Having Finnick just out of reach was definitely the worst part of us being victors, but sometimes it seemed like the only significant bad part. The clanging outs of a trident striking something (well, someone) would always be with him, the roar of the earthquake-induced tsunami always with me. However, they would get quieter as that faded into the past (or we raced away from them into the future?). As wonderful as Finnick was, or would be, he wasn't everything. Nothing against him, no lover was. Or so my parents insisted in a sort of an attempt to soothe me. It seemed sensible enough, but then again, since I fell in love with Finnick, I had been less sensible.

Even I could find only so much to occupy myself in the empty hours of a victor's life. Some victors continued with their past work in their district's industry if only for something to do. Cresta Nets was still in business, but now we made only the quantity we felt like. We could afford to give them away, but sold them at plausibly low prices. Dad didn't want to stir up resentment amongst the other net-weavers, or the fishers that didn't get ahold of our limited production.

I even caught bits and pieces of the Capitol gossip media. I had some interest in what my fellow victors were doing. Those in other districts were limited in what they could tell us. Besides, in addition to the truth, I wanted to know what the Capitol wanted people to think was the truth.

The glossy celebrity magazine Where Are They Now? had pictured Sapphire with Vulcan Steele, son of United Steel owner Hephaestus Steele. I knew how to read between the lines because my Finn lived between them. Sometimes a victor had to pretend to seduce or be seduced by a Capitolite, but in actuality, they got the "victor's services" as a gift from another Capitolite. Finn said that when someone purchased him as a prostitute for themselves there was only so much either of them could do to create a romantic fantasy out of it because they both knew the truth. Maybe Sapphire still had Vulcan believing. Also, the reasonably attractive young Capitolites like Vulcan were glad to be seen with "their" victors publically. With the less attractive (like maybe his crippled old father), it was kept entirely in private so as to maintain plausible deniability.

As I often did when faced with such highly unpleasant things, I retreated into thoughts I found more positive. The jumble of coins in the January 1st 72 batch of victor winnings was nothing special; I had most of them by now. The shiny new 72-dated pieces wouldn't have been ready on New Year's Day. I expected to start to see those on February 1st. When I got home and opened the bag, I certainly got that! However, I hadn't expected what looked like a set of one of each denomination from the Capitol and every district but Four. Well, I'd find the local pieces soon enough.

That pleasantly unusual mixture amounted to $18,000 in gold, $672 in silver, $90 in bronze and even 60c in aluminum. However, as awesome as this $18,762.60 was, I expected $20,000 and wanted everything the Capitol owed me just on principle. It turns out a 13th sub-bag made up the exact difference with a mix of aluminum, bronze and silver. They were all tarnished old District One pieces. Wait, they had recent dates and were oddly stained. The bluish purple may have come from iodine. The gem sapphire was composed of different materials but had a similar color. Wouldn't my chemistry teacher be proud of me now? I realized that the woman Sapphire made a point of wearing her namesake color and must've noticed the Talent of one of her fellow victors. When the Victory Tour came here in a few days, I'd display some of the marked coins from her to show that I'd gotten the message.

Maybe the Silversmiths were actually involved in making silver coins. A lot of people had last names that were the name of some job or another. (I didn't know what an 'Odair' was, but I did know I wanted to get 'Odaired'). Such names for district people were often related to the districts' industry, so they might actually do the job their name said they did, but not always. It was surprising for a Capitolite to have to work at all, preparing to run his father's factory it seemed, let alone work at something that matched their name.

Some other last names referred to a parent's first name, or, more likely, the first name of an ancestor's parent. Sometimes a name looked like the word for son or daughter in some old language. Once I had toured the mayor's house, and I saw a book about an Ivan son of Dennis that the mayor definitely did not! want me reading.

As with the Games themselves, we victors watched the Victory Tour together. When it stopped in District Four, we were grouped together in public, but for the rest of the tour, we gathered at Mags' house again. The broadcast of the tour began as usual with the not so lucky winner emerging on the platform of the District Twelve train station.

Sapphire was in a form-fitting deep blue dress, carrying something pink on her hip. When I voiced that thought, Hook of the 57th Games pointed out that she had plenty of form to fit. Some of the District Twelve boys also observed that in a way, with an assortment of whistles and gestures. People like Hook sometimes talking like that outside her presence didn't seem so bad.

She panned the crowd and stared, reaching for her hip. She apparently had little tolerance for such abuse in person, however small, whether despite or because of the massive abuse she suffered in the Capitol. I didn't have to put up with much if any of that, but I knew both logically and emotionally that she didn't deserve that, however pretty she was and however much her clothes showed that off.

All she revealed was the identity of the pink object – a sword hilt in a simple pattern but more than just a T, still very much attached to its blade. Pink weaponry did seem like something a District One female tribute would do. Satisfied that she had made her point, she returned it to its sheath, about the same color as her dress. "That's the kind of gift you get when a bigshot at a weapons manufacturer is one of the hundreds of thousands of men with their eyes on you," she pointed out cheerfully with an air of self-satisfaction.

She had jokingly pointed her weapon at catcallers in the Districts, but I figure she symbolically very seriously aimed it at rapists in the Capitol. That hopeful gesture certainly contributed to the recent break in the storm.