man, just like you'll be in a few years' time, little dude."
Phoenix swallowed his mouthful, a grin on his face as he turned to Tuscon. "I need all the potatoes I can get to grow out of this baby-face."
Always the victim of his own jokes, Phoenix smiled as his youngest brother was humoured by his comment. Whilst Phoenix loved a good joke, and actually possessed a rather dark sense of humour at times, he always found it was safest to insult only himself in the name of comedy. Rather roast his own flaws than risk the wrath of others' sensitivities. The thought of conflict sent a shiver down his spine; who had the time to deal with that shit when you could be enjoying life?
In all honesty, it wasn't that much of a joke either. Phoenix did have quite the baby-face; he had been told on more than one occasion and it was obvious every time he looked in a mirror. He wouldn't lie and pretend that sometimes he didn't wish he looked a little more like the other older boys, but generally it didn't really bother him so much. It seemed to only add to his natural charm.
"Tempe, where are you going?" the boys' mother, Araceli, raised an eyebrow at the third-born son who was attempting to rise from his seat at the dining table. "You haven't finished your food."
In typical thirteen year old style, Tempe shrugged his shoulders. "I'm goin' out."
"Going out where?" their mother questioned.
"Just out," replied Tempe bluntly, now fully standing out of his chair. "I'll be back later."
Araceli pressed on. "Well why don't you stay until we've all finished and then go out? We barely spend time together as a family anymore."
Family time was clearly the last thing Tempe wanted as his contorted adolescent face so clearly showed his disdain. Phoenix couldn't really blame his brother; whilst he had been a pretty laid back kid, he still related to the desire to go off and just be a teenager. It was all part of growing up, right?
"Nah, let him go have fun with his friends," Niles piped up. "He's a young man now. Let him have his freedom."
Araceli's other eyebrow raised at her husband's remarks.
"Honestly, I don't know how I have survived this long in a house full of five men," she sighed, shaking her head. "Go on then Tempe, but be back before eleven, or no socialising for a month."
Tempe rolled his eyes, already halfway out of the house. The sound of a slamming front door echoed through the room a few moments later.
"Tuscon, my sweet boy," Araceli turned her attention to her youngest. "Promise me you'll be more like Phoenix and Chandler when you get older? Chandler, preferably."
"No offence taken," Phoenix blurted out.
"Oh Phoenix, you know I didn't mean-" his mother started to apologise.
"It's alright, bruh," Phoenix laughed, holding up his hands. "We all know Chandler is the chosen one."
He nudged his brother, who was closest to him in age. Chandler shrugged; whilst he and Phoenix got along the best of the four brothers, he was one of few words. But Chandler didn't need words for Phoenix to know exactly what was on his brother's mind.
"Anyway, that's me done too," said Phoenix, having made light work of his plate full of food which was now so clean that it probably didn't even need to be washed. "I'm off to see the lads -won't be home too late."
Phoenix's parents were a lot more laid back about his excursions; being seventeen and having been a well-behaved child, he was allowed a lot more freedom than perhaps he should sensibly have been given.
Not that he would tell his parents that, hell no.
"Have a good one, bruh," his Dad held out a fist as Phoenix stood up from the table. Phoenix reacted with a light fist-bump, a tickle in his stomach at his Dad's attempt to be the 'cool' parent.
"See ya'll later," Phoenix nodded as he left the room, sliding his feet into his shoes which still had the laces tied from the last time he'd worn them (and probably since he'd bought them), and opening the front door.
The evening air was humid as Phoenix left the house. As it often was in District Five, the air had a certain level of heaviness to it which came down from the relentlessly beating sun during the daylight hours. The sun was now perching on the horizon, reflecting a gorgeous amber colour across the sky, but it was still mild in temperature and bright enough to navigate through the estate without the need for streetlamps.
At the edge of the estate, Phoenix caught sight of his two pals: Caris and Shams.
"'Sup my homies," Phoenix greeted his friends with his usual casual stance, bouncing his fist lightly off Caris' shoulder.
"Same old, same old," replied Caris, holding his arms out widely beside him. "The world is a shithole, but our corner is sweeeeeeet!"
"That it is," agreed Phoenix, as the three boys began to walk towards the outer parts of the District.
They walked away from the houses that littered the streets; away from the power plants that stained the views and filled the air with waste; and away from the rest of civilisation.
The sandy landscape that lay along the borders of the District was the place Phoenix felt most at home. With vast open spaces and a multitude of rocky terrain to venture across, it was his own adventure park. From a young age, Phoenix's Dad had taken him and Chandler out on what Niles had termed 'excursions'. Long days out in the vast expanse; chasing each other across the sanded ground and clambering up anything they could find a grip on. Bliss.
Even now, as nearly an adult himself, Phoenix had never tired of the feeling of freedom that came hand-in-hand with the open landscape.
Caris was right –Panem was a shithole, with the unstable politics and the uprisings in crime and rebel groups. But throughout it all, the three of them had preserved their own little slice of heaven.
And boy was it beautiful.
Leave the politics to the politicians, and the crime to the criminals. Phoenix was basking in the magnificence of life, and there was nothing that would get in the way of him enjoying himself.
Other than perhaps the return of the Hunger Games. That would kinda dampen his spirits, he supposed.
The thought of being thrust into an arena to fight for the death was pretty terrifying, Phoenix had to admit. He tended to cruise through life with few hiccups (other than Solana, but well, Phoenix didn't like to think or talk about his ex-girlfriend), but the threat of the Reapings that loomed ahead had cast a dark grey cloud that hovered above his head. It was far enough away that he couldn't touch it, but he could see it and he could feel its presence.
It had bloody well gone and fucked up his plans to live a stress-free life.
Damn it.
Whilst Phoenix tried his best not to let his anxieties towards the Reapings get the better of him, it was an arduous task to turn a blind eye to the danger of reality.
But for now, Phoenix would do what he did best. The night was young, and there was much mischief to be had.
Phoenix was just a kid who wanted to have fun. And out in the fresh air, under the amber sky, two friends by his side –that was where Phoenix belonged.
A/N
Again, each tribute is so different to the others and it is such a wild ride jumping between such unique mindsets. I had a lot of fun with these three tributes and I think they each contribute something special to this cast.
Anri seems to live a very lonely life, being shut away in a small room and existing like a ghost by his father and the rest of the household. We know that he lost his mother as a child, but why does his father shun him so much and condemn him to live the life he does? How will Anri be able to handle the attention that the Games will thrust upon him?
Vel walks a peculiar path; she is a wealthier girl for her district, yet she chooses to cross into darker shadows. Her fascination with the dead is intriguing -where did it come from? Who is the person buried beneath the headstone and why was Vel apologising to them? She seems to be able to handle herself, and some of the people in the Seam, but how will she fare in the Games?
Finally, Phoenix brought a bit of sunshine to the chapter. He seems like a pretty normal kid, with fun family dynamics and a chilled outlook on life. The Games are weighing on his mind, however -will he be able to maintain his relaxed attitude after the Reapings? Does he stand a chance against the brutalities the arena could thrust upon him?
Thank you to everyone for continuing to read and review; I adore hearing about your thoughts on the tributes so far. I cannot agree more that these are such a diverse bunch of tributes; I'm in awe every time I re-read their forms at the sheer brilliance of their submitters. And there are still a lot more to come!
I'm hoping to get more of the blog out there in the coming weeks now that my exams are over, so I'll be sure to let you know when you might want to head over there to see some more content!
Until next time!
Firefly.