It takes over a full day to reach District Twelve and I'm allowed to eat lunch before being dressed in an oversized puffy jacket, fuzzy pants and thick leather boots. The moment I step out from the train a blast of icy cold wind hits my face and I try to turn back around inside where it's warm. Mags shoves me forward with no mercy, then pauses to wrap a long fluffy scarf around her face before she follows me out.
I've seen snow in previous Games, in movies and in pictures, but I never really understood how cold it was until now. Ignoring Phineas' instructions I pull up the hood of my jacket to protect my neck and ears as the crowd of people moves forward to greet me. With cameras flashing off to the sides we make the short walk across the platform and into the warm waiting car. A teenage girl tries to climb in after me and is pulled away by the troop of Peacekeepers, who encircle our vehicle while it rolls out of the station and down the road into the town.
I glance out the windows curiously as the houses roll by, all coated in heavy snow. Off on the side of the road near some of the sturdier looking buildings a group of laughing kids are rolling balls of snow and stacking them to make blobby people, decorating them with sticks and dark stones while the cameras film them.
I wave at a few out the windows and they all wave back, two of the girls even throwing kisses. I pretend to catch them, but don't throw any back. Mags lectured me heavily in the weeks before we left and after seeing the crazy fan response I've been listening more and more to her advice.
I'd been very sure during the Games that I had plenty of fans and, of course, plenty of sponsors, just like any other year. Even after the post-Games events, where I spent hours at a party surrounded by hordes of people I didn't think it was that strange. Unless the victor is particularly unpopular they are always swarmed in the days and weeks after the Games. Usually it all quiets down after the first month or two though, until the Victory Tour gets things going again.
For me there was no quiet. At first I tried hiding in my big new house up on the hill, trying to escape the cameras in between official appearances. If it had just been the people of Four, Mags could have got them to back off and show a bit of respect and distance. We didn't account for the huge numbers of Capitol tourists though, none of them showing the least bit of restraint with their new favorite thing.
I couldn't go to the beach any more, not without dozens of people asking me to spread lotion on their shoulders or join them for a private swim. Any open area of town was the same, though at least in the crowded markets I could usually escape. More than once Greta or Mags had to rescue me from the clutches of someone old enough to be my mother. Once even a man with a big wobbling belly and clamp-like hands tried to physically drag me along onto his hired boat to spend the afternoon with him and screamed at me that I'd regret turning him down as the Peacekeepers helped him away.
It was a few days after that that the three girls broke into my house in the Victor's Village to all propose marriage to me. Greta called the Peacekeepers on them and threw them all out, but was forced to apologize to them the next day since two were daughters of a high-ranking government official and the third the niece of some rich top-end designer. Apparently it was no big deal that one of them clawed my arm trying to jam a ring onto my hand and another smacked Greta across the face with a handbag. The laws are that it's illegal for a District citizen to assault a Capitol one; there's no rule going the other way.
The car rolls to a stop outside District Twelve's Justice Building, jolting me back into the present. Their building and square are smaller than ours, not as well kept either. The square is shovelled clear of snow, with small piles of sooty slush pushed up against the sides of the buildings, and there are pennant flags hanging from all the rooftops, but it all seems a bit fake. Just like the smile on the face of the District Mayor, a lean man a little taller than me with a thinning clump of blond curls. He shakes my hand while his whispy wife smiles weakly and nods over his shoulder. Their little girl offers me a wreath of woven branches with a shy smile as she steps back behind her mother's skirts. She at least seems genuine, though she couldn't be more than six or seven. As we walk inside I pretend to put the wreath on as a hat, earning a giggle, until Phineas descends, shrieking about me ruining my carefully styled hair.
This leads to me being dragged into a side-room with my prep team, who fuss over me, straightening my hair and clothes and drying the few wet marks on my shoes and thick pants. Phineas makes me take off my warm puffy coat and suit jacket to straighten my undershirt, even though I doubt it will be seen on camera. He then fusses with the stupid shiny green jacket, twisting the buttons straight and smoothing the collar for a fifth time. I reach for the puffy coat, but my stylist pulls it away with a tutting gesture.
"It's cold out there," I remind him, reaching again for it only to have him push me gently away and hand the only part of my outfit that I like away to Euthalia, who takes it from the room with an apologetic smile.
"No, no. We can't have you covered up. It's not what your fans want to see."
"But it's snowing!"
"Unimportant," he says snootily. "A necessary sacrifice in the name of fashion."
"Easy for you to say," I mutter, already starting to shiver.
The cold does at least keep me alert while I stand on the stage to give my speech. I never got to know either of the tributes from Twelve so I don't add anything to the Capitol-provided lines besides a vague mention of praise for the girl, Demmy's knowledge of plants in training.
The Mayor gives a speech in return and presents me with a fancy plaque. I give him a big smile as I take it, clenching my teeth to stop them chattering as I shake his hand again. He and the rest of the crowd don't seem bothered by the freezing weather.
Thankfully we get to go back inside to change clothes again for the dinner and the room I'm shown to has a roaring fire which I immediately plant myself in front of. The prep team fusses around me, chatting about rustic district folk and the simple life they must lead. None of them seem to be bothered by the freezing weather and when I ask Theodorous he shows me a glimpse of his underclothes, which are lined with personal heating devices.
"Of course they wouldn't work under your clothing, the fit is far too tight," he adds in a hasty whisper when I pout.
Luckily my seat is near the fireplace in the dining room and I spend the evening filling up on hot, thick soup, roasted birds and vegetables and a rich fruit cake for dessert. I'm seated between the balding Mayor Undersee and Mags, shielded from the two teenage daughters of a Capitol Liason who was apparently important enough to be invited. The mayor seems nice enough and asks quiet, interested questions about sailing and about my "talent". I decide I like him right up until he suggests I'd rather be talking to people my own age and leaves me at the mercy of the teenagers. One of them drapes herself over my left arm and flutters her eyelashes at me, her body language suggestive.
The other girl is more blunt. After I deflect several suggestions about how nice it would be to go take a walk and enjoy the night-time snow and stars she grabs me by the hand and pulls me to her, wrapping her arms around my waist as she starts trying to drag me to the door.
"Let's get away from the grown-ups and have some fun," she says as I wobble, trying to balance my weight without obviously pushing her away. I manage to get one of her arms untangled from my shirt but she quickly wraps it around the back of my neck and pulls my face down to hers. I feel the hard press of her lips against mine, and the interesting sensation of her tongue running along my lower lip and a warm jolt rushes down from my face to my stomach.
I've shared kisses with a couple of girls back home, before my life was upturned by the Hunger Games. Both girls were shy enough to let me take control of the situation and not take things too far. Our district, while fairly comfortable being scantily clad and friendly, has some strong opinions about crossing certain lines before the appropriate formalities have taken place. I knew from what little I saw in the Capitol that such opinions aren't universally shared, but the reality may take some getting used to. I feel like I'm split down the middle, a part of me wanting to run and hide, while another wants to explore these interesting new sensations in more detail.
The girl gives me a wicked smile as she pulls back and starts to tow me outside again until we both jump at a loud crash across the room. I see the flash of fly-away gray hair amongst the fallen chairs and gently push aside the girl to hurry to Mags' side. My dear mentor winces and curses the jacket hem that caught on the edge of the table as I help her up, worried as she isn't as young as she tries to pretend.
Haymitch Abernathy, the only living victor from Twelve, who was seated on the other side of the Mayor's family during the dinner grins widely and makes a slurred comment about the perfect little gentleman helping his old mentor back to the train. I salute him in return with a grin and use the convenient excuse to escape having to make this decision now, wading through the freezing night outside back to my only port of relative safety.
~xXx~
We roll into District Eleven as the sun sets the next day. We had to stop twice and wait for the workers from Six to clear the tracks, first a heavy snow-dump that takes them half an hour to shovel clear, then a fallen tree that takes even longer. It means we're late for whatever entertainment was planned that night and Acanthus grumbles over his notes and makes several loud calls throughout the afternoon. Phineas dresses me in light-weight clothing, a half-unbuttoned shirt in my favorite color with no jacket. I don't complain too much this time, as Eleven is nearly as far south as Four and even the night should be mild.
It's not quite as warm as I'd like as we step out onto the platform, but there's a decent crowd waiting to welcome me and the press of bodies keeps me warm enough not to complain. I walk in the middle of the group down a lit pathway flanked bright lamp-posts that flicker occasionally as moths flock to their glow, smiling and nodding as a large man with a rim of honey-gold hair around his bald, sunburned head talks at me. He continues talking as we reach the line of cars and directs me into one, taking the seat beside me and leaving Mags and Acanthus standing outside as we drive off. I glance over my shoulder at them climbing into the next vehicle as we pull away and try to focus on what he's telling me as the car rumbles down the road past shadowy orchards and fields.
There's an evening festival set up in the town square with small fires scattered about, a hundred or so people gathered around them in groups. The Justice Building and surrounding shop-fronts are lit up so that the enormous stone quadrangle is glows with a soft orange light that dances over the faces that turn in my direction. I know from watching many past reapings that the majority of the people of Eleven are dark-skinned and dark-haired, but all the figures I see appear fairer than that.
"We have limited tonight's celebration to those that live in the neighbourhood," the mayor informs me in his haughty tone, "Though a selection of representatives from each of the villages have been permitted to attend tomorrow's victory rally."
Permitted. In Four we have a wide mix of people with different ethnic backgrounds and relative wealth, but any and all are welcome to attend the victory rally without question. I realize there was a similar split back it Twelve too, which seems a silly idea to me, especially since the town-folk must be hugely outnumbered. I try to imagine the shop-keepers back home waving around this high-and-mighty attitude and hold back a laugh. No-one would trade with them and they wouldn't be rich for long.
The people seem friendly enough to me though as a few groups press forwards to shake my hand, pinch my cheeks, admire my muscles. After a few minutes of this a trio of boys my age approach with a hesitant air and offer me a long metal fork. They guide me to the nearest fire, where I spot a selection of breads and sliced meats and vegetables and grin. I happily join them loading up my 'trident' with a small stack of bread, tomatoes, cheese and slices of a pale root and sitting it over the fire until pleasantly toasted. Someone brings out a strangely shaped guitar and a teenage girl who stole a hug from me earlier, then blushed every time I looked her way since, pulls out a thin pipe and joins in a trilling song. I don't know the words to most of the songs they sing, and don't have much of a voice to boast of anyway, but I end up humming along to a few tunes. I let myself get dragged into dancing when they play a few faster reels and am genuinely sad when the mayor's nasal, officious voice cuts over the music and announces a final song for the night.
I say farewell and let the closest peacekeepers lead me back to the waiting car, realizing for the first time that I haven't noticed the ever-present cameras for hours. I glance out the rear window as the engine starts and see the fires already going out.
~xXx~
The victory rally takes place at midday, which means I'm left to the mercy of my stylist and prep team for most of the morning. Phineas has decided that my hair is a shade too long and he and Theodorous circle me with tiny scissors snipping at "out of place" strands with a constant stream of muttering and grunts. Before they're finished Euthalia joins us and nudges me into a seat while she attacks my toenails with a funny brush and file set. Apparently I'll be wearing sandals again and they weren't happy with my feet during our filming in Four.
A Games worker brings me breakfast, which Phineas tries to take away as he doesn't want toast crumbs potentially landing somewhere that might ruin his fashion vision. I've learned that I can ignore him in these situations as he's not strong or brave enough to try to physically remove things from me. I wonder (not for the first time) as he glares from across the compartment, toe tapping as he waits for me to lick the last of the jelly from my fingers, if he realizes I'm an actual person, not some dress-up doll for him to display his clothing on.
Once I'm given my limited clothing for the day I hunt down my speech cards and run over my words. I added a few lines about Rosie, who I honestly respected and am very glad I didn't have to face in a fight. I think I could have beaten her, but a lot of that is based on her reluctance to fight and the fact that she seemed to like me. Unfortunately my clothing for the day—a thin, tight vest in the palest shade of green silk, stitched with ornate bronze designs and equally tight pants that flare out just below my knees into strands of bronze beads that dangle down to my ankles—don't have any handy pockets to stuff my notes in.
Mags gives me a quick once-over before letting me out onto the stage, where I deliver my speech to a much fuller square than last night. It makes me wonder just how many villages there are in Eleven—I knew that they were one of the larger districts, but they have severely limited the numbers of those attending and still have a crowd of about a thousand. I hold my nerve and look down to where Rosie's family are standing as I talk about her strength of character, but my words only earn me hard looks from the group. They probably think I'm putting it on, but I really did respect her and her decision not to play by the Gamemakers' rules. The crowd applauds as expected when I finish, and when their mayor completes his obviously scripted reply, and dissipates quickly after our handshake and presentation of a memorial plaque. I run my fingers over the beautifully carved wood as the peacekeepers lead us back inside for yet another outfit change.
It's impossible to escape the girls at the dinner that night. I'm forced to watch Mags chatting amicably to the three victors from Eleven in attendance while I'm surrounded by fluttered eyelashes, casual leg-bumps and commentary about how this vegetable makes your muscles big or that fruit is good for lovers. For all the simpering, I don't really find any of them attractive so I try to be friendly without actually making any promises (difficult to do when most of the girls are Capitol kids, relatives of Liasons, who believe themselves entitled to my attention) and, when they clear the floor for music and dancing, make an effort to spend no more than one song with each of them.
Finally Mags comes to my rescue, leading me over to the back tables where she introduces me to Chaff, Tolby and Seeder. I recognize all three from their years on television. Heavy, wheezing Tolby whose short dark hair is shot through with gray, offers me a drink that leaves my throat burning while he and Chaff chuckle. Seeder and Mags both berate them as I go looking for something to wash out the taste.
Unfortunately this puts me right back in the firing line for the waiting dance partners who waste no time dragging me back into the throng. I end up slow dancing with a girl who is prettier than the others, though the slightly worn shoes and distinct lack of make-up marks her as District-bred. She keeps a few inches of distance between us and doesn't try to fling herself at me like the girl back in Twelve did. I'm not sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved when the song ends and she shyly disengages from me and heads to the drinks table to cool off. I trail after her, unsure whether I was supposed to follow and I'm a little relieved when Acanthus meets me there and indicates it's time to leave as we need to be on our way to Ten well before midnight.