"You know, I have always considered you the sane victor. Absurdly love-obsessed sure, but sane. After what you've just suggested though, I've realized that I may have set the bar a bit too low."
I scowl at Haymitch. "I don't see what the issue with my idea is."
"Oh let's see. How about the fact that, oh I dunno, you will be killed out there? If this was Katniss, I may probably have been open to it, as getting out into the fight's her forte. You on the other hand…
"You were useless as it is in the arena — don't try to deny it — even when both of your legs worked. Now, you might as well use those painting skills of yours to put a bull's-eye on your shirt while you scream out to the Peacekeepers 'HEY, FREE TARGET PRACTICE!'" He jumps up and down while waving his hands around for emphasis.
My scowl deepens to Katniss-levels of disapproval.
I don't see what Haymitch's problem is. Once we got to Thirteen, their technicians actually managed to fix the leg most of the way. Granted it would seize up or give out occasionally, but most of the time I'm able to walk, and even run at full speed, easily again. Beetee even said I was lucky as in some cases, when advanced prosthetics like mine malfunction, they have been known to send a feedback up the nerve connections and into the body; I didn't ask for him to elaborate on the detail of those incidents.
Also while I may not be a fighter, I do know how to survive. At the very least, I know when there is danger and how to get out of its way. And this time, I'll be surrounded by those who I know are friendly faces.
Coin decides to chime in. "Despite his penchant for hyperbole, I'm inclined to agree with Soldier Abernathy. You are too valuable of an asset to risk in a warzone, and it's a drain of resources to risk soldiers just so for the sake of your voyeurism."
"It's not voyeurism." I address no one in particular. "Do you know why Snow filmed Katniss going to Twelve?"
"Well, they needed to show an obedient district. Show that the Capitol can be gracious as it is unforgiving," Plutarch says.
"Yes, but they could have done that without Katniss. So why include her?"
Haymitch sighs. "Because they needed a face."
"Exactly. A face to accompany a message is usually more comforting than just plain narrated footage. And a face mingling unafraid, and genuinely affable, amongst the populace is a face people tend to trust more than a face always seen in the confines of a studio. Hell, this may be the only time she does this, but it's enough to leave an impression.
"If I am to be a credible face to the Rebellion, I can't solely give speeches from the comfort of Thirteen. Doing so would give the impression that I'm cowardly which, in the end, erodes away my legitimacy. And from there, said eroded legitimacy reflects badly on Thirteen.
"Besides," I say, focusing on Coin, "think of it this way: if I'm successful at this, you'll have a propo that will blow my previous one out of the water. If I get killed… you'll have a martyr that will spur the people on."
Plutarch seems unsure, Haymtich's understandably pissed about the last suggestion, but Coin looks thoughtful. I'm not sure if it's a good thing or not that she got the impression only when I mentioned the win-win scenario; however, if the results are positive, I'll take what I can get.
Finally, she says, "Let me think this over, and I'll let you know in due time. Meanwhile, you should get cleaned-up. Whether the next propo is here or in the field, I'd rather our main performer not look like a walking corpse."
Plutarch beckons me to follow him, and as we leave, I hear Haymitch yelling at her not to let me go out there.
"You are quite the master of persuasion," Plutarch muses as we're walking down the halls.
"I just want to get this done as soon as possible."
"As do we all. By the way, I was supposed to show this to you earlier, but I never got the time." He pulls out a tablet and hands it to me.
In it are several costume designs. It is only when I get to my first chariot outfit, and the suit that I wore during my first interview with Ceasar, that I realize that this is Portia's personal design book. There is even the secret behind the synthetic flame here; she always did seem to be the more tech-oriented of the two stylists.
Plutarch instructs me to select a specific page, which brings up a new design.
As I'm looking it over, I ask, "So what is this?"
"This is your Rebellion costume."
Truth be told, I expected something a bit more dramatic, like armor… or me being on fire again. This outfit looks like a simple hybrid between a coat and a robe: black, with straight lines, long sleeves, and a hem that goes past the knees.
"As can be seen she decided to make the design that has some connection in both your skill and your district."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It's modeled after a preacher's outfit, around seven hundred years ago. Preachers were some of the great Appalachian orators at that time."
"Huh…" I really didn't know much about the time before Panem — actually didn't know much about Panem's history till recently — except that the nation used to be called the United States of America, later the United American Federation, Twelve was a region known as Appalachia, and the Great Cataclysm killed a lot of people.
In any case, Portia seems to have done her research, and next to the sketches, there's even an old reference photo of whom I assume is preacher; he has a nice hat.
"Is this all?" There is no disappointment or the sort in my tone, just puzzlement. After all the outfits I have been through, it seems strange that the most important one of all was a single article of clothing – albeit a very long and well-made one – not an entire ensemble.
"She wanted to allow you some flexibility, so you can wear anything you like underneath. Of course, black pants and shoes are supposed to compliment it the best. And she designed some to the side." I signal for a new page, which shows me a set of pants and boots. They are thankfully designed more for comfort and utility than for style, though they aren't lacking in that department either.
"When this is all being made?"
"Actually, they are just putting on the finishing touches."
So Portia… "Portia was part of the Rebellion…"
"As was Cinna. Both of them had special outfits planned for each of you two."
In hindsight, it makes sense considering the outfits made for us during the Quell, especially Katniss' wedding/mockingjay dress. "Do you where they are now?"
"Last I heard, she is currently Katniss' stylist. Your former prep team is also in charge of taking care of her."
That catches me off guard. "What about Cinna?"
Plutarch, for once, looks solemn. "Cinna's dead."
He explains how Cinna was beaten and tortured to death, starting right before Katniss went up the launch tube during the Quell. Which explains why she was so shaken when I saw her during the countdown.
"Do you know about her prep team?" I ask shakily. They were vapid and shallow ditzes that bought into the Capitol's decadence but, like my own trio, really can't be faulted too much for their attitudes. They were merely a symptom of the greater problem that's the Capitol.
"How about you ask them yourself," Plutarch says wryly.
~o~
As I'm being remade to "Beauty Base Zero", I'm also busy trying to comfort the prep team. And as I'm doing this, I'm also finding myself liking and trusting Thirteen even less than before.
I think Plutarch meant to surprise me with some friendly faces. What we got instead was the sight of Venia, Octavia, and Flavius chained, bruised, and sitting in their own waste. All apparently just because they hoarded some food. From the appalled look on Plutarch's face, he definitely was not kept in the loop of their condition, and his subsequent threats towards the guard to release them gained my respect.
Fortunately, Venia seems the least affected of the trio and is helping me keep them from completely breaking down. Also their constant concern over my current physical condition, as well as inquiries as to Katniss is doing, serve as a successful distraction. After they are done, I tell them to come to me, Plutarch, or any one of the other victors if they have any more problems.
"I'd suggest sticking around the Hawthornes while you stay here."
"Okay. Though Katniss' cousin seems angry all the time," Octavia whispers.
I guess they didn't see the interview. I decide not to correct them right now. "Yeah, Gale's a bit of a firebrand. But the rest of them shouldn't be too much problem. I bet his little sister Posy will let you three play with her hair."
That seems to brighten up their day a bit. After they hug me — very awkward while I'm currently stark naked — and leave, I get dressed and finally check a mirror.
While I still look somewhat strained, they managed to have erased the dark circles from my eyes, trim my hair and restore its curl, and overall get my complexion polished up. I suspect that I'll start looking like a mess again after a couple weeks, but they might as well fix me up now. I also regained much of my weight back due to the consistent intake of food — a very loose term in describing what they serve — plus some regular exercises on the side.
When I get out of the Remake Center, I see Plutarch is still waiting outside on me.
"I want to thank you for getting them out of there. I know we don't see eye-to-eye on many things, but that meant a lot."
He waves me off airily. "It's nothing. Nobody should be treated like that for something so trivial. Not in the Capitol. Not in Thirteen."
There is a note of finality to his statement that suggests talking here about Thirteen is not the wisest course of action. So I change subjects
"By the way, besides the outfit, you mentioned earlier that I was supposed to have some sort of title."
That earns a grin on his face. "Ah yes. I think you will find out about that later today."
Aand there's the Plutarch I love to hate. "So you just assigned some sort of alias without my input?"
"I think you'll find that the best titles have never been self-assigned. After today, we'll see if it sticks.
"Oh, and before you go on your merry way, Beetee wants to speak with you in Special Weapons."
~o~
As usual, I find him in the hummingbird house. When he's not working on something, he's being completely enthralled by those small creatures. Something about wanting to replicate their flight movements.
As I walk in, he beams at me. "Peeta! Just the guy I want to see. Looking better by the way."
"Thanks. I just got the tribute treatment. Anyways, Plutarch said you wanted to speak with me?"
"I do indeed. I have wonderful news!"
"Really? I could definitely use something positive."
"Well, I finally got through to the Capitol's communication system."
So that's what Plutarch meant. That propo's probably going to air anytime now.
"That's great! How'd you do it?"
Just as Beetee launches into his explanation, a particularly-feisty hummingbird decides to hover right in my face and stay there chirping away aggressively while flashing his red throat; even when I move my head, he moves with me. Ah, just as well considering that I'll probably not understand a thing that he says.
Though that hummingbird is looking increasingly testy, and I'm desperately trying not to get my eyes crossed.
" Uh… Beetee? Is it possible for us to have a change of scenery?"
He stops his talk – something about using the proper code – and finally notices the little guy trying to get into a staring contest with me.
"Hey, you made a friend! I've been desperately trying to get them to stand still so I can make some proper observations. So can you stand still for a moment?"
A "moment" turns out to several minutes while Beetee takes several recordings, measurements, notes, and who-knows-what while my "friend" seems more agitated by the minute. He also seems to be gathering some company. My mind briefly wanders to Haymitch's games, with those pink fluffy birds…
"Alright! Done. Walk with me."
As I move to depart the place, the birds finally scatter, including my friend from the beginning. Though one of the females decides to take a gift for herself before heading off in her own direction. That gift happens to a couple strands of my hair.
"Agh!"
Beetee just chuckles at that. "Apparently your hair is perfect building material."
"Wonderful. Was there anything you wanted to tell me?"
"Actually, I had something made for you."
That almost stops me in my tracks. "You did?"
"Yeah, something I thought it would be useful. And just as well since Plutarch mentioned that you were interested in getting out into the field."
We go past the secure doors and into the armory. While I stand there gawking — probably in the most idiotic of fashions — at all of the assorted weapons set up, Beetee retrieves a long thin box.
"Here," he says while handing me the box, "I give you the honor of opening your gift."
When I open it, I see a single gleaming cane. It's nothing fancy, but, from the way the metal's been burnished to the accents on the handle, it's clear that it's made to appear in public.
Beetee's looking on with cheerful apprehension. "Go on, test it out. I contact your current doctors to get an estimate of how long it should be. I hope it works well."
I walk around with it and find that it does indeed fit me well. Granted with my leg fixed, I don't have too much use for it, but it will probably get me by during those periods where the leg gives out.
"Thanks, Beetee." And I mean it. "This is a wonderful gift."
"Don't thank me yet. I want to test some things out first. Please be on your guard."
I have barely enough time to register what Beetee just said before he comes swinging down at my head with a metal bar. I instinctively hold the cane out to block against the bar, which is stopped in its tracks, with a negligible feeling of shock down my arms.
Mental shock on the other hand…
"WHAT THE HELL BEETEE?"
"Just testing for constitution. And the subject has not fallen apart."
Fallen apart? "What do you mean by that?"
"Look closely at the shaft. What do you see?"
Taking a closer look at the cane, I can see what he's talking about. Midway down, there is a barely-noticeable seam dividing the shaft into two main sections.
"As can be seen, the connection is strong enough to withstand a melee attack. However, should you choose to split the cane, it should come apart quite easily. Observe:
"'Cane, split.'"
And just like that, the cane snaps cleanly in half in my hands. Beetee shows me that this is so I can either have a shorter melee weapon if needed, or that I can duel-wield, though most caution against in general.
He proceeds to show me that the bottom half can shoot out poisonous flechettes with the command: "Cane, shoot."; the top half can shoot out electrified wire with a: "Cane, lighting"; and so on. Not to mention the more mundane features, such the weighted handle having a strategic sharp point to it.
"While we know you would go out in a peaceful role, still pretty much the idea is for you not to be defenseless out there, just in case of course. And we know that your strong suit is melee combat. So we had something that is both functional and protective. Of course, most of these command-issued weapons — which, by the way, we need to get recognized to you at some point — are one-use and thus a last resort."
Although I don't know what to think about carrying a mini armory around with me, Beetee did put a lot of work into it. And the cane itself is useful; I just hope I don't have to use any of its components.
"Again, thanks Beetee. I — do you hear something?"
His face lights up. "Must be finally broadcasting your interview. Good to know my hack was successful."
"I just want to know if they added anything," I mumble as we walk towards the nearest television.
It's clear that the interview is winding down as I'm addressing the districts about trusting Thirteen.
And they also have indeed added something. Because just as I'm done ranting about who the enemy is, bold letters flash in front of my paused face: "SO SAYS THE VOX!"
So… apparently I'm called the Vox.
Meh, I've been called worse.
~oOo~
A couple days pass.
I'm reading up on the Dark Days — Twelve actually had quite a bit of power back then, as well as a lot of blood on its hands — when Haymitch barges into the library.
"Alright, you want your chance out there? There apparently seems to have been a reprieve in the recent bombardment of Eight. Command attributes it to the Capitol wanting to consolidate forces in Twelve while they continue building up the fortifications. I personally think that they are taking a breath to prepare for another shot.
"But that's all irrelevant. What matters is that you have a window of time to do whatever propo you need to do. Coin wants you to head out this afternoon."
Before I can thank him, he stops me.
"Just remember this: I'm still your mentor, and what you will be getting into is potentially way more dangerous than the arena. So if you are going be going out there, you have to listen to everything I tell you. No arguments. Agreed?" He holds out an earpiece, but as I reach for it, he pulls his hand back.
"And I definitely don't want you to become a martyr."
When I nod, he hands me the gadget and continues on. "Alright then, grab your stuff and go to the Remake Room; they'll probably have your outfit waiting there. After that, somebody will escort you to the hovercraft. We'll be waiting for you."
After getting some necessities, I head over to the Remake Room with a feeling of anxiety.
While this is what I wanted, I can't shake the feeling that I'm simply heading over into another arena.
