(A/N: SOOOOOO sorry for not updating! Personal crap, etc.)
When I walked into the dining hall, nobody looked up. Well, nobody could, seeing as the only two there were Poppy and Millet, and they were arguing. I quietly slipped into a fancy chair, and helped myself to a slice of roast beef. Poppy glances at my beef, and sighs. "Seeder, you should eat more than that," and goes back to her argument. I can tell, now, that they're disagreeing about proper meal plans. It seems that Millet believes in "You only live once", while Poppy is of the opinion that we need a special, high protein, diet. She's winning.
After a rather quiet meal, Millet takes Barley into another room. Poppy moves into a closer chair, and begins drilling me on, what she likes to call, "Battle Plans". She stages mock interviews, and takes notes on my responses. Eventually, she has me try different angles. I'm no good at sexy, vulnerable, fierce, or charming. I'm too polite for sarcastic, and too witty for naïve. I can't tell jokes, or keep a poker face, or gush. The only feasible options are tough, determined, and intelligent. We settle on determined, as the other two will require more effort on my part. As for training, Poppy tells me to learn as much as I can in the Hunting/Gathering skills. She tells me that many of her Tributes have been arrogant in those, and then died from either not recognising plants, or thinking they did, or then dying of poison, or starvation, or whatever.
Training is rather uneventful. I do as Poppy says, dutifully memorizing plant after knot after trap. Then, I strike out into Combat Skills, and learn to wield a spear. I don't make a complete fool of myself, at least. I take every opportunity to observe my fellow Tributes. The boy from One is huge, easily thrice my weight. And both from Two are respectably large as well. Five and Seven seem to be allying. I consider asking to join, but think better of it. The boy from Five is very shifty eyed, and looking at everyone like a starving man surrounded by walking, fighting pieces of meat. This, I suppose, is rather true. We're all just lined up like so many stalks of grain, waiting to be cut down.