Speak Not The Dead

by CragmiteBlaster

Born to greedy Capitol parents kicked out of the grand city and raised to be a medium in the biggest con throughout District 9 history, Lisbeth Trismegistus enters the 126th Hunger Games to put an end to it. For her, it's not just about survival, it's about finding out who she really is. [Victor Exchange 2023]

2. Phase II: The Contender

.

PHASE II: THE CONTENDER

"A million to one is still better than zero."

---

We're hurried out of the chariots and into the elevator before much can be said. What is said, by Blossom, Periwinkle and Epona, is that we did great. The best that District 9 has done in years.

Good enough that we'll get some sponsors. Well, so long as we don't get our throats slit within the first few minutes.

Time will tell if we can even manage that. Just the other year a boy scored an 11 and died in just as many seconds.

District 2, at least based on what I've seen on TV, likes to pretend that boy never existed.

We step out into a classy apartment that puts the tribute train to shame right away. Spacious, glamorous, not a single stain and it's all for us. If this is how good the man area looks, just imagine how lovely the beds must be.

Apparently it's the exact same for every floor, though Blossom claims our TV is the widest by a grand total of half an inch.

"Dinner and then straight to bed," Blossom says. "Training begins tomorrow and it's exhausting. You'll want to be prepared for it."

"Swinging swords takes that much energy?" Falcon asks.

"Yes, it does," Blossom says. "But dealing with the other tributes? That takes even more."

We dine for an hour, during which I request more of the glorious stew from the train. It's laid out in front of me barely a minute after having asked for it.

Damn, it's so good.

I notice that everyone seems to be sticking to what I saw them eat back on the train. Epona, only just joining us, seems to favour sugary foods above all else.

Now that I know of Blossom's upbringing in a cult, suddenly her liking for foods that are cold and raw makes a lot of sense. She must associate fire with some pretty awful memories. Bad enough that it turned her away from hot food.

"Sweet dreams," Periwinkle tells us once we're finished. "Now, if you need anything at all during the night, don't even worry about it. Just call for an avox and they'll take care of everything."

"Can we ask them to kill other tributes?" Falcon asks, curious. "Because I feel like it'd be even easier to save Lisbeth if we could knock out District 2 tonight."

"Correction, almost everything," Periwinkle says, amused. "I'm afraid there are some limits. Fair play, you understand."

That seems to be that. Blossom directs us to our rooms - mine towards the left and Falcon's off to the side - before she sleepily retires to her own bedroom. Epona, tired also yet still perky as she has been all day, follows her inside and gently shuts the door.

Blossom did seem a bit flushed at the thought of Epona before I met her. I suppose romance isn't too much of a surprise. From tribute and prep team worker to victor and stylist.

Certainly, it's a better love story than whatever it is my parents tried to have.

"Goodnight Lisbeth," Falcon says to me as he heads into his own room.

"...Goodnight," I say.

He's really going to hate me when the truth comes out. Or will he even believe me when I'm lying? Is it not also possible he might think it's a strategy of some sort?

I try not to think about it as I crawl into my bed, one so cosy that it's like sleeping on a cloud. Ah, divine…

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

I wake up and it's still dark. After half an hour of trying to get back to sleep, I know all too well that it's going to be a sleepless night.

The rain pouring outside and hitting against the glass only makes me feel worse. I never did like the rain.

There's nothing else for it. I may as well do something to occupy my time. Perhaps being within the Capitol will mean more channels to pick from on TV.

Perhaps that means more TV shows starring the family I've never met.

Soon enough I'm on the sofa and trying to flip through channels. It takes a moment to really understand how to use the remote, it's far more complicated than the one back home.

Still, such complexities aren't beyond me. Soon enough I get the sense of what to do and start looking for any of my family's shows. It doesn't take much channel hopping until I do.

This one isn't so much a found footage show as some sort of a live debate. Bang On or Bogus, that's the question being asked and the show's name. The audience watches on and the host doesn't even try to keep the peace between the two families they have on.

On the left are the Crowley's. Montgomery is there and so are three of his sons. Their names displayed on their podiums introduce them as Phoebus, Fabius and Tychon.

On the right are the Weisz's, my Mother's side of the family. Four members stand there; a woman who I presume is my Grandma, Prescilla, and her two daughters Eunice and Umbra.

In every sense, the Wiesz's are the opposite of the Crowley's. The latter made their name with all sorts of occult shows, while the Weisz's made their name by being sceptics and disproving everything the Crowley's tried to prove.

There's no love lost between them when there's only hate. No wonder neither family took kindly to my parents being together.

Even now, onscreen, they're arguing viciously over some ghost of a dead tribute. The Crowley's are deadset on the idea that the spirit of one of the careers' Sock killed was seen haunting a subway in the Capitol. They provide all sorts of evidence; distorted photos, witness claims, disturbances at the alleged location of the haunting and more besides.

The Wiesz's counter everything. They do so with such ease that I have to smile - if only they'd been in District 9 to make my parents stop. The photos? Put under a filter and shown to be utterly worthless. The witness claims? They were diagnosed compulsive liars months prior. The disturbances? Just street vandals with nothing better to do.

As the Crowley's case falls apart and the Weisz's get all the more smug, something's gotta give. That ends up being the temper of Fabius. He charges across the stage and suddenly he's rolling on the ground, roughly scrapping with Eunice along the floor of the stage.

"What're you watching?"

I'm quick to flip several channels, stopping at nothing in particular. Falcon sits down beside me, looking a little troubled.

"Nothing much," I say. "Just gossip. Just trying to tire myself out so I can get back to bed."

"Yeah, same here. I've been pacing for half an hour," Falcon says. "No good."

"What's keeping you up, you seemed confident earlier," I remind him.

"I guess it's just really sinking in that we're here. The Capitol. The Games. It's all real," he paused, shaking his head. "I'm fine to die to save you, but it's a lot more than I thought it'd be."

How could he not think it was a big thing? It's his life, the lives of all of the tributes - it doesn't get much bigger than that!

He clearly wants something. He's hesitating, wringing his palms together, scratching at his elbow a bit. He's delaying whatever's on his mind.

I'm not keen to speed him up. I thought I was done with people projecting on me and asking me for stuff!

"I know we're far from Village. I know we're not really in the right place or anything. I, uh, I know you didn't get to bring your ceremonial robes with you or anything," he speaks slowly, no doubt to afford himself a few extra seconds to think of what to say next. "...But, is there any chance that you could bring my sister back for a bit? I could use a talk with her."

I really don't want to do that.

"I… I don't know if it's the right time," I try to say. "The robes…"

"But you can at least try, right?" he insists.

"It won't work," I insist right back. "It's-"

"But you can still try?" he pleads. "I'm ready to do everything for you. Kill. Die. Everything. Can't you at least try to bring her back? Even just for a few minutes?"

I never asked him to do anything. I never told him to throw his life away for me. I certainly didn't force him to do it. Now he's making a demand of me?

I'd argue the point, but… but I need an ally. Maybe after the truth comes out he won't want anything to do with me. In fact, he might want to kill me. But before then he may at least keep the career tributes away from me during training.

I wanted little more than to never perform another 'seance' ever again, but… maybe I can indulge him just once.

Maybe I can make him think his sister wants him to move on. To focus on himself. To live.

Surely Falcon winning would be the best outcome if I don't. At least my district would get a bit more food.

"I'll try," I tell him.

"You're the best, Lisbeth," he tells me. "The absolute best. Nobody else comes close."

I hope that, if the room is bugged, the Capitol won't take him at his word and make our lives even harder in the arena. Surely me exposing the scam would get them off my back, right?

I slip into the act of a seance as easily as slipping on a glove. I've been Falcon's sister before. I know how to act just like Field without having to think about it. I make a bit of a show of the difficulty of calling a spirit when outside my robes, making it seem like I barely manage to pull it off.

I know that it's not blatantly out of character for her to be shocked that he volunteered for the same thing that got her killed.

"Falcon! So good to see you" I begin, gleeful. Carefully, glee turns to unease. "...This isn't Village. I… I know this place…"

I, as Field, give him a grim look. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Falcon, what have you done?"

"I had to," he insists. "I had to do it. Lisbeth volunteered. She's great, but she's just a medium… she's not a fighter. She wouldn't win all alone. Even if she could, I just couldn't take those odds. If she died, I'd never get to talk to you again."

A few salty tears trickle down his cheeks.

"Nobody would. Nobody would get to see any of you again. You, Mosey, Tritter, Jaxxon, Rherro… everyone. You'd all be gone forever. I couldn't just let it happen."

"...But you'll be dead."

"I'd be with you, wouldn't I? I could come back to see everyone any time there's a seance. Death isn't so bad when you know what's on the other side and that you can check in every now and then."

It's a struggle to avoid flinching. It's hard to keep myself from saying or doing something that Field would never do.

"I'd love to see you again… but I'd love to see you grow as well. I'd love to see you live! And what about Ma and Pa? They'll be all alone if you die."

"But if I can be called back, they'll never really be alone. They'll be fine."

"Are they? Last time I came to visit they didn't seem very happy."

"...Losing you hurt them…"

"It looks like it hurts every time I have to go back."

"...Maybe. But never seeing you again would hurt more."

It's like talking in a circle. He often acknowledges the points made, but remains true to what he honestly believes. Indeed, if calling back the dead really could be done, would dying be so bad? Would it be so hard to die for a cause you believe in? Perhaps not.

But it's all fake. It's a lie. I don't think he'll feel the same when I have to tell the truth.

I should've just acted like I couldn't do it.

I should've just claimed to be ready to go back to bed. I doubt he would've actively stopped me from doing so.

The seance ends much the same way it always does. Childhood memories, going tit for tat in remembering silly things the Little siblings did in years past, how Falcon's grades have been coming along.

But soon, both because I'm actually starting to feel tired again and because I really can't take much more of this, knowing that every moment I draw it out is more fuel to the fire when I tell the truth, I put an end to things.

I slump over as Field 'leaves' me, as if she were suddenly snatched away. When I 'come to' Falcon appears to have his confidence resolved.

If nothing else, he's gonna have no problem making a good first impression in training.

"Thanks Lisbeth," he says. "I needed that."

"You're welcome," I say, rising up. "Goodnight."

One thing is for sure, though Falcon will be my ally for the training days… for the arena days I'm going to need some different allies.

Preferable those that, if it came to turning on each other, I'd stand half a chance against. It's a pretty small list.

"...Solar has a broken arm…" I whisper as I fall asleep.

Solar it is then.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Breakfast is as quick as it is filling. Very. Carbs and little else but carbs, more than enough to fill us up until lunch arrives. We're told that training is exhausting and we'll regret not filling up.

I just wish there was more stew. There was none to be seen.

After we're dressed into our training clothes Blossom gives us our instructions for the day.

"You'll do better if you split up and cover more ground," she says, fiddling with her hair. "Falcon, you should learn to use at least two weapons and survival skills that you don't already know."

"I know a few, but learning more makes sense," he says, nodding. "But, shouldn't I just protect Lisbeth?"

"You'll both be less obvious targets if you keep apart," Blossom insists.

"That's right," Epona adds. "Close alliances can work, but they earn plenty of adversaries. Last year the tributes from Eleven and Twelve all grouped up, but they weren't subtle. None made it past the bloodbath."

"Be discreet," Blossom continues. "Just, um… play it like I did. Stay alone, watch carefully and see what you can learn."

Falcon remains reluctant, but doesn't fight it. Once he's headed for the elevator Blossom turns to me.

"Survival skills," she says. "Also… your best skill is your analysis on other people and being able to manipulate them. Learn about the tributes, learn what makes them tick. Build an alliance, insert yourself into one - just pay close attention."

"I will," I tell her. "I'll be watching them."

I pause on my way to the elevator.

"Uh, what will you be doing?"

"Scouting sponsors," Blossom says, shy at the thought. "Um, Epona… she knows a lot of good people. She's…"

"I do the talking that Bloss here sometimes gets overwhelmed by," Epona finishes.

"And I'll be finding leads and passing them on to these two," Periwinkle adds. "I shan't be leaving a single stone unturned!"

I join Falcon on the elevator. For a moment it's just a peaceful silence, perhaps the last I'll be getting for all too long.

"Don't worry, I won't be too far away," he tells me. "I figure being nearby isn't the same as always being together."

"...Right," I say.

So much for peace.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

When we get down to training almost everybody is already there. Only Weed from District 7 and the pair from District 11 are absent.

We take out places within the near-complete semicircle of tributes, standing upon two 9's on the ground. It's the perfect chance to get a look at the rest of the tributes.

The careers, of course, are already whispering amongst themselves and shaking hands. None smile wider or have more glee in their eyes than Sun and Macey. Seafoam isn't with them, instead standing just a little off to the side with his arms folded, eyes closed and a grin across his pale face.

Several outliers catch my attention. Theory is looking between Cookie from 3 and the pair from 12, eyes gleaming with thought. Stetson and Settler stand closer together than the other district partners, as if daring anyone to try something. Solar lightly holds her broken arm with her working arm and, upon catching Pleat looking at her, gives her a cheeky smirk. The pair from 6 seem to be avoiding looking at anyone, if anything. No doubt what the tributes from their district last year did has cast a shadow of sorts over them.

I'm not the only one who watches the others. I can see Rotor from 3 watching Falcon and myself. He doesn't look away when he realises I'm watching him. He returns my gaze and gives a brief nod. I return the nod.

That's when the elevator opens and the tributes from 11 arrive. Already they're arguing and practically spitting at each other. The peacekeepers on duty around the training centre watch them closely, but make no move to intervene just yet.

"Your Father's gonna be crying like everyone he's kept under his boot for years!" Dandelion sneers. "Your rich Daddy can't help you now!"

"Actually, he can. I'll have plenty of sponsor support," Cropper sneers right back. "You'll be lucky to get any crumbs, street rat."

"You'll be lucky if I don't strangle you before then," Dandelion retorts.

"Do that and the entire district will hate you," Cropper says.

"You think I give a shit?" Dandelion says.

They take their places, still sneering at each other. They only stop when the elevator opens once more as Weed finally arrives, slowly making his way over to his place in a complete daze.

In fact, he's so slow and out of it that one of the peacekeepers moves forth to lead him over to where he's supposed to stand.

"We've searched him three times," the peacekeeper mutters to themselves. "Where does he keep getting the drugs from? Surely not his mentor…"

With everyone here and the clock striking nine, it's time for training to begin. The Head Trainer, a mountain of muscle known simply as Pan, moves forth to address us.

Their every word is so scripted, so detached. Just how many times have they said these exact same words before?

"Memento Mori, 'remember, you must die'. All but one of you will be dead within two or three weeks. You can't do a thing about that. What you can do is make sure you're the only one who stays alive," Pan says, dispassionate.

They pause, letting their words sink in.

"You're free to learn whatever you would like. The choice is yours. Weapons, medical skills, survival skills like edible plants…"

Rupee snorts at the last one, as if it were beneath her. So foolish.

"There will be four compulsory exercises. You will do them when asked. Other than that, your time is yours to spend as you may. Just remember that there is to be no fighting with each other before the Games begin. I'd advise you not to test the patience of our staff on that rule," Pan warns. "There is nothing more to say. Training starts now. Do as you will."

He raises a hand, giving it a swish. From somewhere on the raised balcony where the gamemakers watch us an avox strikes a gong.

As the gong fades away everyone begins to disperse. The careers flock towards the weapons, as expected, while everyone else takes a moment to decide before they head to any number of wildly different training stations.

"So, what's the plan?" Falcon asks.

"Blossom told you to train with weapons," I remind him.

"Yeah, but I'd rather stick close to you. We don't need to listen to her."

"...But we should. I think we'd learn more if we spread out."

"But I can't protect you if I'm training somewhere else."

It's suffocating, having him move in constant lockstep with me. I need time to train by myself. I need time to think by myself. I need an idea for how I'll get that time.

…Luckily, Blossom already planted the seeds I'll need.

"Blossom told us that we'll be targeted if we're an obvious alliance. If you stand by me all the time, you might get both of us killed," I put on a meek look, letting my eyes widen just enough to appear fretful. "You could fight one career, maybe, but can you fight all of them if they decide we're their biggest threat?"

It's obvious what the answer is, it's right there on Falcon's face. He can't, and he knows it no matter how much he doesn't want to admit it.

"...Alright, fine. I'll train alone," he relents. "But I'll be watching just in case the careers or that girl from Eleven try anything."

"Thank you."

Falcon heads off, moving to the short swords after a moment of indecision. Now it's my turn to make my choice. Where will I start off my training time?

Where else but the thing my body needs the most in order to keep going? Water it is.

The water training station is divided between a table of laminated books all about sources of water in different biomes as well as a trainer who demonstrates how to use iodine. It seems fairly easy to understand. Just make sure the water isn't full of debris or notable flakes of dirt, add several drops of iodine into the water and wait, ideally, half an hour for it to purify.

I wonder how hard waiting half an hour would be if I hadn't drank in days. Would I chance drinking the water as I find it?

As I open the first of five books - all identical it seems, no doubt to accommodate multiple tributes being here at once - I see that I am no longer alone.

Rotor from 3 and the pair from 5 have joined me. Theory quickly takes one of the books, sitting himself down at the edge of the boundary of the training station to speed-read through it, clearly not interested in talking to me.

Does he find me intimidating for being older? Imagine that, me intimidating anyone…

Rotor and Solar seem a bit less antisocial. The former gives me a nod as he starts to read through one of the books, while Solar stands beside me to peer down at the one I'm already reading.

"Arm," she says, gesturing towards it. "Mind if I just save myself the embarrassment and we share your book?"

"Sure," I say. "...How'd it break?"

"It happened pretty fast. One moment it wasn't in the sling, next moment it was," she frowns, looking away. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"OK," I say.

For a time we read in silence, Solar gently nudging me with her good shoulder when she's ready for me to turn the page. It's interesting to learn about this stuff; water in deserts can be best found within cacti, in a tundra arena snow is generally safe to drink though would still be best boiled if possible, in rainforests stagnant pools should always be avoided… whatever biome you could think of, the information is all here.

There's even information, if just a scant supply, for what to do if a tribute finds themselves on the moon for the Games. A joke from the gamemakers, I expect. There's never been such an arena.

"Which of these biomes do you think they're gonna shove us into?" Solar asks me.

"Uh… I don't know," I say, shrugging.

"Well yeah, none of us really know. But if you had to guess, what would it be?" Solar persists. "Kinda thinking it might be a tundra or something."

"Uh…" I pause, thinking of what I think, of what I'd prefer. I'm coming up blank. "...It seemed like water is easiest to find in a forest so, uh, that?"

"It won't be a forest," Rotor chimes in. "They did that last year. They never, ever repeat arena themes two years in a row."

"Unless that's just what they want us to think," Solar replies.

"Hmm, could be," Rotor says, though it's clear he doesn't think it's the case at all. "I'd rather there be a ruined city or something."

"...More places to hide in one of those," I venture.

"Speaking of which, turn the page - maybe the city ruins page is next," Solar says.

It's not - it's actually swamps - but it's nice to listen to Solar and Rotor's back and forth, and chiming in whenever they ask for my opinion on something.

They… actually want to know what I think, even after the several times I've struggled to give an answer.

It's nice.

It's nicer still to be able to get a sense of what they're both like. The notebook will be getting filled in tonight with everything I'm learning.

Rotor may be a good mixture of brain and brawn, but he doesn't appear to have much confidence. He knows his Hunger Games facts, trivia and trends, but otherwise tends to lock up if the topic goes elsewhere. Fear is held at bay by silence, preventing it from having a chance to show itself.

Solar, meanwhile, is chatty. Feisty. If her injury is making her fear her death - and why wouldn't it, a broken arm pre-Games is condemning indeed - then she hides it behind words and just letting herself laugh. She often bounces on her heels or runs her working hand through her locks. Either she's determined and not a defeatist, or she's an expert at putting on a brave face.

I think it's the former.

In what doesn't feel like long at all we're all done reading up on the books. Everything in there I'm fairly sure I can commit to memory like I do everything else.

Theory leaves, having not spoken to any of us. He heads towards the edible bugs training station where Steam is kneeling down. An alliance to be? Perhaps.

"Good talk guys," Rotor says, stammering slightly. "Thanks. Later."

He shuffles off towards a trainer standing beside a rack of spears. Solar watches him go before looking me up and down.

"So, wanna train together?" she asks.

"...Together?" I repeat.

"Sure," she says, laughing without mirth. "You look like you've been bedridden for years, I've got a broken arm - it'll be a laugh."

"Not quite how I would phrase it," I tell her. "...Sure."

"Wait, really?"

"Might not be a laugh, but misery shared is halved isn't it? I'm sure the Rothschilds said that at least twelve times."

"Who?"

"Nothing. What's next?"

Solar gives it, if I'm being generous, a brief moment of thought.

"Edible plants?"

I nod, following her across the gymnasium to where that training station is. From afar, still at short swords, Falcon watches us with unblinking eyes.

I give him a quick nod. It's enough to get him to drop it and return to training.

He's good.

But not as good as the careers. Certainly not as good as Macey. From afar I see her wielding her namesake with ease, shattering the heads of six dummies in half as many seconds.

"You coming?" Solar calls.

"On my way," I tell her.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Edible plants is something alright. It's easy enough to soak up the information and take the test - easier for me than it was for Solar - and be able to confidently say I won't eat something poisonous in the arena.

But it's hard to focus when we're not the only ones here. Weed is here too and he's lived up to his name from the very start.

"Duuuuuuuude…" Weed says, his eyes pink and his smile wide and vacuous.

"I don't understand it," the trainer frets. "None of the plants contain any hallucinogens, how is he doing this?!"

"Whoa… dude… I've got four fingers…" Weed says, wiggling his fingers in front of his eyes. "One, six, four… that's four…"

"Bloodbath?" Solar whispers.

"Without a doubt. It's just logical."

Then again, there have been some strange winners in the history of the Games. Victors who the Capitol would surely wish people would forget about.

If a tribute like Snag, a boy who won over ninety years ago because of hand grenades whilst in a wheelchair, can win the Games then is it so impossible for Weed to be the last one standing?

One look at how he's counting his fingers - so far he's up to forty - and I believe, yes, it is impossible.

"I'm gonna take the rest again," Solar says. "I know I can do better than fifty four percent."

"The passing grade is eighty percent," the trainer reminds her.

She gets to work, her hand flying across the panel quickly but perhaps not carefully. I suspect a third attempt might be in the near future.

"Do you have much plant life in District Five?" I ask.

"Nope, it's pretty urban. Polluted too. I guess Nine has more nature?"

"It does. It's great, walking through a wheat field on a sunny day."

"I'd kill to experience that."

She gives me a cheeky smirk. I don't return the smirk. Far from offended by my lack of laughter she just smirks wider and turns back to the test. It's not long after that when she finishes with a score of seventy percent.

"Dammit," she curses, snapping her fingers.

"Better than you did before."

"Not good enough though. You've got the natural upper hand, your district has lots of plants. You grow up knowing this stuff from school."

"Well… you'd be surprised. I've never had a normal education."

Someone clears their throat. Axel from District 6 gives us a nod, gesturing towards the testing panel.

"Mind if I have a go?" he asks, running a hand back and forth along his bald scalp. The skin seems tender and a little sore, likely from whatever his prep team did to him.

Solar moves aside to let him have a turn. He has to stand on the very tips of his toes to reach the panel properly.

"Good luck," Solar says. "District Six is even more polluted and lifeless than Five, there's no way that you'll-"

"Done."

A perfect score. Axel smirks for the first time since he was reaped, Solar looks like her brain broke and I'm left suddenly finding Axel very interesting indeed. Clearly there's something more going on here.

"...Did you cheat?" Solar asks.

"Obviously not," Axel says.

"Mind explaining your process then?" I ask.

"I remember everything I see," Axel explains. "I've never seen these plants, but I've read books about them. My parents run the post office; sometimes packages have no owner because whoever they were for died or something. Sometimes I get to open them. Hence, books."

"So, you know everything about plants?" Solar asks.

"I think I just proved I did," Axel says. "These people might not like my baldness or my shortness, but they sure as hell won't poison me."

Axel takes his leave, heading over to look at the first aid training station. Solar keeps her eyes on him, and so do I.

"...Maybe he'd be a good ally," Solar says. "He could tell us what stuff is safe to eat."

"What if he lies? He'd have no reason to be honest with us," I point out.

"Well, we could just make him eat it first?" Solar suggests, giving me a one armed shrug.

A gong is struck, the sound carrying across the entire gymnasium.

"Your first mandatory exercise starts now," Pan's voice echoes much like the gong. "Everybody over here, it's time for the gauntlet."

Gauntlet? I know all too well he's not talking about the metallic glove. Maybe if I keep quiet I can stay at the back of the line and watch the rest go first.

First to move is the first to make a mistake.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

I stand beside Falcon at the very back of the line of tributes before the gauntlet. Unlike the interviews and private sessions, there's no exact order we have to take on the course.

All the better for me.

"How were the short swords?" I ask.

"I think I've found my main weapon, though I'll have to try scythes as well just to be sure," Falcon replies. "I saw you speaking to some tributes."

"I did."

"Why?"

"We're probably going to need more than just the two of us. Two of us against six, maybe five, careers? It's not enough. It's math, Falcon."

"So you're thinking the short guy the crowd didn't like and the girl with a broken arm?"

"They have skills that we don't have, that's the point of an alliance."

"...I guess they'd be easy enough to take out later."

"You'd think, but any tribute could surprise us."

We pause, watching as Weed - the tribute nearest to us - stares out into space with drool leaking off of his chin. If anything, he's higher than he was an hour ago.

"Almost any tribute," I rephrase.

A shrill whistle has everyone, even the career tributes, ceasing any sort of whispering. Pan moves forth, standing slightly to the side of the long tribute line.

"It's time for the gauntlet," Pan says.

The gauntlet is a series of thin platforms, all about a metre or so apart from each other and about thrice that from the ground. A few safety mats are set up below, but will they be of any real worth?

There's so many peacekeepers at the ready, all with batons they intend to strike us with.

"Your objective is simple," Pan continues. "Make it across the twenty five platforms of the gauntlet. Reach the other side. Try not to fall off."

He pauses, before smirking as any semblance of professionalism falls away.

"But if you do fall, do try and make it entertaining," he advises. "We work long hours. We need something to brighten up the day."

He snaps his fingers.

"District Seven female, begin!"

If Winnow is at all nervous about going first then she doesn't show it. She balls her hands and, without delay, practically launches herself across the gauntlet.

She makes it look so easy.

None of the trainers come close to hitting the lumberjack girl with their batons. She reaches the other side and takes a lazy bow.

"District Ten male, begin!"

Stetson charges forth down the gauntlet. Much like Winnow he lacks any signs of difficulty. Unlike her, he laughs at the trainers when they fail to hit him.

Antagonizing them to make it harder for whoever goes next? Is that his plan?

"District Twelve female, begin!"

Burnice tries her best to do so, but between having shorter legs and the trainers left feeling mad by Stetson she doesn't get further than five platforms before she falls.

She falls right between a gap in the mats, her nose hitting the ground. Blood pours out of it as she begins to cry.

The tributes from 1 and 2, the next ones closest to the front, all jeer and laugh at her. None laugh more than the boy from 2.

"What a little loser! Haw, haw, haw!" Sturm jeers, drawling out each haw.

Burnice is quickly led aside by a floor medic while the careers begin to take their turns across the gauntlet. Rupee manages it in the quickest time so far, full of grace and agility I just know I'll never be able to match.

Sun and Macey also make it across without a problem. Sun, having gone first, challenges Macey to beat his time. She tries to do exactly that, though it's so close I couldn't hope to call who actually did it faster.

"District Two male, begin!"

Sturm cheers and bolts forth… instantly tripping over, hitting the first platform and tumbling down to the mats below.

"What a little loser!" Stream from Twelve yells in a fairly good mimicry of Sturm's own voice. "Haw, haw, haw!"

Sturm swears up a storm. It's hard to see from the back of the line, but as he squirms off to the side I glimpse that his shoelaces have been tied together.

While he tries to untangle them and fruitlessly demand a do-over on the gauntlet, Steam makes his way to the other side. Slow and steady, but definitely smugly. Who else could've tied Sturm's laces together but the boy whose partner was mocked by that same brute?

The line continues to shrink as more and more tributes take their turns facing the gauntlet. Some like Clamantha, Dandelion, Rotor, Toyota and even Pleat do fine. Others, like Cookie, Theory, Cropper, Weed and Solar do poorer - basically, the young, the small, the drugged and the wounded.

Surprisingly Seafoam, the last to go before myself and Falcon, screws it up as well. He tries to beat the time Sun and Macey set, but ends up running much too fast for himself to control.

He should've known better.

He falls off about halfway, tumbling right into a trainer. Two minutes are wasted as he, like Sturm, demands another turn and yells that there was water on the gauntlet. As if it were not his own fault he fell.

All it takes is a brief glance for Pan to confirm there is no water and for Seafoam to get out of his sight and join the others.

"District 9 male, begin!"

"Wish me luck," Falcon says.

"You'll do fine," I say. I won't wish luck when it's not real.

Falcon crosses his fingers on both hands and pats his chest - a good luck ritual? Time would be better spent carefully considering his footsteps - before he bolts forwards.

He's nowhere as fast as the careers, Winnow or Stetson but he's still fast enough to avoid all of the batons and make it to the other side without incident. Based on the times of the fifteen who made it to the other side, he's at least in the top eight.

Finally it's my turn. No need to rush it or set a record. I just need to get to the other side. Pan never said I needed to take it at a run.

Careful footsteps, that's what will get me across.

"District Nine female, begin!"

No sense delaying the inevitable. Such futility never works.

I can do this, just one foot in front of the other. Just have to stay at the middle of the platforms away from the worst of the baton's range.

I take a long step forth to the first platform. Almost instantly everything turns the wrong way as I overstretch, slip and tumble down to the mats below.

The mats spare me from any injury but they don't spare me from the laughter of the careers, the Tens and Dandelion.

"What a moron!" Macey sneers. "Is she even gonna make it to the arena? Her private training is gonna give her a heart attack!"

I'm content to just ignore her, but Falcon has no such intent. He gives her a firm shove, staring her down. His bravery will be his undoing, perhaps - as Macey assumes to be the case for me - before the Games begin.

"Hey, don't talk to Lisbeth that way," he says, firm.

"Don't shove me!" Macey snaps.

Peacekeepers move in, but Falcon doesn't take the hint to stop. Why would he do something so sensible, right?

"Then don't make fun of Lisbeth, bitch!" Falcon snaps.

"You take that back, outlier!" Macey yells.

"Or what? You're gonna break my nose?" Falcon asks, smug.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Falcon and I sit at one of the tables in the cafeteria. We were the first in line and made sure to claim a table off to the side, hopefully where we wouldn't be paid much attention.

His nose has been wrapped in bandages and, though an impressive healing ointment has been applied, some blood has still stained the wraps.

"You really shouldn't give her ideas," I tell him.

"I thought the trainer said there was no fighting allowed!" Falcon complains. "I thought careers were all about obeying the Capitol. They should've punished her."

"You struck first. Legally speaking, she was defending herself," I say.

"Yeah, because a shove totally deserves a broken nose."

"Never said it was fair law, just that it's how things are. Just don't antagonise her again."

He grumbles, picking away at his food while I try to do the same with mine. I can't bear things that have no flavour at all, so I'm glad the cafeteria at least provided rich blackberry jam to go with the bread.

"She started it. She was insulting you."

"Insults don't count as fights it seems."

More tributes begin to sit down around the cafeteria. It's interesting to see who sits with who. Before all this I'd have expected tributes to either sit alone or with their district partners on the first day, but no, it's nothing quite so simple.

Obviously the careers - both from 1 and 2 plus Clamantha - are sitting together and being noisy, but beyond that it's less of what you'd expect.

Theory and Steam sit together, laughing over something the latter said. Steam gestures for Burnice to join them and then both boys do the same to get Cookie over with them.

If the strong and old always team up, why not the weak and young I suppose.

Rotor and Solar sit together, with Axel joining them before long. An alliance, it must be.

The Tens sit together, laughing over something or another. Neither appears as if they have a single worry in the world.

Everyone else sits alone, eating in silence. I spot Button keenly observing the careers and Winnow keeping an eye on everyone here and there, but there's not much else to note.

That is, until Seafoam - the last in line and having wasted time stacking a ridiculous amount of jam and crab cakes onto his tray - makes his way over to sit with the careers.

It's instantly clear that they don't want him with them. Macey settles for telling him to piss off, while Sun tells him outright that there's no way he's gonna be let into the pack.

"What?! Why?!" Seafoam snarls.

"You're, like, a little kid," Rupee says, paying her egg salad sandwich more attention.

"You weren't the chosen volunteer," Clamantha says.

"Your skills with the trident were mediocre back there," Sturm says.

"You didn't impress anyone at the parade, you just sneered like some kind of an edgelord," Sun adds. "It was weird."

"I just don't wanna be near you," Macey says, shrugging.

Seafoam snarls. He sneers in exactly the way he did in the parade, and it's no less unpleasant now than it was then.

"You can't do that! The pack is meant to have six tributes in it!" Seafoam growls.

"We can make it work with five, plenty of other victors have," Sun shrugs. "Garfield won with a pack of five tributes a couple years ago."

"Bodhi did it with just four," Clamantha adds.

"True, that he did," Sun agrees. "The point is, we don't need or want you, Seafoam. Go sit somewhere else."

"You'll regret it if you don't let me in!" Seafoam yells.

By now it's not just Falcon and myself watching the argument. Every single tribute is watching as Seafoam screams at the careers.

Everyone except Weed. He's still high as a kite.

"We'll regret it? How could you possibly make us regret it?" Rupee asks, laughing.

"Yeah, do tell," Sun snorts.

"Like this!" Seafoam sneers.

He slams his tray, food and all, over the head of the nearest of the career tributes - Sun. The boy from 1 falls to the ground with a howl, while Seafoam just laughs all the more.

"How do you like me now?!" Seafoam jeers.

"Even less than I already did," Macey says.

That's all there's time to say before six, maybe seven, peacekeepers dogpile Seafoam. He's dragged out of the cafeteria, swearing up a storm and yelling that he doesn't need an alliance to win the Games, before he's gone.

As Rupee helps Sun back up everything seems to return to normal. The Tens clearly find the whole incident hilarious and the kids at their table are all giggling over what went down.

Falcon just smiles, returning to eating his lunch.

"Good news for us that the career pack is one down," Falcon remarks. "What good luck."

"...Yes…" I say. Why does he insist on pointing out every single time something 'lucky' happens? Honest question.

"Oh, heads up. We've got some company," Falcon says.

Sure enough Solar approaches us - carefully balancing her tray on just one hand - with Rotor and Axel right behind her.

"Room for three more?" Solar asks.

"Table seems big enough," I say.

They take the invite before Falcon can say a word of protest. Of course, that doesn't stop him from doing so once they've already sat down.

"This is the District Nine table," Falcon says. "Only room for two tributes."

"And yet we've found space for us anyway," Solar says, cheeky. "Funny, that."

"Are you here to threaten us?" Falcon asks. "The careers already tried it, that won't work."

"You must be crazy, talking shit to that girl like that. I like you," Solar says, laughing. "I wouldn't do it myself, mind you, I'm not insane, but you've got guts. We're gonna need guts on the team."

"Team? Like an alliance?" Falcon asks.

"Yeah, why not?" Solar says. "If the careers can have a group of five, maybe a sixth if they recruit someone, why can't we have an alliance too?"

"It just makes sense to pool our skills together. It's logical," Rotor says. "Alliances don't always work, but they make it so much easier to sleep properly, defend against mutts, see a surprise attack coming - Cookie's twelve and she knows that."

He gestures to where the kids are sitting together, Cookie currently telling them something or another about engineering and hydraulics. Not an area I understand even remotely.

"An alliance of five seems kinda big," Falcon says, reluctant. "I think Lisbeth and I would be fine as a duo."

"Would we?" I ask him. "I can't throw a punch and you made the strongest tribute break your nose. I say we hear them out."

"...OK, fine," Falcon agrees.

The way they lay out the plan, the alliance, it just makes sense. It'd take either stupidity or sheer stubbornness to not see the sense that they're making. All of us, they say, bring something to this alliance, something that would better all of our chances.

Falcon, they have observed, can use a short sword really well.

Rotor is capable of fighting, but combines that with intelligence and knowledge of the Games.

Axel never forgets anything he sees or hears; he'll be able to cover us in survival.

Solar, despite her broken arm, claims that she has gone swimming around a dam near her home before and, even one armed, could overcome water and such for scouting.

Also, her confidence and pep is magnetic. It just draws people in and soothes them.

"So, what do I offer your group?" I ask, unsure what they might've seen in me.

"Honestly? My first thought of including you was because I enjoyed hanging out with you," Solar just, giggling. "OK, but seriously, you're really smart. You think things through. Rotor can too, but you seem like you'd never panic. No offence Rotor."

"None taken, I do panic," he admits.

"Panicking doesn't help," I agree.

"Exactly, and your ability to keep a cool head would help all of us. Common sense first," Solar says. "So, what do you say? Wanna join us?"

"I'll only join if Lisbeth does," Falcon says. "I'm here to keep her alive. I'll go where she goes."

The others react to this with surprise and more than a little confusion. It occurs to me that nobody outside the District 9 team knows why Falcon volunteered. Could that make them see us as more of a threat to them?

What if it does? We'd be an alliance in an alliance, with Falcon always there to stop them doing a thing to me… but he'd have to sleep eventually. What if they do something to me then to prevent being outnumbered?

Would Falcon even be part of this alliance once I tell the truth? Would that cost me my own place too if they feel they cannot trust me? Oh, but I can't just refuse what could be a good offer.

How can I put on an act and mimic what they want to hear when there's truly no right answer?

"So, what do you say?" Solar asks me.

"...I'm in," I agree. Strength in numbers, because I have zero strength all alone.

"Then I am as well," Falcon says.

"Awesome! Hi-fives all 'round guys!" Solar whoops, offering us her hand for exactly that.

The bell goes off as soon as we've done so, a clear cue that training is to resume. The five of us walk together as one back to the gymnasium.

"So, are we gonna train together?" I ask.

"Better that we keep apart. The careers will go after the biggest alliance aside themselves if it's too obvious," Rotor says.

"Plus, we'll learn more skills if we spread further out," Axel says. "I'll get knot tying covered."

"Nice," Solar says. "I'll look out for more recruits."

"Wait, wait," I say. "More than five? Isn't that too many?"

"Probably not," Solar says as we step out of the cafeteria. "No way would all of us survive the bloodbath."

She's right. It's a certainty that, whether there were five of us or ten of us, some of us would die in the opening minutes.

It's also a possibility that all of us will die in those exact same minutes.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Training resumes, only getting harder now that we've all been fed. Seafoam has been barred from training for the rest of the day for his behaviour. In fact, he's been locked in his room. Grounded like a little misbehaved child.

Pan tells the rest of us to learn from his mistake and not break the rules.

The careers take it as a chance to go around and intimidate everyone else. After Seafoam humiliated Sun, and Steam - I would assume it was him anyway - made Sturm look stupid at the gauntlet, they're keen to remind everyone that they're the most deadly tributes and that they are to be taken seriously.

I make sure to keep them all in my eye as I try to wrap my head around the basics of fire starting. It's simple enough to understand, but actually getting the fire going is the tough part. Oh, I can arrange a firepit easily enough and set all the kindling just so, but getting it to light up? That might be beyond me.

I can't smack rocks together anywhere hard enough to create sparks and I can't rub the supplied branches together anywhere fast enough to generate heat, I just tire my arms out in barely twenty seconds.

How do people do this?

"Maybe I should just leave it to Falcon," I mutter.

"Fire starting? I could help you with that. I could set you on fire."

Looking up I see the girl from Four has made her way over towards me. While the other careers have doubled up with their district partners to mock other tributes - the pair from 2 did a good job of making Cookie cry - Clamantha has remained alone.

She's also tried to sneer at more tributes than her allies have. Perhaps she's compensating for how useless Seafoam has made himself appear to be and to avoid any association?

Either way, it seems I'm her target. While I have no doubt she could kill me, and maybe she will, I don't find myself wanting to give her the satisfaction. But I wouldn't want to antagonise her the way Falcon did to Macey.

How to show her up, yet not become her biggest enemy in the process?

"I've done it to fish before, sharks as well," Clamantha continues. "It's easy to fry them up."

She sets up her own kindling in one of the firepits with such haste, easily setting the fire with the branches in barely ten seconds. It's a skill I could never hope to match.

"Maybe in the arena I'll find you and set up a campfire for you," she says. "Then I'll cook you over it. You'll be all roasted, perfect for a mutt to gnaw on. How about that?"

It's easy for me to think back to some of the people I've had to pretend to be. Emotional people who cried at the drop of a hat. People who let the tears flow at least twice a day when they were still alive.

I just act like them, letting my eyes grow watery and making choked sobs escape my throat. It's clearly what Clamantha wanted to see. Her grin widens, her eyes narrow into a sneer and her giggling is nothing short of girlish and amused.

She's gullible as shit.

"Yeah, you feel that? You feel that fear?" Clamantha leans a little closer to me. "Doesn't feel good does it? It's gonna feel worse in the arena. Aren't you scared of me, Nine?"

I instantly drop the act and snap back to normal.

"No," I tell her, returning to my attempts to get fire going.

She splutters, clearly having been fooled. Ironic for a tribute from District 4, she was taken hook, line and sinker. She tries to get my attention, but I keep my eyes firmly on the branches.

"You think you're so funny! You won't be laughing once I send a spear through your neck!"

I swap out the branches for the stones, banging them together. There's no sparks, just plenty of noise to drown Clamantha out with.

"Hey, I'm talking - better stop - you'll pay - stupid bitch-," she tries to speak, but I'm not gonna make it that easy for her.

That's when Falcon arrives, coldly glaring her down. There's no blinking, no eye movement and no sort of fear - just a firm stare.

"Leave," Falcon tells her. "You're not welcome here."

"You can't talk to me like that, Nine," Clamantha tells him, making sure to make use of the three inches of height she's got over Falcon.

"You should kill yourself," Falcon tells her. "It's already bad enough that you're alive when absolutely nobody in the nation wants you, but now you're wasting our time. Leave."

Clamantha splutters indignantly but, seeing that we're not to be intimidated and that there are plenty of other targets for her to test her mettle against, storms away with a final, hateful spit at the ground before me.

Falcon doesn't let himself relax until she's gone.

"You good?" he asks.

"Fine," I say. "She wasn't a problem."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Threats are just part of the Games. Dealing with them is another part as well. The bigger problem is starting a fire with these things."

I gesture at the sticks and stones, lost. Falcon looks them over, thoughtful. He picks the stones up, weighing them up.

"I could give it a try?"

Pan blows his whistle loud as can be before Falcon can even try, calling us over for our second mandatory exercise.

"Later then. What do you think they'll have us do now?"

"I don't know. Hopefully something I won't fail at in one second this time."

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Bugger is the word for it. I look upwards, up to where the climbing rope extends to the ceiling ten metres away.

I've already resigned myself to how I'm going to fail this exercise as well. I could try to make it a metre up and fake a fall to get it over with quickly, but I doubt I'll be needing to fake anything. I'm not sure I could even haul myself a metre up to begin with.

Though, looking at Solar beside me and how she adamantly refuses to look at the rope, I think I won't be doing the worst of everyone here.

"Think they'd let me skip this one?" Solar asks.

"I doubt it," I tell her. "They made you run the gauntlet one armed."

"Well yeah, but that one doesn't need arms. This one does," she pouts. "This is the worst."

She leans just a little closer. Not close enough for me to feel her breath, but enough for me to feel assured nobody else will eavesdrop on us.

"Winnow and Button are going it alone," she mutters. "Pleat seemed interested."

"Did she say yes though?" I reply. "Interest means nothing until she does."

"I'm giving her until tomorrow. We'll see what she does."

"I suppose. Anyone else?"

"Axel's gonna talk to Toyota. She seems tough, it'd be good to have her."

"That or we'd put ourselves at risk later on."

"Yeah, if we live that long which we might not if we don't have her."

"Hmmmm…" I'm not so sure I like just how many people are potentially gonna be in this alliance. Then again, the bloodbath will work to prune the numbers. "Fair enough then."

Pan blows his whistle and explains the exercise to us, though I'm sure everybody had already managed to work out what we're doing easily enough. Just a matter of climbing all the way to the top of the rope and ringing the bell, or at least getting as high as we can. No retries will be permitted. Any falls will be taken care of by the floor mats.

Though, I don't like the look of the mats. They seem a bit hard…

"You know the rules and you know not to fall. Let's begin," Pan says. He, again, blows his whistle. "District 2 male, begin!"

Sturm smugly strides forth, quickly making his way up the rope. He makes it look easy, though I know it's going to be anything but. He makes it to the top without issue, easily ringing the bell.

"You're all beneath me," he notes. "How fitting!"

He swiftly makes it back to the ground and the attempts continue. Macey, Clamantha and the tributes from District 1 all perform exceptionally well, all of them coming close to beating the time that Sturm set.

Then Winnow takes her turn and does even better than all of them. She doesn't acknowledge the careers as she moves aside once back on the ground, content to merely lightly rock on her heels with her hands stuffed into her pockets.

After that the efforts of the tributes massively dip downwards. But when you have all four young tributes going one after another as well as Weed, what else would you expect? Steam at least makes it a few metres up, but even he has to come down before he risks hurting himself.

Cropper performs poorer still, muttering about climbing being beneath him and how only fruit pickers get to do so without being shot in his district. Pan, of course, doesn't care.

Dandelion laughs from behind me, sneering at Cropper's excuses. The peacekeepers step forth before a fight can break out, but the tributes from 11 don't cease glaring.

All too soon it's my turn to climb the rope, though a moment before I can be called forth Dandelion shoves me to the ground.

"Move over skinny," she says as she walks to the rope. "Let the people who stand half a chance give it a go."

"You've got some nerve," Falcon glowers at her as he helps me up.

"I do," Dandelion shrugs. "That's why I'll be the only one who won't be getting culled."

"Uh… sure, OK. District Eleven female, begin!" Pan exclaims.

Dandelion vaults her way up the rope with the fastest speed of everyone so far. If the arena is a forest or even just something with a lot of trees or climbable surfaces then she's going to be at a huge advantage.

As if she wasn't at one already with her aggression coupled with her muscles.

"Beat that!" Dandelion calls down to all of us. "Oh, wait, you can't. None of you fucks can!"

She laughs, starting to make her way back down the rope.

She's only descended around three feet before the rope - with absolutely no warning - snaps. Dandelion falls to the ground with a scream and then it's her leg that snaps.

Dandelion howls and screams in pain as floor medics surge forwards. Peacekeepers stand by to keep everyone under control as Dandelion is placed upon a stretcher and swiftly taken away, still screaming and cursing, her voice starting to become warped from pain.

Cropper just laughs at her as she goes, with the careers doing the same only a moment later.

Just as quickly as the incident happened it's already over. Those of us who haven't had a go at the exercise yet - really, just me, Falcon and Solar - are led over to a different rope.

"Do I have to do this?" Solar asks. "Look at me, I'm not gonna be able to climb."

"Yes," Pan scolds her. "Just pretend you can climb an inch or something!"

As Solar makes a barely half hearted attempt on the rope Falcon lets out a low whistle.

"Lucky that she went before you, right? That could've been you," he says. "All the better for us she won't be able to fight anymore."

I just nod. I don't trust myself to say anything when he keeps on bringing up luck!

Though, between the careers being one down, Seafoam not even being a strong solo career and Dandelion's injury… for a moment I have to wonder if luck might actually be real.

No, no! I won't lower myself like that!

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Falcon went to bed early after training so hard. I tried to do the same, but I just couldn't find it in me to sleep.

What else was there for me to do but watch TV?

Well, perhaps make additions to the notebook Blossom gave me. If only I could take it into the arena with me, how that would improve my chances. Alas, I'll have to settle for memorising all of the pages and their contents.

I can't allow myself to forget vital information like Axel never forgetting anything, the loyalty the Tens have for each other, Solar having the charisma to have this alliance get set up in the first place, and of course noting who is allied with who.

Though I wonder if any alliances will survive the bloodbath. It's not as if it's unheard of for the only remaining alliance to be the careers.

"So, how'd it go?" Blossom asks, taking a seat on the armchair nearest mine.

"Training? Well, more went right than wrong," I say.

"Falcon got his nose broken," Blossom notes. "Dandelion broke her leg. Seafoam was grounded for the day. Sun and Sturm got humiliated. Cookie cried. All this while it was raining outside."

"...Well, things still went well for me. I've got an alliance, for now at least."

"For now?"

"...I dunno how they'll react when I tell the truth. If Falcon reacts poorly, what then?"

Blossom considers this for some time.

"Well, how much do they know about you being a 'medium'?" she asks.

"Not much, I think? They know Falcon is protecting me at the cost of his life, but they never got around to asking why. Alliance talk took over. He might tell them tomorrow."

"You could try to downplay everything. Just don't bring it up quite so much until the big reveal; it doesn't affect any tribute aside from Falcon. You don't need to tell them."

"I guess."

We soon move on to talking about the alliance, and my concerns over how big it is. But Blossom doesn't share my worries; she didn't have any allies for the long term in her Games, just small bouts of working together against a mutt or a trap, so she finds the idea of a large group to be a good thing.

"Solar is right that there's no way all of you will survive past the bloodbath. Depending on how many of you do, you could stick with them, or strike out on your own during the night a few days in," Blossom suggests. "But lone tributes are easy prey in early days when the careers have more members. Unless you can hide and camouflage yourself like I did, you'd do better with an ally or two… or several"

"That would require me to trust them," I tell her. "...I don't trust people, Blossom. I don't think it's wise to do that."

"It's not," Blossom agrees. "But they're taking that same risk with you as well, you're not alone. And… if you're not truly with them, you're against them. You'll have an easier time in the bloodbath with allies watching your back."

"I guess…"

"It'll all make more sense once you've rested. Beth, you're exhausted," she gently gestures towards my bedroom. "Get some sleep, you're gonna need it tomorrow."

"Is the second day of training harder than the first?" I ask.

"It can be," Blossom tells me. "It will be for you."

"Why's that?"

"Tomorrow, I want you to learn how you use a weapon."

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Falcon and myself are silent as we ride the elevator down to the gymnasium for the second day of training. He's lost in his own thoughts - whether about home, me, our allies or something else I can't say - while I'm very much lost in mine.

The good news? Periwinkle found quite a lot of sponsor leads and through him Blossom and Epona secured quite a lot of interest from wealthy Capitolites. Some have sponsored us already, while some are simply considering it. But the novelty of being volunteers has opened doors that most tributes from 9 never have a chance to open.

If I'm hurt in the arena, Periwinkle promised, then it won't be hard to send me down the gear needed to dress the wound. OK, but how do I dress a wound? I guess I'll have to learn how to do that today, or hope one of my allies knows how.

But that's the other thing, the bad news… I have no idea what I'm supposed to do for a weapon. Is manipulation and lying a weapon? I don't think words can kill. They can hurt, sure, but kill?

I'm not built for fighting, that's the thing here. I can't even run for a minute without feeling like I'll collapse and I can't even lug a box full of books either. What weapon is there for someone like me? Would I even have the power needed to stab someone with something as simple and small as a knife?

If only I could win the Games without a single kill, or at least do so in a way that would barely require me to fight. But doing that is so situational and foolish to rely on. No recent victor has been able to get away with avoiding a real fight. They all engaged at least once, and it always got vicious. These days the gamemakers aren't like those in the early decades; they won't allow tributes to win by mistake, fluke or just because. All loopholes are firmly closed off.

The most recent victor who won that way was the girl who won the fourth quarter quell, and she's probably the reason the gamemakers try extra hard nowadays to avoid letting tributes make it out of the arena without fighting for their lives. As much as I would love for it to happen, I won't be winning the way Suzuki from District 6 did.

It was orphans only that year and Suzuki was a skinny thirteen year old from a poor care home. She was as weak as they came and spent most of her time crying and sobbing to go home to her one and only friend in the world, Peugeot. She ran away from the bloodbath and spent most of the Games hiding, and when she wasn't hiding she was living off of weeds. She only stayed alive because she knew how to bear hunger. Everyone kind of forgot about her.

They were more focused on the boys from 1 and 7 who had a massive rivalry going on. My parents say there was never a pair of tributes who hated each other more. It was a conflict of legends. So, of course, they both reached the top three and fought fiercely beside a massive cliff before the gamemakers could get rid of Suzuki - well, if they hadn't forgotten her as well - and no way would the gamemakers interrupt the very long awaited showdown to bump off an outlier with few fans.

Well, the boy from 1 won that fight but was left exhausted. That gave Suzuki the chance to run out of nowhere and shove him over the cliff to his death. She won the Games with a shove and the nation was left speechless. Apparently there'd never been a bigger disappointment in living memory. So Suzuki went home alive, while the gamemakers… did not.

Suzuki is why I know I will have to somehow learn to fight if I'm to win this thing. There won't be anymore victors like her for a long, long time. So, knives it'll have to be.

"What're you thinking?" Falcon asks me.

"Just about how there's no way I will be able to win without getting into a fight," I tell him.

"I'll do the fighting for you."

"What if you get too hurt to keep fighting? What if the gamemakers separate us?"

"That won't happen."

"Falcon, no. That's foolish. If the gamemakers want to do that, there is nothing we can do about it. Face facts, I'll have to fight alone at some point."

"I'll do whatever it takes to prevent that… and if I can't, well…" he puzzles over what to say next. "OK, I'll help you train. What're you thinking?"

"Knives. They're about the easiest weapon to learn and the smallest too. That's just my style."

"Sure, let's train with them together. A knife is basically just an even shorter short sword right?"

"Um, not exactly."

The elevator halts and the door opens, but it's not the gym we find ourselves at. It's the apartment of another set of tributes.

The tributes from 4, who both enter the elevator. Seafoam is in a bad mood as he always appears to be, while Clamantha seethes at the mere sight of us. I'm not quite sure which of us she hates more.

So much for not becoming her biggest enemy.

"You two have some nerve," Clamantha says.

Falcon, by habit at this point, moves to stand between me and her. He folds his arms, not even slightly bothered.

"So do you. Being alive," he tells her.

Seafoam bursts out laughing. He sounds like a donkey mixed with a seal mutt. Like his voice, it's a noise I'd love to never hear again.

"You'll regret this once the Games start," Clamantha warns.

"Don't care," Falcon replies.

Again, Seafoam laughs. Clamantha whirls around to seeth in his face, which of course just makes him laugh all the more.

"Shut up!" she hisses. "He's making me look bad!"

"Don't care! If you wanted me to give a shit you should've let me in the pack," Seafoam tells her. "But don't worry, maybe I'll be nice and let you join my alliance instead."

"You have no alliance," Clamantha says.

"I have an alliance of one. It's all I need, but I guess I oughta throw you a fishbone if you can't even get the Nines to take you seriously," Seafoam says, giving her a simpering little smile and mocking little wave.

He gives us quite the wolfish grin, ruined by how wide his mouth stretches. Put that way it's more like a toadish grin.

"They take me seriously," he adds.

"No we don't," Falcon tells him. "We both thought it was lucky that you stopped a real career from being able to enter the arena this year. One less problem for us."

"I never called it luck," I say, wishing Falcon would quit while he's… not so much ahead as not impossibly far behind.

Seafoam looks like he's been fed poison. His expression turns poisonous alright as he draws a line over his throat.

"You're dead," Seafoam sneers. "I'll make you my very first kill on my path to victory, how's that sound to you?"

"Even she's got more chance of doing that," Falcon says.

The elevator doors open. I waste no time in speed walking out into the gymnasium with Falcon right behind me. Seafoam splutters some more while Clamantha curses at Falcon.

"What do you mean 'even she'?" she demands.

Falcon ignores her, his attention firmly back upon me.

"So, knives?" Falcon says.

"Might as well," I say. "...Do you have to antagonise them so much?"

"Someone's gotta keep them away from you," Falcon says. "Besides, it's not like Seafoam can actually do anything much."

"FUCK YOU!"

Seafoam's curse is followed by him tackling Falcon from behind and starting to pummel him. I recoil back and by the time it occurs to me that I should try to help Falcon - not that I expect to be able to pull Seafoam off of him - the peacekeepers have already separated them.

Falcon is helped up and pointed towards the centre of the gymnasium where everyone is gathered. Seafoam, meanwhile, is dragged back to the elevators to once again spend a day of training locked up in his room.

"Seafoam, I swear…" Clamantha passes us, a hand firmly over her face.

I only speak once we're in position in the semicircle of tributes we started in yesterday and nobody is paying us any attention.

"Did you do that on purpose to ensure he gets no training?" I whisper.

"No," Falcon whispers back. "But it sure was lucky, right?"

Nrrrrgggghhhhh…

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Knives end up being the first thing I decide to train with. Or at least try to train with. I'm sure I'm doing better with these than I would on something like a spiked mace or a kusarigama, but it would be a farce to say this is coming to me naturally.

I just can't get my grip right no matter what the - admittedly half-asleep - trainer tells me. It feels awkward in my hand - both of them - and each stab on the dummy barely goes in half an inch.

It's not the knives, it's me. I saw Toyota over here yesterday and she got a knife in right down to the hilt. I need to be able to do that too.

But, is it a waste of time? A hopeless endeavour? Time is tight and there's still so much I need to learn. Falcon did his best to help at first, but soon enough I'd told him to learn more skills elsewhere. Blossom's order to keep separate still applies.

He didn't like it, but my word seems to be some sort of gospel to him. He's not too far away though, just a few dozen feet behind me looking over poisons.

"You're doing it all wrong."

I glance to the side. Sturm approaches me, not quite as hostile as he looked at the other tributes yesterday but nonetheless strong and cold. He nods towards the trainer who, at this point, is trying to discreetly sip from a flask of some sort.

"Useless," Sturm says. "How're you supposed to master a weapon with a teacher like that."

"Self-study?" I supply.

"Maybe, but how can you do than when you don't even have the basics to work with?" Sturm says, shrugging. "Here, I'll show you how it's done."

"...You? Showing me?" I repeat.

"I'm good at every weapon. I prefer swords and spears, but a knife is basically a small sword, if you know exactly how to use it," he says, smug. "OK, for starters, you're holding it wrong."

He takes a rough hold of my hand, and that's when I know this isn't a lesson to improve my chances. It's an intimidation tactic.

Well, I'll turn it into a lesson. If I know how he uses weapons, then I might just learn how to evade him if he swings one at me. Or tell this to someone who can disarm him later.

It's over in a moment. He's corrected my grip, ensuring my fingers are in the right places. Issue is the force he used, even if just for a second, leaves my fingers sore.

"Holding it right is only the first step," Sturm says. "You'll want to swing and stab it right as well. I prefer stabs. Quick and simple, harder to dodge, though a wider arc could sever more arteries. You decide what works for you."

He picks up a knife of his own and moves to the dummy I've been struggling with. He stabs it repeatedly, each stab making it several inches deep.

"The throat is a good place to stab for a fast kill," Sturm says. "Even if it's not instantly fatal, your target will choke on their blood and be good as dead while you focus on other targets, but if you want to stab somewhere a little easier then you can't go wrong with the chest - heart and lungs, you get the picture - or the guts. So long as it goes in deep, the cannon's gonna go off."

He gives me a small, yet satisfied grin as he stabs the blade all the way to the hilt right through the dummy's throat.

"You get all that?"

"Yes, yes I did."

I make sure to force an expression of fear - not hard when I'm honestly on edge after that display - because giving him what he wants will make him go away faster.

I wasn't lying either, because I did get all that. I got a good look at his style of using knives. He seems to favour his left hand, which would make passing him on his right slightly easier. He tends to start a stab low and then veer it upwards, always going straight. His left foot is always ahead of his right foot. Oh, and he was so nice as to show exactly how he best holds a weapon in the first place.

Sturm leaves to train with swords, and I notice right away that he holds a sword the exact same way that he holds a knife. He even stabs and thrusts with it in the same way too. The weight is different and it takes longer for him to return to his starting stance, but aside that…

"Thanks for the lesson," I whisper, even though nobody can hear me.

I'm sure Solar would love to hear this. Maybe it's unwise to share secrets and too much precious knowledge, but better to help her than let a career live too long.

Falcon would agree. It seems the reason he didn't intervene in any of that is because he's gotten himself into an argument with Rupee.

She slaps him across the face. He slaps her right back. Peacekeepers storm over and suddenly both are on their last warning for the day.

I put it out of my mind and, holding the knife exactly as Sturm showed me, stab the dummy in the chest.

It sinks in at least three inches. Well, well… that's progress. That's, in theory, a dead tribute.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Wound dressing went well. Maybe if I have any supplies at all it'll go well in the arena too. Periwinkle may have said that the money is there to send it, but what if a poor showing in the bloodbath means my sponsors pull out?

What if I lose too much blood and can't focus enough to dress a wound?

At least I seemed to grasp it better than Cropper and Button did.

At least I can push it out of my mind while the third mandatory exercise takes centre stage.

This time we're all lined up in front of a set of monkey bars several metres above the ground. There are mats down below, but after yesterday I think everyone is doubting their use.

Dandelion more than anyone. It's official, her leg is broken and so is any chance she had of winning the Games. Far from being full of threats and anger, she's gone very quiet. The only sound she's made today has been her cast and crutches tapping on the floor with each painful step she takes.

"Pleat is in," Solar whispers from behind me. "Gonna check with Toyota after lunch."

"So how many is that now? Six?"

"Yeah, and hopefully seven. If we're lucky we might get as many as four of us through the bloodbath, though with the careers who fucking knows…"

"Speaking of the careers," I say. "I learnt something about Sturm."

I fill her in, in-brief, on how Sturm fights and how, if it were us against him, we may be able to use that to avoid a would-be killer blow. By the time I'm done Solar is smiling widely.

I've also missed all of Pan's spiel about what to do for this exercise, although did I truly miss anything important? What else is there to do here other than climb across and try not to fall?

"District Seven male, begin!"

Weed, higher today somehow than he was yesterday, takes a single dreamy step forwards and doesn't even reach out to the bars.

He falls to the matts with quite an unceremonious thud.

"Gravity man," he slurs out. "It's… it's a downer… a downer man."

After that the tributes begin to show a much better performance. Winnow practically flies to the other side with the careers all doing almost as well as her. If anything, Rupee seems offended that Winnow was able to outperform them.

As always, Winnow just stuffs her hands in her pockets and doesn't appear to care.

Then the trouble begins. Axel can't reach the monkeybars to begin with without Toyota's help, and even then he can't keep his grip on them. Cookie and Burnice also lack the strength to hold on for more than half the way across. That's to say nothing of Cropper mistiming a grab and Button losing his grip due to his sweaty palms.

"Look at Eight, sweating all over! Are you scared?" Macey mocks him. "I'll make you sweat even more once the Games begin! I'll make you sweat so much you could drink it; a last drink before you die!"

Button doesn't respond. He keeps his back to Macey. From where I stand there's no missing the way his eyes flare up with hatred or how he gnashes his teeth with such anger.

Things look up for a bit after that when, to my surprise, Pleat easily makes it across to the other side. Somehow, this girl from the Textiles District of all places really knows how to climb.

Falcon makes it over and soon enough after that it's down to just myself, Solar, Dandelion, Theory and Steam to attempt the monkey bars. No matter how clearly we can't do it, we're not given a choice in the matter.

Dandelion, the only one ahead of us, tries her hardest to make it over. Of course, she can't take her crutches over, nor can she exactly ignore the pain that's surely still filling up her leg.

It's no surprise when she ends up falling and hitting her already broken leg upon the mats. They don't do anything to alleviate the pain. She's, again, taken away by floor medics with her screams filling the gymnasium and the laughter of the careers and Cropper behind her.

"Let's get this over with," Solar says. "Bet I can make it further than you can."

"District Five female, begin!"

She reaches forth to the first of the monkey bars with her good arm, before letting go and harmlessly dropping below.

"...You think I won't even make it that far?" I ask.

"Nope," Solar says. "Isn't honesty the best policy?"

"I know I'm not a career, but I think I can make it further than the first bar!"

"District Nine female, begin!"

I try to do as Solar did, but better. I have two working arms, I know I can beat the 'record' she set. But as soon as I take hold of the first bar it becomes clear that, no, I might not be able to. I'm not heavy by any measure, but supporting what weight I do have is hard for my skinny arms. In seconds my muscles, or what I have that passes for them, begin to burn.

I'm down on the ground beside Solar before I've even gotten past the third bar.

"Still beat you," I tell her as I sit myself up.

"Only because one of my arms is busted up," she teases. "Lucky you, eh?"

"If all you people could stop talking about luck I'd be able to die happy."

She gives me a confused look, but I'm not gonna give her an answer. I move aside, Solar keeping pace, as Theory steps forth to take his turn.

"Think he'll make it across?"

"He might get almost halfway, Definitely not to the other side."

Up at the starting line Theory and Steam whisper about something or another. They fist bump just as Pan gives Theory the cut to start.

"Alright, gimme a boost Steam," Theory says.

Steam kneels down, putting his hands together as a sort of platform. In one quick surge Theory has stepped on and climbed atop Theory and, from there, makes his way atop the monkey bars.

He reaches back to haul Steam on top of the bars with him. Both boys easily make their way to the other side of the bars, jumping down upon the finish line.

"What was that?!" Pan yells. "Get back here and do it properly!"

"But we did," Steam says, laughing.

"That's right," Theory adds, grinning as if he knows a wonderful secret that Pan could never hope to guess. "You said we had to make it across the bars to the finish line. You never said we had to hold into the underside. Dunno why all these guys went under them."

The boys fist bump while Cookie and Burnice half-playfully whine about the boys not telling them this. Even Sun snorts a little.

Pan looks like his brain is about to break, but the lunch bell goes off before he can assign any sort of punishment to the boys.

"Looks like you were wrong, he made it across," I say.

"Yeah," Solar says. "Theory's smart."

Too smart. I wish I'd thought of doing that.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

For lunch the alliance sits all over the place. No need to send the careers a bright red flag about how big our alliance is getting.

Falcon has ended up seated over at the other side of the cafeteria with Solar and Axel. Whatever he's telling the, it's got their attention.

…Is he telling them about Village, about me being a medium? Shit.

I've ended up seated with Pleat. It's an odd sort of situation; we're allies, but I can't claim to know anything about her. Nothing except what Blossom wrote into the notebook and how she seems to be really good at climbing.

That's exactly what I end up asking her. In such an urban place as District 8, just where would she get so good at climbing, to the point she might be able to outclimb a career?

"Oh, I just climb up buildings and amongst scaffoldings," she says.

"Don't you worry about breaking your neck?" I ask.

"Maybe, but when you can barely afford bread you need somewhere to hide until the peacekeepers give up chasing you," she shrugs. "I'll take risking a quick death over ending up starving."

"But you take tesserae, right?"

"When has tesserae ever been enough?"

"...I don't know. When?"

"Never. You don't take it, do you?"

"No, I don't."

Yet, I still got reaped twice until I took things into my own hands this year. Was it just chance all along, or something else? I'd suspect the latter, but with how viciously the Capitol comes down on anyone questioning them or trying to form their own power, and how neither I nor my parents have been hanged yet for what we've done, I wonder if I really do just have bad luck.

Nnngh! Now they've gotten me doing it!

"You OK? You're kinda clenching your jaw there," Pleat says, quirking up an eyebrow.

"I'm fine."

We eat in silence for a while longer. There's not much to speak of when it's more readily apparent by the second that we don't have much training time left. Just the rest of the day and then individual sessions tomorrow.

Can I retain any sponsors with my likely score of two?

"What'll you do when all this is over?" Pleat asks, poking at her steak with her fork. "Like, if you don't die."

"...I haven't thought about that," I say. "I haven't really thought that far beyond the interviews."

"I guess that makes sense," Pleat says. "No need to make ourselves so scared we puke."

Not quite the reason why, but I smile and let her think that.

"If I win this thing, I'm gonna throw the biggest feast ever for my parents," she continues. "Whatever my family wants, I'll buy them without a second thought. We'll be rich, and we'll enjoy every second of it. None of us will want for anything again, not even a cheap raincoat."

"That sounds nice," I say.

The idea of being in poverty is one I can't quite claim to truly understand. The idea of making a fortune and using it to help loved ones isn't either. I suppose I would need to have loved ones first, wouldn't I?

Pleat winning wouldn't be the worst thing. At least she's not selfish. But, it's far from the very best outcome. Not that she needs to know that.

"It's just weird," Pleat says. "Like, your mentor is Blossom, right?"

"Um, yes? She's the only victor District Nine has."

"Well, at least she's an adult. My mentor only turned thirteen ten days ago. It's some sort of surreal alright to be told how to use a battle axe by a girl younger and shorter than you," Pleat says, shaking her head. "Sock knows what she's talking about, but… you know, you know?"

I don't. Though it does sound strange. Younger tributes have won before, of course. Dory, Mihilo, Suzuki and that boy, Turbo I think, who drove the combine harvester over three career boys almost ten years ago, but none have ever been just twelve years old.

None of them killed eight much older tributes in cold blood either. I wonder to myself just how mentoring sessions must be on the District 8 floor. Pleat seated on some armchair, perhaps, while Sock paces in front of her talking about how she used ambush tactics before carving skulls with a massive axe?

I can't help snorting. At least until it occurs to me that Pleat could take this advice on board and do to me what Sock did to the girl from 4 at the end of the quell.

I see that scene as vividly in my head as I did back on the TV back on the train.

That… that could happen. That's very likely to happen if the alliance stays too big as the numbers fall.

I gag, the food I've already eaten threatening to come right back up.

"You good?" Pleat asks.

I'm not.

"I am," I lie.

Is this alliance really as good an idea as Blossom assured me it was, even for the opening minutes? Or will it just ensure my throat gets slit?

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

When we're back in the gymnasium I'm unsure, for a time, what to train with next. It's hard to focus when I can feel my paranoia getting worse.

How many tributes are watching me?

How many of them might be gunning for me?

Do the careers know about our alliance, and if so who will they target first?

I was fine, more or less, only yesterday. What's so different now than then? Perhaps the fact we're a day closer to the bloodbath and it feels all the more real.

I can't feel too scared though, can I? I volunteered, didn't I?

"Be seeing you in the bloodbath Nine," Macey says as she moves past me from the maces and off to the spears, bumping me aside with her elbow.

"...OK," I say.

In the end I find myself at the training station for, of all things, mutts. It's more or less a reading corner full of books of mutts from all the Hunger Games of the past. Sand sharks, feral hyenas, wolves made from the DNA of fallen tributes and dozens upon dozens upon dozens more than that, there's no end to what the gamemakers come up with.

All of them are listed in the books, with notes on what each mutt's weakness was. Well, assuming that it had one at least. The beast in the 69th Games had no weaknesses.

Not that this stopped the victor that year from taking it down anyway.

Every so often mutts are reused. Reading up on them would prepare me for them, but how would I know what to do with brand new mutts?

There's nothing for it but a long reading and studying session. Maybe there'll be something useful upon the pages, just so long as I find the right pages and don't forget the words.

I refuse to call it a matter of luck. I refuse!

…It's more a matter of chance.

An hour passes by as I fill my brain with more mutt facts than I ever wanted to know. Mutt teeth being used as weapons, tics the size of pumpkins that feared the light of a flashlight, a particularly large polar bear weak only to the poison of another mutt.

There's even a section about snakes that would become immobile if their rattles were to be severed off.

I had to set the book down for a few minutes as soon as I learnt that mutts were capable of breeding.

There are some things nobody, no matter how studious they are, will ever want to know.

"You look a little pale. Well, paler," Solar says as she walks up to me. "Wassup?"

"Trust me, you do not want to know," I tell her.

"Hmmmm, can I trust you? Can I reeeeally?"

"If you won't trust me on anything else, at least trust me on this. Also, we're allies… um, there's some trust, right?"

Great. More paranoia…

"Sure there is! Speaking of which, I just thought you should know that Toyota is in," Solar continues.

"So there's seven of us? That seems like too many."

"Like I told you, the bloodbath'll cull it down."

"But will those who survive the bloodbath be able to work together? How much do we know about each other? How much can we trust each other?"

"I'd hope the fact we'd be in the Hunger Games would force us to cooperate," she says, shrugging her good shoulder. "Those of us who remain should be able to work it out."

"But what if whoever is left can't?"

"...You're really cheerful, y'know that?"

"I'm just being realistic. It only takes one traitor."

"A traitor who might end up dying in the bloodbath anyway."

I drop it. I'd rather not make another enemy before the gong even goes off, not when Solar seems to want me for the moment and certainly not when Falcon's pissed off all the careers.

"...It'll be fine, Beth," she assures me. For a moment it looks like she's gonna give my shoulder a squeeze, only to think better of it and withdraw her hand. That's good. "Anyway, I wanted to go over a plan with you."

"A plan? This early, before we know the arena?"

"You said it yourself, the alliance is big. We won't get any time to talk privately together, we have to make plans one on one where we can, and now's the best chance for us," she says, nodding. "In the bloodbath, see if you can gather up some bottles of water. We'll need to keep hydrated."

"That's it? Just water?"

"Yeah, just water," Solar says, nodding with that cheeky smile of hers almost stuck on her face. "They usually put water bottles near the launch plates. It should be easy for you to grab a few and run for it."

"...Alright then. But, run where?"

"To the left of the cornucopia's tail. The careers might expect people to go past the tail or away from it, but not to the sides. If that's impossible, then we all go to the right."

"OK," I agree. It's a workable plan. Surely I can gather a few bottles of water before everything goes to hell. "What'll you be gathering?"

"Only so much I can do with this arm," Solar says, frowning. But just as quickly she grins again. "I'll be grabbing a backpack and a weapon if I can."

"That's a very big if," I tell her.

"Well I could just run, but then I'd just look like a groosling shit wouldn't I?"

I'm spared from trying to work out how I'm supposed to even begin to answer that when Pan whistles everyone over for the last compulsory exercise.

At least it's the last one and I won't have to embarrass myself in them for much longer.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Honestly, I'll take this last exercise over the monkey bars or the climbing rope. Actually, I might even prefer this to the gauntlet.

It's a large rectangle platform ten feet horizontal and thirty feet vertical. It's covered in bumps, indents and other such things used to trip us up.

It's also connected to several huge coiled springs below and is about as unstable as that cannibal tribute from the 60's the announcers like to bring up every so often.

"Tributes, your final mandatory excuse awaits you. In mere moments, you will be trying to make your way across the balance board. Do try not to fall off like a fool," Pan says. "If you have good balance then you shall be fine."

"And if we don't?" Steam, first in line, speaks up.

"Then try not to break your neck," Pan says. "We're a bit too far in for a replacement tribute to be bought in."

Is that a thing? I've never heard of such a thing happening… but then again, surely there would be rules in place for such a scenario, wouldn't there be?

"District Twelve male, begin!"

Steam's chosen his strategy. Sticking near the middle and running as fast as possible to not give the balance board any time to even start to tilt. Whether it's a plan that works, or just that his small size is working in his favour, he makes it to the other side without issue.

Tributes begin to make their way across one after another. It's almost comical how suddenly they lose control and tumble over the side of the platform, down to the mats below. Sure, some have no issues making it over in good time, but there's just something funny about seeing the tough tributes from District 1 both falling over the side.

Falcon, having no trouble with his own attempt, makes sure to point and laugh at them.

It's going to take a miracle far greater than anything my parents ever came up with to stop them killing him in the first second of the Games.

All too soon it's my turn. I'll just do what Steam did and make a run over to the end. I can easily see all the bumps and such things, and I'm far from heavy. This should be easy.

It's not even three seconds into my turn when I discover that it's not easy at all. Or maybe I'm just bad at it. Either way I tumble off the platform and onto the mats.

Maybe I'll just lie here until the humiliation goes away.

"District Three male, begin!"

Rotor does poorly as well, mistiming his footing most likely, and slides over the side of the platform. In fact, he slides down to the point he tumbles right on top of me.

For a moment we're so close our noses touch.

"Ummmmmmmm…" he barely manages to say.

"...um…" I try to say.

"Looking good you two!" Solar calls from above.

Rotor scrambles off me faster than blinking, apologising over and over. I remain laying in place, blank as blank could be blank.

Please don't tell me this'll make the alliance awkward.

Please don't tell me I blushed.

Please don't tell me this'll be a whole thing.

"Awwww, look, she's blushing!" Cookie exclaims.

Nrrrrggggghhhh…

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

By the time training ends and we're heading to the elevators Rotor is still apologising profusely over and over.

Partly because Falcon made him apologise for 'what he did'.

"Rotor, cease," I tell him. "It's fine. Relax. It's over. End of."

"You're sure?" he asks.

"Does this face look unsure?" I ask, putting on a perfect impression of Etteilla's most sour, serious of faces.

"...I guess not," Rotor admits.

We end up being the last ones to leave due to Rotor stalling us with his apologies. The four of us - myself, Falcon, Rotor and Solar - all file into the elevator and close the doors with the mere push of a button.

But the elevator doesn't move. Instead Solar and Rotor turn to me with some mixture of curiosity and confusion.

…What did I do? I don't like the way they're looking at me. I don't like not knowing why they're doing that!

"Yes?" I eventually say. "Shouldn't we be getting back to our floors?"

"We will," Solar says. "But, uh, we wanted to ask you something first."

"Falcon said something interesting. Mostly strange, but interesting," Rotor continues. "He says that you can bring back the dead. That they speak through you?"

"Apparently he volunteered because of that," Solar says, weirded out. At least someone rightfully finds this whole thing ridiculous. "Is that really a thing you can do?"

"Of course Lisbeth can," Falcon assures her. "That's what I told you."

"Yeah, but I wanna hear it from her," Solar tells him.

I can't tell the truth now, not when Falcon is right there. But I really don't want to play into the lie and make myself look even more fake when I let the truth out. Why tell an utterly needless lie? There has to be some way around this.

Well… I could just say what my parents have me do, and not outright say it's real. Would that truly be a lie? By definition alone, I do not believe so.

"We're from a private school my parents run. It's called Village. We're… a community," I explain. "Part of that community is seances. A way for parents to speak to what they've lost."

I think that was worded well enough to not be a lie? Falcon seems satisfied, while Solar and Rotor aren't quite calling me out for lying, though both appear sceptical.

"How do you do it?" Rotor asks. "If this is real, that'd be the biggest thing in the nation. That'd be something worth studying."

"What do you do, shout into the abyss and see if it shouts back or something?" Solar asks.

"I give a voice to the dead," I say. Quite literally, it's what I do.

"Lisbeth calls back those who died young who aren't too far away and they take over her body. They get to see their parents and their parents get to see them right back. What's not to get?" Falcon asks.

"Maybe the fact it doesn't really make any sense?" Rotor says. "I don't see how that works."

"It works because Lisbeth has a gift," Falcon tells him.

"Can she do it for us now?" Solar asks, intrigued.

"...Uh, do you have any dead relatives who died under the age of eighteen?" I ask, hoping very much that the answer is no.

Luckily, they both shake their heads. I press the button to get the elevator moving.

"Then there's nothing I can do," I say.

"Wait, what if someone died at the age of nineteen?" Rotor asks. "I had a cousin die in the Games seven years ago who turned nineteen in the arena."

"I, well…" I pause, unsure how to handle this one. The seances have always been reaping age, nothing else. There was never a tribute who turned nineteen who I had to pretend to be. It simply never came up.

"Too old," Falcon speaks up. "Sorry."

"Well, I'm not so sure I believe it," Rotor says as the elevator arrives at his floor.

"Your loss," Falcon tells him.

"You can't lose something if it's not there," Rotor says.

I wonder, for a moment, what my life would've been like had my parents been dumped in District 3 instead of District 9. Surely the people of the technology district would never have fallen for such a scam, right? By the doubtful look Solar has, most likely the people of District 5 wouldn't have either.

Of all places to be sent, my parents had to be sent to one of the only districts that could end up buying into this sham.

"See you tomorrow guys," Solar says. "If you talk to any dead tributes, and they have any money, tell 'em to sponsor me, kay?"

As Falcon and I rise up to our own floor he has just one more question for me.

"Do the dead have money for sponsors?"

"...They've never said," I tell him.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Once again Falcon heads to bed before anyone else to recharge for tomorrow. Once again I just can't quite get to sleep.

Once again I'm watching TV and the shows made by my family to pass the time.

The difference this time is that Blossom, Epona and Periwinkle have sad down to join me.

The show this time is something totally against the idea of the supernatural. It's a top ten list of sorts. The top ten stupidest theories the Crowley family have come up with, which the Weisz family spend each segment tearing apart and mocking.

It's not really entertaining, though it sure is satisfying seeing lies and supernatural idiocy being torn a new one. Blossom and Epona don't seem to find it that engaging, while Periwinkle is left more disheartened with each passing segment.

Turns out he had sincerely believed each and every one of the strange paranormal theories.

"So, why are you watching this?" Blossom asks me.

"...It's not much of a show," I admit. "But they are my family. It's the only way to get to know them."

"Wait, what?!" Periwinkle exclaims.

He leaps up and scampers over to me, eyes wide and alight with awe.

"You're a relative of the Weisz family?!"

"Yes. Them and the Crowley family… it's kind of a long story," I tell him. "You ever notice how both families are missing a kid?"

"Etteilla and Saint Germain? I thought they died," Periwinkle says.

"No, they just got sent to District Nine," I tell him.

I've never seen Periwinkle so excited, and he's always excited every time that I see him. Between double volunteers and one of us having family in the Capitol, he's beside himself.

He laments how wrong it is for a Capitol girl to be in the Games, something that makes part of me twist with disgust. I didn't exactly want to be here and I wouldn't be if there was any other choice, but having Capitol heritage being the only reason it's wrong? That bothers me.

I hold my tongue on that, and it's a good thing I do. Periwinkle claims that this will make it so much easier for me to get sponsors. Surely my relatives will support me, he says, and even if they somehow didn't, so many people of the Capitol gladly will.

"We might have so much money that we could send you a suit of body armour!" Periwinkle says. "Oh, I must spread the word! Don't wait up, I'll be gone 'til morning! Ta-ta everyone!"

He almost flies to the elevator, leaving us all in silence. Epona looks similarly intrigued.

"Capitol heritage?" she asks. She looks between Blossom and I, giving us a mischievous glare. "What secrets have you been keeping from me?"

"Only a few," Blossom assures her.

"I'll be revealing everything at the interviews," I promise.

"A wonderful volunteering, family in the Capitol, an interview to bring it all together, you're gonna be the most popular tribute of the century!" Epona exclaims. "Just think of the sponsors!"

"...Will they still support me if I get a low score?"

"They should," Blossom says. "But… try to score higher than a one."

"Sure, how hard could that be?"

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

How hard could it be? Those words keep swirling around my mind and I have to wonder if it might be hard to score even a two after all.

I never realised just how stressful the individual sessions were until I started waiting for mine.

Lunch is over and now everyone is waiting around to be called for their private sessions. What will everyone be showing the gamemakers?

Even if I win, I'll never know. It's not something that's ever once been advertised to the world.

At least the upside is that the careers will soon be gone and out of my mind for the rest of the day and - as I'll be having my turn towards the end - I'll have some time to myself.

It's not bad, really, talking to Solar or Rotor. None of my allies are bad. Falcon, he at least means well. But there's something to be said for solitude.

That's why I made sure to sit alone on a table at the far side of the cafeteria. With luck I might be able to take a nap… but would getting some rest make me drowsy if I were to wake up just before the training session arrives? What if I overslept and missed it? Would I get a score of zero, or be punished somehow?

Maybe taking a nap is a bad idea.

Right at the clock on the wall reaches 1 in the afternoon an artificial voice speaks over the intercom, calling Sun Blumiere off to the gymnasium. He shakes hands with his allies and takes his leave. If I had to guess, he'll probably be showing them his skills with swords and hand to hand combat. No doubt he'll get at least a 9.

Fifteen minutes pass by at which point Rupee is called away. Sturm follows fifteen minutes later and then just as much time after him Macey leaves as well, though not before making sure to sneer at all of us aside Clamantha and slide her finger across her throat.

By the time Rotor is called off, giving Cookie a smile and Solar a brief not, before seeming to remember he ought not to expose any of his allies, it occurs to me I really need to work out what I'm going to show the gamemakers once it's my turn.

I'm not panicking. I'm not worried for the session the way Dandelion is or full of anger like Button so obviously is. But I don't have a plan. What can I show them that will give me a good score, or just put me above a one?

Are my skills with knives worth showing? How much would knowledge of plants and purifying water be worth?

I'll just have to do my best. Blossom told me to just do better than scoring a 1. Surely at least starting a fire or stabbing a dummy an inch deep would be worth that much, right?

I'm sending my mind in circles, long enough that by the time I return to the world Weed is staggering out towards the gym in drugged zigzags.

Was I really lost in thought for that long?

If that's the case, why haven't I gotten everything worked out yet?!

"Calm, calm," I scold myself. "Just try your best. Just do what you know you can do."

But with my score and life on the line, it's hard to know what I really can do and what is a gamble. I can't even cook food or carry buckets of water!

All too soon the moment arrives. The moment I've awaited, and dreaded, all day long.

"Lisbeth Trismegistus, report to the gym."

I walk to the door leading out to the gym without delay, but I'm not able to leave quite so simply. Not when Stetson has something to say.

"Try not to bore them in there," he says. "My mentor says the gamemakers have this habit of killing off boring tributes with mutts for a cheap laugh."

"Fancy that, my mentor says the same thing," Settler chimes in. "So have fun in there, Nine! Don't go being boring and getting yourself killed now!"

The sound of a hi-five meets my ears as I speed walk out of their sight. I won't let the Tens sike me out that easily.

Except I will. I am. I have.

If I don't even know who I am, am I gonna be entertaining enough? Will… will that really condemn me to mutts?!

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

It's strange to see the gymnasium so quiet. Everything is set up as it should be, but there's nobody here to use it. Nobody aside myself.

It's eerie, but it would be peaceful and even refreshing to have a few moments all to myself if not for the gamemakers watching me from their raised balcony.

They stare at me. No emotion, either positive or negative is to be seen. They're just staring, and hardly even blinking.

One of them, a man of white hair, purple robes and angel wings, rises to address me.

"I am Wisp Fontaine, the Head Gamemaker," he tells me just like he's probably told every tribute so far. "District Nine female, you may begin."

Fifteen minutes, that's all I have and the seconds are ticking away one by one. It's a few moments of indecision before I settle on something to show them. Water purification.

A test is all set up and ready to go. I note that the pass rate has been upped slightly; eighty percent is no longer good enough. A pass is now ninety percent. I wish I'd known that before coming over here, but it's too late to walk away now.

It's easy enough to remember things like how long to wait for iodine to work, where water is found in deserts, knowing to avoid stagnant pools in forests and that it's advisable to boil snow.

It's harder to know the exact boiling times, the best ways to find water in a ruined city, the minimum recommended water per day in millilitres… there's no way I'll score perfectly, but I know I can pass this test.

I thought I could pass, at least until I'm presented with the number 78 on the screen. Not a pass, not even against the original scoring bar.

I'm over to the edible plants test right afterwards in hopes it will be a little easier. But it's not. Study as I did, between the failure of the water purification test and what Stetson told me mere minutes ago, I find answers I'm sure I should know refusing to appear in my head.

Each question is multi-choice, so there's always the chance I could do as I've always done and bullshit my way into a passing score.

If nothing else, I know for a fact what nightlock is and how deadly it would be to ingest it.

But knowing that isn't enough for a pass. The test needed 85% and I managed just 65%. I don't let the gamemakers see my look right at them, but I give them the briefest of side eyes.

Wisp is paying attention as are several underlings of his. Others behind them have already lost interest. One is trying valiantly to take a cork out of a wine bottle.

I need to get their attention back on me and show I can do something all at once. What would achieve both things? Well, what do the gamemakers like? They enjoy a good show.

How is a good show put on? Fighting and killing. And what else is better to do that than weapons. It's time to put what Sturm taught me to use and get stabbing, or something that's close to it.

I grab one of the dozen knives off of the table nearest the dummy that's been set out - it's serrated on both sides, with a small barbed tooth at the end - and hold it just as Sturm showed me to.

One stab, two stabs, three stabs. I'm not the fastest at stabbing a dummy, but I'm sure that these wounds would take down a real tribute. One might even be enough to get past their block if I took them by surprise. For good measure I land one firm stab right into the dummy's throat.

Some of the gamemakers have begun to pay attention to me once again, but nobody looks particularly enthused. What else can I do?

The gauntlet practically beckons me with how much it sticks out off to the side. What if I were to run it again, and this time make it all the way to the other side?

I saw so many tributes make it across. I remember their footwork and roughly the speed they did so at. I'll be slower, sure, but I'm sure I can make it to the finish.

It's better than nothing.

It'll have to do.

In moments I'm at the start of the gauntlet ready to make it to the other side. A trainer quickly steps forth to count me down. Three, two one and I'm off.

This time I clear the first platform without any problems.

It's just the second one that gives me trouble, enough for me to sent hurtling face first to the ground below.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

I make it clear to Falcon that I don't want to talk about my private training session. He doesn't push it, but he does talk about how his own training session went. By the sound of it he did just fine with everything.

How lovely for him.

"I slashed up half a dozen dummies with a short sword and showed them what I knew about poisons and survival skills. Oh, and I did the monkeybars twice. Think I'll score high?"

"Maybe," I say. "Probably not low."

Probably not as low as me. Did I do enough to get at least a two? Certainly, right? I showed I can hold a knife correctly and stab with it well enough, and it's not like I failed the survival tests by a mile or anything.

But then I also knocked myself out for a few minutes on the gauntlet. It probably entertained them, but I lost half my time and looked like such an idiot. Would they take away points by default for such carelessness?

Maybe a one really is the only score I can expect to get.

Maybe I'll attract sponsors who would root for an underdog.

There are my Capitol relatives I suppose, though I've never met them. Would family ties be enough for them to sponsor me? Would being the offspring of their disposed of children mean they'd hold me with the same contempt?

Would screwing over my parents' scam at least earn favour with the Weisz family? I'd be taking down a supernatural scam, and that certainly sounds like something they would enjoy.

In the end I settle to just eat more of that sweet, glorious stew until I stop thinking about training scores. Three bowls of it later and I'm back to almost feeling like myself again… or, in absence of knowing what that means for me, at least feeling better.

That lasts until Periwinkle urges Blossom and Epona to come sit with us and for Falcon to turn on the TV because it's time to see the scores.

Time truly flies when you're not having much fun.

Chill, Beth. You needn't get the best score. That wouldn't be good anyway. All you have to do is score a measly two. You just have to avoid getting the worst score.

Surely I did better than Weed.

"We'll work with whatever score you have," Blossom assures both of us, though I feel it's moreso directed towards me. "Nobody's ever scored a twelve, and tributes have won with every other score from one to eleven."

"Exactly. Don't see this as needing a certain score, see it more like changing your tactics to match whatever score you get," Epona adds. "Whatever happens, just know that I'll be making sure you shine at the interviews."

Knowing what, admittedly little, I do of Epona I feel like she could mean that literally.

Falcon turns the TV on and it's barely half a minute before the show begins. Twinkle greets the viewers with smiles, waves, kisses and some mindless anecdote about her own visit to a big gym and how she's sure her abilities with the treadmill should earn her at least a seven.

Whether or not it's real or fiction, it sounds ridiculous.

"Now it's time for the moment you've all been waiting for! OK, maybe not the start of the Games, though that's nearly here as well!" Twinkle pauses to laugh and giggle like a little kid. "It's time, after three days full of training, sweat, effort and glory, for us to learn the training scores! Remember, those who bet on the scores and get them right will be entitled to a big pay-out as soon as we cut back to commercials!"

Of course. Why make money betting on a horse race or hoverball matches when you could bet on the lives of children? I mean, obviously, right?

The first tribute to be shown on-screen is Sun, his picture showing off his gold teeth.

"First up," Twinkle begins, mock-serious. "Sun Blumiere, our District One male, with a score of… ten! Well done, Sun!"

Of course he'd score high, there was little to no chance he wouldn't do so. Just like there's almost no chance that his allies won't end up scoring just as high, or possibly end up surpassing him as well.

"Next up, Rupee Mars, our lovely District One female, with a score of… nine!"

Another solid score and with those luscious locks of hers she'll barely even have to do more than smile to the camera to earn her bread and drink.

Sturm and Macey score a 9 and a 10 respectively. Cookie lags far behind with only a 3, while Rotor outscores all tributes from his district over the past ten years with a 7.

Clamantha earns a solid 8, about what you'd expect from careers like her, but Seafoam fails to live up to the usual boys from District 4. He only manages to earn himself a 4. I don't have to think too hard to know he's surely, perhaps literally, feeling murderous over this several floors below me. Perhaps getting himself suspended from almost all the solo training was costly after all. Imagine that.

The scores continue to be shown, but few tributes are scoring high this year. Outside the careers the only ones who manage to score an 8 are Stetson and Winnow, while most of the others fall between a 3 and a 6.

I wordlessly pick up the notepad and pen from the coffee table beside my armchair, jotting down the scores everyone earned. There have certainly been stronger years, to say the least.

12: N/A

11: N/A

10: Sun, Macey

9: Rupee, Sturm

8: Clamantha, Winnow, Stetson

7: Rotor, Toyota, Settler

6: Falcon

5: Solar, Pleat

4: Seafoam, Theory, Cropper

3: Cookie, Axel, me, Steam

2: Dandelion, Burnice

1: Weed, Button

A 3. That's it, the same as two twelve year olds and a boy no taller than four feet. Well, at least I did better than the drugged boy and the girl with a broken leg. With how low several tributes have scored, it doesn't look as bad as I feared it could've.

I wonder how Solar managed a 5. It's not as if it's a high score, but for a tribute with a broken arm in a sling it's certainly notable. Well, not all skills require both arms. Wounded tributes have managed to hold out in fights with just a knife in one hand before, so maybe she showed them that, or perhaps she just aced all of the survival tests and lit a fire? Would doing it despite her injury make her get a higher score for how she overcame more difficulty?

"How do you think Button scored a one?" Falcon asks. "He didn't seem to have any issues in training or anything."

"Probably did it on purpose," I say. "Tributes do that."

"They do, though it can be costly," Blossom says. "He has a plan, so avoid him until you have any sense of what it is, and even then…"

"So, a six for me and a three for Lisbeth," Falcon says. "Now what?"

Epona gives us a grin that's so wide and cheerful it's almost scary. She's in her element here.

"Now it's time to get you both ready for the interviews," she says.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

It has all lead up to this.

Tonight I'll be shown to the whole nation.

Tonight Twinkle will interview me on mandatory viewing.

Tonight I'll be exposing my parents for everything they've done.

Tonight… I'm sure that Falcon is going to be beyond furious with me.

Yesterday was a blur, but perhaps the most peaceful day I've had in so very long.

Prepping for the interviews had been the easiest part of the Games yet. I'd already known all along what I was going to say, so there wasn't much that Blossom had to go over with me for my angle. We just had to come up with what I would do before I drop the truth.

One final seance would have to do. As luck would have it, Twinkle has lost a member of her own family only three years ago and they were just fourteen. It was very publicised, so it was easy to gather hoards of information on Twinkle's late nephew, Star, and study them all through the afternoon. I know I can make even Twinkle think she's really talking to Star.

Etiquette training was even easier. Epona called me a natural at it, partly thinking that having family from the Capitol gave me a natural advantage and partly thinking I was just that polite and lovely to be around.

It was nice, hearing that.

But really, it's easy to know what the Capitol likes and what they want to see when they force us to watch the Games year after year. All that I needed to do is think of which tributes appealed the most to the crowd and just do as they did. Talk as they did. Walk as they did.

Etiquette training was deemed complete in just half an hour, giving me all the more time to study up on Star, rehearse a few lines and get the Capitol accent just right.

By the time nightfall arrived I knew I was ready.

Well, almost. As all the morning so far has proven, as has half the afternoon, lots had to be done by the prep team to get me looking in tip top shape. Turns out that training so hard, or whatever I did anyway, undid a lot of their work for the parade.

At last, here I stand in front of a massive mirror as Epona eagerly watches from the side.

"What do you think?" she asks. "I think I outdid myself with this one! But, the second best tribute I've ever worked with deserves the second best outfit I've ever created."

"There's no beating Blossom is there?" I ask.

"No," she says, sighing such a dreamy little sigh. "There isn't. So, c'mon, what do you think? Do you like it?"

I do, and how could I not? I've never worn something so fancy, so grand, so… expensive and over the top! OK, sure, there's my ceremonial robes back at Village, but they always felt so wrong on me. Gaudy for every wrong reason. This outfit feels better. It feels right to be wearing it as I am.

Just look at it! A scarlett dress-gown that flows at least thrice the length of my legs with the most intricate of golden threads and patterns I can't claim to understand, only admire. A golden bodice studded all over in jewels, primarily rubies. A golden crown of spikes and crystals, all perfectly spaced apart.

I feel like the cost of this outfit could easily pay to feed a thousand families in District 9 for just as many days.

"It's perfect," I tell her.

"Awwww, only perfect?" Epona says, faux-upset. "I was hoping for better than that!"

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

We're taken to the interviews by limo with only an hour until the show itself starts. I'd think this would be cutting things close, but apparently it's quite typical. It means all the more people in the gathered crowds to watch us walk down the red carpet into the studio itself.

Everything feels so loud, so colourful, so bright… too much of everything until, at last, we're shown into the waiting room where we will be staying until it's our turn to speak with Twinkle.

Falcon and I are amongst the last ones to arrive, though few others look our way as we enter the room. No doubt they're all too busy thinking about their own interviews, even the careers.

They more than anyone have the pressure to put on a really good interview, coming from the districts with the most victors.

I make my way to a soft looking chair at the side of the room right beside a cooler of water - over a hundred cups are provided - and let myself relax.

Until victory or death, this will be the last time I can relax.

Falcon sits beside me, not at all worried. He's been dressed up in a tuxedo and matching dress pants, every square millimetre of the fabric covered with perfectly cut emeralds. He glows and shines with every movement he makes.

"Now what?" he asks.

"Now we wait," I say. "Let's just try and relax until it's our turns."

"So, like she's not doing?"

He nods towards Cookie, the smaller girl in a pink ballroom dress with a headpiece that resembles a sort of crystal cuckoo clock. She's clearly suffering stagefright, more than Bernice seems able to talk her through.

"Yes. Exactly the opposite," I tell him.

He nods, giving me a smile before he turns his attention towards the careers seated together at the opposite wall. He keeps a vigil beside me, glaring out at them as if daring them to try anything. Of course, they won't. Nobody - not even Seafoam, himself leaning against the wall near the door - would be dumb enough to get into a fight when the interviews are about to begin.

No doubt that will be the very last time Falcon sends a smile my way.

I try to ignore the churning in my stomach that comes when I think about how he's surely going to react poorly to my admission of the truth.

It's that or even bigger trouble with the Capitol if you say nothing, I remind myself.

The last tributes to arrive are those from District 5. Theory makes his way over to his allies, spinning around the platinum pocket watch he's been given like it were a yoyo, while Solar sits down on my other side.

Not only has she been given a fancy and glitter covered orange cocktail dress, but they've even given her sling a makeover of sequins and fancy, fluffy tassels.

"Nice sling," I tell her.

"Nice crown," she tells me. "You got the better end of the deal here."

I nod my agreement. Outside and off where the stage is just a short walk up the hall I hear the crowds screaming as Twinkle starts off the show.

Not long now.

"How'd you score a five?" I ask her.

"I can use a machete one handed," she says. "How'd you get a three?"

"I fell off the gauntlet," I tell her.

She snorts, right as the door opens. Two peacekeepers, both holding machine guns, stand to attention behind a seemingly unarmed peacekeeper in front of them. She's got her visor lifted, enough that there's no missing her firm eyes and former scowl.

"You'll be called out one by one and escorted to the stage," the peacekeeper says. "Any funny business will be regretted. Specifically by you. There will be no other warnings. Once your interview is over, you'll head off the other side of the stage that you entered from. You'll be escorted to a limo that will take you back to the training centre."

Something changes in her eyes. They darken considerably.

"Anyone who dares to pull a Womble will enter the arena with all their limbs broken," she warns.

With that, she and the other two peacekeepers leave.

"Who'd be stupid enough to pull a Womble?" Toyota asks the room at large, snickering.

"Maybe him?" Sturm says, gesturing at Weed who - of course - is still high.

"...Duuuuuuude…" Weed says.

I doubt even Weed would do something so utterly stupid. Womble was - key word there is was - a fifteen year old boy from District 7 a dozen years back who had quite possibly the most infamous, disgusting interview in Hunger Games history. It's an open secret that his interview is why he was launched between all six careers and died four seconds in.

Twinkle had asked him about his hobbies back home. Womble had claimed he was a good singer. When pressed a little on that, he claimed he could sing out of his rear end. He proceeded to drop his pants and defecate upon the stage, claiming that he was clearing his throat. He was dragged off by security and the interviews were halted while clean-up crews were called in, both for his mess and the vomit of the crowd.

There might be a bad interview or two tonight, but I think we can all rest easy knowing that not one amongst us shall be pulling a Womble.

Five minutes pass before the door opens and one of the peacekeepers from before gestures for Rupee to follow them. She follows, making sure to smirk at us all as she sashays her hips side to side every step of the way.

Whoa.

Spinels look good on her.

By the time I've pushed Rupee out of my head a large screen on the wall turns on, displaying the stage for us all where Rupee is making her way onto it.

This'll be my last chance to learn about the other tributes before we're launched into that arena. Of all times to not have the notepad and pen with me!

That's fine. Mental notes will work. The audience might be watching for entertainment, but I'm watching for knowledge.

Rupee's interview is about what you would expect from a girl from District 1. As tends to always be the case with them she's confident, she's eager to make both her home and the Capitol proud and she's such a tease.

At times, the way she eyes the camera and winks… it feels like she's looking right as me. Hm, well, that's a foolish thought. Yes.

"Got any special plans for once you're in the arena?" Twinkle asks. "C'mooooon, give us a spoiler, just one!"

"Well, my little brother back home, Tuxedo, he's always wanted to see someone paint 'District 1' on the cornucopia in someone's blood. Who would I be to refuse my precious little bro-bro?" Rupee asks, giggling.

For a moment she drops all pretences of being a smug, sly killer and gives the camera a playful wave as she says hello to her Brother many miles away.

Does she have a brother, or is it a plot for sponsors or to cause the briefest moment of hesitation from a potential killer?

Rupee leaves the stage to grand applause, blowing kisses all of the way. The audience is still cheering even as a peacekeeper beckons Sun out of the room as Twinkle hypes him up out on the stage.

The careers' interviews are, again, rather what you would expect from them. If they're anything then it's predictable in how powerful, loyalist and confident they are. If they hadn't already made their alliance completely obvious to the rest of us, it would be foolish with how openly they talk, even if briefly, of the group they're part of.

Still, each of them knows to be themselves in some way and add a little something that none of their allies will be able to.

Sun talks about how he lost his front teeth in a street fight where he stopped some thugs beating up a young girl - so, code for losing them in a fight at his training academy - and how he intends to replace them with topaz teeth once he wins. Of course, he might consider rubies as well - they are the colour of blood, after all.

Macey continues on as she has been since the start. Full aggression, full intimidation, nothing but talking about how ready she is to fight and how eager she is to kill and set a kill record higher than all who came before her. She only drops this to say that, when she wins, she's taking everyone at the care home for a night out on the town back home.

Sturm does to Twinkle as he did to his escort at the reaping and holds her overhead with ease throughout the entire interview. Whilst he holds her up there he casually talks of the dozens of ways he could use a sword and knife to kill someone and how, when he wins, for his talent he'll be the bloodiest baker the nation has ever seen.

After that it's hard for either Cookie or Rotor to get quite as much attention from the audience into themselves. District 3 always had it rough, being where they are in the interviews, although right now it's all to my advantage. Cookie is shy throughout her interview, only really coming to life when she chatters about how she won a district prize for her engineering, while Rotor flexes a bit for the audience and calls himself the perfect balance of brain and brawn. The audience loves it and… well, ahem, I don't exactly hate it.

Clamantha boasts of her muscles and how she once beat a shark to death with only her fists, this after dragging it into a beach. Did she really do that? I'm sceptical. Does she have the power to do it in theory? That much I believe.

Things come to a grinding, awkward halt when Seafoam steps out onto the stage. Between his lacklustre showing at the parade, getting himself barred from most of training and scoring the lowest of any tribute from District 4 in decades, he's already going out there with a lot of the audience rather against him.

He utterly fails to win them back. His arrogance remains, but all the setbacks he's brought upon himself so far have him unable to stop sneering or displaying an almost murderous attitude towards Twinkle. The crowd are whispering amongst themselves from the start, only to start to boo and jeer when he stumbles and snaps at Twinkle as she brings up his low score.

She couldn't make the hint of him doing it on purpose as part of a greater plan be more obvious, but he still doesn't get it. He storms off the stage, yelling that he'll set a kill record, a time record and once he's won he'll volunteer to do it all again next year too. If there's anyone that I feel reasonably safe to say isn't a threat, it's Seafoam.

Solar is all mischievous and full of secrets in her interview, like she knows so much more than Twinkle does and is keen to keep it that way. It's a back and forth banter of Twinkle asking for more and Solar only leaving her with more questions. I'm left no closer to any answers too. She concludes by saying how, despite one of her arms being in a sling, she's gonna surprise everyone and make some Hunger Games history. How? By being the first victor to enter the Games with a broken arm? I think there was, long ago, a victor who already did that.

After Theory's interview where he talks at length of how much he loves school, science and outscoring older kids at tests, and that mind over matter will be why he wins, the reality of just how close my own interview is has my knees knocking together.

It's about to happen.

This is really happening.

I'm about to expose my parents.

The lie that's made up my entire everything is about to be blown up.

"You alright?" Falcon asks me.

"Yes," I say.

I think I'm gonna be sick. But, this is why I'm here. It has to be done. There's nothing else for it. I need to focus.

Only through exposing Village as the sham it is will there be a chance to survive.

Only through exposing it can I just be me.

The interviews begin to fly by, each one seeming quicker than the last as my own turn snakes its way closer and closer.

Toyota keeps things crass by being the first tribute to drop double digits worth of F bombs live on camera. Axel at first struggles to keep the crowd's interest due to his lack of hair, only for his incredible memory and recollection of such minor and specific details winning them right back. Winnow talks about her three little sisters who mean more to her than anything else and how strange it feels to have not seen them for several days now. Weed, higher than ever, just says whatever comes to his mind.

"Dude, like… if we're thinking… are we like, thinking… or just thinking about thinking… y'know dude…?'

No, I do not know.

Pleat makes sure everyone knows her parkour and climbing skills, and her plans for when she wins. If the Games can fix anything, then it's poverty. Twinkle wishes her well, but Pleat says she needs Twinkle to wish her much harder than that.

Button remains cold, firm and tough, or as tough as someone his age can be. He makes clear that he'll be going back home to his brother and nobody's gonna stand in his way, not even 'that dumb bitch from District 2'. When his score of 1 is brought up, he claims that it just further shows that he is number one. It's all he needs.

"Well, we hope that you'll be able to surprise us all," Twinkle says as the buzzer goes off. "Button Goose, everyone!"

It's time. A peacekeeper gestures for me to follow them and what can I do but obey?

The noise of the crowd, the brightness of the lights, it all becomes so much more as I walk down the corridor and ever nearer to the stage.

"She's the first girl from Nine to volunteer since their last victor and, word has it, has quite a special gift too - everyone raise the roof for Lisbeth Trismegistus!"

I enter the stage to applause that seems just as fierce as what the careers received. Several of those in attendance chant my name.

It's all I can do to wave back to them as I make my way to my seat. How do tributes not constantly strain their eyes under these lights? Does everyone just have to do as I'm having to do now and just try to ignore it?

"Welcome to the show Lisbeth!" Twinkle exclaims.

"Lisbeth?" I reply. "No, no, I'm Beth. Who's this Lisbeth you speak of?"

The crowd laughs. A few of them hoot and holler. Twinkle rolls with it, switching to address me by my preference. She claims that she feels like she's waited many years to meet me, having lost her chance to do so twice already.

"Well, you know, the third time is the charm," I tell her. "I had to take things into my own hands this time. I had to be the one to volunteer this time."

"And what a volunteer you've been! There's this little habit of female volunteers from District Nine. They always win! You must be happy about your odds going into the Games?" Twinkle says, eyes glimmering.

"Well, you know, they could be worse," I say. "They could always be worse."

"Oh, of course. Poor Weed's got odds of four hundred and twenty to one," Twinkle says.

For some reason this particular number has the audience laughing hard. I try to smile as well, though I couldn't tell you what I'm meant to be smiling about.

"What's been your favourite part of the Capitol so far?" Twinkle asks me. "The food? I have it on good authority you've been quite partial to our stews."

"Better question, what crazy person wouldn't be partial to them?" I ask her.

She shrugs, putting on a 'you got me' sort of a face.

"But actually, I've really been enjoying the TV so far. I've especially loved the shows put on by the Crowley and Weisz families. There's just something that draws me into it," I tell her. "And I think I know what it is."

"Oooh, what might that be? Wait, let me guess!" Twinkle exclaims. "The family rivalry, I bet that's what it is, one hundred percent!"

"It's something alright, but actually… no. It's because they're my family," I say. The audience gasps so much it's a wonder none of them kneel over from a lack of air. "Ever heard of Etteilla and Saint Germain? They were cast out of the Capitol for what you might call a love story gone wrong. Then they had me. You might call me the best of both sides of my family."

I wonder, are any of my relatives in the audience tonight? I can't see anyone I recognise from TV, though for all I know they could be in luxury booths high up and out of my sight.

Either way, I keep going before Twinkle can speak. The clock is ticking.

"But I think I take a bit more after my Dad's side of the family. They're dedicated to the supernatural, and I've got some experience with it myself," I say.

A pause, just a quick one. Just enough to lead to the reveal, at least before the true reveal.

Here we go.

"I can talk to the dead and give them a voice so they may talk to others," I say. "Twinkle, if you'd like… I can try to call on the spirit of Star. Would you like to see him one last time?"

One look at her expression and I know I've got her, just as I knew I would.

"Yes, I would," she says, so quickly she stumbles over her words.

"Then I shall try to bring him here," I say.

It's business as usual, for the very last time. The lights, and how the crew backstage adjust the lighting just-so, only serve to aid the atmosphere.

I lay it on nice and dramatic, but not too much. After all, the Weisz's might be here and I need to have them buy into it, or at least consider it just long enough to not get up and call bullshit.

I let my eyes grow vacant, I let the tears flow, I make sure my voice cracks at just the right moments when I call out to Star, pleading him to hear me and come back and see his Aunt again, for it might be the only chance he gets.

When I grow quiet and turn to Twinkle with such a different expression, I think I've got her.

"Twinkle?" I, as Star, say. "... Jam Jars?"

I know I've got her. Her eyes are already full of tears, the kind I know cannot be faked. The real and pure ones.

How lucky it was that Epona knows so many people and one such person had security monitor footage, and one little clip had Star call Twinkle by a little nickname, a private in-joke between them both.

"Ohshitohshitohshit…" Twinkle stammers, her immaculate make-up already running.

"Where are we? Is… is this the interview studio for the Hunger Games? Aren't you supposed to interview tributes? Are you gonna interview me, Jam Jars?"

"...I don't think Beth would mind if I did," she says, sniffling through her tears. "How have you been, Star?"

With time surely getting lower - too low for my liking - there isn't too much time to go madly in depth, and Twinkle is gutted for this. But as I answer her questions, matching the tone and the exact personality Star had in life, I've not only gotten her but almost all of the audience to believe this is real.

Perhaps even most of the nation? I'd honestly prefer if I didn't. The thought of the entire human race being hoodwinked by this little act is just depressing. Bad enough for one district to be played for fools, but all of them? No thanks.

Five fond childhood memories reminisce on later and I know it's time for the finale.

"Wanna know something else?" I ask Twinkle. "Something even bigger, badder, crazier, Capitol-er than the time we filled Garfield Puddleduck's pool with gelatin?"

"Always," Twinkle says, still teary eyed and overcome.

In an instant I drop the act. The joy, the tears, the emotion - everything. I'm not so much back to me as becoming me, forever. This'll hurt her. It'll hurt people back in Village, but it's for the best.

It's the only way they'll move on.

"That wasn't Star, that was just me," I tell her.

"...Wha… what?" Twinkle stammers.

I stand, moving forth to the front of the stage. The spotlight follows me, keeping me firmly the focus of the whole nation.

"That was fake. Fiction. Not real. I didn't bring Star back. Like as not, he's dead," I tell the audience. "And you know what else? I've never bought a dead person back, not a single time! I'm not a medium! I don't have any powers! I've only been acting like whoever I was told to!"

I think I might be crying, at least a little, but I don't stop.

"Everything was a lie! A scam! That's why I really volunteered!" I yell, my throat burning. "My parents started this whole scam to get people's money! They don't care about anyone in District Nine! They don't care about me! They only care about themselves and moving back to the Capitol!"

I stop my foot. I barely make a sound, but the crowd somehow recoils anyway.

"Just go into their room and look through the closet, that's where they keep all the finance sheets, the information on any dead person - everything!" I give the cameras a look. Tragic, firm, I don't even know. "The dead are gone. They're not coming back. It hurts, I get that… but you need to move on. We all need to move on. With love comes loss; it's part of the deal, and some scam run by a pair of cons won't change that. Don't lose yourself to some cock and bull scam!"

The buzzer goes off, finally ending my interview. Twinkle and the crowd are stunned silent as I leave the stage.

"Don't forget to live, because surely - if they could speak to us - the dead would want you to keep going and keep living," I conclude. "You're not living. You're just not dying. It's different."

The applause only erupts once I'm already gone and following a pair of peacekeepers to the limo that awaits me outside of the studio.

I've destroyed any kind of relationship I could ever have with my parents, not that I ever really thought there was one to be had.

I've destroyed Falcon's beliefs and no doubt he's going to be furious once he's back at the training centre.

I've no doubt forever driven away my Father's side of the family.

But, I realise as I step into the limo, Lisbeth was left behind on that much-too-bright stage. It's Beth who has entered the limo and who will be taking things from here.

Win, or die, I'm finally free of seances. I'm free to just be myself.

I'm not free of the interviews though. There's a screen set up inside the limo that displays the live feed from the stage.

There's no off-button. There's no chance to relax. I'll have to see Falcon's interview.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

By the time I'm led into the training centre and directed to the elevator I'm struggling to stand. Not from exertion but from just feeling so very sick.

Falcon's interview was perhaps an even bigger disaster than Seafoam's. At least Seafoam had moments where he truly was coherent. Falcon was going through an absolute crisis of faith from start to finish. He was twitching and stammering madly, except when he would freeze solid and not make a sound.

What little of his babbling that could be made out was that he doesn't understand any of this… except that he does understand, and his mind just hadn't quite caught up with it or any of what it means for him. It means his family sunk so much time and money into nothing but a scam.

It means that he never really was talking to Field, whether back at Village or just the other night.

It means he volunteered to die for absolutely zero reason and his chances of ever getting home are so very slim.

How can I face him after this?

I don't know if we were friends. I mean, he cared… but he cared about my powers and keeping Lisbeth the Medium alive, not Beth the… normal girl, the person. We got along, but it was surface level, but I didn't truly mind him or anything.

But he'll surely take exception to me now. There was no missing his screams of anguish that came from the backstage after Twinkle signed him off.

After that it was so much harder to pay attention to the remaining interviews of the show. Only the smallest of details managed to stick into my brain.

Settler has known Stetson all her life but didn't allude as to how, just that they've learnt all their tricks from each other and are going in there as a team. Stetson backed this up and claimed that they're taking the rest of us to the slaughterhouse, all with such a seemingly friendly drawl to his words.

Dandelion was just angry, bitter and cold. It's clear she has no chance tomorrow and she knows it, and made sure to cuss out as many people as she could while she still can. Cropper, meanwhile, talked about how close he is with his Father and how well he's served the nation as the mayor of District 11, and how Cropper losing might cause national unrest. Very clever…

Burnice, like Cookie, was shy but didn't really manage to get going. Her stage fright was obvious and she ended up mumbling a lot and talking about her beloved cat.

Steam explained why he volunteered. Apparently his very poor family would surely not last the winter with the money they have now, so he - with some money he won from little a bunch of bets throughout the past year - bet on himself as being the male tribute to enter the Games. Well, the bet didn't have anything against volunteering. He set his family up incredibly well, and all it cost was him entering the arena, but win or lose he says he has no regrets.

Well, I'm glad someone has no regrets, because it's surely not me.

I make it back to the apartment before anyone else seems to have arrived. It's perfectly silent.

It's the perfect time to head into my room and relax. As I lay atop the sheets, staring up at the ceiling, I try to tell myself that it had to be done. For myself, for everyone no matter how much they didn't want to hear it.

I did what I came here to do, and now everything past this is a mystery. My own life. My own choices. That's worth something.

That's what I try to tell myself. I'm starting to believe it too, at least until there's a sudden frantic, mad pounding at the door, almost enough to start straining the hinges.

"LISBETH!" Falcon screeches, pausing to pound, punch and kick at the door. "GET OUT HERE NOW!"

I suppose I knew this was coming. There are no right answers that I can possibly give. All I can do is let him get it out, and keep in mind that the no fighting rule is still in effect.

Although, would he be keen to break that rule right now?

I'm halfway to the door when, with a sudden crash, Falcon finally breaks it open. I've barely a moment to wonder if he scored lower on purpose because, surely, that sort of power is worth more than just a six.

Mainly because he lunges forwards and uppercuts me. My lungs are emptied as quickly as the bruise appears. The next moment I'm on the ground with my knee flaring, Falcon having kicked me right in the kneecap.

When I look up I see none of Falcon's normal affable and calm side, or even a neutral stare.

I see someone in a wild frenzy, heaving deep breaths as sweat trickles down his messy face.

I cry out, struggling for air as another kick follows the first, this one right to my already empty lungs. I try to wheeze something about, an apology or a plea, but he won't have any of it.

"YOU LIED! YOU… YOU FREAK!" his own voice is warped by his screams. "Did you laugh?! Were you laughing when you pretended to be Field the other night?! DID YOU?!"

Another kick. It's more pain than I've ever felt. I can't breathe, nowhere near enough to tell him I never once laughed.

"I trusted you! I volunteered to save you… now you're telling me it's all a load of shit? That I'm here for no reason!?" as much as he's roaring, he sounds as if he's going to cry. "You led me on and you said nothing! FUCK YOU!"

He readies himself to stomp on me. I clench my eyes shut, but the agony never comes. Only plenty of barely comprehensible cursing and strangled yelling.

When I dare to open my eyes I see that Blossom has arrived and taken action. She keeps an iron grip on Falcon from behind, preventing any movement aside from the kicking of his legs.

He's strong, but Blossom is so much stronger. She's a woman who, at the age of only fifteen, survived a cult and - when pinned face down on the ground by one of the sickest boys to ever be in the arena, mind you - still gained the upper hand and slayed her foe in not even a minute.

So long as Blossom is here, Falcon can't hurt me.

Beyond her in the doorframe Periwinkle watches on in horror while Epona moves around Blossom to gently help me up.

"Falcon! Stop! Cease! Right now!" Blossom yells with a fire I've never heard from her before.

"Let me at her!" Falcon roars. "She used me! She's a snake! She needs to be put down! She played my family for fools! All of my friends and their families, she used them too! She acted like my dead sister for money!"

"Like Beth was saying on that stage, it's a lot more complicated than that," Blossom firmly tells him. "You gonna calm down and maybe listen now that there's no time limit? Or do we have to lock you in your room?"

Falcon continues to struggle and snarl. When Blossom reminds him that fighting before the Games will only get him into trouble he just laughs.

"Trouble? That's what this little freak is in!" he spits. "She just destroyed herself! Everyone who cared about her? Oh, they're gonna hate her now! She's got nobody - at least I have my parents! Nobody would care if I killed her now!"

It's terrifying just how quickly he's turned on me. I can't really blame the turn, but the speed at which he's gone from making sure I'm not overwhelmed to kicking the air out of me…

"I would care," Blossom growls.

"Why would you care about this liar?! She's the problem here, you idiot!"

"Blossom is not an idiot!" Epona speaks up for the first time. Briefly she instructs Periwinkle to go and fetch the first aid kid. He's right on it. "Blossom's the strongest woman I know. She survived a cult!"

This only sends Falcon into even more mania. The fact Blossom survived a cult, the fact he's only now realising he was in one, the fact I was at the heart of his cult… he's left laughing mad.

Blossom firmly takes him away to his room - oh no, what if the door cannot hold him? - and, before he's out of my sight, sends me a glare I don't think I could possibly forget even if I were to live to be a hundred.

"By this time tomorrow Blossom won't be able to protect you."

Blossom uses all her might to get Falcon secured in his room and pleads an Avox to go and get some back-up from peacekeepers.

Epona just holds me, not saying anything as Periwinkle returns with the med kit. The pain, the hatred, together it's too much. It's too hard not to cry.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

Two armed peacekeepers stand outside Falcon's door. He stopped raging a while ago, but the silence is frightening in its own way.

I stopped crying a while ago. Blossom and Epona really stepped up to calm me down, while Periwinkle was a natural at first aid. Just part of his job, he'd assured me.

The med kit had everything needed to fix up any wounds Falcon managed to do. Thankfully it was nothing the most basic Capitol tech couldn't fix in moments. But that doesn't do a thing about the real problem.

Tomorrow I'll be in the arena where he can, and will, do so much worse. He won't be unarmed. He clearly won't care about the taboo of killing his district partner, and would it matter so much if I truly have nobody left caring about me back home?

Do I even have an alliance anymore? I've not had a chance to talk to Solar, Rotor or the rest. Do they feel like Falcon does? What if they help him to hunt me down?

Avoxes worked quickly to fix my bedroom door, but I haven't gone to bed yet. After what just happened, it's physically impossible.

So here I am on the sofa between Blossom and Epona. Periwinkle was here for a while, but had to go and take a phone call. Sponsors, perhaps, assuming that I still have them.

"What do I do?" I ask, lost.

"I'll tell you what you can't do," Blossom says. "No matter how hard it seems, or how unlikely victory looks, you cannot give up."

"That's right," Epona agrees. "Giving up turns a small chance of victory into a certainty of losing. No, what you need to do now is keep making plans and moves, and above all be smart."

"OK, but how is playing smart going to help when Falcon wants to kill me?"

As it turns out, both Blossom and Epona know several ways that it may. For starters, running as soon as the gong rings for how unlikely it is most tributes would follow me with no supplies. Falcon has a family; he'd be unlikely to risk having to start without even a drop of water.

For another sticking close to my allies. Now that I have nothing for me in my own district, they have my full loyalty, or so I should make them think. Who'd say no to another number?

There's also the careers. Grim as it sounds, Falcon made all of them mad. He actually said to Clamantha's face she should kill herself because 'nobody in the nation even wants her around'! If I could skirt somewhat near the careers, there's no way he would follow after me. With how he's made them so mad, he might even flee the bloodbath himself.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," I eventually say.

"You're going to win," Blossom tells me.

"You're going to live a great life that's all your own," Epona adds.

"Am I? Look how delicate I am… I did what I did, I had to do it, but now that I've done it, will I even get to live long enough to enjoy being my own person?"

"That's for you to decide," Blossom says. "Everything that happens now is your own choice to make for yourself. In that arena nobody can tell you what to do or who to be."

Aside from the gamemakers. But live or die, I'll still be me. I'll be Beth.

I won't be Lisbeth anymore.

Lisbeth the Medium is dead.

"I wonder what's happening back home right now," I can't help but say.

Blossom and Epona don't answer, but I can tell they're thinking it over as well. No doubt a frenzy and a half. If my parents haven't already been overrun by screaming parents and furious citizens then they will be really soon.

I'm sure Falcon told his parents why he volunteered, and they'll now know it was for nothing. I wonder if Village will still be standing by the time the sun rises.

After all the damage it's caused, all the damage my parents caused, I can't find it in me to care too much if that school burns to the ground.

At least if it's gone and buried people can finally start to move on. Heal.

"...What's it like to kill someone?" I ask.

Epona takes the briefest, sharpest intake of breath. It's a lot longer before Blossom, the only killer in the room - well, assuming the peacekeepers haven't - says anything.

She rolls up her sleeve to reveal her tattoo. It's three of them, actually. Three numbers, each one stylised to look like it were written in flames. A 1, a 6 and an 11.

"It's something you never forget," she says. "But in the moment, you need to try and forget, or at least ignore it, because you won't have time to think about it. Tributes, mutts, traps, they could be near and ready to strike."

We don't talk much after that. I think we've said everything that we need to say.

The only one to talk is Periwinkle when, at last, he returns with quite a smug, confident smile.

"Bad news, the Crowley's hate you for undermining their legacy and have already disinherited you," he says. "A bit harsh, really. However, the Weisz' love what you did and how you stuck it against paranormal nonsense and have all pledged to sponsor you. Beth, there's no doubt in my mind that you shall win these Games!"

Epona applauds and Blossom faintly smiles.

I just wish I had Periwinkle's confidence.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

The following morning's breakfast is a quiet, awkward affair.

Nobody has much to say.

Mainly because Falcon is eating in his room and I'm eating in mine, with a duo of peacekeepers stationed outside both our doors.

No fighting allowed for barely a few hours yet, after all.

Blossom joins me, not so much for strategy as just to keep a comforting presence. Luck… it's not real, but if it were than I might not mind saying I lucked out with the mentor I've gotten.

She just gets me, and I'll always be grateful for that. For as long as I'm alive to feel that way at least.

I suppose we'll see how long that'll be once I see what the arena is. I can only hope it's something that favours me.

Though I couldn't begin to think of what terrain I'd excel within… a massive wheat field where I could hide for the entire Games?

All too soon it's time. The peacekeepers outside knock on the door, telling me to follow them to the roof. Blossom joins me for the journey, though she can't accompany me to the launch room. That's gonna be Epona's job.

"You can do this," she says. It's not an assurance or a question, it's spoken as a fact. "The odds are all in your favour."

"You believe they are or you know they are?"

"I know they are."

We reach the roof where the hovercraft is all ready to go. Surely most of the tributes have already boarded it. Before I'm led away Blossom lays a hand on my shoulder, just for the briefest of moments.

"Every time a girl from District Nine has volunteered, they won," she tells me. "Every time they came from a cult, they won. Make the smart choices we both know you will and stay close to your allies. I'll help you with the rest."

This time it's me that lays a hand upon her shoulder, a first for me.

"Thank you for everything," I say.

There's so much more I want to say to her. So much more I think could've been said, or said better. But there's no time left and the peacekeepers already appear impatient.

All that's left for me to do is follow them across the roof and aboard the hovercraft for the long ride ahead.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

The hovercraft took off an hour ago and the ride has been silent ever since, save the sounds of sobs and shudders from some of the tributes here and there.

We're all in what I assume to be the cargo area of the hovercraft, all secured into seats upon the wall. Half of us on one side and the other half across from us. There seems to be no rhyme nor reason for how we've been seated as Winnow is on my left while Solar has seated herself to my right.

Solar had briefly whispered that the plan was still on. Clearly, I've not lost my alliance just yet.

Winnow, as is always the case, had very little to say. Nothing except that, if I didn't attack her in the bloodbath, she wouldn't attack me. A treaty of sorts, or a way to leave me open to attack? I agreed either way.

After we all had a tracker injected and the ride began, I'd expected something to happen. Whether from the careers or Falcon, I had expected something. But there's not been a thing to speak of. Falcon, seated on the other row and six seats to my right, hasn't said a word.

He stares down at the ground, utterly ignoring the world around him.

The near-silence and final calm before the storm lasts for maybe an hour and a half before the windows seal themselves, leaving everyone in near darkness. Wouldn't want anyone getting a look at the arena and making early plans, would they?

Soon after I feel the hovercraft starting to make a descent towards the ground. That's when Falcon strikes the wall behind his seat, instantly getting everyone's attention.

"There's a big alliance you all better watch out for! It's even bigger than the careers!" Falcon yells, loud enough for the peacekeepers to demand he shut up.

Oh shit, he's selling us out! Already the careers look very interested indeed, while the tributes of smaller alliances or going it alone sharply turn his way. The rest of us, the alliance in question, are paling.

There's nothing we can do.

"My bitch of a district partner, boy from Three, girl from Five, both from Six, girl from Eight - they're all working together," Falcon says. "I'm going after them and I'd advise all of you to do the exact same."

"Oh, gladly," Macey says, hunger in her eyes.

That's when the peacekeepers threaten us with their fists to get everyone to quieten down. We do, because who wants to enter the arena already beaten up, but gone is the calm. The storm has begun right now.

I think everyone in the alliance has pale faces and surely racing hearts. I know I do.

"Well," Solar says, as much wry as pissed. "Now we'll all have to stick together, won't we?"

I suppose it does prevent betrayal, all of us now having to stick together to stand a chance. But will it matter if so many of the rest are gunning for us?

As the hovercraft finally comes down to touch the ground outside, I know I'll have to hope it will.

X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~X

I'm led down a series of maze-like always by four peacekeepers, away from where any of the other tributes can see me.

I'm led all the way to my launch room and promptly locked inside.

It's a featureless place. Chrome as it gets. Nothing but a small changing room off to the side and a glass tube at the far side to take me up to the arena before I know it.

There's also a table with a sealed package atop it. Surely my outfit for the arena.

Epona stands beside the table. Apparently stylists make the journey in their own, separate hovercraft to see off tributes. I'd rather it be Blossom here, but she's a close second.

"Do you feel prepared?" Epona asks.

It's appreciated that she doesn't ask if I'm OK. Anyone ought to know I'm not.

"No," I say, honestly. "Falcon's not in the alliance anymore. He sold all of us out on the hovercraft to everyone else."

"He won't make any friends that way," Epona says. "You're not the only person he's put into a bind, Beth, and the careers may very well go after him first after what he's told them."

"Mmmm, I doubt it. Six of us, one of him… our alliance is the bigger priority. The careers hate it when there are alliances besides their's."

"Then it might be worth it to retreat at the start. And if not, stick to the outer rim as best as you can. There's always something there."

"But it might not be the thing I need."

I don't mean to be defeatist, but real plans take time to put together. And that's what I don't have any of, not when a woman's voice announces that there's only fifteen minutes until launch.

"Remember, everyone heard what Falcon said… but not everyone can kill. Do you think Cookie from District Three will try to?"

"It's doubtful."

"It is! But she, and others, might chance grabbing more supplies if they think the strongest tributes will be distracted with your alliance. With so many people, it might be easier to grab something and bolt during all the confusion."

Maybe it will be. Then again, maybe it won't be.

So many maybes!

Either run away and be left with nothing, or run in and almost certainly a target in hopes I get some food and water. There's no ideal option.

I know in my heart though that I need supplies. I need something right away until Blossom can send me something, because how long will that take? How hard will the first day be in those vital opening hours?

Epona opens the package and presents me with my arena clothes. As has been the case every single year - and I doubt it will ever change - the colours for District 9 are log cabin green. This makes itself clear in the clothes before me.

"...You make better outfits," I tell Epona.

A pair of thin boots with wide undersoles and tiny holes dotted throughout the fabric and a matching pair of green socks. Loose, breezy peach coloured long pants with pockets on the sides, rear and knees. A long sleeved, very thin cotton shirt. A similarly loose jacket of pockets and zips.

The finishing touch is a skinny belt, a golden 9 adorning the buckle. No doubt the other tributes have a number to match their district.

Epona gives me privacy to get changed, and by the time I leave the changing room there's only five minutes left before launch.

"You look good," Epona says. "You wear it well."

"Thanks," I say, shrugging. "Any idea what these clothes mean?"

"I'd say it's quite obvious," Epona replies. "Loose clothes, thin fabric, plenty of ways to let the breeze cross your skin, wide undersoles perfect for ground that might not be quite solid. You're probably going to be in a desert."

"Probably?"

"Anything might be up there, but whatever awaits you will be fairly hot. No chance of a tundra."

"Nor a forest. Rotor says they don't use the same terrain twice in a row."

"That would be correct. Nor a coal mine ever again after what happened in the Thirty First… ah, but I'm rambling there."

All we can do is sit silently as time ticks down. I'd get up and pace, but why waste the energy?

"I will see you again," Epona vows. "You will see me again too, and when you do I've got the greatest outfit of the nation ready for your interview."

The voice says it's time for the tributes to enter the tubes. I rise without a word, entering the tube one step after another.

Epona gives me a smile, ever so warm.

"Blossom and I will be watching," she says. "Don't forget, we'll always-"

Whatever it is that she was going to say, I'm almost sure to never find out. The glass comes down to seal me within the tube and cuts off all noise.

All she can do is give me a thumbs up and a proud smile. I don't return it. I don't feel proud. I see no reason to smile.

But I hold her gaze. She's done her best for me.

Now I have to do the best for myself and not die within the next few minutes.

The platform below me begins to rise, slow and steady. I'm soon too high to keep Epona's gaze or even see her. Soon there's nothing but darkness.

In a few minutes there might not even be that.

If there's one upside to all of this, one that even Falcon selling us all out cannot change, it's that I'm the weakest of the alliance. Surely the one who would normally be the first one to fall if I ever got too comfortable.

I'm the least likely one the careers will pick out as a threat. I might have some precious time to grab, say, a duffel bag and a knife before running… well, somewhere.

I'm not rising for long. After half a minute a light appears above me, quickly getting closer.

But it's not the light of any normal sun, or a typical blue sky.

It's as red as blood.

Finally I enter the light as warmth surrounds me on all sides.

As does miles and miles of grim black sand.