two - whirlpool

Loulie Kuzma

Everything had a way of falling away when she ran.

The river carved through the hills beside her, dotted with lily pads and buzzing mayflies that skimmed along the water. The forest was beyond that, a dense green jungle whose trees Loulie had spent half of her childhood climbing. Years ago, before all of the things she had that filled her time now, she would vanish into that forest for an entire day, emerging at sunset with dirt caking her skin, twigs and leaves tangled in her hair, and a rabbit she had caught barehanded held gently in her hands.

Loulie made a note in her head to take Charlie into the forest one of these days and teach her to catch rabbits. She was the type of person that would enjoy that silly sort of adventure.

A curve in the path brought her running in the other direction, away from the forest and up the steep, daunting hill that kept her favorite little nature trail mostly empty of other runners. She was panting for breath by the time she reached the peak, but the view was worth it. It always was.

She let herself stop, just for a moment, to take it all in. She breathed in the air that always felt so much fresher this high up and looked out at her little district. Once, her grandparents always used to tell her, once District Four had sprawled out across the entire coast, from the northernmost forests of District Seven down to flooded jungles south even of District Ten's plains. Now, she could see the entire district laid right in front of her, and hold it in the palm of her hand.

It was all there, from the old Perkins' farm down in the valley, out to the old docks off the river, all the way to the training academy and the lake that set at the edge of the forest, her home dotted right in the middle of the two, just outside the illustrious Victor's Village - its gates still shining even from a dozen miles away.

The sun was still rising by the time she made it back to the training center. It was usually one of the few times of day when the training center would be mostly empty, but today it seemed to Loulie as if every single kid in District Four was packed inside. A handful were lifting weights or sparring with swords in the gym, but most of the crowd was in the rec room, playing games of cornhole and ping-pong or huddled around television screens to watch the Capitol's coverage of the pre-reapings.

It took all of three seconds from Loulie pushing through the revolving doors at the entrance and into the rec room for a cheer to rise up from the room. In a flash, she was being mobbed, a crowd forming around her to offer her congratulations, pats on the back, and words of encouragement. A few younger kids even brought her training blades to sign for keepsakes. She enjoyed that part best of all. She still remembered being in their shoes, looking up in awe at those giants who marched off to fight for their district.

Not that even the littlest of these ones were likely to mistake her for a giant, though. She had always been the smallest, not that anyone could have ever told her that. A particularly little boy no older than ten meekly shuffled towards her and held up a battered bow and a marker. She knelt down to his height and flashed him her brightest smile as she dashed a signature across the upper limb. His cheeks flushed red as she handed it back to him and he scurried off, the bow pressed tight to his chest like it might vanish if he let it slip just a little bit.

It was still hard to get used to. The moment she was selected as the volunteer it was like the whole district began to revolve around her. It was like she was suddenly at the center of the universe, her every movement sending ripples across everything and everyone around her. She tried to make that a good thing. She smiled and laughed and praised and it all felt good. It felt good to be able to bring a smile to someone's face so easily.

The Games would come soon, and she knew that things would change then. But for the moment, there was nothing left to prove. No mountains left to climb. She could just sit in the sunset and try to enjoy it.

More and more congratulations came her away. After a tsunami of thanks, thank you, and any other synonyms she could reach for in the moment, a familiar presence snuck up behind her, leaping onto her back with a mad fit of giggles as her spindly arms grasped for a grip on her collarbone.

Loulie's smile broke into a grin. "Is that a challenger back there? Someone contesting my volunteer spot?"

Wordless giggles called back in response.

"Well then," she said in her most serious voice. "There's only one thing to do."

Loulie shuffled over to one of the nearby empty couches and flipped the culprit up off of her feet, sending her over her head and flipping her before she tumbled onto the couch, still giggling like a madwoman.

Charlie looked up at her through a mess of tangled hair, her bare feet dangling up over the back of the couch. "How dare you flip me," she said defiantly, though her giggling voice betrayed her attempt at seriousness.

"I had no idea who I was being attacked by," she said defensively, trying and failing at a somber voice in equal measure to Charlie. "I didn't imagine it could have been my little sister, seeing as she's supposed to be at home right now, getting ready for the Reaping."

"I am ready for the Reaping," Charlie said, crossing her arms.

"Oh?" She asked, tickling Charlie's bare feet.

"Stop," Charlie giggled, flipping herself around so that she sat on her feet, leaning over the edge of the couch and trying to raise herself to Loulie's height. "That's actually why I'm here. I have an idea."

"Oh?" Loulie asked, trying not to sound too amused.

"Yes. Hear me out. I think that you should go to the Reaping barefoot. Hear me out!"

"Oh, I am most definitely hearing," Loulie said. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the head of the academy, Mr. Hartline, setting up a microphone stand to make his pre-reaping announcements. That was fine enough. But the people standing beside him sent a knot into her stomach that made her want to drop to her knees and start gnawing on her fingernails. She turned back to Charlie, still smiling.

"So, naturally, nobody is going to be scared of you."

"What? Psh. What are you talking about? Me? They'll be shivering, no, quaking in their boots. I am . . ." she reached for her most dramatic voice. "Terrifying."

Charlie looked unconvinced by her theatrics. "Right. Uh-huh. So, as I said, since nobody is going to be scared of you, we need a different angle."

"And that angle is too poor to buy shoes?"

"It's cute! Like, aww look at her, she's just a harmless little bunny. And then BAM, they turn around and you slice their throats." She reached up at her throat and dramatically reenacted drowning on her own blood, flopping to the floor and sprawling out her arms.

Her smile slipped for just a moment. "Chilling," she said halfheartedly.

The head of the academy tapped the microphone and called for attention. Her smile wiggled back into place and she dragged Charlie up to her feet. "Alright, thank you for the suggestions, your ideas are always something to behold. Now head on back and get ready for the Reaping before mom has a conniption and sends Genevieve out after you, okay?"

Charlie didn't argue with that, racing off without another word. Loulie settled in to a spot a bit closer to where Mr. Hartline had set up, as close as she could let herself get without stripping the muscles right out of her legs and leaving them two clumps of jello.

It was customary for the head of the academy to make an announcement prior to the Reaping. Usually it was a small thing that nobody but the most diehard trainees seeking favor bothered attending. But the past two years had been hard on the academy, and everyone was eager to have something to celebrate.

It mixed her up in all sorts of ways to realize that she was that something.

"Thank you, thank you," Mr. Hartline started, the academy instantly hushing to a silence as everybody listened in. Loulie glanced around and couldn't help but notice her fellow volunteer's absence. She supposed that she should feel bothered by that, but her emotions were too swirled up to care about anything more than keeping herself standing on two feet right now.

"Thank you all for coming this morning as we send off our volunteers for this year's Hunger Games." Mr. Hartline paused, glanced to the two honored guests seated beside him, then pressed on in a somber tone. "Fifteen months ago, tragedy struck at the heart of our academy. Diana Hampton's death was as shocking and tragic as it was utterly senseless. And yet, just as we mourned and vowed to remember, we so too did what District Four always does. We pressed on through the storm.

"Little did we know, the storm was not done with us yet. Maisie Muir's murder three short months ago brought this wound back to the surface before it had even the chance to scar. Everyone in this room knew one of these brave, strong, driven young women. They represented the very best that District Four has to offer. I know that their deaths have brought forward a whirlwind of emotions tearing through this academy. Fear. Confusion. Anger. Grief. I feel all these things just as I know all of you do too."

Loulie could feel eyes on her, but she didn't dare look up, her head bowed to the floor. Her cheeks flushed red and she fought back tears, trying to quell the storm that tore through her gut.

"But I know this too. That they are not forgotten. They are alive in a way that the cowardly, evil creature that cut their lives too short never will be. I look out at this crowd and I see classmates. I see family. I see friends. I see loved ones. Each carrying with them a piece of Diana and Maisie with them wherever they go in life. And I know this. That while there are many ways to name this tragedy, that they are not, and never will be, gone. They are with us today in this room, they will be with us in these halls for years to come, they will be with us in the marketplace and the docks and even all the way to the Capitol.

"They have gone as far as they could go. Now let us take them the rest of the way."

A few kids said the words with him. Loulie only mouthed them, not trusting her voice. They were familiar words. Every District Four victor said them at their district partner's eulogy. It came from some old tradition, a sort of promise to not let somebody's memory be forgotten or dreams go unfulfilled. Loulie used to always think it was a beautiful way of honoring someone. She didn't find it beautiful now. It felt just as rotten as everything else tasted. All hollow and meaningless, like everyone was playing some elaborate, sick joke on her.

After the speech, the training center started emptying out. A few people passed by her, offering her more congratulations or wishing her good luck. A handful of training mates who knew her better gave her sympathetic shoulder pats and said to her now let us take them the rest of the way. She knew it was meant to be uplifting, and so she smiled and thanked them and tried to not think of it any more than that.

She spent so much of her focus on keeping those thoughts at bay, she didn't even notice Mrs. Muir approaching her until she was standing right in her path. Her heart only had the sense to drop halfway into her stomach.

"Loulie, it's nice to see you again," she said gently.

"Mrs. Muir," she replied stiffly. "I'm sorry. I mean, I just… I wanted to…"

"It's okay," Maisie's mother kindly interrupted her babbling. "You of all people don't have anything to apologize for."

Loulie didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing. She could feel her cheeks burning as she shifted her gaze to her shoes. It was just like Maisie to pull that out of her, even now, even after everything.

"She hated this place, you know," Mrs. Muir said absently.

"Yeah," Loulie said. She did know.

"She talked about you all the time. Maisie, she… you know how she was. She didn't belong in a place like this. She told me once, close to the end, that if it weren't for you that she…" her voice weakened, trailing off. She tried a smile, and even though Loulie's insides felt like they were shredding apart, she forced herself to try to match it.

Mrs. Muir took a deep breath, taking Loulie by the hand with a sudden strength overtaking her voice. "You just… you forget about all that nonsense Mr. Hartline was saying. Don't you burden yourself with promises or oaths or the sense that you owe anyone anything. You have given enough. You hear me? You just live. Just live, that's it. That is all that she would want from you, do you understand?

"Yes ma'am," she said emptily.

"I'll hold you to it," she said, and with that she walked away. Diana's mom had already vanished into the crowd, and all that remained was a smattering of kids huddled in circles, watching the very first Reapings begin to get underway.

Everything else started to fall away, their voices melding into muffled metallic rumbling in the faraway distance. She felt like it was three months ago again, and all she wanted to do was crawl under her covers and cry the entire day away. It was all there again, that towering feeling inside of her, like she was a mile high stack of blocks swaying in the wind, just waiting to fall apart. She could feel warmth in her ears and tightness in her throat and chest, and for a moment she was sure that she didn't know how to breathe.

Her eye twitched. Her insides melted and she felt the world spinning around her as she clenched her fists, trying to hold tight to the earth and not let herself be flung off of it. But her breath came back, her feet found their way back to flat ground, and she opened her eyes again to look around and find what she already knew from a hundred days before: nobody noticed. Nobody ever noticed.

She was still Loulie Kuzma. Unfazed. Unshaken. Unblemished. Unstoppable. Loulie. She walked out the front door into the warm spring air. Her smile never faltered for a moment.

Mackerel "Mack" Valerian

He had never belonged here.

The training center took on a different feeling when it was empty. Gone was all of the noise: the bragging and taunting and the soundless type of judgment that angered him even more than any of the words ever could have.

Mack had never thought of himself as someone who liked the quiet, but it was better than the alternative. For six years he had gotten his fill of that. All that he wanted now was a single morning of calm. A single morning where he could let all the anger and resentment slip away and he could just be.

Maybe this wasn't a place where he would ever find that, though. It didn't matter that he could look up and see his face and name on a golden banner, the words pride of District Four stamped above him. He could have come here an hour back and basked in the praise and glory, letting it wash over him. But it would have all felt wrong. Fake. He had never been one to wear a mask and he wasn't starting now. He would suffer no love from the ones who had never shown him anything but resentment until his name was announced as the pride of District Four, chosen volunteer and Tribute.

It felt much more right to be here now, with empty halls. He felt somehow that he owed it to at least visit the building itself before leaving District Four, maybe for good. One more trip to a place that he had never wanted to go to, but always needed to be. It was one more chance to prove to himself who he was before people who despised him tried to tell him who he was.

He walked out the front doors and decided then and there, one way or another, that would be the last time he would set foot in that place. Victory or death, it made no difference, he had fought for as long as he needed to fight, put up with the fakeness and suffered every insult he needed to suffer. But now he was free of that.

Now began the rest of his life.

The streets were nearly empty on the way to the Town Hall. District Four may not have been as illustrious as District One or Two, but they were every bit and more rabid. The district packed into the hall early every morning on Tribute Day, long before the sun even rose, jostling for the best view of the ceremony. Thirty minutes still remained until Tribute would be made, and yet Mack was certain that nearly the entire district was packed into position.

As a little kid, Mack had looked forward to the ceremony with all the same fervor and excitement as anyone else in the district. The music, the pageantry, the way that the Tributes seemed to shimmer and gleam as if they were carved of marble: it filled him with a sense of awe and wonder that he wasn't sure anything else could ever match, no matter how grand.

Then he had turned 13, and his mother told him the truth. His truth. And suddenly the grandeur seemed like so much less. Joining the academy only made it all seem more fake. It was almost laughable to him now, the way that he had once looked up and thought of the Tributes as more than human. As if they weren't really less.

He could hear the ceremony now, even from blocks away. He suddenly found himself wishing he weren't here at all. A piece of him lingered back at Cal's, wondering why he had ever left. What could be waiting ahead of him that was any better than what lied behind him right now.

Mack only intended to stop by for a moment, just to say goodbye. Not the fake, muted goodbye that they would need to have on stage, when the ceremony reached its end and loved ones were called up to send their Tributes away. Up on stage they would just shake hands, maybe share a joke and a smile. His mom would act strong, even though he knew she worried for him so much that she hardly slept. She would wrap him in a hug and make him promise to return.

Neither of those were his true goodbyes, though. His true goodbye to his mother happened this morning with Mack watching the strongest, most unshakable woman he's ever known sobbing and grabbing at his hand, begging him not to leave. To let somebody else take his spot as Tribute, some rich asshole from the academy who would leap at the opportunity to throw their life away. Just not Mack. Anybody but Mack.

There had been more things that she said, but he tried not to think about them. Especially not now. Doubt was a disease, one that wormed its way in and then snaked around you too tightly to break free of. Once you let doubt in, there was no going back. He had to have hope. Or faith. Or whatever he needed to call it to convince himself that it would be him that would leave the arena a victor.

But it wasn't all bad. Cal worried, but he never showed it. Calm, collected, rational Cal would never let him believe for a moment that he worried. But Mack could see it in his eyes this morning, the way that his hand had lingered on his own at the door, like he was scared of what letting go meant.

And then Cal's parents returned, and the softness dropped out of the air as Mack shook their hands and thanked them for the opportunity they had provided for him. Promised to show them their trust and assistance was well-placed, and to return the favor ten-fold once he returned as a victor.

Cal's parents left early for the ceremony, and Cal himself had to leave not long after, but for a few minutes they were able to just be. The world was able to fade away, the kind of way that it only ever did when Cal was with him. No rage, no fight, no need to prove himself. Just him. Just Cal.

The whole entire Town Center felt empty next to that feeling.

The music nearly took him off his feet as he rounded the corner. Trumpets and big brass horns belted out note after note while confetti fell from the rooftops. Children ran through the spectator sections, waving streamers, flags, and sparklers. A few of them painted their faces, the seal of District Four dotting their cheeks beside flashy numbers of their favorite victors: 219, 211, 206, 186, and too many more to count. That last one stung to see more than he would have liked it to.

Today, the only victor with the spotlight was the most recent of District Four's champions: Naia Danyar. For the third year in a row, Naia would be serving as the lone mentor for District Four. While three years was hardly an unheard of time to wait in between victors, it was long enough that people were already getting impatient for another. Add in the murders at the academy and you got a district that was more riled up for a victor than Mack could ever remember.

The crowd was normally loud, but today it was downright deafening. Dozens of people held up banners with the number 222 painted on it in ocean blue coloring. He could spot Loulie up at the front near the stage, leading on a gaggle of children in an old District Four fight song, complete with stomping feet and chest pounding to go along the bravado-laced lyrics.

His fellow Tribute was clearly indulging in the activities much more than he preferred to. Not that he was surprised. They both had their angles to play. His was one of drive and determination. Showing up at the last possible moment still in his training gear and looking fresh out of the training center would help play into that. Not many Careers could say that they've ever had to fight or struggle for anything outside of the academy. He could.

Loulie had 222 etched onto one of her cheeks in turquoise paint, which bordered on conceited but steered just clear thanks to how harmless she looked. She was a clean foot shorter than he was, three years younger, and aside from the facepaint and confetti in her hair, she wore a pastel tank-top and shorts along with (of all things) sand stained flip-flops.

He peeled his eyes away from his district partner (teammate? ally? friend? rival? opponent? He still wasn't sure what to call her, or any of his fellow Careers for that matter), and he peered over the crowd, trying to spot either of the only two people he cared to see right now.

The chance didn't come. Abruptly, the music cut to a stop. The Town Center fell into an immediate silence, even the littlest of the children knowing to hold themselves still and quiet their breathing. The mayor, an old, nearly blind man who required a cane to walk, hobbled his way over to the center of the stage to stand between two fishing crates. Despite his age and appearance, he needed no microphone, his voice booming as he called out to the still crowd.

"I look out at you all today, and my heart warms. I see the greatest our people have to offer. I see our pride and our joy, our greatest warriors and the most talented among us. And as the old man I am, I find myself nearly brought to tears in the pride I feel swelling within me. I see a thousand bright futures standing before me, and it is my greatest regret that I will not live to see the greatness that will sprout from this square.

"But it is for these very reasons that I look out at you all today also with pain in my heart. I look out and I see the innocent. The unprotected. The vulnerable and the naive. And I wonder, on this day of greatest joy and greatest sorrow, who will protect the unprotected? Who will fight for those who cannot fight for themselves? For the sins of our ancestors, Panem demands tribute from us. Who will we send to bleed for our sins?"

The Town Center fell silent again, tension buzzing in the air even 221 years after this speech was delivered for the first time. Even Mack could feel it, as silly as it was considering his current circumstances. It crawled around inside his gut, the silence booming even louder than the blare of trumpets and horns just minutes ago.

Finally, movement. Loulie purposefully climbed the stage, looking more serious than Mack thought her capable as she lifted her chin and turned to the mayor. She balled one hand into a fist and held it over her chest.

"I'll stand tribute!"

Even at five feet tall, for a moment she seems the tallest person in the square.

A few of the little ones clapped and cheered at that, but they were quickly shushed back into silence. Loulie stood, unflinching, as the mayor hobbled over to her, a sad expression in his eyes.

"What is your name, dear?"

"Loulie Kuzma," she answered. "15 years old, and citizen of District Four."

"Loulie Kuzma, you are certainly brave, and our children will play safely for another year thanks to you. But," he turned on the crowd, "Panem demands not one tribute, but two."

Something surged inside of Mack. This was it. Six years of hard work, of enduring abuse and pain for the chance of a dream. His opportunity to prove himself to this whole district that seemed so ready to toss him aside as if he were nothing. Just a few words away now, closer than it had ever been.

He found his voice. "Then let me stand tribute, too!"

The crowd parted for him in a flash and he pushed himself forward, his eyes locked on the stage and nothing else. He climbed the stage, turned to the mayor, and placed his fist over his heart.

"And you, what is your name, child?"

"Mackerel Valerian," he said, steel in his voice. "18 years old, and citizen of District Four."

"Mackerel. Loulie. Your deeds are noble, and your district is grateful for your sacrifice. But I must ask, why? Why do you offer yourself as Tribute rather than let another name be called to stand in your stead?"

"I stand, so that nobody else needs to," Loulie said, so much fire in her voice that he halfway believed her despite it being the same answer he'd heard 17 times before.

He knew the words that were needed of him, but for a moment he found himself searching for that answer within himself. He looked out to the crowd, to the row of victors that stood just beside the stage, each of them looking at him like he was a stranger. He felt his blood rushing as the answer came to him. But when he looked back, the steel had left his voice, and only copper remained.

"We stand, because we can," he said, fake bravado inflating him for just long enough to get the words out.

Luckily, that was all that was needed of him. The crowd let loose with that, an air of celebration retaking its grip on the square, chants of Loulie and Mackerel joining the trumpets and horns, while fireworks erupted in the blue morning sky.

He felt dizzy, and he wasn't sure if it was the noise, the colors, or the bitter taste of those platitudes still on his tongue. Despite himself, he stole another glance back at the line of victors. Most of them joined in the festivities, but a few lingered behind, too old or serious or proud to be seen dancing and chanting and waving banners.

He already knew that he'd find him standing there, arms crossed, his eyes furrowed in either confusion or annoyance, Mack couldn't say for certain. Before he could even begin to try to crack that code (much less figure the mess of emotions he felt swirling around inside of himself), his attention was being drawn away yet again.

"It feels a lot different from up here, huh?" Loulie asked him, in a loud sort of whisper that barely reached him over all the noise.

"Feels the same to me," he said, though he wasn't sure if Loulie heard him or not.

"I've always imagined myself answering that call," Loulie said, her expression unreadable for a moment as she gazed out at the celebration below.

"Is it everything you hoped for?" He asked, halfway sarcastically. Halfway asking himself.

She nodded, her smile growing as the fireworks lit up her eyes. "Yeah. Every second of it."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed our first pair of tributes! I really enjoyed both introducing the two of them (I say introduce lightly because there's still plenty to them that we haven't seen yet) as well as getting to explore the first of our districts - each of them with their own quirks and traditions surrounding the Hunger Games. Let me know what you think of Loulie and Mack and thank you to both of their submitters!

Next week: District Two enters the fray