Merry Christmas everyone! As a gift, here's the first chapter of my sequel to Hetalians in the Hunger Games. Read, enjoy, and reviews

Vodka. That was all a person, or perhaps nation, needed. Just the frigid blaze of the tart liquid cascading down one's throat, washing away the horrible thoughts and memories of a certain outdoor arena where twenty four tributes were brawling one another like animals to the death. When nations were ripping each other open, disemboweling each other, slashing open throats. All that was needed to quell that heinous world of hurt was a good swig of vodka.

Belarus slammed her crystal glass down on the table, having drained its transparent alcoholic content. Sighing, she looked around the grand, stainless steel kitchen in her mansion in Victor's Village. Living the posh life was hardly a help to the qualms of being a victor. Day by day, reporters, journalists, and more people she couldn't even classify came knocking on her door, asking the same old questions, wanting an opinion on all sorts of matters, and, most annoyingly, requesting an interview. As the nation poured out another serving of Russia's favorite homemade vodka into her glass, the doorbell rang.

"Oh for crap's sake!" Belarus yelled angrily. The glass slipped through her fingers, and the crystal shattered into a thousand pieces on the tiled ground, a perfect representation of how Belarus felt right now. She knew she was mostly required to at least answer in part to the reporters' questions, and now that the reaping for the 67th annual Hunger Games was around the doorstep, only two hours away, in fact, she'd been sought out mercilessly and practically by the minute. "I just want to give whichever stupid reporter that is a real piece of my mind...or perhaps..." She glanced up at the mantle as she began trudging toward her front door. The knife she'd used to kill Hungary and win the 66th Hunger Games hang right above it, encased in shining glass and still containing spatters of Hungary's blood. With a snort, she turned and flung open her heavy oak door. "What do you want?"

"A kinder greeting to start with."

Belarus' eyebrows flung up as she regarded the man on her doorstep. He was rather old, but looked like he'd had a copious amount of plastic surgeries, as so many people from the Capitol here liked to do. His hair and beard were shock white, and the red rose in his suit lapel held the heavy aroma of blood, a scent Belarus was quite familiar with.

"President Snow?" She asked dubiously, recognizing him from the countless adds, commercials, and posters she'd seen back in the Capitol before the games started, and afterward when she went through all those victory rallies and interviews. "What are you doing here?" While she knew most citizens in the country would bend down and probably kiss his shiny black shoes, he wasn't anything special to her. After all, Belarus was a living Hetalian nation, not some silly human.

"Well, since it appears no introduction is needed, may I come inside?" He responded, stepping into the mansion without invite. "Ah, much better..." He mused as Belarus shut the door after him. "Now, you were wondering why I came?" The president turned around and walked toward Belarus' living room, settling himself down on one of the plush arm chairs, as she noticed him eying her knife above the mantle. "I came in person to tell you something new. As is being broadcasted as of right now, we have decided to do this year's reaping out of the pool of tributes from this Hetalian village once more."

"What?" Belarus sputtered, incredulous and angry. "Wasn't one year of seeing nations kill each other enough? Do you all have to see us tear each other apart again, like we're only humans?"

Snow held up his wrinkled hand. "Patience, young lady. Last year, all you nations gave us such an exciting Hunger Games, ratings were the highest that they've ever been during the entire time we've had this tradition, citizens couldn't stop talking about how exciting you guys were. The betting was rampant, and we-"

"And you got loads of money," Belarus finished for him, feeling a pang of anger rush through her. Of course it would be great fun watching another pool of nations slaughter each other all for monetary reasons. Typical. The stupid old man sounded just like Switzerland. Or at least how Switzerland used to.

"That's not the reason we're doing it again this year, though we all benefitted greatly, as did your village here." He replied, staring at her with his cold slates of eyes. Indeed, the village had gotten some very nice perks from the Games. Most nations had gotten newer and larger homes. The village square was adorned with fountains and gardens. And for the grand finale, Belarus had gotten this mansion of a castle to live in, with a team of over a hundred servants she didn't even recognize. "Rather, we feel it will allow our districts to recuperate more, and it will be a welcome event for the whole nation," He paused, and looked up at her. "However, I came here to ask a request of you. I would like you to accompany the tributes to this years' games."

"Why would I want to do that?" Belarus retorted angrily. The last thing she wanted to do was go back to the Capitol and watch more nations kill each other, although she wouldn't be a part of the killing this time.

Snow began standing up. "I think that you would be a welcome mentor figure to them. You're a nation yourself, just like them, and I'm sure you could sympathize better with them than any other mentor could, having gone through this whole process yourself."

The female nation thought about this stipulation for a moment. Perhaps, if she didn't have Russia, a mentor that was also a nation, and knew the whole process, would have been welcome, better than any of the meat headed human mentors who were far too full of themselves, and probably not that skilled anyway, in her opinion. She could have been able to find helpful tips and advice, and maybe even dirt on her enemies. Sighing, she turned toward the president, who was making his way to the door.

"Okay. I'll do it, but only for the nation's sake."

He gave her a sickly smile that made her think she'd have been forced to come along as it was. "Good, I'm sure they'll appreciate it. Well, I'd best be going now. See you soon at the reaping, as all mentors must attend." With the smell of blood following him, the President made his way out of Belarus' house and into the sleek black limo parked in front of it. She watched the smooth vehicle pull away, and felt a warmth of relief. He was gone...for now, at least.

...

"Let's just get this over with," Belarus muttered to herself. The fall sun was warm and soothing on her face, just as she recalled it being so last year. Tweets of birds floated in the air around her, as she distinctly heard the Mockingjay's call.

"Welcome, welcome!" Effie Trinket, that stupid women who accompanied the tributes then watched them all die, greeted the crowd. Effie was standing in front of the podium on the stage, as Belarus sat beside her, staring at the throng of nations in front of her. Directly in front of the stage, a roped in section of males and females stood, shuffling about nervously, and various family members who were too old to be reaped stood behind them. "Welcome to the reaping of the sixty-seventh annual Hunger Games! For the second year running, we are privileged to reap from this special group of candidates. Now, since you all know the drill, let's get started, and as always, ladies first!" As she reached into the large glass reaping bowl, Belarus thought about how satisfying it would be to stand up and push her right of the stage. Only too bad the peacekeepers would probably shoot her.

Effie pulled out a slip, and unfolded it, her eyes bulging excitedly. "The first female tribute is...FemAmerica!" Belarus watched as Allison F. Jones strutted up to the stage. Like her brother who'd died last year, she didn't look to worried either. Hopefully that didn't mean she'd be first to go in the bloodbath. "Next up is Mexico!" A tan lady with long black hair nervously clambered aboard the stage and stood next to Allison. "Then Vietnam!" A small, Asian girl cast her eyes down and walked toward the stage, though Belarus noticed her shooting Allison a hateful glare. "Our fourth tribute is FemCanada!"

Belarus face palmed. For the long life of her, she just couldn't figure out who that was. She nearly laughed aloud when the timid looking girl nervously climbed up onto the stage, her eyes hidden by her long hair. She vaguely recalled her human name being Marguerite. She looked exactly like Allison, but acted like the complete opposite. Belarus began wondering which of the two would last longer.

Effie began again. "Our next tribute is FemSpain," Isabel, a stylish women in a pinstripe shirt, bit her lip and came up onto the stage, looking like she had a bad case of butterflies in her stomach. "Following her is FemFrance," Another elegant women, though this one looking completely snobby and attracting some gazes from the male section, came onto stage, her head held high, and her blond hair knotted in an intricate bun. She attracted so much attention Belarus just knew she probably wouldn't last too long in the arena. Effie pulled out another slip. "FemJapan!" A shy looking girl in a simple Kimono delicately walked toward the stage. She was quite, but Belarus could sense a deadly sense of expertise about her. Perhaps she wouldn't be too bad a tribute to coach.

Effie took another deep breath, and pulled out another slip. "Our eighth female is...FemGermany!" The rather butch looking women, with short blond hair that Belarus had heard referred to as Louise stepped up, a powerful aroma about her. She seemed so much like her brother Germany, whom Belarus had skinned and gutted alive only last year, she thought with a smirk. Effie fished out another slip, enjoying the process. "Up after Louise is FemChina!" A girl with black bobs climbed onto the stage, not striking Belarus as anybody important. "Following her is FemItaly!" A girl with brown hair and a pronounced girl climbed aboard the stage. Belarus could see she had a lot more fight and courage than her brother who'd been stabbed to death by England last year. "Next is FemEngland!" Alice Kirkland, a blond girl with glasses, climbed onto the stage next to Daisy, or FemItaly. Belarus could see how THAT would become an interesting rivalry.

"Only one left!" Effie called happily, reaching into the bowl. "Last is... FemPrussia!" A white haired female with red eyes, Gillian, clambered onto the stage, looking as if she wasn't too worried about the impending Games.

With a look of glee on her face, Effie Trinket turned toward the male throng. "Now then, it's your turn Gentleman! Let's get to it, first up is...Romano!" A grumpy man with dark brown hair dragged his feet toward the stage, as Belarus heard Spain cry in protest. "Following him is Spain!" Spain, who'd been sobbing a second before, rubbed his eyes and ran toward the stage, embracing Romano tightly. Belarus couldn't help but remember how both their brothers, Italy and France, had died last year. Perhaps their house would be empty forever now.

"Third up is...MaleBelarus!"

"Brother!" Belarus cried as he ascended the steps. "No!" Nikolai turned and shrugged, seemingly nonchalant. "After him is Korea!" An Asian man with dark brown hair and a curl walked to the stage, joining Honda (FemJapan), and FemChina. "Our fifth gentleman is Hong Kong!" Another brown haired Asian man parted from the crowd, and walked to the stage. "Then we have MaleHungary!" Belarus narrowed her eyes as he ascended to the stage. He reminded her so much of the real Hungary, who'd almost costed Belarus the victory title.

Effie cleared her throat, and withdrew another slip. "Next up is Austria!" The shy music lover, who played piano in the square on occasion, shuffled to the stage, looking dejected. "Our eighth man is...Canada!"

Once again, Belarus rubbed her temples in frustration. She simply could not wrap her head around who this actually was. Alas, the America doppelgänger in looks, Matthew, quietly climbed to the stage, as Effie withdrew another slip. "Sweden!" A tall, blond haired man with a deathly quiet demeanor climbed to the stage, his head held down. Belarus reckoned he was another strong competitor, and must be out for revenge after his lover, Finland, died in the bloodbath last year.

"We're almost through!" Effie called cheerily, earning her an eye roll from Belarus. "Next is India!" A tan nation walked to the stage, gulping nervously. "Iceland!" Another blond Baltic nation stepped up and away. "And bringing up the rear, our last Hetalian tribute for this year is...Norway!" Yet another Baltic stepped up, joining Iceland and Sweden. "Well then, that finishes it! Give a round of applause to our brave young men and women!"

Belarus sand back in her chair, sighing heavily. "Oh joy."

Thank you all for reading! In this fic, the Nyotalia nations will be referred to by their human names to make it easier and less awkward. Also, I won't be spending very much time in the pre games area, with training and such, but I'm going to try to get to the actual games as quick as possible, so stay tuned! Thanks again for reading, and Merry Christmas!