Jasmine McCoy, 16

District Twelve Female, she/her

Jasmine never thought she'd miss Twelve – granted, she never thought she'd leave it in the first place – but as the train hurtles on, bringing Jasmine miles and miles away from the only place she's ever known, she feels an ache in her chest. It's been several long months of aching, of missing Sheridan by her side, but this is different. Jasmine has never been afraid of the unknown before, but even she cannot deny that there is no small amount of fear coursing through her now.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Maybe fear is the wrong word. Jasmine is jittery, as if all of her senses are alight and she cannot manage to separate them and determine the root cause. She's nervous? No, anxious. The Hunger Games are looming before her, as horrifying and repulsive as ever. Her stomach turns at the mere thought of participating in something so… inhumane, but Jasmine chose this fate. She cannot run from it now.

She stares down at her hands and swallows. They're perfectly still, as if unaware of the turmoil the rest of her body is experiencing right now. These hands have spent years healing, helping others, and now they'll be forced to kill again. Again. Jasmine still can't wrap her mind around it.

Orson's face flashes in front of her, and she flinches. She can still perfectly remember the exact shade of blue his face turned as he asphyxiated, choking on the poison she'd shoved down his throat. And even as she killed him, Jasmine knew she had the antidote in her pocket. She knew she could save him.

But she didn't want to.

He deserved it, is what she keeps telling herself. Her nails dig into the palms of her hand so harshly that she almost hisses in pain. He deserved more.

Even as she tells herself that, the knot in her stomach tightens. The thought of having to kill another human, even if it's to save her own life, sickens her. She wasn't supposed to end up like this, all of sixteen and headed towards her doom, but these are the cards she has been dealt. These are the cards she has chosen.

No matter what she truly wants, Jasmine will have to go against her own beliefs sooner or later. Her own morals cannot save her here.

"You've been quiet for a while now," a voice cuts in. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Blinking, Jasmine looks over to the other occupant of the train car. Tessa Ray sits perfectly still – hands folded gingerly in her lap, legs crossed at the ankle – and watches, tilting her head to the side. It's clear she's been observing Jasmine for a while, and as Jasmine wasn't paying attention, she isn't sure what her mentor has learned. Something useful, she hopes. But considering the way Tessa played her Games, Jasmine can't help but fear that the other girl has picked up on too much already.

"Just thinking about home," Jasmine says. It's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either. She stares at Tessa, trying to decipher what her mentor could possibly be thinking.

Tessa laughs. "I'd be impressed if you actually had that many thoughts about that shithole."

Despite the fact that on some level she knows Tessa is right, Jasmine bristles. But as she opens her mouth, she can't decide if she genuinely wants to argue for their home, or if she merely wants to argue against Tessa. "I have a great number of thoughts about a great many things. 'That shithole' may be a terrible, corrupt place, but it's still worth… something."

"I hadn't considered you to be the kind of girl that thinks Twelve is worth anything at all."

Sheridan flashes in front of her. "Parts of it."

"And the rest?"

"Beyond help."

A smile. "You're right about that much."

"I wasn't exactly looking for your approval on my opinions."

"Perhaps not, but I find myself giving it out anyway when attempting to hold a conversation."

Jasmine gnaws on her lip. "I guess so."

"So," Tessa says, leaning back in her chair, "tell me about yourself."

"That's rather open-ended."

"I'd prefer something I can use, but anything that makes you human works just as well. We'll have to work on an image for the public as well as a strategy."

"An image?"

"Something to market you, to make you worthwhile. Make you stand out. I pretended to be lovers with the boy from Ten, and we got sponsors for it."

Jasmine makes a face. "I'd rather not go that route."

"See? That's good information to know, then. But if you don't want to go that route, then what do you want to do?"

"What makes you think I know that?"

"You volunteered, and you don't seem the stupidly impulsive type. It's more of a hope than anything else."

Shifting in her seat, Jasmine sighs to herself. "I'm a toxicologist. I know everything there is to know about toxins, as well as how to treat them."

"Interesting," Tessa muses. "Girl after my own heart."

"I'm smart. I'm decently strong. I could probably learn to hold my own, though I'm no Career."

"You're certainly clever," Tessa says, before moving her hands to show a small bundle. "But I'd be a little more careful than this next time. I have to commend you for trying anyway, but all you've done is waste a token."

"Hey!" Jasmine shoots to her feet, taking a step towards Tessa before she can fully realize what she's doing. "How did you-"

"For one, food of any kind is considered an unfair advantage, even if it's something as small and seemingly inconsequential as blueberries." Tessa unfolds one corner of the cloth and plucks out a berry, holding it up to the light.

Jasmine almost can't breathe. "And?"

"And I can recognize nightlock anywhere. Trying to bring poison into the Capitol is awfully bold, don't you think?"

Her shoulders immediately slump. "How did you know?"

"I recognized it the instant you handed it over to the escort. We normally just do a quick analysis before we hand it back; if there's anything suspicious we have to retain it for longer. But needless to say, you won't be getting this back."

Despite herself, a pout works its way onto Jasmine's face. "I won't?"

"You're lucky something bad didn't happen."

"Bad?"

"I recognized it, but Xanthe didn't. She almost ate one, you know. I'm not sure the Capitol would take too kindly to a tribute that poisoned their escort on the train."

Jasmine scoffs and sits back down. "How's that my fault? She's the one that tried to eat part of my token."

"True, but you almost brought something lethal into the Capitol."

"So? Careers get to train their whole lives for this, and I can't bring something to even the playing field?"

Something glimmers in Tessa's eyes now, something that Jasmine can't quite recognize. "So that's it, huh? You don't think it's fair?"

Jasmine purses her lips. "No, because it isn't. I'm not a trained killer. My only talents might not be useful unless I'm put in the right environment. If I was in last year's Arena, I'd be fucked."

"You don't seem very confident in your abilities."

"What I'm not confident in is the fact that I'm up against tributes that have been learning how to kill me since they were born. I'm from Twelve, I'm lucky I have any skills at all, and I'm just trying to give myself an advantage because I know no one else will. So no, it's not fair that they go into the Arena with far more of a chance than I'll ever have."

"You have a one in twenty-four chance, just like the rest of them."

Jasmine opens her mouth to argue, brow furrowing, but Tessa cuts her off swiftly. "If you go in with the attitude that any other tributes have a better chance than you, then you're already half dead. No matter what kind of training they have, Careers are just the same as you. Human. One wrong move, and they're dead."

"That doesn't change the fact that things aren't fair," Jasmine insists. Her hands tremble in her lap. She remembers the body of a girl that should've lived much longer, the body of a girl that should've had the entire world. "You can't just-"

"Can't just what?" Tessa snaps. "Are you done feeling sorry for yourself yet? You volunteered for this. You knew what you were getting into. If you keep wallowing in your own self-pity, you'll be dead before you even enter the Arena."

"I know that!" Jasmine cries out, bitter tears stinging her eyes. "I know the reality of my situation. I know what I chose! Are you going to help me or not?"

"I am helping you," Tessa says, voice growing softer. "You fail to consider that I was like you once. Alone and scared, on a train headed to my death. I've been down this path before."

"Yeah, but you won."

"You make it sound like I always knew what I was doing."

"Didn't you?"

Tessa barks out a laugh. "I was fifteen, dear. I had no idea who I was, and much less of an idea of how to live."

Frowning, Jasmine twists her hands in her lap again. "Then… then how did you?"

"How did I what? Win?"

"Live."

The woman's lips twist up into a smile, bittersweet. "I decided I wanted to. For me, not for anyone else."

"You make it sound easy."

"At the time, it almost was. But it's a hard road to choose yourself."

"Are you going to start preaching to me now?"

Tessa barks out a laugh. "You're the one that asked, sweetheart."

Wrinkling her nose, Jasmine crosses her arms. "Don't call me that."

"You're a prickly one," Tessa says, tilting her head to the side. "I can't decide if I like you or not."

"I'm not really looking for your approval."

"Maybe not, but as your mentor, it would be wise of you to try."

Jasmine taps her fingers on the table, huffing out a sigh. "So… what now?"

"Depends. Are you going to listen to any advice I give?"

"You're doing this all in my best interest," Jasmine says slowly, "so I'd say yes."

Tessa appears pleased, her teeth gleaming as she shoots Jasmine a smile. "How do you feel about allies?"

"No one younger than me," she answers immediately. "I'm not risking that."

"Risking what exactly?"

"I don't want to tether myself to someone that young. I… I don't want to be forced to make a move against them."

"But you're willing to if need be?"

Jasmine falters. She knows what might be required of her in the coming days, knows that someday she'll have to make an impossible choice. But everything she's saying now feels so… heavy, as if this is what's truly going to decide her whole future. "I am."

"Find an ally. One ally. You say you're smart, find someone strong. Find someone that can complement your abilities, round them out."

She plays the reapings through her mind, skimming through faces of scared children and fierce Careers, trying to recall who might be a good option. "Like… the boy from Eleven?"

"He'd be my suggestion," Tessa says calmly, as if that's who she had in mind all along, as if she's merely been leading Jasmine to an answer she already planned. "It helps that he has a higher predicted placement than you."

"How does that help?"

"Keeps the attention on him instead of you."

"But we'd be allies."

"And that sets him up to take the fall, doesn't it?"

Jasmine hums. "I guess so."

"You don't seem convinced."

"Maybe because I'm not."

"Let's backtrack, then. Do you want allies, yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"They're an invaluable asset," Jasmine responds. She thinks on it for a moment before continuing. "Someone to have your back when it counts."

"But?"

"But they can just as easily stab you there."

"I had an ally in my Games," Tessa says, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. "We pretended to be lovers, and then one day he decided I had outlived my usefulness and he stabbed me. So why did I win?"

"You poisoned him," Jasmine murmurs.

"Because I saw it coming." Tessa shifts in her seat again, all too comfortable with the discussion of her past. "If you're willing to have allies, you also have to be willing to dispose of them before they do the same to you. Unless, that is, you're here to make friends."

Sheridan.

"No," Jasmine says. "Not friends. Just… survival."

"So let me help you survive," Tessa insists. "I've been there, I know what I'm doing. Follow my instructions, and you won't have to worry about anything as fickle as fairness. You'll make your own rules, play your own game. And you'll learn how to win it, too."

Mulling it over, Jasmine regards the girl in front of her with no small amount of suspicion. It's a tempting enough offer, but Jasmine also knows that she has to be careful from here on out: one small misstep is enough to take her out of the game entirely.

She squeezes her hands together. I won't let them take me, Sheridan.

"I'd be a fool not to recognize that you're my best chance," Jasmine says, meeting Tessa's eyes boldly. "I'll take whatever advice you're willing to give."

The smile Tessa is giving her grows wider. "I knew we'd get along. Listen now – we'll have to be careful about crafting your story. But once I'm done with you, you'll have the best chance you could possibly have at winning these Games."

Akira Hinode, 16

District Five Tribute, she/they

It doesn't take long for things to go off the rails.

Akira never knew what she'd do if they saw Madoka again. They told themselves for ages that Madoka was dead, but now, face to face with her sister, Akira can't tell herself that anymore.

(Maybe they knew it was a lie all along.)

"Is there anything I can do?" Lazara asks, glancing between the sisters. "Xander and I can leave if we're imposing."

Something in Madoka's jaw ticks. "Maybe you should go."

"I think they should stay."

Akira engages in a short-lived standoff with their sister, eyes bright and dangerous as she glares daggers at Madoka. Her fists are tightly clenched at their sides, trying not to visibly tremble with rage. If Akira could explode something just with her mind, then Madoka would be nothing but rubble in front of them.

Burn it down, ruin it all, tear everything limb from limb until you're the only thing still standing. Make this world yours so no one can leave you behind. They'll see you, they'll all see you, and no one will be able to turn their backs on you again.

(Promise?)

Promise.

"Akira," Madoka says, a clear warning in her voice. "They really don't-"

"Need to stay? Why? Do you have something to say that you don't want witnesses for?" Akira cackles, tilting their head back. "Go on, sister dearest. I'm all ears."

Madoka turns her head and makes eye contact with Lazara, sharing some kind of look that Akira isn't privy to. She wonders what they're saying about her in that look, skin crawling, but when Madoka turns around, the other occupants stay frozen where they are.

(Akira can't quite understand why that doesn't make them feel better.)

Her sister licks her lips, seemingly aimless. "Akira," she starts, then pauses. "Akira, I…"

"Madoka," they mimic. "Madoka, I-"

Her eyes flash dangerously, and for a second Akira can visualize themself in the Arena, up against a bigger and stronger opponent that wants her dead. But she's not afraid - they only feel victorious.

See me see me see me.

There's movement that catches their eye. Akira's stomach roils at the sight of pristine white, at perfect posture and straightened hair and an orderliness that they could never hope to replicate. She grits her teeth, anger and venom filling their body until it's practically seeping out, overflowing.

"What's she doing here?" Akira spits out, finger lashing out to point directly at the figure trying to keep out of view.

She left you behind once before and she'll do it again; she's already found a replacement, found someone better. You're nothing in her eyes, and you'll never have a chance to be anything at all. She doesn't know you, doesn't love you, and-

Shutupshutupshutup.

"This," Madoka says patiently, "is Carina. My girlfriend."

Akira grits their teeth. She's never seen their sister try to act like this before. They feel as if she's being talked down to, as if Madoka is trying to compensate for all the years she's been away.

(Silly sister. Nothing can make up for that.)

"Carina," Akira repeats, taking a lurching step towards the girl. "I've seen you before."

Despite her uniform and supposed status, Carina looks to Madoka for answers. She swallows, nodding her head towards Akira. "You have."

"And you're… dating Madoka?"

"I… I am."

It's annoying, really. How Carina is walking on eggshells, as if Akira has the power to do anything to her here. How Carina speaks so gingerly, each word perfectly enunciated and chosen so she can't be misconstrued. How Carina gets to stand so close to Madoka, be close to Madoka, and Akira themself is more than aware of the gaping ravine between them and her sister.

She's everything you'll never be.

"I hate you."

"Kiki-"

"Don't call me that." Akira spins to face their sister, noting the way Madoka's face twists with hurt and then anger. "You don't have any right-"

"You're my sister-"

"And sisters stay, don't they!" Their laugh is harsh and bright, grating even her own ears. "They stay, Mads! And you didn't stay!"

Their use of her nickname has the intended effect: Madoka flinches, hard. Her own hands ball into fists at her sides; Akira notices one of Carina's reach out and then fall limply back to her side. Lazara and Xander remain paralyzed by the doorway, unable to retreat or say anything.

(And all the while, Akira feels a grim sense of satisfaction. They're all looking at her, really seeing her. Akira Hinode can't be overlooked now, will never be overlooked again.)

(But why isn't it enough? There's a tightness spreading through their chest, and Akira feels like she's suffocating. What if everyone only sees them as something lesser? She's finally gained the attention of those around her, but it's all bad, it's not good, it grates and aches and hurts-)

"I came back for you," Madoka mutters, voice low. A warning. "I came back for you, Akira. I fought my way through hell to see you again."

"You did that for yourself," Akira hisses. "I saw you. I saw everything you did. You hurt people-"

"I didn't want to-"

"-and you hurt me-"

"And I never meant to do that-"

"-and you left and you never came back," Akira insists, voice rising. "You're not my sister."

"Don't say that."

"Sisters don't leave."

"I came back-"

"You didn't!" Akira shrieks, the tightness in their chest making her eyes sting. "You didn't! This isn't you! My sister isn't the monster that came out of the Arena! My sister isn't standing in front of me now! She died years ago!"

"That's not fair."

"Neither was leaving me."

"You can't keep using that against me, I'm sorry-"

"Why not?" Akira's nostrils flare and they stamp their foot against the ground. "You don't have any right to tell me what to do, not now, not ever."

Madoka pinches the bridge of her nose. "I have to mentor you-"

"I don't want you to mentor me."

"Then Lazara can-"

"I don't want Lazara to either."

"Someone has to!" Madoka insists, voice beginning to rise in volume. "Akira, you can't go in on your own, you'll…"

"I'll what?" Akira asks daringly. "Die? Is that it? You're finally worried about my wellbeing?"

"Stop saying that. I've always cared about you, Kiki." Madoka sucks in a breath, fingers furling and unfurling. Akira wonders if Madoka would hit them again if they were standing any closer.

No one has cared about you. And if they have, you've ruined it just like you ruin everything.

"I'm sorry," Madoka grits out. "I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry I wasn't there. But I'm here now, if you'll give me the chance."

A chance? When has anyone ever given you a chance? Why should you do the same in return?

"I want to make things right. You just… you have to be open to it too."

You have to change, open your mind, open your heart, be ready to get hurt again. Too little too late not enough not enough not enough.

"Sisters," Akira mutters under her breath.

"That's right," Madoka says. She breathes out a laugh. "We can be sisters again."

Her hand stretches out, trying to bridge the gap between them. Akira stares at it, this lifeline that she's never had before. Never deserved before. Do they deserve it now?

All they have to do is reach out and take it.

Take it.

It's the only chance you'll get.

(It's hot. Too hot. Akira tries to claw off her own skin as tears flow freely, but not even they can put out the fire raging around her. They scream, wailing for someone, anyone to come save her, but the only person Akira's ever really had is long gone. They fucked things up, went too far, and even Madoka… even Madoka…

Even Madoka can't save her now.)

"No," Akira says, smacking Madoka's hand aside. "Not sisters. Never again. I won't let you- won't let you-"

Won't let you hurt me again.

(Fool me once…)

"Please." Madoka is all but begging, which doesn't look natural on her. "Please, let me make this right."

"Right? Everything is all wrong. Upside down, inside out… and you think that could be right?"

Madoka stares at her, eyes wide. Akira can feel more eyes surrounding them, suffocating, Carina and Lazara and Xander and Kaizen and Maxus and Virgo. All watching, all waiting.

(Waiting for what?)

Waiting for you to fail again.

"I don't…"

"Besides," Akira stares at her fiercely, refusing to back down, "who could ever want a jinx for a sister?"

Madoka recoils, eyes widening in shock and horror. "Akira," she whispers, "Akira, I didn't mean that-"

"Then why did you say it?"

"I didn't mean it-"

"Then why did you say it?"

"Because I was angry, Akira! Is that what you want to hear? I was angry and frustrated and grieving and I took it out on you when I shouldn't have. And I'm sorry. I could spend my whole life trying to atone for it, but… but we don't have that anymore! I get a week with you and that's it unless you let me help you-"

"Why should I?" Akira feels childish in front of their older sister, repeating the same points bitterly. Again and again, they loop in her mind, a savage cycle that she cannot break. "Why should I give you that chance again?"

"Because I don't want this to be your last memory of us! Because I want things to be okay again, even if it's just for a little while! Because I- I care about you, and you can't hide from that forever."

I care about you.

(But if you loved me you would've said it.)

This isn't right. Akira isn't getting any sense of satisfaction out of this. Their chest is heaving, her hands shake, and her eyes are wet with tears that they refuse to let spill. Not now. Not in front of her sister. Have to teach her a lesson. Can't let Madoka hurt them again.

"I don't care," Akira insists. They can't tell if it's a lie or not. "You can't make me care."

"I'm not going to," Madoka says, voice once again carefully measured. Somehow, she's managed to regain control of her emotions, and Akira is the one left spinning out of control. They feel childish, foolish, and there's nothing she can do about it. "Just… just let me show you."

Akira weighs this for a moment. It's an offer so tempting that they want to believe it, want to take it and run. But in sixteen years, no one has bothered to stick around until the end. Why would they believe things would be different now?

A movement. Carina steps closer to Madoka, hand seeking out hers. Something sharp lances through Akira's chest – maybe through their heart – and stings, hot and bitter. Madoka committed atrocities and won. Madoka committed atrocities and still gained affection from those around her. Madoka committed atrocities and is loved.

And what about Akira? What did they get in return?

Unloveableworthlessdisappointmentfailuredefectivefreakuselessscrewup.

(It's not fair.)

And something in Akira Hinode breaks. Maybe it was broken all along, and maybe a new part of them found a way to shatter. Either way, she latches on to the only friend that's been by her side through it all, lets destruction pave her way just as it always has.

"I hate you," she says, deathly calm.

Madoka's face crumples, and she takes a step forward. "You don't mean that."

"I hate you," Akira says again. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."

(Why isn't it working? Why can't Akira feel better, knowing they've destroyed this too?)

"Akira-"

"Sister should've known better," Akira sings to herself, lacing their hands together behind her back. "Sister is good at abandoning, but not loving. Maybe sister should stick to what she knows best."

"Akira, stop-"

"Or what?" Akira is cruel, her words biting. "You'll leave me again? You're good at that one."

Akira's good at ruining, Madoka's good at leaving. What a good duo.

A hand lands on their arm, and Akira shrieks, trying to yank herself away. Carina's eyes meet hers, cold and detached. "I think you should go."

Unbidden, Akira's gaze turns to Madoka, who can't even bring herself to look at them. Their chest heaves, but she's unable to catch her breath. Everything is bad and Akira is spiraling and there's nothing for them to hold onto-

You pushed them all away, little jinx. There's no one left anymore.

They don't wait to be told again. Akira rips her arm out of Carina's, shoves past the two people still idling in the doorway, and everything from there is a blur. Maybe they're crying or maybe the world is just spinning so fast that they've already fallen.

(A hand, someone give them a hand, help them back up-)

There's no one to help, remember?

(She didn't mean to, didn't want to-)

But you did.

(Come back-)

Who would ever want to come back to you?

(Please-)

You're all alone now, little jinx. Just like you deserve.

Nerissa Kitharion, 18

District Two Female, she/her

There's no fucking way Nerissa is supposed to spend the next couple of weeks like this.

She'll actually go insane. No one prepared her for… for this. Maybe Nerissa was too optimistic before the Fortuna Equestris, assuming that her future District Partner would be perfectly competent. Maybe she was too optimistic during the Fortuna Equestris, assuming that her future District Partner would be able to match her in terms of skill and drive. Maybe she was too optimistic after the Fortuna Equestris, assuming that Pantheon Lexicus was… was…

Well, at this point, she isn't even sure. Ximena's words ring in her ears, mocking her, and Nerissa wishes she could go back and throttle the girl.

"He's just… a lot. It's hard to explain."

She grits her teeth. It would've been helpful if Ximena at least attempted to explain Pantheon to her. Maybe then she'd be prepared.

(Or maybe that's just a pipe dream. Either way, a wrench has been thrown into Nerissa's plans before she can even enact them, and she has to figure out how to overcome it. If she can't, she'll stain her family's legacy instead of bringing it the honor it deserves.)

Her jaw twitches. Nerissa forces herself to look around and try to make something out of the situation she finds herself in.

On her right, feet draped over the arm of the chair, is Rhosyn, looking as unbothered as ever. Considering her Games consisted of a great number of explosives – most created by her – she's used to tuning out things that are particularly loud and annoying. Even now, Nerissa is pretty sure the woman is humming a tune to herself as she scrawls something into a notebook. She's paying no mind to everyone else, and Nerissa feels certain that Rhosyn could take a nap here if she so chose.

To her left is Callan, arms crossed and focused solely on Pantheon. His face is completely impassive, a feat Nerissa figures must take an exceptional amount of effort. That being said, she's pretty sure she's never seen much emotion from him at all, so maybe that's just what he looks like. He's either completely enthralled by what Pantheon is telling him, or he's trying not to outwardly look like he wants to die. Nerissa genuinely can't tell.

And then, sitting across from her, is the current bane of her existence: Pantheon Lexicus himself.

He's larger than life, both literally – he has to be around six and a half feet tall – and metaphorically. He carries himself as if he's the single most important person in the room, even though the room's other occupants are two exceptionally deadly Victors and a descendant of the first Victor. Somehow, Pantheon Lexicus manages to overshadow all of them, running his mouth since the moment he stepped foot on the train. Since before that, even. Nerissa feels certain she could tell everyone what this guy ate for breakfast for the past week, and she's been trying desperately not to pay attention to him.

Frowning, she begins to study him. If he's going to draw attention to himself, she might as well take this opportunity to learn something useful. Tall, strong, probably handsome if she saw him from a distance and he hadn't opened his mouth yet. He's plenty capable with a weapon in his hands – Nerissa saw that for herself watching the end of his last fight during the Fortuna Equestris. Nerissa briefly wonders if he'd still be capable with one of her weapons in his hands – the kind that's purposefully unbalanced, flawed – and shakes her head. Best not to tempt the fates.

Whatever flaws he has clearly lie in his personality. He was predicted first by whatever higher-up in the Capitol decided his skills on paper were worthy of that honor, and according to bystanders who saw more than she did, he had no issues at all with the Fortuna Equestris. None of his opponents stood much of a chance against him, and he'd thrown more than a couple into the hospital with injuries. She almost wonders if he's a fluke, but she doubts Two would've let that slide two years in a row. It's more likely that he's a little too… eager. Nerissa can't quite put her finger on why.

She squints at him. He's gesturing with his hands now, big and showy as if he's from One. It's almost like he's already trying to sell himself to sponsors, but there's no one to watch him now.

Whatever. Nerissa doesn't exactly intend to continue interacting with him much. Once they meet the rest of their allies, she hopes that someone else will take one for the team and listen to the barrage of stories Pantheon tells about himself. That poor soul would have to be some kind of saint.

(Across the car, Theo preens under the attention of two Mentors and his District Partner. Nerissa in particular has been watching him with a certain look of intrigue. His newest supporting actors are clearly putting in the work to make him look good, and he has to give credit where credit is due. He can only hope that the rest of the cast is as good as this group…)

Her thoughts idly turn back to the reapings, mulling over the rest of her potential allies. Nerissa isn't much for teamwork - she's really only going to go along with the rest of her allies to keep up appearances - but she was still hopeful that they would be… competent, at least.

The boy from One is immediately disregarded. He is clearly not the chosen volunteer, and thus Nerissa wants nothing to do with him. Saccharine is similarly unorthodox, but more because of her unassuming nature. There was no great fanfare with either of the One tributes this year, which is more unsettling than anything else. She can't tell if there's something she needs to watch out for, or if what she sees on the surface is what she's stuck with. Neither option is optimal, but at least the latter makes them easier to kill.

And then there's Four, which Nerissa can't fully make up her mind on. The girl is about as appealing as Pantheon, with the way she made a spectacle as she volunteered. Thessaly might get along with Pantheon, but that's not something Nerissa is particularly excited about. The last one, Ibai, seems tolerable enough at first glance, but who knows what'll actually happen there. Given the rest of the group, Nerissa isn't holding out hope.

She might actually be stuck with a bunch of morons. Her training group back home somehow didn't even manage to prepare her for this one.

But Nerissa isn't one to give up so early. She's already resigned herself to sticking with the alliance as long as she can, so she's going to find a way to make the best of it. She didn't come all this way just to get stuck at the first hurdle.

She waits for a slight lull in the conversation – not that there's much conversing going on. Callan is still playing the role of an oh-so-attentive Mentor, but Pantheon's hardly letting him get a word in edgewise. And while Nerissa isn't entirely sure that Callan minds, she's starting to get a headache from how loudly Pantheon is talking. She needs to cut in before she does something that might worry the other occupants of the train.

(Nerissa Kitharion needs a way to show that she's still in control, that she has some semblance of a plan going forward. Even if her District Partner is a moron, even if her allies are useless, Nerissa will come out on top.

There's no other choice for her.)

"Pantheon," she begins, before promptly being cut off.

"Theo, please," he says, laughing. "That goes for all of you."

Nerissa is baffled by how his preferred nickname took this long to come up, but she tries to take it in stride. "Theo," she corrects, trying to keep her tone light, "what do you think of the other tributes so far?"

He pauses and gives her an odd look. Nerissa briefly wonders if she somehow managed to overstep by opening her mouth for two seconds, but Pantheon takes it in stride.

"A delightful cast and crew!" he says, flashing her a wink that she doesn't know how to respond to. "Several have already caught my eye, but I'll have to reserve any formal opinions until I meet them all officially."

"Meet them?"

"Naturally, I'll introduce myself to them during training. It's only right."

"Introduce… yourself…?"

"It's proper form to be able to speak to all of your competitors by name," Pantheon insists. "We'll meet our allies before the parade, and everyone else's I'll have to learn on my own time."

"Right," she says faintly. "Proper form."

Pantheon pauses, about to say something else, and then shakes his head. "You can join me, if you'd like! A pair from Two against the world, showing up the duo from last year… the audience will love it! District Two will reclaim its rightful place on top."

"Right," she says again. "Through the power of teamwork."

Strangely enough, Nerissa feels as if Pantheon is gauging her reaction to his proposal. She can't exactly say she's thrilled about the offer, and she's certainly not going to accept, but… well, she can't quite put her finger on what strikes her as odd. He's almost asking out of obligation, as if someone expects him to.

Weird.

"Are you interested in that?" Callan chimes in, glancing between the two of them. "You'll both have to do mentoring sessions, but we can combine if that's something you're interested in."

"We might have to anyway," Rhosyn says, still staring down at her notebook. She scribbles something in it and then nods. "You'll be gone half the time."

Nerissa furrows her eyebrows and glances back at Callan. "True," he says, tone carefully measured, "but we need to figure out how to make it work."

"We could split time," Nerissa suggests. "Half individual sessions, half together."

"You wouldn't mind that?"

"Not at all," she says smoothly. "I'd like to keep a few of my own secrets, but if it will be less of a hassle this way…"

"No hassle either way," Rhosyn insists, leaning back in her chair. "Whatever you're most comfortable with, we'll work around that."

Leveling her gaze at Pantheon, Nerissa says, "That sound good to you?"

He seems thrown off somehow, but manages to take it in stride. "Of course that works!"

"We might as well call this a preliminary mentoring session then," Callan says, straight to business. "Either of you interested in leading?"

"Not at all."

"Absolutely."

Nerissa sighs silently, already resigning herself to the inevitable. She can't even say that the rest look like good options. Maybe, in a really fucked up way, Pantheon is the best possible leader.

Horrifying. Nerissa can't believe she just thought that.

"It should probably be one of you two, so I'm glad you're interested," Callan says, directing his attention to Pantheon. "But you know that means you'll be more of a target, right?"

"Fine by me!" Pantheon brags, stretching his arms over his head as if he doesn't have a care in the world. "I can take whatever the Arena throws at me."

"I wouldn't say that if I were you," Rhosyn cautions.

Callan coughs. "You never know who's listening, even here," he clarifies. "But after watching the reapings, my advice is to keep Four close and to make sure One can't pull anything."

"You think they might?" Nerissa leans forward curiously. "Pull something, that is? The boy wasn't even supposed to volunteer, and Saccharine…"

Callan goes quiet for a moment, as if thinking particularly hard about something. Nerissa can't guess what, as his expression doesn't give anything away. "I find," he says slowly, "that the most dangerous opponents are often the ones you never saw coming."

"If that's the case, then I wouldn't trust any of them," Nerissa says. "None of them particularly look like a threat. Why would we want to keep Four close, anyway?"

"You never want to be outnumbered, and it's far easier to manipulate Fours than it is Ones."

"I'll take care of the Fours," Pantheon insists, chipping in as if he was beginning to feel left out. "We won't have to worry about them at all."

"What," Nerissa says dryly, "are you going to befriend them?"

"Absolutely! Keep them close and all."

Nerissa figures he's taking Callan's advice a little too literally, but that's none of her business. "I can keep an eye on the Ones," she says, willing to play along, at least for now.

"If you ever want to promote bonding or something, feel free to invite them to our floor," Callan offers. "We did that last year, and it seemed to help for a time."

She almost laughs, but Nerissa manages to keep her mouth shut. Trying to bond with her competition is one of the most foolish things she could think of, but she can at least play along for now. Nothing bad can come from this, certainly not if Nerissa has no intention of getting close with any of them.

After all, Nerissa's got far bigger aspirations. She can't let herself get distracted by anything.

She'll continue to keep her eye on the crown, and nothing else will matter. Nerissa will win these Games and fulfill her family's legacy.

There's no other option for her.

Bourbon Jaque, 17

District Nine Female, she/her

Those goddamn Hotakims.

In Bourbon's eyes, they can all choke. Kosa didn't even bother stepping up once she heard her name. Teff didn't even bother to thank her for saving his daughter from mostly certain death. Then again, maybe the real thanks was a pat on the shoulder and the assurance that he'd finish giving payments to her siblings.

Gee, thanks. Bourbon sure does trust the guy that got her into this shitty situation in the first place. The word of a rich man is going to get her far in life.

Bourbon is… god, she's pissed. But she can't even direct her frustration at anyone in particular. Sure, Teff is some rich bastard that preyed on her, taking advantage of her family's particularly lacking income status to entice her into making a metaphorical deal with the devil, but Bourbon never thought she'd have to suffer the consequences. Enough kids in Nine take tesserae – including herself – that being on standby for a girl that will never need to work a day in her life is - was completely non-threatening.

Don't get her wrong; Bourbon's not blaming herself either. If she had to go back and be offered the deal again, she'd probably still take it. She wouldn't be able to go home and look at Bia and Scotch, thin and cold and starving, knowing that she could've made things better for them. That there was something she could've done.

A deal with the devil has landed her on a train hurtling towards her doom. But Bourbon's not gonna take any of this lying down.

It's only been a few hours, but Bourbon has already decided that this whole thing is a sham. If she hadn't gone so many nights without dinner in her life, she might find it funny that this is the largest meal she's ever been presented with. Not even her first raid of the market with Teff's money was able to provide her with this much. So naturally, she's more than a little miffed that the Capitolites get to eat all this every day. Or at least have the opportunity to.

Half of her wanted to reject the meal entirely – Bourbon Jaque is not a charity case – but the other part of her couldn't resist the smell of freshly cooked meat. She hates indulging like this, but Bourbon can't pass up this opportunity.

(And sure, guilt gnaws at her stomach as she remembers Bia and Scotch waiting for her back home, but she's left them with plenty of money to take care of themselves for a good long while. They're smart kids, far smarter than Bourbon, and they know to stay away from men with offers more enticing than the potential fallout. They'll stay safe.

They have to.)

She won't stay for long. Bourbon realizes shortly after sitting down that she's essentially been tricked into a meal with the whole group, but she's not interested in entertaining conversation with any of them. She's deduced that Mal and Giavanna both mean well, but Bourbon can't bring herself to care enough to listen to them right now.

And then… well, it's hard to ignore Kodo Hotakim on a good day.

He's insufferably loud and always knows how to draw attention to himself. Bourbon considers herself lucky that she managed to entirely avoid him at school. She's always wondered which twin was more annoying, and now she can say without a doubt that it's Kodo. Sure, Kosa is a massive bitch that struts around the school like she owns the place, but Kodo talks and talks and talks and talks and…

She might stab this fork into her eye. Or Kodo's, if she can reach across the table. Giavanna in particular might not like that, but Bourbon doesn't really give a damn right now.

No, she has to at least try to be on her best behavior. Bourbon didn't get sent here to ruin everything in the first few hours. God, that would be embarrassing. She needs to find a way to get back home.

She huffs and briefly glances around at her company. Giavanna and Mal are both enthralled by whatever Kodo is saying, as if they're genuinely interested in the plight of some foolish rich boy.

Kodo has to be overcompensating for something. Bourbon can't say she gives a damn about his home life – she doesn't have time for whiny rich kids – but maybe it has something to do with the fact that he didn't have his own replacement to spare daddy's dearest from the wrath of the filthy Games. Or, perhaps, he simply has a small-

"Bonnie!"

Bourbon purses her lips and digs into her meal again, ignoring the boy sitting across the table. She can feel Giavanna's eyes on her as she hacks her way through a piece of meat before shoving it in her mouth. Bourbon gets the sense that the Victor is disapproving of her methods, but she doesn't feel inclined to show off her manners at the moment. It's better for her Mentor to understand what all she's working with, for better or worse.

"Bonnie!" Kodo hisses again, this time accompanying the word with a swift kick to Bourbon's ankle.

To her credit, Bourbon does not make any noise at the boy's rather clumsy kick. The only reason why it stings at all is because he managed to hit bone with the tip of his shoe. She decides, however, that she is not going to reward him with her attention, and retaliates by slamming the heel of her shoe into the toe of his.

Kodo lurches back with an undignified yelp, and Giavanna and Mal both look at him curiously. Bourbon merely keeps her gaze focused on her plate, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Are you okay?" Giavanna asks, clearly worried about the boy's wellbeing.

Bourbon tries not to roll her eyes. If a little tap of her shoe is enough to make him react like this, then she would hate to see how fast he breaks down in the Arena. No amount of money can save him now…

"Just wounded by the horrors of today," Kodo says, sighing dramatically. "I'm sure you can understand."

Nodding sympathetically, Giavanna completely buys his lackluster excuse. "Absolutely. If you ever need anything…"

"I'll make sure to let you know." He nods sagely, and Giavanna grants him a smile in return. Bourbon tries not to gag.

Unfortunately, Kodo is more determined than she gave him credit for. "Bonnie," he insists again.

God he's annoying. Bourbon wants to tell him to take a goddamn hint, but instead she shoves another bite in her mouth, staring at him pointedly. She takes great delight in the fact that his brow wrinkles with poorly disguised disgust.

"Bonnie, did you-"

"Don't call me that," Bourbon snaps, slamming her fork down. "It's Bourbon."

"I'm sorry," Giavanna says, eyes wide. "I didn't mean to overstep."

She's swiftly reminded that, despite Bourbon's belief in her own capabilities, she probably shouldn't piss off one of the people contractually obligated to help her out. Bourbon grits her teeth into a smile. "Don't worry about it. I… am a little stressed."

"Completely understandable," Giavanna coos, softening once more. "It may not seem like it now, but you'll feel better once you get some rest, even if it's only a bit."

"I'll keep that in mind." Her gaze turns to Kodo, who preens upon finally catching her attention. "What do you want."

"I would like to talk to you," he says, tilting his head towards the door, "alone."

"Alone," she repeats. "And why should I agree to that?"

"I'll tell you when we're alone."

She squints at him. He blinks back at her innocently.

"And what if I don't want to talk to you?"

He smiles. Bourbon feels the brief and violent urge to knock his teeth out. "I'll make you an offer you can't refuse."

She's heard that one before. Bourbon wants to tell him to fuck off, but she's acutely aware of the other occupants of the room. "If I hear you out, will you leave me alone?"

"Only if you want me to."

She tries not to laugh out loud. "Fine. You have five minutes."

The triumphant grin on his face almost makes her change her mind instantly, but instead, Bourbon finds herself getting to her feet. Under normal circumstances, Bourbon would already be bloodying her knuckles on this asswipe's face, but there's nothing normal about where she finds herself now. Sure, Kodo is clearly going to misread this situation and assume he's entitled to her attention whenever he wants it, but Bourbon fully intends to make him regret it.

Kodo seeks out an empty room about halfway down the train from where they'd been eating. It's a bold move, considering Bourbon isn't convinced she'll like whatever he has to say to her, and she could probably throttle his skinny neck if she really wanted to.

Although, Bourbon is undeniably intrigued. Perhaps it's more of a morbid curiosity – her intention is less to genuinely hear him out and more to hear him out and then make fun of him for thinking she'd actually listen to what he has to say. No Hotakim will be able to fuck her over again, not if Bourbon has anything to say about it.

"So," she says, just as the door snicks shut, "what do you want?"

"I have a proposition for you."

"No shit," Bourbon says dryly. "I'm sure whatever you have to say is interesting and all, but I've made a deal with one of you Hotakims already, and I'm not keen on making another. Find some other sucker."

"You won't even hear me out?" Kodo puts his hands in his pockets, meandering further into the room. He's too at ease, too confident. "I won't take up too much of your time-"

"My time left is rather limited, isn't it?"

"-and I think you'll find it to be worth every moment."

"Quite the bold claim."

He stops and glares at her, though his gaze isn't particularly intimidating. "Are you going to listen or not?"

"Are you going to give me a reason to?"

He huffs. This clearly isn't going the way Kodo thought it would, and Bourbon feels no small amount of pride about that. She's been labeled as difficult by many of her peers and teachers, but that's never been as exhilarating as it is now.

"Fine. I'll get to the point." He coughs and then adjusts the collar of his shirt. "I want you to fake a romance with me for sponsors."

His words fall flat between them; Bourbon can hardly bring herself to process them, much less who's saying them. Kodo Hotakim, rich boy and theatre kid. She genuinely cannot think of a worse combination.

And fake a romance with him, of all things? Bourbon doesn't know the first thing about love, much less how to fake it with someone she despises on principle. If she can't even fathom the idea, how is all of Panem supposed to believe it?

The expression on her face must be nothing less than horrified, but Kodo is completely undeterred. "The audience loves a good romance, and if we give that to them-"

"You want me-"

"Keep your voice down!"

"-to act like I'm dating you?"

"Quiet!" he hisses. "The Mentors can't know."

"And why not?"

"The more people that know, the bigger the chance that more people will find out," he explains, watching the closed door as if someone will burst through at any moment. "In acting, it's all about making sure every single member of the audience believes the show you're putting on."

"And that includes the Mentors."

"Absolutely." Kodo runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. He begins to pace, and Bourbon watches him intently. "If anyone catches on, we'll lose everything."

Bourbon can't help herself anymore – she laughs, long and loud. Kodo somehow manages to look even more put out.

"We?" she manages through her fits of laughter. "You're acting like there's any way I'd say yes to pretending to romance you."

"We'd make a story out of it," he continues, talking over her. "We could fit it into your reasoning for volunteering. We've been dating for months, you saw Kosa get reaped and couldn't handle the thought of me losing her, and then in a moment of tragedy I get reaped as well."

"That makes me sound like a lovesick fool."

"I'm open to suggestions."

Bourbon frowns. "And besides, there's no way I'm entertaining this."

"Why not?"

"I hardly know you, I don't want to know you, and… god, it's fucking insane!"

"What's insane about it?"

Well, for one, it's Kodo, who's pretty much the physical embodiment of everything she hates most in the world. He's privileged beyond anything Bourbon will even have the ability to comprehend, and even now he's looking at her as if he's waiting for her to inevitably cave.

"Lying to the Capitol isn't what I'd call an amazing strategy."

"Only if it doesn't work."

"And what makes you think it will?"

"I've spent enough of my life acting," he says, waving her off. "I have full confidence in my own abilities."

She scoffs. Naturally. "And even if it does work, what's really in it for me?"

"Besides sponsors?"

"Yes, besides sponsors."

"An ally."

"Obviously. But is that really all you have to offer me?"

For a split second, she can see it: a crack in his facade. There's a hint of panic as she presses for more, and it clicks. Despite how hard he's trying to maintain the illusion of otherwise, Kodo is scared.

(Despite how much Bourbon is trying to insist otherwise, she is too.)

"A fiercely loyal ally, a plethora of sponsors, and three days of whatever skills we can pick up still isn't enough for you?" Kodo whistles lowly. "You're good at playing hard to get, Bonnie."

"Don't call me that-"

"Unless, of course, you think you can't take it."

Bourbon freezes. Everything is suddenly moving slower. "What was that?"

Kodo grins. His eyes gleam with something akin to triumph. "I should've known," he scoffs. "You can't handle it, can you?"

Oh, so this is the game he wants to play. Bourbon grits her teeth, tries to play it off like she's not affected, but something about his attitude has gotten under her skin. Bourbon Jaque has spent years handling anything that life throws at her, and she's not about to let some privileged-ass brat think he's better than her.

"I never said that."

"You're scared," he insists, taking a step closer. "Scared that we can't pull this off because you'd be the one to fuck it up."

"You don't know anything about me-"

"You can't even play pretend for a few days."

"I can do whatever I damn well put my mind to."

"We're supposed to act like we're in love, and you look like you can hardly stand the thought of touching me."

"Like you're any better."

"I can be," he proclaims boldly. Another step. He's close enough that Bourbon could reach out and touch him if she wanted.

"So can I."

"Then prove it," he says, eyes still bright as if he's winning, and god Bourbon would like nothing more than to wipe that look off his face. "You can't stand to spend five minutes with me, much less the next couple of weeks. If you're really so eager to go home, I would've thought you'd at least be willing to try and save your own skin."

She doesn't know how it happens. Her hands move on their own, snagging the collar of his shirt and dragging him closer. He makes a noise of surprise that is quickly muffled by her lips against his. Bourbon has no idea what she's doing, but she's determined to prove him wrong, even if her harsh, clumsy movements give her away.

And then she breaks away just as quickly. She pants quietly as her head spins, drunk on the simple fact that she proved him wrong.

(Dimly, Bourbon wonders if she's only managed to get in over her head again. She's made a deal with the devil before, but Bourbon feels that this is somehow far worse. This could all backfire on her, a possibility far more likely than any chance of success.

But Bourbon isn't the kind to back down in the face of a challenge. Not now, not ever.

She won't let Kodo get the best of her.)

"I am not scared," she hisses, still mere inches from his face.

"You move fast." His eyes dart down to her lips, and then he blinks as if surprised. "Would it be presumptuous of me to assume you're accepting my offer?"

"Unfortunately."

He grins, and Bourbon wonders if she managed to prove him wrong at all. "In that case, my dearest Bonnie, I think we have a few things to discuss."

She matches his gaze, lifts her chin. Curls her lips into a smile that she hopes is convincing. "Of course, my dearest Kodo," she coos. "We have a show to put on, don't we?"

have i mentioned i love pregames?

has it been exactly a month? yes. mind your business. hopefully i will see you in a couple weeks with parades, but god knows what will happen between now and then.

some fun developments! everyone is obviously really happy and becoming best friends and making good decisions. and they will continue to!

review or something if u feel inspired. i'll be back with parades in 2-4 business weeks. see ya then!

~de laney is out