The prep team are forced to rush their own fancying up after Antimony's unfortunate reaction. They join us under the presentation stage in a clatter of heels and fluttering of metallic silver capes. Phoebe has also found time to apply long silvery talon-like nails and Vesuvia has straightened and spiked her vibrant blue hair in a rough-cut style similar to what Antimony wore at the reaping. All three of their capes are edged with feathers and diamond-like stones.
Lorcan has also stuck to the theme, his suit made of a near-black metallic cloth, his lapel-pin a cluster of feathers secured by a ring of small diamonds. Despite his long years on our prep team, he's still technically a first-year stylist and he's the first newcomer to dress a victor since Tigris back in the Forty-sixth Games. I don't doubt he'll be invited back next year, possibly even offered a position with another better-regarded district. Or maybe Dido will retire and let him take over Three full-time. Either way, I hope he does stay as he's one of the few people I am genuinely comfortable around, and Antimony appears to have decided to trust him too.
I guide her to her position on the silver disc—so reminiscent of the tributes' entrance into the arena that I don't know why we don't see victors losing control of themselves every other year, then take up my own spot at the direction of a harried production assistant.
Lorcan grins at me and leans over to adjust my own feather-and-diamond hairpiece (put together by Portia at the last minute so that we would all match). He says something but his words are drowned out by a loud cheer above as Caesar Flickerman takes to the stage above us.
It never seems to matter for these post-Games events what the popularity of a victor is, the experienced host of the Hunger Games always gets the crowd going at the start of the night. The prep team rise up to raucous applause which continues on for Gloria, who is already waving as soon as the disc starts its upward journey. Lorcan ascends to an absolute avalanche of noise. Then it is my turn.
I brace myself as the disc begins rising and wait for it to fully stop before I attempt the curtsy Gloria drilled me in, sweeping out the black-and-silver skirts with only the slightest wobble. I argued our Escort down to chunky two-inch heels that I can mostly manage and she agreed when I nearly turned an ankle trying on her own shoes with their four-inch stilettos.
I get more applause than I expected, and nod my head towards the box holding at least two of my major sponsors before accepting Caesar Flickerman's offered hand and guidance to the edge of the stage. As per my instructions, I hurry down the three small stairs and into the reserved seat next to Lorcan. He rests a gentle hand on my shaking knee as the lights dim and the crowd hushes momentarily, before our newest victor appears in a blaze of silver and white light. In the few minutes we left her alone, Antimony has adopted her new favorite posture, arms huddled tight around herself, head bowed. It takes her a few seconds to register the blare of noise and the bright lights, and she slowly raises her head and drops her arms to the sides, revealing the gleaming silver-white feathers that glisten in the light. By chance, she has produced the exact effect Lorcan was trying for, and I have no doubt that there is already a movie producer or two planning a new remake of the old fairy-tale as our ugly duckling reluctantly accepts Caesar's hand.
Thankfully, his hair is an incandescent shade of orange this year, and his eyes are a pale hazel, so he doesn't trigger any adverse reactions as he leads our new victor to her throne. Antimony even forces out a vague almost-smile as he announces her to the cheering audience, then maintains a neutral half-aware expression for most of the next three hours.
In a way I'm glad she has spaced out, as it means she doesn't react when Axel appears on screen during the reaping replay. We watch once more as the 59th Hunger Games are played out in front of us: the training scores and interviews (they manage to scrounge a workable thirty seconds from Antimony about fighting spirit and strong allies, and all but skip over Nikon, of course).
Still not a twitch from our victor as the Cornucopia bloodbath plays out in full. Her and Axel's flight to the north, and their construction of their fortress and projectile weapons earns a conspicuous amount of screen time.
I find myself spacing out too as they stretch out the limited action to fill the requisite three hours; it was a slow-paced Games by most standards, and without interviews and other filler it's hard for them to flesh out much of a story for Antimony. By the time they show that fateful morning when her ally, a boy she had started to think of as a protective and loving older brother, tried to cave in her head with a spiked club, the crowd is restless and a low murmur of soft conversation runs throughout the tiered seating.
The half-hearted cheer as our young victor forces her crude glass-tipped dart through Axel's ribs to pierce his heart jolts Antimony out of her daze and I see her eyes widen slightly and her knuckles clench white as they grasp the sharp edges of her jagged metallic throne. Caesar Flickerman taps his fingers against his microphone controls and leans in slightly to murmur something to her. She swallows visibly and nods, but her shoulders start shaking as the hovercraft arrives to remove her former ally's body and she continues to tremble throughout Afifa's betrayal and subsequent trek to the final fight.
Even during the final stumbling, awkward brawl, the bulk of the audience seems disengaged, and the applause is ragged during the fading visual of Antimony's bleeding, unconscious form. The national anthem starts blaring and it takes her half-way through to realize that Caesar is offering her a hand to rise, which she reluctantly accepts. Luckily most people don't notice this as they are more focused on the spot-lit figure slowly marching across the stage, trailed by a pretty girl around ten years old who beams over the spiky crown she is carrying.
Antimony is short enough that President Snow easily rests the metal circlet on her head, carefully placing it between the diamond-pinned feather pieces. He smiles his cold smile for the cameras and even shoots a glance my way which sends a cold shiver down my spine. Every time I see him up close like this, I can't help but remember that awful night I spent handcuffed to a table, covered in my friend's blood while he calmly informed me that he was as good as sentencing my sister to die.
I shake my head and force away such thoughts here where my facial expression might betray them on camera. The last thing our district needs is any more reprisals from high ranking Capitol officials; It's going to be bad enough just dealing with our toady mayor Gowan.
Our little team booth is hustled off-stage and held to the side while we wait for our crowned victor to join us for a night of being talked at by our sponsors and Panem's rich and famous. Just as the cars arrive, a breathless runner appears at Gloria's elbow, holding out two packages of tablets. Our Escort takes them and immediately pops two of the yellow ones and hands them to me. I raise an eyebrow and peer at the box, trying to make out the minuscule writing obscured by her fluorescent green talon nails. She has already turned away though, repeating the process with the other box and Antimony, who nearly fumbles the blue-and-white tablet she is given and, at Lorcan's reassurance, chokes the pill down.
I glance at my friend, who gives me a subtle nod, and decide to trust Gloria's judgement on this one. It turns out to be a good call as whatever the drug was, it dulls my senses, making the loud noise and closely-packed bustle of the victory party much more bearable.
Up to thirty party invites always go by priority to any sponsors who spent above a certain amount on the victor (with the other invitations randomly allocated to other large sponsors of the less fortunate tributes) so I am able to hide in the corner chatting with Luda Masterson, Juno Walker and Titanios Phelps discussing various branches of technological research. Plutarch Heavensbee joins us briefly, though he quickly deserts us for several of his Gamemaker friends. Even if he doesn't get the now-vacant Gamemaker position, his companies are heavily involved in developing and maintaining the force-field technology, seismic stability tech and hovercrafts that are heavily used in arena construction and preservation. Just like his father before him, every event, party or casual conversation is a business opportunity.
As all of the major sponsors who backed Antimony were my industry contacts, our newest victor spends much of her night slumped in an uncomfortable looking chair, smiling her vague half-smile when forcibly prompted by Gloria. After the first hour, all those inclined to speak with the guest of honor have had their five minutes of vacant looks and mumbled conversation, and have moved on to the laden tables and interactions with their own sort.
During a lull in my conversation, I bundle up a plate of the plainer food items and have a waiter bring me a glass of juice, and sit with Antimony while she picks at the meal. Her appetite is still quite low; she only manages a single fruit tart and half a bowl of melon ice-cream before she puts it aside. I glance around while she brushes pastry flakes from her feathered dress; I don't see Sarnia, last year's victor in attendance, though that's not entirely unexpected. She wasn't particularly popular or attractive, and was therefore of little interest to the Capitol's wealthy upper class.
The previous victor to that, Topaz, is leaning on the arm of a well-dressed man, smothering a yawn as he launches into a story for his nearby audience. Felix, another young-ish victor from One is also around, sitting with a slightly plump woman whose neck is dripping with heavy jewelry. Beetee managed to dodge his invitation by accepting an emergency call-out from one of our other industry friends, and the only other victor I can spot in the crowd is Noah, District Two's most recent victor. He and Felix are generally found together during Games events, though I notice the young man from Two seems not to have a set partner for the evening as he is gleefully dancing with a collection of women and men, shooting the odd mocking wave and grin off towards the District One man in the corner.
Somehow I doubt Antimony is going to be bothered by those sorts of interactions in the years to come. I expect she, like Sarnia before her, will get some interest from plastic surgeons, make-up companies and other body and hair stylists who need celebrity endorsements for their products. Even then, she will probably be replaced as soon as the next female victor is crowned, and will drift into the realms of near-freedom. Well, as free as you get watching children nominally in your care die horribly every twelve months while you re-live your own nightmares.
Gloria drags herself away from the limelight around midnight and spots me mentally deconstructing and redesigning the support structure of the ballroom, and Antimony rubbing her head and wincing at the bright lights. A car is summoned immediately and we make our quiet escape, happy to let the party carry on in our absence. The rooms in the Training Center are empty when we get back; even the assigned avoxes are out, likely not expecting us back until the early hours of the morning.
"Sleep?" I suggest as a sudden wash of weariness sweeps over me.
"You got some more of them pills?" Antimony asks softly, rubbing her head again. I can see moisture in her eyes and her brow is furrowed in pain. The doctors suggested that the painful headaches may continue for some weeks (one even said several months). I frown as Gloria doesn't hesitate to hand another pill over and bustle into the kitchen for a glass of water; I've heard that dealing with post-arena pain was how both District Six victors got started on their morphling addictions.
Here in the Capitol it's easy enough to get a wide variety of pills for all sorts of ailments (or entertainment with the right doctor or some friends on the street). In the districts however, they seem to restrict the purchasable medicines to a handful of options, and sell them at a premium. The cost is obviously of no concern to a victor, but the lifelong dependence on the effects can be more devastating than, well, a bad blow to the head.
I decide to let it go for now; if the pain is driving her to tears, there's no way Antimony will be able to sleep without it. We part ways quietly, two of us heading for our beds, and Gloria back out to the assorted parties still echoing in the streets ("The night is still young and there's so much to celebrate!"). She's been taking her own pills, which will undoubtedly see her here bright and bubbly first thing in the morning set up for the final interview.
~xXx~
I get to mock Lorcan the next morning as he arrives hung-over with the rest of the prep team to doll up Antimony for her final interview. He winces at Gloria's high pitched chattering and smothers a yawn behind an elegantly-draped sleeve as Juliette and Vesuvia hurry in to Antimony's bathroom.
"My daughter is a bad influence," he mutters to me when I finally take mercy and brew two large cups of coffee, dumping three heaping spoons of sugar into his. I raise my eyebrows at this—Portia is barely twelve (only just of reaping age if she wasn't from the Capitol, my tired brain helpfully supplies).
"Oh, you know," he says with a vague wave. "She wanted to meet some of the other fashion designers, and then I got talking to them after I sent her home, and then Maximus Melli and Belladonna Cooke got me drinking and…"
He trails off with a withering glare as I turn my laugh into a fake cough.
"You victors, heartless the lot of you," he says, turning his nose up and simultaneously trying to sip his drink, which splashes onto his silk shirt. I laugh some more, especially when that cute rueful grin escapes onto Lorcan's face. He clears his throat importantly and says, "If you need me I'll be doing some-ah- last minute costume adjustments."
He slips out the door, dodging past Gloria (temporarily distracted by a messenger) before our Escort can see the spreading brown stain on his cream silk shirt.
"Where-" she starts impatiently, and I dutifully repeat Lorcan's excuse, which is accepted readily enough. "Yes, well, that message was from Diventus Culpepper. You know, the jeweller? He has some lovely feathered pieces, and he though Lorcan might be willing to collaborate during the victory tour styling…"
I let her ramble on about the various contacts she's made in the last week while I snag the newspaper and start filling in the puzzles page. Lorcan returns within the hour looking a little more alert, and I leave him to the tender mercies of our overzealous escort while I check in on Antimony.
The girl appears to have gone into her shell again. She is staring vacantly at the wall, hands clasped firmly around the sides of her chair seat while Juliette rubs some cream into her hair and Vesuvia works on her toenails. We spoke briefly last night about the upcoming interview, and I'm reasonably confident that she won't say anything that will get her or her family (or me) in trouble. She's just…not very sociable. And coming from me, that's saying something. Then again my issue has always been less about being around people and more not feeling a need to verbally join a conversation.
Antimony has lost her outright hostility to "them awful rich types", but will never be anything more than cordial. Polite, at a stretch. I did warn her to mentally prepare herself to talk about Axel, which may be why she has withdrawn again. Her appetite is also still worryingly low; one of her doctors has been hassling Gloria, but beyond holding a gun to her head until she eats…
I shake my head at the image and drop back into reality when I hear Lorcan asking my opinion about eye-shadow colors, presumably not for the first time. He smiles indulgently as he repeats the question once more and leads me out to discuss options. I glance back at Antimony on the way out; she hasn't moved from her wall-staring vigil.
~xXx~
The interview isn't a complete disaster. I give Caesar a list of safe-ish questions and a stammered warning that our young victor can be very emotional when the topic of her slain ally comes up. I'm reminded that, since her whole Games revolved around that ally, it's hardly possible not to discuss him and that Antimony should be prepared for that eventuality.
Caesar says it kindly, and I'm sure he will do his best to help her, but I spend the minutes before they start rummaging through Gloria's pill collection (and ignoring my thoughts from the previous night about reducing Antimony's drug dependency) for something that will dull the physical and emotional pain our victor will undoubtedly be in before the hour is up.
As a result, the girl only has two minor emotional lapses instead of a full meltdown, and manages some semi-coherent tear-choked answers to a range of questions about her family, her creative weapon and fortress construction, and about how it felt to fight off her treacherous ally. She actually does improve towards the end when Caesar turns the discussion to her preference for sweet foods and to the dozen fashion houses who have offered her full remakes to create her new style. She's even heard of two of them and isn't as vehemently opposed to the idea as I thought she would be.
I think we all heave a sigh of relief when the call comes out that we are done, and the rapid pack-up and homeward journey begins. I throw my clothes, books and notes haphazardly into my bag and pass it off to a waiting Avox for transport to the cars, joining Beetee at the window for one last glimpse of the Capitol skyline for the year.
No, not for the year, I remind myself, though the thought still seems strange, like a discordant note in a well-known song. I'll be back here in six months' time for the Victory Tour. As much as I hate the traditions around the Hunger Games designed to keep the slaughter of children at the forefront of everyone's' minds, I can't help feel a slight pang of excitement at the prospect of getting to see all the districts once more.