Author's note: finally a chapter! And I should be able to get back to a weekly schedule now. This story will be roughly 80 chapters long (knowing me, it may even be longer xD), with Snow taking power halfway through.

About the medicine for Dylana: If the people checking up on victors (and looking at their expenses) feel she's sending too much Capitol medicine to other people, she may get in trouble, but otherwise, she won't. There's no strict law, it's more about how much the Capitol wants to annoy her.

About the outtakes: The outtake about Fife and Constantine's time in the Citadel (prompt by Iacopo) is halfway written and will be out eventually. The one on Marquise (prompt by TheWomanWhoCodesAndWrites) will be written a little later, when a retrospective will make more sense (or when I have some awesome idea^^).

Thank you for reviewing, both old and new reviewers, you all cheer me up and often make me laugh. I hope I answered every signed review, if I forgot (or forgot to answer a question), I apologize and don't hesitate to PM me.

On to the chapter!^^


Year Eleven, August, Reaping Day

Mags' eyes shimmered with tears as she waited for Lucian in the early morning chill.

Determined sleep-filled dark eyes. "I want to come."

A slammed door.

A scoff. "You can't, don't be ridiculous."

Her sister hadn't slammed a door at her for years. Esperanza often shouted until she calmed down but never had she run away in rage like this.

Why didn't the fourteen year old feel proud of herself for doing so much already? Why did Esperanza feel wretched unless she did more?

Did Mags set such a bad example for her little sister?

Their mother would know how to talk to her. She had to.

Except… Mags frowned. Maybe by protecting Esperanza she was making her sister think she was inadequate.

She rushed back in and found her sister curled up next to their mother, sulking.

Esperanza's sullen expression morphed into delight when she saw Mags. "Can I come then?"

"Angel, I lied. I could take you, except, I'm a victor, I'm protected. You're not, which means that all the influential perverts that believe we exist to meet their needs will be flocking to you."

"Mags," Angelites said, her eyes narrowing in warning.

The victor shot her an apologetic look. Innocence was overrated, and an illusion anyway, especially in this family.

"Uh, just so we're clear, they don't want a girlfriend, right? Just…"

"Just sex."

Esperanza paled.

"Or just to have fun by making you part of the Games somehow. Tell you to kill some beast or someone to prove you're worthy of being a victor's sibling or some other criminal crap they can come up with," Mags said, the words almost tumbling out in a growl as she forced her hands not to tremble in rage.

"Why didn't you say that before?" The raven-haired girl whispered, tightening her hold on their mother.

"I'm not very articulate at six AM." Mags sighed and let herself fall next to them. "Now, stop feeling bad because you can't do the impossible."

Her sister wrapped her into a painful hug. "You do."

A slight smile cracked Mags' lips, mirrored by Angelites. "I've got survivor's guilt, it makes me slightly insane. What's your excuse?"

Esperanza chuckled. "I just want you to be happy," she said with a wistful smile.

"She is. It's difficult, but she isn't unhappy," their mother assured her, "and it's also thanks to you."

"Listen to Mama, querida, she still says sound stuff," Mags said with a wink, having switched to Spanish before giving them both a parting kiss.

She loved how her mother glowed whenever they used the tongue of their ancestors.

Mags' brow furrowed as she stepped back outside. The sleek white-haired man walking up to the house wasn't familiar. His skin-tight metallic-gray suit made him look like new piping, and the odd colored fringes hanging from the most absurd places reminded her that Capitolites were physically incapable of adopting a new look without going overboard.

Black eyes met her. "I've got something for you in case you haven't gotten over yourself yet," the man said, holding out a box of anti-anxiety pills.

Mags almost dropped it. The voice was unmistakable.

"Lucian? Circe, what... what have you done?" She exclaimed, taking in his artificially pale, clean shaven face with a shiver. "You… you erased yourself! What got into you?" He'd not given a damn about what people thought the previous years. "Was it for a woman?" She guessed, unable to hide her disgust.

Fashion in the Capitol wasn't just getting a haircut and throwing a fancy shawl over your shoulders. It controlled everything from the color of your nails to the scent of your perfume. It swallowed you whole and spat mindless clones out. It was the reason why, no matter how oblivious and immature she often was, Myia would always retain some of Mags' respect. The fairy-like woman didn't let others dictate her image.

"Careful, Mags, were a stylist to hear you, there would be blood," he said as they walked to the hovercraft.

But he was smiling. No grinning. She'd never seen Lucian so genuinely amused.

"You're many things, Lucian," Mags huffed. Arrogant, rude, uncaring… "But you're not stupid. Why be the umpteenth carbon copy? It's not like you'll gain anyone's respect. Flickerman, Churchforge, President Achlys, they never change, because people who have a sense of individuality don't have to. You're an escort, you're upstanding, grow a pair and get that mustache back!"

She didn't even know why it made her so angry, but her throat burned at the sight.

"Why, Mags, I didn't know you cared," the man said with a smirk, unable to completely hide how taken aback he was. "Beards are a District Four fetish, really."

While it was true that almost exclusively boys and peacekeepers went beardless in Creneis, both out of tradition and to gain time, Mags scowled.

"Esthetics isn't the point. You avoided getting sucked into that vortex of meaninglessness for years. Why?"

Lucian glowered before shaking his head. "To prove to myself this is a mistake and go back sneering at all the people who try to drill into my head that fashion is the new stairway to Heaven on Earth. I'll be back to normal soon."

Mags deflated. Oddly, she could accept that. Lucian was fighting his mid-life crisis. Snort.

"Oh, I thought a wool-brained girl had caught your fancy or something."

Lucian softened. He was much easier to read now, with matching eyes and no facial hair.

"I have two sons. You don't need a wife or concubine to have children in the Capitol. I passed the age to wish to impress ladies."

No wife or… then how? Mags didn't want to know. And the man was forty at most, he was being ridiculous.

"Any insights on the arena?" She said, daring to hope.

"Something simple and small, maybe a platform type again but more open. Light and sound games are such a fashion these days that either a singing fountain or a flashy fireball will make its appearance. Any expected volunteers?"

Mags eyed him approvingly. She hadn't expected such useful information, little as it was.

"Two. Decent contestants. A condemned boy and a desperate girl."

They had done everything to have Adria wait another year, but she wouldn't hear of it, especially with Dover wanting her to go with him so they could watch each other's back. He'd promised he'd save her brother if she didn't make it.

"I need to find a sixteen year old avox called Ruben," she added, not wanting to dwell on the subject of murder and death.

The disapproving sigh she received reminded her that the man behind the makeup was still the same. "You're always asking favors, it's a terrible habit to have."

Mags' lips pursed in annoyance. His new look made him the opposite of intimidating.

"You look like a washed out painting of some depressed androgynous man with a fringe fetish. Of all the fashions you could have picked… I thought you were vainer than that."

"I said I'll change back," he snapped. "Avoxes are labeled by number, not name. Do you have the date he was arrested on?"


The ride was much quieter than the previous year's had been. Everything had already been said, and Adria and Dover seemed content to watch the scenery. Mags' eyes roamed over their tense faces, trying to etch the moment into her memory. She had already mourned them. There none of the panic or gut wrenching anguish she'd felt for Petrel the year before, only deep-rooted sadness and the simmering fury that reminded her why she had won.

"You'll get cavities," Lucian pointed out from behind his newspaper.

The soothing taste of melting sugar invaded Mags' mouth. She popped another cube between her lips, making it crunch pointedly. She'd eat what she wanted to.

All too soon the victor realized she'd almost emptied the small box and that Lucian had yet to finish the single newspaper. She was terrible at doing nothing.

"Remember, you did not know each other before hand," she reminded the silent tributes. "Also try not to show you trained."

"It's not like there's a chance we'll forget that, Mags," Adria said with an eyeroll, her arms crossed. Six months in Creneis had done little to blunt her strong street-accent.

The brunette's eyes met Dover's, and Mags could see they had plans they hadn't shared with her. Bitterness replaced the taste of sugar, yet she said nothing. She had no infallible plan for them, and it was their lives they risked.

She then frowned, remembering one of her conversations with Vicuña. "Want to see the other reapings?"

Adria shrugged. "It'll kill time."

"It'll be foul," Dover predicted with a resigned scowl.


Games 11, first day in the Capitol

Mags frowned when the driver stopped in front of a large complex, a little farther away from where the tribute parade would be held than was common.

"Oh yes, they've hired stylists for the parade too this year," Lucian said, looking bored by the whole event.

"All the time and effort I put in this dress are wasted?" Adria grumbled. She'd spent weeks weaving together nice scraps of cloths to have something that looked new and unique. She had flat out refused to have Mags buy her anything.

"I'll keep it safe for you," Mags said, squeezing the shorter girl's shoulder in compassion.

Her eyebrows flew up when they entered the District Four section.

There was no way fake pregnancy bellies were a fashion statement.

"Congratulations," she told a beaming Myia, "who's the lucky father?"

Dover and Adria were staring slack-jawed at the azure-haired woman. After half an hour of making their way through a sea of uniformly tall and thin men and women with hair of a metallic red, blue, white or black color falling to their back and the same awful suits that made them look like canned scarecrows, Myia doubtless looked lost and utterly out of place. Mags had even preferred when Capitol women had been flashing enhanced breasts at everyone. At least it corresponded to a natural urge to be desirable.

Myia blushed furiously. "Oh well, I got tired of waiting around. I've wanted a little girl for ages."

Lucian's words resurfaced. "You don't need a man and you can choose the gender of the baby?"

Myia nodded. "A parent aptitude test, a couple of interviews, the sperm bank and, ta, da," she said happily. "I'll call her Nemeria, so she will be strong."

Mags could have said lots of things, instead she let herself smile at the thought of a loved baby girl and tried not to think of the rest. "I'm happy for you, Myia. So what's happening here exactly?"

She wondered how many Capitolites didn't go through the bother of getting married. Maybe some were genuinely unlucky and found no-one through no fault of their own, but commitment and the compromises needed to make a relationship work were probably rather anticlimactic in their society.

"Master Galliano sponsored a large part of the arena, so the tributes will wear his clothing. He will display his autumn collection that way."

Mags gave a slow nod. Achlys was getting cleverer and cleverer at getting funds for her pet project.

"So what will they be wearing?" She asked.

Myia clapped her hands together in excitement. "Well -"

"No, no! Don't ruin this with your callous words," a man exclaimed from behind them, moving his arms expansively. "Art cannot be broken down into limited concepts, you must see. Now leave them to us." He ordered without so much as looking at Mags or Lucian as he hungrily sized up the two tributes. "Where are the clothes? Well, bring in the racks, you incompetent fools! We're running out of time."

Four other Capitolites were soon bustling around. "Well come on girl, we don't have time to wait for you to wake up!" A woman snapped, her nasal voice unnervingly deep.

Maybe it was a man? The new fashion made it very confusing with them all wearing nail-polish and long hair. Lucian actually looked almost normal in comparison.

Focusing on clothes was the only way Mags had found not to bristle at most Capitolites' manners. There was always something fascinating about the elaborate folds and accessories.

"Aaaah! What's that on her back, it's disgusting," she yelped, jumping away from Adria, who was now struggling not to show her anger as the stylist waved a coat hanger at her like a short sword. "Why wasn't I given any warning? Just looking at it is lowering my life expectancy!"

"They're chicken pox scars, I'm sure you can cover them up," Mags said, her voice lowering into a hiss. What a rude clown.

"Don't lie to me. Chicken pox was eradicated, stupid girl."

"Not in the districts, my dear man. Would you like to donate to give them the means to buy the vaccines?" Lucian replied in sickly sweet tones.

Mags let herself relax, her anger soothed by Lucian's answer. She always liked the escort better when he could pick at the idiots around him. And so the stylist was a man. Unbelievable.

Adria failed to contain a small snort from her side of the modesty screen behind which she was undressing. All color fled her face when she saw the stylist pick up a strange machine and bring it towards her.

"That's a laser to remove all the hair from your legs," Mags said soothingly. "It will burn a bit, don't worry."

"Will you, please, stop cramping our space," the first stylist said crossly, "you're interfering with our creative vibes."

Screw you.

"You're not kicking us out in the corridor." She would not let her tributes alone with those bullies.

Lucian shot Myia a pointed stare. The pregnant woman frowned in confusion before lighting up. "Work efficiently and I may say a word to Aunt Evadne," she said with a smile.

They weren't bothered at all after that.


"You're sure you don't want to add more glitter there, Sir?"

The lack of sarcasm in Dover's tone made Mags' proud. She had insisted at length about cooperating with Capitolites, but she knew well how hard it could be.

"The sock is inspired," she told Adria with a straight face as the stylists left them to lead the tributes to the waiting chariot.

The fifteen year old attempted a sensual leg movement to show off the mauve and yellow woolen monster that climbed up to her thigh.

Asymmetry would apparently soon be the new must. One sock, half a miniskirt sewn to half a pair of red leather trousers, two radically different pieces of fabric sewn together to make a top, crazy jewelry, and the hair... Mags repressed hysterical laughter.

Art, they called it.

"You must be glad they consented to give you two fake boobs instead of just one, Addy," Dover quipped.

Adria shoved the taller boy hard, making him grin.

"Watch it toothpick, I'm shedding glitter," he said. His left side looked ready to face a snowstorm but his trousers and thick shirt became frayed on the right, where his body was covered by some kind of warm-keeping glitter where tiny mirrors reflected the artificial light.

Mags huffed, feigning annoyance as she relished in these last moments of complicity. "I'm going to look ugly next to you masterpieces."

"Quiet, or I'll hit you too," Adria warned. A calculating glint replaced her glower. "I could totally strip down to underwear during the rides, won't that give sponsors a kick?"

Mags winced. "Don't give them ideas. But strike poses, back to back and such, and look confident."

"Respond to the crowd, if only at the beginning and the end. They'll like you better if you don't ignore them," Myia added.

She scowled at Lucian's obvious eyeroll.


Adria was sitting on her bed, silent and pale.

"What's wrong, Adria? The rides went well, you two did great."

Mags was beginning to worry. Was Adria rethinking her volunteering? It wasn't like her.

"I don't get a thing they say," the girl said, her face tightening in helpless anger as she rubbed her recently shaved arms. "Myia, the stylists… Serious, they're speaking gibberish. Churchforge talks slow when he comments the Games on TV, Lucian too, but those who don't… I don't understand nothing, Mags," she said, tears rising in her eyes. "I almost got in trouble when they dressed me up, you saw. They must think I'm real slow and stupid now." She sniffed. "Flickerman, what's he talk like?"

Mags blinked. She'd made Adria learn how to enunciate properly for the interviews, but she'd never thought her understanding the accented questions would be an issue.

A wry smile cracked her lips. "I'll show you records of previous interviews. He always asks roughly the same questions anyway."

Adria nodded eagerly, some of the fear fleeing her face.

It was like F.L.A.S.H, no matter how much planning she did, some unexpected problem popped up.


Games 11, second day in the Capitol. Training Day 1.

Mags passed an open door as she was heading for the mentor's common room after having dropped off Adria and Dover to training and given Lucian all the facts she had on Ruben.

Three's quarters.

Mags slowly entered, finding Comet seated alone, staring unseeingly at the empty table.

Mags' expression softened. She'd exchanged occasional letters with Vicuña, Bianca and Mattock over the year. Once a month, weather talk (and in-depth tarot lessons) mostly, but Mags felt the companionship mattered.

Who did Comet, a war orphan who spent all her time in the Capitol, talk to?

Mags sat next to her when the woman didn't speak up.

"Want a drink?" She volunteered after a long pause.

Comet simply handed out her hand.

"Want a second drink?" Mags said when the other put the empty glass of cider down on the table.

"Someone else can fill the empty resident drunkard spot," Comet said darkly.

A shiver ran up Mags' spine unbidden. "Empty?"

"You didn't hear? Rye died of overdose," she said, drawing out the word as if it was one big joke. " That's what they said, anyway. I wonder if he really got tired of them faster than they got tired of him. He knew his limits with alcohol, but he never learned to shut it. Some days, I envy him."

Rye was dead? Mags gaped, unable to articulate a proper sound. She swallowed, her teeth chattering as sudden fear gripping her body. So it was real, victors could die. It just… She swallowed, struggling to pull herself together. She felt as if she'd been hit by a hammer.

Rye, dead.

"Does it make you feel better, being nice to people?"

Comet had suddenly gone from sullen to wide-eyed and earnest.

Mags eyed her oddly. She began to suspect multiple personalities. Being nice? She tried to tear her mind away from Rye. She couldn't say she'd liked him, but... Dead, he shouldn't have died. "Yes, I… Doesn't acting make you feel better?"

Comet sighed, a small smile gracing her lips. "I love it, it was my dream as a kid. It's a beautiful escape. I'd love it more in another context, not that there could be any other." She shook her head. "When I lash out and get away with it, it's like I had power left. You're so disappointing to insult," she accused.

Uh, sorry?

"You don't look powerless," Comet added, envy clouding her features.

Mags stared at her squarely. "I'm not, none of us are."

"It's all in my head. Right." Comet put her face in her hands. "I had to play a happy role for once. Naïve, innocent servant girl. I couldn't pull it off. I always pulled my roles off. It's... it's pathetic, Mags. If…" Comet inhaled sharply, her hand fastening painfully over Mags'. "If they get bored with me, if I get kicked out… I… I've got nothing left."

"Make something," Mags said after a pause, knowing only one way to cope, "go back to Three and carve a spot for yourself that doesn't depend on the Capitol."

"Why do you think I'm even talking to you?" Comet snapped before closing her eyes. "Sorry."

They both stood up when the door opened wide.

A familiar clawed hand grabbed her insides when Mags saw who it was.

"There you are, follow me, Mags," Achlys said, "I received Four's criminal records."

"How did you even get the idea for the Hunger Games," Comet rasped, a haunted look on her face.

Mags froze, unable to believe Comet would be so crazy as to ask outright. Who even wanted to know?

The President's red mouth spread in a mirthless grin. "Oh, the idea was not mine. There was a bunker during the Dark Days, a bunker in District Eleven where our forces lay under siege. Soldiers but mostly Capitol civilians who had been living in the districts for years, fleeing the chaos of those troubled times.

A frown flitted across Mags' face. Capitol citizen living in the Districts?

"It was all more mixed then, Miss Peregrine-Abalone," Achlys said with a knowing glance. "There was a whole suburb of country homes in Orithyia." She turned back to Comet, her expression hardening into a terrifying smile. "The trapped people had been allowed to leave unmolested under one condition: they had to give the severed head of another Capitolite to the assailants."

Achlys' soft tones chilled Mags to the bone. War, a ravenous monster screaming for blood. Their only chance at freedom. One of the greatest scourges of mankind. Rebellion without a civil war, an ordered uprising that would bring order. Mags allowed herself to dream.

"Some preferred to die than to kill for the sport of those who held them at their mercy," Achlys continued in the same soft, lethal tone. "The killer of my elderly cousin was not one of them. That killer… a woman willing to do anything to save her son, was herself killed the next day as she fled South, when the barbarians decided they had kept their word long enough."

"That was District Eleven. Illiterate cow-huggers, the lot of them," Comet cursed, horror and irritation warring on her face.

The last vestiges of warmth were sucked out of Achlys' face. "I doubt they made the portable electrical fences that locked those poor people in. Every District played a role. Every district shall pay the price. I invented nothing, I did not need to. Come, Mags."

Docilely, the nineteen year old followed the President and her two bodyguards, her mind still reeling. She was reminded why she hated war stories. Living it had been bad enough.

"Lucian isn't abusing of his functions is he?"

Mags started. She blinked, begging the shock out of her brain. She couldn't face Achlys if she was distracted. "No, not at all," she hastily said. "Is that why you were in the building, Ma'am, abusive escorts?"

"I've already found replacements." Achlys said, her golden eyes flashing. "So few are the people who do not become felons or incompetents when unsupervised." She then gave Mags an appraising look. "I have to admit I am impressed. Crime dropped by seventy percent in Creneis and by a fifth in the rest of District Four. We're still almost thirty percent above twice the criminality in District One, but I may have to start preparing those radars and purification kits earlier than planned," she said, her face breaking into a rueful smile.

Mags couldn't help herself. She grinned. "Well, we worked quite hard at it, Ma'am."

Evadne Achlys set her elbows on her office desk, eternal in the shape-shifting high-rolling consumerism that regulated the Capitol's life like a ticking clock.

"Reports also mark Glynn Corduroy as your ambassador in the rest of the District, to recruit people and deliver what messages you may wish heard."

Mags nodded. "Glynn, she's … Glynn has been travelling a lot, dispelling myths people may believe on me and spreading the word on the crime quotas and the academy. She stayed in Galene to make sure what we started was set in motion properly and went back to check on the advancement a couple of times."

The odd glint that had entered Achlys' eyes made her think that talking about Glynn wasn't such a bright idea. And yet Patrol Leader Ajax could have told the woman the exact same thing. There was little Mags could hide about actions taken out in the open.

"A girl your age, has been successful at this, alone?"

Mags figured adult teenagers were taken much more seriously in Four than in the Capitol. People matured faster when they started working young.

"She's intelligent resourceful and headstrong in a good way. People recognize that even when they don't like her, Ma'am. She's not really alone, she always has people from the cities she goes in working with her." Mags didn't want to mention Caspian if she could avoid it. "She calls me regularly to keep me updated on who she sees and what she does."

"Those people with her, are they paid or rewarded with something other than the satisfaction of helping?"

Mags lowered her eyes and swallowed. The President was staring at her much too intensely for comfort. "No, Ma'am," she gingerly said.

"So a lone teenager has single-handedly constructed your base of influence?"

Mags sighed at the honest bewilderment on Achlys' face. "I did visit all those places during the Tour. It didn't come as a surprise to them and… You… In Four, people know they're uneducated so when they see someone more learned who's doing something for them, there's huge respect there." Mags remembered how the doctor in Lycorias was treated. She'd rarely seen such awe. Cara Corduroy, the ships' Captains, even Caspian they all had special status. "Glynn presents complex things in such obvious ways, and she makes ambitious endeavors sound quite reachable. People listen because of that. As long as she doesn't screw up and works harder than any of them, they'll listen, because she's really looks like she knows what she's doing, and that's rare."

"And has she ever 'screwed up'?"

"No."

There had been times Glynn had been late, once even weeks late, some money that had had to be quickly transferred, no questions asked, and that one time that Mags had caught her writing a formal letter of apology to a peacekeeper… but whatever trouble Glynn got herself into, she solved. Mags knew she hadn't been told half of it.

The victor caught herself fidgeting. Why such interest? Was Achlys annoyed they had succeeded so well? Achlys didn't make small talk.

"I am simply curious on how power works in a district of simple-minded people," the President said, catching her unease as always. "Aside from following you because they think you'll lead the next rebellion," she said with a smirk.

Mags didn't even wince. This was an accusation she and her mother had been prepared to answer for so long that she was almost relieved that Achlys had finally brought that point to her attention. With the amount of snitches in Four and the content of her double-edged speeches, there was no hope of it not getting out.

"It gets them to work for the good of Panem," she recited with a small superior smile that would have made Lucian proud. "Their opinions matter little. I used to think differently, but now I have neither the time nor the patience to try and change their minds. Already the children are more docile, the schools see to it. They know where their interests lie even if they're not prepared to admit it to themselves. Soon such excuses won't even be necessary."

A sense of utmost satisfaction filled her when she saw Achlys' appraising nod. Thanks, Mama.

"You can't be a good leader if you need to be loved," the white-haired woman said, her golden eyes embracing the city below her.

"I never wanted to be a leader, just to make things better."

"Originally, I was just a Homeguard Captain who thought politicians were self-inflated buffoons who left us to clean up the mess they created," the white-haired woman replied, amused. "A true purpose helps you keep power much longer than those who seek power in itself."

Mags nodded. Three years ago she would have been appalled to have Achlys compare the two of them in any way. Today, she was thrilled, for the ruler of Panem was predictable, and having her favor meant everything.


Games 11, Last day in the Capitol.

"You're not listening to a thing I'm saying," she told the distracted young man, trying to remain gentle.

"Just do your job, Mags," Dover replied, "It's better that you don't know." His jaw clenched painfully. "Thanks for not getting me killed last year. It's better to go this way. Whatever I say, don't take it personally, you're respectable." He jumped to his feet before Mags could delve deeper, his lips twisting into a snarl as he started pacing. "Please just leave me alone," he demanded, his voice strained.

The young woman complied, resigned tears misting her eyes. The Games would start tomorrow and everything was so uncertain that she felt ill.

Uncertain? She scolded herself. No, it was certain. She just hadn't learned to squash the hope entirely.

"Let's get both of you ready for the interviews," she said when her former stylist August showed up at the door. At least that man was polite.

Marcus Flickerman's voice boomed across the packed theater. "And before we welcome the first tribute, all of you who wish to sponsor should be very attentive to this year's twist."

"Hey, if we can't have trumpets or fireworks, I'm going home," Adria complained, earning a small smile from Mags. That girl had a strong head on her shoulders.

"Sponsorships will close tonight at midnight and reopen only when the contestants shall number eight. The mentors will have to spend all the money received tonight before nine PM tomorrow morning. "

Mags' eyes flew open as the theater erupted in chatter. This changed everything. Adria would walk in the arena with all the sponsor gifts? Was the point of this to pack their backpack with all the supplies?

"And lastly, this year's games will once again be displayed live!"

The roar of approval that greeted the statement rattled the theater. The mentors shared a resigned glance, all too aware of the impact of this on the watchers in the districts. Even if only the daily evening recaps were compulsory, any who knew a tribute and had the time would keep their television on all day.

Flickerman asked the ritual questions and the two did exactly as Mags had expected. Adria was touching as she spoke of her passionate wish to reunite with her innocent brother and Dover played the bad boy like a dream. They couldn't have done better, Mags was proud of them, whatever would later happen.


A knock made her start.

"You're receiving a late night visitor, you naughty girl?" Bianca joked, poking her in the ribs playfully.

With Mattock and Bianca, Mags had been preparing their tributes' "sponsor packs", not wanting to have to do it in the morning.

The young woman slowly walked up to the door. "It can't be Lucian or Myia."

"Who is it?" She called, her hand tight on the handle.

"Syrianus Valens, we met briefly last year," a soft voice answered, "apparently my avox is related to your girl."

Mags' heart skipped a beat. They hadn't found Ruben. Lucian had tried, but what documents he had access to didn't enable to track down the actual owner.

"Bianca, please go wake Adria," she whispered.

She clicked the door open.

Syrianus… Now Mags remembered him. The student doctor whom Achlys had been berating for something. Notoriously useless at twenty-six. He was still the same except for the gel in his jet black hair and his fringeless metallic-grey, but not so tight-fitting, suit. Mags finally realized the blue marks on his olive skin were symbols of some kind.

"You're very welcome. It was extraordinarily decent of you to come," she said, her throat tightening. Between the fact the avox next to him really looked like Adria and the late hour, Mags was afraid she might jump in the man's arms and weep. "Hello, you must be Ruben," she added with a growing smile.

The young man nodded eagerly, craning his head to see behind Mags. She hastily let them in.

"Want some ridiculously expensive wine or beer, Syrianus?"

"Beer, with pleasure," Syrianus said, lighting up. Twenty-seven or not, he just looked like an intelligent boy her age.

"Come on, kid," Bianca urged.

"It's my last sleep before the fucking Games, what could -" Adria's complaints died when she saw her brother. Her whole face changed, losing its harshness, until only an overjoyed, innocent-looking fifteen-year-old was left.

"Ruben," she mouthed, unable to believe her eyes. Her lips broke into a huge grin and she pounced, pinning her likewise grinning brother against the couch.

"Sponsor gifts, something to reverse the fact I'm so not sleeping tonight," Adria demanded.

Mags turned to Syrianus. "That exists?"

He nodded, taking a swig of beer. "Orexynol. To be used very occasionally." He then eyed the beer in amazement. "That's great stuff you've got here."

"I'll ship you a cart," Mags promised. "You can go to Adria's room and take what you need to write so you can both talk," she told the siblings, who seemed content to just hold each other. If they stayed any longer, she wouldn't be able to hold in her tears.

"You're cool for a Capitolite," Bianca granted, betraying the fact she was already quite tipsy.

"Don't confuse us all with the people in fashion. It's insulting," Syrianus said in reproachful velvet tones. "Some of us are actually productive and don't feel like throwing our money away on nonsense."

"What percentage of the Capitol would you say follows the trends?" Mags inquired.

"Many follow them a little, I among them, but reverently? Maybe an adult in three, fifty thousand citizen or so... They're the most visible for they go out more. They're loud every time there's an event to be had, and seem incapable of treating those who do not look like them as human beings. They pack together, so no one disabuses them of the notion that clothing doesn't make character." The raven-haired man gestured outside the window. "If you go to Westside people look normal and if you go next to the wall on Northside, most can't pay for more than basic healthcare."

Conversations like this made Mags think that the Capitol might even be interesting.

"Mister, anyone can just walk in like you did?" Mattock said, his uneasiness obvious. Mags new that there had been attempts on victors' lives the first years, before they'd been given a separate building. Not all Capitolites liked the idea of them being alive.

A smirk lit the young doctor's face. "I said you were sick and that if they hadn't been warned of my arrival, it was their problem, and I'd be sure to give their name to the President if you died an untimely death."

Mags laughed. His unabashed pride at getting his way was cute.

"You did that for your avox?" She said, her face softening. Somehow her faith in the world had increased.

Syrianus' face hardened. "Do stop thinking we're all heartless bastards, it's deeply insulting. I risk little and Ruben was a very adequate servant. He's a boy, she's his sister. I only hesitated to tell him because now he will want to watch the Hunger Games."

"I couldn't stop her from volunteering," Mags snapped, maybe a little quickly.

"I will never have kids," Syrianus muttered, opening a second beer and soon followed by Mattock.


Games 11, Day 1 in the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the Cornucopia!"

The tributes had not yet reached the outside platform. Mags looked at the large golden horn-like structure littered with backpacks. The supplies were grouped by district and by tribute, but anyone could snatch them if they were fast enough.

"The film you see over the supplies will detect fingerprints, if a tribute tries to grab supplies that do not belong to them, they will receive a nasty electric shock, but after the first shock, the pack is theirs."

"And of course they haven't been warned," Comet grumbled.

Mags was almost confident when the countdown began. Almost.

And then Dover began to speak.

"This is an execution," he declared. "There's nothing entertaining about an execution. I refuse to entertain in the vain hope I may survive if I consent to abase myself in the worst of ways."

The high-brow vocabulary told Mags he had rehearsed for some time but only them and the mentor-escorts would ever hear it. His speech would be edited, erased, and this rebel would die like so many before him, squashed out before he'd had the change the world they lived in.

Don't take it personally, you're respectable.

Mags just felt terribly sad.

Fifteen seconds. There was silence, and Mags knew what Dover was about to do. It was really absurd of the Capitol to give the tributes such an easy way out. She sighed mournfully, wishing Dover had just told her.

When Dover jumped, he was followed by three people: his allies. The two tributes from Three and the boy from Five launched themselves against the force-field. Now Mags finally understood how he had chosen them and gave them a mental salute. Wise children, wiser than anyone their age had any right to be.

"Eh, mine tend to be clever," Comet said, looking quite depressed. The mentor from Three curled up on her chair. "I'm so tired of this…"

The boy from Eleven followed suit seconds before the start, spitting out the words "Well fuck this, sorry, Olive," before ending his life.

Mags would probably never know who Olive was.

Another year, another bloodbath. Nineteen ran towards the Cornucopia and only twelve would survive. The pair from One had stayed together, kindling their hate and resolve by viciously demeaning the other tributes during training. The poor tributes who tried to grab their fat packs paid the price in blood.

Lucian had been right. A single well-lit platform, stone with tall smooth stone pillars, maybe a mile across. Whatever light-games they may be were hidden for the moment.

Adria was allied with Tessa, a spitfire sixteen year old from District Ten with whom she was getting along much too well for the Games, the more able of the bullheaded –and rather mediocre- volunteers from Two, and the huge volunteer from Seven, who had scored a frightening nine.

Heath's nine was worth nothing when Adria and the overconfident boy from Two knifed him in the back after the latter had killed his own district partner. The backstabbing didn't come as a surprise, and Mags knew Two was a fool to think he'd survive the night.

Keep your enemies close.

Mags had made Adria and Dover raise stray cats for a few weeks without telling them why. She had then asked them to kill the beasts to show them that it was hard. Neither had killed their pet, preferring to go gut some other strays instead to get used to the blood, but she knew they'd learned at least part of the lesson. Adria wasn't breaking, and Mags now wondered if she had underestimated the girl.

The arena quieted when the tributes had fled to search the contents of their backpacks more thoroughly.

"Pizza?" Mordred volunteered in the silent room.

"You serious?" Comet shot back hoarsely. She wasn't the only one who looked at the youngest victor as if he was mad.

"We can't sponsor, I've finally got rid of my two dickhead tributes who couldn't recognize their ass from an actual sword, one way or another, so I want to enjoy it. It's not like being miserable will help. We'd better learn to have some fun too."

Pizza? Now? Mags really wasn't hungry.

"There's some respect to be had," Rowan from Seven said, reddening in anger.

"By watching them shit, cry and die?" Vicuña said, crossing her arms.

"Careers," Rowan spat. The oldest victor still sat as far away from them as he could, only allowing his taciturn –and Mags suspected more traumatized then anyone let on- district partner close.

"Down boys, your district wants to become a Career district, so don't boast," Vicuña said with a sneer. "They won't be allowed to."

"I'm glad the Capitol makes good decisions occasionally," Rowan replied just as scornfully.

"Guys, just stop it," Mags said tiredly. "I'll go for pizza, not because I like the idea of filling my belly while kids are dying or dead but because I've learned that beating myself up beyond a certain point only insures that whatever good I may do with my influence and money isn't done. Don't give up the chances you have to… to heal a bit," she said, frustrated at not being able to phrase it more eloquently. This wasn't about pizza. It was about being in control.

"I'm in," Comet said, looking skeptical all the same.

Bianca and Mattock were already up.

"We're all going. We're a group. We should stay civil despite our differences. We just have each other here. We might need that," she said, shooting a pleading glance at Vicuña who looked about to complain. "I'm sorry about Heath, about them all."

"You're full of very noble illusions, Mags," Rowan said, forcing a stiff but not unkind smile on his lips.

"Can't we try, just this once?"

"Fine," the twenty-eight year old granted.

"Mama Mags strikes again," Vicuña whispered with a teasing smirk as they headed to the cafeteria.

"Make an effort, you never know."


Games 11, Starting from Day 2 in the arena

Geysers.

They shot out of invisible holes in the platform at seemingly random places and burned everything in a shower of sparkling, boiling hot water.

Soon the tributes figured the geysers were getting more frequent and would get them all if they kept playing hide and seek with District One. Only the girl was left, the other district Seven volunteer had shot the boy down and crawled, wounded but confident, back into hiding. She was too slow to move out of the bubbly mist that announced an impeding geyser.

Adria was safe with Tessa at the edge of the map. She'd slit Two's throat as he slept.

"Arenas like this favor the lucky. They might have gotten tired of volunteers winning or someone was making too much money betting on predictable victors," Vicuña mused.

"You're not getting angry when they die, this year," Comet pointed out.

"I trained neither of them, and those who volunteer for glory don't tend to be very sympathetic. They're usually idiots and it'll remain that way until those morons in the council let me control who trains and who doesn't. They don't get that it's not just about swinging swords."

"Whereas you volunteered for the good of mankind –"

"Comet," Mags chided. It was almost becoming a ritual.

Comet smiled ruefully. "I mean, I admire that your not-glory-centered focus led you not only to beat the arena, Vicuña, but also the mentoring system, which does aim to drill us into the ground." Comet chuckled when she saw Vicuña's shocked expression. It was doubtless the first time Comet had paid her a compliment.

"It's insidious, Mags, you were right," the victor from Three said gleefully.

Suspicion creased Vicuña's face. "Was there an insult in there somewhere?"

It was Mags' turn to chuckle. "No, relax. Comet's honestly trying to become nice."

"I just can't get a decent reading. And my two tributes are still alive, which proves this year is crazy." Bianca said, looking crossly at her cards.

Mags gave her a small smile. Some things didn't change.

On the fifth day, the sponsoring opened again, and the Gamemakers introduced a new twist to spend the money: a feast in the empty Cornucopia, a feast with a timer.

Seven left. Hunger, thirst, sleep deprivation, pain and fear, ally turned against ally, panic twisting their minds.

Tessa screamed as an ashen Adria tried to remove the sharp stone embedded in her bloodied side. Their assailant, already half crazed from his own burn wound, was dead, but the clock was ticking and the girls were no medics.

Half-dragging her wounded, crying, ally, Adria was soon surrounded by towers of scalding water.

"What do we do?" Tessa moaned, rivulets of sweat running down her tanned face. "I don't want to die."

"You stay here, Tess," Adria ordered. "No one's going to find you as long as the waters protect you. This is good," she added, taking her shirt off.

"Addy, what are you -"

"They want me to get burned to get the supplies from the feast. No biggie," she said with a forced shrug, "There will be burn salve."

Mags double checked. Yes there would. And to her amazement, Adria wrapped her clothes around her face and hands and rushed through the geysers no sane person would get close to. Mags knew she had worked in the glass factories of Galene, but such a tolerance for extreme heat wasn't human.

"Ruben, Ruben, Ruben," Mags could hear the raven-haired girl's agonized whispers as she fought the pain of the burns. The Cornucopia now so close...

Three survivors. Adria and Tessa, tired and thirsty but healed, among them.

Mags began to believe.

"Oh shite," Rowan said when an odd-looking fat bird landed on a stone pillar.

"Never seen one of those," Bianca muttered.

Mags frowned. Bianca had won the fourth Games and had seen every one of them.

"Jabberjays, didn't work during my Games," the elder victor explained. "They were used so poorly they didn't even make the final cut. Haven't seen them since. They imitate voices."

"Doesn't sound too terrifying," Mordred said with a frown.

Foreboding clenched at Mags' stomach. Voices? Whose voice?

Just like on the fifth day shimmering colorful geysers encircled the two girls.

"What now?" Tessa growled.

They couldn't see the bird when it spoke. "I'm innocent, you have to bring me back. I'm innocent I tell you. No, you can't!"

Adria squealed as if she'd been shocked. She crouched down, her face crumpling.

Mags suddenly knew.

"Am I going crazy or are you hearing it too?" Adria gasped, her whole body trembling as she struggled to regain her balance.

Tessa just nodded, confused and afraid.

"That's my brother, that's Ruben," the fifteen-year old cried, "but he's mute, it can't be!"

"Will you kill for me Adria?" the-bird-with-Ruben's-voice said from behind the pillar. "I want to go home."

"Ruben where are you?" Adria screamed, almost scalding herself on the boiling water.

Her lips parted in sheer horror, Mags vowed never to let anyone give the Capitol a way to test their resolve like this ever again. Never again would one of her tributes speak of someone they would do anything for. Not when the Capitol took wicked delight in testing that everything beyond human endurance.

"I thought you meant it when you said you'd do anything. I was wrong. I'll never go home."

"No, no," Adria cried out, tears of despair running down her face, "I promised, I promised!"

When she turned towards Tessa, anguish deforming her face, her fingers white on her sharp dagger. She hiccuped.

The outspoken, unwavering Tessa, terrifying in her panic, had been faster.

A knife hilt protruded from Adria's ribcage.

Upon seeing what she had done, the shaken girl from Ten began to scream. Full-bodied, ear-splitting screams of remorse that tore at her very soul.

Friends, these girls had become friends. Mags grit her teeth, tasting salt on her lips.

Why, why force them into this? Weren't the regular rules bad enough?

After seconds that stretched into eternity, Zalij Chintz gingerly came out from behind a pillar and shoved the wailing Tessa into one of the remaining geysers.

The shivering eighteen-year-old from Eight threw up as the overhead voice announced his victory.

"Eight's escort is a very kind woman," Vicuña said in soft tones, "she'll be happy."

"Good for her," Mags whispered in the heavy silence. She couldn't leave without seeing Ruben at least once more.

She hated the Capitol.


Now we'll stop doing all the Games and have only the meaningful ones. Scenes that may seem like filler are actually foreshadowing. You're free to guess. ;D

Please review.