"You never know what life will bring,

Only what you bring to life

Hopes and dreams and fine imaginings

They happen in their own good time."

Sequoia Caishen, 18, District Eleven (She/They)

Every renowned scam artist must know two very important things. They may appear simple at first, but Sequoia lives by these rules, clings to them as others might rely on the cheap Capitol propaganda.

And if Sequoia Caishen is anything at all, she is a renowned scam artist. Although... that might not be quite the correct word. 'Infamous' might sum it up better... and really, they're not supposed to leave a mark, so really they should be unknown—

But all of that is technicalities. The two undeniable truths are as follows: in this world, everyone wants something. And the world owes nothing to nobody—and most especially, not to a poor kid in Eleven, just trying to save her family. But the smart ones take things anyway, even when they're not owed. Especially then.

Sequoia learned these two truths at a very young age, from her uncle and father, the slickest conmen she ever knew.

(They're just late... that's all. They're coming back. The funeral, the gaping years between her and them... all of that is a hoax. She knows hoaxes all too well, and this one is no different. It can't be real that they're dead.)

What does Sequoia Caishen want? There are many answers to that question.

She wants money, most obviously, sometimes spends hours counting the coins and notes, feeling them crinkle and jingle through their fingers. They are the sweet promise of safety. They buy her and her family just a little more time on this unforgiving earth.

What else does Sequoia want? Well... the most skilled thief never reveals all their cards at once, and never at first. No... the best thieves are good at being patient.

And really, 'thief' is somewhat of a base term for what Sequoia and her cousin Akar have become, following in the footsteps of their fathers before them. No, they are slick as oil but charming as a fox. They are just coy enough to be untraceable, yet bright enough to catch the eye.

And yes, maybe humility isn't one of Sequoia's greatest qualities. But humility is a luxury, and not one they've ever had the ease of indulging in.

Because Sequoia has learned that sometimes people don't get what they want. Most of the time, in fact, things don't turn out as planned. But Sequoia rolls with the punches, and they come back stronger, and—above all—they scheme.

Akar sometimes says that Sequoia without a scheme is like a Capitolite without jewels: almost unheard of. Almost... blasphemous. And Sequoia can't agree more. To be without a scheme might drive them insane, and that is the greatest worry of all.

Still, she can't always come up with something new and exciting every time. So today she goes with one of the classics, and her personal favorite.

What's that saying... when life gives you lemons, make lemonade? Sequoia lives by another motto. When life gives you trash, turn it into fake gold and trade it in for the real thing. Simple and selfish and wickedly fun.

Now, Sequoia is far from entirely heartless. She only scams those who deserve it, and at times they give back to the ones who've been wronged. But in a world of backstabbers and murderers, Sequoia figures the best option is to become one.

(A backstabber, not a murderer. Never a murderer, no, she can't think about that—)

"Akar, my partner in crime!" Sequoia waltzes their way inside, sporting a truly hideous collection of castoffs which she will turn into dazzling heirlooms. "Are you ready for another scheme?"

"Let me guess... the classic trash-to-treasure trick," drawls Akar, picking at his sorry excuse for a breakfast. Sequoia does a quick once-over of the servings laid out for the family and nods to herself. It's definitely time to replenish.

And how can they possibly feel guilty, when she's stealing for a family so dear to her?

"Ding ding!" says Sequoia gleefully, holding out their bag of goodies with a flourish. "I have a good feeling about this one."

"Where'd you get that, the downtown dumpster?"

"Oh please." Sequoia ruffles her cousin's hair. "I do have standards."

He narrows his eyes. "Right, of course."

"It was the uptown dumpster. The one on the outskirts, mind you. The slummiest part. But still."

Sequoia sets to work, applying the gold glitter with finesse. They've done this almost a hundred times now, played every trick in the book and dealt every card in the deck. She must admit, there's something thrilling about becoming someone else, this charismatic persona who is utterly unaffected by the heartache which sometimes creeps into their chest over the loss of their father and uncle...

It's easier, to feel like she's doing something. To be in control.

Together, they make short work of the pile of trash. Soon, it's a collection of glamorous, albeit eccentric, baubles. And it's not all fake sparkles and gaudy jewels either; Sequoia knows how to mix and match with just a few real diamonds which she'll switch out at the last minute, knows how to give it that extra shiny varnish which won't come off easily. At this point, it's child's play.

It could almost be poetic... making something beautiful out of refuse nobody else wanted. But Sequoia isn't big on poetry. And the people they swindle won't think the worthless junk is beautiful. So they don't spend too long indulging in that thought.

On her way out, Sequoia pats her dog Coco, her good-luck charm. Coco came from a scam, rescued from a previous mark who'd been starving him to death. Now Sequoia can't help but adore him.

She links her arm through Akar's. "Ready to show those rich snobs who's boss?"

Akar grins. "Always."

It doesn't take long for them to find their target, an eccentric Capitolite who just recently moved to the Districts and has a major soft spot for antiques. He owns a small shop which offers to sell and buy various artifacts. Sequoia breezes through the door as if they own the place, the bell chiming wildly at their entrance.

"Howdy-do and good mornin'!" she says, her crooked, jolly smirk emerging in its full glory. "I'm Dolly Tree, and this here's my associate, Vintage "Vine" McGem."

Akar gives them a supremely displeased arch of the eyebrows and Sequoia only grins wider. The outrageous nicknames are one of the best parts of a job.

The man, Clive Crystal, gives a charmed smile. He's used to eccentric names like that. "Charmed to meet you. What do you have for me today?"

"Ahhh." Sequoia sets out her wares, presenting with utmost pride. "These here are family heirlooms. In fact..." Sequoia squints, pretending to think. "Well, my grandmother always called them junk, but you know how items can get mislabeled."

"I certainly do."

The best thing about Capitolites? They're surprisingly gullible.

Sequoia watches as the man's eyes flick toward a random diamond amid the paraphernalia. He holds it up to a loupe. "It would seem some of these may be worth something after all," he purrs. "And they're District-based, too. Such novelty."

"Indeed, good sir," says Sequoia. "In fact, I'm sure you've never seen items of this variety before. You see, sometimes the best jewels are the diamonds in the rough."

He grins. "I couldn't agree more."

Now, this is almost too easy. And Sequoia doesn't want to be cocky, but... well, it's safe to say they have this down to an art.

She's learned it's not so much the wares themselves that win people over. It's the way you hold yourself, the way those items are presented, as if they are precious commodities that are for the buyer, and only them. The trick is to make them feel special, somehow. It works surprisingly well.

Sequoia can't help but gloat a little as Clive counts out items, having abandoned his loupe. "I've heard tell of swindlers who come in with their fancy clothes and gaudy jewelry, outsmarting humble people like us with their grand charms," Sequoia says, very modestly. "I assure you, I would never do something like that."

"No, of course not." Clive smiles. "In fact, I haven't seen any scammers yet, and I've been on the lookout. I guess the Districts are more hospitable than I thought."

"They sure are." Sequoia readies herself to count another round of money, to fill their families' breakfast plates once more.

Perhaps there will be a day when Sequoia's luck runs out. But if that day ever comes, Sequoia will be ready. Because even bad luck does not stand a chance against the most mysterious, prestigious, infamous scammer in Eleven.

...

Flint Kayode, 18, District Twelve (He/Him

"I can't thank you enough for the help," Mrs. Linde says as she clasps Flint's hand. "Truly, I would be lost without you."

"Really, it was nothing."

Flint has always been busy by nature, always rushing from one task to the next, but it was the least he could do to carve out some time for Mrs. Linde and her financial troubles. She needed someone to teach her proper bookkeeping and accounting, and it truly had been no trouble for Flint to chip in; in fact, it brings him joy to see her in a better financial position than when she'd started.

You let me know if you need any more help, and I'd be happy to do it for free."

"Nonsense." She shoves a warm pan of tarts and a small bottle into his hands. "Give these to your father. I know things have been hard on you two."

It's an understatement. He's lost not only his mother, but his business, and the stress and sickness might take his father away, too. but Flint can't help but be grateful for her offerings. With his father's partner Rufus abandoning them, and their business little but cinders, he's grateful for any kindness from his friends. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Linde. You really didn't have to."

She puts a hand on his shoulder. "You've lost so much. It's only right that someone takes care of you for a change."

Flint smiles sadly before setting out toward home, the tart and Mrs. Linde's kindness warming him all the way through.

"Pops? You alright?"

Flint attempts to keep his voice soft and gentle, not wanting to wake his father but also unable to escape the worry. Hanoch cracks a tired smile, but Flint can see the creases of overwork that he tries to hide. "Feeling better," he murmurs, waving Flint's concern away as if what he's going through is trivial, unworthy of Flint's attention. But there's nothing that matters more to Flint, nobody he loves more in the world. And he understands the remnants of heartache in Hanoch Kayode's eyes, sees the toll the years have taken. Flint feels it in his own heart, much as he tries to push away the pain.

Flint sinks into the chair beside his father's bed, for once at a loss for words, unsure how to fill the space Rufus left behind. It's not his to fill, he knows, but it doesn't stop the coals of anger stirring inside him at what Rufus had done to his father. To both of them.

The hollow silence is soon dissolved by one of Hanoch's racking coughs. Flint can hear the coal dust coating his lungs, knows that the mine still clings to him. He reaches out, helpless and yet so desperate to fix it...

But Hanoch sinks back against the pillows. "Really, son, I'm fine."

Flint wrings his hand. He wants to have the perfect words, just as he usually does with everything else. But grief is something he can't even handle himself—how could he possibly tell somebody else that it's alright to be sad when his own hours are filled with his desperate attempts to be useful?

"Business is going better," Flint offers. "I thinkI'm really making progress."

Hanoch smiles teasingly up at him. "On... what exactly?"

"Giving the Capitol a run for its money until poverty itself fears my wrath?" he says, very hesitantly. He's learned to dress his dream in humor, so as not to face the ridicule of others—not that his father would ever mock him. Still... stripped bare, his hopes seem grandiose and impossible.

Hanoch smiles. "And I don't doubt that if anyone could do that, it would be you."

Flint suddenly feels very small. After all, there was nothing Flint could do to stop the spread of corruption through his life, to sense the incoming betrayal before it was full in his face. There is nothing he can do to stem his father's grief.

But he can't think like that. Otherwise, the pull of sorrow might be too magnetic to resist. "What makes you say that?"

"You try." Hanoch lifts a hand to place over Flint's, and suddenly Flint feels warmer, safer. "Even when others have long given up, you keep hoping, you keep working, because you believe in other people. And for the life of you, you don't stop moving."

Flint laughs softly. "Maybe a little too much?"

"Maybe a little."

What his father doesn't know is that Flint is staggered by the fact that things cannot last forever—all of it is fleeting as cigarette smoke, the glint of spent silver and the warmth of a life cut short. And sometimes Flint can't even breathe around the fact that he is helpless, useless to stop things from fading, people from leaving, trust from waning.

But Flint refuses to be stagnant, because if there's one thing he's learned, it's that life is a cycle. Everything comes and goes.

But there are some things that last forever. The goodness of people, the power of unity, the hope inside him that refuses to gutter out. And all Flint can do when the world turns against him is to be kinder still, to reach out and help those less fortunate, to churn out new ideas which can make others' lives better. Riches might be limited, and the Capitol's luxury might be as intoxicating as a poison, but kindness doesn't fade with the morning light. Hope doesn't die out.

Hanoch may never truly recover from Rufus' treachery, from the way he left them in the dust as soon as the tides turned. But Flint isn't going anywhere. And even if life spins out beneath him, there are things he will always be able to control.

"Gotta go to work now," Flint says, reluctantly standing from the chair. "Love you. Get some rest."

"Please, I'm not that sick, Flint. I promise, I'm getting better." The teasing glint fades from Hanoch's eyes. "But thank you."

Not so long ago, Flint felt this same love for Rufus, who was almost like his second father. He'd promised everything to him and Hanoch, showing them the false yet entrancing beauty of riches. And then he showed his true colors on one cloudy night, cigarette smoke fogging the air: He was a Capitolite who was only in the Districts to escape his debts. But the Capitol was welcoming home again, and Rufus asked Flint to join him. He had said Flint had potential, that he'd love the life Rufus could offer.

But Flint turned him down, not a moment's hesitation. And he'll never regret it, not when he can smile at people he knows when he walks down the streets. Not when he sees the family he saved from financial ruin with some loans and a sprinkling of well-timed business advice. Not when the sun is still shining, his father's health still improving, and Flint's heart still so full of love.

He's finally fallen into step with the bustle of the District, its merchant quarter and the space he's carved out within. He finally has the power to change something, to change everything.

And he knows his situation is precarious, that he may not impact many lives in the long run. But he can smile at those he passes—apart from the few rich folks who deserve his fists—and he can rest knowing that he is at least trying. That he's begun something beautiful.

It's more than Rufus could ever say. So, in reality, Flint is in a much better place, even though his goals are lofty and distant.

It's comforting, in a way, to be so well-connected with the world around him and the people in it. Some might wonder why his experiences haven't made him bitter, closed him off to other people and the harm they might cause. After all, dreams don't grow well in Twelve.

But Flint is nothing if not persistent. He will fight every entitled Capitolite drunk off the excess of money, if it means that trust can take roots again. Perhaps that means he hasn't learned a thing at all; but if it means he can see the gratitude in his neighbors' eyes, see the life rekindling in their smiles, then that fall will be worth it.

...

Malibu Mokarran, 18, District Four (They/Them)

In Malibu's oh-so-valid opinion, there has never been a day quite so perfect as this. The sea breeze kicks up as if to usher in the night, as if to promise endless adventure and light. The sun dips into the waves, washing the horizon in breathtaking color, and summer is coming around the corner, so close that Mal can almost taste it on the salt-tinged air.

Summer means... well, it means a lot of things. It means that Malibu's birthday is soon, which is certain to be full of parties and laughter and—yes—their very own spotlight. It means that the sun is on full display, bathing Malibu's skin with warmth. But it also means a certain young lady who is more enchanting than the summer sun or the endless ocean waves or the sparkling clothes Malibu will wear. Miss Ithaca Dominica Marquesa "Mystery-of-all-mysteries-makes-Malibu's-heart-race-so-fast-it's-insane" Sotavento. And yes, they're aware that's a ridiculous mouthful. They know it's a problem that Ithaca name comes so easily, unbidden, to their mind, like a song they've sung a hundred times. The song is slightly off-key, and obnoxious, but Malibu can't stop singing, not for the life of them.

They worry that they might have a nauseatingly sappy crush on the beautiful Ithaca in question... and yes, they might miss her just a little. Malibu knows Ithaca won't be here this summer; she'll be in One, preparing to Volunteer for the Games. But that doesn't stop that desperate, stubborn hope from unfurling in Mal's chest. It doesn't mean they stop thinking about that day when Ithaca wandered into their life, as unreadable and distant as the horizon, yet still so infuriatingly lovely.

So yeah... summer might mean Mal agonizing over a girl they don't even know that well... but hey, the night is young and Malibu has so many other things to think about. Ithaca might not be here, but they still have Navarro and Larimar and the hundred stories they might be able to hear and tell throughout the night.

The Shanty Shack has become one of Malibu's favorite places, other than the sprawling beach. Here, there is life and laughter and the clinking of glasses, that electric feeling of being known and seen. The camaraderie, the recognition, is like magic in Malibu's veins, filling them with the spark that sustains them. When Malibu was younger, there was no such spark. They'd spent years feeling useless, ill-equipped and ill-fitting in their family. They were an afterthought—their very birth was a mistake, for Panem's sake, and the Mokarrans wasted no time in reminding Malibu of this fact. That maybe if they were stronger, smarter, better than who they were... maybe if they were a different someone altogether, they'd be worthy of taking up space, of belonging in the family.

But Mal and Navarro sailed away one electric night, casting out onto the uncertain ocean, and Malibu learned that there was an entire world out there made just for them. That there was so much more to life than squeezing and twisting yourself into knots just to make life easier on somebody else.

So perhaps they shimmer and dazzle like the sun on the sea when the attention is on them, for once. When they feel valued and needed. But it feels only right, to make up for lost time, and to finally understand that maybe Malibu is everything they need to be. And maybe that person is the most fabulous, gorgeous creature to ever grace the seas.

They give their reflection one last goofy grin in the mirror, preparing for another shift. They don't mind the work; it means they get to be with their brother and his boyfriend, and it's better than anything life might have offered under their parents' iron fist.

See, the Mokarran couple can be aptly compared to the barnacles you scrape off the bottoms of boats, or the hideous sea slugs that leave slimy trails and squirm under rocks. But even these living things have more decency than Malibu's parents. They are the scum that floats in the murky depths of Malibu's past.

The Mokarrans are a fairly prestigious family, and get their money from killing sharks and selling their fins to Capitolites, who treat them as fine delicacies. And when Mal and Navarro refused to help with said business, their parents and the rest of the family acted as if they were in the wrong. Back then, Malibu was the one who felt small and indistinct, not good enough for their family's love and not competent enough to contribute.

But they certainly feel beautiful and desired and deserving of space now as they strut into the Shanty Shack, the hottest bar in town—and yes, that might be because Mal just walked in... but that's implied. They don't even have to say it.

"Lev!" Mal brightens as they see their friend at a corner table, grimly sipping her drink in solitude. Malibu fully intends to fix that—one can never have too many friends, and Leviathan Moor has always been one of Malibu's favorites.

They make their way through the crowded bar toward the counter where they take orders, perching languidly on a stool and beckoning Lev. As they wait, they wave and take orders, feeling more vibrant than usual as all thoughts of a certain mystery girl from One are forgotten. Malibu can feel others' gazes as they start mixing drinks, but they can hardly bring themself to mind... in fact, they might even throw a cheeky wink or two. Why not? Mal has nothing to lose, not now that their and Navarro's lives are so full of joy.

Lev finally makes her way over, shoulders slumped glumly. Malibu beams. "Hey, lovely! What's got you so blue?" Mal has always been Lev's matchmaker and wingman in dating advice, and her and her boyfriend have been dating for a good few months now. Malibu can't help feeling happy for her, even if their own romantic status is yet undetermined.

Lev stares at the assortment of drinks. "Mix me whatever," she says.

"A dangerous gambit," they say. "It might be atrocious."

"Oh, I know it will be. Anyway, Drax broke up with me."

Malibu is thrown, to say the least. On the one hand, Drax wouldn't be their personal choice in a guy... and yes, Lev had begun spending all their time dating him instead of hanging out with their friends, but that's just how romance goes sometimes—not that Malibu would know much about it, or at least not the kind that lasts.

"I'm so sorry, Levvie." Mal throws an arm gently around Lev's shoulder. "He didn't deserve you."

Lev gives a little sniffle. "That doesn't make it easier."

"I know." Malibu drums their fingers thoughtfully against the countertop, sliding their concoction over to Lev. "Missing people can be hard. I get it. But sometimes all you need is to think about something else... a little distraction, if you will." Mal knows this all too well.

Lev shrugs sadly. "What did you have in mind?"

Malibu grins. "You wanna dance? Nothing crazy, but I know this is your favorite song."

The glow that fills Lev's eyes is enough to make Malibu grin in turn. "Why not?"

They spin and giggle and stumble across the floor, singing their hearts out, and the world becomes something irresistible, light as air and warm as summer rain. They can't ask for anything more than feeling appreciated and free, acting silly with one of their best friends and welcoming in a new summer. Except for the nagging absence of Ithaca and that guarded challenge in her gaze, Malibu could almost say that they've never felt so light. But Malibu has always been an optimist, and even the thought of Ithaca is making them smile right now... for a totally unknown reason, of course.

And so, in Mal's completely qualified opinion, they're living the dream, and no night could ever hope to compete with this one.

...

Hello, and welcome to Intros 3, in which everyone is reminded that I have absolutely zero charisma and don't have much experience writing humor lol! But luckily, these kids sure do! Thank you so so much to Sakura for Sequoia, Erik for Flint, and Linds for Malibu! I adore these kids and I hope I did them justice; can't wait to continue telling their stories! If there's ever a component to your kid's character that I'm doing wrong, please don't hesitate to reach out; I want to write them the best I can, after all!

Anyhoo, I hope you're all doing well! Senior year has been absolutely bonkers; nobody told me that I'd be so sleep-deprived, which probably explains the infrequent updates! That said, we're now halfway through intros?! I can hardly believe it! I'd love to hear how you feel about all the kids so far, or even some theories for potential alliances... you can bet I've already been plotting lol! Thank you so so much for reading, and I'll see you soon!

Miri