Oh? Ohohoho? Is this the Capitol reapings? Why, I think it is!
We've got our first two kiddos here, sent in by misfit-right-in and ThatOtherAsian, respectively. And for those confused, I'm gonna refer to the kids as "C-District" if they're from the Capitol, mostly because they're not really representing the Capitol and more the Districts (but don't come from the Districts, if that makes sense). That's all with my rambling for now! Enjoy Val and Wystan!
EDIT 07/16 - I've redone Wystan's section of the chapter after discussing it with his creator, so I hope he's come out a little more clearly than I portrayed him at first! ^^" Apologies for that, everyone!
15 - Commander and Demander
Valentina Teagan, 16, C-District 1
She carefully weaves Artemis's hair into braid, making sure not to yank too hard as she bounces in her seat. "This is exciting," Valentina giggles.
"No, it's not." Artemis sighs as she meets her friend's eye in the mirror. "Whoever ends up going might die."
"And they might not!" Val beams as she ties the ribbon around the braid. She lets it go and pats Artemis's shoulder lightly. They switch seats, Artemis taking the spot behind Valentina and running a comb through the girl's hair. "Even if they do, it'll still be fun—it always winds up being fun."
Artemis rolls her eyes, but doesn't argue with her further. There's no point in it anyway; Valentina's set in her beliefs, hanging onto every moment in the Gamemaker headquarters her grandfather would tell her about. As much as she knows that the Hunger Games is a bloody sport that kills twenty-three children a year, it still feels like an adventure when she thinks about the arenas, the people that participate, and the costumes they get to wear.
Danger be damned, Valentina always loves an adventure.
Once Artemis is done brushing her hair, the two start putting on their shoes and moving out of the bedroom. It's not every day that Valentina gets to wear something as nice as this—the off-the-shoulder jumpsuit just never seemed to fit with any other big events, even birthdays—and she can't wait to see what the Tributes from each District look like. She's deliberately held back from watching Lola's coverage this year to keep it a surprise.
Artemis goes down the stairs first, waiting by the front door while Valentina heads off in the direction of her grandfather's study. Vikram Plume hasn't worked on the Hunger Games for a while now, but he still likes to pass his time designing mock games and arenas. If Valentina wasn't here to remind him that he needs some sunlight every so often, the man would lose track of time in that study.
She knocks on the door and barely waits for a response as she opens it. Vikram is bent over his desk, as expected, with a ruler and pencil in his hands. He's applying the finishing touches to an arena design, she thinks.
"Grandpa," she calls out. Vikram jumps, letting out a small hoot of laughter when he spots her. Valentina beams over at him, reaching for his hands. "C'mon, the Reaping's starting soon. I wanna see what the Tributes are like."
"Oh." Vikram takes her hand and lets her pull him from his chair. He really must've lost track of time today. "You need to get there early, don't you?"
She nods. "Registration."
"You and Artemis go on ahead. I'll meet you there after I finish cleaning myself up."
Valentina nods at him, pleased to know that he won't be spending all day working in his study. Both of them have been pretty excited ever since the Quell announcement, so it's good that both of them will be there to witness it kick off. They'll just have to meet in the middle of it.
Her best friend is still waiting anxiously by the door, fiddling with her braid as she sways on her feet. Valentina lets out an excited breath. She runs over the necessities in her head. Jumpsuit? Check. Wedge heels? At the door—so check. Gold hoops? She lightly presses at her earlobes, feeling the hoops bounce slightly at her touch. Check.
Valentina reaches into the pocket of her jumpsuit just as she reaches Artemis's side, checking for her token. The ridges of the coin tickle at her fingertips, the familiar crest belonging to her family still in the same spot. She smiles as she wraps her hand around it and slips on her heels. She's all set for the Reaping, for the Quell, and all that's left is registration.
"Ready to go?" She holds out her arm for Artemis to grab onto. The shy girl rolls her eyes as she loops her arm around Valentina's, her own flats tucked snugly around her feet. "Just today, okay Art?"
Artemis nods. "Just today," she repeats under her breath. "Let's go, Val."
When they enter the street, several kids their age are already doing the same. Thin lines, different than the droves that flock through the Districts, pass the two girls by as other teens chat among themselves. Boys and girls from Valentina's school walk on, their parents following grimly at a distance. It's a mixture of displeasure and excitement in all their faces, mirroring the two girls' own thoughts near-perfectly.
Valentina guides Artemis into the crowd, rubbing her arm reassuringly. Artemis isn't as good with being around people like Val is, but a day like today needs her to be. What better way to see it through than by having a social butterfly like Valentina Teagan reassuring her at every step?
Artemis is muttering to herself, most likely trying to keep calm as the school listed in the news announcement draws near. It's not the one that she and Val attend—that's all the way on the other side of town—but it's smack bang in the middle of the designated sector for District 1 and 2's Capitol partners. From what Val's heard, it's a big community college for kids who want to pursue more mundane jobs, like fashion design and traffic control. Nothing like the one Val dreams of attending, where all Gamemakers go to prove their worth.
"Just today," Artemis chants, "just today, just today—"
Valentina rubs her arm again. "You're okay," she coos. "You're doing great, Art. It'll be over before you know it."
"Just today." Artemis nods. "Just today."
As excited as Valentina is for the event, she can see why someone like Artemis would be filled to the brim with anxiety over a simple Reaping. Based on things they've seen so far, things they've seen in other clips of other Games, even the kids with only one slip of paper have had their names pulled out before. Both being sixteen, Valentina and Artemis would have their names in five times each for District 1. More than the girl from 3 who was chosen, more than the boy from 12 who just had his name called out.
Artemis is scared. Scared for herself, scared for everyone around her. Probably Val, too. She doesn't really need to be, since "adventure" is basically Valentina's middle name by this point. Val would welcome all the horrors and travelling that come with the Games, because where else will she get an opportunity like this next? Where else will she experience something new with her own eyes?
It's why Valentina's determined to volunteer for this Quell. She won't get another chance to unless she unceremoniously winds up in the Districts before she turns eighteen, and by the time she finds out if there's somewhere water has gone down enough to try and build another city, she'll be well into adulthood.
Corners and corners, streets and a large gate. The sign of the school hung dazzlingly over the top of the walls with the name of today's event underneath. Here's where it starts to get slightly more congested as the kids register at the doors to the lecture hall ahead. Girls on one side, boys on the other; a pause every few seconds as they say their name and age, as the officials print out the required amount of papers and fold them in half. Into the bowls they go, steadily filling up on either side as Valentina and Artemis draw closer.
They soon have to separate. It's only for a minute—just to announce their names and ages—and then they're stuck to each other again like glue. Inside the lecture hall is spacious and wide, a large screen pulled over the chalkboard that's already broadcasting the District Tributes' names. Escorts are already standing at the stage with equally nervous expressions, no sign of the mentors or Tributes to be seen.
Valentina chews at her lip. They must be waiting for an introduction, to put a face to the names on the screen. She wants to know what Altan Knight will prove to be like, but she promised herself she'd leave the surprise for when the time comes.
She pats her cheeks as she sits down, Artemis counting her own breaths beside her. "You can do this, Val," Valentina whispers. "You've got this."
Minutes pass, the hall filling up almost to capacity by the time those doors shut and the Peacekeepers stand at attention. Valentina's amazed that the hall is large enough to fit all of these teenagers, even leaving some seats empty towards the back. She marvels at it all, at the view her own seat grants her, as the first escort walks up to her microphone.
"Good afternoon, children of the Capitol." Her clawed hands shake as they grasp the stand. Is she nervous? Upset? "Welcome to the Reaping of the Fourth Quell, wherein two of you will join the Tributes from Districts One and Two in the Games."
She steps back, letting the woman in pink—no, who is pink—step forward. "My name is Edith, and I'll be the escort for the young man who joins us in District Two. The lovely lady to my right is Vera, who will be the escort for the young lady who joins District One." Edith nods to everyone in the lecture hall, a silent greeting following her introduction.
Vera steps up again, this time steeling herself with a deep breath. She brings a smile to her face, gesturing to one of the curtains by the end of the stage, and says, "Allow me to introduce Altan Knight and his mentor, Atticus Clarke!"
Two people walk out, one small and one tall. The Tribute, Altan Knight, looks nothing like Valentina had anticipated—which makes his reveal all the more amazing. Tough and proud, presenting himself with an air of superiority that could make even the most hardened outer District Tribute tremble. Or so Val likes to think. He's definitely handsome like every other Career from 1, and she has no doubt he'll know his way around a weapon and teach her as much as possible in the days to come.
She beams at him, hands shaking excitedly. There's no doubt about whether or not she'll volunteer now.
Edith goes on to introduce her own Tribute, almost shamefully announcing, "Cetronia Livius and her mentor, Felix Brough."
Valentina isn't sure where the shame is coming from, unless the mentor's weight has Edith doubting Cetronia's chances. From what she sees of the tall, black girl onstage, there's an absolute goddess addressing the crowd. It's the kind of beauty you'd see in the models for the Capitol fashion shows, coupled with the powerful build and height of a Career Tribute in their prime. Valentina's already heard a lot about Cetronia—only seventeen, homeschooled to boot—but seeing her in the flesh, seeing her tower over Altan Knight, has her almost wishing the Games allowed same-sex District pairings.
Altan sneers at Cetronia as the bowls are brought out, but Cetronia pays him no mind as the escorts tell the duo to shake hands. Her expression remains neutral as Altan's becomes more threatening, an almost clear sign that he has no intentions of calling Cetronia an ally. Valentina sighs. She was really banking on Altan wanting to be in the Career pack, but she supposes she'll have to find other ways to stay on Cetronia's good side.
Vera reaches into her bowl first, digging around until she freezes with a start. Her hand is pulled out cautiously, two slips of paper impaled on one of her claws. Edith rushes over and slides one of the papers off of Vera's hand, allowing the bewildered woman to read out the name on the tattered slip.
She calls out the name, "Lucinda Nova." A girl from a few rows down stands up with a sigh, her friends bursting out into tears almost immediately.
"I volunteer!" Val shouts. For just that little bit more emphasis, she climbs atop the desk in front of her and bounces on her heels. "I volunteer! Me! Over here!"
Artemis is tugging at her jumpsuit in a panic, hissing at her to stop goofing around. Valentina just smiles down at her, winking, before pulling her leg away and trotting along the desks to reach the closest Peacekeeper. He helps her down with a delicate hand, catching her as she starts to stumble in her heels, and finally begins to lead her to the stage. Lucinda Nova sits back down, hugging her friends as she too cries alongside them.
She's welcomed onstage by a very surprised Vera and bemused Atticus. The man shakes her hand and commends her on her "spunk and moxie", while Vera shuffles aside and asks her to state her name and age for the viewers at home.
Valentina takes the microphone with a large grin on her face. "My name's Valentina Teagan," she announces. "I'm sixteen years old, and I'm going to crush this Quell with Altan Knight!"
She turns on her heel to face Altan, holding out her hand for him to shake. He just stares at her, caught between shock and confusion; he must not have expected a volunteer, much less for said volunteer to immediately ally with him. After a moment of silence, he reaches out and shakes her hand with a firm grip.
"You're damn right, we are," he agrees.
Atticus chuckles to himself as Edith moves towards her own bowl. There must be something amusing about the whole situation that Valentina can't see yet, like some kind of irony or prediction coming true. She shakes excitedly beside Altan as Edith reaches into the bowl and clears her throat. Soon she'll see who Cetronia will be working with.
The paper is crumpled more than folded when she pulls it out, making it easier to read than Vera's at the very least. Edith looks over the name once, twice; she flushes red and covers her mouth with her hand, almost hesitant to read out the name between her fingers.
With great reluctance, Edith leans over to the microphone and chokes out, "Wystan Warwick."
Val thinks she's heard that name before. Some big, rich family that works in the law or something. She'd had no idea one of the kids in the Warwick family was old enough—let alone young enough—to be Reaped.
There's a lot of shuffling in the boys' crowd as a tuft of green hair moves about, making his way to the lane with poise. Valentina stares down at him as he approaches the stage, taking in the alterations and overall appearance he's donned. Bright green hair that's been swept neatly to the side, almost professionally, and blood-red eyes that stare back at her with an almost unreadable expression. His suit—or rather, his blazer itself—matches the tone of his hair perfectly, while his shoes are just a tad darker than his eyes. From the distance she stands at, she can just barely see the vertical scars on either side of his neck—obviously not injuries, but smooth alterations made in surgery.
He's much smaller than she expects him to be when he comes onstage and stands beside his escort. Edith looks him up and down nervously, her lips trembling as she tries to keep up a smile.
"Do you have anything to say to your friends, Mr. Warwick?" she asks.
Wystan is silent for a second, looking over the boys' section with an almost expectant gaze. The boys all stare back, fidgeting in their seats. Some of them are even smiling, relieved.
The small boy leans in close to the microphone and says, "All of you can go to hell. Cowards."
Laughter breaks out in the crowd. Not awkward laughter, but amused, relieved laughter. They're all glad it's Wystan going and not them, barely even fazed by his aggression and name-calling. Wystan goes to Felix and Cetronia's sides with a disgusted expression, casting one last glance Valentina's way. She smiles at him, giving him a small wave as the Reaping comes to a close.
Wystan Warwick, with all the maturity he can muster, scrunches up his face at her and flips her off.
Wystan Warwick, 14, C-District 2
Wystan kicks at his chair with a grunt. "This is bullshit!"
The fat pig of a mentor, Felix, tries to calm him down. He barely gets a wheeze out before Wystan snaps at him, "Don't even talk to me, Fattix."
His District partner—Goddamn District partner, why is he even here?—just shifts in her seat as she eats her food with a calm expression. Ever since he saw her up onstage, towering over the boy from 1, he's felt confliction towards her. Is it because of her inhuman height or the fact that she won't even acknowledge him? Him, Wystan fucking Warwick. Whatever her problem is, he's certain it's going to cause more problems than this Quell has already supplied him with.
"W—Why don't we all just sit down?" Edith tries. "Mr. Warwick, you've barely touched your caviar."
Wystan sneers at her. Even as he fixes his seat and sets himself down, attempting to give himself some calm, Wystan's anger still makes itself apparent as he takes a spoonful of his meal. His mentor—mentor—wipes at his brow with a handkerchief. Silence settles over the cart at last, filled only by the sounds of Cetronia and Wystan eating their lunches.
He's got to figure out his game plan before he arrives at the Training Centre, that's for certain. A lot of people have wound up bloodbaths because they weren't prepared enough, and it was a sheer miracle that District 7's mentor this year made it past her own bloodbath. Wystan dares a glance at Felix. The man is shoving large chunks of beef into his mouth, chewing them open-mouthed and breathing loudly in between bites. Wystan hides his mouth behind his fist, dropping his spoon into his caviar.
Didn't Felix win because someone starved to death before he did? Almost taken out by Gamemakers because he nearly resorted to cannibalism? Wystan shakes his head. He's lost his appetite, that's for sure. And his hopes for getting far on this man's advice is crumbling with every loud snort he makes while chewing.
"This is ridiculous," Wystan sighs after a few more seconds. To his surprise, Cetronia agrees with him.
"This year is going to be a mess," she reports. "The guy from One won't want to ally with us. Too aggressive."
He looks at her curiously. All Altan Knight had done was shake her hand, maybe glare a little too hard to be considered friendly. How does she know he's too aggressive?
Felix leans forward, thankfully ceasing his eating in order to speak. "What's your full impression of him, Cetronia?" he asks.
To his immediate right, Wystan can see Edith slowly becoming more and more annoyed by the conversation. He can't see why—all Tributes have to plan ahead of time, especially during train rides to the Centre. Cetronia shifts in her seat and begins cutting her meat into small triangles.
As she sets each piece aside to cut the rest, she explains, "He didn't look too happy, standing with his mentor. Atticus won the last Quell, correct?"
Felix nods.
"He came across as angry, particularly when we came out. I think he has a problem with Two in general—that, or he's trying to assume the role of Alpha between us." Cetronia rolls her eyes. "Pointless…"
There's a lot of things Wystan could argue being even more pointless. This Quell, for one. This mentor, for another. Wystan was honestly hoping for things to go differently when his name was called out. He may not have had a lot of people who'd vouch for him—they called him "Warprick" for a reason, after all—but he'd at least hoped other kids of Peacekeepers would take the fall for him. Some rich girl volunteered for someone she clearly didn't know, excited to be in the Games. How come Wystan didn't have anyone like that in the boys' section to volunteer for him?
At least he was given to the best District of them all, he reminds himself. If he'd been put with 1, he'd have been at odds with everything about them; he never saw the appeal in "luxury goods", nor did he ever figure out how it benefited the Capitol like masonry and power does. Wystan probably wouldn't have as much respect for his partner if he was put with 1. He probably would've done more than tell everyone present to go to hell once he was onstage.
District 2, though. Only the best, most honourable warriors come from 2. They won't resort to cheap tricks or make anything too complicated. They've got superiority complexes that the other good Districts don't have, sure; but in Wystan's eyes, they deserve to feel they're on top of the world.
He looks over at Cetronia. She's done cutting her meat and slides the plate over to Felix. Part of Wystan can see why she won't pay him much mind. He's untrained in most aspects, even if he himself thinks his skills with the blade and fighting tactics are substantial, and compared to Cetronia he's probably still an amateur. Capitol kids don't fight each other to the death every year. They don't need to know the things Cetronia knows.
But another part of him demands she pay him respect. He wants this partnership to be a two-way street, for them to cooperate and make the most of this Quell. Wystan has the knowledge and the standards, and Cetronia definitely looks like she has the strength and beauty to carry their plans through. She's not some dumb, muscley Career—she's proved that with the first words he heard her speak to Felix—and that's all Wystan could've asked for once it became apparent no one was going to volunteer. If Wystan is going to make it to the end of this Quell—if Cetronia wants to return home with glory and honour fit for a victor—then they need to work together on equal footing.
Edith clears her throat, trying to get everyone's attention again. Only Felix looks over, already digging into Cetronia's abandoned meal.
"Before we continue with these dreadful Games analyses," she sighs, "I'd like for both of you to present your tokens for inspection."
Again, Cetronia rolls her eyes. She stands up and walks over to Edith's side—has she always had that tear in her skirt? How did Wystan not notice?—and reaches into the pocket of her jacket. She produces a small wooden elephant, barely the size of her palm. Edith looks it over and nods for Cetronia to go back to her seat. Instead of sitting back down, though, Cetronia just leaves the carriage with an announcement of exhaustion.
Wystan stares after her. How can she be exhausted in the middle of the day? She's not some sick Career, is she? One of those anaemic ones, or those diabetic ones? He looks over at Felix, ready to ask as such, but is quickly cut off by the man.
"She sleeps during the day and trains at night," he tells Wystan. "Don't worry. She'll find a way to make use of it in the arena with you."
He weighs up the amount of plans that could be made with Cetronia's sleep schedule. If she's nocturnal, then she and Wystan might be the only Tributes to benefit from twenty-four hours of defenses. Wystan stands guard during the day while she sleeps, Cetronia hunts Tributes at night while everyone else rests.
"I can use this," he mutters.
"A-hem!" Edith makes grabby hands at Wystan. "Your token, Mr. Warwick?"
He clicks his tongue. "I have no use for such useless trinkets on the battlefield."
Felix smiles around a piece of meat. "I like this one," he laughs.
Edith ignores the man. She just inhales deeply and reaches for the bag beside her chair, unzipping it with a tired expression of her own. Damn, Cetronia's exhaustion must be contagious. Edith pulls a stack of papers out from the bag, quickly sliding them over to Wystan with a fountain pen.
"If you're done eating and don't have a token to present, the next—and final—step is core information for the Gamemakers."
He squints at her. Core information? What more could they need other than his name and age? He looks over the form and fills in the easy parts—his name, age, gender and sex—and eventually arrives at the more questionable parts of the paperwork. Things that don't make sense to ask a Capitol child, let alone one going into the Hunger Games.
Wystan taps the tip of the fountain pen against one question asking his monthly income. "Why all these questions?"
The man across from him clears his throat. He dabs at his brow once, and then Felix says, "District children are kept in files. Blood samples, identification, yearly tessera take, employment." He nods to Wystan. "Being a Capitol child, you aren't kept so closely watched. Your leash is significantly longer, so to speak."
Wystan hums. "Why isn't blood type on here?"
"Because they know ours from birth. My guess is that the names and ages were just added for convenience on their part—so they know who filled out what."
He puts dashes in the sections that don't apply to him. He doesn't work, doesn't earn money, and he certainly doesn't take tessera. "Would knowing all this help get on common ground with one's allies?" he asks.
Felix shrugs. "Depends on how private your allies are. It's pretty personal stuff."
He flips over the page, and immediately he figures out why. Sexual history, family illnesses, criminal records. No one wants to air that particular kind of dirty laundry, especially to people who'll turn on them eventually.
After another minute or so of silence and three more pieces of paper completed, one question finally finds its way out of Wystan's mouth. He doesn't mean to say it, really; but just the phrase "preferred pronouns" is more than enough to make him do a double take and look back on the first piece he'd filled out.
"Why pronouns?" he demands.
He can understand needing to know preferred pronouns—he's known some people in school who don't go by the conventional he or she—but it's why the Capitol needs to know this about every District child that has him confused. It's a lot to keep up with, especially with how densely populated some Districts are.
Ever willing to lend a hand and spout some information with a smile, Edith shuffles in her seat and points at the sheet of paper at the bottom of the stack. It's all bubbles for him to fill in, some of the questions also relating to identification.
"Some Tributes in the past have had… problems, you could say, with regards to how their prep teams addressed them." She looks uncertainly at Felix. "I think it was around the eighty… sixth Games they were brought in?"
Felix nods. "Yanovich."
A grim look passes Edith. "Yes, Yanovich. Anyway," she goes on, attention back on Wystan, "it was after Miss Amos took over the interviewing process that the system came into play. We've had an alarmingly high number of suicides in the Games because of the issue, and Miss Amos wanted to help the children perform at their best by being addressed how they wanted to."
He raises a brow. It's hard to see how being called by the wrong pronouns can have such an effect on Tributes, but he won't question it further. Instead, he zeroes in on the name they mentioned. Yanovich must've been a big part of this new system coming in. "And Yanovich?"
There's that grim look again, this time lingering on Edith's face as she recalls Yanovich. She wipes at her eye for a second and loosens her bow. "Miss Yanovich was the last straw for the Gamemakers, you could say," she sighs. "She was doing fine when she was called up onstage—she even got along well with her partner, and her allies adored her to bits. But it was when she had to deal with her prep team that she started to struggle."
Edith almost hesitates to continue. Wystan nods to her, urging her on. "She jumped off of her chariot during the Parade," she continues. "Tried to take her own life with the carriage behind her, make a last stand against the Capitol for mistreating her. They'd aired it an hour after filming. No one saw her jump—just an edited image of her waving and smiling like nothing was wrong."
"But we haven't had any Games with twenty-three Tributes." Wystan looks back down at the paperwork and resumes filling it out. Better to get it done with soon.
"You're right. When she went into a coma, the Capitol selected a replacement and just changed their appearance through editing. Made them look like her, then detonate the pedestal's mines a second before the Games started."
Wystan scowls. He angrily flips over the sheet and scribbles in another answer. How dare the Gamemakers do that? How dare they just rig it so that Yanovich never had a chance to win? How dare they just toy with someone they probably told would be given glory for winning? He hopes this is the worst he'll hear of the Gamemakers and the prep teams, but a sinking feeling tells him it won't be.
"Spineless," he mutters. Edith tilts her head at him, having apparently misheard him, but he doesn't bother repeating himself. Everyone in the Capitol is just spineless in the end, not willing to make a change and let someone prove their own worth. Wystan chews at his lip as the pen begins to tear at one of the sheets, thankfully putting a hole in a section he doesn't need to fill out.
If only they were as good as their Peacekeepers. If only the Gamemakers and the politicians were as remarkable as their bodyguards. If only they weren't so pathetic.
But maybe Wystan can change that now that he's been dragged into the Games. Even with this giant obstacle put in front of him, his life plans haven't changed. Become a Peacekeeper, join the very ranks his family has commanded, become a legend for his honour and strength. If he becomes the first Peacekeeper to also win the Hunger Games, maybe all the chicken shits in the Capitol will take some initiative. Maybe they'll stop resorting to underhanded tricks from the shadows and tackle everything head on.
A small smile creeps onto his face as he reaches the final page. Yes, that'd fix a lot. It's a small step, but a ripple can eventually cause a wave to form. Yanovich was proof of that in the Games' system—so Wystan has just as much a chance to do the same for the Capitol. No more hiding from problems. No more tricks and dishonesty.
Just a nation of fighters who follow the right path.
So there's a little look at the train rides and the first impressions of Capitol/District pairs. There'll be five more of these before we get to the pre-Games events, which will hopefully also give us refreshers for each District Tribute that's been introduced so far. Till then, have the chapter question to ponder on!
QQ #10: Would you volunteer for the Games if you were from the Capitol?
See you all in the next chapter!