Disclaimer: This does not belong to me. Suzanne Collins gets all of the credit for the The Hunger Games series. Just haven't said that in a while.
Also, I changed up Scylla and Arlo's costumes because I got a really cool idea while writing this chapter, just to let you know. I did the same with the Sevens rereading their forms, but to a lesser extent.
Anyways, enjoy!
Viola Velveteen, Capitol citizen, Chariot Parade Day
CASINO TYCOON TURN CORPSE: ICARUS PENNYWORTH
BRUTALLY MURDERED
By: Vipsania Rhodesia
I reread the headline again as I peer over my new rose-gold crescent glasses—for style, not practical use, obviously—deeply enthralled. I've always had a mouth for gossip, for hot topics, anything new and important, or even unimportant. I don't care if the stuff is old news by tomorrow, and it probably will be, too, but whatever it is, I have to know it and to gloat about it as I tantalizingly reveal it in tidbits to my friends and siblings. I revel in it!
I delicately scroll down the page, making sure not to use my jewel-encrusted, sapphire colored talons. Further on down, it says:
"Yesterday afternoon immediately after the Reaping Recaps, inherited owner of the Pennyworth Betting Center, Icarus Pennyworth, was shot to death fatally, suffering from a pierced lung. The assailant has not yet been discovered.
He leaves behind three daughters, ages twenty-one, nineteen, and eleven, and a son, Odysseus, eighteen, new owner of the P.B.C., and a loving and devoted wife, Aurumme Pennyworth. She told us earlier today, "Icarus was a… nice, caring man… no matter what I knew… he loved me. I miss… him already." Pennyworth's family have all been interviewed and each one has a solid alibi during the time of death. All are heartbroken in their mourning. The Pennyworth Betting Center played host to many of us, and everyone should mourn this kind and benevolent man who so wonderfully delighted us and did his part in making the world a better place. He will be missed sorely.
No suspects have been taken into custody for the murder of Pennyworth. No one with any helpful evidence has come forward aside from three accounts of hearing male voices arguing about something involving the victim. If you know of anything or anyone suspicious or have evidence against someone, please come forward immediately and inform us. Let us all work together to make justice be served."
The page ends there. I ready her finger to swipe down again. I want to hear more about this man, of the circumstances of the murder, of all of it!
"Viola, hurry up, or you're going to make all of us late!" Vivienne stands a quarter of the way up the stairs yelling down to me as the rest of my family raced up to find our seats.
Sadly, this exciting news article will have to wait. The show is about to start, and I definitely couldn't miss that, could I? Running up the stairs tentatively in my pink stilettos, I reach my older sister of a year.
"Coming, coming, I know!"
At last, we reach their seats, scooting in across Mama, Papa, and Vincent, who is hurriedly taking photos with the vintage camera he found in a repair shop Vivi has reworked for him. An excited silence hushes the crowd in waves. It is palpable.
Under it all, I whisper to my sister beside her, "I know something you don't know," in that perfect, excruciatingly smug voice I have perfected to inspire an unbearable curiosity, so that the person that I am bragging to (Usually Vivi.) is forced to beg me to get me to tell them.
"What is it? What is it?"
Vincent shushes us. "Quiet! The parade will start any minute."
"Oh, I don't think I'll tell you right now." I'm eagerly anticipating the parade, yes, but bragging always comes first. I love to brag, plain and simple. That feeling that it gives me to have knowledge over someone else, of everyone else, is so incredible. The sense of knowledge, of power. It's addictive. It's my vice.
"Oh, come on, sis, please?"
"Oh, fine. I guess I'll let you in." Vivienne leans in. "The head of the P.B.C. was murdered!"
"Murdered?!"
"Yes. And they have ten people in custody already that are under suspicion." I just have to throw that little something in there to prevent my sister from getting the same feeling as me when she learns some more gossip or withholds it. One of the best parts of it is the exclusivity, the superiority. I am greedy and I know it. I like it, too, the greediness, and I don't want to let anybody else have that same fun. That pleasure belongs to me, and nobody else.
All of this doesn't go to say that I'm not psyched for the parade, which I am! It is my favorite moment of the pre-Games ceremonies—nothing could compare to the drama and bloodshed of the Arena. It's my two favorite things put into one: fashion and the Hunger Games! The costumes are dazzling every year! This one is sure to be no different.
I take a hand to my wavy turquoise hair flowing down my back in painstakingly sculpted braids and run a gloved hand across my heavily made up face and down my flowing pink dress attached to a tuxedo jacket at the top. Stylish as could be. It is the faux pas of faux pas to not look your best for the parades, the event of the year steeped in fashion. If you have nothing to wear, you'd best not come.
"I think the Fours are going to steal the show this year, they're both so attractive and charismatic," Vivienne chats to nobody in particular, just begging one of us to contradict her so that she can talk some more about it to somebody that isn't an imaginary friend or, more accurately, herself.
Vincent takes the bait. "But the Ones always look the best, they have the best stylists and the best industry. Their girls are always so… photogenic." He lifts up his camera again to snap more pictures of nothing. Ugh. The boy has just hit puberty, Nero bless him and his perverted mind.
"Both of you are wrong, and I know it," I chime in. I always win in these arguments, it's a wonder they still start them. "I think an outer district will be the best. I don't know which, but we certainly have some outer district standouts this year: The Three girl, Nerissa; and that career girl from Nine; and so many other volunteers, too."
"Oh yeah, which one." Vincent looks on smugly as if he has me beat, like there is no possible comeback that I can retort with.
"Wait and see."
It's that intentional vagueness that always drives people crazy. When they're crazy, they're weak and dumb, prime for me to gloat at them, to get the best of them, and to take advantage of them. That isn't to say that I'm not curious, because I am, painfully so. "Curiosity kills the cat." That's what Mama and Papa would always tell me when I was younger. But I'm too wise and too driven for that. I always want my answer.
The television screen beyond us snaps on as the Panem anthem plays.
"It's starting, it's starting," we all whisper to each other in hushed voice of anticipation.
But something is off. Catonius Flickerman, bless the old man for holding the job for such a long time, is absent. Instead, a new man's peppy and—well, gorgeous—face fills the screen. He wears a shimmering silver tux and his scarlet hair is slicked back with gel and curling at his bangs. His smile is dazzling. All around women coo. I even think I hear one escape Mama as her hand is held in Papa's.
"Hello, hello, Panem!" he says vigorously, waving yet somehow not looking awkward. "My name is Apollo Vanahara, and I am here filling in for your beloved Games host Catonius Flickerman, who I am sorry to inform you was unable to make it due to a medical emergency. Rest assured, he will be back for the training score announcements." He gives a glorious wink.
"Now, let's all welcome our Games announcer, Livia le Champe." The camera retreads to encompass Livia, the mauve-skinned and surgically altered woman with an excellent voice, in the shot. I want to be just like her someday. Mama and Papa say that I can get the alterations once I move out, but I don't want to. The house is so nice and close to the Gamemaking Building, I want to live there forever.
"Thank you, Apollo, what a wonderful night it is for a parade!"
"I totally agree. Who do you think will have some of the best costumes this year? I heard Angelica Angelou, formerly stylist for District Nine, was moved up to District One in a shocking turn of events…"
After around five or ten minutes of thoughtless chatter to fill time, the parade finally starts.
"And first out is District One!" exclaims Livia.
"Looking marvelous as always. Marvel here is all silver like his last named, and his partner Turquesa is gold because… I don't know why. But it still looks fantastic! The turquoise jewelry she wears is a symbol of her name."
Both of the tributes stand still as statues, which I guess is the point. They strike cold and intimidating poses, not going for the usual angle of playing up the crowd. Vincent seems disappointment at this abstract and rather subpar showing.
"Next up is our grand and mighty District of Two!"
"Dressed up as Vikings, ancient warriors of northern Europe. A nice choice!"
Scylla and Arlo stand there, similarly intimidating. Arlo are cloaked in heavy fur jackets and wear horned helmets. He flexes as he carries a battle axe on his shoulder. Under the fur he wears heavy steel armor. He looks rather scary, with his muscular body, attire, strong and square jaw, and the same scowl he wore at the Reaping.
Scylla, meaning, has her hair done up in intricate braids with a matching but feminine horned helmet. She wears a high skirt and skimpier armor, with fluttering silver wings on her back. The peculiar blue face paint still adorns her face, how odd. She is significantly less intimidating.
"Arlo is dressed as a Viking warrior, and Scylla as a Val-ky-rie," Apollo annunciates slowly, "supernatural beings that rescued dying warriors and took them to Valhalla, where those who died heroically in battle went. At least, that's what it says on my notecards." He flashes a debonair grin at the camera, and all that I want to do is laugh with him.
The next chariot that passes through is District Three. It pales after the success of District Two, though both of the tributes make up for what the costumes lack in originality. Both are in black unitards spangled with electric lights and wrapped in wire. The boy waves and smiles energetically, hyping us up in the crowd, while the girl flashes her bright smile and flashes a few winks here and there to select people. She gets roses in return. Vincent has already thrown his to the Ones and is complaining loudly about not waiting for the Twos. Vivi is obviously going to throw hers to the Fours. I'm still undecided.
Disrict Four rolls in next, and they are by far the best so far. The girl, Talisa, I think, looks positively radiant in her siren costume. I want to be her. Meanwhile, her partner with the long four syllable name is working up the crowd by performing slapstick: Gasping as he looks over to his partner, talking to the bird on his shoulder, and performing sea shanty dances. Both are doing very well.
Then Five comes, the first district so far not to be doing very well in terms of tribute performance. Both look extremely uncomfortable in their furry black costumes sparkling with tiny lights. I will admit the neon fives on their backs are eye catching, but both of them seem to be supporting each other.
"Nice to see a little district partner camaraderie going on," remarks Apollo.
The red-faced boy looks like he may vomit, wouldn't that be so hilarious? Then, all of a sudden, a blinding light flashes before my eyes, and for a moment I cannot see. As the shock of whiteness dims, everything is twice as bright on their costumes. Their unitards are now rainbow colored. It actually looks quite visually pleasing. While they may not be the prettiest costumes, they are surely the most eye catching.
Six, on the other hand, is a different story. Both tributes are jammed into some sort of neon blue and red plane replica. The girl is driving while the boy tries to amuse the audience by goofing off, but we are more laughing at him than with him. Overall, it is a failure.
Seven is not much better. Both tributes are dressed as lumberjacks, which is not an advisable choice considering one of the tributes looks like she must weigh only a little bit more than she axe she is trying to hold, emphasis on trying. The poor girl eventually gives up after her partner nudges her and whispers into her ear. She then begins to smile and wave, having given up. Meanwhile, the aforementioned boy, who can't be more than a few inches over five feet, winks flirtatiously at the camera as he flexes his muscles with a cocky and confident yet amiable smirk.
District Eight is shockingly impressive. The chubby boy's makeup is dripping down his face in black tear-shaped marks as he tries to looks appealing in a shimmering ebony suit. He has streaks of purple added to his hair. The girl, meanwhile, has stolen the show. She looks magnificent, powerful. Her hair is curled and waved under a diamond and silver tiaras showing phases of the moon. Her dress is midnight black, flowing and twisting around her arms to curl on her middle fingers. She stands tall and proud in her beautiful outfit and heels. She stares ahead coldly like a warrior. I throw my rose to her.
"My, my, my," says Apollo on the television screen. "Eight has put on a strong showing this year."
"Yes, it has," Livia agrees.
And right after the strongest showing is the weakest. Upon seeing the District Nine chariot, I burst into hysterical laughter. Two massive bagels stand on the chariots, afraid to move for knocking each other off of the chariot. The crowd erupts into giggles and snorts. The girl, Imperia—I only remember her because her name is so similar to President Nero's, Imperius, though it can't be intentional since he came to rule only a few years ago—looks furious. Her partner, meanwhile, just looks sad.
District Ten's costumes aren't much of note. They are cowboys, as it seems Ten's tributes are at least every three years. Brown leather and gold paint clash against tacky cowboy hats. The boy is trying to play up the cute angle while the girl just seems to be staring off into space, as if in some serene alternate universe. Her eyes are closed, and her head cocked. A small smile dances on her lips, though her cheeks twitch. Something isn't right with her, and I'm so excited to see what it is! I hope she's like the psychopath girl from Ten from six or seven years back.
Eleven keeps a nice, steady flow. The girl is certainly charismatic, and she is putting on a good performance. Her partner, meanwhile, has frozen up, and looks like he wishes he could crawl into the silvery bucket strapped to his partner's back. I wonder why he volunteered. Probably some sort of depressed orphan who'll jump off of his pedestal or something just as disappointing.
Last is District Twelve, always a lackluster finale to this grand event. They're dressed in the typical coal miner costumes, tearful as always. Why does stage fright always affects these district folk so? Why do they always go directly to crying, too? Well, at least the boy is a change of pace. He isn't crying, he's fuming.
"You must have cheated, Viola, got one of your "secret scoops"!" Vincent exaggeratedly makes air quotes as he storms ahead of us.
"Just pure intuition," I respond.
"Your intuition was wrong. District Four's costume was the best, and you know it!" Vivi holds her chin sky high and brushes her purple hair out of her face, giving me a perfect view up her nostrils.
"My intuition is never wrong," I say, coyly giggling. "And by the way, you've got a booger in your nose."
I skip off happily, leaving her in the dust, to my parents.
"That was so much fun, Mama, Papa. Thank you so much for taking me!"
"We never miss it, sweetie," Papa says, winking.
"Don't forget, we enjoy it just as much as you do," Mama adds. She elbows me secretively. "What did you think of the new commentator?"
"He's a catch. I wish Catonius would just get sick and die so we could have him."
Mama laughs.
Tonight was brilliant! The dazzling lights, the costumes, good and bad, President Nero's captivating speech, all of it. Plus just one of many one-up on my siblings. Vincent doesn't know what he's doing, and Vivi can't touch me when it comes to gossip.
Oh! I just remembered the article from before. I slide my hand into my fluffy pink handbag searching for my phone.
"Viola Velveteen. Come with us." An unseen, deep, professional voice calls out my name. My name? What could I have done?
My mind instantaneously flashes back to a month ago, running down those black obsidian hallways just to get a peek at some Hunger Games intel. Overhearing that conversation between Nero and the Head Gamemaker. Getting accidentally locked into the mutt sector and seeing those horrific dogs and snakes and trees and monsters of all other sorts before I made my escape through the side door at the end of the sector.
Oh no.
How could he possibly know about that? I was so quiet and stealthy, and I disabled the camera's with Vivi's device. Vivi. Always screwing everything up. Maybe I just underestimated the security—a good thing, I don't want any rebel scum breaking in—but I'll still blame it on her. She claimed it was foolproof. My dumb older sister, spending her days making faulty inventions in the basement while I actually try to become famous a different way, a smarter way. She can't do anything right.
I glance over at her and see a look of confusion and worry on her face, mirrored by the rest of my family's and probably me, too. Now, I see a tall man with platinum blonde hair, built like an ox, standing in a tuxedo yards away. Just what I suspected—no, feared. One of the president's men.
"Yes, sir," I say meekly letting him lead me into the limo that is awaiting.
"We'll be at our house! Can you drop her off there?" Papa has to shout at maximum volume to be heard over the crowd further pulling us apart.
"We, will, Mr. Velveteen."
And with that, the heavily tinted windows rise up, and all four of my family members shoot a concerned, pitying look—that is, except for Vincent, who merely seems inconvenienced and jealous.
Inside the limo, none of the men speak, leaving me bucketloads of time to ponder what is going on here. Something good or something bad, I do not know. I hope President Nero knows that I am a respectful, loyal, and patriotic Capitol girl. I would never even think of doing something rebellious.
I'm scared of that man, who I once thought and still do think of as a grandfatherly figure to the nation. I less saw him that thrilling day in the almost empty Gamemaking building and more felt him, felt his commanding and domineering presence. Yet, in the back of my mind, there is a tingle of anticipation, of excitement. I'm about to meet the president! I could conjure up any sort of story to my family, brag of my or his heroic exploits, add in a little suspense towards the middle or end. Vivienne and Vincent would be green with envy!
The limo finally pulls up at the presidential mansion. When I step out, I have to pause momentarily to take in the splendor of it all. It is magnificent, a cross between a beautiful chateau from the Old World, and a strong, undaunted Medieval castle. It is painted a yellowish white, with accents of gold shining through the darkness of night. On one of the pillars, the one closest to the entrance and to the left, is engraved with a long scripture. Its right counterpart has the name of all of the President and their time of reign. There, at the bottom of the list, is:
Imperius Nero, (441 P.G.F.-
"Miss, we must now enter." One of the men, the same one from before, takes my arm.
"Yes, sir."
The inside is just as beautiful, lush with expensive and gorgeous upholstery and rich and fine colors, but the bodyguard-ish men sent to summon me do not allow me to take it all in. Oh well, the president awaits, and we mustn't keep him that way.
We walk up a long staircase, leading to a large set of wooden doors. I assume that this is his office. They escort me in.
"Miss Velveteen, hello. Take a seat." President Nero sits in his luxurious chair. His presence is so strong that I feel like it is a struggle to take every forward step, like I am pushing through his walls of force. His voice is loud and booming. Even as we're both seated, he towers a head over me with his muscular frame. His red hair is licked back and matches his velvet suit and signature cape.
"Dear, President, may I say that I am so honored to be in the same room with you?" I ask in one flustered second. "And that if I did anything wrong, please remember that I did not know the full extent of the consequences of my actions, and that I would never do anything of such nature ever, ever, ever again. I would do anything to imprison one of those dirty rebel district monkeys any day, I am loyal patriot woman."
"Yes, I will, Miss Velveteen. I ask you to remember not to go sneaking into the Gamemaking Building like that ever again when you are off duty." He must see the look of resignation and guilt on my face as dread spreads through my veins. "Yes, we have knowledge of that, and knew of it as you were doing it. We merely didn't think you would be much harm, and since your family is so well-respected, the decided to merely warn your parents that something like that again would get you caught and punished. Because of you spreading your spoilers and rumors, we have had to make a few slight… changes to our mutts, in addition to successfully squandering most of the rumors, but nothing else."
"I am so incredibly sorry, Mister President. It will never happen again." Now, I expect to be fired from the Gamemaking staff. I can feel my dream slipping around like sand in my fingers. I want to be famous, and I want to be powerful! This is my only chance.
"So, you may be thinking, why did he summon me here? Well, Miss Velveteen, I assume that by now you have heard of the murder of Icarus Pennyworth. We know that The Capitolite's Delights is your favorite magazine, and they just today published an article on it. Am I right?"
"Yes, sir, you are correct."
"I assume that you are not aware of the death of Catonius Flickerman, which happened only minutes before you were summoned."
I gasp. Catonius Flickerman, dead? He was entertaining and all, but now Apollo gets to stay on the screen!
"No, sir, you are correct."
"With this new development, I would like to request something of you."
"Anything you want, Mister President."
"I know that you already work as an intern in the architectural department. I would like you to agree to a promotion to work directly as Head Gamemaker Cassiopeia Obsidian's personal assistant."
My jaw drops. "Yes, sir, that sounds marvelous." The way he phrases it, I know it isn't a request but an order, and yet, that only pleases me more. I'm already moving up. I can't wait to brag to everybody else. First comes this, next comes a promotion a high-up junior position in another field, and then, once I'm head of that field, more and more promotions, until I'm head Gamemaker, maybe even by the time I'm thirty! "You can count on me, sir."
"Miss Velveteen, I am not done."
I adjust, really to jump up out of my seat and shakes his massive hand. I try to make it seem natural as I straighten my dress.
"Your job also entails keeping an hourly log of what the Head Gamemaker is up to, and successfully doing this without her knowledge. Mrs. Obsidian needs to be strictly monitored."
"I will, President Nero."
"Excellent. You will be moved up by tomorrow, expect to fully assume your new responsibilities and strive to meet and excel past all of her demands. It is essential that she have no suspicion or distrust of you.
"I am putting a lot of faith in you, Viola. You must be aware that if you do not do your job properly and Obsidian is in fact working with the rebels as I suspect, the consequences will be disastrous. You must tell nobody of this."
A bowling ball drops in my stomach.
"I will not fail you, sir."
"I doubt that you will, Miss Velveteen. You may leave." He stands up and holds out his hand. I have to reach up to shake, but it feels so satisfying. I'm empowered and powerful.
The men escort me out of the room, then the mansion, and back into the limo. This is only the first step. In a few years, they're all going to know my name.
I take out my phone and pull up the article once again to keep scrolling. The curiosity, the secrecy, the relief, and the excitement all take hold of me, and I am shivering and getting confused looks from my escorts, but I don't care. I'm ecstatic!
Thank you to you if you are actually reading this, because I know that everybody doesn't always read interludes. This is actually the longest one-POV chapter, twice as long as the second placer. I think that this shows how far my writing has come, and I'm proud of myself.
What about these costumes? Who was your favorite, who was your least favorite? Any surprises or disappointments? Leave it all in the reviews!
And can we talk about these crazy new developments? A second murder is in the books, and this time it is somebody that everybody has heard of. Will there be more? Viola got a new promotion and let in on a little secret that she may have trouble keeping. And, the Head Gamemaker may be in on some rebel activity. I know this subplot is a bit out there and crazy, especially for my first SYOT but I'm proud of it, and it's going places. Here are the questions:
Who did Vincent predict would have the best costumes?
Who had your favorite costume? Least favorite?
Please give all of your thoughts in the reviews about everything! My writing, the Capitol subplot, the costumes, Viola, Nero, and all of the other characters. Next chapter, we will have the first set of four training POVs, coming from Sierra, Cassius, Turquesa, and Talisa, so be on the lookout. Have a great day wherever you are.
-Mills