AN: I believe there is a bit of confusion as for the parentage of Artemis Hecate Gossamer. So I will just clear it up for you –– she is NOT President Snow's granddaughter. I repeat, Artemis has no biological relations to President Snow. Artemis is the daughter of Apollo Gossamer, the Treasurer of the National Bank of Panem. President Snow's granddaughter is a girl by the name Iris Medea Snow, and she comes in a lot later.

And now I will introduce to you my second (and definitely not my last) OC, a rather useless and sometimes quite brainless young man named Petronius Artolian Lyre...

Chapter 2

Petronius awoke from a nightmare. The tall eighteen-year-old was scared of very few things –– if you do not count clowns, the dark, heights, and small spaces –– but this last dream had made all of the former things seem insignificant. He was in the Hunger Games, and he was being chased.

Then he sighed when he realized his current predicament. That nightmare may have very well been a prophecy of the future. Because Petronius was the representative for District 10 in the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games.

His father had been a lawyer in the Capitol, and a very good and manipulative one at that. His mother had been something of a goddess in the Capitol's world of fashion marketing. Not very impressive for Petronius, but once, when his mother was advertising for a preteen-age swimsuit line, she used Petronius as a young model. All of the girls at his school flocked to him like bees to honey after that. Then Petronius hit puberty and he became the weirdo whom people left alone and no one picked on because (1) his family was rich and (2) he was pretty good with a sword, especially when insulted about his facial acne.

When the rebels took over, Petronius's father had been imprisoned. His mother had gone literally insane at the loss of her riches and had been put in an asylum. Petronius, who was sixteen at the time, and his younger sister Paityn, who was four, had been separated. Paityn was sent to live with a foster family in the districts, and Petronius was enrolled into something that his rebel captors had called "juvenile hall". It wasn't a bad place, really. They got food, clothing, and shelter and had a few bits of freedom. But all of the students, who ranged in age from eight to eighteen, were never let beyond the building's electrified fence and were forced to get trackers injected into their bodies, just to prevent anyone from "getting lost".

Juvenile hall was a temporary measure, Petronius knew. After a few years of probation, the new government would release them to continue living their lives. But he also knew that it wouldn't be that simple. He was an intelligent, imaginative boy, engrossed in anything involving books or writing, and for extensive education had been in the process of enrolling to the Capitol's Academy of Creative and Literary Arts, also known as ACLA. Being thrown in juvie would seriously put a bump in his career as a writer.

These thoughts were dismissed completely when he found that he had been chosen to participate in the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games, along with twenty-three other specifically selected tributes that were to be representing the children of the districts. Exactly one thousand, seven hundred forty-four dead tributes to be avenged with twenty-three of those who had watched them die. No, Petronius corrected himself, twenty-four. Even if there was a victor emerging from the ranks of Capitol children, chances were slim of the victor's survival. The rebels would never let them live in peace, or even live at all.

That didn't mean that Petronius automatically counted himself out. He was tall and wiry, not to mention a natural swords master. And even though he was somewhat skinny, he was strong. He surmised that maybe, if he could get a hold of a sword or at least a knife and find a substantial food and water source, he'd have a chance.

But there was just another problem. He knew too many of the other tributes. He had met them, he had even been friends with most of them. His district partner, a thirteen-year-old girl named Augusta, just so happened to be his second cousin and his symbolic sister. He had once dated the female representative for District 4, whose name was Callia, not to mention the female representative for District 1, whose name was Cynthia and who was a polar opposite of Callia. His former lab partner from the eighth grade was the boy representing District 11, Cornelius. He was well acquainted with a lot of the older ones, because among the ranks of rich and powerful leaders their children tend to associate naturally, but did not know very many of the younger ones. He had heard of a few of them and even met a couple, but his memories were hazy.

"That's what you'll have to avoid," his mentor told them at the breakfast table. Petronius sat directly across from her, and waited for her to finish her sentence.

"What will we have to avoid?" he prompted, not even pausing his ravenous consumption of his pancakes.

Katniss Everdeen looked up and focused on him with her intense gray-blue eyes. "Friendships," she said with a note of steel in her voice. "They'll weaken you and make you vulnerable, and they allow the other person the hold enough to manipulate you. Alliances are dangerous things, and they can end dangerously. Choose your allies carefully."

Petronius and Augusta exchanged a glance. It was widely known that Katniss Everdeen –– the star-crossed lover of District 12, the victor of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, the girl on fire, and the Mockingjay –– had possibly lost some of her marbles. The Gamemakers had been reluctant to let her mentor anyone, due to what they called "instability" and what others called, behind her back of course, "insanity".

But this was good advice. Definitely not what they had been expecting. And yet Katniss did not finish her speech of life-saving advice. She seemed to be concentrating on something else off in the middle distance. Petronius and Augusta turned around to see what she was looking at. Seeing nothing, they both shrugged and returned to their breakfasts. This was more like what they were expecting.

After breakfast, they got dressed and rode the elevator down to the Training Center. They were the last ones to arrive, and awkwardly split up. The other tributes were already exploring the various stations.

Petronius started making his way over to the station for basic first aid, because he had a feeling that if he didn't go now, he might forget and then remember after he died of a strange lethal wound. He had almost reached the station when his instincts buzzed. He tried to duck, but he was too late and a blue foam head pelted Petronius on the side of his face. Petronius swerved around and located the source of the mysterious foam head to a group of laughing tributes about five meters away, all standing in front of a decapitated foam dummy. There were five of them in all, and the second largest but obviously the leader of the five, a monstrous boy with a number 12 on his uniform, held a giant battleaxe over his shoulder with one hand and what appeared to be a baseball bat in the other.

"Hey, Petro," the boy called, "you might want to duck."

The rest of his group burst into laughter at the mindless wit. Petronius scowled as he recognized the District 12 representative as Julius Kane, the son of the Peacekeeper General. Julius was Petronius's age, but they didn't get along well. He was ruthless and violent, not to mention good with a battleaxe. Moodily, Petronius picked up the foam head, threw it at Julius, and walked away without watching the effects of his throw. It was too bad that he did not, because he was actually pretty good with throwing projectiles and the foam head hit Julius square on the nose.

Petronius didn't see the purple-robed Gamemaker marking down something on a clipboard.

Not all of my chapters will be this short. However, a lot of them will be. And not all of them will be this uneventful. I update daily, so no worries and not too much waiting.

Be kind; review & favorite & follow please... O_O pwetty pwease?