A/N

Shhh, lets pretend it is still Sunday and I am updated perfectly on time...

Happy 'Sunday' everyone and welcome back to another chapter of tribute introductions! Another three of our tributes are landing, and today we will be meeting Moonshine (submitted by FloatingFerrets), Beau (submitted by Remus98) and Aldo (submitted by ladyqueerfoot). Thank you to their submitters for whacking out some more cracking kids for me to potentially murder!

Moonshine le Gris, 13, District Six Female

The morning air was crisp as it filtered into Moonshine's lungs; along with the heavy particles of soot and smoke that often hung around from the nearby manufacturing plants. The sharp scents of diesel and burning fuel were ones that frequented Moonshine's nostrils, though having accustomed herself to the dirty streets of District Six, she was pretty immune to the stench now.

It was an average morning; nothing too out of the ordinary for daily life. Workers trawled towards the factories, their clothes already stained by oil and dirt from the hours spent beneath the bodies of cars, trucks and train carriages. Those who did not work in the factories seemed just as reluctant to face the working day, with clouds of depression hanging over them as their efforts only just made enough money to keep them alive. The even more unfortunate citizens of the district clung to the shadows that were cast from the sides of buildings, rolling up their tattered sleeves ready to inject their latest dose. And between them all, Moonshine lightly tread across the muddied streets, weaving around the swarms of bodies that were gathered throughout the area.

Moonshine's fingers worked quickly as she skimmed past a dozen individuals, lightly dipping her dainty hands into a host of pockets and bags. The coins and trinkets she gathered were discreetly deposited into her own deep pockets; so subtle that she was already moving to the next person before the previous victim of her thievery could even blink.

It was easy, sometimes too easy, though often the people of District Six weren't even worth pickpocketing. Many times Moonshine would retreat to the place she lay her head at night, empty her pockets and realise that her spoils could barely afford to pay for a small loaf of bread. There had been countless nights she had fallen asleep to the sounds of her groaning stomach, but never had Moonshine cried for help.

People had only let Moonshine down in the past –why would they treat her any differently now?

She had decided that she'd rather starve to death on her own terms than allow herself to rely on another, only to find herself cast aside with her pride in ashes at her feet.

The edge of the square neared. After sliding her fingers into the final pocket she came across, Moonshine ducked into the closest alleyway and crouched behind a pile of wooden crates.

Moonshine's muddied boots tucked beneath her as she huddled against the side of the building, digging her hands into her jacket pockets and retrieving her loot. She tipped her palms towards the dusty stone, emptying the items on the ground in front of her. A few copper coins clattered against the grey stone, along with some useless scraps and a small silver ring.

Moonshine scowled at the disappointing collection, though she supposed that the ring may be enough to buy enough food to last the rest of the week if she found a sympathetic enough shop-owner. If Moonshine detested one thing above all others in life, it was pity. She was not the fragile little girl she appeared to be; she was not in need of warmth and affection. Hell, if she was offered a place with a loving family she'd turn it down.

She needed no one. And no one needed her.

Despite her age, Moonshine believed she was fully self-sufficient. Well, self-sufficient enough to survive. Sure, she often found herself yearning for more, but that was typical of anyone. Everyone wanted more, didn't they? Moonshine certainly was far from having enough, so what was the harm in wanting a little more?

One day, she would have more, Moonshine told herself as she gathered up her copper and the silver ring and slid them back into the pockets of her faded brown jacket. One day.

Just maybe not today.

Ducking out from behind the crates, Moonshine headed back towards the hustle and bustle. There was a bakery not far away that sold the most delicious pastries and judging by the position of the sun in the pale sky, it was likely that they'd be due out of the oven around now.

As Moonshine made her way towards the bakery, the sound of whimpering caught her attention. Her pale eyes darted to her left, where they set upon a small dog which was writhing with discomfort as it tried to free itself from the rope that was looped around its neck and secured to the outside of a shop.

The animal appeared malnourished, its fur clinging to its bones as it continued to whimper desperately. The trembling in its thin legs made it obvious to Moonshine that the dog was not treated well by whomever was responsible for it.

A sharp stinging at the back of Moonshine's eyes caused her to shake her head, brushing away her emotions. The sight of the poor creature only reminded her of Minnie; a stray she would feed back when she had a roof over her head. She had taught Minnie how to steal from stalls before thieving became her daily routine. One day the resourceful dog was caught by a Peacekeeper with her nose buried in a basket of goods, who then in turn buried a bullet in Minnie's skull.

Seeing her beloved friend shot before her eyes would have been rather an upsetting sight for a seven year old; and yet whilst it did bother Moonshine, she had assumed it was normal and just another miserable event within her miserable childhood.

Even so, Minnie had been the only living thing to have shown Moonshine affection. Her own mother had named her after the addiction that had claimed her life, which was evidence enough to indicate how Moonshine had been brought up. Her sister Morgan hadn't been much better, having abandoned her several years ago to run off with a young boy she'd only just met. But Minnie had never let Moonshine down.

Making a short detour, Moonshine walked towards the dog. Kneeling down beside it, she ran a hand across its matted fur. She felt the dog shake beneath her touch, though it allowed her to continue without protest. Moonshine's dextrous fingers easily untied the knot that was attaching the rope to a metal loop outside the shop. As the rope fell lax, the dog, realising it was free, suddenly took off. Moonshine watched as it slipped between two buildings, quickly disappearing into the distance.

With a smug smile, Moonshine got to her feet, turning around to continue her walk towards the bakery.

But as she turned around, Moonshine was met with an obstacle in the shape of an armoured man.

"And what do you think you're up to, eh?" the Peacekeeper questioned sternly, his thick accent familiar as Moonshine looked up at his face.

Pasternak.

"Good morning, Peacekeeper Pasternak," Moonshine smiled sweetly, though her eyes glistened with mischief. "You're looking pretty rough this morning; those bags under your eyes will be carrying your groceries soon."

The Peacekeeper scowled.

"A little brat, as always," he said with disgust, though Moonshine caught his eyes quickly glancing into window beside them, assumedly trying to see whether the bags beneath his eyes were visible in the reflective surface. "What have you been stealing this morning, eh? Turn out those grubby pockets of yours –a woman has been complaining about a stolen silver ring and I have a feeling I know who may have it."

"Oh, Peacekeeper Pasternak," Moonshine sighed, a wicked grin on her face. "You know you won't find any stolen goods on me."

The man's jaw tightened.

"Pockets empty –now."

With a shrug, Moonshine dug her hands into her pockets, turning them inside out for the Peacekeeper to see.

His face turned from perturbed to furious as he stared at Moonshine's empty pockets and palms.

"I know you have it!" Pasternak bellowed, losing his patience and grabbing the front of Moonshine's jacket, pulling her in towards him. The Peacekeeper's grip was strong and Moonshine's toes barely brushed the floor as she was swept aggressively off her feet.

"Your breath stinks, by the way," she snarled as she stared him down.

"You fucking brat," spat Pasternak as he raised his other hand.

"Pasternak! What the fuck are you playing at?!"

Pasternak turned, seeing another Peacekeeper storming towards him.

"This street rat stole the ring –I know it!" insisted Pasternak, shaking Moonshine in his grip.

"She did no such thing," replied the other Peacekeeper. "Let her go. As your senior, that is not a request."

With heavy reluctance, Pasternak lowered Moonshine to the ground, releasing her jacket.

"I swear, she's a little thief," Pasternak pointed his finger towards her.

"Perhaps," said the other Peacekeeper. "But she is not a thief today."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder where a woman was being arrested, handcuffs slapped across her wrists. She looked horrified as she proclaimed her innocence.

"She was found with the stolen ring in her pocket," he explained. "So why don't you stop bullying little girls and start doing your actual job, yeah?"

"But-", Pasternak started, but he was promptly cut off.

"Here," the senior Peacekeeper tossed a coin towards Moonshine, who caught it in one hand. "I'm sorry about how you were treated. Look after yourself."

Moonshine smiled sweetly. "Thank you, sir."

The man nodded his head, before turning to walk towards the detained woman. Her smile quickly faded to a smug smirk as her eyes fell back on Pasternak.

"Too slow, Pasternak," she teased. "Better luck next time."

With a wink, Moonshine tossed the coin in her hand before backing away, blending into the crowd behind until she was hidden in plain sight.

Beau Ducreme, 18, District One Male

Beau's pale fingers wrapped themselves around the golden handles of his weapon. The chakram, made of two perfectly curved halves, felt natural in Beau's hands, their weight balanced in equilibrium as he drew his arms in front of his body in an alternating pattern. As he moved, his feet lightly stepped in time with the flow of his body and the blades of the chakram cut elegant, but deadly, slices into the training dummy that stood before him.

"Cute moves, Ducreme," Feyre Amare observed as she walked past, having been to the weapons rack to try out one of the new swords that had been delivered to the Academy just that morning.

Beau said nothing as he watched the other trainee pass him, taking note of the way the tight fitting training clothes hugged her curves comfortably. He felt his cheeks flush slightly as he pressed his lips firmly together; he hadn't realised that anyone had been watching him and that sent a ripple of anxiety through his veins.

Were his moves cute, he wondered as he placed his weapons on the table beside him and ran a hand through his dark, thick hair. Beads of sweat clung to the strands of his hair as his fingers passed through them.

Was Feyre mocking him? Flirting with him? Pitying him?

"Eyeing up Feyre again, Mr Creme?"

Beau did not need to turn around to know that his best friend was stood behind him; having caught him in the act of gazing lustrously at one of the other trainees.

"I was not," he lied, leaning against the table beside him.

"You know you're a terrible liar. At least, you are with me."

Beau smiled the smallest of smiles. "That's because I never lie to you. Not properly, anyway."

"You'd better not, because I'd call out your shit straight away." She laughed, tossing her bouncy ponytail behind her shoulders.

Peach Bellini, not just in Beau's eyes but in everyone's, was a rare form of speciality that most only dreamed of encountering in their short lives. She aired a graceful ease; her voice resonating and enticing, and her friendly demeanour impossible to ignore. Her beauty, both inside and out was undeniable.

Beau could not remember the details of when and how he met Peach, though he knew their parents had been played an integral part in their coming together. But that didn't matter, not really. Beau wasn't a believer in fate, but he was certain that regardless of his parents' actions, some way or another, he and Peach would have met. Platonic soulmates, Peach termed them, and as fantastical as that sounded, it was likely true.

"Here, you look like you need this," Peach held out a glass to Beau, who accepted it gratefully. As he sipped the cool, refreshing drink, an overwhelming taste filled his mouth.

Before he could enquire about the contents of his drink, Peach had already brought attention to it, padding her tongue delicately on her lips as her perfectly plucked brows knitted together in a pondering frown.

"What do you think?" Peach's eyes flicked between Beau and the glass he was holding and frowning at. She seemed eager for feedback.

"It's…erm, minty?" Beau swallowed, his tongue taken aback by the vigorous flavour.

"Too much mint?" Peach probed.

Beau shrugged. "Maybe a little?"

Peach broke into a light giggle. "Oh come on, Beau, we both know that it tastes fucking disgusting. But hey, at least you won't have bad breath if you fancy sharing saliva with Miss Amare. Or Mr Amare –I've seen your eyes drifting to his buttocks on more than one occasion."

Beau narrowed his eyes towards his best friend.

"You know, I can introduce you to them both, if you'd like," Peach discarded her drink with a dainty scowl. "They aren't that bad once you get to know them, you know."

Beau seemed unconvinced. The Amare twins were cut from a far more boisterous bolt of cloth than Beau was; their general demeanour reeking of the typical District One arrogance that Beau so desperately removed himself from. Despite blossoming into quite the eyeful, the Amare twins erred a little too far into extrovert territory, causing Beau to keep them at bay. He would simply observe from a distance, remaining undetected like shadows themselves.

"Maybe another time," Beau brushed the comment aside, reaching for his glass instinctively, but then suddenly freezing as the whiff of mint hit his nostrils. He slowly returned the glass to the table.

"Another half hour of training before we call it a day?" suggested Peach, looking around the Academy and noticing that other than the Amare twins, they were the only ones left in the Academy.

It had been like that throughout the past five years. Prior to the eighty-sixth Games, when a young Peach had enthusiastically signed up for training, followed by a reluctant Beau who was initially there only as a support for his friend; the Academy had been bursting with energy and eager trainees. With the cancellation of the Games, a steep drop in the number of trainees was witnessed, and as the years passed without the prestigious event, very few seemed motivated enough to continue on. The Amare twins were two of those few, as was Peach, whose romanticism of the Hunger Games never seemed to dwindle. And now, with the return of the Games, the four of them were perhaps the only ones who stood a chance at securing the sought-after volunteering spots.

And yet, Beau felt a reluctance to pick up his weapon.

"Why don't you train for a bit?" Beau proposed. "I'll observe your stance."

Peach raised a single eyebrow, barely creasing her unblemished skin. "You're trying to get out of this, aren't you?"

Beau said nothing, but Peach could read him as easily as she could read a book.

"No one is watching," Peach assured him, her voice dropping to a comforting hushed tone. "And even if they were, they would be in awe of you."

She walked over to the table, picking up the two halves of the chakram. With an encouraging smile that radiated warmth, Peach pressed them into Beau's palms.

"Show me what you're made of," she encouraged, raising her own weapon – an exquisite rapier of the same colour as Beau's own weapon; a gift to Peach from Beau's own family, in fact. "It's just you and me, like it always has been and always will be."

A pep talk from Peach had the ability to imbue Beau with an inner confidence he could never muster alone. He felt his fingers once again find their comforting grip around the chakram halves and his body began to fall into a melodic rhythm as he and Peach began to spar.

After around thirty minutes, as the Amare twins also packed up for the day, Beau and Peach decided that it was time to depart from the echoing halls of the Academy.

Swinging her bag of the same colour as her name over her shoulder, Peach walked with a light spring in her step as the two of them made their way through the district towards the Ducreme household, where she spent more time than she did under her mother's roof. Beau, however, walked with a slight slump to his posture, his hands balled up in fists and tucked up inside the long sleeves of his hoodie.

The evening was well under way, a scattering of stars beginning to peer out from behind the curtain of dusk.

The Ducreme house nestled itself within one of the richer areas of the district, though its exterior remained a shade more humble than those of its neighbours. Whilst Beau's parents were no strangers to wealth, they sought not to overly display it just for the sake of showing off. Though they weren't shy when it came to showering gifts over their children –Peach included.

The door was unlocked as Peach and Beau arrived. Feeling entirely at ease in the house, perhaps even more so than Beau himself, Peach walked in first, politely sliding off her training shoes and replacing them with the excessively plush and fluffy slippers that had been laid out beside the door just for her.

Just as excessively plush and fluffy as the slippers, the hallway was filled with an excited bark as Happy, the Ducreme's overly joyous dog, came bounding towards the two of them. Dropping to her knees, Peach embraced the white fluff as a pink tongue danced across her face with excitement.

"Peach!" a head popped out from behind a door as Beau's younger brother, Bell, smiled with glee.

"Hey little buddy," Peach greeted Bell with a gentle ruffle of his dark hair as he dashed to her side. Though he was now fourteen, Bell still possessed quite childlike traits, only heightened by Peach's presence. "What's up?"

"We're having bulgogi for dinner," he informed her with satisfaction. "My favourite."

"Well that has made my day even better," smiled Peach. "Wanna tell me about your day?"

Without needing much more of an invitation, Bell launched into a detailed description of how he spent every moment of his day, drawing Peach into one of the rooms off the side of the hallway.

Beau followed, though he remained a short distance away. As his best friend and brother chatted away, Beau found himself retreating further inside himself.

The scene before him was everything he could have wanted, and whilst he had it in the palm of his hands, he knew it would not be that way forever, not if both he and Peach were planning to volunteer for the Games in the coming weeks.

Beau hated that fact, and yet he knew it was the way it had to be. The integral, but dreaded, turning point of their lives was looming and Beau had wished more than once that he could freeze time.

Alas, he could not. And so, for now, he would simply enjoy the view from the comfort of his own shadow.

Aldo Giotti, 14, District Eight Male

Warning: This POV contains mild scenes of torture.

Aldo Giotti would give everything to feel nothing again.

That was assuming he had something tangible to give. He was not wealthy; not in the physical sense at least. So what did he have to give?

His soul? Didn't have one.

His innocence? Long gone.

His remorse? Yeah, that wasn't hanging around either.

All in all, Aldo Giotti had little to offer the world, and he probably wouldn't even feel grateful if his wishes were answered, but if he could, he would have liked to feel nothing once again.

It was not the case that the fourteen year old boy from District Eight had a problem with emotions; in fact, he and they barely had a relationship at all. It was more of the fact of thinking and of questioning that was slowly devouring the dark corners of his mind. It had been a nibble at first, the odd tear in the fabrics of his being as he just for the briefest of moments wondered why he was doing what he was doing. Those nibbles became bites, each time swallowing more and more until he had come face to face with a troubling dilemma.

The sound of screams, muffled by a rough piece of material tied harshly across the mouth, distracted Aldo from his wandering thoughts.

With a small sigh, Aldo returned the knife to the table, placing the cloth he had been cleaning it with in a small plastic bag to the side.

Why did they always think that someone would hear their screams? It was as though they hadn't expected him to have planned out the whole affair; taking the time to carefully select a venue out of sight and sound of those who may interfere. Did they think he was an amateur?

Aldo Giotti was certainly not an amateur.

He would make sure that his latest victim was fully aware of that fact.

"I do find it quite…ironic," said Aldo slowly, walking towards the centre of the room where a middle aged man was strapped to a chair, his eyes frantically darting from side to side as he struggled to come to terms with his current predicament. "A man accused of killing a child is about to be killed by a child. Do you find that funny? Because I do."

The man said nothing, squirming under his restraints.

Again, why did they always think they could wriggle out of their ties? Was it not obvious that Aldo had perfected the art of knot-tying?

It could be infuriating at times. Though, by the end, each victim would come to realise the true nature of what Aldo Giotti was capable of.

And what was that exactly? Aldo often wondered. There was a line, of course, a boundary set by Velan, and to some extent by Aldo himself. But it was inevitable that he would eventually cross that line; Aldo wasn't naive. Though he was curious as to when it would happen.

"Ok, so here comes the essential part," Aldo told the man, stopping just a few yards in front of the chair. "I'm going to need a confession from you."

The man said nothing.

"No?" Aldo questioned. "Well, I'll admit that I was glad you said that."

Aldo returned to the table and began to run his fingertips along the mirrored surfaces of the selection of blades in front of him. His hand lingered over a small knife, with a particularly narrow but sharp edge.

"I think this will help to encourage you," he announced, plucking the knife with a small flourish.

He walked back over to the man, crouching so that their eyes were level.

Aldo's hand fell to the man's wrist, where the cuff of his shirt stopped. He noticed that the man's hands were trembling; they were also clammy, coated with a thin layer of sweat. Pinching the cuffs, Aldo slowly drew them up the man's arm, exposing his forearm.

"This may sting a little," he whispered, resting the edge of the knife against the man's skin, tucking the blade between a few strands of light hair that decorated the surface of the skin. "Well, depending on how high your pain tolerance is."

He drew the knife across the skin.

A tantalizing pleasure sizzled through Aldo's veins as he watched the skin open and a tiny stream of crimson blood began to ooze out. The first drop of blood was always the most satisfying.

The man held his ground as Aldo expertly traced the knife around the rest of his forearm, carving out a perfect circle.

"Anything you would like to say now?" Aldo asked, watching as the man clenched his jaw tighter.

No response.

"That is ok," said Aldo. "I have all night."

Returning his attention to the man's arm, which was now coated in a beautiful layer of fresh blood, Aldo began to use the knife for its true purpose.

Skinning.

Sometimes Aldo wondered whether he should take up taxidermy as a hobby, perhaps he could make a business out of it? But then he quickly discarded the idea. Animals weren't the same as humans, they weren't bad.

Humans, however, were drenched in evil. Murderers, rapists, traitors. They brought the reputation of the human race plummeting down. It was embarrassing, almost, to be associated with the rest of his species. Aldo was not like those who quivered beneath his blades, nor in fact was he like the others who walked the streets every day, even the ones who had never committed a crime in their life.

But not being a criminal didn't necessarily make you good, it just meant you weren't bad.

Or did it?

Aldo had been taught the difference between good and bad, but now he was beginning to question his sources. Who had taught his teacher that which he passed down to Aldo? Where did it all begin? Was there a rulebook that stated the definitions of good and bad?

Where would Aldo fit into that book?

Questions and more questions; all of them making his fourteen year old mind spin. This was why he wanted to return to a time when he felt nothing. Not because he had begun to feel guilt about the way he lived his life -no, he enjoyed killing - but rather because he was beginning to question Velan.

Velan Armistice. The man who had seen potential in the young son of a rebel leader. The man who had taught him that bad people needed to be punished. The man who allowed his bloodthirst to be quenched.

Perhaps Velan was bad too.

Objectively, yes, Velan could be considered a bad person. After all, he had manipulated an eleven year old boy whose mother just been killed in front of his eyes and trained him to assassinate the scum of the district. But was it really manipulation? Velan may have simply harnessed a skill Aldo already possessed and allowed him the freedom to express himself.

Aldo was undecided on Velan's guilt, though he knew one thing for certain: he was tired of doing his bidding.

He wasn't tired of the killing; there was nothing else in the world that satisfied Aldo more, and he couldn't imagine what he would do with his life if he didn't take the lives of those who deserved it. But he was tired of killing because he was told to.

He wanted to kill for himself.

And he knew the first person on his list: Velan.

Let the student surpass the teacher.

"Ok, ok," the half-muffled words of the man strapped to a chair with a skinless arm choked out. "I'll confess. Please just let me go."

Aldo looked at the man with disgust as he had interrupted his mental planning.

"Oh, sorry for the spoilers," he said with a heavy sigh. "You don't survive this."

Velan could wait, at least for tonight. But soon, soon Aldo would break his own chains.

The best part? Velan wouldn't even see him coming.

A/N

Yet another very different grouping of tributes tied together by a small link (perhaps I'm stretching too much with these links? Who knows).

Moonshine seems to be living a tough life, and yet she seems quite capable for a girl of such a young age. She has clear distrust of people, and certainly holds a lot of bitterness towards her upbringing to the point where even if she was offered help, she wouldn't take it. Will she maintain this attitude in the Games, or will she be forced to change her ways in order to survive?

Like his weapon, Beau is a boy of two halves. On the one hand he trains and seeks to secure the spot for volunteering for the Games, and on the other he feels unsure of himself and what others may think of him. His friendship with Peach is strong and she is able to keep Beau where he needs to be. But we know that she also plans to volunteer, a fact Beau hates. Will their friendship help them to face the arena, or will it become their downfall?

Aldo is one of the more darker of the tributes, and whilst he shares similarities with Matthew, there is a clear difference between the two. Where Matthew kills because he feels forced to, Aldo possesses a bloodthirst that Velan is able to exploit. However, it seems as though Aldo is surpassing Velan's teachings. Will he go through with his plan to kill his guardian? And how will Aldo react to the Hunger Games?

Thank you so much for all of your reviews, comments and general presence! I appreciate it so much!

We are now halfway through the intro chapters! What do you think about the tributes we have seen so far? Is anyone standing out in particular? Who are you looking forward to meeting in the second half?

As a note, there has been an additional page added to the blog featuring some incredible moodboards that submitters have created for their tributes! More blog pages will be added in the coming weeks, so keep an eye out!

Finally, I would like to give a small shout-out to Remus98 as after taking a well-earned break, he has recently uploaded a new chapter of his incredible prequel story, An Ode. I had the pleasure of reading it early, and I can say that his brain overwhelms me with its brilliance. Also, My-Mental-Mind contributed a fantastic POV to the chapter as well, which is equally as awe inspiring. So please do check out the Echoverse -you won't regret it!

Until next time,

Firefly.