#when. games

For the most part, Antonia's job was over long before the games had commenced. Sure, she still had a few final touches to make on some of her creations ( there were some that she was particularly proud of this year ). And, sure, she could always be working on something new for next year, or the year after, or the year after that. She could be down in her dark, dingy lab, running experiments and taking samples and what have you – but, instead, we find Antonia in the tribute tower bar, taking what ( they believe to be, at least ) a very well-deserved break.

In one hand, she has a glass of white wine, in the other, a mouse. No reader, you have not interpreted this incorrectly. Here, we introduce Antonia Vickers, but we must also present Norman McMouse, former inhabitant of the tower laboratories, current inhabitant of Antonia's purse. Antonia sips at her wine and examines Norman for a few moments as he scuttles around on her palm, before releasing him onto the bar in front of her.

According to her parents, Delilah had thrown a tantrum when she was informed – at the ripe age of one, no less – that she would be getting a baby brother. Granted, she cannot remember this ever happening, and therefore is unable to verify the story's authenticity – but it certainly does sound like something she would have done. Having the spotlight ripped away from her and split in two would have certainly put a dampener on her little life – even if she now can no longer remember a life before her brother existed. It didn't matter in the end, anyway. She had barely needed to stretch herself in order to win back their parents' favour, to steal back her spotlight. And the rest, as they say, had been history.

She hears Kaleb before she sees him – a voice that, by virtue of their shared upbringing, she would recognise anywhere. She's not surprised to find him at such an event – it had been instilled in both of them, but Kaleb's love of the games had always far exceeded her own. He had built his entire life around it, after all. Her feet carry her towards the voice before she can think better of it – an insult already forming on the tip of her tongue. When was the last time she'd seen her brother, let alone spoken with him? It must have been before all of that unfortunate business with their mother ( yes, yes, she was terribly sad to hear the news ).

Celestia had gone to sleep and woken back up again and, much to her elation, had found that none of her tributes were dead yet – yay! Of course, two of them were still missing, but she had made the conscious decision to focus on the positives. She figured that some sort of announcement would have been made if they were already dead – plus, everybody seemed to have missing tributes, which meant that their absence was not Celestia's fault ( she had been concerned for a moment that it was her doing – she'd once led her tributes to the wrong place before the launch a few years ago, but she maintained that, if they wanted her to get it right, they should have made the basement of this place less maze-like ).

The second floor is remarkably quiet without the victors roaming around anymore, but, this morning, Celestia doesn't mind so much. She'd had quite a bit to drink at the launch party yesterday, and her body seemed to be wearing the consequences of it this morning ( totally worth it, though ). And while the second floor is quiet, it is also exceedingly bright, and so we find Celestia squinting against the flouresects, even though she wears an obnoxiously large pair of sunglasses to protect her fragile retinas.

Never let it be said that Soleil Fleming did not know how to process her feelings. In fact, she had three tried and true strategies – deflection, repression, and explosion. Sure, she'd been informed on numerous occasions that these weren't healthy coping strategies, but they'd worked well enough throughout her life that she'd never bothered to try and differently. Perhaps, she should have invested some time into this, she thinks – as she sits on the fifth floor, picking at her nails as she watches Finch and Ampere on the screen, no Lark nor Joule to be seen. Electra has disappeared somewhere, and, for the first time, Soleil has begun to comprehend that they are completely, utterly, alone.

They can feel their breathing quicken in a familiar pattern, legs bouncing up and down in time with it. The longer they sit here and dwell on their own loneliness, the more they're going to spiral. Fuck this.

They're not entirely aware of themself as they barge their way out of the fifth floor living area and into the elevator, nor when they press the button for the twelfth floor. Maybe they're just looking for company, for someone they know will be friendly, despite the situation. Despite how much they've teased her ( in their own head... mostly ) there is a sense of relief that comes with the sight of PRIMROSE EVERDEEN, even if she looks surprised to see Soleil on the twelfth floor.

Watching the games, year after year, had been tradition in the Ripley household. Delilah had never found it quite as exciting as some people did – though she was a fan of the senseless bloodshed. The way that the tributes, so seemingly civilised in their interviews, would turn so quickly to violence when handed a weapon. Then again, she supposed this was the point, wasn't it? To remind the districts that, no matter what, they would always turn against one another, in the end. It was what had allowed the Capitol to triumph during the dark days, and it was what had allowed them to remain in power ever since.

Her parents had always given Delilah and Kaleb money to place their bets on whichever tributes tickled their fancy – it had been a fun game for them. Kaleb had always put far too much effort into selecting his champion, looking at stats and odds and all manner of things, while Delilah had generally chosen whichever tribute came across as the most vile during their interview. Most years, this was a sound enough strategy – and in the years that it wasn't, Delilah would pretend not to care about the outcome of the arena, so as not to afford her little brother the satisfaction of having beaten her.

Prue hated this. If she'd thought that the build-up to the games was painful, then this morning had been absolutely excruciating. She's not sure what she'd been expecting – maybe part of her had been hoping that their stunt yesterday would be enough to delay the games indefinitely, or at least for a little longer than twenty-four hours. And yet, the morning had come, and the games with it all the same. As though nothing they had done yesterday had made any difference. She would be furious, if she weren't so despondent.

She had been fetched by a pair of peacekeepers early this morning, escorted to the location of the arena, and had been waiting in the launch room for her tributes to arrive ever since. Part of her had hoped they would never arrive ( well... maybe she wouldn't be so upset if Caius went into the arena ), and yet, after an hour or so, she hears the familiar click of a door opening behind her – and JEM HUTCH is sent through to meet her.