you and me, selling our sins {patricia&teddy}

The morning sun shines hot through the huge glass walls of the executive lounge. Avoxes move between the chaise lounges and the bar, offering iced refreshments to the array of extravagant guests. I have tied my maroon jumper around my waist as I go about trying to sell my pitch to wealthy sponsors, recalling exaggerated tales from twenty years ago.

They lap it up as use my hands to help visualise my story, playing to this, the most disgraceful of crowds. Teenage me would be disgusted for being a dirty sell out, but this isn't about me. I need to put my ego aside for the greater good, no matter how difficult a task that is.

At least I don't feel so suffocated in the Capitol anymore. I'm no longer looking over my shoulder, constantly worried that the walls have ears, and that I'll be reprimanded for something out of place that I say or do. To them, I'm old news - a middle-aged woman that has spent most of the last decade shutting herself off from everyone. No influence, no power.

The cameras and microphones have turned to younger voices now.

There was a time where that would have bothered me, where I would have felt defeated by that, but not now. My rebellious nature hasn't been quashed, so much as I've learned that you can't fight the current all your life, sometimes you have to let go and move with the flow - and yes, that might be at the cost of your beliefs and morals, but there is power in accepting things as they are, not as you'd like them to be.

If you can't change a situation, change yourself. Adapt. Survive. That's who I am.

It's been difficult leaving my work at the hydrodam behind, knowing I won't be there to help out for the next few months, but I also acknowledge that my duties to my District extend beyond just that. Mentoring, teaching, maybe helping someone else become a survivor.

I'll admit my enthusiasm for mentoring has fluctuated year-on-year. I've not always been in a good place, not always been fit to give the right advice. But I did it anyway, because there was no one else to do it. There still isn't. Not really.

Lethe is all but retired, her days spent distant, lost in her memories. Lysander is reckless, drinking her youth away in spite. My future and my past, with me in the middle, holding firm.

I have two girls this year; the Quell has dealt me an unexpected hand. Fatima, the descendant of District Five's second ever victor, and Isabella, a quiet child with seemingly little promise. It's my job to give them the best chance possible of surviving.

The training centre hasn't opened yet, with the Tributes only just arriving in the Capitol and being shown to their rooms. Whilst they spend the first night settling in, some Victors such as myself spend this time trying to whip up early sponsorship. Admittedly there's little to go on without being able to wave a training score in some rich Capitolite's face, but god loves a trier.

"-And then whilst he was down, I grabbed him by the nape and forced his head down into the pool of mercury," I demonstrate, my synthetic hand extended out as I try to act proud, but really it's shame that's filling me and flushing my face red, "-and held it there until he drowned."

They laugh and applaud my heroic feat.

Sell out. Sell out. Dirty little sell out.