A/N: Aah! MIDTERMS! Yeah it's only been around a week since the last update, but to me that's quite a bit on this story's update schedule XD I am going to churn out Twelve ASAP, and then I'm going to work on my other stories for a little bit before plunging back into the Pre-Games with the parade. Just an FYI. :)

Today we're back with Omri Plower and Soya Chaffer! Enjoy! :D

Trigger Warnings: Profanity

I don't know my name

I don't play by the rules of the game

So you say I'm just trying

Just trying

I went from bland and popular

To joining the marching band

I made the closest friends

I'll ever have in my lifetime

I am lost trying to get found

In an ocean of people

Please don't ask me any questions

There won't be a valid answer

I'll just say that...

Omri Plower, 18

District Eleven Male

The ninety five degree weather, probably worse now that the sun has reached its zenith in the startlingly blue, cloudless sky, makes the air buzz incessantly. The pen I'm packed in with hundreds of other eighteen year old guys stinks of perspiration, and everyone keeps fidgeting and sighing, no one talking to each other like the younger kids do in their pens. My throat feels dry, and for a moment I regret volunteering back home in our little, obsolete farming town, Alahee. My heart beats so fast, but I slow it down by thinking off being the Homecoming King, standing on the stage in front of the around fifty highschoolers in Alahee with Lidia. She was smiling, her face warm and golden, and she looked prettier than I'd ever imagined. I'd almost wanted to kiss her just in case I died from happiness as everyone stared at me, the plastic gold crown perched atop my head, the lights all focused on me. I felt so damn vain and greedy, but it felt so damn good.

The Mayor and Escort Phemia Empire strut out, with the Mayor giving a speech I ignore, instead studying the sullen boys around me. My eyes are locked on a lightskinned kid standing in front of me; there aren't many kids like him here in Eleven. His skin is reddish with some sort of rash, but he doesn't really seem to matter although it looks really painful. It's sunburn, I'm guessing, I get it too, but on white kids it just looks so much worse.

The air and my mind's strange focus is shattered as Phemia cries, "SOYA CHAFFER!" Speaking of white kids, a pasty girl stumbles out of the seventeen year old section, visibly shaking as she sobs. She starts hyperventilating as she takes the stage, and she's mumbling something I can't hear at first, but then she shouts into the microphone, brightening, "Something bad already happened to me; that means I am going to be Victor!" Phemia claps like a maniac and I just stare at her, trying not to gape. I feel bad. Whenever tributes with mental disorders get Reaped, it's always so pitiful. I wonder if she'll make it past the Bloodbath. Maybe, if she plays it smart and decides to not go into the Bloodbath. At least she seems pretty leanly muscled, and insanely optimistic.

Phemia dances over to male's bowl, her hand swirling around in the glass ball holding thousands of tiny white paper slips, looking like the little snowflakes I've heard myths about that fall in the colder places like Seven, Nine, Two, One, Six, and the Capitol during the drier season. Her fingers pinch one of the slips towards the bottom of the bowl, and she snaps it out, and opens it, shouting, "OMRI PLOWER!"

I'm frozen in shock, and my eyes are wide open, my mouth gaping. I can hear the chuckles of the front row kids back home. It's karma, isn't it? I broke tradition, volunteered when I wasn't supposed to back in Alahee. I stepped out of my social rank, I stepped out of my position, and my stupid, futile, immature machinations to gain "popularity" have landed me in a death match. I hate myself so much, but I shove that deep down. I need to put on a good face. Time to act once again, Omri. Show that you deserve this attention of the nation. Show that you deserve their money and their adoration. Show that you can win.

I still feel shaky and shocked and I know I'm still half gaping, but by the time I stumble onto the stage, I manage to collect myself and set my mouth into a hard, firm, flat line. I stand up straight, looking down on the swells of thousands of relieved kids who've avoided the Hunger Games for another year. They start to chatter quietly about, "Oh, poor girl" and "Maybe that guy has a chance" and other useless comments as Phemia announces our names so brightly I squint to block out the light. Her marble sculpture outfit looks so unnatural; she looks like a statue come to life, and she just makes the whole experience so much more surreal. I try to smile best I can as Phemia motions for us to follow her backstage, and I follow, Soya darting ahead of me.

"Sorry you're probably going to die, I was just doing my job!" Phemia giggles as she leads us backstage. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, but Soya just nods along absentmindedly, picking at her fingernails like she's going into the Justice Building, escorted by an animated statue and a a quartet of Peacekeepers, for some normal reason. I have a feeling this isn't going to be very easy, getting along with her.

"I'm not going to die, Ms. Empire!" Soya mutters, grinning widely. "Don't worry about me, don't worry about me..."

I hope it's just the shock, and she's really not that blissfully naive and optimistic. That'd just be unfortunate.

The Peacekeepers peel me away from them, and we walk down a different hallway while Phemia heads straight, presumably towards the train, and Soya goes left, disappearing down the bright hallway, her body blocked by the two Peacekeepers. My two guards open the door to a nearby room, outfitted with a simple oaken bench that creaks when I sit down and a grimy circular window from which a little bit of the outside light streams in. The Peacekeepers ease the door closed, and I sit there in awkward silence for a moment, breathing in the musty air of the room. They must only open the door on this day. It's all dusty and cold, and cobwebs connect the ceiling to the walls. I feel like if I breathed too hard, the entire room would crumble like it's made of sand.

The door squeaks open, and my mother is standing there with Lidia slouching behind her. My mother walks almost mechanically into the room, and I can see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. For the sakes of the both of us, she doesn't cry, thank Snow almighty. We don't hug too tight, we just embrace loosely for a good minute until she splits from me, sucking in a raspy breath. I take a deep breath and squeeze her hand.

"Do well, Omri," she murmurs, kissing my forehead. "I'm sorry, son." Then she's gone with the wind, and Lidia stands there awkwardly, staring at her toes self consciously. Her dark brown hair is curled and glossy, and her warm brown skin is smooth and beautiful. Her dark brown eyes look up at me, and she looks like she wants to say something, she tries several times, but the words get caught in her throat.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask out of nowhere. "I-I'm sorry, I've just never kissed anyone before, and I'm about to die, and I'm not kissing Soya, and I really just have always sort of liked you even though I never noticed it and you look really cute now and this is really random I'm sorry I'm just won-"

She steps close to me, and I can't speak. She leans close and pecks me on the lips and pulls back quickly. It wasn't that bad, I guess. She blushes, and looks down at her shoes, sucking in a deep breath, and then she kisses me again, harder, before backing away.

"Good luck, Omri. Bring it home for all of us sitting in the third row." I look at her like she's crazy; she uses the row methodology too?! She smiles shyly and then steps out of the room, the door clicking closed behind her. A minute or two later, the Peacekeepers lead me out and I'm still in shock.

"Come on, bud," one of them barks, and I step out into the hallway. One leads in the front, while the other stands behind me to make sure that I do not bolt and try to escape, his hand on his gun just in case I go crazy for some reason. It's happened to tributes before. The Capitol can stitch up little gunshot wounds before the Games, after all. You just have to make sure not to hit anything vital, just aim at the foot or the hand or the shoulder.

Soon we're out in the open air, the heat and the sun and the soft breeze brushing across my dark skin. I walk onto the platform, waiting for the train. Soya scurries out a minute after I exit, and the train shows up a couple of minutes later. Looks like we're on schedule. We step onto the train, walking into the dining car, and I put on my best smile, thinking of Mom, of Lidia. Time to put it all out there for my mother. Time to put it all out there for all the third rowers out there.

Don't give up and don't give in

Although it seems you never win

You will always pass the test

As long as you keep your head to the sky

You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky

You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky

Be optimistic

If things around you crumble

No, you don't have to stumble and fall

Keep pushing on and don't you look back

I know of storms and strive

I been around them all of life

Just think ahead and you'll be inspired

To reach higher and higher.

Soya Chaffer, 17

District Eleven Female

I scuttle out to the platform, brushing my hair behind my ear. Omri, his smooth, dark brown skin shining with sweat under the hot summer sun, waits for me. He's here early, or maybe I'm late. Doesn't matter, does it? I smile at him thinly, but he just looks at me like I'm translucent, a window. His eyes pierce through me, and he's not looking at me in a sexual or desiring or judgmental way. He's just staring, locked in deep thought. I wonder if he'd be a good ally.

The train glides into the station, the sun glimmering in wavy bands across its sleek silvery exoskeleton. Everything seems round and smooth, from the wheels to the windows to the door. Omri's hand locks around the slim, slippery handle, and he yanks open the door and lets me walk inside in front of him. My fingertips brush against the metal, and I pull back on instinct. The metal is blazing underneath the relentless July sun of District Eleven. It's the type of weather where my mother would bring out the big floppy straw sunhats for me and my sister and the workers to wear so our skin won't bubble and peel underneath the sun's brutal rays. Thoughts of the orchards and my mother and my sister and everyone else fill my head, and I feel a pang of homesickness, a pang of self doubt, a pang of worry, a pang of Oh shit. I'm going to go to die in the arena. I push it away. I'll be absolutely fine.

Of course I'm not totally solid on my idea of "Once something terrible happens to you, nothing else bad will ever happen to you". In my goodbyes, my mother just hugged me but my sister told me to get my head in the game, and to not be such a pansy and to stop avoiding the painful truth and think about a way to really win besides just believing it will magically happen. I guess she's sort of right, but I've lived by that saying since my father died. I've never felt unhappy since I shed my black dress after leaving his funeral. Not once. When you feel something bad, you think of something better, and push past it.

Waiting in the dining room is a jolly Phemia, having washed the gray-white marbled paint off of her face. Her skin's tinted a soft pastel pink, and it darkens as her cheeks grow ruddy with excitement when she spots us entering the car. Our Mentor and District's only Victor, Pumpkin Little, also sits at the table in a dark orange cocktail dress, her eyes outlined with light orange makeup. She grins halfheartedly and shakes our hands once we sit down, welcoming us.

"Welcome guys!" Pumpkin says with a small smile. "Eat up, we have some good food here that'll just go to waste if we don't eat it, and anyway it's a good strategy to plump up on food during the Pre-Games so you have more fat reserves to last you in the Games. Then we'll talk strategy."

I quickly heap my plate with custard filled pastries and sugar dusted cookies as well as several pieces of luscious looking fruit and crumbly, thick bread smeared with jams and flavored butters. I try to act politely as I gnaw on a tough piece of smothered-with-strawberry-jam bread, but the food's just too good. I'm not poor, and I eat good food every day; I don't eat your run of the mill bland porridge like most of Eleven's citizens do for breakfast and dinner, and an apple or piece of bread for lunch. But all of this decadence is just the next level, and I eat until I can't fit anything else in my stomach and I feel like I want to throw up. Even then, I want to stuff more in just so I can taste more of the explosive flavors on my tongue. I feel like I'm about to burst.

Phemia eats happily, gorging just like me, while Pumpkin and Omri eat slower and calmer, eating less and being more selective about their choices. Once we've licked the crumbs off of our plates and most of the food is gone, Pumpkin wipes her mouth with her soft cloth napkin before straightening in her chair and smiling gently at the two of us. Phemia continues to nibble on a cheese cube as she watches us, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"So, are we going to do skill analyzing together and the like, or should we go separately?" Pumpkin inquires.

I'm about to say I'm fine talking together, but Omri quickly cuts in. "I'd like to go solo, if that's alright," he mumbles, wiping a stray crumb off of the corner of his mouth. My grin falters; I thought maybe this kind guy could be an ally possibly, but he seems totally uninterested in me. Maybe he just wants to go it alone, or maybe I'm not up to snuff in his eyes. Oh well. That just means one less friend I have to kill to make it home.

"Okay then, that's totally alright," Pumpkin chimes. "Phemia, do you mind talking with Soya here? Omri and I are going to head over to the back car to talk over strategy and the like." Pumpkin smiles as Phemia's face brigthens exponentially.

"OH MY GOSH! I'd love to actually help out for once! Just getting sponsors is boooooor-ing!" Phemia giggles lightly, tossing some dyed slate-gray hair over her shoulder with an exuberant smile. I watch as Pumpkin and Omri stand and leave. Omri's body is made of fluid muscles. I have muscles of my own, of course, but his are bigger and more prominent. He's also older, and looks more menacing. Obviously Pumpkin has more faith in him. That's alright, though. I'll still blow them all away when I win; it was going to happen no matter what. At least now, the shock factor will be even bigger.

"So, Soya," Phemia says, her voice quavering and breathy, her smile so wide it looks like it never ends. "What are your special skills?"

"I can climb trees, I'm a hard worker, I am sort of strong, I know some edible plants, and I'm optimistic about my chances! I'm also social so I should be able to make some allies to protect me in the Games," I reply, returning her grin with one of my own. Phemia grabs a cookie and munches it down excitedly, nodding in approval.

"Areas of weakness?" Phemia blubbers. She seems so hyped, like she's wanted to do this for ages but never has had to chance to. A sweat has broken out on her brow and her body quivers with anticipation and I want to laugh, not because she's weird but because she's almost cute.

"Eh, I don't have much skill with weapons, and some people find me too nice or something," I giggle lightly.

"Well, we can work with that!" Phemia blurts. "So, let's get to the fun stuff! Cocktail dress, or ballgown?!"

"Cocktail dress, of course!"

A/N: Here is District Eleven! It was fun revisiting these two and I hope they were fun to read about :D

I don't have much to say really. I hope this was good. XD Just District Twelve left! :D

Omri (1 pt.): How many times did Lidia kiss him?

Soya (1 pt.): What color is Phemia's skin?

Thanks for reading and reviewing! 450+ reviews, y'all are the best!

Until Next Time,

Tracee