A/N: I'm back! I tried to work on my other stories but then I got sick and I just have not been up to writing lately, but then I got back on track and this chapter got done! :D Today we're revisiting Zircon O'Dile, Millard Vaith, and Ivy Cross! :D Enjoy!

Trigger Warnings: Profanity, mentions of prostitution, alcoholism

We are high

I'm in love

We are high

Small town American light

We are fine

Feeling grown up

And I'm in love

And I'm crashing in your arms

You right in the sky tonight

East side is a paradise of you

You, you

Zircon O'Dile, 17

District One Male

It's not wearing off. It'll never wear off. I think I'm going to be light headed and grinning for the rest of my life.

I have one of the crystals from the chariot parade costume cupped in my palm as we ride up the short way to our giant hotel complex that encompasses the whole first floor above the lobby. I see Trinity looking at it, and I pull a second out of my pocket and hand it to her.

"For memory's sake," I say with a light, teasing smile, and she rolls her eyes but a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. I'm flabbergasted! I'd never thought I'd get a reaction out of the ice queen, not to mention a smile, not even in my wildest dreams.

But that was seriously wicked. We were the belles of the ball in our waterfalls of crystals that seemed to be leaping off of our bodies, glittering and reflecting the multicolored spectacles of light that dominate the Capitol at this time of year. We were giant kaleidoscopes, showering everyone with warm honey glow in a variety of rainbow shades while I did my excited thing and Trinity did her icy queen thing. We literally shone and I can't thing of a better outcome from the parade. Junova really did give us the jump start we need to hit the ground running when we get into the Games, and I'm thankful for that. Thank god we don't have stylists like the ones from Eleven or Twelve. I still would've smiled if I was in a potato sack like the Eleven kids did, though. At least they have some respect for how the Games are played, and they aren't just cowering or crying or trying to be strong like so many other Outliers. Unless you're a Career or you're Oxen Bamby, you're not going to pull off the dark, brooding, mysterious, and strong type, no way, no how. That's what usually happens, at least. But in a year with THE Zircon O'Dile and his sidekick slash enemy, the icealicious fear mongering Empress Vegas, I doubt things are not going to happen how they usually do.

"Why are you laughing?" Trinity mutters as the elevator doors glide open. Her tone is clipped and short, the crystal from the chariot outfits stowed in the crystalline hand purse that Junova let her keep. The crystal's gone and she's back to business. I like almost-smiling, airy Trinity better.

"Oh nothing," I sigh in reply, trying to tamp down the foolish grin on my face. I'd like to stay happy, but Career Mentors are notorious for drilling their Mentees every night and every day; practically every moment they have alone with them. Once we step into the room, Esquiria stands from the table where she's been doing some sort of paperwork, her mouth set in a firm, disapproving line. Even I couldn't crack that emotionless grimace. Behind her, Iono is poised in front of the paperwork as well, sighing and tapping at a holographic calculator projected from some fancy looking silver bracelet clamped on his wrist. An Avox deposits more paperwork next to him, and Iono shoots the poor girl an ugly glare and shoos her off. Why would they have to do paperwork? As I get closer, I see the word stamped in bold black letters across the tops of each paper. Sponsorship Forms. Ah. That makes sense. Good thing there's lots of them, just for us.

Someone rises from the couch in the living room, and I watch as the colossal Kenyan Rudd, my Mentor, stands up. His enormous body, bulging with muscle, rivals that of Brick and Oxen and myself. Ha ha. Wish I was that ripped. But as I watch him stride over to me, I feel that faint tug of icy cold fear in the pit of my stomach, the same thing I felt in my goodbyes. It's fleeting, but it's still there.

Kenyan's dark skinned face breaks into a big smile, and my fears are totally gone. He didn't talk much on the train, but now that it's one on one time, I remember that he's a nice, welcoming sort of dude. I also see another man stand up from the couch; the pale skinned, dark haired Soren Bronzen, our District's latest Victor from the Nineteenth Games who looks like he was steeped in goth. People say that's just his Capitol approved angle but I don't buy it, he legitimately seems like a depressed emo sort of kid. I don't see many of those around the Academy or One in general, but I still know their type. Nothing bad really, they're just not the most...enjoyable people out there when it comes to the type of lifestyle I'm accustomed to living.

I expect Soren to tail us as Kenyan and I walk over to the elevator since that's where Kenyan is heading, but he doesn't. He doesn't follow Trinity and Esquiria into one of the rooms adjacent to the dining room, a sitting room. He sits down across from Iono and starts working on the sponsorship forms. Huh. Math. Hilarious.

Kenyan clicks open the elevator, and we step inside. I see the envelope tucked in the pocket of his dark gray suit coat, but I don't say anything, just seeing the end of a cursive npeeking out from the confines of the pocket. It looks oddly familiar but I just shake my head. No way. I'm just being crazy since I'm still jacked up on adrenaline, high on my lease of life. It can't be...can it? No way...it has to be, doesn't it?

We ride all the way up, up, up until the elevator stops and the doors click open. The sticky warm summer air of the Capitol hits my face. The strobing lights of the Capitol dance parties that have poured out onto the streets flash across my line of sight, and the buildings around us, sleek and metallic and modern and stunning, curve and rise like something out of a sci fi movie. Despite the light pollution I can see so many stars it's insane above me, more than I could see when we went on our survival camping trips in the mountains to sharpen our survival skills on the weekends back in One. I don't know how they do it, but it sets a mood of wonder and miracles and love and happiness and ecstasy and union and patriotism and activity-

"I don't know you well yet, Zircon," Kenyan mutters. "But it seems like you're running from something. Here's this letter from someone back home; he personally dropped it off at the Victor's Village for me to give to you. We can talk strategy tomorrow. See you." Kenyan flashes a small smile before entering the elevator again and disappearing when the doors snap shut. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look at the letter. It can't be...it's just from my sister or something like that to pump me up, isn't it? Oh, stop be such a child, Zircon! Even if it is from him, it doesn't matter. You'll just read it like a big boy! The ice inflates my stomach until I can't feel anything else, and I open my eyes slowly, my hands quivering as I hold the envelope. I read the name on it.

Zircon.

Of course. I thought that the name on it would reveal everything, but it doesn't, it's my name of course. I just chuckle to myself. Stupid, stupid Zircon. I slide my finger under the flap and tear it, then pulling out the thin sheet of paper inside. I unfold it, ready to see what Mom has to say-

"My Love, Zircon. It's so hard for me to do this to you," I read out loud, stunned. It is from him. It is from Tomas.

I crumple the letter without reading another word and toss it off the side of the building, watching it flutter to the ground so many stories below. Then I stand there with the sickly sweet heat encompassing me and I let the ice and the tears shimmering in my eyes melt away. No more. He won't hurt me like this any more. I won't be that stupid Career that gets lost in love back home and loses their life because of it. What Tomas did was...considerate, not wanting me to be distracted by thoughts of seeing him again and spending time with him again. But he could've talked to me. He could've come and said goodbye. He didn't have to say it all in a goddamn letter! I'm happy I didn't read it, that I didn't hang onto it, or I'd never be able to keep my mind off of him here. Now I'm free.

With that freedom, I'm going to give everyone in these Games hell. In a fun loving way, of course. Winkwink.

Blood still stains when the sheets are washed

Sex don't sleep when the lights are off

Kids are still depressed when you dress them up

And syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup

He's still dead when you're done with the bottle

Of course it's a corpse that you keep in the cradle

Kids are still depressed when you dress them up

Syrup is still syrup in a sippy cup

Millard Vaith, 18

District Three Male

I lay in silence on my bed, staring at the ceiling of this expansive bedroom that they've given to me. Fuji was all smiles and gasps when they showed her room to her; she said her entire house was nearly the size of the large sleeping room. It was about the same size as my room back home, just a little better furnished. I couldn't sleep. I wanted some variety, but of course there was no variety here, in this room. I didn't want to be angry. I didn't want to be anything. But whenever I was about to fall asleep is when I would mull over the day's events and the choices I'd made. Right now, that intermittent period between waking and sleeping was stretching from horizon to horizon, and I didn't want to think about today. I had to leave that all behind if I wanted to keep my head in the game.

Of course, I'm not going to be able to ignore it. I keep feeling Connor's lips all over me, and I keep seeing my sneering father and my mother's lost, wild gaze as she tries to stall to hear my forgiveness. I keep feeling the bittersweet redemption of telling my parents how I really feel. I keep seeing my mother, again and again, with that open mouth and pleading eyes, waiting for some sort of closure so she can live happily once I'm gone. I didn't give it to her. Life isn't all happy endings and closure filled moments. One moment you're alive, the next you're dead. You don't tie up all of your loose ends even if you can. I love my mother, but she hurt me. She forced me to be a plastic doll of a son, emotionless and loveless and depressed. She was never there for me. She was never a parent, same thing with my father. My father might've lashed out in the goodbyes room, but my mother's been just as bad. Whenever gay people are brought up she gets a sour look on her face. They hurt me. It's not selfish to not give them closure. Oh well, I guess it is. But I don't care.

My thoughts start to stray to future ponderings, of a weeping mother and a screaming father and a suicidal Connor after I cut it on live television. Then those sorrowful images lead to thoughts of how I will die and at the hands of whom or what, and I can't take it anymore. I throw the covers off of myself, tumbling out of my bed and stumbling over to the door. I yank it open and tip toe out into the living room, collapsing on the long, plush, cream colored couch that circles the perimeter of the room. I reach over to grab a blanket or a pillow to make myself even more comfortable, and my hand lands on warm flesh.

"Holy mother of Snow!" I yell, jumping up. The lights flick on as Takami waddles out of his bedroom, and Luizy's snores drift from her room. The lights shine on a just as startled Fuji, who has her hand wrapped around the long, thin, shiny remote, her finger poised over the power button.

"Is everyone alright?" Takami mumbles, rubbing his eyes, obviously having been deep in his sleep. I hear other noises in his room, but I choose to ignore them. Didn't think Takami would be the type to take a Capitol whore, but then again I don't know anything about him except that he knows how to kill people and did so several times during the length of his Games. So I better be ready to learn from him.

"Yeah, you can go back to bed," Fuji replies. "We just can't sleep and thought we'd watch a movie."

"Alright," Takami grumbles. "Keep the volume down low." A girl staggers out of the room next to him. "Come on, Emma, let's go back to bed." He knows the whore's name? Maybe he's a more sentimental type. But when he holds her hand tight like she's all his, and not in a sensual way, in a loving, caring way, I guess it's his girlfriend or something like that. Good for him, I guess. I don't know if I could put up with being the significant other of a Victor, who are usually at least half neurotic and have weird mannerisms and flashbacks and other worrying abnormalities. Oh wait. I'll have to be one of those neurotic people if I want to win the Games.

"So we're actually watching a movie?" I ask Fuji when she turns on the large flat screen TV that takes up almost an entire wall across from us.

"Of course. What were you thinking when you came out here?"

"I wanted a change of scenery. The bedroom reminds me of my bedroom from home."

"Too many steamy sexual memories from that place with Connor?" she says lightly, her brow quirked and her mouth smirking.

"Reminds me of my stupid ass parents." That straightens her out real quick. She doesn't ask, pulling up the movie listings.

"Which category?" she inquires, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'd imagine a good rom-com chick flick would cheer me up right now," I sigh, running my hand through my hair.

"Oh," Fuji mutters. "I was thinking a hard core action film, if that's alright."

"Whatever you want, I'll be trying to fall asleep anyway. We do have training in the morning."

"Right. Well, watching TV at night usually does lull me to sleep. When we get enough electricity in our Sector for TV, that is." She scrolls through the menu and finds the action category, and she taps on the enter button on the remote. A large listing of three dozen Capitol action films fill the screen, all of them sporting actors and actresses with ridiculous names and clothing styles and frivolous names. Like, who names an action movie James Bond: The Flamboyant Gay Rodeo Cowboy by Day, the Smoking Hot, Still Very Gay Secret Agent by Night, Volume IV?! Fuji clicks on it anyway.

"What we both want, some comedy and definitely some stuff being blown up," Fuji chuckles as the movie starts. She turns the volume down a little as to not wake Luizy, Takami, and his little girlfriend, and then she sets the remote down.

The two main actor's names, Frippery Van Schwartsz & Penelopee Elsannam, fills the screen, and then the director, Mihckaeylah Tubbman. These ridiculous names. Then the scene opens with "James Bond" (Frippery) and his sidekick (Penelopee) walking through the busy Capitol streets. There's lots of terrible jokes, mostly references to politicians and places that I've never heard of. Then there's lots of explosions and gore and I fall asleep so quickly it's fantastic. As I'm about to drift off, I hear Fuji snoring softly on the couch next to me, already fully out.

Seems like a certain pair of District partners is going to be watching every Volume of James Bond: The Flamboyant Gay Rodeo Cowboy by Day, the Smoking Hot, Still Very Gay Secret Agent by Night this Pre-Games week. I'm betting Frippery Van Schwartsz won't complain.

I've always been the kind of girl

That hid my face

So afraid to tell the world

What I've got to say

But I have this dream

Right inside of me

I'm gonna let it show

It's time to let you know

to let you know

This is real

This is me

Ivy Cross, 16

District Seven Female

I cannot believe what I'm seeing as I stand on the threshold out of my bedroom. I've been too riled up the entire night; if I hadn't been encased in a golden coffin on the chariots, I probably would've looked like an ADHD maniac who just drank a two liter of pop. The second they let me out of that dumb thing, I was hopping around like a bunny rabbit and my mouth was running about how cool everything was until I realized I was talking so much I was being annoying. I have a tendency to talk too much when I'm not around my family, I'm pretty sociable and crazy with friends, but I also know when to reign myself in.

But anyway, I'm too hyped still to sleep for long. Relying on the clock on my bedside table, it's around three A.M. I've been sleeping restlessly for the past couple of hours, waking up sweating and then forcing myself to fall asleep for a little bit until I wake up again. I can't take it anymore, and I was just going to go get a glass of water to steady myself and maybe calm myself down enough so I'll be able to sleep for a couple more hours before I have to get up for the very first day of training, where we'll get to mingle with the other tributes and practice and learn survival and weaponry skills.

Back to the current situation. So I walk right out of my room, and who do I see sprawled out on the floor, a broken bottle of whiskey in hand? My Mentor, cool-as-a-cucumber Paula Eufalu. An Avox is bent over her, trying to wake her without being to harsh. A second is mopping up the trail of bile that covers the mahogany dining room table. Both Avoxes' heads snap upwards when my door creaks open, and we stare at each other for a minute before the one trying to wake up Paula continues to do so, and the one cleaning the table finishes that before walking over to me, cocking his head as to ask for what I want wordlessly.

"A glass of water," I whisper, my voice hoarse and empty. The Avox scuttles off to fill my order, and I just stand there in shock as Paula starts to come around. The Avox stands up suddenly, darting off, and Paula groans, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Avoxesssssss," she slurs. "More wh-whiskey, please!" She slides back down flat on her back and starts to cough loudly, curling up into a little ball. How could such a strong, intelligent woman be so weak and pitiful, too? Paula's been my heroine ever since she won.

The abused girl swung through a redwood forest, throwing hatchets into the skulls of her enemies and coming back from the arena. She's been an advocate for women's rights in the Districts since the beginning, and I've never seen her frown. I've also never seen her smile. And here she is, doubled over on the cold, smooth tile, trying not to vomit up her alcohol again. The woman convulses, and I find myself kneeling beside her.

"P-paula?" I mutter, stroking her short cut, white-blonde hair in worry.

"Have-have my whis-whiskey, Avox?" she hiccups. She obviously thinks I'm a tongueless servant.

One of the Avoxes sets a glass of water on the table for me and makes to hand Paula another bottle of alcohol. Of course they can't defy orders from a superior, even if said superior is intoxicated and hurting herself, lying sprawled on the dining room floor. The Avox bites his lip as he puts the brown glass bottle down by Paula's left hand, and she grabs it greedily, guzzling a few gulps before I pry it out of her eager hands.

"Stop!" Paula gurgles, some excess whiskey she hasn't swallowed sloshing out of her mouth. I stand and drop the half full bottle in the nearby trash receptacle, listening as the automated compactor crunches the glass to bits to make it easier to store and export out of the building and to the dump, wherever that may be. Probably in Four since they're the District that handles sanitation, or at least water sanitation.

"Paula, let's head to bed," I whisper, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. At least I'm not crying. Yeah, Paula's my heroine. She's my idol, the woman I look up to. But I wouldn't ever cry over her. I'm not that obsessed. No, watching Paula curled up on the floor, drunk beyond belief, brings back memories of the other woman that is my heroine, a bigger heroine than Paul Eufalu or anyone else could ever be. Even heroines have their bad moments.

I'm six years old, and I watch in horror as my mother slumps against the couch, her eyes glassy and unfocused as they stare at some random spot on the far wall. I scurry to her side, crying a little bit as I hop onto her lap. My mother scowls and shoves me off, sending me sprawled out onto the threadbare rug. She quivers as she lifts the wine bottle to her lips, and then her eyes, suddenly clear, lock onto my cowering form on the ground.

"This is a man's world, Ivy," she mutters, clutching the wine bottle to her chest. "I've tried so goddamn hard to make a difference, to change the way things are. But things never change. You'll live in a man's world despite my efforts, Ivy. Every woman will live in a man's world." She sighs, her breath shaky and rattling, and she curls up on the old dark brown couch, sipping more wine straight from the bottle. I run out of the room as fast as I can. This woman isn't my mother. She's someone else entirely.

I stand up from Paula's side as the memory fades from my head, and I bolt into my room, holding back the tears. Never again. Never again.

A/N: I hope that was a good read! I really love writing all three of these characters and I can't wait to work with them more!

The next update should be by Friday hopefully!

So, thoughts overall? Favorite POV here? Have your thoughts on any of the tributes changed?

Zircon (1 pt.): Where did Zircon read the letter from Tomas?

Millard (1 pt.): What is the name of the movie he and Fuji watched? (You can do the first couple of words, the acronym, or the whole goddamn thing if you really want to! XD)

Ivy (1 pt.): What was Paula's arena?

AHH MORE THAN 500 REVIEWS YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST BY THE END OF THIS WE WILL HAVE MORE THAN 1,000 GASP

Until Next Time,

Tracee