NoName-chan: GUESS WHO'S BA~CK~?
Allen, Kanda, Lavi: *duck for cover*
NoName-chan: Yup~! After nearly 8 months, I've finally written Chapter 2 of this story~! Never thought you'd see the day, huh? ;D
Lenalee: What took you so long with this, anyway? 0.o
NoName-chan: *sweat drops* Well, you see….
Road: *Snort* She's lazy.
NoName-chan: Yeah. That plus Writer's Block is not a good mix when you're trying to write a story ^^;;;
Allen: *crawls out from the bush he was hiding in* So… Since you have an update, does that mean this story is back?
NoName-chan: Yup~! So buckle your seatbelts, kids, we've got a 5.8k+ word chapter to attend to!
Allen: *jumps back into the bush*
NoName-chan: Someone mind doing the disclaimer~?
Road: I've got it! NoName-chan doesn't own DGM or The Hunger Games~

"Allen-kun," a sweet voice says gently, rousing me from my sleep. I open my eyes slightly and look up to find that it belongs to Lenalee, who's staring down at me concernedly.

"Allen-kun," she repeats a bit more urgently.

"Mmmh Lenalee?" I manage to murmur as I rub the sleep from my eyes. Lenalee beams down at me, seemingly pleased that I've finally responded. How long has she been trying to wake me, I wonder?

"Allen-kun, it's time for dinner," my emerald haired comrade tells me. I nod my head and begin to sit up gradually, but as soon as I'm in a sitting position, she yanks me to my feet with an iron grip on my right wrist and leads me through a polished metal doorway to another train car.

"L-Lenalee!" I stutter as I clumsily stagger after her, narrowly avoiding smacking into an assortment of furniture. The rough pulling of my wrist is beginning to hurt. "Slow down!" Suddenly, my mauve eyed companion comes to an abrupt halt. I stumble slightly as I stop as well, caught off guard by the unexpected cease of movement, and try my best not to crash into the girl. Despite my efforts, I still bump into her, though only gently.

"Don't… do… that!" I pant, leaning over to catch my breath. I'm almost astonished that short run was enough to leave me gasping for air. Sure, I go hunting in the woods every day, so I'm pretty fit, but Lenalee's an even swifter sprinter than I am!

I pause. I wonder what kind of advantage that could give her in the Games?

My fellow tribute turns her face to the side to look back at me with a small smile, and I force myself to clear my mind of thoughts relating to the arena. No point in getting myself worked up about this right now. All it's going to do is make me paranoid. Lenalee closes her amethyst eyes in a cheerful manner and announces, "We're here!"

I look up and start to take in my surroundings, and almost immediately, my jaw drops. It only takes a few moments of observing to discover this is the Dining Car. And to say I'm shocked is a huge understatement.

Food. There's food everywhere. I don't think I've ever seen so many victuals in one place in my entire life! And those measly rationings were nothing more than gruel compared to this. A long table covered by a silky white table cloth takes up much of the car. On that table, silver platters of many shapes and sizes hold portions comparable to MOUNTAINS of meals I've only ever read about. Fine white rolls waiting to be spread with sweet grape jelly, a warm lemon juice and butter concoction poured smoothly on the tails of a bright red shellfish I guess to be something I once heard about from Peacekeepers called "lobster," dollops of creamy mashed potatoes sided with some sort of green leaf. I later find out this is known as "Garnish." Other small tables sit in uneven patterns throughout the car holding plates of less filling delicacies, like crunchy golden brown pastries oozing with some sort of fruity filling and small squares of a cleanly cut translucent substance that jiggles at the slightest vibration.

I have to resist the urge to drool at the very sight of all of this. I want more than anything to just shovel handfuls and handfuls of the godly dinner into my mouth, but my desiring thoughts are interrupted by a deep snort.

I look in the direction of the sound to find its source to be Cross. He simply smirks at me and explains, "Not the first time I've seen that desperate look of anticipation at a first Capitol-provided meal. I've been doing this mentoring thing for twenty-five years, ya' know? Just sit down and stuff your faces already."

I feel my face heat up slightly in embarrassment at Cross's comment and calmly begin to make my way toward a chair of deep red velvet, mentally promising to remain mannered and polite as Narain taught me to be as I eat. However, the desire to devour as much of this banquet as I can wins over my reserved nature, and I quickly take a seat at the table and start practically inhaling everything I can get my hands on. I almost release a moan of pleasure. The food's even better than it looks.

After about ten or so minutes of this, I'm proud to be able to say that I'm actually full to the point I can't swallow anymore. This might be the first time I've ever felt like this in my life. It's a little bit uncomfortable and more than a little nauseating with all the incredibly rich provisions from the Capitol, but it definitely beats the gnawing ache of hunger. Finally looking up from my plate, I'm met with the disbelieving stares of Cross and Lenalee. Road is there, too, but she's more preoccupied with smearing a large quantity of saccharine strawberry jam on a light spongey roll than so much as glancing at me. I'm not quite sure when she got here- she must have arrived at some point when I was wolfing down my dinner- but I'm a bit more curious as to why my mentor and fellow tribute are gawking at me as if I've grown a second head.

"What?" I finally ask.

"Allen-kun," Lenalee vocalizes clearly, alarm clearly evident in her voice. She squeezes her lips together so tightly they begin to pale and is silent for a brief moment before she opens her mouth once again, beginning, "You-"

She doesn't get to finish her sentence, however, as Cross interrupts her with the booming shout of, "JESUS CHRIST, KID! YOU ATE HALF THE DAMN TABLE!" I look around, and my face immediately flushes with mortification. Cross is right. I have consumed everything from the salvers on the unoccupied end of the dining table to me, leaving little more than some empty shells, a few crumbs, and small smears of sauces and fillings as an indication of what was once there. I gape slightly in shock before pursing my lips together and training my eyes down at the table cloth in shame. How could I have gorged myself so much? So much for manners…

I glimpse upward and open my mouth to speak, but Cross just waves his hand as if to dismiss the topic. "Don't even bother, kid. I don't think anything could truly explain this. Either way, if you're done inhaling the table, it's time for us to go watch the Reaping Recaps," he declares, rising to his feet and striding toward a nearby door.

I don't even bother replying and simply nod my head as Lenalee, Road, and I stand up from the table and follow Cross.

We are led to a compartment directly connected to the Dining Car with a large screen and several empty chairs. There are a few platters with varieties of small tartlets on them as well, but I don't even bother reaching for one after the humiliating display in the Dining Car. Cross, Road, Lenalee, and I each take a seat without discussion and settle down to watch the Recaps. The crest of Panem appears on the otherwise black screen, and the short melody of the national anthem I've become familiar with over the years hums in my ears. As the tune ends, the symbol disappears, and a number "1" appears, indicating the first district whose Reaping we're about to see, before fading to darkness once more. After that, the Reapings play one by one, starting with District 1 and ending with 12, only interrupted by brief shots of numbers to designate the district. Gears seem to turn in my head as I try to take memo of who all I'll be up against.

A large, well-built boy with a head of spiky russet hair and an arrogant gleam in his eyes lunges forward to volunteer in District 1. I listen carefully as his name is said. "Chaoji Han." The sight of this "Choaji" guy gives me an uneasy feeling, and I don't think it's just because of how much of a bigger build he has than me. I make a mental reminder to avoid him if possible. The girl from Chaoji's district volunteers a bit less violently, but her eyes gleam just as dangerously as she smiles at the cameras with a false shyness I can easily see through. I guess that this introverted act is being put up as a part of her strategy. Pretending to be weak and inexperienced is an easy enough way to make her competitors overlook her, after all. I'm willing to bet that once she gets in the arena, that pretense will be gone in an instant. It's a good tactic; it's definitely proven to be advantageous in past Games. And it might fool some, but not me. I know slaughter when I see it, and it's dripping off every stuttered word the girl speaks to the Capitol tribute selector of her District. She has dark plum hair pulled into two braids that jut out in an unnatural way, and even though she's a bit more diminutive in build, I get the presentiment that she's capable of some very creative deaths simply from the intelligence that sparkles in the proud gaze that lingers behind her charade of innocence. I manage to catch her name. "Lou Fa."

Next, the Reaping from District 2 rolls. The volunteers come just as quickly as they did from District 1, but with an approach more smug and confident than the arrogance and façade beforehand. They are a small, yet athletic girl with a coral bob and a smirk that I have yet to see leave her face and a boy only slightly larger than the girl in stature with blonde locks and a confident smile. I have to search the scramble of white pixilated text on the screen for their names, but I manage to find them. "Fou and Bak."

District 3 breaks the cycle with no volunteers. Not that this surprises me. Districts 1, 2, and 4 are usually the only Districts that anyone who would dare to willingly take part of the Hunger Games is from. That's mostly because the tributes from them are often trained from the time they're children to be deadly killers so that they can volunteer for the Games when they're eighteen. In District 12, and any outlying district, really, we call them "Career" tributes. The names are selected from the pool in District 3, calling up a composed, yet seemingly conflicted young woman with two short curly flaxen pigtails named "Eliade" and a boy with messy brown tufts who smiles in a cocky way that's obviously meant to cover up the worry he's feeling named "Daisya."

Two more people volunteer from District 4. A large boy with inky hair that comes across as the strong, silent type named "Suman." A quiet woman with choppy dirty blonde locks pulled up into a messy bun whose face shows an expression of independence and intelligence named "Klaud." This takes me slightly aback. Career tributes aren't usually so solitary. The rest of the Reapings pass rapidly, as no more volunteers shoot forward to take the place of tribute. The names are now drawn from random, and many of the tributes have some sort of feature I try to remember them by. A young woman with long blue-purple-white tresses who practically radiates wisdom from 5 named "Hevlaska." A dark skinned man with little hair on his head and a similar look of astuteness from the same District named "Noise." My heart nearly sinks to my stomach when I see how Noise stares blankly at no certain point rather than looking at anyone or anything in particular. He's blind.

A timid young woman with shoulder-length curls the color of chocolate named "Miranda" is called from 6. She seems like the clumsy type, judging by the way she trips over her own feet twice as she makes her way to the stage, and she's so terrified, I can literally see her knees shaking. A man of similar age to Miranda with black hair with a distinctive white stripe, pointed ears, and visibly sharp teeth named "Arystar," is called from the same District. Even though he looks innocent, helpless, and more than a little afraid, he reminds me of a vampire.

District 7's tributes aren't nearly as frantic as 6's. The girl is petite and frail, but she wears an expression of emotionlessness and indifference despite the circumstances. I spot her name to be "Sophia" as I watch her stare blankly at the cameras, her brown hair waving in the wind. The guy from her district is a bit less nonchalant in composure. He does nothing but glare hatefully at anything that moves. His long, dark blue hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and even though his given name is "Yuu," he demands bitterly that he be referred to by his surname, "Kanda." The murderous rage that flames in his cobalt eyes is enough to convince me that doing any different would be a hazardous to my health.

A beautiful girl with auburn hair and a friendly demeanor despite the panic in her sparkling light brown eyes named "Sachiko" is chosen from 8. Her fellow tribute is selected to be a boy with crimson red hair and an eye patch over his right eye. Even though he looks almost pissed about this turn of events, I have a feeling he's a rather sociable person like Sachiko. I read his name. "Lavi."

The girl from District 9 nearly makes me jump as she ambles onto the stage. She's HUGE in build! I think she might be even better muscled than that monstrous boy from 1, Chaoji! But judging by the way she carries herself, I don't think she's a very upfront kind of fighter. I get the impression that she's more of a solitary and autonomous kind of person. I catch her name to be "Mahoja." The guy from 9 is also relatively quiet in composure. Long golden hair is braided down his back, and two red dots adorn his forehead. Although I think he could defend himself if necessary, he seems like more of an observer than a combatant. An intelligent, crafty type. His name is "Howard," but he asks to be addressed by his last name, "Link."

The girl from District 10 strikes me as being sensible and kind. She's an Asian woman, I believe, with long raven tresses and eyes that shine in an exhausted, yet compassionate way. She's beautiful, too. That fact becomes even more evident as Cross leans forward in his seat to get a good look at her. I nearly roll my eyes at my mentor's actions. That pervert. I listen for the woman's name. "Anita." The boy from 10 sends chills down my spine as he leisurely strolls onto the stage. He has short, dark hair and a horizontal scar across his nose. But it's neither of those features that gets to me. Something about him just feels off. The way he beams as if he's overjoyed to take part in the Games despite him not volunteering. The wild gleam in his eyes as they shift from side to side perpetually that just spells danger to me. I don't know why I think so, or perhaps I do and just don't want to think about it, but I'm certain he's insane. His name is "Alma."

The tributes from District 11 send a sharp pang through my heart. My eyes are probably wider than saucers as I watch the recording of them, but that doesn't matter. This… This is just cruel. The girl looks to be no older than thirteen with a garden of long blonde curls that cascades down her back and one crystal blue eye that glistens with frightened tears. Bandages cover her other eye. She totters to the stage unsteadily, and it's more than obvious that she's never done anything remotely violent to anyone in her entire life. It's her who stands out to me the most out of all the tributes thus far, and her name echoes around in my mind a bit after it's called: "Lala." And then the boy from 10, he's definitely a twelve-year-old. He has oddly light blue hair pulled into a low ponytail and a strange gem embedded in his forehead. He attempts to cover up his fear with a look of annoyance and mischief that probably fits his normal personality perfectly, but I can see through his casual act clear as day. I note his name. "Timothy."

Finally, the District 12 Reaping is shown. A dark aura quickly develops around me. This is the most haunting of them all in my eyes, even worse than seeing two helpless kids like Lala and Timothy be chosen to fight for their lives. Witnessing Mina's name get drawn, listening to myself shouting in a strained voice to volunteer in her place, spotting the absolute grief and anguish on Mina's face as I walk onto the stage. It's like reliving that horrifying moment all over again, but even worse because, unlike before when I was too stunned by what I'd done to truly comprehend the situation at hand, I'm actually aware of the true depth to the decision I've made. And it hits me like a sack of rocks. This is the Hunger Games. I'm on a train that's basically taking me to be prepared for slaughter. Before, when I promised Narain and Mina that I'd come back alive, I don't think I realized the truth in that statement. It all comes crashing down on me now though, and I realize the grim truth: The odds are not in my favor. I'm probably never going home. My fingernails start digging into the armrests. My throat suddenly feels tighter, and my lungs begin to burn. Have I forgotten how to breathe? The deep gasps of air I take tell me I haven't, but I could've sworn the actions of inhaling and exhaling weren't so difficult before. My lungs begin to burn again, reminding me of my need for air. Perhaps I should just deny it.

But then I remember. I remember my last moments with Narain and Mina. I remember the pleading in their similar eyes, the tears that were shed for my sake. And I remember my promise to them. I swore I'd come back to them. Slowly and steadily, I begin strenuously forcing air in and out. Narain and Mina are the only family I have left, the only people I love in this caste society. I cannot let them down. I can't.

The faint sound of Road's somewhat static-broken voice approving my volunteering brings me back to the present. I check one more time to make sure I'm respiring normally before I return my attention to the Reaping Recap. At this point in the video, Mina's piercing cries have finally quieted down to soft sobs, and I stand up on that anxiety-inducing stage next to Road. I study the expression on my face. To the naked eye, the distress I felt is invisible, carefully hidden behind a poker face for the cameras. That's good. The last thing I need is the other tributes looking upon me like a rabbit to hunt. Not that they aren't looking upon my pixilated face with such thoughts anyway. I must stick out like a sore thumb from them, I realize. And not just because of my snowy white hair and unique scar, though I get the feeling that those traits will make me all the more identifiable. With me being the first District 12 tribute in the history of Panem, who wouldn't remember my face? This could be potentially useful. And dangerous. Road draws Lenalee's name from the pool, but of course, there's no one to take her place as she slowly trudges to the stage to stand beside me, her brother bawling her name over and over. I have to clench my teeth to avoid any sort of paroxysm from the guilt that strikes me upon hearing the misery in Komui's voice. Would he even have to feel that pain if I hadn't volunteered, causing the need for another girl's name to be chosen? A familiar remorse washes over me, but I force myself to choke it down. I need to focus. The Reaping Recap finally ends, and I'm even more perturbed than I was before. Though now that apprehensiveness is joined by a burning determination. I will win these games. I have to. I stand up and stagger back into the empty car I had slept in earlier. I am followed promptly by Cross, Lenalee, and Road, and we all take our seats around a table, where we are all joined by a wordless ambiance. I study my companions' faces carefully, curious to their feelings toward the Reapings. From what I can gather, our group is very mixed on views.

Road is clearly excited. That's not too surprising, though. The Capitol, after all, gets some sick thrill out of watching a bunch of teenagers murder each other. Why would Road be any different? The blue haired girl is grinning brightly and stares at me and Lenalee eagerly as if she's already placing her bets on which of us will die first. I choose to ignore this sadism for the time being, however, as it isn't at the top of my list of threats. My eyes shift to the left.

Lenalee stares down at the floor in obvious deliberation. I can't really tell what she's thinking about so deeply. Though judging by the small bead of sweat that rolls down her cheek and the furrowing of her jade eyebrows, it's incredibly important. I find myself wishing I knew what was causing the confliction that swims in those two depths of violet. I practically have to force myself to look away.

Finally, my gaze reaches Cross, who seems as if he couldn't care less about any of this. His feet are propped up on the table before him, and he's leaning back in relaxation as he sips from a crystal glass of red wine. I can't help but feel a twinge of irritation upon sighting the bored expression on my drunken mentor's face. How can he be so casual about this? I'm contemplating how to avoid the high possibility of my imminent death, and this bastard has the nerve to lounge around getting drunk? I have to contain the urge to deck the redhead, as satisfying as landing a good punch on his conceited face would be.

After all, even I know that my survival is in the hands of my mentor.

"So," I begin, causing all eyes to train on me. I only look into the deep red of Cross's, though. "When does our training begin?"

A moment of silence passes, and I don't break eye contact with the older man, even when his skeptical stare seems to be testing my earnestness. Finally, Cross asks, "What do you mean by that?"

I'm a bit baffled by this response. How could my question be any clearer? I open my mouth to reply, but Lenalee speaks up first. "Our training. You know? We need to know how we're going to go about this if we're going to survive!" I peek at the forest haired girl out of the corner of my eye to find her staring stonily at our mentor. Wasn't she in deep thought no more than a moment ago? I wonder if she made whatever decision was of such magnitude…

Cross scoffs, drawing me from my speculation. "'Survive'? You say that as if survival is even a possibility for a couple of runts from District 12. We all know that you'll both be dead in two weeks, so what's there to go about?"

I nearly gape at the inebriated man's remark. I know I shouldn't really be surprised considering his haughty attitude, but this still stuns me. Cross is my only hope of surviving the games, we all know that. But he's convinced that we don't even stand a chance. How am I supposed to get help from him if he won't even try? I clench my teeth. This angers me.

I turn to glare at Cross. "What makes you so sure that we're going to die?" I growl. Cross must notice the irritation on my face, for he starts laughing.

"Because I've been mentoring for twenty-five years, and you're all the same. You go in with slightest little ray of hope that you will be the one out of the Arena, and then you're dead by Day 3. Nothing's ever going to change, so just do what I do," he holds up his glass of wine, "Have a drink!" He then guffaws as if this is the funniest thing in the world. I'm beyond appalled by his words. As if his refusal to help us wasn't annoying enough, but then he goes and… and… laughs at us? Speaking of us tributes as if we're all just animals, trying to outlive each other? I'm not just annoyed anymore. I'm furious.

I'm ready to scream or argue or, well, anything really to show my rage when suddenly, my eyes flick down to the table in front of me. On its surface lies a loaf of bread with a small serving of cinnamon butter on the side to spread. And beside that, a small silver knife with an intricately carved handle rests, its smooth blade reflective enough that I can see my angrily flushed face as clearly as the knife itself. Cross's laughter roars in my ears, and the blade becomes more and more apportioned to my rage-filled eyes.

Then Cross cackles, "Stupid kid," and I'm moving.

Before I can even process what I'm doing, I've swiped the knife from the table and held it back. With one precise flick of my wrist, the utensil goes flying. The tip makes contact with the wineglass in Cross's hand, and it shatters, its deep purple-red contents spilling onto my mentor's hand and the floral print rug beneath.

Startled silence fills the car. I can feel the shock radiating from everyone, even myself. What… did I… just do? Cross is my MENTOR, a-and I… threw a KNIFE at him?!

My eyes quickly flit from the stained rug to the glass shards then to the knife embedded in the wall with precision and finally to the deep maroon of Cross's one visible eye, widened beyond anything I'd seen it before. I pause here, taking in the surprise that swirls in the depth of the orb mixed with another emotion that I can't quite identify as my mentor and I maintain silent eye contact.

Cross blinks, and I nearly scream. It all hits me at once. I just ruined my chances. This man… He's surely going to kill me for this. Or if he chooses that it'd be better to not get his hands dirty, he'll make sure I'm out by the end of Day 1 of the Games. After all, I just threw a knife at him, and I can't imagine any possibility of him letting this go, not with his proud personality. Damn it. Damn it. DAMN IT! I basically just tied a noose around my neck, and Lenalee's too! How could I let my rage get to me like that?! How could I just act without thinking?!

However, in the midst of my heavy thoughts of my impending death, something unexpected happens. And when I say "unexpected," I mean that I'm half certain I'm dreaming. Because Cross isn't trying to murder me. Hell, he isn't even glaring at me with a promise of death. No, this almost more intimidating. Because instead, h-he's… smirking?

"You've got gut, kid," my mentor states, an amused grin beginning to tug at the corners of his lips as he carelessly drops the remaining shards of his wineglass. I'm frozen, too still to so much as breathe. W-What did he just say?

I hear Road burst out laughing and turn my head to look at her as she gasps, "You… You're just priceless! Funniest show I've seen in years, I'll tell ya! A tribute chucking a knife at his mentor? That's the most interesting thing I've seen in all my years of working this job!" at me. If it weren't for my shock, I'd probably be wondering if she's even supposed to allow stuff like this, let alone enforce it. I glance at Lenalee, who remains petrified, her lilac eyes locked on me. Not a single sounding escapes her gaping lips, and I almost want to laugh. She's so stunned, it's like looking into a mirror.

I turn my attention back to Cross, who has wrenched the small blade out of the wall behind him and is inspecting it with a smile of… is that… interest? That familiar vermilion orb locks with my silver, daringness and challenge twinkling with the intermingling amusement. I'm beyond bewildered. Shouldn't he be trying to butcher me? I know I'd be trying to kill him if he'd pulled the stunt I just did. So why does he look almost… impressed?

Cross's next statement probably should answer my question, but instead just arises further inquiries. Because he chuckles lowly before saying, "I'll tell ya' what, kid- Since you've proven your fortitude," he tosses the knife onto the table, where it makes a loud clank as if to prove his point, "I'll make a bet with you. If you win, I'll help you. I'll 'train' you or whatever the hell it is you've been jabbering at me to do since we met. Hell, I'll even stay sober! I'll do whatever I can to keep you guys alive."

I almost fall out of my seat. There is no way this is really happening… Cross- the most stuck up prick I've ever had the misfortune of meeting in my entire life- is offering to make a bet with me? It's too good to be true, especially considering the grounds on which this proposition was made. A part of me wonders if this is a trick. Why would Cross offer anything that could possibly be to my benefit? From what I've gathered in the short period of time I've known him, he hates me, and the feeling is mutual. So why would he ever even consider helping me? I'm about to ask this very question, but then I spot the pure smugness that has solidified in his gaze, and it makes perfect sense. I realize why Cross is offering this bet. It's because he's certain that he will win, which will prove that he is right about my helplessness. And then he will gain… whatever it is that he desires in addition to an increase in his egotistic pride. Which brings up another question. What will he gain if I lose?

I pause for a moment before hesitantly asking, "And… if you win?"

Cross grins vainly, obviously having been expecting this question. "Then you brats are on your own. Neither of you will ask for my help, and I will be left to my drinking in peace, no matter how many questions you guys have. Do you accept my conditions?"

So, in other words, this is a wager of all or nothing. If I win, he aids me and Lenalee, which is a necessity if either of us hopes to survive the Games. That alone is almost enough to make me shout my acceptance. However, I hold my tongue. Because if I lose this, we get nothing. Not even a word of guidance. That is a heavy consequence. The terms of this bet are incredibly massive, and I almost wonder why Cross would be so quick to gamble something so severe, especially if my winning would mean nothing but discomfort for him. However, I look up from the spot on the ground I'd been staring at in my concentration to find the crimson haired man staring intensely into my eyes as if daring me to back down, and I remember that his reasoning is simple- he's certain he can't lose. This bet- whatever it is- is something he's confident at, something he's certain a kid of only fifteen could never hope to beat him at. His entire position is based solely on that assumption. If he's really willing to wage so extremely with nothing but that for assurance, he knows my odds of winning are profoundly low. That nearly eliminates whatever hopes I had, and I'm about to refuse the challenge when another realization strikes me like a slap across the face- Cross is confident at this. I could use that egotism to my advantage. After all, what do I already know about this man? I know he has an incredibly proud personality- that much has been made more than obvious. But I could play that. If Cross is so positive that he'll win this, then there's a chance that I can make him misjudge his position with his own conceit. Whether that chance is big or small isn't clear to me at the moment, but I'm sure it's there. I can win this.

I narrow my eyes and glare at Cross with a fierceness and determination I didn't know I was capable of and assert in a voice clear and strong, "I accept your terms. What's the challenge?" Cross's lips spread into an insolent smile and he reaches into the left pocket of his jacket. He unveils a small object and sets it down on the table, not breaking eye contact with me even once. I don't back down either and refuse to break my unwavering stare, not even to blink. My opponent's grin widens and he removes his hand from the object before us. I glance down long enough to identify it. And when I do, I almost smile. My poker face stays up, if only for the purpose of my strategy, but the pull urging the corners of my lips is there nonetheless.

Cross doesn't pause to glimpse at the deck of cards he's set in the middle of the table and continues to gaze into my eyes challengingly as he casually says, "Let's play a game! It's called Poker. Ever heard of it?"

Chapter 2 End

NoName-chan: Woo~! A cliffhanger! Sort of! Not really… But still!
Allen: *Reads chapter* Whoa, there's a lot of big words in this O.o
NoName-chan: And?
Allen: Since when do you have a more advanced vocabulary than a Kindergartener? 0.e
NoName-chan: HEY! *hits Allen over the head with my trademark shovel*
Allen: AKNKJEHCMMXJDSKHMXKSDJDGMSMDJDGKJCCMW?/!
NoName-chan: But if you must know, the reason there are big words is because I spent 7 hours thesaurusing (and how much ya wanna bet I used most of those words incorrectly? -v-;;;) this chapter instead of doing trivial things like eating and bathing.
Allen: O.e
NoName-chan: On another note, yay! Tribute introductions! They were so fucking plain! :D Not to mention how horribly OOC some of the characters were. BUT I HAVE AN EXCUSE FOR THAT! First off, this is DGM. THERE ARE NO FUCKING GIRLS IN THIS SERIES. Do you have any clue how hard it was to think up enough female tributes? o.e Especially considering that I couldn't Road or Lulubell because they're Noahs and if you haven't figured it out yet, the Noahs are the Capitol in this. I thought about using Lulubell's little midget slave, Mimi, but then I thought up another purpose for her and decided against it. I also considered Elda, Moa, Mei-Ling, and all those other unimportant anime filler side characters, but… I didn't like Moa enough for this, Mei-Ling is young and I already had enough adolescent martyrs, and Elda is pretty much the same as Sophia in my mind, and I thought of Sophia first. So yeah. And, as you probably noticed, LOU FA IS SO OOC LIKE OH MY GOD WAHT. But I had a reason-
Allen, Kanda, Lavi, Lenalee: *cough*excuse*cough*
NoName-chan: -for that, too! I have a good portion of the actual Games planned out already, and I needed more "bad guys" (career tributes) for what I want to do with this. And I was sort of picturing District 1 as the most blunt threat, so I basically chose my two least favorite teenage DGM characters to portray as villains. WAH I'M SORRY ANYONE WHO LIKES CHAOJI (Wait does anyone like that even exist…?) OR LOU FA BUT I DON'T LIKE THEIR CHARACTERS VERY MUCH I'M SORRYYYYYYYYYY DX *Pulls a Miranda and collapses*
Lenalee: D:
Road: *laughs*
Lenalee: S-Should we do something? o_o
Allen, Kanda, Lavi: It's okay, we've got this *set my body on fire*
Everyone Else: O_O
Lenalee: O-Oh god...
NoName-chan Chibi: *spontaneously appears on Lenalee's shoulder*
Lenalee: O.O
NoName-chan Chibi: *clears throat* AHEM, anyway, while my master is burned alive, please remember to review this chapter and tell her what you thought! Please don't flame too harshly though, for she's already dealing with enough fire as it is! *points to my burning body* Anyway, thanks so much for your support so far, and thanks even more for reading~!

ADDITIONAL NOTE: FFN is being weird. I'm sorry if it does something to the format of this chapter. I tried to fix it, but if it's doing something bad, I'll try to edit it ASAP. Thanks again!