In this chapter, Copper goes on the Victory Tour, and is able to develop more with Clove.
All credit is due to Suzanne Collins. BestBrass.
The prep team had been appalled at the 'vagrants' who squatted in Number Seven Victor's Village. Clove and Copper had stopped trying to explain why they'd let their friends move in, and the team had, at Ligna's bidding, ceased to ask. They washed and buffed and moisturized and primped their long-unseen victor, and chatted all the way. It was a new fad to whiten the whites of the eyes in the Capitol, because it, in the words of prep artist Abraxes, gave the impression of a dark, deep-in-thought look that had become so popular. Jago had snorted into his breakfast, and disguised it as a cough, triggering him to truly choke on his food. Abraxes had sniffed and commented on quarriers and their lack of refinement as he and Ligna had ushered Copper into the bathroom for more primping.
"I'll only be gone for a few days," Copper assured Clove and the others. They gave her doleful expressions and polite answers in front of the prep team. In the past few months, Copper had ceased to see their workmates as workmates, and instead as friends, which turned to family. Saffra and Corbin's families had become more established, and rebuilt their homes, and had reassembled under their new roofs, leaving the Katona household with the twins, Briar, Tiberius and Jago. "Keep warm," Copper waved farewell, and boarded the train. Winter fully gripped the district, with heavy snows and cutting winds. It was off to Twelve first, which would be marginally warmer than the mountainous Two. For now, Copper was to attend the 72nd Victory Tour.
As far as Clove and the others at Number Seven could see from the televised victory tour, it was alright. Twelve had no particular reason to dislike Copper, since one had died in the bloodbath at Zither's hand, and the other had died in an airstrike. They were, if anything, passive towards Copper, who had retreated into her mask of inscrutability. She had grown more vibrant since the Games, but it was all gone once on screen, with Copper's arena-famous flat personality. Whether on purpose or a defense mechanism, Clove was unsure. Copper read from her cue cards in a tone of forced, practiced inflection, her voice reduced to a flat delivery. If she was playing the shellshocked survivor, she was doing it well. Either that, or she had regressed to the state she had been in for her original homecoming.
Eleven was also alright to Copper, since their girl tribute had died before the Games had even started, dropping her token onto a mine, and their boy had been killed by Furr. They clearly didn't want to be there, and didn't like Copper, but like Twelve, they didn't have to try too hard at being polite to her. Ten had been calm, if a bit resentful, since ever tour was an example of the Capitol's method of directing the district's hate at the victor. Nine had been tense and awkward, since Copper had personally killed their girl, Juniper. Eight had been surprisingly alright, since Emmer had killed their boy to protect Copper. They still glowered at the flat reading of the cue cards, dictating a glamorization of Emmer's deed.
Seven had been almost kind to Copper, clapping hard and listening quietly. After all, both their tributes had allied with the careers, and Copper had even made a small friendship with Brannock, enough to get herself into trouble for him. It seemed that, just as Caesar Flickerman and other commentators had run out of ways to explain to the audience that Copper was in shock, and had lost her youthful flair, Copper had spoken out from her cue cards. It had been raining, still, in Seven, and Copper had ignored the offered umbrella. Her cuecards had smudged, and she admitted she couldn't read them, anymore.
"I guess I should say that they were good allies, Rhymer and Brannock," Copper had said awkwardly. Without her cards, she had looked up into the audience, then looked up farther at the rain, letting it stream on her face. Snapping back to the present, she shook droplets from her head. "I didn't know Rhymer much, and I guess I didn't get to know Brannock, either. But Brannock helped me carry Emmer." She trailed off again, evidently remembering. It was easy for the audience to see her unspoken thanks. "He helped buy me and my brother more time together." Another unspoken thanks. Then, she snapped back into the present and gave that year's slogan for Panem and retreated to the side of her stylist. Seven hadn't done much, but their approval showed in their faces as the cameras panned over the audience. Caesar had grinned and announced that the sweet little girl still lived within the hardened victor. Clove hated him for it.
Copper had killed the boy from Six, and Six showed they hadn't forgiven her, remaining silent. For her part, Copper's deadpan expression had returned, and she went through the motions. Emmer had killed the girl from Five, and Five had clearly kept it in mind as they listened to Copper's speech. Clove couldn't quite read them, but they seemed mixed, if angry. Four passed without much attention, but it was Three that Clove was unsure of. Copper had killed Laurel, Three's girl. It was the first widely publicized kill, and the reruns had gone on and on, coupled with Emmer's enraged launching of Eight's Talon over the ledge. They were quiet and ambivalent, and commentators had quickly lost interest.
The hate One showed Copper was strong, if unsurprising. Copper had personally killed both tributes from One. Zither had come in fourth place, and Furr had come in second, achingly close for same-district tributes to make it, even for careers. One had fixed hard smiles onto their faces, and stared at the diminutive girl, hoping against hope she would die similarly to Charm Inchcape. The Capitol had followed, with much partying. Copper remained impassive, but Clove and the others were able to see that Copper's deadpan expression had indeed become all the rage, and those in the Capitola had decided to mimic it by whitening the whites of their eyes and dying their eyebrows darker. It was garrish. They had showcased Copper's bouquets, to many audible 'ooh's and 'aah's. They had, truly, been beautiful, with different colors, subdued tones and bright, flourishing arrangements. They had raved over flowers, and bid on the bouquets, vying to take them home. They hadn't been for sale, originally, but the President had emerged, had announced that the proceeds were to fund the state's operations, and let the bidding begin.
Finally, the train returned the next morning, bearing a dour looking Copper. The festivities in Two had been genuinely raucous, since it was the first time they'd had time to truly celebrate anything since before the reaping of the 72nd Hunger Games. It was that night when Copper had gotten home at last. Her prep team had bustled in, hugged goodbye, stocked her closet with the outfits from her tour, and returned to the waiting train. Copper was home, and would have another six months before attending the next Games to be interviewed and shown off. Turning to Clove and the others, however, she saw their faces. Clove held an opened envelope in her hand, which she held out for Copper to read. It was addressed to Copper but Clove, being Clove, had opened it, anyway. Though it had arrived the day before, and likely been opened then, the paper still smelled strongly of roses. Copper felt herself go blank all over again. She was going back. The invitation left no room for excuses. Copper looked up at the others.
"You're not going." Clove was laying down the law. Briar left to pull the last of the pies from the oven, and Tiberius fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Jago diverted his eyes to the bouquet Copper had set in the entrance hallway. No one said anything, except for Clove, who repeated herself.
"I have to," Copper answered. There was nothing else for it, but her sister was shaking her head.
"You're a victor, you can say no. We can say you've gone mad. Copper," Clove took her by the shoulders, "if you go to the Capitol, he won't let you go." This was true.
"If I don't go, he won't let you live." Clove blinked in surprise before she flushed in rage that Copper had kept such a secret from her, her own family. Beyond that, she was clearly furious at being treated as someone who needed protecting. Well, it was truth time now. Clove turned from her in disgust and left the hallway, leaving a very uncomfortable looking Tiberius and Jago. Dishware and utensils were being slammed in the kitchen, announcing Clove's setting the table for dinner. Clove had been the more passionate of the two, and Copper had sometimes felt heartless in comparison, but now her own frustration boiled, and Copper followed the others into the kitchen. "I mean it, Clove." Copper hated confrontation, and hated having it in front of anyone outside the family, but Briar, Tiberius and Jago were family, now, weren't they? "I have to do my part, now you do yours."
"And what does that entail, exactly?" Clove shot back, giving vicious cuts to divide one of the pies.
"Train, do your quarry shifts, do well in school, test poorly in training. Do everything you can to avoid being reaped." Copper answered. "You'll probably have to go, anyway, but just in case, you should be prepared."
"I'm done playing by Capitol rules, Copper," came the defiant reply. Her contempt for Copper's acquiescence was clear in her face. Copper scoffed and threw some spoons onto the table.
"Yeah, good luck with that one. Let's all hope the odds will be in your favor."
"You're spineless and weak," Clove spat. This was escalating further than Copper had anticipated, but her own anger rose to the challenge.
"You're naive, I'm pragmatic." The sisters hadn't fought like this in a long while, years. Copper couldn't remember the last time they had truly fought. Inevitably, the fight was short lived when Briar pulled the last of the pies from the oven and declared dinner to be ready. Copper was glad it had ended, because the fever of rage always scared her at some level. Looking over her meal, she saw it still ran high in Clove. What had Copper done, fanning the fever which had already driven her sister to some sense of madness? While at home, and especially when Copper had returned from the arena, Clove had regressed to a gentler side, making Copper believe perhaps Clove's madness had gone. It had been a false hope, she realized now, because it had simply taken a back seat for a time. Now, Clove's madness had resurfaced, and again consumed her.
"Clove," Copper piped up. "Don't let yourself get distracted. It will kill you." She nodded, but said nothing, and Copper knew she had dismissed the advice. Clove had survived the past few years with her anger, and fury had helped her achieve the highest rankings in career training. Copper doubted if anyone aside from her and maybe Clove herself could see that her anger didn't end with simple rage, but ran into a mental instability that had been growing for years, ever since Strate had died.
It was several days later when Copper finally boarded the train to return to the Capitol, as long as she dared to wait. She hugged each of her friends, including Saffra and Corbin, who had come to see her off, and boarded the train. She had brought nothing with her, since Snow's letter had been clear that every luxury would be provided upon her return, and she wasn't willing to mix her possessions from home with the Capitol. She gave herself a mental shake. Adverse thinking would only lead to her slipping, which could only lead to trouble. She was just glad to have garnered a reputation for being apathetic, with low expectations in social situations.
The Capitol welcome had underwhelmed her for all of its colors and food, and Copper's only highlight seemed to come from other victors who had been dragged from their homes previous. They greeted her with varying degrees of friendliness at their reunion, and Copper was able to reacquaint herself with Annie, who was, even with her mental instability, the best company. When the hubbub had died down, Ligna had found her, and guided her to an avox who would take her to her quarters. The victors had, along with their luxury houses in the districts, a wing of a sprawling complex in the Capitol, located just next to the training center. Most of the victors under the age of forty, ones who the Capitol liked to keep track of, spent most of their time in the Capitol, living in their respective wings. The avox, who was introduced as Blye, was a woman almost as short as Copper herself, and that said something, because Copper was in the midst of slowly realizing her growth was stunted. Either from the career training from a young age or her hunger in the arena, or both, she hadn't grown in months. Clove had at least reached a normal height for girls, and was continuing to grow, leaving Copper at her diminutive stature.
Blye had led the way, Ligna chattering along. Each wing was designed with the victor in mind, and would reflect the elements that their prep teams and stylists thought would put them most at home. She had worked so hard on it, didn't Copper know, and Ligna was so excited to have even provided Blye with a small room, in case Copper decided to have her at her beckoning call. When Blye had come to the entrance, which faced a central courtyard the victors' quarters all faced, Copper had almost laughed with a twinge of humorous dread. The double doors that faced them were of solid wood, which Copper did indeed approve of, and were fixed with wrought copper hinges that stretched across the doors in a decorative scrawl. If everything was going to be themed around her name, she was in for quite a room. Blye unlocked the doors and handed the keys to Copper, stepping aside. It was unexpected.
The entrance hall was a step up and laid with hardwood flooring, a nice change from the marble of the central victor courtyards. To the left was a dining room, leading to the kitchen with every amenity, on the right was a parlour for entertaining guests. Continuing through the entrance hall lead to a circular area, revealing staircases that led to an open hallway above that circled the room, and more doors to rooms for uses Copper couldn't possibly come up with. But the circular living room was flooded with natural light from high windows above, and it struck the wood furniture, showing the glow of its lustre. The doors directly across were open, letting in a breeze from sprawling gardens. Ligna had truly outdone herself, because for however stupid a couple of her outfits had been, she had found a calling in her arrangement of Copper's quarters.
Copper had tuned out the spiel Ligna was giving. She was fairly certain she'd repeat it all over again over the lunch, courtesy of Blye, that she'd invited herself to. Leaving the stylist and avox behind, she stepped over the threshold of the doors into the sun. The garden was wide and deep. A couple of young trees grew in the far corners of the garden, but aside from them and a greenhouses flanking the sides, the entire yard was bare, waiting for Copper. It faced south, and would receive most of the day's sun for most of the year. Eyes closed, laying in the dirt despite the cold, Copper found herself to be content for the first time that day. She doubted she'd ever feel at home in this place, which could only be called a gilded cage, but servitude was nothing new to her and the family at large. For the time being, it was hers.
"It's one of the smaller apartments, to be sure," Ligna admitted apologetically. "But since you'll be working as florist, the President said the emphasis would be on workspace." She took a delicate sip of the soup. "We're just a block away from the President's mansion, which is convenient, since you've already received several commissions. Imagine, you've yet to grow anything in a proper garden, and you've already been given an avox to help manage your commissions." She had put an annoying emphasis on the word proper, as if the bouquets Copper had brought to the Capitol had been grown in a trough. She meant well, however, and had truly outdone herself, for which Copper was grateful. Eventually, Ligna took her leave, and left the two awkward girls, neither of whom could possibly be over eighteen in age.
"Blye, right?" Copper confirmed, feeling more awkward than not. She nodded, shyly, her brown curls shining. She was truly beautiful, probably around seventeen.
"I'll admit, I'm totally out of my depth in business. I've never done this before." That much was clear. Blye gave a nod, although what exactly this meant, Copper didn't know. Perhaps she was just showing acknowledgement that she'd heard. This couldn't last forever, this one sided conversation. "We'll figure it out." Over the next couple of days, Blye arranged to have soils, seeds, pots and tools brought in. With the next season's commissions hanging over her head and spring coming, Copper had sown the seeds in the greenhouses and begun tilling the rows in the garden. She had enough seeds to plant about half of the garden, and she still had to figure out what to do with the other half. That would come later.
It was still cold most of the time, with the high altitude, but Blye seemed to anticipate every need or want of Copper's before Copper knew she needed or wanted it. She would break from tilling the cold ground, put a hand to her back, and there Blye was, holding a steaming cup of soup or chocolate. One day, Copper felt something between Blye's hand and the cup she passed over, and when Copper had finished half of it, sitting in the dirt, she felt she could see what it was. It was a note, written in a Capitol hand, with typical flourishes and fancy cursive letters. Cursive was taught in Two, but it was rare that anyone bothered to perfect it. Only in the Capitol was it normal to perfect something like a writing style. Finch, Copper's tutor, had tried to get Copper to write in cursive, but the end result was a cross between unruly scratches with flourished connections, a decidedly distinctive hand. The note was neat, and gave an introduction of sorts. Her name was Blye Allardyce, she was almost eighteen, and had been an avox since she was fifteen. It was short, to the point, and left Copper hungry for more.
"Blye," Copper spoke up the next morning, "if you've got the time, I'd like some help in the garden today." She nodded, and they finished their breakfast. Of course she had time. Her time was Copper's time. Once out in the garden, with both of their backs bent, faces down, Copper began a low murmur. She told Blye little stories of her life. Like the time she and Clove had gotten mad at Emmer, and had cut his mattress open to put eggs inside. Weeks had passed, and by the time the smell had developed, neither twin had remembered it was them at first, or what they'd been mad for when confronted.
There was the time when Clove and Copper both had wanted to ride on Strate's back, but he was sore from training, so Emmer had taken it upon himself to carry the both of them. The three of them had arrived home a full hour after their normal arrival, because Emmer had been too stubborn to admit they were both too heavy for him, even after Strate had doubled back, feeling guilty. The girls had offered to walk, realizing the drama was all because of their whims, but Emmer had told them he'd carry them then or they'd be walking for good, with no chance of a ride in the future. He probably hadn't meant it, but it was a severe enough threat to keep both girls clinging to his shoulders. All through the stories, Blye listened, occasionally nodding to show she was listening. Straightening from their inefficient work, which neither was truly invested in, Blye's eyes were brighter than usual, and she wiped her nose more often, from causes other than the cold.
Copper didn't ask Blye to the garden the next day. Instead, Blye gave her several sandwiches wrapped in a cloth, and as she passed it over, they dropped into Copper's hands with a suspicious weight. Sitting in a corner of the greenhouse, Copper unwrapped the sandwiches to find more of Blye's stories written inside.
Blye was a Capitol girl herself, so didn't know any of the hardships of the Districts growing up. That had all ended when she was fifteen, and she had agreed to sneak out of the Capitol to try to make it to One, where they'd try to see Argos Waxer, the victor from One in the 68th Hunger Games. She and her friend, a boy named Whytt who basically wanted to be Argos Waxer, were inspired by Waxer's exploits of sneaking around the arena to want to sneak out of the Capitol to meet him. It was a fanciful, harebrained idea, but it must have made sense to them to some degree, because a third friend, a girl named Ravika, had gone with them, too. They had been caught, of course, but before they could explain that they were simply loyal fans, Ravika was dead, and Whytt was blinded in his left eye. Whytt and Blye had waited in their little cell in the hovercraft, listening to the officials receive a telling off for not checking to make sure they were defecting first. They couldn't very well say they'd made a mistake in recovering the young teenagers, so by the time they were back in the Capitol, Whytt and Blye were avoxes.
Blye's parents had bribed someone to see her before she was sent to the sewers, and they had been nearly insensible. They promised her they'd take care of her younger brother, and that they'd somehow get her promoted from the sewers. They were relatively wealthy in the Capitol, but even they had to scrape and save, because the bribes were enormous to get someone out of the sewers, where most avoxes spent their lives. They had finally managed it several months ago, using a connection to one of Ligna's assistants to get Blye such a post as with a victor. Victors were known to be the least demanding in terms of waiting for tasks, as Capitol people tended to give tasks at random times of the day, urgently, before dismissing their earlier request for a different demand. Blye had ended the note by thanking Copper.
Copper had sat back, leaning against the leg of one of the tables in the greenhouse. This girl had been so naive, and punished so harshly. She had been Copper's age when her tongue had been cut out, and sent to work in the drains, a place Copper had never bothered to think about until now. How could this girl have the nerve to thank her, when she was there for the sole purpose of serving a girl three years her younger, with no chance of earning her way out of the hole she found herself in? Copper wiped her eyes, her nose, and stood, realizing she had to repot some of the sprouted seeds. She had neglected to do it earlier in the day, and had somehow spent several hours sitting there, so it was dark by the time she finally came in. Blye had set her table, and was dutifully waiting off to the side, to serve the slightest need Copper might have.