A/N: Hi. Skye's back!

The Capitol

The Capitol Hall

1924 Hours

District 2 Female A: Aloe Terray's POV:

"Ladies and gentlemen, from our District Two, let's have a warm round of applause for Female A...Aloe Terray!"

The doors swing wide open, and I step onto the platform. The stage. The audience goes nuts, and I wave. Through my fingers, I see the tier of Gamemakers, and beside them, the stylists. I see my own stylist, smiling at me.

You've got this, Aloe.

Do I, now?

Caesar greets me, a smile on his powdered face. "Welcome, Aloe! I daresay we've been waiting for you for quite a while. Man, I've been waiting for this moment since your reaping."

"I couldn't wait to come here and talk to you, trust me," I say. "That was one of the reasons I volunteered, you know. They always say great things about the Capitol back at home, and I needed to see for myself." No, Aloe. "I'm not regretting it. It's awesome here. You guys are amazing."

Flatter them, Aloe. You want them to like you? To sponsor you? Flatter them. Tell them how beautiful it is here, how lovely they're looking. I know you don't think that, but say that.

I don't particularly like lying about something like this. I lie at times, yes, but why should I make these silly people think we actually support them? Why encourage them?

I can't help but resent them, all of them, and my mentor as well.

Soften those eyes this instant, Aloe. You aren't going to get any sponsors if you go around glaring at the audience. Make them like you, for Pete's sake. make them like you, not wonder if you're going to start killing before the gong goes off.

I'd laughed when she said that. "Before the gong goes off." It's a frequently used expression back in Two, where the Hunger Games are supposedly all we speak about. But here, she actually means...before the gong goes off.

Leaves me wondering whether she meant it that way, or the way I'd immediately think of it.

How much has my dear mentor been warped by the Capitol?

Caesar's saying something, congratulating me on my training score, I think. But I only tune in in time to hear the last few words.

" - of it, Aloe?"

"Sorry?" I stare at him.

Caesar laughs. "So, you got an eight in training, right?"

"Yes."

"What did you think of it?" Caesar cocks his eyebrow. "An eight."

I groan. "Well, it's an eight out of twelve, Caesar. How d'you think I reacted?"

"I'm guessing you were overly jubilant and excited."

"Eight out of twelve. That's, what, sixty-six percent?" I give him an irritated look. "That's barely passing."

"What had you hoped for?"

"Twelve," I say simply. "Twelve out of twelve. I threw all the knives they had so it spelled HG. Hunger Games. I had perfect aim. And that gave me an eight?"

"Eight's really good," Caesar says. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Training scores aren't everything, you know."

"Don't be surprised when I win," I say, my voice morphing into a snarl at around surprised.

He leans backward, hands out in a gesture of mock defense. "I won't be, I won't be. You've definitely got a chance."

"A chance?" I sneer. "More like every chance. Don't doubt me, Caesar. Just about everyone from One said they expect to win, but there's only one victor. Like it or not, One, it's going to be me."

Calm down, Aloe. It's just an interview. Don't attack the audience. Remember, you want them to like you.

They'll never like me. Why pretend?

Because this is a game.

Master of Ceremonies: Caesar Flickerman's POV:

One out of ninety-six. I could tell each tribute here than they're going to die, and for each one, I'd most likely be right.

But half of the kids I've met so far insist on calling themselves the future victor, Panem's sweetheart.

But I have to play along. I'm Caesar Flickerman, and that's what I do: I play along. I tell them yes, of course they're going to win. No, I don't doubt their abilities a bit.

Astrid Oaks. Green dress. Dark hair, amber eyes. Her lips don't quirk a bit as she comes to her seat.

I stand up, extend my hand, grasp hers when it slips into mine.

"Astrid, I can't tell you how marvelous it is to see you tonight," I say.

"Hello," she says. "Unlike most of my company, I'm not interested in killing you right now, so count yourself lucky."

I lean away from her. "Yes, I'm lucky. Anyone in particular you're hoping to kill?"

Astrid frowns. "Do I really need to roll out a list, Caesar? I'm sure you can guess who's on it."

"Who?"

"Well, ninety-five people are at the top, followed with twenty or so others," she says.

"Ah, yes, the others." I sit up straight. "Your ninety-five opponents. There are four times as many of you this year. Do you think you have a smaller chance of winning than you would any other year?"

She laughs. "Of course not. Well, I'm not an idiot, I know my odds. If all the tributes were aged twelve to eighteen, of course my chances would go down. But look at the ages here. Five-year-olds, six-year-olds, seven-year-olds. My odds are roughly the same."

No, actually, they're not, Astrid. One in ninety-six, still. Your odds are not good. No tribute's odds are good.

"Astrid, will you be willing to kill the others?"

She laughs. "Oh, of course, Caesar. I can't exactly win if they're alive, can I? They're just obstacles. Getting past obstacles has never been a problem for me."

This year will be an obstacle for you, Astrid, I can guarantee you that. And I doubt you'll win.

But Astrid doesn't see this. "Caesar, a good point was made earlier. Ninety-six out of ninety-six. But they weren't correct, they have a zero out of ninety-six chance of winning. I mean, there can't be two victors."

One year there was.

I nod my head in agreement. "Oh, you're right on at that point. I definitely wouldn't be surprised to see you back here in another few weeks."

"It'll take me that long, will it?"

I shrug. "Well, considering the numbers, you'd have to be a serial killer to accomplish that."

A smile, one that doesn't nearly reach her eyes. A smile, which reveals the sharp teeth of a shark behind her lips. A smile, which twists her face into a look of pleasure that is somehow balanced out with ferocity.

And I begin to doubt myself for doubting this girl.

"Caesar, I am a serial killer."

3rd Person POV:

"Lila Walker, District Two!"

At first, they don't see her. A dark figure in the shadows beside the grand doors leading onto the stage. Uncomfortably shifting her weight from foot to foot, hands clasped behind her back. Eyes darting, taking in the crowd.

And then she steps into the bright light.

"Lila Walker!" Caesar shout again, seeing his interviewee. "Take a seat, Lila, take a seat."

Lila obeys, and Caesar takes his seat beside her.

"So, Lila, what's it like for you, living here in the Capitol?"

"Oh, it's cool here," she says. "I mean, obviously the people are a bit different than they are in Two, but that was to be expected."

"How are your quarters? Comfortable?"

"Yes, they're very modern. Not like I expected that or anything." She smiles. "I'm loving it here, Caesar."

"What's the best part?"

"Well, the food's amazing," Lila says. "And the people...well, I know you could probably have plucked them straight off of the streets of Two, but only the richest part of it."

Good, Caesar is thinking. Don't make them feel like average district people, even from Two.

Still, it's best not to compare the Capitol people to district people. Even worse to find them alike.

But the crowd doesn't notice. She's just a tribute, and odds are they'll never be talking to her again.

Ever.

"I think we'd stand out a bit in any district," Caesar says, laughing.

"It's possible," she agrees.

"So, Lila. One word. Number, really. Nine."

Lila smiles. "Yes, that was a number last I checked."

"So. Nine. However did you get it?" Caesar leans in, eyebrows raised expectantly, as if he's never asked this question before.

"Oh, knives." Lila brushes the question off, as if she hasn't accomplished anything. "The Gamemakers gave me some targets, and I hit them all."

"You have good aim, hmm?"

"No, Caesar," Lila says sarcastically. "I have awful aim, and yet I hit every target they named."

Caesar laughs. "Silly question, I have to agree. So, Lila, are you pleased with your nine?"

"I am," she says confidently. "It may not be the highest score, but scores aren't everything, as I'm sure you know. The best tribute wins, the best survivor, the strongest, not the one awarded the highest number."

"Well said." Caesar nods solemnly. "Good luck. Ladies and gentlemen, Lila Walker, District Two!"

Marika Trefoil is not at ease in her blue tunic. She hitches it up constantly, her rather bony fingers scratching unrelentingly at the tight strap at her waist, the bow cinching the fabric at her back.

The audience does not fail to notice her discomfort; several decorated ladies and men shoot her odd looks. She accepts these; the dress poses a more immediate problem.

The legendary master of ceremonies invites the girl onstage. For a moment, she does little more than stare at him, agape - oh, how jealous Valencia must be. How proud. Marika has always sought to impress the older girl, or at least earn her attention. She had expected volunteering to do it, but this would push at Marika's accomplishments.

Oh, how Valencia had admired Caesar Flickerman. How she must now admire Marika. Or envy. Either is as good as not for the lucky girl now facing Flickerman. Valencia's attention she has no doubt obtained. That's all she ever strived for.

Watching Valencia's man from a distance was glory enough. When he shouts out Marika's name - Marika, not Valencia, not Trojan, not Delphine - the girl in question leaps from the doorway and shoots toward her seat.

No, toward Flickerman.

"Welcome, Marika!" Caesar says enthusiastically. "How's life been treating you these past few days?"

"Great, Caesar." She's still looking around, returning peoples' stares. "It's so weird and cool here."

The audience laughs, and Caesar grins. "Weird and cool? That's good enough."

"Yeah, and it's true. Really, it's very interesting. And all of you look fabulous." Marika waves at the crowd, grinning slightly.

"So, you're enjoying your time here," Caesar says. "That's good. And what about your life back in District Two? What was it like?"

Marika grins. "Oh, I had an awesome life, Caesar. My mom...she was around, sometimes. And my grandparents were, well, there. And I had really cool friends."

"Friends?" Caesar prompts.

"Oh, yes," Marika says. "Valencia! And Delphine and Trojan, but Valencia was the one who motivated me to volunteer."

"I've been thinking about how cool it would be if one of us volunteered."

A meaningful, expectant glance toward Marika. A slight nod of her pretty head. Unspoken words. Yes, Marika, I mean you. You think anyone else's volunteering? And Marika start to doubt her, but only for a moment, because she's Valencia, and why would she ask her to volunteer? Would Delphine or Trojan have been her first choice?

And anyways, most importantly, she was Valencia.

"She motivated you to volunteer?" Caesar asks. "Well, she certainly is a good friend. I expect you'll have to thank her if you win."

Marika nods. "Of course."

"So, you've told us about your friends. Any boyfriend?" Caesar wiggles his eyebrows.

Some movement in the small capsule they call the brain. If brains ever came in so small a size.

"Yeah."

"What's his name?"

"His?" Marika looks lost. "I thought you said boyfriends, Caesar."

The audience emits a few chuckles, but most are as lost as Marika.

"Because most people I know are friends of boys," Marika continues. "And they're my friends, too, so..."

"Oh, no, not like that." Caesar smiles. "Sorry, I was a bit unclear there." It takes him a while, but he eventually is able to pose the question in a more digestible form.

"Oh, no, don't be silly." Marika laughs. "Why'd I ever have one of those? They're all for Valencia, and Trojan and Delphine if Valencia spares them a date."

"Mm, so Valencia controls who you go out with?"

"Of course. How could I choose for myself?" Marika laughs at the absurdity. "I'd choose wrong. Once, I didn't wait for Valencia's permission to talk with a kid, and he was really mean..."

"It must be nice, having someone look out for you like that," Caesar says.

"It is. I owe her."

The next questions vary. Do you plan to win, Marika? Yes? How? If you had your choice of weapons, what would you select?

Marika answers each question with as much sincerity as before, shooting the crowd occasional smiles, complimenting them at times.

And when the timer goes off, she has to resist the urge to peck Caesar on the cheek before retreating from the stage.

Valencia would want her to make the most of this, right?

District 2 Male A: Kai Kentwell's POV:

Seventeen of us. Most of us from One, Two, and Four, and a few from the outlying districts. Seventeen of us. In the Games, that number will decline, but some of the empty spots will be filled by newcomers.

Those who were rejected will come back, pleading again to be let in.

We can't let this happen. We'll have to kill them as soon as possible. In the bloodbath, if possible.

Marble Chance. Lila Walker. Loom Baybreak. We don't want them, but they'll try to winnow their way into our ranks.

No, some of them will die before they get the chance. Marble will be dead in a matter of minutes. Loom will go soon after, I expect. Lila will survive longer, I predict, but surely she will realize that we don't want her.

But if most of us die too soon, we will. Maybe that'll be their strategy.

I have to craft our strategy here. Many of my followers are too young. Ten-year-olds, eleven-year-olds, even a five-year-old. I can't rely on most of them. Sage and I have been making most of the decisions here. We agreed that the best course of action would be to eliminate those who were strong but not strong enough to join us first, but suppose we need them?

Forget about it, Kai. You've got an interview to focus on here. Think strategy later.

Caesar invites me onto the stage. I come out, a charming smile set on my face.

I sit, and cross my ankles.

"How's it going, Caesar?"

"Quite good for me," Caesar says. "You?"

"I'm enjoying myself," I say. "I love it here. It's so much better than home."

"Ah, home." Caesar grins. "What's the best part of District Two? Is there any special girl back there?"

I smile. "Ah, yes. My Milah. Oh, yes. She's the best girl in Two."

"Tell us about her."

"Well, she's strong, and she's a good fighter," I say. "She's really sweet and beautiful as well. I love her."

"I can imagine." Caesar shakes his head, smiling. "Do you have any other good friends?"

"Yeah, sure I do," I say. "His name's Baelfire. I've been friends with him since I started...school." Training.

"He must be so jealous of you."

I smirk. "I know he is."

"So, Kai, are you excited for tomorrow?"

"I most certainly am." My smirk widens. "The others better watch their backs. They're going to die. Painfully." I look straight at the camera. I know they will be watching. "You hear? Watch your backs tomorrow. I'm going to kill you. You don't stand a chance. Your deaths all start tomorrow!"

"Do you think you're going to win?" Caesar asks, unfazed by my outburst.

I laugh. "Caesar, there's no chance that anyone will be able to kill me. If they don't kill me, I won't die. If I don't die, then I win, right?"

"Good point," Caesar says. "So, are you going to have any allies in the arena?"

"Yes. Sixteen of them."

"Sixteen?" Caesar repeats. "Who?"

"Who do you think? The Career alliance," I say. "Four times larger than normal."

"Wow," he says. "How are you going to manage with so many of you?"

"Well, if we need to, we'll exile some of them," I say. "Kill them. We've already had to deny entrance to some tributes."

"You did?" Caesar asks. "How'd you decide who to sent away and who to accept?"

"Well, we asked them a few questions, and observed them in training," I say. "I was on the jury. Me and Sage and Gemini, mostly. One from each district. We knew some of the tributes from our districts, so it helped."

"I'm sure it did. Well, good luck, Kai. May the odds be ever in your favor."

"Thanks, Caesar, but I don't need your good graces. The odds are very much in my favor."

Master of Ceremonies: Caesar Flickerman's POV:

"Pierce Nathaniel, Male B, District Two. Twelve years old. Training score of six."

I incline my head so the audience can't see the earpiece, and summon the boy onto the stage. At first he appears to be the kind of tribute I'd normally overlook, one that I'd never remember without Claudius listing his information beforehand.

But he bounces onstage, and I can tell that he'll stand out to the Capitol.

Well, that's what I tell myself. With my help, he'll become Pierce Nathaniel, favorite of the Capitol.

"Hi, Caesar!"

And he beats me to it.

"Hello, Pierce," I say. "How are you tonight, hmm?"

"I'm great." A wide grin, despite the lousy score the Gamemakers awarded him just last night.

"Good to hear," I say. "You're enjoying your time here?"

"Of course I am," he says. "It's so cool here."

"It sure is."

What do I talk to this boy about? District Two...not very helpful. I ask most Careers about their weapons, their training scores. I make them strong. I don't usually mention their families- most of them don't want to seem reliant, homesick, regretful, even mildly wistful. I mention their friends at times, but rarely their families.

But Pierce didn't exactly have an exceptional training score. Six. In a world of nines and tens and even elevens, a six won't get one anywhere.

But this boy seems bouncy, bubbly. He has some of the traits that would make a Capitol child popular among his peers- assuming, of course, he came from a powerful family. But he comes from a powerful district, as far as district power goes. With the right character, plus a bit of money, one could probably make it quite far in District Two.

Do I emphasize his strengths? His popularity? Should I be subtle, or throw everything into it? How should I best advertise his best qualities? Should I highlight his best qualities?

Everyone assumes Caesar Flickerman just asks questions, and never puts much thought into it. They assume it comes naturally. They're wrong. I put every thought into this fine art. It isn't easy. Some of it comes naturally, but it's a difficult task, even after sixty something years.

Am I really that old? I resist the urge to raise a hand to my cheeks, feel for the wrinkles that won't be there. I'll have to retire soon. I'll still be famous, but I'll be retired Caesar Flickerman, not active, dead. Heart still beating, but dead by all other definitions.

"So," I say, "I hear you're pretty popular in District Two."

His eyebrows raise slightly, almost imperceptibly. How do you know?

Score! I was right.

I have my sources.

"Have you heard that?" Pierce grins. "Well, Caesar, you're most certainly right."

Of course I am.

"Tell us about the people in your district," I say. "So, they all love you. How are they?"

Pierce laughs. "Oh, they're great. We're all pals. Well...mostly. Not to place District Two above any other district, of course. They're all great. It's the Capitol that's truly above the rest."

So true, Pierce. We're not good people - not the people that run the place, that is - but then again, no people are truly good.

"So, yes, the Capitol." I grin. "How's life here been for you?"

"It's great," he says. "Just look around. It's a lot different from everything I'm used to."

"What's your favorite thing about here?"

Let him drive the conversation. It's my job, but still.

"Well, the people are amazing," Pierce says. "And the weapon room in training...my heart stopped, I swear, Caesar. It was amazing."

"Was it?"

My eyes gleam, and not from the ocu-lights that have been so popular these last few days.

The conversation stems from there. Favorite weapon? Odds? Gonna win, Pierce, are you?

It turns out he is a fighter, after all.

Or at least he thinks he is.

District 2 Male C: Gladius Ruther's POV:

"You're gonna rock, Gladius." A wide smile. Ocu-lights flashing. A powdered hand stretches out to straighten the collar of my red shirt. My stylist steps back to admire her handiwork.

"Is it necessary to remind me?" My bright blue eyes latch onto her orange ones. The ocular lights are quite distracting.

"It's not!" she agrees. "You're gonna rock!"

I roll my eyes and turn away. Come on, Caesar. Come on, Pierce. No one cares about you, Pierce, you know. They're all waiting for me...

And it seems they truly are, for as the doors open wide and I step onto the stage, they go wild. Clapping, cheering, whooping, ocular lights flashing. I flash them a charming smile, and head over to Caesar.

"Welcome, Gladius!" he cries.

He pronounces my name correctly, not changing the "a", as many people do. Perhaps it's because my name could fit right here in the Capitol. And if my name could, why couldn't I?

Answer: I can.

"Hello." I smile again, and clasp hands with Caesar.

"How're you doing tonight, Gladius?" he asks.

"Oh, I'm great. You?"

"I'm wonderful," he says. "Wonderful and very excited. What about you, Gladius? Are you excited for tomorrow? Are you ready to head on into that arena tomorrow?"

"I'm ready." Ten teeth, twenty teeth, something like that, reflecting the light. "I can't wait to head on in there and slice some tributes up." I laugh, and Caesar joins me.

"How are you going to do that?" he asks. "What weapon will assist you?"

"A sword, I'd expect." A slightly more threatening smile this time. "Just wait, Caesar. I'm the best swordsman you'll see." I lift my chin, stare into the camera. "Watch your backs, tributes. You're dead kids walking, each of you."

"Zombies." Caesar grins.

"But without whatever benefits that might bring." I shrug. "They still have to die, whereas zombies are past that point."

"I suppose so," Caesar says. "So, Gladius, you expect to win?"

"Of course I expect to win. How could I not? I mean, I obviously have it in me." Flexing my bicep. "I can win, so why should I doubt myself? Nothing good comes from that." Rolling my eyes.

"It'll be a happy occasion when you return here."

"It will be." Jaunty smile. "I can't wait to come back and see you all again. You're fascinating. Amazing. Beautiful. You'll be seeing me again, trust me."

"Well, with that ten of yours, I won't be surprised if you do come out on top," Caesar says.

"Don't be surprised," I agree. "Caesar Flickerman, caught unprepared? Unheard of."

"Very," he agrees. "Speaking of your ten, Gladius, however did you achieve such a high score?"

"Well, I used every weapon I could find," I say. "Knives, spears, maces, but mostly my favorite sword. The thing's so cool, Caesar. I mean, think about it. You can cut through human flesh! It can end lives! Power, Caesar. You know?"

"I know." A flit of his eye, a twitching lip, tell me that he's gone wrong. Caesar Flickerman shouldn't know power. The president wouldn't like that. But Caesar continues, seemingly undaunted. "So, you want power in the arena?"

"'Course I do." I pick at my fingernails. "Power's life, Caesar. Power means killing, or at the very least dominating, and dominating means life. In some form or another."

The conversation spirals on from there. I get the sense that I'm driving it, and that's why it's so, well, disorderly. But Caesar touches all the bases, and before I know it, the timer beeps, and I'm sent away.

3rd person POV:

Claudius Templesmith holds the scroll. It's much longer than any other year, and he's almost overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids who have still to perform tonight. It will take many hours, and most likely, few of them will have anything of interest to say.

Claudius watches the screen with a lazy eye. Gladius Ruther. Wasn't that the last name?

The timer buzzes, and the man jumps. It's much louder in this small, almost plain room, with no roaring Capitol crowd to stifle it.

The boy, Gladius, Ruther, leaves the stage. Sighing, Claudius lifts the transmitter to his mouth, and squints at the scroll of paper.

"Okay, Caesar," he mutters. Can't let the crowds hear it. "Next up: District Two Male D, Baxon VaMeer. Fourteen years old. Ten in training."

On the screen, Caesar shifts, hiding his earpiece. Then he straightens, and announces, "Last up from District Two...Male D, Baxon VaMeer!"

The audience goes wild, and Claudius slumps in his seat. He'd never understood the excitement of interview night. All it means to him is hours of sitting in the control room, staring at the screen broadcasting the interviews, and listing off names and numbers.

There's a reason Claudius never volunteered to do the interviews.

And anyways, he'd never get the job, even if he wanted it. There's no beating Caesar Flickerman.

On the stage, Baxon sits, and he and Caesar share the usual exchanges.

"So, Baxon, how are you tonight?"

"Funny that you asked," Baxon says. "I'm great. You?"

"Great as well."

Claudius snorts. Sure you are, Caesar. One sixth of the way through your interviews. Claudius loved everything about the Games - reaping, volunteers, chariot rides, training scores, and of course, the Games themselves. But the interviews? Waste of time.

"So, Baxon, let's get right to the point," Caesar says. "As you probably saw, we have quite a few contenders this year. So, tell me, do you think you're going to win?"

"Of course, Caesar. Why wouldn't I win?"

"I don't know." Caesar shrugs. "Fear? The arena itself, perhaps?"

Baxon laughs. "Caesar, you know, I was born into the Hunger Games. They're my life. It's the way society works. It's natural, the way it's supposed to be. And you know what, Caesar? I love it."

"It's definitely a stable society," Caesar says. "It's survived a century as of this year, after all."

"Yeah, and I'm going to go down in history." He seems quite fascinated by this. "I got a ten, remember? Don't take my opposition seriously, Caesar. They're going to be dead soon."

Caesar is smiling. "You're going to make sure of that?"

"'Course I am," Baxon says. "They said they're going to win? Well, Caesar, I bet you'll get five-year-olds saying they've got a chance. But I got a ten. I'm going to be seeing all these lovely faces again. Soon."

And here's charming-boy Baxon again, facing the crowd.

"Okay. Baxon. You're at the Cornucopia. The gong goes off. What do you do?"

"Oh, I wish myself luck, and dive into the horn."

"And then?" Caesar prompts.

Baxon grins. "I pick up a weapon and pick up with the killing. It's going to get me here faster, so I'll be in a rush."

"What weapon do you use?"

"A sword." Baxon mimes lifting the weapon, thrusting into the air, a small smile on his face. "You'll see. Gladius said he's good? I'm better. It's all a race to get back here, to see you all again. I'm going to win that race."

Claudius blanks out there, with ears only for the beeper.

A minute passes.

And then another.

It seems like years later when the beeper rocks Claudius from his doze. He sits up, sighs, and grabs the scroll.

It's going to be a long night.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I'll see if I can get out another chapter before school starts back up.

So, what everyone's been waiting for...the prompt contest results!

In first place, with golden laurel wreathes...Demented Kitten Queen, with an amazing multi-chapter fic, The Forgotten Faces. Go read it! It's amazing. It was close, though. Anyways, I award Kitty with seven huge sponsor points! *Round of applause*

In second place, a silver medal is given to...SlightlyBlackSheep! She brought Prim back from the dead. I suggest you read it. Really. Good job, Jenna! Six sponsor points for each of your tributes.

In third place...Dour89! I received this via PM, unfortunately, so you can't read it. Too bad. Dour89 brilliantly brought Finnick to life. Which wouldn't have been necessary had the mutts not killed him... Five sponsor points.

In fourth place, Silver Ride! Skye suggests you read this story. Yes. Four sponsor points!

For everyone else who submitted, I really enjoyed reading each of your stories. You are each awarded with three sponsor points!

So, for a new prompt: "Dear Katniss". Credit to SlightlyBlackSheep for this one. I believe she was intending for it to be a letter. So, write a one-shot, probably, and post it to the site, preferably using the prompt as the title. I'll give you some time for this one. Maybe even all the way to the bloodbath.

So, please vote on the poll, maybe visit my forum...am I forgetting anything?

Oh, yeah. Please review! Favorite tribute?