Silk Belt, the Capitol

"Hey, girl, you want to get over here? We have coin!" The yells are everywhere, but Demure supposes she should have expected this. After all, the Capitol's hardly the place a One goes out alone without a very specific aim, especially not the Silk Belt. Still, that side of the Belt isn't her primary aim, so for now she's walking through, ignoring the words thrown her way in favour of a smile and a wink that reminds everyone that of course they've seen her on their televisions. There's no more trouble after that from that group, but always more.

So Dem walks through the still-used streets even this late at night, and ignores the men trying to buy from her and the girls trying to sell to her. Hears, smells, and sees everything because this kind of hell road is just a different arena and she needs to be on guard. Surely, there's always danger. Games taught her that. Pushes open the door of the Last Chance, and smiles at the man across the desk. "Declan. How is all?"

Declan offers a legitimately friendly smile, the kind of smile that reminds Dem he isn't here because he likes her like that, because he wants to see if the One reputation is true. No, Declan is here because they're friends, and as far as she can tell that seems to ring true when he nods back at her. "Dem. All's well, yourself?"

"All's well. Now." She gets down to business quick, that's what she knows he likes about her. "How are the odds looking?"

He nods, and there's a book slammed down on the table, one he leaves through until he finds the right page and offers her a laugh. The bookies always keep each other agreed on the odds, lest they cause issues. Normally secrets are guarded jealously, but given what Dem knows about him, and their friendship? He's willing to overlook the unwritten rules and stick to the written ones. "It's looking... Interesting."

"Do elaborate?"

"Well..."

He gets down to business quick. "One's up in the betting, people are looking for something from you lot. You know as well as I do your pretty girls are something of excitement, hell even your boys have been putting in a shift these years." This does get a nod from Demure, and she's content to agree.

"Of course. I'd hop… expected as much, after last year and the fun they'd had with Joyeux it was too little to hope we'd stayed less favoured? I don't want to be busy every night." A sympathetic smile and Declan nods.

"Of course. Still, you might get one back this year?"

"We might."

Noting this down for her on a piece of paper, Declan moves on. "Two's looking spicy. People have been waiting for a while, Espada's fun but Two's lost their sparkle a little bit. Still, strong contenders as per usual, definitive second place in the favourites." Not justifying his statements with a nod, Demure merely winks.

"Oh, I'm sure Two will be as fun as usual. I know their girls always make a good account of themselves, the boys are fun as well. Anything for Two, after all. Three?"

"They're fucked. No Victors in fifteen years, and people are expecting that to continue. Still, they could surprise. Marked them as in flux on the lower end depending on their kids, and if that changes you'll be the first to know." She nods, and he moves onto Four. "The Fishers aren't too much more exciting. Oh, they're good when they're good, but Skate's their only Victor since the Seventieth. I like Four, they always offer a good crop even if no volunteers. Shame the volunteering mess, I always bet on them." A sympathetic nod.

"But, who knows. A good arena for them? They could be in for a nice chance against yours."

"Five?"

"Five's looking tempting. Almost equal with Two in popularity, now, shouldn't blame them for that. Allie's popular, she brings in cash. Bruce, the others they help, Vesta's a distinct second favourite, but she's the main attraction. Not as much as you lot, but Five's pretty enough that they drag out a few sponsors. Plus, their boys are in with more of a chance according to the numbers." Demure can only laugh at that, nodding and speaking herself.

"Shame, really, that One and Five compete. I do like Five. Gorgeous crop of volunteers, lovely Victors, even if they don't always lock into the Squad."

"Six could go either way. Scrappy lot when they get them, when they don't their kids are torn apart like a cow in a mutt den. I'd say watch out, but if they don't look too scary at the Reapings you can let your guard down."

"Seven?"

"Good odds. They're due a Victory, none of their reaping eligible kids have seen a Seven Victor in their lifetimes. A big Seven, a pretty Seven, and you could be in a lot of trouble. People like an underdog. Particularly big, particularly pretty is what people look for in a Seven, and they can provide too well. Plus, they're due a Volunteer, Seven has them more often than most. Fools looking to be able to buy a proper tree."

Another nod, and Dem sighs.

"Eight?" Here's the crowd, the ones One never expects to make it even through the bloodbath. Eight, Nine, Twelve, Thirteen.

"Eight's not looking good. Lacie's popular, but mainly with old ladies. Still, some of those old ladies out here have more money than sense. As usual, don't count Eight out. Lacie was only fourteen, still killed. Just one, but still."

"But still," Demure echoes, "Hard streets breed skill. Nine?"

"Nine's fucked. One Victor in half a century? They're due one for sure, and Lyman's still got friends, but who knows. President doesn't like them." Of course he doesn't. Everyone knows how President Locke fought in the Riverlands of Nine, along the two Missi's, the Platte, and the Red. How he had to fight, lost most of his command though not without bringing Nine and Eight under heel. The second Dark Days, some had called it. For Nine and Eight that statement rang truer than in One. "But, if Nine's looking promising. Well, it's the same with Seven. Underdogs bring sponsors."

"Ten's ready to fight, it seems." Two Victors in four years. Ready is an understatement, but still.

"You really think Ten's that ready, Ten's only got Two Victors from the Squad, and."

"And yet Six and Eight have a Victor each from the last four years. One does not. Neither do Two, or Five. Ten has two. Ten's got a fan base, now, people who'll support Ten because Ten's scary. Their kids are still lower odds, though, nobody wants to sponsor and then watch Ten fall and fail at the last step because One and Two don't like their kids and decide that a Five, or both Fives, are more deserving of alliance."

"You know Eleven. Their kids aren't the best, they haven't got Victors any more. Not since-"

"Chaff and Seeder." Both Victors executed, Eleven has to rely on loaner mentors. Demure can corroborate that, she had to do it last year and the kids blanked her the whole time. Loaners aren't exactly popular, given they're usually Squad. Still, she had tried, which made it all the worse when they ignored advice freely given and charged the cornucopia.

That was two more bodies on her head.

"Twelve's still in deep shit. They're small, they make ok money with their new role but no Squad. They'll near certainly fall, nobody wants another Mockingjay." They both share a laugh at this, and they move on. "Similarly, Thirteen. Loaner mentors, in deep shit for the Second Dark Days. I don't think Thirteen's popular enough to warrant survival. Still, always a chance."

"And that's that." The book is slammed shut, and Dem and Declan share smiles. Declan's still offering cooperation.

"We could go out, grab a-"

"No, we couldn't. Dec, you have a girlfriend. No drinks without her written permission, ok?" There's a laugh in her voice, it's routine at this point for him to suggest and her to giggle a refusal. Still.

That handled, Dem gives him an embrace and walks out. They'll see each other when the Games start, and share a drink as friends. For now, she needs a drink. She got to stay the night after being dragged as a trophy on a Minister's arm into an exclusive party. She has to clear out, but drinks first. She can bring her notes back to One even with an unclear mind, after all.

District Ten, Farinheira School of Excellence

"Well done Peppa! Now, can anyone else tell me what Catelyn did wrong?" Ah, Ten. Home of the busy workers, one of the smallest districts by population yet largest by area. Entwined, more than any of the other higher Districts, with the Southwest and their loyalist strongholds. They stayed loyal, did not join the Mockingjay and her baying dogs in the ill-fated revolution. It scored them boons. A redrawing of the District borders, Four losing sweeps of inland of admittedly little value. A relaxation of Peacekeeper presence, even if their presence was still high enough to dissuade problem elements from being problem elements.

And the Farinheira School of Excellence. Signed off by the Capitol, created with the support of the Victors of Two. After all, with Four removed from the running they needed a trophy, and so a friendly game developed. Two helped Ten, for a bit, the same with One and Five. That was gone now, in favour of the normal (now) playful friendship One and Two exude. The downside, of four trained tributes where two left, meant that issues arose. Issues that would need to be handled, issues that this class was dedicated to handling. It's small, 40 students to a year, but Ten's small. They can afford it.

Peppa stuck her hand up again, ignored as Hyde's eyes scour the darkened room. The holo playing on the table at the center shows the incident that had almost seen a chance gone, as Catelyn Littaker openly defied the nominal leader of the Squad, prowling like a cat. Knives flashing brightly in her hands, and he finally has to pick someone. Pointing, over to the back of the room where a boy sits eyeing his classmates. "Abbat. What're we thinking?"

Abbat takes a moment to respond. Voice visibly tense, but still volunteering an answer. "I, think, she... tried to make her play too early?" A hesitant answer. A right answer, at the least, and not something wrong.

"Correct! Catelyn failed to consider the possibility that her group dynamics would inevitably lead to longer term issues should there be no leader. Luckily for her." Fast-forward the holo, and Joyeux can be seen prowling her own arc.

"She'd managed to cultivate an alliance with Joyeux, from One. Class, why're the Ones useful alliance partners? The Twos look bigger."

Peppa's hand is up again, but Lapin is chosen, small girl frowning. "Well, they, umm. They're pretty?"

"Partially," and by all the meat in Ten that's a shit answer, but that sentiment isn't voiced. "One is very good at getting Sponsors. Note this down, all." The dutiful scratch of twenty pens on twenty pads, and Hyde is getting increasingly annoyed now. "Does anybody have any other ideas? Peppa, maybe."

Peppa, with only a glance down at her immaculate binder (the girl's eleven and only in her second year, she doesn't need that), smiles and answers. "One is able to manage changing dynamics and play a better social game than the Twos. Two will have your back, you never know where One stands, so you keep them close. Additionally, the Ones tend to be-"

"That will be all, thank you," thank all the grains of sand that she shuts up. "Exactly right, as usual, Peppa. One is more untrustworthy. Cultivate their affections, if you are Selected, keep them close but keep them from killing you."

And now the discussion is done, and Hyde claps his hands to turn the lights back on. "If you all head out, you get a twenty minute break before your next lesson. Don't be late, and remember. A busy Ten is," he drops off, letting the class pick up.

"A useful Ten." Varying degrees of enthusiasm, but they all got it. Good enough.

All the kids except one file out, that one heading down the steps towards his desk with a bouncing lightness in her step. Roche, who really shouldn't be here aged ten but she's pulling it off well enough nobody's yet given her any grief. "Yes, Roche?" His voice is tired, now, but she continues to beam that excited grin at him and maybe she's grown on him a little.

"Sir, I wanted to ask. If I did get a full scholarship, could I...?"

"Yes, Roche, you could train for the Games. I know how exciting that is. But you might not get in, you have..."

"I'll get in." The tone is full of steel when the tiny girl peels off, and Hyde has to laugh. It is sweet she's so ready.

Once she's done, it's time for the call he's been dreading for hours. His handy beeps, and he picks it up. "Heya, Sekiga, how's it all rolling?" The Two doesn't respond for a moment, and eventually Hyde has to set it to speaker and chat into it. "Hello? Hyde to Elbert, do you copy?"

"This is indeed Sekiga Elbert, sorry for the shit routing. Goddamn Centre's decided it's this week to hold the sixteen's training exercise, because of course I should be out like this until three days before Reaping when the Ones are all chatting up their sponsors." This gripe is an age old one, and one Hyde has to soothe over often. It's worth it, though, to see the smile his friend gives when something's handled without any additional bloodying.

"Of course, and I'm sure One's jealous you're out adventuring and they're stuck in a stuffy room all day. Now, what's up?"

"How're your newbies this year? You're holding down the fort given Angus and Chrissie don't work with you, and. Well."

"I don't know." Of all the people, Hyde's left the eighteens this year to Catelyn and her picked helpers. "Cat has them. She says they're good. I'd assume we have competition this year in Five? You could've kicked the One boy out and open an extra spot, before the change."

The laugh at this is full of rueful mirth. "And Furrier would have had my head. As would Selene, for that matter. Look, their boys aren't usually anything more special than what you put out. They've overspecialized on those pretty little things they want to call fighting-fit Squad girls, and to their credit that's effective. But One and Two are an institution in whole, you and Five can rumble among yourselves for your reward. Plus, I'd put money on their sending in two girls this year."

A mocking sigh of disappointment, and Hyde gives a jokey salute not seen but definitely implied. "Yes sir." The response takes a few seconds, words crackling slightly.

"Panem speed you, Hyde Brady. Now, unless there was anything else, I have some stuff to handle, and. Well, I think Publius has cut his own thumb off, so I'd prefer not to have any issues on that end. Speak to you soon. At the Games, probably." The screen cuts out unceremoniously, and it's all Hyde can do not to frown. Instead, he rises, and heads off towards the door. He throws it open, and is almost blasted back by the noise.

"What're you doing?"

"When's your next lesson?"

"Does anyone know where the South Wing is?" After directing a lost twelve-year-old to the South Wing (they've been here a year, they should know this by now), Hyde retreats back inside. He doesn't have anything on, but going out in that is a death sentence. He'd be swarmed by the kids before he could make it ten paces, possibly twelve if he were a lucky one.

But there's enough time before the next lesson he's handling Hyde doesn't have to go out immediately. When there's a gap in the crowds he makes a run for it, reaching his office and shutting the door behind him. There's nobody inside, save for the cardboard cut-out of himself a group of enterprising graduates had decided would make the perfect gift for a Victor who happened to be their teacher. After all, it was good fun, and it was good looking enough he was willing to overlook the obvious satire and focus on the fact it was pretty damn funny.

That was why it sat alongside a 'world's best dad' mug in his office, and let none say a word against it.

Also in the office was a set of letters, letters he hadn't had a chance to read, and so when the letter opener can be located the reading begins.

Fan mail. He hadn't even known Victors would have fans in the Capitol, hadn't expected the price he'd have to pay in celebrity status for the three weeks he'd spent at the service of their city. So much fan mail, and after a select handful are taken out to receive a personal response later, the rest are stacked awaiting the stock letters he's had printed for sending.

Letters from near on all the Victors, from One and Two, Five and Nine. All polite, because if letters aren't sent by everyone then it's not polite. All sealed in their signature wax, coloured, and with a little signifier to prove just who had sent the letter. All congratulations, wishing their best for Catelyn after her Victory Tour and congratulating him on raising such a well-mannered Victor as if he'd had any hand in her. Or much of a hand, at least.

Letters from the Capitol, from the District government as well. Wishing him luck in raising a new Victor, various guides he'd passed off in favour of the advice given by his peers in person. One from the President, and he's going to respond to that apologetically and immediately. Letters from Cat's sponsors, asking when she'll be available. For dinner, for party attendance, for something more and he'll tell those at the least to wait a little longer. Maybe forever, even.

He wishes, he really does, that Ten was better with this. Had some way to file important from not. But no, Five had their efficiency and electronic letters. Ten ran on tradition, Ten ran on this. And maybe it was a little slow, the letters and the two point confirmations for bank transactions and the horse-mounted officers they trained at the Farinheira School. But it was Ten, and if he could keep that quaintness a little longer then Hyde would be glad. After all, it looks better, it makes the Capitol think they're nice and provincial, an angle for more Sponsors, and he's never going to complain about that.

District Twelve, 5 days before Games Season.

"The duty of Twelve is loyalty to the Capitol!" The children are chirping, now. This is where the cream of Twelve's crop goes, after all, the dozen kids in each of the dozen years who make up what passes for the better off class in Twelve.

The bombing had been hard. The bombing had seen Twelve reduced to rubble, save for the two-thousand or so who'd managed to flee north to Thirteen, west to Nine, and south to Eleven. When Thirteen had fallen, when the Capitol and their lapdogs had declared victory? They were rounded up. Sent back to a new town, a little better than the old one in the North End and much worse in the South End. All the Twelves had been sent to the South End, mixed with Nines and Elevens and the occasional Thirteen exported out. All split, of course. Twelves lived southwest of the Chance Street-Light Street intersection, Elevens lived northeast, Nines lived northwest and the Thirteens lived with the bedraggled park at their backs to the southeast. Up Light street, and you'd find yourself in upmarket Twelve.

Upmarket Twelve. The blondes were back in force, Ones who'd jumped at the chance to form a new business population and work in a place where they'd get ok pay and where money works better. About seven-hundred originally, but they were probably seventy percent of the money made in Twelve. There was the heaviest corner probably in Panem, with that one tall building towering above the rest of Twelve at thirteen stories. There was the new bakery, pub, market square, all manned and supported by golden-haired men and women with One accents and that perpetual joviality.

Not that these would know that wasn't the norm. Missy Flanders, the first Twelve local to get work at the school as a teaching assistant, is shocked at how alive they are, how nice they are. The whiteboards are so easy to clean, the books so new and fresh, the children all chirpy. They all refer to her as Miss Flanders, they all always get their homework in on time, and they're all always so neat and tidy. It's a change, especially when as opposed to the spits from the angry mobs of former Seam residents for simply having blonde hair she gets smiles and thank yous when picking up homework.

There's so much difference that she almost forgets (she was told not to forget) that the only reason she's been allowed to work here, as opposed to toiling in the mines or waiting hand and foot on the mayor. She's blonde, and out here that means everything. In One, which sends two happy little blonde children to their deaths (most likely) every year out of choice, it's probably different, but who knows. Here, it means she's trustworthy to the Capitol, and a collaborator bitch to everyone south of Heere street.

"Collaborator bitch!" The children waiting for her at the junction only confirm this. The Peacekeeper on patrol, seeing her blonde hair, starts forward. When he sees the mud that already coats the base of her dress, the blonde hair without luster, the hollower cheeks than anyone living north of Heere ought to have, though, he turns away. Ignores her, and lets the children continue to hurl abuse like they always do. They never go further, else their mother would give them a good seeing to, and that wouldn't do even for them. A hiding, even, would probably be provided.

Walking into Twelve, deeper, it's more of the same. More insults, sighs, rolled eyes. She's used to it by now, but Missy still finds it intimidating. It's why she walks, too quickly, home. Why she bolts into the slightly nicer corner, woven deep into the houses but directly off Light Street in reality. This was where all the few former merchants lived, clustered around the one shop not up in the town 'center' (even if the center is a kilometre from most people's houses). The small general store, packed with the goods allowed to be sold downwards.

Some would say it's a miracle nothing's been stolen yet. But, even if there's coal burning a fire once a week in the houses of the former merchants in Autumn (more in the winter), Twelves and Elevens will never steal because that's not their way, and the Nines that do will return sheepishly with the sealed goods when someone finds out. That's why the Collinses continue to run their general store without harassment, why Missy is able to go in and put down money for a special jar of pear jam and get a smile from Susie Collins.

The jam comes back home, where her husband is waiting for her with a smile and a specially prepared loaf of bread. Proper bakery bread, and she's going to ask where he got it when he gestures down to the burnt ends, the fuckup that means it couldn't be sold. "We're ready, dear. Boss had wanted me to grab bread for him before I went, and when I saw they'd burnt some. Well, they'd practically paid me to take it off those hands. The Ones," they're Ones regardless of living in Twelve for twenty-one years now, Missy knows that, "were nearly in tears. They're a lot of things, but they really aren't into failure."

Missy's nearly in tears of mirth as Forrest recounts the full conversation, how the baker (Shimmer Aster) had been terrified at the burning, had giggled with relief when Forrest had handed over enough money to cover the bread cost of making and tax without the markups. And now they had it, a freshly warm loaf. Sitting on the table.

They finish the whole thing, it actually makes them feel fuller for once than they would usually. A good dinner, which means they can put aside what was today to aid tomorrow's dinner. Result.

Author's Note:

Two weeks left! I'm looking forward to getting going, and am still taking submissions - if you want to contact me I can be found at cecelia dot pipes (remove the dot, it's one word with a full stop between cecelia and pipes and no space between) on discord or ClearedPipes on tumblr! Many thanks to Moose for betaing this one 3