A/N: My first note is that I changed the title to better fit the story.
My second is that this is the longest chapter I have ever written.
My third is that I'm trying to stick close to canon (when it comes to the Universe, not precisely the plot), but I find it very odd that there isn't a big bash in honor of the victors after the Games. I know there's the party at the Presidential Palace at the end of the Victory Tour and all, but I decided to take some creative liberties and add a reception to the coronation ceremony.
Plus, I love the victors and feel they don't get nearly enough screen(page?) time.
And the losses all victors face at the hands of the Capitol, as well as the losses Foxface suffered before her Hunger Games. Also, I just finished watching the HBO remake of Westworld and couldn't stop thinking about Beetee.
I also snuck in a reference to my original fandom; I couldn't help it.
(And Cinna shows up for the first time this chapter too)
(I love him)
(So. Much.)
CHAPTER NINE
FOXFACE
The first party I ever attend in my life is the Victory Ceremony. At it, government officials, a sparse few valuable sponsors and the mentors of the fallen all watch the coronation of the victors and spend a few hours mingling afterwards. The first part, I have seen a thousand times on television, the second, not so much.
I wear a victor's crown on my head and my gorgeous Closing Ceremony gown on my body. I wear light blue—the color of a topaz tropical sea only seen in old paintings—and Clove wears a blood red dress that hugs her skin. She boasts far more curves than I do, even with my involuntary plastic surgery, and they would be visible from a mile away in her outfit.
The Capitolians want to see me and touch me as if they do not think I am real. After I make my appearance to everyone there, Cordelia and Enobaria usher me and Clove towards the Victors, who seem to assemble in a clump near the bar.
I make it halfway through scanning them with my eyes before Finnick Odair appears, grabs my hand, bows and kisses it. Clove scowls viciously at him and he winks at her.
"Hello, ladies of the hour," he silkily says to us both. The look in his eyes captivates me. While his posture screams hitting-on-star-crossed-lovers, his eyes brim with pity and sorrow as he examines me and my fiancée. In fact, all of the victors not from One or Two subtly look at us that way.
"Finnick Odair," mockingly says Enobaria, "I hardly recognize you with your clothes on."
Cordelia grabs my arm and guides me to the side of the room with the strangest gathering of victors. I would never expect them to be close, from what little I know. Haymitch Abernathy, the older man from Eleven whose name escapes me, Johanna Mason and Beetee Latier. The latter man pays me the most attention, his sadness not as hidden as that of the others.
Johanna Mason shoves a full shot glass into my hand. The liquor inside sloshes slightly onto my hand and I flinch. I am afraid of the beverage.
"Welcome to our very exclusive club, Foxy," the victor from Seven says, Clove's nickname for me hideous on her sharp tongue. "Drink up."
I never have had a sip of alcohol in my life and imagine this will go poorly, but they all look at me, so I down it in one foolish gulp. It takes only moments for me to feel dizzy and I immediately decide that I hate alcohol as the headache comes on and I feel in a painful daze. Do people actually enjoy this stuff?
Haymitch raises a too-full glass and in slurred speech announces, "To the Flower Girl, the dumbest player in the history of the Games, and there've been stupid ones."
Cordelia smirks, the only one to return the raise of a glass. "I have to agree with Abernathy."
I am speechless, and desperately want to defend myself against those accusations of low intelligence, but I never stand up to people so I just blush and nod. Johanna laughs.
Beetee Latier speaks up, the sides of his eyes crinkling when he smiles at me. "You all could be kinder. I personally admire the Flower Girl and think she has earned our respect."
"You don't earn respect that easy, Volts," Johanna Mason protests, rolling her eyes in his direction. "And, for the record, I did welcome her. That's way nicer than I usually am."
I look over my shoulder and see Clove and Enobaria breaking free of Finnick Odair and striding to stand in the corner. Then I quickly look back to Cordelia's friends.
"Shepherd, you've got a strong girl there," slurs Haymitch Abernathy, squinting at me. "I was mostly just bein' blunt to the kid. She got dumb in the end."
"I would call her actions very clever," says Beetee, adjusting his glasses. He offers a fleeting smile that reminds me of my father.
"I would call her actions done out the blindness of being madly in love," Cordelia states in a stern, forceful tone that does not fit the words. "It's a trap even the brightest fall prey to."
"Of course," says Beetee Latier, smiling sadly at me.
"Ta star-crossed lovers," Haymitch slurs, before raising his glass knocks him off balance and he falls from his seat. The one-handed man from Eleven helps him up.
I bow my head and try not to make eye contact with the mentor of the origin star-crossed lovers. The real ones. Were they the real ones? No, I knew Katniss only for a short time but I knew her well enough to know that she was uninterested in romance. Clove and Cato were the real star-crossed lovers, and I crushed them.
"Solanine," says Beetee, gazing at me with a paternal empathy in his dark eyes, "would you like to see the courtyard? You're fond of flowers."
I look to Cordelia for permission and she nods.
At that, Beetee Latier leads me out into the cold air. The nighttime breeze soothes me and dries the sweat on my skin. It may be summer in a city, but the courtyard gives reprieve.
"You looked uncomfortable and, as the only sober person in the room, I thought I'd give you a hand. My friends are a bit off-putting at first," he says, offering that smile that I now see is wistful, not purely sorrowful. "Solanine is a chemical compound, isn't it?"
"Yes, a glycoalkaloid that's found in nightshade," I reply, nodding.
"You know that?" Beetee Latier smiles at me, again, like a proud father.
"I wanted to be a scientist," I admit. "My mother loved it in school but she was from the poor part of town and they don't research power; they just make sure the plants function properly. Her feet would be so sore when she got back from work and she would read from science books while she rested on our ratty old couch."
"The courtyard is a very nice place, but I would watch out for insects while we walk," says Beetee. At first it baffles me, but then I realize that insects are also called bugs.
"Of course. I really hate bugs," I reply, hoping using that final word will show I understood his secret message.
"I know the other victors have thorny exteriors but they're good people to be around once you get to know them. We all appreciated the way you played the Games," says Beetee, picking a flower and then letting it slip from his fingertips. "Your alliances were very smart choices."
He turns to me. Now I do not understand what he means, and I doubt he can clarify when the Capitol spies on us.
I softly explain, "I picked with my mind, not my heart. I don't think I have one of those."
Beetee acts like he knows me when he argues, "You appear to have been gifted with a very good heart for someone who denies having one."
"You don't know me yet. Once you know me, you'll understand why I say I'm heartless. I'm cold and reserved and a liar and a coward and… other undesirable things." I speak only the truth.
He changes the subject, calmly saying, "You've mentioned your mother. Do you have a father waiting for you at home?"
"No. Just a brother." Pause. I rarely am forthcoming about family matters, but Beetee Latier is the only sympathetic person I have come across in weeks. "My mother died because she broke a law, which was very wrong. My father, however, just never came home one day. I still don't know if he left us or if he died too."
He rubs his chin. "This was after your mother's passing?"
"Yes. He was raising me and Fission, then, suddenly, he wasn't. You remind me a bit of him, which is maybe why I'm babbling so much…"
Beetee ignores that comment and picks a flower from the courtyard.
"They won't miss it," he whispers, and he slides it atop my ear. "For the Flower Girl."
I dare ask, "Why do people keep calling me that?"
"It's a nickname everyone in the Capitol came up with while they drooled over you and Clove. I like it. A name like that has power." He again adjusts his glasses.
"Speaking of names, what's the name of the victor from Eleven? Haymitch's friend."
"Chaff. He's a good man."
I nod. "Is he a forgiving one?"
Beetee assertively replies, "Let's just say him and Haymitch and I chipped in with our remaining funds to get you those gifts Cordelia sent."
It brings tears to my eyes, but I swiftly blink them away. I know I should have been brave and done something to save Rue and Katniss, and I know they would rather be calling one of them the Flower Girl. Yet, they sponsored me in the end. Beetee must be right about them just being rough around the edges.
Then I wonder if they sponsored me for their own devices.
I shiver.
"It's cold out. Maybe we should go back inside," I say.
Beetee nods and leads the way.
[X]
On the day we leave for our respective districts, I meet Clove outside of President Snow's office, where Valentina Nyxeris and Satin Athens have taken us. Perhaps my escort and my fiancée are at my side, but I feel alone. Alone, and afraid.
Slowly, an assistant with metallic silver hair leaves the office and gestures into the room with a smile. I squeeze Clove's hand and we enter the office. My fiancée walks right to the two chairs across from him at his desk and sits down. I freeze in place.
"I was thinking about your wedding," he says, and then looks up at me. He glances at the seat next to Clove. "You may sit down, Miss Jones."
"Thank you, sir," I murmur, tip-toeing across the room and sitting before him.
"As I was saying, I was thinking about your wedding. It would be appropriate to host it at the end of the Victory Tour, don't you think?" President Snow offers. My stomach twists in knots at the thought of it coming so soon. "It would be good timing to film it for the public and give you time to plan something truly grand and worthy of the star-crossed lovers."
I exchange a glance with Clove. We are not lovers. What are we? I have no idea where we stand with each other or if I will ever kiss her again or if I would even like kissing her again.
"The Games were… complicated this year," Clove says, voicing what I do not. "The emotions and adrenaline and hormones all need to wear off before we can be Panem's happiest couple."
"Six months is more than enough," sternly says President Snow, snake-like eyes flashing with a sudden, startling rage. "I will put you both in contact with the appropriate sources so that you may dazzle Panem with your wedding."
I see the threat in his eyes, hear it in his voice, but I do not know what lurks beneath the surface. It all seems well and fine; Panem expects a fabulous wedding. Yet, I know I have yet to dig deep enough to fully comprehend the broken rules that I owe my life to.
"Thank you, sir," says Clove with a polite bow of her head.
She grabs me by the arm when she stands up. That is for the best; I think I am frozen solid from fear and confusion.
"Enjoy your brief time apart, my dears," says President Snow, shooting us a slippery smile. "Absence, as they say, only makes the heart grow fonder."
That has to have more meaning. I do not get it. I cannot grasp this new reality.
I feel as dumb as Haymitch Abernathy thinks I am when Clove drags me from the room.
[X]
When I finally arrive home, I leave the train, nimbly edge my way through the crowd, and wrap my arms tightly around Fission and refuse to release him even when he struggles. Finally, I let him go and smile at the scruffy kid.
I see the cuddly black cat in his arms, looking so content. Spooks always liked being held like a baby, something many have told me cats tend to resent. I take my cat in my arms and kiss her head.
After catching up to me, Cordelia turns to me and my brother. "Y'know," she says, looking pained, "I should've done more for you kids when your mom, well, she…" Pause. "Maybe not, maybe, I don't know at this point. I hate speculating. Just, if you two and that mangy cat want to move in with me then you…"
Fission replies brightly, "We'd love to!" even if he does not know that Cordelia was best friends with our mother, and I assume that explains her feelings of obligation.
At that, we finish greeting the few people who we deem suitable and walk to the Victor's Village. I admittedly have been here before to rob some of the empty houses, but I never imagined living here in a million years.
Cordelia leads us to her house and I hold my breath as I walk inside with Fission.
Maybe I can find it.
Maybe I can find the life of a victor here.
[X]
I have nightmares about Katniss Everdeen on my first night home in Five. She burns alive, screaming, while I stand there, holding water but unable to will my hands to put it out.
In the morning, I barely can get myself out of bed until I hear loud cursing and the banging of kitchen supplies. I rub my eyes and head downstairs to see Fission trying to walk Cordelia through making breakfast. Maybe they can help me forget how cowardly I was when it came to Katniss.
Cordelia burns three batches of scrambled eggs in a row. This is a problem in a district where chickens are few and far between, and eventually she just hacks a loaf of bread into uneven pieces and makes toast in the dirty pan.
"What?" she demands with a scowl as she sets breakfast in front of me and Fission. "I'm not good at the mommy thing. Get used to it, kids."
I try to stop myself but I burst into laughter and Fission swiftly follows. Cordelia starts to cackle along with us and we probably look like raving lunatics. We probably are raving lunatics.
We are family now.
I have a family again, more than just Fission.
[X]
A few days later, I sit awake after another nightmare, Spooks curled up on my lap, sipping the tea Cordelia made me. It is terrible by any standard, but I am in no state to care about flavor. She steers clear of me while I calm my breathing and then finally sets a slip of paper on the table in front of me.
Old ink lists names with strings of numbers beside them. I scan the lineup and see various victors and a few perhaps Capitolian names—or perhaps other victors I do not know—and I notice an oddity halfway down.
I inquire, "Why is Haymitch Abernathy's name crossed out? You two seemed friendly."
Cordelia snorts and chuckles to herself. "The idiot pulled his phone out of the wall."
I just shrug and continue reading. At the end, I see fresh ink with Clove's name and number. Instantly, I recoil. From the look in Cordelia's eyes, I suppose that was not the desired effect.
"Th-thank you," I stammer. My cat stirs in her sleep.
Cordelia purses her lips.
[X]
The next evening, I stare at Cordelia's phone. It sits innocuously on the wall, an inanimate object, yet, I feel like it glares back at me. Maybe what I imagine on the other line does the glaring, not the hunk of plastic. My mentor sees the strange scene and must comment, of course, because she is Cordelia and I have become used to her minding my business.
"What's up with you?" Cordelia asks, leaning against the wall.
"I was thinking about calling Clove," I say robotically, taking care not to let a hint of emotion sneak into my voice. The older, wiser woman probably sees through it, though.
"Go right ahead." Cordelia shrugs. "That wouldn't be out of line. She's your fiancée."
"I want to call her. I like her. I have feelings for her. She doesn't have feelings for me."
Cordelia grunts and waves her hand dismissively. "If that girl didn't have feelings for you she would've cut your throat and pulled your tongue out through the hole."
I scrunch up my face. "That's a pretty image."
"I'm just pointing out the obvious. Clove trained her whole life to win the Games and I don't think she'd just hand 'em over because she thought you played them well."
"I know, I know, but I think that was just adrenaline and hormones. Bad combination. She's probably really happy with the person she actually loves and I bet they moved in together and I bet they sleep in the same bed and I bet they kiss all the time and I don't know why it infuriates me."
"You clearly know something I don't about Clove."
"She was engaged before she was engaged to me and certainly not to Cato! Her mentor gave her that ring not him!"
Cordelia blanches, then suddenly grins. "That's so sick and so oddly delightful. That woman always just seemed so perfect. Worse than One, oh, but she's not. She's not."
"I don't care about how much you hate Enobaria Whitethorn! That doesn't matter at all to me because the person I love loves her! And she's prettier than me."
"Enobaria Whitethorn is absolutely not prettier than you, and if that was the only thing that mattered to Clove I would personally murder her."
"I don't think I should call."
"Sol, call that girl immediately."
"Maybe…" I look down at the page in my hand.
I grab the phone with my sweaty hands and punch in the numbers.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri—
"Who's this?" asks a familiar voice.
"Sol," I softly reply.
"Oh. Hey, Foxy."
I glower at Cordelia. She does not sound enthusiastic. Her tone is casual and blunt.
"I just thought it would be—appropr—I—I—do you think I should wear gloves with my wedding dress?"
Cordelia chortles and I want to scream at her.
"I honestly don't care. Makes you less susceptible to poisoning if you wear them. An ironic death if there ever was one."
"Susceptible to poisoning…?"
"Yeah. I thought you were the smart one. Any idiot doesn't just put poison in a drink. They coat the outside of the glass or the outside of a bouquet or any other kind of surface you'd touch and the poison goes through your skin."
"That seems elaborate."
"It seems like something you'd know. You didn't call me to ask about gloves. I might not be the smart one but I'm not stupid either."
"I just called to see if… if you're ostracized or something for winning with me."
Cordelia's laughter by now probably is audible to Clove. I hate my mentor slash other mother.
"Not really. People are too scared of me to question my life choices."
"Are you happy then?"
"I'm never happy. Happiness is for the weak."
"Oh. Good chat. Bye!" I slam the phone down and my head begins to spin.
After that, I spend the night lying awake in bed wondering if I should call back and try again. I decide against it, but then I hear the phone ringing. The sound is new and somewhat alien, but I am intelligent enough to identify it. I get up and scurry silently down the stairs to answer it, but see from the shadows that Cordelia already laid claim to the device.
"Abernathy? To what do I owe the pleasure of you hiring a damned handyman?" She sounds bewildered.
Pause.
"I'm flattered you repaired it all for this call to me, but I'm not a sidepiece—especially not to that Capitol hag you're with—so this better not be a romantic advance."
Pause.
"We really shouldn't talk about this on the phone…"
Pause.
"You're sure? You better be sure."
Pause.
"I'm having second thoughts about everything. People skills aren't Sol's strong suit, and the other girl does whatever her mentor says and we both know she's the opposite of interested in helping. We need something better."
Pause.
"I know she's the Flower Girl or whatever you and everyone else want to call her."
Pause.
"Abernathy, how much have you had to drink tonight? Because I honestly think the amount of liquor it would take to think that plan is a good idea would kill most people."
Pause.
"I know it's best not to—I know."
Pause.
"Everdeen."
Pause.
"No. Not Katniss. She's a lovely martyr but I'm talking about the little sister. Primrose or whatever her name is."
Pause.
"Your tributes were better. You can stop pretending, and wake up to the fact that we need to keep that archer martyr alive in the minds of Panem. It's why I called you first instead of Beetee or Finnick, you ancient sod. Your plan was better than whatever Sol and Clove made up on the spot, which amazes me, because I rarely have seen you lucid. Will you help me out? Try to make a bond with Primrose. Do something with that child before the Victory Tour."
Cordelia rolls her eyes, groans and hangs up, muttering to herself that Haymitch is a good for nothing drunk.
"I know that Katniss and Peeta were… better," I daringly say—albeit in such a soft whisper that Cordelia must cross the room to hear me—as I emerge from my hiding place. Cordelia jumps. "Me and… me and Clove were never supposed to be together but that doesn't mean I love her any less. And you really—you really should leave Prim out of it. I feel bad enough that I couldn't save her sister. I couldn't do any better than to give her a sham of a funeral."
Maybe I rehearsed those words while Cordelia was silent and Haymitch must have been talking, but I needed to say them. Still, my stomach twists into knots and my breathing becomes rapid and shallow. I hate voicing my opinion. No good comes of it.
"Kid, this is none of your business," Cordelia says.
"You were talking about me." I try to yell, but my voice comes out soft.
"That doesn't make it your business."
I am too afraid to argue, even if I disagree. I already tremble from the confrontation and the fear of saying so much to my mentor and do not need to prolong the scary conversation. I hate myself for saying anything about Katniss and Peeta, the real star-crossed lovers. Maybe Clove and Enobaria were more real than them. Clove and Cato were, and Clove murdered him.
"We were infatuated with each other," I whisper. "Maybe that's it."
"You love her," says Cordelia. "You love her a lot and that's not a bad thing. It's sure not a good thing either but you need to stop overthinking it all."
"I overthink everything," I whisper. "It's who I am."
"Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were not better. They were just better planned and the best laid plans tend to go wrong. You and Clove were unexpected, and the Capitol accidentally made you both, which I personally appreciate. Your love story wasn't meant to exist and you two sure weren't lovestruck before the Games like the kids from Twelve and Clove and her mentor. The Games made your love and they made the debacle with those nightlock berries. You're right when you say you were never meant to be together but that's the best part. Two and Five stirring the pot and sharing kisses and almost meeting a tragic end…"
I suddenly realize the implications of the situation. "I don't want this. Make it go away, please. Please, Cordelia, make it go away."
At that, I cannot help but start wretchedly crying.
"You can't undo what you and Clove did in that Arena. I mean, I recommend you both keep up your appearances and have a big, beautiful, regal wedding and then settle down in the Capitol and raise children or something."
"I want that," I choke. "I just want to marry her and then fade away."
Cordelia suddenly seems sad. "You won't fade away. After spinning up a love story so captivating that Seneca Crane broke the one rule of the Hunger Games, you'll be in the spotlight for the rest of your life."
I cannot speak due to the tears consuming me.
[X]
Clove calls me three days after I catch Cordelia having a secretive conversation with Haymitch Abernathy. I answer the phone expecting someone for my mentor and instead get that familiar, rough but silky and confident voice that I struggle to remember unless I hear it.
"Our… our last conversation was weird, huh?"
"Yep," I whisper.
"I think it's kinda cute how bad you are at this dating thing, but if you tell anyone I said that I'm gonna kill you."
"Your secret is safe with me." I begin to smile. "We're dating?"
"Engaged. I don't know if we're dating."
"Yeah. I don't think we're dating unless we do…" My eyes widen as I realize I do not know the proper words to express my thoughts. So, I hastily try out, "Unless we do activities together."
Clove laughs uproariously. I think I might melt from the heat in my cheeks.
"Do," Clove says between gasps, "activities together?"
"Ummm… yes. Outings and such."
"Foxy, Foxy, Foxy…"
"How's Enobaria?" Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did I ask that?
"Alive and well," Clove replies, an answer I cannot dissect and examine at the moment.
"How are you?" I stammer.
"Also alive."
"And your half of the wedding planning is going smoothly? Mine is," I lie. Truthfully, I barely have touched the Capitol catalogues and recommendations from Valentina Nyxeris.
"I thought planning the wedding was the job of stylists and other sad people without better things to do. Honestly, I don't even know what wedding planning involves."
"Color schemes and dresses and flowers."
"I had a thought," says Clove, "They'll have to find wedding dresses for us. Why don't we request to do it in the Capitol? Then we can see if our conversations in real life are half as awkward and hilarious as our ones on the phone."
"S-sounds good!"
"I'll arrange it."
I sigh in relief. "Oh, thank you so much."
"No problem." I can just hear the smug smirk through the phone.
[X]
A few weeks later, the Capitol summons Clove and I to prepare for the approaching wedding, dress-fittings, cake-tastings, the likes. All the things that the wedding magazines I occasionally thumb through talk about in nauseating detail.
The train ride to the Capitol is long and painful for me. Cordelia rides with me and Valentina Nyxeris picks us up from the station. I suppose she must work as an escort year-round when duty calls. She leads me and Cordelia to the most incredible car I have ever seen, and then we enter a boutique in what all the signs seem to call the 'Fashion District.'
Clove already sits inside; the voyage from Two is much shorter. She rises and kisses me, but it feels cold and far from genuine.
"So, now that we're both in the Capitol, maybe we can do an activity together." She snickers with a roll of her eyes and slight shrug of her shoulder. I furiously blush in response. "An activity not already on the wedding-planning itinerary. Yawn."
"If we have time," I say quietly. Clove shrugs at me and I cannot figure out what it means.
"Right," she does reply, in a tone that also strikes me as ambiguous.
My prep team leaps from the other room like an ambush and start tearing me to pieces. Another team drags Clove away in the opposite direction and I simply surrender.
After I am at beauty-base-zero, Septima enters the room with a man at her side. I cannot help but stare at him and his golden eyeliner.
"This is my husband," Septima says. "He helped me with the wedding dress for you."
"Nice to meet you," I whisper.
"I'm Cinna. And you would be Sol?" he inquires, smiling at me.
He looks natural, more so than Septima. She subscribes to bright colors and has shimmering tattoos and certainly some plastic surgery, unlike her husband. Other than a hint of gold, he might as well be from the districts.
"Yeah," I breathlessly squeak, blushing redder than my hair.
"I figured. Everybody does know your name," he says, offering a cryptic smile. "I'm also a stylist for the Games."
"Is that how you two met?" I whisper.
Septima smiles and nods. "Only, he has an adorable soft spot for underdogs and I used to style District One. I never let him forget it."
"You used to style District One?"
"Mhm. I was… downgraded to Five after a faux pas, but I certainly don't regret it. If I didn't style you I would be missing out on the best tribute I have ever laid eyes on." Septima smiles at me and squeezes my hand.
"I'll be down the street getting a little coffee," says Cinna, shooting a loving smile at Septima and walking out of the studio. He pauses and reopens the door. "I'll get you something complicated."
"You know me too well," chimes Septima as he disappears.
"Did you want me to meet him?" I softly inquire.
"First off, I'd want anyone to meet you because you're a wonderful, beautiful little tropical fish. But he asked to come along to meet you. He made the Girl on Fire burn. So did you."
I feel my muscles clench and my breath speed up. I smell the Arena so strongly that I might as well be there and I see before me as plain as day, Katniss Everdeen covered in prairie-fire. I linger in this horrid, false world until slender, sparkling arms pull me out of it.
Septima drags me into an embrace and holds me until I catch my breath and the image of Katniss draped in fiery flowers disappears.
"Are you okay?" she asks, staring directly into my eyes. I notice that hers are artificially violet.
"Yeah," I whisper.
"Then let's get down to business. I have the grandest wedding dress the world will ever see," says Septima. "Brides glow, but they won't glow as literally as you will."
"Please don't paint my skin glow-in-the-dark."
"Tsk, tsk. I'm not tacky. You know that." Septima opens the dress bag and then makes me turn away from the mirror as she slides it onto my body. It fits far better than the first dress I ever wore to please the Capitol. "Okay. Turn around."
I take a deep breath before I obey. Then my eyes widen and my lips part from shock.
My dress is white, as a wedding dress out to be, but it glows even brighter than stars in the sky. It radiates light, shining as brightly and boldly as the sun itself.
"It's…"
"I know," interrupts Septima. "You're from the Power District and I thought I'd do something to honor your home before you move to the Capitol. You will glow, Solanine Jones. No more hiding for you. You can't blend in anymore."
"And Clove?"
"I believe her dress has more lace and less brilliant and blinding light."
"Because she'd easily outshine me without me wearing an outfit by you."
Septima grabs my shoulders and turns me to face her.
"No one outshines the Flower Girl. if you wear rags, you're still a force to be reckoned with under that mousy little exterior. I see that inner supernova and other people do too. I doubt Clove would be so attracted to you if you were truly as weak as you act."
"I am exactly as weak as I act. If I ever seem strong, that's when I'm pretending."
Septima grabs my hands and holds me in front of her.
With fire in her eyes, she states, "You. Will. Glow."
She says no more.
[X]
I have an interesting afternoon and evening with Clove on our wedding planning adventure and our uncomfortable date at Galen Park. Everything that happened today leaves me confused, beyond confused, more than I have ever been in my life. I do not have time to process everything that happened in the past hours when my prep team appears out of thin air and I find myself carted to a televised interview on Caesar Flickerman's popular talk show, very humbly tightly Caesar.
I sit beside Clove and she does all of the talking. Somehow, she manages to sound interested in the wedding, which is the exact opposite of her actions and comments throughout the day.
"And someone very, very important would like to make a very, very important request," Caesar says after forcing a few words out of me.
Walking into the bright, blinding lights, President Snow introduces himself. He is charming when not making vague veiled threats.
"Solanine Jones," says President Snow, turning to me and smiling like a mountain lion sizing up a baby fox. I think I might faint from fear. "As you lost your father and have no other relatives, I would simply love the honor of walking you down the aisle."
"How about it?" Caesar exclaims, seeming thrilled to the core.
Clove makes an angry sound in the back of her throat. I wonder if I will have to hold her back from attacking the President on National Television.
"That would be perfect," I declare as loudly as I can make my small voice, flashing a smile at the cameras, then warmly smiling at him. "Thank you."
"I cannot wait to hand you over to this very worthy woman of District Two like my own daughter." He takes my hand and kisses it. My skin crawls.
I set my other hand on Clove's knee, because I think she truly might throttle him.
"Yes, thank you," Clove grunts.
President Snow turns to her. "This is a forgotten phrase, lost to the Dark Days, but I find it very aptly describes this lovely young couple. May I, Miss Conium?"
"Of course, sir," says Clove, turning red beneath her make-up. I see it, but hope no one else can. "I'd love to hear it."
"And lo," he quotes, "the beast looked upon the face of beauty and beauty stayed his hand."
I turn to Clove and truly look at her for the first time since our trip to the Plaza Gardens earlier this afternoon. The awkwardness of our earlier date melts away.
The quotation holds true. This bloodthirsty career tribute was going to kill me, but, for some reason, she looked at me and could not.
And lo, the beast looked upon the face of beauty and beauty stayed her hand.
[X]
I avoid Clove for the entire morning thanks to Galen Park and the appearance on Caesar, until I get on the train, and am left wondering if this will ever work out. As I sit and sip hot chocolate with flakes of real gold in it, I look up at Cordelia (whom sips very strong alcohol).
"I don't think me and Clove are in love," I softly say. "I think we fell in love because of the Games and I think we're not… compatible people outside of them. Maybe we were madly in love, enough to… to want to die for each other but I don't think we can live for each other."
"You can be a damned good speaker when you're not scared to death of talking," says Cordelia. She sets down her drink and sighs. "I bet it was the adrenaline and surging hormones, but you don't have a choice but to love that girl. She's all you've got."
"I know," I say, faintly frowning. "I just want to go home."
Cordelia nods.
[X]
The laws of Panem strictly forbid travel between districts. Of course, the Victory Tour always has been an exception, and, while the cameras would come to District Five if I were alone as a victor, today I am to board a train to District Two, where the tour will begin.
Weeks passed too swiftly as I went through the cycle of long days picking flowers, inserting myself into Fission's life, struggling to fall asleep, having nightmares, waking up, having tea with Cordelia...
Now I tremble as Valentina Nyxeris, my prep team and Septima all arrive by train. I stumble through greeting them while preoccupied with worries.
"The cameras will be there to see your reunion with Clove," prattles Valentina Nyxeris. "So, we will make you look perfect during the train ride. We don't want you to be caught looking like… this. Bring your wedding magazines and anything for the wedding you have. We're skipping your talents and spending that precious time focused on little spoiler secrets for the biggest event in Panem history. Your wedding, oh…"
"It's exciting," I say, although my ill pallor probably betrays my lie. "I can't wait."
Septima announces herself and I smile at her. She has a way of making people feel at ease, which must have a good deal to do with her dressing up kids on their way to their deaths. Her hair and skin are blue today and she sports the trendy flowers in her hair and on her complicated outfit.
"I will make you look so ravishing that Clove's jaw will just drop," says Septima and I laugh at the very thought. I do not think anything could surprise that girl.
Still, I let my stylist doll me up for the journey to the highly anticipated reunion moment.
Afterwards, with Cordelia, a prep team and Septima at my sides, I step onto the train that will take me to District Two.
CLOVE
Six months before Solanine Jones boards a train to District Two, at the Victory Ceremony, "Finnick Odair," says Enobaria, "I hardly recognize you with your clothes on."
The moment Cordelia drags Foxy away to the bar, I turn and scowl at the young man who scared her and Shepherd away. My mentor smirks at him.
"Such a biting comment," smoothly teases Finnick, laughing at his own joke.
Sarcastically, my mentor says, "Your sharp wit floors me, as always."
"As always?" I ask, glancing between them. Enobaria never was found of pretty boys. In fact, despite his strength and demeanor, she considered Cato to be just that. Cato…
I blink several times and take three breaths to try to erase those strange feelings.
"Well," says Enobaria, now facing me, "you'll find I know the allegedly 'best' victors quite intimately."
I clench my fists and only tighten them when I see his eyes sparkle.
"Not like that," Finnick Odair assures me, as if I need evidence of loyalty. I do not, and it makes me consider punching him in front of all of the distinguished guests. "Your mentor used poor phrasing."
He pauses before mentor and I lock eyes with Enobaria.
"Calm down, Clove," she orders, in the tone of a mentor and not a girlfriend. "I somewhat respect the sea hick. He won admirably."
Finnick wags his finger. "Sea hick. That's a new one." He catches my gaze and I make sure to glower. "You're the special student, aren't you?"
"Define special, Odair," I snarl.
He just smiles and shakes his head. Instead of answering, he comments, "I have at least a little dirt on everyone who is anyone, and Enobaria is, in fact, someone. I'll keep my mouth shut; don't worry. Your little secret is very safe with me."
"I know, because if you spilled it I would rip your—"
Enobaria repeats, this time more fiercely, "Calm down, Clove."
Finnick takes that as a cue to leave, thankfully for him. Enobaria takes my arm and drags me to the sideline of the party.
"I'm very confused by the conversation I just had with the Pretty Boy from Four."
"He's not a friend, but I'd… call him an acquaintance." Enobaria shrugs. "I know him well enough to know that he won't do anything stupid. He is slightly smarter than he looks."
"So, about as bright as a box of rocks?"
"He was telling the truth about having dirt on everyone. I guess it makes him feel important. But what we have will never put you at risk, if I have any say in it, and I always do."
"Present tense?"
"Present tense. After tonight, we will go back to Two, and for six months we won't have to worry about cameras or making out with Foxy."
"Then I get married. Then what?"
"Stop thinking ahead. It doesn't suit you."
My favorite victor approaches and interrupts me and Enobaria. I turn around to face my other mentor, who looks disapprovingly at us both.
"Maybe you lovebirds shouldn't flaunt your sexual chemistry while on camera. Foxy would hate it." He smirks. "Not that I care much about Panem's favorite romance story. It isn't a very good one, in my opinion, even without my two-timing tribute."
Enobaria purrs, "Brutus, you would know nothing about romance, since no woman would fall for someone who looks so much like a muttation, and saying that is an insult to mutts."
Brutus snorts. "I am very handsome, and you know it. There's no shortage in my district."
I cannot describe the level of disgust and churning in my stomach at that remark.
"I'm out," I say, striding into the crowd.
I do not find Foxy for the rest of the night, and do not see her until President Snow summons us to his office the next morning.
[X]
The first nightmare hits me on the train home. I am in what I know to be the Arena but the sky swirls and melts into colors that do not belong. The eeriness consumes me as I lie bleeding, by the Cornucopia, in the same pool of blood Cato was in after I stabbed him. But I look up at him, and he holds my hand—but everything is so blurry and so sore and so confusing—and instead of sitting silently he begs me to stay with him and makes promises and I do not remember all of the words once I wake up, drenched in sweat that soaks the sheets beneath me and drenches my pajamas.
I get up and try to find clothes to change into. Sharp, manicured nails brush against my shoulder. I recognize her touch before I turn around.
"They only happen after it's over," says Enobaria softly. "Supposedly, it's because your head just can't process it while you're still in the Games, still in the Capitol. Then you reach the silence, and it all starts crashing down."
I turn around. "That isn't fair."
"Has anything ever been fair in your life?" she coldly asks, nostrils flaring.
"No," I reply without hesitation. "Let's pretend this didn't happen."
"Of course. You wouldn't want anyone to think you're weak." It almost sounds sarcastic, but her words are true. No one ever talks about anything like this at the Academy. She never even explained her own nightmares to me once and I do not expect to behave any differently than the victors I admired in my youth.
"You have them too, don't you?" I ask.
"Yes," says Enobaria and I do not press her to divulge more information.
She kisses me and I wander back to bed.
I do not know if I ever will sleep again.
[X]
Within a day of returning to District Two, I must attend Cato's funeral. He will be burned on a pyre, removed from his plain wooden coffin, while those deemed worthy gather around the honorable tribute. It takes place at a reclaimed abandoned quarry and the old, forgotten, worthless stone rises like small hills around me.
As I stand there and stare at his body, I feel like a pariah. Eyes avoid me, I radiate unease, and I know that everyone here sees me as weak or traitorous, even if they hide it to pay their respects to a victor. I chose the life of a girl from District Five over an honorable duel with my district partner, and no one will ever forgive that.
The dark red polish from my Victory Ceremony still clings in chips to my peeling fingernails. I notice it more than I have yet as I try not to look at the body lifted from the plain wooden coffin and set on the pyre.
"You're supposed to speak," whispers Enobaria and I slightly jump. I was engrossed in my own hands while Brutus said his peace as firelight made dancing shadows on his face.
"I…" I was hoping they let me off since I killed him so disgracefully. "Right."
Slowly, I walk forward. The heat, the sickly smell, the churning in my stomach. Everyone stares at me now, instead of pretending I am invisible.
"He was my best friend," I declare, daring anyone to protest.
I say nothing more. No one tries to make me add anything superfluous.
All I do is let the acrid smoke sting my eyes for a moment before excusing myself.
[X]
After the funeral, I abandon my awarded home in the Victor's Village and move in with my neighbor, Enobaria Whitethorn. We do not hesitate to share a bed, even if there are several rooms for me to choose from.
On my first night, I wake her with my nightmares. We sit in silence; she does not comfort me and I am grateful for it.
"When I die," I say, reality still blurry and bleak around me, "I don't want to be burned. I want you to sink me in the river."
Enobaria does not respond at first. Predictably, she changes the subject. "Tomorrow morning do you want to go swimming at that Quarry you went on about during your Games?"
"Was that part televised?" I ask, embarrassed. How dare they show a moment where I displayed humanity when I am a career and deserve to be shown as bloodthirsty.
"To me it was. I watched you from the Control Room," says Enobaria, and I suppose I should have assumed that the mentors get a feed of purely their tributes.
"That sounds fine," I reply. It sounds fun, to tell the truth, but I would never say it. I am a victor now, which means I must display even more indifference and dignity than I did when I was merely a soldier at the Academy.
I lie down and somehow manage to sleep. In the morning, I get dressed alongside Enobaria and we make the journey to the abandoned quarry. We look down at the light blue water that fills the deep crevasse.
Enobaria inquires, "Care to jump in first?"
I strip off my outer layer of clothes and run across the gravel. Squeezing my eyes shut, I jump down and hope that the water is not shallow here. In midair, I realize how little I care if I live or die. The Games made me that way.
Once I splash into the gentle waves, I stop thinking about my new mindset and swim. The ice cold feels good on the hot summer day, and I swim up to the surface, taking a deep breath.
"Come on!" I call up to Enobaria. She shakes her head at me, but then strips halfway down and jumps in from the same rock that I did.
As she treads water, I swim down and open my eyes under the surface. It stings but I see the shadows of abandoned equipment buried beneath feet and feet of icy water. I gaze at it for a few moments before I swim back to the surface.
She waits for me there.
I think, for the first time since the Hunger Games, that maybe I can be happy.
[X]
A week later, I have sex with Enobaria and we stay up talking until seven or eight in the morning. That has become par for the course with us, but it still feels strange to not be worried about someone finding us or ever running late or ever being tired during training.
"I want to find my family," I state. "I'm allowed to do that now, right?"
"Yes." She looks inexplicably unhappy about my suggestion.
I ignore her expression and ask, "Did you ever track down yours?"
Enobaria casually explains without a trace of emotion, "Mine was dead long before my Games. I'm an orphan and an only child. That's why I was raised at the Academy."
"Oh."
"And…" Enobaria sits up. "Clove, I don't think we should find them."
"Why not?" I ask, rolling my eyes.
"Because we can't give Sn—someone any leverage over you. It's safest for them if they stay away from you. We can look up who they are if you want, but I don't think we should find them in person," states Enobaria.
At first, I glare, offended. Then, I see her eyes. She looks pained, agonized even. I wonder what experience she has that makes her so passionate about keeping me away from my mother and siblings. Who did she lose? Who does she blame herself for hurting? What has she done to make her look pale at the very thought of attachment to other humans?
"I want to look them up. Then, I'll decide if I'll find them or not," I state. "Soon, I'll be living in the Capitol and I won't get the opportunity to find them. I'm not going to spend my whole life wondering about them over a possible danger."
"It is not possible," snarls Enobaria, gold tips on her teeth flashing in the bright moonlight. "It is a certainty. But I will help you find them if you insist."
"Thanks," I sharply say.
[X]
Enobaria and I search the many files in the offices of the Academy. At last, I find mine and start reading. I flip past the grades and notes explaining that I would be assigned to a District of my choice if I did not make it into the Hunger Games. Finally, I find the write-up from my acceptance to the Academy years ago.
I find my mother's name, my home address…
"Let's go," I say, my eyes wide. Enobaria shuts the cabinet she was rummaging in. "I found the address and let's go find my family."
Enobaria frowns. "Are you sure? I still advise that you avoid associating with anyone who could be used against you."
"Yes. I am sure, unless you can explain why I should be worried."
She opens her mouth and seems about to speak, but she closes it again. Sadly, she says, "Fine. I'll drive."
My eyebrows shoot up. "Drive?"
"I found keys to one of the peacekeeper trucks." She holds them up by the rusty keyring.
"Do you know how to drive?"
"Yes," says Enobaria. "I learned when I first won the Games. I also had a list of things I wanted to do once I became a person and not just a serial number. Driving was one."
I smirk.
[X]
It takes until morning to reach the other side of District Two. Enobaria tells me I have permission to sleep, but I am too nervous. I thought very little about my family when I was intently focused on winning the Hunger Games. Now, I suppose all the thoughts caught up to me.
They cease when Enobaria and I must get out of the truck and walk across the muddy dirt roads to one of the poorest quarry-centered neighborhoods. I uncrumple the paper that was in my sweaty fist and find the address.
We walk to the house. I look at the broken window and the ajar door, and know that my mother made the right choice giving me to the Academy. A brawny boy with dark hair walks out of the dilapidated house and squints at me and my girlfriend.
"Enobaria Whitethorn?" he asks, his voice deep and rich. "And… Clove?"
He walks across the yellowed lawn and glances between us.
"Are you my brother?" I ask, my heart pounding its way into my throat.
"I guess," says the boy. "I saw you in the Games."
My first true sentence to my long-lost sibling is, "All of Panem did. It's kind of required."
He laughs. I do not know why.
"Did you come looking for me?"
I clear my throat and say, "And our mother."
He frowns. "She died a few years ago. I live here with my wife and kids now. You can meet them, if you want. It's Sunday and all so me and Rosie are off work and they're off school."
"I'd like that, uh…?" I realize I do not know my own brother's name.
"Balsam," he answers, shooting me a smirk. It looks quite a bit like my own. "Oh, and, I, Enobaria Whitethorn. I noticed you but I was thinking about Clove."
She purses her lips. He wipes his brow nervously and gestures for us to follow him inside.
"Rosie!" he calls into the tiny house. "You'll never guess who showed up to visit!"
Two young girls in dirty dresses run into the foyer. They have flowers in their hair and appear to be twins.
"Clove Conium!" chirps one of them. "You're the best!"
"I know," I reply with a small smile.
"We did our hair like Sol Jones!" exclaims the other, tugging at her floral braids. "Everybody at school does but we did it first!"
Enobaria shoots me a glance and I struggle to suppress laughter.
An ugly woman with dirty blonde hair walks in and smiles brightly at me.
"You must be Rosie," I say, feeling less nervous with every passing moment.
"I am," she says, smiling. "I just put on some tea. Would you like any?"
"Sure," I reply.
One of the twin girls stands in front of Enobaria and shrilly asks, "Can I see your teeth?"
Enobaria indulges the child and bares her fangs. I never knew her to be so good with kids. It makes me feel a pang of regret and rage over the fact that, if I ever have any, they will be with a woman I barely know instead of the woman I love.
We walk into the kitchen. This house seems to have only two rooms, not including the small entrance. I do not understand the sensations inside of me as I look around at what my mother sent me away from.
"Why did you not go to the Academy?" I ask Balsam.
"I think everybody in the family knew you stood the best chance in the world," he said.
"That's not a very detailed answer," I say. "How much older than me are you?"
"Six years," Balsam answers. That uncomfortable sensation hits me again. "I was already old enough to drop out of school and work at the quarry to help out. You were young and…" He takes a deep breath. "You were the extra mouth to feed, to tell the truth, without dad. But the Academy is really the ticket to an actual good life. A peacekeeper or a victor."
"Or dead," I say, thinking of Cato and the others I watched burn on a pyre.
"This is a really grim topic," says Rosie, pouring the tea into chipped cups. "Are you excited to see Sol Jones soon? Oh! And the wedding. I should've asked about the wedding."
"She's planning it," I cover. "I'm no good at that kind of thing. We talk every night on the phone and I… well, I'm… I'm looking forward to seeing her."
I know I sound too cold; I have a good deal of warming up to do before I see Foxy again. The truth is, I think about her frequently, but I spend time with no one but other victors who understand the reality of the situation. These people saw the story the Capitol wove. The star-crossed lovers.
"That's so sweet," Rosie replies, her umber eyes twinkling. "You two are perfect together. And how you stood up for her even against your own District was so beautiful."
"Yeah," I reply, detaching from this plane of existence. I feel my sword colliding with Cato's spine and struggle to pull myself back to reality. "She's a… she's good."
They continue this mundane conversation and make me feel even more and more like someone on the outside looking in. I do not belong among ordinary people and every exchange of words makes that clearer and clearer.
I leave after finally reuniting with my family feeling sick to my stomach.
Once we reach the truck, I turn to Enobaria. "I don't think I'll ever go back."
"Why not?" she inquires, not sounding as surprised as I thought she would.
"Not because of your vague danger. Because we're not from the same world and I… I dunno. I'd just rather be around other victors," I say, trying to sound casual.
"You don't belong in their world."
"I… I f-feel… I am…"
Enobaria summarizes my confused, nameless feelings by saying, "Your heart is a void and in that void is a mirror. You look inside of yourself and see only loathing and horror. You feel indifference to yourself and everyone else, and that has shut you out from the real world. You live in a world of ghosts, held prisoner by your nightmares."
"Shit, Enobaria," is all I can say, terrified by those poetic words.
"They tell you that winning the Hunger Games is a dream, but nobody mentions that nightmares are dreams too," Enobaria says. "I should have failed you and let you go live a cozy life as a peacekeeper in District One. But I'm just as selfish and indifferent as you."
"I guess we live in a world of ghosts together," I croak.
She closes her eyes when she replies, "I guess."
We say no more during our lengthy drive back to the Victor's Village.
[X]
Foxy calls me on a rainy day. I feel a rush of something when I hear her voice on the other line, but cannot quite put my finger on it. Excitement, I think, but mostly nerves and sickness. Guilt? Guilt for being involved with Enobaria while we are engaged? I have no clue.
"I just thought it would be—appropr—I—I—do you think I should wear gloves with my wedding dress?" she asks.
I know she must be nervous, but it still is one of the most awkward things I have ever heard. Unfortunately, although I am less mousy and anxious, I am just as awkward as her. "I honestly don't care. Makes you less susceptible to poisoning if you wear them. An ironic death if there ever was one."
Her high, light voice sounds befuddled when she asks, "Susceptible to poisoning…?"
"Yeah." I feel my cheeks heat up and want to rip them off. "I thought you were the smart one. Any idiot doesn't just put poison in a drink. They coat the outside of the glass or the outside of a bouquet or any other kind of surface you'd touch and the poison goes through your skin."
She titters. "That seems elaborate."
I do not help myself but saying, "It seems like something you'd know. You didn't call me to ask about gloves. I might not be the smart one but I'm not stupid either."
"I just called to see if… if you're ostracized or something for winning with me."
The answer could be yes. I know that people whisper about me and that my District is not impressed by the love story. Yet, no one has hassled me over it.
"Not really," I decide to say. "People are too scared of me to question my life choices."
"Are you happy then?"
I say without a second thought, "I'm never happy. Happiness is for the weak."
"Oh. Good chat. Bye!"
The phone disconnects. What a nerd. Am I a nerd too? I bury my face in my hands.
Shortly after, we share one more phone conversation, and, before I know it, I am scheduled to go to the Capitol for wedding preparations.
[X]
On a clear night after a week of rain, a few days before I am to go to the Capitol, I wake up in an empty bed. I sit straight up and stare at the vacant space next to me. The moon is at its apex and there is no excuse for Enobaria to just—and I'm tightening a robe around myself and clomping down the stairs and walking outside barefoot when I see the lights in the trees.
Lanterns. One bright one or two dimmer ones.
I follow the illumination like a signal and freeze in place once I reach the thicket. Enobaria, fully dressed and in her fiercest posture, standing across from a far more frightening Lyme. The beloved middle-aged victor never paid me any mind, and I have never said a word to her in my life.
At the moment, Enobaria looks like she would envy that distinction.
She hisses through her teeth to the stoic Lyme, "I'm going to tell you exactly what I told Shepherd and Aber—" She suddenly pivots and the light of her lantern almost blinds me. "Clove, go back in the house, you are horrible at sneaking and worse at eavesdropping."
"Why are you out in the woods in the middle of the night meeting with—?"
She hisses, "Clove."
I swallow my anxiety and act defiant. "It just seems like a bad idea."
"So is minding my business, Conium!" Enobaria hisses, saliva spraying into the cold night air.
I walk forward, despite my fear. Enobaria does not look demanding or angry like she tends to when she yells. She looks scared.
"If I can handle the Games, I can handle whatever this is." I do not bother looking at Enobaria because I know she is too stubborn; I make eye contact with the older woman.
"Maybe the kid is right," says Lyme slowly, shooting a glare at Enobaria before turning to me. "Clove, have you noticed anything different these past months?"
"Everything looks different to a victor. That's nothing—"
Lyme snaps, "Hold your tongue for once, little girl. I mean anything different in the lives of other people in Panem."
"No. Should I have?"
Lyme sighs, briefly looking defeated, her hopes apparently dashed. "You and Sol Jones did something irrevocable and powerful. Something that is going to start a war, and I intend to win it."
"I don't want to start a war. I want what they promised me."
"That's why I went to Enobaria before you. She knows that those promises all are lies and you, little girl, have yet to learn the extent of the cruel deception."
"I want nothing to do with your war and I am not a little girl."
Lyme's expression sours and I feel a tingle of fear. I use my training to beat it back and calm my racing heartbeat.
"That's unfortunate," she coldly says, our eyes locked, "because you're the heart of this revolution and you have no choice but to choose a side."
At first, I do not know what to think or say and so I settle for, "Goodnight," and run back through the trees, cold dew slick on my bare feet.
I say nothing of it and neither does Enobaria.
[X]
In the Capitol, I stand in a room with my stylist. He is not the same one from the Games and so I make a point not to learn his name. Not that I cared about the name of my old one either. These Capitol people mean nothing to me.
He garbs me in a very extravagant, diamond-studded, long dress made almost entirely of white lace save for the slender white slip beneath the lace over my bosom, midsection and hips. I do not even pretend to like it, but I tolerate the marks for alterations.
I am getting married. I will have to wear a dress. I suck it up.
When I am done and my bright green stylist releases me, I see a messy Foxy in her street clothes. She smiles at me and weakly waves. I give a swift wave back.
Satin Athens shrilly announces, "Time to go to your events!"
I roll my eyes and turn to Enobaria. "Are you coming?"
"Unfortunately, I am booked," she replies. She then turns to Foxy. "Keep Clove in line, will you?" orders Enobaria and Foxy seems about to faint at the very idea.
I cannot help but smirk, and turn to face my fiancée.
"I'm going to be really difficult, just for you," I add with a wink. Then I nudge her with my elbow. "You know I'm messing with you, right? I will be on… behavior."
"You mean best behavior?"
I smoothly retort, "I know what I said, Foxy," with a wicked smirk.
Enobaria leaves without another word. Cordelia Shepherd glances between me and Foxy.
"And I'm doing absolutely anything that isn't planning a wedding," she says. "Probably a daytime bar crawl."
She follows my girlfriend out and I am left with two Capitol escorts and my fiancée.
[X]
As we walk through the Capitol, I see that every single person on the street wears flowers of some sort. A few have tattoos of some red blossom I do not recognize.
"What do you know? You did start a fashion trend," I remark to Foxy.
"It's not bad," sheepishly says Foxy. "I didn't think…"
"That it would catch on?" I snort. "Of course it did. This is the Capitol. They just love trivializing the Games and picking stupid trends."
"Right," whispers Foxy, blushing as red as her hair.
She was sexier when she was stabbing Glimmer in the neck and making out with me in the Arena. Tiny, shy little Foxy makes me wonder how I fell head over heels. I know she still gives me a feeling of electricity when those ice blue eyes make contact with mine, but beyond that, I feel like our love was an illusion. A hallucination brought on by adrenaline and hormones.
"So," Satin Athens interrupts, "we're off to meet with your wedding planner!"
"I want to do the cake first," says Foxy, before adding in a hushed tone, "if that's okay."
"You almost were bold. Almost." I wink at her. She squints at me.
"We can do the cake first," chimes Satin Athens. "I'm sure Nerva will be happy to comply!"
"Nerva is such a sweetheart!" adds Foxy's escort. I am making a point not to learn her name.
We walk through the Capitol. The breadth of colors almost impresses me; it looks nothing like the worn and monochrome city I come from, and the people are much more colorful than anyone in District Two. The escorts chatter, pointing out different parts of the city like tour guides. I pay them no mind as I drink in the flowers, the pictures of me, the two children sparring with plastic swords while their parents sit on park benches.
"You two will be living here soon," says Satin Athens. "You can get a lovely, expensive apartment and—oh—and you can get on a list to get puppies!"
And I cannot help but sarcastically ask in my absolute best Capitol accent, "But what if we want kitties, Satin?"
She misses the mockery and replies, "You can get both!"
Foxy looks hurt, and I have no idea why. Maybe she does not want kitties.
"Don't you have a cat?" I whisper to her.
"Yeah," she says, looking at me as if I grew a second head.
I decide to ignore it and pay attention to the scenery again, and, after passing a gigantic fountain, we at last reach a shop called Nerva's Nuptials.
"Nerva Maxwell is the best of the best in weddings and she was hired for you two's! I only wish she did mine," says Foxy's escort, flipping her pink hair and holding the door open.
The moment we walk inside, a very petite woman tattooed with those red flowers from head to toe rushes to us, embraces Foxy and kisses both of her flushed cheeks, then lunges for me. I dodge and glower until she backs off.
"I have everything laid out for you two," eagerly says Nerva. "A number of vendors will be presenting their ideas and you two need only judge them. I've been spending weeks just getting ready for all of this. The moment President Snow himself contacted me—oh—I could barely breathe from excitement. The star-crossed lovers! I can't believe it!"
She ushers us into an ugly, incredibly-pink sitting room. I hear voices and shuffling from another room and wonder if she keeps slaves or something.
"We have vendors here to compete for your affections just like you competed for your happily ever after together," chirps Nerva, grinning widely at us. Foxy gives a soft, small smile in return, while I keep my expression fierce.
"Let the Wedding Games begin," Satin Athens jokes. I see Foxy's frown and want to punch my District's escort for making light of something so serious.
First, as Foxy requested, the bakers display their cakes. The photographs all seem to be of white, tiered structures with various patterns of equally pallid roses. We taste chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and other, stranger flavors, including one I find disgusting called mango.
A powder blue man walks out and taps the screen to show the picture of his finished product, and he sets the two plates in front of me and Foxy.
"I have for the Capitol's beautiful darlings," says the final vendor, "a red velvet cake with cheesecake frosting."
The picture is of a towering white cake with immaculate roses and colorless renditions of that flower everyone has tattooed on them. The vendor bows and walks back into the waiting room.
It does not stand out much compared to the others, but once I cut into the slice of cake on my plate, I see the hue of blood. It seems to be the most suitable cake for a Hunger Games wedding.
"I like the red velvet," I declare, seeing already that my fiancée will be too wimpy to make any decisions today. "It summarizes our relationship better than the others. We'll take it."
Foxy just nods, because her mouth is full.
Nerva claps her hands and grins. "And now we continue on to flowers. Very important. I think roses are a given, as well as prairie-fire, but we have options for bouquets and styles that you two can decide upon."
I think I might die of boredom today.
[X]
"Foxy and I want to do an activity together," I announce as soon as we escape the shop. A cake, a bouquet, plates, a caterer…
It was horrible. I sincerely hope I never have to plan a wedding again.
Satin furrows her brow. "An… activity?"
"A date," I curtly explain. "We want to go on a date together."
"It will have to be chaperoned, of course," says Foxy's escort. "But we would never stop such an adorable and sweet little outing!"
Satin Athens croons, hands clasped together, "What do you two want to do?"
I exchange a glance with Foxy. She shrugs. I shrug back.
"What is there to do here?" I ask, glancing around at the colorful city block. "We're not from the Capitol, remember?"
"We should go to Galen Park," Foxy's escort chimes. "It's so beautiful this time of year."
Satin Athens gushes, "Oh, it is. My boyfriend took me there a few weeks ago for a picnic."
"Oh!" Foxy's escort exclaims. "You must tell me all about it while we let the star-crossed lovers have some together-time!"
They take us to a large park with trees so wide and tall that it seems secluded and far away from the concrete jungle around us. I try to take it all in at once but cannot. Instead, I glance at pieces that snatch my attention.
Satin Athens says, "You two should take a walk. Valentina and I will watch you from here."
I turn to Foxy. She reaches to hold my hand and I pretend not to see. We do remain side by side, however, as we walk over the cobblestones.
"We have a lot of getting to know each other," says Foxy and I nod.
"Yeah. I mean, you know way more about me than most people."
"All of Panem knows those things now," Foxy whispers and I realize she speaks the truth. Those conversations we held that seemed personal were broadcast across the nation.
"Then I guess we have to dig deeper or something," says Clove. "What don't you know?"
"What's your favorite color?" asks Foxy.
"Red," I say, studying her closely.
"I like blue." She smiles faintly. "I guess our stylists aren't total idiots."
"So…"
"We don't…" Foxy freezes, afraid, but composes herself. "We don't have a choice but I still… I still choose you."
"That's…" I suddenly feel flustered. "That's sweet of you."
Panicked, Foxy hastily says, "I shouldn't've—I should've kept my mouth shut about that. I just was thinking today that it would be better if I chose you because then I'd feel like I had a choice."
"So, you really wish you weren't with me that bad? I mean, I know the alternative to becoming the star-crossed lovers is dying, but…"
"N-no. If it were…" Foxy wipes her palms on her sundress. "If it were a choice between marrying you and dying I…"
I start laughing; I cannot help it.
"It's okay," I say, smirking with a shrug and light roll of my eyes. "You get so worked up. I think we can agree that we were about to die for each other and that…"
"We were about to die to spite the people who made us have to kill instead of love."
I hate that she is right. "Some of the best things are done out of spite," I decide to say.
"Yeah." Foxy nods. "Back to—back to falling in love with the power of small talk. The… the weather is nice here. It's very sunny."
I laugh again. "You're sickeningly cute. I mean, skittish and shy isn't usually my type, but I find you kinda endearing. And you're sexy when stabbing girls in the neck to save my life."
She knits her brow and I wonder if she looks like that when angry. Something about the twist of her lip makes me think I offended her somehow.
"That guy sells ice cream!" Foxy exclaims, changing the subject, and, as it is the loudest I have ever heard her speak, I pivot and stride across the park to the dessert stand. A board with photographs of different novelties sits beside the very colorful man in a floral print suit.
"You two are the star-crossed lovers," he breathlessly says, his yellow eyes widening with sheer joy. "The star-crossed lovers."
"Yep," I cavalierly reply, and then I turn to Foxy. "What kind of ice cream do you want?"
She faintly smiles and points at a picture of a pink bunny on a stick with candy eyes. I order it for her, since she seems too timid to do it for herself, and get myself a plain popsicle with red and yellow coloring. The man quickly gets to work and hands them to us.
"Would—would you two mind taking a picture with me?" he pleads, grinning.
"We would mind," I say, sliding my arm around Foxy and walking away.
"It wouldn't have been a hassle to let that guy take a picture with us," she softly says. "It would've been nice, actually. And you—you—you could've been nicer to Satin earlier when you made fun of her about kitties. It's not… you're not being nice today."
"I'm not nice," I coldly state. "And if you cared so much, you could've spoken up before we walked away, right? Or defended Satin Athens earlier. Right. I'm sick of these Capitol people seeing us as trophies or playthings."
"We're celebrities to them," she whispers, sounding too passionate for something silly. "And maybe we would be like them if we weren't raised in the Districts. Maybe our biggest worries would be birthday parties and the best moment of our lives would be meeting victors."
I cock an eyebrow. What on Earth is her problem?
"Don't sympathize with these people."
"We'll live here soon," she whispers.
"That doesn't mean we have to assimilate," I snap, and that shuts her up. "We can still be loyal to where we come from no matter where we're forced to live. Won't you miss Five?"
"Not Five. I'll miss my brother and Cordelia, though." She looks crestfallen and I groan.
Out of the corner of my mouth I grumble, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"It's okay. You're you and I fell in love with you." It sounds forced. I do not like that.
I release her and turn to face her. "We also don't have to be in love just because everybody says so. We can admit that a few days in the Arena doesn't exactly mean a lifetime of marital bliss."
Foxy chews on her lower lip. "Yeah."
"This date isn't going well, is it?" I ask, shaking my head.
"Not really," she quietly admits. "But it's the best date I've ever been on."
I lick my lips and inquire, "Have you ever been on a date?"
"No," she softly says, averting her ice blue eyes.
We both laugh.
"Neither have I," I earnestly say. "That might be the only thing we have in common."
She rubs her lips together and squints at the cloudless cyan sky.
I do not know what to make of it.
[X]
Weeks after the trip to the Capitol, on the morn of my Victory Tour, Foxy will soon arrive by train. The cameras will be fixated on us both to show our reunion to Panem. It should be… interesting.
Starting at sunrise, Enobaria and I jog through District Two. We do not have time to clean up before we arrive at her home and see peacekeepers outside.
The two of us exchange a glance that does not give me any answers.
I walk into Enobaria's house and see the clean, tidy, out-of-place peacekeepers. But I do not put two and two together until I see unease in Enobaria's eyes. She rarely looks anything but confident, much less anxious, and so I know something must be amiss.
"President Snow," graciously says Enobaria, "it is an honor."
I turn to my left and see a frail old man standing in front of the bookshelf in my house, studying my trinkets. He turns to us and his smile makes my skin crawl.
"Miss Whitethorn, I'm here for your… whatever you may call her. I attempted to find her in her own home but had no such luck. Miss Conium, Why don't we speak somewhere more private?" he says and I reluctantly follow him to the study, a room neither I nor Enobaria have ever used.
Without invitation, I sit down across from him. He gives me that smile again.
"I have a problem," says President Snow once we settle in place. "A problem that began with your abysmally poor decisions during the finale of the Hunger Games. Cato, protecting Miss Jones, the berries… Need I go on?"
I insist, "I was in love—am in love."
"Do not lie to me, Miss Conium. I do not buy the act, even if the Capitol is convinced. It certainly does not help your cause that you live with a woman other than your fiancée. Your relationship with Miss Whitethorn is… inappropriate, to say the least."
"My relationship with Enobaria is—"
His eyes flash. "Romantic. You cannot have her anymore. She has other love interests who are not as forbidden as a girl years her junior who is engaged to another."
The way he says love confuses me. It sounds mocking and more than a little bit intimidating.
"So, you have a problem because you have two victors."
"Yes. The proper course of action would have been to blow one of you to bits, but Seneca Crane decided that the people's demands for their lovers to both survive were more important than the very purpose of the Games. But, unfortunately, here you are. Can you guess where he is?"
I nod. Executed. Unsurprising. I knew President Snow was unhappy about the sudden break in the one official rule of the Hunger Games, and that he knew my display was not love but loathing for the Capitol and desire to make them pay.
"Have you talked to Fox—Sol—about this?" I demand, unable to stem my protective tone.
He looks about to laugh but holds back. "You do care about her. That gives me something to work with, at least."
"Something to work with? If you're so unhappy, why don't you just kill me? Be a man and chop my head off on live television."
I do not unhinge him in the slightest. That makes him the most terrifying person I have ever met. I cannot scare him. I cannot fight him. I cannot even wipe the small smile off his wrinkled face.
President Snow slickly says, "And create a martyr? No. As you of course know, the Victory Tour takes you through every district, and in almost every district, whispers of rebellion hide. There have been small strikes and acts of defiance, because you and Miss Jones have created a spark that will engulf Panem and raze it to the ground if we do not do something."
"Rebellion?" I hope I hide my thoughts of Lyme and Enobaria whispering in the woods. "A war. They're gonna use me and Foxy to start a war."
"Yes, my dear." He clasps his hands on the table. "If we do not stop it."
"I will stop them myself. I will end the rebellion and then you can leave Fox—Sol—out of this. She's not strong enough." I mean it wholeheartedly. I want nothing more than to snuff out this alleged rebellion before it begins. All I want is my prize and my life of luxury; I do not want to fight Lyme's war or Snow's war or anyone else's.
"Miss Jones is strong enough to openly defy the Capitol," President Snow smoothly says.
"I'll shut her up, okay? I'll keep her on track," I fiercely state, certain I can do it.
"I am glad we are on the same page. During your Victory Tour, you will reassure the districts that you are madly in love with Miss Jones and remind them that the Hunger Games gave you not only your life and a crown but your dear soulmate."
I accept that challenge with vigor. "I'll convince them."
President Snow's smile becomes mocking as he orders, "Aim higher."
"How do I aim higher?" I snarl against my best interests, glowering.
He just smiles at me again, wholly unafraid of my glare.
"Convince me."
