Hello everyone, thanks for your reviews^^. I promised a decade, I only reached year 59, but I think I've made up for it with plot and a quick update. Enjoy!
Year 55, October
Cereus crossed his arm, exasperation flashing across his face. "What's that kid doing?"
Mags turned around to see Finnick sitting in the sandy grass, making mazes with stones and pushing beetles into them with a stick. He had a look of absolute concentration, his bronze curls falling adorably over his furrowed brow.
"Isn't he lovely?" She said, a smile blooming on her lips. She'd never thought it possible to fall in love with a child.
"Mags, he's sitting there while his parents and uncles are working around the house."
Mags chuckled when Finnick took a huge breath and began blowing on the insects which dared try and crawl out of the maze. "He's five, let him be," she said with a smile.
"When did I become a monster, Mags?" Cereus said, looking miffed. "He's five, not two. You're all spoiling the kid because he's too cute. It's no good."
A determined cast to his face, her husband walked up to Finnick, who gave him an adorable salute. Lorelei always gave him a treat when he did it. "You're awfully spoiled, young man," Cereus said, crouching to have the five-year old at eye-level.
"Yeah, I'm lucky I'm so pretty," Finnick said, parroting his mother's words, innocent eyes of the most incredible green staring back at them.
Mags ruefully realized that she was grinning like the besotted great-aunt she was instead of being supportive of her husband. A sliver of doubt entered her mind.
"How hard is it to be pretty for you?" Cereus asked with a small knowing smile.
Finnick laughed, the body-shaking, windows rattling laugh of young children. "Really, really easy," he finally gasped. His infectious grin shattered Mags' shaky resolve to look somewhat stern for Cereus.
"Wouldn't you be proud of yourself if you accomplished something harder, like being nice and helpful around the house?"
The five-year-old stared at Cereus, his lower lip jutted outwards in concentration. Mags figured Cereus was being a bit ambitious. But she then knew he was right and that they'd have this conversation with Finnick again in a couple of years.
"I can do anything," Finnick then said gravely.
Mags smiled again, but only because everything in Finnick made her heart melt. This time, she began to see what Cereus had been trying to tell her. She was all for building the self-confidence of children, but telling them they were exceptional regardless of what they did wouldn't serve them in the long term.
"Why don't you come help your old aunt sort out some children books still stored at my house," she said. A closer look at the state of his clothes and hands had her wrinkle her nose. "We'll give you a bit of a wash first though."
Finnick brightened and jumped to his feet, throwing his bronze hair backwards with an ease that most teenagers would envy.
"I love your house, it's so big," he chirped, already rushing out if the garden.
Cereus grinned at him. "Then come give a hand, young man. You don't want to grow up lazy."
Finnick just laughed again. He looked so radiant, it hurt Mags just to contemplate upsetting him. She had seen so much suffering, so much abuse, that she wanted to steal Finnick away and hide him in a glass tower, to preserved that happiness from the evil of the world. She sighed. Maybe her husband was right, they were being blinded into letting that little boy get away with too much.
Mags let them go ahead, not wanting Tyna and Angelo to think Finnick had vanished.
"Finn, where –" Angelo Odair paused. "You're taking him, Mags?"
"We'll give him back when you're finished," Mags said with a smile. Her nephew was such a dynamic, solid man. She pretended to ignore the strain between them. She was a victor, he and his wife were whalers, some people were never meant to be close.
It wasn't just a matter of rich and poor, she was Angelo's aunt and later had been his teacher at FLASH. She wasn't sure when the awe had turned to wariness, but it was there. Every victor carried inside them a piece of the Capitol, a piece of death, and it was rare to find people truly able to see past it.
Angelo nodded, "Of course," he said, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Thanks, Mags," he added with a quick smile.
Mags waved cheerfully as she left to catch up with her husband. She knew Angelo's smile had been real. It was all that mattered.
Year 58, February, Victory Tour.
The heavy rain engulfed the speeding wagon, washing soot and dust off the large windows. Mags' fingers rested on the cold glass and Mags stared at the wrinkles she seldom noticed anymore.
Fifty years before, Vicuña had won the Hunger Games. The first victorious volunteer, the first Career. And as the year had ended, the Capitol had paid homage to Vicuña by inviting all the volunteer victors and chance had it that every single one of them a trained Career.
It had been so many years since Mags had seen some of them. Mordred, bald and stooped but still towering over the rest of them, Gunner, grown fat but with a healthy flush to his face, Domitia, who's sat relaxed, smiling as if she'd been privy to some untold joke. And Garnet, remarkably dashing for a man of sixty, his hand holding Annalise's.
They'd debated what made a victor.
"Say what you like, but with the annex, a thousand of our children get free education, healthcare and learn to fend for themselves," Mordred said. "For many, it's that or the mines. Regular education isn't full of hugs and songs and enrollment isn't compulsory."
It had been Plutarch who'd come to interview them with Caesar. Dr. Heavensbee, now well known in the Games circles. It was just a matter of years before Seneca Crane asked him to join the closed ranks of Gamemakers and Mags had been very happy to see him.
"Of the thousand children, two hundred are enrolled by social services because their parents are deemed unfit to take care of them," Domitia said with a wry smile. "I was such a child. There were very few of us at the time, but Archon won the 52nd and he'll be quick to dispel you of the notion we ruin lives."
"Without the Games, there would be no Careers and the annex gave me a family and a chance to live," Archon said. He then grinned. "Brutus spanked the skin off me until I learned to be more than a snot-nosed social outcast, but he's got vision, because had I met myself as an eight year old, I'd never have bothered and just drowned the runt."
He and Brutus bumped fists.
Lyme had been as impassive as ever, but the expression on Bahamut's face, the dead look in Seif's eyes, betrayed a darker side to the training centers of Two.
Mags let the sugar melt in her mouth as her thoughts led her to the Districts, to victors and trainees, and to Magister, married to One's most recent escort, who had announced their daughter would be named Vicuña.
As more rain splattered against the window. She wondered if her old friend would be honored.
"Why sugar cubes?" Eirene asked.
Mags started. The silence had grown so thick that she'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone.
"It's a habit, it's familiar." A small smile graced her lips. "Sometimes, we just need rituals."
Eirene's lips twitched briefly. "I'll get something to eat," she then mumbled.
Mags flinched, but she bit back her words.
Nori, Chelsea, Gilly, they all had dark pasts, they'd won their worst fights long before they'd come to FLASH. Eirene in that sense was the more Career-like, hungry for glory and purpose, but innocent. The Hunger Games had been her first real fight, and of her girls, she was the one Mags worried the most about.
Mags knew Eirene had a problem with food. Eirene never stopped eating, she gained and lost weight with alarming speed, and Mags had no clue how to help her. When she'd tried strict rules, Eirene had run away. They'd found her in Sickleport, almost dead from exposure. Mags needed Plutarch, she needed a psychiatrist, because she feared time would not be enough.
"Mags!"
Mags shut her eyes as Lullaby's shrill voice invaded the wagon. Snow had replaced nine of the escorts with his people in the last five years and, Circe, did she miss Vesta and Lucian.
"Mags, she's gone off to stuff herself and throw up again!"
Mags met Lullaby's eyes squarely. "She's quite good at pretending she's normal for the cameras," she said in cool tones. "Leave her health to me."
"She's famous, she's wealthy, she has no right to be miserable!" Lullaby spat scornfully.
Mags just stared until the escort huffed and broke off, stomping away like the spoiled twenty-five year old she was.
A wary sigh escaped Mags' lips when the train stopped. She hoped the peacekeeper search would go over well this time, at least Eirene had no issues with being touched by strangers.
Lullaby pushed the door open, looking ruffled. "They want everyone outside to search the train," she said stiffly. "I have umbrellas."
Mags spared an irritated glance at the pouring rain. She wondered if the peacekeepers assigned to District Twelve were chosen for their pettiness.
The peacekeepers stood outside wearing hoods and Mags' heart skipped a beat when she realized that everyone, even the avoxes and the driver, had been led outside.
A cloth went over her mouth and nose. She inhaled, and her brain shut down.
It was dark.
Dark and humid, with strong foreign scents overpowering her nose.
Mags could feel a soft rug under her and she shuffled slightly, her body eager for more rest.
Voices pierced through her muddled awareness. "What do you mean you lost her?"
"She woke up and she bolted."
"Brilliant, now Mags is going to murder us. You lost her victor, just great…"
A spike of alarm had Mags bolt up. "You lost Eirene?" She exclaimed, wincing as her back protested.
She blinked when she saw she was in some kind of room, surrounded by peacekeepers. Who were these people?
"We will find her," a deep calm voice intervened. Mags felt her heartbeat decreasing as she met the officer's blue eyes. "We should have expected she would try to run," he said.
A glance outside the window told Mags they weren't in a city. This wasn't District Twelve, this was the wilderness.
Where was she?
"So? How long have I been unconscious?" Her clothes stank. "Where are the others?"
"Two days. We will talk, and I will drug you again, and you will found by peacekeepers. The Capitol woman and the others will remain drugged until we are done."
Mags found herself liking his to-the-point behavior. "Who are you, Sir?"
The soldier waved the other three out of the room. He then removed his helmet and outer uniform. He was a youthful man in his late twenties, but his posture reminded her strongly of Valerian Fletcher.
"My name is Boggs, I am from District Thirteen. I have no idea who arranged this meeting, but my instincts told me the risk was worth it." His expression turned grave. "One of the avoxes demanded to be executed. We asked no questions but I am certain he was our link."
Mags shut her eyes briefly, another loyal soul sacrificed. But she was too selfish to truly mourn: Glynn, Syrianus and Plutarch had found them, at long last. An incredulous smile bloomed on her lips. It had taken less than ten years after all.
"The information came from Citadel rebels," she said, sparing a fond thought for Sylvan, Fix and Chickaree. "We built upon it."
Boggs blinked. "The Citadel?" An incredulous breath escaped his lips. "My parents weren't even born..." A faint smile drew itself on his lips. "Yes, we knew of the Citadel. I am glad their knowledge survived." He turned to her. "I will give no names, just a way to contact me. Our lives hold on to a tenuous treaty with the Capitol, we are underground, self-sufficient, but we are dying."
Mags frowned. "Illness?"
"Infertility," Boggs said. "We are no so few that we have interbred in the last two generations. There was a pox, but it was no pox," he said harshly. "President Achlys wanted us dead, and Snow doesn't look all that nicer."
An understatement. "He's worse," Mags said.
Boggs stared at her with an inscrutable expression. "You got Achlys killed."
Mags heart skipped a beat. "My contact trusts you too much," she said tartly. "Zephyr wasn't supposed to be murdered by Snow."
Boggs laughed, a brief but genuine sound. "No, I'm sure he wasn't," he chuckled.
"What can I expect from Thirteen?" Mags asked.
"We will rebel, but only if we know we will survive to see the end of it," Boggs said. "We have weapons, we have structures, and we will listen. I'm afraid the rebellion must come from the sunlit districts. We can offer you escort and a safe house when that happens."
Mags nodded, her whole body stiffening as she took a full measure of the conversation they were having. "Boggs, I am sixty-six years old. Try not to shorten my lifespan by taking excessive risks."
Boggs' eyes widened at her cold tone. He then straightened, as if he feared he had been too familiar. "Ma'am, you are the first contact we've had since the Citadel. It means a lot. We will answer communications but not attempt them ourselves."
"I know you are not amateurs, Boggs," Mags said more softly. "But we can't afford to fail."
Boggs saluted before sitting down once more to explain how to contact him.
He stood up when voices reached them from outside. "And here's your victor," he said, somewhat sheepishly. "Should she be told?"
"No," Mags said, a jolt of fear making her voice harsher than she'd wanted. "Feed Eirene a lie or two, make them short and believable," she added sternly.
Eirene would not be dragged into this.
Year 58, February, a day later
Lullaby paced around the train. "I can't believe this! I could have died!" She took a shaky breath, her eyes widening in horror. "Look, my hands are still trembling, I –"
"Go take some calming pills and sleep," Mags said curtly, "or you'll look blotchy on camera tomorrow, I fear."
Lullaby let out a hysterical shriek and left the room.
"I'm glad mine acts like an adult," Lyme said with an eyeroll. She next to Mags, her legs sprawled like a man's, more relaxed that Mags had ever seen her.
"I don't think they dare give Two an escort too insufferable," Mags said, resigned. "I appreciate you rescuing me from those nutters."
"Phones lines are a blessing. Apparently Valerian Fletcher got a call from your husband and decided to call me when he realized no swift action was being taken when you didn't turn up in Twelve for the Victory speech."
"It's very amusing that Valerian called you," Mags said with a small smile. Amusing was not the right word, thrilling came closer to what Mags felt now. For Valerian to call Lyme, then Glynn or Plutarch had a way to contact him, to tell him Lyme was trustworthy. Mags wondered how much power the now retired Colonel had and if the network in One was still alive. They'd put so many years of work into it...
"A peacekeeping school has its own hovercraft base," Lyme said. She was all but beaming, and Mags remembered that this was the first time the woman had been able to go on a field mission. "We were out in an hour."
Mags smiled ruefully. "They asked you for a ransom but just dropped us there?"
It was a simple cover story. Mysterious peacekeepers, a ransom asked, and then freeing the hostages in a moment of panic when the hovercrafts arrived. Mags would leave the Capitol try and make sense of it.
"I think they hadn't thought we'd be so fast and decided to save their own lives," Lyme replied after a pause.
"Who were they?"
Lyme shrugged. Her eyes then narrowed. "You're pretty relaxed for someone who just got kidnapped."
Mags laughed. "I've lived too long to let such minor things ruffle me, Lyme. So you've taken care of everything."
"Yes," Lyme said, an edge entering her voice. "I've filed Snow a report and we'll try to trace those people back. Eirene was an interesting witness, but I don't think I've got anything more to tell the President."
Lyme was squeezing Mags' shoulder a little hard and Mags knew then that Lyme had covered for her.
She smiled at the woman unabashedly. "Thank you so much for not hesitating to come to save me, Lyme," she said warmly.
Lyme took a shaky breath but she failed to look truly accusing. "You'll be the death of me, old woman."
Mags swallowed. Yes, Lyme had begun to understand.
"That's what friends are for," she replied softly. "Don't feel taken for granted."
Lyme looked down, her expression tight, but she didn't move away and Mags knew that she hadn't been mistaken.
Year 58, February, return to District Four.
"Mags! Where were you?" Finnick shouted, rushing to her and wrapping his arms around her legs. "They said you'd been taken by rebels, and that you'd been killed, but Nana swore you were fine, and everyone was panicking and all over the place."
"We were a little worried," Cereus said with a clipped smile.
"I swear that wasn't planned and you were brilliant," she said planting a kiss on her husband's lips.
"I think my being brilliant was planned," Cereus whispered, his hand possessively grasping Mags. "I hope it was mind-blowingly rebellious or I'll walk to the Capitol and throttle Glynn myself."
"Don't whisper, I want to know!" Finnick urged, jumping up and down around them.
Mags turned to her seven-year old nephew. "Lyme, the victor from Two, rescued me for bad people who wanted to take me hostage."
"Bad people?" Finnick said, straightening in rapt attention. He was too old to accept 'bad' as a satisfactory answer.
"They had peacekeeper suits. Looked like well-fed peacekeepers too. I'm not sure, Finn," Mags admitted, "they kept me asleep."
"Is Eirene okay? Did she do that sword trick she did in the arena on them?" Finnick said, moving his arms in whooshing noises as he tried to recreate the scene all the older children talked about in school.
"Eirene is fine, she'll be happy you asked."
Eirene was still confused but she didn't seem curious. She'd pulled through, just like she'd survived the arena and that was all that seemed to matter to the young victor.
"We have a way to contact Thirteen," Mags mouthed to Cereus. "Now let's never speak of it again," she whispered with a smile.
Cereus' face broke into a grin. "Fine," he granted. "I won't go to the Capitol."
"Stop whispering," Finnick hollered, grabbing Mags' arm. He abruptly calmed down when Cereus' hand collided with the back of his head.
"Manners, Finnick," Cereus said sternly.
"Nana kept saying, but I was scared," Finnick replied sullenly, making a great show of massaging his head.
Mags planted a kiss on his forehead. "Let's go see Esperanza all together, so we can some time as a family and I'll tell you all about it."
Now she had a half hour to come up with a satisfactory story.
"If rebels try to kidnap you again, I'll take a sword and wham," Finnick said, whirling around as he battled imaginary foes.
"You'd sure teach them," Esperanza said with a grin before closing the distance between her and Mags and engulfing her into a hug. "Circe, Big Sis, you never stop," she whispered.
"I'm going to teach them so bad," Finnick was saying, kicking at nearby plants.
Cereus gave a soft sigh and Mags almost laughed. "Finn, as soon as you're twelve, you'll come to FLASH and we'll teach you to teach them."
"Twelve!" Finnick exclaimed, his face falling. "But I'm your nephew! I'll be the best anyway." He stole a glance at Cereus. "Because I'll work hard, of course," he added quickly.
"If you pass the trials, you could come in at eleven," Cereus said with a small smile.
Finnick beamed. "He said it," he shouted triumphantly. "It's a promise!"
Mags laughed. "That it is." They would need FLASH to keep that little whirlwind occupied.
Year 59, August, Interview Night.
"This place will be a safe haven for tributes and mentors alike," Beetee said with a smug smile. Embracing the small lounging room with one last glance."False images are being fed to the cameras, you can speak freely."
Mags grasped his arm affectionately. "First the Games Tower, next, Panem," she said in solemn tone. Now the lounge would be used much more often.
Beetee chuckled. "Don't jinx it," he muttered, his eyes tightening slightly.
Mags straightened when she heard soft steps in the corridor. She hurried to the door.
She recognized Cecelia from District Eight, running with little care for her surroundings, barefoot with her hair undone, a dangerously enticing dress falling over her body.
Mags grasped Cecelia's arm. Cecelia gasped, jerking away in reflex.
The young woman then straightened, her hands putting her flowing brown hair back in place as she regained her composure. A wave of calm seemed to descend on her comely features, leaving only a look of demure politeness that was striking by its blankness.
Beetee excused himself and left.
"Child, there's only one wait out now," Mags said, her features softening as she met those pale gray eyes. Cecelia Rheys stood cold and withdrawn where Finnick glided through life like a shooting star, but they both had that captivating beauty that beckoned to her most primal protective instincts.
"I like to play make believe," Cecelia replied softly, her full lips curling into a mirthless smile. "I'm a princess in a castle."
"Running away will not save you, Cecelia," Mags said.
Cecelia bit her lip, her eyes blinking furiously. "Woof wants me to be pretty and flirtatious, I can be, but it's nothing. I could do so much more." That eerily blank look on once more, Cecelia adjusted her low-cut dress, revealing a cleavage that had no place outside a lover's room. "They want outrageous, I'll give them outrageous. If they want me to beg-"
Mags grabbed her wrist painfully. "Never reveal how much you have to lose. Or they'll delight in pushing you beyond endurance."
Mags' heart clenched as she remembered Adria, led to her death by those terrible jabberjays impersonating her brother. They hadn't just killed Adria, they had crushed her, milking every drop of resolve, every lingering bit of strength.
"How can anyone have nothing to lose?" Cecelia said, her voice cracking. There was a hardness to that gaze, and Mags suspected more and more as minutes passed that they had a killer. "Alright, I'm on my own then," Cecelia whispered.
But she didn't leave. She stood near Mags, her eyes on the ground, her chest raising and falling rhythmically, a silent plea for respite, not to be left alone.
She grasped Mags' arm when the older woman gently tried to pull her dress back up and cover her naked shoulder.
"I'm dependent on the people who set their eyes on me," Cecelia said in soft tones.
Mags squeezed Cecelia's hand. She didn't have to play it like this. "You're not decent, Cecelia."
A diffident, mirthless smile cracked Cecelia's lips. "I'm not decent. I'm beautiful."
She said it with absolute confidence, but there was no lightness or satisfaction to her words, as if she already knew how double-edged such a gift could be.
But to know such a thing… Mags' eyes narrowed and she brushed away her preconceptions. Cecelia was no child. Her enviable body would indeed bring her better revenue than anything a teenage girl of Eight could hope to produce through less compromising labor.
Mags now eyed her boldly, wondering if such a past would help in an arena. It was not abuse, not in the conventional sense, not when it was chosen, but Mags could imagine the steep walls built brick by brick, that Cecelia hid herself behind. The distance, the tenuous sense of pride she held on to keep her head high in a world that wished people like her robbed of all sense of self.
Cecelia stiffened at the scrutiny. "I won't choose the easy way out," she ground out, her eyes unable to meet Mags'.
Mags nodded. She believed her. "Go like this. No shoes, hair half done. Say you've fallen asleep dreaming of a life here. It won't change the odds, but they'll remember your name."
Beautiful wouldn't help. Not unless it was outrageous and none yet had truly played that angle, they had been too young and inexperienced. Mags feared Cecelia had experience enough.
"Seduction has always had a place in the Huger Games," Mags said, "but you're competing against fear, hunger and death. Be careful, Cecelia."
Cecelia chuckled, an insolent, angry sound. "You don't think I can win, that's why you decided you could afford being helpful."
Mags met Cecelia's diffidence with a small smile of her own. That remarkably pretty bird from District Eight had claws of steel.
"I'll tell you a secret Cecelia. We don't make victors. Victors make themselves," Mags said, brushing the girl's cheek with her fingers. "We just give that little push. Now go and make yourself."
Games 59, Arena.
Mags was more nervous than she had been in a long time. The layout had been Plutarch's idea, his submission to Seneca Crane. If it worked, he would become a Gamemaker, but Mags was afraid that seeing how proficient her old friend was at making murder entertaining would put a strain on their relationship.
The countdown was just five seconds, too short for the tributes to stop and think. The tributes on the screen were only three, shrouded in gloom. Galeo from Two lunged for the boy closest to him, too swift for the other to react. His powerful hands locked around Loomer's neck and ignoring the frantic clawing at his hands, he grimly watched life ebb out of the other's eyes.
A clang had him turn. The girl, Violet, had slammed against something hard. Stunned, she tried to pick herself up. She froze when she saw the Career so close.
"It's just us," she said, shaking with fear. "There's no one else, Galeo. Kill me, you're alone in the Games."
Her presence of mind saved her life. Galeo nodded, rage twisting his face. He extended his hand. "Get up, Twelve, and smile: you're not expendable anymore."
There was no cornucopia. Tributes started in random groups of three, dressed in the simplest of shifts but with sturdy boots. Alliances were broken and Galeo was not the only one who made the mistake of disposing of his only allies too soon. Some ran, and found themselves soon lost in an odd maze.
Mags' eyes turned to her monitor and Waverly. Her volunteer reminded her of Lyme, so very tall and broad, with a mild calculating expression that hid a storm of emotions. She had her two new allies by the scruff of their shifts.
"Don't try and run away, you fools," Waverly huffed. "I think that's a map."
It was, glued to a translucent wall. Mags frowned when she realized the arena was a zoo. There were no bears or lions, but the cages held animals deadly enough to give you pause, but the rewards rendered hesitation deadly: there was food in the nesting magpie's nests, warm clothes in the middle of the spider webs, swords in the badger's den and throwing knives in the ferrets' cage.
When the lights went on, the animals woke up and deafening noise filled the arena.
The map revealed the strategic location of supplies and gave just enough information on the animals to tell the district-grown tributes what they would be facing.
Cecelia woke up screaming in the middle of the first night, her face flushed from terrors that pursued her even in the arena.
Destiny slapped her hard, but it was too late. Her cry of pain was drowned in furious hisses. The blonde Career shouted out in rage as the previously sleeping geese started racing towards them.
Geese, honest, non-mutt geese, patrolled the corridors next to the more sensitive supplies and Mags would never have suspected those overgrown ducklings to be so fearsome had she not seen it with her own eyes.
Destiny didn't even have to time to grab their bags before the geese were biting at them.
The two ran, Destiny dragging Cecelia painfully by the arm.
They had lost their third ally when going for the swords. They'd stood hidden, waiting for another group to distract the badger, and when the others had realized what was happening, they'd been unarmed, in a cage with a furious badger, facing three tributes with swords. Brunel had panicked, but Mags had been right: Cecelia was a killer.
The geese had stopped giving chase and Destiny had Cecelia by the throat. "Give me one reason not to kill you!"
He let her go, his sword slashing a thin red line across her shoulder. "We were perfect, you ruined it. Why am I letting you drag me down?" He whispered, his hand trembling as his fury and his fear of death fought with whatever conscience training had spared.
"There are so many more interesting things to do with a girl in the deep of night," Cecelia said hoarsely, a small smile on her lips.
Destiny was so shocked by her answer that he stepped back. He stared at her his anger soon giving way to astonishment, disgust, and then something different altogether. He was finally looking at Cecelia as a woman rather than a disappointing sum of skills.
Mags blinked when the screen fuzzed over, giving privacy to the two tributes. That had never happened before. Soon enough the official camera switched to a silent, sleeping group.
"What, kids are watching at this time? Just when I thought mentoring would be fun they censor it?"
"Haymitch, one word and I'm punching your teeth out," Woof said, white as a sheet.
Haymitch gave a crooked drunken grin. "Don't need teeth to drink."
Woof turned to Mags. "I don't like this at all. I get that girl wants to survive and I respect that, but she's changing the rules."
On the third day, the supplies Destiny and Cecelia had managed to scrounge had run out and the tributes still numbered fourteen.
"I'll go find the others. Allure, Galeo, Waverly, we'll reform," Destiny said, grimacing as he took a bite of the rat they'd cooked. "And then we'll start the serious stuff. With them, we'll get those knives."
Cecelia pretended she hadn't heard the death threat, pretended he hadn't called her expendable.
Later that night, glorious in her nakedness, Cecelia dug her nails into Destiny's back, drawing thin crimson lines, and pushed him into the ferret's cage. The rivulets of bloods called to the rabid beasts like a siren's song, and it was amidst Destiny's agonized screams that Cecelia snagged the knives resting in the middle of the cage.
Sponsor money showered on the girl before the canon had even blasted.
The mentor's room was deathly silent.
"Woof?" Mags finally said.
"No. I can't," he said in dead tones. "She has to die."
"What?" Mags exclaimed. "Woof, what the hell?"
Cecelia had used what weapon she had, she'd pay for it, just like they all did. Worse, they'd want to see her naked again. But he would have killed her eventually, and she had never pretended to love him.
"It's my District, I've supported your choices before, Mags, but not this time," Woof said, his breathing growing ragged. "She'll die anyway. You shouldn't help her."
Mags shook her head. Why wouldn't she help Cecelia? The girl had the drive, she wasn't cruel, she wasn't a Capitol tool. She was strong and could be healed. What else mattered?
"The money is for her," Lyme said. "Use it Woof, don't act cleverer than the sponsors."
"No. It's vile, I will not," Woof said forcefully.
"What happened, your girlfriend slept around?" Lyme said, a rare fury entering her voice. "That girl has it in her to win and you will use the sponsor money to keep her alive. Eight is the third poorest District, if she wins there's a feast, there's food, for everyone. Don't act as if she planned this. Destiny was about to kill her."
"Why, Woof?" Mags asked. Astonished by his attitude. "She hasn't won yet, but she just might. Why are you being so hostile?"
"Because they want to do her!" Woof exploded, tears of rage entering his eyes. "How sick is that! And if she wins, it's a precedent. The Games are bad enough without adding sex and rape."
Mags blinked. She hadn't thought of it like that. Her jaw tightened in disgust. She should have been thinking of it like that.
Deirdre's words resurfaced. Selling victors. Snow had not even had a mistress after his first, and short, marriage. And maybe, that was what had saved them: the fact the President was not lascivious enough to see beyond his prejudice and consider the victors as sexual beings.
But Woof was right, if Cecelia won now…
Lyme put a hand on Woof's shoulder. "Sorry for shouting," she muttered.
Mags swallowed. She understood what Woof meant now, but another part of her defended Cecelia. It was too easy to call swords and spear "clean weapons" and condemn those who cheated using stealth or wiles. There was no fairness. Cecelia had entered the Games untrained, and still, she kept her wits in the face of death.
But if it meant that victors would become sex objects. Mags shuddered. One word, one word and Mags could tip the balance and let Cecelia Rheys die, for the good of them all.
Her mouth stayed shut. She couldn't do it. She'd trained innocent teenagers to die year after year for decades, but now she couldn't speak.
"Don't withhold money like that," Chrysoberyl said coldly.
Woof slapped Chrysoberyl when she tried to access his controls. "Don't you dare!"
"You miserable bastard," Magister said, shoving the older man backwards when he raised his hand again.
"You've married a Capitolite," Woof spat at Magister. "You'll probably be training Career girls to get naked by tomorrow. Is that the direction you want the Games to take?" he said, turning to the other mentors.
"It's our tribute, the honor of District One, that she killed, Woof," Chrysoberyl snapped. "Don't think we're her fans. That slut will get what's coming from her, but I don't want foul play. You don't mess with sponsors or gamemakers or Snow, because I don't want you to drag me down when they get angry."
Woof snorted. "You selfish–"
"Shut up. It's easy for you!" Chrysoberyl hissed. "You're their teddy bear, Woof, the handsome old man who gives styling advice for the elderly. I won under Zephyr, I'm still bait. So keep your head down and hope she chokes on the water."
Mags stared numbly, too overwhelmed to think of a placating answer. This was getting out of control, but her brain remained a muddle of swirling, unhelpful, thoughts.
Woof let out a roar of rage when Chrysoberyl sent Cecelia the weapons and supplies. "Get out," he shouted. "You and your Career spirit, you have no morals, you'll destroy everything!"
"Fine, I'm tired of those weaklings," Brutus snapped. "I used to think I could learn something from every single victor, but you disgust me. You've given up without a fight and spout false principles left and right. And then you've got the guts to look down at us for daring to live."
He slammed the door open, Chrysoberyl and Magister followed without another glance.
"Let's go," Lyme told Mags. "We should keep an eye on them."
"Mags," Woof said, an exhausted sigh leaving his lips.
Mags looked down, anger robbing her of her ability to speak. She glanced at the screen and inhaled sharply when she saw Cecelia now sobbing uncontrollably, her arms hugging her new supplies bag. And nothing guaranteed Cecelia would win. Mags hated herself for being so unsure, hated herself for thinking of that girl in terms of strategy.
And did not Barric, Violet or her determined Waverly deserve her affection and support? Why Cecelia? Why was Mags suddenly fighting for that girl?
"Someone's better keep an eye on them," she repeated her eyes briefly meeting Seeder's. How had it come to this? "Eirene do what you want."
"I'm with you, Mags," Eirene whispered.
From that day on, Careers and non-Careers mentored in separate rooms.
When Cecelia Rheys won, Mags felt a huge weight lift off her chest, and yet she wept. They were not joyful tears.
Games 59, the Capitol
Mags knew Cecelia was still in the Capitol, but she hadn't seen her at dinner, and she didn't like it.
She finally found her in her room, wearing a simple yet flattering red dress. "Want to see who you've possibly ruined every future victor's life for?" Cecelia whispered hollowly, her fingers playing with the fringes of her bed.
"Ruined?" Mags asked, afraid of the answer.
Cecelia granted her a small smile. "I'm used to being used. If that's all they want, then so be it. I'll play their Games, Da will be fine, everyone's happy."
Mags' eyebrows shot up at Cecelia's accepting tone. "Well, Girl, if you can handle it, well done."
"Life teaches you priorities," Cecelia said with her diffident smile. Her harsh smile fell, and she suddenly looked so very young that Mags felt the urge to hug her. "Is Woof alright? I think… I heard him crying at night," she said, unable to hide how much that shook her. She swallowed. "You've been honest with me, am I worse than the other victors here?" she said hoarsely, her eyes bright.
This time, Mags did hug her.
"No. More naughty though," Mags added with a very guilty smile.
Cecelia gave a strangled little laugh. "That's okay. I don't care what they think. I'd hoped things would change… I'd hoped," Her breath hitched, but it seemed that Cecelia had no more tears to spare. "It doesn't matter…I'll survive. Naughty doesn't kill," she said, her arms tightening around Mags.
But Woof had been right, the way the Capitol eyed the victors had changed.
Cecelia's character was greatly inspired by Oisin55's Cecelia in Fall into the River. If you want to read an excellent victor-centric fic, go read it.
I wanted to end this with one last Finnick centered scene, but it fell quite flat after Cecelia's Games. The contrast didn't work. So it'll be in the next chapter, with Annie thrown in, but there won't be any Finnick romance until after his Games, they're just both at FLASH.
ETNRL4L, I'm counting on you to nitpick my characterization of Boggs.^^
Please review!