Albia Sky

None of the Gamemakers wanted to be there. They hadn't wanted to be there the day before, either. Least of all the newly ordained Head Gamemaker Albia Sky. Yesterday, ve was drunk and mourning. Ve almost couldn't stop crying the whole time. None of the comforts of the others had been in any way helpful. Today, ve was mourning and hungover, on on ver way to being drunk again. The moment ve walked into the training center, ve went for a glass of wine.

Of course, no one would blame vim.

The others had all begged the President to allow a day or two, at least, so that they — especially Albia — could recover. But they were ultimately refused. "The show must go on, as they used to say," had been the President's somewhat sympathetic response.

She was doing all she could, Albia knew this. Ve also knew that to postpone the Hunger Games because of the murder would be a sign of weakness, which was absolutely unacceptable. So ve held it together for the cameras, almost to the point of seeming apathetic to the death of ver fiancex. But privately, whenever ve could spare it, ve was a wreck.

It bled into the social life, though, ve couldn't help it. Every night, ver newsfeed was saturated with interviews and headlines, all pointing out ver sagging shoulders, the dark pockets underneath ver eyes. No amount of makeup could hide grief.

The last thing ve wanted to do was watch a bunch of half-starved kids swing weapons around and tie knots as they tried to impress them.

Ve took a deep breath, trying to pull vimself together. Ve had to make an effort, at least. The Games couldn't suffer because of this. It was what Aeneus would want.

As the first Tribute came in, ve felt ver resolve fading, and the temptation to call for something stronger than wine was growing.

Ve felt a hand grip ver arm. It was Laurentia, looking over at vim with worry. Had ve started to fall over? Really, it felt as though ver whole body were sagging under the weight of it all, that if ve stopped, even for a moment, ve would just wither away and die. That didn't sound so bad, really.

Ve sat down with a plate of food that wouldn't be eaten in ver hand, watching as this tiny kid ran around the track that circled the center. They were fast, sure. Fast was a good skill in the arena.

Albia tried to turn ver brain on, tried to put the Gamemaker's hat back on. Ve had been working nonstop the past two days, had barely slept, plagued by nightmares and the horrible emptiness in the bed beside vim. Ve had gone over statistics, flora, fauna, traps, mutts — everything in the Games, twice over, in order to stave off sleep. In sleep, ve would be alone with ver thoughts. It seemed as though it was finally catching up to ver.

As the tribute finished their third lap and stood expectantly before the viewing box, Albia waved a hand. "Thank you, Mx. Baines. You may leave now." With a tight bow and a goofy smile, they padded out the other side of the room. Moments later, the second tribute came in.

The next few tributes came and went. They were Careers, they were good, they were strong. It was all the same, wasn't it?

Private sessions were always boring, but this was different. Albia didn't just feel bored. Ve felt despondent, dissociated. It felt as though ve wasn't even there in the box. Ve was miles away, sitting in some sort of torrential ocean. It was maddening.

Ve tossed the food in the garbage and went back over to the table to get more as the boy from District Two threw spears. Ve still wasn't even hungry — ve just wanted to do something, to stand up and move. Ve didn't sit down after ve had gotten ver plate, instead just watching. He was good, ve had to admit. They always were. There was something in the way he arched his arms, the deathly stillness of his face as he did. This was a Tribute that wouldn't blink as he ended another's life. Ve made a mental note of that as ve finished ver second glass of wine.

He went, the next girl followed. She wasn't half bad either.

Albia perked up slightly when the District Three boy managed to actually do something beyond feebly stabbing a dummy. He took a metal spool of wire, created an intricate net with it, placed a dummy in it, and then connected it to the electric target range, effectively frying the dummy. The others murmured in approval, and the child's eyes lit up. Maybe there was hope for him after all, he would be thinking.

Albia doubted it.

The next few tributes blurred together as ve got deeper into a third glass of wine. None of them really made an impression on vim. The girl from District Four was surprisingly good at hand-to-hand combat. That wasn't really useful in the Arena against a sword or a bow, but it could save your life, ve supposed. Ve had also seen her as she trained with weapons. She would be good.

The other Gamemakers followed ver lead, drinking and getting exponentially sadder as the day wore on. Every fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity, and it was impossible to keep the facts straight. Ve hoped someone was taking notes, because God knew ve wasn't.

A trident, an underwhelming display with a sickle, a trap that snapped halfway through and whipped the child in the face, a dummy destroyed by some unskilled knife tricks. Boring, boring, boring. Nothing really to write home about. The trident was impressive, but the kid was from Four, and the trident thing had been done probably once every three years since Finnick Odair graced this tower with his presence.

A boy beat a dummy with uncharacteristic fury, for an outer-District Tribute. Albia figured he would make an interesting addition to their Arena. If ve remembered correctly — and ver now-intoxicated brain wasn't exactly reliable at the moment — he had laughed after being Reaped. So while he might be interesting, he could very easily turn into one of those Tributes they had to kill off when the audience approval ratings went down. Sadistic Tributes weren't stylish right now.

At some point, Gerenne started crying, and ve found vimself holding his hand as he dabbed helplessly at his pooling eyes.

That was when the next tribute came in. She walked in with her head held high. She hadn't made any real impression on Albia thus far. Ve had long ago lost track of which District they were on, so she couldn't even place her that way. She went directly to the camouflage station.

Then, she came and stood right in front of the observation box. Albia didn't really pay attention, instead aimlessly patting Gerenne's hand while he sniveled.

Everyone perked up when she cleared her throat. She smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, Albia noticed.

"I don't really have a skill," she began. "So I figured I could talk, instead." She went to the front of the observation box, almost out of their view, and started writing on the wall below them. "No peeking now. Not until it's done."

Confused, drunk, and intrigued, everyone obeyed.

"Now I've never killed anyone, you see. I would think that's a pretty average statement for a lot of the District citizens," she said as she ran her hands along the wall. "But I've watched the Hunger Games all my life, obviously. So I've seen my fair share of death. So the past couple of days, I've taken the opportunity to think about the many ways you can kill a person. There's poisoning, of course. Humans are so weirdly fragile; they eat the wrong plants, or a piece of meat that's just a few weeks bad, and boom! Dead as a doorknob. Falling out a window, or hanging, or being hit by a car — those will do just fine too, you know. And then there are the much messier ways. Bludgeoning to death, stabbing, dismembering, evisceration, beheading." She stepped back for a moment and looked at her work. "No, not quite done, I don't think," she said to herself. She smiled up at them all again. "I wonder what it's like to be stabbed? I suppose I might find out very soon. How do you think it feels, Head Gamemaker Sky? Do you think it hurts? Or do you think it feels more like... an opening up?"

Albia's face drained of blood and all ve could see was Aeneus, laying in a pool of their own blood. Three stab wounds. Ve had overheard one of the investigators say that the first stab was enough to kill them. The others were just for fun.

"I saw my girlfriend killed, you know. She was shot, right in front of me. Her and this old man. I never got to find out why he had to die. But of course, because she stepped in, it had to be her too. Don't you think it would be interesting if a Tribute shot another Tribute in the head? Then again, you don't really put guns in the Arena, do you, Head Gamemaker Sky?" She had gone back to painting, and Albia was frozen, ver heart beating in ver chest. "No, I suppose guns are too civilized for the Hunger Games. We just have to kill each other like animals."

She backed up. With a satisfied smile, she wiped her hands on her shirt, staining it with red. "Is that how your fiancex died, Head Gamemaker Sky? Like an animal?"

Albia was pulled back to the present at this, and ve stood up. The other Gamemakers seemed frozen, just as ve had been moments ago. Even Gerenne had stopped his sobbing. All were listening with horror to this tribute's words.

Ve opened ver mouth to send her away, to order the Peacekeepers to come take her, to have them beat her to death right there. Ve wanted to jump out of the box and wrap ver fingers around the little cunt's throat for her comments. But ve couldn't move, couldn't force ver tongue to move.

Her smile continued. Friendly, polite... manic. "You know what I think, Head Gamemaker Sky? I think they deserved it. I think you all deserve it, for killing dozens of children every year."

"Guards," ve heard Laurentia whisper. "Peacekeepers."

The tribute bowed low. "You can look at my mural now. It's all done."

Reynaldo was the first to step forward, but after him, the rest followed. All leaned over the edge of the box. There were words. None of them could quite make it out. One by one, they descended from the box while Albia remained, stone still, in ver place.

There were a few horrified shrieks as the tribute stood by, and Laurentia called to the Peacekeepers outside, frantically.

"You know you deserve it," she was saying, though she was drowned out by the others. "Deep down, you know you're horrible. You know you're the ones who ought to be thrown into the Arena, the ones who ought to be shot in front of your loved ones."

The Peacekeepers took her by the arms and dragged her out, but her words continued to echo into the room. "I hope you all die! Die like pigs like Ardensill!" before the door slammed shut.

Her words continued to bounce around in Albia's head, replaying over and over again, and the images of finding Aeneus' body couldn't be dismissed, as if it had been plastered to ver vision forever.

And with that, ve fell to ver knees and broke down.

Ve didn't ever see what was written on the wall, but the others told vim later.

Beside a crudely drawn body lying in a pool of blood, made up garishly with red lipstick and eyeshadow, were the words "Death to the Gamemakers."

Avoxes came with cleaning solution to try and wipe away the words while the other Gamemakers stood around comforting one another. Albia stood by, ver whole body shaking. Ve was still in the middle of the panic attack that Tribute had sent vim into, and ve wasn't sure if ve would be able to hold it together for the rest of the Tributes. Were they even halfway through yet? Ve didn't know, and honestly ve didn't care. All ve wanted to do was go home. Go home and collapse into Aeneus' arms, where the things outside their bedroom walls didn't matter, where the Games and the spotlight and the interviews weren't important.

But of course, ve couldn't do that. Albia would never be able to do that again, because Aeneus was dead. Murdered.

Of course thinking of that only made vim panic more.

It was another twenty minutes until the wall had been cleaned up to the point where it was slightly acceptable, and the next Tribute was brought in. The writing hadn't been completely erased. The wall would need a new coat. Obviously the Tribute could still read it.

The child looked at the wall, and then up at the Gamemakers, before swallowing hard. Then he went over to the training dummy, picked up a shortsword, and started swinging noncommittally.

Albia just downed the rest of ver wine.

The rest of the Tributes came and went, and none of them really made much of an impression. One of the kids made an elaborate net trap, which would have been impressive if Albia wasn't on ver way to poisoning vimself. A desperate attempt at shooting a bow and arrow. A child built like a barge throwing punching bags around. Someone camouflaging the climbing wall to look like a canopy of leaves. Throwing knives that wouldn't hit a target the size of a building. Scythes, handled with some measure of competence. That girl must have been from District Eleven, then.

They took the wine away sometime past District Ten.

A girl attacking a dummy with knives something like ve would imagine a bird would attack a bear. Some skinny child tried to throw a trident around.

Albia noticed that two of the other Gamemakers had fallen asleep, and ve was almost to that point vimself. The other two were gorging themselves on a devil's food cake that had been brought in.

"Hey!"

Albia looked up, frowning. The Tribute was standing in front of their box, his hands on his hips.

"I'm trying to show you guys something, and you don't even have the good grace to pay attention? What is wrong with you?"

"Your tone isn't appreciated, Mr. Shard," Laurentia managed out. She sounded as though she might throw up any moment.

His face turned stony. "It's your job to watch us and give us scores accordingly, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Then do your fucking job!"

Laurentia's mouth was set in a hard line. "Please continue your demonstration, Mr. Shard."

He huffed. "Thanks." He turned and started attacking a dummy with a knife. He was better at this than he was with the trident, but it was very, very obvious that he had never so much as held a real weapon in his life.
After he was done, he approached the box and bowed stiffly. "Thank you," he said.
"Thank you, Mr. Shard, you may go."
He quickly went to the elevator. Albia thought ve could see his knees start shaking as he left the room.
"That took a lot of guts," Laurentia muttered. She was obviously offended, but Albia had to admit, he had a point. It was their job. Of course, no one who really knew what was happening would blame any of them for being more than a little distracted, but to the Tributes, it must have seemed like they couldn't care less about them, about their survival. Ve supposed ve could understand the frustration. Most of the Tributes didn't have the courage to actually call them out on it.
The next two kids were about as forgettable as the others, but a few of the others talked about how one of the girls had handled an alliance rather well during group training, and said that she seemed like a strong competitor. Albia just nodded along to their suggestions. Ve hadn't been paying very good attention, so ve was relying on ver teammates to pick up the slack.
Maybe once the Games started ve could get lost in it, wouldn't have to think about ver grief.
But of course, that was ridiculous. Everything about the Games would reek of Aeneus. Ve would see every bit of them, every little quirk that was unique of their design. Ve would never be able to escape their influence, so long as ve was a Gamemaker.
Then, Baia Kell came in. She looked, as usual, less than pleased. She came in, all smiles. Albia could tell it was a mask though. It was the same look ve saw on ver own face nowadays. She started out by swinging an axe.
During her first Games, she mostly used a knife, but she had been practicing much more with an axe, and she seemed somewhat confident with it.
After about five minutes, she abandoned that and came to stand before the box. "I figure that's enough of that," she said. She smiled again. "No offense, guys, but you all look a little worse for wear."
There was a hint of irony there, Albia could practically taste it. Surely she had seen the writing on the wall.
"Well, we've all had a very exhausting few days," Laurentia said.
Baia had always been a favorite of hers. Even though during her Games her District Partner practically carried them to the end as far as being charismatic went, Laurentia had been rooting for the two of them the whole time. She must have seen a little bit of herself in the exhausted girl from District Thirteen.

"I don't really feel like standing here for fifteen minutes trying to impress you with my, frankly, mediocre axe skills, and I'm sure you would all rather go home a little early than watch me. So, if you don't mind, I'll be leaving now."

Laurentia smiled and waved to her, and she left.

Albia knew that ver fellow Gamemaker was looking at this Tribute through rose-tinted glasses because she liked her so much, but ve could see how much she hated them all. It wasn't hard. Really, after so many years of being a Gamemaker, ve was used to it. Of course they hated them. None of them ever had the guts to say so. For good reason, of course, because the punishment was grave, as she was sure Rose would find out once the Games began.

As the door swung shut, the Avoxes immediately came in and started cleaning up, and the others started filing out, talking amongst themselves. They were supposed to reconvene in an hour to discuss scores before releasing them, and Albia really needed to go to the bathroom and have a breakdown.


A/N: So there was private sessions! I know it probably seems like I breazed/rushed through 98% of the Tributes, but honestly, y'all really don't want to go through and read the same thing over and over again, do you? I'm sure the Reapings gave you quite enough lol. Besides, Albia's drunk and in mourning, cut me some slack lol

I probably wouldn't have even written this chapter if I didn't have Rose. I also wanted to give a little update on how Albia's doing following Aeneus' death.

Anyway, let me know what you think! If you have any predictions about scores, I'd love to hear them!

Next chapter is going to be from Sammy's point of view. He's going to be spending some time with the Careers!

(Also, I want to make something very clear about Rosewood, because there seemed to be some confusion from the readership: she is not insane/crazy. She's angry and traumatized, and trauma effects different people differently. Nowhere on her form does it say that her girlfriend's death "drove her off the deep end" or whatever. To me, her response to the Gamemakers was no different than some of the ways Katniss responded to her trauma in the books, so *shrug*. It's been eating me for a while and I thought now would be a good time to mention it)

CQ: Do you think Rose is going to regret doing what she did? What do you think the Gamemakers will do in response?