A dozen pairs of hands wave about like tentacles of a kraken, clutching helpless makeup brushes, hair clips, and glasses of fruity liqueurs and mineral water in their grasps and waving them around the man clipping past them.
Augustine Pine's face curls in distaste as he flaps his hands around like two pale fish. "Away, away!" he huffs as he hurries down the hallway past the dressing rooms in the CGN building. The assembled interns and makeup artists immediately with draw and follow at a respectful distance, their gifts clutched in supplication should their idol require further offerings.
Pine snaps his fingers at one such intern, a quivering young man barely out of his teens who has been dreaming of this opportunity for half his life and now rushes forward and hands over hot coffee with exactly one and a half tablespoons of cream and two lumps of sugar and a dab of whipped cream with the gentlest sampling of chocolate shavings.
The official Master of Ceremonies for the Hunger Games takes one sip and spits it out. "Disgusting," he says without looking at the intern, who know looks close to tears. "Is proper help impossible to find around here? Get out of my sight. Flickerman!" he shouts as the intern scurries off.
His third junior assistant, a pleasant-faced young man even younger than the intern falls into step with him. "Yes, Mr. Pine?"
"Make sure that one is fired. I never want to see his face around here again."
"Yes, Mr. Pine," says Flickerman, making a note on his data pad letting the hapless intern know to change his face immediately if he wanted to keep his job.
"Are we all set? What's the delay? Don't tell me Squalls is changing the lighting again. I swear if I look pallid again I will leave this hovel and never return."
"The Victor is still on his way, Mr. Pine. There was some trouble at the Training Center. Overexcited fans it seems."
Pine huffs. "What I wouldn't give to see those plebians exported to District 12. Very well, what's the damage?"
"We go live in fifteen, Mr. Pine."
"Very well. I'll be in my dressing room. And do change your hair before our next show, Flickerman, you look like a sunburnt tomato."
"Yes, Mr. Flickerman." His assistant holds the door open and Augustine Pine disappears into the mercifully silent dressing room and falls dramatically onto one of guilded couches.
"Well, you old rogue, are you ready to make another big splash?" he asks the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. He winks at the reflection, silently reminding himself to go in for an eye pigmentation alteration. Lavender went out over two seasons ago after all.
Augustine Pine indulges himself in a glass of the snow-cooled white wine provided in his dressing room. He swills it about, clicking his tongue at the delay. Of course, it would all be worth it, surely. This year's Victor was so much more suitable than last year's. How he managed to get through the ordeal of having to lead a sniffling, pug-nosed, snotty teenager from District 9 through the final interviews, he'll never know. Goodness knows it was a trial. He'd had to treat himself to a full week of therapeutic spa treatments just to get over his frayed nerves.
So few people understand the burden of being Augustine Pine.
"We're ready for you, Mr. Pine," comes his assistant's voice from the doorway.
"Alright, Flickerman. Double-check and make sure everything's in place. And put an extra bottle of mineral water on the table in the studio, I don't want to run out again."
He stands up and adjusts his tie in the mirror and pushes back a stray hair. He objectively critiques his appearance, ignoring as usual the bandy legs and slight paunch that always seems to come back despite regular alterations. He gives himself a wink.
"Let's go make television," he says in his best camera-ready voice.
The interns and make-up artists are back with their glasses and brushes but Pine brushes past them, leaving them scurrying in his wake. He breezes into the studio, satisfying himself that the chairs are mounted in the exact right angle and the floral arrangements aren't ostentatious this year. Techies are scurrying around like little bugs, getting some pre-shots in while they can, but Augustine has eyes only for the two tall young men standing near the doorway surrounded by a cluster of assistants and admirers.
"Mr. Pine!" The taller of the two men breaks away and comes towards him with hand outstretched.
"Honorius, you old rascal, how good to see you again!" Pine ignores the outstretched hand (he shook it once two years ago and had to have his nails completely redone afterwards) and embraces the Victor, kissing him on both cheeks. "Don't be shy, boy, we're old friends by now! Good to see you, good to see you of course." He gives his dear friend a little wink. "But you've had your chance in the spotlight, silly boy. Let's meet our newest Victor. Ah, and there he is!"
The other young man isn't quite as tall as his cousin, but much broader in the shoulders and chest. He has the elegant black hair common to his district, gleaming dark eyes, a jaw that could cut diamonds and a schoolboy's smirk. His eyes flicker to his cousin as Pine approaches, then he steps forward and allows the master of ceremonies to kiss his cheeks. Pine embraces him like a long lost brother instead of a man he just saw last night at the Victory Ceremony.
"Oh goodness," says Pine as he steps back and rests a hand on the young man's abs. "I thought I had run into a wall there. I must say, it's one thing in on camera, but in person you certainly don't disappoint, Mr. Manchetti."
Virtus Manchetti gives a little smile. "Good to know I meet your expectations, Mr. Pine. I had a high bar to meet."
"Oh, call me Augustine, please! And may I call you Virtus? Lovely. Now, is there anything you need, water, coffee, something stronger? Just let any of the interns know if you do. Are you ready for your big moment, Virtus?"
Virtus's smile now bears just a hint of irony. "Oh, I think so, Augustine. You'll make the arena seem like a summer fest dance, I'm sure."
Augustine titters and wiggles his fingers at the saucy boy just as Flickerman calls out, "We go live in two minutes, Mr. Pine."
"Alright then! Into the chair, please Virtus! No, the other one, that one's mine, silly boy. And….yes, let's get another chair just off yours. Usually the mentor stays off camera, but this is such a special occasion, I'm sure we'll want Honorius with us for at least part of the interview. Take a drink, boy. Settles the nerves. Now, keep your eyes on me, don't look into the camera unless you have something directly to say to our audience. And don't be nervous. This won't hurt a bit, although, as we all know, you like a bit of pain. Okay, big smile, don't touch your face, you'll smudge the makeup welcome, welcome, and thanks for tuning into CGN for the final interview with the newest Victor of the Twenty-Fourth Hunger Games, Virtus Manchetti!
Augustine always gets a silent chuckle out of that. The interview is mandatory viewing, but he thanks the country anyway. It's basic manners after all.
He starts off with his usual repertoire of satiric comedy, jokes carefully written by his staff and approved by the Information Minister. He lampoons a couple out-of-favor politicians and a celebrity who was found in a very compromising position with her own stepfather before turning to the young man next to him and grasping his forearm.
"Now, Virtus. Such a pleasure to have you here. Isn't it folks?" Prerecorded applause plays over the sound system. "We have so, so much to talk about, Virtus, but I want to start out with a little clip from, oh, about two years ago. Do you know which one I'm talking about? I bet you do!"
Virtus rolls his eyes and shoots his cousin a glare. Honorius smirks as he shoves him.
A small viewing screen opposite the chairs shows the scene that the whole of Panem is watching, probably the hundredth time for all of them. It's the interviews from two years ago. Honorius is sitting on the stage, dressed in a dazzling midnight-blue suit embedded with diamonds surrounded by twenty-three children whose names no one remembers any more.
The Augustine Pine on the screen is speaking. "-but I do believe you're the first tribute we've seen who has volunteered for a relative. Your brother, correct?"
"My cousin," says Honorius as he crosses his arms. "He's fifteen."
"And why did you volunteer, Honorius?"
Honorius gives a snort. "Virtus is too stupid to take a piss without a chaperone to hold his pecker. I couldn't let him come here, he'd be an embarrassment. Unless you want to watch a tribute blubber over his boo-boos, you should be grateful I stepped up."
The recording ends.
"You don't have to ask, Augustine," says Virtus with the little grin that drives half the population of the Capitol wild. "I've paid him back over and over again for that one for two years running."
Augustine chuckles. "Did you know even then that you were going to volunteer, Virtus?"
"Of course. I could hardly let my cousin steal all the glory for himself. Do you know what it's like living with Hon nowadays? It's been unbearable."
The prerecorded audience laughs along with Augustine. Honorius gives a sheepish grin.
"So you had a reputation to live up to!"
Virtus cocks his head. "Maybe. I liked to think about it as a foundation to build upon."
"Well, you certainly did that! Let's watch another clip."
The screen now shows the reaping in the square of District 2, the crowds talking easily amongst themselves as the banners wave in the shadow of the mountain fortress. The district escort, a ridiculous looking goat-man, steps up to the reaping bowls and pulls out the names. A grim-looking girl in a red tunic with a confident smile steps up to volunteer. And then when the call for volunteers goes out for the boys, a voice breaks out from the crowd.
"I volunteer! Me, me, me, me! Pick me, please pick me!"
Virtus comes running along the aisle and leaps onto the stage. A relieved looking boy scurries off. Virtus looks so ecstatic when he gets onto the stage that he does a little dance, pumping his fists and wigging his behind at the cameras until he loses his balance and tumbles from the stage, matting his red tunic with dust.
"And just like that, District 2's chances on the betting boards went down to one in thirty! And you didn't do anything to alleviate that during prep, did you Virtus?"
"No sir," says Virtus. "Like you said I had a reputation to maintain."
The screen shows a ridiculously whooping boy on the chariots, followed by clips of him in the gymnasium ignoring the weapons in favor of flirting outrageously with the girl from 1.
"So you played the fool and the loafer to lower people's guard. And it certainly worked! What score did you get again, Virtus?"
Honorius had warned him that Augustine had an annoying habit of fake-forgetting vital information, so he didn't bat an eyelid. "A six," he says. "Hardest part of the Games."
"The hardest part? Why is that?"
"Do you know how hard it is to act stupider than you are, Augustine? It's bloody difficult!"
There's a huge fake laugh from the speakers. Augustine rubs his newest Victor's hand.
"Well, you certainly fooled me during the interview. No need to play that again, we've all seen it enough and you probably more than you ever want to. You know, I seem to remember that Platinum had a similar strategy about twenty years ago. Now, tell me, did anyone know? Or suspect?"
"Honorius knew. So did the rest of the Victors, but they knew me at home. I think my stylist may have figured it out, but Lucia's smart. And Contessa did as well."
"Contessa knew?" Augustine raises his eyebrows as the screens play the picture of the girl from 2 who died a week ago. "And she didn't tell the rest of your allies?"
"There was no hiding it from her. We….went to school together back in Two. We made a deal. She wouldn't tell the others that I was faking being stupid, and I wouldn't tell them how good she was at the bolas."
A clip plays of Contessa in the arena, spinning the exotic weapon through the air before releasing it. The lead balls clacked together as the spun through the air for a long second before the leather thongs the were attached to wrapped themselves around the neck of the fleeing girl from 5. Her victim didn't have time to gasp before the spinning balls snapped her neck.
"She was a fearsome opponent," says Augustine with a small sigh of longing. "Now, let's turn to the arena. It was one of my favorites this year. Let's take another look."
The screens play sweeping views of the arena, a vast island in the middle of a raging sea. The highest point of the island is a flat plain that slopes gently away, steeper and steeper until sheer cliffs plunge into the sea. Pillars of stone rise from the waves like the fangs of some hungry god.
"Now, tell me about the Cornucopia. That's where you dropped the pretense, wasn't it. Why then?"
"I didn't have much choice," says Virtus with a sour look. "I admit I didn't anticipate being jumped by half the tributes right off the back."
"It seems like quite a lot of competitors were eager to take you down, Virtus. Lulled into a false sense of security by that six, perhaps?"
Virtus grins. "I assumed they were just jealous of my good looks."
Augustine chuckles. "Let's take a look at the clip."
The bloodbath plays again in all its horror. Screaming children attempt to flee, sliding down the sides of the island away from the golden horn. Others dash towards the massive amount of supplies provided at the Cornucopia, including Virtus's alliance. It's at the mouth of the golden horn that Virtus is jumped by no less than six tributes. The screens show him fending off the boy from 7 with one hand. The other is holding the boy from 5 by the neck high above his head. Virtus's muscles surge as he snaps the boy's neck and then buries his sword deep into the 7 boy before spinning around and plunging it into the girl from 11 who was sneaking up from behind.
"So that's the girl from Eleven and the boys from Five, Seven, Eight, Nine, and Ten. Quite impressive, Virtus, and I'm sure your allies agreed."
Indeed, the tributes from One and Four stare at Virtus in open mouthed shock and at the six bodies piled around his feet.
"Did they say anything about it? Or you to them?"
Virtus smiles. "I think you remember."
The boy from 1 looks at him in horror. "You're bleeding," he says in a dumfounded voice.
The Virtus on the screen smiles. "I like a little pain," he says.
Augustine nods. "Of course. And what did you think of your cousin in that moment, Honorius?"
"Pride. And the determination to get him whatever he needed to come home."
"Very touching, to be sure. Now, Virtus. I want to talk about your ally Luscious. The girl from One, of course. Can you tell me a bit about her?"
Virtus smiles but his eyes go hard. "Luscious was a brave and noble fighter. She brought honor to her district and her sacrifice ensures that we may continue to live in peace."
"Wonderful sentiments, to be sure. But it must be said that I – and I know I'm not the only one – suspected that there was some sort of chemistry going on between you. Care to make a comment on that?"
Virtus looks up to where the screens are showing scenes from the days the alliance spent hunting the cannon fodder. Luscious remains at his side, they chat and hunt and laugh together. They stand watch together, making faces at each other, and she curls up next to him when the pair from 4 relieve them. Virtus wraps his arm around her chest.
The Virtus sitting next to Pine measures his words out carefully. "I suppose when strong personalities meet in challenging circumstances, connections are forged. It's human nature. Luscious was a fine fighter and strong woman. It was a privilege to compete against her in the Games."
"So it didn't hurt when she betrayed you?"
Virtus gives a snort. "It hurt harder when I hit the water, to be honest. "
"Ah, that clip always makes me wince! But let's watch it again, shall we?"
And sure enough, the alliance is on the screens again, realizing that they have to do away with the boy from 2 before the alliance breaks if any of them are to stand a chance. The boys from 1 and 4 grab him while he's sleeping and hold his feet and legs. The girls have to join in when Virtus's sheer strength threatens to free him.
They drag him down to the edge of the cliffs. Luscious plants a little kiss on his forehead before the other four swing the struggling boy back and hurl him out into the sea.
Long moments pass, just angry grey waves and sea foam. And then Virtus's head breaks above the surface. His hair is plastered to his face and his eyes are wild, but his arms are steady as he cuts through the waves towards the pillar of stone that juts out fifty yards from him.
"How long were you clinging to that rock, Virtus?"
"I don't know," says Virtus. "I couldn't tell you."
"Honorius?"
"He was there for three days."
"And how long did it feel for you?"
"A lifetime."
"I'm sure. And you couldn't send him anything?"
"I didn't have the funds. All of Virtus's sponsor money was tied to the alliance. Once he was out, I couldn't even send him a rubber ducky."
"So you waited."
"I did."
"And of course, back on the main island, things were wrapping up. The alliance finished off the rest of the stragglers of course, and then they turned on each other. It was when there were just four left, Virtus on his rock and Luscious hiding from the pair from Four, that you decided to take action."
The images show Virtus clinging to the pillar, the clothes almost completely torn from his body by the battering waves. His face is a mask of pain and fierceness, his eyes fixed on the sky.
"Why did you choose to risk it all, Virtus?"
"It was either that or cling to that rock until I fell off and drowned. I take my fate into my own hands."
"We'll remember that!"
The Virtus on the screen closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and plunges into the sea. The cameras catch his head reappearing at random intervals, each time bringing him closer to the cliffs. In what seems like hours he reaches the sea cliffs. And then he begins to climb.
"I think I speak for all of us when I say we were at the edge of our seats, Virtus. Were you in much pain?"
"Maybe," says Virtus. "I didn't really think about it. All I focused on was the rock under my hands and feet and my cousins' faces."
"And you made it."
"Yes."
"I'm going to turn now to the confrontation we were all waiting for," says Augustine with the air of a jovial uncle revealing a particular large present to his favorite nephew. "The moment you tracked Luscious to the cave where she was hiding. Now, some of the footage from that moment was…lost…during broadcast. Can you tell us anything of what happened in that cave?"
Virtus doesn't grin. Honorius looks positively grim.
"I did what needed to be done."
"Of course."
Augustine doesn't have to press Virtus for details. He's seen the footage. Not just what the rest of Panem saw, a man walking from the cave mouth with fingernail scratches down his chest and a blonde bundle that he tossed into the sea. He saw the fight, the screams, the begging him to stop, please stop, not like this. He and his aides and his confidantes watched and ate fruit pastries as Luscious was defeated in every way a woman can be defeated. There were still two more tributes left when Virtus left the cave, but that was the moment everyone who's seen the footage agrees that he won the Twenty-Fourth Hunger Games.
"And of course, we can't forget about the final battle! Two on one, and you already exhausted. When you caught up with the pair from Four, did you think-"
Augustine breaks off, looks towards the doors.
"What in Panem's name is the ruckus? Can we get security on that? This is a national broadcast!"
A young intern steps forward, puts his hand on the doorknob, and hell breaks loose.
The door bursts open. There's the sound of breaking glass. People are shouting, screaming, bodies rushing into the room. They're chanting something, waving banners, shouting "Six, Six, Sixatrons for Six!"
And then Flickerman is there, dragging him down to the floor, pulling the chair down to use as a shield as gunshots ring out. There are screams, falling bodies, and the sound of many more footsteps rushing into the studio.
Flickerman peers over, stands, and helps his boss to his feet. There are many, many more people in the studio. Half of them are Peacekeepers, holding several people in custody. Most of them are young, and all of them have some sort of badge or emblem with the number six on it. Banners lay across the ground with the same number.
"What is it?" stammers Pine. "Terrorists? Invaders? The Dark Days again?"
Flickerman shakes his head. "Sixatrons."
"What in Panem?"
"They support District Six. Fans. They're fanatics, actually. More and more aggressive as each year goes by without a Six Victor. I suppose they thought they could make a nice little demonstration."
"Yes, well," says Pine as he steps over the wreckage of the studio. There's a sound, rough and raw about the chattering voices and delayed cries of fear. He looks over to where his Victors have ended up.
Virtus is standing above the bodies of two of the Sixatrons. The entire front of his body is a dark crimson. Honorius is holding the boy with both arms. Gone is the cool, collected Victor of a few moments ago. It's been replaced by something like an animal, a predator raging and thrashing and eager for more...
"Blood!" exclaims Augustine Pine. Every eye turns his way. "You're covered in…" He raises a hand and points a shaking finger. "It's all over….just like television!"
And Augustine Pine falls into a dead faint.
His fall is well cushioned. That's what interns are for after all.
I wanted to say a continued thank you for all the reviews. I try to answer as many as I can, but each and every one is appreciated.
We've made it to the Quarter Quell! If you've read "Fall Into the River," you know who's next!