Fife Baitwell

Mentor, District Four

Victor of the 20th Hunger Games

I play with the heather at Mags's font door while I wait for her to corral the children and come meet me. Yes, I left it. I left it and I like it. Besides, only Berm will know where it came from – Berm, and probably Mags. I'm wearing a lilac dress because my stylists insist it's the best colour on me; I'm sure they'd know, that's their purpose, after all. It starts off pale by my shoulders, and my thick chestnut hair is in direct contrast, but it gets darker the further it falls; by the time it sits just atop my knees it's a deep purple.

It reminds me of Sohal; how Sohal died.

Why, Sohal died.

"Fife! You look gorgeous" beams Mags.

Kanya and Anyu use her greeting to make their great escape. They fly by her one on each side; Kanya is seven, and Anyu is five. They're both dressed in blue, and they both look like Mags. Kanya edges out ahead of Anyu; in the golden morning I can see the red ribbon tucked into the belt of her dress. Anyu makes a desperate grab for it, and Kanya darts away, giggling.

Mags herself is wearing a deep green dress with pressed in creases made to look like waves on the sea. It's subtle, and it makes her soft blue eyes seem bluer somehow - but there's something else there. I reach out a hand to take one of hers, but the look is gone before I can open my mouth to speak.

Another voice makes its way to us from somewhere deep inside the house – probably the kitchen.

"You two get going or you'll be late. I'll round up the kids and see you down there"

Mags rolls her eyes, and the corner of her mouth twitches.

"Hurry up or I'll beat you there"

A proper smile blooms on Mags's face as she takes a loose strand of curly black hair and tucks it back among the other strands swept up in an elaborate braid and fastened with a silver barrette dotted with copper coloured pearls.

"Argus made it"

Mags really doesn't miss a thing.

"Argus did a wonderful job" I gladly offer.

"So did Berm"

She raises her eyebrows in challenge, and when I give none, laughs and strolls down the stairs through the garden and is by the gate by the time I've thought up something worthwhile to say in return.

Anyu runs up to her side to loudly complain of his sister's cheating ways; it comes out in a flurry of words I can barely pull apart and isn't helped by Kanya joining him to shoot down every claim that's made.

Mags shoots me a look that says 'now would be a good time', and I creep up behind them unnoticed. In a flash I have the red ribbon in my hand and this is always the only way they'll team up – indignant and against us.

"You can have this back after the reaping"

And she turns her back, and makes the trek into town.

As I catch up, I see her lovingly fold it in on itself and tuck it in the delicate pocket over her heart.

"Any preferences this year?"

"Anyone but Ophion, pretty much"

The boy I'm sure will volunteer today is as silent as the grave and just as welcoming. Even if someone is foolish enough to challenge him, Ophion is eighteen; he won't be holding anything back.

"That leaves the girls: Clew and Perch"

The bubble of hope that Perch might make it pops when I remember her competition.

Mags shrugs – a clear gesture that hey, I could always mentor Ophion, and I sigh.

"Clew it is" I submit.


Clew Critias

Female Tribute, District Four

I am so glad I went with red. There's not another dress quite like mine in the sixteens I'm sharing this dank little pen with – I doubt there's another dress quite like mine in the district. I know of one similar, but that belonged to Perch, and not for long. In her possession, it was knee length with little capped sleeves. In my hands, it was transformed into something this year's female tribute will surely shine in.

I start at my feet in high, silver heels, and let my gaze travel up my calves, over my knees, and flex each bronze thigh on full display – soaking up admiration from Adelie and Petrela. We train together, it's true, but for very different reasons.

Fife looks good. Not great, but I'll admit – she looks nice. She stares out into the crowd worrying her bottom lip; oh that's right, Berm's out there, isn't he. I stifle a giggle and let my gaze drift to our other Victor, Mags.

She's somehow making conversation with our escort, a man - well, I use the term loosely, clad in a shimmering suit pattered with the junonia shell's spots. I appreciate the thought that's clearly gone into this year's ensemble, but as Cantharis is now more sausage than identifiable body parts, there's no camouflage here or in The Capitol capable of hiding that.

He wipes his glistening forehead on a silken orange kerchief, and makes his way to the microphone, now vacated by our shrivelled up Mayor, shuffling back to his seat in periwinkle slippers.

Not long now, grandpa.

"Such an honour to be among you all again, and on such a beautiful day!"

Adelie and Petrela try taking a hand each into theirs - nope.

"Let's start with the boys, shall we?"

I slap them away and go over my route to the stage again.

Right, duck, sweep, straight, and -

"Tellin Semele!"

My eyes snap up to search the crowd for the kid.

It takes a while to find him; he's at the back, and I think he's hyperventilating.

Get your ass up there, Ophion. This is not a good look for us.

The Prince of Darkness seems to catch on, because he's climbing the steps before Tellin makes it to the front.

Cantharis seems ruffled; I'm loving this. We're supposed to wait until he asks for volunteers, but it's clear he won't be trying that. Not with Ophion.

"And your name - "

"Ophion. Ophion Mors" he replies, eyes locked dead ahead.

This is it.

This is it.

This is it.

I feel ready to burst when the escort yells –

"Great! Now let's pick out a female, shall we?"

I put my right leg ahead of my left, and crouch a bit, ready to take off.

My time in this salty shithole is coming to a close.


Ophion Mors

Male Tribute, District Four

I can't see Perch anywhere in the crowd. Either she didn't heed my warnings, or Clew overpowered her. Possibly both.

I run through the list of possible places she's been stashed as the escort waddles over to the big blue bowl full of females eligible to be chosen.

One hammy hand disappears into the pile of slips and a solitary droplet of sweat rolls off the end of his nose to smack against the name he pulls out.

"Buttercup Limpet!"

Clew doesn't wait for the reaped kid any more than I did. She waits for her less.

I see a flash of red streak out from the sixteens and it's not ten seconds before she's on the stage beside me, running a hand through her golden hair and smiling triumphantly.

"My my, such eager Tributes this year!"

The escort is beside himself, eyes locked on Clew's barely covered rear.

She spares him a pitying glance before leaning over to pluck the microphone out of his grasp. It's in her hands by the time he's aware it's left his.

"I'm Clew Critias, District Four's next Victor. Try not to miss me too much, I'll be back soon"

And she blows a kiss to the camera.

God damn it, Perch.