TW: death talked about in Owain's pov.

Choux Macbeth, 18, District 1

Choux isn't someone who particularly cares about her appearance, specifically regarding her hair or clothes. She always looks put together, but past that, her genetics were kind to her.

So when her prep team and stylist spent three hours arguing about what they should do regarding her misshapen ear, she honestly thought she would lose it.

Her stylist wants her hair pulled back. To show the world the "true" Choux. Her hair was down at the reaping, so the cameras didn't pick up on the ear then. So this is their chance to relish in it. Make her more desirable. Show she's a fighter, or whatever.

The prep team wants nothing of the sort. They think it's ugly. It "ruined" her natural beauty. It didn't "fit" with the theme of royalty they're going for.

For three hours Choux hears these people talk about her like she isn't in the room. Hour one, she doesn't care. Hour two, she decides it's excessive. Hour three, she walks out.

They don't even notice.

It isn't the fact they're so focused on her appearance that she cares about. She too wants to make the best impression on the Capitol as she can. It's the fact that it took so much time that could be spent elsewhere.

Choux can guarantee every other Career has already met one another. She's already at a disadvantage.

(It also bothers her how, even from the grave, her siblings are torturing her.)

Gone but never forgotten. The words make Choux sick.

Choux hikes up her skirt so the fabric doesn't get caught under her heels. Her dress is a royal blue thing, gold garnish around her waist and across her neck, chest, and stomach. The sleeves are oversized, but a slit at the elbows allows her to move around freely. A flame is embellished at the base of the skirt. And to top it off, a crown, full of blue gemstones. Choux heard they're sapphires.

She's gorgeous, certainly. A standout? She's not too sure.

To her surprise, she's not the last one to the chariots. Vitali awkwardly leans against the wagon, and the pair from Two stand across from him.

Vitali. A strange boy, he is. Choux only knew of him in passing back home, especially after his brother died. She heard whisperings of his skill diminishing after that event.

Ironic how opposite they were.

But she'll keep him just at arm's distance until she can figure him out. That's her strategy with every Career. She needs to make her assessments first. And then when the time is right...

"You must be Choux Macbeth. Amatus Zanetti, at your service," the boy from Two is as ignorant in person as he seemed on television. But Choux smiles and holds out her hand for a polite shake.

"Choux," she says softly, smiling just enough to stay cordial, but not enough to make him suspicious.

She's an expert at that.

"Klara. We've met Vitali," Klara says and Choux already likes them more than her own district partner.

"Ah, and there's everyone," Amatus says, looking off behind Choux. With a quick glance, she can see the pair from Four walking their way. Both dress in blue, but not Choux's blue. Their blue is a lighter color. The girl's dress is less of a dress and more of a collection of multi-colored scales covering her body. The top forms the wings of a butterfly. The boy has blue pants, those same scales decorating his waist. He wears a sheer vest of sorts that almost reaches his knees.

Not bad. Choux starts to look away, but something about the pair piques her interest. She wonders how she didn't notice it before.

Interesting.

"Hi. Um, I'm Ronan," the boy says. "This is Caliadne."

"Cali is fine," she interjects.

They share introductions and make small talk as the rest of the chariots fill in around them. With one ear dedicated to her Career alliance, she keeps the scarred one on the noises in the background.

She watched the reaping recap, both on the train and in District 1's assigned training apartment. She poured over the screen, wanting to get a sense of who each contender was and contemplate what they were capable of.

She wasn't ruling out any of the outliers. Not just yet. A few even intrigue her.

But for now, her focus was on the present. She would not play her hand. Not until the time was right.

Those around her would only see her for what she wants them to. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Footsteps approach the Career pack, and Choux glances to see who the noise belongs to. The owner surprises her, and the offer takes her even more off guard.

But all those emotions remain close to her chest. And the possibilities that may stem from these tributes. And it's only the first day in the Capitol.

Choux Macbeth lets herself enjoy it for once.

Mori Ostrya, 12, District 12

Mori had a plan.

She had decided to volunteer weeks prior to the reaping. She had not told Aizen; she couldn't. He wouldn't understand. He would have been upset. She had anticipated that. She had expected tearful goodbyes and plenty of questions. She had prepared to answer them, too.

But then Aizen did the last thing she expected and her whole plan turned around.

And the worst part is how mad she's been at herself for letting this happen. She's supposed to protect him. She's supposed to make a difference for him. The things people were saying about her…she could no longer tarnish his reputation with her own.

She just wants to leave a lasting mark on Panem. To make Aizen's life just a little bit easier. And she's done the complete opposite.

He doesn't understand why they're here, in the Capitol. He doesn't understand why the kids around him are going to try to kill him. But Mori does. And Mori is the reason he's here. It's Mori's fault, so Mori isn't going out without a fight. Without doing everything in her power to keep him alive.

No matter what happens to Mori Ostrya, Aizen cannot die by her side. She's supposed to join her parents in the ground, and he's supposed to survive.

(Easier said than done.)

Their stylists were kind to them. At least, that's what Aizen said. Mori's stylist didn't say much after she realized Mori wasn't one for small talk. She prepared her costume and sent the young girl out.

Mori made it out before Aizen, and she was able to ensure no one would threaten the young boy. No, no one made a move towards the back of the chariots. Not the wide-eyed young boy in the chariot ahead of Mori's. Not any of the other volunteers. No one.

If Mori closes her eyes long enough, she can visualize their forest. Just for a moment. The loud chatter echoing the halls, the footsteps on the concrete, the neighing of the horses, none of it would never let her escape long enough.

She hears footsteps approaching and when her eyes open, she sees Aizen walking towards her. He wears a similar outfit to her own, a black hooded gown that reaches down their arms and their legs. The skirt of the gown glows orange embers when it flows through the wind, yet produces sparks when it comes in contact with a hard surface.

Mori isn't sure how she feels about it. But the wide smile on his face tells her all she needs to know.

(Is this the first time she's seen him with dry eyes since they arrived?)

She gives him a weak smile back. The outfits certainly are unique for their district. Something to represent the series of unfortunate events that led them both here.

(What are those at home saying about them now? Do their words fall into a whisper, in respect of the inevitable death of one of them? Or are they as obnoxious as they were when the kids were in the district? Alive, and not promised to a death match.)

"How are you? There's so many people…" Aizen's eyes scan across the room around them. A wide array of tributes fill the space. Older and lethal to small and reserved. Some eyes fall briefly on Aizen, and by proxy, Mori. But no one lingers too long.

(It's better for them if they didn't. Mori has too much experience…taking care of people who pose a threat to her friend.)

Mori remembers the question Aizen asked her. She nods. She's as okay as she can be, given the circumstances.

(Aizen may have thrown her off. But it only makes her more dedicated to her plan. She still has the chance to change the world for her friend. It's her only option, at this point.)

He's here because of her. His life is on the line. Twenty-two stand in between him and a life of peace for him back home. No matter what it takes, Mori has to get him there.

She refuses to fail him a second time.

Dahlia Akhem, 18, District 8

Dahlia has worn plenty of costumes from her time on the stage. From skintight dresses to sequins, she's made each outfit her own. No matter how old, stained, or ill-fitting they might have been.

So standing in her chariot outfit, she's never felt more confident. She's never owned an outfit like this one.

It's certainly not the most elegant piece of fabric in the building. A sleeveless green dress with a large skirt base, and feathers decorating the entire thing. A colorful, feathered addition sticks up behind the skirt. Her stylist calls her a peacock.

Dahlia has never seen one. But the more one was described, the more she was okay with this comparison.

(Dahlia wants to be on display. She wants to be seen. She needs to be seen.)

Her first performance was on the stage back in Eight. She couldn't just volunteer. How would that make her different than any of the others? No, that wouldn't be enough.

It was easy enough to create her contraption. Some rope and rock go a long way in disrupting a stage. The escort hadn't even read the name by the time she took the stage.

(It was just too easy to convince her she did.)

That was her first performance, and in her opinion, a rather spectacular one. She toned herself down on the train - she needed to get a sense of her mentor and partner before she played another hand. And she's glad she did.

But tonight is one of the more important performances. She has to outshine twenty-three others without being able to say a single word. Dahlia is a storyteller and a performer. To ask her to remain silent is like taking away half of her weaponry.

So if her costume can stand out - literally - then she might have a better chance.

But that's not enough, she reminds herself. Her costume took time to settle, so she was one of the last arrivals. Her eyes fall on the Careers, grouped up by the District Two chariot. Dahlia can see the casual conversation, but the disconnect is obvious.

So she flocks over to the group.

"Dahlia Akhem. It's lovely to meet you," she says, holding out her hand to the only person who doesn't pull away from her. The boy from Two. Where everyone else around her squints or glares, he smiles.

"Amatus Zanetti. Nice…outfit," Amatus' smirk widens as he takes in the intricacies of her feathers. So what can she do but curtsey?

"First impressions are critical," she says. Her eyes briefly fall on the rest of the Careers surrounding her. The pair from Four pull away slightly, and the pair from One makes no movement to inject themselves into the conversation. And while Amatus may lead this pack, Dahlia has had her fair share of virility. She'll have no problem with this one.

(It'll be no different than Dante. She dealt with that problem, plain and simple. At least murder is condoned in the Capitol.)

"So, Miss Akhem. Please tell me what I can do for you," Amatus crosses his arms over his outfit. A long jacket with an excessive amount of buttons, and various pins decorating the tops.

The bait has been set. All Dahlia has to do is pull him in.

"Well, Mr. Zanetti, I'd like to propose an agreement. I think the Careers would…benefit from my aptitude. And I think there's no one else that would be worthy of my offerings," Dahlia flairs the skirt of her dress as if to prove her point.

Amatus' district partner, Dahlia recalls their name as Klara, raises a brow, but doesn't speak up. Amatus doesn't drop the amusement on his face. Dahlia can't place it. And she doesn't like it.

"You're the second person to use that line on us today," his words, full of amusement, set a fire in Dahlia's heart that takes all her might to suppress. Her face will not turn red. Her voice will not break.

"The girl from Five gave us…a similar speech," Klara explains. Dahlia listens but doesn't take her focus off of the boy.

The girl from Five? Dahlia hardly remembers that girl from the reaping. Sure she volunteered, but she looks no more capable than the volunteers from Three. And neither of them seems interested in rolling over for the benefit of the Careers. What makes this girl so special?

"So we'll give you the same stipulation we gave her. Impress us in training, and we'll consider your offer. Fail and, well…" Amatus doesn't drop his smirk, and that infuriates Dahlia even further.

But she never once drops the confidence on her face. She's played by others' rules as long as she can remember. This is no different.

So when she shakes Amatus' hand for a second time, she does it with a strength that he will remember. And when she returns to her chariot, she makes sure the girl from Five sees her scowl.

(When she shows her up on the training room floor, she'll regret ever making an enemy of Dahlia Akhem.)

Owain Fairburn, 18, District 7

Sometimes Owain would come across a really severe case while making rounds in the District. He remembers one specifically rough situation following a really bad storm. It came out of nowhere, and many were ill-located outside the safety of their homes when the rain started falling.

And when lightning struck a few of the taller trees, well, no one could have predicted the damage until it was done.

Owain had seen a lot of limb damage. In some cases, it wasn't anything a careful clean and bandage couldn't fix. In most cases…

He had done plenty of amputations in his lifetime. Those were always the hardest. To convince his patient it was for their benefit. Trying to console them as the numbing medicine takes effect.

(Trying to block out the screams.)

What made it all worse was when it didn't work. When, no matter how hard Owain tried, his patient died anyway.

Those were the moments that hurt him the most. More than the pleas and the blood and the screams.

The nagging voice in his head telling him he could have done better. He could have saved the life, if he tried just a little harder.

Standing in the dim light, surrounded by twenty-three other children, he feels eerily similar. What could he have done differently, to not have had his name pulled from a bowl of thousands?

The rational part of him knows the answer. But the rest of him can't accept it. As he so desperately looks around for something, for anything to help him get out of this predicament, his eyes fall on the Chariot in front of his own.

If he fixates on what needs to be done, he can block out what could have been done. And that may just allow him to pull out of this thing alive.

Astel's offer rattles in the back of his mind. He was so taken aback he's not quite sure what was rattling through his mind at the time.

He does need a good ally. And the more he searches, the more she seems like a good option.

(There's just something-)

"Owain?" her voice breaks his thoughts. He looks at her, and she nudges him towards the chariot.

"Hm? Oh, oh sorry. It's time?" he asks. He sees others starting to pull themselves up into the horse-drawn carriages. Astel doesn't bother with an answer.

Owain boards first, then lends a hand to his district partner. She doesn't reach for it immediately, but when she takes a step and starts to push up unsteadily, she does take it. Better than falling, Owain assumes.

"Are you ready for the world to see you?" Astel asks, breaking the silence.

Owain doesn't have an answer. As long as he can remember, his world has been his community. Separated from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the District, and certainly unbothered by the Capitol.

He's spent so much time trying to better the lives of those around him. To make a difference. To do for others what the man in black did for him all those years ago. To give people the chance to live, when all this world was trying to do was take that away.

So, he doesn't answer Astel with a 'no', because once the world sees him, they might see straight through him. They could see the scared little boy who lost his parents, who barely came back from the brink of death.

And who, against every better judgment in his body, will have to take lives to return to the one he desires so badly.

Owain Fairburn has his work cut out for him.

Exa Behrens, 14, District 6

Exa has dealt with her fair share of humiliation in her lifetime. There are a few stand-out moments. When the mayor refused to see her particularly stands out. When her pleas for help fell on deaf ears.

But nothing compares to standing in a ridiculous costume knowing thousands of people, everywhere in the country, are about to see her in it. And that impression will be the one they remember.

Exa didn't cry at the reapings. She was too shocked, it hadn't really set in. Even when her family came in to console her, to cry with her, she was frozen.

It didn't hit until she was alone in her room on the train. She had never slept in a room alone, at least there wasn't a time she could recall.

The silence terrified her. It all hit her at once. The tears. The emotions that had been repressed since "Exa Behrens" was called on that stage. And she cried. She cried all night.

Between the lack of sleep, excessive stress, and tears, Exa looks awful. Her district partner, Davidson, is kind enough not to ask. But he did look at her with sullen eyes.

(She's used to that look.)

And now he stands next to her in a similarly embarrassing costume. A short-sleeved maroon dress, three brown buckles strapped down the center. A brown top hat, with goggles resting on the brim. Brown leather wristlets and brown boots. Davidson wears the same, a brown leather vest on top of a white long-sleeve and brown pants in place of a dress.

She's been forgettable since the reapings, and this display won't win her a single favor.

Even Davidson already has an advantage over her. People know him, or at least they think they do. People love a sob story.

(She has a dead sibling, too. But his death wasn't glorified in the eyes of the Capitol. No one cheered or booed when Anton died. No one even bat an eye.)

"All things considered, I don't think we look the worst," Davidson says so quietly Exa almost doesn't hear him. He nudges her and looks over his shoulder.

Exa doesn't have to ask which District he's referring to. The pair from Ten are wearing horrendous pink jumpsuits with frizzy wraps around the wrist and ankle. Exa swears they have tails.

"Oink, oink," Davidson's pig noise makes Exa jump, then explode into a burst of laughter she cannot contain. She turns around, hands to her mouth.

"Shh, shh!" she manages through a fit of laughing. She sees Davidson's face, who too is trying to hold in a smirk.

"Sorry, ah, haha." He runs his hands through his hair, his focus shifting so abruptly it kills Exa's laughing fit.

"What?" she asks. Was it her? She glances around at the other chariots. No one's eyes have found the Six pair. The first chariot is in place to leave.

What's wrong? Her eyes ask the question for her voice.

"My, uh, sister told me that joke. I don't remember what year it was. But…they were in pig suits then." The memory washes over Davidson and his eyes fall to the ground.

(Exa knows that pain. It's a pain like no other. She wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy.)

"She sounds like a funny person. I…wish I could meet her," Exa says softly.

(It's not her, but Anton who Exa thinks about. But Davidson can tell no difference.)

He lifts up his head with a weak smile.

"She was. She was…really special," he says.

The chariots move ahead and soon their own horses jerk forward. Exa grips the metal of the chariot to keep her balance.

"Hold your head up high. Don't let…don't let these people bring you down. You're a fighter. Okay?" Davidson says, his voice barely splitting through the music that's blaring down on them.

And she does. Not because she wants to. Because he's right. She is a fighter. She's fought all her life for just an ounce of assistance, and she's never gotten anything more than contempt and humiliation.

And if she knows one thing, she'll never stop fighting. Because her biggest and most consequential fight is straight ahead of her.

If Anton were here, he would be proud of her.

Amatus Zanetti, 18, District 2

Amatus loves being in charge.

There was hardly a fight for Career leader. The Careers that surround him may be skilled, but no one plays on the same level as Amatus.

(He knew that already. But to see it come to fruition - it exhilarated him. It justified the road taken to get here.)

This spot, once promised to different Zanetti blood, had no right belonging to anybody except Amatus.

(He deserves it. He proved himself. And after today, anyone who would disagree is delusional.)

Even the outer districts could see it. Twice now, he's been approached by two wannabe Careers as they try to convince him that they are worth his attention. The first one amuses him. The second one left him in disbelief.

And he relishes in it.

He refuses to make it easy for either of them, though. If he had to work hard to get here, so did everyone else.

(He wouldn't admit it, but he would enjoy the extra hands. The faster he could dwindle down the mass of outliers, the sooner he could put on the real show.)

And a show, it would be. He needs to prove it during training, but he truly believes he could defeat every single Career in a one-on-one fight. No matter what they brought to the table, he could do it better.

His heart jumps at the excitement for the arena. He could be the best Victor there ever was, he's sure of it. The masses would praise his name. They would relish in his artwork.

(And fewer and fewer people would remember Renatus Zanetti-Carvus.)

The level of excitement the Capitol had for his games was already large. As their chariot pulls through the city center, the applause for him was louder than any other chariot.

(They've been doing this long enough that they can see a Victor from the start. His sponsors are certain to be plentiful.)

And when all was said and done, his mentor joined him at the end.

"Nicely done," Matteo said. Klara's mentor, Sabine, had nothing to add. She knows who the stand-out was, and frankly, so did Klara.

Amatus didn't quite know how to feel about her. He knew about their family tragedy, or whatever. To Amatus, Phoenix Esosa got exactly what he deserved.

But Klara did not seem to share those same traits. They didn't cut corners to end up here, she's trained harder than any of the other candidates. Simple as that.

They were good. Amatus was happy to have her by his side. As temporary as it was.

Amatus hasn't had enough time with the rest of the Careers to make a huge determination of what kind of threat they might pose to him. From his first impressions…no one stands out. Choux seems like she couldn't really care less about the whole spectacle of the games. Vitali's mind seems to be anywhere but the present. Caliadne-Cali seems too reserved. And Ronan seems like an airhead.

He wonders what Eleanora and Dahlia will do in training. They both seem determined to leave an impression. He likes Eleanora. Her explanation was logical-and she had the scars to back up her claims. A girl who wasn't afraid to get blood on her hands.

And then Dahlia. Quite a fun conversation he had with her. He sees a fire in her, a fire he relates to. But he cannot give her an inch, or she'll take a mile. No, she needs to prove herself to him.

As the pair from Two return to the apartment, Amatus can't help but let his confidence illuminate around him. Matteo suggests devising their training plan. Amatus obliges, but not without a glass of wine.

He deserves it. And it was only a taste of the riches to come.

Phew, another pre-games chapter down. And only one left until our first round of pre-game POVs are done! A big thank you to District-11 Olive for both beta'ing and not punching me IRL and a big thank you to Nautics for also beta'ing and not punching me in Town of Salem.

I'll reveal the order for the second round of POVs at the end of the next chapter.

But in the meantime, here's who we'll see next: Klara, Davidson, Eleanora, Roman, Bazooka, Vetiver, and a subplot POV. No, I won't say who. Oops.

See you in two-ish weeks.

~moose