Chenille Garcia, District Eight, Leo

"Make sure you have a firm grip. It's a knife, not a snake."

Chenille tried to calm her nerves, but she found it difficult to hold on tightly to the dagger. Not that she'd never held a blade before. She'd helped her mother cook on occasion, at least. But she wasn't here to learn how to chop vegetables. She was here to learn how to kill other human beings.

"I'm doing my best" She told Revalie Satyr, the girl who was helping her, "Killing doesn't come easy to everyone."

The girl from Ten's eyes flashed sharper than a knife, "And what do you mean by that?"

Chenille swallowed nervously. She hadn't quite meant to be rude about it, and it wasn't like she really knew much about the situation anyway. She barely knew Revalie at all. The only reason they were even training together was because Valency wanted to be allies with Eli, who was already allied with the girl from Ten. Chenille was just tagging along, really.

She was exploiting the girl's kindness. If Revalie hadn't offered to help with combat training, she'd still be stuck in the edible plants section as Eli droned on about some revolution that happened hundreds of years ago and Valency for one reason or another started rapping every time he said the name 'Lafayette'.

"I just mean… do you know that the Capitol has made three horror movies about you?"

The redhead looked at her skeptically, "Three? The story's not that long."

"Well they're three different movies, all by different people. In one you didn't actually kill your father, and instead it was a stalker of yours who was trying to frame you so that you'd… love him or something."

"What?"

"It made sense in context. There's another where you're a werewolf."

"So the Capitol just don't care at all, is what you're saying."

Chenille shrugs, "They like stories. I don't think it actually matters if it's true or not."

Revalie looked through rather than at her, a troubled look on her face. "I kill him in the third one, don't I?"

While the Districts were often isolated from each other, some stories were too scandalous to contain. The serial killer from District Nine. The victor from Six who volunteered because a man kidnapped him when he was young and kept him in a basement except for reaping day. And of course the murder trial of District Ten's mayor Kale Satyr, where his thirteen year old daughter was accused of the crime.

In the end, eyewitnesses reported seeing a large man stab him in the chest. However, the man was never found. It was one of Chenille's favorite unsolved mysteries, something she found incredibly awkward now that she was standing opposite the girl whose life was based on all those stories.

"Yes." Chenille admitted, "You did."

Revalie snorted, "It would be best if I did, given what we're about to do."

"So you didn't do it?"

At first, Chenille didn't think she would answer. But after fiddling with her hair a moment, the girl spoke, "I… don't actually remember. My memory of that night is gone."

Before Chenille could say anything, she felt a gust of wind as a dagger flew by her and hit the center of the target. She looked at the throwing knife, then behind her to see who had thrown it. One of the girls from Two stood there, smiling at her. It felt like she was enjoying Chenille's expression of fear.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing!?" Revalie snapped at the girl.

She shrugged, "Practicing."

"Bullshit. There's a million other targets on this floor. Maybe go pick on someone your own size, yeah?"

For some reason, that just made the Two girl angry, "I'm not picking on anyone! I'm just showing off my skills. I've been bullied my whole life, I know what it looks like."

"Oh what a coincidence." Revalie said, "Me too. And it looks like this."

The girl marched up to the two of them, eyes flashing, "Say that to my face, Ten."

"I was already saying it to your face."

Chenille fully intended on staying out of the conflict, but she found herself saying things without truly meaning to. "You're Carrie."

The girl looked at her in confusion. "No. My name is Ally."

"That's not what I meant. Carrie. It's a movie. It's about a girl who gets picked on a lot. But then she gets psychic powers and kills the whole school. Seeing that movie made me realize I couldn't just sit there and let people bully me. Because if the rage builds up, it turns you into a monster."

"I am not a monster!" Ally snapped. But Chenille suspected her words affected her because the girl withdrew and practiced at a different target.

"You watch a ton of movies, don't you girl." Revalie remarked.

That was when Chenille realized something. Movies were hardly the truth, but they held truth in them. Through the lens of movies, she could process the world around her. Terrible things hardly seemed as scary. She was already doing that a little bit, trying to model herself after a final girl. Presenting herself to the Capitol as if she was someone they could know.

But so far, she hadn't thought of her other tributes.

Looking around, she saw several of the careers training. Their strikes were precise and brutal. They hardly seemed like children at all, but monsters. Except Chenille could deal with monsters. If she thought of them like that, going up against them didn't seem as bad. Killing them didn't seem as tragic.

So many people had told her that she needed to stop thinking about movies and concern herself with the real world. But as she held tightly to her training knife, she realized that movies could very well save her life.

Gideon Farlane, District Nine, Scorpio

"What is this place?" Gideon asked his allies, waving his hand up and down experimentally. His mirror self waved back. It was the last day of training, during the exploratory segment, and it was very difficult for him to not goof off. He wasn't entirely sure that anything he learned at this point would stick, but it was still far enough away from the private sessions that they didn't seem completely real. He was stuck in a strange period of restlessness where work just seemed pointless.

Not that he truly knew what kind of work he could do in this sort of room. It was suspiciously empty, with an even wooden floor that bounced more than Gideon was used to when he walked across it. Although that may have been because Frazier insisted he took off his shoes. There was a large cabinet on the far end of the room and some sort of long metal bar in the back. Aside from that the only thing of note was the front wall, which was completely covered in mirrors.

"You've never seen a dance studio?" Frazier asked, with such a scandalized tone that Gideon wondered if he was actually offended.

"Not a lot of dancing in District Nine." he answered

"There's a ton of dancing in Seven." Acacia said, "But we don't need weird rooms to do it in. We just dance."

"This is ridiculous. Bolt, at least you've seen one right? Eight is a district that appreciates beauty."

Bolt only shrugged, which caused Frazier to make an oddly adorable high-pitched squeak of frustration.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. This is perfect. We can practice our walks."

Acacia was standing behind him, but because of the mirrors Gideon could see her raise an eyebrow. "We can all walk fine."

"Can you?" Frazier asked, "Okay, prove it. Get in a line in the back, then walk down to the front of the room, facing the mirrors so you can see yourselves."

Gideon wasn't sure what the point of this exercise was, but in order to survive he needed to keep the boy from Three on his side. Given how many careers there were, everyone aside from the Twos ended up splintering off in small clusters with one or two careers each. Gideon and Acacia had cemented their alliance fairly early and he was glad to have her on his side. But by the time they realized what was going on, the only career left was Frazier.

And Frazier was… well he was a lot.

Still, they did what he said and walked towards the wall of mirrors. Gideon wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking at. It was just a normal walk, really. His other allies seemed just as confused.

"Now me." Frazier said

Gideon saw the difference immediately. It was less of a walk and more of a confident strut. Somehow the boy looked even taller than he was and there was an intense energy that surrounded him. It was difficult to look away.

"Both interviews and private training scores are going to require you to walk in." Frazier explained, "So do you want to just walk or do you want to float in like a butterfly?"

"I don't float." Acacia said.

"Of course not, darling. I'll teach you how to roll in like a thundercloud."

Gideon looked back at the mirrors and stared at his reflection. He knew what his odds were. He wasn't trained, he wasn't intelligent. He didn't even have a tragic backstory like last year's boy from Nine. If he had any chance of succeeding, he needed to create it himself. That was the appeal of the boy from Three. It was true that he could fight, but his biggest strength was his showmanship. As a magician himself, he respected that. It was also his best shot at survival.

"You know, I'm glad we decided to ally." Gideon said, "You really know your stuff."

Frazier blasted him with a blinding smile, "Of course I do, darling. Of course I do."

Nate Fowler, District Nine, Sagittarius

Nate hated his mentor. He didn't know him, exactly but that didn't change the way he felt about the man. Caecilius Ballast was a victor from District Two, and he looked the part: broad shouldered and stern faced. When he crossed his arms and glared, Nate wondered if he was somehow carved from marble. It reminded him too much of peacekeeper Serpentine, a man he was desperately trying to forget.

"If's been three days." Nate said after a long period of silence, "Do you have anything to say to me? Or is your career bias that strong."

Caecilius shook his head. "That's not why I'm being quiet. Who trained you?"

"No one trained me. They beat the crap out of me. And I learned."

"A lot of people in Two would call that training."

"Well then District Two is full of assholes."

The mentor looked like he was going to argue, but let it drop, "I'm not saying you're good. Your technique is sloppy and you've got an overdeveloped fear response. Probably from the training."

"Beatings."

"The point is, with the amount of time we have, I don't actually have anything to teach you. You've got a shot, Fowler."

The thought of that made Nate sick. He hated even thinking that Serpentine had a point. His cruelty had plagued him his entire life, and there was no way Nate would accept that it was secretly charity.

"Don't say that." He snapped, "I'd rather be bloodbath fodder. I'd rather be the worst out there."

Caecilius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "All right, you want me to mentor? I've got some advice for you."

Nate was still busy hating the man, but he was willing to listen, "What is it?"

"A lot of people who go into the Games are trained. A lot have skills. But what actually gets you through is your will. Is your determination as a person. Whatever happened with you, that's a part of you. But so is everything else. That defiance I see in your eyes. The need to prove that person wrong. Use it. Use every bit of what you have, or you'll come back in a box. You're at the point where you can't be picky about where it comes from."

It was annoying when terrible people made sense.

Still, the peacekeeper wasn't the only thing in his life. If Caecilius was right, he'd need to use all of his past experiences. Nate thought about his family, his parents and his little sister. They were poor, often scrambling around trying to find ways to get money, but it was a house full of love. His family was what kept him going when work was hard or Serpentine was particularly cruel. As he trained he thought of cold winters by a warm fire as his family sat talking and laughing together.

His memories traveled beyond his control as he thought about times in his childhood when his mother would disappear into the night to work late. Nate would always find his father sitting in the kitchen, his head in his hands. Once, he asked him where she went.

"Your mother is an amazing woman." He'd said, "She went to work. Because she'll do anything she can to make sure that we're safe and happy."

Nate nodded, prepared to go to bed, but then his father turned and said more to him, "This will only make sense to you when you're older. But you're my son. And I love you. Just know that nothing on this earth will change that."

Damn it.

He dropped his scythe, and Caecilius came to his side surprisingly fast for a man his size "Did you hurt yourself?"

"You care?" Nate hissed, though there wasn't really any venom in it. He was too busy with the painful realization that Serpentine was probably telling the truth.

Nate could still remember that day before he left for the Hunger Games. Could practically feel the marble against his skin as the peacekeeper leaned into him and whispered into Nate's ear. The words still echoed in his head.

"You're hardly a nobody. You're my son."

Caecilius helped him to his feet, then handed Nate the scythe "Use it."

Nate took a deep breathe, trying to control his large swirl of emotions, and continued to train.

Millie Oatbratton, District Twelve, Cancer

Millie was glad that the training was over. There were a few places where she could hide, but most of it was too loud and too bright. The individual training rooms were the worst, so bad that she asked her mentor if they could training her room with the lights dimmed instead. He'd agreed.

They didn't really need all of the space of a training room anyway, since what she learned was very rarely about combat.

"So what comes next is the private sessions." David explained, "They will give you a small amount of time, and you show off some skills. Afterwards they will give you a number between one and twelve."

"So I want to get a twelve?"

"Not necessarily." He said, "Very few tributes get that high of a score, and it's almost always careers. That kind of number would make you a target. A boy from seven got a twelve last year and the careers went after him the first day."

Millie was still processing what exactly careers were, but after seeing some of the other children at the training center, she knew she didn't want their attention.

"It's also more complicated because many of your allies are careers themselves. Too high and they'll feel like you outshine them. Too low and their pride may force them to kick you out of the pack."

She hated that her mentor had to tell her this, that this was something a person her age had to know at all. What she had truly learned after emerging from her home in the basement was that the world was just as cruel as her mother had said. David was trying, but he was only one person.

"What if I don't show up?" She asked

"Then they'll give you a zero and make things difficult for you in the Games. Although what I'd suggest is similar."

"What?"

"Disappear. Go in, tell them your name and District, then hide."

That wouldn't be difficult for her. Everywhere she went in the Capitol made her want to hide. She didn't know how other people did it. But she knew that if she wanted to see her mother again, she'd have to do her best.

Instead of speaking, Millie hid in her bedroom. David looked around for her a moment, chuckled, then left.

Blair Offerseed, District Ten

The Hunger Games had a rhythm to it, separate parts that ebbed and flowed in a way to encourage the absolute most engagement from the Capitol and the most suffering from the Districts. Blair hated that she was starting to get used to it. This was her second year as a mentor, but the first that she wasn't preoccupied with something else. It hurt to be present, to truly try. It hurt even more that she wondered if trying would have meant that Carlotta won the Games.

She spent far too much time on what-ifs, something that Blair liked to think she was too practical to dwell on. But the tribute last year was special, more than anyone truly knew. Very few people actually liked her, but Blair did. Then again, she supposed it was a small blessing that Carlotta wasn't a Victor. Life past the Games came with entirely new complications.

As she was walking down the hallways to meet with her mentee on the final day of training, she ran into Serena May Lenovius, the victor from last year. Blair was glad to have the spotlight turn to someone else, but she'd spent some effort avoiding the girl. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd say.

But despite trying to avoid her, Serena May stopped and started emphatically moving her hands in deliberate movements that Blair recognized but didn't understand.

"She says that you're Blair Offerseed." A woman next to her said. Apparently the Capitol had assigned her a translator. "And that she'd been wanting to meet you for some time. She says you made her a weapon."

"I think you've got me confused with my fellow Ten Victor Kaenas. He's the blacksmith. Do you want me to tell him you'd like to meet?"

Serena May shook her head and signed again.

"Uh.. she's just repeating herself." The translator said. "She keeps saying that you made her a weapon."

Blair stared at the Victor for a few moments, watching the signs repeat. Around the third repetition, she realized that Serena May was putting an emphasis on a certain word. One the translator was admirably trying to replicate, but without context was failing.

She wasn't saying that Blair created a knife or an axe for her use. She was saying that Blair made her into a weapon.

Blair's blood chilled instantly. How did Serena May know? She wouldn't say that her plot which eventually led to Augustus Wren's death was a particularly elegant one. There were plenty of flaws and it relied a lot on the confusion of last year's Victor. But she didn't think that anything led back to her. Dax and Hebe suspected, she knew. But neither of them knew how exactly she pulled it off. Blair didn't realize that the girl from Seven even knew her name.

"I'm sorry." she said.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." The translator said, "That's what she wanted to say. That there's no bitterness on her part."

The translator must be new. She was awkward, and the way she phrased things made it hard to ignore that they were talking to an intermediary. What seemed like a sign of Capitol benevolence at first might have actually been an act of spite. For one reason or another, this intrigued Blair. What had she done to gain the ire of the president? And how did she know about Blair's involvement in her accident with Wren?

"We should get together some time." She said, "Hebe Dagnus holds a watch party for Victors, if you're interested. It would give us an opportunity to talk."

The word 'alone' went unsaid, but she knew Serena May understood.

"She says that she'd like that very much." The translator said, and the both continued down the hallway. Before she left completely, Serena May turned and gave Blair a thumbs up.

She had no idea how to interpret that gesture.

AN: We're back again! Much sooner than the last gap, right? I do apologize for the very uneven PoV lengths this time around, but I do think everybody got what they wanted to say across. So we're in the home stretch now. And by that I mean we're almost to the Hunger Games. Which I try to make a large part of the story so we're not in the home stretch at all, really. But we're five chapters away from the bloodbath, so that's good. Thank you for sticking with me, everyone. I hope you enjoy.