Prologue 1

The great hall in the Presidential Mansion was full of people, people of every color, size, and shape. There was a party beginning, to celebrate the start of the Ninety-Sixth Annual Games season. As a result, there was barely room to move around without someone accidently bumping into another person as they wandered around.

Near the front of the room, musicians were setting up, preparing to play. The principal violinist of the Capitol Symphony was a woman of twenty-two years with pink hair and bright blue eyes named Padme Bundren. She wore formal black as the rest of them, a nice suit that fit her perfectly and accentuated her curves as she provided the orchestra with an A. The group became a free-for-all of A's, E's, D's, and G's, until the noise faded and everyone knew they were in tune.

The conductor took the stage just then. He was a man that was almost forty, with blue hair and bright purple eyes. Named for music, Brio Leighton had spent his entire life in his father's music store, and had known he was destined for this. He gave his orchestra a smile and raised his baton, beginning the light-hearted dancing music.

At the piano was a man in a black tuxedo with a bowtie the same dark green as his hair and eyes. He sat at the piano, longing for the fluffy white cat that used to sit on the instrument and listen to his music. He longed for the good old days, when the whole world was on his platter as a teenager, the days he and his friends were able to live without a single care in the world. He had to make money somehow, and though he wasn't exactly fond of the Games, playing piano with the Capitol Symphony was a good way to make money.

The hall was loud and stuffy as it was somewhat crowded. Women in dresses with poofy skirts were discussing the events of last year's Games, which had been won by District Six's Noa Ernest. The eighteen-year-old Victor had attracted a lot of attention in recent months. Reaped as a female, Noa was bigender, which, as she explained it, meant that she identified with being both female and agender. Noa switched off between using they and them pronouns and she and her pronouns. They had admitted that they liked the variety, and most were respectful of them. Their gender identity was confusing to many, and some even criticized it, but Noa took it all in stride. While normally she tended to be snarky and sarcastic with rude people back home, she was on her best behavior in the Capitol and ignored the jabs and rude comments. Noa did their best to remind others of their gender identity, without seeming impatient. Noa was a crowd-pleaser, and definitely a Capitol favorite. She was not only discussed because of her openness about her gender, but also because of her lifestyle of a Victor. In the past, District Six's victors had a reputation for being nothing but weak, broken morphling addicts. Noa was determined to change that, and hadn't touched a dose of the substance, or even a drop of alcohol, since winning the Games. They vowed to be there for their future tributes and wanted to show Panem that Six still had a fighting chance.

Joltee Rutilus was in the middle of the crowd, buttoning his golden suit and wearing the smile of a champion. He didn't necessarily know what he was doing, but he could fake it. The man had certainly worked up to his position. He had begun as an average boy in school, not the top of his class (if it had not been for that wretched Diesel Bundren, though, he certainly would've been). He had worked his way up, spending time as a Peacekeeper in District Four, before he had become an escort for District Five. He had changed his name then, to fit in, and had never deemed it fit to change it back. He then served time as a Gamemaker for the eightieth Games through the eighty-third before he had become President Snow's personal secretary, taking the aging President's responsibilities on his shoulders.

When the beloved President Snow had passed away, Joltee was the clear choice to take his place. As was planned, of course. The man, a young and charismatic personality, had brought a new life to the nation: though he ruled with an iron fist. He gave a warm smile, but his eyes were ice cold.

The center of attention, President Rutilus was taking young ladies by the hands and spinning them around to the music, having dignified conversations with the elderly upper class, and, of course, scrounging the crowd for his next squeeze.

He had to keep up his persona, of course, the sweet young man with bright eyes and big plans. Even though he was in his forties by now, the people of Panem still saw him under that light. He had admittedly had a number of plastic surgeries to appear younger, and still looked like he was newly thirty, to keep up this image. And, of course, his reputation as the intelligent scholar who would do anything to expand his horizons. The energetic patriot, who passionately serves the country and lives for justice and liberty from the people. Joltee had it all, and he had to make sure nobody saw a single imperfection.

A man had caught the President's eye just then, dressed in a red velvet suit with a bowtie the same bubblegum pink as his hair. "Ah, Blaine!" the President said, holding up a hand and waltzing easily to the younger man's side.

"President Rutilus! How very nice to see you!" The younger man at thirty-four was still slightly gobstruck around the new President, though it had been close to ten years since he'd taken office and Blaine had worked under him. The new announcer, twenty-one-year-old Simone Silver, was even more at awe at the appearance of the president.

"Blaine, dear boy, I've told you at least a thousand times, just call me Joltee."

It was not in Blaine's personality to be anything but respectful to those that he looked up to, though, and instead the man just smiled good-naturedly and thanked the President for the kind words. Blaine Buchanan had started interviewing young, as he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was not expected to live long afterwards. Yet, fifteen years later, Blaine had beaten the odds and had survived the cancer. His first year interviewing had been the eighty-first Games, when he was nineteen years old. From there, he had only improved.

Joltee enjoyed the younger man, and the crowds loved him. It seemed that Blaine was genuine and totally charming. Joltee had spent a lot of time trying to best him, and learned many valuable lessons from him about how to play the sweet boy card. By operating on a first-name basis with the people of the Capitol, Joltee was relatable and down-to-earth, and extremely well-liked.

It was all a game of strategy, really, winning over the masses. The tides could be turned at any second, and if you lost the favor of the crowd, the consequence you faced would certainly be death. It was the story of unfortunate Head Gamemakers, most of all.

"How are you enjoying the party?" Joltee asked the younger man, piling his plate high with food. "Isn't it tremendous?"

"Certainly," Blaine said. The younger man was used to parties at the Presidential mansion, but there was always something there to impress him. It was, after all, such an expansive building. Only the best of pre-Games parties would be held in the Presidential mansion. The Capitol orchestra was there playing, the tables were covered in food…

Everyone was extremely jolly. Gamemakers were milling around, enjoying their one night of freedom before they would be spending the rest of their month shut away in the Games complex overseeing the Arena. Blaine was pulled onto the dance floor by some girls that giggled the whole way.

"I'll catch up with you later, Old Chap!" Joltee called after him, laughing to himself as he put a cupcake into his mouth and ate happily. He noticed a woman with straight, natural chestnut brown hair just then and quickly went to meet her, waving. "Celestia!"

President Snow's thirty-three-year-old granddaughter turned to face him and smiled politely. "Good evening, Joltee. Quite the spectacular event you have here tonight, I must say."

Though Celestia was a Snow, when her grandfather had died, she had no interest in taking his place. Many Capitolites had said that she should be on the election ballot, but for reasons Joltee neither understood nor wanted to question, she had declined. Celestia had only been twenty-three-years-old at the time, but Joltee had no doubt that she would have given him a run for his money had she decided to run due to her immense popularity among Capitolite citizens. However, Celestia proved she wasn't planning on disappearing from the spotlight when she applied to be a Gamemaker for the following Games. Not seeing her as a threat in the least, Joltee hired her, and quickly had appointed her Head Gamemaker six years previous, just in time for the ninetieth games. Celestia was an obedient Gamemaker, often agreeing with Joltee, and when she didn't, she was always polite about voicing her opinion. She was always willing to work with him, and never gave him any reason not to trust her. Joltee could see she didn't want the power that being president entailed and was content enough with her position as Head Gamemaker, so therefore, he saw no reason not to keep her around. In fact, he saw Celestia as his most important ally, and the two of them could even be considered friends.

Well, ha, slightly more than friends. Joltee still could barely look at the woman without the mental image of the nights they spent together. He had considered her to be not much more than her body back in those days, though he was proven wrong. He had used her to what he pleased and then it was broken off. They were still on decent terms, though, even after they just went back to being friends. He'd gotten all he wanted from her anyways, which was his own personal victory. After all, he had always used his power to have his way. It was simply one of the perks of being the President.

"It's certainly extravagant. I trust you have found yourself to be quite at home here?"

"Of course. You know it has been my home for twenty-three years," Celestia said. She had found her own place in her own, smaller mansion, one that was nestled in the neighborhood reserved for Gamemakers and their families. She had lived there ever since Joltee had taken over. It was cozy, with only herself and a small staff of avoxes taking up permanent residence.

"Indeed. I trust that everything is on schedule? Otherwise you'd certainly be working instead of partying."

Celestia grinned. "I'm ahead of schedule. Besides, my team can handle everything without me for a few hours."

"Of course you are," Joltee sighed fondly. "Wouldn't expect anything less of my stunning little Head Gamemistress."

"Only the best for our dutiful president." Celestia took every opportunity to compliment Joltee. She knew how to stay on his good side. Being only the second-most respected person in Panem came with a price. Joltee may be a cruel man, but she was smart enough to cooperate. In all honesty, she didn't mind too much. Whatever it took to keep her life and stay in the president's good graces.

"Wonderful, simply wonderful. Of course you will enjoy the night and make yourself quite at home, as always. I'm sure I'll find you later, dear Celestia, but now I simply must go try the calzones!"

"Oh, yes, they are to die for. You know where I'll be. Enjoy your evening."

Joltee easily put up a hand in a relaxed wave and then waltzed off to where a group of ladies were beckoning to him, just waiting for him to come their way. He had to stay popular, after all. Celestia, meanwhile, joined a circle of her Gamemakers, each of which had a glass of champagne in hand.

Joltee spent the rest of the night dancing away without a care in the world. Every once in awhile he would flatter a pretty woman or an attractive man and cope a feel. All in good fun, though! Many of them were far too drunk to notice anyways. He leered at Celestia's cleavage while she was drinking. He laughed at where Blaine Buchanan linked arms with a chain of people and skipped around gleefully, Simone by his side like a loyal puppy. Joltee knew that he would have to be all business through the next few weeks as the Games approached.

The calzones were simply divine, so the President took a glass to empty his stomach so that he could enjoy some more.

And so the celebration of the Ninety-Sixth Annual Hunger Games begins, he mused to himself, as he swallowed the liquid and began to feel quite sick.

Authors' note: Hello, we are Dreamer and Celtic! You probably recognize us from some of the SYOTs/partial SYOTs we've written! :3 We might have even sent you here from them. Whether you've been with us for a while or are new, welcome! This is super exciting! Ah! Even though we have ten days till we're posting this! If you are interested in submitting, please go on my (Celtic's) profile for the rules and form! You can PM either one of us with the forms, but we will NOT accept any submissions through review. Please read the rules before you submit!