Part II: Victor

There are only three cameras when I step off the boat. Three that I can see anyway. For all I know another dozen journalists are hiding in the upper floors of the dockmaster's building waiting for that perfect shot. It's something I've become used to in the last six months.

I smile and wave for the nice people, and as soon as I see them starting to approach the barrier I hurry towards the front of the looming building. I know from past experience that they will lose sight of me from there for about ten seconds, which gives me just enough time to slip down the narrow alleyway that twists and turns into the largest fish market. At this time of day, two hours after school is let out and most of the day-boats are in, the place is so crowded that they couldn't follow me even if I was wearing a tracker. Of course it doesn't matter. They know where I'm going and tomorrow I won't be allowed to avoid them anymore.

The crowd ebbs and flows around me like a shoal of fish in the ocean as I move next through the tackle market and up into the rich end of town. The trinket market isn't usually too busy, though there has been a surge of Capitol tourists in the last few months. They even re-opened a whole wing of the resort to deal with the huge numbers of people coming south to escape the cold weather and to come visit the home of their favorite new victor.

I decide not to risk being recognized in the trinket market and take the long way around, cutting the yards of some of the fancy houses belonging to the oyster farmers and net-makers collective. The nine large families have held a monopoly on those businesses since the Dark Days, after some of their members spied for the Capitol against the rebellion. Most of them seem like pretty decent folk now though. I liked Anita's parents well enough when I spoke to them after my Games. They thanked me for having her back as she had mine and didn't blame me at all for not trying to join up with her at the end. At least that way we didn't end up having to fight each other.

I jump the last fence and turn onto the path up towards the Victor's Village, jogging the first hundred yards as the ground slowly slopes up to the large metal gate at the Peacekeeper's checkpoint. It's a new addition since I returned, after a few crazy fans broke into my house and asked me to marry them. Like I could marry anyone at fifteen.

I recognize one of the gate guards as Titus, who grins and waves me on, his curly brown hair threatening to climb out of his helmet as always. He's a good sort from District Two who lost out the chance to volunteer a few years back after he came down sick right before their reaping trials. At least that's what he says. Some mornings I go running with him and a few of the others from Two if I feel the need to stretch my legs in company.

The other man is new, or at least not a regular and glares at both of us as I pass them. I keep on jogging, ignoring the slight burn in my legs as I climb the steps two at a time and slow to a walk as I reach the top. I take the time to enjoy the view as I stretch out, the late afternoon sun sending rippling shadows over the water as it chases in the last of the day-boats and prepares to welcome the night fisherman on the next tide. From up here I can see that the beach by the resort over on the north side of town is still quite full, mostly tourists and clever kids selling cheap seashell jewellery at top prices.

I can even see the main square in the middle of town from here, the three story Justice Building centered beside it, with its flanking guard of smaller offices for the Capitol liaisons who write licences and permits. I remember going in there about a month after I got back to do the paperwork for my new boat. It had seemed so intimidating, especially when none of the hard-nosed paper pushers seemed to even notice who I was. The last time I was there, when I bought a crayfishing licence for Ric, the lady at the desk definitely recognized me and I even got a discount in return for my autograph. Legally the boat is Ric's too since I'm not old enough to have control over my finances for another year. I don't mind though; if anything happens to me at least he and Greta and Oris get to keep it.

I turn when I hear my name being called on the wind and wave back to Greta, who is standing with her mother in-between our houses. Mags, my mentor and adoptive Grandmother seems to be enjoying having her family back living nearby. We used to visit her maybe once a fortnight and those trips would always feel too short. Now we can hang out whenever we want, something many people seem to be surprised that I would enjoy. Clearly those people haven't been around Mags' wicked, cutting sense of humour or her home-baked cookies.

"Is Ric on his way?" Greta asks when I reach them, her fly-away brown hair twisting in the wind.

"Yeah," I say. "He shouldn't be far. I had to leave him though to dodge the cameras."

She pulls a wry face and I match it with my own, making both of them laugh. I've been going out on my boat (technically my adoptive father's boat) most days for the last fortnight, trying to keep my thoughts away from the upcoming Victory Tour. With just a crew of six cruising around our permit area, dropping crab-nets and collecting in the ones from the day before it's a relaxing, useful way to spend my free hours, especially since school isn't an option.

I didn't even try to go back to my classes. I was an average student at best and already had a record for skipping boring lessons to go swimming or boating with Ric's old crew. I wasn't that close to any of my classmates, and even Oris ended up swapping to a different school once he got sick of people trying to befriend him to get close to me.

I find him sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, still wearing his dirty clothes from training. I haven't quite worked up the strength to go along with him to my old training school yet, though I plan on starting after I get back from the tour. After all, I might end up mentoring one of the people there and I'd want to know what they can do. Plus I can remind them of some of the other things to remember if they end up in the arena. I doubt I would have been so conscious of keeping first aid supplies with me and cleaning all my wounds if it hadn't been for Gabriela's talks about what really kills tributes.

Oris looks up as I enter and raises his fist for a bump which I return. I glance over his shoulder and pull a face when I see the maths questions he's working on.

"That looks like fun," I drawl, nudging the notebook away. He pokes at my hand with his pen and retorts, "More fun than you're going to be having tomorrow."

I wince at the thought of being back in front of the screaming hordes and the flashing cameras, where I'm no longer allowed to escape out to sea or into a busy marketplace. He sticks his tongue out at me, having won the point and goes back to work. I grab one of his other books at random and flick through it, absently reading bits of his notes on mapping different types of ocean currents. Greta returns as well and starts cooking dinner in a comfortable silence.

It's the calm before the storm, I realize as I drop the notebook back on the table with a sigh. My last chance to relax and be myself with my family before the weather turns. Without asking I stand and help Greta chop the vegetables.

~xXx~

I groan as a loud pounding noise wakes me. After tossing and turning until nearly four in the morning I finally must have fallen asleep, though judging by the thin light through the curtains it's not nearly enough to be ready for today.

The pounding stops and a few seconds later I can hear the nasal voices of my prep team echoing up the stairs. I manage to untie the knot of sheets around my legs in time to open my bedroom door for them, not bothering to find any clothing to add to the shorts I was sleeping in. Euthalia smothers me in a hug then immediately starts chastising me about the state of my hair. Apparently swimming in salt water doesn't count as washing, and don't I know that the experts have declared that you need a specific mixture of salts in pure water to get the proper effect for smooth skin? Theodorous and Pelagius both shake my hand and immediately head for my bathroom. Within seconds I hear the taps running and the clatter of bottles as they prepare to prepare me.

I glance at the bedside clock and groan when I see that it's only seven in the morning. "I thought you guys didn't get up this early," I complain to Euthalia as she drags in two large boxes from outside the door and starts unpacking them. I peer over her shoulder and see heaps of green fabric. What a surprise.

"Oh, we've all had some coffee and pills," she says as she shoos me away into the bathroom.

Three washes and an oily massage later and I feel a bit more awake. Oris sticks his head in to laugh at me and brings a plate of eggs and toast which I cram down eagerly. He stops laughing when Theodorous suggests cutting his long hair and re-styling it into something more fashionable, and he scurries back to the temporary safety of his own room.

Pelagius dresses me in a loose, lightweight shirt (green of course) and a pair of soft, thin shiny bronze shorts patterned with black tridents. The sandals are even lighter than the ones we had in the arena and have a distinctive brand mark down the sides.

"I thought it was supposed to be snowing it District Twelve," I say as Theodorous starts shaping my damp hair with a comb.

"Oh, this is just your outfit for your beach photo shoot," Euthalia replies as she drags in another three boxes full of clothing. "Then we have this arrangement with a nice sailor jacket for when they film you on your boat, and then one of these four outfits—Phineas hasn't decided which yet—for when you board the train. Of course you will be wearing something warmer once we reach District Twelve."

No wonder they woke me up so early. After twenty minutes I'm given the all clear by Theodorous and head downstairs to discover the other two haven't been idle. Greta is made up pretty, though is scowling fiercely at Euthalia who keeps gesturing to my adoptive mother's hair. Oris didn't escape for long, and while his long hair and beaded plaits are still in place, he has a fresh shirt and shorts just like mine only in sky blue and gray. I glance at the shorts, which are patterned with cartoon sharks and bite on my knuckles to stop myself laughing. He scowls at me from across the room.

"This is entirely your fault," he says, waving generally at the offending clothing.

"Oh no," I remind him with a grin as I step over and threaten to mess his hair. "You were the one that got reaped. I would never have volunteered otherwise. Definitely your fault."

Pelagius chases me away with a hairbrush and I sit in the corner, watching out the window where Ric is keeping mostly out of sight and Mags is already out on her doorstep talking to reporters. Her other neighbour Nimia has been unwell lately, so I'm not surprised to see the crowd skip that house and move down to Wade Anderson.

Finally someone with a loud voice declares us all ready and starts us out the door, where Oris and I are told to race down the steps to our little private victor's beach. The cameras are already waiting for us at the base, filming and clicking away as I reach the sand about ten steps ahead of my adoptive brother. He tries to tackle me from behind and we play wrestle for a bit until the production crew catch up and start directing us to stand here and there in specific poses.

We get to have a brief swim, or at least splash around in the waves, where Wade joins us, trying to look like we're friends who do this sort of thing all the time. In reality I can count the pleasant conversations I've had with Wade on one hand. Eventually we head back up to the sand, where Mags, Greta and Ric, and the other victors, Gabriela, Ava and Morstan are lounging under shady umbrellas "eating breakfast" from a picnic spread on a tartan cloth between them.

I grab a peach and sit beside Mags, who is battling to keep her morning coffee free from the wind-blown sand. She leans over and mutters, "Can you imagine hauling our breakfast down here every morning only to get sand in everything? What nonsense."

I grin back at her and bite into my fruit, catching the sweet juice on my fingers and licking them clean. Gabriela on her other side leans in and adds, "There's worse nonsense they could be doing. Let them have their picture perfect shots and then we can go back to bed."

"Nice for you," I mutter as I finish the peach and throw the stone high in the air towards a cluster of gulls. She smirks back and says, "I had my turn when I was your age. And you volunteered for it. Don't complain to me."

I sit back with a sigh and let the sun soak into my body. I always forget she wasn't actually a volunteer, even though she had trained. I close my eyes for a minute, letting the sounds of washing waves and the skwarking cries carry me away until something prods my ribs. I react instinctively and grab the arm, twisting it violently and lunging forwards, my other hand reaching for a knife that isn't there.

"FINNICK!"

Mags' yell brings me back to reality and I let go of Oris, who winces as he wiggles his fingers.

"My fault. Sorry," he says as he flexes out his arm. It doesn't look broken.

I nod absently, forcing myself to take deep breaths to calm my racing heart. The first time he tried to sneak attack me after I got back I threw him into a table and nearly strangled him. Once the two cracked ribs and bruised throat healed he promised never to do it again. Unfortunately years of habit are hard to break and this is the fifth time I've nearly hurt him badly. After the third time he yelled at me for apologizing, so now I don't bother. I lie back down, hoping that the camera people cut that out of the filming.

Eventually they decide it's time to move on and I'm dragged back into my house for a quick outfit change and another hair styling. This time my stylist Phineas is waiting with that smug look and pretentious manner. He re-does my hair and straightens the fit of the sleek green-and-white jacket over my shoulders, muttering away to himself. As far as I can tell, I only exist to him as a tool to show off his so-called genius in fashion.

"Good enough," he declares as we are hurried back outside and down the same path I ran yesterday to the docks. Ric's crew must have cleaned the boat yesterday after I left them, as the white fibreglass body and fake wooden deck are sparkling. It's not a large boat so we manage to leave behind all but five of the reporters as we head out a little way into the bay, with just myself, Ric, Oris and Greta crewing.

I show off my "talent" for the cameras, tying all sorts of fancy knots into multi-colored ropes and describing the key features of my boat while they nod blankly. Technically my talent is nautical history, since sailing was considered too close to an actual job. I don't care what they call it as long as they let me out on the water and as we tack about one of the small islands and start heading back for shore I even describe for them one of the traditional wooden boats I want to own someday with cannons and a black skull flag, or maybe shields and dragon figure-head included. This makes them laugh; I guess they've seen some of the same old pirate and Viking movies so they can understand why a teenage boy would be interested in that.

All too soon we are back on land where I change into my next outfit, a dress shirt (green again) and soft black pants for the journey across town to the train station. We take the cars down the longer, winding road this time and I finally get a chance to say hi to my escort, Acanthus Bloom. I glimpsed him earlier herding reporters but didn't get close enough to speak to him.

"Nice shirt," he says with a smile as I climb into the car seat beside him. I roll my eyes.

"After this trip I swear I'm never wearing anything green again," I tell him.

"Good luck convincing Phineas," he replies with a laugh, nodding to Mags as she climbs into the front passenger seat.

The second car brings the rest of our family and we have a suitably staged farewell hug on the platform before I board the train. Oris punches my shoulder gently and says, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

I stick my tongue out in reply, mess his neatly styled hair and turn to face the gleaming silver behemoth that will carry me off to see the families of the tributes I killed.