Tiernan Merle, 18

District 12, He/Him

August 29th, 96 ADD

4:31 PM

It was hot outside, but Tiernan kept the window open.

He pulled his desk chair up to the windowsill, finished with homeschooling for the day, and rested his head on the window frame, looking out at Twelve. The Merle house wasn't downtown, but it was on the main road, and if he squinted he could make out some of the merchant district.

He settled his chin in his hand, and he gazed out, losing himself in his thoughts.

He watched the district he was isolated from, and he wondered what they were like.

(The woman walking into Asher's Antiques with the fancy sunhat was searching for new curtains, he decided. She could have bought them elsewhere, but she liked items with history- more fun to show off to her rich merchant friends. She was hoping for something floral, maybe, a nice warm pattern to match her living room.)

(Tiernan imagined that the weary man with overalls looked like a miner. He was tired, too tired for his age- he had a newborn baby at home, and the little girl was far from sleeping through the night. Work was hard, and the baby cried, but he still looked forward to going home to his partner. Those two were what kept him going.)

(He wondered about the boy with the shiny new backpack. It was a present from his mother for the new school year, and it had his initials embroidered on the back. His mother had let him pick the thread color, and he'd chosen green, his favorite. His favorite subject was math, and he had two freshly sharpened pencils tucked into his bag, ready to learn. School didn't start until tomorrow, but he was so excited that he wore the bag anyway. His mother was okay with it as long as he didn't get it dirty.)

But then each of them walked into a store, or turned the corner, or disappeared into the crowd, and they were gone.

Tiernan would never meet any of them, because he would never leave this house. He hadn't left in six months, and he wouldn't start now, and it was killing him.

Tiernan sighed and pulled back from the window, unsettled. He wanted to leave. He really did.

You could go to the backyard, he reasoned. At least that's outside.

He stood and crossed the room, cracking his bedroom door open. He peered down the hall at his father's room, but heard nothing.

This meant his father was downstairs.

This meant he'd have to walk by him to get to the backyard.

Tiernan pulled back, considering his options. He'd successfully avoided his father all day. He wasn't sure he wanted to break the silence.

(He didn't want to talk about it.)

Hopefully, his father wouldn't either.

Claustrophobia settling in, Tiernan slipped out of his bedroom and down the stairs. His father wasn't in the living room, and he braced himself as he walked into the kitchen- but he wasn't there, either.

Maybe he left, and I just didn't hear it, Tiernan concluded. That has to be it.

He pulled his shoes on- nearly spotless, as they got little use- and walked out the back door into the backyard.

Hunched over a flower bed was his father.

Obviously, Tiernan. Why didn't you think of that? His father was a florist until a few years back, and he'd always kept their backyard looking nice.

(Maybe it was because he hadn't seen his father gardening in six months.)

As Tiernan approached, his father turned, wiping sweat off his brow. His expression remained blank as he took Tiernan in.

For the first time in three days, his father spoke to him.

"Finished with school?"

Tiernan nodded.

His father nodded back.

Then he turned back to the flowerbed.

Tiernan peered over his shoulder, spotting chrysanthemums. Of course. His mother had loved chrysanthemums.

(He still missed her, right?)

(It had only ever been the three of them against the world, and his mother had made that clear. No, you're not going to school, Tiernan. Your education would be much more thorough here. No, Tiernan, you are not to speak to the Seam children. We don't associate with them. Tiernan, the merchant children will laugh at you, and are best avoided. You're safest here. We're safest here.)

(And really, every time he'd tried to break his seclusion, he'd proven his parents right. He'd been chased out of the Hob. He'd been tased by Peacekeepers. The Seam boys had split his lip. His family was too uppity for the Seam, and disgraced by the merchants; they didn't belong anywhere, especially not Tiernan.)

(So he remained in limbo.)

(With his mother and father.)

(But then his mother got sick, and it was just him and his father, and Tiernan didn't know how to reconcile with the fact that he mourned her less than he thought he would.)

(She was one of two people who had ever loved him, and she was gone, and Tiernan had barely reacted. What did that make him? Not a good son, that was for sure. She would have been disappointed in him.)

(She would've been right to be.)

Tiernan stared at the chrysanthemums, slowly backing away from his father. He turned and retreated back into the house, the sense of confinement sinking into his skin. Tiernan raked a hand through his hair, breathing faster.

(What had he mourned more: his mother's death, or the fact that without her, he was even more alone?)

(Only his father stood between Tiernan and total isolation.)

(Only his father, who spoke to him maybe twice a week, who spent most of his time working for the Peacekeeper garrison that had once employed his mother, who ignored Tiernan when he walked into the room and, just like his wife, believed Tiernan belonged at home.)

The truth settled in: he'd never escape this house. He would always be alone.

He didn't want that. Not one bit.

But he didn't know how to change it, either.

Jest Valencia, 18

District 5, He/Him

September 9th, 96 ADD

12:29 AM

Jest stood at the back of the club, arms crossed. His shirt was too tight against his temporary tattoos. A piece of hair kept falling in his eyes, too short to tuck behind his ear. He surveyed the crowds of clubbers with a stern expression, eyeing anyone who swayed too close to him.

He always had to kick a few people out, but tonight had been relatively quiet. He was near the end of his shift, and he was hoping it would stay that way.

Of course, given Jest's penchant for bad luck, this was not what happened.

As soon as he glanced over at the bar, he spotted a situation. He started to make his way around the outskirts of the crowd, weaving quickly through club patrons, until he reached the two men arguing. Both had their chests puffed out and were shouting at the other over the music.

Jest wedged himself in between them and shoved them apart. "That's enough," he shouted, glaring at each of them in turn.

The smaller of the two stumbled back, unbalanced, before catching himself. He pointed at the other man. "He… he was harassing that lady!" he shouted, slurring his words.

"I wasn't!" the taller man roared, his red hair gleaming under the flashing lights. "I just bought her a drink! That was all it was!" He, too, swayed on his feet.

Jest glanced around, looking for "that lady," but didn't see one. "Well, break it up, alright?" Jest shouted back.

The first man blinked. "He's- he's a liar!"

"I am not!"

Jest squared up as the shorter man tried to rush the redhead, hooking an arm through his and dragging him back. He gestured for the redhead to back off, so of course he didn't. Jest elbowed him in the gut before grabbing his arm, too, and then began dragging both of them through the club. Both were too drunk to put up a proper fight, and Jest maneuvered them through the crowd with less trouble than he'd expected.

As he arrived at the front door, another bouncer grabbed the redhead off Jest's arm and tossed him into the street. Jest threw the shorter one out after him, brushing off his hands with disgust.

The other bouncer gave him a nod, and Jest returned it silently before turning and heading back to work.

By the time he got home, everyone was asleep. Jest went straight to bed, aiming to get as much sleep as he could before he was needed again.

(He did not resent this. Jest liked being needed.)

When he woke the next morning, the first thing he registered was noise coming from the kitchen. He brushed his teeth quickly, tying his hair up and out of his face, before heading out to investigate.

"I swear, when Jest makes it, he uses more milk," Jiddana was arguing.

"We don't have more milk," his mother's voice answered.

"Ma, it's right there."

"Oh…"

Jiddana looked over at him as he walked in. "Morning."

"Morning." He yawned. "Where's Divvy?"

"In her high chair."

Jest looked over at the kitchen table. "Uhh… are you sure?"

His younger sister followed his gaze to the empty high chair. "Shit!" she muttered, taking off in search of her one-and-a-half-year-old daughter- Jest's niece. Jest glanced at his mom, who was consumed with making oatmeal and seemed stable enough, before following Jiddana.

Divvy hadn't made it far. She was working on climbing up the couch when Jiddana snatched her and swept her up in her arms, Divvy giggling all the while.

"I didn't even think she could get out of that chair," Jiddana said.

"That one's new," Jest observed. Jiddana held Divvy out to Jest, and he took her. Divvy smiled one of her dopey baby smiles at Jest, her dark brown curls wild and unbrushed. "Good morning," he told her. "How are you today?"

Divvy responded with a string of nonsense. Divvy was big into talking lately. She did know a few words- she had "Mama" and "No" down pat- but most of her sentences were babble.

"Good to hear," Jest replied with a grin.

Jiddana reached over and poked his arm. "This one's coming off."

"Wha- Jiddana!"

Jiddana dangled the peeled-off temporary tattoo in his face. Divvy reached for it, but Jiddana pulled it out of her daughter's grasp. "I still think they're goofy."

"They help me get work," Jest argued. "You know that."

"You could just get a real tattoo," Jiddana replied, wiggling her eyebrows. "Would be pretty sick."

"Those are expensive," Jest reminded her. "And permanent."

(Temporary tattoos were removable. Removable meant Jest could distance himself from his reputation, from those expectations. He- he wasn't like that anymore.)

"Done," his mother called. Jest settled Divvy back into her high chair while Jiddana went to help their mother bring out breakfast and set the table.

As soon as they started eating- or, in Divvy's case, making a mess- Jiddana shot him a look.

"Yours is better," she muttered.

Jest shrugged and kept eating.

"Jori should be here," his mother suddenly said. "I… his vacation has gone on too long. Jest, when did he say he was coming back, again?"

Jest and Jiddana exchanged a glance.

"Haven't talked to him lately," Jest mumbled.

"It depends on his schedule, Ma," Jiddana replied. "He'll try to come back soon, but he's not sure, okay?"

Bea sighed. "Alright."

(Jori was not coming back. Jori was dead.)

Jiddana checked her watch. "Shit. I need to get going."

"I'll clean her up," Jest said. Divvy, covered in oats, grinned at him. He forced himself to smile back, pushing off thoughts of his brother.

(It wasn't fair. Divvy was supposed to have two uncles. She had only ever known one.)

"You sure?" Jiddana asked.

"Go to school," he reassured her. "I've got it from here."

Jiddana threw her stuff in her schoolbag and raced out the door. He reached for Divvy, who was now very, very sticky.

"You and me again," he told her.

She put a sticky little hand on his face, wiping oats on him.

"Really?"

She grinned.

Jest shook his head at her, suppressing a grin of his own.

Valentina Gammon, 16

District 7, She/Her

September 16th, 96 ADD

3: 45 PM

In a strange way, the Gammon family's misfortune had changed Tina's life for the better.

She loved her family dearly, but Tina wasn't an idiot. If she'd been the one in charge of the family finances, well, they wouldn't have lost their wealth in the first place. She'd only been seven at the time, but she was still confident that even then, she wouldn't have made the same move.

Some investments- such as breeding a new type of deer and releasing the population into the wild, creating a new source of meat for Seven's hunters that would become the best meat in Panem, as well as being immune to all diseases- were simply too good to be true.

At the ripe young age of seven, as she packed all her belongings into boxes, leaving her pretty pink room behind for a run-down old house, Tina had learned a valuable lesson: scam or be scammed. It was simply the way of the world. If this lesson wasn't true, then why were the Gammons in debt? Why did they have to sell off all their heirlooms and her favorite toys? Why did they have to start over?

Tina watched her father, who had always enjoyed hunting for sport, find a new, less enjoyable, low-paying job that hunted wild game for Seven's slaughterhouses. She watched her mother take up work in one of those slaughterhouses. She looked after Florence as best she could, dissatisfied with her new lot in life.

But it hadn't been all bad, because her new lot in life had also included her first love.

Barbecue.

"Alrighty, Pitmasters!" the judge called. He was seated on a panel of three, right in the middle. He had a stocky build and salt-and-pepper hair. "All five of you have survived the brisket challenge. However, to take home the title of 19th Annual Pitmaster, you must also conquer…"

Tina held her breath as the judge took a dramatic pause.

"...the ribs challenge!"

Tina nodded approvingly. She was great at ribs. She'd nail this. She glanced at her array of spices- she'd need her best rub to come out on top. Luckily, she'd made sure to save enough barbecue sauce for another full recipe. Her eyes drifted over the rest of her ingredients, making selections… garlic powder, onion powder… smoked paprika… brown sugar… cayenne… mustard powder, too…

"You will have three hours," the judge continued, "and for this competition, as you know, you will be cooking live in front of the judging panel."

The Eastern District Seven Barbecue Competition was not her last competition of the season, but it was the biggest. Tina was a great grillmaster, but she had yet to actually win a competition. Winning this… now that would taste sweeter than her sticky ribs. Her sticky ribs actually used to be a lot sweeter, but she'd dialed that down a bit for a better balanced recipe.

The point stood. Tina wanted to win.

"Each dish should be served with a side of the chef's choice," the judge continued. "The judging criteria remain the same as the previous challenge: Taste/Aroma, Texture, Presentation, and Creativity." The other two judges brought each of the five remaining contestants two racks of ribs. Tina held her hands behind her back as the stout older lady set the plate down at her station, nodding to her in thanks.

"In three… two… one… go!"

Tina washed her hands quickly and thoroughly before lunging at her grill, lighting the flames to preheat it. She pulled out a bowl and a whisk and threw her rub together, eyeballing her proportions- measuring slowed her down too much- and tasting it until it knocked Tina's socks off. Once it was up to her standards, she threw the ribs in the rub, and then onto the barbecue.

Now she needed a side dish…

There was a table of extra ingredients next to the judging panel. Tina checked on her ribs one more time, then hurried over, collecting ingredients for her coleslaw. She loaded her arms up with red cabbage, an apple, carrots, green onions, a red pepper, and a lemon, then turned to retreat to her station, ready to chop and slice and dice.

On the way, she passed a competitor. "Miss Tina," he said gruffly.

She nodded back, plastering on a ditzy grin. "Mr. Henry."

(Scam or be scammed… or, at the least, be underestimated.)

"Lotsa veggies there," he said. "Sure they go together?"

"Positive," Tina beamed.

"...Alright."

His mind games wouldn't work on her. "Best of luck, Mr. Henry!" she chirped, striding off toward her station.

For the next few hours, she worked diligently on her contest entry. She added too much apple cider vinegar to her coleslaw at first, which forced her to start over- luckily, she had plenty of time for a fresh batch. She tried not to show her frustration with her mistake. Tina had a tendency to get flustered when things get wrong, but she forced herself to take a few deep breaths and start fresh.

On her way back to her station, she again passed Mr. Henry.

"Miss Tina," he said suddenly.

She stopped, forcing herself to hold back a glare. "Yes?" she asked sweetly.

"You know why you never win?"

"Do tell," she said, losing some of the sweetness.

Mr. Henry gestured at her arm of ingredients with his chopping knife. "I've seen you make that slaw a dozen times," he said. "It's always the same. You never try anything new."

Tina's eyes widened. She took a step back. "Oh!"

"Not tryin' to tell ya what to do," he said. "All in the spirit of barbecue, miss."

"Well," Tina said, "I'll certainly keep that in mind. Thank you!"

She turned her back to him, the smile dropping off her face in a second, and returned to her station.

(How dare he? "The spirit of barbecue," her ass. She wouldn't let him get to her, not with such a feeble attempt.)

She didn't let him get to her.

But when she placed second to Mr. Henry yet again, it was harder than usual to maintain that ditzy grin.

thank you to ace-0f-sw0rds for submitting tiernan, flawlesscatastrophe for submitting jest, and queenofmourning37 for submitting valentina! these three were a very fun time and i enjoyed their intros a lot! thank you also to moose for looking at this last minute for me :)

oh, also, because i forgot to say this last time- pretty much all the tributes are not their actual listed ages at the time of their intros (at this point), but i've listed them like they are because that's confusing. if any timelines look a little weird just keep in mind that we're still (checks watch) about nine months out from the games!

anyway. hope you all are having a happy holidays, and i will see you next time with chevre, wisdom, and jude!

rb