The crowd here stare up at me with empty eyes. They remind me of fish stuck in a glass bowl, forced to swim round and round but never getting anywhere. They clap obediently when I step onto the stage. I do my scripted thank you- add in my prescription pout, a slight flutter of my eyelashes but they fall flat.
The girl from District 12 was the last I killed. If I hadn't this weary district could have actually had a winner. I look into the crowd of emaciated faces and wonder how anyone manages to survive here. It is clear they are starving. They needed a victor- badly.
I meet Haymitch Abernathy at the celebratory dinner. He doesn't eat, only drinks, looking at me with pink eyes.
"How come you've been abandoned?" he asks, "Old Mags had enough of you?"
"Yeah, that's right," I tell him flatly.
"Well, you are pretty intolerable," he gestures wildly towards my face. I don't know if he is indicating my looks, my persona or just me in general.
"And you, sir, are pretty drunk. And there's nothing pretty about that."
He laughs.
I don't mention Hollis. I can't.
The whole of eleven stinks of rot and mildew. I am grateful when I can step out of the justice building into the square. Everywhere I turn there are fences and fields and orchards. Everything is closed off. It is a large place but it feels small, perhaps because I know no matter how far I travel in any direction it will never be long before I reach another fence. It's like the arena in that way. Limited.
The people are not as weary as those in 12; weariness is replaced with wary glances as Peacekeepers glare down on them. Yet when they applaud there is warmth to it. I killed Sickle, Harrow tried to kill me- we were far from allies and yet they appear to welcome me. I get the sense that maybe they are just pleased that someone survived. Perhaps all these peacekeepers and fences have given them all a clear idea of who the real enemy is. They aren't going to blame some kid for the work of the Capitol. Their reception touches me; I almost forget to keep up my act for the cameras.
I step into the darkness of the justice building relieved to have another speech over. I try to go into the room with the leather sofas that I had waited in before my appearance but Augustus steps in my way.
"You need to try harder, Finnick," he tells me.
I try to brush him off but he stops me again, grabbing hold of my shoulders and shaking me slightly.
"It's not good enough to just go through the motions- people expect victors to be a little more sincere. As you don't have a mentor here to guide you I feel it is my duty to make sure that you behave appropriately."
"What more do you want me to do? Write them a damn poem?"
"Oh? Do you think you could?" Augustus says excitedly. "I haven't seen that before."
I roll my eyes and spend the rest of the evening sulking into my beef stew. I wish someone from home was here with me.
I am told that the tributes from 9 were called Teff and Emmer. He died of the cold and she was torn apart by mutts. This makes me feel more comfortable. I am in no way to blame for these deaths. So I play my part well. I blow kisses as they cheer. I tell them how sorry I am, how grateful I am. I try to make them pleased that a polite and charming young man has won the games. My name echoes around the square as feet stomp in tribal appreciation. I am called back onto the stage several times for more. I wave my plaque in the air triumphantly as if it's a trophy. They lap it up as though no one ever died for me- as if I am just a celebrity visiting their endless fields of grain. It actually feels good.
"How's that?" I ask Augustus.
"I couldn't have done it better myself," he says, pulling his puffy lips into a hideous smile.
"I'm sorry about Hollis," Cecelia tells me, one hand resting on her swollen stomach. I think of Hollis and I wonder how she can stand it- how can she dare to have children when they would be in so much danger? "You must be lonely going on your tour alone."
"It's not easy but, you know…"
She studies my face. "You seem a lot younger when you're not putting on your act for the cameras. It seems a little irresponsible for them to send you alone. They should have sent one of the others with you."
"Well, you know… I've got Augustus. And it was all so sudden; I don't think anyone really had a chance to think about it."
She wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Be careful in the Capitol. I wouldn't want you getting caught up in the wrong crowd."
Tricky, I think, any Capitol crowd is certain to be the wrong one.
I look around me. So this is District 7. The place I claimed to be from in the games. I was right- there are a lot of trees.
A man slaps me on the back- "You can't see the wood for the trees, eh? I saw you in the arena- seems to me you need a bit of educating about what it's like here in 7. How about the guided tour?"
Blight shows me around. He shows me the towering forest they hew for lumber, the saplings, the cedars that lead up to the Victor's Village. Proudly he leads me all over the district until it is so dark that it is impossible for me to see the trees. But I know they are there.
I quite like District 7. The people seem down-to-earth and likable. If they ever thought to dig a lake here it could actually make a bearable home.
I can't stand to look at their families. The emotion is so raw. It makes me think of Mags shaking in my arms and the row of solemn faces as they stand around Hollis' body.
I can't really remember the tributes from District 6. I have no idea what they did in the arena, how they died- if I was even there when they did die. I stick to the scripted thank you and even though the crowd cheers I don't react. Surely they can go one day without my posing? Augustus might have words with me again but with the two families watching me I just can't perform.
Amongst them sits a girl about my age. She catches my eye and the pair of us watch each other a while, mirroring each other's sad smile. I wish I had a chance to speak to her- to try and explain myself but they keep me penned inside the justice building. I don't even get to meet their victors.
The thought of going to District 5 fills me with dread. No longer will I get away with the empty thanks that the Capitol writes for me. I will have to come up with something more personal- some kind of apology. I sit on the train with a pad and paper and struggle to find the words. Outside the window I see flashes of the ugly cement buildings Sparkes described. Still the words don't come.
It is even worse stood in front of the crowd. I see Theta sat with the rest of Sparkes' family. He was meant to marry her, I think. He was meant to go home and marry her. He had something to live for whilst I… I think of the last six months in District 4. I'm not really sure what I have, exactly.
"I feel I ought to give particular thanks to Sparkes. I lied to him about who I was in the arena but I did not lie about my admiration for him. He was exceptionally smart and particularly kind- two things that are remarkable anywhere but particularly in the arena where so much darkness can be seen. I wish I could have brought him back with me. I know I owe him for a great deal- I certainly would not be standing here if it wasn't for his knowledge. So thank you. I know as long as I live he will not be forgotten."
The dinner in District 3 is functional. I can't describe it any other way. The bread comes in square, bite-sized loaves and is eaten without butter. Every portion is just enough- nothing is in excess but it is flavoursome enough.
The talk at the table is complex. Augustus and Marius ask questions about microchips and strange devices that I have never heard of. The victors happily tell them detailed descriptions about how they are made, who designed them and the theory behind how they work.
My mind slowly zones out, wandering back to District 4. It must be close by. I can almost imagine the smell of the salt wafting in on the air.
"What do you think, Finnick?"
All the faces round the long table turn to look at me. I don't even know what they were talking about.
"Oh… um… I think I need an early night," I feel my cheeks burn red but everyone kindly turns back to their meal and resumes their technical conversation. They ignore me for the most part for which I am relieved.
I feel appreciated in District 2- perhaps they are glad that someone in our alliance managed to win. I give fabricated views on both Rook and Agrippa, highlighting Agrippa's ingenuity and Rook's determination rather than the bloodthirsty side to their personalities. I am sure those are not the Rook and Agrippa their families know, anyway. They weren't killers before the arena. I thank them and don't mention how I killed Agrippa myself.
As I look out upon the crowd I wonder if Agrippa would have faced the same isolation that I have from killing his district partner. He coldly calculated the whole thing so he could get hold of a weapon whereas I accidentally acted while my mind was not my own. Yet I somehow get the impression that Agrippa might have been met with the Victor's welcome, as is to be expected, rather than cold indifference. If they can greet me with cries of appreciation then they certainly would have given him the same. I suppose I should be pleased that I come from such a morally upstanding district but it is hard to pleased when I have become so cut off from them.
It is a relief to get to District 1. Not long to go now. I think.
Marius takes particular care about my appearance before I step out onto the stage. "These people know quality," he tells me. "They simply won't put up with anything substandard."
"Surely you have always been dressing me in quality items?"
"Yes, yes," Marius says, "But let's try to have a sense of style."
Style in Marius' books definitely involves metallics and so I face the crowd feeling like a turkey about to be roasted. Maybe I am. I did kill Nova. Once again I just don't mention this and my style and poise earns me a passably warm reception from the crowd.
The Capitol is a whirl of colour and excitement. Every person I meet is genuinely pleased that I am there.
I am swept up in the feast- the dancing, the excited chatter, the new sights and smells. There are no dead tributes to mourn, no families to console, no thanks to give. I almost enjoy playing my part- they make it easy. I find myself searching for a bigger reaction, the greater praise, and the more ridiculous facets of my character come to the surface.
There is no sign of President Snow, no sign of Hydra. No one checking up on me to make sure that I behave. Just masses and masses of appreciative citizens who are all clamouring to see me. It is easy to get lost in it. It is magnificent.
In some ways getting home is the worst. They all put on their show, I put on my show and we all pretend to tolerate each other. I think back to the reception I got in other Districts- in the Capitol. It is strange to think I am more welcome in places that aren't my home. I long for the sincerity of the Capitol's adoration. At least they actually seem to care for me.