The tributes were quiet. Sybil wanted to ask questions, it was the day of the evaluations, and many people at the parties she had gone to made it clear that scores did indeed matter a great deal when it came to sponsorships, but Matthew, Violet, and even Dickie were all giving her that look as they led the two tributes to the elevator. She already had grown to loathe that look. It was the 'shut your mouth and follow' look. It irritated her. There was always something that wasn't right about what she was doing, and the explanations didn't always satisfy her curiosity.

"We always dress in District Ten finery for the announcement of the scores," Violet said to the two tributes. "As decency needs to be maintained, Lady Sybil will assist Miss Moorehouse in getting dressed, and Mr. Crawley will assist Mr. Farthling."

Sybil could see the shy pleasure in both tributes over being addressed as adults. "Judy, let's go look at the dresses and see which one you want to wear." She hoped being able to pick something to wear instead of being told what to put on would be a pleasant surprise. She knew from experience that Aurelia and Paullus the District Ten stylists could be bossy. As it was, they were both still sulking over how the new District 12 stylist had outshone them all.

Judy was suitably impressed with the eight frocks. She wanted to try on each one and twirl in it and ask Sybil's opinion. Sybil took pictures with a camera so that she could see herself and for a good hour it was like getting ready for a real party. Sybil was pleased that her grandmother had been right on the point she'd made earlier, that Judy would at least enjoy trying on all the finery.

"I think you should wear the red one," Sybil said, laughing as Judy pondered the row of dresses. She showed the younger girl the picture on the digital camera. "See how pretty you look?"

Judy smiled and nodded, her expression shy. "I never thought I'd ever get to wear such fine dresses, milady." The girl hesitated and looked down at her hands. "You're very kind, Lady Sybil… May I ask you a favor?"

It was clear that the girl had screwed up her courage to ask, and as much as it worried her to see how fearful Judy was of her, Sybil didn't take her to task. Judy was a product of her world, and Judy was a peasant worker's child, who was, before the games, destined to be a peasant worker herself. Worse, based on her wide eyed looks, Sybil had a feeling that Judy was too overwhelmed by the splendor of the Capitol to really understand what was coming in the Arena. "What is it, Judy?"

Judy blushed and looked down at her hands. "It's just… I never wore something so nice. My mum always wanted to get me something pretty… After the Games… will you show these pictures to my mum? She's always wanted to see me in District Ten finery, not the Capitol costumes they make us wear."

Sybil felt her heart clench up. "Of course Judy but… don't you want to show her these pictures yourself?"

Judy shook her head. "I'm not going home, Lady Sybil. Murder is a sin. My family would never have me back in the home if I did the things you did. We believe violence is against God. When the Games start… I'm going to the Cornucopia."

"That's suicide, Judy!" Sybil couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You have a chance! You can't throw your life away!"

Suddenly Violet was at the entrance of Judy's quarters. "Lady Sybil, we don't shout at the tributes. I know your mother taught you better manners than that." She gave Judy a pleased nod. "That is a lovely frock, Miss Moorehouse. Why don't you join us in the living area? While Lady Sybil gets herself ready?"

If anything , her grandmother's words infuriated her even more, because it smacked of yet another moment where she was being treated like an incompetent idiot. Made worse that she knew in her heart that she wasn't wrong to be appalled that Judy wasn't planning to fight. But it wasn't worth the fight with her grandmother, not when she was already angry about so many secrets being kept.

"Fine," she snapped. She looked at Judy, her eyes almost striking a blow on the poor girl, her intensity was that fierce. "Judy, I apologize for disagreeing with you." She rose to her feet quickly. "Judy, you have my word that no matter how the Games end, your family will get to see these pictures. I will even have copies made. Now, since dinner is still being prepared, I think I will go up to the rooftop garden for a few moments of quiet." So I can scream my frustration to the plants, she thought as she stomped out.

0o0o0o0

The view on the roof really was excellent, Matthew mused as he stepped out of the elevator. Sybil was on the far side of the garden, staring out over the capitol city. She wasn't crying, he wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but he was willing to take what he could get. He walked up to her and took position beside her, letting his hands rest on the railing next to hers. "Dinner is soon and you're not drunk or high so you do need to attend."

"Maybe I am planning to get drunk or high. Or both," Sybil muttered. "What then?"

"Then I recommend doing it here, and I really recommend picking a vice and not mixing them. If you have a night of debauchery outside the Training Center, it will show up on the news, especially since you're the newest victor to fall. The Avox attendants will bring whatever you like but I do suggest avoiding morfa. It's addictive and it's hard to get in District Ten and frankly I mostly ended up vomiting from it and I'm told that's a family tendency. Also my mother will ignore any talk of you being drunk but if you come back strung out on morfa she will tell your parents."

Sybil sniffed. "What does your mother say to you? What did she say last year?"

Matthew shrugged. "In general, she says if I want to kill myself with drugs, that she will move out of my house because she won't be a party to it. Reggie said something similar, that I would always have an excuse so I needed to decide if I was going to let the Games and the Capitol kill me or not. So I restrain myself and I don't indulge except when I am here, and I try to not appear on television while drunk or high." He hesitated. "Last year was different. She gave me carte blanche to do whatever was necessary to help you. Your grandmother told me to do whatever I was asked as long as I thought it would help you. When we got home, my mother told me quite bluntly that I was lucky I didn't have a heart attack from snorting so much cocaine and there were two reasons she wasn't going to make good on her previous threat." At Sybil's raised eyebrows, he added, "it saved your life, which we all wanted, and cocaine is impossible to get in District Ten. Now what did Judy say that upset you so?"

He had a feeling he knew. Judy was a pretty easy read, and David had already mentioned how religious her family was, in the version of the faith that abhorred violence.

"She… she doesn't even plan to try." Sybil's voice shook. "How can she not even want to try? She isn't big but she isn't small either, and she doesn't have to accept death. She has a better chance than David and I know he's been pestering us both for ideas of what to do…" She took in his expression and frowned at him. "What? What am I missing *now*?"

He sighed and looked out over the city. "Sybil… the games are a death sentence. Judy knows that, and Judy is a member of that church sect that believes in never raising a hand towards another human being. They're gentle souls and they think if they fight, they're angering God. You know how strict they are, if Judy harms someone in the Games, she's damning herself to hell. You might as well expect her to do magic as fight." And Judy hadn't hesitated to show her faith, it was a symptom of Sybil's denial that she was finally internalizing what Judy's religious faith meant.

Sybil shook just a little, as though she was shivering. He didn't touch her, he suspected she would react badly. Finally she said softly, "She made it sound like by living, by killing to live, that I was somehow less. That I was dirty."

How best to answer, he mused. "To her, we are. Oh, we're the cream of District Ten society but we're dirty killers. That's how she is justifying not saving herself. You and I? To her? We're killers, we're damned, and in order to keep right with her god, she has to fight the instinct to fight at all. And she's going to die in seconds when she enters the Arena tomorrow and you and I and Dickie and your grandmother? Can't stop her. We can only grant her some respect in her last hours. That's why Violet told you not to argue with her over it. We're killers. We have the instinct to kill, and that's not a bad thing in this world. If we had the time to break through years of church going, Judy might develop the instincts but we don't have that kind of time. And that's too bad, because she's the better candidate but… it's not within our control. Judy has made her decision on how she intends to play the Game. She'll be dead in two days. Tonight will be one of her last enjoyable meals. You can let her have that small pleasure or you can scowl and be difficult all evening."

"It's suicide, Matthew. She's committing suicide." Sybil spat it out like she had poison in her mouth. It cheered him, oddly.

"In a way, it is," he agreed, "but it's her choice. Not yours and not mine. The reality is that some tributes curl up and die. We can't prevent that. Accept that. And accept that we've all had that moment with a tribute who has made the decision to go quietly into that good night. You're not in control of this. If Judy doesn't want to fight to live, you and I can't make her. We can only offer advise."

"She'll die," Sybil offered meekly. "I can't wrap my head around not even trying to convince her otherwise…"

"Let it go, Sybil. Accept that you didn't choose Judy for this, and you can't volunteer to save her. If she decides to head to the Cornucopia at the start of the Games… We've both told her that it's a bad idea, a death sentence." He sighed again. "It's actually quite common for tributes to be suicidal. You know it's impossible to jump off this building, correct? There's a force field. It would throw you back up on the roof. They monitor the mentors as well. Not at home, but definitely here. It's bad for ratings for a mentor to die during the Games." He didn't think she was seriously considering it as an option, but she had gone up to the roof. And experience had taught him that it was better to talk about it. He didn't think she was there yet, he was hoping the talk would shock her back to her normal good sense.

And it worked. She spun around to look at him. "That… that never even crossed my mind, Matthew. Does that happen a lot?"

"Victors generally don't make it past their forties. Trust me, my mother keeps track of the suicides and drug overdoses. Other than your grandmother and Hodges, there's what? That woman in District Four. And that's about it. The career district victors tend to suicide in their fifties, drug overdoses mostly. They tend to see getting older as failure since they can't maintain themselves as victors in peak condition forever. The rest? You and I are the rarities in that we weren't starving before the Games, and a lot of victors feel guilty over killing people and being rewarded with a fancy house and a lifetime income. And a lot of them can't cope with coming here every year and reliving it and seeing tributes die."

She nodded and bit her lip nervously. "Did… did you ever consider it?"

"Never seriously." It almost made him laugh, because it was the one heartache he never inflicted on his mother. "I won't lie and say it's never crossed my mind, but it would leave my mother alone, and now it would leave Mary alone, and I could never intentionally do that to either of them. The few times I was close, it was knowing that my mother would be the one to have to clean up my blood off the floor that stopped me." He sighed again. "Reggie Swire was the one who pointed that home truth out to me, along with a lot of others. He was a good friend to me, for someone who wasn't a victor, he had a keen insight into the problems of being a victor and he had a way of talking about it that made me listen. He did a much better job than I am doing."

"You aren't doing a bad job," Sybil said after a long moment. She smiled shyly at him, pleased, he thought, that he was taking her seriously. "I think… I just didn't realize that some people would just… give up. I mean… The last thing Papa said to me, after the Reaping, was to do whatever it took to come back…"

That was a surprise but a welcome one. He had wondered how Robert had reacted and it was good to know that Sybil had no problems from that end. "So understand that Judy's parents likely said good bye and that they would see her in heaven. Now, let's go downstairs and enjoy the fancy dinner. We're having crab and steak, both of which I actually enjoy, and some sort of ridiculous seafood platter."

"You? Wanting to eat a meal at the Capitol?" Sybil smirked as she stepped away from the railing.

He smiled in return and took her arm. "David asked me for suggestions so I suggested everything I like to eat. So filet mignon, king crab legs, sautéed mushrooms and asparagus will grace our plates. I used my status as mentor to finally get an advantage. Poor David, the only thing he was curious about was crab, so I ordered the seafood platter so he can at least sample some new things. Shrimp is always a tribute pleaser, I've learned."

"Unless one of them has a shellfish allergy," Sybil intoned.

"No need to worry. They test for it in the first stylist rounds. That's one of the blood tests." Matthew was amused to see she was actually surprised by that.

"I knew they tested our blood but why would they test our blood for that?" Sybil asked as they headed back to the elevator.

"It's for very cynical purposes," Matthew admitted. At her questioning glance, he added, "Shellfish allergy is one of the most unassuming deaths one can have in the arena. Right up there with freezing to death or tripping over a rock and accidently breaking your neck." And I have earned my steak dinner tonight, he told himself. He was glad it wasn't worse. He had worried when Violet told him she went up to the roof that she was going to do something dramatic. Perhaps, he thought as the elevator closed, it's time to give a compliment. "You're handling this very well, you know. It's not an easy job and none of your teachers are especially patient or wise."

"Thank you," she said. She met his eyes, her face firm. "But I disagree. I have excellent teachers. You should stop being so hard on yourself, Matthew. You're a good teacher, and not just to me. Papa says he gets nothing but compliments over the hedge school, that people wish you'd do the class more than once a week. Even Tom thinks you're excellent in instructing him how to keep on Papa's good side. You're always telling me, I don't have to let the games define me, you should consider applying that advice to yourself, Matthew."

He knew when he was beat. "Point taken."