[When the feed clicks on, it's pretty obvious that Mystique has been mulling over things for a little while. The first thing she says follows her chewing on her lip for a moment or two.]

For those of you who might care, Loki's gone.

[She doubts many people care, but it's a useful thing to know for those people -- keeping lists.]

I've been thinking of getting a job here to pass the time, and I heard there might be someone looking to start up a bakery. Is that -- true?

[Because seriously, she's getting bored -- and she'd be able to gather a lot of information from the chit-chat that happened at the counter, right? It's a win-win situation.]

[Here is a cheerfully smiling Mahdi. He's holding up an obnoxiously cute kitten planner and looking cheerful.]

Hi everyone. I've been thinking. If we're all going to be stuck here for a long time, I figured I should find out everyone's birthday and if they have a favorite meal or type of cake. If you'd please respond to this message with your name, birthday, and a little bit about you, I'd really appreciate it!

On that note, I was thinking. If people keep turning up, we should have some sort of monthly event so everyone can get to know each other, introduce ourselves and catch up and celebrate one another's birthdays. Like a potluck, maybe? There are too many people to do do this at my apartment, so I'd need to figure out a spot. What do you think?

Oh, by the way. I'm Mahdi. I like cats, singing, and cooking. My birthday is Valentine's Day!

[Derek doesn’t have any trouble figuring out how the netbook works. He’s never been particularly tech savvy, but its features where simple enough to figure out after a few minutes playing with it. He sets it to voice and begins speaking with a false calm tone, anger and irritation clearly at war despite his efforts to disguise it.]

I’ve gotten the whole welcoming spiel. I know what we’ve been brought here to do. What hasn’t been explained to me is why I should care. I have my own problems to deal with back home. I’m not looking to fight someone else’s battle.

[With that said, he sets the netbook down on the desk in front of him expectantly. He's only mildly curious to know how people will respond, but this is the best and fastest way to get the answers he seeks.]

[ Peeta sits on a log with the recorder aimed up. The place looks pretty isolated- the wooded area of Exsilium. His eyes are hooded, and his hands keep folding and unfolding together. He looks thinner as well. He hasn't been in the city since the memory malfunctions ]

I've been thinking about it for a while, and I was wondering...is there anyone who has experience with counseling? [ a lopsided, boyish grin ] It's not the best feeling in the world, knowing you're not in charge of your own head.

[ he shifts for a bit, considering ]


Maybe next time a warning would have served everyone well. [ he's still smiling, but something dark enters his eyes ] Memories aren't the safest things to try to control. 

And so the whining and complaining begins. So we start yelling and foaming and pointing out that yes, it is annoying to have fond memories - and not so fond - dragged out and bludgeon to death in front of others. The accusations fly, and words are tossed around, and again, we only prove one thing.

[ He is clearly not amused. The tightness around his eyes, the way his accent seems to have vanished, an edge in his voice instead of his usual soft purr. ]

We are spoiled children expecting the pony our parents promised is real and not a piece of molded plastic.

So. Continue the complaining. Continue the annoying disorder of getting nothing done but expecting it all to be perfected without any work. Go right ahead. Do nothing. Have nothing done but continual irritations to your state of mind.

[ Basically, if there was a more uniform presence between all these little groups people have formed, things wouldn't have been so traumatizing. That's his theory and he's sticking to it. But he has other matters to discuss. ]

Is there any reason to expect a better way to find dates on this miserable island? The dance music alone is more appalling than elevator music.

[If you're used to seeing Finnick around the city, then you'll have noticed he hasn't been around for the past couple of days. In the background, there's definitely some nature going on, complete with a lake. He runs his fingers through his wet hair, looking... ruffled, irritated.]

I'm going to be staying out here for a few more days. [A beat.] Just curious, though. Is there anything else any of you would like to tell me, or do I have all the facts from the future now? [He's talking to Katniss and Johanna mainly, but feel free to be confused by that.]

Now if you'll excuse me, I have dinner to catch. [A grin slides across his face as he picks up his trident.]

[There is the tell-tale sound of heaving in the background. The communicator is on its side, camera facing a cup of some clear alcohol on ice that's swirling in a tumbler. Where did this mysterious alcohol come from when Haymitch appears to be newly-arrived, you ask? We may never know.

His cheek is still stinging from where Katniss had gouged him, but it was a dull thrum that didn't seem so bad when he couldn't see straight. Eventually, he manages to get the camera upright and gives it a winning grin – or it would be winning, if there wasn't the telltale glisten of vomit on his lower lip. Some might not notice that.]

So, we're in for another Game. Different rules, sure, and a real 'battle', but – [and he waves his hand toward the camera,] – still. I should introduce myself, if that's the case.

[He makes a mostly-unsuccessful attempt to straighten himself up a little, leaning heavily on the outside wall of the nearest building before forcing himself to his feet and dipping himself in a sloppy bow.]

Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the second Quarter Quell. I come from District 12, home of coal and very little else.. This place is at least less of a violent assault on the senses than the Capitol – nobody's hair has made me shield my eyes yet. That's something.

[He produces a flask from his jacket pocket and places it to his lips, tipping it completely upside-down to suck the last few drops from it.]

Tell me, fellow captives -- how do you feel about the likelihood we'll be forced to kill people we know nearly nothing about in the name of this place's 'freedom'?

[ the video feed flickers on, and a young man sits at a desk. On it, there's a paintbrush, a small canvas and a set of watercolors. None of them have been touched, but the young man's fingers keep flexing around the brush. ]

I'm...not sure why I'm here. [ he slowly clears his throat, staring not at the feed but at the brush ] My only guess is they saw something they liked on the footage. [ a finger twitches against the brush ] But...I am pretty sure I have other ideas this time.

[ he looks up ]

That person you saw in the Games and the interviews wasn't me. Not the me that I remember, anyway. So if that's what you were expecting, I apologize. I'm not here to fight. You don't want me fighting.

[ there's the sound of a sharp crack as the paintbrush snaps in half. It begins to reform itself ]

My name's Peeta Mellark, and I'm going to sit this one out.