He walked back from the television studio, lost in his thoughts behind sunglasses, hands shoved deep into his pockets, deep brown leather satchel swinging gently with his gait. The city was overcast today and the glasses were unnecessary, but it kept most people from recognizing him, and he pretended he never saw the rest.
He hadn't been home for a year and a half, and he'd left so suddenly. No goodbye to anyone, not his family, not his friends. Just Lina, and that hadn't been worth it; she'd assumed he was cashing in on his new-found fame and broke up with him on the spot. It was at the end of a slow and painful death anyway, and he hadn't felt much one way or the other.
He thought about what he'd say to his sister. Eighteen months of checks and not a single word would be hard to explain. The discrepancy in technology was disheartening the more he thought about it, so he didn't often. Soon after the Dark Days, the Capitol decided the Districts (and to a lesser but still draconian extent, its own citizens), couldn't be trusted with anything other than official, government-run channels of communication. Thus, there were no telephones, no independent television channels; there were only three. One was a never ending loop of propaganda, public service announcements, and "educational" updates and programs on the Districts that were wholesale lies. One was a Hunger Games marathon, looping every single Game ever played, complete with highlights, comparisons, interviews and presentation ceremonies, all breathlessly recapped with the hissing Capitol accent. The last was a channel primarily for the Capitol, though a choice few Districts had access every month, just to see what they were missing: twenty-four-hour advertisements and infomercials of everything vapid, shallow and distracting, from five hundred-carat diamond necklaces, to the newest trends in fashions and the most enviable restaurants, shows and performances. There were no videolinks, no computers, no internet, nothing that served the failed rebellion. Even cameras were rare, and painfully expensive, even for him. That left letters, which were read and ruthlessly censored before they ever left the Tower, and required hefty bribes for each hand it passed through to reach wherever it was intended. So Annek stuck to bills carefully wrapped in paper and stuffed in an envelope, with every bribe labeled neatly and wrapped around more paper. Each month, it bought food and clothes and more than took care of his older sister and younger brother, and left some to help out as the need arose. If there was one good thing, his family (or what was left of it) was taken care of.
He turned down the avenue to the Plaza, and passed by Jeweler's Row, a collection of stores stuffed with the latest bits and baubles. The glittering wares caught his eye, and he was struck with an idea that made him smile. Not only because he could thank Meghan, but surprise her in a good way for once, and he intended to keep her on her toes. He turned in to the third shop on the left, and flagged down a salesman in a fluorescent orange tuxedo and yellow hair.
Six shops of various merchandise later, Annek was laden with bags hanging from every usable inch of him and he felt a little like a pack mule. He contemplated having them sent on by the shop's Avox but he wanted to resist the mind-numbing, conscience-deadening effect of the Capitol as much as possible, so he soldiered on. He staggered into the lobby of the Tower, the glistening, eighty-story skyscraper that housed the Victors during the Games or year-round, as their situation dictated. As he passed the front desk, Alyssa Twik called out to him, in that grating, sugary-sweet voice of hers:
"Ooh, shopping! I hope some of that's for me!"
Annek rolled his eyes and passed without comment. He had learned early on that the less said to her, the better.
The quiet, lightning fast elevator opened onto a spacious, well-lit landing with a domestic vignette in the corner: a reading chair and accompanying lamp on a table, a small woolen rug and a painting on the wall. It was the most useless bit of fluff. He never used it, and no one was waiting outside his door long enough to, either.
He tapped twice and swiped his hand on the door, which beeped cheerfully and swung open. Hands- free entry was useful in more ways than the usual one.
The door opened onto a vast sitting room, with three clusters of varying intimacy and a small, recessed, glass covered pond. It was filled with delicate, mottled silver, gold, and pewter fish, fins trailing in the crystal clear water, darting behind algae covered rocks and sea grasses. Off to the left, the bedroom suite complete with roaring fireplace; to the right, a spacious kitchen and dining room, filled with every possible gadget and fine china. Annek was not a bad cook, but it was used only when a Patron demanded a romantic, home-cooked meal. It was too lonely otherwise. A weight room was off the dining room. A personalized gym. He always enjoyed walking in alone. He has gotten to redecorate when he had moved in, and it was all calming blues and forest greens, placid sand, black-brown teak and shining chrome. The best part was floor to ceiling windows in nearly every room, which went from clear as air, to one-way, to smoked-out gray with the Dashboard.
He staggered into the bedroom and threw the presents and wrapping paper down onto the bed, crisply made by his Avox. He cringed, and resolved to get to it earlier so the Avox wouldn't have to again.
Wrapping would be a welcome distraction and he settled in to his task: measuring, cutting, wrapping, re-wrapping, labeling. Two hours later, he was finished, and he turned his attention to packing in earnest.
Twelve whole days back home, with no Patrons, no parties, no Snow, just his family and friends and one little hour for Capitol business was beginning to sink in.
He felt that fifteen minutes of packing was long enough and he had earned a break. He surveyed his work. The room was utter chaos. Suitcases dotted the bed and the floor with clothes haphazardly piled in and around them. Snippets and shreds of wrapping paper and ribbons were sprinkled everywhere. Every drawer was pulled out, stripped of its contents, which either lay near the suitcases or was scattered merrily about the bedroom. He couldn't figure out what he needed to bring, what would be too ostentatious, or what would be there at home already. He had just called down for lunch, when he heard an oddly familiar knock at the door. He paused, head cocked, and she knocked again. He glanced around the room (fit for no eyes but his own), and sighed. This girl had the worst timing. He thought about closing the glass french doors to the bedroom and smoking them out, but he considered it a lost cause with a sigh and went to answer the door and her third knock.
"Hello?"
"Er, um, hi Annek! I was... in the neighborhood and thought I might come by. Is it all right?"
"There's a neighborhood on the fiftieth floor of the Tower?" He tried to make a joke, but it came out much more sharply than he wanted, and Glinter flinched.
"I'm really sorry, I can come back another time-"
"No, no, it's okay, you just caught me off-guard, is all. What's up?"
"Well, I wanted to apologize for barging in on you the last time, and you always say you like chocolate chip cookies in your interviews, so I made you some." She lifted a truly gigantic platter of cookies. Some spelled out a delicate, spindly SORRY in white icing, complete with sad smiley face. None of them looked appetizing, especially considering their source.
"Wow, um, you really didn't have to do this, but thank you!" Annek gingerly took the platter as Glinter peered around him.
"Can I come in?"
"Uh... sure?" He stepped aside. He didn't know where this was going, but he wasn't too fond of it.
Glinter meandered in and out of the bedroom, looking wide-eyed at the trashed apartment, as Annek set the platter on a nearby coffee table.
"Going somewhere?"
"Yeah, I killed a man, and I'm leaving under cover of night," he deadpanned.
Glinter stared, uncomprehending. "Really?"
"...It was a joke..." Annek sighed.
She flushed slightly, and he softened. "I'm going to District Four for a while."
She looked crestfallen, but he had no idea why.
"It's only for a week and a half," he said, finding himself placating her.
She brightened. "Oh that's perfect! I actually came over to ask you if you wanted to go to dinner and see a play with me that Saturday you get back."
Annek felt his stomach do a curious flip-flop-drop and began thinking of new and inventive curses. "I have to make sure I don't have any Capitol business that day, but I don't think it's a good idea."
"Come on, it'll be fun! It's my treat, so you don't have to worry about it. Please? I'll even talk to Daddy and see if you can have that day off."
Annek hesitated. Clearly, this girl was determined to carve a place for herself in his life. He couldn't outright reject her, but he really had no interest in romance or anything remotely related to it.
Glinter, sensing he was nearly hers, gave him her best puppy-dog plea, brown eyes glistening, lips just trembling. "I understand if you don't want to. I know I'm not as pretty as some of the girls you're with, and you probably already have a girlfriend. But it's just dinner and a play, and I think we could hit it off if you just gave me a chance. Besides, we've already had-"
Annek laughed, but it wasn't happy. He'd realized suddenly that he was painted into a corner and the only way out was in her favor. "You've got me. I'll go out with you the Saturday I get back, if I don't have business."
Glinter beamed up at him, surprised him with a quick, ardent kiss on her tiptoes, and scurried out the door before he could react.
"I'll see you Saturday! Have fun in Four!" echoed down the hall as she raced away.
Annek looked back at his room as he wiped his mouth. Suddenly, packing wasn't as fun, and he went about the long process of putting things back in order, hurling clothes about in frustration. His food arrived. He motioned for the Avox to set it on a small clean spot on the bed, where it steadily grew colder, ignored.
~ReR~
Glinter, however, was elated. She had just swung a date, and now had good reason to shop for a new party dress. A few quick calls, and she spent the rest of day reinventing her considerable wardrobe with Shine and Frill in yet another shopping marathon.
"You went to see him again? Glinter, he's gonna think you're insane." Frill was excited, but not for Glinter, exactly. She could sense a scandal like a shark could smell blood, and being this close to the epicenter of what was sure to be a messy drama was electrifying.
"Wait, again? We only paid once, right? Was there a sale?" Shine didn't shine too brightly, and Glinter and Frill gave her a gloss-over. "Wow, that must have been awful, you should complain or something."
Glinter reminded herself as she took a few calming breaths that if she wanted the perks of Shine's connections, she'd have to endure her company, and she promised to treat herself later to make up for it.
"Yeah I was going to, but like I already said, he was really sorry about it, said I was better than most and that he wanted to make it up to me." Glinter was trying on a deep navy floor-length number, slinky, with deep cleavage. Frill nodded approvingly, while Shine was less enthused.
"You think he actually likes you?"
"I don't know yet. Like, I think maybe? He liked the cookies, though." A sky-blue dress with a circle skirt and puffed sleeves twice the size of her head drew no love from either.
"You brought him cookies?" Shine was still processing a few subjects back. Frill was handing her a burnt orange frock, with a high neckline and a shorter hem.
"Shine, god, keep up. I brought them to apologize for putting him on the spot. They were his favorites." She modeled, to approving nods.
"Besides," she said, playing her trump card, "I'm going out with him Saturday after next, his treat."
"Shut up!" in earsplitting unison.
All three girls squealed, and the search redoubled. Glinter walked out with the navy dress, the orange one, a red silk sheath and a growing excitement.
