By the time I arrived home, my usually quiet house was teeming with Capitol citizens. I started, my hands shaking as I unlatched the gate to my backyard, seeing them mill about through the large picture windows that lined the dining room with their multicolored hair and outfits. After racing through why they could possibly be here, it dawned on me that they were down to the final eight in the arena. It had been at least five years or more since our district had a tribute survive to this stage, and even then, it was mostly a formality. He had been half-dead and watching the Capitolites patronizing his pain-stricken family to get engaging interview bites they could use had bothered me for weeks after. He died before their interviews could even air. The kid had only been two years older than me, and I had recognized his face at the Reaping from in passing at school.
Dread twisting in my stomach as I reached for the brass knob of the backdoor, though it was yanked from my grasp before I could twist it open. Leera, the housekeeper, stood before me. I sheepishly smiled, shrugging apologetically but her gaze was accusatory. I had left her to fend for herself with the obnoxious guests, and no doubt they had kept her on her toes with ceaseless requests.
"I thought you'd have been home earlier," she raised an eyebrow in my direction as I stepped over the threshold.
"Sorry, I lost track of time," I said evasively. She knew where I was most days, I didn't hide much from her. However, there was no doubt in my mind that the mention of Katniss's family would draw even more unwanted attention and prying from our already invasive guests. Her hand outstretched for the bag hanging from my shoulder, hanging it in the coat closet just as a Capitol attendant sauntered from the sitting room holding an empty cocktail glass in dainty, tattooed fingers.
Before she could request a second round, she caught sight of me. Leera took the empty glass from her without asking for directions before disappearing into the kitchen as the woman approached me, her hand outstretched.
I took it tentatively, fighting the urge to disappear into my bedroom until the morning. I knew my father expected me to help entertain our guests, especially now that I was older. I no longer had the excuse of childhood naivety. Usually our guests were other District leaders like Cray or a strategist from the Capitol, which was much easier to put up with. But this obnoxious gaggle was all but guaranteed to grate my last bit of patience.
"You must be Miss Undersee," she crooned, her Capitol affect thick as she peered at me through her shimmering fringe of lashes. I wonder how she can keep her eyes open, I thought to myself, fighting off a smile from the ridiculous mental image this conjured up.
"Madge, yes," I answered, giving her a tight, polite smile. "And you are?"
"Tissel Elestran, and this is Magnus Keene," she introduced another of her companions that had joined us in the foyer. He grinned from behind her shoulder, his eyes flicking over my face. No doubt my cheeks were pink from sitting in the sun, my blonde hair had been twisted into a knot during the long walk home in the dead heat of the afternoon. "We're part of the press team conducting the interviews tomorrow."
Magnus said nothing, just giving me a tight-lipped smile and terse nod though his judgmental gaze didn't stray from my appearance. I had grown used to the fussing and back-handed comments from our guests.
'Pretty, but oh so very plain.'
'If you fill out more, those dresses will be stunning.'
'You'd be a hit in the Capitol. Especially with some color on that fair skin.'
This last comment had made me physically ill as it echoed in my mind, recalling a remark my father had made. Insinuating that if he were to be caught out of line, the Capitol would execute our family without hesitation. Or even more terrifying, turning me into an Avox and selling me off in the Capitol. Some had a taste for 'exotic' District citizens there. Nothing had made me dream for the anonymity that the rest of the district residents held more.
A few years back during the Victory tour, one of the Capitol attendants insisted on trying out an intricate hairstyle on my then-long hair. However, as a fidgety 11-year old, I quickly lost patience. Much to the dismay of the woman, I immediately began dismantling the winding braids as soon as I got to my room because I didn't like the way it pulled painfully on my scalp.
Thankfully, Leera reemerged from the kitchen with a fresh drink, pulling their attention from me long enough that I could slip into the kitchen. Pulling on the spare apron that hung inside the doorway, I began assessing the chaos to find a place to make myself useful. Anything to keep me from entertaining our guests. I couldn't be scolded for my reluctance to be cheerful and accommodating if I was busy otherwise.
My father arrived home just before dinner, thankfully taking the attention of the entourage away from requesting anything else from Leera and I as we tried to set the table. Putting on a polite smile to make small talk over the meal was more exhausting than usual. Thankfully, Tissel and her companions carried most of the conversations—babbling on about how enraptured the Capitol was with the Games this year and how grateful we should be for such 'an entertaining pair'.
'I'm glad our pain is enough entertainment for you,' I thought. I bit back the snarky retort, however, knowing it would bring me nothing but a scolding from my father. I was too old to excuse my words as a loose-tongued child, I knew better now and anything I said could come back to haunt us.
I excused myself early, taking a small plate of dinner up to my mother who was effectively unconscious to the world. A thread of bitterness flared up when I saw the empty morphling syringe lying on the nightstand beside the dim lamp. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all could escape like this when we didn't want to face reality? I caught myself then, ashamed at this thought. I couldn't begin to know her pain, and I felt a sense of suffocating guilt with my intolerance of hers.
I was quickly pulled back into the sitting room where the daily recap broadcast was echoing loudly down the hallways from the television we normally kept off and silent. I sat to the back of the group, only speaking when spoken to as I was accustomed to. Thankfully my presence was of little matter to them and I was all too good at being invisible.
Since Katniss had concealed herself high in a tree for the night, Caesar and Claudius Templesmith could focus on rehashing the events of the day. Every possible angle replayed the explosion of the Career's supplies and the death of the District 3 boy by Cato's hands. A doctor on-hand for consultation explained that Katniss's behaviors likely indicated at least partial deafness in her left ear. This development sent the trio into a spiral of discussion on what this could mean for their 'favorite' tribute.
It was then that I fully tuned out of the room, counting the spines of the dozens of books lining the wall of shelves and categorizing them into colors. Ninety-five in total, just one shy of an even eight dozen. Twelve red books, seventeen green, nine blue, and the others in a varying range of brown and gray. I lost interest by then, excusing myself for bed.
It had taken me hours to fall asleep though I couldn't place one specific train of thought that kept me from the escape of sleep. I tended to try and sort through all of my anxieties at night, even when this did nothing more than amplify my stressors. I never did solve much, instead missing out of sleep that would give me a clear mind the next day.
I had awoken early with the sun just beginning to illuminate the night sky in a dull haze. I took extra care getting ready, brushing through my blonde waves before tying half of it back with a white ribbon. The blue dress I wore had been my mother's as a girl and I had spent years as a girl dreaming of when I could finally wear it. Now it felt like a sick joke to be wearing it for the interviews today, as anything relating to the Games set my mother off.
They had already begun setting up for the interviews today and I slipped into the kitchen to stay out of their way... and to avoid being pulled into helping them.
While I helped clear the dishes from the breakfast table, I heard a collective intake of gasps coming from the sitting room where Tissel and her gaggle had gathered to finish their tea and discuss their strategy for the day. I stepped just inside of the doorway, my eyes flitting across the room before I realized they were fixated on the broadcast playing.
The second I made sense of what I was looking at, it felt like every ounce of air had escaped my lungs. Little Rue lay in Katniss's arms, the wound on her abdomen oozing bright red blood that stained her uniform and hands. Hot tears stung my eyes and I tried to blink them away as the sound of Katniss singing to Rue filled the room. While I fought my emotions back, the Capitolites around me openly wept. Like they care, I thought bitterly, swallowing down the bile as my stomach churned.
I couldn't help imagining Rue as Prim, and I could only imagine that Katniss had already made the same association. They were too similar, and no doubt that was the reason Katniss hadn't hesitated to protect the small girl. Katniss could protect Prim, but she was powerless to protect Rue the same way. She had never stood a chance in the arena, but it was easy to ignore those odds until it happened. None of it was fair. This felt especially cruel; framed by Katniss's grief that was rarely seen in the arena. It wasn't often that tears were shed for others during the Games, not by other tributes. And as we watched Katniss frame the small girl in flowers, I could tell by the reactions of the clownish crew around me that this was completely uncharted territory.
I turned on my heel, stalking off away from them. I couldn't stand to listen to their fake pity for any longer and still hold back my anger. It had been bubbling under the surface since last night. They truly cared nothing for the small girl, nor for Peeta who still lay dying in a creek bed, nor for Katniss. This was nothing more than a tragic show they couldn't look away from. Forgettable as soon as the newest, shiniest thing crossed their path.
My reprieve from their weeping was short-lived as Mr. Mellark and Peeta's brothers arrived at our front door. Leera reached the door first, ushering them inside. They were quickly swept away by Magnus, his voice chattering instructions as he led them down the long hall to the den. This time, when the second knock at the door came, I was the one to answer.
Prim stood with her hands clasped in front of her; a timid, anxious smile looking up at me. Mrs. Everdeen mirrored the same expression though her eyes were searching for something behind me. My mother had given herself a fresh dose of morphling after she finished breakfast in bed, so I knew there was no way she would be making an appearance for this.
It wasn't until I had stepped back to let them in that I realized Gale was with them. I blinked in surprise, recovering my expression quickly. I hadn't expected him to participate in the interviews. This seemed like the last thing he would ever do. I wondered who gave his name to the team, secretly thankful that I hadn't been brought up as Katniss and I only sat together during school.
He hesitated outside of the door, his eyes darting around before he stepped inside. Leera had returned, striking up small talk with Mrs. Everdeen. Leera was from the Seam, and it occurred to me that they more than likely knew each other. I moved to Prim, giving her a hug that seemed to put the small girl at ease. When I glanced back, Gale stood by the door with his hands in his pockets, looking every bit as uncomfortable as I would have expected.
"Nice place," he remarked, a slight sarcastic tone to his voice as his eyes met mine. I would have rolled my eyes if it weren't for the quick mischievous glint in his own.
Thankfully, Tissel swept into the room just as I felt my cheeks burn. I cursed myself for feeling so unnerved by him, slipping away as she commanded their attention.
My haven in the kitchen was interrupted when I was pulled in to hold a stack of papers for the team. I stood silently in the back of the den, trying to stay out of the way as much as I could. It wasn't until I heard Tissel and Magnus discussing Gale.
"Friend? No, no. That won't do. Look at him!" Tissel chirped, and I tried to hold back the snort of amusement as I met his gaze again. He appeared just as annoyed with the crew as I was, grimacing as he flinched away from their fretting hands attempting to fix any hairs out of place.
"They all look the same. Call him her cousin," suggested the woman as she put down the comb.
To this Gale glared at her, clenching his jaw before looking out the window. If looks could kill, I thought.
Finally, the interviews began, starting with Prim. After a few rounds and the attention of the room elsewhere, I laid down the stack of papers on a side table and slipped out of the den. I doubted they even knew I was there, let alone notice that I had left.
As I retreated down the hallway, the cacophony from the den became muffled and distant. Stepping into the sitting room, I slid the heavy wooden door shut as quietly as I could. I sat down at my piano with the sun of the late morning fading from the windows as it moved higher in the sky, the sheer curtains still glowing with the warm rays though. Staring at the keys for a long moment, feeling the ache in my chest as my mind replayed the final moments of Rue's life. The way the Capitol attendants cried as she died, and then continued like it was nothing more than a heartbreaking plot point infuriated me. I couldn't stand to be in the same room as them any longer.
My hands gripped the edge of the bench tightly before I pulled myself back into the present moment. Reaching up, I pressed gently down on a random key. The soft hum filling the empty space. Oh, how I wished I had my house back to myself, so I could play without concern of disrupting our guests. I began flowing my fingers over the keys in a familiar exercise, though softly enough that I could escape complaints. The sound would barely carry past the heavy door. I was used to playing like this when my mother had her headaches.
After a few rounds of exercises, my hands merged the cadence into an old sonata I had memorized as a young girl. The name escaped me, but the memory of the yellowed paper lined with notes I had found in my father's collection of old books remained. Our first housekeeper had taught me how to read the strange symbols on the papers, relating them to the keys. It was enough, and I had taught myself the rest.
I lost sense of time as I played, the keys flowing like second nature. The tension and frustration melted out of my muscles until I heard the wooden door slide open. I jumped in surprise, twisting where I sat to look back. Gale stood, paused with the door halfway shut again. He raised his hands, smirking sheepishly.
"Didn't mean to startle you," he apologized as he sealed us off from the rest of the house again. I shrugged it off, giving him a soft smile. He moved silently, coming to sit beside me on the white bench.
"How'd you manage to sneak away?" I questioned, avoiding his gaze as I toyed with a few random keys.
He shrugged next to me, and I knew he had a smug grin without needing to look in his direction. "How did you manage to sneak away?" he reflected the question back.
"They aren't interviewing me," I reasoned, my voice level and bored. I had been careful to avoid letting on that I knew Katniss and her family. I wanted no part of sitting in front of the cameras today, especially not after watching Rue die just a few hours ago. I knew they were in District 11 to interview her family and instead of calling off the interviews, I'm sure they were all-too eager to capture their fresh grief.
"Yeah, how did you get out of that one?" He pried, pressing a key in front of him to disrupt the melody I had been playing.
I stopped, sighing with a slight irritation as I finally looked over at him. "They can't use what they don't know." He raised a dark eyebrow as he studied me, his steel gray eyes narrowing for a brief second. "Who ratted you out?"
A pit in my stomach twisting under his gaze, I turned away again. I ran my fingers along the shelf that held the sheet music, brushing off nearly invisible dust.
"Oh, so it wasn't you?" he teased, the smile in his voice giving him away. I rolled my eyes with a small shake of my head, the hair I had brushed behind my shoulder falling to frame my face. "They were asking around town yesterday, so it's too hard to tell."
"The cousin bit was clever," I remarked. Looking back to him, his attention was fixed out the window, but I caught the flex in his jaw again as he grimaced. To this he didn't respond, and the silence sat heavy between us for a long minute.
Finally, he spoke up again with a snort. "I could take three baths and still feel like I shouldn't touch anything in here. This is more like a museum than a house."
"Just couldn't help yourself, could you?" I cross my arms, more easily annoyed than I normally would be. Could a day go by that Gale didn't bring up how different I was.
"Come on, I was joking," he smirked, nudging me with his shoulder to lighten my mood.
Instead I rolled my eyes again, not wanting to give him the win of a smile that was trying to break through. "You know you're an ass, right?"
This makes him grin. "It's so easy to push your buttons, Undersee."
I let out a huff, pulling the cover over the keys shut with a sharp clatter. Part of me hoped they would hear and drag him back into the interviews. Serves him right. He always managed to get under my skin. "Fuck off, Hawthorne."
Raising his eyebrows, he snorts out a laugh. "That's not something I thought I'd ever hear coming from your mouth." I smiled finally, enjoying that I was able to catch him off-guard for once.
"So, what's it like putting up with those clowns?" he asked and this time it was my turn to giggle.
"Imagine toddlers, very colorful toddlers. Who need everything done for them. I mean, everything. And when you do the things they ask for; they still insult you in the nicest way they possibly can." I could think of at least ten more things to say, but this was the most concise way to describe our guests. I was desperately hoping that they would be on the train in the morning.
"I'd lose my shit," he joked, though we both knew it was true.
"Unlike you, I know how to bite my tongue."
To this, he shrugged. "That's probably true. There's much worse I could say, but I keep it to myself," he argued, and I knew he was right. Gale was never shy about expressing how he felt about the Capitol, but he was just cautious enough to say just enough that he wouldn't get into trouble.
Voices in the hallway neared the door, and before I could place the voice, Tissel slide the door open and popped her head in. "Oh, there you are! We need just a few more things," she said directly to Gale, effectively ignoring my presence beside him. She motioned for him to follow but turned to retreat before he could even stand up from the bench. With an exasperated sigh and shake of his head, he stood to leave.
Before he slipped out of the now open door, he turned back to me. "By the way, I really liked the song you were playing before I came in. You're good." With a small smile, he disappeared into the hallway. I stared after him a long moment, blinking a few times before I regained my composure.
Again, thank you so much for reading. Diving head first into writing these last few days has been a very welcome distraction. I found myself relating to Madge's frustration with her own mother, as my own had battled addiction and lost her fight last week. This said, I'm hoping I can keep this drive to continue writing, but if my emotions catch up with me I may take a little time off.
I loved the personality that came out of Madge in this chapter, especially getting to explore her less-perfect traits than are usually seen in the canon series. It makes her a little more tangible to me. As always, I appreciate those of you who read, bookmark, and review. Let me know what you thought!