A/N: Hey guys, I have a poll up on my profile page – it's about what you want to see in future works, so vote if you like having a voice.

Thanks for the likes on the victor's meeting! Figured it was a good way to introduce some of the characters we'll get to know in the future. As for ballet with a fish…I don't know, I just eat those things. Love sushi.


I plant my hands on my hips, inspecting my look in a mirror of the 9th floor of the Training Center. I'll call this place home over the next few weeks, but there are no tributes here – not yet. The setting sun outside the bathroom window lets me know the Chariot Parade will begin soon, but here I am still figuring out of this white dress I wear is acceptable in the Capitol's eyes.

"Skye!" Selene bangs on the bathroom door. "Hurry the hell up. Omaha's already out there doing…whatever…for sponsorships, and you and I gotta join him."

I don't answer. I look over my hair one more time – straight and curled at the end, so unlike the usual me – and step out just as Selene is about to pound on the door again.

"Let's go," she grabs me by the arm, pulling me through the ornately-decorated floor and past the rooms and lounge I'll get to know all too well very soon.

"What's the plan?" I say, narrowly avoiding slamming my knee into a chrome leg of the dining room's table. We step onto the silver Training Center elevator as Selene pounds the button for the ground floor. "You never told me what we're supposed to do."

"Look," she says as the elevator descends sharply with a whir. "Capitol people want to see you all pretty and whatnot. I can use that; I'll take you around with some of the sponsors I visit with tonight in the stands during the Parade. I need you to smile, shake hands, that kind of thing. You don't even need to think; just look like you're having a good time and smile. A lot."

"Alright," I sigh, my shoulders slumping. I'm in for a long, tiring night – Gee, even Selene's whoring me out now!

As soon as the elevator doors open to the Capitol streets, however, I know I'm not going to be going with Selene.

A man in a black cloak stands before us, his back turned to the elevator and his body completely covered. Two Peacekeepers flank him, facing us and holding long rifles. I take a step back in fright as Selene pales: I've never seen my mentor frightened before, but when she realizes just who the man in black is, the fear on her face is easily recognizable.

"Going somewhere, Madame?" the man in black turns, his voice all too familiar. "But of course. Of course. We all are; no time to sit and think. But if we do not think…do we ever go anywhere?"

It's the President. He turns, his yellow eyes burning under his dark hood as he faces Selene: "Leave us, creature."

She doesn't put up a fight, high-tailing it without even tossing a look my way. I'm on my own with this monster.

"You are indeed going somewhere," Nero lifts his hood, letting the orange sunset light reflect off his dangerous eyes. "But not where you were thinking. Come."

A black, sleek car sits nearby, its doors open and another Peacekeeper waiting inside. I follow Nero's outstretched hand and step into the leather-trimmed interior gingerly as I consider my fate. It's my first step of whatever the President has in store for me, I figure. Am I going to spend the whole night with him? Blech.

"Now," Nero slides in beside me, snapping his fingers at the Peacekeeper driver in the front to get us moving. "With the Reapings over, all of Panem turns in to this moment – their first chance to see the tributes together. Exciting, yes? Perhaps. But all eyes will be watching, and I don't need them watching Corinth and that senior citizen Claudius. I, of course, will be atop my Presidential Manor as usual…but I still need those eyes watching me. But am I just me…or are there extensions of me?"

He turns his eyes from the window and looks down at me, running a cold hand along my bare leg. I shiver and close my eyes, looking away: I can't make eye contact with this disgusting man. He's using me in a way that sickens me to my core.

"So, you want me to…" I stumble over my words, scooting closer towards the window to put as much distance as I can between Nero and I. Capitol streetlights flicker on outside as the world blurs into a grotesque swirl of urban glamour and shadow. "To just…go on the camera?"

"So simple? How horrifying," Nero replies. "No. Well, yes. But no. You are an honored guest tonight, Skye. Panem's lovable, beautiful victor, extolling the virtues of the Capitol and the amazing turn for the better her life has taken since winning the Hunger Games. What an experience. What an experience. The Games have indeed made you a happier, better person, haven't they?"

The dangerous look in his eyes tells me the answer: "Y-yes."

"Of course," he smiles subtly. "After all, there are a million citizens who just need to hear the truth…how the Games set them free; oh, if only the right words were spoken to them! They simply need to know all the good things that come from this annual ceremony of love. Truth. The Capitol loves them, Skye. Make sure they know that."

Good things…like dead kids? I think. It's harder to get more out of touch with the average person than Nero has become. Power corrupts, I suppose.

"Is there…anything specific you want from me?" I ask as the car slows to a stop.

"I'll let you imagine," Nero runs his finger over my collarbone, sending fresh shivers down my arm. "I believe you can imagine what happens if you say the wrong things, as well."

I swallow hard as a Peacekeeper forces me out of the car. Nero glances at me one last time, the deadly glint in his eyes speaking all the words I need to know. Play your part, puppet. Wouldn't want anything to happen to your two little tributes, would you? You of all people know my power over the Games…over life and death.

The President's car speeds off, leaving me standing with a pair of Peacekeepers before a narrow, nondescript metal door on the side of a concrete building. My escorts grab me by the arms, pulling me inside and into a different world.

It's as if every human being in Panem is in here. Men and women dressed in gaudy colors bustle about, some holding brushes, others with cameras, still others with microphones and trays of food and more. Harsh bright lights shine down from the low-hanging ceiling. No one so much as blinks as the Peacekeepers pull me into this hive of activity; they're all too caught up in their work.

They have a good reason: This is the heart of the Chariot Parade's broadcast network.

"Aah-ha! The woman of the hour!" a loud, boisterous voice calls out as the Peacekeepers let go of me. "Just the person I wanted to see!"

Corinth Terrance emerges from the crowd of human activity like he's parting the sea. The Hunger Games host's dressed in an outrageous teal jacket and golden pants that contrast terribly with his jet-black hair and eyebrows. It's impossible to miss the man even in this ocean of fashion-conscious Capitol citizens: He's larger than life, even here.

"Skye, Skye, Skye," Corinth walks up briskly and grabs me by the shoulders like we're old friends. "I was told you'd be joining in this year, and I couldn't be happier."

"Yeah…me too," I stutter, trying my best to smile. Yikes.

"Absolutely, absolutely," Corinth nods. "All dressed up I see; let me catch you up to speed…"

An hour later, I'm seated at a table atop an elevated platform with Corinth and Claudius Templesmith. We're out in the open air, looking over the Avenue of the Tributes from near the City Circle. Those two have been on the air for nearly a half-hour now, but they've kept me off until now. They've gone to a commercial break – typical fare for the Capitol according to Corinth; in District 9, this is when propaganda plays to the sound of patriotic music. Hooray!

"Now, don't be nervous," Corinth leans across the broadcast table as I take a seat on a stool under a set of hot lights. It's far too bright and loud out here, and even with the microphone clipped on to the top of my dress, I don't know how anyone will hear me.

It doesn't help that I've started to sweat. I wipe an arm across my brow, trying to remain composed even as my heart flips around in my chest. Everyone gets to see you now, Skye. Everyone will watch you sell out your home and give praise to the Capitol – everyone will think you a Capitol sympathizer. It's bad enough I'm a victor in a poor district, but now here I am in front of the world. Pressure's on – and if I don't say these things, what happens to Aston and Wren? Damned if you do…

"…and just follow along," Corinth finishes saying. I've completely tuned him out, so I hope he didn't say anything important. "The tributes will begin coming out in a few minutes, so simply stay with us as we go along."

Claudius nods solemnly as I straighten up on my stool.

"10 seconds," one of the Capitol workers behind the gaggle of cameras in front of me says.

I breathe in sharply, looking around at the swarming crowds below us. The Avenue of the Tributes is lined with thousands, maybe even a hundred thousand people like a giant field of brightly-colored wheat. The unbroken cobblestone avenue runs down the middle, awaiting the first chariot to begin its march from the blockish Remake Center at the far end of the avenue. Everything looks smaller from up here, but I can still remember the shock and awe I felt last year. From down on the road with thousands of cheering, chanting faces screaming my name…it was as if I'd been picked up from this world and set down somewhere else entirely.

"Five seconds," the cameraman announces. "Four…three…"

We're on. I put on my best smile, sit up, and begin my career as Nero's media puppet.

"And we're back folks – where us?" Corinth says with his trademark plastic smile. "And we've got a special treat this year: Let's welcome to the set Skye Holdrege, winner of last year's Hunger Games from District 9 – Skye, welcome."

Breathe, breathe, breathe: "It's great to be here, Corinth. I'm delighted that I get to be a part of this tradition."

"Well, let's get our viewers up to speed," Corinth puts on a dashing grin and holds out his hand to me. "It's been a year since you took home the victory in the arena, Skye. We saw you six months ago in the Victory Tour, but it feels too long. How have things been?"

Remember what Nero said: "It's been fantastic. I never imagined as a little girl that I'd be able to see every district in Panem like I did during the Victory Tour; that everyone in District 9 would remember my name. Everyone back home's welcomed me with open arms, and they're just so happy to have a new victor after going what - 15 years? - without one. I've never seen the district come together like they have over the past year. I'm so proud it was me representing District 9, and I'm so happy to carry on the tradition of the victors."

I sped through those blatant lies way too fast, but Corinth adapts without a hitch: "Absolutely, and what a tradition it is. The pageantry, the glamour, the pride – you can feel the excitement in the air like a river."

"From the ground it must be even better," Claudius throws in. "I can't even imagine the butterflies."

"Good thing we don't have to imagine," Corinth fires back. "We've got hands-on experience right here! Skye, tell us – what's it like down there when the doors open? When you're faced with thousands upon thousands of people just so happy to see you? What's going through your head?"

Honestly? I wanted to get away from Ames. I can't actually say that, however, so I borrow some of the President's talking points: "It's…it's the greatest feeling in the world, Corinth. Just knowing all those people love you and are cheering for you to do your best, well – for the first look at the Capitol up close, it's so refreshing to see our warm welcome. It speaks to what kind of a great city this is."

"Beautifully put," Corinth smacks the table for effect. I mentally sigh: Got that one out of the way.

So it goes. For the next half-hour before the Remake Center's doors open, Corinth and Claudius go back and forth like the established duo they are, sending easy questions my way, taking my input, and tossing one-liners to the audience. In my defense, I'm not bad at this: My interviews for the Hunger Games and the Victory Tour have given me precious experience in front of the cameras that pays off now, and my single focus on pleasing Nero – rather than pleasing the people back home – helps me concentrate on what to say. I can't make everybody happy with what I'm doing, but I'll try to make the one man who matters happy.

"And here we go!" Corinth excitedly shouts as the doors on the Remake Center slowly open. A pounding roar erupts from the crowd, growing from a dull hum louder and louder into a wave of raucous noise. As the white horses of District 1's chariots come into view, the crowd screams with ecstasy.

"Lovely! Just lovely!" Corinth yells as Jasper and Lapis ride into the open, the two District 1 tributes dressed in long, flowing gowns sparkling with emeralds. "They do know how to dress 'em in District 1!"

"I think they fit right in here," I grab an opportunity to chime in. "The sponsors sure won't miss them."

"Absolutely, and that's a key point," Claudius throws in for analysis. "This is the first time the sponsors get a real eye on the tributes, and that impact can't be overstated."

I realize my mistake immediately. The people back in District 1 are probably applauding me: Any Capitol citizens watching from the screens around the city just saw me endorse these two tributes. That wasn't a foul-up in the eyes of Nero, but it's not making Wren and Aston's life any easier.

Focus, Skye. You're not doing this for Nero. Remember that.

Alecto and Deimos of District 2 shout something as their red horses trot out, eliciting shouts and cheers from the crowd nearest the Remake Center. I don't catch what they said, but I can imagine: With their matching suits of golden-and-scarlet armor and their skin painted a sparkling pearly white, they look like angelic warriors of the Capitol from on high.

I can only hope Magritte pulled off the job of his life with Wren and Aston.

Naturally, I'm disappointed. I never understand Magritte's bizarre sense of fashion anyway, but this year he's taken strange to a whole new level. Aston and Wren wear long cloaks of what looks like barley, but the design on their clothing leaves me baffled. Aston' s cloak sports wheat arranged on his torso in the shape of a mouth, while Wren's instead uses wheat to form a large, unblinking eye from her chest to her waist.

I make a mental note to bargain with Nero to get a new stylist – one who's not some sort of egomaniacal artist trying to convey an obscure point – as Corinth chimes in with confusion: "Not…quite sure what to make of the outfits on District 9 this year…I see wheat, I suppose, for the grain district. Skye, maybe you can help our viewers out."

"Well…" I say. What am I supposed to say?! "Our stylist…Magritte…is a unique designer. My bet's on some kind of a….a hidden meaning. Still, c'mon District 9, let's show our pride and sponsor our two tributes this year! We've never had two victors in a row, and what a statement about how proud we are to be there that would be."

That probably guarantees me zero sponsorships from District 9, but it sure makes Corinth excited: "Oh-hoa! A little home cooking here from District 9. You gotta love our latest victor, folks – she's the best of these Games wrapped up in one great package."

If only you knew, Corinth…I think.

I'm thankful when District 12's chariot makes its way down the Avenue of the Tributes and to the City Circle, where Nero gives his usual short speech. The actual Parade's much shorter from up here than it felt last year as an actual tribute; in no time, the chariots are riding into the Training Center and my duties are wrapped up for the evening.

Thank goodness. Now to do this for the next few weeks…

If nothing else, I've made a good impression with Corinth. Hopefully I've done the same with Nero. I make my way out of the production studio downstairs through a sea of people congratulating me on my first performance as a guest host. It's exhausting plodding through the crowd, but I take my time – maybe one's a rich sponsor.

As I near the door, however, a final man passes me by to offer congratulations. He's not dressed in garish colors like the other, but is clothed instead in a simple all-black suit from head to toe. He shows me his face for only a moment, but there's something about his eyes – his coal black, dark-as-midnight eyes, that strikes me as familiar.

His whisper in my ear tells me everything: "Congratulations…but your weak lies fooled no one tonight, Ms. Holdrege."