Dreams aren't what they used to be,

Some things slide by so carelessly.

Alessandra Balis, District Three

"You have the most gorgeous hair…"

I nod slowly, allowing my stylist, Precious, to weave her magenta-colored hands through my long blonde hair. "Most people in Three have jet black hair, greasy since they never think to groom themselves."

Precious wrinkles her nose. "How vile!"

I roll my eyes in silent agreement, already warming up to her. "Tell me about it. How can people live like that? It's like homing a nest of rodents in your hair!" I shudder with sudden chills. "It totally grosses me out."

Precious wraps a hank of hair around her hand, murmuring to herself, not listening to me anymore. I sigh. I didn't really want to leave District Three. Sure, it was a terrible place to reside, but the fact that I'm underaged, without hardly any training… It makes me ill. I can almost feel the cheese sandwich that I nibbled on upon the train rising up my throat.

Besides getting Reaped, I'm not a huge fan of my district partner. His name is Arthur– not too bad, it sounds somewhat like a knight or a prince– but he has this loopy, goofy grin and the most obnoxious voice ever. He sat down on the train, then jumped back up, howling that "My butt's on fire, my butt's on fire!" Apparently, the kid had never tried out a seat warmer.

And right after we got off the train, I was plucked and pruned until my skin felt like fire. Every bit of hair was ripped off, even parts of my light eyebrows. They massaged my shoulders with this freezing turquoise-colored gel, and that alone was enough to dampen my mood.

Precious isn't so bad, though– she's to some extent, like me. She has an air of glory about her, and she's confident as well. If only she hadn't that wretched pink skin and golden hair. Disgusting, if you ask me.

Precious rolls up the sleeve of my fluffy grey robe, examining my arms. "They took out your arm hair, eh?" she mutters gruffly.

"It hurt like mad."

Precious nods slowly, turning my arm over gently. "At least it's not skeletal. That being said, we can squeeze you into a strapless dress."

My cheeks flush. "What do you mean, 'squeeze me into' it?"

"I didn't mean anything by that," says Precious coolly, eyes still locked on my forearm. "But the dress itself doesn't move much."

"Can I see it at least?"

Precious exhales, peering up at me. "Of course you'll get to see it, Alessandra. Just not at the moment. I'm preparing you."

"No more gels or tonics or lotions or anything like that, right?" I begin gnawing on the inside of my lip nervously.

Precious smirks, the tips of her blackened lips curving up sadistically. "Nothing like that, that's your prep team's worry. I only deal with the material parts, not the physical body itself."

"Good." I start to relax. Precious peeks at my other arm, nodding in approval whilst I stand silently, blinking and breathing very slowly.

Eventually she's done examining me and tells me to stay in the room while she fetches my dress. I obey like she says, simply picking at an exposed wound that my prep team rubbed some gritty stuff in. She returns with a large black bag not two minutes later.

"Is that my outfit for the chariots?"

"Ding, ding, ding," Precious nods in that devil-may-care way she seems so capable of. "You've guessed it, little lady."

I stand up from the cushy chair, smiling sweetly like butter wouldn't melt in my mouth, watching while Precious unwraps the costume from the thin plastic. When it's revealed, I can't help but feel a bit let down.

"Do you love it, or do you love it?" Precious shakes the hanger it dangles from, making the fringed wires tinkle dramatically. "My fellow stylist, March, and I designed it ourselves."

It's a dress covered completely in wires- thick grey wire, skinny yellow wire, braided red and white wires, plastic-covered wires, wires tangled in a river-like pattern, wires threaded carefully to form a sash, everything. Every wire you could think of. But somehow, it falls a bit short of my expectations and I pout.

"It's fine," I say dismissively. "Not the best I expected from some Capitol stylists, but it'll do."

Precious snorts. "Like you could do much better."

I smirk. Just you wait and see what I can do, Precious…

Alister Rain, District Five

I finger the metallic material nervously, trying not to be weighed down by the satellite dish that beams out small yellow lights here and there. I'm sure I look ridiculous, although Lux isn't to be overlooked. The only real difference in our outfits is that she's in a short dress, whilst I have on trousers and some silver sweater.

Kassidy and Tuesday lead my district partner and I to the chariot, although Tuesday is a lot less snarky about it, whilst her fellow mentor, the crazy redhead who's my mentor, is angrily jabbering on about how every stinking year the tributes are stupid, idiotic satellite dishes and yammer, yammer, yammer, they should at least take a peek inside District Five to see blah, blah, blah, idiots, idiots, Alister are you listening. Wait, what?

"I wasn't listening," I answer truthfully.

Kassidy sighs, smoothing down her black fishnet-like shirt with her excessively long nails.

"Have you considered hacking your nails off?" I ask her curiously.

Kassidy scowls. "I knew I should have taken the girl and let Tuesday have you."

At the mention of her name, the old woman perks up, her soft brown eyes flickering over to me. "Lux is doing fine," she croaks out, pushing a lock of greying brown hair past her ear. "I enjoying this girl." Lux beams.

"Thanks to you, Tuesday, I'm going to enjoy every moment of this experience right up till the arena."

"Suck-up," I tease.

Lux's eyes flash, and she sticks her tongue out at me childishly. I shake my head. Silly girl, she's never going to get very far with that attitude. I can already see I'm not going to like her much.

Kassidy jabs a curved nail to the flashing silver chariot, which looms ominously ahead of me. It appears larger in person than on the television screen. "Hurry up, before you make a scene, Alister."

I hop up, ignoring her words, and from my new stance, I survey the other tributes. The kids from Seven look terrified– well, the girl does. The boy is absent-mindedly picking his nose, and I wrinkle my own nose in disgust. No potential allies yet.

The Careers, as I've learned they're called, look less threatening than I thought. The three girls are huddled together, although the dark-haired one from Two appears more isolated. The sandy-haired man from One is admiring his muscles, whilst Two is staring off into space, his hand jammed into his trouser pockets. I think he's supposed to be some wounded soldier, as his bloody silver helmet implies. Four shows nothing, just a devilishly smirking boy and the girl who's chatting it up with One.

As Lux tries to climb up next to me, I watch the girl from Eight, with her clenched jaw and heavy makeup. She's similar to me, watching every tribute in sight silently from her chariot. Her gaze is fixated on Six, though, as the raven-haired female is seething at her partner, shouting and shrieking with obvious relish.

"Allies?!" she screams. "You seriously think I'm going to join up with you, you little punk?!"

I cringe and turn to Lux. "Isn't she attractive," I say sarcastically.

Lux stops pulling at her flowing silver skirt for a moment and peers from under her wide-brimmed hat. "Huh?"

"The girl from Six, the insane-ish one."

Lux cracks a smile as she watches the fuzzy-haired kid shrink under the towering, shouting girl. "That chick's crazy."

"I heard that she volunteered."

"Tuesday told me that already, from just the Reaping bets, she's already a favorite." Lux tugs at a free-flowing lock of brunette hair. "Sort of… odd, don't you think?"

"She's scary."

"Yeah," Lux agrees. "I really wouldn't want to run into her in the arena."

My heart thuds dully against my chest. I guess I'm not really thinking that the people in this room are potential victims of mine, or if all goes terribly wrong, one of them will be my murderer. I turn away from Lux so she can't see the hardness that my eyes have taken on. I find myself nearly face-to-face with the boy from Three, who's leaning over in his chariot so far I'm surprised he hasn't fallen off.

He giggles madly, leaning back into his chariot. "Hi."

"Um, hello," I say, somewhat annoyed.

"I'm Arthur." The boy immediately stops laughing and offers me a hand, his face completely stock-straight. "District Three."

I look at his hand for a minute before shaking it lightly. "Um, I'm Alister. District Five, I guess."

Arthur beams. "That's so cool."

At first, I'm about to cuss at him, but there's something about him that makes what he just said very, very genuine. On anybody else, it would sound snarky and mocking, but on this dude, it's like… a compliment. And for some reason, I'm drawn into that. I offer him a slight half-smile.

"So, are you looking forward to chariots?" Arthur chatters on, leaning on his elbow along the side of the chariot.

"Not really," I admit.

"Same," Arthur keeps grinning. "I'm terrified that my nutjob of a district partner will try to knock me off or something. She seems like the quiet, possessed type."

I laugh partly for Arthur's sake, and partly because his partner, Alexandria or something like that, really is one of those types. "I know what you mean." I jerk my finger to Lux, who's examining her silver fingernails. "Girls, am I right?"

"What's up with yours?" Arthur begins, but is interrupted by a voice overhead that announces that all tributes are to grab onto the handlebar and prepare to be lined up. The black horses leading my chariot begin trotting off, and I swiftly manage to wave to Arthur before his own chariot marches in front of Four.

I grin at Lux, who rolls her eyes. "Ready, Luxandra?"

"It's Lux…"

Constance von Trapp, District One

So we're angels. Me, I'm not too upset about this, as I believe I look rather spectacular in wings and the cropped clothing they gave me, but Brucite here is a different story.

"This is so stupid," he grumbles, tugging at one of his feathery grey wings. "Why can't we just be kings and queens like all the other years?"

"We're luxury," I remind him. "Angels represent a life of luxury, naturally."

Bruce, as I've decided to call him, simply glares and self-consciously touches his caramel-colored Mohawk. "I don't care. Kings and queens represent that as well."

Rolling my eyes, I decide not to make small talk with the guy anymore. Too much of a bore for me. Coral's better, all nice and innocent-like, while Serafina's the frigging ice princess. She thinks she's so much better than the rest of us, with her little snowflake token, which she has to show off every second, twirling it and watching bits of light reflect off of it. Annoying.

Then there's Slate, who I actually like. He seems sort of sage and wise, slightly like Trancer minus the blazing red hair and joking personality. Percy's OK, just a bit obnoxious.

The doors in front of us open and our chariot pulls out with a jerk. We're first, so I'm slightly nervous, but I don't show it in any way. Instead, I place a bright smile on my face and play up the dangerous, striking girl from One. I know that the crowds will love it, and they do. I can hear from their screams.

Brucite! Constance! Connie! Brucite! Constance!

I peek out of the corner of my eye at my wonderful district partner, who's currently baring his teeth at the crowds, making a show of ripping off his wispy charcoal-colored shirt to expose a pair of abs. I smirk lightly, remembering how Tempera and Trancer made a big deal out of my own only this morning.

"You seem happy," I murmur to him, not expecting him to hear me.

"I am happy," he replies, shocking me. "I'm getting to play a game in front of the people who will one day adore me as their victor. What else is better than being adored?"

"I can think of a lot of things," I sigh loftily, still waving slowly to the shrieking audiences.

"Oh? Like what?" Brucite growls, and even without looking, I know that he's baring his teeth to everyone.

"Like honor and glory. There's a lot more wealth in those, a lot more richness, than simply being as low as to want to be adored."

Bruce turns to me completely, the look on his face conflicted. "I'm not low," he says hollowly, and for a moment I feel guilty, like he's a little boy and I've offended him by taking away his toy or something. But then I remembered he wanted to do this. He volunteered, for heaven's sake, knowing the risks and stakes, and he's offended when I suggest he's low for wanting adoration?

Like most of the people here so far, I just don't get him. But for now, I guess I'm alright with that. I have slightly less than a week, even more in the arena. So I don't need to know everything about the kid right now… right?

I smooth down my cropped shirt and quickly glance behind me. Our wonderful District Two is clad in army uniforms that are spattered with blood, which I don't really get. Their claim to fame is masonry, so the logical thing should probably be… gladiators or something. I don't really know.

Behind them is Three, where both of their skinny mini tributes are wrapped in different colored wires. The girl looks positively ticked off, while the boy's hamming it up, waving and shouting to everybody joyously. Behind them is our other alliance district, where Coral and Percy are both dressed in clothing made of shells and scales and such, to represent mermaids or something. Coral has this fugly little gown with fins at the end. Putrid.

She catches my eye and smirks at me, raising her eyebrows to indicate she's not too crazy about this. I roll my eyes sarcastically and flip my hair, turning back to the front.

When President Snow begins his little speech, I'll make sure to catch his eye, hook him, and reel him in.

Heck, I could have been from District Four.

Cohush Nigrum, District Nine

"This is overwhelming," I shout to Alexis over the deafening roar of the crowd. She can only nod in response, obviously uncomfortable.

Our costumes are clothing woven out of wheat or some crappy substitute. To be perfectly honest, it's not any fiber I recognize. But then again, I'm always in the infirmary working, and since Alexis here has never had to move a pinkie in her life thanks to her rich parents, I can't exactly ask her.

I wasn't exactly pleased when it came time for me to be Reaped. I never expected it, and I can only imagine how many people will die without me once I die. That's right, I've accepted death. It's inevitable for me in a game with eighteen-year-olds who have trained since they could walk, throwing spears and swinging hammers. And for me, a thirteen-year-old who's never left the world of medicine? …Yeah, not exactly victor material.

And yet I wave, smiling ever-so-slightly at all the bright flashes than consume me, that overwhelm me. Alexis is frowning a lot, her plump lips curved into a pout. She's not even trying, which I really don't get. She should be happy for herself. She actually has a chance, unlike half of the tributes here. For instance, Seven, with their leafy outfits shaped like weeping willow trees. They're both young, fragile, and probably easy to break. Bloodbaths for sure. Same with Eleven– two young kids, their costumes terrible (sunhats and overalls, by the way), their expressions grim.

And District Eight– I've kept my ear to the ground and I know that President Snow is hating on Camo. I don't know why, it was just a snippet of a conversation I heard Venial, my mentor, engaging in.

The chariots part in a slight semicircle, and I'm thrown close to the Seven chariot. The boy, his freckles the most striking part about him, looks utterly bored while the girl, her eyes round with fright, is visibly trembling.

I don't listen to President Snow much. He's a fat, white-haired man with greedy plans to take over Panem, just like the last ruler, I've heard. Wonderful. Alexis, however, hangs onto every word, her angelic blue eyes stretched out to watch him. Great job, Alexis, you little suck-up.

The boy from Seven is chewing a small wedge of gum, much like Camo from Eight except he's doing it much more obnoxiously, cracking it and popping the bubbles with ease. I want to hush him, but I know that I'd most likely get punished. So I keep mum and instead fixate my eyes on my glimmering golden suit.

All of a sudden, just as Snow finishes up his little speech, something wet hits my cheek and I gasp, turning to the District Seven chariot. The kid's in hysterics, while his partner, the straggly-looking girl, is in complete shock. She hisses something to him but he simply blows her a raspberry and continues his laughter. Fumbling, I snatch the gum from my cheek angrily and cast it to the floor of the chariot.

Once it begins to move again, Alexis turns to me. "What happened?"

"Creep from Seven shot his bubblegum at me," I snap, scrubbing at my cheek furiously. Who knows how many germs and bacteria he harbored in his mouth, in his very saliva?

"That's revolting!" Alexis cries.

"You feel my pain, I see," I growl, shuddering. "He's completely gross."

We stay in silence until the horses canter into the building. I hop off and immediately search for the little scrub that threw his gum, complete with germs and all, at me.

It takes a while to find Seven. I see the rest of the costumes while I search: I see the girl from Twelve, whose blond hair is up in a high ponytail, her dress a jet black and visibly powdered down in a steampunky sort of way. A fashionable miner? District Ten boy is in a cowboy suit, and he looks none too happy about it. He keeps tugging at the spurs on his leather boots disagreeably. The two from Six are squabbling, the girl snarling an answer while the trembling, frizzy-haired boy meekly puts out a question. They're in pinstripes, dressed like train conductors.

Then I see a glimpse of Seven.

I would never have spotted him if it weren't for that terrible, tall leaf costume. He is madly trying to fit through the doors of the elevator, but the branches extended too high. Eventually his mentor, a devilish looking woman with jet black hair, helps him inside with his district partner and the duo from Five. I hop inside just before the doors closed.

Seven looks pretty terrified of me, now that I was up close and obviously much taller. Glaring at him, ignoring everything else that was going on around us, I snap at him, "Why'd you do that? What did you do that for?"

"Do what for?" he asks smoothly, his forehead creased in nervousness.

I roll my eyes. "You know what. You spat your gum out at me during President Snow's speech!"

"You did?" screeches his mentor, her mascaraed eyes wide. She turns to Seven and cheers, saying, "Ben, I think you're one of my favorite little people right now."

I catch a glimpse of the forgotten district partner huddled in a corner, clutching onto the hem of the brunette girl from Five's dress. She's my age, although she appears much smaller.

"Hey, you," I say rudely, pushing away Five without another glance, "We should be allies."

The girl's expression is completely fearful. "Um, I don't know," she whispers, her eyes brimming over in tears.

I fold my arms and sneak a peek at Ben, who shows absolutely no remorse. The whole point of this was to get his a little jealous, show that he didn't affect me one bit. Or… or something like that. I'm not really sure. My mindset isn't the best right now.

"What's your name?" I ask her.

"L-L-Leaf," she stutters out.

"I'm Cohush Nigrum from District Nine." I don't offer my hand or anything, simply slide next to her as the pair from Five walk out of the elevator. "Maybe tomorrow you'll make your decision?"

"Smooth, Hushpuppy!" Ben barks at me, and his mentor smirks the tiniest bit.

Ignoring him completely, even giving him the hand, I smile at the trembling girl. "I'm sure we'd make a powerful alliance, just us two!" I chirp, waving as she walks out.

I'm not sure how I did. I've always been terrible with my people skills, never caring for anybody more than my patients. But I suppose that Leaf may have attracted my attention, looking like nothing more than a fragile, broken child. Maybe I didn't really want to be allies, just get to know her a little better.

I don't know. After all, I've only had imaginary friends.

Leaf Ender, District Seven

"I'm sure we'd make a powerful alliance, just us two!" Cohush warbles as I scamper out of the elevator, my heart pounding out of my chest.

Truth is, the boy scares me. His bushy hair made me apprehensive, and once he began talking to me like he knew me since forever…. That was the last straw, I officially was terrified of him. I'd like to say he's insane or something, but I don't want to be rude. I don't even want to talk about him to Blight. The entire thing makes me uncomfortable.

"Looks like little Leaf is scaaaared!" Ben crows, his voice echoing throughout the expansive living room.

"I'm not scared!" I retort hotly, my face blushing red from embarrassment. "I just wanted to come out and get some food."

I see the kind face of Blight, who told me just before chariots that he wasn't feeling so well and had to grab some pill from up here. Blight's the only one I like here. Our escort, Magenta, is both hot-headed and snotty, Johanna only likes Ben and she's terrifying, Ben himself is a manipulative brat, and all the other tributes appear looming, threatening.

"Blight," I say, grasping his hand and shaking it. He reminds me somewhat of Ivy, both making me feel welcome and homely. "Chariots were terrible!"

"I saw them on television," he replies gently, pointing to the wide screen that lies in front of all the couches and chairs, "I think you did splendid. What was the matter?"

Warming up immediately, I say, "Can I tell you over dinner? I'm starving."

"Of course."

The meal for tonight is a widespread buffet. There's deep-fried vegetables, crispy and golden on the outside but gooshy and savory on the inside, seafoods drenched in dressings, different salads, tons of creamy, chunky soups, sweet bits of some red fruit, many spareribs, and besides all the other food, there's lots and lots of loaves of bread, each loaf representing a district. I recognize one immediately, a white bread coated with ground almonds. Feeling homesick, I reach for a slice.

Ben's already piled his plate high with meats, some red in color, some blackened, some brown, some glazed. He barks at an Avox to fetch him a glass of milk, and I frown slightly at his manners, as does Magenta.

"You really shouldn't shout at them, Ben," she advises.

"I don't care," Ben retorts, his mouth stuffed full of chicken, "seeing as they're just our slaves. We can do whatever with them."

Blight gives him a stern look, and Johanna rolls her eyes. She's already bored with his façade, maybe even wishing she had chosen me instead of bold little Ben.

I butter up the piece of bread and Blight, swallowing some vegetables, asks quietly, "So why didn't you like chariots, Leaf?"

I snuck a look at Ben before sighing. "First off, when President Snow was making this long and boring speech, Ben spat his gum at Cohush from District Nine. So that alone was real uncomfortable."

Blight nods slowly. "Go on."

I spear some deep-fried green beans, playing with them around my plate. "Then in the elevators, Cohush confronted Ben and was all, 'Ooh, you spit your gum at me and I'm sooooo offended, ooh'." Blight chuckles, and I'm encouraged a little. I continue, "So then Ben ignores him, and Cohush the Crazy turns to me and goes, 'Ooh, little girl, let's be ALLIES!'"

Blight's face is split with a grin. "What did you say?"

My eyes widen emphatically as I jab the fork in the air with emphasis. "I didn't say nothing, just stared at him. He was crazy."

Blight nods, sipping something from a darkened flask. "Anyways, onto chariots. How do you think you did?"

I shrug, staring down at the table dejectedly. "I was too scared to do anything but stand there," I murmur. "All the lights and shrieking people were freaky."

"I remember how scared I was, too," Blight says kindly.

Johanna, who must have been eavesdropping from her end of the table, snorts loudly. "Blight was a sight to see," she tells me wickedly. "Cowering like a scared little boy."

"Fifteen's not that young," Blight defends himself.

"How'd you see his Games?" I ask Johanna, brow creasing. "You weren't even born when he won."

"Videos, dear Leaf," sighs Johanna. "If you want, I'll lend you some of my Games. I was great, if I say so m'self. I played up a scared little midget, when in reality I snapped one kid's neck off. Killing machine."

"I want to see that," Ben says greedily.

I wrinkle my nose at him, suddenly feeling a bit queasy. "I… I think I'm done with dinner."

Nobody comes after me when I run to my room, not even Blight.

Francis Theroux, District Six

The first morning of training is insane, much like my district partner. There's tons of running around on Dalton and Gingham's part, some shrieking and cursing on Jinx's part, and a lot of frantic, nervous nail-biting on my part.

First off, I would have been perfectly happy simply to stay at my home, working on another painting, unlike Jinx, who for some reason volunteered. I miss my brushes. I miss my canvases. I even miss my parents and their clients. Instead, my paints will be replaced with blood and my brushes with weapons; tridents, knives, and spears.

I would have been happy at home, even if my mother treated me more of a possession like she usually did. I sigh heavily, pushing away a cranberry muffin sadly.

"Aren't you hungry?" Dalton asks me with wide eyes. Although there's a ten-something-or-another age gap between us, I feel like he could be a younger brother to me.

"Not especially," I mumble. "I tend to have a lump in my throat whenever I get uncomfortable, and thus making it hard to swallow anything but water."

Dalton looks genuinely confused and Gingham, seeing an opportunity to open up to the vicious Jinx, asks her tribute a question.

"So, I've seen your chariots… what did you think of the stylists and the train ride?"

Jinx looks at her sullenly, her black hair hanging over her face like some bridal veil. "Well," she begins in a low, dark voice, "after they scrubbed my skin off enough to bring tears to my eyes, they tried to cut off my nails."

Jinx holds up a hand, which is embellished with several cuts and scratches, but the remarkable thing is her long, long, black nails, each which have a point on the end. I widen my eyes.

"They never got to that," Jinx smirks, digging her nails into her scone. She stares at it, watching the jelly ooze out from inside it, before announcing loudly, "I'm gonna go train."

And like that, she's stepped into the elevator and descends smoothly, a clean getaway.

I blink stupidly.

"Would you like to go down, too, Francis?" Dalton asks excitedly. "Oh, it was so fun! You get to throw around little twig things at fake people and slash open their fake people skin with knives!"

I furrow my brows. "I don't think I'll be doing much of that," I bleat out. "More like…. Well, I don't even know what stations they have, really…"

I'm so nervous about the whole thing I stay up in the living room for another good hour, and once I go down, I'm extremely late.

Atala, the trainer, as Gingham and Dalton told me, has retreated somewhere, leaving me to wonder if we really can touch all this stuff. There's impressive silver swords with hilts of bejeweled marble, truly a spectacle to see. And yet the brutish boy from One is simply shoving them on the ground once he's finished with them. I frown slightly, my feet softly padding over to another station distractedly.

There I see it– past all the melee weapons, past all the far-ranged weapons, there it is. My station. The camouflage station.

I begin running over there, but I'm easily winded and have to slow down to a brisk walk after only a couple seconds. It takes me a long time simply to reach there and I run into Jinx on the way (heavy sigh). She snarls out a "Hello, crazy," to me, but all I can respond is, "You think I'm crazy? I can't argue with you." but it's well worth it once I finally get there. It hasn't even been visited yet, and the trainer, a wiry man, looks pleased to see me.

"Do I just pick up the paint and use it?" I ask him quietly. He nods, bringing up a couple more trays of colors.

My eyes go wide at the sight, and instantly I know where I'll be spending most of my day.

First I swirl my fingers around in the colors, transforming soft blue into an evergreen hue. Red becomes orange, then a camel-colored tone. With glee I dart over to the fire-making section and snatch up a sturdy stick, then tie some pine needles to it for a paintbrush.

Happily I paint myself into a field of daisies, practicing first on my ankle, then the other one. My wrists turn into smooth grey stone, dabbled with moss and tiny bits of shale. My forearms will become the bark of a pine tree, and with relish I even add a bit of real wood to embellish it.

The trainer watches me silently, obviously impressed. His face is a mask of sheer delight, and after I transform my shins into dying yellow grass, he tells me I'm doing a stupendous job.

"Thanks," I murmur shyly, my cheeks flushing red. Although I did hundreds of paintings and I knew that somewhere, there, was a bit of talent, I never did get to hear the words 'Good job'.

Annabell Berry, District Twelve

I throw the machete down in exasperation, plucking a few damp strands of hair from my head. Why is this so hard? All you have to do is slash across the dummy and voila, you've got it. I see the Careers doing it with ease, most of them in a tight little pack near the axes.

With the exception of two.

There's Braid Girl, as I've dubbed the girl from Two, as her hair was in braids both yesterday and today. She's with Mr. District Four, and they're quietly talking whilst they swing maces. Braids is terrible at it; Four's not that shabby. At least he hits the target whenever he swings, unlike her.

I slump down near the display and sigh heavily, my eyes squinting under the harsh light on the ceiling. Why is this so hard? Why did I volunteer? I could have stayed home and simply watched the Games like every other year…

Suddenly the lights that beam down on me stop, and I look up with a fluttering in my heart.

"Why ya just sitting here?"

It's the girl from Eight… Willa, I think her name is. Her blond hair is in braids, too, but on her they're somehow more flattering and girlish.

I shrug, hopping to my feet jitterishly.

"Can you talk? Are you mute?"

I shake my head, eyes on the ground.

"Then say something."

I open my mouth, but my voice is rusty after not having used it for so long. I cough a few times, swallow, and then…. "I have nothing to say."

Willa smirks, shaking her head. "Come on. Everybody has something to say, District Twelve. Or… what's your name… the cow name? Jezebel? Annabeth?"

"Annabell," I croak out, hands to my throat.

"Annabell, right," Willa nods in sudden recognition. "I knew it was one of those. So hard to remember names when there's twenty-three other ones to know, plus the prep team and your stylist, escort, mentor, President Snow…"

I realize she's kidding and force a feeble laugh, but after giggling silently for so long it just feels wrong. I regret speaking to her. I should have simply stared at her stonily.

"So, yeah, I know it's probably wayyyy to early for allies…" My heart flutters again, and I look up into those twinkling blue eyes. "…but since I really don't wanna be alone, whatcha say we train together, swing some maces around and show the effing Careers who's really boss around here?"

I nod emphatically, sweat pricking at my palms.

"But first…" Willa looks at me heavily, heaving a sigh. "I'd sort of like to know why you volunteered?"

My gaze goes back to the ground sadly. Nobody will understand why I did it. Their lives are all sunshine, rainbows, and ponies.

"C'mon…." Willa prods cheerily. "I heard you talk before, ya can do it again…"

I shake my head, placing my head in my hands. "S-S-Sorry."

Willa sighs lightly before linking arms with me. "Whatever you say, we're gonna show 'em who's boss, like I said!"

I force a grin, but it quickly diminishes as we come right next to Braids and District Four. Little Miss District Two merely glances over and continues swinging her mace, whilst Four smiles toothily at us and actually speaks.

"You two lovely ladies need a lesson in maces?"

Willa grins right back, although her smile is much more venom-packed. "We'd adore one!" she chirps festively. "That would be just peachy!"

Four glances over to me, watching me shrink into Willa's shadows. "Your little friend want a session too, or is she just here to watch?"

Willa turns back to me. I stare urgently at her, silently telling her that I really don't want to talk to the imposing Career. With a flash of golden blond hair, she's turned her head back to Four and trilled, "Well, of course she would! Annabell loves lessons, don't ya?" I'm relieved when she doesn't expect an answer.

The Career prods his friend from Two on the shoulder. "Fina, want to help me out here?"

The girl's icy eyes scan over us, her gaze shocking. "No, thank you," she tells her ally coolly, "I'd actually rather like to see you attempt being a teacher more. And please Percy, don't call me Fina. My name is Serafina."

District Four raises his eyebrows. "Fine. Ready, outlier ladies?"

I am not too keen on the idea of being called "outlier ladies" but I nod anyways, as did Willa. Percy, as his name apparently was, launches into this discussion about how to hold a mace correctly. He's about to teach us how to swing it when there came heavy footsteps behind us.

I whirl around to come face-to-face with the soft eyes of District Two. The boy from One isn't far behind, his scowl overpowering any sign of gentleness on his face.

"Percy," District Two speaks in a subdued tone. "Coral says she wants to speak with you."

Percy avoids eye contact with us, simply marches past to the station where the rest of the Careers are at. After a moment, Serafina follows suit.

"Guess the moment is over," Willa sighs.

Percy Brizo, District Four

Ignoring the two outlier girls, I stroll past them with only one thought on my mind. What could Coral possibly want?

Slate and Bruce lead me to the archery section, where Constance is proving herself worthy of a bow and arrow whilst Coral's missing every time. I hear footsteps padding behind me and glance back to see Serafina, her stony eyes glaring at the other two girls.

"Coral?" I ask loudly, causing her to turn to me. "What did you need?"

Coral's eyes flicker to the rest of our alliance before she walks over to me, casting the weapon to the ground. "I need to talk to you in private," she murmurs, her sea green eyes widening.

I trail behind her as she leads me to the axe section, where only a couple other tributes are swinging the weapons. She motions for me to sit on the ground, which I slowly comply to.

"What did you need?" I repeat.

Coral reaches up just above her eyebrow and slowly rubs the faint trace of a scar. "I think I found your weapon of choice," she says softly.

"What?"

"You know how you told me you hated using tridents?"

"What, are you making me use hooks?" I say sarcastically.

Coral shakes her head, rubbing the scar quicker and quicker. "No, no, nothing like that, Percy. Instead I think you should try archery."

"Why?" my eyebrows furrow, truly confused. "How do you know for sure that I won't completely suck at it?"

Coral's gaze wanders off to something behind me, and she begins smiling at something. "Well," she begins slowly, "you told me yourself that your aim was impeccable, correct?"

"Um, yeah, I guess."

"And you also told me you weren't very strong."

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "I told our mentors that!"

"Right," Coral giggles, finally removing her hand from the scar, "but it was sort of loud. I overheard you, Percy."

I frown slightly, motioning for the girl to continue. "Mmkay…"

Coral cracks her knuckles and squirms, obviously wishing she hadn't brought this up. "I don't know, a bow is sort of light, and the arrows don't require much to carry them, just a sheath or a pocket. So… you could use a bow and arrow instead of a sword or something like you're expected to. Shock them all." She keeps looking behind me at something, and it's getting annoying. I want eye contact.

I glare. "Right, Coral, and what will your weapon of choice be?"

Coral reddens, her cheeks now matching my own. "I'm going to use a trident."

I breathe in, pointing to her. "Right-o. Shocking them all, I see."

Coral snaps like a thin wire. "Well, at least I'm competent with a trident!" she growls. "I'm not wavering like somebody here!"

I know I've struck a nerve with her. I roll onto my back, close my eyes. "Coral…" I begin slowly. "I'm sorry, man—"

But when I open my eyes, my district partner's already storming off, heading to the knife station, away from our alliance.

Right as I begin to get up, there's a muffled scuffling noise from behind me and I see the midget girl from Seven, her face masked by her thin brunette locks. She was hiding behind a dummy, watching us the entire time. Usually I'd simply ignore her, but since I'm in a wretched mood I snarl out, "Scram, brat."

The girl fearfully complies, and I press a hand to my temple, upset. What did I just do?

I stride back to the throwing knife station where my alliance has moved. As soon as I arrive and curl my fingers around some knives, I notice that Serafina watches me like some lost puppy, Constance is pathetically attempting to aim for the chest of one dummy in particular, and Brucite and Slate are just standing in a corner, gossiping like some little kids. My alliance isn't really the friendliest.

Coral was the one person I truly trusted within this union, and seeing as she now loathes me, I'm the sore thumb of the Career pack. No one else has made a move to befriend me in any way, and Serafina's not friendly, she's just annoying. She acts all icy, but I think she secretly likes me or something. The girl won't stop following me.

But a friend is a friend is a friend. Even if that friend is irritating and stalkerish, I might as well try to form a bond with somebody.

Savanna Poppet, District Ten

I'm so freaked out right now, it's not even funny. Ever since my wonderful, dear escort hollered out my name, I've been so paranoid. I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadiiiiiiiiie. It's so… ironic.

"I'm following in his footsteps," I murmur quietly to myself. "This is like a dream gone horridly wrong."

My hands wrap around the machete tightly. I know I'm not going to fare very well with weapons at all. Most are too heavy and clunky, whilst the rest are… they're just stupid. For instance, a wire garrote, which Nubu seems to favor. How are you going to wrap that around somebody's neck without getting a finger sliced off? Or poisons, which I've had no luck with at all. Sure, the idea of it is nice. But how will you use it? Throw a pot of poison at somebody? Dunk your weapon in some?

I'm also not too crazy on the idea of survival methods. I mean, some arenas have been buildings such as funky-colored cities and ships. You can't exactly use tree bark to cure an infection there.

Another tribute comes near me and immediately I'm on my best behavior, murmuring witty things and grinning a lot. Alliances are my best bet, especially since I can't handle weapons at all and Nubu's a bit too secretive for my tastes.

It's the blond, skeletal girl from District Eight. Willow or Willa, her name is. She seems like she'd make a splendid ally, especially since she even looks the part. She's not ugly or anything, a bonus.

"Machetes suck," she says to me, and I agree immediately. But then I realize she's speaking to the girl from Twelve, who's like a ghost in her shadows. Are they allies already?

"Are you looking for an alliance?" Willow/Willa asks me curiously, her blue eyes twinkling.

"I'm not too sure," I say immediately, my heart thundering. "I mean. I suck at weapons and my district partner's really crazy, I mean, like, super insane. He's so secretive and stuff like that, heh. I don't fare too well with people like that. What do you think?"

I've chattered too much, and the girl openly acknowledges this. The repulsed look on her face tells me that yes, I've been an idiot.

"Well, I hope you and your district partner come to terms," she mutters, turning away. "C'mon, Annabell, let's go try some spears."

My hopes have sunk. If the friendly, cheery girl rejects me then I must be such an outcast, nobody else will want me. I fiddle around with the split ends of my chestnut hair for a bit, simply thinking to myself. Then there's a movement from behind me, and not a very pleasant one.

"Move, you old nincompoop," spits Ben from Seven, his face a mixture of disgust and pure hatred. "I wanna try throwing an axe."

I feel so weak I don't even try to respond. I move to the side and watch him toss the machete feebly, clattering on the ground a good five feet from the dummy. Angry, he turns on his heel and darts to the next station. Not even a minute in and that kid has given up. What a chump.

"You wanna try again, girl?" the trainer asks me, but I shake my head. Maybe I'll fare better trying something not weaponry not survival.

I find the camouflage section, where there's only Francis from Six. Once he sees me, he quickly throws his brush to the ground and darts to the fire-making section. I sigh heavily and trudge up to the counter.

"Paint, please?"

He hands me a tin tray consisting of bright colors, ones that probably would never be found in nature ordinarily. I smile softly, fakely, and plop down on the ground, absentmindedly swirling the red and the green together with my fingers.

I wonder what Holly and Reno are doing right now, if they're mourning or what. I bet my uncle has considered himself a failure. Maybe my mother's forgotten to feed the cattle in her grief, or my father is pacing around the room sadly. Maybe my friends are all gathered together, crying, just waiting for a sign. Maybe that wretched girl who was once Elijah's girlfriend is sullenly staring out into space, a shell of the person she once was.

I begin spattering the paint on my wrists, pleased to see that I've made a sort of dark sepia color. It looks a bit like mud, but to mimic real mud I'd need twigs, little pine needles.

I smile to myself, biting my lip to fight the positive waves. I'm finally getting something that I could potentially be good at.

Slate Bessarion, District Two

The bell clangs metallically, and I automatically turn my head. The first day of training is over. Fun, I suppose. And to be perfectly honest, it has been fun. I've really been bonding with Brucite, whilst the pair from Four I'm not too crazy about. Serafina and Constance (Connie, I tease her) are all gung ho and that. Percy and Coral are sort of… like siblings. One moment they're squabbling, the next they're working together all happy.

I toss my rapier onto the counter without a backwards look. I didn't get to run the gauntlet today, which was one of my main goals, but I suppose that a full day tomorrow will provide the time needed.

I step into the elevator, gnawing on my toothpick boredly. There's a bunch of other tributes in the elevator, although I don't know many of their names. There's Constance, who was the first to rush into the elevator, then the pair from Twelve– he of the greasy hair and she of the no-talking – the tall, silent, feral-looking girl from Six, the groomed blondie from Three, and the boy from Eight, who's snapping a gum bubble boredly, much like I am.

Constance leaves first with a flirty little wave, and I'm next to get off. I don't look back at the other tributes, but I can tell that they must be jealous of the way I swagger off with such confidence. I smirk inwardly, but maintain the same austere expression on my mug.

Enobaria and Brutus are the first faces I see. Each of them are chattering away as they watch something on television, plucking small sausages from the bluish plate between them. They haven't realized I'm back.

"Hello," I announce, bursting between them and snatching up the sausage plate. "I see you've made me supper. How nice of you."

Enobaria giggles tipsily, which alerts me that she might not be in the most stable state of mind. The champagne glass on the table also clues me in to this. "Oh, Sage, you're so funny."

"Enobaria, my name is Slate," I prod. "You've gotten that wrong since I've been here."

"Give 'er a break, Slate," Brutus burps. "It's hard remembering two tributes' names every year. Last year it was, erm, Thalia and… and… Clementine, I think. Not too easy to slip off the tongue, eh, Enobaria?"

Enobaria throws back her head, letting out a wide-mouthed cackle. I get a good glimpse of her golden fangs before she settles down.

Serafina's suddenly next to me. She slipped in so silently I didn't realize it until she tried and grabbed a sausage off of the plate.

"Do you mind?"

"Sorry," she stares at me with her creepy blue eyes that seem to be watching me over all the time. "Training makes a girl hungry, don't it?"

"I wouldn't know," I reply smoothly, unruffled. "I'm not a female."

Serafina locks eyes with me for a moment before shaking her head, popping the sausage into her mouth. It annoys me how aloof she is, but I suppose since I myself was raised around the arrogant, I shouldn't be so… so judgmental.

Serafina reaches into her slim navy jumpsuit and pulls out her token– a snowflake on a chain. Her eyes sparkle with delight as she watches the light glare off of the spokes, the snowflake itself twirling and swirling about to create a frosty illusion.

Not to be outdone, I snatch up my own token. It's an arrowhead necklace, one that's been in my family for many generations. An heirloom, I suppose you'd call it. It has three words inscribed on the back in another language, but I only know two. I rub my thumb over the jagged edges, marveling in its stony splendor.

I don't realize that Serafina's watching me until I feel her cold breath against my exposed neck. I jerk away.

"Can I see that for a moment, please?" she says it like she's doing me a favor.

"I'd rather not," I reply, my voice cracking a little. "Maybe I could see that little snowflake of yours?"

Serafina clutches her token tightly to her chest. "N-never," she stutters, her eyes huge and watery. I, for one, am stunned at her sudden change of character and can only watch her retreating figure dash into the kitchen, slamming the heavy frosted glass door behind her.

I turn to Brutus and Enobaria. "What do you think that was about?"

"Scared girl," Brutus spits. "Probably one of those people who will turn on ya. Watch out for the girl, Slate."

I waver for a moment, smiling uncertainly, before I murmur, "But I do trust her. She's my district partner."

They don't hear me, and I don't really care.

Willa Seamstress, District Eight

I smooth down the front of my mustard yellow jumpsuit, waiting patiently as the two from Four exit silently. They're the only other two in the elevator besides Annabell and me. We all were the last ones; Annabell and I since we had just started shooting arrows, and the two from Four because honestly, those two have their own little problems.

"Excited for tomorrow?" I ask Annabell cheerily. She shrugs.

"I'm sure I can find myself a good ally or four," I kid, looking for her reaction. She smiles wanly, teetering on the balls of her feet as she looks down. "Oh, which reminds me. I don't think it's too early now to start looking for an alliance. How 'bout it?"

The girl from Twelve looks so delighted that I hug her. "Is that a yes?" She nods eagerly, her wild blond hair lightly clapping along her face. "Great!" I sing out, dancing around the vacated elevator. "We should form a pack and everything, and you can be my co-leader!" Annabell keeps grinning, the positive vibes simply radiating off of the girl.

"I've been eyeing up the boy from Five, or his district partner. What about you?"

"Ten," she says softly, her voice hoarse and croaking.

"The girl or boy? Girl?" She shakes her head. "Nubu, I think the boy's name is. I think he'd be a trustworthy ally. Good job, you picked an awesome one!" Annabell beams. "We just have to get him to join. If we get both from Five and him, we'll have a nice round number of five in our alliance, and we could easily rival the Careers," I muse out loud.

The elevator dings and I stride out confidently, waving bye-bye to my newfound ally. I can't wipe the beam off of my face, and I don't want to. I mean, this is excellent. Annabell's totally trustworthy, and even though she's next-to-mute, she has some of the best ideas ever. Nubu Chandlers? Seriously? I hadn't even considered him. But now that I think about it, I do remember him being decent with a garrotte, and his accuracy with a throwing knife wasn't too shabby, either.

My mentor, Woof, is chewing on some peas when I enter the kitchen. "Anything to eat or do we just snatch somethin' out of the fridge?"

"There be d-d-dinner coming s-s-soon," Woof stutters slowly. "I have work attend to, I eat early."

I scowl. "You're my mentor," I say accusingly. "Aren't you supposed to give me advice whilst we eat or something? You did this morning, didn't you?"

Camo enters the kitchen, his hulking form quiet. "Should I leave or…" he mumbles, blowing a thick pink gum bubble.

"No," I say, grabbing his shoulders and plopping him down in a suede chair. "You can join in the conversation, Mr. Mysterious. Woof here thinks he can escape me to go do some 'work'."

Camo stares at me with those entrancing brown eyes of his. "And why is that a problem, Willa?"

I stamp my foot, which results in an echoing 'clack' all around the kitchen. "Woof here is my mentor!" I screech. "He could be my difference between life or death!"

Camo's mentor, a soft-spoken woman named Celia or Cecelia or something like that, enters the room quietly. "Woof has surgery scheduled tonight," she tells me quietly. "He needs to go in in about a half-hour."

Feeling ridiculous, I squeeze my cheeks between my palms to try and hide the redness that creeps up in a fierce blush. "Oh, well…"

"It's an open-heart transplant," Cecelia says even more quietly. "His heart's been failing him."

I stare at her incredulously. "Are you serious," I mutter to myself, storming out of the room.

"Couldn't he have had surgery when he was mentoring another tribute?"

Bark Umbral, District Eleven

I force a smile as the Avox sets down a plate of golden-glazed duck in front of me, the bill still intact. "This smells delightful," I begin.

Nessa, who sits next to me, her body rigid, agrees quickly. "Better than groosling any old day, hm?" she says with a laugh so forced it's unbelievable.

I look to my mentor for consent. "Can we dig in? Training made me hungry."

"You may."

Eagerly, licking my chops with relish, I begin slicing off a thick slice of duck that makes my very mouth water. The combination of garlic, honey glaze, and savory met invades my senses. My stomach growls angrily, reminding me that it wants to eat now.

Then I catch a glimpse of Nessa, beside me. Her brown eyes are gaunt, searching the table piled with various foods. "I can't even believe this," she murmurs to herself. "All this food…"

I definitely agree. Back in Eleven, if you had gotten a roast, glazed duck with all the fixings you must have been a traveler. Not even the mayor feasted on such wonderful, exotic foods.

I begin scooping some reddish gelatin-like food onto my plate, which is crowded with small berries. "This must be sooooo delicious," I whisper happily, my eyes tearing up. In a way, this was a blessing, getting to try all this delicious cuisine. I never ever would have gotten this option back in Eleven. I would have been lucky to find one of these berries on the ground, mushed by Quill's shoe.

Nessa still hasn't touched anything. Her hands are folded, her eyes taking everything in. I jab her with the hilt of my spoon. "Are you not hungry?"

"Oh, I am," Nessa nods rapidly, her corkscrews bouncing, "but I just want to make everything last. There is so many things here and if I tried them all, I'd simply pop!"

I nod in agreement. "Then just take what I'm getting," I offer, "and later, if we're hungry, we can fix ourselves up a midnight feast."

A ghost of a smile crosses Nessa's chin and she nods slowly again. "I'm thinking of maybe the mushroom soup." She lightly touches a silver pot with her fork. "But the raspberry soup looks amazing, too." She clinks her silverware against a pot filled with frothy rose-colored soup, dotted with the berries in question.

"Take them both," I advise. "You've got all night to wolf them down."

Nessa smiles, for real this time. "Thanks for the advice, Bark." She gently begins ladling the pinkish soup into a white bowl, making sure no drops hit the table.

I watch her carefully, bringing the roast duck up to my lips in silence. Nessa seems extremely nice. I wonder if I should offer her an alliance? Or would that just bring pain…

"Nessa, do you want to be my ally?" The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, but right after they come out, Nessa's turned to me, her brown eyes alert and wide.

"I'd love to, Bark," she says softly.

I turn back to my food dumbly, wondering why my mouth betrayed me like that. I can't go back to the girl and simply say, "My offer's been revoked." That would be a punch in the gut to her. No, I need to make myself as unappealing as possible to try and get her to revoke it. The only reason she said yes was probably since I was so sweet.

I lean over my plate and drool duck sauce down onto it, therefore disgusting myself more than anybody else. Disgust claws blindly at my insides, and I wipe my mouth and the plate with a napkin, my stomach turning. Nessa didn't see it at all.

Oh, well. Maybe having an ally is all it's cracked up to be.

A/N: Smile Like You Mean It by the Killers.

HOOO boy. Twelve POV's and ten thousand words later. How'd you all like this? :D And if you thought I was cruel with those questions… WAIT TILL YOU SEE THESE.

QUESTION TIME! ^o^

1. What were your thoughts on EACH POV?

2. Which POV did you like best and why?

3. Which POV did you like least and why?

4. On a love/like/neutral/no/hate scale, what do you rate these tributes?

*example on the above* (DOES NOT REPRESENT MY VIEWS):

Love: Percy, Cohush, Leaf

Like: Bark, Alessandra, Annabell

Neutral: Slate, Constance, Aister

No: Francis, Willa

Hate: Savanna

5. Which tributes are you looking forward to reading?