A/N Trigger Warning: There are some hints of dubious consent and hints of harsh treatment. Read at your own discretion...
We get to the capital quite early in the morning, far before the sun. Despite this, there are still countless people lining the station. Most likely taking a break from a party, never having gone to sleep yet. The busy hours here are vastly different from back at home. At 4 you are up at the crack of dawn heading to the docks to start the day. Long hours aren't a concept here, though. The same typically goes for productive labor.
I still throw kisses and smile out to the cheering crowd, grasp at hands, and get pulled into hugs. The natural capital charisma mask falls into place as if it never left. Finnick does the same. Even pulls in a woman for a kiss. There was a considerable uproar at that. The frantic cheers were nearly deafening.
It takes a long time to get through the crowd, but we finally make it to the training center. We have a day before the chariot rides. Despite this, we don't enjoy a day off. Finnick and I are going round to faithful sponsors, and I have a luncheon where I hope to gain some potential sponsors.
The training center was more of a pit stop if anything. A brief meeting with my stylist Lupia. A shame she can't be my stylist for the games. We have new ones this year. Lupia always knew when to shut up, it's why I prefer her to most of the people who reside in the capital. She consistently produces brilliant work.
She placed me in a dusty rose-toned dress, pinched in at the waist. It reaches my knees but has a rather revealing neckline and an open back. Polished nude heels that crisscrossed their way up my legs and a simple clear polish graced my nails. She did some sort of twist to my hair, added some product to make it extra shiny. She painted a sort of warm tint to my lips and carefully dusted something to make my face peachy. She stuck some orange gems on my arms and my forehead. Quite simple for a capital outfit. Understated even.
A quick thanks and goodbye were thrown, and I was out the door. I decide to head over to my biggest sponsor to date: Quintin. He just so happens to be one of Snow's "friends" as well. While his money and support are a given, I doubt he would be generous without a visit. He might not give anything out of personal spite. Proof he has control over me.
He owns quite a bit of property here in the Capital. He draws up plans for the massive complex buildings here. One of my first 'friends' I gained from Snow. He's currently located in his newest building on the upper floor of 36. It's the second time I've been to this location, but it is just as impressionable.
I didn't really require any proper identification to pass security. My face is recognizable enough, appearing in countless magazines and tabloids. My most recent shoot was far more risque. I suspect Snow's ploy to distract from the dismal failure that was the 74th games. If my face wasn't enough, the armed fleet of white surrounding me would be. Ever since the stunt bread boy and fire girl played security has increased. There was no going anywhere without a sea of white escorting us Victors around.
The first thing to draw my eyes was the grand windows. Quintin's floor was the definition of luxury, classy and elegant. Marble floor, an instrument of some sort, and weird-looking objects he calls art scattered around the sparsely filled rooms. The rooms are far too big for anyone to live in, and I doubt no matter how much he could cram in they would never look full or 'lived-in'. My old house could fit in the main room. Quintin has many Victor "friends", but I find he spends most of his time with me. Thankfully, Finnick isn't one of the Victors he likes. Snow tends to avoid having our "clients" overlap. Gloss and I are the only ones with a bit of overlap. It really is a double-edged sword. I still struggle over deciding if the benefits of having someone truly understand is enough to outweigh everything we have dealt with together. Gloss and I have a unique relationship. It parallels mine and Finnick's.
Finnick is who I rely on at home. It is him, I have biweekly meals with. Who I walk with down the beach. It was Finnick who helped me after my games. Who made suggestions on what to do after waking up one too many times in the night. Who gave me a used piece of frayed rope. It is his arms that fight off my nightmares. The only one I dare take to mine and Montane's old spot. It is him whom I trust with my entire being. I would willingly give my life for him, and I know he would for me too.
Despite our closeness, we ignore the capital, and in turn Snow. I know he started young. He knows when I started. It was the only time we truly acknowledged what we both face. I came home off the train, numb, and found myself at his house instead of my own. He woke up right away and held me until the sun rose, tears both on our faces.
I do not know why Finnick ignores such a substantial part of both of our lives. Still, I never have questioned it. I am only ever really happy with him and my younger brother. The capital occupies my mind almost always. To have a free moment, where Snow doesn't matter, is rare. With Finnick, toes in the sand, the sun beaming down, waves crashing into our knees, and my hair whipping around me, is where I feel the freest. He understands me.
If Finnick is the Sun at the end of a long, dark, terror-filled night, then Gloss is the Moon. The only bit of brightness in the dark. It might not drive away the capital mutts and cries of past tributes, or Lacey's screams, but it is the only comfort to be found in the capital. It is him I think of when dealing with these capitalites.
"Maria Moher… My little warrior princess. It has been ridiculously long. Almost a whole year darling", the uplifting syllables and drawn-out words fill the room. Quintin captures me into a hug, rocking us back and forth before kissing both of my cheeks. I make certain to recuperate the hug, grasping his elbows and being sure to turn my cheeks.
"Yes, yes, it has been a while hasn't it?"
"Allow me to look at you. Give me a twirl or two, princess"
I give a quick spin, my dress flaring outwards. He gives a quick frown, a disappointed aura surrounds him.
"Slower darling, I want to get a proper look at you"
Ohh. So it's already starting. I thought I would have a good half hour before he slipped into this persona. The buffer of small talk was gone. Already setting the tone of the evening. It was naïve to think he would let us ideally chit-chat after it has been a while. He probably will try making the most of this, as it most likely is the last time. I try to focus on that as I spin. This is the last time I will have to deal with him. Far slower this time, in compliance to his passive-aggressive command I turn. I can feel his gaze burning through me.
This is the last time.
As I finally came to face him again, he was much closer. A couple of inches away; so close I can feel the warmth of his breath. He draws up his left hand to my collarbones. Lightly stroking, going back and forth slowly as he talks.
"I am dreadfully sorry princess. Once I heard, my heart simply broke. It will certainly be quite hard watching this year's games. You must win for me; I don't know how I will stand you not being here for me." He gradually gets fainter, his voice lowering to a whisper on the last word.
"Of course Quintin. For you. It will be hard though, with all the other victors in there." Subtly bringing up my future struggles, suggesting I will need help getting out. Hopefully, he takes this bait and I won't have to lower it even more.
"Darling, but you have me. I have far more money and resources than most. You will be rich in gifts from me. I need to bring you home darling. I do appreciate our time together." He starts stroking my arms, moving away from my collarbone. Mentally I am never really prepared. I know what he is hinting at. His actions are separate from his words. He is moving far faster than normal. Maybe he doesn't have a lot of time. I am never that fortunate, but maybe this will be quick.
"My sweet princess, it has been a while since we've had a session." An unasked question lies in the air.
A nod.
A gesture to the back room.
Slow measured paces.
An ornate door slams and doesn't open for hours.
Only occasional screams and pleads to escape the room. To stop.
Silence, then the door opens and Maria hobbles out, not quite steady. Wet-faced bruised covered, hair mussed, followed by a disheveled Quinton leaning on the doorframe.
There is a pause of silence, only an arch of a brow from Quinton. Promoting a usual response from Maria, "Thank you for helping me."
A routine, a necessary line he requires. Desiring an expression of gratitude for what just happened. After all, he likes feeling needed.
"No, thank you darling, I really needed that".
A soft kiss to her brow, contrasting the treatment of the past few hours.
A dismissal, "You can walk yourself out, right? I have some work to do darling."
I make it back to our floor first, thankfully. Lupia is there to conceal everything, and I was effectively able to freshen up, like the meeting with Quintin never happened. The bruises and the pain disappear with the medicine and special cream. It feels wrong that it just goes away. My body holds no scars because they are all in my mind. The capital takes everything. Erasing the trauma inflicted, as if it would solve everything.
The weapons Snow uses against the victors are powerful. The puppetmaster and his strings.
It all just ended up being a pit stop before I was heading off to go charm some more sponsors. A luncheon at the Gallery Blend, high-class dining, even at the capital. Most people there make up those who control the capital. Major finance presidents, private banks, fashion icons and creators, and gamemasters. Located in the penthouse of an 18 story building, not 5 minutes away from the President's home.
Circle tables spread out, only natural lighting from the lofty windows, glittering chandeliers hanging prominently from the towering 2-floor ceiling, and massive water features decorated the restaurant. A line of forks and spoons across every place setting. I end up seated in between Cinna, District 12 fashion designer, and some bank CEO. The new game master, Plutarch, is even sitting a table over, just behind us. Cinna is utterly fascinating, and we end up in a discussion on different clothes and materials.
"I didn't know you were into design."
Taking a sip of the sweet drink, I replied, "I took a special interest after my games."
An arched brow accompanied the question I knew was coming, "Yet, you did not choose it as your talent?"
"No. I wanted it to be something just for me, not the capital to consume."
He nods his head in understanding, and I believe him. It is rare a citizen from the capital understands or even tries too but with Cinna, it feels real and warm.
Cinna made the lunch bearable, a feat considering how much I dislike this place and those who reside in it. I managed to coax the Bank CEO into sponsorship and a few others after when making my rounds through the tables. I take particular delight as I order berries and cream, glancing at Plutarch. I know what happened to the old one. He had hinted at it a few months ago.
Gloss is unexpectedly here, on some arm of a reporter of some gossip column. We were able to converse for a bit. Saying nothing at all, as one does at these social affairs. We made eye contact every time his companion made a quip or a disastrously inaccurate idea about some information they heard from their sources about other victors. Covert smiles exchanged and the shared pain at her cheers for a thrilling game this year, made the day not as bad. Companionship inevitably does compel people to feel better. Shared pain and the feeling that others can understand you always feel comforting.
As we drew in for a hug goodbye, Gloss whispered "Tonight?"
A simple nod and an "Of course, I will be seeing you fairly soon Gloss dear" let him know I would stop by once he was done with this 'companion'.
Grateful, the promise sponsors I received today involved no more than honey-sweet words, I headed back to the Training Center. Once I make it to my floor, I immediately change into something more comfortable that doesn't remind me of wandering hands and Quintin's compliments. It falls to the floor and I toss my clutch and shoes on top of it. Abandoning it for later.
I head to the common room with a pad and pen. I scribble some notes of the other tributes. Reviewing their games from start to finish, watching old interviews, even end up taking a quick power nap. It is dinner time before Finnick arrives back. He says nothing; just lies on the pallet with me. He gently rests his head on my lap as the 50th quarter quell plays. I run my calloused hand through his bronze hair, playing with it absentmindedly.
He wraps his arms around me and buries his head. We don't speak of it; our day's, Snow's games never end. I just continue until he slips asleep, his breath evening out. It is then that Mags comes back from her ventures in the capital. Cassian a bit later, drunk as a skunk, stumbling his way in. Probably drinking with Haymitch and Chaff. Before I could get up to help him, Mags guided him to his room.
When she got back, I woke Finnick up and we ate a late dinner together. I checked on Cassian, so blacked out and filled with Brandy I am surprised he isn't dead, which was probably his intention. On my way back I stopped in my room. Sure that Lupia would give me a fierce stare down if she found wrinkles in the dress. I hang up the fallen dress and set the polished shoes upright underneath it. When I go to move my clutch, I notice something in there that wasn't there before.
A simple note, carefully folded in half, and then half again on a square piece of crisp paper:
Come alone.
12:00
Rooftop
The back held a detailed drawing of a Mockingjay. Placing it back in my clutch and setting it on the nightstand I head back to the table. There were only so many people at that luncheon. I didn't recognize the handwriting. It could be a cruel test. To see if I was a traitor. Or it could be something big. Bigger than myself. Sitting down in our usual spots with Mags at the head and Finnick and I on either side of her. I try not to count how many of these we had left. 6: Opening ceremony, 3 days of physical training. One of a strategy and interview night. Only 6 more days before the arena. Only 6 more dinners with Mags and Finnick before one or two of us inevitably die. Small talk and conversations about the day fill the room. Mags is having one of her good days, so she is talking. Even that doesn't produce the normal wave of happiness. The arena hangs over us like a heavy fog. Inside jokes to laugh at, Finnick making unnecessary dirty limericks, causing me to throw a roll at him, and witty banter lightened the foul mood in the end, though.
Finnick never fails to make me smile. A true smile, not the capital mask we both wear. His laughter lights up the room and fills it. The glow in his eyes warms my soul.
Eventually, we all head to bed. I make sure to get a head start, feigning tiredness, despite my earlier nap. I finally decide what to do about the note. I'll scope it out. See who is there and then play my cards. If it is a test, I'll say I was going to see who it was and report back to Snow. I make my way off the floor. Silent as possible. I know Finnick can wake up at any time because of night terrors.
When the elevator doors open, I find a lone figure holding a glass. My shock must be present on my face because there is a reply to it.
"Well, sweetheart what are we here for?"
A/N: I was thinking of maybe writing Quinton x Maria in detail but decided it isn't quite necessary for this story, I might upload it as a different story if readers want to read that part. But I didn't want to include it in graphic detail when people weren't expecting it. So that way TW's are a bit easier to navigate. I am going through these chapters fixing some grammar mistakes and some typos. I am sure to miss some, so I am sorry about that.