Being back in our quarters in the Training Center is making me claustrophobic. When we were here for the tour it was bad enough, I never imagined I'd be here as a tribute again. I look around at the familiar rooms, the same walls and unchanged décor. Suddenly it's too much for me, I need to get out. First I try the roof, but it's too confined and the openness isn't enough. Back home when I was restless I would walk, the clean air clearing my head and the exercise swinging my mood back. My skin itches with my need to be away from here. I head back downstairs to find Portia.
I skirt around my room quickly, not wanting to get caught by my prep team. I can hear them chattering and setting up inside. Portia is in the sitting room, going over sketches spread out in front of her. She looks up with a questioning smile.
"I need a favor," I tell her bluntly.
"Of course," she replies. She's so willing to help, her response was so immediate, that it gives me pause. I don't want to get her in trouble and I'm not sure if what I want is forbidden or not. Well, I'm sure it is, I just don't know to what degree we'd be punished if I got caught.
"I want to go out," I tell her. "I want to go see the city a bit." Her eyes grow round in surprise and I see her register what a big thing that is to ask of her. "I don't know what the future holds for me," I lie. "I just want to go see it."
Portia watches me steadily for a long minute, her head cocked to the side. "You're going to try and get her out," she says accusingly. Again, I have no way to answer this, I just shrug and nod. A cloud of grief passes over her face, but I can see her accept it just like my father did. Fondness for her surges up in me, that she understands so readily. I reach out and take her hand, giving it a squeeze and she smiles back sadly. "Come with me," she says.
We go through the hallway and into a back alcove room. She begins rummaging through trunks and cases, pulling out clothes and accessories. She sets to work and in a short while steps back and eyes me critically. "What do you think?" she asks, turning me toward the full length mirror.
A hat covers my familiar blond curls and golden contacts hide my tell-tale blue eyes. The clothing is so out of character that it doesn't even look like me staring back from the reflection. A bright, spring green jacket over a silky yellow shirt and green and yellow striped trousers, the flared leg disguising my prosthetic leg nicely, transform me into a run-of-the -mill Capitol citizen. Not too well-off, but enough not to draw attention. It's perfect.
I laugh out loud and tug at a leg. "Why do you even have these pants?" I exclaim reproachfully.
She grins back at me and tells me of a bet she has with Cinna. "If I can just get Haymitch drunk enough, I'm going to win a pretty good stack of cash," she says mischievously. The very idea sets me off and we cover our mouths with our hands, trying to stifle our guffaws. Still chortling softly, we sneak guiltily out into the hallway, watching nervously down each corridor. Everyone is busy getting ready for the chariot parade tonight though, and I make it to the elevator unnoticed. On the way down, Portia reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. Silently returning the pressure, I hold her hand in mine all the way down.
Once we're at the lobby, she winks at me as the doors slide apart and we stride confidently toward the main door. My heart pounds nervously but people bustle and flow around us, no one taking notice of the well-turned out pair making for the street. As the large glass doors swish closed behind me, I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm out! Portia gives me a vague air kiss on either side of my face but stares intently into my eyes. "Careful," she whispers, and then she disappears back inside.
Not wanting to look lost right outside the Training Center, I scan the street quickly. The track for the chariot parade flows down toward the grounds of the President's mansion and I quickly turn and head in the opposite direction. Shops line the street, eateries and boutiques, some looking expensive but some seeming quite run-down. I walk with what I hope is a confident yet unassuming swagger to nowhere in particular. The people engulf me, taking no notice of another stranger in their midst. The buzzing screech inside me begins to quiet as I walk in the open air, the motion and freedom soothing my jangling nerves. I stop quickly in a tiny but welcoming café and reemerge cradling a cup of thick, dark chocolate infused with coffee and topped with sweet, frothy cream. The warm, sharp sweetness is glorious and a little moan escapes when I sip it. As I get further from the Training Center I become less nervous about being recognized and begin to notice my surroundings more as I relax. The anonymous freedom loosens my shoulders and I smile at a tiny girl with curls cascading over her back in long, purple ringlets. She grins back and waves merrily, lightening my heart. As I pass a window, my eye is caught by a delicate, filigreed lipstick case in the display and instantly I know I need to get it for Portia.
The bell on the door chimes my entrance and a simpering clerk with gold swirls tattooed over his fingers and gilded lips smiles greasily at me. While he's wrapping my purchase, my eyes drift over the cases of beautiful jewelry and accessories. One velvet display catches my attention. It cradles a glinting golden locket, open on subtle hinges to showcase three photographs. I stare at it for a long moment, the hint of an idea beginning to form in my mind.
Back on the street I wander happily and aimlessly, watching the bizarrely dressed people as they go about their days. Going to work, shopping, meeting for coffee, their bright, empty chatter is uniformly meaningless. Displays for the chariot parade tonight are everywhere, with the subtle reminders that watching is mandatory. Many people are talking about the Games, and it seems my prediction was correct. Though they say it in hushed whispers, they aren't happy about having their favorites returned to the arena. Most of the talk I hear is about Katniss and I, and the tragedy of us having been gifted this miracle of a life together only to have it ripped away from us by the Quarter Quell. What interests me is the feeling of betrayal so many express. They feel like they were responsible for Katniss and I being dual victors, that their passion for our love story caused the rule change, and now their wishes are being overturned by the two of us being forced back into the Games. They have so little experience with disagreeing with the Gamemakers, they don't quite know how to think about it, but they are clearly unhappy. A little nudge in the right direction could do a lot, I think.
My brain is spinning busily with these thoughts when I pass the open door of a small club. From inside I hear a singer and his voice draws me in to the dark, friendly interior. I find a table tucked back in a corner and with a clear view of the small stage. A waitress comes over and I order a cold drink and sandwich, but my attention is riveted to the performer commanding the room. His unruly red hair sticks up from his head in all directions and his arms are covered in colorful tattoos, penetrating blue eyes sweeping the crowd as he sings. I spend the next hour listening to songs of love, of loss, of hope and of defiance. By the time he finishes the crowd has grown to swell the capacity of the club and is singing along rhapsodically. He grins hugely as he bows his way from the stage, raising his hands over his head and disappearing behind a dividing wall.
The music was so good I've lost track of time and I hastily pay my bill before darting back outside into the late afternoon. Hurrying on my way back to the Training Center I worry Portia will be wondering where I am, others may have noticed my absence by now too. Cursing under my breath that I might have gotten her in trouble, I walk as quickly as I can without drawing attention to myself and gasp with relief when I see the gaudy lobby through the glass doors. Punching the 12th floor button in the elevator I fidget anxiously on the endless ride up. The doors slide open and Effie gives a little startled scream when I burst out.
"What are you doing in there?" she asks, her head pivoting back and forth between me and my room down the hall.
"I- uh- I went out," I say without conviction.
Her eyes get huge and she claps a lace gloved hand to her mouth. "Out?" she repeats in a strangled whisper, clearly horrified. "Just…out?"
"Yes," I say, gathering confidence as she is clearly at sea about how to react. I decide the more sure of myself I seem, the less likely she is to question it. "I went shopping." She blinks at me, unable to register this news. "I need you to do something for me." Nodding mutely she waits for my request. I'm pretty sure at this point I could ask for a small country and she'd try to get it for me. Her circuits are blown at the act of defiance against the Capitol and she has no idea how to respond. She's floundering so badly that I take pity on her. "Remember you wanted us to all look like a team?" I remind her. I go on to tell her about the locket I saw in the shop, and to tell her what I want for it. She doesn't even ask why, just turns with a dazed nod and walks quietly back toward her room to get to work. Smiling, I head for my own room, ready to take on whatever my team is prepared to hand out.
It turns out I wasn't completely prepared. I had underestimated how deeply attached my team has become to me. When I swing the door open I'm met by three pairs of tragically red eyes, Junius openly sobbing over my hairbrush, and Lyra clutching a drawing I'd made for her on the tour. They immediately begin to sniff loudly, trying to pull themselves together but it's soggy at best. My chest aches, touched by this show of affection, and I walk over to Junius and pull him into a hug. He clings to me while Selt and Lyra wrap arms around us and we stand together, quietly miserable at the reality confronting us. After a long moment, Junius snorts loudly and pulls back to wipe a gauzy handkerchief across his nose. His eyes meet mine over the delicate fabric and I'm surprised by the glint of steel in them.
"We're going to make you so beautiful that every citizen with two coins to rub together is going to be throwing them at Haymitch to get you home," he says with dignified solemnity. I smile and nod my thanks, not wanting to further upset him, but Lyra breaks in with a catch in her voice.
"He's not coming home," she chokes. "He's going to fight to protect Katniss, just like last time." Tears glitter on her lashes, but she meets my eyes steadily.
Junius freezes for a bare second, but then his chin lifts. "Then he'll need sponsors even more. Let's get to work."
I'm grateful to be required to sit silently for a bit while they set about preparing me for the public. I have no words for how appreciative I am, how much I value their loyalty.
By the time Portia comes in with my outfit, we've all embarrassed ourselves sufficiently with our emotional outburst and have moved on to making wildly inappropriate jokes about the arena and the other victors. I'm bent double, gasping for air after Selt's deadpan imitation of a sponsor receiving painful attentions from file-toothed Enobaria and Portia's exasperated frown just makes it worse. Giggling uncontrollably, I lift my arms for the strangely heavy tunic to slide over my head. She snugs the waist around, a solid black jumpsuit of sorts that hugs my body all the way to my ankles, only my arms left bare. A heavy black crown is settled on my curls the team have polished to shine like gold. Turning to the mirror, the laughter dies on my lips. Light touches of shadow have chiseled the planes of my face and my eyes appear laser blue, piercing out from a menacing glare, only slightly disrupted by my open mouthed gaping at the transformation.
Portia reaches for the waist again and presses gently. My breath catches in my throat as I come alight, a burning ember glowing with fierce heat and firing the dimmed room with my fury and power. "How?" I gasp incredulously.
"Genius," she replies with a roguish smile. "And a lot of time staring at fires," she adds wryly. "No winning favor this time," she continues seriously as she switches the suit back off. "This time they have to court you. Eyes straight ahead, you don't need anything from them."
I nod, this will be easy to pull off. "Thank you, Portia. It's perfect."
"Let's go show them what they're messing with," she says. The team bids me good-luck in awed whispers and Portia and I head for the elevator. I'm a little late and Katniss must already be downstairs. Portia punches the button for me, but says she has a couple last minute things to finish up. She reminds me to be aloof and the doors slide shut.
When they open again, it's onto chaos. People in costumes ranging from magnificent to ridiculous are roaming all around, talking to each other and examining outfits, ignoring desperate handlers. The mood is considerably different from last year with everyone huddled and frightened among strangers and enemies. Now everyone is acquainted, if not friends. And, judging from the murmur of conversation I pick up as I wind my way through the throng, united in their fury against the Capitol forcing them back into this situation.
I finally see Katniss, she's talking to Finnick Odair. He's been dressed as close to naked as can be pulled off and makes a striking figure, all young muscle and bronze curls over clear green-blue eyes. Even so, Katniss is the more compelling of the pair. I stop and move to the side so I can watch her unnoticed. She holds herself proudly, tall and strong. The dramatic make-up only accentuates her command and authority, her sharp gray eyes holding Finnick captive. She is stunning.
A deep need to be with her takes hold of me and I start forward again. Finnick sees me coming and glides away with a barbed smile that makes me wonder what he was talking about. "What did Finnick Odair want?" I ask, coming up beside her. She is even more amazing up close.
She drops her eyelids and leans forward, her lips inches from mine and whispers in a low purr, "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets."
I burst out a laugh. "Ugh! Not really," I implore.
"Really," she assures me with a smile that detonates in my stomach. "I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling."
To distract myself from the need to hold her that is sending a shiver fighting its way up my arms I look around at the other tributes, milling around in conversations anywhere from eager to furious.
"Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won?" I ask her. "Just another part of the freak show?"
"Sure. Especially you," she answers confidently.
This makes me smile. "Oh. And why especially me?"
"Because you have a weakness for beautiful things, and I don't," she answers smugly. "They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you'd be lost entirely."
She's kidding, but I answer seriously, unable to keep my eyes from her deep, clear gaze. "Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness," I tell her pointedly. "Except possibly when it comes to you," I finish earnestly. The music swells and the doors swing open, letting in the manic screeching of the crowd outside. "Shall we?" I offer my hand to help her into the cart.
Once we're both in, she puts a hand on my chest. "Hold still," she commands, and reaches to straighten my crown. "Have you seen your suit turned on?" she asks eagerly. "We're going to be fabulous again."
I nod my agreement. "Absolutely. But Portia says we're to be very above it all. No waving or anything." I crane my neck to look around, wondering why we haven't seen either of the stylists. "Where are they anyway?"
"I don't know," she answers, scanning the crowd as well. "Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on." As the glow begins to creep over our suits, I stare at the way the metal crown smolders in her dark braid. The shadows flicker over her black-lined eyes and she looks out with an otherworldly calm on the mortals who beg for her favor. My throat closes up when she turns her burning gaze to me. "Are we supposed to hold hands this year?" she asks.
I shake my head mutely, unable to come up with a string of words that make sense. "I guess they've left it up to us," I finally force out. We stare for a moment into each other's eyes and I feel myself falling, it seems like she's looking straight into my heart and I give myself over to what she will find there. Our hands reach out and clasp automatically.
The chariot rolls forward and the scream of the crowd raises to a fevered howl but we don't even acknowledge them. In stony silence we ignore their pleas and the gifts they shower over us, right up to the mansion and the President himself. As the anthem rings across the noise of the crowd his stare is riveted to Katniss and I see the hatred there. For just a moment, his eyes meet mine and I bore my gaze into his. He looks away first and I'm glad, because I'm sure I showed my surprise at the fear I find in his cold blue eyes.
Once we're back inside with the doors shut behind us, Cinna and Portia come find us, full of congratulations on a job well done. Haymitch comes to join us with the tributes from 11, his friend Chaff and the woman Seeder. The women embrace while Chaff offers me his stump to shake, having lost the hand in his Games. He turns to Katniss and pulls her close, planting a huge, wet kiss on her mouth. She splutters and leaps away while the friends roar their laughter. We're herded toward the elevators and as we stand waiting for the doors, Johanna Mason from District 7 saunters up next to us, dropping her leafy headdress over her shoulder disdainfully.
"Isn't my costume awful?" she drawls, running her fingers through her short, brown hair. "My stylist's the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her," she rolls her eyes. She sweeps her dark gaze up and down our brilliantly glowing costumes. "Wish I'd gotten Cinna," she continues chattily. "You look fantastic."
Katniss is visibly uncomfortable, and Johanna knows it and loves it. "Yeah," Katniss replies blandly. "He's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he does with velvet." My eyebrows lift and I try to hide my smirk that she was able to name a type of material at all. They continue to chitchat a bit about clothes while we wait for the elevator and Johanna reaches behind her and lowers her zipper, stepping neatly out of the costume as it falls in a puddle at her feet. She kicks it behind her contemptuously just as the doors ding open and she strides completely naked into the car. I can barely hide my delighted grin as Katniss struggles mightily to look anywhere but at Johanna, her eyes flying frantically around the elevator. Johanna talks to me calmly about my art, her dark gaze glinting her wicked awareness of the consternation she's causing. I answer her questions innocuously, not entirely successful at keeping the twitch from the corner of my lips but my eyes staying determinedly locked on hers. When the doors open onto her floor, she winks playfully and leaves without a backward glance. Seeder rolls her eyes but Chaff nudges me appreciatively and I can't keep the grin from spreading across my face. Once we're finally alone Katniss flings my hand away and I burst out laughing.
"What?" she snarls, as we step out onto our own floor.
I shake my head, unable to stop chortling at how affronted she is. "It's you, Katniss," I say. "Can't you see?" It's hilarious that they all see the weak spot the same. They've seen her in the arena, know the position she holds in the Capitol citizens' hearts. They know what a threat she is and they all are playing the same mind game with her, to my complete and utter delight.
"What's me?" she demands.
"Why they're all acting like this. Finnick with his sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole thing with Johanna stripping down." I keep waiting for her smile to break but she just stares at me intently. I try to smother the laughter bubbling up again, watching her flounder to understand. "They're playing with you because you're so…you know," I finish, unable to meet her eyes.
"No, I don't know," she insists.
"It's like when you wouldn't look at me naked in the arena even though I was half-dead," I explain. "You're so…pure."
"I am not!" she retorts angrily, and the blush that races up her throat sets me off again. "I've been practically ripping your clothes off every time there's been a camera for the last year!"
Her indignation is adorable. "Yeah, but… I mean, for the Capitol you're pure," I offer. "For me, you're perfect," I say, trying to unruffle her feathers. "They're just teasing you."
"No, they're laughing at me, and so are you!" she declares hotly.
I shake my head. "No," I say solemnly, but I can feel the grin tugging at my lips.
Haymitch and Effie step from the elevator and I wonder how angry it will make Katniss if I share the story with Haymitch. And if it will be worth it anyway. Just as I'm deciding it's totally worth it, Haymitch's face grows pale and hard.
We all follow his gaze and Effie claps and chirps delightedly, "Looks like they've got you a matched set this year."
The two red-headed Avoxes standing silently at attention next to our door are familiar. The girl is the one Katniss can't forgive herself for not helping in the woods, who was our servant last year. I stare at the man, though, unable to place him. And then my heart grows cold and a shiver of grief runs over my skin. The second Avox is Darius.