Author's note: Thank you for reviewing, you keep me to my schedule, otherwise I'd be eating muffins and doing Doctor Who marathons in my free time.^^
On the plus side, next chapter, a rebellion begins.
Year 25, January, the Capitol.
Mags smiled, that polite, distant smile she saved for the cameras.
A memorial ceremony. Of all things. To celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games.
It was Larimar's birthday and she was in the Capitol, seated between Comet and Mordred, in a revamped version of the dress she had worn during her first interview with Marcus Flickerman. All twenty one of them, the living victors, were there, seating amidst absurd amounts of pastries and wine in the roman-inspired room. The walls and domed ceiling were made of screens, bombarding them with constant images as swiveling cameras hungrily sought out their reactions.
Mags pushed back her own feelings. A solemn mask coated her face like second skin. Capitol B-rate celebrities fenced words on the small wooden platform in the center of the room (debating standing, like in the forums of old, was currently all the rage). Rye's scandalous overdose, the suicides, the most memorable tributes and arenas... everything and nothing was spoken of, thrown around for shock factor and gasps and then swiftly forgotten. It summed up what the Games had become: entertainment. A drug. Not something to analyse, or even truly remember. Something to get high on. Something that left you hungry for a bigger next dose.
Mags blinked at the images. All those kids. Sudden shame made her swallow. She'd forgotten almost all of them.
Fife and Constantine had looked so young. Mags bowed her head. She outstretched her arm, reaching for Comet's hand. The woman was pale, her eyes darting left and right like a cornered animal. What do I do? they shouted.
So Mags stood up, taking Comet with her and blew a kiss to the screens. To the dead teenagers who paid the price of Panem's cruelty.
Vicuña shot to her feet, and crossed her right arm against her chest, fist balled, her eyes tight.
Slowly they all stood. The twenty-one survivors. They were looking at each other rather than the screens. As the Capitolites chattered away on pseudo-justice and said those people in pointed tones to refer to the districts, Mordred's hands grabbed Mags.
Mags' mask cracked, allowing for a tentative smile. Family, rituals, they would build. Together. Somehow. Her hands grew clammy. Everything they did could be torn apart, destroyed. Every time they dared look powerful... Mags took a deep breath, willing her smile strong as she made eye contact with each and every one of them. Twenty-one victors linking hands: she held onto the hope.
Now Evadne Achlys was on screen, eternal in her black and golden martial uniform, smiling slightly as she addressed her subjects.
"Citizen of the Districts of Panem, the Hunger Games were a lesson and I was right," Achlys said, ever the mother of the nation, "for you have learned. Rebellion still lurks in shadows and there are those who worship chaos with little care for the price paid in blood by the very people they claim to fight for, but I have not been blind to your efforts. Let it never be said that I am unfair."
Comet's hand tightened around Mags'. Impressive how Comet could convey skepticism with a squeeze. Next to Comet, Vicuña was smirking slightly, well familiar with Achlys' style.
"I shall reward you. This year your children shall be safe."
"For real?" Woof from Eight exclaimed. Comet's hand was now a squeezing trap. "Wait for it," she muttered bitterly.
Mags swallowed, hope constricting her lungs despite herself. She was seventeen again, terrified and confused in Achlys' office.
'If the Districts learn their lesson, if there is no major dissent for over a decade, the Games will be abolished.'
"This is no ordinary year. The sun rose over the ashes of the Dark Days a quarter century ago and I promised you an age of order, of productivity, safe from the barbarians who would see our civilization destroyed. At last the Districts have begun to see the wisdom of such choices, and therefore, every adult man and woman in the twelve Districts of Panem will vote for the boy and the girl they wish to see enter the arena. Voting is compulsory, volunteering will be forbidden."
"Ah. There it is," Comet said flatly. "The reward is so generous I have tears in my eyes."
Mags realized she was grinning. A rueful grin of resignation and grim amusement, but what else was there to expect from Evadne Achlys?
"This will go over so well in the Annex," Mordred muttered, sounding oddly exhausted.
Mags frowned. Comprehension then bloomed on her face and she chuckled.
"Dear me, all those Careers bribing adults to vote for them. Have fun, Mordred."
Her bubbling amusement faded as she wondered who was hated enough in Four to earn that particular favor. Should she endorse two chosen trainees or simply leave it to chance?
Mags started when she felt something slipping into her pocket.
"Give those to your mother," a familiar voice said. "They're as good as you get without needing hospital stays, they'll keep her young."
Mags grinned at Glynn, her hand curling over the precious gift. "So what do you think of the 'Quarter Quell?'"
Glynn clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh it's such a delicious idea," she said, exaggerating her Capitol accent outrageously. "May I vote too? I heard Erwina Brook had a daughter thirteen years back and considering what a bitch that girl was the kid has to be evil - " The calculating glint in her eyes was very at odds with her vindictive tone.
Ah, Circe. Of course... It would not be beggar children stepping on the stage, for their names were not known, it would be those with sordid tales, those who were paying for their parents' crimes, collaborators or outcasts. A witch hunt.
Mags furrowed her brow. "How did you hear about Erwina?"
"Her sister-in-law was avoxed for aggravated corruption." Glynn had the good grace to look compassionate. "She slept with a peacekeeper. He did her favors. He was busted and pleaded 'masculine weakness'." Glynn flashed Mags a small smile. "I didn't literally hear."
Mags winced at the awful humor. "I figured." Her voice dropped lower. "Any rumors from Twelve, Nine or Seven? I'm dead curious." Those were the Districts she was most struggling to get contacts in.
After Marquise had gone, Mags had given a lot of thought to peacekeepers and had had to admit that she had been exploiting only a fraction of the potential of Galene's ever-growing training facility. Every year, ninety rankers and ten untried Lieutenants pledged themselves to serving Panem for at least twenty years. One hundred young men and women, many whom Mags had glimpsed when she brought her elite trainees to Galene for polishing.
A hundred potential spies.
Of course, only a twentieth of those –and that was on good years- had both the disposition, the morals and the intelligence to be considered, but under the excuses of following peacekeeper progress, Mags had as many as she dared report monthly to Captain Archon, a middle-aged soldier from Two with a rare sensitivity and sharpness that Mags had watched with baited breath rise through the ranks. With the information, Mags slowly completed her mental map of Panem, crossing it with everything the victors shared with her. The very best of those peacekeepers she tried to see every year during their leave, weaving a web of truth and lies as she balanced her need for information with the risk of discovery.
Between them and the old members of the guard, or other remarkable elements that rotated through the Creneis barracks, Mags had begun to build the largest network Panem had ever seen.
It was just so slow.
The strange, disquieting smile on Glynn's face told Mags her thoughts had been apparent.
"Sometimes I get impatient too, Mags, but... See, every other month or so, on very ordinary days, I'll overhear something. I discover someone. I see just how close we come to -" Glynn didn't have to finish her sentence. Dread filled Mags' stomach. One wrong step, and everything would have been for naught. "Here, free time is king. It seems half the Capitol spends their time minding other people's business."
Mags shook her head, willing her heart to slow. Paranoia helped no one. "How do they even earn money?"
"Taxes, every major family owns part of a district," Glynn replied. "The money doesn't go straight to the Capitol's coffers, it goes to its citizen first. Of course, they would not dream to put it away. They spend it all, and in the end, the money is where it should be, in Achlys' control."
Ah. Owning the Districts. Of course. How Glynn managed to live among such people and keep her joy of living...
"How is Rhapsody?" She asked, locking her apprehension away and focusing on her friend.
"Weird."
Mags face broke into a surprised grin. What a thing to say about your own daughter!
"No seriously." Glynn laughed. "I'm clever, but I like to think of myself as a social clever. Syrianus is clever, and he can seem aggressive when you invade his personal space, but Rhapsody… I think the more she is confused about the world, the more she retreats behind a wall of logic."
"She's four," Mags said, wondering if Glynn wasn't just overthinking everything.
"That's why it's weird," Glynn said with a grin. She didn't look worried. "She's confident and has her very own sense of fun, it's all that matters. We love her, don't worry. Uncle Plutarch assures me she's just precocious." Glynn's smile fell. "I find myself encouraging her to be that way, Mags. I want, no I need her, to have a very strong personality before she starts school. Peer pressure in the Capitol is no mean thing."
Date: Year 29, August, 29th Hunger Games.
"Don't tell me about it, it's terrible this season," Vesta, their escort, sighed.
Nori nodded. "Quite. At least it gives small creators more visibility, but their prices are skyrocketing since everyone is turning to them."
"Yes, Septima is quite ingenious. I have to love what she does with old dresses, but it feels like... scrambling, you know?"
Mags let the conversation wash around her, concerned by the implications.
Two very similar fashions in a row, it was unheard of. Clothes were more expensive than ever, everyone in the Capitol was complaining, and she had received no information from District Eight.
An uprising, and uprising widespread enough to cause a textile shortage and for the Capitol to censor all exiting mail... Unrest never truly ceased, District Seven, District Three and of course Eleven, whispers of sabotage and armed skirmishes always reached her, but it hadn't taken such proportions since the war.
How much did propaganda and district-isolation hide from Mags? Again and again she was reminded that any attempt at armed rebellion would be snuffed before it exited District Four.
She frowned slightly when she realized the avox dusting the furniture had been eavesdropping. Could he be one of Glynn's?
A knock made her lower her untouched, and now cold, teacup. "Come in!"
Woof strode in, a frown darkening his face at the sight of Nori and her shopping bags. He dragged his attention back to Mags. " I was told sponsoring Garnet was your idea, Ma'am."
"It's Mags," she replied. She couldn't claim to known the handsome victor of the seventeenth Games well, but he was mostly good natured. Oddly enough, it was Comet he seemed to have grown closest to. "And Garnet's victory was a group effort."
Pity she couldn't afford to ask Woof about the textile shortage, not here.
Mags' lips twitched at his pointed glare. "Fine, yes, it was my idea."
"What's stopping us from doing that every year? We've seen enough, we know their stories." Anger bubbled just beneath his skin, flushing his cheeks. "We should have a say."
"You have someone in mind for this year?" Frowning, Mags realized she wouldn't be able to choose even if she wanted to.
Still Mags liked Woof's reasoning. Even after all these years she struggled to break mentors out of their shells, to help them heal. The Capitol was a haven for drugs, distraction and escape, and the chasm between the Careers and the untrained victors grew, filled with mistrust and scorn. The fact that Nori's idea of healing involved immersing herself in the Capitol's quest for beauty and material things -admittedly to decent success-, further complicated things: what if healing required selfishness and self-preservation? Nori would never betray Mags, but Mags was painfully aware that the young woman didn't have the strength, not yet, to be an active rebel.
"Not yet, but... We should all chose together. I..." Woof balled his fists, his voice almost a growl. "There shouldn't be another Kineta."
Kineta, the last survivor of the inhumane Quarter Quell. Not victor, no, her body had given out and even the best Capitol technology had failed to save her. The outcast from District Five had simply lost the will to live in a world that had decreed her subhuman.
"She wouldn't have won had we taken our heads out our asses! There's no my tributes, and your tributes. They're kids, damn it! We've got to do something!"
Mags couldn't help her smile. Passion, especially here, was the most wonderful thing.
"We should try, at least," Woof said, his jaw set. "Try harder."
Larix, forever in a daze of medication, Victoria, more silent with every year, Sparrow, drowned so deep in morphling that neither Columbus nor Bianca could pull her out, Seif, the Career all had thought unbreakable at first, now a violent mess. And the dead: Rye, Tang, Galen, Kineta and the man from Nine Mags had never known…
Sixteen men, twelve women and countless families forever broken by the Games. Could Mags help more than she already did?
"I agree," Mags decided.
Date, Year 33, July.
Mags swallowed, gripped by the sudden urge to cry.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Cereus said with a concerned smile.
Mags simply leaned closer into him.
Sol, his Aptitude Certificate in hand, was happily ignoring them, laughing with his friends, his unruly black hair giving him an unfettered wild look, as he enjoyed his last minutes of freedom before being dragged away by the adults.
Her baby boy had finished school.
Her youngest child was thirteen-years-old in a district with radars, houses and jobs. Creneis was a safe town and Sol would never starve, never fear illness or the reapings, and no-one would dare try to take advantage of him. He was confident and happy, having never known loss or serious strife in his family.
And yet this was not the world Mags had expected to raise her children in.
It had been twenty-four years, almost a lifetime, since the heartless synthetic voice had declared her the victor and Mags found herself submerged in a tangle of feelings.
She was proud of herself and yet… the teenager in her felt betrayed. Was this what her life would be? A long wait, passing unfinished work and a promise down to the next generation?
And who in the next generation would finish it? Her children didn't know. She and Cereus had raised them as best they could, but political awareness was not something a child could be burdened with. It was too dangerous. Mags knew Larimar read into their silences, and she wondered how much her eldest suspected and when he would come to confront them. She also knew that Sol and Lorelei would fight and die for them without a hesitation, because they trusted them, because they trusted her, to do what was right by her District, but they were content to follow.
Who would lead?
Plutarch was a man now, a psychiatrist of slowly growing influence. Glynn's respect never wavered when she spoke of him. But they were Capitol, their beacon of hope in the fortress city. Who in the districts would lead?
Dormant agents, unknowing informants, peacekeepers who knew not why they truly reported, a network built on lies in a world where trusting anyone could backfire in the worst ways, and it would fall apart if something happened to her.
Mags turned to her husband.
"We need to find people who will finish what we started if we do not have the time."
Cereus nodded, his eyes warm despite his serious tone. "Very well, we'll start grooming heirs." He kissed her, a smile gracing his lips. "Mags I don't think you should ever worry of your life being a failure, just look around you."
Mags grinned at him, marveling at the fact she had found this exceptional man to share her life. When she pulled back she found Larimar glaring at them while Lorelei guffawed at her brother's juvenile discomfort.
"Can you not kiss in public too much? My friends are kind of immature about it," the fifteen-year-old said, glancing around.
"If we're embarrassing you, you can tell us, son" Cereus said with a smirk.
Larimar blushed and crossed his arms.
"You could learn something by looking at them," his sister said, an innocent smile lighting her face. "Why don't you kiss her a little more deeply, Pa, you know, for parenting purposes?"
This time it was Mags and Cereus' turn to glare. Teenagers.
Date: Year 33, August, 33rd Hunger Games.
Mags was surprised to find someone in the corridors during training hours. A slender dark-haired girl snapped around to face her, revealing wide golden-brown eyes and dark olive skin.
This was no Capitolite. Mags now remembered seeing the eighteen year old on the Chariot of District Eleven.
"Shouldn't you be training?"
"Are you a Career? Then aren't I beneath you? Or are you one of the victim victors? Then what are you doing around instead of moping?" the young woman replied, her tone much less biting than her words.
Mags narrowed her eyes, intrigued. Eleven had no victors and Mags wondered now what Apollonia told them.
"I don't like labels," Mags said with a friendly smile. "What is your name?"
The teenager shook her head and mustered a small smile of her own. "Seeder. Sorry, didn't mean to call you weak." Her face darkened. "Training's a sham. I wish the arena was straight away. Get it over with."
She didn't sound suicidal though.
"Training days are mainly about finding allies," Mags pointed out.
"Allies...Three days and you figure you can trust somebody with your life? Besides, doesn't matter. We're only allowed whatever the gamespeople think will make a good Games..."
Now Mags stared. She could see the anger, bubbling right below the surface, but none of the self-pity or the delusions so many tributes clung to. Chariot Rides, training, interviews... Tributes, Careers and untrained alike, fit into the mold docilely, because the busy timetable was a shield against despair. The Capitol lied outrageously, claiming each tribute had a chance, but without those lies, there would be no Hunger Games. It was the weak sleeping pills in the evening food that kept the nightmares at bay and the tryptophan-enhanced drinks that delayed breakdowns. As long as tributes were in denial, as long as they believed they could survive, they played, and most died never realizing they had a choice. There hadn't been a suicide in fourteen years.
Seeder had seen the choice. She had the courage to stop and think. That alone fascinated Mags.
"You're a smart girl, Seeder. Now..." We're only allowed whatever the gamepeople think will make a good Games... Even the Careers were rarely that lucid. "What did you overhear that makes skipping training seem like a good idea?"
The olive-skinned tribute tensed. Her controlled anger was washed away by fear. "It's that obvious? Am I in danger?" Seeder whispered, grasping Mags' arm. She then snorted. "Well, you know what I mean."
"Not yet," Mags replied, wrapping an arm around the now petrified girl. "What did you hear, Seeder?"
Seeder gave her a sad glance, her shoulders bowing under an invisible weight. "You'll tell Ula and Dorian."
"Seeder, the people I want to see successful remain in District Four," Mags said. She furrowed her brow. Why had she told Seeder that? Something about the dark-haired girl, maybe that she wasn't aggressive but would play on her terms, or maybe simply the fact she had bothered to learn the other tributes' names. Mags still had to be more careful.
Seeder stared before chuckling. "You're smarter than I thought. Careers are just so stupid." She sighed, her lips shivering despite the heat. "Mutts, I heard they're giving us a mutt as a partner. We'll pick it at random and that will help us and obey, but as long as the mutt is alive, it won't allow us to have other allies."
Mags blinked. Sometimes the Gamemakers actually managed to surprise her.
"Random you say," Mags mused. She sized Seeder up, "No, it won't be random, it will be something that fits with you." It was always about angle. "Seeder, let's earn you a predator."
It was just a matter of rumors, of services owed… It was time Mags became a real mentor again.
"Why would you help me?" Seeder said, hope widening her eyes.
"Because I want to," Mags said, marveling at the very fact.
"I'm not of District Four," Seeder pointed out with an assessing gaze of her own.
"What's that to do with being worthy?" Nori, Comet and too many others cringed when she spoke of deciding who among the tributes had worth rather than playing by the rules and simply sponsoring your assigned tribute. Except there was no nobility in inaction. "It's not a competition between districts and victors should know that better than anyone."
Seeder gave her a beautiful smile. One that said, yes, in a perfect world, but -"But won't your District hate you if you go helping people from other districts?"
Mags smiled back. Yes, that girl was intelligent. "Seeder, victors are all glorified murderers. Redemption is between you and your conscience. Don't care what they think." She patted Seeder on the shoulder. "Well, except me. Care about what I think. I think you'd make a wonderful victor." And more.
She hoped Woof would stand by her decision this year. Bitterness stilled welled up inside her whenever she thought of Nobel from Three. He should have won, he would have won, had they sent the damn weapon instead of bickering like a bunch of spineless teenagers. Mags had nothing against poor Steinar, but with every carbon-copy brawler from Two who joined their ranks, the Capitol's control over the victors tightened.
"I haven't won yet, Ma'am," Seeder said, her traits hardening. "I could end up with a field-mice mutt."
Mags nodded. Young Caesar Flickerman was already a much better speaker than his father ever was, but he was also an unknown value. They couldn't afford to misstep. "Let's get to work, then. Come with me, Apollonia's desperate for a victor. She'll listen."
Seeder nodded, a spring in her step.
"You didn't ask 'why me?'" Mags said after a moment, increasingly curious.
Seeder smiled ruefully. "No answer to that, though, no? I spoke to Reed, to Bryony from Twelve... Their families need and love them too. They're not bad sorts. What makes me better? What gives me the right to..." She cut herself off with a pained chuckle and squared her shoulder. "What matters is, will you change your mind about me, Ma'am?"
"No," Mags decided, her eyes warm. Years of training Careers and observing tributes had told Mags to trust her instincts.
Mags couldn't keep the smile off her face. Success often made the disappointments worth it. Garnet had been necessary but Seeder had been wanted. She'd rarely seen Comet or Rowan in such a bright mood.
Seeder from Eleven had won the longest Hunger Games in history. Thirty-seven days, tributes starving one after the other, with only four, those who had the ability to stay calm, surviving after the third week.
The young woman, coming out of the hospital, didn't look so thrilled.
"Pests, Mags, I wanted food so badly already on the fourth day, and you sent me poison for the supply bases?"
A guilty grin grew itself on Mags' face. "You can deal with hunger," she said. "But it gave you an edge only as long as everyone was starving. Besides Gamemakers were in a mood for an experiment: starvation was a big theme in one of the popular TV series of the season."
Seeder blinked, betraying that she remained a mostly uneducated district kid. Gamemakers keeping the Games relevant with current pop culture was beyond her.
"You can hold me if you want," Mags said, "I'm not hugging you for your comfort, not mine."
Seeder seemed to melt at that. A sigh left her lips and she latched onto Mags' arms, her breath quickening. "Is Chance still alive, can I buy her?"
"That you can," Mags said cheerfully. She'd seen how attached Seeder had become to the monstrous panther. Only two other tributes had bothered to give their mutts a name and none had shared their food and suffered wounds for their sake like Seeder had. The young woman from Eleven had not done it for sponsors, but her caring personality made her a favorite.
"The Capitol would never miss the opportunity for such heart-warming victory pictures," she added with a knowing grin. Seeder would not see the tightness in it. How Mags was already trying to educate her about the Victors' world without making it too hard on her.
Seeder squealed in delight. She then glared at Mags. "But seriously, food. It was horrible."
"Girl, if the only thing you remember was the hunger, you are lucky." Mags was inwardly shaken by how much thinner Seeder was. She'd gone in the Games on the slender side of healthy, but now Mags could see the veins on her neck and trace the shapes of the bones in her arms.
It had been close. Mags couldn't show her fear, though. Seeder needed a rock right now.
"Being hungry has the mind play tricks," Seeder said, a haunted look crossing her eyes. She'd betrayed very little in the arena, snuggling close to the panther to keep warm, her face often hidden. "That last meal stunt was rigged... I had a panther," she huffed angrily. "She needed to eat too."
"You gave Chance your food and she kept strong enough to protect you and you survived. What are you complaining about?" Mags said, experience having taught her new victors responded better to a positive atmosphere than to a shoulder to cry on.
Seeder, her face terribly drawn from the five weeks of near-starvation she had endured, simply huffed before smiling.
"So... did you get in trouble for rigging it by sponsoring me?"
"Actually…" Mags said with a slight grimace.
Seeder's eyes widened in fright.
"Nothing bad," Mags quickly added. "From now on, the winning district will be given a substantial amount of extra food for a year in addition to a huge victory feast."
Count on Achlys to make sure they'd only cooperate when they really had to. Now the mentors would be hated if they didn't help their own tributes and Mags knew they would be twice as reluctant to support another district. At least no one had been harmed.
"Including this year?" Seeder said hopefully.
Mags nodded, hugging her with one arm. "Be proud."
Seeder beamed, looking dazed, until a frown chased away her cheer. "Do some mentors regret it now? Eleven isn't the only district where people go hungry." Seeder bit her lip nervously. "I must thank them, how should I do that?"
Year 35, February. Victory Tour of the 34th Hunger Games, District One.
Mags had to restrain herself to keep a blank face around Marquise.
"Mental hug," Marquise whispered as she stepped next to her on the platform erected to introduce the victorious Chelsea Moon to District One.
Mags almost bit her tongue as she swallowed a chuckle. "Likewise, Lieutenant."
"Eleven years, Mags," Marquise complained. "There are just twelve districts, that's like an even chance in winning. Are you even trying when you train them?" Marquise wrinkled her nose and peered at her. "You've grown old, you should have joined pictures in the letters."
Mags had almost forgotten how Marquise lapsed into snark when she was uncomfortable with her emotions. "Missed you too," Mags said, having no such problem, "and I can tell you dye your hair."
The blonde winced. "Seriously?" She said, her hand moving up to her ponytail.
"No," Mags assured her, stifling a grin. "How's the husband?"
"Urging me to buy more jewels so he can go back to being the richer guy," Marquise said, her lips quirking. "I haven't spent all the money you gave me yet as I figured raising a child in poverty was not cool. I do have some serious stuff to talk to you about."
"I missed you, not the serious stuff," Mags said softly.
"Ah," Marquise said mysteriously, her blue eyes warm, "but you'll miss me less once you hear it."
Mags gave her friend a small smile. As the year had passed she had surrounded herself with exceptional people and she knew that if she died today, District Four would go on and prosper under Capitol rule, but life had gifted her with more esteemed colleagues than close friends. Maybe she didn't have the energy to invest in friendships anymore, or simply she was less inclined to take personal risks, but just like there had been no one to replace Glynn, no one had come to replace Marquise.
It was the victors who came the closest, because despite their infrequent contacts, surviving the Games formed bonds too intense to allow for much distance. Bianca, who was peacefully letting the side effects of a life of drinking slowly take her away. Mattock, still strong despite his years. Comet, whose sarcasm never failed but behind the biting wit there was still hope. Vicuña, who always answered Mags' letters and who dared to be more honest than them all. Woof had lost some of his passionate energy, but still he cared and remained a staunch ally. Lastly, Seeder, who always had something kind or thoughtful to say and smiled their depressions away. Those were the people Mags thought of when she wanted to speak of Sol's new heartthrob, Larimar's work at the orphanage or Lorelei's sudden –but not so unexpected – desire to quit sailing and travel the world in a peacekeeper uniform.
"Valerian Fletcher will become Colonel of South Sector before the year is over and I do not doubt he will become eventually become senior Colonel. He'd have no superior officer aside from the Capitol's generals."
"You have always seemed undecided about him," Mags said carefully. She hated when politics and family loyalty mixed. Valerian was almost an uncle by marriage.
"When the conversation slips into dangerous grounds, he asks of Cereus, Mags," Marquise said with a tight smile. "He is all but a fool, and I think it would be unwise to demand a straight answer. He made me Lieutenant to give me the authority I needed over the cadets, and I have now learned that anyone he introduces me to is either someone to watch," unease spread over Marquise's features. "No seriously, some people are dangerous. No offence, but I feel I went from the playground to the adult world when I came here," she muttered. She then smiled again. "Or someone who can help us. It is like Four, I insist on the loyalty to the district, people come to their own conclusion about the Capitol. People in One are more political, conversations have more undercurrents, but for now, I am confident." Marquise sighed. "It is slow, Four and One together control over a quarter of the peacekeeping forces including the Homeguard. But we need District Two. We need access to the weapons, Mags. I have maps for you."
Mags nodded, aware she would have to memorize the information and then destroy all the evidence.
She repressed a sigh. Marquise could well give Mags the same summary of her actions for the next twenty years. Information was given, favors exchanged, occasionally someone was recruited or a potential threat eliminated, and as the years went by a handful of allies became a score and the score of informants became a hundred and then a thousand, but the Capitol still had a force almost fifty-thousand strong, including over ten-thousand Homeguard with the best weaponry in Panem. As long as the Capitol left One, Two and Four alone, Mags doubted the district peacekeepers would massively desert or rebel.
She sometimes allowed her mind to wander and fantasized that Glynn would call her, announcing her that the avoxes had assassinated the whole government and that she now had control of the Homeguard.
"How is Vicuña?" She asked, pushing strategy away to focus on her friend. Marquise was still stunning, but the lines on her face left no doubt of the years' passing.
"Very helpful to fill me in on who's who," Marquise said with a small smile. "She has her own agenda, but she doesn't say 'Evadne' in the same tone she used ten years ago. We have a drink every Thursday evening and complain about the trainees and how arenas are unfair. It's cathartic," she gave Mags a guilty smile. "You'd slap us after two minutes."
Mags bowed her head ruefully at that. Complainers made her itch to slap something.
"What you never did tell me was why you married your Major of a husband," she said, aching for personal news. The letters and occasional phone calls entertained but a shadow of what their relationship had been.
An odd smile flitted over Marquise's face. "It's a smart match. There's respect and friendship enough that I know it'll last. He has power and we have very similar ambitions. Some of my life he'll never be part of and I leave him more freedom than you'd ever grant Cereus, but Arcelio is the father of my son, and there's no other man I'd share a home with. We're independent, we both had odd lives, and it works." Marquise snorted lightly. "I'm not an easy woman to live with and I've found a man who cares for me and whom I admire." She flashed Mags an unabashed smile. "You must think it shallow."
"If it's honest and you're both happy, it's not shallow," Mags said, squeezing Marquise's arm out of the cameras' sight.
Date: August, 36th Hunger Games.
Mags shivered when lightning sucked the light out of Adriana's eyes. The girl screamed, unearthly hair rising screams that wouldn't stop as her trainee tried to fight against a foe without a body.
"Idiot," Beetee from Three said contemptuously when the screams died, not wasting any time in taking the dead girl's backpack. "I cannot believe how incompetent they all are despite the training they are so eager to boast of."
His cowed ally didn't reply. Like Mags, the poor boy couldn't seem to take his eyes off the electrical trap and the still thrashing corpse.
Beetee Morse was sixteen-year-old who didn't even talk to people unless he had proof of their intellectual value. He was full of himself, had no empathy for 'inferiors', but he was undeniably a genius.
Beetee had not been reaped by chance. The arena had wanted him dead from the start. Shockingly, the arena was struggling. Now, Beetee's popularity as the villain Capitolites all loved to hate protected him, but soon the Gamemakers would have him.
How could Mags save him? The Morse boy, one of her agents in Three had reported, had hacked unknowingly into the hoverport's surveillance system to get vengeance on bullies.
Unknowingly. Mags suspected it only Capitol pride kept them blind to the fact a simple student could bypass their protections. She had spoken to Glynn, and was surprised to hear a second version of the tale, one involving a short system failure in the hoverport of District Three and erased data. Glynn was convinced Beetee had been protecting someone.
Mags had to save him, though. If she didn't save a genius boy who dared go against the Capitol then what was she even doing here? So she did the only thing she could. She helped a stunned Garnet buy his tribute a set of six throwing knives and watched the Career kill the rest of the competition.
Beetee could have been killed too of course. Except it seemed that this year, the stars had aligned in their favor.
Beetee avoided the mutts sent after him by accidentally setting off a forest fire. The last living tribute slipped and rolled straight into the trap Beetee had left lying near his hideout. It wasn't just brains and instinct. This young man was luck personified.
As lucky as any reaped tribute could be.
Mags couldn't afford to wait for Beetee to recover. Abusing the fact that the nurses wouldn't suspect her, she shook the dark-haired boy awake at five in the morning, a loose gag in his mouth, and dragged him outside by twisting his arm.
"What do you want?" Beetee gasped, thrashing uselessly to get out of her grasp. He was still weak and exhausted from the arena.
"To talk of the way you murdered my tributes," Mags replied coldly, causing Beetee to attempt to scream for help as she tightened her hold on him.
She shoved him on the balcony with a grunt of effort.
"This is the only place I'm sure has no cameras," Mags hissed before the boy seriously hurt himself. "I killed to win too, relax."
Beetee stopped struggling, a look of sheer confusion on his face. "What?"
"Listen carefully, Beetee Morse. The Capitol wanted you in the arena and they wanted you dead, because you made them look like fools by accessing their security program," Mags glared when he opened his mouth, doubtless to tell her it wasn't a program but a software or whatever it was. "Make yourself useful to the Capitol, find something, or you are dead."
Beetee crossed his arms. "Why is this conversation taking place?"
"This isn't school where people hate you because you'll steal the job of their dreams and because you have a terrible attitude."
"I do not have an attitude," Beetee replied, detaching every syllable. "You and the others simply cannot acknowledge your lesser intellect. It is but a quantifiable genetic reality obvious to all, but I have learned that pride clouds the logic of slower minds."
What a child. He was lucky his mind was one in a million, unlike his maturity.
"Beetee, here in the Capitol you are nothing," she said, all hints of a smile gone. "Victors with the wrong type of ego die. Hide yours in a little box at the back of your mind, bow and scrape and when the time comes, you'll have the last laugh."
"Wha… what last laugh?" Beetee stammered, nervousness and mistrust entering his tired eyes.
"You wanted people to think you were after your classmates," Mags painstakingly explained. "A plan so elaborate with so little chance of success, exactly what people expect of a kid who thinks too highly of himself. Luckily, you were caught by someone who reports to us."
"Us? You- You're a rebel," Beetee blurted, triumph casting a sinister glance to his pale face. "There is no innocent reason for you to have such information." He then frowned. "Why have you informed me? It is careless and idiotic and yet you have survived too long to encourage the hypothesis that your mind may be deficient."
Mags fought back the urge to cuff him.
"I hate taking risks for people I do not know," she said, her expression so fierce Beetee cringed and lost some of his arrogance. "You want to be the best? Become the best, but that means accepting you have to learn from people as well as books. I'm afraid that if I hadn't come, you'd be dead by next week. I think you're worth it. Prove it."
Beetee swallowed, and Mags would remember then how had then glimpsed the man he would become: confident, pleasant and invaluable. "Yes, Ma'am. I must therefore give you permission to strike me for having, -" Beetee swallowed again, unable to meet her eyes and his stammer worsening. "For having eh- electrocuted your tributes, or our disappearance will be suspect," he said, wincing in anticipation.
Mags wasn't too proud of it, but she did slap him. Maybe a touch harder than necessary.
Date: Year 43, August. Interview night of the 43rd Hunger Games.
"I want to sponsor your girl," Mags said, her cheeks aching from grinning so hard.
"Screw you, Mags," Domitia snapped.
Mags' grin broadened. "An eleven in training, what more do you need?"
"She's so frigging good, isn't she? She doesn't need any help," Domitia replied shooting a poisonous glare the screen in which Lyme saluted the crowd.
"Oh but I so want to be part of her victory," Mags said, chirping like a ten year old. She was enjoying this way too much. Beneath her amusement was an edge of hysteria, at the deep-rooted knowledge she would be burying two once again.
"I'll throw in my meager earnings," Woof said. "My combined tributes' score is four. I think I'll pass this year."
"I have a vested interest in having well-mannered peacekeepers," Seeder joined in, flashing Mags a smile.
Lyme wasn't a Career. For the first time in almost thirty years, the volunteer from Two was not a Career. Lyme wanted to prove that classic peacekeeper training was just as good as the conditioning the Annex's volunteers faced. She didn't mention training of course, that was forbidden, but the meaning was clear. She had very strong feelings about the usual Careers - gladiators, she called them - She had introduced herself as a soldier, and she stood tall, taller than the three male Careers, almost broader than them, but striking in her warrior outfit.
"Keep your noses out of matters you will never understand," a male voice growled.
Brutus, their youngest victor from Two, so young that Mags wondered why he was already mentoring when Two had the luxury to give them time, had stood up, fists balled, staring daggers at Seeder.
"Sit down, Brutus, please," Mags said.
Twenty-one-year-old Brutus, gladiator extraordinaire, was shaking so hard that Mags moved away, not trusting the hot-tempered youth to control himself. She had never been hit by a fellow victor and wasn't eager to try it.
Brutus sat back down, a hint of a flush on his cheeks.
"Domitia," Mags said seriously. "Lyme didn't leave training because she was less skilled, she left because she had issues with it. She aced officer training, she's an eighteen-year-old lieutenant. I think it's a publicity that will benefit Two."
What Mags didn't say was that she believed that she was better at convincing than Domitia and intended to take full advantage of it: Lyme was an intelligent young woman with a great loyalty to her people. It was only a matter of time before Two and the Capitol's interests would diverge.
"There was a girl who'd given everything for years, whom Domitia had chosen, and Lyme steps in -" Brutus was shaking in fury and Mags frowned, wondering now what she had missed. This didn't look like he was merely reacting badly to a perceived insult.
"The Annex will collapse if people start thinking they can volunteer on a whim," Domitia said, a snarl on her face. "You know as well as I, Mags, that there is no Career system if the Careers aren't entertaining enough for the Capitol. The system keeps our district safe."
That wiped the last hints of smile off Mags' face. She knew it too well. But Lyme, despite being a world away from the attractive and fierce girls Two placed on that stage every year, was already beloved. She hadn't volunteered on a whim.
"Something the Gamemakers know, since they gave her an eleven," Mags said grimly. "You're her mentor, if you don't have her back, if she doesn't trust you, Domitia, she will not win. She should be the leader of the Career pack, Steele is just making it difficult because he feels she doesn't belong."
"I'll talk to him," Brutus said softly.
Mags' heart clenched at Brutus' crestfallen look. His first year of mentoring, and the rules were broken, no wonder he was lost. She squeezed his shoulder, watching his eyes narrow in surprise and then stare back at the screen because he'd been trained not to show weakness.
"Mags mothers every new victor. It's not pity, Brutus, more a character flaw of hers," Seeder said brightly.
Mags smiled at Seeder, warmth filling her chest. Careers killed Elevens four years out of five, and yet Seeder was one of the rare young mentors that did not blame other victors for what their tributes did. It usually took them decades, to reach that kind of maturity.
A tired chuckle escaped Domitia's lips. "Seif has always been too unstable, but if Lyme wins, she'll be in here with you, Brutus. She looks tough enough to handle it," Domitia said, surprising Mags with her lack of bitterness.
Maybe, finally, Domitia had seen enough bloodshed. For one long moment, Mags felt all of her fifty years in her bones.
"Please bring Skyler with you, Mags," Domitia said, "we need to talk."
The other mentors were looking at them wide-eyed. Seeder gave her a weak smile. "Careers, the Hunger Games sound like a script to follow for you."
"I won't be sponsoring Lyme, in case there was any doubt," Eve from One whispered, warning clear in her eyes.
An uncomfortable silence descended over the mentors. District Five's girl, painfully childish in her twirling pink dress, sat in front of Flickerman on the live screen.
"Why do you keep mentoring?" Comet whispered to Mags. "I thought you'd take a break after Chelsea won. I sure need a break."
"As long as I choose who volunteers, it is my duty to be here," Mags replied, her face hard. It was her responsibility, it always had been.
And there was that matter of planning a rebellion with Glynn…
In the bloodbath, Lyme killed nine tributes, shattering the record of six, and matching Brutus' total kill record.
"We all hold back," Brutus grumbled, so low Mags wasn't sure anyone else had heard.
On the screen, the Capitol commentators were struck silent. It was understood that Careers had to be good, but not too good, or there was no fun, no suspense.
Mags stood up. "I need to go talk to sponsors."
"She needs to die. She's a bloody butcher," Woof exclaimed.
Mags shook her head, leaving Woof and the others to stare.
This year it would be political: Lyme's victory was to be a boon to peacekeepers, a salute to their competence, their training, their loyalty.
Mags was a bit heavy handed. Glynn came to find her. "Evadne calls Lyme your protégé. I told her you felt a bit guilty for how fond you were of Woof and his borderline agitator opinions, and were determined to prove with Lyme that you were firmly aligned with the Capitol."
Glynn was brilliant.
"Also, I think she likes Lyme, and the idea of competence trumping entertainment for once. She's always been scornful of socialites. She wants to go back to Two with Lyme and take a tour of the facilities now. All this talk must've fed nostalgia of her own homeguard days... I've got to convince her to take me with her."
Mags glowered, softening her disapproval with a fond smile. Glynn was much too close to Achlys. For all that Glynn wanted a different Panem, blind woman could see that Glynn admired the President's charisma and intellect.
"Relax, I like you best," Glynn huffed with an eyeroll. "Two would be nice, though."
In the end, Lyme killed twelve, possessed by a rage that was Career enough to make Mags wonder if she was not misplacing her hope.
But in the end, they all were wagers. Mags was growing old. If she took no risks, she'd die before seeing change.
February, Year 46, a cloudy night.
"Mama, I'm not sure you should be awake at this hour," Mags pointed out when she found her mother squinting over her needles.
"Will you let me be an old lady and knit my first great-grandchild beautiful covers he'll shamelessly chew on?"
Mags grinned at her tone.
It wasn't knitting but embroidery, like the finishing on the tapestries of her early childhood home. As the years passed, it seemed Angelites turned to the past, and while her mind was always just as sharp and her body in extraordinary shape for a woman of almost eighty, Mags knew her mother's world was slowly narrowing, her dreams of a free world eroding as she focused on her family.
Mags could feel time ticking by and wondered why Evadne Achlys, a whole decade older than her own mother, seemed immune to the passing of the years.
"Yes, whenever you want, Mama," she replied, her lips quirking up at the other's stubbornness, "except at three in the morning."
The silver-haired woman scowled at her daughter. "Don't think to mother me just because the children have left the house."
"You're turning into a cranky old lady," Mags joked, putting her hands on her mother's shoulders.
"It's the circle of life, Precioza," Angelites replied airily, her dark eyes warm. "Now, let me weave in peace."
A sudden noise made them start.
The telephone.
"Which one of your trainees blew up their home?" Her mother said with a fierce scowl. "Does no one here ever sleep?"
Mags chuckled. She hoped the noise hadn't woken Cereus up as she picked up the ringing phone.
"Hello?" She said.
"Oh, Mags," Glynn exclaimed, "sorry, wrong number, your genius escort drowned her phone just before a major morning meeting without having a backup of her contacts, I'm trying to fix it and you're on speed dial for some reason. Don't mind me, sleep tight."
Vesta's phone, what? Mags' confusion left way to shock when she realized that the words weren't so important as the fact Glynn had called.
When the time comes, I'll call you, Mags.
Mags hadn't expected it literally. Capitol-District calls were insanely expensive.
"No problem. I see you're working hard," she said, her voice hoarse as she put the phone down.
She turned to her silent mother, her mind whirring. A desperate urge to call Lorelei surged inside her. Her girl, admittedly an adult of thirty-two, was in District Seven, half a continent away. Now of all times, she should be home.
"It's started," Mags said, repressing the urge to pinch herself.
Wiress and Chaff won the 44th and 45th respectively but I will introduce them later. This should cover all the named Quell tributes - you've also seen the morphlings by the way (Sparrow and Columbus from Six), even if Columbus isn't an addict yet - that won under Achlys. I hope you were happy to see some familiar faces.
Please review^^.