A/N: My first Oneshot! This is a Foxface story - for those of you who liked her. Please enjoy - and review. Really; every time I see the review notification in my inbox it makes me grin... hugely. And then, a member of my family walks in, and thinks Who is this grinning psycho who has infiltrated my house? So, please, if you wish to make my family think I'm weirder than they already do - REVIEW! And while you're at it, R&R 'The Wolf and the Weasel' while you're at it, please! There has been over 1,000 hits... but only 9 reviews! R&R, IF THOU PLEASEST- PLEASE! And now, without further ado...

As Crafty As A Fox

I smile and wave at the crowd as Caesar Flickerman introduces me, feeling ridiculous. The aquamarine dress is too tight, my teased-up hair flying all over my face. If this wasn't an attempt to get sponsors, I would disappear into my room and never come out. But it is. So I smile and wave, albeit nervously.

"So." Flickerman smiles as I take my seat. "I'm sure the Capitol audience would love to know, what's your plan for the Games?"

Is he serious? Did he really think I would reveal my plan to the nation – to the other Tributes? What was I supposed to do – tell him he was an idiot if he thought I was going to tell him that? Well, what else could I do? Caesar looks at me expectantly. Thankfully, I can't see the audience.

"Caesar," I chide, throwing in a breathy laugh. "We in District 5 know better than to reveal something as important as our plan for survival."

"True, true." He grins sheepishly as the audience rumbled with sympathetic laughter. "I thought I'd just test you. Are you feeling nervous?"

"What? For the Games? Not at all. I have a mastermind plan that will not only guarantee my victory, it will also give a fantastic show to all of the lovely Capitol citizens who have been so kind as to host me and my fellow Tributes." I'm laying it on thick, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The audience roars its approval. I smile, congratulating myself. Katniss Everdeen, bite me. Oh, and while you're at it, stop playing up the girl-in-love deal. It's sickening, and anyone with a brain can see it's a complete sham.

"Now, on a slightly more personal level, you hold a remarkable resemblance to-"

Let me guess. Oh, Caesar, are you possibly about to say 'fox'? Because I've heard it a million times.

"-a fox. I don't suppose anyone has ever told you that before, have they?"

Ding-ding-ding. We have a winner! I feign surprise, and look at the audience in shock. "Do I really look like a fox?"

A huge "Yes!" comes back at me, the Capitol shrieking it as one.

I glance back at Caesar. "Well, to be honest, yes, I have. The boys back in District 5 used to call me 'Foxy', 'Foxface' and 'Vixen'. I've always hated it."

I look down, as though I'm embarrassed, though I really have always abhorred the nicknames. Foxes are cowardly creatures – not an animal to admire.

Caesar beams. This man does an awful lot of smiling. "Well, we all know it's just because they secretly admire you."

The boys at school? Not likely.

I try to look girlish instead. "Do you think so?"

"I know so. And when you are crowned Victor, and return home, they will never be able to call you 'Foxface' again."

So much for my mentors' idea for my angle to be cunning. I'm acting more like an eight-year old girl. But at least the audience seems to like it. There will be plenty of time for me to show off my intelligence over the next few days.

I thank Caesar as my buzzer goes off, and leave, throwing a flirty wink out straight out at the cameras as I leave.

!~!

I lean against the tree, breathing frantically. Why? Well -

How long has it been? A week? Less?

I'm still alive. I've kept myself so by eating plants that I know to be harmless, and by stealing whatever else I need from other Tributes. Just a little, never enough to be noticed. But I never thought I'd make it this far.

Then it hits me. There's only three Tributes left between me and freedom.

But what kind of freedom will it be? I know I'm not responsible for any Tribute's death – I've avoided everyone since the Games have started – but can I live with the guilt of participating in such a bloody event?

And, really, do I stand a chance against Katniss, Peeta and Cato? All of them are bigger, stronger and more skilled then me. The only thing I hold over them is wits. If it came to a direct confrontation, I'd be dead in three seconds. Actually, scratch that. If it was either of the District 12 Tributes, I'm sure they'd be merciful enough to make my death quick, but Cato… I've seen him. I'm sure he'd make my death long and painful. I'd suffer.

Who am I kidding? I'll never win these Games. I had no chance from the start. What was it Caesar had said?

"When you are crowned Victor, and return home, they will never be able to call you 'Foxface' again."

My breathing slows down, and the corners of my lips tug up. I realize suddenly that, no matter what I thought back at home, I am a fox. Cunning. Clever. And cowardly. I'm looking for the easy way out – I have been from the moment the gong sounded.

I don't need to do this. I can get out of these Games, without any pain or suffering. And I can truly go Home.

All I need to do is find-

A rustling in the nearby bushes makes me start. I duck behind a tree, and my breathing speeds up again, involuntarily. I've made the decision. I don't want to die by a Tribute's hand!

Cautiously, I peek around the trunk, praying that it isn't Cato. A blond head makes my heart sink, until I realize that it isn't him – it's Peeta.

I watch him silently. It's almost funny, how he doesn't know I'm there – I'm less than four feet away from him. But he's lost in his own thoughts.

He picks a dark berry off a bush and sniffs it. My eyes widen. Doesn't he know?

Clearly not. He moves to his left and places the berry carefully down in a small pile of nightlock. Then, he moves out of my sight, probably to go look for more suicide berries.

Suicide berries…

My thoughts begin to race. I can make it look like an accident. District 5 isn't a place to learn about edible plants. It's perfect.

I step out from my hiding place and scrutinize the berries. Am I really about to do this?

Yes.

I crouch down and pick up three. My lucky number.

I suppose now would be a good time to think some sort of profound thought, like I beat the Hunger Games or some sort of great realization about the afterlife. But all I can really process, as I put the berries to my lips, is All those years denying it. But why deny it any longer? I knew it from long ago. A smile comes to my mouth as the nightlock bursts in my mouth. Bitter. I really am as crafty… as a fox.