A/N: Today we have the District Four Mentor, Mags Flanagan, as well as the Ten Male, Rufus Braunvieh, to revisit. Enjoy your reading, and I hope I did well with the both of these characters!

Trigger Warnings: Profanity (I use profanity too much, don't I? xD) and sexual references

Waffle house,

black coffee in our mugs.

We're hazy eyed,

but not because we're fucked up,

it's just that we've been up all night.

Sharing stories of our past,

empty vows of how you'd keep in touch,

If I can always make you laugh.

Mags Flanagan, 28

District Four Mentor and Victor of the Eleventh Annual Hunger Games

I don't usually stay in the Tribute Hotel. Oisin always keeps things under control, and our volunteers can take care of themselves. I'm busy being prostituted most of the time anyway, tied up like a pretty pony at the pervert's auction. They gave me the first night off so I could screw Cordelia's head on straight. It's the first time an untrained female's been Reaped out of Four since the Fifteenth, so I've grown too accustomed to not really having to Mentor. Cordelia's a pretty pony, too. She's just up for sale at the slaughter auction. It's sad, but I wonder who'll take her down. She has some of the skill and the fire, but I don't know if it'll be enough.

All these thoughts over a cup of straight black coffee. The curving bar of the hotel were all my "meetings" are held has scant customers; there's the buxom blonde crying into her coffee and liquor concoction over some guy probably, the guy with the pink afro who's still high from the night before, and the woman I had to copulate with the night before. She's rather pretty, but when she spots me and waggles her eyebrows, I smile a little. When she turns away, her to-go cup full of rum, I splatter all of the coffee in my mouth across the length of the smooth granite counter top in front of me. Bitch.

I sigh, leaning my cheek against my open palm. It's warm from holding the mug of black coffee, but the warmth swiftly fades. I take another gulp of the cooling coffee and survey the bar around me to keep from falling back asleep. I can't have the tabloids shooting pictures of me, asleep, leaning against a bar. They'd peg me for an alcoholic quicker than you can say paparazzi.

The buxom blonde's tears have slowed, and neon pink afro has pulled out a joint and is taking a hearty drag. The bartender, a sparsely clad man, barely notices, just discreetly shoving the No smoking sign positioned on the bar closer to afro dude. A towering mass of dark skinned muscle climbs down the stairs, and I turn my back to the man, sipping more of my coffee and trying to curl up in on myself. Why do I always have to see Scylas Ondino on these days?

He slides onto a stool six down from me, and he swiftly orders a caramel macchiato. For such an imposing, famous man, Scylas's tastes can seem out of character at times, like his enjoyment of sweaters and his knack for being able to name any Capitol pop singer from the early years after the Dark Days. Oisin once joked in his presence that he seems like he might be a flouncy gay fairy at times, and Scylas got stormy and removed himself from the conversation. I'm not saying he's gay. He probably isn't. It's not Oisin's play to assume and over analyze, and it's not my place to pry or equate myself.

"You look like someone poured all the ponderings off the world into your coffee," Scylas murmurs, his husky, shallow voice barely audible from six stools away. He scoots over two when I don't respond. "You did hear me, didn't you Mags? Mags-"

"Just because you got to have sex with Masquetta Blaire doesn't mean you get to be a preppy prick," I snap.

"Who told you-"

"You're wearing lavender and violet and I can smell your lemongrass perfume from over here. Masquetta bought me twice last year after her daddy bequeathed his inheritance to her. She went on and on about it during the foreplay. I still swear I sometimes wake up smelling lemongrass stuck in my nostrils."

"At least she's pretty, I guess," Scylas grunts.

"That's true," I sigh in reply, wringing my hands around my mug awkwardly. "So, how's Tyberios?" I inquire, scootching over a stool so there's only three between us now. He does the same, so there's two between us.

"He's something new. He's cocky and rude as usual, but he has these-" Scylas stops. "I shouldn't tell you, I forgot. You're trying to get your little garage girl to win this year so you're actually talking to her."

I chuckle. "That girl couldn't hit a thing." That's a flat out lie, but Scylas has gotten me interested. I move another stool closer, not even realizing that I've left my coffee several stools behind me. "We have no hope for her. I'm going to be sleeping here for the rest of the month, and I'm thinking about letting Waverley take a whirl at Mentoring."

Scylas barks with laughter, shaking his head and picking up his macchiato and taking a hearty gulp before turning to me. "That would've worked when I was fresh out of the Games, honey, but I can tell when you care about a tribute. Sorry."

"I-I don't care about her?" I whimper half heartedly.

Scylas hacks more uneven laughs. "You're going soft, Flanagan. By the time you're an old lady, you'll be smiling with your toothless mouth and sacrificing yourself for a virtue."

"Fuck off," I sigh, sliding off of my stool.

"Where are you going?" he asks me, turning around as I make to walk away. I stop in my tracks.

"I have a charge to attend to back at the Tribute Center," I reply smoothly.

"I knew you cared about her."

"Shut up."

"Never."

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Ondino."

"See you, Mags."

They say youth is wasted, wasted on the young

So they tell me, why are we having so much fun?

All the midnight dreamers falling into love

In our torn up sneakers, yeah, we were born to run

So I'm begging you

Hold on, hold on

To your wasted youth

Hang on, hang on

Cause it's going so soon

So let's get it while we're young

(We're wasted youth)

Rufus Braunvieh, 17

District Ten Male

I lay on top of my bed, fully dressed, staring at the silvery ceiling fan slowly revolve. My eyes are locked on a singular fan blade, following it on its orbit around the center of the apparatus. It seems to move slowly when I focus on one of the blades, but when I just look at the whole thing, it seems to speed up and move faster. I repeat the process over and over, clacking the tips of my tennis shoes together as I keep staring.

I'm sort of bored, and I really don't want to go out there, to see the ruthless-seeming Victor who is scared of the dark, to see the giggly, bubbly Escort who caters to his every need, to see the smartass thirteen year old girl who could easily kick my ass to be honest. I don't want to go to training and watch everyone make friends and learn new skills why I fumble around at the knots station, no one speaking to me, exactly like yesterday. One day was enough. I know I'm not going to learn anything new today or tomorrow. It doesn't matter what I do, and since I have no friends or fun in the Training Center, why even go? There has to be some stupid rule that forces you to go, however, right? I hope not. I'd rather spend my last days having fun.

Finally, my stomach is grumbling too loudly for me to ignore it. At least the food here is good, eh? I need to snap out of this. I'm usually a little more positive back home, and I know that type of mindset is never detrimental. I'm just stuck in a despondent stupor because I'm probably going to die within the next two weeks, so I'm just sort of done right now. But if I can stay in this room and eat junk and watch old soaps all day...now that would be gold.

I stand up and walk over to the door, stepping out into the main part of the floor. Miriam is sitting alone at the dining room table, gorging on sausage and bacon and hash browns. I don't see Oxen or Fixtata anywhere. I stride over to the dining table and pull out the chair next to Miriam. She doesn't even jump a little, and she goes on stuffing her face with proteins and carbs, stocking up her slim frame with extra fat for Games I suppose.

"Didn't scare you?" I inquire as I pick up a plate and a fork. I reach out and spear a piece of sausage. I bite into it, savoring the thyme taste of the piece of meat. Each of the sausages in the tray has a different taste to it, just like yesterday; it's a wonder to try them all.

"You have a heavy gait," she says quickly in between bites.

"Are you calling me fat?" I ask, chewing thoughtfully on my sausage.

"Could you leave me alone?" Miriam hisses, the tines of her fork screeching against her plate as she misses the piece of fruit she was aiming to spear. I flinch a little at the harsh sound, and I rub my ears. Miriam just keeps on eating, not minding it at all.

I eat for a couple more minutes, swallowing more salty sausage and a couple of juicy slices of watermelon. After devouring several spoonfuls of syrup straight out of the bottle, Miriam speaks up, looking at me.

"Think I'm weird?" I question, squeezing out more syrup into the spoon and gulping it down.

"No. I want some," she responds, and she snatches the syrup bottle out of my hand and guzzles it straight from the bottle. I can't help but laugh a little bit, and when it's nearly empty, she sets it down on the table, smacking her lips and smiling just a little bit.

"Where are Fixtata and Oxen?" I ask Miriam.

"Out on the terrace, doing their poetry and yoga routine," she sighs. "I wish they'd be more helpful. I don't even know when we're supposed to go to training."

"I'm not going today," I tell her firmly.

"So you're going to the Fun Floors?" she asks.

"What are those?"

"You know? The six floors above Twelve's floor? Where they have amusement parks and all that stuff? If I wasn't so dead set on surviving, I'd actually go there and have the time of my life. But for a hopeless basketcase like you, you might as well go have fun."

"I'm not hopeless," I bark back.

"Whoa, dude, joking," Miriam says with an uneasy scowl on her face. She clears the last bits of sausage off of her plate and then stands. "I'm gonna head down to the Training Center, even if I'm wildly early, so I'm not wildly late." She stands and walks towards the elevator. Once the doors open, she steps inside and disappears.

Unsure of what to do next, I head towards the balcony to talk to Fixtata and Oxen. If I can go to these "Fun Floors" then I'm totally doing it, but I just need to know the specifics before I possibly break the law and damn myself to getting blown up by the Gamemakers.

I push open the sliding doors, and it glides away, revealing a peaceful sight. Oxen and Fixtata slowly cycle through fourteen positions. My grandma tried yoga before, but I've never really seen positions like this. Maybe they made them up, or maybe it's stuff I haven't seen before. They don't hear or see me, and I watch them silently.

"One," Fixtata whispers, her voice airy and soothing. She spreads her legs and reaches down, her fingertips scraping the floor. "Reach into the earth, and retrieve the gems of your labors." Oxen follows her lead, and I find myself, awkwardly perched on the threshold of the door, doing it as well.

"Two," Fixtata murmurs, leaning back a little and slowly moving her arms up and out and holding them there. "Hold the weight of the rock you have hewn from the mountain high above your head."

"Three," she says, straightening out and stretching her arms wide. She then tips her head forward. "Embrace the knowledge of the world's inner mechanisms."

"Four," she mutters, standing on one foot and reaching both arms high above her head and a little back, as if she's casting a fishing line. "Align yourself with the sea, and meet its needs, for it-"

I fall over suddenly, sprawling out at my Escort's and Mentor's feet. Oxen is spooked and he falls right onto his butt, while Fixtata manages to keep her balance, but she's flushed, and she makes a little high pitched gurgling noise. Once everyone's composed themselves, Fixtata clears her throat.

"Is there a problem, Rufus?" she asks, her sugary voice a little perplexing.

"I was just wondering if I could go to the Fun Floors today," I respond, wringing my hands.

"Aren't you a little old?" Fixtata inquires. "You should go train. You have a shot."

"Go have fun, kid," Oxen sighs, rubbing his sore behind. "Enjoy yourself."

I turn away to head to the Fun Floors, closing the sliding door and leaving them be. The moment the door closes, I can already see them bending themselves complicatedly for District Five's position, and I just shake my head softly. No way any of the other Escort-Mentor teams are this neglectful. No wonder it took us so long to get a Victor.

A/N: That was a little shorter than usual? At least by word count. But I enjoyed writing these two, especially Mags, its so much fun to write her as a bitter woman still in her glory years, and imagining how she'll change as she progresses through life. Rufus is also pretty fun to work with.

I don't have a lot to say today about this story. I hope to get the next one out sooner!

My friends Maia & Ruby (MRKenn, also Sage and Calico's submitter) are in the Games of their first SYOT, and they've opened submissions for their second SYOT, School's Not Out For the Summer! It's going to be even better than Royal Blood, and you definitely should go submit! :D

Trivia:

Mags (1 pt.): What is Masquetta Blaire's favorite fragrance that she has her Victors wear?

Rufus (1 pt.): On which pose did Rufus fall?

Until Next Time,

Tracee