Commencement
x
Before we loose the word
That bids new worlds to birth,
Needs must we loosen first the sword
Of Justice upon earth
'Justice', Rudyard Kipling
x
Cereus Gardner, District 11, Victor of the 79th Hunger Games
The announcement - publicized in generic terms, but broadly anticipated as the formal reveal of the finale, a year in advance - was set to be made in the Capitol's largest theater. Unsettlingly enough, this meant that the invitations summoned them to the same cavernous hall in which each of the victors had been crowned in years past.
Even if they weren't enveloped in a veritable tinderbox of some of the most volatile people in the country, Cereus would have been at least moderately uncomfortable with the setup. He'd never much enjoyed dressing up and being put on display, preferring, vastly, time spent in District 11, playing the part of field crew director over 'man, visibly uncomfortable, in fitted suit'.
His former mentee handled this sort of thing far better. Even Sharon, though, seated at his right, was visibly nervous as the minutes stretched on and the stage remained empty as the other victors around them exchanged quiet words and otherwise caught up.
Well, most of them were quiet.
"I don't see why she gets to skip it," Corsage, the youngest of three victors from District 1, was declaring at top volume. "I have a job, too, you know."
"And we're all so proud of you," Finish, the district's senior victor, replied flatly.
Sharon shot Cereus a nervous glance, and he shook his head. For the love of all that's good, don't engage. There'd be no productive discussion with the mood like this. He strained to make eye contact with Claudia, seated a row back beside the hulking blond Aaron - she seemed distracted, though, by something beyond whatever was about to happen onstage.
"Have we all made it?" Cereus asked, finally raising his voice.
Finish was the oldest of the victors present, followed by Neveah from District 4 and Claudia from District 2. It was generally Cereus and Claudia, though, who took the reins whenever the victors were expected to act as any kind of cohesive group. Between the two of them, they could generally wrangle the inner and outer district representatives into some kind of consensus.
"Seems so," Claudia agreed, after a long pause. "Cora won't be joining us, and I don't imagine Polly will, either, though she's more in your purview."
Cereus sighed grimly.
"My last interaction with her was several nights back. I can't be certain she's even in the Capitol."
"Nice," Sequin interjected. "Good to know the outer districts are as well in order as ever."
He bit his tongue, though Sharon looked like she might like to say something.
Don't, he reminded her with his expression.
Took another breath.
"Hey, he made me show up, credit where credit's due," Saxaul, from District 7, interrupted, as he generally did. "Corsage was half an hour late, how's that for your trainee district cohesion? He slip his leash and get a few atrocities in before breakfast?"
Now it was Sequin's turn to scowl silently to avoid a fight.
"It's a poor time to be at each other's throats," Cereus said quietly.
"No time like the present!" Saxaul parried cheerfully. "There were mimosas at the breakfast buffet, it helps."
"Saxaul," he said warningly.
"I'll be serious," the younger man sighed. "Hell, I'll be so Cereus that I spontaneously grow a beard. Yours is looking good, by the way."
It would almost be more concerning if Saxaul didn't show up to a gathering of victors spoiling for a fight, frankly.
So Cereus merely nodded, remaining silent, watching the stage intently. While there seemed to be little activity, under scrutiny, Peacekeepers and black-clad stage assistants formed a veritable hive of movement on the fringes of the spotlight-illuminated portion of the stage. District 11's mentors were seated together, towards the center of the area reserved for past victors - specifically invited for a front-row view. Sharon, beside him, was twitchy and on-guard, no doubt tired after rolling back into their suite so late, having received a hefty pile of invitations to various celebrations of the Games' return that he had turned down, but she felt obligated to attend.
She had aged since her victory in the 87th Games, six years earlier, though she'd only been seventeen at the time. Now himself in his thirties, Cereus still sometimes struggled not to see her as the child she'd been on that first evening on the train.
Despite her enduring it-girl status in the hiatus, which left the Capitol demanding far more of her time than his, she remained stubbornly unaltered, in contrast with Finish from District 1, who had rolled up to the announcement ceremony looking like he'd dipped his head in liquid gold, as was apparently the style now. He hosted some kind of inane talk show discussing, predictably, fashion, though Cereus was secure enough to admit that he'd seen a few episodes himself, and had sincerely enjoyed the parts that showcased craftspeople from District 1 and District 8. At least it was interesting once Finish was offscreen.
Though out of work during the three year delay prior to the announcement, they'd all managed to keep busy in one way or another. Sequin, the District 1-born victor of the 81st Games, had been placed in charge of some kind of cooperative technology-and-personnel exchange program between District 1, District 3, and District 8, which now churned out unified factory safety guidelines and appeared to have resulted in the invention of several new gemstones and a chemically modified form of nontoxic asbestos gear that could protect the wearer, ostensibly, even from immersion in molten steel, among other marvels.
Most were in television, because not everyone was the child of luxury mechanics, as Sequin was. Including Sharon, who had actually married in an intensely televised ceremony, one of the twenty-two suitors introduced to her on the outrageously popular competitive-dating reality show, Game of Love. Further reality series had been founded on her somehow-simultaneously-blissful-and-dramatic life in the Capitol with Leonin Devage.
Cereus, for his part, had returned home to his field crew when the hiatus was declared, grateful to devote his full attention to the district that he loved and hopeful that the apparent changes to the administration would mean something good for Eleven. His hopes had been surpassed. Two institutions of higher education, one for agricultural science and another for inter-district employment certification training and apprentice-matching, were in the construction phases. Pollinator enhancement projects, among other studies, had brought trains laden with young Capitol and District 6 scientists into the community, and their assimilation had not been the disaster that he'd feared, thanks in part to a campaign Mayor Jeffords had put together with his and Sharon's help.
For nearly three years, now, no children had died in the Games.
Things were changing. The world was expanding in unexpected ways. And the reprieve from the Games had no small part in the growing sense of prosperity, of safety.
He hoped the finale would mean just that.
The end. For good.
And this announcement would establish exactly how that would happen.
Hence, the two rows of nervous victors in the cordoned-off area near the stage.
Who could blame any of them for being on-edge? The last time such a spectacle had gone on in anticipation of the Games, the fallout had wiped out the then-fifty-nine remaining victors, returning twenty-four of them to the arena. Only fourteen had been crowned since the reinstatement of the Games, the last being Cora of District 2, nowhere near the numbers they would need to mount any form of effective resistance if the worst came to worst.
Of course, Niagara from Five was long dead.
Cora's absence was also conspicuous. It was well known, at least among the victors, that she and Claudia, her former mentor, were eternally at odds. Which was strange, because Cereus found Cora to be a very pleasant and polite young woman, a little strange but well-meaning, and greatly enjoyed the three-year-running television show that tracked her professional development as a trauma nurse, now in training as a nurse practitioner, in a Capitol emergency room.
Broaching the issue would start a fight, so he didn't.
Cereus had no intention of upsetting Claudia, particularly not in the tense period before the finale's twist would be revealed. While he considered her a friend under any normal set of circumstances, this was not the time to test the limits of her goodwill.
He turned to Sharon, who was nervously tugging on one of her curls in the seat next to him, but before he could subtly inquire about any information she might have picked up at the series of pre-announcement parties she'd attended the previous night, the anthem began to play as the seal was projected in a massive hologram that swallowed up the stage.
The effect on the other victors - well, some of them - was immediate.
No one from the trainee districts seemed to react, but Timothy from Ten, behind him, flinched so dramatically that his knees hit the back of Cereus' seat. Saxaul, in the corner of his eye, grimaced.
And then, as the music faded, Cereus found himself abruptly looking into a massive projection of his own face. One by one, each of them was broadcast on candid camera, in a hologram that dissolved to reveal a composite image of all of the victors at their ceremonial crownings.
He frowned, thinking that he looked younger than he remembered looking in the immediate aftermath of his victory. Since then, he'd grown a beard, filled out his frame with coiled muscle beyond what could be achieved by a younger man whose childhood had been defined by malnourishment and fear of planes passing overhead in the Mockingjay Rebellion… he was practically unrecognizable. Twice as old, besides.
A voice boomed out over the crowd.
"Before we can begin, we honor, as always, the victors in attendance - and memorialize those no longer with us."
It was a familiar tone, and as he squinted through the hologram, he could make out the recently-ascended Master of Ceremonies, Lysima Vargas, an alumnus of The Games Network's interviewing staff, clip-clipping her way to the podium in her usual improbably high heels.
"Who's going to shoot me if she goes up there and says we're going back in the Games?" Saxaul asked, voicing aloud Cereus' concerns. "I've got a full bottle of tequila for whoever does it. I'll reveal the location with my dying breath."
"Act like a fucking adult, maybe, and kill your damn self," An, the only victor from District 6, replied tersely.
"Don't tempt me," he shot back.
Speculation had reached a fever pitch in recent weeks, based on cryptic but pervasive advertisement by the Gamemaking team, helmed by Herodotus Snow, a former executive at TGN, after the shocking death of Annia Neves in the debacle following the 89th Games. Cereus knew him as the solemn and businesslike coordinator of extra-Games media at TGN, so he suspected that someone else must be influencing the entirely melodramatic lead-up to the finale announcement.
Rumors had spiraled out of control. Were the living victors going to be executed live on air by the the customary twenty-two reaped tributes? Almost definitely not, but at least one magazine had raised the idea.
"Okay, can y'all be quiet?" Cereus demanded, as the hologram began to rise and contract to fit over the stage, projecting Lysima's face in a billion tiny fragments of pure light.
"Good evening," she began, smiling from behind the podium. "As Panem's Master of Ceremonies, it's my pleasure to welcome you tonight as President Lancaster makes the announcement regarding how exactly this coming year's Games - the grand finale, as it were - will proceed."
A coin hitting the floor would have been audible in the crowded amphitheater.
"My name is Lysima Vargas, and I'm honored to serve Panem as we bring the Hunger Games to their conclusion."
It was difficult, watching her, not to recall the fate of Head Gamemaker Neves, who had been similarly youthful-looking and lovely and put-together. Imprisoned on charges of treason and collusion, the glamorous Annia Neves had unglamorously slit her own wrists in a short-term holding facility prior to her trial.
If Herodotus Snow, seated, unsmiling, at the back of the stage, was concerned that this might be a poor indication for his own fate, he seemed to have no intention of letting it on.
"Not to mention, I think we've all been waiting for this with bated breath. I hope you've cleared your schedules for this summer, because I certainly have. The rumors are true. The grand finale will be exactly that - grand beyond our collective imaginations! May I now introduce... President Margaret Lancaster!"
The thunder of applause was less a function of the enthusiasm of the crowd than of its size. Whispers of speculation were ignited from the second the announcer finished her sentence.
"Thank you, Lysima," the President began, standing from her seat beside the Head Gamemaker and taking her place at the podium.
"God, she looks awful," Sharon whispered from beside Cereus.
Cereus was inclined to agree, but silently. President Lancaster had greyed, and not just her hair. Compared to the authentically youthful Lysima, well… she looked ill. Battered.
"I've been hard at work with my advisors and the remaining Gamemakers in search of a solution to our problem. Due to outside influences, the Games were warped into a tool that was never their intended purpose. Their fairness, their stand-in for the beautiful meritocracy of postrevolution Panem, was undermined by corruption. We recognize the loss of a cultural artifact, if not always the most widely beloved."
"Understatement."
Sharon nudged Cereus, and he shushed her. Not the time to be flippant. Sharon was young - too young to remember the time before. The bombs, the fires, the unending humiliations of life in District 11 before the Rebellion. He trusted Lancaster's intentions, whether or not he trusted her words.
He hoped that neither the victors nor his district would be the next casualties of the administration's reshuffling of the power structure. But it had to be for the best.
"Ultimately," the President continued, "I've become convinced that the problems that have arisen as a result of the Games are integral to their structure. I confirm, now, what much of the speculation has suggested; there will indeed be a finale, to draw a curtain on this part of our history and give closure to our country."
"That sounds promising," Cereus heard Timothy whispering to his companion - likely Saxaul.
Don't sell your harvest before you've laid seed, Cereus wanted to warn him. There could still be trouble. Having so many of the victors in the same place was always a gamble. Left them tactically vulnerable.
In a world where Richard Lorca could come a hair's breadth away from the Presidency, well… anything could happen.
"In this final round, we all participate as equals," the President announced.
The audience held its collective breath.
"There will be no reaping for the final Games. One year from now, twenty-four tributes, two from each district and two representing the Capitol, will compete. The search for these young men and women begins today - every contestant in the final Games will be entered voluntarily. Guidelines will be sent out to the office of each mayor, and in any district without a surviving victor as mentor, a stand-in will be chosem to supervise their volunteers as they prepare."
It was better than he could have hoped. No mayhem, no drastic upheaval - why, he could think of two members of his field crew of age to volunteer who'd likely be on board.
From the other side of the victors' partition, though, he could hear cursing - from the trainee districts, of course.
"Well, fuck us, then, I guess," Neveah from District 4 announced, barely audible behind the murmurs of the massive crowd but making no effort to disguise his frustration. "See if anyone wants to volunteer this year."
Two volunteers - it seemed simple enough to Cereus, but he had no doubt that there would be trouble in other districts, where the selection of tributes worked differently, where the culture was different. And if the mayors' offices would be in charge of enforcement, well - that could mean anything, in districts with weak victor presence and no particular legacy of volunteer success. Polly in District 3 would be facing a losing battle against Mayor Rhodes, who preferred to use the Games to rid his district of potentially violent undesirables than to inspire pride.
But District 11 would be fine. That was what mattered.
x
Saxaul now had two attempts to stab Claudia under his belt.
All of this made meetings of the large group wildly uncomfortable.
"So, what," Corsage complained, after a fairly uneventful trek through the halls of the secure floor of the hotel. "We pick two volunteers? Same as every year except now everyone's doing it?"
"Yeah, it'll be a terrible struggle for you, I'm sure," An said, picking at a loose thread of the couch before seating herself in the District 1 victors' enormous suite.
"Actually, there may be trouble for us," Claudia sighed. "Our volunteers expect the competition to look a certain way, and I'm not putting anyone in the Games who doesn't want to be there."
"You're telling me," Neveah groaned. "It's hard enough to scrape together volunteers in Four, let alone competent ones."
"Putting it into the Mayors' hands is a surprising move," Cereus said, weighing in after a long period of deliberation. "I'll be curious to see what sort of guidance they receive. But in Eleven, at least, I have no doubt that Mayor Jeffords will ultimately defer back to me and Sharon."
"Well, we'll stick to the script in District One," Sequin declared, eyeing Corsage with the implication that they were in agreement, regardless of his thoughts on the matter. "We have two volunteers on track and they'll back out at their own peril. I'm going to consider this a year like any other."
"What about the Capitol tributes?" Sharon mused. "What happens with them? Are we calling them for trainees? Rich kids on a power trip? Lowest common denominator?"
"It's useless to speculate," Cereus insisted, calling attention back to himself. "I'm interested in hearing what each district will actually be doing, not hypotheticals. Eleven will send two authentic volunteers. I have a list of doors I'll be knocking on once we hit ground back at home. It's an honor, to compete in the last Games. That's what I'll be stressing. Our volunteers will be immortalized."
"That's a good angle," Claudia conceded. "Are we really going to have an arena of twenty-four sincere contenders? That doesn't sound like good television. That said, District Two plays to win."
"No doubt Mayor Rhodes will send in some pair of unfortunates he intends to get rid of," Sharon added. "Polly's never been able to get a leash on him."
"Once upon a time, she was the unfortunate he wanted to get rid of," Cereus reminded her.
"Well, District Four is fucked - we've got inlanders who bow out at the first sign of a strong field and a few stragglers from the coast who barely pass their physicals. Maybe this is the year we finally just get rid of some rabble," Neveah sighed.
"District Six will send our best, but there's no guarantees," An said shortly. "Our best will likely be specialists. I'm sure that'll be the same for Five, if they can even scrape together anyone worth looking at. Not sure we have enough manual labor jobs to pull from, but I guess we'll see."
"Not more poisoners?" Corsage groaned. "For fuck's sake, is that all you have? How does someone go out for a fucking drink in your shithole of a district, with all the fucking poison you all must be slinging around twenty-four-fucking-seven?"
"I said nothing about poisoning, yet. Watch your cup," An replied, a disturbing edge to her voice.
Corsage grimaced at her, but indeed took his glass of wine from the coffee table to more efficiently drain it of its contents.
"Mayor Jibril has a stick up his ass," Saxaul volunteered. "I wouldn't be shocked to see him trying to use this as an opportunity to more explicitly clean up the streets of District Seven, though he could frame it as an honor just as easy and he'd probably be able to get some takers. But I'm not going to help him do it. Frankly, this is all bullshit. I actually plan to be very obstructive and unpleasant about this whole thing."
"You don't have to announce that," Claudia replied, a little coldly, Cereus thought. "We would have assumed."
There was a brief silence, accompanied by the general cognizance of the vacancies in District Eight and District Nine.
"I'd bet on no shortage of desperation volunteers from Eight," Claudia offered, tone entirely back to normal. "Things have been going from bad to worse in that hellscape since the election or lack thereof. And I haven't heard much about Nine, good or bad - they have plenty of muscle, but the lack of a mentor has been bogging them down."
"Wonder who they'll tap for the mentor stand-in role," Cereus sighed. "Could finally be their year."
"Can we agree that this seems like the year for big personalities? Just throw 'em in a jar and see what happens?" Finish, from District 1, finally weighed in.
"In theory, that's every year," Claudia replied. "But I agree about kicking it up to eleven. Go big or go home."
"I can't promise as 'big' as last time," Timothy grumbled. "But District Ten has some interesting characters worth turning up, and some of them should be eager to set the record straight after that train wreck."
"Hey, Samil wasn't your fault," Saxaul reassured him. "You did your best."
"Get a room, you two," Corsage scoffed.
"Get a conscience, you utter piece of shit," Saxaul shot back calmly.
"...so, the Capitol tributes, anyway," Sharon suggested, shifting the topic of conversation elsewhere. "Who do we reach out to about that? Are they gonna appoint some Capitol trainer to coach them? Octavion is miserable to work with, I hope it's not him."
"Claudia has the closest connect to the President, doesn't she?" Cereus pushed. "Can we count on you for that?"
Claudia shrugged. "I'll make a go at it, but if she doesn't want to tell me she won't tell me."
Cereus knew there was more to their relationship than that, but in front of all the other mentors, he opted to keep silent.
"Great chat," Neveah declared. "Great to see you all. I'm out of here before someone pulls a knife."
He made his exit with startling alacrity, even for a victor still in relatively good shape in his early thirties, Cereus observed.
"This is our suite," Corsage announced. "You can all leave when you want."
Sequin looked prepared to swat her younger counterpart, but seemed to restrain herself with some effort.
"It's been a pleasure," she added - then turned to Corsage and began to tell him off, signalling to the rest of the group that the meeting was very much over.
"Claudia, Aaron, walk with us?" Cereus offered, rising along with Sharon and nodding towards the pair from District 2.
"Yes, let's," Claudia replied, and the four took their leave before anyone else could join them.
In the hall, Cereus let out the breath he always found himself holding in large groups of other victors. They could be exceedingly difficult, of course - it was how they'd won, being stubborn, resourceful, and self-interested, for the most part.
Claudia seemed to do the same, shaking her head as though to clear it of something tangible rather than just the stress of interacting with so many on-edge people so demonstrably capable of multiple murders.
At first, they walked in silence, Sharon and Aaron nodding at each other in their way of quiet acknowledgement.
"No Cora," Cereus finally commented. "Suppose it might be for the better that she wasn't part of that powderkeg."
The older victor from District 2 nearly laughed aloud, but stifled it.
"Oh, there likely would have been blood."
"You should have time to mend fences as we approach the finale?" Cereus suggested, watching her carefully. "A year to go, having put some distance between yourselves and the debacle with Lorca…"
"If only that were the problem," Claudia sighed. "It's fine. I know how she ticks. But it'll be a shame - Aaron's been pleasant company, and should we be brought back together for the finale I'll need to go back to sleeping with a loaded gun."
Cereus whistled softly. "That bad?"
"You have no idea."
"You'll communicate with me and Sharon, once you know more about the situation in the Capitol, though?" Cereus pressed.
"Of course. I think Finish was right, though - all we can do on our end is send the biggest personalities we can manage. Your Dasheen, this year - she would have been perfect."
"If she could fight," Cereus replied grimly. "Maybe then she'd have made it through the first two hours."
"It was bad luck. I was sorry to see her go, though."
"Did you mean what you said - Two has its volunteers locked already?" Sharon piped in from where she walked behind the older pair, side by side with Aaron.
"Well, our girl, at least," Claudia sighed. "I'm starting to think we might try to send a specialist for our boy. Recruit from the mines or something to shake it up a little. Not set in stone just yet."
"Will Eleven really just send another pair of laborers?" Aaron asked.
"Laborers with some personality," Cereus countered. "From my crew, or someone outside the circle with a real spark. Maybe even an orchard girl."
"I'm sure we'll get plenty of interest," Sharon added. "Everyone's going to be so relieved that the finale's not something worse. All that tension built up - she gave us an easy out."
"The districts are like a dog that's been hit too many times - they flinch whenever she raises her hand, no matter how many times she pours their food with it. She knows that," Claudia said.
"Do you think it's really over?" Sharon asked, expression somewhere approaching hopeful.
Cereus just sighed.
"Sharon, our parents thought it was over with the Mockingjay Rebellion. Then it wasn't. Once Lancaster proved the Games can be repackaged as the apple rather than the worm… it'll be at least another generation before the poison's out."
"And we don't all think they're poison," Claudia added lightly, reminding him that she, at least, was District 2 raised. "They go even deeper for us. The Center can shift to training Peacekeepers, but the Games are in our blood. They burned your fields in District Eleven - you were still farmers when the smoke cleared."
Cereus nodded, understanding - more or less. He'd worked with Claudia long enough to not be horrified by the way she thought. Even tracker jackers pollinated the orange groves, after all.
"Best of luck, Claudia. I'll be in touch once I know more about our volunteers. Please don't hesitate to do the same - especially if you manage to get the President's ear on this 'Capitol tribute' business."
"I'll be waiting for your call," the District 2 mentor said, sauntering away with Aaron in tow, leaving Sharon and Cereus alone by the elevator.
Though the floor on which the mentors had met was cordoned off, the elevator was fair game - on the ride down, Cereus and Sharon found themselves immediately beset upon by a gaggle of Capitol women staying at the hotel for a bachelorette party who took it upon themselves to recruit Cereus for their festivities.
"Those glittery multicolored freckles are the most benign alteration trend I've seen in years," Sharon commented, once the women were ushered out onto the floor that held the swimming pool with the magnetic-levitating bar.
"How would I look with some?" Cereus laughed. "I think some aqua blue sparkles on my nose would really make my eyes pop."
"Don't even joke, Finish looks ridiculous with his hair… what, coated in gold paint? He's bought in so heavy to Capitol culture, it's hard to watch. Like, he's thirty-four, time to act like an adult."
"Wise words from a twenty-three year old. He claims it's real gold."
"Even worse," Sharon sighed. "That bullshit could feed a family of four for a year."
"It's not our problem," he chided her. "As long as Eleven isn't starving for his gilded hairdo."
District 11 was doing many things, but starving was not one of them. In the aftermath of the morning's excitement, Cereus found his thoughts drifting back to home. He'd left Jessamine in charge of the field crew for his two-day absence. The lack of panicked calls meant that must have gone reasonably well. They were coordinating a new wetland-renewal rice paddy project with the help of a team of Capitol scientists, and the finale announcement had been inconveniently timed to coincide with the planned groundbreaking. He'd wanted to be there.
But it seemed like his team was functioning well enough without him.
Now to choose two young lives he'd be able to spare.
He put his head in his hands, abruptly exhausted at the thought.
"You doing okay?" Sharon asked, leaning in, concerned.
Cereus laughed harshly.
"I should be asking you," he admitted. "Christ, Sharon, I don't get into the Capitol to visit you nearly enough. Are you alright? How's the man treating you? Do I need to come by and put the fear of God in him?"
She laughed away his sincere concern.
"Leonin's fine, you know. Utterly terrified of you. Slightly terrified of me. Still dunno how they managed to get him on the show, even."
"Not falling in love with your reality television husband, then?" he sighed.
"C'mon, man," Sharon snorted. "Give me some credit."
They stood in silence for a long while upon reaching the door to Sharon's room. He had no intention of following her in, but didn't want to say goodbye so abruptly, either. It was always difficult to leave her alone, more so since all of those rumors about what had happened to Cora, and that was while she was in her mentor's care.
"You going to see anyone else once I head home?" he asked, knowing that Sharon was closer than he was with most of the younger victors.
She smiled.
"A bunch of us have a weekly dinner. Well, Marina-sponsored. Trying to get us to see eye to eye, I figure. Anything you want me to pass along?"
"Can you work on Saxaul?" he suggested. "I'd prefer it if we could limit the stabbing, now that we know that we'll all be working together soon. Just, in the future. Twice is enough."
"Tensions have been getting high since he… well, he's doing something political, though he's being enigmatic about what. The Games coming up are definitely getting to him. He's not gonna like being told what to do."
"Well I don't like attempted murders between victors."
"How about I subtly shame him for it? Like, super casual."
Cereus sighed.
"No, that won't work. I'm reasonably sure that man doesn't feel shame. Just - maybe he'll listen to someone if it's not me."
"He doesn't like me much better," Sharon admitted. "I'm working on it. Polly will probably be there too, she basically only leaves the house for the weekly dinner these days."
"She'll have to get used to mentoring again if Three's going to have even a seedling's chance on asphalt," he said grimly. "Who else will you see?"
"Depends on Cora's filming schedule and whether Timothy is technically sober this week," Sharon explained, glancing down at her wrist-mounted device as it hummed gently.
"Well, anything you can give me in terms of what to expect from our no-shows today… I mean, it's just one more Games."
"How bad can it be?" she laughed, then turned and rapped her fist against her own door. "Jeez, knock on wood, I'm going to jinx the hell out of us. Seems like things have gone fine so far."
"About as well as they can go," he agreed. "Let's keep the momentum going."
"Yeah, I'm gonna have to roll out soon, Leonin wants to make a dinner appearance somewhere," she said sadly. "It was really good to see you, Cereus. I know you'd put down literal roots in Eleven if you could manage it, but please don't be a stranger out here. Keep me up to date with the volunteer stuff, okay?"
"Of course," he said, accepting her hug and placing a comforting hand on her back. "You're always welcome home, too, you know."
She smiled up at him sadly.
"You know I can do a lot more for Eleven in the Capitol," she sighed. "Not that I wouldn't kill to be back at home working with you again. Can you stop by my house when you get the chance, actually? Last time I talked to my mom, she said Carla was acting up a bit. Maybe get her involved in field work if you think that'll help, but don't let her drop out, okay?"
Talking about her family, she looked a lot younger, glancing up at him with wide-eyed concern that reminded him far too much of the teenager he'd once been tasked with keeping alive.
Now she could more than manage that herself.
"I'll stop in and visit," he reassured her.
The Games hadn't destroyed either of them. And only… only one more. A finale. It would mean the end of this. No more young men and women plucked away from the fields and the classrooms when they were practically still green on the tree.
Well, not no more.
Two more. Two more volunteers.
He pressed a kiss to Sharon's forehead and turned to leave the hotel and catch his train home. Not wanting to jinx it.
But in a sense, she had been right.
How bad could it be?
x
Welcome to the sequel to Memento Mori - yes, it's an open SYOT, and I hope you'll check out my profile to see the short character form if you're interested in being a part of it. You don't have to have read the 700k-ish prequel, but it might help make sense of the universe. I'll try to keep this accessible to people who haven't been with me on that particular #journey, but at the same time… you're joining an established universe, and it'll help both of us out if you know what you're getting into!
The deadline is April 6, and there will be more introductory chapters beforehand to properly set the stage. See my profile for more information. I really look forward to meeting your tributes! I'll post a few more intro chapters exploring The Vibe and then jump straight into intros. What will that look like? Who knows!
But if there's anything that I can promise you about me as a writer, it's that… I write, a lot, constantly, and update frequently and quickly. That, and I'm completely committed to doing right by every character that I accept. Hope to hear from and work with you all soon. :)