Chapter 17: Train Rides Part 2

No warnings! Enjoy reading!

Amber Henthrow, 15, District 9 female

Amber didn't know what hurt more: to have been drawn herself or that her district partner was the son of her greatest arch-enemy. With an angry look, she watched the boy, who is one year younger, wept at Mariella because Amber had told him the truth about his presence. How could this boy not know what the Hunger Games were? Everyone knew about them and they were even forced to look at them. His father was one of the district's leaders, she thought. Amber didn't know if Ceren, as her district partner was called, was just scared for his life, or was just shocked. She got up and walked to the large dining table, which was placed in the middle of the wagon. There was no sign of her mentors Daisy Felders and Daniel Grader. The two had probably retreated and consulted on Amber and Ceren.

Amber was well aware that it was a mistake to publicly insult the Capitol. Honestly, she could understand if no one wanted to sponsor her. But was it really their fault that people in the districts were treated so unfairly? One turned a blind eye to the poverty and discontent that energized the Capitol. If you rebelled or tried to improve your life, you were immediately punished and perhaps killed. Amber had only tried to open the eyes of others. Now she would pay with her life. Was it no better to die than to continue to live like slaves?, she thought, playing with the saltshaker. She avoided looking in Mariella's direction; She knew Mariella was deeply angry with her, but Amber was able to deal with it. When you are blinded by wealth, it took a long time to awaken. You couldn't force waking up, Amber knew. So, she remained silent and looked at Ceren, who was recovering from a wine cramp.

Ceren Dolan was a secret to her. The son of Scyon Dolan, the District's Supreme Peacekeeper, he certainly enjoyed a good education and an upscale standard of living. At some point, even he should have noticed that something was wrong. Amber had listened when Ceren Mariella told of his life in isolation. For the first time, Amber believed that Mariella and they both felt only pity for him. "Hey..," she said softly, leaning over to the other two. Mariella had given up her angry gaze and now seemed rather overwhelmed with the boy next to her. Ceren nodded carefully to her, like a child caressing an animal for the first time. 'I know it's tough, but we're already doing it. The mentors and Mariella will help us, won't they?" she said to the escort, who nodded approvingly. Apparently, she had pulled herself together so as not to snort Amber. She may have benefited from her district partner. She could not miss this opportunity. Ceren Dolan was too valuable an ally to protect. Amber would have to work with him a lot, but after that he could help her collect sponsorship gifts. When she didn't need him anymore, she could still slit his throat, Amber decided, gently caressing the boy's hand.

"We're certainly going to have a bite to eat now and then arrive at the Capitol in a few hours. I've always wanted to see the Capitol up close," Amber said. She actually wanted to set the Capitol on fire and watch it burn down, she thought with a smile. How could it have happened that Amber Henthrow begged for help? And then there are their enemies. Amber wanted to give herself a slap. Ceren moved and then pulled his hand out of hers. Amber would have preferred to have drilled her nails into his palms to keep him from letting go. "Mariella, is she right? Is there really something to eat soon? I'm starving," he said shyly.

If only he knew what starvation really was. In District 9, the people who grew food starved to offer you a luxury.

"If you're both really hungry, I'll order the food now and get your mentors. I'm back right away," she chirped, stumbling like a stork to the automatic door, which she separated from the next compartment. Amber revisited Ceren. Although he never had to starve, he was very thin and pale. His straw-blond hair didn't shine, his eyes had fallen, but that was probably due to the loneliness he was used to. "I think we both had a somewhat bumpy start, don't you think so? Let's start again from the beginning. I'm Amber Henthrow, 15 years old, and my favorite activity is walking through grain fields," she said, but earned a bitter look from Ceren. What had she done wrong? She could not have told him that she was responsible for his father's headaches. "I know you're lying. Just because I don't know what the Hunger Games are doesn't mean I'm stupid," he said, so hurting Amber almost in her heart. The boy had spent his entire life in solitude and had been lied to from the beginning. She couldn't blame him when he tried to wake up. "My father told me to stay away from you. You're an evil person," he stammered, but Amber couldn't take it seriously. If she was an evil person, what was Scyon Dolan executed when they tried to feed themselves? "Did he tell you why I'm "evil"?" she asked honestly. The question seemed to surprise Ceren, as he looked at her in surprise with his mouth slightly open. He tried to find words, but after a short time he gave up. "I don't want you to see this as an insult, but I don't think you alone would be able to get through the time in the arena," Amber said in a calm voice. She needed Ceren for an alliance. She needed his name to help herself. Ceren said nothing but stared out the window. The train was just passing through a rather barren valley, which was just beyond the border with the district. She didn't try to curse out loud. Amber was afraid that Scyon had told his son who she was. Without the certainty that he would pledge, she had no chance after her speech against the Capitol.

'I also know I'm not going to do it on my own. But why would you want to help me? You hate the Capitol, and if I ally with you, it could bring me in a bad light," he said calmly. Amber had already thought that it wouldn't be so easy when her dislike of the Capitol came up. "What if I publicly apologized for my words? Would I have a chance that you would ally with me?"

Ceren thought for a moment. "If you really did, I could imagine it. But why do you want me and not, for example, the girl from Ten? Why do you want me? I can't do anything," he said, taking the saltshaker out of her hand. Amber hadn't even noticed how long she had been playing around with him. She had expected the question of why it had to be Ceren. She beamed at him with a smile on.

"I need someone I can trust. What good is it for me if my partner can swing a sword but I have no confidence in him? That's why I just want you, Ceren. I even think you're the most honest and fairest of all," she said. Deep in her heart, she meant it exactly as she had said. Ceren nodded. "Then it's done. If you apologize, I will work with you."

Rolan Joralemon, 17, District 6 male

When the first rays of light shone into the wagon, Rolan was already on his feet. The 17-year-old had made it his mission today to get to know Brea Greensdale better. His district partner had closed herself off from everyone after the reaping and insisted on eating in her compartment. Rolan had noticed that she was a criminal. The Games were now their chance to get out of the country's miserable justice system and abolish the punishment, but Brea would have to win for that. Normally Rolan would be there immediately to help her, but he also knew he had to die to fulfill her dream. Hungry, he stepped into the main wagon from which it already smelled.

Eros sat in front of the TV and stirred in his coffee, lost in thought. "What are you looking at?" asked Rolan, dropping on the other armchair. "That's the analysis of the past games. Shown every year to maybe see a possible arena type," Eros said, tired. Rolan watched as countless arenas were shown and Claudius Templeshire focused on their weaknesses, strengths and climatic conditions. Soon he would go to a new arena that no one had seen before; there was no analysis for him. "Behind me you see the arena of the 45th Hunger Games, the winner of which was Beetee Latier from District 3. The swampy landscape left the tributes with little chance of keeping their feet dry. Latier had used this to get the remaining careers out of the competition with an electric shock that is particularly well guided through water. Although the games were well received and are regularly shown on the in-house station, we feel like we won't see any more swamps in the next ten years," said Claudius Templeshire, who changed the picture behind him.

With interest, Rolan looked at how Beetee Latier prepared the cables for the deadly electric shock. That he had managed to do this fascinated Rolan to this day. "He knew he wasn't physically able to play against one of the careers in the final. Clever solution," Eros muttered, then looked at the door in surprise. Rolan turned around and saw Brea's suspicious facial expression. "Now that you've come, we can start having breakfast," Eros said. Rolan took a closer look at his district partner. The way she moved reminded him of a cat and she had her claws too. Brea's red curls blended perfectly with her green eyes. Only their sad brilliance could point to their harsh past.

Never before had Rolan seen so much food at once. The breakfast table had everything you wanted. Delicious pastries with cherry filling from District 9, hard-boiled eggs from 10, sugar-sweet plums from 11 and even the familiar bread of his homeland could be spotted by Rolan. "Eat as much as you can. After we arrive, you won't get anything," Eros said, adding a coffee. "Why?" asked Brea, who had remained silent all day yesterday like a grave. Her voice was quiet, but so commanding that you immediately listened when she opened her mouth. She had piled a load of scrambled egg with fresh tomatoes and bacon on the plate. Brea was just nibbling on a bread bark. "You will meet your stylists after your arrival as you prepare for tonight's parade. Since we're probably one of the last teams to arrive, you won't have that much time with you anymore. So, eat now, you're going to need the strength tonight," Eros replied.

Rolan nodded sympathetically. Hungry, he bit his honey bread. From the corners of his eyes, he saw Brea slipping restlessly on her chair. "All right?" he asked anxiously. Brea quickly raised her head. She almost looked like she had been caught doing something. "No, no, all good..," the girl stammered, plucking on her thick sweater. He was amazed why she was wearing it in midsummer. Rolan raised his eyebrows suspiciously, but he left her alone. He wanted to get to know her, but harassing Brea now would probably make her even more suspicious. With his knowledge of human beings, Rolan would flatly claim that she had trust problems. One of his ex-boyfriends also had this problem and had worried all the time that Rolan might cheat on him. Brea certainly wasn't like him, Rolan thought, forbidding himself from thinking about his old loves.

"What neighborhood do you come from? I've never seen you at school," he said. He did not hope for an answer, but he did not want to sit in a tense silence. "Sector 5, Eastern Bloc. You?" replied Brea, and Rolan could have hugged her for it. She had finally spoken to him, even if it was just a banal conversation. "Sector 9, West Block," Rolan said, watching Eros get up to stand in front of the TV again. "Can't even sit down with us," Brea muttered angrily. "Have you met our mentors?" he asked Brea, so she stopped staring daggers into Eros' back. She shook her head in disappointment.

"Honestly, I think they're shunning us. It's probably up to me," she said casually, shoveling even more scrambled eggs on the plate. Rolan could not say when she had cleaned the old one. "Just because you've been convicted doesn't mean they can punish you with ignorance," Rolan said earnestly. "You have the same chance as everyone else. You don't have to hide in your compartment," he added. Brea's cheeks took on a slightly reddish color. "We both know that they would never let a murderer win," she replied sadly, and began to eat the scrambled eggs. "They'll have to do that one way or the other..." Muttered Rolan, vigilantly, so as not to get Eros' attention, who continued to look at the analysis. Brea bowed cautiously, as if she were afraid that she would be heard. "You know it would be treason to say something out loud. You have to be mindful of something like that," she whispered. Her red hair fell on her face. She looked like a rebel, Rolan recognized. "Good that you tell me this, otherwise I would have forgotten it," he replied, smiling at her promisingly. "Maybe you should stay with me so that no other bad words come over my lips," he said with a grin, brushing off a new bun. Brea shook her head, but a smile adorned her face. Step one, trust built. Step two, don't say nothing wrong.

"Why do you think we could be allies?" she whispered with pointed lips as she watched the passing landscape. "Because I think you need someone to take you by the hand and show you the beautiful sides of life," he replied softly. "Then, unfortunately, you arrive too late. We go to the Hunger Games, not to an amusement park," she said sadly. "Hey, we can't sort anything out yet. Maybe we're lucky and can ride a roller coaster," Rolan joked. This time, Brea did not respond. Slowly, his smile died. Had he said anything wrong?

Before he could ask her why she didn't want to ride a roller coaster, a big valley suddenly appeared in front of them. Although it wasn't at night, Rolan recognized Down Town's tall buildings from the familiar skyline. A few months ago, he wanted to escape here, but now Rolan just wanted to disappear from here. "It looks beautiful," Brea whispered reverently. "Like a city of glass held together with lies and fear," Rolan added, jumping up to be swallowed up by the darkness of the tunnel.

Hal Prescott, 16, District 3 male

Hal was sure Beetee was as exhausted as he was. Dimona had kept him awake and Hal could not shake off the thoughts of the arena. All the while he had tried to remember those of the previous games to rule out some possibilities. After enough time to think, Hal had come to the conclusion that it had to be a warm arena.

Tired, he poured a little more milk into the tea. Beetee had the current newspaper in her hand and read it carefully to find out how people viewed the tributes. There was reportedly a vote yesterday after the reaping that showed to whom the citizens of the Capitol attributed the most chances of victory. Hal didn't take the best chances. Beetee called him pessimistic, but Hal was just sure he was realistic. He had seen his own competition; the muscles, the determined looks and the certainty of victory were the hallmarks of most tributes. "Don't you think it's a bit exaggerated to let Dimona sit in this tight room all night long? Maybe she was scared," Hal said, drinking a big sip of tea. He noticed Beetee trying to avoid his gaze. I think I hit a sore spot. "I don't know if you realized that Dimona wasn't able... to sit down with us," Beetee said as neutrally as he could, but Hal heard slight doubts. The 16-year-old brushed off his fingers, which were sticky from the jam, on a napkin. 'I also noticed she was under the influence of drugs. But can't it give her the opportunity to make a withdrawal in a nicer environment?" said Hal. His district partner had not made a good first impression with the audience but was voted out of interest into the back midfield of the tributes. He himself could only say from Dimona Summa what he had heard at the reaping. She was addicted to drugs, angry and perhaps shocked to have to come on stage. Hal didn't know if he should feel sorry for her. When he looked at her now, he only felt how much she wanted to leave. You couldn't blame her, so much was clear. He himself had no desire to be thrown into a fenced-in environment with 23 other tributes, where all but one were left to die.

"Listen to me, Hal. I think you're a really smart young man, but you should stay out of things that don't concern you. Try to look at it differently. If Dimona is incompetent, she is a lesser threat to you," Beetee said, putting the newspaper away. Keeping out of things that didn't matter to him, Hal was absolutely outstanding. As detectives, it was his calling to find out why Dimona was treated so unfairly. Hal already suspected that her father, who was also the other mentor for the district, might have something to do with it. The heated discussion between the two last night had been hard to ignore. If it were true that Hyperion treated his outlawed daughter in this way, how would the press react to it? Hal couldn't even imagine the bad publicity, let alone wanted it.

"Wouldn't you care why it was so induced? You can't really tell me you don't think so," Hal said, sipping his tea empty. From the large breakfast plate in front of him, he had only touched the toast and the orange jam, for the simple reason that he never ate anything else in the morning. His grandmother had always tried to get him to try something different before her death, but to no avail. The scrambled eggs had already gone cold. The crumbs on his plate were the only signs that he had eaten anything at all because he had to strengthen his body for the upcoming arena.

His mentor had probably given up discussing with him completely because he massaged his temples. "You're right about what you're saying, Hal. I'm really interested in why Hyperion wanted to talk to Dimona. But we don't really care, this whole family drama. I just know they don't have the best father-daughter relationship," Beetee said, pouring another coffee. Hal marveled that he wasn't already shaking by the many caffeine. The 16-year-old tried to ignore the suddenly appearing trees next to the rails. They began to pile up, until finally only isolated some stones could be seen. "Are we in District 7?" he asked, astonished. Hal had expected them to take the route across Districts 6 and 9, but he was probably wrong. Beetee, too, looked around in amazement. "Weird, usually next to us always the shorter route," he muttered, rushing to the window. "Do you also feel like the train is slowing down?" he asked Hal, then pointed his finger at him.

"You stay here and don't get off the mark. I'm going to ask what's going on," his mentor said firmly, running out of the compartment. Something is lazy here, Hal thought and stood behind the windowpanes. What's going on? Why are we stopping? His questions were answered the next moment. Hal saw the creature, now a human or an animal could not be called such a thing, wandering between the trees. Single-separation spots of dark grey fur appeared, which worked ever closer to the end of the train. Hal held his breath. He certainly wasn't meant to see this creature. His heart ran marathon when he saw the creature remaining visible and staring into the train. Its eyes were of a sickly yellow that reminded him of the hard sweets he was always given for his birthday. The teeth protruded from the muzzle and saliva, as well as blood dripping from them. Hal threw himself on the ground out of reflex. It is looking for a victim. And as it stands, It's me. When rattling shots were finally fired, Hal exhaled with relief. He slowly dared to approach the window again and saw some peacekeepers approaching the creature, whose fur was now pierced. Although it was weakened, it aggressively limped towards the peacekeepers. The greed for blood could even be seen in Hal's eyes. The creature finally seemed to arrive at the wagon Hal was in when the creature set off for the final jump. Immediately, it was stretched to the ground by dozens of cartridges. Its blood splattered against the windowpane and Hal bounced back.

Now he was clearly sure that this encounter should never have happened. Frightened by his new knowledge, he let himself fall back on his chair.The automatic door reopened and Beetee stepped in with another man. He couldn't resist immediately pressing a gun on Hal's chest. "You never heard anything of everything, understood?" he hissed menacingly, and was then pulled away by Beetee. "He will be silent, I will take care of that. Get someone to clean the window, otherwise you'll ask yourself unnecessary questions when we arrive," he said, pushing the man out of the compartment. His steel-grey eyes still looked suspiciously at him. "When you say that, I trust your word. And you..." he looked back at Hal, who was trying to recover from his heartbreak, "no words about this or I can't take care of your safety anymore, tribute." With these words he left the compartment.

"What was that? And who is this man?" asked Hal, whispering. As a detective, he had to be up-to-date. The feeling of fear subsided after the train started moving again. "This was Rabastan de Vianelle, the Supreme Commander of the Panem military, and the nephew of the President. You have to promise me never to talk to anyone about what you saw," Beetee pleaded, squeezing shoulder. "And if I don't."" Hal didn't have to finish the sentence because he knew the answer himself.

If he were not silent, he would die.

Alisha Crowney, 16, District 5 female

"Why did you volunteer? Do you have any mental health problems, or something like that?" asked Solomon, and Alisha silenced him with an angry look. "I don't know what my motivations were. Did I ask why you beat up your brother?" she answered bitingly, before turning back to the passing landscape. The twilight had already set in, which meant that no second could be wasted after arrival. She had been told to take a shower on the train to avoid unnecessary delays and to have enough time to prepare for the parade. Everything was so meticulously planned that it was impossible for Solomon and her to eat anything. Although Alisha still had a piece of her grandmother's fruity cake before harvesting, her stomach was constantly growling. Hopefully after the parade they got something to eat, thought Alisha hungry and snorted away from the window. "I'm hungry," Solomon muttered, and Alisha moaned loudly. Why did this annoying boy keep saying to her from her heart?!

Her mentor Blitzen shook her head without understanding. "Do I at least have an apple?" Solomon asked him, but he was immediately urged to be disciplined by the escort. "Take an example on Alisha. She doesn't complain!" the escort said snippy and painted her fingernails again. The disgusting scent of nail polish penetrated Alisha's nose. "If it helps you, tell your family," Alisha muttered, leaning his head against the back. Actually, she didn't care about Solomon's family. All Alisha was interested in was her own.

"There is nothing more important than the family," her grandmother had always said. On the day of her victory in the Games, on the day of the birth of her son and granddaughter, in the hour when her own flesh and blood were publicly hung. There is nothing more important than the family, Alisha thought, and tried to banish the irony that had hit her family from her thoughts. She only listened with one ear when Solomon told about his sisters and that he had volunteered for his suicidal brother without hesitation. "That means you just beat him to the ground so he doesn't volunteer?" asked Alisha, confused. "Of course, if you had siblings, you would have done it," said Solomon, who had a coffee. When asked if his brother would simply come forward the next year, Alisha did not speak out aloud. She didn't want to sprinkle salt in the wound.

"Are you even allowed to drink that? Aren't you too young for coffee?" she asked suspiciously, ruffled her nose by the unpleasant smell of the drink. Alisha never understood why people loved drinking coffee. He was too bitter and left a bad breath. She preferred cocoa or tea, but she would like to have a glass of hot milk with a spoonful of honey now. She briefly weighed up whether she should be able to bring one but rejected the idea again as she pondered the parade. Alisha didn't want to fall asleep in the middle of it. Maybe she could drink a glass in the apartment? She decided to ask lightning later and also to force an answer when he tried to remain silent again. Had her mentor swallowed his tongue at the games?! No, he didn't have that and Alisha knew it from his own experience. At the poker rounds in the winning village, lightning always had the most to tell. Still, it seemed that the closer the group was to the Capitol, the more silent the mentor became. Alisha could not blame him; she knew the nightmares that plagued her grandmother in her sleep.

She didn't hear Solomon's response, but when a woman stepped into the compartment, Alisha briefly stopped spitting.

What did Hygenia Heather have to look for on this train?! Wouldn't she have to be in the Capitol to watch the parade alongside Artemesia Rutherford? Her escort jumped up enthusiastically. "Solomon and Alisha, can I introduce you to probably the second most ingenious woman on capitol? That's..." the escort announced hysterically, as if she had turned back into a teenager who met her idol in the street.

"Hygenia Heather. I'm looking forward to meeting you," the Head Gamemaker's assistant finished the sentence, beaming at Alisha. Surprised, she turned to lightning, tired lying on the sofa. "Why didn't you tell me that she looks one-on-one like Artemesia?" she asked, patting and slapping playfully at his leg. Solomon looked at Alisha confused. What does she want here?, Solomon formed with his mouth. The 16-year-old replied shrugging her shoulders. Hygenia seemed to have noticed the wordless conversation between the two, as she shook and greeted them comprehensively. Alisha felt Hygenia closely observe every movement. Was Alisha Artemesia really like Rutherford? Maybe, she thought, we're both trying to take revenge on people who have harmed our families. And we are forced to do so.

'I don't want to be rude, but why are you here? Shouldn't you be in the Capitol and oversee preparations for the parade?" asked Alisha. The Gamemaker's resounding laughter was like a slap in the face for her. Alisha had to suppress the urge to escape from the compartment. Had her question really been that stupid? She slipped around on the leather upholstery of the seating area. "Don't my laughter please get it wrong but has no one told you that I'm your stylist this year?", Hygenia asked, astonished at the astonished faces that sat opposite her. Solomon shook his head. "Artemesia and I have a deal that I can be in a district every year in the preparations that touch fashion and behavior. This year I chose your district!" she proclaimed, waving an Avox to him to give her a good cocktail. "Isn't there actually trained staff for this?" said Solomon suspiciously. "I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear it," Hygenia tweeted, playing with the straw of her cocktail, "I haven't studied fashion and social media for nothing. A little more trust, please."

Alisha didn't completely try to lose hope of a decent parade, given Hygenia's blue pixie cut and a crazy leopard coat styled over a bright red dress. If you just get dressed like that, I'm going to turn around, she decided. "What are we going to wear?" she asked to encourage the sluggish mood. Hygenia pointed his hands at the ceiling. "You, my dear ones, will shine today like the most divine gods of a thunderstorm sky. The outfits will look absolutely incredible," she said with a grin, pulling out her smartphone to take a selfie with the two tributes. "Say "cheese!"" she shouted, and Alisha smiled into the camera in agony. "Perfect, I'm going to send Artemesia right away. Not that the arms bored to death on Atticus' side," Hygenia muttered. "Who is Atticus?" Asked Solomon, admittedly, somewhat stupidly. But the boy doesn't have a spark of general education, doesn't he?

"He is the son of the president," Alisha hurried to explain. Hopefully, we won't be voted the most hopeless team of the decade, she thought bitterly in the face of the other occupants of the train. Artemesia Rutherford would certainly not get bored. Unarguably the most amusing Hunger Games of all time had just begun.

Diana Lane, 18, District 2 female

If they were at home in District 2, Diana would have threatened everyone with death if they took a photo of her. Thousands of lightning bolts jumped towards her. Diana had to smile cramped as she saw Lyme trying to get into the station as quickly as possible. Couldn't she be helpful once? Julius Cliff, her mentor and probably the competent of the two, waved to the cameras and whispered something to Nolan. Exclamations such as "Continue to the right!", "Hand on the head!" and "Pose!" came from the audience and Diana followed every single command.

If she made it to the front page of Capitol Vogue, a modern version of old-world Vogue and led by the Head Gamemaker's aunt, it would make a big impression on everyone. Until now, Vogue had almost always portrayed someone who had stayed in the race for victory at least until the last six. Diana also imagined that the phone for the sponsors, which always had to be supervised by a mentor, rang continuously when Nolan or they made it to the front page. It would shed an excellent light on the district's team. Gracile she waved to the photographers and threw kisses into the audience. People tried to catch every kiss and stretched out her hands, which Diana was all too happy to shake or sign up to her. The audience loves me, she thought rapturously and began to gig. When was the last time Diana Lane giggled? When was the last time she felt so alive?

"Miss Lane, please a short interview! I'm from the Vogue!" a styled woman shouted at her. Everyone else would have thought her style was abhorrent, but it hit Diana's taste. Smiling, she turned to the woman. "What do you want to know?" she asked cheerfully. On the corner of her eye, she saw Lyme finally making it to the station. Why was she so shy? It was fun and it helped make a good impression on every tribute, even if they messed up the private sessions! "Why did you volunteer? Are you not afraid of the arena and that they might not get it back?" the woman asked, trying to evade Diana's fear. "I'm not afraid of the arena. In my home country, I've trained and do they know why people there call me "the beast?"" she said confidently. "An interesting nickname! Why are they called you that? You're more of a graceful wildcat!" the woman commented in her little pink recording device. "People are a bit scared of me! I spend a lot of time in the local shelter next to the training. I also have several cats!" explained Diana, noting how Julius approached her. "I'm sure you want to see your cats again!" the woman said with a smile. The smile was played, as Diana even recognized with the slightly increased permille value in her blood. The last glass of wine had probably been too much.

"Madam, I'm reluctant to interrupt her interview, but we have a tight schedule. Diana, we have to move on," Julius said earnestly. His eyes glisten like freshly polished steel, Diana noted. "The dear woman had only one question," she said, trying to convince Julius, who usually wore a concrete mask when it came to emotions, with her charming manner. "What is your incentive to win? What do you want to do after your victory?" the lady rattled down. Her poison-green eyes clung to Diana's face. "I want to help the district's shelter with my win. There is an urgent need for new equipment. Do many people see this?" she asked a young man holding a large camera on her. He nodded enthusiastically. "Then I would like to call on all spectators to donate when I have won the games! It's really for a good cause, believe me!" she shouted into the camera.

"Diana, that's enough now. The stylists also need time if you don't want to look completely shy at the parade," Julius hissed angrily into her ear, saying goodbye to both the woman and the cameraman before he pulled Diana into the station. "Why did you interrupt the interview? It went great!" she said angrily. "Maybe you took my chance to be on the front page! I also need sponsors!" Julius groaned loudly. "You noticed that the woman was a fraud, right? The real interviewer waited here in the station and talked extensively with Nolan! You know, he even called for you, but you didn't react! Do you know what a bad light that is throwing at you?!" Julius poisoned her and pulled her away from the paparazzi who seized the entire back entrance. "Nolan called for me? I haven't heard that!" Diana replied, surprised. She really hadn't heard from her district partner and ally. "Yes, he told me! You will leave your fingers off alcohol in the Capitol for the next time if you just embarrass us drunk!" said Julius in a warning voice.

The two came to a standstill with Nolan and Lyme. "The car comes right away. The traffic jam out there is impossible. Peacekeepers are being called in," Lyme said, avoiding looking Diana in the eye. Had she really done so?, Diana thought sadly. She was angry, really angry with herself. Cursed again, she really wasn't allowed to drink alcohol, so that she stayed in a healthy mind! If only she hadn't got involved in the drinking competition with Nolan! Of course, this ox could tolerate more than it did. Their competitive thinking would still take them to the grave.

"The interviewer asked for me?" she whispered to Nolan quietly. He nodded slowly. "I called you, didn't you hear it?" he said louder, so that the two mentors could hear it. "Yeah, no reason to trumpet it like this," Diana muttered. At that moment, Clodine Hammerstone, the escort assigned to them, joined them. "Who of you both conducted the interview?" she quivered, holding her stomach with a heavy breath. "That was me, why?" asked Nolan. Something about his calm way of speaking made Diana listen. She didn't know what it was, but something was wrong. "Because Mariella, the escort for District 9, just told me super envious that your interview made it to the front page!" shouted Clodine enthusiastically. Julius immediately broke out in hymns of praise and the two women also joined in. When Nolan turned to her with sparkling eyes, Diana suddenly realized it.

He had never called for her. Nolan had deliberately not called her to have the front page on her own.

"You shithead!" she hissed softly, so that no one but Nolan could hear her. "Welcome to the Hunger Games, sweetheart," he whispered back bittersweetly, without wasting a glance at her. "There can only be one winner," he added, then dragged from Clodine outside to the limousine. "Well, I'm still getting my revenge," Diana muttered angrily, before she too was dragged outside by Lyme. If kindness is of no use to me, you will never see it again, she decided.

Smiling, she appeared in front of the cameras.

The second part of the train rides! How did you like this chapter? We saw Diana's chance to make a good impression that was ruined by Nolan, a slowly build of trust between Rolan and Brea, a mutt attack that Hal was definitely not allowed to see, a fragile alliance between the nines and a rather bored Alisha. We meet two members of the Control Group of the Games, Hygenia Heather and Rabastan de Vianelle. How did you like them?

Will the mutt attack in District 7 attract more drama? Find out next chapter!

Next chapter #Chapter 18: Preparation & Stylists will be more of a filler, but then we will continue with our ongoing dramas! Until next time, love Athena