Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Just a friendly reminder to PM me if you have any alliance ideas ... or if you have any last-minute chariot ideas before your tributes are left to my occasionally humorous and/or morbid imagination.

Train Rides
An Odd Thing

Evander Mercado, 16
District Three

"You don't seem afraid at all."

Evander looked up, surprised, as Avery joined him at the table. None of his district partners had shown the least bit of interest in him – and not for lack of trying on his part. India had asked to be coached separately, and was off in another car with Miriam. Aleron was sulking in his room. Percival and Horatio were watching the other reapings for what was probably the fifth or sixth time. Evander wasn't sure where Avery had been, but, judging from how red her eyes were, she'd probably been crying somewhere.

Evander shook his head. "Trust me, I'm just as afraid as anyone else." He took another bite of cake. "There just isn't anything I can do about it right now. I thought there would be – thought that, out of the three of them, one of them, at least, would want to work with me – but I guess I'm on my own for now."

"We're on our own," Avery said quietly. "And being ignored by your district partners … well, it's not the worst thing that could happen. Allying with mine didn't work out so well."

Evander cringed. She had a good point. But the last thing he wanted to do was force her to relive her own Games. "So," he ventured, hoping to change the subject. "We had dinner. Had dessert. Watched the reapings twice – Horatio's still in there watching them again. Now what?"

Avery blushed. "I … I'm not sure. This is my first year as a mentor."

Evander shrugged. "That's all right; it's my first year as a tribute."

Avery actually smiled a little. "I … I want to help you. I really do. I just don't know what I'm doing. My Games last year … Nothing went the way it was supposed to. I made all the wrong allies. Anders and I did all the wrong things during training. Our strategy in the Games was – well, you know how well it worked. I don't know any of the things a mentor's supposed to. I don't have the experience a mentor's supposed to get from their own Games. All I can tell you is what not to do."

"Fair enough. So what don't I do?"

Avery looked away. "Don't ally with anyone who wants to stop the Games."

"Okay."

"Or anyone who seems too … idealistic."

"Idealistic," Evander repeated. "Like how?"

"Like … anyone who doesn't understand the bigger picture. Anders – and the rest of my allies – were always talking about 'we.' We could do this. We could stop the Games. We could force the Capitol to give in. But then they split us apart, and … and then there was no 'we.' There was just me, and I … I wanted to survive."

"Anyone would."

Avery nodded. "But I wanted it most. Or … or decided I wanted it first. They hurt us, Evander. They tortured us. They said it would continue until one of us agreed to kill the others. It was less than an hour. Less than an hour before I gave in. But what the others went through – they suffered for days before I found them. Anders last. He spoke to me, at the end – said that I had betrayed them. You betrayed us, he said. Even then, it was still 'us' to him. Even then." There were tears in her eyes. "There is no 'us' in the Games. There is no 'we.' And you have to find allies who understand that, or…"

Evander quickly got up and took a seat at her side, instead, wrapping his arm around her. "Okay," he said quietly. "It's okay." For a moment, they sat there, silent, as Avery slowly regained her composure. "All right," Evander said at last. "So what sort of allies do I look for?"

"I … I don't know," Avery admitted.

"If you figure it out, make sure you let me know," a voice interrupted. Evander looked up in surprise to see that Miriam had joined them. "You're in good company if you don't know – both of you. District Three victors haven't exactly had great luck when it comes to allies."

"What about you?" Evander asked.

Miriam shrugged. "I didn't have any. No one wanted me – I was a scrawny little fourteen-year-old orphan. No one thought I would be useful."

"And Percival?" He'd only been five years old when Percival had won. And the only thing that was common knowledge was that he had ended up lurking in the basement of the opera house, hanging the bodies of his victims in the doorway. Not exactly the sort of tribute he would have wanted as an ally.

Miriam smiled a little. "Believe it or not, he had allies. Five of them, in fact. All younger, outer-district tributes. The ones everyone else had rejected."

Evander leaned forward a little. "What happened to them?"

"The bloodbath happened. Three of them were killed, and Percival was separated from the other two. He struck out on his own, and, by the time he found one of them again, they were the only two left. He had no choice but to kill her."

Avery shook her head. "And you know what happened to my allies. Maybe some of us are just better off alone."

"That's what India already decided," Miriam nodded. "And Horatio, too, apparently – I checked in with Percival before coming to find you. And maybe they're right. With so many tributes this year, it would be easy for a lone tribute to escape the others' attention – at least for a while."

Evander shook his head. "I … I do want allies, though. I don't want to be in the Games alone."

Miriam took a seat beside him. "I understand. Believe me, I do. But, Evander … that's the wrong reason to want allies. Sooner or later, everyone's alone in the Games. It's just a matter of whether you're alone when you're still alive, or whether you're already dead."

Evander looked away. She wasn't saying anything he hadn't already tried to tell himself. But hearing it from her made it more real, somehow. "So … What's the right reason to want allies?"

"Mutual benefit. You want allies who can help you survive – not just someone who's good company. Tributes who have some useful skill. Tributes who will make your look stronger than you are; sometimes, other tributes are less likely to attack a group of you."

"Sometimes."

Miriam nodded. "It works the other way, too. If your group looks too strong, other groups – especially the Careers – might see you as a bigger threat and decide to deal with you first. It's a balance; everything in the Games is. You want to look strong enough to be interesting to the audience, but not strong enough to be a target. Does that make sense?"

Not really, Evander wanted to say. It made sense in theory. But, after watching the reapings twice, he still had no idea which of the others would make him look strong, but not too strong.

But there would be time for that. Time to get to know them – some of them, at least. He needed to be patient – just a little longer. He glanced at Avery, who nodded a little.

It was a start.

Domingo Ibanez, 14
District Seven

"They don't seem afraid."

Domingo shook his head as the six of them watched the reapings. Well, the five of them, at least; Fallon didn't seem to be paying much attention. And Casper and Hazel seemed content to let her pace back and forth, fidgeting. But Domingo was watching every district – and they all seemed less afraid than he was.

But especially the Careers. District One. District Two. District Four. District Five. All volunteers. All strong, prepared, brave. Eager. Fearless.

"Only the ones who don't understand what's really about to happen," Hazel said quietly. "Everyone else – everyone who knows what's coming – they're afraid. Even if they don't show it – because they've been told not to, because they want to look strong, because that's what they think the Capitol wants to see – even then, they're still afraid."

Audra cocked an eyebrow. "Even the Careers?"

Casper smiled a little. "Especially the Careers."

Domingo scoffed. "If I had as much training as them, I certainly wouldn't be afraid."

Casper shook his head. "Don't be so sure. They're better trained, sure, but that also means there's more pressure. I was eighteen when I went into the Games. The same age as most Careers. But there was a big difference. If I had died in the Games, it would have been a tragedy, certainly, for my family. For the people who knew me. It would have been a waste – a waste of the time I would have had.

"But when a Career dies in the Games, it's not just their future that's been wasted. It's a good portion of their past, as well. Those eighteen years I had before the Games – they were mine, and that was something the Games couldn't take away. Careers start training at such a young age. Ten, eleven, twelve. Some even younger. All those years - all hanging in the balance. They either mean everything or nothing; there is no in between. Either all those years, all that training, was worth it, or … or it wasn't."

"It wasn't worth it – either way." Ciere leaned back in her chair. "Even if they win – What do they really get out of it? A lifetime of looking back and remembering how they killed other kids. Remembering that they volunteered to kill other kids. What could be worse than that?"

Hazel shook her head. "You might be surprised. After my Games, I spent a lot of years wondering why I had survived. Why was I the one who lived, when there were so many others who deserved it more? My district partner, who was older and stronger. The boy I faced in the finale – the boy who would have won, if not for the Gamemakers' interference. Why did I make it out alive?"

Ciere cocked an eyebrow. "And now?"

"There are still days when I wonder," Hazel admitted. "But there are fewer and fewer of those days. Whether I like it or not – whether I deserve it or not – I'm the one who's here. I'm the one who lived."

Domingo shook his head. "Yeah, but you only killed one person – that boy at the end. And the mutts had already almost killed him. You just finished him off. Does that even count?"

Hazel looked away. "It does to me. Death is death. He was injured, yes, but I killed him. And I have to live with that."

"She's right," Casper agreed. "Death is death. I was in the same position she was – on the second day of the Games. My ally … my friend … Lydia had been injured by mutts the night before. She was dying. I could have killed her. Could have made it quick. Painless. But I didn't. There was a difference between watching her die and killing her myself – a difference I couldn't accept. I watched her die. I held her. I comforted her. But I didn't kill her."

"You killed three other tributes, though," Audra pointed out.

Casper nodded. "I did. That's how the Games work – kill or be killed. And there are some tributes – even some Victors – who can't get over that. There are some Victors who will spend every moment they have left regretting what they've done. But Hazel's right; that's no way to live. It is possible to move on."

Domingo shrugged. "But even you didn't do anything that terrible."

Casper cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

Domingo hesitated. What did he mean? Casper had killed three people. Wasn't that terrible enough? "You didn't enjoy it," he decided at last. "You did it because you had to – not because you wanted to. You didn't want to be in the Games. You were there, and you killed because of what you just said – kill or be killed. What the Careers do – it's different."

Casper leaned back in his chair. "How?"

"Because they want it!" Wasn't that enough of a difference? "They spend their whole lives learning how to kill people!"

"They do," Casper agreed. "And, believe me, I used to have the same opinion of them as you do. The last tribute I faced was a Career. The boy from Two. And, of the tributes I killed, I always felt the least sorry about his death. Still do, I suppose. He volunteered for this, I would tell myself. He knew he might die. And he wanted to be here, anyway. For the longest time, I couldn't understand how anyone could want that."

"What changed?" Audra asked.

"I became a mentor. I met some of the Career Victors during the next few years. Got to know them. And some of them … Some of them are exactly what you'd expect. Remorseless. Driven. But what surprised me the most was that they didn't seem … bloodthirsty. For most of them, the Games weren't about the chance to kill other people. It was more of a chance to prove themselves. And the more I began to understand them, the more I began to pity them."

"Pity them?" Domingo could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Are you insane? You want us to pity the Careers? They're the enemy!"

"Everyone's the enemy in the Games," Casper said slowly. "Everyone and no one. And, no, I don't expect you to pity them. I don't expect you to pity anyone. Pity has a tendency to get people killed in the Games. But everyone in that arena – everyone – is still human. They're children – just like you are. Just like I was. And no one deserves to be in the Games … even the ones who think they want it."

Domingo shook his head. This was all well and good for Casper and Hazel. They were safe now. They could afford to pity anyone they wanted. They could afford to see even the most ruthless and bloodthirsty tributes as little children. But he couldn't. He couldn't afford that – not when he might have to kill them.

He might have to kill them. Domingo clenched his fists, surprised that was the first thought that had come to his mind. Not that they might kill him – but that he might have to kill them. The thought scared him – but not as much as the thought of dying.

And that was a good start.

Sariya Charsley, 16
District Nine

"It's okay to be afraid."

Sariya glanced up at Eloise, surprised. After dinner, Crispin, Myrah, and Melody had headed for the next car. Now Sariya was beginning to wonder if she should have joined them. "Afraid," she repeated. "You want us to be afraid?"

Eloise shook her head. "Want you to? No. Never. I want you both to be safe at home in District Nine, with your families, without any danger at all. But what I want isn't important. And I'm sure you are afraid."

Sariya's gaze strayed to Thane, who was watching her, as well. Neither of them was about to admit it to each other, but he was probably just as afraid as she was. Part of him hoped he was, at least. Hoped she wasn't the only one in the room who was scared.

"If you don't want to admit it yet, that's fine," Eloise shrugged. "It's still early. But things actually get easier once you're willing to admit you're afraid. I know you're always told the opposite. Don't show fear. Don't cry. Be strong. Act like you're not afraid." She leaned forward a little. "Would you like to know why you shouldn't?"

Thane cocked an eyebrow, but he took the bait. "Why?"

"Everyone always says the audience wants to see tributes who aren't afraid. That's not exactly true. Oh, they may seem to have more of a chance early on. They seem stronger. But, once you're actually in the Games, what the Capitol really wants to see is tributes who are afraid. Tributes who can overcome that fear and learn to fight, anyway. Tributes who can learn to use that fear. Tributes who are human. That's what the Capitol wants to see."

Sariya nodded. That made sense. But it didn't really make things any easier at the moment. Thane seemed to be on the same page. "So what do we do now?" he asked.

Eloise smiled a little. "Now we talk. The more I know about you, the more I can help you. Before we start, though – Do you want to be coached together?"

Sariya hesitated, but Thane simply shrugged. "Why not?"

He had a point, of course. Why not? Being coached together didn't make them allies or anything – just normal district partners. If they split up, it would mean less time for each of them. Less advice. And one less person to bounce ideas off of. Sariya nodded. "Yeah. Why not?"

"All right, then," Eloise nodded. "Tell me a little about yourselves."

Sariya glanced at Thane. Then back at Eloise. What was she supposed to say? Was she supposed to go first? Thane certainly didn't look like he wanted to. "I…" she started, but the words caught in her throat. She didn't want to say that. Didn't want to tell them about her father. But what else about her was interesting?

So lie.

A useful lie. Something that would make her seem strong. "Our family works in the fields – harvesting crops. I'm out there almost every day after school, so … I guess there's not really much else to know."

For a moment, there was silence. Tension. Thane looked her over curiously. Was he going to call her bluff? Say he'd never seen her in the fields? Instead, he simply shook his head. "Me, too. Just working in the fields – nothing special. Except ... I was in a fight once – about four years ago. Nearly killed a guy when he and his friends tried to jump my friend and me one night."

Sariya couldn't help staring a little. Was he serious? No. No, he couldn't be. But, watching him now, she could almost believe it. His gaze was stern, hard, cold. Everything she'd wanted to appear.

She had to do better.

"My friends and I got into a fight with some Peacekeepers once," she blurted out. "There were three of us and five of them. We barely got away."

Thane cocked an eyebrow. "What were you fighting over?"

"They said we weren't working fast enough. One of them knocked my friend to the ground and started whipping her. The other two of us fought back."

"With what?"

"We had sickles. They're a good weapon, in a pinch."

Thane nodded, smiling a little. Was he impressed? "We might have been able to kill them, but they called for reinforcements," Sariya offered. "So we started to run."

"You outran five Peacekeepers?"

Sariya shrugged. "Well, we'd already hurt a couple of them. And we knew the fields better than they did. We zigzagged a bit, lost them, and then went home."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Thane smirked a little. "Wish I'd had a sickle when Kayla and I were attacked. Probably would've been able to kill those creeps instead of just beating them bloody."

"You didn't have any weapons?"

Thane shook his head. "Just my bare hands."

"How many of them were there?"

"Five. Against two of us."

"Five?" Sariya asked, trying not to sound too surprised. Five? There was no way he was telling the truth.

"Five," Thane repeated. "One of them had a broken glass bottle. He cut me here." Thane pulled back his sleeve, revealing a scar.

So it was true. Part of it, at least. "Were you afraid?"

Thane nodded a bit. "I guess. I could have just run away, but … I couldn't leave my friend."

"Me, neither." She hesitated. "I was afraid, too. And … I guess I'm a little afraid now. I mean, this is a bit different than fighting back in the district."

Thane nodded. "Only one person can live. But that doesn't mean we couldn't help each other … for a while, at least."

"Like … allies, you mean?"

"Why not? A girl who took on a group of five Peacekeepers and lived to tell about it? Sounds like the sort of person I'd want as an ally."

Sariya smiled a little. "And a guy who took on five people who tried to hurt his friend – That sounds like a valuable ally to me."

Thane finally smiled a little. "I guess it does. So what do you say?" He held out his hand.

Sariya swallowed hard. The two people they had described sounded like perfect allies. But everything she'd said had been a lie. And what he'd said … Could she trust someone like that? Was what he had said even true?

But if she didn't accept, what would he think? Would he doubt her story? Would he decide that, if she wasn't an ally, then she was a threat? After a moment, Sariya shook Thane's hand. "Allies?"

Thane nodded. "Allies."

For a moment, there was silence. Sariya glanced at Eloise, who was watching them silently. Nodding. Did she know? Did she realize that Sariya's story was all a lie? Did she know how much – if any – of Thane's was true?

But Eloise said nothing. Instead, she simply nodded.

"Not a bad start."

"Fear's sort of an odd thing."