Chapter Nine | Your clash is like a symphony of sound

"Under love's heavy burden do I sink."

1.4, 22 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

If she can help it, Elara Winston does not dress up. That isn't to say she doesn't like looking good, but here in the Capitol, her stylists seem to be under the impression that making her presentable for polite society requires removing all her body hair and spending hours slathering creams into her skin. It's a time consuming process that she hates more than anything, mainly because at the end of it all, she looks nothing like herself.

Tonight, Ignatius puts her into an emerald green cocktail dress that shows off the lower half of her legs. It's wrapped tightly around her form, pushing her breasts up and clenching firmly around her waist and hips. She is unaccustomed to wearing tall heels, but her stylists strap them around her ankles anyway, despite her protests. Then they proceed to wrangle her hair into a very complicated updo that requires a lot of pulling and tugging, so that by the time Ignatius and his group are finished, her scalp is in more pain than the look is worth.

She does look relatively nice – if one believes that the plastic, overdone image in which the Capitol often favors is, in fact, nice. Elara personally finds her finished look to be a little gaudy and over the top, especially when Ignatius puts several jeweled necklaces around her neck and has his stylists brush on far more eyeshadow than she is accustomed to wearing. She feels more like a rabid raccoon than a person.

Alas, such are the evils that she must put up with when the Capitol is hosting a large gala in the Victors' names.

It's been a year and a half since she won her own Games, and she is no longer the newest Victor to come out of the arena alive. This year, the Capitol is preparing to celebrate the newest celebrity, who is just now wrapping up her Victory Tour. There is always a huge party in the Capitol at the end of each tour, and anyone who is anyone is invited to attend. Mayors from the inner districts are all there, as well as important Peacekeeper generals, Gamemakers, and celebrity CEOs in the Capitol. And, of course, the Victors.

They come from all the districts. To refuse a summons from the President is never a good idea, and so Elara is attending the gala with her former mentor, Harley. The man looks older than he actually is when she sees him after his stylists have gotten their hands on him. The two of them share a cringing look when they see each other. The fashion sense in the Capitol is a far cry different from the simple convenience of their clothing in District 5.

"Ready to go?" he reluctantly asks, holding out his arm for her. Elara's only response is a quick grimace before she hooks her arm into his and allows him to lead them out into the streets, where their car is waiting for them. Neither of them wants to be here. Capitol parities are exhausting.

And yet Elara can't help but feel the barest undercurrent of excitement. The reason for it comes in the form of a rather striking man who is also attending the evening's celebration.

She hasn't seen Gloss in about three months, now. Their last meeting had been short lived. They'd barely even had time to say hello before their contrasting schedules had kept them apart for the duration of their stay in the Capitol, and before she knew it, Elara had been on the train back to District 5 without even the opportunity to say goodbye. Not that either of them requires such sentiments. Gloss probably hadn't even noticed.

The thought makes Elara frown as she steps into the gala, but the cameras that immediately flash at her soon force her expression into a much lighter one. She shouldn't even care if Gloss had noticed or not, but inside she knows she does. She wonders if she's being silly, and the grounded, realistic side of her yells a strong 'yes'.

With a sigh, she unhooks herself from Harley and murmurs, "I'll be at the bar."

He nods shortly and they part ways: him to search for the friends he has among the older Victors, and her to distract herself from her overly idealistic thoughts with a strong drink. She doesn't get very far, though, before she catches sight of the man she's been missing far more than she'd like to admit.

Gloss looks incredibly handsome tonight, so much so that the mere sight of him is enough to stop her in her tracks. Silly Capitol creatures weave around her, occasionally gushing at her briefly before continuing on their way, but her attention remains on him. She can't entirely blame herself. Dressed in a tailored navy suit with a soft creamy yellow tie expertly finishing off the look, he is a magnet for attention. Capitol women crowd around him, giggling at things he says. Some of the bolder ones reach out to touch his arm or his shoulder. His reactions are always light and even somewhat flirtatious, which makes Elara feel a little sick.

She knows he's just playing the game, but a large part of her loathes having to bear witness to it. She swallows and pushes herself toward the bar, leaving the scene behind her. The thought that he may very well be going home with one of those women is what prompts her to order the strongest drink she can.

She's taking a rather large gulp of it when a seductive voice suddenly drawls, "Hello, Elara."

She stiffens, and turns to see none other than Finnick Odair leaning casually against the bar beside her, chin resting on his hand as his eyes flash alluringly into hers.

Finnick is an unknown variable for her. She'd met him only a few times over the last year and a half and she's never had a full conversation with the man. She's heard rumors about the things Snow forces him to do, and how he suffers far more than the rest of them when it concerns the hotel rooms he'd made to go to. She's never spoken more than a handful of words to him though. To be honest, she's kept mostly to herself since her victory, with the exception of Gloss.

"…Finnick," she greets carefully, eyeing him with a shrewd gaze. He seems to see right through her barriers and smirks widely, helping himself to the barstool beside her.

"You look ravishing tonight," he tells her in that seductive voice, and generously slides his gaze down her figure. Her discomfort rolls off of her in waves, which only seems to make him more amused. His eyes shine with his mirth when he looks back up at her face and purrs, "Green is a good color on you. Makes your hair shine."

With a dry expression, Elara drawls, "Does that line usually work for you?"

Finnick laughs and shrugs, "Sometimes. Did it work this time?"

The look she sends him is answer enough, and he chuckles again. He turns to the bartender and orders his own drink. While the man is preparing it for him, Finnick glances over at her and says, "Haven't seen you around for a while. You've been hiding on us. Well, most of us." The addition is coupled with a sly glance over her shoulder. Elara follows his gaze even though she knows who he's looking at.

Her eyes hover over Gloss's figure for a split second before she turns back to the Victor from District 4 and demands, "What do you mean by that?"

Surely he doesn't know about her and Gloss's clandestine affair? The whole point of it being clandestine to begin with is to make sure that no one is aware of their relations. She eyes Finnick suspiciously, wondering at the knowing gleam in his gaze and why he's looking at her like he can see right down into her very soul. To say that it's discomfiting is a blatant understatement.

His mouth edges up into a smirk. "Since you pride yourself on your intellect, I'll let you guess."

Elara glowers at him. "Oh, I can definitely guess, but I'd prefer having you speak your mind instead of trying to spin me in circles."

Her blunt response seems to amuse him. His eyebrows raise slightly, and his smirk turns into a full blown smile. Tilting his head at her, Finnick hedges, "People talk, is all. I've heard a few interesting stories about the comings and goings of two particular Victors whenever they're in the Capitol at the same time."

She's startled at several things. First is the fact that Finnick is being suddenly honest with her. Second, that he's looking at her with strangely serious eyes, despite his amused smile. Third, that he even knows about her and Gloss at all. She'd thought that they were being a bit more discreet, at least when it comes to fooling the majority of the citizens.

Gripping her liquor with tight fingers, Elara buys herself some time when she lifts the glass up to take a sip. She's alarmed by Finnick's words, but she doesn't let her shock show itself in her expression or in the tones of her voice when she says, "That's a very bold suggestion, Finnick."

He hums, watching her closely as he rubs a finger over his mouth. After a brief pause, he murmurs, "If I were you, Elara, I'd be a little more careful. You shouldn't get in too deep with someone like Gloss. I hear he's not always a gentleman."

To his surprise, Elara snorts out a laugh and sends him a sideways glance. "I'm not a fool, Finnick. Besides, I'm hardly in love with him."

Even as she says it, though, she's not sure if that's true. Surely she doesn't love him – not the way people in those great love stories do. She wouldn't give her life to spare his. She wouldn't sacrifice herself for his safety. Isn't that was love is? A total willingness to do whatever you can to help the object of your affection, in whatever way they need? And yet, despite this, she's not blind to the fact that she does feel something more for Gloss than she had in the beginning. She just…isn't sure what it is.

Finnick studies her carefully for a long minute before exhaling and murmuring, "Love has a tendency of sneaking up on you."

He turns his eyes to something in the distance, and Elara follows his gaze yet again. This time, though, he isn't looking at Gloss. He's looking at the newest Victor, for whom this party is being held. She's a girl named Annie Cresta, and she's from District 4 same as Finnick. The way that he's looking at her with those soft eyes tells Elara that his words are not meant to be a joke. He's being utterly serious, because he knows what it feels like to want someone that you aren't allowed to have. She stares at him in shock, and he turns back to look at her. They sit there for a long moment, just staring at each other, until Finnick smiles that seductive, charming smile he uses to hide himself back away.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Winston," he murmurs to her, but this time, she doesn't feel reproach towards his warning. She feels that he's only looking out for her.

With a sigh, she responds, "And you're reading too far into it than you should."

Then, giving him one last glance, Elara leaves him there, quite content to walk away from this particular conversation. Finnick just watches as she leaves, and mutters to himself, "…I'm not sure I am, actually."

For he sees something that she doesn't: the singular focus of a pair of eyes that watch her movements as she makes her way across the room. A gaze that belongs to none other than Gloss Augustine. He doesn't claim to know everything, but he'd be damned if he's wrong about this. There's definitely something more than simple lust between the two of them. After all, he thinks as he looks back to Annie's figure – he would know.

Katniss Everdeen is proving to be more of a fighter than anyone would have guessed. She's a survivor. It seems that no matter what the Capitol throws at her, she manages to find a way to out of it. But, even more than that, there is something about her that draws people in. She has a magnetic presence that the Capitol is enamored with. Before the games are even a week in, she possesses the majority of the camera time. Her face always seems to be on screen.

Elara doesn't know what to make of it. On the one hand, she's glad that the girl has her wits about her. On the other, it means that Matilde is in greater danger. The tribute from District 5 is hardly on air at all. She is a hidden component who keeps to herself as much as possible and uses subterfuge to keep herself alive. She certainly doesn't draw the same attention as Katniss does, which is both a blessing and a curse.

Marvel, the tribute from District 1, dies at the hand of Katniss that morning. It's a quick death – an arrow through the heart. He bleeds out on the forest floor. Within seconds of his fall, the canon signals his death. Gloss and Cashmere don't react to the slaughter. They just exchange a heavy glance and keep silent. It is, after all, just a part of the system. There's nothing they can do anyway.

Their girl tribute, Glimmer, had died some days before. Now that they don't have a surviving tribute in the games, they no longer need to search for sponsors or dedicate their time to keeping their tributes alive, so they turn their attention to the other Victors and mingle. Elara, though, still has Matilde to look out for. She stations herself in front of the screen, obsessed with keeping tabs on her. It's very rare for a tribute from District 5 to make it this far in the Games. Usually, the weaker physique that most citizens from 5 have spells a faster end. Elara thinks, quietly, that Matilde might just have a chance after all.

Later that afternoon, she sits with Johanna in the public viewing room. Johanna's tributes are also gone at this point, but she still keeps Elara company because apparently she doesn't have anything better to do.

"She's pretty smart," the aggressive Victor says as they watch Matilde sneak through the Career's camp and navigate around buried explosives. Elara grunts in agreement. The girl is smart – probably one of the most intelligent tributes she's had so far. It had only taken her a few seconds to realize that the upturned piles of dirt were actually hiding bombs that were recycled from the pedestals.

Swinging an arm over the top of the couch, Elara responds, "If she keeps this up, she might just outlast them all."

Her words are cautious, because she doesn't want to jinx them. One wrong move could mean the end for Matilde. Thankfully, the Capitol hasn't been paying her much mind as of late. She hasn't had to deal with any mutts or orchestrated wildfires, like Katniss has. Her strategy of keeping herself under the radar has worked spectacularly so far.

Johanna hums, "Anything's possible, I guess. My bets are on the Girl on Fire though. The Capitol adores her. And don't forget that Mellark kid."

If she's upset that Johanna doesn't share her loyalty to Matilde, Elara doesn't show it. She just raises an eyebrow and points out, "Last time he was on screen, he had a pretty bad cut. I'd be surprised if he lasts another day without medicine."

Johanna concedes the point, then glances over at Haymitch and shouts, "Hey Abernathy! You gonna just let your kid die of infection?"

It's unheard of for District 12 to get this far into the Games. Like Elara's own district, Haymitch's tributes are often useless in the Games. Not that they lack spirit, but they oftentimes don't have practical skills that helps them stay alive. District 5 is similar in that way. This year, both districts are proving those stereotypes wrong.

Haymitch, who is sitting on the other side of the room with a tall drink in his hand, glowers over at Johanna and snipes, "Mind your own business, Mason."

Johanna snorts at the response and glances at Elara. "He doesn't even know what to do with himself. None of his tributes have ever made it this far."

Elara just shrugs. She's about to respond when a pair of hands slide onto her shoulders, and a familiar scent of musky cologne invades her senses.

"Still here?" Gloss asks, looking over at the screen as he starts to massage Elara's shoulders. She immediately relaxes into his touch. He's got strong hands, and she utterly melts beneath them as they loosen up her tense muscles. Johanna, of course, just looks disgusted at their proximity and edges away from them.

"Mmm," is all Elara murmurs, sinking against the couch as Gloss circles his thumbs against the back of her neck. He chuckles at her reaction.

The other Victors hardly notice. Either they're too engrossed in the ames, or they're just too used to seeing Gloss and Elara's antics. Though the pair of them are never overly obvious about their affair in front of the others, none of the Victors are disillusioned about the duo's feelings for each other.

Gloss's hands slide off of her. A moment later, he's leaning down and crossing his arms over the back of the couch. She can feel his breath on her cheek when he whispers, "Roof tonight? I'll bring wine."

She smiles slightly and turns her head to look at him. He catches her eye with a smirk. True, their dates are sorely lacking most of the time – if one can even call them dates to begin with that is – but the effort that goes behind each and every one of them makes up for the dismal settings.

Her nose brushes his cheek when she playfully breathes, "Depends on the wine."

He rolls his eyes at her. "You never used to care what kind of alcohol I brought."

The complaint is amused though. His eyes flash at her with laughingly. She grins.

"I suppose I could probably be convinced," she tells him quietly, and he chuckles.

He doesn't say anything more, except to whisper, "9 o'clock," to her, before he pulls away and ambles back out of the room. Elara turns her attention back to the screen, only for Johanna to snort in disgust and mutter, "You two are gross."

Elara just smirks and nudges her with her elbow. Johanna can think what she likes. When it comes to Gloss, she doesn't care how ridiculous she is.

When nine o'clock rolls around, Elara makes her way up to the rooftop. Gloss is waiting for her by the railing. She's somewhat surprised to see that he's put on a dress shirt. He's got a bottle of wine tucked into the crux of his arm. There are no glasses in sight, but she doesn't really care. The rooftop isn't exactly synonymous with a perfect date, and to be honest, Elara isn't convinced that he'd meant this to be a date to begin with. She suspects that it's more of an effort to get her mind off the Games, which she's grateful for regardless of his intentions.

"What took you?" he asks, sounding slightly impatient. Elara raises an eyebrow at him. She opens her mouth to reply, but before she can, he's looping his free arm around her waist and catching her mouth in a kiss that frankly makes her breathless.

"…You said nine o'clock," she mumbles against his mouth, reaching up to grasp his shirt. He grunts, another twist of impatience that makes her smirk.

"Come on," he tells her after a moment, leading the way to a small grassy area on the other side of the roof. They take a seat on an iron wrought bench by the far railing. It's obscured from the rooftop doorway in such a way that prevents anyone from seeing them immediately if they venture up here, but they can see the door clearly enough to see any potential intruders.

Gloss unscrews the cap of the wine and tilts it towards her. Elara gives him a wry look.

"What?" he asks with a laugh, and takes the first swig of it himself. "Not classy enough for you?"

Elara just rolls her eyes at him and shifts against his side, reaching for the neck of the bottle to take a rather inelegant sip. He grins at her in amusement. In response, she wrinkles her nose at him and takes another sip as if to prove his words wrong.

They talk a bit about the Games, about their tributes, and about the fast passage of time. The Games are probably a little more than halfway over by now. It's impossible to tell exactly how much time is left. Each year is different. But Elara has been through enough of these scenarios to be able to guess fairly accurately by now. It's almost like a silent voice that whispers at her that her time with Gloss is running out.

After a while, the bottle of wine is abandoned on the grass beside the bench, and Elara makes herself comfortable against Gloss's chest. He wraps his arm around her and tilts his head back, looking up into the night sky. A comfortable silence cascades around them. When she closes her eyes, Elara could almost imagine that they are not in the Capitol at all, but in their own world. And, against her better judgement, her mind begins to paint a picture of what that world might look like.

She shouldn't do it to herself, but before she can stop the thoughts, she's suddenly imagining a future that she yearns for with every fiber of her being. A house where she might live with Gloss. Maybe it would have a garden in the back, and she'd plant vegetables every summer. She's never been very good with plants, but maybe she'd surprise herself. Amelia could live with them, or nearby at the very least, and Cashmere would be just around the corner that way she could come over and bother her brother at all hours of the day. But – the night would be theirs. They would spend it in whatever manner they want. The image is so peaceful and surreal and Elara tucks herself further against him and sighs.

He hears it and quietly wonders, "What are you thinking about?"

She brushes her thumbs against his chest, pausing. She's not so sure that it's a good thing to speak her mind in this instance. Gloss might just find her idealistic future to be a silly, girlish daydream. Maybe he wouldn't want anything to do with that sort of life.

When she doesn't respond, he picks his head up and frowns, "Elara?"

She buries her face against him and mumbles, "…I'm just thinking about what life would be like, if the Games didn't exist." She doesn't tell him any details about what she's imagined. Instead she just laughing adds, "We probably wouldn't be as close as we are right now, come to think of it."

Gloss is silent at her words. He peers down at the top of her head, and rather abruptly tells her, "You'd like it in District 1, you know."

She pulls away to stare at him in surprise, because he's seen right through her words to the truth beneath. The way his eyes gleam knowingly at her tell her as much, and she feels a little bashful about that. It's an unusual feeling for her, to be honest.

He tugs her back against his chest and continues, as if she'd never pulled away, "It's a lot sunnier than District 5, and there's always something going on. We've got festivals all the time, and our shopping district is almost as big as the Capitol's." He twists a strand of her hair between his fingers, watching the auburn shades of it glisten in the dim light of a nearby lamppost. As he loops it around his finger idly, he adds, "Even you wouldn't be able to avoid getting a tan. The sun's always out. Hardly ever rains."

Elara laughs at this and snarks, "Are you implying that I'm too pale?"

With a playful nudge, he murmurs, "I don't care if you're pale or not, Winston. My point is, you'd like it there."

She hums with a soft smile, imagining the twisting rays of sunlight and the hot desert sand and the cacti that Gloss tells her dots the landscape everywhere you look. She's not sure if she can picture herself in a place that is so different from District 5, but to be honest, she wouldn't care where they lived – as long as they were together.

The thought makes her feel suddenly cold, because really, she shouldn't let herself think things like that. It just hurts even more when she remembers that they'll never get that house or that garden, and Cashmere will never come over to annoy them, and the nights will never belong to them – not truly – and really, what's the point of it all? Realistically, she's being a bit silly.

With a grimacing smile, Elara pulls away and mutters, "I guess it doesn't matter if I'd like it or not, does it? I doubt I'll ever be able to see it."

She stares at Gloss for a moment, and he stares back silently because he's not really sure what to say. To admit that she's probably right would be upsetting for them both, but Elara's words are probably more correct than either of them want to admit. He bites down an adamant refusal and just sighs. Elara gives him a small smile and gets up.

"We should probably go back to our rooms," she says, only for him to stand up and reach out to cup her face in his hands. He doesn't say a single word when he leans down to kiss her. At this point, words are useless things, and they do more harm than good. But actions – those can be counted on. He kisses her gently, and when he pulls back his eyes are almost sad, though the average person would probably not see the silent tilt of his sorrow behind the barriers he sets in place. To him, she is not an average person.

"You go in. I'm gonna stay out here a while longer," he tells her, and kisses her one last time before she pulls away and walks back to the doors. He watches her go silently, hands stuffed in his pockets. He doesn't look away until she closes the door behind her, and then he turns to walk over to the railing to look down at the city that sprawls out before him.

It is an ugly sight, he thinks. He'd like to tear it all apart.