The Sevens are up next, and there's a lot to watch. Elise, remote still in her hand, rolls the footage back once and then again, letting us take it in before finally stopping to move onto Eight.

Ladies first, according to the escort, bare hand reaching in and beginning to rifle around for an envelope. It takes a lot longer than usual, hand burrowing to the bottom before drawing out a slip, and announcing a name. "Oleander Kyte." A hand from the eighteens section, followed by the emergence of a young woman from the section. The exhalation from our mentors is audible, because the girl who walks up is stunningly beautiful. Long brown curls, a dark face ripped straight from the Capitol, eyes flashing as she considers the stage before ascending the steps. The escort takes her hand, raising it up as she offers a coy smile and a wink to the camera. The show is paused there, our Victors turning to one another.

"Shit." "Shit." An exhalation, before Indra turns to me. "Well, Millie. We were hoping it'd be between you and One for playing up attractiveness. Sorry, but it's true. Pretty gets sponsors. This... this throws a spanner in our plans. Ok. How personable are you?"

The question comes out of left-field, and I stutter. "Well, well. I mean. I guess I could. Do you want me to?" Elise fills in here. "We want you to make allies. You'll need them either way, and she's as good a pick as any. After all, get with her and you can make some good sponsors. Alliances draw more in as a given, and pretty alliances. Well, you might get an apple."

This draws laughter, before her tone gets more serious. "I did the same during my Games, and it worked a charm. Now, onwards?" A press of the remote, and the TV swings back on, shifting as a second draw is made. "Sambar Laker."

The boy, crying as he totters up to the stage, is shoved aside by a young man from the eighteens section. A young man rushes forward, ignoring a cry from the section, stepping towards the podium before confidently speaking. A slight smile is across his features, even as he offers words to the man standing on the stage. "I volunteer! I, Ashe Redmond, volunteer as tribute for the 67th Annual Hunger Games."

This prompts a flurry of whispers, growing into a hissing chorus as people try to work out why he volunteered. A brief hug is offered to the reaped child before the boy disappears back into the crowd. Before any assumptions are made, though, the man shakes his head and ascends the steps. "Not my brother. Not my anything. I'm volunteering for. Well, you'll find out."

The screen shifts to Claudius Templesmith, and this time the discussion isn't skipped through. His words are excited. "And, some action! That's what we were looking for. Well, we can't tell how anyone is going to handle the arena, but I sure like their chances! And if you do too, please contact Maple and Blight to find out more!"

Onto Eight, and as with Seven there's a volunteer. Eloise Tate. Unlike Seven, Tate's a scrawny little thirteen year old who toddles up to the stage in a dress that's still somehow tight on her. Another child, like Robin, who thinks she can Finnick it out. An flurry of whispers, ending in 'Cecelia', and August and Indra have made a decision. Robin's taken into a side room, in spite of my confused looks, and Indra rests a hand on the table. His tone is soft. "Might be nice for Robin to make a few friends. We try to do this, when it happens like so. Call up other mentors, organize a few playdates. Some time to be kids. It's better that way."

This confuses me, and before I can ask a question Indra keeps talking. "We tell the other tribute. Let them know. Tell you to feel free to fuck off to other floors. If you can make any friends." A round of slightly unfair laughter. "Because we'll probably have to entertain at least once."

Having not heard about other floors in the first place, the idea of going to them leaves me confused. Skye, rolling her eyes, chooses this moment to intervene. "Kid. These two are going to speak words you don't know. And then ignore you when you're confused. Twelve floors, one for each district delegation. Nominally you should stay on your own, but after a One threw a little hissy fit about not getting to visit a boy on a different floor, they said as long as no mess starts its fine." Her hands are moving, little circles in the air, and the words finish abruptly

She nods, Elise shifting uncomfortably in her chair before Skye launches a few more words. "If you need any help, as much as these two may get antsy, do come to me. I may not be their first choice, but a sight better than running off to some other idiot and getting killed when they shit you around in favour of their own. I've been in the business a long time."

Indra's voice is terse. Tight and terse. "Thank you, Skye, for your wisdoms. I'm sure Millie will be fine." Skye nods, standing and giving me a quick wink before leaving the room with a handful of parting words. "Of course. You lot have fun now, give the kid some alcohol when he gets back."

The room feels a lot closer all of a sudden, and I take a breath. "So. Mentors. Any where I should stay away from their kids? Any particular troublemakers?"

A few nods pass between them, like a Newton's Cradle, because of course it is. Finally, Indra answers his lips tight. "One. Whatever you may have with a One, you don't. There's a reason they've brought back three in six years, and it isn't by playing nice. The girl in particular. The Six girl, as well. If Axel's mentoring her, and he will be, it's more trouble than it's worth to involve with her."

Elise jumps in at this, taking a sip from her glass. "Two'll be straight shooters, they usually are. Girl looked more blonde this year, though, so maybe they're playing at One's thing. Threes should be nice, even if Nuts and Volts can play bastard sometimes. Seven's usually pretty friendly, same with Ten. Don't challenge Haymitch to a drinking contest, you'll lose. Anything else, Indra?"

"Nah." he says, simply. "Any allies stick out to you?" I give a nod, gesturing at the screen. "Seven. Both of them. Redmond wouldn't be volunteering if he didn't think he could win. I'd put some trust in confidence. Oleander would be a good teammate. Outside of that... Titus, from Six? He looked pretty big." Their faces suggest not, Elise choosing her words carefully.

"Audie won last year. A boy, from Six. Lost a lot of people a lot of money. The Capitol won't want another Six boy. No way in hell. He's dead walking." I nod, already thinking through the possibilities. "Doesn't that boost me? He's a corpse, that's one less ally I need to worry about." Snapping out a laugh, Indra shakes his head. "A corpse can still make it to second. Don't risk it. Best case, he accepts it and you get a good ally. Worst case, he goes kamikaze and decides to take out as many of you as possible."

I nod, a little put down. Before a proper response can be stated, Robin reenters, looking a lot more perky, and we move on.

Nine's more of the sad, depressing reapings. The boy called up is relatively stoic, jaw set while he looks at the crowd in the dirty square. There's a few cries, but nothing compared to the girl. There's a panicked yell from the 17s section, and Peacekeepers have to shove children out the way to drag out a sobbing young woman. As she's guided up the ranks, towards the stage, a boy rushes from the opposite section, looking like he's going to volunteer. He doesn't, instead grabbing at one of the Peacekeepers. He may have forgotten volunteering was a thing, but as the camera view flits hastily to the stage you can see a white armoured figure bringing down the butt of his rifle.

Ten's another two shivering children, twelve year old boy squirming in the grasp of Peacekeepers as he's carried by the scruff of his neck up to the podium. Eleven's got a girl who steps up to the stage with a relatively set jaw, and (as August laments) another young volunteer, the cameras cutting out hastily in response. Twelve brings up a pair of mid-reaping aged children, both of whom stare out with wet eyes but without the tear tracklines of Ten or Nine. It's less sad, and with that, the reapings cut out. We're not given time to dwell on this. Elise promises that "We'll discuss this over dessert."

Dessert takes a while to be wheeled up, but when it is the time is acceptable. A great white thing, topped with fruit, orange trickling down the sides. The serving staff (still not speaking) begin to bring plates around, laden with all manner of colours, one with a cautious smile on his lips until he's given a firm shake of the head by another. Robin seizes his with glee, digging into it before the rest of us have received anything at all. I can't blame him, it does look good, but keep myself waiting until the rest have been served.

When I do begin, the flavours are exploding in my mouth. Orange, sweetly fruity but not an orange. The white, tasting like the sweetest sugar and melting in my mouth, the sweet tastes lapping over each other like waves on the beach. It's nice, almost too nice, and sweet to the point that after a few bites I have to push it away. I take the occasional spoonful after that, but a good half of the overly large slice I was given goes onto Robin's plate. It's gone within seconds.

Only after everyone's eaten is a fork tapped against a glass by Indra, who glances around at us. "Well. Anyone else stuck out?"

"Y-yes," Robin says, brow scrunched. He gestures to the screen with a fork coated in white and orange. "The boys from Ten and Eleven, could you..." "Yes. We'll get on it, I'm sure Seeder at the least would be happy for it. Robin, come on, we'll go talk to them now. Sure they'll be on the train like us."

Guiding the boy out of the room, again, I'm greeted to stares. I nod, glancing back at the retreating figures until the door closes with a slight sigh. "Couldn't Robin stay? He's a little boy, and..." "And he's dead." I'm interrupted by a frowning Indra, man shaking his head. "It's true. We're all knowing it. The kid's cute, but he won't last, Odair was a fuckup by a lot of people. Poor kid."

A round of shaking heads. "You have a chance. It's small, but it's there. There's fewer and fewer chances to make the most of that chance the closer you get to the Arena, so we're trying to maximise it early. Trust me, if you think this is shit imagine being with Abernathy or someone." Finally, a round of laughing I can join in. Work's shown enough Games footage in the last two years I understand that Haymitch Abernathy is an alcoholic.

"But seriously. Nobody?" I shake my head, and the pair sigh. "Narrows the field a bit. Give them a shot in training, will you? I don't want someone getting angry at me because you've brushed off their Tribute's friendliness." I give another nod, and without any further words Elise waves her hand. "Off to bed, now. Jump on it, or whatever shenanigans you lot like to get up to nowadays. Go on, now, we have some things to attend to."

I do head off, down the corridors to where my room had been shown to be. It's a relatively short walk, and yet as I keep on it feels longer and longer. A servant brushes past me, and I give him a smile and a 'sorry', one not returned. Rude.

Eventually I do make my way to the room, lying on the bed with a sigh. It's plush, still, and comfortable, but given the relatively early time I'm unable to get to sleep, or do anything more than lie there and stare up at the sky, waiting to see what lies in store. It's not riveting, and eventually I'm growing tired of listening to the droning hum of the train's movement and the darkening in the room. Trying the door, I find it still open, and head through.

At night, the train is disconcertingly quiet. It's moving a little more, and I have to sway a tad to keep myself stable. I'm passed by a silent figure, not seeing the face but assuming it's part of the staff. Head through the empty dining carriage, past the open (and largely empty) rack of wine that had been left on the table, and into the room we'd watched the reaping in. Something's on the screen, playing in a seemingly empty room.

I see a high, flat, rocky expanse. I see two girls and a boy, locked in combat. A brunette with knives, a blonde with a spinning axe, and the well built young man menacing the others with a wide sword. A wide sword that swings down, and takes out the blonde, before a kick to the stomach sends the brunette away toward the edge, wailing in terror for a second before going abruptly silent. The boy raises his arms, and I see a smile in his eyes.

I see the swing of a blade, the spray of blood, and the scrawny brunette on screen screams at the sky, quiet but still audible through the screen. The horns blast, the seal of Panem rolls over, and it's paused. The armchair in the corner shifts slightly, and I notice with a start Skye sitting in the chair.

"Me. My Games. Pretty, wasn't it? A mesa, they called that bit, high in the clouds. It was a big desert, but that was the center. Around the Cornucopia. We had fun, they said. It was shorter, at least, small mercy that was for the little girl from Twelve. Still."

The old woman turns, and I can see a flash of something in her eye as she inclines her head. "I'm surprised you're up this late, kid. Most would have cried themselves to sleep by now." This statement, so matter of fact, annoys me. I try to throw a glare, and she chuckles when I do speak. "I'm not most. I'm." "Of course you're not." Voiced with a matter of fact laugh to it, her statement gives me pause. "You're alive, which is more than my kids are. I didn't have any of my own, I wish I had. But every kid I've mentored, dead. Aside from that, though. Well, you came here. I'll give you that. Downsides, at least seven others had your bravado. At least nine others thought they'd win. None did. If you think you'll be different then be my guest. But.."

She considers it for a second. A tear has formed on my eyes, and before something happens she changes tone. "Maybe there's a chance. So, kid. I'll give you a deal. You don't get whiny when I don't say exactly what you want to hear, and I'll help out Elise and Sol with your stuff. IF you win, we can talk more about it after. Might be nice to have someone who gives a damn about me on this train."

It takes a while. There's no quick discussion, no decision. Instead we lapse into silence for a few minutes, and she eventually gestures her hand, speaking into her wrist in a tone too quiet for me to hear. Within seconds I hear a knocking at the corridor door, and a servant is standing there. A bowl is sat in my lap, the same in hers. I look inside, finding a slick, hard surface, before I'm handed a spoon. Tapping the spoon down she chuckles at my confusion. "Custard and sugar. Forgotten the name, but it's good. Eat that, we can watch the post-games, and then you can decide."

It is indeed very good. Taking my first bite, the sugar slips onto my tongue, and I give a little smile. "Thank you. Do you want to put it on?" Obligingly pressing the button, I see a flash of the seal, before I can see that scrawny girl. Skye. Sitting on the stage, wearing a butter-yellow dress as she laughs obligingly at a comment made by the man on stage. "Of course! It was simply magical coming back, and getting to meet everyone. Mags, and Nike, and Woof, and the others have all been so good to me. I'm simply delighted that I was able to come back, and I'm looking forward to meet you all!"

A smile that seems entirely inappropriate for the question, the man with his brown hair and moustache leaning forward. "And tell me, Skye. How did it feel when you sunk those knives into Lavish? He was such a good ally, after your alliance shattered, and suddenly you were turning on him. A stutter, a whimpered stutter from Skye, and he laughs. "Come on, now. We get the point, like her. But I'm curious, now, Skye. I'm sure the audience are. So. Between you, why don't you prove my mother named me right and give us lucky viewers the pleasure of finding out?"

Another whimper, and the camera switches to her mentor. To Ampere, who smirks and then nods his head. Almost as if he's enjoying this, but of course he isn't, enjoying this would be so wrong. "Catfish got your tongue? Well, then, another question, and I simply insist you give us an answer rather than trying to stay away from the question. Tallis." "What about him?" Her tone switches, in an instant. To stone, as she considers him. As she looks at the Victor's box, where the man sitting there shakes his head and several others can be seen standing, stepping towards him.

"Well, you were District partners! I think it's the first time we've seen a conflict between district partners end in, well. Lets rewatch."

Another bite from my spoon, bowl half empty, and I give a laugh of pleasure. I've never had anything quite this sweet, not ever. The screen, the vast screen above them, flickers to life. Skye can see everything. The sands, forcing the pair standing on the ground to continually change their standing slightly to keep steady. The well built man, sword in one hand. His district partner close to him, hands by her sides as they yell at each other. "You didn't have to leave him!" "I had no choice!" "He's dead! They're." "Better him than us!" The exchange goes on in this way for some time. Screamed words, even as they seem to grow increasingly louder. Finally, she sighs. Steps in close to him, gives a little flick of her wrist before her hand makes contact with his shoulder. Slips in, onto his neck. Comes away, red and wet.

The girl runs, glancing at the young man following her even as he slows, slips. Slides down the sand dunes, coming to an undignified stop as his body lies in the divot between sand dunes. He tries to claw at the sand, tries to reach for anything that gives him a chance at survival. Instead, his scrabbling movements grow weaker until she stops entirely. Yelps, once, then falls silent.

Lucky, if that is his name glances at her before she can say anything. "So, Skye. How do you feel." Her bottom lip juts out, pushing herself back in her chair. The young woman is shocked, but Lucky continues to press. "Sad? Angry? Do you think he failed you?"

It takes a while, until she can form a response. "I think he, he. Brought honour to his District. I think he was a good man. I don't think he was the best, or he would be here today. But he was good." The man slaps his knee. "I love that! Well, Skye." The screen fades to a train. A flying clump of mud hits the girl returning in a canary-yellow dress to her District. The escort steps forward, along with Peacekeepers. Her mentor drops a laugh, and a sobbing woman tries to throw another clump, caught on the transparent shield of a Peacekeeper. This is played over an obnoxiously loud laugh track. Finally, it pauses, and Skye looks at me, probably as much of the custard on my lips as in my stomach. It was a good meal, and I offer a nod.

"I will. I'll accept your invitation, thank you. Best to get on well. I do have a... question, though?" "Go on."

"What happened to them?" My tone is enquiring, and I consider the woman in front of me. "To the people throwing mud and stuff? They were his family, probably, yes?" Her tone is grim. "They were his family. I'll tell you later." I shake my head, tone inflected with petulance. "I want it now. Tell me."

She doesn't want to. Knowing this, I pressed on. "Please." An audible sigh of disappointment. "The mother was executed. Shot. She tried to break into my house for some reason, I think we can all guess what, and the Peacekeepers. Didn't want clemency. I did, before you say anything. His younger brother worked in the bakery. They found out he was part of," her fingers come up into air quotes, "subversive activity. Had him Avoxed."

"Avoxed? What's that?" "I'll tell you after I give you some advice. Be ready. Because if you do kill Robin, well. I killed my Partner, and you can see how well that worked out. Don't make the same mistakes I did?" Tone once again confused, I speak. "But the Squaddies, they kill District Partners often. How come they don't get your treatment?"

"Those overexcited blondes, psycho Peacekeepers and fishers? Oh, they kill their partners just as easily as any other. Trickery, deceit, as often as a blade. You'd do well to remember that, Millie Stahl. But they're taught to not care. It's an honour, for them. Load of shit that that is. Me, I didn't have that luxury. Now, Avoxes."

The explanation she gives me, the mention of the train staff, sends me to the bathroom. It was good custard, but it tastes wrong as it comes back up. I hear a knock on a door, ignore it until I'm sure the tears have flowed and the toilet has stolen all knowledge of what went into there. Only then do I open the door, finding Skye standing with a glass of water. I drink it, spit most of it out. I don't respond to her apologies, for a few seconds, until I nod. "I'm... it's not nice. Sorry." "No, my mess. Don't worry about it."

I try to reopen the discussions, getting a laugh and a nod in response. "Of course I'll help. However, not tonight. Tonight, you get some rest for me. K? I don't want you on anything less than full sleep, I'll be very disappointed otherwise. Now, which way to your bedroom?"

We eventually find our way there, the dim lighting almost more of a hindrance than a help in these conditions, and eventually stop at the door. There, she speaks into her wrist again. Leaves , and I see one of the servants. No, Avoxes, meet with her, handing over a glass of cool water, and a jug of the same. "For the taste. You'll need it. Now, have a good night, and I'll see you in the morning, mk?"

I give her a relatively miserable nod, and she chuckles in return, before leaving through the corridor. Left alone, I head towards the door, setting glass and jug down before tugging it open with more effort than could perhaps be required. Retrieving the glass and jug, both are set on the table by my bed, before I open the wardrobe, finding a soft-looking nightdress hanging front and center. Heading into the bathroom, before bed, I begin to handle anything else.

Pouring a glass of water, and now adorned in the new dress, I climb into bed. Everything taken care of, after a last downing of water I begin to dream.

These dreams aren't pleasant. I see myself, avoiding Skye's spinning knives. An axe, lodged in my skull in the 50th, from the massive woman with an axe who'd taken out so many of the competition. Finnick Odair, trident flashing in his hand as it goes through my chest. Enobaria, atop me and biting down as I struggle. A dozen dreams, then a dozen more. Dreams I can ill afford to be having.

They slowly shift. Back to home, where Ma and Corin have another family living with them, to save on rent costs. Where they visit a grave, marked with a clump of withered flowers that nobody has the money to replace. Back to home, where there's a new girl (another One) dancing around, serving customers with a smile and a giggle. To home, where nothing else has really changed.

My thoughts flash forward again, and in an instant I'm seeing the other future. The one where I win. The one where Ma and Corin and me live in a gorgeous coastal villa, north of Vipeche. Close enough to walk or cycle into, far away enough not to have the heaps of traffic that the city has most of the time. The cerulean blue sea, lapping against the white beach as I lounge on a smooth chair, drink in my hand. Not having to take care of my house, knowing the staff is doing that for me. Not having to cook unless I want to. It's a nice dream.

The other half of the dream, where I'm escorting two crying children to their doom. Like Indra, or Elise, or Skye. Well, that can be put to a side for one moment, in favour of the knowledge that the other months of the year I'll be a glamorous socialite, able to come and go where I please. Able to do what I want, and not have anybody in a position to tell me no.

It's a good dream, and one that resolves me. I'll fight. I may not win, but I'll fight.

Author's Note: Having been working on these further in advance I'd like to drop another thanks to you who continue to read, bookmark, etc. You da real MVPs, and I'm glad to have you on board!

Many thanks

Pipes