OMG IT'S THE TRIBUTE PARADE! In other news, I had Chile's for lunch! Lucky me! Okay, so, I know there is one tribute, maybe even two, who haven't had a POV at all. I'm working on it! I literally have a list, and am making sure that ALL the tributes at least get one POV before the Games start. Anywho, things are goin' down.

Fortis, Age 18, District 11

Animi licks my hand as I watch the world fly by. They fixed the train and we are due to arrive in the Capitol any minute. The people who approve tokens decided to allow me to take the pup with me to the Capitol, but I can't take him into the arena. Abby will probably take care of him for me while I'm gone, and she'll take him back to the District if… No, I won't think about that.

Abby left awhile ago to do some sort of mentor-like thing and since then Jade has been lightening up considerably. Its like Abby was a storm cloud and now that she's gone all of Jade's skies are clear. I don't get that girl one bit.

"So, Fortis," She says, sitting down next to me. I look up at her big brown eyes which she blinks slowly. "You seem pretty tough. A handsome guy like you surely couldn't want to be alone in the arena." I don't respond, just lean against the window and gaze out at the landscape flashing by. "The wolf pup is cute. Sorry 'bout what I said earlier… when I called you wolfie."

"His name is Animi." I grumble, annoyed. She's to close to me.

"Well, he likes me," She laughs a little and I look over in surprise to see the wolf pup licking her face. She giggles and I narrow my eyes. "There it is!" She exclaims, quickly handing Animi back to me and racing to the window on the opposite side of the car. She's right. Far out across the water stands a gleaming city, its buildings all polished silver and gold—I really doubt they're actual gold and silver, but you never know—the sun glinting off the sea that surrounds it. It's beautiful. I've never seen anything more sickening in my life.

Marcella, Age 16, District 6

"You have beautiful hair, darling," A member of my prep team gushes, batting her oversized neon green eye lashes as she runs a comb through my hair. I sit in a cold metal chair wearing nothing but a paper sheet. It's freezing in here, so much so that I'm shivering.

"Thank you." I say quietly. Father always said that it was polite to speak quietly, and Mother never liked to hear my voice, so I grew accustomed to speaking at this volume, unless I was ordering something to be done. My prep team continues to chat amongst themselves until my stylist arrives. He's a rather tall man, with purple eyebrows and a green afro. Oh dear God. That's how he dresses himself. What on Earth is he going to try to put me in?

"It is nice to meet you," He says, sticking out a hand with about a bazillion rings on it. I shake it tentatively and notice that his fingernails are glowing yellow, like a star. That's just not normal. "My name is Arty. Okay, Marcella, listen. District Six is the district of transportation. All the old stylists for this district dressed you up as trains and hovercrafts, and it was boring, hideous and predictable. This time, I say we switch it up a bit."

When I finish getting ready, I look great. Kind of odd, but great. I am in a tight light blue mini skirt—oh, Father would kill me if he thought I had any say in what I was wearing, it's so tiny!—along with a tight light blue baby doll shirt and silver flats. My hair is done in ringlets with silver clips. I also wear silver gloves that reach between my shoulders and elbows. My makeup has been done in a way so that it not only brings out my eyes, but makes my face look paler. I think it looks kind of plain until he explains it to me. Oh, I'm going to be a hit!

Heading out into the Tribute Stables, I find my way to my chariot. Kestrel is already there, petting one of the horses and looking into its dark eyes, seemingly lost in his thoughts. "Hey," I say walking up. He looks up calmly and blinks a bit. "What?"

"Nothing," He says, turning back to his horse. He's in an outfit like mine, except he's in shorts instead of a skirt, obviously. I look him up and down. He's rather fit, but not exactly muscular. If you look at it, his face is actually rather handsome. "What are you staring at?" He asks, not looking up.

"I'm sorry," I squeak out quickly, blushing and dropping my gaze. "I forgot it's not polite to stare. Sorry."

"Whatever," He shrugs. I tilt my head to the side. He's not like Peregrine. She was emotionless, impartial, uncaring. He has feelings; I can practically see them in his eyes. They aren't good ones, though. He's full of anger and aggression. In fact… he scares me.

Azalea, Age 13, District 5

"Hey!" I hear Alo shout as I walk into the Tribute Stables. Several people look over to see what he's yelling about, including me. He points to me and I feel my heart jump. "Look! It's Tinker Bell!" Everyone laughs. I blush badly and feel a rock forming in my stomach, cold and hard, eating up all of my little happiness. He's right, I look hideous. I always do. I feel a hand rest on my shoulder.

"Alo," Jake says, his eyes saying he wants to rip the twin apart but his smile saying it was all in good fun. Apparently I was the only one who could see the look in his eyes. "You really shouldn't be talking, considering you currently look like a giant bowl of grits threw up on you!" It was true. Alo was covered in little some weird sort of material that ended up looking an afoul lot like the grainy breakfast food. It was actually really disgusting.

"Whatever," Alo snorts, folding his arms and turning his back on us in annoyance.

"Its okay, Jake," I say before trotting over to Alo's side and smiling at him sympathetically. His sister hasn't arrived yet so he's standing alone at his chariot, looking angry and bored. He glances at me, surprised I came over. "At least you don't look like a cell phone tower." I'm dressed in a black jumpsuit with power line-looking strings all over it, flashes of light running through them randomly.

"Yeah? Well, you aren't the one who looks like pulverized popcorn." He smirks.

"Pixie, you there?" I hear Jake call for me.

"Be there in a sec!" I yell back. I turn around to face Alo again. "See you around, grits boy."

He grins. "See you, Tinker Bell."

Adela, Age 15, District 9

I hate my costume. I'm in a miniskirt, along with a top that doesn't even reach my belly button. The fabric was designed to look exactly like grits. This is just peachy. That was sarcasm, if you didn't catch it. I walk to meet my brother at our chariot. I'm not that angry at him anymore, it sort of wore off, but I still think he made a mistake by volunteering. Now, at least one of us is guaranteed to die… if not both.

"We're out of sugar cubes," I hear a young voice say from the District Eight chariot. Picking up some of the sugar cubes left for our horses I walk over to find the only twelve year old kid in this year's Hunger Games looking a little nervous.

"Here, you can have some of ours," I say, handing them to him.

"Thank you," He says, and I can't help but smile. His year, the District Eight tributes have been dressed in pants and shirts made from thousands of different patches of fabric. They look like poor clowns, but it looks cute on the little kid, I suppose. At least they have a better costume them me.

Claudia, Age 18, District 2

"How do I look?" Kyler asks, appearing beside me. I'm in a dress covered in thousands of little rocks, along with a tiara covered in the stones as well. I've never worn anything this heavy. It has to add, like, thirty pounds. Along with that, we each have a hammer we are going to be holding up the entire time. I am going to be so sore tomorrow.

"Fine," I reply blankly. He's in a sort of suit that looks just like my dress. Just being around Kyler makes me nervous, but of course I don't show it. I have an image to keep up. But, he's not sane. There is something seriously wrong with him. "There is, um, something on your hands…"

"Oh?" He holds up his palms.

"Is that blood?" I ask, tilting my head to the side, while my heart is doing summersaults in my chest.

"Yeah," He says as if it's nothing. He wipes his hands off on the nearest horse and it tries to bite him but can't reach. "The stylist was getting on my nerves."

I blink. "Oh."

Clay, Age 18, District 4

"Wow," I say, walking up to my chariot. "You do realize that bikini is, like, five sizes too small for you, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Stella grumbles, leaning against the side of the chariot, her expression blank. She is in a light blue bikini, her hair up in a ponytail. She holds a light blue trident and a light blue tiara. I'm in matching swim trunks, wearing a blue crown and carrying a trident as well. I'm right; the bikini they put her in is incredibly tiny, barely hiding anything. "Apparently, the crowd will like it."

"The guys in the crowd, that is." I mutter. My stylist explained to me what she and a few other stylists were doing. A crown or tiara was a sign that that person was a Career. Heartless killers with a lust for blood, as Careers always seem to be. No one besides the stylists, the mentors, and the tributes in the Career alliance know this. What they are hoping for is that the crowd will catch on and bet more on those of us with crowns and tiaras. It's supposed to be like a guarantee that we will do well. I'm just not so sure if I can live up to that.

Oak, Age 17, District 1

"Well, someone looks nervous," I say, leaping up onto the chariot next to Monroe. She's in an off-the-shoulder purple dress, covered in tiny gems that catch the light. She doesn't look up, but keeps her eyes focused on the stables doors we will soon be going out of. "What's up?" She turns, settling her eyes on me, and narrows her eyes. "Wait… you don't have a tiara."

"No," She says in her soft voice.

"B-but…" I stumble, trying to find the words. I'm almost never at a loss of things to say, but this seems to be one of those times. Well… my stylist never actually said not to tell the other tributes. She just kind of hinted at it… Oh well! "But, they are a symbol of the Career alliance… How… how could you not…?"

"I'm not in the Career alliance." She replies calmly.

"But," I begin. I'm wearing a purple suit, bedazzled just like her dress, my gem-covered crown sitting on the top of my head. "You're the girl from District One. How could you not be in it? It's, like, a rule or something!"

"It's not a rule." She says. "I don't want to be in it." I think that was the most I've ever heard her say.

"But if you aren't in it, I'll have to kill you." I realize. She shrugs. "Monroe… I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't want a lot of things…" She whispers. "That doesn't mean they don't happen." I just stare at her for a minute. Glancing upward, I find a clock counting down to the launch. We're going in exactly one minute.

"Look, I don't want you to get hurt," I say. I glance around, searching for inspiration.

"Oak-" She begins but I cut her off.

"Take mine," I say. She opens her mouth to say something but just closes it as I take the crown off my own head and place it on hers. "Look, if you don't wear that, you are going to be on the top of the hit list. They already know that I'm in the alliance, I'll be fine. I'll just say my stylist thought it clashed with my eyes or something. Take it." She doesn't have time to argue as the lights flicker off and we are being wheeled into the blinding light.

Kestrel, Age 18, District 6

I glance over at my stylist and she nods, grinning. Pulling some sort remote out of her pocket, she hits a button. A cool spray hits my shoulders and the same thing happens to my ankles. There is an odd hissing sound as the District Five chariot pulls out, and then we are moving. I glance behind me to find it working. District Six is the District of transportation. Our costumes were designed to leave a trail of mist behind us as we ride, looking exactly like the trails of smoke that the Capitol's hovercrafts leave behind. District Seven doesn't look very happy about it, considering the fact that they get the fog obscuring their faces every five seconds. I shrug. Why should I care?

I glance over at Marcella. Her arms are stretched upward and she is letting out a series of whoops, smiling broadly, her hair flowing in the wind. She confuses me. She acts so uptight and snobby, yet right now she looks like the happiest, go-with-the-flow kind of girl I've ever seen. Hmph. I'll never understand women.

Looking up at the flat screens hanging on the side of the Capitol buildings, I find myself reflected on the TVs all around us. The mist billows out behind me in the breeze, wisps swirling and twirling in the wind. I keep my expression blank and emotionlessly. For that is the key to the Games, after all. Emotionless.

Aries, Age 17, District 10

I'm not really used to this. The attention, the expensive things… I swore to leave them all behind, after all. I haven't been near any of them since I was fourteen, when I left my dad to live on the streets. He was rich, I could have had everything I ever wanted… except freedom. I was a coward for running away like that, I'll admit it. But… I can't go back.

"Free steaks for everyone!" Lydia shouts. Picking up two slabs of raw meat from her pile, she tosses them into the crowd, the blood and juice splattering a few Capitol citizens. She is in a black dress, with a puffy skirt that reaches her knees, black flats and a white blood-splattered apron. Don't worry, that was the work of the stylists since we are the livestock District. The crown on her head is crooked, leaning slightly to the left. It's black, which matches her outfit, but I don't know why she has one and I don't. As if she can hear my thoughts, she turns to me and winks. "Aphrodite, that is for me to know, and you to die trying to figure out."

Lark, District 3, Age 15

"I don't like all this attention…" I say quietly. We are both in black leotards that reach from our necks to our feet. Out in the dark night, they glow and twinkle, beams of light zipping around randomly. It resembles a computer, I suppose, but I think we look more like a fireworks display. "Besides, I look horrible…"

"Ya look beautiful, Lark," Bo whispers back.

"Is that an observation?" I ask.

"No," He replies. I blink, a little confused. "It's a promise."