A/N- Hello again! Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la la la la la! See, I updated before Christmas, yay! This way you won't have to wait too long! Woop woop.

Ok, enough. Without further ado, here is the next Outside chapter! (I know you love 'em)

Ren, (Victoria's sister) POV

A small smash jolts me awake. I sit up, startled and look alertly around the room. No-one.

Sitting up, I notice that I'm on the sofa, the soft and worn material gentle against the bare skin of my arms. I'm not really sure why I'm on the sofa, I must have fallen asleep without realising, which is quite strange for me.

Lately, I've been suffering from insomnia. Yet without the need to rush out of bed every other night to calm Victoria from her latest nightmare, I have still found it difficult to sleep. Maybe it's my body clock; set and waiting for the alarm to go off. Waiting for that scream, shout, yell. Waiting for the sound of weeping from behind the wall. Waiting for that time in the middle of the night where I have to leap out of bed, run next door and comfort my sister while she sobs wet tears into my pyjama top.

But those nights have long stopped. I am no longer needed to chase the monstrous memories away, that may be someone else's job now. With Victoria gone, I should be gaining sleep. But somehow I can't. So waking up on the sofa is a good omen I guess.

Swinging my legs out from underneath me, I plant my feet on the floor and attempt to stand. But as I'm putting pressure on the balls of my feet, a sharp stabbing pain shoots through my left foot.

"Ouch!" I jump back, falling onto the sofa.

Pulling up my foot, I look underneath. The skin as been lightly wounded, just a small red river running through the pale lands. It's not much blood, but it does sting quite a bit.

I peer down to the floor where I stood. Cracked shards of blue painted pottery spread across the wooden planks, sharp edges like razors and corners so pointed you could shoot a bulls eye and score a ten.

"Damn it." I curse under my breath as I recognise the shattered pieces of baby blue. It's, I mean it was, my mug that I was drinking tea from before I fell asleep. I spot the handle lying whole a few inches from the main cluster and stretch down to pick it up.

It's practically weightless in my fingers and as I turn it round, tiny little dust particles sprinkle down onto my leg. I wipe them off.

Remembering my injury from the sudden stinging sensation in the ball of my foot, I slide off the sofa, cautious not to step on the broken mug again. Tiptoeing carefully around it, I make my way to the kitchen.

Turning the tap on, I root around in a cupboard until I find the roll of bandages. The roll itself is over half used and the end is all frayed and flaky. We always keep bandages in the house, and we used to go through them quite quickly. I was not normally the one to injury myself, it was usually Victoria after one of her mood swings. She'd often come downstairs with a sliced finger or scraped knuckle and Mom would have to bind them. Mom didn't mind so much, she liked being a nurse to her kids especially since they were getting older, but she did worry about Victoria and whether she would ever hurt herself beyond a bandages help. She never did, thankfully.

And here I am, almost following in my sister's footprints, except this time being no deliberate fault of my own. I have the bandage cut and ready, so all I need to do is rinse the wound and then dress it up.

Although, cleaning one's foot under a kitchen sink is quite a difficult task. I try cocking my leg up high, but my trousers are quite restricting and won't allow me to reach that far. So I end up sitting on the counter, with my foot dangling lazily in the sink and cold water running through the gash in my skin.

Once cleaned, I shuffle off and wrap my foot in a section of white material. Because I've seen Mom doing it so many times, I successfully dress my foot and am ready to hobble back into the lounge, this time with a broom.

As I'm sweeping up the pottery, I notice that the TV is on in the corner of the room. I didn't realise it was on until now. Was I watching it before I fell asleep? I fail to remember.

Shrugging, I look away and continue brushing away the mess. After a few moments, the voices on the TV seem to rise and I find myself listening in. It's the voices of Morgana Volptura and Vaughn Redkill. This year's hostess and co-host of the annual Hunger Games.

"So we've just received the news of the latest death." Morgana is saying. "And what a tragic one it was indeed."

"Yes," Agrees Vaughn. "I almost had tears in my eyes. Especially when she told her ally to leave and save herself."

Her ally? I stop sweeping for a moment and do some quick thinking in my head. I think about the remaining girls in the games and who has female allies. Ok, so it won't be one of the Career girls, they hate each other and would never tell the other to run. Right, there's the group of girls, it could be one of them. But it couldn't be that girl from Four, her ally is a boy, and it also couldn't be the one from Seven as she has no ally at all. Which leaves the girls alliance and Victoria's alliance.

Please don't be Victoria or her ally. Please.

"So for those of you who have missed it, we're going to show you the clip of the most recent death." Morgana says to the camera. "This happened about ten minutes ago."

I look to the TV, praying and hoping and wishing on anything that it won't be Victoria's face on the wall.

The screen changes from the painted faces of the hosts to the arena. It's the forest and the camera is focused on a scene between two girls. I can't tell who it is until one of them speaks.

"Free my leg...please." The clear, distinct voice of my sister fills the room.

No.

Dropping the broom and letting it hit the ground with a thwack, I turn to stare at the TV, my hands firmly by my side in a state of utter shock.

It can't be.

I watch in horror as the scene envelopes into a crisis, Victoria lying helplessly on the forest floor, her leg encased in a tight rope and a huge red stain on her shirt where a blade slaughtered her. Her ally, Inva, tries desperately to free her, but she doesn't manage it. My eyes grow ever wider, filling with tears as Inva eventually gives up and leaves Victoria to face the wrath of the raging storm, limp and dying.

The screen changes from the bleak forest scene to the colourful panel where the two hosts sit behind. One moment she was there. And the next, she was gone.

"Yes, well that was Victoria Buchegger from District Five." Morgana says. "And that was the ninth death of the Games so far, which leaves fifteen tributes left, including the partner of the recently deceased, Inva Reinhardt from District Three."

Recently deceased. Ninth death. Victoria Buchegger. District Five. Recently deceased.

Recently deceased.

I scream and fall back on to the sofa. It cushions my fall.

The TV is still on, but the screen is all just a blur, a mash up of all the bright colours. The once clear voices have turned to distant murmurs, occasional words I pick out.

Dearly missed. One sister. One brother. Friend. Alex.

I throw my head in my hands and the front door clicks from a distance away.

The sound of heavy footprints and a bag being tossed to the floor can be heard over my sobs and the groaning voices of the TV.

I hear someone walk into the room.

"Ren?" The voice of my brother, Rye, enters my ears.

When I don't reply, he comes over and sits beside me. His hands cup under my chin and lift up my head.

A curtain of tears blur the sight of him, but after blinking a few times, the vision becomes clearer.

"What's wrong, Ren?" Rye asks.

Sniffing, I look down at my palms. "It's Vic...Victoria...She's d...de...dead."

His face drops. "She's dead?"

I nod slowly. "It happened about f...fi...fifteen minutes ago. They were t..t...talking about it on the TV."

"Did you see it happen?" He asks bravely.

I shake my head. "But I s...saw the clip..."

"What happened?"

I gulp. "It was horrible... Her leg was caught and she fell and the sword and the storm and...and..."

"It's ok." Rye wraps his arm around my shoulders. "You don't have to tell my anymore."

I stay for a while, just weeping into his chest and letting my tears soak up in his warm shirt. He smells of the outdoors, the scent of fresh and cool air seeped into his clothes. And I can feel his heart beating beneath his chest, something Victoria's will never do again.

I break away.

"Do you think Mom and Dad know?" Rye asks me as I wipe my eyes with my sleeves.

Shrugging, I reply, "Maybe, but they're both working. It depends on whether there's a TV on near or if someone has told them."

"Someone will probably have told them if they didn't already know." Rye says. "If they know then I bet they'll be home any time soon."

I stand up from the sofa. "I'm just going to go upstairs for a minute. Make some more tea for when Mom and Dad come back."

Rye nods and walks to the kitchen, grabbing the teapot and placing some weathered tea leaves in the bottom. I turn my head away and move over to the stairs.

Gripping the banister tightly, careful in case my knees buckle beneath me, I climb up stair by stair. With each step I take, my foot feels heavier, stomping harder on the wood as I ascend the staircase.

When I reach the top, I turn right. Two doors face me, both identical except for the slight wonkiness of the hinges on Victoria's. She slammed her door many a time.

Instead of opening the door closest to me, I take the handle of the other and push it down, releasing the door with a creak from its rusting and uneven hinges. I walk slowly into the room.

The curtains that are closed are the first thing I notice as I enter, as the room is enveloped in a dim light. I step further in and let the door to gently shut behind me, setting the room into a cold silence.

My feet stand on the wooden planks of the floor, the weight of my body tweaking at the floorboards and causing the occasional low moan. I look around the room. Everything seems the same as it was left that morning of the reaping. The bed is still unmade and the two pieces of sleepwear lie lifeless on the floor.

Bending, I pick them up and walk over to the bed. Instinctively, I reach for the flat cushion and begin plumping it. Placing it down again, I drag the sheets up to its edge and tuck them under the springed mattress. I run my hands over the sheets, smoothing them down and then gentle lie the neatly folded pyjamas on top of the cushion. As I always do.

It feels like I'm laying her to rest. But in a way, I am. She's gone now, for good. That slim chance that I may see her again has been wiped out, exiled, banished. And I can't go on frozen in one state of mind; my body would soon be empty of tears and my heart would slowly stop beating. I could join my sister, but I know that now is not the time. She'll wait for me and when the time is right, I shall see her again.

That's what I said to her about Alex. After he died, Victoria almost died herself. Not literally. She would cry and cry until I thought she would pass out. Bags beneath her eyes grew ever larger and the lines in her face deepened. She wouldn't sleep, she wouldn't eat and she barely even breathed. She was twelve and I was nine.

Then she was fifteen and I was twelve. And Victoria was still the same, but by then, she had begun to eat once more.

And finally, she was seventeen and I was fourteen. Am fourteen. But Victoria isn't here anymore. Just like Alex she was lost to the Games. And I'm lost without her.

People used to say that Victoria depended on me, they were right, but they always seemed to forget one tiny detail:

I depended on her.

"Rest in peace, sister." I whisper, holding the small box carefully in my hands.

With gentle fingers, I open the lid and remove the two artefacts from inside. They're delicate in my fingertips and I'm afraid I might break them. They could be so easily snapped or cut. But the owners could not. For Victoria and Alex have been reunited now.

With or without their bracelets that lie on the bed before me.

I know I don't need to worry about her anymore. She's safe now. She has Alex once more. Best friends together again.

It's just me that is left without a partner.

Head Gamemaker, Opus Trimarti POV

I place the cutlery on the syrup stained plate and declare myself finished. An Avox with shoulder length crimson hair comes rushing to my table and clears the table before me. I nod and relax back in my cushioned chair, my shoulder blades sinking into the padded behind. Being Head Gamemaker has its perks.

The Avox girl returns, holding a silver tray of refreshments in her pale hands. She angles the tray towards me, offering me choice of the array of beverages.

"I shall have some coffee, thank you." I place my order. The Avox girl nods, lifts up one of the large jugs filled with a dark steaming liquid and pours some into my mug. Steam billows out the top of the mug and the strong smell of black coffee enters my nostrils.

The Avox girl then splashes tiny amounts of different liquids into the coffee and I watch intensely as the beverage changes colour, until finally settling for a dark brown.

"Many thanks." I nod to the girl. "You are dismissed."

I watch as the girl trots off, delicately balancing the tray in her hands as she leaves the room. She uses her foot to grab the bottom of the door and pulls it shut behind her, sending me into my own silent company.

Taking the mug of coffee, I sip it comfortably and enjoy the view of the outside city from my wall sized window. The streets are busy this late morning, brightly coloured silhouettes of people flowing through the paths like rivers of ribbons. Women hurry along pushing elaborately decorated prams with chubby little babies inside and multitasking while chatting to friends they pass. Men in bold suits stroll along, many entering betting houses to predict the next death, or put in an early guess for Victor. It's quite soothing to watch their busy day, whilst I'm relaxing and pretty much doing nothing.

The other Gamemakers will be down at the control room, watching over the arena. I don't need to be down there for another hour, which means that nothing in particular is going on in the arena at the moment. The tributes are probably recovering from the storm I created yesterday afternoon, so there is no need to throw anything else at them yet.

Drinking my overly strong, but delicious coffee, I find my mind wandering off. I'm thinking about previous Games and the Head Gamemakers that came before my time. This is my first year at being Head, we had a huge vote at the end of last year's Games to decide on who was going to be Head for the 500th Games, a pretty big year. The biggest Games any of us now would ever see in their lifetime.

It was a pretty great honour to be selected this year, but I didn't expect otherwise. The citizens of the Capitol were bound to vote me in anyway and I was already quite friendly with the President. Normally, there isn't a public vote for Head Gamemaker, but as it is a huge quell this year and the new President is quite spontaneous, it was decided that there should be a democracy to decide. In my favour, of course.

The sound of my doorbell ringing jolts me in my seat and I almost spill my coffee.

"Come in." I say loudly, so that the person behind the door can hear, but not shouty so that I still sound professional.

The door swings open and the Avox girl walks in, her hand bearing a piece of folded paper. She hands it to me and leaves quickly, allowing me to read it in private. She's well trained.

Opening the crisp ivory paper, I read the jet black inked writing. It's a message.

Opus Trimarti,

There is a matter of business that I wish to discuss with yourself. If you could come down to my office as soon as you receive this message then we can commence.

President Zieh.

Folding up the paper, I slide it into my trouser pocket and stand. I quickly gulp down the remaining coffee and leave the mug on the table. An Avox will clear that up for me soon.

Strolling confidently down the corridors towards the President's office, I wonder what she wants to talk to me about. Maybe she wants to compliment my job so far, maybe offer me some kind of reward or something. There is plenty of things I would quite like to receive from her. Perhaps she has plans for my future position? She could be telling me that I'm going to be Head Gamemaker again next year due to my impressive performance so far. Or maybe she just has some suggestions for the running of the quell?

I walk past a group of mentors and raise my hand in a term of greeting. Lydia Temple, the mentor for District Three, waves politely back with a rare smile on her thin lips. She only ever smiles when I take notice of her, so all the other hours of the day she looks like she's sucking lemons. For a previous Victor, she's had a little too much cosmetic surgery.

The escort for District Three is also with her, Clarissa Magton. She's her usual self and flashes me a brief smile, accepting that I'm her superior.

As well as those two, other mentors from Districts Six, Seven and Nine are present. It seems as if they've just come out of a meeting or something, or maybe on their way to chat with some sponsors. And as usual, Damien Thicket is as drunk as ever, slopping around all over the place I have to step to the side to avoid being hit by his flying fists.

I straighten up my suit and continue on.

The door of the President's office looms ahead and I even feel a slight flutter in the pit of my full stomach. I wonder what she really wants. Maybe I've been kidding myself and she actually wants to complain or even...sack me. No. That won't happen, my Gamemaking has been great so far. There is nothing to complain about.

The door slides open at my nearing presence and I step inside. The room is dim, with only a few lights hanging on the aubergine painted walls. President Zieh seems to like the darkness, it's like her signature feature. As well as her jet black and poker straight hair.

A strip of purple carpet leads the way through the middle of the room, ending just before her large armchair. The back of the chair is facing me and it starts to spin around as I walk towards it.

Stopping a few metres in front of the chair, I wait as the monstrous chair turns to face me. Slowly, the figure of President Zieh is revealed. The darkness of the room casts shadows on her face; her eyes and lips visible in the soft glow of the limited lights.

Zieh has only been President for about seven months. She took over the role from her father who died last year and she certainly followed in his footsteps. She likes attention, just like he did, and so far has most definitely gained a lot of that. With her quirky ways, she will be one to be remembered.

"Opus, I trust you received the message I sent." The President speaks with clarity, her deep purple lips moving swiftly and with elegance.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." I reply correctly.

The corner of her lip twitches, but she does not quite manage a smile. She tends not to smile, but I always know the right things to say.

"You said there were matters to discuss, did you not?" I ask.

She nods. "Indeed there are, Opus. But firstly, let me congratulate you on your recent achievement."

I'm sure she's talking about the storm, but it would be embarrassing if it weren't, so I have to make sure. "The storm, your honour?"

"Of course, it was a huge success, am I correct?" President Zieh says.

"Well yes, it definitely seemed to rock the boat, if you know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean, it certainly did. There was great havoc caused for the tributes, as there should be in a Hunger Games, especially one as great as this year."

"And there was also a death." I point out.

"Oh yes, the girl from Five with the red hair." Zieh recalls. "She has left her ally, the girl from Three. Inva, her name is?"

"Yes." I confirm. "The numbers are steadily narrowing down. It has been predicted that the Games will last between a week and ten days more."

"Hmm..."

The President doesn't speak to reply. It seems as if she has something on her mind, her face is paused in a matter of deep thought. And the way her long, black nails tap on the arms of the chair suggest that she is concocting some kind of plan of mass destruction.

"You have something on your mind, do you not?" I ask her.

President Zieh looks to me with her obsidian eyes that shimmer behind her thick lashes. "You are quite observant, Opus."

"It has been said before." I answer. "So, what is on your mind?"

Zieh frowns slightly, her thin and pointed eyebrows dipped. "I have been thinking, Opus, about the Games..."

"What about them?" I ask. "Is there something not to your liking?"

She shakes her head. "No, no. Everything has been quite pleasant so far, well for me anyway. No, I have been thinking; since this is an extremely important and huge year for the Hunger Games' history, we need to make sure it is remembered."

"And how were you thinking of achieving that, my President?"

"We need something big. Huge. Colossal. Something that will stir things up in the arena."

"How so? Like something that will wipe out many tributes?"

"Yes. But not just something like the storm or the crows. No, we need something that will challenge even the toughest competitors instead of just wiping out the weak." Zieh says, her voice starting to sound ever so slightly excited. "We need something that not only opposes a threat to everyone, but something that will work with the arena."

"Have you any ideas?"

"I do."

"Care to elaborate?"

President Zieh looks at me, a devilish expression on her dramatic face. Her dark eyes flash with cunning mischief and for a second, she actually looks like her real age of only nineteen, rather than the twenty nine years she pretends to be. But then it's gone. In a flash. And the older, more mature woman appears once more.

"Let me ask you a question, Opus. Then you may guess the answer." Zieh says.

I nod.

"The arena is composed of an old, abandoned village surrounded by a dense forest, is it not?"

I nod again.

"The buildings are made of weathered and ruined stone and wood. The large fence around it is also made of a weak wood. And the forest is all trees and shrubs. Yes?"

I nod slowly, wondering where this is going.

"So tell me, dear Opus. What element would potentially destroy all of this?"

I think for a moment, yet I don't really need to. The answer is there and simple. What else could affect all of that as quickly and harshly as that one thing? Nothing is as savage and dangerous to that environment than the answer. And I couldn't think of anything better.

"Fire." I reply simply. "The element is fire."

A/N- Oosh. Well that was left on a bit of a cliffhanger (sort of). What will happen when we get back to the arena? Will there be a fire and who will it affect? Everyone, I guess. So yes, get prepared for that at some point in the future, it shall be interesting.

Ok, so next chapter will be up at some point after Christmas holidays, can't make a prediction as I shall be celebrating and stuffing my face with ALL the food. Yes, because I'm a greedy pig at Christmas... so afterwards it will down to the gym! Hmm, nah I don't think so. I don't do gyms. I'll just rave around the house and lose the weight like that instead.

Right, so have a great Christmas everyone and I hope you're not too hung up about what is going to happen next! Ok, that was a joke. This story will probably not pass your mind at all... oh well, it probably won't cross mine often. Have fun everyone and if you don't celebrate Christmas, then I hope you have a joyuss time living your normal life.

Thanks, FireflyLlama xxx

Oh, and please review. It is the season of good will, right? ;)