INTO THE TUBES

A POV from each Mentor/Stylist/Escort as they send their tribute off into the Games.

Kenyan Rudd, District One Mentor

Zircon bounces his knee from the nerves as we sit in the catacomb chamber underneath the arena. We've been sitting in charged silence for the past five minutes as the uniform is prepped and the arena given a final once over. The two of us get along rather well, but the time for jokes and goofy grins is over until Zircon comes back with the crown on his head and blood on his hands. I've already given every bit of advice humanly possible. I have nothing left to say to him except a parting good luck.

The Avox delivers his arena uniform. I hand it to him piece by piece, averting my eyes as he changes into the loose, dark brown athletic shorts and tan colored t-shirt that he is required to wear. He finishes by lacing on his murky brown tennis shoes, and moments later a mechanical voice tells us that there's a minute until he must step inside the clear tube nestled in the corner of the room, the tube that will raise him into the arena.

"Good luck, Zircon," I say as I grab his hand and envelop him in a tight bro hug. When we part, there's about thirty seconds left, and he slips inside the tube instead of waiting. All is silent for some moments until the tube entrance closes. Zircon's eyes open wide for a moment, but then his expression shifts to the focused one he's been taught as the pedestal begins to raise. It's time for him to turn off the fun and games and turn on the killer buried inside.

Esquiria Pasquale, District One Mentor

I don't want to admonish Trinity as she checks herself in a mirror after putting on the plain tan shirt and brown shorts. Usually I would be making comments galore about how my tribute should be focusing on going up into the arena in minutes instead of checking to make sure they still look beautiful, but I'm finally starting to begrudgingly understand. In One, we are the pretty District, not the ruthless District like Two. Our daughters are taught that they must be the most optimal beauties to qualify for the Games along with being fighters, while places like Two and Four let in as many plain tributes as they do attractive ones. We raise our children to be vain, and we raise them to think that they must use their looks to win the Games. It is not Trinity's fault that a master part of her scheme is to look beautiful for the audience. It is not her fault that her appearance is what defines her, and that that fact aggravates her so much. It is our fault, my fault.

"You have my respect, Trinity," I call out to her as she steps into the tube.

"And you mine," Trinity utters before the tube seals itself. She looks to the sky as she rises, and I can't help feeling a little proud.

Scylas Ondino, District Two Mentor

Tyberios is hopping around the room, punching at the air and hyping himself up. I watch, lightly amused as he gets himself more and more riled up for the massive battle about to take place. He stops long enough to shuck his clothes and shrug on the tan shirt and mud brown shorts that are this year's uniform before he gets back to his prancing around. Sweat beads on his forehead, and I have to stop him. I can't have him getting exhausted right before the Bloodbath.

"You've gotta calm down, Tyb, your endurance is going to be shot," I tell him.

"I need to make the headaches back off for the Bloodbath until I can get my meds," he huffs back, hopping around some more. "This gets my adrenaline running even higher. I barely feel a twinge of pain now."

Just then the automated voice tells us that we have a minute until Tyberios must be in the tube. He does a few more punches and then shakes my hand before leaping into his tube. The door inside slides shut, and soon enough he is gone. I make a beeline for the Control Center, determined to have those meds ready to go the moment the Bloodbath comes to its conclusion.

Serephina Manchas, District Two Mentor

Ardin looks nervous, too nervous, as we wait in the tube room. She takes her sweet time lacing up her dull brown running shoes, and she doesn't look at me much, absorbed in her own world. I have to snap her out of it. I grab her by the front of her shirt. Shocked, she looks at me in the eyes.

"Get out of your head, Ardin," I growl.

"I'm just worried," she mutters, looking as if she wants to sever our eye contact but can't bring herself to. "The pack is really divided this year, and I have no one on my side. And Chavez hates me with a passion. When we split, I'm going to be in trouble. Hell, I might have a hard time getting out of the Bloodbath for Snow's sake!"

"Think girl, think!" I hiss. "You've worked yourself out of tougher conundrums than this one a thousand times on paper. If things get sketchy, it's easy: you just leave. We all like to talk about honor and pride in Two, but when it comes down to it, survival is the most essential virtue we preach. Becoming a Victor makes you immune from any taunts of coward or backstabber. Survive, and work around anything that comes your way, and you'll be golden."

"You're right," Ardin sighs. "I've got this."

"You better."

Amandus Brushes, District Three Stylist

"Fuji, you better go out there and put on a good show for us," I beg as I help her tie up her hair in a bun so it won't inhibit her in the Bloodbath.

"If good show means me getting out of the Bloodbath alive, then I'm all down for it," she replie. I finish the bun, and then I let her survey herself in a little pocket mirror I smuggle in every year. She gives herself a cursory look, knowing this may be the last time she will ever see her reflection.

The automated voice warns us of Fuji's impending boarding of the tube, and she takes her sweet time getting inside. I grin at her as she waits to be taken up into the arena. Soon enough the pedestal begins to rise up, and Fuji starts to disappear. Moments before she's out of sight, she kisses her engagement ring, and then I can't see her anymore. I thought that finally, since I got two older ones, I wouldn't feel as guilty when they died. Knowing this girl's story however, I know I'll still feel the pain when she inevitably dies in the arena above ground.

Takami Wired, District Three Mentor

"Just stay with Fuji if anything questionable or worrying happens," I remind Millard as he puts on the tan shirt he'll wear into the arena. "You can trust her, at least enough not to stab you in the back for quite some time. I can't say the same about anyone else going up into that arena with you, but you have enough common sense to decide that for yourself."

"Takami, I've got this. We don't need to review everything again," Millard calmly tells me. "I know the game plan, and I'll stick to it to the best of my abilities. And if I have to improvise, I'll improvise. I can handle it. Just be smart with sponsorship."

"I will," I say. And then the voice beeps telling us that Millard has less than a minute to get into his tube. He quickly ties his shoes and then strides over to the tube, ducking inside. It closes, cutting him off from the rest of the world and preparing to deposit him in the hell that waits for him above. It doesn't matter what type of arena it is. It'll always be hell for the kids who die there, and for the one kid who gets to come out of it.

Mags Flanagan, District Four Mentor

Cordelia looks at a picture of her family and a picture of Beck for the last time, for a last couple ounces of strength. She's fully dressed for her entrance into the arena, and we're just waiting for the announcement that it's time for her to go into the tube. That voice comes over the speakers, and Cordelia hands me the photographs. She takes a deep breath. Before she goes into the tube, I grab her by the shoulders and spin her towards me.

"Still fight, Cordelia. We don't know if you were Reaped because you're family were rebels or if it was just a coincidence. There's no point in giving up. You could still easily come out of this. Do...do this for me, alright? I've got fucking attached to you for whatever damn reason, and I need you to do well."

"I will do my fucking best, Mags," she promises with a small smile, and I can't help but laugh. Then she hops into her tube. She presses her hands to the glass and I press my hands in the same place on the other side until the platform carries her away. This one is going to hurt like fuck.

Oisin O'Cobb, District Four Mentor

Chavez doesn't even look nervous as we wait for him to go into the tube. He's grinning rabidly, and none of his body shakes. He isn't bouncing around on an adrenaline high, and he isn't chattering away to pass the time. He just stands there, grinning, and it's pretty disturbing to be honest. He's our best tribute in years, but he still creeps me the hell out sometimes. Being just a normal guy who won, not a Career, the extremely bloodthirsty ones freak me out a bit. He's going to be a monster in that arena, and I'm not exactly sure I'm ready to see what he'll do. I know the Capitol is definitely ready, however, and he'll put on one hell of a show for them.

"Don't go insane in there," I say in a joking voice, even though I really mean it. He just whoops with laughter and shakes his head as he climbs into his tube.

"I'll do my best to have as much fun as possible," he purrs before the tube slides shut, and I can't say I'm too sad to see him disappear into the arena. Powers above, if you exist, please have mercy on the souls Chavez is about to tear limb from limb.

Anneliese Petrova, District Five Mentor

Bernie doesn't seem as fiery as she did in the past several days, and she certainly isn't as pissed off at me. She's scared, as she should be, quivering as she changes into her arena outfit. When she's dressed, she stands there, staring off into space. She doesn't cry as I expected her to. She just stands there, and stares, and it's so eerie that I break the empty, motionless silence by striding forward and wrapping her in a tight hug.

"I'm going to die today," she murmurs, emotionless, into my shoulder.

"That's alright," I whisper. "I don't usually tell tributes this, but...I wish I would've died instead of winning. It's worse than death, I believe."

"I hope death is better than winning," Bernie muses as she steps into her tube. "I hope it happens quick."

"Me too," I whisper as she is hauled above by the platform.

Speciallo Canty, District Five Stylist

I know this is a time where tributes should get focused for the impending Bloodbath, but Jayce seems like the type that would enjoy a bit of a lightening up. He puts on the horrid tan shirt and brown shorts that they're forcing the tributes to wear this year (and I thought that Ludum had finally gained some fashion sense after he updated the Gamemaker uniform to something actually cool). Then I pop the question.

"So. Did you like the kiss I gave you when you asked during the styling?"

"I'll have to tell you when I get back," Jayce replies shakily. Before I know it he's climbing inside his tube, and I haven't gotten my answer. The naive side of me is hoping even harder that Jayce will come back, but the realist side of me knows I'll never find out if he liked it or not.

Calla Espenson, District Six Mentor

"If the arena is a hospital with medicine and stuff I'll scream," Libby grunts as we wait for the arena uniform to be delivered. "I can't trust myself anymore."

The Avox hands over the tan shirt along with the muddy brown shorts and shoes. It's most definitely not a hospital unless Ludum was high when he decided which uniforms to assign for the arena. Then again, Ludum's probably been high a lot after his divorce.

"Things should get better as time passes. If you make it out of the Bloodbath, it'll buy you enough time for your clarity to improve," I inform her.

"If I just make it out of the Bloodbath..." she sighs. "The world isn't going to miss me, is it?"

"Not unless you make it. I have...faith in you, Libby."

"You're too kind, Calla."

"There's a first time for everything." And then she was gone, just like that. I wasn't ready for it this time. Another first.

Twinkle Petyr, District Six Stylist

Usually it's the tributes who cry as their Mentor or Stylist tries to comfort them. This time, I can't control myself. Fender has been my favorite tribute ever, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I know that's quite a statement to make, but it's true. It's hard to admit, but I'm a very insecure person. It took all of my power to even audition to become a Stylist, and then I miraculously made it in. That should've killed all self doubts I guess, but old habits die hard. And Fender, he's helped me go back to the way I used to be, imaginative and churning out beautiful outfits. My mind feels alive again, and he helped get the gears turning.

"You're amazing," I sob as I squeeze him tight. Fender bites his lip and I can see a few tears in his eyes, but he won't let them fall. When we part, the robotic voice over the speakers is telling him to get into his tube. We spend our last moments together.

"You've been my only real friend here. Thank you, Twinkle," Fender admits.

"You go do well out there, Fender," I tell him boldly. "You knock them all dead, and come back here."

"I w-will," Fender stutters. "I have to."

Oakes Laine, District Seven Mentor

My sad smile and the gentleness in my movements is the only support and comfort I can offer Baron as he prepares to head into the arena. He's more than capable, but he is quite the target, having one of the highest scores out of the Outliers, and I know Snow will never let him emerge from that arena alive unless he survives a fantastical and brutal series of trials and punishments, which even his determination can't beat.

"Be good," I tell him as he walks towards his tube. "Act like a respectful, diligent citizen, and maybe Snow will reward your patriotism with giving you a shot, okay?"

"I'll try my hardest Oakes, but it's not in my nature to throw roses to the feet of our government," Baron replies.

"Try, really try. For me, for your grandma, for Seven."

He just nods as he steps into the tube. I'm still not convinced.

Paula Eufalu, District Seven Mentor

Just seeing Ivy makes me feel ashamed. She saw me at my lowest point, drunker than Calla Espenson on New Years Eve, and she doesn't look at me with reverence anymore. She sees me as just another drunkard Victor, a weakling, and I can't stand the half piteous, half disgusted looks she and others give when they find out I'm not perfectly okay like my shield of a strong personality would lead them to believe. I'm also ashamed by the fact that I'm not too sad to see her leave for the arena.

I'll at least bring myself to Mentor her to the best of my abilities, or else I wouldn't be able to live with myself. But a voice in the back of my head, a cowardly one, just says to fail her. I'm stuck in my head until Ivy's fully dressed and the voice is telling her to get in her tube soon. She doesn't look that nervous, and it boggles me. Even I, who was more skilled and had a better score, was shaking from nerves here in the catacombs.

"Not nervous?" I inquire.

"Of course not," she huffs. I wish her good luck and she steps into her tube, not even looking me in the eyes. Cocky, and not respectful. Just more petty reasons to make myself feel better for wanting to see her die up in that arena.

Uriah Matherton, District Eight Mentor

Calico looks rather unamused as I lay out his uniform for him. I really just want to ball them up in a wad and throw them in his bratty little face, but I'm feeling a little less hateful that usual. Maybe it's the haunting memories of when I nearly wet my pants at this same moment before my Games, or maybe it's because I'll be rid of this little menace in less than a minute. Whatever the occasion, I feel a little more forgiving, and I hand him his clothes nicely folded.

He rolls his eyes as he puts them on, and then he marches over to his tube without another word, ignoring me and tapping his foot insistently on the ground, waiting for it to open up.

"Rearing to go?" I sputter incredulously, starting to laugh in shock. I thought he'd be hiding in the corner, shrinking away from the tube and weeping into his hands.

"Better to get it over with quick, like ripping off a bandaid," Calico growls. The tube entrance slides open, and he ducks inside. He doesn't look at me as he waits to be lifted away. What a prick. At least he has some balls, I guess, but I'm excited to say sayonara to the sucker.

Woof Parsons, District Eight Mentor

Gaia starts to breathe rapidly as she puts on her uniform. Her fingers are shaking so much she can't even tie her shoelaces, so I do it for her, making sure they're triple knotted, fastened around her feet as tightly as possible to prepare for her opening sprint directly away from the Cornucopia and all the horrors of the Bloodbath. We decided it was the best idea for her, as she's a slower runner and wouldn't want to risk going into the Bloodbath. She'd wait on the sidelines for her allies, and if none of them make it out, she'd just go off on her own. Find water, set up a camp, build traps, etc. etc, everything is laid out. She just needs to get away in the first minutes, and she'll last a while on her knowledge of the wilderness and hiding.

"You're going to be alright, okay? Just stick to the plan." I wrap her in a tight hug after she nods hesitantly. She doesn't cry but I can tell she wants to. I stroke her hair, and then a mechanical voice is beeping at us, informing Gaia that she must get into her tube. Her eyes go wide but she still steps towards the tube and into it all on her own.

"Run like the wind, girl!" I shout right before the tube seals shut. She gives me a weak smile before she rises out of sight.

"Run, run, run..." I murmur, turning to hurry to the Control Center to help out my tribute.

Cravat Lumbroux, District Nine Stylist

I have worked my hardest to make these two tributes shine this year. Neither of them cried at their Reaping; neither's knees knocked as they crawled onto the interview stage, frightened by the spotlights. They are both healthy and are all smiles and are actually trying to survive for once instead of sobbing about their unfortunate fate like most of the scraggly creatures I'm delivered these days from Nine. I take pride in them, and I want them to do well to make up for the work I've shoveled into their images.

Luke doesn't speak a single word to me in the send off room, and I'm alright with that. He is a man of few, few words it seems, at least in the Capitol, and he's sticking to his angle well. I have the greatest hope for him. I clutch my breast as it swells with emotion as he steps into that tube, never looking at me, his eyes fastened to the sky, up at the arena waiting above for him. He soon disappears out of my sight, gone like that.

It's about time someone relieved Unity, and this boy could be the one.

Unity Carden, District Nine Mentor

My hands shake as I help Sage slip off her shoes and put on her new ones. She's trying her best to push past the nerves and lock them away somewhere where they won't bother her until after the Bloodbath. She's doing admirably, but I want her to relax, so I'm helping her do the basic things like getting on her clothes so she can focus on psyching herself into the right state of mind for the Games. Her needs come before mine today.

Once her shoes are knotted tightly, fitting her feet snugly, I stand. She falls into my arms, squeezing me passionately, murmuring that she doesn't want to go just yet up into the bloody faux reality of a world waiting for her above. I know what she means; I'm not ready to lose yet another sweet girl to the throes of the Capitol ordained death match I'm forced to help with every single damn year. Sage has more chance than many of my tributes, but her portfolio is still rather slim.

She stays out of her tube until the voice is aggravated and informing her she has less than ten seconds to enter the tube before she is put in by Peacekeeper force. One of the white clad soldiers peers into the room, and she shuffles over to the tube and heaves herself inside. She's barely straightened when the tube carries its cargo up to the arena. It takes all of my will to walk calmly down the halls to the Control Center without screaming or running back to the tube to try and pull her out of the damned arena. I'm not ready to lose another one. I never am.

Oxen Bamby, District Ten Mentor

I wish I could be more helpful to Rufus as his last moments free of the arena's clutches tick away into oblivion, but I'm useless to him. The tube room isn't brightly lit, and shadows cling to every corner, cranny, and nook. I see tiny movements in the dark spots, and I begin to tremble as the far off echoes of a young girl's scream a I kill her as she prepares to sleep fills my ears. The shaking intensifies, and Rufus looks at me like I'm crazy, which I am.

An Avox rushes in and gives Rufus his uniform. A Peacekeeper strolls in and starts to tell him the basics of what to do, ie put on clothes and get in the tube when the voice tells him to. The Avox escorts me out of the room with a beautiful, invigorating lantern clenched in her small pasty hands. I'm still shaking until we reach the Control Center. Hundreds of screens shed light across the spacious room, and my work space is cluttered with lamps, nightlights, and other sources of illumination. I collapse in my chair and the quivering subsides, and then I realize I've basically abandoned one of my tributes.

Well, fuck it. The thirteen year old has a better chance than him anyway.

Powder Lyanne, District Ten Stylist

I knew Miriam was a tough girl, but she isn't crying, which is quite a feat for a girl of her age. Most thirteen year olds heading into the Games would be drowning in a sea of their own snot by now from sobbing so much. She's braver than most, more mature it seems too. However, her single tell, the slight quiver of her hands, betrays the fact that there's a violent storm roiling underneath the seemingly calm complexion of Miriam's face.

"You'll do great, darling," I dote, pulling her into a quick hug. "Knock them dead, Miriam."

"I'll have to do more than knock on them," she says in a weak attempt at a joke in a non-joking voice. I laugh anyway.

"Keep the audience entertained and stay on your toes at all times, and I'll see you back at the Victory Ceremony."

"I'll put it in my calendar, Powder."

Ygga Tossel, District Eleven Stylist

My soul aches a little bit as I sit in the tube room with Omri. The nice boy puts on his arena uniform, trying to tamp down his nerves and look presentable. He's doing well, and that just makes me feel even guiltier. Here I am, given an amazing tribute with a serious chance of winning the Games, and I dressed him up in a potato sack for the chariots because I was too involved in my breakup with Alehenia. I have lost him many a sponsor because he didn't shine then like he needed to.

Tears pool in my eyes, and Omri takes notice. He asks me what's wrong as a few tears slip down my face. Thank Snow I put on the waterproof mascara today. I do have places to be after this, important places, like parties to rally sponsors for this magnificent tribute I have failed.

"I'm so sorry I didn't do more to help you!" I squeal, trying not to cry too much. "I never gave you a chance."

"You can give me a chance when I come back," he replies, stepping into his tube, and I really hope he does.

Pumpkin Little, District Eleven Mentor

I hold back Soya's hair as she throws up in a pail given to us by an Avox after her first hurling incident splattered all across the nice orange dress I decided to wear to send her off. I've changed out of it into a bland gray smock, the only garment kept around her that fit me, and Soya's still trying to recover from her extreme anxiety which led her to throw up the too large breakfast she inhaled this morning.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand when she's done and mumbles something about feeling better. I pat her on the back, making her let loose a sharp burp. She giggles a little and the bubbly, overly optimistic Soya is already chugging back to the station now that her queasiness has passed. She plasters on a big smile that wavers as she steps into the tube, and once again I wonder if it's all an act. I guess I'll never know unless by some obscene miracle Soya manages to make it back home. Not even the best of actresses can hold up against the grief of the Games and time.

Edna Trinket, District Twelve Escort

When Lord first swaggered onto the stage after I plucked his name from the Reaping bowl to the chorus of catcalls, I had thought I'd found a tribute I could hate, a tribute where I wouldn't feel remorse when they inevitably died in the Games. However, Lord has been charming and savvy in his time here, if sometimes vulgar and crass, and I've developed a bit of a connection to him. It's not as major as it is with some tributes, but I'll still mourn his death, no matter how conniving he may be. No one really deserves the Games, no matter your crime or circumstances. That's what twenty two years of this job has taught me.

Lord puts on a brave, cocky mask as he prepares for the tubes. He doesn't talk to me much and just focuses on himself, which I'm fine with. Before he steps into his tube, he closes his eyes tight, scrunching them up so much it must hurt. He's thinking about something or someone, maybe praying. When his eyes open they're glinting with his usual snide bravado, but I've just witnessed him in a weaker moment, a vulnerable one, something I haven't seen before.

"Good luck!" I shout as he climbs into his tube. He waves absentmindedly to me as he's carried away.

Eris Glasshine, District Twelve Mentor

Carmen's expression is a mixture of many emotions, a deadly cocktail of feelings that creates a horrid grimace on her face. Nerves for the Games, disgust with the Games, longing for her family and the past, grief at her infant son being taken from her, and a sliver of hope that she might be able to prevail somehow out in the arena. I don't speak to her about how she feels. I just reassure her, trying to get her into the right mindset so she can have a fighting chance at making it out of the Bloodbath.

Before she leaves to go up into the arena to face unknown horrors and to see untold deaths, probably including her own, she turns to me. She doesn't ask me to remember her or to do something to save or to make her casket oak like other tributes have. She asks me to keep watch over her family, making sure for the trillionth time that I have them covered, that I'll make sure Filippo gets a good home, be it in the Districts or the Capitol. I make all my promises to her once more, and then she skitters off into the tube as the voice warns her of the impending start of the Bloodbath.

As the plate under her feet begins to rise, the horrid grimace starts to shift into a determined glare, and for the first time I think Carmen might actually have more than a snowflake's chance in hell at winning these Games.

A/N: The Games are sooooooo close! School has officially begun, and I decided to use my last free night (the entire day was spent going through syllabuses, ewww) to get this out. The Countdown should be an easy chapter, but the Bloodbath is going to be massive and will probably take quite a while to come out. I hope you enjoyed this last glimpse at everyone!

What do you guys think will happen? Which POVs did you especially like?

Trivia:

Into the Tubes (1 pt.): What is the arena uniform?

Until Next Time,

Tracee