A/N: Okay, serious talk before we begin:

This story is really important to me. It's a mark of what I can do and what I'm capable of. It's my first piece of real writing, and I'm so, so proud of it. And, of course, I want to thank every one of you who've commented and supported me throughout this. But that being said, it's extremely frustrating when people read and don't review. Getting reviews makes my day, guys. I smile like an idiot whenever I see a new review. And even though I know you guys are reading, it takes like two minutes to drop a review. Please don't just review the chapters your characters are in. You don't need to review every chapter, but if you only review the chapters your tributes are in, then you'll probably end up disappearing if/when they die. So please, leave a review. I don't care what it is. An extremely long review analyzing the motives of every character? Awesome! "I liked it :D!" Fanfreakingtastic! "This is so confusing I hate you gtfo"? EPIC! Just review. That's all I'm asking. :D Please keep in mind this isn't aimed at a specific person, a lot of you are doing this.

Also, Pestilence is still open, and I still need a ton of submissions, so please submit! There's no story if there's no tributes. Thanks!

Now, after this huge freaking A/N, let's move on to this huge freaking chapter! (2539 words, holy shiii-yit)

(submit to pestilence)

Venie Hadley, District 2 Female

My palms are sweating like crazy. I rub them against my deep blue dress, and instantly regret it as liquid handprints form on the skirt. I scowl.

"Lady Nightshade." What a ridiculous nickname. I'm no more a poison flower then I am Taurus. But people see what they want to see. And if people want to see me as a cold, soulless murder wreathed in poison blooms, then so be it. Whatever earns me the most sponsors.

I watch as Mason awkwardly brags to the audience about the havoc he's going to wreck on the arena as Euphore picks at his nails. Euphore makes a witty joke in response to Mason's fumbling, semi-vivid description of blood (although the way he's describing it makes it sound more like Tabasco sauce,) and the buzzer sounds. Mason stands up and shoots the audience finger guns before rushing backstage. "Beat that!" He brags, flexing his muscles. It's a shame they're existent, otherwise I'd be teasing him about it. Chablis rolls her eyes. Her interview went horribly, as expected, with her crying for nearly three solid minutes until her buzzer rang. Miraculously, the tears disappeared the second she stepped backstage. My lips quirk down into a tiny frown. She catches my eye and stiffens, all the blood draining out of her face. She whips around, golden hair sweeping over her shoulders and sending a whiff of mango-scented shampoo my way.

"Venie Hadley, come up!"

I stiffen. It's my turn. Now I'm the one with the white, shocked face. I can feel Chablis's amber eyes burning into my back. I shoot her a sour look before standing up and walking onstage, my wispy, now sweat-stained dress swaying on my hips. I'm greeted by the artificial glare of what seems like a thousand lightbulbs and the endless snapping of cameras. I squint. I'm positive my makeup is melting now, disfiguring me to look a thousand times worse. I tug at my dress, wishing it didn't show so much skin. I feel like a poundcake.

"Venie!" Euphore purrs, dark green eyes drinking me in. I fidget uncomfortably but manage a smile and sit down. I absentmindedly run my fingers up and down the velvet armrest as he begins to speak.

"So, Venie, a little birdie told me you're the sister of victor Diana Hadley. What can you tell us about being related to her? I bet the two of you are really similar. You're going for the 'femme fatale' angle like her, right?"

I freeze and silently curse out that stupid interviewer. The last thing I want to talk about is Diana, especially during this pivotal point in my life. A hot surge of jealousy rises inside me. This is my life, not hers! And the words just… come out.

"Shouldn't you be asking about me? I'm the tribute, after all."

Euphore freezes and blinks as if he's been slapped. Despite knowing that I've probably destroyed any sponsors by refusing to pander to the audience, I can't help but smirk. I feel… powerful. I feel big.

"O-of course!" He stammers. "I-I just, I assumed… your sister, I mean…" He trails off. He looks utterly pathetic. I can't stop. I'm over the moon. "You assumed I would rather talk about my sister then myself?" I ask icily. "Because while I love my sister, I am my own individual human, after all, with my own personality." He stares up at me, petrified. I wonder why I was uncomfortable with him before. "Oh, did you expect a ripoff Diana? I suppose a lot of you did expect us to be the same. News flash: We're not. I'm my own person, and I'm no femme fatale. I'm not going to sleep or seduce my way to victory. No, I'm going to earn it. I'm Venie, not Diana, and I'm going to rip my way through these games and leave a trail of blood behind me."

And then I realize something.

I'm not going to lose any sponsors.

Because they're cheering.

"Venie Hadley, everybody!" I yell, drunk on applause. I feel giddy as I thrust my hands out and their cheering envelops me.

I found my place.

Maybe I am Lady Nightshade after all.

Preston Oxford, District 6 Male

Venie struts backstage, feral pride gleaming in her eyes. I wince and lean away from her poisonous aura. That girl has always scared me, but her outburst onstage has lead me to believe that the girl is going to be the death of me.

"She needs to chill." Quinn mutters into my ear. I startle and then laugh in surprise. I crane my head around and there she sits, dark green eyes glowing dimly in the darkness. "You think?" I ask. Quinn grins and leans backwards, feet scuffing the ground. "I'm going to rip my way through these games and leave a trail of blood behind me." Quinn mocks. "Drama queen, much?" I push her playfully. "It would be funnier if she didn't know 50 different ways to kill me."

Strangely enough, I'm able to joke about death now. Just a few days ago I was a sobbing mess. (I still kinda am, but I don't cry in public, which is a start.) I'm not sure what exactly happened. Maybe it's Quinn's cheerful presence, maybe it's shock, or maybe it's just the fact that I've shed so many tears over the past few days that my supply is drying up. Whatever the reason, it means my eyes aren't wet at every given time, so I'm grateful, grateful that I'm not scared anymore.

Quinn shrugs. "Watcha gonna do?" She asks playfully, and topples over in her chair, squeaking in surprise. "Maybe not collapse a folding chair?" I suggest 'helpfully.' She shoots me a dirty look and pulls herself up, shaking out her red mane. My skin tingles and I forcefully drag my eyes away from her swaying hair.

We both turn our attention to the stage in time to hear the buzzer ring. Taurus walks backstage, lips twisted in a feral smirk. He leers at us- us being the clusterfuck of outliers. Quinn sticks out her tongue at his retreating back. We turn to the stage again.

Futura walks onstage, cold and professional in an ivy-green suit. She nods at the audience and she and Euphore begin to chat. Her responses are clipped and short and eventually Euphore gives up on getting her to babble mindlessly about how much she enjoys the capitol and lets her take the reins. She makes a pretty convincing speech about why she should be sponsored and supported throughout her run in the arena. The buzzer goes off and she heads backstage, looking relieved and wiping sweat from her brow.

Tesla is next, and his interview is nearly painful. He stares at his feet and talks agonizingly slowly the entire time. The gleam in his eye tells me he has something up his sleeve, but I honestly wish he'd just hurry up and reveal it.

Serena floats onstage in a misty dress the color of sea foam. Emeralds shine in her thick brown curls as she shoots benevolent smiles at the audience. Her angle is that of a girl-next-door, but at the same time a trained killer. She excels at it. My stomach twists.

Maximus goes for the bloodthirsty angle, just like Mason and Taurus, but there's something far more restrained about him. The hairs on the back of my neck shoot up just looking at him. Something tells me he's far more intelligent and far more vengeful then Mason and Taurus combined and getting on his bad side would be a very bad idea. Everything about him makes me want to run for the hills.

Hesiodia seems to think that the more obnoxious she is, the more sponsors she gains. She doesn't seem to hear the boos as she walks onstage and basically brags about herself the entire interview. I breathe a sigh of relief when she struts offstage.

Nyso is next, and his interview is a complete and utter disaster to rival Hesiodia's. He just sits there. That's it. Euphore asks him a few questions but eventually he just trails off and stares and Nyso in bewilderment. Finally, he signals for the interview to end early and Nyso storms offstage, expression contorted in anger.

And then it's Quinn's turn. She jumps up when they call her name, looking both excited and nervous. She spins around in her mermaid-style dress and waves cheekily at me before running onstage. I smile at her retreating back. A blush paints my cheeks scarlet.

I watch her attentively as she and Euphore banter playfully over Capitol food and fashions. There's no weight to their conversation, and over time you can see it begins to grate on her. Her brows pull down, her lip juts out and her dark green eyes narrow to thin slits. I know Quinn. She's funny and a jokester, but she likes to be taken seriously sometimes. And Euphore definitely doesn't take her seriously.

But before she can put him in his place, Venie-style, the buzzer sounds, and she walks offstage. And then it's my turn.

Remember what I said about not being scared anymore?

Yeah, just pretend that never happened.

I'm petrified.

My knees knock together, my feet are glued to the ground, and I'm gasping for breath. Liquid fear burns through my veins. I'm utterly frozen. My skin tingles with static electricity. More like passive electricity. I'm not moving anytime soon.

Quinn huffs and pulls me up. I lean on her awkwardly and the next thing I know, she's pushed me onstage and I'm blinking like a newborn under fluorescent light. I silently curse Quinn and stumble over to the guest chair on wobbly legs. I plop down and practically melt into the red leather. I'm emotionally exhausted and so hungry I could scream. I just want this to be done. I would probably fall asleep on this chair if not for all of the bright lights flashing in my face.

"Preston!" Euphore greets me, a big smile on his face, like we're old friends. I grin weakly in response and bury myself deeper in folds of velvet. "We've been watching you throughout your time training. How are you enjoying it?" "It's fine." I say wearily.

Our conversation continues like this, with Euphore spitting out pointless questions and me responding in the most simplistic, boring way ever. I can sense the audience shifting, tiring of our mindless babble. I'm just way too exhausted to pick up the conversation. Finally the buzzer sounds and I stumble backstage feeling like I've just lost a war.

After that, the interviews fly by as I sink in and out of consciousness. Their angles are boring, predictable. Heavenly plays up the batty angle in her ethereal olive gown, no doubt pandering to sponsors. Gareth goes for the famed three S's- strong, silent and surly. Gareth can be surly sometimes, but he's the opposite of silent. And as for strong… we'll have to see.

Ajax goes for flirty and charming. He's the most natural out of all of us so far- he is flirty and charming. Cajsa is the determined, motherly protector. I don't know anything about Cajsa, so I can't confirm whether she's being faithful to her traits or not.

Teryn is surly enough to rival Gareth- thought I suspect it's not an act, like Nyso, but less extreme. I'm sure she's earned herself a few sponsors by the time the buzzer dings, though. Rodrick's interview is a total fiasco, because of course it is. He goes further down the bloody route then any of the male careers and nearly causes me to splatter the contents of my stomach on the floor. And then halfway through one of his tangents on the dexterity of human organs, he just… snaps. His eyes go dark. And before the Capitolites can place bets on whether or not he'll string up Euphore like a chicken, he runs backstage.

Crystaille is shaking when they call her name, but manages a weak smile. Her chat with Euphore is mostly vapid, like mine and Quinn's. She doesn't seem to mind. Blair, despite being, like, seventeen- is playing up the cute angle with his mop of messy hair and huge eyes beneath glasses, though the shrewd, cautious way he speaks clues me in to the fact that he doesn't have the mind of a six-year-old like his mentors want us to believe for some reason.

Finlay practically flies onstage in a wispy white gown complete with feathers and wings. She's seemed to gain the nickname of "The Arena's Songbird," and her mentors are clearly playing it up. Euphore has her demonstrate some of her bird calls, and the crowd goes crazy as her clear voice rings around the room. She's got a powerful set of pipes. Richard shows up in casual but still classy clothing, waving awkwardly. He's definitely giving off that "boy-next-door" vibe, which I expect his mentors intended.

Alicia walks in, her face as dry as a bone. She looks tired, and old- decades older then thirteen. She sits down in her chair, waves of melancholy rolling off her. Even Euphore falters. After a few attempts at conversation, he trails off and stares gloomily at his shoes. Eventually she walks off, two minutes before the buzzer rings. She doesn't seem to care about the consequences. Henry's interview is, if possible, even more depressing. He's limping, his mouth twisted in an awkward, sad, smile. His eyes glisten with fresh tears.

I turn my head away.

A/N: Yooooo guys you know what you should do? You should submit to Pestilence. Great idea, right? :D