And now we return for the second day of training, eeeeshhh... time is ticking by and in no time the timer will hit 0 and KABOOM the games really begin! I love writing the Pre Games, seeing the characters develop and all the little plans being put into motion... Plus, for the longish wait, I give you a longish chapter!

But of course we may as well try to speed through the training days and get to something more meaty/ brutal!

So on with the show...

Crimson Hardwick, Gamemaker.

I, like my colleagues Seneca and Plutarch, am nothing short of completely exhausted. My body is running solely on caffeine derived from my personal Holy Grail, or more commonly known as a cup of coffee. Despite the fact my lethargy hangs over our heads like a vicious storm cloud, it cannot dampen my mood. The satisfaction that I am involved in what will be the greatest Hunger Games ever known, my name will be remembered: Admired by my fellow Capitolites and feared by every piece of slime that tarnishes the districts of Panem. Every sublime contraption, every fearsome mutt that I've created will be immortalised; some may call me a sadist, criticise me for basking in the tributes pain but it is my job and above all: I make it entertaining. I'm good at my job, my cruelty however horrific is efficient and I solemnly swear that these tributes are in for a great shock when they step into the arena.

I glance at Plutarch and Seneca, both wearing sly grins which mirror my own; they nod their heads in my direction; their smirks communicating their pride at our success the previous evening or more accurately the early hours of this morning. The tributes are a 'lively' bunch this year, talking amongst one another and laughing but I can assure you that they wouldn't be laughing if they knew what was waiting for them; they wouldn't be fighting amongst one another like the mongrels they are if they knew how they would be punished and if they dare display any sense of unity like that vomit inducing round of applause I was unfortunate enough to witness yesterday.

Oh, Fiona Harkin. The poor girl's physical ailment was already a distinct disadvantage when entering my playground, but allowing her temper to overwhelm her and dictate her actions was the most inappropriate and plainly stupid thing she could have done. Insubordination is unacceptable, we as the Capitol were gracious enough as to allow someone as unworthy as her into our Eden and yet she disrespected our rules and fortunately I was given the honour of 'disciplining' these new tributes. And Lyle Carrington, handsome but as mentally inept as an amoeba without a brain cell in sight, despite being warned a number of times by the training staff he continued to be ruled by his Neanderthal emotions and trying to choke the girl to death. Thinking of what awaits them both once they are brought from under sedation makes me want to dance in glee, shout my joy from the rooftops but I remain impassive; the role of a Gamemaker expects me to remain just shy of emotionless, to assess the tributes and tailor make an arena that would slowly break them down. That is the most pleasurable part of my job, watching every tribute break down and become the uncivilised animals that they truly are and knowing that my creations are the cause; watching the horrid cretins trying to hold onto their vestiges of the illusion that is humanity.

I lift the chalice of white wine to my lips and take a long swig; the citrus flavouring with the melon undertones is both refreshing and delectable on my palette. I slump further into my armchair; adjusting the purple robes I wear to signify my status as Gamemaker, the Hunger Games are like a fine wine. The first taste you register is the bloodshed and unadulterated violence, but beneath that is the dramatic undertones of deceit and 'romance'; then there is the scientific spectacle of mutts and traps, the suspense of how a tribute will meet their untimely end. This is what makes the world go around and around, entertainment and a poignant reminder of how it is the Capitol that ceases control. A reminder of how the Capitol reigns supreme and without the Capitol, the districts would fall into anarchy.

"If only they knew what we had waiting for them..." I hear a few chuckles from my colleagues at a comment made by a young Gamemaker who begins to laugh; this incompetent boy may share my thoughts on this particular matter but I condemn him for his stupidity. A cardinal, though unwritten rule, is that we remain silent on any matters concerning the Games which could be overheard by any of the tributes: We drink, we eat and we laugh but the Hunger Games is never the topic of discussion if he continues in this manner he won't go far in this profession. I make a mental note that if this boy continues being an incompetent fool, to request he becomes my personal Avox: Elaine is getting old now, I'll be requiring a replacement soon enough and that brainless buffoon would do perfectly. I can almost taste my admonishment like an acid burning through my skin in an attempt to burst from my lips, I begin to rise from my chair when I hear Seneca quietly scold the boy; I sink back into my chair, satisfied. These pathetic newbies need to learn the ropes and extremely quickly for if they continue to annoy me, I could make their lives most unpleasant.

Eventually the mindless drivel that my colleagues deem to be conversation, zoning out the chatter about the latest fashions and who is sleeping with whom. As if I require advice on fashion, with my scarlet skin and my platinum blonde hair that falls to my feet: I inspire fashions. And as for the adultery, I have more interesting things to think about such as how I will be tormenting the tributes in a matter of days. I bring my focus onto the tributes as they move from station to station, trying to learn skills that could help them survive; the desperation mingles with the excitement to create an atmosphere that I admit is almost arousing. The boy from 7 is throwing axe after axe at targets, his accuracy is rather surprising but his gentle demeanour tells me that this boy will not be a bloodthirsty hound who scours the arena in search of tributes to mindlessly slaughter, a dreadful shame but that doesn't mean that under the stress of survival in our two pronged arena that he will maintain this disposition. Everyone is capable of murder, and it is so much more satisfying seeing those who are reluctant to unleash their inner murderous fiend.

I turn to inspect my nails, painted a shocking white and filed to resemble claws; this at times can become incredibly tiresome, there truly is only so many times you can watch as a child fails to light a fire. There is a limited amounts of time I can endure seeing that useless girl from 5 break down into tears as the knives she is throwing repeatedly miss the target; As a seasoned Gamemaker I pride myself on being able to spot those who will perish, every year I can narrow down the tributes to around the final 3 and this year is no different. The 12 year olds will meet their fate in the bloodbath, as will the weeping mess that is the girl from 5 and the boy from 3 has bloodbath written across his forehead. I watch as the girl from 10 throws a lasso at a dummy securing it around the neck, before pulling it toward her with impressive force; enough force in fact that if the dummy were a fellow tribute they would find that their neck had been broken. Impressive, her masculine physique although not conventionally beautiful impresses me; the arch of her back as she plunges a spear into the dummy, approximately where the heart would be and I imagine blood pouring from the wound. So far this girl has escaped my notice but her clinical approach to demolishing a dummy has caught my interest, I'll be keeping an eye on her.

I am watching as the male tribute from district two decapitates a dummy with one swipe when I hear a buzzing in my ear; I flip my focus to my hands free communication device, flipping the switch. Nobody would contact a senior Gamemaker unless it were an emergency and seeing as this particular device is solely for Hunger Games issues I do not hesitate in answering the call.

"Gamemaker Crimson, we are suffering some difficulties in regard to mutation 1348; the chemical compound is reacting with other mutations. We need you in the laboratory as soon as possible to rectify these problems as soon as possible seeing as all mutations need to be cleared and then transported to a secure environment before deployment to the arena." I close the communication instantly, meeting Seneca's eyes across the room. I register his alarm, akin to my own, and raise my eyebrow. What could have happened? We were fine tuning all aspects of the arena and its contents this morning and there were no significant causes for concern, he nods his head discretely and despite my oncoming anxiety attack, I rise from my chair and walk across the platform. Radiating confidence so successfully I could for almost a second I fool myself but as I feel Crane's eyes burning into my back I realise I'm walking on egg shells; If my name is to remembered as the greatest Gamemaker of all time then this needs to be perfect. These will be the most remarkable Hunger Games in all of Panem's history; I will make sure of it.

Nicoli Spinoza, District One.

I grew up as a young boy completely engrossed in anything that concerned the Capitol, its culture. The remarkable fashion, art and general air of elegance and I must admit that throughout my stay I haven't been disappointed; The gourmet food sets my taste buds on fire, I come from an affluent family in District 1 and I often ate at the most reputable restaurants but the beef wellington I ate yesterday. Well, it was so succulent and seasoned to perfection it makes me think that anything I ate before coming to the Capitol was completely bland; as though I was munching on cardboard. But I cannot afford to ramble on about how completely and utterly fabulous I think the Capitol is, the focus of today is training and I find it just so stimulating: If I ever want to pursue a career in dance, although as of late I have been considering a career in fashion design, I need to maintain a good physique and for that I must keep up with a routine of physical conditioning.

On another note, this training centre is a sublime example of the materialistic superiority of the Capitol; every weapon is manufactured to the highest possible quality, balanced to perfection and the blades are razor sharp. All the equipment is so modern and then every surface is spotlessly clean and polished so thoroughly that you could admire your reflection all day long; as Ruby seems to know as every time I see her she seems to be admiring herself as if she is a Michelangelo sculpture. So quick to underestimate me because of general exuberance yet so keen to overestimate her own abilities, her thought patterns confuse me but I let it all slide the longer she underestimates me; the more likely I'll survive this whole ordeal. Imagine it though, the blood and gore seriously turns my stomach something awful. My father had better be proud if I somehow manage to become Victor. I take a few more moments to admire the apparatus and the minimalistic architectural flare of the room before I'm brought out of my little bubble.

"And may I ask Nikki, why you're staring into space?" I turn and give Sandy a mega watt smile, despite her tendency to speak fluent sarcasm as though it is her first language I rather enjoy her company. Her naturally sassy aura reminds me of my sister Priscilla, and you know what they say about home comforts in unfamiliar places. She grins at my embarrassment at getting caught catching flies yet again and I feel a pink blush crawling up from my neck and burning into my cheeks so vividly I wouldn't be surprised if I could glow in the dark; I really need to learn to keep focussed. Everyone has always said that my knack for wandering off into wonderland would be the death of me, and as Sheen has pointed out more than once: In my current situation it actually could be what puts me six feet under. I shrug my shoulders and wave my hands frantically as if trying to communicate something that even I can't seem to understand. She laughs and I find myself laughing along, I cover my face with my hands and try to imagine as if this whole 'Make A Fool Of Myself' episode would just disappear and never be spoken of again.

"I don't think this is exactly the time for laughing you two." I turn to find Claude with his arms folded across his chest, Sandy just rolls her eyes and mouths 'Party Pooper' and I bite my lip to stop myself from giggling. He is the epitome of a stern father figure; I nod my head at him, I suppose that he is right and now is the time for training and not for a good old giggle. I turn to grab a sword but before I can I can hear Sandy scolding Claude in a whisper and when I turn to look back I can see he has gone an admirable shade of puce that I think I may just have to perform the Heimlich and it is now Sandy standing there with her arms folded and glaring at the 6' man. It is just too funny, due to the differences in height it seems as though a child is telling off an adult and it sets me off again. My hands are on my knees and my ribs are aching with how much I'm laughing, tears of mirth are streaming down my face and in no time Sandy and Claude are laughing like loons. I know that this doesn't really play up to the whole 'Intimidating Career' thing we're meant to be doing but what were we meant to do? And in all honesty I am a firm believer in that laughter makes the world go around.

"Stop it now; you are careers so begin acting like it. You are meant to be intimidating the other tributes, not becoming the source of entertainment. They should fear you, not laugh at you. You will be slaughtering these people in a matter of days after all." His voice is a menacing hiss that silences my laughter instantaneously. If Sandy called Claude a party pooper, I wonder what she would call Kai for his lecture. But that isn't the point right now, the point is that all laughter has ceased and we're now locked in a bubble of sobriety. Our little balloon of fun has truly defeated since Kai has been blunt enough to point out that within the week we will all, more than likely anyways, will become cold blooded killers. That recognition kind of brings the mood down and I feel my shoulders slump as any vestiges of joy have just vanished into thin air.

"And who are you..." I manage to silence Sandy with a quick look, thankfully. But the damage is done, Kai and Sandy are glaring at one another so vehemently that I wouldn't be surprised if they both just spontaneously combusted; which would be an awful shame seeing as I like Sandy, we are actually becoming friends and I mean genuine friends not frenemies like me and my backstabbing bint of a district partner. I almost giggle to myself at my rather witty use of alliteration but stop myself when I realise that two of my allies are probably going to start throwing punches if I don't do something soon. How on Earth does the career alliance even survive past the bloodbath? I mean with all these strong personalities there is bound to be a bit of drama, and I am not ashamed to admit that I love a bit of drama but God, or anyone, give me strength. But this is just ridiculous; I swear that without me it would dissolve into chaos and they would be tearing chunks out of one another. Literally, I swear to God or whoever is up there that by the end of the Hunger Games I'll either be dead or grey haired after having to deal with all of this. Which I think is completely pointless, I'll point out. I take a moment to sigh in exasperation before arranging my features into my biggest smile which, according to Priscilla is so bright it could blind a person.

"Guys, I wonder what they're serving for lunch..." Okay, I don't know where that came from but it seems to have done the job; moments ago, the air was so thick with tension it could suffocate an unsuspecting person but now it has evaporated. Disappeared as quickly as a tramp confronted with soap; but now they're all looking at me, even Ruby has managed to pull herself away from the reflective surfaces near the weaponry rack to ogle me like I'm some exotic animal on display in a zoo. Should I bow? Guessing from the looks that range from exasperation on Claude's behalf, seething range for Kai, shock and confusion graces Ruby's pretty face and Sandy looks as though she is a matter of seconds away from bursting with laughter. Okay, add getting a verbal filter alongside learn to focus on what seems to be my ever growing to-do list. So instead I shrug, and thankfully the bell for lunch rings throughout the room and everyone quickly disperses and I'm no longer in the ultimate spot light of total humiliation and I sent a silent prayer of thanks to anyone who might be listening up there. How ironic and slightly cliché though: I've been saved by the bell. Sandy gestures towards the lunch hall and I begin to follow her.

"Nikki, don't be scared of Kai. If he tries anything you know that me and Claude will have your back." I don't know why but I feel hurt and more than a little peeved; just because I'm a genuinely nice person that doesn't mean that I am coward. I could literally pull my hair out if I weren't afraid of spoiling the way it is styled into casual disarray; I am not scared of Kai or anyone for that matter. I'm just as strong as and technically better trained than him if his spear throwing skills are anything to go by. But because I decided to try and stop these lot starting World War Whatever it somehow makes me the weak one. It's called diplomacy people; you should try it sometime seeing as it will save me a bucket load of stress and the horror of premature wrinkles. I hope they're serving copious amounts of alcohol at lunch today because I think I'll need it.

And to make matters worse, I've been in training a full half a day and I've done absolutely nothing; More concerned with the quality of the weapons than actually picking them up and doing something. Great, that is really the cherry on top: Next thing I know they'll be saying I'm scared of the bloody sword. I just sigh to myself, before giving Sandy a quick grin and heading into the lunch hall; unfortunately there is no alcohol so I go down the 'stuff yourself until it gets better route' and pile my plate so high it begins to resemble a small mountain and for desert I think I'll have chocolate ice cream and lots of it; then everything will definitely be better even though I'll have to work my fingers, feet and any other appendages to the bone in training this afternoon to make sure I don't get fat or something. Imagine the actual awfulness that would be if I didn't fit in my suit for the interviews. And on that note maybe I'll skip the desert.

Lacey Burton, District 8.

For the last two days I've had my most charming smile plastered on my face, Cecelia told me to appear innocent, cute and generally approachable; the purpose of this was to find someone who would like to ally themselves with me but so far that plan isn't working because I see alliances forming around me, they just don't seem to involve me. In all honesty though I cannot blame anybody, this is a game of survival: You'd only want to ally yourself with the strongest, and however much I would wish for it to be different. I am not the strongest, physically anyway. They've all fell for my carefully constructed charade of Lacey Burton the sweetheart from District 8, who throughout the duration of the 62nd Annual Hunger Games will be known as 'Panem's Angel' or that is what Cecelia tells me.

When in fact they are dealing with something so much different, if only they knew; it's not as though I can jump on one of these lunch tables and scream at the top of my lungs: 'Hey, someone ally with me. I'm not as pathetic and useless as I look, Promise. I don't even call myself Lacey anymore; I've sacrificed my identity in order to become a vindictive little girl who would slit your throat without a second thought but don't you worry I'd still have this stupid smile slapped on my face while I do it.' I mean it sounds completely ridiculous to me and I'm pretty sure it would send any potential allies running for the hills.

I take my plate and head over to a table at the far side of the room, I sit down and just stare at the food before me; it tastes great but I don't want to eat this food. I just want to go home; I want to eat the food my mother made me. I want to lock myself in my mother's shop and just sew, read a book. Do anything else but stuck in the Hunger Games, but I can't do that. I can't see my family until 23 others are dead and I'm the last girl standing; I can't see my friends until their quiet and dainty friend is replaced by a twisted mass murderer. I sniffle, I don't want to kill anyone but it is necessary but even if it is necessary does that make it any less horrific?

No, I'll never be the little girl I was before this whole mess; I can't just go home and continue living my life as if this never happened: The smile on my face will never be full of innocence like before I can imagine it now, it'll be a cruel smirk that tell of the atrocities I've committed. I won't be waved at in the streets as the sweet daughter of the seamstress, sister to Yarn the jokester: I'll be a person who is feared, good for nothing but killing children and I don't want that. I just want to be Lacey, I want my life back.

You're weak, Lacey. You can't do this. I look around, nobody is speaking; everyone else is engrossed in conversation. Who was it? I feel my heart beating like a hummingbird's wings, I continue to look around but I'm still alone. Alone. It's just me, it is me. It is my conscious or something, taunting me. But why? I'm Lacey Burton, I don't hear voices. I sew, I smile, I read but I don't hear voices in my head. I close my eyes, this is the Hunger Games: I'm not even Lacey anymore, I am the District 8 female and I will win. I am not weak.

No, the District 8 girl isn't weak but you are Lacey. You don't want this; you don't want to see these people die do you? You're just the sweet innocent girl you can't do this.I cover my ears with my hands and try to drown out the voice, the taunts and the mockery but I can hear the sound of laughter ringing in my ears. I bite my lip and feel tears spring to my eyes; I am the District 8 girl and I can do this. I will do this; I will kill each and every one of them if I get the chance. I have to, but Lacey wouldn't. Lacey is good, but I'm not Lacey anymore am I?

You are. You'll always be Lacey, weak and PATHETIC! No! I will be Lacey again, but I am not Lacey now. I slam my fork down on the table, my dainty hands are clenched into tight balls and every muscle is tensed; I am the one who will win. I will annihilate everybody because I am the District 8 girl and she will win the Hunger Games. Lacey Burton is gone, for now at least but she will come back. I will be innocent again, sweet and loved but not now. I lift my hands to tug at my hair, bite down on my jaw. Why won't the voices shut up and leave me alone? Please, I promise I am the District 8 girl; I will win but please leave me alone.

My lip is trembling and I feel like screaming when another voice joins the din, a soft voice with a very. My body begin to rock as sobs erupt through my chest. I feel a hand rubbing soothing circles on my back, I jump from the contact and in my state of shock I scream but as I look around I can see I haven't attracted any attention. Everyone seems to be in their little bubble: The careers laughing amongst one another as the boy from 1, Nicoli seems to be performing some form of impersonation. I turn to see who was rubbing my back, my eyes are wide as I turn and I've caught my lower lip between my teeth. I know that I appear as the epitome of innocence and vulnerability. It is the tall girl from 10, from afar she looks fierce and if I'm being honest more than a little scary with her long roan hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her muscled limbs rippling as she wields a spear with terrifying efficiency.

But up close she isn't fearsome; her face is lit up with concern: her vivid green eyes wide and a small smile curls at the corner of her lips. The very same smile I've seen so many times on my mother's face: A mother's worry that world renowned maternal instinct to protect the young. She may not appear to the terrifying girl I'd perceived her to be but that doesn't mean that she wouldn't be a formidable ally now would it. I stop the cunning grin which was about to blossom onto my pointed features; my newest mantra is what would the District 8 girl do? She would work this situation to her advantage, and as I have been saying: I am the District 8 girl.

Well done. Maybe you're not so weak after all are you? Show us you're not pathetic. You know what to do. I sniffle and avert my eyes to the ground, avoiding meeting her eyes. I wait a few moments and I hear the scraping of a chair against the linoleum floor; I continue to snivel, my tiny arms folded across my chest. The key to success is making yourself appear as weak as possible, frail before striking like a cobra; I feel a finger tilt my chin until blue eyes meet green. She drops her hand but leans towards me.

"Are you okay? Is there anything I can help you with?" Well this little scheme will be easier than I expected, I look down and shrug my shoulders as I breathe out loud as if to say I'm anything but okay. Her face softens but her eyebrow quirks in a way that tells me that she expects me to elaborate; I begin to twirl my fork between my fingers before pushing my food around my plate. I sigh and then leave it a few moments, to suggest I'm deliberating whether or not to trust her.

"I'm just scared, I'm here alone and I'm not ready for this. I'll never be ready and I can't crush the fear that has been building up inside of me; everyone else has formed alliances and I'm alone. I mean who would want to ally with me. Weak and pathetic." The rant just bursts from my lips, tears are welling in my eyes and my voice cracked with what I'm sure she thought was desperation; Lacey Burton never fancied herself as an actress but the District 8 girl deserves an award for her acting skills. The girls face falls as she contemplates what I've said but I note how her eyes keep flickering to me. I make my eyes as wide as possible and my lower lip begins to tremble as if I am holding back tears. Then I see it, the decision is made and I cannot help but feel smug.

"Well, I'm alone too and I suppose the famous saying is that two heads are better than one. So, I'm Ginna and I was wondering if you would like to join an alliance." Glee. An indescribable joy bursts inside of me: I came to dinner pitying myself for being without an ally, well that has certainly changed. I rise from my chair and skip to her side before wrapping my arms around her. At first she seems frozen with shock but then she reacts and wraps me in her arms and strokes my hair; I snuggle further into her, after all she is the maternal one and I need to be the one she wants to protect.

"Thank you. I'm Lacey by the way and I would be so happy to be your ally." I clap my hands together and basically jump up and down, the key to securing this alliance is to be as child like as possible. The seemingly weaker and childish I am, the more she will feel as though she needs to protect me and the more committed to the alliance she is, the easier it will be to exploit her caring nature. The more she trusts me, the easier it will be to plant a knife between her shoulders. She pushes me back to hold me at arms length and I scuff my shoes against the floor, she tells me to eat some more but her voice is drowned out by another voice. But no longer is the voice taunting me, it is praising me.

District 8 girl, you're one step closer to winning this and then you get to be Lacey again.

Virginia 'Ginna' Wallace, District 10.

Maybe it is the fact that I've effectively been a mother to my younger siblings since my father was stolen from us and my mother's consequent downward spiral into a life of binge drinking and depression; two years since I became my mother's personal punching bag. Some would call me a fool, in fact they need not tell me because I know that my actions are foolish but I'm powerless in this situation. Maternal instinct is a powerful thing, and I couldn't stop myself from heading over to see if the young girl was okay; so now I find myself sitting at lunch and chatting with Lacey, my ally.

"...but sometimes Yarn would blame me but Mom always knew he was lying. I could never do something like that..." I feel a small smile spread across my face as she talks with a child like enthusiasm about her life at home; her bickering with her sibling. She is gesturing with her hands, as if trying to explain something that cannot be put into words and I nod along as she continues telling me tales about life in District 8; it is relaxing to sit here sharing stories about home. Memories flit through my consciousness: Viridian riding a horse, Romany and Carter doing everything in perfect synchronization as always and little Loretta dancing in the back garden. So young, so carefree. I am pulled from the well of my memories as I see the smile that seems to be permanently etched onto Lacey's face since I proposed the alliance slip away, only momentarily but that is all it takes for my caring nature to rear its head.

However sentimental this may sound, looking at Lacey looking so crestfallen strikes something deep within me. I can't help but imagine Romany, Carter, Loretta or even Viridian being forced into this situation; it is simply horrible. This little girl doesn't deserve any of this, none of us deserve this but we are all subject to the powers that be and however much I'd like it all to be different I know that there is nothing I can do to change any of it. We will all have to fight it out, 24 hearts enter that arena beating but only 1 will leave and it has to be me. This epiphany dampens my mood, I just stare at the wooden table and trace along the grains with my finger. By now Lacey has returned to smiling brightly and telling me about her home life.

"... Working in the shop is difficult but there is something so fulfilling about knowing you made it, I'm practically glued to the sewing machine but I love it. Oh and books, if I'm not on the sewing machine I am buried in a book. Another land, fairytales where it ends with everyone living happily ever after..." I smile, this girl has a life; she feels the same sense of achievement working with textiles as I do when I see my siblings accomplish something. Pride. We both have lives to live, things we want to do but she never will. I will do all I can to help Lacey in these games but eventually we will part ways, only one of us can win and even though her life will not be taken by my hand; it must be me who wins. The bell rings to signal the end of lunch and I get to my feet quickly with Lacey trailing behind me chattering about various stitches and sewing techniques; the bell couldn't have come at a better time if you ask me. I can't continue to dwell on these thoughts, I came here to win and I can't allow anything to distract me: Even my maternal instinct, which is the most defining aspect of my character. For my family, I would do anything; compromise my character and if it came down to it, I would even take down my angelic ally.

So why did I make the decision to take Lacey as my ally? I made a vow to myself that I could do this alone; I'd turned down Carrick's proposition for an alliance because I couldn't afford to get close to anyone but now I'm in an alliance with a tiny 12 year old who so far hasn't demonstrated any skills although seeing how she has worked with dyes and her fingers appear to be nimble from years of sewing since she was twirling her cutlery through her fingers with such ease. The sole reason is that I have never been fond of the old philosophy 'do as I say not as I do', I've always lead by example. If by some horrid twist of fate, one of my younger sisters were reaped then I would want an older tribute to take them under their wing and to help them as much as possible; I couldn't let this little girl enter these games alone, it's inhumane and for her it would spell certain death. How could I let that happen?

We enter the training room and I look around the room, my father always told me to 'know thy enemy' and I appreciate that saying more than ever now that I've been drafted into the Hunger Games; if I stand any chance of beating these 23 other children then I need to know anything and everything I can. The careers once again congregate near the weaponry; twirling knives, swords and spears with grace and accuracy but it doesn't intimidate me in the slightest. Yes, they've practiced their lives but prancing around a centre with a sword in hand is no judge of your skill; skill is wielding that spear on a ranch, lassoing and then slaughtering livestock for a living not because your parents want to send you into a death match for something as trivial as 'family honour' or 'district pride'. I do not fear them; I pity them for being so deluded as to think they can win this so easily.

I note that the Autumn girl from 5 is hiding in a corner, her eyes shrewd as she watches everyone else learning the art of murder. I pity the girl, she isn't strong enough for this; she is trying to learn vicariously. Scared to even hold a knife, I would try and comfort her but whenever I try to approach her she either disappears or her district partner appears and comforts her; but I don't underestimate this young woman despite her frail exterior. As I said, she is stealthy and I could imagine it now: Appearing from nowhere and slipping a knife in my back. To the left the alliances from 6 and 11 are gathered at the knot tying station; I have noted the young girl has done nothing but learn about survival skills whereas her district partner has been focusing on handling a sword.

Nic from 11 spent some time with me at the spear throwing station as he was rather good, well he was able to hit the target, but his speciality seems to be the slingshot and although it sounds stupid I am wearier of him than most simply because his weapon of choice is ranged. Anyone who strikes from a distance is a cause for concern, I could defend myself in close combat and I can throw a spear but slingshots allows to strike quickly and more discretely then hurling a spear through the air. Logically, he should be one of the tributes I should target but thinking about killing this boy who is laughing along with his timid district partner is repulsive; knowing my actions could make it so that he could never laugh again sends a shiver down my spine. I don't realise I'm standing there until I feel Lacey tugging at the sleeve of the snug black sweater I wear for training; I turn and smile as I see her chewing on her lip nervously.

"Yes Lacey, is there a particular station you would like to go to?" I look down at my tiny ally as her shining blue eyes skim across each of the stations, a contemplative expression making its way onto her face; I wait patiently until she lifts her dainty hand and points over to the camouflage station. No surprises there, coming from District 8 where she would be working alongside dyes and textiles as well as nurturing a keen eye for detail. We head over to the station and Lacey begins to chatter as she grinds berries in a pot.

"...if we can't afford a particular shade my brother will go off into the meadow down by the cemetery; the red berries there if mixed in with ammonia creates a wonderful shade..." I smile as I relax for the first time since being reaped, being near someone so young just makes me reminisce about home. Solidifying my conviction to win, I close my eyes and saviour the feather light touch as Lacey trails her long fingers across my face in circular motions. I am brought out of my trance when the pressure disappears, I turn and to see my allies big blue eyes staring up at me as if awaiting my verdict.

I walk over to the mirror and I'm taken aback by the exotic creature I find staring back at me with wide green eyesand her lips parted in disbelief: I have always grown up thinking I was ugly. I was never dainty; I was too tall and too muscular to ever be feminine but Lacey's magical fingers have performed a miracle. The delicate blend of pinks and purples, the way the shades blend together to create something I think could only ever be called an artistic masterpiece; it simply transforms my face. The lighter shades make my jaw appear softer, the planes of my cheekbones appear softer and sharper whereas the darker shades make my nose appear thinner and my green eyes appear larger; I had always likened myself to the Amazonian women of times past and now I'm as exotic and radiant as the women who haunted the Amazon Rainforest. This is the only time I have ever deemed myself as beautiful and I am rendered speechless. Lacey's face becomes worried and she appears to be shrinking despite her miniature physique, I just shake my head at her and smile.

"Thank you Lacey, it is wonderful. I've never seen anything so beautiful...You're very talented, somehow you've managed to make me look pretty." My voice is hoarse from trying to hold back tears and despite my best efforts to remain strong, anyone could hear my voice crack. Lacey skips to stand beside me and for the second time today wraps her tiny arms around my waist.

"Don't cry Ginna, you're really pretty without the paints." And any form of control over my emotions evaporates like water in the desert on the spot and silent tears begin to stream down my face. Lacey is the first person outside of my family who has ever called me 'pretty' and however stupid it may seem it makes me think about my family. Has mother turned her wrath upon Viridian or one of the girls? I take a few deep breaths to try and regain some composure; this image is wrong. I am the 17 year old, I should be the one comforting her as I did earlier; I need to be in control in order to make sure this alliance reaches its best potential. I stand to my fullest height, my voice comes out with the distinctive tone of authority that not even Romany or Carter would question.

"Now Lacey, we can't afford to waste time while training. So I think you should head over to the trapping station, with those nimble fingers of yours you could do really well. I'll go and look at making and finding shelter. Give it an hour and we'll try with climbing and plant identification." Lacey nods her head before skipping off towards the trapping station with her glowing smile on her face; I shake my head at how quickly she has gone from the scared little girl to this smiling girl radiating confidence as well as instilling me with a sense of confidence I didn't possess until I stumbled upon this little angel. And I am proud, and to know I've managed to make this young girl feel safer and more confident is an achievement that seems like a ray of sunshine amongst the back drop of storm clouds that is the Hunger Games.

Okayyy... one more chapter for the second day and then it is the Gamemaker sessions and we won't be seeing them all either... Okay...

So what is in store for Lyle and Finn by Crimson? What do you think of Seneca Crane's right hand woman?

Nikki, poor soul... How on Earth will he be able to keep up with all the drama within the Career alliance?

And Lacey having a mental breakdown before the arena but still maintaining that little facade of hers. I wonder what'll happen next for our District 8 girl?

Ginna, her maternal instinct flares to life... Will it be her downfall? Or will she wise up to the manipulative ways of her tiny ally?

Leave me your reviews and after the interviews I'll be opening another poll... but let me know now, who are you favourite tributes?