"Halfway between where I've been and where I'm going
In between wondering why, and finally knowing."
Tremor Atilius, 18, District Two Male
Tremor Atilius doesn't understand.
Staring out the train window, he feels like his world is crumbling.
After all he's done for the Capitol—after all his parents did—this is the thanks he gets? Being shipped off to some silly pageant of punishment that's meant to put rebels in their place? He cannot fathom it, cannot even grasp such a strange concept.
That he could work so hard, doing everything they told him to do, training himself and becoming a Peacekeeper younger than anyone else had... and then being sent away before even reaching his full potential.
He sees through their schemes, knows that the Games are a death match, meant to serve a constant reminder that the Capitol is superior. That they can take any child from their homes and kill or corrupt or shatter them, anytime they want.
And yet, Tremor just didn't think they'd pick him, of all people; the perfect model of what the Capitol stands for. He's trained all his life, dedicating every day to avenging his parents, to carrying on their legacy: stamping out the rebels. They'd killed his parents, and so he's been trying to make sure that they don't kill anyone else.
And he's done a good job. His teachers laud him for his exceptional efforts. Now he's going to die, and for what?
"Tremor?"
Tremor turns sharply. A girl stands in his doorway, and she inhales slightly at seeing him. He smiles at her, knowing full well the effect he has on people. "Um... they want us in the dining room..."
"Of course."
He stands and follows the girl down a hallway, still feeling conflicted. He's off to the Capitol, a place he adores and has always wanted to visit. And yet, they betrayed him, after everything. How could they?
They enter the room, where various food is laid out on a white lace tablecloth. An older woman with dark skin and weary eyes sits in a chair, while a man shadows her, standing a small ways off. He looks like a servant to Tremor; one of those people who is incredibly good at being invisible.
"Hello Tremor, Antigone," says the woman, the slightest accent making her voice sound musical.
Tremor is on guard instantly. Is she a foreigner? Does that mean that she's a rebel?
"I am Mirabelle McMaster," she continues, "and I am tasked with the job of preparing you for the Games. Now, tell me about yourselves. Did either of you, by any chance, train in one of the up-and-coming Career academies? Do you know each other?"
Antigone shakes her head, pacing circles around the room, while Tremor takes the chair across from Mirabelle. He may as well answer her question.
"No, ma'am," he says. "Though I did train and graduate as a Peacekeeper."
He sees her stiffen almost imperceptibly, her face clenching for half a moment before she relaxes into a smile. "That's alright. I'm here to help you hone your skills so that you might have a chance at winning, and I have no doubts about you being capable of that." She smiles reassuringly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Now, you might be wondering what makes me so qualified to train you in such a thing. I was a Victor in the Games myself, long ago."
So obviously the Capitol did not favor her enough, and so they sent her to die. But then... doesn't that mean the Capitol is angry with him?
"What are these Games even for?" asks the girl, still fidgeting about like an anxious bird trying to find escape. "What do we have to do?"
"You'll learn all about it, at the Orientation Dinner, after the Parade," says Mirabelle gently, still smiling.
Tremor tunes them out, appraising the girl. She's obviously ignorant and untrained, which rules her out as an ally. But maybe these Games can be his redemption (despite the fact that he never sinned.) Maybe he can take out the kids who are troublemakers, who could be future rebels, who could kill a little boy's parents someday. And then maybe everything will make sense again.
...
Felicia Simmons, 16, District Eight Female
She's always longed to see the Capitol, and she supposes this is her chance.
Felicia buzzes with anticipation as she sits in the dining room, her Mentor leaning forward in an attempt at keeping her attention. Felicia listens with half an ear, absorbing all the information without much difficulty. Right now he's speaking about the layout of the Training Center they'll be spending their time in, as well as the schedule.
"The Parade will happen soon after we arrive, once the Stylist has a chance to make you over a little. This is the first Parade in Panemian history, so you're both very lucky. You'll wear fancy outfits and the Capitol will have a chance to see your smiling faces!"
Felicia claps her hands enthusiastically. "Ooh, oooh, can I wear pink?" she asks, pitching her voice a little higher than it needs to be.
"That's up to your Stylist," the Escort pipes up. "But it's certainly a possibility."
Felicia beams. Here are all her dreams, unfolding before her like a scene from a movie, like a fairytale.
Well, almost all of her dreams.
Her District partner is much too young to date, practically a child, and he's crying as well; not a very good look. The Mentor is older, maybe twenty-five, with serious eyes. And the Escort... well, Felicia doesn't think they're her type.
She mustn't lose hope just yet. There are still all the other boys in the Games to flirt with, not to mention the young men from the Capitol.
Felicia almost sighs just thinking about them. They'll know the true meaning of love, unlike all the silly District boys who've rejected her in the past. Despite her mother's distance, Felicia has memorized her mantra well. The only thing girls are good for is their looks. And if you have them, use them. That's the only path to true love.
(She ignores the fact that Felicia's father left her not long after he'd arrived, and that her mother spends all her nights gambling and all her days unconscious. And Felicia makes most of the wages, working at the textile factory. But that's another story entirely.)
"Do either of you know anything about the Games whatsoever?" the Mentor asks.
Felicia beams and shakes her head bashfully—though she is certainly a quick study by nature, so it won't take long for her to learn— and the little boy just keeps crying. She doesn't have a clue what the Games entail, but whatever they're about, they can't be as important as her ultimate goal: finding love. And she'll find it.
Or maybe... maybe these Games will allow her to utilize this thing that's been building inside her all these years, the knowledge she's kept hidden away. But she can't show that. Because nobody will like her if she does. And maybe she's imagining it all; maybe her ability to add up numbers and memorize formulas is just a silly, useless trick that will never do her any good.
But she doesn't like to dwell on things like that. She knows she's pretty, and that's all that matters.
Right?
...
I realized I've been stealing lyrics from Broadway like a petty thief without giving credit, and so the song I quoted this chapter was "Crossing a Bridge" from Anastasia! Here we are with Tremor and Felicia, our second-to-last intro! I can't believe we're already getting so close to Pre-games! It's truly been such a fun time so far. As always, I'd love to know what you think of these kids, and thank you to their submitters! I'll see you on Monday with one last intro! I can't wait.
Much love,
Miri