District 2

Brutus had been outside in the almost frigid air common up this high in the mountains of Distict 2, when the Reading of the Card was handed down.

He had been in the Cemetery of the Fallen, brushing snow off the headstone marking Cato's final resting place. Laying fresh flowers at Clove's grave, despite his knowledge that she absolutely detested flowers.

Brutus had been a mentor for 26 years. More than almost anyone in the Victors' Village, he knew that some Games you won, some you lost. Two had always prided itself on handpicking the tributes to deploy into combat – those chosen had proven themselves worthy under rigorous testing that would have broken the back of any cheap tribute from the outlier districts. They had passed the Trials. They were of age – these days, Headmistress Boudicca was always leery of sending in anyone who wasn't 18 or about to turn 18. At 15, Clove had been a rare and unique exception, benefitting also from the unusual lack of promising female recruits her year (there had been a drought for talent, during the fifties, when only Lyme Tanner alone came back a victorious Career out of the roughly five dozen kids Districts 1, 2 and 4 had sent in that decade. It had taken much of the sixties for parents to regain confidence in the Academy, forcing Boudicca to slacken the rules of age eligibility for who could go in).

Brutus had never tried to get too attached to his tributes. One was guaranteed to not come back after all, and possibly even both could be lost if it just wasn't Two's year. Cato had been different – a proud and eager soldier, the perfect soldier really. Patriotic, and eager to please… even if that meant sometimes he had a penchant for showing off. It wasn't the worst fault to have; Brutus had been a bit of a showoff himself in his day, and over that he and Cato had bonded.

The crop of the competition for the 74th Hunger Games had looked pathetic, and Brutus had been certain Cato would take the Crown in a walk.

But then Katniss fucking Everdeen had barreled in out of nowhere with that 11, and her slick willie boyfriend had charmed his way out on her coattails with a serpent's tongue and adoration in his eyes. The Gamemakers had lapped it up, and Cato had been thrown quite literally to the wolves, cheated out of the win he rightfully deserved.

Brutus really had nothing against Katniss Everdeen, personally. In terms of the pool that year, even he would have to grudgingly admit that she deserved to be Victor… or at least come in a very close second to Cato, if the Games were measured by which tribute deserved the Crown the most. It was that boyfriend of hers who had cheated. Co-Victors…. of all the stupid, dishonorable things… The berries stunt had knocked him for a six. Aside from being a hot piece of ass, he had to admire Katniss's spunk. It was everything that had occurred afterwards that still – nearly a year later – set his blood to boil. And Peeta goddamn Mellark had just been permitted to go along for the ride, smiling and even smirking at getting away with literal murder and lots more besides.

That wasn't honor, and Brutus – same as every other Victor on down to ordinary citizen in Two – prided himself on honor. The Games were played a certain way. There was tradition… and Peeta Mellark (with assistance, to a lesser extent, from Everdeen) had spat in its face.

Yes, indeed, Cato's death weighed on Brutus more than that of every other failed District 2 tribute who had come before, rare though they were. It kept him up at night – what justice was there in allowing the finest specimen the Games had seen in decades, the perfect soldier, to die for some sappy love story that no one except the most brainwashed Capitol idiots believed in anyway? At least to Brutus's mind, Katniss Everdeen looked like she had never spread her legs for anyone in her life, least of all for a prissy rich boy from the other side of the tracks where she lived. Brutus didn't know much about District 12 culture, but he had engaged in enough barstool conversations with old Abernathy to know there very much was a class system in place – the Settlers and Sazi in Ten were much the same way, or so he'd read.

"Brutus!"

Brutus glanced up to see Honorius Manchetti, his one-time mentor, huffing and puffing as he entered the snow-dusted cemetery, puffy clouds of breath billowing into the air. The older man – pepper-greyed and with slight stubble – tugged on his burly arm. "Get back to Granyte's, boy – you're going to miss it! Snow's giving his speech; the Card will be read any moment!"

Brutus gamely allowed himself to be led away – even in a sufficiently loyal place like Two, mandatory programming was not to trifled with.

He remembered being 20 years old, just over a year removed from his Victory Tour, and seated in his mansion watching Snow read the card decreeing that twice as many tributes be sent in. Students in the Academy had partied for days, everyone's timetables able to be moved up, the possibility of being shipped out accelerated by one year. Two had had a bumper crop of sharp recruits to send in that year too, but even then it was not to be.

He and Honorius staggered across the porch just in time. Lyme Tanner dashed forward, wine glass in hand. The atmosphere in her uncle's mansion was something closely resembling a New Year's Eve party.

"The President's selecting the envelope! – EVERYBODY! Quiet, quiet, quiet!"

On the projected TV screen, Snow began to read in a sonorous voice:

"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes are to be Reaped from their exisiting pool of Victors."

Someone let out a gasp – Brutus thought it might be Berenice, whom he himself had trained to glory just seven years prior. Dido Castremi, several beer bottles scattered about her chair, giggled and clapped her hands in delight.

Beyond that, there was quiet, disbelief, for a long moment. Then, Justus Scavo, Honorius and Virtus's cousin, bellowed:

"AWWWW YEAH, it is ON! YEAHHHHHH!"

A few other cheers went up, but they were disconcertingly half-hearted. As for Brutus himself, his eyes gleamed.

This had to be a dream. A sick, wonderful dream. He always had been disappointed that he had only managed to tie Ahenobarbus's legendary record of fifteen kills in the arena.

"Praise be unto the Capitol!" Brutus belly-laughed. "What a twist, huh?" Spinning to Lyme, his exuberance overtook him so that he pulled her close and kissed her right on the mouth, like it really was midnight on New Year's Eve. She indulged him for a moment, and then shoved him away with a laugh.

"You're drunk, Barsetti! Save it for Cecelia!"

He mock-scowled a little at this, cobalt eyes dancing as he scanned the room. The reception to the Quell twist was a pretty mixed bag, on the whole. Old and teetering, Lyme's uncle, Granyte, was slumped in his wheelchair, morosely watching the talking-heads coverage dissect the twist – as if there was anything to dissect! A few others, like Justus and Dido and Enobaria (the thirty-something woman bared her fangs with relish) seemed to genuinely share his happiness. Another chance at glory…

Of the fifteen people gathered in the living room that night, however, there was a disturbingly healthy amount giving each other uncertain, sideways glances. Anguish even briefly visited a few faces. What now?

Yeah, Brutus had to admit, it was a shock, but there was no district better positioned to win this thing. Let the outlier districts flop-sweat over the implications. No Career district had ever won a Quell before – after all, they didn't come around all the time. Quells were something special. The last two iterations had delivered wins unto District 8 and District 12, of all places. If there was ever a chance for Two to make its stand, it was now. If there was ever a chance for him, Brutus, to make up for the failures of last year, it was now. And a patriotic showing from the Quarry District couldn't hurt, considering all the rumors flying about…

Plus, and Brutus's eyes gleamed in sadistic pleasure at it, for District 12, the twist meant that….

He cleared his throat: "Victors: we all meet at the Academy tomorrow morning, bright and early, to discuss…. strategy….."


Next morning, bright and early, found all fifteen living Victors from 2 gathered in a semi-circle on the training mats in the gym of the Academy. Headmistress Boudicca had cancelled all fight pairings for the season, and ordered their recruits to not leave their dormitories. Ordinary training would resume once the Reaping was over, but at least for this year, the talents of their students would no longer be required, or at least would be deferred.

Also, as the Victor with the most seniority, Boudicca would be the one to lead the meeting. She had tapped Brutus to be her second, given that he was the one to call for the meeting. The Headmistress graciously ceded the floor to allow him to make the opening argument.

"There is no district in all of Panem better positioned for this Quell. Our existing pool of Victors is the most robust of any Victors' Village, far and away. And given some of the disturbing rumors people have been whispering in the news, we owe it to our generous benefactors in the Capitol to put our best foot forward, especially seeing as we can afford to." He paused impressively, to gather his own thoughts. "I know that some of you are concerned about what an arena full of adults of various life experience and perhaps even health issues will look like. I share those concerns. Which is why I am proposing we impose both a ceiling and floor for who is eligible to go back in. Bottom and top age thresholds will be floated, put to a vote and approved via a majority. Anyone who falls within the range set will undergo training same as we put our recruits through every year."

Brutus looked to Boudicca, ready to yield the floor back, and she nodded, tapping her cane as she stepped forward.

"First things first, and I think we can all agree: the youngest ones stay out."

Everyone immediately looked to Lupus Pagano, and Berenice Equita. Lupus, the Victor just three years ago and whom everyone had thrown a party for, giving him his first beer, on account of his twenty-first birthday just this past Winter Festival. Berenice Equita, Brutus's most recent successful girl protégé, was not much older – at 24, she was busy planning her wedding set for this coming fall and hoping to start a family.

"I move to set the floor cut-off at anyone born after the Second Quarter Quell," Brutus called for the vote. "Will anyone second my motion?"

"I second the motion," Lyme Tanner concurred immediately, smiling at Lupus, Brutus's most recent victorious pupil.

"All in favor?"

Every single hand went up, even those of Lupus and Berenice, though the young ones looked sheepish about it. Perhaps they felt it went against their District 2 sense of honor. Brutus wanted to tell them not to feel bad about it.

"Those opposed?"

Stillness.

"Floor is set," Brutus rumbled. That meant that no one from Two younger than their thirties would be Reaped, which to his mind, was more than reasonable.

Brutus knew the ceiling was going to be a lot harder to get passed, despite the fact that if it did, they would still have a decent crop to choose from. It wouldn't be much bigger than the hands the Career districts and even one or two outlier districts had been dealt, but it would still be healthy.

"Ceiling cut-off:" Boudicca announced. "No one who was of eligible Academy age or over by the time of the First Quarter Quell."

Originally, Brutus had wanted the ceiling to be no one born before the First Quarter Quell, but the old woman had seen through that in a Capitol minute. It would have meant severely hamstringing the pool of possible tributes in a way that Brutus might have been comfortable with, but she wasn't. With this proposed ceiling, though, it kept safe their elders, like Boudicca herself and Granyte Tanner. And since pretty much every Two Victor here (with maybe one or two exceptions) had been deployed to their arena when they were 18, and recruits to the Academy weren't granted admittance until age 10, the math was relatively easy to do: along with Boudicca and Granyte, the Manchetti-Scavo clan (Honorius, Virtus and Justus, all now at or nearing 70,) would be eliminated. Antigone Frey, who won in 32, also just missed clearing the cutoff.

Unlike the relief seen from Lupus and Berenice, however, none of the Victors who would be served by this rule looked happy about it. People looked askance at one another mistrustfully. Sensing dissension in the ranks, Boudicca called for the vote. "Will anyone second my motion?"

"I second the motion," Bartimaeus Pastier – who rarely spoke unless it was in the service of something really important – rumbled.

"All in favor?"

Eight hands went up.

"Those opposed?"

Seven hands in the air.

"Motion is adopted," Boudicca stated gravely, stamping her cane as though it was a gavel.

"I can do it!" Justus protested, looking hurt. Having won just a couple of years following the First Quell, he was comfortably in his mid-sixties, and prided himself on staying fit.

Brutus shook his head sharply. "Can it, Scavo. We can't afford a Pack with any weak links, especially since we don't know the hands the Ones will be dealt or how Manannan and Mags will whip their crowd in Four."

Justus folded into himself, fuming.

That was it, then. Of the fifteen gathered, seven were still in the running to be Reaped and would thus be sent in for basic training. Four men – Bartimaues, Ares Valerio, Brutus himself and Phobeus (who, back in 60, had finally snapped the decade of dominance by the outlier districts – the longest losing streak the Career dsitricts had ever endured). Three women – Dido Castremi, Lyme Tanner and Enobaria Malachite. That drew them down to about even with Four's pool and slightly under that of One, but it was still respectable. No eligible Victor-tribute would be older than their late fifties.

"What happens if someone who doesn't fall in the age range is Reaped?" someone called out.

"Then those who are are honor-bound to volunteer in that person's place," Brutus stated, ice-blue eyes glaring at everyone assembled. "Those who are still in the running…. Report back here tomorrow to begin basic training. Dismissed."

As everyone began to file out, casting each other wary glances, Honorius toddled forward with a speed and earnesty surprising for a man his age and grabbed Brutus by the arm.

"May I speak with you alone?"

Brutus nodded to his old mentor, and the two men retired to a corner of the gymnasium. Honorius eyed his former pupil hard.

"I know why you set the ceiling," he rumbled. Brutus had the good sense to look a little sheepish. "You knew it would eliminate as many males as possible that you could get away with. And Bartimaeus and Ares are pushing it enough as it is. That would mean it comes down to either you or Phoebus who may hack it going back in."

Brutus gave a guilty, but also determined, nod. "And even if Ares, Phoebus, or anyone else is Reaped…."

"There will be nine men on that stage, regardless of any predetermined rules we set…"

"… I intend to volunteer."

Honorius shook his head flatly. "Out of the question."

Brutus glared at him. "If it's because I'm too old, or too unstable, or because you think I'm needed in the Control Center rather than out on the field-"

"It's none of those things, and you damn well know it, so cut the tone with me, Barsetti." Honorius sighed. "Brutus, the Quell is…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "This whole affair, these…problems, they all started when Everdeen volunteered to save her sister. That's the heart of it. Without that, they'd have nothing. The president, the Gamemakers, they will NOT look kindly on anyone who volunteers to save someone else. They will not want a reminder of Twelve's sacrifice from anyone, particularly not someone who is supposed to be doggedly loyal. Except for Mellark, because they expect it from him and they want him in the arena as much as his girlfriend. That's why it's out of the question."

Brutus crossed his arms. "I just want to beat Ahenobarbus's record once and for all."

Honorius looked up at the younger man, shock etched on his face. Brutus shrugged.

"That's what they'll say anyway, isn't it? Big dumb Brutus, can't wait to get back into the Games, finally has a chance to beat the record and of course that's why he did it, can't expect anything else from the big dumb monkey."

Honorius collapsed into a chair. "Boy, if anyone calls you a dumb monkey, I'll kill them myself with my bare hands."


They called Lupus at the reaping. Brutus's youngest Victor, and 2's most recent. The muscled, young man stepped towards the stage, the ugliness of his dozens of tattoos and piercings matched in the expression on his face.

Brutus rushed forward, shoving his boy out of the way and calling out the sacred words. "I volunteer as tribute!"

One look at Lupus, shell-shocked and gagging on his own relief even though he had technically been declared ineligible and therefore must have known someone who was eligible would surely jump in to take his place, was enough to confirm that he made the right decision.

Declared ineligible to be Reaped himself, Honorius got the consolation prize of mentoring his student once again. Dido Castremi had been called for the women, but quickly replaced by Enobaria (prompting a sigh of relief from the whole district that they wouldn't be sending someone chemically imbalanced back into the arena); Lyme Tanner would be coaching the Victor of the 62nd Games.

On the train, Commodus, Two's stalwart Capitol escort, happily asked if they would all like to watch the recaps of the Reapings.

Brutus sat still long enough for him to see the Delacroix siblings called for One. Four was more interesting, especially with their gender columns balanced like a checkbook. Odair was predictably tapped for the boys, but the real shocker was when Mags – eighty years old – volunteered for mad Annie Cresta.

"What a waste!" Enobaria tutted.

"They must be mad!" Honorius fumed. "Briseis and Cerulea are perfectly capable and standing right there! Why didn't either of them make a move?"

Brutus had Commodus skip ahead after that. He'd already done a run of the numbers, and knew who the sure things would be: Beetee and Wiress of 3. Circe of 5. Maeve of 6. Johanna in 7. Old Woof in 8. Evelyn in 9. Roan Tully in 10. Both Chaff and Seeder.

What Brutus really wanted to watch was 12. The Everdeen bitch was selected without much fuss.

Lyme leaned forward, half-intrigued, half-terrified. "If we get Abernathy in the mix…." The Victor of the previous Quell going back would be quite a news story.

Brutus clenched his jaw. "We won't. Not unless Twelve lost the balls they found somewhere in the garbage last year."

"The male tribute from District 12…." their escort was saying (a rather decently attractive piece of skirt, Brutus had to concede), "….. Haymitch Abernathy."

The camera caught Everdeen glancing to her male counterparts in a kind of panic.

"I volunteer as tribute," Mellark almost deadpanned it, stepping forward.

Old Abernathy tried to catch him by the arm. "I can't let you do that."

"You can't stop me."

"Peeta…."

"Let go." A hot mic picked up the whole exchange.

Brutus smiled wickedly. Perfect. "I have you now, boy – right where I want you."