Author's Note: I am breaking slightly from Cannon. I am including Woof as the victor of the 16th Annual Hunger Games, however, I can't stand his name, so I'm deeming that, for purposes of this story, his full name is Wolfgang and Woof is a nickname.

Note #2, kopycat101 kindly pointed out there was an inconsistency in Freida's age. She is 16, not fourteen as was previously written in Mags' POV section. The error has been corrected. Thanks kopycat101 and sorry for the confusion.

Thank you to upsettomcat and Deuce Ex Machina for Margery and Loeric respectively.

And I don't own the Hunger Games World

Indifferent Dangers District 8 Reaping.

Mentor: Cassius Shadi Victor of 9th Hunger Games at Age 18 (current age 28)

Mentor: Wolfgang (Woof) Haberdasher Victor of 15th Hunger Games at Age 16 (current age 18)

Escort: Hilarion Zelenka

GAME MAKER STATION, THE CAPITOL

Brutus Laertes – Head Game Maker

As he finished the preview of the first seven Reapings Brutus sighed to himself.

"Something wrong, sir?" Brutus leapt nearly three feet when he heard Epucka's voice.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, Epucka" the Head Gamemaker grouchily ordered. He wasn't accustomed to having such an intrusive personal assistant.

"I'm sorry, sir. I just didn't want you to be alone."

"Epucka, I need to be alone for the previews. You can't have any inside information. I'm the only one in the studio who is privy to this." The pink haired girl turned to obediently leave, but stopped at the doorway.

"Sir, it's Puck."

"I'm sorry?"

"I never go by Epucka; I go by Puck."

"I believe Epucka suits you better for the time being."

"Why?"

"You may ask me that once we've made it through the Reapings."

"But sir"

"Please leave me. I have a limited time in which to edit these," Brutus insisted, feeling time pressing in on him with every moment.

"Yes sir," the girl left and secured the door this time.

"ARRRGGGHH," Brutus released the frustrated sounds he'd been holding in through that entire conversation.

By his scale, the Reapings in Districts Four through Seven had ranged from mediocre to disastrous. In District Four at least the Tribute had been responsible. Ibrahima's joke would certainly rub some audience members the wrong way, but there would be others who would find it endearing. If nothing else it already gave them a sense of who this volunteer was, even if it left a bad taste in Brutus' mouth. He'd briefly considered cutting the end, but that sat even less well with him. He wanted his art to be authentic.

That was going to be problematic with Five, Six and Seven.

Okay, Brutus reassured himself, Seven hadn't been too terrible. Euripides had only said the number wrong. One couldn't really fault him for wanting to make everything easy and end in sevens. And Jonas had corrected him. There was really no way anyone would forget that this was the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games after that incident.

There was still the problem of Districts Five and Six. Alorea had clearly been absent-minded for most of the Reaping. Was she on drugs? He hadn't gotten the inside information on most of the mentors before-hand, but he could see from her performance that he would have to keep a much closer eye on them to ensure a splendid performance from them as well. Perhaps Excelcia could align them all.

His final kink was District Six's escort. Birmina had irreparably destroyed the momentum of the Reaping. He could have edited it, but with the deadline to air the Reaping it would be cutting it close.

It would just have to suffice, he thought as he settled in with the cameras fixed on District Eight to watch the beginning of their Reaping.

Everyone onstage at least had the appearance of wanting to be there. Hilarion had her routine down after years of practice, donning a wide, whitened smile that was imitated by thespians throughout the Capitol. Her accent drawled onward, not quite as he remembered it from the year before, but epic enough to perk up all ears, knowing she was speaking. She had uncontested control of the crowd. Brutus made a note to have her train Birmina later.

Wolfgang was beside her, his buzz cut hair making him look older than last year. His first year of mentoring had sobered the boy more than his Arena experience and now there seemed to be a look of resolve on his face. Brutus was excited to see what he would do with the Tributes this year.

As the anthem filled the screen, Brutus did a quick calculation. Someone was missing. District Eight had had a victor before Woof, as Brutus fondly called the eighteen year old mentor. Brutus scanned the stage, but the older mentor was nowhere to be found. Where was Cassius?

Brutus perused the crowd again, but the older mentor was nowhere to be seen. In a crowd of blondes and brunettes, Cassius's Capitol infused silver hair would have been conspicuous. Brutus settled in. For the moment, it didn't matter, he told himself. He would simply have to place more responsibility on Cassius later on to ensure that the Capitol citizens didn't forget about him. His eyes fixed on the screen as the music swelled and melded into Hilarion's voice.

The suspense was titillating as Hilarion used her theater skills to play the crowd. Her hand was spinning, somehow faster than even the cameras could detect as she grabbed the fatal name.

"For the lovely young ladies, Margery Kelta." There was no movement. Brutus strained his eyes to see if he could spot the Tribute before Hilarion did. "Young lady, come forward," Hilarion commanded. Slowly the fifteen year old section parted. They seemed to be distancing themselves from a thin girl in a pale blue blouse and faded black pants. She had a confused look on her face and was completely motionless. Not Brutus's ideal choice for District Eight, but perhaps there was more about her than met the eye.

"Why is everyone staring at me?" she asked, a hint of fear in her voice, as if part of her knew she was denying the inevitable. "They didn't call my name!" She must have heard, must have known. She was taking too long and two Peacekeepers began to close in on her.

"I heard wrong. It's not me! It's not me. I'm Margery Kelta!" She screamed as the Peacekeepers took her by the arms and brought her to the stage by force. She crossed her arms in protest, but stayed beside Woof on the stage.

Unfazed, Hilarion continued on to the boys. "For the young gentlemen, your representative will be . . ." her hand hovered for a moment over the names and then she swiftly grabbed it and opened it in one quick motion, an art she had perfected over the years "Leoric Hughs"

The name was almost poetic, Brutus thought, as a brown haired muscular boy strode forward from the seventeen year old section. In contrast to his district partner, he made his way to the stage of his own free will, a hardened look on his face. His hands were balled into fists, as though already prepared for a fight. The breath he released once he arrived at the stage seemed to Brutus to say "I'm going to make the best of this."

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, your Tributes for the Eighteenth Annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor." By the tone of Hilarion's voice when she said "eighteen" someone had told her about Euripides's error earlier. The camera panned out as Leoric held his hand out to firmly shake Margery's.

Margery Kelta – 15

She had to remember that she'd had brushes with danger. That's what Margery told herself as her parents left the room.

"If the world isn't fair to you, don't be fair to it," her father's final words of advice burned in her brain as intensely as his gaze as he'd fixed his hands on her shoulders and left her by herself. This had been his motto her entire life, but it held more weight now than ever before. Believing in those words was the difference between life and death for her. She knew she needed to remember that.

The games weren't fair. It wasn't fair that she was going to be set up against 23 other tributes, most of them, like Leoric, older, stronger, and more privileged than she. It would be so easy to give in to despair and bemoan her chances.

But Margery would fight. From this moment on the only thing that mattered was returning to her parents, the only two people she cared for in the world. The only thing that mattered was ridding herself of those 23 other tributes with as much speed as possible.

Could she do it? Margery seemed sweet, but she didn't get attached. She knew she could do what needed to be done. Hadn't she done it before?

Margery shuttered a little, thinking back to the "accident" in the factory. She remembered how strong she had felt then, how it had felt to push pack the revulsion of her manager's gory death to the joy she felt at being free of his oppressive presence. She would find that rush again in the danger of the Games.

Leoric Hughs – 17

Leoric felt the burden lift from his shoulders as his parents left the room. They wore their disapproval as an irremovable cloak, despite their best efforts to disguise it.

They had expected an apology, a heartfelt reconciliation just before his one-way journey to the Arena. Leoric gave them no such satisfaction; he wasn't necessarily proud of his rebellious streak against them, of abandoning their expectations for him in pursuit of a more rewarding life of drugs, violence and alcohol, but he had been an overworked fifteen year old. He refused to apologize for the difficult lessons he had learned. Had he not been a rebellious teen, he never would have met the people who had most changed his life, those who were less fortunate than he.

In his parents' eyes, though, his choices had rendered him worthless. They had all but disowned him. Leoric had honestly been surprised when they walked through the door to bid him farewell.

He wasn't surprised, however, that no one else was coming. His so called friends were undoubtedly stoned or drunk; most wouldn't even realize he was gone or that he wasn't coming back after the Games.

He sighed. However this ended, he would make the best of it. He had found a place where he was indifferent to the danger he would face.

Wolfgang Haberdasher Mentor

Wolfgang was still on the stage as the crowds dispersed. It was unlike his mentor to leave him completely without a clue as to his whereabouts. Yes, Cassius had become a bit eccentric and less visible now that he had the younger mentor to assist him, but surely he wouldn't completely abandon them.

Wolfgang surveyed the crowd meticulously. There was a blonde haired girl who had been a year below him still lingering and a red haired boy scanning the ground for items that may have been dropped in the Reaping's chaos. The Peacekeepers began to escort them out, convinced they were up to no good.

Suddenly, Wolfgang's eyes fell on a cloaked figure making its way slowly to the stage through the clamor of departing people. It moved like a mist would, heedless of time or space, simply slipping where it needed to go. Sure enough, the figure came to the steps and Wolfgang could see its face.

"You could have made an appearance for the Reaping. I don't have enough experience to handle this alone."

"You have more than I did the first time I was by myself," Cassius protested, finally removing his hood as the last spectators dissipated. His silver hair would have given him away had his cloak been removed, it simply shimmered whether there was any light reflected off of it or not. "Besides, I was there."

"What? You left me alone on the stage – "

"I was in the corner, just beyond the last row of tributes." Cassius smiled. "I'll see you on the train."

"Are you going to keep disappearing?" Wolfgang demanded. His mentor simply turned his back and slunk out of sight. Wolfgang sighed as Cassius abandoned him, sauntering into the waning sun.

"But I am armed, and dangers are to me indifferent." – Act 1 Scene 3