They're waiting at the platform when we get there, the welcoming committee. Those who were in the area, some who weren't but wanted to get involved. Citrine was there, of course, blonde standing at the platform with both hands folded together in front of her, hair twisting in the wind. There's a fur stole round her neck, a loop of yellow gems crowning it, and I restrain the urge to whistle. For Peeta's sake, of course. Enobaria's beside her in simple tunic and trousers, the two women exchange a glance, before Citrine leans in and pats the third woman in line on the shoulder. Little more than a girl, really, with brown hair to her shoulders, a slender build, and a belt bearing a wooden contraption of some kind. A twinge of recognition comes across my memory, and as the train slows to a stop I step off, nodding at the pair of them. "Citrine, where's your other kid?"

The slap rings throughout the station, Peeta failing to hold back a smirk. Traitor. The blonde steps forward, younger woman and Enobaria both a step behind before Citrine manages to stop herself. "Haymitch. I'll forgive that once, but if you ever bring that up again, I swear to Snow's rotting bones you'll find out just how much fun I had with Eight, when I was."

An abrupt stop once Citrine realizes what she's saying, and she rushes off to the bathroom, even as her 'kid' steps forward, pointedly ignoring me as she offers a smooth hand and perfect smile to Peeta. As the scent of perfume washes around her, and I can see Peeta taking a breath, I let them talk. She's only a scant handful of years older, and after they shake hands with a visibly strong grip on her end, her tone is remarkably friendly. "Sable Baring. Victor of the 73rd Annual Hunger Games, District One, Citrine's 'kid'," and she makes air quotes before continuing, action almost audible. "In case certain statements did not make that clear. It's a pleasure to meet you, Peeta. Even if I wasn't hoping to be overshadowed so soon."

The question is already on Peeta's lips, and Enobaria intercedes. Her voice is low, measured, and I can see a flash of healed white teeth as she speaks. "Not a real kid. I don't think she," a nod at the bathroom Citrine went into, "gave birth at eleven, even for a One that would be odd. Citrine mentored Sable, and if you'd ever got to meet us outside of that arena for real, you'd have noted that. Sable's Citrine's kid, just as I'm Selene's and you're Haymitch's. As for him."

She spits into a glass, and I can see a tinge of red as she turns on me. "You're just a thing that happened. Nobody's kid. Popped out of thin air, and we're all worse off for it."

Shaking my head, I prepare for a response, snow beginning to fall, and Peeta involves himself, beckoning us all inside with a smile, a dusting of white icing his hair. "Come on then!", and maybe it's the cold or the views or the woman who'd tried to kill him standing there joking with me, but he seems a little more manic than usual. Citrine joins us again on the inside of the station, quietly falling back with Sable.

Snow continues to fall as we walk through the streets, mountains dominating the skyline in all directions. Most prominently, of course, the fortress to the southwest, flanking the city. It's stunning, ominous at the same time, and having not been here in over two and a half decades feels like a new visual. I can imagine, now, how Katniss felt watching as the mountain was bombed, before it was cleared and rebuilt after the fall of the Capitol and Coin's assassination. It's beautiful.

Not that my gaze spends too long, after a second of lingering eyes a impatient Enobaria claps her hands in front of me, startling me. "Wake up, Abernathy. We have a museum to go to and I'm not getting any younger." We continue onto the pavement, and I look around at the city. It's been rebuilt, the centre at least, strong buildings. We soon reach the gate of the Victor estate, unlike Twelve in the centre of the city. A nod to the guardhouse from Enobaria and the gate whirs open, manned by a young man in the uniform One had rolled out during the war. Turned out their designers were good for something, after all.

We have pointed out to us the three houses still bustling with life, and Enobaria's, before moving on to the others. Museums, each and every one, to a Victor. After all, what other use could their old houses have been put to, when Capitol tourism to Two was popular and the Victors here were feted as heroes. They're in a row, in order of their Victories. Marble first, then Bellator.

Bellator means warrior, as Enobaria explains. An appropriate name, and deserved if his reputation was anything to go by. No mention is made of payment at the little booth in front, manned by an older looking woman. Maybe that's because she recognizes most if not all of us, maybe it's because Peeta walked up and slid a note under the glass with a smile, maybe because there's no fee in the first place. Who knows.

Walking into the hallway, or where the hallway would be, we're greeted by a hologram. A hovering, rotating shape of a young man driving his spear into another on the floor. Hardly peaceful, especially once it jumps into life, and we get to see the spear sing down and sink into the back of the child on the floor. I turn away, face a little green. I feel a pat on the back, Enobaria offering a roll of her eyes. "Come on, now, Abernathy. Don't lose your guts, you've already done that once in the Arena."

Her comment snaps me out of it, and I can hear a conversation erupting among the other three, Peeta's voice bouncing above the rest. "So what do you mean they wanted to commemorate the Victors. We had our fourth victor, Lucy or whatever her name is. We'll get to her in time, but why wasn't she commemorated like the others?"

Sable's fingers dance up his arm, resting on his bicep as she smiles. "Well, she's missing. Not officially dead. Nobody's sure why, but as you said you'll see her in due course. What I'll tell you is what I know, what I've been told. Mags, Demeter, a few others know she was in the 10th games. She was mentored by former President Snow. She was sent back to your Twelve, her group all died or went missing within twenty years. We've accounted for the destruction of all tapes of her games in the year after, save for one, that we know they made. We have twenty two tapes of the other games from One to Ten, we have confessions about the destruction of twenty-one. Finnick got some information, some more were noted in other ways. One's missing, we assume it's just nobody speaking. Blight and Indra were looking into any records, they're both gone now."

The boy merely nods, even as Enobaria gestures at the hologram, and begins to speak. Her voice is filled with a tinge of something I can't place off the top of my head... Sadness? Pride? Respect?

"Bellator. He was the first trained Victor, properly trained. Ruby, Oceanus, Marble, Nutmeg all came before, but none of them trained for the Games. Bellator very much did. Visited Marble thrice a week, the old man said. Marble always kept his doors open for kids, he wanted his Twos to get home. All of us did eventually, even if we knew we'd have volunteers. Most popped in once or twice. Bellator, it was like an obsession. He went in late, did his time, left. Hell, as Marble told it he was even helping out some of the younger kids by the end. He was a natural with a spear."

Citrine leans forward, head cocking slightly to one side as she questions. "But, surely he wasn't that likely to be picked? Two had second reaping rounds since the beginning, wouldn't the odds have been equal for him? Volunteering wasn't established yet."

The grin Enobaria gives in return is dangerous. "Volunteering, no. But, Tesserae was in infancy by then. Little parcels delivered, at least in Two. Bellator came from a hellhole mining village in the Northern reaches of Central Two. Outside of the city here, ten kilos or so north. It was incredibly poor, and he took Tesserae for the entire community. Whether this was his bad luck or him wanting to get reaped, he never said. But he'd go to school, two days a week, walked. Came down in the evening, and was in here on his free day."

I whistle, looking at the bulky figure. "I admire his... dedication, to murdering other children. Really sets a model for us all."

This draws a glare from Enobaria, and I put my hands up, giving her a wry smile. "Sweetheart, don't deny it. I won't complain, in better times I might have done the same. As it was, I had to make do, and I did pretty well." Her tongue is sharp, as she shoots back. "You did ok. Lyme might have had nicer things to say than I do, you out districts were always her favourite. I think that if she hadn't been-"

"That's quite enough of that, children." Citrine, the youngest of us three, steps between us, giving a broad smile. "We're here to talk about Bellator, not your grudges. Now, shall we go through?"

We do indeed go through, eight holograms bursting to life. Seven kills, all with that spear. At least they're quick, if still brutal. Their names are inscribed beneath them, all seven, the eighth image in the centre of Bellator raising his arms in victory. Gilt St. Martin of One, Arabella Kirk of Four, Ray Feller of Seven, Beatrice Gray of Eight, Skinner Carrow of Ten, Lillian Pitt and Jason Anthra of Twelve. Seven names, seven stories snuffed out.

Behind the holograms is a more real display. A spear, moved from his living room into this central exhibition after he passed. His spear, still with the faintest tinges of a deep brown on the head of the weapon. His torn tribute uniform, sealed behind the glass in such a way as to secure the fabric and prevent too much degradation. It's properly damaged, torn up in places, cut in others. You can see where the sword landed on his upper arm, where he barely avoided having his throat slit. It's morbid to the extreme, even as the three careers in the room eye it with interest. Probably comparing it to their own, knowing them

Going through into the next room, and the air smells almost stale here. It's brighter than the last room, and more open. Two statues stand, two pairs flanking the path, one at the head. His, naturally, stands at the front. The other two are the mentees he brought home, two shining young men, full of District pride. Two killers, names carved into the plinths. Both dead now, of course. The purge did a number on everyone, but none worse than Two. I glance up at the mural, of him before a great building of stone and metal, on the roof. It's gorgeous, not that he was the one who got the Kennel set up when it was set up. Or, as the sycophants called it and this mural continues to call it, the Center for Youth Distinction in District. Pretty name for a slaughterhouse, but that's par for the course. Still, it's good looking enough I take a second to tear my eyes away from the mural to his statue.

At the base of his plinth, below his name, glitters silver. Two dozen dog tags, six columns of four. Each with a name engraved on them, and a number. My eyes trace down them, some jumping out. Marcus Caldwell, 17th. Krios Halen, 19th. Lucius Northwood, 43rd. I turn to Enobaria, question on my lips. "His?"

She nods, a small smile flashing over healed teeth. "All his. His kids. He may not have been the nicest, but he cared about them. We all did, for ours. Even us Inner mentors."

Peeta involves himself, having been silent as he took in the group. "If anyone cared about Clove, I'd be shocked. Other than that, well. All of us are human, unless the Ones are hiding something?" He offers a smile, hands up as he nods at Enobaria. "If Clove was yours, I am sorry. The arena made all of us at least a little crazy, some more than others."

She merely nods, and Sable leans in, holding out a piece of paper covered in meticulous handwriting, flourishing and curling as she smiles at Peeta. "While you were having your little chat, I wrote down the names. Thought it might be useful!" This draws a smile from Peeta, young man taking it with just a hint of flush in his cheeks. "Thanks, Sable. That does save some time!"

After this, the tour is more or less over. There isn't as much for Bellator as for the later victors, and it's not deemed as necessary to have all the information on him. We leave, headed for a restaurant in the City Centre. After the war it's more or less rebuilt, lights bright and community more vibrant. The population is smiling, boy from Eight jumping rope with two little girls from the Capitol while their parents sit in the shade of a cafe and gossip. We don't go into that cafe, and for that I'm more than a little grateful. Kids aren't my thing, and I can see swarms of them inside. Instead, we head toward one restaurant that looks decidedly more upmarket, with minimal kids. A waiter, Capitol Stock, intercepts us at the door, and Citrine holds her hand up, nodding at him. Her tone is bouncier, and I can see the woman who charmed half the Capitol as she leans in, Sable hanging back. "Citrine Furrier, sweetie. Citizen of District One, I have papers if you need it. Me and my four companions would love to grab some late lunch, and I've heard good things about Capitol Dreaming from my colleagues."

She leans in further, flirtatious smile running over her lips as she writes on a napkin. "We'd love to pay, and would be more than willing to do some autographs. Now, do you have any more secluded locations?" The blue-haired man blushes, blushes! Before taking us through to the private section at the back, sitting us around a table. It's comfy, and everyone sinks slightly into the plush seats around the table, a jug of water placed at the centre of the table. Glasses are provided around the table, and Citrine takes the liberty of pouring for everyone. It's a nice gesture.

We sit in companionable silence until the food arrives, the starter. Small balls of what looks to be bread, garlic butter, various other sauces. They're shared round the table, before Sable leans in, a childish grin on her face. I sigh, not having a good feeling, and she speaks. "Well. Quiet isn't good! Lets get some conversation going! If we don't start speaking, I can and will start asking questions."

A moment of silence, and the younger blonde leans in, glancing at her former Mentor with a mischievous grin, tone just a little petulant. "Citrineee. I want to talk to someone. So, I'll give you a question! Where were you? Coin asked me to come to the vote, and I'd said I wasn't coming without you, and Prodigy said you weren't in the Capitol. So where were you?"

A long-suffering sigh rolls over Citrine's lips before she responds. "Well. I can't give too much away, there's some things I don't want to cause issue with. However. Well, after the liberation of the Capitol shore, I went back to One. After Ruby, and I will explain that at some point for those who weren't aware, I didn't trust Coin. Her fistful of nuclear weapons was something she wanted to grow, and I'd told her no when she'd nosed around taking control of the systems out in the eastern deserts. So I raised a force, a battery of Type 08s for fire support, two platoons of Plinth build L9s to carry my people, and announced I was going dark. We'd heard rumours of their higher ups having a bunker in the Rockies to the city's flank, so we'd nose around. Truth was we legged it. Sable, dove, I wanted to get you in, but if we all went Coin would have smelt a rat."

The Victor sighs, brushing a stray strand of hair back, before continuing. "I was several hundred K to the northwest before Millie gave me a call and explained that things had her asking auestions. Clever girl had the concern Coin had bombed the children, because it made no sense for Snow to do it. He was an evil bastard but it was out of character. Millie was somewhere in the Front Range and thus out of the way, but Juliet Paylor in the Capitol had just been kicked out of a meeting for asking why Snow had bombed his own people, and other people were concerned. Juliet's people held most of the inner Capitol, One forces held the lakeshore, and we had enough people concerned in the government to move to remove Alma until the truth could be determined. I was on my way back to the Capitol when your," a nod at Peeta, "girl took matters into her own hands. Well done."

Question answered, she pointed to Enobaria with her head cocked , even as the 'doughballs' are finished up. "Argent. How'd you survive. Snow got you, and unlike Peeta or Jo or Annie, you weren't a useful hostage. My people looked at the records, they say no record of your imprisonment exists."

A languid grin stretches over bright teeth, satisfied as Enobaria leans forward and speaks. "I wasn't imprisoned. Managed to convince our President I didn't know shit, and he was fine for me to stay in the Training Center. With the battles in Two moving closer to here, well. Snow wanted me where he could keep an eye on the way. I was out with a guard when your shelling hit the Center. He gets taken out, not sure what happened to him after. I disappeared into the panicking sea of humanity until I ran into a contingent from Four. Knew I'd be safest with a Pack district, Five an acceptable second place."

She nods, and the game continues to be played, Victor posing questions to Victor. I confirm that I am in fact raising goslings, drawing an entirely unfair laugh from the group. After all, I need something to do, and keeping the ganders away from the geese will keep me on my toes. Sable nods, and assures us all that it was in fact her who'd spiked the punch and caused several individuals to have severe bowel issues during her victory banquet. The mockingly disappointed glances thrown her way cue a segue to Peeta, saved the honour of explaining to Sable his opinions on District One tributes by the arrival of food. 'Pizza', Citrine calls it, and to her credit it's good. Cheesy, made with a variety of ingredients previously unavailable to anyone not a Victor or Capitol.

I take a sip from a glass of domestic wine brought to the table at my request, the rest of my circle having opted for soft drinks. It feels a little off not having Victors drinking or otherwise drowning their sorrows in copious amounts of mind altering substances, but if they want to try and be good for themselves who am I to stop them.

At least my consumption is moderated a bit, I have to give sampling time after all. The flavours are simply exploding in my mouth, it even smells ok (a rarity for alcohols in my experience). After the glass, I turn my attention back to the food, taking a second slice while conversation slows in favour of consumption.

Enough has been ordered that we're handing pieces to each other, more of a free for all than a genteel meal. By the end of it, we're all sated, a few crumbs left forgotten. A few polite words to the waiter, and the bill is on the table, Enobaria and Citrine both drawing cards before glancing at the other. The table erupts, blonde insisting that as the guest she simply has to pay, Enobaria warning that the host should always take responsibility for their guests.

Enobaria eventually stands, holding out her card in hopes of cutting off the disagreement, before an iron grip takes her wrist, and Citrine fixes blue eyes on Enobaria's dark ones, voice dropping to a growl. "No. I will get." The pair collapse into giggles entirely uncharacteristic of a pair of trained and proven killers, me and Peeta locking eyes before rolling them.

Inner districts are weird.

Having paid, everyone grabs coats, gloves, furs and any other items, Before we go, though, Citrine pulls Peeta aside, smiling as she sits next to him. "Well, Mr. Mellark. I'd like a little chat before we go. How's your Mockingjay doing, is she well? Ignoring the delicacy I am certain is there so close in time to her... actions."

Taken aback, the boy takes a moment to respond to the question. "Well, she's... fine. She's fine, why do you ask."

A predatory grin plays over her lips, before he gets a proper smile. "I owe her, big. So please do tell her that if she ever needs something from me or from One, it'll be at her disposal. I really shouldn't, but she did something I'd wanted to do for a long time."

Without clarification she stands, leaving with Sable in tow. The pair flow out of the building, Enobaria standing herself as she inclines her head. "It's been fun. We should do this again some time."

Peeta, fool boy, nods. He knows I hate socializing, after all. "Of course, we'll be back soon after all. Thank you for having us."

The last glimpse of Two I have, or at least urban Two, is the mountain looming over the city. I can see a pile of rubble on the north face, formerly Capitol approved rubble. Now, nobody wants to go near it. Good.