"Oh, I've been looking everywhere for one of these!" Atticus, the official costumier of President Snow's family, exclaims as he dives into the jewelry shop, nearly yanking my arm out of its socket in the process.
"Looking for what?" I ask, rubbing my shoulder with the hand that isn't entrapped in his.
"Mockingjays!" he says, waving his arm around at the countless displays of the little bird symbol.
"Oh," I say, "right. Those."
"Oh, Denna. You are silly, sometimes."
"How am I supposed to keep my head straight around you?" I ask, planting a purple-lipstick kiss on his cheek. He giggles and returns it, and we spend a brief moment getting decidedly inappropriate in the store. I recall how, when we're having sex, Atticus often slips up and cries out the name of Pomponia, instead. The name of his sister. I've been in the Capitol so long I wasn't even surprised the first time he did it, but my brain logged that little nugget of illicit information away for further use. I think Atticus hires me more to divert suspicion than anything, apart from the fact that for some unknown reason he appears to enjoy my company.
Atticus can't keep his mind off fashion for long, though, and drags me around to look at all the different styles. "Of course, the Snow girls are all wearing their hair a lá Everdeen," he informs me, "but it would be nice to have something a little more obvious, don't you think?"
All I can think of is how it's also the symbol of the rebellion, and Plutarch's fancy stealth symbol hidden in his pocket watch. Obviously, I don't tell Atticus that. "Won't it look a little... novelty?" I ask, thinking of how mad Snow would be to see his family covered in the token of the girl he hates. Not that I don't want him to be mad, but I know he has a granddaughter, and wouldn't want any harm to come to someone as young as that. Too much along those lines goes on already.
"Hmm... I suppose so," he says critically, examining a pair of diamond earrings that look like a pair of mockingjay wings. "Dolabella got a tattoo, have you seen it? It looks positively awful."
I laugh. "He probably got it done cheap, knowing Dolabella."
"Still, at least it's in a place nobody would want to see, if you catch my meaning. How about arrows?" he asks me, picking up a silver bar in the shape of one that is worn via threading it through two holes in your skin.
"Arrows are cute," I concede, and he buys one for me as well as a quiver's worth for the Snow brood. I'll wear it to the next meeting at Plutarch's manor, I think. Might as well look the part, since I never have anything useful to say that someone else hasn't already told me first.
"I've always thought warm colours washed you out, honey," he tells me as we lounge on a bench in the promenade, "such a shame they're all the rage now, what with the whole 'girl on fire' aesthetic. You're pallette's far more suited to crystalline hues."
"Whatever you say, I trust suits me best," I reply, as his hand creeps up my leg. "How's life in the castle?"
"A little fraught, I must admit. At first I thought it was because we had twice the victors to deal with, but the President is far more involved with the Games than usual. Definitely more than what he was for the last Quell. I can hardly even remember that one, though."
"I thought you were too young to be alive then," I lie, and his stretched and inflated face cracks into a smile.
"Ooh, you are a love. But no, he's taking it very seriously, much more so than is usual. The family barely sees him. But that's not important – did you hear about Midas and Morpheus?"
%
"Snow's elbow deep in the Quell," I tell the people sat around Plutarch's table, spinning the little silver arrow that has been speared through my ear. "Even at home, when he's supposed to be off-duty."
"That's... odd," Plutarch replies with a furrowed brow. "I haven't seen him any more than usual. He must be doing something he wants to fly under the radar, then."
"It's got to be to do with the twist this year, right?" someone asks, "why else wouldn't he want the boss to know about him interfering? He knows it's illegal, even for him."
"It's not that it's illegal," he said, "so much that, if the public found out, he'd be hanged in front of all of Panem and the Mockingjay rebellion wouldn't even have to lift a finger. The Games are even more sacred than he is. But I can't ask questions, in case he suspects... Thank you, Denna."
I nod, feeling very much like a kid being given a gold star by their teacher. Not that I had ever experienced that, obviously. Shit, what ten-year-old me would have done for a gold star in Career training could fill a book...
"Denna!"
"Huh?" I'm jerked out of my reverie, and notice everyone else around me is getting up to leave. "Oh. Sorry."
"I should try and get a holiday to wherever it was you just were," Plutarch jokes, as the Avoxes come forward to collect wine glasses. "Judging by the expression on your face, it looked wonderful."
"I was... reminiscing," I say, standing up.
"What about?"
"Climbing lessons when I was eight," I say with misty eyes, "I was the only person who could get to the top of the rope in less than a minute. Bloody big rope, too. I got beaten up by Sparkle Finch so much for that. She ranked higher than me, but that closed the gap a little."
Plutarch gives me an odd look, and moves the bottle of wine away from me. "Right..."
"And then I fell off the ceiling bars and fractured both shin bones," I continue, lost in the annals of memory, "and fell behind again. No wonder I can't read, I missed all the lessons while they were setting my bones in hospital."
"Right," he says again, "would you like me to get Tullia to drive you back?"
"Oh," I say, "yes, please. Plutarch, what do you think's happening with the Games?"
"I wouldn't want to worry you," he tells me, "leave all that to me, Denna, just keep doing what you're doing."
"… Okay." It's times like this I need Haymitch with me; nobody tries to bullshit him, he's too smart for that. I sometimes think that, despite it originally being the other way round, the resistance find him more useful than me.
"I'll send a message onto you," he says, "it will look less suspicious if you talk to Abernathy at the Victory Ball at the mansion next month. Just make sure he gets it, will you? I don't trust the telephone line."
"Sure," I say, "whatever I can do to help."
"Good girl." He holds out an arm for me to take and we walk out of the dining room. "Things are moving faster than we could have ever hoped. And District 13 is… enthusiastic, to say the least."
I remember the iron-faced woman who occasionally attended our meetings via video link. "I can't imagine their President being excited about anything," I admit, and Plutarch laughs.
"Well, I've known her for longer, and better than she'd like me to," he says, "13 won't abandon us now."
It's fascinating, how he talks about future events with so much certainty. I know he planned them all. Perhaps that's why - Seneca Crane does – did – the same thing. Not that it worked out very well for him.
"So long as it all works out in the end," I say, "so long as the Games end."
"They will, Denna. It may take a while longer yet, but they will. I give you my word on that."