District Four Female
Leila Nettskip, 17
The girl in the bunk above her, Marita, wakes up every single morning at twilight to go pee. Leila knows this because she shakes the whole fucking bed going down, and wakes her up every time.
This morning, she was counting on the disturbance. As Marita pads away on her bare feet to exit the cabin, Leila throws off her blanket and starts changing into her training outfit. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to tie her running shoes in the dark, when Juana comes in to wake the girls.
"!Levántense, chicas!" She sings, clapping her hands. "¡Hoy es la cosecha, como ya saben!"
She is met by a couple of groans, mostly from the newest trainees. Leila rolls her eyes. It's a hard transition, but it's not like they didn't choose this. School ends at sixteen, so anyone involved in the after school "athletics" program makes the choice either to drop and get a job, or move into what they call the Den. It's the headquarters for career training in four. Only a dozen girls and boys make the transition every year, and at least half leave after a couple of months. It's not that the program is particularly strict, or even difficult, but a lot of them realize pretty quickly that they're not willing to sacrifice their life for their district.
For most people, moving into the Den means saying goodbye to their families for as long as they're planning to continue training. Leila is unlucky enough that her family lives just a couple miles away, and she can jog there easily in half an hour, so she has no excuse not to visit. That's where she plans on heading today. Her mother likes to get her ready for the Reaping, even though Leila is old enough to do it herself.
Leila finishes up and leaves the cabin, walking down to the main building to sign out. Then she hits the road.
Running is very therapeutic for her. Even when there's others around, there's not a lot of talking, which means Leila can drop the act for a while and resign herself to her miserable thoughts. Pretending to be pleasant all the time is exhausting, especially when everything everyone does makes Leila want to shatter their jaw. When it's just her and the dirt road, there's no reason to pretend to be nice just to get what she wants.
Dark clouds are gathering in the sky, bidding Leila to quicken her pace so she will be home safe before they unleash their downpour. Unfortunately, she's not able to outrun them, and she's completely drenched by the time she reaches home.
She stands in the doorway for a minute, peeling off her muddy shoes and wringing the water out of her long dark hair. The house is quiet. Where is her mother?
"¡Mamá!" She shouts, walking into the kitchen. "¡Estoy aquí!"
There's a loud bang as her mother, Esperanza, knocks the heating curling iron off the stove. She backs away quick enough to avoid burning her foot, but still lets out a string of curses.
"You scared me, mija!" Esperanza cries, putting the curling iron back on the stove. She looks over at Leila and shrieks. "You're soaked! What am I going to do with your hair?"
"You can still curl it, right?"
"No, no, no, it's bad for it when it's still wet." Esperanza hands her a towel from the counter. "Start drying it, I'll go get your dress."
Leila quietly obeys, knowing better than to voice her opinions on this whole bizarre ritual. She is more than capable of making herself presentable, but her mother insists on dressing her up every year like she's still a little twelve-year-old getting ready for her first reaping.
Esperanza returns, gingerly carrying something in her arms covered in thin pink paper. Leila can't help it; she throws back her head and groans. "I've told you at least a hundred times this month that I do not need a new dress," She says. "How much did that cost?"
"That doesn't matter, just look at it." Esperanza removes the wrapping and holds out the dress for Esperanza to see. It's white, unsleeved, and about mid-calf length, decorated with lace throughout. It must have cost a fortune, or at least way more than Esperanza can afford. Since Hector, her husband and Leila's father, disappeared on a fishing trip, money has been very hard to come by. The lack of available funds is about the only effect his absence has had, if Leila is being honest. He had been gone for most of her childhood, out at sea fishing, sending the occasional paycheck back home to the wife he didn't really love and the kid who he kind of disliked. Those paychecks were the only reminder of his existence they had, most of the time.
"You shouldn't have bought this." Leila says, reluctantly taking it. "The old green and yellow one fits fine. This is a waste. I'm only going to wear it today, next year, and then never again."
Esperanza shifts her weight from foot to foot and clasps her hands, a clear sign that she has something else up her sleeve. Leila narrows her eyes. Noticing her expression, Esperanza fesses up.
"I thought, since mine will be too small for you, that you can wear this one for your wedding, when you get married."
And there it is. As if her mother would ever do something nice without the ulterior motive of having Leila settle down, get married, and have a job. Leila would like nothing more than to explain, for the thousandth time, that she's not ready to leave the Den, but it would be a waste of time. Esperanza simply cannot comprehend the notion that Leila wants more out of her life than domestic misery. For her mother, it's not a life of suffering, but of content.
"Still a waste." Leila says. It comes out sharper than she intended, but she really is holding back. "But I'll still wear it, since you bought it." Begrudgingly, she adds, "It's very pretty."
Leila goes into her old room to change out of her wet training outfit and into the dress. It fits alright. She slips on the dress shoes lined up on the floor for her, and then goes back out to show her mother.
"You're so beautiful!" Esperanza says, wiping a tear from her eye. "Too much muscle in your arms, but that's okay. You have time to soften up."
Wait a second. "What do you mean, I have time? For what?"
Esperanza holds Leila's hands in her own, beaming. "Remember Eduardo? The nice, handsome boy from down the road? He has become a very successful merchant in town, and his parents say he is looking to marry."
This is not happening. "You set me up? To get married?"
"Please lower your voice. You're seventeen, almost eighteen. All the other girls your age have gotten jobs already." Esperanza calmly explains. "It's time to grow up."
"You don't get to make that choice for me!" Leila shouts, swatting her mothers hands away as she tries, in vain, to calm her. "No, don't touch me. I can't believe this!"
Esperanza sighs, looking disappointed but not angry. "I felt the same way when my parents and Hector's parents had us marry. But marriage means stability, a home. You will do well as a merchant, you are so personable. You will understand someday."
Esperanza is a simple woman with simple needs. She's content to live with nothing, as long as she has someone who she loves to share it with. Leila is not her mother, and she never will be. She has too much fury and frustration and unjustified hatred to ever be content with marriage, a nice job, or (Snow forbid) children. She's tired of the act. She needs a way out, right now.
"If you think that's actually going to happen, you're insane." Leila begins to back away. "Absolutely fucking delusional."
Her mother winces at the curse, taken aback by Leila's sudden hostility. "What has gotten into you? I'm only doing what is best for you. You can't speak to me that way!"
"You have no idea what I want, or what's best for me! I'm happy at the Den. I like it there." Leila says. "I want to fight, not settle down. If you can't respect that, then... I have nothing else to say to you."
Leila turns swiftly, storming out of the house and back into the rain. Her mother calls after her, but stays in the doorway. Leila ignores her and continues trudging through the mud, and eventually Esperanza goes back inside.
There's an old man down the road who owns a truck. He'll give her a ride to the reaping, she's sure.
District Four Male
Quillon Valez, 14
They get the morning off, but that doesn't mean Quillon isn't in the weapons room training as soon as the doors are unlocked. He can get plenty done on his own without a scheduled lesson.
He goes for the largest sword and gives it a couple swings. The weight of it is familiar, calming. He has always preferred this weapon over the others they have available for training at the Den. Normally the trainees go for the tridents or harpoons; a bit cliche, but it has worked well for Four in the past. Quillon doesn't come from a fishing family, so he had no familiarity with those weapons to begin with, and no desire to specialize in them. Technically speaking, the sword is a more versatile and effective weapon, anyway.
He practices a few maneuvers on the straw dummy, focusing on his form. He's started to work up a sweat by the time Marlin and the twins, Zyan and Jorge, come in. Quillon stops, turning to face them, the sword still clenched in his hand. The blade is dull from years of use at the Den, but it is still a deadly weapon.
"I thought I was very clear yesterday," Marlin says, crossing his arms. "You're wasting your time. I'm going to volunteer this year. Then, Jorge next year, and Zyan the year after that. You'll age out before you have a chance."
It has been years since Marlin has held any power over him, but his voice still sends Quillon back to a very dark place in his memory. He spent a year as a victim to Marlin's gang of bullies. Their ruthless abuse corrupted his mind and turned him into a different person. He's spent he last four years getting his revenge, making their lives as horrible as he can. Now, there's only these three left.
"You're wrong." Quillon says. "It's going to be me up on that stage today."
Marlin rolls his eyes. "Over my dead body!"
Quillon pauses, deliberating. Marlin looks at him, and at the sword in his hand, and takes a very small step back. He's so afraid, Quillon can smell it. The twins exchange a look, probably considering whether they should stick around or make a run for it.
"If that's how you want it to be, then..." Quillon takes a step forward.
Marlin shakes his head. "You're crazy, man. Are you serious right now?"
"It's not like you wouldn't deserve it. You know you do."
"You've got to let it go, already! That was years ago. We were just kids." Marlin sounds desperate. "Haven't you done enough already? When will this end? When will you be satisfied?"
One day, when he was twelve years old, Quillon crawled home broken and bloodied. His mother sat with him, treating his wounds for the fourth time that week. As she reset his shoulder, something in him snapped. He stopped crying, and started screaming, demanding justice. Revenge is a slippery slope, she had told him. Her warning fell upon deaf ears. He had already fallen.
Quillon thinks back on Pablo, the youngest of the bullies and the first to crumble. Quillon stalked him for weeks, promising to kill him whenever he had the chance. The kid lost his mind, and eventually attacked his brother one night when he mistook him for Quillon, breaking into the house to kill him. His brother hit his head off the edge of the counter and died, and Pablo was taken by Peacekeepers and never heard from again. After Pablo was Miani, strong physically but easily corrupted mentally. Quillon convinced him the Peacekeepers were out to get him. Miani stole a boat and made a break for it one night, but was caught in a storm. His corpse turned up in a fishing net a couple days later.
"Two down, and three to go." Quillon says. "I'll be satisfied when you're as completely and utterly and destroyed as you made me."
One against three. He's had worse odds. He lunges, swinging the blade in a wide arc. Marlin dodges low to avoid it, as predicted, and Quillon lands a kick in his face. Marlin falls flat on his back, and Quillon kicks him in the head again to make sure he stays down.
Zyan and Jorge go on the defensive, moving in sync. Quillon has been the receiving end of their punches for long enough to learn how they work. They go together, or not at all. He has to target one of them and take them down, and the other will soon follow.
Jorge makes the first move, getting in close so Quillon can't use the long sword as easily. He punches and misses, while Zyan moves to attack from behind. Quillon focuses on deflecting Jorge's blows, and purposefully leaves an opening for Zyan. He takes it, and Quillon spins, hitting him hard in the chest with the flat side of the blade. Zyan goes down, clenching his side.
"Stop, I'm done, just stop," Jorge says, raising his hands in surrender. "You shattered his fucking ribs, let me help him."
"And what about all the times I asked you to stop?" Quillon yells, pointing the sword at Jorge's throat. "I must have begged you monsters hundreds of times, and you never once listened. Why should I listen to you?"
"We were kids! We were fucking kids, you crazy son of a bitch, we didn't-"
Quillon hits him in with the butt of his sword as hard as he can, and Jorge drops like a stone. Zyan shouts, and moves to tend to his brother, but Quillon kicks him in the head and knocks him out before he gets there.
It takes him about ten minutes to tie them all up and throw them into the supply closet. The adrenaline rush continues until he closes the door behind him. Quillon tries to keep a straight face as he walks back to the boys cabin, but he's so happy that it's almost impossible. He imagines their faces, their horror as they awake in the dark and realize they won't be able to escape in time to attend the reaping. As everyone knows, missing the reaping is a crime punishable by death. They'll each have bullets in their heads by the end of the day.
It's justice, plain and simple. They killed him, and he came back as someone different, someone unstable and hostile and horrible. People fear him the same way they would fear a rabid animal, and sometimes he thinks they may have a reason to. It doesn't matter. They killed him, and now he's killing them.
All the girls get to ride in Juana's van to the reaping, safe from the rain, while the boys are stuck in the trunk of Ernesto's truck. They've got nothing but a huge tarp they pulled off a leaky shed to protect them from the elements, and even that has a hole in it. Underneath the tarp, it's dark, cold, and damp, and everyone is so focused on holding it down and trying not to fall on top of their neighbor at every turn that nobody notices the missing trainees. It's not until they arrive at the reaping and start unloading that the counselor decides to do a quick headcount and realizes they're three short.
It's too late for them to go back to the Den and search for them - they'd risk missing the reaping themselves - but when when they find out who is absent they will inevitably make the connection to Quillon. It's not like they can do anything about it, with the reaping just twenty minutes away. While they do a recount, Quillon slips out of the group and into the line to be registered.
When he enters the square, the downpour suddenly stops. He looks up, and the skies are a clear blue, without a cloud in sight. It must be some kind of Capitol climate control. Now Quillon's clothes might have a chance to dry before he goes on stage.
Once he's moved to his spot with the other sixteen-year-olds, Quillon looks around, and spots Finnick standing with the other victors. The youngest victor in history, winner of the shortest games, and possibly the most arrogant tribute Four has ever had. That kid made the 65th a year to remember, and Quillon can't imagine what the gamemakers will pull this year to try and live up to it.
They've got a new escort this year, a man with blue hair and some kind of pattern tattooed on his skin. He's as obnoxious as the last one, and wastes a couple minutes gushing over Finnick before pulling a name from the boy's jar.
"Francisco Perez!" He calls, grinning wide and exposing his gem-laden teeth. "Congratulations, come on up!"
Most years in Four, when someone older than sixteen is reaped, there won't be a volunteer for them. The kid that's reaped this year is definitely older than sixteen, and physically fit, the kind that would usually go into the arena without a replacement, but that doesn't matter to Quillon. After what he did to Marlin and the twins, it's the games or life as an Avox for him.
The escort asks for volunteers, and Quillon responds immediately. "I volunteer!"
He hears a couple of grumbles from the section behind him. Quillon doesn't look back, but he's almost positive it's the boys from the Den, probably thankful that he's finally going to be put down in the arena. He'll show them.
He'll show them all.
District Four Female
Leila Nettskip, 17
Leila isn't surprised when Quillon is the one to volunteer. She mostly knows him by reputation, but has sparred with him a couple of times in training. He's good with a sword, very aggressive, but has a lot of issues upstairs. Who is she to talk, though? She's been living a lie for years.
And it's not going to end anytime soon, unless she does something about it. As the escort welcomes Quillon onto the stage, the gears in her head start turning. Yes, she could always volunteer next year, but why wait? Back to back victors from the same district are rare, but they're always male and female pairs. Considering how popular Cashmere and Gloss are, the Capitol might be eager to have a set from Four, as well. Finnick and Leila. Could it work?
Quillon is obviously not in control, mentally, and that can get you killed easily in the arena. Right off the bat, the other careers are going to put a target on his back, because you never know when a ticking time bomb like that is going to explode. Leila is pretty sure he doesn't stand a chance.
This could be her year, if she plays her cards right. Of course, that would mean gambling with her life, but she's already made up her mind about that. Leila would take a bloody death in the arena over a life of domestic slavery any day.
None of the other female candidates are particularly strong this year. Leila is Four's best bet for a victory. If they call a girl younger than 16, she'll volunteer. If not, she'll wait and go in next year.
The girl who is reaped, Selena Alvarez, can't be a day over thirteen. Leila waits patiently for her cue, and says very proudly: "I volunteer!"
She's tired of her mother, of her fake friends, and of smiling when she wants nothing more than to punch everyone in the face.
This is her escape.
District Four Male
Quillon Valez, 16
His mother, Alanna, and father, Santiago, come to visit him afterward. Quillon hasn't seen them at all since moving into the Den almost a year ago. They live pretty far away, almost a day by foot, so he could never visit, even if he wanted to.
"It's good to see you, son," Santiago says, giving him a firm clap on the shoulder. "This was, uh, quite the surprise, but we're very proud of you."
That was... really weird. He's not upset at all? Quillon had expected disappointment, if not anger from him. Santiago is a businessman first, and a father and husband second, and has always loved Quillon as his son, but not really as a person. He was mostly absent during his childhood, even more so during his early teenage years, but last Quillon checked he still planned to hand over the family business to him someday. What changed?
"You're not upset about my decision? What about the business?"
Santiago laughs, shaking his head. "Of course not. It's a great honor to have a volunteer in the family. And as for the business, your cousin, Fernanda, is more than happy to take over the reigns once I decide to retire. She's quite the businesswoman."
Quillon nods, but remains uneasy. He senses something that his father is not saying. Regret, possibly? Does he wish he had spent more time at home, getting to know his only son? All his father knows of him is from before, when he was young child with spunk and courage. Quillon may be his son, but he is a stranger to Santiago.
"Be careful, mijo." Alanna says. There are tears glistening in her eyes. "I love you very much, and I hope you come home to me."
His mother has always loved him, and believed there was something left of her little boy in him, buried deep down inside. There must be, because seeing her cry makes him uncomfortable, and... sad?
"I will return to Four, I can promise you that." He answers.
Alanna frowns, clinging tight to her husband's arm. "I miss you, still. Please come back."
Quillon realizes now that she isn't talking about him coming back from the games as a victor. She wants her little boy back, the one who cried when he pulled the hook out of the first fish he caught because he didn't want to hurt it, and laughed endlessly at his own jokes, even if they never made any sense.
Quillon may remember who he used to be, but that doesn't mean he can ever go back to who he was. He has caused the death of five boys, even if he does not have their blood on his hands, even if they deserved it. In the arena, he will kill many more. Murder is not something you can come back from. Even if he does win, he will not come home as the person his mother wishes him to be.
District Four Female
Leila Nettskip, 17
Leila can hear Esperanza crying before she can see her. It's a terrible sound, and it only gets louder when she opens the door and enters the room.
"Mi bebita, qué has hecho?" She cries.
"Quiet!" Leila hisses. "And speak Standard, or the Peacekeepers are going to come in here and and drag you to prison."
"They can take me, then! I can't live my life alone!"
At this point, Esperanza throws herself onto Leila, who has to reach back and stable herself on the table to avoid toppling over. She stands stiff as a board as her mother cries into her shoulder.
"This is what I want." Leila says. "Maybe not what you want, but I don't care. It's my life, and I want to make something out of it."
"But I will have nobody, nothing!" Esperanza pulls away. Leila takes a step back and crosses her arms, just in case she changes her mind and feels like invading her space again.
"Maybe you should have had more kids. I'm sure you could have tricked at least one of them into being a miserable homemaker like you." Leila shrugs. "Get remarried or something. I don't care. Just please leave, so I can move on with my life."
"Why are you acting like this? How can you be so cruel and selfish? This is not who you are, mija."
"It is who I am." Leila says. "And if it's cruel and selfish to want what I want and not care how anyone else feels about it, then, I guess I am. I'm not doing this to hurt you, I'm doing this for me."
Thank Snow, the three minutes end, and Esperanza leaves. Leila sits down, and waits for the train to arrive and whisk her away to the Capitol.
A/N: A day late, but still an update! I really like this district. As you may be able to tell by the names and the language, I headcanon Four to be located along the coast of what was once Mexico.
I changed the alternating POV's a bit for this chapter, combining Quillon's pre-reaping and reaping. It's just how things worked out, and I will probably change back to the old format for the next chapter.
How were the tributes? They may not sound like someone you would want as a friend, but they sure are interesting! Leila was submitted by Tribute00, and Quillon was submitted by DaughterofTigris.
Check my profile to see when the next update will be. Thanks for reading!