Metamorphosis: The 100th Hunger Games
For What It's Worth - Part Two
Isla Nieve
Jamaica sighs, blinking away the tears that sting her eyes as her husband, Cuarzo, caresses her waist as a show of support. His burly arm wrapped over her shoulder, she offers a kiss onto his hand and a smile.
Islenos - Islanders - they have a saying that Jamaica agrees with oh so much - the fact that "Everyone was Everybody's cousin".
Seeing all these people here, in the hundreds, just to pay their respects to Donna Ludra was so heartwarming to her. Her eyes beginning to middle were like leaky faucets, she couldn't stop crying. She just hopes to Dios arriba that su amiga knows that she is loved and will continue to be loved. She spares a quick glance at the altar erected in Donna Ludra's honor, garnished with cabbage, a variety of salad dressings, jewels and even a set of lingerie - an inside joke in reference to her 'side-job' that she was oh so good at.
"Lo siento, it's just so very hard for me...As it is for some of you, I can imagine..." she sniffles, adjusting the microphone. She glances at the front row of well-wishers, Donna Ludra's friends - Zoro, Elgor, Nika, Vana, Kristen - they were all present and giving her encouraging smiles. They were her fuel...Well, them and the shots of tequila in Donna Ludra's honor. Jamaica clears her throat. "Donna Ludra was my friend. I haven't always been so...'book smart' so life can be a little difficult sometimes, but she was there and had the patience of a saint. She even helped me get job with the bus company! Where would I be without her, hm? Where would any of us be if she didn't lend a hand? No, no, she was more than just a friend - she was a mother to me. Even when my pequeño Francisco was in here-" she gestures at her stomach, which garners so laughs. "She always made sure I had my little comfort foods and that Francisco was cared for. And now, I shall pay the same respect to her mamá. If I was served the same fate, she would've tried to do the same for me. Descansa en pedazos mi dulce, dulce amiga..."
Jamaica feels so much lighter now, returning to her seat. She takes up and kisses the hand of Donna Maya, her amigas mamá. Jamaica decided to tell her the truth about Donna Ludra. Naturally, she became very belligerent but that's nothing a regimen of pills can't fix - that and baby Francisco who she has taken a shining to. Jamaica meant what she said about taking care of her to the best of her ability. Family is everything within islander culture, and Donna Maya is now family.
It's going to be hard living on with Donna Ludra not being physically here. She just hopes to God that it'll all work out.
Elgor makes his way to the front now, he too also grapples with the loss of his best friend - his literal partner in crime.
"I know a lot has been said this evening. But does anyone else have anything to say? The microphone is open..."
"Si!" a feminine voice calls out. Jamaica and the others in attendance crane their heads and murmur in astonishment as one of their esteemed victors and daughter of the infamous gangster Rocco 'El Gallo' Novia - Rafaela Novia - strides confidently to the front of the gathering, exchanging a nod with Elgor before taking up the microphone. She tucks her iconic circular eyeglasses into her tube top, revealing hazel eyes that were still somewhat shrouded by her bangs.
"Now, with the history I have with Donna Ludra, I might as well be up there in age with you people instead of twenty-one." She grins, earning a smattering of chuckles from the audience. "Now, my history with Donna Ludra doesn't just start with los juegos del hambre..."
With a genuine heart, Rafaela begins to talk about how she came to know Donna Ludra at the tender age of 14, after she had deserted the naval base and was in need of food. Donna Ludra served her a bowl of salad free of cost and continued to do so for two years. You see, Rafaela Novia touted a 'hardened' persona on the outside, but like most people who shared her traits, it was to hide the trauma that they were often afflicted with. She doesn't 'brush off' her fallen tributes. In fact she often looks for ways to better their situation - often with her own money. She has plenty of it anyways.
When Rafaela says her piece and the ofrenda concludes, the crowd gathers to watch Donna Maya - with the help of Elgor and Jamaica, scatter her daughter's ashes into the sea. Jamaica likes to think that Donna Ludra is with her amante and her children, all while being with us in spirit. When Rafaela comes up to her afterward with an envelope full of money, she gasps, pushing it back into her arms.
"No, no, no, I refuse-"
"Yo insisto," Rafaela replies while firmly placing the money into her hands. She nods toward Donna Maya who continues to coo over baby Francisco. "Por asumir la carga."
Jamaica relents, turning to watch Rafaela as she makes her way over to Joyceta Rodriguez and Francisco Noriega, embrace them, and continue walking back into town with her arms wrapped around their sides. They would be okay. Here's hoping they are able to save another tribute for Snow Island next time around. Jamaica turns her attention back over to Donna Maya and baby boy. At least Donna Maya has someone to live for.
...
"-And you say you have no idea regarding any plans or organizations Mr. Marcenas may have been a co-conspirator in?" the Agent asks Sofia Marcenas for what she thinks is the seventh time, just in a repackaged way of delivery. Sofia Marcenas is a patriot - no doubt about it - who was thankful for the Capitol and the opportunities they provided to her and Isla Nieve, but even now she's starting to get a little jaded at the line of questioning.
"No sir, I don't communicate frequently with him or my brother." Sofia replies, turning her gaze towards her comatose father, who lies on a bed just inches away while her Mamá frantically whispers nothings into his ears. Sofia assumes that the Capitol agents' presence is making her act up this way but then again, she's always been extremely doting. Sofia sighs, considering to light a cigarette but opts not to because of her Father's condition. The man brought it on himself. And so did Ricardo.
After Ricardo's death, her Father became irate, attending a local demonstration of people swayed by my brothers' words of sedition. He too joined in on cursing the Capitol and the supposed 'class imbalance' the island is plagued with. They clashed with loyalists, which resulted in her Father getting shot and the demonstration being suppressed by Peacekeepers. Loyalty to the Captiol runs deep on the island, and she knows that the Capitol isn't keen on letting Snow Island become rebel-infested. Mamá of course is worried sick but she can care less. Sofia hopes that this year will be scrubbed off the history books - then maybe, just maybe, she can work on rebuilding the Marcenas name.
Just as the Agents prepare to leave, one of them turns around and offers her a jewelry box. Confused, Sofia opens the box and is greeted with the rank bar of full lieutenant.
"Our president thanks you for your cooperation and service." The Agent says with a smirk. "Your chain of command is already informed of your promotion. Congratulations, Lieutenant."
Sofia was well on her way on doing so.
District 1
Not even the District 1, the eldest child and the Capitol's pride and joy, were spared from the chaos that ensured after Veradisia Smith's actions in the arena. Of course the anger was mostly in outrage to her actions (She being the reason that their male - their only hope at a victor - was killed for apparently nothing), however within the working class, there was also a meltdown. Aurelia Baudelaire and family, regardless of their privilege, were friends of the working class Oners and her reaping following the nastiest gubernatorial election (which served as a backdrop to an even more atrocious national election) led to widespread outrage.
"Take this," Aurelia pleaded, as she handed Nikolai the silver bullet wrapped in paper and the note that was left under her bed days following her parents' 'accident'. She pressed the items firmly in his hand. "Show them. If I...don't leave that arena the way I want to, then I believe I should get the final laugh."
Nikolai was a cautious man. For example, when President Kane was shot, he automatically knew that it was a setup. A man like him, talking about ending the Games and reforming Panem? It'd be too good to be true. It just goes to show you that there are larger forces at play and President Kane wasn't a part of that club. The same could be said with Mr. and Mrs. Baudelaire. Mr. Baudelaire ran for the governorship because unlike Serene Westenfluss, he cared about things other than the Hunger Games. Look where that got him.
If people can get killed just like that and no one raises concern...then unfortunately, what makes people think that they would about Aurelia? She stated that people were harassing her on live television and they just pushed through.
Aurelia seemed to notice his unease, as she placed both of her hands onto his shoulders. "You heard what Luxe said, people are upset this year. Luxe will help you, Topaz will help you...Please, Nik?"
He nodded, returning the hug that his ex-girlfriend pulled him into. "Alright Aurelia...We'll see."
On the day Aurelia passed away, Nikolai Desjardins and Luxe Cosgrove pulled up to District 1 Civic Hospital. Luxe would get his inside man to run some biometrics on the bullet and paper and then they'd go to the Helena Independent and get Nikolai's guy to publish - no matter how much hand-wringing needed to be done. Nikolai would do it for Aurelia and her family.
They got it done. It seems that Aurelia's "mad ramblings" were in fact true. The finger prints belonged to a random John Doe within the district, but his accounts were traced back to a high-up donor for District One's Nationalist Party branch (Always do illicit things UNDER the table, not electronically). The fat cat killed himself, Nikolai's guy got sent to do two month's hard labor on trumped-up charges but the damage was done. Serene was heckled everywhere she went within One due to her ties to the assassination.
In 2164, she would resign citing "timing" reasons. "I've served long enough as your governor and I believe the time has come for new leadership."
Mr. O'Donnell clears his throat as he rises out of his seat to address the board. "Mr. Montgolia, let me start by saying that on behalf of the board of directors that we are so very truly sorr-"
Bellamy Montgolia and the other board members jump in shock when her Father, Lucius Montgolia, slams a fist against the table. Never ever has she seen him so upset in her life. Not even at other board meetings where it was warranted. Bellamy knows that it can be taxing when everyone worships the very ground you walk on but they genuinely mean it. They're only trying to be nice.
She presses a firm but gentle hand onto his lap. "Daddy," she hisses, frowning as she mouths the word "Stop!" She shakes her head in an attempt to fend off the warmness in her cheeks and the tears that threaten to flow.
Besides a scant glare, Bellamy's father ignores her, turning back to face the board proper. "You know how many sorries I've received, Gleam? I'm sick and tired of hearing the damn word. Get on with it!"
"Yes sir," Mr. O'Donnell clears his throat once more, turning his attention to Bellamy. "With the absence of the first vice president, it has been decided that Bellamy Montgolia will take up the position." This garners raucous applause that Bellamy returns with a polite smile and some nodding in acknowledgement. "Now, Ms. Montgolia, the position of first vice president has most to do with the creative portion of the company. Adverts, clothing lines and so on. I heard that you had some words regarding this...?"
"Yes, yes I do," Bellamy brings a fist to her mouth, swallowing. "Let me start off by saying thank you for your warm applause. If you flip to page fifty of your briefing, you'll see that I've decided to carry on with my brother's work before his...absence..." she joins them in flipping to the page in question. She regards Thames' art work, brushing her hands along the intricate designs as a lone tear makes its appearance, dropping onto a sketch of a gem-encrusted cardigan sweater that she remembers jumping up and down in joy over when she first showed it to her.
She sniffles, sighing. Oh come on Bellamy, buck up. "As you can see...erm...with the increased public interest within the company...uh...I thought it would be good to incorporate a line proposed by Thames himself..."
Thames handed her the sketchbook as he grinned from ear to ear. "Eh, eh, looks good, right?"
"Thames you Snow-ordained genius this looks AMAZING!" she cheered as she smacked the paper multiple times for extra emphasis. It was the gem-embellished cardigan that caught her eye. So chic! "Add a little skirt or a pair of capris and you'll have a bitchin' outfit."
You were good at this. Why couldn't you just stick to THIS?!
"Ma'am, are you alright?" Mr. O'Donnell asks.
"What?" Bellamy blinks, noticing that her portfolio was completely drenched in tears. She glances up at her Father, who remains stone faced and staring anywhere else but her direction. The rest of the board members observe her with pity in their eyes. She blinks away more tears, letting out a cough that turns into a sob. "Um...no, I'm sorry. Maybe Ms. Amiens could take my place?" she collects her belongings and rushes though the double doors before they could catch her breaking down. She manages to make it to the washroom before letting it all out. Sitting on a toilet seat, she pulls out a gold medallion and activates the holographic portrait of her family, staring longingly at the image of her brother. Thames had dreams of his own, and he can't be faulted for that. But as she continues to sob in the stall, she can't help but wonder why he didn't recognize the talents and status he already had?
District 2
The Overwhill Academy Recreation Center - which was just one of many but just recently opened - was decorated as if President DeWynter herself were paying a visit, banners hanging over every rafter, red carpet covering over every square inch of the rubber flooring, honor guards stand at parade rest in every corner. Hundreds occupy the room, dressed to the nines in their dress uniforms or finest suits and dresses - former students, friends, well-wishers, faculty and officials. Thousands more gather outside, watching the ceremony while hundreds of thousands more watch via local television.
"Ladies and gentlemen, here to eulogize First Lieutenant Sarissa Levesque, Jasper Rankine - Victor the Eighty-Eighth Hunger Games!"
Jasper bounds the flower and banner-garnered stage to thunderous applause, something that she puts a stop to immediately with a firm, dismissive wave. Jasper hasn't felt this nervous since her time in Basic Career Training. Jasper's mother and announcer - Governor Rankine - only offers a firm handshake as she turns and bounds down the steps. I mean, what were you expectin', Jaspy? She's been tough on you your whole life. In essence, she has no one to draw strength from. She spares a glance towards Mrs. Levesque, who continues to be inconsolable as Mr. Levesque tries to no avail. Her eyes flicker to the audience at-large, taking in a deep breath.
"Thank you, Governor. The late Berglind Jonsottir always told me that both victor and vanquished have a role to play in the Hunger Games and thus our way of life. Unlike other districts within our nation, we take immense pride in either participant - victor or fallen - but tend to get discouraged when we encounter the latter. Claiming the title 'victor' does have a certain prestige to it, yes, but as you've seen recently with Sarissa's exploits within the arena, there is absolutely nothing to be discouraged about if one so happens to fall for their district. The act of volunteering alone - taking on the burden that our ancestors brought upon themselves a century ago - is enough to put a tribute on par with the likes of myself, Ms. Rivendell, Mr. Christos and others.
If you're still not convinced, all someone has to do is look at her exploits within the arena. Unlike the other districts, we don't cower away from the concept of death, but we fight it head on. Sarissa Levesque, after being toppled over that waterfall, could've given up, but she held on - trained her wounded vision to serve her only to rise from out of her ditch and represent Two's prowess like a Career ought to do. We tend to look at the Games as a measure of one's prowess but let's look outside the dome and take a glimpse into her life at the Academy. The only reason she didn't go when she was eighteen was the fact that she was wounded during an accident. Days following said incident she pushed herself to the limits to return back to peak physical shape. When the opportunity to volunteer came and went, she put her fuel into training aspiring cadets - some of which sit in this room. So when you look at the best, someone to aspire to, don't only look to me, or any of the other victors - look to Sarissa Levesque, who serves as a prime example of what Two ought to be - relentless, bold, optimistic and loyal to a tee."
Jasper turns around, watching along with the audience as the curtains unveil a plaque and a portrait of her best friend.
"It's for this very reason we dedicate this center to Sarissa Levesque so that maybe you - aspiring Peacekeepers and tributes - could draw on her strength and achieve the feats that she accomplished. Though something tells me we may not see her feats done ever again. Rest easy, Sarissa. May you continue to lead the way for current and future Twos in any endeavor." She glances up toward the audience, clearing her throat in an attempt to stave off the unease. "That's all I have."
Silence falls over the room until a lone cadet of about twelve rises to attention, clicks his heels and snaps a salute towards the portrait. A girl of the same age joins him until one by one, various cadets and full-Peacekeepers alike are saluting the portrait while bellowing the Academy cry.
While Mrs. Levesque clutches the Panemian flag given to her like a lifeline, Mr. Aaron Levesque watches this display disheartened and irritated. More kids will volunteer to die under Sarissa's name and he detested that. The Levesque family has given their all during the War and now this. He knows for a fact that Sarissa getting injured was a warning sign...and now this - the ultimate conclusion.
Days later, the Kohli family made sure to hold a private funeral of their own. No cameras, no honor guards with a trumpeter playing Taps, just a simple funeral on a cliffside overlooking Ravinstill Springs - the same cliffs Solomon would scale on his own personal time. He left instructions to this effect and the Peacekeepers didn't offer the Kohli family any aid in regards to funeral arrangements. If they were a pariah now - due to their family's actions during the War - they were most definitely black sheep now due to Solomon's actions leading up to the finale. Killing your fellow Two was a gigantic no-no, unless there was no other choice but even then there would be some tension back home.
Arminda doesn't give a shit about what the rest of her brainwashed district thinks. When the Twelve girl killed herself, the District went mutt because they felt that they wasted Sarissa for nothing. They didn't even mention Solomon. People even had the audacity to throw bricks into their house, resulting in Peacekeeper protection on the property...but even the PKs tasked with protecting them were pissed off at the family. She nearly faints before Pa holds her upright. Arminda sniffles, clinging to the same scarf she had sent him into the arena with. Screw them! She seethes inwardly. If they didn't fill his brain with FALSE PROMISES, I would have my brother here with me still. Frig them and frig their stupid-ass academy! Like she was a little girl again, she clings to her mother's side, joining her in a chorus of sniffles and whimpers. No more verbal jousting matches, no more pranks, no more using Solomon as a human mannequin for her do-it-yourself projects - all of it was gone and for what? Arminda couldn't begin to explain.
She wraps herself in the scarf that he wore so prominently throughout his time in the arena and in the Capitol. She didn't want him to go. He was the greatest brother in her eyes. He didn't need to be some fancy victor to have worth. They loved him that's all that matters, she just wishes that he understood that more. The stupid Capitol warped his self-worth, and he paid for it.
When their modest ceremony concludes, Arminda walks back to the trail with her parents in tow and is surprised to see Jason Christos propping up against his motorcycle. Wordlessly, he removes his shades and strides over presenting an envelope to her Pa.
Pa regards the package as if its poison. "I don't need charity."
Ma looks up to him with a face full of worry. "Nassir..."
"It's not charity, sir, it's just something that I feel should be done." Christos explains. "If you want to go on a trip out of town, something like that, that would cover it and then some."
When Pa continues to eye the package, Arminda takes it from the ginger-haired man. That's another thing wrong, in her mind, with this dumb district - this notion of 'pride'. 'Pride' this, 'pride' that, why can't we just be humble - help others out while staying in our own lane? When her parents continue walking on, Christos places a gentle hand on her shoulder, stopping her.
"You angry?" He asks.
No shit. Arminda sniffles, glaring at the man. "No, I'm happy as can be."
"Well, if you want to put that anger to good use..." Discreetly, he places a card into her cardigan pocket. "Put it towards something bigger, you know where to find me."
District 3
The lapdog districts and the Capitol itself gave the government an easier time following the 'conclusion' of the One Hundredth Hunger Games. Things like working conditions, social freedoms and other topics critiqued during the interviews were brought up during tense demonstrations on Three's streets. The local Peacekeeper force - as instructed - let them throw their tantrum for a little while and then when the dust settled, moved in on the instigators and sources of inspiration - yanking them out of their offices and homes, stuffing them into unmarked cars never to be seen again. Maia's funeral was highly publicized due to her active status within the District both in family name and her own academic and athletic prowess. Although the mood was uplifting, with the theme of perseverance no matter what, the overall thought of everyone in the district when Maia Clear came to mind was the fact that her death was an utter waste. Maia Clear could've been something and everyone knows it.
The students of Honorius Perthshire Secondary School went about their dissatisfaction in a more 'palatable' way. When it came time to collect their report cards in July, Dayta Doucette alongside Siri Kaplan staged and outside sit-in on the school's front lawn, blocking the entrances and steps leading up to them. The faculty rolled up their blinds in surprise to see hundreds of students and parents alike sitting on the lawn and listening quietly to stories of their fallen classmate Maia Clear. The stories ranged from her helping them out studying to her awesome performance in the Games. Their goal overall? To not let Maia Clear's name die in vain like they have the other fallen Three tributes. Students, friends and Parents alike gathered in support. By the end of the day, their demands were met by a faculty who was way ahead of them. The 'politics classroom' had her yearbook photo hung prominently on the wall over the door and named after her, alongside a plethora of awards - her beloved politics alongside 'first class honors', in which she retained the #1 ranked spot from ninth to thirteenth grade.
Ashton and Sirena Clear tried to continue on, but they didn't have the heart. They resign their seats within the District Council the following year. With a sizable savings account due to their decades of public service, they retire comfortably and use the time to invest in each other's company. Even their relationship was rocky, as the two spent time working different sides of the political aisle. Maia always wanted the three of them to be a more cohesive family unit. They hope that at least this slight change they made makes her happy enough.
...
She was the last of the Ledger family line...who would've thunk?
After the end of the Games, Melany was surprised that the Capitol agents only asked her if Uncle Tobi had any hidden motives before the Games, which she declined because the man was reaped against his will. She supposed that since the War was lost by the rebels, his past dealings didn't matter as much. She still has the money he pilfered leading up to Reaping Day. Like her uncle advised, she planned on taking a trip out of district again once everything calmed down. If everything calmed down.
Until then, Melany Ledger attempts to continue on the same path she has for the past twenty or so years, putting on her shoes one foot at a time, arriving at work at the prescribed time, greeting her co-workers who haven't treated her the same since the Games' end and taking her place in her office behind her desk. Melany keeps an open door policy. So when she's sure that no one will disturb her, she takes a portrait of the two of them off her desk and squeezes it tight. She tries to live by her uncle's parting advice - just keep going - but she finds it so hard. So many things gnawing at my brain, so many what-ifs...
Melany flinches when she sees her computer crash, the screen turning black but not shutting off completely. The only thing that remains on screen is a single text cursor.
""Tobias started off working logistics too, you know ;)"
District 4
Lakely loves her home, a stilted two story against the cliffs. Or she 'loved' it, not anymore. The place is so empty now. When Warren died, their Grandma finally succumbed to her illness, leaving Lakely the sole occupant of her 'family' home. She sits in the living room now, curling up on her Grandmother's recliner while nursing a glass of wine as the sun sets through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lakely is at a total loss of what to do, so much that it scares her. She's a literal orphan, with very little family willing to help and no direct family at all. If she were any more distraught, she would have half a mind to leave her house, wander over to the ocean that was just a mile away and continue wading until the currents took her. I'm an orphan. I never thought I'd say that in my life. I have absolutely no one. She stirs from her thoughts when the doorbell rings, pushing herself upwards and making her way towards the door. Lakely thinks it's the Peacekeepers again, doing another routine check.
When she opens the door, she nearly slams it in the face of the caller - her 'father'. It's his foot that stops the action from being completed. To Lakely, it looks like he too was nursing a drink or two, judging by his disheveled appearance.
His eyes looking anywhere but to his front, he sighs. "Lakely...How are things-"
"What do you want?!" she snaps, pushing him back while slamming the door behind her. On the street, she notices his car on the curb and what appears to be his wife sitting in the passenger's seat.
Caressing his knuckles, a sharp exhale escapes from between his lips. "I...I came to help..."
"...HELP?! You came to 'help'..." tears stinging her eyes, Lakely's hands shoot into the air, slapping against her sides. "Yeah, well you're two weeks past the mark 'Dad'!"
The both of them notice now that people were watching, tentatively continuing conversation on their porches while craning their heads every now and then. Both Lakely and her Father were red in the face, for opposite reasons.
"Can I at least come in, talk this over in private?" He knows that Lakely has the leverage, which is why he isn't forceful with her. The only reason why he's on this porch is because of sheer guilt. He knows what he missed out on while he was building another life with his new wife and kids.
Lakely shakes her head. "No."
"I pay for this house, Lakely..."
"Why are you coming around now?! What's it to you anymore?!" she barks, getting up in his face so close that the taller man recoils. "You've missed an awful lot, hehe, you know like the fact that GRANDMA'S DEAD, AND YOU COULD'VE BEEN THERE!" She proceeds to beat her fist into his chest, caring less about the various onlookers. She breaks out into a harsh sob, shrugging him off as she crosses her arms and tries to level her breathing. She wonders what would've happened if he had taken a more active role in their lives. Maybe he could've stopped Warren from volunteering, maybe he could've used his big shipping connections to get Grandma a proper doctor...too late. At least he has his fancy convertible and his bitch trophy wife.
Lakely's Father finally starts to tear up as well, but in her mind he's far too late to start caring now. "What are you going to do? Do you have school plans, work? You could live with us if you'd like-"
"I'm joining the Navy," Lakely cuts him off, sniffling. "The Home Fleet, I'll be bouncing back from here to sea every now and then."
"That's...That's good...yeah," He moves to caress her shoulder and her hair and Lakely begrudgingly allows him to. "Whatever you do, just know that I'm proud of you." The two Holt's share a moment of silence before the elder reaches over to the deck chairs beside the front door and retrieves a package, presenting it to Lakely who takes it out of his hands. "I paid off the house. It's yours for the rest of your life. I have a car back at my place...I'll send it your way. And of course you're covered under me and Capitol Shipping so you don't need to worry one bit. It's late - too late, I know-"
Lakely checks out of the conversation right then and there. Dad was simply too late. She just hopes that the Navy fulfills her enough so that she at least function with a quarter of a heart left empty by Warren and Grandma.
...
A lot of members within The Capitol's Peacekeeping Navy were in utter disagreement of Nautia's reaping, but fear of reprisal from their chain of commands ensure that no outward display of disobedience were made in response. Due to be eliminated mid way through the Games' lifespan District 4 didn't see widespread unrest unless one were to count the workers of Four's primary industry - which was quickly pacified by the Peacekeeper garrison.
Idelia Accune sits in the front row of a grand audience as an Admiral re-commissions the destroyer PNS Aegis to PNS Novakova in Nautia's honor. All her shipmates apparently petitioned the admiralty to make this so. Still, Idelia uncharacteristically finds herself sobbing quietly - caressing the engagement ring Nautia had gifted her. Not even Loire's soft caresses or Mr. Conway's comforting hand on her thigh can console her. She was so close to experiencing that love experiment - or her own version of it. They were going to experience their white picket fence, their fancy car and their manicured lawn. They even talked about having a baby via surrogate. All that went to the wayside thanks to that stupid quarter quell twist.
I don't think I'll ever love again. Some would call her 'silly' for saying that but it's true. She would never experience love again.
"I imagine you're pretty upset," Abigail Jackson asks her over tea when the victor visits Idelia's house unannounced.
"You have absolutely no idea." Idelia responds, raising the cup to her lips.
"Maybe you could put that anger into something productive..." the elder lady says, grinning behind her cup. "You would be perfect. You know a lot about the sea, PK routes, contacts, so on and so forth."
"Wait...Since when are you the odd man out?" Idelia asks. "I thought you saved your skin during the War by playing for the other team?"
"And I was wrong. Now I'm making up for lost time." Abigail cups her hands around Idelia's, fixing her a knowing look. "Are you in or are you in? Change is happening. You're not the only one that's upset."
District 5
District 5 is where the Capitol begins to run into some significant issues. Ever since the melee at Madison's City Square and other town squares throughout the district, Five has seen its rash of looting, burning of loyalist business and vice versa. This reached fever pitch when Veradisia Smith put a knife into her chest. Their best chance at having a victor was killed so that another tribute could kill themselves and no district has a victor. Rightully people were upset, but on the other hand people were upset because Vera exposed the pointlessness of the violence. That and the veiled debates during interview night only exposed what people knew about the unfair system they continue to live under.
Any demonstration was violently put down, as the Capitol could ill-afford any damage to critical infrastructure a la the hydro dam during the Second Rebellion.
"My Geronimo was a thoughtful young man," Alexandrianna Busan says to a crowd of reporters in front of her home. Capitol agents and Peacekeepers alike stand guard on either side of her. "He wouldn't want the violence that we've been seeing for the past two weeks. I implore everyone to think rationally. Having lived during the Second Rebellion, I assure younger generations that war is something you do not want to experience."
When the cameramen and reporters disappear and the security ushers her into her house once more, Alex makes her way into the basement, unlatching all the cages as she allows Gio's animals to frolic freely, taking up Abraham the dwarf hamster in her hands. Contrary to popular belief, Alex doesn't believe those words at all. She's glad that the Capitol is being thrown off-kilter due to the actions of that young lady and hopes that something significant comes out of it. Maybe she and her late husband didn't make a good shake of the opportunity Katniss Everdeen gave them twenty-five years ago, but maybe this generation will make a better go at things.
Alex just wishes that Gio could be here to do it.
Marissa Suetos places a gentle hand on Kanton Jaxter's shoulder. "Shh...Hush, it's alright Kanton. It'll be alright."
In the now empty office of Dr. Tuesday Suetos, Kanton grumbles, reclining back into the couch with a deep sigh. Dr. Whiskers seems to be aware of his sadness, pouncing onto his lap and seating himself. Kanton obliges the feline, scratching the space in-between his ears. These past two weeks have been the textbook definition of 'could've should've'. Tuesday sorta liked him...Tuesday wanted to fit in with other people. Sure she was a little...hollow at times but on the inside she wanted to sympathize. And when Kanton saw her talking with Kaviraya about their future plans, he felt more and more like a fool that should've chased her harder than he did.
"I know, I know. Or so I think," he sniffles, massaging his temples. "I just feel so sorry for her, you know? There was so much we could've done together. She was so close and she deserved better-"
"You know Tuesday, Kanton," Marissa says, staring through the window towards the skyscraper across the way. "She wouldn't want you wallowing on her. She would want you to continue your life. She was practical that way." She swallows hard, her voice breaking when she says. "Gods know that I miss her so much, but that's how she'd want us to go about it."
Kanton can't just 'go on' with life. He could try, but not after this.
District 6
The entirety of Detroit's east side blew up after losing not one, but two of their prized medical experts. To the denizens of Six these Hunger Games proved to be an utter waste. Only the staunchest Capitol supremacist - high off their own privilege - will look at the loss District 6 endured and say that it was "For the good of the nation". Anyone on the outside looking in could sympathize with Six's plight. Mass protests were staged across the district in solidarity for the lost doctors as well as in conjunction with Theilan's debate for 'seeking actualization'. In District 6, Sixers were hamsters in a wheel, "empty suits" as Koller Ascort would sneer.
It would take 72-hour lockdown and a thousand civilian casualties from the onset of Veradisia's actions to pacify the district. The Capitol has the families of Six's fallen to thank for the largely urban district not falling into disarray.
"Mrs. Caldron, what do you have to say about the violence?" A Reporter prods.
"Theilan wouldn't want violence at all. The last thing he confessed to be in typical Theilan fashion was that he worries about Six and our reaction in the event he or Zahira passed." Neha replies, her body flushing warm with anger when her hand caresses her distended abdomen. "But on the other hand, maybe this violence wouldn't have happened if the reaping algorithm was better and two of Six's finest weren't ripped away from their families!"
Six needs Neha and she knows this, but when the clinic executive board insists that she steps down temporarily citing her 'condition' she relents. She needs to get back out there and aid the population, anything to fill the void while living up to Theilan's name - Zahira's name even - but she knows on the other hand that Theilan would want nothing but the best for Aesha and becoming a workaholic would just set her up for complications. At least his mother, Esne, is back and somewhat lucid to help out when need be.
And then there was Tanav, of course. Since his father's passing Neha observes that the once giddy five-year-old-boy was now lethargic and pensive, just like how Theilan used to get when he was upset.
"What's gonna happen now, Mommy?" He asks Neha when she slips into his room and sits by his bedside. She takes him in his arms, pulls him in close and runs her hands gently through his hair, resting her chin on his head. It takes all her remaining strength not to bawl.
"What's going to happen next is that we're going to live by daddy's rules, you and me both." She replies, sniffling.
Tanav nudges his way from under her chin, glancing up at her with his big, brown eyes. "What are daddy's rules again?"
She plants a kiss on his forehead, caressing his cheek with a soft hand. "You know...Being a good helper, being nice to people and being the best that you can be."
Tanav nods, grinning sadly. "Oh okay, I'm already doing that."
"Mhm, and when your baby sister comes, you and I are going to teach her to be the best too." She adds, grinning sadly. Because this world could use a lot more Theilan Caldron in it. And with the real McCoy not physically present, why not instill his tenets into the next best thing - his offspring - one of which is already well on their way.
Twelve-year-old Lucius Kazimirov wasn't a ninny.
From kindergarten to elementary school in present day, he was told by his grandpa, his brother and his older friends that only ninnies cried. A real boy - a real man - didn't cry. When he saw his mother get impaled, he upheld that principle, even when his Gran and Gramps sobbed - Cyril too. But when the Capitol shut off the footage and he finally managed to crawl into bed and attempt to sleep, every time he drifted in and out of slumber, he swears he saw Ma sitting on the foot of his bed, grinning at him. Every night he saw the same thing. He makes a point of going into his Ma's room and retarding an article of clothing, just so he could smell her. He didn't bother going to the station to receive his mother's casket. His grandparents didn't push the issue.
When it comes time for the funeral, the emotional dam begins to wear down.
Hyperventilating, Lucius swears he's going to faint right then and there as Gran gently takes him by the hand and guides him towards the casket. He barely catches a glimpse of Ma's body before bawling like a newborn baby. His cries are so sudden, so heart-wrenching that a good chunk of well-wishers break out into sobs of their own. His sobs get so bad that Gran has to stifle them by directing his head into her bosom. Ma was so close, she was so close until that BITCH killed her! I HATE her! Lucius misses his Ma. He misses the way she would pinch his cheek and plant a kiss on his forehead, he misses her cooking, he misses the little surprises she would give him in the form of clothes or candy or trips. He's beside himself. She was gone so soon, what was he going to do? Gran and Grandpa are cool, but they aren't Ma.
At the reception afterward, so many of his mother's friends and patients file by to offer comfort, but Lucius barely feels better from the kind words. He's then greeted by a tall man in a nice dark suit and fedora who sinks down to his level and grins. No other grown up does this but him. Lucius kind of likes that.
"Hey kid, Lucius right?"
He sniffles, nodding meekly. "...Yea."
"Your ma calls you Lucie. She talks about you all the time. In fact, I remember when she was eating for you and her, hehe!" He soothes, removing his hat with one hand and pumping Lucius's hand with the other. "The name's Giovanni Pollastrone. Your ma and pop, they were associates of mine."
"Really?"
"Yeah, really," he smiles, flashing a singular gold tooth while running a hand through his slick comb over. "You can say that I'm a very generous man. I helped support the clinic she worked at. I could tell you tons of stories about her kid, but uh...I'll leave it for another time. I just wanna let you know that if you need help with anything - anything at all - Gio's got your back, alright? Giovanni Pollastrone, remember the name."
Before turning to leave, Giovanni offers Lucius a business card which he gingerly accepts. He seems like a cool guy, and he knew my folks. Maybe I will give him a call sometime. Mr. Pollastrone seems tough, he wants to be tough, so maybe he could learn a thing or two.
District 7
Boggy, with his nephew Patrick in hand, stops at the living room archway. "Mary, are you sure you don't want to come?"
Following the death of Chris, Boggy and Stacia thought that Patrick could use a change of home environment. Of course little Patrick is distraught at the fact that his father wasn't coming back home, but Boggy believes that a little time and attention to his concerns would make the realization settle in quicker. Boggy also knows that something odd was in the air. Agents from the Capitol constantly snooping around, making Mary give statements - which Boggy had to do because Mary declined - the rioting and so many acquaintances going missing during the past couple of days. He doesn't want anything happening to her. And besides, it's not good to be alone after...everything.
Mary lies on the couch, nestling her head against a pillow. Lying down to her feels a million times better than standing up and 'doing things'. 'Doing things' meant thinking and thinking leads to thinking about Chris in his dying moments. She couldn't get the image out of her head! "Yes...Yes, I'm sure."
Boggy holds his tongue, and doesn't press the issue. He ruffles Pat's head as he begins guiding the child towards the front door. "Alright Mary, Stacia is cooking, I'll come back in a sec."
Hearing the door close and lock brings Mary great comfort. Now she can comfortably shut down without people pestering her all the time. She grips onto one of Chris' checkered shirts, choking back a sob. What am I going to do now, now that you're not here anymore? Stacia has a baby on the way, Boggy has that to deal with and his own job on top of that. If she couldn't function in the immediate aftermath of Chris' passing, how was she supposed to function during Patrick's formative years?
Her musings are disturbed by her doorbell chime. Once, twice, three times. Mary doesn't want officials breaking down her door so she begrudgingly makes her way over to the oak door and swings it open, stunned to see that Celosia Vale is on the other side. Mary isn't sure whether to be livid at the woman in front of her or not. I mean, you did well during your Games so why couldn't you get my husband out, let alone every other tribute Seven seems to lose every year?!
Instead of yelling her soul out, Mary opts to cross her arms. "What?"
Celosia smiles sadly and Mary hates it. For the rest of her foreseeable future, she'll be regarded as a sorry figure. "Hi, Ms. Samara, how are you? How is Patrick?"
"Patrick is at his uncle's." Mary grumbles in reply.
"That's good," Celosia reaches into her purse and retrieves two envelopes. One, Mary notices, is marked by the Prime Minister's Office.
"I don't need charity-" Mary snips, but she finds herself taking the parcels anyway.
Celosia nods. "I know you don't, but just take it anyway-"
Tears bust from Mary's eyes. "This doesn't bring back Chris!"
"I know..." Celosia replies, nodding even harder. "It doesn't seem like I know, but I do know."
Mary isn't ignorant. She knows that Celosia knows. She's still mad, but she knows that there's only so much Celosia can do. She still can't fathom why her family had to be put on the chopping block.
"After a unanimous district council vote, proposed by the local community, I am pleased to rededicate the 'Seven Oaks Community Home' as 'The Kinsley Home'! Ms. Roberts, if you don't mind."
Gea Roberts plasters a smile onto her face, smiling for the cameras while enveloping her hands onto the hands of the district governor as they cut a velvet ribbon with golden scissors. Gea swears she's going to go blind with the constant flashing and deaf from the equally constant squawking from the reporters. Gea isn't a fool. The Capitol is desperate to flip the page from their utter disaster of a Games. Truth be told, when she saw Veradisia Smith make her statement and stab herself, she almost guffawed herself to death. Still, despite the Capitol having their gilded quarter quell blow up in their face, Gea still lost her friend, a woman who had no place being reaped but was selected anyway. Verona made every elder in Seven proud with the way she stuck it to the Capitol. Luckily for her adopted kids, Zara, Jonah and Simora, they just slipped past the reaping age.
Gea leads the media party and other guests through the renovated halls of the community home she and Verona had help curate. It was a fully insulated elementary school now, complete with new classrooms, dining rooms and so on.
"As you can see, with rededication comes a fresh coat of new paint to reflect the change," she says. "Thanks to the Governor's hard work, we are currently in the process of hiring new staff to accommodate the widespread change. So, if you know anyone who has a knack for public service, send them over!"
"Ms. Roberts, could you tell us a little about Ms. Kinsley?" A reporter asks. They were in a room dedicated to the late caregiver now. It was a room used for resources - studying - nicely furnished while garnished with photos of Verona aiding residents, alongside various paintings and citations detailing her life up until her passing.
"Of course," Gea replies tersely, cleaning her throat before the cameras. "Verona's life has been dedicated to service as soon as she was able to talk. She was born to Rodrigo and Camila Kosey, both of which were community home administrators. Verona took a keen interest in domestic work which includes nursing and baking until she took up nursing proper during the HG Sixties. Sure, she may have served as a medic on the rebel side during the War, but unlike most people of that generation presently, she didn't cease putting her skills to practice. When Seven Oaks was established after the War, Verona threw her life into this place, nurturing dozens of children from infancy to adulthood. I guess that wasn't enough for the powers that be and now she's no longer with us."
She fixes the cameras a stone-faced glare, unperturbed by the awkward silence and hoarse coughing that follows. They could cut off her speech for all she cares, as long as Gea made her discontent known. Tears stinging her eyes, she turns to her right and nods toward a portrait recently commissioned by one of Verona's very own foster daughters, Zara. It depicts Verona in the center of the frame, holding hands with two children on either side of her while surrounded by children of various ages.
"Fortunately for Verona, her hard work paid off. At least with this rededication, her spirit will live on."
District 8
When Malachi Binder returns from the Capitol, the media is there to greet him.
"Mr. Binder, what's your opinion on the irresponsible violence taking place within the District 8?"
"My opinion doesn't matter," Malachi rebuffs, plowing his way through the swarm of reporters to the awaiting limousine. "I'm just one person."
"With all due respect, sir, you're a victor-"
He dips into the open passenger cabin, pausing to turn and face the press. "Maybe you guys should interview people who matter, like the workers? Or the hopeless Joes who saw two perfectly good Eighters killed when there were plenty of other people worthy enough to go in their place!"
With Eight's victor uncooperative, state security agents moved to push the families of the fallen to appeal to the people of Eight to calm tensions.
"Do I have to do this?" Clarisse snaps, dabbing her eyes with yet another fold of tissue while Gen sinks her face into her pregnant form. "Hasn't this family been through enough?"
"Mrs. Gilmore, you giving a statement is a matter of state security. You would be doing immense good for the Capitol and country." The agent explains.
"You were given an opportunity to do this a week ago and declined. We respected your wishes. Now we're not asking you, we're telling you." The second agent adds. "You will be compensated on top of the compensation you've already received following your spouse's passing."
The first agent points to slips of paper on her dining room table. "We've prepared a statement for you to read, or, if you would like to add your own touch, you may. You have half an hour."
"You have no choice, Clarisse," Gilroy says to her, frowning as he places a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But I'll handle the mutt's share, you...you just stand by me, I-I got this."
She squeezes the wiry young man's hand, removing it to return back to comforting her three-year-old. "Thank you, Gilroy..."
"Don't mention it, anything for Russett. Now uh...I guess I'll just read the script..."
"No, I want to write something. I'm not going to bottle up my feelings anymore."
Capitol academics have a saying that they drill into prospective politicos in their lectures. "The higher you go in district number, the more problematic crises are." This rings entirely true for District 8. Gideon Montresor's appeal for a subdued suppression of dissidents fell on deaf ears when it came to the textile district. The PNPK and other security agencies made sure to clamp down hard when the bloodbath was said and done. They did good work for a few days until When Veradisia made the decision she did. D8 citizens openly defied stay home orders and took to the streets, raiding PK checkpoints in order to take the fight to the Capitol once more. There were plenty of deaths on either side of the fence before the skirmishes were firmly pacified. Cities and towns across Eight are filled with husks of burning cars and occupied gallows.
"Our mother would be appalled by the violence afflicting District 8. Up until her reaping, she worked a good chunk of her life advocating against violence," Marcel says to the gaggle of reporters in front of him. By his side, his sister Darcelle holds his hand in solidarity. "I would be lying if I said she wanted things to remain the same. We understand that the Capitol offers organization, but surely there could be better ways to organize."
"With all due respect, Mr. Oskoii, given the history of the world, Panem under the Capitol's leadership is the pinnacle of organization, no?" questions a reporter.
"Of course, where would we be if not for our system? However as you can see, we can't just brush this under the rug and forget about it?"
Darcelle interjects, moving her mouth towards the microphone. "We call on the people of Panem from coast to coast to express their grievances in a constructive way."
Off to the side, Ayn Cameron - former publishing agent to the late Alana Oskoii - beams with delight at the sight of her former client's kids taking up the mantle that their mother held so proudly. "Songbird's Cry", both the book and the movie, would go on to serve as key tenets driving the social change that envelops Panem for the rest of the decade. Ayn is happy to have had a hand in making it so.
District 9
District 9 was much easier to isolate and pacify, seeing as most of the towns and hamlets were spread out far. Of course the people had their reservations about the Capitol and the words and actions that took place during the most recent Hunger Games, labor and social grievances did seen an uptick throughout Nine's town halls, but without mass action they were forced to begrudgingly hold their tongues overall.
After being called for the nth time, Esther Rhodes decides to answer the phone. "Hello?"
"Hi Esther." The soft voice comes over the line in reply.
Wiping her tears away, Esther reclines her seat back slightly and continues to gaze out towards the starry night sky. "Hey."
"How are you? Where are you?"
"Just outside the city," Esther replies, igniting a cigarette and taking a drag while one hand dangles lazily over the steering wheel. "Y'know, in the hills where Mom would take us shrub picking. Why do you ask?"
"Es, what the hell?" Felicity hisses, her voice cracking into a sob. "You haven't been picking up your phone all week, I was worried sick."
"Well, if something were to happen to you, you'd hear it." Esther replies. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm just doing some...reflection, is all."
"Well, after all this, I think we'd be best served if we were together." Felicity sniffles. "Come over to mines, you can stay here no problem."
"Yea, maybe..." she offers halfheartedly, extinguishing the cigarette. "How's the brewery?"
"It's going well...very well, actually." Felicity answers. "Lots of Mom's supporters are stopping by. You should come run it with us, at least part time."
Esther says nothing, drifting out of the conversation while trying to envision her younger self with Felicity and Mom by her side, Felicity being the dutiful twin listening to everything Mom says while she frolics and does cartwheels to her heart's content.
"Hey Es...?"
"Yea?"
"You are coming, right?"
"I think I might go home. Maybe tomorrow I'll head over."
"Okay. Goodnight, Esther."
"Yep." Esther immediately disconnects the line. She's lying, she's not outside the town line exactly, in fact, she had just finished dousing their local granary with copious amounts of fuel, the trail of flammable liquid leading right up to her car. She has it all planned out. Her license plate is removed, she's an auto aficionado so she painted her truck a different color entirely and she made sure her car was in a camera blind spot. All she has to do now is light the strip and drive like hell.
I understand wholeheartedly where that Veradisia girl was coming from. If no one was gonna say or do something worthwhile to evoke some sort of change, then doing what I'm doing now is the only way to make people see and hear that the status quo is not working. I'm sorry, Mom. Waiting around simply doesn't work anymore.
Esther open's the driver's door, takes one last savoring drag of her cigarette and flicks it onto the fuel-soaked gravel. The result is a tall wall of fire that dances against silos and bushels alike, creating a bonfire that makes Esther Rhodes cackle like a witch. Before the flames claim her too, she shifts her gear into drive and floors it out of there. Sure, the city was put under a month-long lockdown, but it was worth it. Some agents come to her door, talking about 'state security' and her whereabouts during the night of the granary fire. She manages to convince them that she had nothing to do with it.
Felicity however, can see through her twin sister like glass. She confines Esther to her baker to keep an eye on the troublesome woman.
One day, Esther is surprised when Elizabeth Verano makes her way into her Mother's brewery. When the young victor takes up a seat at the front counter, Esther grins, throwing her rag over her shoulders as she moves to greet her.
"Hello Miss," Esther says, hunching over the table. "I never pegged you as someone who drinks?"
"If I recall, your mom always said that there was a time and a place for everything, right?"
Esther jostles her head. "Sort of."
"Well, that time is now." Elizabeth says, handing her a card and leaving just as fast as she came in.
District 10
Like District 9, District 10's sparseness contributes to Peacekeepers keeping the district under heavy control and prevents protests from exploding into a full-fledged uprising. The protests weren't even about Emmanuel Cade - an Indian - the majority white populace could care less if an Indian got their name called up. Not even Laelia was protested for as much, seeing as her family were rebels who fled from justice in District 1. If anything, her reaping was far better than what they would've gotten in District 1 - the Alvarado name would've been a blip in history if they had stayed.
Still Laelia Alvarado was the prime definition of a 'model citizen' and was lauded as such after her passing. Like District 3, her school named their civics classroom after her. She receives a volunteer's award posthumously alongside a wing of a new community home named in her honor as well. Gloria Alvarado, her mother, would've ended it all days after she passed if it weren't for her family holding her together. Laelia tried to be the best woman possible so she, her husband and her remaining sons would try and follow her example.
The Cade family on the other hand, they know how to get by under strenuous circumstances. Emmanuel wondered if they even needed him in the event that he passed...For the most part, no, they did not. But in other aspects...yes, especially when Elias Jamison of the local PK detachment lost his favorite chew toy. 'Luckily' for him, he had plenty to choose from.
"Are you sure y'all are gonna be okay?" Maybelle asks Damaris when the market was closing for the evening.
Damaris nods. "Yes, Maybelle, everything will be okay."
Maybelle frowns, seemingly unsure on whether to believe Damaris or not. She relents, nodding as she pulls the younger girl into a hug. "Well alright, but if you need anything just holler. OK?"
"Okay" Damaris replies. It was just her and Tara today. Her parents and elder siblings would pop in every now and then, but it was mostly a day of selling the wares they had already crafted, so it was no problem with just the two of them. That is, until they went outside. To the normal observer, Tara and Damaris were just two young girls holding boxes of their wares. To Elias Jamison, they were two minxes ripe for the picking. From the shadows, he pushes off the wall and makes his way towards them with a cold heart and perverted mind. He tried to swoop in earlier in the day but the two kittens were hush-hush not to give him any reason to talk to them further.
"And what might you two be doin' out here so late?" he drawls, tossing his cig to the floor and extinguishing it with his jackboot. His eyes roam the two girls, stopping at Tara. Not ready yet. She's far too lanky and barely got anything on her. They then flicker to Damaris. What are they, twins? Anywho this one seems a lot more ripe for the pickin'.
Damaris' heart stops for a fraction of a second, turning around with Tara to face the Peacekeeper. "Nothing."
His blue eyes flicker to the parcels in their hands. "What's in the boxes?"
"Our wares." Tara answers quickly.
"Who are you to say those are your wares?" Jamison replies in a tone so sweet its sick. "In all my time patrolling around these parts, it's always your kind that does the stealin' and the trouble makin'." He points his baton at Damaris, so that the tip invasively prods against her chest. "Maybe you should come with me to the station, so that you can properly attest for these here goods."
He grabs her before either could protest. Damaris makes Tara stay behind. She doesn't end up at the station but in the middle of nowhere trying to fend off Jamison's advances before a knife to her throat makes her compliant. To keep her family safe from harassment, the abuse goes on for a year before she's had enough and stabs him to death with that very same knife. They could've hung her. Not nearly enough people would care about a hung redskin. But the Hunger Games were coming up.
They weren't expecting the outcome to be what it was.
District 11
Eleven for nearly two centuries has always had a bone to pick with the Capitol. The 100th Hunger Games is no exception. Labor strikes were organized in the Linden Norton's honor but were quickly doused by Governor Wallace and Clarence. Clarence tried to make a speech in support for the Capitol and tried to speak highly of the Linden, but he was quickly booed and nearly mauled by the crowd. For the rest of the year, he and his side of the family would be under heavy PK guard. Despite the mounting casualties and constant warnings to stay indoors, citizens were fed up with the system in general and took Veradisia's words in stride.
Delia manages surprisingly well given her husband's passing. Having him come out in such a spectacular fashion as he did during the interviews garnered her a lot of controversy but when was the last time she cared about what others thought of her? She's conflicted on how she truly feels about Linden. Does she love him after he cheated on her with a man no less? Delia's thoughts were confirmed when she sifted through Linden's belongings one day and found his journal. After reading it from start to finish, Delia believed that maybe passing was the best thing.
Preston Okafor already knew that Wondr'a was going to be a 'problem child', just like how her mother was - always thinking outside the box, always indulging in that hippy garbage. It wasn't his fault or how Wondr'a met her end. His only regret wasn't forcing her to see a therapist consistently. Funny thing that is, she ended up going into the Games with one and she still was beyond saving. He had an inkling that she would make it through somehow. She enjoyed nature so much and arena was tailored to her interest...but she cracked and now she was dead. If she just followed his instructions and gave herself completely to the sciences - the only thing saving them from living a menial life like most coloreds in Eleven - she would've been far better off. Now, Wondr'a was just a photo on his desk, alongside his ex-wife Anika. Two women he barely saw eye-to-eye with and died far too young to reconcile with.
"Boy, where are you going?"
Otel swallows, standing up tall as he turns to face his father who remains in his recliner. A dozen more brown eyes belonging to his siblings watch him, concerned, in the same living room. The house is dead quiet, besides Governor Wallace stressing for 'peace and order' on the holovision. His eyes drift toward his baby, Gloria, secure in his sister Rochelle's lap. Gloria would be fine if anything were to happen to him.
He turns his attention back to the door. "I'm going to see if I can help..."
"Didn't you hear the man? We were told to stay indoors!" one of his younger brothers calls out.
Otel shakes his head. "This ain't the time to sit down and shut up."
"Oh yeah, then what time is it? To die?" His father speaks now, rising out of his seat to meet Otel. He points to Otel's siblings. "To leave your brothers and sisters and daughter with another body to bury?"
Otel sighs so hard he shivers. He tries to meet his father's eyes but fails, instead focusing on the hardwood floor.
"What would your mama think if you went out there?" His father continues. "What would Naydean think? Or Wondr'a?" When Otel doesn't answer, his father gently grips his shoulders, forcing him to look him face-to-face. "Otel, if circumstances were any different I'd be out there with them, but this ain't our fight. The family has too much to lose and your Mama would come from above and strangle me to death. Wondr'a would too."
They both share a sad, hesitant laugh. But for Otel, that second of lightness immediately turns into anger. Wondr'a shouldn't have gone into that arena in the first place. He blames her stupid-ass father for forcing her to do things that she didn't want to. Wondr'a didn't share everything about her folks, but he understands the gist of her struggles. She wanted to live! She wanted to be a free spirit and they browbeat her into a corner every single time. He misses her soft voice, her mind, her body. He wishes he could've done more for her.
His father fixes him a pleading look, gently squeezing his shoulders. "Please, stay."
"...Fine." he relents, joining his father back in the living room. For Wondr'a. Later on that evening, he locks himself in his room and lights some lavender candles. On the wonderful occasions he'd sleep with her, she'd always light them, said that they were "An excellent calming agent". Otel agrees wholeheartedly, resting against his bed frame as he takes himself back to those moments he shared with her. Thinking about her wasn't as good as her physically being there. Soar high, Wondr'a.
District 12
District 12...If Gideon Montresor didn't have a hold on President DeWynter's ear she would've nuked the district into radioactive dust. The citizens of the district were too shocked by the results to protest or stage any large demonstration, so the Peacekeepers stamped down on region with a heavy jackboot. After some considerable arm-wringing by Capitol agents, Aspen revealed the location of the underground fight club both he and Veradisia frequented and had it shuttered immediately, its users flogged mercilessly as an example to the rest of the district. No one trusted anyone anymore, lest they get informed on for trumped-up accusations.
Agents also spent a lengthy amount of time interrogating Channery and Hiram Smith, using every trick in the book - the same question repackaged, threats, and truth serums - both came out clean. Channery was left unawares, which made her extremely distraught and Hiram had spoken to her about volunteering and thought she was lighthearted about taking the plunge. She talked highly of change and making a difference, but he genuinely thought that was her aim. Still, this didn't stop their names being given the Everdeen treatment. Twelvers were obviously upset that their district - which was surprisingly growing moderately well despite their 'black sheep of Panem' status, was permanently in the Capitol's bad books due to Veradisia's stunt. This mindset was carried by the plurality of upper district and Capitol emigrants who were expelled from those areas following the War.
If you were to ask the descendants of Twelve's original population, the Thirteens and other emigrants, they supported Vera's grit. It isn't exactly popular to say so, however.
Hiram was fired from his medicine job, but landed on his feet with a position in Capitol Coal as a clerk. Channery married her high school sweetheart, expunging the 'Smith' name from her record, but not her thoughts - her very being. She was never entirely the same again from the finale going forward. Neither was Vera's father.
Kaviraya, surprisingly given his prickly nature, was regarded as a figure of high esteem in Twelve, especially when people were trying to disassociate the district from Veradisia's actions. Twelve had to progress with the rest of Panem, so when the community college system was introduced to the district, Mayor Archie Simms made sure to dedicate the office administration wing of the college to Kaviraya in his honor.
Mary Dunhill on the other hand continues to work her job at the mayor's office, nearly breaking down every time she passes by Kavi's vacant apartment. She often finds herself thinking about the 'what-ifs' of their relationship. If only she pried a little bit harder, and he opened up a little bit more - before the reaping - then maybe things could've been so much different. As she cuddles with Kavi's cat - her cat - Varendra every evening after work, it's the 'what-ifs', the positivity of them, and his words in the arena with Dr. Suetos that keeps her sane.