I actually wake within a reasonable amount of time; helps that there's no dream-Cato to pester me with enigmatic statements or Haymitch giving me an improvised wake-up call. Also, I'm no longer in the lobby but a nice comfy bed in a darkened bedroom. Despite the wonderful plushiness of the setting I'm in— not to mention that it's apparently not yet five in the morning — I'm refreshed enough to get on with my day.
As I get up, I notice a couple things. First off, I've been stripped down to my skivvies. In all honesty, a history being stripped down, helping strip others down more than a few times, and stripping down in locker rooms means that I'm desensitized to the point of little chagrin. If anything, I'm a bit thankful that I didn't have to sleep in those trousers; they're comfortable enough during the day, but not in bed. At least they didn't go further than that.
Secondly, judging from the vantage point offered by a glance out the window, I'm still in the Tower.
More importantly, however, I'm actually able to move now. It seems that Luce — yeah, I think I can go with 'Luce' from now on — did an excellent job in fixing me up. It still hurts a quite a bit to breathe or move my left arm and torso, but the point is that I'm not in such agonizing pain to the point of being crippled.
On a table next to me is an arm sling and a container of medication, plus handwritten note — a fairly illegible one at that; I have to read the damn thing several times to get the gist of its message — by the corpsman telling me instructions for the medication along with some breathing exercises to help me heal; for some reason, there's also a suggestion to dress casually today. Also nearby is all my gear, including stuff that I originally left on the hovercraft, as well as a small set of some extra articles of clothing that I have no recollection of owning but am in possession of.
After a nice long shower — it's good to clean myself in a non-communal setting that doesn't ration the water; admittedly one thing I missed from the Capitol — I get dressed… somewhat. I don't want to go through the pain of putting on a shirt right now so, for now, I just settle on one of the short pants provided plus the sling.
The sound of a slight commotion outside alerts me to the fact that I'm not the only one up this early, and I exit the bedroom to enter into a large high-ceiling room — high enough to accommodate two floors judging by the stairway on my side and opposite from me — that I assume is a common area, with several couches and recliners that face the window.
Also, there's a delectable scent of food that permeates the air, and it only takes me a few seconds to find the source of it and the earlier commotion: smack-dab in the middle of the common area is a good-sized kitchen that's currently being occupied. As I walk towards it, I send a greeting towards Gale, who's puttering around moodily in nothing but a pair of pajama pants.
He doesn't bother looking up to grunt, "Morning, Mellark…"
Gale's greeting earns a dry chuckle of amusement from me as I plop down on a stool by the counter. "Ah, so we're back to 'Mellark' now?" I really don't care either way, but I know what I heard last night.
He pauses to send me a surly scowl before resuming his work. Strewn across the counter is a selection of various fresh food items… a very large selection. Seeing all of the pans and pots on the stove, it seems to me that Gale's trying to be a one-man banquet kitchen. Every now and then, he would stop to glance at a screen — likely recipes — mutter to himself a bit, and then continue on with his culinary endeavors.
Who knew the guy could cook?
Then it occurs to me that he has to know how to cook; it makes little sense to leave all of the work to Hazelle when there are so many mouths to feed. This is likely the first time he's able enjoy a full-scale hearty meal. The Hawthornes are probably used to either eking-by on very small portions of basically-prepared wild game, tesserae, traded food, or Hob fare — actually had some of Sae's stew a couple times during my bread runs to the Seam; it's not bad — in Twelve or subsisting on the… whatever they call it in Thirteen. So now that he has got a hold of some fresh ingredients, he's pulling out all the stops.
Though that makes me wonder how he got his hands on all of this.
"Want an omelet?"
"Huh?" Gale's question shakes me from my thoughts.
"I'm asking if you want an omelet. I'm about to make one for myself right now."
"Uh, sure… Thanks."
I want to see what Gale's capable of, so I just leave it up to him when asked for preferences. He just nods at that in the process of taking apart a couple mushrooms — at least, he says they are mushrooms; one looks a bit like an oversized squashed pinecone, while the other is a white ball covered in rubbery-looking spines — to sauté in butter with garlic, shallots, and herbs. When he's satisfied with them, the hunter puts a good number of eggs into a bowl to mix together with some more spices, greens, and a dash of milk.
Gale slides the milk bottle and an empty glass towards me in an offering manner, which I accept. As I take a drink, I notice that it's much thicker and richer than what I'm used to; even in the Capitol. Not necessarily a bad thing; just different, which is confirmed when he notes it's buffalo milk.
Is it just me or are you trying to cram as much fat into your recipes as possible?
"While you wait, you can snack on these," Gale says as he slides a basket full of fruit towards me. Upon seeing the orange plum-sized berries — each with a four-petal rosette on top — I instantly recognize what they are. That recognition causes me glare back at him with eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Thought you could fool the townie, huh? You give me these in a gesture of "generosity" and then laugh as my mouth turns to chalk. Well, I'm already familiar with this game.
Gale does laugh upon seeing my expression. I actually think this is the first time I've heard him give a laugh that's good-natured instead of uneasy. "You've never had a ripe persimmon, have you? Don't worry; these are fine."
When I still make no move towards them, he, with an impatient huff, simply grabs a fruit, pulls the rosette off, and pops the whole thing in his mouth. After unceremoniously spitting the seeds out into a bowl, he turns back to me. "See?"
The hunter's either correct in his statement or he's being a very convincing liar. Since he still has a ways to go in the charisma department, I decide to go with the former and try one. Next thing I know, I'm grabbing several. While the rind is still a bit tough, the inside has an almost jelly-like consistency and is full of rich sweetness.
"There are several stands of trees back in Twelve that I have memorized," Gale says. "They're one of the few things reliable enough to give a yearly bountiful harvest come the season, and my family always looked forward to that. So, whenever I brought a bag-full back, we made sure to turn them into jam to last the winter and much of spring."
If I had known that they would have actually ripened into something actually tasty, we would have probably done the same thing. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if Dad did do that and I just never realized it due to forever equating "persimmon" with "mouth-cotton". I'm about reach for another handful, but Gale swiftly lifts the basket out of reach. "Don't spoil your appetite."
I scowl a bit at him but agree to wait.
"I take it that you guys went shopping yesterday," I note.
Gale's too busy working on the eggs to look back, but he still responds: "Yeah, since Beetee told me that we may be staying here a while, groceries were needed. The market was beginning to run out of a lot of the good stuff, but we managed." I can see that.
"I meant the clothes." It's doubtful Thirteen supplies duck-printed pajamas.
"That too. A bit nice to not rely on Thirteen jumpsuits for once." Finally, he glances back to ask, "Do those pants fit? I tried to estimate the best I could."
"They fit quite well. Thank you." I can only say that after more than a few moments of speechless shock. Not just due to Gale being able to accurately deduce my size and preferred style by sight, but that he got clothes for me at all. "I honestly thought someone must have got the size from my pants and shirt after Luce patched me up."
That last part causes Gale to grumble and attack the mushrooms with renewed vigor.
His fuming earns a chortle from me: "You're not still mad about that, are you?"
"He knocked me out."
"You weren't exactly acting rationally at the time." When he sends a withering glare back at me, I hold my hands up in placation. "Well, you weren't. And in the end, he did seem to succeed in fixing me."
Some time passes before he lets out a long huff while ladling the mushrooms onto the eggs, followed by a sprinkling of grated cheese. "I guess so. Whole thing still took me by surprise."
"You're not the only one," I mutter. "Say, how were you able to pay for all of this?"
Gale's about to respond when he's interrupted by a young girl, who has a pack slung over her shoulders, walking into the room. "Mr. Hawthorne?"
"Right on time. Wait a moment." He deftly folds the omelets and places each on a plate before washing his hands and walking over to inspect the contents of the pack. After Gale nods, the girl shows him a tablet with some device attached, which he runs his thumb over. Though before the girl departs, he gives her a handful of persimmons; likely as a tip or something. It seems that she either recognizes them as ripe or hasn't had somebody play that prank on her yet, because she gives a wide grin before running off. I walk over to see the contents of the pack; inside are a dozen massive biscuits, with heat still radiating off of them.
"We stopped by the bakery," Gale explains. "Stone told me that, since I was planning on making breakfast, I should get some fresh biscuits. So I pre-ordered a few to be delivered first thing in the morning. Hope you don't mind not being the one to make them."
"Don't worry; though they better be good. What was that thing you just did?" I mime the motion he did with his thumb.
"It's how you pay here. Since it's such a small and stable community, Central's able to set up a system that's completely electronic. They even have their own internal currency. So instead of handing over cash or using a signature, you use your thumbprint." I'm about to ask where he got the money, but he beats me to the punch. "Beetee hooked me up to his account." By the way the hunter notes that, I can tell he's trying to figure out a way to pay back the old victor.
"Huh, I would have thought that the Capitol had frozen his account."
"Funny story: they tried. However, he had his earnings converted into Central currency. So when the Capitol came by, there was nothing to grab except for a small amount, and Beetee's Central account was folded into the community's coffers. When he came back, they simply created a new account and restored things."
After that explanation, he motions me to grab one of the plates. He also gestures towards the stove; on there are pots full of gravy and corned-beef hash. I get a hefty portion of each — ignoring Gale's offers to hold the plate in the process — as well as a biscuit, before sitting back down and digging in.
To say that this exceeds my expectations is a severe understatement.
Buffalo milk suits the gravy well by carrying an unbelievable richness with undertones of spice given by the sausage. Mixing it with the simple-yet-hearty hash goes especially well with the biscuit, which has an soft and moist interior shielded by just about the right amount of crunchiness on the outside; I wonder if this is the same bakery that made the flatbread I had yesterday evening. However, the omelet is the star of this show. The fluffy, crêpe-like wrapping of eggs and spinach balances well with the thick cheese-and-mushroom filling inside; the mushrooms themselves give off both a wonderfully nutty flavor and meaty texture.
I manage to pause eating long enough to express my compliments and gratitude towards Gale, who naturally brushes it off.
"Although I couldn't believe my luck when I saw both a hen-in-the-woods and a bearded tooth for sale." Ah, so that's what those mushrooms are called. I notice that his face suddenly grows a bit wistful. "I've only got to try each of those once after a trip with my pa. Ever since then, I usually took any I found to the mayor as he would always pay the best price for them; mushrooms are worth more as a trade item than as food for those in the Seam."
Before things start getting really depressing, I decide to change the topic. "So what do you think of Central?"
Gale looks thoughtful about what I'd consider to be a straightforward question. "It's interesting. I was hesitant of how we would be received — and a bit resentful about them keeping neutral throughout the fight — but the folk here are welcoming and friendly. The closest thing I could see to a 'divide' is a bit of good-natured interdepartmental rivalry. Hell, if I lived here, I'd probably join the Corps. Not to mention the tech and weaponry they develop…" he muses before shrugging. "Plus, they actually allow hunting and foraging past the wall, which is where a lot of this stuff came from. All you have to do to get a permit is show that you have survival skills and allow inspection of whatever you haul in."
"It does sound like you'd have a bit of fun here."
"I probably would. Though I do kind of wish my family was present. I know that being cooped-up underground is starting make them a bit stir-crazy. Also, I think Posy would like the birds."
As long as she doesn't see what they were used in…
"Thing is… Something bugs me about this place."
Gale's serious tone gets my full attention. "What do you mean? Like the people here are hiding something?"
He shakes his head. "No, nothing like that; barring the usual security-related stuff of course. In fact, they all seem to be extremely sincere. I actually can't really pinpoint what sets me on edge. There's just something… off about them. The only thing I can glean is that these people are dangerous, even the civilians. Friendly, but liable to gleefully tear you to shreds if you piss them off. And they are definitely pissed at the Capitol; I got that much from talking with them. I think the Quell and the Decimation really has them riled. They still don't trust the Rebellion but would gladly see Capitol and Peacekeeper blood run in the streets, even if they aren't the ones doing the bloodletting. And the Guardians are with them every step of the way."
"I was told that those who become Guardians practically sever ties with Two, but are you seriously telling me that they have actively become anti-Peacekeeper? It's not like they have any connection to Three."
"I'm just as surprised as you. But I don't think this is just them following the rest of the community out of a sense of duty. Something has seriously pissed a lot of those guys off."
Hmm… Something to figure out later. "So the people here unnerve you, yet you still want your family to be here?"
He actually smiles at that. "Weird, huh? Well while I consider these folk dangerous, I do also have the feeling that, if you get them to like you, Central could be one of the safest places to stay."
Once we finish up, I offer to help clean up, but Gale insists that he's fine. Actually he insists in quite an adamant manner, so I back off. While most of the dishes and uncooked food gets put away, he leaves the hash, gravy, and biscuits on the stove for everybody else when they wake up.
A bottle full of amber liquid catches my attention. "What's this?" I ask as I hold it up to the light.
Gale briefly looks forward to see what I'm inquiring about. "Oh, it's a golden currant melomel that Beetee got. Supposedly the mead here is a specialty."
"What's so special about it?"
"They use tracker jacker honey. It apparently gives an extra 'bonus'."
Not that I've ever been much for imbibing in alcohol in the first place — how people can get past the bitterness and burning to actually enjoy drinking baffles me — but that pleasant bit of news makes me set the bottle carefully back down on the counter and step away. I wonder if we're going to have to drink that later; I hope not.
As I wander around the common room, I'm suddenly drawn to a picture sitting on an end table. When I take a look at the man and woman in there, everything hits me like a pile of bricks.
How did I not realize this sooner? We're in their version of the Victors' Village.
And since Beetee's probably settled into his room, this likely means that I was in Wiress' old room. Which discomfits me a bit.
Sure enough, back on my side of the common area, there's a spot on the wall with pictures of Wiress through the years. A lot of them are with a younger Beetee and Porus; the latter definitely doesn't look any less intimidating when younger. However, the vast majority are with kids; most of those in a classroom setting with the children crowding around her, plus a couple with the Commandant's children.
Below the pictures is a small table with a bunch of letters on them. I feel slightly uncomfortable going through them, but curiosity wins out. I instantly regret the decision.
All of these were right before she was reaped for the Quell. Some letters simply wish her the best of luck. Others are pretty aggressive and tell her to wipe the field. Some actually do give the hope that she'll figure out something that will allow everybody to escape, though more than a few are fairly resigned as to what will likely happen. All of them thank her for all she's done for them.
And to think many of us victors simply dismissed Wiress as just "Nuts". It sends a bout of shame through me.
"She was always good with children."
The old victor's voice makes me jump a bit and turn sheepishly around. "Beetee, I'm sorry for—"
He just impatiently dismisses my apology with a huff and a wave. "Oh please. If she cared about people reading those, she wouldn't have left them out in the open."
Still, I carefully set the letters down and arrange them in a neat stack. "You were saying?"
"Nothing really to be said. During most of the year, she taught at the school. During the Games, while I was pretty resigned as to the fate of our tributes — most of the kids we got were the lowest of the low, with not even factory experience — Wiress always made it a point to get to know every child; not just their names, but all about their friends, families, and experiences. In the end, committing to familiarity took its toll on her with each death. But she still kept on going and always managed to put aside her pain for the kids, both here and during the Games."
A thought suddenly occurs to me. "What about those in the Corps? Was she close to them?"
Beetee brings up a picture that I must have missed. There she's surrounded by an enthusiastic bunch of what has to be fresh graduates as none of them look any older than me.
"She always made it a point to greet each batch of boots and help them acclimate." He gives a small chuckle. "You might as well lump them in with the young children. It was always common for them to bring in broken equipment or weaponry for her to fix so they didn't have to deal with the quartermaster. If Porus is the Corps' stern mother, then Wiress was practically the doting nana."
With that info, everything falls into place about the anger in this community. "Yeah, I remember Luce implying that she was pretty important here."
"That's indeed true. However, I'll have you know that the Commandant's son was especially important to her, and the feeling was mutual. Yes, she loved both kids, but it seems that the boy was the one she cared for the most. Luce practically became the child she never planned on having, and she helped him develop from an awkward little kid to a… just-as-awkward, yet accomplished, young man. The same could probably be said for me and Luce's sister, though with a bit less sentimentality."
"Were you and Wiress… uh… you know…" I inquire lamely.
"Oh not at all. Just friends. Really close friends who supported each other, but friends nonetheless. Nothing more, nothing less." He offers me a smile. "At the very least, I'm glad that the last words she heard were yours complimenting her. You have no idea how much it means to all of us here. In fact, it's probably the reason that Luce put you in her old room instead of one of the guest rooms."
Despite his intention, Beetee's words send another wave of guilt through me, and I try to ignore the prickling sensation in my eyes. "Just wish I could have done more." Dammit… why does my voice have to come out so thickly?
If Beetee notices, he makes no mention of it but simply mutters, "Don't we all…" He quickly changes gears. "Welp, I'm going have breakfast. Just want to let you know that we're supposed to meet at the Hub at 1100."
"Hub?" Seriously, don't drop locations to the new guy without telling him what they are first.
He points towards the spot we came through originally at the opposite end of the plaza. Gracing the entrance to the train station and hangar, which appears to extend the same distance inside the wall as outside, are two streamlined figures holding aloft a massive ornate clock.
"In the meantime, I suggest using this time to take in the sights. Which reminds me…" Beetee brings out a tablet that has a similar device, that the girl had earlier, and tells me to run my thumb several times through said device. After I comply, he keys in a few things and then looks cheerfully at me. "And we're set. You're now able to use my account."
That was straightforward. "Thanks."
"It's nothing. As of now, I seriously have enough money that I don't know what to do with it. And really, you should enjoy the day. Big things are about to happen."
I'm not sure that's a good thing.
Still, I do take Beetee's advice and wander around town. It actually feels good to wear something normal; it occurs to me that I haven't dressed casually — the jumpsuits in Thirteen are not what I would consider casual — in public ever since the reaping.
Similar to Twelve's square, Central's shops and markets are concentrated along the long plaza. Though unlike Twelve, there's no clear way to tell merchants by their appearance. People here are also quite welcoming, with them treating me neither like an intruder nor a celebrity. I don't see anything that hints at whatever made Gale uneasy.
For some reason, the atmosphere's downright festive, with vendors offering discounts to the people milling in the plaza. Must have something to do with the "Glade", whatever the hell that is; I don't ask. In any case, I spend most of the time grabbing snacks here and there. It's nice to finally be somewhere without feeling like I'm about to get shot or something; then again, I was just shot, so I guess that's already out of my system.
Close to ten, I wander towards the Hub. However, just around a hundred meters away, something gives me pause. Unlike the paved expanse that comprises most of the plaza, this last segment is a garden with vegetation, paths, and fountains arranged geometrically. I didn't pay much attention during our arrival due to focusing on the mission, but now I find myself drawn to the large statue at the southern end of this garden. A Guardian stands defiant — his back to the Tower as if he's facing the outside — despite the multiple wounds under his tattered uniform; one hand wields a machete-like sword and the other pushes a child back behind him. As I get closer, I notice that the stone plinth underneath is inscribed with a multitude of names and dates.
Realization hits as to what I'm looking at — How the hell can there be so many names within the past thirty years? — and I feel like so much more of an intruder, especially considering my goal here.
"I hope my idiot brother didn't give you too much grief yesterday."
The statement behind me startles my thoughts away, and I quickly pivot to face the source: a girl around my age, give or take a year, puffing away at a cig. I also find myself looking her over several times; her knee-length sundress is definitely made to show off her… impressive figure.
Hey, I'm devoted to Katniss, not dead.
"Ah, you must be Lucia." I offer a hand, which she doesn't take.
"I'd rather you call me Lucy."
Tough customer. "Alright. And I'd like to say that we had no trouble with Luce; he even fixed up my arm and such," I note before looking at her questioningly. "Why? You don't care for him?"
Lucy sighs, "Oh, don't get me wrong: I actually love my brother to death. There are just some times that he makes me wish that it's literal."
"By the way, where is he?"
"He had some work to do earlier. Freak actually enjoys working in the clinic," she mutters. "Anyways, reckon he'll be here any mo—"
Sure enough, Lucy's interrupted by a familiar presence practically slamming into and lifting her up over his shoulder. She doesn't even resist as he spins her around; instead, she gives me a resigned look that states, "See what I mean?"
"How's my favorite sis?" Luce exclaims through a mouth full of food — I think it's one… or several… of my cookies — as he sets her back on the ground.
Lucy scowls back as she brushes herself off. "I'm your only sister. Also, our bedrooms are right next to each other; there's really no need to act like we ain't met since yesterday."
"Point still stands! By the way, have you met Gale Hawthorne yet? You even share the same scowls."
"Not interested."
"I never said you should da—"
"You were implying it."
If it weren't for the set of pictures I saw earlier and well as Porus' statement, I would have had a hard time believing that these two are siblings. Sure both of them are fairly tall, lithe — granted, Luce is a bit more muscle-bound than is his sister — and brown haired, which really doesn't narrow things down. On closer inspection though, there does seems to be two definite indicators of their sibling-ship via a light freckling and the hazel color of their eyes; both have exactly the same gold-flecked proportion of green, blue, and brown in their irises to the point that it's almost unnerving.
Otherwise, they're an exercise in contrasts.
Luce has the type of skin that's just starting to lose the deep tan gained over the summer, while Lucy contains a warm complexion that probably retains its darkness even throughout the winter. The tattoos covering Luce's torso are as complex and elaborate as my paintings despite their monochromatic and abstract nature, while the designs on Lucy are sparse and simplistic. In contrast with the tattoos, the guy's unadorned and dressed as simply as possible without his uniform; on the other hand, the girl is covered in piercings, and her dress definitely doesn't look like it came cheap. And so on.
The biggest difference is their personalities. I bet that Luce can out-Delly Delly — if Delly was hooked up to a steady supply of caffeine — in terms of sheer friendliness and cheer; not to mention that he appears to have no concept of personal space. On the other hand, his sister is downright dour to the point of making Gale look like a suitable candidate as a Capitol escort, and seems to actively avoid getting within close proximity of others. I definitely can see how they gravitated towards their respective victors.
"Anyways, I don't think taking outsiders to the Glade is a good idea."
Lucy's statement actually seems to cause Luce to become fairly serious. "I know, but orders are from the top. Something about making things clear to them."
As much as I'd like them to explain this Glade business, something else come to my mind. "Out of curiosity…"
"Yeah?" they reply in unison. Okay, they're definitely siblings…
"The Commandant told me that even though you aren't her birth children, you're still related. She then said to ask either of you if I had any questions. So… anybody care to explain?"
Both of them look at each other before Lucy shrugs and says, "Short version: Mom's our great half-aunt who adopted us."
Okay… that sounds a bit more convoluted than what I'm used to.
She adds, "Or do you do you want the long version?"
"Long version please."
"Alright. Ma's dad was stationed as a Peacekeeper several times in the Capitol before he became the Peacekeeper Generalissimus. Well, in his early days before he got married, apparently he slept around town more than a bit. It was inevitable that one of his flings got preggers. Whoever the child was is irrelevant; she was the mother of the woman who birthed us."
"Why don't you just say 'grandmother'?"
"Because that would imply that we have any attachment to those whores," she growls, startling me with that harsh labeling. "Just because they passed down their genes to me don't mean shit regarding familial ties."
"They were madams," Luce clarifies. "Or at least courtesans."
"Not when they're dead. Then they're just whores," Lucy retorts with enough venom that makes me suspect her issue is with more than just the profession; though I'm not going to ask. "As I was saying, the first child followed in her mother's footsteps and her child did the same. Soon, Luce was born, followed by me a couple years later. Both of our XY-donors are unknown, hence the surname 'Stone'; it's a Two thing."
"Or as Ned would like to say, we're 'Bastards from a Bastard'," Luce chirps.
"Yeah, well Ned's incapable of functioning without coming up with at least one insult for the day."
"Come on; he ain't that bad. Besides, I think it has a nice ring to it. Even though technically it'd be 'Bastards from a Bastard from a Bastard'." What follows is Luce going through the moniker in various tones — Lucy eventually shuts him up — before he adds, "Also, it's better than his usual set of nicknames for you."
"What does he call me?"
The Corpsman's eyes goes wide in panic in response to his sister's narrowed ones. "Oh y-you didn't know?"
"Reckon I don't."
"Ain't too important," he nervously chuckles.
"Tell. Me. Now."
He mumbles, "One's the 'Bastard with Boobs'."
"And the other?" Despite Lucy's even voice, her temple twitches.
"'The Bitch'."
"Wait till I get my hands on that little runt," she snarls. "I'll show him what a bitch I can be."
"Actually he never said you were 'a bitch'; he said you were 'The Bitch'. You know: Alpha Bitch, Bitch Prime, Mother of Bitches—"
"I get it!" she snaps and looks at me. "I ain't a bitch."
I decide that it's best I don't answer that and instead ask, "Was there any more to this story?"
"Oh yeah. Anyways, Ma managed to track us down and removed us from the whore's custody. We spent a couple years in Two with our great-grandpa before we were finally cleared to live here in Central a while ago. As you can see, I went for the science route and Luce went into the military."
"Yeah, I hung around with the Guardians since the beginning. They even called me 'Little Boots' for a while, though Ma got angry and told them to pick another nickname; something about not wanting me to be named after a 'deranged and hedonistic tyrant'," Luce notes with a shrug. I have no clue what he's talking about either.
"Don't ask me; ain't much for history," Lucy concedes. "Anyways, that's the gist. Satisfied?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Good," she states before turning her cig off and pocketing it. "Because the rest of your group's here."
Not only are we joined by Gale and the victors, but the squad seems to be coming with us as well; Mitchell has his arm in a sling and Jackson's in a wheelchair, but they're otherwise fine. Once everybody's gathered, the siblings begin handing out wristbands to us. Something about visitor safety when we venture outside the force field. Then we board one of the eastbound trains.
As we begin our journey and emerge from a tunnel, I gaze upon the ever-shifting landscape. In the urban portion, canals and pedestrian walkways crisscross in between parks and sturdy buildings; at a certain point, the rail branches off, with one branch going deeper into the town. Soon the town gives way to the wilderness, where forests predominate with farms visible here and there in a patchwork; in the mid distance, I can see the inland sea sparkling in the late morning sunlight. The whole time, the Tower remains a beacon-like focal point.
We finally stop at the opposite side from where we left. A Guardian checks that our wristbands before allowing us to proceed via a trolley. After going past the wall, we move along a causeway, crossing a wide moat and marsh to reach a plateau-like structure appearing to hug along the contour of said moat. Already, I can see quite few people gathered on the rooftop. The whole thing overlooks a wide rocky and open expanse covered in short scrubby vegetation and surrounded by dense forest.
Despite the picturesque setting — a wonderful and relaxing mixture of warm sunlight and a cool breeze, along with the melodic chirping of birds — I still feel that something's wrong, especially after hearing Lucy's concerns about us being here.
"So you're Peeta Mellark…" a voice drawls out behind me.
Dammit! Does everybody here like sneaking up on me? This time, however, I manage to not jump but instead turn slowly to face my greeter.
Many in Central have their fair share of scars, which probably comes with the setting. Actually, those scars seem to be worn with pride; albeit clearly healed in a controlled way so as not to disfigure. However, the boy before me — also probably close to the same age — has clearly been dealt a bad hand.
Scratches crisscross all over his arms and face — relatively new ones at that judging by how they shine pale against his dusky complexion — and notches mark the edges of his earlobes. Auburn hair is streaked with patches of white, and the same seems to go for his eyebrows wherever a scar goes through. Most noticeable is a set of claw marks that starts at his forehead and runs all the way down the right side of his face to the jawline; in place of his right eye is a patch that appears grafted on.
The remaining eye shines a brilliant blue and, just like Prim's, is reminiscent of a tropical sea. However, while Prim's echo the ocean's promise of wonder and discovery, this one reminds me how bad I am at swimming.
Despite the boy's small frame — seriously, I think he just hit five feet — broad shoulders and visible lines of wiry muscle dispel any notion of weakness. Normally that kind of build would simply evoke a skill at gymnastics; for this boy though, there's an unnerving resemblance to a wild dog.
And now I can truly appreciate Gale's commentary about the people here putting him on edge.
There's also something familiar about this guy, but I can't put my finger on it.
"Yeah, that's me. Can I help you?" I ask.
That left eye goes cold. "Just wanted to see the guy who got my ma and pa killed."
What? "I… I…" I'm struggling to form a coherent response. I mean, how does one respond to an accusation like that?
Suddenly he barks out a laugh. "I'm just fucking with you! Should see the look on your face."
Who the hell jokes around about this? "Oh… So your folks are alright?"
"Nope. They were killed in the Decimation. Still, it ain't your fault, even if I do reckon you're an overly-idealistic rube."
Wow… "All things considered, this doesn't seem to be bothering you all that much."
The boy flashes a tight toothy smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Actually, I'm pretty pissed-off right now. My folks may have known what they were getting into when they joined that damn Rebellion, but that doesn't lessen their loss any more. So right now, ain't nothing I wish more than to see those white-clad assholes scream in terror and soil themselves as they're torn limb from limb.
"Oh, where are my manners?" He holds out a hand. "Edwen Bannon."
"Ned!" Luce strides over to us. "Are you giving Peeta a hard time?"
"Just seeing what Mellark's made of. Just seeing what he's made of…" Judging from his glances, the boy's not impressed.
Luce seems oblivious to this as he states, "Anyways, Ma wants us all to be in the same spot. You can join us if you want, Ned."
"Why not…" Edwen says with a shrug as he follows us to where my group is waiting next to a large podium. Once we get there, I can see Lucy giving a caustic glare towards the boy, who pointedly ignores it.
The whole time, people go around with tablets, taking amounts for what appears to be a betting pool.
When one of them comes to Beetee, he simply states, "I'll put down twenty on a reversal."
"Ain't going to specify this time, Beetee?" the lady asks with a smile.
"Nah, I'm a bit rusty on the selections right now," he remarks good-naturedly. "Eh, narrow it down to a bird one."
Before the lady can come to us, the old victor makes it a point for her to pass us over. I'm still really not sure what they are betting on.
When Edwen's reached, I can see Luce looking over his shoulder and remarking, "Still betting on her? You know she never shows up."
"Dewdrop's going to appear today."
"That's what you said last time."
"Reckon time's gonna be different. In any case, it ain't like I'm gonna give up on her."
"Sounds like you're getting a bit attached."
A small grin appears on Edwen's face. "I reckon that we have a lot in common."
"You're both tiny and psychotic gingers?"
Edwen responds to Luce's chirpy reply with a glare. "I was going to say that we're both resilient and resourceful, you rainbow-headed bastard."
Really have no clue what everybody's talking about.
"Anyways," the younger guy says, "About damn time the good Commandant removed that Capitolite trollop from office. I swear, it seems that the Capitol purposely appoints those idiots as a way to antagonize us."
"Well, the one who came before wasn't too bad. She even called us the 'Fair Folk' once."
"She called you guys what?" Gale practically yelps with a look of extreme alarm written all over his face.
Luce shrugs. "The Fair Folk. I pretty sure that's what she said. I mean, I ain't Finnick, but…"
"The woman wasn't referring to your looks. She was probably referring to the Fae." When we all look at Gale with blank expressions, he clarifies. "Faeries."
"Fairies?" Lucy scoffs. "I don't recall us having any wings."
"Must be the hair," Ned mutters while gesturing towards Luce.
Now I feel the need to scoff. "His hair? I've seen the pictures. There's nothing out-of-the-ordinary about Luce's—" — Edwen unceremoniously reaches up and plucks the cap from the Corpsman's head. — "… hair…"
I'm temporarily at a loss for words — same goes for the rest of my crew barring Beetee, who just looks resigned — and really don't know whether to laugh, give a compliment, or just gape stupidly.
Luce's hair is cut in a standard military fade, and whenever he had his cap on, one could only see the brown stubble on the side and back of his head. Now, however, I can see that almost all of the hair on the top of his head is a bright cyan, with swaths of magenta and yellow at the front of his hairline; the whole thing is a freaking exercise in the subtractive color model. The effect is pretty jarring to say the least; it probably looks even weirder whenever he's in uniform.
When I finally find something to say, I simply go with, "Well then…"
Lucy's the one to explain. "Over a year ago, my special brother lost a bet and had to be the one to test out a new hair dye we developed. Well, next thing we know, he finds out that he actually likes coloring his hair." She shakes her head as if it were the biggest shame in the family. "It used to be that you could tell when a new month came around because there would be a new color, but ever since the beginning of this year, he's been stuck with the same ridiculous scheme."
"Hey, the kids like it!" Luce blurts out. "Fa—"
"I wouldn't count the opinions of a bunch of children being checked up during your clinic hours as relevant."
"How did the Commandant take it?" I ask.
Lucy snorts. "How do you think Ma reacted? She's gotten used to it, but that doesn't mean she approves."
"Well, my hair's within regulation, so it ain't like it's going to be an actual issue," Luce states before looking at me with a big grin. "By the way, you wanna see something cool?"
Before I can reply, he takes out a small device and waves around his head. Next thing I know, his hair begins to glow. Soon the whole thing looks like a pyre of embers; CMY embers, but embers nonetheless. I'm seriously expecting the sound of crackling and glowing flecks to fly off or something.
"Okay, that's pretty cool," I admit. The rest of the guys, even Gale, nod their heads.
"I know, right!" the Corpsman exclaims ecstatically as he puts his cap back on once the light has faded away. "Like I said before: the kids like it."
"How did you achieve that?"
"Ask this guy," he says, slapping Edwen on the back. "He was the one who tweaked the formula."
The smaller guy just shrugs. "I simply modified several microbes to utilize the dye and hair as a substrate. The device Luce used simply send a signal to them to emit light."
"Ned here is a master of glowy things."
"Bioluminescence," Edwen corrects with a scowl.
"Glowy things," Luce insists with a sage nod. "Fact."
"Much as I hate to break up this terminology debate," Gale states, "I have to say that it's probably not the hair either that caused the woman to call you all the Fae. I'm not talking about little winged fairies or fairy godmothers. I'm talking about the sidthe, the Wild Hunt, the Tuatha Dé Danann, Seelie and Unseelie…"
Okay, now he's lost us. The only one who doesn't seem to be utterly clueless is Haymitch, who's actually looking on with an impressed air. Gale looks extremely irritated at our confusion, "Have none of you read A Midsummer's Night Dream, A Once and Future King, or any of the versions of Tam Lin?"
I never found the time for reading for the sake of leisure; Mother told me there was no point is reading about fantasy realms when there was work to be done in the present.
Haymitch grins. "I see that Zeph made sure his literary expertise got passed down at least to you. Am I correct?"
Gale's eyes grow wide at my mentor's words. "Yeah. How did you know?"
"You forget that your pa and I went to school together. It was common for us to trade books; we also may have stolen some from the school. You probably had a nice stockpile hidden away in your house, didn't you."
"Yeah. Even after the accident, I made sure to read some of the stories to my siblings."
"Well, at least you're doing one thing right."
Gale, upon realizing the full implication of Haymitch's statement, settles for a glare before continuing on with his explanation: "Anyways, the Fae lived in their own isolated communities and were not pleasant beings. Their notions of morality were completely alien to humans, if actually existent. Their antics ranged from playing tricks on people and killing farm animals, to enslaving individuals through obligations, kidnapping children, having victims trapped in time, and even raping humans to create new offspring. There were even worse things that happened if you offended them, especially through the breaking of any one of their house rules."
"So what you are saying is that by calling us the 'Fair Folk', that Capitolite bint was actually calling us amoral monsters?" Lucy asks. When Gale nods, she breathes out an exasperated, "Typical."
"Well, I can tell you folks one thing: we ain't damn rapists. In fact, they are some of our most common test subjects."
Edwen's nonchalant statement stops my train of thought in its tracks. "Y-you experiment on people?" I sputter out.
My horrified incredulity makes the young scientist's lips curl into a contemptuous sneer. "Well, lookie here… It seems we got ourselves a sensitive soul.
"To answer your fairly-redundant question, yes, we — not me specifically since it ain't my department — do experiment on people; mostly to test out new medical treatments and such. You can only do so much with animal test subjects. For example: that fancy blood poisoning medicine you got? Medical was only truly able to determine its full safety and efficiency through human trials."
"Still—"
"Let me ask you something, Mellark: Do you think that executing serial killers, rapists, and pedophiles is something out of the ordinary? Should they be released back into the open?"
"No, but—"
"Then why should this be any different? Hell, instead of just straight-up turning them into maggot food, we're making it so these parasitic fucksticks finally give something back for once in their short, pathetic lives."
"But is it worth losing your humanity in the process?"
My question does give the boy pause and garners a reaction; though not in the way I'm hoping for. "Humanity…" He drawls out the word with contempt and makes a face as if it's a poison that leaves a bad taste in his mouth. "I think all the shit happening throughout Panem tells me enough about what your 'humanity' has to offer. Thanks, but no thanks."
"Ned…" Luce mutters in a sing-song manner, "I think you're starting to freak out the outsiders…"
"Let them freak out! They're probably going to freak out way more in a few minutes anyways. So just because Central's in the middle of the woods and some folks think our morals are looser than a harlot's snatch, that makes us 'Faeries'? Well then, let us be referred to as such! I ain't seeing how that's a bad thing. Actually, if anything, it simply means that we're so much more than mere men. So if saps like Pissy Mellark here can't handle the price of progress—"
"Hey Ned?" Luce begins tapping the younger guy over the head with a familiar item.
"Now what?" Edwen snaps at the Corpsman only to see another one of those tranq pens pointed right at his neck.
"Shut the fuck up." While Luce's tone remains friendly, if a bit concerned, there's a look in his eyes is surprisingly frigid and takes me aback.
The scientist looks as if he still wants to spit back a retort, but he finally settles for gritting his teeth and bringing out a flask to take a long swig out of it.
Luce pockets the injector and turns back to us. "Sorry about that. Ned ain't a bad guy. Really, he's not. It's just that he kinda gets a bit… passionate about things." Things no decent person should be practicing.
I'm also wondering what Edwen meant when he said that we were "going to freak out way more in a few minutes anyways."
However, instead of voicing that, I just go with a simple, "Don't worry; I've heard worse." Being with people like the Careers and those wonderful presidents does tend to set the bar a bit high.
Luce adds in an earnest tone, "I do feel the need to mention that we are phasing out human test subjects in favor of fabricants."
"Fabricants?"
"Fabricated humans if you will. We take some genetic material to create a human body from scratch."
"So a clone?"
Edwen looks like he's about to go on another rant, but Luce stops him with a warning look. "Not really. A clone is a regular person like you or me; the only thing special about them is that only one 'parent' provides the genetic material. When you think about it, identical twins are pretty much clones of each other," the Corpsman explains. "A fabricant, on the other hand, ain't really developed but constructed. Unlike a clone, we can create a fabricant to exact age and build specifications."
"So, if you wanted to, you could end up creating a copy of me to wander around the place?" The thought of that makes my skin crawl.
"Not at all. For one thing, it'd be near impossible to make a perfect copy due to the simple fact that a good portion of the physical traits that you have are determined by the elements such as physical trauma, diet, and exposure to sunlight. We could do things like stimulate muscle growth and cutting your hair, but the result would still probably look a bit too 'perfect'. And really, unless you were trying to fake your death or something, what would be the point?
"Because the most important thing about a fabricant is that it holds no consciousness. No thoughts, no soul…" For some reason, that last word causes Edwen to snort, which Luce ignores. "All their vitals function in full health, but otherwise, they might as well be vegetables. In simple terms: they're dummies with a heartbeat."
The whole concept sounds a bit creepy — okay, it sounds really creepy — but compared to working on actual living beings, even if those people may be convicts…
"I think I can live with that."
Before we can get into any other uncomfortable topic, music begins blaring, and a couple of announcers come on.
"Good day Central! And must I say that today is a great day. Theodora?"
"It sure is, Lewis. In fact, I'd go so far as labeling this weather as perfect for a day at the Glade."
"Not only that, but it appears we have some guests today with us. This includes the Rebellion's very own Peeta Mellark!"
Applause from everybody surrounds us as a camera comes float down in front of my face. Doing what I do best, I smile and wave at it.
Theodora coos, "Aw… Personable little fella isn't he? No wonder the Capitol was so enamored."
"You should have seen him handle the crowds during his last visit. I'll admit that I was a bit concerned that those imports were about to go ballistic, but the boy managed to keep things stable, if not exactly peaceful.
"In any case, let's get this show on the road!"
At that, Porus, Charlton, and Lewis walk up to the podium. The Commandant doesn't waste any time. "Please rise."
Everybody in the area stands at attention as the image of the seal is projected in front of us and music — clearly not the Capitol anthem — plays.
After that concludes, she orders, "Bring out the condemned."
Then I see a bunch of Peacekeepers, as well as Sunsilver, being brought out.
The condemned? I round on Luce to hiss, "Wait, is this an execution?"
He's clearly uncomfortable. "I wouldn't say that. I mean, they all have a chance of making it out alive."
"But what are those chances?"
He twiddles his fingers before finally answering, "Slim-to-none…"
So they are about to execute a bunch of people and are making entertainment out of it? This sounds too familiar to something the Capitol does.
Though the funny thing is that all of the Peacekeepers are not only carrying backpacks, they are in their armor and fully armed. Sunsilver herself is no longer in her dress but a loose jumpsuit; she's also carrying a gun and a backpack.
"What's with the weapons?" I ask.
Beetee explains, "Several of the Peacekeepers trained to be Careers. Porus is giving them the chance to live their dream."
"So is this like the Games!"
"Not really. Everybody in the Glade gets an equal chance of defending themselves and escaping."
It bugs me that Beetee, of all people, is so nonchalant. Is this connected to the betting pool?
The Commandant begins to address the Capitol-affiliated individuals, "You have all been found guilty of violation of ceasefire terms, violation of hospitality, assault, attempted murder, and conspiracy to subvert the autonomy of this community. The sentence is exile. Do any of you have last words?"
A particularly-bold Peacekeeper decides to have his say, "Yeah I do! I want to let you and your little band of hillbilly freaks know that your days are numbered till the Capitol crushes this pathetic community of traitors. And when I get out of here, I'm going to help bring you down!"
That garners a laugh from everybody — not a pleasant one at that — and Porus dryly retorts, "I highly doubt that."
She gestures for me to come up to the podium and remarks, "If there's nothing else to be said…" In front of her is a large metal button with a clock face above it.
"As you are our guest," Porus says, "you are allowed to commence the event. Of course, you can have someone substitute for you; I have no quibble about such things."
"What does this button do?"
"That's for you to find out." Great, now you're being cryptic.
I really don't feel comfortable doing this, especially since I don't know what it does. Maybe I can ask Gale; I'd be giving him what he wants…
"Looks like somebody's having a crisis of conscience here," Theodora wryly remarks, causing many in the audience to respond with more laughter.
Shut up…
"Fine, I'll do it myself," Gale mutters before storming over and slamming his hand down on the device.
Upon the button being pressed, the clock begins counting down from sixty, and I can see a projection a little ways out doing the same thing. Lights at the edge of the forest pulse red to each second as the condemned begin the rapid trek out. The whole time, cameras catch their every move and project it in front of us while the audience goes wild with shouts and catcalls. The only ones not joining in the frenzy is my group and the Commandant, who's presiding over the whole thing like a hawk. This is definitely too reminiscent of the Games for my liking.
"It's almost a bit ironic," Gale quips.
"What is?" I'm in very little mood for cryptic statements right now.
"These Peacekeepers and Capitolites spend all their time supporting the Games. And now they are going through something similar. I think it's quite appropriate."
I think it's quite disturbing to be honest.
The vitriolic Peacekeeper from earlier turns around to shoot us — it makes me and the rest of my group instantly duck — but, to his bemusement, the gun doesn't fire; everybody else finds it hilarious. Lewis jumps on this with a laugh, "Ah, there's always that one guy who forgets about the automated safety that functions in case the gun's aimed towards us. At least he figured it out now instead of later; that would have been awkward."
Once the clock hits zero, a screeching tune is whistled out and all of the lights flash bright green. It's obvious that it catches the condemned off guard as they stop running to look around in confusion.
So what's going to happen now? Is this like some sick hunting game where there is going to be a pursuit? Are they simply going to gun down the individuals because they are in range? Are they actually just going to let these people go and the whole exercise is one big prank? The bad thing is that I could see any of the above options being valid.
To my surprise, nothing happens once the tune subsides down and the lights dim. Everybody in the audience is silent yet staring intently outwards as if waiting in bated breath, and even the birds have stopped chirping.
That's when mutts burst into the clearing.
A/N: Damn, these chapters get longer as time progresses. Don't worry: next one should be a bit shorter and more action-packed.
For those who have read Seeds of Panem, you'll probably recognize Ned. If not, meet Ned… he's a prick.