Ahenobarbus never wanted this. The yearly trips to the Capitol, the greedy, desperate boys and girls he trained every year getting cut down, he didn't think it would go this far. Well, that was a lie, he knew. He knew, and he did nothing; after all, it's needed for peace. He watches Jupiter's eyes go wide as an axe twirls its way towards him, and he suppresses a shudder. How long will this go on?
Luxe forces his eyes open for all of it. He doesn't know if it will help his nightmares, or his conscience, but he thinks they deserve someone watching who isn't actively cheering for their deaths. That's why, when his girl goes down in a spray of blood, he doesn't flinch, doesn't blink, just commits her name to memory and moves on.
Orchus just keeps it at bay. His tributes shoot him rapid-fire questions, hoping to pick his brain before they go off to the Games, but he merely eats another plate of shrimp or fruit, whatever's closest, and walks off. He doesn't plan on staying here long anyway.
Wheaton gives up on his tributes before they've even left the station. It's always the same, the girl weepy and resigned, the boy angry and scared. He's seen so many like them, and he'll see so many more that he doesn't care, just points them to the cameras and says to stay alive. He tells himself that's all he can do.
Platinum genuinely tries, every year, and it gets harder and harder. Every tribute he laughs with, drinks with, lives with, becomes a face in his nightmares. Even the ones who come back join them at night; he couldn't save their innocence or humanity.
Tiberius doesn't really care for the Games. Oh, he likes the killing, the rendering of flesh heard in high definition, but he leaves the showmanship part to Ahenobarbus. He handles the weapons and strength training, not wooing the sponsors or helping with the interviews. They all call him Ahenobarbus' dog anyway; why does he have to pander to them?
Jules never gives up hope. Every year, the Sevens come in, brave and courageous, and every year they leave in boxes, but even when Jules is watering their wooden coffins with his tears, he vows that next year will be different. His kids need someone and he will not let them down.
Seaward stays in the background, happy to let Mags take the lead, but secretly he resents that she's turning the fisher children into killers; killers that are no better than Ahenobarbus' dogs he had to go up against. Oh yes, more are coming back, and certainly they have a better chance than they did before, but…. Seaward won't let himself finish that thought. He indulges in another hit of morphling, and lets Mags take the wheel. Resupply day is the only good day in the Capitol.
Gleam throws himself into his work like a man possessed. Establishing the DAEYD is child's play; now he needs to get his kids out of the arena. His tributes are always his personal favorites, beautiful, golden children who want this gift and they fall. They all fall, and Gleam can't understand what he's doing wrong, but he knows that one year it'll all be worth it, that one will come back. When that day comes, when Silk is on the throne, he can barely hold back the tears.
Camden doesn't understand what they want him to do. He's done it, he's back home with Ryla and Jon and his parents, and they want him to go back? That moment quickly passes, a moment of childish folly, and he almost laughs when he sees his first pair of tributes. Two malnourished children, tears filling their eyes, who have given up hope before stepping on the reaping stage. Camden decides that if they've given up, there's nothing that he can do for them either, and they sleepwalk through all the preliminary training, and the interviews, and fall at the Cornucopia. Camden visits their graves every year on reaping day.