Hi, me again with Ch6. I can't believe this story actually got half-way through the pre-games, since I thought I'd abandon it after a week, but here we are. Thanks a lot to anyone still reading this. Virtual creme de la creme a la Edgar to you all XD.

Disclaimer: I still don't own hetalia, otherwise why would I be here?

Now, on with the chapter.

Scarlett Benton, 12, D5

The dining table was laden with delicacies, roast duck, pheasant, bacon, cake, chocolate, candy, and many more nobody could possibly ever name, all of them exotic, delicious, and expensive.

To Scarlett, they all looked about as appetizing as cardboard.

The cheerful escort ushered her and the other boy, Peter Sealor, into the seats, then watched them expectantly, as if waiting for them to start thanking her on their knees. Instead of complying, Scarlett sat down and banged her head into a table, refusing to look at the escort who had doomed her with a death sentence.

That was what this was, after all, a death sentence. She was an underfed twelve-year-old with no weapon experience, no survival skills, and contrary to popular belief, being from District Five didn't grant super electricity skills.

She didn't even have a loving family at home angle to play since she's an orphan, and the whole lovey-dovey angle was off since she was all of twelve-years-old. Too young to date, just old enough to go kill people for entertainment.

In short, she was dead. Dead as a doornail, or a coffin nail, whichever one was deader. And that death was not going to be pleasant. How wonderful. Twelve years of harsh life, then one extremely gruesome death in front of a stupid audience.

"Stop looking like that, young tribute. It's completely unladylike, so put your head up and behave yourself." Scarlett lifted her head from the table to find the escort looking at her in disapproval, nose in the air, "Seriously, district savages these days. Don't even understand the honor of competing anymore, just moaning and crying and making messes all around."

The escort shoved a spork-full jelly into her mouth, peering disdainfully at the two tributes, "Pah, and they give me two twelve-year-olds going into the arena this year. District Five sucks." She grabbed a turkey leg, biting into it, "You two are bloodbaths for sure."

"Hey, we have a chance!" Scarlett turned her attention to Peter, who had just slammed down his plate, opting to instead yell at their escort, "Stop treating us like we're already dead." But don't you see? In a way we already are. What chances did they have, really? A grand total of zilch, nada, zippo, the big old goose egg. How many twelve-year-old victors were there? Let's see, the closest they'd ever gotten was final three, and Lila had died quite painfully.

The escort sneered, "Oh really? You think you can win?" She waved a fork lazily at Peter, "A scrawny little with no skills?"

She shuddered before adding pointedly, "A tiny savage that eats with its hands?"

Scarlett could feel her rage at the escort boiling over. Because of her, she'll never go back to District Six, which, admittedly, wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but it still had its good points. Now, she'll never hang out with Toyota or laugh at Ray's tricks go wrong. Never get Opal back for all the things she did, or end her epic prank war with Helios and Hive.

And the only thing the escort could bring herself to care about was table manners.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch." Scarlett glared at the escort, "Here we are about to die, and you're talking about us like we're animals?" She was mad, so mad, but she just couldn't express herself with words. It was so difficult to convey her sheer anger and despair in sentences.

So instead, she swept a hand across the table, letting the delicate cutlery shatter on the ground, spilling their contents everywhere. Contents that could feed someone in the District for months. Scarlett felt a momentary pang, left over from her scavenger days, at the waste of food, but quickly banished the thought from her mind.

"Honestly, savages these days are so awful. She didn't even wait until she was dismissed-"

Hurrying into her room, Scarlett slammed the door behind her, blocking out the rest of the shallow escort's tirade, before hurling herself onto the plush bed to sulk.

And sob while she was at it. She was going to die, so why be embarrassed by being a crybaby?

Peter Sealor, 12, D5

After Scarlett stormed off, the escort acted like nothing had happened, turning back to her jelly, spooning another glob into her fat face, "Finally, the rude savage is gone. I hope it never comes back to sully this table." She peered over the bowl at Peter.

"Well, young man, eat up. Try to enjoy your last meals."

"For the last time, I have a chance!" Just because he was twelve didn't mean he was dead for sure! Nobody ever took him seriously, but he could still do stuff. He knew his way around circuits, he could run, and he knew a little about using a knife. He won't die, he won't die, he won't die, he won't die, he won't die-

"But you are dead meat, savage, so shut up and eat."

He won't die!

"Not like your opinion matters." He had a chance. Just stop dismissing him because he was smaller than the others. He'll show them all he and the other twelve-year-olds had a chance. Everyone in the Capitol and the districts. He'll-uh, he hadn't really thought this part out yet, he will...will...he will create an alliance of all the twelve-year-olds in the arena this year. There was him, there was Scarlett, there was the girl from District Eight, the boy from District Three, and the other boy from District Seven his escort had called lost cases. He'll from an alliance with them all, the strongest in the arena ever, and then he'll show them all twelve-year-olds can win. Glaring at the escort one last time, Peter stomped off to find Scarlett.

Finding her was easy, getting her to talk to him, not so much. The first time he knocked, all he got was a despondent moan. Second time equaled very explicit instructions about where he could stick his stick his hand, and on the third time, the door was actually opened a crack for a shoe to fly through, narrowly missing his face as he ducked.

That was progress at least, now at the very least she'd opened the door. Even more determined than before, Peter knocked on the door again.

It took eight tries and a lot of flying objects, but at last Scarlett poked her head out of the wall, looking tired.

"What do you want?" Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she'd been crying, and she wasn't even trying to hide it, "If you're here just to bother me then fuck off."

Peter put on his brightest smile, hoping he didn't have any pheasant stuck in his teeth from earlier, "Hi, I'm Peter Sealor, a fellow little, and we're going to form an alliance and win the games together!"

"I know your name, idiot." Scarlett deadpanned, "And the answer is no." She began to edge into her room, "Now, if that's all you're going to waste my time with..."

"But why not?" Peter stuck a hand through the door, wincing as his fingers were crushed, but it was worth it in the end when Scarlett flung open the door, giving him a death glare.

"Because I'm already dead, and I want some goddamn peace and quiet before I'm brutally killed. So, if you'll excuse me." This time she quickly pulled the door shut, not giving him a chance to stick something in the gap before the lock clicked shut.

That was rather disappointing, but he'd always been known for his persistence and annoying tendency to keep doing something until he was recognized or noticed. Standing up on his tiptoes, Peter peered into the peephole, gratified find green eyes locking onto his gaze. He smiled, waved at the shorter girl, and waited for her response, ready to flee just in case.

There was a long, drawn-out groan, then the sound of multiple expensive somethings breaking. Finally, the much-awaited sound of heavy footsteps came as Scarlett stormed to the door and flung it open once again, glaring bloody murder. Peter shrank back against the wall, but still managed another cheeky wave at his district partner, who looked like she was going to explode.

"You're never going to leave me alone, are you?" Scarlett groaned, facepalming.

Peter grinned right back, "Not until you agree to ally with me, and to go meet our mentor together to boot." He could see the small struggle on the girl's face, Scarlett silently debating whether to kill him or humor him and get some peace and quiet later.

Luckily for him, she chose the less violent option. Scarlett sighed, facepalming again and dragging one hand down her face as the other massaged her temple, "Fine, eyebrow freak," Peter ignored the death stare he received in favor of savoring his victory, "But after I go along with your stupid schemes I get some peace and quiet."

"Of course, milady." Peter stuck out his hand, "Deal?"

The two shook on it, "Deal as long as I get to say I told you so when you're ripped apart by another tribute."

And on that slightly morbid tone, the two went to meet their mentor.

Scarlett Benton, 12, D5

The worst part about being dragged around by someone after they blackmail you into their schemes?

The fact that the little prick is taller than you. Scarlett tried to glare down at Peter, but failed miserably, unless his neck is impressed by a death glare, which, let's face it, it probably wasn't. Her cheerful district partner had decided to drag her around to meet their mentor, who'll probably either dismiss them or be a downright wanker like their escort. Currently, Peter had nearly dislocated her shoulder and banged her head into the doorway in his hurry.

To say this sucked would be an extreme understatement.

"Come on, Scar! Get over here, Tino's waiting!" Telling him to stop with the nickname was pointless. Scarlett could only sigh, facepalm, and follow her delusional district partner on his newest mission.

"I'm coming, geez." She took her sweet time stepping into the room, ready to settle down and listen to their mentor go on and on about stupid tactics to prevent their inevitable and painful demises. To her chagrin, Peter had already claimed the sofa, leaving her to stew on a stool. The taller was oblivious to the eye-daggers she hurled as she plopped herself down, disgruntled by the seating arrangements.

"Hi, I'm glad you're here now. I'm your mentor, Tino Suomi." Scarlett suddenly noticed the man sitting opposite them, smiling and looking like a nice mom, except male. She scanned the man suspiciously, wondering if he was lying. There was no way this smiley ball of energy was the Tino Suomi, fourteen-year-old Victor with a fondness for guns, bows, and arrows. Tino Suomi had torn the other tributes apart when a member of his extended family, Ingrid, had been harmed. That Tino was a sinnamon roll, the guy sitting in front of them was definitely a cinnamon roll. For heaven's sake, this wonder boy looked like he wouldn't hurt a fly.

Apparently, Peter was an idiotic douche who didn't share her suspicions. Instead, he jumped right in with the questions, "How do we win?"

Scarlett tensed, waiting for Tino's laughter and dismissal. True, she kind of knew it already, but hearing people dismiss her made her want to hit them, and hitting a Victor, assuming he's not lying, would be a death sentence.

To her relief, Tino wasn't a complete jerk. The Victor cocked his head, actually thinking before giving his answer, something most pig-headed adults couldn't do.

"Well, for your strategy, go learn survival skills first." Okay, standard protocol for all outer districts. "Try to use knives, they're common." Yes, she had some common sense, thank you. "Learn how to run, and use stuff like poison and tact to make yourself seem smart and gain sponsors." Peter looked spellbound, nodding along to every word coming out the Victor's mouth. He looked so excited someone thought he had a chance, and though she was a jerk by any definition, even she couldn't stand to pop her district partner's bubble.

But she knew better. Her mentor's rapid-fire answers/advice and grins were only thin covers for his sadness. She could clearly see the hopelessness in his eyes as he explained to another two tributes what they should do, knowing they were already dead.

"Hey, Scar, stop looking so sad!" Scarlett was jerked out of her reverie when Peter poked her in the cheek, "You're being a Debbie downer and ruining the mood!"

"Oh really?" Her eyebrows were about to merge into her braid as she scowled. Her district partner was upside down on the sofa, one hand extended to poke her again. Scarlett quickly swatted the offending hand away.

Peter really was a stubborn prat. The taller boy easily flipped himself right way up, propping his feet on the couch's back as he continued his assault. Scarlett swept up a box of tissues and tried to use it as a shield, but it was to no avail.

"What do you want, demon spawn?"

Her district partner grinned mischievously, "Promise not to be a Debbie downer anymore." She didn't have a choice here, did she? Scarlett sighed, but nodded. It was useless to resist, she already learned her lesson about Peter's stubbornness, and getting her cheeks yanked for longer won't make him back off.

The two whirled around as Tino cleared his throat, "I believe we were talking about what to do first in the arena. Could one of you recap the main points?"

The twin guilty faces facing him told him they couldn't. Undeterred by the lack of attention, Tino the Saint went back and recapped everything, this time with the (albeit grudging for one) attention of both tributes.

Peter Sealor, 12, D5

Peter sat on the couch, staring at the TV screen as the Reapings for the fourth time. So far things were normal, volunteers from 1, 2, and 4, two outer district volunteers and some criers. The whole thing was starting to get boring, but he had to watch it and figure out as much as possible about the other tributes he'll be facing.

He'll prove the escort and his mentor wrong. He could do it, just because he was twelve didn't mean he didn't have a chance. The escort's harsh words still echoed in his head, but Peter quickly pushed them away, turning to the video with pen and paper ready. He wasn't already dead. He had a chance. He'll prove himself to everyone in the Capitol and in the Districts. No one will ever underestimate him again after the Games end.

District Four was playing again, two more volunteers, "Denise Koh" and "Deutsch Schmidt" went onstage. Denise was very cheerful and charismatic, while Deutsch looked like the old lady back home yelling about kids on her lawn and chastising random people on the street for not following her rules to a T.

"Why are we doing all this again?" Scarlett groaned next to him, flopping belly-down on the sofa next to him. She looked like she was already regretting her decision to agree to the alliance and come out her room, "What else can we learn? We've already watched this a bajillion times, it's not going to help our chances of survival any more."

Peter swatted her on the head with notepad, "Come on, Scar. What do you think of Denise?"

Scarlett frowned at the nickname, "I think she can cleave my head off with a single swipe."

"What did I say about being pessimistic?" Peter crossed his arms, glaring down at Scarlett. The smaller girl sighed, clearly irritated by the question.

"Don't be a Debbie downer." She ground out, facepalming as she turned back to the TV.

Peter grinned at the response, now he was finally making some serious progress, "Great, so what do you think of Denise?" He gave Scarlett a warning look, "And don't you dare be a wet blanket again."

"Fine, you schlub." Scarlett squinted at the TV, "She's strong, favors her right arm. She uses a battle axe and feasts on the souls of small children." That wasn't quite what he wanted, but Peter quickly squeezed the observation into the space left, omitting the part about soul feasting. By now the two had already fallen into a comfortable routine, Scarlett would complain, Peter would get her to focus, Scarlett would make observations, and Peter would jot down the non-depressing bits. The system had its pros and cons, but he could work with that.

Their list had already grown from small pieces of information to full-sized files for everyone. They'd even jokingly jotted down some observations for themselves ("Depressed little dope" and "Peter the Great and Powerful" among some). Some pieces of information were useful ("Do not mess with tired DadTM Deutsch, he can rip your head off sans weapons"), some were unnecessary ("Note to self, careers will kill you, capiche?"), some were plain weird ("The highest District average for fidgeting is D11 at 37 times per person, it was mostly the girl") and some would get them some enemies real quick if they were seen ("Aero Munroe= Giga Chad Dunce"). All in all, Peter wasn't sure what the list was telling them other than mostly random trivia about the other tributes, but the escort had said only smart tributes with experience could study their enemies beforehand, so study them he did.

They'd also found some more allies for their Twelves alliance. At first, Scarlett had griped about the age limits, pouting and grumbling that they 'already had a tiny enough chance of survival with the older tributes' help', but she'd come around after some extreme persuasion. As the District interval ads played, Peter scanned the list again, ticking off each of the names in his mind.

Erland Oxenstierna. He'd looked extremely pissed during his Reapings, and Scarlett had filed him away as physically fit and capable enough with a knife. She'd also deemed him a 'computer gearhead' and vaguely suspicious, but the claim was mostly an offhanded joke. At least Peter thought it was anyway.

Felic Ita. Scarlett had scoffed at him and called him weak after he started crying onscreen and had to be dragged onstage by peacekeepers, but Peter hadn't let that bother him. He was forming an alliance with all the other Game littles, and leading them all to the end. If that meant some of them might not be the best, then so be it. Anyway, Felic was from District Seven, so that meant he had some survival skills, skills their industry-oriented district alliance could use.

Wisteria Mic. The District Eight girl had looked pretty strong and mature when she went onstage without any help. Peter could still remember his own disastrous fail at standing up straight and walking, while Scarlett needed a shove from her neighbour to get her brain back onto the ground. Right then and there, the two had decided to get her in their alliance.

He set his pen down and sat back as the camera panned to the familiar grey skies of District Five. This was he and Scarlett's turn, so he could finally take a break, sink into the plushy sofa, kick back and relax a little-

"Oy, brats! Time to get off the train. We're in the Capitol!" Peter scowled, clicking 'off' and throwing the remote onto the couch before swinging his legs off the comfy cushion they'd been resting on. He'd finally found a comfortable position and now he'd being forced out of it literally two bloody seconds later.

The escort poked her head around into his room, frowning, "I'm not losing my job because of two hopeless tributes."

Peter deliberately made each step last as long as possible to screw with the prat.

Peter is being rather...enthusiastic while Scarlett has common sense. Is anyone surprised Tino's such a nice mentor? Though he can be a serious 'mom' if need be...

Anyway, thanks for reading, please R+R. That would be really nice since I still can't tell if anyone actually gives an F about all this, though this is rather horrible.