Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: My brother could still use a few more tributes, so send some his way.

Thank you to Acereader55 and SpaceAgeDino for Naella and Septimus, respectively.

District Two
Variables

Harriet Bard, 22
Victor of the 37th Hunger Games

"Are you sure about this?"

Harriet glanced up at Mortimer as they headed for the square, still silently hoping he would change his mind. Mortimer shook his head. "I'm sure. I know how you feel, Harriet, but Anton—"

"—is a brute," Harriet finished. "He doesn't listen. He's pig-headed, rude, and he doesn't have an ounce of common sense. Even Naella—"

"Barely tolerates him? What did you expect. They're competition, and they both understand that. They'll put up with each other for a while, but, in the end, they won't hesitate to turn on each other. That's a good thing."

"Not if it happens too soon and they end up tearing the pack apart," Harriet pointed out. "An early split is rarely a good thing for Careers; it allows the other districts to take advantage. You know that." Harriet shook her head. They'd already had this conversation at least twice. Why wouldn't he listen? "When you chose me to volunteer, you told me that it was because of my flexibility, my ability to adapt to anything. Anton—"

"Doesn't have that," Mortimer admitted. "I know. Listen, Harriet. There's a time for flexibility, and there's a time for strength. This year is different."

Harriet blinked. So that was what this was about. "But if you think this year is going to be different, then shouldn't we choose someone who can adapt to that? Someone who will be able to deal with what's coming – whatever it is?"

"Maybe. Maybe we should. But what we have to do is choose people we know we can trust to do as they're told. Anton is a patriot, through and through. Naella is one of the most driven young women I have ever met. If something happens – something like last year – I know that I can count on either of them to do their duty … even if it gets them killed."

Harriet opened her mouth to object, but thought better of it. As much as she disagreed with Mortimer's choice, he was the senior instructor. He had the final say in the volunteer selection.

It was out of her hands.

Harriet and Mortimer took the stage together, to thunderous applause. More applause followed as the other victors arrived. Ariadne. Balthasar. And, finally, Talitha and Vester, the latter giving a weary sigh and a slow shake of his head as the crowd erupted with cheers.

Once the victors were finally assembled, District Two's escort, Chiara Griffin, took her place by the microphone. Harriet smiled a little as her gaze found the two chosen volunteers, both standing near the front of the eighteen-year-old section. Only five years ago, she had been standing in their place. Eager. Anxious. A little nervous, but determined, nonetheless.

Neither of them looked nervous enough.

Finally, Chiara dipped her hand into the first bowl and drew a name. "Verity Caldwell!"

"I volunteer!" Right on cue, Naella Sareen stepped forward, wearing a simple red blouse and black skirt. Her hair, long and ginger, hung loose past her shoulders and halfway down her back. She was tall and lithe, rather thin for a Career but very fit.

Harriet nodded as Naella stepped confidently to the microphone and introduced herself. The Games weren't always about physical bulk. She'd been no muscular wonder herself, and yet she was here, and five physically stronger Careers were dead. It was intelligence that mattered, and even Naella's long bangs, draping down over her face, couldn't hide the cunning in her piercing blue eyes.

Harriet flashed Mortimer a smile, and he nodded. They had already decided days ago who would work best with which tribute. Naella was hers, and she was grateful. At least she wouldn't have to put up with Anton.

But, just as Chiara reached into the second bowl to draw a name, there was a noise from the edge of the square. A boy was running for the stage, pursued by no less than four Peacekeepers. "I volunteer!" the boy shouted insistently, plunging into the crowd of teenagers that stood between him and the stage.

Anton, annoyed by the break of protocol, moved to intercept him, but the boy was too fast. Before anyone could react, he kicked Anton violently in the shin, pulled him into a headlock, and threw him to the ground. "To think you were the best this district had to offer," he sneered as he headed for the stage.

By the time the boy made it to the stage, however, Anton had recovered his wits and followed him. He knew the procedure. Most of them did. It was rare for anyone to challenge the trainers' decision of volunteers, but, after Balthasar's victory, Mortimer had taken care to establish rules for the possibility. In the event of more than one volunteer, the decision fell to the Victors, who would decide by a vote which volunteer would enter the Games.

The procedure, however, had only come into play once. Most would-be volunteers respected Mortimer's choice, reasoning that the other Victors would stand by him, anyway. The one time the procedure had come into play, three years ago, the challenger had been voted out three to one – with Vester and Talitha abstaining. What made this boy think he would have better luck?

Or could it be – was it possible – that he simply didn't know? She had never seen him at the academy before; she would certainly have remembered that. He was tall and slim, with pale skin and dark brown hair. But it was his eyes that caught her attention. Cold and grey, almost like a hawk's. Grey, just like his clothes. Grey shirt, grey pants – plain, unremarkable. He wasn't even dressed up for the reaping.

Chiara turned to the Victors. "I believe we put it to a vote, then?"

Alarm crossed the boy's face. Apparently, he hadn't known. But he quickly recovered. "I've just demonstrated my worthiness. Clearly, I'm the better choice."

Mortimer shook his head. "Not a chance, kid. You got lucky this time, but that's no substitute for years of training. Anton's still got my vote."

"And mine," Ariadne agreed. She'd worked alongside Mortimer as a mentor for years; of course she would back him up now. Harriet remained silent.

Balthasar smirked a little. "Luck's part of the Game, too. You've got spirit. I like that." He shrugged. "One vote for … What's your name?"

"Septimus Drakon," the boy answered, turning to the rest of them, hoping for another vote.

Harriet could feel Mortimer's eyes on her. Balthasar's vote wasn't particularly surprising; he had voted for the challenger the last time, as well, and been soundly overruled. Vester and Talitha would almost certainly abstain this time, as well. So that left her. A vote for Anton would send him into the Games. A vote for Septimus would leave them deadlocked.

And then what?

Still, she hesitated. This was what she'd been trying to tell Mortimer for days. Anton had strength, to be sure, but no adaptability. If this boy could catch him off guard so easily…

Harriet took a deep breath. "Septimus."

Mortimer glared. "In case of a deadlock, then perhaps the senior Victor should—"

"We're not deadlocked." Vester's voice caught everyone off-guard. "Septimus has my vote, as well."

Mortimer stared, stunned. Anton's expression mirrored his intended mentor's, but, to Harriet's surprise, after glancing at Mortimer, he turned and left the stage without a fuss. Still obedient. Still following procedures.

Harriet was more sure now than ever that it would have gotten him killed.

"Well, then," Chiara grinned. "Your tributes, District Two! Naella Serren and Septimus Drakon!"

The crowd cheered, more pleased than ever on account of the added drama. A look that was almost relief flooded Septimus' face. Naella's face, however, was as stony as ever. As if the sudden change of district partners didn't bother her in the slightest.

Adaptability.

Mortimer was still glaring as the tributes left the stage. "I am not mentoring that boy."

Harriet blinked. In the two decades of Games since his own victory, Mortimer hadn't missed a year of mentoring. Did he mean that he wanted her to take Septimus, instead, so that he could work with Naella? Or did he mean something else entirely?

Balthasar settled the matter for him. "I'll take him, then," he offered with a casual shrug.

Mortimer cocked an eyebrow. "You? You've never wanted to mentor before—"

"True, but I have a soft spot for lucky little bastards, and I've got a feeling this one's as lucky as they come."

One by one, the other mentors left, until only Harriet and Vester remained. "It wasn't luck," Harriet pointed out. "It was you. Why? Why vote for him?" It was no secret that Vester disapproved of the Career system, but was that enough for him to simply vote in a non-trainee out of spite?

For a moment, Vester didn't answer. When he did, his voice was tired, and very old. "Before the Careers, Harriet, there were still volunteers. Every now and then, something would persuade a young boy or girl that it was worth risking their lives and their very humanity to achieve … something. Some wanted to save the life of a friend or loved one. Some wanted independence. And some … some wanted freedom."

He shook his head. "There are no … good reasons – not for this. Not for the slaughter of innocent lives. But there are reasons that make sense. There are reasons that are … if not good, then at least better. Better than bloodthirst or vengeance or a vague sense of patriotism – or an incessant need to prove oneself."

Harriet cringed a little; that last one had clearly been directed at her. She had been determined to prove herself. And that was exactly what she had done. She wasn't about to apologize for it – not to him. "What makes you think Septimus has a good reason?"

Vester shrugged. "To be honest, I can't say. Maybe something in his voice, or in his eyes." He chuckled a little. "Oh, and the four Peacekeepers trying to chase him down."

Harriet nodded. He had a point. Whatever the Peacekeepers had planned for him, apparently Septimus thought he had better chances in the Games. But, after what had happened the previous year, did he?

Or had he just sealed his own death?

Septimus Drakon, 18

"They'll all be watching you."

Septimus nodded as Galen continued to pace back and forth. Of course they would be watching him. He'd been watched all his life – but for the wrong reasons. They should have been watching in awe, watching as he rose in power and influence. Instead, he had lived his life guarded day and night, condemned to a life of imprisonment for the crimes of his mother.

Unless he won his freedom.

It was Galen who had left the door open for him – quite literally. He'd left the cell unlocked, allowing him to make a break for it in time to make it to the reaping. He'd never been allowed to attend one before – again, due to his mother. A Capitolite. A rebel Capitolite who had fled to the districts, but he had Capitol blood, nonetheless, which was enough of a loophole for them to keep him away from the reaping.

Enough to keep him alive.

And they wanted him alive. He was an asset to them. After one of his guards had discovered his talent, the Capitol had put him to work designing weapons and armor. He had no special love for the Capitol and their frivolity, but a challenge was a challenge, and he didn't exactly have anything better to do with his time.

Until now.

Now, they would all be watching him. The Capitol. The districts. He would have to be careful. Surely someone was already scurrying to the president's office to inform him that the son of the infamous Octavia Romayne had volunteered for the Games, perhaps wondering if he intended to finish his mother's work.

Septimus shook his head a little as Galen left. That idea couldn't be farther from the truth. He had no love for the Capitol, it was true, but he had less for the rebellion. His mother's actions had cost him his freedom. Instead of growing up in wealth and privilege in the Capitol, where his talents would have been recognized and appreciated, he was stuck here, in District Two, raised in solitude.

But not anymore.

Septimus fingered his ring, adorned with the Romayne family crest. A reminder of his true heritage. Once he won, he could claim the power and respect that were his by right.

Once he won.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would, in fact, win. He had already overpowered one Career. If the others were as fallible, he would be back in District Two in less than a week.

And then he would be free.

Naella Sareen, 18

They would all be watching him.

Naella allowed herself a small smirk as Mortimer entered the room. After her parents had come and gone, she hadn't expected anyone else. But it made sense that Mortimer would come, just as it made sense that he wouldn't mentor anyone but his chosen volunteer. Mortimer needed structure. Order. Consistency. But it went deeper than that. District Two's Career system was his baby. And now a tribute had come and upset the cradle.

Mortimer sat down next to her. "Don't trust him."

Naella shrugged. "I wasn't planning to trust any of them."

Mortimer smirked. "Fair enough. But keep an eye on him. He may not be trained, but that little stunt at the reaping will be enough to grab the sponsors' attention. They'll all be watching him."

Naella nodded. Of course they would. Anyone would. The Career system was well-proven, but that had the unfortunate effect of making it seem somewhat repetitive. The Capitol generally had a good idea of what sort of tributes to expect from Two. But now that Septimus had broken that pattern, their attention would be on him.

That's what she was counting on.

Adaptability. Harriet had drilled that into her head as Mortimer had drilled consistency. What neither of the two seemed to realize was that they were two sides of the same coin. The two went hand in hand.

Maybe Septimus wasn't the district partner she had expected. But he could serve the same function as Anton would have. He was a distraction. He would draw the attention of the sponsors – and the focus of the other tributes. He would make himself a target. Create discord. Chaos.

And she thrived on chaos.

Because she knew how to stay out of it. How to stay in the background, behind the scenes, manipulating the others until they tore themselves apart. And, when they were done, she would be there to pick up the pieces and claim her victory.

At least, that was the plan.

Of course, there was always a chance … a chance that things wouldn't work out so well, that victory wouldn't be quite so simple. But that was exactly the reason why she had to try. She had to know. The Games were the ultimate test, the ultimate challenge. She couldn't stand the thought of not knowing – of never knowing – whether she could have passed.

So now she would find out.

"We're the variables. People. We think. We reason. We make choices. We have free will. We can change our destiny."