Meghan adjusted Annek's bowtie, and after a moment of critical inspection, brushed a piece of lint off his shoulder.
"You look good. Be proud of me," she said.
Annek smirked.
"You need to sell this, Annek. Get a tabloid write-up or at least some attention there, and convince him that that girl doesn't mean anything to you. It's the only way to salvage this," she said, holding his gaze.
Annek nodded once, taking a deep breath. It was his first excursion since his sudden, sodden arrival back to the City, and appearances needed keeping up. He squeezed her arm gently.
"I don't even need you to wish me luck," he said, an easy bravado slipping into his voice.
Meghan pushed him out the door with a grin, shutting it behind him.
~ReR~
It was around six when his limo pulled up to the scrolled iron gates of the palatial White home. They opened slowly and Annek took in the gold-traced marble lions, sentinels to the tree-lined drive up to the house. The sheer extravagance gave him goosebumps. No wonder Glinter turned out the way she did.
Glinter took her sweet time, and Annek waited patiently, pre-gaming like a gentleman. He was only halfway through his first glass of brandy when she appeared, the doors held open by Avoci. They lent her a hand as she tottered down the steps. She was a turned-over martini glass of shimmering scarlet: the huge skirt was one and a half times as wide as she was tall, the brilliant color contrasting his simple, all-black tuxedo and clean, freshly shaven face. If it was one thing the Capitol held dear, it was fashion. Unlike daily life, tradition demanded more austere clothing to take in les beaux arts- ballgowns and tuxedos were de rigeur. It was all very prim and proper, a throwback to times long gone.
She crammed herself and her gown into the spacious back seating area. With the tulle taking up most of the available space, Annek fought down a sudden, small pang of claustrophobia. He took another gulp of brandy and rested his fingers on the handle of his door.
Glinter was breathlessly gushing. She'd switched the date from opera to ballet at the last moment, and this one came highly recommended by Frill.
"Apparently, the first act is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen, and even though the second act gets a little weird, she won't stop pestering me until I see it."
"Which one is it?" Annek tried not to be visibly bored, but he was tired of hearing about Frill. The girl was exhausting and he'd only met her once. He knew he needed to bring himself to heel and indulge Glinter, but he back in Four, on the water, watching the sunrise.
"Giselle, I think? It's whichever is the oldest ballet ever performed."
He perked up. "Who's the artistic director?" That phrase reminded him of a conversation he'd had a while ago. If it was who he hoped, the night might not be a total loss.
"Oh, I dunno. Does it really matter?"
"Not really." Annek didn't feel like explaining.
He stared out the window, ignoring her, watching the city go by and dreaming of Julia. It should be her beside him right now, not Glinter. He imagined her warm in his arms, his hands running through her curls, watching her eyes light up at the city...
The limo pulled up to the theater and Glinter and her gown disembarked. Annek gathered himself, arranged his face in a debonair smile, and joined her. They merged into the throng of ballet-goers milling about before the performance. He signed autographs, made small talk. He and Glinter posed for the paparazzi, Annek being careful to loop an arm around her waist, or lace his fingers with hers. He murmured in her ear, turning them so it looked more salacious than it was, the illusion helped along by Glinter's tittering giggles and hand over her mouth. At last, they moved off the carpet and into the sprawling marble lobby for another round of chitchat and introductions to the wide-eyed elite. Annek threw a casual arm around Glinter's shoulders (no small feat, given the yard of tulle standing in the way) and lead her to their seats. There, they came across Jacques, his date, and another Victor couple, exchanging hugs and yet more introductions of their Patrons. Recognition crossed Jacques' face at Glinter's name, but he said nothing. The orchestra began to warm up, and the lights dimmed.
The serene announcer's voice filled the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, please take a moment to turn your attention to the Victor's Box, where we have attending tonight three very special guests; Jacques Henri, Annek Alda, and Phoebe Masterson!" Instead of Panem's anthem, it was customary to announce Victors who were there, the better to compare notes with one's friends and coworkers.
They stood, waved and smiled while their dates sat quietly. Polite applause filled the theater, as well as murmurs and the occasional shout of an over-eager fan. They took their seats again, and the show began.
The first act was truly a feast for the eyes. There were costumes made entirely of jewels, nearly blinding under the stage lights, live animals on stage during the hunt, and pyrotechnics. The show notes explained the premise: Giselle was a district girl of surpassing beauty, but cursed with a frail heart. She danced like the wind, and the ballerina playing her elicited several rounds of applause, pulling off impossible acrobatics and feats of stamina that made Annek get winded just looking at her. Giselle soon fell in love with a Capitol boy named Albrecht, and their duet brought tears to Glinter's eyes. However, the boy's betrayal was soon uncovered: he was engaged to someone else in his own city. Even though he promised himself to Giselle, he couldn't marry her. Albrecht began a much more showy dance with the Capitol fiancée, and poor Giselle lost her mind. Her frail heart gave out, and she died in a spectacular display that brought the house to its feet as the curtain closed.
During intermission, Glinter was cozying up to Annek, sighing and daydreaming over the glancingly romantic parts. Draping herself over him as much as her gown would allow, she was practically in his lap as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear.
"You know, if we were together, I'd never leave you." She slipped her arm through his, entwining her slim fingers in his rough ones.
"Aw, how sweet," Annek replied absentmindedly. He was lost in thought.
"No, I mean it. I really love spending time with you. I wouldn't say no if you asked me, you know, to be yours. I make a good girlfriend." She was coy, dropping her eyes and glancing up at him, pushing her ample chest out and resting it on his arm.
"Is that so." He flipped through the show notes, looking for the name of the artistic director. Stylists dabbled in everything from plays to fashion shows in the off-season, practicing for the Hunger Games, and the story couldn't just be a coincidence. A shared look and he knew Jacques felt the same way. Even Phoebe looked a bit uncomfortable, holding hands with her companion, a tall, angular fellow who kept glancing at her with a secret smile.
Glinter's hand snaked inside his jacket and traveled south into his cummerbund, fumbling with the button to his pants, and she let her lips ghost across his neck as she murmured, "It's true."
Annek flinched away. He snapped out of his thoughts and disentangled himself, less than gently.
"Glinter, we're in public." A hint of disgust crept in.
"So?" she laughed, redoubling her efforts. He grabbed her hand and shoved it away from his lap.
"So stop." He looked at her with incredulity.
"Why? It's just a bit of fun. And it's more private here than in the lobby. " Her voice was low, and she tried again, unzipping his zipper.
"For fuck's sake!" he hissed. He shoved her away and hastily rezipped it. His heart was racing. The comfortable, open balcony felt like it was closing in, and a cold sweat beaded on his face. He fought the urge to get up- to get away from her. He struggled to keep his face neutral, staring down to the crowd below. She's not him. She can't hurt me. She's not him.
Jacques kept his head forward, but he watched from the corner of his eye.
Glinter sat back, first hurt, then peevish. She crossed her arms and then flopped back into her seat, pouting. "Killjoy." She looked exactly like the spoiled, self-absorbed, myopic, idiotic child she was and Annek lost his patience.
"I'm so sorry for not wanting to be obscene in front of a theater full of people. Pardon me for not wanting to offend my friend who is sitting not three feet from you. How very dare I not want to be a toy for you to play with when the mood strikes you," he spat in a whisper. The initial reaction faded away, subsumed by anger.
He got out of his chair and walked towards the door of the Victor's Box, leaving a gobsmacked Glinter in his wake.
"Where are you going?" she called after him.
"Bathroom." He didn't turn to look at her.
There was a long line, and he checked his watch. Only seven minutes until the second act, and the line was at least twenty, given the number of preening fools who needed to powder their noses or adjust their wigs, self-consciously checking their compact mirrors or touching their hair as they chatted. He sighed and returned to his seat. When he sat down, Glinter didn't look at him. He didn't really care. He had himself in hand, and he couldn't wait to be rid of her. Meghan's admonition was insistent in the back of his mind, however, and he was determined not to banjax this on the heels of the flaming ruins he made of his visit to Four.
She was fawning over Jacques now, to his bemusement and his date's irritation. She kept glancing over to watch Annek's reaction, which was to watch her with total apathy, if not silently egg her on. It was a transparent bid to make him jealous, and he wasn't biting.
"Wasn't the first act just lovely?" Glinter adjusted the lapel on Jacques' jacket, letting her shiny red-lacquered fingers linger on the fabric.
"Yes, it was." The pinched-looking woman on Jacques' left answered for him, laying claim with a hand on his knee.
Jacques shot him a look, half-amusement, and half-helpless. He looked a little like a deer caught between two mountain lions. Annek sighed.
He got up again, smoothing his jacket, and stood by the door.
"Glinter, could I talk with you out in the hall for a moment?" He tried to make his voice as pleasant and honeyed as possible.
This being the effect she was looking for, she smiled. "Of course, Annek, just a moment." She held up one dainty finger, barely even turning his way.
He jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked slightly, impatient. He was not fond of letting her think she'd won.
She turned to Jacques. "It's been wonderful chatting with you. We should get together sometime; I think it'd be fun."
Jacques offered a pale smile and turned and whispered to his date, his hand across hers, lacing their fingers together.
She gathered up her skirts and swanned out of the balcony. "Annek," she said, beckoning.
He rolled his eyes and followed her. He felt a bit silly for his reaction. It had happened ages ago, so why did it still affect him so vividly?
Out in the hall, she crossed her arms, expectant.
"Look. I'm sorry for snapping at you," he began. "It's just, I don't like being touched like that, especially after I asked you to stop. You're a lovely girl, and I know you just want to have fun. It's a fun night," he said, putting as much sensitive, soulful, we're-having-a-moment-and-really-connecting emotion into his voice as he could.
"I'm sorry. I'll try to behave myself." Glinter looked duly chastised.
"Just… save it for later, hm?" He meant it as a joke, but Glinter's eyes lit up and her face was a mask of excitement.
He resigned himself to a longer night than he had originally planned for.
"And really, like jumping all over Jacques would get me jealous," he murmured as he kissed her forehead, running a thumb across her jaw. 'I'd have to care first' was left unspoken. He found her hand and led her back inside, switching seats so Jacques wouldn't have to sit by her.
Just in time, as it was. The lights flickered the end of the intermission and the second act began.
It was starkly different from the first. Gone were the lush, over-stuffed set pieces, the excesses of props and people. The show notes explained that Giselle was now a Wili, a spirit who was engaged but died without being married, and forced unlucky men caught in the woods at night to dance to their deaths.
The only thing on the black hole of a stage was a stone cross marking her grave. Myrta, Queen of the Wilis, appeared: ethereal, ghostly, and altogether otherworldly. She was clad a brilliant white dress of gauzy tulle that caught the air as she twirled and a hard, fierce crown of cold diamonds that caught the light. Her pale skin was glowing blue. She called forth a legion of Wilis, dressed identically, with circlets instead of crowns.
It was fearful to watch as first one man, and then another and another and another danced and spun until he collapsed and died. Giselle appeared, glowing even brighter than the others. When her veil was pulled off, she leapt into movement that was even faster and more complex than the first act. She was strikingly beautiful, released from the bonds of a heart that refused to keep up. Soon the others joined in, a mad whirl of tulle. Annek looked more closely. It wasn't that she was brighter, but Myrta and the other Wilis were now in deep, deep gray, shadows almost imperceptible against the blackness of the stage.
And then Giselle's beau appeared in the woods, sobbing at her grave. The music, brash and sinister, cut off as Giselle turned her head and noticed him. She stopped abruptly, perfectly balanced on the point of one foot, and the Wilis stopped as well. They watched her as she watched him. Silence reigned in the darkened theater. A fearsome grin appeared on her face, white teeth flashing in the darkness, and she made him dance. Her costume grew dimmer with each passing moment, until it was black as the surrounding stage and she was suddenly outlined in red, an avenging angel of death. Albrecht, her beau, fell to his knees and onto his face, arms outstretched in supplication, pledging that he loved her still. He explained in pantomime that he was trapped in a life that wasn't his, that his heart was hers and hers alone. She wavered, and her dress did as well, flickering from black to gray and back again. He grasped at her fluttering legs. Something changed in her, and she stumbled just once, hands flying out to right herself. Giselle turned to Myrta, pleading for Albrecht's life. Myrta was adamant, with she and all the other Wilis taking on the black, red-lit colorway. They would have his blood.
Giselle's costume grew lighter as she wordlessly pled her case. She forgave him, even though he'd killed her, why couldn't they? The deal was struck- he must dance until sunrise, and if he survived, he was free to go.
Giselle and Albrecht began the tenderest pas de deux, recalling the events of their life together, up to her death and his grief, until she was once again in glittering, shimmering, brilliant white. The dancer seemed reinvigorated once over. She was flying now, expressing immeasurable longing and love and grief in the tilt of her head, the gesture of an arm.
Even with Giselle, Albrecht was tiring, and he collapsed once more. Desperate, Giselle protected him, dancing in his place. All seemed lost until the bells began tolling, signaling the morning that burned the Wilis away.
A final duet, a lovesick farewell, until at last Giselle, too, faded away. Albrecht was left alone and truly free, basking in the gloriously warm light of the sunrise as the curtain fell for the last time.
Annek released the seat arms, and realized his knuckles were white and his hands ached from gripping them. His eyes stung, and he released a breath he didn't know he was holding.
He turned to Jacques, who was cleared his throat. Phoebe was sobbing into the shoulder of her companion.
He took a deep, steadying breath. There was no doubt in his mind, now. It was a message, straight to the heart of Victors trapped in the Capitol. Hope.
Glinter had enjoyed it, but she shared Frill's opinion that it was an anticlimactic ending.
"Giselle should have just killed him with the others. What was the point in letting him live? She didn't even get revenge!"
Annek held his tongue, but suggested they go to the stage door.
They went, fighting against the flow of people wanting to go home. Jacques and his date, a woman by the name of Holly, accompanied them.
When they reached the back door, there was a small but excitably excited crowd already there. Annek and Jacques were a welcome distraction from staring at the stage door waiting for it to open. They were quickly mobbed with a rush of chattering theater-goers looking for opinions and poignant summaries to parrot over coffee to their friends. Annek and Jacques held court, trading witticisms and cracking jokes, slipping into an easy rhythm as they made small talk with each other and the crowd, waiting for the dancers and directors to emerge. It was a toss-up between Glinter and Holly as to who looked more proud to be on a Victor's arm, and they got their share of glares filled with envy. Glinter drank it in, smiling from ear to ear.
Eventually the dancers came out, long and lean. They bowed and posed gracefully for the flash of cameras. They recognized Annek and Jacques, arranging themselves in front of the pair. They cupped their hands over their hearts, before sweeping the elegant knuckles of one hand and the smooth fingertips of the other across the rough pavement; the deepest curtsy and highest honor they could give. They straightened and turned to the others in the crowed, waving quickly before slinking off into the night as a group. It was only then that Annek realized they were Avoci. Dancing was the only way they could speak. The crowd dispersed soon after, leaving Jacques and Annek there with Holly and Glinter, who were getting impatient.
Cinna appeared, and Annek wore a wide grin. He had been right after all. During the party where he had first met Glinter, he and Cinna had spent a good while talking. Cinna had mentioned that he was working on a ballet that would debut in a few weeks. Annek had all but forgotten until Glinter had mentioned it.
"Annek!" he called, returning the smile. "So glad you could come see our little show."
Annek introduced him to Jacques, the 56th Game's Victor from One, and Annek's personal friend and practical mentor.
"It was beautiful." Jacques couldn't find the words to express what he felt, so he settled for two. "Thank you."
"The day you picked up a needle and thread was the day the Capitol fell," Annek said, and Jacques cast him a sharp glance.
"What do you mean?" Holly asked, her dull, whining tone setting Annek's teeth on edge. He pitied Jacques.
"Just that Cinna will probably be the next big fashion designer. You should keep an eye on him. -You've got a new collection coming out soon, right? " Annek tried to cover, turning to Cinna.
"Of course. And I'll make you two custom dresses for your next special outing," Cinna took over. He took Holly's and Glinter's hands in his, his voice warm and earnest, the very picture of an effusive, generous director reveling in a new triumph and trying to share his good fortune. "It's been such a successful night, we have to memorialize it somehow. That seems fitting— to do it with fashion. Doesn't it?" Holly and Glinter were putty and grinned at each other, the earlier skirmish –and Annek's comment— completely forgotten.
"How did you manage to swing art director your first year out?" Annek asked. Cinna was talented, but he was still only a first-year, and not even a real stylist yet.
"I had a stylist with a recent win who put in a recommendation." Cinna winked.
"Meghan Sweet?" Annek didn't realize she knew Cinna.
"The one and only."
Annek made a mental note to talk to her about it.
They all chatted for a little while longer, but Glinter complained of her heels and the constricting corset and the weight of her dress, so Annek took his leave.
Glinter hobbled slowly, leaning on Annek heavily until they reached the limo.
After some deliberation and useless angling on his part, they went back to his rooms. Glinter tottered out of the limo as it idled outside of the Tower, and finally discovered a secret pull-tab that compressed the enormous amounts of tulle into something manageable. Annek carried her to the elevator at her behest, one of her arms draped across his shoulder and her heels dangling off of her toes. Tap-tap swipe on the door, and he set her down on a couch.
They ordered dinner and drinks, Annek giving her a piggy-back ride over to the console to read the menu. Glinter over-indulged on rich food and strong drinks, and soon she was pretty far gone; describing her favorite parts of the first act, complete with wildly waving hands and awful attempts to recreate the dancer's movements. If he was honest with himself, or honest with how much he'd had to drink, Annek was beginning to enjoy her company. Unerring adulation seemed to wear him down. And her intentions were good, weren't they?
He went to get her a glass of water and when he returned, her dress was off and she was lying on the bed in a rough approximation of "sexy".
"Look, it stands up on its own," she giggled. It was true; the dress looked like it was on a mannequin, propped up by the tulle.
"I think you're done for tonight, doll," he laughed. "I'll sleep on the couch, we'll get you some clothes and I'll send your dress on in the morning after it's been cleaned."
"Nooo. That's not what you promiiised." She lost the Capitol accent when she was drunk, lapsing into a faint District One lilt, probably picked up from her parents and proximity to Jacques.
"I don't think you're in any condition for… shenanigans right now. It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me." Maybe if he kept talking, she'd pass out.
"You owe me, remember? I was so good. And I'll complain right now, I will. Jusswatch." Glinter struggled to stand up on the bed, a wide, silly smile on her face, swaying on unsteady legs. He didn't believe her threats for a second, but it was still a hard dose of reality. Of course she would default to that.
"Fine, fine. Don't hurt yourself. Lie down." Annek gave in and began unbuttoning his cummerbund, his goodwill towards her evaporating. "We're even after this, right? No more threatening to complain?"
"Yupyupyup. My promise." She giggled again and fell back down onto the bed, narrowly avoiding clipping her head on the headboard. Annek winced. He hated it when they were so altered like this, whether on drinks or whatever the new Capitol fad was. But he pulled her to himself (and away from hard corners), and tried to forget, even as it happened. He went through the motions, his hands running over her skin, his body acting and reacting as it needed to. He said what he had to, encouraging here, and vulnerable there, breathlessly complimentary through it all. But his thoughts drifted far, far away, and all he heard was lapping waves against Evangeline, and all he saw was the inviting light of the sea at dawn.