Song Suggestion: Naughty Boy- "No One's Here to Sleep" Ft. Dan Smith
Thank You: Guest, 3vlee, Lucy Greenhill, Rachel, Sandraanatalia, MarianneH, EsmereldaTriste, HeyBirdy, cd291104!
Vipers and Venom
Upon returning to her table, Prim noticed someone taking up her seat, talking to Persephone animatedly. After seeing who it was, Prim tried to turn around and exit the situation but was too late.
"Why isn't it the low life twat?" Mrs. Manniola all but cooed. Prim had to hand it to her, even though it was an insult, it came out in a cultured voice.
"Original. I'm wounded, really. Now if you can excuse me—"
"Where are you running off to so quickly?" She stood and so did Persephone. "It's time for the ladies to convene for their annual meeting. It is expected for a future wife of a victor to attend. Though," she glanced her up and down with familiar judgment, "I'm sure everyone would understand if you missed. It's not as if you could add anything valuable."
Prim fumed inside. As much as she chanted at herself to "not care", the comments got to her. She clenched her fists. Her mouth almost disobeyed her logic before she noticed Persephone looking at her sideways, as if waiting for her reaction, as if this would tell her everything. Prim didn't want to give either of them the satisfaction. Besides, what did Persephone say about enemies? Keep your enemies close? It sounded like a stupid concept and a lonely one, but in this instance, she was backed into a corner.
She had to agree.
Ten Minutes Later
The ladies met in a backroom. There were several tables, much smaller than in the main room. More intimate. In the center, two long ropes hung down with gold finales in the shape of a jagged piece of rock.
Katla was already there, sitting next to Mrs. Carthage with a sour look on her face. Out of the twenty ladies she knew no one else besides Theodora who winked at her.
Prim hurried over to Katla. Persephone followed her. A girl urged the red-haired woman to sit at another table, but Persephone shook her head and sat by Theodora. The only open spot was right next to her.
Katla noticed her.
"Oh, thank God you came. I thought you almost had the balls to ditch, and then I'd be left with the she-bitch monsters of—"
"Sit down, dear," Mrs. Carthage told her out of the corner of her mouth, her words laced with venom, "you are holding everybody up."
Prim looked around to notice that not only had she been the last to arrive, but the last to sit down. The whole room gave her pointed stares. Prim blushed and sat down.
Prim wasn't so sure what she wanted out of coming to "Tea Time," but it certainly wasn't so that everyone could insult and look down on her. A part of Prim desired to be liked, even if by a crowd of vicious snakes. She wanted to show them that she was more than a slum rat. Just because she grew up poor did not make her dirty or stupid or uncouth. All poverty made her was ignorant of the customs and culture of the uber-rich.
A random woman Prim did not know with an afro of curly blond hair stood up and walked to the center of the room next to the rope. It wasn't until she turned, and she could see her face, that she realized she was very old. The wrinkles in her face smoothed out in some places, but in others they sagged, betraying her.
"Welcome ladies, and as you all know this is the 46th annual Tea Time. I would have liked to have thanked Jannie Brick for all the hard work she put into this year's sponsor's dance, but, well," the lady visibly gulped and brought her hand to mess with the fluffy material lining her cleavage, "Since the incident at the club with her son..." She trailed off and then but on a forced bright smile, "But let us not give one more thought to negativity tonight. I'll send her our regards and we can get to business."
She reached out and grabbed one of the robes and gave a tug. Above the ceiling, a bell clanged.
Theodora leaned across the table, "That's the signal to start the meeting. The second bell calls the conclusion."
Prim tried to pay attention, but after the next woman got up to speak, a lady with makeup in the shape of a white mask covering half her face. It was to cover a dark birthmark but it was unable to be concealed. She spoke self-consciously, touching the tips of her hair the whole time and looking at the floor. Her soft voice lulled Prim, after the constant tension of the day, into a state of complacency.
"I'm happy to tell you all," the girl all but whispered, "That the efforts to create separate bathrooms in the public areas for the quarry workers and their families have been completed. We spent 14% of our allocated budget, and we..."
Prim resurfaced every now and then, but quickly zoned out again, despite her best efforts. Mrs. Manniola was right; there wasn't much she could contribute. In fact, there wasn't much she would want to contribute. The proper ladies of district 2 were just as vapid in their dealings in business as they were in relationships.
Every motion put to the floor, or item of past successful ventures discussed had to do with separating the classes. New bathrooms for the poor, so they wouldn't have to sit on the same toilets and risk "contamination." Different stores for food. A new road to the quarries, following a different route, taking them on a roundabout walking way that added thirty minutes to the trip for the workers just so they weren't walking on the streets.
The biggest venture had been the removal of a whole community of shanty shacks residing too close to an upper-echelon mansion because the filth the quarry workers had to work in spoiled the view. They provided the people with no other means of housing, simply bulldozed the settlement to the ground with only a day's warning, taking away their means to shelter their families. In the middle of winter, no less. And nobody seemed to find anything wrong with it. In fact, they applauded, as if they did humanity a favor.
Prim tried her best not to let her anger visibly show. Instead, she shook inside with rage and disdain.
But Katla made no such effort. She crossed her arms on her chest with a pinched face and a scowl, getting meaner and fiercer with each new report or motion. Prim kept glancing sideways at her, wondering at which point the girl would explode and she would have to intervene.
And no wonder. The lack of humanity was disturbing, and she could only imagine how Katla felt, considering her background.
Finally, after what seemed hours, the meeting winded down. Mrs. Manniola stood up and walked to the take the floor. Prim internally groaned. Didn't she hear enough from her on a regular basis?
"And now for the most important and symbolic task of the night—"
"Let me guess, it's a recommendation to bathe in Virgin's blood to improve the complexion." Katla said in a deadpan voice, sitting back, not even bothering to cross her legs in her dress.
Half the guests gasped, and the other half, the half that didn't hear what she said, twittered nervously.
Mrs. Maniola's synthetic cheer vanished. Prim marveled at how fast she could strip it away. She pursed her red lips for a moment, smacking them in thought and piercing Katla with a deadly glare.
"What did you say?"
"Oh, you heard me, you hateful bitch. But I can say it again if you want." Her voice went louder.
The room erupted with noise. It simmered quickly, as if they were eager to hear what she had to say next.
"Katla!" Mrs. Carthage seethed. "Apologize this instant you vulgar—"
"Perhaps you should—" Theodora said while reaching out and trying to grap Katla's arm. But Katla sidled away, just in time, standing.
"No, I've had enough." She turned to the crowd, "I've had it with these stupid bubbles," She tried to rip a bubble off the dress to no avail, "And these stupid shoes," she took off her heels. "But most of all, I've had it with this fucking pointless shit. I used to wonder why Hannibal liked me over you bitches, but I think I know why. I'd rather be poor and homeless than forced to spend another second with creatures like you."
With dramatic flair, she threw the shoes across the room. They crashed into a table sending wine, tea, and food over a collection of ladies, splattering it across their bodies. A few screamed, and one lady fainted.
Katla laughed so hard at the sight, she bent at the waist.
"Katla!" Mrs. Carthage seethed. Her voice reminded Prim of Cato, of the moments where he teetered at the edge of sanity, ready to unleash hell at the slightest provocation. Katla had embarrassed her on the deepest level. "Sit down."
"I know you're such a cultured snob, you probably wipe your ass with pure gold, but I assume you still dig in the dirt enough to understand this." Katla stuck her middle finger up in the air, "But in case you don't, it means Fuck you."
She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, slamming the doors behind her.
Chaos ensued.
Ten Minutes Later
It took ten whole minutes for the mess to be cleaned up and for the rest of ladies to sit back down and stop talking. Four ladies, covered in wine and food, had to be escorted out. Tears streamed down their faces, one so comatose with shock, she had to be carried out by a burly guard in a black suit similar to training garb.
Soon enough, Mrs. Manniola resumed her position at the front. She straightened her skirt and popped her red lips. Her unnatural skin stretched tight over cheekbones, giving her face odd angles, as she smiled. It was a smile meant to be calming, but it made Prim shiver.
"In 46 years we have not allowed circumstance to hinder tradition of our meeting, and I shall not allow such a minor disturbance to either. The gathering of women is sacred, for we are natural organizers. Without us, the world would be ugly and tainted and disheveled. We may not wield an actual broom, but through our efforts we sweep the streets of District 2 free of filth."
The whole room was so silent Prim feared if she breathed they would hear it. At the moment, Prim wished she had the courage to follow Katla out, saying fuck you as she went. For the moment, she did as she was told, sitting quietly. Her new feelings for Cato complicated things. For the long term, she wanted to get along with his family. To do that she needed to stay seated and be quiet. The sooner she did that, the sooner it would be over.
As Mrs. Manniola continued to speak, saying the creed of Tea Time and a pledge, Prim zoned out again, counting the ticking in her mind as if seconds.
Until everything became quiet.
So quiet, she was pulled from her daydreaming. It was only then that she noticed that along with being quiet, every eye in the entire room was staring at her, some with animosity, some with curiosity, some with apathy, and some with, what she assumed was, desire.
What did I miss?
Her back straightened. And she glanced around for some clues. Prim never sought to be center of attention, and the few times she found herself smack in the middle of stares and whisperings without her consent, it caused great anxiety.
Katniss told her one day before a school presentation: "Prim, what's the worst that can happen?"
"They could laugh at me." She answered burying her head beneath the covers.
"So, can laughter hurt you? Can it make you bleed? If they do, just laugh with them. It takes away the power, and then you'll be invincible."
"They could call me stupid"
"Then show them you aren't."
"They could call me ugly."
"Well then, little duck," she tugged the covers down to expose her face, "That would make them stupid."
In the end, she carried her sister's words with her to school, but she never had to use them. No one laughed at her or called her ugly or stupid.
But Prim realized the same rules did not apply in District 2. Here the snakes ruled with venom made of words and mouths filled with teeth ready to puncture the skin and make a person bleed on the inside. How can a person cauterize a burn that is unseen?
Mrs. Manniola smiled with glee as if Prim's humiliation was the food that sustained her body.
Persephone leaned over. Her soft, silk dress brushed against Prim's arm. And then she saved her.
"They are waiting for you to do your duty. The newest member of the group always concludes the evening by ringing the second bell, just as the oldest rings the first to begin."
Prim was so relieved, it hurt. Gratefulness to someone she wanted to hate always came with a dose of bitter.
On shaky legs, she stood and walked over to the cord.
The crowd stared at her. They became a blob of colors and sounds. Her brain too overwhelmed to concentrate on details. The cord reached down to the floor, made of thick twisted cords. She glanced up, but was unable to determine through the dark holes in the ceiling how far it went up or what size of bell it was meant to pull.
She wrapped her fingers around the cord, unsure what to do from here. Did they expect her to speak? She couldn't even if she wanted to. Her throat felt twice the size of usual.
Finally, her brain rested on a face. She hated her, but she was familiar, and her eyes latched.
Persephone stared back, mouthing, "pull."
She did.
Instead of the clang of the bell, there was a small click. Something wet and slimy splattered across her face, her hair, her shoulders, her clothes. The substance dripped down her legs until it hit her toes.
There was a moment of stunned calm. The silence like a wormhole, sucking emotions into it as it went. Prim reached up and touched her face, bringing her hand back to look. It was bright red. For a moment, she thought it to be blood and almost screamed. But it was thicker and brighter, glowing under the lights.
Paint?
Prim glanced back up at the ceiling in a dumb stupor.
Someone poured paint on her. At least, she thought it was paint.
The first laughs began then, as her head tilted up. They twittered nervously, like hiccups popping around the room, until they became contagious. Soon the hiccups morphed into little gunshots and then into booming cannons. Then the crowd roared, as if this was something they had been waiting for.
"I must say Manny, you really out did yourself with this one." A woman out of the crowd said.
"I put a lot of thought into it. This time was special." Mrs. Manniola answered.
Prim looked for a friendly face but found none. Theodora giggled behind her hand, Mrs. Carthage scowled at her as if it was her fault.
Persephone was the only one without an expression. A complete blank slate, neither smiling or frowning.
It was her childhood nightmare realized.
Ugly, ignorant poor girl. Too stupid to realize she can't fit in.
The laughs began to feel like knives.
It's just paint, she tried to tell herself, just red paint. It's not blood, it's not an injury. Be strong. Be like Katniss. But she wasn't like Katniss. She was vulnerable and soft and she cried.
Wet drops welled in her eyes as she stood there in the middle of the hyenas, the faces blurring them once again, into a solid mass, into one solid monster. They finally got her right where the wanted her, didn't they, her mind screamed. The Miss Manners lessons didn't matter because this was planned to happen from the beginning. All that time spent flicking napkins and practicing curtsies didn't help her here. Not in this arena. Not when they already boxed her into a category.
Persephone got up to say something, but Prim didn't stick around to find out what.
Prim gathered her courage and gave a curtsey, tilting it toward Mrs. Manniola, as if to say See! I'm not affected! In the end, the act wasn't convincing enough.
Prim bolted from the room.
One Minute Later
Prim ran blindly through the hallways, knocking into Gamemakers and District 2 women, tangled together in the hallways.
"Watch where you're going," the lady snarled, but she didn't even slow down enough to give an answer.
One lady gasped and dropped her drinking glass. It shattered on the floor, and Prim crunched the glass as she went.
Several hallways down and her ankle gave out under her, twisting to the side in her heals. She tumbled to the ground.
"Are you alright?" A person, Prim wasn't sure if the they were male or female, asked, bending down as if to help her up.
Prim shooed the person to the side, slipped off her heels, and plodded on opening and closing doors as she went.
Finally, she found a bathroom. It was empty and far away from the main rooms, far enough where no one else seemed to have used it at all. It was quiet and still, a moment of void from the chaos. Prim seized the moment and gave a soft sob, trying not to cry. Now Prim understood why Cato built his cabin in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees, rivers, and mountains, instead of these awful people.
Eventually, she pulled herself together enough to stand up. She leaned down and splashed her face with water. The red paint dripped into the sink, looking more like blood against the porcelain. She grabbed a nearby hand towel blindly and dabbed her face, wiping as much paint away as she could. Her makeup wiped off with it, and it felt good to scrape away the fake mask, the mask meant to fit it.
Though, the red on her face refused to go away. Prim knew it couldn't just be paint. That would be too painless. No, it was dye. It stained her skin burgundy.
Prim closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.
She sighed and glanced into the ornate mirror. And then recoiled.
Through the reflection, Prim saw Persephone leaning against the door frame of the bathroom.
"I thought we'd never get a moment alone." And then she walked in, the door creaking shut behind her.