Zea Poales, 18, D9F:

The prep teams, stylists, and mentors all chatter to one another as Phoebus, the District Nine escort, leads them, Radley, and me to a massive elevator and ushers us in, tapping the gold-ringed 9 on the control panel. The doors snap shut and we begin to hurtle upwards at an almost alarming pace. Will everything in the Capitol be surprising?

I didn't find my people, but it was refreshing to not have to put on a front. Working at a restaurant meant I had to smile no matter how I actually felt, but now it's slightly less important. Radley's nice enough, but he's not really someone I'm interested in allying with. A good friend though, nice, and reassuring to be around. He and Jenna, the girl from Seven, will make a good team, and whoever else they decide to let in their group.

My costume wasn't even that bad, a pretty orange thing with big fake leaves as a floor length dress. I think it was supposed to represent the district's climate, and it was actually nice and comfortable. My predicted placement didn't change, but Radley's supposed to be in the final six now.

When we step out of the elevator and push open the door to our floor, I'm pretty sure I gasped audibly. The furniture, the walls, even just the rug, it all looks much finer than anything I've seen before. "Exciting, huh?" Phoebus stands proudly as he gives us a little tour around the main room, but as it turns out there are elaborate decorated bedrooms for Radley and I, with attached bathrooms that have indoor plumbing. Mine glows with warmth from the overhead lamp, the light catching a sleek silver remote on the dressing table.

I pick it up to play with the buttons, but Phoebus yanks me back into the main room almost immediately. "We're eating dinner now," he announces, clicking his fingers in the air. Out of nowhere, a stream of avoxes appears, each slave carrying a platter of piping hot food and wearing a stiff black uniform. I do pity them, and not just because they are mute. Waitressing is a tough, thankless job, and they're not even being paid for it.

Still, I'm hungry and I have to build up my strength for training tomorrow, so I dig in anyways.

Soya Orlando, 14, D11F:

Dinner is delicious, and more dishes are brought out whenever I feel like the meal is coming to an end. Our twitchy, frazzled escort has just excused himself to the restroom after drinking a silky blue syrup. It's to make him throw up so he can eat more, and the fact that he's in a position where he'll willingly vomit up a perfectly good supper to stuff himself with dessert disgusts me, especially since I've been on the brink of starvation more than once.

Actually, scratch that, the escort doesn't just disgust me, everything about the Capitol does. I'm dining with the people who will pluck away my body hair and cake makeup on my face and dress me up pretty before my death, and the annoying part for them is simply that they won't be promoted.

I will make no allies. None of the people I've encountered are what I'd want in a teammate, and overall I'd much rather quietly observe the weaknesses of my fellow tributes and exploit them at a later date than make friends with them. I'm a liar, and if there's ever a time to be dishonest about your intentions, it's the Hunger Games. What's to say others won't do the same?

My plan is to trick, deceive, and mislead every person who crosses my path. Tomorrow I'll have an entire day to gather information at training, and maybe I'll practice some new skills while I'm at it. I'll be picking up some sort of weapon.

I'm not particularly excited to interact with the Capitol instructors or perform in front of the Gamemakers, but to ignore them would be stupid. I'm not going to throw away help because I dislike the person it's coming from.

For now, at least, while I still have a choice.

Trey Copper, 18, D10M:

All I know is that there are exactly four days left until my hands are going to be wrapped around Emily's throat. I can't wait to finally get my hands on her after all these years, finally be able to catch and kill her, drawing it out like I had intended before she got away.

The Hunger Games are a blessing, and so is being accepted into the Career Pack. The Careers are an exclusive bunch most of the time, but they let me in right away, probably figuring I couldn't be worse than the Four boy who, to use a saying from his district, abandoned ship. I'm very Career-like in execution, both because I'm experienced and because I have no qualms about killing.

I'm still a little worried about the power struggle that's beginning to present itself. Rafe seems like a cool guy, but Livi's right, feelings and compassion have no place in the arena. I like her leadership style quite a bit actually, and the other Careers aren't half bad but for Lyra-Rose. The rule is that I have to get at least an eight in training, but that shouldn't be a problem. I've actually got quite a lot of practice with humans, so I suspect I'll fare even better than one or two of the Careers.

It's a pity my escort is so irritating. He's being so nice to Emily, always protecting her, even putting in a request for a Peacekeeper to walk with her and guard her room overnight, which of course was granted. Apparently the government is aware of my reputation. Oh well. If the Peacekeepers back home didn't care, it's unlikely the hoity-toity folks here won't either, even if Emily's new protector has to take her job seriously.

The suite I have is cozy and comfortable, especially the bathtub and its various accoutrements, which proved excellent for scrubbing off the glue that my prep team used to glue the itchy sheep wool onto me for my costume. There's nothing I can really do except salivate in anticipation for tomorrow's training session.

A chance to murder somebody I hate and luxurious bath products to boot? Hello, sweet life.

Livieoula "Livi" Carnelian, 18, D1F:

I am going to be the leader of the Career Pack, no matter what Rafe chooses to believe. Anything else is simply unthinkable. I'm confident that I'll pull at least a nine, but I'll have to train especially hard in the upcoming days if I am to beat him.

My little arrangement with Oscar is also working nicely. He put on an excellent show of supporting me in front of the others, and he's been behaving exactly according to plan. Although I may not be entirely on the up-and-up, threatening him into obeying me, I am an honest businesswoman, so I'll be true to my word. I could use a deputy once I take control of the Pack, and I already know he'll keep up his performance because all the security he has, I'll have lended to him. He'll need me so much that I'll feel comfortable letting him manage some of my less favorite leadership duties.

It's like I told the Careers earlier: I might not be nice, but I get the job done. I'm already thinking of ways to get rid of that infernal creature from Four who believes she should be treated like royalty just because she's apparently prettier than her sister. I don't like deadweights, so Lyra may not be running with the Pack for very long.

I've already unfurled my hair from its tight ponytail, rubbing my head where my stylist pulled it a little too aggressively.

I'm in a nightgown too, one I picked from the closet at random that's turned out to be a pretty purple color and deliciously soft. I pad across the kitchen with slipper-clad feet to get a glass of water, and I find Oscar standing alone at the skink, apparently doing the same thing. "Hey," he says quietly.

"Hey." I brush past him and flick on the tap as I choose a glass from a nearby cupboard.

"Did I do alright with getting the others to like you?" He's avoiding looking me in the eye, still meek and fearful of me after the threat I made on the train. I almost pity him a little. He was never cut out to volunteer, and now he'll inevitably die, because I am of course going to win. And he did really stick up for me earlier, which probably wasn't easy since he'd probably actually prefer Rafe as a leader, so I decide to smile gently.

"You did fine. Get some sleep though, I'm making you train tomorrow no matter how tired you are." He gives me a little nod of agreement, and as we go our separate ways and I climb into a gloriously fluffy bed, dreamy visions of an illuminated 10 dance around my head right up until I fall asleep.

Earn it I will.