A/N: Starting here I'm gonna start introducing other character stories on a limited-time basis. Don't worry, story's still revolving around Sam; she's not going anywhere! Just trying to expand on the flow and bring in people who will be built up over the course of the three stories, as well as give you the chance to see multiple angles of the same events (sort of like the movie with Seneca Crane's shots.)

And yeah, some of the behind-the-scenes things are inferred due to this being set some time after the books, plus no more President Snow and the fact that we never got a great look into Capitol society. Let me know if you think it's terrible or great or anything in between!

EDIT: Re-uploading because the format decides not to agree with me...

The Capitol – Games Control Room

As overseer of the Peacekeepers and strategic leader of the Panem military muscle, Commander Trajan Arterius looked little like a man who wielded excessive power within the Capitol. He stood a diminutive 5'8", with a short crop of brown hair and passive, almost soft brown eyes. He sported few physical alterations besides a gauntlet of tattoos that extended from the neck down, portraying everything from the Panem seal over his chest to rows of delta arrowheads coating each arm. He valued himself as a patient man compared to many of the vanities of Capitol residences – and he had never quite taken to the love of the Hunger Games as they had.

Finding himself inside the Control Room for those very same Games had been an odd affair.

"You wished to see me?" Trajan placed his hands behind the small of his back, raising his chin and staring down from his position atop a flight of stairs at a still, standing figure at the far end of the giant room. Later tonight this place would be full of attendants coordinating the Chariot Parade, but for now only they stood within its brightly-lit blue confines.

"Commander Arterius…yes I did," the figure turned, revealing the placid face and bright, almost electric eyes of Head Gamesmaker Phaeston Rex. Donned in a simple black suit and white undershirt and carrying a glass of bourbon on the rocks, he seemed cut out of another time and place. "Come closer; soon this room will be the envy of Panem."

Trajan couldn't say he trusted this man. Rex's service in the science and research Special Projects Division had been stellar, and his chairing of the branch as a whole even more sound. It was unthinkable that his second Hunger Games would be anything more than spectacular – but he had owned significant flexibility and power in his previous post. Why abandon that?

His flat voice that trended just a note sharp did nothing to ease the tension he conveyed.

Rex maneuvered several controls on the haptic electronic interface, bringing up a three-dimensional rendering of the games arena before turning his face to Trajan. "Magnificent, isn't it?"

The military commander scanned the arena without fanfare. What did this man want?

"Were you looking for something specific?" Trajan inquired, always straight to the point.

"Did you watch the Reapings this year, Commander?"

"Of course. We all do."

"I thought so," Rex affirmed, setting the glass down with an audible clink. "I spoke to President Octavian about it earlier today; he seemed enthused. Did you, perchance, take note of the Peacekeepers? Your charges?"

"What's wrong with them? They're doing their job, just as they always do," Trajan spoke the words with resentment. Who was he to question the men out there in the districts, enforcing order and keeping stability?

"Doing their jobs, yes…yet one could say maintaining the status quo is what landed Seneca Crane an early retirement. The districts have learned what they can and cannot get away with; what's acceptable, and what's not. They see the Capitol just as the juggernaut it is – a faraway land of a set state of rules. It is no longer the enforcer, but the behemoth."

"I'd watch your words," Trajan warned lightly. "That kind of talk doesn't go over well."

"As you should know, leading the military," Rex smiled, taking another drink and flashing those disturbed eyes. "You have been to the districts, correct? All of them?"

"Not all. The priority ones, yes."

"Then you're greatly missing out on what it means to be in control, Commander. Octavian is young and still getting his feel for power over Panem, but I believe you and I understand the trappings of this nation. We have been around for a while."

Trajan could hardly believe how easily this man tossed about the president's name; it was as if he saw himself as an equal. All this for a Head Gamesmaker – what was this about?

"Do you have a point?" Trajan zeroed on.

"Power doesn't come in imposing aircraft or genetically-bred hybrids, Commander. I've personally gotten to know each and every one of your Head Peacekeepers, district by district…learned their ways, understood the cultures out there. It's a different place in each – almost a different country. You see…power is only and ultimately information. What I know, what you do not – and we find ourselves at a time when our president in power is a young man with little grasp on the information of running this nation. Yet he concerns himself with these Games – as important as they may or may not be, I think we both know there's undercurrents that cannot be ignored."

"Do you have a proposal, then?" Trajan spoke as neutrally as he could – these were forbidden topics anywhere but a bug-free location, which the Control Room may or may not have been.

Rex gave him an eerie smile, clinking the ice about his glass. "It's our duty as officials to take care of that which Octavian doesn't see. I have my Games…you have your Peacekeepers. Through each, we ensure the security of Panem; do the dirty works that the president may wish to overlook. You're our best military mind and a patriot, as am I; but this game of watching over our districts cannot continue as it always has forever. We need a little…change."

"And how do you intend to…enact this?"

"It's not about enacting, Commander. It's about supporting the president by doing what we must to bolster him – and help Panem and our Capitol. The people we see on these streets, they don't understand when things are happening that don't concern them, and there's opportunity there. I want you…to perform a simple task, and in turn I'll pull the strings necessary to keep the technology you need to do it flowing into your supplies. Stretch your security network. Not through overt displays and shows of force, but small things – security data networks and spy imaging, central databases of every citizen, and a force of your Peacekeepers who are capable of…doing more than enforcing the peace. In turn, you'll find your funding will accommodate all that and more. The public won't even notice, and you and I will be taking the first step to making a better nation."

"First?" Trajan asked apprehensively. Rex had a mind for political games like this, but what he asked for didn't seem complicated at all – yet the hairs on the back of Trajan's neck stuck up, as if sensing danger.

"I think you and I are destined for a long partnership, Commander," Rex smiled, setting his glass down once more. "I'll make sure the pieces are in place so that Octavian's reign will be just as grand as Snow's; all you have to do is play your part. Now, I have to get back to my Games. Let's let Octavian focus on only what concerns him. It takes more than one to run a country."

Tribute Preparation Center

The air inside the Preparation Center had grown decisively colder since Sam had run through a gauntlet of corrections by a trio of perky, talkative stylists. She had just bothered to catch their names – the tall, lanky, orange-skinned man named Venitius, the stubby woman with strawberry hair and ridiculous eyelash extensions named Rana, and the young woman with the purple tattoos over swirls of yellow skin ink named Hippia – but their chirping conversations had barely even recognized Sam as a human being as they painfully plucked hairs and blasted her with streams of water. She would have called it dehumanizing, but that seemed the entire point of the Games themselves.

Dressed only in a blue paper gown and exposed to the sterile air, Sam found herself shivering fast now that she'd been left alone in a personal holding room. The Rana had said they had been off to find their lead stylist, but that had been fifteen minutes ago. The cold of the air raised goosebumps up her arms and caused her to clutch her arms to generate warmth. For her first few hours in the Capitol, Sam sure hadn't had much fun yet.

The door slid open with nary a sound as one of the stranger-looking men Sam had ever seen entered. The newcomer strode in with an air of refined confidence, yet it was his height that stunned her the most – he stood at least 6'6" with a head of cushioned black hair. His skin came off as even odder – a deep shade of blue grew in brightness and lightened as it worked its way from his ankles up across his arms and hands. At his neck it blended into a tan that finally receded into the natural skin that made up the man's face and head – almost as if he'd patterned an ocean and beach across his entire body. His clothes by comparison were spartan; simply a forest green sport jacket over a pair of black pants. For a stylist and with that height, the man had an impressive build – not quite like Laredo or Hadrian, but just as strong-looking as Dallas.

"Samantha," the man spoke with a voice that came off as unnaturally deep for his exotic look. He held out his hand, grabbing Sam's before she had much of a chance to react and shaking vigorously. "I'm Agrippa Liberius, and I'll be your stylist over the course of the Games. Do you go by Sam?"

"I do," she said quietly, letting the shock of his entrance wear off – and feeling very exposed and vulnerable in her weak garment and damp, straightened hair as compared to his look.

"I spoke with your mentor, Dallas, while Rana and the others work with you. I don't know if I should congratulate you or apologize to you for being here, but…" Agrippa looked about, holding his arms wide. "Welcome to the Capitol."

Sam allowed herself a fraction of a smile; for the first Capitol citizen who had spoken to her like a fellow person, he didn't seem half bad.

"I don't remember seeing you last year at the Games," she approached conversation tepidly. "Is this your first year?"

Agrippa allowed himself a look at Sam's appearance as he answered, taking his time to walking about the room and catch different angles. "I did District 11 for the last two years. Probably a reason you didn't see me; some of the other stylists called this a lateral move, but I'd like to think of it as a step up."

"Trying to get to District 1 or 2?"

"Trying to get somewhere I'm happy at," Agrippa countered. "All due respect to District 11, but the primary mentor there, Thresh…he's not much of a conversation."

"What's the painting on your skin?" Sam couldn't help herself from asking; if that was considered bad manners in the Capitol, so be it. The dye obviously couldn't move, but to Sam it almost seemed to be swaying with each muscle movement Agrippa made – like some great body of water lapping back and forth.

The stylist smiled, holding out an arm to reveal rippling, curling lines of dark and light amongst the blue. "Bit of a story. I've only been out to District 4 once – the only district I've been to. I saw the waves of the ocean there, the way the people treated the sea not like a tool or just a body of water, but like a friend or family member. It struck me as beautiful, and I consider design – whether it's in clothing, on a canvas, or on any surface in particular – to be art with purpose. I wanted to take a piece of that with me…so I did. I can't think of anywhere closer to my heart to illustrate than right over it."

It immediately struck Sam that she had gotten extremely lucky – here stood a man who didn't just design styles, he believed in them. That subtle difference could make or break a sponsor or two if the cards fell in the right direction. "We don't really have any of that out in District 10…just a lot of dirt. You're not planning to use dirt as a theme for the chariots, right?"

Agrippa laughed at Sam's weak attempt at humor. "Well, the traditional costume for 10 has always been the animal theme, or cowboys, but what's life without a little variety?"

"We don't have much of that back home," Sam shrugged. "Variety, I mean."

"I don't know…I think I'll judge that for myself when I get out there."

Sam raised her eyes, looking perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"I'll have to go out to your district for your victory tour six months from now," Agrippa chuckled, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. He felt…warm, and reassuring. As if the blue ocean written over his hand sent a gust of the prairie wind from back in District 10 rippling through her body, spreading out and giving some hope. If nobody else in this lonely place filled with strange people believed in her, at least her stylist – who she hadn't even known for ten minutes – did.

"Anyway," Agrippa continued, getting down to business. "My fellow stylist and I – her name's Gnaia, she's working on your fellow tribute, Laredo – have come up with something a little different for this year for you two. We don't want you to emphasize so much as what your district does – after all, you're still young, and making you look like a cow would be a disservice. We want the nation to remember where you're from."

Sam didn't understand at all how this would help. "So, what, grass? That and dirt is about all we have."

"No," Agrippa answered, letting his hazel eyes fall directly into her bright blue ones as he captured everything that needed to be known with a gaze. "Tonight, Sam, you're going to fly."