Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Just a friendly reminder to vote in the bloodbath poll on my profile if you haven't done so already.

Thank you to all of you who included ideas for the chariots on your submission forms. I'm extremely grateful that I didn't have to come up with twelve different ideas. There were only two districts where neither submitter included an idea, and hopefully you won't be able to tell which ones I came up with myself.

Chariot Rides
A Sport and an End

Helius Florum
Head Gamemaker

Helius was putting a few final touches on a mutt when President Hyde walked in.

Technically, the mutt was ready, of course. It had been for days. Technically. But, aesthetically, Helius still wasn't satisfied. He didn't just want it to look fierce. He wanted it to look terrifying. He wanted the tributes to know what they had awoken the moment it showed itself, not to have to wait until it destroyed them.

"Helius, we have a problem." The president's voice was even more tired than normal. Helius was beginning to suspect that Hyde could use a good vacation.

Of course, he knew better than to suggest it. "What's the trouble, Mr. President?"

"Did you watch the reapings?"

Helius shook his head. "Never watch 'em."

Surprise crossed the president's face. "Why?"

"First impressions are important. I don't want my first impression of the tributes to be a moment when they're shocked and frightened, still tired and dirty and surrounded by all sorts of distractions. I want to see them when the Games have their full attention. That's when I can see what they're capable of."

Hyde nodded, even though Helius knew he didn't really understand. He and the president saw the Games differently. The president was more concerned with their true purpose: to keep the districts in line. It was up to Helius to pay attention to the details, to make the pieces of the puzzle fall correctly in place, to keep the pawns moving at the right rate.

"It seems a few of them were a little eager to show us what they're capable of," Hyde continued. "Two of them attacked the Peacekeepers at the reapings. And then one killed his mentor."

That got Helius' attention. "Which one? No, no, no, let me guess. It must have been Belonessa – the others have more sense. I told Nerond that she wasn't ready, but, no, he just had to go and retire."

Hyde shook his head. "There's no point in dwelling on what-ifs now. We just have to contain the damage. I trust you to do that."

Helius nodded. "So the boy from Nine, then. Who were the others?"

"The girl from Nine, as well, though I don't think she'll give you much trouble. She attacked the Peacekeepers, but it wasn't anything thought-out; she simply lost her head. Shouldn't be too hard to get her to do it again."

"Consider it done. And the other?"

"The girl from Two. Knocked out a Peacekeeper and tried to make a break for it."

Helius giggled excitedly. "Excellent! Ooh, this'll be fun. Did you have anything specific in mind for them, Mr. President? Sooner? Later? Quick? Slow?"

Hyde shook his head. "I'm not here to micromanage you, Helius. You do your job; I'll do mine. Things work out better that way – for everyone."

"As you wish," Helius grinned and returned to his mutt.

The president was about to leave, but curiosity got the better of him. "Okay, Helius, I'll bite. What's that?"

"This," Helius chuckled, "is something the tributes had better hope they don't awaken in the darkness beneath the mountains." He rubbed his hands together, then pushed a button so that the creature appeared life-size, towering over both him and the president. "What do you think?"

Hyde studied the mutt – a dark creature shrouded in flames, with wings that nearly spanned the length of the room and a mane of pure fire. After taking a moment to recover, the president chuckled. "I think you'd better be careful where you let that loose, Helius. Remember, the idea here is to make the tributes kill each other, not to wipe them all out with a … whatever this is."

Helius nodded. "Already taken care of. The creature has a very limited portion of the arena. Most of them probably won't even find it. But I just couldn't resist." He shrank the creature down to a more workable size and went back to fine-tuning it.

The president took that as his cue to leave. Helius didn't even notice. He was much too busy. A little less fire, perhaps – and a little more darkness. The creature needed both – both the fire and the night.

Both shadow and flame.

Jade
Mentor, District One

One of the perks of being a victor – aside from being alive, of course – was the front-row seats at the opening ceremonies. As the first of the chariots appeared at the far end of the square, Jade grinned.

Abstract and Angus each wore a white, skin-tight outfit that could be seen through the rest of their costume – a clear material designed to look like crystal. From each angle, the crystal gave off a different glow, acting as a prism. But, somehow, it seemed that the red always shone the brightest. Red for blood.

Jade clapped his hands excitedly along with the audience. Abstract was stone-faced, waving but refusing to enjoy herself. Angus, on the other hand, seemed to be playing up the annoying little kid act, waving frantically and practically jumping up and down. Jade was sure he heard a few "aww"s from the audience.

They had no idea.

Vester
Mentor, District Two

Vester wished his tributes would at least smile a little. He had been smiling the entire time during his own opening ceremonies – grinning like an idiot, excited for fresh blood. He had been a fool, of course. But the crowds had loved it.

Kiona and Equinox knew better. Their expressions matched their outfits – stone. Stone miners, to be exact. Their suits were marble-white, the helmets ebony-black. Each held a pickaxe studded with rocks and gems

Finally, Equinox waved a little, to the excitement of the crowd. Encouraged, the boy raised his pickax above his head and let out an almost crazed battle cry. The crowd roared. Kiona took a hint and raised her pickax, as well, but refused to resort to shouting.

Vester nodded. Good. The contrast would attract different groups of sponsors for each of them. He could work with that.

Mayberry
Mentor, District Three

Mayberry always felt a bit uncomfortable sitting with the other mentors. It was a reminder of why she was still here, mentoring: District Three was still missing a victor of its own. She, Aron, Nerond, and Pardeck sat off to the side, not quite accepted into the crowd of victors.

At last, she spotted Tracer and Lina, standing as tall as they could in their chariot, dressed as old grandfather clocks, with their faces where the face of the clocks would be. Mayberry cocked an eyebrow, surprised. Usually, the stylists went with some newer form of technology, but there was something to be said for an appreciation of the technology of the past. Clock-like gears lined the outfit, turning in time with the chariot.

Tracer and Lina waved a little, as if trying to convince each other to be excited. Mayberry found it hard to blame them. Yes, they were here in the Capitol – which anyone should be excited about – but it wouldn't last. And, from the look of them, they knew it.

Mayberry's glance strayed to her fellow Capitol mentors. How long would they be here, the four of them, waiting for a victor? And who would be the first to leave?

Mags
Mentor, District Four

Mags reminded herself to thank her stylist – no, the tributes' stylist now – after the ceremonies were over. For the first couple of years, the tributes from Four had been dressed as fishermen. Or, worse, fish. Clarina had a better idea.

Mars and Ella were dressed in what some in the crowd might recognize as old naval officers' uniforms. Mars' was a deep blue. Ella's was a lighter, sky-blue and a vibrant sea-green. Mags smiled. Two colors. Just like the girl's eyes, which were more visible now after a haircut. Ella had seemed embarrassed by the trait when they had spoken on the train, but Mags knew what Clarina did – the crowd would remember it.

Apparently, Clarina had passed along a few tips, because Ella removed her hat – allowing them to see her face better – and waved it at the crowd. Neither of them was smiling, but maybe that was good; the uniforms gave off a more serious feel than the crowd was used to, and the tributes' expressions matched it perfectly.

Mags smiled for them. Despite all the attention on the tributes, some in the crowd were undoubtedly watching her, last year's victor. The new mentor. And she needed to look confident, proud of her tributes, because that was just one more little thing that could help them survive.

Tania
Mentor, District Five

Tania was never really sure what she was supposed to do during the ceremonies. Was she supposed to smile and be happy? Was she supposed to appear stoic and confident? What she really felt was fear – fear for her tributes now that they were finally at the Capitol. Now that at least one of them was that much closer to death.

But, for a moment, as Harakuise and Brie appeared, that fear vanished. They were each dressed in a skin-tight, black, metallic-looking suit, but that wasn't what caught Tania's attention. The crowd was leaning forward. Not a lot – just enough to be noticeable, as if drawn towards District Five's tributes.

Tania couldn't help smiling when she realized what it was: the suits were giving off a strong electromagnetic pull – just enough to give a slight tug on any metal. Watches. Bracelets. Necklaces. Pins. Anything metal that the crowd was wearing was now a magnet, drawing them closer to Harakuise and Brie, who looked thoroughly pleased by all the attention.

Tania felt a hand on her shoulder. Mags. "That's very good," the younger girl said with a smile. Tania nodded. It was good. She just hoped it would be good enough to interest the sponsors.

Aron
Mentor, District Six

Aron nearly laughed when he saw that the chariot was decorated like a racecar. He was pretty sure no one had ever decorated the actual chariot before, but, apparently, there were no rules against it. The chariot had been painted a bright, canary-yellow. Maybe Prius had told her stylist about that old yellow roadster.

Prius was dressed as the racecar driver, her outfit streaked with bright colors and covered in logos. Beside her, Pike posed as the racecar's mechanic, but without the dirt and oil stains that would usually accompany the role. Instead, his silver uniform shone, as did the wrench and screwdriver he held up proudly.

Suddenly, Prius scooped the little boy up and placed him on her shoulders. Maybe she had realized how short he looked next to her. Maybe she wanted him to be able to see the crowd. Prius giggled, trying to keep her balance. Pike beamed, waving his screwdriver wildly in the air.

Aron felt a surge of pride as he watched the pair, both grinning, united not by bloodthirst or anger, but by a moment of pure fun. Just this once.

Hazel
Mentor, District Seven

Hazel couldn't stand the opening ceremonies. The idea of dressing kids up in silly costumes on the way to their deaths and pretending it was fun – it sickened her. But Arithrim had reminded her to try her best to have a little fun. To enjoy herself. It wasn't helping.

But at least they weren't dressed as trees. When Cahra and Sterling appeared, Hazel almost smiled. Almost. They were dressed as wood sprites – green tunics covered in fake leaves, brown leggings with a wooden pattern, and even wings, long and translucent, spreading behind them. Green feathered hats and pointy shoes completed the outfits, and each held a stick with a light shining from one end – some sort of magic wand.

Sterling lost no time making use of his "magic wand," pointing the lighted end at various people in the audience, then gasping as if he had managed to change them into something. Hazel smiled a little, wondering if he played the same game with his daughter. Cahra, however, was not amused when he "zapped" her, and broke her own wand in two over her knee.

Hazel chuckled a little, imagining the stylist's face when the wand came back in two pieces. Then she remembered how easily her tributes could come back home the same way, and her smile faded.

Lander
Mentor, District Eight

The outfits weren't important. They never were. Everyone with half a brain knew that the outfits were designed to fit the district, not the tributes. Luxury for One, fishing for Four, cars for Six, regardless of what any of the tributes actually did or acted like. What mattered wasn't the outfit – it was how the tributes acted during the parade.

So he wasn't surprised to see that Nicoline and Zione wore matching multi-colored outfits – a suit and a dress – splashed with squares of brightly-colored fabric. The colors were so bright, they almost hurt Lander's eyes, but he knew these Capitol types would eat it up. With their brightly-colored hair and skin, they could hardly complain that this was too extreme.

But what really pleased Lander was the way Zione and Nicoline stood next to each other, Zione with a hand placed protectively on Nicoline's shoulders, waving to the crowd with the other hand. Already the hero. Already the protector. And Nicoline played her part perfectly, glancing up at Zione every so often with genuine admiration, terrified of what was happening, but comforted by his presence.

Perfect.

Nerond
Mentor, District Nine

Nerond was excited to see the tributes for the first time, of course, but what he had heard about them pleased him even more. At the reaping, the girl had attacked the Peacekeepers. Later, the boy, unprovoked, had stabbed their mentor with a table knife. They each had fire. That was good.

So what caught his attention wasn't the outfits themselves. Those were expected – tan outfits with wheat stalks and feathers for decorations. What caught his eye was the wheat stalk that each of them held, crafted to resemble a weapon. Husk's was a spear, Antiquity's a bow.

The looks on their faces, as well, left no doubt that, if these were actual weapons instead of wheat, they would waste no time using them. The boy gripped the weapon tightly, his anger still barely contained. The girl held hers more casually, but her glare left no doubt that she could spring into action and use it at a moment's notice.

Nerond sat back in his chair, content. This was definitely his last year as a mentor – really, this time.

Glenn
Mentor, District Ten

District Ten's costumes were always stupid. They had been stupid during his Games, when they had been dressed as black-and-white spotted cows, and they had been stupid every year since. Glenn braced himself for the worst.

Sure enough, when the chariot came into view, Libby and Wulfric were dressed as pigs. At least, Glenn assumed they were supposed to be pigs, since there was no other reason for them to be wearing pink, skin-tight outfits with curly little tails. The stylists had even decided it would be a good idea to paint pink snouts on their faces and give them fake ears.

Wulfric was barely containing a scowl, but Libby looked completely mortified. Glenn couldn't exactly blame her, either – the outfit only made it more obvious how overweight she was, how out of shape. At least it managed to show Wulfric's muscles a little, but Libby looked completely ridiculous.

Then again, he had looked completely ridiculous in his outfit, too. He remembered the crowd laughing. He remembered wearing those stupid udders and feeling his face turn red. But, eventually, it had been over. It had passed. And this would, too. They just had to get through it.

Ivy
Mentor, District Eleven

Ivy wasn't sure exactly what they were supposed to be. But, then again, she wasn't really sure what to make of her tributes in general, so maybe that was the idea.

Sher and Lordez each wore an outfit completely made of brightly colored leaves, but much of their skin had been left bare, covered in multi-colored drawings. Each wore a crown of red and orange leaves. They were barefoot, with drawings laced up their legs to resemble sandals. They were holding hands, and, in the other hand, each held a scythe.

Both were studying the crowd, the brightly colored outfits of the Capitol folk, watching their faces, waiting for the right moment. Every so often, one or the other of them would lift their scythe and give a cheer, and the crowd would holler. Then Sher and Lordez would return to their positions, simply watching. Ivy wondered if there was a pattern to when they decided to cheer.

It didn't matter, of course. The impression it gave off was far more important – the impression that they, not the crowd, were in control of the moment, of what was taking place. It was an illusion, of course, but a powerful one, and, in the end, it was a lie that might save their lives.

Pardeck
Mentor, District Twelve

Everyone hated the coal miners' outfits. Everyone except the stylists, apparently, because, since the first time they had been used, the idea hadn't changed much. Give a tribute a skimpy black outfit and a helmet with a headlamp, and – ta-da! – miner! Sometimes they decided to put black "coal dust" on the tributes' faces for good measure.

This year was no exception. Heloise and Aldo were dressed all in black, their faces and hands given a sooty look. The crowd was already ignoring them. Perfect.

They were ignoring the crowd, as well. Heloise and Aldo stood simply facing the front of the chariot, eyes forward, expressionless. No waving. No smiling. Nothing that might attract attention or give any hint that they were enjoying themselves. These stupid ceremonies were just something they had to get through – nothing more.

Pardeck leaned back in his chair, trying not to look too pleased. Get through the ceremonies. Get through training. Then the real fun would begin.

President Richmond Hyde

Florum had a good point about watching the reapings. The tributes always looked so different. So young. Children. Now they were children no more. They were their district's representatives. Warriors. Killers.

He stood and addressed the tributes. All a formality, of course. All for the audience. The tributes couldn't care less about his words about honor and sacrifice. They knew there was nothing happy about his "Happy Hunger Games!" They knew that, for most of them, the odds were not – and never would be – in their favor.

But he said it, anyway, because that was what he was expected to say. His small part in the Games. After that, it was up to Florum. It was his show. His job to make sure the audience was happy, the districts terrified, the tributes dead.

Hyde's part in the Games was over.

"We now love war and valour as things good in themselves, both a sport and an end; and though we still hold that a warrior should have more skills and knowledge than only the craft of weapons and slaying, we esteem a warrior, nonetheless, above men of other crafts."