Disclaimer: Hunger Games is still not mine. I have absolutely no share in it or the wonderful movie coming out this week (Whoot)

Thank you to KhloeGrace and copykat101 for Kobie and Nina respectively.

Friendly reminder: Keep an eye out for alliances.

Finally, my apologies on the delay. I'm still making progress on my novel for nanowrimo. I just broke 40,000 words, but storywise have a lot more than needs to get out of my head and onto the computer, so I doubt I'll be stopping at 50,000. However, I've got a second goal to make it through the Reapings by the end of November (after which time I'm taking on another project, but will try to update regularly). If I'm being too obnoxious with timing, yell at me and I'll write faster (I deserve it for the amount of times I've yelled at my favorite authors to write faster). That said . . . without further ado, District 10.

Also, I'll try to get the blog updated. I was waiting on a picture for one of the tributes, but I'll just have to improvise & get caught up.

District 10: Cut off

Mentor: Steric Tarthan – Victor of the 14th Annual Hunger Games at age 18 current age 23

Escort: Trinidad Drante

Steric Tarthan District 10 Mentor:

Sweat drenched her face as she reached the door at last and in a dash glanced at the clock. She still had five minutes, Steric thought, disappearing into her bathroom in a flash. No sooner was she out of her clothes with the water on to shower after her last minute run but a knock came on the door.

"Steric Tarthan you are going to be late!" The voice was either her mother's or Trinidad. At the moment Steric neither knew nor cared. Get out, get over, move on, the rhythm propelled her into the shower just as it propelled her through everyday life, or at least those days that required her sobriety. She was on her A-game today, she had ensured that. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as it did every Reaping day since her own.

She never stopped. One minute and she was out of the shower and another 30 seconds had her fully dressed. She never stopped, because if she stopped she felt cut off, cut off from the person she was before the reaping three years ago, from her rebellious district partner who had been her first kill of the games, even more cut off from the others who had fallen who she had barely known, and the girl from One who had been her ally almost to the end. Cut off from everything and everyone.

"You're going to be – " her mother started as the bathroom door swung open in her face.

"You know I always make it there on time," Steric said, already halfway out her door, moving at a pace too fast for her aging mother to catch her. Maybe this year they would give her someone who would actually do as she said. You would think with her credentials, not only as a victor, but as the victor of the shortest hunger games there would be people volunteering. Despite being district ten, surely someone would be willing to volunteer as she had, to take the place of someone who stood less of a chance. There had been one volunteer before her, but that was it. As such the last three years she had gotten two boys who blatantly ignored her advice, one who had put up a decent fight, two girls who never should have been there, and one who had at least allied with the winner. That was her curse too. Perhaps the reason no one volunteered was because of her secret, her intuition, which hadn't seemed to benefit any of her tributes except for the last girl, Palin.

She was onstage, standing through the most difficult part of the games, the part where there was nothing to be done. She wished she could just run in circles round the crowd as the anthem played, but instead she fiddled with her rubix cube. Her mother insisted she looked as intelligent as she was when she played with it, but Steric truly thought it was just another prop.

At long last Trinidad prepared to call the girl's name. Steric scanned the crowd, perhaps looking at the next victor.

"Nina Quivers," Trinidad called out. It sounded as though even the escort was skeptical of her ferocity given her name, but no one can chose their last name, Steric justified.

A mixture of screaming and crying from the fourteen year old section immediately disproved that theory. The younger girls all immediately backed away from the disaster unveiling before them. A light haired girl in a green sundress was revealed to be the cause of all the racked. Even while hyperventilating, she still managed to scream as her body was racked with sobs. Her legs trembled so terribly Steric could see it from the stage. Then they simply couldn't hold her anymore and she collapsed to the ground, no one near enough to catch her.

Steric snapped for the Peacekeepers to go to her, but they weren't moving fast enough. They recognized this girl, the could tell by their hesitancy. They weren't doing her any favors. As quick as a flash Steric was down from the stage and into the fourteen year old section. She picked up the girl, still screaming, her body still quivering, expecting her to kick at her, resist her, show she was ready to fight to at least stay right where she was, but Steric collected her into her arms easily. As she turned back towards the stage, no doubt bringing this girl to her death, Steric scanned the girls' section one last time, hoping for a volunteer.

"Wait," one of the twelve year olds whispered shyly. Was this District ten's third volunteer? Steric looked anxiously at the dark haired twig who had spoken. "Take good care of her," she whispered, comfortably taking her place back in line. Steric looked in desperation back at the eighteen year olds, hoping against hope, but no one moved. No one cared. They were back on the stage, one more death that Steric would have to ensure was as quick as possible.

"For the boys, Mobie Kalp," Trinidad announced, as eager to move on as Steric was.

The parallel section to the one from which Nina had just come parted, but thankfully there was no hysterical screaming from the boy who hesitantly stepped forward. His first step brought confusion; Steric could see it in his face, as though he hadn't recognized his own name. He dragged his feet awkwardly through the dirt as he made his way to the stage. He fiddled with his pockets, just as Steric realized she was fiddling with her long hair, her rubix cube gone missing in the scuttle of tribute retrieval.

"Get up, Nina," Mobie instructed, still looking out at the audience. It was impossible to ignore the sobbing bundle at their feet, the tribute who couldn't even stand. Mobie made no move to help her, trying to force the energy to smile out at the crowd. Turning to see Nina still on the stage floor, Trinidad made a helpless gesture for Steric to pick her up and plop her on her feet. Steric crossed her arms in blatant refusal. The escort came to her side and held Nina up in one hand, the microphone in the other.

"Shake hands, district ten tributes," she instructed, praying they would be able to do this with some sort of expediency. No sooner had they done so then Steric picked up Nina, promptly ridding herself of her to the depths of her room.

"Maybe seeing her family will calm her down?" Trinidad suggested, hopeful that she would at least try to save face.

"Nope," Steric stated. "She's a goner."

"Just because you have accurately predicted . . ."

"Don't jinx it," Steric ordered and hastily left the stage.

Mobie Kalp: 14

"What are we going to do without him?" he'd heard his mother whisper as she entered the room with his father. After years and years of caring for him, years of him being her world, his mother wouldn't know what to do without him. She couldn't imagine him leaving for a day, much less weeks, much less forever should he not be the victor.

Mobie sighed, not sure she should even be there. Yes, he wanted to say goodbye to her, but seeing him like this could just make her depression worse. Between working as hard as she did to give him a happy life and spoiling him rotten, his mother had neglected her own mental health. It was only now, when there was nothing he could do but keep up his cheery disposition, that he really noticed this.

He hugged his mother, rubbing her back like she did for him every night before bed. He would miss her comforting touch while he was in the arena.

He wrapped his arms around his father. Everyone said Mobie was his spitting image and that he'd have his father's good looks when he grew older. Now he might not get the chance.

No one was crying. Somehow it looked as though they would make it through. Then his mother's lip began to quiver as she knew time must be running out.

"You two should go," Mobie told his parents, swallowing his pride, trying to be brave. His mother nodded, and leaned into his ear to whisper something.

"Don't trust Steric," she whispered so low Mobie was the only one who could hear her. "She doesn't have a soul." This advice was nothing new to Mobie. His mother had been claiming this ever since Steric's games and there were those who had said it before, ever since her intuition had proven correct so many times.

His father was less discrete. As his mother strode out of the room, leaning on the wall for support, he rested his hands on his son's shoulders.

"Listen to Steric," he instructed. "She might just keep you alive." And with that they were gone and he was alone, cut off from all who loved him.

Nina Quivers: 14

Matthan stroked over Nina's hair, trying to calm her. Her parents had already been in and tried to soothe her, but the three minutes that she'd spent with them had made her worse in the end, not better. She lay in the corner, curled up in the fetal position, trembling so hard Matthan feared she would collide with the wall and do herself in right there. His hand rested on her head, hoping to calm her in the little time left. He could do that much.

"Tell me how you feel, Nina." It sounded like a ridiculous question. How would someone scared of literally everything feel about going to a fight to the death? No doubt her head was ready to explode.

As he suspected, the girl couldn't get a word out, but at least she was no longer screaming. They had so little time.

He adjusted the headband that had been holding her hair in place. What now seemed like a lifetime ago, he had walked over to her house bright and early on the morning of her last birthday just to see her face, just to make sure that her day started off well.

The knock at the door startled both of them, but Nina started crying again.

"Be brave," Matthan demanded, his voice stern and for just a moment until the doors cut them off from each other she was quiet, she was calm. Then all erupted into chaos and screams and tears again, the terror too much for her to handle.

Steric Tarthan

She was already prepared and on board the train. She only had to wait a little longer and then all things would be in motion again. It was the rhythm, she thought as she gazed at the bottle of rum. That wasn't for now, though. She was saving it for the return journey, the return journey she would certainly take alone.

She gazed in the mirror, her shoulder length blonde hair flowing. It had grown quickly from last year. It seemed almost a shame to do this.

But she did. In one swift blow her knife split her hair, transforming it from long and flowing to chopped as short as her young male tribute's. She preferred it this way for the games. It made everything quicker, more merciful, and hopefully somewhere along the line, more just. And just like that the train mercifully pulled out from District 10.

"He that cuts off twenty years of life
Cuts off so many years of fearing death"