A/N: This is the third installment in my Story of the Games series. The one before it is The 66th Games: Scarlett's Story. You don't have to read them all, or all in order, but the characters are often recurring, so a lot of OCs would be unfamiliar if you didn't read the first two. They're not very long. This first chapter is in Scarlett's POV. She's an OC from the last story.

-C

I ran my showers cold. Ever since the first morning of the Victory Tour, I had run my showers cold. Somehow, the luxury I had come to enjoy of warm showers felt like a cheap, sick pawn of the Capitol, just like me.

Blight had told me that there was something that was going to happen on reaping day that would require me to do things I didn't want to do, and that if I didn't react properly the people I loved would suffer. Those were the first words out of his mouth before we started on the Victory Tour. The first stop was District Twelve, where Haymitch entertained us with his drunken antics and dubbed me, "Sweetheart." Chaff greeted me like an old friend in Eleven. Finnick and I found we had instant friendship when I visited Four.

By the time we reached Seven again for the major festivities, paid for by the Capitol, I had made up my mind: I was distancing myself from Trish.

I couldn't get rid of my family. I loved them, I needed them, and it would absolutely break my father's heart. But teenage girls were fickle, and the Capitol would think nothing of a friendship between two such creatures falling apart over nothing. After all, it happened all the time. If my actions could hurt Trish by her being close to me, then I would rather she wasn't close to me.

I started as soon as the train arrived in District Seven, and I could tell Blight knew what I was up to when I pretended not to hear her as I greeted my "adoring" fans. He raised an eyebrow at me to ask if I was sure, but I ignored him just as I ignored her. I felt incredibly guilty in the pit of my stomach, but what was guilt if I was protecting her? From what I had seen of the other victors, not a lot of them had friends outside of each other, and families were almost as rare.

How easy would it be, I wondered, for them to take mine from me? Haymitch Abernathy, the mentor who reminded me most of myself, was a drunk old man who was really only in his thirties, bitter, angry, and alone in the world. He didn't sleep when it was dark out, and when he did sleep he kept a knife on hand. At the beginning of my life as a victor, even I was taking a knife to bed, until my sister warned me that my niece might wake me up some morning and get it through the skull.

Four year olds don't understand fear like I had experienced.

It was my father, though, who kept me from becoming Haymitch. The moment I stepped off the train, arriving back in District Seven, he hugged me tighter than ever before and wept openly, telling me how much he loved me, how proud of me he was, things he had hardly ever said in my lifetime. I guess my almost dying reminded him that I wasn't a permanent fixture of his life and that I, like my mother, could leave his world at any time. Hanna told me he hadn't left the screen for a second when the Games were on, and they always knew if I was on the screen by how silent he was being.

Trish hadn't understood, of course. She had gotten all up-in-arms, as I expected she would, and we had a very public spat, with her telling me I was just a piece of trash the Capitol wanted to play with and that I'd let them change me with their pretty clothes and their money. I told her that such accusations were rich coming from her, and did she enjoy her fifteen minutes of fame while I was fighting for my life?

The public spat had surprised many of her older friends and certainly her entire family. We had been inseparable for as long as anyone could remember. It served its purpose, however, and no matter how painful it had been, if something happened, the Capitol could no longer consider her my friend. She didn't even consider herself my friend. But I always would. After all, she had been my only friend for as long as I could remember. And it hurt, but Blight seemed to realize how necessary I found it and told my family that it was the nerves making my cry myself to sleep for the next few days. I was simply tired from all the travelling and I would be fine in time.

My father had gotten up on his own for the first reaping day since I turned twelve. It was like the fact that I was ineligible for reaping made him his old self again. I still had to be dressed up, though, as I would be on stage during the reaping to congratulate the new tributes and smile at the poor people of District Seven.

Just thinking about it was exhausting enough, I thought as I turned off my cold shower, drying off, pulling on the blue satin dress my sister had cleared with my stylist.

Hanna had always had an eye for clothes, and she had long insisted that the District Seven stylist was a batty old git, so as soon as I got back in town, she had started commandeering my phone calls from my stylist and convincing him that I ought to wear things she had found for me, which he didn't really have objection to, because she did a wonderful job.

It felt strange, even at that point, to have such rich fabrics on my skin. It felt unnatural, like I was wearing someone else's clothes, despite the fact that everything I wore was perfectly fitted to me and my body. I looked down at the shoes my sister had set out for me, grateful that the heels weren't too ungodly high. I could walk in heels, but it was painful and made me feel very, very awkward, particularly when not in the Capitol. I couldn't bear to think of what my old classmates would say if they could see me walking up the stage in sky-high heels.

Alyson barged into my room, grinning as she hopped onto the bed.

"You look pretty," she said, and I smiled. She was forming full sentences instead of fumbling with her grammar, which is what I had been working on with her while the boys were at school.

That had been my life since I won the Games. I did the Victory Tour, I danced, I read to my brothers, and I got my niece a head start on school.

"Thank you," I said. "You look very pretty, too."

She puffed up with pride, stretching the fabric of her little blue satin dress, her light blonde hair flowing over her shoulders and her bright eyes shining. We matched quite well, actually, although her dress was more sweet than elegant, but I knew that her mother had made us match on purpose, knowing it would make me smile even when all I wanted to do on stage during the reaping was scream, cry, and run away so I could curl into a ball and remind myself that I wasn't going back, that I was still alive, that everything was going to be fine.

"I've got to get going," I whispered. "I'll be late."

"No, you have a visit," she said earnestly. "Mummy sent me to get you."

"Well, you certainly got distracted, didn't you?" I teased. "All right, I'll see you in a bit, then."

I kissed her forehead, and went downstairs. There were men in Capitol clothes waiting for me, ushering me into the study, where a very familiar man was sitting, casually waiting for me.

President Snow.

"Good afternoon, Scarlett Delannoy," he said calmly. "Have a seat."

As if he wasn't in my home.

But I sat, knowing it would be dangerous to not do what President Snow told me to do. Was this what Blight had warned me about?

"Good afternoon," I said slowly, careful to look him in the eye, to appear as sweet as confident as I always did for my Capitol appearances.

"There is no need to playact with me, Scarlett," he said casually, frowning slightly. "I've seen you in your natural habitat. Lying merely wastes time and energy, wouldn't you agree?"

I did agree, but I didn't want to say anything, because at that moment, I found myself wondering just how much of my new victor's home was bugged.

"You've been very well liked in the Capitol, Scarlett," he continued, as if I had verbally agreed with him. "Your feigned sweetness makes people find you provincially charming, and you've been much asked after."

Asked after? What on earth did that mean?

"You see," he continued, "some of our more popular victors become…oh, escorts, while they are in the Capitol in the years after they win. We haven't had a fresh victor on the schedule for some time, but you've been highly desired."

Escort? Desired?

"You want me to have sex with rich people."

"A bit crudely put," he said with a nod, "but that is essentially the point. You will be given nights off, of course. We do expect you to enjoy your time in the Capitol, and we wouldn't want you be too taxed between this and your mentoring duties."

I balled in my hands into fists in my lap, wanting so badly to punch him in the face for suggesting such a thing.

"No," I said firmly. "Absolutely not."

"I should warn you," he said casually, "that should you refuse there would be dire consequences."

I recalled what Blight had said about my loved ones reaping the pain of my decision, should I make the wrong one.

But on the same point, how could I do what President Snow was requiring of me? How could I ever look at my niece again, knowing that I had done the things President Snow was asking of me with absolute strangers, with men who disgusted me?

"I – I can't," I said softly, inwardly horrified at what I was saying. What was I condemning my family to?

"You may change your mind, once you think on it," he said casually, standing. "I'm giving you time for that luxury. The first night back you will be given a room and expected to go there. There will be consequences if you do not present yourself." He paused at the door and added, "I think you may find yourself more capable than you realize."

As soon as he was gone I let the tears leak from my eyes, aware that if the room was bugged, which it probably was, he would be made aware of my tears later, but I had to get them out of my system before I saw my family again. They couldn't know. My father was finally happy.

Once I had composed myself, I went out, ate a quick meal my father had set out for me of his special fried potatoes and my sister's applesauce and allowed my sister to tame my hair to match my dress, keeping as calm and casual as possible while thinking over what I was going to do about President Snow's demand.

I didn't have much time to think.

It was a very short amount of time before Blight and I were up on the stage with the mayor and our silly Capitol escort, awaiting the reaping.

Of course, the girl I would mentor was a classmate of mine, Charlotte Jacobsen, a snooty girl from the town who thought she owned the world. Charlotte and I had hated each other since we were six, her mother setting me up as her rival because I was top of the class. I congratulated her with as much sweetness and sincerity as I could muster, as I was already emotionally drained for the day. The boy was a couple years younger, someone named Cephalus who I recognized as being from the woods but hadn't ever actually met.

They went about saying their goodbyes in the Justice building and Blight and I went to the train to wait, discussing them.

"You know Charlotte," he said casually, as if he was telling me that it was Tuesday.

"We hate each other," I said, offering no further explanation. "It won't affect my judgment. I won't be the reason her mother buries her only child. I reckon Charlotte's arrogance can manage that all on its own."

He snorted, but he didn't scold me.

"I had a visitor," I said slowly.

"Yes, you did," he acknowledged. "And?"

"I can't," I said softly. "I just can't."

"Sure you can," he growled. "Try explaining to Alyson that you can't and see how far that gets you."

I had a retort ready, but it died on my lips as Charlotte and Cephalus joined us and we sat down for dinner on the train, an awkward sort of silence falling on the group at the table.

"So," Blight said finally, "I figure we ought to watch the reaping soon. Before we do, let's let you two ask questions so we can start getting a feel for you and what we're going to do with your strategies."

"I've got one," Charlotte said. "Can we switch mentors?"

"No," I snapped. "Next question."

Blight snorted and said, "No, you can't. Don't worry, whatever qualms you've got with Scarlett are unfounded. She'll do a good job or I'll remind her of her priorities. You doing poorly doesn't project well on her, either, remember."

Charlotte seemed pacified with this assurance for the time being, and Cephalus went off asking dozens of questions about getting sponsors, dealing with the stylists, interacting with other tributes, and strategies for the early days of the Games.

He was eager, that was certain. Charlotte hardly listened as Blight and I answered his questions. Finally, Blight recommended that they change and get washed up before we watched the reshowing of the reaping and he turned to me.

"Please tell me you've changed your mind," he said.

I hadn't honestly thought much about my own drama, and I told him so. I had been a bit preoccupied with the fact that I was going to have to attempt to mentor my enemy from certain death. The fact that Snow wanted to make me into a whore was one of the last things on my mind.

"Well, do everyone involved a favor," he said earnestly. "Change your mind."

I didn't have a lot of time to contemplate that. I didn't want to contemplate that. But at the same time, I knew that as soon as we landed in the Capitol, my nights would be at the call of President Snow, should I choose the comfort of my family over my own personal dignity. I was running out of time to make a choice I would rather not ever think about.

The pair of tributes reentered the room to view the reaping and suddenly I wanted nothing to do with any of it. I retreated to my room, saying I would watch the third showing later, but that I very much wanted a shower, and I pulled off my clothes the moment I reached my room, turning on the shower when I got to it, making sure it was cold as I let the icy drops of water run down my body. It was a stark contrast to the warm tears running down my cheeks.

Winning was supposed to be the desirable alternative to dying, but suddenly I envied Chance, Summer, Aidan, Titus…. They would be immortalized in the Games they participated in, but the Games, the Capitol, couldn't hurt them anymore. Their families were safe. Sad, but safe.

Suddenly, I hated them all. Not just the Capitol, but all the other victors, especially Blight, especially Haymitch, especially Finnick, especially anyone who had shown any real kindness to me where the Games were concerned. Why hadn't they told me? Why hadn't they warned me? What hadn't Blight just let me die? Did they think it was funny that I was going through this? Had it been some sort of plan all along, making sure I lived so they could watch me suffer after the Games were done?

No, I didn't hate Finnick. He was just a baby. There was no way he was already in on their sick jokes and awful plans.

Haymitch, though, Haymitch and Blight and Chaff, they all found me so hilarious. Surely they could be hated. It was their fault. They're the ones who kept me alive. They're the ones who would pressure me to give my body to the Capitol, though what they got out of it, I wasn't sure. I would show them. I wouldn't give in. I was going to keep my dignity, and Blight and Haymitch and Chaff could just deal with it.

I went back out to watch the third showing of the reaping, glad to find that the tributes and Blight had all gone off to bed, leaving me to watch on my own. My blood was still coursing with anger, and there was no telling what I would do to Blight if I saw him before I managed to calm down. That is, if I managed to calm down. One thing my classmates in District Seven had learned quickly was that I could hold quite a long grudge indeed.