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Constance Baudin
District One Female, 18 Years Old

This was all for him.

For Seymor, my father. To impress him, to leave him in awe. To finally be proud of his only daughter, the one who was nothing like her mother. Lloyd, my brother, always piqued his interest, always being the one that was favored. But, then I came along, shifting Seymour's attention away from Lloyd for a quick moment.

My father made it seem that he might care for me after all. But, it was short-lived; he expected a lot from me. Training was one of his demands, as was reading, writing, and cleaning. It was all about my domestic and academic endeavors, training only being a side-hobby for me. One to keep his reputation up, showing the District that he had a daughter that was preparing for the Hunger Games.

I couldn't let him down.

And I still can't.

His name is on the line. As is my brother's and mother's. It all depends on me now, and as I situate myself as one of the remaining six tributes, I see it more clearly now. The Games were never about winning money or the fame, it was for my father. It was for the Capitol. Growing up, I was taught that my superiors were the Capitol. That they had full authority over my life, that everything they did should reflect off of me.

I'm only in this for the Capitol.

Indirectly, it would be for my father. He wanted the reputation, but the Capitol wants the power. They want to show the other Districts that people like me exist; a patriotic volunteer from a Career District. A District with a plethora of money, with the main export being luxury goods.

That's what I was told, anyway. It just all makes sense now.

In a way, I'm doing a favor for the Capitol. Just like Seymour said, me volunteering was requisite. Entering the Games would mean that I would do my District and Panem great pride by upholding the true meaning of the Hunger Games. It would assert the Capitol's authority, only weakening the other Districts in return.

The twelve Districts are subservient to the Capitol, anyway. They always have been. The Dark Days and all of that rebellious nonsense just put a plight on the nation. But, as I would have expected, the Capitol overcame these rebels. They were put down, asserting the Capitol's power once again. It just shows that no one should ever dare cross the Capitol, and if someone does, then they deserve any punishment they receive.

They should know their place.

I sure do.

"Six," Alamar hums, catching my attention. "What do you think of that number, Con'?"

Deeming this as permission to speak, I walk up to him, my hands still clamped over one another in front of me. He cranes his chin upwards, looking down at me. He nods his head, and so I give him an answer – the type of answer that men like him want to hear. The type of answers I had been accustomed to back in District One.

"Numbers are significant," I say, looking down at the ground. If anyone should know that numbers don't mean strength, it should be Alamar. It all depends on the quality of these tributes, how clever and how strong they are. Just because there six, it proves nothing. But, I won't tell him that. He doesn't want to hear my insight. "It's who is defined by those numbers that matters."

"What do you think of those people, then?" He inquires, catching me off guard a little. No, I could never tell him what I truly think. That the girl from Nine, Damaris, should be dead, as should be the girl from Seven, Katcia. That killing Halley had no true purpose and that I think Ceres and Audric are the real competition.

He wants to hear what will give him satisfaction.

And I can do that.

"They are better dead," I answer, looking up at him slowly. "Besides you, Alamar. You deserve to win."

"That's what I like to hear!" Alamar booms, laughing. "I do deserve to win, don't I?"

And I don't. I never really did deserve to win.

Turning around, Alamar goes back to the tree, playing with one of the branches. He snaps the tip of it off, tossing it onto the ground. He laughs again, but doesn't say anything else after. He's just laughing at his own thoughts, the idea of their only being six of us left.

Only five more tributes until he can be titled victor.

Until he can receive the victory he deserves.

"What would you do if you were to win, Con'?" He asks, but I don't have an answer. I don't plan on winning – I never have. Winning would give the Capitol satisfaction, but if Alamar were to win, it would give the more leverage. He's the type of victor that the rest should be like.

A life like mine is meaningless. But, his has purpose.

"I would be a victor," I state, my words feeling funny as they come out of my mouth. The word victor never crossed my mind, only the idea of volunteering. Those are two different aspects. "However, we all know that you are going to win, Alamar."

"This is why I keep you around, Con'!" He booms again, his time gradually getting louder as he shouts his words. "You're not as useless as they all made you seem."

I nod my head.

I nod my head as I remember what everyone used to tell me. That I as a person was useless, never supplementing the family with anything. I was always on the side lines, training to volunteer and working on my studies. There was never a future for me, only one of domesticity and restrictions. That's what I was always told.

That I was useless.

That nothing good would ever come of me.

And I don't disagree. Volunteering was never for any material gain or to become a martyr, it was for the Capitol. It was for my father. If I have to die for them, then so be it. This was all for them, anyway.

It's always been.

Nothing has ever been for me.

It's always about everyone else.

Katcia Elspeth
District Seven Female, 17 Years Old

"Who do you think it was?"

Damaris lifts up her head from leaning on her arm, her skin discolored; from what – the nerves, the fear – I don't know. Ever since we lost Halley, she hasn't been the same. Silas set it off, but once she saw Halley die, she lost it. I don't blame her, either, but what's hurt me the most is that I'm not acting like that. I didn't have an emotional outburst, not because I didn't care, but because I knew it was coming.

I couldn't let myself feel distraught from her death. It was inevitable – it always was.

"A Career," I state, and as the words leave my mouth, I realize that besides Damaris and me, all of the tributes left are Careers. Constance, Audric, Ceres, and Alamar, but one of them just died, but I don't know who. If I had to pick someone to die, it would be any one of them. They're all strong, all the ones who are out to kill the two of us.

But, it'd be better if Constance or Alamar were to die. Alamar was the one who killed Halley, his spear piercing right through her stomach. Constance tried to get Damaris, but I couldn't let her… I had to protect Damaris. I let Silas die, just like Halley. I watched the two of them die, and that couldn't happen to Damaris.

I'll do whatever I can to keep her alive.

Until the time comes, that is. Then one of us will have to die.

"I hope," she says, her voice quavering. "I hope it's Alamar…"

"As do I," I say, cutting her off. I don't need her to go into another emotional state, where she can barely speak between heaving. That happened last night, where I woke up to the sound of her whimpering. I tried to console her, but nothing worked, and I didn't really expect it to. She lost two allies, the two of them being people she was really close to. I'm not saying I was never close to them, but I distanced myself enough. I knew that they would have to die, so I prepared myself for that.

I just wished Damaris had done the same.

"Katcia?" She asks, and although I make eye-contact with her, I don't want to. I don't want to look her in the eyes if she's tearing up or getting upset. I can't bear that, since it makes me feel guilty, like I did something wrong. That I didn't do enough to protect my allies, letting them kill without any regard. "What will happen to us?"

And my heart sinks.

I shake my head for a moment, not knowing how to respond to that. Really, I haven't answered that question yet myself. What will happen to us if it came down to only the two of us? Would Damaris kill me? Would I kill Damaris? I don't know – I really don't.

And I don't want to figure out if any of those situations would come to be. I hate to say it, but it'd be better for the both of us if someone were to kill us off. It'd save us the pain of killing another ally… No, I can't think of this. I can't think of thoughts like this yet, it's not time. It's not time to question the friendship Damaris and I have.

I shrug, that being the only answer I have for her. But, I come up with something, not wanting to hurt her feelings anymore. It might not be helpful or be what she wants to hear, but it's all I have in me. "We'll find out then."

"I don't want to," she mumbles, her voice shaking again. She goes back to leaning her head forward onto her arms, her hair falling down. The image of her sitting there, sulking in her own sadness sickens me. It makes me hate the Games more, hating what they do to people. Looking at her makes me question my own state of being, though.

Why didn't I feel this way after killing Evan? I did kill him, after all.

And why don't I feel this way after losing Silas and Halley?

For both of these questions, I don't know. It's never occurred to me that maybe I deluded myself into thinking that I liked my allies more than I really did, but I don't believe that. They were my friends; the types of friends that I wish I had back in District Seven. Even though Silas was from Seven, I never saw him around, and in reality, I would have never befriended him if it weren't for the Games. They all were my friends, and even though two of them are dead, they still are.

I don't think I'll ever forget them. Their faces, their smiles, their laughter. The way they reacted to one another, each with different quirks and hobbies. The reminiscing puts a smile on my face, but when I look back at Damaris, that smiles fades. She's still a wreck, one that I can't fix.

I can't kill someone to help her anymore.

I can't smile for her to be happy. I can't joke to make her smile. I can't do anything.

Would victory even make her happy? Frankly, I don't think so. She'd be too emotional, being the type of victor that would even might kill herself. But, none of this excuses me to let her die. I still have to keep her by my side, to protect her at any cost. She might have no will to live, but that won't stop me. I am her ally.

And I always will be.

"I just want this to all be over," Damaris mumbles, her voice having a certain sadness to it. One that puts a pit in my stomach, making me want to tear up on my own. I've never seen her like this before, not with this emotion in her. She was always the weak one, but now I can see more of what she's like. She needs me, doesn't she?

She needs me to be her rock.

For me to tell her that it'll be okay. That she'll make it out of here alive. That she can win.

But, what about me?

Will I make it out alive? Will I win?

Would I put my own life in front of Damaris if it came down to it?

I just don't know.

Alamar Seward
District Four Male, 18 Years Old

I still remember Triton's words.

He told me to ask myself if my allies are really worth it. That, if it came down to it, would I be able to kill them? Of course I would. None of them ever meant much to me, not even Constance. But, when I had my chance, I let it slip away from me. I let Audric and Ceres get away, and even when we tried to scour the arena for them, we came across those girls.

One of which I killed.

But, it wasn't Audric or Ceres. That kill meant nothing to me.

Being alone with Constance for the past day or so has just made me realize that much more about my attitude towards my allies – if I were to even call them that. They were just there for my protection, to do the dirty work if I ever didn't want to. They were never going to become a friend of mine, or someone I trusted. That was never the plan, which is half of what I learned on my own and the other half being what Triton told me.

He's a victor.

He knows how the Games work. I'm still learning.

But, if I don't care about my allies, why is Constance still here? I feel no affection or connection to her, so why haven't I killed her yet? She's proved herself useless now, anyway, with the girl from District Nine. She let the girl get away, nearly being killed by the girl from Seven. Perhaps if Constance were to have killed the girl from Nine, I would feel some form of respect for her. A feeling that might let me think about letting her survive that much longer. But, I have nothing to cling onto.

Constance has served her purpose, and now that there are only six tributes left, her time is up. I'm sure she won't have a problem with it, anyway; she was always one to follow along with I say. To comply with my demands, to agree with what I say. If anything, that's what I'll miss – her company that I derive some form of satisfaction from.

But, I can't let that happen. As I sit back and watch her stand there looking out into the distance, I see how it simple it could be. A spear to the back, a knife to the head. She could be dead in seconds, bringing that number down to five. I won't kill her like that, though. She deserves a more… a more respectable death than that.

A real fight is what she'll get.

There's a certain eagerness already in my mind, making my hands twitch as I grip the machete next to me. Getting it over with would make the Games go quicker, but there's nothing else to do. Even if I draw this out, it will make for a good show, only attracting more sponsors for me. I could always use more of those, and if the only way I'll get those is by killing little Constance over there, then I'll do it.

I'll do anything to help myself out here.

"Only six of us left, Constance," I say, remembering our past conversation. If that wasn't a hint to what I am about to, then I don't know what would be. It's not my fault she's that stupid. "And you know what that means."

Constance remains quiet, her body still motionless. She stares out in the distance, her hands not going for the sword in her belt. From the way she's acting, it doesn't even seem like she heard what I had to say. It just makes me more eager to kill her already, to slip my machete right through her back. For some reason, I can't do that. I want to do more than that.

Walking up from behind her, I go cautiously, expecting her to turn around. When she doesn't even flinch, though, I know she isn't all there. I always knew something was off with her, but if this were me, I would have spun around, my knife sinking into the attacker's stomach. Why isn't she doing anything? Her just standing seems to make me angrier, the eagerness turning into something more volatile.

Something that wants to fight, not just sit around.

"I cannot fight you," she finally says, her body remaining motionless. "If you want to, you can fight me. But, I cannot fight you, Alamar."

Impulsively, I thrust my arms out forward, sending her flying onto the ground. She lands on her feet before she can fall down, spinning around swiftly. There's no sign of emotion on her face, her eyes looking completely empty. Her features are all inexpressive, and as I stick out my machete in front of me, she doesn't move.

"I cannot fight you," she says again, but I don't want to hear that shit. She can fight me, but she just doesn't want to. "I cannot fight you, Alamar."

I walk right up to her, and as I approach her, my weight topples over her. Constance stumbles backwards, slipping onto the mushy grass. She falls down to the ground, still not reaching for her weapon. Why isn't she doing anything? Leaning over, I look right into her eyes, the anger taking over my composure. I just want to fight her… this is an embarrassment. The Capitol is probably laughing at her right now and mocking my attempts to fight her.

"Fight me!" I shout, the sound of my voice rattling in my throat. "Come on, Constance!"

Just as she shakes her head, I can't help myself but pounce on top of her. Dropping the machete to the side, I wrap my hands around her throat, the blood boiling inside of me. She doesn't squirm under my grasp, just staring back into my eyes. Keeping my hands around her throat, I begin to tighten the grasp, seeing her skin blanch. Shoving her head back into the ground, the water seeps up, soaking the back of her head.

She still doesn't make any sound. She makes no movements, either.

And it's just getting me mad.

Why isn't she fighting back? Is this how they're taught back in District One?

"Fight me, Constance," I mumble, her eyes looking hollow with no emotion in them. I press down on her throat more, hearing muffled choking sounds coming out of her mouth, but that doesn't stop me. The anger pulses through my hands, my fingers shaking to grasp tighter around her throat. "Why won't you just fight me?!"

And before I know it, there's a cannon in the air. Shooting my head upwards, my first thought is that I did not just kill Constance. But, when I look back down, I see her mouth hanging open and her eyelids shutting slowly. I scoff at the sight of her strangled body, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at her.

She had it coming.

If you don't fight back... Then you're better off dead. She's better off dead. She didn't want to fight, so she got killed. In the Hunger Games, it's either you fight or let someone kill you.

Apparently, Constance didn't want to fight. And now, I move on. There are still four other tributes for me to deal with. Four more tributes until the victor that their whole District is waiting for is crowned.

The victor that fought to go back home.

The victor that will not disappoint.

The victor that… that will soon be me.

I haven't fought just to die. I came to win.

No matter what it takes, I will win.

District One, Constance Baudin – Placed 6th

Author's Note:

Constance Baudin: Constance was unique. She had a personality I had never seen a District One female before, and I'll admit, she was harder to write than some think. She had such a distinct voice and had a specific way to interact with the other tributes. But, after writing her, I started to enjoy it. Even if she started to become a caricature – which was intentional, she was hilarious – she was still one of the tributes in this story I really liked. But, Alamar thought she was just getting in the way at this point and didn't have much of a purpose anymore, and really, she didn't. Constance was definitely a stand out tribute of this story, but it was time for her to go.

Well, that's it for three POV chapters. From now on, any chapters that take place in the Games will be only two POVs, but they'll be somewhat longer to make up for it. That's about it, really. The results of the poll will be put up in a later chapter, since I don't want to reveal what everyone chose just yet. The poll's still open, though, so keep on voting.

So, what tributes stood out?

Now, it's the Final Five! Is it what you expected? Are there any tributes you didn't expect to be in it?

And that personal question. I'll stop asking the questions regarding the arena, now moving onto broader ones about real-life stuff, okay.

From all of the Hunger Games books, who was your favorite character? Only one.