Author's Note: My apologies for the delay in this chapter. The last month at work was incredibly busy, but as a reward for your patience, the next Chapter is coming up within the next day or 2 since I've already started it.

Friendly reminder: Keep an eye out for allies for your tributes. I've got a couple in mind, but, especially with this being my 1st SYOT, I could use some help.

And finally, I still don't own the Hunger Games. Enjoy.

Earth Full of Faults: Train Rides Part 1

Ridge Therne – District 11 Male Tribute:

"What are you holding on to?" The question took Ridge aback. He'd just been watching District 11 speed into the distance and now his mentor's unmistakable voice was beside him. Ridge blinked. Perhaps he would repeat the question or rephrase it into something less intimidating.

"The edge of my seat in case this train crashes?" he joked. He wasn't afraid, not really, but levity made him feel more at ease. Esthelrir smirked, but a couple of feet away he heard a scoff. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Marune rolling her eyes. He expected her to make some sort of sassy comment, but she continued nibbling on the apple in her hand.

"That's a start I suppose," Esthelrir said. "What about you, Marune?"

"I don't like answering questions," she dismissed him quickly. Her voice already held a tone that made shivers run down Ridge's spine. Perhaps the most dangerous tribute who would be in the arena was already in this room with him. He brushed this thought aside and tried to connect with her.

"You know we're going to have to do interviews, right?" Ridge threw back at her. That he could think about, sitting in front of an audience and making them laugh, charming them even, just so long as things didn't get too serious. It was only what happened after they entered the arena that he feared. And he still had a little longer until it came to that, a couple of days that, right now, seemed like an eternity.

"I'll give the best they've ever heard, but that'll be on my terms. I don't need to answer pointless questions from a mentor who hasn't brought home a single victor. What makes you think he's going to be of any help to you either, especially when I'll be the one who's coming back." She turned her back partially to them, her eyes fixed on the landscape rushing past them. Ridge could still see her face, cold, dismissive, bitter. Clearly life hadn't been kind to her either to make her this way, but certainly now wasn't the time to try to win her over. Maybe she was just coping in her own way with the shock of leaving home to what might be a one-way destination, or maybe she sincerely didn't want their friendship or aid.

"I've found," Esthelrir continued softly, seemingly unfazed by Marune's response "that the tributes who fight the hardest, survive the longest, have the best chance of winning, have something that keeps them grounded. It's something that they can hold to in the most difficult moments in the arena, something that reminds them why they're there, why they've gotten that far and sacrificed so much." His voice sounded like he could have spoken for much longer, but he cut off there, seeing the look on Ridge's face. Undoubtedly his expression was starting to betray his inner feelings, the fear that this was all becoming real. Finding something to cling to, something to hold on to, seemed like such an abstract concept while he was safe and sound on the train, but he knew, soon enough, this would be the one thing standing between himself and death.

"You both know I've never been in the arena. I was in the war, though, the rebellion."

"Did you get reaped for that too?" Marune commented sarcastically.

"No," Esthelrir replied simply, his voice even. This was a story he'd told for many years, to many tributes sitting in these same places, Ridge realized as he watched the man grow older before his eyes with the re-telling. "I volunteered."

"Why?" Ridge asked quickly. He'd barely even realized he'd asked.

"One summer day a group of my friends and some of their children ventured out of the mountain range. It was in the very early days of the rebellion, when we thought things would be peacefully settled between the Capitol and the Districts. I dreamed of being an ambassador to the districts after it was all over. That day changed my world, though. The rebels swooped in, killing everyone. I alone fought back and for that they let me live. I turned 18 the next day and volunteered. There wasn't a day of the war that I forgot the screams of those children, or forgot the child who stayed at home with my sister, the child who had been spared. It's little pieces of hope like that that you have to hold onto," Esthelrir put a hand firmly, supportively, on Ridge's shoulder. Ridge's fingers finally stopped fidgeting for just a moment, long enough for his mentor to look him in the eyes and question him again.

"Ridge Therne, what are you holding onto?"

"The fact that you're going to die in the arena, because I'm not going to be one of the ones who die. So I'm holding onto that. And I . . ." she paused, looming over Ridge "I always win." With that she turned her back on them one final time and exited. As soon as the door closed, Esthelrir locked eyes with Ridge, insisting one more time, the question that needed answering.

"What are you holding onto?"

"A coin," Ridge admitted. Something in his voice wanted to play his answer off, but as he held out the coin in his hands he knew this was no joking manner. The coin was warm from having played with it since it had left his sister's hands. He was certain his hands held its scent, a small remnant of home.

Esthelrir seemed to understand. He relaxed back in his chair beside Ridge and their eyes met, almost knowingly.

"A coin." He said simply, smiling.

Altair Ellion – District 5 Female Tribute

The train was moving too quickly. Altair's body protested. She knew she shouldn't feel nauseous, that the train was simply moving forward, not side to side, that, probably, in the entire history of the Hunger Games no tribute had gotten sick to her stomach on the way to the Capitol. Still it felt unnatural.

"Are you okay?" Elric asked, re-entering the room.

"Yeah," she said dismissively.

"Did you say something, dear?" Allorea questioned, putting down the water she had been sipping for the last hour.

"Nothing important," Altair mumbled. Somehow looking out the window made it seem as though they were moving faster, so she tried picking at the remains of her food, food that was richer than any she had ever tasted. It was truly a wonder that for the next week she would know exactly where her food was coming from. She would be fed, she would be cared for, until she was sent to fight for her death.

Her fingers toyed with the guitar pick, grasping it tightly in her right hand as her left index finger traced its patterns, became familiar with its secrets.

"Are there musicians in the Capitol?" she asked Allorea. She couldn't imagine a world without music. That and the makeshift family had been her entire life for the past years and she already had to live without one. How could she live without the other?

"I'm certain they'll make every effort to make us happy," Elric ventured when Allorea didn't answer, looking to Allorea for approval. She turned to look at him for a moment, returning her gaze from the window.

"Happiness is so difficult to find," she intoned absently. At that very moment the doors whooshed open and Ebba emerged.

"Have we started an arena plan yet?" she pressed. The very words made all three of the other people in the room tense up. Elric stiffened, his posture becoming even more proper, Allorea fixed her gaze out the window and Altair simply tightened her grip on the guitar pick, her one connection to what remained of her crumbling world.

"Look, I know it isn't pleasant, but the sooner you begin preparing the better the odds that one of you survives," Ebba strictly declared. Allorea made no motion, but Elric took his seat again beside Altair.

"How do we start?" he asked. Altair was grateful he had begun the difficult part. It made it easier at least not having to be the only one thinking about strategy.

"Okay," she spoke her agreement, as though the games were something that awaited her consent.

"Okay," Ebba breathed in, turning her attention, her hopes to Allorea. Their mentor made no motion from the window. "Allorea."

"Right," their mentor replied, arising as if struck with a sudden awareness of where she was. She joined them at the table, her eyes fixed on the floor as she took the seat beside Altair. The silence that ensued made Altair uncomfortable. The only sound was the rumbling of the train. After a moment, she could stand it no longer.

"Well? Where do we start? We're in this mess, so we've got to get to it sometime if either of us is coming back."

Allorea sighed, sounding like the wind surrendering at sunset through the district streets. Outside the sun was even beginning to set and Altair began to tap her foot in impatience. Beside her Elric gave her a look and put his hand on the table, as though he were trying to discourage her from being rude.

"Perhaps if we start with your strengths," Ebba suggested.

"Haven't we done this?" Allorea asked and Ebba looked as though she could have slapped her.

"I'm a survivor," Altair declared.

"Well, that's something we can work with," Allorea said, suddenly seeming to perk up. She smiled. "Can you be more specific?"

Altair pinched her lips together, reluctant to share too deeply, but then reminded herself that this was a fight for her life; nothing was off limits if it could save her.

"I've had to fight for my life, struggle without much support. I know the ebbs and flows of the awful song of life and am not afraid to face anything," she declared, steadying her hand under the table, the hand that had trembled with the cold as it struggled on the strings of a violin, the hand that had gratefully grasped coins from strangers.

"Excellent," Allorea commented, then directed her attention to Elric. "What about you . . ." she trailed off and Altair could tell she was finishing, struggling to remember her tribute's name. How many years had she been like this, Altair wondered, grateful that she was accustomed to being on her own. It seemed like she wasn't going to be getting any help from her mentor.

"I'm dedicated and good with people," Elric suggested, almost as though he was questioning himself rather than declaring.

"I guess it's just fate," Allorea mumbled and returned to her seat staring out the window. Altair banged her hand on the table in frustration.

"Allorea," Ebba summoned her again, her voice rising in frustration, but Altair could see it would do no good. Ebba turned to face Altair and her district partner.

"We've got a lot of work to do," she declared, her voice resigned, determined, despite their faults. Maybe they did have a chance after all, Altair thought for a moment as the train seemed to get a little smoother.

Mobie Calp – District 10 Male Tribute

It was all wrong, Mobie thought as he paced up and down the train that was rapidly hurtling him far away from his home. He didn't deserve this. What had he ever done to deserve being thrust into the Hunger Games.

Surely there had to be a mistake. He would wake up soon and be in his own bed. But even as he heard footsteps in the corridor outside his room he knew it wasn't a dream, or a nightmare, but a true, living hell that he was being sent to. Far away from any comfort of home he had known, far away from his loving family and security of District 10. It was so unfair, he thought, clutching his blanket tightly.

Without warning, his cabin doors whooshed open.

"Get up," Steric ordered, her voice sterner than any adult's he'd ever heard. He looked stunned for a moment. Wouldn't she let him take his time to adjust?

"Didn't you hear me? I said get up!" Steric was fully in the room now, looming over him.

"I'll be there in a couple of minutes," Mobie ventured. That always worked with his parents.

"That's not going to fly here, kid. I'm trying to save your life and by all things holy, I swear if you don't get out of this bunk right now and start talking to me I will make your next couple of weeks a living hell." She wasn't yelling, but her tone struck terror into Mobie and he dashed out of bed, following Steric.

Emerging from the darkness of his room, he was surprised to see that it was still daylight out. Could it have only been a day since they left District 10.

"Allright. You're the best shot we've got this year, so we're going to do our best, the sponsors and I to keep you alive. You know how it works with sponsors, right? You've probably watched the Games your whole particularly short life and have learned and prepared in case you were reaped, right?" Steric's sarcastic tone took Mobie aback so much that he could only shake his head in response.

"Exactly. So these next days you need to learn as much as possible because it could save your life. You've got Nina beat out since she couldn't even manage a word onstage and I don't think the arena's going to be much better."

"She should be here," Mobie finally ventured and Steric's face turned stern.

"Do you want to play fair, or do you want to come out alive, kid?" She asked, her voice cold, low and clear that there was a right answer to the question.

Mobie hesitated, his parents' voices conflicting in his head. "Don't trust Steric," his mother whispered again in the back of his mind. But who else did he have to trust. Despite her history, despite some of the district believing she had some sort of unnatural power to . . . no, he couldn't let himself think of that. Rumors were probably just that, rumors with little truth and lots of old women with too much time in their hands and too many words on their lips. Yet while he was here with this woman, something about her intensity made him want to back up, made him want to ensure that he had something in his defense.

"She should be here," he insisted, forcing his voice to sound as certain as it could.

"Fine, go get her," Steric commented, resigned. She started twirling a pen around in her hand. "She's in the cabin right next to yours. Don't be surprised if she's even less responsive than you are, though."

Mobie made his way back past his cabin and then softly knocked on the door of what he presumed was Nina's cabin. There was no answer.

"Nina?" he called her name softly.

"Go away," he heard a terrified little voice come from behind the door. He stood there staring at the closed door for a moment.

"Nina, I know this is hard. I know this is scary," he whispered, feeling his own voice shaking. "And I know it's just plain awful, but we're trapped here and if we ever want to see our families again, our home again, if we want to live, I guess we're going to have to fight." At that he lost it. Grateful that Steric wasn't there, he collapsed against the door, his body fighting the tears that were threatening to pour from his eyes.

Who was he kidding? Two kids from District 10, a twelve year old and a fourteen year old. What chance did he and Nina have? What could they do against the other 22 tributes, the mutts, the Gamemakers, everything stacked up against them, maybe even their mentor? What hope was there against such terrible fates?

"It's all wrong," he finally whispered aloud. "Just all wrong." He imagined that on the other side of the door Nina was nodding in agreement.

Jonas Tanner – District 7 Male Tribute

The train couldn't get to the Capitol soon enough, Jonas thought as he bounced the ball against the window for the hundredth time. It had only been a couple of hours since they had left District 7 yet already this journey seemed like one of the most futile exercises in which he'd ever been involved. The destination, the goal was what mattered and he saw no value whatsoever in spending time with two people who could not have been of less assistance.

The ball in his hand made another bounce against the window in a steady pattern. He'd conveniently found it placed on the table and it would certainly help to pass the time and keep him as active as he could be I this confinement. He wondered if it would be the only sound he'd hear for the rest of the train ride to the Capitol. He was in the same train car as Bailey, but she was all but catatonic, still clutching the stupid doll she'd boarded the train with. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her staring out of the window of the train.

He heard a door slide open from the other compartment and heard the sound of footfalls. He looked up to see Aeden enter the room. Where the mentor had been for the past couple hours Jonas wasn't sure, but he had been content to keep his interactions with Aeden to a minimum. After all, he hasn't brought home a single tribute in his career, why should Jonas expect that he would be of any assistance at all, in fact all evidence pointed to the contrary. Better to tough it out by himself.

Jonas smirked, almost pleased with himself as Aeden turned towards Bailey instead of to the more promising tribute. Better that he drive the twelve year old to her doom, better that he let her join her parents.

"Bailey?" Aeden's tone was timid, but firm. "You okay?" Jonas scoffed to himself, already knowing the answer, but not caring enough to interject. Bailey must have nodded because she said nothing in reply. "I know this is an impossible situation, but I promise you I will do everything I can to help you. If you need anything, if there's anything at all I can do, please tell me." The earnest in his voice almost made Jonas sick. He bounced the ball violently and it rebounded off of the wall and out of his reach. He sighed in frustration as his distraction slipped out of reach.

"How well did you know my parents?" Bailey's voice trembled as she ventured the question that had undoubtedly been on her mind since the Reapings.

"You don't actually think he pried into their life stories before he sent them to what would inevitabley be their deaths, do you?" Jonas interjected, unwilling to be privy to such sentimentality. Aeden looked at him straight in the eye for the first time since the Reapings with an unmistakable pain in his brown eyes. "Oh, you fool. You didn't sincerely get attached to such dim-witted hopeless causes, both doomed from the moment of their reapings? You undoubtedly decreased their already minimal chances by your schmaltziness." Aeden broke his gaze and returned his attention to Bailey.

"I knew them well," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I knew Sterling from school and work. My best-," he trailed off and Jonas hoped that he would let the subject go. "I was friends with a lot of the older children, so I saw him around frequently. It was difficult mentoring someone I knew so well, especially knowing he had you. I wanted to bring him back so badly."

"If that were the truth, then why were you so oblivious to his obvious faults? The loyalty you encouraged, the misplaced trust in his allies was his utter downfall. Had he been mentored appropriately by a mentor more equipped for the task he could have come home a Victor. If you had had the perception to evaluate his strengths and weaknesses and assess him accordingly he would have survived." Jonas turned his attention to Bailey.

"Would you like to know how he blundered in your mother's games?"

Bailey's eyes were filled with terror, unable to respond to Jonas, her lower lip trembling. Aeden said nothing, braced for the worst. Jonas could tell his words were reopening the wounds that Aeden felt from the deaths of the tributes that had been in his care, but he didn't care. Better to open these wounds now than when the blood was spilling in the arena. It was only then that he would truly be of use to Jonas, so he needed to whet the knife in the truth.

"Your mother chose her allies based on her feelings instead of logic and he permitted that. Sentiment doesn't yield a Victor and in that moment he condemned your mother to her demise in the arena. They haven't been the only victims of romanticism. District Seven has only produced one singular Victor and, based upon all available information, it was simply because of emotional attachment that this tribute exchanged places with the one who should have been District Seven's first victor." Bailey was looking at him blankly, her eyes filled with disbelief at his words. She didn't remember Aeden's games; of course she wouldn't have. She had barely been a baby. Jonas turned to face his mentor. "The victor of the 7th Hunger Games should have been Calliope. She was short-sighted and ludicrous, imperfections that have benefitted no one, save for you, Aeden. If Calliope had lived how many of those tributes would have survived under her tutelage?"

"It wasn't his fault!" Bailey defended Aeden, her voice high pitched and incredulous. "He tried to help them, all of them. He did his best."

"You reassure yourself with that sentiment, since it's the only way you'll be able to blindly confide in his council. And it may be a veritable truth, but his upmost efforts were inferior to what Calliope's would have been. She would have been an exceptional mentor, but your friendship was her undoing. The wounds you incurred from your fight during the bloodbath should have sealed your fate, but Calliope fought for you, ultimately exchanging her valiant life for your inferior one. She should be standing here now, not you."

The door whooshed as Euripedes entered the car, but stopped short, obviously sensing the tension in the room. For a moment, the only sound was all four of them breathing, waiting for anyone to speak.

Jonas stood his ground, his eyes studying the man who would be his mentor, he man grasping his wrist, the wrist of his prosthetic hand, his face downcast. His dark bangs hid his downcast eyes from Jonas's and for a moment the tribute wondered whether the man who had emerged in the arena, the infuriated killer, would arise and strike him or fight back in any way. Instead, the Victor stood, his bangs still in his eyes, his breath ragged, holding back the pain.

"You're right," he whispered simply, so only Jonas could hear. "She should be." And with that Aeden retreated from the room. It was only as the doors were whooshing shut that Jonas heard Aeden's sobs from the other side. Bailey clutched her doll tighter and Jonas retrieved his ball from where it had fallen.

"Who ever knew the heavens menace so?

Those that have known the earth so full of faults."