Chapter 65- Terra Coppersmith
"There, you look beautiful!" Sappho says, stepping back to admire her work.
"Nobody will be able to keep their hands off of you," Lem says, clasping his hands together in delight.
"They'd better be able to," Shuttle says, pushing through my prep team. "You do look beautiful, Terra."
"Thank you," I say. Shuttle and I are currently in a sort of truce, and neither of us has screamed at each other today. Woven acts like she's walking on eggshells around us, and in a way she's not wrong to do it.
"When are we leaving?" I ask, looking to an unusually sober Postumius who's standing by the door. As always, he's wearing an orange suit, which is about two inches too short on the pant legs, and he's added a bright purple bow tie on the top. Instead of curls, he's slicked his hair back, and the whole thing is just unappealing. He must choose his own clothes, because no self-respecting stylist would put him in that.
"Right away!" he says brightly. I take one last look at myself in the mirror, twisting and turning to see all of my finery. The floor length silver dress has a small train pooling behind me; the fabric sparkles in the light. Damius gave me a diamond necklace, with earrings to match, and a fur shrug to go around my shoulders. My hair is piled up on my head, and I really do look sensational.
"Then let's go," I say, and I walk out after Postumius, with Shuttle by my side. She's also dressed beautifully, as is Woven. Woven looks quite uncomfortable in a dress however.
We're all quiet in the car, which is a nicer one than we've had in the districts. We round the corner, and there's the President's Mansion, so large and lit up it takes my breath away. Oddly dressed people go up the marble steps in droves.
As the car stops, the previous weeks melt away, all my worries and insecurities and flashbacks just disappear. Tonight I can be Terra Coppersmith, the victor; beautiful, witty, and unforgettable.
"You are not to leave my side tonight, do you hear?" Shuttle mutters in my ear.
"What on earth happens at these things that made you and Silver so worried?" I ask.
"There's always wealthy men who will want to take advantage of you. I don't intend to let them get the chance. So stay by me, alright?"
"Alright," I say. An attendant in a black suit, which fits much better than Postumius's, opens the door; Shuttle slides out first, then the attendant gives me a white gloved hand. I take a second, balancing myself correctly, making sure my skirt falls properly, and then I'm following Shuttle up the marble steps, with Woven close behind.
It's mayhem as soon as we get in the door. It seems like every Capitol citizen must be here, talking, eating, dancing, and now pressing forward to get a look at me, their latest toy. Some wear beetle like shells of equipment and press cameras into my face. I do my best to smile and look cheerful, even though everything is suddenly overwhelming.
"Terra! How do you feel tonight?"
"How do you like the Capitol?"
"Are you going to be a mentor in the next Hunger Games?"
"Your dress is stunning! Your stylist is a brilliant man!"
"What's your talent?"
The questions bombard me from all directions, and in response to them I simply laugh and wave. Woven pushes me surreptitiously from behind, making me take tiny steps further into the mansion. The crowd backs up, then presses back in, closer and closer.
One woman has pink horns implanted in her forehead, another has vines and flowers looping up her arm, like the little girl from 9 had at her interview. I can tell many of them have been drinking, what with their empty cups and loud voices, too friendly to just be Capitol manners.
Shuttle smiles a fake, toothy smile and grips my arm tightly. "I'm afraid we can't just stand here by the door; Terra simply must try the food!" she says. Some of the Capitol guests back away, but most press even farther in, overlarge eyes looking me up and down.
"Come, let's give the lady space," says a man approaching us in a dark blue suit, holding a blue crystal glass. I can feel Shuttle tense next to me, and I look back and forth between the man and my mentor.
The guests peel away after he speaks, their attention turning to the banquet tables, conversation amongst themselves, and dancing. Even the photographers back away slightly, but keep their cameras on me.
"Miss Caries, what a pleasure to see you again so soon," the man says, kissing her hand. Shuttle stays stiff next to me, barely acknowledging the man in front of us. Woven has stepped a distance away, but continues to watch with a hawk like gaze.
"And this must be our newest victor," the man says, taking my hand next. I notice he lets it go far quicker than Shuttle's, his eyes glancing down at the space where my fourth finger used to be. "Terra Coppersmith, what a surprise to see you in the Capitol."
My voice is stronger than I feel when I say, "Not a surprise to me at all, sir; everything went just as planned."
"And I suppose losing your sweetheart was part of the plan as well?" He raises an eyebrow.
"He wasn't my sweetheart, just a temporary dalliance," I say, trying not to choke on my words.
"And how many dalliances have you had?"
"A girl never tells, sir. But he was my last, I'm afraid." Shuttle hasn't relaxed next to me yet, and her hand has an iron grip on my arm. Something is wrong about this man, and so I feel better about lying to him.
"Forgive me for not introducing myself; I am Pluto Smallbee, Head Gamemaker. Before I got my position, I sponsored your mentor here," he says, nodding to Shuttle. She puts a fake smile on her face. "I'm afraid that Gamemakers cannot sponsor, or I might have helped you out as well." Pluto tips my chin up with a rough hand. "Pity," he says, then walks away.
"The devil," Shuttle mutters.
"He's gone now, there, there Shuttle," Woven says, coming and putting her arm around Shuttle, who finally relaxes.
"What did he do?" I ask, watching him walk away into the crowd and disappear. "Besides try to kill us all."
"Hopefully nothing you'll ever have to worry about," Woven says. "I have to talk to some friends of my own; Shuttle, why don't you take Terra over to the banquet tables."
The food here is divine, and there is so much of it. What happens after the feast, when there's bound to be leftovers? Do they just throw it away? I think of back home where hardly anyone gets enough to eat, and the thought of so much waste is horrifying to me.
Shuttle leans into my ear as I take a bite of chicken, whispering about which officials to steer clear of, and others who are alright to talk to.
"See that man over there?" she says, pointing to a frail looking man who walks slightly stooped over, but appears to have had so many surgeries and alterations that he looks no more than fifty. "He's really in his nineties, and is one of the worst men in this room. Stay away from him."
"Who is he?" I ask, my mouth full.
"Augustus Thorneworth. He's taken advantage of more than a few tributes over the years."
I look around at the sea of glittering jewels and outlandish costumes, and after a while I stop looking at the clothes and more at the people who wear them. How old are they all? Most look quite young, but I can't tell whether they are truly young or have been altered to look that way.
"Try this, it's wonderful," Shuttle says, passing a small bowl of soup to me. It's blue, dotted with gold specks. When I put a spoonful into my mouth, I know it's the best thing I've ever tasted.
"Are you keeping your victor all to yourself, Shuttle?" A young man, a real one, who looks to be in his mid-twenties, has come over. Unlike most of the guests, he hasn't altered himself in any significant way; his dark hair is longer on top and streaked with blue, pulled back into a pony tail. He wears a navy-blue suit, which looks good on him, and he has the same sort of smile that Fletcher had.
My god, I miss Fletcher so much.
"Aero!" Shuttle cries, throwing her arms around the man's neck with a genuine smile. The man called Aero hugs her back, giving her a kiss as they break away from each other.
"Shuttle, aren't you going to introduce me to your young friend here?" he asks her, smiling.
"Oh, of course," Shuttle says, uncharacteristically flustered. "Terra, this is Aero Carter; Aero, this is Terra Coppersmith, this year's victor."
"Charmed, I'm sure," Aero says, shaking my hand. "I'm happy for you, Shuttle; I know how much you wanted a victor this year. And I'm happy for you of course, Terra, for making it out alive. Bit touch and go for a little bit there."
"It was," I agree.
"They're looking over here," Shuttle says, gripping Aero's sleeve.
"Then I must go. We can't upset the sponsors, now can we?"
He smiles Fletcher's smile again, and Shuttle smiles back, truly happy. "We'll talk soon," he says, and walks away without a glance back.
Shuttle and I stay quiet for a few minutes after Aero Carter vanishes into the crowd. I finish the bowl of soup in the meantime and try to read the expression on Shuttle's face.
"So who is he?" I finally ask.
"A friend."
"He's one of the good ones, isn't he?"
"Aero is the best," Shuttle says with a sigh. She doesn't say anything more about him, but her face is more relaxed now, genuinely happy.
More guests come up to us, some congratulating me on my win, others come to gawk at this year's victor. I see them stare at my hands and try to get glimpses of my feet that are hidden beneath my dress. Luckily, they don't see much.
The photographers and cameramen press in close again, asking questions and not expecting answers in return. Their painted faces and grotesque alterations make them look like demons behind their flashing cameras.
"How are you coping without Fletcher?"
"What's your favorite thing you've eaten tonight?"
"Have you met anyone new?"
"How do you feel being a victor?"
"What's your favorite color?"
The last one catches me off guard with its ridiculousness and I blurt out, "Yellow!"
The journalists laugh and scribble the word down in their little notebooks. Really, in the Capitol with all its extravagance, they still use notebooks? One would think they would have some sort of electronic pads or something instead of paper. They're keeping District 7 in business.
"Terra, come with me," Shuttle says, keeping her smile on, but her grip is back to being iron on my arm. The photographers attempt to follow us, but the crowd envelops the two of us, hiding us from view.
"They were getting irritating," Shuttle says once we're a distance away, and I laugh.
"More irritating than him?" I ask, pointing to Postumius who's across the room, performing some sort of odd dance while holding a champagne glass.
"No," Shuttle says, and I laugh again. The people swirl around me, blending together into one bizarrely colored wall of feathers and fabric. I pick some people out that I know; I see Damius, being congratulated on his great stylistic achievements this year, my prep team well across the room talking with other brightly colored women; the president flashes by every once in a while, his eye on me. It gives me the shivers to see him, even though we're in his own house. And sometimes I see Aero, which is reassuring even if I don't know him.
After a few hours being here, it gets to be too much, the noise and the crowd and everything. "When can we go?" I whisper to Shuttle. True to her word, she hasn't left me alone all night.
"In a while. The victor can't leave early, unfortunately."
"What time even is it?" I whisper back to her.
"Not sure. Hold on," she says. Shuttle puts her hand out and catches the first person walking by by the arm. "Excuse me, can you tell the victor the time?"
The woman whips out a tiny gold watch and says in the stereotypical high-pitched Capitol accent, "Quarter to midnight. And congratulations on your victory!"
"Thank you," I say, and she melts back into the mob of guests.
"Right, at one we can leave," Shuttle says. "Let's go find Woven."
Shuttle keeps her hand on my arm as we push our way through the guests; I knock one woman wearing pink's arm, spilling champagne all the way down her front. I don't even get the chance to apologize before I lose sight of her again. How many people are even here? The mansion is huge, and it's full, wall to wall.
"There she is," Shuttle says in a low voice that carries even over the chatter all around us. Woven is talking to a very tall woman wearing a purple dress, covered in grapevines. She looks ill, with bright yellow skin, then I realize that she's been dyed to look this way. Capitol fashions are ridiculous.
She looks as though she would have a deep voice, but when she speaks, she sounds just like all the other high-pitched guests that drift around us aimlessly. "Well, if it isn't Shuttle Caries and Terra Coppersmith! I've been looking for you all evening!"
Woven looks tired, the wrinkles in her forehead even more pronounced than usual. "Terra, this is Lissi Hornfell; she's one of the most generous sponsors of the Games, and your sponsor as well," she says.
"I am so glad that my gamble paid off! Everyone is talking about how I sponsored this year's victor, and it's been just sensational!" Lissi says, patting my face. "Go on, Woven, ask her about my proposal." She giggles and takes a sip of her champagne.
"What proposal?" Shuttle and I ask together.
Woven says in an even tone, "Ms. Hornfell would like you to attend a party she's planning on hosting at the beginning of next year's Games."
"Is that all?" I ask, surprised. Shuttle looks grim next to me, and she and Woven exchange looks. What's going on?
"Of course that's all! I would love to have a victor at the party; I collect them, you know," Lissi says, patting her pink hair that I'm certain is a wig.
"Thank you, but Terra won't be able to accept," Shuttle says. "She's going to be staying behind this year in District 8 to watch over her sister. It's a terrible thing that happened you know; they were orphaned so unmercifully, and now there's nobody in the world to look after her small sister, still very much a child. And even though Terra was wanting to come and mentor this year, she knows that she must sacrifice her own happiness for familial duty. You understand, don't you Lissi?"
I'm confused on what's going on, but Lissi seems to eat up the lies that Shuttle just told. In fact, she has tears in her eyes that she's dabbing away with a jewel encrusted hand. "Oh of course I understand; how noble of her to stay behind. Terra, when your sister is grown and you come to the Capitol, my invitation stands."
"Thank you, ma'am," I say, nodding my head to the odd woman in front of me.
"If you'll excuse us, Ms. Hornfell," Woven says, and Shuttle starts to steer me surreptitiously away, towards the door.
"Woven, get the idiot in orange; Terra and I will round up the stylists," Shuttle says quietly to Woven, who nods and disappears into the crowd. I'm still confused, but I know enough to keep quiet.
"You're hurting me," is all I say, and Shuttle releases her grip on me slightly. We manage to push through and reach Damius, who looks surprised to see us so soon.
"Fashion emergency, I'm afraid!" Shuttle says brightly, tapping her right foot against her left ankle.
"Then I am needed," Damius says.
"Going so soon?" asks the man he was speaking to, who wears an absurdly tall hat and has blue teeth.
"I'm afraid so, Carius; duty calls," Damius says and follows Shuttle and me towards the doors.
"What about my prep team?" I ask.
"I'll get them," Damius says, leaving us briefly and coming back with the slightly tipsy threesome.
"We were having so much fun!" Sappho whines, but shuts up at Damius's look. We all manage to get to the front door when everyone around us bursts into laughter. Woven is approaching, dragging a jigging Postumius by his purple bow tie.
"Why are we leaving now?" I whisper. Why won't anyone explain what's going on?
"I'll explain in the car; just smile and act happy," Shuttle whispers back.
"Now, why is the victor going so soon?" Standing directly in front of us is the president, looking mildly amused.
"She's not well, I'm afraid," Shuttle says.
"Oh?" the president says, tilting his head. "She looks well enough to me."
"It's my stomach," I blurt out. We must be lying for a reason, so I'll help carry that forward. "And my head; I've had a headache ever since I arrived in the Capitol. It must be the elevation."
"I see. Don't let me stop you from leaving then," he says, the smile not reaching his eyes. "I do thank you for coming, even for a little while."
"Thank you, sir," I say, holding my stomach for believability. Shuttle does a small curtsy, as does Woven, and then I'm swept down the steps into the waiting car.