Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Note: Results of the "favorite tributes" poll are up on the blog. There's a new poll on my profile, this time asking who you think is going to die in the bloodbath. (Please note that this is not necessarily the same as who you want to see die in the bloodbath.) This one will be up until at least the end of training.

Chariot Rides
Fairest Show

Felix Stout, 52
District One Mentor

He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

Felix couldn't help a smile as he settled into a seat near the Florens. The three of them were already mingling with the other Victors, as they had probably done every year. Felix leaned back in his chair, waiting for the tribute parade to start. He didn't know the other Victors as well as Jade, Stellar, and Jasper did. His own Games had been more than thirty years ago, and he hadn't mentored since. He'd watched the Games, of course, so he knew the names of the younger Victors, but still…

"Felix!" called a voice, and he turned, surprised, in time to see Mags coming making her way towards him. "So they finally talked you into mentoring?"

Felix smirked. "Don't count on it happening too often. I'd rather leave it to people with a bit more experience." It was an excuse, of course, but she let it slide. If he'd started mentoring after his Games, he would easily have as much experience as Jade and Stellar by now. But the truth was, he'd never wanted to. His own Games had been quite enough; he didn't need the stress of trying to keep a tribute alive during theirs. And there were plenty of other Victors who were happy to do the job.

Still, there was something undeniably exciting about it. The roar of the crowd, the cheers, the applause – it was almost enough to make him forget why they were here. That these kids were here to kill each other, just like he had done. Just like so many tributes before them.

As the first of the chariots began to appear, however, cheers quickly turned to laughter, and it was easy to see why. Instead of the usual elegant, jewel-studded outfits, District One's tributes were dressed in some sort of large, bulky costumes that were probably meant to resemble diamonds. The costumes were a milky white with jagged edges, but that was where the resemblance to a diamond stopped. They almost looked like they were made out of foam.

Justus, for his part, was clearly displeased with the situation, his arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head. Mae didn't look much happier, bumping into the others' costumes as she tried to find a better position in the crowded chariot. Genevieve was waving at the crowds as they laughed, maybe hoping to salvage the silly impression they were making.

Consus, on the other hand, was clearly trying to hold back laughter. Felix couldn't quite hear him over the crowd, but he was pretty sure the boy was chuckling. Mae turned towards him, and he mouthed something to her, pointing at their costumes. Mae shook her head, but Consus reached out and grabbed a fistful of his own costume, then took a bite.

It must not have been foam, after all. Now that the chariots were closer, it looked almost like some sort of candy. Sugar, perhaps, that had been hardened into the shape of a diamond. Felix turned to Jade as Consus munched away at his own costume. "This isn't quite how I remember it."

Stellar shook her head, clearly disgusted by the stylists' choice, but Jade simply shrugged. "It doesn't matter. No one's going to discount District One just because of one silly outfit. They know better than that."

Felix just hoped he was right.

Harriet Bard, 30
District Two Mentor

She just hoped District Two's costumes were better.

Harriet shook her head as District One's silly giant diamonds continued to roll down the street. It would be hard to do much worse, particularly for a district whose outfits were usually quite traditional and elegant. Jade was right, of course; no one was about to make the mistake of ignoring or underestimating District One because of a silly chariot outfit, but it certainly didn't give their tributes much of an opportunity to stand out among the other Careers.

Harriet breathed a sigh of relief when she saw District Two's chariot. It was a bit crowded, but at least they didn't have to deal with bulky, ridiculous costumes like District One. The five tributes were dressed as warriors, each one's outfit a little bit different.

Margo was wearing a long, silver dress, white gloves, and silver shoes. She carried a bow and had a quiver of arrows strung over her back. Her hair was pulled back, and her face lined with silver paint. She was trying to smile, but clearly wasn't as excited as the crowd was. Still, maybe her outfit would be enough to draw some attention.

Mae, on the other hand, was dressed in armor from head to toe, a helmet hiding most of her face. She held a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. They were clearly heavier than she would have liked, but she was doing her best to hold them up so that the crowd could see them, waving her sword a little this way and that.

Etora didn't have to deal with any armor. She wore a simple brown shirt and shorts, but her sleeves and her shorts were both cut short, letting her limbs show. Her hair hung loose and wild around her shoulders, blowing this way and that as the chariot rolled forwards. She held a club in one hand and a large rock in the other, and was waving both in the air. The audience was cheering, waving their arms along with her.

Darian didn't look nearly as excited, but, then again, she couldn't really see much of his face. He wore a dark green robe and a long, dark grey cloak with a hood that hid most of his face. She could, however, see a pair of knives in his hands, which had been stained red with something clearly meant to resemble blood.

Leo, last of all, hadn't been given a weapon. Or maybe he'd refused one. He wore a long tan robe and carried a staff with two snakes curling around the outside. A satchel was slung over his shoulder, medical supplies poking out of it here and there. His eyes darted around quickly, looking everywhere but the crowd.

"Maybe not the flashiest outfits we've had," Mortimer admitted. "But there's something to be said for tradition."

Harriet couldn't help a smile. Mortimer had always been one for tradition, and this time, she couldn't really argue with that. Tributes from District Two were fighters, and this year more than ever, the audience might need a reminder of that. That these five tributes were ready to battle for their lives, prepared to do whatever needed to be done.

Or, at least, most of them were. Harriet glanced over at Vester, who was watching silently as Leo fiddled with his staff. Maybe she should say something. But what? He'd had his pick of the tributes, and he'd chosen the one who didn't have a chance.

Whatever happened during the Games, he'd brought it on himself.

Percival Kent, 36
District Three Mentor

They'd brought this on themselves.

Percival couldn't help a hint of a smile as he watched the first two chariots roll by, holding four or five tributes. He would never admit it, but it was almost satisfying to see their chariots packed full for a change. For the last eight years, District Three had been one of the districts sending extra tributes. One, Two, Five – they had been spared, sending the normal two tributes because of their loyalty.

But now it was coming back to bite them. All those years of glorifying the Games, of encouraging their tributes to train, to fight ruthlessly, to kill without mercy. All those years of working to get Victor after Victor. Now it was backfiring. Now they were the ones sending extra tributes, and it almost felt good.

Almost. Because these kids … these weren't tributes who had trained. Not most of them, at least. They weren't responsible for what their district had done, any more than any of the tributes were responsible for the rebellion that had started the Games in the first place. All of them – Careers or not – were paying the price for choices made long before they were born. Choices they'd had no part in.

Percival shook his head as District Three's chariot rolled forward behind the first two. Maybe it wasn't right to gloat – even to himself – about the fact that the Career districts had to send more tributes. But he could certainly be grateful that their district only had to send two, and that their costumes certainly weren't as bad as they could have been. Not as bad as some of the previous years' costumes.

In fact, this year's were rather subdued. Both Merrik and Diana were dressed as robots, their skin painted a shiny shade of silver, their hair slicked back to appear more metallic. Their clothes were silver and shiny, with buttons painted all over. Diana was playing along, making short, quick movements with her arms and legs, turning her head this way and that, waving at the audience in short bursts, as if she was running low on power.

Merrik, on the other hand, already looked as if his robot's power had been drained. The boy stood completely still, maybe hoping that the audience would ignore him and focus on his district partner instead. And that certainly seemed to be what they were doing. If his idea had been to avoid attention, he was doing a fairly good job of it.

But Percival had a feeling that hadn't been his intention. That the boy was simply scared stiff. That was perfectly understandable, of course. Anyone who wasn't afraid of the Games was either arrogant or an idiot. But the audience didn't want to see tributes who were frightened. They wanted to see tributes who were ready for the challenge of the Games – or, at least, tributes who were willing to pretend that they were. Tributes who were willing to play along.

Tributes like Diana.

Percival turned to Miriam, who shrugged. Maybe it didn't matter, really, whether he was willing to play along just yet. How many tributes from District Three had really made an impression during the chariot rides? Sure, Diana was doing her best, but how many of the Capitolites who were watching now would really remember her later, after so many tributes from so many districts had passed? Maybe a few, but her real chance to make an impression would come later.

That would come in the Games.

Bierce Lascher, 32
District Four Mentor

Their real chance to shine wouldn't come until the Games.

Bierce leaned back in his chair as the chariots continued to roll past them. Some of the outfits would be good; some would be laughable. But in the end, it didn't really matter. Even the most stunning chariot outfit couldn't make up for a lack of training or an unwillingness to do what had to be done. And it wasn't as if a horrible outfit was really going to ruin anyone's chances. Not unless they let it.

His own chariot outfit had certainly been less than spectacular. He and his district partner had been dressed as giant sharks, and had spent the chariot ride pretending to bite at each other. When they'd tired of that, they'd pretended to eat the chariot. It had been ridiculous, but it had all been forgotten the moment they'd entered the arena. From that point, all that really mattered was what a tribute did, not what they were wearing.

Still, he had to admit that stingrays were a much better idea.

Aleyn, Arabel, Emmett, and Ronan were covered from head to toe in dark blue body suits, with flaps connecting their arms and legs that looked like a stingray's fins when they raised their arms. Each of them had a tail, pointed at the end to look like a weapon. Aleyn was flapping around the front of the chariot, pretending to be gliding through the water. Arabel and Ronan were playing along, as well, leaning back and forth, their arms stretched out, pretending to swim. Emmett, on the other hand, stood stubbornly off to the side – or, at least, as far to the side as he could get in the rather crowded chariot. His arms remained at his side, and, for a moment, Percival thought he saw the boy shaking his head.

He probably didn't mean for it to come across as disobedient. He was probably simply frustrated with what he thought was a stupid costume. Still, Bierce leaned over towards Kalypso, about to advise her that she might want to have a word with Emmett about his attitude.

Before he could say a word, however, she nodded in agreement. "I know."

Bierce settled back into his seat, content. That was all it ever took with Kalypso. Just a few words, and each knew what the other was going to say. They'd always worked well together. There had even been speculation in the Capitol for a while that they were in a secret relationship. Why the hell two Victors would need to keep a relationship a secret, he'd never really understood, but the Capitol loved gossip.

There had never been any truth to it. He'd been her student; she had been his mentor. They made a good team, but after his Games, they'd parted ways. She'd gone on to train tributes at the academy, while he'd been content to go back to his life as a shipbuilder, teaching youngsters the trade so that they wouldn't have to consider going into the Games their only option to escape a life of poverty.

Whether his efforts had done any good, whether he'd really managed to make a difference, to make a dent in the Career mentality in District Four, he was never really sure. But ever since Misha had burned down the training center during the 42nd Games, Career training had dropped off significantly, and the number of teenagers who were willing to risk their lives in the Games had dropped along with it. Whether that was good or bad, he still wasn't entirely sure.

Only time would tell.

Camden Sinclair, 29
District Five Mentor

Only time would tell whether this Quell had been a good idea.

Camden drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. It wasn't their place to question the Capitol, of course. They had their reasons for doing … whatever it was they were doing. But now more than ever, seeing so many Career-district tributes without training ride past her in the chariots, it seemed counterproductive, at the very least, to reward their loyalty like this. Maybe District Four deserved it, after their part in the 41st Games. After what Misha had done. But they'd been sending extra tributes for the last eight years. This year was really no different for them.

But four tributes from One, five from Two, four from Five … it didn't quite seem fair. Maybe if they'd allowed volunteers. Maybe they wouldn't have been able to fill all the spots, but at least she wouldn't be stuck mentoring a twelve-year-old kid.

He was taking it about as well as could be hoped. Camden shook her head as District Five's chariot finally appeared. Retro was in front, waving a little at the crowd, trying to look as prepared as the tributes behind him. It wasn't working. He was so young. He wasn't ready for this. Even after three days of training, he wouldn't be ready for this.

Their stylists had done their best, of course. The four of them were dressed in black leotards, with sparkling, colored lights running up and down their arms and legs in rows. Not the flashiest chariot outfit, perhaps, but Mac and Elliot certainly seemed to be having fun. The pair of them were smiling and waving at the crowd, thrilled to be here. At least they wanted to be here. Or, at the very least, Mac did, and Elliot was pretty good at pretending.

Vashti, on the other hand, wasn't bothering to pretend. He was scowling at his district partners, at the crowd, at anything that happened to come into his field of vision. Camden glanced over at Harakuise, but he didn't seem particularly upset by his tribute's actions – or, rather, lack of action. "That's about what I expected," he admitted.

Camden nodded in agreement. None of their tributes' reactions were particularly surprising. The ones with some training were acting like Careers. Retro and Vashti clearly weren't. "I guess this is a good reminder of why we have a Career system in the first place," Camden offered.

"That's exactly what it is," Harakuise agreed. "It's too easy to get complacent. To get used to winning. You, Adalyn, Oliver – three victories in less than a dozen years. It's easy to get used to. Easy to forget how grateful we should be to have the opportunities we do."

A snorting noise from behind her caught her off guard. Camden turned to see Duke coughing, chuckling a little. "Sorry, just got something in my throat," he lied.

Harakuise shook his head and turned his attention back to the tribute parade. But Camden glared at Duke. "Go ahead. Laugh. But you can't tell me you don't wish there had been a Career there to volunteer for you. Or you," she added, turning to Nicodemus, then to Vernon. "Or you. Or your son."

Harakuise laid a hand on her shoulder. "All right, Camden. That's enough. Point made." And he was right. They were just jealous, really. They hadn't wanted to be in the Games. She had. That was the real difference between Five and Six. Five knew better than to turn down a good opportunity, while Six had done nothing but turn down every opportunity they'd had to prove their loyalty.

Someday, they would realize how wrong they were.

Duke Ballard, 19
District Six Mentor

The worst part was, she wasn't entirely wrong.

Duke leaned back in his chair as District Six's chariot appeared behind the others. Camden was irritating, but she wasn't saying anything that hadn't occurred to him before. Vernon's solution to District Six's reaping problem was hardly any better than District Five's Career system. At least the Careers got to choose whether they wanted to volunteer. He hadn't had a choice. He'd never had a choice.

So there was definitely something appealing about the idea. About training tributes specifically for the Games so that kids who were unprepared – kids like Lena and Charu – didn't have to face almost certain death. But it was something that was too far out of District Six's reach. Even if Vernon had wanted to set up some sort of Career system instead of simply arranging for the reapings to be rigged, he wouldn't have had the means, and certainly wouldn't have had the Capitol's approval. Especially not after what had happened during the 41st Games.

That hadn't been their fault, of course. Vernon and Nicodemus hadn't been involved, and Nicodemus had tried to persuade his tributes not to participate. But the Capitol didn't care about that; they never did. They just wanted someone to blame. Someone to punish.

And this year, it happened to be two girls who had probably never done a thing to harm anyone. Duke shook his head, watching Charu and Lena wave at the crowd. The pair of them were dressed in khaki shorts, green shirts, and thick boots. Each of them held a large, detailed map of Panem – as if they were leading some sort of trek across the districts. To top it off, each of them was wearing a funny khaki hat and a pair of binoculars.

At least the two of them seemed willing to play along. They were taking turns pointing to different things on each other's maps, holding up their binoculars and pretending to look at something out in the audience. Maybe they were actually pointing out a funny-looking Capitolite or two. There was certainly something satisfying about that. About the thought that while the two of them were on display in a silly parade, they were actually poking fun at someone else.

They probably weren't, of course, but he could always imagine that was what they were doing. That was certainly what he would be doing in their place. But Lena seemed too sweet to even point and laugh at someone else, and Charu … she certainly didn't seem the sort to make fun of someone because of the way they looked or the way they were dressed.

Normally, of course, that would be a good thing. Something he would appreciate, even. And even in the Games, that wasn't what would be detrimental to either of them. Even the Victors who made it out of the Games physically intact didn't make it out looking pretty. He certainly hadn't. He'd left a leg in the Games; others had left more. Once the chariot rides and the interviews were over, the Games weren't a beauty pageant anymore.

That wasn't what he was worried about. But neither of their tributes really belonged in the Games. Not the way he had. He was no Career, of course, but a life on the streets running with the gangs of District Six had at least somewhat prepared him for what was waiting in the arena. These two…

They were more like Nicodemus. But he had made it out of the Games alive. Somehow, he'd been able to put aside his kinder nature long enough to make it through the arena. Duke leaned back in his chair, watching as Lena and Charu continued to point and smile and wave.

He would just have to hope they could do the same.

Hazel Birnam, 59
District Seven Mentor

She would just have to hope the Capitol wouldn't hold their silly outfits against them.

Hazel sighed as District Seven's chariot finally appeared. Maybe Six's safari navigators had been a bit silly, but at least they'd had relatively simple, normal costumes. District Seven, on the other hand, didn't really lend itself to that sort of thing. Usually, they were trees – and the years when they weren't tended to be even worse.

This was one of those years.

Nephelle and Thomas were covered from head to toe in some sort of brown goo. It was probably meant to resemble soil, but it really just looked like a big mess. Sticking out of the brown mixture were little green sprouts that were probably supposed to be tiny trees. Maybe someone had mentioned to one of their stylists that Nephelle had a job as a planter back in Seven. Maybe this was what they had been planning all along.

Either way, someone obviously hadn't been thinking clearly.

"Great," Casper muttered as the audience burst into laughter. "Just great. This is worse than the year they were apples. Are they trying to make our tributes look like giant piles of shit?"

Behind them, Lander chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you said it before I did. I might have felt bad if I'd said it first."

Casper shook his head. "No you wouldn't have."

"Probably not," Lander admitted. "But this is ridiculous. All they're missing is some giant flies buzzing around them. What were your stylists thinking?"

Hazel shook her head. "Not a clue."

"Could be worse, I guess," Casper offered hopefully. "At least they're wearing clothes under all that brown goop."

"Are you sure?" Hazel asked.

Casper nodded. "See those patches there?" He pointed to Nephelle and Thomas, who were doing their best to wave without splattering brown goop all over each other. Hazel shook her head. She couldn't see any patches of clothing from where she was sitting. She could barely see their tributes' faces under all the mess.

"Certainly in the running for worst chariot outfit," she grumbled, and no one objected.

Not until they saw District Eight.

Kit Rawlins, 23
District Eight Mentor

He hadn't thought anything would be worse than District Seven's outfits.

Kit couldn't help a groan as District Eight's chariot appeared. Both tributes were practically naked, with only a few choice strips of fabric covering their more private areas. The crowd was still laughing, but how many of those laughs were still directed at District Seven and how many belonged to District Eight now, he wasn't sure.

Finally, some sort of drawer opened up in the bottom of the chariot, and Klaudia and Mariska both relaxed a little bit. Each pulled out a dress – a skimpy little pink dress, but at least it was better than what they had on.

As Klaudia started to put hers on, however, she sprung back suddenly as if struck by something. Or maybe zapped by some sort of electricity. Mariska tried the same, only to be similarly shocked. Kit glanced over at Lander and Carolina. "What's going on?"

"Damned if I know," Lander muttered. "Why give them something to wear if they're not going to—"

"Wait," Carolina interrupted. "They've figured it out." Mariska was approaching Klaudia tentatively, holding out the dress she'd retrieved from the compartment. Cautiously, the pair traded, and helped each other into the funny little dresses. Carolina shook her head. "What are they getting at?"

Lander shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe they're not getting at anything. Maybe they're just trying to be obnoxious." That certainly seemed to be the case. Even with a little more covering, both Mariska and Klaudia were clearly uncomfortable. Klaudia was fidgeting with her dress, while Mariska was scowling at the bottom of the chariot, maybe hoping that another drawer would open up with a better costume.

When it did open, however, Klaudia bent down to pick up two pairs of cat ears. She handed one to Mariska, whose scowl grew even tenser. For a moment, Kit thought she might toss the ears out of the chariot or something. "Come on," Lander muttered beside him. "Don't do anything stupid."

After a moment, Mariska shook her head, placing her pair of cat ears on Klaudia's head. Klaudia did the same, and the audience burst into giggles. "Great," Lander grumbled. "Now they look like cats … if cats had no fur and wore skimpy dresses."

Carolina sighed. "Why cats? That might make sense in District Ten, if they were supposed to be barn cats or something, or chasing field mice in District Nine. How many cats do they think we have in Eight?"

Lander shrugged. "Not a clue. Who knows what they were thinking. Don't try to figure it out; it'll give you a headache."

Kit nodded. Maybe Lander was right. Better not to try to understand what the Capitolites were thinking. At least Klaudia and Mariska were playing along for now.

He just hoped they would have the sense to keep playing along.

Eloise Davies, 34
District Nine Mentor

It wouldn't take much to beat out the last couple outfits.

Eloise winced sympathetically as District Eight's chariot kept rolling along, drawing more laughter from the crowd as it went. Maybe District Nine's outfits weren't usually particularly good, but she couldn't remember any being quite that bad. A few years ago, the tributes had been dressed as bread, and that was pretty bad, yes … but not as bad as scantily clad cats or a pile of brown goo.

Eloise wasn't sure whether to laugh of breathe a sigh of relief when she saw District Nine's chariot. Maybe windmills weren't the best outfit in the parade, but they were far from the worst. Each of the tributes was dressed in a long robe that had been patterned to look like bricks, and their arms were stretched out to look like the blades of the windmills.

Basil shrugged as the chariot rolled forward. "Could be worse. At least they're getting into it."

And sure enough, they were. All three of the tributes were circling their arms in the air, trying to look like windmills turning in the breeze – and trying not to hit each other in the process. Eloise couldn't help a little smile as Barlen started turning his arms the other way, grinning at the crowds as if he'd forgotten the real reason they were there.

Maybe he had.

Stop it. Barlen wasn't her tribute. And she'd specifically told Ti that it was in his best interests not to spend too much time with the younger boy. Not to get attached. But during the chariot rides, at least, it was rather impossible for district partners to avoid each other, and Ti and Aven didn't show much interest in even trying to ignore Barlen. Aven smiled and gave Ti a nudge, and the pair of them adjusted so that their arms were spinning in the same direction as Barlen's.

The crowd cheered as they passed. Maybe they were just happy to see an outfit that didn't look completely ridiculous. Or maybe the tributes' enthusiasm was rubbing off on them. Either way, at least District Nine wouldn't be remembered as the district with the silliest outfits.

Not this year, at least.

Presley Winters, 29
District Ten Mentor

At least the tributes weren't dressed like cows this year.

Presley leaned back in her seat, letting out a sigh of relief as District Ten's chariots appeared. The tributes were usually dressed as something ridiculous like cows or pigs or horses or even sheep. This year, however, the stylists had decided to go a different route.

They'd dressed up the horses that were pulling the chariot.

Presley couldn't help a smile when she saw the two white horses, splotched with some sort of black paint to make them look like cows. Skyton and Connor had fared a little better. They were dressed all in leather – black leather pants, tan leather shirts, thick boots, and wide-brimmed hats. Maybe it wasn't the most creative outfit, but sometimes it was better to go with something a bit more traditional than to branch out and end up doing something completely silly.

Connor, at least, was certainly getting into his role. Each of the boys had a lasso, and Connor was swinging his this way and that, clearly familiar enough with one to show off a few tricks. The crowd was eating it up, and Connor was grinning and waving, but careful not to loop the rope around the horses' necks or anything.

Skyton, on the other hand, seemed much less enthusiastic. Connor finally managed to convince him to swing his lasso around a little bit, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it. He kept rubbing the sleeves of his shirt uncomfortably, as if feeling sorry for the animal it had been made out of. "Great," Presley mumbled. "If he gets this worked up about a leather shirt, what's he going to do once it's people who are dying?"

"Says the girl who won her Games by making friends with a pair of lions," Glenn pointed out. "How would you have felt if one of them had died?"

"Not as badly as if I had died," Presley shot back. "I just hope he pulls himself together once the Games start."

"He will."

Presley shook her head. She wished she was that confident. Skyton was supposed to be her tribute, after all. Not that she and Glenn had made much of a distinction out of that after the boys had decided to work together. On the one hand, that made their jobs a little bit easier. But on the other…

On the other hand, it felt rather like they were putting all of their eggs in one basket. If anything happened to one of their tributes, it was likely to come back to bite the other one, as well. That was precisely the reason she'd refused to find any allies – to avoid whatever drama they might bring to the Games. It wasn't worth taking that sort of risk.

But it was too late now. Too late for Skyton and Connor to call off their alliance, even if one of them wanted to. They were a pair now, and it wouldn't be long before the other tributes figured it out.

She could only hope that would work in their favor.

Elijah Whitaker, 42
District Eleven Mentor

At least their tributes had found a way to make the outfits work in their favor.

Elijah couldn't help a smile as District Eleven's chariot appeared. The entire chariot had been designed to look like a cornucopia, with all sorts of fruits and vegetables pouring out of the front. Shanali, Kilian, and Wes were dressed in what he could only assume were "fruit gatherer" costumes. Each wore a white shirt under a pair of blue overalls, thick boots, and a straw hat. The three of them seemed to have decided on a common angle, and were munching away at the fruit in front of them, tossing a few pieces into the crowd as they went.

"Could be worse," Elijah offered as Tamsin started chuckling. "At least they're not dressed as actual pieces of fruit." That had happened on occasion. Apples. Bananas. Four years ago, the tributes had been dressed as bunches of grapes. Unbeknownst to them at the time, the arena that year was a vineyard full of grapes. Did this year's chariot outfits mean something, too? Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe the stylists had simply gone with the most outrageous things they could think of. District One's diamonds. District Seven's mud piles. District Eight's puffy-dressed cats. Compared to them, Eleven had fared pretty well.

And at least having fruit to eat gave the tributes something to do besides try to smile and wave at the audience. By the time District Eleven's chariots rolled around, after all, the audience was probably tired of seeing tributes pretend that they wanted to be there. Tired of seeing forced smiles and reluctant waves. At least their tributes were doing something different, if not something terribly exciting.

He wasn't fooling himself, of course. Their outfits wouldn't be winning District Eleven any sponsors. Not many people in the audience would remember their fruit pickers a week from now, when the tributes were fighting for their lives in the arena. But at least they wouldn't go down in the books as the most ridiculous costumes, either. There was something to be said for a middle-of-the-road outfit that didn't attract much attention one way or the other.

Tamsin nodded in agreement as the chariots rolled on. Only one district left. The audience's attention was starting to wane, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was better to just get the show over with.

Then the real work could begin.

Kyra Presper, 13
District Twelve Mentor

Tomorrow the real work would begin.

Kyra glanced up at Brennan as the last of the chariots appeared. Coal miners – just like they had been last year, and the year before, and the year before that, as far back as she could remember. But it hadn't mattered last year. She had made it through the Games without making much of an impression during the chariot rides. And Brennan…

"What was your outfit?" Kyra asked quietly as the chariots rolled on.

Brennan smirked. "Oh, ours were even worse. We were giant lumps of coal. For the most part, they decided to stick with miners after that. And at least it isn't awful…" He trailed off, watching Orphelia and David do their best to smile and wave at the crowd. Neither of them was particularly enthusiastic, but people knew better than to expect any sort of real excitement from District Twelve.

Finally, the chariots rolled to a stop. Kyra turned her attention to the balcony, where both President Grisom and Vice President Brand stood, waiting for the crowd to settle down a little. It was a while before the cheers died down, but neither of them really seemed to mind. They waited patiently, neither of them holding up their hands for quiet, waiting for the noise to die down on its own.

Finally, the crowd settled down a bit more, and President Grisom stepped up to the microphone. "Welcome, tributes, to the Second Quarter Quell!" Cheers again, and another few moments before the crowd settled down enough for him to continue. "For fifty years now, the Games have given us the opportunity to celebrate the strength and courage of the districts, and to solidify the unity of Panem. We have endured through hardships and through trials, because we are united as one country, serving one common cause."

Kyra had to fight to keep from cringing. It was a load of crap, but she knew better than to say so. They all did. After what had happened nine years ago, every one of them knew better than to speak out. Beside her, Brennan stood silently watching his old mentor. "Tonight, we gather once more to honor your courage and sacrifice. Thank you for your service to Panem, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The crowd cheered as the two of them left the balcony, and the tributes began to go their separate ways, some of them already splitting off into groups. She caught a glimpse of Orphelia and David heading off together. "What do you think?" she asked Brennan quietly as the mentors, too, began to head their separate ways to find their own tributes.

Brennan raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"David and Orphelia. Think they'll want to work together?"

Brennan hesitated a moment before answering. "Too early to tell," he decided. "Give them some time to interact with the other tributes. I ended up working with one of my district partners, but not the other – and we had other allies. We don't want to lock them into an alliance that won't work just because it's convenient for us."

He was right, of course. It would be convenient. She had been hoping that she and Brennan would be able to work together to help their tributes. And maybe they would. Maybe.

They would just have to wait and see.

Tamika Ward, 42
Head Gamemaker

The rest of Panem would just have to wait and see.

Tamika leaned back in her chair as most of her assistants went their separate ways. The arena was ready to go – and had been for a while – which left them with little to do until the tributes came in for their private sessions. Until then, it was up to the trainers, the stylists, the mentors, to get the tributes ready. Her part in the matter could wait.

Except for one thing.

She'd been expecting the knock on her door, and one of her avoxes was already standing ready to answer it. She rose from her desk and nodded crisply as the two men entered. "Mr. President. Mr. Vice President. What can I do for you this evening?"

President Grisom shook his head. "How many times do I have to ask you to call me Silas?"

Tamika smiled. It was something of a ritual by now. She simply couldn't get used to calling the president – or even the vice president – by his first name. Even now, years after President Snow's death, she still wasn't quite used to the differences between him and President Grisom. The contrast. Snow had been so much more hands-on, while Grisom seemed content to leave almost everything to do with the Games in her hands. As far as he was concerned, the Games weren't his job. Running Panem was. He'd joked on more than one occasion that that took up enough of his time.

But now that job was about to pass to Vice President Brand. And as much of a wild card as Grisom had been, she had even less of an idea of what to expect from soon-to-be President Brand, who took a few steps towards her desk. "I suppose you know why we're here."

She did. Every so often, the president would have a special request. A tribute or two he wanted to make certain didn't make it out of the Games alive. Snow had come in far more often, but Grisom had made a request or two upon occasion, as well. "So who is it?" she asked.

Vice President Brand smiled. "Actually, it's no one."

"No one?"

"Just in case you were wondering … no one. Let the Games play out however they will."

Tamika raised an eyebrow. "I thought perhaps one or two of them…"

Brand nodded. "There are one or two who might cause trouble – at the moment. But if they're going to survive the Games, they'll need to adapt, and I don't think they would be any trouble to us after that. None of these kids are rebels, Tamika. Not like nine years ago. And if we don't want a repeat of nine years ago to happen again sometime soon, we can't afford to appear too partial."

He was right, of course. He wasn't saying anything she hadn't thought of. Nothing she hadn't wanted to tell President Snow. He'd always kept a close eye on so many tributes in the arena, wondering which of them might turn against the Capitol if they were to emerge victorious. Which of them might try to incite a rebellion.

But rebellion hadn't come from one of those Victors. It had come from a Victor from District Four, of all places. A Victor who had shown no signs of rebellion when he'd been in the arena himself, nor for years afterwards. The truth was that there was no way to predict – not really – what a tribute might do after they'd won the Games. They could try to weed out the more obvious troublemakers, of course, but more often than not, the Careers took care of that themselves. Anyone who showed any signs of outright rebellion made a juicy target for the Careers from the moment they were reaped.

Tamika nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Vice President Brand chuckled a little. "I don't suppose it would do any good if I asked you to call me Eldred."

"Probably not," Tamika admitted.

He chuckled a little. "Then good night, Madam Gamemaker."

Tamika smiled a little as he left. President Grisom shrugged and followed him. "Madam Gamemaker. I like it."

So did she.

"Away, and mock the time with fairest show: False face must hide what the false heart doth know."