ATTICUS, I.I

Rumours still floated around the polished streets of the capitol that President Snow had passed with a smile on his face, and Atticus Sallow could not scrub the timely picture from his mind even if he tried. The old man had been ailing in the months passing the victory of the ninety-eighth Hunger Games though even his closest advisors remarked that his illnesses didn't seem to strike him, he had been served a platter of bliss in his old age they assumed. His protégé and apprentice, however, knew the score, after he witnessed the fall of the Second Rebellion and the execution of war criminals, including the ever-growing thorn Katniss Everdeen, he knew he would die contently – it had just been a matter of when death came around to greet him.

And he had come knocking when Atticus thirsted for power like a hound looking for blood. Twenty-nine was young for a man that held such a heavy hand in the politics of Panem but that fact had not stopped him from wanting more, it was the human condition to desire more than one could have. His trick shot out of that corner had been slipping Snow's favourite sweetly poison into his night tea only weeks after he had been named his successor. His rise had not been without its complications, notably his rivals spouting that he looks more like he should be draped on a poster rather than on a political podium, but through Snow's sponsorship, he had no problems making his way up the ladder. And with the last nail in the coffin, it seemed as if he had made it to the top.

Far from the roaring of the crowds gathering outside the parliamentary building in wait for an announcement, the boardroom filled with Panem's political top-dogs was filled only with silence and thick tension. The ninety-ninth official Hunger Games had come to the Capitol in the fast track and it was a hot topic for anyone seeing as for the first time in a long time, there was a new hand at the helm to appoint those to position and to organise the games.

Nine times, he had counted, nine times he had made eye contact with his political underlings and former leaders just to have them look away in fear – if nothing else, he knew how to read that from someone's eye. It had not been questioned around that time why he had been picked as Snow's successor: he looked like a butterfly and stung like a bee, to be simple. But he had been watching them scoot around his decisions for too long, so with a clearing of his throat, he spoke up, "Gentlemen, Ladies, the games are upon us now."

Christine Snow raised her head, retaining all the beauty of her mother and the political prowess of her grandfather it had not been surprising that even after Atticus' cabinet reshuffle that she had remained, speaking up amongst a sea of stoic faces, "Thank you, Atticus, if I had wanted to hear that from you I would be waiting outside with the rest of the Capitol, now how about you supply us with something concrete to show that you're not just putting on your big-boy pants and taking a walk through mud you're too short to stand in?"

His attractive features veered into a sneer, not one other person in the room dared to say a word, as the white haired woman sat back in her seat, twiddling a pen between her fingers with the most condescending expression that she could muster. If she hadn't been his plan B for getting into power when President Snow had still been just that, he assumed that he would have stopped putting up with her snark a long time before.

"I'll let that pass, for you," he breathed out, his tone passing the words as a warning to her and by the sound of it, the only one that she would get, "I'm not your grandfather, Chris," she audibly scoffed, "I play my cards close to my chest, all the more satisfying to watch so please know that I can tread through my own fields at my own pace – I'm sure that you could not from a prison cell, keep that in mind."

"There's still so many preparations to be done for the games," the woman argued, "That's all well for youHe was just about sick of her drawl by that point, "The reapings commence tomorrow."

but you're unprepared for anything that's coming for the games – have you ever began to think abou-"

I.I

Author's note. Ah, the suitably vague introduction/prologue, if you're reading this far, I'm happy that you made it through that garbage. Anyway, this is a SYOT/SYOC-style story however opposed to the traditional standard of them, I'll only be writing with 12 tributes because it's easier to get depth with 12 characters than have 24 ones that are only going vaguely through things. So, that means that there's only going to be one accepted character from each district (whether each accepted character is male/female depends on y'all) so the district partners will be NPC because I really want to get in depth with tribute characters and their game experience, you know?

The roster of accepted/taken slots can be found in the next chapter. The form can be found on my profile, for copy/paste reasons, and forms are only accepted via PM. Spots can be reserved, meaning that I won't decide on a tribute until you send your form, not that you'll automatically get the spot there – if there are numerous tributes for a district, the best in my opinion will be picked though you'd be free to change the district if there were any open spots.