Chapter Sixty-Nine; Knock, Knock?

(Stephanie's POV)

Stephanie lay perfectly still, not fully aware if she was awake or not.

For a brief moment she could hear nothing but a slight ringing. It was the only sense she currently possessed.

And then a split second later, all of her body's senses crashed over her in a wave.

Impenetrable darkness, pain, muffled voices and shuttered clicks, pain, the scent of men's cologne burning her nostrils and something else – wisps of something unbearably sweet, pain, the vile coppery taste of blood on her tongue, pain.

Every sense was plagued with the pain; a steady pounding behind her eyes that almost had Stephanie wishing she had not woken up at all.

Stephanie looked at the darkness again, trying to distinguish shapes. It wasn't for a few moments she realised the darkness was that of her own eyelids.

Stephanie fought to open her eyes, the task seeming to require monumental strength. Her whole body felt weak as though she had been drained of all her energy.

And she felt cold, freezing actually.

As her eyes finally opened, blinding, white light assaulted her and a slight line appeared between her brows as the glaring pain subsided.

Stephanie's senses may have returned but it seemed that her thought processes, her analysing abilities were taking longer.

Stephanie stared dumbly up, finally realising that she was lying down. A wood-panelled ceiling was above her, a huge gold chandelier with diamonds the size of her fist dripping from it in the middle of the ceiling.

Stephanie frowned slightly. Where am I?

Her brain struggled to come up with answers to the predicament she found herself in though, her thought processes increasingly sluggish.

Stephanie became dimly aware of voices floating over her; a conversation. Two men. She recognised their voices but…a sharp pain shot through her head when she tried to bring their names, their faces to the forefront of her mind.

Stephanie winced, trying instead to focus on the words as the ability to speak, never-mind move, seemed far beyond Stephanie at that moment.

"Gotta tell you, I'm used to arriving before the star of the show does – you know to get into position so they could be looking right at me and wouldn't see me. But then it doesn't really matter in this case because…I'm used to the star of my show being…you know – conscious. I know you said she would be difficult – but did you really have to crack her round the head?!" The discontented mumbling continued until a new voice, a female's voice cut across it, sharp and authoritative.

"Shut up! It was the only way after the disaster that imbecilic girl Slena caused…"

That voice Stephanie instantly recognised as a chill raced up her spine.

Ficen.

The previous mumbling discontent voice hardened suddenly, clouded with anger and emotion.

"Don't you dare speak about Slena like…"

"She's awake!"

"What?!"

"Move – let me see!"

Suddenly two faces appeared above her…Ficen & Dess.

Ficen & Dess.

The memories came fast and sudden then and Stephanie inhaled sharply as she struggled to sit up.

However as she as she tried to move Stephanie cried out in agony as a sharp pain tore through her head.

Stephanie instinctively raised a hand to the pain, her fingertips coming away sticky and stained red.

Stephanie stared horrified at the red on her hand, while Ficen stood arms folded looking at her coldly and Dess stood staring at her slightly disgusted.

Stephanie still struggled on to sit up when suddenly a third person in the room, helped her up to a sitting position.

"There you are," he said and Stephanie distantly recognised the voice.

Stephanie turned to look at him as soon as the black dots had faded from her vision.

Watery blue eyes gazed at her from behind black-rimmed glasses, his clunky camera with the haphazard pieces of tape perched in his lap.

He grinned at her.

Fas.

The 'press dog' as Haymitch had called him from the party. He had wanted to know what the "inside story" was.

Shock dominated Stephanie's expression, incredulity and incomprehension battling in her golden eyes.

Angry words, confused words, scared words…they all stuck in Stephanie's throat as she found herself quite literally speechless.

"Wh…what? Why? Ficen?" Stephanie settled her gaze on the stylist, tears of fear finally clouding her eyes.

She knew Ficen hated her. That much was evident. But…Ficen would never do her any real harm, right?

Stephanie looked about her. She didn't recognise the room and she had obviously received some sort of head injury. The last thing Stephanie remembered was watching Dess and Slena arguing…Slena?!

Stephanie looked about the room frantically, trying to ignore the sudden ringing in her ears as she moved her head too quickly…but no, Slena was gone.

"Ugh! Dry your face you stupid girl – no one will harm you," Ficen spoke harshly.

"Bit late for that given you already dealt her a blow to the head," Dess muttered.

Ficen rounded on him. "Shut up!" she shouted.

Stephanie gaped at Ficen. "You did this?" Stephanie accused angrily, holding up her bloodied fingers for emphasis.

Ficen stared back at Stephanie offering no response, her expression emotionless as she arched a perfect, ivory eyebrow as though daring Stephanie to even try and call her up for it.

Considering her current situation Stephanie knew it would be unwise to do so, or until she better knew what exactly in the hell was happening.

Stephanie gritted her teeth, trying to think past the thumping against her skull.

Ficen her stylist was here and claimed no one would hurt her. That fact was highly debatable according to the shooting pain in the back of her head. What the hell had Ficen hit her with?

Dess was here looking his usual, slithery self in a burnished red suit that matched his hair and black shoes that were so shiny they practically counted as a mirror.

And Fas. A man she had just met. A man who spent his days exposing affairs and the such of rich Capitolites to publish as hot gossip in their newspaper.

Stephanie thought desperately hard for a few minutes.

Her head throbbed painfully. Nope – She gave up. She was completely at a loss at why Ficen had seen fit to crack her across the head and why she was currently sat in this room.

A sudden thought occurred to Stephanie. If she was here – then what was happening back at the foyer? How long had she been unconscious for?

"Right well – get on with it!" Ficen snarled at Dess.

Dess turned and looked at Stephanie. Stephanie returned his gaze unflinchingly, her eyes narrowed in warning.

Stephanie might be currently terrified of Ficen but she would not allow herself to be terrified by that…idiot.

Dess stared at Stephanie distastefully before he looked at Ficen again.

"But…she…the…her head." Dess made vague gestures about Stephanie's head wound she assumed.

Ficen glared at him – hard.

He wavered slightly and then paused again. "But the blood will get on my suit," he whined.

Ficen's hand twitched as though she was going to smack Dess at any minute and Fas sniggered from where he was still seated.

"Get. On. With. It." Ficen stressed each word with cold deliberant.

Dess scowled slightly before he turned to Stephanie determinedly.

Stephanie smirked slightly at Dess' obvious discomfort, hoping that she did get blood on his suit when…

Stephanie's smirk was wiped off her face instantaneously as a very obvious question occurred to Stephanie.

Get on with what exactly? What the hell was Dess planning to do?