Trigger Warning: This chapter deals with some impacts of the war which might be pretty upsetting or disturbing.
Luka Starkwain, District 5
"For every step there is a local boy who wants to be a hero." -
Belle and Sebastian, I Could be Dreaming
My hand plunges into the ball, searching for a slip.
Please be good, I silently beg, Please be good.
I pull it out and open it. My heart sinks.
"District 5 male." I say, trying to hide my disappointment. Maybe if they sense how disappointed I am, they'll see it as a sign of weakness.
My school had entered me into a competition to design an outfit for a tribute in this year's tribute parade - a Hunger Games first. The twenty-four lucky winners will get to work alongside some of the Capitol's biggest and best stylists. It's an opportunity I can't miss.
The funny thing about being the younger sister of a genius is that there's a lot of pressure to be just as good. I knew from the start that I'd never be a biologist like Io. I didn't have the passion for science like she did. I've always been the arty one. I've always dreamed of being a fashion designer.
I can't let District 5 get between me and my big break. No matter how grey and bleak and uninspiring the power district is, I'm determined to get a good outfit out of it.
If I'm ever going to be more than Io Jasper's younger sister, I'm going to need to win this competition.
I sit, poised over my notepad, waiting for lightning to strike.
District 5... The images I'd found from my brief search on the internet swirl around in my head. District 5. Grey, regular buildings. Smog. Faded, neutral colours. Strange, ugly, metal structures. Rubble caked in soot and grime.
Why do we even have that district? I wonder. Then I remember that District 5 is responsible for giving us electricity.
Lightning strikes.
It's been staring me right in the face the entire time. I shouldn't have been focusing so much on District 5, I should've been thinking about what I can do with electricity.
The ideas flow straight from my head to the paper. A toga, a cloak, a pair of sandals, a crown of laurels. The smoothness of the draping fabric and the jaggedness of the tiny lightning blots on the hem. Shimmery silvers and golds, stormy purples, vibrant sky-blues.
I've designed a costume for Jupiter, the Roman god of thunder. I know, the moment I set down my pencil, that the District 5 boy will be very lucky. For one night only, he'll transcend his grey, lifeless backwater of a district and become the lord of the skies.
"What do you think?" Hemera asks me, unfurling a long roll of purple cloth. It's marbled with lighter and darker patches so it looks like a sky full of bruise-coloured clouds.
"It's perfect!" I say.
I hadn't been that surprised when I'd won the competition. I'd been really proud of my design. I'd known that it would stand out from the District 5 costumes. I'd been surprised to meet the stylist I was working with, Hemera Glass, a woman who couldn't have been much older than Io. I'd never heard her name before.
I suppose it's a sign that nobody cares about District 5. All the big names chose more successful districts and District 5 got left with a newcomer.
We've been working on the outfit all day, choosing all the fabrics and threads and sewing them all together. We won't be able to finish it until Reaping Day, when we'll see how big our tribute will be, but we can make a start now to avoid being too rushed.
I'm happy to see that Hermera has used a lot of ideas from my design. She's made a few alterations like the cloud patterns on the cloak and some shimmery silver lightning bolts on the toga but the District 5 male is still going to look like Jupiter.
I just need to hope for a good tribute.
I watch the reaping recap, a bundle of nerves.
The female tribute for District 5 - a skinny, blonde girl named Fissa Hallowfair - has already been chosen. As Aeolus Hedge, the escort, reaches into the bowl for the male tribute, the camera pans over all the boys in the crowd. They all look so small, so skinny. The terrible image of a scrawny twelve-year-old dressed up as the lord of thunder appears in my head.
"Please be good," I whisper to myself, "Please be good."
"Pann Starkwain!" Aeolus reads.
A gasp spreads across the crowd as the boy stumbles up to the stage. I soon realise why.
It's not just because Pann Starkwain is the twelve-year-old weakling of my nightmares. It's because Pann Starkwain is blind. His eyes are entirely white. No pupils. No iris. No vision.
No amount of makeup is going to save this tribute.
"I volunteer as tribute!" Someone cries. At first, I don't understand what the boy is saying, since his District 5 accent is so strong. Then I realise what's happening and I almost faint with relief.
The volunteer boy is perfect. He has tumbling, dark curls, tanned skin, rippling muscles and, most importantly, piercing, blue eyes. He's the ideal Jupiter.
"A volunteer!" Aeolus grins as the boy tries to comfort the blind kid, "I think this is the first one in District 5's history! What's your name, boy?"
"Luka Starkwain," the boy says. The crowd gasps.
"Is Pann your brother?" Aeolus asks.
"Yeah."
I can't quite believe what I'm watching. I'd come so close to having my masterpiece, my big break, wasted on a tribute who couldn't even see themselves in the mirror and then this gorgeous boy with incredible eyes had swept in like a storm and saved the day.
The strangest thing was, he'd been related to that blind boy. Aside from the strangeness of someone so beautiful and someone so ugly being related, I'm surprised that anyone in Panem would die to save their sibling. I certainly wouldn't die to save Io. It's every woman for herself in the Jasper family.
I'd given up on hoping for anything better.
That night, I dream of thunderstorms and wake up ready to take on the world.
The first time I meet Luka Starkwain in person, it's clear he's a victor.
District-born people are a bunch of animalistic savages. But there are a few exceptions - victors, the diamonds in the rough. Now, as Luka walks into the room after having the grime of the districts washed away from him by avoxes, I know he's the diamond in the rough this year.
Hemera is the first to speak, introducing us both, "Hi, I'm Hemera, your stylist. This is Callisto, my assistant. Did you enjoy the journey?"
"Yeah," Luka says, "The train was cool. I'm kinda hungry, though."
I leave to find an avox and order some food. When I come back, Luka and Hemera are arguing.
"You think my brother's ugly, don't you?" Luka asks, his voice low and dangerous.
"I... I don't..." Hemera stammers, flustered.
"Don't you?" Luka repeats, fiercely.
"I do," I say, "What's wrong with his eyes?"
Luka turns to look at me. To my surprise, he laughs.
"Thank you for your honesty," he says, "I don't think that Pann's ugly. I've seen people a lot worse. I've had sisters a lot worse - three of them. I saw one of them, when she was born, and she looked like a piece of roadkill. She didn't even have eyes. She died after three hours. And she was the one who the doctors let me see. The other two must've been even worse. The last one took Ma with her..."
Hemera looks like she's about to vomit. I'm fine, though. I grew up sharing a house with Io and all her little science projects. I know how unpleasant things get when tiny bundles of living cells go wrong.
"Does your family have a history of birth defects?" I ask, "Maybe your sisters' conditions are genetic."
"There's nothin' wrong with my family," Luka growls, "I was the only one born before the treaty, that's all."
I'm briefly confused. What does the treaty have to do with anything? I'm about to ask Luka what he means when the avox arrives with three plates of pasta. Luka grabs a plate, carries it over to the nearest table and starts eating, alone. His table manners are atrocious.
When Luka shrugs off his robe so I can dress him in his costume, I notice a river of scars flowing down his back.
"How did you get those?" I ask.
"Peacekeeper," he says, bluntly.
"What did you do to get them?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
"I screwed up," he mutters. He sounds hurt. It occurs to me that I probably shouldn't press any further.
Hemera and I work together to dress Luka, transforming him from a rough-voiced district boy into a vision of Capitol might. The entire time, I can't help but wonder what he'd done to earn those scars.
He flinches as I'm painting tiny lightning bolts around the corners of his eyes. I'd picked exactly the right shade, a blue vibrant enough to match Luka's eyes. It looks like his irises are shooting sparks of electricity.
"It's cold," he says.
"It's makeup," I reply, "You'll get used to it."
It's only then that I realise how young Luka is, how young we both are. I'm sixteen and he can't be much older, even though he's a good head taller than me. I'd always seen myself as older than I really am, trying to catch up with a sister who'd grown up too fast. It strikes me that Luka's the only person my age I've met who carries themselves like an adult.
When I've finished applying Luka's makeup, we descend to the stables. Before getting into his chariot, he circles it, examining it with critical eyes.
"Nice wheels," he says, "What's the chain for?"
"That's to keep the tributes in place," Hemera gestures to the manacles in the chariot, "We don't want anyone escaping."
"Who'd be that stupid?" Luka's asks, "I saw the Tenth Games. What a bunch of idiots! You can't escape justice."
On the way home it feels like I'm floating.
I'm buoyed up by my success in the parade. The people loved Luka. They were chanting "Volunteer! Volunteer!" before he even appeared. And when he did...
He looked like Jupiter walking the earth. He looked like he was powerful enough to pull a storm out of the sky and unleash it on his opponents in the arena.
When I get home, Io is on the communicuff, talking to my parents. They pass her over to me with proud smiles on their faces. Part of me wishes she could be here in person but I also know that she's busy with her job as a junior gamemaker. We're lucky she even had the time to call.
"Callisto," Io says, "I watched the parade. Your tribute looked so good. He had lovely eyes. Dr Gaul says he'll be the one to watch."
"I have a question," I find myself saying. I'm not sure why I suddenly thought of asking Io this. Maybe her mention of Luka's eyes reminded me of another pair of eyes, a pair that couldn't even see. "Why are there so many birth defects in District 5?"
"It's because of all the nuclear power plants," Io explains, "It's really fascinating. I did an essay on it for school a few years ago. Most of these plants got damaged during the war and the maintenance workers absorbed a lot of radiation. This led to an increase in cell mutation in the workers, including the egg cells of the female workers. It meant that a lot of power plant workers' children were born with mutations. I have to go now. Goodbye."
"Bye," I say, as Io hangs up.
My parents are full of smiles and congratulations but I can't help but feel uneasy. Even now, the war is still taking its toll on District 5. I wonder how many kids from Five reaped for the Hunger Games over the next few years will have some kind of defect. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I'm growing more and more fascinated by this grey mystery of a district and want to style for it again in the future. Maybe it's because I don't want to have to dress a deformed kid for a parade every year.
My sadness seems to run deeper than that, though. Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually beginning to care about District 5.
Interview Day is stormy.
I deliberately forget my umbrella as I walk to the Remake Centre to help Hemera with Luka's interview outfit. I quite like the weather. It feels like the sky itself is trying to remind people of my tribute.
Designing an interview outfit looks like a simple task but it grows harder and harder the more Hemera and I brainstorm it. There's such a wide selection of colours and textures to choose from. We eventually decide on a sensible, storm-grey suit.
The moment I see Luka wearing it, I know it's perfect. He looks so suave and sophisticated. I'm just admiring how good he looks when another stylist bursts in with the news that Fissa had vomited on her dress and he needs help cleaning it up. Hemera volunteers to help, leaving me alone with Luka.
"I know about the power plants," I whisper as I attach lightning bolt cuff links to his sleeves, "I can see why you're angry."
"It's not your fault, Callisto," Luka says, surprisingly gently, "My parents were just doin' their job. Someone had to do it or there'd have been a meltdown. I just wish people recognised what they did. I wish you people in the Capitol could look out for the little guy once in a while, remember the people who risked their lives to make Panem what it is today."
"I'll remember," I say.
Luka smiles at me but his eyes are sad.
"If I don't make it, make somethin' nice for Pann to wear. He's started askin' me how he looks when he gets dressed in the mornin' because he's started thinkin' about girls," he makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, "I gave up my entire childhood so Pann could have one. I want him to have a shot at being a teenager before..."
He trails off, tears beginning to spill out of his eyes. I'm momentarily confused. It's strange thinking of siblings who actually love each other rather than just compete over everything. Maybe Luka doesn't compete with Pann because he knows that he'll win every time.
Or maybe it's because he knows that his brother will lose every time.
"Hey, don't cry," I find a clean tissue and use it to wipe away Luka's tears, "I won't be able to put your makeup on."
"More makeup?" Luka asks, "Really?"
"For the stage," I explain, as I begin to dab powder onto his face. It occurs to me that I'm standing very close to a very attractive boy. It also occurs to me that he might not like me very much.
"I'm sorry for calling your brother ugly," I say.
"It's okay," Luka says, "I guess he is by your standards. Everyone's so beautiful in the Capitol. Nobody gets born wrong. Nobody sees anything bad."
"I should know better, really," I say, "My sister's always dreamed of being a mutt-breeder. Some of her science projects still haunt my nightmares. I've seen a lot worse than Pann."
"You have a sister?" Luka asks, "She as pretty as you?"
"No," I say, fighting the urge to blush. That's the one victory Io let me have. I'm the pretty one. I always have been. I always will be.
"Hey, kid," Maximus Bolt, the peacekeeper in charge of mentoring Luka, appears suddenly at the door of Luka's dressing room, "They're checking the mics. You ready?"
"Am I ready?" Luka asks me. I look him up and down, to see if there's any last-minute changes I need to make.
"You are," I say, "I guess this is goodbye."
"I guess it is."
As I watch him leave, I remember all the scars his suit is hiding. I wonder what he did to earn them.
"How hard are you going to fight to get back to your brother?" Lucky Flickerman asks Luka.
"As hard as I can," Luka says, "It's my duty to fight. I have a duty to my brother, to my district and to all the good people of the Capitol to do as well as I possibly can. I don't wanna disappoint."
"I'm sure you won't," Lucky says, as the audience scream with delight. They always love a patriot.
I smile to myself, happy that Luka is able to charm the audience so easily. I know I'll probably never get to talk to him again but I'm allowed to watch his interview from backstage, where all the other mentors, stylists and assistants are waiting.
"C'mon, kid," I hear Maximus whisper, his voice a strange blend between a normal voice and District 5's twang, "Don't let me down."
"Do you like him?" I ask, a little surprised. It's rare that peacekeepers make friends with ex-criminals.
"Do I like him?" Maximus echoes, incredulous, "Starkwain is the greatest tribute I have ever had to mentor. Knowing him, he'll probably be the last."
"I'd heard he was whipped for something," I say, "He can't be that good if he's a criminal."
Maximus looks at me like I'm stupid. He throws back his head and laughs.
"Here's how I met Luka Starkwain," Maximus says, "It must've been six years ago. My squad found him at the side of the road, beaten black and blue, having been jumped by some bike-jackers. That sort of thing used to happen all the time in Five. We used to send boys like Luka out on their bikes to deliver packages only for them to be attacked and have their packages stolen and sold on the black market. The protocol was to whip the delivery-boy in public to punish them for losing their package. So that's what we did."
"That's awful!" I cry. I remember how hurt Luka had sounded when I'd asked how he'd got his scars, how desperate he is not to disappoint anyone. And all that had happened when Luka was ten, before he was even old enough to be reaped.
Maximus shrugs, "What were we supposed to do, nothing? The thief had escaped but we had to let them know that someone was still going to be punished. That didn't stop Starkwain, though. Soon, I started hearing stories of a delivery-boy who'd fought back against anyone who tried to attack him. At first it'd been pretty amusing. Normally, when a kid lost a package and got whipped, they quit the job and took up a post at a plant, but here was this one boy beating up men twice his size with nothing but a bike chain because he just couldn't quit. That kid must've brought in more bike-jackers than the rest of my squad combined."
I think of what Luka had said earlier, about giving up his childhood for his brother. Of course he'd taken a job, to bring money home to support Pann. Of course that job had kept him out of the power plants, away from potentially dangerous radiation.
"Wow!" I whisper, stunned. I try to imagine what it's like living in District 5, a rough, grimy, brutal place.
No wonder Luka's so strange.
"You're his stylist, aren't you?" Maximus asks.
"I'm just her assistant," I admit.
"You might as well be his stylist," Maximus says, "I'd been worried about bringing Luka to the Capitol. Kids like him, the world chews them up and spits them back out and everyone here just ignores it. I don't think Luka lets it on but he hates being ignored. It makes him feel like all his hard work was for nothing, like he'll never mean anything to the world. I was worried this would break his spirit but you... you made him feel special."
"He shouldn't need me to feel special," I say, "He should already know. How can someone like that not know?"
"He needs the approval of the mighty Capitol. It's exactly what all the district people are supposed to think. He really ought to know that the Capitol isn't as great as he thinks it is. But he doesn't. He thinks we're really on his side."
"Aren't we?" I ask. "Aren't we trying to help him win the games?"
"We are," Maximus sneers, "But Luka Starkwain will never be one of us. He used to be a part of the great machine that keeps District 5 running. A useful part, but a part nonetheless. Now he's a piece in our Hunger Games. He exists to be used by us. If he ever gets the truth into his head, he won't work half as hard. And if he doesn't work hard, he won't win these games and get me out of mentoring duty."
"I want Luka to win as well," I say, trying to hide how wrong I've found what Maximus had just said.
I've seen too many emotions flash through those blue eyes to believe that Luka Starkwain is just a part in a machine.
I watch the final act of the Fourteenth Hunger Games, poised on the edge of my seat.
For the last week, Luka had prowled around the ruined castle arena, a bike chain in his hand. Maximus had sent it in via a sponsor drone on the first day, sealing the fates of seven of Luka's competitors. Now the image on my TV screen fades from full-colour to black-and-white as Luka descends a stone staircase, entering the pitch-black dungeons.
My heartbeat speeds up with fear. He has no idea that his final opponent, the boy from District 12, is well accustomed to the darkness, having spent several months mining coal before the reaping.
"C'mon," Luka calls into the gloom, "Fight me! It's the only way one of us is gonna win!"
The boy from Twelve launches himself at Luka with a knife. Luka senses a movement near him and swings his chain but the boy dodges and stabs his knife into his shoulder. Luka stifles a cry of pain as Twelve knocks his feet out from under him with a well-timed kick. I gasp as my tribute lands on his back. Twelve drives his knife towards Luka's throat but Luka pulls his chain tight between both hands and uses it to deflect the blow. With one deft movement, the chain is wrapped around the boy from Twelve's wrist.
Twelve seems unfazed. "So you think you're tough, Five? How much will I have to hurt you to make you beg for mercy?"
He pushes his knife closer and closer to Luka's throat, as my tribute struggles to hold it back. I can hardly watch.
I don't want to watch Luka die.
"You'll never make me beg," Luka says, "I never ask for somethin' I haven't earned."
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, seeming to focus more on his surroundings. Then his arms relax and he lets the boy from Twelve plunge forwards. For a second, I think he's given up and decided to let the boy slit his throat. But, at the last possible second, he tugs the chain to the right and the boy from Twelve's knife-hand is yanked aside, missing Luka's throat by centimetres. Luka rolls aside and throws his leg over the other boy's body. Twelve tries to fight back but his knife-hand is pinned down by the chain, which Luka is pressing to the ground with both hands.
He's got the boy from Twelve pinned.
Suddenly, Luka rears up, pulling the boy from Twelve with him. The chain tightens around the boy's wrist, causing bone to crack and the knife to clatter to the ground.
"Mercy!" Twelve gasps, as Luka raises the chain to his throat. His free hand scrabbles at the chain while the one caught in an ever-tightening loop hangs limply.
"Earn it." Luka says, as the other boy starts making ugly, gasping sounds. I watch, relief filling me, as the boy from Twelve's face darkens and his struggles grow weaker and weaker.
I knew, right from the start, he was a victor. Now I'll get to see him again.
I realise that I would've been sad if Luka had died. Not just the usual sadness I feel when the Hunger Games ruins someone pretty, but that with something else added.
I care about him.
"Where's Hemera?" Luka asks, "Was I really so awful that she quit?"
"She has the flu, apparently," I say, "It's a terrible excuse, I know. It looks like you're stuck with me."
I'd always known that Hemera didn't like being around Luka. I can see why. He can be scary when he's angry and Hemera had definitely angered him. I hadn't expected her to tell me that she wasn't going to be returning to style for the next parade. I suppose that making the clothes is only half the job. You have to also learn to accept the tributes for who they are.
I think I'll be fine with that, though. I've already got plans to become the District 5 male's stylist. I already have an idea of how living in that district might affect a tribute. And I've already got to know District 5's mentor.
"Hey, I'm not complainin'," Luka says, "I like you a lot better."
We fall effortlessly into the old routine of Luka undressing and me helping him change into his costume. I'd picked another toga for the newly-invented crowning ceremony but it's less stormy than the first. The colours are warmer and brighter, with more soft golds and bright blues. The god of thunder isn't so angry and vengeful anymore.
I notice the bandage around Luka's shoulder.
"That'll add to my scars," he says, quietly, "Twelve put up a fight."
"Maximus told me how you really got your scars," I say.
"Did he?" Luka chuckles, quietly, "I still remember the day I got them. I saw Pann in the crowd and I told myself I wasn't going to scream. If I screamed, I knew he'd hear me. He'd know how much I was gettin' hurt."
I think back to when the boy from Twelve had stabbed Luka. Even then, he'd tried not to scream, refused to beg for mercy. Had that been for his brother?
Has this guy ever done anything for himself?
"I imagine it feels so much better being a victor," I say, beginning to wrap the toga around Luka.
"It's the greatest thing in the world," he gushes, "I've got money! I can get Pann a private tutor who can read everythin' to him! And Pa won't have to work at that plant anymore! Heck, I won't have to work anymore."
I take a step back and study Luka's outfit. He looks perfect, as usual, his eyes brighter than ever. I can't tell if it's because all the blues swirling around his toga brings them out or because he's so happy.
"I guess you have a shot at being a teenager," I say.
"Maybe I'll find myself a girlfriend," Luka says, blushing, "I've never had one."
"Really?" I ask, "That's hard to believe."
"I've been too busy," he explains.
"Okay, that's not too hard to believe."
"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Luka asks, "D'you know what it's like, lovin' someone?"
I look into his eyes, sky blue and full of longing. I think of all the boys I'd kissed, on dates or at parties. Partly out of curiosity and partly just to rub it in Io's face that I had a love life, while she'd wasted her teenage years pining over Coriolanus Snow.
I can't believe it took a victor from District 5 to make me realise that I've been wasting my teenage years trying to get one over my sister. It's only now I realise that I have so much to be grateful for.
I also realise that my victor, my lord of the skies, will always see how great I can be. Whether I've beaten Io at whatever game we've been unwillingly playing since we were little kids or not, I've won Luka Starkwain's heart.
And he's won mine.
"I've had boyfriends," I say, "But I didn't always know what it was like loving someone."
I lean in to kiss Luka, so close that I can feel his breath on my lips, but something holds me back. I think of what Maximus told me on Interview Day. He exists to be used by us... Part of me wonders if he's only letting me get close to him because I'm from the Capitol and he's taught himself to do whatever we say.
"Do you want to kiss me?" I ask.
"I do," Luka takes a step back and hangs his head, "It feels wrong. You're some sweet, perfect Capitol girl and I'm worthless district trash. I'm not good enough for you."
"You're a victor," I say, "Of course you're good enough. I'm not sweet or perfect by any means and I know you aren't either. But you're not worthless. You're the most brilliant, brave, hard-working person I have ever met. I care about you, Luka. I care about your district. You're the one who made me care."
"You... you really care?" Luka asks, eyes aglow.
"I do."
This time, I take the plunge. I step into Luka's arms and tilt my head up, so he can lean down to kiss me. The world seems to blur, like I've stepped into a whirlwind. The only thing I'm aware of is the feeling spreading through my body from where my lips meet Luka's. There's lightning in my veins. My heart beats like thunder. Luka's hands brush against my arms, making my skin tingle like I'm out in the rain.
For a few, blissful moments, we are a perfect storm.
Then I remember what I'm supposed to be doing.
"Right," I say, between kisses "Let's get your makeup on. You've got a crowning ceremony to attend."
"Oh, yeah," Luka says, "I guess there's no gettin' outta that."
I realise that my lipstick is smudged all over his mouth and decide that cleaning that up is my first port of call.
"What are we gonna do when I go home?" Luka asks, as I'm searching my makeup kit for something to clean away the lipstick.
"You'll be back next year," I say, "I guess we'll both just have to wait."
"I can wait," Luka says.
"I know you can," I say, while wondering, Can I wait?
I think of where Luka's going after the ceremony, back to a district hiding beneath a dull, grey, uninspiring façade. But I know that District 5 is a fascinating place. It's not the buildings that make it great but the people who live there. They are the spark that keeps the power district running. I can't help but compare it to the Capitol - my home. Who knew that the people of the shining city could be so empty?
I decide that I can wait for Luka. I can wait for him every year.
This chapter turned out really long. I really enjoyed writing it, though. I had to flesh out two pretty flawed characters. First we've got Callisto, our narrator, who starts out as a selfish, insensitive Capitol brat and then begins to fall in love with District 5... and Luka! It's kind of a tragic romance, partly because it'll take a lot to overcome the class divide between them and partly because Callisto's bond with Luka is the thing that helps him keep his faith in the Capitol, a faith that will only hurt Luka if the Capitol ever try to manipulate him. Still, I think Callisto's a better match for Luka than Gajin. Luka isn't the perfect gentleman that Gajin thinks he is and, while Callisto can accept all of Luka's faults, Gajin is just unaware of them.
As for Luka, he's very different to the man who helped make the Wall of Rules. After four years of the victor lifestyle, he's bound to have changed a little. He never loses his accent, though. It's just more obvious from a Callisto's point of view than Gajin's. Luka's got a pretty intense backstory, which I kind of ran away with. He started out as male, District 5 Katniss but I decided to switch things up and make him pro-Capitol so he could be more of a foil to her and one thing led to another - I ended up with one of my favourite victors ever. I hope you guys love him as much as I do because I've got big plans for Luka. He'll definitely feature a lot in later chapters.