8 People Lucy Gray Baird left behind

Mayor Lipp

"Gone? Gone?"

Mayor Lipp could taste rage, flowing across his lips and out into the world when he'd had the ear of someone who could do something about it. First, his daughter had been shot by rebels, and that most certainly wasn't good for anyone. Then orders had come in from the Capitol to leave it be, because they'd decided in their infinite wisdom it was better not to poke the hive further after executing a handful, less, of men. If he'd had his way, they'd have been out shooting problem elements until they'd been cleared out entirely.

But, the Capitol gets what it wants, and so he'd agreed to leave it be. He'd handle the songbird another way, in his own time. She'd had a hand in the incident, he was sure of it. It'd been near her stage, the other dead was a young man he'd seen hanging around Mayfair one time too many and who'd had a fling with Lucy Gray. It all lined up perfectly, for him at least.

So hearing the news of the disappearance of the girl, to call him furious would be an understatement. Face red, sweat tracing silvery lines around freckles, stomping back and forth behind his desk like a man possessed. If anybody outside of Deputy Head Peacekeeper Lockwood had been in the room, by the end of the day it was a certainty this would have been in the few rags Twelve was allowed for 'news'.

Lipp first demanded Peacekeepers, all of them, be sent out to find Baird. Damn the District, the girl was a problem and had to be dealt with. Lockwood shook his head, and promised that while they needed the Peacekeepers in the District, young Coriolanus Snow had been seen going after her and would surely come back with a report. Snow was a good Peacekeeper, and for all Lipp's protests and complaints that Snow had helped Baird through the Games and was thus not trustworthy he was assured that the girl would be retrieved.

After that, tasting a flat note of hate, Lipp made his demand. He wanted, needed, Lucy Gray Baird executed, for the likely murder of his daughter. Even though she couldn't be proven guilty, even though forensics had said it was a rifle shot while she was performing. Even though Baird, for the first time, had put District Twelve on the map for the Capitol.

Lockwood couldn't promise that. He was a deputy head peacekeeper in a poorer District, only Commander Hoff had the authority here to demand an execution. A whipping would be in order, escape attempts always drew a whipping. Lockwood doubted, however, that the Commander would want an execution, it could cause issues. Issues nobody wanted at this stage.

The man left soon after, leaving Mayor Lipp to stew in his office. An office which never heard what had happened to Lucy Gray Baird, while the burning obsession grew more and more insidious for the mayor. He lingered a little longer, watched girls and boys win, hoping that the girl that had transfixed the Capitol would show up to be executed. She never did.

It was a housekeeper who found him after the Sixteenth Games, gun still in his hand and body slumped over the table. The kind of thing a woman shouldn't discover at 7 in the morning.

He was replaced within a week.

Pluribus Bell

He was really hoping for Lucy Gray to come back to the Capitol. Coriolanus Snow had told him that she would probably be back, if only because of the popularity she'd brought to the Games, but while Snow was a lot of things he wasn't entirely trustworthy. So, instead, Pluribus had taken matters into his own hands.

First, he'd put the guitar he'd lent Coriolanus for the show away. It wasn't like any of the groups who did play at Bell's nowadays came without instruments, and it'd be best to save it exactly as it had last been used. It'd be cleaned and such, of course, but that was par for the course. It wouldn't do to have any possible issues come up with it before the songbird was on stage.

Next, he put in a call. To Deputy Minister for the Eastern Districts Trajan Cardew, because they were old school friends and because Cardew owed him a favour from the time he was 19 and Pluribus had helped cover up an impropriety rather than tell his girl he'd made a terrible mistake. It was an old joke at this point, but Pluribus was certain Cardew would acquiesce. It was only a small request, after all. To tell the officials out in smoggy Twelve not to cause any issues with Lucy Gray Baird, and to make sure she was well. A bottle of good District One wine, the kind it was hard to get without a friend of a friend, and Pluribus had himself a deal.

Finally, just to make sure it was all well, he visited Mrs. Snow and Tigris. He'd heard what had happened to Coriolanus, even sent the boy a letter. The Snows had moved out, the grand penthouse in the Corso up for sale. It took some difficulty to track them down to an apartment in the outer city, step over a man passed out in the corridor (well dressed but clearly having drowned his sorrows a little too well), and knock on the door.

He was welcomed in, of course he was. Sat down at the table, offering a warm smile to the pair and setting a can of milk on the counter, before leaning in with a conspiratorial wink. "So. I hear Coriolanus is doing well, out in the districts? I am glad, some action was of course in order but Highbottom overstepped. Now, as for his experience. Would he have seen a certain singer again?"

When told Coriolanus had indeed met up with Lucy Gry, he sunk back in his chair, clapping his hands. "I'm glad. They seemed to work well together. Now, I've spoken to Deputy Minister Cardew, and he's assured me Miss Baird will indeed be returning next year. Given that Officer School finishes a course around the same time, with any luck we'll have Coriolanus back in the Capitol by then, we can do a reunion!"

The pair is stunned for a sec, and Pluribus shakes his head, smiling. "Of course, it'll be good to see Coriolanus back and with such qualifications, and we'll all be glad for it. Now, milk?"

He'd leave after the milk, always looking forward to the next time he'd be seeing the Snows. After all, they were a lovely Capitol family, something they needed more of in these days. Coriolanus would return, the Eleventh Games would roll around, and no Lucy Gray. A disappointment. He was looking forward to seeing her.

It took several weeks before he was told the news over a glass of golden bourbon from Eleven. She'd disappeared, and nobody could tell where. A disappointment, but the Eleventh Games were even without Lucy Gray a success for Bell's. New customers, new patronage, even exclusive appearances from Victors, now a cultural group unlike any other. He managed to bring in enough to spring for a new set of Ultra High Definition screens midway through, through which the crowd watched Mags Flanagan claw her way to victory.

In the years after, as Twos and Ones and Sevens stood on the podium, he occasionally thought back to the girl, wishing she'd returned year on year. Feeling a little bad for the Twelves, for the occasional child who had a chance, who he donated to every year. Not that it helped any of them, a mentor would have made all the difference, and they didn't get one of those until a long time had passed.

Maude Ivory Baird

Maude Ivory Baird was never quite the same after Lucy Gray disappeared

She'd still perform, now, but not with the same vivacious cheer that had infected previous performances. She'd dance, and sing, and bounce around the stage like a girl possessed, but a small portion of her cheer was gone with her spiritual big sister. That spark never came back, gone.

Still, she was alive, never even considered trying to find a way out. Life was what gave hope, and more importantly if Lucy Gray did come back and she wasn't around to witness it, there'd be issues. Maude Ivory would probably be dragged back from the grave for the reunion, but that sounded uncomfortable. She'd made sure she'd eat enough, keep warm, all working fine for five years.

It was just such a shame she was reaped for the Fifteenth Annual Hunger Games, whether due to the tesserae she'd had to take on or the unknown machinations of a certain gamemaker. Such a shame she was sat on a train with a lost looking man from One, discussing how the arena would work, how his primary directive at the moment was to help Twelve. Such a shame the rough interpretation of a miners costume garnered no new sponsors, even lost a few.

Training was slightly better. Even if the weapons stations were less than useful when there was a load of eighteen year olds taking up all the space, the plants stations and camp setup were at the least tolerable. She even made a friend, Clara from Nine, sixteen and capable with weapons, but hopeless on the more mundane stations. They made a pretty good pair.

The arena, that year, was a desert. Arid, and hot, and sweaty. Terrifying, what with the shifting sands, the occasional rocky outcropping where a tent could be built but so openly visible to anybody looking. The vipers and vultures, and half a dozen more creatures roaming the sands. Chasing down any tribute unfortunate enough to be in their sights, only escaping if the Capitol had been suitably entertained.

They made a good go of it, as if there was any consolation. A fuss was made of her familial connection to a Victor, Twelve's only. Such a pride for the District, for everyone involved, to watch as Maude Ivory Baird ran through the sands, gathered water from an oasis, splashed Clara while giggling as she knelt besides the pool. They'd found a reliable source of water, for a bit it had felt like they were going to be fine.

The Careers tracked them down three days in. Spicer, One's male tribute that year, lost his head for suggesting that perhaps they should just kill them, because the others wanted to have their fun. They were having a nice excursion, after all, and there was enough dates and water at the pool to last them a few days. A week, maybe.

Clara took two hours, after Silk got overexcited, and pressed the knife down a little too deep. Being more careful, the Careers managed to drag Maude Ivory's out another three days, blades spinning. The screams died down over time, coming to a complete stop when giggling Orca, from Four, remembered the avoxes from the Capitol.

By the time the broken body had been lifted from the arena, half the Covey had tried to flee. Barb Azure and her girl had retreated into the Seam, and they wouldn't be having kids. Tam Amber, shot by peacekeepers while trying to climb the fence. It'd been turned on when Clerk Carmine had made a break for it.

The Covey down in one fell swoop, well played moves by either fate or a man with a grudge.

Clay Thomas

The next few years were the same, worse. Sobbing children without any hope, dying with a loaned mentor placing a call to their family.

Occasionally, though, Twelve got a break. A tall 18 year old fresh from the mines, a clever girl who knew just how much coal dust to annihilate a room of people.

A boy who managed to play to the cameras. A boy like Clay, selected as male tribute for the 21st. Broad shoulders, smile forced onto his face as he was reaped. Hell, even his substitute mentor was smiling as he walked in, accompanied by a sobbing girl who wouldn't survive five minutes in the arena. Their mentor that year, a well built young man, stood as they walked in, offering his hand. He gave his name, and the train rolled off.

Clay was a perfect student. Attentive when the young man took them through the reapings, asking intelligent questions. Some, especially about the burly Two boy, the man knew the answer to. He listened to the manners, got them down perfectly. When the train pulled into the Capitol, he was smiling and waving at the crowds, lapping up the excitement and throwing it back to the seething crowds at the door.

He was a perfect miner during the parade, pick swung lazily over his shoulder and coal dust on his face, a contrast with the tear-carved furrows in the dust on his partner. He was a perfect tribute in training, picking up skills and demonstrating enough with a sword to the gamemakers that he pulled a seven, respectable enough and far above the average for a boy from the Rim Districts, let alone Twelve. He was a perfect guest, laughing with Lucky about how good the food is and discussing how much he's enjoyed the Capitol.

For the first time in eleven years, maybe a Twelve had a chance. He was pushed up onto the pedestal, grabbing a bag and a small axe thanks to stunned children either side of him before running into the woods. Spent two days out there, gnawing on the dried meat and fruit in the bag, keeping his head. Cut down an apple, commenting on it for the enjoyment of the Capitol audience, talking about the taste and smiling. Biting down again, acknowledging that it could be poisoned but deciding it was good enough to risk it.

Being hunted down by the boy from Nine, lad holding a makeshift wooden spear and using it to menace Clay. The fight was short, and ended with a hole punched through Clay's bicep, thankfully his left arm. It was painful, but once stuffed with some washed shirt was for the moment managed. The other boy, with his neck leaking red, was a whole lot less recoverable as a case.

Within the hour, a pot was descending from the sky, swaying slightly. It wasn't enough to fully heal, but once rubbed onto the raw flesh, it burnt a little then a lot but prevented infection. An expensive gift, more expensive than anything that had been provided to a Twelve in the previous games and possibly than all the Twelves combined. A few wealthy sponsors had even expressed an interest in having the lad on their advertising after the games were over.

It was a bad business that the Pack had tracked him down, and for all the attempts to send something to rouse the sleeping boy, his mentor was unable to raise the money to properly sort out the situation.

It wasn't his killer who'd come home this year, but the young man raising his arms on the stage sparked a certain amount of anger within the District, and without a Victor to blame the District turned to anger at the Capitol. They were able to protest, kids throwing snowballs at peacekeepers and adults mining less coal than allocated, for three months. After that, as the snow melted, a platoon of peacekeepers hardened after a stint in Eleven were deployed. The unrest was put down within a week, with only three hangings. Practically a light afternoon, by Eleven standard.

Mercy Sheen, Birch Rivers

The Quarter Quell was an exercise in brutality. Every District made their choice. One, Two, Four, sent in children they hoped would have the best chance of survival, because that was how the game was meant to be played. The quell, they'd been told, was a reward, a year to protect their children. They took advantage.

Three, Five, Ten sent in those they viewed as trouble. The children who'd been rebellious, who'd killed, who'd cut a power cable in 'rebellion' and got seven workers whipped. The children who weren't acceptable actors, who'd caused issues and deserved to be punished harder than they had been. They took justice.

Nine and Eleven sent in collaborators, people who were cooperative with the Capitol. The mayor's daughter, the little boy who'd dobbed in his parents when their talk about rebellion had reached his ears. The children who weren't acceptable, who had cried and whimpered as they were on stage. They took revenge.

Six, Seven, Eight, Twelve, then. They sent children they'd afford to miss. Children who, while sad, were a burden. It was a blow, but if they could preserve what few healthy children they'd had then of course they'd send the different children.

Birch Rivers had been born with lung issues, it was a miracle he'd made it this long. He'd have been safe if he was a merchant, but a Seam brat would never get to sell, it wasn't proper. Kinder for him to go quickly, then collapse in a day. This was what they said, whether or not it was true who knew? Mercy Sheen was a community home kid, something that had been made clear on the submission forms. There was no better option for the girls, and the thin, whimpering thing was on stage in a threadbare purple dress before anyone could tell the rest this was wrong.

Their mentor, this year, was a drunk. A man who sloshed into the room, and told them they were dead, before they'd entered the dining car. He sat with some liquor at the head of the table, even as their escort (Octavia) tried to reassure them that it was all fine. They'd eaten and fallen asleep, Octavia tucking them both in before having a row with their temporary mentor that could be heard across half Panem.

He wasn't any better for the rest of the game, letting the sobbing children sit and cry as they waited for the parade. His other mentor, a tall blonde, walked over and slapped him across the face, guiding the children into the chariot with kind words. That was only one kindness, though, and the rest of the week was awful. Lucy Gray may have been more sympathetic, the young woman always was. Kind words, talking, the children weren't going to win but they deserved more.

As it stood, though, they got none of that. As it stood, they got yells, and thrown bottles when Mercy wandered in to get a drink at 3 am marvelling at the taps with cool water in them, and told that they were dead no matter what, so what did it really matter?

Their mentor was right. They were both down at the cornucopia, Birch when his breathing disorder slowed him down enough for the boy to fall down in plain view of the beauty from One, and Mercy when she embodied her name and tried to go back to help him. In the end, everyone would agree, that was a mercy.

The Twelves were more subdued this time. No protests, no thrown snowballs or anger. The children cried, watching their friends fall, but no further action was taken.

There was less hate and more tired acceptance this time, as the victor of the Quell smiled and spoke about what an honour it was to compete. The Twelves waited, and when they were allowed to leave, they left. A few discussed that maybe they'd have had more luck with their own victor, but that was a forlorn hope. Still, one day they may have a chance.

Haymitch Abernathy

Not for his games. With a different mentor, Haymitch could have had more issues. No matter how good he was, nobody could predict a change. But what Lucy Gray could have helped with, were she still around, would have been the post-games Era.

Because Haymitch, out on his lonesome in Twelve, had no advice. The Ones, Fives, Twos, Eights who had counter-Capital views tended to have previous victors who'd advise them on what they could do. Usually lie low, coordinate. That's the reason so many Victors were safe to rebel when the time came. Haymitch, out on his own, could only stew. A stewing which was only exacerbated when, without a mentor to help him negotiate, his family was killed by Snow in revenge for his actions.

After that, he fell into bad habits. Drinking, primarily, which nobody likes people doing. He hadn't exactly had anybody to tell him not to, save for the occasional call from a Victor in a different District, and he simply ignored those calls. Another Victor, maybe he would have had someone to talk to. Instead, the young man was left to stew in a District which cared little for him.

Coriolanus Snow

Coryo, when it came down to it, really missed Lucy Gray, especially when he had to spend all day with Livia Cardew of all people.

Livia, with her blonde hair and shrill voice, so different from the songbird of Twelve. Livia, who by the Thirty First was pestering him to let her favourite tribute win just once, because every year it was one of those awful boys and she was tired of it, never mind that her girl had won two years ago.

Lucy Gray, at least in his mind, would never have done any of that. She'd have been a lovely wife, supportive and not too problematic, warm and helpful but simultaneously independent enough he didn't have to stay with her the whole tie. At that thought, he let out a wistful sigh. Livia was demanding his presence whenever he wasn't at work, and complained when work (and attached unmentioned negotiations) dragged on through the nights.

He wasn't exactly sure why he'd chosen her. Clemmy was right there, as were Juno and Domitia. Persephone would under different circumstances have been perfect, but the childhood horror continued to haunt him, and he saw her as little as possible, even when it was her father who'd put him up in plush, first class carriages when he went to meet the Mayor of One, or a Peacekeeper captain in Seven. Free of charge, of course, candidate Snow deserved only the best, and he was of course a family friend.

No, Sephy would have been a step too far.

He only visited Twelve twice before the Mockingjay and her boy entered his life and ruined it all.

Once, to meet with newly promoted Mayor Lillian Taylor, the first Twelve to meet Capitol standards and become their center of power in the District. She really was a nice woman, having risen to the occasion after Mayor Underwood's unfortunate demise in line with the Thirty Third Annual Hunger Games. They got some lovely photograph, and Snow then spoke with the Head Peacekeeper, a man from Two who'd sat in the position seven year and was all together too familiar with him. He'd be replaced, but he was able to confirm that yes, the little shack in Twelve had been replaced with the hovels that served the mining population adequately.

Then, he went to the list of Victors, confirming that yes it was only one name on the lest. Lucy Gray. No mention of the surname. Gaul had wanted to erase her entirely but Coriolanus had suggested such an action would raise too many eyebrows, especially in the years directly after such an eventful Games. Instead, they erased her surname, and a sentence was passed in absentia.

Avoxing.

Execution was deemed too kind. Avoxing, well. Her voice was her life, and given how she'd abandoned him, it was deemed fitting revenge by him, in private.

The second time was after the 69th Games, when he arrived to announce that due to the situations brought about by the games, the train of food would arrive for a month. A reward to an undeserving District who only had the issue of a cannibal eating their tribute, or part of him. He looked down his nose at the unwashed masses, frown on his lips. His train left an hour early, and perhaps a tad faster than intended, but who'd question that.

The district always followed him home, though. The scent of pine, the song of a songbird, the sight of a dozen, dozen birds wheeling above a swaying body in a creaking Oak.

Always followed.

Author's note: The first Canon victor, but most certainly not the last! It took a hot minute to decide how I wanted to write her chapter, but in the end I decided to have a little fanservice, and focus on her impact. After all, Collins decided she wanted to leave the tale of LGB on a mystery, and I'd not tamper with that. I do hope you enjoyed it, and as always if you did so feel free to drop a review, it takes a couple of minutes and I can't express the energy it gives a writer!

Thanks for reading, and may the odds be ever in your favour!