Scotia Yackley, 27
Victor of the One-Hundred and Nineteenth Annual Hunger Games
It's Scotia Yackley's birthday today. Her twenty-seventh birthday to be exact, although she feels much older. Thirty sounds about right. Twenty seven, twenty seven, twenty seven. Maybe if she kept telling herself that, it would eventually stick.
Her home in Victor's Village was different from its usual blue-gray tones, instead decorated with streamers of every shade of the rainbow and pathetic little party-things that hung from the ceiling and got in her face.
But despite all that, Scotia Yackley is the happiest she's every been.
She gets to spend her birthday with the people she cares about the most: her friends, her family and her tabby cat, a scrawny little thing that she calls Twig. His mews are endless and high pitched, bouncing off the walls of her home like one of the red balls that she sees the District kids playing with sometimes.
But again, she doesn't mind. At least it fills the house with someone's presence.
She knows that most Victors aren't as lucky as her. Her neighbor, an older Victor with graying hair on Scotia's left, never goes outside. Whenever she wheels out the garbage can to the side of the street, she finds a slew of empty whiskey bottles scattered across her neighbor's front yard. But a lot of Victors, Scotia included, are able to find a way to keep going.
Scotia is sat at her dining room table, a stupid cone shaped party hat with flurries of colorful paper on the top, perched on her head. A string connects the hat with her chin. She almost laughs at how dumb it probably looks, but it's all in good fun.
Two of her friends enter the room, holding a cake on a glass platter. Scotia scoffs, distinctly remembering the conversation between her friends when she told them that she didn't want any cake at the party. Her other friends and family follow them, furiously sticking candles into the buttercream surface and lighting them ablaze.
They set the cake in front of her, a deep dark chocolate one with thick vanilla frosting and rainbow sprinkles. Fancy cursive lettering on the top spells out "Happy birthday Scotia!" in yellow icing.
"Guys, what did I say about cake?" Scotia says.
"Oh, come on, did you really think we were going to adhere to that?" one of her friends responds. Scotia rolls her eyes. She should've seen it coming.
She stares down at the candles, the glimmering reflection in her eyes. They flicker every now and then, their beauty fleeting. She takes a deep breath in.
"I'm sorry. I can't do this." Scotia stands up and throws her party hat off her head and onto the floor. It gets trampled as she runs out the door, unable to bring herself to look back at the faces of her friends and family.
The District Four air is always warm. Always. The Victor's Village houses are always cold, providing a much needed change of pace. Scotia darts her head a few times before running. She runs and runs, passing Helini Franklin's house on the way out.
Helini won a few years before Scotia, at the young age of fourteen. Everyone loves Helini. The same cannot be said about Scotia.
The arch leading to Victor's Village passes her by, the sidewalk turning from stone to dirt as she runs towards the sound of crashing waves. She passes by the Academy, where she spent so much of her time as a young girl, training for the Games that would eventually alter her life forever.
The beach comes into view, the crystal blue waves crashing into the damp sand. The water here is much different than the rest of the District, this part of it being clear and beautiful, while the rest of the District's ocean is green and murky.
Scotia kicks her shoes off and runs towards the water, stopping as tiny waves crash onto her feet and soaking them. The sun shines bright on her face as she closes her eyes. It's relaxing. Somehow.
"Hey, Scotia."
Scotia opens her eyes to find Bayou Crescent staring back at her.
"Hey, Bayou," she responds, kicking some sand towards the sea.
Bayou won about a decade before Scotia did. They've always mentored together, except for the few years he did it with Helini. He's a good foot taller than Scotia and much bigger too. He's kind of like one of those giant statues Scotia always sees when she visits the Capitol during the Games.
Bayou's baby son sits on his hip, arms wrapped around his father's neck and a towel completely wrapped around him. The older boy clutches Bayou's pant leg, shivering as he adjusts his own towel.
"Oh! I forgot to tell you. Happy birthday, Scotia!"
"Thanks."
"Something wrong?" That's the exact question Scotia didn't want to hear. All she wanted was to be alone on the beach. Key word: alone.
"I'm fine, except for the fact that I hate my birthday," she snaps at him, sending Bayou's older son cowering behind his father.
"Why do you hate your birthday?"
"Because I don't deserve a goddamn birthday, Bayou!" The scream exhibits a whimper from the older son and a babble from the baby. "I thought I did, but apparently I don't! I'm a fucking mess and I just ran out of a party that my friends and family threw for me! That's shitty."
"Yeah, that is pretty shitty." Scotia laughs at the unexpected joke. Despite Bayou's huge muscle-man stature, he's surprisingly funny. "You know how I've gotten through these last years?" He gestures down towards his two sons. "These boys."
Bayou picks the older one up into his arms and gives both of them a kiss on the forehead. "The people you love is what gets you through it. Don't ever take them for granted." With a final grin from him, Bayou Crescent walks away leaving Scotia Yackley staring out onto the sea as the waves continue to crash against her legs.
...
Half an hour later, Scotia returns back home, her family and friends still waiting for her around the table.
She takes her place back in her seat and turns to her loved ones.
"Thank you guys."
With a final smile, Scotia Yackley blows out her birthday candles.
Jeremy Taylor, 17
Victor of the One-Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games
Jeremy Taylor's house is quiet and lonely. But in a few months it won't be and for that, he is excited. Just a few blocks over, Franny sits alone in the community home, anxiously awaiting Jeremy's arrival. It's her birthday today and yet she barely knows it.
His heart broke the day that he found out Franny would have to be put in the District Seven community home. He had just gotten home from the Games a few days earlier. He had tried to become the legal guardian for Franny but had failed due to him being underage. Peacekeepers showed up at his door an hour later and took Franny away.
That will all change in five months when he turns eighteen.
But for now, a cake and a visit to the group home will have to suffice.
His timer on the kitchen beeps. The warm smell of chocolate cake fills the air. He takes a big sniff in. It smells just like his mother's.
The cake comes out the oven, the top smooth and flat, a perfect texture and a deep brown color.
It chills on the counter for an hour as he makes a vanilla icing and frosts the cake head to toe. It's not perfect by any means.
But it doesn't need to be perfect.
It just needs to taste good.
He dyes the remaining frosting a shade of light purple (Franny's favorite color) spelling out "Happy 7th Birthday, Franny!" on the top. The letters are curved and messy, barely legible even.
It's not perfect either. But it doesn't need to be perfect either.
He scoops the cake onto a glass platter and grabs her present off the table, wrapped in a yellow box and a red ribbon tied on the top.
District Seven is humid for most of the year and March is no different. The frost has just melted off the ground and the snow has fallen from the trees. Spring is officially here and it'll stay like that until the next winter.
The walk to the group home isn't that long but it takes Jeremy quite a while. His attention keeps turning to the places he used to call familiar around his District. The hardware store owned by the little old man who used language long gone from most people's vocabulary.
He was found dead earlier in the year and the shop has since been demolished.
He passes by the lumber yard where his father used to work. It seems like such a strange place to him without his father or mother there. He remembers times when his father would bring him there to teach him about what he did and his mother always rushing in with his lunch that he forgot at home. He remembers playing poker with his father and his coworkers and not understanding how the game worked but enjoying nonetheless. He remembers going swimming in the river out back with his dad and him getting a bath when he came home to get all the dirt off him.
He used to remember a lot of things.
Not so much anymore.
The community home appears in front of him, the tall creaky building looming of him with danger. He worries about Franny in here constantly.
He swings the door open, a little bell signifying his entrance. An old lady with gray hair and thick eyebrows sits at the desk in front of him, a small desk lamp the only source of light in the whole room.
"Well, well, well, Mr. Victor," she snarks at him. "You here to see your sister?"
"Yeah. Today's her birthday actua-"
"Franny! Your brother's here to see you," the lady shrieks to the upstairs, a sharp pain entering Jeremy's ears.
In a split second, Franny appears at the top of the stairs, her hair done in two pigtails.
"Jeremy!" she yells, hobbling down the stairs. Jeremy sets the cake and present down on the floor as Franny jumps from the third steps and into his arms.
"Hi, Franny," he whispers, choking on his own tears. He holds her in his arms for a while, never wanting to let her go.
She sets her down on the ground and kneels down, handing the yellow box to her.
"Happy birthday."
"A present?" Her eyes become starry as she vigorously tries to unwrap the ribbon to no avail.
"Here, let me help," Jeremy laughs, undoing part of the knot and letting her get the rest. She flips the lid off the top to reveal a white stuffed bunny with a pink around its neck. It's sewn-on smile is sweet, if a bit unnerving.
"I love it!" she exclaims, pulling the bunny to her chest and giving it a tight squeeze.
"What are you gonna name it?"
"Hmm, I don't know. I'll tell you when I figure it out.
"Okay," Jeremy laughs. He picks the cake platter from off the floor and shows it to her. "I also brought this."
"It looks exactly like Mom's! Let's go eat it in the dining room. The bedroom is kind of crazy right now. There's some sort of fight."
That stresses Jeremy out even more.
The dining room doesn't even qualify as a dining room. It's a white bricked room with a few picnic benches and floors that probably haven't been washed since this place existed. Franny didn't seem to care though. Jeremy didn't care either.
Jeremy grabbed two forks and they dug into the cake. Franny was ecstatic with how good it was. Jeremy was shocked at his own abilities, surprised at how much it tasted like their mother's cake.
"So, how's life here been recently?" Jeremy asks, although he's scared about the answer.
"Eh," Franny says. "It's not so bad. But there's this kid Bruce who keeps hitting and kicking the younger kids."
"Has he done anything to you?"
"No, it's mostly just threats. But most kids aren't as lucky." Jeremy grips her hands from across the table.
"Remember. Just a few more months. And you'll be home. And we'll have water balloon fights and we can race up the stairs. In the summer, we can go to the river and swim there." Just like Dad and I used to do, Jeremy thinks. Franny smiles at him, clutching his hand tighter.
"I know. A couple more months and we'll be together again."
"Mr. Victor!" Jeremy turns his attention to the old lady, standing there in the doorway. "Time for you to go! The kids need to get ready for bed!"
"Please! Can't we have more time?" Franny cries.
"No. He needs to leave."
"It's okay, Franny," Jeremy tells her. "I'll see you soon, okay?"
"Okay," Franny whimpers.
"I love you."
"I love you, too." They share a tender hug before Franny is pulled away.
...
Jeremy Taylor walks home with a platter stained with vanilla frosting and an empty yellow gift box. He tries to not let the tears roll down his face as he enters Victor's Village and opens the door to his house.
He plops down on his bed and grips the blankets tighty.
"Just a few more months and I'll see her again," he tells himself. They'll play catch in the backyard where Franny will jump into his arms. They'll bake chocolate cake together, exactly like their mother used to make. They'll watch one of those Capitol shows that Franny loves so much. They'll have slumber parties where Franny will fall asleep in Jeremy's arms. They'll eat ice cream and laugh as they get simultaneous brain freezes. They'll play hide and seek and Jeremy will find Franny and tickle her so much that she'll get the hiccups.
"Just a few more months," Jeremy repeats.
Just a few more months.
Roe Harper-Dillon, 24
Victor of the One-Hundred and Twenty-First Annual Hunger Games
Roe Harper-Dillon lives in a haunted house. His home in District Ten's Victor's Village reminds him of all the people he's lost. Their souls still echo around the hallways, occasionally stopping by to give Roe a hello. He never sees them but he knows they're there. They have to be there.
If they aren't, then that means that Roe Harper-Dillon is alone. All alone. Forever.
And that is scary.
It's his birthday today, although he barely acknowledges that fact. Birthdays are just a constant reminders of the prospect of getting older. He's only twenty-four but he can still feel the years slipping by him. Most Victors let it happen, fading into obscurity as they cling to a bottle of alcohol or a bottle of pills hoping that it'll solve all of their problems.
Roe knows from experience: it won't.
Right after Roe secured victory six years ago, he couldn't sleep. His former district partner, a tiny twelve-year-old girl named Viv, found her way into his house. She didn't do anything. Her spirit kept walking around the hallways and sitting by the foot of Roe's bed as he slept. She was lonely. In need of a friend.
But Roe couldn't give that to her.
He couldn't save her either.
She's the only ghost he's ever physically seen.
He remembers that night, seeing her round, wholesome face projected into the night sky of the Arena. To them, she wasn't anything but the "District Ten Female". But to him, she was a friend.
She wasn't the only ghost in his house.
A few weeks after returning from the Arena, Roe's parents vanished without a trace. Not a single person has anything resembling a clue as to where they could've gone but Roe knows the truth.
Dryden Anika.
Roe's Victory Tour was the first one where Anika was Vice President. He received the very first warning speech, threatening his family if he ever stepped out of line. Roe promised he wouldn't.
He still doesn't know what he did, but it doesn't matter. His parents were still gone.
(Gone in a physical sense. Roe still sensed their presence in the house. That he is sure of.)
There he sits, alone at his kitchen counter, a newspaper in his hands. He has no one alive to celebrate his birthday with. No one else even knows that today is his birthday, not even Lenora from next door. She claims to know everything about every other Victor, but that's complete bullshit. Roe thinks she's just looking for an excuse to chat.
The house is dark and cold, it's usual demeanor. Although he's the only one in the house, Roe knows he's not alone.
In the corner of his eye, someone runs.
He's right.
His eyes dart from the newspaper on the kitchen counter over to the corner of the room. He knows he's not crazy. He saw something. And he's been seeing something.
The ghosts of his house usually don't appear in a physical form. They whisper to him as he passes through the halls or moves a coffee mug across the table once in a while.
Roe doesn't know who they are except for Viv. They've never said their name.
God, it sounds ridiculous, Roe thinks. But he knows the truth.
He approaches his counters and yanks open a drawer, pulling out a flashlight with a black handle. It takes a few seconds after Roe clicks the switch to turn on for the light to start shining, but eventually it does.
Ghosts of his house, here he comes.
The wooden stairs creak with every step as he rises into the second story of the house. Roe's grip shaky on the flashlight. He doesn't want to admit it to himself but he's nervous.
He has no idea what he'll find.
He approaches the corner and turns, the light of the flashlight shining into the hallway, illuminating what's in front of him.
It's her. Viv.
"It's really you," he whispers in disbelief. She's wearing a white floral dress and white heels. A flower crown is perched on her head, covering most of her blond hair. She gives a smile to Roe that's one part unnerving and another part innocent.
Does she forgive Roe for what he did? Does she still resent him? Roe is scared to find out.
Viv doesn't say anything, her wide, toothy grin speaking for itself. Her face stays the same as she gestures to a door at the very end of the hallway. It's much different than the other doors. The paint has been mostly chipped off and the golden door handle has lost its shininess, rust and dirt in its place.
(Now that Roe thinks about it, he's never been in that room before).
Roe opens the door slowly, unsure of what lies in the mystery room. It's completely pitch black. He tries the light fixture on the side but no luck.
He shines his flashlight against the darkness of the room, illuminating the corner. Two older looking figures sit in the corner where light beams. One of them has long wavy dark hair and the other has a thick mustache. Roe realizes who they are.
They're his parents.
"Mom! Dad!" Roe chokes out. He runs the the corner of the room, jumping into their arms. He lays down, sobbing into the floor as his parents give him a much needed.
Eventually Roe sits up and faces his father.
"Happy birthday, son."
...
Roe stays up the entire night, catching up with his parents on everything that's happened since they've been gone.
To the outside viewer, it just looks like Roe is talking to a wall or that he's crazy. But Roe knows what's really happening.
He'll always know.
More Victor stuff, let's go!
Thoughts on Scotia? Thoughts on Jeremy? Thoughts on Roe? I really like them and they're very fun to write. If you like them, then congrats! You'll see all of them later in this story since they're going to be mentors for the tributes. If you don't like them, then...I'm sorry, I guess?
Wicked Flames still needs submissions! The list of the spots available is on my profile. I try to update that as often as I can so I can keep it current. The form is also on my profile. Submit through PMs if possible if you're going to submit through this website.
I don't really think I have anything else so...yeah. The next time that this story will be updated is with the first batch of intros. See you (hopefully soon) with that.
-j