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

Chapter 7: Self presentation

My night is filled with disturbing nightmares, images I'd rather ignore and forget, erase from my mind once and for all. The black haired Avox girl's face mixes in with the scenes from past Hunger Games, surrounding, painting everything in black and red, despair and death. On the wooden floor in my home back in Twelve, my mother sits on the floor and cries, holding a knife tightly in her arms, ready to stab herself with it. Somewhere in the distance Feliciano is shouting and crying, begging her to stop, begging me to come back. I try to reach out to him, but the scene changes and my movements halt, my voice stuck in my throat. I wake up screaming for my father to run as the mine explodes into billion pieces of charcoal, bodies and light. I pant heavily, turning my face to the window. The dawn is breaking down. Capitol's air is misty, hunted. Disgusting, just like its' citizens. I touch my cheek with my right hand, a grimace forming on my face. I must have bitten the inside of my left cheek during my slumber, as I can feel ragged flesh and blood is still fresh on my tongue. My head aches.

I slowly drag myself out of the bed and into the shower. I must have punched the wrong buttons, because icy cold water splashes across my bare skin. I hiss, trying to find the button that would heat me up a little. Soon a soothing liquid warms me up. Then a heavy, strawberry scented foam assaults me. Some of it gets into my eyes, and I cures under my breath, not at all amused by all of this. I scrape the foam off of my body with a big bristled brush.

When I'm dried, I notice that clothes were left for me. Tight black pants and a simple, long-sleeved tunic, with leather shoes to complete the whole outfit. I smile under my nose and run a hand through my hair, not bothering to comb them or do anything with my curl. It's bouncing on its' own just fine, and I don't see the reason for making it stand any taller or prouder than it already is. It's still just a dumb haircurl. I look in the mirror and nearly sigh with relief. It's the first day since the reaping when I look completely like myself. No fancy clothes, no special hairstyles, not fake personality of being a polite person towards that fucked up Capitol, no flaming capes. Just me, looking like I could be headed to the woods with Gil to badmouth the Games and Panem's president.

That drunkard bastard didn't give us the exact time to meet him for breakfast, but I'm hungry, so I head to the dining room first, hoping that there'll be food waiting for me. I'm not at all disappointed. The room is nearly empty, except for the man, an Avox, standing next to the table with a stoic expression. On the wooden furniture I see at least twenty different dishes, just waiting to be swallowed by hungry people. I ask the man if I can serve myself and he nods, his face emotionless, eyes lifeless. I refrain myself from frowning. Fucking Capitol.

I load the plate with eggs and sausages, slices of pale purple melon, fancy cheese rolls stuffed with vegetables. As I was doing so, someone poured me a full glass of hot milk, which I'm grateful for. I take a sip of the fuming drink and sight with content. Milk and cheese, they both taste a bit differently than the ones I had back home, but it's the closest I'll get, I think. It's the closest I'll get to hang on to something that could remind me of Feli and his goat, and warm mornings in the woods together with Gilbert, eating the treats Feliciano would sometimes leave for us. I shake my head, trying not to think about depressing stuff. I look out the window, observing as the sun slowly makes it way on the horizon, rising with the speed of a turtle. I take a roll, one of the ones that tomato bastard have been eating yesterday, and dip it into the hot chocolate, much like the idiot did on the train. I pray he doesn't come it, because surely, he'd be amused by seeing me doing something similar to him. I definitely don't want to watch that bastard's smug face.

Talking about smug bastards, my mind wanders off to Gilbert, his family, my mother and Feli. Surely all of them have gotten up by now. My little brother is probably milking his goat right now. Or maybe he's already headed to school. Will he even go to school today, I wonder. My mother should be done making breakfast. Gilbert should be back from hunting. Right now he might be trading in the Hob, or maybe he's already left to school, too. Just two mornings ago, I was back home. I would be doing the same things that Gil is doing right now. Can that really be real? It feels false. I wonder what did they say about my fiery debut yesterday? Did it give them hope? Or the complete opposite, it made them fear for me more, seeing all the 24 districts together? There were only about seven females there, weren't there? Unless one of them was a man, just like I suspected. Then there's only six girls and seventeen guys ready to slaughter me, one of them being tomato bastard.

Carlos and Antonio come in and say hello to me. Tomato bastard tries to kiss my cheek, but I quickly punch his face with a glare. Drinking bastard is clearly amused by that. Fucking duo of fucked up bastards, is all I think. I'm irritated that Antonio is wearing the exact same clothing that I am. All this twin act is annoying, and when the Games start, it's only going to get back at us. Then I remember Carlos' words that I have to do everything that the stylists tell me to do. Were it anyone other than Kiku, I'd probably blow a fuse a long time ago already. But remembering yesterday's show, I don't really have a room to criticize my stupid stylist and his decision of making tomato bastard and I act all friendly with each other.

I'm actually nervous about the whole training. For three days, all of the tributes will be practicing and training together, in the same room. Just sitting in the same room as them will make me sick. Memorizing my prey's face is a good idea, that's true, but letting my prey memorize my face and examine my behavior. It doesn't really sound that great. And then, on the fourth day, the Gamemakers will have all of us present our abilities separately. This sucks. I turn the roll in my hand several times, but I'm not hungry anymore.

When the drunkard finally finishes his five portions of stew, he pushed back the plate and takes out a bottle of beer, taking a long sip of it. I must be grimacing, because he sends me a look, as if reminding me we had a deal. He leans his elbow on the table and his eyes look from Antonio to me "Let's get down to business, shall we, ladies?" I growl, glaring at him "Easy there, punk. Training. First off, you want me to coach ya separately or not? Decide now" he says, a lazy smile on his face.

"Why the hell would you coach us separately?" I ask, not really sure if there would be any point to do something like that.

"For example, punk, you have a secret skill you don't want our clumsy idiot over here to know about. That hard to understand?"

I exchange looks with tomato bastard. He has that stupid grin on his face "I don't really have any special skills though. And I already know everything about yours, Lovi. I've eaten enough squirrels to know by now" A thought that tomato bastard or his siblings might have eaten the food that I hunted and then sold their father never, not even once, crossed my mind. I've always imagined the baker to eat them all by himself, frying them up on a frying pan at the break of down. Not out of greed, but because merchant families usually ate more expensive food, like beef or horse meat.

"You ate the squirrels?" I ask, quirking my eyebrow. He grins and nods his head vigorously.

"Of course. They were super delicious. Dad shared them only me though. Not like hermano João or hermana Isabella would have eaten them anyway. And don't worry, mom never knew" he winked, showing me that toothy smile of his. Fool.

"Enough flirting, brats. Answer my question, ya?" I glare at him and open my mouth to hiss that I am not flirting with that twat, but Antonio beats me to it.

"Aww, we're not flirting. We're conversing, sí?"

"You can coach us together" I grumble, and tomato bastard nods happily. Fucking bastard.

"Mm, alright. Always want to be together, doncha, brats?" I smack his head, irritated that both of these bastards keep on giggling like my little brother. "Fine, tell me what ya can do"

"I can't do anything" says Antonio, shrugging "Unless it's baking bread. Then I'm pretty sure no one can beat me" Carlos looks at him with a deadpanned expression.

"Sure, stuff your opponent with bread, kid. Think of something else. Spunky, little brat, what can ya do? I already know you're handy with knife. Any other secret skills?" he turns to me, sending me a long stare.

"I'm not handy with knife. But I can hunt" I say, keeping his gaze "With bow and arrows"

"And you're good?" he asks, taking another sip of his beer.

I have to think about it. I have been providing food for my mother, little brother and myself for four years already. It's not an easy task. I'm not as good as my father was, but it's obvious. He had a better build and had much more practice. I have better aim than Gilbert, but that's only because I'm more patient when it comes to praying, and my hand is as steady as a tree. Plus I, too, have had more practice than he had. He's better with traps and snares though "I'm alright" I say finally. Carlos doesn't look excited at my answer.

"He's excellent" Antonio says, his voice strong and confident "My father has been buying squirrels from his for a long time now. He always comments on how great they are. Lovi never pierces the body with his arrows. The squirrels always get it in the eye. Just like the rabbits that he gives to the butcher. He told me. He can even bring down a deer. It's pretty amazing, if you ask me, amigo"

I gape at my fellow tribute with open mouth. I didn't think he'd try to tell Carlos that I'm good. I didn't even think he noticed me, let alone my skills. "What are you doing, bastard?" I ask suspiciously, eyeing him with unsure eyes.

"What are you doing, Lovi? He asked for your ability, and since you were underrating yourself, I helped you out. He wants to help you" he said lightly.

For a reason unknown to even me, it ticks me off. So I snap. "Well what about you then, tomato bastard?" I ask accusingly, glaring at him "I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-ton bags with flour. Tell him that! I don't think it counts as 'nothing'"

"Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of flour bags for me to chalk at people. Don't be silly, Lovi. You can handle a weapon. I can't. Throwing bags doesn't count, you know it doesn't" he shoots back, an angry blush forming on his face.

"That bastard can wrestle" I tell Carlos, who looks positively amused. If I weren't so into my argument with that fucked up tomato lover, I would have already punched my mentor "He came in second in our school's wrestling competition last year, the first one being his older brother"

"Lovi, what is use in that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle another person to death? That's disgusting" his voice got a sharp tune of anger to it. It must be my first time hearing it.

"There's always hand-to-hand combat, you fucker! If someone comes out from behind you, you can always wrestle free and stab them instead. While me, if they get me from my back, I'm dead!" my own voice starts rising in anger, and I briefly wonder if it's time for us to kill each other.

"But you won't, Lovino! You won't die! You'll be living happily on some tree, eating raw squirrels and piercing people with arrows. You know, when my mother came to say goodbye to me, she said cheerfully 'You know, Twelve might finally have a winner this year'. I don't know if she wanted to cheer me up, but it was quite depressing, because she meant you, Lovino. You, not me" Antonio bursts out, holding my gaze, his eyes as fired up as mine.

"Oh please, she meant you for sure" I wave my hand dismissively. There's no way a mother would tell her own child that someone else would win.

"Oh, she meant you, Lovi. She said 'He's a savior, that kid. Takes after his late father. A fighter'. Late father, Lovino. Her husband, and my father, is alive" Antonio says bitterly.

That pulls me up short. I can't believe that there would be a bitchy enough mother to rate someone else over her own son. I'm angry and confused, and I don't know what to say. I look into his eyes and notice hurt in these beautiful green pools. He's not lying. Not with a look like that. Suddenly, I feel as though I'm behind the bakery again, and I can feel a cold rain running down my spine, the hollowness in my belly informing me of my unbearable hunger. I sound like my eleven years old self when I speak again "Only because someone helped me" it's a whisper, but it catches his attention. I can see a twinkle of surprise in his eyes.

He looks at the roll in my hand, and I know that he remembers that day, too. But he just shrugs "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you, querido" I have no idea what the last word means, but I brush it off.

"No more than you, bastardo" I say stubbornly.

He rolls his eyes, a small smile appearing on his face. He turns to Carlos "He has no idea. The effect he can have"

He doesn't look at me, almost like he's avoiding my heated gaze. I don't know what he means. What effect. What effect can I have? What does he mean people will help me? No one helped me when I was dying of starvation, no one but him, the kindhearted bastard that he is. I lived thanks to him. Once I was weak, but things changed. I'm not a weakling anymore. I'm a strong-willed hunter, a tough trader. Or am I? What effects do I have? That I'm whiny? That I'm needy? Bitchy? Is he suggesting that I made all the good deals because people pitied me? Because I was my father's son? I try to think if it's true or not. Sure, some of the traders were generous with their pay, but I always thought that it had to do with their relationship with my father. Beside, my game is first class, dammit! No one pitied me. I earned everything with hard work and my skills. I growl at the roll in my hand. Fucking bastard, who does he think he is to insult me?

After about a minute of this, Carlos finally speaks "Well then. Well, oh well. Lovino, punk, there's no guarantee they will have bows and arrows this year. I hope you're aware of that" I nod. Of course I am. There are always chances that all of the tributes will be given only one type of weapon. "But even so, don't forget to show the Gamemakers what you are able to do with these beauties during your private session. If you're real good, they might but bow and arrows in especially for you. Until then, stay clear of archery. We don't want other tributes finding out about your skills, now, do we? Now then, are you any good at traps?"

"I know a few basic snares, if that's what you mean" I murmur under my nose.

"That may be very significant in terms of food. Don't forget" he turns to Antonio "And you, kid. She's right, you know. Don't underestimate raw power when it comes to the Games. Pure power is often a factor of winning a fight. There will be weighs in the Training Center. Don't touch them. Don't revel to your opponents how much you can lift, got it? The plan is the same for both of you. You go to group training and try to learn whatever the hell it is that you can't do. Throw a spear, swing a mace, tie a decent knot. But your special abilities are to be saved for the session with Gamemakers. Do ya understand?" tomato bastard and I nod.

"One last thing. I want you two by each other's side every goddamn minute. Are we clear?" we both start to object, but Carlos slams his fist on the table, which successfully makes us shut up.

"Every minute! It's not open for discussion, whether you like it or not! You promised to do what I say, so now yer gonna obey me! You will be together, ya will appear amiable to each other. Now stop fucking around and get out! Meet that dumb Feliks at the elevator at ten for training. Scram."

I bite my lip and stalk back to my room, slamming my door so hard there's no way tomato bastard doesn't hear. I sit on my bed and punch it with all my strength. Fucking drunkard. Fucking bread bastard! Fucking myself! Why the hell did I have to go and mention about that fucking day? I hate everyone. I hate myself. Goddammit.

I growl into the pillow.

It's such a goddamn joke! Antonio and I pretending to be fucking best friends, hanging off each other's arms, pretending to get along. What next, are they going to tell me that idiot? If they do, fuck this, I'm going to punch all of them. It's all stupid. Everything. Everyone. Talking up each other's strengths, insisting that the other is strong, yelling at each other for underrating themselves. What kind of bullshit is that! At one point, we'll have to drop this act and prepare ourselves mentally for killing each other. Which I would be fucking ready for if it wasn't for Carlos' stupid idea to play friends! I guess it is partly my fault. I should have had told him to coach us separately, then there wouldn't be any of this stuff. Even though I told him it's okay to coach us together, it didn't mean that I wanted to do everything together with tomato bastard. I never asked to be teamed up with him! And clearly, neither did he.

I hear Antonio's voice in my head. He has no idea. The effect he can have. He obviously meant to insult me. There's no idea it was anything else than an insult. Right? But somewhere deep in my head, a voice whispers, that maybe it was meant as a compliment. That maybe he meant that some part of me is appealing enough for people to want to help me. It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Everything about me. My hunting. My skills. That I love my brother more than anything else. That Gil is my best friend. He's noticed me. And clearly, I wasn't as obvious to him as I thought I was. The flour. The wrestling. Unconsciously, I kept observing boy with bread. I kept track of him. A mare thought of this makes my face heat up.

It's almost ten. I get up from bed and brush my teeth, staring in the mirror all this time. The anger blocked out my fear for some time, but now that the fateful encounter with other tributes was nearing in, all of the nervousness came back to me. By the time I reach elevator, I catch myself chewing my lip. Damned nerve tic.

The actual training rooms are below ground level our building. With the elevator they have here, the ride there takes less than a minute. When the door open, one of the biggest rooms I've ever seen is materializes in front of me. It's filled with weapons and obstacle courses that we'll be able to use for training. Even though it isn't ten yet, we are the last ones to arrive. All the other tributes are gathered in a tense circle, glaring at each other. All of them have numbers of their districts places on some part of their body. As I notice that, someone pins a '12' on my back. I look at the tributes once again. Just as I suspected, Antonio and I are the only ones dressed in identical clothing.

As we join the tense circle, the head trainer, an athletic, expressionless man named Emil steps up and begins explaining the training schedule to us. There's an expert of every skill, and all of them will be waiting for us at their stations. The tributes are allowed to move as we please, following our mentor's instructions. We are absolutely forbidden from getting into fights or another form of physical, hurtful interaction with other tributes, as doing so would get us a severe punishment from the head Gamemaker. There are various skills that we can learn, both the survival ones as well as the combat ones. Emil begins to read the list consisted of all of these, and I can't help tuning him out. Instead, I let my eyes travel freely, memorizing my opponents' faces. None of them shows fright or any other kind of weak point that I could take advantage of. The guys are huge, and half of them is build much better than I am. They have enough body fat and muscles, both of which I somewhat lack. Even two of the girls look tougher than I do. There is the girl from 2, the platinum haired one, that even though doesn't look especially strong, has one of the coldest eyes I've ever seen. Many of the tributes, though, have never been fed properly. It's easy to see it in their bones and hollow cheeks. I haven't been, either, but I'm better off than they are. I've lived my life as a hunter. I'm good. I might be smaller than some of these bastards, and I might not be as muscled, I'm thin and I'm strong. The meat and plants, and the amount of time it took be to gather those, gave me healthier body than most of the other tributes have.

The exceptions are the kids from One, Two and Four, the wealthier districts that, every year, train their tributes for this exact occasion: Hunger Games. Technically it's against the rules to get training before reaching the Capitol, but it's been going on for ages already. In District Twelve we call them Career Tributes. Or just Careers. No one really likes them much, apart from the Capitol and their own districts.

Even though I don't like it much, the winner will be probably one of these six, maybe even the girl-boy, whose gender I'm not sure about.

The slight advantage I had while entering the gym seems to vanish as soon as blue eyes, which belong to the blond haired boy from 2, lock on me, a devilish smirk creeping onto his boyish face. Other tributes might have been jealous yesterday, but they definitely weren't jealous of Antonio and I. Fuck no, they one they were jealous of were Kiku and Yao. All of the Careers seem to have this aura of brutality and arrogance around them. As soon as Emil releases us to go and train, all of them head straight to the deadliest looking weapons, and handle them with ease.

It's good that I'm a fast runner, I think. Antonio nudges my arm and I jump, quickly turning around to send him a glare. His face is sober, a small smile present there, as always. He's still beside me, just like Carlos instructed.

"Where would you like to begin, cariño?" I have no idea what the fuck was just said, but he's definitely insulting me. I'm sure of it.

I look around and have to prevent myself from rolling eyes at the Careers, who are clearly trying to intimidate everyone by showing off, especially the blue eyes boy from 2. He's the loudest and it appears like he's having an unspoken competition with his partner from District, when both of them throw a spear. Both of these pierce right through the puppets' hearts. The other tributes, the underfed ones, the incompetent ones, are having their first lessons with knives and axes.

"Let's go and tie some knots, bastard" I say, looking at him. He's looking with interest at the axes, and I wonder briefly if he'd like to try handling one. A strange thought crosses my mind and I try to shake it away. There's no way an axe would suit him, goddammit.

"Thee wish is my command, Lovi" I look at him with irritation and he snickers, pulling me by the hand to the empty station. I'm shocked with the sudden contact, but before I can protest or try to free myself, we arrive to the station, where we'll be learning how to tie knots. The master there is very pleased. I suppose that tying knots class isn't really the hot spot of Hunger Games training. When the trainer realizes I know some basic snares, he shows the both of us a simple, yet very effective trap to hang an opponent by his leg. He's very enthusiastic. We concentrate on this one skill for an hour until both of us have mastered it. We move on to a camouflage station. Antonio genuinely seems to enjoy himself here, a huge smile not once leaving his face. I watch with a slightly dumbstruck expression as he prances around, happily covering his arms with a combination of mud, clay and berry juices on his tanned skin. Sometimes he adds vines or leaves to make his disguise more believable, and at one point, he looks like a berry bush. The trainer who runs the station seems very excited and moved that someone loves that skill as much as he does. I can't help but notice how similar are those two. Both are so dumb. Antonio notices my expression, and a hue of red adores his cheeks.

"I do the cakes" he mumbles. I blink, wondering if I heard correctly.

"What?" I ask dumbly, my attention temporarily snatched by the boy from 2, who successfully managed to pierce dummy's heart from 15 meters. Holy shit. "What cakes?"

"At home. The iced ones, for the bakery" he says, a nostalgic smile on his face.

He means the ones they display in the windows. The beautiful cakes with flowers and pretty things patterns painted with frosting. They are made for special occasions, such as New Year's or Birthdays, but my family would never be able to afford one of these. They're too expensive. But I know of them, and I often stare at them, which is mostly Feli's fault. Whenever we're in the square, he drags me to the window and points at the cakes, admiring their beauty. I can't deny him that, seeing as there are little to no pretty things in Twelve to look at. It's a surprise that Antonio has been the one making them. Somehow, the thought makes me feel weird in the stomach. I bet it's the potatoes from yesterday. I knew they looked like something Gilbert would love. Eating anything that that bastard loves is a bad idea.

I look at tomato bastard's arm with a scowl. I don't know if he's done it intentionally or not, but nevertheless, the pattern on his arm is pissing me off. The light and dark colors suggest sunlight falling through the leaves in the woods. I have no idea how he knows that view. I don't suppose a bastard like him would have enough guts to get over the fence and enter my paradise, which really makes you wonder how he's seen and memorized such a view. Could he have picked it up from that scraggly old apple pie in his backyard? Why the hell do I even remember that he has an apple tree in his backyard? It annoys me. His skill, those incredible cakes, his bright smile, the praise of the camouflage expert, all these things I remember about him – it annoys me. And it makes me mad at myself, for focusing too much of my attention on him.

"That's so awesome, tomato bastard. It's such an amazing skill. If only you could frost someone to death. I bet whole Panem would stare in wonder at your skills" I say, trying to suppress the smile from my face. Fuck, who told you that you can smile, myself?, I scold myself in my head.

"That's so mean, Lovi! Don't be so superior just because you can handle a few things. You can never guess what you'll find in the area, you know. Say, what if there's actually this gigantic cake waiting for me and-" he starts, his eyes shining with childish excitement that I've seen so often on my little brother's face.

"Say we move on, bastard" I cut in and start walking. I don't have to turn around to know that he's pouting.

The next three days pass with me and Antonio going from station to station, picking up some valuable skills, like starting fire, making a shelter and throwing a knife. We linger on the ax station much more than necessary, because the bastard is enjoying himself too much. He found himself the biggest axe and refused to part with it. He even gave it a name, 'Querida Fortuna'. I have to drag him away, and he keeps on whining about his poor baby being left alone, which is slowly driving me insane.

Him being able to handle such a giant axe made the other tributes curious. Even though that drunkard told us to avoid attention and try to act as harmless as possible, Antonio easily excels in hand-to-hand combat, and I sweep the edible plants contest without blinking an eye. We avoid weightlifting and archery though. We leave these especially for our private sessions.

The Gamemakers appeared early on the first day. Around twenty men and women dressed in purple robes, looking weird as fuck. They sit in the elevated sits, all of them doing different things. Some converse among themselves, others observe us and take notes carefully, but most of them stands next to the table with fuckload of food, and stuff themselves with whatever they have on their plate, which results in ignoring the lot of us. But they do seem to observe District Twelve closely, just like Two. Sometimes when I look up, I can see their eyes fixed on me and my 'best friend' tribute. It might be because of our fiery debut, but I also suspect it's because Antonio and I stick together so closely, never leaving each other's side. It must be new. The Gamemakers consult with the trainers during our meal as well. We see them gathered in a tight group when we come back.

Breakfast and dinner are saved on our floor, but for dinner we have to go to a dining room next to the gymnasium. Food is arranged on carts around the room, all of the plates are full. The tributes were left to help themselves with whatever they wanted. The Careers gathered around one table, as if to show that they aren't afraid of each other, and to show off their superiority on the rest of us. If I could, I'd go there and punch the two loud bastards from 1 and 2 in their loud mouths. The other tributes sit awkwardly as far away from each other as possible. Dining room is huge, so it's not like they can't. There's nothing weird with how the Careers and non-Careers are acting. And then there's me and Antonio bastard. We sit together for dinner. He sometimes tries to steal something off my food, which I try to laugh off. I don't think I'm doing a good job, because I'm not really the most fucking cheerful person out there, but these people don't know me long enough to know what my real laughter sounds like. Hell, the only people that probably know it by heart are Gilbert, Feli and mom, since dad's no longer here. I try to keep up a friendly conversation with tomato bastard, even trying not to insult him or stab him with my fork, which is quite a challenge.

Finding a topic is hard as fuck. Talking about home is painful for both of us. Talking about present is unbearable. We don't even want to think about the future ourselves, much less share our thoughts with each other. One day though, tomato bastard empties our breadbasket and points to every bread. They have added breads from all across Panem, all twelve districts and the Capitol. There is a fish-shaped loaf, tinted green with seaweed straight from District Four. The crescent moon roll dotted with seeds comes from Eleven. I can't help but think that, even though they're all made from the same thing, they look much better than ugly biscuits, which are standard at home.

"And that's about all, I think" Antonio says with a smile, scoping all the bread loafs back into the basket.

"You certainly know a lot about bread, don't you, tomato bastard" he chuckles at the insult and looks me in the eyes. I hate knowing that I'm slowly growing fond of these green pools, even though I shouldn't. It's exactly how it happened with Gilbert. We grew into liking each other through staring into each other's eyes.

"Only about bread, believe me, Lovi" Antonio says, snapping my thoughts back to reality "Now let me hear your cute laughter as if I've said the most amusing thing ever"

I force a giggle, which sounds like a dying rabbit more so than anything. He laughs, too. Other Tributes look at us. I try to ignore their stares.

"Alright Lovi, here's the plan! I keep smiling pleasantly, and you chat me up, while I gaze into your pretty, pretty eyes" I'm torn between blushing and punching him, but since I can't abuse him, I decide to do the former, which brings him great amusement. Fucktard. We need to stay together and it's wearing us out. Since Carlos wants us to stick together, we do, but it's wearing both of us down. And ever since I slammed the door, there's this chill in the air between the two of us.

"Did I ever tell you about that one time when I was chased by a fucking huge bear, bastard?" I ask lazily, looking down at my hands.

"No, but it sounds very interesting, cariño" I swear it's a fucking insult. He's making fun of me, that goddamned bastard.

I try to change my expressions as much as possible, as I tell him the story that has actually really happened to me. It was about this fucking bear that was trying to kill me once. It was chasing me. Hate to admit it, but if Gilbert hadn't pulled me up on the tree, I'd probably be dead by now. It's a completely different thing that the albino bastard was laughing for whole five minutes before finally helping me out. Bastard. Antonio laughs and asks questions right on cue. He's much better at this act than I am. All the more reason to consider him a threat.

On the second day, when we try ourselves at throwing spears, which he's stupidly pathetic at, he whispers to me, his hot breath tickling my ear and making me uncomfortable in the stomach. "I think we have a shadow"

I throw my spear, which I'm not that bad at, actually, as long as I don't have to throw it too far away, when I see her. She's the little girl from District 11, her skin snowy white, and wavy blonde hair hugging her pretty, yet childish face tightly. She's watching us with her big green eyes. She's the twelve year old, the one that reminded me of my brother's innocence. She's standing on her toes, her arms slightly extended to the sides, as if she's ready to run away at the quietest of the sounds. It's impossible for me to not think of her like a bird or a delicate flower, so easy to hunt down, so easy to kill, and yet so pretty and innocent, so pure.

I pick up another spare, while Antonio throws his "I think her name's Emma. She's been following us for quite a while now" he says softly. I look at him and notice that his eyes gained a more gentle look to them. I bite my lip, trying not to think how it could be my little brother here, facing the same bastards as that little girl and as I.

"And what can we do about it?" I say more' harshly than I intended to. If I have to play a cold hearted beast, so be it.

"Nothing" he answers, looking back at me "I was just trying to make a conversation, Lovino"

Now that I know that she's there, it's hard for me to ignore her. She's constantly on my mind, her shy eyes not once leaving my figure. She slips up and joins us at different stations. She's very clever with plants and climbs swiftly, almost like a true tree-climbing animal. She also has a good aim. She can hit every target in a one hundred meters radius with her slingshot. But what is a slingshot against a guy that weighs one hundred kilos, and who also happens to have a sword?

During breakfasts and dinners, Carlos and Feliks bombard us with thousands of questions, demanding to know what we did at every goddamn second of the goddamn day. Slowly, I start to hate being on District Twelve's floor with all of these people, instead of tying some knots or observing my opponents. Neither Kiku nor Yao are together with us during the meals, so they can't add any sanity to these whole conversations. Besides it's not like the drunkard and Feliks are fighting anymore. Rather, they're of one mind, making sure that we're in perfect shape and that our 'friendship' act doesn't get busted. I preferred when they were fighting much more, than what they're doing now. They feed us with what to do and what not to do during trainings, and I'm slowly getting fed up. Antonio is more patient than I, and he smiles most of the time, but I feel like I'm going to snap any second.

When we finally manage to escape to bed after our second day, tomato bastards murmurs with a tired voice "Someone ought to bring Carlos a drink" I actually genuinely laugh. He's startled and has that freaking funny expression. So I continue laughing. I guess insanity finally got to me.

"Stop, dammit. Let's not pretend to be friends when there's no one around" I scold, partly himself, partly myself. I'm not really sure anymore.

"Okay, Lovino." He says tiredly. Insanity is messing with me, because there was a flash of hurt in his eyes, which is impossible. After that, we only talk in front of people. On the third day, the Gamemakers start calling us for our private sessions, district by district. As always, Twelve is going last. Antonio and I linger in the room, not really sure where else to go, what else to do. No one comes back once they've left. The Gamemakers call Emma, and it's only the two of us, the pressure to keep the friendship act vanishes, lifting some weigh from our shoulders. Soon they're calling Antonio. He stands up.

"Remember what that stupid drunkard said about being sure to throw weighs" I say before I can stop myself. The words left my mouth without my permission. He turns to me and sends me a smile, a genuine smile, one that I haven't seen for so long.

"Thanks. I will" he says "Shoot straight, Lovi"

I nod. I have no idea why I even said anything at all. My words, it was definitely encouragement in some way. I don't know why I couldn't stop my stupid lips from opening. But then I think that maybe it's okay. If I don't win, he's definitely the one that I want to win the most. It'll be better for my mother, for Feli, for the whole District. He's better of a person than the Careers. After about fifteen minutes, they call my name. I stand up slowly, touching the Mockingjay pin instinctively. I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders, before walking confidentially inside the room. As soon as I enter, however, I instantly realize that I'm in fucking trouble. The Gamemakers have been here for way too long, most of them have had way too much to drink, and all of them just simply want to go home. Watching twenty three presentations must have bored them to death, and they still have to watch mine.

But there's nothing I can do about it. I continue to the station, continue with the plan. It's pissing me off that tributes from One, Two and Four surely had Gamemakers' whole attention on them. No one probably dared to ignore them. I reach the station and look at all the bows lying in front of me. Oh, I've been itching to get my hands on them for days! They were made from wood and metal and plastic and other materials I can't name. Arrows with feathers cut in perfect, flawless uniform lines. Ideal. I lick my lips from excitement. I take one of the bows and throw a sack of arrows through my shoulder, before going to the center of gymnasium. There is a shooting range, but it's way too limited. I chose my first target, a dummy used for knife throwing. As I pull back on the bow, I know that something is wrong. The weapon here is different than the one I use at home, and my fingers aren't used to it. The first arrow that leaves my bow misses the dummy by a couple of inches. All the attention that I still had on me vanishes. I growl in frustration, feeling humiliated. I quickly snap my head back straight and shoot another arrows. The first few miss, but I finally get a hang of it.

I take my initial position and pierce dummy's body straight through the heart. Then I sewer the rope that holds the sandbag used for boxing, and the bag splits open and slams on the floor. Without pausing, I bend on one knee and shoot at one of the lights. It bursts into thousands of little silvery pieces of glass.

It's excellent. I'm doing very well. I turn to the Gamemakers. Some of them are nodding their heads in approval, smiling. But most of these fuckers are too preoccupied with a roasted pig that just arrived to their table.

Suddenly, I am furious. My life is on the line and these bastards don't give the slightest damn. They place me below some fucking roasted pig, below they're fat stomachs, below everything. It's insulting. I can feel my heart pumping faster and faster, my face getting furiously red from anger. I don't think anymore. I just know that I want to teach them a lesson, a lesson they'll never forget. I pull an arrow from my quiver and send it straight to the Gamemakers' table. There are shouts of alarm and some people stumble back in alarm, frightened by a pointy thing that flew towards them out of nowhere. My arrow pierces the apple in pig's mouth and makes it fly, pinning it to the wall behind the table. The Gamemakers look at me in disbelief. I'm furious, but my face remains emotionless.

"Thank you for your consideration" I smile mockingly. I give them a small bow and head straight towards the exit. Fuck that they didn't dismiss me, I'm not staying with these bastards any longer.

~INFORMATION~

Emma Meas [Belgium] as Rue

Querido – Sp. 'darling'

Cariño – Sp. 'dear/sweetie'

Bastardo – It. 'bastard'

A/N: Wheee. It's over. The chapter, I mean. I think I'm adding too much fanservice lately, don't you think? Like, Lovi blushing too much. And all. And I'm also adding too much Gilbert OTL. I mean, Gale was seldom mentioned in the Hunger Games book 1. But look at me, mentioning him whenever I get the possibility *sigh*. By the way I'm seriously furious with Bad Touch Trio, all three of them, and I just really want to punch them in the face. All of them. I seriously wanted to kill Toni in this chapter, with Lovi throwing a spear at him by accident or something OxO. BUT I DIDN'T! And I even added an axe. I love Toni with axe. I love dark!Toni. Daamn.

Yeah. And thank you for your understanding. All of you are so lovely. Can I just kinda marry all of you? I really wanna marry you ;A; .

Yep, I think I'm gonna end it here. Thanks for reading. I love you all~. Even the silent readers :3. Take care and may we all live through the next hellish week!