Cold.

That was what it was. Cold. It was a cool night in North Bay, and Nutmeg was cold.

Peacekeeper presence was light, which was probably why he hadn't been scooped up yet. He'd been out on the streets for almost two months now, ever since Mother had decided she didn't want a murderer living in her house, under her roof.

It was a fair enough decision, were one to look at it from the outside. Still, it had meant he'd been living outside longer than expected, and hadn't been able to ensure a good three meals, a good bed or anything else in all that time. The occasional talent tossed his way from wealthier citizens of One, and Capitolians on their package holidays taking kids to the Aquarium or to the beach, that was about all.

Still, he was alive, which was more than could be said for some of his counterparts on the streets in even the short time he'd known them. Morphling from Three, suicide, Peacekeepers taking them somewhere and not giving any of their friends a heads up on where exactly they were being taken. It was a risky life, but by now he was familiar with the boltholes to go to if there was a routine patrol during the day.

During the night, for now, he and his fellows were free to roam the streets. Not like any peacekeepers would want to stop them, outside of the city centre it was quiet, and the people who needed peace kept for them were in that city centre. So he sat on the corner, hoping the occasional passer-by would spare him some change. A light drizzle was coating the ground, even as he moved further into the shelter of an awning, from which the weather could be heard but not directly felt to as great a degree.

It wasn't a nice night, either in terms of earnings or weather. The vast majority of those who weren't living fist to mouth were hiring cabs or carriages, which seemed to delight in splashing those walking or waiting on the streets. The odd passer-by, never alone and typically quick to rush off. Plus, he'd even had a peacekeeper walk past, suggesting that maybe the street would be getting a clean up at some point. Not the best for him.

And it was while thinking on that, lost in his head, that a pair of figures began to stride down the wide street, stunning young blonde and an older man. Clearly she's doing some business tonight, albeit she does look a little overdressed for the occasion. She's got an umbrella, fair enough, but does she really need a bag that big, or to be that far away from the man?

To add surprise to the oddity, she came straight up to him! Not that man, but Nutmeg. Came up to him with a little bounce in her step, smiling even, as she offered her hand. "Nutmeg? Nutmeg Rosen? I'm Ruby Montmartre. I won the Second Annual Hunger Games, and given you survived the Seventh. Well, it looks bad leaving you out in the cold. Neighbour of yours said you'd been kicked out?"

He's a bit shellshocked, barely managing to stutter out a "Yes?", before she continues. "Our train leaves in an hour, you'll be back on your feet in no time! Train to Napa, couple hours journey! You're staying at mine until you're ready to get your own place. Me and mine will help out of course, but it won't do."

This time she gives him a bit more time, enough to enquire as to "What won't do?", then launching into a possibly practiced speech. "Well, you won the Hunger Games. Won maybe not, but you survived it? Anyways, the Mayor wanted me to help with our kids. Get them better acclimatized to the idea of the games, to fighting to come home! So, I go out to the cities once, twice a week and give a nice talk. It seems to at least inspire some hope, yeah?"

"Anyways," She continues, taking a sandwich out of her bag and handing it to him, "I want your help. Two people means twice the coverage, and you don't exactly have much tying you down here. Salary, lovely sunny house option for an ok rent or you can find your own accommodation, cushy job. Not sure it'd fly anywhere else, but here in One the Capitol allows us the occasional luxury."

After the sandwich, and a far more relaxed continuation of the discussion, and the pair stepping onto a train, the man (Nutmeg recognized him now as an old friend) heading back into the warren of streets. Well, Nutmeg was tired at the best of times, and now? He was a whole lot more tired than he would have been before the games as it was, and sinking into the rough leather seat with the same ease as one would a feather bed. He fell asleep.

Not for a peaceful rest, though. No, the film that was his 'Games' kept playing in his head. Over, over, over. And every film needed a good cast.

Lexie, from Five. Thirteen, about the average for those from the out-districts as with last year, and just a terrified little girl. For the first time there'd been a few hours between the train pulling into the Capitol and the Games, enough time for them all to get to know one another. Enough time for Nutmeg to sit with a little girl who just looked like his sister and talk to her. Learn about what she wanted to do, about the flat she shared with six siblings and four adults, and another family and a half in the nicer part of the city. Not enough, when she lost her head, to dissuade her from running at him with a knife. An ugly, curved bladed thing, but an ugly, curved bladed thing she'd clearly no idea of how to use. In the seconds it took for her to get round the pile, he managed to lay his hands on a mace, and slam 5 kilos of heavy spiked steel into her gut. It wouldn't, for long at least, have hurt.

Aura. His district partner, pretty skin covering a skull with a visible dent in it. This one wasn't him, this one was the girl from Two. Aura and that girl had gotten into a sword 'fight', no skill and all desperate, primal instinct. There was no major balance shift, it was just whoever made a mistake first. Aura, namely, when she'd blocked too high. Her opponent had brought the crossguard down on her head, and it was lights out. He hadn't avenged her, both because he didn't care to and because he was of the opinion that it would have been bad, too bad, to do anything more than what the boy from Four had already done to the quarry girl.

Skinner, the Ten boy. There were only three of them left at that point, and the boy from Four was content to let the two others bash at each other. It wasn't a long fight, when weapons can kill in one hit it's difficult to draw out such combat. Swinging at each other for maybe 20 seconds, before the steel ball connected with a temple, and Skinner's head exploded like an overripe watermelon. Nutmeg hadn't at that point been able to hold back, and vomit coated the Arena, the last remnants of his Reaping Day breakfast. The fact the Four boy hadn't gone in instantly for the kill had been a welcome surprise, and one Nutmeg was more than happy to capitalize on, stepping back and buying ground the other would have to recoup when he came in for the kill.

Salmon, from 4. He wasn't going for the kill, anyone could see that in hindsight. His silver blade had traced furrows through the air, and he'd cut down two sobbing outliers in a splash of blood. How he'd got to the end, barely 14, nobody could tell, but he'd given up. The sword was pointed forward, some deniability of any giving up for his parents, but he rushed forth, and was beaten down. Like the others, it wasn't drawn out, not that Nutmeg was sure it was possible to draw out a kill with solely a mace.

Unlike the others, though, blood splattered over his face. Stained his clothes, his skin, his hair. He didn't know what to do next, standing with a mace over the corpse. To disgrace himself and pose, to try to salvage some dignity and cry? No, and no. Instead, he did what he'd done for the entirety of the games. The mace came down, again and again, crushing a broken body further into the arena floor with each strike as he screamed. Letting out all of it, the rage and disappointment and horror, as he struck and struck again, until the peacekeepers finally intervened. Each one of them with a rifle in hand and conciliatory tone in their voice. "Come on, kid. Hometime. You're not on air any more, you don't have to perform any more."

He couldn't have told you what it was, whether it was fear or shock or tiredness or just wanting to go home that got him to drop the mace. But, when he had dropped it, he woke up. Always did, more than three hours fourteen minutes of sleep at a time was a pipe dream at this point. This, however, was the first time he hadn't woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Or, rather, on a paving slab or other piece of stone he hadn't been able to check in advance for any possible issues. It was also the first time he'd woken up to a pretty blonde, Ruby, leaning over the seat with a concerned expression on her face. "Nutmeg, are you alright? You were tossing and turning a bit there, right?"

Spoken assurances that he was fine, that he was perfectly ok, were met with a frown. "And that's a lie. Trust me, I was the same, and you don't sound like the sociopathy type. It gets better with time, and Mother has a friend who exports to the Capitol some chill pills, as she calls it. You want some?" "I mean... if you're offering." She'd chuckle at this, leaning in as the train began to slow, voice airy. "Of course I am! The Capitol doesn't check numbers if tax goes well, so if a few jars go missing... well, the taxes are all paid, who cares."

The train pulls in soon after, and Ruby leads him out of the station, tossing airy waves to various street sellers as she does so, together with a nervous smile when a peacekeeper stalks towards them, the first real sign of any apprehension she's shown. "Ah, officer! Don't worry, I cleared it all with the Mayor beforehand. I have papers with me, if you'll just give me a moment?"

She does take a moment, fumbling in that awfully large backpack of hers before taking out a stapled file, right as a second peacekeeper walks up to the first, crossing his arms. "Sorry for the disturbance, Ma'am, but we need to see papers. Rebels been reported by a loyal citizen, and we wouldn't want any accusations filed."

Nutmeg starts to step forward, starts to protest before being shushed, Ruby offering her papers to the first which he takes with a white-gloved hand, before retrieving more for the second. "All in order, sir. Picking up a stray, Mayor said I could. Page Seven, there, there. All in order?"

A begrudging nod as the sound of papers shuffling fills the air, and the backpack is zipped back up. "Of course, Ma'am. Everything is perfectly in order, have a good night. Get home safe."

She offers them a warm "Thank you," hurrying Nutmeg down a side street and beginning to head down towards the seafront, salty tang in his nose, "Come on, now. PKs are usually better around here, but I don't want any bad impressions. Home is just this way, come on, and."

They reach her home without any major issues, a nice two bedroom set down by the water, and Nutmeg is guided into the spare room, and set on the bed. He'd given a while to clean up, before a much chiller Ruby walks in, waving off his thanks and dropping a glass of milk and sandwich on a tray by his bed, with a giggle. "Try not to get crumbs anywhere, and get some rest. You deserve it."

Rest would be as normal, two hour spurts followed by waking up and going back to sleep. The bed did help, and having eaten meant it was easier. Still, he did wake up eventually, hearing the occasional yell from Ruby's room. These would be ignored, and before too long would cut off, replaced by a delivery of toast to his door.

With one set of casual clothes in the wardrobe he took the time in getting prepared, heading downstairs and arriving around 8:50 to Ruby and an older man, wearing a suit, both looking at him with curious eyes. Ruby leans forward, after a nod, offering a smile as she speaks. "Nutmeg, I, and the mayor, have a couple of questions. You don't have to answer, but it'd be best you did. So, first off," the paper on the desk rustles "why weren't you at home? Your mother, father and sister still live there, what got you out on the streets?"

This question would evoke a shaking head, as he waits for the question to go away, focusing on anything else. The scent of salty sea slipping through open windows, the sound of early morning commuters walking from houses to jobs in the manufacturing plants, the hot sun beaming through glass onto the table.

The question, unfortunately, isn't withdrawn but left hanging in the air like a particularly aggressive bird, waiting until he sighs. "My sister. My sister was why I left. The first little girl, Lexie. She was from Five. Looked just like my sister. And I killed her. I thought it was fine, but then. One night, my sister came over with a glass of water, it was a week or so after I got back home. Trying to be nice. And I just, well. Mom couldn't have that kind of reaction under her roof, and everyone was safer if I left. I thought the same."

The pair both nod, Mayor setting the next question. "I see. I understand. Nutmeg, I hope Ruby's told you how she helps our kids, and we'd love for you to help her. Twice the coverage, twice the help and all. You'd get the salary, nice discount on rent. It's only two or three days a week, so you can do a second job. So?"


Six months later, and he had his own house, just down the row from Ruby. Housekeeper, a young woman who'd needed a job and her kid sister (who helped out), paid from his wages, three days a week out and three days helping with books for a few local retailers. He got to set his own schedule, got to go over and have dinner with his coworker on their day off (Wednesday), and even got the Capitol allowed week of holiday those in One, Two and Five received. It was good, especially when compared to how it'd work in another district, where he didn't expect they'd be as lenient.

The bustle from the room over from his dining room, where his housekeeper was at that moment cleaning, drew his attention for a second, small girl with long blonde hair bouncing out. She had a glass in her hands, setting it on the table in front of him with a smile while her sister rushed after her.

"Elan, come on. Stop bothering the man."

He'd shake his head, smiling at the little girl even as he takes a drink. "Don't worry, she's perfectly fine. I did need a drink, so thank you for that Elan."

The small girl would offer him a smile, even as her sister ushers her back into the kitchen with a more tired smile of her own offered to him. He returns to his work, beginning to write. This needs to be done by tomorrow, after all, and he's not going to slack off. He's taking holiday next week, going to see his family. Wouldn't do to miss that.

Author's Note: Geographically, while I do like the official map (for film canon), I'd sit One more in the California/Nevada region, with the capital being located near the (now coastal) city of Folsom.