So excited to share this update with you!!! Literally could not stop smiling as I wrote or published it. It feels really good to update with a GOOD chapter. Hopefully you find it...a little more...humous than most of the previous chapters. 

Thank you so much for your support! Thank you for reading this far. Keep on going! 

Kindly remember to Like, vote, and comment!

Take care and stay safe!~CANGEL

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District 12

Scarlet Wolfe

     Scarlet entered District 12 with her head held high, the light but tightly wrapped fabric of her gown trailing behind her like a shadow. The air was crisp, biting at her bare arms, though it was nothing compared to the bitter cold of District 14. Here, the chill was mild, a mere nuisance that prickled her skin with goosebumps. There was no snow underfoot, only the hard, stiff ground that crunched beneath her heels as she stepped off the train.

     The wolf mask pressed tightly against her face, stifling her every breath. The metal snout was hot, the air inside it growing thick as she inhaled. Her own breath felt recycled, turning humid nearly the moment they exited the train. Verra had ensured that she looked every bit the "wicked wolfe" she needed to be. But underneath all the polish and the makeup, she felt like she was being smothered alive.

     She scanned her new surroundings, taking in the dreariness that stretched before her. The entire District was shrouded in shades of grey, as though the land itself had been drained of life. The skeletal remains of trees stood bare, their branches outstretched like withered hands, while the dirt streets seemed frozen in time—cold, unmoving, and dusted with a fine layer of grime that tickled her nose. Even the air had a weight to it, heavy and muted, as if the District itself was suffocating under the burden of its own existence.

     As Scarlet walked onto the stage, she lifted her chin, her golden wolf eyes scanning the crowd the way a predator would when entering unfamiliar territory. The people of District 12 were grey, just like their surroundings—hollow—eyed and hunched with the weariness of a lifetime spent being crushed under the Capitol's heel. There was a weariness that seemed settled in their bones, visible in the slumped shoulders, the tired eyes, the barely-held-together clothes.

     She could see it in their eyes as they stared up at her, the barely veiled hatred, the quiet despair. District 12 only had one surviving Victor, and that Victory was won many years ago. Too many losses—too little gained. To them, Scarlet, the newest Victor standing above them, was nothing more than a reminder of that loss.

     Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides—one, two, three—she counted silently before uncurling her fingers. Her face remained expressionless beneath her mask and her eyes were too disturbing for anyone to look to close.

     She glanced over the sea of faces, noting how even the children seemed aged beyond their years. It reminded her of her own District, but there was a unity here, as dull and lifeless as they all seemed, standing shoulder to shoulder, District 12 felt united.

     She let out a quiet breath.

     Scarlet couldn't wait to leave District 12.

     Luckily, per Penelope, it wasn't scheduled for her to be here that long. She wouldn't have to suffer through a feast or tour around the district. Honestly, it didn't seem like there was much to tour and she wasn't sure she wanted to risk being surrounded by a District that likely wanted to rip her to shreds the same way poor Lillian had been.

     Scarlet held the square piece of paper in her hands, her nails digging into the hardened paper. She didn't need to look at it again to know what was expected of her.

     The families of the fallen tributes stood above the rest of the people on her left and her right. Behind them in the air were screens showing photos of the boy and girl.

     It was harder to look at than she thought it would be.

     Seeing their families brought their deaths to the forefront of her mind instead of being locked in the box where she had stuffed them while on the train.

     Scarlet had killed them both. Ruthlessly. Brutally. Remorselessly.

     The mayor of District 12, Mayor Undersee, introduced her as a gracious host ought to. Pleasant and upbeat. Warm and welcoming.

     She could guess which people were his family, because they and maybe only a handful of others, smiled as he spoke. The rest of District 12 stood in bitter silence.

     The families on the stage stood stiffly. She noticed that for the boy, Dawson, stood only a mother and a father. While their faces were dry, their pain showed bright in their eyes.

     I'll do my best to make you proud. Mom. Dad. I love you both.

     Dawson's last interview answer flickered through her mind as she waited.

     Had he made them proud? Were they proud that he had held up his morals until the end, not wanting to kill? Or were they sad that he didn't fight harder for his life. They probably hated her. Scarlet was fine with that.

     She looked at the girl pictured on the screen above the crowd. The girl who had brought her so much trouble. The weak girl from District 12 who had been too scared to help Scarlet as she was almost killed and had tried to sneak away when Scarlet had first faced Crimson's Tide. Scarlet didn't regret killing her either. Lilian would never have won the games.

     But Scarlet had sacrificed her to the wrath and bloodlust of Crimson Tide. Somehow, she didn't think it would offer her family of four who mourned any comfort, if Scarlet reminded them that she had also felt the pain of Crimson's Tide's vicious and merciless bite.

     It had been necessary to her own survival, but apart from her fight with Crimson, and the death of her wolves, it was the thing that haunted her the most.

     She still didn't regret.

     But neither could she forget.

     She watched as the citizens of District 12, reluctantly clapped for their Mayor, and as a biproduct, her.

     Scarlet grabbed the microphone stand and took one last unnecessary glance down at the card in her hand, before looking at Dawson's proud parents. Did they deserve the truth? That would offer them no comfort, but at the very least it was the truth from Scarlet's own mouth. Or did they deserve the lie that offered a bit of remorse towards their fallen son.

     Did they deserve a bitter truth or a comforting lie?

     Scarlet never believed in the comfort of a lie.

     But as she looked at Dawson's parents, she had never been more tempted to give them what she had never given anyone before. Something about them made her think of Mr. Fox, sitting in his shop in District 14. Don't trap yourself in the image the Capitol wants to paint you as. He was watching—and she wanted to make hm proud.

     "Greetings to all of District 12. Thank you for the warm welcome." She said slowly, the paper pinched between her fingers. "I want to take this moment—"

     Every face in the crowd turned to her left and Scarlet found herself cutting off to follow suit. Her eyes widened in shock as she took in the sight of none other than Haymitch Abernathy—District 12's Victor, staggering across the stage directly towards her. "—well, well, well..."

      She could barely make out the words he was trying to say through his thick tongue plied heavily with drink. She didn't understand how he was always so drunk. Was it a part of his reward for winning? The access to alcohol? Alcohol was illegal in District 14, and she had assumed it was everywhere else—apart from the Capitol. But even so, how could he stand to be so drunk all the time?

     Scarlet tipped her chin up as he drew closer, refusing to be intimidated by the drunk. While she had been prepped and polished for the Victory Tour, it was clear that he had not been. Haymitch Abernathy was absolutely filthy. Apart from his appearance, which was unkempt at the very best, his smell permeated the air around him. Filling her nose with the smell of alcohol, grease, and the distinct smell of urine. Her nose burned and her lips curled up in disgust. She had always thought Bash was bad, but Haymitch put his drinking to shame. How could anyone want to live like this?

     He clapped at her mockingly as he drew even closer, his smirk filled with malice.

     "Oh, yeah. Congratulations on winning, Sweetheart." His smirk turned nasty and his eyes got a mean glint in them that she recognized from her father right before he either picked up a birch branch or said something so nasty that it wouldn't fade from memory for days on end. Seeing as Haymitch didn't have a birch branch in hand, she tried to prepare for the words that were sure to make her blood boil. She wouldn't be cowed by this drunken fool. "You really showed everyone here how well you could kill two unarmed tributes. So vicious. So skilled. Very talented. We're all so proud of you."

     She didn't have to be able to hear to know his words were dripping with sarcasm as he mocked her. Scarlet's cheeks heated beneath the mask as anger licked at her insides. She stood frozen in place while watching as Haymitch turn to the audience, stumbling forward toward the front of the stage. He pulled out a hidden flask, raised it to the crowd and proceeded to take a long pull. After tucking it away, she's sure he has said something else, but he was facing away from her so she couldn't tell. She didn't need to hear to feel the mockery in the air.

     Humiliation burned her insides with his unheard words filling the air around them. She was thankful for the mask that covered most of her reaction. Her fists clenched into fists at her sides, her black claws pressing hard against her palms. She walked across the stage intent on stopping his tirade since it was apparent that no one else was going too.

     She grabbed his arm, barely hiding her wince as her fingers grabbed the stiff, unwashed fabric hanging from his scraggly, unwashed body. Who knew what she was touching? Haymitch whipped around, his arm flinging outward and she shoved him away on pure instinct to prevent him from hitting her. What was nothing more than a light—after all, how hard could a shove be from a small twelve year old girl against an adult man—shove ended up sending Haymitch careening headfirst off the front of the stage.

     The crowd stirred, shifting uneasily, still in unison with one another, looking, for all intents and purposes, like an ever shifting river.

     Scarlet's lips curled of their own accord as she stared uncaringly at the drunken bastard, still unmoving on the ground. Maybe he had broken his neck?

      One could only hope, right? Some might even thank her. Even through the worry, she could see that those closest to him didn't dare go near and some even took a step back, covering their noses as stealthily as they could.

      Her attention returned to the crowd, who now watched her with a mix of shock and quiet anger. They didn't revere Haymitch, that much was clear—and how could they? He was an embarrassment. But, in those moments, he had said what they had all wanted to say. He had spoken the words that they could never voice, and they hated her for shutting him up. Her image as a monster prevented them from even considering that she hadn't meant to send him off the front of the stage.

     All of her good intentions fled.

     Her smile curled wide under the vicious metal mask, watching as their hate grew for her by the second. She let it wash over her.

     She welcomed it. She embraced it.

     It was in her nature. A Wolfe had indeed escaped the 67th Hunger Games Arena. And she was a very Wicked Wolfe indeed.

     "I have no regrets," she declared, her voice as steady, rich and sultry as ever.

     And then she turned and left the stage. 

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Now.... I'm not one to brag or anything... but if there is something that I can relate to Scarlet by, it is  her ability to take a bad situation.... and find some way to make it so much worse. Go Scarlet!.... Just... remember to toe that line and not fall over it! 

I, personally, feel that President Snow will not punish her for this. Let me know if you disagree. I just can't help but feel like no matter how rebellious she is in her words and actions, no one else will follow her because they hate her. 

As long as they hate her, then she will be safe from the true wrath of President Snow. What do you think?

What are your thoughts on her? What are your thoughts on her Victory Tour so far? How about Haymitch? I feel like this is the beginning of a beautiful hate filled relationship between the two. Now, I know that Scarlet is petty enough to hold a grudge, but do you think Haymitch is? After all, she didn't mean to push him off the front of the stage...

Also... (I honestly don't know yet) But do you think that this moment will affect how Katniss sees the Wicked Wolfe? Katniss is 16 during the 74th Hunger Games...which would make her...9?? Old enough to remember this moment... I feel like Haymitch will also never forgive Scarlet for this moment--if he remembers it... How will this affect the future Quarter Quell???

I'd love to hear from you!

If you're reading this now, then thank you so much for your support! I'd love to hear your comments, questions, and see you vote! <3 

Stay safe and take care!~ CANGEL