"So…" Toni said as they sat on the chairs, watching Melody get up to go in, the last person before them, "What's your skill?"

"I don't even know if they'll allow it," Jughead sighed, "Yours?" He said, specifically not answering.

"Bareknuckle boxing. Blindfolded," Toni said, "I'm scrappy and a fighter. That's my skill; I don't like the idea of death."

"Blindfolded?" Jughead raised an eyebrow, "Think you can pull that off?"

"I don't know," Toni winced, "I'm used to being in pitch blackness in the mines, right? Some good had to come out of it. And I've been practicing all day. I figure if I even do halfway decent, it has to be better than the twelve-year-old or Tearful Tina, right?" She asked, referring to District 8's Tina, who seemingly couldn't stop crying. Jughead wondered if she'd been crying nonstop since she arrived.

"I wonder what-," Jughead began, but cut off. He'd been about to say that he wondered what Betty had done, but he had no reason to think of her at all or consider her score, other than how it would fuck him over, "I wonder what everyone else did," He finally settled on, which was a much safer question.

"Cheryl did archery; we all heard that. I think I heard Dilton say he was building some power generator or something. Archie had asked for an axe; he was in front of me when he gave his request. Other than that…" Toni shrugged, "Hard to say."

"I'm sorry-,"

"Urg, Jug, stop apologizing," Toni groaned, "You've said it like thirty times."

"And I'll keep saying it. I'm sorry," Jughead said, slouching, "I don't know why you're still friends with me."

"Because maybe I would have been reaped next year anyway." Toni pointed out, "And because you didn't mean to. It wasn't malicious. It was for Jellybean."

Jughead flinched hard. He hated that Jelly would have to see him murdering kids on the screen. Know what her older brother was truly capable of.

The ding of the mechanical voice came overhead, "Jones, Forsythe."

"Hey," Toni said, catching his wrist, "You never told me your plan."

Jughead gave a dark smile, "Strategy. I know people well…and, god, I hope that means I know what moves they'll make too."

A singular opulent chess board with two chairs was seated in the expansive room when Jughead entered. He knew from Katniss' little stunt that there was now a glass screen up to protect the judges, but that didn't mean that he couldn't still rope them into participating with him.

"Hello, I'm Forsyth Jones. The average for chess games is 40 moves…" Jughead swallowed hard, trying to seem as confident as he could, "I know I can bet any one of you in twenty moves, or you'll be more than welcome to give me a score of 1."

The judges whispered amongst themselves as Jughead pushed the table right underneath them, so they could see. He sat, waiting, "Aww, what? No takers? C'mon, I know you all grew up playing this game."

It was a status symbol. It was strategy. Of course Capitol Ilk played chess; Jughead was sure of this.

He knew this because someone from the capitol had dropped a book of chess moves when visiting 12 once. And Jughead knew he should have turned it in for food, but it felt like a secret he'd found. He'd devoted himself to memorizing it, mostly because there wasn't much else to do in District 12 and any book was hard to come by.

"I'll take that wager," Someone finally said, an old man with a ridiculous mustache, "But, be warned; I've been playing since I was ten, my boy."

"Your move first," Jughead shrugged, motioning to the board.

Here's what Jughead was banking on. He hoped he could guess the personality of each of his opponents and guess which game theory they'd use, based on how they moved and their opening plays. It was like a mathematical equation to whittle down which master they were emulating, and then Jughead would make a plan of attack back.

He won agasint Mustache in 18 moves.

A little close to the wire, but still, a success.

He checked his time. He still had eight minutes left.

"Anyone else?"

Luckily, the next person that offered he beat in three moves, meaning he was able to take on a third opponent. Though his timer dinged off, he examined the man before speaking.

"If I were to guess, this would have been your strategy going forward," He said, rattling off a string of coordinated attacks. The man's face grew red.

"That's quite a presumption, sir," he sputtered.

Jughead grinned, "Right," He knew he'd been spot on, "That's it for today, boys. You've been a pleasure," He said, giving a sarcastic bow before walking out, head held high.

Even if he plummeted and failed the training score…he did everything he could and Jughead couldn't be upset with himself even in the slightest.

XXX

In the apartment, on their circular couch in front of the large TV screen, Betty sat sipping her champagne, nibbling on a cracker. They were given one glass of alcohol per night, a pretty sorry excuse for 'hey, we know we're sending you into an arena to kill you' sort, but she wasn't going to complain and get it taken away.

She sipped slowly, savoring it.

"It's starting," Betty said, her voice cracking, turning around to look at Bret from where he was talking to Brutus, at the sound of the Panem fanfare. The room began to quiet.

"After three long days of training, our judges would like to award these training scores," Caesar Flickerman began. He was looking a bit old; Betty was sure if he wasn't dying his hair that cobalt blue, she'd see gray. The signs of plastic surgery were unmistakable though, a must-have in the Capitol for anyone over 45, she thought bitterly.

"Jason Blossom; 9," Caesar began, Jason's picture flashing on the screen. Beside her, Bret clenched his fists in victory. A nine was a satisfactory score for most, but for a career, it was undoubtedly on the low end.

"Cheryl Blossom; 11."

Betty took great pleasure in watching Bret's jaw clench in fury when he heard that.

"She just made a couple of silly bullseyes. Hardly an 11," He muttered under his breath.

"Bret Weston-Wallis; 9."

The silence was deafening. Betty pretended to sneeze behind her hand to hide her wide, giddy grin.

"That's such bullshit!" Bret exploded, "They must have gotten me confused with someone else!" He turned to Brutus, "That has to be a mistake!"

"Quiet!" Hal snapped, and Betty turned just in time to see her picture flash on the screen.

"Betty Cooper; 11."

Betty felt her breath leave her all at once. Bret was staring at her in anger now, his mask slipped.

"Good job!" Hal patted her shoulder, "That's my girl!" He said with a raised chin, "Someone from District 2 is showing up to win, huh?" He asked, turning to give Brutus a haughty look.

"All of this is fucking rigged!" Bret said, getting up and stalking away.

"You should stay to see who else scored!" Brutus called after him, but Bret waved him away.

"It doesn't matter. I'll paint the arena with their blood anyway!"

"Baby," Betty scoffed, rolling her eyes. She knew the importance of knowing who she was up against.

Brutus dragged Bret back out by his collar, and Bret sat to watch but wasn't happy about it.

The other scores that were of interest were as follows:

Veronica only scored a 9. Better than Betty would have thought, and she wondered if Veronica was pleased with that. Her partner, though, Nick got an 11. He seemed stringy; Betty wondered what he must have done to gain that ranking. Chuck, annoyingly, got a 10. Donna got an 8. Betty knew she wouldn't be happy with that…she must not have as good of access to training materials since she got booted down, Betty thought with a sigh. All better for her, though, right? The two lowest scores went to Malachai in 5 and Tina in 8 - both with a pathetic score of 5 for each. Archie, the other annoying person who wouldn't leave her alone, snagged himself an 8. Not bad for someone who wasn't a career.

The next score to shock everyone was Mad Dog, from 11, who got an eleven. Bret and Betty both stared at in in shock, still speechless while his partner Melody got a 7. They stayed absolutely silent until there was a bigger upset…when Jughead got a 10.

"Higher than me?" Bret scrambled up, furious, "That little shit! Are you kidding?"

Secretly, Betty found herself pleased, though she tried to squash and kill the singular butterfly that was flapping her stomach. She told herself she was just glad that he scored higher than Bret.

"Huh…" Hal was rubbing his chin, "I wonder…"

"And finally," Caesar was finishing, "Last but certainly not least…Antonia Topaz-,"

He broke off, frowning, holding the paper away from him, like he couldn't quite believe it. He talked to someone off-screen, looking utterly confused, and returned to face the camera a moment later.

"Wow, boys and girls! We have Antonia Topaz with a 12!"

"Looks like District 12 is back in the game," Hal said, as shocked as anyone, "What a year, huh?"

Brutus couldn't answer; he was trying to keep Bret from throwing a vase out the window.

If Jughead getting a 10 made Bret freak out, hearing that Toni got a 12 made him go ballistic.

Betty, silently, cheered for Toni.

Whatever she did…well, props to her.

XXX

"A twelve?" Haymitch gaped at the screen, "Shit, Toni? What did you do? Blow the judges?"

"Haymitch!" Katniss chastised sharply, shaking her head.

"Oh, come on. We're all wondering about it. Even you didn't manage that, sweetheart," Haymitch sniggered, swirling his whisky in his glass. Katniss pulled a face, not that she was reminded of her nearly-perfect score, but clearly that she too was confused about what could have catapulted Toni so high.

"I…I…" Toni blinked fast, in a state of shock, "I have no idea what I did to deserve that. Honest!"

"Well, you did something," Jughead said meaningfully, "You boxed, right?"

"Yeah! I mean, I was blindfolded too, and I did manage not to 'die', within the program, but…" Toni was hyperventilating a bit, "Oh, god…I'm gunna be sick."

Katniss found a trashcan for her to puke in before she lost her dinner all over the white, plush carpet.

"Why are you freaking out? This is incredible! You've made District 12 history, Toni!" Jughead sputtered, wondering if Fangs was cheering and screaming louder than everyone else back home. If Toni's cousins were beaming with pride, or if her Uncle was hugging random strangers and leaping for joy.

"Because!" Toni sputtered, wiping her lips, "A nine would have been fine. Hell, even an 8. Or if they had to go high, give me a ten. But a twelve? God, everyone's gunna be gunning for me, and I don't even know why!" She wailed.

"Do you hate me now?" Jughead sighed, his excitement draining away rapidly. realizing with a bolt of fear to his heart that she was right.

Getting a high training score came with a cost…to both of them. They've just outed themselves as people to kill fast... before they kill you.

"Yeah," Toni said, holding the trash can closer, "I definitely do. When I die, Jughead, I hope you're happy."

"She doesn't mean it," Katniss said, "These games bring out ugly feelings in all of us."

"Oh," Jughead let out a laugh, "She totally does. And, well, I can live with that."

Finally...some honesty.

Haymitch lokoed between them, "This should be a goddamn celebration," He grouched, "A ten and a twelve…legendary! But instead, we have Mister Doom and Miss Upchuck. Unbelievable," He stumbled to the bar cart, "I am going to toast this victory with another whisky."

Jughead rolled his eyes, "Shocker."

XXX

The next day was prep for their interviews. Betty felt like her father, and in many ways, her mother, had been preparing her for this since the day she was born, so she wasn't worried at all.

It was a lot of badgering the witness, as one might say; getting Bret and Betty used to any unhinged or unexpected question that might pop up.

"It really matters what you say tomorrow!" Brutus said.

It seemed like everything mattered, but then again, that was sort of the point. A well-rounded individual that did well in everything fared better than someone who wasn't, or someone who got lucky one time.

They did not interact with the rest of the candidates except for lunch. Though it could be catered in their suites, Betty knew that the game makers and their tutors expected them to be using this time to make all-important alliances, but Betty had no such intention.

She fully was prepared to eat quickly and get back upstairs. She knew getting an 11 would make her someone that people whispered about…but the whispers…something felt off about them.

Not about her, strictly, but…about her dad.

About what he must have taught her to garner her such a score, and how she could live with herself at night?

The same eerie feeling rose up the back of her neck as it had that first day of training and ever since when Betty began to wonder.

She had many bad qualities (as her mother liked to remind her) but her curiosity was by far the most annoying, and usually got her in the most trouble.

She ate quickly and then waited…waited until Jughead got up to leave.

Out of everyone here, he was the only one that felt…genuine. It was hard to put into words, but for some absurd reason, Betty trusted Jughead. Maybe because it was clear he gave little fucks about the whole fanfare of this event and wasn't someone who would lie to save his skin.

"Jughead!" She called, marching out of the dining room. Jughead groaned, rubbing his eyes, turning.

"No, I don't know what Toni did to get a 12 and no, asking again won't get you a different answer," He said tiredly. Betty could tell he'd been fielding annoying hoverers all day.

"I don't care about that."

Jughead looked up, coming to, and blinked at her.

"You…don't?"

"Well, okay, I do, but that's not…that isn't my question."

"Oh." Jughead examined her, "Er, in that case, proceed."

She tried to seem confident as she crossed her arms, forcing the question out.

"Why is my dad called the Butcher?" She asked quickly, "And why…why do all the other kids…act…" She struggled, "Act like they do around me?"

"Well, because he butchered a bunch of his contestants," Jughead snorted.

"Yeah, but, hasn't everyone in the games?" Betty asked, confused.

Jughead stared at her blankly for a moment, "You…have you ever seen his arena videos?"

"Of course."

"Really?" Jughead snored, "Otherwise I think you'd know."

"Well," Betty blinked, trying to think back, "Not in its entirety. Clips. It wasn't worth my time."

"Huh, really?"

"I mean," Betty shuffled her feet, now feeling stupid, "He showed what was necessary to show me moves or strategies. But we're up to the 82nd Hunger Games. There's a lot of footage to go through. Not just winners; we looked at everyone. Those who got close, those who didn't, those who were in the middle. We looked at how they got so far and why others failed, as well as really dug into all the winners, and how they won." She shrugged, "It didn't seem important to go back through clips we'd already analyzed."

Jugehad laughed, but he wasn't smiling, "That's awfully a convenient way for your father to put it, huh?" He shrugged, "Yeah, no, if I were you…why would I think any differently?"

"So?"

Jughead pressed his lips into a thin line, "You should watch the videos, Betty. They're all stored for any of us to watch here, to prepare." He murmured gently.

He tried to leave.

Betty flashed her arm out, grasping Jughead by his wrist. Her grip wasn't tight, and in fact, it was very light. But even the motion of her touching his arm caused him to stiffen and pause. When he turned, her eyes were wide and seemed to shimmer like sparkles on a lake, but the color of his eyes was as deep as the dark pine forests of District 12.

"Jughead, please. I want you to tell me now," She said.

"Why me?"

"I…" Betty seemed startled by the question, and paused, "I think you'd tell the truth. Unaltered. You have no reason to lie."

XXX

"You have no reason to lie."

Betty's eyes were fixed on him. She looked so genuinely bothered, so unsure of herself, that it was a moment of vulnerability that he wasn't sure he'd ever seen. She had no reason to be kind to him, or consider him in any way other than an enemy. She could be cavorting with Bret doing god knows what, planning who knows what, but instead she was here...begging him.

Jughead had never been the one wielding mercy or had such a power of truth. And, strangely, he wasn't sure he'd ever been trusted as much either.

It begged the question...why him? Despite the reason she'd given, still...why had she begun to notice him at all?

Jughead knew that he was better off telling her to figure it out herself and detach from the situation, but something about her expression made him fight with himself. And, his sense of will around her wasn't all that great to begin with.

He pulled her farther out of the main hallway.

It seemed everyone was in on the 'joke' besides Betty, but he still, in some odd way, wanted to protect her.

"There is violence in the games, of course," He began carefully, "And then there is…Hal Cooper."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The reason your father is famous is because he managed to disgust even the Capitol. In time, they've come around to laud him, because they can't have someone who did exactly what they wanted an enemy, right?" He said with a snort, "But during the Games…" He swallowed, "It's just an urban legend, but supposedly…it was so gorey, so awful…cities had to turn it off."

Betty stood, listening, her face as cold as stone. Just in case she wasn't comprehending, he continued.

"You can certainly kill people in the games. That's the whole point. And maybe you're angry when you do it and you bludgeon them a bit or stab them fifty-two times. But your dad? He was never angry..that was the thing. He was just…" Jugehad shuddered, thinking of the clips he saw, a dare among young kids to see who would barf first while watching, "He did it because he liked it. And he didn't stop when kids were dead…no, for him, it had just begun when they were cold on the ground. Do you know what a butcher does with the animals they kill?"

"No…" Betty whispered, begging him not to say it, but Jughead couldn't stop.

She had wanted the truth, hadn't she? The ugly, violent truth.

"He eats them. Your dad…ate the contestants afterward. Not for survival. Just for the thrill of it. For the fear."

"No," She repeated. Betty's expression cracked, "I mean, he's my dad. I'd know if he were a…a…" She gulped, looking green.

"A sociopath?" Jughead finished, "You came to me. As you pointed out...why would I lie?"

Betty looked stricken. It was only now Jughead realized she was still holding his wrist, and only because she dropped it. His skin felt the absence of her warm palm.

"That can't be…" Betty muttered, looking dazed.

"I'm sorry." Jughead found himself saying it a lot recently. He knew Toni would think he was insane to be apologizing to someone from District 2, but it came so naturally, and he meant it, "It's always hard to find out your parents are actually shitty people. I speak from experience."

"I'm sure there's an explanation," Betty said, distraught.

"Sure," Jughead said, but personally thought the explanation was clear; Hal Cooper was insane and probably still craved the taste of blood on the regular. And he liked to think, no, hope that Betty wasn't like that.

Her face, her horror, seemed to be a good sign that she didn't take after her father.

"I..." She began, perhaps almost to thank him, but the words died. He wanted to reach out, pull her into somewhat of an embrace, but his fingers twitched and the urge was murdered by his more logical self.

She stumbled away, distraught, and Jughead couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

He'd take a drunk dad over a cannibal dad any day of the year.

He never thought he'd be grateful for his own life and feel pity for someone from District 2.

You're going to make this hard for you.

To kill her in the games?

Naw...he reckoned he wouldn't even get that far.