Genevieve Blanchet, 23, District 1
Victor of the 88th Hunger Games

January, 93 ADD

A cadet becoming a tribute is a reason for celebration for most in District One. When that tribute took the final step and returned home a victor, they see the world they grew up in through a different lens. They were celebrities everywhere in the nation, it was true, but they were beloved by the people of their District the most, even more so than the mayor. Granted, Mayor Tetron isn't an easy man to love, the portly, grubby goblin that he is, but still, District One's love for its victors was unmatched by anything else. Everywhere they went, people bent over backwards for them. After a while, it really kind of got sickening to even go anywhere in public, but unfortunately for Genevieve, her image was very much rooted in the public.

She expected Alester's victory tour to be a break from the monotony of her life in One. Though all living victors are invited to the Capitol for the victory tour every winter, even if the tributes from their District didn't win, it was an optional occasion. Except, it hadn't been optional for her the past three years, not truly. Attached to her invitation every year was an additional message from President Snow insisting that she accept the invitation for reasons she'd rather forget. God, she was glad that man was finally dead. If Genevieve had been in the Capitol when he passed, she would have put a stake in his heart and garlic around his neck to make sure he didn't come back. She hoped that President Calussa was a more decent man than Snow was, though she was certain he wouldn't be.

Genevieve emerged from her house to make her way over to Alester's before everything started, wearing a thick, black coat and a soft, grey scarf to keep her warm. It would soon be seven P.M., the time they were slated to leave, and the sky was already dark. About nine inches of snow, the remnants of the snowstorm that graced District One a couple of nights ago, covered everything in sight, but that didn't stop the Capitol crews from getting all set up. There were a few blacksuits from the Elite Peacekeeper Corps, the men and women charged with protecting important officials, victors, and the Hunger Games as a whole, posted around Victors' Village but most of them wouldn't come until they were ready to leave, not that the security was needed.

District One's escort, Jeremias Mendows, diligently overlooked the crews as they worked, likely mumbling something about being off schedule. He'd been their escort for as long as she could remember, long enough that she was starting to wonder when he'd be retired considering he was the oldest escort in employment with the Ministry of Gamemaking. His hair was still atop his head, but it was thinned and free of the dyes so common in the Capitol. Usually, when a Capitolite got older, they started to wear wigs instead of trying to salvage their natural hair, but it seemed that Jeremias was proud to display his age. She waved at him as she passed.

Alester had been given the manor that had once belonged to District One's first victor, who funnily enough, was also named Alester. Alester Gilmore was something of a folk hero in One. District Seven had the "honor" of having produced the first victor, Acacia Bayard, but Alester Gilmore had been the second. In the wake of a rebellion that their district participated in too, Gilmore had used part of his immense stipend to help bring One out of the pit it had sunk into. That and the fact that most people in One worshipped the Games meant that he might as well have been a god amongst men, at least until he died a couple of years before the Third Quell. His house had sat vacant until six months ago. It was a little strange to see light through windows that had been dark for so long, but Alester had done a good job at restoring life to the place. Garland still lined the windows and there was a wreath adorned with pinecones on the center of the door to his house, remnants of Christmas not yet taken down, though she couldn't blame Alester with the snow they've had.

Genevieve didn't bother knocking on the door, instead leisurely strolling in through the front hall and into the inner parlor, where mostly everybody was. Alester was occupied being tended to by his stylists, though he still managed to give a slight wave as he noticed her enter. Not very far from him was his mother, Camilia, keeping a sharp eye on the stylists. God forbid they scratch him. She had always been something of a "hovercraft parent", but it became even more apparent after Alester's victory. Close to Camilia stood the grandfather of the Woodard-Pierce legacy, Alton Woodard himself. The Victor of the 49th Hunger Games held the distinction of being the only victor to have had a child and a grandchild win the Games and had served as the commandant of the Academy for over twenty years. Even in his sixties, the man hardly looked a day past forty as a result of augmentative surgery. It was all the rage in the Capitol, where people would do anything just to prolong their "youthfulness" for as long as they could. His hair, cut very short, was still a striking jet black, and his skin was mostly free of wrinkles. Disturbing wasn't quite the right word for it, but it was certainly different. The piercing blue eyes that the Woodards were known for didn't help matters either.

She quietly made her way to the fireplace, sitting on the sofa beside the only other victor in the room with them, Charles Aurum. Charles, who won three years prior to her, stood at a height of six feet and one inch and had skin colored chocolate. His naturally curly hair was cut short and into a fade, leaving the angles of his diamond-shaped face unobstructed. Charlie had always been somebody she found easy to get along with and the Capitol agreed with her. Then again, capitolites ate up pretty much every victor from One and Two, but even if they didn't, they'd still love him. He was in movies, on talk shows, signing autographs, and doing pretty much anything else the Capitol wanted him to, but that was the reality they lived in as victors: doing whatever the Capitol wanted of them. "Are they ready out there?" He asked as she sat down, reaching her hands out toward the fire.

"Not yet," Genevieve answered, closing her eyes for a moment and taking in a deep breath.

"You alright, Gen?" He asked, casting a concerned look in her direction.

Her eyes opened once more and she turned to face him, a light smile on her lips. "Of course. I just didn't get very much sleep last night."

Charles let out a brief chuckle. "I didn't get very much sleep the night before your tour either. Lucian didn't get very much sleep before mine." He glanced over at the other end of the parlor before continuing in a lower volume, "I'm not sure if Camilia ever sleeps." That elicited a gentle laugh from Genevieve, but she allowed him to continue again. "It's just something you don't understand until you bring one home."

She nodded, the true weight of the fact that she was no longer District One's latest victor anymore washing over her, not that she minded it. Perhaps it was selfish of her to want all the attention she'd endured from the Capitol to fade away at Alester's expense, but she knew that she would always have to be the charming socialite they wanted her to be. There was no escaping that image she had taken just as there's no escaping a brand in one's skin. For a moment, she glanced over at their newest victor. He was handsome, that was for certain. Too handsome. The capitolites were going to chew him up and spit him out and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The door to the parlor opened a moment later, Jeremias boldly striding in. "We'll be live in four minutes. Is everybody ready?"

"We're just finishing up," Lucetta, the head stylist for District One's males, informed, not even bothering to look in Jeremias' direction.

"Good. We wouldn't want to start this victory tour off by being late." The escort looked all over the room before finally walking over to Alester, conversing more quietly with him. Genevieve turned back to Charles, asking in a tone as quiet as before, "Is it just me or has everyone from the Capitol seemed stressed lately?"

"A president just died two months ago, in case you don't remember."

"Really? I had no idea." The sarcasm in her voice was obvious, but that only elicited a snort from Charlie. Nonetheless, Genevieve continued. "I understand a president just died, but Snow was old and if we're being honest, he was never in that great of shape to begin with."

"True, but he's been the President for decades," he countered, sighing a few moments afterward. "His death marks an end of an era. Things won't be the same now that he's gone. Similar? Yes, most likely, but the same?" Charles shook his head. "Never again."

Genevieve paused for a few moments, a memory suddenly resurfacing in her mind. "You know, Snow visited Alester in his hospital room while he was recovering. I'm just now remembering it, but that whole wing was shut off; I wasn't able to get back in until he left. When I did, Alester was almost... solemn. I don't know how else to explain it."

Charles leaned forward in his seat, his curiosity piqued. "Now that is strange. Snow didn't even talk to me until my crowning as victor and didn't speak to me privately until the Victory Tour."

"Same here," she responded, leaning back in contrast to her predecessor. "Alester wouldn't talk about it, claimed it was nothing, but I know they had to be discussing something important."

Their conversation was cut off by Jeremias once again. "Alright, let's get into positions people! We're live in two!"

As they rose from the sofa, Charles added in, "Maybe this trip to the Capitol will give us some answers."

"Probably not."

He chuckled quietly, "Probably not."

Wilbert Sampley, 24, District 5
Victor of the 81st Hunger Games

The train rides were always the worst, but they were necessary. When he had first been on a Capitol train, he only had the company of Five's eccentric escort, Cambria Gallopath, and Cortney Vaughn, who was, at the time, Five's only living victor. Cortney died of a stroke only a year after his victory, making Wilbert the only victor left alive in District Five. Claire Mayweather, Victor of the 57th Games, died of alcohol poisoning around the 70th Games, and Joseph Mills, Victor of the 60th Games, supposedly died from a pulmonary embolism only a few years after the Third Quarter Quell, and of course, the last victor District Five had produced before him, Nathaniel Hoover, had won that quell. It was a cruel twist they had put on the Games that year, sending in mother-son and father-daughter pairs from each District. There was little surprise when his body was found hanging from the second-floor railing in his mansion's front hall.

At this point, most people from home believed that their victors and everybody close to them were cursed to terrible fates. Half of the district avoided him like one does a disease. As an adult now, he could at least tolerate it, but he won at the ripe age of thirteen, making him the youngest victor in the history of the Games. It was already difficult enough dealing with his newfound fame and status as the last victor of District Five, but having people that he'd known all his childhood suddenly turn their backs on him stung deeper than anything the Capitol could throw at him. So, he was willing to endure the quiet train rides to go to the Capitol every six months so he could spend time with people who understood what it was like to survive.

Wilbert looked at the watch on his wrist and then back out the train's rear window. He could tell by the land surrounding them that they were getting close. The sun had not yet finished its journey past the horizon, casting a brilliant orange and lavender glow across the western sky and snow-covered mountains. He supposed if Cambria was here now, she'd be nagging at him to get moving and ready, but her presence thankfully wasn't necessary on this occasion. Still, he really did need to get up, having been in the rear car for too long, not to mention that the last thing he wanted was an irritated holocall from some bureaucrat in the Ministry of Gamemaking complaining about their tight schedules. Before leaving, however, his eye caught on a bottle of Blanchet red which was a Merlot on closer inspection. There would be plentiful alcohol of all varieties at the Presidential Palace, but it was easier to bring a bottle of something with him and the Blanchets made good wine.

Stepping into the next car, Wilbert called out to Citro, his concierge, and handed him the bottle of wine. "I want this to be close to me at the Palace tonight." Citro nodded, quietly taking the bottle and returning to whatever work he was doing on his tablet. After a victor's victory tour, they were assigned a concierge that essentially replaced the role of the District escort every time they were in the Capitol or another district. They took care of their victor's schedules and appointments and acted as their assistant. "How close are we?" He asked.

"We're two minutes away from the tunnel entrance, sir." He replied succinctly. "I would advise you to prepare yourself."

"Noted," Wilbert mumbled, taking in a deep breath and looking one last time in the mirror. His hair, naturally dark brown, was already slicked back and a few moments of adjustment brought out the warmth the capitolites were so used to seeing in his brown eyes. The suit jacket he wore was thick, fitted, and double-breasted, colored a burnt ochre. It was generally what he wore for formal occasions in the winter. Underneath the jacket and near to his color his undershirt could be seen, made of fine white silk. His pants were similar in color and thickness to his jacket, and his black shoes were shined perfectly. He was, in every way, a picturesque victor.

The orange glow from the sunset disappeared from the train car, replaced by the concrete walls and fluorescent lights of one of several tunnels leading into the Capitol's Grand Nexus Station. Within a few moments, the imagery changed once again, and the central atrium of the train station came into view as they pulled in with ten other trains, each coming from their own tracks through the other five tunnels. There were already plentiful amounts of people in designated, railed-in areas cheering so loud he heard them through the walls of his train even though the latest attraction, Alester Pierce, wouldn't be arriving for another hour. There were blacksuits posted about every ten feet from each other, silently facing the crowds with their rifles resting in their hands. The elite peacekeepers always unsettled him, even still, but without them and their very big guns, they'd all be trampled the moment they stepped foot off that train and Panem would have no victors left.

The cheers became more deafening as he stepped off the train, his name mixing in with the names of several others in the cacophony. He smiled and waved, did everything that was expected of him, all the while his eyes scanned the victors that got off the trains. With her auburn hair and green eyes, it didn't take very long to spot the one he wanted.

"Lena!" He called, quickly running up and taking her into an embrace. Helena Cordova of District Three was the victor of the Games before his and had reached out to him following his victory. She listened to that thirteen-year-old boy's troubles and let him know that he wasn't alone. In the years following, a close bond had formed between them and the two were practically inseparable when together in the Capitol. Of course, the gossip that frequented the Capitol suggested the two had a romantic interest in each other, hence why they spent so much time with one another, but he had never seen her that way. Helena was like an older sister to him and he a younger brother to her.

"Will!" She replied with the same energy and warmth in tone, tightly returning his embrace before pulling away. "Aren't you looking spiffy?"

"That's me, spiffy," Wilbert quipped with a single, muted laugh, glancing back at the train door. "Did nobody else come from Three?"

Helena shook her head. "Not this time." There was a certain look in her eye that concerned him, but he disregarded it for the time being as she continued. "I was close to not coming myself, but I couldn't abandon you to the wolves here, now could I?"

The two shared a grin before Citro magically appeared behind him as he tended to, quietly but clearly saying, "Sir." Wilbert got the hint and looked back at Helena. "I'll see you at the Presidential Palace." She nodded with a smile, turning to face her own concierge before the man even had a chance to say anything and nodding again.

As they split apart and were lead to the exits, Citro cleared his throat. "Sir, I know it is not my place."

"It's probably not," Wilbert quickly stated while they continued to walk, his tone neutral. "But go ahead."

"It is your wish to discourage the way many people talk about you and Miss Cordova, is it not?"

Wilbert's pace slowed as he looked at his concierge. "It is."

Citro took in a deep breath. "Once people start gossiping, the mere idea of something gains momentum, escaping even their control. You'll never be able to erase the notion that a relationship exists between the two of you, not completely, but hugging Miss Cordova in front of all the Capitol won't help you."

Now, this was out of character for Citro, the man that had quietly and dutifully tended to his needs in the Capitol for nearly twelve years. "I didn't think you would care so much about a hug, Citro."

"I care about your safety, sir." He said with a dead seriousness. "Public displays like that, even if it was platonic in nature, can inspire people, including the ones that don't need any inspiration. It's a spark to tinder."

"You're concerned about my safety here, with the best peacekeepers in the nation to protect me?" Wilbert couldn't help but chuckle and yet Citro wasn't wavering.

"Are you surrounded by the best peacekeepers in the nation day and night, year-round?" As much as he didn't want to concede, Citro had a point. Capitolites weren't subject to the same restrictions on inter-district travel as District citizens were and he attended many private events in the Capitol each year that lacked the heavily armed blacksuits of the Elite Peacekeeper Corps. The concierge continued, "I'm only looking out for you, sir."

"Why?"

"Because I've come to respect you and not just as a victor, but as a person. Most of the people I've ever met could never face the adversities you've faced and continue forward." A long pause followed before Citro said again, "You're truly one of a kind, sir." The earnest look on his face convinced Wilbert that he wasn't lying. In an odd way, he was sort of touched that he had managed to provoke such respect from a Capitolite of all people, but to hear it now was surprising. There was little time to stop and continue their conversation, however, as they were getting closer and closer to the point they would split off from each other; concierges were put on a train headed straight for the Presidential Palace to prepare for their victor's arrival.

The two stopped at the junction, several other victors and concierges passing by, a few of them even waving and smiling at him. Citro took a step inward, speaking in a hushed tone. "If you really do care for Miss Cordova as a friend-"

"As a sister," Wilbert interrupted.

"-As a sister, then. If you care for her, keep her close to you tonight. Try to stay away from the inside of the palace, there will be too much commotion inside there."

Wilbert's brow furrowed, some concern now rising within him. "Citro?"

The concierge's expression had darkened some, though Wilbert hadn't noticed it until now. "Please, sir, just do as I ask." With that, Citro promptly turned and walked down his corridor, and with enough time spent already, he couldn't waste anymore standing there. As he walked and got in his limo, empty of any other people besides the driver in the front, Citro's words stuck with him like the smell of garlic on one's breath, becoming all he was able to think about. The closer he got to the Palace, the worse it became. Maybe I'll need that wine sooner than I thought.

They pulled through the gates to President Seraphinus Calussa's palace. The former Minister of Defense had done well for himself, confirmed as Snow's chosen successor by the Arbiter of Succession and sworn in by the Supreme Court in November of last year. Many had expected Snow's chancellor, Euphemia Antrell, to take the Presidency, but it wasn't entirely surprising. Antrell was nearly as old as Snow was, while Calussa was in his prime at forty-three. Wilbert still wasn't able to get a read on him from the limited number of times he's seen the man, but the change in administration hadn't affected very much in Panem. President's Day was on March 30th instead of January 23rd, dollars now had Calussa's face instead of Snow's, but outside of that, much of everything else was the same as it was.

The limo stopped and he got out as the door opened. If Wilbert was being perfectly honest with himself, the Presidential Palace had always impressed him even without all the decoration and lights the tour brought. Made of the same white marble that the mansions in the Victors' Villages were made of, the palace was gigantic, purposefully meant to be the envy of all the nation. Supposedly, it hadn't been as big as it was now, only being expanded upon once Snow came into power. Nobody in District Five really knew how long it had been around for, thanks to the Ministry of Education's ambiguity on history preceding the hundred years or so before the Dark Days, but the schools taught that the President of Panem once lived in a two-story, two-bedroom house. It was Wilbert's belief that it was people in palaces that made Panem the way it was, not people in two-bedroom houses.

Two limos ahead of his was Helena's, whom he quickly rejoined with after she had exited. The two walked toward the palace together, numerous tables filled with creamy soups, tiny handcakes, and various other snacks. Unfortunately, it seemed like his appetite had left him when Citro did. He'd run the concierge's words in his head over and over, trying to find some alternative meaning, a meaning more benign than it seemed. Yet, he couldn't lie to himself and try to think that Citro's final warning was simply more advice to keep him and Helena out of the Capitol's eye. Citro's tone was low and dark, a tone that was dangerous and one that Wilbert didn't like. Minutes passed by as he conversed with other victors and few other socialites here and there, but he was detached from it all, as though he wasn't even there.

His attention snapped fully back to reality as the national anthem came on, signifying the arrival of Alester Pierce. From his spot in the front yard to the palace, still quite close to the gate and cul-de-sac, Wilbert could see him, followed closely by his escort and two mentors as they sauntered forward. Wilbert off-handedly said, "Gen sent me an email wanting to introduce me to him, y'know."

"Has there been a victor since you've won that you haven't met here?"

"Rosemary Livingston," he answered. "I didn't come here for her victory tour."

"No, but you still formally congratulated her when she came to Five for her tour," Helena countered.

Wilbert shook his head, wagging his finger, though the beginnings of a smile were returning to his face. "Doesn't count. We have to congratulate the victor succeeding us, you know that."

"It's tradition, not law, Will."

"And it still doesn't count," he reiterated with a dry chuckle, continuing more seriously a moment later, "Come on, let's go talk to him. You know it's gonna be a few more minutes until the President welcomes him inside."

Helena smiled but remained still. "You go ahead, I think it's best if I wait to-"

"Because of Tollin?" When she hesitantly nodded, Wilbert took in a breath. "Take the time you need, but remember that none of us have any right to judge another for what happened in the Arena, even a career."

"I know, I know," she sighed, "And it's not that, I just... I guess it's still a little fresh." A hand came to the side of her shoulder, eliciting a light smile from her. "Really, go on, I'll meet up with you later."

For just those few moments, Wilbert almost forgot Citro's warning to him. Before she turned to leave, he added, "Don't stray too far." Helena dramatically rolled her eyes and pivoted around a few seconds after, leaving him to make his way to the center of the yard. As his concierge's warnings returned to his mind, he realized that he hadn't seen Citro since they were both at the Nexus Station. Where is he? The man hadn't even left the wine at the palace, at least with anyone outside, though he supposed that concern grew lower and lower in the importance of things. Citro not showing up was a cause for concern all on its own, but not showing up following the words he spoke was disturbing.

"Will." The dulcet voice of Genevieve Blanchet interrupted him from his thoughts, making him realize just how disconnected he was from his surroundings. She leaned in to kiss his cheek in greeting while he returned the gesture. The two had befriended each other rather easily after Genevieve's victory, their public images as "socialite victors" becoming a natural bond. She turned over to Alester, "Alester, this is Wil-"

"Wilbert Sampley, youngest person to ever win the Games," Alester butted in, a charming smile coming to the forefront as he held his hand out. Wilbert wasn't exactly into men, but he had no shame in admitting that Alester was hot. His black hair was longer than it was when he won, now reaching just below his ears and haphazardly brushed away from his face, though it only added to his look. He was built a little slimmer than most careers, but if his performance in the Games proved anything, it was that there was plenty of strength backing him up. As Wilbert took his hand and shook it, Alester continued, "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Wilbert responded warmly, trying to push his troubles aside for a few moments once more with a smile. "And congratulations. Surviving the Arena isn't easy, my friend, even for someone of your skills."

"I had good mentors," Alester stated, provoking a smirk from Genevieve. "Nobody does it alone."

"Well, as the resident socialite of our elite club here, welcome." Wilbert chimed. "You'll find that most of us enjoy copious amounts of booze at these events, so prepare yourself."

Alester chuckled, "I've already discovered that one. Trust me, I'm prepare-" A brilliant orange and white light covered everything for a brief second, accompanied by a deep, cracking thunder that sent Wilbert forward and into Alester, then onto the ground. The sound faded nearly instantly, replaced by a total silence, but it only took a couple of moments for the muffled screams to become perceptible to him. It was only when he managed to get back into his feet, winded and disoriented, that he saw what had happened. The Presidential Palace, once proud and magnificent, was replaced by a great ball of fire and rubble, thick plumes of black smoke escaping into the night sky.

Helena.

"Helena!" he called out, wildly coughing and falling back to his knees a moment later. His sight shifted over to Alester, who was only barely being restrained from running toward the explosion by Genevieve, but Wilbert had neither the time nor ability to think about that at the moment. The upper and lower edges of his vision began to darken and the thighs holding him up straight buckled, leaving him to fall forward into the pavement.

The last thing he remembered hearing was distant sirens steadily getting closer.

A/N: Hello hello! Hope you all enjoyed this explosive prologue(ba dum tss). It took a little longer than I wanted to get done but here it is! There's still definitely going to be at least one more prologue before we move into the Reapings, but I may potentially make that two depending on how quickly submissions come in. And speaking of which, the only spot that is confirmed and taken is the District 10 Male, so there's still plenty of spots for submissions open!

I will be aiming to get an update out every week or so once we get going into the swing of things, but some chapters will take longer than others. At the end of the day, I'm aiming to write a rich and lengthy story and as a consequence, updates might take a little longer.

Alright, I think that's all for me for right now. Again, if any of you have questions regarding the story or submission, please don't hesitate to PM me here or on Discord(GreenFyre#1370).

-Raven