Lucent Saccharyn POV:

I'm already delighted by this year's assortment of tributes. On my desk in the Gamemaker Room lay the tributes' tokens. The prep teams have just collected them from the tributes, and unfortunately, I can't allow all of them to pass into the arena. Overall, four have not brought tokens, twenty have, and one has both a main token and a backup, which is why a total of twenty-one tokens sit before me. There are four bracelets, seven necklaces, and three pictures, which I let through right away. Of the remaining tokens, one is a hair barrette, one is a ring, one is a torque, and one is a string of pearls. After some inspection, I declare all four of them to be safe and move them to the side.

Three tokens remain to be judged: a flower crown, a journal, and a switchblade. The switchblade I rule out immediately as dangerous. They took it off the boy from District Ten, the one I had rigged the Reaping for. Unfortunately for him, I'm confiscating the knife because tributes aren't allowed access to unregulated weapons. The other two items belong to the boy from Nine. The journal is his first choice of token, and the flower crown is his backup. I scoot the flower crown with the other acceptable tokens, since it's harmless, and pick up the journal. It's small enough to tuck in a pocket, with a brown leather cover. It's a lovely personal effect, but it's got detailed notes about edible and poisonous plants, as well as some truly genius home remedy recipes.

"Chris," I say, calling for my secretary, "Come here!" He immediately rushes out of his office, giving a slight bow as he reaches my desk.

"Yes ma'am?"

"I'm finished inspecting the tokens. I have special instructions. These eighteen are cleared to be returned and brought into the arena, alright? Place them in the tributes' rooms for them to find later. This one here," I say, holding up the journal, "Must be given to Maeve Bruntwhistle. She is this particular tribute's mentor, and I would like you to inform her that the tribute may read and study this while in the Capitol, but shan't be allowed to take it in the arena. He'll have his flower crown as a token instead. Should he not be victorious, we'll have it shipped back to his family."

"Of course, ma'am. Do you have any other tasks for me or is that it?"

"That's it. Please do hurry, I'll have more work for you when you return." Chris bows once more before arranging the tokens in a deep tray, placing them back into their respective compartments. A bracelet studded with emeralds goes into the D1F slot, the lone barrette rattles around in the D7F slot, and the flower crown rests in the slot labeled D9M.

I let him put them in, I've done enough arranging of my own today. There was a tragic event regarding the mentors from District Seven. A large storm had sprung up, tearing the train transporting them right off of its track. There was a rollover, and both mentors died. What a shame, too. They were both popular, and very strong mentors. Due to the accident, District Seven was left with no living mentors at all, but two victors from District Four volunteered for the job. Pulling out a dry erase board, I write the names Lorelei and Fjorda next to the spaces for District Ten Male and District Ten Female. I do pity the girl. She'll probably die in the Bloodbath, knowing what her district partner has done to her in the past.

It's an interesting twist of fate that the victors were killed by a storm, considering some of the special little features that I've decided to include in the arena. Speaking of which, I now have to change a few details, such as the Cornucopia material, location, and layout, because one of my subordinate Gamemakers, Cassus, who usually sticks to muttering around sewing pins and letting his friend Pyramus translate, had a delightful idea for some fun alterations that would really kick things off with a bang.

Also regarding Cassus and Pyramus, the trolley the arena hologram projects from is sitting near their station as Pyramus fiddles with some switches to adjust the terrain. Cassus has just gotten word from the prep teams about the tributes' measurements, and is sitting hunched over a sewing machine with some elastic fabric, grumbling away as he wraps a measuring tape around the waist of a decapitated mannequin. "Hey," I say, walking over. "How are the training suits going?"

"Mmph." Cassus is perpetually clutching something in his teeth and communicates mostly in ambiguous grunting noises.

"He says they're going well," Pyramus puts in.

"That's excellent. When will they be ready? Before tomorrow morning, for sure, but what time do you think?"

"Mmmthrsh."

"He says two or three hours."

"Good! Also, perfect timing," I say, turning to Pyramus, "because you'll need his help making some tiny adjustments to the arena. I want the Cornucopia entirely redesigned. Forget the ice theme, I want it to be made of iron so there's no chance of it cracking. And Cassus, I've been thinking about what you suggested to me earlier, and I'd like to know some more about what you have in mind." At last Cassus spits out the sewing pins, placing them in a large blue tin, and his back makes a popping noise as he stands up.

"Well," he begins, "It's traditional for us to alter the Cornucopia in Quarter Quell years, and seeing as you're new, keeping to such a tradition would truly cement your place as a brilliant Head Gamemaker. Typically, the alteration is either outlandish or very simple. Making there be wet, slippery mud around the Cornucopia that's tough to run in worked in the 125th Hunger Games, and fifty years later they replaced the Cornucopia with a series of dark tunnels and the tributes couldn't see beyond the two feet of light their headlamps provided, whereas I think I've found a happy medium between the two."

"So tell me a bit more about what you spoke of earlier."

"Sure. I was thinking that we make the area around the Cornucopia a bit like an obstacle course. Thin beams to run on, metal hoops to duck through, maybe even a cargo net. We place the Cornucopia up a level and force the tributes to climb to it. It won't be too strenuous for them, but it'll help to slow things down, and that's a useful tool any day of the week." I nod knowingly. There are lots of mutts and disasters and traps that I plan to unleash on the tributes, so we don't want the Bloodbath to wipe out half the field. Six or seven dead would be more than enough.

That's part of the genius in Cassus's plan. The other part is that it allows the sponsors to learn more about the tributes' abilities towards the beginning of the Games. They've already been going nuts, but the betting booth will be even more hectic. I'll have to pop down there and take a look once I've got Pyramus started on the Cornucopia improvements.

"Now, I had some ideas about the shape of the Cornucopia too. We'll obviously have obstacles near both the mouth and the tail of the Cornucopia, but usually the mouth is the only entrance. I was thinking that maybe we could add a slit on either side of the tail that one could duck in and out of. That way, the tributes whose platforms face the tail will have a fair shot at grabbing supplies too."

"Great thinking. I agree. "Pyramus, I need you to start designing obstacles right away, you'll be taking creative direction from Cassus once he's wrapped up the training outfits. First, update the design and materials for the Cornucopia immediately. Then continue working on the terrain. Remember, you have to get it exactly right, so take it slow. Once you two design the obstacles, I'll show you the chart of the podiums and which tributes will be where. I designed it before the Reapings so we wouldn't be biased and accidentally give one tribute an advantage over another, but I have to keep it secret a little longer, so you don't create a trap perfectly suited to a specific tribute. Will you do that?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. I'm going downstairs to check on the betting. I want to know how our dearest citizens are responding to the Reaping footage."

"Understood."

"Then I'll come back here to check in with you before I take off for the tribute parade. I'm the guest of honor, alongside the President and, of course, the Head Peacekeeper, so I'll only be coming back for a few minutes to gather my things after the ceremonies before I leave for the evening. When I leave, you can too, but you'll have to be up bright and early and back in this room by six tomorrow morning. Is that clear?"

"Yes. How long will it be until you return from the betting stations?"

"An hour, possibly longer." I walk over to my desk and extract a notebook and pen, ready to head downstairs to the lounge. "I'll expect a full report when I get back." I leave, stepping into the hall elevator and descending several stories into a lavish room with gold-lacquered furnishings. Children in bright clothing run around, holding small amounts of currency to bet attendants and pointing to their favorite tributes.

I walk over to a man wearing a red felt derby cap with a gold band around it, the hat signifying his position as the Chief Attendant. He's interacted with a lot of high-ranking government officials, but is obviously flustered when I tip aside the velvet cordon and address him by name. "You're Marty Hoban, I presume?"

"Yes, Madam Head Gamemaker, I am. How may I help you today?"

"I'd like you to tell me a little about your thoughts about the bets. Why are people predicting certain odds for certain tributes? Which tributes do you in particular believe have the best shot?" I look up at the massive betting board, which is a floor-length screen displaying photos of the tributes and the actual numerical odds, each ending in a one. I know what they mean. They are set up as loss-to-win ratios. The girl from One, Livieoula Carnelian, tops the chart at 5:1 odds. If she participates in the Hunger Games six times, she'd lose five times and win once. As a fraction, she has nearly a twenty percent chance of being the victor.

"Well, as you can see, there's some interesting stuff going on up there with the top six tributes. They've all switched places at least once so far, and we're expecting some dramatic changes in the coming hours, but right now the predictions look rather interesting. You can see that Livieoula has an edge on the rest right now, and that Eliza is behind her with 6:1 odds. Curiously enough, people have a lot of faith in the Seven girl, Jenna, and she and Rafe, the boy from Two, are tied with 8:1 odds. The other two Careers, Oscar from One and Lyra-Rose from Four also fall in the top six, with 9:1 and 10:1 odds respectively."

"Alright. So, would you say this is fairly within the realm of possibility?"

"Oh, for sure. Usually the strongest Careers end up with higher odds, but remember, nobody has started training yet. The four heaviest days for betting are Reaping Day, the third day of training when the scores come out, the first day in the arena, and after the family interviews for the final eight tributes. The reason people bet after the training scores are up is because they can judge a tribute's ability, and they bet on the first day because the field will have narrowed significantly due to the Bloodbath casualties and they'll see what tributes have nerve and which have strength and wit. They bet the very most once it gets down to the final eight because it gets them really excited and they've had a chance to see everybody's secret skills come out, but they bet on Reaping Day for an entirely different reason."

"What's the reason?"

"The reason is because they finally get to see the tributes. People judge by physical appearance and strength alone. They know almost nothing about the tributes, so the market trends often skew the results. Let's take the next four tributes: the boy from Nine, the boy from Ten, the girl from Eleven, and the girl from Five. What things do they all have in common?"

"They all look tough."

"Exactly. The boy from Nine is handsome, the boy from Ten looks a bit rough around the edges, the girl from Eleven is scrawny and short, and the girl from Five has muscles bursting out of her blazer, but they all had similar expressions when they got picked and walked up to the stage. They all looked fierce, like they had drive and ambition. The girl from Eleven, Soya, she's fourteen, so von the younger side. She's small and sallow from malnutrition, she's probably never laid hands on a weapon before, and from my professional perspective, she's probably not going to fare very well, and yet people are giving her high odds. The odds are set by the people who are gambling and putting their money on this, and they're not considering her lack of maturity and experience. They're thinking about her nasty handshake and her yelling at the escort."

"So they're thinking that she has tenacity, when she's probably just too combative for her own good. Try to provoke a Career, things won't end up well for you, but the people betting haven't considered the probability of that."

"Yes, and the probabilities listed on that board aren't too accurate as of right now. They'll sort themselves out when the training scores are announced, but the folks betting are in an echochamber of their own predictions right now. The first person to bet said he predicted odds for Livieoula as 5:1, and people looked at the board and assumed that's what everybody was thinking. Now everybody else has their money on 5:1, and each one is certain that nothing else could be true since so many people are betting on it."

"That's a shame. So tell me, Marty, who's at the bottom of the group?"

"Well, Emily, the District Ten girl, she's got 216:1 odds. She's predicted to win about half a percent of the time, which is obviously terrible. Four tributes besides her have odds lower than one percent. With no skill taken into the equation, each tribute's starting odds begin at 23:1, which is a little more than a four percent chance of winning. Eleven tributes' odds are lower than that, and two tributes, the Eleven boy and the Six boy, still have the beginning 23:1 odds."

"And Marty, what are your personal predictions at the moment?"

"I can't really say, ma'am. There's just not nearly enough to judge by. I do believe the Careers are strong this year, minus of course the boy from Four, whose mentor has already publicly stated that he will not be a part of the alliance. The girls from Five and Seven look promising, as well as the boy from Ten. My hopes aren't as high for Soya and the boy from Nine, I'm afraid, although I do believe his district partner deserves a little more support. She's a lot more muscular than the betters think, and 45:1 odds are too low for her. I'd say maybe 18:1 would be more accurate. Other than that, I'd have to wait for training."

"Thank you for your help, Marty. Call my office if there are any huge fluctuations, okay?"

"I will do that. Let me know if there's anything else you'd like to know."

"Thank you, Marty. I'll see you tomorrow." I leave the room quickly, heading back up to the elevator and braving a ride with an avox (I prefer to go alone, but I'm not prepared to walk up eighty flights of stairs in heels this tall) and come back into the Gamemaker Room. Cassus is ahead of schedule and has crafted more than half of the training uniforms completed. Every male costume is complete, and the male costumes through District Five are as well. The uniforms are black and stretchy, each consisting of a v-neck shirt and tight shorts that reach to a few inches above the knee. Cassus has adhered large red and gray decals to the shirts to signify district and position.

I select an outfit from the center of the pile. D8F, reads the text on the back. Tomorrow morning, this very shirt will be laid out on the bed of Ellie Callas, age sixteen, the female tribute from District Eight, and she will wear it to her training session. For the shoes, Cassus has directed a runner to a shoe warehouse and has ordered for twenty-four pairs of boots to be brought here as well, crafted of smooth dark gray leather with red cord laces, all in the tributes' shoe sizes. He's also sent for knee-high athletic socks, to be worn under the boots, and altogether the uniform will serve the tributes' needs well tomorrow in the Training Center.

"Cassus, this is delightful. I'm glad to know that the tributes will be well-dressed tomorrow."

"Thank you. I'll have the remaining sets done by the time the tribute parade has finished."

"Good. Pyramus, how's the arena going?" I can't tell from his tablet what the differences are, but I nearly squeal in excitement when he projects the holographic image to rest in the air in front of me.

"Behold," he says with a flourish, "The arena!" It truly is marvelous the way he's worked out problems with the terrain and shifted elements around so that they can be better put to use.

"Job well done. That's amazing. I want you to keep it up until I come back."

"Yes ma'am."

"Chris!" I call, snapping my fingers. "I'd like you to begin to pass these uniforms out to each escort. Tomorrow, the tributes will report to the Training Center at eight. Make it clear that everyone must be wearing their outfit and they will follow all directions given by Hortensia Parcel, who is the Head Trainer."

"I will do that."

"And Pinky," I say, addressing the Gamemaker whose job it is to create muttations for the arena, "You'll be in charge for the evening. Your task while I'm gone is to begin placing the mutts in the arena via your computer monitor."

"Really? Thank you!"

"If everybody is clear about their job in my absence, I will be leaving now." There are no objections, so I step out into the hallway and flounce off down the hallway.

"Fetch my car," I say to the doorman, and he does. I pile into a long, shiny, black automobile and the hired chauffeur drops me off at my home. I step through the doorway, and find Jessiah Marius, Head Peacekeeper of Panem and one of my closest companions, washing off plates in the sink. "How are you?" I ask him.

"Good. How's the Gamemaker-y stuff going?" He kisses me on the cheek, lip gloss smudging.

"It's going. Ugh, this weird amount of time I have here is killing me. I want to run back and keep an eye on my team, or at least get dressed, but I've got an odd extra twenty minutes that I have to fill up."

"Thank goodness I'm here to listen to you pontificate about your fabulous Hunger Games ideas and whatnot."

"Thank goodness indeed. You're really asking for it, aren't you? Normally I might tell you about something interesting, like the mutts or the traps, but because you decided to be cheeky, I have something much worse in mind."

"Ohhh nooo. Imagine that. I am so, so terrified, of your speech, Luce, please spare me!" The sarcasm makes me smile, but I manage to stifle the laugh in my throat. I waggle my fingers in the air, bringing them up close to my face like I'm telling a scary story.

"The plant life," I hiss. "I shall tell you all about every blade of grass in the whole arena. Elymus repens, common couch grass, is the name that will forever haunt your nightmares!"

"Ha. You're hilarious." He takes a hand out of the dishwater and flings some of the suds on me. "Make yourself useful and help me dry the cups."

"Sure, Jess. Sure." I elbow past him, grabbing the towel and snapping it in the air. "Now get out of my kitchen, you lump!" I listen to him laugh as he tears off down the hall, and it reminds me of the good times, when he and Gil and I were still in school, and his house wasn't the place of sadness that it is now, and before things got so complicated.

Especially before things got so complicated. You can't wallow, I remind myself. You can't afford to wallow in the regret of what might have been. You have a good lot of tributes, and you have an efficient team of Gamemakers and an incredible administration to help you manage things, and you have a responsibility to them. You will not fail in your duty. You are far more competent than that.

Then again, I have failed in my responsibilities before, because in a sense, my whole current relationship with Jessiah centers around one of my greatest failures in my duty. There were never just three people in my friend group, never just Jess and Gil and I. No, there were always four, and the loss of the fourth person was what tore my world right open, the effects still too raw to speak of. I think back to standing on Jessiah's doorstep weeks ago, and the morose way he acted when in the house, and the still stained arm of the low sofa that nobody ever bothered to move. That was always Mabel's place-the place she sat when we watched television, the place she sat when she did her homework-in fact, it was so hers that it was the place she sat that one fateful day, and the place that nobody's dared to sit there since.

I have a responsibility for my tributes as I had a responsibility for her, but this time, I can be certain of the outcome. Jess suddenly pops his head back in the kitchen, chucking a sweater at me. "C'mon, are you getting dressed or what? If you want time to change ten times before you decide on something to wear like you usually do or are you only going to wear one dress tonight?" He gasps dramatically, pretending to fall in mock convulsions of shock.

"Of course I am!" I run down the hall, ambushing him and heading to my closet, all solemnity forgotten. He helps point out skirts, and I ignore his suggestions until he runs to fetch the rod we use to open the crawlspace, and uses the hook on the end to tug things off their hangers and send my room into disarray, avoiding my attempts to swat him away. Eventually, dressed and made up, we head outside again, off to the indoor amphitheater that the parade will take place in, prepared for an evening of mandatory socializing with up-and-coming politicians.

Jessiah breaks off, hurrying back into the house and puttering around for a few minutes while I wait awkwardly on the drive. He emerges quickly, bearing a miniature crystal decanter and a jeweled walking stick. "I replaced my cologne with vanilla extract. Time to see how many people are gonna bullshit their way through pleasantries by commenting on it."

"That's brilliant!" I cheer. "What do you have for me?"

He passes me the cane. "The bottom of it is sharp. You can poke the ankles of people who preach about their politics too much."

"I love you."

"I know." He slings an arm around my shoulders and together, we melt seamlessly into the crowd.


Hey y'all! This was a short little Lucent chapter just to highlight some of the developments she's making on the Hunger Games, and also because I thought it was time to touch on her personal life again. The results for the last poll are up on my profile. I also touched on the betting odds in this chapter, which is interesting, because the new poll that's up and can also be found on my profile concerns what tributes you believe will make it in the top six. I can't wait to put out the next chapter!

~LC