I'm back, guys! My God, I haven't updated in FOREVER! I am so sorry for the ridiculous wait! I've had an absolutely hectic week and I just haven't been able to find the time to write. I am really, really, really sorry. I'll try to get back on schedule now…

This is my longest chapter to date, though (well, it has the most words according to my Word) so maybe that can make up for my disgusting lateness?

Yeah, I know, it doesn't. I am SO sorry. It won't happen again.

Review answers:

ImaginationWriterStories: Thanks! And good observations. I think "Ping" basically has "his" plug for sponsors forced on "him", since there's no way "he" can hide "his" real gender from "his" stylists and prep team. Jasmine might take a little more convincing. And I agree about some of the other tributes, they really need to step up their games to compete with the likes of District 1, "Ping" and Merida for sponsors. Aurora may have a couple under her belt, though, after all that crowd-pleasing at her reaping.

All Hail King Scar: I PM-ed you the answer to your question about Ping, since spoilers, but yay, I'm glad you liked the appearance from Nala! I just thought she would make a great mentor, because she gives good advice (she is the one to try to talk Simba into returning to the Pridelands, after all) but she's also tough enough to be a Victor of the Games. Glad you enjoyed this chapter!

Mogyoro (Guest): Thanks! Hiccup certainly is popular, isn't he?

AkwardChit: I'm so glad you're enjoying this story! Giving people something good to read really is the reason for my writing. But yeah, it is pretty hard to manage all the characters in this story, so I do apologize (to all my readers) if we don't get everyone's P.O.V. every chapter. I will try my best to make sure each District gets their due amount of screen time, though. It'll probably get easier, like you said, once the actual Games begin and people start being…disqualified, if you know what I mean. Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Anonymous Guest: Thanks! Interesting prediction. I think Merida is definitely one of the strongest competitors. And as for the District 4 and 11 couples: I wasn't actually planning for any of the Districts to have Disney couples, I was just putting in characters that fitted the main industry of each District (Like, District 1 is Luxury so I picked Jasmine and Kuzco because Jasmine's story revolves around wealth not being everything and Kuzco's story is about not being spoilt just because you're rich and to have compassion for others. Both of their stories revolve around wealth and lux in some form or another, so they were perfect for the Luxury District. Similarly, I chose Gogo and Jim for District 3 because their stories revolve so much around technology, Jane and The Once-ler for District 7 because they have such a strong connection with trees and so on and so forth.) For District 4 and 11, it just so happened that the only two characters I could find to fit each District were actually a couple in canon. So I didn't plan for those Districts to be the only ones to have couples as tributes, it just kind of happened that way.

Thanks to all of you for sticking with this story!

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(Charming, D8 P.O.V.)

I pace obsessively up and down the remake centre, resisting the urge to rake my nails ferociously along my skin.

This is getting ridiculous.

I have been in the Remake Station for over two hours. I have been plucked and shaved and scrubbed and waxed and countless other things by my prep team, so now my skin feels raw and itchy and just generally unpleasant, but I have promised my mentor that I wouldn't argue with my team.

It's getting harder and harder to heed that promise, however, when that team have been done with me for two hours and I still haven't met my stylist.

"Henry Charming?"

Speak of the devil.

I turn around to see a tall, skinny man with black hair and a monocle holding what's probably a suit, but it's covered by a thick, opaque plastic.

"Your costume."

Why do I get the feeling I'm going to hate this?

(Snow White, D12 P.O.V)

We have twenty minutes until we're to get into our Chariots for the Opening Ceremony parade.

My stylist and prep team are likely to be waiting on me, but I just can't tear myself away from the huge, golden full-length mirror I'm standing in front of. It's glass reflects me wearing the most beautiful dress I've ever been within fifty meters of in my entire life, and the face gazing back at me looks not like myself, but an older, richer, more beautiful version me. A me that can afford blood-red lipstick and powder the colour of a swan's feather.

It's incredible what the Capitol can do with make-up; with just a few scraps of fabric.

My stylist has put me in a tight, sleeveless black dress that brushes the ground, and while the provocativeness of the design does make me feel mildly uncomfortable, I find it easy to look past due to the fact that the gown sparkles with hundreds of miniscule, black gems, supposedly representing coal dust. They're ingrained in the expensive material like tiny flecks of glitter, and they shimmer in the light whenever I so much as shift position. I also have a long necklace that falls to just above my naval. The gold-rimmed pendant is about the size of a two-pence coin and has a small light-bulb in the middle, so that it glows like the headlamps on a miner's helmet.

I was clearly given a fantastic stylist for this year, and for that I am grateful. District 12 tributes have been given some truly dreadful costumes in the past. All I can think is that at least my stylist isn't intent on putting me in as little clothing as possible.

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When I finally do find my way down to my waiting Chariot, I see that Pinocchio's outfit is one that mirrors mine: A back, glittering suit with glowing cufflinks. It's traditional for tributes to wear matching outfits for the Opening Ceremonies, after all.

My escort helps me into the ornate Chariot, pulled by beautiful coal-black horses, and Pinocchio climbs in beside me. Again, I try not to look at him. Because all I see is what's to come.

"Five minutes," He warns me.

Five minutes until District 1's chariot pulls out into the square the Ceremonies begin. Five minutes until we all more or less seal our fates.

After all, a bad first impression is hard to come back from.

(Jasmine, D1 P.O.V.)

Two minutes to go.

I shouldn't be as nervous as I am. After all, I'm from District 1. The Career Districts are always favourites in the Games. And me and Kuzco's stylists have given us fantastic costumes. I'm in a long, flowing, white gown, studded with every type of precious gem imaginable, diamonds and rubies and sapphires and emeralds. The dress trails wisps of light, transparent material that gives the illusion of me floating, and my hair has been let down and braided with white jasmine flowers. My prep team was all over that idea. Maybe they wanted to draw attention to my name so that people will remember it when I'm in the arena?

Doubtful. They probably just love the novelty of it.

Kuzco has been given a deep-red suit, also studded with gems, and is dripping with gold jewellery, including that gold headdress that he never seems to remove. We don't match, as is tradition for tributes in the Opening Ceremonies, but the contrast of the blinding white of my dress and the blood-red of his suit complement each other well. So why am I so nervous?

Oh, right. Aladdin.

My mentor is yet to see my look for the Opening Ceremonies, does not even know what I will be wearing. I, personally, adore the gown that my stylists have given me, but with he?

I wait anxiously until the opening music begins to blare from every angle, and I spot Aladdin dashing towards my chariot, looking like he's just run a marathon.

God, he's gorgeous.

His soft, dark hair falls perfectly around his head, even messed up like it is now, and the light sheen of sweat on his tanned forehead somehow manages to just enhance how, well, hot he is.

"Jasmine!" I barely have time to register just how beautiful my name sounds coming from his lips before he's leaping up onto the side of the chariot and holding out something large and gold in my direction. "You forgot this." He pants.

My right earring.

My eyes widen. How could I not have noticed I only had one earring in? Wordlessly, I take it from him and clip it in my ear, hoping my cheeks aren't tomato-red to match the heat spreading across my face.

"Is it straight?" I ask, hating how small and shaky my voice sounds. He nods.

Then he does something I don't expect.

He reaches up to straighten one of the jasmine flowers in my hair, his fingers brushing my scalp as he gently secures it. It takes me so much by surprise, but I barely have time to react before he has two fingers underneath my chin, lifting my head up.

Head high. No slouching. Look confident.

"Don't worry," He whispers, and I'm torn between cursing myself for letting my nerves show and loving how good his voice sounds, low and ghostly like this, his face so close to mine that his breath caresses my cheek. "They're going to love you,"

He takes my shaking hands in his warm, strong ones and gives them a squeeze.

"You look beautiful."

Then the chariot suddenly lurches forward, and in one swift leap, he's gone, waving at me until I have to turn around and face the crowd that's screaming my name.

(Merida, D2 P.O.V.)

"Where is he?"

I snap, my irritation and panic in full force and obvious in my voice. But really, can you blame me? It's the Opening Ceremonies, the deciding moment for tributes in the Games, and my District Partner is late. Very. District 1 have already pulled out into the square, and we should be in position to follow them, but instead, we're waiting around for Ping to just show up!

My Dad shakes his head, looking worryingly concerned himself.

"I don't know, Merida. I told Calhoun to make sure she was ready…"

"'She'? What do mean, 'she'?"

Clearly, my Dad had not meant to say that because he widens his eyes, the absolute picture of someone who's just let the cat out of the bag, so to speak.

"Merida…"

He's trying to keep his voice calm, but I can tell I've hit a nerve.

"Tell me the truth!"

"Fergus!"

Calhoun's sharp voice cuts through our unfolding argument. I whip my head around – a difficult feat in the heavy, gold helmet I'm being forced to wear – to see her running towards us, a slim Chinese girl who I don't recognize in tow.

I takes me about a minute to realize that this new girl is wearing an exact copy of my outfit.

"Where were you?!" My Dad bellows as they nears us.

"The prep team couldn't finish the damn job!" Calhoun snaps back, looking exceedingly pissed off as she grips the edge of the chariot, panting. "They were all fussing over her, and…"

I jump about a mile in the air as the chariot suddenly rocks violently. The Chinese girl has jumped in beside me. Instinctively, I spring away from her, flattening myself against the low edge of the vehicle

"Who the Hell are you?!"

The girl sighs.

"Mulan," She hold out one pale hand, obviously intending for me to shake it, but I bat it away. "I'm Fa Mulan."

Fa Mulan.

This new information (is my assumption is correct) hits me like a tonne of bricks. It shocks my brain, rendering me incapable of forming words for a good ten seconds.

I'm definitely going to need time to process this one.

"W-what happened to Ping?" I eventually manage, even though I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.

Sure enough, Mulan rolls her eyes.

"Actually, no. No, don't answer that," I shake my head in frustration, my hair flying in all directions. "Just…"

Alright, calm down Merida. Jumping to conclusions won't get you far in a survival situation. I should at least check my facts.

"You are Ping, aren't you?"

Mulan nods.

"I am, yes…"

"Why?!" My calm doesn't last long. Why?! This doesn't make sense! Why would you…"

"Merida…"

"Stop interrupting me and explain!"

"Enough chit-chatting!" Calhoun screams, shutting us both up. "You're behind already, District 1 are already miles in front!"

She strides up to one of the horses pulling our chariot and slaps its rump, stirring it into a quick trot forward. We'll be entering the square soon, and I know I should be looking straight on, towards the oncoming crowd, but I'm suddenly too angry to care. I crane my neck backwards, glaring daggers at my father, at Calhoun, at my stylists, everyone.

"Dad!" I yell, at the top of lungs, ignoring Calhoun putting her finger to her lips. "Explain now!"

"I'll explain later, Merida."

"No! Dad…"

But it's no use. The chariot is moving faster than it should. Obviously, the horses know they're behind and are trying to catch up with District 1. I see Calhoun frantically motion for me to turn around and I have no choice but to obey, staring straight ahead into the blinding lights of the Capitol and their roaring applause.

Then suddenly, everything goes silent.

(Mulan, D2 P.O.V.)

The quiet is terrifying.

Not one person is clapping, cheering. I glance around and spot spectators flipping feverishly through their programs, only – I presume – to find the name "Ping" and come back no more enlightened then before. The sound of horses' hooves on cold stone is almost eerie in the utter silence.

Then it starts.

First, I hear one person – I can't see who – begin to clap.

Then another person follows.

Then another. And another. More and more until the entire square is on its feet, applauding and cheering and whistling. It's deafening and exhilarating and just plain unbelievable, but at first I'm in denial that they could possibly be clapping for me.

It must be for District 3, I think, as I can hear the clip-clop of the technology District's horses following behind us. Or that District 1 boy.

The male District 1 tribute – I think his name might be Kuzco – is directly in front of me in his bejewelled, red suit, and is milking the attention of our captive audience for all it's worth, waving and blowing kisses and catching the flowers and gifts tossed to him, holding them up in the air triumphantly like gem-studded bouquets.

Yes. This must be for him. Is my initial thought.

But then, out of nowhere, I feel something small and hard hit me in the ribs. The pain is significantly muted by the golden body armour of my costume, but I still feel it.

I glance down momentarily, forgetting for a minute that I should be keeping my gaze straight ahead, and realize that someone in the crowd has thrown a necklace to me. I pick it up and admire it. It's a fine piece of jewellery, a delicate silver chain threaded with emeralds and sapphires, and it's large enough to fit over my head without any clasps, so I quickly slip it on and, taking a cue from my fellow Career tribute, blow a kiss in some vague direction towards my left. A hundred hands reach up, grabbing at the air as if to catch it.

With a final flourish and wave, I then turn back to face forward, trying desperately not to beam like a five-year-old. But's it's so hard, and I eventually give up, because as the roar of the crowd fills my ears and our chariot becomes awash in flowers and precious gems, I can almost physically feel the pressure being lifted off my shoulders, the tension in my muscles and bones slackening.

It's okay.

They love me.

(Ariel, D4 P.O.V.)

As mine and Eric's chariot speeds through the streets of the Capitol, I can't help but grin wildly, waving to the crows, tossing around my distinctive red hair and catching the flowers thrown in my direction.

I can't help it because even though I do hate being forced into these Games, even though I am still a tiny bit cross with Eric for putting us in this position that will certainly end our relationship, even though I know I should be disgusted at the Capitol for parading us tributes around in a glorified beauty pageant before locking us in an arena to be slaughtered, it's neigh impossible – for me, at least – not to get caught up the genuine excitement and enthusiasm of these Capitol people, in just the pure beauty of the Opening Ceremonies, of the luxuries lavished on us all before the Games, of everything about this entire experience really.

And after all, all these Capitol people really want is a good show. Why not give it to them?

Our costumes, too, make me feel so relaxed and at home. I mean, it's traditional for costumes in the Opening Ceremonies to reflect the wearer's District, so of course it was going to remind me at least a little bit of home, but even with that in mind, I know I've struck gold with my stylist.

Eric is in a tailored yellow suit and hand, designed to look like a stereotypical fisherman's clothes, just smarter. But I have been given something much more memorable – a mermaid costume.

Well, it's close to a mermaid costume as you can get with someone on two legs. I'm wearing a tight, turquoise-green pencil skirt that clings to my legs all the way down to just above my ankles, exposing my matching flat shoes (I was originally going to wear heels, but that idea was quickly discarded when my lessons on walking in them proved to disastrous, giving me a nice big bruise on my right calf that my skirt thankfully covers.) and has a long, flowing organza train like a tail, covered with hundreds of the most eerily realistic-looking fake scales I've ever seen in my life. On top, I have a purple garment that resembles a seashell bra, with my District Token, a golden seashell necklace, added as well, "to really pull the outfit together" as my stylist said, and my hair is left loose ad flowing, cascading in an ocean of red around my shoulders and down my back.

I just know that I look more beautiful than I ever have in my entire life.

And the Capitol love me.

(Anna, D5 P.O.V.)

I never knew it was possible to feel this many emotions at once.

Excitement. Fear. Sadness. Anger. Shock. Loneliness. Pride.

I feel all of that and more rolled up into one huge, strange ball. At any other time, I would be pondering it – or, more likely, in Elsa's arms for comfort – but for some reason, the general electric atmosphere of this Ceremony is getting to me and I can't help but grin from ear to ear.

I glance at Hercules. He glances at me.

It's time.

In District 5, it traditional for tributes to put on a show of their powers during the Opening Ceremonies – the costumes are all about showing the primary industry of a tribute's District.

Of course, that's harder when a Normal is reaped, but their stylists always fix that by adding fake powers. Which is why, minutes before the Ceremonies, I had to have a strange, white, electronic device injected into the palm of each hand that will stream fire at the click of the button on the controller my stylist is holding somewhere in the crowd. The lumps caused by the injection are covered by black, silk opera gloves but the synthetic flames will, according to my prep team, be able to penetrate the fabric. I just hope their right.

I glance down and see that Hercules is holding out his hands, cupping them like a platform, obviously waiting to hoist me up onto his shoulders.

This is a show of his God-like strength. To lift me above his head like I weigh nothing. Sponsors will be flocking to him after this performance – and maybe, just maybe, if sponsors see that I have a promising District Partner, they just might be willing to put a little faith in me, too.

Gingerly, knowing how clumsy I am prone to be, I place one foot in Hercules' hands. I give him a questioning look, asking with my eyes if what I'm doing his right. He nods and smiles, so I go to add the other foot, but I don't have time before he's lifting me up of the floor of the chariot. I have to bite back a squeal as I wobble violently and almost fall, but then I feel Hercules' arms around my waist, holding me steady, and my feet manage to get a good purchase on his broad shoulders. The crowd roars, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Okay. At least I didn't mess this one up. But now it's my turn. Granted, I don't actually have to do anything more complicated than raising my arms in the air, but I'm relying on my stylist to make it mean anything, and though I glance around I know I don't have a hope of finding him in the dense crowd.

I soon find that I don't need to worry, however, because as soon as my arms are above my head and I uncurl my palms out of their fists, I feel a warm, tickling sensation spreading through them. Like how it feels to warm your hands over a campfire. The crows erupts into thundering applause, and I risk a glance upwards. Burning, flickering flames seem to be flowing from my palms and fingertips. I sweep my hands through the air, and the fake fire moves with them. I can't help but giggle delightedly.

It shouldn't be possible to feel this alive when you're just days away from possible death.

We're nearing the City Circle now. I can see, in front of me, the huge screens and the banners and the great, stone podium reserved for President Frollo's annual pre-Games speech.

I'm actually looking forward to ringing the Circle a couple of times because it means I'll be able to get a good look at what the other tributes are wearing. At the moment, I can only see District 4 in front of me, with its boy tribute wearing a bright yellow suit and its redheaded girl tribute dressed as a mermaid, and I'm been instructed not to look behind me at District 6 because it will look unprofessional.

I really do wonder what sponsor-grabbing (or not!) costumes the other tributes have been given. What do I have to compete with? Surely no one can beat my fire?

Actually, speaking of fire, I can't help but wish I knew what Elsa Is thinking about all this.

Is she watching me right now?

Yes, of course she is. The Games are mandatory viewing for everyone, especially the tributes' families.

So what does she think? I want to know. What does she think of my costume? What does she think off Hercules' little stunt? How does she feel about me becoming, if only temporarily, the magical opposite of her – a controller of fire, while she controls ice?

Is she proud of her little sister?

(Tiana, D6 P.O.V.)

I don't particularly like the Circle.

Granted it's nice, with its flickering, multi-coloured lights and breath-taking decorations, but as Hook (which is what James prefers to be called, I have learned) and I loop around in our chariot, we get a good look at the gorgeous costumes of some of the other tributes, and their beauty just makes me feel jealous. It shouldn't, but it does. After all, our costumes aren't exactly the height of fashion, in the Districts or in the Capitol.

I mean, I know Transportation is a difficult industry to emulate and everything, but we're wearing headdresses with spinning helicopter blades. Is that really the best they could do?

I'm not normally a jealous person, really I'm not. I prefer to just get on with things, and if I want something badly enough I will work for it.

The only way to get what you want in this world is through hard work.

But I have had no say in things this time around, and so I am allowing myself a brief moment of wishful thinking.

Why, I sigh to myself in my head, couldn't we have been gifted a fine gown and suit, like those District 1 tributes, with their tan skin and smooth, dark hair, their clothing crafted from the most expensive fabrics money can buy, every inch of them glittering with jewels and gold? Or, if we really had to wear a more novelty piece, why not something as flattering as the District 4 pair's matching sea-themed outfits?

It really doesn't seem fair. But my attention is quickly drawn away from clothing to the two District 2 tributes, and it isn't because of their outfits – they're wearing shining, golden armour and helmets, pretty standard for District 2, nothing particularly special – but rather because, instead of the chariot holding one boy and girl tribute, there are instead two female tributes standing proud and tall inside the vehicle. One has flaming, red hair, and I recognize her from watching a recap of the other Districts' reapings, but the other is a slim, dark-haired Chinese girl, who I'm sure I've never seen before. What happened to the boy from her District? There definitely was one…

Whatever happened to him, though, this – two tributes of the same gender – has got to be a Hunger Games first. I can only imagine what President Frollo is going to have to say about this…

No. The welfare of the other tributes is not what I need to worry about right now. They are the threat, the enemy.

With a shake of my head, trying to clear the questions suddenly filling my brain, I return to analysing my competition's costumes.

It's actually a little comforting to see that the couple from District 3 seem to have had about as much luck with stylists as Hook and I have. They're wearing nothing but electrical wires, wound around their bodies, only just covering their most intimate anatomy, so while they aren't completely naked, they aren't exactly a long way away from it either.

District 7, too, seem to have attempted to copy this look (or maybe it was vice-versa?) with tree branches crawling over the tributes bare skin. It looks awful, and I almost feel sorry for both Districts, because while the District 7 girl does sort of pull it off – she has that sort of woodsy look about her that lends itself well to a costume based around trees, as well as a nice enough figure to show off – the other tributes look anything but comfortable in the costumes, and I know from my years of watching the Games that nudity almost never does anything to win favour with the Capitol audience.

District 5 is a lot better, the girl especially. Her strawberry-blonde hair is tied into her signature braids, though now that I look at her closely I can see a streak of white that stands out against her normal hair colour, and she's wearing a skin-tight, halter-neck dress with knee-high slits up both sides. It starts off black at the top, but then transforms into a pattern of flames at the bottom, matching the flames streaming from her hands.

Of course. District 5 pretty much always have powers. I say it gives them an unfair advantage in the Games, but what are you going do? They were born with them. It's not a choice.

The District 5 girl is being lifted up by her partner, a huge, muscle-bound boy with a similar hair colour. He's dressed in a long, white Grecian robe and a golden crown of leaves, as if to represent the powerful Gods of Mount Olympus. His costume isn't especially eye-catching, but it's nice all the same.

District 8 also look pretty good, in matching patchwork suits and dresses. They look the kind to be Capitol favourites, with the boy's dashing looks and the girl's gorgeous long, blonde hair and stunning violet eyes. Definitely the type to watch out for in terms of sponsors.

District 9 are dressed in suits and dresses made from tiny, golden ovals that look like shiny pieces of grain. Their hair has been cornrowed, and they're wearing huge, golden crowns. I can't help but stare for a couple of minutes, astonished that one of the couples I found the most forgettable at the reapings have suddenly been transformed into one of the most memorable ones. They certainly got good stylists.

District 10 are more showstoppers, although it's not like there was any doubt about their status as the promising underdogs of this year's Games. Not only do they seem tough and fierce and determined, but they are attractive and crowd-pleasing and their stylists are clearly working that to their advantage, dressing the girl – Esmeralda, if I remember correctly. It's one of the only names I can recall – in a pair of tight denim shorts, a low-cut plaid shirt that's been tied at the front to expose her midriff, brown cowboy boots and a matching cowboy hat, and the boy – Hiccup, is it? It's something strange – in the same boots and hat, but loose, mudded jeans and no shirt at all. Their arresting green eyes have been brought into prominence by thick, dark make-up, but their hair is pretty much untouched.

I'm sure the crowd went wild for District 10 when that chariot first stepped out into the city. They're another pair I should probably watch out for.

District 11 is next. The Native American girl tribute is wearing what the Capitol consider to be a traditional portrayal of her people, all feathers and beads and buckskins and a huge, feathered headdress that trails behind her on the floor of her chariot, her dark hair tied in two thick braids over her shoulders.

I have a feeling the outfit might be racially insensitive, but if it is, no one seems to be set to say anything.

Her partner is not particularly memorable. Even his name is boring – John Smith – and he's dressed in a simple pair of farmer's dungarees. He's the kind of person you forget about almost as soon as you meet them, and that really isn't good thing in the Hunger Games.

Then finally, there's District 12, a huge surprise. The twelfth District aren't exactly known for closing the pre-Games shows with a bang, but this year, their stylists have clearly outdone themselves. The girl looks absolutely beautiful in her sparkling, black dress and glowing necklace, and the little twelve-year-old boy who's her partner looks very sweet in his matching suit and cufflinks. He seems happy to be in the spotlight, too, grinning like mad and waving to the crowd. Neither of them like like particularly good fighters, but they'll likely earn some sympathetic sponsors.

Maybe District 12 could actually bring some competition this year? Who knows?

The last lap around the City Circle is coming to end. The chariots are slowing down, ordering themselves in a neat line before eventually drawing to a halt.

A fanfare begins to sound. The crows goes deathly silent as slowly, deliberately, President Frollo emerges from the shadows like a ghost and takes his place atop his podium.

President Frollo is a very old man with grey hair. He considers himself extremely religious and always dresses in long, black robes and matching hats, and his voice is dull and droning, seeming to go on and on and on forever.

I hate President Frollo's Hunger Games speech. Every year I have hated it. He just never seems to stop talking.

Honestly, I think he just likes the sound of his own voice.

"Citizens of Panem," He begins, and my heart sinks. Same old dull-as-cardboard voice, same old boring speech. "Welcome to the annual 27th Hunger Games!"

The crowd cheers and applauds, and I instantly feel sick at how excited they are for this, this slaughter of the innocent.

It's awful. It really is awful.

Sometimes I wonder if Frollo has some sort of magic in him - like the District 5 kids, except more evil - and has hypnotized all of these people into eagerly awaiting bloodshed.

"However," He continues, and my head snaps up. He's deviating from his script for the first time in my memory. What could be happening? "Before we can continue with our festivities, it appears we have a matter to address,"

What? What matter? What's happening?

Then see where Frollo's piercing, snake-like eyes are trained and I realize. The District 2 girls.

"District 2," I see the Chinese girl jump slightly, and I swear I see a little fear flash briefly in her eyes. "What a shocking turn of events," His voice is suddenly dripping with malice. I shudder. "What has happened, may I inquire, to Fa Ping, our male tribute? Whatever could have caused him to have been replaced?"

"He wasn't replaced,"

The Chinese girl's voice echoes around the silent City Circle. The crowd begins to whisper amongst themselves.

"I am him."

"Oh?" Frollo's thinning eyebrows seem to diaper into his receding hairline.

"I was disguised," the girl continues. "As a boy. My name is Fa Mulan. "

You could hear a pin drop right now.

"Oh," Frollo's eyes have narrowed to tiny, menacing slits. "How lovely…"

(Jane, D7 P.O.V.)

"Hey, wait!"

I whip around from talking with Once-ler about our plans for training tomorrow to see the boy from District 3 running full-pelt towards the lift we're in, followed by his dark-haired District Partner and a brunette girl in a gold dress made entirely out of tiny oblongs, designed to look like pieces of grain. It is for this reason that I presume she must be from District 9.

"Hold the elevator!" The District 3 boy calls, and Once-ler darts forwards immediately, jamming his hands in between the lift doors, prying them open.

"Here you go!" He chirps happily as our three fellow tributes slide inside.

"You know, you could have just pressed the 'open' button."

The girl from 3 scoffs as the doors click shut again. She slams the button for Floor 3 with her fist and lift shoots upwards.

Once-ler looks sheepish.

"Oh yeah. Sorry. Didn't think of that."

The District 3 girl rolls her eyes and slumps against one of the glass walls surrounding us, chewing her gum before starting to blow a bubble with it.

Across from me, I notice that the brunette girl from 9 is glaring at her.

The girl from 3 gives her quizzical look, still blowing a gum bubble.

"He was helping us!" The girl from 9 snaps indignantly. "You could at least be grateful!"

The bubble pops.

"I was! I was just saying."

The District 9 girl doesn't reply to that and neither does anyone else, so a sort of awkward silence fills the little moving box we're all stuck in, until Once-ler finally clears his throat.

"So, uh…any of you guys have names?"

The girl from District 3 quirks an eyebrow.

"No. My birth certificate is just blank." She sneers, but a sharp look from her District Partner seems to soften her, albeit with a deep, long-suffering sigh.

"I'm kidding," She says slowly, as if we couldn't work that out for ourselves. "I'm Gogo."

The District 9 girl frowns.

"I thought your name was Ethel?"

Actually, so did I. I'm sure that was the name called at her reaping, wasn't it? Ethel Leiko Tomago. But "Gogo" makes a disgusted face.

"Don't call me Ethel if you know what's good for you."

She sounds disproportionately menacing for such a mundane statement, so I just nod obediently as the lift dings and the doors spread to reveal Floor 3. Gogo and her Partner – what is his name? Is it John? No, that's the boy from District 11. James? No, that's the District 6 boy. I'm sure it's something beginning with J, though – hop out. Gogo immediately slopes off without looking back, but her Partner stops and turns back one more time.

"Sorry about your costumes, by the way."

Then he gives a grimace, before turning his back to the closing lift doors. I hit the button for Floor 7 and we begin moving again.

With District 3 gone, a brief period of silence envelopes us before the girl from 9 speaks.

"I think you look nice." She says, presumably in response to the District 3 boy's comment, but I shake my head; she's just being kind and we both know it.

My costume is awful: itchy fake tree branches that wind around my body, only barely covering my bare breasts and…lower regions. Then I have a halo of branches around my forehead, but have been left barefoot, plus leaves of every type of tree imaginable tied into my hair so that I look like I've been dragged through a bush before the Games have even started. And Once-ler's costume isn't much better or any more decent.

Then again, neither for the District 3 pair's costumes, to be honest.

"I really don't. But you got a lovely outfit," I reply truthfully, gazing enviously at her meticulously-crafted, shining gold dress, her perfectly-styled hair. "Who's your stylist?"

"Wardrobe. She really likes to go crazy with all this fancy stuff." The District 9 girl smiles, running one finger along the beads of the single sleeve of her dress.

Ah yes. Wardrobe. So she's doing District 9 this year? Interesting choice.

Wardrobe (I'm pretty sure that's not her real name, but people in the Capitol often change their names to match their jobs or looks. It's always tacky and ridiculous but none of them ever seem to realize that.) is a very large women with chalky-white skin and dyed-gold hair so curly it always looks to be exploding from her head and has been a stylist in the Games for as long as I can remember – and probably long before that, as well. She's notable because while most stylists usually stick to the District they're initially given – normally one of the lower-numbered Districts – or slowly work their way up to one of the wealthier ones, Wardrobe is constantly flip-flopping back and forth, choosing seemingly at random which District she wants to work with. It's always a highlight of the Games for those in the Districts to see which District she'll be designing for, and I guess District 9 won her own personal reaping this year.

"I know," I say with a grin. "But it works. You look really good. I wish I'd gotten Wardrobe."

"Thank you." District 9 tucks an escaped lock of hair shyly back into her elaborate up-do. "I know, she is good. But she's really…"

But then the lift dings at Floor 7, cutting her off and prompting me and Once-ler to hop out of the lift.

"I'm Belle, by the way!" She calls as the doors begin to slide shut once more.

"Jane!" I shout back.

Then she presses the button for Floor 9 and my possible new friend – and maybe even a possible ally, now that I think about it – shoots away into oblivion.

(Merida, D2 P.O.V.)

"You knew all along and you didn't tell me?!"

I furiously hurl a vase at the wall. It narrowly misses the side of my Dad's head and shatters into smithereens behind him. I reach for a second. He makes a grab for my arm, but I jerk it out of the way.

"Merida!"

"No, Dad! What were you thinking?! Were you ever going to tell me?!"

I'm still holding the vase, poised to throw it. My Dad sighs deeply.

"Yes Merida…"

"When?!"

"Before the Games, Merida. I was going to tell you…

"'Before the Games'?! That's all you've got?! What were you going to do, leave it till the last minute than just spring on me 'oh yeah, just thought you'd like to know, your District Partner is actually secretly a girl. Have fun with that!'?! "

"Merida…"

"You didn't think at all to maybe keep me on top of things?! To give me a chance in the Games by not confusing the hell out of me two minutes before?! How could you not have told me?!"

"I was trying to protect you, Merida…"

"Protect me?! What from, the truth?!"

"Yes! Merida, the Capitol…"

"Dad, STOP!"

I release the vase. It sails across the room and smashes, just like the first one.

"Merida!"

"Just leave me alone! Clearly, you're more worried about pleasing the damn Capitol that getting me out of these Games alive!"

"Merida, you know that's not true…"

Isn't it? My anger has just about reached breaking point now. I don't exactly see myself calming down.

"Just…for God's sake, just piss off!"

And I turn on my heel and storm back to my room, kicking away anything in my path and slamming the door as forcefully as my strength will allow before throwing myself on my bed.

What's going to happen now? What happens if a tribute insults their mentor, family or not? Anything?

Oh, who cares? I don't need a mentor anyway.

I can win these Games on my own.

(Mulan, D2 P.O.V.)

I wince at the sound of Merida's door slamming and glance at Calhoun sitting across me at the dinner table, though she seems more or less apathetic.

"Damn. She sounds madder that bulldog that's been bitten by a butterfly," She says, biting into a chicken drumstick, and before I can wonder just how exactly she comes up with these similes, she adds "A bit like President Frollo."

My ears seem to prick up like a dog's at that.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, Frollo certainly didn't seem too pleased with your little stunt at the Opening Ceremonies, did he?"

Oh right. I should have anticipated this.

"What do you think he'll do to me?"

"Nothing until you get into the arena," Calhoun says matter-of-factly. "They still need a second tribute from District 2 and it would be a pain to replace you at this stage. He'll likely have the Gamemakers make your life hell in the arena, but until then, I doubt they'll hurt you."

Her emphasis on the word you unnerves me.

"So will they hurt?" I demand. "My family?"

"No, I doubt they'll hurt them. The real sport of the Hunger Games is forcing families to watch their kids die, after all. I doubt they'll deny them that luxury." She scoffs.

"So what will they do to them, then?"

I can hear the anger, the fear, in my voice rising. Calhoun is being so cryptic when my family's lives could be on the line! Isn't a mentor supposed to help their tribute, not hide things from them?

Calhoun shrugs.

"Nothing too bad, I shouldn't think. They might put up a few more peacekeepers than usual around your house. They might take a few low-value trinkets. They might even cut your food a bit…"

"They can't cut our food! We're barely getting by as it is!"

I feel a pang in my chest as I remember completely contradicting this. When I was disguised as Ping. When I told Merida on the train that my family were so wealthy we had a private gym. What a lie that was!

"Hold on," Calhoun holds up her hands. "I wasn't finished yet."

"Then finish!"

"What I was going to say is that the Capitol may not even do anything if you perform well in the Games. All they want is a show. If you give them that, they'll likely leave you alone."

"So basically, if I win the Games my family are safe?"

"Pretty much. Just a few particularly good fights or an especially strategic plan should appease the bloodlust, but if you win, safety is basically guaranteed."

I nod solemnly.

"So again, I need to win."

I need to win.

I don't care if Calhoun argues – which she doesn't. She wants me to win, she's my mentor, she was just spelling out the situation for me.

And that situation is that I have to win. Or least go down fighting.

But that last part doesn't matter, of course, because I'm going to win.

For my family, for my honour, for myself.

(Belle, D9 P.O.V.)

I groan deeply and collapse on my bed, burying myself in the soft blankets and pillows of the most comfortable, luxurious bed I've ever been within fifty meters of in my life. My room here at the Training Centre is utterly gorgeous, but I know I won't be getting any sleep tonight, because tomorrow, is, well, training. And meeting the other tributes of course.

Honestly, I think that might be the part that scares me the most.

What will the other tributes be like? I can't help but wonder. I've already met with the pair from 7 and 3, but what about the others? What about that quite frankly terrifying boy from District 6? Or District 5's muscle man? Or the District 2 girls, who are both intimidating in almost every way?

Actually, now that I think about it, what about the Careers in general? Is there a full Career pack this year? If there is, do any of us other tributes even stand a chance?

What about training? I don't really have any particular skills. What should I try? What do I need to know? Combat? Survival skills? Does it even matter?

Of course it matters! My brain scolds me. Training is what will give you the skills you just mentioned that you don't have!

Okay, but what time does training even start? I'm sure someone told me a time, but for the life of me I can't remember it. Hopefully it won't be too early. I'm pretty certain that I won't feel like getting up early tomorrow.

God, I really need to get to sleep.

But my worried plague me throughout the night, never subsiding, only becoming more numerous and more intense until I'm finally in tears, sobbing into my crisp, white pillow.

It's at least 4 A.M. before I finally manage to fall into a fitful sleep. And even then, it's a bit of a stretch to call it 'sleep'.

It's really more like passing out from exhaustion.

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Fire!Anna is so popular. How could I possibly not use it?

Also, a lot of District 2 in this chapter! I've actually never given any of the characters two P.O.V. segments in the same chapter before, but there's a first time for everything, I suppose.

The next chapter will, of course, be training, but this is where I've sort of hit a hurdle. I've been thinking about splitting training up into three chapters (since the tributes train for three days), then the private sessions with the Gamemakers and training scores as another chapter, then of course the live interviews at the Capitol. But I'm a little wary of using three chapters (and therefore three weeks, if all goes well) for training as I already feel as though this story is going really slowly and running the risk of becoming boring (which is my worst fear!) due to the lack of action in a Hunger Games story. But I just don't feel like my ideas for what's going to happen during training would work as one long chapter (as I have a lot of ideas!) I don't know.

It's up to you guys, really. What would you prefer? Would you want to stick around for five more chapters or would you rather get to the action quicker? I'd love to know your opinion!

See ya next week (hopefully!)

As I always say, it is a fanfiction crime to read but not review!