Chapter 11: Mags Flanagan

Shrimp Pescal wasn't used to this. Normally, the train ride to the Capitol wasn't until after the Games were done. Now, he and the other nine Victors were steaming on a luxury express train to the Capitol, a few weeks before the Reaping, to receive a special assignment from the President.

Well, really, it was Shrimp and the other eight Victors – the girl from 12 who had won last year, Lucy Gray Baird, was reported to have disappeared without a trace a handful of months ago. It was a PR disaster for President Ravinstill and his administration. Shrimp stole a heavy side-eye at Vulcan, the Victor from 1 who was now folded into himself and finding the tablecloth quite interesting. Losing a tribute, however briefly, was one thing. Losing the trail of a Victor cold… well, that was quite another.

It was a shame, really – District 12 had badly needed the win, even if it had come about in the midst of a total shit show. Drones going haywire, the arena itself bombed… Shrimp shook his head.

In the seat two down from him, Acacia leaned forward, arms folded. "All right, Maximus, what's going on? The President hasn't wanted anything to do with us before. What's changed?"

"The result of last year – that's what's changed," Maximus explained, and he flicked the remote in his hand so the flatscreen above the Victors turned on. A clip of the 10th Hunger Games was being played during what might be a comedy skit going on down in the bottom right-hand corner. The drones were shown attacking Mizzen, the boy from 4, which sharply cuts away to Reaper, the boy from 11, staggering around and tugging a flag over himself like a blanket. Poisoned and dying, he almost stupidly slurs something that sounds like 'Nighty-night' before flopping over frozen like a fish. Kiddy-cornered across the table from Shrimp, Wolfmark Redpath growled and shook his head, almost embarrassed.

"Poison… of all things, it had to be poison… He had it, and then, that – that… little slut…"

"Stop it!" Dell growled. "She played it smart. We can't all be the type who chop tributes down like a lumberjack chops down trees in Seven – no offense, Acacia."

"None taken," Acacia smiled brightly at the Victor from Nine, holding his gaze longer than was tolerable. Shrimp rolled his eyes. Pretty, pretty track star and Country Tiny Tim just needed to lock themselves in a room and shag and get it over with. It would save the rest of them a lot of unease.

The cute little 'Tard from Ten, Guernsey, was hunched over his paper, doodling happily. He had a fraying Kermit the Frog doll clutched under his arm, which he kissed a couple of times, holding it to his cheek.

At the head of the table, Maximus turned off the TV and sighed wearily. "The University students have been banned from participating in the Games for at least the next decade, and the President might extend the ban even longer."

Savera Inchcape, white eyes glazed over and unseeing, snorted. "Some roll-out of a mentor's program. Who is supposed to help the tributes now?"

Maximus grinned. "We are."

Eight different heads turned to look at him; out of all of them, only Hippolyta Anderson didn't seem shocked. "We are?" Vulcan asked, squeaking.

"It only makes sense," Maximus shrugged. "We are, after all, former tributes ourselves. Who better to guide our districts' children to glory? Who knows our children better than the forefathers who went ahead? Besides, the University students who coached last year didn't know their charges, beyond the potential of getting their own five seconds of fame off of someone else's coattails. There's no honor in that."

"And you think there's more honor in having us hand over our district's own, our neighbors, for slaughter?" Wolfmark's eyes narrowed.

Maximus quickly matched his stare. "Be careful what you say, Redpath. These train cars are monitored."

Wolfmark backed down, but that didn't stop him from grumbling. "The deeper we get in this, the more our own people back home will turn on us."

"That is not your concern, and it shouldn't be any of ours, either!" Hippolyta stated firmly. "Our concern should be teaching a child from our district how to become a Victor. How to leave the arena alive and with glory!"

"There's no glory in what the President is really doing," Dell brooded darkly. Maximus blinked in surprise. He'd always thought Fonio had enough good sense to not openly traffic in sedition. Still, he felt the need to dig deeper when he asked, "And what is that, Dell?"

"It's more than just what Wolfmark said. If we mentor, we let the President turn us against each other," and the young man from 9 looked sad as he looked around at the people who, in the past decade, had become his friends. Another family. "It won't just be a fight to the death between our tributes. It'll be a fight to the death for us Victors as well."

Maximus smiled sympathetically, almost sadly, at his buddy. "I can understand how you'd feel like that. But we'll just have to try and not let any personal feelings get in the way. When a Victor is crowned, when a tribute dies, what's done is done – no sense going back over it."

"You hypocrite!" Wolfmark scoffed. "You've been shitting on me for the last four years over your boy!"

"Shitting over your boy, OK, OK, sweets!" Guernsey suddenly echoed in a sing-song voice. Savera hid a giggle behind her hands. Dell sported a wince, though it was fighting to upturn into an affectionate smile even as he glowered at Wolfmark.

"Watch it… he hears everything…."

Acacia trilled out a musical laugh. "He's our regular little magpie, isn't he?"

"Little magpie, OK, OK, sweets!" Guernsey chirped, actually leaning over Dell to give Acacia a quick hug.

Shrimp smirked. "Little mockingjay, more like…"

Vulcan suddenly stood up, shaking his head along with the rest of his body, which was now being nearly overtaken by tremors. "Uh-uh. No way. I'm not gonna be any part of this. Going to see the new Victor every year's been bad enough. Now I have to actually teach the kids to fight? I'm outta here…"

He wasn't even halfway across the car before Maximus's voice rang out, icy: "Sit down, coward, before I have to shank you like the dog you are."

Coming from the very first Victor, it wasn't an idle threat. Vulcan sat, shivering, staring down into his lap.

"There's something I don't get," Acacia piped up. "If each Victor is mentoring their own district, what about the ones who don't have a Victor yet? 3, 4, and 6…. OK, and I guess 12 now that their little singer's skipped town."

Maximus pursed his lips grimly. "We may have to share the burden, just long enough until every district has at least one Victor to mentor."

"But for some of the stragglers, that could take years!" Dell protested. "And what about Guernsey? He…" And the cripple from 9 lowered his voice to make sure his best friend didn't hear him. "He isn't in any shape to coach the kids from 10!" He felt bad for having to admit it, but it was true. Guernsey was good for little moments of joy. But for giving life-and-death advice… not so much.

"Seeing as you're so close with the boy, Fonio, maybe you can shadow Guernsey in mentoring the kids from 10," Hippolyta offered up.

Dell nodded. It wasn't a bad arrangement on the whole, and hey, maybe 10 would get a second… more competent Victor soon. "OK. For Guernsey, I'll do it."

Maximus stood to address the group at large. "For districts without a Victor, be prepared that the President may give out to some of you extra assignments. Then again, he might also select veteran Peacekeepers to mentor for the outlying four. We'll know more once we get to the Capitol. Upon arriving home, I expect all of you to be ready to face the media come Reaping Day. Our stars are about to rise by virtue of what it is we earned… and I say it's about time."

"What about competing against each other?" Acacia asked.

"As I said before, we can't let personal grievances get in the way. There will always be other years, there will always be other Games. The best we can do is never take it personally, when and if we lose a tribute. And besides, Acacia, you make it sound like we Victors are going back into the arena again! I assure you, that will never happen!"

A little over a month later, the tall girl with wild, russet girls stood alone, ankle-deep in water which was now running red with the blood of no less than half a dozen tributes. She was standing in the tide on the shore of a chain of barrier islands, hefting a trident above her head and roaring with triumph as she gazed out over her surroundings – the first outdoor arena of its kind.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of the 11th Annual Hunger Games: Magenta Flanagan….!"

"I HATE that name! I HATE IT, YOU HEAR? YOU DUMB CAPITOLITE! SAY IT WITH ME: MAGS! MY. NAME. IS MAGS!" Mags Flanagan bellowed to the sky.

Miles above the force field enclosed arena, in the luxury hovercraft that included the Victors' Box, Dell Fonio's face was as pale as the District 9 harvest moon. "Well. At least Four has a Victor now."

"And a new girl. That's four years in a row now. You boys are losing your touch," Acacia grinned, though it was weak, turning back to where Guernsey was excitedly showing her his new toy car.

Maximus just smirked and sipped at his wine, watching the insane little pixie – the newest Victor – enthrall the people of Panem like no other champion before her. He alone seemed to not be queasy. "Oh, I like her. I think she'll make a fine addition to the family…."