A/N: Yay, new chapter! Hope you enjoy :)

Chapter 2

The escort ushered them onto the train, filled with smiles and high-pitched giggles, as though this wasn't the worst moment of the four children's lives.

Well, Haymitch could only speak for himself; Trinket was having the time of her life, posing in front of cameras and chatting with interviewers as though this was all perfectly normal.

As though they weren't all being sent to their deaths.

He saw his family behind the crowds of Capitols – his father, foreign without the familiar coat of coal dust covering his body; his mother, strong and fierce in her determination not to give the Capitol the satisfaction of seeing her crying; his brother, too young to control his emotions in the same way, engulfed by the jacket Haymitch just gave him (after all, not as though Haymitch would need it).

It all sent a fresh wave of rage through him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

Lily had chanted it into his neck while they said goodbye, somewhere in-between the desperate sobbing and frantic kisses, before they tore her away and he clutched at her, needing to memorise her face one last time-

He stormed onto the train and lashed out at the first thing in sight, knocking a vase off a table. He began to pound onto the wood with his fists, trying to imagine a peacekeeper – better yet, President Snow himself – in its place.

"That is mahogany!"

The scandalised exclamation drew his attention for a short moment. Trinket stared at him, lips pursed in disapproval.

Her makeup was thick, her hair carefully curled and pinned, her dress bright and colourful and expensive enough to have funded a year's worth of food for some Seam families.

She looked Capitol. She was Capitol. He hated the Capitol.

Something in him snapped, and then he was barrelling towards Trinket, and she was letting out a high-pitched shriek as he knocked her to the floor, and then he was about to give her a good thump, make her hurt like he was, when somebody was dragging him off her by the scruff of the neck.

He squirmed free of the grip on his shirt and found Shale Trinket looming over him. She was several times taller than he had expected, perhaps because of her heels.

The escort fussed over Trinket and glared at Haymitch. "You must never hurt a lady!"

Haymitch laughed. "That's the whole point of the Games. I thought a Capitol of all people would understand that."

"Fighting between tributes isn't allowed on the train, boy," Shale informed him. "The Games haven't begun yet."

"What are they gonna do? Haymitch sneered. "Disqualify me?"

"There are many ways they could punish you." Shale pointed towards the next room. "And if you all calm down and follow me and sit down, I might teach you how to avoid that."

Although he grumbled under his breath, Haymitch did follow the others as they filed into the next room.

Listening, if anything, would at least give him some idea of what his competitors were doing.

Shale had them all introduce themselves all over again and tell her their ages and what their parents did.

Sash was thirteen, the youngest of all of them, and his parents were the District butchers – Haymitch, having never had fresh meat in his life, had no clue who they were.

Maysilee was sixteen, Lily's age. He'd seen her around at school, always stuck to the hip with her sisters. Her parents owned the candy shop, where his brother liked to stand for hours on end and gaze at the displays of beautiful confections.

Trinket didn't need to introduce herself, but she did anyway. She was fifteen, her mother was Shale, and wasn't this exciting? How fun this was, they were a team and they were doing it all together…

The urge to throttle her returned, but apparently violence was only encouraged in front of a camera, so Haymitch spoke over her instead. Better to get it over with.

"'M Haymitch. I'm nearly eighteen. Pa's a miner. I ain't part of no team."

Shale's eyebrows skyrocketed. "You're Seam?"

Haymitch shrugged.

He knew what they were thinking – how could a Seam boy be able to not take tesserae? But his family were careful and between three working members, they'd just about managed.

It would be much worse next year, if Haymitch died. Harland would probably have to take tesserae, and there wouldn't be a Quell rule change to save him from that, no older brother to volunteer in his place…

Somebody poked him in the side with a sharp nail.

"Well, Haymitch?" Trinket's voice was shrill. "Aren't you going to apologise?"

He snorted. "For what?"

"You attacked me."

"Yeah, but apologising would imply I'm sorry for it."

Trinket sniffed, pursing her lips. She pursed her lips enough to be a damn fish.

"In the arena," Shale said, "the four of you have better odds as allies. You'll be able to share resources, use combined skills, and fend off other groups of attackers. Safe sleep will also be easier."

"And then when it comes down to it, we'll all kill each other, woohoo!" Haymitch snarked.

"Or we could split up before it got to that point," Maysilee pointed out. She was so quiet, Haymitch almost didn't hear her.

Shale nodded approvingly. "Assuming you were all alive when it came down to the Final Eight, that would be the ideal time to separate. There'd be enough mutts and tributes left to assure that you wouldn't be tasked with fighting each other, if you were opposed to that."

"Alright then," Haymitch said. "Let's assume I wanna be part of a team, which I don't. What use will I have for any of you?"

There was a beat of silence.

Because he'd said it, hadn't he? Maybe the richer kids had more food and medicine and whatever, but they also hadn't worked a day in their lives. They didn't know how to starve, or fight for scraps. They'd never slept rough. They didn't stand a chance of survival.

Especially not if he was going to win. Because he had to win – for his brother, for Harland. And that meant he'd maybe have to kill one of these people.

"I can use a knife," Sash wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve, making Trinket wince. "I help out my parents all the time. I can gut stuff. It's how I lost my fingertip, see?"

He held out a hand proudly, showing off the shorter index finger.

"My dad, he's lost three fingers. Nothing can stop a Pine from doing their best, he says, my dad says."

"I can use a knife too," Trinket spoke up. "And I know lots about plants. I use lavender for my detoxes, and rose is wonderful for avoiding break-outs – you could use some of that, Haymitch – and calendula does wonders for moisturising your skin, witch hazel is wonderful for inflammation, and chamomile isn't just good for drinking, you know!"

Surely she'd use Capitol beauty products, in favour of making her own? And whatever would Effie Trinket do with a knife?

But of course, Shale was her mother. She was from a Victor family, she'd probably been expecting all her life that she would be reaped.

She must have been in training her whole life, like a Career. He wouldn't be surprised if she even had some kind of professional trainer in the Capitol, she spent her whole life there anyway.

He couldn't trust her. For all he knew, the ditsy, bubbly personality was only a façade to hide the stone-cold killer she was inside. Hadn't that been how Shale won? Pretending to be weak and attaching herself to the biggest, baddest tribute she could seduce, only to surprise everyone with her ruthless bloodlust in the last hours of the Games?

And Sash was too young. He reminded Haymitch of Harland; he'd never be able to kill him.

And Maysilee…

"I'm smart," the girl announced quickly, perhaps realising that between her endless crying and timid personality, she hadn't given herself the best image.

"Nobody ever won the Games with smart," Haymitch snorted. "You might want to find yourself a better talent before the interviews, else it'll be hard to hear from some sponsors. Assuming you survive the bloodbath, which isn't going to happen with just smart."

"Now, now, children, that's enough!" Although a beam was plastered over the escort's face, and his tone was light, he seemed annoyed. He didn't seem to like Haymitch much, for some reason. "There's been a meal prepared for you all in the next cart."

He ushered the others to their feet, leading them away. Seeing that Shale was still sat down, Haymitch asked, "You not eating?"

She smiled. Her teeth seemed uncomfortably pointed, almost animal-like. Probably some Capitol fashion.

"You have good odds, boy," she told him.

Good. He needed his mentor to like him.

"Are you going to favour Effie?"

"Naturally. But of course, if my daughter were to have allies who needed looking after…"

He was not spending the possibly final days of his life with Effie Trinket. He'd end up killing himself. He could find another way to get the upper hand.

"Thanks, but no thanks." He began to walk away.

"Consider it, boy!" she called after him. "The offer will always be open!"

The others were already sat around a table piled with food, and Sash was tucking into a huge slab of meat.

"It's steak!" He exclaimed, seeing Haymitch's eyes resting on his plate. "They get it from cows! You've got to try some."

It was the most food Haymitch had seen in his entire life. There were platters of meat, bowls of fruits and vegetables he'd never even heard of, and a great red creature with pincers laid across the table like a centrepiece.

"Have a seat," Trinket urged him. "I tried to tell him it's impolite to begin eating before everybody's sat at the table," she cast a disparaging look towards Sash, who was oblivious, "but he wouldn't listen."

"Yeah, well," Haymitch grabbed a plate and began to pile on some kind of bird meat swimming in apples and plums. "Not all of us can afford to feast like kings and queens every day."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't use your manners."

"Sorry, I'll try to remember my pleases and thank-you's when I'm having my guts torn out in the arena."

"Make sure you do! You'll be on Live TV, and I, personally, don't want to reflect badly on the District. What people think about you is already bad enough."

"What people think about me? It's your District too, you know! Just because you're determined to look like a Capitol clown doesn't mean that you're one of them now. After all, they seem pretty content to watch you die."

Maysilee got up from the table, her plate still untouched. "I feel sick. I'm going to go find Mr. Hark."

They watched her leave, the only sound being Sash tearing meat off a stick ravenously.

Trinket cleared her throat. "I apologise. It was impolite of us to argue at the dinner table. Please, Haymitch, help yourself."

"Cheers," Haymitch muttered, and began to dig into the bird meat.

It tasted amazing. The meat was soft, sweet, and juicy. The apples and plums were rich, the sauce they swam in so tasty Haymitch would have drunk it from his plate, if he weren't certain Trinket would make a fuss about it.

"Can you pass that?" he asked Trinket once he'd finished, gesturing to a bowl of smaller bird meat stuffed with something.

"The quail?" she clarified. He had no idea what that was, but the idea of looking ignorant in her eyes made him nod.

She passed it over.

"Thanks," he said, which he wouldn't bother with normally.

As he passed the bowl back to her, he realised that Trinket's own plate was empty. "What, you feel sick too?"

"Me?" she glanced down, seemingly remembering. "No, it's just I have this diet and- "

"Seriously? You've just been reaped into the Games and you're thinking about diets?"

To choose to starve when, in her own District…

"Yes," she jutted out her chin stubbornly. "Everybody in the Capitol will be watching us now. I want to be sure I look good on a screen."

It was Trinket; what more could he have expected?

"You look fine," he told her. "Eat. It'll get neutralised by all the starving you'll be doing in the arena."

She piled a small amount of vegetables onto her plate, and he rolled his eyes.

"So," she said, "what do you think the arena will be like?"

He refused to get dragged into conversation. He wanted to eat. In peace and quiet.

But Sash swallowed quickly and provided his own insight. "I'm hoping for a forest."

"Oh, but forests are so cliché. Lots of opportunity for mutts, but there are too many hiding places and then, less fights."

When would the other shoe drop? When would she realise this wasn't just a bit of entertainment, it was a real ordeal she'd have to survive?

"Smaller arenas are always fun," Trinket continued. "But then the Games are shorter. It's not like I'm hoping for a desert or anything, but I want something new and exciting. Like the other year, when they were all in the mountains and there was all that snow. Don't you just love snow? It's so beautiful. Except cold colours don't suit me, so maybe a warmer arena would be better."

He couldn't bear to sit there in silence and listen to more of her drivel.

"A forest means easy access to food. There's a lot of animals – and yes, a lot of mutts – so there's a lot of stuff you can kill and eat. And if you're an 'expert on plants' as you claim, it means there are plants you can eat too."

"That's why they usually use forests!" Sash provided. "When they do it somewhere else, like that year they did the abandoned city, or the year it was in a swamp, all the tributes starve to death, which means there's no fighting."

A faint pink blush was spread across Trinket's face. Good. Her ignorance should embarrass her. She had to understand what she'd been supporting all these years.

"I see. Well… yes, let's hope for a forest then."

"Ah, children! You haven't murdered each other yet, that's good." Shale entered the room. She'd changed from her all-black outfit to a glittering blue dress so wide, it barely fit through the compartment doors.

"Where's Maize?"

"She felt ill," Trinket provided. "What a wonderful dress that is you're wearing!"

"Thank you, dear. You'll be pleased to know it was made by District 12's newest stylist, I'm just trying it on really. Is Maize alright?"

"Maysilee," Haymitch growled through gritted teeth, "is with the escort, so she should be fine."

Shale frowned. "It isn't polite to refer to Mr. Hark as 'the escort', Haymitch. My, you'll be a challenge during the session for teaching manners."

Manners. "We're being sent off to a fight to the death and you're teaching us manners?"

She clucked. "Attracting sponsors is important for survival. But we'll discuss that at a later date, when all of us are here. Sash, dear, your fork should be in your other hand, and we absolutely must keep our elbows off the table."

He resented this. The Careers were probably somewhere out there, learning how to disembowel or set a trap, and he was sat at a table with treacherous Capitol wannabes, talking about diets and manners.

After they'd finished eating, they found Maysilee and the escort sat on a couch in front of the TV, where Caesar Flickerman's face filled the screen. This year, he was sporting a dark green wig – which, paired with his orange skin, made him look like a carrot – and sparkling lime green suit.

"You're just in time!" The escort exclaimed. "They're playing all the reapings!" He had a tiny, pink notebook open in his hand. What would he even be writing? District 6: not a threat, kill first?

But you have to know your competition, Shale lectured them, so they all settled down around Maysilee and the escort like one big, happy family.

Districts 1 and 2 were, unsurprisingly, made up completely from volunteers. They were also the only volunteer districts, apart from one boy in District 4, who took the place of an inconsolable twelve-year-old.

"Those are the real threats," Shale declared. "When somebody volunteers, it's usually because they think they can win. Remember their names. Remember their faces."

Apollo. Lush. Bliss. Vicuna. Flint. Charr. Gemma. Esme. Dew.

They were all between seventeen and eighteen, all lean and muscled, all confident and steel-eyed.

District 12, by comparison, was a joke. They were usually the joke, but especially this year. Hysterical Maysilee. Young Sash. Capitol Effie.

He wasn't going to ally, Haymitch decided. He couldn't afford to. Going off on your own was better odds anyway, no matter what Shale had claimed. Haymitch had seen enough Games to know.

After the reapings, Shale talked strategy. Given none of them were fighters, they were better off ignoring the Cornucopia completely and running in the opposite direction. That way they wouldn't be involved in the bloodbath.

"What're your skills then?" Shale demanded, looking at Haymitch. "It's only fair you share, given all that rigorous interviewing you made the team go through."

Rigorous interviewing was a bit of an exaggeration, but it wasn't like his skills were a secret, so Haymitch began to list.

"I know how to starve. I know what it's like to be unable to eat. I'm quick. I'm always getting into fights at home, so I can take care of myself. I know how to take care of myself. Sometimes I've managed to catch a squirrel or bird that got lost in the district? But you know why I'm going to win? Because I refuse to die."

And not just for Harland, or the rest of his family. Not even Lily, with her petal-soft lips and hazel eyes.

He refused to die for the Capitol. He refused to die for their entertainment. He could die at home, in a mine collapse or as a punishment for poaching, but he wasn't going to die on a screen for all the world to point and laugh.

"That right there!" the escort tittered, pointing at Haymitch.

"What?"

"That's what I want to see during your interview. That fire, that determination, that… What is it? That warrior quality."

"They'll love it!" Effie agreed eagerly, nodding along. "And it'll be unexpected from a 12 tribute."

Too bad he wasn't trying to appeal to the Capitol. He was going to be as unlikeable as possible.

That night, he tossed and turned. The bed was too soft, the sheets too slippery beneath him, the pyjamas tickled his skin.

He couldn't stop thinking about his family and the Games. Even if he won, they'd have likely seen him murder other tributes. Possibly younger tributes. How could his parents ever look him in the eyes again? He didn't want Harland watching, not when he'd always copied Haymitch and said I wanna be just like you when I grow up.

How could Lily ever relax in a murderer's arms?

He ended up sleeping on the floor, because it felt closer to home. He discarded the Capitol-issue pyjamas and stayed in his underwear.

He was awoken by a shrill, annoying voice. "Haymitch, we're all going to have breakfast now and then we'll talk about training, so- oh my!"

Haymitch stumbled to his feet, shrugging on yesterday's shirt. "Calm down, sweetheart. It's like you've never seen a body before."

"Yes- well- yes, but-" he smirked at how flustered Trinket was "-just. Put on a clean shirt. There are plenty. There will be cameras at the station."

She stormed out, the door slamming behind her.

Trinket was still pink at breakfast, where Sash was gorging on pastries and Maysilee was delicately picking at toast.

"Eat up!" Shale announced. "I want all of you to gain as much weight as possible while we're here. Extra body fat will help you when you're in the arena."

The look on Trinket's face made Haymitch snort. He'd been right, and she didn't seem happy about it, to say the least.

Once they'd finished eating, Shale talked training. That afternoon, they would be in the opening ceremony, a parade where tributes were displayed to the Capitol in their district-related costumes.

She wasn't finished talking when Sash ran to the windows, face bright with excitement. "We're here, we're here!" he cried, seemingly forgotten why they were here once he'd seen the crowds of Capitols cheering for them.

Trinket rushed to join him with a happy squeal, and Maysilee soon followed. Haymitch stayed where he was sat, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.

They were in the Capitol.