Ashley Coralis, 14, District 4

"When we're done with you, you won't even recognize yourself!" one of my three stylists squeals in an unbelievably squeaky accent. I can't help but stare at her. Her skin is hot pink!

They push me around for a short while, lamenting my poorly cut fingernails and hairy limbs, and then they have me take off my clothes and shove me into a bathtub, where I am boiled and scrubbed until I feel bare and stinging.

So, this is how a fish must feel once it's been scaled and cooked, I think, as they pull me from the tub and dry me with a lot of warm air from a fan, one stylist—a man with swirling, silvery tattoos all over his face—files my nails down to my fingertips. They're talking the entire time in that grating Capitol accent that you hear all the time over the television, about things like colors and fashions, but they talk a lot about me. About my looks, my hair (which they actually compliment), my District, how I don't really look like a winner compared to the other tributes…

"…but I'm sure that you'll die in a very interesting way!" says my third stylist, who looks a lot like a bird. She seriously has multi-colored feathers instead of hair, and something like a yellow beak instead of a separate mouth and nose.

Their insensitivity is astonishing. It's not like I expect to survive, but don't they understand how difficult it is to face death?

…no, I answer myself as they have me lie down and begin to painfully wax my legs. They probably don't. They just watch the Hunger Games; they never have had to fear them. It's just something on television.

But that doesn't make me like them. They've probably already placed high bets on my early death.

And they'll definitely be reaping in the winnings.

XXX

Kayla Rakkor, 15, District 9

For a few lovely moments, I am alone. The prep team has left, to "get Arrian," who I was pretty sure was my stylist. Hopefully, he was a good one, someone who could aid my image.

Hopefully. Odds are that he'll try to make me look tough. District 9 tributes usually end up with an image of being hunters, which, while fitting with our industry, was something of a joke because we almost always ended up as the hunted.

Hunter, hunted, helpless prey

Who will live another day?

I will. I must. I must not be the prey.

I don't mind being naked and hairless, not all that much, anyway. It makes me feel helpless, and if I feel helpless, then everyone who sees me will think that I am, indeed, helpless. I should glide under their radar, unnoticed until it is much too late.

At least, that's what I hope will happen.

The door opens, and a squat little man enters. He looks almost normal, but his eyes are neon green. I wouldn't be surprised if he could see in the dark with eyes that shade.

"Good afternoon, Kayla," he says, those eerie eyes scanning my body. "I'm Arrian."

I nod, not sure if I'm supposed to answer. The stylists hadn't addressed me directly while they were "fixing me up."

"I assume that you're curious as to what your outfit shall be like," he says.

I nod again. It seems to be a good response.

"Put on your robe, and we'll talk over lunch," Arrian indicates a plain white bathrobe lying nearby, and he then walks over to a table at the other side of the room. As I pull on the robe, I see Arrian push a button on the table, and two full plates of pasta covered with a creamy sauce appear. I limp over to the table and pick up a fork.

"You're very good at faking that limp, by the way."

I drop the fork and glance up at him in alarm. Arrian chuckles at my reaction.

"I had a word with your mentor while you were with the prep team," he explained. "I can't tell that you're faking. I just know."

"How many people will know?" I moan.

"Near none," Arrian assures me. "Only the people that you, I, or Vivienne tell will know, and I haven't told anyone but Calpurnia, Bergamot's stylist."

"That boy from Three will know," I mutter.

"Perhaps he will," says the stylist. "Perhaps he won't. I'm here to help make sure that no one will."

"So, you're going to make me look weak and helpless instead of tough?"

"In a way," says Arrian. "If we make you look helpless, then everyone who sees you will know that we are trying to make you look helpless. That could arouse suspicion. No, we're going to make you look like we're trying to make you look intimidating and utterly failing at it."

I frown slightly. "How are you going to do that?" I ask.

Arrian grins. "Finish your pasta, and then we'll get started."

XXX

Shimmer Argent, 18, District 1

Phenom and I arrive down at the chariots before all of the other tributes, so I am able to get a closer look at them as they arrive. Who will I kill first? Who will be worth keeping around? There are so many decisions to make.

That boy from District Two had stepped away from his chariot and was now glaring at me, trying to hold my gaze. I smirk and stare even more intently at his face, daring him to look away. He looked strong, so he could probably be useful, but I couldn't be sure until I saw him in training. I had my qualms about him, though. His volunteering had seemed a bit odd; rushed, forced. He wasn't sure of himself.

But he was tough. He still had yet to look away.

But I refuse to be beaten at anything. I take an intimidating step forward. Startled, he takes a step back. I see him realize how stupid that that action had been and I relish his discomfort.

"I think we could use him," Phenom says from behind me.

"Since when does what you think matter?" I ask, watching the District Two boy turn and say something indignant to his partner, who's laughing at him. That's all right by me. Discontent between the troops is something that I can work with.

Phenom snarls and stalks off, probably to plan my demise. I'm unfazed by his anger. He needs me tons more than I need him.

I continue to size up the arriving tributes. Most of them don't look to be worth squat. The Twos and Sevens have potential, but the other numbers are wimps, especially that District Nine girl with the lame leg. Her stylist shoved her into a poorly-fitting wolf's skin, probably in an attempt to make her look fierce. She looks more scared than fierce, crouching next to her partner, who is dressed in a green hunter's outfit. Cheesy and overused, but he looks physically fit. Time will tell if that longbow over his shoulder is purely ornamental or not.

The elevator doors open again, and in come the tributes from Four. The boy ignores me, which is annoying, but the girl glances in my direction, glancing away just as quickly, obviously terrified. I laugh softly. She and her partner look like victims of a shipwreck. Was that seriously seaweed in her hair? Pathetic.

My stylists had transformed me into a crystal monster, sparkling, beautiful, and menacing. Definitely menacing. I was Shimmer, I was the deadly beauty.

The five-inch, curved, sharp nails are a nice touch, as well. How much convincing would it take for the Gamemakers to allow me to take them into the arena? I muse, flexing my fingers and terrifying the tributes from District Five.

XXX

Landon Meddel, 16, District 8

By the time we reach the chariots, all of the other tributes are already boarding. Gabrielle and I hurry past the lower numbers, reaching the District 8 chariot, which is pulled by two palominos, just in time. I help her up. She is wearing shoes with ridiculously high heels, but we manage to stand up on the chariot. I give her a reassuring smile. She looks absolutely gorgeous, in a sparkling blue dress, with glittery makeup on her face that matches it. I am also glittering, in an identically blue suit. I'm not sure what it has to do with our District's industry, other than the fact that they're clothes, but we must look dazzling.

Gabby's trembling, so I stand behind her with my arms wrapped around her instead of the customary side-by-side. Her stylist nods at me and gives us a thumbs up, saying something that I'm sure must be positive but I can't hear him because the doors far ahead of us have just swung wide open and the roar of the crowd is now deafening. The horses start to move, drawing us closer and closer to the bright lights and loud noises, until we have emerged.

"District Eight! District Eight!" the crowd chants. I look up and I see faces, thousands of people here, watching us, screaming our names. There are so many of them…and I know that there must be thousands, maybe millions more watching us on their televisions right now. It's overwhelming.

"Landon! Landon!" A gaggle of teenage girls near the front of the crowd is calling my name, extending their arms towards me. I frown playfully and shake my head, pulling Gabrielle closer to me and placing my lips in her hair. The crowd seems to get even louder, applauding me.

Applauding us.

XXX

Carn Hurdy, 18, District 2

The chariots pull into the City Circle, and President Snow comes out of his mansion. I'm getting my first in-person look at the most powerful person in the nation! Sure, I see him on television all the time, but, like everything else here in the Capitol, reality is something else. For one thing, from here it's pretty clear that he's wearing makeup for the cameras to improve his looks. Not that he's really all that handsome anyways.

President Snow begins his speech, and he talks about us tributes, and the honor bestowed up on us, and other topics of that nature. Thera yawns widely, obviously bored, and a nearby television screen displays that moment for all to see. She doesn't seem to care about appearing disrespectful, though. I continue to watch the screen as it pans over the twelve chariots. Most of the others look to be around my age, maybe a year or two younger. We're all teens, standing here together, dressed up and on display. We're all the same here.

Stop it! I tell myself. If you start thinking of them as equals, you'll never be able to kill any of them!

But do I want to kill them? Of course I want to. I'm here to win, right?

…right?

XXX

Briar Tussen, 12, District 11

I really like the vines that my prep team drew onto Anise's and my skin. They're really lifelike, and with the leafy tunic and leggings, I look like…

I grin, and as the doors of the elevator close behind our team and the team of District Twelve, I throw up my hands and yelp.

"Ah! Help! I'm being eaten by a plant! Help!"

I wave my arms around, beating at the "plant" and generally making a goof of myself. I hear laughter and look up, but it's the girl from Twelve, not Anise. Her District partner is staring at me like he thinks that I'm insane, and the stylists and escorts from both sides are watching with various levels of amusement and bemusement. Anise is turned away from me, silently and blankly watching our ascent.

I sigh. "I'll get you yet," I say, prodding her in the leg. "'Operation: Make Anise Smile' is still going strong!"

She ignores me.

The elevator reaches our floor, and the doors open again.

"Briar Meddel," I say to the District Twelve girl.

She grins. "Dally Fernswith," she replies.

"See you tomorrow, Dally!" I call as I turn to follow my team out onto our floor.

XXX

CF: Good evening, Panem! Now, we've seen them already here in the Capitol, but this will be new for some of you out in the Districts! Here's a recap of the parade, and I tell you, we have such a spectacular set of stylists working with this year's tributes! And here they come now! First: the tributes of District One, Phenom Spectral and Shimmer Argent!

XXX

A.N.: Coming up next: Training! And you know what that means... More interactions with submitted tributes! I hope you enjoy!