Morning comes with the ringing of bells. I see a gowned figure sweep into the room, and try to entangle myself in the covers such that I can't be dislodged by the figure who seems to be ringing a small bell. Regardless, I'm tumbled out of bed with a cry, eventually wrangled out of my sheets and stood up by Indra, who looks not angry but just disappointed. "We're at the Capitol in 30 minutes. You need to look good, the other who'll be here can smell weakness like sharks. Any help you need, Elise should be your first point of call. As long as you're here, that goes for everything any of us can help with."

He gestures around, sweeping out of the room as I straighten up. I try to respond, but Indra's gone before I can respond with any more than a strangled "Yep." It's not a nice feeling, him being so able to come into my room and talk to me. Still, I get that he may have been trying to help. Rather than complain, I get to work. Shower first, the water warmer than the tepid stuff we usually get at home and so much more consistent. Then off to the cupboard, where the sets of clothes waiting for me probably cost more than home would. Picking out a pair of jeans and a nice blouse, and then tugging them on, I make my way almost to the dining carriage, before I'm intercepted by Elise.

Her voice, rather than bright and cheery, is verging on furious as I'm 'guided' back towards my room. "Millie, you're smarter than this. We're meeting the Capitol, and we want to make a good impression. Yeah?" I nod, give a rough 'Yeah', only for it to be deemed too sullen. Once firmly back inside, my mentor claps her hands. "Millie! You're pretty. Unfortunately, until you get your interview people see you. Understand? Not Millie Stahl. You, the pretty girl from Five. That's all they see. So we're going to play that up. Eyes grey, I think.." She trails off, holding up a dress that seems to flow and flow. I shake my head, getting a sinking feeling.

Within twenty minutes I'm dressed in the provided dress and a pair of high heels that make me sway with every step. It's like I imagine the deck of a ship would be like, floor feeling to roll under me. With one hand on Elise's arm, we make a slow way to the dining room, my tottering occasionally having to be corrected with a tug on my arm from Elise. Reaching the room, I can feel Robin's eyes confused at my more formal getup, he himself dressed in shorts and a short sleeved shirt. I'm incredibly jealous. Sitting down, I glance at the table, laden with liquids but no food. The food's all the way on the other side of the room, and I watch one of the servants no, Avoxes takes a playe, filling it before bringing it to Robin.

I'm soon nudged by Sol, on my right hand side, who gestures at the table. "Put your... hand up, and ask. They'll... come over for your request. Any - anything on that table," she's hiccuping now, "that you want." A tut from Skye, somewhere on my left, and Indra (of course) chimes in. "Sol, you're drunk. How."

I'm saved from hearing what happens next when I go up to the table, beginning to fill a plate myself. Not because I don't appreciate what the servants they're slaves are doing, but because my head is telling me this is wrong. That I shouldn't be using them. Which is why I go up, and begin to handle the tongs and trays myself, slipping food onto them until my plate is loaded up with sausage and squares of potato and a dozen other things I can't name.

Theodosia begins to scold me when I get back. "Millie, what are you doing! That's a servant job, and you're no servant! You should be focusing on yourself, not-" She stops when she sees a tear roll down the side of my cheek, in an instant changing to some facade of care. "Oh, Millie, no, I just want you to be all ready for the Games. You don't have to go up, and..."

My outburst is entirely out of character. "I do! I do have to go. I can't make them do any more, not when they've already got their tongue-" A crack echoes around the room, for a second I think a slap until I see Indra's knife, wooden handled, bashed handle-first against the table. He's trying to quiet me, and for a moment it works, before I more weakly finish off. "-yeah."

Breakfast, after that, is relatively sedate. Save for the occasional request to pass the butter, to slide over the salt or pepper or whatever it is someone wants, the table is silent. I eat, and eat, and eat. Let the tastes wash over my mouth, let them play over my tongue and give me more stimulation than would be necessary for me to enjoy them. It's good, and I've definitely eaten more than I would in a day at home when counting lunch, after which the hum of the train begins to dampen down in favour of a suddenly uncomfortable silence. We're arriving to the Capitol, I can tell that from the view across the lake in each window. Glowing towers, shining like only the Capitol they say can be.

Their station, when the train pulls in, is similarly ornate. Elise is fussing around with my hair, teasing strands of it back and making sure it's all falling nicely, giving a huff and a tug at my dress to straighten it out when she notices the crumpling present from where I've sat. It's not fun, and not the kind of activity I think we need to be engaging in, but at the same time. Well, if she thinks it'll work, then I let her fuss around, glancing longingly at the tunic and jeans Robin has been given until I get a nudge. "It's because he's done. Want to give him a nice time."

The casual reminder that in a week my district partner is likely to be dead turns my stomach. I let it show on my face, and more reprimand is quickly forthcoming. "Millie, no, you have to be brave, understand?" Elise, and Indra taps my back. "Go on, now, Millie. We'd be doing great if there was no issue on your face. Trust me, Millie, I get what you're feeling. We all do. We've all been through this, after all, and we've all come out of it. So go on."

Hissing open, the doors allow us to leave. Indra first, then Elise, into a world of even more flashing lights and excited voices. The photographers are more present here, and I can feel hands on my back guiding me to face first one photographer and then another, though I'm pushed forward rather than face the questions being tossed my way. Light, excited questions. "Millie, what's your favourite book?" "Millie, with your comments in your District what do you think of your District attitude towards the Hunger Games?" "Are you interested in the alliance between One, Two and Four? Maybe nosing around joining them?"

No time for questions. Time to nod and smile at the photographs, though, let Elise turn me so I can be seen by the flashing cameras time after time. It's only when we reach an area with less people in more space than the pressing crowds of photographers and sightseers that I'm oriented, Elise and Indra on either side, to face the people. A wave, a nod, and they're all pressing forward. All shades, white and black and cerulean blue. They're hardly the crowd I'd hoped for, and the smiles worn by our Victors look more like smiles I'd give to a particularly problematic

"Hi, Everyone! Lucia, you're looking gorgeous in that dress. Aww, Callia, your daughter looks so sweet. Lusitania, yes? Flavia, loving the new colour scheme!" The words are rattled off with excited smiles and laughs, even when the Capitolites are asking their own (ignored) questions. Eventually though, they get around to me. "I'd like to introduce you to Millie! She's our newest tribute, and between you and me I'm sure she has what it takes to win. Not like the pair from last year."

Indra closes his eyes for a second, breaths deeper and more measured. He's calming himself down, and before too long his eyes flick back open, the Capitolites still tittering behind him. "They were disappointing! I tell you, it's a good thing none of us ever put any money on Five! Now, girl, what're your thoughts? Can you win?"

Hand at my back I'm pushed forwards, the Victors behind me with voices increasingly tense. "Millie's certain, I can promise you tha-" "No. I want to hear it from her. I want to know from your girl." From a young man, barely nineteen, it's not exactly the statement I want to hear. Wanting me to speak, I don't even know myself whether or not it's the best idea for me to handle this. But I do have to answer the question, work last year taught me that sponsorship is everything in the Games.

"I can absolutely win!" Customer service skills are coming back now, customer service skills I've needed for a while. "I'm sure I can win! I'm here to win, after all! But I can't do that without your help." Casting a beaming smile at the crowd, a handful of them give tentative smiles back. Enough to keep me going. "Now, I know I'm not the best choice! I'm not the One girl, the Two boy. But where's the fun in backing one of them when you could take the longer shot, and have the bragging rights of next year. Know you put your money on the right girl!"

I can't say anything else, before I'm behind Elise again, or rather in this case she's in front of me. "Thank you, thank you! Now, Millie needs to be off to the Training Centre, but I'm sure you'll see enough of her tonight you'll be practically sick of her." Laughter, but including me rather than pushing me away. Laughter was good. And so I'm waved off, guided into a car with Elise sat on the other side and Indra in the front. "You know the way, by now!" I'd assume the driver does, given how quickly he drive off.

Arriving at the Training Centre, it's still light out, and I have to turn to Elise with a frown. "I thought we'd arrive later? For the parades?" "Oh, the Parades are fun but they're later. For now, you get dinner first! Actually get to eat civilized, unlike those Eastern Districts who have to eat during changing." "Dinner's good, then?" "Dinner's good."

Dinner's an affair, relatively early to account for the Parades in a few hours. Robin and myself are the first ones in the room, plates of pasta and bacon covered in some creamy sauce set in front of us as if we know what it is. When Robin takes a bite, and proclaims it to be good, I have to concur. It is good. Elise was right.

The Ones and Twos are next into the room, One boy taking his seat at a different table with food ahead of the rest. After a moment, though, the girl comes around the table, smiling and giving a small curtsey in a dress that seems a whole less than unwieldy than mine, if displaying a lot more. "Millie, I'm Dazzle Parrish! I believe you know my brother?" Just wanting to get on with eating, this gets a curt nod, and a short sentence. "Of course. He's a good colleague."

"Oh Millie you're so funny. I like you." Dazzle smiles, a smile that could probably launch if not quite a thousand ships than at the least a passable task force. For a second I forget that we're competitors, until she hits me with a laugh and a toss of her hair and a smile. "Now. Glitz did ask me to not kill you right away, he thinks you're owed that much even though I tried to convince him otherwise. Damn fool decision, if you ask me. Still, I should honour his request. So, Miss Stahl, my allies and I are willing to offer a deal. You can have, say, twenty minutes to grab what you can and go. You'll get that. We won't follow you. After that, we'll be hunting. So, deal?"

A hand is offered, smooth and pale, and I eye it with a certain suspicion. Dazzle bounces in her stance. "So...?" "Can I phone a friend?" Laughter pealing from the blonde, she gives a little bow. "Go on." "I think... I should talk to my mentor. She might not." "Ok!" The quick agreement surprises me, Dazzle nodding like she hasn't got a care in the world. "Of course, Millie! After all, it's not like there's any reason for you to be keeping me waiting longer than a night, after all! I expect a response first thing in the morning!"

I can only nod at this, and she squeals with excitement before giving me a hug that sets the Two girl glaring. Her first words are whispered. "Kat needs to be jealous, it'll be funny!" Then words louder, more explicit. "Have fun, Millie! Dinner looks lovely! I'm a big fan! Anyways, you have fun on the parade, I'm sure you'll look so pretty!" Then she's off, the Two girl (holding two bowls to Dazzle's zero) passing me with a single word. Threatening, probably, or meant to be. She's smiling and her words are not. "Don't."

I don't go over to their table, preferring to sit with Robin and get through dinner. The Threes arrive, and at about the same time I'm ushered out by a green-haired woman who looks more like one of the stupid statues they had at work than an actual person. I give a longing glance back to my half-eaten food, and the green-haired woman laughs in a too deep voice. "Oh, Millie, don't be silly! You won't fit your dress if you eat too much!" And yet if my dress needs me to be this thin maybe we have an issue.

Arriving at the room I am assuming I'm meant to get to, it's an interesting room. White, with all sorts of liquids bubbling in vats and a bath drawn. I'm pushed into the bath, after being relieved of my clothes, the laughing person (no, three? When did that happen?) people looking down at the bath I'm in with a wink and a nod. "Don't worry, kid, nothing we haven't seen before. Now."

Green-hair is replaced by a man seemingly encased completely in gold, head looking like a blob of melted gold encases it. Still, he gestures me towards the various bubbling mixes. "We're going to need to add those! Depilatory, should clean your skin up! We could get you back to Beauty Base Zero, but that's not the look we're going for. Sylvania heard about the gorgeous deserts you have over in One, and. Well. She had an idea!"

The idea, thankfully, isn't towers. I step out of the bath looking smooth and hairless and clean, and get a moment to glance at myself in the mirror before hands are polishing and scrubbing at me, feeling determined to rub every shred of my skin into a bloody disappearance. Instead, though it's rubbed off every scar, every blemish before I can tell them no. It's almost terrifying, how quickly they do it. Then, the dress is brought out.

It's an abomination. Or, not entirely. It's not the worst. I've never been up North, but things I've been told about the North have it looking a lot like this dress. Red, made of layer after layer of a rusty-red fabric folded into dips and arcs, not symmetrical. It's cursed with a certain otherworldly beauty, shining and accepting all the light that shines on it. The stylist himself only comes in for a brief moment, looks in and nods, and then leaves.

It's also damned heavy. Not too bad on its own, but after the heavy fabric is layered atop me I'm looking down, almost dragged down when the heels on my feet force me to totter. Heels are fine, I've done them before. Work made me do a trial period with them, then decided I wasn't built for them. These people do a trial period with them and decide I am entirely built for them, which is why I'm tottering around with one of the 'Preps' under each arm. I still don't know their names.

The final accoutrement is red face paint, covering my face in patterns. I don't lik it, but to their credit the Preps do a pretty good job with it. It's almost glowing in the room's light, though I'm not sure how this will translate.

I'm hoisted to an elevator, and then ride it down, down until we reach a place just throbbing with activity. Staff, probably camera crew, are rushing everywhere, 24 horses are beating hooves against the ground and tossing their manes. It's a well-lit cavern, and the excitement is palpable as my Preps hoist me up into the chariot. My excitement, on the other hand, is nonexistent. There's horrific paint on my face, and it feels like I'm being choked. This dress keeps me near-pinned beneath layers of heavy fabric, and I'm standing far too tall for this.

The chariot sways, and it's all I can do not to slip and fall with a shriek as Robin clambers in besides me. The kid's a lot better dressed than I am, in his suit and tie. They're red, but he hasn't got face paint, and he's looking entirely too puffed up as he glances at me with a giggle. "Millie, you look... bad! Your stylist didn't doo too good, then? Mine did amazing, she made me look so cool!"

I'm not sure cool's the word I'd use for his suit, it's entirely too covered in things I can't even begin to name, but if it makes him happy it makes him happy. So I nod. "You look fine, Robin." A diplomatic answer, to a little boy who...

Oh lines he might have been in my brother's class. This might be a little boy who my brother knew, and I'm out here thinking about how he's going to die. I don't think I can do it, and in an instant I'm thankful for the red face paint because I'm sure underneath it my face must be red. Or equally green. Or both, who knows at this point? I see Dazzle and her district partner walk past me, and they're of course immaculate in their shiny outfits, gold for her and silver for him and oh so shiny. I can see an eye cast my way, a hand put to her mouth and a laugh, before she turns and pointedly walks away, him in tow.

The Twos in some clothes made out of what looks to be metal rings, Fours wearing as little as possible and seemingly content to smile and laugh about it with each other. The boy even has a trident in his hand, and I'm not sure what's stopping him from turning and using it like Fours do every year at this point. Probably shouldn't think about it, though, because think and it will happen. That's what Mama always says, and disagreement with that idea feels rude.

Finally, a yell ripples through the room. A man claps his hands, with the words that prod at me. "Go time!" Every year, go time means the same thing. Me, Mama, Corin. Probably some other families too. We'll be standing in the square in a huddle, watching the chariots roll out with laughter at the good costumes and grudging applause for the good ones not from One, Two or Four. Applause, always, for the Fives, regardless of how they do. Or I'm at work, hearing rich Capitolites laugh about the various outfits, regardless of quality. That'll be me this year, laughed at or applauded as the mood and opinion sways people.

The roar of the crowd is deafening outside now, they're clearly excited, and the feel of the paint against my cheeks is tight. It's humiliating, they wouldn't need the paint with the glow that must be beneath them. Dazzle and the One boy in their chariot are the first to go out, smiling and waving even before they're outside. They're clearly practiced at this, just like the rest of the training everybody does and nobody says, and a stab of jealousy lodges itself deep inside me. How is it fair that they get this training, this practice where we're left twisting in the wind?

Two, then Three. My fingers clench, white, around the edge of the chariot. The rim, as it were. It's the only way I can keep from falling over, to keep from laughing despite myself at the particularly shit outfit I've been given as if my stylists just don't care whether or not I get sponsors so long as I look hilarious for them.

Four, cantering out into the street to a renewed applause and cheering after Three. I can't say I didn't expect it, they get that excitement every year. But this time it's more, probably thanks to their outfits. A flash of envy, because the outfits are attracting attention, but. Well, Mama wouldn't approve. A light flicks on in the chariot, illuminating us. Explains a lot, like why the Capitol people can see us.

Then us, bursting out into the crowd with muted applause for a second, then what sounds to be real genuine excitement as if these outfits aren't bad. As if they aren't the worst thing in the world. Corin looks like he's about to cry, I think I'm going to reach down and give him an embrace when I remember that no, it isn't Corin. It isn't him. It's Robin, that little boy who'd wanted to be here. So I restrain myself. Give him an awkward pat on the shoulder, and then begin to wave out at the crowd. Tentative waves, but waves nonetheless, and the applause gets louder. I can hear his words, Robin's words, so soft. So quiet. Mama, I'm scared. A sentiment I can agree with, because if nothing else I want to talk to my Mama. Tell her I'm scared.

But scared doesn't win sponsors, and my tentative waves become more real as I try to make sure the crowd is all excited. All ready. It seems to work, because with each wave the excitement gets louder. Perhaps because it's an outer-district tribute interacting with them, perhaps because of the little boy with me, but applause is good.

The applause is rising behind us, I can't tell for what for now. It's too far back to be Six, and Seven.

Seven. Oleander and Ashe. The pretty girl and the volunteer. They really took what Five had going for us that year, and yet another jealous needle in my arm gives the injection. They took our angles, took everything. I can think, deep in my heart, of the Capitol. How they're wrong for forcing us to do this, wrong for wanting us to be fun, wrong for using children for entertainment like they haven't ripped us from our homes and cast us into these Games.

But that's semantics. That's for ideologues, for people I'm not like. I promised I'd win, I promised. To not win now would be an injustice. To win means I have to know that my enemy, for now, is the twenty-three boys and girls against me.

The chariot comes to a halt. The circle is facing in, so we can all see the President standing on high in his booth, white-bearded and smiling at the crowds with an indulgent smile. Like they're children.

I think I zone out for much of the speech, and then it's the way back. I wave again, I can hear whimpers and the occasional sob beside me but don't cast my eyes lower than those of the crowds, don't look at the sobs. One hand is on the chariot rim at all times, to keep myself stable. It's a good thing, too, the horses jolt a couple of times and here in the back the jolts are almost enough to send me tottering off balance.

Back in the staging room, people are waiting for me to return as if they haven't seen me for months. "Millie! You were a star!" The three Preps rush me, each acting like one third of a particularly overeager swarm of bees. I'm not sure what all the fuss was about, but they smile. "They mentioned your outfit! Three times, maybe even four."

They glance at each other, another round of hysterics ensues. "At this rate, we might get promoted to a better District! Like Two, or Four, or One! No offence, sweetheart, but Five isn't exactly the place for ideas."

Much offence is taken.

Elise is there as well, catching me when I stumble out the chariot and nodding. "You did good kid." A flutter of hope in my heart, because good is good. Good keeps me safe, good means sponsors won't be a worry. My expectations, though, are lowered. "We got three calls, maybe four, for me. Some for Sol, some for others." I know she sees the disappointment, because I get an encouraged nod. "That's good. Don't usually get that many. Plus, one of them is corporate.

Corporate? She explains, the question bubbling on my lips like a child's plaything. "Corporate means it's a company. In your case, some cosmetics people. You're wearing the paint," and lines I am but I was hoping I could get it off. "We can get it off when we get home." Is she a witch, or it it expected questions. "I'm a witch." Is what I hear before realizing I've zoned out, zoning back in to "so they're willing to sponsor you to an extent. We'll hammer out the details later."

I allow this a nod, burning confusion in my chest. "We?" "Oh Millie, you don't have to involve yourself in the Sponsor business. I think there's something in my mentor orientation packet about keeping tributes away from sponsors, but if anyone keeps to that I'd be amazed. Sol's got word from a local bar that the One Girl," "Dazzle," I have to provide the name, it's only fair.

"Dazzle is going to be appearing at at least one social event, after her Gamemaker session. Give some potential sponsors a taste of what they're backing, not that anyone will need it. That girl is very good."

"Elise..." I close my mouth, I know there's something I need to say but I forget it, my Mentor waves it off. We're walking back towards the elevator now, Elise with her arm around me to keep me upright, and she can hear a clicking. "Kick the heels off. I'll put them in my bag. How Severus expected you to walk in those I had no idea, under no circumstances should that man be allowed anywhere near our girl again."

"Empty thought, Elise." Indra's there, his voice drawling as he speaks. "You know we have no power over Stylists, else he'd be reassigned years ago."

We reach a floor with a ding, doors opening to an apartment that's open and welcoming. No Theodosia, who I'd expected. That's a relief, she's nice enough at some points but I can't bring myself to want to see that woman again. I still have the heels on my feet, and Elise sighs."Millie, take those off." "I... Can't." It's a fair statement, the lacing keeping them sealed to my feet is hard to undo for me, my fingers pressing against it. I try to bend down, to sit and reach them, nothing works. It's so difficult, which means of course it's the work of 20 seconds for Elise to both undo them and stand them by the door, sitting me down on a sofa after a convoluted time helping me stand and totter over to the sitting zone. "What do you want to know? We have limited time, so I'll cram it in."

"Explain Sponsors." That's my question, and she sighs. It takes a long moment before I'm answered. "I want you to get some sleep, but. Fine. Sponsors are Capitolites, usually, or Districters with some money to spare. They pay money, we use it to send gifts. The later the Game or more useful the gift, the more expensive."

"Who has the most?" "One. Their girls, most of all." Answering immediately, Elise launches into a spiel. "They're good. Good at sponsors, because their pretty little things always get those. They have more committed sponsors than most Districts get sponsors total, and will raise a hell of a lot more as the Games progress. They're good fan service, they always know how to play to the cameras, and they're vicious little bitches. Plus, I'm sure Furrier's worked out a way around Victors not being allowed to sponsor their own tributes or allies of their own."

My next question dying in my throat, she waves her hand. "Our Five gets some. Usually no corporates, unless you worked for a big company." "Casino?" "Good enough. I'll get onto the ringer in the morning, they might be able to do something. But you need to do good. Do good, get money. That's your goal, ok? Look good, sit pretty and be fun. If I get a Sponsor who might be ok, you can tag along to a meeting. Not Sol's people, you don't need to be exposed to that shit, but.. yeah."

"Ok! Can we talk about..." "Dismissed. I'll see you in the morning, Millie. Get that shit off your face. I like the enthusiasm, but it's late." I do so, leaving without another word, padding out in bare feet. A hot shower first, letting the jets of water run directly onto my face and watching that horrific red stuff pour into the gutter like sand down a dune. It's a nice sight, and once done and properly wrapped in a towel the dress is hung up. It'd be a shame to run a dress that expensive, after all. Going out into the room, I give a briefly startled cry, lucky I'm on carpet and not the floor tiles in the bathroom because I don't slip.

Skye, with a nod, leaning by my open door. I blush, try to cover myself even though I have the towel around me, and she rolls her eyes. "You did good, kid." That final interaction handled, once I get my nightdress on it's time for bed. A bed even bigger than the one back in the train, plush and comfy and if I had to make a guess as big if not bigger than my bedroom back home. It's ludicrous, and smothering myself in a ship's sail of a sheet and lying my head back against pillows softer than anything I've ever touched, it's a nice sleep regardless of how I'm a week to death. Execution's never been comfier.