"Figure Me Out"

A/N: Almost forgot it was Saturday lol. Anyways, here's the first half of the train rides.

~Cause they think that I'm famous when I know I'm a fraud

Who got too fucked up on the finer things to remember who he forgot~

Dalton Faux, 24, District Three, Victor of the 95th Hunger Games

It was uncharacteristic of Dalton to be nervous. Even during his Games he had gone through the arena with steel cold nerves. There was never a doubt in his mind what the outcome would be, just like he had no doubts about any of his tributes ever becoming victor. Some of them showed some promise, sure, but he never got himself invested. Even if he could bring himself to care, which he couldn't, there wouldn't be much purpose in it. He showed up every year and did his job, nothing more, nothing less. He passed on his wisdom, and let the kids know what it would take if they wanted to win. Whether or not they took his advice, or followed it once in the arena proper, was out of his control and beyond his emotional capacity for caring.

The other victors liked to call him a psychopath, or at the very least an asshole, for that. Well, the other victors were practically all dead, so fuck them, he thought.

While he was busy cursing things out, he took a moment to bemoan his current mental state. The reapings were supposed to be an entertaining day, a shitshow that provided some brief reprieve of entertainment before the onslaught of questions and breakdowns that his tributes would undoubtedly provide. The boy had held up his end of the bargain, anyways. Ty Bale may not have reached the theatrical amusement of the previous year, but the way his cool, unfazed façade shattered for a millisecond when a kid shouted out, "mommy, it's the balloon boy!" from the audience was enough to keep Dalton amused. Besides, he had done well for himself, and showed some decent promise. He knew how to put up a false image, even when it was difficult to, and he looked strong enough. The Capitol would be eating him up already as one of the promising outliers. Normally Dalton would run with that, especially considering there wasn't anyone else among the batch of twenty-four that had a competent, experienced mentor who knew how to market a tribute to sponsors and Gamemakers alike.

But this year was proving to be anything but normal.

The year after he had been reaped, Sebastian had followed him. His twin brother always was a bit of a twat, and had always liked to ostracize him. Sebastian was the wanted son, while Dalton was the black sheep. Too sharp, too quick to speak, too willing to form his own opinions rather than follow a dogmatic doctrine. Still, though, he had tried to get Sebastian home. Ungrateful, distasteful, unintelligent and thoroughly annoying ass that he was, Dalton had done everything he could. It hadn't been close to enough, and that loss still stung. He still wasn't sure if it was the loss of his brother who he had grown up with, or the stinging realization that he had failed as a mentor that brought that pain to him. He didn't think about it often, and hadn't thought that he would ever need to again.

And then they called her name. Julie Novum. It was seven years ago that he had last seen her. Part of him expected, maybe even hoped, that she would step out and walk up stage, every bit as much a Novum as the rest of them. And then he had seen her, splinted hand, short pink hair, and sobbing out in a full-blown panic attack. No more a Novum than Cyril had been a Lovelace. No more a Novum than Dalton had been. A black sheep, an outcast, a fake. A Faux.

He pounded another shot of whiskey without thought, shaking his arms and attempting to loosen his tensed muscles. At long last, he steeled himself up and pushed through the door, entering the dining room.

The new escort was attempting to make small chat with the pair, but was clearly out of her comfort zone. Roxanne Cloutier was the typical escort that got thrown at outlier districts like Three, a snobby kid who got tossed the job because of who their parents were. No discernible talents, zero charisma, and a seeming disdain, or at least discomfort, when it came to the districts.

Neither of the tributes noticed him as he slipped into the room, Ty too engrossed and Julie too disgusted by whatever Roxanne was saying to notice Dalton until he was already seated across from the pair.

"So, this is what they give me to work with this year." Dalton took a moment to let that sink into the room, his eyes darting across the duo and attempting to analyze them in the way he normally would. When his gaze settled onto Julie, fierce eyes looking back at him with a hardness that shielded curiosity, that tested system failed. He held up a hand in the general direction of Roxanne. "You can leave now, whatever your name is."

The escort offered little more than an offended gasp as she stood up and exited the train car, leaving Dalton alone with the District Three duo.

"Ty Bale," the boy said confidently, reaching out his hand as he offered a suave smile.

Dalton didn't even spare him a glance. "Yeah, you can shut up now," he said, waving a hand in his direction.

Ty tried to regain a semblance of assuredness as he brought his hand back, rubbing the back of his head as he stared out the nearby window.

Julie matched Dalton's curious gaze. "So, they don't exaggerate how much of an asshole you are, huh?"

He didn't so much as blink. "They downplay it, if anything."

"Hmph." She almost seemed to smile as she leaned back into her chair.

"How's the family?" He asked, almost pleasantly.

Julie snorted. Nothing else needed to be said on that front. She picked up a grape from the untouched display of food that sprawled across the table that separated them. "You should be nicer to T-Bale," she said casually.

"Should I now?" Dalton asked.

"Yeah, he's my ally afterall," she said assuredly.

"Huh?" Ty switched his attention away from the window, looking more dazed than anything else.

"Is that so?" Dalton asked amusedly.

"Of course," she said, as if it were never even a question. "The Capitol is gonna love him, guy's the most talented person I've ever seen up on stage. Plus, he promised to me once that he was gonna become famous. I'm gonna want a piece of that pie. That is, if you want to ally with me?"

Ty noticeably inflated at that, his chest puffing up while a glimmer of recognition flashed across his eyes. "You're the girl from the restaurant yesterday." He stopped to think for a moment, then nodded his head, that confident demeanor right back in place. "Yeah, sure, you can be my ally."

The two exchanged a few more words, Julie complimenting his performance at some school musical while Ty subtly boasted and bragged, all the while Dalton eyed his younger sister curiously. He wanted to be impressed. A few well placed words and a serious contender, one who would draw in his fair share of sponsors, was allied with her. Not only that, but a serious contender with a very obvious, very easy to exploit weakness. If he were in her shoes, he would do the exact same thing. Yet her intentions weren't within his grasp.

Nothing about the way she spoke, the glint in her eyes, her generous, amiable body movement seemed to betray any sort of ulterior. While it had been a while since he had seen his little sister, she had never been the manipulative type, either. Outspoken, brassy, emotional, honest to a fault, and compassionate above everything else. No, Julie wasn't a Novum, but she certainly didn't seem to be a Faux, either. Maybe that was a good thing.

"So then, big bro, what do you say?" Julie asked him. "Everyone's always talking 'bout how clever you are. So let's see it. What's the plan?"

Dalton paused for a moment, taking in the two tributes before him, looking at him in guarded anticipation. "Alright," he said, shoving aside any hesitation. "If we're gonna do this, and I mean really do this. We're going to do it right. Let's start with 'T-Bale' himself, what sort of talents do you bring to the table?"

"The better question would be what I don't bring to the table," he said smarmily.

Julie jumped in to give a real answer before Dalton could strangle the boy that was already proving to test his patience. "He's the best singer I've ever heard, a real good actor too."

Dalton nodded his head. "We can work with that. Do you have any other talents?"

"I can make balloon animals," Ty said.

It took everything within Dalton to not sigh and smack himself on the forehead.

"Any other talents that might have a use in the arena?" He asked through gritted teeth.

Ty leaned back into his seat and popped his collar. "I'm a man of many talents."

"So that's a no, then," Dalton said. He turned to his other tribute before a response could be offered. "Alright, Julie, how much longer until your hand is healed?"

She shrugged and held her hand up, giving the splint a knock. "It's already good to go, they just wanted me to keep the splint on for another week to reduce the risk of it breaking again."

Dalton nodded. "Doctors in the Capitol can help with that once we arrive. In the meantime, keep that on and try to not damage anything else. You got any hidden talents that don't involve balloons?"

"I can climb," Julie offered.

"How well?" He asked.

Julie smiled, in an eerily similar way to how Ty had while bragging. "Best free-climber in the district." Her voice offered no hint of doubt.

"You sure about that?" He asked, gesturing to her splint.

Her voice quieted, her smile slipping away. "That was nothing."

Dalton thought to push further, but something stopped him in his tracks. Against his better judgement, he dropped it, and moved on. "Alright, well, you got anything else?"

"Not really." She shrugged. "I'm a pretty fast runner, I guess."

"We can work with that." He paused, diving inwards and growing quiet for a long moment. His brain fired off, data points connecting to one another as he weaved his way through the barebones of a strategy. Not just a half-baked plan or piece of advice offered to a doomed teen. He worked his way through the problem as if it were himself that were headed back into the arena, that it was his life that was hanging precariously in the balance. No room for failure. Nothing left on the table, no possibility left unexplored.

"Alright," he said after a long while. He turned to face Julie, and couldn't help the smile that cracked his lips. District Three was bringing home a victor this year. He was sure of it. "Here's the plan."

Hailey Hills, 15, District One, Victor of the 101st Hunger Games

Hailey hated how badly she wished she had a drink. She wasn't nervous, or scared, or anything like that. Why would she have been? There was no reason for her to get committed to saving the lives of a couple of academy jackasses who volunteered for the Games, knowing fully well what they were getting into. As far as she was concerned, they weren't her responsibility. If it weren't for Glory she wouldn't have even bothered coming at all. But someone had to come watch over the pipsqueak, she figured. Not everyone could cope with all that had happened in the past year.

So she would come along to the Capitol. She would sober up for the first time in the past twelve months, and be there for Glory, whatever that meant. It was all she was good for, anyways. She wouldn't smile for the cameras though, or sit down with her tributes and try to help them win. No matter who they were, or what they had done, she had killed four people in that arena. Another two had died because of her. Most of them deserved to live. More than she did, anyways. There wasn't a thing that she could do about that. All of them were dead, and that was that. But she could at least stop herself from helping another District One jackass cut down the competition. Victor's Village in District One was already plenty crowded with just the two of them.

Glory had seemingly adopted a different approach. That didn't surprise Hailey. The ghosts and the ashes were never good company for her, and Hailey had hardly been a rock for the girl either. As much as Hailey despised the thought of another person moving into Victor's Village, walking along the burned buildings without ever having known or loved the people who were buried beneath the crumbling structures, she couldn't blame Glory for wanting it.

The young mentor was at the dining table with Troy and Vivian. Troy was dominating the conversation, speaking in a booming voice with every word that passed through his lips, pounding the table with his fist every time his laugh echoed through the room. For all their nerves and weariness, Glory and Vivian both seemed almost amused. Hailey wasn't. She sat at the edge of the room, opposite of their escort Valentina Valentine (Hailey had nearly puked when she heard the name for the first time up on stage) who seemed similarly disinterested with the main trio.

Vivian was wearing a baggy sweatshirt, her hands running up her sleeves and rubbing her arms anxiously. She reminded Hailey of Glory, almost. Hailey was hardly an expert at reading other people, but it didn't take a psychiatrist to see when a person was haunted. She was far too familiar with the feeling to miss it.

Troy did not remind Hailey of Glory. He was wearing tattered and hastily patched up training gear, black boiled leather putting together a piecemeal outfit that, combined with his healthy stubble, gave him a rugged sort of look. He looked like a full grown adult, and the image of Glory attempting to mentor him might have been funny if it weren't so sad.

"So," Hailey found herself asking, a healthy dose of bitter venom seeping into her voice. "What made you assholes decide to volunteer?"

Vivian tensed up at the question, looking thoroughly unhappy at Hailey's interruption. Troy shared no such disdain, a large grin spreading across his face as he waved Hailey over and pounded his mug of ginger ale on the table.

"Come, and I'll trade you, a question for a question!" He announced as boldly and tactlessly as always. As much as she hated it, she found it impossible to hold too much bitterness to the man. He was an idiot, and probably a jackass, but he was sincere at the very least. That was more than Hailey could say about most academy kids. Hesitantly, she walked over, sliding into the booth besides Glory, who seemed to brighten up even further at her presence. For a moment it almost seemed like they had a district team. Almost.

"Go ahead, then," Hailey said.

"It's a long story," he said, almost wistfully, certainly not as boastful or prideful as he had been up until then. He still smiled, though. "One I will not bore you with. No need to dampen a cheerful mood with tales of the past! I volunteer now, in the present, in order to fight as a true warrior in the arena!"

"True warrior?" Hailey asked. Glory tensed up beside her. "What, like, me and Glory?"

"I consider the both of you to be fierce warriors, however our paths are far different. You did not choose to fight, and should not have been forced to."

He sounded genuinely sympathetic, and it was nearly enough to cut through Hailey's defenses, but she shed off the feeling. She refused to feel empathy towards some jackass, sure of himself, egotistical academy kid.

"Oh, so like, Galavant then?" She tried.

He smiled at that. "Galavant was a valiant warrior, one I looked up to for much of my life, and I would be honored to be considered a warrior similar to him."

"Oh, so you can't wait 'till you can kill some innocent kid who got reaped in the finale then, huh? Just like all the rest of us District One warriors." She spat out that final word. She had spent so much of her life hating academy kids, and now here was another one who just saw the arena as some honorable game to play.

He managed to surprise Hailey again though, not reacting defensively or even proudly. Instead, he spoke in a somber tone. "He struck down one who was not a warrior, a mistake, one I do not intend to mirror. Yet despite his mistake, he was still a great warrior, and from the little that I knew of him, a good man. I look forward to drinking with him in Valhalla."

Hailey snorted at that, and made to stand up and walk away. She had spent enough time talking with the guy, if Glory wanted to try to play mentor and try to bring them home then that was her prerogative. Not hers.

"May I ask you my question, now?" Troy asked, bravado back in his voice as his chest pumped high in the air.

Hailey planted her hands on the table, sighing as she dropped back into her seat. "Sure, whatever."

"The arena, what was it like, truly?" He asked the question with the utmost seriousness, leaning forward with anticipation as Hailey dwelled on the question. She didn't know where to start. The arena filled her thoughts in every waking moment of the day. It dominated her nightmares and echoes and voices bounced around her head in drunken stupors. It was inescapable.

"Gal told me that the arena is hell," She said, enunciating each word as she picked through her thoughts. Tried to find words that could adequately describe what had come to haunt her. "He was wrong. It's worse than that. Hell is just where they send all the assholes like me to burn. Everybody who's there deserves anything they get. The arena isn't like that. Good people are in the arena. And you see them die, and you see their faces in the sky, and you see them die because of you. For you. And you see yourself killing them because you're too scared to do anything else. You want some mentorly advice? Do yourself a favor and die in that arena. Even if you do end up in hell, it'll still be better."

Everybody fell silent at that. Even Valentina looked over at Hailey, her interest momentarily piqued. Glory bit her lip and stared at her lap, while Vivian attempted to stay stoic and block any sort of visible reaction. Troy was the only one who didn't seem to be shaken. He didn't even seem surprised.

"You think because you have done wrong, that you are a bad person?" Troy asked, but there was no doubt in his tone.

Hailey leaned in, refusing to back away from this fight. "I think I did wrong because I'm a bad person."

Troy locked gazes with her. "I think you're wrong," he said simply, with unadulterated confidence. "You'll find your redemption, yet."

Hailey snorted, pushing herself back into her chair. "And what makes you believe that?"

He smiled. "Nothing. Just belief."

Hailey paused at that. "Alright," she said gruffly. The venom had left her voice now, though. "I have one more question."

"I have no more questions for you at the moment," Troy said, seemingly forgetting the previous conversation and defaulting back to his normal, loud, assured self. "Ask freely!"

"Why do you want to win?" She asked.

Troy laughed, bringing his arms behind his head as he leaned into his seat. "Who ever said that I wanted to?"

Hailey stared at him for a moment, waiting for the façade to crack, for something else to come spilling out. But nothing came. He was an idiot alright, boastful and way too loud for Hailey to ever be able to stand. But no, he was still genuine. And well, she decided that might be enough.

"Okay," she said, a slight quiver in her voice that she quickly swallowed, steeling her resolve and tossing aside her reservations. "I'll do it."

Troy raised an eyebrow at her, and Glory looked up at her in confusion. Hailey swallowed the lump in her throat, and took in a deep breath. "I'll be your mentor."

Nikola Surge, 17, District Five

He had smiled on stage. Nikola was the perfect image of confidence and self-assurance. Just like he always was, suave, calm, collected, ready for anything, and always in control. How quickly that façade crumbled when he was left alone.

His mentor had been distant, attempting to offer advice and kindness while trying to avoid attachment. Smart, Nikola couldn't blame her for it. There was no room for creating attachments where he was headed. Still, he was controlled enough to interact with others, form those attachments from their side and leave enough space for him to willingly discard them once they stopped being of use. He would have to try to get closer to Audra, anything to ensure that sponsors were flooding him with gifts.

Once it became clear that the discussion with his mentor and escort was going nowhere, and that his fellow tribute was unlikely to speak, he had retired to his room. He wasn't sure what had made him start crying. Maybe it was the fear. Death was so ultimate, so abrupt. Perhaps shock had just overridden him. Deep down, he wondered if it was the loss of control that had led him to slip into despair. Everything he had done was all for nothing. He didn't even have time to digest what that meant. Solario, the business, his mother, all of it, all of them, they swirled around his head in a whirlwind and he found himself unable to find the calming eye in the storm.

It was nearly nighttime by the time he emerged from his room, freshly showered and showing no signs or even a hint of stress. His mind was calmer, too. He still was in desperate need of a cigarette, or a canvas to put paint on, something to throw his emotions onto so that they stopped bothering him. But he would have to make do.

He slid into the dining room just as the reaping recap was beginning on the television, and was relieved to find the room empty. Nikola knew that he would have to turn his charm back on. He would need to go out and woo the audience, and make sure the right people were in love with every aspect of him. But still, a bit more of a reprieve was appreciated. When the time came, he would be ready. Just. . . if that time could be a little bit further away, he wouldn't complain. One good night's rest and he would be prepared. He would have to be.

The reaping recap started in District One, and Nikola began to make mental note of the tributes that he would need to watch out for. More importantly, he watched for the ones that he could find use for, the ones he could poke and pull at so that they worked to fit his needs. None of the Careers fit that bill, though the 12-year-old volunteer from Two was enough for him to make mental note of. If she ended up left out of the Career alliance she could be an interesting ally. Enough to bring in intrigue from the Capitol, and maybe a weapon in a surprising package that others would underestimate.

The volunteer from Nine was the next to grab his attention. A volunteer who proclaimed that he was immortal. A careful stroking of the ego and he would be eating out of the palm of Nikola's hand. Probably not of much use with how unstable he appeared, but perhaps a useful weapon, or distraction at the very least, at the bloodbath.

He made note of the next twelve-year-old to be reaped. As the small, timid boy made his way up the stage nearly all of the Peacekeepers offered him a salute, and the mayor seemed sad as he welcomed the boy up on stage.

The most interesting reaping of all came in a surprising place, however. The boy reaped in District Twelve seemed unassuming at first, and Nikola was ready to skip over him until Coira Thompson filled in the audience on exactly who this boy was. One of twenty-five students accepted into Pioneer University, and a beloved member of the community. Practically a Capitolite, and he was headed into the Games. Forget leaching Audra into a relationship in order to gain sponsors, his golden ticket would come in the shape of a stuttering boy from Twelve.

Denver Lyon, Jamie Curie, and Lana Birkhead. He repeated the names in his head, and set himself in on those targets. He wouldn't be able to speak to any of them at the chariots, they were too far from Five for it to be natural. No, he would have to wait until training. That gave him plenty of time to work through whatever issues were messing with his mojo.

"Oh, hey Nikola." Audra stood awkwardly by the door, one foot already halfway out of the train car.

"Audra," he said with an air of suave charisma. He flashed a smirk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She stared right through him, completely unaffected. "I didn't realize you were here. I was just going to get some coffee."

"A bit late for coffee, already hard at work to keep me alive, huh? They're about to show the reaping recap again if you want to watch them." He slid over to one side of the sofa, making room for his mentor.

Audra didn't move. She folded her arms over her chest and looked to the side. "I don't watch the reaping recaps. I was just working on some sponsor forms for you and your district partner."

Nikola slighted a curious smile. "Why don't you watch them?"

Audra pushed away from the door, setting a hard gaze on Nikola as she approached him. She stopped just short of the sofa. "What is it that you're getting at?"

"I'm not sure I understand," Nikola said innocently.

"I know who you are," she said darkly. "Nikola Surge. Surge. As in Surge Industries."

Nikola shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He managed to keep a confused smile and innocent features as he shrugged, backing away from Audra ever so slightly. "I work in the HR department of my father's business, yes. I didn't realize you disliked HR so much," he joked.

Audra didn't back down. She placed her hands on the back of the couch, a fire burning in her eyes as she leaned in close to him. Venom and disdain dripped from her tongue with every word. "Let's make one thing very clear. It doesn't matter how charming you act, or how much you dazzle the crowd. No matter how many sponsors you win over, it won't mean a single thing if I don't decide to spend that money they give you. So listen up and listen closely, because I don't want to so much as look your way the rest of the time we're in the Capitol. If you try and harm that girl? If you, or one of your allies, even so much as touches her in that arena, I will make sure that you die in there."

Nikola kept his smile in place, but dropped the pleasantries from his tone. "Is that a threat?" He asked in a low voice.

"Yes," she said firmly, not backing down in the slightest.

The two stood in silence for a while. Audra's eyes burned with barely tamed rage as her eyes bore into his. He reflected back no sort of response, keeping a blank, assured slate across his features. Nikola had to maintain that control of the situation, even if he didn't know how. He wasn't sure how she knew about Surge Industries, or more worryingly, what the true nature of the business was. Perhaps it was for the best he had gotten out of the district if their hidden function had been discovered.

Regardless, this girl may have thought she had him figured out, but she didn't know anything. About who he was, or what he had done, or why he did what he did. She didn't have the slightest clue who it was she was messing with. Nikola had dealt with people far worse than Audra Lee could even imagine, and he had come out on top again and again.

Still though, he backed down, leaning away from her and shrugging. A knowing smile crossed his lips. "I have no interest in her, so you can stop worrying. A mute little girl who doesn't even seem to know where she is? Not my first choice of ally. I'll give you my sympathies when I see her face in the sky the first night."

"I'll make sure to give you a nice eulogy," she promised.

He laughed at that, his laughter trailing off and fading into a light chuckle as she turned and left the room. It was a shame, he almost liked her. She certainly had more fire than he had anticipated. But still, it was no large setback. He had found his mentor's weakness, and he had every intention of exploiting it.

Nikola Surge always got what he wanted. No matter how much abuse and pain he had to take. No matter what filth and grime he had to wade through. No matter the cost, he always came out on top. The list flicked through his mind one last time.

Denver Lyon, Jamie Curie, Lana Birkhead, and the nameless girl from District Five.

A/N: So excited to have the pre-games underway, with all of these lovely characters interacting with one another. Second half of the train rides is up next!

Trivia (1 point): You get reaped. Which one of the victors do you want mentoring you? (not too many choices here lol)