Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

We’re packing up our belongings and making sure the woods are safe to search for Wellie. Haymitch suddenly stops.
“Let’s head north again,” Haymitch announces. I follow him uncertainly. Why is he so insistent on this?
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I’ve got a feeling Wellie would want to get as far from that volcano as possible.” I’m still skeptic so I voice my thoughts.
“I don’t know. We’ve been all over that area with no sign of her.”
“Exactly. It’s like Mags said. In the arena you generally keep moving. And she hasn’t been there yet. Let’s just give it a try.”
I’m not convinced since she’s probably so frail I doubt she could move a muscle, but I stay on course. For a good mile or two, anyway. Then I question him again.
“I don’t think we’re going to find her up this way.” I say finally.
“Really? I think we’re on the right track.”
“Why? The arena narrows to a point up north, right? Like it did in the south?”
I remember this specifically.
“Well, not right away,” is all he says.
He’s confusing me. “But it does. Wouldn’t Wellie just feel trapped?”
“Which is exactly why the Careers won’t think to look around here. Just what you said,” he counters. Trying to flatter me, eh? I shoot him a look, but i trudge along for a bit before my next remark. I stop cold.
“No, you’re wrong. Wellie would stand a much better chance in the meadow than she would up here. Little thing like her, she could disappear into that grass. It goes on for miles. Lay low and look for food in the Cornucopia. They’d never find her. And even if she did come to the woods, she’s too smart to let herself get penned in like that. You know that. But you’re taking me north again, Haymitch. Why?”
I fold my arms and wait. If he doesn’t provide a good explanation, maybe we should just split up. I don’t want it to come down to us, I don’t think I could kill him.
“The hedge. I think we should give it another look,” he admits. Oh. Of course.
I shudder at the thought of those ladybugs. “Ugh. Even if I had a quart of blood to spare, why on earth would we do that?”
He holds out his hands. “Because it has to end somewhere, right? The arena can’t go on forever.”
“What do you expect to find?”
“I don’t know. But maybe there’s something we can use.”
“You mean, like something mechanical? Electrical?” I’m not sure if I follow him.
“Maybe. Or if not that, maybe we can collect those ladybugs to use as a weapon ourselves. Make the maze into a trap for the Careers. Lure them in, drop a tarp of ladybugs on them, get them lost in there. It’s not easy to escape. I just think if we’re smart, we can use it for our own means.” He lifts his brows in a communicative manner, and I’m starting to think there’s more behind his words.
“I swear, do this and I’ll never ask you for anything else as long as I live,” he pleads. Not like he’ll that long to live, anyway, considering our circumstances. I roll my eyes.
“Well, that’s a generous offer,” I counter.
“Come on, Sis. I need this for my next poster.” Fine. If he’s going to bring the posters into it, why not? He’s still annoying me like crazy, but you have to give it up sometime.
I relent. “All right. But it better be a good one.” This better be worth it.
“Oh, ladybug, it will be,” he promises. Ew, I hate nicknames. But I think I’ve pushed him so much today that I don’t respond. I just roll my eyes.
We move on when Haymitch notices something. “You hear that?”
A high pitched noise rings in my ears just then.
“I do now. I just thought it was part of the nature sounds here. Like the birds,” I answer.
“That’s what worries me. Think of the size of the mosquito that would generate that.” Oh. That does sound threatening, way more than those bloodsucking ladybugs. But it’s probably very far from us, so no need to worry.
“It’s a good way off. Let’s just keep our distance.” I take a sip from the water jug and try handing it over to him. That’s when the jug bursts, splashing all over our hair and clothes. I see the knife driven in the jug and I’m greeted by the two Careers. And they’re running straight for us.
We bolt away from the two like it’s one of those damn races in gym class back home, toward the mosquito hum, in hopes that whatever is making that sound kills the Careers.
Haymitch trips and looks at the insulting sight. Three Gamemakers, in the arena, mopping like it’s a damn children’s playground.
I run past the trio and latch onto a sapling so I can stop. We freeze for a moment, then Silka bursts into the clearing and bumps into a bucket near the Gamemakers. It knocks over and spills some sort of unnatural slime back into the arena, which clearly pisses the Gamemakers off. Probably spent a while cleaning that stuff up. “Hey! Watch it!” says one.
I subtly give them a middle finger when Marrite, who just appeared, exclaims.
“What’s going on? Are you Gamemakers?”
One Gamemaker stands up and says, “That’s right. And all four of you are in absolute violation of the rules. You must immediately withdra-“ A choking noise escapes her lips as I look down to her chest. Haymitch has dug a knife into it.
I’m about to grab my blowgun and help him attack the nervous remaining Gamemakers when Haymitch hastily whispers in my ear, almost to restrain me.
“Let me. I haven’t made some good posters yet. Might as well try now.”
I nod, even though I’m a little unconvinced, as Haymitch pulls the knife out of his victim and throws it into the brain of another Gamemaker. Marrite’s arm snaps back and I think I’m a goner when the trident whizzes over my head into the legs of the final Gamemaker. As Haymitch advances to deliver the final blow, I consider Silka.
She’s standing there in shock, no doubt confused about the attack on the Capitol right infront of her eyes. I quickly grab my blowgun and I aim for her. I hear the last Gamemaker scream cut-off and I know they’ve died, but I hardly care.
“See ya, Silka.”
I’m about to blow a dart into her face when she snaps back to life and wields her axe towards me.
“You really think I’ll let you kill me freely? Well-“ A hovercraft appears and drops a gas bomb on us. I gag and drag a coughing Haymitch to the woods, still holding his knife.
After a good ten minutes, he’s stopped coughing and can walk on his own. I whip out the can of sardines and offer them to him, which he graciously accepts.
“Nice poster,” I comment. “Would’ve loved to join the fight, though.”
He grins, though he seems distant and grim, like there was more meaning to his fight with the Gamemakers than just posters.
“Bet you would’ve slaughtered them,” is all he says, however. He finishes the sardines.
I look around and see a spiderweb on a bush. I caress it and it feels as soft as silk. My favourite fabric.
“Surprised to see you touching that,” comments Haymitch.
“Oh, I love anything silk. Especially after my grandmother passed. It’s as soft as her skin.” I grab one of the lockets on my neck and open it, showing a photograph of my grandmother, smiling. “Here she is, just a year before she died. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Haymitch takes it all in, as if it’s one of the last pretty things he’ll ever see in his life. “She is. She was a kind lady. Used to sneak me candies sometimes.”
I laugh because it really is true. “You weren’t the only one. She got chewed out for that.” I examine the locket and the photo. “No one ever loved me more. I always hoped I’d look like her one day. Never going to see myself grow old, I guess.”
Haymitch considers that, almost guiltily. “I wouldn’t count you out, but I would count myself out after that stunt with the Gamemakers.” He stays there for a while, silent.
That’s too depressing of a thought, so I just get up and walk towards the hedge Haymitch wanted to go to. Maybe that’ll cheer him up.
“Wait for me!” Haymitch exclaims. I let him catch up. As we walk, I comment on how my grandmother used to say “Nothing they could take from us was ever worth keeping,” as a way to comfort me. It’s been engraved into my brain ever since. Nothing the Capitol could take from us was ever worth keeping in the first place. Haymitch pauses, looks around confused and says, “That’s actually a song. My girl sometimes sings it in private for me.” Huh. Interesting. Didn’t know I shared that connection with her. Thought our only one was the rebelling thing. “Really? Well, your gal’s full of surprises,” I say. He smiles. That’s when I see the hedge and I point to it. He breaks a branch on a nearby tree and uses the blowtorch to light it up.
“Hold this,” he commands.
“What do I do?” I ask.
“You’re my wingman. Anything with wings, you burn. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
We charge through the hedge immediately. Haymitch activates his blowtorch and the searing, almost creepy sound of ladybugs burning fills my ears.
I wave my torch over the infestation right as the greenery gets lit ablaze. The ladybug mutts ignite, inflate and explode just like corn kernels over a fire. I start singing that old nursery rhyme to cover up the sound of explosions.

Ladybug, ladybug fly away home.
Your house is on fire, your children are gone.
All except one, who answers to Nan.
She’s hiding under the frying pan.

Haymitch burns a path through the bush as I continue to exterminate the bugs.
“Almost there!” he shouts to me.
His flames almost done but he just manages to incinerate the last batch of thorns when the blowtorch sputters and dims. He throws the lifeless torch on the ground.
I toss my torch onto the last handful of bugs and I beat out the sparks on my shirt.
“So, did we reach the end?” I’m amazed how easy that was to overcome.
Haymitch walks to the edge of what turns out to be a cliff. I start to follow him uncertainly. He groans contently.
“Yeah. This is the end of the road.”
I make it and look over the cliff. It’s calming really, if anything in a blood-splattered arena could be considered that, but we’ve just wasted time.
“That’s all there is to the arena, Haymitch. Let’s go back.”
Haymitch pauses for a long time like he’s observing his lifeline.

”No, I’m staying here,” Haymitch mutters.
I stare at him and I debate my options. Should I stay with him? I honestly doubt that we’ll stand a chance against Silka if we stay here, but I don’t say this outright to Haymitch.

”Okay, I’ll stay too,” I tell him after a long pause.
Haymitch smiles a little and looks like he’ll say something in response, but at that moment a cannon goes off. For a second I expect that he drops dead right now, but he doesn’t. He looks puzzled and concerned instead, and I think I might have a similar expression as I look around, seeing a hovercraft in the distance.
“I wonder who that was,” he chokes out finally.
“It’d be delusional to hope it was a Career,” I say.

A long silence falls between us. I hear his breathing quicken as we both come to the conclusion that we’ve made it to the final four. What do we do if we’re the last two tributes? I’m about to say something when I remember we still have the potatoes.
”Hey, how about one of us goes back to get the potatoes we left behind? I’m starving, and that’s just about the finest food in this arena,” I say, with a twinge of sarcasm.
”I’m kind of hungry as well. I’ll go get the potatoes so we can brainstorm a plan while eating. I’m sure we can think of something,”
”Okay, but don’t hurt yourself while you get them. I don’t want to go and fetch you myself,” I say teasingly.
He rolls his eyes and shrugs as he goes back to the hedge, moving slowly as if hesitant. I decide look down the canyon Haymitch found to see if it’s any use.

I throw a rock down the canyon out of pure boredom. I count how long it takes to drop, but it never makes it. Instead, the pebble bounces upwards and lands right next to my shoes. I’m perplexed by this when I notice the ripple in the air when the rock hit. Is that..a force field? I’m about to throw a stray leaf when I hear the screams.
Distinctly male. The sound of my brother.

I run immediately to the hedge when I see him. He’s lying on the ground with a flock of bright pink birds almost completely covering him. The birds have long beaks and are the colour of the liquorice back home, their beady eyes definitely not something nature could create. Mutts.

I scream and try shooting the birds with my blowgun, but it’s too late. The closest bird had just stabbed him the chest when the first dart makes contact. They all flee and I swear I can hear the snickers from President Snow all the way from the Capitol.
He looks at me, blood soaking his shirt and flint striker and tries smiling.

“Maysilee-“ he starts, but I don’t let him finish.
”No. NO! This isn’t your poster, you can’t die like this! This isn’t what we agreed on!” My throat can barely finish my sentence before it chokes up and a tear drips from my eyes onto his regretful face.
Thats when I realize he can’t be saved.

His face is a maze of cuts from the birds, a stray pink feather on his gorey neck. I see him trembling as he tries to speak, a whimper escaping his lips and he curses, a small tear forming at the corner of his left eye and dripping down to his shirt, mixing with the blood oozing out of his chest wound. His chest. His vital organs in there don’t stand a chance at life with all the blood spilling out. It’s such a horrific sight that I almost run away.
I hold his hand to try easing him out the world, but I don’t see anything comforting in his bloody body.

He sticks his pinkie out, and I know what he means. Will I keep the promise of being the worst victor if I win? I wrap my pinkie around his and nod, a silent promise confirmed. I grip his pinkie like I’m the one dying, not him. He’s barely able to hand me his blood-stained flint striker and I know why he did that. It’s for me to take home to Lenore Dove, isn’t it?

He smiles and chokes out one last sentence before going limp.
“Good luck, sis.”
His cannon goes off and I close his vacant eyes, my tears still on his broken face. I kiss his cheek and get one last look at Haymitch, once strong, now destroyed. I don’t clean him up, this is his final poster. I turn around with my head up, sticking the middle finger out to the arena. F**k the Capitol.

I hear the hovercraft and I know Haymitch has moved on to the place where people go when they die. That’s when I see the potatoes. He was so close to getting them. I almost throw the potatoes in rage when I realize I should probably eat them instead. It’s what my brother would’ve wanted.

Goodbye Haymitch, who I loathed, respected and begrudgingly loved. He wasn’t a friend, a sibling we’d call eachother. But just what is a sibling to you? A sibling is someone you fight for, someone you care for no matter how much you think you hate them. That’s who we were to eachother.
And now I’m thinking about Merilee and I know I have to win. For both of my siblings. I pick up my blowgun and finish the potatoes, my face stained with tears, and I walk off in the distance when I see the tub of ice cream land next to me.

Chapter Text

I open the tub and realize it’s strawberry. I always had a particular fondness for strawberry, but I don’t understand why this was sent to me instead of something more affordable, like cheese.

Suddenly, my brain resurrects a memory that happened before the game. That attention seeking Proserpina talking non-stop about her grade while we were having ice cream together, before the Games started. I took the opportunity for a dig, saying “I’ll try to keep that in mind. More ice cream?” It was actually kind of silly, looking back, with Haymitch and Mags barely repressing their smiles.

That’s when I know it was Mags who sent me this tub. A tear falls down my face into the tub and I realize it’s melting from the sun. I take a scoop with the spoon provided in the tub. Horribly sweet, like the artificial sweeteners we use at our sweet shop. Another tear falls down to the tub.

I see a glass of some purple juice arrive once I’m halfway done the tub. Grape juice. I remember Haymitch offering me some earlier in the arena and it takes all my willpower not to sob and collapse into the tub. My hands shake. I scoop some ice cream into the grape juice glass to make a float. Merrilee taught me how to make one on a hot summer day. Haymitch giving me grape juice. My siblings. Mags.

After finishing the meal, I relocate the berry bush I found earlier to apply it’s poisonous juices onto my darts. Hey, when given the choice to be harmful and deadly, I’ll always chose deadly.

I go hide in the bushes as I hear the horrid anthem. Honestly, they couldn’t hire better singers? It sounds robotic and gritty, like they were held at gun point to do so. I wouldn’t be surprised if the singers had been.

I’m expecting that District 6 tribute Haymitch called his “dove” when I instead see Maritte. Oh how the mighty have fallen. She was so sloppy when she took out that Gamemaker, and had a horrible stylist. I smirk a little until Haymitch pops up in sky and I shut my eyes tight. Maritte and Haymitch...why does that feel...planned? It just...doesn’t feel natural. What did they have in common?

Well...they were both strong competitors, but so was Silka and she’s still out there. Strength wasn’t a deciding factor. I think about Maritte’s actions these past few days and it clicks. They both killed a Gamemaker. Me, Silka and Wellie didn’t. I relive the birds flocking around Haymitch, how they were clearly mutts, the way none of them went to attack me, and I realize they were targetted towards Haymitch. Nothing I done would’ve helped.

Well, that’s a great thought. I instead weigh my competition. There’s Silka, that complete coward, who I could probably take out if I play things correctly. But Wellie? I haven’t seen her ever since I split up with the Newcomers at the start to get Lou Lou. She’s probably been expiring in a tree or something. I decide to wait for Wellie to die before facing Silka, since I don’t want to possibly kill the last Newcomer if I kill Silka first. Ugh, I’ll just sleep.

I’m about to drift off when I hear the high pitched groans from above and I instantly wake up. Mutt? Silka? Could it be Wellie? I grab my blowgun and wander around, trying to follow the source of the sound and killing it if I have to. I hear a desperate whimper and a ring of a bicycle bell. Bicycles? That can’t be right, we’re in an arena, not in the town square with my sister.

I look up in a tree and that’s when I see her. Half-starved, glassy eyes, and messy black hair. Wellie. She’s ringing the bell on her necklace token and I remember when I attached it.

She looks weakly at me pleadingly and start to regret eating all the food I had gotten. I guess the only thing I could do is ease her out of this world, so I climb up the tree and sit next to her on the branch. Her body is shivering and she looks at me with accusation.
”You abandoned us. You-“
She chokes before she can finish the sentence. All I can say is “I’m sorry. I was looking for Lou Lou and I guess I got carried away.”
She looks at me and it seems like she understands. She grips my hand and manages one last request. “Hug me.”

I wrap my arms around her thin, cold body and we become one. She smiles one last time before she lets out a small, breathy groan, and she goes limp. Her cannon goes off and I slowly detach myself from her gnarled body.

I can’t pretend I knew her well, but I must admit I respected her. She had a brain, much better than most tributes. I’m surprised she made it so long and I’m left there questioning if there was a possibility she could’ve won if Haymitch were still here. He would’ve thought about her. Instead, I was selfish and focused on myself winning.

I see the hovercraft and I look for any supplies she had that may be useful. There’s only a small knife with some dirt on the blade. Useless. I’m not that good with a knife, so I finally depart from her body.

I’m thinking about if I should get some rest but I decide to get these Games over with. It’s just me and you, Silka. It’s chilling, walking through the meadow with the flowers caked with dry blood. There’s no one else here but Silka. We’ve killed them all.

I climb up the Cornucopia and I see a dark figure in the shadows wielding a knife get up from a tree, wiping her nose and stepping into the moonlit meadow. Her face is red and...are those tears? I compose myself immediately after the thought, this is no time to feel sympathy. Plus, her sad face quickly morphs into a confident, angry mask as she runs into the meadow, snarling.

I aim my blowgun down to her speedy body and shoot once. It deflects off her axe and hits a tree. She tries climbing the Cornucopia to get to my spot on top of it, but I won’t let her. I aim but sadly miss another two times since her stupid axe is waving in the air wildly. Still got two darts left, while Silka has only one axe. I shoot again and it hits her leg and screams profanity, but she’s still going strong. One dart now.

She holds her axe up with her left hand while she climbs with her right hand and legs and I’m calculating the best move, but I realize I don’t have to. I grin which confuses her.

I let her get on top of the Cornucopia with me and she starts running to get closer to me. Her face is surprised that I’ve stopped shooting, but also cockily triumphant. She’s about to swing her axe on my chest when she freezes. Her face looks like she’s about to puke and she drops to the ground, her leg turning purple where I hit it with my poisoned dart earlier.

She looks up at my body, relaxing with my blowgun as her skin starts to blister. She’s so warm, I can feel the heat even though we’re not touching. How is this possible? When I killed Loupe, he wasn’t like this. Then I realized, I used the wrong berries before finding Wellie. I guess it worked out for me though, since the effects are even deadlier.

I push her discarded axe off the Cornucopia and she’s due to die any moment now. She groaning and shoots me a tight look of anger, but finally, pleading. She whimpers once and a groan of pain twitches her body as her arms go limp. I can’t stand this. Even if I hated her, the sight is so horrible with the blisters and the blue skin that I shoot my last dart in her heart. She manages a groan before going limp, her body sliding off the Cornucopia.

The cannons booms and the trumpets go off.
“The victor of the 50th Hunger Games is Maysilee Donner, the girl from District Twelve!”
I should feel proud and relived, but I only sit there, stunned, as I wait for the hovercraft to take me home, at last.

Chapter Text

It’s a windy, summer night. Me and my uncles are sitting on a couch Tam Amber bought in a sale last year. Yesterday, we went to the Abernathy’s to comfort Sid and Willamae. I will never forget his silent tears, the shaking of his mouth.
I think that was the day the Capitol interviewed us because Haymitch made it to the final eight? I’m forgetting easily.

The old television is on, barely managing to run. I remember Clerk Carmine telling me about how he spent a whole night fixing the rusty old thing. His arms were apparently red for weeks after that. I don’t really believe him, but I try to enlighten him.

The Fiftieth Hunger Games are on. It’s supposedly a live broadcast of what’s happening in the Games, but after what that skeleton of a woman Drusilla said when they took my love from me, (“We’ve got five minutes! A five-minute flag and then we’ll have to finish this live!”) I believe that there’s also a five-minute delay on the Games broadcast, just in case they have to cover up a tribute being problematic like they did with Woodbine.

I see my love and that Donner girl at the edge of the arena. “That’s all there is to the arena, Haymitch. Let’s go back.” But he doesn’t oblige. “No. I’m staying here,” he tells her.
She pauses. “Okay, I’ll stay too,” she tells him. I’m not trusting her though, something about that tight expression makes me believe she’s been plotting to stab my love in his back. I sit on the couch, frozen, as I await for Haymitch’s next move. My uncles are looking at me in concentration, their expressions unreadable. There’s commentary but I don’t listen.

Suddenly, we get interrupted by a news announcement. The reporter’s hair looks hastily made, like this was a last minute decision, almost as if to cover-up something in the arena, or controlling the narrative in there. Huh. All she talks about is inflation and recent rebellious acts in District 8. I sit there, confused and emotionless, as she finishes her report. My uncles don’t look surprised and I look at them in confusion.
“The commentators said there’d be a news report soon,” is all Tam Amber says.
“Oh,” I answer and I nod briskly. The television comes back and the commentators say that the only things we’ve missed is that “Haymitch is getting supplies and whatnot, sorry for the interruption.”
Yeah, right. He’s probably running for his life. He noticed that expression and abandoned their alliance, worried about the chances of a knife driven in his back by her. They’re trying to cover it up, probably trying to paint Maysilee an Haymitch as perfect lovers or something. Ugh.
“Good job, Haymitch,” I whisper under my breath. My uncles, who have been so disapproving of him all those years, don’t do anything but stare at the screen, shivering a bit.

The camera focuses on my love running alone in the woods, trying to get the potatoes he left earlier. I smile. Of course he’d want to get all the supplies he could get. I silently will him to run faster, as Maysilee is undoubtedly chasing him down with her wicked poisonous darts. Well, probably. I don’t know for sure. But I’ve seen her. Of course she’d be doing that. Right?
“If he makes it home, maybe I’ll give him a second chance,” joked Clerk Carmine. I playfully punch his arm and he rolls his eyes. But then Tam Amber starts yelling profusely and my head jerks toward the screen.

Birds. Birds and more birds. Their bright, enhanced pink feathers and the long killer beaks flock toward Haymitch. He tries choking the nearest one but another one...stabs him in the chest. He falls to the ground and shuts his eyes tight as the birds start ripping him apart.

My throat makes a noise, a mix of a goat getting slaughtered and a raspy mice squeak. The tears are coming to my dry face as Maysilee comes onto the screen, wielding her poisonous darts. Here to finish him off, Miss Donner? Cut him up into a million pieces? Use his blood as a beverage for your next meal? Pathetic. My uncles are trying to cover my eyes but I push them away with a high scream. This can’t be happening. I run out of the house and grab my tunebox. I ignore my uncle’s pleads and screams, forgetting about our house arrest.

I head to the town square where a large group of people are watching the Games on a big screen. They shoot me looks, ranging from confusion to pity. Another tear drips my face and it burns. F*ck the Capitol.

I smile and I must look insane to everyone else. Maybe I am insane, maybe I’m not. What difference does it make when my love is getting ripped apart for all of the country to see? I play an old tune of rebellion, not caring if I get arrested or whatever. So be it. I’ll be with my love then if I get hanged. My mind wanders to our last phone call but I mute it. I must focus on this. My lips begin the song.

“They hang the man and flog the woman
Who steals the goose from off the common,
Yet let the greater villain loose
That steals the common from the goose.”

Burdock and Blair look at me, their faces drained of colour from Haymitch’s ongoing murder. Burdock mouths out “What are you doing, cuz?” I stare at him and smile angrily, not at him, but to the Capitol.

“The law demands that we atone
When we take things we do not own,
But leaves the lords and ladies fine
Who take things that are yours and mine.”

I see Sid and Willamae in the crowd, surrounded by a group of people handing out tissues to them. Sid sees me and starts making his way towards me, dragging his poor mother by the dress.

“The poor and wretched don't escape
If they conspire the law to break.
This must be so but they endure.
Those who conspire to make the law.”

Peacekeepers make their way towards me, wielding guns and knives. I don’t care anymore, I just gesture to Sid that he shouldn’t get any closer. A strangled yell seeps from his lips. The Peacekeepers start dragging me but I finish the last verse.

“The law locks up the man or woman
Who steals the goose from off the common.
And geese will still a common lack
Till they go and steal it back.”

My arms are getting dragged and I drop my tunebox. It shatters and comes apart, hitting the Mellarks in the face. I dart to the screen and see Haymitch giving Maysilee the flint striker I gave him. What? What is he doing?
“No,” I whisper once, then I start yelling and screeching. The Peacekeepers inject a syringe into my left arm and the world blacks out.
The last thing I see is the crowd of people staring at me as Haymitch’s death is converted to background music.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Baird?”
My eyes shoot awake. I’m in the interrogation room, I would know, I’m very familiar with it. I sigh. “Just hang me already, would ya?”
The Peacekeeper shoots me a look of annoyance and gestures two men to come forward. My eyebrows raise. It’s my uncles.

“Young lady, WHAT were you thinking?” yells Clerk Carmine. He’s in hysterics, his body quivering as Tam Amber hands the Peacekeeper some documents. The Peacekeeper shakes his head, muttering something about how that’s not enough to get me out. He croaks out how I was already on my last strike. I just chuckle.

“Oh, I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, Lenore. You’re in for a lifetime of jail, with beatings left and right. You will never be allowed to die quickly,” says the Peacekeeper sternly. He chuckles afterwards, adding insult to the injury. But all I care about it how he said my name wrong.

“It’s Lenore Dove, by the way. Surprised you haven’t got it right after all the times you’ve interrogated me.” He’s about to punch me when Tam Amber yells.
“It’s my fault! I made her do it!”
What? He didn’t, this was all my fault. I was going to say something but the Peacekeeper dismisses me as he questions Tam Amber. Clerk Carmine drags me out with one last pitiful look towards Tam Amber. I manage one last scream as Tam Amber follows the Peacekeeper with one last sorry look at me. He’s taking the blame for me.

The next day, every citizen of District Twelve is summoned to the square. A hanging post is set up in the middle. And the Peacekeepers attach the noose to Tam Amber. I scream but Burdock covers my mouth. “Don’t try to get yourself hanged as well, it’s not what Haymitch would’ve wanted,” he whispers. Would’ve. Past-tense. Confirmation that Haymitch has moved on to death.

I sob as they list Tam Amber’s supposed charges. Influencing a minor to do his bidding. Rebellion. I don’t listen to the rest as they finish. Tam Amber is allowed one last sentence. He stares at me, which causes the whole crowd to shoot me dirty looks. “Keep it going,” is all he says. I shut my eyes tight and nod as they end his life, a singular scream comes from him that gets cut off.
Clerk Carmine is hyperventilating as the mockingjays take over the tune.
“It’s the same as Seja...” his voice trails off. But I don’t care for anything else.
I ended Tam Amber’s life.

Chapter Text

I snap awake. There’s sunlight streaming from our window and I’m wondering why I’m in the tribute apartment. I look down and see myself in a simple, crinkly nightgown and I’m covered in fluffy blankets.

I look to my left, defensive, and I see a woman moving a tube away from my body. Was that attached to me? She looks at me and mutters something in a thick Capitol accent.
”Good thing you weren’t as damaged as other victors. Would’ve taken longer to fix you up.”
She leaves the room with a snort. Fix me up? I look at my arms and I see how smooth they are. Not a single scar in sight.

How long has it been since I won? I’m sure even with all that money, it’d take the Capitol a week minimum to remove all the scars and bumps on a living being. I get up from the bed and see the clothes I was reaped in. Undergarments. A long purple dress my friend Asterid gave me on my fifteenth birthday. I change into the clothes quickly.

I step out of my room and into the kitchen. There’s a foul smelling stew and a glass of lemonade on the counter. An attendant quickly enters the apartment and places some utensils by the stew and leaves just as hastily. I laugh, a throaty sound that echoes throughout the empty room, and I realize just how alone I am.

I’m putting the spoon into the stew when the door creaks open and I see him. President Snow. I gag as the sight of him and he just smiles.

“Well, the soup is hard to digest, Miss Donner,” he says in a calm tone with a hint of amusement.

“Do you normally greet the victors while they’re in the middle of dining, Mr Snow?”

“Not usually. How’s the stew?

“Just as disgusting as your perfume. What’s the real reason you came here?” I demand.

”My, this one has an attitude. Just live in the moment, dear. How’d you react when your ally passed?

My face scrunches up in anger and I grab the bowl of stew. He blinks once and I dump it all over his Capitol suit and he laughs.

“Well, you may not know yourself how you felt, but I definitely know. You felt happy and relieved that you didn’t have to protect him anymore. One step closer to victory. Glad we took him away from you. After all, the things we took from you weren’t worth keeping in the first place. And we’ve took a lot.”

I’m about to stab him with the metal knife the attendant provided before I catch his eye. Humoured, but dangerous. Daring me to harm him. I realize just how powerful the Capitol is. Touch Snow, and your whole family gets into an “accident”.

I’m still debating what my response should be when I remember something he said. “After all, the things we took from you weren’t worth keeping in the first place.” It’s too familiar to be a coincidence.

”My grandmother used to say something similar,” I blurt out, forgetting to stop myself. He smiles as if that was the confirmation he needed and gets up.

“I’ll see you again, Miss Donner. You’re going to be a very...popular victor.” Is it just me, or did I see a glint of anger when he said popular? He heads out the door and dump my long-forgotten stew into the trash can. I spill the glass of lemonade I’d also forgotten about all over the table and I throw the empty glass at a window, shattering both of the objects. I storm back into my bed in hopes I can sleep away that interaction.

When I wake up, I see Effie Trinket shouting something about getting up and I begrudgingly obey. “Well, it’s your big, big, big day” she says with false cheerfulness. I only now notice the three Peacekeepers behind her holding guns and I realize why she’s so distressed. Not all Capitol citizens like the Peacekeepers.

I sigh and ask her the one question that’s been nagging the back of my mind. “Why are you here? I mean, I was expecting that old hag Drusilla or that wrinkly Magno, but you?”

She doesn’t seem at all offended and says “Magno’s in the hospital for all those...toads. Now with Drusilla...it’s not exactly pleasant, but she broke her hip falling down an escalator right before you won,”

I let loose a breathy laugh that surprises Effie at the sound of Drusilla’s news. That’s karma, b*tch.
“Honestly, I expected that. Her heels are way too high for her posture.”

Effie lights up at my remark. “I forgot how glad I was when you won. That means I’m stylizing a tribut-no, victor with actual sense in fashion! Okay, let’s get you showered up and I’ll give you some of my great aunt’s best clothes, sound good?”

Chapter Text

”You look just fabulous!” announces Effie. It’s true, I do. My face is a painting of blushes, mascara, lipstick and concealer, my skin smooth and shiny. My hair is left straight-curly and messy, with a black fedora on my head tipped slightly to my right. I’m also wearing sunglasses and a fuzzy black scarf which compliments my hat well. My clothes aren’t all black, though, since I’m put into a dark purple and grey striped bodycon dress. I’m put into perfect sparkly red high heels that elevate me up to 6 feet.

I’m thinking it’s a little cold though so Effie puts a long black trench coat on me. “Perfect” I say.

Effie gets teary and smiles before kissing me on the cheek, wishing me luck. I’m put onto a plate similarly to the one that rose me into the arena with my prep team and Effie and I wait for my cue. The anthem blasts through my ears and I can’t even understand what the lyrics are. Caesar Flickerman welcomes the audience and to be honest, I’m not listening to anything he says. I couldn’t care less.

I see Effie chattering with Proserpina and I can’t help but think of me and Merrilee. Proserpina and Vitus’s plates start going up and Effie sobs happily for her younger sister. Effie follows not long after and I hear a smattering of applause. Well, it’s my turn, I guess. The plate rises and I can’t hear anything with all the clapping, declarations of love and cheers.

I’m the star of Panem at the moment, and I can’t help feeling disgusted by it. I’m about to yell profanity at the crowd when the television infront of me turns on, showing the Games.

It starts with the footage aired months before the Quell began to announce the twist. I remember watching it with Merrilee and Asterid in the square, whispering something about his lips. It’s pretty much the same footage, but the lighting is edited so Snow looks more shiny.

After he announces that “every district will be required to send twice as many tributes to the Hunger Games,” they smash cut right to the reapings. I see Silka fight her way to volunteer and Panache pretty much punching people so he can volunteer. They pretty much rush through the reapings, with all the kids going to the slaughter, but District 12 is allowed a bit more time since it’s the victor’s home.

I give Drusilla on the screen a once over that gets everyone laughing and I shrug, rolling my eyes. She calls Louella and she marches up. Then it’s my name. I see Asterid and Merrilee clutching me in the crowd. The Capitol audience starts sniffing, but I remain emotionless and disconnected. Wyatt. Then Haymitch. I’m surprised how clean the footage looks. I mean, there was literally bits of Woodbine’s head on the ground. I guess they covered it up? Lenore Dove, the rebel, is standing there, emotionless as she watches Haymitch go on the stage.

Ugh, it’s the parade now. District One is making ridiculous poses in their way-too-bright snot green outfits while we’re stuck in a coal miners get up. I make a comment on it since I’ve been so quiet and the crowd is practically dying for a remark.
“Somehow they look even worse on screen,” I say curtly, which gathers a lot of laughs.
Anyway, the parade scene is shorter than it actually was, probably to cover up Louella’s death. It’s about time for the interviews.

Caesar’s digs on the Careers have been edited out or shortened, probably to make them appear smarter. Meanwhile, most Newcomers are ignored, and the ones who are included are either the ones who don’t die in the bloodbath (Ampert, Wellie) or the ones who stumble and stutter like the teachers at school. I start off District 12 and I get two insults in the final cut. I can see the money man and cat woman covering their faces with glee and embarrassment when I insult them on the screen. Wyatt is completely skipped and Lou Lou literally gets five seconds of screentime and it’s just her snake hissing. Haymitch gets one remark in but I’ve stopped listening.

Oh look, we’re in the arena now. It’s from the POV of a...girl? I realize from the positions of everyone once she rises that it’s Lou Lou’s POV. They must’ve added cameras in that poor girl’s eyes. Does that mean the Capitol was also watching us through her? How many rebellious remarks of mine did they catch?

I’m trying not to think of it when the bloodbath happens. Wyatt gets stabbed by Panache, trying to save Lou Lou and I see myself fighting and then follow Lou Lou to protect her. I also get a pack. But I feel detached from all the action, especially with all the Newcomers dead in the first two minutes. Only two Careers fell in the bloodbath, both from District 5.

I see two more Careers die and I see a shot of Haymitch wandering around. Lou Lou leaves the Newcomer base to try finding Haymitch and I leave a little later to try finding her. I see myself shooting Loupe and I watch him fall to the ground on the screen, emotionless. The audience cheers when I kill him, which I find disturbing.

I‘m wandering around when I see a bush of poisonous berries. I apply them to my darts and look around. They also show shots of Haymitch fighting squirrels and Lou Lou’s death. Ampert gets eaten alive and a singular tear finally falls down my cheek, though it doesn’t smear my makeup. Who knows what substances were put into that Capitol makeup.

The volcano on screen starts to rumble before it finally explodes. They do a brief showcase of all the tributes affected by it, from Ringina’s minor burns to Camilla’s burning excuse of a body. Then they show me, with an ugly reddish black patch on my left arm. In real life, it was more brown than the ugly shade on screen. Maybe they’re trying to add more suspense? It’s a little over the top.

I watch myself limp my way to the corpse of a District Two tribute, who I believed to be Janus, and steal his first aid kit, finding burn cream and applying it to my left arm. It was lucky that I’m right-handed.

They cut to Haymitch with the three Careers and show his whole cocky speech to Panache. I hear the crowd boo and cheer a little, so he might’ve had mixed opinions here in the Capitol. I try smiling when I shoot Panache, but honestly I just want to throw the television in Caesar’s artificial face when it happens. I do not want to relive this.

“I guess you just proved that,” Oh, Haymitch, I’m horrified to be sitting here.

Me and Haymitch look out for each other but I notice they’ve cut out the part where we talk about being the worst victor. My legs are quivering and I look up to see Snow himself on a balcony above the audience. He gives me a knowing look and gets back to his caviar. The nerve.

Silka and Maritte take out Ringina and Autumn, which I’d say is accurate what to really happened. The porcupine mutts are shown, though they’ve erased me and Haymitch coming to the injured tribute’s aid. But then things take a turn when the Gamemaker’s deaths are completely skipped. How does no one remember these parts? Did they just show Wellie instead when these events happened?

Speaking of Wellie, we do see her occasionally, though not all the time. I hear someone in the front row chatter to a friend, saying, “Weird. Wellie was shown a lot more when this was live. They skipped a few scenes that took place before,” confirming my suspicions. Knew it. Haymitch and me head straight to the bush and start incinerating the ladybugs. I cringe a little at my off-pitch singing. We reach the edge of the arena and Haymitch announces that he’s getting the potatoes. Well, we’re heading to Haymitch’s death. I’d prepare myself mentally, but I’ve been feeling so detached that I probably don’t need to.

I prove myself right. They show the birds stabbing Haymitch and me running to his aid, though they’ve muted all dialogue we’ve spoken to each other, replaced by some hideous somber soundtrack. They’ve somehow manipulated the audio so Haymitch lets loose an insane scream, even though that didn’t happen. The audience is cheering and teary-eyed, though I feel empty.

It’s the next day and they show me running to comfort Wellie’s last moment and skip straight to Maritte getting attacked by the squirrels. No matter that she’s been long dead by this time. Does no one remember? Do they just not care? They must’ve remembered seeing her and Haymitch in the sky together just before this moment, didn’t they?

Finally, I make it to the Cornucopia and the showdown with Silka begins. In real life, it was much more anti-climatic. But in this version, they’ve edited a few bruises leaking blood on my legs. For what? To make me seem weaker? For suspense?

I’m so lost in thought that I miss Silka’s horrid end and the trumpets declaring me a victor. The camera goes upward to get a birds-eye few on the arena. A giant eye. The Cornucopia is the pupil, the wide circle of green meadow the iris, et cetera. It’s a fun design for the Capitol crowd but a terrifying message to the districts. The Capitol is always watching us.

Does that mean they know about how many anti-Capitol words I’ve yelled in the Training Center? In the arena? Will I get punished for this? A slow, “accident” on live television?

President Snow walks up to me and shakes my hand. He takes my fedora hat off, which I’ve forgotten I was even wearing, and put a golden crown on my blonde hair. Victors in the crowd bow and kneel.

He smiles and, in a quiet voice so the applause covers it up, says,
“I want to speak to you at the party.”

The after-party in held in the ballroom of his mansion. I’m shoved into a giant golden birdcage on display for the attending guests. But I don’t submit to them. I stick out my tounge, push people near my cage when no ones watching and insult them in such a tone that no one can believe it’s “just playful”. I want them all to die, poisoned and writhing on the ground as the blood leaks out of their heads. Their eyes blank and unresponsive, foaming at their puffed up lips, shivering in the unforgiving cold-

“Tibby, unlock Miss Donner’s cage for me. I’d like to have a talk with her on her...victory,” announces Snow.

The guests cheer as I’m unlocked and I scratch Tibby’s hand as he nervously guides me to Snow. Snow takes my hand and puts me in a room with two chairs and one table, and closes the door. I see some Peacekeepers watching us intently in the room.

Chapter Text

“Miss Donner, do you have any idea why you’re here?”

My throat burns but I hold my gaze. All I do is shake my head, a glare erupting from my eyes.

President Snow raises an eyebrow and takes a piece of paper out of a cabinet. He puts it on the table for me to see. I realize it’s a family tree. At the very top, there are three names. From left to right “Barb Azure Baird” “Maude Ivory Baird” and “Lucy Gray Baird”. I know one of the names. Barb Azure Baird, Burdock Everdeen’s grandma. She never stops talking even when no ones around. I didn’t know she had siblings. Weird that they all have middle names. And is it just me, or is there a dried tear on Lucy’s name? All the Baird’s are connected by a line with the word “cousins” underneath. Huh, guess I was wrong. But on the left of Barb-whatever-the-rest-of-her-name-is’s name is a dotted line with a heart connecting Barb to another name. And I realize I know that name. It’s my grandma’s name.

What the heck? My grandmother was sweet on Burdock Everdeen’s grandma, of all people? But there’s more.

I see my mother’s name underneath my grandma’s name, a vertical line connecting the two. I see mine and Merrilee’s name underneath my mother, two similar lines connecting both of us to hers. This is definitely a family tree. He must see how confused I am since he smiles while inching his head closer to mine across the table. I can smell the bloody perfume, see every inch of his disgusting, powdered and plastic face, every stitch on his puffy lips, every wrinkle and bruise, every cavity deep in his white rotting smile.

“There must’ve been a lot of thing your grandma didn’t tell you,” he says. But I’m just confused. His face hardens and he points to Lucy’s name. “Did your grandma ever mention A GIRL WHO LIKES TO SING WITH LONG BLACK HAIR?” His sudden outburst even causes the Peacekeepers behind me to flinch. I hold my glare, sweat running down the back of my neck. “Never,” I manage out.

He grabs my nose and our faces are practically touching at the minimal distance. His breath is warm and sweet, artificially enhanced. “Y’know, if you’re lying, you’re just gonna doom the rest of your short, spoiled life,” he hisses out.

I should be scared, but I just feel empty. I look down at the paper and look to see if I’ve missed anything. And I see it. A single vertical line connecting Maude’s name to another name underneath. And I know that name.

“Lenore Dove Baird,” I blurt out. Snow smiles insanely and laughs, a throaty sound with a little bit of pain. “Lenore. Dove. Baird. Does my favourite criminal KNOW SOMETHING?”

The Peacekeepers run out the room, but I’m still confident.

“Y’know, it’s egregious by how much you’re obsessin over this girl, who seems to have been, a district singer. I never thought you put that much care into us district piglets, especially since you send us to the death yearly. Who was she, someone you were sweet on? No wait, that’d be impossible, considering you’re Capitol. Was she...a rebel?”

President Snow hisses and tries calming himself down. But it’s no use, his eyes are beyond repair, with the betrayal and anger deep in his eyes I know are directed to some mystery girl long before my birth. He rips the family tree and gets another paper from the cabinet, but thinks against it and puts it back. I briefly saw two words on that paper, written in an angry red pen: Sex worker. I don’t know what that means, but I assume he meant it for me.

“You are excused, Miss Donner. It’s clear you don’t know anything, despite your-“ I run out of the room, relieved before he finishes.

The party’s almost over. I’m allowed to stay out my bird cage for the final minute. I bump into someone in a dry, ugly, sparkly grey suit, and I recognize him. Plutarch Heavensbee, someone who might’ve just been a Capitol mutt by how he acts around us.

“Hey, I know you’ve had a rough day, but I need to talk to you. Are you by chance, interested in-“

I run away from him, knocking down at least five plates of that artificial Capitol food. He calls my name twice but I’m not listening and find Effie. She’s apparently my new escort, and it’s definitely an upgrade from that heels wearing hag.

I sleep in the tribute apartment where I’m visited by the dead tributes in my dreams. Panache with his bloody neck, Silka with her rotting skin, Camilla with her burned skeleton, Lou Lou with her blue skin, and worst of all, Haymitch with the pool of blood leaking out of his mangled chest. I couldn’t save him, but I can save my other sibling. My real sibling. She still has a chance at a full life, while he’s frozen forever at sixteen.

The next few days are an endless cycle. Parties, interviews, fashion advertisements, going back to the tribute apartment, eating rolls and wine, sleeping, rinse and repeat. The life of a victor.

After ten days of this excruciating cycle, I’m finally shoved into a train back home. I get my bags and look into them. My necklaces. Haymitch’s flint striker. I’d forgotten I took it from his body to give to Lenore Dove. I’m dressed in my reaping clothes, the purple fabric shining in the sunlight. We stop once and I’m confused, when I see them. My fellow tributes.

The coffins on put on one singular cart, varying in size. One is half my height, grey and beaded with flowers. Louella. The second is about the same height as me, orange and implanted with a bloody scrip coin. Wyatt. And finally, a coffin about one or two inches taller than me, purple and scratched ruthlessly. Haymitch. Their bodies must be in the middle of decomposition, their spirits moved on. But we will all finish this journey together, just like how it started.

I’m surprised by how empty I feel. No tears, just a hollow head devoid of thoughts. It takes a full day to get back home. Midway, I’m served one last dish of crackers and wine. The Snow diet. We finally make it when I’m practically shoved out by an angry Peacekeeper. He probably missed out on his pay this week.

They wheel the three coffins after me and I’m blinded temporarily by the intense rays of sunlight. The dandelions on the brown grass. Home.

Chapter Text

She runs up to me before I get the chance to move a muscle. Orange nails, dark skin, a curly brunette head. Lenore Dove, Haymitch’s girl. I silently give her the flint striker I took during his last moments. A tear forms at her left eye. “Thank you,” she mutters and she starts to go. I swear I can hear her uncles yelling at her for leaving the house so suddenly.

After that, I go straight to my home and see that it’s completely empty. A sinking feeling erupts in my stomach. Where is my family? I head upstairs and see multiple Capitol attendants moving our stuff. He looks at me and immediately answers the questions on my mind. “We’re moving your stuff to your new home in the Victor’s Village,” he says quietly.

I calm down and exit the building. A flock of reporters ambush me and verbally attack me with questions, but I shoo them off with a tint of profanity. I’m done performing for those Capitol idiots. They will not use me anymore for their entertainment.

I go to the Victor’s Village afterwards. The Victor’s Village is the only part of District Twelve that could be mistaken for Capitol, but there’s a catch to it: only victors of the Hunger Games can live there. District 12 has had only one victor, but she won right before the Village was established during the time between the 10th and 11th Games. I wonder what happened to her. My grandma said she knew her but wouldn’t name her. “All I’ll say, is that she had a great voice,” was always her answer whenever I pressed her about it.

Anyways, I head to the house with the lights turned on and the big crowd. The crowd makes way for me and I stand next to my family at the door and embrace them one by one, starting with my sister. Tears actually come to her eyes.

“You actually made it back,” she chokes out. I smile. I look around in the crowd, hoping to see Asterid, and see that there’s been a camera recording us all this time. And Plutarch Heavensbee himself is the cameraman. “Cut,” he announces as the crowd disperse. I realize I recognize none of the people in the crowd. Must’ve been those damn Capitol reporters.

Suddenly, it all comes back to me. I have to be the worst victor Panem has ever seen. Burn the house down, refuse their gifts, tear down their scripts, yell rebellious comments, kill the ones working for the Capitol. And guess who’s working for them right infront of me? Plutarch.

I head into the new house as Plutarch tries making small talk with my family. “How’s the new house?” “Gorgeous,” my father replies with a very uncomfortable look. I go into the kitchen and grab a knife. I look out the window to make sure there’s no one looking in our direction. I head out the house and hold the knife behind my back. My mother looks at me nervously and says “Whatcha got there, Mays?” Oh, how clueless she is.

I can tell by Plutarch’s shift in expression that he understands what I’m trying to do to him. But he doesn’t yell or run. He simply says “Wait.” I’m enraged by his arrogance and I’m about to mince him like chicken meat when he takes something out of his pocket. A wooden circle with an orange design of a mountain. He flips it and shows the back of the wooden circle. There’s the number “51” straight on the center. He puts the circle back in his pocket and waves my family off. My mother and father sceptically go back in our new home but Merrilee stays.

“Drop the weapon,” he directs me. I squint at him instead but change the position of my knife to a more defensive position. What does the circle mean? “Isn’t the orange I used such a nice, warm and rich shade?” he asks.
“What does it mean?” I demand. He chuckles and points to another house in the village. A ruined one with orange graffiti saying “No Capitol, No Reaping”.

That’s when I know. He shares something in common with Lenore Dove. The orange design. Her orange paint and fingernails. The very secret I know about that I use to bribe her. And that truth surprises me more than any trick the arena had to offer. He’s a rebel as well.

Chapter Text

I gasp and point at him almost accusatory as I drop my knife. It makes a thud on the coal dusted grass. Plutarch grins like he’s been waiting for me to understand. “Come, Maysilee. We have lots to talk about. I’ve seen your spirit. You-“
“Excuse me for this, but WHAT are you trying to do with my sister? She just got back from that damned Capitol and now I see you, a Capitol cameraman, trying to take her away from us once again?” yells Merrilee.
She’s on the line of hysteria. I’d have forgotten she was still standing there, still as a statue. She’s shaking and I finally know how much I worried her when I was in the Games. I honestly didn’t think anyone cared when I got picked and it breaks my heart seeing her like this.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere until he explains,” I say quickly to calm her down. That just sends her into a fit of screaming that causes my parents to come out of the house. Plutarch mouths out “post-games trauma” and my parents immediately understand. I wonder how many friends and family members of theirs must’ve been lost in the reaping. Anyways, they escort Merrilee into our house and shut the door tight, leaving me with Plutarch.

“Explain,” I say tightly. He looks around cautiously, almost like he fears that we’re being recorded. He takes my hand and pretty much drags me into the woods. Lucky that the electrical fence is almost never charged.
“Have you ever felt like the Capitol treats you all unfairly?”
“No, I actually think it’s fun for two of us to be sent to the slaughter like dirty pigs every year,” I say sarcastically. “Of course I’m pissed at them, and I’m sure I’m not the only one. Every district hates them.” He’s asking such idiotic questions.
“Then why don’t you all right back?”
Has he not seen me?
“I definitely HAVE been fighting these past two weeks, ever since I got reaped.“
“Yes, I’ve seen that. But what about everyone else? You guys outnumber the Peacekeepers massively. Do they go out in the square and throw bricks and shoot down the Peacekeepers?”
My throat is tight and I’m getting the feeling he’s trying to trick me into saying stuff that’ll lead to an arrest. No, he’s a rebel. He won’t snitch on you to Snow. But that thought is still skeptic, he could be tricking me. But y’know what? Who cares.
“No, they don’t. Because they’re all scared.”
“I’m not scared of them,” a distinctly female voice says to my right. Me and Plutarch jerk our heads to the direction of the voice and a bundle of dark brunette hair appears from the trees. Dappled green eyes, dark skin and a C shaped flint striker with a snake and bird design. Lenore Dove.

“Ah, Lenore. A pleasure seeing you this afternoon,” remarks Plutarch casually.
“My name’s Lenore Dove, not Lenore,” fumes Lenore Dove. I can tell she’s frightened since she doesn’t know Plutarch is a rebel yet.
“Fine, Lenore Dove. Would you like to join our conversation? I know for a fact that you’re the one who burned down the flag four years ago, so no sense hiding your rebellious spirit,” offers Plutarch.
“That proves my theory of you Capitol officials listening in on us,” remarks Lenore Dove.
I’m feeling left out of this conversation so I elbow Plutarch. He makes a sort of choking sound like he remembered the main intent of the conversation.
“Have you guys heard of the Dark Days?” he suddenly questions. I tiredly nod but Lenore Dove is launching into a full analysis on the war passionately. Plutarch literally has to cut her off.

“If the districts back then could spark a whole civil war back then, what’s stopping us from doing it again?” he says abruptly. I’m thinking about what he said when Lenore Dove cuts in.
“I’m not confirming anything, but just why would a Capitol man like you—“ she glares at him accusatory, “—be asking us questions about rebellion?” she finishes. The level of drama in her voice makes the whole thing seem like a rehearsal for one of her drama classes at school. I would know, it’s hard to ignore her booming voice in the halls.

There’s a long pause. “Playing it smart, eh? That’s just what we need,” answers Plutarch. Lenore Dove and I share a look of deadly confusion. Why WOULD a Capitol guy be interested in rebelling? All three of us share a minute of silence until Lenore Dove finally speaks. Her voice is weak with despair. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you trying to rebel? Don’t you help the Games? The same ones that killed my-“ her voice chokes off with a sob and she doesn’t finish her thought. But I know what she was about to say.

I’m forgetting that I have the ability to speak so I try taking Lenore Dove’s side. “He meant a lot to her,” I say simply. I pat her shoulders. I can see the gears in Plutarch’s Capitol brain turning. His face hardens.

“Exactly. The Games take all that’s good from us, from family, friends, offspring and yes, lovers. You pretty much answered your own question. I want to rebel to end the suffering for everyone. And I know you two may think that I’m going to betray you and get you in prison, but I want you to consider that we may be more similar than you think,” Plutarch sighs when we don’t say anything and hands me two walkie-talkies for “if you two ever change your minds.”

He gets up and walks back to District Twelve. I give Lenore Dove her talkie as I examine mine. It’s dark grey tool with multiple orange buttons and functions. I’ll ask one of those Chance boys about it, they know everything about machinery. On the back of the tool, there is a “13” in white. Thirteen? Is this the thirteenth model? Or...no, it couldn’t be. District 13 was blown up, for heaven’s sake! Lenore Dove just chuckles when she sees the back of her talkie, like it confirmed one of her best theories. It’s strange how she can change emotions so quickly.

“Looks like the Capitol’s propaganda isn’t limited to the present. It can ‘change’ the past,” she says. I roll my eyes and head back into my new house. My parents ask about the talkie and I just say Asterid gave it to me so we can do long-term communication. They don’t ask about Plutarch. Merrilee’s new room is locked and when I ask my parents about it they simply say “She needed some rest.”

I go to my room and put the talkie in a drawer a mover just placed. That’s when I see it. A dusty but sparkling circle of pure gold, a bird in flight in the center holding a shiny arrow in it’s beak. Not one single scratch. My mockingjay pin.

Chapter Text

I’m brought back to my thirteenth birthday. My father came in with two small boxers in purple and pink ribbons respectively. He had said “Guess what’s inside, my little baby birds.” Merrilee had guessed a bicycle bell while I had guessed a new necklace. He opened them and Merrilee’s eyes shown with joy. Sparkly, pure-gold, smooth bird pins. The first one was of a mockingjay facing left. The second one was of a hummingbird facing right. I remember I had wanted the hummingbird one but my father handed it to Merrilee. I don’t remember it all too well, but my parents recall me throwing a tantrum and me practically shoving my mockingjay pin into that drawer, never to be seen again. Until now.

I’m about to pick it up when I feel something itching. Not an itch like the ones you get during a rash. A painful, stabbing jolt that emits a yelp out of me. I look at my purple dress they gave me. The same one I was reaped in, right? Right?

My parents come in the room, concerned after overhearing. my sudden yelp. That’s when I remember. We had just been waxed painfully by our prep teams, this was before the Games, before the interviews, even before that chariot ride that stole Louella’s life but not her name.

“Where’s the dress I came in?” I had demanded. “I can pin it back together.”
“Already burned,” responded a Peacekeeper.

If they had already burned my reaping dress, then what dress am I wearing now? They told me it was exactly the same thing I wore back then, but clearly they didn’t know about this Peacekeeper’s response. The itching converts to pure pain and I rip the dress off, leaving me clad in my long white Capitol leggings and a black bra. My parents gasp at my back.

It’s red and burned with the beginnings of black showing. I look inside my torn dress. The part that would touch my back is coated in a glossy, clear substance like clear glue. I sniff the substance carefully and it reeks of bloody white roses. Of course.

My parents are gasping and fussing over my back as Merrilee’s door across from mine unlocks and she steps out. Her face is red and her eyes are distant, her usually perfect hair messy and tangled. Her fists have clearly been used, probably to wreck a pillow or something. She faints at the sight of my red back.
“We need to get you some medicine,” says my mother simply. Here I come, Asterid.

It was nice seeing Asterid again, even under these circumstances. When I showed her my injury she didn’t panic or faint. She just examined it and put some smooth lotion on it. That’s the thing about Asterid. When there’s a patient, she doesn’t waste any second. Then she gave me a small white container that smelled like grassy herbs. When I handed over the money, she had whispered, “50% off discount. For being strong,” and handed half the money back.

The next few days were agony, and not just from my back. I had attended the funerals of Wyatt, Louella and Haymitch in that order with my family. One of Louella’s sisters had told me that Wyatt’s father had hung himself from shame when Wyatt died. Go figure. When Louella’s funeral occurred, all I could think about is that if it was really Louella in there or if it was Lou Lou.

The hardest one was Haymitch’s, due to my personal moments with him and our alliance. I tried not to look at the Abernathy’s but they were hard to ignore. Willamae was shaking and trying to keep it together for Sid. Sid was sobbing on the ground clutching the coffin and making sounds like a wounded pig. That whole day was a huge blur and the only other thing I remember from it is dropping to the ground and ugly crying when we went back home.

Later that day I gave a portion of my winnings to all the dead tribute’s families. The Callows has refused it. The McCoys tried saying no but I convinced them. Willamae refused but I snuck some cash in Sid’s pocket. I even gave some to the Chances, even if I didn’t like Woodbine. No one deserves to see a loved one die.

My back finally went back to normal the next day since I consistently applied the cream Asterid gave us. It is nothing but a baby-pink splotch with a very herbal smell. I yawn and wipe the tears away from

I get up from bed and pour myself a steaming cup of coffee. It’s a windy day and cold for the summertime so I need all the heat I can get. Plus, I just enjoy coffee.

Through the window I see a flock of mockingjays land on the branch of a distant tree. They start singing and I know what song they’re re-enacting. The Goose and the Common, some poem-turned-song Lenore Dove used to sing. I would know, since when I was seven my ears almost bled one day overhearing her. She was that loud. But why would the mockingjays being singing this specific song right now? I haven’t heard Lenore Dove sing it ever after a Peacekeeper stopped her that one time she attracted a crowd singing that song. But I come to the conclusion that it’s simply not my business. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.

The mockingjays are still singing when I remember. The pin.

“Do they? Well, if I escape the Capitol and survive, maybe I’ll give that pin a second chance,” I remarked.
“If you don’t, I’m sure Lenore Dove would be happy to take it off your hands,” Haymitch had said.

Lenore Dove would have far greater use to that pin than me. Maybe I should give the pin the life it would’ve never gotten with me. I grab the pin from my drawer and put it on. It shines violently, even though the sun is covered by a cloud.

I head over to the Covey’s house, my heartbeat matching the song the mockingjays are singing. I get multiple looks as I manage my way across the Seam, ranging from cold to sympathetic to determination to pride to something I could only describe as rebellion.

I’m at the edge of the Seam when I see the small wooden house Haymitch’s love calls home. I knock on the door and I’m answered with a startled pale, brunette man. I think his name was Clerk Carmine?
“What are you doing here,” he asks simply after a long pause. Is that sweat dripping down his forehead? “Looking for your niece, I want to give her something,” I glance at my pin over my heart and he relaxes. I only now get why he was so afraid. He must’ve seen the way I could kill in the arena. Then his face changes to a more guarded and hiding expression as he replies.
“She’s in the Meadow,” and he goes back to cooking some type of stew. He realizes he forgot to shut the door and he goes back awkwardly to shut it. I can’t help chuckling as I make my way to the grassy Meadow.

Ah, the Meadow. One of the only genuinely pretty places in this whole District, even better than what the Capitol could offer. I’m not a nature person, but the Meadow feels more natural and true compared to the grey and dusty buildings of the Seam, and the bright, eye-damaging hues of the mess known as the Capitol. You’d think places with more money would have better sights, but apparently the Capitol defies that way of thinking.

I see Lenore Dove’s bookbag and follow the trail of stepped on grass. Must be where she walked. That’s when I hear a woman’s voice.
It isn’t Lenore Dove’s voice, that’s for sure. It’s clearer and deeper than hers could ever be, sweet as honey. From where I’m at I can only hear a distant murmur, but that murmur outdoes any note Lenore Dove could hit. I hear Lenore Dove’s distraught voice and the woman’s voice replies in a comforting tone. They finish up their conversation and I see Lenore Dove’s brown hair come out of the bundle of trees.

Her face, with a small tear-stain, lights up in surprise and then shifts into a very guarded, almost mad, expression. “Why do you come here of all places, Maysilee? I thought you weren’t a nature person,” she glares at me and I see that she’s holding some type of accordion. She has her own accordion but this one clearly isn’t hers since it’s scratched up and looks older. Plus, it’s blue, not brown.

I sigh involuntarily. I can’t help glaring at her back for no good reason. We’ve never gotten along. “I was going to give you this pin, but since you acted all snobby like that I guess I’ll just keep it for myself,” I remark crossly. Why not? I think I’d wear it better than her, anyway.

She runs up to me suddenly and grabs my shirt. “You can’t tell any single soul you saw me back there. I swear, if you do, my spirit will hunt down your own until you wither away and die. No rest. Got that?” She gets her book bag and runs off to her house. Damn. I guess I’ll just keep the pin for myself.

Chapter Text

I had just got home when I saw him. Tall, brunette, and freckle-faced. Consiliarius “Siliar” Undersee, the guy who always has a prank or joke up his black sleeves. One time he’d snuck into Mayor Allister’s house and dumped a beehive down her toilet. Still can’t believe he hadn’t been caught yet. Anyways, I’m not fond of him, despite him and Merrilee being in a relationship for a month now. He’s too cocky and wild for me to like him.

“Who’s he?” I ask evasively, pretending I had forgotten his ignorant face. Merrilee just stands there, with a very conflicted look on her face. She’s too good for him and she should know that. Finally, she answers me.
“Don’t you remember Siliar? We’ve been-“ she blushes, “dating for a month now!”
Siliar just stands there, smirking. Ugh, I’d love to give him a taste of our frying pan. It’d leave a nice, red bruise on his “perfect” forehead.

I roll my eyes. “Well, I’ll be in my room if you need me, Sis,” I sneer, not bothering to address him. “Won’t you say hello to me?” Siliar says. I glare at him and lock my door, ignoring my sister’s yelps. The nerve of him.

In my room, I put on the pin and look in the mirror to see if it compliments my outfit well. The gold is striking on my white shirt and brown, unzipped jacket, but not anything too special in my opinion. I sigh and try figuring out the walkie-talkie Plutarch gave me. It doesn’t look exactly like the ones in history books, it seems more...modern.

After a good five minutes I give up and throw it on my bed in anger. Why would anyone invent something that’s too complicated for use? I don’t get how mechanics think. Then there’s a knock on my door.
“Hey, Mays! Would you, uh, want to join us in a game of charades?”
It’s my sister. She always uses charades as a way to lighten the mood. But I’m not in that specific mood to play.
“Who’s ‘us’,” I ask.
“Me and my boyfriend,” she stammers.
“No.”
“Would you have played if he wasn’t here?”
“Leave me alone,” is all I say.
She doesn’t reply, instead she sighs. I hear Siliar laughing across the hall and I groan. That just make him laugh more. Merrilee starts scolding him and he cockily shoves it off. See why I don’t approve of him yet?

Suddenly, the walkie talkie starts buzzing. I click a random button and the buzzing is replaced by a man’s voice.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t try again next year, Beetee. I’m saying that it could be dangerous after this year! It was a complete mess and Haymitch was too impulsive. I mean, killing a Gamemaker? What was he thinking? I get he was only sixteen but...ugh, forget it.”
I know that voice. Plutarch. F*cking. Heavensbee. “Looks like you’ve got the wrong person, Plutarch,” I yell into the talkie. There’s a long pause.
“Maysilee! What a pleasure to finally hear you use this talkie! Now-“
“What were you doing with Haymitch? Were there any more tributes you guys manipulated during the Games? Tell me. Now.” I demand.
“Keep your voice down, your house is bugged!” he exclaims. “I’m already trying to delete the footage and audio the cameras got from your house in the last hour! Go outside to the Meadow or something and then I’ll tell you.”
“How did you know I was in my house?”
“I’m literally looking at your house cameras right now. How do you think I know?”
“Fine, I’ll go to the damn Meadow as long as you answer,” I yell.
I unlock my room door and walk silently out of the house. Siliar and my sister are sharing a glass of orange juice and are trying to make conversation, but I don’t listen. In two minutes I reach the Meadow.

“You better get talking, Plutarch. Or else next time you see me, I won’t be all glitter and parties,” I verbally threaten him.
He laughs and mutters “Just what we need for a revolution.” I cannot be more pissed than I am right now.

“Okay, where do I begin? Haymitch...well, he had a rebellious heart, that’s for sure. Y’know how Beetee was a mentor last year? Well he slipped some plans that were...let’s just say not great for the arena’s well being. Haymitch saw interest in them and practically begged to be apart of it. Okay, maybe not begged, but asked. Oh, silly me! I always mix ‘asking’ with ‘begging’-“

“Hurry up and get to the damn point,” I say. I really want to chuck this talkie into Plutarch’s squeaky throat.
“Fine. Y’know that flint striker he had around his neck? He used that to try blowing up the arena. He was so close, you could see the real night sky. But unfortunately, the Gamemakers managed to get a hold of the arena once again. They used that artificial volcano to cover-up the explosions,” Plutarch sighs but I’m just thinking of more questions. “Why would breaking the arena help the rebels?”
“Ah, Maysilee. You still have a lot to learn. See, breaking the arena would allow us in District 13 — yes, it exists — to send in a hovercraft to free the remaining tributes. Less tribute deaths can’t be a bad thing, am I right? Anyways, that could send the Capitol into chaos. They’d likely cut the Games broadcast and that’d leave the Capitol citizens wondering what happened. But the districts would know. With luck, such a public display of rebellion would send the other districts into a large-scale war with the government, especially if the Games —the main thing the Capitol does to control and inspire fear into our districts— were shown to be destroy-able. And if we rebelled and overthrew the Capitol, the rebels would stop future Games immediately. That is why it would help,” he finishes.
I sit on the Meadow grass in silence, digesting his words. Large-scale rebellion. Fear. Destroy-able. A future without the Games. No more fear.
I’m trying to figure out if he’s lying or not, but there’s genuine passion in his voice. But I have to play things safe.
“How do I know I can trust you? How do I know that you’re not lying about the rebels?”
He laughs. Long pause. What’s so funny?
“I didn’t think you were that passionate about rebelling,” he says simply.
“Excuse me?” But he ignores me.
“You’d be a great asset.” His voice takes on a distant tone, similar to Wyatt when talking about odds.
“You’ve got the fury, the power, the skills and the endearing likability. The only thing you don’t have is the support,” he says absently, like he’s figuring something out. Silence.
“Are you still there?” I demand.
“Call me later, I’m figuring something out,” is all he says.
“I don’t even know how to operate this damn thing!” I exclaim. But he hangs up.
Damn it.

Chapter Text

The next five months are a boring mixture of interviews, visits from my sister’s boyfriend, slamming and locking doors, and trying and ultimately failing at using the walkie talkie. So, it came to my surprise when my escort, Effie Trinket, barged into my house when I was in the middle of an argument with Siliar.

“Maysilee!” she screamed right as I was critiquing his dry, almost bald, hair.
My sister gives her a startled look and yelps. Siliar just looks confused and annoyed.
“We have prepare for your tour photoshoots !” Oh, damn it. I had completely forgotten about the annual Victory Tour.

The Victory Tour is an event that takes place six months after the last Hunger Games, and (obviously) six months before the next. The most recent victor goes on a sort of “tour” to every district, reading Capitol scripts and screeching propaganda for the president.

I’ve never paid attention whenever the Victor’s come to our district, since it’s not really much of a show. Plus, the Capitol words coming out of their mouths are insufferable.

Effie practically drags me upstairs into the bathroom. “Wait here, I’ll go get our preps,” squeaks Effie. I roll my eyes as Proserpina and Vitus come in the room and the lock the door. They greet me as they style my hair long and smooth upon request. They wax my arms and legs, leaving me barer than Siliar’s head. During this process, Proserpina and Effie make small talk as Vitus occasionally joins in. They’re chatting about parties and food and it’s not very interesting, until Proserpina says this.
“How’s your...project going, Effie?”
“Oh, it’s hard, considering I’m not much of a genius in the legal department,” Effie sighs. But she isn’t done.
“But, y’know, she’s almost like another little sister to me, I can’t let that happen to her!” I just pretend I’m not listening.

Proserpina looks confused and mutters “Isn’t she a district girl? Why do you care so much about her? I know she won and all that, but-“
“You don’t get it! It’s...hard to explain. But we’re so similar, and I feel like she really understands me!” screeches Effie.
Vitus cuts in. “She’s still district, Effie. You don’t have to put so much effort for something inevitable.”
Effie just sighs and mutters “Both of you don’t understand,” while finishing my make-up.
Who is this girl Effie’s putting so much effort for? From what Proserpina said, it seems like she’s a victor. I thought it was me, but I seriously doubt it.
No one in the Capitol would care that much about me, and if they did, I’ll personally make sure they stop caring. They don’t deserve any of us.

My prep team gathers their stuff and exits my house, while Effie and I go into my living room. Merrilee and her boyfriend are pushed outside by some Peacekeepers as Plutarch and the camera crew invades my home. My parents, who spend most of the day sleeping and working, come out of their room and are also pushed out.

I spend the next few hours in agony. Doing lewd poses infront of some type of screen that’s coloured an ugly shade of green, lip syncing to advertisements, doing the advertisements myself, et cetera.

Plutarch makes no reference to our conversation on the talkie months ago, which is either because he’s playing smart or he just doesn’t care anymore. I like to think it’s the latter, but it’s probably the former.

The camera crew finally leaves my house but Plutarch stays behind, telling the crew that he’s “admiring the architecture in this house first”. Yeah right. He goes upstairs and gestures for me to follow him.
“Fine,” I mutter. He goes into my room and picks up the talkie.
“Ah, isn’t this such a nice machine? Seems like some sort of radio, right? I knew you loved music,” he says. He winks and I know he’s trying to be evasive for the hidden Capitol cameras in my house. So I follow his lead.
“Yes, it’s a fine machine I got at the local grocery store in town. It’s a shame that I can’t get it to work. I’ve tried everything!” I sigh convincingly and I know that he knows.
“Well, I have to get going soon. Could you be a lady and show me the Meadow, first? I love anything nature-related!” Be a lady? I’m anything but lady-like!
But I oblige.
“Of course,” I answer simply. His face brightens as we make our way to the Meadow, ignoring the camera crew. Once we make it, his face shifts to serious.
“Maysilee, are you an idiot? You have to hold this button to dial a call. He presses a grey button on the back and the talkie buzzes with life, much to my surprise.
“What? I pressed that exact button, like twelve hundred times over the past few months! How’d ya get it to work?”
He sighs. “You have to hold on it, not just a singular click.”
My face burns. “You’re telling me, I was doing all those button combinations, and the solution is as simple as that? Oh my-“
“Well, I have to get going soon. For real. Just remember, hold that button to start a call, press the “PH” button on the screen if you want to talk with me, and hold that button again to end a call. Period.”

He runs off and I’m left there in the grass, astonished. I hear a distant yell.
“By the way, good luck on your tour!” Then I hear a car starting and driving away.

I head back home and I’m greeted by my very nervous family, plus Siliar. I sigh.
“They were just shooting some promo pics for my Victory Tour in two weeks. Then Plutarch Heavensbee wanted me to show me around the district. That’s all,” is what I tell them. But Merrilee isn’t fooled, she knows there was more than just “showing him around the district”. She gestures for me to follow her outside and I do, leaving her boyfriend and my parents to make small talk.

“Do you know how much you worry us? Even my boyfriend’s worried, and he hates you!” Damn, straight to the point.
“I didn’t ask to be reaped, so how is it my fault!” I counter.
“And we didn’t ask for you to go running off with Capitol techies! Who knows what he could’ve done to you! You were alone with him, he could’ve hurt you!”
A chuckle escapes my throat. She knows less than I thought. She glares at me and swipes the walkie talkie from my arms.

“You’ve been like this ever since you got that damn talkie from that Plutarch guy! Remember when you tried murdering him and you ran off with him in the Meadow? Ugh, you’re so reckless!” She stomps inside to her room and slams the door, taking the talkie with her. I scream at her angrily but she doesn’t listen, which pisses me off.
“Why is she like this..” I mutter to the sky. The sky doesn’t respond.

We don’t talk to eachother for five whole days, glaring at eachother over the kitchen table. Her Undersee boyfriend comes over, but he’s reduced to a telephone between us.
“Tell Merrilee how much she smells and to get the peach pie.”
“Merrilee, you’re a wonderful girl I’m proud to be dating. Please get the peach pie.”
“Fine. Tell Maysilee I wish she trips on her shoelace and that she’s a bitc-“
“Maysilee, you’re a-“
“TELL MERRILEE I WISH I ATE HER IN THE WOMB.”

Finally, on the sixth day, she talks to me.
“Hey, Mays. You can have this back.” She hands me the talkie, giving me a pitiful look. I just stare at it, confused. Why is she giving me pity right now of all times? I don’t need pity. I just nod at her and smile.
She whispers “Good luck on your Victory Tour. Try not to trip and fall into the crowd, clumsy.” I playfully smack her arm and we’re back to normal. Phew.

Four days later, I’m packing my stuff and heading on the train. My parents sob as I reassure them that I won’t try getting myself killed by sassing the president. They give me suspicious looks and hug me. My sister just stares at me right in the eye and a tear trickles down her face. I hug her for a good minute when a Peacekeeper says that “The train will be moving in ten seconds. Hurry up.”

I say goodbye one more time and step on the train. Effie and my prep team are already on the train, obviously annoyed that I took so long with the goodbyes. Effie rolls her eyes and Proserpina looks at her, confused.
“Effie, you NEVER roll your eyes!” she exclaims. Effie gives me a knowing look.
Wow, Effie’s learning some “manners” from me.

Chapter Text

“Isn’t this such a wonderful table?” Effie attempts to start a conversation.
“I mean, the material? While I prefer mahogany, marble is still exquisite!”

Proserpina’s eyes light up at the mention of marble. “Why, yes! Marble is smooth, glossy and shiny! Just like mother’s face!” she squeals.

That sends them both into a flurry of exchanges on materials and gems. I’d join in, but I’m more of a fabric girl. I just stare at the wilderness out the window, wishing this was over. I can tell we’re no longer in District 12 territory, since the trees are getting taller and greyer, with bright lime-green leaves that are a pain to my eyes.

Vitus elbows me and shrieks.
“Stop doing that! You’re looking way too broody! We’re going to be live in District 11 soon, and the nation is expecting a comical, fiery fashion icon, not some broody princess obsessed with the wilderness!”

Fiery fashion icon? Really? I guess the camera crew was eager to film that fashion commercial, but I wasn’t really paying attention. They don’t deserve my attention. Vitus shakes his head vigorously in my face and I groan loudly, halting the Trinket’s conversation.

“Something wrong, Maysilee?” asks Effie. I roll my eyes in an exhausted manner and sigh out, “Only that Vitus is getting his rat breath in my face.”
Vitus’s face brightens and sputters, “Yes! That’s the victor I knew six months ago!”

Proserpina squeals in delight, muttering something about how many parties she’s able to attend. Effie, however, just gives a troubled look to Vitus.

“Y’know, you can’t force a-“ she sighs indignantly, “-personality as strong as hers.” With that Capitol accent, it’s a pain to understand what she’s even trying to enunciate. “She’ll come naturally, Vitus.” She gives me a very maternal glance. Wow, maybe she does care, in that twisted Capitol way of hers of course.

Vitus isn’t listening though, as he’s ordering a drink from a very scared Tibby.
I make eye contact with Tibby and he shrieks, grasping the hand I had scratched him six months ago. It’s definitely scarred. I almost felt bad, but then I remembered his people are betting on our deaths for fun. I curse him out under my breath. He runs away.

I excuse myself and go to my compartment. I pull out my walkie talkie from my pants pocket and I try activating it, doing that “hold” thing Plutarch did. The talkie buzzes to life and I stare at it in wonder. There’s two options on the screen, the top one saying “PH”. Plutarch Heavensbee. The other one says “Extra Talkie 2”.
I get curious and press the other option, the one that’s not for Plutarch. It buzzes once and a clear, high, voice yelps through the talkie.
“Who is this?” she yells. I hear the Meadow breeze through the talkie and I know the only person this could be. A memory resurfaces.

“Exactly. The Games take all that’s good from us, from family, friends, offspring and yes, lovers. You pretty much answered your own question. I want to rebel to end the suffering for everyone. And I know you two may think that I’m going to betray you and get you in prison, but I want you to consider that we may be more similar than you think,” Plutarch sighs when we don’t say anything and hands me two walkie-talkies for “if you two ever change your minds.”

Two walkie-talkies Plutarch gave us when I came back home. And then I gave her the other talkie.
“Looks like the Capitol’s propaganda isn’t limited to the present. It can ‘change’ the past,” she had said about the ‘ruined’ District 13 homage on the back. Lenore Dove.

“Thought you’d have still been in your home. Weren’t you on house arrest?” I sneer. I don’t even know why I’m mad.
She sighs with relief, realizing it’s just me, but then she gets confused at my comment.
“How do you know that? Only me, my uncle and Burdock...oh,” her voice takes on a pissed tone. “That dumb gossip, when I find him I will shove his bow up his coal-dusted little as-“ I hear a man’s voice yell at her and she gives a muffled reply to him. Must be one of her uncles.

“Was that Tam Amber?” I ask, trying to lighten the conversation. She makes a sobbing noise and screams at me before ending the call. Huh. Then I realize something.

When I went to her house to give her the mockingjay pin, I was answered by Clerk Carmine. I didn’t see Tam Amber at all in the home. I used to always see Tam Amber in town, trying some of our mint chocolate chip ice cream.
What did she say earlier in the call?
“...me, my uncle and Burdock...” Uncle. Singular , not plural. Oh. That’s why she was sobbing. Oops.
I brainstorm ways to make her feel better, like complimenting how much faster she is at figuring out the talkie (and it’s true, I still don’t know how to end a call) compared to me. I try calling her again but she dismisses it. Dang it.

After three hours I’m shoved out of my room by a very eager Effie, who exclaims that we’re in District 11.
She sighs about me not having a proper mentor to accompany me, as Wiress is ‘busy’ with speaking complications and Mags recently got a ‘fast-spreading virus that gives troubles with speech in District 4’.

Yeah right. Probably some Capitol attempt to cover up the real reasons why they can’t attend.

Anyways, I ask Effie if she’ll still be the stylist for District 12 next year, since she did such a great job during my Games, even though it was unofficial. She sighs.

“They chose me to be an escort instead, replacing that ghastly Drusilla due to no one else wanting the job. Oh well.” Oh. That sucks.
“Do you know who the stylist will be next year?” I ask.
“No, they don’t tell me much. But I should be happy I even got a job for the Games.”
“I bet you’ll be the best escort Panem has ever seen,” I try getting her mood up.
Her face brightens and I see the faintest of smiles on her face.
“You really think so?”
“I do. After all, a positive attitude is ninety-percent of the battle!” I hope that was enough to cheer her up. She smiles but doesn’t say anything else.

We exit the train and I step onto the District 11 station. It’s a ruined and rusty old thing, with dirt splattered everywhere. Peacekeepers shove us into a truck and Effie sniffs, commenting on how we’re being treated like wild animals. Plutarch is also in the truck, but I ignore him. I don’t feel like talking to him.

Finally, we’re escorted onto a big podium in Eleven’s town square. There’s a huge crowd, at least five times bigger than the reaping day crowd back in Twelve. Plutarch comments on how this isn’t even half of Eleven’s population before being escorted by Peacekeepers into the rusty Justice Building.

“That building looks better than Siliar’s teeth,” I mutter under my breath. Vitus barks a laugh, even though he has no idea who Siliar is. He and Proserpina are walked into the Justice Building by a teary-eyed Effie, who’s wishing me luck.

The mayor of District Eleven walks up on the podium and gives a scripted speech congratulating me. I look at the four stages for the District 11 tributes’ families since his speech is taking way too long.

Hull’s stage is consisted of a huge family, mostly young kids with adults clinging tightly to them. Chicory’s only has a tall man and a young boy who’s face is stained from tears. Buck had, who I’m assuming are, five siblings. All of them are in their late-teens. There’s no adults on his stage. And finally, Blossom has no one on her stage except for a little girl no older than three. The girl is crawling about without any emotion. Too young to understand. Where are her parents?

I try locating Lou Lou’s family and I see one young boy around five years old who greatly resembles her wandering in the crowd. Probably a brother. A Peackeepers shoves him into place which causes him to yelp and faint. Then I can’t stop myself.

“Hey! That’s a five year old! He’s not even old enough to be reaped! He doesn’t know what he’s doing-“ my mic gets cut off as there’s a murmur in the audience. Not angry. But shocked, even amazed.

The mayor stares at me, almost proud, and continues his speech. The Peacekeepers glare at me but I’m only looking for the five-year old who may be Lou Lou’s brother. He’s back on his feet and shrieking in delight at a woman who climbs on to him tight. She looks like Lou Lou too, but less so. Maybe an aunt?

Finally, the mayor completes his speech. Two little boys give me a bouquet of flowers as I prepare for my scripted Capitol speech. But instead of reading what Merrilee forced me to rehearse daily, I take the opportunity.

“F*ck the Capitol! F*ck everyone who condones our suffering! This is not what we call peace! Burn the flags down, strangle the Peacekeepers, kill-“ I get cut off as a Peacekeeper drags me into the Justice Building.

I bite his arm and his arms go wild, dropping me on the ground. The crowd is crazy, yelling in support, nervously whimpering and an angry groan that I know isn’t directed for me. My face is on the metal podium, slightly bruised, but I won’t let the Capitol defeat me.

I kick and scratch any official who tries shoving me away from public view, showing my middle fingers at them and then sticking said middle fingers in their eyes. Screeches and yelps fill my ears.

I hear multiple Peacekeepers yell “We’ve got five minutes! Subdue her and MAKE her say the speech!” It’s very close to what Drusilla said when Haymitch got picked as Woodbine’s replacement. No doubt they’re cutting the broadcast of this out, replacing it with some cheesy commercial or weather announcement. F*ck the Capitol.

The crowd is crazy, going on stage and trying to fight the Peacekeepers themselves. This is the first time I’ve ever seen such a big crowd publicly rebel. Shrieks of pain and mutilation are voiced. Gunshots are fired. Punches are exchanged. Teeth get knocked out. Blood gets splattered on the rusty podium. The mayor is scrambling, not knowing what to do.

I get a glimpse of a poor woman’s bruised face, one eyelid swelled shut. She screams as she falls off the podium and I know she has died. More screams come, most of them getting cut-off. Probably from death.

I fight my way through the Peackeepers and the raging crowd back to the microphone. I kick and tear clothes, blood getting splattered on my dress.
My limbs feel like a puppet’s controlled by an unknown force. The adrenaline is high.

A very young Peacekeeper, sixteen at most, gets onto the scene. He gets infront of me and pauses. He stares at me, a frightened expression on his face and I’m sure my face mimics his. It’s five seconds of a break as he backs away, giving me a path straight to the microphone. Then a district citizen punches his left eyeball and squishes it. He falls off the stage screaming. Then silence.

I grab the microphone and yell “Give them a piece of the Games!” before someone kicks my back. I stumble to the ground as everyone’s groans, shrieks and screams become one chorus of horrible gore.

I pant as I try getting up but a Peacekeeper covers my eyes and mouth. I black out, the screams fading to the background. The last thing I see is another batch of Peacekeepers arriving on the scene.

“You. Complete. Idiot.” I recognize the stupid voice. Plutarch. “What were you thinking? They’ll never let you free now. The Capitol, the government, Snow! You f*cked up your short life.” I slap his hand and go back to sleep.

I wake up. For good this time. We’re back in the train. I’m laying on a couch as Effie hyperventilates.
“Oh my word. They said they wouldn’t put her for sale after I won that legal battle. But then she does this! They could revoke her immunity. Her body, sold. Oh my word.”
“Don’t be silly. You won that battle fair and square. They can’t just remove all your efforts to save her!”
Oh. They’re talking about that mystery girl again. The one Effie cares so much for. The one who’s like a ‘little sister’ to her. Seems like Effie won some legal battle for her.

“Her body, sold.” She had said.
“What does that mean?” I blurt out. Effie and Proserpina look stressed but delighted.
“What does what mean?” Effie asks.
“Uh, what you just said? Her body, sold. Who are you two even talking about?”
Effie and Proserpina share a distressed look and leave the compartment.

Vitus stumbles out of the bathroom and says simply that “The Victory Tour has been delayed by a day. They said you fainted mid-speech. I’m glad you’re okay. By that way, last night I saw Plutarch explain something to Effie and Proserpina. Something about-“ he shivers, “-rebellion. You should ask him about that.” And now I’m certain that Plutarch explained what actually happened during my speech to the Trinkets.

I look down at my body as Vitus leaves. All my bruises have been covered up by makeup, some of them surgically erased. They did that to me when I won, erased all my scars and made me flawless, but I never appreciated it.

Plutarch walks in and sits down next to me. “Want some fresh air? I think you need some,” and then he drags me outside the train without my consent. Must be trying to have a conversation that’s not recorded.

“Okay, listen here. You can’t do stuff like that. You just can’t. You have to be more discreet and subtle. Who knows? Your family may be dead right now because of that.” He doesn’t yell at me, he just says it in a calculated, neutral tone. Then he goes back in the train.

I follow him and suddenly I get a call on my talkie from “Extra Talkie 2”. Lenore Dove. I answer and what she says chills me to the bone.

“Maysilee. There’s a fire in your family’s sweet shop. And they’re all inside.”

Chapter Text

My throat is a dry, hollow shell, delivering a raspy noise as I recover from the initial shock. My sweet family, burning as we speak while I’m miles away, helpless to do anything. Lenore Dove is about to leave the call, but I beg for more information.

“It started about a minute ago.” That’s when I woke up. “That Undersee guy your sister is sweet on? He spotted the smoke while holding some pink socks on the way there. Might’ve been a gift for your sis, I have no idea. Hold on, I’ll be right back.” Silence. I scream soundlessly. There is nothing I can do to help. Lenore Dove starts talking again.

“Okay, they just took the fire out. We’re trying to see if anyone survived the fire. I think I see-“ she cuts herself off with a light scream. What has happened?
When she talks again, her voice is tight with sympathy and shock.

“Your parents...their bodies are...” She can’t even say it. Melted, disfigured, black and charred. The call ends.

I drop the talkie and I bang my fists against the walls, screaming, “Get us back to Twelve!” My heart beats rapidly, trapped in the frail body I call mine. Just minutes ago my families’ hearts were beating, too. Now their hearts are silenced and burned.

I know for sure my parents have ceased from Lenore Dove’s usage of the word “bodies”. I scream at the nearest attendant and choke out a plead for the train to go back to Twelve. But he backs away, frightened. I am nothing but a rabid animal to him, my pleads more like threats and growls.

I’m certain the fire wasn’t accidental. It’s too perfectly timed with my public rebellion, ruination of the Capitol’s prided Victory Tour, and my waking up to hear the news immediately. I can almost smell the roses right now. The snow outside seems brighter and colder, like it’ll wither my legs to stumps once I make contact with them.

I’m screaming and sobbing so hard that they have to inject some liquid in my shoulder to calm me down. The last thing I see before I black out is Effie rushing to try comforting me. But she’s too late.

The tour is back on the moment I wake up, twelve hours later. I go back to the District 11 podium and I’m almost impressed by how clean they’ve managed to make it. There’s less people in the crowd now, all covered in thick clothes to cover up the bruises and injuries they’ve caught yesterday. I find my lips following the speech this time, but with no passion. More screw-ups like yesterday? Asterid’s probably in for a treat by Snow then.

The crowd doesn’t applaud when we finish, unlike most years. Instead, they put their middle fingers up to the cameras. I’m about to try getting another rebellion started but I remember what’ll happen if I do. I just try acting confused.

I get no more news on my family. My parents are definitely dead. My sister could be either long dead or alive. I probably won’t be able to attend the funerals because of this stupid tour.

The rest of the tour is a painful mess. District One is the hardest considering I killed three of their tributes directly. I can almost feel Loupe, Panache and Silka’s spirits clawing my back. Plutarch doesn’t speak to me about the rebellion anymore, while my prep team and Effie try cheering me up but they fail disastrously.

“I’m terribly sorry about your family. Something like that right on tour? Unbearable. I’m sure they loved you a lot and were so proud of your accomplishment,” says Effie one time.

“Exactly!” chimes in Proserpina. “Hey, at least they went out in such a nice way. I’ve always wanted my cause of death to be from fire. Such a bright and sizzle way to go out!”
I had almost smacked her in the eyeball.

At the end of the tour there’s a huge party in the Capitol. Effie personally escorts me there while Vitus and Proserpina decide to go later since according to them, “all the good food starts coming in the middle of it!”

Effie glances at me occasionally but doesn’t talk until I we’re close enough to see the president’s mansion.
“I just have to apologize...for the way I’ve thought of you tributes. And I have to say how much I care for you. If anyone tries convincing you to...do stuff with your body and you genuinely don’t want to do it, show them this paper.”
She hands me a small document and remains silent. I take it and shove it in my pocket.

The party is way different from my victory one. I’m not put in a damn birdcage, for one. There’s also more entertainers, like fire-swallowers, comedians and dancers showing off provocative moves.

Normally in town, a party would consist of a couple of close friends doing fun activities (gossiping, shopping, swimming, make-up, etc) with a variety of music playing in the background. There’d normally be some dessert, usually cake, and we’d go home afterwards. The Capitol though, has took that concept and pumped it to eleven, because what the heck am I witnessing?

There’s so much food in painful colours on the table that I almost faint. Creamy soups, shining greased meat, any vegetable you can name, all the desserts you could think of. In the Capitol, you can only be rich or very rich.

Multiple men come up to me and try flirting, all dressed in nothing but a skimpy garment just managing to cover their groins. I decline harshly to every single one of them but they share knowing grins. It’s all I can do to not punch their mouths. Instead I shove the document Effie gave me earlier in their faces and walk away.

Women do the same thing, wearing small bikinis and nearly getting close enough to kiss my lips. I push them away gently while showing them the same document, but in my mind I really want to shove them into the toilets people keep flocking to.

I see Plutarch and I really want to finally bring up the rebellion to him, but I’m cut-off mid sentence by an announcement from Snow himself.

“Miss Donner, can you follow me? I’d like to bring up a...job for you. Most of you people here already know what I’m talking about. Enjoy the rest of the party!” He smirks evilly and gestures me to follow him. The nearly naked men and women I saw earlier smile and laugh happily and I know he has some vile request for me.

I don’t shake or shatter though. I keep my chin up high and disregard everyone else as I make my way to follow Snow. If he’s going to kill me tonight, so be it. He can kill me, but he won’t defeat me. He directs me to sit in the very room we had our last meeting about, the one where he talked about my family tree. I check my seat to make sure there’s nothing threatening on it before I sit.

Snow takes a while to begin. He first sprays some blood red perfume on his face, the scent intoxicating and vile. Second, he grabs a document labelled “Sex worker.” So, this conversation isn’t about my rebellion after all. Finally, he makes sure his puffy hair is perfect. A gang of Peacekeepers walk in to make sure I don’t try physically assaulting Snow.
Then he starts speaking.

“My, you’ve grown quite a bit since we’ve last met! You’re an inch taller and your eyes are more defined. Perfect for what I’m about to offer you. Here, read this document.”

He hands me the ‘sex worker’ document, no matter that I still have no idea what those two words even mean. He gestures for me to read it. What it says shakes me to the bone. It explains just what sex worker means. And I don’t like it.

“Sex workers are desirable individuals who receive (any form of) payment in exchange for sexual services to please admirers regularly. This may include masturbation, kinks, touching, kissing, oral, anal, intercourse, et cetera. It is a prideful and sometimes mandatory position usually (but not limited to) Hunger Games victors, if considered desirable enough. It is an honour to be giving out such services. To please one Capitol citizen is a pride not many district citizens can claim to, and we’re honoured to offer you this chance. Would you like join the “Sexual Practices” program?”

Then there’s two checkboxes for yes or no underneath the vile words.
President Snow hands me a pen and gives me a threatening but calm look.
“Due to your youth, you won’t be allowed payment in the form of money. You may ask for anything else though. You have the right to decline this...but by doing so I cannot guaranteed immunity for any loved ones you hold dear, including yourself.”

But I don’t care or listen. I shove Effie’s document in his face and he analyzes it.

After a long time looking at it, he smiles and says “While it is wonderful Miss Trinket has tried offering herself up in your place for this sexual deal, unfortunately I have the ability to revoke her work and legal victory via presidential power. That means, this choice is truly all yours. Yes, or no?”

My heart sinks. Not just once. Effie tried giving up her own body just so mine has the chance to be safe? Was she really talking about me all those times? Legal battles for me? All for it to be revoked?

I have to honour her battle for me, and I have to honour my dignity. There is no way I’m going to agree to giving out my body for the damn Capitol.
My body, my choice.

“No,” I say as I circle the checkbox for said option. He sighs and smiles dangerously. “That was a mistake, young lady. But, there’s nothing I can do to stop you from keeping that decision,” he says almost mockingly.
“Enjoy the rest of the party. Don’t let the bedbugs bite tonight.” I stay silent and I’m escorted out by a female Peacekeeper who seems around my age.

Effie rushes up to me and I say simply that “I refused to sell my body,” which makes he sigh in relief. She hugs me. Nearby people make disappointed gasps upon hearing my words. One person yells “I was preparing myself for you, Maysilee!” which concerns me.

I stay near Effie and ignore Plutarch for the rest of night. I do this because I realize the building may be bugged and I don’t think a rope around my neck is very fashionable.

Finally, the party is over and I’m on the train ride home. I put my talkie in my pants pocket and make my way to the bed. It’s late at night and I allow myself to sleep. In my nightmare, the District One tributes tie me to a tree and decapitate my fellow District Twelve tributes. I can’t scream for some reason, some faulty dream logic.

Then Silka makes her way toward me and taunts me, but I can’t make out any words she says. She uses her axe to carve out a bleeding heart on my face and is about to swing it on me when I jolt awake.

The sun is shining violently in my face and I know we’re back home. I step out of the train and wave goodbye briefly to my overly emotional prep team. Then I hug Effie for a good minute and kiss her cheeks in a sisterly way. She tries not to cry but a tear spills out. The Peacekeepers escort me back to town.

I ignore anyone trying to start a conversation with me as I rush to the spot where our family sweet shop was. It’s in the process of being rebuilt but I can still see the charred wood and burnt candy on the ground. Something that looks like a burnt eyeball gets cleaned up by Peacekeepers and I stand there, frozen.

Asterid is there and she hugs me, not saying a word. My lips form the question that’s been bothering me ever since Lenore Dove’s call. “Merrilee?” I ask, my blue eyes burning into hers. Asterid simply points behind me, a tear of relief dripping down her face.

Merrilee is behind me, sitting in a wheelchair with a cast on her arm. Her face is scarred a bit and a little bruised, but there’s a smile on her lips. She’s really here. I bolt away from Asterid to try hugging her, but then I realize it’d be uncomfortable for her since she’s stuck in a wheelchair, so I instead kiss her cheeks and scream in relief. She wastes no time saying what happened to her.

“I was in the back of the store when I heard a customer yelp in surprise. I rushed towards him and he seemed to be a very young child buying sweets with his parents. Might’ve been one of the Everdeen cousins.
Anyways, I picked up the peppermints for him when I smelled smoke. Our parents screamed as the flames got bigger and everyone in the store was rushing out the door. Then the door collapsed. Everyone was panicking, I had no idea if our parents made it out yet and I still wasn’t out.
I made my way for the window when I remembered about the little Everdeen boy and his parents. I found him in the same spot, frozen in denial. I saw his parents leave earlier but they must’ve forgotten him in the rush of the moment. I picked up the boy and, my word, the flames were getting close. I could’ve either saved myself or saved the boy. I shoved the boy out the window and I felt the flames hitting my legs. I screamed and let me tell you, that was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my whole life, Maysilee. I was going to die. My legs didn’t work. But I somehow managed to crawl my way out of the building using my arms. I collapsed and fainted after that, but I made it out. Later, I woke up in the apothecary and I got this wheelchair.”

I don’t reply to what she said, I just mutter “I’m so glad you’re alive,” and that’s all that matters right now.

After a good minute, Merrilee starts sobbing. “O-our parents...they didn’t make it. Apparently got trapped under a falling candy display. Their coffins were made the day afterwards for the funeral...but the thing is...their bodies had disintegrated right after the coffin-maker tried carrying it into the coffin. The bodies were too burnt so it just...happened.
Their funerals were the day after and my eyes were swelled shut from crying.”

That’s when it all comes out. The tears, the pain, the trauma. I sob, my tears spilling onto her clothes. Asterid embraces me and kisses Merrilee’s cheek and leaves, letting us grieve. Later that day, me and Merrilee visit our parent’s graves. They had shared a grave. Our tears stain their stone resting spots.

Me and Merrilee, now orphans, are forced to fend for ourselves. I start a jewelry business in the Hob, even though I’m already stinking rich. I just want to help people now. She gets a job to clean houses with a girl named Hazelle, who’s in our class. Hazelle does the laundry and dishes, Merrilee does the vacuuming and scrubbing. Seems fair enough. Must be hard for Merrilee though, considering she’s stuck in a wheelchair. At least her cast is off now.

I occasionally see Siliar come around, which just pisses me off. He’s sporting a buzz-cut today, like he needs to have even less hair nowadays. I get in a remark before spending the rest of my day in my room.

“Nice head, it’s really shiny in the summer sunlight. What’s the secret? Bad genetics?” I had said after he got too close to Merrilee for my liking.

Eventually, the Undersees try moving into our house to “give company” for us two. Yeah right, they probably just want the perks of our Victor’s Village home. They aren’t allowed to unless our families are connected via marriage, so they schedule a marriage for Siliar and Merrilee right on our birthdays in May.
Great, now I’ll have to call that stupid Undersee my brother. I tried convincing my sister that it was too early for marriage, but she refused.
It’ll be the worst birthday gift ever.

That’s still not my worst problem right now, though it’s very close to being it.
My worst problem right now is the 51st Hunger Games being so close, in about three-to-four months. And I’ll have to mentor the poor kids this year to their deaths. I can already see it, a starving boy and a frail girl from the Seam. It’s usually Seam kids. My reaping was apparently the first time since the First Quarter Quell that a town kid was reaped, according to my late grandma.
Go figure.

But life isn’t all bad right now. I don’t have to attend school anymore due to my victory, but I still sometimes pop in for the gossip. One time, I saw Asterid hanging out with one of the Everdeen boys, probably Burdock. They were chatting and laughing and I swore I saw them kiss. When me and Merrilee asked her about it, she just laughed and brushed it off. Yeah, she’s definitely in love.

Speaking of Merrilee, I feel as if she’s gotten more distant. Sure, she’s busy with her upcoming marriage. And, she’s still stuck in that horrible wheelchair.
But ever since we saw our parent’s grave that one time, she’s had a habit of ignoring me and staring off into the distance randomly. Could she be doing this out of spite? Does she think I caused the fire? I honestly don’t know. I mean, she could just be dealing with grief differently compared to my headaches and occasional vision blurring. But I’m still concerned.

Life has pretty much been the same ever since we started our Hob businesses. Wake up, have breakfast, go to the Hob, help craft jewelry, go to school sometimes, smack Siliar right on his bald head, talk with my sister, eat stuff, try using the talkie (Plutarch and Lenore Dove always don’t answer), go shopping sometimes, help Merrilee get stuff since she’s in her wheelchair, dinner, sleep, repeat. It’s not a bad schedule, but I miss life before my Games badly. Everyone seems to treat me different now that I’m the only victor of Twelve.

Okay, maybe that last statement isn’t true. But it may as well be. Our first victor (and only one until me) disappeared from history after her victory. She apparently won the Tenth Hunger Games and my grandma said she was a singer. But that’s all she ever said about her. I used to eavesdrop and Haymitch always asked Lenore Dove about it, but she never responds back. There’s a rumour that this victor was shot to death by a Peacekeeper, but I don’t think that’s quite true. Why is she so mysterious then? It can’t just be from an early death. Was she...a rebel?

I’m standing there in the Hob so lost in thought that I completely forget I have a job to do. I snap out of my daze and look at the two children standing next to my jewelry stand. Okay, you got this Maysilee.

The first one, who’s a boy I’ve seen with the McCoys, has some rocks and a penny. I use some strings to make it a wonderful shiny necklace, with the penny twisted and rubbed to make it a shiny charm. I get five pennies from that. Nice.

The second one, who’s a girl I don’t recognize, has some grass that I turn into a bracelet with glue. I put some pink rocks on the bracelet and she’s left happy.
I get three pennies from that.

Finally, I head back home. And then the cycle repeats, over and over again. It is now May, and my sister’s wedding will be in two days. Weddings in District 12 aren’t too showy. In the Seam it’s barely even a party, but in town we have enough money for some type of ceremony. We get a family friend to be the officiant and the bride and groom choose two people to be their bridesmaids and groomsmen. The ceremony is normally held at home where all the attendants can sit. The bridesmaids and the groomsmen walk first, then the groom, and finally the bride. The officiant says some words and the couple kiss. They do some papers to legalize it in the Justice Building and they are either assigned a new house or they can live at either spouse’s home.

Last month, Merrilee told me that me and Asterid would be her bridesmaids, though she didn’t know who the groomsmen would be. I had just cheered half-heartedly. Siliar doesn’t deserve someone as good as Merrilee as wife.

Me, Asterid and Merrilee went to that fabrics shop we always go to. We rented a great white dress that has been hundreds of time and a veil for Merrilee, while I got a white shirt and a white skirt. Asterid already had her clothes, but she went anyways to make sure the clothes we did pick were perfect, and to help Merrilee with her wheelchair. We spent a good hour in that store since we’re very choosy about fashion. We even got a discount since we’re regulars.

Finally, the day comes. I’m woken up early by Merrilee so we can gather our stuff, dress and greet the officiant. The Undersees chose Siliar’s uncle, who I do not know the name of. But he seems nice enough.

I help Merrilee into her dress and I express concern about her wheelchair, since it’s already getting a little rusty. But Merrilee says it’ll be fine, and that she’ll get it replaced tomorrow. Well, I hope it doesn’t ruin her wedding.

Me, Asterid, Merrilee and the groomsmen are waiting outside the house making small talk as the attendants go inside. It’s mostly family friends, like Asterid’s family, and random Undersee relatives. Some are even crying in happiness.

Anyways, the groomsmen are both of Siliar’s brothers, and I can clearly see the family resemblance in their hair...or lack of it. They seem nicer than him though, and I coolly great them.

Then Siliar arrives and I glare at him. He’s in an old tuxedo I’ve seen many other grooms wear in my lifetime, so it’s probably been rented like Merrilee’s dress. He’s wearing a red bow tie that causes my sister to be a blushing mess, though all I’m thinking about is how white would’ve complimented his tuxedo better. Merrilee embraces him. Then I hear the officiant start the ceremony and me and Asterid walk in the house to the living room, where everyone is waiting.

Chapter Text

As Siliar walks in the room, my nostrils pick up a horrible smell, like rotting eggs. I sit there uncomfortable, trying to find a logical explanation. Maybe Siliar forgot to use deodorant? No, that can’t be it. Merrilee is wheeling herself in the room when I remember.

“Louella, dear, can you tell us what gas leaks would smell like?” My teacher had asked her, over a year ago.
“Well, yeah. It smells like rotten eggs. I’d know, my grandpa survived a gas leak in his cottage once,” answered Louella.

Gas leaks. Of course. I’m one of the first to notice, maybe the first in general. I doubt anyone would be noticing since they’re too caught up with the wedding to care. I stand up and start yelling right as the officiant announces that the groom may kiss the bride.
“Everyone, out! There’s a gas leak!” I yell.
People give me dirty looks which provokes me to add, “Use your damn noses and think for a second!”
Then there’s panic. Shrieks, insane laughter, yelps of confusing erupt. My sister and her fiancé —husband now? Is he my brother-in-law? That’s a gross thought— are confused and stumbling about, but everyone is more concerned about their own safety to give a hang about the couple.
“Hey!” Siliar yells when some random lady steps on Merrilee’s wheels, chasing her to fall onto a chair.
Merrilee. I push my way through the crowd, punching if I have to, just to get to her. She’s helpless. Siliar tries to carry her but he gets picked up by a man —probably his father— causing him to scream in worry. The gas is getting close now, but I won’t let them kill my sister. Even if it costs me my life.
She’s shivering and shaking on the chair, sliding onto the ground. She’s moaning some unintelligible stuff that makes me realize this gas isn’t the normal kind. Then I know. Snow. Must’ve been set up to kill her. Just like the fire. I can almost hear him talking about selling my body. Then I snap back to reality. Merrilee.
I grab her arms and try hauling her out. Most of everyone has already evacuated, though I do see two or three bodies on the ground. Her breathing is slowing and I’m sure she’s in the process of dying. But I have to try.
I grab the doorknob and cling to it life it’s my lifeline. I can barely twist it open when my vision stars darkening. ‘Not now!’ I think, especially since I’m so close. Merrilee is panting now and I see a blister on her forehead. I’m probably in a similar state. I swing the door fully open when I feel my muscles collapsing. I throw Merrilee on the ground outside as I collapse. Well, if I’m going to die now, at least I can be at peace knowing that my sister could live. One last act to defy Snow’s wishes of her death.
I’m wounded, not bowed. They didn’t take my honour away at the end. They never did. My honour will outlive my body, day after day.
The last thing I see is a green-eyed girl with curly black hair and dark skin staring at me. Eyes calm like a dove’s. Seems familiar. That’s when my vision starts to swamp. This is the last chance I get for defiance. I make it count. I scream at the top of poisoned lungs before I join my mother and father.
“Burn the Capitol!” The curly-haired girl infront of me barely smiles, like she understands my anger. Only now I recognize her. Lenore Dove.
I die happy.

I gasp awake, surrounded by blonde people in patterned, dark floral dresses. Am I dead? One last hallucination as my body clings to life desperately? I pinch my arm. Pain. Maybe this is real. Maybe I’m alive. I recognize the people. Asterid’s family.
Then I see a man dressed in very fancy clothes that sticks out like a dolphin in a tropical forest. Asterid’s family backs away from him. It’s obvious that they’re frightened of him.
“Hello,” says the man simply. “I’m Dr. Plinth, and I’ll be attending to you until you fully heal.”
A particularly old member of Asterid’s relatives shrieks upon hearing his name. What’s so scary about a Plinth? Sounds like a ridiculous last name if you ask me.
Then someone injects a serum into my shoulder and I pass out.

After a good three hours, I wake. The room is empty except for Asterid, her voice concentrated.
“Good morning,” she says. “Happy birthday, if you consider this happy.”
Oh yeah. The big seventeen. Almost forgot. But this snaps me awake. It’s not just my birthday today.
“Is Merrilee okay?” I ask.
Asterid looks conflicted. “Let’s just say...she’s alive at least. But...” Her voice trails off.
I start hyperventilating. “Don’t let her suffer please,” I gasp out before fainting from exertion.

The remainder of May is a mixture of waking up, talking with visitors, occasional exercises, scans and tests, visits from my Capitol doctor, visiting Merrilee in a separate room and sleeping. Sometimes they coax food into my mouth. The stuff is foul but it’s better than starving.
Finally, in mid June, I’m released and deemed healthy, or in Dr. Plinth’s words, “Fit for public display.” Ew.
Merrilee doesn’t recover as swiftly though. She gets headaches and her legs are completely gone. Might’ve been some chemical in the gas. I had wondered why only she had this severe of injuries, compared to all the other guests. Then I realize. Snow might’ve tried targeting her with the gas. It makes sense, considering I rudely declined his offer of selling my body. I sigh as I start spending most of my day plotting revenge.
Siliar had survived, hauled out by his father. He has a small bruise on his neck but overall he’s fine. He visits Merrilee almost every day and stays for hours. Maybe I was wrong about him, I don’t know. He’s still a rat.
July comes in and I’m visited by Effie everyday until the reaping to help prepare me for the mentoring. We don’t mention the sex worker stuff.
I see Lenore Dove occasionally. She hasn’t done much rebellion recently. Just the occasional subtle comment. Might’ve learned a thing or two. I know I have.
Finally, it’s the reaping. I’m wearing a lavender gown similar to my reaping dress. I walk up the stage, glaring. Anthem, Treaty of Treason, talking about last year, whatever. But something catches my attention. It’s a new procedure. The mayor, not Allister as she got fired, nervously picks up a script like he’ll be murdered if he continues, and reads the list of past victors.
“Lucy Gray Baird, Tenth. Maysilee Donner, Fiftieth.”
There’s a universal gasp in the crowd once our first victor finally is given a name. I locate Lenore Dove in the crowd and she looks troubled, glancing occasionally to the Meadow. Everyone stares at her, no doubt making the connection of her and this mystery girl’s shared last name. Baird. But everyone moves on once my name is called. They stare at me on the stage. I roll my eyes.
Effie is the one picking out the names, though she looks a little troubled and guilty.
She sighs occasionally. “Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds—“ another sigh, “—be ever in your favour!”
“Ladies first,” sighs Effie as she swirls her gloved hand in the reaping ball. She’s wearing an all pink bodysuit with butterflies and sparkly sequins. Not the worst Capitol outfit, I admit.
She picks up the unlucky girl’s paper and starts reading it. She looks troubled.
I brace myself, hoping it’s someone I don’t really know well. That’ll help when I watch their murder. I glance at the crowd, locating Merrilee. She’s on a bed near the edge of the crowd, wearing a mint dress. I try smiling at her. That’s when my world shatters.

“Merrilee Donner.”
I gasp as the crowd shifts their focus to my disabled sister. People start shrieking, either out of shock that the victor’s sister was chosen or out of anger that a clearly disabled girl unable to fend for herself was chosen. I hold back multiple shrieks myself. This is the price I pay for my rebellion, my fire. But I can’t let the Capitol win. Asterid is near her and tries wheeling her up the stage, nervous as she gets to the stairs. Peackeepers carry the bed my sister is on up the stairs.
Effie looks like she’s about to cry when she glaces at me. I stand there, emotionless as my sister is wheeled infront of me. Effie advances to the boy’s reaping ball. It can’t get any worse, right? This is the lowest of the low.

“Consiliarius Undersee.”
What? Now I’m certain this reaping was rigged. This cannot be a damn coincidence. Siliar gasps and tries composing himself immediately. His brothers sob as he walks to the stage. I glance at him silently. Effie lets a tear fall down her face, smearing her dark pink mascara. I don’t listen at all when she concludes. I know for a fact that it’s impossible for Merrilee to win. I doubt she’ll be able to make it past the bloodbath. These next days are the last chance I get to talk with my sister, who’s heading for certain death. But Siliar...he may have a chance.
There’s a good half hour for the loved ones to say goodbye to the tributes. Siliar gets quite a crowd, from admirers to relatives. Merrilee only has me and Asterid. All our relatives are deceased.
“Don’t try, Maysilee. I know I can’t win. But at least try to get Siliar out,” says Merrilee immediately. Me and Asterid hug her. We sob into her dress. Merrilee remains silent but a singular tear runs down her cheek.
Lenore Dove walks up to me. I don’t even know why she’s here. Our relationship can only be described as comrades. We’re not friends. At least not right now.
“This is what the Capitol does to us. May them pay for it,” says Lenore Dove.
“You better not do anymore...stunts. I don’t want to mentor you for next year,” I counter. She walks away, cursing.
Once the half hour is done, we’re put on the train to the Capitol.I stay silent for the first few minutes, but I realize I should take these few hours of free time to strategize with my tributes, no, my family. It comes to my attention that Siliar is pretty much as good as a brother to me, and would’ve been had the wedding finished.
Anyway, I start the conversation.
“One of you has to make it out,” I start. Siliar just asks if he can talk to me privately. I nod.
“You have to get Merrilee out of there. I dont care if it means her winning, or escaping the arena, or anything! She has to survive.” He’s nearly hysterical.
“I...don’t know if I can. She’s lost her legs which puts her at a disadvantage and, and, she’s been having hallucinations. I don’t even know if she’s still the same person you fell in love with!” I shout, which causes Tibby, who’s once again on this train, to ask if we’re okay. I glare at him which causes him to run away. He bumps into a wall and cries.
Siliar considers my words. I know he realizes that she can’t survive in her condition once his eyes start squinting. Merrilee always told me how he does that when he gets sad.
“Then I hope she goes quickly and doesn’t have to suffer.” He walks back to Merrilee and tries comforting her. Merrilee shuts him out.
I go to the room I’m assigned to and violently scream. I lock the door so Tibby doesn’t have to barge in and whine about how loud I am. I rip pillows apart, try smashing the small windows (which fails since it’s plastic), flush clothes down the toilet and scratch the walls into a new abstract art piece. I’m trying to locate a lighter to burn this stupid train down when I’m called for sandwiches by a very nervous Tibby on the other side of the door. Fine. If I’m going to mentor, I need all the energy I can obtain.
I see that they’ve given us utensils this time. Seems like they’ve learned from last year. Siliar looks confused at the utensils but Merrilee gives me a knowing look.
I cut up my ham sandwich and attack it with the fork. It’s greasy and salty, just the way I like it, but it feels artificial. I order Tibby to get some ketchup.

After lunch, I try discussing strategy with them. But everytime I try, it ends in me having to excuse myself and sobbing in my room. I’ll never be able to mentor these people, not when I saw them almost everyday back home. F*ck Snow.
I’m in my room composing myself when Merrilee knocks on the door. I let her in. She sits on my bed and doesn’t say anything, as she knows her presence is enough to console me. I gather myself together and we go back to the table. Just think of them as strangers.
“How would you like to present yourself for the interviews?” I ask.
“Shouldn’t we be worried about the fighting part first?” comments Siliar.
“Well, you don’t have to fight all the time. Sometimes...you can win without any kills. Just look at Wiress from 3,” I counter.
Siliar is about to speak but Merrilee cuts him off. “Interviews matter a lot, honey. They influence how the audience thinks of you. It determines the sponsors.” Thank you Merrilee for having a brain.
We get nowhere though, as we’re called in to sleep.

Chapter Text

Once we make to the Capitol, the tributes are immediately rushed to the stylists. I heard they got two individual stylists for the District 12 tributes due to the popularity after my victory. I don’t care though, I’m focusing on our game plan.
But unfortunately I can’t come up with anything. At least, on my own. I grab Effie and drag her into my assigned room.
“What’s some strategies past victors have used? You know more about past tributes than I do, being Capitol and what not,” I yell.
Effie looks stunned and confused, almost terrified. But she obliges.
She tells tales of Hunger Games passed down to her from her grandparents, the earliest ones and the most convoluted ones. A Game in the 20’s had a victor who had only one leg. He hid in a tree and slowly poisoned everyone else, manipulating sponsors with his handsome body. When she tells me this, all I can think about is Snow selling him to Capitol freaks, just like he tried for me.
Another one won a few years after Twelve’s first victor was crowned. She apparently was trying to save their strong district partner, but turns out she was slowly killing him. Poisonous concoctions in him food, purposefully leading him into danger, letting him kill the opponents as a shield, etc. Once she killed him, she used his body as bait for the remaining
The most notable one is the girl who won in 40’s before Palladium Barker. She was laying low, pretending to be weak, but actually had a wicked streak. She wasn’t strong or skilled with a knife, but she had brains. Lure others into a hungry mutt, trick the Careers into killing each other, targeting hands and feet with her slingshot so the target would be disabled, et cetera. I’m visibly shook visioning all this when Effie finally stops, asking if that’s enough. I nod.
Maybe this year Twelve will gain their third victor, since these strategies are very remarkable.
I rule out the first one almost immediately. Even if one of them wins, they’ll probably get dragged into the sex worker business. If they decline, well, I’m not sure if their life would be a hundred percent safe.
The second one is horrible. No way am I making one of them slowly kill the other. Plus, it wouldn’t even work. They love eachother too much. That’s when I get an idea. It doesn’t have to be their district partner they’re poisoning. It could be any ally. I’ll try getting Siliar to ally with a stray Career. A stray Career is what Effie called tributes from Career districts that choose not to be in the pact.
As for the last one...maybe I’ll try getting Merrilee to do that? I don’t know, the crowd has huge expectations for the sister of a victor. Especially one as big-mouthed as me. But they wouldn’t want an exact copy of me. Maybe...we could play her off as strong but sweet.

I find Merrilee and Siliar right before the parade. We’ve got a good ten minutes of spare time. Siliar’s in a shiny coal miners getup. Merrilee’s in a similar getup, though she has some sort of walking stick to atone for her missing legs. I sigh. At least it’s not as bad as Magno’s clothes for us last year. But now’s not the time to be worrying about fashion.
“Listen up. Merrilee, the crowd will expect someone strong, especially since you’re the sister of a victor, me. But they don’t want you to be a one-on-one replica of me. We’re already twins, that’s good enough for similarities. Don’t roll your eyes or be sassy, just own it. Occasionally-“ I sigh at the thought, “wave your hands to the crowd, but don’t do anything else charming. Just be tough, especially in your condition. In training, try not to make too much of an impression. Don’t stick out or the Careers may target you. Try getting a 6 or 7 in training, something like me,” She nods, even though I probably don’t make sense.
“Now, Siliar. Just act like a Career. Be cocky like always,” Merrilee tries objecting to the last comment, but Siliar shushes her and nods.
“For training, try allying with any Careers that leave the pack. Or just strong tributes in general. Try ‘caring’ for them in the arena, when in reality you’re slowly killing them. Poison, leading them in certain places, etc. If any of your allies die from your doings, either play it off as an accident or run away.”
I leave as they get ready for the parade.

The parade starts with those ugly snot-green gladiator outfits for the District One tributes. The boy can’t be older than twelve, but he has a wicked gleam in his eyes. Brunette curly hair, styled horribly. About five inches shorter than me, but has some impressive muscle for his age. He’ll be a threat. The girl looks more mature, maybe 16-18. Long brunette hair, a haunted look in her eye. She’s around my height, maybe a little taller. I shut my eyes since all I can think of is Silka. Then I open them again since it’ll probably be important to look at the other competitors, size up their competition.
District Two has two strong and confident tributes, tall while flexing. They’re in revealing outfits, showing off their muscles and bodies. I have to shut my eyes again, since if one of them wins I know they’ll be sold. Even if they’re supposed to be the enemy, we’re all human.
Three consists of a girl who looks twelve and a boy who looks thirteen. Nothing special, just shiny blue outfits. I keep my eyes wide open.
Four has some revealing outfits as well, with tributes who look about 18. Almost attractive, I guess. Strong, but the girl’s more on the skinny side so that’s better.
Five and Six are nothing remarkable, just kids aged 13-15.
But Seven steals the show. Their tributes are in an attractive yet simple lumberjack’s getup. However, there’s chunks of polished wood, almosy as shiny as marble, everywhere on their bright clothes. Speaking of the clothes, they are clearly Capitol for the bright and violent shades. Not the worst thing I’ve seen. The tributes themselves are about 16, and very strong.
Eight has fancy clothes, being the fabrics district, but the tributes are boring and weak. Nine has some average tributes with clothes made out of wheat. They are quite charming, blowing kisses and holding eachother’s hands. Is it me, or do I see them kiss eachother’s cheeks?
Ten has boring brown outfits with cow ears, the tributes being mortified but tough. Eleven has two tall tributes who look 18, in a pretty gown made up of apple slices held together by some paste. Almost see-through. I shiver at the thought of them being sold.
Finally, Twelve is up. I don’t take my eyes off the parade. I get a shiver up my spine. What if something similar to Louella happens? But I need to stay positive.
Merrilee draws a gasp as she has no legs. She waves and waves but keeps her eyes forward, mixing in some fierce scowls in her kind smiles. Siliar rolls his eyes and acts distant from Merrilee, not even acknowledging her. He flexes his decent muscles which draws a gasp. Someone yells, “Almost as muscular as a Career! Good for Twelve!”
I sigh with relief once the parade’s over. Then I remember it’s Training afterwards. I cross my fingers and hope for the best.

Chapter Text

Each day after training they go immediately towards me and give me updates. Siliar tells me on the first day that he seems to have allied with the District One boy—the twelve year old, his name is apparently Linens, what type of parent would name their kid after a fabric?—and the two District Seven tributes—both sixteen, the boy’s named Adze and the girl’s named Adair. I tell him not to trust them too much since they seem very intelligent, too intelligent.
Speaking of Merrilee, she surprisingly has a thing for camouflage. She shows me some footage of painting her arm to match the wall. Her arm seems to disappear as she finishes the paint-job. I tell her to focus on that in her private session with the Gamemakers, and to get at least one ally who can carry her out of the bloodbath safely.
I occasionally coach them on ways to present themselves for the interviews. It physically hurts to not have them do rebelling, but I need to play them safe. I can save the rebelling for myself. I’m trying to play Merrilee off as fierce but kind, weak but smart. She doesn’t have to pretend on being kind, and being fierce is almost like second-nature for her.
Siliar isn’t as smooth when we talk interview strategy. I want him to act like a cocky Career, but he also wants to be harsh and a clear rebel. Once, I’d have agreed with him, but now I fear for him. Only I can afford to do such stuff without getting caught.
“No, you can’t do that!” I exclaim.
He glares at me. “Why? It’s my interview, not yours.”
“Well I’m your mentor and I’m supposed to help you present yourself in a way the audience will adore. Save the crazy for the arena. Y’know Haymitch? He put on a whole alter-ego for the interviews! Why can’t—“
“Well I don’t want the audience to adore me! I don’t even want to win these stupid Games. All I want is for Merrilee to win.” He leaves the room.
We don’t talk to eachother at all during the fancy Capitol dinner, we barely even look at eachother, much to Merrilee’s dismay.

On the second day of training, I get a call on my walkie-talkie. I’d have forgotten about it, but I did bring it. I look to see who’s calling. “PH.” Plutarch Heavensbee.
“What do you want? Can’t you just come to my dorm?”
“Just wanted to tell you that I’ve been promoted to Head Gamemaker.” He pauses. I know he wants to say more.
“Spit it out, I know there’s more.”
He makes some sort of exasperated sound.
“After the Games are done, I’ll come to your house in Twelve and lead you...somewhere. It’ll be far into the woods. By the way, that girl Haymitch liked? She’s coming too.” He hangs up without a second to spare. Then he calls again.
“What?” I bellow. He’s really annoying me.
“Bring your mockingjay pin too, once you get home.”
My mockingjay pin. Once again, I’d forgotten about it.
“Fine,” I answer. Plutarch says one more thing.
“Meet me in the Training Room five minutes after your tributes come back today.” My tribute are coming back in around ten minutes.
“I’ve got another rebel Gamemaker to temporarily disable the cameras just now for an hour and fifteen, so we’ll have around an hour to talk.”
“Okay, but it better be good. I’m tired of all this shi-“
He hangs up.

My sister and would-be-brother-in-law-if-Snow-wasn’t-such-a-big-lipped-rat come into our room right on schedule. In the five minutes I get with them, Merrilee says that she’s allied with the District 8 girl—a frail but smart blonde thirteen year old named Merino with dark skin—and the District 5 boy—a decent but weak in the brain golden-skinned fifteen year old named Striker who looks like Wyatt, but taller and skinnier. She says that Striker is the brawn, Merino is the speed and she’s the brain. She purposefully chose weaker tributes so they’d have less of a chance at backstabbing her.
Siliar doesn’t give me any updates at first. He’s still mad at me for not letting him be all rebel. Finally, he speaks.
“I got the District Eleven boy on my side, the girl’s still thinking it over,” he says silently. He hands me a piece of paper and leaves, getting ready for our fancy dinner downstairs.
I read the paper. It’s of the tributes this year.

District One
Boy - Linens
Girl - Clotho
District Two
Boy - Binsa
Girl - Emine
District Three
Boy - Ware
Girl - Cordelia
District Four
Boy - Karmic
Girl - Gracilia
District Five
Boy - Striker
Girl - Ginnee III
District Six
Boy - Port
Girl - Ferrutius
District Seven
Boy - Adze
Girl - Adair
District Eight
Boy - Rigmarol
Girl - Merino
District Nine
Boy - Pyramus
Girl - Thisbe
District Ten
Boy - Dozin
Girl - Gyunyu
District Eleven
Boy - Hollowvest
Girl - Woodsworth Ivy
District Twelve
Boy - Consiliarius
Girl - Merrilee

I have to check to make sure it’s not fake, since these names are quite...particular. It isn’t. Apparently Siliar’s new allies are a boy named Hollowvest—which I admit is one of the better names—and a girl named Woodsworth Ivy. That name sticks out. Why would they specifically put a last name? Ivy? Maybe ‘Woodsworth Ivy’ is a first name? That’s when it clicks. There’s someone else I know with a similar first name. A poem, then a colour. Lenore Dove.
This Woodsworth Ivy girl? She’s Covey.

I drop the paper, then pick it up and pin it to wall. I thought the Covey were only in Twelve? How’d a Covey girl get all the way in Eleven? Is that one of the reasons why Siliar allied with her? Because she feels familiar? Why am I pondering so hard about a girl I barely know?
Then I remember. Plutarch. I look at the clock. Five minutes late.
“I’m going to discuss sponsors with some officials, I’ll see you two in about fifty-five minutes,” I yell before leaving.

Chapter Text

“Welcome, Miss Donner,” says Plutarch formally.
“Get to the point,” I hiss. I’m still not sure what to make of him.
“If you insist. Do you remember what I said about last year’s games?”
I think about our conversation in the Meadow, via talkie. “About breaking the arena?”
He smiles. “You have good memory, eh? Perfect for a rebel.”
“Are you trying to break the arena again?” I blurt out.
All I get is a confirming look.
“How—who are you using for this?”
Plutarch sighs. “I wouldn’t say we’re ‘using’ the tributes, I’d say we’re cooperating with them.”
“Answer my question.”
“Huh. Thought you’d be more willing to cooperate, considering your rebellious tendencies in the past.”
“I only care for myself and my loved ones back home. I dont give a hang about you. Just answer me.”
He smiles approvingly, which would’ve made me strangle him if he weren’t on my ‘side’. “I wanted to get Linens, that District One boy, especially since he’s left the Career pack, but my colleagues insisted not to. Mostly because of his age and immaturity, but also because he’s already in an alliance.”
“But Haymitch was in an alliance with me.”
“And look how great that turned out. No, Miss Donner, you have to go solo to break the arena.” I pause and stare at him. He finishes his statement. “However, in this case—“ But I’m done. Plutarch backs away slowly. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize how cruel that was—“
I pin him to the wall.
He screams and I’m about to try choking him when he attempts one last negotiation.
“Maysilee, I know we’ve had our—“ he coughs, “—differences, you being district and me being a Capitol man, and I know how you feel. But remember—“ I put my hand around his throat, “—r-remember who the real enemy is.” He coughs and spit trails out of his mouth while I digest his words.
Enemy. The enemy isn’t Silka. Nor the Careers. Not even Plutarch. Snow.
I release him as he gasps for breath. “Make it quick,” I direct.
Plutarch practically gasps out the rest of his air before speaking again.
“Remember what I said about ‘in this case’? Well, this year, I’d like to have an alliance of arena-breakers. The more the merrier. So, I’d like you to convince your male tribute and his alliance, which includes Linens, to meet up with me same time tomorrow. You can come too.”
I think about it. “I’ll ask him—“
“NO! It has to be a secret until I tell him. I know for a fact you’ll give a biased opinion to him, which is why I’m not giving you too many details.”
I roll my eyes. “Anything else?”
“We want you to be the face of the rebellion,” blurts out Plutarch.
My head spins as time slows down. I try dissecting his words. Face of the rebellion. Leader? Is a rebellion happening right now?
Plutarch sees my brain working and answers my questions swirling around in my mind.
“As in a future rebellion. Our rebellion will only get running once the arena is broken, the destruction of it broadcasted across Panem. Freeing the remaining tributes, giving hope. As for my offer, you won’t be the official leader. But you’ll be helpful in propos and other televised media. Think of yourself as the on-screen leader. Someone who motivates the rebels, while you send Snow in a dizzy fit. You’re perfect for it! Angry, clearly hates the Capitol, sassy, attitude, beautiful, still young, and smart! And of course, you’re a victor. We could use your influence.” He almost says it as a plea.
I think about it. Would I really want to be that influential in taking down the Capitol? Obviously, yes. But I need more details. I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. What if these ‘rebels’ are just as big of a puppet master like Snow?
“I’ll think about it.” Plutarch sighs. “I’ll come for your ‘breaking the arena’ meeting tomorrow, but right now I’ll have to cut-off our remaining talking time since I need to talk strategy with my tributes.” I start to walk away, without a word. Plutarch says one last thing.
“We’ll take you to District Thirteen after the Games, if you do accept tomorrow.”

Merrilee immediately tries hugging me, but she can only reach my hip. We stay like that for a good minute.
Siliar passes me a note silently. I release myself from Merrilee and read it.

“I’d love for my tributes to join Siliar’s alliance, Port and Cordelia.”
-B. L.

BL. Who’s initials are these? I let Merrilee read it, and she gasps.
“Beetee Latier? He’s mentoring again?” It almost comes out as a shriek.
Oh. Of course. The Capitol isn’t done with his torture. Stripping his son to nothing but pearly bones wasn’t enough. I start thinking that he had something to do with last year’s rebel plan. That’d probably be why he’s still here, to mentor another pair of kids he ought to know to the death.
Siliar waves his hand infront of me. “Earth to Maysilee? Are you going to accept his alliance offer? I’d like to.”
“Aren’t they like, twelve and thirteen?” I remember seeing how young they looked during the parade.
Merrilee cuts in. “Well yeah, but y’know how District Three tributes are like, super smart? They probably wouldn’t be an exception. I’ve seen them in training, they’re brilliant. They can turn a spear into a light-source, somehow.”
I’m not fully listening, as I see theres more to the note on the back.

“They’d be helpful in breaking the arena.”

I crumple up the note and throw it in the trash. “I’m going to sleep. You guys should, as well. You guys have a big day tomorrow. Gamemaker private session.”

Chapter Text

Once Maysilee shuts her dorm room, I immediately direct my attention to my one and only love. Merrilee.
“I’m still trying to get you out of the arena,” I tell her.
She shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’ve told you this before, but I stand no chance. Literally.” She looks down at her missing legs.
“If you win, the Capitol will probably give you some pair of metal legs.”
“That’s not the point. I’m not a contender, Siliar. Before the fire and wedding, I probably could’ve stood a chance at the final five, but never as a victor. I just didn’t have Maysilee’s skill. Now, with my weakened condition, do you really think I can make it? Consiliarius, listen to me.”
Why does she have to be so difficult all the time? I grit my teeth. “I am listening, but I don’t think you’re listening to me.”
“That’s because you’re thinking that you can successfully keep a sick and legless girl from dying in an ecosystem full of bloody tricks and skilled killers!” She tries using her arms to get to her dorm defiantly. She tumbles.
“Be careful!” I exclaim naturally as I rush to her aid.
“I am!” I carry her and plop her onto the bed gently, tucking her in while she shivers. She groans and speaks again, in that soft tone she uses when being serious.
“Live for yourself, not for me.”
I sigh without a word. Then I think things over, using logic. As much as I don’t want to admit it, she really doesn’t stand a chance. Then I start second-guessing myself. I mean, she’s smart and has allies...I’ll save these thoughts for later. I need my sleep.
I get dressed in my sleepwear, pretty much just boxers, as I crawl inside the bed with her. Legally, I’m supposed to be in my separate dorm, but she shivering and needs some warmth. I hold her tightly as she drifts off. Yeah, I’ll stay here for the night.

I wake up and see that Merrilee has already gotten up. Then I hear her arguing with a female voice. I groan. Why can’t Maysilee let us be? But then I realize it isn’t Maysilee arguing. The voice has a very Capitol accent. There’s a male voice taking the side of the Capitol woman, same accent. I step out the door groggily.
“You are foul for that!” shrieks a pink-haired woman.
The man, who has bright blue hair, shakes his head.
“Snuggling? Those Dark Days warriors did not lose their noble lives for the districts to be snuggling and lovemaking in the same dorm!” shouts the man. I don’t think he knows the exact definition of lovemaking.
The pink-haired woman, who I now recognize to be my prep team member Proserpina, starts bawling at the mention of the Dark Days soldiers dying. The man, who I now recognize to be Vitus, starts sniffling and falls to the ground, wailing.
The bathroom door opens and Maysilee screams. “What are you two doing in here? Out, out! Give us privacy, it’s not interview time yet!”
Proserpina stops her sniffling as Merrilee slowly maneuvers herself onto a couch. Proserpina speaks.
“It’s not interview time yet?”
Vitus wails. Maysilee shakes her head. “Out.”
The prep team bolts out the door.

After a couple of remarks passed by Maysilee, I get dressed in my training outfit. Maysilee helps Merrilee into hers. We step out.
Maysilee says one last thing. “Do not stand out in training, the higher the score, the more likely you’ll become a target.” I roll my eyes and head out the door, carrying Merrilee. Let me do my own thing, Maysilee.
Linens is understandably nervous. I mean, he’s definitely strong, but he’s still only twelve. A tear runs down his cheek.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. I realize it’s probably the worst thing to say to a tribute. Everythings obviously wrong. We’re sentenced to an almost certain death.
“It’s silly...but I’m really scared to be a failure. What if I get a one?”
Oh. I laugh in surprise. He glares at me as he wipes away his tears.
“Sorry for that, just surprised your problem is so minor. I mean, Haymitch got a one last year, and he made it pretty far. Plus, he was a District Twelve tribute. You’re a District One guy. Scores have nothing to do with the results.”
He tries smiling but he’s called in at that moment, starting the sessions.

I strategize with the District Seven tributes (Adze and Adair) and the boy from 11, Hollowvest. I even bring in the District Three tributes, Cordelia and Port.
Adze starts the strategizing. “Let’s target the Careers, but silently. No direct attacks.”
Adair, well she isn’t too fond of his way. “I don’t think so. We outnumber them, we should use brute force, get it over with. The survivors of that ambush could lay low afterwards.”
Adze starts yelling at her. “Really? Numbers aren’t everything. They have been trained their whole lives, Sis!” Hollowvest and the District Three tributes are trying to calm them down. Hollowvest is using soothing words, while Cordelia is suggesting more complicated strategies, like electrifying everyone or burning the arena, making everyone smoulder to ash.
I also try calming the siblings down, but my minds somewhere else. They’re smart, but not cooperative. Hmmm..
“Everyone, shut up! I think we should aim for their food supply using poison, and once they get weaker from starvation then we could target them.”
I feel horrible saying empty strategies, when I’m really going to try tainting my allies. Maysilee suggested that I should poison my allies subtly before the parade, and that’s pretty much the only advice she’s said that I agree with. Maybe I’ll spare Cordelia and Port, not just because they’re so young and sweet but they’re also genuinely smart. Not threatening physically, so they’ll probably die on their own. They could leave behind some complicated supplies for me. I know it’s a somewhat cruel way of thinking, but I have to play things smart.
Hollowvest interrupts my depressing thoughts.
“Sounds good by me. How about we do it on the third day, while they’re still gathering supplies? Cutting off the progress early will make them furious.”
Cordelia objects. “I think we should burn the food using fire. Me and Port have devised a way to spark up a flame naturally. Our tokens...let’s just say they’re fiery.” Port points to his necklace, which is some type of stone.
Adair suddenly speaks up. “Why hasn’t Port said anything? I’m seriously starting to question if we should let him in our alliance.” Adze scolds her, muttering something about respect.
Cordelia shrugs. “He’s mute.”
Just then, Port is called for his session. That halts all remaining conversations. I head to Merrilee.

She’s devising a strategy with Merino and Striker, something about hiding in trees. Striker objects, saying, “I’m horrible at climbing trees,” but Merino loves the idea. Striker sees me eavesdropping and glares at me. Oopsies. I’ve gained an enemy. Whatever.
Time passes. One by one. One by one. Merrilee is called and has to have a Peacekeeper escort her. Ten minutes pass. My turn. Time to give the Gamemakers a show they’ll never forget.

Plutarch Heavensbee, the recently appointed Head Gamemaker, is clearly bored from all the sessions.
“What’s your talent,” he asks in an apathetic tone. But his eyes have something more in them, almost eagerness. Probably planning out the ways he can chop me up in the arena using his mutts.
I waste no time sticking my middle finger in their faces, drawing a gasp. Plutarch glares at me. I cuss them out, using swears so ancient I’d have forgotten they’d existed.

After a full two minutes of this, Plutarch clears his throat.
“Are you finished yet?” I pick up a sword and throw it at the Gamemakers, specifically a woman pretending I don’t exist and wiping her mouth with a napkin. They scream and a Peacekeeper is trying to restrain me, but then they stop at the loud sound.
Because my sword has pierced the napkin to a chair.

Chapter Text

“Guess who’s back?” announced Merrilee as she was dumped onto the dorm couch by some red-faced Peacekeepers. Those h*es were probably drunk last night or something.
Siliar huddled into the room with a slightly astonished expression on his face, muttering something about Plutarch F*cking Heavensbee. I sigh.
“What’d ya do?” I asked.
“Nothing much,” he answered evasively. Yeah right. He’s acting like he poisoned Snow’s drink, which I actually wouldn’t mind if he did.
Merrilee also answered. “I turned out to be good with a slingshot. Maybe I’ll try something similar to what you did with the poisons last year.”
“Okay, cool. I’m pretty sure they’re announcing the scores in a minute?”
Siliar and Merrilee nod in confirmation. Great.
“I threw a sword at the Gamemakers,” Siliar blurts out randomly. His face instantly reddens as he cusses himself out under his breath.
Oh. “You’re screwed,” I say.
Merrilee gasps. “What? They’ll never let you live now—“
“It didn’t even hit them! It hit some lady’s napkin and pinned it to the wall.”
“That’s even worse!” she says.
I see our television screen flicker to life. “Everyone, shut up! The scores are getting announced, idiots!”
A pudgy blonde woman with horribly bright hot pink skin is reporting the scores. She has that weird Capitol accent, which makes Siliar and Merrilee occasionally mutter in confusion. As for me? I’ve been in the Capitol long enough to dissect their words, unfortunately. I probably reek of them now.
A huge information table is animated onto the screen as the woman reads it out in an annoyingly posh voice. Very bland, very boring, and very squeaky.

District One
Boy - Linens (7)
Girl - Clotho (10)
District Two
Boy - Binsa (8)
Girl - Emine (8)
District Three
Boy - Ware (5)
Girl - Cordelia (6)
District Four
Boy - Karmic (11)
Girl - Gracilia (9)
District Five
Boy - Striker (7)
Girl - Ginnee III (4)
District Six
Boy - Port (4)
Girl - Ferrutius (3)
District Seven
Boy - Adze (10)
Girl - Adair (9)
District Eight
Boy - Rigmarol (3)
Girl - Merino (6)
District Nine
Boy - Pyramus (11)
Girl - Thisbe (7)
District Ten
Boy - Dozin (2)
Girl - Gyunyu (6)
District Eleven
Boy - Hollowvest (7)
Girl - Woodsworth Ivy (8)
District Twelve
Boy - Consiliarius (12)
Girl - Merrilee (5)

“Twelve? How—oh my word, you did it!” squeals Merrilee in delight as she wraps her arms around Siliar’s neck. He makes a confused coughing noise that makes her loosen her grip.
My stomach feels hollow with dread. “I’m not sure it’s worth celebrating. Higher scores means the Careers will start targeting you, right?” Merrilee’s smile drops.
“Oh, come on Mays! Why’d ya have to be such a killjoy?” She huffs and starts snoring. Siliar gives me an apologetic smirk.
“Hey, least that’ll direct attention away from her in the arena.” He starts to get up and leave but I stop him, remembering about Plutarch.
“Come with me. There’s a special meeting I have to take you to.”
“What’s it about? I’ll wake Merrilee up.”
I try to go for evasive. “It’s about strategy, really. I’m getting some of your other allies for this. Allies only.”
He pouts. “Everyone gets this?”
“If they’re in an alliance, yes.” I feel partially bad for lying, but I also don’t. Business is business, the business in this case is ruining the arena. Before we leave, I call Effie on our room phone to watch Merrilee. She gleefully accepts, then remarks about how guilty she feels for not being around much.
"After all, I'm the escort!"

In the hallway, I try finding the doors labelled 11, 1, 7, and 3. Every door is labelled by district. It’s a little hard navigating this new building, which isn’t the Tribute Apartment from my year, but I manage.
I knock on 11 first. The mentors, the recent victor Chaff and a woman who looks like Mags that I don’t recognize, both answer the door. The woman, who I find out to be named Flavedo, apparently won one of the first ten games. Sixth? I don’t care. They beckon for Hollowvest to come forward after we explain. Hollowvest is surprisingly eager. We’re about to leave when the girl, Woodworth Ivy or something, begs to come with them, saying she’s thought it over and accepted the alliance. Chaff sighs and lets her follow.
In the hall, I glance at what tributes District Eleven has this year. Hollowvest has dark skin, with tousled black eyes. Probably a mischief maker, based off his smirk. He’s tall, maybe an inch or two more than me, but very skinny. The explains his okay score of a 7.
The girl, on the other hand, is a complete contrast. She has long light brown hair, ending at her hips. She is freckled with light skin, a rarity in District Eleven. Long legs, probably a dancer. Very graceful and smiles a lot. She almost feels like Lenore Dove. Even the same height. Probably not a coincidence.
“Are you Covey?” I blurt out to her.
She squints at me in confusion. “Uh, no? I’m part of his group called the Dole back home. Covey...sounds familiar though.”
Hollowvest grunts in annoyance and they get back to strategizing.
The District One mentors, Palladium and woman in her twenties named Crystal answer the door. I try not to focus on Palladium, considering I had killed his brother, Panache last year. I mean, he deserved it, but it was still pissy. Linens nervously comes up to us. The girl tribute, Clotho, gives an annoyed roll of her eyes. Crystal scolds her.
As we leave, I notice Palladium glaring at me. I stick my middle finger in his face before shutting the door.
“Don’t let that fool you, he’s a feminist,” says Linens randomly.
I grab the District Seven tributes, who are always bickering. Siliar tells them to shut up.
Finally, it’s District Three’s dorm. I open the door and I’m greeted by a very scared Wiress and an expectant Beetee.
“Already know what you want, here you go,” says Beetee as he calls for his tributes.
Wiress tries smiling at me. “How’s mentoring going? The first time is always the hardest. It was horrible watching your friends—“ she looks up at the ceiling and starts humming. I look at Beetee, raising an eyebrow, and he mouths out, “Torture.” Oh.
I respond to Wiress, understanding what she meant. “Oh, it’s okay. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’d prefer to go through the Games again than to watch people I know die.”
She nods in understanding. “I got lucky last year, with you guys. Now...I just hope they go quick—“ she trails off and looks around.
We excuse ourselves and head to the Training Room, where Plutarch instructed me to go.
The District Three girl, Cordelia, goes up to me, swinging her long black hair in my face. “This isn’t a trap, right?”
I shake my head, confused. “What would I gain from that? Less allies for my tribute? Yeah, no.” She pouts at my tight remark.
“Obviously it wouldn’t be, Cord. Plus, if it is, you can count on us to protect you,” says Hollowvest. Cordelia blushes red, which confuses me. How can you be crushing like an elementary student before a death game? He’ll probably be the one skewering her in the arena.
Linens is talking to Siliar about how smelly Clotho is, which makes Port grunt in disgust.
Those District Seven tributes, Adze and Adair, keep on bickering. Something about breakfast. My temper has been overstimulated.
“Will you two shut up?” I scream. They stare at me. For a long time.
“Fine,” says the boy, the one who got the 10 in training.
Oh yeah. Training. Might as well ask them how they got the scores.
“So, how’d you all...accomplish those scores?”
The boy from Three, Port, does some motions with his hand. I wrinkle my face in confusion right before Cordelia translates.
“He did some knot-tying, somehow managing to cover a whole dummy with rope. By the way, he’s mute.”
“How’d he get only a five, then?” questions Siliar. Cordelia gulps and whispers something to Port. He does more motions, saddened.
“Apparently he pressed too hard and broke the rope. One piece of it flung into a Gamemaker’s face and caused her to go home early, escorted by medics. As for me, I did some odds. It’s really interesting, but I guess I spoke too fast. They didn’t understand half of it, I could tell from their expressions. I know that look since my parents are such—“
“Oh,” cuts in Adze, annoyed.
He rolls his eyes briefly before putting on a sympathetic look. “That sucks. Maybe if you win, your parents will be more...listening.” Cordelia blushes. Can she stop with that?
Adze continues. “I did some axe throwing. Pierced through twelve dummies in a singular throw. All in the heart. I deserved that ten.”
His fellow tribute, Adair, grunts in annoyance. “No you didn’t. That’s like, only worthy of a 6 in our household. Those pampered Capitol freaks were impressed since they’re too lazy to workout like that.” She should be careful with what she says. “It doesn’t beat my sword throwing—“
“Shut up, you got a 9, I got a 10!”
“Well you got an extra point since you f*cking ripped your shirt and flexed—“
“Cut it out!” screamed Woodsworth Ivy. “It’s ruining my ears!”
“No one’s listening to you, you singing freak,” retorts Adze.
Adair elbows him whispering, “That’s a little too far?” Adze closes his eyes and I can hear him count to three. “I’m sorry, Woodywoth.”
“WOODWORTH IVY!” screams the girl. Siliar sneaks an amused look to me, which I return back. Linens and Port sigh.
A head pops out of the District 4 dorm. It’s that boy who won a few years back, the one Mags comforted since he was crying. 40th Hunger Games, maybe? Think his name was Cascade Odair?
“Please be quieter? My tributes are getting annoyed and—“ he gulps, “—are probably going to start a homicidal spree if the noise continues. I’m horrified at them,” he asks. Linens quietly remarks about how he isn’t exaggerating.
“Of course we’ll be quieter, I’m sorry about them.” I turn to them. “Right guys? We’ll be quieter, RIGHT?” Everyone sighs in approval. Hollowvest grins at Woodsworth Ivy mockingly. She jabs him in his soft spot. He screams.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” I yell. Cascade shuts the door quickly, after hearing a grunt from his tributes.
Anyways, Woodsworth Ivy tells us how she got the score. “Did some neat traditional singing and dancing while throwing knives. Was a little wonky on my aim, but the knives had good speed, due to my cool dancing motions.” She gives a breathy sigh. “I miss home.”
Hollowvest nods, then he gets into his story. “I purposefully held back. Only did some wrestling with a dummy. I made myself take thrice as long as I normally would to tear off the arms of it.” I back away from him.
Linens says that he did some simple sword fencing, though he did drop it one time in nervousness, which explains his lower score of a 7. Not my problem.
Siliar starts to recount his story, but I give him a look that tells him to censor it.
“Did some jokes, then threw a knife and pinned a decoration in the air to the ceiling.” Everyone groans in annoyance, except for Port who’s in his own world.
“They gave you a 12 for that?” says Adair cockily. Siliar shrugs.
“Alright everyone, I think that’s the Training Centre?” I say. Everyone nods. Cordelia mutters something about, “us taking twice as long to get there because that dumb Seven girl talks too much.” Honestly, real.
I take them down the stairs and they head into the centre. “I’ll wait here,” I tell Siliar. Then I hope for the best. Plutarch better not threaten them.

Chapter Text

I walk into the room and nearly puke. The Head Gamemaker is sitting at the table, staring right into my face with his shiny blond curls.
“Welcome, everyone!” he announces.
Hollowvest darts back to the door, but finds it locked automatically.
“If you’re gonna kill us, get it over with!” he bellows.
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you guys,” he says.
“You’re literally sending us to an arena to fight to the death,” says Hollowvest gruffly.
“Finally, someone brings that up! Saves me a lot of explaining.”
Woodsworth Ivy cuts in. “Can you, uh, hurry up?” Her tone is meek and nervous, but still sharp.
“Ugh. Kids these days have NO respect. Only you, Linens, has some dignity around here.”
Linens blushes. “Thank you.” I elbow him. “Don’t bow down to those Capitol freaks,” I whisper in his ear. Plutarch chuckles, overhearing it. Dang it.
“That’s the spirit, eh?” The District Seven tributes squint distrustfully, but he’s on a roll. “Now, I have a proposition for you wonderful batch of kids. Destroying the arena. Freedom. An escape from an almost certain death.”
The room bursts into a chorus of agreement, arguments and passion. The loudest is Linens, who has acquired a dark going in his eyes, as if he’s been training his whole life to rebel, not to compete.
“Keep it down,” tries Plutarch, but everyone’s too loud.
“Can we have more details? Everyone, shut up!” I yell amidst the chaos. Stunned silence. Plutarch grins and gives me a look I can only describe as proud.
“A mockingjay,” Plutarch mutters, loud enough for me to hear.

Chapter Text

“Is it working?” I asked, bored, into my walkie-talkie. “I mean, I don’t exactly agree with repeating it again this year, after what happened last year—oh, that was a mistake—but if it does, then potential less loss of life. Whatever. Not like it matters, since I’ll be gone.”
Plutarch is slow to respond, as always. “That cocky boy from Twelve was the one we chose. I am considering his district partner, the blonde one,” his voice buzzes into my talkie.
The blonde one? Donner? A mistake. “No, no. You can’t be serious. She’d be the doom of this ugly plan. Speaking of that, why are we even trying again this year?”
Silence. “Oh shoot, gotta go. Sorry to see you go, tomorrow. I’ll miss you.” He makes up an unintelligible murmur about business with the Games and I’m cut off from him. I sigh. He’s too ambitious for his own good.
“Well, time for some more interesting manners. Not like it matters at this point,” I groan, remembering how I lost the recent election. It was a sweep, the opponent got 80% of the vote.
I think about factors leading to her victory. She is someone who values order and integrity rather than freedom and ease. Something necessary for a possible Capitol rebellion, in the future. I haven’t spoken publicly about a rebellion, but it’s been implied. My opponent mentioned it in a rally. And tomorrow, is my last day serving before she takes power.
Alma Coin. A young woman in her 20’s with her vice present, her equally politically powerful husband. I don’t know how they got in that position, with her pregnant and all, and with their lack of humour, but I’m sure they put up a fierce fight. I respect her ambition and all, but I fear that the glory of power will overwhelm and transform her. Into something like Snow.
It’s not like she’ll have power forever, though. There’s a chance for another election every five years, where citizens vote on if an election shall be held. Voting for a chance to vote, ugh. Coin could possibly reign indefinitely if the citizens always choose not to hold elections.
Enough thinking. I need rest. It’s not like I still won’t have a career after tomorrow. I have been secretly taking medical lessons from my older sister, Nurse Cornificia Aurelius. She got the talent from my late parents, and she hopes I inherit it as well. Soon, I won’t be the politician Marcus Aurelius. I’ll be Dr. Aurelius. At least, with hope.
I’m tired of all this thinking, about future and whatnot, so I hop into the president’s bed and shut my eyes. “Last time sleeping in this bed,” I murmur to myself.

“President Aurelius, it’s time,” bellows my Vice President, Fidus Boggs, sadly. He’s a dark skinned relic of a man with no hair, but ever intelligent. Unfortunate that he rose to power under my term. He could’ve done so much, but was restrained by my retrospective poor choices. Recently married, he’s thinking of having children. An heir, he called it.
I gather my belongings, give him a brotherly kiss on the cheek while wiping away his tears, and we go. I head to Collective, a large auditorium remade for political announcements. Our large population takes up almost every seat. The inauguration was called immediately after Coin’s victory, and the two of us had scheduled it perfectly, in the soldier’s spare hours.
Coin is up on the stage with me, smirking proudly. I sigh and begin, remembering my oh-so-scripted speech I’ve been practicing. “Citizens of District Thirteen, it is the day you’ve all been waiting for. The day where I transfer my rank of president, to this young woman right here: Alma Coin—“ Fidus whispers into my ear hastily, telling me her middle name. “Pardon. Alma Mater Coin. She has shown resolve despite the conflict of our upper world, and promises to take charge on the treatment of the districts above seriously.”
I hand her the mic. “Thank you, former president, Marcus Inops Aurelius. I promise to transform this nation into a community strong enough to counter our very Capitol. This leads to my first order. Every citizen above the age of twelve shall be subjected into a strict schedule to train for various skills. Everyone under sixteen shall be given a dedicated three hours of learning in various classes, seven hours for those under eleven. I assure you all that this will benefit the nation as a whole. And with that, we conclude this inauguration. Thank you. I will be giving schedules tomorrow.”
People cheer. Loudly and passionately. Coin bows as people begin to disperse, whispering wholeheartedly. Maybe she’ll be a better leader. I’m lost.

A day passes. I’m aware that the annual popular killing event above us, the Hunger Games, will begin later today. I shake at the thought. Will that Twelve boy be able to do it? Maybe I should’ve let Plutarch and Beetee get the girl. Her training score is decent, she’s fierce, and, and, oh, what was I thinking? She should’ve been a part of the plan. Coin really is a better leader, and she hasn’t been in power for a week yet!
Coin announces an assembly. We gather in Collective as she babbles on about the schedule, it being stamped on our arms and whatnot. Boring. Then she says something that catches our attentions.
“As you all know, the Fiftieth Hunger Games begins today. I have an announcement: we’re trying to get the kids out of the arena.”
Everyone gasps or shrieks in delight. I act indifferent, as I’ve already known about this.
“Haymitch Abernathy, tribute from Twelve, with luck, will destroy the secret force field around the arena and make a joke out of their Games, hopefully ending it in a public display of defiance. We will broadcast the Games in this auditorium during Reflection, the free period of your schedule. I’d make the free period only a half hour, but with the Games being on, I’m extending it to three hours at night. Anyone willing for more details shall come in my office during Reflection. Thank you, you may start your daily schedule now.”
Broadcasting the Games? Kids dying? I’d never thought we’d do that...But, it’s for the best, right?

I’m watching the Fiftieth Games with my sister, Cornificia. Some news broadcast has just ended. The boy on screen, Haymitch, has just left to get some potatoes and whatnot. Maybe it’s supplies for his alliance, as the commentators said. I still don’t understand how this runt will supposedly ‘break the arena’.
“Is Coin stupid? Why did she approve of this boy for this task? Should’ve been that blondie, now she’s a force to be reckoned with,” whispers my sister.
I try not to point out the fact that it’s my fault we didn’t choose Maysilee, not Coin’s. “What’s that pink thing in the corner of the screen?” I say.
Cornifica raises an eyebrow and gasps. “Mutts!” she screams.
The room is forced into chaos as Haymitch is flocked by a group of candy-pink birds, reminiscent of flamingos. Screeches, shrieks of disappointment, groans, even a bit of laughter.
Haymitch tries choking a bird. “There’s no way he makes it out alive,” claims Cornificia, surprised.
“I don’t know, he’s fierce—“ an insane, robotic imitation of Haymitch’s scream cuts us off, like it was added there manually by the editors.
We watch as a bird stabs him through the chest, our hope of the Games ending prolonged.

Chapter Text

I’m given an hour of spare time before she interrupts.
“How’s it going, Plutarch?” Coin’s voice buzzes into my talkie.
Oh sh*t. “How’s what going?” I try playing the evasive card.
“Don’t be dumb. Who accepted our offer?”
“Everyone. That cocky boy from 12, the strong 11 and 1 boys, both from 7 and 3, and—“ I scramble, trying to find my notes. “—the dancy girl also from 11.” I read, content and proud.
“Names?” I can visualize Coin raising an eyebrow on the other end of our call.
“Consiliarius, goes by Siliar, Undersee; Hollowvest Lotus; Linens Braun; Adze and Adair Wasters; Cordelia Saint; Ware Hardy; and finally, Woodsworth Ivy Baird.” I give a huff of exasperation and relief after saying all those names.
“A Baird, you say?” whispers Coin.
“Well, yeah,” I say dryly.
“Heard some victor from Twelve had that name. Lucy Baird or something. Found it from the archives.”
“Maybe the talent will run through the family,” I joke. “We could have a victor in our hands.”
But Coin doesn’t catch my joke. She never does. “What’d she get? A nine in training?”
“Eight,” I correct her, slightly snarky. What, who can blame a guy for being proud of his memory?
“Not bad. She’s a good size, too. Five-feet-seven?”
“Think she’s an inch taller than that. You want her to be a victor?”
“No. But I want her to be a main point in our rebel plot. No one would suspect a jolly performer like her to strike the cord that blows everything up.”
“Do you even want a victor?” I ask.
“If we were to have one apart of our plot, I’d say the boy from 12. Could be a good with his clear...flame or something. He could be a good—what was it that you called it last meeting? The main driving force of the revolution?”
“Mockingjay,” I say assertively.
“Ah. Mockingjay.” She tries the word on her tongue like it’s a foreign dish. A Capitol dish, to be exact. “Yes, yes. Now that I think of it, that Baird girl would also work. Maybe the boy from 11 or the girl from 7. But anyways, shall we work on our plot? Who does what?”
“Of course, president. How’s the baby, by the way?” I say, remembering her pregnancy.
“Don’t change the topic, Heavensbee. Be more...formal.”
I sigh. Not my fault my brain’s all over the place. “I’ll try, Alma.”
“Shall we begin?”
“Of course.”

Chapter Text

so I’m gonna be taking a break from uploading so I can write chapters in advance!!! by the time the next chapter comes out, the fifty first games will probably be already fully written
I’ll be completely honest: I haven’t written a single thing from the next chapter. Procrastination sucks, plus I had to offload my notes app (where I write the chapters) for storage temporarily, will try reinstalling soon

In short, I’ll be taking a hiatus until maybe Christmas from posting. Sneak peaks will occasionally drop in comments though! Thanks for understanding and reading, see you soon!