A/N: Hey, it's Crystal! The support for this story so far has been phenomenal, thank you so much! Hopefully you'll all enjoy this chapter as much as the last one...

Lamia Delaney Abaddon, District 2 Female- dreams and desperation

I reach out to grab my dress (it might be one of the warmer months but out here there is always a chilly breeze), however I feel a hand on my wrist. It's his way of reminding me that he payed for my time, and now I have to give him what he wants in return. It's hardly the nicest way to make a living, but what choice do I have? Anyway, it's already happened once this morning, so I can hardly back out now. Unless... Maybe I could distract him, waste away the time remaining with light conversation.

"It's reaping day," I say to him. He stares at me as though I am stupid, like I didn't need to state the obvious.

"I know."

"I still remember when I volunteered..."

Try as I might to avoid it happening, the edges of my mouth curl up and form a small smile. "This year, it is my turn."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to volunteer. I want to be in the Hunger Games. I'm capable, and you always make it seem so... so fantastic!"

Ryker grins. "Well, if you do, you won't be going alone."

"Well, obviously I'll have a disrtict partn-"

"No, it is my turn to mentor." Great. Just what I need - guidance from the guy who buys my body.

I sigh. "But you're not going to be mentoring the girls - are you?"

He looks me in the eye when he says, "No."

"Well, who is then?"

"Enobaria." I smile as he says this. She's amazing. These games will mean that I will finally get to meet her. Well, if I volunteer fast enough, that is! He looks at the watch on his wrist. "I need to get going, it's past eight..." Past eight. The reaping is at 9am. That means that I should be off now too.

He pulls up his pants and runs his fingers through my hair. "I suppose I shall be seeing you later then."

I frown. "Yeah." He leaves and I have to dress myself before I go to the reaping. I don't have time to shower unfortunately, but I scrub my face and reapply my makeup. The square is not far from here so I should just about be there in time.

I walk quickly and I'm there before many others, most of them less eager than I am.

The woman pricks my finger and I gaze at the puddle of blood, red staining my skin. I lick it off. There. That's better.And it is. Dried up patches of blood like that can hardly seem attractive, particularly on a future victor!

I find the place I most want to be, near to the front. This is my year. My one and only chance. I'm nearly nineteen, next year is too late. No, if I want to change my life for the better then I must do this right here and right now. Well, when Aella Blush reaps a girl! This exact second and I would look stupid.

And I am not stupid. Stupidity won't win the Hunger Games. And I am going to win, I can feel it in my bones.

Aella's outfit is nice enough, but the skirt is a little too puffy and long for my taste. I look at my own dress. Yes, it certainly shows off how slim I am. Hopefully the sponsors in the Capitol will find me attractive, maybe they will try to sponsor me to keep me alive. After all, I'll probably the best equipped tribute to pay back the debt...

To pay back the debt. I sigh. It's no secret that pretty victors can be sold to clients. But it'll last for less time in the Capitol, where I would at least still be respected for my murderous ability, than it would if I remained in poverty. If I don't volunteer, I'll be selling my body forever. When I'm old and wrinkly and- I shudder. That's one of the main reasons I am volunteering.

The other is for the thrill of ending lives. Slaughtering children is fun, just ask Ryker. He says it is exciting. And I want to feel the excitement myself. Blood has always tasted sweet to me, but the blood of a child who I have slain would likely be even sweeter.

I lick my lips. Boy, are these games going to be fun to play.

I think of the one lot of tesserae that I took out as our fabulous escort walks to the bowl. Maybe I will be reaped. I sure hope not, if that happens then someone will volunteer and I will never break free from the prison I have locked myself in. The cycle can't end unless I get help.

The name called is Aria Laison. Not me. I am ready. I am brave. I am strong. I can do this. I have to do this. "I volunteer!"

A girl not to far from me glares at me before turning away and crying. I suppose she expected that this year was her opportunity. But she was too slow.

I push my way through the crowd although I don't have to pass by too many other girls since I was so close already. As I do so, I wink and blow kisses. I may as well start with the reputation I am bound to get straight away. There is no point in trying to hide it - I am simply gorgeous. The wolf whistles of a group of boys in the seventeen section confirm it. They all want me but they just don't know how. Little do they realise it is simpler than they must think... just some cash in my hand and I will give them what they want.

When I reach the stage I glance at the mayor and he seems rather taken aback. I don't think he has ever bought me, but some nights I have been so intoxicated that I can never quite be sure who I have slept with. If anyone asks me for a number, I just tell them it is a lot. I spot Ryker at the back of the stage, smirking. I did as you said to...

I wink at him, I don't even question that he has bought me. Indeed, on several occasions he has. The most recent was this morning.

Aella grabs my attention suddenly. "Oh, a volunteer, how lovely! And your name, dear?"

I smile. This is my moment. I make sure to put on my most seductive voice (I use it so much it has nearly become my natural accent), and I tell her, "Lamia Delaney Abaddon." Someone in the audience coos, it's nice thinking I have a fanbase developing already. Let's just hope it extends to the wealthy gentlemen in the Capitol. I'll need their backing. So I wink at the cameras. They'll like that for sure.

My district partner is a volunteer too. He's quite wealthy-looking. He comes onstage and I wink at him. A little flirting never did anybody any harm... When he announces his name I know he is rich. Caligula Stockton. Mayor Stockton's nephew or something. Lucky sod. I would kill for wealth like that. It looks like I will be killing anyway. I can't wait.

I have to pinch myself. Yes, it's really happening. Wow. This is like... like a dream.

I am made to shake hands with Caligula and I do. I smile at him and he smiles back - a different kind of smile but a smile nonetheless.

We are led in to a room to say our goodbyes but nobody comes to me. I'm an orphan, and I hardly have a large group of friends - I don't even have one any more! I sigh, and I can hear it loud amongst the horrible silence surrounding me.

At least I will be more popular in the Capitol.

Caligula Stockton, District 2 Male- Bellicose Blue

"Good morning, Caligula."

"Good morning, Uncle. Did you sleep well?" The polite words are an unconscious response, and I rise automatically to greet my uncle as he enters the room. Even at this hour, Mayor Stockton is dressed impeccably, each thinning hair in line and his eyes keen.

"Well, thank you," he answers as he sits at the head of the table, and I follow his lead. "You're certainly dressed nicely for the Reaping." And I am. I'm wearing professional clothes that manage not to cross the line into overly-formal, and I woke even earlier than usual to carefully style my hair.

I shrug almost languidly. "I need to make the right impression if I'm to be this year's Victor. Image is everything, as you've always taught me."

The mayor laughs rather dryly. "So you're still set on volunteering this year, are you?" He begins to cut the food a servant had just slipped before him like he's entertaining a response, but I know better than to cut him off. Instead I smile blandly at him and start carving off a sliver of melon. Predictably, he dabs at his mouth a few moments later and continues. "It would be… easier not to, would it not? Aetius mentioned he'd offered you a job, surely nothing terribly exciting, but you can easily parlay that into a position of power in ten years, fewer if you play your cards right."

I nod. "Of course, Uncle. You are correct as always."

Mayor Stockton sighs, and I know that my uncle's actions are so carefully scripted that such an excess display of emotion can only be intentional. "I see that alone will not persuade you," he muses, and there is a brief, horrifying moment when my mind buzzed with all kinds of threats my uncle could make, that I would make, had our situations been reversed. "I suppose every child is due his one act of rebellion. This, then, shall be that."

There is warning laced through his words, stitching them together like spider silk. Don't challenge my mayorship, boy, he might well have added. But I don't have any plans to assume the title of mayor- not so early, anyway. Plant a few scandals and twist a few views and I'd have more power than my short-sighted uncle had ever dreamed. If I could become somehow invaluable to the Capitol, I'd be immune to all of the petty political squabbles that plagued the upper echelons of society so I wouldn't be distracted as I accumulated even more control. But my desires could only be obtained by the kind of recognition I'd get as a Victor, and so I would volunteer for the Games.

"Thank you, Uncle. I will bring pride to our District," I vow. Oh, and I will. I'll bring Two up beyond One's trinkets and Three's gadgets until they stood nearly equal to the Capitol themselves, and the people would cheer me in the streets, would thank me for lifting them free of their squalor. I think I'd like to be powerful.

"See to it that you do." With that curt remark, the contretemps at breakfast is discarded in favor of the light small talk I'd become an expert in, and I can't help but be relieved. I'm safe.

I smile at the woman as she takes a sample of my blood. Censuses are useful, to be certain, but they have a way of making the boredom of Reaping Day seem to last for some, I amended. My own Reaping Day was my first real step towards power. But I'm not so tactless as to allow myself to be distracted by my wandering thoughts, not when I could be busy charming the useless residents of Two. I strike up a conversation with the whippet-thin woman as she entered in my information, and she waves cheerfully at me in farewell.

I find my place in the closest ring around the stage, where the other eighteen-year-olds huddle in grim packs or stand alone with their arms crossed, squinting at the stage. My uncle is already seated, his suit impeccable and his shoes polished to a sheen as he watches me unblinkingly. The clock strikes twelve, and my attention is yanked away from the mayor's cold gaze as a blur of color flutters across the stage.

Aella Blush, escort of Two for nearly as long as I've been alive, totters up to the microphone. This year the fashionable color appears to be a blinding lime green, and she wears it unceasingly- a tight top with the sleeves hacked off, a skirt that froths about her like a toxic sea, and violent slashes above her eyes that vanish into her hairline. Fortunately for the tributes of Two, she is just as committed to her duties as she is to fashion.

Aella chirps polite nonsense at the gathered crowds, their excitement almost palpable. It's a long-established tradition in Two that there will always be a volunteer to take the place of the Reaped tribute. The poor take out as many tesserae as they're allowed; even if they are chosen, they won't be going into the Games. Instead of fearing for the safety of their children, the crowds eagerly await the Games. It's a form of entertainment, plus the Victors bring still more wealth to the District. I can't imagine huddling in thinly-masked terror like so many of the other Districts, not when the solution is so obvious. Train two volunteers each year, gather the wealth, repeat. Sometimes I am amazed by the stupidity of others.

And then Aella calls up the first tribute, a young girl with dark hair and a scowl, like she is simply too important to inconvenience by having to scale the stage before the inevitable volunteering. I remember hearing that some of the other Career Districts don't have a set plan for volunteering; they simply allow a free-for-all of children rushing for the stage, elbowing others out of the way, hoping to be picked for their beauty or bravery or particularly underhanded tactics. Fools, all of them.

Two's system is simple and effective. The top trainees each year are tested against each other that entire year before they volunteer, working with all trainees of the opposite gender until the perfect combination is been chosen. In the end, I had been paired with a girl named Ash, a tall, vicious girl who is perfectly willing to let me lead so long as she is still able to kill the other tributes. We make for an effective, if typical, team. We will command the Career pack and weed out the competition before slaughtering our allies and turning on each other, and Two will have yet another victory. It's formulaic, boring.

What is not boring is the voice that calls out after Aella asks for volunteers, a low, sultry tone in comparison to Ash's cutting syllables. I turn to watch a girl pick her way out of the crowd, all long hair and flashy clothes. Definitely not Ash, then, who had certainly never owned such a tight-fitting dress and towering heels in her life. The screen behind the stage shows a close-up of her face: coy smile, dark eyes, olive skin. She winks and pouts at the cameras and even risks a flirtatious glance at the mayor.

"Oh, a volunteer, how lovely!" Aella claps her hands together. "And your name, dear?"

"Lamia Delaney Abaddon," the girl purrs. Oh, I know that name. I'd heard many of the older politicians joke within earshot about visiting the ladies of the evening, and she appeared to be very popular among them. She can't have had much training in weaponry, I muse, eyeing her slim frame.

"Good luck to you, Lamia. And now for the gentlemen!" Aella buzzes over to the next Reaping Ball and pulls out a slip of paper. I barely register the name as a thin, bored-looking boy climbs halfway up the stairs before choosing to lean on them instead. Clearly he doesn't think the formality is worth his effort. Aella looks a bit distressed but obligingly calls for volunteers.

"I volunteer as tribute," I drawl, shaking hands with the Reaped boy as I pass him on the stairs. I catch Ash's eye in the crowd, and she uncharacteristically breaks eye contact, dropping her gaze to the floor and turning her head.

"And your name?" Aella asks, positioning me next to Lamia, who blew me a kiss.

"Caligula Stockton, ma'am," I answer. The courtesy makes Aella flush and titter for a few moments before encouraging the two of us to shake hands. I smile politely at Lamia, but my eyes are fixed over her shoulder at my uncle's chilling gaze. Is that a flash of fear in his eyes? Just you wait, I think. I'll teach you to be afraid.

I sit obediently in the Justice Building, the ornate room filled with plush furniture and artwork bordering on gaudy. My classmates filter in the room in groups, wishing me luck or sharing an anecdote before they flee, too exuberant that they are not the ones going into the arena to stay for long. The sister of the boy I'd volunteered for enters and envelopes me in a hug before I can even rise to greet her. "I know I was just being stupid, thinking he'd have to go into the arena, but thank you," she whispers in my ear.

"You're welcome," I reply. "Really, it was no trouble at all. Even if I hadn't, someone else would have." She nods, slowly pulling away from me, and hovers awkwardly at my side for a moment while she dabs at her eyes.

"Thank you," she tells me again, and then she leaves.

The door opens partially, a head peeking in. I'd never known Ash to be so shy before, but I suppose she must be embarrassed that she let her spot slip through her grasp. "Come in, Ash," I call, concealing a smirk as she slips in and perches on the edge of a chair. "What happened?" For several long minutes, she doesn't answer, just stares at her practical boots, and I wait obligingly. Silence makes others uncomfortable, I know that from experience. They would do whatever they could to fill that gap, often releasing information as they did. I hate sloppiness, but I have to admit it's useful.

Finally Ash cracks. "I couldn't do it," she confesses, and I look up in very real shock. She flushes, the color spreading across her sallow skin. "I just… It wasn't real before, you know? All that training we did- sure, I knew we were going to have to kill others, kill kids, but I… I can't." She looks up from her shoes, and there were tears glittering on the edges of her eyes. "I'd go crazy, I know I would, or maybe I'd just freeze and you'd have to kill me. So when that other girl volunteered, I let her. I couldn't- I can't-" She stops, swallows. "This wasn't my year. I wasn't supposed to win. You can win, though. I'm sure of it."

I have to force down my disgust, pack away my revulsion tightly into a box as she stares so pitifully, so nakedly at me. Careers are supposed to be strong, not this sniveling, teary-eyed brand of weak. It was certainly better that she'd been replaced, after all. I can only imagine my fury if it had taken her until the arena to realize she wasn't cut out for it.

"Do you hate me, Cali?" Ash asks quietly, letting her gaze slide away from my face. "I won't hold it against you if you do. I hate myself right now, too."

"You shouldn't," I reply automatically. "I don't hate you, Ash." And it's true, I don't. Hatred is a strong emotion, far too weighty to waste on someone as insignificant as her. Contempt? That's another story. "I think you're very…brave." I almost choke on the word, less at the lie than at the way her eyes brighten in hope. Sometimes I wonderwhy I'd chosen to be charming rather than cold. Most of the time, it made interactions easier, but now I'm paying the price.

She wraps me in the second hug I'd received that day, and I stroke her hair comfortingly even though all I want to do is yank fistfuls of it out. "What do you know about Lamia, Ash?" I ask gently. If she can't help me in the arena, she might as well prove useful in other ways.

Ash sniffles a bit as she pulled away, taking a breath to compose herself back into that icy Career façade before she answers. "She's a whore," she says bluntly, and I laugh. "That's not even an insult; just the truth. Something happened with her family- I never cared to find out what- and she had to sell herself for money instead of just taking tesserae like everyone else."

"Not very smart, then," I note. "Could I use that?"

Ash shrugs, grinning coolly at me as we fall back into the camaraderie we'd developed over the months of training together. "I'm sure you'll find a way. She's likely touchy about her 'employment' as well. I'm sure it wouldn't help her standing in the pack if they were to discover that their attempted leader is a prostitute with no formal training."

"You think she'll go for leader?" I can't quite hide the sneer that curls my lip up.

She rolls her eyes. "She wouldn't have volunteered if she weren't either desperate or rather certain about her chances. Plus she has no idea about the kind of protocol regarding these things. She'll try, that's for sure. You just need to assert yourself."

"Will do. See you soon, Ash." Back to her haughty composure, she leans over to shake his hand before she leaves. That was exhausting, I think, scowling at the ugly paintings on the walls. I hope this hour is over soon.

But there is apparently still time for one more visitor, as the door swings open to reveal the mayor. He stalks into the room, leaving a Peacekeeper to shut the door behind him, and sits across from me, eyeing me narrowly. "Don't disappoint me," he finally warns, after my bland smile refused to crack. "I would hate for you to bring shame to our District. We're already embarrassed enough as it is, with that tramp volunteering in place of Ash." Mayor Stockton tilts his head slightly. "If you come back, we'll move ahead on marriage negotiations with her family. She's a clever girl, even with her slight failure to do anything with her life, and she likes you well enough."

"Yes, sir," I respond. What else could I say? That Ash has about as much interest in me as I do in her, which is to say none at all? My uncle is too pragmatic to care much about such fleeting things as "love", anyway. He'd never married because it had never been politically-expedient, not because he was still holding out. And I had taken instruction from my uncle since I was five. I'd been raised to be just as detached when it came to separating my work life from my personal life. It was only a happy accident that I felt no sentiments toward my personal life.

The mayor smiles at that. "You really are something, aren't you? You were right not to go for Aetius' entry-level job after all. You would've been bored senseless." That's the closest thing to praise he'd ever given me, and I struggle to maintain a blank expression.

We sit in almost companionable silence for a while until a Peacekeeper opens the door again, almost apologetic as he informs us it's the end of the hour. My uncle shakes hands with me brusquely and leaves, leaving me to rise a bit more sedately. The Peacekeeper escorts me out the back to the train station, where Lamia is already waiting. I greet her with a smile and wave at the cameras clustered around the train as the doors finally open and I am, for the first time in my life, free.