Chenille Garcia, District Eight

"We can handle this tonight." Chenille's mother said to her, "Go to sleep. You don't want to be yawning during the reaping."

She didn't see the point of sleeping. Not that she could, really. She was too scared to go to sleep. Her family was comfortable so she didn't need to take out any tesserae, but Chenille would still have an occasional nightmare of being reaped. Fear was something she understood, loved even. But there was only one way she truly knew how to deal with it.

"There's lots of kids my age here, I won't be the only one yawning." She argued, "And it's Carrie. You know how much I love Carrie. Please. I need to watch this. I'll handle the reels myself if you need me to."

Her mother looked at her crossly for a moment, then sighed. "Very well. You can stay up. But no pranks."

"I'll be good. Promise." Chenille said.

"Can I stay up too?" her brother Tulle asked, "I want to yawn with everybody else."

Her mother laughed slightly, "Tulle, it's your first Reaping. You really should get some sleep. Besides, Carrie gives you nightmares."

"But I want to stay up with Chenille!"

"How about we make a deal?" Chenille said, leaning down so that she was eye level with her brother, "You go to be this year, and next year not only can you stay up but you can choose the movie."

"Deal." He said, then ran off to his room as if it was a race. Chenille hugged her mother then headed to the projector room across the hall.

The Garcia Theater was one of three movie theaters in District Eight, and probably the lowest in quality. They had only one screen, the projector jammed on occasion, and despite everything her family tried they never could manage to get the place to stop smelling like onions. But to Chenille, it was the greatest building in the world. About fifteen percent of that was because it was her home, but the rest of it was because of Garcia Midnight Madness.

During the day, the Garcia theater played all of the normal propaganda films and war stories that every other cinema played. But twice a month at midnight, they brought out old horror movies and played them until dawn. Chenille had been watching them ever since her parents considered her old enough, and she absolutely adored them. Horror movies were how she was able to finally overcome her fear.

When she was younger, she was afraid of quite a few things. A neighbor was reaped when she was six years old, and being a precocious child she understood what that meant despite not having the emotional capacity to handle it. Criminals and Peacekeepers were both dangers she needed to avoid, and near the barrier of District Eight wild mutts would often attack those who weren't careful. The world was full of things to fear, and she had been overcome by them.

But at the age of eleven, her parents allowed her to sit with them and watch a pre dark days film called Carrie. It was in that movie that Chenille finally understood fear. It could control her and lead to destruction, or she could learn from the fear.

From that moment on, Chenille always had one foot in the dark and creepy. She began to play pranks on people, delighting in both the fear and the look of relief on people's faces as they realized they weren't in danger. She watched Garcia Midnight Madness every chance she could She even started writing her own horror movie, in a worn out notebook she kept hidden in the projector room.

She took out that very notebook and thumbed through it as she looked at the clock: eleven thirty. Soon the show would start, and she could lose herself in the fear of a good film. But she still had some time. Snuggling up against some pillows she had stashed in an alcove for this exact purpose, Chenille picked up a pencil and began to write.

Solomon Cavalier, District Two

Crash!

A rock shattered Solomon's window, jolting him awake. Out of instinct he grabbed a training spear he kept on a nearby nightstand and rushed to the window only to find his brother Judas standing outside.

"Bro!" Judas cried out, "Hey! I had to see you."

"You're going to wake everyone up." Solomon said, trying but failing to keep his voice down. He also failed to prevent himself from smiling. Sure, it was nearly four in the morning. Sure, he shouldn't have been there and all, and their parents wouldn't hesitate to call the peacekeepers if they found out. But it had been about a year since he last saw his brother. Despite the circumstances, it was really good to see him.

"Then come down here so I don't have to yell." Judas said.

Solomon found a grappling hook in his chest of training supplies and repelled down without another word. The minute he reached the ground, the wind was knocked out of him by a bone crushing hug.

"What are you doing here?" he asked after recovering from the embrace, "I mean I'm glad you're here. But I know the Center has a curfew."

"Relax, I'll go back. I know a guy who helps people do stuff like this all the time. I'll be in my bed before anyone notices. Quiet as a mouse. Are mice quiet? I wouldn't really know. Also is that a grappling hook? They really set you up at that training academy of yours."

There was something off about his brother's tone that made Solomon wary. "Judas, are you high?"

Judas held a hand to his chest in mock pain, "Of course not. I made a promise to you. I'm really trying this time."

"I'm glad."

"I may be drunk though."

"Solomon!"

"Come on, it's a celebration! My baby brother is going into the Hunger Games tomorrow. And you're going to do so well people are going to write songs about you. Songs!" Judas said, hugging him again for emphasis.

"How did you find out?" Solomon asked.

"I have my ways, brother, I have my ways."

It was so easy, being with Judas. His presence lit up any room he was in, and even though Solomon was incredibly worried about how reckless the man was being, he couldn't help but smile.

"Just a few more weeks." Solomon said, "Then I'll have won the Hunger Games. You'll be done with recovery. And we can live together, just the two of us."

Judas' smile fell for a moment as he stared off at the wing where their parents David and Miriam Cavalier slept. "They're certainly not going to be happy with me, stealing their perfect son from them. I don't think it's possible for them to be any more disappointed in me. But I've thought that before."

"Hey." Solomon said, looking directly into his brother's eyes, "You're not stealing me. I'm going. Mom and Dad will forgive me eventually, you know how they are with me. But you don't have anyone else in their corner. So that's where I want to be. You and me, against the world. It's going to be great."

"Great is not usually an adjective people use to describe me." Judas said as his eyes wandered to the main wing again, "Maybe they're right, and I'm just ruining your future as well as mine."

Solomon shook his head." They're not. Forget them. You're great and I'm not perfect and we're going to be happy together. That's a promise."

Judas smiled again, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't make promises you can't keep, brother."

"I'm not. I'm going to keep it."

Trent Charr, District Twelve

Lara passed a plate over to Trent, a breakfast platter that was arranged to make a smiley face. It struck him as a little tacky, given the circumstances. There wasn't a lot to smile about during reaping day. But he knew it was just her way of trying to cheer him up. He stabbed the face in one of its egg eyes and watched as the yolk ran down the pancake.

"Don't play with your food, Trent." Agate said. She was cleaning up the mess from last night's business. Taverns were notoriously rowdy places at night, and the Ladies often could be cleaning all the way until noon some nights. Not that Trent really liked to think about it any more. He only came down to the main dining area to eat or if the Ladies needed him for something. Most of the time he hid up in his room. He wished that he could hide right now. Instead, he merely stabbed the other eye.

"Trent Charr, now you're just being an ass on purpose." Agate snapped, and Lara shot her a withering glance. He was used to the pattern by now. Agate would be cross, Lara would coddle him, and they'd end up fighting each other instead of paying attention to him. Eventually Penelope would show up, sort things out, and try to talk about everything. But he was never in the mood to talk to her.

None of them were his parents, after all.

Except this morning, the pattern changed. "It's reaping day, Agate." Lara said, "I don't think anyone is particularly well behaved on reaping day."

Agate sighed, but nodded. "Listen, Trent. It's going to be ok."

He found that even more frustrating than the arguments. "Are you seriously going to stand there and lie to me like that?" he asked.

"All right. So it might not be ok. But… well, if these past three years have taught you anything, it's probably that things keep going. Even if the world goes to shit."

"Agate, language!" Lara scolded.

"Oh come on, the kid grew up in a pub. He's heard way worse."

Trent had, in fact, heard much worse. But it was the morning of the reaping, and he was already thinking about death. He didn't need to think about it more, and mentioning the tavern just made him remember that he was eating a smiley face breakfast less than ten feet away from where his parents died.

"I don't want to live here any more." he said abruptly.

"We're trying." Penelope said. Trent didn't know when the woman had entered the room, or when she sat down next to him. Penelope had a talent for things like that. She once told him in confidence that before she started her singing career, she had been a thief. Trent thought that was really cool at the time. But it was back before the bar fight, back when he had a family.

He didn't hate the Ladies, exactly. It was due to their kindness that he had a home at all. The White Deer Inn was technically theirs. If they were of a colder disposition, Trent would be all alone in the world, starving in the street. Instead, the three women took care of him. They tried to raise him as well, but Trent refused that. He wouldn't let anyone replace his parents.

"What's stopping you?" He asked.

"We don't have a lot of money." Penelope answered, "And we could sell, but it's hard to find someone who will buy a tavern where the owners died."

That was one thing he liked about Penelope, at least. She never talked down to him.

"I guess if I get reaped, I'll get to see them again." he whispered to himself. Except Penelope must have heard him, because before he could react the woman had him trapped in a hug.

For once, he didn't pull away.

AN: More tributes! I really love introductions. And these three were absolutely great. Say hello to Chenille by VeryNewtoThis, Trent by Pacecca, and Solomon by Paradigmofwriting. For those who were wondering, I am not going to do reapings. We are going to have intros like this for everybody at different points in the pregames. It's nice and speedy and really worked for me last time. Each tribute will have three PoVs before we get into the arena, so no one's going to get the short stick. Anyway, thank you very much for reading, please review, and I love you all!