Chapter 68: Demeter Jarvinen

A/N: Her name is that of a tribute I submitted to a story called 'And We Run' by adoxographyy (I think that is what her username is right now, it used to be contemporarydancer2). There are some modifications to her traits, features and backstory in order to slot Demeter into this story, however some elements of her will remain the same. I have obtained permission from the author of 'And We Run' to use her here when we last spoke a year ago.

This arena is loosely based on Laas Geel (Somalia), Baalbek (Lebanon) and Lake Retba (Senegal)


Katniss tapped Demeter's picture thoughtfully. "You know, people always talk about how we started the revolution. I mean, I guess nearly every Victor chipped in a little here and there to sway people into rebellion, but Demeter really made things heat up, didn't she?"

Peeta chuckled. "Every Victor from her onwards pretty much supercharged the rebellion into action. We only drove home the point, but hey, I don't mind the free cookies we get as 'thank you' gifts every Winter Solstice."

Katniss whacked his arm lightly. "Of course you don't, you've been putting on a little, haven't you?"

Peeta made a face. "Hey, you only live once, after all. Besides, I've got to enjoy the free Panem, haven't I?" His eyes drifted to Demeter's confident expression. "Hope she can too. I have a feeling you two would make great pals."

Katniss snorted. "I'm no good at making friends. I'd wager she's more Johanna's kind."


Demeter Jarvinen

District 9

Aged 16

4 Kills


The Capitol sucked big time.

That's not an opinion, that's a fact.

Ever since Demeter could toddle, she'd been roped into the harsh realities of living under the yoke of an oppressive, totalitarian, facepalm-inducing regime with some old guy who had the world's ugliest beard in charge.

To sum it up short and sweet, it was not good.

Not good at all, folks.

It was worse if you were born in poverty-stricken District Nine. Harsh winters, frequent twister bouts, harsh Peacekeepers, astronomically low wages and appalling sanitation levels spelt nothing but sheer disaster for anyone who wasn't lucky enough to be born into a family with decent money. Demeter thankfully wasn't among the poorest of the District, in fact, she might even say she was fairly middle-class by Nine standards, although that wasn't really saying much. By day, she and her family worked at the Hovis Fields, one of District Nine's largest wheat fields growing everything from maize to rice in controlled biodomes using high-tech Capitol machinery that not even Demeter could fully comprehend. Hovis Fields actually provided a pretty good salary, its owner, Hovis Masterson, being an actual District Nine-born citizen rather than a wealthy Capitolite who'd never seen Nine before, providing more care and attention to his workers than the vast majority of wheat field owners. This still wasn't much, but at least there were midday breaks so no one would pass out from exhaustion, a serious offence in some of the worst-off fields according to some of Demeter's close associates.

Ah, but why would an ordinary sixteen-year-old girl have 'close associates', you might ask?

It all sounded very formal and business-like to the ignorant outsider, but Demeter had many, many of such 'close associates' and 'trusted confidants'.

You see, by night, she and her family spearheaded District Nine's ongoing rebellion against the Capitol, with the help of Gwen and Laura, of course. Tucked away in the edge of a small patch of swampy marshlands that the Peacekeepers never quite bothered to venture into was none other than a secret rebel stronghold, accessible via a hidden trapdoor inside a suspiciously large tree that led to the rebels' vast underground headquarters. This was where Demeter spent much of childhood years, being taught how to fire a rifle or fight with a dagger by her older sister Teff, in an effort to gear her up to be among the next leaders of the rebellion. Teff, though she was a better fighter, lacked much of the charisma that Demeter simply oozed everywhere she went. Demeter could march up to any podium with any audience and instantly win everyone over in a heartbeat.

Okay, maybe not every podium. The Peacekeepers would probably shoot her on sight before she even got a word in.

In fact, Demeter already had a few leadership roles within the group by the time she'd reached the tender age of fourteen. Every Friday evening, she would lead a small legion of teenagers hand-picked by Laura herself out of the headquarters and into the towns of Nine to spy on secret Peacekeeper gatherings and steal from the Nine silos and armouries. They sometimes also dished out leaked secrets from their Capitolite counterparts in the form of graffiti in public squares or hijacked announcements over the loudspeakers near the Justice Building. Aside from those, Demeter also regularly dealt with the Masked Merchants, particularly those coming in from Districts Six and Three that brought in equipment and technology to help boost rebel infrastructure and organise raids on Capitol-sympathising precincts. She often accompanied her parents when they did business with the envoys from the Bahamian Island chiefdoms as well, but these high-profile encounters were a bit too much for her to be at the helm of as a teenager.

Still, one couldn't deny the prominent role that Demeter Jarvinen played in stoking the flames of rebellion within Nine.

Little did she know, she would soon be doing it on a national scale.


Demeter wasn't overly surprised that she'd been Reaped. She'd taken plenty of tesserae, amounting to forty-two slips in the Reaping bowl in total. She supposed she didn't need all of the supplies, but many others did, and since she was arguably the second-best teenage fighter in the District behind Teff, she figured she'd stand a better chance than any other desperate, impoverished kid who decided to take tesserae. The supplies she and Teff received on a yearly basis would then be donated to the neediest in the District, in secret and under the cover of night, of course, lest the Peacekeepers find out and have her flogged on the streets.

So when the escort called out her name, she didn't even flinch. She merely sighed, a disappointed look on her face that after she'd won the Games, she would no longer be able to take out any more tesserae for the kids in the District, with Teff turning eighteen and this year's Reaping being her last. Of course, she'd be able to provide better care for others with the large cash flow she'd undoubtedly get as a Victor, but that was if, and only if, the Peacekeepers decided to turn a blind eye on someone who was definitely going to make the most out of her time in the Capitol to ignite the embers of fury against President Snow's regime.

"Oh well," she murmured as she strode through the crowd of teenagers, their hollow, blank stares trained on her as she marched ahead, shoulders poised and head held high up to strike a confident figure. She could hear a couple of whispers from amongst the rows of younger teens, who must've recognised her as one of the cloaked rebels zipping across the towns every week. She paid no attention to them and practically leapt on stage, flashing the escort a coy smile as she did so. The escort blinked, shock rippling across her eyes at the sight of Demeter. Unlike what she'd been accustomed to for the past couple of years of escorting Nine tributes, Demeter had actual muscles and didn't even look a little sad or surprised or worried about getting dragged into a death match that even the escort herself was starting to be rather sceptical of. Her reaction resonated more with that of a District Four tribute, not at all happy with the situation but still confident as ever.

And her speech to the crowd? Well, no tribute from Nine had ever- or will ever- done anything quite like what Demeter did that fateful day. She'd practically ripped the microphone off the escort's hands and started hyping the crowd up as if she was a sports coach addressing a team before a match. She exuded an aura of confidence and even cracked the odd joke or two to gain a few smiles here and there, but ultimately, her goal was to rouse a District that had long lost any hope of the odds ever being in their favour. By the time she raised her fist in the air and declared that come the end of the month, she'd be back home with a train carriage full of Victor supplies enough to feed and clothe the entire District for the rest of the year, the crowd was on their feet and cheering for Demeter Jarvinen, the girl who made even a couple of hardened Peacekeepers believe in a Nine victory that year.


The District Nine stylist that year had run out of ideas. Even the most optimistic of Capitolites could tell that after ten years of being on the job, the stylist, whose name had long faded away from the pages of any self-respecting fashion magazine in Panem, had all but given up on giving his tributes a decent outfit. Last year's burnt bread/sickle/whatever-the-hell-the-brown-swirly-things-were-supposed-to-be costumes had been bad enough to give fashion enthusiasts all over the nation a demented week of nightmares. This year was definitely nowhere near as bad, but Demeter's plain yellow shirt and pants were certainly the frontrunners for the Most Boring Outfit award. Her District partner, Noah, had the exact same outfit, but at least he had a hat with decently cool patterns on it. Demeter, however, couldn't care less. You see, she'd known her stylist was going to put in about as much effort in styling her as a cornstalk so she'd hatched a plan on the train. With the help of Gwen and Laura, she'd managed to fashion herself a leaf green toga, a gold leaf belt and shoulder strap, a pair of golden bracelets with patterns resembling stalks of wheat, gold earrings (snatched right from the escort's purse) and a floral crown to top it all off. Was it revolutionary? Not quite. But was it a massive upgrade to the outfit her stylist had shoved into her hands? Absolutely. She'd thought about helping Noah get a similar outfit to hers, but there simply wasn't enough time before they'd reached the Capitol, so he'd have to settle for the golden leaf belt and embroidered scarf Gwen had crafted for him to boost his costume.

But if you thought that Demeter was done, oh, you're sorely mistaken.

You see, her outfit was currently one in a long line of great, but not very great, tribute outfits in the Tribute Parade. Good for not being humiliated, but compared to the extravagance that the Careers almost always brought forth with their styles, not many were going to turn their gaze towards her. Unless of course, she could remove all the attention from the Careers.

Which was of course her exact plan.

A stroke of luck had meant that all trains coming from Districts One through Five were experiencing delays and were due to arrive late to the Capitol, while a second miracle had decreed that Nine's train arrived much earlier than anticipated. This gave Demeter around five hours worth of free time in the Makeover Centre, which she could have spent two ways: one, listening to all the dreary gossip her prep team had to flush out of their mouths, or two, do some 'exporing' around the Centre. The other stylists weren't there yet, since they all had a typical Capitolite allergy to boredom, so she had full license to snoop around the other Districts' makeover rooms.

And to, of course, tarnish the creations of other stylists.

Demeter didn't like bringing others down. Her goal in the rebellion was to help lift up everyone in Nine after all, from the weakest to the strongest, everyone who was under the Capitol yoke. But this was the Hunger Games. She couldn't exactly complete her mission dead and buried just because she'd been outshone by some stupid kid who'd volunteered for this mess. It made her feel a little better that the Careers were all the typical shallow, vicious-looking bullies, with the pair from Four being involved in piracy from a young age. Plus, the pair from Three weren't exactly saints either, with both having criminal records in the past and being quite rightfully unpopular figures in Three society if their Reaping was anything to go by.

Still, she still carried a heavy heart as she stepped into the rooms of the District One tributes.

Inside, she found the shiniest, most luxurious dress in the history of the Hunger Games. It was a beautiful, gleaming golden dress topped with rubies, diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and everything in between and capped off with a necklace made up of twelve pearls, one for each of the twelve District One Victors. The hem was sown in silver, curved patterns embroidered with tiny, sparkling jewels, which if Demeter had to guess, probably represented the mountainous terrain of District One. Golden bracelets and anklets had been set aside, dotted with intricately blazed mosaics of famed scenes from past Games. The shoes were crystal slippers that shone so brightly, Demeter had to shield her eyes. The boy's outfit was no less extravagant, adorned with similar levels of flash and brilliance and topped off with a regal crown with a big, circular jade in the middle and a sash adorned with fake military insignias and medals.

These costumes looked absolutely regal.

Too regal.

Demeter donned a pair of rubber gloves she'd swiped from the train and grabbed a pair of large scissors from a nearby shelf. With an apologetic look on her face, she marched toward the defenceless outfits, scissors drawn and at the ready. She was an executioner slowly approaching her next victims, and she was ready to deal some damage. A loud crunch erupted as she ripped through the fabric of the clothes, before using the blades to pluck out the individual jewels. Stuffing them into her pocket, she made a mental note to hand them to Gwen and Laura for safekeeping. They were undoubtedly worth millions, much more if she traded them with the Bahamian Islanders who were avid fans of all things shiny, yet had few, if any, gemstone mines of their own. That money could fund new equipment for the upcoming rebellion, with well enough to spare and distribute to the local townsfolk.

But that would be for later. For now, she had to carry on with the destruction. Taking a bottle of what she assumed was red dye, she opened the cork and dumped its contents on the two outfits. Instantly, tiny wisps of smoke emitted from the once-luxurious costumes, as their lustrous gold colour began to fade to a dreary, grim shade of grey. She jumped back, dropping the vial to the floor, a look of amazed horror plastered on her face. With a sly smirk on her face, she grabbed an identical vial of this mysterious red liquid and marched towards the makeover rooms for the tributes from Two. She repeated the process with the costumes from Three, but before she could even get close to Four's makeover room, somebody stopped her.

"Demeter?"

She froze. A cold, gnawing dread began to creep and crawl all over her skin. A trickle of cold sweat tumbled down the side of her face as she slowly swirled around. "Oh wheatstalks," she cursed under her breath. Four years of rebellious activity and she'd never been caught before. But this time, her luck had caught up with her. Turning around, she nearly tumbled backwards at the sight of the woman standing before her. A faint glow of memory churned in her head. It had been eight years, but she could never forget this woman. Her distinctive tiger-like appearance, her orange dress, and those startlingly petrifying eyes. This was Tigris, the District Four stylist and leader of the Capitolite branch of Masked Merchants.

"Tigris!" she exclaimed, straightening her posture as she reflexively hid the vial of red liquid in the pocket of her dress.

Tigris raised a curious eyebrow. "You've been slicing up their outfits, haven't you?" The number one thing Demeter liked about Tigris? She didn't beat about the bush. Tigris knew that Demeter was up to no good and didn't toy with her about it.

Demeter bit her lip and managed a nonchalant shrug. "Eh. Did what I had to do. It's the Hunger Games, everyone does something dirty. I mean, this isn't anywhere close to backstabbing an ally or going on a bloody rampage, in the grand scheme of things. Besides, these guys will have loads of sponsors anyway. They're Careers, and the Threes might as well be Careers with their physique. Oh, and they'll be the talk of the town if they're desperate enough to go out there in rags. Considering the Capitol's fashion sense, they'll be seen as trendsetters and gather lots of press. No one's ever seen a One tribute dressed up in anything but a cliche-looking noble outfit or a Two tribute clad in anything but battle gear, this will be a nice change of pace. I'm doing them half a favour, really," she told Tigris, pacing a little and making elaborate hand gestures as she did so.

Tigris chuckled. "You have many gifts, Jarvinen, the gift of the gab is certainly one of them." Glancing back at the mess Demeter had left in the first six makeover rooms, she let out a small sigh and said, "Go ahead and do whatever you want, just don't touch my designs. I spent weeks working on them and had three earlier drafts rejected by Mags and Iris. I swear, those two must think they're fashion connoisseurs or something."

A wicked grin flashed across Demeter's face. "Sure thing, Tigris. This year's Parade will be all about Four and Nine, I'll make sure of it."


By the time the interviews rolled around, Demeter was the talk of the town. The tarnished rags worn by the Careers had rendered them laughingstocks among the Hunger Games faithful, while Demeter hadn't even needed to do anything to the outfits of the tributes from Five through Twelve. They were hideous enough on their own to draw absolutely no one's attention amongst the Capitol crowds. District Four got themselves plenty of fanfare as usual, but it was District Nine that stole the show. Not only had they designed their own outfits (Gwen had done a fine job in spreading the word beforehand), Noah had even been able to paint a scene of a morning out on the wheat fields of Nine on the back of their chariot, drawing 'ooh's and 'aah's from the charmed crowd. The plaudits only continued when rumours that Demeter had sabotaged the Careers' outfits began to spread like wildfire across Snowbook and Instasnow. The Gamemakers had chosen to ignore them, with the impression that the average shallow Capitolite would gobble up any senseless bit of gossip. Well, they were right about one thing. The Capitolites absolutely relished the news, and her training score of ten and a second (also true) rumour that Demeter had managed to reject the Careers' offer of a spot in their pack without drawing their ire, a feat that most tributes would be incapable of accomplishing, only fuelled their love for her.

On the night of the interviews, Demeter donned a dress that a backup stylist, who'd replaced the now-fired former lazyhead who'd been in charge of her Parade costume, had created on the whim. For a junior stylist who'd barely turned sixteen, Sariandi Daeceran had plenty of talent and potential. Even Demeter had to admit she was good. Her dress had a red base colour, that towards her chest and legs, faded into a warm orange with amber streaks, and at her knees, the dress parted to reveal a greyish shade in the inner folds of the skirt, matching the colours of an award-winning photograph of a District Nine sunset published in a renowned Capitol magazine a couple of months ago. She also wore a golden, cornhusk-patterned necklace with an amber shaped in a letter 'D' in fiery font attached to it. Naturally, with the addition of an actual good outfit, Demeter got along a lot better with Sariandi, who was eager to know what life was like in the Districts.

"Do you guys have like, a dozen different popcorn recipes or something? I mean, all the corn comes from Nine, right? So you guys must have all sorts of cool foods and stuff!" she perked up while fitting in a golden slipper into Demeter's foot.

A sad smile swept across Demeter's face. "Ah, that's what they tell you? Well, Sari, life in Nine is nothing like that. Picture this, you have quite literally, enough food to feed the whole world at your fingertips, it's right there and it's oh so tantalising, you can practically taste the flavours dripping down your throat, and yet you can't. No, you can't bring any of it anywhere near your mouth. It's all taken away to be consumed by the nobles from One and the Capitolites. Before you can even sample a morsel of years and years of hard labour, it gets snatched right before it touches your lips, so agonisingly close to being the meal that could have saved your life, yet so agonisingly far. One by one, your family dies of starvation amidst a world full of food filled to the brim with vital nutrients and fertilised with the best Capitolite technology. It's right there, but it's all just a mirage. We get none of it, and all it takes is a cruel nightmare, one runaway tornado, to whisk all our hopes and dreams away, and a simple fire to burn our lives into literal dust and ashes." She spoke each and every word slowly, making sure to dramatise and emphasise every line she uttered, her expressions constantly shifting to reflect the raw, deeply-rooted emotions in every painful word. At the end of it, her gaze was faraway, longing, yearning, as she stared deep into a dumbfounded Sariandi's eyes.

"I- well..." Sariandi stuttered, her eyes wide in shock. "I'm sorry, I didn't know-"

"Don't be sorry, Sari," Demeter reassured her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We don't get to choose where we come from, or how we grow up. But we can choose what to do about it."

Sariandi blinked, her shock quickly shifting to confusion. "W-what do you mean?"

Demeter winked as she stood up to leave. "Think about it. See you later, Sari."


Her interview had been a massive success. She'd managed to charm the crowd with her looks, words and every little quip she made that sent the audience, who'd thus far been treated to quite a boring selection of tributes bar the talkative boy from Seven, bursting into peals of laughter. But most important of all, she managed to slip rebellious cues here and there throughout her interview. "There's plenty of fashion lovers back home too, you know? I'm sure they'd be amazed by all of your lovely dresses and suits!" she exclaimed, gesturing grandiosely at the audience as she did so. "Shame all they have back home is dirt and gravel. I mean, I'm sure some of you guys will be clever enough to make something out of that, but back in District Nine, the only people who can afford to dress properly are the Peacekeepers, and they're all clad in boring old white!"

Caesar's eyes widened with amusement as she said this. He was in on the rebellion, being Iris's husband and all, so Demeter counted on him to prod her on. "Interesting, I would've thought District Nine had plenty more material, seeing that they sell all their grain to the Capitol. That must mean you're all rich!"

Demeter shook her head thoughtfully. "Nah, it's a tough life back there. No one's got anything. Heck, we don't even get paid to plough the fields. But hey, at least we don't get much homework in school," she said coyly, slowly turning a lock of her blonde hair as she did so. The audience laughed at the homework bit but Demeter could practically see the gears shifting in some of their heads as they thought about her words. "And besides, we get to live the Hunger Games every day of our lives! And we don't need a premium subscription for it as you do, all we have to do is look out of our free TVs, aka our windows, and there you have it, a boy and a girl from each family getting killed by bigger people! Free entertainment, as you'd call it, really."

Naturally, she could tell by the looks on their faces and the deep, menacing scowls, the Gamemakers weren't very pleased by her comments, so she rounded off by saying, "In all honestly, I love the Capitolites. Caesar, he's a special guy, truly one of a kind. Sariandis has been an absolute darling and I bumped into Tigris during the Parade, she was, well, feisty, to say the least. But you've all been so kind to me, stuffing me with pudding every other day, it's brilliant! I've never eaten so much in my entire life! Thank you for welcoming me here, I'm Demeter Jarvinen, the Victor of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games, you're watching Capitol TV, and for my fans back home, this one's for you. Goodnight everyone!" She blew a kiss to the audience and cartwheeled off the stage, grinning and posing as she passed by several Games photographers on her way back to her seat.

It was certainly a night to remember.


Standing in front of the tube that would whisk her off to the arena, Demeter would be lying if she said she wasn't a little nervous. This was, after all, the Hunger Games. Anything could, and would, happen. Over the past few years, she'd seen strong, confident tributes heavily touted to win slip up and get themselves killed in the Bloodbath. And the reality was, if you fell, there was no getting back up in the Hunger Games. Losing here, getting anything but that coveted first place, would mean a painful, permanent death, all for some idiots' sick joy and entertainment. Demeter would not be joining that list of what-could-have-beens. No, she was determined to win this, at any and all costs.

Sariandis handed her the arena attire, a bottle green jacket, typical for District Nine, and a matching shirt and knee-length pants, as well as dark green combat boots. Demeter took them and disappeared behind a curtain to change. Once she got out, Sariandis gave her a small loaf of bread, her final meal before stepping foot into an arena full of unknowns. It was a fair bit of dark comedy, really, giving Nine tributes the very thing they'd coveted the most all of their lives right before shipping them off to their deaths. Demeter chewed on the bread. It tasted like sandpaper in her mouth, which was parched dry despite having drunk about a gallon of water before boarding the hovercraft. "You're gonna win this, I know it," Sariandis chirped, giving her a shy, encouraging smile.

Demeter nodded, keeping her head held high to mark her confidence. "Of course I will. Thanks, Sari, for everything." She held out a hand for Sariandis to shake, but instead, Sariandis flung right into her in a tight embrace. Demeter took a step back. Having grown up in a family of rebel fighters, she wasn't quite used to hugs or any other sort of signs of affection rather than a simple nod or the odd 'good job' here and there. Awkwardly wrapping her arms around Sariandis in return, she decided she quite liked it.


The arena was a shrubland surrounded by rolling black hills in the distance. Demeter looked around her. There wasn't much cover, and while it was warm enough now, it could get chilly at night. Besides, if she tried to hide here, a Career could spot her from miles away. The hills would have to do, but then again, all of the other tributes would likely be thinking the exact same thing. She'd have to be especially wary of confrontations and ambushes given such circumstances. Across the Cornucopia, she could see what appeared to be a glistening lake, although she couldn't quite tell for sure. Her view was obstructed by the giant metallic horn at the centre of what was about to be the deadliest killing field of the year. Demeter assumed her usual running stance, eyes trained on a backpack not too far away from her and a sword closer to the centre of the Cornucopia. As the countdown ticked on, she could hear two tributes shouting at one another to her left. She paid them no attention. If they were going to argue with each other right now of all times, well that was stupid. If they were strategising now, in front of every single tribute, well that was even stupider.

"Five, four, three, two, one..." The gong rang and Demeter dashed for the backpack. Her legs thundered across the arid ground, the wind roaring against her back as, with hawk-like accuracy, she swooped down and scooped the backpack without a hitch. Sprinting further ahead, she reached the sword, which thankfully, hadn't been the target of the boys from One and Two, who'd reached the Cornucopia before her and were grabbing some other weapons inside the horn itself. Reaching down to grab it, she could hear footsteps charging in her direction. Quickly whirling around, she slashed her sword, barely missing the oncoming boy from Four by an inch. She cursed under her breath. She should've known that swords weren't her forte. But she hadn't seen any knives that weren't too far into the Cornucopia for her own liking, and the only other weapons around were bows and arrows and maces, neither of which she was confident with. Besides, a sword posed a far bigger threat than bows and arrows in close-combat-heavy arenas like this one. Still, perhaps the mace would've been better since it was probably lighter than this sword, which she bitterly realised was going to strain her arms if she fought with it for too long. Dodging a swing from the boy's mace, she sidestepped him and tried to bolt off, but he stuck out a leg to trip her over.

"Darn it!" she yelped, her backpack thumping over her as she crashed to the ground. Okay, this was not going to plan. Desperately, she turned and blindly shot up her foot. It struck the boy right in the groin. While he reeled from the blow, Demeter snatched her sword and tried to take another swing at him, but she missed again.

And there goes my chance to make a run for it, she scolded herself. With more tributes crowding the Cornucopia and the Careers starting to kick into action, her odds of escaping were dwindling by the minute. Struggling to regain her balance, she ducked, narrowly dodging a strike aimed at her head by the boy from Four. Demeter lashed at his knee, but once again, he expertly moved away, although the tip did barely make contact with his skin, drawing a small cut. Yet, the boy didn't even look a bit hurt by it and struck again, this time hitting Demeter's backpack, which ripped open, spilling its contents. Demeter groaned. And there go my supplies. She swung her sword one final time and while she missed, she did manage to destabilise the boy. Without waiting for him to respond, she spun around and bolted off like a rocket. A stray backpack lay four feet away from her. It looked smaller than her previous backpack, but it would have to do for now. Demeter didn't look back at the carnage unfolding all around her as she bolted straight for the hills, where she was almost certain even more danger lay.

"F*ck the Capitol!" she shouted, not caring for even a second what the Gamemakers would do to her. After all, even more rebellious tributes had faced- and survived- the wrath of the Capitol, so one curse word in the heat of the moment was probably only going to land her a mutt encounter or a small fire, especially with the current Gamemaker crop who appeared more lenient than the last.

For now, at least, she was safe.


That night, Demeter found a small cave to take shelter in. She hadn't seen any tributes come in her direction, although she did spot the pair from Twelve making a run for a path that led further into the hilly area, where she assumed more tributes were hiding. Eight cannons were fired, and that night, the faces of the pair from Six, the girl from Seven, the boy from Eight, Noah, the girl from Ten and the pair from Eleven were flashed into the night sky. Demeter couldn't help but feel her heart ache ever so slightly for Noah. He'd seemed really sweet and in another world, void of the Hunger Games, he would've been a terrific painter. But she couldn't dawdle on him for too long, sentiments were often the number one killer in the Hunger Games.

Opening her backpack, she fished out a roll of bandages, a half-filled water bottle and a device she recognised from last year's Games to be a portable water purifier. She thrust her hand into the backpack and shook it around to make sure she hadn't missed anything else. With a sigh, she realised that there was no food amongst her supplies. "I bet that backpack I lost had plenty of it," she grumbled, a dejected frown spreading across her face. Getting on her feet, she decided to explore the cave a little bit, just to make sure mutts weren't going to spring out at her in her sleep. Along the upper walls of the cave, she could make out a few faded paintings of what appeared to be cattle with crescent moons on their heads. They were embellished with some sort of striped cloth around their necks, maybe a ceremonial robe or something. Stick figures of humans dressed in similar robes had been painted next to him, along with a few red, ancient-looking handprints and a humped creature she couldn't quite make out. The paintings looked so old, so eerie, as if the ghosts of the past were trying to connect to her right there at that moment. The glow of the moonlight only made them look ever so serene and mystical, like something she'd read about in storybooks. She was half expecting one of them to pop right out of the walls and attack her. It wasn't beyond the Gamemakers to pull off something like that in the year's biggest event. Further into the cave, all of a sudden, she heard a tiny, stifling sound. She froze dead in her tracks, and raised her sword in a defensive stance. Taking a cautious step forward, she stared ahead of her, where rows upon rows of cave paintings faded into a blistering, echoing darkness that roared in her face. More shuffling came, and Demeter could recognise the sound of the shoes of a tribute. It couldn't be the Careers, surely not, but perhaps it was one of the Outlier kids who'd run away from the Bloodbath at the first opportunity possible.

Demeter stood her ground, her sword starting to tremble in her hand. Again, more shuffling, followed by a low hiss. A cannon boomed in the distance. Sweat trickled down her face. This might not be a tribute, after all. Perhaps a mutt of some sort, come to punish her for cursing at the Capitol. "Show yourself!" she demanded, keeping her voice steady and confident in the face of adversity. Somewhere near her, the cameras were definitely rolling, with the entire nation holding their breaths as they watched her face some unknown enemy. Maybe a tribute, maybe a mutt, who knew?

Just then, out of thin air, something leapt at her, and all Demeter could see before she'd swung her sword was a flurry of dark brown fur, sharp horns and even sharper teeth. She practically threw the sword straight into whatever the hell that thing was, and backed away as a cow with crescent moon horns and a multicoloured neck covering cluttered to the ground, blood dripping from the wound she'd inflicted right in its head. It twitched and shrieked and howled in the most unearthly, supernatural ways possibly, producing a sound akin to a banshee crossed with a hungry wolf. Demeter picked up her sword, and that was when she noticed the blood-soaked jacket in the mutt's teeth. It was mustard yellow, a District Three tribute had died. A couple of metres away, she spotted a boot and half of a leg, by the looks of it, it had been the girl from Three. Demeter flinched a little, then looked right away.

She did not need to see more of this.


By the seventh day, the boy from Seven and girl from Twelve had succumbed to dehydration, in what was turning out to be a rather boring set of Games for the Capitolites. The only tribute to have been killed by another tribute was the girl from Four, due to a cleverly-planned ambush by the boy from Ten while she was on guard at the Cornucopia. The Gamemakers had tried wildfires, mutts, everything, but by sheer luck, or misfortune if you were a Gamemaker, the tributes didn't seem all that interested in fighting one another. Demeter, for her part, had practically slept through two fires by hiding in a sheltered crevice in the hills where the fires just would not reach. Each time the flames had subsided, she'd popped her head out, grinned, and gave a three-fingered salute. The Capitolites were confused and thought that this was some sort of District Nine social media trend (they were unaware no one in Nine had social media). The District folk, however, they remembered its meaning. It had been a memory lost, forgotten by time and history, but for those who were active in the rebellion, they could not possibly forget this signal. During the first uprising, it had been a symbol of unity amongst the Districts who struggled and toiled for freedom. It had only been scarcely used since, and certainly never on live television. Suddenly, though, it was back in business, and rebel groups all over Panem began to promote its usage amongst themselves. Once in a while, Demeter would also sit idly on her own and recount tales of abuse at the hands of Peacekeepers, in her charming, storyteller's voice, as if she were recounting a dark fairytale to a group of children. She sat, twirling her hair, as she told her stories, whilst far away in the Capitol, the Gamemakers tried to place snake mutts in the crevice to get rid of her, to no avail. Their systems were glitching, and perhaps one could say it was by coincidence, but the people in the District had their own theories, and theories sometimes could well be concealed, hidden facts. In the meantime, however, Demeter was quite happy to remain where she was.

But not for long, of course. Her supplies were running out. Sponsors were getting expensive and she needed to take on the other tributes to win. So she headed in the direction of the lake she'd seen during the Bloodbath, fending off a couple of cactus mutts along the way who tried to shoot prickles at her, but being cactus mutts with no eyes, they'd missed in comical fashion. the only drawback she'd received was a nasty cut to her knee after getting tangled up in a fight with the boy from Ten, but after a long wrestling match, she'd gotten the better of him and had taken him out with her sword. The cut itself was nothing some bandages and a night of rest couldn't fix. It was the mental toll that was the real issue for her. That night, Demeter, no matter how tired she was, couldn't sleep. It was as if a nagging voice had encroached right into her mind, reminding her of what she'd just done. That scene of the boy from Ten, goodness she couldn't even remember his name, going slack and the cannon firing in the distance replayed itself over and over again in the back of her mind, a haunting relic of her crime. She'd seen plenty of deaths back home in District Nine, but she'd always been able to blame the Capitol, the peacekeepers, an abusive spouse, a misguided alcoholic, a rogue rebel, anybody but herself. This time, however, his blood was on her hands. She glanced down, biting back a yelp as a faded image of the boy's blood gushing through her fingers surfaced, only to disappear as quickly as it'd come. All around her, a rough, faint voice began to whisper in her ear, as she lay there, all alone on a cold, windless, barren night in the arena of the Hunger Games.

"That boy had a family, just like me, just like you," she murmured, hoping the cameras could hear her. "He didn't want to kill me, I-I didn't want to kill him. He could've been someone great, could've done something that helped Panem. But he didn't, instead he's dead. What if he were your child? Would you still be cheering?" She shuddered as she said those words. They were aimed at the Capitol, but deep down, she knew she was only deflecting the blame for his demise, trying to numb the pain to protect herself from feeling the emotional toll of the Hunger Games.

It didn't work.


The following day, she'd reached the lake. In the early hours of morning, she'd heard the cannon boom, which turned out to be for the girl from Eight, a victim of starvation. Skirting around the Cornucopia, which was empty, the Careers having been forced to move away from it, she arrived at its shores, the water gently lapping against her combat boots. The water was striking, because unlike normal water, it was a vivid hue of pink. Demeter had never seen anything like it, a pink lake. She bent down and scooped some it into her hands. The water seemed clear then, and didn't leave any pink residue on her hands, so she could tell the water itself wasn't pink, but there was probably a chemical or animal of sorts turning it that shade. She wasn't exactly a District Five nerd, she didn't have the foggiest idea of an explanation beyond that. Here, the air smelled awfully salty. Demeter imagined this was how District Four's oceans must've smelt like. Along the shoreline, there were three wooden boats roped to sticks on the ground, their surfaces coated in fading yellow paint with a green star. At the centre of the lake was an island that was packed to the brim with old stone monuments. There was a makeshift dock with a set of tall columns about three times Demeter's height not too far away from it, as if they were greeting any tribute brave enough to step foot on this island. A colossal ruined building, consisting of a large stone court and an elaborately sculpted roof held up by dozens of pillars. Beside it was a large courtyard littered with stray stones and rocks, some of which she could tell were the remains of old rooms and architecture. One of them, in particular, looked from afar as though it were a giant stone furnace, though she couldn't quite tell for sure. On one side of the island was a crumbling stone wall with some newer-looking ruins right behind it. At the very centre, she could just barely make out a lone cedar tree, sprinkled with white, powdery snow, the lone source of greenery on the island. Demeter gazed at it in awe. It really was a majestic sight. But it could also be really dangerous.

And yet, perhaps some of the tributes were there. Two nights ago, she'd seen some figures making a run in this direction, and there were two boats docked on the island already, so someone had to be there.

Without thinking twice, Demeter hopped on a boat and began to row. She rowed awkwardly at first, nearly toppling into the water at one point in what would have undoubtedly been the most embarrassing moment of her life live and televised for the whole nation to see. But somehow, with sheer, dumb luck, she reached the docks. The air smelled even saltier here. Hopping off, she gripped her sword tightly and began to enter the ruins. Every noise she heard, she would whirl around, anticipating an attacker. Every whoosh of the wind, every smack of a rock, everything and anything that made even a fraction of a noise would send her alarm bells ringing.

This was a stupid idea, she thought to herself, gritting her teeth. I'm literally walking into a trap. Why did I even think of this?

Just then, she heard another, louder noise that she was sure was not merely a natural occurrence. Turning sharply at her heels, she found herself facing the largest slab of rock she'd ever seen. It looked to have been a cleanly-cut rectangular piece of stone, and was almost the size of two chariots combined. Taking three steps to her left, she tried to peek around the stone.

In a flash, she'd been knocked straight to the ground.

She let out a shriek, her sword clattering to the ground as a pair of strong, muscular hands clasped her forearms. She began to kick wildly, her feet making contact with something hard, perhaps someone's chest. Her assailant made a low grunt and tumbled to the ground, giving Demeter a window of opportunity to reach for her fallen sword. At the same time, she finally got a good look at him, the boy from One, his perfect facial features marred by a series of deep cuts and scars. The pair faced each other, and Demeter could tell he was limping, although he tried his best to hide his limp from her. Tension hung in the air as a standoff ensued, neither side wanting to strike first, Demeter due to her lack of skill with the sword and the boy from One for his injury weakness. Eventually, though, Demeter decided if she kept on waiting, they'd both be prodded by the Gamemakers, who were likely to favour him considering her remarks over the course of the Games. She charged ahead, perhaps rather rashly, sword held high, ready to strike. The boy readied his sickle to defend the attack, which he did so expertly. Demeter stumbled, allowing the boy to take a swipe at her. She howled in pain as the sickle made contact with her exposed ankle, drawing blood.

The boy laughed maniacally. "Give it up, blondie. You're all talk and no action."

A snarl escaped Demeter's lips. "A bit rich coming from you," she retorted. "But don't worry, I kind of expected that, seeing as you're just a mollycoddled sack of potatoes."

The boy frowned as he swung at her, which Demeter only barely managed to miss on account of his limited mobility due to his injury. "I have no bloody clue what that's supposed to mean."

"Huh, should've known, you noble rich kids can't read to save your own lives. You do realise at some point the Capitol's gonna get bored of your cliche rich snob act, right? That's why no one even bat an eye at you during the Parade. You're not special." And then Demeter did something completely unexpected. In what she thought could well end up being the stupidest move in her life, she dropped her sword and took a brave step towards the now baffled boy from One. "I, on the other hand, have the people's support. How many sponsors have you gotten, huh? Your lack of a bandage tells me you've got zero. I've gotten four by now. If you wanna go far..." She gave him a charming smile that would make even Finnick proud. "...you're gonna have to go along with me."

Demeter could see the wheels turning in his head, the cogs working out thoughts in his mind. She stood with her foot forward, arms crossed, looking every bit the confident rebel girl she deep down was really not. Please let him be just a stupid brat. Please don't let him be another Augustus or Valkyrie. A full, agonising minute later, the boy from One, to Demeter's relief, nodded slowly. Dropping his scythe, he gave Demeter a wicked grin. "Alright then, Demmie."

The urge to strangle him there and then was certainly overwhelming. 'Demmie' was a nickname no one, not even Teff on her jokiest of days, was ever allowed to call her. But she forced herself to grit her teeth and return the smile. "Know my name, huh? You've been paying attention to me." She curled a strand of hair in her fingers, sauntering closer and closer towards the boy.

The boy laughed. "Difficult to forget the girl who got a ten in training. I'm glad we're now allies and all, but there's someone else on this island."

A cannon boomed in the distance, startling Demeter. The girl from One had found herself backstabbed by the boy from Four, ending up with a knife through her chest.

Demeter cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Who? Where?"

The boy turned to point in the direction of the crumbling wall. "The girl from Two. She's-" He never got a chance to finish. Just a moment later, he was on the ground, blood spewing from a puncture in the back of his head, his gaze lifeless, permanently frozen in a final startled, frightened stare. Demeter retrieved the hidden dagger she'd concealed in her pocket, having taken it from the boy from Ten after their fight. It was now caked in blood, his blood. Demeter made a face, and dropped the dagger to the ground. Her second kill, second murder, and it hadn't felt any better than the last. She turned to the clear blue sky above her, and made her usual three-fingered salute. "I'm sorry," she whispered softly. "It didn't have to be this way. We could've been friends, friendly rivals, but..." She choked back a sob. "I had to do what I had to do. This is what happens when you let them send your children to die and do nothing about it."

That final line was, for once, not aimed at the Capitol.

It was a message fired straight towards the people of the Districts, from One through Twelve.

A message to stand up for themselves, once and for all.


Demeter couldn't afford to gaze upon the boy from One's corpse for much longer. Right on cue, the girl from Two emerged from behind a wall, an impressed look on her face. Slow claps, widening smirk, Demeter knew this girl had been waiting for someone like Demeter to finish off the boy from One for her. "Well done, kiddo. That was, well, something." She pulled out her spear from behind the wall. "But alas, all good journeys have to end. Any final words?"

In the distance, a cannon boomed. Demeter didn't know it at the time, but the girl from Five had succumbed to a nasty infection whilst hiding in the Cornucopia. Both girls on the island jumped a little, surprised for a brief moment. But they soon reverted their focus back on each other. Demeter grasped the sickle she'd taken from the boy from One. She was ready for a fight. No more tricks, no more dawdling. This was her time, her moment to prove herself as a worthy rebel fighter, and a Victor, for the ages and history books to remember. The pair charged at each other. Spear and sickle clashed. The clamour of metal filled the air, followed by loud grunts and hysterical shrieks from both girls as they swung and stabbed and dodged frantically, their disciplined initial fight quickly morphing into a wild, spur-of-the-moment decision-dominated struggle for survival.

Unbeknownst to the pair of them, somewhere in the hills, the boys from Two, Three, Four, Five and Twelve were locked in a five-way battle of their own, which rapidly degenerated into an all-out free-for-all ugly brawl that left the whole nation hanging on the edge of their seats. As the arena broke out into fights, District Nine continued to watch in silent prayer as Demeter dodged a strike from the girl from Two and landed a strong punch on her ears. The girl from Two screamed, falling backwards, a hand instinctively reaching up to hold her bleeding ear. The Career girl stood back up, but stopped abruptly, her eyes widening as the sudden realisation that she could no longer hear on her left ear struck her like lightning, giving Demeter enough time to strike with her scythe. The girl from Two dodged like a pro, but still, Demeter's sickle made contact with her right ear, and it was cleanly sliced off from the side of her face. Cue more hysterical screaming from the now-deaf Career girl. District Nine held their breath. This could be the moment Demeter showed the world just how strong she could be, just how much of a Victor she was. With an ear-splitting war cry, Demeter raised her sickle and struck the girl from Two right through her neck. Three cannons boomed, one for her, and two more for the boys from Four and Five. The pirate boy had been pushed right off a cliff by the boy from Twelve, while the sports enthusiast from Five met his end after the boy from Two managed to snap his neck.

The subsequent chase down saw the boys from Two and Twelve get themselves killed by the boy from Three, setting up an enticing finale against Demeter.

It was a battle that ended in her emerging triumphantly victorious, as all across Panem, those gathered to watch the Games followed her in giving the old three-fingered salute, a precursor to the many inside rebellious quips she would make during her Victory Ceremony and subsequent Victory Tour, all of which only set the undertone for rebellious feelings to erupt as more and more fire began to catch amongst rebel circles.


Katniss and Peeta gave a moment of silence for the confident rebel girl from District Nine. "Hope you're safe, Demmie," Katniss murmured.

Peeta smiled slightly. "You know she hated that nickname, Kat."

Katniss laughed. "Yeah, I know, I'd love to see her reaction if I do say that in her face, though."

With that, the pair moved on to the next Victor. Peeta flipped the page, revealing a boy with dark features staring calmly ahead. His face looked void of any emotions, having seemingly developed an excellent poker face in the face of a large crowd, some of whom stared at him disbelief, as if they, even after six months' worth of processing time, still could not believe that he'd emerged victorious.

"Sprout Skhosana."


VICTORS

District 1-Sapphire Huntington(4), Onyx Hibonite(9), Franc Montgomery(14), Crystal Montgomery(21), Sterling Jones(25), Luxe Carmichael(36), Geneva Cooper(37), Cartier Cooper(44), Valkyrie Montgomery(54), Gloss Irvine(63), Cashmere Irvine(64), Augustus Braun-Montgomery(67)

District 2-Ragnar Sveinsson(5), Reyna Boudicca(6), Draco Hadley(10), Scipio MacAllister(17), Freya Carson(22), Hercules Nichols(28), Julia Dawson(39), Brutus Gunn(42), Lyme Sveinsson(45), Evan Fortis(55), Enobaria Golding(61)

District 3-Nikola Johnson(13), Gadget Schroeder(24), Beetee Latier(40), Wiress Jansen(47)

District 4-Marina Bluebell(1), Mags Flanagan(11), Jolien Fisher(31), Timmy Fisher(32), Iris Fisher(33), Rafael Fisher(34), Coral Thiller(41), Poseidon Nakamura(58), Nemo Williams(62), Finnick Odair(65)

District 5-Shocker Crimson(8), Switch Kim(19), Flash Morrison(27), Porter Tripp(38), Marie Meredith(52), Ampere Chang(66)

District 6-Ford Hamilton(20), Kimi Bentley(51), Audi Lando(59)

District 7-Hassan Greenwood(2), Jill Wilson(15), Olive Sanchez(26), Birch Davison(35), Blight Gavin(53), James Silva(60)

District 8-Woof Casino(16), Calico Pepper(48), Cecelia Rheys(56)

District 9-Gwendolyn Whitfield(18), Laurel Flamsteel(29), Miller Thompson(49), Demeter Jarvinen(68)

District 10-Ringo Alvarez(7), John Gatwick(23), Mare Trybull(43), Colt Dias(57)

District 11-Orchid Bloom(12), Seeder Crue(30), Chaff Mitchell(46)

District 12-Axel Millar(3), Haymitch Abernathy(50)

Victors that are underlined are deceased.