A/N: One thing quickly, do not worry about tallying up your points for the sponsor shop. I've got all of that covered and I'll PM telling you your first balance when the actual items go on sale. Don't be afraid to spend right away or save for something big. It could take a while to buy something you may want, but that single item may change the face of the game. Thanks for all the support and reviews; we are quickly climbing towards 100! So here we are already…The Chariot Rides!

Jemima Fitch- District One

I didn't really give Avery the time of day on the train, and it seems to me as if his hunky male model act is running a bit dry. I don't say a single word to him as we're carted off the train and hauled in separate directions by our mentors. Summer and Sapphire accompany me to the stylist's department, while Galaxy and Cicero take off with Avery. I find it odd, to have four mentors this year, whereas most of the time District One has three at best. Sapphire's entrance into the train cart seemed a little mysterious, and like Galaxy, I wasn't too convinced of her story.

"Alright, we need you looking fabulous for the chariot rides tonight," Sapphire says all dramatic and such, looking me up and down with her cerulean eyes. They match her name perfectly, and shine in the afternoon light. I had completely forgotten about the chariot rides tonight, and the last thing I want to do is stand next to Avery Reid in some ridiculous chariot. Those poor horses will be pulling us along, straining their muscles while they are tied to heavy carts, goodness it's awful. I can't stand abuse to anyone, be it the biggest man or smallest fly, it's just wrong to hurt other living things.

"Once you meet your stylists, they'll strip you down and rinse you off, make sure all that grime is off before they begin preening you to perfection," Sapphire instructs, far ahead of Summer and I. Summer is quiet mostly, but whenever she speaks, her words carry weight. She is beautiful, I'll give her that, I just don't know how I'll stand in her place if I stick to my beliefs. Which I will be sticking to. I wonder if they've ever had someone flat refuse to take part in their little game before, I'm sure they have. If not, then I'll gladly be the first.

Coming towards the building, I must admit I'm a bit intimidated. The structure is monolithic in size and the copper dome at the top shines resplendently in the afternoon sun. The sunbeams bounce off and reflect against Summer's platinum blonde hair, making her hard to look at. Squinting my eyes to avoid damage from the rays, I look ahead and take in the Games Complex. Only a small portion of it is dedicated to the stylists, and I can't help but wonder at what lay within this labyrinth of a building. Summer is thinking along the same lines, because she says,

"You'll be amazed at what's inside, the entire thing is where you sleep, eat, train, get fitted, they even host the interviews there. The second you enter, you won't leave until the games begin," her words have a certain darkness to them that makes me feel uneasy. This is the last place I'll get to visit before I die.

I mean it's only practical to accept my death at this point. I refuse to hurt anyone, I don't care if the capitol tortures me to pieces, I won't bend my morals. I don't know who in their right mind would want to protect, but I can only envision that as my only route to victory, if someone helps me out. When training begins, I'll need to work on finding an ally.

"Here we are," Sapphire beams, "The stylist's department." Upon entering the building, the sound of the doors shutting behind gave me chills. Just like that, my freedom is gone. Looking at the rows of metal benches, each one possessing only a white sheet on it, it appears as if I'm looking at a morgue instead of a somewhat salon. We're not the first ones here, as stylists are already busy on two other girls.

My rivals.

I mustn't think like that, but it is true. These girls, who I wish no malice upon, are going to try and kill me in a matter of a week so they can go back to their former lives. It's bone-chilling, and I try to wipe that thought away as Summer and Sapphire turn me over to my trio of stylists.

"Ah, Sapphire, good to see you again," one of them, a man, says, "How are you?"

"Just fine Maurice, I'd like you to meet Jemima, she's our female tribute for this year," Sapphire does the formalities for me, and Maurice slightly tilts his head to me.

"Last time Sapphire introduced me to a tribute, she came home a victor. Let's hope you do the same," Maurice says, looking up towards Summer.

"Oh Maurice, you haven't even said hello to Summer yet," another stylists says. She has chopped ultra-pink and periwinkle skin. Shimmering silver tattoos run up her arms and neck, and her eyes are purple, like Avery's.

"My name is Alloy, nice to meet you…," she grabs at nothing for my name.

"I'm Jemima," I say, quick enough to where Sapphire doesn't have to say it for me.

"Summer, how is the life of a victor?" Alloy questions, lathering her voice with the want for information. These capitol people seem rather greedy and gossipy to me.

"Pleasant enough," Summer states, shrugging off Alloy's need to know.

"Hmm, well we have lots of work to do ladies, so we'll see you at the chariot rides tonight won't we?" A new voice pipes up from behind a shower curtain, and a bespectacled woman with long black hair steps out from behind. Unlike the others, she is free of tattoos and skin dyes, but she does have several piercings. Her ears are pierced twice, and her cartilage as well. She has a nose piercing, and a Monroe. Looking down at me, she seems a bit intimidating.

"Oh, Miss Luna, I didn't know you worked on your tributes before the fitting," Sapphire states, a bit of intrigue in her voice.

"I like to know what I'll be getting when I work with them, so I fired Allica and instated myself, thought it'd be best for the tributes," Miss Luna replies.

"We'll see you later, at the chariot rides," Sapphire comments, taking Summer with her as she leaves.

"I thought that was at night, isn't it only afternoon?" I question Miss Luna.

"Oh honey, there is much to be done," she says, and I don't know what to make of that statement in regards to my personal upkeep. They quickly begin, in the exact process that was described to me. I am rinsed, plucked, dried, brushed, rinsed, plucked some more, get my hair cut, curled, straightened; every option is viewed before they settle on one. Picking straight, they then add streaks of gold to my black hair. None of this is prompted to me, only done without my counsel. I guess they know what is best. Make up is applied, taken off, applied again, redone, it's a nightmare. Blemishes are removed, bruises are covered, imperfections like birthmarks and moles are taken away by lasers. It's all a process, and by the end I look ravishing.

"I'd have to say that's our best job yet," Alloy comments, staring at me from a few feet away. They look me up and down, all the while chatting about the newest sensations and trends. The latest parties they've been to, the company they've entertained and the diets they're trying. They touch on gossip, and I pick up something peculiar.

"Did you just say that the Head Gamemaker has been assassinated?" I ask, completely unaware of the news.

"Yes, it was tragic darling, but don't worry, they've got a new one. Dolora Prewitt is her name, and she's supposed to be fantastic at what she does," Maurice answers, not thinking once about what that means for me. Great, if Dolora is so fantastic, then I might as well give up. Who knows what sickening arena she's planned for us, and what muttations hide within? Suddenly, my stylists stop chatting, and I know the process is over.

"Great work team, I'll be taking her to the fitting now so you're free to go," Miss Luna states, waving Maurice and Alloy away. We watch them go, and then Miss Luna states in her prurient voice, "They're so dull aren't they, why don't you and I have some more intelligent conversation in my office?"

I am shocked by her treatment of her coworkers, I thought she liked them. She leads me into her office, and I am wearing nothing but towels. I look beautiful though, a thousand times more than I ever have. I wish my parents could see me, maybe they'd actually love me if they saw me now. All done up and about to go into the Hunger Games, I wonder what they're thinking. Do they still hate me for not being violent? Do they still wish I could train like the other girls in District One and bring glory to our family? I wish I knew the answers to those questions, but I don't have time to sort them out before Miss Luna starts talking again.

"So, Chalice Arstiepe is Avery's personal stylist, as I am yours. Now, Chalice and I conversed themes before you arrived this afternoon, we were sent pictures of your appearances. Avery, that boy is a god in form and face, just delightful to look at. With his body, well, we hashed out gladiator themes, warrior themes, all sorts of poses, so we could showcase that lovely body of his. Now, looking at you, you can blossom from a withered weed to the most luxuriant rose, so nothing is out of the question. Chalice and I, we're thinking…," she pauses for effect, "Something scandalous."

I don't have a problem with being scandalous, as long as no one is hurt, my morals are held high, and everyone has a nice time. Then Miss Luna rolls out the dress I'll be wearing, and it's got to be the sluttiest thing since fishnets, and God do I love it. It's so weird, but I've got a limited amount of time to live, Hunter would go insane if he saw me in this, so why not flaunt what I can before I go out. Thinking about, I feel more confident like this, I wish I could be beautiful all the time.

"What do you think?" Miss Luna asks, holding up the shimmering scarlet gown.

"I…I love it," I say, a bit stunned by its magnificence.

"Perfect," is all she can say.

Leo Ventras- District Three

I look ridiculous, that's all there is to it. I'm sure Maud looks equally dumb, because my stylist is something of a half-wit. I've been sprayed a metallic luster, which was fine, I thought they might make me into some silvery robot thing, without actually assembling robot parts around me. If it didn't hurt bad enough with all the bruises my mother gave me, the casing around me is way too tight, and I can barely breathe. The constriction flairs my ribs, which are nothing short of cracked, which I can thank my mother for.

I'm still in a fiery rage after what she said to me only this morning. She acted like she cared for me, like father's death meant something to her, as if her incessant beatings of me weren't the results of drink and sleepless nights. Then she even had the gall to ask me to be her little rebel and fulfill the dreams of my father. She couldn't care less, and I know if I win this thing, she'll flush all of the money towards more booze and gamble the rest off.

That's why I've decided that if I win, I'll probably have killed to get there, and if I've killed, I'm going to kill my mother. She deserves it, after everything she's done to me, I won't let her slide. She can think of it as repayment for all the broken bones and tears she's dealt me.

"Now that doesn't look so bad," Crescendo, my stylist, remarks as he looks at me in full circle. Strutting around me like some deranged bird, Crescendo bobs his head up and down, checking for imperfections. This whole thing is an imperfection, I shouldn't be dressed like this, it makes District Three look moronic. Loathing my outfit and ready to strangle Crescendo, I don't get my chance as I escorted out of the room and into someplace new. It's sort of like an atrium, with a wide expanse of room and people bustling around. I realize that these people are tributes.

We are all here, each and every one of us dressed up by our stylists to match our district partner accordingly. I can see District One; the boy isn't even wearing a shirt. Glittery red pants adorn his legs and that is it, but the girl next to him looks spectacular. I think the other district closest to us is seven perhaps, as the male tribute is wearing laurels of some sylvan variety. I don't get to look at the others for too long though, because Crescendo takes me to meet with Maud and her stylist.

"I think they could have thought of something better," I whisper to Maud as Crescendo dashes off to find some sort of correction make-up for the costume. She giggles faintly and says,

"Well we do look a bit ridiculous."

Yeah, a bit.

Crescendo comes back though, and soon the chariots arrive. One by one, the pairs of tributes board their horse-drawn chariots, each animal possessing a differently colored pompadour running down their blinders. It takes a moment for me to realize that we are next, because the pair from Two has already climbed onto their chariot. Seizing the handlebar, I hoist myself up. Maud's stylist helps her for a moment, but she manages to step on with minimal assistance. The two chariots in front of us look regal. District One with their shimmery raiment and District Two possessing tough looking displays. Maud and I on the other hand look like idiots in our robotic display.

I look behind us, noticing the pair from four. They look dazzling; the girl has on some pretty blue dress. When she moves, the fabric appears to be flowing like the waters of District Four. Just brilliant, why couldn't Crescendo think of something like that? Why did I get the stupidest stylist in the capitol?

They must have the pair from twelve in their chariot, because before I can turn my head around to situate myself, the chariot strides forward and the show has begun.

Amber Liefson- District Eleven

Auric and I look alright, not like some of the tributes. Our stylists played it safe, and just dressed us up in bland and grainy colors like the scenery of District Eleven. Sure it could have been a bit more creative, and Melodia would have rocked this dress, but they worked with what they had.

However, being in the next to last district, Auric and I get to see the others before they lunge out into the view of the capitol's citizens, and some of them look horrendous. The first two were nice, the pairs from One and Two. But that's to expect, I mean they're from Districts One and Two. Then, when it was District Three's turn to go out, they looked plain stupid. I mean come on, robots? Four wasn't so bad, the girl's dress was pretty but the boy just wore fishing stuff. I stopped watching after District Six, which was meant to represent transportation. There were a lot of directions to take that, and what the stylists did was not one of them.

However, as we are about to go, I get nervous. This is the first time the capitol will really see me. This is my chance to gain sponsors and get people to like me. Everyone is going to smile and wave, but Auric and I have to do something to get their attention. I mean, I really don't care about what happens to Auric, but I need people to want to help me. I have to get home.

That's why I decide to put on a strong image, make it look like District Eleven has confidence for once. As our chariot bursts forward, I keep my hand on the railing and look directly ahead, instructing Auric to do the same. He listens of course; he is a twelve year old after all. Not wavering in our steady gaze forward, the capitol citizens seem to like it, because we receive a mix of cheers louder than the districts before us, save the career districts of course. Just as I feel like we've got something to be happy about, District Twelve one-ups us, or the girl does at least.

I don't know her name yet, but I am determined to find out. The girl from Twelve is winking and blowing kisses to the crowd, twirling her hair and extending her arms. It's quite a show, and she's doing it all while standing next to some vapid looking boy. He just stands there and looks out at the crowd, completely missing the fireworks going off next to him. The crowd roars for her, eating up her little display. She winks a few more times and blows some extra kisses and then settles down as the chariots come to a stop around the president's podium.

I can see him, President Snow, high up on his pedestal. Several official and important looking people surround him, undoubtedly gamemakers and respected advisors or friends, business partners and supporters. The President stretches his arms and then makes a brisk walk forward to the microphone, clearing his throat before he delivers his message.

"Welcome tributes, we thank you for participating in this year's Hunger Games," he begins, making it sound like we all decided to come here. The crowd is silent now, everyone hanging onto his every word. "I'm sure you're eager to begin your preparation for the arena, but take a moment to congratulate yourself for bringing honor to your district by participating. Even though some of you will fall, your sacrifice reminds others of what they have to live for, and for that we thank you."

His words send goose bumps down my arms, but the crowd goes berserk. Clapping and hollering, everyone is simply enamored with his welcoming speech. It wasn't that great to me, and sounded loaded with lies, but I guess that's how things work in the capitol. Just be excited about everything and you can easily blend in. Before I know it, the chariots make a final turn back down the way we came and the crowd gets even louder, something I thought impossible until I heard it. They all reach out and cheer; trying to give us doses of the same jubilation they feel. I wish I could tell them it isn't working.

As we reach the atrium where we boarded the chariots, the upper districts are already disembarking from their rides. The horses are led away and tributes start to depart with their stylists, escorts and mentors in tow. Each pair has a mini entourage that follows them around, composed of all those people. It seems silly, but each one has a vital role to play. The stylists have to make sure you look good, because if you don't, then getting sponsors may be a grim prospect. Escorts manage everything and mentors have to prepare you. I didn't think there was this much work in walking to your death, but I was wrong.

It isn't long before Auric and I are lead to our room, the floor right below the penthouse. District Twelve gets to stay there, but our room is extremely nice as well. Servants stand in the corners of the room, people my stylist calls avoxes. They all wait quietly with their heads down, not looking up. I soon learn they've had their tongues cut out, and I decide I won't ask anything of them. It'd be too much for me to put more stress onto someone in that condition, it wouldn't be right. I am dead tired, and I'm glad when I'm dismissed for the evening, but I do take note training begins tomorrow. Joy, something else to look forward. I'm beginning to realize, the Hunger Games have little to do with you, but instead the image you produce. It's all about glory and honor and advertising as well. No one truly cares if your body is shipped home in a casket. Sure, the people feel sad for a moment, but then something new steals their attention, and like the summer breeze that runs through the orchards of District Eleven, you are quickly forgotten.

There we have it, the chariots have been ridden! Let me know what you think, did you like it or not? I know I didn't depict much of the chariot riding sequence, but I wanted to reflect more on how the tributes were taking in the new environment, and their thoughts on the capitol. So, training begins next, we'll see what our tributes get up to when they begin to interact for the first time!

-AdmiralBobbery