Carameuse Heloise, 48
Capitol Citizen

The glass hits the bartender with a satisfying smash, and Carameuse advances towards the terrified woman. "Of course it would have been you - after all, I wouldn't have kept you in this room if you had an alibi. But Gregoire didn't see you at the bar when the snow hit us, you were nowhere to be seen until it was time to come to this room, and you were the one handling the drinks. I suspect the forensic scientist will find that it was not the glass that was tainted, but the wine itself - you poisoned his favourite drink to make sure it wouldn't escape him."

"No, no, no, I did nothing of the sort!" protests the bartender, still stumbling backwards. Carameuse would call for one of the peacekeepers, but they're outside of the door for now, and the woman seems harmless for now. She'll let them be at this moment. "I - I - how?"

"Simple," replies Carameuse. "Someone paid you to kill them, because you're only a bartender, after all. You couldn't have organized the initial killings, but you're more than clever enough to take these two down. But why these two men? Why disguise the avox as a normal business man? As someone that he wasn't? And why did Mr. Giles need to die?"

The bartender's shoulders sag, and her eyes narrow - she's realized as well that there's no way out for her. "I - he died because he knew me. He knew that I worked for him, that I was fired because I stole from him when I was his secretary - the only reason I listened to him was because I could kill Giles. Then no one would have known about me - but you did!" She descends into a hysterical laugh, the sound sharp and piercing, and Carameuse takes an instinctive step backwards.

In the background, Cassia shrieks.

"Who is he?" Carameuse asks, staring down the bartender. "Who paid you, told you, convinced you that this was your only option? Did he kill the victims on Panem Day?"

"And more!" the bartender screams, her eyes seeming to roll back into her head. "And… there will be others."

"Will?" Carameuse starts to ask, but then she realizes why. Too late.

The bartender launches herself towards Carameuse, and together they sail towards the window until Carameuse's head hits it with yet another smash.

Before she falls into unconsciousness, all Carameuse can see is blood. Blood, the bartender's eyes, and the snow that's so, so, cold.

She thinks that she can hear a man screaming.

Luke Atkinson, 17
District Eleven Male

Luke's tired.

He glances over at Aloie, who's pointing through the window to something in the distance. "Look, Sean, stars! I haven't seen those since we left District Eleven!"

Sean smiles, his pale face illuminated by the warm light of the lamps in the hallway. "Beautiful, aren't they? If you want, you can adjust the settings in your room to look just like the stars from Eleven. It helps me get to sleep some nights."

"Oh, can I? That's lovely! I'll have to try it when we get back to the apartment." Aloie grins up at the evening sky, waving to a small star in the distance. "They all look different here than they do from Eleven, but they're still lovely. I'm so thankful for the stars. Aren't you?"

"The stars are certainly nice," Luke whispers over to Aloie. "I'll make sure that you see more of them tomorrow - I won't let you down."

Aloie blushes, stepping away from Luke. "You don't have to do that, you know."

"But I do!" Luke can't think of another way he can repay the debt that Aloie created for him - the way she cared for him when he was wasting away in the apothecary from the lashes the peacekeepers had given him, the way that she had healed him to near-perfection when others told him that he'd live with those scars for the rest of his life. She, of all people, deserves to be here the least.

He'll do anything to keep her alive.

Anything.

Sean leads them towards the elevator, where they stand and wait with the pair from Ten to board it up to their own floors. The boy and the girl - both of whom are in their alliance - wave to Luke and Aloie, the girl smiling confidently while the boy looks like he wants to sink into the floor. Luke yawns, waving back. He's tired, but it's good to see that their allies will be ready for tomorrow.

He hopes that everyone else will be.

"So, we have to avoid the careers or kill them - that's what Jackson wanted, right?" Ceres asks Luke, Aloie chatting to Cal about the stars. "I'd love to get rid of one of them, but we have to pick our battles. If we can keep everyone alive and with supplies, there's no way they can beat all of us."

"Unless the gamemakers take the Games into their own hands," Luke warns, all too conscious of what they could do. He knows that they know about what he's done, what he stands for. He's not going to make it far. "Killing is the best option - it gets rid of them for all of us. What could be better than that?"

"True!" Ceres smiles at Luke, pushing her dark hair back behind her shoulder. Luke notices her freckled arms for the first time - freckles seem to cover her entire arms, yet only a sprinkling rest on her face. "We'll do well tomorrow, don't you worry."

"I hope." Luke steps into the elevator and stands next to Aloie, who's finished with her conversation with Callous. They, the Tens, Sean, and the mentor wait in the elevator as it rises above the building - the glass sparkles in the artificial light that's installed at the top, sending harsh, golden rays down to the other floors. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine floors pass before they reach the Tenth, and Aloie dodges away from the door so that the three can exit.

And suddenly, they're in their own suite - Sean taking an apple and biting into it. "You two sleep well - if you need anything at all, knock on my door. I'll be waiting. I never sleep on these nights, anyway," he says cheerfully, juice from the apple dripping down his chin.

"Alright!" Aloie skips away into her own room, and Luke stands still until Sean too enters his. Now he's all alone, standing in an apartment in a building made for the Capitol's victims. He might come back, but the odds are that he'll die tomorrow.

But, in his heart, he's alright with that. As long as he gets Aloie out, as long as the alliance survives, as long as someone lives to stand against the Capitol…

He won't die in vain.

Ceres Hemlock, 17
District Ten Female

Ceres is tired.

She locks the door to her room and waits for morning to come, her fatigue slowly lulling her closer and closer to sleep. Yet her eyes refuse to keep shut - they just won't close, even when she tries. She's far too panicked about tomorrow to sleep.

She's not ready to go. She's not ready to fight.

She doesn't want to die.

She gets up and fiddles with the remote, changing the chirping landscape of birds and squirrels in the forest to a soothing, dark night. Not a star's to be seen, and there's a low sound of rushing wind that fills the apartment with its slow, haunting song. It's almost as if she's back at home, listening to the prairie wind clean her home for the next day. She misses home.

She misses her family.

And blessedly, she falls asleep.

She wakes up at the crack of dawn - well, what should be the crack of dawn in the Capitol. The apartment is silent except for the sound of the wind, still blowing throughout the apartment, and Ceres flicks off the switch while yawning.

Then it hits her - she's fighting in the Hunger Games in a few hours.

She knows that she'll have to fight a career. There's no way around it, is there? Like Luke said, their only chance is to surprise a career and weaken the career pack to a point where they can't harm them all. And there are five of the careers to their ten - they could make it through the bloodbath. They could survive.

She hopes they do, at least.

Their mentor, that strange woman from the Capitol whose name sounds like she's from Twelve, is waiting outside with a cinnamon roll in her hand. "I had to get up early for this, and I don't know if it's worth it. Get your partner - we're leaving fairly soon, to the helicrafts. You've got to get going so that the gamemakers can get you all into the arena at the right time. I don't know what it's about - perhaps they just want an early start. You'll get more food when you get there, don't worry. They promised that to you all."

Ceres nods, heading to the door of Cal's apartment so that she can wake the boy. She knocks three times, hoping that it's enough to rouse her district partner. "Hey, we're about to leave. It's time to go."

Cal murmurs something on the other side of the door, and he's soon out in rumpled clothing and messy hair. Ceres smiles quietly, handing him a cinnamon bun and a cup of coffee - something that their mentor was kind enough to brew for them both. "We're supposed to get more food when we get there, which is nice. Might as well have a decent last meal, right?"

Cal doesn't smile back. He does take the coffee, though, sipping it before taking the cinnamon bun as well. Ceres licks a sticky trail of sugar off of her fingers, ignoring the look of disgust from the escort that's walked into the room. She isn't interested in earning the approval of Dormantine Lander.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" Dormantine says with a wave and a chirp, pushing them into the hallway. Ceres begins to protest, but then quiets - it's not worth the effort to question anything now. She needs to think. She needs to focus. "We're going, now! The helicraft is waiting!"

They head to the elevator and down, down, down to the first floor where they walk through the lobby and outside to the sight of a gleaming helicraft. Other tributes are clustered around their mentors, watching each other nervously. Ceres watches as the girl from Seven's taken away for a second by a few peacekeepers, who - what are they injecting into the woman? She can't tell - inject something into her arm before bringing her back to her district partner. The others seem unnerved by this, some rubbing arms while other whistle through their teeth.

No one's ready.

As peacekeepers bring them into the grey helicraft and strap them into utilitarian seats, pinning down their hands with rudimentary cuffs so that they can't attack each other, Ceres closes her eyes and pretends that she's somewhere else - somewhere other than here, anywhere but here.

She doesn't want to do this.

Armani DeCormick, 14
District Six Female

Armani is tired.

She stumbles into the helicraft, being eased into her seat by two peacekeepers before they strap and cuff her in. They won't allow anyone the advantage of being able to attack their competitors before the Games begin. It's a good thing - Armani's right across from the boy from One, who gives her a wicked grin before going back to merely observing the rest of the tributes.

The smile sends a shiver up her spine that doesn't seem to go away.

She waits for the helicraft to take off, and it finally does with a roaring noise that engulfs the air around her. Her eardrums seem ready to burst until, finally, the helicraft leaps into the sky and towards their arena.

She's not sure if she's looking forward to being dropped off or not.

She prepares herself for the long ride by closing her eyes and listening to the hum of the other tributes - the panicked breathing, the sharp releases of breath as the helicraft jolts through a rougher patch of air, the whispers between what must be the careers who are on this helicraft. She tries to identify who else is on here, but she only had bothered to notice Duchess, and the movements of the others blur into one noise that hums along with the helicraft.

She opens her eyes after what feels like only a few minutes, but to her surprise, the helicraft is close to landing. She looks at the other tributes, memorizing their faces before she'll have to leave for the last time. There's so many faces: the boy from One, the pair from Two, the girl from Three, the boy from Five, the boy from Six, the boy from Seven, Desdemona, - who looks like she's about to faint - the girl from Nine, the boy from Ten, the girl from Eleven, and Hex from Twelve.

And then the peacekeepers start walking towards the tributes from their positions by the doors, each brandishing a large syringe. "Hold still," one mutters, and Armani's too shocked to whimper as the sharp needle enters her skin and leaves her feeling like she's been bruised. "That's your tracker. Try not to touch it."

Armani nods mutely, sighing in relief when they uncuff her from her seat and let her stand up. Her legs feel numb from sitting for so long, and she rubs her wrists to get some circulation into her hands. Everything feels unreal - this isn't right. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

Right?

Her stylist - Armani recognizes her from the interview preparation when she had to stand to be outfitted in her red dress - hurries towards Armani, flashing her a smile as she draws closer. "Hurry, hurry! We have food waiting for you, but we have to get you changed for the Games. You'll be starting in just a few moments!"

Armani gulps.

She's taken into a tiny room and told to undress, then shivers in her underclothes as she waits for her clothes. Then, all too suddenly, she's given them by the smiling stylist. She gets dressed in the black jeans, white shirt, and black jacket that she's given to wear, then puts on the silver-coloured shoes that the stylist provides her, which are surprisingly comfortable. The stylist hands her a crumpled piece of paper, which Armani recognizes with delight to be… to be the page that Rory brought her in the goodbye rooms. She tears up, giving the stylist a quick hug, but the stylist merely giggles and hugs her back. "Your token, my dear! Now, go eat. You're about to begin!"

Armani samples the bacon and eggs from the table of food that's in the corner of the room, then gobbles up a muffin. She feels ashamed by how quickly she's eaten in, waving a hand in apology to the stylist, but the woman giggles again and hands her a glass. "Drink! I suppose you must be thirsty, right?"

Armani nods, downing a glass of orange juice, then water, then more orange juice. When the thirst that's only recently appeared is sated, she hands back the glass and stares at the tube that she's supposed to step into. She's seen parts of it on television - the tributes all rise into his pedestals, then stand around the cornucopia for a minute before the Games begin.

She doesn't want to go. But when the stylist gestures to the tube, she steps inside so that her bravery doesn't fail her. And then the glass closes upon her, and she's stuck inside with her stylist waving goodbye from the room.

When it starts to rise, Armani prays that she'll stay brave.

:o Our next chapter's the bloodbath! It's happening, folks! We've finally finished our subplot - it'll pick up after the Games - and now we get into the good stuff. Woohoo!

Any predictions for our deaths/survivors? I'd love to see your thoughts on who'll make it through and such! Who knows, maybe you'll be right!

We passed 200 reviews \o/ thanks to everyone for continuing to support this, and I hope you're all enjoying my rambling! I can only hope my arena suffices your expectations.

Enjoy! Until next time, TheAmazingJAJ