I grasped at the cup, savouring the flavour within it, looking nowhere in the dining hall but at the rim of it. After the chariot ride, we were directed inside and sent straight to bed, being told to order anything we wanted in our rooms. Usually we'd sit, watch a re-cap of the rides and eat dinner whilst congratulating the stylists, but we didn't have time. Something to do with the District 9 train being late after it broke down, which slowed the whole schedule and created a disaster (according to Effie). Oh well, I was more than happy to get some sleep after I almost fainted on the chariot from stage fright. I have no idea how I'll do in the interview; I might find myself gripping onto Caesar Flickerman's chair for support.

I'm alone at the breakfast table, but it's no surprise, really. It's about 6:00am and nobody but me seems to feel the need to get up early. Again, I'm fine with being left alone. Only I'm not alone: the Avoxes are watching me.

I don't notice them at first, they're just there to do their job, right? But, seeing as I'm the only other living creature in the room, they all stand and stare at me, heads cocked slightly to the side as if looking at a mildly interesting TV programme over somebody's shoulder. It's their eyes that creep me out the most, they seem to be… defeated. They still worked as eyes; they still moved and blinked and saw, but it was like whoever – or whatever – was behind their pupils had died a long time ago. Which I guess they had, in a way.

I gulped and pushed my not-eaten plate of food away from me. Since the Avoxes-are-staring-at-you-like-they-want-to-possess-you moment (which was still happening, sending a familiar chill up my spine), I had a sudden, unexpected loss of my appetite. Sighing and resolving to the worst, I got up and walked back to my room, too uncomfortable for anywhere else. There was no way I'd face another Avox before I absolutely had to.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I focused on my breathing. Slow, equal breaths. They can't hurt me, right? They'd be killed. Or maybe they think that death would be better than serving the tributes. Better than never being able to speak again. Or I may remind them of the person who cut their tongue out; from what I've heard it is the same person for a whole generation.

You're overthinking it again, my brain tells me. The voice inside sounds slightly exasperated. It's just you. I could only hope that it was right.

Too restless to sit still, I paced my room eating an apple which I had ordered from the seemingly endless amount of food the Capitol had to offer. That and one square meal last night had taken it's toll; I could no longer count my ribs. I told myself that this was a good thing, that the Capitol was not changing me, that I'd be the same girl I always was. But, in the light of current events, even that seems too much to ask for.

The sun must have risen and the others must have gotten up, because the next thing I know, Effie is bursting into my room, practically screaming, "IT'S GOING TO BE A BIG, BIG DAY!" I'm about this far from saying that I'll show her what a big, big punch in the face looks like before I stop myself. Not the best way to greet your escort. Instead, I just resolve to a grunt and she leaves, screeching all the way. If her plan is to wake every tribute in the center up, she's doing a good job of it.

The first thing I notice when I make my way down to breakfast is that Haymitch looks sober, which is unusual. He's looking at me, eyebrows raised in question. What did you do now? I realised that I hadn't wiped the look of unease off my face yet. In answer I just shake my head slightly, try to smile (and fail) and sit down at the table. Obviously, I don't help myself to food. I attacked more than enough fruit in my room.

Haymitch is the one to start conversation when Jerome and Effie sit down. "Right, you two." He looks at me and Jerome. "In thirty minutes, you need to make your way down to the training area. Effie –" he shot our escort a look "– will take you down there. What can you two do?"

The table is silent. Neither me or Jerome have ever so much as handled a butter knife, let alone one that can kill another human. But, there are some good things about living in District 12, after all…

"We've been living off roots our whole lives," I say, "we could easily tell the difference between edible and poisonous ones in the arena."

Haymitch let out a noise of exasperation, "it's a start. Down in the Training Centre, try and learn some more survival skills. Build a fire. Learn to hunt. Useful stuff like that."

We both just nodded, not daring to make a comment. However many addictions he may have, Haymitch has survived the arena, which must have taken skill. As well as this, he could be the difference between life and death for us in the arena.

Soon the time came; Jerome, Effie and I were back in the elevator, waiting to arrive at the Training Centre. Effie was her usual chirpy self, hopping excitedly up and down, clicking those ridiculously long fingernails of hers together. It hit me, riding down to meet my opponents, how clueless Effie was. I didn't have much time to expand on that thought, however, because that's when the doors to the elevator slid open and the Training Centre waited for us. Along with everyone in it, by the looks of things.

"Well," I muttered under my breath, "time to find out who will be on our deathbeds with us."

A/N: Finally got my NYSM fanfic updated and I'm kinda proud of it, even if it is a little short. You guys probably won't be seeing as much of me because I'm devoting all of my spare time to Worrying over The Dreaded GCSE Options *le gasp* and coding on Unity. I'll still try and write on the bus to and from school, though. But I'm glad this FINALLY got out. Happy Reading!

~MPP