"A story," Fraddam echoes dully.

Well, he'll try sincerity.  "Would it work that I've always wanted for my family and me to live in Victors' Village?"

Avery frowns.  "They'll want something more.  They're the Capital.  But it could be the start of a story."

Fraddam strokes the hilt of the knife resting on the arm of his chair.  "I could tell them about my mom's foot?  And everything about the factory that I want to get away from, and get my parents away from?"

"The foot could work.  The factory... maybe.  It'd work for some of the sponsors.  Others of them don't like to think about the work situation in the Districts."

Yes, it's a rigged system.  Fraddam shrugs.  "I know we could be more and live more in Victors' Village?  Sit down by the river?  Invent stuff beyond just our daily projects?"

Avery smiles a bit.  "That's the spirit.  You've got a bit to develop it, after all.  And we can see what Krinn thinks about it - she knows some sponsors I don't know so well."

"Sure."  Fraddam nods, recognizing the female mentor's name immediately.  "Maybe she'll be willing to give me a few tips on wilderness survival too, after all she did in her Games?  But for now, how about some weapons work?"

Upon arriving in the Capitol, each tribute is immediately taken to a team of stylists, who will fix up their hair, faces, and everything else for the opening ceremony. The stylists have prepared costumes themed around the Districts' primary productions - which usually advantages the jewelry-clad District 1 tributes more than the coal miners of District 2.

Crow suffers the initial attentions of her stylist grimly but quietly, until they approach the two scars on her face with some chemical-looking lotion, at which points she bats their hands away.

"Don't touch those. I like my scars," she says, with cold anger leaking into her voice.

"But they're ugly! So asymmetrical and... shocking!"

She glares. "If you can make puffball-pink skin and blue and orange lightning lines work as a style for you, you can make a style for me that looks good with my scars. You can pretty them up as long as they're still recognizable as scars. Ones I got violently. Or else I fight you on everything else you do and look ugly on purpose to spite you."

The stylist is not prepared to deal with this. His assistant, who is not getting the full force of the glare, is thinking on her feet faster. "They are striking - they break up the lines of her face interestingly. If we color the ends to shape them... and maybe a few tiger stripes along the neck?"

"That... would look memorable. I'm not sure how to work it with the dress, though."

"Sounds alright to me," says Crow, "you're the ones who know what pretty looks like. Or handsome. Don't mess with this and you can go ahead. Always thought the Twelver chariot should have a scythe, though. We're the ones that do the reaping, you know?"

"Hmm," says the main stylist, "Nephi, you handle this part, the tiger stripes sound good. I need to express my new vision for the outfit and there's not much time."

Crow smiles and lets them scour her down without further incident.

Fraddam waits patiently while the stylists talk about ideas and try him in different sorts of clothes.

Finally, when they're trying one of their last two ideas on him (supposed to make him look "grim and ominous," he asks, "Okay, how can I bring this out best?  How do I... er, loom?... ominously?"

The stylists all break into smiles at this, and one of them exclaims, "Oh!  You think you can cooperate in the image?"

"- well, I'll sure try!"  One more unfamiliar weapon to learn.

"Then how about this..."

Hew thought he was going to hate this part and, while it did involve people poking at him, he has to admit that the result is kinda awesome.

He emerges looking like some kind of post apocalyptic warlord, face decorated and outfit incorporating as many as several unnecessary spikes. The jacket made of shining brass casings is his favorite part. He didn’t know people from the Capitol could get it, but whoever decided this was the best way to represent the weapon manufacturing district definitely gets it. 

She doesn't get the scythe, but the outfit and chariot, already styled to look like fields of grain, get last-minute changes to make it look more like she's stalking through the fields and peeking out between the grain - the tiger stripes subtly matching the amber waves.

"Oh, I like it," she tells the head stylist, with her best real human being face on, "Looks like home, looks like me, and looks good. Thank you."

"You're not the usual Elevener," he says, "I'm glad to have had the original inspiration. Now - go wow them!"

She grins. "Sure thing, boss!"

After the ceremony is over, the tributes will go to their luxuriously furnished apartments, where they find delicious food and helpful slaves to tend to their every need.

The next three days will be spent in the Training Center. There are a great many training stations set up by experts on various subjects - weapons, of course, but also snares, making shelter, fishing, camouflage, fire-starting, and lessons on which plants and animals are edible. This is also the time when alliances are made.

She gets to fight with actual weapons! Okay, sure, these are practice blades, but they're actually made for violence. Crow is in Heaven. Well, Purgatory; Heaven comes later this week.

("You'll want to go to the swords station first," Winnow advised her, "To be sure you can pick up fighting with longer blades. Start with forearm-length, try arm-length when you're used to them.")

Also she is good at it. She's on to moving targets with the shorter swords inside fifteen minutes, and there's some places she overextends or doesn't take openings reflecting her knife instincts, but she's picking it up as quickly as could be desired.

This place isn’t really for training. These are the three showing off days, as far as Hew is concerned. He doesn’t listen to any advice about holding back and hiding the limits of his abilities— everyone watching gets to see him race around the training center, perform feats of strength, and show off some flashy moves in training-fights. 

His wilderness survival skills are a bit weaker; he has the abilities of someone who was forced to memorize a lot of facts about edible and poisonous plants but hasn’t been out in the longer than a few days.

Hew and the other careers mostly talk amongst themselves and practice together; the careers always start off as a team. The fact that soon enough someone will be the first to betray that alliance remains unspoken but looms over all conversations. 

Fraddam feels a sharp stab of fear as he watches the other trainees.  They're better than most anyone he managed to fight at home.  He isn't sure he'll defeat them!  But he needs to - he needs to win!  Otherwise he'll die, and lose everything.

So, after quickly getting his bearings, he dives into training.  He's good at the blades; less good at the wilderness survival.  Like Hew (he notices carefully out of the corner of his eye, watching his competition), he's managed to memorize a lot, but he doesn't have that much personal experience.

He needs allies.  He keeps an eye out for anyone who stands out as good at wilderness survival.