A/N: Thank you Alex and Santiago, I appreciate it

Metamorphosis: The 100th Hunger Games
District 7: A Passionate Guardian and A Boisterous Lumberjack

Verona Kinsley, 63
District 7 Female
May 20th, 2163

"How's that Ms. Kinsley?" chirps Marilyn, glancing up at me with her big blue eyes. I let out a soft giggle. The children are creating a new mural for the main atrium, an orchard. In this 'orchard' of ours, each child has a part to paint. So in our gymnasium, the children and I slowly chip away at the large brown canvass splayed on the floor. Marilyn, always eager to please, has a tendency to seek out my opinion. This is especially true when it comes to arts and crafts.

I give her a gentle nudge with my shoulder. "Very good Marilyn, very good. Now use the sponge to fill out the apples and the leaves."

Her happy nod in reply is cut short as her eyes shift to my portion of the mural, a shining sun and a flying bird. "I wish I could do drawing like you…"

"My dear, you're so young!" I chide, pinching her cheek so that it leaves an orange smudge. "You'll have plenty of time to sharpen your skills. Be happy with what you can do now, because I sure am."

She smiles. "Okay, Ms. Kinsley."

Gea rushes into the recreation room, breathless. Her face doesn't look the sort that's been told bad news; rather she carries an expression of surprise and glee. When the lead nurse barges in out of breath, it usually means a new addition to the Seven Oaks Community Home and Centre is on their way.

"Another?" I splutter, quickly cleaning my hands of paint.

"Yep…I just got off the phone with Providence…phew they should be here any moment now."

Rising from off the ground, I gesture towards the exit. "Well, what are we waiting for!?"

We're quick to make out way into the stairwell and down the stairs to the main atrium. Making our way towards the front entrance, we catch the eye of some of the other children and teenagers, prompting them to cast inquisitive glances toward us from their activities. "Do you have any specifics; did they tell you anything of note?" I press Gea, however when the two of us eye a team of paramedics entering in, my queries are answered for me. The medics present us with a carriage, inside of it lies an infant swaddled in a light blue blanket. He can't be more than a few hours old...poor thing.

"What's this little one's story?" I ask.

"His mother died of morphling complications an hour ago." The Paramedic replies with a solemn shake of the head. "She was fine yesterday and through the night…but I guess it wasn't meant to be."

As I cluck my tongue, Gea asks "My my…And what happened to the father?"

"A peacekeeper, supposedly…and we all know how that works." He mutters, giving the pram to me. "His name is Rowan. He's a run-of-the-mill baby, no complications, healthy as horse. We thought he'd be a fine addition here."

"You're not wrong. Baby Rowan will fit in just fine here, won't he everyone?" I say aloud, meeting the inquisitive gazes of the other children as they begin gathering around. "Everyone this is Rowan, your foster brother."

The children huddle around, ooh'ing and aww'ing from the main foyer all the way to the nursery, bunching up at the reflective observation window. Even the other nurses are smitten with the infant as Gea presents him to them. Before you know it, little Rowan has a little spot of his own fit with a bio chart that Gea places at the foot of his cradle. Even though it's only been seconds since he was admitted, it's as if he were gone for a checkup. All around him lay about nineteen more babies that vary in age. He's just one more piece in a generation just beginning to plant its roots. It's too bad Gea and I won't be here to see them all the way through, In more ways than one when it comes to me specifically.

"I don't know how we do it sometimes, Rona…" Gea whispers as we slowly drift through the rows of cots. Despite a few coos here and there, the babies for the most part remain in slumber.

"Love, hope and sheer determination come to mind." I muse. It seems to be the standard formula for all Community Homes, orphans and descendants of orphans, such as myself, taking care of our community's most vulnerable. If not us, very few would step up to take the mantle.

It's the top of the hour, about three o'clock as I watch from the second floor window as youngsters make their way home from school, most likely wrapping up their final exams of the semester. For the most part, excluding the senior students, they're lucky. If it were any other year, two of those students would probably never see their school again. The reclusive Zara, followed by the maverick Jonah and the kind Simona are the first to enter the kitchen, followed by their fellow young people. The sharing of the same blood and faces is where the comparisons stop. If it weren't for tomorrow's Pre-Reaping Festival, the triplets would be off doing their own things. I guess we could add competition and baking to their mutual interests. I ask them. And due to the community's interest and insistent pushing from yours truly, Seven Oaks has a kitchen in which we use to hold classes and cook for our residential orphans.

"You guys ready to get your baking on?" I ask as the kids rush to prep their kitchens. As I receive a chorus of affirmatives, Jonah lets out a cocky chuckle.

"Are we ready, of course we're ready!" replies Jonah. "We've been sitting on this recipe for weeks."

Simona seems to agree. "We let Dad try it. So if he liked it, it's gonna knock the pants off this year's judges for sure."

"I can't help but smell a little bias; will you be judging Ms. Kinsley?" inquires one Youngster.

I raise my hands up in false surrender. "Due to complaints such as yours, we're shaking up how we decide a winner. Now remember; keep your eyes on your own stations! Don't leave your recipes lying around!"

The pie baking contest drew big crowds at the annual festival. There are at least twenty pies entering the competition, which requires each contestant to really try and stand out from the pack. So far there seems to be a lot of diversity as I stroll around each station. Rhubarb, Apple with caramel, grape…

As Zora places their pie into the oven, Simona glances at me while drying her hands. "Say, Gran?"

"Yes Simona?"

"What's your reaping percentile?"

I give her a sad smile. "About seventy percent, my darling."

The sounds of disappointment are audible when a youngster asks "Why so high, Ms. K?"

"It was the War, wasn't it?" pipes up Zora.

"If I were a big brain, I wouldn't want naysayer's influencing the next generation." I say to the youngster, pointing a fingerer towards Zora" That and fighting for what was right, even when the odds are against you."

"Why did you rebel, Gran?" asks Jonah.

"Isn't it obvious? I fought and helped them for you." I reply, gesturing to all the children in the room. "I thought I'd try and make Panem a better place."

"Do you think Panem is better now than it was before?" asks a youngster with a raised hand.

I'm treading into dangerous ground here, judging by the uneasy frowns from children of supposed pro-Capitol parents and the inquisitive looks given to me by others. I don't care either way, they should be uneasy. Because nothing about Panem is normal, any sane person should believe that. So, I simply shake my head. "New boss, same rules m'darling…now, finish up your pies so we can fridge 'em for tomorrow."

...

The next day arrives and the Festival has reached its peak. It's located just outside the Community Centre, next to a wide open field. People eagerly gather around the various tents and booths that dot the field. Everyone seems to be holding a plate of pie in their hands, alongside a ballot so they can decide which reigned supreme. With music in the air and perfect weather to boot, today seemed like a good day to stem the blues of the impending storm. I stand in the thick of it all with my adoptive son Rodrigo Junior and his husband that I tolerate, Manuel.

"This is quite the shindig, Mom. Every year it seems to be better than the last." says Rodrigo as he slips a piece of the triplets' apple-caramel pie into his mouth. "Call me biased, but I think our kids have a gift."

"I agree wholeheartedly. Their pie is something else." Manuel adds. "You have a knack for bringing people together, Verona. Although I really need to add that this 'shindig' wouldn't have happened without the political prowess of yours truly."

I don't know what Rodrigo sees in the man, honestly and truly. He's a districtorial alderman for this sector and a pro-Capitol puppet to boot. Unfortunately he's the puppet I need to keep in good graces, less we lose the resources to keep Seven Oaks afloat. So, like any other unassuming old lady, I grin in reply.

"Kinsley!" calls a familiar voice. Its Aspen Coombs, wheeled in by his wife and children.

"Aspen, how are you?" I ask him, making my way up the hill. I exchange pleasantries with his wife and children as they leave us alone, walking down to join the festivities.

"Why do you do it, Kinsley?" wonders Aspen, glancing up at me from his wheelchair. Every time we get together, I wonder how the man is still alive. He instigated the 001 Mill ambushes that killed a platoon of peacekeepers back in HG 75, lured them into the woods and blew em sky high with dynamite embedded into the ground. They shot him out of the tree, crippling him from the waist downward. I'm surprised they didn't kill them then and there, but I guess letting him live to see what came of his efforts was a far more effective punishment. What was once a dark-skinned hunk of a lumberjack was now a grizzled veteran of a lost cause.

"Well hello to you too, Aspen." I reply snarkily. "I'm glad you could come out."

"Hi Verona…" he replies hastily.

I pat his leg. "There you go. Now what do you mean by 'why'? Why do I do what?"

"Why contribute given all the shit we've dealt with?"

"It may be their world and their rules, but it doesn't mean I can't resist in my own way." I gesture towards the fair we overlook from the hill we stand on. "Putting together events like these, helping the children, keeping this place afloat. Where they would rather us fill our quotas, go home and repeat, I'm maintaining something our community can be proud about."

"Doesn't it bother you that all this could taken away if we were to step outta line?"

"Of course, but it hasn't happened yet." I reply, wheeling him down the hill and towards the main stage where the crowd gathers. I think Governor Rosellini is about to make his speech. "There have been plenty of close calls over the years, like threats of closure and mergers with other homes in the area…but I like to think that it's because of my hard work and design that's allowed this place so many years of success."

He shakes his head as the crowd cheers for our governor. "It's never enough though."

"Excuse me?"

"It's never enough. People still go hungry, orphans continue to flow in, inadequacies pile up…they could be fixed but they don't care."

I shrug. "Being a servant to the people is never easy…It's a motivator if you ask me. It's why strive every day to be the best I can be."

"I guess that's why you got it."

I furrow my brows in confusion. "Got what?"

He points toward the stage where Governor Rosellini boasts a wide smile, a shiny medallion dangles between both of his hands. Zora, Jonah and Simona where there too. All eyes glance towards me with the same toothy smile he sported.

"Well Ms. Kinsley? We have a citizen's award with your name on it!"

Chris Samara, 30
District 7 Male
May 16th, 2163 (HG 100)

"Alright, alright let's get that façade upright! Altogether now, put your backs into it! One…two…three, pull!"

I don't know how we did it, but as soon as I reached three, the final part of this house was raised into the air and fastened into place by a team on the opposite side. Slowly, we step backward to truly take in our handiwork. The project was a duplex, prefabricated for easy assembly to compensate for the high demand of families wanting to move away from the concrete sprawl that concentrated around Seven's various mills and factories. Like this house in front of me, there are many like it that surrounds it. Painted in colors such as yellows and teals, the houses varied in levels of completion. Within a month's time, we'd have a brand-new neighbourhood on our hands fit for hundreds of families to live in.

I drape my arms around Frank and Lillian while continuing to take in our handiwork. "Not bad guys, not bad at all…"

"You know you're the crew foreman right?" says Frank warily.

"Yeah, so what?"

"I'd kill for your position, Chris. Instead of sitting on your ass at the site office, you're out here still pulling your weight like the rest of us dregs."

"If the leader doesn't come down from his tower every now and then, he ain't a proper leader." I say with a wink, jostling his shoulder.

"Remind me to secure a lot, will ya Samara?"

"I'm right there with ya, Lil." I reply. "Here's hoping the reaping doesn't catch us before we can, eh?"

Lillian frowns. "Don't remind me…"

A lot of the guys and gals here were in the high percentiles in terms of reaping probability this year, myself included. I could give anyone the names of the people in my crew who grew up without a mother or a father because of the war – again I included. Us lumberjack and jills are a rebellious bunch I suppose. There's not much we can do except continue to live our lives the best we can. Before we know it, the end-of-the-day whistle blares. Music to my ears if you ask me. In orderly columns under peacekeeper guard, we make our way towards the quonset hut at the edge of the site to return individual tools. The General Foreman, Flaherty, oversees the returns. Like a traffic peacekeeper, he conducts workers here and there with a mundane expression on his mug. That is, until he catches eyes with me.

"Samara!" he barks, beckoning for me to come forward. "How's your block coming along?"

"Everything is coming along A-OK, Jim. We just finished fastening the last house together." I reply, clapping his shoulder. He glances at my hand, frowning. I ignore his reaction, as being at ease isn't one of Jim's strongsuits. At least he knows that someone cares for him regardless of his shell. "Yeah, well make you and your team get those doors and windows installed by the end of the week."

"Right on, Jim, we'll be done those in a jiff!" I reply, turning to Lilian now as we make our way towards the site's impromptu parking lot. "I dunno how he affords to be so uptight all the time."

"The man's on a tight schedule, he has no time for fun." Lillian shrugs. "So, will I catch you at Danton's in a little while?"

"You can bet on it! I just need to touch base with the tribe before I come down."

The drive to Tumwater isn't long at all. It's a quaint little part of the District – the government quarter where the more comfortable of us live. The Hall of Justice is right around the corner too. Entering my home, I approach the front door mantle, taking off the emerald necklace that sat around my neck and hang it over a portrait of a woman who shares the same dark hair and blue eyes that I do. "Good afternoon, Mom."

The house itself is quiet, until clinking of glass and soft laughter could be heard. Moving through the living room and onto the back deck whaddya know, the whole family is here enjoying barbeque. Boggy mans the grill while our wives Mary and my sister Stacia sit around the table. Little Patrick seems to be enjoying his sweet potatoes he's so fond of.

Boggy grins. "Hey hey, look whose back!"

"What a pleasant surprise! I didn't know you guys were comin' over." I say, planting a kiss on Mary's cheek, which she returns.

"No on calls today at the hospital for either of us so we thought we'd come over and give Mary some company for the day." Boggy replies.

Rolling her eyes my sister drawls dryly "Although her attention was and is being diverted."

Waving them off without taking her eyes off the screen, Mary says "These client books won't balance themselves y'know…"

I move over to my son now, who bears a toothy smile. "Hi Dad!"

"Hey buddy, look at you putting away that supper like a champ. Thirty minutes tops, you'll be here beggin' for more. Ain't that right, Mary?"

Mary snorts, continuing to glance down at her holopad. "If he keeps eating the way he does I'll send him off to the lumberyards to pay for upkeep."

"I swear he ate more than I have, and I'm eating for two." Stacia adds while patting her stomach.

Smirking, I jostle Patrick's shoulders and ruffle his hair. "Boys gotta eat, and my Patrick is a growin' boy, right?"

"Mhm!" he exclaims, taking another spoonful of potato. A growing boy he was. Already a head taller than most of his playmates, Stacia – thank Panem for family connections – says he'll be quite tall when he gets older, just like his pops. Boggy serves me a plate of venison and potatoes as we both take a seat.

"So," I begin, digging into my meat. "What were you guys laughin' about before I came in?"

"We were going over our high school reunion last week and how you introduced me to your sister."

"Oh yeah…Boggy, Boggy, Boggy, how could you fall for that, I don't know." I muse, shaking my head. "I still remember your face when she reacted."

"How was I supposed to know you were going to jot down what I liked about her and pass it down for her to get it?" Boggy replies, much to the amusement of the ladies.

"It worked, that's all that matters bud." I say with a wink.

With dinner all done and Mary washing up Patrick for bed, Boggy and I decide on a men's retreat into town. We're halfway outside the door before a sharp clearing of the throat could be heard.

"Where are you two dinguses skulking off to?" Stacia inquires with a raised eyebrow.

"Nowhere special, Boggy and I were gonna head down to Danton's..." I reply, her gaze rendering my voice insecure. She knows what going to Danton's entails.

"Remember what they said – mod-er-ation." She even claps her hands together for emphasis. "I miss Mom too, but we can't afford a relapse into how you were before."

Groaning, I wave her off. Her words alone make me wanna relapse. "Okay, okay…for Panem's sake. It's a social gathering. We'll be fine pinkie promise."

"Besides, he's got me as a wingman. We'll be fine." Boggy adds with the supportive hand over my shoulder. Stacia responds with a rolling of the eyes and a dismissive wave. "Well…go on then."

With my Sister's blessing, we head on down to Danton's. A homey bar and grill for us working men and women to congregate. Since it's a weekday, it isn't as rowdy as Danton's can be, but the chatter is lively. Its seen even more traffic by tourists and locals alike within the last couple of years due to their son, Everett Danton, winning the Games back in '61. Unfortunately it ain't all that peachy. Just behind the bar counter and above the assortment of spirits was a portrait of Landry Danton, the daughter they lost in '58. Even though the parents keep in good spirits, you can't help but feel bad. Anthony Danton, the father, sets another bottle of hard cider as I down my second bottle.

"Are you sure you're okay Samara?" Anthony inquires, slinging a towel over his shoulders. "Listen, I don't want the missus hounding me down if you mess up."

"Jeez, what, my life is an open secret now? C'mon I'm finnne…as wine, heh heh." I pat the shoulders of Boggy and Lillian. "Add another round for my good friend and my brother in law over here, will ya?"

Alright Samara, three hard ciders coming right up." He nods. When we each receive our bottles, I make a show of raising my bottle towards a portrait of the late President Kane that hangs just above Landry's.

"This one's for you, Uncle Kane." I begin, inclining my head. "Somethin' tells me we're in for a bumpy ride this year."

"Speaking of bumpy rides, I never asked you guys, what're your percentiles?"

"Somewhere in the low seventies." Replies Boggy.

I nod to Boggy. "Same as Boggy's."

"And here I thought I was in deep water – I'm in the low sixties. You guys seem to take your odds lightly. Wish I had your freeness."

I shrug. If there's one thing my Mother taught me, it's that all one can do in Panem is live as merrily as you can. No use being upset over something out of our design. "There's nothin' much you can do Lil. All we can do is hope it ain't us."

Lil nods her head to and fro. "Can't argue with you there."

Even though the chattiness of the bar, the national anthem could still be heard as a patron shushes everyone up.

"Hey barkeep turn it up, the executions are on!"

All eyes dart toward the holovision affixed to the farthermost wall. Panem's seal dissipates to an all grey room, draped with banners. Through a side door Peacekeepers march out six people clad in orange coveralls, placing them centre stage where six nooses hang loosely.

"Good evening Panem. In celebration of one hundred years of peace and prosperity alongside twenty five years since the quelling of the mockingjay rebels, the Capitol believes that as we usher in a new era, we must shed our old baggage."

On screen, a Peacekeeper proceeds to discard the hoods of six men and women. By the looks of them, they're old enough to be my parents.

"The people who stand before you are the remnants of the ringleaders who sought to destabilize the nation that fed them and protected them just a short twenty-five years ago. After years of confinement in order to reflect on their crimes, the time has come for them to atone for their sins against Panem."

One by one, each prisoner is fitted with a rope around their necks. One Peacekeeper nods to another who wraps his hand around a lever. For a minute, only silence. This causes everyone to jump and exclaim when the Peacekeeper finally pulls the lever, causing the prisoners to dangle violently as they jerk back and forth. The camera cuts to a spectator box where President DeWynter and other officials applaud before switching back to the Peacekeeper who splays his hands out in a 'behold' gesture.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you the price of selfish thought. No matter what your status is, no matter how tantalizing the proposal, no single individual or thought is above that of what has been established for more than a century."

As some of us murmur in dismay, the more 'patriotic' of us clap and cheer along with the audience in camera.

"Can ya turn that crap off?" Lilian barks to Anthony. "In a week's time, I'll get my eyeballs worth of swill. I don't feel like starting early."

The immediate area falls silent immediately. Pivoting our heads back and forth, Boggy and I find no peacekeepers. There couldn't be any PK's around, or else they would've been on Lil like bark to a tree. However some stuffed shirt, judging by his getup a local official, seems to take offense to her words.

"This bitch has quite the mouth on her." He snorts, rising out of his booth and sauntering towards us. He was a Hispanic man…I've seen his campaign posters before. Alderman Manuel Santos. "Maybe I should report you for it?"

"What?" Lil spits back, rising off her stool only for me to place a gentle hand on her chest. Taking one last swig of my cider, I hop off my stool and meet him halfway.

"I'm sorry sir, what was that you just called the young lady here?"

"Hey uh, Chris…?" Boggy interjects, prompting me to raise a hand.

"No Bogs, I want an explanation."

"I was just saying that it seems that the message of that viewing went over her head…maybe yours two."

"Well, she was just sayin' what everyone was thinkin'." I reply. "Why don't you go back to your booth and be a tool some other day, eh? What's it to you?"

"And then you guys constantly complain about why life doesn't get any better? With that attitude I can see why…" Alderman Santos licks his lips while glancing around the bar that continues to be blanketed with silence. Listen, how about you go drown your sorrows as per usual and I pretend I didn't hear a thing, okay? OK."

Hmm…

Shrugging, I begin to turn around and return to my seat, only for me to spin around and launch my fist into his jaw.

Everett Danton, 19
Victor of the 98th Hunger Games
May 23rd

To keep a sense of normalcy I find myself parked in the local drive-in for a get together with some pals from school. On the day prior it's custom to have 'one final' outing or meal with friends and family. It's weird being on the outside looking in. I don't have to fear much anymore, having been through the ringer and living to tell about it. Everywhere I look everyone seems to be holding on to each other ten times closer than they would any other time of the year.

It is the Reaping Day eve, so I'd expect nothing less.

"Here ya go guys, snacks on the house!" I announce, following behind the concession stand worker as he carries a platter filled with various snacks. Cheering, they quickly swipe up their favourite sweet.

"Hey hey, look at that!" Linden exclaims.

"Everett is a Victor of the people, dont'cha know?" Sage adds.

I make a show of bowing. "No need to thank me, just showcasing my love."

"Or flaunting your Snows." Snorts Azalea with an eyeroll.

"…That too." I reply snidely to the amusement of my friends. Picking up some snacks of my own I move two cars over to mine, where Cedara rests her head on her hand.

I offer her a bag of popcorn. "Hey Dara, I got ya popcorn. Extra butter, your faavourite…"

"Gee, thanks Everett." She replies lamely, taking the bag without casting me a glance. Cedara's been giving me the cold shoulder since I picked her up. It doesn't seem to be anger, since she responds to my attempts at affection. It's more like sadness, as her face carries that worried expression she sports so much. We're still at the pre-show commercials, so we might as well get to the bottom of it now.

"C'mon 'Dara…I won't know what's wrong if y'don't tell me?" I quiz, caressing her shoulder.

"It's just well…you're going to the Capitol tomorrow, right?"

"Yea, and…?"

She adjusts herself so that she's looking at me now. "And look at how they treat you, the touching, the kisses, tons and tons of airheaded Capitol girls groveling at your feet while I'm just here having to put up with it."

"So what, are you trying to say…?"

"I'm saying why be together when you've grown bigger than anyone else in the District?" She glowers, turning her attention back to the screen. "Why keep me when there's a country of girls wanting you?"

I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place here. I can't say I don't love the attention, that I don't love the money, the house, paparazzi screeching my name wherever I go. I'd like to think I haven't forgotten where I came from? If I did why would I be here, why would I still be with Cedara?

"It don't mean anything, Dara. It's all for show." I side across the car's bench seat, slinking my arm around her waist. "At the end of the day, it's you I'm with; you're the one I'm coming home to."

Her expression brightens at my words. She responds by laying a head on my shoulder. "Well, you're still here, so that should say something."

I adjust our position by wrapping a blanket around us. "I ain't going nowhere Dara, take that to the bank."

"Maybe if I had more evidence I'd be more sure." She replies.

I say nothing, turning my attention to the screen as the opening credits begin to play. I heard her loud and clear though.

…

"You take good care of that, son." Pop says, nodding toward the content in my hand. "It's a family heirloom."

I nod, twirling the engagement band in my hand before fitting it back into the velvet box it calls home. We sit at the main counter of our family restaurant now, closed for the afternoon Reaping Day festivities. The illustrious Celosia Vale manages to make an appearance, arriving back from her northern expedition just this morning. As we eat lunch, we watch on the holovision as various Districts out east skirmish with Peacekeepers. Instead of reaping those who 'deserve it', this quell seems to be reaping people who are contributing to Panem's betterment more than offending. Doctors, Businesspeople, wives and husbands, something tells me they didn't think this Quell through, or did they?

"Where does this leave us?" I ask her, even though the answer to me seems obvious. Seven has been in enough shit since the election anyway.

Celosia shrugs. "All we can do is ride the wave. If all that is happening out there, the PK's here will just tighten the clamp. It's not like we can do much of anything."

"We can't just 'coast it out' anymore Celosia." Ma murmurs, her eyes glued to the holovision. "Maybe your schmoosing with the Capitol may have changed your perspective…"

"Schmoosing? I call it surviving Miss. I know that more than anyone." Celosia retorts. She makes an extra show of flashing her cybernetic prosthetic arm. "In this world of ours, all we can do is exist within our parameters. Every Victor knows that all of this is a show, each of us have different ways of adapting to their role."

"How are you feeling, Everett?" Ma asks me.

I shrug, crossing my arms. "I'm not sure how to feel…we've gained and lost equally."

Maybe things would've been different if Landry won. The power is great, the adulation is great. I don't regret my decisions that lead me here. But Landry…not a day goes by where she isn't in my thoughts.

"Maybe this Quell might be enough to inspire change?" Pop pipes up.

"Maybe, but not through the means everyone fantasizes over…we tried that twice." Celosia replies. "This is us, this is Panem now. All we can do is, as I said; exist around what's currently in place. We could be like District 4 or District 3…or we could be like the outliers. I'm not sure about you three, but I think I know where I want Seven to be on the spectrum."

There's a gentle knock at the door. Before anyone could get up and receive him our Escort, Connor Boykin, enters on his own accord. He was a 'plain' man outwardly, sporting a stylish navy suit and rainbow tie. His personality however…is another story

"Hello hello my lovelies!" he chirps, heaving his rainbow-colored parasol over his back. "I'm sorry to intrude but it's time to get this show on the road!"

…

"Welcome, welcome everyone to the One Hundredth Hunger Games!" Connor cheers while applauding into the microphone. He only receives mostly silence from the crowd, but this doesn't perturb him in the slightest. "I'm quite happy that you all are on your best behavior for the cameras, unlike certain other regions in this grand nation of ours, ha ha!"

I glance around the square, taking in the armed and masked Peacekeepers that pepper the square. Celosia was right, due to the news showcasing what was going on and the subtle show of force by the PK's, it seems that Seven has decided to hold their tongues. After the film they play, Connor returns back to the stage.

"Okey-dokey, onto the selection of our tributes for this year's Hunger Games and Fourth Quarter Quell…you guys already know what I'm gonna say." He pulls the lever now, twirling his parasol as the screen randomizes and pauses on… "Our female tribute is Verona Kinsley!"

As my heart suddenly leaps to my throat, Celosia caresses her temples. "…Oh for the love of…"

The groans and exclamations of the audience are palpable as Ms. Kinsley makes her way to the stage under heavy peacekeeper guard. Summer camp, the Pre-Reaping Festival, babysitting, Ms. Kinsley did it all. Even to me and Landry.

Suddenly, from all four sides children rush through the aisles, through the Peacekeepers into Ms. Kinsley's arms. They all varied in age. The Peacekeepers are cautious to use force, allowing them to embrace her for a minute. Ms. Kinsley releases her hold, waving to them before being escorted up the stage. Even now she continues to blow kisses and wave somberly to people in the crowd.

Connor makes a show of dabbing his eyes with his pocket square. "What a show of passion! Well, let's see what the male pool has to offer…" pulling the lever, it scrambles and stops on another familiar face. "Our male tribute is Chris Samara!"

The cameras cut to Chris as he clamps the shoulders of his co-workers. He was a lumberjack, or involved with the trade due to his coveralls and orange plaid shirt. Offering a shrug and a shaky grin, he makes his way toward the stage only to be stopped by a little boy who clutches his leg. Two women embrace him before the Peacekeepers coax him back toward the stage.

"Two relatively popular people selected as tribute, very good! A little birdy tells me that this'll come in handy in the future! Until then, please give a round of applause to Verona Kinsley and Chris Samara!"

If looks could kill, Connor would be convulsing on stage.

Connor smoothes down his comb over. "Well then, happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor! Shake hands you two!"

They do what their told, pumping each other's hand before being escorted into the Justice Building. The crowd has to be dispersed under the coaxing of Peacekeepers. It was like any other reaping in any other year. Would I want it to be otherwise, sure…but like Celosia says, we've seen the results of that too many times to expect any other outcome.

"So now what?" I say, joining Celosia as we follow the other bigwigs up the steps.

"Now we let the leaves fall where they may." She replies. "We do what we can and if we're lucky, we have three of us and the District is happier than it is now."

"And if that doesn't turn out to be the case?" I ask with a quirked brow.

She shakes her head. "I don't think I wanna imagine it."