A/N: Well, after what feels like ages (over a year) life has given me a break. I'm back, I'm itching to write and I'm (hopefully) better than ever, so let's have another SYOT! If your wondering where the form is, it's on my profile so go check it out. As always read and review and I hope you enjoy the 102nd Hunger Games!

Prologue: Modern Alchemists

Nyrro Blighthaven, age 31 (HG-TV Presenter)

Three time Caecillius Laurels winner for best upcoming television personality

It's 3 o'clock in the morning. The sun hasn't even thought about rising yet. Lights shimmer and flash gaudily outside the window of my twentieth floor penthouse suite as the last few drunks and gamblers and late night workers stagger their way home for an early night.

Tomorrow's the Hunger Games. I should be asleep.

But instead I'm making hot chocolate.

Don't ask me why, but it calms my nerves. I feel relaxed when my stomach is full and it's not like I was going to sleep tonight anyway. I have to practice my lines. I'm supposed to be opening the Games tomorrow with Democritta Nyx.

Feel free to, complement me. Congratulate me. Go on, everyone else does.

'Oh Nyrro that's wonderful! I'll be sure to look out for you!'

'Oh Ny-Ny you're so young! What an honour!'

'Congrats kid. Beats presenting the weather!'

Yeah, yeah it does. No one likes the boring old weather forecast. Everyone loves the Hunger Games. But you see, that's the problem. No one cares about the weather forecast. No one watches it. If some idiot screws up on whether it rains or snows, who gives a damn? It's not like anyone has to go out in the rain in Panem anyway. If it gets bad people just stay indoors.

But everyone watches the Games. Everyone and their deceased grandmother watches the Games! Every insipid reporter and brainless paparazzo hangs on your every word and watches your every twitch. If you so much as smile at a tribute for too long or sneeze at the wrong time your face will be on the cover of every gossip magazine from here to District Thirteen and they'll be declaring you a District sympathizer from now until the next Quell.

Sounds like it could never happen, huh? Well lets just say that, since Caesar Flickerman retired from the Games twelve years ago there has been a constant stream of new presenters and celebrities taking up the reigns.

I'm number twelve, and no one thinks I'll last, not even my lovely fiancée.

"Ny-Ny, come to bed."

Speak of the devil. Well, uh, guess I shouldn't say that. Els would murder me.

"Just a minute Els!" I call, "I got some stuff I need to sort out."

From the bedroom down the corridor I hear the sounds of sheets being lazily flung aside as Els fumbles for the light switch. There's a soft click and I am bathed in a soft pink light. "Ny-Ny?" Els calls, "Where are you?"

"In the kitchen." I sigh, not bothering to look up as Els slouches into the room.

"Oh, Ny-Ny," Els tuts, exasperated, "Not again." From behind me I feel a gentle tug as a pair of slender, ebony arms wind their way under my own arms and around my chest, her heliotrope tattoos matching perfectly with the black ink patterns that wind their way up my chest and neck and then down my back. I smile inwardly, but the vice in my chest stops me from relaxing. The metaphorical vice obviously. The Capitol can be into some strange stuff, I admit, and I'm hardly the most conservative but I'm not that crazy. I don't have an actual vice in my...

You know what, I'll just drop it.

After a few seconds of standing like that, with me bent over a saucepan and Els hugging me from behind, I heave a sigh.

"Why did I say yes to Moros?" I growl, "I shouldn't have agreed to these Games. I should have just said no. I should have walked away, but I was too greedy and too stupi..." Before I can finish I feel myself tugged away from the saucepan I am watching and spun around to face Els.

Elisandra Measurewick looks resplendent in the delicate silk dressing gown which I bought her when we first met in the live audience of the 93rd Hunger Games interviews. We'd barely finished being kids then and it was a tad too big for her, but she sort of grew in to it. And she tells me I'm a terrible judge of size!

"You," Els begins, jabbing me in the stomach to emphasize her point, "Will be a wonderful presenter. You're funny, you're popular, you're handsome, you're the most wonderful man I've ever met and I'm sure the audience will love you."

I frown and shake my head, the dragon tattoos on my cheeks and neck swaying like they always do when I do that. Seeing I am unconvinced, Els eyes harden.

"Look," She says earnestly, her voice falling a couple of pitches, "Do you know why Moros Parcelsus asked you to present the Games?"

"Because I upstaged him at the last Quintum Award?" I give a half hearted grin and wince as Els playfully knocks me upside the head.

"Because he sees the potential in you that all of us see but you somehow miss. He knows what you're capable of. You're like a young Claudius T..."

"I'm not a young Claudius Templesmith." I mutter, "A thousand me's wouldn't even be close to an old Claudius Templesmith."

"But you are!" Els cheers enthusiastically, throwing her arms around my neck and jumping on to her tiptoes, pulling me forwards into a kiss. As our lips meet I feel my worries lessen. It is as if some of that metaphorical vice has been sucked out of me by our kiss and lost somewhere between her body and mine. With a smile I place a large hand on her tiny shoulder and push her back on to her feet, pulling away.

"You shoulda been a talk show host," I tell her, "You're a good arguer." She smiles at me with a shake of her head and pats me gently on the back.

"Oh Ny-Ny," Els giggles, "One of us in show business is enough. I mean someone's got to raise little Thalia, haven't they. We can't afford a nanny or an Avox and you know my parents are itching to get their hands on her just so they can say they were right about you."

I laugh. A real laugh, not one of those phony stage ones I've practiced that Els swears make me sound crazy. "Baby," I tell her, "Once these Games are through I'll be able to buy you a District full of Avoxes."

"That's nice hun'," She smiles only half listening as she flounces back to bed. Turning in the doorway, she beckons me after, "Oh and baby?"

"Yeah."

"Turn of the stove. I don't want to have to clean out the carpets tomorrow because one of your late night culinary experiments exploded again. It's the Reapings and I need my rest."

The limo arrives for me before I've finished breakfast and, with a bottle of hair gel and my sequined violet coat under one arm and my daughter Thalia riding on my shoulder, I rush down to the car and throw the door open.

"Geez man," I mumble sleepily, "Five more minutes. I was up late last night and I haven't even finished my toast."

"Oh well," A choked but slightly lilting voice croaks, "By all means continue. Your breakfast is so much more important than a century old national institution."

I jump, noticing for the first time Games Maker Moros Parcelsus curled in to a large chair at the far end of the limousine, his pupiless eyes glimmering playful at me from behind a pair of milky white sunglasses.

"Sir!" I yelp, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it I..."

I don't know what it is about Moros but, for some reason, he always makes me feel uncomfortable. I don't think he's ever said an unkind word to me but the old man always puts me ill at ease.

"Stop gibbering Blighthaven," Moros chuckles hoarsely, his ancient wrinkled skin curving into a smile "I didn't complain when you called my niece a snake-skinned rat at last years Quintum after-party, and that was after you stole that award from me! Do you really think I'm going to complain now." I nod in gratitude, climbing in to the limo and waving goodbye to Thalia and Els, but Moros raises his hand to stop me and flashes me a lupine smile. "They can come if they must." He tells me, "There are some non-alcoholic drinks in the fridgiculus if your daughter's thirsty."

"Th-thank you sir." Thalia murmurs nervously as she clambers in to the seat next to me, "But-but I-I'm not thirsty."

"Please call me Moros. Or Mo," Moros' grin grows about five sizes, "Uncle Mo. Now that has a nice ring to it. What do you say Blighthaven? I gave you this job. A once in a life time experience. Honorary uncle is the least you could do in return."

Thalia buries her face in my shirt and hides as much of her face as she can behind her turquoise hair. I give Moros a worried smile.

"Sorry sir. Thalia's a little shy around new people." I try to explain. I try to coax Thalia out of her little ball by stroking a soothing hand through her hair. I'm normally OK with her insecurities, but Moros is a very important 'new person.' If he takes offense my career is finished.

"No matter." Moros grins with a shake of his head, showing a full set of pointed silver teeth, "She's a child, she makes mistakes. Doesn't she, Blighthaven?" I nod my head vigorously in agreement. "And what of your lovely wife? I must admit I would have expected someone like you to be dating Halisha Agrippa or one of the Dannike sisters. A singer or an actress, you know."

Next to me Els bristles, grinding her teeth. I try to catch her eye but, before I can stop her she has bent across the cabin and gripped the senior Games Maker by the scruff of his bejeweled puce blazer. For a moment I wish I had married an actress. They don't attack Games Makers.

"Now listen here, you." Els glowers, her voice taking on that squeaky quality it only does when she is really angry. "I may not be some prissy celebrity bimbo with a waist the width of their wrist like Halisha Agrippa or those Escorts of yours, but I am Ny-Ny's fiancée and I am as much woman as he will ever need! He does not need you playing match maker with some line of god damned bikini models! Do I make myself quite clear?"

Moros looks Els up and down taking in every feature. The blue hair with small fluorescent lights spun into it, the deep purple eyes and ebony skin, the tight white dress that I personally consider way too revealing but she apparently had no trouble buying an exact copy of for our four year old daughter. Moros looks to me, slowly opens his mouth and I prepare myself for the experience of being thrown out of the limo and into oncoming traffic.

"She has spirit!" Moros declares, kissing Els hand and offering her a drink. Satiated, but still sour, Els sits back in her chair and allows him to pour her a glass of something red and sparkling. "I have to ask 'Ny-Ny' why haven't you married this wonderful creature yet?"

"In-laws." I shrug, scratching the back of my neck nervously, "We thought it was better to just be a couple for a while y'know, give Thalia the experience of being the flower girl."

"Wonderful." Moros declares, clapping his hands together with glee. With the tone of his voice however, it is hard to tell whether he is pleased, or being sarcastic "Well then, that's the pleasantries over. To business!"

I straighten up, although I didn't know it was possible for my body to get any straighter, and let out a breath I had no idea I was holding. "S-sir. Yes of course."

"Relax Blighthaven," Moros chuckles, "You have nothing to fear, at least not from me. I'm on your side. You may want to watch out for Judex and Nathaniel, though. They love to give the new employees a hard time." I shiver at the thought of the two most powerful Games Makers in all of Panem towering over me like a pair of demoniac giants, judging me, waiting for me to slip up. I heave a gulp and Moros sighs and tilts his head.

"I was joking, Blighthaven." He tells me, "If you must know the only reason I came down here was to make sure you weren't being a fool and acting like a child on their first day of school, and I'm afraid to see that my fears were indeed grounded. Now chin up man, this is ridiculous. Why anyone would think we had entered you in to the Games and not a group of those simpering cretins from the Districts."

"I'm sorry sir," I respond hearing my voice crack slightly from nerves, "It's just a lot to take in. I mean no one since Flickerman has lasted more than a year in the role and, and this is the greatest opportunity of my life. I know if I mess this up I'll never work again."

"He's right sir," Els pipes up, spitting the 'sir' a little, "It is a big commitment."

Moros nods, "I know Blighthaven, believe me I do. I was as nervous as you were when I first came in to the fold. For a week I simply wandered around after the other Games Makers, drinking Vatican martini's and laughing at their jokes. I thought if I did anything myself I'd be putting my head on the line. But then one day a man took me to one side and said to me the words that would save my career, and do you know who that man was? Why none other than the Head Games Maker, the late great Seneca Crane! And do you know what he said to me, Blighthaven?"

The car grows silent at the mention of the man who stopped the Mockingjay. Els' mouth falls open, the chauffeur slows the car and looks into the wing mirror in interest, even Thalia, overcoming her usual timidity, looks up and gives Moros her full attention.

"N-no sir." I say as Moros smiles in pride.

"Do not think of yourself as an executive, Paracelsus," Moros recalls, the smile on his face so large and filled with nostalgia that for a minute he looks impossibly old, "That is not what you are. You are more than just some pathetic public servant. You're a hero, a modern day alchemist. Your job is to take a necessary evil, the massacre of hundreds, if not thousands of children, and turn it into gold. Media gold. Everyone will love you. Every man, woman and child in all of the Capitol will thank you for what you do and revel in the story, no, the world you create. Even the Districts, while they fear you, will honor you as a god. Remember Paracelsus, you are doing what is right. You are doing what must be done for Panem, for the human race, to survive. Remember that and you will never fall short."

I sit in stunned awe as Moros sits back in his seat. Thalia is leaning so far forwards, so enthralled with the story that, when the car turns a corner, she tumbles out of her chair and has to be helped, sniffling, back to her chair.

"Or at least that's what I remember him saying," Moros smiles slyly, "My memory sometimes plays tricks on me, Blighthaven, but I think I've made my point. Now, look sharp everyone, the Templesmith Tower is coming up."

I turn my attention to the gigantic silver spire behind us which we are speeding towards and watch it grow until the car comes to a halt outside the main entrance.

"Mama," Thalia yammers as we are helped out of the car by the chauffeur at the head entrance of the Templesmith Memorial Tower, the center of the Games since the death of the titular presenter, "Where are Daddy and M... Ma... Uncle Mo going?"

"Work sweetie," Els smiles as a greeter in a sparkling white uniform escorts them away to the family waiting room, "Daddy has a very important job this year."

"Well," Moros says as the paparazzi swarm around us, asking inane questions and flashing cameras, "Your daughter is already calling me uncle. Looks like she's warmed up to me quickly, Blighthaven."

"She just can't pronounce your name." I tell him, a new feeling of confidence filling my body as we step in to the building.

Moros laughs. "See, I told you you'd be perfect for this job."

As we turn the first corner, in to the heart of the building, I am immediately pounced on by a tiny, buxom young woman with frizzy pink hair and a smile so wide that I honestly believe she would be capable of swallowing my head. She's wrapped in a tiny dress, which is really closer to a couple of straps of tape and is so revealing that it makes my Els' choice of clothing look like a full body suite. Her heels are so high I am worried she might plummet to the ground and brain herself and her inquisitive blue eyes pierce in to me with the sort of unfathomable curiosity reserved for only the hyper intelligent or unbelievably stupid. Given her overall appearance, I'm forced to believe she's the latter.

"Nyrro!" The girl titters, "Oh my goodness it's so good to see you again! Oh but you probably don't remember me do you? Hi, I'm Democritta Nyx! Remember we met at the Caecilius laurels! I presented the awards and I was all like 'the winner is Nyrro Blighthaven' and you were all like 'I'd like to thank everyone I've ever met like ever blah blah blah' and it was really super duper boring so I made sure to avoid you for the rest of the night! But now you're here and you're not boring and we're working together so even if you were still boring I wouldn't be able to avoid you and... ooh I like your dragon tattoos! Are they new?"

"Err, hello Ms Nyx." I say, somewhat taken aback at the enthusiasm of my particularly... jumpy co-host. "Actually I got these when I was eight." I smile, pointing to my neck, where the two black dragons rest. "But these are new," I pull up my trouser leg and indicate a scorpion and a pair of snakes circling my ankle, "Do you like them?"

"Ooh." Democritta stares at my ankle and bobs her head, her entire small body shaking with enthusiasm. "They're super!"

I smile, making my way to the dressing room. I actually came in my suite, so the change takes only a short time, which is probably lucky because Democritta, Moros and the whole team of stylists working on my face and nails spend the entire time bending my ear, reassuring me or congratulating me on my new found fortune or just babbling inanely. When I finally leave after what feels like an age I am, by all accounts, fed up with the sound of the human voice, which is a real shame, since I'm about to be presenting in front of a sizable audience of the things.

"Blighthaven!" I spin on my heel as the crisp, cool voice of the Head Games Maker fills my ears.

"Mr Agathodaimon!" I call, in my element in a room full of people paying a tension to me, "Howdy!"

"Good morning." Judex Agathodaimon dismisses me with a wave of his hand and the slightest hint of a frown. His voice betrays nothing, as always, except for mild boredom. "Yes, yes. Tall, good. Dark, good. Handsome..."

"Debatably." A woman to the side of him comments and I grimace.

"Quite. Confident. Maybe too much? Is it off putting?" He looks around as if expecting a response, before promptly interrupting the woman when she opens her mouth to answer, "My thoughts exactly. Hmm, he's handsome enough to attract the teenage female demographic but not handsome enough for the opposing male demographic to feel jealous of him. Piercings. Tattoos. Hm, yes quite acceptable. How do you speak?"

I raise an eyebrow and give him my most crowd pleasing smile, "Shouldn't you know? I mean, you hired me."

"An attempt at humour? Good. That should peak the ratings." Judex gives a glimmer of a smile. "Mr Brighthaven, do you know what you are here for?"

"To present the Games?" I frown. Seriously, is this a trick question?

Judex nods. "The Games are comprised of two parts, practical and media centered. We are in charge of making sure the tributes suffer and know the pain of the Capitol's revenge, you are here to package it. You are replaceable but you are not expendable. We'd prefer it if you don't embarrass yourself."

"If its alright with you sir." I grin, "I'll do my best."

"Good," Judex turns away from me. "Avox! Water!"

Someone in a white suit calls us to make our way to the stage and as I do so, I hear a sound coming from behind me. A whirring and a clunking of gears grows louder and louder as whatever is making it comes closer. I realize as the thing draws even with me that 'it' is actually a he. A man in a wheelchair to be exact. The wheelchair's occupant, a man who looks oddly familiar to me, grips my hand with his own and stares up into my eyes.

"Nyrro Blighthaven?" Even after all these years, I still recognize the voice, still as clear and calm as ever, although it has grown quieter with age. I nod, too stunned to say anything as the old man squeezes my hand with his own.

"Good luck." Ceasar Flickerman beams, his words more a command than a mere congratulation.

"Thank you sir," I nod, feeling a tear of pride in my eye, which I swiftly wipe away as I make my way towards the stage, Democritta skipping giddily beside me. "And may the odds be forever in your favour."

Caesar smiles warmly but sadly, releasing my hand and wheeling himself towards the guests booth, joining my family and a host of famous sponsors and Games Makers.

Els was right and so was Moros. I can do this. Hosting the Hunger Games is what I was born to do and I'm not going to let any of them down. Not Els, not Thalia, not Moros, not even Judex or Nathaniel, even though they've never done anything for me.

We step out into a wave of noise. Reaching out I grip Democritta by the waist. She yelps in surprise as I pull her into a tight hug and wave to the cheering audience who go insane at the spectacle. The crowd whoops as cameras buzz around them, flashing pictures that will be splashed across the covers of every tabloid from now until the end of time.

"HELLOOO PANEM!" I roar in perfect unison with the beautiful Ms Nyx, "HAPPY ONE HUNDRED AND SECOND HUNGER GAMES!"

The crowd cheer back, their voices mingling with ours to send up a cry that resonates across all twelve Districts and reverberates off of the heavens.

"AND MAY THE ODDS BE FOREVER IN YOUR FAVOUR!"

A/N: And the Games begin. Please remember the tribute form is on my profile, so check there and don't hesitate to review! I look forwards to your support and hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it!