A/N- Here's my next chapter, please read and review. Thank you.

Our meal is awkward to say the least. Adair spends the whole time feeding his face, even though I hear Mags whisper to him to slow down. I can't blame the kid, though. When I was on the way to my Games, I ate until I almost had to throw up, and I was one of the kids who actually had enough to eat.

Amana, on the other hand, has the opposite problem. First, comes her declaration that the only "meat" she eats is fish.

"You'd better adjust pretty quickly. There may not be fish in the arena," Mags tells her gently. I roll my eyes.

"Do you really expect her to know how to hunt?" I ask, earning myself a glare from Mags, and a wave of Amana's hand.

"My sponsors will give me food," she says simply. I look at Mags, Mags gets a really worried look on her face, like she's finally realizing what she did to me.

"I'm the one who lets the food in, and I don't care how many sponsors want to give you food. If I believe that you're in a situation where you can get your own, I'm not going to send you anything," I tell her. That wipes the smile off her face immediately, and also shuts everyone else up. Well, except Alva. She chatters on obliviously, seemingly talking to herself.

When the meal is done, we head to another room to watch the other Reapings. Amana seems to forget about what I'd said just minutes before, and plops down right beside me on a couch.

I catch Mags' eye, then mouth, "Help me."

"Help her," she says overly dramatically. I glance at Amana.

"Watch the Reapings, not me," I plead.

She doesn't lay an eye on the tv once. While I'm trying to watch, she's giving me googly eyes. I talk to her about this tribute and that tribute, trying to give her pointers, but she isn't taking anything in.

"Amana," I hiss. "Look at her. You see her?" I point to a hysterical girl from District 7.

"Yeah."

"Do you think you'll have to pay much attention to her?"

"Well if she doesn't shut up, yeah." Mags and Adair both look over at us. Even Alva gives me a pitiful glance. I get up and leave. There is no way she's going to listen to me. That stupid girl is going to die in just a week. Why in the hell do I have to even try?

I head to my room immediately, but I know there's no way I could fall asleep. Instead I pace back and forth again and again, trying to calm myself down. I guess I know that girls that stupid exist outside the Capitol. They used to follow me all the time. I just couldn't imagine any of them as tributes. That's probably because they're about as far from what a tribute should be as possible. It's disgraceful, really.

I stay up pacing half the night, trying to figure out what I'm going to do about Amana. One I settle on a last ditch effort, I finally lay down, but only manage to squeeze in a little over an hour of sleep. Let's just say that I probably should've worked harder to get my sleep. I'm nervous and tired, which does wonders for my personality.

I walk out of my room before breakfast, then stalk through the hallways until I'm in front of Amana's room. I knock loudly enough to shake the door, and she stomps over, throwing the door open.

"What the he-" she starts, until she sees who it is.

"I need to talk to you," I tell her.

"I'm not ready yet," she complains.

"You're dressed, what else-"

"My makeup," she shrieks. The dark circles under her eyes aren't the only sign that she didn't sleep much better than I did.

"Do you want to know where you can shove the makeup?" She starts to slam the door, but I grab her arm and yank her out of her room.

"You are such an asshole," she shrieks as I drag her through the hallways.

"You won't get makeup in the arena," I tell her dryly. That gets her to stop thrashing and squealing at least. She tears her arm away from mine and crosses them over her chest, then marches along behind me. At first she pouts, but when she figures out that no one gives a shit, she just glares holes in my back.

Mags and Adair are eating breakfast when I storm in, Amana stomping along behind me.

"Are you guys almost done?" I ask as calmly as possible. "I want to go over strategy." Amana shrinks a little bit. Mags grabs Adair's arm and leads him out of the room, casting a worried look at me.

The second they're gone, I gesture for Amana to sit down.

"So it's easier for you to beat me?" she asks dryly. I ignore her.

"I'm going to try one more time to knock some sense into you. If this doesn't work, you're as good as dead to me."

"I have enough sense," she says. I look down at her, making her shrink even more.

"No, you don't. Do you want to hear a little story? Six years ago, I was in the Hunger Games. I was a cocky little shit like you, and I thought that winning was going to be fun and easy. Guess what? I watched my district partner get a knife through her back, then had to sit there and hold her hand while she died. After that, I lost my mind.

"I started killing for fun. Not because I wanted to win the Games, but because I liked to see the blood seeping out from a tribute's skin after I sent my trident through their stomach. Remember what I said, that the most beautiful ones are the most fun to kill? At the time, I meant it. You have no idea how much I enjoyed killing that girl. That is what the Games do to you, Amana. You don't breeze through.

"Even if you do win, you never really leave the Games. Every death that I witnessed, that I caused, is still seared into my brain. I see them at night, in my nightmares. I carry a knife everywhere, even after six years, because a part of me worries that I'm going to turn a corner and find Titus waiting for me. Do you remember him? The cannibal? I watched him eat a girl's heart. She was smarter than you were, and stronger than you were, and she got her heart eaten out. If that's what happened to her, what in the hell is going to happen to you?"

She gapes at me, her eyes wide, her mouth open like she wants to say something, but can't.

"Y- you're just trying to scare me," she finally gets out. "You're lying."

I put my hand on her chin and tilt her face up so that I'm looking right into her violet eyes. It's hard, letting someone I hardly know see right into my soul, but I want her to believe me.

"Believe what you want Amana, but choose carefully. It could be the difference between life and death."

Then I walk away, leaving her standing there, still gaping. She won't be there for long, I know. Alva will tell her that we're about ten minutes away from the Capitol, and she'll fly to the window to wave at all the people. I retreat to my room for that very reason. She'll wave at the people. I'm planning on avoiding them.

I don't get away with that for long, however. Maybe that's a good thing. When we get to the Capitol, the tributes are whisked off to their stylists, and I start to head to my quarters. Instead, Mags finds me and grabs my arm.

"Aren't you interested in making friends?" she asks, and leads me to a room filled with other victors, mentors. I've spoken to only a few of them, and there are none that I actually know. Mags, probably figuring that I'm a big boy and can make friends on my own, ditches me, leaving me alone.

Normally, I'd be able to go out there and just start talking to random people. When I'm tired enough that I can hardly walk, it isn't that easy. I head straight over to a chair and sit down, closing my eyes, hoping to get a few extra minutes of sleep. I'm left in peace for a few minutes, but it doesn't take long for someone to come over and plop down right beside me. I don't bother opening my eyes to see who it is. They probably won't interrupt me anyway, if they think I'm sleeping.

"The Capitol's social butterfly, sleeping at this nice little powwow. You aren't staying in character very well." I yawn, open my eyes, and slowly look to see who's sitting beside me, even though I have a fairly good idea. If the slurred speech hadn't given it away, the scent of alcohol would've. Haymitch Abernathy. Complete with a bottle of liquor.

"I see you're working very hard to keep your reputation," I tell him, looking at the bottle. "Maybe I should be taking notes." He snorts.

"I heard you were a smartass, I just didn't believe it. What happened to that smooth ladies man we all see on TV?"

"He only works nights," I mumble, remembering that I'm going to be expected to do my job later tonight. Haymitch tries to pass me the bottle.

"Forget for a while?" he asks me. I shake my head.

"Sometimes there are things that need to be remembered," I tell him. He makes a face, then takes another sip.

"You're shitting me, right? You're Snow's lapdog incase you haven't noticed."

"I guess it escaped my notice," I tell him sarcastically. He just shakes his head, then gets up and walks away. I'm more than a little weirded out, so I'm thankful when Chastity walks over to me a few minutes later.

"Finnick Odair, sitting in a corner?" she asks me, taking Haymitch's place.

"I'm tired," I tell her. She smiles.

"Worried about your tribute?" she asks. I shrug.

"She's going to die right away," I say. She puts a hand on my shoulder.

"You'll get used to it," she says. We talk for a little while longer, mostly about our tributes, then someone comes and tells us that the opening ceremonies are starting soon. All of the mentors are taken to a luxury box situated in the City Circle. Huge Tv screens line the box so that we can see the chariots from different angles.

I don't pay too much attention to the first three chariots, and I'm not planning on paying attention to the District 4 one either. That is, until I catch a glimpse of Amana.

I do have to admit that she is beautiful. Silvia has her dressed like the Duchu Lodì, the ghost of a woman from District 4 who was taken hostage by a Capitol ship during the first rebellion. Eventually the Capitol abandoned the ship, executing all of their prisoners. Except one. They forgot about the Duchu Lodi, and she ended up freezing to death. Years later, some kids were exploring that ship and found a beautiful ghostly woman, struggling against her chains, begging to be freed. They ignored her and hurried home.

The next morning, their parents found the kids lying in their beds, froze to death in the middle of summer. Since then, others have explored the ship, and many have seen the Duchu Lodi. If they help her, they are blessed for life. If they don't, they are found dead the next morning, snow white and ice cold.

It's just an old story that parents in my district say to scare their kids, or that older kids use to entertain themselves by running on the old ship where she is said to have died. I don't know where Silvia heard the story, but it's immediately obvious that is where Amana's costume got its inspiration. Her torn silver dress shimmers softly in the light, giving it what appears to be a spectral glow. Her blonde hair is laced with seaweed and hangs limply on either side of her face. Her hair is messy, caked with dirt and flying in every direction.

But that is nothing compared to her face. I don't know how Silvia got the inspiration for this one, but she gave Amana the most haunting face that I have ever seen. A face that you will see in your dreams for maybe the rest of your life. I almost want to look away, but I can't.

Her face is snow white, her lips and eyelids a deep purple. Silver and dark purple vines crawl over her cheeks, making intricate patterns along her face. Then her eyes are surrounded by amethyst makeup, making the irises an eerily piercing violet color that I know I will never forget. No one looks at Adair, I don't think that they can. Amana is too eerily beautiful to take an eye off of. Then she's gone, and the other tributes start going past, but I can't stop thinking about her ghostly purple eyes.

None of the other tributes are even close to her. Most of them can't stop looking at the screen, where she's taking up almost all of the camera time. One girl, that girl from Seven I pointed out to Amana earlier, actually seems to be shrinking in her giant tree suit, staring at the ground with tears in her eyes. Just seeing that contrast between her and Amana, I have to wonder if Amana may not actually stand a chance. Maybe she will listen to me, and if she does, she'll be able to win easily. I mean, look at her competition.

When we all get back to the Remake Center and head to our floor, Amana turns around, still in her costume, and smiles at me.

"Pretty impressive, don't you think?" she asks me. I smile.

"It was okay," I answer. "But it's not going to help you next week unless I let your sponsors help you."

"You don't want my blood on your hands," she says. I shrug.

"It wouldn't be my fault, it'd be yours. Besides, it's not like I haven't killed anybody before." She rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." She starts to walk away, then turns around. "And Finnick? I appreciate your concern, but I don't need your help. I can win this thing my way." I sigh.

"I'm not going to cry when you get your head bashed in."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she says, then leaves. Mags and Adair head off to watch a recap of the ceremonies, with Adair giving me an invitation to join them. I shake my head sadly, even though I'd really like to. I have another job to do, and Snow would be very disappointed in me if I didn't. I leave the Remake Center, planning on finding another succubus to entertain.

Chastity finds me before I get a chance. She was sitting outside of the building, laughing with another guy from her district. Chaff, I think.

"Where are you going?" she asks me.

"Snow expects me to work," I tell her. Her face looks troubled.

"Now?" she asks. I sigh. So I'm probably the only victor that has to work over the course of the Games. Great.

"Yes, now." Chaff shakes his head, and I can tell that he's disgusted. Chastity looks at him.

"Finnick and I are going out tonight," she says. I gape at her, and she turns to face me. "You can have a girlfriend this trip, it won't ruin your reputation too much."

"Thank yo-"

"I don't like seeing what that man does to you," is all she says. Then she holds out her arm, and I take it, thankful that she took at least one of my problems off my shoulders.

That doesn't mean that this mentoring thing is anywhere near easy, though.