Hellooooo, so here is the conclusion of the District 6 Reapings; hope you're loving these tributes. Quick question though: Where would we like to go next? I'm thinking of finishing a District I've already begun but I would love some suggestions.

Oh and I haven't thanked you all for the kind reviews; as for the anonymous 'B' I am well aware that in canon Enobaria won the 62nd Games, but in my story she won the 61st. If my derivation from canon irks anybody, I sincerely apologise but I am not going to change it!

That's all for now…

Iian Trescott, District 6.

I am led from the Justice Building to the train that will be taking me to the Capitol, and although I rarely indulge in the luxury that is hope I like to think that it is also the train that will be bringing me home as the Victor of the 62nd Hunger Games. My eyes are stinging with tears I refuse to shed; I will not give anybody the satisfaction of seeing me break down. The hour spent in that damn room is the worst hour I have ever spent in my life; blocking myself from the world didn't make it any easier as I hoped. It was still awful: Marilyn's distraught cries knowing she could lose her big brother, father's anguish knowing that he could lose his son as easily as his wife had left and then Tate's tearful goodbye.

I wasn't even aware Tate knew how to cry, she was always strong and sarcastic but she clung to me as if her life depended on it while declaring her love for me; in that moment I realised I needed to win. Not necessarily for myself but for every single person who'd mourn my loss, whose lives would irrevocably change if I were to die; no matter how few people that is.

Imagining me as the Victor is impossible, to live in Victor's Village seems like something I could never achieve, but I will. If I come back I have promised to 'change my ways' I cannot hide from the world as I once thought. Being a loner doesn't help, the problems are still there; you cannot run from them and you cannot hide, but if you face these problems surrounded by those you love they don't seem half as bad. The question I now face is how do I stand a chance at winning? District 6 is but a smudge on the map of Panem, we're not renowned for creating Victors; we simply create automobiles for use in the Capitol, forgotten and in terms of the Hunger Games: Useless. All the advice given to me in that room had the same sentiment: If I am to win, I'm going to need a strong set of allies; being the 'lone wolf' I am within the confines of District 6 is simply an act which guarantees my certain death.

I board the train and the first thing I see is my district partner sitting in a chair and looking out at the pandemonium on the platform; Capitol reporters are here with their state of the art cameras. I actually take the time to look at her since I was too overwhelmed at the reaping to do so; she seems tiny, with pale skin and hair the colour of chocolate. Although a part of me wishes to comfort her, I simply cannot afford to do it; it's a weakness and I've been playing the game since my name was called, and I will not be showing weakness around my potential enemy.

One thing that struck me however was her eyes as she stood on stage; they were still as pure and innocent as most 13 year olds but there was something shining in those brown doe like eyes of hers: I could say resignation, but it seemed a lot more to me; almost a defiance or a grim determination and so I'm not entirely sure if she's as weak as she seems. Logically, she should have broken down in tears knowing she is about to face her certain death; at 13 shouldn't she be petrified that she faces almost certain death. Younger tributes rarely win, and the only justification for such a demeanour is that she is hiding a talent of sorts or she simply has a suicide wish. Maybe she could become an ally; I move towards the table where she is sat and take a seat opposite her.

We sit in silence, she turns to look at me; her eyes bore into me, I stare back and in that moment something passes between us. A wordless communication of sorts, we'll speak later. My internal ramblings however are cut short when we hear a crash resound through the train compartment; our mentors have stumbled into the room and any determination I had earlier, any hope of escaping with my life has vanished: Morphlings, our mentors are drug abusers; you can see it in their gaunt faces, their blank stare, and their emaciated frames. They frolic around, their movements slow and strange; their eyes appear to be drawn to anything shiny like a magpie.

'God help them' Dariela, or that's what I believe her name to be, whispers grasping at a silver chain at her neck. I don't really agree with her and I can imagine what Tate's smart ass reply would be: 'God help them? Are you kidding me? More like God help us' I smile at this but its wiped from my face when I realise that what Tate would have said is right; How are we expected to survive in the arena when our lifelines are two morphlings. The answer to that question is we can't, me and Dariela are doomed to death. Without a functioning mentor we can kiss goodbye to any hope of surviving; who will give us the advice? Prepare our training strategy? Get sponsors? I turn to look back at Dariela and I can see the desperation in her gaze; the need for a miracle to happen, and that's just to survive the bloodbath. Sometimes though, miracles do happen.

Ramona Sorreson, District 6 Escort

I enter the compartment, my stilettos creating a monotonous beat on the linoleum floor thanks to my brisk gait; Oh and what a sight I see? Two blithering idiots rolling on the floor like children, it is beyond my understanding as to how two such pathetic creatures could ever become Victors of the Hunger Games. I play with my pale pink hair as I stare down at these poor excuses for human beings, trapped in their addiction. Morphling is such a vile substance; it takes away every part of your character and makes you an empty shell. What would possess someone to do such a thing to themselves? This is not what the Capitol expects from their Victors: they should be strong, proud; they should be like Platinum Herzesky or Brutus Eldron; well whatever will I do with these two?

I trail my amethyst coloured eyes over to the two tributes and the sight is almost heartbreaking; they truly have no hope whatsoever, I can see it in their posture: slumped and in their downcast eyes. The boy is large, with the right mentoring he'd stand a chance; and the girl, she is tiny but she left an impression on me by the way she walked onto stage with such grace and decorum makes me think that with her there is more than meets my keen eyes.

This whole situation will simply not do, Ramona Sorrenson is a pedigree Capitolite, it is in my blood to get what I want and to never fail at my endeavours and seeing these failed mentors has given me inspiration. For too long District 6 has faded into the background, not too poor, not really noticed in any sense; And being their escort I am tainted with the same reputation, but I will not fade into the background.

The mentors may be complete invalids, although that word doesn't seem strong enough to demonstrate their total incompetence, but I am not; no longer will I be a laughing stock to my fellow escorts and the citizens of the Capitol. I will fight tooth and claw, although perfectly manicured nails would make a fine substitute in this phrase, to make sure that the tributes of my district will leave a mark on the world, make an impression within the Hunger Games. And by association so will I. I look towards the tributes and give them my most winning smile.

'Don't you two worry, I'll be making a few phone calls and I'll be back as soon as humanly possible, even faster I bet'

Dariela Malasky, District 6.

Our escort has just left and our mentors seem to be engrossed with the patterns on the linoleum floor; I turn to look at Iian and all I can see is a young man who is lost, the lamb who has lost his way and lost his hope; It dawns on me then that maybe I was placed in this situation to help lead the lost lamb to victory. I do not like the utter despair he is radiating, but given that our mentors are lost in their drug addiction I can think of no words to say which will change his attitude; In one respect we're kindred spirits, in this one moment we are well aware that a most likely horrific fate awaits us and we're unable to do anything about it. I open my mouth to speak but before I can summon any words, Ramona has burst into the room:

'Don't you two worry, I'm in the process of having these morons declared unfit for their roles of mentor; with luck, you'll have a competent mentor by morning. Now I want you two to just relax for the rest of day, tomorrow morning you'll be meeting your mentor and I want you to be up early for a strategy meeting. Pip, pip'

I am simply flabbergasted, this woman doesn't know us from Adam and Eve and yet she has gone above her duty to give us a chance, to ingrain us with a little bit of hope; This woman is a saviour sent by our Lord, I can feel it welling within me: A feeling which can only be described as having faith in oneself. I turn to Iian and smile, reflected in his eyes are hope and self belief.

'Thank you Ramona, you have done us a great deed and I'm sure you will be repaid'

'T-thank you, a lot' Iian isn't the most eloquent but the sincerity in his tone is unquestionable; he has been sent a gift from God and his gratitude is overwhelming. I think I may be a gift to him too; I do not like the concept of the Hunger Games, the loss of innocence and I take a solemn oath now that I will not endanger the life of another sentient being; it is truly immoral and I will remain weaponless throughout my time in the arena but that doesn't mean I cannot aid Iian. I can learn about plants and survival skills, I can become an asset; we can become a partnership, and maybe he can come home.

I feel confidence warming my chest and giving me hope; I do not feel ready for these games, for my mission to give my life in order to save Iian's but the truth is: When will I ever be ready? So, however grim this may sound; I, Dariel Malasky say let the games begin. I turn to Iian and he has his eyebrow raised.

'Iian, have you ever heard the ancient saying that two heads are better than one?' He smiles at my comment and nods his head; It is my turn now to raise my eyebrow and prompt his response.

'I have, and I think that in this case it may actually be mutually beneficial'

'So you're asking to be my ally?' He doesn't respond he just nods his head and extends his hand; unlike the handshake at the reaping this handshake has significance: A promise that we will do whatever we must to survive and then ensure that Iian returns home; we will not lie down and accept the grizzly fate ascribed to us by another. Iian will go into this fighting and I'll be right beside him, helping in whatever way I can. Iian stands to leave now that we've reached this conclusion.

'Iian, wait…' He turns from where he now stands and I rush over and hug him, although we have our alliance he needs faith; and as his guardian angel of sorts it is my task to give him that gift.

'Do not lose heart or become discouraged as we have the Hope of Jesus Christ and eternal life to carry us through' He smiles at my words and returns the hug. A beautiful friendship is blossoming and I have all the faith in the world it will reach a happy ending; Iian will come home, if it is the last thing I do.

AWWWWW Dariela! She's too sweet, and Iian has someone who'll take a bullet for him. I hope you like these two; Oh and who's this mentor eh? Have to wait until we're in the Capitol to find out….

REVIEW! Or I'll, well I won't do anything… :|