Chapter 46: Miller Cornhusk

Dell Fonio paced outside the door to the Remake Center on the ground level of Victors' Mercy, passing once again Garner Sunnoria patrolling in the opposite direction.

"I should be in there… he's my tribute!" Dell raged, the butt of his walking sticks tap, tap, tapping the polished linoleum.

"You weren't in there with me, or Laurel, when we won!" Garner pointed out gently.

"… because it wouldn't have been decent, and anyway, I had Acacia on hand to do it for me!" Dell groused, resuming his vigil of hobbling.

"Would it kill you to just stand still for a minute?! You're acting about as bad as the kids from the Second and Third!"

"Also known as my wife's Games and my own..." Dell growled.

"... And, anyway, I can't take Angry You seriously when you're on crutches and look like you should be blurting out, 'God Bless Us, Everyone!' any moment now!"

"Wintermas is still five whole months away, Garner, so cut the jokes!" Dell snarled. "I'm not in the Snowdamn mood."

Garner folded her arms, snorting. "Clearly."

Both Victors from Nine jumped when the door suddenly opened to allow a technician to pass through, and looking at each other as if for permission, both seized the chance to barrel in through the swinging, revolving doors and access where the stylists were beautifying the winning tribute. Their tribute. Their Victor.

Dell hadn't felt this anxious since his own son won a dozen years prior, and Bran had been playing for another team! It didn't help his nerves that Miller was clearly being his cantankerous, hotheaded self, yelling at every Capitolite who dared to look at him wrong or, Snow forbid, actually try and talk to him.

"Fonio! FONIO? Get these yahooligans the BLEEPING BLEEP away from me!" Miller hollered, swatting when Aretha tried to send a wax circle over his cheek and burnish his jawline.

"Give us the room," Dell ordered. The stylists backed up, but not far enough – apparently 'giving someone the room' in the Capitol meant only giving them a circle of social distance that measured only six feet. Dell gave up trying to push for more space than that; besides, at least Miller seemed to be easing up.

"Easy there, hotrod… The arena's gone, you beat it…."

Miller suddenly fixed his mentor with a hard, demanding stare. "Where's Quasimodo?" he barked rudely.

THWACK! Dell smacked his protégé upside the head before he could stop himself. "Don't call her that! You will address Laurel by either her given name or 'Miss Flamsteed,' and Guersney as 'Mr. Hyde.' Their names, respectively and respectfully, are NOT 'Quasimodo' and 'That Retard'!"

Behind him, Garner nodded firmly, hands on her hips. "As to your question…. I don't know. Are we our colleague's keeper?"

As if on cue, Laurel Flamsteed suddenly burst into the Remake Center, panting and hair windswept. Upon sight of her, Miller did nothing to hide his cringe at the 40th Victor's deformed face. Dell was more concerned with how Laurel's clothes looked oddly disheveled, and how, when she drifted closer, she smelled of…. sex. Had she actually been with a sponsor when the trumpets had sounded and just lost track of time? He had to give points, if so – both to her, and to the sponsor.

"Laurel? Are you OK?"

"What?" she turned to him almost dreamily, voice detached somewhat, until she blinked and seemed to remember where she was. "Oh…. Oh, yes, of course!" She turned positively red, and her smile – though crooked on account of her deformity – seemed positively radiant. She then turned to nod at Miller politely. "Congratulations, Miller. You earned it."

The 46th Victor just grunted. Dell glanced at his watch.

"Snow's Roses, we're late! Miller, out of that chair!"

"But… but Mr. Fonio…." A simpering Aretha tried to protest. "He's…"

"Fine! All right? He looks fine! Aretha, give him something other than a tunic; Romulus, coif his hair lightly; and Keith... darn it, change your name! It's…. it's not regal enough. Seriously, what do people say when you walk down the Avenue of Tributes? 'Oooh, better make way for Keith! Watch out for Keith!'" Dell ranted as he and the rest of the District 9 delegation all but started to manhandle Miller out the door and to the elevators. They were going live with Caesar and the studio audience within minutes.

His new Victor frustratingly hung back to check himself once in a mirror. "Aretha, does this tuxedo make my abs look flabby?"

"MILLLLL-AAAAAAA!" The bellow came from clear down the hall.

"All right, all right, keep your hair on…. coming, Dell!"