Lyra-Rose Ripley, 16, D4F:

Ennika, my stylist, helps me into my chariot. "You're going to do amazing. All I need you to do is smile and give some kisses and interact with the crowd as much as you can. They're going to love you, sweetie!" I give her my best curtsy. I want to make a great impression on the Capitol citizens, after all. Everyone has been so lovely to me, finally treating me with the degree of hospitality that I deserve. It's such a shame that the other Careers aren't seeing things the same way. I deserve to be put on a pedestal. I don't really like Rafe very much, but he's not Livi, and that particular selling point is what really got me on his side.

I don't like her. She's so...assertive. It's uncomfortably controlling. If only she would address me the way my prep tea did, calling me Miss and asking for permission to speak. I'm worthy of leadership. My only consolation is that at least Stacey would never have even been allowed to be a part of the Pack, sort of like what happened with Ardledge. I'm still trying to figure out his deal. On the train he was irritatingly optimistic and hopeful, but now he's on edge, tapping his foot on the floor of the chariot beside me. I suppose he's just trying to get used to the reality that he's going to die in the Hunger Games. I assume he'll cheer up, but I hope he won't. He's much more tolerable when he's quiet.

The public announcement system makes a crackling noise, the snap of electricity as the station connects, the voice coming in clear and smooth as the static subsides. "Chariot one, begin rolling now." I see Oscar and Livi, clad in a giant fur coat and a gem-studded dress respectively, grip the handlebars as their carriage lurches forward, two glossy brown horses drawing it at the urging of one of the handlers. District Four's horses, a pair of sleek reddish ones speckled with white, are naturally even better trained, and there's barely any jostling as the wheels are set in motion. I clutch the cushioned grip in front of me, almost afraid of losing my footing in my high heels.

I'm disappointed to look over and see Ardledge grinning broadly, apparently already over his prior worry. He even seems to be interested in talking to me, and I'm already looking forward to shutting him down. "Why did the Appaloosa give the Shetland a glass of water?" he asks.

"You tell me," I say dully.

"Because he's a little horse!" He seems awfully proud of his joke, and smiles goofily.

"I don't get it. What's it supposed to mean?"

"Our horses are Appaloosas. My prep team told me about the sorts of horses everybody had. I just thought it would be funny."

"It wasn't." I look straight ahead as our chariot speeds up, and finally we pass under a decorated archway and my surroundings are suddenly bathed in light. A roar erupts from the amphitheatre as people burst into cheers upon seeing the chariots emerge from the tunnel. The President stands on a balcony jutting out from the wall, flanked by the Head Gamemaker on one side and Head Peacekeeper Marius on the other, already welcoming us to the Capitol. As soon as he gets the sentence out, each team of horses, on cue, all speed up to a quick trot.

Now I'm fully under the lights, so I thrust up a hand, and I'm instantly pelted with a barrage of flowers from the people in the audience. The crowd ripples and swells around me as I begin to blow air kisses in every direction, and I feel good. I feel worshipped, as someone of my looks and status should be. I make a heart shape with my fingers, raising my arms up above my head, and the people mimic my gesture with some of their own. I love them, and they love me back, despite my idiotic seaweed costume.

I've successfully stolen the spotlight away from Ardledge, who's fading into the background quite nicely in comparison to me. I'm the star here, not him, not Stacey, not anybody else. I loft one of the flowers in the air, swishing it around crazily like a trophy. I idly wonder if the Victor will get a trophy as well as a crown, and if so, will my name be inscribed in it? The uproarious cheers of my fans overwhelm all other noise, and I let my worry float away with the echoes of their voices, my name ringing off the domed ceiling of the stadium.

Amethyst "Thys" Kurono, 16, D5F:

My chariot rolls along the track as the crowd cheers on District Four ahead of us. Tonight, Ryan and I are the laughingstock of Panem. Being dressed as glittery blue spike balls really isn't doing anything for my reputation. In fact, I'm just hoping it doesn't completely make my betting odds drop. My mentor, Dare, told me that my betting odds are directly tied to how much sponsors are willing to help me out, and he warned me that having such a stupid costume might totally negate any positive first impressions I may have made at the Reaping.

Dare also decided that because he wants me to look tough, I don't have to interact with the Capitolites and I can just stand still and frown a little. I'm actually relieved about that, and I'm glad that I don't have to worry about pandering to them or blowing kisses the way Ryan is trying to do. Instead I can focus on trying to retain the last visible shreds of my dignity by scowling vehemently down my nose at the garbage-filled path in front of me.

Isn't it dangerous for the horses? Roses, with thorns still attached, are strewn across it, and so are vast amounts of bills and coins. Some desserts are spattered on the tile as well, pastries and custards mostly, and there are hats, gloves, and other assorted accessories too. There's also honest-to-goodness gold jewelry. What sort of people have so much money they can just throw away their expensive most precious possessions? Certainly not anybody in Five, with the possible exception of my awful landlady.

Twenty-four names are being chanted all at once, mine included. The people are loudly trying to prove that they are most loyal to their favorite tributes. I'm happy that my supporters seem to be behaving themselves semi reasonably, especially compared to the mostly drunk Lyra-Rose fans, some of which are trying to start a line dance centered around a food cart, toppling over the bewigged vendor. I'd never tolerate that sort of behavior in the clubs of Five, folks get tossed out if they hassle other paying customers, or even just staff.

Underneath the stretchy unitard that's protecting my skin from the rough plastic of my outfit, my skin is sweating, partly from the anxiety of the moment, and partly because of the stifling heat. I wonder who, between Ryan and I, is getting the most support. We decided to be allies, and maybe bring in a few other people as well. I'm planning on asking Dare for more suggestions later.

The overwhelming feeling of my surroundings nearly swallows me up. The single thing that's taking the most getting used to is all of the newness that surrounds the Capitol. I've found some of their most mundane meals and customs to be extraordinary. Dare promised me he'd find a way to make my time in the Capitol especially fun, and I hope he does. I figured out hours ago that my volunteering was too rash of a decision, and although I'm sort of regretting it, I haven't had any truly bad experiences yet. We'll see if that changes once I get into the arena.

I'm confident in my ability to win the Hunger Games, but there's no certainty. Self defense skills are a benefit, but there's a reason I'm planning on going to some sword lessons tomorrow. I know I need a proper weapon if I'm to get out alive, and I'm okay with that. As my eyes glaze over while I glower at the pinpricks of white light dancing at the edges of my vision, something catches my eye. A man wearing a comically large necktie shouts my name, waggling a banner with a picture of my face on it. GO THYS, it reads.

It calms me down right away to know I have at least one sponsor. I still stare straight ahead, but I nod as my chariot whizzes past his section. My people are out there somewhere, emptying out their wallets, seeing what they can afford to put towards my sponsorship fund. Thankfully, Dare is probably used to this, being a Career mentor, and I know he'll know exactly what to do with it. I'm excited, for the first time all day, and I crack a tiny smil, despite my orders to remain stoic.

All I need to excel tomorrow is grit and a little elbow grease, and luckily, I have both.

Harry Striffer, 16, D8M:

My chariot speeds along merrily, and I'm convinced Grandmother must be laughing back home, sitting in the squashy old armchair and lightheartedly poking fun at my costume. It's not a bad suit, but she's most certainly judging the fluorescent pink color. I'm happy my stylist didn't entirely get her way with the neon orange, but I have to question if this is really all that much better.

Still, it's trendy among the Capitolites (I can see quite a few audience members in similar garb,) which makes it a triumph regardless of my personal feelings towards it. The black horses drawing the chariot begin to slow and veer left, and before I know it, we're sliding into position directly over the District Eight seal that's emblazoned on the floor. The instant the District Twelve Chariot stops, President Mikhail rises from his chair, and the Capitolites all rise too, standing still as Panem's national anthem plays on the overhead speakers.

Once everyone is settled into their seats again, he steps up to his lectern and laces his hands together as he speaks earnestly into the microphone. "It's good to have you all here tonight," he begins. "Today, we celebrate the commencement of the Four Hundredth Annual Hunger Games, and we honor those who participate in the tradition and ceremony. Most of all, I thank our twenty-four tributes, who have gathered here before us tonight in penance for the actions of their ancestors, who acted in a rebellious nature towards our very own Capitol, the Jewel of Panem. Each district has offered up one male and one female tribute, each a youth between the ages of twelve to eighteen, to fight to the death in repentance and memoriam of all who fell to uphold the sanctity of our nation, both in the Dark Days and since.

"As a reminder of the Capitol's–and my–mercy and generosity, the last surviving tribute will live lavishly as a Victor in exchange for the sacrifices they made in the Hunger Games. The winning individual will forever be remembered for their valor, but rest assured, those who will fall in the course of carrying out their civic duty will be hailed as heroes by their communities within the Districts, for their fortitude is what shapes the backbone of our magnificent country. For those of you who may have forgotten, special rules have been implemented due to this being not only a Hunger Games but a Quarter Quell."

"Mentors have been assigned to tributes who are numerically one quarter apart from their districts, there will be one quarter fewer supplies at the Cornucopia, and sponsor gifts will cost one quarter more. Tonight we gather to salute our brave tributes. May the odds be ever in your favor, children." He offers a couple more sentences of conclusion, and then returns to his seat as the chariots peel away from the balcony and disappear into dark tunnels that run the length of the hall.

I hope to have made a good impression on some of the Capitolites, but they're just shouting names. There's nothing to say that they'll actually fork over money to sponsor me, especially because I was only reminded of the twist when President Mikhail brought it up in his speech. I'm way too hot under my suit, and it's a blessed relief to finally be in a cool, dark place devoid of the hubbub of the Capitol. My escort promised me that they would ensure I'll be undisturbed once in the District Eight apartment, and truth be told, I'm very grateful.

I like being around people, but just this morning I was waking up in District Eight and had Grandmother's soup for breakfast, and I've had an awfully long day. Tomorrow I have to wake up to a full day of training and I'll have untold luxuries for breakfast instead. I want to make some new friends tomorrow also, people to team up with.

Elle nudges me. "Where are we going?" she asks.

"I'm not sure." The horses are moving of their own accord, and I don't know where they're supposed to lead us. Elle might be somebody worth talking to as a potential teammate, but I don't know. I suppose I'll decide later. I'm so tired, and all I want to do is find my new bed and go to sleep so I'll be more alert in the morning.

Chip Maxen, 13, D12M:

The crowd seemed to love me, despite my awful costume. They dressed Sorrel as a skimpy coal miner in gray overalls, and me in a sort of gilly suit covered in coal chunks. They also sat me in a wheelbarrow for maximum effect, and gave Sorrel a shovel as a prop. The crowd seemed to love me, though. Apparently they find small children dressed as flammable rocks absolutely adorable, especially when they wave and smile.

I don't particularly care for the Capitol, but the people seem okay besides their stupid fashion sense and laughable accents. I sort of wanted to rip off the stupid thing, but the amount of people yelling my name definitely made me rethink that course of actions. Sorrel was hanging out with a bunch of other people earlier, which was sort of strange since I'm supposed to be the outgoing one, and I was worried it might jeopardize my alliance with her.

"They're our allies now," she explains. "I just sort of started talking with them, and the boy from Four, Ardledge, is in charge. He told me if you wanted to join up, you could, but seemed sort of busy." She's not wrong, I was talking with a few of the older tributes, all of whom made polite smalltalk before turning me down. We decided to divide and conquer, and it appears that only her army emerged victorious. Emerged victorious. I hope I can emerge victorious in the end, because I really have to go back to District Twelve and see my parents and Zeke again. I don't want to lose my family, but I'm sure every other tribute is feeling the exact same way.

Tomorrow, Sorrel is planning on introducing me to her new allies, and I'm considering my options of what to train with tomorrow. She suggested that I should practice starting fires and finding water since they're going to be useful no matter what sorts of things the Gamemakers do to the arena.

The Careers looked especially scary, and they of course also had the best costumes and a great audience response, all but the boy from Ten, Trey. They'll be a huge threat in the Hunger Games, and I'm seriously worried about them. I'm just like a training dummy to them. They won't care that I'm a person with feelings of my own, because I've watched the horrors that take place each year, and I know better than to actually believe that they'll treat me decently, despite how kind they were being to one another earlier.

The Tribute Parade was actually sort of fun in the end, though, at least compared to the things that are in store for me. Life today has been full of ups and downs, but I'm predicting that tomorrow's full day training will be distressingly boring and repetitive. I'm thinking of maybe just using a short dagger. It's a standard issue weapon in the Cornucopia, probably because it's just so intuitive. Anybody can pick up what's essentially a kitchen knife and figure out how to stab somebody with it.

I want to do the best I can to get a high training score. Kids from District Twelve have to assume they'll die in the Bloodbath, especially if they're as young as I am, and yet I still want to try to make it through. If I get lucky, and my mentor can rustle up enough sponsors, I'll actually have a decent shot in the arena so long as I can actually stick with my alliance.

Too many things are left up to chance, but I have no idea what else I can do. The horses tug the chariot through a last set of double doors and we've somehow arrived backstage again. The escort sips cooly from a bottle of champagne as my prep team helps me dismount.

I don't see the second bottle of champagne he's shaking up until it's too late and the frothy liquor spatters all down my front. My stylist gasps in horror, but the escort just waves her off. "Welcome back, kids. Let's head upstairs now, and your people can get you into decent clothes and you can eat dinner and then prepare for your day tomorrow. So much to do. Exciting, isn't it?" He exaggerates his own accent, mocking escorts we've had in the past, and grabs Sorrel by the wrist. "I'm serious, this nonsense is making me hungry but I'm not supposed to eat until you do. Come up this instant."

For the second time today, we're packaged into a spacious elevator with our mentors, stylists, prep team, and escort, but this time, we'll be going somewhere that's actually necessary.


:)