"I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

Merle had barely managed to announce the unlucky female winner of the Hunger Games Lottery before a high pitched squeak sounded out across the town square, instantly changing the mild sons-of-bitches into the rowdiest bunch of fuckers he'd ever heard in his life. Those four words were all it took to light a fire under the ass of every man, woman and child previously content to stand silent like they'd had their tongues cut clean outta their heads.

Who'd have thought that all it took to get a rise outta these people was one of their own, shrieking like a damn banshee?

Merle's eyes moved over the large gathering, searching for the spark responsible igniting the crowd like a freshly struck match dropped in a vat of gasoline. Didn't take long to locate the guilty party, not when every head in the town square was turned in her direction.

She weren't the type to make men look twice but now thanks to her antics, the girlie had Merle's complete and undivided attention. She had dark hair. Curly, from what Merle could make out from his vantage point. Tiny thing too. If he hadn't of heard it with his own ears the escort would never have believed a little mouse like her capable of roaring loud as a lion. Why the hell would this girl stick her hand up for what was surely a one-way ticket to the Capitol? She had to know there weren't a chance in hell she'd make it out of the Arena.

Merle stepped to the side, making room on the already spacious platform. "Well step right this way, Sugar Tits. Ya chariot awaits!" he bellowed, sweeping his arm out theatrically as he moved.

The guards converged on the girl, surrounding her like starving dogs pouncing on an old bone. The Peacekeepers were good at what they did, Merle had to give them that. Those clowns were nothing more than braindead muscle hired to keep things nice and quiet by strongarming anyone who dared say boo against the Governor's status quo. Course, wasn't much muscle needed to control little Miss Tribute now being escorted his way.

That was fucking hilarious, worrying that little bit of a girl could possibly pose a threat to the security of the nation. The thought alone made him snort. The only threat that girl posed was to herself, volunteering to front up to the Games like she had.

Crazy bitch.

Merle's gaze swept over the chick as the group approached, taking in the outdated, dust-smeared shoes and the ill-fitting dress that'd looked like it'd been washed more times than he'd been laid in his life. Wasn't much of her to see body-wise; whatever curves she had were tucked away behind a shabby pale blue sweater that covered far too much skin for his liking.

Christ, they really did breed them homely out in the sticks.

If this chick thought she could get away with wearing that sort of bland, un-fashionable shit in the Capitol she was in for the shock of her life. Well, that wasn't quite true. Calling attention to your dowdy self during the culling ceremony would definitely trump any other event in ya life leading up to that point.

As soon as Tyreese and his band of glitter-clad fairies did their thing, Merle was swiping that fucking dress and sweater combo and having himself a little bonfire. It would be an act of mercy, ending that outfit before it could do any more damage to the ugly world they already called home.

The girl kept her head down as she approached, eyes trained on the dirt beneath her shoes like it was the most interesting thing she'd ever laid eyes on. Considering the location, dirt-watching was probably the only form of entertainment these people had that didn't involve making doe eyes at their own kin.

The brown hair he'd first clapped eyes on wasn't so much curly as it was a tangled heap surrounding her face. Merle shuddered, dreading the work needed to make this one halfway decent. As it was, she'd need a paper bag over her head so she didn't scare off the other tributes before she had a shot at killing them. For all he cared she could get twigs and leaves stuck in that rats nest when she was in the Games Arena but before she hit that black diamond she'd have to start off at the tamer bunny slopes of the Capitol, schmoozing her way into gaining sponsorship from some bleeding heart with pockets too deep for their own good. Only way to get those suckers to ante up any money was to make the contestants beautiful, desirable…take every trace of where they came from, scrub it away and make them look like another carbon-copy Capitol clone. Tyreese and his team were gonna need lighter fluid and a blow torch to get this girl even close to passable. Way she looked now, Merle wouldn't have thrown her spare change if she was begging in the street.

He watched, his gaze glued to the approaching girl as the Peacekeepers deposited her at the stairs leading up to the stage where he waited. Slowly she climbed the steps, keeping her head down as she moved. When Little Miss Tribute reached the platform she finally looked up, her baby blues locking on Merle as she moved to join him front and centre.

Merle Dixon had seen a lot of weird shit in his time. Hell, witnessing twenty-four kids being round-up then watching them fight to the death from the comfort of his own home while he had a smooth whiskey in one hand and a naked girl in the other ranked pretty high up there on the fucked-up scale of things but what the Games escort saw when he looked into the face of the volunteer blew all that shit right out of the water.

He'd expected tears, maybe fear. Regret was an obvious contender there. The one thing he hadn't expected to see when she looked at him was steely fire blazing out of her sockets. The determination behind that fiery glare was enough to land a lesser man flat on his ass; Merle was not a lesser man though. He could take anything anyone was fool enough to dish out at him and then come back for seconds.

The sight of that girl standing there, her eyes telling him to go fuck himself without the words needing to form on her lips caused a dry, amused cackle to escape from the purple-haired man.

Maybe this mouse weren't so meek after all.

This girl had balls. Dump as a post, signing up for her own slaughter, but you couldn't say she didn't have a brass set hiding under that ugly dress. He couldn't help but wonder what her deal was, volunteering for death like that. It had been years since anyone had been stupid enough to pull such a dumbass stunt and with good reason too. From the look of her, she was on the verge of aging out of this perverted show and dance show. How boring could shit get in this hole if chasing your own demise was a more viable option than staying alive and under the radar?

His eyes swept over her as she walked past, finally able to make out the less than ample rack the raggedy blue sweater partially disguised. He cocked his head, glimpsing the hint of a decent, rounded ass hiding under the floral number when a gust of wind plastered the fabric to her behind. That was a surprising development. The girl might actually have some potential when she was out of that shapeless potato sack.

The face, at least there was something he could work with once that sour-milk expression was scrubbed away. She was a looker at least, even with the attitude. Girl like her was probably top shelf out here in the sticks. Yes sir, he bet her brothers were just lining up to take a swing at that. She didn't compare with the preened and perfumed tail he'd seen strutting around the Capitol but there was something about this mouse that was impossible to ignore. Not enough to get Merle's engine running and certainly nothing like the painted peacocks that called the Capitol home but she was the best option he'd seen 12 offer since setting foot outside the train carriage.

"What's ya name, Sweetheart?" he asked, quickly covering the mic with his left hand.

She turned her head, fixing that death-stare on him once more. "My name is Carol. Call me Sweetheart again and I'll slit your throat."

Merle chuckled, pleasantly surprised yet again by the balls this girl had. A flicker of respect sprung to life within the escort. He could appreciate a woman that spoke her mind like that. This mouse was not the squeaking kind. She roared, loud and proud. She wasn't a lick like the other assholes that hailed from Hicksville.

Shit in 12 just got a whole lot more interesting.

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed Carol volunteering :)