Ok, so it's been a while, but I finally got the joining chapters written which means the story can go on. I'll be updating weekly for at least the next 10 weeks, and hopefully this will be enough time to sort out the rest of the story.
It takes me a few weeks to get back into my normal routine. For a start, school is out for two months of early summer, so there's no daily walk. I give it a bit of time before I start my cemetery wanderings again. This time three of the flowers stay in the tribute cemetery. Bright red for Stuvek. Soft pink for Allasan, like the silk dress she changed into on the train. Creamy white for Elmett. Plain and unassuming, though when you look closer you can see a ring of faint purple spots hidden inside.
Deeper pink roses for Grandma Tolsey and Stata, and a funny shaped yellow and orange flower for Wiran. My basket is empty after his grave, and I make the walk back feeling a little guilty that there aren't more flowers to share around.
My first trip back to the Capitol ends up being cancelled because Clara has a field trip for her architecture class. A journey to one of the old cities, one where the population was wiped out by sickness and riots rather than bombs, to draw the old buildings and discuss their flaws. I'm quite glad to have an extra month to catch myself at home before returning to the emotionally stirring Capitol.
After that first day, Beetee and I fall back into our easy friendship and eventually everything settles down to the level of normal I had before the Games. I call Dido to have a nice talk, and try to subtly ask for birthdays for the entire prep team. She pointedly mentions Lorcan's first, in early September. Plenty of time to make that new airbrush for him with all the added features. Marius' birthday actually comes first, in late July, while Juliette is in November. I make Marius a little hopping frog robot after I remember him telling me about his toy frog collection, then get down to work on the airbrush. I also get a calendar from the bookshop and add all the dates on as reminders.
Beetee seems a bit bemused when I tell him who I'm making the gifts for since he doesn't remember me being particularly close to any of my prep team. I try not to blush, I really do. I'm not sure if he sees it, but if he does it won't take him much effort to work out which one I'm most interested in. I'm very glad when he stops asking questions and goes back to puttering in silence with his pin-head light bulbs.
I take the robot frog with me for my July trip to the Capitol, and have it sent from there to Marius. He sends a note of thanks back to the Spire saying he simply adores it and thank you so much to me for thinking of him. I go out to the clubs again on Saturday night with the whole crowd. This time we are party-hopping, staying at each place long enough for only one or two drinks before we move to the next. One alcoholic drink at each and then only water is my rule again. With a walk in the outside air as we go from bar to bar, I manage to stay more or less un-drunk. Tipsy, according to Royan, who lends an arm to lean on as the night wears on into morning. He too is limiting his drinks, though I suspect that has as much to do with a shallow wallet as wanting to stay sober.
On the Sunday five of us girls go to a fancy bath-house for saunas and massages. After, Odelia, Clara and I head up one of the taller towers and spend the afternoon sketching the view below.
It's blissfully peaceful, and nice to know that the Capitol isn't always confusing.
August passes in a rush of warm weather and days in the workshop. We all spoil Malcy when he turns seven as he gleefully devours his chocolate cake. We try to spoil Cupros too, after Balia digs his birthday out of my History of the Hunger Games book. He allows dinner and cake, then grumps at us until we leave him to his solitude. By mid-month my airbrush is done, and I take Beetee's advice and file a patent before giving it away as a gift. I make sure to etch a unique design into the one for Lorcan, so that even if other people eventually end up with them his will still be special. Beetee rolls his eyes visibly at this. I glare at him until he backs off.
As the month winds down, Beetee tells me that he'll be along for my next weekend to the Capitol. For a second I'm angry, since I'd planned on catching up with Lorcan at some point, and don't need a protective big-brother figure hanging around. Then I realize if that was the reason he was going, there is no way he could have got permission to travel.
"Heavensbee filed the paperwork himself," Beetee says as he polishes a curved piece of metal. "Apparently they are completely stumped on this one. He and I have been communicating back and forth, but I think I really need to be there and see it for myself. Don't worry, I won't get in the way of you and your...friends."
It also helps, I realize later, that we'll be on separate floors of the Victor's Spire. It's not like he'll have cameras in my room or anything. And even if he did, too bad. Just because he wants to play big brother, it doesn't mean I always need a mentor looking out for me.
I'm much more charitable in my thinking when I have someone else to talk to on the boring train journey. Terry meets us at the station as always, and offers to take Beetee along to the Spire as well. Beetee gives our driver a long, measured look and glances at me before saying yes. Looking for a reaction? I wonder as we separate at the lift, him on the 7th floor while I head on up to the 10th. Brutus' name has been added to the door next to mine, though I expect he won't be back in the Capitol until after the Victory Tour. I wonder idly how many sponsors he had, and whether they expect him to come entertain them on a regular basis. Then I realize, at least in his case, I don't care.
Beetee calls on the internal phone line asking if I mind if he comes up to join me for a bit. I'm half tempted to say no, I'm busy, but really I don't have any plans for the evening since Clara has her architecture class until late on Fridays. He glances around the place, almost as if he suspects there's someone hiding in the bedroom then relaxes at the table as I lay out the plate of sandwiches from my fridge.
"I'm going to head over to Heavensbee's first thing in the morning," he says as he takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. "I probably won't see you around much between now and the train home, though if you need anything..."
"I'll let you...you..."
"Know," he finishes for me as he picks up one of the sandwiches. "Do you know what Clara has planned for you this weekend?"
Beyond the standard Saturday night club-hitting, I don't have a clue. "I'll be late in tomorrow...night," I say carefully, not entirely sure of his opinion of sixteen-year-old daughters of important people sneaking in to clubs. "Otherwise..." I shrug rather than trying to explain in words.
"What do you normally do on your Friday nights?" he asks, and I shrug again.
"Relax," I tell him bluntly. "While I can."
He smiles a little and stares out the window towards the twinkling city lights.
"Did you have anything planned for tonight other than relaxing?"
Damn him and his intuition. I grab the last sandwich and take a bite, chewing until I'm sure of myself. "No. Just relaxing. Like usual."
"What about that birthday present?"
"I'll send it...tomorrow I...I...guess."
"You weren't going to deliver it in person?" he asks with a small smile, now trying to catch my eye. I eat another few bites of sandwich until I can meet his look.
"No. Just send it with...with...a...a...card."
I don't mention that the card will wait until I know which club we're going to be at tomorrow night. Beetee doesn't need to know that. Suddenly I wonder if this is what Clara feels like, trying to sneak out under her parents' noses to see Perry. I never had any reason to try and lie to my parents about seeing a boy. No boy I ever knew back home interested me this way. Apparently Beetee decides he's teased me enough and thanks me for the sandwiches before heading back to his own room.
~xXx~
We spend most of Saturday's day at Odelia's workshop, where she teaches Clara and me a few basic glass-blowing tricks. Clara is a natural, but my breath catches too much in my throat, a hold-over from the punctured lung that will probably never heal, and Odelia snatches the pipe away before I inhale molten glass. After that I stick to playing with heated lumps, using tweezers and a blowtorch to shape fine, spindly swirls.
Odelia lends me a dress far more revealing than anything I would chose for myself to wear out on the town so that I don't have to go back to the Spire to change. They both help do my make-up as my slight hand tremor tends to pop up whenever I put things near my eyes, and Clara helps pin up some of my hair while Odelia does hers in a fancy braid.
By the time we get to the clubs the night is well underway. The first place we go to is so crowded that the press of bodies combined with the summer heat leaves me feeling nauseous. After one drink the girls agree and we move on three doors down to a place with fountains of chilled drinks that you fill your own cup from. After two I stick to water as usual, though the potency and the warm weather still leave me feeling light headed. Eventually Clara gets bored and we move again, this time to a dark underground area with ultraviolet lighting that makes all the white and fluorescent colors light up. A couple of young men offer to buy us all drinks, bright green and smoking, and after only a few sips my vision starts to go hazy. The flickering lights seem brighter and pulsing, and the music seems to be pounding in time with my accelerated heart beat. I grab the bar counter as my stomach seems to drop away momentarily. A strange sound out of time with the surrounding beat drags me back to the present. Clara's laugh as she grabs one of the men by the hand and drags him out to the dance floor. Odelia takes the other and follows, swaying in time with the pulse. I manage to hide in the shadows under a strange twisted metal sculpture for a bit while they flirt and dance until the swirly, surreal quality of the world around me fades a little.
The two men seem to be trying to hold on to the girls, but eventually Odelia slips free and heads in my direction, nodding to the stairs. The night air doesn't clear my head as much as I would like while we wait for Clara, who eventually joins us.
"Honestly," she says as she fixes her mussed hair, "One drink and they think we'll stay all night?"
Odelia shrugs as she sticks her hand out for a cab. "My one was pretty cute."
Clara rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well my one smelled like he'd sampled all of Theonara's Palace at once."
I vaguely recognize the name of the shop as a perfume seller that Clara pointedly snubbed on one of our shopping jaunts as a sleek black car pulls up to the curb.
We pile into the cab and Clara gives directions for a bar a good ten blocks away, where we had arranged to meet the boys at nine. The clock on the dashboard of the cab says 21:20, but everyone in the Capitol seems to be casual about being on time. I just hope that if Lorcan got my message and did decide to come out to meet us, he knows how little punctuality matters here.
I spot Gamicus, or at least his tall hair (blue fading into orange, like the blowtorch I was using earlier) across the crowded room, and we weave through the press of people to their corner. Clara manages to jump on Perry's back without warning and they charge onto the dance floor, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as they join the swaying press of bodies.
Gamicus throws an arm around both mine and Odelia's shoulders and leads us to the bar. I try to beg off anything alcoholic as I'm still feeling funny from the last drink, but Gamicus has none of it. Whatever he gives me is bright purple and tingles down my throat as I swallow. It doesn't help with the slightly blurry quality to my surroundings; if anything it makes everything seem more surreal. On the upside, it also seems to dull my panic when people brush past me.
When he leads us out to the dance floor I don't resist and join with the rippling motion of moving people. Odelia drifts off to the arms of a tall, well muscled guy whose tattoos appear to be glowing. Gamicus mostly stays by me, though his attention is on pretty much everyone else around him. A young man with a mass of long dark curls bigger than my own presses up against me and unusually I don't flinch away. His touch feels strange, like he's not real, like nothing is real and I lean against him, swaying with the beat for some time.
Finally he moves on and another pair of hands replaces his. Another man's, I'm pretty sure, long fingers and smooth nails, but too big and strong to be female. I lean back against the lithe body, about six inches taller than me and glance up. Lorcan grins down at me, his blond hair longer than I remember and spiked outwards at the fringe. His shirt is sleeveless and low-enough cut at the neck that I see more of his gold tattoos peeking out, bright against his pale skin.
He pulls me gently towards the edge of the dance floor and I follow, the room swaying slightly as I walk. An older man with stringy green hair reaches out to touch me as we pass him and I let his hand clasp my arm without reacting. He starts pulling me back until Lorcan shoves him away and puts his body between us. He pushes me forwards and turns me to face him once we reach the wall, peering into my eyes.
"Are you ok?" he asks, bending down to place his mouth right next to my ear so he doesn't have to shout over the music. Normally someone getting that close, especially someone I might have a bit of a thing for would send me reeling away but still I feel numb and hazy.
"Wiress? Are you still with me?"
That's right, he was talking to me. I lean into him and nod, not wanting to yell. He hesitates for a second then wraps his arms around me and pulls me in closer. We stand like that for minutes or maybe hours; my mind seems to have lost the ability to process time which should bother me but like everything else tonight, doesn't. Finally he leans down again and asks, "Do you want to go somewhere quieter?"
I nod again, then remember I should probably find Clara first. I step away from the warm circle of arms and look around, wobbling as the room seems to move again. All I can see is a wall of moving bodies flashing strange colors under the lights. Lorcan must realize what I'm trying to do and keeps his arm around me as he steers me back through the crowd towards the bar, where Odelia and her boy of choice are sharing something bright orange and bubbly from a large bowl. She grins and waves when she sees me and points to a corner near the door where Clara and Perry are wrapped around one another. Clara seems to have lost her jacket and her hair has drifted out of the fancy braid to fall all around her and Perry's faces.
I aim for the door and by the time we get near she has untangled herself and catches my eye past a clump of dancing women. She grins as well when she sees Lorcan's arm around me and gives me two thumbs up, nodding towards the door. I wave back and step out into a refreshing summer night breeze as the thrumming beat fades and the world stops swaying so much.
I hang on to Lorcan just in case as he waves for a passing taxi and helps me in when it comes. I relax against him as he gives directions to a block of apartments decorated with about a hundred paper lanterns. He grins as he helps me out of the car and pays the driver.
"Two of the kids who live down there brought some home from school last week and hung them up. Since then we've been competing to see who can make the best."
They do look pretty, the lights inside them flickering as the paper ripples gently from the wind. He leads me up a flight of stairs to the middle floor, to a bright green door ringed with blue, white and shiny silver paper structures, each cut out with delicate lace patterns and lit up by a tiny light bulb.
A gentle nudge draws my attention to the open door and I step inside, glancing around curiously at the interior. It's about half again as big as our old family unit was though this one is clearly designed for less people. One open door shows a small bedroom and I assume the closed door leads to a bathroom.
The rest of the space is filled with a small kitchen like the one in my Victor's unit in the Spire and a wide open lounge in front of a smaller television unit. The low table in-between is piled with sketch-books, fashion magazines and art supplies. A familiar box sits open in the middle and I spot the airbrush I sent earlier in the day out and assembled.
"Thanks for the early birthday present. It works great," Lorcan says behind me. "Much better than my old one, just like you said."
I turn to smile up at him, remembering our conversation in the Training Centre after the Games a couple of months back. I was so nervous then. Why does it feel different now?
Lorcan guides me gently to the couch and sits beside me, the warmth of his body flowing along my shoulder and leg where they press against me. I let him pull me to him, my head on his shoulder, arm across his chest. His fingers brush through my hair, working gently around the glittering pins.
When he turns my face up to his and kisses me I don't resist, and instead lean into him. He pulls back and looks into my face, shaking his head.
"Are you sure you're ok?"
I think about it for a second and nod. I'm not sure I am ok; my usual hesitancy has washed away from the heat and most likely whatever I've been drinking. If I was with someone I didn't know or didn't like it would be different and I'd drag free of this unnatural calm to push them away, I'm sure. But this is one of the few people whose company I honestly enjoy, and who I trust not to do me any harm. Maybe the haze of complacency is exactly what I needed to escape my usual panic at physical intimacy as he pulls me further into his arms.
~xXx~
I wake to the sounds of strange voices, children calling and laughing to one another amongst the patter of running footsteps. I try to sit up to look out the window but a warm weight across my hip stops me. Vague memories of the previous night stir in my mind as the arm flexes and pulls me back towards the warm body curved behind me. I feel a brief moment of panic; whatever it was that dulled my reactions has clearly worn off, but relax a little when I hear his voice.
He lets me pull away slightly and compose myself, yawning and stretching his long, pale frame until the blanket starts sliding off the bed, forcing him to roll after it to stop it escaping. He doesn't quite manage to stay balanced and teeters on the edge of the bed for half a second before crashing to the floor. Before I can react he sits up, pushing away the sheets now resting on his head and rubbing his shoulder.
"As you can see, I'm exceptionally graceful in the morning," he says with a rueful smile, his cheeks pink. Draped in blankets with his hair sticking in all directions he looks about ten years old. I can't help laughing as I crawl over and help pull him back up onto the mattress. The motion triggers the pounding headache I often suffer after a night of drinking and I sit back with a groan.
Lorcan frowns slightly and leans over to the bedside cupboard, rummaging through the drawers and returning with a packet of white capsules. He pops one and dry-swallows it, and hands me the packet while he staggers to his feet and leaves the room. I try to focus on the writing on the box but it makes the headache worse so I fumble blindly to release one of the tablets.
Strong fingers wrap over mine and help pop one free, and I open my eyes again to see Lorcan offering a large glass of water, which I reach for gratefully. He smiles back and drinks half of his own before upending the remains over his head.
"Now I'm awake," he says as he crawls back over to my side, pulling one of the sheets over to drape across both of us as he rearranges the pillows and settles down beside me. I finish my water and close the gap between us, curling my head into the curve of his neck as his arm slides comfortably around my shoulders. Slowly the pounding in my head abates and I start to feel more aware. I stretch out and he lets me free again to do so, watching me with a strange smile that turns to a slight frown as I wince.
"Are you hurt?" he asks gently and I think for a moment before shaking my head.
"Just…" It's more a dull ache than anything else, not exactly pain. Sort of like the ache I had after the first time I spent half a day walking around our District cemetery. Technically sore, but not unpleasantly so.
He takes me at my word and smiles again, grinning more when I stretch out my fingers and start tracing the fine golden patterns that run from his shoulders, down his ribs and criss-crossing his chest and back to his thighs. He takes my hand and turns slightly, pressing my fingers to the back of his left shoulder, and says "I had this one added after your Games. I hope you don't mind."
One quick glance is enough to recognize the familiar hexagon, and I trace the twisting lines inside it—all the major pathways mapped out just like they were in my head.
"We all thought you were brilliant once we realized you had the arena mapped in your head," he says softly, shivering slightly as my fingers trace the path of my desperate flight from the hunting Career pack along the golden pathways.
He throws me a cheeky grin over his shoulder that makes my stomach flutter as he adds, "I've always found smart girls sexy."
I blush and pull my hands away. I'm still not sure what he sees in me to want to be more than friends, and I certainly don't match his level in looks.
"You are pretty, you know. I know you don't think so, but I'm a hair and smile person. And I mean it when I say I like smart girls. Always have, no matter what my friends said."
He reaches out to me this time and runs his hand through my hair, and even without the dulling intoxicant it feels comfortable and safe.
"To tell you the truth, I used to be…well…I wasn't exactly a great catch in school, so it's not like I had any chance with the really attractive girls anyway," he says with a rueful smile. I raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced.
"My mother was a pastry chef, and she used to bring me home spare ones that weren't sold. I was pretty chubby, and I was always reading or drawing rather than talking to people. My brother used to tease me, threaten to ship me off to District Ten to be made into bacon."
"What…"
"What changed? I went to an art show, body art, in my last year of school and met the most gorgeous girl I'd ever seen. She was only a year older than me and easily the best of the artists there, and she was nice and actually talked to me. Though I think she was just taking pity on the fat kid who had no friends. I was too scared to ask her out, but I decided if I got in shape and focused more on my art then maybe I'd have a chance, so I started eating better and working out."
"And?" I ask, still not entirely sure whether to believe him.
He laughs, though I feel his fingers, still wrapped in my hair, tense against the back of my neck for a moment.
"Three and a half months I waited. Must have dropped thirty pounds, cut and dyed my hair like the cool kids and memorized every art book in the school library before I worked up the nerve. Turned out she was already engaged to a man nearly ten years older. She didn't even recognize me."
I look him up and down, trying to picture him as a shy, chubby boy. I mustn't look convinced because he scowls for a second, then leans over the edge of the bed and rummages around underneath, coming back up with a leather-bound book.
"Here," he says as he flips it open and starts flicking through the pages. It's full of photos, bright glossy ones surrounded by abstract paper shapes and little blocks of words written in a flowing, curly style. "My mom made it for my birthday last year," he says defensively as he flips to a page about two-thirds of the way in.
There's a headshot like they took for our Games photos at the top of the page surrounded by the words Lorcan J. Carlisle, Year 12, Austin Terrace. His face was definitely rounder and his hair fell in messy golden waves past his ears.
"I had them fix my teeth too," he says, tapping at the toothy smile in the next picture, him and two other boys draped in glittering robes holding candles. The next picture has him and one of the boys topless, their faces striped with red and yellow paint on either side of a wiry, dour-faced girl with a wreath of flowers in her hair. He wasn't exaggerating about the weight.
"That was during the 46th Games. Cordenia adored Whisper, though myself and Hadrian liked the guy from Seven better. I can't even remember his name now, though. Funny how that happens"
I turn the page to find something else to talk about and see more shots of him with his friends, with his family by the lake shore, standing beside several paintings and a strange sculpture, on a stage holding a bit of paper. Each successive one looks more like he is now. The next page has progressive shots of his tattoos.
"I liked myself a bit better by then, and discovered that girls liked me better too. I was dating a tattoo artist and she wanted someone to show off her newest idea. I wanted to impress her. I still see her around sometimes. She always has brilliant suggestions for the Games fashions, even if some of them are completely crazy."
His hand clenches tight again when he says this, and I'm almost unsurprised when I flip the next few pages and find pictures of a skinny woman probably in her late twenties holding a little baby girl. At least I assume it's a girl by the frilly dress and glitter shoes.
"Yours?" I ask and he nods, finger reaching out to brush the girl's face.
"She'll be two in December," he says softly. "Isolda, her mum lets me spend one weekend with her every month. As I said, we still sort of get along, but we're never…you know…"
I can't imagine what it would be like to have family that's not actually family. Even my sister Pella has always been around, no matter how little we got along.
"I hope I'll get to see her more when she gets older. She's a bright little thing, clever like her mother."
"What's her name?" I ask as he brushes the picture one last time before folding the book shut.
"Portia. Portia Carlisle-Kent."