Icarus by Bastille.


Icarus.

Living beyond your years. Acting out all their fears.


Alyssum Harper, District Nine Female.


"You are simply adorable. I could eat you up!" the stylist coos, looking over me like I'm sort sort of delicacy.

I smile politely, taking the seat she offers me. I'd rather she didn't treat me like an object, but I suppose that Capitol people are too materialistic to even see tributes as, well, humans too. If only they'd realise what we go through, and then maybe they'd learn to be nicer, rather than selfish. Then again, I'm probably too quick to judge. Maybe this stylist is nicer than I imagine.

"You have so many split ends," she frowns. Nope, I don't like her, the vain cow. "Did you not care for your hair properly back in District Nine?"

I can't help but scowl, steering my head away from her. "I was too busy studying and trying to survive to care about split ends."

"There is always a moment to care for your looks, Alys."

I roll my eyes. "Can you call me Alyssum please?" I ask nicely, even though I want to hiss at her. That nickname isn't for just anyone to use. You have to earn it, and she hasn't. It reminds me too much of Briony and it stings, the wound still fresh.

The stylist - whose name still escapes me - frowns through the mirror. "But Alys is so much prettier."

"You're taking my identity away as it is," I roll my eyes, tired of her already. "You can't have my name too. Please, it's not Alys, it's Alyssum."

She grumbles under her breath, but doesn't say a word. Good. I'd rather not get into a fight with someone I will barely learn about, before I'm thrown into hot waters. I'm sure I have more to worry about then her feelings too. I swallow thickly, feeling slightly guilty. "What's your name?" I ask.

"Dolores," she mumbles, grabbing a jar of peroxide from the side. My eyes widen, and she cocks her head, unaware. "What's wrong?"

"You are not bleaching my hair." I stand my ground.

She blinks a few times. "How... how did you know this was peroxide?"

Of course she'd assume me to be brain dead, just because I'm a lower class. That's just pretentious of her. "I told you, I study," I smile briefly. "My parents run an apothecary... you know, the place full of herbs and medicines and stuff. It's commonplace in District Nine, with the grain and everything..." Dolores just blinks, like my words aren't real. "I'm a herbalist. I no dumb." I mock lightly, ending it with a smirk.

Dolores scoffs. "You could've just said."

"I did. You obviously didn't know what an apothecary is. But that doesn't change a thing. You are not dying my hair with bleach. I like my natural colour," I frown, pulling the loose strands from her grasp. "Please... just hurry up, Dolores."

Dolores smirks, puts the bottle down, and puts her hands on her hips. "Ask nicely... Alys."

I grind my teeth together, staring hard at the reflection. "Please." I answer shortly.

She claps like the brainless woman I believe she is, pulling my hair back into her paws. "I promise to make you look and feel like a princess."

They're overrated. But I'll allow Dolores the ability to believe that. I'd rather go into the arena with hardly any burdens, so I can focus solely on beating the Careers and the brutes with my intellect. And I already know that shouldn't be a problem.


Sable Kordel, District Two Male.


I can't help but smile each time I stare at my costume. Neela, my stylist, told me that I'm suppose to look like a wounded soldier with my face smeared with red paint and dirt, and my costume torn at the edges. I think I look demonic, but that's even more perfect.

"The blood looks real," I hum, lightly grazing over the red paint. "It'd be even better if we got to use real blood! It'd be tons more authentic!"

Neela smiles. "You're a strange one. Now, come on. Jezabel will be outside waiting for you already. The crowd awaits you!"

I beam from ear to ear as Neela leads me out of the room. The dark hallway flickers with light, and the deafening cheer grows bit by bit as I near the Remake Centre. This was never a dream come true, but I guess it's nice. It's not even the crowd that makes me happy. It's the energy, the atmosphere. It burns through my veins; I've never been this excited before!

The doors fly open, and the picture comes to life.

Jezabel quickly approaches from the chariot, a bright, white smile on her face. "There's my favourite district partner!" she beams, shoving her arms around me.

I don't particularly care for Jezabel, but she's fine. Not gruesome enough for us to get on, mind you. She's too sugary sweet, even though she masks it well. I can see right through her. Oh well, might as well entertain her for a while. "Hi Jezabel." I reply sweetly.

Jezabel pulls back. "Oh, I can't wait to get this show on the road. Now, Cadmus told me that we should raise our hands together. It's an okay idea, but I think the more enthusiasm, the better."

My fingers move on their own, running over her cheek. Jezabel frowns, staring harder. "You have blood on your face. It looks so real," I hum. "It's like I can imagine you bleeding right now... it's so beautiful."

"Can someone tell Terror Toddler and his toy to get onto the chariot, please," Saffron's voice enters, standing at the side. "We're on a schedule."

Jezabel smiles, pulling my hand from her face, before jumping up onto the chariot. I quickly follow, careful not to ruin the costume. It's too perfect to be damaged.

Around us, the others begin to move. I notice Camillo Creed firstly, the large angel wings on his back being any indication. He's the devil, and I'm the angel. War must be waged between us... nah, I'm kidding. I'm sure he's a nice boy. I wonder if he likes macabre stuff too? He's be more than nice then. We might even become friends before a guillotine or something cuts him in half.

I'd like that.

"The Career alliance this year," Jezabel begins, as the crowd grows louder and louder behind the doors. I beam once more, jumping up and down lightly. I push the curls from my eyes, and turn to face Jezabel. "As I was saying," she continues. "I want to become leader. I don't think Cera or Luxe are material, and I don't trust Camillo," she pauses, smiling. "Will you help me become leader?"

I frown, saddened by that. "I think they'll be really cool," I pout. "You haven't even gave them a chance."

Her eyes narrow. "You can't trust everyone, Sable."

Truth is, I don't. But I like to meet everyone before I make that judgement. It's just cruel to do so beforehand. "Then the same could be said about you," I counter, still smiling, cocking my head at the noises. "Hear that? I think they're waiting for us. I'm so pumped I can't wait!"

"We're friends, Sable," Jezabel whispers. "I'd never betray you."

I should scoff, but I don't. That's rude. Instead, I ignore her, keeping my eyes focused on the large doors. If she betrays me, I'll just kill her. I wouldn't even think twice. I'd even make it painful as punishment.

"Let the fun begin!" I fist pump the air, just as the doors open, and the noise and light comes in full blast.


Satchel Taupe, District Eight Male.


I'm a quilt.

Yeah, no, basically, no matter what they lied to me, I'm a piece of bed linen. Same as Clio, though her costume hugs the right places, defining her femininity. My stylist moaned that my body wasn't "full" enough to make it better, so they left me with inches of room to move around in. It's better than nothing, particularly after hearing Clio's rant on how women shouldn't be defined by curves or something.

The first chariot rolls forward. The butterflies in my stomach begin once more, and I grip the railing in front of me. Clio laughs lightly, but it's forced.

"So, Satchel," she begins. "Are you going to tell me why you played dead?" she laughs again, but it's more breezy. Surprisingly, it puts me more at ease.

"Practise," I joke. "I... I don't have a good reason. But the same could be said about your attempts at running away. It was a pretty sad attempt."

Clio nods, a tight smile on her face. "Guess our actions were in vain."

"Oh, I don't know. Tweed mention that the crowd loved our reactions. A flood of money, he said. They apparently love it when their tributes are scared out of their minds." I answer, which is partially true. Tweed mentioned that the result was money for someone, but he pointed out it was for someone, not the pair of us. I won't let Clio know that though. I mean, I might shoot my mouth off, but I know when not to hurt someone's feelings.

District Six moves now, their silver suits contrasting with the blackness of their headpieces. They kinda like look trains.

Clio flexes her fingers, still smiling. She only ever smiles. "That's good to know," she breathes. "I'd like to think that someone got a kick out of our desperation."

The words sting more than they should. She's right; we were so desperate, and they just probably laughed at us. I'm used to being mocked for many things - and Clio's hinted at similar results after a talk with Tweed - but it still hurts to know that they don't see scared children when it happens.

District Seven moves. The girl is a little jumpy, almost falling out of the chariot. A few scattered orange leaves fall from the costume, and I hear one of the Capitol stylists shriek in terror, chasing after her even though it's too late. Clio laughs at that, but again, I feel like she's being too positive. Maybe it's a mask.

Our chariot is next, and that's when Clio slides her hand in mine. "I doubt we'll be allies," she starts with, and I let out a baited breath. I didn't want to be her ally anyway, but I didn't want to offend her. I'm thinking more carefully when I'm around Clio because she's too nice to be hurt. "But I want you to know that we're kinda friends? We're in this together quite literally, so don't view me as the enemy."

It's hard not to. One of us - more than likely the both of us - will die. Everyone is dangerous, an enemy with knife.

The horses pull us into the blinding light, surrounding us from every side. I wince, before a bombardment of cheers and applause reaches my ears. Clio grips harder into my hand as the spots begin to fade from my vision, revealing the rows and rows of Capitol citizens, all coming out to see us. It takes my breath away. I try to smile, but it's forced, hatred for a place that has only ever been against us. After a while, Clio points excitedly at a banner, and I frown.

"What's it say?" I shout over the noise, the letters a blur. I can't make it away no matter how hard I try.

"It says your name," she beams, forever smiling. "Can't you tell? It says 'Satchel Taupe, Our Possum!'"

"Possum?" I've never heard of that before. What is it?

She turns to face me, looking happy. "It's that animal that plays dead, Satch," she laughs. "You know, because of your antics. The crowd love you for it! You're their possum!"

Should I feel offended? I can't help but smile, though, at the name and banner. Someone out there likes me. Like, really likes me enough to make a banner for me. It's sweet of them, even if they are the Capitol. So I let my smile do the talking, pushing away my feelings and the many different words I want to shout out. Unlike Clio's determination, my words have only ever got me in trouble.

I have to be more wary. I need to win, you know, and that means I can't be too reckless.

It'll be hard; but so will surviving against everyone older than me.


Orion Tallen, District Ten Male.


Serpine scowls as I bounce up and down, making sure that every single person in the audience can see me. "I'm here!" I scream, waving my arms around.

This is so weird but wonderful. The eventual dying part isn't so great, and my odds are pretty foul, but for now, I can bathe in things I've never dreamed of before. A crowd that already knows my name. A spotlight that'll follow me around, watching whatever I do, so interested, so keen to learn more about the mysterious Orion Tallen. I'm so pumped for the interviews mainly!

"You're being extremely childish." I hear Serpine comment, looking away.

"You're being a spoil sport," I argue, scowling just like she does. "Lighten up. No-one wants to sponsor a sourpuss."

She doesn't react, which is good, because Serpine is kinda terrifying at the end of the day. I mean, she doesn't look so scary, but I've heard about her, about how cold she is towards basically everyone. Some say she's evil, but I've yet to see that myself. I won't judge; I mean, Serpine could be a hooker and I'd be fine with being her friend, as long as she didn't touch me or infect me or whatever.

The chariots begin to slow down. As District Nine veers off to the left, our chariot heads right, placing us between Districts Eight and Twelve.

My eyes wander to the rest of them, and their outfits mainly. I don't them to be better dressed than me, but I have nothing to worry about. District Eight is covered in bed linen of different patterns and colours, and frankly, neither look too appealing. People will forget them easily, but I'm sure that's a blessing in disguise for them. District Twelve, well, I have no idea what the black paint and tails have to do with anything, but they look like dirty fish or something.

That's good. Our little lamb costumes will be even more noticeable!

President Esmeralda Snow approaches the podium, elderly in age. She doesn't look as terrifying, but we all know she is. Maybe that's Serpine's angle for the future? Mine will be the fear of knowledge. I'll just say anything and everything to make sure people either fear me, want me, or choose to stay clear. I mean, lying should be fine in a place full of killing, right? Dirty tactics are welcome, and I'll do just about anything to keep my life. I'm not above faking things, lying, or even betrayal. Why care for people that want to kill you, and win as much as you do? There's no trust here.

It's a game of death, and one I plan to take seriously. I'm willing to do anything to survive.

Esmeralda Snow continues her speech, and Serpine looks over her shoulder at me. "You do realise we're lambs to the slaughter, right?"

I raise an eyebrow. "That's pretty dark of you to say."

She rolls her eyes. "Our costumes, I mean. The red paint is blood. We're lambs that have been slaughtered. It's symbolism for our district, and our role in Panem."

"That's harsh." I frown. Oh. I don't like our costumes so much now. It's like our stylist wants everyone to know we don't have a chance.

Serpine scoffs. "It won't be symbolism in just five days, Orion. It'll be real."

I lean over, so that no-one hears us. "I don't want to die," I admit, voice shaky. "So can you stop talking about it? I want to enjoy myself before all that happens."

She shrugs. "It doesn't bother me. Live a lie for now. Because when that gong sounds, it's everyone for themselves. Alliances are pointless because it just means that the enemy is forever behind you."

The chariots begin to move again, and I look away. I guess Serpine doesn't want allies then. But that shouldn't scare me; not everyone is like Serpine, planning on murdering as many people as possible. Or at least I presume. No, there is bound to be someone - or maybe a few - that are genuine enough to be trusted... well, manipulated. It feels mean to say, but it's true. I don't want trust; I just want someone naive enough to fall under my words, and the "trust" I'll place on the table.

I guess I have to learn that being mean is the only way I can come close to winning.

I haven't given up just yet.


Blair Taverly, District Three Female.


The chariots soon roll back into the Remake Centre, the harsh lights now toning down. I scrub my eyes furiously as we pull to a stop.

"Are you okay?" Cyril asks, voice plain. His black suit contrasts a lot against my silver one, and I guess it reflects our personalities too. Even our firework-like lights were different. It's like the stylists wanted to show us off as complete opposites.

I don't know why. I'm sure Cyril would love having me as an ally, sarcasm completely intended.

"Yeah," I shrug, jumping from the chariot. Micro and Pixel come walking over and I inwardly groan.

"You both did great," Micro compliments. "I've had a few notices from potential sponsors already."

"Specifically for you, Blair. Cyril, you only got a few." Pixel admits.

People would give me their money? They should just give me it instead, rather than make me play this game. Of course that'd be too much for them, seeing as I'm like a prostitute, being paid to entertain them. It's disgusting.

When Cyril asks them a question - about prices and items, and if he can choose beforehand - Micro and Pixel take him to the side, away from me. I should feel offended; but Cyril is taking this seriously, and I want to say I am, but for now, I'm just... neutral. I have no real opinions. I'm annoyed I was reaped, and that will forever linger at the bottom of my heart, but that's it.

Maybe it's better I don't have too many emotions now. I can focus on training and tactics without distractions that way. I won't let anyone get in my way to going home. As shitty as District Three is with their horrid stereotypes, it'll always feel like home, even with my parents being as distant as possible, leaving me torn between them.

Great, I'm thinking too much about it now.

I pull the headpiece off, drop it to the floor, and walk towards the elevator. I jab the button angrily.

"Hey," I stop, and look over my shoulder at Oker Horvath from District Six, his lips curled into the most ridiculous smile possible. "Your outfit was one of the best out there. I mean, you literally exploded," he laughs at his own joke, and I deadpan. What an obnoxious way to try and tell me he's witty. "But yeah. You looked nice."

"Think you should compliment my stylist, not me." I reply emotionless.

"It was a sly way of telling you that you're attractive." he laughs, cheeks burning in colour.

I deadpan again. "I got that the first time."

His smile soon falls. "Sorry..." he mutters, walking away when the elevator doors open.

Basically tried to shove his charisma in my face. I could tell he would be a charismatic person just from that smile. No need to dress it up with words. The doors slide shut, and I take a deep breath as we rise.

I don't think I'll look for an alliance. The more I think about it, the more I realise that my fuse is short when it comes to most people. Cyril I can tolerate because he's quiet and slightly creepy. But in terms of other people... nah.

The doors open again and I walk to my room. I rip the outfit off, dropping it to the floor. I stand there for a little while in my undergarments, just staring at the large floor-to-ceiling window.

Maybe I was rude to Oker, and Cyril, and Micro and Pixel. Truth is, why should I be nice? To win, Oker and Cyril will be dead. Micro and Pixel are blatant decoys to the fact that my life will be miserable even if I win, and that I'll never escape the grip of the Capitol.

If I stay realistic - not grow attached, not feel guilty - then my chances are stronger.


Demara Chass, District Five Female.


The tributes begin to move fluidly for the exit, each with their district partners or mentors. I stare across at Bennett, whose wide eyes hold some form of mischief. He's a trickster; I appreciate that in a small child like himself. With a flick of his wrist, Bennett scoops a handful of sugar cubes from the horse's feed bag, clutching it in his small hand. He crosses the small distance between him and the boy from District Eight, before throwing one at his head.

The District Eight boy - Satchel I believe - turns around in kind, and the pair share a laugh whilst Clio looks on with amusement in her eyes.

"Demara," I hear the voice, turning to Ellery. "Did you enjoy being undressed with the eyes of a thousand Capitolites?"

"As long as they sponsor me, I don't care really," I admit. It's true; they can say or do what they want, as well as it benefits me. Undressing me? Sounds promising for some money. "Did you enjoy watching?"

Ellery smirks. "It's how I like to spend every day. Sitting here, watching children be glorified, all the whilst remembering my own time as a tribute. Aw, the bitter memories."

Over the years that I've watched Ellery Haynes from afar, I've seen her grow closer to her fellow mentors - but retain that bitter sarcasm and snobbery that made her famous in District Five - but soften in her words. Rumours were that people threatened Ellery's family, and that's a no-go apparently. They could try that with me... I pull the locket from underneath the outfit, running my thumb over the case.

They weren't there. It wasn't that I expected it... but it would've been nice to see them, to see how they've grown and changed since the years I last saw them...

"Demara?" I snap out of the dream, zoning back in on Ellery. She rolls her eyes. "I said, have you thought about an alliance or singular?"

"You told me singular," I answer. "I think I want an alliance. Maybe just one person though."

"They'll betray you." she warns.

"I'll manage," I flash a brief smile. "I think there is a certain safety in numbers. Double the chances of sponsors, sleep, lookouts-"

"Death."

"Well yeah, but I thought that's expected of the Hunger Games?" I raise an eyebrow. "I might try the boy from District Eleven, Deacon. Or District Six, Oker."

Ellery nods. "I suspect it'll be you that betrays them then. I've spoke to their mentors; both boys are sugary nice, apparently."

Truth is, maybe I was thinking that. I did want someone who'd be easy to fool. Not so much manipulate, but rather allow them to believe this alliance would be as strong as steel. I don't want to fool them completely; but it's all I've ever known. I did it for a living. It's in my bones and blood. I just won't be psychopathic towards them. No, that's not me. Just a little lie here or there to sweeten the reality that is Demara Chass.

Besides... who tells the truth for this? When everyone is out for themselves, I highly doubt standing order or your history is important; I just don't like talking about mine. It makes me feel nostalgic of all the times I shared with my Father and siblings, conning the rich people out of their money with a few sob stories.

I shake my head. "It's only a thought." I grow quiet, suddenly feeling guilty as Oker walks by, a dopey smile on his face.

He looks too kind. It'd work for us; but now I feel bad for him, even though I have no clue as to anything about him apart from his name. Ellery seems to coin on, so I smile, straightening myself out. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" I roll my eyes for the part, before walking away.

When I notice Oker in the elevator on his own, I ignore the knot in my stomach and chase after him.


Alvar Zale, District Four Male.


"She trained you?"

I swallow, looking away from the older man. "She paid for us to be trained better," I admit. "I was just lucky enough to take this opportunity."

"Leave the sarcasm alone. You're much too young to understand it," Octavian answers. Odyessa soon enters, groaning when she realises the situation. "Odyessa!"

She quickly turns and leaves, and Octavian stomps after her, face of fury.

That's when Cera's head pops around the corner. "Are you causing trouble again, Alvar?"

"No," I stand stubbornly. "It's not my fault he's pissed at her. I didn't do anything but what I wanted to do."

Cera's lips melt into a smile. "Whoa man, you're touchy. Need to lay off the sugar or something. You're antsy," she teases, plucking the carton of crackers from the cupboard, hitting the door with her hip. "Octavian will calm down, and Odyessa will still be partially evil. Here, have a cracker."

Cera doesn't understand. Unlike her, my school, my miniature Training Centre was funded by Odyessa. Technically, she's paying me for this "opportunity", even if I'm not a prized block of stone that can hit with a hammer but can't add simple math.

I'm doing this for the trainees who aren't obsessed with weapons.

Of course, my alliance will be full of them. It's already apparent that Sable, Luxe and Jezabel are focused solely on caving in as many skulls as possible. Camillo is a weasel, and I wouldn't trust the slippery eel if I could grab him, whilst Cera is unpredictable.

I eat quietly next to Cera, who hums happily. Then she turns to face me, crumbs stuck to her chin. "Alvar?"

"What?" I pause, frozen.

She swallows. "Do you think that the alliance will be stable at all? Octavian was telling me that he's heard worrying news about Sable and Jezabel."

I wouldn't be surprised if they failed some psychological test. I saw Sable groping Jezabel's face, and she's always smiling like she's hiding the best kept secret. "Like?"

"Firstly, you need to be more warmer when talking to people. It's lame that you're so hardened," she shakes her head, clearing her thoughts. I grumble a little. "Secondly, I don't know. He just mentioned to not trust either of them."

I scoff. "Not being funny, Cera, but anyone could've told you that. There is only one winner."

Her eyes harden instantly, dulling in colour. "So I shouldn't trust you either, right?" she counters harshly. I don't know how to answer that. I swallow thickly, awkwardly trying to avoid her stare, though I end up looking straight back into her eyes. Then she laughs. My eyes widen as her lips quiver. "I'm playing with you, macho," she smiles. "I guess we shouldn't trust each other. I don't know. I'm not going to be false or different with them. I'm not changing for the likes of the alliance, Alvar, and I would hope they don't hide behind façades either."

I blink a few times. "Acting like that will end up making you hated." I stand abruptly, turned off by her apparent disregard for my feelings. "I'm just saying that, at the end of the day, everyone is waiting to stick the knife in the other."

I walk towards the elevator. Cera climbs over the couch - cracker box in her hand - and rushes after me. "Mean." she pouts as we step in the metallic room.

The doors shut. The air thins.

Maybe it's me, but I'm starting to wonder if I was right in doing what I'm doing. I want to win for the sake of a new generation that is persecuted. For people who aren't in the fold. I don't want to be a martyr - I want to be a Victor, to prove my worth.

Cera wouldn't understand that, but I always knew she wouldn't. Nobody will.


Luxe Wylde, District One Female.


One-by-one, we file into the room, like lambs to the slaughter. I keep my head high and my shoulders tight, examining the tributes around me. Some are older and taller as expected, but then there are the little kids, the ones who look like butter wouldn't melt.

Only a few years difference, I remind myself. By their age, I had animal blood on my hands, and knew the art form of cutting someone's throat.

Innocence was lost a long time ago in me.

"Smile," Camillo hisses as the man, Maestro, raises on his platform. "You look incredibly creepy."

I roll my eyes. "This is my normal look. I don't mean for it to be unnerving."

Camillo snorts. "You're doing it on purpose. Now grow up. You're making us look bad."

Camillo cares about looks. Not to the degree that Varsity does, oh no, but to a more important factor; Camillo wants to establish us as the nice Careers, the ones who will smile and laugh, even as we plan out your excruiating deaths. It's rather pointless; I'd rather be honest and let everyone know I'm planning to kill them slowly. I shouldn't have to hide myself behind a charade for Camillo's sake. I'm only tolerating it because I happen to find Camillo's smarts a redeeming quality.

"Now go!" Maestro shouts.

Camillo instantly turns to face me. "Please don't jump at the other Careers," he whines. "I want to establish a good place in the order. If we find a place and settle, we'll have better control over the decisions, and a stronger influence over District Four."

Tactical, Amethyst mentioned. I see it now. "I'll try my best not to displease you." I reply sarcastically.

Over his shoulder, I instantly notice Jezabel Gremory, tailed by a chimpanzee that could only be Sable Kordel. Soon enough, Alvar Zale and Cera Monet are also here, the latter looking giddy as she stares around the room.

"Hi everyone," Jezabel starts, voice high-pitched. "I'm Jezabel, and I'm nominating myself as Career leader," she raises her hand. "Anyone who opposes, please raise your right hand and slap yourself with it- no I'm just kidding," she laughs. "Just say it."

She's trying to be funny to build friendships. Completely ingenuity. "I think a vote is better. Shows more unity." Camillo smiles.

Jezabel narrows her eyes, and her smile tightens. "I understand that. But Alvar and Cera have already declined, and Sable here isn't bothered."

I meet eyes with the strange man-child. He stares back, innocence in his eyes clear. "I'm really not," he smiles toothily. "I honestly don't give a shit, but you know..." he trails, staring harder. "Your eyebrows are weird."

I cock one of my "weird" eyebrows. "You seem too childish for an eighteen year old." I counter.

Camillo tenses at my side, but Sable continues to smile. "I like you, Luxe," he nods. "I think you'll look beautiful covered in blood and dirt, even with those caterpillars on your forehead."

I grit my teeth, my fingers curling into a fist. Then suddenly, Camillo is grabbing my shoulder, laughing falsely once more. "He's just messing with you. Friendly banter between friends."

"Do you have anger problems, Luxe?" Jezabel steps in, and mentally, I can feel Alvar and Cera exiting the conversation. Sable just plays with a curved scar on his arm.

I tilt my head slightly, looking at Jezabel's fuller features. "I'm not aggressive," I recite Augustus' words, the same things I should say in case people asked too many questions. Then, I go off-track. "Are you self-conscious about yourself? I only ask because stating yourself as leader seems like a cry for attention." I smile viciously. "I could easily do it for you by splitting your lips open with a knife."

"Luxe!" Camillo shrills.

But Jezabel smiles. "I'd like to see you reach, pint-size."

I step towards the challenge, but Camillo is hooking me from the elbow, dragging me away. "Calm down," he hisses in my ear. "You're being too aggressive like she said."

I shake him off and spin around. I flash a brief smile, before walking the rest of the way towards the archery station alone, satisfied by our brief quarrel.

At least she'll make things interesting.


Deacon Fleet, District Eleven Male.


I swing the mace with my right hand, watching it collide and pummel the cotton dummy. The head splits open like an egg, red feathers spitting out. I smile toothily at the trainer nearby.

"Have more faith next time." I say, dropping the item on the ground and walking away, hearing the man's disgruntled groan.

People always underestimate everyone. I wouldn't do that; I even believe that the two munchkins from Districts Five and Eight are worthy threats. Age doesn't change something. Neither does gender, or district, or whether or not they're trained. Of course, the trainer countered that, so I had to prove myself, even just to be able to smile proudly.

I move across the room swiftly, heading towards the rope course. I take a deep breath and climb, scrambling towards the top. Halfway, my arms and legs burn with strain, but I keep going, determined to reach that little brass bell at the top.

A hand suddenly grabs the rope I was aiming for.

I turn instantly, meeting eyes with Blair from District Three. I smirk, but she just looks disinterested, hauling herself past me.

Challenge accepted.

I scramble even faster, pushing the idea of pain into the back of my mind. Then Blair stops. I catch up to her in seconds, stopping next to her face. "Hi." I beam, catching her attention. She looks me over once, before turning back and moving again.

But I keep up with her as we reach the top. "Are you stalking me?" she asks.

My eyebrows knit. "Stalking is a rather harsh word," I say smoothly, hoping to make her smile... it doesn't work. I cough, scratching the back of my neck, swaying on the thin rope. "You can ring the bell if you want."

She grabs the string and rings it once. Our eyes meet for a brief second, and then she drops, falling through the ropes rather nimble. I can't help but laugh, making a mental note to interact with her more. Usually, people can't get enough of me! Blair is a tricky one. I need to make sure to crack her at the very least.

Hmm. Ally material? I store that too and slip down also. When I hit the mat, Blair is gone, disappearing into thin air almost. She's a very tricky one. I like that though.

I move stations again, this time plant identification. The station is already occupied by Leona, so I take my opportunity to try and make friends once more.

"Leona!" I cheer. She instantly jumps, staring at me hard as I sit down next to her. "You're not interacting with anyone."

"What's the point?" she mumbles. "Someone out there is going to kill me."

I frown. "You shouldn't think of it like that. They're teenagers before murderers."

Her worried eyes gloss with tears and she looks away, busying herself with the leaves again. Leona has been an emotional wreck ever since we arrived. Kane tries to cheer her up, but ends up making it worst, and Gypsy has barely made an effort outside of me.

I've tried to speak with Leona, but she's like Blair, almost immune to whatever I do. Compliments, charisma, just everything... nothing works, and whilst it's frustrating, it just makes me want to try harder.

"Let me help you?" I smile, catching her attention. "I'll help you find allies. Ones you can trust."

She blinks a few times, dazed. "What?"

"Allies," I laugh. "I'll help you find them. Give you some pointers to make friends with them. You know, advice and that, like an older brother."

Leona nods meekly. "Thank you, Deacon."

The words set my heart aflutter. "No problem."

I spend a while giving Leona some tips, like approaching someone, or just being more charismatic. It's not that she's not friendly - Leona is a sweetheart - it's just that she sees everyone as her potential killer or a corpse, and it's halting her attempts. Satisfied, I leave her to it, standing up.

The lunch bell chimes. That's when Blair appears again, slinking out from the behind a gauntlet platform. I smile; let's try this again then.


Faele Resquin, District Six Female.


As the bell rings, the tributes begin to move. I freeze in my seat, staring around at me. Oker smiles kindly, before getting up. He didn't have to, but he sat with me, because he didn't want me on my own. It was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, and it happens to be from someone who... no, I can't even think about it like that!

I wait until every other tribute has disappeared before moving. I don't want to be caught in the crossfire of being knocked or tramped! So many have found alliances already that it makes me feel even more useless.

I sigh as I walk into the large room once more.

Oker has been spending a lot of time with that Demara Chass girl. I know because Aston mentioned it, and Oker blushed a little. I think he has a crush on her; I wouldn't be surprised, she's quite attractive. But even he has an ally already, and I have nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I look around at the others. Satchel Taupe and Bennett Helling.

They're another group. Allies until the bitter end. Do they not realise that there's dangers in numbers? The more people, the more likely something will happen.

"Hey!" I fly out of my skin, throwing myself against the nearby station. Clio Dimity edges closer, her bright eyes looking amused. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

I swallow thickly. "I didn't expect someone to talk to me, is all."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Why? You look perfectly approachable."

"My Mom always said it's because I think about the worst outcomes and then tell people and that usually leads to me being alienated slightly," I pause, chewing on my bottom lip. "I'm just anxious a lot. Sorry."

She chuckles. "I think it's more paranoia than anxiety."

Friends will lead to death. Friends will lead to death. Friends will lead to death. I recite the words perfectly, the same words I've been thinking since Oker approached me on the train. No, scratch that - when Aston helped me onto the stage.

"Did you want to come with me to the poisonous berries station?" Clio asks, and my heart skips a beat, before I remind myself of how my chances have just dropped.

I shy away from her piercing eyes. "Nightlock is the most famous and poisonous. The acidic tang covers up the fact that it's burning holes in your organs," I look back when I hear her laugh. "It's not funny. Most people die from it! A-And if that's not the case, then you could get seriously injured!"

Clio suddenly looks offended. Oh great, I've scared the only other person to want to know me. "I don't doubt you," she smiles. "It's just... amazing how you knew that. Do you have a photographic memory?"

"It's eidetic memory. But no, I don't have it," I respond kindly. "I worry a lot. I've learned about the things that could easily kill me. Don't worry about me though."

I didn't prepare for teenagers though.

Clio offers her hand and I wince, staring at the simple gesture that could mean a thousand different things. Does this mean we're allies? Does this mean that I'm forever bound to her, and that I have to help her whenever I can? Or worse... does being with me paint the hugest target on my back that's possible?

I don't get the chance to answer though. Swiftly, Clio grabs my hand, and yanks me with her. I yelp as Clio charges through the crowd, narrowly dodging the Career from District Four, whose solid eyes burn through us. He's... unnerving.

He'll be a killer for sure. Somewhere in my mind - as Clio slows down - I can't help but picture him over my body, and whilst I'm begging for help, he's driving the blade in deeper. I scream again, only this time, I know I'm doing it... I know I'm screaming because I'm trapped here, I'm going to die, I'm going to die and... and I can't do the things I want to do! I've forever trapped with everyone as my enemy!

"Faele?" I snap out of it again, staring at a confused Clio. "You screamed. Is... is everything okay?"

I steady my breathing. Was that scream real? I feel like my head is going to explode. Constance's words resound in my head, and I force a shaky smile. "Kinda," I admit truthfully, looking over her shoulder at the swords displayed. "I... I thought you said poisonous plants?"

"But you know about them. So weapons instead," she says gleefully. I swallow thickly and nod. I really don't want to lose Clio. At least until I know more about her. She smiles one last time, before pushing me towards the trainer. "Give her the biggest one you have!"


Beatrix Reiser, District Twelve Female.


The shrill scream makes me look up from my seat on the floor. It's that girl again; Faele Resquin. That's twice she's made abrupt noises, like screaming or shrilling, freaking out over whatever is in her head. I've watched her carefully, just because she keeps nearing my station, before walking out, a jittery mess.

But it's not like I'm pushing her away. When she approaches, I smile softly and kindly, even making room for her to sit down next to me... yet, I'm slowly learning that either she's not all with it, or she's emotional and confused about the scenario.

I don't blame her. The reality is a harder pill to swallow than I thought.

I turn back and busy myself with the knots in front of me. I check each one three times, before starting the next one carefully. The trainer watches me, his wrinkled face just in the edges of my view. "You're rather the expert."

I smile softly. "I'm just working hard for it."

"That's the spirit, girl," he chortles. "Don't let them get you down. Be positive, be working hard."

Everything he says is obvious, but I like the sweet atmosphere he radiates. I've been here all day and, besides the odd thing that nags the back of my brain, I feel at peace. He's open and warm - and I'd like to think that he'd remember me, even after I've possibly died. He probably won't; but it's a nice thought.

Something clatters in the distance, metal hitting the cement. I push the stray hairs from my face and look over my shoulder at Clio Dimity and Faele once more. The entire contents of the sword rack is on the floor, and Faele is as far away as possible, eyes widened and terrified. Clio tries her best to comfort her, but Faele is freaking out once more.

I sigh, turning back. "I'll never get peace." I mutter under my breath as I fix the knot, checking it one, two, three times, to ensure the strength is good for my needs.

"She's a right character," the man comments, obviously about Faele. "You'll never forget someone like her."

That's the truth; to be remembered, you have to be outstanding or ridiculous. Before me lie over a thousand dead District Twelve females, the majority without names. Whose to say I won't be one of them? The thought makes my insides twist uncomfortably. It's one thing to die, it's another thing to be wiped from the face of Panem completely.

I won't let myself be another corpse to the factory machine.

I pull the knot tighter, one, two, three times, and stand up. Crispin mentioned allies; I guess it's time to scout them up. "Thank you for your help today," I wave at the elderly trainer. "It was a pleasure to have your time." I comment politely, before walking out.

I won't be with Callum, that's for sure. He's too wishy-washy and laid-back. He isn't taking this nearly as serious as he should. He's a flight risk and not one I'm taking.

Each time I try to think, I'm led back to Faele and Clio. Whilst Faele is obviously... different... I think the balance will make a stronger alliance. I bite my lip when I near them, barely a few inches from their faces. But then I turn around, shaking my head.

What if they reject me? What if they aren't even an alliance?

It's safer to be alone. Yeah, that's what I have to see; that it's better to be alone, then be around people who will eventually die... it's easier.

I hold back the tears as I walk back to my safe corner, embarrassed and lonely.


August Dreygon, District Seven Male.


"How was training today?" Opax asks as North enters the room.

"It was educational, I suppose," I watch the girl sit down, glancing at my book when she looks back. "I learned a few tips. It wasn't totally pointless."

"That's good to hear," Opax replies. "And you, North?"

The door opens again. I glance up again as Maple strolls in. The air tenses for a brief moment, before North smiles softly. "I... I don't know." she answers.

North is rather passive, I've learned. She does what people say without question, though I know she hates it because her eyes change slightly, like they harden. She's a pushover, plain and simple. It's moronic for her to allow people to do so, but for me, it poses a good advantage if I do choose to try and ally with her. If being the preferable word. North has many qualities that make her a decent ally, but it's easily overwhelmed with the negatives.

I can't make this decision lightly. I need to be in utter control and pick the right people. One mistake could shatter the entire structure I'm trying to build.

"Opax, can I speak to you for a second?" Maple mentions.

Opax completely ignores her for a moment, until she's yanking him up, face twisted in annoyance. When they're both gone, I keep my eyes on North, who looks around the room... basically anywhere but on me.

"Did you spot any potential allies today, August?" North suddenly speaks.

I close the book politely. "I'm carefully studying people first," I admit, half-truthful. I've disregarded about three quarters of them as not suitable already. "I don't want just anyone," she frowns, and my gut twists in suspicion. "Why the sad face?"

"No reason," she faintly smiles. "I was just wondering... I haven't found anyone yet."

Pushover. "It's only been one day. You have plenty of time," I answer, sliding the book across the table towards us. "Read this. Opax leant it to me. It's about survival, and whatever else he believes is useful."

I didn't want the book; but Opax insisted, and I felt bad for declining him. Truth is, it posed a few good points I had overlooked. I'd never tell him that though.

North grabs it, a grateful smile on her face. "Thank you." she mutters.

Maybe if she learned a few of those things, it might heighten her potential. I need someone who is competent, but falls under control easily. I need to be control... I don't want to slip like that again. If I'm in control, it can't go wrong.

We sit in silence for the rest of the evening. Maple nor Opax returns, but that's fine, because their bickering does nothing but put our lives on the backburn, so they can deal with their quarrel. North doesn't speak much, engrossed in the book, and I silently hope that she's taking it to heart - her qualities are too good to miss up on, I just want her to make better of the weaker aspects.

I mean, what would North say if I tortured someone for information or supplies, or psychologically messed with someones' sanity? She wouldn't say anything. She's too easily influenced. I need someone who won't question my methods.

After all, all is fair in love and war, so all is fair in a game of wits and survival surely.

I need people who will at least tolerate it with zipped lips.

I'm here to win. Not to trust people - because that's ridiculous in this environment - or to make friends. I'm here to win, and I'll do anything necessary.

"This book is really good," North mumbles, amazement dripping in her voice. I straighten my back a little too proudly. I'm pinning my hopes on you, North, don't let me down. "I never knew that the most poisonous berry was nightlock. I always assumed it was... something else."

I smile slightly. "Glad you find it useful."

The door slides open and Maple walks back in, flustered and red-cheeked. "Go to bed the pair of you." she commands.

I rise without question, and so does North, but I didn't expect anything different from her. We both exit the room and down the hallway. When we reach our doors, North slowly turns around. "August?"

I hum.

"Can I borrow this book?" she asks quietly. "I... I need some help. I was too busy thinking to do much today."

I have to hide my grin. She's becoming more suitable now. A bit more information, her passive attitude, and I might have the perfect ally for my own goal. "Certainly. Make sure to give it back to Opax when you're finished though." I answer, stepping into my room and closing the door.

I will win this. I will do whatever is needed to get through this in one piece. North, unfortunately, is just a piece.


The blog for this story is sinkorswim hunger games . blogspot - all deaths will be notified here!


All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.


I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!

Thoughts on these twelve tributes, and which ones are your early favourites (obviously it will change, just from this glance)?

And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!


Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas!

Sorry for the delay on this chapter. FanFiction decided not to work, and I was busy with my family most of the holiday. I'm finally done though, and I should be back on track again.

I'm pleasantly surprised at this chapter. Of course, I may not have got their personalities down right, but remember that I can only interpret what you give me. I can't read your mind.

All alliances will be confirmed on the blog in two chapters time, after the scores. For now, the confirmed ones are: Faele+Clio and Bennett+Satchel.