Author's Note: Thanks to Dame-of-the-Living-Dead for favoriting this story! And many thanks to AureliaPhoenixAnastasia, Katnissmudblood, and Yukira-Kuchiki for following it! I hope you'll enjoy Chapter 10. Reviews and comments and suggestions are always much appreciated. So, without further ado...

Cinna

The Games had begun only five days ago. As the first week was drawing to an end, bets were gearing up and sponsors were becoming more confident in their patronages. Twenty four tributes had entered the arena, and now only eleven remained. Yesterday, Sloan and Diamond had taken out Perdita Carp from District 7. Flint and Ronan had teamed up to kill Wilbur Harnac from 11. It had been quite a task, as Wilbur was a towering and muscular boy. He had a great deal of brute force, but Ronan's sword gave him quite the edge. It hadn't been pretty.

The previous night had belonged to the Career pack, but earlier that morning Ursula Sherwood had finally dented their seemingly impenetrable armor. The Careers were an odd number. They had developed a strategy of offense and defense. Teams of 2 went out into the arena with weapons, while one stayed behind at the Cornucopia to guard the stock of supplies. They rotated in shifts, and Peris had been on guard from late night to the early morning, and while the Career stash was impressive, Ursula had been gifted an axe from a sponsor. Peris hadn't stood a chance against her. Ursula stole off before the rest of the group could appear, satisfied having taken a life and bag of food.

Five days and eleven tributes as the fifth day began. Cora had made it past the halfway point. I wasn't sure whether I should've felt grateful that she was alive, or worried that the odds were becoming slimmer and slimmer. Maybe both. The Games were the first thing I checked each morning, and I was grateful for the evenings when I was invited to join the rest of the team in the District 4 apartment. Annette seemed to hover around me, while Julietta and Finnick were difficult to find. More than once I had spotted a Capitol citizen entering through the apartment doors, or caught going up or down the elevator dressed in fine, tight-fitting suits that weren't customary for most mentors.

There were doubts and suspicions in my mind, but Annette had said it wasn't a topic to discuss.

"What are those suits for?" I had asked her.

"For something which is only Finnick's business," she had responded curtly.

I pressed her further. "Who makes them?"

"I've made a few through the years. As have other stylists in the Capitol," she allowed. "Finnick is quite the model." She shot a yellow-tinted look my way, ending the conversation.

That day however, Finnick had invited the team to join him in the heart of the city while he vied for sponsors. There was a large party in the home of a high-ranking government official. Wealthy citizens made their way around a large foyer, passing glasses of bubbly drinks and letting their laughter drift upward. Marcello's party had housed pastel colors and stylish sensory entertainment, with smoke and lights and everything beautiful; in all senses of the word. Here, things were more minimalist. White walls and granite columns, white couches and rugs and tables. It was the current Capitol trend, but there was a trademark grandeur in the simplicity. Monochrome jewels adorned the furniture, and glittering, shining accessories adorned the vestments of the attendees.

It was fascinating, watching Finnick and Julietta move across the seas of revelers. Annette and I had them been watching from above, where a handful of fellow stylists had gathered on the second floor landing. Finnick could seduce nearly anyone into nearly anything. A few winks here, a well placed hand there. He would lean in and whisper his offers, creating intimacy in such a large space. Sometimes he even sealed the deal with a quick kiss, before vanishing into the crowd, leaving sponsors in a whirl. Julietta had taken a different approach. She began with her signature, sweet smiles to lure a potential sponsor in. Once conversation had begun, she became a shrewd dealer. She was straightforward and drove a hard bargain.

The duo was indeed dynamic, and it worked well. I desperately wished for some of those sponsors to be for Cora, and not just her fierce counterpart. Had her hope left an impression? Could her kindness reach them? Would her mentor's charisma be enough to bring her home? In the last two days, the Games had intensified. The Gamemakers seemed to be pushing the tributes closer together- Cora had almost been trapped in a tangle of marsh roots that began closing in around her, scaring her further from the heart of the swamp- and more of them were receiving gifts from sponsors, including weaponry. Edison Franklin, the remaining tribute from District 3, had invented some sort of electric fishing rod. He was able to send a jolt of electricity through the water, effectively bringing up whatever fish were below. It seemed only a matter of time before he tested it on a tribute.

Amidst my own worries and the lights of the party, a hand found my shoulder. It was Portia, from Marcello's prep team. She smiled up at me through those long eyelashes.

"Hi Cinna," she said, a bit meekly. "I don't know if you remember me but-"

"No, no of course I do. It's nice to see you, Portia. Are you here with Marcello and Tybalt?" While prep teams assisted stylists, they didn't often attend events like this, where the crowd was mostly composed of mentors, sponsors, and escorts.

"Yes. Well, he invited me here with the rest of the District 1 team. But they've all gone of somewhere and you were the only face I really recognized here. You know, I had been hoping to ask you about some of your designs? I was really impressed by your tribute's interview dress."

I wished she hadn't referred to Cora that way. My tribute. She wasn't just an assignment. "Well, thank you. What do you want to know?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering if I could see some of them? I'd love to see your creative process. I know I'm only on a prep team right now, but I'll be finishing my studies next year, and I want to be a stylist. Eventually," Portia added nervously. "You started as a stylist so quickly, and to be assigned such a good District too… I thought maybe I could learn something from you."

I didn't tell her that my position was partly due to the fact I had good connections. "Oh, well, certainly. I'd be happy to." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Finnick and Julietta weaving their way up the staircase, dodging the unconscious body of the District 12 mentor, who had passed out. "I'm here with my team at the moment though. Maybe we could meet at some other time?"

"Would you be free the day after tomorrow? Maybe we could get coffee or something, and you could bring your sketches?"

Annette was headed towards Finnick, signaling me over as well.
"That sounds great. Just give me a call tonight. Marcello can give you my number. I'll see you then," I said, and hurried over to join the others.

"Great news," Finnick said, once we were all together. "We've got some really good sponsors. Tonight we can start compiling what Ronan and Cora need in the arena. We should be able to send one, maybe two things to them now. Food, maybe an item they can use to fight or defend themselves with. Water. We'll save the rest for emergencies. You never know what might happen in there. We have to be prepared for them, when they're going to need it most. A parachute then could be the difference between living and dying," he finished solemnly. His words were heavy, weighted with memories of tributes past. Perhaps even the memories of his own time in the arena.

"Wait," I chimed in. "You said Ronan and Cora. Does that mean…"

Finnick smiled at me. "Do you have that little faith in me?" he asked. I looked down, embarrassed. "I want Cora to make it out alive. I don't want to see either of them die in there. I'm not going to leave them defenseless or hungry just because one seems like the better bet." I didn't mean to imply that, though if I was honest with myself, I had feared just that. That Ronan would be more popular, that only he would receive sponsors. While I harbored my suspicions about Finnick Odair, it seemed there was much about him I didn't understand. He had a following of both fans and lovers, dividing his time between his home in District 4 and the Capitol. He had been heralded as a talented and cunning victor, but he seemed to care more than he had let on. Or perhaps he always had, and it was the rest of the world who was unwilling to see it.

Cora

There was a river that flowed from the swamp and into the woods. I had been following that trail through the arena, for as long as I could see the water, I felt at peace.

It was on the edge of marsh and forest that we met. I could make out a figure in the trees, tall but thin. Depending on who the silhouette belonged to, I could try to backtrack and find a different way around, or somewhere to wait. Which tribute had such a stature? The boy from 11 had been tall, but had a thicker, stronger build. And he had been killed last night. Maybe Diamond, the girl from District 1?

They stepped closer, into a patch of light, and the knot of fear in my chest unraveled. It was Iris Sable, the girl from 12. She had dark hair and olive skin, and bright blue eyes that pierced all they saw. She looked hungry, tired.

She could've had a weapon with her. She could've been dangerous or waiting for an ally, but something in her exhausted expression compelled me towards her. I didn't want to frighten her though. I kicked my boot across the top of the river, making the subtlest splashing sound. Iris froze, looked around, and saw me.

"Iris," I said softly. "It's okay. I don't want to hurt you." I put my hands up, showing her I had nothing with which to harm her. Merely empty palms and calloused hands. Iris remained anchored in her position, considering her options. She could probably outrun me, or maybe even overtake me. She was nearly a foot taller than me, but she looked far too tired for either of those actions. And so she came closer.

"My name is Cora," I told her. "I'm from District 4. You're Iris, right?" She nodded. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just… I saw you, and it looked like you were alone. And, well, I'm alone. And I thought maybe…" I had to choose my words carefully here. "Maybe we could at least be alone together?"

The corner of her mouth twitched upward, just a tiny bit, the ghost of a smile on a face which had not smiled in some time. "Though, I would much rather be allies. It would be nice to have a friend in the arena."

"Friends?" Iris asked. Her voice was husky, a rougher sound born of years spent among the coal dust brought up from the mines. "This is the Hunger Games. We were sent here to kill each other."

I had made a mistake, and tried to quickly to recover. How could I explain what I meant? In my mind, an ally and a friend didn't seem all that different. A friend was somebody to rely on. Somebody to trust and confide in. Somebody to believe in, and who believed in you. Someone like Cinna. Cinna was a friend. An ally. And something more? Something I shouldn't be thinking about. So maybe an ally was different. A friend liked you for who you were. They stuck with you because you shared a connection of love, a mutual decision to do life together. An ally however, stuck with you... well, for an alliance. Because there was a mutual benefit to working together and looking out for each other. Love and affection was not required in a relationship built around protection and survival.

"Just because we're here together doesn't mean we have to hate each other. Most of us didn't choose this. We didn't choose to be reaped, to fight in the arena. We don't have many choices in here. But we can choose to work together. An alliance is one of the only choices we have left." Iris stared at me. "I would choose you as a friend," I added, one last measure of hope. "Would you choose me?" Please say yes. Please choose me. Please don't leave me alone. It wasn't until the possibility of an alliance came along that I realized how much I wanted one. I hadn't thought I would even make it far enough to form one, let alone be fortunate enough to come across somebody I felt I could trust. I didn't know much of Iris, but from what I had seen of her in the training center, what she had said in her interview, I liked her. I felt for her. Her heart didn't seem in the Games, but it was clear she wanted to survive. I wondered if that had been a struggle for her long before she came to the Capitol.

In the Districts of Panem, it seemed that pain was unavoidable. What was different was the particular pains felt, and the way they were healed, or merely endured- or not. I couldn't pretend to know what Iris's life was like, but it was clear that she was underfed and physically exhausted. She had a tougher exterior, though it wasn't built to fight back or cause harm. Only to defend, to deflect the arrows and offenses that the world aimed at her. She seemed to trust very little, and expect the worst. My pain was of a different kind. I could always count on regular meals in District 4, but I could never again count on my brother to walk through the door of my house, to take me fishing or tell me jokes. Those days were gone, and the pain of loss had left an undeniable scar on my heart. I felt it every day. I mourned Tyde, and while I didn't trust the Capitol or the Games, I had relied on the world around me to carry me through the ocean of grief. Hope had been a lighthouse in my life, the only thing guiding me back to shore. I wanted to believe the best was possible. That was my way of coping. I had to believe that better things could still be ahead. Could Iris believe that of me.

Years ticked away in that little corner, between swamp and land. "Okay," Iris said finally. "Allies. Because it's my choice."

"Thank you," I breathed. It was the happiest I had felt since the tube had pulled me into the arena. How strange, in a place of such fear, that something so small could bring so much joy. I extended my hand to her, and she took it. Her fingers were long, and bony, but there was a hardened strength to her grip. It seemed to proper way to solidify this agreement- this choice.

"So," she began. "What happens now?"