Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor the characters, they belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei. Hunger Games series belongs to Suzanne Collins.

A/N: Beta'd version will be published later~. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a wonderful Roza Kirkland, a person that threatened to kill me if I don't publish every weekend =w=". I love you too.

Chapter 3: On the way

Soon the anthem ends and we are taken into custody. I take a quick last glance from the podium, people standing down there looking somewhat smaller before I'm pushed forward. We're not handcuffed or anything like that, but a group of stupid Peacekeepers behind, in front and on our sides. They lead us to the door of the Justice Building, where we're going to wait. I don't know why the do all of that. Maybe some of the Tributes tried to escape in the past. I don't know. I don't remember something like that happening. Maybe it was before I was born.

Once we enter a room, they leave me alone and march out the way we came in. It's better that way, because they can't see how awed I am by everything I see. It's the richest place I've ever seen. There are thick, deep carpets sprawled across me. They're so warm, so ridiculously soft and 'fluffy', like Feli would say. The couch and the chairs are velvet. I know it's velvet, because mother's dresses' collars are made of this crap. I don't know what is so amazing about it. It's just a fabric, it's just a dress. Dress can't feed you, it can't free you from this corrupted, shitty world. It can only make you look pretty and it won't be appreciated by most. But I still sit on a couch, and for a moment, let my fingers run over the fabric. It feels nice. Calming. I have to endure being here for another hour. An hour when everyone close to me will come and say goodbye. Mom. Feli. Gilbert. That should be all, shouldn't it? Maybe zia Lisa will come too. No. Perhaps she'll stay with these two stupid brats and Lili. I smile at the thought of that little girl. She's cute and very kind. She definitely took after her mother. Perhaps in the future she and Feliciano will get married. They're both so sweet and loving. They were made for each other. Unless her annoying older brother, that pokerfaced brat is going to take my precious little Feli as his husband. God forbid, I think, because having Ludwig Beilschmidt as an in-law would be simply too terrible. Thinking about all this makes me want to cry, because no matter who Feliciano choses, I won't be able to see it. How could I? I'm going out there, for the Hunger Games with an asshole from bakery. Little chance of surviving, I think. But I don't cry. I can't leave this room with puffy eyes, because there will be more cameras at the train station, and they would definitely see that I've cried. I'll look weak. It cannot happen, no matter what.

My brother and my mother come in first. As soon as they enter, I reach out to Feli and he climbs on my lap, throwing his thin arms around my neck and resting his head on my shoulder, just like when he was a toddler. He's shaking all over and it doesn't take long for his sobs to become loud and clear, his tears slowly dumping my reaping shirt. Mother sits beside me and warps her arms around us. She's suppressing tears and I'm glad that she is. I don't think I could stand watching her cry, both of them cry because of me, because I'm going to be dead by next month. We sit still for a moment before I start telling them all different things they must remember to do. Not some stilly stuff like "I'll be back", no, I can't tell them something I don't quite believe. At all.

Instead I tell Feliciano not to take tesserae, ever. I tell mother that they should be able to get by if they sell milk and cheese from Feliciano's goat. Also now, that mother has opened up an apothecary business for people of Seam it should be even easier for them. Gilbert will get her all the herbs she needs to do various medicine. But since he's an idiot, she should describe them really carefully and accurately, because otherwise he might bring her something poisonous. No matter how 'awesome' he claims to be, he's just a moron. But herbs won't be the only thing he'll deliver to them. He'll also bring them game and even though it'll be for free, they should give him something in return. Medicine or some milk. Because he's a family friend. Because he'll do all of that for them, for me. We made a pact a year ago. That if one of us goes arrivederci, the other shall provide his family with everything. Somehow we just knew that it would be one of us, someday. Be it in the Hunger Games, during hunting or in the future when we're both working in the mines. Guess it's happening now.

I don't even bother suggesting that Feli learns hunting. That would be stupid and pointless. There was a time when I tried to teach him and it was disastrous. He was anxious and terrified of the woods, and whenever I shot something, he ended up crying and murmuring nonsensical stuff about 'still being able to save the poor baby if we get there soon enough'. What was the point of hunting if you want to save your game from dying? Idiotic, really. I thought that not even my dumb little brother could be stupid enough to think like that. Clearly I was wrong. Hunting wasn't, isn't and won't be for him, ever. His place is not in the Games or killing animals. No, he's a sunshine, too pure and bright for dirty things like these. I want to protect him and his innocence. It is my duty as an older brother. And that I should do. He, on the other hand, should concentrate on his goat. Their brain size is similar anyway.

When I'm done with telling them about everything and ordering Feliciano to go to school regularly, I turn to face my mother and grip her arm tightly.

"Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" My voice is harsh, maybe a little too harsh, but I care less. She nods, clearly alarmed by my intensity. She knows what I'm going to say. She knows because even though she wants to cry, she's already doing what I'm about to order her "You can't leave again. Do you understand?" she looks at me, her warm eyes holding so much pain that I nearly want to hug her. But I don't. She's not forgiven, not yet, not until Feliciano's married happily with dozens of children with his pretty wife, or if heavens hate me that much, with moronic potato husband that could support him. Then she'll be forgiven. But not before that, no.

"I know, Lovino. I won't. I… I couldn't help what-"

"Well you better damn well help it now! You can't leave him alone. You can't! You can't just go back to your own little world. You must take care of him. I won't be there now. I won't be able to do that. All that's going to be left for Feli is you. Do you understand? You can't fade away. No matter what you see on the screen, no matter what fucking happens to me, you have to promise me. Promise me to go through it, to live on. Do you understand?!" my voice has risen to a shout, because I'm just so angry, so furious about last time.

"I was ill!" she shouts back, clearly angry herself now. I must have pulled a trigger. I must have stopped the line. I shouldn't have talked like that, not to my mother, but she isn't the mother I loved, the woman that dad loved. Not yet, she's not back yet, not fully. "If I had the medicine I have now, I would have cured myself. But I haven't!" the part about her being sick might be true. I've seen her bring in people that were suffering from immobilizing sadness, a lot of them. Perhaps it really, truly is a sickness. But it's not something we can afford. Not something she can afford.

"Then you better take it and live on. And take care of him." Feliciano takes my hand in his own. It's warm. I look at him carefully. He's stopped crying, but there are still fresh traces of tears on his smooth cheeks.

"I'll be alright, fratello" he says, leaning his forehead against mine "I'll be alright. I swear. But you'll have to promise to be safe too. That you'll try your best to come back. Maybe you can win" I can't. He must know it too, because his eyes are filled with sadness. Both of us know very well who I am going to face. Kids from richer districts, where winning the Games is everything, where it brings honor and fame will be there, prepared. There will be boys twice my size and girls who'll be able to kill me in twenty four different ways, using an ordinary knife. Of course there will be people like me, too. Easy to kill idiots, killed before real 'fun' could begin. Hopefully, I won't have to kill bread bastard.

"Maybe I can" I agree. It's unfair to tell my mother to carry on and be strong if I've already given up on myself. And I'm not the type of person who goes down without a fight. I'm a hot-headed, easily pissed off, grumpy hunter with an ability to kill. I'll probably keep on fighting even when I'm bleeding all over. Because otherwise it wouldn't be me. No one fucks with the Vargas, unless they've a death wish. At least that's what papà taught me "Then we'd be as rich as Carlos"

"I don't care if we're rich, Lovi!" he says childishly "I just want you to come home. You'll try, right? Really, really try?" he asks me, his hands squeezing my bigger ones tightly.

"Really, really try. I promise, Feli" I say and smile slightly. And I know that I'll really have to try. Because I promised him. And my promises to him were the most important thing in my life. I could never betray him. And then, suddenly, the Peacekeeper is at the door, ordering my family to go away, to leave right now. I kiss Feliciano's forehead, my mother's cheek and I realize that I don't want to leave her, that even though she's done so many wrong things, I love her. Feliciano's crying again and I find myself repeating "I love you. I love you both" to them. They're saying it back and then they're gone, taken away by the Peacekeeper. I hide my head in a velvet pillow, eyes squeezed shut. I bit my lip to stop the tears, stop the pain, because it finally sinks in. I probably won't see them again.

Someone else enters the room. Gilbert, I think. But then I slowly sit up and raise my head. It's not that moronic idiot. It's someone that I'm very surprised to see. It's the baker, Antonio Fernández Carriedo's father. I can't believe he's come to see me. What is he doing here? Why would he be here?! I can't see a reason why. After all, I'll be trying to kill his son soon. Sure, he knows me and Gil since we go and trade with him sometimes. He knows Feli even better, because whenever my fratellino goes to Hob to trade his goat cheese, he always keeps aside two for the baker. In return, he gives her generous amounts of bread. We trade with him only when his bitchy, witch of a wife isn't around, because he's so much nicer. And it occurs to me that Antonio perhaps took after him, because even though my fellow tribute is stupid, he's kind. I feel certain that the baker would never hit his son the way his wife did. Not over a burnt bread, not ever. But why would he come to see me? Sentiment?

The Baker sits awkwardly at the edge of one of the plush chairs. He's tall, big and broad-shouldered. He looks a lot like that stupid tomato bastard. Just… his hair is a lighter shade, his eyes are slightly duller and he's older, obviously. He has a lot of burn scars on his hands. I guess that's a given when you work for years near the ovens. He's depressed and it strikes me that he must have just said goodbye to his son. I feel something in my stomach tighten.

The baker pulls out a white package from his jacket pocket. Maybe it's a knife and he'll just kill me right now. It's a wishful thinking, but at least no one would see. But no. He holds the package out to me. I take it carefully, warily, and then open it. There are cookies inside. Cookies. These are the luxury my family could never afford.

"Thank you" I manage. I'm not used to these words. I hate saying them. Because I have no reason to thank anyone. I always had to work hard for everything, there wasn't anything for free, not ever. I've always earned it with my own bare hands. Why would I get used to thanking others if they've done nothing? And yet here he is, giving me cookies. He doesn't say a word. I'd rather not speak again either, but it's somehow impolite. "My friend, Gilbert, received a bread from you today. In exchange for a squirrel. It was delicious" he nods, as if remembering this morning.

"Not really your best trade, was it?" I ask and he just shrugs, smiling at me weakly. I want to admire him for that, because I would never be able to smile in a situation like that. I'm at loss of words, so I keep silent. We just sit there, staring at each other in an awkward silence before the Peacekeeper appears and summons the baker. As he gets up, he clears his throat and gives me the last smile.

"I'll make sure the little boy eats. So don't you worry about it, he won't starve. I won't let him" and with that, he was gone.

And I'm feeling lighthearted. People always had to deal with me, but they were fond of Feliciano. Maybe they were fond enough to feed him and help him get by. To share food with him. And I feel better. Because Feliciano will be okay. They will take care of him in my place. And I'm glad.

The next person that comes in is also unexpected. Matthew walks straight to me. He's not weepy or evasive, although there is evident sadness in his pretty eyes. He opens his mouth and I'm surprised at the urgency of his tone. It's not the quiet stutter I'm used to.

"Lovino. Every year, every tribute gets to wear one thing in the area brought from the district to represent their home. One thing to remind the tribute of the place they left and of the place that they come from. Will you wear this?" he holds out a circular golden pin in his pale hands. It was on his suit earlier. It's the pretty thing that could let me feed my family. I hadn't paid much attention to it before, but now that I take a closer look at it, it's a small bird in a flight. A mockingjay.

"Your pin?" I ask, trying not to think about the bird and what it means to me. What the heck is he even thinking about? The token from my district is just about the last thing on my mind. Can't he understand that I have more important stuff on my mind? Like, Feliciano.

"Here, come on, I'll pin it onto your shirt, okay? Just stay still" he doesn't wait for my answer. He moves in closer and starts fiddling with my white fabric. Soon the golden bird is pinned to my shirt, just above my heart. "Promise you'll wear it onto the arena, Lovino. Please. Promise?" he looks at me with these eyes and I can't disagree.

"Yes" I whisper, examining the pin once more. Cookies. A golden pin. I'm getting all kinds of gifts today. And Matt gives me one more. He leans in and places a kiss on my cheek. It's brief but lefts me fell warm. I can feel blush slowly creep onto my face and Matthew laughs, before tears flow down his cheeks.

"Try to survive. Try to come back. Don't leave us here" he squeezes my hand once more before he turns around and leaves. I stand there, string at the door and think that maybe Matthew really was my friend. That he still is. And that he doesn't want me dead. I don't have time to think about it, before the next person bursts through the door.

Gilbert is standing before me, his face somehow paler than I remember it. There is nothing romantic between us, but when he opens his arms, I just run into them without thinking. I feel so secure, so good and peaceful there. So safe. I'm familiar with his body. The way he moves, the way he smells, the way his heart beats loudly against his ribs. I know it all. But I'm not familiar with his body structure. It's well-muscled and lean and it feels like he'll protect me from everything, which is tragically pathetic, even for me.

"Listen" he says, and I nearly snort. I've heard and said it so many times today already, haven't I? "It should be pretty easy to get a knife, but what you really want is a bow, kiddo. You're awesome with a bow. It's your best chance. Got that? You gotta find one"

"You know they don't always have bows, jerk" the insult comes out naturally. I think back about the year where the tributes only had awful spiked maces. They had to bludgeon one another with it, till the other one died from the holes or blood lose. Or both. It was an awful, slow death. All of them screamed. Every single one.

"Then make one, you unawesome idiot. Even a weak one is better than none" it's easy for him to talk. He won't be the one there, fighting for life. No, no, I calm myself down. It's pointless to argue with him now. … okay, it's pathetic. I'm talking to myself in my head. Great. Seriously great.

"It's not that easy. Even my father made a lot of bows that were failures and you know damn well that he was thousands times better in this than I was. Besides we might not even fight in the woods. They might throw us wherever" there was a year where the tributes were send to a desert to fight. There was nothing but sand, rocks and some dried plants. It was an awful year. There was only one person that was older than fifteen and most of the tributes were either bitten by a venomous snake and died in agony, or they went mad from dehydration and just laid down, never to awaken again.

"There's almost always some wood" Gilbert insists. He hates it when I disagree with him. He thinks he's always right while he practically never is. I just hope this time he'll win our silly argument "Since that one unawesome year where most of the tributes died of the cold"

Oh yeah, I've forgotten about that. The year were there was only ice and the temperature was so low that the tributes froze to death before real fight, real 'fun' could even begin. I think seventeen were lost during the first night. These Games were the shortest. The Capitol people hated them very much, because such quiet, bloodless deaths were simply not entertaining at all. Since then, there was usually some wood to make fire at least.

"Yeah, there's usually some" his eyebrows furrow. He must have caught my emphasis on the word 'usually'. How sharp of him.

"Lovino, it's just hunting. There's no better hunter than you out there" I'm waiting for some snarky comment, that he's still better than me, but it never comes. Instead he's looking at me, his crimson eyes aflame.

"It's not just hunting, you stupid bastard. They're armed. They think. They want me dead"

"You're smarter than even my awesomeness! That makes you super smart. Lovino, you've had more practice. Real practice. You know how to kill" he says slowly, his eyes never looking away from mine. Crap. I can't look away either.

"Not people, Gil. Not people" he squeezes my shoulder.

"It can't be that different. You know it can't. They want you dead. Like wild animals. You can outsmart them, Lovino. You can kill them" I shake my head, not because I disagree, but because I'm awful. I know I can forget that they're people. It will be easy, killing them will be easier than finding water. As long as they want me dead, they're an enemy. They're my pray. And I'm awful, because I shouldn't think like that about other people. But I can't help it.

Soon the Peacekeepers come in and tell Gilbert to leave. He asks for a little bit more time, but they're pulling his arm. I grasp his right hand and press it to my cheek. I'm desperate to feel his warmth for the last time. But the Peacekeepers are pulling harder and I start to panic "Don't let them starve! I beg you!" it's not good at all, because I'm about to cry and I still can't.

"I won't! I won't, ever! I'll protect them, I swear! Lovino, remember I-" but I never get to hear what I'm supposed to remember, because they yank us apart and the door slam shut. And only then do I realize that I'm alone and that I'll stay that way. I won't see them again. I collapse on the coach, holding back my tears. I'm so fucking pathetic.

It's a short ride from the Justice Building to the train station. It's my first time in the car and it's not nearly as exciting as I thought it would. I've been in the wagons two times at most before, and the feeling was similar. Actually, I preferred our Seam way of travelling. On foot. It might not have been faster, but at least our feet weren't making that funny squeaky noise. I was right not to cry. The train station is full of these annoying reporters, trying to catch our faces. Some are directed straight at mine and it's unnerving. I just want to smash all of them. Maybe I could throw Feliks out the window and he'd hit them and break some of the cameras? That would be fun. Despite what's going on in my head, my face remains emotionless. The years of hunting taught me to get rid of emotions when they were unnecessary. And even when they were, for the good of the mankind, you shall not show how you truly feel inside. That's what I've always believed. So when I look at one of the big screens and see my face, I'm proud, because I actually look bored, so bored that I could fall asleep any second. Pretty much my usual expression when listening to Gil.

Antonio Fernández, on the other hand, has obviously been crying and isn't even trying to cover it up. Fucking suspicious. I wonder if it's strategy for the Games, if he's already started plotting and making preparations. Pretend to be weak and scared, try to look like an easy prey, when in reality you are anything but that. You're thrilled and bloodthirsty. It's happened a few years back with a girl from District Seven. She was crying the whole time, clutching onto her flower desperately. She seemed like such a coward, such a fool that no one bothered with her. Not till it was too late, till there were only a few of them left in the Games. Her behavior changed completely. She went absolutely nuts, swinging around whichever weapon she found. But she especially took a liking to that one thing. She hit her opponent with it till his or her skull broke, coloring the ground a bloody color. Elizaveta Héderváry and her deathly frying pan became legendary. Everyone associated blood with them and some people were afraid to use frying pans for quite a long time. She played it cleverly. But this strategy seems too weird for Antonio Fernández Carriedo, because he's the baker's son and something as clever as that seemed too intelligent for an idiotic, kindhearted bastard like him. But also, because he's the baker's son, his arms are broad and strong and it would take an awful lot of weeping to convince someone that you're weak and pathetic.

Feliks makes us stand in the door of the train for what feels like ages. All the cameras are flashing in my face and I wonder if cursing at everyone, on Panem, at Feliks, at stupid Capitol people and stupid Hunger Games and stupid Gilbert because I don't know what to remember and because just everyone in general is fucking stupid and annoying. But I guess I can't, so I just endure it and when it's finally over and the door shuts mercifully behind us, I curse silently under my breath, because it's too stressful to hold it in. The train starts moving and perhaps I heard wrongly because of all the noise, but it seemed like the tomato bread bastard laughed.

I try not to think about it, because I'm too busy being awe-struck like some moron. The speed takes my breath away. I've never been on a train, and I've never even gave it much thought. Travelling between Districts is forbidden expect for the officials that transport coal from 12. But this isn't a coal train. It's a much faster, high-speed Capitol model that averages 250 miles per hour. If we keep up this speed, our journey to the everlasting and glorious Capital will take less than a day.

In school, they tell us that the Capitol is in a place that people used to call the Rockies. Our district, District 12, is in the old region Appalachia. Apparently, even hundreds years ago they were digging coal there. No wonder our coal miners have to dig so deep. Bastards from centuries ago were being jerks.

Somehow, it all comes back to coal at school. Ever since I can remember I was learning about the coal. They teach us how to read – to read our orders -, they teach us basic math – to know how much exactly is 1 kilo and what we should do to make it two kilos – and a little bit of history of Panem. Which is all crap anyway, because they just keep telling us how much we owe the Capitol, how indebted to them we are. I always thought that there was something else to the rebellion, something that they weren't telling us because it just didn't seem complete, but I didn't think about it. It's not like it would fill up my stomach or make food appear on my food. Highly doubtful.

I thought that the room in Justice Building was fancy and sparkly, but what I have before my eyes is even more than that. We are each given our own chambers, which are huge, a dressing area that is full of clothes, all of them made from different material and in different colors, and a private bathroom with a shower. And the shower has both cold and hot water. It's something we don't have back home. We don't have hot water unless we boil it.

I walk into my chamber together with Feliks. He tells me that the drawers are filled with fine clothes and that I can wear whatever I want, as long as I'm ready for supper in an hour. When he leaves, I take off my father's suit and go into the bathroom to take a hot shower. I've never experienced something like that. It was like standing in the summer rain, only warmer and more pleasant. I like that feeling. When I finish my shower, I open one of the drawers. It's filled with fancy suits similar to my father's. I close it immidietly. I hate these kind of clothes. The third drawer is a success. Plain, dark green shirt and comfortable pants. That's more like it, I think before putting it on.

At the last minute I remember Matthew's present for me and take out a small pin from my previous jacket's pocket. It's as gold and shiny as ever. I take it in between two fingers and stare at it. A small golden bird, attached to the ring around it only by its' wings. I stare at the Mockingjay with mixed emotions.

They're funny birds and something like a cold shower and a slap in the face to the Capitol. During the rebellion, the Capitol made a new species of birds, called jabberjays. They were mutations that had the ability to memorize and repeat a whole human conversation, no matter how long it might have been. They were meant to be a weapon, exclusively male. Jabberjays were released into regions, where Capitol's enemies were known to be hiding. After recording the voices, the birds would fly back to their home and repeat the conversations to the higher ups. It took a while for people from the districts to realize, that no matter how private conversations, they could be easily recorded and turned against them. But once they did realize, the rebels started to have fun. They kept on feeding the Capitol with lies, sprouting the biggest nonsense one can possibly imagine. It pissed them off, so the centers were shut down and birds meant to die off in the wild. Just they didn't. They didn't die.

The jabberjays mated with female mockingbirds creating a whole new species. A Mockingjay. They could repeat any kind of song, whistle or human melody, but not conversation. They lost the ability to repeat the words, but they could still mimic human vocal cords. From high-pitched, child-like tone to a masculine growl. If someone had the patience to listen to them, they would sing a beautiful song that they've heard from someone, whose voice they liked.

My father was particularly fond of the mockingjays, just like they were fond of him. He'd often stop in the woods and start singing in his beautiful, clear and lively voice. All the mockingjays around us would freeze and listen to him and, when he'd already finish, they'd politely wait a few seconds before singing back, verse by verse. Not many people are treated like that. But my father had an amazing voice and I loved listening to him. Sometimes I'd join in with him, and we'd both laugh afterwards. But after his death I couldn't make myself do that anymore. Only sometimes for Feli when he'd cry, but not for fun, not for mockingjays.

I smile, looking at the pin. There's something comforting about it. It's like my father will be together with me out there, in the woods. Even when I'll be dying, I feel like he'll be there, telling me that I've done a great job and I've earned my rest. Death will be just that little bit less scary. He'll be protecting me, I think, and I almost want to hit myself, because I'm being cliché. I fasten the pin onto my shirt. With the dark green shirt as a background, I can almost imagine the mockingjay flying in between the trees.

Feliks comes in and pulls my hand and I wonder if he couldn't just tell me it's time to go. We walk through the rocking corridors, the Capitol man chattering to me about something pointless all the while. Then we enter a dining room and I can see the tomato bread bastard waiting for us near the polished table with all these breakable dishes. He looks up when we enter and sends me, or maybe Feliks, a bright smile and I instantly wonder if there's something wrong with his head.

"Where's Carlos?" Feliks asks brightly, taking a seat in front of Fernández and motioning for me to come over and sit next to my fellow tribute. I want to roll my eyes, but I don't. Instead I just sit down next to Antonio.

"He said he's going to take a nap" his voice is strangely happy. Definitely something wrong with his mind, I decide.

"Ah, well, it's been, like, an exhausting day so I guess it's fine" Capitol man says but I can hear relief in his voice, and his face brightens too. Who can blame him? Carlos is a weirdo.

The supper comes in courses. A tomato soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruits and vegetables and vanilla cake. I nearly devour everything that's on my plate, because I've never seen or eaten something as delicious. Feliks tells us not to overdo it, because there's still more to come, but I don't care. The soup is simply too good. I glance at Antonio and he's eating it too. It instantly reminds me of the bread and I feel like blushing, but I don't, because that's just girly. I just keep eating, because it's probably a good idea to put on some pounds between now and the games.

"At least you two have manners. The ones from last year had none at all, they just kept eating with their dirty little hands, like a couple of savages. It was, like, a really unpleasant sight, you know" Feliks scoffs as we're finishing the main course.

I glare at him. My gaze must be intense, because he flinches and looks at me questioningly, a fright in his green eyes. I clearly remember the pair from last year. They were two kids from Seam, one girl and one boy. Not once in their lifetime did they have enough to eat. So I suppose that when they saw all the food before their eyes, table manners were the last thing on their minds. Sure, I could handle a fork and a knife because my mother taught me, and the bastard next to me is a baker's son, but that doesn't mean I have to be proper, especially since I hate Feliks Łukasiewicz's comment. So when they bring other courses, I abandon the silverware and take food in my hands. Antonio stares at me, amused, and does the same. I don't get that bastard. As we finish the meal, I wipe my hands in the tablecloth and look at the Capitol man challengingly. He just purses his lips tightly together. It's hard not to smirk, but I don't.

Now that eating is over, a real battle begins. I have to fight to keep it all down. Tomato bastard is looking green too and it's reassuring somehow. Neither of us is used to such amounts of food. But I'm determined to win this war. If I can hold in Heracles' winter special – concoction of mice meat, pig entrails, and the tree bark – I'm definitely not puking because of overeating.

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reaping across Panem. It's also a good moment for Capitol people to watch it once again, in case they missed live transmission.

One be one, from district 1 to 12, we see the other reapings. Sometimes there are volunteers, throwing their hands in the air and yelling, mostly, however, not. Most of the kids go, shivering, on the stage. I memorize their faces, memorize my competition. Some of them are easily engraved in my mind. Both tributes from 1, both volunteers, both (probably) boys. One with a scar across his nose, the other looking strangely girly. Then a hyperactive blond from 2, who lunges forward to volunteer. A dark skinned girl with slightly opened mouth that made her look like a fish from 5. But the one that strikes me the most is the twelve year old from 11. Pale carnation, bright green eyes and wavy blonde hair. They don't look similar in the first glance, no, but her size and demeanor are very Feliciano like. Only when she slowly climbs the steps and stands in the podium, and they call for volunteers, there's a dead silence disturbed by only whistling wind. No one wants to take her place.

And lastly, they show our district. Feli's name is called out and he walks towards the stage with pale face. Then I'm running and shouting desperately to volunteer. You can hear desperation in my voice. I reach my little brother and shove him behind me, my eyes wild as I look at the stage, too afraid that they won't hear, that they'll take him away from me. But they do hear, of course. There's Gilbert, taking Feliciano away and then I climb to the stage. Commentators aren't sure what to say about the refusal to applaud or the silent salute. 12's always been a little bit backwards and weird, but they said that our little customs were cute. Then, as if on cue, Carlos staggers and falls off the stage. The commentators groan comically. Antonio's name is drawn and he quietly takes his place next to me. We shake hands. The anthem plays. And it's the end of the program.

Feliks is very annoyed by the state that Carlos was in. "Your mentor has, like, a lot to learn about presentation and television behavior. Like, a lot" his voice is so offended that I almost lose it and crack down.

But then the tomato bastard laughs and says "He was drunk. He is every year" and I really do lose it. I giggle, surprising my fellow tribute because he's looking at me with his weird eyes. But then he smiles wickedly, watching me and I don't even think it's creepy, just a little bit weird, because he isn't Gilbert and I still want to laugh.

"Every day, you mean" I say and he chuckles again. Feliks is so weird, really. He makes it sound like Carlos' behavior can be changed with only a few tips from him. That's dumb, really.

"How great that you find it amusing" Feliks hisses "I just want you to remember, that your mentor is your ticket to life. If he doesn't, like, make a good impression and doesn't make you shine you'll be totally screwed and without sponsors. Carlos is, like, your line between life and death"

Just then our dumb mentor stumbles into the room, his hair messy and eyes glassy "I missed the supper?" he says in a slurred voice. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in the mess. Feliks makes a disgusted noise and looks at us with mixed emotions.

"So, like, laugh away!" he says and fleets the room, beforehand carefully avoiding the pool of vomit.

A/N: I'm going to repeat it once more. You guys are all so nice and amazing and… and well, thank you. For supporting me and all :3. So here it is~. They're getting closer to the Capital now. Any ideas who Cato, Clove, Rue, Marvel or Glimmer are? There isn't really a clue for Clove, but her character itself is quite a clue, I think. And maybe any ideas for who Cinna is? Thank you for reading~ :3.