A/N: Hello, all, and welcome to my newest fanfic. It's meant to be a tie-in with my other Hunger Games fiction, Lucky Lady- but you don't really have to read Lucky Lady to understand this.

I just had so many things to say that I didn't get in Lucky Lady- things that happened when the main character wasn't there... Or when she was- but you didn't get to hear the whole story. So I've created this, for all you who couldn't quite bear the thought of my thirteenth Hunger Games ending.

So, whether you're a seasoned reader of my work, or new to my writing- I present your reward for coming this far.

Read away.

Kyta Sastor, District 1

I've decided the Capitol is made up of idiots.

Because it's freaking early. I don't get why everyone in District 1 has to be punished like this. I mean, sure, we're pretty well off, and sure, we get to train Career tributes—for example, me—but... the reaping. Why in the hell does it have to be so early in the morning? I know the reapings are staggered by District so people in the Capitol can see everything, but come on. All those poofy-haired, rainbow-skinned freaks are still freaking asleep at six in the morning. So why can't we be?

I don't know. All I know is, instead of zonking out on my super-comfy, Career-tributes-only memory foam mattress, I'm standing in this overcrowded square with all these ugly, stinking 16-year-olds blocking my view of the stage. It pisses me off.

But, luckily, Herring Castronovo—our District's beloved Capitol freak—is ready to draw names. I only know this because he's babbling about it, not because some 16-year-old—heaven forbid—has moved over enough for me to see. Because, obviously, no one would think to do that.

"And our female tribute for the thirteenth Hunger Games is..." Herring says in that annoying, girly voice of his, "Kyta Sastor!"

And, finally, the idiots in my age group move aside. Some of them I end up shoving aside—oh, whoops—and I make my way to the stage.

I grin at the cameras, ready to let the Capitol know I'm the confident one, the strong one, the one you'd better bet all your precious money on. I get a few moments to shine—flexing my muscles and jabbing a fake punch—before Herring's back to announce the male tribute.

"Bilt Tussworthy!"

I keep my composure, only letting a sarcastic look even try to cross my face, as he walks up. I know him, kind of. We're both Career tributes, so we've run into each other a few times at the training facility. I think I sparred with him once, actually. I whooped his sorry butt, in case you were wondering.

Herring blabs something else to the audience as Bilt starts showing off—or, at least, tries to—and then the weak, little Career tribute and I are whisked away to our District's Justice Building.

I'm led to a fully-furnished room, with dark blue walls and fake-jewel-encrusted wallpaper, to wait for my family. My final goodbye, or whatever they call it. In any case, I'll just tell my dear, dear parents—yes, that was more sarcasm, if you couldn't tell—that I'll see them in a couple of weeks.

And I do just that. I don't know why Mom and Dad are getting all emotional. Oh, boo hoo, they'll have to actually pay attention to me for a couple of weeks, instead of ignoring me whenever I get to come home from training. Idiots.

So I nod, pretending to go along with their blubbering, until a Peacekeeper finally shoos them out the door.

Then I get shuffled through the crowd, into a fancy car, out of the fancy car, into the train station, out of the train station, and into a train.

Herring announces it's time for breakfast, so we all shuffle over to the dinner table, where some ugly, scrawny Avox kids serve us. Herring then proceeds to complain and laugh about him having to wake up so early and wait so long for breakfast.

Yeah. Because, obviously, the rest of us didn't go through that.