Uh oh, the longest chapter yet? I gotta slow down, man, this fic is gonna be the end of me.

Anyway, with this chapter we've met all of our tributes and are halfway to the Games! Woot woot!

Alluvion Scorand, 18
District One Male

The stylist left him in front of a mirror for a while, and he stood still and stared at his reflection in the glass. The mirror had been propped against the white wall at such an angle that the tips of his black mohawk were not visible. A suit had been tailored to cling to his frame, and he raised an arm to peel back one of the sleeves until he could see the dark ink that swirled and danced across his right arm. Under his right eye, his hydra seemed sinuous and alive, especially when he tried to smile. Its inky coils bulged, and the many heads seemed to say Hello there, Alluvion, what're you up to killer?

I look good, he thought. It doesn't matter.

A little knock-knock-knock on the door. "Come in," he said. The door opened and Ivelisse was behind it. Tall, slender, blonde hair in ringlets that danced around her pointed chin, wearing a white dress that plunged to her belly button, where a jewel twinkled when it caught the light. She saw his eyes roving and raised her eyebrows, waving a well-manicured hand.

"Oh no!" she said. "Don't you look at me like that, Alluvion. District partners before anything else, right?" Her full lips were cherry-red and shimmering.

"Right," he said, offering her his arm. "I'm very sorry."

"No, you're okay." She slipped her arm into his and together they strolled into the corridor. "To be fair, I'd like to think you couldn't help it!" Her heels clicked on the marble floor. She smelled very strongly of lavender.

Alluvion looked ahead, where the short white corridor they were in was cut off by a set of oak double doors. Underneath he could hear the low throb of music, the tinkle of laughter that couldn't be real. "We're going in, I suppose."

"Did they tell us not to?" said Ivelisse, pulling back slightly on his arm, heels tottering to a crawl. "We could wait for the stylists."

"No, let's go on ahead." The corners of his lips turned up. It was not a familiar feeling. "It doesn't matter what they told us."

"Oh, well, alright," said Ivelisse, as he steered her gently to the doors. "If you really think it's okay."

"I really do," said Alluvion. His smile had melted away. As he pushed open one of the doors with an open palm and they stepped into the ballroom, he thought, If they want to punish us, they will. So be it.

The sound hit them first, a wave of human voice and the high-pitched metallic shriek of cutlery, the throaty gurgle of an emptying bottle, the throbbing music that he felt more than he heard, somewhere low in his body. It was a vast and mostly empty room, with a waxed wood floor where couples swayed to the pulsing music. Just like they taught us back home, he thought. It was intoxicating, watching the gaudy Capitol people dance. Like glittering moths circling a flame.

Along the walls, tables bent in the middle under the pressure of an assortment of Capitol delicacy. Fountains of wine spouted from the pursed lips of naked stone cherubs and pooled in crystal glasses. Glistening cuts of meat were sliced by Avoxes wielding silver knives. Pastries were crushed between the straight white teeth of a hundred Capitolians. And for a moment, all eyes were on Alluvion and Ivelisse. District One, he thought. We're the stars of their show. The choicest killers. Definitely the most beautiful.

Well, but he hadn't seen his allies in person yet.

He could see the crowds pulling towards them, and he kept hold of Ivelisse's arm and tugged her towards the dance floor. "We're gonna dance?" she said, frowning slightly. "Our mentors said we were supposed to meet with the other Careers and then talk to sponsors."

"We will," said Alluvion. "It's a long party."

She puffed out her white cheeks. "You're Mister Rebel tonight, huh? Songbird and Regal are gonna be pissed at you."

He shrugged. The music was in him now, throbbing along with his pulse, and they had reached the other couples. He held out his arms and Ivelisse stepped into them. When he had her in his embrace, they whirled away, her skirt wrapping itself around their calves, his arms warm against her lower back. She was smiling, green eyes twinkling, throat working as she laughed. "This is fun!" she said, a bit louder than normal to drown out the music. "You know how to have a good time after all, Alluvion. I actually figured you didn't because at the Academy you always seemed so serious!"

I don't want to think about the Academy, he thought. His grip tightened on her skin. She didn't say anything. "Looks can be deceiving," he said.

"So true." The song ended. They stopped for a moment, and Alluvion let his arms fall to his sides. Ivelisse took the opportunity to adjust the lacy sleeve of her dress, which had begun to slip from all the whirling. "I'm so happy they taught us dancing," she said. "I remember in dance I used to think ugh this is so pointless and now here we are and pretty much the whole Capitol is watching us dance!" She glanced at his face. "Are you self-conscious at all?" she asked. "There's cameras. The world is probably watching."

He scanned the crowd. Sure enough, he could see the cameras, perched on long necks that allowed them to swivel and duck. "Not at all," he said, staring into a bulging lens. "They can watch if they want. It doesn't make a difference to me."

"Sure," said Ivelisse, placing a hand on her hip, "But you never seem to get flustered about stuff like that. You're so… unrufflable. If that's a word." She bit her lip. "I mean, uh, you're so calm all the time. Nothing freaks you out. It's very cool."

A second song had begun to play. She stepped into his arms and away they went. "I'm jealous," said Ivelisse, as the music pounded in his ears. "I definitely always think about what other people think."

"Have you considered that it doesn't matter?" said Alluvion.

"Yeah, of course. That's the first thing they tell you to think about."

"No," he said. "I mean really. In the grand scheme of things." There was a sudden pause in the bass, and he took the opportunity to dip her almost to the floor. Her hair brushed the wood. "The world's been around for a long time," he said, straightening her back up, stepping back into the dance. "We're only on it for a tiny little while. It doesn't matter what you do, or I do, or the people behind the cameras do. It's temporary. Everyone is temporary."

As he said it and looked into Ivelisse's beautiful face, he saw another face on another day. Just as pale, but that was because the boy had been dying. That had been shocking to Alluvion. That an eighteen year old was capable of something like death. It was that moment that had showed him how short eighteen years was in the eternity of nothing that would follow.

"That's… real dark, Alluvion," said Ivelisse. "But I guess I see what you're saying. Who cares what people think, if they're all going to die anyway and I am too?"

"Basically," said Alluvion. He wondered if he would kill her, like he'd killed the boy. Elias. His grip tightened again. If he killed Ivelisse, it wouldn't be an accident. Not like last time. Elias, that was an accident. Not really even his fault, although in the grand scheme it didn't matter whose fault it was or that Elias had died or that he'd ever even existed to begin with.

If Alluvion killed Ivelisse, it would be because the Capitol and his family and his Academy had begged him to do it. She was a nice girl. She was nothing, a single atom in an infinite and expanding universe of stars and light. A nice atom, a fun and beautiful and diverting atom, but still just a speck of dust like him and everyone else. So if they all wanted him to kill her, he could do it. And it wouldn't be an accident. Not like Elias. Elias had been an accident.

The second song ended. She swirled to a stop in his arms. "Still fun," she said, "You're a good partner, Alluvion." She squeezed his hand. "We should find the other Careers," she said. "We need to meet them. We've got a lot to do."

"Alright," he said, letting her take his hand and pull him towards the crowd. He was not invested or interested in the plan. But it was no skin off his back to do it. And the Capitol and his parents and the Academy would want him to. If he was going to do anything at all, it would be for them.

That wasn't counting Elias, of course. Elias had been an accident.

Roman Ward, 18
District Two Male

As District One slipped away from the dance floor and plunged back into the crowd, Roman took a final sip from his glass and placed it on the long table. It stood next to a glistening roasted pig with an apple distending its lower jaw. The pig's button-black eyes bulged from the loose skin bunched up from its yawning mouth. The eyes seemed to follow him as he pushed away into the masses.

The Capitolians would reach for him, trail fingers across the muscles bunched under his tailored suit, shout into his ears that he was a good looking guy, he would go far, they would sponsor him. He smiled and blushed and waved away compliments. "Have you seen District One?" he would ask, and they would point him in the right direction. Eventually he slipped between a feathered woman and a masked man and there was District One, standing and chatting next to a glossy and jet-black piano.

The girl, she was beautiful. Ivelisse, he thought, remembering her reaping, the gazelle-like loping stride that had brought her to the stage when she called out her volunteering intentions. She was tall, although not as tall as Roman was. Blonde hair brushed the tops of her sloping white shoulders. Her dress was dramatic, and he forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on her slim neck, or higher.

Then there was Alluvion Scorand. Not as tall or as well-built as Roman, but it was clear that he was a talented athlete. His skin was the color of beechwood, his eyes oval and brown, hair black and drawn up into a mohawk. Underneath his right eye, there was a tattoo of a many-headed scaly thing, coiling itself all the way to a spot below his ear. His eyelids were hooded and he stared at the crowd with an expression that made Roman think that Alluvion was half-asleep, or that the stuff that made him an individual had been beaten out of him a long time ago.

He smiled. "District One!" he said.

They turned to him as a unit. "Oh!" said Ivelisse, "You must be Roman Ward!" She thrust out her hand. "I'm Ivelisse Shale," she said. "I'm so excited to work together!"

"I am too," said Roman, shaking her hand, which was warm and brought with it the faint scent of lavender. "It's nice to meet you." He withdrew his hand and swiveled to face Alluvion. "I saw you volunteer. You're Alluvion Scorand, right?"

"Yup." Alluvion nodded. "Enjoying the party?" His vacant expression did not change.

"Sure," said Roman. "I've been having some luck with sponsors. How are you two doing?"

Ivelisse giggled. "Actually," she said, casting a furtive glance to her left and right, "We've been dancing this whole time. We haven't done any work yet at all." She grinned. "Our mentors aren't going to be happy," she said. "But I guess once the meeting's over we can get on it. Where's your district partner?"

He wanted to wince, but forced himself to resist the urge. "She won't be joining us," he said. Keep it simple.

"Really?" said Ivelisse. Her eyebrows rose into perfect semicircles. "Why?"

"She volunteered without Academy consent," said Roman. "She took the spot from this year's chosen volunteer. I've been asked not to let her into the alliance, and she doesn't seem very interested in joining anyway." He thrust his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket. "Nevermind," he said. "She'll steer clear of us in the arena, I think."

"Yeah," said Alluvion. "Until she doesn't."

Roman cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "I'm glad I got to meet you both. They're always talking about how important it is to be a good team when you get into the arena, and I think we're all meshing pretty well so far. How about we look for the Fours?"

"Sure!" said Ivelisse. "I've been trying to spot them in the crowd. One of them was reaped, you know?"

"I saw." The three of them began to stroll towards the long tables on the closest wall, parting the sea of Capitolians. "Do you think she'll still want to join?"

"I think we should give her a chance either way, don't you?" said Ivelisse. "It can never hurt to have one more person to watch our backs."

It can definitely hurt, thought Roman, thinking of years of betrayals, but he smiled and nodded. "Let's see what her attitude's like," he said. If she seems scheming, he thought, She can sit this one out. There's strength in numbers, but we're only as strong as our weakest link. Career packs rarely survive once somebody goes turncoat.

A short, slender teenager shouldered his way from the chittering masses of Capitolians. His arm dangled behind him, and as he pushed his way into the pocket of space that had formed around the Careers, a second hand became visible, clutched in his. He smiled when he saw them. He was slender but well-toned, with short red hair and a few freckles scattered across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. "Hey," he said, dragging his arm forward, pulling a resisting body out from the crowd. "You're the Careers, right? I'm Jax Brooks." He squinted. "Where's the other Two?"

"Who cares," bit the girl whose hand was clutched in Jax's. "You said you'd let me go if I met the other Careers, and I did, so now I get to go sit by myself in the corner and ignore everybody." Her black curls had been dyed a host of unnatural colors. Reds and purples and pinks cascaded from her crown to her shoulders. Her green eyes were hot with rage. She was several inches taller than Jax, and had to twist her head down to glare at him.

"This is Starla," said Jax, squeezing her hand. "You guys would not believe how sweaty her palms are right now. It's nuts."

"Hey!" she snapped, tearing free. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the floor, tapping her foot and baring her bottom teeth in a pout that was almost animal-snarl. Roman looked from her toes to her forehead. She was as well-muscled as Jax was, with a body hardened by years in the sea. She could work, he thought. She's angry, but that doesn't mean she's untrustworthy. And she's willing to listen to Jax. And when it really came down to it, she couldn't take me in a fight but she could take the tributes from other districts. She's no danger to me. If anything, she's pretty useful.

He grinned and thrust out his hand. "Roman Ward," he said, taking Jax's hand and giving it a firm shake. "It's good to have you on the team."

"Oh, thanks," said Jax. "Career for life, am I right? I mean, literally, Careers until we die."

"That's a way of looking at it," said Roman, smiling a bit in spite of himself. "What about you, Starla? Any interest in being a Career for life?"

"I dunno," said Starla, who did not look up. "Are you guys gonna torture me if I say no?"

"No," said Roman. "No, of course not!" He crossed his arms over his chest. "But we might be at odds in the arena. I'd rather be your friend, if I had the choice."

"Oh isn't that nice," she breathed. Finally she looked up to meet his eyes. "Maybe," she said. "I guess. I don't know why you'd want me."

"You look strong," said Roman. "And you're from Four. You must have trained a bit at some point."

"A bit," she said. Some of the tension that had been thrust out from her shoulders and back seemed to ease. She began to slouch. "So you people seriously want me?"

"For whatever reason," said Jax. "Maybe your winning personality." She glowered at him, and he yelped playfully and danced away. It seemed as though she'd cuffed him before.

"Well, that's settled," said Roman, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from him. "Welcome to the Careers, Jax and Starla." The group had naturally shifted into a circle. He smiled. "Alright," he said, "One more order of business for tonight and then we can go back to sponsor hunting until training tomorrow. Anyone looking to make a claim for leader?"

"I am!" said Ivelisse, raising her hand and wiggling her fingers. "Anybody else?"

"I was considering it," said Roman, apologetic. "You want to leave it up to the mentors?"

She shrugged, then nodded. "I guess so," she said. "That's how it's usually done, right? And they'll decide by tomorrow?"

"They all vote, I think," said Jax. "Intense. It's like a mini Hunger Games."

"Ooh." Ivelisse narrowed blue eyes in Roman's direction. "Well then, good luck, District Two. I play to win."

"Yikes," said Roman, taking a step back. "I don't wanna get on your bad side this early!"

"Nobody does!" she trilled. Then she winked. "Should we get back to the party, everybody? Our mentors can handle the leader thing. Also, I think the punch over by that fountain with the naked flying baby is spiked, if anyone wants to come get a little tipsy with me."

"I'm down!" said Jax immediately, and as the two turned towards the punch bowl Alluvion fell into step beside them, silent, impassive. Starla watched them go, looked at Roman, and then nodded as a goodbye before fading into the crowd by herself.

He was alone again. That went well, he thought, reaching for a pastry that he ate in one bite. None of them are bad people. It'll be good to work with them. I can see most of us making it to the end.

And there was no need to focus too much on the end. He knew it was coming. He could feel it in his blood.

Ichabod Teff, 14
District Nine Male

Abraham Savage had threatened to "hang you by your fuckin' intestines, you goddamn pansy" if Ichabod failed to socialize at the dance, so he'd gone in with every intention of finding a sponsor, maybe more than one. He needed sponsorship. When he'd been reaped, he'd been so scared that when his escort asked him to say his name again for the cameras nothing came out but a high-pitched whine. If anyone was replaying his reaping at all, they were replaying it so they could hear that whine, which Abraham assured him had turned into something of a viral video on the Capitol nets. He wasn't getting sponsors that way. They wanted to see him die. Probably early.

So as he sat on a closed toilet seat in the cold restroom, he thought for the fifth time, I should go back out there. He even made as if to stand up from the toilet seat. Both of his buttocks were numb from the ceramic pressing into them, and his suit had begun to rumple from the slouched way he was sitting. He felt as though it were cold enough that his breath could be visible, but of course could see nothing when he breathed. I thought they regulated their bathrooms for temperature here, he thought, knowing that Abraham might legitimately hurt him if he knew that he was having this thought when he could be out gathering sponsors. I have to go back, Ichabod thought. He'll be so mad when he finds out I didn't get anybody. It's not worth it to be safe in here. Not if Abraham will gut me when I get to my room.

Wincing, he got up and lifted up the toilet seat and unlocked the stall. His shoes squeaked on the tile. The bathroom was white marble and smelled like lemons. The smell was so strong that Ichabod had had a coughing fit when he first came in. His brown eyes were still watering.

He wandered up to the row of sinks and mirrors. He felt as though he looked very small in his suit, which was slightly too big for him and clashed with his red hair. He stuck his hands under the faucet which immediately began to spit warm cleansing water which also smelled like lemons. They've got a theme here, I guess, he thought. When he went back outside he was going to avoid anything lemon-flavored.

In the mirror he caught the door swinging open. A lean and dark-skinned boy walked into the bathroom, heading for the urinals that lined one wall. His eyes were beady rat's eyes; his mouth seemed too wide for his face. Ichabod caught a flash of metal dangling from his wrist. A… manacle, he thought. I wonder why he has a manacle.

The boy unzipped his fly and Ichabod looked away. "You've been in here awhile," he said, as the tinkle of his urine hitting the ceramic basin began to echo. It was such a strident sound that Ichabod wanted to cover his ears. Instead he pulled his hands out from under the faucet, which had been bellowing hot air in order to dry them.

"Uh, yeah," said Ichabod, leaning against the sink so that the cold edge forced itself into his lower back.

"I was paying attention," said the boy. He was adjusting himself. Ichabod looked away again, until he heard the metal teeth of the boy's zipper realigning themselves. "You looked like you were having trouble talking to sponsors, and then you went in here and never came out." He came to the sink next to Ichabod and smiled down at him. His smile was enormous. It looked like it would split his face in two. "I'm Techeela," he said.

"I'm Ichabod," said Ichabod.

"So," said Techeela, flipping around so that he rested against the sinks like Ichabod was. "Why would you say you were having trouble? Why did you come in here?" There was no accusatory or mocking air in his voice. He only sounded curious.

"Uh," said Ichabod. "Well. I guess I came in here because the crowd was kind of… freaking me out, I guess." He frowned. "I was having trouble for sure. I couldn't find them."

"Who?"

"The perfect sponsor."

Techeela leaned a little closer. "What do you mean by that?" he said.

"I, uh… I guess I needed my sponsor to be all sorts of things. They needed to be kind-hearted, because I don't think anyone who isn't would want to throw away money on somebody like me. But they also needed to love the Games, so they would always be watching and ready to spend more money on me if I needed help." His hands felt very cold on the sink. "They needed to only sponsor me so they wouldn't have to choose between me and their other favorite if it came down to it. They needed to have a lot of money with preferably nothing else important to spend it on, like a family. And if I talked to them and they got bored at all, they wouldn't work, because my personality isn't going to change all that much in the arena." He frowned. "So I had to rule out everybody I talked to. I couldn't find a single person."

"Hmm," said Techeela. "Would you say that you're a perfectionist?"

"Oh, sure, I guess," said Ichabod.

"And do you often avoid problems that are difficult to solve by going or doing something else instead?" said Techeela.

He wanted to get angry, but instead he heaved a tired sigh and said, "Yeah, I guess I do."

"You're very self-aware," said Techeela.

"Thanks." Ichabod rubbed his hands together. "Why're you asking all these questions?"

"Oh," said Techeela, "I'm very interested in human nature. I haven't had many chances to talk to people and figure them out until recently, so I'm taking every chance I can get."

"Didn't meet a lot of people?"

"No," said Techeela. "I was in prison for a crime my mother committed."

"Ah," said Ichabod.

"Well," said Techeela, pushing away from the sinks, "Thank you for talking with me. You're a very interesting person, Ichabod. I enjoyed learning about you." He made for the bathroom door, which he pushed open. Then he paused and looked back, one hand supporting the door. "I hope we don't run into each other in the arena," he said, beady eyes glittering.

Ichabod swallowed hard. "I hope so too," he said.

"Then goodbye," said Techeela. "Hopefully forever."

"Goodbye," said Ichabod, as Techeela went through the door and closed it behind him. Then he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. What the hell, he thought, That was really strange. And it made me waste even more time. Abraham's gonna be so pissed.

That was what forced him out the door, in the end. Not finding the perfect sponsor wasn't worth the confrontation.

Ivelisse Shale, 17
District One Female

Eventually Jax and Alluvion went away, Jax pleasantly drunk and Alluvion as impassive as always. Jax had mentioned that he thought he could probably scale one of the columns in the ballroom to the very top, Alluvion had said that it seemed unlikely, and immediately Jax set off to prove that he definitely could. Ivelisse opted to stay by the punch table and look for sponsors.

Looking for sponsors ended up being very boring. The Capitolians loved her, loved touching her, stroking her hair, leaning in too close, staring with glittering eyes at the smooth skin between her breasts. Which was all well and good, Ivelisse supposed, but she didn't really enjoy talking to them very much. They only wanted to compliment her- again, very fun, but eventually there weren't any compliments she hadn't heard before. And then what?

So she hunted through the crowd for someone more interesting to talk to. Ivelisse was very slightly hungry, but there was her figure to think about, so she'd kept herself in control. Hadn't had very much to drink, either; punch was loaded with sugar. Besides, she was in a bit of a bad mood, so she didn't feel like drinking.

Who does Roman Ward think he is? she thought, smiling at everyone who caught her eye. Seriously? I made my claim for leader first. What makes him think he'd be better qualified than me?

She adjusted the skirt on her dress and thought, He should've backed down once I said I wanted to be leader. Now it's up to the mentors, and who knows which way the Fours will go. Probably with District Two. Everyone assumes District Two is more brutal than District One. Especially after last year.

So annoying. Still, there was nothing she could do about it now. She clicked her way into a gap in the crowd by one of the columns. Somewhere far away she could hear shouts and laughter, and had a good idea that Jax was trying and probably failing to climb to the ceiling. I should go over there, she thought. Alluvion and Jax are fun to hang out with.

Well, Jax was, anyway. He didn't seem to have a lot of baggage, although she had guessed almost immediately that he was gay and not telling people about it when he was the only boy who made no special effort to stare or not to stare at her breasts. Still, his sexuality didn't seem to have much impact on his attitude, and Ivelisse liked his attitude.

Then there was his district partner, Starla. She's not so fun, I bet, thought Ivelisse, crossing her arms over her chest. Although I haven't spent much time with her yet. We'll see how I feel about her during training.

Her own district partner was complicated, her feelings about him confusing. Well, he's certainly interesting, at least, she thought, leaning against the column so that the ridges dug into her spine. Strange, though. Sometimes it seems like he enjoys having fun. But he never smiles. Never ever. And his whole worldview is very… dramatic, I guess.

It was bizarre. He was probably still hung up about that time he'd killed his own best friend. What a show that had been; the whole Academy had been buzzing about it. Had he done it on purpose? Why had Elias and Alluvion been fighting with real weapons at all? What kind of practice duel involves real weapons? The incident hadn't hurt Alluvion's chances, of course. Probably made them better, actually; the Academy loved brutality. But he hadn't been the same after.

Poor kid, she thought, He doesn't know what it's like to need to win. I almost killed that girl who nearly got this year's volunteer spot and you don't see me crying about it. She twirled a strand of blonde hair around her manicured finger. He might not go so far if he's stuck in the past like that. Too bad for him.

Not so bad for Ivelisse. It wasn't as if Alluvion would be better off with second or twenty-fourth place, anyway.

Movement in the crowd got her attention. She watched as a stocky young man shouldered his way through a throng of twittering Capitol girls, grinning with one side of his mouth. He raised dark eyebrows upon seeing her standing by the column, but he moved to stand by her side regardless. He was holding a crystal glass in a hand that seemed too feminine to belong to him. "Hey," he said. "Taking a break from intimidating everyone else, District One?"

He sounded mean, but she knew by the way that his brown eyes sparkled and the corners of his mouth twitched that he was only poking fun. "You think I'm intimidating?" she said. "That's nice! I'm Ivelisse Shale."

"Kobe Engle, District Ten," he said. "I figured you Career types were all about sponsorship." He sipped his drink, which was a clear amber. "Why aren't you out there?"

"Between you and me," said Ivelisse, lowering her lashes, "I think I'm pretty set in the sponsorship department." She took a few steps closer. "How about you, Kobe? What are you doing over here?"

"I'm taking a break," said Kobe, crouching to set his now-empty glass on the floor. "Hope nobody breaks that and finds a way to blame me for it," he added. "I'm a tribute now, I don't have time for Capitol lawsuits."

"Hmm," said Ivelisse. "That would be some interesting Hunger Games drama."

"Oh boy," said Kobe.

She laughed. "Let's dance," she said.

Kobe raised his eyebrows again, but followed when she took his arm and pulled him towards the dance floor. "Well," he said, "If this is some kind of plot to kill me by dancing me to death, I guess this is it for me." Then he scowled. "I really shouldn't be here," he muttered. "I didn't sign up for this. Unlike some people I could mention."

She took both of his arms and wrapped them around her and began to sway. She was a few inches taller than he was, and stared down at his face through a carpet of golden ringlets. He was irritated, she saw. Some of that irritation was probably directed at her. Like he'd said, she'd volunteered.

What will make him like me again? she thought. People always like it when they have something in common. "You know," said Ivelisse, "They didn't give me a choice either." That was a good lie. Her parents had been horrified that she'd ended up as the chosen volunteer. "In District One, you train or you starve, pretty much. Bet they don't show you that on Hunger Games promos."

"They don't," said Kobe. He was an awkward, stiff dancer. "Look at that. The Hunger Games suck no matter what district you're from. Who'd've thought it."

"Not the Capitolians!" said Ivelisse. "They love this show. You know I had someone tell me that when I died he hoped I had the good sense to do it beautifully? I mean, obviously I would, but that's still a gross thing to say."

Kobe laughed. "Same," he said. "I'm planning on dying beautifully or not at all."

"That's the spirit!" said Ivelisse.

The song ended. She took him by the hands and led him back into the anonymity of the crowd. "That was fun," she said. "You're a good dancer, Kobe."

"Okay, District One," he said, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you say." But he was smiling.

She let go of him. "I'm probably going to go back to sponsor hunting," she said. "But it really was fun dancing with you, Kobe. Take care of yourself out there."

"You too, District One," he said. "Remember, if you see me in the arena, you have to be nice to me now."

She giggled. "You know it," she said. Then she vanished into the crowd. That was fun, she thought. Maybe I really will be nice if I see him again.

Of course she wouldn't be. But it was diverting to think about.

Manny Axelworth, 13
District Five Male

Manny thought, Here's the scene. Enter Zippina "Zippy" Sparks, twenty-four year old brainiac who's had no time for anything but the lab. Enter Mannington Axelworth IV, dashing twenty-six year old Mayor of District Five who's had no time for anything but politics. When they meet, will Sparks fly? Or is this romance… Doomed to Die?

Well. Manny was probably doomed to die, but the phrase had a better ring to it as the title of a romance novel. His romance novel. The fourth Clara St. Michaels thriller.

For the umpteenth time, he thought Thank Capitol they haven't figured out I'm Clara St. Michaels yet. She's so popular in the Capitol. They'd eat me alive.

To quell his rising anxiety, he popped a flaky pastry into his mouth and chewed it until the warm butter eased away most of his worries. Then he leaned against the table and twiddled his thumbs and watched Zippy. His district partner was a few dozen feet away and was doing her best to keep a potential sponsor interested. The Capitol woman was nodding as Zippy gesticulated, but Manny could see that her eyes were glazed with boredom. Her beautiful chocolate eyes. She's amazing, Manny thought. Not as amazing as Zippy, but pretty amazing.

Zippy was, of course, on another realm of amazing. In all his life, Manny decided, he had not and would never again meet someone so intoxicatingly beautiful. If I ever get a chance to write another Clara St. Michaels book it'll be my best yet, he thought, chewing on his pastry. Because now I'm really in love. Now I really know what love feels like.

He watched her, as she screwed up her eyes (the color of seaglass) and tossed her hair (cascading to her shoulders in rivers and whorls) and waved (perfect) hands as she tried to explain something with her small, irresistible lips. She was such a small person. Not as small as Manny (although he was certain that soon he would reach five feet.) But Zippy was small enough to be delicate without being fragile. She was small where it counted.

His heart swelled. He wanted to run to her and wrap his arms around her and tell her he loved her forever. Instead he blushed so badly that his temples began to sweat, and slunk back around the column he was standing next to, so he couldn't see her. It was no use. He'd never be able to do it. Even thinking about it made his stomach twist painfully.

He jiggled his leg in the too-big suit and crossed his arms over his chest. I should try for sponsors, he thought, but he didn't really need to try too hard since everyone had been cooing over him since the moment he got to the party. Besides, it was winding down; the crowd had thinned and the music had transformed into slow dance material. He kept seeing the girl from One dancing with the other Careers, and as much love as he felt for Zippy there was definitely some room in there for the One girl as well. Watching her dance made him want to ask Zippy to dance. But that wouldn't work. He'd start to say it and the words would get all bunched up in his mouth (as they usually did) and he'd just sputter for a while before falling silent. He'd been laughed at too many times to try something like that again.

"Manny?" said Zippy, from beside him.

He jumped so hard he scraped his back along the column. Wincing, he pressed the palm of his hand against the sore spot and said "Huh-hi, Zuh-Zuh-Zippy." His eyes were glued to her red leather shoes. He could not look up from the shoes. Even her ankles were pushing it.

"Hey," said Zippy. Her voice was low and urgent. "Have you been following me through the whole party? That's not a good idea, Manny."

Oh no. Oh Capitol no. This could not be happening. He wanted to scream. He wanted to die.

"Nuh-no," he said. The lie was weak, and hollow. The backs of his eyes had begun to prickle.

"Really, Manny, that's no good," said Zippy. He could see her hands moving in his peripheral, but the idea of looking up and accidentally making eye contact was physically revolting. "You have to be doing your absolute best to trawl for sponsors. Every Victor of the Games in recent memory- with a few notable exceptions, of course- were all doing very well with sponsorship, especially by the end of their Games. Sponsorship is too important for you to phone it in. You've got to go out there." She dropped one of her hands to her hip. "There are some simple methods to getting sponsors," she said. "You've got to play up your angle as much as you can. You're supposed to be cute and optimistic, aren't you?"

"Yeah," said Manny. The painful feeling in his guts was starting to ease. She's not mad, he thought. She's really not mad. She's helping.

"So," said Zippy, "You should be acting as cute as possible. Puppy dog eyes, asking people for help or directions, the works! It's not very hard to figure these Capitol people out. You just need to give them what they want, Manny."

"Ruh-right," he said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Thank you for helping me out, Zippy. Care to dance? The words were burning inside him. He felt like they would melt away his tongue if he didn't say them. "Thuh-thuh-thuh-thuh-thuh-" And now the word was stuck somewhere between his brain and his tongue, and it wouldn't come out, and forcing it was making things worse. "Thuh-thuh-thuh-"

"Nevermind," said Zippy, cutting him off with a hurried wave of her arm. "You were going to say thank you, weren't you? You're welcome." She smiled. It was a small, quivering smile. It hurt his heart, it was so lovely to look at. "I'm going to keep looking for sponsors until they send us to our rooms," she said. "You should do the same thing. Sponsorship is seriously important." She made as if to leave, and then flashed another smile his way. "See you later, Manny."

"Suh-see you." She hurried away. He kept his gaze fixed carefully on her red shoes.

Afterwards he collapsed against the column. They'd spoken! She tried to help him! Zippy was beautiful and perfect and wanted to keep him alive. Him! It meant she cared. It must have meant she cared.

He didn't end up talking to any sponsors, not really. The men were not interesting to him and every woman he tried to talk to gave him such a bad stutter that his cheeks flamed scarlet. But it was alright. At the very least, he was unbelievably cute. The Capitol ate it up. Zippy had been right; they really did live for this kind of stuff.

Dante Blackthorn, 18
District Twelve Male

It's my birthday, Dante thought.

He hadn't remembered. And all of a sudden, as the Peacekeepers in their inflexible white uniforms began to herd the remaining tributes towards the double doors to the elevators, he saw an overturned slice of cake on one of the vast silver platters. And he remembered that he was eighteen years old today.

Happy birthday to me, he thought, crossing his arms over his chest.

There weren't so many tributes left now that the party was over. And most of them he didn't recognize. Theresa must have gone upstairs, to the District Twelve suite that Dante's mentor Fox assured him was impressive, a real sight to see.

Dante's eyebrows furrowed. Truth be told, he wasn't very interested in how wonderful and expansive the suite was.

As he followed the Peacekeepers, making certain to watch their batons for any hint of violence, he considered that he would be sharing the suites with Theresa, and that alone made him uncomfortable to be there. She was a funny sort of person, closed-off and caring at once. He remembered the look in her eyes when she'd seen the deep scars on his back. Her startled, nervous tone of voice.

But more than that he remembered her peering around her parent's legs as he and his mother and sisters begged every merchant family for help. After his father had been shot. When the blood was still drying on his face and clothing.

So when he saw her, he saw and remembered that night. That incident. Every time he looked at her. He couldn't help but dislike her. It was almost a physical reaction. He couldn't do anything about it.

The tributes had been herded from the empty ballroom to a white corridor with a row of elevators. Small groups formed, as tributes huddled with their district partners and murmured to one another so that the other groups could not hear. Next to Dante was a small pair, a tiny scrawny twig of a boy and a girl who jittered with nervous energy and spoke with her hands as much as with her voice. Dante towered over both of them.

"So," the girl was saying, "Listen to this, Manny. I read a book about elevators called Going Up so I actually know a great deal about them." She pointed at the closed doors. "Behind those doors," she said, "There's another set of doors. Those are the elevator doors. They open at the same time these doors open, so we can step inside the elevator."

Dante drifted a little closer. The boy, Manny, did not seem as bored as Dante had expected he would be upon being forced to listen to a lecture about how elevators worked. He gazed at the girl with huge brown eyes. He seemed enraptured.

Interesting, thought Dante. She's very smart. He's very interested.

The elevator dinged and the girl jumped. "Oh," she said, "I completely forgot to tell you about how the elevator signals to us that it's arrived on our floor!" The doors were opening, and she and Manny and Dante all stepped inside and waited until they closed. Once in the elevator, the girl seemed to realize that she was not alone with who Dante assumed was her district partner. She cast furtive glances in his direction. There was a spot of color on both of her tanned cheeks.

She's embarrassed, he thought. She shouldn't be. She was just trying to tell him what she knew.

Pity moved him. "You can keep talking about elevators," he said. " I don't mind. It's interesting."

Her eyebrows flew up. "Oh!" she said. She fidgeted from foot to foot, the fluffy purple dress she was wearing bouncing around her knees. "Well, uh…" The elevator began to move under their feet. His stomach jolted as it began to rise. "Well," she said, "Right now a big motor is pulling on a cable attached to the top of this elevator car. There's a counterweight on the other side of the pulley that this cable is being fed through, which helps make sure the elevator doesn't need to use so much power to go up. Because the counterweight is pulling it down." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "And that's basically it," she said.

He nodded. "Cool," he said. That seemed to please her. Her smile was quick, but it was genuine. He felt it warm something in his chest.

"Cool," she echoed. The elevator let out another ding. "Oh!" she said. "This is our floor. We're from District Five, y'know." She eyed Dante. "And you look like somebody from… uh… Seven? Twelve? You've got the complexion of those districts."

"Twelve," he said. "I'm Dante," he added.

"I'm Zippina, but you can call me Zippy," she said, waving a hand in front of the open elevator doors to keep them from closing. "This is Manny."

"Huh-hi," said Manny. He has a stutter, Dante thought. The warmth in his chest blossomed. And now he's blushing too. He's afraid I'll make fun. Who have these kids been hanging out with, that they're so ashamed of what they are?

He smiled. "Well," he said, "I'm glad I met you both."

"Thuh-thuh-thuh-thanks!" said Manny, squirming.

"Yeah," said Zippy. "Thanks." They stepped from the elevator car. "We'll see you tomorrow at training?" Zippy blurted, as the doors began to close. "Remember, it's at nine, don't be late or you'll look rude-" The doors cut her off before she could finish.

Dante laughed quietly to himself. Then he went to lean on the wall of the elevator. Smart, he thought, And friendly. Tomorrow during training I should spend some time with her, with them. See how smart she really is. Maybe this could work itself into something concrete in the arena.

It helped that when he looked at Zippy he saw his sisters. It helped that Manny was so small and sweet that he wanted to stand between the boy and anything that might have hurt him in the past, or in the future. It helped that he had met them moments ago and they'd already awoken in him the desire to protect.

The elevator began to rise again. I can't believe this is my birthday, thought Dante. Strangest birthday I ever had.

Woo! All the tributes have finally taken the stage! To celebrate, head on over to my profile and vote in the poll I just made for the four tributes you really want to survive the Bloodbath! I'll be using this vote (as well as many other factors, don't worry if your tribute isn't popular) to decide who I kill, so please vote I need this k thanx