I look up, up at the wires and ropes I know are holding up the roof and providing the lighting above our heads. It's hardly safe if your job is up there, but that matters little out here. What matters is productivity, and the power we can send to the Capitol who so graciously provides we of the backwards Districts with civilization. Capitol Above, I hated History of Panem. My eyes flick back down, looking at my client and across the floor.

At least, that's how it is in the majority of the district. Here, in Vipeche, power is secondary to money, a fact I'm reminded of as the old man leers at me and I try my best to keep the smile plastered onto my face. "Of course, sir, I can get you a drink! Is there anything specific you'd like?"

I bend down when he asks me to hold the menu, teeth bared in a smile as he takes a good look at it, and the scenery. After all, there's never any shortage of girls and boys willing to work here regardless of the conditions, even if few are from our District. The job pays well, and the hours are shorter than at the power plants. And the patrons always tip well, especially this type. So I keep bending over, before bouncing up with a smile when he taps one just a little too hard, waiting for him to speak. And speak he does, with perfect white teeth. "I'll have the... Coyah Curl, and make it fast. I'm always luckier after one."

I chirp a response - a simple "Yes sir!" suffices, and bounce off to the counter, smiling at the blonde young man. Thank the stars he's on, I'm not in the mood for being messed around by one of the others. Still, I lean over the table, tone a bit harder than necessary. I wink, and then speak. "Glitz, dear, I'd love a Coyah Curl. Client wants one, and he wants it to be quick. Trust me, I know it's going to take a while, but..."

He puts his hand up, and I smile. His tone's easy, it hasn't been a bad day as far as business is concerned, we're nearly full but it could be worse. He's had some time to relax. "Millie, love, I could whip up a curl in my sleep. Sit back and let me handle it." This draws a slightly wider smile, and I shake my head. "Can't. Still got two hours on duty, and the Capitol lot are being stingier than normal tonight. Tell you what, if I have a good night I'll come over and you can drown my sorrows. Trust me, I've got enough of them to go around."

He nods, and even while he's been looking at me, the glass is full, and I can take it over to the table. I put the fake smile, the one I use for clients, on while I bounce over to the table, setting the drink in front of the old man with a flourish. "I believe this is yours, sir?" And of course it is, but they love individual attention, everyone here knows that. So he smiles, and I can see a slight flush of red on his cheeks. "Of course it is, girl. Tell you what, if you'd like to make some extra money, I'd love to have you up in Room 227 later that night, what do you say?"

The urge to slap him comes up, but that wouldn't play well and I smile and give him a simple "No thank you, sorry sir." He looks a little disappointed, but that's life, and he taps his wrist against mine before flicking his hand dismissively. Now done I walk off, heels clicking on the ground, wandering around the bright floor with the plastic smile taped onto my lips.

The next hour is exquisitely horrific even by my standards. Parading myself around, eyes dancing as I try to meet those of the patrons. I'm not as successful as some of the others, most of whom have bounced around training for this since they were barely past puberty. Customer service isn't a Five speciality, as I'm reminded on a daily basis. Still, I attract at least some tips and smirks, and allow myself to grin and bear them because it could be so much worse.

A younger Capitolite, a giggling blonde on his arm I know I've seen somewhere but can't place for the life of me. A local man, that's visible by the clothes, gambling what seems to be his life savings and willing to tip a little to a girl who can tell the difficulty he's having and comes over to offer a drink. A squad of peacekeepers, circled around a younger comrade at a slot machine. I feel a little less bad than I did for the local, but he's been chased into this by his mates. Only has himself to blame, of course.

My feet are tired, but I'm not slowing, and powering through the last half hour means at Six sharp I can bounce off to a side door and wave to the guard, a well built man. A local, that's a rarity. "Heya, sir! I've finished my shift, may I?"

He grasps my arm, a bit harder than necessary, and checks the timer. His smile is apologetic possibly for that and possibly for something else, as he shakes his head. "Reads thirty two seconds left, Miss. You're going to have to walk around. Do hope you don't catch an eye, you know what the early crowd is like." I smile back, starting my loop. Rules are hardly fair to the employees, and if we don't work the full eight hours our wages are docked. I'm just nearing the door, when a hand waves in front of me, and I stop. The waver is a woman, younger looking and not showing her twenty-seven years as another Districter would. Perks of money, I'd guess.

Our latest Victor. I push back the urge to roll my eyes, giving her the same courtesy as I would any other. "Miss Augustine, what can I get you?" She grabs my lapel, maybe to stabilize, and I can smell the booze on her breath as she speaks. The words are slurred, but I can make it out, practice has helped in that regard. "I wanna... wan' somethin' strong. Thanks." She hands me a note and taps her wrist against mine first, a decidedly bad choice, and I head over to the bar. There's no small talk this time, Glitz is busy and barely has time to pour me a glass of good vodka from Nine before rushing to deal with another patron. I bring the glass back over, and she taps her wrist against the band on mine a second time, ignoring the fact she's already paid. I offer a smile, before walking off. She'll get it refunded later, or if not she has the money. Another waving hand, and I suppress the urge to leg it.

It's been eight hours fifty five minutes when I get off duty, the guard scanning me before offering a sympathetic smile. "You aren't getting paid for that. Sorry, not my call." I roll my eyes once I'm past the door, counting the money slipped to me in the room. Five, fifteen, thirty five... Sixty eight talents in all. Not bad, more than I'd make in the plants in twice the hours even before accounting for (admittedly low) wages. The reason everybody wants to work here, despite the pawing hands and constant need to be switched on. I'm shedding my uniform, hanging it on the racks to be washed like all the others, when I hear a pair of shoes clicking against the floor. I turn, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the blonde to my side. "Hey, Satin."

Satin ignores the bored tone, chirping her words with a grin. "Heya Millie! Listen, me and some of the girls were thinking we could go out, there's a new place over on Easton that's..." I hold my hand up, stopping her. "No thanks, Satin. Got to get home. Maybe another day, yeah?" I'm blushing slightly and fully conscious of the fact I'm standing, talking to her in my underwear, as she frowns. "You say that every time! Why're you so boring?"

I force a grin on, and sigh. "Well, Satin. I'm three years younger than everyone else who works here, not that the patrons particularly care. I've got family to get back to, I've promised Glitz I'll have a drink with him, and it's reaping day tomorrow. I have to worry about that."

She giggles, nodding. "Oh yeah! Reaping, I forgot that's tomorrow. Well, you have fun Millie. I'll get you in someday!" I nod in assent, beginning to pull on jeans and a t-shirt. 'casual attire', the same I wear every day to work. Slipping back through the door, giving the guard a smile, I walk up to the bar. The bounce and vibrancy isn't there, and the bar's quiet again as I slide a stool up to the bar. Quiet enough that Glitz can walk up, glass sliding between his hands. He knows what I want, and I pass over a note, getting my glass of lemonade in return. He passes is over, takes it back, slips in a shot of red worth more than what I earn in a week, and gives a conspiratorial wink. I take a sip, sweet, and he nods. "Well, work looked busy. You need this. Now, how're you feeling about tomorrow? Big day." There's a sheen of sweat on his brow, and I nod. "Good, yeah. Yourself?" He's nineteen, I know he's safe, but the nerves are visible as he sighs. "My sister. She's at the IADOP, and..." He trails off, and I must look lost as a puppy for him to clarify.

"Institute for Advancement of the District One Population. Muttspit name, but it sounds good. Where our kids learn how to be lovely little killers. Anyways, she's been tapped to make the run. And Millie, she's just a girl. Seventeen, and she's confident but I don't know if it's enough." He's visibly worried, and I lean in with a question. "What's her name?" Glitz clasps onto this like a dying man, offering more than that. "Dazzle. Dazzle Parrish," and I'm trying to stifle a laugh as he continues. "I know. The name's a bit much, but that's our One. Anyways, she's been tapped, and that means she and two other girls have to find some way to decide some way to choose who gets to go. Last year they had a fight on the floor beforehand, the year before that there was a catwalk, before that one of the older boys told me it was a competition not discussed in politer company."

He sees the look on my face, and laughs. "It was a baking contest. Cashmere won that, and clearly it paid off. Point is, she has a chance of going in, and I'm worried."

After a long few drinks, I give him my best cry face, and he chuckles. "Not worried about me, are we? I'm insulted." Smiling, broadly smiling, I'm offered a placation. "You have four slips, the odds are in your favour. Now, finish up before Aurora catches you."

This warning hits home, and I finish my drink. The formidable Floor Head isn't exactly someone you want to cause issues with, and dressing imperfectly is a perfect way to do so. Once done, I smile, and he returns it, and then I leave. Walking back home takes a while. The buildings rise around me, towering monoliths of steel and concrete staring down. Few windows on the ground floors, they don't have those in any of the casinos. Why, who knows. There's probably some reason, everything they do has some reason, but that's not for the serving girls to understand. That would be plain weird.

Once I'm past the Belt, the parallel rows of casinos that Capitolites come here to indulge in, I break out into the proper part of the city. A flatter area, full of straight streets as far as the eye can see, broken by the occasional street going east to west instead of north to south. Two blocks up, three west and one down and I'm at the City Square, where in a day and a bit I'll be standing with the others of eligible reaping age. There's a lot of children. Enough that I shouldn't be worried, but it has to be someone. Always someone.

There's Peacekeepers setting up barricades already, more standing around with rifles in hand. I can smell the sea air as I walk through the square, and one of the Peacekeepers eyes me for a moment. A shiver, involuntary, passes through me. They're not known to take backchat at the best of times, until I catch the man's eye and he gives me a nod. In only the beret of a uniform, I recognize him now. A customer, thank the stars, and I return the nod as my shoes tap against the ground.

From the square, it's only a short walk to home. Home, a set of rooms on the second floor of one of twenty thousand houses in the city. Home, where at least some of the warmth is offset by insulation and where Mama's always waiting for me before she goes off to work. As I'm constantly reminded, it could be a whole lot worse. We could live in one of the outlying settlements, or (Capitol forbid) in another district, like Eight or Nine.

I step through the door, and the first thing I hear is a musical warning. "Millie! Shoes off, you know it's bad luck!" Shoes are duly taken off, even if the superstition does sometimes go too far, Ma doesn't deserve any additional stress. Besides, it's worth it if only to keep the house clean.

Shoes off, I head through to the kitchen, Mama waiting for me. She points to a bowl on the table, smiling. She does smile a lot, maybe too much, if there is such a thing. "Dinner's there, love. Make sure to wash your hands first, the water shouldn't be too bad." Going to wash my hands, I feel the tepid water splutter out, letting it wash over my hands before going to dinner. It's cold, but I can taste it still, and it's still food, so I wolf it down before I can have any complaint with it. Best not to look for issues.

"Millie, you're late. Again. Was there issues at work, or?" The question hangs in the air, Mama hovering around as she pulls her boots on.

"No issues, Ma. I was just busy. I was a whole thirty two seconds early, and then I got dragged around for the best part of an hour because even if your shift is over if someone asks you have to go. Then I got changed, had a drink, and got home. It's seven thirty, you should be out the door by now!"

She barely has chance to wish me a good day as she leaves, acknowledging the time and need to get to the factory, and by the time I've stood up I feel a mass of hair buried in my stomach, yelping. Looking down, I smile, tousling the dark hair below me. "Morning, Corin. It's school time in a bit, grab your bag."

My little brother rolls his eyes, pouting. "Millie, I don't wanna school. You don't have to go to school."

"I'm sixteen, and I have work. You're eleven, and nobody would want to hire a little boy who hasn't done his mandatory school to fourteen. Plus, you aren't exactly cut out for my line of work."

He giggles, and my heart lights up. "Ok, then, little lad. Time to get off to school, you don't want Mrs. Tallow to think you're being lazy again. Run along now."

I have to all but prise his fingers off the door frame, but shutting the door means I can lie up against it and take a breather. I'm done. It's been a busy shift, but it's over. I repeat the mantra to myself, and then it's time for bed.

I get changed, lifting the duvetless cover in the shared bedroom before sliding myself underneath, letting it lie loose in the oppressive heat. It's not a good temperature, and rather than sleep immediately I'm driven to rolling, building up more sweat and dampening the blanket and mat.

It takes an hour to enter a thin, dreamless sleep, and before I know it I'm woken by a small hand probing my face, blearily rubbing my eyes. "Corin? What the hell are you doing."

He giggles, and I can't bring myself to stay mad at the red cheeks and giggles even despite the fact I know I haven't had enough sleep, and it's morning. "It's hometime!" The analogue clock on the wall confirms it is indeed 5:30. Not the best, considering I've overslept and yet feel no less tired than I did before sleep. Still, the show must go on, even if it's with some reluctance I stand, tapping my brother's forehead.

"Well, little monster. You're still in the first quarter?" He nods, and a surge of relief pushes through. Because school is hard, and because if you're not in the first half you'll be cut at thirteen, left as a tech or a sparky. First quarter, and you probably get a job that pays well, by District standards.

I let the surge fuel me, walking over to the stove and beginning to turn up the heat. We need to eat, after all, and gas is at the least cheap enough I can afford to let the stove warm up. Corin is chattering incessantly the whole time, letting me pay half attention as I pour tepid water, let it sit on the stove. It's too hot for all the water to be cold, and the residential areas are the first to be cut off.

"Millie, what's for dinner?" It's flatbread and sauce, the same as every night, with the addition of a bit of rehydrated beef. Hardly Capitol fare, or Casino, but we have to make do. For this, at least, I'm jealous of the serving staff, who we all know sneak some home when there's leftovers. Still, I smile, kneeling down. "Corin, it's the usual! Got a new sauce tonight, Satin gave me a recipe."

She didn't, but I can lie and doubt he'll know the difference. Even with the money I bring in, and what Ma brings in, we still need to take Tesserae. Even if it's better than what other districts probably get (at least we get some meat, and a piece of fruit), it's still dull fare, and the sauces livening it up are never in enough quantity when they cost two days of tips and only last a day if you only stretch them a little. Corin knows, he's such a good boy, and smiles. "Of course," his voice is a light bouncing chirp, "You're so nice about Satin. If I didn't know better, I'd..."

"Shut up, shut up, shut up." I do NOT have a crush on any of my coworkers, regardless of what Corin says. He's getting to that age where he's precocious and all too willing to tease a big sister he should be looking up to. And if suggesting a girl or boy is into me is a way to wind me up, then he'll take that route. "Corin, I swear, you're the worst. Besides, I hear you every day, saying bye to Sailie. Are you really trying to tell me you don't like her?" Blushing, he definitely does, and I press my advantage. "So shush about Satin, and Miranda, and Glitz, and all the rest. Besides, I've told you about Aurora. She'd drop me if I tried, her precious Ones matter to her more than one Five."

He laughs at this, and we return to safer topics, watching me stir the sauce most central. The silent companionship works best, after all it is what we've grown up with. There isn't enough time in the day to do more, and we're all tired, him after school and me before work.

It takes another few minutes for the sauce to be ready, and by that point Corin's got the meat out of the chugging fridge and the bread out of the cupboard. I get three plates ready, a blob of red sauce and a piece of flatbread, and a cupful of meat. It's enough, and I surreptitiously slide a bit onto the other plates from mine while Cor's messing around with a knife, back turned and wielding it like a particularly useless sword against anything but butter and other soft foods.

One plate goes in the chugging fridge, it can be warmed up if needs be (though Mama likes it cold), the others are set on the worn wooden table. Worn from decades of use, from me and mine, from Ma and hers before her. A storied past, one which holds sentimentality.

Or just a shit table nobody can replace.

The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle. It always does. Like how the food tastes, because Corin always raves possibly to be nice, and there's an infestimal chance he may actually like my cooking. For my part, I find it decidedly awful. The truth, considering it's what I eat every day, is probably more against me than I'd like to admit.

I eat it, though. Have to, there's starving children in the hell districts as Mrs. Clay was so keen to remind us. Why the woman was so obsessed with eating habits, I couldn't say. Uptight idiocy, maybe, or just being annoyingly awful for the sake of being annoyingly awful. Regardless, I stuff that to the back of my mind, and focus on mopping up the last drops of sauce with the 'traditiona' flatbread, and then watching Corin play at doing the same.

By then it was nearly six-thirty, and Millie begins to clap, voice lively. "Ok, Cor! Time to do homework!" A moan of protest, and I have to half shove, half carry and half guide him to his room. It's a lot of effort, effort I don't want to have to put in but know I must. No matter how much his big, sad eyes pull at heatstrings like a particularly adept guitarist, he has to do his homework. One missed day, and he'd have teachers up where the sun don't shine and be dropping positions on the rankings, and I can't have that.

While he's doing that, I go out. Because we at some point need to get some things done, there's no milk left and I have money now, and with Mama at work until just before I have my work and going to bed after a bit, Corin being too immature and delivery not being possible, that leaves Millie. So I change, into a pair of knee-length shorts I haven't had the time to wash and a t-shirt and hoodie which have seen better days even though they're clean. My errand clothes, along with the work clothes (to and from only, uniform is for work and at least I don't have to pay to get that cleaned)

Taking a deep breath, I step out of the door of home, head outside. Into the lights.

Authors Note: Is this a bit of a self-desire thing: Yes, but it's also a tradeoff for the fact I'm fully aware anthologies can get a bit dull, so I thought I'd liven it up with a second piece as a lighter side. So yeah, District Five lore time guys! Any opinions, please do send them my way, I'm all ears!

Not going to leave a definitive One week on/One week off schedule, but expect both to remain existent to some extent!