To answer Well of wishes: yes, Fife made herself useful but she had no official job. To Iacopo: I'd love to write all those outtakes centered on Glynn, Plutarch or Lorelei and Fife/Deirdre and I will, eventually. But I will^^. Thank you all for you reviews!
Read on^^
Games 51, lunch Training Day One
"Piss off!"
Mags walked in the mentor's dining room just in time to see Haymitch Abernathy, unshaven and red-faced, kick down the chair Chaff had wanted to sit on.
Six years weren't enough to forget life-long reflexes, and Chaff instinctively tried to stop the fall with his right hand. His stump failed to sustain the weight and the chair clattered on the hard floor.
"I was going to sit there," Chaff said crossly, his dark skin even darker from anger. Chaff was a proud man, he would never let the Capitol craft him a new hand, but Mags knew he hated how it limited him.
Chaff had chopped the hand off himself in the arena, driven mad by pain and fever. Mags had never seen such a wound, fingers had been swollen and blotched, black blood oozing from the pores, the skin breaking off, closer and closer to the wrist as the hours had ticked by. Chaff had had extraordinary endurance, and a gift for denial. He could be prone to dark moods as much as long periods of rare cheer.
"I said piss off!" Haymitch shouted when the other stood his ground. "I don't need you, or anyone."
Chaff wasn't impressed. "You're not special, Man. We all have it hard. Either off yourself or pull yourself together," Chaff said with a mirthless half-smile. His smile fell and he put his hand on Haymitch's shoulder. "Don't off yourself," he said seriously.
Haymich shoved Chaff out of his personal space. "Don't touch me! Go get your damn hand fixed."
Chaff straightened, fury dulling his eyes. The two sized each other up, their expressions dark and their muscles coiled to strike. After a tense pause, Chaff abruptly waved his crippled arm under the younger victor's nose.
"We're victors," he snapped. "We don't choose each other, but each other is what we've got. Your life's just started even if you feel it's over and done with. It's our job to make you remember that."
For all that her heart wept for Haymitch, Mags' lips twitched. She turned to Seeder, proud of the woman. Chaff hadn't been half that positive, six years before, when he'd come out of the arena.
And Mags suspected that was why Chaff wanted to help the boy. He remembered what it was like, to be alone and in pain, and so full of guilt and self-loathing that pushing others away seemed the only option. And Chaff had had Seeder. Haymitch... Haymitch was now completely alone.
Snow was a monster.
"You can't help me," Haymitch spat. His shoulders were hunched, his muscles tight and Mags saw a young man who longed to lash out but who had learned the hard way that it was useless.
"Come on," Brutus groaned, standing up from the Career side of the table. "You won. That means you've got something in you that's strong. Stronger than anyone else there."
"You think I won because I was better than the others?" Haymitch whispered, incredulity wiping away his anger for an instant. Then the fury came back full force. "Better than Maysilee?" He roared, lunging for the broader man.
"I said stronger, you brute," Brutus said, immobilizing Haymitch's arms with a grunt. No amount of anger would make a seventeen year old from Twelve strong enough to match Two's colossus. Haymitch backed off when Brutus let him go, his eyes screaming everything he didn't dare voice.
"I'm the brute?" Haymich managed, "You -"
Mags' heart went out to Haymitch, but she let them shout. Trained and untrained, volunteers and reaped, with their wildly different characters and their demons. The Capitol did not bring out the best of them, but talking was important, and some talks could only be had shouting.
A soft smile danced on Mags' lips as Lyme and Chelsea joined in. She was proud to see that after fifty years, victors had finally realized they had to be each other's family. New victors all too often failed to see that they needed a mentor, more badly than any tribute did, and Haymitch more than anyone.
"I'm always surprised when I see the Careers trying," Seeder told Mags, both approval and exasperation warring on her face as Brutus tried once more to tell Haymitch he should be proud of himself. "It's a shame they see life so differently that their compliments are taken badly."
"If the other tributes of the 9th had been truly worthy, they'd not have been eaten by cannibals, obviously," Mags deadpanned.
"Obviously," Seeder agreed, sadness and mirth mixing in her eyes.
Mags flashed her a warm smile, before seeing that Haymitch had closed off once more.
"It's too late," he said, dark bags covering an alarming part of his face.
A wave of weariness crashed into Mags. Haymitch was the only victor of District Twelve and years of brooding, isolated and trapped in self-loathing, could destroy the strongest of men.
"You're seventeen, lad," Woof said, his booming voice filling the room. "You'd be surprised at how much that is broken can be rebuilt."
"If there is no one who cares whether Haymitch shotguns his life or not, he will not listen to you," a soft voice with a harsh edge intervened.
Mags turned to Aster and frowned. Aster had won the year before Haymitch and had faded into the shadows. He was quiet and remarkably controlled, and while his intellect did not match Beetee's, the young man seemed to have keen insight on the destructive emotions that poisoned one's soul. She'd never heard him say something kind, but never something stupid either.
"There has to be someone –"
Mags stopped Seeder with a hand. "Am I the only one who knows?" She said, her expression tight.
Twenty-one pairs of eyes turned to her. Haymitch's face crumpled, and he turned away, his eyes on the floor.
"Just tell them," he whispered. Mags remained silent and Haymitch turned to her, his eyes red. "I've got to help them," he hoarsely said. "But I can't let them win. They think… They think they want to live, but they don't." Fierce disgust etched itself on his unshaven face. "I'm fucking useless. It's a joke. Even if they don't make the mistakes I made…"
He turned to Aster, hate lighting his eyes dangerously. "You lucky bastard. Snow was too busy killing his way up to pay you a second glance two years ago, and they'll forget you. You're an ugly, boring bastard who cooks weird stuff that puffs smoke and calls it chemistry." A bitter chuckle echoed against the walls. "And I envy you so much I could kill you right now."
Aster's eyebrows flew up, and Mags could see that he found nothing enviable about his own life. District Three's youngest victor turned to Mags, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
"What was I spared by being reaped a year too early?" Aster inquired sardonically.
Mags swallowed. It was not the kind of news she was happy to bear. She pulled out a chair and sat down. She glanced at Haymitch and her resolve strengthened. She could not soothe his pain, but at least, she could make sure he belonged.
"President Snow was unhappy with Haymitch's use of the forcefield as a weapon. He considered it an unforgivable breach of the rules."
"Could've warned me," Haymitch growled, his voice trembling hard enough to silence the surprised chatter that had erupted, mainly among the Careers.
Mags inhaled slowly. "His family and girlfriend were killed as a result."
It had the effect of a slap.
"What?" Woof exclaimed. "What kind of sick –" his protests stopped abruptly and he flinched, his eyes flying to the walls where hidden cameras avidly stared at them.
Shockingly, Wiress was the first to speak. "This didn't happen, when –" She ran a nervous hand through her frizzy hair. "Before, Snow?"
Mags frowned, confused, before remembering Wiress had only just begun mentoring and would only know what Beetee had told her.
"I think it would be better if we all learned the new rules," Seeder said, compassion lighting her features as she watched Chaff drag his chair next to Haymitch and put a sympathetic hand over his arm. Haymitch hissed and shrugged Chaff off, but Chaff just repeated the gesture until the other gave up.
"Mags is the one for politics around here," Woof replied after a pause, turning to her.
Mags glowered, but she knew that if she didn't dare speak, no one would. Woof gave her a weak apologetic smile.
"Haymitch, your family didn't die because of what you did. They died because President Snow wanted to make a statement. Not to you, but to us." Mags stopped, invaded by a deep sadness as she gazed into Haymitch's anguished eyes. It's not your fault, Haymitch, she wanted to say. But this was not the place. "Evadne Achlys left us freedom as long as our actions did not interfere with Capitol goals. President Snow, while I would not presume to know his mind, seems eager to remind us that we are criminals who live at his mercy. He has been demanding increasing media exposure from us. We are a tool, a tool he has every intention to use."
"A tool to do what?" Lyme snapped.
Brutus' face was blank. He was too much a Career to betray himself, but Magister and Chrysoberyl from District One, who'd joined the victor's ranks ten and three years before, looked as outraged as Lyme. The naked fear in Chrysoberyl's wide gray eyes sharply reminded Mags of the time Vicuña had been alive to protect them all.
She swallowed painfully.
"Surely Career victors already fill their purpose," Aster whispered, his face even paler than usual.
Mags looked around, seeing all those young, scarred faces. There was just Woof now, who still remembered the early Games, and even he had been born after the Rebellion. Only he still graced the Capitol's halls among the first generation of victors.
Generations.
She blinked back unwelcome tears and turned to Aster. This was no time to wish for a different life.
"All of us are to keep the Capitol entertained and the Districts in their places. We are part of the Districts, and must remember it." She mustered a brave smile. "Has he talked with each one of you?"
"Has he talked to any one of you?" Mags muttered when she was met with wary blank stares.
Haymitch sullenly raised his hand. "He reminded me there were still eight-thousand two-hundred and five people he could kill," he said. He threw Aster another nasty glare. "I hate your guts so much. How are daddy and mommy?"
Wiress grasped Aster's arm, her traits tightening in fear at the chilling expression that had entered Aster's dark eyes.
"I suggest we keep out of mother territory," Mags quickly intervened. It was never wise to forget that they were twenty-one murderers.
Haymitch barked another chuckle. "Well I suggest -,"
"That's an order, Haymitch Abernathy," Mags snapped, the sudden steel in her tone making Haymitch start. She was glad he still had it in him to be sarcastic, but she would not endanger the tenuous peace of the victors' room.
Haymitch snapped his mouth shut and glanced around, only to realize everyone else was taking Mags seriously. He raised his hands up in defeat. "You're boss?" He said, a skeptical cast to his face.
"She's mentored every game since the tenth except for the forty-sixth, because she was too shaken by Achlys' death," Woof said with a small smile.
Mags bit back an snort. That's what they'd thought? Glynn had forcibly kept her under house arrest until Chelsea and Nori had left for the Capitol, adamant about her taking the time to mourn Marquise, and they'd though she'd been mourning Achlys?
This was just too good. She hoped they said it loud and often when Snow was listening.
Haymitch barked a laugh. "I thought she was a right terror as a kid, but now, I miss her too." But the levity was gone in an instant, replaced by anguished darkness expression.
"You are not allowed to stay alone in your room," Seeder said. "We will drag you forcibly out if you try, ask Rapid or Aster," she added with a smile at the two now blushing victors. "I've been here almost twenty years, and I've yet to see Mags mope or lose control. If listening to her gives you have a chance to age like her, don't be a fool and take it."
"The only reason I'm looking forward to living a long time is to pay my respects before Snow's grave," Haymitch ground out, his fury back with a vengeance.
Mags shut her eyes briefly as a tense silence descended on the table. The noose had tightened over everyone's neck now that she had revealed Haymitch's punishment. She prayed that he would not be the new Tang.
But if he were to try to kill Snow, she wouldn't try to stop him.
"It's Lyme's turn to think up an activity for the first Game night," Woof cut in with a forced grin.
"Modified baseball," Lyme replied promptly. "People over thirty-five get a bonus."
"What if we're nearly sixty?" Mags half-joked. She was as healthy as could be at her age, but she wouldn't be making a home-run anytime soon.
"I can ask for a wheelchair to be brought over, Ma'am," Lyme replied with a mock salute.
"You people are frigging insane," Haymitch cracked weakly.
"Aye, but the spirits are good," Chaff said, raising a bottle of liquor with a wink. Brutus gave a slow clap at the pun.
Haymitch eyed it warily, betraying his youth. "That's drinkable?"
Chaff pushed his chair away from the seventeen-year-old, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "You don't have alcohol in Twelve, man?"
"Not imported and the stuff people manage to make is more medicinal," Haymitch admitted.
"Well," Chaff said, drawing out the word as he clapped Haymitch on the back. "We're all rather sick. It's first rate medicine."
"I think Chaff decided to make a friend," Seeder said, a smirk gracing her face. She looked quite the proud big sister.
Mags smiled. Chaff was an affectionate, fun-loving boy. Some wounds ran too deep, but they'd do each other good.
Year 51, August, the day after the victor's party.
Mags smiled. "Hello, Major, what may I do for you?"
Lyme surprised Mags by grinning back. In that instant, her features softened and Mags was reminded of another blond peacekeeper, one who hadn't been afraid to let her emotions be known.
"It's just nice to have someone who's predictably friendly," Lyme said. "I'm here about cadets. You had Galene's center under control and we're finding the integration of Four's recruits into our system less straightforward than we'd thought. The Colonel swears it's under control, but I'm the one who has to deal with harrowed Sergeants when there's foul play."
Mags smiled, unexpectedly relieved this wasn't about the Games. The tiny arena, the state Blight had been in when they'd picked him up... Mags couldn't wait to be home and push those images out of her mind. "So you're the new me?" She joked.
She missed it, overseeing peacekeepers, seeing youngsters with poor prospects turned into honorable soldiers, watching troubled or aggressive teenagers become self-assured men and women with strong loyalty and a good grasp of right and wrong. Their peacekeepers hadn't been angels, but they'd been solid enough for Mags to be proud.
But it was out of her control now.
"I wish," Lyme said. "I have a fraction of your influence. As a victor, I must remain in Two, and couch officers aren't admired, especially women. And they're right. I won the Hunger Games, but I haven't seen a field since."
"You can't enforce the peace in Two?"
"Yes, from my office." Lyme's lips twisted grimly. "But enough moaning. We had to open a new building for the cadets from One and Four, but they're still segregated from our cadets, and you can imagine the competition that causes. I jumped on the occasion, since I was getting so bored I had been considering teaching Careers," she said with a grimace.
Mags chuckled at her expression. "Brutus isn't so bad."
"No, but he's the very best the Annex produced that year. He's aggressive, but he can think. He's competitive but he's not blind to different kinds of strengths and he doesn't keep grudges. He's a great mentor despite his tendency to behave like a drill Sergeant. Imagine the others. The hundreds of others, who never made the cut."
Mags suddenly decided that Lyme would provide adequate cover. Snow wouldn't stay in power five years if he was paranoid enough to suspect Lyme of dissent. She slid her handbag on and gesture to the door. "Come with me, I have an appointment in town and we'll discuss it on the way."
Lyme's discipline was a blessing, because she kept her questions until they were out of the building. "You have so much freedom, Mags. What's your secret?"
"It's a gift," Mags replied, unwilling to elaborate. "And your assessment of Career training is exactly why we all pooled together to sponsor Garnet during the 15th Games. Not one of District One's volunteers had come home since Vicuña and the authorities wanted to copy District Two's system. Vicuña was desperate that did not happen, and I made sure the other victors helped. The reason One's Careers despise Two's so much is because that prejudice is what keeps District One's more ambitious deciders from sacrificing generations in the hope of having a handful of victors," Mags looked away, wondering how the years had managed to pass so fast. "Vicuña spent the better part of her life enforcing it," she said softly.
"Bless you. Fight on." Vicuña whispered, closing her eyes.
Lyme shook her head, her distaste still palpable. "You bet," she whispered. She turned to meet Mags' eyes. "I kept quiet the other day, but President Snow did talk to me, just like he talked to you."
Mags stiffened. "And what did he tell you, Major?"
"That he didn't want me to breathe without his permission," Lyme said, her lips thinning. "I remember that Achlys surrounded herself with the best of the Districts. I don't see President Snow doing the same."
"He despises us," Mags said bluntly. "Make sure you are essential, Lyme. Evadne Achlys understood that Panem wasn't hers."
Despite her many faults, Mags had no trouble granting the late President that. It only fed Mags' hate of Snow, to realize she now regretted the woman who had poisoned her life with fear for so many decades.
Lyme's jaw clenched. "Who's your friend?" She asked after a while.
"The best of District Four," Mags replied with a small smile. "And there will be a handsome single Capitolite I'd not hesitate to recommend."
Lyme rolled her eyes. "Peacekeepers cannot marry or recognize children anymore, Mags. Not until the end of their twenty years."
"Who said anything about marriage?" Mags said with a cheeky wink.
She was highly amused to see Lyme blush. District Two had to be such a boring place for a woman in her late twenties to be a stranger to such talk.
A part of her hoped that Lyme and Plutarch would form a bond. Plutarch could have grown up carefree and now be a father of four if Mags had never interfered in his life. Mags almost felt guilty, in moments like these. Despite everything, she couldn't deny that she had been blessed.
"It's less extravagant than what I'd have thought," Lyme mused as they went through the mostly desert streets.
"This is a residential area and it will be a few days before people are out before midday again. The Games take their toll, even here," she said, sarcasm seeping into her tone.
Lyme smirked. "I see."
"Ah, there we are," Mags said as they stopped in front of the gleaming white and blue building. "Plutarch lives on the fourth floor and owns a sizable part of the garden on the roof." She rang the bell.
"Hello, Mags," Plutarch boomed, his arms open wide in greeting. His eyebrows flew up as he saw Lyme. "Mags and Guest, I know you," he added thoughtfully. "Lyme!" He exclaimed, triumphant. Then his face fell. "Blast, Major Lyme," he quickly rectified, breaking into a blundering salute that would have made a first year cadet die from shame.
Lyme managed to keep a straight face to greet him, but her lips were twitching. "Sir," she said.
"Plutarch, please. The most adult thing I've ever done is moving out on my own at twenty-eight," Plutarch said with a snort, urging them inside the delightfully cool apartment.
"You know how I have a soft spot for immature slouches, Lyme," Mags said, giving Plutarch a knowing smile. She would not let him be too modest, he deserved to be admired.
Lyme chuckled. "You must tell me how you met Mags, Plutarch" she said.
Glynn grinned as Plutarch lead Lyme to the living room. "How did you know he liked blondes?"
"He likes freckles," Syrianus corrected with a frown. He smiled sheepishly when Glynn huffed at him. Her hair was tied in a stern bun these days, giving her a very professorial air.
A calculating smile lit Glynn's face as she took Mags' hands in hers. "You have a look in your eyes I'm very happy to see."
"District Thirteen is still active," Mags whispered, her voice trembling with excitement.
Glynn's lips parted. Had it been for anything else, Mags would have burst out laughing at her friend's slack jawed expression. It was so rare to catch Glynn unprepared.
"Well, damn," Glynn said eloquently, awe robbing her of words. "That's... Yeah."
"Yeah," Mags replied, a wry smile gracing her lips.
"We should comb through the propaganda videos, organize an archaeology mission not far away," Syrianus said, his sharp, far-away gaze betraying his whirring thoughts.
"In ten years, when we'll have gotten a message through, -" Glynn began with a rueful grin.
Mags slapped her arm. "Don't even joke about it, Glynn, it's depressing." And all the more that ten years seemed a reasonable delay for to stealthily go about such business. They didn't even know where to begin. "Anything on your side?"
"Plutarch is going political, he wants to become more visible. Eventually, he plans on becoming a Gamemaker. He would be close to Snow, but not too close, and close to the Hunger Games."
And everyone involved in propaganda. Mags stole a glance at Plutarch who was flawlessly filling the role of perfect host. She saw a man in his prime, but also the child he'd never stopped being. The candid nine-year-old who'd wanted Petrel to win so badly, the flirtatious and reflective fourteen-year-old bent on becoming a psychiatrist and now the man, who'd come to District Four with a huge grin on his face the year they'd thought Zephyr would herald the beginning of a new era, splashing and running around as if he'd never been outside in his entire life. And in a way he hadn't.
"Why Lyme?" Glynn asked, the glint in her eyes betraying that she had a shrewd idea already.
"She's the new me in District Two," Mags said brightly. Her forced smile fell. "She has to be the new me. We can't afford to lose hold on peacekeepers. I think she's starting to ask herself questions, and she might be useful."
"Find out," Glynn said, "and be extra careful. Snow has no government yet. People do most of the job, but it's much more fragmented than ever. I wonder if he'll every have a government..."
Mags swallowed. "He's that paranoid?"
"If he keeps having no government, the lack of executives will be a problem, and the Districts will grow poorer from lack of management. If that happens, there will be more unrest. He confuses repression with solving problems." Glynn shook her head at Mags' grim but hopeful expression. "He's still intelligent enough that he'll be able to repress a long time before his control snaps."
Mags' face fell. She paused to collect her thoughts. So much was a gamble still... "Has he talked to you?"
"No, he sent me a letter. I don't bother him, he doesn't bother me." Glynn scowled. "Some of the others, he sent home. Barley hadn't set foot in Nine for thirty years, and he was given a week to pack. His wife refused to follow him, understandably I fear. I've got support here, Mags. My association with Evadne protects me, and Snow respects experts who do not dabble in politics, so Syrianus is as safe as can be."
"It would not be worth the bother to send Glynn away since I made it clear I'd follow her to Four. The Dreamweaver scandal forced five Professors to resign. We're two experts left," Syrianus said with a small smug smile.
Mags let those news cheer her up. At least those two had their backs covered.
"Snow increased research funds and is trying to regulate banks and finance," Glynn added. "He is far from a fool, but he has one weakness: he believes that deep down, every single district dweller is a rebel, just that most are too cowardly to act upon it. Because of that, he underestimates most types of rebellious attitudes. He also believes everyone is an idiot unless proven otherwise."
Mags sighed. "Well, I'll try to see how I can work with that."
She would break his hold on Panem, it was just a matter of time.
"Ladies, come join us," Plutarch called. "You can go home, Syrianus," he said archly before before smiling warmly at the man. He gave a dramatic sigh. "I swore when I was a teen that I'd find myself a District lady, but my Mom threatened to have a heart attack if I married number Seventy-oh-nine. She was so cute, didn't speak much," Plutarch granted, "but we understood each other."
Lyme was staring at him, shock freezing her traits. She chuckled when she realized that yes, he was most assuredly joking about marrying an avox.
Mags smiled politely. A Capitolite desiring an avox wasn't the kind of things she liked contemplating. "Glynn, look at him," she said instead, her voice thick with false outrage. "And you call yourself a matchmaker's daughter?"
"Lorelei's unmarried," Syrianus pointed out, his lips twitching when Mags affected a sad sigh of agreement.
"She could always quit peacekeeping," Glynn said, smirking unabashedly. "She's just a Captain, what would she really give up?"
Lyme cleared her throat pointedly.
And it was all forgotten, the new victor Blight, the Hunger Games, poverty and injustice, even Coriolanus Snow, as they freely spoke of friends and family, of irritating co-workers and relationship-advice and while Mags felt a pang of irrational sadness at seeing Lyme and Plutarch hadn't fallen in love at first sight, she knew that bringing Lyme had been the right decision. Victors all too often forgot what honest friendships were and because of that, they forgot there were things worth fighting for, things that were being threatened every day by their overlords.
One day, Lyme would realize she had a choice, and Mags was confident she'd make the right one.
Year 53, August, the Capitol.
"This is unbelievable," Mags mouthed, barely daring to breathe.
"It's the same mockingjay," Syrianus said. "It's the same picture. The same video has been played over and over for the last fifty years."
"Someone must be checking on Thirteen," Glynn said. "There must be information somewhere. We've started looking, it's just a matter of time."
"Does Snow know?"
Syrianus and Glynn shared a glance. From their expression, the question hadn't crossed their minds.
"You're right, Mags. He could possibly not know of District Thirteen," Glynn whispered wide-eyed. "It would be a disaster if the public knew. Evadne would have trusted General Duncain with the information, probably Magnus, but no one else."
Syrianus grinned. "Glynn, my love, if someone told him, I am certain they told Snow in his office."
Mags raised her eyebrows when Glynn beamed. She couldn't see why that would be a breakthrough.
"Snow put cameras in his own office," Glynn explained. A laugh escaped her lips. "If Snow was told, we'll know who and when."
Mags gaped. A chuckle escaped her lips. "You're worse than the thought police!"
"You'd be surprised at how good I got with computers over the years. And hide this in your bra," Glynn added, handing her a nail-sized device.
Mags raised a questioning eyebrow, her lips twitching as she thought of all the hours Deirdre had spent teaching her how to sow nigh-undetectable folds into her clothes.
"Victory Tour with your darling Gilly, you'll go to Three, and you'll give this jewel to Beetee. As you know, some manufactures in Three are forbidden to contact each other in any way, to the point that people of a same family can't work for both manufactures. This way no one save a handful highly supervised experts can figure out how the more critical technologies work."
Mags gave a slow nod, eyeing the memory chip in awe. "Are these complete files of Three's electronics?"
"It's enough for someone like Beetee to figure out how the forcefield works, or how to debug a room." Glynn grinned. "Sorry for the delay. I couldn't ask outright."
"You had to wait for me or Beetee to bring back a victor, anyhow," Mags replied, her wide eyes still on the device. Anything that could help them understand the Capitol's technology, anything that would give them a real edge...
"You're certain about Beetee?" Syrianus inquired softly. "He is not a boy of sixteen anymore. He has Wiress to protect."
"All the more reason for him to fight," Mags whispered. "He's a very rational man." A smile slowly drew itself on her lips.
She'd rarely been so eager for the winter.
Year 53, February, Victor Tour.
Mags blinked the sleepiness out of her eyes, wincing at the aggressive artificial light. She turned towards the brown-haired teenager on the nearby bed, and was glad to see the soft rhythmic movement of her chest.
Gilly's arena had been dark and full terrors, and while during the day the young woman was confident and pleasant, her strength was peeled away from her with each ray of sunlight that disappeared beyond the horizon.
Mags didn't mind the lights, even if her sleeping pattern suffered.
The train had stopped.
Dull echoes had Mags scrambled to her feet. People. In a flash of panic, she reached for the memory chip she'd sown into a fold of her underclothes and swallowed it.
She gagged, feeling the oval plastic chip painfully pass her throat. Her eyes then flew open as she took measure of what she'd just done.
How was she supposed to get it back now? Would the data even work?
And how would the person looking at the camera records interpret her randomly biting at a bra and then swallowing?
Hopefully, she'd been against the light.
"Who's there?"
Mags started and turned around, only to see Gilly standing upright, perfectly awake now, the lamp brandished before her like a club.
"No one's going to harm us, Gilly," she said softly, opening the door. She stepped out in the wagon, her nightdress brushing against her legs and her hair falling messily over her shoulders.
She soon fell nose to nose with two women peacekeepers.
"Is there a problem, officers?" She asked.
"No, Ma'am, and if we do our job well, there will never be a problem," the first of the two, a square, long-faced lady, said with a small condescending smile. "We are in charge of intra-district transit. We will search you now." She turned to Gilly, who was still clutching the lamp. "Obstruction of law is a crime punishable by whipping," she said, her voice rising with suspicion. "Do you have something to hide?"
Mags stiffened. Unless the peacekeeper changed her attitude now, there were going to be problems. "How about I search Gilly in front of you, Ma'am?"
Her eyes narrowed when the peacekeeper sneered, they had to listen. Gilly wasn't ready for this. "Victors tend to try to kill people they don't trust who come to close," Mags painstakingly explained. "The instincts you need to survive in an arena aren't those you look for in a good neighbor."
"Don't tell us how to do our job, Grandma" the woman snapped. The peacekeeper behind her didn't look any more amiable.
"Then please search me first," Mags said, struggling to keep her voice level. Gilly had to calm down. Mags could see her she was seconds away from bolting, and because of her training, Gilly didn't just flee, she knocked threats down.
The two peacekeepers would stand no chance, but it would be Gilly and Mags who would end up paying.
"No," the woman replied with an insolent smile. "Why should I?"
Mags stiffened in anger. She'd almost forgotten what it was, to be the bottom of the power chain. In Four, people listened to her, in the Capitol, she had a reputation, but here, she was nothing but a victor of generations past. She almost had to bite back a bitter chuckle.
She inhaled slowly. "Gilly, just relax. It's nothing."
"I don't know," the peacekeeper said, roughly pushing past Mags. "Are you hiding something?"
Gilly's breath hitched, her fearful eyes taking a glazed, dangerous sheen when the peacekeeper tore the lamp from her and threw it on the ground. It shattered, and with only the overhead lighting, gloom descended in the wagon.
"Gilly, don't move," Mags repeated in calming tones. It wouldn't be enough. Those idiot women had no idea.
She could see it happen slow motion as the senior peacekeeper checked the folds of Gilly's dress and ran her hands over her skin. Mags hadn't felt so helpless since she'd been a teenager.
Gilly stood tense as a rod, until the woman grabbed her hips, restricting her movements. Gilly's knee flew up, shattering the jaw on impact. Gilly jumped backwards, backing away to the edge of the wagon, her breath ragged. "Stop poking at me," she hissed, her eyes widening in panic as she saw blood bubble out of the other's mouth.
The other peacekeeper had her weapon out.
"Put that down!" Mags exclaimed. "This is the first time you've seen a victor isn't it?"
"You're not above the law," the other snarled. "If you can't control yourselves, we'll control you."
"I don't think the President's number changed since Achlys ruled," Mags replied coolly, bodily stepping between Gilly and the two. "I've used it enough to know it by heart."
The woman flinched and her eyes narrowed, a crimson flush creeping up her cheeks. "If you think-"
"If I'm telling the truth, you two are perilously close to execution," Mags said with a thin smile, fury sizzling in her veins. "Just back away and ask the escort."
When the woman took a step towards Mags instead. Mags's arm uncoiled, her fingers stabbing into the other's gut. She'd seen enough armor to know every weakness. The peacekeeper gasped as the air was knocked out of her lungs, and Mags twisted the weapon out of her grasp.
Grandma would show them.
Mags shot the air, twice. Gilly screamed.
The peacekeeper's whose weapon Mags had taken, barely more than a girl, was still standing there, shell-shocked, when her Lieutenant arrived, Vesta and two other peacekeepers right behind him.
"I wasn't warned," Vesta, their escort, said, "but they have valid warrants. They've been searching the whole train," Her hands had flown to her mouth when she saw Mags holding the gun.
The Lieutenant, a wiry young man with an intimidating glare, was quick to assess the situation. The distraught younger victor in the corner, clutching her broken lamp as a shield, Mags, furious with a gun, and his two soldiers, one of them holding their bleeding jaw on the ground.
"She kicked me," the wounded peacekeeper managed, spitting another mouthful of blood on the carpeted floor.
"Gilly has been a victor less than a year," Mags said. She would not back down. "I told you I would search her in front of you."
"Sir, she -"
"Oh shut up," the Lieutenant muttered. "Athena, go search the victor's room." He turned to the man on his right. "Get Katana to the medic."
Mags handed over Athena's sidearm. "My intent was never to cause trouble," she said stiffly.
The Lieutenant snorted. "I trained for Career. Never got first-tier, obviously, but I learned a few things about people there." He eyed them warily, his jaw clenching. "Athena, bring two large towels over."
Mags stared, wary of what the man could possibly have in mind.
"Ladies, out of the robes, get the towels around you, and go sit over there," he said, looking fed up by the whole proceeding. "More barbaric, but no touching involved."
Mags didn't make a fuss and she was greatly relieved to see Gilly comply. Vesta looked scandalized, but Capitolites had always had a paradoxical relationship with their own bodies.
"They'll tell Snow?" Gilly whispered, her lips trembling from fear and cold as they sat wrapped up in their towels.
"No, it won't leave the train. They've got too much to lose." Mags smiled slightly at Gilly's skeptical expression. "At least, they think they do."
"What are they looking for?"
"Messages, weapons maybe, technology..." She shrugged, a shiver running up her spine. "It seems to me it's now a routine check."
Her stomach churned at the abuse, but she felt less silly for having swallowed the evidence. She hoped there wouldn't be controls at the borders of every District, because she hated the thought of repeating the adventure. And there was the matter of getting the data back... She exhaled in annoyance. If her mother could see her now...
She huffed. "Snow's starting to get on my nerves."
Gilly gave a strangled laugh. "I almost killed a peacekeeper."
"Don't beat yourself up. You spent four years honing those defensive reflexes, they should have known better."
"They don't care about all that. I have to pretend I'm normal now," Gilly said with a resigned little laugh.
Mags smiled and wrapped her arm around Gilly's tense shoulders. "You'll do fine, I'll take care of you."
"I know," Gilly whispered, letting her head drop on Mags' shoulder.
Mags struggled to hide her utter relief when she finally got a minute alone with Beetee.
He stared in sheer confusion when she put her hand inside her dress. Mags just grinned and slipped the chip into his hand.
"What's this, Mags?" Beetee asked.
"Homework."
Beetee chuckled. "When is it due?"
"I'd love to say tomorrow," Mags said with a wry smile, "but just do it properly and don't get caught."
"How long?"
"I have no idea. Two, five, ten, twenty years... Even forty, Beetee. But we try to make every brick we build solid. Don't leave all the mentoring to Aster, I'll need you in the Capitol."
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Next chapter: Finnick and a new canon victor (guess who^^). We'll be covering almost a decade.