Chapter Seventy-One; The Stylist and The Tribute

(Stephanie's POV)

She had always known that Ficen had hated her, but never suspected she would go as far as to… Stephanie shut her eyes for a minute to gather herself.

And all for a few pictures?

Stephanie scowled as she gritted her teeth, tears threatening to spill over again; frustration and anger rising up in her at the fact she didn't understand – why she had to endure that?

"A few pictures. What the hell does that mean? Pictures for what – why?" Stephanie snarled, pleased to find that her voice was coming back to her, gravelly and hoarse at best but her rage was still clear to hear.

Ficen approached her, placing a huge, metal silver case on the floor and turned to Stephanie, studying her face and evidently ignoring what she had said.

Ficen flicked open the case to reveal a whole array of make-up, a medical kit and other styling equipment all packed away neatly.

Ficen; the stylist, the perfectionist had returned from the Ficen who dealt her tribute blows to the head and ordered sleazy Capitolites to assault them.

Stephanie almost smirked, only for the expression to fall flat. Anything that remotely resembled a smile was beyond her. But – so long as she looked good, that was the main thing, right?

Ficen from somewhere in the silver case produced a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash and a few plastic cups, one which she half filled with a bottle of water.

Her upper lip curled slightly in disgust as she shoved the accoutrements roughly into Stephanie's hands.

"I trust you can brush your own teeth," she said sarcastically.

Stephanie glared but silently took the objects and began cleaning out her mouth, glad at least to get rid of the sour taste.

Meanwhile Ficen fished out powders, creams and other products she would need to cover up the mess of Stephanie's face.

Stephanie when finished, set the objects on the floor before she suddenly dropped her head in her hands with a hiss.

Ficen opened her mouth to snarl something but Stephanie cut across her, her own voice just as sharp.

"My damn head needs looked at," Stephanie muttered angrily, as she closed her eyes against the sudden kaleidoscope bursts of colours that the room was blurring into.

Ficen shoved Stephanie's head down further and Stephanie yelped in pain before there was a hissing noise.

It was cold. There was nothing else Stephanie could describe it as. It was freezing quite literally, until the back of her head went numb and the pounding and sharp shooting pains subsided to a dull throbbing behind her eyes.

Stephanie raised her head just as Ficen placed the empty canister back into the silver case, before she turned to Stephanie armed with the usual make-up.

Ficen raised a brush coated in concealer to Stephanie's puffy, streaked cheeks and began applying it generously.

"What did this all mean?" Stephanie said her voice low as she glared straight back at the stylist's vivid, violet eyes.

Ficen made to ignore her again when Stephanie's hand shot up and she grabbed Ficen's wrist, preventing her from applying any more make-up.

Ficen's eyes burned with rage as they bore holes into Stephanie's tight grasp around her narrow wrist.

"Tell. Me." Stephanie enforced.

"We have a mutual interest," Ficen ground out begrudgingly through gritted teeth, after it was clear that Stephanie wasn't going to relent.

Stephanie looked at her confused. Stephanie wasn't aware they had any mutual interests? The idea that her and Ficen actually agreed on something seemed laughable.

"We would both rather a certain person remained anonymous," Ficen continued, clearly irked by Stephanie's evident incomprehension.

Stephanie looked at her completely perplexed.

"The dinner date, the photo-shoot, the boutique?" Ficen said knowingly.

Any colour left in Stephanie's face drained, her throat suddenly incredibly tight.

She knew who Ficen was talking about.

There was only one person Ficen could be talking about.

Seneca.

Ficen had known all this time! Stephanie's head felt like it would implode.

And then Ficen's words came back to her.

Certain person remained anonymous.

Ficen was protecting Seneca?

Stephanie gawped at Ficen, her hand still clutching the stylist's wrist as she struggled to comprehend.

She couldn't get her head around it. Ficen had known everything!

Stephanie felt her breath leave her body in one huge surprised gasp, her head swimming for a few moments.

Stephanie fought desperately to recall every single action or exchange she had ever had with Ficen as she examined them closer, looking for ulterior meanings now.

"Seneca…" Stephanie began but Ficen cut across her, her violet eyes crackled like lightening.

"Don't you dare speak his name! You don't deserve to ever speak his name!" Ficen snarled, her voice hitching slightly, eyes wild.

And even in her concussed state, pieces of a puzzle she previously couldn't understand clicked into place and Stephanie saw the picture.

Ficen… loved Seneca? Or cared deeply for him at least, Stephanie realised.

Stephanie could see it in the desperate, manic look in Ficen's eyes. Heck, Ficen's actions alone proved it! Currently whatever Ficen was doing she clearly was doing it because it would help Seneca in some way? Ficen had admitted as much herself but Stephanie was still at a loss as to how.

Stephanie loosened her grip on Ficen's wrist and Ficen tore her wrist from Stephanie's hand.

"Say nothing," Ficen threatened, an almost feral look to her.

Stephanie stared at her, her mind still reeling.

Say nothing about what?

The fact that Ficen was in love with Seneca or what had happened here today?

Ficen picked up the make-up brush again and continued on with Stephanie's make-up while Stephanie brooded in stunned silence, her thoughts racing until finally realisation dawned.

If Ficen loved Seneca – Stephanie began to see red as she came to a conclusion.

Stephanie felt her hands curl into angry fists, her teeth ground together, the indescribable urge to scream and tear something apart.

Ficen loved Seneca. Ficen would do whatever Seneca asked of her.

This whole thing – It had been Seneca.

Stephanie glowered darkly, hatred bubbling up in her chest, a blind rage filling her. And for the first time Stephanie felt something that had previously been entirely foreign to her.

Stephanie felt the undeniably, murderous urge to seriously kill another human being.