Twelve people the Fox met - and the one who started it all (1)
Caesar Flickerman had been waiting in the next room for nearly ten minutes, but all she could think about was her reflection in the mirror. She raised her eyebrows again at the cream suit, and green blouse. And pants.
Pants?
"There's nothing to worry about," her stylist reassured, watching her fidget with the clothes, "you look absolutely fabulous."
Nothing, nothing was by chance in the Capitol. Everything about her image reeked of sophistication, an edginess she never had, and a maturity she never wanted. Probably just another string in their web of lies.
So, when she finally took her seat across Caesar, she tried her best to put on the slyest smile she could conjure, and paused to reflect before answering every question he had about various moments in the games - as though this was just another game to play.
Caesar seamlessly segued into his next question.
"You have to tell me, and I'm sure our audiences would like to know as well: where do you even come up with all these plans and schemes of yours?"
This question caught her off-guard. She hesitated, staring at him like a deer in the headlights, before every memory in her life flickered by in her head. Looking back at the camera, she imagined the entire Panem watching her, and listening.
"I h-had a tough childhood," she stuttered, as an ache spread through her chest, "there was nothing for us back home, and we were so poor, we never dreamed of having anything. Everyday was a test of survival, and that was where these instincts came from."
She looked over to her mentors, who flashed her the thumbs up.
"That is truly amazing," Caesar continued, without a hitch, "and now that you'll have a better life, what do you intend on doing next?"
Her eyes went still, and darkened with a mixture of hatred, guilt, and antipathy.
Do next?
Forget.
Die.
Murder everyone who did this to me.
"I hope to be an inspiration to Panem's next generation," she answered, evoking scattered applause from the room and a nod of approval from Caesar.
"I've been hosting these interviews for over 35 years, and no one's ever said anything like that, so you definitely are a remarkable Victor."
She stared at Caesar, waiting for the inevitable question. When it came, she tucked a hand beneath the sofa cushion and gripped hard.
"How did it feel making your first and only kill of the games all the way at the end?"
The sentence bounced around her head, and in the few seconds it took for her to answer, she had dissected every little detail about the way he asked it.
The way Caesar looked down at the teleprompter to ensure he got the words right.
The phrasing - so loaded she'd never have a chance to deny it.
And the way he craned in to listen to her eventual answer, as though the entire interview was a sideshow leading up to this moment.
"Regrettable," she answered, loosening her grip, and casting a steel-like gaze at the camera, "but necessary."
Her heart clenched when she found her old reaping clothes stacked on the train cabin bed. She changed into the freshly laundered shirt and pants, before hurling her stylists' outfit across the room.
The sight of her old self in the mirror struck her deep in the chest. She pawed at her face, knowing full well her clothes might be the same, but the person in them was changed irreversibly. The realisation she could never be the girl in the mirror ever again, crushed her to her knees. She curled up beside the bed, not wanting to touch anything Capitol-related, and stayed there until the train screeched to a halt.
Stepping outside in her old mended boots, the girl expected to smell the familiar smog of District 5, but instead saw miles of sun-drenched desert in every direction. The train was being repaired, and a lone man stood at the end of the concrete platform, having a smoke.
Ray - her other mentor.
He turned to face her when she approached, hands in his coat pockets, cigarette dangling from his lips.
"No microphones here, no cameras," he said, taking a drag, "say whatever you want."
Unfettered, the words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them, "What the hell is going on?"
"Our society," he started, removing his sunglasses and exposing the scars across his eye socket, "is based on a system of control. And integral to this system of control are the Hunger Games. The notion that everyone must play their role to be part of this society."
"And what, I didn't play my role?" she interrupted.
He sighed, before lighting another cigarette.
"Your role was either to kill the other districts' Tributes, to send a message that they're all hopelessly indebted to the Capitol's power, or to yourself be killed as part of this narrative. You did neither, and yet you still won. That sends the wrong message."
"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know things were this complicated when they threw me in there against my will-"
"Being a smartass may have saved you in there," Ray retorted, pointing his cigarette at her, "but it's not going to save your sorry ass outside."
"If the Capitol wants me dead they only have to send some peacekeepers to blow off my head like all the other countless times I should've died-"
"It doesn't work that way!" he shouted, hurling his cigarette to the floor.
"You're a victor now, they can't just execute you like a common criminal. Victors are symbols of hope for Panem. Killing you would just create more problems," he said, voice dropping to a whisper, "instead, they go after your loved ones, people you care about. They know what makes you tick."
Thoughts of her parents flashed through her mind. Before Gase. Oh no, not Gase. But they can't know about her, surely? She gripped her pants as heat spread across her face.
"Already thinking about them, aren't you?" he chuckled, turning away so she couldn't see the pain in his eyes, "and don't ever think they aren't going to find out - trust me, they will."
"The arrangements have changed, ma'am," the District 5 mayor said, keeping an arm's length from her.
Ma'am? I remember you calling me a filthy street rat before.
"You will be heading directly to the Victor's village from here, your...personal effects have already been moved-"
She stared at him, noting how he averted his gaze from her eyes, and shook her head.
"Yea, but...what about him?" she asked, pointing at the coffin of the other District 5 tribute being unloaded from the train.
"There will be a funeral at the plant tomorrow, we'll send you the invite."
Weary from the train ride and hours of making pretences, she allowed them to drive her to the Victor's village. It was wholly unnecessary, since the train station was only a short walk away. She stared at the iron gates behind her, the steel fences and two rows of six manicured lawns. The houses, with their polished concrete walls, and stainless steel columns, gleamed in the sun. The desolate atmosphere magnified the emptiness within her soul, and she wondered how long she'd last in this forbidden village before going insane.
"Don't stay indoors the whole day," Hertha muttered, as parting words, before departing for the far end of the village. Ray was already gone, perhaps to the market to score booze and tobacco, leaving her in the pathway of her assigned house. As the gate clanged behind her, she took a few apprehensive steps towards the door, before sprinting when she heard people inside.
Her parents gasped as she came in, dropping a stack of clothes.
"You're early," her mother said.
Without a thought, she flung herself into their arms, as tears trickled down her face.
"Y-you have to know," she sputtered, "I didn't kill her at the end, they made it look like I did."
"It's alright, it's alright," her mother said, smoothing out her tousled red hair, "we're just glad you're home."
Unsatisfied with her answer, she turned to her father, frantically signing to him with her hands:
YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME / THIS WAS ALL AN ACT TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE I KILLED 12 AT THE END / THE TRUTH IS THAT I WALKED AWAY FROM HER
He placed a finger on her lips, before signing back.
IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU DID / YOU'LL ALWAYS BE OUR DAUGHTER / AND WE ARE HAPPY TO SEE YOU HOME AND WELL
She staggered backwards, her mouth ajar. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks as she sputtered, "Oh my god, you guys don't believe me."
Her father read her lips, before glancing over his shoulder, and taking hold of her hand like she was a little girl again. In the crook of her palm, he traced the words with his finger, stained with her tears and his.
WE DO.
Gase found her leaning on the low brick wall outside her home. A bicycle was parked on the dirt track, and the setting sun gleamed off the handlebars and her red hair.
"A bicycle," Gase commented, "someone's getting fancy-"
"I've always wanted to ride one of these." she said, unfolding her arms, and watching in apprehension as Gase approached.
"H-how long have you been waiting here?" Gase asked.
"An hour?" she answered, before the longing written on Gase's face sent an ache through her heart, "how about you?"
"Days, but it felt like years," Gase lamented, her brows furrowing, "where have you been? Why didn't you come see me? You know they won't let me within a hundred yards of the village."
"I-I'm sorry," she said, her chest clenching with sorrow at the anger in Gase's voice, "I...I needed to unpack."
My emotions.
Gase looked down at the dirt, "Look, I shouldn't even be upset with you, I have no goddamned right to-"
"You can be as mad at me as you want, the whole of Panem hates me so why not another person?"
Gase raised her eyebrows, "For what? You didn't do it."
Her jaw dropped.
"Or at least I know you didn't," Gase continued.
"But why-"
Gase came within a foot of the girl, so close she could smell the cherries on her skin.
"I know you," Gase said, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear, "and it's going to take more than a man in a white suit to change that."
With an open mouth, she stared into her eyes, and failed to find the words to reply.
"Not convinced? Fine-" Gase said, before leaning in and crushing her lips against her. The suddenness of the kiss overwhelmed her, she slipped her hands around Gase's waist as heat blossomed across her face.
"Oh my god," she sputtered against her lips, chest heaving with each breath, "I've been w-waiting for that since-"
"Forever." Gase smiled, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw. .
The next kiss bent her backwards over the brick wall, and melted away her memories, if only for a moment, before reality swam back around her.
"W-we're in public-"
"Right, sorry," Gase apologised, brown eyes alight with desire, "w-would you like to come in for some coffee?"
Without a word, she allowed the older girl to lead her around the back of her house, to the tool shed. The sun casted rays of light in the dusty air, illuminating Gase's workbench where she'd repair and recondition electronics to scrape a living for her family. The girl looked around the room, reminiscing the days when she'd spend hours here fixing gadgets with the only real friend she had.
"There isn't any coffee here," she remarked.
"No there isn't," Gase replied, before shoving her against the wall, and leaning close to her ear, "sorry to disappoint."
This time, as Gase kissed her, she tasted every ounce of her longing and sorrow pent up over the years. The avalanche of Gase's desire crashed upon her like a storm, and she found herself gasping for breath when they parted, desperately begging for more.
"Why this?" she gasped, the taste of Gase's lips still burning on her own, "Why now?"
"I've always dreaded losing you, as a friend. And then I almost lost you," Gase whispered, twirling a lock of the girl's hair, "now that I have you, I can't lose you again."
"Oh my god, you should've told me," she exclaimed, falling into her embrace. It lasted a moment, before the older girl wrenched her jacket from her shoulders. Heat spread across the girl's body as Gase kissed along her neck.
"This is...so unlike you," she gasped, fingers peeking through Gase's brown hair.
Unsure of what to expect, and unable to quench the hunger that Gase had aroused in her, she allowed herself to be lifted on the workbench. It was rough, and dirty, but when they were finished, she found herself whispering her friend's name over and over again.
"Still afraid of losing me?" she whispered, as their lips melted together one last time. Gase playfully bit on her lip as they parted, before looking deep into her amber eyes.
"No, not in a million years," Gase whispered, before turning to gather her clothes.
The sun had set, and a lantern's glow illuminated Gase's rough, freckled skin - so similar to hers, hardened by years of work, yet untouched by anything as foreign as the Capitol or the Games. She cupped a hand to her mouth, and tried her hardest to stifle a sob.
Great, because now I am.
A/N: "We were so poor, we never dreamt of having anything." Line taken from Interview with Panpayak Jitmuangnon, 2x time Lumpinee Stadium Champion/OneFC Fighter