A/N: I've been super busy, so please don't feel upset that these updates aren't fantastically frequent. We all have real lives, and what with spending time with friends, touring colleges, going places and doing things I just haven't had time to write. But here I am now, and we are so close to the games I'm sure we're all a bit overexcited. So, from here on out there are three chapters left before the games, this one included. Hopefully we will get there soon! Thanks for all the support and reading and reviewing, let's get to that 150 review mark before the games begin!

Loot Lewis- District Six

Tiger is all over the place, his electric lime green hair radiating from the gleams cast by the high sky lights. A flurry of activity, his tall and thin frame is dashing to and fro amidst the group of stylists discussing preparation techniques and facial adjustments.

"Creslin!" Tiger shouts, "Get over here and get to work, the interviews are tonight! Tonight! We don't have all day!" My escort has taken it upon himself to see to every fine detail and make sure District Six looks spectacular tonight. The faux hawk that rests on his otherwise shaved head bobs up and down as his struts around, like a flamboyant ostrich. Creslin darts over, his thinly framed glasses nearly falling off the bridge of his nose.

"You called?" My stylists ask my escort, who looks dumbfounded.

"Of course I called! You're the stylist! For crying out loud do I need to do it myself?" Tiger shouts, startling Creslin and causing the other stylists in my station to look up at the enraged escort. Taking a deep breath, Tiger removes a bottle of spray from his pocket and squirts a few droplets in his mouth. Breathing quickly on his hand I guess the liquid is some sort of breath enhancement and with a curt nod Tiger shuts the bottle up and stuffs back in the pocket of his custom made lime green pants. The man looks like a walking highlighter.

"I'm sorry Creslin, it's just you know how I get when this time rolls around. It's been years since we've brought one home and I just want to get us on the map again, so do what you need to do, I'll be waiting back at the suite for the interviews to begin," Tiger apologizes and quickly leaves the room, not giving Creslin a chance to say anything in return. When the sliding doors close back into place, it seems as if the tension has evaporated, and Creslin turns to me with a large white smile.

"I'm afraid he's always been like that," my stylist says, "Just a bit controlling when it comes to presentation. But that's what I'm here for, and my team of course." Creslin motions to the other two stylists with a nod of his head, Aren and Knightly. My stylist team is all males, which is a bit weird, but I guess that's how it's going to be. Creslin instructs me to lay back on the white table I had been sitting up on, and after removing my shirt the stylists get to work.

"My oh my oh my," Aren says with a cluck of his tongue, "We are just as filthy as before Mr. Lewis, did you get this way on purpose?"

I don't say anything, the stylists never let me. Before the first one is finished talking the next one picks up with some new topic or an extension of the old one. They ask me questions, but don't stop for answers. Digging files underneath my nails, Aren gets to work sawing out the dirt and grime from my previous days of training. The coarse material of the file feels rough under my skin, but Aren doesn't go slow or ask me if it hurts, he just cleans vigorously while discussing a myriad of topics with the other two.

A feel a jerky tug on my hair and realize that someone must be brushing it out. I don't ask what they're doing to me but just let them override my body and take control. They lift legs and arms, cleaning every possible nook and cranny. I can feel something being lathered in my hair and rinsed out, over and over again. My nails are cleaned, trimmed, scraped and shined. My face is scrubbed, dyed, wiped, dyed, wiped again.

"The lighting is low at the interviews," Creslin chirps, "His current skin coloring won't make him glow under those lights. We need something darker."

"I'm fine with the way it is," I manage to speak up.

"That's fine, but honestly, you need to go darker about two tones. It won't be much, just enough to give you that glowing effect the capitol loves," Knightly instructs, basically telling me I have no choice. I guess they know what they're doing; they are the ones who have the job to do. And besides, there's a good chance I'll be dead soon anyway so what does it matter if I look a little weird?

I feel another brush hit my face and I can tell by the strokes that Aren and Creslin are applying skin dye. The process takes forever and after the dye is applied some weird heat machine passes over my body, the sensation warm and funny. Slamming me back down on the table after my skin has been altered, Creslin plucks my eyebrows and sculpts my eyelashes to his liking. My lips are smoothed with some sort of butter and light amounts of make-up are added to my faces to apparently give me that glowing effect Creslin keeps blabbing about. That's all these three seem to care about, is whether or not I glow.

"So did anyone hear about Dolora's son? Apparently he's rather sick," Creslin gossips, earning the immediate attention of Aren and Knightly while they scrape grime off my feet and clip the hairs on my legs.

"That's no good," Aren comments, "With all the responsibilities she has she can't afford to take care of a sick son."

"I heard she hired some help," Knightly says, "First single Head Gamemaker I think we've ever had."

"Her husband died Knightly," Creslin reminds him while massaging the knots out of my neck. The process is painful but apparently I have to look limber and my posture has to be perfect for the interview. I didn't realize this process would take so long, but memories of my initial cleaning come back to me and I remember how important my appearance is to sponsors, which is something I desperately need.

"That still makes her single, does it not?" Knightly asks, removing a strip of hot wax from my leg, ripping off a patch of hair with it.

I grimace and Knightly asks, "Did that hurt?"

"A bit," I manage to mumble.

"Well don't think about it too hard, because there's plenty more of that coming," Knightly assures me, I think trying to sound nice. Layering the hot wax on my legs is warm and sensational, but the ripping is painful and draws me from my thoughts like someone has thrown my legs in fire. Each time I make a sign of pain on my face, but nothing more is said of the arduous trial they're putting me through.

It's been hours, I know it. Tiger walks in at some point to check on things but Creslin shoos him out the door almost immediately. After what's seemed like forever, the stylists finally announce I'm completely ready to go and Creslin props me up on the edge of the table.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" He asks with a cheery smile, his gigantic white teeth glistening in my face.

I don't answer him, but he's not looking for one. He flips over a standing mirror, and allows me to look at myself in full. The hair is gone from everywhere on my body except my head. My actual hair has been trimmed and cut to a wavy design. My skin is a lot darker, almost tan, and I like looking healthy for once. I am still scrawny and built like the street rat I was, but there's something different about me. I glow.

"Didn't I say you would glow? Tiger doesn't know it but these things take time, impatience will get you nowhere!" Creslin says, a bit too loudly. There's something about his words that make sense though, and I think it's the most intelligent thing I've heard all day.

"Thank you," I blurt out, not looking at Creslin but with my eyes still fixated on my image in the mirror.

"Oh," Creslin says, obviously not used to being thanked, "You're welcome." The polite exchange seems foreign to him, and he waves off the cordiality with a dismissive hand. Nearly dragging me off the edge of the table he throws me into a fitting room and stuffs a bundle of clothes in my hand, all iron pressed and laid out in a transparent sheet.

"This is what you're wearing. The interviews are about to begin so we need in this thing pronto, let me see you when you're done," Creslin instructs and speeds off to clean his studio. I am left in the fitting room, staring down at the package in my hand.

"Croft and Banks," I read the tag of the suit aloud, looking down at the expensive material in my hands. I slip the pricy piece out of the bag, holding up the magnificent silver suit. It's amazing, the most remarkable thing I'll probably ever wear. A powder blue dress shirt with silver-lined buttons and a crisp silver jacket to go over it. Matching silver slacks accompany an equally congruous pair of dress shoes and I slip the ensemble on in no time.

"Almost done in there?" Creslin asks with a shout and I step out of the fitting room as if on command.

"Mr. Lewis," Creslin says, drawing his breath, "I think you're ready for an interview."

Daedrya Redwyne- District Eight

I've been fawned over and brushed, straightened, cleansed, rinsed, washed, dyed, scrubbed and just about everything else for the last few hours that getting up to slip into my dress is like a breath of fresh air. It's not that I hated the treatment; I just don't like lying down and not being able to move a muscle for hours on end. My stylists are nice enough though, and now that Kazzine and Marvel have finished the basic work, Porsche can get me fitted.

"I was thinking something green when I walked into the fashion strip this morning," her voice says from behind the wardrobe rack. "I stopped in Lady Taylor's and looked around for a bit but then decided that I could only settle for a Vartarienne dress. Did you know them? I heard they're one of the wealthiest families in District Eight. They make their money all the way here in the capitol and have it deposited into the bank and just roll around in it back in Eight. Did you know them?"

After hearing her question for a second time, I speak up, "No, I didn't know the Vartariennes, but my sister does. At least remotely." It was somewhat true, Khalyssa had met them when she won her games, and they showered her with the most lavish dresses money could buy. I have some too, but I don't where them and I've never met a Vartarienne face to face. What my stylist says is true though; they're extremely rich and have several department stores all over the capitol. The only reason they stay in Eight is to be in the heart of the textile region.

I guess you could even call Eight the fashion district, it's where the money is.

My fiery red hair has been straightened to perfection, and Porsche smiles a wide gleam as she views me up and down.

"I thought Kazzine would do a good job with your hair, you look ravishing darling," Porsche compliments, making me blush a little.

"Oh no need to feel embarrassed darling, just embrace your inner beauty. It's what every woman should do," she says instructionally, as if she's teaching me something. I don't know if I'll be around much longer to embrace my inner beauty but I'm not going down without a fight.

Porsche unravels a sumptuous emerald dress from the wardrobe rack, holding it high for me to see. The mermaid gown wraps around my hips and snakes its way down to the floor. The emerald shade will go perfectly with my matching eyes and blend with the stunning red of my hair. It's the perfect dress, and Porsche can see my smile as she hands it to me to try on.

The dress is strapless, hugging the area slightly above my breasts tightly and showing off my lithe yet muscular body. My physique compliments the dress and Porsche gasps nearly every time I take a step in it.

"Marvelous darling, simply marvelous," Porsche states, holding her long painted hands up against her cheeks. Her beautifully painted nails grace the edges of her short bubblegum hair and she smacks her pink lips in approval.

"Perfect, just perfect. We need to get you to the games department immediately, the interviews are sure to begin soon," Porsche says, almost like a command and speeds off to find Magenta. My elderly district escort is probably busy attending to sponsors and making sure all of our ducks are in a row before the games begin. Magenta may be ancient, but she's meticulous and tenacious, not overwhelming and flamboyant like many of these haughty escorts. I say the one for Six today, running around all dressed up in lime green, completely flustered. Magenta doesn't worry; she doesn't have to, because she always seems to know what's going on before it happens.

I'm left alone in the room, and as I stand there I can't help but feel taken aback by the stranger staring at me in the mirror. Is this who I am? Is this really me? Only four days ago I worked at the training center, helping children try and face an obstacle I hoped they would never have to overcome. I wore training shorts, sports bras, running shoes. Now, looking in this mirror, the girl looking back at me with the voluminous hair and sparkling dress, who is she? Is this what the games do? Do they change you before you die?

I'm cut off by Magenta entering the room, Porsche hot on her heels.

"You look nice," Magenta says curtly, not one for detail.

"Nice? That's all you have to say Magenta? She looks nice?" Porsche sounds a bit flabbergasted.

"I'm not one to hand out blandishments Porsche, you know that. I'm not one for small talk either. Now come along dearie," Magenta says to me, "It's time to wow the nation."

I'm intimidated by her words, do I really have what it takes to impress all of Panem is just three minutes? I know I can get sponsors through blood; Khalyssa has so much influence as a victor. But, what about me? Will I be able to get people to like me for who I am, or for who my sister is?

Dwarfed by her large shadow, I try to push Khalyssa out of my mind. I don't want to think about her, I don't want to have her on my mind as I try to score some points with Panem. But I can't stop thinking about the incident that morning, when Khalyssa attacked mom. It was so sudden, so unexpected and unlike her. She's experienced trauma, but that's been limited to cries in the night and self-mutilation, but never has she ever turned one her own family. Aggression seeps through Khalyssa's every pore, but not like the kind she exhibited towards my mother. Our mother, she's our mother, Khalyssa attacked our own mother.

There she is, the one person I don't want to see right now, standing next to Celeste as Magenta walks with me to the elevator.

"You look beautiful," Khalyssa says, running up to me and giving me a quick hug. Tears begin to well up in her eyes, and I can see the emotional pain that is hiding behind her fake smile. Her little sister is about to get swallowed up by the worst stage in Panem, and there's nothing she can do but watch. She's done this before, but she did it alone, at least I have her with me.

But is having her more of a curse than it is a blessing? Will she attack me too? What if I win, will I become like her? Freaking out every ten minutes and crying myself to sleep every night. Will vivid nightmares walk in the wake of my dreams and torture me as I sleep? Is winning better than losing?

Khalyssa rubs a hand on my shoulder, although I'm taller than her traditionally, the extra height given to me from the heels I'm wearing make the act of kindness even more awkward. She doesn't know what to do, her baby sister is part of the Hunger Games and she just can't bring herself to realize she might die.

I might die.

It's something I hadn't really registered yet, dying in the games. Leaving my team behind me, Khalyssa, Magenta, Celeste, Porsche, I file into line behind Aden, who looks dashing with his red hair slicked back and a suit the same color of my dress on.

"Ready?" He says to me, trying to make small talk.

"How can you be so calm?" I ask him, wondering why he isn't trembling like most of these tributes. But oddly enough, I'm not trembling either.

"It's just an interview, just answer the questions and you'll be fine," Aden says, flashing me a trademark toothy smile. There's something attractive in the way he glances at me, looking at me move in my tight dress. But he's married, the kid is married, he's got kids and this is no time to be developing boy crushes. But Khalyssa did, she carried her crush with her until the final stage of the game, and then she killed him.

Kevlar Kollins had been his name, her district partner. He was cute, built, and ready to win. The pair fought off careers and muttations, making it all the way to the final three. They kissed a lot, formed some sort of onscreen relationship that the capitol ate up and adored. Khalyssa became a hit, and when Kevlar killed the boy from One, sealing them as the final two, he didn't even have a moment to think before Khalyssa buried a knife in his throat.

Could I do that to Aden?

No.

Is there any other way to win?

I don't know, I have my alliance with me, so I'll be fine. Thoughts of Aden and Khalyssa still burn in my mind as the lights flash and Avery Reid steps out on stage. The interviews have begun.

Avery Reid- District One

The fixtures dip and the floodlights bathe me in a circle of light. The spotlight is on me, and although I've decided to put a shirt on for this occasion, the citizens of the capitol are roaring with shouts of excitement. It feels fantastic to be the first one on stage, and I give my platinum blonde hair a swoosh and smile at a woman in the front row, causing the already deafening screams to become an earsplitting cacophony.

I fix my purple eyes on the man of the hour, Caesar Flickerman, and shoot him a smile as well. He pretends to faint, and plays up my gig. I'm going to use my sheer beauty to get me through these games. Before I sit down, I lift up my dress shirt to expose my rock solid abs, earning the admiration of every spectator in the crowd. Before I can even sit down, this place is on its feet and I can see the dazzling lights swimming in the eyes of every single capitolite.

"Ladies and Gentleman Avery Reid of District One!" Caesar booms, followed by an increase in the uproar. It's so loud in here I can barely think, but I know all these little acts will heap on the sponsors. Of which I already have tons.

With a downward motion of his hand, Caesar quiets the crowd and everyone focuses their attention on him and I. He offers me a seat on the red velvet chair left out for me and he takes his seat in his own. An award winning smile on his face, I match his with mine and the crowd goes absolutely silent as the host launches into the first question.

"So Avery," he begins, voice lathered with enthusiasm, "There was a lot of negative reception at your reaping, people were so upset that you had to go. How did that make you feel?"

"Well Caesar, before we begin, I just want to say thank you to my mother, she's always been there for me and I never stop thinking about her," I lie, completely ignoring his question and earning a series of sympathetic noises from the crowd.

"That's so sweet, so true," Caesar comments, his gaze shifting between the crowd and I, "So tell me, what will you be thinking on the day of the Games, when everything begins?"

"I'll be thinking about getting home, so I can show these off some more," I say and with that I flex my enormous muscles. Murmurs of impressed intrigue rise from the crowd, and Caesar makes his own impressed sound, laughing it off and earning a set of laughs from the crowd. Caesar flexes his own arm, and tries to match it to mine but it comes nowhere close, as a sort of comic relief. The two of us laugh loudly, earning a risible reaction from the crowd. Caesar and I really hit it off, but why wouldn't we?

"Avery, is there anyone back home that gets to look at those muscles a little closer, if you know what I mean?" Caesar questions, raising an eyebrow at the crowd, who all laugh and mix their emotions with elation and wonder.

"No Caesar I'm afraid not, but there is someone here who's captured my heart," I say dramatically, earning a succession of soft sounds and sad notes from the crowd and Caesar.

"Will we be meeting her soon?" Caesar asks, placing a hand on the edge of his chair like the world depends on my answer.

"She's coming up next," I say softly, barely above a whisper but loud enough to where the microphones pick up on it and broadcast it to everyone. The most fake emotional sounds rise from the crowd, and I know my job is done. I've wowed them, made them laugh, and given them something to root for. Hell I don't love Allure; she's just something to have fun with before I head home. Although my victory is at the expense of her life, it's not something I'm worried about at all. Allure is exactly what her name suggests; she's nothing more than my toy.

Caesar looks at me, and I can read some sort of hidden emotion in his face. It's like he understands something on a deeper level, almost as if he's sorry that I'm up here, like his passion for the games is some big time façade. I shrug it off though, and Caesar uses the moment to greet the next question.

"One more thing Avery, before you go," Caesar says softly, "Could you tell us what it feels like to know that someone you care about is going to die if you are to get home?" I didn't expect such a brazen question, is Caesar even allowed to touch that topic? I don't care though, because the question has been asked and no one is doing anything about it so I answer.

"It's the most awful feeling in the whole wide world, like your heart is being wrenched right out of your chest," I say, feigning emotions that present my love for Allure. The crowd is one, sorrow flows from them towards me but I do nothing with it. It's all a charade to ensure that I come out on top, even if Allure thinks it's all real.

"Avery Reid everybody!" Caesar says grandly, we are standing side by side and he holds my hand high. I sneak the crowd a peek at my washboard abdominals once again, and the desperate shrieks of the women can be heard as I wink at them before I head off stage, the smile melting off my face and the mechanics of plan set into motion.

Cassia Lepidus- District Two

As Nero exits the stage, I make my way up the stairs, shooting him a glare as I run my hand up the golden banister. His interview was spectacular, of course it was, what about him isn't? He takes notice of my look, giving me one of his own before I make my graceful entrance. I can't appear crazy here, not now…not yet. My approaching insanity is a weapon; I know I can use it in these games to scare the others, but for now, I need to act…ladylike.

"Ladies and Gentleman our next tribute is a shocking one…the sister of the boy we just met…Cassia Lepidus!" Caesar booms, sending an earsplitting tremor through my ears. I'm already annoyed, because this is just too loud, it's deafening. The noise throws me off, my thoughts aren't collected, how will I appear sane now? How?

I smile and wave, holding one end of my shimmering golden gown as I gracefully strut down the stage in my glittery heels. The crowd marvels at my appearance, soaking me up with various oohs and awes. Reaching Caesar, I extend my hand as he offers to plant a warm kiss on it, and the look I give the crowd with my narrowed eyes shows allure and mystery. I want them to think I'm just your normal District Two girl, far from the crazed killer I know I am on the inside. Slowly dipping into insanity while being aware of it is a weird feeling. I guess it began when I knowingly volunteered for these games alongside Nero. Who would want to kill their own brother? Regardless of whether or not you're dwarfed by his shadow, no one ever kills a sibling for that. Except me of course.

"Cassia," Caesar says softly, causing the entire room to hush. "I know I asked this very same question to your brother, but I must ask it to you. What was running through your mind when you volunteered? Why did you do it if you knew he was going into the games alongside you?"

It's obviously the question of the night, as I can tell every capitolite is hanging on the edge of their seats. I mean who wouldn't be intrigued? A brother and sister entering the games together? It's unheard of, scandalous to a degree. I know they got an answer from Nero, but they want to hear it from me, and hear they will.

"He knew how desperately I wanted to go into the games," I begin, adding a girly flair to my voice. "When he stood his ground, he was shattering a dream of mine. Well I wasn't going to let that happen, brother or not he couldn't have my spotlight. So, I did what I knew was the right thing to do. I stood by what my parents and I had planned, and I volunteered just like instructed to do." I finish my answer with a sweet smile, noticeably giving Caesar the chills.

"Well, honor is definitely something to consider when volunteering," he says, not sure on how to paint a positive picture out of this. "Now tell me about District Two. How rigorous is the training program there? Did you feel pressured to enter the games?"

"Most definitely," I say, running a finger down my arm, "In Two children are pressed to train for the games from a very young age, to ensure that in case someone is reaped then we'll be fine. But, it got to the kids heads a while back and now we're just desperate to participate. It turns from a sense of preparedness to bloodlust."

This next comment intensifies the chills on Caesar's body, and he looks at me with a tense expression. He is nervous, this is his only his second year doing this after all and I bet I'm the creepiest tribute that he's encountered yet.

"Well Cassia, you're certainly an interesting one," Caesar laughs awkwardly, but the pitch works and the crowd roars with laughter. You'd think they're being held at gunpoint, the way each person laughs loudly and share expressions of complete hysteria with each other. It's like Caesar just told the world's funniest joke, which certainly didn't happen.

"One more thing Cassia, before you go, tell me this. When you enter that arena, what will you think knowing that your brother is out there, fighting for his life? How will the knowledge that only one of you can go back home affect you?"

His questions stuns me for a moment, I didn't anticipate him to be able to ask such a question. I knew when I volunteered that Nero had to die if I were to win, but did I ever think about the opposite? If Nero is set on winning, then he's factored in the possibility that I will have to die for him to go home. While I'm out there hunting for him, will he be hunting for me?

"Cassia," Caesar says, laying a tender hand on my own.

"Sorry," I breathe, "I think that Nero knows only one of us can leave this place alive, and so if it comes down to it, I'm sure he's prepared enough to kill me as I am to end him."

Everyone draws in their breath, stupefied by what I have said. It's true though, and instead of brother and sister crying and hugging each other in the arena what would be better than a little sibling rivalry? I know Nero's my brother, but I'm crazy remember? I'm fully prepared to kill my way through the arena, even if Nero gets in my way.

That's the first part of the interviews! Every tribute has had a perspective now in the capitol! Sorry this took so long, I've just been very busy! Be sure to leave those reviews, we're getting so close to the games. Two more chapters! I'm so happy we're almost there, it's unbelievable. So don't stop now, let's reach my goal of 150 reviews before the games begin! Thanks to everyone!

-AdmiralBobbery