"Peeta!"

Great, like my ears haven't required being fixed enough times as it is…

Delly's squeal barely has time to dissipate from my brain cavity before I see her run over to embrace the subject of note.

I've never met Mellark in-person before. This is despite the fact that my folks work with him a lot regarding their stuff dealing with their charity-related efforts. For some reason, my own flesh-and-blood have always left me out whenever there's an event or something similar with that victor involved.

I mean it's silly, and if I didn't know any better, I'd come to the conclusion that they can't trust what I'll say around that overly-idealistic Section-Eight.

In any case, it's not like I'm at the top of Mellark's list to talk to; the former Twelvers have that distinction. With Delly letting go of him, the victor takes the time to greet Rory and Eli with a ruffling of their hair and a general set of compliments before he moves onto the rest of the Hawthornes, as well as the Wilsons and Anders; Bread Boy actually has a box of cookies for the little kids to share amongst themselves.

After the Twofers — barring Dio, who looks as if he's about to suffer some kind of internal system error; I swear that he's trying to hide behind me, which is a bit surreal when you think about it — Mellark moves onto the Central crew. I'm a bit surprised the greeting is on the minimal side — just a general "Glad you could make it" and such — until it hits me that they actually came together due to the simple fact that Central now is in charge of transporting victors whenever they so wish; though I wonder why he hadn't shown up earlier. It's just as well as I don't think I'd be able to stand a first meeting between the Corpsman and the victor.

Ultimately, as my folks greet the victor and thank him for coming, I have to deal with the inevitable. Because the moment Ma tells me to say hello, the spotlight shines in my direction… which Peeta Mellark begins moving towards.

"Iris and Vector told me they had a son," he states with a warm smile — we don't even know he each other and he's already being chummy; the scary thing is that I'm pretty sure it's genuine — and hand extended. "Hi, I'm Peeta."

Thank you, Commander Obvious. As I look at the hand — not to mention my folks; they're staring right back at me with equal parts trepidation and warning — one thought keeps going through my mind:

Don'tcallhimcrazy… don'tcallhimcrazy… don'tcallhimcrazy…

"Hi, I really couldn't tell," I chirp, while firmly grasping said offered hand in a shake. "This place must be too safe for you to accidentally kill yourself in." Whoops!

Come on, can you really blame me? Even if the victor didn't just walk right into that one as if it were a force field — seriously, that he's still alive boggles my mind — the opportunity's too good to pass up. And at least I didn't call him crazy.

Still, and even before I finish my statement, I can see Pa shaking his head and Ma reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. And in the wake of it, Hawthorne, Wilson, and the Cartwrights look about ready to throttle me, Luce actually slaps his hand against his face hard enough to be heard, and I can sense Dio stiffen a bit in my periphery.

"I wasn't so sure about your identity either." Somehow, and in contrast to everyone else, Mellark doesn't lose his smile… or his grip on my hand. "After all, it's not like your parents really talked about you. I wonder why that is…"

You sanctimonious son of a bitch…

Come to think of it, said smile has transitioned to sharp bared teeth, and his eyes look less like a tropical lagoon and more like a glacier. Honestly, it feels like those eyes are boring into me and analyzing every fiber of my being; however, I'm not going to give Bread Boy the satisfaction of knowing how uncomfortable it makes me.

I don't know how long we maintain eye contact or an iron grip — like hell I'm going to back down from some soft and squishy rhetorician from Twelve; hiding and talking people to death are probably his only two effective defense mechanisms — but when we break off the impasse at the same time, I know that I'm the one who wins by a millisecond.

Despite everything, Mellark keeps his tone civil and conversational: "Interesting outfit you got there. What made you decide on a kilt?"

Okay, the fact that he actually called it by the right name — instead of the usual commentary labeling it as a skirt — catches me completely off-guard. I'm pretty sure I manage to keep my surprise from showing — I have a suspicion that Bread Boy's just trying to knock me off balance — and instead offer a small shrug. "It's comfortable and part of my pre-Panem heritage. Do you know yours?"

He actually looks thoughtful for a moment. "I won't lie that I'm a bit curious. I may consider taking a test." That statement's followed by a glance towards my medal. "And congratulations on your Guardian Shield. I know Porus doesn't offer praises lightly, so I'm pretty sure you deserve it."

This time, while there's still little warmth there, it's not hard to notice that his congratulation is sincere; again, probably a case of be-deferential-towards-the-decoration-if-not-the-person and all that. Though if he was supposed to throw me off again with his name-dropping, I don't take the bait; thanks to Luce's babbling, I already am well-aware that Everdeen and Mellark have visited Central several times before.

Still, I incline my head in a general show of acknowledgement of Mellark's statement. "Thanks." I then allow my eyes to flit down to his un-shoed left foot so as to give a compliment of my own: "Good choice having Central do the work this time."

"Well, it's not like Luce allowed me any room to refuse a replacement," the victor notes with a roll of his eyes — the Corpsman simply flashes us that patented and stupid grin of his in response — before tapping against the leg with his original right foot. "Took a bit of getting used to wearing something that doesn't look as humanlike as the Capitol models, but the leg works way better than my previous ones…"

We keep up the idle chit-chat, but it's clear that Bread Boy really doesn't care for me. Well, the feeling's mutual.

In any case, that civil-yet-cool demeanor dissipates almost immediately when the victor looks over my shoulder. In that moment, the warm smile graces his face once again as he moves past me and extends his hand with a hearty level of enthusiasm. "And you must be Dio! Gale's told me so much about you, and I'm glad that we can finally meet."

If anybody has the impression that Dio's makeover would make him less awkward in public, any such notion is put to rest when he practically stumbles while fumbling with Mellark's hand. "I'm Dio—I mean, it's an honor to meet you, sir." This time, it's Hawthorne doing the face-palming as the kid stammers on. "Uh, Mr. Mellark, sir."

And in that moment, Bread Boy's friendly expression gains a level of bemusement; though if anything, the bemusement is one of weariness rather than surprise. "You know… you can just call me Peeta." Yeah, I have a feeling he's said this more than once towards Twofers.

Of course, that just makes Dio cringe and stumble over himself even more as if he had just committed a grievous error; knowing my roommate, he probably thinks he actually did insult the victor. "Sorry, Mr. Peeta—I mean Peeta, sir." Oh for fuck's sake… I wonder how long it took the kid to call the adults in his adoptive family by their first names.

Before Dio can make any more of an ass of himself, I decide to cut in and salvage the situation. "Alrighty, as fun as this is to watch, I'm curious about something, Mellark," I drawl. "What—… the hell?"

Any prior thought gets banished from my mind the same time that something wraps around my leg and weighs it down enough to make me almost trip even though I'm not even walking. When I take a look down at the source of the added weight, I'm greeted by two wide orbs of aquamarine staring right back at me.

"Uh… hi."

I'm… not exactly sure how the toddler views me in response to my greeting. On one hand, hiding your face is a common fear response; on the other… I'm pretty sure that the proper reaction to fear — assuming that "fight" isn't an option — is to flee or at least put some sort of barrier between you and the offending source.

Instead, he curls up and clings even tighter to my leg while burying his face into my knee till I can only see a bundle of clothes topped with a mess of bronze hair.

However, it only takes a few seconds for the toddler to lift his head just enough to peer at me with one eye before unfurling himself to go back to how he was. To my amusement, he seems to be fixated with my kilt as he allows one chubby hand free to paw at the embroidery and pin; he only pauses in his little observation to look down at his trousers before going back to said observation. Repeat process.

"Well, what do you think?"

The toddler's probably not expecting me to make note of what he's doing, because my query immediately causes him to cease his actions and go back to impersonating a damn limpet. Seriously, I think a limpet would be easier to dislodge than him; because no matter how much I move my leg around, he refuses to budge.

Even though the toddler's presence is weird enough in itself, he doesn't seem content to keep things at that level of strange. Because somehow, upon relaxing again — not that he's planning on letting go any time soon — he manages to steer things into the realm of the surreal by looking up to give this big grin… before nuzzling me like some pup with its parent.

What.

Okay, I'm not even going to deny that even the remote possibility of me being viewed in such a manner freaks me out entirely. What child in their right mind would think I'm the paternal type anyways? Also, whose kid is this anyways and why is he here?

Of course, the moment that Dio stops being visibly uncomfortable in the presence of Mellark has to be the moment that he starts taking in this sight with ill-disguised glee; to my own discomfort, that fool of a victor seems to be enjoying the sight as well.

However, nobody seems to be enjoying the sight more than Luce, who doesn't hesitate in trotting over while wearing his own moronic grin. "Abe? Is that you?" he asks while kneeling down in front of us. "Somebody's grown a bit."

If the tone of friendliness and familiarity that the Corpsman conveys is supposed to be recognized by the toddler, the latter fails to show it and doesn't hesitate in scurrying around my leg — again, without letting go — to position himself behind me. He certainly isn't doing a very good job at hiding considering the manner in which he keeps peering around, and if his goal is so that I can be utilized as an active source of defense, I hope he realizes that it's a bit hard for me to fight back when you have a ten-kilo weight latched onto my leg.

Unless his rationale is that the sort of defense I'm supposed to give is to serve as some kind of meat shield… which is pretty damn cold, even for me.

I release a small sigh at the indignity of this before grunting to Luce, "You know this kid?"

"Yeah. I mean it's been over a year which is why he probably doesn't recognize me but…" The Corpsman's rambling trails off as he gives me an expression of puzzlement. "You don't? I thought you've already been to Four."

"Yeah. But I don't see how that narrows—… Wait… is this the O—"

"Abulon Odair! What did I say about running off like that?"

Ah, somebody's in trouble… Abe must know that as well, because upon that familiar and currently displeased voice, he once again goes back to his version of hiding. Though not before uttering a small squeak: "Fuck…"

Did… did he just say what I think he just said? I must not be the only one who heard it, because the expressions on Dio and Luce's faces go from practically cooing to being completely horrified; Mellark just looks resigned.

In contrast, once the initial shock passes, I can't help but chirp, "I like this kid!"

Past the initial state of mortified shock, Luce seems to be far less amused for some reason. Actually, if I didn't know any better, I'd think that he's muttering between clenched teeth, "I'm going to kill Johanna." Still, the Corpsman manages to transition from that demeanor as well as he greets our newest arrival with a wave and smile, "Hi, Annie!"

The victor from Four responds with small wave of her own. "Hello, Luce," she says before turning towards me with a nodded greeting and sigh. "Ned, I'm sorry if Abe's bothering you."

"Ain't nothing to be sorry about," I reply with a grin of my own while patting Abe atop his head as he continues his attempts at hiding behind me; since he's currently reaching out with one hand — the other hand still having a firm grasp on my leg — to bat at the tasseled ends of Luce's waist-sash, the effectiveness of said attempt comes across as a tad bit suspect. "I can see you raised a good kid here. Though I reckon his… impressive vocabulary range didn't come from you."

Annie's extra sigh and admonishment towards her son answers my question — after squeaking what I think it supposed to be an apology, Abe's back to completely cowering behind me — before we proceed to exchange pleasantries, and I manage to introduce her to Dio; the introduction doesn't change my roommate's state of being one continuous fountain of awkwardness.

At an aside glance, I can see that Mellark appears to be completely shocked by the cheerful and engaging conversation Annie and I are having about her district's rainforests and tide pools. It's as if he expected me to view his fellow victor the same way that many of the idiots in this nation do. Ignoring the fact that I have actually met her several times before — she's been helping oversee the rebuilding of Four, which my folks have a stake in due to the company shipyards nearing completion — that assumption is just silly.

Does she have a severe case of PTSD? Of course, however that's still a far cry from insanity; she's unhinged perhaps, but not insane. Even though I was little at the time, I vividly remember seeing Annie's Games. I remember the soon-to-be-victor being pinned under the body of her crippled-but-still-conscious district partner — ironically, if he didn't try to have her back, he probably wouldn't have fallen on top of her when taking the hit to the side — while he was decapitated… slowly. I remember that, when she managed to get a hand free to kill that asshole, she got another round of blood-laden-spittle prayed all over her face before finally extricating herself from underneath those corpses. And I remember her having to tread water for hours — occasionally fighting off and drowning some desperate tributes in the process — because someone clearly screwed up the water release system in the arena. Anybody who says that they would be fine afterwards is either lying… or they already have a few screws loose.

The point is that I like Annie. She's nice — contrary to what some may think of me, I actually consider niceness as a positive trait so long as you aren't spineless or willfully blind about it — and it's clear that her extremely quiet and unassuming nature belies no small amount of intelligence and strength. Also, while the victor has shown to have high ethical standards, she's not sanctimonious about it; I have a feeling that she actually figured out what I used to do in Central, but the fortunate thing is that she hasn't sent any flak my way.

In any case, I'm just glad that it doesn't look like Mason's come along with the two victors present. Actually, it's probably good for everyone present. Let's just say that the last time that bitch and I met, my folks had to work enough damage control to prevent news of the… incident from reaching the media.

A motion at my side brings me back to my surroundings, and I look back down at Abe to see that he's no longer in hiding mode but back to standing right by me while tugging at my knife. Granted, it's just the sheath he's tugging at, but I still move the thing up out of his grasp. Though instead of being discouraged with my maneuver as I'd expect any toddler to be, Abe does something that I can't really figure out: he holds his arms up while looking right at me and making grasping motions with his hands.

"Uh…" Yeah, that's the only thing I can say to that as I look at everyone else; many of whom are completely flummoxed.

One who doesn't seem to share said flummoxing is Ma, who sighs and asks, "Really Ned, you can't recognize when someone wants you to pick them up?"

Wait… "What."

"You used to do that all the time when you were little," Pa adds.

Great… you just had to bring up tidbits about my early childhood. Ignoring the expressions of glee that have overtaken some in the group, I turn to Annie, who simply states, "Yes, he wants you to pick him up. You can if you want."

By now, while Abe hasn't put his arms back down, he's shifting around as if in anxiety or impatience. I can't believe I'm about to do this… But without further thought, I grab a hold of and lift the toddler up to allow him to find purchase on my forearm. As my passenger grasps my shoulder in a steadying manner, I decide to strike up some conversation. "So… what you think?" I ask while gesturing at my outfit. "Do you like it?"

To my surprise, instead of trying to hide again, Abe answers me with an enthusiastic nod of his head.

"Well, you know… 'Odair' sounds quite Celtic. I bet that if you ask your ma nicely, you can have something like this."

If Annie's son has surprised me before, I… really don't know what to make of what he's doing now. Because what he does upon my comment is to immediately give a wide grin again before throwing his arms around my neck and leaning into me. The only response I can make to that is to look at Annie and note, "He ain't much of a talker."

The victor answers me with a shake of the head. I guess it's something else that her son directly inherited.

With Abe nestled against me, I walk out with everyone else into the open area outside Stygia. While the limo's still there, sitting right next to it is a Griffin, which is what likely brought the victors and my Central peers in the first place; against the carefully-manicured garden in the background, the Guardian transport certainly sticks out a bit.

While the Annie and Mellark are going to be attending the gala, they aren't going to reaching the event in the same manner as us due to reasons; instead, they're going to be taking the Griffin down. Joining them are Brue, Hazelle, all the guests under eighteen, and the Cartwrights; in the last pair's case, the transport will be taking them to wherever they were planning on being in the first place.

Though before everybody begins boarding, Lucy proceeds to ask Posy and Seleucus if they can grab something from the transport for her; even with the competitive bickering amongst them, the two kids come out with a small box to hand to her.

When I take a good look, I can't help but raise my eyebrows a bit. "Care to tell me why you brought a stasis box?"

"You'll see," Lucy notes in a singsong manner while keying in the access codes while the little ones and teens gather around. Even Abe seems to be forgetting his usual fear towards strangers as he looks on with interest.

Less than a minute later, and to the gasps of the kids, the box opens up to revel three small and jewel-like feathery forms; with some prompting, the forms awake with a peeping shudder and flutter of the wings before the hummingbird mutts finally take to the air. While this is happening, I notice the complex corsage that my former colleague is affixing to her dress; occasionally, the birds will swoop down to take a drink out of it.

By now, all the kids — even the older ones like Rory and Eli — are pretty much beside themselves with delight and wonderment as the hummingbirds circle their master or briefly land on the shoulders or outstretched hands of anyone nearby.

"So… this is part of your dress?" I ask while keeping a firm grasp on Abe, who's trying to reach for a gold and magenta bird flitting right out of his reach.

Lucy turns to regard me with a smirk. "Yep. What do you think?"

"… It's actually pretty da-ang awesome," I concede.

Though at least for now, the kids will have to wait to admire the mutts later as it's time for us to begin boarding our respective transports. It's a bit difficult to extricate him from me, but I manage to hand Abe back to Annie.

For some reason, while Hawthorne's busy asking Dio whether he's comfortable going with us, Mercury moves over to Mellark before taking something out of an arm compartment and handing it to him with some muttered exchange; whatever it is, it causes an expression of elation to overtake the Twelver, and he picks up the Twofer in a big bear hug before boarding. As the Griffon takes off, Hawthorne gives a questioning look at his girlfriend; she waves it off with a comment about getting a move on.

With the nine of us boarded into a limo, getting a move on is what we do as we proceed down the mountainside switchbacks into the city.

While Esquilinus is wealthiest spot in the Capitol, it's the Southern Esplanade that would probably be considered the glitziest. The neighborhood, also known as the Panemian Riviera and ranging from the actual southeastern shore of the city up to the foothills, recovered within a year after the war and is still where people come to see and be seen. Penthouse-capped condos create shining canyons along the wide streets and canals; lining those thoroughfares aren't just big-name designer boutiques, contemporary art galleries, and fixed-menu restaurants to satisfy the rich in general, but casinos and hotels to accommodate high-rolling foreigners. The best establishments are set along the promenade itself to face out past the park and marinas — filled with personal yachts and hovercraft — into the mountain-flanked expanse of the lake.

This is also a place I haven't deigned to visit lately… and which Dio clearly hasn't been to at all considering the way he's viewing all this conspicuous consumption with no small amount of awe. Suffice to say, the rest of us don't share his awe, but we don't do anything to discourage it as the limo goes down Lakeside Boulevard.

I also decide to humor him a bit. "See that building there?"

Dio's eyes follow where I'm pointing and widen ever so slightly when he takes in the subject of note. "Is that where we're going?"

"Yep," I affirm, "we're going to the Forum."

The Forum is considered to be the main landmark on the Southern Esplanade; with its massive and glassy cantilevered form that juts out over the lake, it's not like it's hard to miss. Even though it's an enclosed space, it's big enough to serves as a public plaza whenever there's no event going on. Suffice to say, it's considered a prime spot to host events.

After a few minutes, and by the time we're just a few blocks away and slowed down by traffic, a puzzled frown crosses the kid's expression. "There's a lot more people than I expected."

His observation causes me bark out a small laugh. "Well, that's because our event ain't the only one there. In fact, most are probably there for the film festival."

"Film festival?"

Oh yeah, another thing this sector is home to is the entertainment industry. This can be seen in the multitude of theaters crowding the main boulevard and showing everything from opera and ballet to musicals and avante-garde performances. It's also seen in the recording agencies and various performance-arts schools. Not to mention the sprawling complex that's Capitol Studios.

Entertainment has always been a popular export from Panem and is probably one of the most profitable industries of the Capitol itself. Of course any pre-Rebellion film dealing with history or the government is a source of ridicule at best; however, films and shows in other genres actually tend to be extremely well-regarded globally. Just as popular is music and stage productions, with recordings and scripts distributed worldwide; several musicians have even started doing shows outside the country. Somehow the positive reputation that Capitol Studios built for itself has managed to survive the Rebellion, with clear and concerted efforts made by the studio to shed its less savory elements now that it's no longer government-run.

Anyways, it's due to this entertainment aspect of the Capitol that our gala isn't the only major event happening at the Forum.

When I tell Dio about the film-festival — the two events are actually sharing the space by mutual agreement, after which we'll go our separate ways; the theater is adjacent to the Forum, as is our ultimate venue — and the resultant attention that it's probably drawing by now, he appears to be having some second thoughts about participating.

"Too late," I note as our limo slows to a stop and the doors slide open to unmuffle a collective chattering drone of reporters and spectators surrounding the person-speckled ribbon of red leading up to the Forum. Behind me, I can hear Lucy assuring Dio that she'll guide him through this; I'll be the first to admit being thankful for that since protocol currently dictates too much priority for me to help the kid. So as my folks step out onto the carpet, I get ready to follow them right into this cutthroat world.

"Showtime."

A/N: No, Annie's son isn't called "Finn/Finnick". Headcanon is that, since the Odairs could have easily found out about the preganacy in Thirteen, they had two names lined up before Finnick was shipped off.