more than nameless; tom

Katelyn had a few regrets in her life, and one of them was that she had taken great pains to avoid her district partner in her games. All she’d had to hear was Izar-Krane to think back to the 65th quell and the nightmares she’d had after watching Iago do what he did. She hadn’t given Levi a chance, and then he’d gotten his skull split in two, by one of her allies, no less. She knew now that Iago had been the exception, not the rule, and the Izar’s held a special place in her heart.

Using a portion of her winnings to fund an orphanage in Levi’s name wasn’t much, but it was something. It had been open for little over ten years now, and sadly, there was no shortage of occupants. It was home to nearly thirty children under the age of eighteen, and it was just one of the orphanages in the district. Times were hard, and the lockdown was going to make things worse. Still, she thought, as she helped the staff unload the baskets filled with loaves of bread and pastries, this was something. While she always had the overflow and the day-olds delivered here, this was the first time she’d had a bulk deliver baked especially for them.

If she had to pin it down, she’d have said that the mood in the district was concerned. The community had dealt with their share of hardships, but this was something different. Katelyn couldn’t recall a time where they’d rationed power and cut transportation. Why cut the phone lines? Was the underground really that close to pulling something off? Something was wrong, but she wasn’t sure what. The curfew was new too. The peacekeepers had always had a tendency to hassle people out late at night, but they had never been so…militant in getting people to get indoors so early.

It was likely that the curfew start was grating on any farmer worth their salt too. Starting work at seven was too late. To get everything that was needed done on time, a good farmer needed to start around 4:30 in the morning. Hell, to get the bakery ready on time, she fired the ovens up at 5. For everyone’s sake, she hoped that this whole thing was resolved soon. Even so, the cold ball of worry in her gut said that the resolution of this mess was going to leave eleven with the short end of the stick.

Once everything was unloaded, she set about helping in the kitchen. A big pot of stew was in the works already, so she left that alone and started setting up a table with pastries; cookies, brownies, a pair of apple pies and other assorted goodies. She had a feeling that she was being watched; one of the children, she assumed. They had a tendency to do that. The oldest among them had been toddlers when she’d won her games, and she figured that like with most people these days, her reputation preceded her.

Larger than life.

To these kids she was probably Katelyn Persimmon. Victor of the sixty-ninth hunger games. The first victor eleven had had in decades worths of games. The girl that at the age of eighteen had miraculously brought a tribute home her first year as a mentor. The girl that at the age of nineteen had done the impossible and done it again. She was the victor that faded from the public eye and had come back into it just in time for Kassandra.

Thus far, she’d had yet to field any questions about the games, and that was a relief, as she didn’t really want to get into the mentor role for a bunch of kids she hoped would never take a ride to the Capitol with her. Hopefully it would stay that way, for the sakes of all parties involved.

That being said, she wouldn’t shy away from a conversation.

“It’s alright,” she said to the cookies, feeling the eyes on her back. “I don’t bite. You’re welcome to take anything you like.”

^{[ DARS ]}