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Ceres Milani
District Two Female, 18 Years Old
Train Rides: Pt. I

"Thank you again, Ceres."

Looking away from the window, I glance at Brutus, who's sitting across from me with a mug in his hand. He's nodding his head, waiting for me to reply, apparently. I nod my head curtly, knowing exactly what he's talking about. It's no problem, really, but he knows that.

I didn't have much of a choice, anyway.

"It's a shame that Aella couldn't volunteer," he continues, shuttering at her name. "Something came up with her mother, and well, she couldn't volunteer. So, the committee had to make a decision. And now, we have you here with us."

"I couldn't have asked for any more," I reply, keeping my voice calm. "Thank you, Brutus. I'll be sure to use this chance wisely."

"There we go!" He exclaims, standing up from the couch. "That's the fighting spirit a victor needs! Ceres Milani – victor of the Sixtieth Hunger Games! Doesn't that sound great, Kace?"

I try not to let it get to my head.

All of this talk of me being the possible victor doesn't mean much to me. Anyone can talk about winning, but whether or not they can actually win is questionable. You have to have the right form and skills in order to win, not just the right words to say. Like Kace, for example, he says he'll win, but he has nothing to prove it with.

We'll just have to wait and see to find out.

It's doubtful, but I can't judge just yet. If I learned one thing from living in District Two, it's that anything is possible.

"Don't get her hopes up," Narissa cuts in, not understanding that my hopes aren't up as it is. I realize what I'm capable of and what can I do, and I most certainly don't need Brutus' words to motivate me.

I just choose not to say any of this.

It's not my place.

"What are you talking about, Narissa?" Brutus booms again, slamming the mug down on the table. "Ceres is what District Two needs. Not the pretty-boy Kace who is probably pampering himself in the mirror right now.

"I'm right here?" Kace says from behind Brutus. Brutus makes a face, not looking back at Kace. "I can pamper you, if you want. You could use some sprucing up."

"Oh, shut it," Brutus snaps, going back to drinking from the mug. "Don't speak unless I give you permission. So, tell me, Ceres, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to represent District Two in the Hunger Games," I answer truthfully, keeping it quick and to the point. He doesn't need much more than that to be satisfied.

"And that is what you will do, yes!" He says, taking a big gulp of the liquid.

Going back to looking out the window, I stare at the landscape as we pass it by, enjoying the scenery before we're in the Capitol. Only in the outskirts of District Two is where you would see any of this; open fields, trees, fences. District Two is very modernized, with stone on every building and masonries everywhere. You never get to see any of this.

We go through a tunnel, and the scenery is cut off, going right to a smack of concrete in front of me. The tunnel is long, and I wait for it to be over, not enjoying this view as much as the other. Inside the tunnel, there's the Capitol emblem, and once I see that, I know that we're almost there.

One thing I always wanted to do was visit the Capitol. Of course, the only way I could have done was through the Hunger Games. And, here I am, about to go into the Hunger Games.

They might be unnecessarily brutal, but it's what has to be done. District Two has always pledged their allegiance and loyalty to the Capitol, and I follow through with no less than that. I respect and admire the Capitol, even if I have my qualms about it at times. They do what is best for the nation, even if some people don't understand it all times.

They just have to see past all the violence and strictness, and then they'll see what the Capitol is doing. They're just protecting the interest and welfare of the people, regardless of their District.

"Quiet, aren't you?" Kace asks, sitting across from me. "Let's chit-chat, shall we?"

"Hello, Kace," I say, not really wanting a conversation, but I might as well. Now would be the time to learn some more about him.

"Is that all you have to say? Oh, come on, Ceres! I'm sure there's more to you than a hello!"

Kace leans his arm on the side of the chair, waiting for me to continue. I just sit there, not even a smirk on my face, watching him. He raises an eyebrow and puckers his lips, making me want to roll my eyes. I remain expressionless, making sure to show that I'm not interested in his shenanigans.

"Lighten up, Ceres. You'll regret not having the time of your life while you're in the Capitol. Once we hit the arena, you can act like this. Just not now."

"Thank you for the concern," I reply, not really intending that to sound sarcastic. "I appreciate that."

Although Kace does have a point, I can't let myself act like him. He's too pompous and extroverted to do well in the Games. He'll make enemies, and at the end of the day, will be betrayed. My judgment of him isn't set in stone yet, but I sure am leaning towards one way; a non-favorable way.

He isn't the worst boy I've ever come across, but he's up there. If he's going to act like this for the rest of the Capitol, I can only imagine what the other Careers will think of him.

He'll probably even try to lead the Careers.

I'm sure Brutus will get a kick out of that.

Looking back at Kace, I see that he's looking down at the table in front of us, playing with some little board-game on it. He's moving a ball around a maze, and I scoff because he's so entertained by just this.

Is this what the competition will be like?

Is this what I signed up for?

Amelia Winters
District Twelve Female, 16 Years Old
Train Rides: Pt. II

"You know, I was about your age when I won my Games, Amelia."

Haymitch is sitting at the end of the table, a few bottles of colorful liquids scattered in front of him. I sit on the other end, and as I glance up from my plate, I can see that he's staring right at me. I nod my head, going back to playing around with my food. I should probably feel grateful right now for having food like this, but it doesn't feel right.

I feel like I shouldn't be eating this. I prefer the home-style cooking of Twelve, anyway. It was more tasteful than this; not that I don't enjoy the colors this food makes when I mush it together, but still.

"You know, we have to communicate in order for this to work. I already tried talking to Kade, and apparently," he pauses, bringing the glass cup up to his mouth. "He isn't very interested in me."

This time, I just nod my head, not bothering to look up. It's not that I don't want to communicate with him; I just have my reserves. He represents the Hunger Games, doesn't he? He's a victor. He's a murderer, too. He killed to save his own life… doesn't that make him as bad as the Capitol?

I'm not sure what I want to happen. Would I rather die or go home alive? I don't know.

"You know, you should really eat. You never know when your last meal could be," he says, and the way he keeps repeating the beginning of each sentence is just grating.

"You know," I mock, finally shooting him a look. "I don't need your help. You know, I came from District Twelve, so I know how to handle myself. You know, I don't need you."

"You know," he retorts, "You do need me. All tributes need their mentor."

"And why is that?" I ask, not buying into anything he's saying. "Why would I need you?"

"Because I can keep you alive, and isn't that what you want? Isn't that what everyone wants?"

I go silent now, not wanting to respond to him. Since, I really don't know what I want. It'd make sense for me want to come back home alive, for me to see my family again. For me to go back to the District that has raised me all of these years. Yet, at the same time, I don't want to go home. If that were the case, I'd be a murderer. People would judge me, too, and I might even turn out like Haymitch.

He's just known as a loud-mouthed drunk.

I don't want to be that.

"Amelia," he says, his voice serious this time. He's probably caught on that I don't want to deal with his nonsense. "It's either I annoy you or Kade, and that's the truth. Kade is a mess already and there's no way to get to him."

I scoff, tilting my head to the side as I stare right at him. "Oh, you've seen to have done so much already to try to help him. Communicating always works, doesn't it?"

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "He mumbles to himself and whenever I ask a question, he's miserable. Do you want to ally with that? Do you?"

His voice seems to be getting a little more agitated, and as I listen to him for once, I think about it. Allies aren't something I planned on having – not seriously, anyway. I came up with a few scenarios, but they all the same way; death. Whether me or my allies, it doesn't matter. It all ends the same way.

"Do you?" He asks again, and I stand up from the table, slamming my hands down on the table. He laughs at my gesture, throwing his head back. "There we go! Finally, some emotion from someone!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snarl, having the urge to launch myself at him. He acts as if he knows me, as if he can predict my every move.

He knows nothing about me.

And he has no right to.

"That's what you need to win, Amelia. Emotion. Passion. Anger."

"Shut up," I bark, letting the anger in me all out. I've never been able to speak to anyone like this, despite all of my pent up anger. And now, I can say whatever I want. He has no control over me.

He can't say shit to me.

"Keep going, Amelia. This is what I like to see!"

"Do you think you're helping anyone by speaking to them like this? Is this why you haven't brought home a single tribute yet, Haymitch?" I yell, and I'm glad that no one else is in the cart right now. "You just sit back and watch them get killed, and you feel nothing!"

By mentioning the dead tributes, he seems to get a little offended, and he furrows his eyebrows. "Do you think it's my fault, then? That I can't bring anyone home?"

"Yes, I do," I mumble, looking back down at the plate. I feel bad for a moment, knowing that it isn't really his fault. But, it seems like it is. "It is."

Haymitch lets out a muffled chuckle, and as I look up, he's already sitting back down. He's already drinking from the glass again, and I stand there, perplexed by what he had just done. Why is he laughing about this? This isn't funny.

Does he not understand what it means to be a mentor?

"What's so funny, Haymitch?"

"Good," he says, nodding. "Good, good. This is exactly what I wanted."

Plopping back down in my seat, I stare at him, my hands shaking with emotion. Whether it's anger or rage or something else, it doesn't matter.

"I just wanted to get something out of you. You were bland otherwise, and now that you're capable of releasing this emotion, you should use it. You can win the Games with it."

Shutting my eyes, I lean my head on the table, blocking him out completely now. So, this was just some joke to him? Getting me all riled up was just so he can prove something to me? Is this how he treats his tributes?

But, he had a point. I felt angry. I felt mad.

I felt emotion.

And maybe that can help me win.

Evan Aleces
District Five Male, 17 Years Old
Chariot Rides Prep.

"Who was the ugliest tribute you've ever had to work with?"

Waiting for a response, I look at the stylist, and she seems to be shocked at my question. I'm just curious is all; no harm in asking a question. Besides, I'm sure they're dead at this point, so.

"The ugliest tribute?" She asks, and I nod my head, and looks around the room, probably thinking of who it was. "Well, there was this one girl with a completely messed up face. One of the ugliest creatures I've ever had to touch."

"What was she like?"

"She was from Three, I believe. She had it all; lop-sided ears, frizzy hair, and oily skin. She was a mess and by the time she had her interviews, there was no hope for her. So, we just made a mockery out of her."

"That's not very nice," I comment, although I do find it funny. "But, now she's dead, right?"

"Exactly! So, it doesn't matter!"

"That's insensitive," I comment again, apparently offending her a little. "She had feelings too."

"You're the one who asked, yes? I'm just being honest."

Nodding my head, she goes back to her clipboard, drawing something I think. She's been at it for a while now, occasionally glancing back at me and taking a few notes down. I tap my finger on the metal table I'm sitting on, trying to distract myself from the utter boredom I'm suffering from.

There is literally nothing to do. I mean, sure, I have my stylist, but she's boring after a while. She's just like the rest of the people from the Capitol; well, I'm not sure what they're like, but if they're anything like her, I feel bad for them.

She's just clueless and rude.

"Who's the best looking tribute you've ever had to work with?" I ask, trying to break the silence. I just need something to do.

"Hm, that's a tough one," she replies, still working with her clipboard. "Probably Triton from Four. He was something else. Or maybe Dakota. Why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to see what way you leaned," I reply, making her scoff. "Boys, apparently."

"That's none of your business, now please, keep quiet. You're distracting me."

"Okay, okay," I say, holding my hands up in defeat. "I'll be quiet."

One thing I do enjoy about the Capitol, I'll admit, is the people. I know I was just complaining about my stylist, but really, I appreciate her as a person. She's funny and gives me some satisfaction from our conversations. Although I did love District Five, the people were just getting repetitive.

In life, you always need change.

And if going into the Hunger Games count as my change, so be it.

I'll deal with what I have.

"Okay!" She says, spinning around on her heels. She holds the clipboard in front of me, and it takes me a while to be able to see what it's supposed to be. "What do you think?"

"What is that? Why would you even think about making that?"

It's supposed to be some type of generator. It's just a hunk of metal that would be around my chest, with different buttons and lights on it. My boots would be even bulkier, with wires going from the heel to the huge thing around my chest. Around the head, there's this circular type headband, with different buttons and lights again. Honestly, what was she thinking?

"Well, it's different, Evan."

"It's ugly, Sheera."

"What do you want me to do about it?" She asks, getting impatient with me.

I roll my eyes, pressing my back against the wall. "Nothing now, you've already wasted enough time. I'll just go with that, but I don't think Limnic will be too happy with that. It'll probably weigh her down and break her."

The thought of Limnic snapping in half from the weight of the costume just makes me smirk. She's one of the skinniest people I have ever seen, which says something since we come from District Five. It's definitely not healthy.

"Okay, so the generator it is," she mumbles, going back to her little table. "Anything else you want to say, Evan? Or else I'm about to go and get ready."

"You are dismissed," I say, waving my hand. She rolls her eyes, shutting the door behind her.

Leaning my head back on the wall now, I stare at the ceiling, tracing the designs on it with my eyes. It swirls around in a circle, going right back in the wall, and then entering the ceiling again at a different place. It's like a maze of some sort, so I use my finger now to trace it, feeling even more bored than before.

Isn't this supposed to be exciting?

I'd figure the Capitol would do more to distract us from where we're going into. The Hunger Games, that's where. The place where twenty-three of us will die, leaving only one left. I've heard it all before now, but it's different once you're actually here.

I don't agree with the Games, no, and there isn't much else to it. I just don't agree with them.

That won't stop me from trying, though. I realize what's at stake here – my life, really. It seems a lot less dramatic when I say it like that, but I know what it means. If I die, I die, and if I win, I go back to District Five.

There are only two paths that I can go down.

And we all know what path would be more preferable.

I just have to win, now.

I can win, right?

Peros Nebron
District Ten Male, 13 Years Old
Chariot Rides

"You can talk to me, Peros."

Keeping quiet, I still sway my legs back and forth, still sitting on the back of the chariot. I don't look up at my stylist, not because I don't want to talk to her, I just want to sit here alone. I just like the sound of everyone talking and the sounds of the horses.

It reminds me of home. The way people talked while doing their jobs with the horses' nay in the background. From where I'm looking, I can see that my stylist has left, leaving me alone on the chariot.

The horse next to me is the one from Eleven, and I look at it and smile. Back home, I could see one of my dogs chasing after it, just playing around with it. My dogs were my favorite part of the farm, and now that I'm not with them, I miss them more than ever.

They would always be there for me.

"Let's go, Peros!" I hear Halley's voice from behind me, and I can see at the front of the chariot, her hand on the horse's head. "It's time to roll!"

Pushing myself up from the chariot, I stand up, brushing off the back of my pants. For my costume, I'm really not sure what they tried to do, but I find it funny. Randomly, they put different prints of animals that come from a barn. On some parts of me is cow skin, and another sheep fur, and another a light pink for pigs. It's a little messy when you look at it, but it reminds me of home even more.

And home is all I can think about.

The wide open spaces, the animals, the people that would always smile at me whenever I walked by. I don't miss the poverty or the run down homes, but that's what made District Ten. District Ten is home and I can't say anything bad about it.

"Come on up, Peros," Halley says, reaching out her hand. I grab it, and as she pulls me up, I smile at her outfit too. "Yeah, it's not the best, but it's better than a cowboy or a cow, right?"

"Yes," I respond, taking my place on the chariot.

In front of us is District Nine, and I haven't been able to meet them yet. I saw the girl wandering around before, just playing with the horses and keeping quiet. Before, I saw the boy getting a little angry with his stylist. I looked away, not wanting to see any of that, but it just made me wonder why.

The Capitol people are nice if you get to talk to them, even if they control the Games.

The large gate all the way in the front opens, the loud cheers and screams coming as a shock. The chariot jerks forward, and they don't waste any time, each one coming out after one another. District One goes out first, and then followed by the rest. The screams are pretty loud once the Careers make their way out, which isn't surprising.

I just wish we got a scream like that.

As we exit the large room we were just in, I brace myself for all the noise, and even that doesn't help. There's so much noise going around everywhere, and I stand there next to Halley, just watching it all. Halley seems to be more into it, with her waving and smiling and all. We make our way down the long road, and I begin to stare at what's in front of us; a large pillar-type structure. At the top is where the President will give his speech.

District One's chariot stops at one spot, followed by District Two and then Three. The chariots form a half-circle around the large structure, and as ours come to a stop, Halley is still turned around. It looks as if she's going to fall forward, right off the chariot. I worry for a moment, but I know that she can handle herself. She won't get hurt.

The President makes his way onto the pillar, and he comes to the edge of the gate, looking down at us. He waves his hand, silencing the whole crowd. Just like that, all of the noise stops, going back to complete silence.

"Welcome, tributes!" He says, getting another loud uproar from the crowd. This time, it takes a while to quiet them down, and all he did was welcome us.

The Capitol people are very outgoing.

"Tributes, we salute your courage and sacrifice," he says, but I don't really understand what he means. "And we wish you a happy Hunger Games!"

Are the Games really happy? I don't think so.

"May the odds be ever in your favor!"

With that, he leaves the pillar, going back into the building behind him. As he leaves, there's uproar from the crowd, and this time, it nearly shakes the chariot. People are screaming, whistling, and shouting. I look around at the tributes again, trying to block out all of the noise.

As I look around, I try to find someone that could be about my age. The boys from Eight, Eleven, and Twelve could possibly be my age, so maybe I'll talk to them.

Devana, my mentor, told me to talk to people. She said that they'll be friendly and want to group up with me for the Games. That way, I can have friends in the arena.

I'd hate to be alone in the arena.

I would like to have someone keep me company.

That would make me feel better.

Author's Note:

I'm back?

This is a really random update for me, but hey ho, deal with it. I'll probably get back into writing this story, so that's a good thing. Well, this chapter consisted of the Train Rides and Chariot Rides (wanted to cut back on it a little.)

So, questions, yeah?

What tributes stood out to you?

And for a personal question (I missed these.)

What would you want to dress up as for Chariot Rides? Of course, that comes with what District you'd want to be from.