A Vivid Note: I hope you're not finding the lengths of these chapters too overwhelming. They're about 7000 words apiece (occasionally more), but if I'm going to update- we're going to have big updates.

I've been musing over the potential bloodbath characters. I thought I had those all figured out, I thought, but now I've decided to give our lucky twenty four characters a bit more time to shine and show me which should live. Though- to those of you I've already given the heads up to if they're character lasts- that still stands. They have plotlines I'm working out.

Also, I have recorded all of you who have asked to be sponsors. You can become a sponsor right up until the final chapter in the arena, as long as you have the points- so if you haven't asked yet, there's no rush.

Oh! And be sure to take the new poll on my profile! 'Who do you want to win the Capitol Games?' It'll be up until the very end of the Games- though I do have to say, it won't affect my overall choice for who wins- it's just so you all can see who each other is rooting for.

Capitol Question #004; which tribute do you feel most sorry for?

Kiss-Kiss,
Vivid.

The Capitol Games

Liotta McKensie; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 1.

I can't stop looking at the wings that now stick out of Jason's back. Even though he's side on from me on this chariot, still in the shade of the remake centre, I can see that he's in a great deal of pain by the way he's gripping at his arms like that.

...and it's all my fault.

And there's nothing I can say or do to make up for it.

The music has already begun to boom all around us- but there'll be another minute or so before the door opens and we roll out to begin the chariots. I know this because any year Dad or Mom took us to see the chariot rides the music would start, and while I stood on the sidelines, propped up on Hughie's shoulders- it seemed like an age before anything actually happened. It always made me feel anxious.

Right now- I feel far more disturbed than any of those times. What I wouldn't give to be outside, safe on the sidelines as some other girl stood here beside Jason. I bet he'd prefer it that way too, because then he wouldn't have those wings sticking into his back...

...he must hate me. I can't blame him if he does. I would too if I had to have that operation again. I was far too young to remember it fully- but I remember it being painful. And I remember crying, and my Mother nursing me in her arms saying that it'll all be worth it, because my wings will only help to make me more beautiful.

-if I knew then that by having wings, I'd have forced someone else into enduring that pain, I'd have begged her to have them removed. Watching this boy, struggling to remain upright and not to double over the front of the chariot... it just makes my stomach twist up in guilt.

Jason turns, slowly, and looks at me with those struggling eyes- and gives me a kind smile that only deepens the regret I'm feeling because of how much I don't deserve it. Perhaps he knows that I'm thinking something like this, because he shakes his head simply without me saying a word.

"No... it's not your fault," His voice is a groaning croak, no longer the gentle one I remember from the prep room. "I'm fine... really..."

It's a lie. It's painfully obvious that it's not at all true, particularly because Jason looks straight ahead again with a grimace, wincing in pain. His arms must be killing him, having all that weight pulling on the back of his shoulders that was never there before.
I've had years to live with it. I grew up with my posture formulated around it. Jason Blackheath... he's struggling to recompose himself like I did in years- in minutes.

-But it can't work. And we both know this. I'm sure.

"...I don't know... how on earth... you dealt with this..."

Quietly, I stand and listen as Jason grits his teeth- doing his best to smile as we prepare to face the sponsors waiting outside.

"...I feel like... I feel like my bones have been weighed down... like each feather is made of lead..." He shudders, and clenches his eyes tightly shut. "Each time I take a step... it's like the entire world is pushing down on my back... and I want to stand up straight... but it hurts too much... how... how can you do this... every day... how can you do this Liotta...?"

He takes me by surprise. It's the first time he's said my name, and hearing it from that pained voice makes me feel even more responsible somehow. Jason continues to stare at me, clutching his sides and the front of the carriage- waiting for an answer I'm not sure I can give. But I want to answer him. Trembling- but pushing myself to go on, I let the words come out.

"...I was three... when I was given my wings..." Jason stops, taken aback that I've decided to speak. "...it hurt... it hurt a lot... but I learned to adjust to them... I had to... there was no other choice..."

The sadness in my voice is obvious, but I can't exactly mask it with anything. To even try would be insulting to the both of us.
Jason looks at me, his eyes suddenly alight like the gems encrusted in the folds of his wings and the suit he dons to match my dress.

"...you had to adjust... because there was no other choice...?" He repeats, slowly- and in a low whisper.

I nod. "Yes... in the beginning I... I considered pulling them out... myself... but by the time I worked up the courage... the period of time where that would have been possible... it was long gone... it would've hurt too much..."

Not once in my life have I ever told anyone that story before. Letting it out like that makes my heart pound and my hands clench tightly in the folds of my dress. Looking at Jason stare at me, eyes open wide- the joints of my wings begin to ache in sympathy for the pain I remember feeling when I was in his position.

"...I'm sorry," I look down at my hands, trying not to cry. "If I knew this would've happened... I'm... I'm sorry..."

Moments pass in silence. The chariot begins to rumble as the horses clop forwards- and the crowd outside screams with an explosive excitement. Before I decide to focus all my attention on the crowd- I look at Jason one final time.

-And I'm surprised to see him rigidly standing straight with a smile positioned on his face, ready to meet the crowds. His wings- bigger than mine, with slightly darker feathers, glimmer under the blinding lights of the street lamps and the evening sun as he waves to the crowd, hiding all the pain that must be rippling through his back.

I too, turn to face the crowds that stare up at me. But the moment I do, I hear Jason's voice whisper, louder than the cries of all the people around us.

"Thank you."


Marshall Bruce Matthews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2.

Just looking at Natalia makes the place on my neck where her nails broke the skin sting. Yeah, they disinfected the cut less than a minute afterwards- then draped this cape around my neck to cover up the marks- but that doesn't make me any less pissed at her.
It's not that I planned on making any allies in this thing, but it certainly wasn't part of the plan to make enemies with the other tributes so quickly.

I remember her smile from when we locked eyes up on that reaping stage; that hollow, murderous gleam that promised me misfortune. The moment I saw that, I had a feeling that this girl, this witch had it in for me.

-And after she lunged for me, that feeling turned into fact.

Okay, I brought it on myself by taking that 'not a girl' shot at her- but I wasn't going to let her go ahead and start believing that she was superior to me. That she deserves to go home and that I'm going to go down without a fight.
I made a promise to myself that I would finish these Games and that when I did- I'd go home and finish Dad for stealing my final farewell. 'Natalia Marinos' won't break that promise.

Watching the Sector 1 chariot leave through the now opened gates of the recreation centre- I'm doing all I can to keep my attention away from the girl standing stiffly beside me. We're only about thirty centimetres apart- the chariot doesn't leave us much room- and the proximity is making me feel a bit frustrated, if not anxious.

I can tell that she's still pissed. Her precariously manicured nails are digging into her upper arms- rubbing away the stone paint. If I cared anything for her I'd tell her not to- but I'd rather she ruins her costume honestly.

-Natalia's eyes snap sideways and lock onto mine- causing me to flinch. She notices my reaction and a cool smirk draws across her lips.

"Jumpy little thing aren't you," She purrs; but her nails are still dug into her arms. "Scared I'm going to push you off the cart?"

"Not especially," It's not a lie. I wasn't even thinking about it until she just said it. "I doubt you have the upper body strength."

Her eyes flash, but I'm standing my ground. Without realising it, the witch has given me an idea. Closing my eyes and smirking once more- I turn to face the front of the chariot, my mind suddenly alive and whirring with a marvellous idea.

She's just like my Father. Her moves are more than apparent before she even knows she'll make them. But the one difference between Natalia Marinos and my Father?

Natalia Marinos doesn't know my moves.

"-we only have to be enemies if you make it that way," I open my eyes, side glancing as Natalia stares straight ahead as well. "-And trust me. You don't want to make it that way."

"Ah?" My voice slips into a tone, not unlike the one I'd use when mocking my Father. "And why would I trust your judgement? You have no idea what you're doing."

The horses begin to move, and we've already reached the middle of the first stretch of road- but Natalia's shoulders rise up as I see the anger slowly begin to flare around her. Even as the crowd begins to roar with anticipation- I hear as her whisper-

"Well if you have such a great idea on what you're doing..."

I ready myself. I clench and unclench my hands as I prepare for the predictable.

"-think fast!"

-And before Natalia's pointed hands even graze my side- I'm already in midflight, and I can feel the psychotic smile grow across my face as it had so many times before as her eyes fill with surprise.

These are my moves.

Natalia pushes herself into the back of the chariot as I swing myself into a handstand- gripping only the front of the chariot. The screams of the crowd feed my adrenaline as I lock eyes with the girl- who is stricken dumb with shock as I hold myself steady- unfazed with being completely upside down with my legs straight in the air.

"NOT WHAT YOU'RE EXPECTING?" Teeth flash, and my eyes narrow accordingly. "I'M ALWAYS FOUR MOVES AHEAD OF YOU, WITCH!"

I can tell that she's about to move before she does. With a hiss- she moves forwards again- perhaps hoping to knock me off and underneath the slowly rumbling chariot- and swipes at my grin. However by the time her arm is pulled back- I'm already in mid-air- praying that the back flip I was so proud of back when I was showing off in high school gymnastics makes its mark-

-And as I feel my lower body hit hard against the horse- who manages to keep on trotting without much discord- I can't hold back the glee Natalia's mortified face gives me. As our chariot continues along- the crowd screaming and shrieking my name- I open my arms wide, cocking my head to the side as I shake with uncontrollable laughter.

"YOU'VE JUST MADE A TERRIBLE ENEMY- MARINOS!" I grab the horse and spin myself front side on- but not before casting one final look over my shoulder at the girl quaking with anger. "-IT'LL BE A PLEASURE KILLING YOU, I PROMISE!"

The last thing I see before I return my full attention to attending to the crowd now completely enthralled with my antics is Natalia's expression, and the same eyes she had greeted me with on stage.

Hollow, furious eyes- and a murderous scowl that aches to bring me pain.

"Marshall! Marshall! Marshall!"

-Not that aching will get her anywhere. After all, I promised to kill her- and, as I was thinking earlier... I keep my promises.

And with that thought, I loosen the cape around my shoulders- and let it fly into the wind, positive that it will waft its way past Natalia- further reminding her of this victory- insulting her.

-Not that she'll ever be allowed to forget this.

And I'm sure that back home, my Father is watching me with similar feelings to the witch rattling on behind me. And with that image in my mind- I feel my teeth grit together and the smile grow painful.

Because as much as I want to deal Natalia and all those tributes stupid enough to get in my way the pain they deserve... my Father will receive all that pain and then some.

I hope he's watching this smile, and he knows what it means.

Ha. Who am I kidding?

Everyone knows what this smile means.


Francesca Emmeline von Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3.

"Eek..." I grip Holland's upper arm to keep myself steady. "You don't think they'll stop suddenly and we'll be thrown backwards do you?"

"The horses are pretty well trained..." Though he says this, Holland looks worried too. "Um, let's just hold on- okay?"

We haven't even left the centre yet. The Sector 2 chariot rolled out only a few seconds ago- and already the crowd is roaring and cheering like crazy-mad. It makes me feel a little disappointed. What could Sector 2 have done that was so spectacular? Not only that, but what if they're all worn out by the time we get moving? I had felt slightly at ease since- after all- we're Sector 3, which means we get to go out pretty early- but what if we're overshadowed by Sector 1 and 2? And what about all the chariots after us?

Holland looks at me, showing a pained smile. "Are you worried about the same thing I am?"

"Yeah... I guess for all my optimism, I can't fight off fear- can I?" I smile at him, but I clench my hands tighter around the front of the chariot. "Sure wish I had some sunglasses right now."

It takes me a few seconds to recognise the confused look on Holland's face. With an awkward giggle, I scratch the side of my face, embarrassed.

"See- whenever I had to do a speech for class, I'd wear sunglasses... that way I couldn't see anyone and I wasn't scared," Another sporadic giggle bursts out of me. "Didn't you ever think it was weird?"

Holland shakes his head- but I'm suddenly wondering if he was ever in one of my classes that involved giving a speech. I don't think about it for long- because Holland is smiling again.

"I could cover your eyes if you like?" He holds up his hands for a moment, but his face falls. "Oh... the paint is coming off around my palms."

Surprised, I look down too. Sure enough- around the lifelines and creases of my palm- the grey paint that had been such a pain to have sprayed on- is sloughing off everywhere.

"That's not good," I smile sheepishly, rubbing my palms together. "I hadn't noticed since I was kind of focused on them cutting off so much of my hair..."

"...what?" Holland suddenly looks at the ends of my hair- which end above my shoulders. "Oh! I hadn't even noticed your hair had changed!"

I smile, fingering the freshly cut ends of my curly purple hair. "Yeah, I haven't worn it this short since I was a kid. Does it look any good on me?"

"Yeah, it looks nice..." Something in the way he says this makes it sound either untruthful- or just really nervous. "...frames your face."

Either case, I smile gratefully. "Thanks."

I know that we aren't close friends or anything, but I can definitely tell that the nerves are really getting to my Sector friend. He keeps fiddling with the yellow light reflectors on his costume, and examining his painted nails with what looks a lot like despair.
I'd keep feeling sad for him if there wasn't a sudden gasp from the crowd- and several screams and cheers so loud that both Holland and I freeze.

"What do you think is happening out there?" Holland asks frantically, trying to squint through the doors that closed behind the last chariot. "What could they have done to make them scream like that?"

I can think of a few things, most of which aren't unheard of. It's actually a rare thing for chariot rides to go smoothly each year. There's usually some sass backing, tormenting and- worse- shoving. I'd only gotten a brief glance of the pair from Sector 2, and they didn't look like they liked each other. Maybe the guy snapped and attacked that girl...

"...Chess, I don't think I can do this."

"What?" I turn, looking at Holland surprised. "No, Holland you can do this."

He shakes his head frantically. "No, no I can't... Chess- look at me. No one is going to sponsor me- everyone thinks... they all think I'm..."

I quietly wait for Holland to finish his sentence, but he's having difficulty getting the words out. Finally, after staring at his boots that disappear into the lycra reflector pants- he timidly looks back up at me.

"...they all think I'm gay."

There's a pause, and before I realise it- I snort and clamp my hands to my face. Holland's face falls into despair as I quickly regain composure- waving my hands about in an attempt to fix this.

"Holland, nobody thinks that!" It's hard not to laugh. That's what he's worried about? "And even if they did, you're living in the Capitol. This isn't the dark ages you know, there are loads of people who are homosexual. Heck- even my Mom is a lesbian!"

"That's not the problem!" Holland cries, putting a hand to his head. "See it's just... I'm not going to get as many sponsors because people will assume that I'm..."

"Gay." I help along, with a meek smile.

"-and that means that some people, you know, won't want to sponsor me..." Holland goes quiet, suddenly glum. "You saw the other guys on those chariots. Who would you sponsor if you were back home, watching us? Not me, that's for sure."

As hard as it is to say, I know what Holland is trying to say. I saw some of the other guys, and yeah- there are quite a lot of lookers in the bunch- but that's not to say that Holland completely out of the running. Sure, he's not 'rugged' or 'smoking'- but he has a baby faced charm that's made a lot of girls in our year hold an interest in him.

"-you're wrong Holland."

My voice surprises him. As he looks back at me, I smile kindly- slipping my arm around his and pulling him into my side, giving his arm a gentle squeeze in mine.

"If I was at home, I'd sponsor you- because I know you," I hear the doors begin to open, and the horses huff loudly. "But you know what?"

Holland looks completely enraptured. "What?"

Without missing a breath, I plant a quick kiss on his cheek and pull away- flashing him my signature wink as I pull the both of us up a little by our linked arms.

"I'm not home, I'm here with you. And that's how it's going to stay Holly."

The effect is instantaneous. Steadying himself and wiping the tears that had begun to form in his eyes, Holland Wickbird heaves a quick sigh before beaming with pride back at me, just as the light from outside hits us- sending beams of light sparkling off our reflectors.

"Let's win this crowd Chess."

We both grin like mad.

"Let's."

There's no way Sector 3 is going to be overshadowed by the other chariots.

Not when we shine this brightly.


Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4.

'You look amazing in that dress.'

That's what I want to say. Not only to Minerva- who has, much to my disliking, made a point of not making eye contact with me- but to a whole lot of the other girls who I had watched shuffling into the chariots. Minerva is the only one I've seen up close though- and from what I can say- my first impression of her was right on the money. Beautiful.

Not that I'm crushing on her, I just appreciate the beauty.

I'm pretty glad though- because her popularity is sure to rub off onto me, since I'm her Sector partner. It happens. Surely there are already some dire hard watchers out there who have already got us paired up in their minds- but I'm still convinced that all girls are a hassle, and as beautiful as Minerva may be, I won't go there.

-Not unless she cracks onto me first. Heh.

Our chariot is the next one to roll out. Minerva and I watched the Sector 3 ride rumble out into the sunlight in silence- as the two tributes riding it link arms and began to wave. I can tell that she is just as surprised as I am to see any of our Sectors having any sense of camaraderie together, especially when we don't.

I can't help but wonder if any of the tributes have formed any enemies though. Then again, none of us have really had the chance to talk- so I suppose it's not likely.

-I'm really hoping that's true anyway. It'd put me at a huge disadvantage if everyone has already figured out who they're allying themselves with. Because the only tribute I've had any contact with is currently staring blankly ahead at the open doors, waiting for our turn.

Minerva really does look good though, all done up in layered netting and seashells. They've covered up all the best bits- a bit too well some of the nudity fans might say- but it's plain to see she's got an amazing form on her. If I weren't so adept at being subtle with my glances- she'd probably have noticed my staring at her by now.

Perhaps I ought to say something. Clear the air between us before she begins to think horrible things about me- that may come back to haunt me once the two of us are in the arena, where she could exact revenge over nothing.

"Minerva?" It's not a good sign when she shudders at the sound of my voice, but I do my best to ignore it as she turns her blue eyes to me. "I just want to say, good luck. And, if you don't mind me saying, you look amazing."

As casually as I say this- it doesn't come out half as casual as I wanted- because the young woman narrows her eyes at me, obviously suspicious of me.
Not wanting to dig myself into a hole, I chortle- awkwardly- and continue.

"I'm sure your husband will be, uh- happy to see you."

As soon as I say those words- I regret them. Minerva Nanaia's eyes narrow, and her right hand clutches her ring finger as she watches me with a very clear anger.

"That's fiancé, not 'husband'- we're not married yet," The way she growls this tells me that she's plainly bitter about that fact. Not that I can blame her. Being put into the Hunger Games instead of getting married isn't exactly a nice way to be delayed to the altar. "And if you're thinking you can score with me, you're dead wrong, pinkie."

Ah. I was hoping she wouldn't draw attention to that. We're dressed in the same sort of costume- seashells, netting and seaweed- and I've been given a rather solid trident to hold up as a prop- but...
The stylists couldn't dye my skin back to white in time for the chariots- but not for lack of trying. They were aware of this before they even began the treatment- which involved a rather painful acidic bath and a lot of scrubbing. When that didn't work, they tried to dye me white but...

-the dyes coalesced. Purple and white make pink, evidently. A very bright, neon shade of pink.

Though they promised me they'd fix it in time for the interviews.

"I'm not trying to 'score' with you, Nanaia, I have a sense of decency you know-" When the girl snorts, doing her best not to look away and laugh- I continue anyway. "And I'm sorry, I didn't realise that complimenting a girl was equivalent to sexual harassing her."

This seems to have an effect on Minerva, because she stiffens a little and then her shoulders lower. Not looking at me, I hear her mutter something along the lines of 'sorry'- and that she's under stress from this whole ordeal. She doesn't say a whole lot more than that- and I'm currently making the decision that, based on the flash of temper I almost saw- I won't be bothering Minerva any more than I have to as my Sector partner.

"Vinel, I have to ask you something," The crowd outside begins to cheer as Minerva looks back at me. "Are you going to be... difficult- as my Sector partner?"

"...do you mean 'make trouble for you'?"

A little sternly, she nods. "Yes, exactly."

"Well, no- I don't plan to make trouble for you," I have to say, I'm a little surprised how straight forward this girl is. "Especially not now, after that display."

To my surprise, this merits me a giggle and a hint of a smile.

"...to be honest... I'm not as scared as I think I should be," Minerva looks at the doors, open but blinding us from the intensity of the light outside. "But yes, everyone's always said I have a temper. Even Vidar."

For a second I thought she said 'Vinel', but I realise my mistake before I question it.

"That's your fiancé's name?"

"Yes," Her face softens in an affectionate sort of smile. "That's him."

I'm about to ask her about him, about how long they've been together- and idle chit-chat similar to that- but the chariot jolts into action and the two of us shut up and the conversation ends with Vidar. As we move and the crowd begins to cheer 'Vinel!' and 'Minerva!'- I'm quickly swept up in the adrenaline of being temporarily famous.

-And for the moment I quickly forget all about Minerva and what was just said.

I suppose it's a good thing too.

Thinking about happy families for too long would've made it a lot harder for me to smile this convincingly.


Ari Saint-Claire; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 5.

Under the bright light of the sun and the high beams of the surrounding street lights- it feels as if I'm on just another stage, and it's just another ordinary performance.
But it's not just another performance- and this chariot ride is my one big chance aside from the interview to show the world that I'm not just a little singer. I can't screw it up.

Laco hasn't said a word since we were pushed onto the chariot by the peacekeeper and his gun- but I haven't exactly encouraged any conversation, so it's not that surprising. Most tributes in our position just smile, wave and... well, egg on the crowd around them. They don't bother with one another.
To be completely honest, I'm still a little unsure about Laco. The way he offered his allegiance so readily makes me suspicious- but as hard as I'm trying to figure him out- I'm not sensing any malice or ill will in the guy.

When we rolled out of the remake centre- the crowd's roars hit us like a huge wall of sound. I remember smiling the usual stage smile- but I quickly hid it away- remembering that 'Ari Saint-Claire' isn't who I want to be anymore.
It was hard though. As we circle about the Capitol square behind the first four chariots- it's hard to focus on interacting with the crowd when you don't really feel like acknowledging them at all.

George told me, before I was pushed into the hands of our stylists, to just act like I usually do on stage. That this ride is just another performance- and that if I want sponsors, I should show the crowd what they want to see-

Their little Ari Saint-Claire, still happy- and not blaming them for what's about to happen next.

A girl in the crowd, right on the sidelines waves at me frantically, and somehow I notice her. I try to smile- but all I achieve is a nervous spasm across my face as my fingers twitch by my sides. The girl probably doesn't know that I even saw her.

...why is this so hard...? This doesn't seem at all like a regular performance. In performances I'd be dancing, singing- and the lights would blind me from the crowd. However here, all I can see is the crowd... but they can't see me at all, can they?

"You don't have to acknowledge them."

I barely hear him, but it's clear enough to recognise. Turning my head so I can see him in the corner of my eye- I catch sight of my Sector partner doing the exact same thing. Laco Sykora's silver-spotted eyes somehow manage to capture all of my attention in an instant.

"You're not obligated to show them anything," He barely opens his mouth, but I can hear him perfectly. "We can just stand still."

"I know, but..." I can't talk as quietly but as clearly as he can. My voice trembles a little as I begin to realise the nerves that are gripping me. "I feel like... I feel like I should be moving right now..."

That probably doesn't make any sense to him, but I don't feel like elaborating.

Laco doesn't say anything. My attention is drawn back to feeling incredibly pressured by this crowd of Capitol citizens- and I feel as if I'm about to fall to my knees- when suddenly my left hand is gently taken into his.

"Face me."

My first instinct tells me to shake my hand free of his in one swift movement- but I don't. Slowly, and a little unsure of what exactly this guy has planned- I turn to face him. Though I hear the crowd begin to buzz in confusion on what's going on- as Laco places my left hand upon his shoulder- and then delicately takes hold of my right hand- it all dies away when we lock our eyes together.

...and immediately I know what we're going to do.

With a swallow, I nod.

"...alright."

-And we begin the dance.

Laco's pacing is decent enough, not that I know a whole lot about ballroom dancing, and I'm almost surprised by how firm his stance is. I've never danced with anyone before- except my Father when I was very little, and that was on his shoes. The steps are easy enough, but whenever I go to look down- it's almost as if a hand is tilting my chin back to keep my eyes on my partner.
He's smiling, and I feel a small smile of my own take hold of my lips. All my uncertainty washes away as we gently step about one another- ignoring the increasing roar of the world around us.

-But I can't shake the suspicions about him that lurk inside me. After two minutes of waltzing together, I feel a coy sort of smile stretch across my cheeks.

"Why are you so kind to me Laco?" I raise an eyebrow, giving his hand a light squeeze. "What's your agenda?"

"No agenda," his smile doesn't disappear, but I can tell he's having difficulty keeping it up. "At least, nothing that bears you any ill will."

"So there is an agenda?" My heartbeat quickens as we turn round a corner, catching a glimpse of the television screens. Sure enough, there we are in full view- dancing. "Good will or not, are you going to tell me what it is?"

A pause. His smile flickers.

"...are you sure you want to know?"

Such a simple answer, but filled with an unknown strength. There's a small part of me that doesn't want to know- just so I can build this image of this sweet guy dancing with me- and not have it shattered by reality. But common sense wins over.

"...I think I should know." I say breathlessly, shaking a stray piece of hair away from my face. "Don't you?"

Again, I'm met with silence. But the way his eyes finally look down from mine- I realise that this isn't something I'm going to be able to coax out of him now, no matter how hard I try.

Gripping his hand tightly in mine, I hold him a little more steadily than before. "...don't worry... let's just keep dancing for now, okay? I feel a little better."

This seems to put the guy at ease, but his smile doesn't return again- and neither does mine. Our fluttering dance continues all the way up until we reach the city circle; pulling up outside the President's mansion. When the District 5 chariot rolls to a gentle stop, the two of us stare at each other before finally allowing our hands to slowly part.

Moans and cheers of approval rise from the crowd, but I can't think too hard on them as the two of us Sector 5 tributes sever our gaze and face the President atop his balcony. Right now we're all meant to focus on his address, and nothing else.

-But I can't stop thinking about how odd my hands suddenly feel.


Brandit Gailer; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 6.

I'm not sure what happened, but I'm fairly sure that my Sector partner is terrified of me.

Here on the run of the chariot rides, it's not a big problem- though I have to admit that it is bothering me a little. She seemed fine with me in the car ride to the remake centre, but when we walked into the room with the chariots- the girl kept eyeing me from a distance, like she was facing off some dangerous animal.

There was no time to ask her when the chariot started moving- and now we're standing in the orange twilight of the Capitol, listening to the President talk on about forgiveness and fate. While it is hard not to listen to the guy talk about nothing- he's basically just asking the crowd for his own forgiveness regarding this Quell- I can't help but let my eyes wander. Not just to the girl beside me, quaking in the boots of her medical costume- but to all the other chariots lined up around us.

I only saw a little of everyone on the screens. Most of the screen time was dedicated to the guy from 2, who had done some sort of acrobatic stunt and ended up riding one of the chariot horses bareback- and Ari Saint-Claire on the Sector 5 chariot, doing some sort of awkward two-step with her partner. It seemed to win over the crowd though, because they were still focused on those chariots even when we trailed along behind them.

A few other chariots caught my eye though. The tributes from nine were wearing flashing lights of many different colours- which looked sort of trippy on the screen as the sun began to go down. The crowd seemed to cheer quite a bit for Sector 10- whose tributes were coated in painted blood. Both the tributes sure looked nauseated though.

Aside from them, I can't really say that I had a favourite. I know that I should be more worried about my impression on the crowd- but I can't honestly say I'm worried. While I was getting styled- Sienna- a victor from District 6- came in to introduce herself as mine and Faye-Anna's mentor.

"You can relax big guy," She had said with a touch of a smirk. "For being the first to volunteer, the entire Capitol already has you picked as one of the top five potential victors in terms of odds."

Knowing that- I couldn't really worry about the chariots.

-It's sort of funny though, knowing that just because I volunteered to be part of this Game of my free will- everyone has me pegged as a guy able to win it all. I'd be happier about it if I knew that the whole Capitol felt that way.

"-you lied when you didn't tell me you were going to do this!"

Neon's words still resonate inside my head- hitting nerves and pulling at my guilt. Between her and Vin, I always thought that if Vin didn't understand my motives- than at least Neon would.
Though, after thinking about it... I don't think I fully understand my motives either...

This morning, I only had a thought that I might volunteer. It wasn't even a coherent thought either. But now I look down at the doctor's coat draped around my bare chest and the weedy pair of white shorts I was given- and I realise that I'm actually here, about to be pushed into the Games in a matter of... six days?

"-and to each of our twenty-four Capitol tributes... I wish you the best of luck."

My neck bristles when I realise that the President has just wrapped up his address, and that everyone is clapping. Absent-mindedly, I put my hands together as well, though I can see that I'm only one of the few tributes who do. Faye-Anna is still clutching at her skimpy doctor's outfit, shivering.

-I hope it's because she's cold. The idea that she's so terrified of me it makes her physically tremble isn't making me any happier.

Slowly, the chariots begin to move again. First Sector 1 begins to trundle along- and then 2, 3... and so forth until we're moving, and all the Sectors behind us are in full move as well. There's not so much waving from any of the tributes as there was before, almost like we're all exhausted with this front of unity we have to put on.

Every few moments I glance over at Faye-Anna, and most of those times she's eyeing me back- but with panic in her eyes. As we lock eyes for the fourth time, just as we're slowly reaching the stables where we emerged from- I decide that I've had enough.

"Why are you so scared of me?"

The girl looks positively horrified that I'm even speaking. "W-What?"

For a moment I don't say anything, simply staring down at her with a steel gaze. Though, as her hands begin to tremble- I try to do my best to relax my stance, while still maintaining all the seriousness required for what I want to ask next.

"Do you really think I'm going to kill you?" My arm tenses as I grip the air. "Are you so terrified of me that standing here on this chariot feels like a hazard...?"

Faye-Anna opens her mouth, but only heaving sounds of panic escape as she takes a few tiny steps away from me. Perhaps it's the fact I'm a foot and a half taller than her, this tiny act looks a lot more significant than she realises- and my entire body bristles up- and the girl finally squeaks-

"I'm sorry-" Her voice is timid like the rest of her is, and she cowers by staring over at the crowd behind her. "I didn't mean to... I'm not terrified... I'm not..."

Even her apology is drowning in obvious terror. I can't understand why I'm getting angry, but perhaps it's the fact this girl has me so clearly labelled as a vicious murderer without me even doing anything. This is why my next words come out more as a furious hiss than I originally intend them to-

"-then why are you so convinced I'm going to kill you?"

"Because you v-volunteered-!"

Tears begin to spill down her cheeks, pulling her make-up down with each drop as she struggles not to sob. I stare at her in alarm, fighting the urge to double back from the girl. Her words suddenly overtake Neon's, and I'm left with the horrifying echo.

I'm a favourite to win these Games because I volunteered.

People are going to sponsor me because I volunteered.

Tributes are going to fear me because I volunteered.

...when our chariot comes to a stop, and Faye-Anna practically head dives into the arms of her stylist, who takes one look at her tear stained face before looking at me accusingly.

"What did you do Brandit?" His voice is stern, and his arms clamp around the girl's shoulders as she cries into the bottom of his shirt. "Why is she crying?"

But I can't answer him. My hand quakes on the edge of the chariot as I begin to realise what a huge mistake I must have made. How can I answer his question when I can't even answer my own?

-Why did I volunteer?


Any feedback is very much appreciated!

Capitol Question #004; which tribute do you feel most sorry for?