A/N
After an unannounced week off, we are back with the next group of tribute introductions! My apologies for the delay, I've been suffering with a short period of writer's block, which I didn't think I'd get over in time for this Sunday. But a miracle happened and as I sat down today to try to see how much I could write, I ended up writing the entire chapter in a straight five hour sitting! So please enjoy the harvest of my crazy afternoon, which comes in the form of Zoei (submitted by TheFoxes), Angora (submitted by Reign of Winter) and Riddle (submitted by My Mental Mind)!
Zoei 'Aida' Jones, 16, District Five Female
Life was considerably easier to an optimist.
Some may believe it foolish to ignore the problems of the world; to block out the shadows and focus only on the light. Zoei wasn't foolish, however, she was simply too young to allow herself to be weighed down by dark thoughts. Adolescence was short, a fleeting period of time really, and so Zoei saw no harm in wanting to make the most of every moment of that time before she became restrained to reality.
The chirpy rhythm of country music filled Zoei's ears as she passed her hands through the hot, soapy water, her feet tapping along to the beat. Her shoulders wiggled with a carefree attitude as she dunked a dirty plate into the sink, scrubbing its porcelain surface with the cloth.
Country music wasn't her favourite genre, though all she really needed was a beat and she would find herself dancing along. The varied music selection was one of the many new things that her step-dad, Tyson, had brought to their family since he began dating Revala Jones, Zoei's mother. The couple had been together for a few years now, and as far as Zoei was concerned, he was the best father figure she'd ever had. Not that she had much to compare him to –she'd never known her biological Dad, having left the family when she and her sister were only babies, and the only other boyfriend their mother had had seemed pretty nice, but he'd left too.
What was it with men and leaving? Did they not have morals?
It was something Zoei could very well have become bitter about, but she saw no point in dwelling on the past. Tyson was still here, and from what she could see, he looked as though he may be staying.
"Think fast!" Zoei suddenly called out, grabbing hold of a soapy plate and whipping her arm around towards Tyson.
Expecting the plate to come soaring towards him, Tyson flinched and dropped the glass he was holding, his reflexes acting before his brain.
Zoei erupted into a cackle, waving the plate that was still firmly in her grip. She had only meant to pretend to throw it, just to see Tyson's reaction, and oh what a reaction it was.
"Zoei!" her Mom cried out, looking in horror at the smashed glass in the middle of the kitchen floor. "Why would you do that?"
Zoei shrugged, slotting the plate onto the drying rack beside the sink. "It was funny."
"Was it though?" her Mom narrowed her eyes, her hands resting on her narrow hips.
Zoei smirked. "I think so. Mom, you really should try to be a glass half-full kinda person."
She waited for the pun to sink in.
Tyson was the first to laugh. It was a hearty laugh, full of energy and vibrancy.
"Well I think this glass is neither half full, nor half empty," he said, crouching down to collect the shattered pieces.
"Don't encourage her, Ty," Revala shook her head, though the relaxed nature of her boyfriend seemed to ruffle her rigid edges. "Oh well, I suppose it's just a glass. As long as you don't make a habit of this, Zoei, I'll let this one pass."
"Thanks Mom," Zoei smiled cheekily at her, planting a kiss on her powdered cheek. "I'll help clean it up."
"No, no," her Mom wafted Zoei away. "You finish washing the dishes –I don't want you to cut yourself on the glass."
Although perhaps a little over-protective of her daughters, Zoei knew that Revala only had their best interests at heart. She was keen to repair any distance that had grown between them throughout their childhood, and whilst Zoei felt more of a gravitation towards Tyson than her mother, she still respected the fact that Revala was trying. Zoei loved her mother; she loved her whole little family; and there was nothing she wouldn't do to protect them.
"Anyone fancy a few games this evening?" suggested Tyson. "I'm a demon when it comes to charades."
"Sign me up!" said Zoei with enthusiasm –she loved a good games night. Plus, she believed she was slightly better at her step-dad at charades, no matter his boasting.
"A few rounds could be fun," agreed Revala.
"What about you, Aida?" Tyson turned to look at Zoei's twin sister, who had been silently tidying the dining table after dinner.
Aida looked at the rest of the family, her blue eyes flitting between each of them, but her face was void of emotion.
"No, thank you," she replied quietly, before turning away and leaving the room. Her soft footsteps against the stairs followed shortly afterward.
A silence remained in the kitchen, the nibbling bites of awkwardness gnawing at the edges. Eager not to fall prone to the uncomfortable atmosphere, Zoei walked over to the music player, which she noticed had reached the end of its playlist.
"How about some proper music?" she suggested with a wink towards Tyson, replacing the previous country soundtrack with a more street-worthy sound.
Again, Zoei soon found the beat and began shaking her hips around the room, feeling the bass vibrating through her veins. This was what life should be like; letting yourself go and enjoying the pleasures that were available. Her sister had lost her vibrancy a long time ago, and whilst Zoei wished more than anything that she could repair their distant relationship, it was just too difficult now to reach out. Aida had built her own walls, and not even Zoei could bring them down.
The following hours passed by quickly, and Zoei soon found herself forgetting about Aida's prior sulky exit. It turned out that Tyson was pretty good at charades, beating Zoei by two points at the end. Zoei wasn't a sore loser, though of course she preferred winning, so she made a point to accuse Tyson of cheating, which he defensively denied.
The night was well under way by the time Zoei's mother filled the room with the sound of heavy yawning, and announced that she was heading up to bed. Tyson had opened a bottle of wine, which Zoei had somehow managed to wrangle a glass of, and now Revala was complaining about a 'wine headache'.
"Let's get you tucked in then, my princess," Tyson slid his arms beneath Revala's petite body, picking her up with ease.
"If Mom's the princess, what does that make me?" asked Zoei, a frown on her face.
"The valiant knight, of course," he replied with a wink.
Zoei smiled at her step-dad, content with her role. She supposed she was quite knightly, and she had the noble steed to go with her status. Though, admittedly, her steed was a little less traditional, hosting wheels instead of hooves, and its neigh being a lot deeper and metallic.
As Tyson carried her mother up to bed, Zoei made her way out the back of the house. The night air was humid, as it often was this time of year in District Five. In this part of the district it was more difficult to see the stars, as the waste gases from the nearby powerplants often clouded the skies. It was further out of the district that things became a lot more beautiful, where the vast expanses of empty space, free of any buildings, meant that the air around was almost untouched by humanity. It was also the best place to ride her steed –or, should she say, her motorcycle.
Since Zoei was a young girl, she had always dreamt of owning a motorcycle. Not many people had them, but whenever she saw someone dart past her atop of one, it made her heart flutter with excitement. It had always been a purchase too expensive for her mother, and Zoei would've had to work for years before she could have afforded one herself (and most of the available work was in the powerplants, which to Zoei sounded incredibly dull). But Tyson was pretty wealthy, owning one of the local plants himself, and for her fifteenth birthday he had bought one.
Perhaps the motorcycle had been the final straw for Aida, who resented the idea of a stepfather; the nail in the coffin that isolated her from the rest of the family. Zoei had of course offered to take her sister out for rides on many occasions, but each time Aida had declined until Zoei had decided it was just easier to stop asking.
Sighing to herself as she looked up at Aida's window, which had the curtains tightly drawn but a small glow emitting from her bedside lamp, Zoei zipped up her leather jacket and swung her leg over the vehicle.
Her body fell into place instinctively, her booted feet slotting into place and her hands gripping the handles with just the right amount of pressure. With a gentle squeeze, Zoei felt the motorcycle come alive beneath her, as she too felt as though she had turned on her own ignition.
As Zoei began hurtling through the roads of District Five, towards her friends' houses, she felt a smile growing on her face as the wind tore through her red hair, streaming behind her like a cloak.
This was what life was for, Zoei thought to herself as she raced, full-speed, into the welcoming night.
Angora Winchester, 18, District Eight Female
Warning: Sexual references in this POV
"Another round of shots, Sir?"
Angora Winchester glanced up from her nails, taking in the view of the young man who stood in front of the booth. His angled jawline caught the sombre light at just the right angle, casting shadows across his rather handsome face. He had dark green eyes, which seemed more interested in casting themselves over Angora's features rather than attending to the tray of brightly coloured drinks which was tilting slightly too far towards the right.
Angora rose to her feet, sliding a hand underneath the tray to stable it. With a sultry smirk, she stared deeply into the waiter's eyes.
"When is the answer to that question ever no?" she said, her voice hushed as her fingertips brushed past the hands of the waiter. She saw him swallow as he allowed her to take the tray, withdrawing as she placed herself elegantly back on the plush seat beneath her.
Angora maintained her eye contact with the waiter, until he realised that he was in fact there to work and not to flirt with the customers, and began collecting the empty glasses from the table. As he walked away, his arms full of glasses, Angora wiggled her fingers in a teasing farewell.
Angora felt heat against her bare arm as her date for the evening leant into her.
"You weren't flirting with that boy, were you?" he hissed in her ear.
Angora looked at the man with confidence, twirling a strand of her raven hair between her fingers.
"He only wished I was flirting with him," she replied with a pout. "Don't worry, Sir, I'm all yours tonight."
A flutter of eyelashes was enough to reassure her hirer that her eyes would not wander elsewhere, and whilst the waiter had been attractive, Angora would never have pursued him anyway. It all helped to maintain her façade, a little extra flirting here and there. And without her façade, Angora's whole revenue stream collapsed.
"Oh yes you are," he agreed, his eyes alight with desire as they poured over the neckline of Angora's dress where her breasts lightly spilled over the edge. "And don't forget that I paid for the whole night."
"How could I forget?" Angora responded, raising a shot glass towards the man, pressing the glass against his lips. "It's not every night I get to be in the company of such a handsome and successful businessman."
Pouring the shot into the man's mouth, watching as he swallowed the fiery liquid, Angora watched as he squirmed in his seat with anticipation. If she weren't about to persuade him otherwise, Angora was almost certain that he'd have suggested leaving the event earlier.
"Why don't you mingle with some of the other men here?" she suggested, dancing her fingertips along the sharp shoulders of his suit. "It might help to make more connections."
The man who had hired Angora to accompany him to the latest elitist event was a young factory owner, who was new to the business world following the sudden passing of his father; a man who had been accused of causing the death of two young children in one of the textile factories. He was a little shy of twenty-five, and was fairly average in appearance, though he was a lot better than some of the older, sleazier men who paid for her company. In some ways, Angora felt almost sorry for him; he was clearly out of his depth in a world that had become more brutal over the last five years, and whilst she was by far no expert in business, she had spent enough time with the elite members of society to have picked up a few hints and tricks.
"Well yes, of course," he nodded, taking another shot. "If you'll accompany me?"
"It would be my pleasure," replied Angora, placing her hand daintily into his and allowing him to guide her away from the booth in the corner of the room.
The event was some sort of party; a birthday party for one of the Mayor's closest advisors, Angora had managed to deduce. As elites often did, anyone who was over a threshold of wealth had automatically invited themselves, to the point where no one even questioned whether they knew the host or not.
Angora had been to many of these sorts of events, and several others of a lesser volume of guests. They all ended up following the same routine to the point where Angora could cruise through them blindfolded and yet still be able to recall every detail the following morning.
But despite having attended endless of these events, Angora had never been invited as a guest. Not like the men in tight-fitting suits, and women with their towering heels who bragged about their position in society. No, in reality Angora was an imposter, hiding behind her beauty to secure enough money to survive.
If she had been alone, Angora would have had enough money to sustain herself without the need to keep selling herself to the elite men of District Eight and their connections who passed through the textile district. But she wasn't alone. Somewhere far from the elaborate lives of the upper class sat a small flat, above a small shop, where a mother sat staring into a wall and a young brother lay asleep in a makeshift bed.
Angora wasn't doing this for herself; she never had been.
Linked through his arm like a keyring, Angora allowed her young hirer to travel around the party, engaging in loose conversation with anyone who could spare him a few moments of their time. Most people tended to chit-chat casually, filling the time with small-talk, though there was one individual who seemed particularly interested in maintaining a conversation with the new businessman. A Peacekeeper who introduced himself as Velan Armistice and who asked a few too many questions regarding the unfortunate fate of his father. Angora could not figure out what the Peacekeeper's agenda was, though she made a mental note to regard him with suspicion in the future should their paths cross again.
The party began to wrap up in the early hours of the morning. Angora remained by her hirer's side as they slid into a taxi which took them back to his rather lush home. Having been paid for the whole night, Angora walked up the pathway to the house, the cool night air tickling her bare legs.
There were few words spoken before Angora was taken up to the bedroom, where the young man began running his hands greedily over her bare skin. His fingers tucked themselves under the straps of her dress, lowering them from her shoulders so that the silk dress simply dropped from her body, landing silently at her feet. Angora closed her eyes as she allowed the young man to tend to her body, switching her mind off from the present and finding her thoughts wandering to a better future.
After the deed was done and the room was filled with the gentle sounds of snoring, Angora rose from the bed, slipping back into her clothes. Taking her payment, which had been left on the bedside table, she silently left the house and began walking the shadowed streets towards home.
It was a long way to walk, having come from the upper circle of the district, and by the time she reached the flat, the sun was beginning to peer over the horizon.
Careful not to make a sound, Angora opened the front door at the side of the street, closing it behind her and then heading up the steep stairs to the rooms above. The flat was silent, as it always was when she returned. Her mother's bedroom door was slightly ajar, and as Angora walked past, she could see that her mother was still awake, though from the blank expression on her face as she stared at the peeling paint on the pale walls, it was clear that she was just as oblivious to Angora's exploits as ever.
Passing through to the other side of the flat, Angora's eyes fell on the small makeshift bed, created from some wooden pallets and various pieces of fabric acquired from factory scraps. A tuft of dark hair poked out from between the blankets.
Walking beside the bed, Angora looked down at her little brother, whose small eight year old body was curled up tightly as he slept. The corners of his mouth were damp where he had drooled in his sleep, and his cheeks were flushed with a pale pink shade.
Cautious not to wake him, Angora placed a gentle kiss on Rayon's forehead.
One day she would have enough money to give Rayon a better life. Angora was close; only another year at the most until she could afford to move her family into a small house in a safer part of the district. She had seen the exact house she wanted; it even had a garden she knew Rayon would love to play in. Perhaps they'd even get a dog too.
It was a life Angora longed for more than anything, and a life she was determined to have.
But between then and now, Angora knew that there would be many other night like these.
Riddle Robello, 18, District Two Female
Riddle by name, but not Riddle by nature, her life had never been a mystery to her.
Her past? Uninteresting and unassuming.
Her future? Likely the same as her past.
Her present? It had its ups and downs, she guessed.
Riddle Robello knew that she was far from perfect –very far, if she was being completely honest –but at least she was aware of it. She wasn't like the sculpted figures of the trainees in the Academy of District Two who devoted their lives to becoming something they were not. Riddle had seen countless of them pass through the doors of the Academy, each claiming to be different, to be special.
What made them special? Absolutely nothing, as far as Riddle could see. They were all just a clone of a clone of a clone.
Sometimes that formula worked; the tough Career from Two act had brought with it several Victors over the years, but it wasn't reliable. Take Luca Vallejo for example; he had been the most recent male tribute from Two to enter the Games nearly five years ago, but whilst he could have had potential, he had allowed himself to become too invested in becoming someone he was not. It was the same for the vast majority of trainees who stood at the other side of Riddle's blades.
Just as it was the same for the boy who stood before Riddle now.
"Your stance is sloppy," Riddle pointed out harshly. "If I weren't training you then you'd be dead by now. Sort yourself out, Amell."
"Oh, um, sorry Riddle," the trainee apologised, wiping away the sweat from his brow before repositioning himself.
"You wouldn't apologise in battle, so why apologise now?" retorted Riddle, making a swipe towards Amell with her blade. He managed to dodge it, but only just as it skimmed past his chest.
Riddle pushed on.
Amell did his best to counter Riddle's attacks, blocking her advances a few times with his spear, but he became quickly outmanoeuvred as he stumbled back into a rack behind him, sending a display full of other weapons clattering to the floor.
Riddle rolled her eyes as the loud crashing sound stung her eardrums.
A second later, the main training hall of the Academy was filled with a sound even louder and more ear-piercing than the sound of falling weapons.
A scream.
Looking around the room, Riddle spotted a small crowd gathering around the climbing wall. Leaving Amell to clean up his mess alone, Riddle jogged over to investigate, pushing her way past the trainees who were stood gasping at the crumpled heap of a girl on the floor.
It was Aluma, the chosen volunteer for the returning Hunger Games. Horrifying cries poured from her lungs as she lay on the floor, her hands trembling as they hovered over her right leg. A small pool of blood was beginning to gather as crimson liquid oozed out from the hole in Aluma's leg where the snapped edge of a bone had pierced through her honey-coloured skin.
Aluma said nothing as she stared at her broken leg in despair, tears cascading down her cheeks, undoubtedly stemming from the agonising pain she must have been in. Where her cries had first been high with volume, they were soon reduced to silent sobs as the rest of her body shook with trauma.
"Someone fetch me a roll of bandages right now!" ordered Riddle, looking towards the gathering trainees who had various expressions of disgust and surprise on their faces. "What are you looking at? If you can't handle seeing a broken leg then princess, you've signed up for the wrong thing. Is anyone getting those fucking bandages?!"
A few moments later one of the trainees thrust a roll of bandages into Riddle's hands.
As she began to loosely cover the open wound, careful not to move the bone itself, Riddle saw one of the other trainers come over to assist.
"They're getting the car ready," he told Riddle. "Help me get Aluma onto the stretcher?"
Riddle nodded, securing the bandage with a quick knot.
"Aluma, you've got to get yourself onto the stretcher," Riddle told her, pushing the stretcher towards her. "Put your weight on me if you need to."
Nodding through her silent tears, Aluma looped her arm around Riddle's shoulders, using her to pull herself onto the stretcher, where the other trainer carefully lifted her leg, releasing a scream from Aluma's throat.
Between the two of them, they managed to carry Aluma out of the training hall, where a car was waiting for them. After loading Aluma in and watching the car speed towards the nearest hospital, Riddle sighed, leaning back against the walls of the Academy.
"Well there goes our female volunteer. Only a week until the Reapings –no way will she heal in time," said the other trainer, whose name Riddle had never bothered to learn. "Apparently that loud crash startled her when she was climbing and she lost her footing."
Riddle recalled her heavy attacks on Amell; how she had forced him backwards so far without an open opportunity to counter that he had stumbled into the racks behind.
But she felt no guilt. It wasn't her fault that Amell wasn't fighting hard enough, or that Aluma wasn't focussed. In fact, Riddle probably did Aluma a favour –if it only took a small distraction to cause her to lose her footing like that then she'd never survive the arena.
"Who's the reserve?" asked Riddle, watching as the sun began to disappear beneath horizon line, casting a shadow across the front of the Academy.
The other trainer shrugged. "There are a few others who could maybe take her place, but with such short notice and without the amount of training they should have had, I can't say I'm confident in putting any of them in the arena."
Riddle raised an eyebrow. "And you were confident with putting Aluma in there?"
He screwed his face up. "Erm, perhaps not on reflection?"
Riddle shrugged. "Well I guess we gotta pick someone and just accept that this year will likely be a write-off."
"Not necessarily," a sudden change of expression formed on the male trainer's face. "There is someone else who could step up."
Riddle stared at him.
"You."
Volunteering was something Riddle had considered in the past, but that was years ago, before she had lost motivation for the Games and had turned her attention on more important matters. Screw the Games, she had told herself, but it seemed as though perhaps she would have to go back on those words.
But the night was drawing closer, and Riddle had somewhere she needed to be.
"I'll…think about it," she said finally. "But I gotta go. See you tomorrow."
Not hanging around for her colleague's response, Riddle jogged down the steps of the Academy and made her way further into the district.
She headed towards a small row of terraced houses which nestled beside the edge of the largest cemetery in Two, slipping behind the back of them where she inserted a small brass key into one of the back doors. The inside of the house was minimal; with enough furniture to suggest to the naked eye that someone resided there. Noticing that the rug had already been moved, revealing a trapdoor in the centre of the main room, Riddle guessed that she had arrived a little later than planned. As she flicked open the door and made her way down the ladder, she heard the disappointing mutterings of her associate.
"Before you make a comment about me being late, just don't," Riddle snapped before she even looked at Malin.
"Alright, I won't say anything," he rose his gloved hands in surrender. "Except for maybe that you might wanna hurry this one up a bit; we've got a lot to deliver and not much time to prepare."
"When have I ever missed a delivery?" Riddle challenged, picking up a pair of gloves from the workbench and sliding her hands into them.
"Charming as ever," Malin smirked, before bending down behind the table. "Is your charming arse gonna lend a hand or what?"
Riddle walked around the table. "You know I always pull my weight."
"Speaking of pulling weight," said Malin. "This one ain't half heavy. Wonder how long his flesh would take to rot; he's got a lot of it."
"Something we don't want to find out," pointed out Riddle as she gripped the corpse's legs whilst Malin held the top of the body. "Hurry up then."
Between the two of them, they managed to slide the body of the rather large man onto the table's surface. Beneath the white light that glared unattractively, the man's skin seemed even paler. Despite the obvious layers of fat, the veins had risen to the surface of his skin, running along his body like a network of cables.
"You alright getting started with him whilst I go through the loot?" asked Malin, already searching through the various personal items he had swiped from the man's grave.
Riddle nodded, picking up the scalpel beside her.
As Riddle carved into the body with meticulous precision, careful to preserve the internal organs, she found her thoughts wandering back to the Academy, in particular to her colleague's suggestion about her volunteering.
Perhaps volunteering was the fresh start she needed.
Whether believable or not, Riddle didn't exactly enjoy harvesting organs to sell on the black market; it was a revenue stream, that was all. She knew it took a certain type of person to commit such a heinous act, and she supposed that she must be one of those people. Be it a criminal, a villain, or just a really fucked-up person; Riddle knew that she wasn't good. But she could be better, couldn't she?
Volunteering could bring with it an opportunity to restart, to take a grip on her life that had drifted off the mundane path it was meant to walk. It was a dangerous opportunity, but it wasn't as though Riddle wasn't somewhat prepared for it. At least the dead bodies she would encounter in the arena would actually mean something more worthwhile than just a bit of blood-stained cash.
By the time Riddle and Malin had packed the organs into the cooler boxes, ready to meet their buyer, Riddle had entirely convinced herself that volunteering for the Games made perfect sense.
Maybe she would die in the arena, or maybe she would live. Either way, she would no longer be a slave to the night. That counted for something, right?
A/N
I know I say this every time, but I cannot get over how different all of these tributes are! Gosh, I love them all so much.
Zoei seems to possess a bit more of a carefree attitude, choosing to ignore anything negative in her life and focusing on the positives instead. She has become attached to her step-dad, though her twin sister Aida doesn't seem to share the same feelings. Speaking of which, we may know where Zoei's nickname 'Aida' stems from, but what could this mean? And will Zoei be able to maintain her optimism as the Games commence?
Angora has taken the responsibility of supporting her family by using her appearance to her advantage. Attending events as an escort, she is able to bring in some money which she hopes to use for a better future for her brother. Through her work, she is also able to get an insight into the elitist part of her district. Could her knowledge work to her advantage in the Capitol? Did you also notice a reference to another part of this story within her pov?
Riddle is another one of our Careers, and like Ragnar, she did not initially plan to volunteer. Having instead taken up the role of a trainer, after an accident in the Academy, Riddle has found herself contemplating whether to take that spot for herself. The biggest surprise of this pov was more than likely the job Riddle takes on during the night... Organ harvesting not a job for the weak stomached, but whilst Riddle doesn't enjoy it, she seems comfortable enough with it. Will the Games offer her the chance to restart and become a better person, or will it only take her down an even darker path?
Thank you all for your continued patience and support! It is very much appreciated, and I'd love to know your thoughts about these three girls!
We just have two more intro chapters left before we move onto the next phase of the story! I can't wait to show you the final six tributes, as well as get onto the pre-games!
Until next time,
Firefly.