**I centered that on one of my three main ships in this story. Here are some other people's points of views on the same day.**

Sansa Stark (age 15), District 5

Theon heads off to practice with the bows. I roll my eyes slightly. I hope he practices some practical skills too. Guys and their weapons...tsk tsk. And Gods, I hope he doesn't try to mess with the guy from Twelve some more. R...his name starts with an R, I think. He seems creepy. I don't trust him.

I turn around and head over to the knot tying stuff. I wouldn't mind talking to the guy from Two again: no matter what Theon says, he seemed nice. Friendly. It didn't seem like it was an act too.

I focus on the rope at hand and try to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing...

Someone sits down next to me, and I jump.

"Pass me a rope, will ya?"

Silently, I do. The guy from Ten grunts a quiet thanks, and we work in silence for a bit.

"I'm Sansa." I say after a moment, my eyes still down.

"Sandor Clegane." he says back. He doesn't seem like a big talker, but...well, the silence is lonely. I search for something else to say.

"Um...you're really good at that." I say, gesturing at the noose he had quickly created out of one short piece of rope. He snorts, shaking his head.

"District 10. I worked with livestock before I was Reaped."

"Oh. Did you rope cattle?" I ask.

"I never said I was a fucking cowboy." he says shortly. I blush.

"Sorry..." I say softly. "I-I mean, you said livestock, so I thought..."

"Calm down, sweetheart. I didn't mean to make you flustered."

I blush more. "U-um, sweetheart?"

"Would you rather me call you something else?" he looks up and I can't help but stare. Half of his face--the half that wasn't facing me--is covered in a huge burn. His eyebrow is gone, and his eye and ear misshapen.

"Maybe...my n-name." I say, still staring. Sandor's eyes harden and he looks quickly away.

"Didn't your mummy ever tell you it was rude to stare?" he snaps coolly. My stomach plummets.

"I never knew my mother." I say. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just--"

"It's just so horrible an' ugly, huh? You just couldn't take your eyes off how grotesque it is?"

"N-no. It just surprised me, s'all." I lower my eyes and go back to my rope. Silence. This time I almost welcome it. But then he sighs.

"...you're doing it wrong." he says quietly. "Here, let me show you."

He takes it with large calloused hands, and slowly to show me, he shows me how to do the knot I was struggling with. Then he hands it back to me.

"Thanks." I say.

"Don't mention it."

"Are...are people usually rude to you...because o-of it?" I ask very softly.

He looks up at me, his good eyebrow raised. "Ruder than you. I've had people scream before. That's apparently how ugly I am."

"I don't think it's ugly." He snorts like he doesn't believe me. "I don't! It's...interesting. Does it hurt?"

"No. I've had it for a long time. Since I was a kid."

A ton of scenarios go through my head--was he in a burning house? Burning car? Are there cars in District 10? Did he rescue someone from a burning building? Was he a hero? I can picture him doing something like that... But he said he was just a kid, so...

"What happened?" I ask. Because no matter what I think it is, it probably isn't that.

His eyes harden again, but not like before. Not like he's angry with me. "Something terrible."

"Did your house burn down?" I ask. "Is your family dead?"

His lips twitch up. "No, and no. Curious, are we?" It doesn't sound mocking. I blush a little anyway. "Save it for my interview, sweetheart--I think I'll explain it then. Where everyone can hear it." He sneers when he says 'everyone'.

"Did someone do this to you...?" I whisper, frowning.

Sandor opens his mouth, and closes it again. Before he can really say anything though, we're interrupted by the sound of a duel.

x-X-x

Theon Greyjoy (age 17), District 5

I approach him. He's at the poisonous plant station--or edible plants, whatever way you want to think of it. He looks up, sighs through his nose, and then looks back down. I cross my arms and tell myself, keep a level head. Don't freak out.

"You fucking promised," I hiss. Well, so much for that. "I waited. You promised."

"Oh, I guess I'm such a monster now, huh?" Ramsay says casually. I glare at the back of his head.

"Why don't you care?"

He turns around in his chair, his eyebrows raised. "Because I don't. Caring, a wise man once told me, is not an advantage. Why do you care?"

"Because..." my voice trails off and he looks vaguely triumphant. Why do I care..? "Because you promised me you'd show me knives, and then you left. Why'd you leave?"

"Oh, so now I have to tell you all my personal business, huh, kid."

"I'm not a kid, I'm seventeen!" I snap. He smirks.

"Younger than me--so you're a kid."

I pull out the chair next to him and he doesn't protest for once.

"Even if I was a day younger than you, you'd still call me kid." I say dejectedly.

He grins, eyes on the edible plant thing. "Good, you're catching on. Ah, fuck."

"What?" I raise an eyebrow. He shrugs.

"I ate some poison shit and I died. Oh well." He looks at me. "You want a turn?"

"How can you be so, 'oh well sucks for me' about being poisoned?" I snap. He smirks.

"It's not real, Greyjoy."

"It could be in the Games!" I retort. He shrugs.

"The chances are that I'm going to die by nature are pretty slim."

"You're going to die by being stupid." I mumble.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"Okay." I take his seat to play with the edible plants thing. He takes mine. "So," I say as I start. "How come you left yesterday?"

"Because I felt like it." he says smartly. I snort.

"I'm not going to be mad."

"Because I care so much if you're mad or not."

"Why are you so difficult, Ramsay?"

My finger slips and I press the wrong button. I die.

"Whoops." he grins. "Looks like you hit the bucket too."

"Shut up." I lean back and cross my arms.

"Okay look, how about this. I show you knives--for real, this time--and you get off my back. Happy?"

I shrug.

"Will you eat lunch with me and my partner too then?"

He makes a face. "I don't think your partner likes me."

"What, no." I protest halfheartedly. "Sure she does--"

"It's okay," Ramsay says with a grin that says it's not. "I'm used to it."

"You're used to not being liked?" I say incredulously.

"Well when you say it like that it makes me sound like a loser. Thanks a lot."

"That's what it sounds like..." I shrug. "Sorry, man."

"Forget it, Greyjoy. I don't want to bother your ally. You two are close. I don't want to... I dunno, come between that." He rubs the back of his neck and yawns. "It's nothing personal to you, okay? I just... I don't like people. People don't like me. It's how I roll."

"Isn't it lonely though?" I ask.

He raises his eyebrows. "I'm not some pussy girl complaining, 'oh boo hoo I'm so sad and neglected oh someone help me...'."

"You do a good imitation of one though," I say and grin. He rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, well... I'm fine. You're fine." He stands up. "See you around, Greyjoy."

"Wait! Knives?" I prompt.

"Oh yeah. I forgot. Shoulda had a v-8." He smirks and I tilt my head. What's he even talking about...? He shakes his head. "Never mind. Well, aren't you coming?"

"Yeah, but--"

The sound of a duel interrupts us. We both look towards the noise.

"Wow. District 3 isn't bad. Always thought he was sort of a cunt, you know?"

I stare at Ramsay in disbelief. "You... never mind. And what did you think I was?"

He grins. "Don't worry. I didn't think you're a cunt."

"Good. I'm not." I look back towards the fight.