Welcome back readers to the first installment of the second section of 'Unlikeliest of Victors'! I meant to update all of my work a little sooner but that goal was a little more idealistic than practical. I hope you'll forgive me.

I hope the new year has treated you well so far. In the interest of time, we're going to pick up from where we left off. Please enjoy this chapter.

Part Two: "The Tribute"

13

It doesn't take long for our to pull up to the train station on the west side of Edison. When we turn the corner I can see the Tribute Train, distinct from the other trains that are parked at the platforms. Whereas the others are covered with a thick layer of dust, the Capitol's train gleams and glitters, like sunlight reflecting off water. This train is a mag-lev and one of the fastest things in Panem.

The cameras and citizens are also here to see us off. When the car comes to a stop I have to refasten a neutral expression on my face and I walk quickly to the Train, not willing to look anywhere else. I recognize faces in the crowd that arepushing against the Peacekeepers to get a better look. There are people I've seen around in the powerplants, merchants from the Town, and Professors at school. For a moment I think I see my family, but I look away. I can't look at them - not now.

We are required to stand in the door of the train car for the cameras until they get what they need. When they've taken their fill of pictures and footage we are escorted into the middle car. After a final wave to the crowd behind, the door hisses shut and suddenly I'm not under the custody of my parents, but rather the property of the Capitol.

I've always heard rumors of about the tribute train but they all seem to be true. Just this car which appears to be a bar, is decorated more luxuriously than any room in District 5 filled with expensive woods, crystal, fluted glasses, and precious metals. The walls are a stately gray and the seats are made of a dark blue material.

We're only aboard for a few seconds before the train starts moving. A desperation rises within me and I peel away from Aquilina and Christopher and plaster my face to one of the shiny windows, trying to cling to the strands of home that are slipping impossibly fast away from fingers. Within thirty seconds the platform and people vanish from view leaving only parts of Edison visible. For one brief moment, I catch sight of my house sitting on Voltage Street.

Had I really only been in my house this morning? How could something so familiar and comfortable feel so distant and foreign now?

My eyes fasten onto the buildings, trying to capture and appreciate every detail, but it's a pointless exercise. The train is now moving fast enough that the buildings blur and fade into nothing as we glide farther and farther north past the boundaries of the town and slip by rows of and rows of one story houses. Suddenly, even these houses end and the wilderness begins.

"This train can go up to 200 miles per hour and you can't feel a thing. How amazing is that?" Aquilina says, oblivious to the pained expression that I now wear. "Unfortunately though we're going to average eighty or so because we have so many mountain passes to cover." She sighs as if this something she has to get used to every year. "But not to fear, we should be in the Capitol tomorrow before long!"

"Where's our mentors?" I ask pointedly.

"They're currently waiting for you in the dining car where we can have lunch. You both must be so hungry."

Actually the reaping has all but ruined my appetite but I remind myself that I need to load up on food to give me staying power.

"Yes I am." I lie. "You coming Christopher?"

"It's Chris." He glares. "Sure. I guess I'll join you."

"Excellent! Aquilina beams. "Please follow me."

She leads the way through a set of sliding doors.

The door opens up and I see Flint and Cynthia, our mentors both sitting down at a table.

Flint looks unhappy to be seated and like he's had a bit too much alcohol in his system. Cynthia wears a smile, but one doesn't need to look hard to know that she's not happy to be roped up with us.

"Ah. Look who finally decided to join us."

"Flint, please."

"Please, come and sit." He ignores Cynthia.

We take seats on the opposite side of them.

"So you guys must be our proud District Tributes. You must feel so honored to die for national pride and entertainment." He shakes back his red-brown hair and takes a drink of what must be alcohol.

Cynthia gives him a look as hard as the beverage he's drinking.

"What? The optimistic approach never works out. Thought I'd try being a realist this time."

"You're not helping."

"Fine." he throws up his hands in surrender. "You do the talking." He says taking another swig.

"So. What are your names. The Capitol uses full names but I know sometimes you'd prefer to be called by something else."

"Name's Chris, not Christopher." My District partner repeats.

"Nice to meet you Chris." She smiles.

"My name's Katherine but I go by Finch."

Flint and Cynthia trade looks, glance around to see that Aquilina has disappeared on some errand, and look back at me.

"Look girlie, I don't know what happened up there but it was rather fishy having you get called like that." Flint scowls.

"And so soon after your ceremony too." Cynthia added.

"What are you talking about?" Chris asked suspiciously.

"Her awards ceremony? President came, gave her a medal for heroism? Ring a bell?" Flint asked.

Chris' expression was all the answer needed.

"Well, it's not unusual for Snow to keep news of himself televised to only one part of your District." Flint said uncaring.

"You mean they only brought the camera crews in for show?" I asked.

"They brought the cameras in so that Snow could reach every corner of Edison and no where else. Did you really think they would have shown the rest of your District or anywhere else for that matter?"

"Uh, I guess, I did." I answered after a minute. To be truthful, I hadn't really thought about that.

"Well, you thought wrong. Snow would never broadcast news about rebels anywhere in Panem." he turns to Chris. "Boy, where do you live?"

"Rockefeller." Chris grunted.

I mentally reviewed my geography. Rockefeller was a relatively isolated community to the southwest.

"See? I'm guessing before the week's over, the rest of District Five is going to hear your story though."

"What did she do to get a medal?" Chris asks Flint again.

He instead gestures instead to me. "Alright Finch, how about you tell him."

"Really?"

Flint ignores me and adds an ice cube to his drink.

Chris turned to me.

"Well?" he demanded.

"I saved a dam from being blown up by rebels." I say quickly.

"You…you did what?" Chris did not expect this answer.

"Saved a dam. Stopped rebels. Met Snow. Got a Medal. End of story." I said, not willing to talk about it more.

"And darn well burned herself in the process. That took guts." Flint nodded approvingly.

"Do we need to talk about this more?" I asked, uncomfortable about bringing up the dam again.

"No. But it can't be a coincidence that you were reaped." Cynthia said. Her tone indicating that we shouldn't talk about it anymore.

"So what's the plan?" Chris interrupted. "We just going to weep over the fact that she's been reaped all the way to the Capitol?" he asked pointing at me like everything was my fault. "'Cause if so, just point me in the direction of the nearest Career."

"You could always attempt an alliance with them and pick them off like I did." Flint gesturing to himself with an extra degree of humility.

"We were thinking," Cynthia interrupted. "—that if you didn't mind, we were going to coach you separately. We both want you to come home in one piece, but this is the Hunger Games we are talking about here. Our job is for both of us to help you to the best of our abilities but if you would rather prefer one of us—"

"Fine. I want Flint." Chris said.

"See? The boy's going to do fine." Flint said knocking back another swig of alcohol.

Cynthia pursed her lips.

"That's fine. Cynthia, would you help mentor me?" I ask diplomatically.

"I'd be happy to."

Lunch is brought by uniformed servers moments later. I examine the food. A creamy potato soup, fluffy rolls, mashed potatoes, chicken covered in roasted vegetables, all of it followed by a cake.

Aquilina joins us, having completed whatever errand she was up to.

"How is everything?" she beams.

Chris, who seems to have his mood improve with food, gives her a thumbs up.

"Don't forget to save some room! There's always more available!"

Despite her warning and my lack of appetite, somehow I manage to stuff myself.

"So how do you win the games?" I ask when I am full.

I feel like this question should be asked in private but I want to get both mentor's perspectives.

"You don't win the games." Flint grimaces. He hiccups once and trades out his flask for a glass of water. I guess he does have some limits when it comes to drinking.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

He laughs and I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Nobody wins these Games. Oh sure, you might have a winner, but really, is it you that comes out on top in the end? All we are is survivors." He hiccups again.

"Flint. I'd watch your tongue." Cynthia warns.

"Then how do you survive?" I rephrase my question. I'm a little annoyed with Flint.

Easy. Survive. Don't die."

He notices the expression on my face and laughs.

"Were you expecting something different?"

"Something other than the obvious?" Chris asked.

"Well sometimes the obvious is underestimated and when that happens?" he stabs his chicken with brutal force. "You die." He provides.

"I think they're smart enough to realize that." Cynthia said coming to my defense.

Flint opens his flask again, finds that its empty, and unhappily resigns himself to water.

"You want to know how to survive?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah. I do." Chris spoke up.

"Well kids, to win there's a number of things that are important. The most important though? Sponsors."

We both frown.

"Ohh, not the answer you were expecting huh?" he grins in satisfaction.

I didn't know whether that was the alcohol in Flint talking but Cynthia's face confirmed his statement.

"No." Chris answers for the both of us. "That's it though?"

"No. There's a lot more that plays into it. Flint's right though. To win, you need sponsors." Cynthia agreed.

"And to get sponsors, you need people to like you." Flint finished.

It felt like this was a speech that they had given a few times before with how easily they traded off lines.

This information takes me off guard. I've never thought about that before, but Flint's absolutely correct. Many times in previous games the final victor had been sponsored more than the other tributes. My game plan suddenly feels like it's in jeopardy. I remember William's encouragement to take the higher moral ground. Combine that with my plan of isolating myself and I'm struggling to figure out how I'm supposed to make people like me; especially when I'm determined to be a pacifist as much as possible.

"Well she's already going to do better in that category." Chris says like it's not even worth the attempt.

"Well what about that entire car ride? The Capitol see you like that and they'll be all over you." I protest. I don't know why I'm trying to help him but it's not fair that he should put everything on me.

"Well Finch, you find a way to show of your intelligence and they'll be throwing themselves at us trying to sponsor you." Flint said. "I'm not sure what went down between you and her in the car ride over here but the Capitol always loves a hostile tribute. Just don't be overly hostile." He says with caution. "You should certainly be able to get your foot in with the Careers if you wanted to."

"What are you two good at anyways? That might help you come up with an appeal."

"Do I need to talk about this in front of her?" he asks. "She's the enemy now as far as I'm concerned." Chris says becoming suddenly hostile again.

Flint casts me and Cynthia a look. There's a mix of frustration, resignation, and a suggestion to leave.

"Finch, have you seen your room yet?" Cynthia asks interpreting Flint's face.

"No I haven't."

"Let me show you."

We both get up and she leads me into the next car. This one contains the quarters for Flint, Aquilina, and herself. There's a small lounge with a television screen and various tables with an assortment of finger foods and beverages. We walk past those and we enter into the next car.

This one is for you two.

She gestures to the one compartment on the left, the other one on the right. She opens the door to the right and leads me in.

It's about the same size as my room in the manor but so much more plush and luxurious. There's a closet filled with a variety of clothes and I have my own bathroom suite with a fancy high-tech shower that blows anything away in District 5. The windows can be darkened at one's own preference, something I do at once, and I step back. As I stand in the plush blue carpet it annoys me that everything the Capitol's touches has to be luxurious. Why do 12 trains need to be outfitted like this? Why couldn't that money be spent on the impoverished?

"You might as well enjoy it." Cynthia says judging my actions. "Not everyone has the privilege to see and experience all of this."

I know Cynthia's trying to help but all of my pent-up emotion is building up. Under that pressure it solidifies into a stormy anger that threatens to explode.

"So it's a privilege live in luxury while 23 of us are sent to our deaths?" I ask bitterly.

"It could be worse." She says quietly.

I consider this for a moment. Yes, it very well could be worse, but living in luxury for a few days while there are others who struggle for survival seems like an unfair consolation present.

"Let's move on." She says judiciously.

I follow her out of my room to the back of a car. We pass through a door and we're in a room with a panoramic view of the world as it flies by. We're moving slower than before through a rock mountain pass with a calm stretch of the Sweetwater to my left, a brilliant blue against the reds and browns of the cliffs that spring up to choke us, force us further and further northwards away from District 5. I've always wanted to see what lies northwards, but never like this.

"I like to come here to think." She says. "It's a welcome distraction from everything."

I sit down on the couch and stare out the window.

"I hate my job just as much as you hate being on this train." She sighs.

The question of why pops into my head and it's answered almost immediately. Every year Cynthia and Flint are forced to return to the Capitol, a place that forced them into the games, this time with the added weight of keeping at least one tribute alive all the way to the very end. She and Flint have only had success for four years since. Each of those victors are dead through drinking themselves to death or some other sad way to go. It must be hard for them to not have a single living person because of their efforts.

In this moment I can understand their isolation and Flint's passion for drink. Who wouldn't want to have something else drown out the same routine of their life.

"I'm sorry." I murmur apologetically.

"Don't be. I can't focus on what I can't change but there a few things well within our power to change. I don't know why you were reaped but I promise you that I will do everything in my power to get you home."

I give her a ghost of a smile.

"Alright, Flint's already getting started with Chris. Why don't we talk and figure out a plan of our own?"

"Sure." Perhaps this will get my mind off my roiling emotions.

"So, Finch, what are your talents and skills?"

I think about this. How much do I want to reveal to here? "Well, I think I'm smart, I was a Messenger so I've got endurance, people also say I'm good at not being noticed, and I know botany pretty well."

"All good skills to have." Cynthia nods. "I figured intelligence and stealth were up your alley after you foiled the Scarlet Fist movement. As for plant identification? Always a good skill to have. You could easily lay traps with poisonous food and set up natural defenses with them. Knowing which ones are medicinal are infinitely helpful if they can keep you from needing someone to sponsor some medicine. Don't discount your skills at running too. Oftentimes endurance and speed can tip the balance away from someone who's pursuing you."

"It won't help me if I get physically entangled with another tribute."

"Then avoid that at all costs. You look light enough that you should be able to scale trees and reach the upper levels which should give you the edge in evasiveness. From what you described so far you seem to favor the kind of strategy I used."

I reach back into my memories of watching the games. That year the arena was set in a desert, a natural advantage to one from our District, and Cynthia won by setting traps around all the safe water sources killing the Tributes when they were most vulnerable. She had made herself appear vulnerable and weak so she wasn't actively sought out and managed to put the blame for every death on someone else. Eventually at the end when everyone was pulled together she watched from an outcrop as the Career pack turned on each other and killed themselves off making her the winner.

"I guess. A completely stealth based approach doesn't work all the time though. Only 11% of the games have been won that way."

She frowns at me.

"Have you watched all of the games?"

"I have."

"And you took notes?"

I nod.

"And you know that heading for the Cornucopia is a bad idea as well as making yourself appear to be the greatest threat to everyone else."

"Yes."

"I'm impressed. You're going to make my job a lot easier then." She smiles.

Flint appears at the door without Chris. He motions for Cynthia to come with him.

"I better see what he wants. We can talk about this more later." She says apologetically. I nod understandingly. They both retreat from the car and I'm left to myself. I watch as we carve our way through rocky and steep passes only to descend slowly on the other side. The realization that I'm in the games is stronger than ever and it brings up a wave of homesickness.

Not wanting to think about home or anything I change out of my lavender dress into a soft pair of athletic pants and a shirt before moving to the other car. Not wanting to confront Chris again I flip on the TV and decide to watch the Reapings. I better get a feeling for the competition I will be facing. As it so happens they're starting District 11's right now. I'll have to re-watch it from the start later.

The populace is darker and while there are a few exceptions, the crowd assembled is well integrated and quiet. There's obviously discontent among them showcased in their faces much like people were when my name was called.

Rue Barnette is the unfortunate victim of today's reaping and I feel vaguely sick when a tiny girl picks her way from the crowd towards the stage. She has to be 12 years old and stands as tall as Thomas at a few inches shorter than four feet.

Rue is a plant I know well because it was one of my first acquisitions in the greenhouse. It's a bitter plant that can be used medicinally to improve one's appetite. However, one can also rue the day that they mishandle the plant because touching the plant with bare skin can cause stinging cuts and burn-like bubbles that can last for days. It grows well anywhere but there's a small patch of it that seems to resent the fact it's been uprooted from home and constantly teeters between life and death despite my best efforts.

I only catch her District partner's first name and interference blurs out the last name. Reagrdless, Thresh is hugely built. He's at least six feet if not taller and heavily built from years of work. It's hard to tell just how large he is because the cameras don't offer a good sense of scale. There is forced applause and none of the people look happy to see these two go.

I don't want to face either of them in the arena. Rue doesn't belong in this arena and Thresh is not someone I want to get entangled with.

I tune out the remarks from the commentators and instead watch as they cut away to District 12. It's afternoon there and a much smaller crowd than the rest of the District's all crammed into one square. As usual everybody seems to be as well-fed and clothed as the year before. Among the potential tributes, there's a clearly defined difference. Most of the people with olive-colored skin and dark hair stick together while those with blond hair and blue eyes are sticking to themselves. Even the adults separate themselves.

I wonder what my Grandfather thinks of this division.

I watch as their escort Effie Trinket mounts the stage and welcomes District 12 to their Reaping. Her colorful attire stands out completely against the dull grays, browns, and blues of the District. In short order all of the ceremonial things are taken care of and Effie walks over to the bowl containing the female names.

Her hand waves around and she chooses one. Pursing her lips, she walks back to the microphone, opens it, and reads the name.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

I feel my heart sink more. Another 12-year-old girl has been chosen. Blonde haired with twin braids running down her back. She's terrified but slowly comes forward with Effie's encouragement.

The camera cuts away and I see a disturbance. A girl from the 16 year olds with dark brown hair and gray eyes break away.

"Prim!" she calls out desperately. "Prim!"

Two Peacekeepers break away and attempt to muscle her back. She's unable to make much leverage and in desperation she screams out.

"I volunteer!" Her voice breaks in desperation. "I volunteer!"

The Peacekeepers stop their efforts to restrain her and she bursts past them. She's stands straight and firm and looks Effie straight in the eyes.

"I volunteer as tribute!" she says.

My hands go to my mouth. What this girl has done was totally unexpected. Even the commentators who remain silent during this part are reacting in disbelief. I've never seen anyone from District 12 volunteer for another person. Ever. Tribute, Volunteer, these words are synonymous with corpse in three quarters of all the Districts.

Part of me wants to call this girl out for being so stupid but that thought is instantly banished as I realize that I would have done the same for Persephone. This girl has just committed an act of courage, bravery, and love, much more palpable and immense than saving people at a dam. This girl is a hero. I am not. I know at once this a girl to watch and observe.

There's some confusion among the Officials which gives the girl a brief moment to share it with Primrose who is soon ushered picked up by another male from the District. She screams and howls all the way back to what I guess to be her mother.

Effie, trying to save face, welcomes this girl to the stage.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Katniss Everdeen." She says. The fire she briefly displayed when volunteering has been extinguished and even though she doesn't appear that way, I know she's nervous and scared.

Effie makes a comment about how that must have been her sister and invites the District to clap for their first volunteer tribute.

It speaks volumes when only Effie claps and my opinion on District 12 is forever enhanced. I can see on screen that even those holding betting slips of paper are refusing to join in. The silence is a golden moment of rebellion as District 12 refuses to acknowledge this as something that's right. A few people salute by kissing three fingers and holding them up. The rest of the District responds in turn quickly. 8,000 or so people all saluting Katniss. Perhaps the symbol means something different in their District, but in Five, it means unity, that you have friends who stand behind you.

Effie is given time to recompose herself when Haymitch, their sole mentor comes out drunk and delirious. The rest of his antics glaze over me, even after he plummets off the stage and all I can think about is their response. If only the rest of the Districts were this way.

Effie proceeds straight to the boy's reaping. The commentators are trying to make sense of the silence and one proposes that Twelve has always been backwards in its traditions.

The boy's name is read.

"Peeta Mellark!"

There's a flash of recognition in Katniss' face and a boy that reminds me vaguely of William approaches the stage. He's of a stocky build, broad shouldered, and his arms are heavily muscled. I surmise he must be a baker or of a similar occupation because he's missing all the tell-tale signs of work in the mines. He's working harder to control his emotions and when Effie asks for volunteers, there's only silence.

She closes out by wishing the audience Happy Hunger Games and the cameras transition to one of the commentators talking about upcoming footage from the tributes leaving. There's a short montage and I see myself for a second. Good. At least I don't look nervous or scared.

I turn off the television as they cut to another "special" program that will last an hour before they show the montage of the Tributes leaving and then the Reapings with their commentary. I turn off the TV and watch as we cross over a river. Is it the Sweetwater? I don't know. I doubt there's a map I can use to look around. We're far beyond anything I've known at this point and the train's approaching the mountains.

My thoughts go back to Katniss and I flip on the TV. I'm able to rewind what was live television and I spend time analyzing her, she seemed to have most of her muscle mass concentrated in her arms but her legs looked fit as well. She probably knew how to run well. She looked physically fit and had a few faint scars on her body. Whatever she spent her time doing, she wasn't in the mines as well. Rewinding it further, Primrose reminds me of Persephone the more I look at her.

Primrose Everdeen, Persephone Emerson. Katniss Everdeen, Katherine Emerson. A flurry of mental connections instantly snap together. I would volunteer for my sister, she actually did. Both of us were fit, active, and I'd be willing to beat we both probably held secrets we'd rather take to the grave.

Perhaps this girl from District 12 was more alike me than different.

Hey reader! Thanks for sticking with me to this point. I broke this chapter into two to split a long chapter into two so I'll see you soon with another update.

As always, thank you to those of you who took the time to leave constructive comments! I really appreciate it. If you're looking for updates to my other work, I've been doing a lot of writing so expect something to drop in relatively soon.

Yours in writing,
theotherpianist