The book signing doesn't end up being too awful. We're in the large entrance hall of the main public library, which is reasonably well heated, especially with the large crowd of bodies. They sit us in a U- arrangement of tables ordered by district and we take turns scribbling our names and passing a few brief words with anyone who lines up at our desks. The book is a large colorful volume with a two-page spread on each of the forty-nine victors, including pictures from their Games, various interviews and often showing off our talents.

Even though it's only been two years since my Games, I'm not one of the most sought after autographs, and seem to mostly be the target of people who want the full collection. Most people, after seeing the lines just go for the signatures of one or two of their favorites and leave, which means both Beetee and I actually get occasional breaks. The tables on either side of us aren't so lucky, especially Denissa, who is still shivering even with the heating and the jacket wrapped around her shoulders. She doesn't even get a chance to pause and stretch out her fingers.

On our left Brutus has an even bigger crowd, though their female victor, the stone-faced woman who mentored Two the year of my Games isn't nearly as popular. She doesn't seem overly friendly either. After two hours they close the entrance and we clear out the remaining queues in another half-hour. I didn't see any of my Capitol friends about, though I guess none of them are quite so obsessed with the Games to waste their afternoon here. We're each presented with our own copy of the book, and I flip through it on the ride back to the Spire. My pages aren't too bad. The Games pictures show me walking through the green pathways, trimming branches, setting snares and standing on top of the tower, looking out over the maze below. None of my later days covered in scabs and insect bites, or of my bloody moment of victory are shown. There's one picture of my crowning, another of an interview. A full half of the second page is a photo of me standing in my workshop surrounded by my toys. I can live with that.

Some of the others have much less pleasant memories. I wince when I flip to Beetee's page and see the silhouetted image of him kneeling beside the netted pool, stark shadows thrown from the glowing arc of lighting. The hefty branch he used to keep the five Careers caught until the bolt struck his wired tree is just beside his clenched hand. The words jump out from the text beside it; innovative and unexpected. Absolutely no-one predicted him to make it past the first day, let alone win while so heavily outnumbered.

Before him Victoria Wells poses viciously with a crude wooden spear, duels another girl wielding a hand-made stone knife, wrestles with a scrawny boy with ashen skin and short black hair. Apparently that year the cornucopia had no weapons and the tributes were forced to improvise. Before her, the unpleasant victor from Five, Warrick James. Laughing at the top of a rock-pile, grinning as he runs through a bloody, crippled figure, arm muscles bulging as he reaches for a scrawny boy on a cliff-top.

The car jolts to a stop and we're hurried back upstairs for another round with the prep teams. The parade, similar to the pre-Games tribute one will involve us standing in chariots for the ride from here to the president's mansion, where we will spend the night at a party with the Capitol elite.

The shimmering silver dress Dido puts me in falls to my ankles and the shoulders are covered in a warm woolen wrap as protection against the cold. Lorcan leaves my hair loose so that it falls around my neck as an extra layer of warmth, though he does wind in a few clips that trail silver chains and turquoise beads. He uses the airbrush that I made him to paint delicate silver designs around the edges of my face and on the backs of my hands, like the tattoos I've seen some people wearing. With the silver lipstick, I look almost metallic. Like I'm only half human, and half machine. It's as good a compromise as I could hope for on our district theme.

Once again, as soon as I see some of the others in the lobby I realize how lucky I am to have Dido as a stylist. Denissa from Four appears in another outfit more suited to summer weather and Diya's stylist Andromache appears to have given up on high fashion and dumped the woman from Five in a baggy silver bodysuit splotched with patches of white fuzz. "At least I won't freeze," she mutters to me, stroking the white tufts of fur near her ribs.

I wince when I see Beetee and Cupros step out of the lift, both dressed in approximately what Beetee was wearing earlier. Like me, someone has added silver designs around their faces and on their hands, though whoever the artist is on the boys' prep team, they're not as skilled as Lorcan, and are most likely using an inferior tool. I decide that when I get home, I'll send Dido and Lucia their own custom airbrushes for use on any of our district's tributes in the future. Beetee even has the same silver lipstick on as me, and when I look closely at Cupros I see a trace of silver around his thin mouth. He smirks and pulls a silver-stained handkerchief out of his pocket. "I seem to have accidentally wiped my face. What a shame."

I hear a laugh behind me and find the three older female victors from Four. Unlike Denissa, they all have woven net-patterned shawls draped over their shoulders and long, sequin-lined gloves for warmth. Morstan joins them, like Beetee dressed exactly as he was before. He has his jacket back on and apparently received a tirade from his stylist for daring to remove it to give to someone else in the first place. I see him offer it to Denissa again as we are herded outside to the waiting chariots, though this time she refuses.

Cupros helps both myself and Beetee up into our chariot, where the two soot-gray horses are steaming in the cold evening air. Ahead of us the eleven victors from Two are arranged in their three chariots, Brutus of course in the front of the leading cart.

District Four has two chariots for their five victors, while everyone else makes do with one, though the groups from One, Five, Ten and Eleven look a little cramped with four people each. The streets are lined with cheering fans as we roll past, though it's nothing close to the crowd we see for the Games. I don't waste my energy waving; I doubt there's many people looking at me when there are so many more interesting faces to watch. Behind me, the warm comforting press of Beetee and Cupros' bodies makes me feel secure. The ride is a shorter one, only fifteen minutes and we head immediately inside to warm our hands and faces as the party begins.

Towers of champagne glasses are filled from the balcony, fountains of melted chocolate for dipping pour freely, and dozens of people wander about with trays of small nibbles. I snag two puffed pastries full of spiced vegetables and a round of something stuffed with pineapple and cheese, my stomach reminding me that my last meal was over a full day ago. Beetee shoots me a warning look when I take a glass of sparkling alcohol from the tower, but I know how to drink safely now and touch glasses with Diya while we watch the more attractive victors get swarmed by the Capitol's rich and famous.

I keep to my usual method of two glasses of water or juice for every alcoholic drink, and a decent bite of food at least every half hour. It leaves me hovering on the border of tipsy while everyone around me skips to drunk, and about half past eight someone hands me a camera and tells me to have fun with it. I've never used one this fancy before, though with a little playing I work out the basic functions and spent the rest of the night being moderately entertained.

Cupros does exactly as he said he would, and staggers drunkenly out the doors a little before ten, vanishing into the night. I spot a few of the other older victors slipping out a side-door when a Capitol woman stumbles into one of the chocolate fountains with a loud crash.

The longer the night goes, the easier it becomes to spot us district-born victors as we tire and start drifting to the edges. I rescue Beetee twice from a middle-aged man who keeps talking at him about fantastically unrealistic ideas for travelling into space, and even haul Diya to safety when her shoe skids in a puddle of chocolate, though the force nearly pulls me over with her. The distraction of the camera means they're all more drunk than I am, and I end up helping carry both Beetee and Diya out to the cars around two in the morning. Diya is singing horribly out of tune and Beetee spends the journey back to the Spire trying to explain to her the science behind harmonics. I sit in the front seat, cover my ears and watch the driver chuckle as he takes us home. Neither of them are walking very straight so I go with them to their rooms, suddenly feeling rather responsible. Beetee hugs me as I help him open his door, but manages to stumble away without assistance to the couch. I consider going after him and making sure he's fine—I'm pretty sure he doesn't usually drink this much on the rare occasions he drinks at all—but I hear Diya start singing again in the corridor and decide he's old enough to manage on his own. He probably doesn't need a little sister figure hanging about.

~xXx~

I wake feeling absolutely fine, though I can't remember who the camera full of silly photos belonged to. I consider calling Beetee to check up on him, but if he's anything like me after a heavy night, the last thing he'll want to do is talk to people. And he's going to already have to do that at some point today.

Our schedule for today is full of interviews, in order of our Games, so I won't be until quite late tonight. In-between these they will be showing the segments they filmed a few months back on each of us. Otherwise we are free to do as we like. After I eat my delivered breakfast, clean up the remains of smudged silver makeup and dress in some of the more comfortable clothes I bought for myself I end up wandering down to the lobby, where I find a scattering of hung-over victors lounging about on the couches.

"Aha," Glory Winchester cries when he sees me, and reclaims the camera, admitting sheepishly that he completely forgot who he gave it to. He sits with me, Jackie, Chaff and big Terentius Garcia from Two, laughing as we flick through the pictures I took. We chat for a while about small things, and around eleven Arturus from Two joins us with a deck of cards. It's surprisingly comfortable to sit around with this group of victors, watching over Glory's shoulder as he explains the rules and tricks of poker to me. The others chip in with their own tips and after a dozen hands I draw my pool of betting chips (in reality, thin individually wrapped chocolate squares, a basket of which Chaff "borrowed" from somewhere) and join in. I lose a lot at first but after a while I stop listening to the bantered advice and go with my gut instinct instead. I win five of the next eight hands and acquire the last of Chaff's chocolates as Beetee appears, looking pale and a little green.

He blinks twice when he sees who I'm sitting with, shakes his head and wanders over to sit on my armrest. "Poker, really?"

"She just cleaned me out," Chaff admits with a grin, "Though I did eat one or two of them when I was winning. Regretting it now."

Beetee laughs nervously, and I realize that while he's only a few years older than most of them he's not particularly comfortable or friendly with them, besides maybe the woman from Ten. Even Chaff, who is closer to my age than his, tends to be too loud and rowdy for my mentor's taste.

"So," Chaff says to break the awkward silence, "Any bets on what stupid thing the Capitol will have us doing tomorrow?"

All three Career victors groan, and I don't blame them. Unlike me they will be both popular and recent enough to get stuck participating.

"I heard they'll announce each event at sunset the night before and let the votes go to sunrise. We get no warning of course," Jackie says as she deals the next hand.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of volunteers?" Glory jokes.

"Who would volunteer for this crap?" Chaff replies as he leans around to peer at Terentius' hand while the big man from Two throws in his two chocolate bet.

"Brutus, if there's anything remotely involving a fight," he says and Artutus nods in agreement.

Chaff snorts. "Him, he spent half the dinner in Eleven getting all up in Seeder's face about how only cowards use poison to kill people."

I remember him trying to insult Beetee in a similar way in Three, though my mentor didn't care in the slightest.

"And what did she say?" asks Jackie. Chaff grins in reply. "She told him she added some to his last drink. He went real quiet after that. Seems to me she weren't the coward at the table."

We all laugh, and continue laughing as our most recent victor happens to step out of the lift at that moment. He scowls at the company his district fellows are keeping, but marches over to join the group. I decide I'd rather not spend any more time in his company and toss my cards down and stand.

"I should probably go…go…"

I hesitate as they all look at me until Beetee jumps in and says, "That's right, we said we'd meet them at half-twelve. It is getting on close."

I smile at him, relieved I won't have to make up some excuse, and offer Brutus my seat. He takes it with a slight sneer, so I reach back down and snatch two of the chocolates before leading Beetee away. Glory and Chaff's laughter follows us all the way to the doors, and when I offer the second piece to Beetee he takes it with a small smile.

"So, who are we supposedly…"

"Meeting? Oh, take your pick. I'm sure the Mastersons, Heavensbees or the Dixons wouldn't mind us dropping by. Have you met Leata Dixon yet? She hasn't sponsored for a few years, but she called me a few months back and suggested she might have money."

"In exchange for…"

"The usual," he says with a small smile. "Her crew primarily do video games, especially the immersive stuff. You remember the-"

"Visor," I finish for him, remembering the strange headpiece that let people see as though they were inside a three dimensional virtual reality. He showed me a few months back when someone sent him one to work on.

"Let's go there then. You'll like her, though her brother is a bit…well…maybe he won't be there with all the parties going on."

He opens the door for me and I pull my wool coat tight around me as we step out into the cold air, dodging the handful of cameras and reporters as we head out into the Capitol streets to ply our trade together.

~xXx~

Dido appears with Lorcan to help me prepare for my interview around six, though I won't be on for another three and a half hours. I keep the television on as Lorcan brushes something through my hair to make it shine and paints my nails bright silver, watching the tail end of Beetee's segment. For each of us, they have cut together a short three or four minute video which includes a few highlights from our Games and bits of the footage they filmed a couple of months ago in our home districts. This is followed by a live interview for all but the two who have died (Emilio Buchanan from One and Marissa Whittick from Six, both of whom still get the highlights video and a clip of a few brief words from their surviving families). The interviews last around ten minutes, with Narcissus Elkheart the long-time Games commentator, who started the show by announcing his retirement from the Games production team once the Quell Card reading is over.

Beetee is followed by the string of five non-Career victors, the longest streak in all forty-nine years without a victor from districts One, Two or Four. This includes Jackie and Diya and ends with the mumbling, off-kilter Dominic from Six. I remember he and the other woman from Six, Kaylee spent the whole Games last year buzzed up on morphling, slurring their words and mostly staring at the walls. On the plus side, they make me look quite normal by comparison. This run is followed by the three Career men I was playing cards with this morning, and they are followed by another short video segment for Ashwyn Lucas from Seven, the only living victor not here in the Capitol.

His Games were the year of my first reaping, and though he did kill the boy from Two in the final fight it cost him both his eyes and the savage cut to his throat mangled his vocal chords enough that he can't really speak. The heavy scars across his face and his inability to interact with the world around him was enough for the Capitol programmers to leave him home.

I'm summoned downstairs once Chaff appears on screen and make the short drive three blocks to the stage outside the Training Centre with Denissa from Four, who is once again wearing summer-weight clothing that shows off a lot of skin. I don't like her enough to offer her my coat or scarf, and we ignore each-other completely both in the car and while waiting through Whisper's fifteen minutes on stage.

Brutus arrives just as Denissa goes on, his thin shirt half-unbuttoned and looking far too cold for the weather, and he paces irritably back and forth across the waiting space. He only seems to notice me when a producer calls me forward and gives me a brief nod before going back to pacing, his fingers drumming impatiently on his crossed arms.

I've already resigned myself to stammering and stuttering my way through Narcissus' questions, but he sticks mostly to my good topics—my work and my family—and with the popular Brutus to follow I escape quickly to moderate applause. Which turns into a roar as the reigning Hunger Games victor replaces me, taking center stage with a chest-pounding battle cry.

I don't bother tuning in to the rest of his much longer interview once I get back. Instead I flick over to see the current votes for the first of the gameshow rounds and breathe a sigh of relief. The first challenge was announced as "The Catwalk" where the unlucky ones will have to compete in modelling their stylist's fashions. I'm not entirely sure how people can compete at that, but since there's five other women well ahead of me in votes, it looks like it won't be my problem. The five men—all Careers, I notice, including my three card-playing friends—look to be set as well and I go to bed feeling quite content.

~xXx~

I take my first hit on Wednesday, when "The Voice" is announced, and as per my prediction I'm up amongst the top five picks. The downside to singing to myself during my Games. I'll be up against Denissa (who has been the top female pick for all three events so far), Jackie (who, like me had the misfortune of publicly displaying her singing ability), Seeder, and either Rhea or Lyme from Two. Neither woman seemed particularly inclined to singing from my brief interactions with them.

Terentius manages to dodge his first event, though Brutus, Arturus and Glory are all in, along with Tolby (who I heard drunkenly bellowing something vaguely in tune at the party on Saturday) and dark, handsome Morstan from Four.

As soon as the final votes are locked in we get called downstairs. Brutus slams his door and stomps into the lift just ahead of me, scowling at the walls. I cover a smile with my hand, as though I'm yawning. Like Denissa, he's been the winner of the fan vote amongst the men all three days, but hasn't won either of the "challenges". I doubt he cares one bit about losing the modelling show to Denissa, but the second challenge—a race that included both running and paddling a boat across part of the lake—played right to his strengths, and I can't imagine he enjoyed being beaten by Arturus, Glory and Lyme.

In the lobby, we are each handed off to a small team who will decide which song we will be performing for the Capitol audience late this afternoon, and what we will be wearing while doing so. Unfortunately this last isn't decided by our Games stylists, but by young up-and-coming designers who seem determined to out-do one another and prove their worth. My team, already sulking about not getting one of the popular victors, gives me a mournful piece about someone tragically dying. I'm a little surprised as the song references angels, fictitious creatures from one of the old religions that were messengers from the clouds, but none of them seem to think anything of it.

It does fit my voice reasonably well, and they seem surprised when it only takes me two renditions to have it down word perfect. I roll my eyes—after all, my prodigious memory is something I am still famous for here—and let them start the argument about my outfit. I end up dressed in a sweeping white gown edged with fluttering silver strands and painful silver shoes with clattery, thin heels. My face is once again edged in silver and the stylist—in a moment of artistic rapture—adds bright silver tears beneath each of my eyes, each set with a diamond. I hate the whole outfit and pray to the skies that are apparently full of crying angels to not turn my ankle or trip on the dragging hem while on stage.

I perform third, and manage to get the all words out in the correct order and in tune (an improvement over both Rhea and Tolby before me) and receive a moderate cheer and a few whistles. Brutus, who takes the stage after me gets a louder cheer just by waving, though it dies off after he proves that singing is decidedly not one of his talents.

I'm just happy to be out of the spotlight and sit quietly in the seats off to the right-hand side of the stage, watching as each of us in turn performs our assigned number. Seeder is decent, though like me they give her a less well known song about the beauty of nature and she gets a similar lukewarm reception. Arturus has something tribal with lots of drums and made-up words. He's dressed in warpaint and feathers, apparently some reference to his distant heritage, and is mostly in tune.

We all laugh and clap along with Jackie's routine, which is bouncy and humorous, and at the end she flings her wide-brimmed hat like a disc into the clapping crowd with a loud cry of "Ye-haaaa" and clomps noisily off stage in her heavy riding boots. Lean, handsome Glory performs something with only a few repeated words, but a heavy dance routine that includes stripping off his bejeweled jacket and ripping open the buttons on his gleaming white shirt underneath. He gets the largest cheer yet and ends up gliding off stage and collapsing in the chair next to me, still gasping for breath. He is already shivering, his upper torso now bare. I unhook the heavy, draping white sleeves from the clips at my wrists and shoulders and hand him one of the lengths of cloth to wrap himself up in against the cold. He gives me a surprised smile and takes it, wrapping it around his shoulders. I offer the second one to Arturus, who is also half-naked but he declines with a small smile and wave as the next performer is announced to thunderous applause.

It turns out that both Denissa and Morstan are at least as good singers as I am, and much better performers on stage, and the judges deliberate only five minutes before announcing the pair from Four in first and second place. Glory takes out third and quickly unwraps himself to reappear for the cheering crowd. Seeder and Jackie help me re-affix the sleeve-wings just before the rest of us are summoned back on stage for a final bow and I realize ten seconds too late that one of them is upside-down. Not that anyone but my style team is likely to notice. They hold the three winners back for more interviews and let the rest of us escape back to the Spire.

The large television screen in the lobby is blaring as we arrive just in time to see tomorrow's challenge announced: "The Tower," a giant structure that the competitors will have to climb, collecting as many rings as possible on the way up in a limited amount of time. I should be safe from that one too, though I hear Arturus groan.

To my delighted surprise, Lorcan is waiting outside my door to help me get rid of the awful white dress. He tells me to relax and unwinds the wrapped layers himself, joking about some of the more terrible singers and, in particular, about the ultra-competitive Brutus, who still hasn't won anything. On TV I see that he's still well ahead in fan-votes and will definitely be climbing tomorrow. I'm seventh in the votes for women, well behind the Careers Denissa, Lyme, Rhea and Toria, and far enough behind Jackie and sly Whisper to not worry. Lorcan stays for a quick coffee, though he's already promised to be at a party with some of the other stylists. The apartment seems oddly quiet once he's gone and I spend several hours ignoring the music and yelling that floats up from the street (and I expect, from a few of the rooms in the Spire), tinkering with one of my robots before I bury my head under a pillow and try to sleep.