"I don't like people looking at me; I hate the attention."
~Cathy Freeman


Antonio Barracks, 18, District Two


Crowds have never been his thing, and he thinks it will never be his thing, yet, as he finishes off with the stylists, five differing faces all with their unique style attends to him. Putting on the finishing touches to his outfit; powdering his nose, and his hair and whatever else is exposed to the small giggling group of multicoloured creatures in front of him.

They say that the stylists for Two were one of the best, or so says his escort, Jean Temples, as he praised them to the high heavens during the train ride over. He just listens, never interjecting during the whole journey to the Capitol.

He thinks it unnecessary to listen to everyone talking and gabbing. His district partner sure did not stop talking about herself the duration of the journey. He can tell that she's trying hard to not let the conversation die, but when all Antonio Barracks wants is to be left alone it makes his district partner frustrated.

"Just the helmet to go and that will be you!" His main stylist, Virgil Trabea, says to him and for the first time in the last two hours Tony could breathe.

He places a crown, made of golden leaves upon his head, covering up that dark hair, now covered with every hair product the Capitol had to offer. He stands up from the swivel chair, feeling clean yet unclean at the same time. His hazel eyes look to the mirror and he barely recognises the boy in front of him.

Behind him, Virgil smiles proudly looking at his latest work. The leaves shine a brilliant colour under the light, his face unlike his normal unshaven face, now completely shaved and smooth. He feels his face, feeling the smoothness of it all; reminding him of how his friend Ivor always had.

He closes his eyes at the thought of his friends. He doesn't want distractions now, especially when there's so few days left until the Hunger Games. He continues to look downwards at the rest of the outfit, and he begins to doubt whether Virgil is such a renowned stylist at all.

His midriff is on display, the gold chest plate doesn't quite end at his hips, instead showing off his muscular stature. His abdominal muscles in display, tanner than his usual olive skin too. The outfit is completed with a metallic style skirt and golden sandals to match everything else.

"You look dashing." He says eyeing him up and down, and all Tony can think of is how any of this can be practical. "Let's get you out there."

He doesn't feel at all 'dashing', he steps behind Virgil as the man colourful as his fellow stylists, leads him towards the elevator. His impression of the Capitol so far is just him following people about. What he really wants to do is talk to his mentor, Adrestia Stark, about the next steps for the Games.

"Well here we are!" Virgil exclaims, the man leading Tony into what seems like a large open cave.

The smell of horses fills the air, enough to turn Virgil's nose away. He pats Tony's back and pushes him towards the general direction of where he should be going. He doesn't look back at the escort, it's not his priority.

He walks past numerous golden chariots all tied to horses. He can hear them whinnying and neighing as he passes each of them. He eventually manages to find his designated chariot; the dead giveaway is the curious lift of the eyebrow from his district partner; Diana.

"Nice abs." She says as she drops down from the chariot to admire him.

He doesn't feel uncomfortable, not in the slightest, but in this sense, he does feel like he's being watched. Not just by Diana but everyone else within the vicinity. He looks away from her and she coos at him.

"Pretty boy Tony doesn't like the attention?" She giggles and Tony just accepts it. "I don't like this anymore than you do but if it can get us sponsors, then so be it."

Her outfit mirrors his own, the skirt is shorter than his, showing off her legs. Her hair could not be anymore fiery as it is now, shaped atop her head. The golden leaf crown encircles the redness, trapping the flame.

Her incessant talking is not what he needs at this moment in time. He had already decided it upon himself not to interact with her until necessary, but if they're going to be stuck together for the duration of the Hunger Games then he's going to have a problem.

The plan to be aloof from anyone he interacts with, whether that be to protect them or himself. He wants to rely on nobody other than him. A true loner at heart. He tries to ignore his district partner's cheeriness but there's something about the woman that compels him to reply, either that be with a nod or one-word answers.

Either that or the girl just can't stop talking, which is evident of the recent fight she had before the Reaping had begun. She mainly said it during breakfast time this morning, but she never divulged on it, until now.

"Anyway, so these two students try their best to pin me down," she says looking at him with chocolate eyes. "But I'm too quick for both of them, what with my training being two years advanced than these sixteen-year-olds."

Diana isn't the quiet girl that Tony expected her to be when he saw her volunteer at the Reapings a day or so ago now. He thinks she's far more talkative than Naomi has ever been. He just looks at her, with a silent indifference to his face, but she ignores that and continues to babble.

He tries to step back and he trips over his shoes again, earning a giggle from Diana. He says he's not uncomfortable but now that more tributes are walking into the area, the more unnerving feeling start to seep in. Him being conscious of the skirt, pulling it down to not reveal too much.

He fixes the crown on his head, and he stops to wonder why he is so suddenly conscious of his appearance. He doesn't look at anyone else, none of the tributes, so far, have piqued his interest. He only has one person in his head and he's not about to think of them again.

"Hey, what do you think of the tributes that are piling in?" Diana points to some of the younger kids.

He feels a bit relieved at the prospect of wearing these ridiculous outfits, after seeing ones that are worse off than his own. He doesn't give an opinion out loud, but he ignores all the stares that are now suddenly on him; he ignores them, he's used to it, just like being back at home.

He climbs the chariot and Diana follows suit, both tributes sitting on the silver chair. That's when he notices a shift in Diana's overall presence, what was the once bubbly personality turns serious. She looks him in the eye once more as she begins to speak.

"You know this lack of communication can get us killed, right?" She asks him, or rather pointed it out.

"Yeah." He replies then looks back at the tributes staring at him, some look away whilst others continue to stare in defiance of him, as if to say they're not afraid of him.

She only huffs at his response, folding her arms as she joins in on looking at the tributes. Her eyebrows narrow and focus on certain tributes, eventually landing on the pair from Nine. Their golden outfits mirror theirs but instead of precious metals theirs is of wheat.

"He looks strong." She says pointing at the Nine boy who is also looking around for other tributes, sizing them up.

Tony eyes them curiously too, the odd feeling of wanting to eat bread arises from his mind. Strange as it is coming from someone like him. He agrees that the boy does look strong, although he doesn't say a word back to Diana.

The boy shines a brilliant gold, exposed torso made to glean with every light, and a wheat skirt dancing with the gust of wind that occasionally makes their way in. He can tell that he has some form of a caring personality, eyeing him further as he is seen consoling his district partner, who looks sad, she smiles at him talking to her and they go together and climb their chariots.

"We should start to think of alliances." Diana says looking for more potential threats, talking to herself more than at Tony.

"Is that our cue then?"

The Two pair turns around to find the One pair looking them both in the eyes, hazel and blue eyes shining brightly at them both. Smiles as wide as Diana's fake ones from earlier, grinning from ear to ear, however, unlike Diana's both of theirs are inviting.

You couldn't make it anymore biblical if you tried. The Ones dressed by their stylists as angels, golden rope tied around their clothed waist. Their hair dyed a golden blonde, almost as bright as the sun itself. Angels approaching Roman soldiers, a classic.

"Velvet Ecletant, District One." She says looking at the both of them up and down. "This, beside me, is Carnelian Wolfe, my district partner; and we have a proposition for you."

"What kind of proposition?"

"An alliance." She says plain and simple. "District One, Two and maybe Four, so that our districts can claim all the spoils these Games have to offer."

Tony thinks about it, acknowledging the proposal. He can remember his mentor mentioning this during their brief talk on the train. He considers it before she can even ask him for his opinions, clinging to every word his mentor says like gospel.

Whereas he passively listens to Diana during most of the time, he actively tries to listen to every word Adrestia says to him. Devoted to her as if she's some sort of Goddess that can lead him to victory.

"What do you think, Tony?" She asks him, her eyes unreadable at this moment in time.

He doesn't like crowds, and he's quite sure of it, but if this helps him get back to his home then he'll bear with it. Allies are never his thing, and he'll speak to them very little just like he treats Diana now; he sighs and shrugs his shoulders.

"Whatever gets me home faster."

Carnelian laughs at his response. He looks at him and he can feel him look back, giving him a slight jitters. Golden, angelic hair with bright blue eyes looking right at him. He can get lost in them, making the world around him serene.

"My type of person." He says. "I told you that you talk too much, Vel."

"Ignore him." She says, nudging him a bit too hard. "He's just stuck in a rut with his whole life."

"I told you that in secret!" Carnelian shouts with a smile on his face, seemingly not crossed with the whole situation.

"Why don't we give you a day to think about it? If you decide to go for the alliance, then we'll go from there."

"Sounds good." Diana eyes her up and down, scanning her like a hawk already, the facade of an angel not fooling her.

However, Tony is looking at her in admiration, slight admiration. Her cotton robe wrapped with golden rope at the waist, yellow stained diamonds acts as her wings. The Ones have won the best outfit in his eyes, and he couldn't help but think of the potential sponsors they might have by the end of the night.

They take their leave, like divine beings they glance once more at their potential teammates and walk back to their chariots.

"What do you think of them?" Diana asks him. "And don't give me those one-word answers you love so much."

"They look strong." He sighs. "Her especially, the other one, I don't know yet."

"Well it's obvious she wants to be the leader of this 'alliance'." She huffs. "That's if it comes to fruition."

"I don't care who is in charge." He sighs again. "So long as it can guarantee us that we'll reach the finishing line."

That's probably the most he's said to her so far as he goes back to eye more of the other tributes, the effects of the angels wearing off on him. He wants to see how many younger tributes there are, the ones that he has to try and avoid killing.

Until there's no choice left.


Lily Mendoza, 17, District Four


It's over, the punishing offences of around eight different pairs of hands assaulting every part of her body is finally over. Her stylist, Dia Danton, takes no prisoners. Her scrutinising prismatic blue eyes undress her thinking of what she can do to her, evidently a lot.

Her 'treatment' is nothing like she had experienced before, and Lily Mendoza has been through a lot already despite being only seventeen years of age. She has all the scars, physically and emotionally, to prove it all.

However, what remains is just her emotions, every single blemish or scars she has procured over the last couple of years melt away with the body scrub that her stylist applied to her. The dizzying scents of honey and other smells she could not think of continues to scramble her brain as she still feels their disorienting effects.

Never mind the Hunger Games, the real dangers are those Capitolites that take their jobs seriously. She remembers speaking over her once and that earned Lily a blast of warm water to her face and the rest of her body. She didn't even have time to speak to her stylist after that, to protest, as she continues her onslaught of makeup and powders, and for what?

She adjusts her brassiere again, made of two large clam shells to cover most of her assets whilst also trying to appeal to the male audience. Lily couldn't help but roll her eyes the moment she saw her entire outfit in front of her.

Lily Mendoza has never been so uncomfortable in her life as she continues to turn away from all the gazes being sent her way; the Two pair, the Eleven boy…everyone. Her sea foam coloured skirt, scaly like a mermaid's tail is the only thing protecting her lower half.

She was warned, both by Triton and her own mentor, Arlo, about Dia. The stylist with the white yet shiny hair takes her job so seriously that her partner in crime, Caremllo Duval, just agrees with her. She's in charge of the whole situation, and despite all of this Lily admires the woman.

Lily traverses the grounds after stepping off the metal elevator. She's barefoot too, the sand sticking to her feet, and her long skirt. It feels calming, however, reminding her of home. There's no water though, but it still reminds her of Four.

She's not normally this embarrassed, and not normally this quiet either, but if you're dressed like some fool by your deceptively smart stylist on a cold summer night then you start to question your whole life. She makes her way past other chariots, horses and tributes; all just stare at her and nothing else.

Thank goodness for the glitter covering her entire body and the rosy cheeks Dia had put on her for she knows that she's blushing hard right now. She stops by their designated chariot. A mermaid mid transformation, a powerful mythological creature, or so Dia tells her.

She doesn't feel powerful walking practically naked from the waist up across such a big area. Teenage boys and girls looking at her with awe and disgust, others in some weird form of lust. It's all a bit too much for her, and she doesn't feel at all confident like mermaids.

Her hair is the only thing she likes, however, with long curly hair, brown in colour yet they look like waves as various sizes and colours of shells caught up in all of them. It again reminds her of her home, reminds her of the sea she simultaneously hates and love.

Merrick is already there, dressed in a sailor's uniform, although it's in tatters. His hat is missing and the edges of his shorts and shirt are ripped. After seeing him, Lily doesn't feel as bad now for he's drenched in water.

"It's not drying, and I removed all the seaweed that hung on me." He says to her as she climbs the chariot to sit on their seat.

"At least you have clothes," she says comparing each other. "I rather that than shell bras."

This is the first time she gets to see how athletic in build Merrick is, for he wore such baggy clothes when they were in the train. He looks muscled in different areas where the shirt is ripped, for a boy that's only fifteen she can tell that he's trained a lot.

"So, what's our story supposed to be?" He asks her and she tilts her head.

"I'm a mermaid and you're a sailor." She says plainly. "I think Dia mentioned how mermaids would sing to sailors, hypnotising them with their voice making them steer their ships towards their melody."

"And then they crash?"

"Yeah, because they mermaids, or sirens, would sit atop rocks that no ship can sustain."

"Are they hinting something, our stylist?"

"I wouldn't take it to heart." She says folding her arms over her breasts to stop the other tributes from looking. "I'm sure they just needed to make up a costume for everyone."

She doesn't say it outright, but she's smart enough to know that Merrick dying early is a possible outcome during the Hunger Games. Although he has the muscle and mentality, she fears that he doesn't have the skills to make it far in the Games.

"At least the seaweed completes your look." Merrick stifles a laugh, breaking the tension between them before she hits him lightly, her removing every single seaweed she can see.

"Well at least my outfit doesn't make me look like a complete child." She retorts as she throws the seaweed at Merrick.

They stay silent for a moment, Lily trying sort out all the seaweed, some of it dropping on the chariot and the others being thrown over at the sand. She's going to have to face the wrath of Ms. Danton later on.

It's taking her this long to realise that the once sickeningly sweet soaps and cream that she smelt are now of fish and the ocean. She loves the smell but at the same time in comparison to her heavenly smells from earlier, the sea scent is making her nauseous.

Merrick couldn't help but giggle again earning another smack from her, she tries to look dignified, as much as you can do when you're on show in front of twenty-three other tributes in what seems like the skimpiest outfit.

She notices that the stares are dying out, and the atmosphere of the entire chariot area is turning to one of excitement and dread. The speakers warning all the tributes that there's only five minutes left until the show begins, and that to start climbing their chariots in preparation.

"Did you see the Ones and Twos?" Merrick mentions and she immediately snaps her eyes to the front, past the Three tributes who look to be dressed like a bride and a groom.

The angelic figures who were talking to the Roman soldiers earlier all looked strong, and she notices how Merrick changes facades quickly from worried back to his 'big boy' one. "They do look strong, not going to lie about that."

"I'm just as strong as them." He scoffs, and Lily tries to stop her eyes from rolling and instead ignores the comment, as she continues to scan the rest of the tributes as they all file inside their chariots.

"We never got to why you volunteered, did we?" She asks suddenly out of the blue, as she looks at anyone but Merrick when she speaks.

"Didn't we? I think I remember saying I was ready."

"Are you still feeling that way? Especially now that all the tributes are here?" She asks again.

"Yes, of course!" He hesitated for a moment and Lily recognised that easily.

"Okay then." She says as she eyes the Three tributes once more.

Their outfits begin to light up, the black outfit of the boy begins to strobe and flash a different colour and the veil that the girl is wearing look divine as it too begins to flash different colours. Slowly as if it's a pulse, hiding her beautiful face underneath, and if she focuses enough, she can tell how worried she looks, and how the boy comforts her.

Seeing that reminds her of how her father told her that he doesn't want to lose another daughter again. How she promises him that she can do it, that she can find the spirit within her to win. She promises to her father that he would never lose another daughter again. She can do this to help her own mother.

"Hey," Merrick snaps her from her thoughts and she can feel the grip on the metallic side of the chariot loosen. "What do you think of the other tributes?"

"I noticed that the Eleven girl was arguing with her district partner on my walk up to here, they might not get on very well." She says, rubbing her hands together. "The Ten girl was crying to her obviously big district partner."

"What is that observation?" Merrick sighs as he stares forward at the Ones and Twos again.

Lily only shakes her head, one of the things she learns from her father is to never reveal your secrets and observations to anyone, even your potential teammates. It'll give everything away and she needs to keep her own information to herself; and that includes her poor district partner.

She already knows his obvious weakness: his unpreparedness into the world of the Hunger Games. She can tell from just how the Eleven girl argues and how her hand flexes, despite under a ridiculous brown outfit, she can see it tense and that there's obvious muscle tone under there.

She's nothing but observant when it comes to analysing her opponents, she's quite good at it. The Ten pair is an unfortunate duo. The Ten girl is a goner for sure, with how much she cries, and she can tell from her red eyes. The boy has potential though, but she doesn't think he would last long if he's going to ally with the girl.

Information that she gathers about everyone else so early on in the competition is crucial, that's one of the lessons her father drills into her head day in and day out, other than making her lose her emotions. Her mentor reiterates this too, before being subjected to Dia Danton.

"I think-"

Her voice is interrupted by a loud static followed by the steward speaking loudly on the speaker announcing that the Tribute Parade is about to begin. She just keeps her mouth shut, taking whatever, she has to say to her until later on. She prepares herself to fix her entire outfit once more, Merrick copying her and doing the same.

Merrick then looks ahead, Lily following his gaze as the big metal doors begin to slide open, a sliver of bright light enters quickly blinding those that stare directly at it, the dark clear sky of night time Capitol is drowned by the flashing lights and the noise is immense, enough to make Lily's heart boom at the sound of the drumming.

It's reminiscent of the time they got off at the train station this morning, the flashing just a little bit more subdued and the noise just a tiny bit quieter. Her eyes, brown as her complexion, could still visualise what's ahead of her, and as the door completely opens and the chariots begin to move one by one Dia Danton's words come to her head.

"Remember to smile and wave, do not, under any circumstances, frown!"

"That's a pretty good impression of her." Merrick snickers.

"I can be funny." She smiles as their chariot begins to pull forward at a steady pace.

Not once will Lily Mendoza frown at the crowd; especially if it's a matter of life and death.


Chevelle Wheeler, 16, District Six


She did not think that the night can get any worse than this. The night sky is clear, and it's cold as the chariots walk at a slow pace. It would help if not for the fact that both her corneas are on fire from all the flashing of the lights.

She doesn't think she's completely recovered from this morning and all she wants to do is get off this chariot and run away, but she knows all too well that there's serious consequences that will lead to that.

Chevelle Wheeler has been angry at everything ever since stepping foot inside the Justice Building. The only time she feels anything else other than anger is when she's alone with her thoughts, and even then, her mind convinces her that she should be raging at the Capitol, and raging she is.

Not only is she near blind now, but her eardrums feel like they're about to burst any second now as the loud cheering and the sound of heavy drumming eats away at her ear. She hates this and everything about it all.

Her senses being overwhelmed is only the tip of the iceberg as she tries her best to look at the crowds in front of her. She doesn't see any faces, nor would she want to with their makeup caked faces and crazy clothing.

Oh, how she misses her leather jacket and her black boots, the two most comforting things she has and the ones that remind her of home, if Six can be considered home to her. All Six has ever done to her is make her into the spiteful girl that she has become, one that ended up possibly murdering that man from before the Reapings.

She doesn't pay that no heed, not just now when she's very angry at what the Capitol has done to her entire being. How her stylist pulls her hair, body, everything about her just to make her into someone presentable to the Capitol. It sickens her slightly, just thinking about how her bruises, the ones that have turned yellow and the others purple all disappear; erasing her past like it was nothing.

To Chevelle, it's not just nothing. Every bruise is a story to her, a reminder of the girl she grew into. Someone that fights for what is right, one that endures her father's beatings every night when she's sleeping on the mattress in their one-bedroom floor.

She's trying not think of home but that's all that's coming to the forefront of her mind, despite being paraded in front of the Capitol like some prize pig. She remembers the stench of her father's breath, the alcoholic smell she will never forget; as well as the vitriolic words that would come out of it.

What follows after that is usually a fist or two, hitting delicate skin grown tough and taught from the years of beatings. She's used to it and as the man leaves her presence her tears would flow, not until she stops it and goes back to sleep.

Her mind snaps back as her name is called upon by the presenter of the entire Hunger Games: Phineus Keenzest. The old bag saying both hers and Cyrus' names and describing how fierce she looks, an opposite of her district partner who is waving silently.

She didn't even pay attention to district Five's introductions, with their clever outfits. The Five tributes are dressed as scientist, only they look dead, or are made to look like the dead. She can see sparks coming out of them from time to time, and the lab coat they both wear are burnt at the edges and have black holes in them.

Kenna and Shade, she recalls, were not the best of friends when she chatted with them briefly whilst waiting for Cyrus. Kenna St. Clair is some stuck-up girl from Five, some rich girl that has her blood boil at how privileged she's acting; at how it's unfair for her to be Reaped into the Hunger Games.

She almost sympathises with Kenna's district partner: Shade Grimoire if not for how moody he is to the both of them, even if she's just there for a friendly chit-chat. She supposes that Shade doesn't want to give anything away, of how skilled he actually is, not that Chevelle thinks he has much skills other than out brooding her.

She notices how other tributes were doing that too earlier. The Two boy and the Four girl especially, they're all analysing their opponents, looking for weaknesses and that's when she marks them as her targets, not to kill but to avoid.

In order to come out on top amongst all of these tributes she needs to be one step ahead, and if she has to do small talk with every tribute here to do that then so be it, even if it doesn't get rid of her overall annoyance.

She feels a strong gust of wind blow at her pony tail, in just the manner that she likes. High and tight, yet it flows. It reflects the light as her stupid stylist have decided that he should paint her hair a silver colour to go with the big metallic jumpsuit she had to put on.

The outfit makes her stand out from their golden chariot, trailing behind the Five tributes, now her vision is being obscured by the falling confetti as it drowns her entire sense of sight. She doesn't hate the Five tributes, despite their strong personalities, not wholly anyway.

In a way Kenna is right, it's the Hunger Games' fault as to why they're all acting this way. She remembers how Kenna mentions that Shade is just apparently a moody individual from the day he was born. Nevertheless, if she was ever thrust into an alliance, despite her telling Cyrus she doesn't want any, she wouldn't mind being in one with these two; perhaps a temporary one to overcome a bigger foe and then she would vanish off into the night.

If they were to ask her in the next couple of days to form an alliance, then she would refuse. She thinks Kenna and Shade would clash more than what they have displayed to her already and adding her personality into the mix wouldn't help in that regards; the alliance would end before it even starts.

She'll have to wait and see in the coming days if she's going to get any offers of an alliance. Now she should go back to aiming death stares at anyone that looks very happy at her, she remembers huffing at what Cyrus had told her after going into the Remake Centre. That they shouldn't feel too bad if they enjoyed everything the Capitol has to offer them.

She huffs again at the memory, folding her arms this time as their chariot begins to slow down in front of a tall building. The high-rise building has one balcony at the very top, a large chair, almost throne like in appearance, is all she can see until the figure of a man appears from behind it.

President Julian Nepos waves at his adoring people, with a smile as charismatic as a prize pony. He looks nothing like the smug face she's used to seeing on the television in the shop she worked in when he won the election, he looked more comfortable with slicked black hair, shining white teeth.

His appearance comes with it a tumultuous applause loud enough that she's sure the neighbouring district One and Two could hear it. He smiles atop his ivory tower waving at his adoring public, the tributes' chariot from behind her are all slowing down too, some looking at him with awe and join in the applause and the others with utter disgust.

He stops his waving, and with it the applauding too, as if he's controlling the entire Capitol with just his presence alone. The atmosphere turns chilly, almost eerie as he moves forward in front of the microphone, ready to speak.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Capitol, Panem, and our dear brave tributes."

She couldn't help but feel a chill run down her spine, there's only been one other person that has ever done that to her and she thought she'd escaped and hidden away those feelings; every being in her body is telling her how evil this man is, the hairs on her neck stand up as the chill settles in, the wind seemingly dying in an instant.

"We welcome yet another year of this glorious tradition into our wonderful city. A tradition so ingrained in our mind and heart, that it brings nothing but excitement whenever it comes; year after year."

"Not for the tributes…" She says to herself.

"It is not only special for our dear tributes here, but also for me, as you know, this is my first ever Hunger Games as your leader of our great nation: Panem, and I just cannot contain my excitement." Chevelle notices the grin of this man on one of the bigger screens, his eyes look nothing like the 'excitement' he mentions. "Without further ado, I now declare the Twenty-eight annual Hunger Games…open!"

It ends with another rapturous applause, louder than the one earlier and the horses begin to pull their chariots once more; the confetti begins to rain once more; the music plays once more. It's as if the atmosphere lifts again, dissipating the tense and chill she had felt earlier, although it hasn't been completely erased; it's still there lingering in her skin.

Cyrus stays quiet, also lost in thought as they go back to the Remake Centre where they're going to be staying in the next couple of days. She notices that everyone too is a lot more rattled than she expected, the Fives have stopped talking, or arguing, with each other.

The only ones that are still the same are the ones that applauded earlier. The One tributes and the Two tributes in particular comes to mind as she recalls them listening to the speech with so much gusto. She doesn't understand how they can be so eager to listen to someone that exudes evil.

They arrive back at the stables. Chevelle couldn't put a finger on it, if the rest of the tributes are just drained or if they all felt the collective child when the president began his speech. She knows for sure it stopped the thought that this would be a normal Hunger Games, if you can even say such a thing.

"I think we're in trouble now." Cyrus says as they depart the chariot.

"What makes you think that?" She asks, although it comes off as sarcasm, because in her head she knows it.

"I don't know, but ever since that speech, I just can't shake the feeling that I'm now being watched."

"I see what you mean." She still replies to him, even though she was being sarcastic earlier, but she doesn't think Cyrus is that perceptive at the moment, especially after that event.

There's worry and fear simultaneously rising in her head, as well as anger again when their escort shows up. "Chevelle and Cyrus!"

Their escort, Charles, approaches them both. Giving Cyrus a hug, and Chevelle has to push him away in order to avoid the same fate. She ignores him as she begins to trudge back into the elevator, her anger rising whenever the escort speaks to her.

He just reminds her of how much of a failure district Six is, and if her prediction is correct then both her and Cyrus are doomed if their supposed mentor doesn't pull a finger out and get a move on and teach them something valuable.

"Hey!" Charles shouts at him and Chevelle be damned if she turns around, and she doesn't care about everyone else staring at her too. She stands by the doors and presses the button, Charles and Cyrus catches up to her.

"Chevelle, you don't have to be so rude!" Cyrus exclaims.

"I can and I will!" She crosses her arms. "Look around you, Cyrus, there's at least six of these people that can murder you and me, and possibly everyone else, we need our mentor, we need someone that can tell us how to act in the arena before we get ourselves killed!"

"Now, now children let's not make a sce-" Charles tries his best to calm her, but she continues to shout, maybe in desperation or scaredness, at this point Chevelle doesn't know.

"But you said it in the train, right? He's an addict, he's probably high right now, like some junkie in the streets of Six, or out there looking for the next hit. He's not going to help us!"

The door opens and Chevelle walks in, goes straight for the elevator and presses the button there too. All she wants to do is go to her room and beat the loving hell out of her pillows, scream into it until her throat goes hoarse, picturing her mentor's face.

The iceberg is just slowly unravelling itself, and it's not even the first day of training yet.


Albin Cimber, 17, District Twelve


The lobby is emptying out, slowly but surely. The night winding down; the Capitol crowds going back to their home, having celebrated one of the biggest, probably the only biggest, event of Panem. The tributes all filing into the elevator in district order; except for the Sixes as the girl tirades over the metallic doors before his own chariot grinds to a halt.

The Ones in their angel motifs go in first all the way to the Seven tributes, the benevolent looking girl with a spunky twelve-year-old, one of two this year, with their outstanding outfits. They looked like tree elves or warriors; their entire clothes made to look like leaves with branches as weapons.

It fits the boy from Seven so well, with his boyish looks and small stature. The girl too, with her bushy hair covered in leaves. It symbolises their district very well, better than his and Tey's outfits anyway.

Albin Cimber has never worked a day of his life down at the mines of Twelve and yet he's dressed as one of them, his pale face covered in makeup made to look like coal dust. The yellow hard hat with its flashlight turned on is sitting beside him on one of the seats.

Whereas his district partner is a bit more sinister than him, not dressed in the typical miner's outfit but that of a plain girl, instead her skin is pure porcelain white in colour, along with her dress; not a single ash and coal on her.

There're rumours, or maybe truths, that he hears working in his father's bar as a bartender, of children wandering into the mines, either to die or to look for something, and never coming out of them. He supposes that their stylist has heard of such things and dressed Tey as one of those children, ghosts or apparitions.

He doesn't doubt how clever some of these Capitol can be, they don't all feel like the airhead that is their escort. Speaking of, Louis Ogden is still to make an appearance, the only person he's waiting on to take them up to their living quarters.

That's all he needs, to be alone again. He wants nothing but keep to himself from the moment he gets to the Capitol until the beginning of the Bloodbath. For someone being described as unapproachable by his siblings, Tey Antracit, his district partner had been nothing but talkative to him.

He now only getting respite from her as she wanders over to the Ten tributes a few minutes ago. Her bleached hair, so much more different from her hair the day prior, pairs well into the white walls of the lobby.

There's not a lot of tributes left here, so he feels at ease, not that he shows any form of emotion anyway. The Tens, Elevens, Nines and Eights are the only ones that are left, all waiting for either their escorts or their mentors to come and collect them like parents picking up their children from school.

He doesn't really have much of an opinion on the tributes so far and he doesn't really have the desire to speak to them either. Hence the reason why Tey is becoming such a minor nuisance to him. She's lovely, in a weird sort of way, more odd than anything else, and he remembers their mentor, Thorium Cole, and Louis talking about how she's clinically insane; the former expressing his concern over the whole thing.

She's relentless with her chatting and questioning everything during their train ride that he wanted to say something, anything to keep her away from him but he's cautious of one person. This Peacekeeper that hasn't left her side the whole journey from Twelve to the Capitol.

They're two polar opposites, his face not reacting to any of her questions and him just answering her with one or two words. He could see how exasperated their mentor is already, the hated Thorium Cole from their district, him not having a formal opinion of him.

"Nice outfit." He looks to his right and see the girl from Eight, standing with her hands behind her.

He could say the same for her, not really noticing her outfit earlier but now that she's up close, it's surreal. Her entire dress is coloured white, like Tey's, but there's chunks taken out some of the hem, as if a big drill just took it out. She wears a headband of her eyes, and her waist is supported by a corset of what can only be the other tribute's eyes. It's unsettling to look at.

"Thanks."

The silence creeps back in, he looks back to where he has been watching his district partner with his grey tired eyes. He wonders if she really is insane, or just too innocent for her age. It's interesting how little involvement he wants with her but at the same time be so curious about her situation.

Tey is currently showing off her dress to the Ten girl, who is no longer hiding from her district partner, the towering boy. He looks strong, maybe not as strong as the Two boy but strong, nonetheless.

"You know, alliances are becoming a thing now, with the Games getting closer and I thought…"

"Thought you might ally with me?" He says, finishing off her sentence and looking at her with a blank expression to his face. "Should I save you the trouble and say no?"

"You can say that for now, hell you just met me and here I am introducing the concept of allies for the death games." She says taking a seat beside him, her dress crumples as she sits down, her taking off her 'eye' headband letting her long, brown wavy hair down and she smiles. "I'm not one to give up easily though."

Her smile does nothing for Albin, and he has certainly seen better fake smiles working at his father's bar back in Twelve than what this girl is displaying in front of him. He sighs as he looks away from her again. "Why bother with me? There are other tributes out there that are more capable than me."

"I don't like being in the spotlight." She admits and Albin wonders why she's being too honest with him. "Too bright."

"So, you're saying my general appearance would hide you away from that spotlight?"

"N-No! That's not what I meant at all," She says looking away from him. "I don't want to get the attention of those brutes from Two or One."

He feels that, during the Tribute Parade he tells Tey to wave at the crowd so as to redirect all the attention to her. The girl does so with gusto, and he believes, genuinely, that it worked as he doesn't feel as watched as everyone else; still he feels that he's in someone's radar, other than the girl sitting beside him.

"I didn't even introduce myself," she says with the same smile on her face. "My name is Francesca, district Eight tribute, and you're Albin, right?"

"That's my name." He says, taking the coal covered har hat from the seat beside him and putting it down on the floor, and then he goes to fix his matted black hair.

"Well, Albin, I'll see you around." She says, seeing her district partner waving her over, also dressed in some form of surreal fashion, golden colours from his feet going up to a more formal black as it reaches his head, that at one point during the Tribute Parade was covered in flowers, obscuring his face completely.

She walks away from him, holding onto her headband as she joins her district partner and another person, he assumes is their escort. She smiles at the both of them before they disappear behind silver doors, retiring for the night.

"I wouldn't trust people like her."

Albin does an inward sigh, wishing to any deity that can hear him to be left alone just for tonight. However, his prayers are left unanswered as the boy from Nine, with his wheat covered outfit, golden like the fields he saw on the train ride over, sits beside him, a stern look on his face as if he's about to lecture the boy from Twelve.

"Rye Durum, my dad's a victor?" He says, half bitter in tone, but the other half almost bragging. "People like her, the girl from Eight, are always the first one to betray their 'friends'."

"Right." He says wanting to leave and cursing his escort for being out this late, wherever that man is, he owes Albin an explanation.

In truth, he can surmise that Francesca is looking for allies that she can use as a crutch, or maybe she genuinely just wants allies for the Games. He doesn't know yet, and he doesn't want some kid to make decisions for him either.

"What you need from an alliance is someone you can depend on; someone you can really work with." He continues, without any prompting whatsoever, not sensing Albin's desire for him to leave.

Despite Francesca's offer earlier, Albin thinks about the Hunger Games as a whole, how there can only be one winner after all. The irony of Rye's words is lost when it comes to the death games, where you're to fight twenty-three other tributes, all as desperate as you are. You can only depend on someone to a point before you find yourself a human pincushion.

"You need someone like me, someone that has experience and someone you can really depend on." He tells him and Albin just ignores the boy, sighing in relief when Louis comes into view, leaving the boy without another word.

"I see you've made a friend." Louis looks at him and at Rye from where they were sitting moments ago, before Albin takes off to stand beside the escort. "I do apologise for my lateness; I was finishing off one of two sponsor deals already!"

Rye doesn't follow him, backing away back to his district partner. Albin knows for a fact that he's heard the word of 'sponsors', scaring the golden boy. He doesn't know where he gets such confidence, but it seems that it can be just as easily knocked down.

"Now where is that district partner of yours? That scamp is always getting away from me."

She's still talking to the duo from Ten. He can see how much they've hit it off already, he can see how friendly the two girls are, the boy too is comfortable seeing both of them; like a big brother with his two sisters. Louis calls to her, and she looks at him and then at Albin, a smile on her face as she says goodbye to her newfound friends.

"Wow! There's so many people from so many districts!" She exclaims, standing beside Louis, holding onto his hand, to which Louis doesn't protest. "This even is for sure going to be so exciting!"

Louis just nods as he presses onto the button, the silver doors opening and him guiding the girl inside, Albin following through. He's trying to sum up the events of today, trying to get his bearings as he now begins to wind down for the day.

He surmises that he had gotten way too much attention today, too much for his liking.


A/N - Well hello there! Been a while right? Lots of things have happened since the last update and boy is it a doozy.

First thing's first: I have a boyfriend now, and for the last five or so months we have been so preoccupied with each other, also with work and everything it's all gone a bit awry;

Second: I write on a small notepad first before typing, that's how I plan my stories normally so that obviously takes forever too. I can't make it up on the spot, it doesn't flow as well, at least I don't think so anyway.

Thirdly: I didn't describe all of the tribute's outfits, but rest assured everyone had one, from One to Twelve. I just couldn't fit it all in.

Lastly: I want to say thank you for your patience and I look forward to getting back on my writing! Thank you to all the authors that have submitted their characters to this story, and I hope I did them some sort of justice, getting back to writing is always a struggle for me.

So what do you think of the chapter? Some budding alliances, who do you want to see ally with who? Do you think Tony has what it takes to kill kids younger than him? Is Lily going to get into the One and Two alliance? Is Chevelle going to shout at their mentor? Is Albin going to ally with Francesca or Rye?

The next chapter is the first day of training, I know who will all be in it, so I at least have a plan in mind.

Till next time!

Cheers!

~Alec