A/N: Here comes the shining moment for the reviewers! It's time to start playing favorites, because your ideas and opinions are going to hugely influence the Games! And, I believe there's a bit of a name game at play here... Let's see how many people can catch all of it. ;)

At Mim's insistence, I push the little button with a 4 on it, sending the elevator flying upward faster than any District 4 car I've ridden in. The sudden surge combined with the clearly visible height makes my stomach a bit uneasy. I've always had a fear of heights, though it's never stopped me from much in a district where no building or tree reaches very high. I hope this is the highest I'll have to get in the next week or so; I'll be at a huge disadvantage in the arena if it's nothing but forest, with no stable or safe ground to land on, like it was a few years ago. Of course, I'm at a huge disadvantage, anyway, so I don't think even that would be much of a problem.

We walk out onto our floor. From here, I can only see our current room: a large, square one lined with couches and finely-crafted tables and beautiful paintings of comforting things I won't see in the arena. I'm soon shown the door to my room, though, and I walk inside.

It's even bigger than the main room. It's four times the size of the jerky factory plus the oven room, and everything is a shiny plush. There are buttons on every part of the wall and good chunks of everything else, and after playing with them for a few minutes, I've managed to dim the lights and play some weird techno music, but I don't know how to change either back, so I just head to the bathroom.

Being sweaty from the solid thirty minutes of posing and running around and waving, I decide to take a shower. Luckily, it's much easier to figure out the temperature than the train's version.

I'm all dried off after figuring out the neat Capitol drying technology, and I dress myself in a white-and-gray, striped top with loose long sleeves and a pair of very light, denim capris with little, pink hearts on the back pockets. I slip on some silvery shoes without laces and get going.

Just as I'm about to step out the door, some sort of intercom overshadows the techno music. It's Mim calling me—and everyone else, it sounds like—to dinner. I wander about the floor's large room for a minute before locating the open door to the dining room.

I seat myself in the normal spot, although each chair here has more space than on the train, and a servant immediately unfolds the napkin at my place and lays it across my lap. Another servant with bright yellow hair holds out a platter with wine, but I tell her no thanks. I've heard more than one story of that stuff messing things up for people.

The servant with the wine has only just backed up from my space when the rest of the crew storms in. They all take their seats, quieter than usual, and they're catered to like I was, most of them accepting the wine.

The courses start to come now: a pale yellow soup with chicken, a red sauce surrounded by more shrimp than I've ever seen in my whole district—I guess they must have all bent packed up and sent here—followed by a thin piece of meat I don't recognize that's drowned in orange-pink sauce. Then comes a very warm bowl of stew with plums and lamb, and the meal is finished with a yellow, iced cake aside a well-arranged selection of fruits.

During the meal, most of the discussion rests on the magnificent food, but there is the occasional word about the Games. Ime and Twig are already joking about it like old friends, and Mill is soon to join in. Lily, though still hostilely silent most of the time, does pitch in a word or two when conversation turns to her or anything about knives.

But they're not saying anything helpful. I guess they must've told Twig everything he needs to know, and why give one of his opponents any sort of advantage?

Soon enough, we've finished the meal, and Mim tells Twig and me to go get some rest, because tomorrow's going to be just so very exciting!

I shuffle off to my bedroom, and, after trying on ten sleep gowns, settle on a pink-and-brown one. I shove the many layers of sheets aside as I climb into the bed, which is even softer than the one on the train. Vaguely being thankful a servant had come in to reset the room to "lights off", I find myself drifting off into dreamland.

And what a dreamland it is. I find myself in my float dress, standing on an endless stretch of white plain. But I'm suddenly surrounded by invisible walls, and I'm shooting up, higher and higher, until I'm frozen with fear from the bizarre altitude.

Then the walls disappear. I'm flung down into the air, but my dress blossoms out to lessen my fall. It doesn't stay that way for long, though; it turns into a raging sea, engulfing me, and I'm kicking, but I only sink, screaming, but no one is there to hear me, and then I'm drowning, being sucked down into the black depths…

I jerk awake to find that I've been clinging to the sheets for dear life. But there's sunlight coming in through the windows, and I'm covered in bedspreads, not water.

I yawn and roll out of the bed, placing my bare feet on the plush carpet. It takes a while for the shower to wake me up, but before I know it, I'm all dried off and dressed up, in a purple outfit with no sleeves or long pant legs that had been laid out for me, and I trot off to breakfast.

For the first time, I'm not the first here. Tora and Twig's stylist, who I know from last night's conversation is named Tyge, have seated themselves. I've already piled up some warm food on my plate before I realize Tora is sitting next to my space today. I think back—Ime had been sitting there yesterday—but I don't think this is significant. She won't talk to me, anyway.

So I take my seat, just as Lily walks in, and begin eating.

I definitely know there's something wrong with Tora now. The whole time she's eating, she swishes her head around—I almost think she's having a seizure, but the movement is too regular—and she tilts her head far back every time she swallows. But I have no idea what's making her do this, so I shouldn't judge. She's plenty competent at what she needs to be, and I'm grateful for that.

Everyone's taken a seat now, and conversation has started about the Training Center and its huge gymnasium. Mostly about how Twig is going to go about it. Of course. Since he's a Career tribute, everyone's already intimidated by him and expecting a fighter, so there's no reason not to show them exactly how good he is.

In that case, I should just sneak around looking evil and do absolutely nothing, because I'm sure they expect no better from the sniveling, skinny girl that just happens to be from District 4. But for some reason, that just doesn't sound like a good strategy.

Now that we're all finished with breakfast, Ime tells us—yes, he actually looks at me as well as Twig—to meet at the elevator at ten. From there, we'll descend into the training pit.

I saunter over to my room to see that it's already 9:30. So, I have thirty minutes to fool around with the buttons lining my room, I think, turning the lights halfway on before toying with the rest of the interfaces.

By the end of the thirty minutes, I've figured out how to view distant spots of the Capitol through the technologically-advanced window—yes, really—order food through nothing but a few button pushes—though I'm still full and don't end up eating anything—and change the music that thumps around my room. But my playtime is up, and it's time to go meet the other tributes.

I meet Mim and Twig at the elevator, squeezing my eyes shut the whole time we go down to try not to get sick, and it's only a moment before we're walking back out.

The room is huge. That's the first thing I pick up about it. It's filled with all sorts of oversized-cubicle-like stations, ranging from knife-throwing to animal skinning to tree climbing. It looks like most of the tributes have arrived; when I look at the people crowded near the center, I see tags on their backs that have every district number but 4 and 11. I feel a tiny prick in my back, and I turn to see a silent servant has pinned a large 4 to my shirt.

The elevator whirs again behind me. The two tributes from 11 must have arrived, because I've no sooner turned to the circle of tributes before an athletic, redheaded man named Neoptolem introduces us to the rules.

Once he's done, he starts to list the stations, but I'm already looking around at the other tributes. After all, I didn't get a very good picture of them at the reaping ceremonies, and I was too worried about smiling and waving at the Capitol to pay attention to them at the parade, so now's the first time I get a good look at them.

Both 16-year-old tributes from District 1, Kyta and Bilt, are Careers; it's easy to tell.

Those from District 2 are Rim, a 16-year-old boy with an impressive stature, and Alypso, a 15-year-old who's very pretty but doesn't look like much of a fighter.

District 3 has the very small 12-year-old girl, Kalis, as well as the 18-year-old Phemus, a sturdier competitor with a bitter eye—his other is covered by an eye patch.

From District 5 is a 17-year-old boy named Odyss, who must be almost seven feet tall but isn't as muscular as the Careers, and a 13-year-old, heavyset girl named Nuray.

District 6's tributes are a short but muscular 15-year-old boy named Glaucus, and Pich, an ordinary-looking 16-year-old.

From District 7 are two more tributes that look like Careers, though I doubt they truly are, coming from the lumberyards, named Valer and Tierra.

There's a 14-year-old girl named Esen, who's pale as a ghost, and an 18-year-old named Euriloc, who's just as white, from District 8, and from 9 are Ione, a 17-year-old girl with thin, brown hair, and Sunil, a 12-year-old boy who just seems very lost.

District 10 gives us Chara, a 15-year-old girl with some sort of knee problem, and Zeef, a very bulky 16-year-old boy.

From 11 are Oakley, a 15-year-old girl that's all angles and bones, and 16-year-old Maddox, who isn't much thicker.

Lastly, District 12 has Randa, a 14-year-old girl whose face looks 20, and Shaw, an 17-year-old boy who's quite muscular but seems like he hasn't slept in months.

Neoptolem dismisses us, and the Careers, including Twig, who shoves me to the side, rush to the weightlifting and brute-strength-based areas immediately. I wander around for a little while, eventually deciding on the archery section, since only one other tribute is there.

For the next two hours, I determine that my archery is only dangerous to things fifteen feet away from my target, how to make a simple lean-to, among other shelters, which of the similar plants on the edible plants station's list are poisonous or safe to eat, and that I'm actually quite good at scaling trees as long as I only look up.

And now, to add to the discomfort of being around the people who are going to kill us, all the tributes are made to eat lunch in the same room. It's set up in the same format as the breakfasts have been; I end up assembling a series of small patches of different foods on my plate before turning to see the tables. The Careers, as well as the two from District 7, are all sitting next to each other, joking around. Everyone else is sitting by himself or herself, save for a few who sit with their districtmates.

Before I'm sure exactly what I'm doing, I set my plate just a foot or so from Oakley and sit down. She ignores me. Or doesn't notice me at all. I don't try to rouse conversation, and we both eat in silence before it's time to get back to work.

In the course of the next few hours, I find out that my knife-throwing is just as horrible as my archery, that I'd be decent at disguising myself if I wasn't too nervous to stand still—which I'm sure I won't be in the arena—that I wouldn't be bad at hand-to-hand combat if I had any muscle on me, and that I'm actually pretty good with spears and javelins. Of course, all of those goodies will be in the Cornucopia, and I'm not going near that graveyard when the Games begin.

The whole time after lunch, the Gamemakers have been watching us. I admit, it makes me a bit nervous, but they're only here to give us a score, which will determine our sponsors' gambles. Which I won't receive, anyway.

And now I'm shot back to District 4's floor in the elevator with Twig as well as Mim, who had gotten the elevator down to the training floor for us in the first place.

When we start dinner, all questions go to Twig—of course—who brags about the insane amount of weight he lifted, and how he almost made some younger girl faint at one of the stands that I'm not interested enough in to keep listening. Instead, I scarf down my meal—the continuous activity today has made me more hungry than a day of flitting about the jerky factory would—and try to think about some sort of way I could survive.

I'm not winning on strength, and probably not on speed, either. I've never been in any part of nature other than the lake that scared me half to death, so I'm not going to be the survival expert. All that's left is hiding and strategy. I guess they'll have to do.

So, how would I go about on that platform for the next two days? I suppose it would be a good idea to observe the other tributes tomorrow instead of wasting time at combat techniques I'm no good at. Sounds good, I decide, finishing off the last bit of chocolate icing on my dessert before dismissing myself to my room for bedtime.

I clothe myself in a dark red sleep gown before climbing back under the covers.

What a day. I've gotten so much done: figured out how I'm going to attempt a win in my still-hopeless situation, gotten a few skills in that may come in handy, gotten a better look at the other tributes. Hard to believe it's only been two days since the reaping.

Two days. I sit up. Two days after the reaping.

My birthday.

At home, we'd be celebrating with a piece of chocolate, maybe even with some of the good bread they sell near the town square. Dad probably would've pulled some strings to get a few extra hours off , and Mom would've worked extra hard the hours I wouldn't have been at the factory so the whole family could have a nice, long dinner.

I'd rather be home, so much. All of the nice things in the Capitol aren't worth it at all. But there's no changing it now.

"Happy Birthday, Circe," I whisper to myself as I close my eyes.