Hey readers! Here is the sequel to Roulette, Just A High Rolling District Boy. I'm not too certain where this one will end, but it will be before the 74th Hunger Games. If I go with the original plot I had in mind, then Johanna's Games (the 69th Hunger Games) will be where I stop. Everything is still undecided. As a precaution, most chapters will be longer than the ones featured in Roulette and A Deck of 24. I hope you like following Giovanni's life after the Games. Enjoy! Oh, and there will be swearing and suggestive scenes.
Uno
"Is the room prepped?"
"Yes sir! Everything is in place."
"Heart rate's at 158. He's too high. Stabilize him!"
"Where's the defibrillator? We need the defibrillator now!"
"Right here sir! Charged and ready. His temperature is through the roof!"
ZUUUUUUUUM!
"All his IVs looking good?"
"Yep. Just the one on his shoulder needs changing. I can't believe this one made it out alive. Who knew he would win."
"Tell me about it. Damn I lost so much money betting on that Seven kid."
"Oh please. The little guy from Six was all you could talk about since you saw his Training Score. What was his name again? Elijah or something?"
"Who cares, he lost. Did you see his body after this kid went batshit crazy with that whip? Boy did he do a number on him. Could barely recognize him. The Seven guy too."
"Too bad. Fabia was the self-proclaimed 'Mrs. Valentino Prescott'. She demanded I buy him fresh out of the Arena, the crazy girl. Daughters, I swear."
"He looked like a good kid too. Strong, determined. Once his ex-broad died, he was set. Ah well. You want to get a bite of lunch? I'm craving calamari."
"Sure. Let me change his gown first. I kinda forgot to yesterday."
"You stupid dolt. If Snow finds out about this…"
"Relax, relax. He won't."
Cold. I'm cold. It's freezing and something is pressed up on my back. Nothing makes sense. My head is throbbing. Something pinches my nose and arms. My mind and body are out of synch, brain catching my movements two seconds too late. There's activity somewhere close. I can't locate it, muffled by either the room I've been put in or my destroyed hearing.
My hearing…my ear!
My eyes fly open then shut right back.
That wasn't a good idea.
Slowly this time, my eyelids separate and I feel for my face. No scars, marks, nothing. My ear is in place, smooth and secure. No evidence of Valentino's botched attempt to win the Games. Like it never happened. But where the hell I am? The too-bright fluorescent lights pierce through my vision and for a moment I think I'm back inside that place. Someone is shouting. Who is shouting? My throat is sore now. Only when I'm flung back down on my lovely metal bed do I realize I'm trapped, locked and secured. What is this? Is this the Arena? Am I out of the Games?
I smell food. Food and something…antiseptic? Am I in the Stockyard? The Training Center? A hospital? Twisting my sore neck all round, I take in my surroundings. To the left of my bed are rows and rows of shiny, metal instruments. Some simple, like the table topped with glass jars filled with various objects and liquids. Cottons. Swabs. Some piss-colored liquid. Most intricate, like the contraption directly beside me sounding off a low beat every second I breathe or the blocky thing radiating a deep humming noise huddled in the corner. None I could even guess what use they have. Medical junk I assume. Eli would probably know what they were for, right down to the bolts holding them in place. The little guy would be in paradise.
Change of subject.
Dressed in an embroidered tablecloth sits a fine wooden table stretched out across the wall, engulfing most of the right side of the room. Two chairs are positioned at either ends, equally as grand and elaborate. The thing looks more expensive than my entire house, handcrafted and polished in District Seven no doubt. On top sits a gigantic mountain of stuff. A lot of stuff. So much of stuff that I imagine one false move and the entire thing would go crashing to the ground. Scanning the cornucopia, pun intended, I spot just what I'm looking for. There it is! Food! There's food on the table! Hurriedly I sit up again just to be yanked back down, this time I tugging sensation ripping through my already tender body.
This is getting annoying. I look down to see needles prodding and pricking their way inside both my arm. Clear tubes of whatever liquid crap they put in here swim through each, embedded inside my veins. Something's in my nose too, wiggling inside my nostrils. Maybe I shouldn't rip these out of me. Or maybe I should. Fuck the system.
Just as I go to yank the things out of me, three white figures fly through the door. Two of them rush towards me and before I can think rationally, I'm clawing at the two girls clad in white. The one's whose hair I'm currently tugging on looks terrified, wide-eyed and mouth open to form a scream while the other wraps her much smaller gloved hands around my wrist begging me to let her companion go. I'm surprised they don't make any noises. Must be more of those silent servants I saw on the train to the Capitol weeks back. But these two look far younger than those waiters, no older than sixteen if I had to guess. Similar features too. Might be sisters. And they don't possess any features from the ubiquitous monstrosities the big city hails as fashion. Why would girls of the Capitol volunteer for such a menial job like this?
Throughout our tussle, the other figure has had their back turn, yapping away on some small black device glued to their ear. The voice is feminine and vaguely familiar, but I'm too focused on fighting off whatever it is these girls came here to do to me to pay any more attention. I've succeeded in getting one in a headlock and in the process jerk the other downwards, not realizing that all three of us were going along with her. Knocking over the skinny beeping machine, we go tumbling, a loud SNAP! breaking through the air.
Ow.
Oh Panem something hurts.
The loud-mouthed person swings forward, laugh cut short when she sees us sprawled out on the floor.
"I'll call you back," they groan, hanging up the device and shoving it inside their…furry body? Definitely a female but what's with the getup? "What the hell Gigi? Trying to kill off the Avoxes? Get up, both of you."
On command, the two servants leap up like their lives depend on it, shaking off the fall and lifting me up even though I probably weigh more than them combined and soaking wet. What's that red, slippery stuff on their dresses?
It's blood.
It's my blood.
Furry Lady hands them a wad of cotton, holding it at the tips as if the mere connect of their hands will get hers dirty. The girls busy themselves with me, the younger one blotting my arm wound and the other picking up the ripped, bloodied needle from off the floor. One on each side, their eyes meet for the briefest of minutes. A hint of a glare crosses the younger girl's, her movements more forceful. The other, who I can now say for a fact has to be her sister, shakes her head furiously. A silent scolding. Both look ready to shove the ripped needle in my neck but still not a peep comes out of either, tending to me like they actually mean it. The Capitol sure knows how to make them obedient.
Hands on her hips, the woman struts across the room, heels clanking on the linoleum floor. "Is this how you greet me, love?"
"Who are you?" Whose voice was that? Not mine. Mine doesn't sound like a drowning, drugged up dog howling for help. And why did I shout it? Her face drops, a plucked eyebrow raised in concern. The look I'm giving her must not be too welcoming either because the woman is suddenly apprehensive, not so open to running up and embracing me anymore. Sorry Furry Lady, you don't ring a bell.
"They said you wouldn't be yourself once you woke up but…" she thinks aloud. Like a trainer to its lion, Furry Lady tiptoes my way, eyes never leaving my sight. Tilting my head to the side, I take in this woman's strange appearance. Upon closer inspection her furry body is actually one huge white coat, strategically styled to flaunt her slender yet curvaceous frame, cleavage included. Skintight leather boots come just inches away from the tiny exposed part of her dress, matching her coat and gloves. A touch of black cascades down her coat, her straight, shiny hair adorned with two white purposely crooked bunny ears.
There are bunny ears on top of Furry Lady's head.
It's not when the two golden orbs peek from the thick black curtain of bangs do I finally recognize who's standing in front of me.
"Rhapsody, you look absolutely ridiculous."
My recognition of my stylist eases the both of us. She stops looking ready to run for her life and I stop reaching for the nearest object to stab her with. Well actually I lie. My hand is still wrapped around a loose needle hidden under the thin gown I've been given to wear. Of course I won't use it on Rhapsody but it's, you know, just in case.
"Right back at you, love," she chirps, makeuped faced bright and bubbly. A manicured hand reaches for something and it takes for her to pull out a small mirror to not plunge the needle into her heart before she can get me with her weapon. One of the Avox girls sees my spasm and snatches the weapon away, tucking it far into her pocketed dress. Thank Panem Rhapsody's back was turned. Looking at my reflection, I don't even know who this guy is staring back at me. Face gaunt, skin sagging, hair wild and mangled, I look like shit. Complete shit.
"And this is after all the surgeries they performed," she says, reading my mind. "It was worse five days ago. You will look better, I promise. Just a few more surgeries to put the finishing touches on you. I heard Jade looked far worse last year." Of course she did. Who wouldn't look fucked up after having their damn scalp ripped off?
"How do you feel?"
"Like I've been through the Hunger Games. What did you expect?" I answer. "Five days ago? That's how long I've been out?"
Her tone is casual, as if she's discussing the day's activities rather than my near death and resuscitation. Same old Rhapsody. "Yep. With the dehydration, malnutrition, trauma and huge wound from Valentino's axe plus the other battle scars you racked up from your time in the Arena, it took forever for you to get back to normal. The majority of it was getting all that horse tranquilizer and Vroom! Vroom! Bars out of your system. Those two really did you in."
Normal. What does that even mean anymore? Worried at the extent of the damage, I ask her just how bad will it be for me. "How long?"
"Weeks, months maybe," she tells me. "They're unsure just how long the side effects will be, the doctors. The grogginess and sluggish feeling will last for a while, but who knows what permanent effects awaits. Each Victor is different. Some come out fine. Some, not so much. And with a potential addiction on our hands…"
Voice serious, she finishes the retelling of my prognosis. "One more day in the Arena and you wouldn't have made it. We almost lost you Giovanni. I almost lost you." Head cast down, she turns her eyes away from where I lay, a soft sniffle already produced.
And the best actress award goes to...
I sit there, a little annoyed by her theatrics. How did we go from fearing each other to getting all hormonal and emotional? I've done enough of that crying foolishness. She can have her 'time of the month' cry but don't come bringing that over here.
"Don't get sappy over me now Rhapsody," I go to pat her back but it's much rougher than what I meant to, arm flopping in the air and slapping her soft coat. Physical contact is foreign to me. The last time I had it someone was trying to kill me. She notices it, a little uncomfortable with the rough handling.
Suddenly, she springs up from off the bed, causing my brain to go berserk. Dammit for shouting! Calm down Giovanni. Rhapsody is my stylist, not another tribute. Calm down, calm down.
"On a brighter note, I come bearing gifts. Come, come," she skips to the buffet, totally forgetting the pseudo-emotional moment just seconds earlier, motioning for me to join her. Yes Rhapsody, of course, it's just that I'm still strapped to this torture device. Taking out my needles, feeding tube, and metal belt, the Avox girls slowly unleash me from my cage. I'm free!
Stepping off the bed, my knees buckle the minute my bare feet touch the cold tiles.
WHAM!
What a way to mark my freedom.
Rushing to my aid, the Avoxes, who might as well be deemed my servants by the way they're glued to me, drag me up to the table, dresses still stained with my blood. Rhapsody's smile is placed back on her face when things are set back in order, already taking it upon herself to enjoy the delicacies. One forms on my face as well when I spot all my Capitol favorites laid out to devour. The spicy sour sweet purple noodle soup, the creamy balls of ice, tubs of goat milk, and other foods I don't recognize are placed in trays and portions far too much for a table of two. Sitting in the middle of it all is steamed jellyfish swimming and brimming in that same damn brown sauce from the night of the Opening Ceremonies.
"Courtesy of Picasso. He had that special ordered," Rhapsody chuckles, covering her mouth to cover her chewing. "Enjoy. I hope you like everything."
"Enjoy I will." The bowl of noodle soup and four things of conchas are in my hands the moment she finishes her sentence. To say I shovel down the food is an understatement. Neither of them never stood a chance, vacuumed inside my mouth before they could process what was going on. This shit is delicious! I forgot food came in flavors, living off the energy bars and questionable water of the Arena for so long.
Oh fuck it, I'm taking the whole bowl.
Smacking, slurping, and scarfing down everything in my wake, I only allow Rhapsody a brief glance in her way. Staring at me with those artificial, golden eyes and ridiculous costume, my stylist resembles a mutt ready to pounce on a defenseless tribute, reminiscent of the night before the Games. But unlike that night, now is not the time for sex. If Rhapsody wants to jump my bones and get it on right here right now she will have to wait. Damn, I'm barely out of the Arena and already she wants sex? I've got myself a horny…..
Confidant? Comfort? Girlfriend? Toy of the Month? Rhapsody barely knows me, and I know less of her. She is a stylist for the Hunger Games, she is very attractive, and she has three boyfriends. Three, and that was before I went into the Games. That's the extent of my knowledge on Rhapsody. I don't even know her last name! We aren't dating but it feels wrong to just reduce the bubbly girl to a fuck buddy. Still, Rhapsody isn't serious enough for me. What are her responsibilities? Blow Daddy's money, get drunk, party till the sun comes up, forget what happened, rinse and repeat? I don't want a girl like that. Could she handle a real relationship? I doubt it. Probably couldn't handle wiping her own ass without a servant picking out the softest tissue to use. She's Capitol, and my stylist. Off-limits, now and forever.
Even as I say all of this, our eyes keep finding themselves locked on each other. Something is crazily addicting about the teenaged Capitolite, and she must feel the same about the district-dweller-turned-Victor. Besides, Maya has moved on. My whore of an ex-girlfriend isn't available anymore. My body knows what it wants. So does Rhapsody's.
Sipping a glass of something clear, my stylist takes one more bite of lettuce before excusing herself to the restroom. She passes through a door that reads in small print 'Underground Level'. So we're beneath something but what? I don't think about it any longer, letting the food sit and settle inside my belly. Oh yes, that was incredible. Mm, I miss food. Food misses me. Who cares what happens after I leave this place or if I ever leave. I'm guaranteed good food. What more could I ask for?
I'm all smiles, eyes closed, leaning back in my chair rubbing my belly until I hear something. It grumbles, growls even. I give the Avoxes a look. They're too busy carrying plates off to notice, silent and stone-faced. If they didn't make that noise then what did?
One drop in my stomach and I know who's the culprit. Oh do I know who it is.
"Oh!" Rhapsody shouts, wiping her mouth as she comes back inside my room/cell. "Do you like my outfit? District Ten inspired."
Another stab at my intestines. What is going on in there? "You some kind of jackrabbit?"
"A what? No. I'm supposed to be an adorable snowbunny. See?" With this, she tugs at the goofy thing on her head and twirls, revealing a small, poofy tail at the end of her fluffy coat. "Your victory is making waves in the Capitol. Glitter and sequins out, furs and animal print fash."
I don't know what the term 'fash' means and could honesty care less right now because my insides are on fucking fire! I'm barely able to whisper out a response, clutching at my stomach. It's like damn knives are flying in there! "Mmm….that's….nice."
"Isn't it? And this causes a higher demand from your district Giovanni. More money for you District Ten people! Anyone who's of importance would rather be hanged than seen in a Jade-inspired getup. Her win is so last year ago, don't you agree?"
Stomach bubbling, acid rising, I can't take it anymore. I nod my head in response, Rhapsody not noticing my despair.
"I've got so many designs laid out for you! From your Victory Interview to your Victory Tour. Oh this is so marvelous! I can't wait!"
It's coming! It's coming! This can't wait either. Panem help me!
Leaping out of the depths of my stomach, the projectile vomit makes a surprise appearance at the dinner, locking its eyes on the unsuspecting target the moment she walks by. The younger Avox is decorated a fine purple-brown tone, adding on to the abstract style blood stain designing her ensemble. In complete shock, struck still, a small yelp is whimpered out. Finishing up upchucking everything I've consumed in the last five days on the small girl's hair, face, dress, legs, and shoes, the world starts spinning and suddenly the ground looks like a nice place to sleep. Words slurring and things shaking, a loud crash echoes throughout the room. The last thing I remember seeing is my stylist jumping out of her chair, screaming for help.
Dammit.
"What the hell did you feed him Rhapsody?"
"I don't know, like, good food and stuff. Stuff he likes. I was just trying to help!"
"Help? You could have killed him! Did you give him an emetic?"
"Of course not."
"Who even authorized this food? Rhapsody! Be more responsible!"
"I'm sorry, my degree is in fashion design not medicine you simpleton!"
"Then keep designing your silly little outfits and stay away from my tributes, you stupid…..brat."
"Whoa, whoa! Both of you be quiet. I get enough of this at home with the boys. Giovanni is still alive. End of story."
Three figures surround me. Rhapsody looks about three seconds away from clawing the man standing in front of her's throat. He's just as pissed off, if not more. The tan fur jacket, black jeans, and boots just heighten his intimidatingly muscular form and veins popping out of his neck. The girl would be dead in seconds was she to try anything but that fact doesn't faze the Capitolite one bit, stepping closer in her boots, daring him to make the first move. He doesn't, pushed away by an exasperated older woman nearly swallowed in a deep red coat swimming to her knees, also lined with fur.
Esteban! Yesenia!
My moaning breaks up the confrontation, all eyes now on me.
"Giovanni!" Rhapsody squeals, arriving first to pull me into a tight hug, face shoved into her chest. I'm not complaining. A hand appears on her shoulder, giving her a rather hard shove back. We're detached, looking around for the offender.
"Save the histrionics. You've done enough," Esteban shoos her away. She stays her ground. "You had me worried there, amigo. Once we saw you drink that horse tranquilizer, everyone thought it was game over."
Two arms envelop my body, suffocating me in the mounds of muscle, suede, and fur. "The first one to live. See Yesenia, you were wrong. I knew we shouldn't have given up on him. He lived dammit. He lived!" When I'm finally released from his bear hug, Esteban sniffles, staring down at me like a father proud of their son's first ranch and livestock. Are those droplets of tears I see?
Hm, in the three years he's been District Ten's male mentor, I am Esteban's first winning tribute. Fuck yeah! I have to say it feels pretty damn awesome, even if I'm bare-assed, strapped down, and hooked up to these machines again. But 'See Yesenia, you were wrong'? Just what were the two discussing to warrant that random comment? Immediately I'm suspicious of the first female Victor of District Ten. Yesenia was Sofia's mentor. She hasn't had a win since what, Xiomara? That was five years back. Every year a Victor wants their tribute to come home alive, so five girls (make that six now) are one too many. Ultimately when it came down to it, she wanted Sofia to win, not me. A darker thought creeps its way inside my head.
Yesenia and Sofia had to have discussed how to win at some point. She could have been the one who gave Sofia the idea to poison me. That would be pretty awful. No, Yesenia wouldn't…..would she? Is she disappointed that the well-orchestrated plan fell to pieces? Angry at me? I would hope not but who knows what the woman thinks. She is so quiet!
Looking at the Victor, I mumble out a weak apology. For whatever reason, I feel the need to do so, even if it was Sofia who tried to kill me. "I'm sorry."
Her response is instant. She already knows what for. "Don't be. You and me both knew what the odds were for Sofia. In a way, I believe she did too."
Now it's time for us to face Yesenia. Esteban holds a knowing expression, nodding his head slowly in agreement. I'm sure he can relate, having mentally told himself the exact same words last year, the year before, and the years to come. Shifting her gaze down to the floor, Rhapsody doesn't really know how to respond to talk about the tribute she hardly got to know, silently distancing herself from the very intimate moment between the three of us. One look at the middle-aged, meek woman and I know she's telling the total truth. So that's that. I am forgiven for what happened in the Arena and whatever thoughts or strategies she had prior to my win are left in the past.
Two small tears flow down her cheek, hand quickly wiping them away. "Well. This has been quiet an emotional day," fingers rubbing her temples, she lets out a light sigh. "I need a drink."
The thought of the motherly, strait-laced Yesenia downing a bottle of alcohol makes us break out into laughter, Rhapsody included. The little squabble between my mentor and stylist is like yesterday's drama, looking at each other and sharing in on the ephemeral joy. Much-needed relief from the tension and sadness of our emotions granted, I change the conversation to a lighter yet equally important subject.
"You aren't off the hook Victor Ventura," I tease my mentor, elbowing him in the side. "What was up in the Arena? Bread and a piece of paper? Really?"
Esteban gives an innocent look, putting his arms up in surrender. "That was the special trick for this year's Games. Cheap sponsor gifts. Since there were supplies in each building, the Gamemakers saw anything else "unnecessary"."
"The trick for this year's Games? Not including the bombs, steel Arena, derma diggers, human grinder, and trivia show from hell?"
Esteban is about to agree with me when Yesenia interrupts, shooting us both a warning look. "I'm sure the Capitol has a valid reason for everything it does."
Translation: They are watching us. Not the time or place to discuss this.
Oblivious Rhapsody hums in agreement, readily supporting her bloodthirsty, depraved home.
Why do I have to censor my speech? I already won the Hunger Games. They can't touch me. Rolling my eyes, I change subjects yet again. "So when can I get out of this place?"
Esteban pats my shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. "You should be just about ready to leave now amigo. Wouldn't you say so Yesenia?"
"Not before my evaluation of course."
An icy, flat voice slithers into the room. We turn in unison to meet a tall female figure standing at the doorway. Accompanied with her is the two sister Avoxes from before, thankfully in clean uniforms now, and a horde of others. Swarming around me, I start to yelp and hit at the mysterious white-coated beings and they quickly subdue me, arms holding strength equal to Creek's stranglehold on me just days ago. Pushed to the side, it's clear my mentors don't feel too happy to see the people either, unwelcoming eyes glaring at each of the figures and the woman blocking the exit. Rhapsody isn't sure what to make of the situation either, gazing confusedly at the sight in front of her. Unhooking and unlatching me from my confinement, I'm still held down by four gloved hands. I'm not sure if these figures are male or female.
"I am Luciana Luticio but please, call me Lulu. Refer to me as your friend. Trust me as your friend."
I will not refer to her as a friend and I damn sure will never trust her as a friend. Black hair streaked with lines of blue and silver commanded into a bun pulls at her surgically altered face, making her artificially youthful visage distorted and terrifying. Completing her look is a two-piece solid black business suit, pants flowing over her heels giving off the appearance of a levitating ghost. Her nearly transparent skin doesn't make things any better. She looks severe, clinical. Something is not right about this woman. I don't know what but it's a gut feeling. No matter what she says, she is not on my side. Just what is this Lulu woman here to do?
"As your personal psychiatrist, I have been assigned by our honorable President Snow to assess and document your psychological and emotional state of being." One of the fancy chairs Rhapsody and I sat on to enjoy our meal is pulled out and given to the woman. Lulu brushes past the two Victors, not granting them an ounce of acknowledgment. The silent fury in their gaze tells me they know Lulu and they know her well.
"My job is of the utmost important, as I am the bridge between presenting yourself to the awaiting public for your Victory Interview or requiring further recuperation underneath the Training Center. And how could I forget," she smiles a smile full of malice and deceit.
"My evaluation determines if medication will be best to aid you along your journey to becoming a proper Victor."
So she's one of Snow's minions sent in to see if I've gone crazy and need to be subdued. Everyone knows the messed up Victors, the ones so ruined by the Games that they need the Capitol's "assistance" or their own demon of choice to make it through an interview or TV segment. I will not let myself be reduced to a drooling, babbling incompetent. I won't end up like Mortimer and Mildred from Six, affectionately known as The Morphlings in the districts. I cast a silent cry for help Esteban's way. Esteban won't let this happen to me, will he? I'm still his tribute. Biting away at his lower lip, I'm not too sure what his answer would be, or if he would have a choice in the matter.
"Leave," Lulu commands in a soft, simple voice. Ushering out my team, my mentor glances back one last time at his tribute before the door is slammed shut in his face. All that's left in the room are me, Lulu, and two white coats, ready to act in case I try anything crazy. If I could just reach the scalpel on that metal plate a few feet away from me. Could take one out and make a run for it. Or send it flying through Lulu's chest. Which one would be faster?
"Distracted?" questions Lulu, stenciled eyebrow raised in curiosity. It's then I realize her eyes are red, the shade of blood to be exact. They remind me of a muttation from a Hunger Games five or six years back. Her devious grin lets me see she knows exactly what I'm thinking. Something tells me Lulu has been doing this job for quite some time, and enjoys what she does.
Legs crossed, clipboard ready, she clears her throat. "Let's begin with a few general questions. When were you born?"
"February 4th. 330th Year of Panem. 43rd Hunger Games," I answer, not missing a beat.
"How long has our honorable President Snow held office?"
For too long. "A very long time."
She writes down something on her clipboard, a very long message from how long it takes her to finish. "Good. Now for the fun part. How did each death in the Arena affect you?"
I stare at her. She stares right back. Will I give her the truth, or will I lie to the woman trained at dissecting a Victor's damaged soul? "Like roadblocks on my way to victory."
Fingernail tapping her chin, she begins to challenge me. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Remember," a smile forms yet again. "Lying can be counterproductive to your overall recovery. I am your friend Giovanni."
"Are you implying that I'm giving you false information, Dr. Luticio?" You will not beat me Lulu. You will not win.
Body frigid, Lulu does not approve of this power struggle. "Not at all Victor Del Rojo." She lets me claim this round, stabbing away at the clipboard with an even longer note than before.
For the rest of the time, Lulu questions, quizzes, and queries me on every single topic and tidbit she can think of. From the mundane: politics, family life. To the serious: what was going through my head when I first teamed up with Eli and Chiffon, if I wanted vengeance for what Sofia attempted to do to me. To the hypothetical: who I would've wanted to win had I not gone into the Games, if I would change anything I did in the Games. I answer each question immediately and properly. She even tries to trip me up a few times, sprouting bizarre topics out of the blue. If it's working I surely can't tell, the ghostly woman scribbling down notes incessantly and conducting the session in a detached, emotionless voice.
"How do you feel about the Games themselves?" is her last question. With this, I sit up completely, causing the white coats to shift in their movements.
I will give her the truth, for there is no fucking way I could fabricate a convincing lie to a question like that. "You learn that through the Hunger Games, the Capitol has ultimate power over our lives. Always has, always will."
Her fangs bear themselves. Lulu is beside herself at my honest admission. Capitol accent thick, she calls an end to the interrogation in what felt like hours and utters a low sound out of her throat. The door opens and my team rush back in, body language drowned in worry, Esteban holding up the worst.
"He's free to leave. No medication is required at the current time of evaluation," Lulu answers the question hanging in the air. Closing her eyes and smirking, seemingly pleased with her work, she floats away to leave, white coats following her dutifully.
"By the way Victor Del Rojo," she continues to address me in what I assume is now my official title. "The perfect Capitol concoction is always a phone call away in case you ever need to be…maintained. This marks our first and possibly last meeting, depending on how you behave in the future. Feisty Victors see me more often than their compliant peers. Enjoy your new life as Victor and may the odds be ever in your favor."
And with that, the wicked witch of the Capitol is gone.
When we're sure Dr. Luciana Luticio has vanished, we all let out a sigh of relief.
"Bitch," Rhapsody mumbles out of the side of her mouth, decorated eyes glancing where the woman sat, kicking the chair to the side with surprising force. "I don't know where she comes from, treating us like that."
For once, no one disagrees with the usually ditzy Capitolite teen. No one knows and no one cares. All that matters is she's gone.
Rhapsody claps her hands, gaining our attention. "Now that that's over, time to focus on what's really important: your Victory Interview! Can you say lights, camera, awesome?"