Maeve Bryne was at her wit's end. She had, foolishly, married another victor, who was beside her in a vegetative state. On what they told her was PTSD meds, but she was sure were actually sedatives. The meeting was being held in a room scarcely bigger than a cupboard, at the region's main hospital. Make of that what you will. Tapping sounded at the door and she quirked her head towards it. Somebody's wife, growing impatient. Join the club. The glass pane near the top was cloudy, but Maeve managed to squint enough to meet someone's eyes through it, imploring her, and she relented. With a sigh she tugged the door open and relatived spilled in to collect their charges, though the room could barely contain them. Good. Good riddance. Maeve couldn't get a word through their thick skulls. District 4's economy had been buckling for a while now. All part of the natural ups and downs, the mayor had hastily assured. But it wasn't. It had been like this for far too long and people were suffering. They'd only been half a career district to start with. And now the decades long recession had trickled down to have an effect on the Games and they had been demoted. Less trainees, therefore less volunteers and a downright drought of victors. Even less that still had a grasp on reality. Maeve noticed someone looking at her rather than through her and attempted to warm her frosty expression, face muscles acheing from the effort. The woman moved towards her and there was a prick of recognition. It was Chana's wife. Maeve liked Chana, she was sweet, almost infantile, despite being older than her. Her only vice was that if you got too close you were practically knocked out by the stench of spirits.

"Hi," the woman's voice crackled like it hadn't been used. "Nice to see you again."

"Yeah, you too. How is everything?"

"Fine, fine thank you." She nodded for some time, her eyes glazing over. Maeve interrupted with a cough. "Yes, uh, how was the meeting?"

"Not great. But that's hardly surprising."

"So do you think you and Abbie will be mentoring this year?"

Abbie was the only other victor with his head still screwed on. He was self medicating of course, but not to the extent of everyone else. He provided Maeve with a delightful little sliver of sanity.

"Probably, since we are trying to keep the tributes alive," she tittered nervously, trailing off as they both glanced over at Chana, stirring on her plastic chair. "It's been nice to have a bit of a catch up."

"Yes, we should definitely..." she paused, struggling at pulling her wife upright, "Have a proper one sometime. Come over for dinner or something."

Maeve replied with far more vigour than she felt, waving them off. They both knew there would no time for such things. Her eyelids felt heavy as they always did, but that would be nothing compared to when the games began. There would be no time.

"Oh darling, I've- I've bought the most fabulous thing!"

She stopped her babbling a second to pant like a dog and Cicero shifted in the overstuffed chair. Everything about the woman was overwhelming. He was young. he was charming, brilliant. He didn't need this sort of crap. To have to humour a senile midle aged lady with too much money and not nearly enough brains. Especially not now, with far more pressing matters in his peripheral. He could feel the tension headache coming on already.

Tullia's bony little arms couldn't hold the weight of whatever she was so hysterical over but she seemed to overcome it through sheer force of personality. A large box was flung onto the coffe table, making all the furniture around it shudder and Cicero wince. The enthusiastic mutterings continued, thankfully muffled, as Tullia bent double, rooting through her mountain of shopping bags.

"Here!" She thrust the object into the air, maniacal glee filling her eyes. "Oh Cici, darling, isn't it wonderful?" She slipped into place opposite him, brandishing a flat, glossy square. "Just look! The artistry, the detail! H-"

It tuned out to a high pitched whining. Tullia revealed a split in the side of the square and slipped out of it a black disc with a hole in the centre. Cicero had never seen anything like it, but immediately got the feeling that this was something completely obselete.

"What is it?" he breathed, suddenly overcome with childlike wonder.

"Listen."

A catch was undone and the box opened to a raised circular platform with a long needdle resting beside it. Tullia gingerly placed the disc down, shifted the needle and then sat back, eyeing her guest intensely.

It was crackly, unlike the crystal clear listening experience he was used to. But then it began.

Hi! I've never done anything like this before but given the circumstances I thought this would be aq fun thing to do with the time. I hope this wasn't too boring and that I did an alright job describing a record player. The album is Queen's A Night At The Opera and it's inspired Cicero, our head gamemaker. The forms for this will all be linked to on my profile. Not sure how long I'll keep submissions open, depends how many get send in. I'll probably open submissions for mentors, escorts etc later on if anyone's interested. I'd really appreciate any submissions or reviews! Bye!