Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Results of the "favorite tribute" poll are up on the blog. There's a new poll on my profile, this time asking you you think will die in the bloodbath. Please note that this is not necessarily the same as who you want to see die in the bloodbath. Also, this is probably a good time to note that these polls have no effect on who will die in the bloodbath, aside from reassuring me that my choices are a fair combination of believable and surprising. This one will be up through the end of training, so if you want to wait a while and see how training goes before voting, that's fine.

Also, HestiaAbnegation11 is coordinating a 28-author collaboration called Dying Embers and is looking for more authors. There's a link on my profile for anyone who's interested.

Chariot Rides
Wonderful World

Constance Juniper
Hunger Games Host

The audience had no idea what was coming.

Constance shifted uneasily in her chair, waiting. Tamika had given her some warning, at least – but only a few minutes ago. She had wanted Constance's reactions to be authentic. To mirror the reactions of the rest of the Capitol.

She had a feeling that wouldn't be a problem.

The tributes already knew, of course. They were waiting, as well, carefully concealed behind the gates. Some had protested, Tamika had said. A few had fought. But, in the end, they were all ready.

She just wished she was.

Jasper Floren
District One Mentor

He knew exactly what to expect.

Jasper smiled a little as the first chariot passed the Gates. It had been only four years since his own victory; most of his old prep team was still with District One. And they didn't disappoint.

Jaime and Inviticus sported long, flowing fur robes, laced with silver and gold. A golden crown sat atop each one's head, and each of them held a long, jeweled scepter. A little old-fashioned, perhaps. Traditional. But, after what had happened last year, maybe it was best to start off with something familiar. Something that would display a little consistency. Whatever might change in the Games, District One would stay the same.

Jaime and Inviticus, as well, were determined to live up to the reputation set by a long line of District One tributes. Both were waving proudly, holding their scepters high, and even smiling a little. They were enjoying the moment. And why not?

They'd certainly earned it.

Harriet Bard
District Two Mentor

She had no idea what to expect.

Harriet tried to smile as District Two's chariot came into view. So far, everything about the tribute parade had gone as planned. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was different. That something was wrong.

Maybe it was Balthasar. Her fellow mentor had been pleasant enough so far, but she was so accustomed to Mortimer. He was overbearing, sometimes, but having him at her side had always been reassuring. Despite the way the Games changed year after year, he had been consistent. Familiar. And now he was gone.

But that didn't matter. Mortimer or no Mortimer, she had a job to do. Naella was counting on her.

As the two tributes came into view on the chariot, however, they didn't look like they were counting on anyone. Clad in plated armor, the two of them looked like they were ready to take on the rest of the tributes by themselves.

Or perhaps they simply looked ready to take on each other. Both Naella and Septimus seemed content to ignore the other, turning instead towards the crowd. No smiles. No waves. Just pure, quiet strength. Harriet nodded, relieved that everything was going as planned.

Then she saw District Three.

Avery Bentham
District Three Mentor

She wasn't going to cry.

Avery braced herself, clutching Miriam's hand tightly as District Three's chariot appeared. She had told herself she wasn't going to cry. That the audience wouldn't just be watching the tributes. They would be watching her. The most recent Victor. The newest mentor. She had to be strong if she wanted to help Evander.

But when she saw them, she couldn't be strong anymore.

India and Horatio were each dressed in a green, skin-tight outfit covered with rows of white "1"s and "0"s. Their gloves and boots were green, as well, and even their faces had been painted the same color – a green dotted with painted binary numbers to match their outfits. Which was humiliating on its own, but she'd seen worse District Three costumes.

Aleron and Evander had fared worse. Their outfits were a darker, almost sickly green. Instead of skintight leotards, the ones and zeroes had been scrawled on rags that hung loose over their bodies. They were barefoot, their skin unpainted. Their heads had been shaved bare, and around each of their necks hung an iron collar, fastened to the chariot with a length of chain.

Miriam held Avery tightly as the chariot drew closer. India and Horatio were doing their best to smile and wave – and to ignore their less fortunate district partners. As Avery watched, Aleron sank to a seat on the bottom of the chariot, hiding.

For a moment, Evander tried to persuade him to stand, but, after it became clear Aleron wasn't going to listen, Evander stood up as straight and tall as he could, waving. Finally, he found Avery's gaze and held it for a moment, even managing a smile. It wasn't much, maybe, but it was something. Almost as if he was saying, It's okay.

But it wasn't okay.

Kalypso Wayland
District Four Mentor

It wasn't fair.

Kalypso forced back a storm of complaints as District Four's chariot arrived. After seeing District Three, she'd had just enough time to worry that something similar might await her own tributes.

And, sure, enough, both Auster and Mavina were dressed in fairly typical District Four costumes. Mermaids, to be exact – and pretty attractive mermaids, at that. A scale-like fabric about their lower bodies gave the impression of a tail. Auster's upper body was bare, and Mavina was quite scantily clad, with only a few oversized seashells in just the right places to give her some dignity. Each of them wore a crown of colorful shells, and each held a scepter topped with an oversized pearl. Maybe their stylists had copied District One a little. But, still, not bad.

Imalia, Kendall, Brevin, and Jarlan, on the other hand, weren't so lucky. The same scaly fabric that covered Auster and Mavina's legs had been draped carelessly about their bodies, as if the four of them had simply been covered in a pile of seaweed. Like the two District Three tributes before them, the four of them stood barefoot and bare-headed, collared and chained to their chariot.

Auster was still playing his part perfectly, holding his scepter up proudly and waving at the crowd. Mavina was trying to play along, but she kept glancing at the other four, mouthing something that was probably I'm sorry. It wasn't her fault, of course, but Kendall seemed to think it was, and stood with her back turned to Mavina, her arms across her chest, glaring at everyone and everything.

Imalia was fidgeting, trying to shape the scaly fabric around her into something more resembling a costume than a mess of seaweed. Finally, Jarlan caught her hand and whispered something. Resigned to the terrible outfit, Imalia joined his efforts to wave at the crowd, trying to pretend they weren't totally humiliated.

Brevin, on the other hand, didn't stop fidgeting until his costume had fallen away completely, leaving him naked except for the collar around his neck. The others looked away, but he simply shrugged, waving even more enthusiastically than before. Kalypso turned to Mags. "Well, yours certainly has guts."

Mags smiled a little, unfazed. After more than thirty years of mentoring, she'd seen it all. A humiliating tribute parade certainly wasn't going to surprise her.

Kalypso just hoped it wouldn't get any worse.

Harakuise Swallot
District Five Mentor

They were certainly making their point.

Harakuise squeezed Camden's shoulder reassuringly as the fifth chariot emerged. Even he had to admit the last two districts had surprised him, but, so far, the humiliating costumes, collars, and chains had been reserved for the "replacement" tributes. The extras chosen because of last year's events. Which almost certainly meant District Five would be spared.

Still, Harakuise was relieved when his expectations were confirmed. Liana and Zachary were covered in skin-tight black clothes from the neck down. As they drew closer, however, he could see that the fabric was lined with wires – wires that, one after another, began to glow. The colors were faint, at first, but, as they drew closer and closer, they grew brighter and brighter, until the black had become a rainbow.

Liana and Zachary, for their part, were enjoying the moment – grinning and waving. As the colors grew brighter, Liana began whooping loudly, and the crowd joined in. After the last two districts, they needed something bright, something cheerful. Something good.

Because it was about to get a lot worse.

Nicodemus Ford
District Six Mentor

It had to get worse.

Nicoemus braced himself for the worst as the next chariot came into view. District Five's outfits had almost been enough to make him forget what was coming. Almost. But District Five hadn't rebelled. They had remained loyal, and they were being rewarded. Whereas District Six…

Cordelia and Paget, at least, had been spared. Each wore a scarlet flight attendant's uniform with gold trim, complete with a white scarf, red shoes, and matching red cap. Embroidered on the cap was a golden eagle, the emblem of Panem.

Presley, Nadine, Alexi, and Delvin were sitting, two on either side of the chariot, in dark blue seats that were probably meant to resemble seats aboard an airplane or a hovercraft. Each wore an outfit similar to Cordelia and Paget's, but the scarlet uniforms were disheveled and torn. The caps, set askew on their heads, couldn't hide the fact that their heads had been shaved. Like Three and Four, they were barefoot and collared, their collars firmly chained to the chariot.

Cordelia and Paget were clearly uneasy, but were doing their best to keep up appearances. They stood side by side at the back of the chariot. Paget was looking around at the crowd, Cordelia at her fellow tributes. But neither smiled. Neither waved.

Nicodemus couldn't exactly blame them.

There was no smiling and waving from the other four, either. Presley was absolutely still – so motionless, in fact, that Nicodemus was worried she might be unconscious … or worse. But, as the chariot drew closer, he could see that she had been carefully restrained. Straps bound her arms and legs in place along the seat, and the chain holding her collar was shorter than the others', restricting her movement.

Looking closer, he could see that her body was limp, her eyes unfocused. Almost as if they'd had to sedate her. Why? Had she tried to struggle?

Behind her on the left, Nadine was trying to ignore everything. Trying to find somewhere to look that wouldn't remind her of what was happening. Her gaze darted this way and that, frantically searching for something familiar, something comforting.

Finally, her gaze found Alexi's, and he smiled encouragingly. It'll be over soon, his look seemed to say. Behind Alexi, Delvin glared out at the crowd from his seat. 'Soon' couldn't come soon enough.

As the tributes passed, Nicodemus felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up to see Brennan standing behind him, offering his silent support. Nicodemus silently reached up, his crooked fingers closing around Brennan's gloved hand. "Thank you."

At least he wasn't alone.

Hazel Birnam
District Seven Mentor

At least she wasn't alone.

Hazel gripped Casper's hand tightly as the seventh chariot came into view. After so many years of mentoring alone, Casper's presence was reassuring. Comforting.

But there wasn't anything he could do for the tributes.

Audra and Domingo were dressed as trees – which was typical, if a bit unoriginal. Brown, bark-patterned pants and shirt, fading into a jungle-like green at the top. Round, green headpieces circled their faces.

Fallon and Ciere wore similar outfits, but with thick coils of rope wrapped tightly around their bodies. Vines, perhaps – or maybe large jungle snakes. Hazel wasn't entirely sure which, but the ropes bound their arms tightly to their sides, making the collars and chains a bit superfluous. Their bare feet and shaved heads were both painted the same bark-like brown as their outfits.

Domingo was trying to smile. Trying to wave. But the mood in the chariot just didn't lend itself to excitement. Audra stood behind Fallon, helping the younger girl keep her balance in the restricting outfit as the chariot bounced up and down. Ciere simply stared straight ahead, ignoring them. Ignoring the boy behind her. Ignoring the crowd, the lights, the spectacle. Maybe she had the right idea.

Maybe it was better to just get through it.

Lander Katzung
District Eight Mentor

They just had to get through it.

Lander and Carolina stood protectively on either side of Kit, but Lander knew they couldn't shield him from what was coming. As District Eight's chariot came into view, he tried to prepare for the worst. District Eight had a history of horrible costumes. Pincushions. Rag dolls. Unraveling spools of thread.

But, as the tributes came into view, all Lander could see was a mess. Gadget and Baylor wore colorful patchwork outfits that would have been bad enough on their own … even if they hadn't been covered in zippers. Oversized zippers that seemed to serve absolutely no purpose whatsoever covered the outfits.

Ivira, Adelia, Louis, and Jediah wore matching outfits – if a bit more tattered and ripped. Aside from their shaved heads and collars, they didn't look all that different from their district partners. Whether that was good or bad, Lander wasn't sure; they all looked absolutely ridiculous.

But it could always be worse.

Crispin Zephyr
District Nine Mentor

It couldn't get much worse.

Crispin sighed heavily as the ninth chariot arrived. District Nine was almost always wheat. Brown wheat, golden wheat, tall wheat, short wheat. It was boring and repetitive, but at least it was reliable.

Bread was worse.

Each tribute was dressed as a slice of bread, lined up one behind each other to form a four-person loaf. It was the only way to stand; their puffy outfits spanned the length of the chariot. Sariya and Thane's loaves were white, but Myrah and Melody's were toasted, blackened quite thoroughly all around.

Burned.

Burned, just like Denice's family. Crispin glanced at Eloise, her fists clenched tightly at her side. But she said nothing. Did nothing.

There was nothing they could do.

Myrah stood in front, trying not to cry, trying to put on a brave face despite the ridiculous outfit. Despite the fact that she stood chained like a criminal, her head shaved, her feet bare, dressed like a giant piece of burned toast. Melody was doing a slightly better job of keeping her expression emotionless. Neutral. Just waiting, waiting for this to be over.

Behind her stood Sariya, and then Thane, both trying to preserve a little of their dignity as the crowd laughed. No waving. No smiling. Just patience. They just had to put up with it.

Just a little longer.

Tess Wilder
District Ten Mentor

Just a little longer.

Tess squeezed Presley's hand tightly. Just three more districts. Three more. They could do this. She could do this.

It was her first time mentoring – really mentoring. Without anyone to take care of her back in District Ten, Glenn had brought Tess to the Capitol with him for nineteen years. But most of it was a blur. A blur she had no desire to piece together.

She had a feeling she'd want to forget this year's chariot rides, too.

Sure enough, as District Ten's chariot rolled into view, bursts of laughter erupted from the crowd. Calantha and Beckett stood on either side of the chariot, dressed as butchers – white hats, white aprons spattered with red, and plastic cleavers in their hands. Between them stood Elizabet and Indira, shaven and barefoot, collared and chained, with puffy costumes that resembled huge slabs of meat, dripping with a red liquid meant to resemble blood.

For a moment, the tributes simply stood there, taking it in. Then Indira whispered something to Beckett. He whispered something back, and she nodded. Beckett swung his plastic cleaver at her meaty costume. He hadn't hit her hard – even from where she stood, Tess could tell that – but Indira let out a squeal, a halfway decent impression of an animal being butchered.

The crowd loved it.

Beckett swung again, and Indira squealed louder. Elizabet nodded to Calantha, who joined in, swinging her plastic cleaver into the stupid costume. Tess nodded as the four of them earned more laughter and eventually applause from the audience. Not bad.

Not great, but not bad.

Elijah Whitaker
District Eleven Mentor

The first thing he saw was the barrels.

Two large barrels stood at the front end of the chariot, which was decorated with vines. Elani and Philus stood behind the barrels, dressed as grape pickers in a vineyard, clothed in aprons, gloves, and grape-shaped purple caps. It was a bit silly, but they seemed to be having fun.

The grapes themselves were a different story.

Pan and Shale were standing in the barrels, each dressed as a giant purple grape. The collars and chains that bound them to the chariot had been painted like vines, and a collection of smaller, ball-sized, green and purple grapes filled the barrels.

Shale was tolerating the whole ordeal, arms crossed across his grape costume, but still standing as tall as he could. Pan, on the other hand, seemed to be sinking lower and lower into the barrel, as if he was trying to hide.

Just as he was about to disappear completely below the surface of grapes, Philus tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. As Elijah watched, the older boy pointed to Pan, the barrel, and then himself. When that failed to communicate his point, he pointed to Pan, then to a spot outside the barrel.

Pan climbed out. Philus climbed in. Elani grinned, turning to Shale, and said something Elijah couldn't hear. Shale stared at her for a moment, unsure, but then climbed carefully out of his barrel. Immediately, Elani climbed in, picked up one of the oversized grapes, and tossed it to Pan.

Shale stepped back as Pan tossed the grape back to Elani. Quickly, Philus joined in, and, soon, the three younger tributes were pelting each other with grapes. Shale watched, silent, but Elijah thought – if only for a moment – that he saw the older tribute smile.

The smile was gone just as quickly, but, after a moment, Shale leaned forward and whispered something to Elani. Grinning, Elani hurled the grape in the direction of the crowd. Then another. Philus and Pan joined in. A few of the grapes made it to the audience, but most fell short, filling the street with oversized fake fruit. One landed in District Ten's chariot, where Indira pretended to take a bite out of it before hurling it back at the younger tributes.

Elijah couldn't help smiling a little. This certainly wasn't what the stylists had intended, but at least the crowd was enjoying it. And the younger tributes seemed to be enjoying the moment, as well.

If only it could last.

Brennan Aldaine
District Twelve Mentor

He'd never thought he would be happy to see coal miner outfits.

Brennan breathed a sigh of relief as the tribute parade ended the same way it had begun: with something familiar. There was nothing particularly spectacular about Eleanor and Barry's outfits. Loose-fitting black shirt and trousers, black boots, black gloves, a hard hat with a light, and a plastic pickax for good measure. It was nothing impressive.

But at least they weren't coal.

And there were no chains. No collars. Both Barry and Eleanor marched up and down the chariot as much as they could, swinging their pickaxes at imaginary walls of rock. Brennan nodded a little. It was nothing amazing, but at least they had some energy.

And at least something had gone as expected.

Tamika Ward
Head Gamemaker

"Was that your idea?"

Tamika nearly jumped as President Grisom entered the room. "Sir, I can explain. I thought—"

The president held up a hand. "I didn't ask for an explanation. You don't need to justify yourself to me. I just asked if it was your idea, or if the stylists coordinated that on their own."

"It was my idea."

"Good job."

Tamika cocked an eyebrow. "That's it?"

Silas shrugged. "What else am I supposed to say? The tribute parade is meant to entertain the audience and put the tributes on display. You did that. Good job."

"It's just that President Snow would … Well, he'd have a lot more to say."

Silas smiled a little. "I'm sure he would. But I'm not here to tell you how to do your job, Tamika. I trust there was a reason for what you did."

Trust. Something Snow had never given her. "There was."

Silas nodded. "Then keep up the good work." He turned to leave.

"Mr. President?" Tamika called before correcting herself. "Silas? What about the volunteers?"

Silas cocked an eyebrow. "The volunteers?"

"The ones who aren't Careers, I mean. The boy from Two, the boy from Eight, the boy from Eleven. Do you think they're…?"

"Rebels? Planning something? I doubt it. Volunteering for a sibling isn't unheard of, and that accounts for two of them. As for Septimus, I've called in a favor; an old friend of mine is going to do a little investigating. But I doubt he's planning anything … subversive. And, even if he is, he's one tribute. One out of forty-six. The rebels were able to cause a stir last year because they had numbers on their side. That won't happen again."

"I just figured that, after last year, it might be better to be cautious."

Silas nodded. "There's caution, and there's paranoia. I'll let you know what I find out, but I wouldn't worry too much about it. You do your job, I'll do mine, and the tributes will do theirs. It works better that way."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I look forward to seeing what you've got in store."

Tamika smiled as he left, then turned to her fellow Gamemakers. "All right, then. You heard him. We do our jobs, we put on a good show, and we let the rest take care of itself." She nodded crisply.

"Let's get to work."

"Welcome to the wonderful world of not knowing what the hell's going on."