"We can't get you any sponsors." Ray's slurry voice fails to stir me from my careful examination of a piece of fish-meat.

"Oh? No one likes me?" I try to keep the surprise out of my voice, because I'm not. Neither am I shaken by his revelation, because – Sponsor or no Sponsor, I'm going to die in a week. Crys makes a muffled sound with his mouth full of meat that sounds vaguely like "I don't need any damn sponsors"

"Yes, the Capitol has an aversion to Red-haired Tributes, especially girls. No offense." He comments, refilling his glass from a decanter of brandy.

I pop the fish in my mouth and savor its light, delicate flavor. It's much less heavy than beast meat, which is what I've taken to calling the darker ones.

"How was training today?" Hertha asks, with a worried look on her face

"You meant - did I make any allies today?" I reply nonchalantly

"Yes Miss Smarty-Pants, I was getting there. So, no luck?"

I've always found it difficult to make friends, even in a completely safe environment like school. I was always the last person to get partnered for Power lab or Chemistry practical, and classmates only approached me for answers to the homework. And that was school – it's probably going to be hell convincing the other Tributes that we won't kill each other.

"No. I don't think this alliance thing is going to work" I comment between mouthfuls of sprouts and beast meat. Crys muffles a faint "I don't need any damn allies either" with his mouth full.

"You have to make allies, no one wants to sponsor you." She repeats

"And how does that explain my career-level line odds?" I reply.

The effect is unmistakable on everyone in the room with the exception of Crys, who has no idea what I just said and is still stuffing his face with meat. Ray looks at me with his mouth ajar and my stylist is smiling at Hertha.

"And how exactly did you figure out your line odds?" Ray asks

"The lift to the training center faces a square. There's a billboard with line odds far away and I can just make out that I've been going up from 15-1 to 7-1 for the past 3 days. That puts me higher than most girls and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that I'm not the deadliest-looking girl," I explain "Would anyone care to explain why?"

"Basically it means that people don't like you but they think you stand a chance. Have you been showing anything off at training recently?"

Stand a chance. Ray's words echo in my head. But this merely means that the odds are projected in my favor.

"Nothing. Just plant knowledge, trapping and ropes. I was having fun with Crys at the Gauntlet until the Careers came and started being assholes to everyone."

"Well, maybe some Gamemakers took an interest in your performance. They can't keep their mouths shut when it comes to leaking Tribute information." Hertha comments

"Are you guys allowed to bet?" I ask. All of them shake their heads.

"Are you allowed to take bets?" I ask again. The question takes them by surprise and Ray raises an eyebrow at me.

"What do you mean?" Ray asks. I've clearly piqued his interest. Next to drinking, gambling must be another one of his degenerate vices, and it kills him to be left out of the action.

"If you were sitting on the other side of the betting table, and someone wagered you 7-1 that I would win. Would you take his bet?"

"Well, that's pretty much the same as betting against you isn't it?" He asks

"Yes, and don't worry about hurting my feelings, everyone here knows that I'm worth far less than 7-1." I reply with a sigh.

"Hey, just what exactly are you trying to get at?" Hertha asks.

My mind begins to churn, phrasing a reply which I'm sure they wouldn't understand on my first try. I've thought about this before, mostly in the elevator watching the other Tribute's line odds flicker up and down. But now that I know for sure that the odds are based on tangible misinformation, it'd be safe to venture an answer.

"If the odds drift based on the tributes performances, you could bet against me when the odds are low. Then I'll go ahead and stuff up my training; maybe get a poor score at the evaluation, so that you'll be free to bet on me when the odds go up. This way you'll be sure to get a profit regardless of me winning or losing. The system is so easy to manipulate it's no wonder you guys are not allowed to bet"

My words churn about in their heads. Crys still has no idea what I'm talking about and has moved on to dessert. But everyone else has stopped eating and simply has eyes fixed on me in cluelessness, followed by amazement.

Hertha's the first to get the idea, revealing a bright smile that crosses her face. Ray takes out a pen and begins scribbling a graph on his napkin. Our Stylists are discussing the concept between each other, still a little slow to understand.

"You're brilliant," Ray finally says. "It's amazing no one has thought about this before."

I swallow the last of my beast meat, looking down and poking at my vegetables with a fork.

"So, do you think that will get me some sponsors?" I timidly ask, afraid of what I would hear.


It's past bed time, but I tussle about in the sheets trying to suppress whatever false hopes I have of going home. I could try to sleep now, but the nightmares would surely come.

Time for some hot chocolate then.

I quietly venture into the kitchen and press a button that dispenses a mug of the good stuff – complete with marshmallows speckled with cinnamon. The warmth from the drink is blissful, especially after I've snuck in a bit of Ray's leftover brandy. I press myself back into the couch and gaze curiously at a mantelpiece lying high above an elaborate vase of tall flowers. It's made of wood, with a long black handle lined with string. The unfamiliar effects of alcohol begin to enter my brain, and curiosity takes hold of me. I wander around the lounge looking for something to stand on that will allow me to reach it, but all the chairs and tables are too heavy to shift.

He appears almost instantaneously when I press the button - an Avox, tall with long arms. He obliges my trivial request without question. I thank him for his help as I run my fingers over the strings that line this simple yet elegant wooden contraption. There's a bow-like stick that comes with it, although I have no idea how the two are supposed to go together.

He doesn't leave after I've thanked him, instead looking upon me with puzzlement. As I shift the mantelpiece around in my hands, he answers my curiosity by placing the curved end on my shoulder. I would have expected Avoxes to have cold hands devoid of life, but his are warm and comforting. He shifts the handle away from my chin and places the stick in my other hand. Suddenly it makes sense now, and I have my first go at bringing the long-overlooked mantelpiece back to life.

Screech.

The first sound is harsh and sharp, and it pains my ears. But he tips the angle of the stick slightly, and curls my fingers around the wooden handle. This time the sound is blissfully soft and deep, and the smile on his wrinkled face tells me that I'm doing it right. He shifts my fingers on the handle again, and the sound comes out different – high and almost melodic. I experiment with the positions of my fingers, sliding the stick back and forth and conjuring all manner of sweet-sounding music. A door suddenly slams open, and he leaves hurriedly at the sight of a drunken Ray staggering out of his room.

"What the hell are you doing up at midnight playing a fucking violin?" He yells.