Chapter Ten.

Chariot Rides.

Julius Dumont, 18 years old;
District Two Male;
jakey121.

This is the part where I flourish.

Sierra has her hands grasped around the rail of the Chariot, her shoulders relaxed, hair swept and curled down her back. I call her name and wave when she turns to face me. If there's one thing I can do here and now, with the other tributes – my future allies more importantly – is build bridges. Connections that will fall apart in the future, but connections that will cement what is true about myself before the darkness comes to corrupt it.

"I think we drew the short straw," I laugh, stepping up to hoist myself into the Chariot. "At least in terms of the Careers."

"It's about how we use what we have. If it's bad we make it good." Sierra holds herself with the same sense of confidence I believe will get me places in this alliance. As far as it comes within the loyalty side of things, I have it in the bag. The others can deal with the subtlety of what it is to be a tribute, I'll deal with what it is to be a potential Victor.

Internally, I have the confidence. Externally, I have the charisma.

It's just about blending the two in the correct way.

"Our fellow allies from One don't look very chipper." I raise my finger, pointing to the Chariot in front of us. Neither are talking, neither seem to be even acknowledging the other is anywhere near them. Reign looks to the left, Calaise to the right.

Sierra laughs, shaking her head. "We'll get them on board soon enough."

"At least we're starting something." I nudge her in the hip. She staggers once, collecting herself and laughs brightly. I like Sierra – she seems genuine enough, genuine for this stage at least. That's why I was most excited about being here in the Capitol, where things were shallow and superficial, but still about being teenagers rather than who we volunteered to become in the Arena. Sierra seems to be on the same wavelength as me, making her time worth it before she adapts into the other side of herself.

I can do the same thing.

I know I can – Julius here, Julius in there. Two sides of the same coin.

The pair of us are dressed in grey, upper class, expensive clothes. Rather than the brutality that's come to be associated with our industry, the two of us are dusted with grey across our faces, me in a suit, Sierra in a dress that reaches her thighs.

The noise is thundering behind the doors, piercing and loud. Whereas I'm sure plenty behind me stand with a mixture of nerves and despair over the near future, where we will be in minutes to come, I soak in the anticipation and use it to brighten my smile.

Sometimes, like what happened on Reaping day, things that are close to me have an edge that can effect who I am inside. But this – where I can give a show, that's the real me. The kind of person that I need to be for myself, Sierra, the two in front and the two behind.

Speaking of the duo from Four, I see Sierra turn to peer over her shoulder. "Four seem to be getting along well."

I turn to see the two of them. Tiberion and Aliset are the complete opposites of our allies from One. Aliset is cheerful and approachable, everything I admire in a person that lives where we live. Tiberion holds himself more respectfully, pride practically radiating from his face, but like Aliset it comes off confidently rather than arrogantly.

I offer the girl a cheery wave, a bright smile to match. She beams at me, gesturing with a nod of her head to where we are. The pair from Three are practically nothing at the moment – not that I don't see them as people, unlike what others might – but they slink away to observe our exchange rather than get between is.

Tiberion waves at myself and Sierra, smiles once more, and draws away Aliset back into their conversation. Me and Sierra resume talking, about this and that, anything and everything that comes to my head. It might not be smart of me to engage to this level with someone that I know is in my way. When it's boiled down, stripped away who we want to be, the real reason we're here is to win.

Only one winner.

Sierra is a nice girl, but she has a reputation as well. I know she's not to cross. Maybe I'm being smarter than I give myself credit for. Maybe by befriending possibly the biggest threat this year, I'm giving myself a stronger chance over the pair from One. Two people who can't build the very bridges that could save them.

There are two tactics to this. Two equally as strong, but two that are complete opposites. Reign distances himself. I attach myself. When it comes down to it, we'll see which takes the crown once the gong sounds and the Games begin.

Sierra closes her eyes for a second, an action I don't miss. She blinks and straightens her shoulders, noticing my eyes are on her. She smiles again and touches my arm. "I think we stand a good chance of impressing them, Julius. We can do Two proud."

"Yeah," I nod, swallowing a lump in my throat. Two, my home. The reason I'm here and the very place I want to forget. "I think they'll be proud to call us their tributes."

"I think we stand a good chance – our alliance. It seems strong at least. Strength is important."

I don't doubt how strong she is, looking her over. But so am I. Physically I know why I'm here, I'm prepared, I know what I have inside of me, what I've nurtured and can bring to the forefront of myself in the Games.

But mentally I'm also prepared. To attach myself to the people that can bring me places, and hopefully when the time is right, detach myself in the same way the pair from One are already doing.

I simply need the sense of normalcy, right now. It calms me. It reminds me I'm not changing – not yet. My family was a minefield, every step I took a possible detonation into oblivion. It could have become everything I didn't want it to be. But I had my friends.

I had people amongst the ruin that I do care about.

They're the people that will keep me grounded and rooted to who I am. I can smile and laugh and be a good friend despite being a Career. I can be a Victor, a killer and a tribute without having to lose what makes me me.

I think Sierra understands that.

We continue to talk, waiting. With every word, every second, we're forging something strong. Something that will grow through the Capitol and into the Games.

We all have our strategies. This is mine.

I'll do whatever I have to.

Whatever it takes.

Friend or foe.

Nothing matters but me, in the end. That's all that counts.

Wyatt Lane, 17 years old;
District Seven Male;
jakey121.

"Don't be an idiot."

Rebekah's glare is hot on the side of my face. I turn to look at her and raise an eyebrow. Ever since we got onto the train – hell, even on the stage back in Seven – she's had a problem with me. The challenge is fun.

I humour her, though. If only for the pre-Games entertainment.

"You shouldn't insult me all the time. Someone might perceive it as hurtful."

"I don't intend to hurt your feelings. If you have any." She ruffles one of the leaves on her shoulders, curled at the edges. A band of plastic thorns has been threaded through my hair, wrapped tight round my forehead.

We're meant to be the King and Queen of all that's natural in our world. It's childish. Immature. Fun.

"It might be hard to see under all this, but I'm just like you. Version two, maybe. A polished version."

"Your arrogance in yourself will only get you killed. If your intended allies don't get there first." Her finger points down the line of Chariots, way at the front where the real threats of the Games lie. I refuse to be intimidated by a bunch of thugs – if there's one thing I've learnt, growing up where I grew up, living as who I am, nurturing my strengths and disbelieving my weaknesses, it was how to avoid falling lower on the food chain.

This is a grander version of where I used to be. Where the stakes are higher. Adrenaline skyrocketing. Another branch of the fun, another branch Rebekah can't handle, I'm sure.

"I don't intend on anything. Allying with people who I think are overrated has never crossed my mind. Since you keep your cards close to your chest and don't intend on smiling for anything," I pause, watching her wrinkle her nose, smirking at the crease in her brow. The anger practically has its own distinctive stench, "I plan on finding someone easier to control. Easier to handle when the time comes."

"A lapdog."

"Lapdogs. Plural."

She waves me off, glancing over the side. Conversation over, no doubt. I take it in my stride and take a moment to let my eyes hover on the Chariot in front of me. The tributes are more or less like me and Rebekah – the girl lost in her anger, the boy trying hard to get through an impervious barrier.

Maybe he'd do.

He seems kind. He seems easy.

I pick off a berry round my wrist, attached to one of the branches. It's squishy, probably fake, but it looks tempting either way. Looking at Rebekah, who I can tell is fighting the urge to give in and watch, I laugh and throw it at the back of his head.

Perfect shot. It pings off his hair and rolls underneath the shadow of the horse guiding our Chariot. He rubs the back of his head and turns to face me, offering a confused frown, then a small, lopsided grin. Cute, even. Cute in an ally will work for me – I've pushed around plenty of people in my time, I've had my fair share of indulgence, been the person at the forefront of everything.

No one can criticize me for having a lack of control.

Not that they should criticize me for anything – I doubt there's much to point out.

I gesture with my finger between the two of us, offering him a thumb's up. His District partner takes one look over her shoulder and rolls her eyes, looking at the boy and then back at me.

"We're not a thousand feet away. Speak. Use your words." She then turns back, smirking, and like Rebekah, resuming her angsty, self-absorbed, don't-talk-to-me pissed off aura.

"I don't mean to be rude," I offer with a sheepish grin. I can be humble if I need to be. I can indulge eithers with what they need, knowing I'll get so much more in return when the time comes. "I'm Wyatt. Wyatt Lane. From the land of trees and berries."

I gesture down to my outfit with a chuckle. He mirrors it and offers me a small wave. "Oscaron. Call me Oscar. District Six."

"Nice to meet you Oscar."

"You too Wyatt."

Before I can open my mouth to say something again, there's a loud voice coming from the front. Not one of the tributes – a Capitol official, waving his hands and shooing away an overeager stylist still prepping one of the girls near the head of the line.

"Did you want something? Sorry, don't mean to rush. I think we're about to get started."

I open my mouth, then close it, feigning a lack of confidence in my proposal. It's quite endearing I've been told, to see a sense of weakness in other people, a sense of restraint. I find it disgusting, but then again, other people like Oscar aren't me.

They epitomize weak. After all, it's why I want him as my ally.

"It might not be what you're looking for. I mean its early days. But we don't really have many days to waste," I laugh awkwardly, bringing a hand behind my head and round my neck. "I was going to propose maybe an alliance, but if you don't-"

"No," he jumps at the prospect eagerly, the girl grunting from beside him. Maybe she'd get along with Rebekah. I'd introduce them if they weren't both a pain in my ass. "I'd like that. You seem nice."

"You too."

"We'll make it official tomorrow. See you then." I give him another wave, one to which he replies in earnest, and back to the front he faces.

I sense Rebekah's eagerness to say something. The way she looks at me, then lowers her eyes. It's annoying when people don't take the opportunity to grasp what they want. I didn't volunteer to die – that's why I'm not going to be with the thugs at the front of this line. They're easy access to survival, only for me to perish at a later hurdle.

No, that's not my prize. My way in is to secure an alliance that can support me, but will be easy to dispose of when that time comes. Or, if luck goes my way, will die one by one without my input. I don't plan on Oscar getting into my good books, but I do plan on getting into his.

It's my strategy. A strategy for the future Victor.

"Say it," I bump her shoulder with my own.

She bites her lip, then opens her mouth, without holding back this time. "You're an awful person."

I laugh again, fixing the broken branch on my shoulder. "Bad people win in life. It's a fact I've grown awfully fond of."

"You don't think you're bad. You think you're everything that's right with this world." She bristles, turning to face me with cheeks flushed red. "I have a fact for you. You're not. You're everything that's wrong. Don't speak to me anymore. We're done."

"I won't refuse a pretty lady."

I look again at the front and relax my shoulders, readying myself for the parade.

I am right about who wins. Rebekah's wrong about my perception of myself.

I think it's good to be bad. Bad to be good. I get places in life, people like her don't. It's the way it goes, the way my future will go, and I intend on having a future that stretches much further than these Games.

I plan on living.

One thing I love about myself: my plans never fail.

Asher Challier, 16 years old;
District Eight Male;
Cashmere67.

"You'll do great, Asher."

"You too, Ilise."

"They're going to love us."

"They have to. I mean, look at us!" I say, swinging out my arms wide-open. The fabric drapes underneath my arm, the tassels on the ends of it lightly swaying side-to-side. Ilise giggles, opening her arms too, shimmying as we watch each other's costume look even more ridiculous. "I still don't know what we're supposed to look like."

Before Ilise can reply, the chariot jerks forward, and I grip onto the railing, my eyes widening as I watch the large gate doors open all the way in front of us. From all the way back here, I can hear the screams and shouts of the Capitol citizens. They're whistling, clapping, and stomping their hands and feet. When the gate fully opens, the whole garage lights up, and I look around, beginning to feel antsy.

I want to get out there already.

I want to see it all.

The chariot begins to move forwards slowly, and District One is the first District to proceed outside. Both of the tributes are stiff with their movements, the girl only waving, but it doesn't seem enthusiastic. The boy doesn't move much, either.

They just seem stale.

They're followed by District Two, who in comparison, are much more outgoing. They're both dressed in grey clothing, with the girl in a short dress and the boy in a suit. I can see some dust of sorts patted down on their necks too. They remain composed, only waving as they turn their head from side-to-side. I expect more from them, and as their chariot travels down the large road, the Capitol people seem to love it, anyway.

Grinning, I turn to Ilise who's already staring ahead. She's still gripping onto the chariot, and it jerks forward a little more, and ahead of us, District Three exits. Timidly, the boy waves, and the girl besides him perks up as she notices him moving. She attempts to wave, but she pins her arms to her side, shaking her head. The girl from Three tugs at the back of her costume, tearing one of the wires off and letting it dangle to the side.

At least the boy is giving an effort. She's just standing there.

Come on, people.

At least try.

When District Four exits the garage, they seem to captivate the spectators the most. The girl seems to be fully immersing herself in the cheers and whistling, nearly leaning over the edge as she waves and blows kisses. She has starfish entangled in her hair, with nets dropping down from her shoulders, almost like a cape. The boy stands there, all broad-shouldered, only moving side-to-side to avoid the girl's movements. He waves, though, and holds his head up high.

The Capitol seems to love them.

I hope they love me.

Our chariot moves forward some more, and as we near the exit, I begin to feel antsy. I grin again, feeling the corners of my mouth beginning to hurt. Ilise is smiling, too, both of us getting ready for our grand appearance. If they were clapping and screaming for the tributes from One and Three, who really didn't do much, they'll love us. They have to.

From District Five, the boy stands up straight, waving confidently. The girl besides him is much smaller in comparison, but she holds her own, waving and standing up on her tippy-toes. She pushes her hair off of her shoulder, letting it drape down her back, revealing some of her costume. She's wearing a one strap of sorts, with silver plates on it.

So far, we definitely look the most foolish.

Maybe the Capitol will like that, though. I hope they do.

When District Six exits the garage, though, there's a shift in demeanor in the tributes. The girl remains still, not waving or even turning her head. She stares forward, her arms crossed, completely unfazed by her surroundings. The boy, however, at least attempts to wave, but when you look at his partner, it detracts from his efforts.

How could people throw their chances away like that already?

This is when the Capitol first sees us. This is their first impressions.

Our chariot is nearly at the front, and as District Seven exits, I begin to shake, grinning. The District Seven tributes are dressed in a nature-type outfit, with branches arranged on their bodies, plus some berries and leaves scattered all over. The boy seems to be enjoying the Capitol so far, with his waving and whatnot. The girl seems to be more reserved, keeping her arms to her side and simply shifting her body position to face both sides of the audience.

Finally, our chariot reaches the exit, and instantly, my ears begin to ring from the screaming, shouting, and whistling. It's all so loud, and when I look up, I smile immediately.

This is for us.

This is for Ilise and I.

The chariot continues down the road, and I wave enthusiastically, still smiling and opening my mouth wide as each new sight takes me by surprise. Ilise does the same, nearly jumping up and down to attract as much attention as she can. We wave and wave, and when we near the rest of the tributes, I see that they're starting to form a semi-circle around an elevated platform of sorts.

The other chariots are following behind ours, and I turn around, still smiling and waving. I stare out at the audience, their brightly colored outfits and hair making my eyes widen. Back in District Eight, you never saw anything like this. Life there was simple. It was boring.

But, here… It's new. It's different.

One by one, the remaining chariots make their way down the road, all joining at the end of the semi-circle. I look up at the platform, watching the doors open, and I smile some more, feeling ecstatic. I love this – whatever this is considered. The attention. The costume. The people.

I love this.

It makes me happy.

I was always the happy kid. The optimist. The exuberant one. The peppy one.

I'll always be that kid.

Nothing can change that.

Sorry for the late update. No reason other than we just weren't feeling up to writing until recently. Can't promise the next update on time, but neither will it be too late. We'll see!

Up next, training starts!