A.N: Okay, so this one is a little short, but I'm hoping to keep the updates daily, so you won't mind, will you?

The reactions I received at this statement were altogether amusing. I could have quickly explained it wouldn't be real fire, but it was far more entertaining to let them assume.

"What? Is he out of his mind? Why are you grinning? Why are you laughing? It's not funny, Daisy, he wants to set you on fire!" Grant rambled, as he shot out of his chair, eyebrows knitted, and his mouth wide in shock. His expression was a mix of disbelief, and confusion.

"Well, it seems everything I've heard about Antoinne, all these glorified reviews, have been falsified! Turns out, he's a stark, raving lunatic!" Coulson exclaims, throwing his napkin to the table in a huff, frowning. "I'll have to have a word with the committee about this, it seems once again, District 12 have drawn the short straw. It's completely bigoted, you know. You wouldn't have suggestions like that if you came from District 1, I'll tell you that now!"

"I like it," May spoke, with a widespread smile on her face, leaning back in her chair. Considering her glass held the most liquor in the room, she was the most switched on. "An explosive entrance from District 12 to get people talking - it's clever."

I grinned at May, slightly shocked at her words. As of late she hasn't been at all friendly towards me. Civil, yes. Helpful, I suppose so. Warm-hearted, certainly not. Coulson assured me that the word 'warm-hearted' isn't even in May's vocabulary, but I couldn't help but notice how she would lean towards Grant in a conversation, and always be the first to answer his question. Assertively, I told myself I wasn't jealous, that she was just doing her job. Somehow, though, a nagging voice in my head constantly keeps feeding me negative thoughts. For instance, she favours him. And though anyone in their right mind would; Grant is perfectly charming at the best of times, and is incredibly handsome, and insightful, whereas I'm more mouth than anything else, it concerns me to think where her favouritism will lead her. Where it will leave me. In the Games, I'll have no chance of surviving if Grant's the one receiving all the sponsor's gifts, and all the praise back in the Capitol.

I have to step my game up. I can't let Grant get the upper hand, even if it could cost him his life. Even if it would put my conscience at serious unrest. Even if it means I'll have to lose him. It is a Game after all.

"So for a better shot at getting noticed, you're going to let this mad man set Daisy up in flames?" Grant himself questioned, still stood, tall and impressive.

"Yes" was May's short answer, in a monotonous tone. Dapping the corner of her mouth with her napkin, she pushed her chair back, and hobbled over to the drink's cart, refusing any assistance from the silent servers.

Grant scoffed, perhaps in disgust, and then turned his attention back to me. Something about the way his eyes moved onto mine, softening ever-so slightly before a wall was pushed up again, made me wonder. Made something stir in my chest.

"It's not real fire," I sigh, picking out a smoked ham and cheese sandwich from the shrinking pile on the table. I noticed me and Grant had been shovelling food down our necks for the past day, as though we'd never had a meal before. On some part, that is true. "Trip explained how it works to me. It's artificial, of sorts, and won't be touching our skin - just the costumes."

"Our? Costumes?" Grant repeated, forcibly, however considerably more calmer. "What do you mean by our?"

"Oh, sorry, did I not mention? He wants to set both of us on fire. Or at least our costumes. Happy Hunger Games."

Grant shook his head, exhaled sharply, and took his seat, and didn't say another word for the rest of dinner.

Later, we were both whisked away to our respective prep teams, to be made ready for our first Capitol appearance, if you didn't count the train station. Grant only took around forty-five minutes, and fifteen of them were just his stylist, Joey, trying to coax him into the outfit. When I emerged, decked out in my lavish dress, I found Grant tugging at his raven black trousers, groaning. I caught my reflection in one of the gleaming carriages, and I was shocked with who I saw staring back at me. Never have I ever worn make-up before, and never did I know quite the impact it would have on my features once it was on. Somehow, my hazel eyes were sparkling through the smokey, black powder that surrounded it, intricate, little ink designs framed my orbs. My lips were bigger, plumper even, and a subtle peachy colour. My cheekbones, which were usually non-existent, were accentuated greatly, and I found that the way my chocolate locks had been braided into a sort of crown atop of my head, made me appear elegant, and poised - two words I would never have associated with me at all. My dress was jet black, and made out of this figure-hugging, lace material, that caused me to feel light-headed. It was tight, and felt as though it were a second skin. I looked, and felt, nothing like myself.

I walked over to the District 12 carriage, where the rest of them team was awaiting me. Once again I was late, and once again I could tell I had frustrated them, simply by their frantic pacing.

"Where is that goddamn . . . " May began, trailing off when I appeared by her side, alerting her with a sigh. Soon enough, the team had gone from a grumbling and discontented group of people, to one of complete silence, all dazed. I wasn't sure if this was a good reaction, or a bad one.

"What's wrong? Too much?" I ask, concerned. Immediately I bring my hand up to my face, only for Trip to gently brush it aside.

"Daisy, don't be embarrassed," he muttered, softly, with a reassuring smile.

"You are absolutely sensational, my dear!" Coulson coos, looking me up and down with comfortable satisfaction.

Gamora, Nebula and Carina were nothing but complimentary, and truly this time, no questionable double meanings. Politely I thanked them, as we were told to mount our carriage. May approached me as we climbed aboard, and in a hushed voice, gave me perhaps the first bit of real advice.

"Hold your heads high, and show them why District 12 is going to have a victor this year."

I nodded, though wondered why she had only told me, and not Grant. Maybe she had already spoken to him beforehand.

It was a tight, compact space, the carriage, and it forced mine and Grant's hand to brush against each others. I shivered, though not entirely sure why. I glanced up at Ward, and found that he looked incredibly handsome, and somehow more mysterious than usual. He caught my eye, and I hastily averted my gaze elsewhere. I scanned the other tributes, as they too clambered into their carriages. A lump rose up in my throat when I saw how young some of them were. I didn't realise that at seventeen, I was among the eldest, and Grant being eighteen, was perhaps the oldest one in the competition.

Then, something else surprised me; everybody was watching me and Grant, intently, with a mixed bag of emotions. Envy, hostility, loathing, malice, spite. I realised that we must have been given the best stylist in the Games, because everybody else looked ridiculous. For example, District 1, whose industry is luxury, were clad in matching fuchsia pink fur coats, and wore so much glitter I was temporarily blinded just looking at them. District 5's tributes, whose industry was power, wore some kind of silver garment, decorated with large, foam lightning bolts that made standing so close in a carriage almost impossible.

"They're all staring at us" I mutter to Ward, unsure of where to look.

He simply chuckles, and bends down to whisper in my ear. "They're all staring at you."

"Shut up, it's you as well" I retort, though I instantly felt a little hot under the collar.

"Trust me, it's all you," he answers, and I could hear the sincerity in his tone just as easily as I could see his lips form around the words. "You're breathtaking."

I couldn't hide the blush that crept up onto my cheeks, despite the amount of make-up I was wearing.

Thankfully, Trip appeared from behind, and called up a warning. In his hands he held a torch, which held the artificial light. I braced myself, expecting some kind of searing pain, or unbearable heat, but nothing happened. I could hear the crackling of fire, and even saw the lick of flames wrap around my arms, but felt nothing. Laughing, I turned to Ward, holding out my dress.

"Isn't this incredible!" I ask, and he just nods.

All of a sudden, the carriage leaps forward, as the procession begins. We're moving faster than I had anticipated, and clutched onto the railings for support. I could hear the roar of the crowd as each cart of tributes made their way down the strip. My heart was pounding, and all of a sudden, the enormity of everything strikes me, like a slap in the face. Our carriage, pulled by two very magnificent, raven-coloured horses, was thrown out into the open, and the audience went ballistic. Their enthusiasm, and their exhilaration hit me in waves, and I felt extremely dizzy. Swaying slightly, I feared I would topple over, when I feel a hand slip it's way into mine.

"They'll love it," Grant mutters, as at first I flinch. Looking into his eyes, and seeing that softness yet again, I allow him to hold me. I need the balance, I tell myself, trying to compensate for why I gave in so easily. However, I couldn't explain why the feel of his hand in mine caused a slight gasp to escape my lips.

With my other hand I catch a rose, very similar to the one I was given earlier, and sniffed it. This time, it smelled of lavender, funnily enough. Why is the Capitol are so set on modifying the way their flowers smell? Why is it that Capitol are so excited by the sight of two tributes, raising their joined hands to the sky? Why is it the Capitol cheer as twenty-three children all march to their death?

At the end of the strip, which I found I never wanted to end, despite the deafening cheers from the crowd, I look up and spot President Malick awaiting us with an ageing smile. His hands were clasped together, as he stood behind a podium, adorned with Panem's emblem.

He shares with us his traditional greeting monologue, that somehow manages to sound almost exactly the same as every other Panem officiated speech. It's traditional that whilst President Malick is speaking, the camera cuts to each tribute for a brief few seconds, before moving onto the others. However, I notice with a jolt, that me and Grant are receiving much more screen time than the others. Grant's words echo back to me, causing a blush that is probably going to be broadcast all over Panem.

Then, the national anthem is played, and a respectable silence befalls the whole city. Not a cough, not a rustling, not a toddler's cry can be heard anywhere. In fact, the only sound that cuts through the music, is a lone mockingjay, that flies absentmindedly over our heads. I catch President Malick's eye, and there's something devilishly unsettling about the way he was smiling. He nods his head towards me, and I do nothing but stare back, trying desperately to figure him out.

The music finishes with a flourish, and almost immediately our chariots are whisked away, in the same order as the way we came out. I realise that I hadn't let go of Grant's hand the whole time, and his knuckles had gone white. But he didn't say anything, though. He hadn't complained once.

We finally retreat back inside the Tribute Centre, where our team awaits us with adulation. Coulson is the first to welcome us back.

"Oh you two that was splendid, it really was!" he cries, helping me off the carriage, as the fire extinguishes itself like the flick of a switch. First time in heels too, and I found myself incredibly unstable. "Both of you looked jaw-droppingly divine! Grant, you dark horse, oh how the ladies in Panem will go wild for your jawline! - and you, Daisy! That thing you did with the rose - ugh, my heart filled with compassion! Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, the pair of you!"

Concealing my laugh with a smile, I hugged Trip, who was struggling not to laugh too. "Girl, you are heart-stopping in that dress."

"Isn't she?" Grant interjects, though I suspect he didn't want me to hear. Instead, I thank Trip once again for the wonderful job he did of making me opening-ceremony-ready.

"Right, back to work now everybody! There's a lot to do before tomorrow!" Coulson calls, clapping his hands together, already rushing towards the lift. As if this wasn't work though. It's not like I want to be here.

Except, then I spot Grant out of the corner of my eye, and I wonder. Do I want to be here?