Honeymoon is here! This is an open SYOT, though several slots are already taken so if you're interested be sure to PM me and I will send you the submission form! I will be taking unlimited submissions but only 24 tributes will enter the arena! Thanks for reading!
Bellona Presque (27)- Head Gamemaker
It's one of the hottest days in Panem's recent history. The northernmost districts will mercifully have some reprieve from the heat, but here in the Capitol, we have no choice but to stay inside in the air conditioning and avoid the burning sun.
As I sit in my pristine white kitchen and look out over Gamemaker's Square, I wonder what it would be like to wander in this heat for hours without cover. Would heat stroke take me, or would dehydration set in first? How would my sunburn develop over days or weeks without any treatment?
These questions plague me now just as they did when I was a child fascinated with the Hunger Games. I was spellbound by all manner of death and suffering, but especially what it would be like to cause the suffering myself. What it would be like to kill, to feel warm, slick blood between my fingers, to live with the knowledge that I took a human life. I made it my life's ambition to become Head Gamemaker so I could scratch that itch, but now I no longer have to imagine what it's like to kill someone with my own hands. I can still see the light fading from Marcelle's eyes as I squeezed her throat tight enough to bruise. I can still feel the impact in my wrist as I slammed Rowan's own kitchen knife into his breastbone. The blood had soaked into his T-shirt and stained my hands. It had taken days for it to disappear from under my fingernails.
Those same hands grip my coffee cup this bright Capitol morning, staring out at the barren street. My Avox appears from behind me, offering a napkin that I asked for earlier. I take it without a word and dab at the corner of my lips, careful to not smudge my lipstick. Taking my final sip of coffee, I turn and walk past the Avox into the living room.
"TV on," I order.
The holographic projection on my wall flickers to life, already set on the Hunger Games channel. I hardly watch anything else.
In the Hunger Games off seasons, CapitolTV usually broadcasts highlights and favorite moments of past Games with Templesmith commentary, three-hour versions of past Hunger Games, or even interviews with victors. But the season is just starting to rev up, which means Caesar is giving a recap of last year's Victory Tour.
I watch Leto Larston's frozen face as she gives a stunted speech in District 12 and grab the remote to switch it to a different channel. As much as I enjoy the Hunger Games, I don't care much for the victors themselves. As long as they keep Snow happy and do the propaganda tour as they're obligated to, I couldn't care less.
Which is why I wasn't too concerned that Tag Nylon may not be who he appears to be. If he managed to switch places with his brother after the Reaping, then it just means he outplayed us. This is a game, after all. But the boy's clever trick may just be his own downfall, and mine as well. Snow had given me only one more chance. After living my dream as Head Gamemaker, the reality of my position had come crashing down on me. I realized that I'm not just here to have fun and orchestrate deaths. I play an important role for the Capitol in subduing the districts, and if they knew that Tag had tricked the Capitol, they may start thinking that anyone could do it. They may even start… a rebellion.
I can't allow that to happen. Not out of patriotic fervor, hatred for the districts, or even to please Snow. I can't let the Capitol be overthrown because then the Hunger Games would stop. If that happens, I wouldn't have any reason to get out of bed in the morning, or to even live at all.
Marcelle and Rowan were going to expose the truth about Tag's identity. I had no choice but to kill them.
"While we wind up for this year's annual Hunger Games, let's catch up with some of our favorite victors!"
Cato Hadley (23)- Victor of the 74th Hunger Games
I slam my glass down on the wooden counter, hard enough that a bit of the whiskey splashes over the rim. My hooded eyes stare at the television hanging above the bar. When Caesar mentions the titans of Two, the bartender glances at me as he wipes down a pair of glasses. I snort and lift my whiskey to my lips.
"How far the titans have fallen," I mumble. Here I sit alone in a bar down the street from Victor's Village while Leto hides from the world in her mansion, Celia entertains clients in the Capitol, and Cassius still mourns his brother who died in the 76th Games. What a legacy.
The bartender approaches and sets down a glass on the counter in front of me, mercifully blocking my view of the screen. Sweat is evident on his brow and flies buzz around his head. I lift an eyebrow and set down my whiskey, gripping the little shot glass between two fingers.
"A toast?"
"Something to help us forget.."
"...I like the way you think, Otto."
Otto's face wrinkles into a gruff smile. He pours a shot of something foul-smelling into our glasses, which I appreciate. I've had enough sweet Capitolite drinks for a lifetime. Give me a glass of something gasoline-smelling any day.
The shot burns pleasantly going down. Still wincing, Otto grabs the remote and turns off the TV. "Let's turn this shit off while it's still legal," he grumbles.
I smirk and run my finger along the rim of my whiskey. In the absence of Flickerman's incessant jabbering, the ceiling fan creaks lazily above us. My head feels pleasantly fuzzy. So fuzzy I can almost forget what's just around the corner. More fruity drinks, more talk shows, more clients, more tears, more blood.
"When do they want you at the Academy, kid?"
I stare down into my glass. "A few hours."
As a mentor, my Hunger Games season starts early. All the victors and the trainers at the Academy must be present at the final exam this afternoon, where two lucky children will be chosen to fight to the death. Then tomorrow, my Capitol team will be here to drag me away to the city. I only have a few days before my first appearance, and then a staged kickboxing match, my first one in two years. All before I return to District Two for Leto's wedding, where I'll be trussed up in Capitol clothes yet again and made to smile at the cameras.
I had a drink in my hand before the sun finished rising over The Nut.
Otto finishes wiping up the counter, then heads over to the door to unlock it. I sigh. Now that the bar's officially open, I should leave before anyone arrives. Otto's a good man for letting me in early and allowing me to stay past closing most nights, but I have to return to reality sometime.
"Take care of yourself, kid," Otto says solemnly. His deep-set eyes are hard to read most of the time, but today, concern is written all over his face.
I flash him a wink. "I always do. Stop acting like I'm the one going into the Hunger Games."
The old bartender takes me in without a word, reading me as easily as I read him. We both know that no one ever really leaves the Games.
The screen door slams shut behind me when I leave and a small breeze touches my face, a light reprieve from the crushing heat. The sun glares down on the empty street. All the townsfolk are at work, either in the quarry or the Peacekeeping centers.
Now it's time for me to get to work.
Leto Larston (19)- Victor of the 78th Hunger Games
Spiders circle the base of the Cornucopia. Their pincers click menacingly, dripping with venom. Caillou's bolt whizzes past my ear and I barely dodge out of the way of Flux's hatchet swing. I barrel past them, heart pounding in my ears, and run straight into the boy from Six, Logan. His bloody sword comes down toward my head and I roll out of the way, hearing it clatter onto the metal of the Cornucopia. I look up to see Passion's grin, her axe pointed at me. I scramble to my feet and try to run away, my shoes pounding on grass under the moonlight. There's a body lying limp in the grass, the smell of iron reaching my nose. I cautiously approach it, dread filling my body with each step. With horror, I realize it's Cyprian, his face bashed in and bloodied. His mouth is still moving, groaning one word.
"Leto…."
I wake up to a piercing scream in total darkness. A warm hand touches my shoulder and I realize that the scream was mine.
"It's okay, Leto," Adrienne's soothing voice permeates the dark room.
She flicks on the lamp on her bedside table, revealing barren white walls and plain wooden dressers. A mirror hangs above one of them, and I catch a glimpse of my sweaty, panicked appearance. The scar across my face is obvious even in the low lamplight. I turn away and bury my head in my pillow, feeling Adrienne slowly lay back down beside me. The wooden floor outside the bedroom creaks and unsteady footsteps recede back into the other bedroom. Father was probably woken up by my outburst.
Adrienne gently pets my hair until I fall back asleep, but I can't exactly say it's peaceful.
…
"The Gamemaking world is more cutthroat than I thought."
The smell of butter and the sound of sizzling eggs fills the kitchen. I turn from the stove and slide some of the eggs onto Adrienne's china plate. She smiles at me in thanks before turning back to the TV. Putting the remaining eggs onto my own plate, I sit beside her at the antique mahogany table and wrap both hands around my mug of coffee, taking a sip. I avoid looking at the TV, but the newscaster's voice can't be escaped.
"Investigation into the disappearance of Gamemaker Marcelle Agelasta and disgraced former Game statistician Rowan Loukios has been closed. The Capitol Praetorian have concluded that this tragic case was one of murder-suicide. It seems that Loukios, who was fired for embezzling the bets of Hunger Games sponsors, was jealous of his close friend's continued employment at the Gamemaking Center."
Adrienne seems engrossed in the story, but I couldn't care less about it. Who cares who's working at the Gamemaking Center when the Games begin? Twenty-three children are going to die regardless.
Still, I can't blame Adrienne. She wasn't in the arena like I was. She knows what I've been through, but some of the magic of the Hunger Games still exists for her. I wistfully examine her long light brown hair, almost red in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. For a moment I wonder what it would have been like if I hadn't volunteered. If I had just trained at the Academy for fun like Adrienne and ended up becoming a Peacekeeper instead. We could've gotten married without all the fanfare, without all the Capitol cameras, only for ourselves. We wouldn't live in this amazing house, of course, but she would be away from her family and fortune and have a chance to live as a regular person like she's always wanted. We would be happy.
There's a knock at the door. It must be my father returning from the market. Adrienne's eyes are glued to the TV, so I stand and hobble over to the entryway. My knee has been acting up lately, but I try not to use my cane if I can help it.
I swing open the heavy door and open my mouth to say hello, but the words die in my throat. Standing on my front step is not my father, but my mother. The woman who I haven't seen in years, who abandoned my father and I when I was a child.
As I stare into her dark brown eyes that look so much like mine, my shock slowly melts away into anger.
"Hello Leto," she says softly.
"Maeve," I answer coolly.
Footsteps approach behind me and Adrienne's perfume wafts to my nose. "What's going on?" she asks sharply. She's never met my mother, but she knows about our history. And she knows her name.
"I'm just here to see my daughter," Maeve says with a placid smile.
I raise an eyebrow. "The week before our wedding." It's a statement, not a question.
"I wasn't invited," Maeve says, trying to step past me into the house. I keep my feet planted on the floor, refusing to move out of the doorway. She huffs a bit, sounding like the mother I know. "I couldn't believe it when I realized I wasn't invited to my own daughter's wedding. I miss you, Leto."
There's a hint of genuine sadness in her voice, but I'm not moved. I know better.
Adrienne doesn't. She reaches past me to open the door wider, nudging me aside. "Why don't you come sit down and we can talk."
Maeve's smile is dazzling. She clutches her leather purse as she steps inside the house, her black heels clicking on the wooden floor. Her jet black fur coat looks like something right out of the Capitol, and a diamond ring glitters on her left hand. I knew she had gotten married again after leaving us, but seeing the ring itself brings back all the worst memories.
"I see you've been using your prize money well," she says, glancing around the house.
I bristle at her tone. The house is mostly bare, with only a few rustic and tasteful decorations brought in by Adrienne. I've never been very materialistic, but my experience with the Capitol only made me hate extravagance even more. Thankfully, after growing up in the wealthy Starlet family and hating it, Adrienne agrees with my decoration choices.
Adrienne guides us into the living room, which is wide open and sparsely furnished with a few Capitolite pieces. I stiffly sit beside Adrienne on a love seat while my mother takes the entire couch for herself. Maeve is staring at one of the only pieces of color in the entire house, which is my golden victor's coronet hung above the mantel. She seems mesmerized by it.
"Nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Adrienne Starlet."
Maeve smiles serenely, finally tearing her eyes away from the crown. "I know who you are. The two of you are all over the news!"
I know what she means. The Capitol has been broadcasting the footage of my proposal with relentless commentary for weeks. It wasn't my decision to propose in front of the cameras. My team thought it would be a good way to keep my name in the news while everyone's focus is turned to this year's Games. They were right.
Adrienne and Maeve begin a perfectly pleasant conversation, one that drips with practiced high class politeness. Adrienne, as a Starlet, is an expert at this kind of thing. I stay silent and observe.
Jabbock Darlson (21)- Victor of the 75th Hunger Games
"Who will attend the year's hottest wedding? Stay tuned to find out!"
"Why are you even watchin' this shit?" Alora asks in disgust. A screw falls to the floor and she mutters "shit," before leaning down to pick it up.
I glance at her before looking back to the television. The only light in the room is from the hologram and the sunlight from the windows. A stiflingly hot breeze blows in, ruffling the curtains a bit. I sigh and lean back into the cushions on our sofa. I need to enjoy my moments at home now before the Games begin. So why am I spending my time watching Capitol television?
The broadcasts of Larston's engagement have been never-ending since the proposal months ago. It was all the Capitol cared about for weeks, and now that the wedding is just around the corner, it's picked up traction again in the news.
"They keep shoving this romance shit down our throat," Alora spits after gathering all her metal parts and spilling them out over the coffee table. Our house often looks like a workshop for all her little projects. She quit her job at the plant after moving in with me, but she got bored staying at here all day without anything to do. She always loved mechanical contraptions, and my fortune finally gave her the chance to explore her passion.
Of course, the public reason that she quit her job was simple disability, which isn't entirely untrue. Her back was nearly ruined from working in the plant since she was a child, even though she's not even thirty. She initially didn't want to stop working completely, but a near miss involving heavy machinery and several fingers was enough to convince her to stay at home.
"Who will the lucky Miss Starlet be wearing on her big day? Will Leto also be spotted in a designer dress? A few fashion experts weigh in!"
Despite Alora being practically my only anchor in life, our relationship will always be a secret. I'm sure that President Snow and the Gamemakers are well aware that we are together, but no one else can know. Even other people in Five sometimes have too-large mouths.
As various Capitolite designers feature their bizarre dresses on grotesque models, I sit and stew in my bitterness, wondering what it would be like to be married. Not that Alora would ever wear a wedding dress. I smirk at the thought, glancing over at her, intently focused on the radiation detection machine she's building. The machines are common in the factories and plants to detect possible damage to equipment, but they are incredibly expensive and most citizens do not have access to them. Alora decided not long ago she would try to recreate this technology and give it away for free.
That's the way Alora has always been, ever since the night we met when she helped me home when I was staggering through the streets, muttering to myself and hallucinating that I was still in the Games. Despite her rough exterior, she always makes it her goal to care for others. She never gave a shit about any of this pageantry.
I wave my hand to turn off the television, which causes Alora to glance at me with a pleased smile. "Finally had enough?"
"I think I have," I say, leaning back onto the couch. I close my eyes and feel the breeze blowing in through the window on my face, listen to the clinking of Alora's gadgets, smell the blueberry pie that we had bought at the market earlier today. Being a victor does have its upsides, though they may be few and far between.
I open my eyes and smile once at Alora. Perhaps we don't need a wedding, or even a public relationship at all. As long as we have each other, that's all that matters.
Leto Larston (19)- Victor of the 78th Hunger Games
"What do you think we should do?"
I continue to stare at the wooden floor. "Why do I have to decide?"
Everything about my life since the Reaping has been controlled by someone else. My prep team, my mentors, the Gamemakers, and now even Capitolites who wish to use my body for their own pleasure. And now the one time I want them to deal with a situation for me, I have to do it all myself. Surely this one thing, out of everything, can't fall to me.
"She's your mother, Leto," my father says quietly.
I finally look up to meet his eyes. "And she was your wife. At one time."
He sighs, rubbing his hands together. His face is lined with the years he spent providing for me on his own after Maeve abandoned us, and the stress of dealing with her before she did. She was always after more, more, more than we could provide for her. I thought she had found it with her new husband and would leave us alone, and she did for years. Until now. It's not hard to deduce what she's after.
Dad sits in silence for a while, and I can see in his eyes that he's thinking hard. A high-pitched giggle erupts from the living room, followed by a cascade of laughter. It's a bit ironic. Adrienne is currently trying on wedding dresses in the other room with the Capitol's top designers while we're solemnly sitting in the kitchen. The air is heavy, as if we were preparing for a funeral instead of a wedding.
At least my team ordained that there would be no cameras today. They wouldn't want anyone getting a sneak peek of the year's hottest wedding dress. Even Adrienne squealed when I tried to enter to ask her how things were coming along. Some old tradition that still holds fast in the Capitol and in the high society of the Districts.
Dad finally sighs and reaches up to rub his face. "I think it may be time to give her a chance. Now — hear me out," he preemptively says, seeing me open my mouth in protest. I sit back with a scowl and let him finish.
"Before this, she was always the one who decided everything, and we just had to deal with it. Things are different now. We're the ones in control. If she crosses the line, then we're the ones who have the power to decide."
Dad has always been this way; reflective, deliberate, and concise. I've always tried to emulate him in that way.
And yet he's wrong in this one instance, which isn't something that I can remember ever happening. For all that he understands about the world, he still doesn't quite understand the Hunger Games, or what it means to be a victor, even if his daughter is one. No one can ever really know what it's like unless they've lived it. He may think that since we're rich and famous, we have the power to decide. But the team of Capitolites in the next room over would disagree, and so would the Gamemakers. The clients, whose touch I can still feel on my skin–
I stop that train of thought with a shudder. It's best to leave those memories for my nightmares. I couldn't even stand to tell my family about what had happened after the Capitol Ball six months ago, and the guilt weighs heavily on my mind as I hear Adrienne cheerily telling a joke in the living room to the delight of her Capitolite captors.
"She's the one who decided to leave us ten years ago," I say. "And now that we have more money than her new husband, she wants into my life again. What a coincidence."
"And just who are you talking about?" a clipped voice asks.
We both turn to see my escort standing on the threshold, a vacuous grin across her face.
"Her mother," Adrienne says, pushing past her and coming over to me with a smile. "She's been agonizing about her for days."
My escort– Mimo– looks back and forth between us, her poofy hair bouncing. "That's right," she says in a hushed tone that sounds like a bad imitation of a Capitolite actor in a soap opera. "You're estranged from your mother."
"More like she's estranged from us," I say bitterly.
"And that's about to change!" Mimo squealed, throwing up her hands. Her lime green nails match her hair and shoes. She looks like a fuzzy caterpillar with her freakishly large eyes and ghost white skin. "How incredible! I'll be here for you the entire way, Leto!"
I sigh, letting my head fall.
Tag Nylon (14)- Victor of the 77th Hunger Games
"Will Leto Larston's estranged mother, the wife of one of the most wealthy masonries in District Two, appear at the wedding? Inside sources say that Leto's team is trying to convince her to forgive her flesh and blood for the cruel way she treated her as a child. What kind of horrors did she experience, and why did Maeve Slaton leave her family when Leto was only a child? Is Adrienne Starlet threatening to cancel the wedding because of this drama?"
I scoff and turn away from the television, lifting my coffee to my lips and wincing at the taste. I hate coffee, but it's the only alternative to crazy Capitol energy boosters that I don't trust at all. I haven't been sleeping well these past couple weeks. It usually isn't a problem when this happens, since I can just sleep during the day and finish my school work whenever I feel like it. But with the Games ramping up, the Gamemakers want me to put on a puppet show with the other Sock Knights in the Square to be broadcasted.
To think that I used to enjoy our old puppet shows. Of course, that was before our stories and characters had to be approved by the Capitol before being broadcasted.
I sigh as I glance around the empty café. It's one of the most expensive restaurants in Eight, so it doesn't surprise me that the place is empty, especially in the afternoon. I only came here to get away from my well-intentioned but pestering parents.
As CapitolTV nonsense blares on in the background, I toss some money on the counter, about three times what this coffee actually costs, for the barista when he returns from the backroom. I stare at the ground as I open the door and emerge into the summer heat, only to feel something knock into my shoulder, sending my cup flying out of my hand and splattering everywhere.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!"
A small girl with a short red bob and freckles dotting her nose leans down to pick up my cup. She glances inside it once and says, "I'll buy you another one, I'm sor-"
At the sight of my face, her sentence stutters to a stop. I'm accustomed to the expression, but for some reason I don't feel annoyed this time.
"Don't worry, I didn't even want it," I say with a shrug, throwing it in the trash can near the door. "Here, let's not let all the air conditioning out," I say, finally closing the glass door so that I'm on the outside and she's inside, looking out. She gapes at me for a second longer, then smiles and mouths 'sorry' one more time before turning around and heading to the counter.
I stand and examine her for a few more moments, taking in her pleated skirt and the distinct red color of her hair. She clearly is from a wealthier part of the district, someone who I would probably mock in the Sock Knights puppet shows before I won the Games. But now I'm only enthralled by her distinct style, so different from the freaks of the Capitol, and freckles over her nose.
Eventually the sounds of the street reach my ears and the sensation of sweat forming on my forehead breaks me out of my trance. I turn away just as the barista comes to take her order, hoping that she didn't notice me staring. My ears feel hot as I walk away, and I convince myself it's only because of the sun.
Thanks for reading this intro chapter! There will be one more victor chapter, so stay tuned. Then we'll get started on the tribute introduction chapters! I can't wait to meet all the tribute! :) 3