4 CHAPTER UPDATE! - 1ST

Chapter One-Hundred-and-Forty-Nine; Motions of Loss

"I feel like I'm wearing body armour," Stephanie grumbled as she examined her reflection in the mirror, bemoaning the lack of movement afforded her head by the necklace collar.

Electra scoffed from where she lounged comfortably on Stephanie's bed. "You'll need body armour for this party," she murmured enigmatically.

Stephanie frowned at her reflection once more before she turned away from the mirror.

"I doubt anyone will be attacking each other tonight," Stephanie mumbled. Slena's trial and still forebodingly unknown sentence hung over them all like a shadow still. Stephanie was sure therefore, that no one would be stupid enough to try the Capitol's patience, by staging a physical altercation so soon for publicity.

Electra scoffed lightly, "words can be just as damaging as fists – even more so sometimes," she murmured.

Stephanie arched a brow, but it was clear – as usual – that Electra was not inclined to elaborate on her deliberately vague statements.

Stephanie sighed then as she approached her bed. Electra glanced up at her mildly interested, but Stephanie ignored her as swiping something from her dresser she flopped down on the floor.

Stephanie felt like some sort of huge, lace-encased caterpillar as she wriggled her way under her bed.

Electra leaned over the side shooting Stephanie a perplexed look. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to find a safe place," Stephanie called back, as her task completed she crawled once more out from under her bed.

Electra raised an unimpressed brow as she watched Stephanie struggle to her feet, holding onto her bedside dresser for support.

"If you think hiding under your bed means you won't have to go to the party…" Electra began scathingly before Stephanie scoffed loudly.

"I obviously didn't mean for me, I meant for your phone," Stephanie replied dryly as she smoothed down her wrinkled front. "This dress is so tight I can barely manage to keep myself in it, never mind conceal a phone on my person somehow."

Electra snorted as she rolled off Stephanie's bed, stretching languidly as she stood.

"You know sometimes your innocence really is endearing," Electra sighed as she ambled sedately over towards the door.

Stephanie's brow furrowed in confusion. She couldn't quite tell if there was a mocking edge to Electra's voice or not.

"Because if you really think hiding that phone under your bed would stop someone who was searching for it, from being able to find it, then…you really are gullible," Electra finished.

Stephanie frowned. "Fine then I'll just hide it in this beehive of hair Silver has created on my head, shall I?" Stephanie said wryly, already making to wiggle under her bed once more.

"Don't crawl under that bed again!" Electra warned her, holding up a finger for emphasis. "If you wriggle about anymore you will be going with my original idea of having you turn up at the party ruffled."

Stephanie blushed as she glanced at the mirror. A few wispy strands of hair were tickling her nose so she pushed them back, tucking them behind her ears securely. Her dress was sitting a little askew also and she wiggled as best she could and pulled it up further.

That was until, with a scoff and an eye roll Electra approached her determinedly.

She batted Stephanie's hands away and gave her dress a firm yank southwards.

"Ellen!" Stephanie cried, looking at the plunging neckline that nearly reached her navel.

"As a general rule, I like to be fully clothed before I go out," Stephanie muttered sarcastically, stubbornly pulling her dress upwards.

Electra rolled her eyes. "Uhuh, I know you're no blushing girl, and we need to distract the sponsors long enough before they realise you're completely inept."

Stephanie's cheeks pinked slightly at Electra's assessment of her but she rolled her eyes anyway.

"So do we have a…strategy for this party?" Stephanie left her question hanging in the air.

Electra shrugged, "you rejected all my ideas," she said airily.

"Ellen," Stephanie said, frowning lightly.

Electra faced her then. "Well the official agenda reads something along the lines of appealing to sponsors while securing alliances and oh – an interview with a Gamemaker. Easy, right?"

Electra arched a brow as she looked at Stephanie innocently.

Stephanie resisted smacking a hand to her forehead. Easy! – That was a joke!

Appealing to sponsors! Stephanie had never tried to appeal to sponsors without having Haymitch at her side to nudge her to shut up when she was in danger of messing up. That evidently wasn't going to be an option tonight. Electra had already gone to great pains to emphasise to Stephanie and Frenkin the importance of approaching sponsors 'solo'. They couldn't hang off the arms off their mentor or shy away – they had to appear competent. The trouble was Stephanie didn't feel very competent.

And as for securing alliances! Stephanie considered it nothing short of a small miracle that somehow an alliance had sprung up around her, a 'mostly useless one' Electra had been quick to point out, but an alliance all the same. Stephanie now had the task of keeping the fledgling alliance from breaking apart; keeping Tain a secret from Astara while simultaneously appeasing Prall's impatience that she showcased her 'secret deadly talent'!

However by far and by large the biggest problem Stephanie faced with the 'official agenda', was the last itemised essential on the checklist.

An interview with a Gamemaker…Stephanie inhaled a wavering breath. It had been something she was secretly dreading since she had learnt that Seneca would be at the party from her stylists.

At first Stephanie had been concerned that Seneca wouldn't be discreet enough, but as time had passed and her thoughts brooded while she readied for the party, Stephanie admitted the real reason. It wasn't Seneca she was worried about being discreet, it was herself.

Stephanie knew Seneca to be a flawless actor. He had exercised those skills to great use at The Chandelier Rooms when he had flung her towards the guards after Vir's attack. His voice had been as cold as splintering ice; one would never have suspected that the blue-eyed Gamemaker had actually resolved that he was in love with Stephanie moments before in a back-room store-cupboard essentially.

It was herself Stephanie feared would be too obvious. She had had too much to do with Seneca now, to try and appear so indifferent to him in an interview.

When he asked her the standard questions 'how do you rate your chances of winning Miss Trindlesworth?' Stephanie wasn't entirely sure she would be able to answer in the expected way. How could she? When her mind would be bombarded with images of Seneca promising her that she would win no matter what.

Seneca she suspected would be infuriatingly composed, his usual Gamemaker smirk on his lips. The Capitolite crowds watching on would be filled with women fawning and giggling flirtatiously at the young Head Gamemaker and Stephanie would grit her teeth…

Stephanie was abruptly snapped back to reality as Electra flicked her forehead.

"Ow!" Stephanie rubbed at her forehead as she glared at Electra, "what was that for?"

"You completely zoned out for at least ten minutes! If you do that tonight when you're meant to be appealing to sponsors it'll be a disaster – Smile! It's a party. You're meant to be having the time of your life!"

Stephanie rolled her eyes before she plastered on a fake smile, pushing back the worries that had been plaguing her.

"A slight improvement," Electra muttered, folding her arms. "You're lucky that most of these Capitolite sponsors are idiots because you're a terrible actress."

Stephanie smirked grimly, "only most of them?" she quipped sardonically.

Electra grinned as she forcibly turned Stephanie to face herself in the mirror.

"Most are idiots – they have to be, to look at kids slaughtering each other and still honestly believe it's a Game," Electra said as she straightened Stephanie's dress.

"And the rest?" Stephanie asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Electra smirked coldly, "the rest are just cruel psychos."

Stephanie swallowed before Electra broke her from her stupor as she tilted her chin up.

"Walk with you head held high," Electra instructed.

Stephanie snorted, "it's a little hard not to with this collar on."

Electra grinned as she stepped back to assess Stephanie finally. "Yes, well even though Ficen is somebody who most definitely fits under the category of cruel psycho, she undeniably does have some of the best fashion sense in this Capitol." Electra gestured for Stephanie to turn.

"The dress and necklace aren't girlish or seductive – but then that has never been your style. They make you look strong – intimidating; a Victor," Electra critiqued objectively as she ran a discerning eye over Stephanie one last time.

Stephanie quipped her lips briefly; at least she would look like a Victor.

Electra had opted for a tailored, crisp white, two-piece suit that showcased her trim physique perfectly and contrasted starkly with her softly curled, electric blue hair that trailed down her back. She also carried off the plunging neckline with much more effortless class than Stephanie was managing. Stephanie couldn't help but keep glancing down to make sure her dress was still where it should be and everything that should be covered was.

"I don't look too strong having to waddle about rather than walk," Stephanie muttered, tugging at the uncomfortably tight dress.

Electra laughed, "come on. We've a party of idiots and psychos to attend," she muttered drolly as she made for the door.

Stephanie hesitated though as she rubbed a hand across her brow distractedly. Her gaze was dragged tellingly towards her bed as she worried her bottom lip against her teeth.

Electra paused at the door, waiting for Stephanie and smirking knowingly.

"I am sure the phone will be quite safe," Electra assured her bemused, before she attempted an innocent look. "The only problem is of course. What will you do if you need to make any more phone calls though?" Electra mused aloud.

Stephanie cast Electra a side long narrowed glance. "I've no phone calls to make," Stephanie answered shortly.

"Hmm, really? You must have been talking to yourself when I passed your room earlier then," Electra said, her blue eye bright as she strode ahead to leave Stephanie straggling behind.

…

"Wirin I swear you better damn well start making sense right now or I will tear you limb from limb," Seneca threatened darkly as he loomed over Wirin with burning eyes. Everything about Seneca down to the thin white line he had his lips pressed into spoke of his franticness.

Wirin trembled in his chair. He couldn't even try to get away from Seneca. His legs were shaking so badly, he wouldn't be able to stand upright.

"S-Seneca," Wirin managed to get out feebly.

Seneca had him hauled to his feet the next moment, "Wirin start talking – " he snarled demandingly in the other's man face to immediate effect.

"I had the results checked over – by a proper medic, just this morning." Wirin rushed out.

"And why didn't you tell me?!" Seneca practically roared.

Wirin cringed again, hanging onto the table for support, "I was going to - I swear. I was going to tell you!"

Seneca shoved Wirin away from him harshly as he sneered. He didn't care about Wirin's grovelling promises. He only cared about one thing at that moment.

"What did the medic say then – precisely?" Seneca enunciated each word clearly as he pinned Wirin down with feverishly bright eyes.

Wirin swallowed even as he nodded frantically. "Well he used medical terms that I'm not familiar with – "

"Wirin get to the point or so help me I will kill you now and hunt down this medic myself," Seneca promised in dark desperation.

"Essentially the medic said that…" Wirin took a rallying breath, preparing for Seneca's ire.

"Said what?" Seneca snarled.

Wirin gulped, trying to gather some of his composure. He raised a shaking hand to smooth through his dishevelled hair, his usual flame orange streak lost amongst brunette locks.

"The more she faints, the faster she dies. The girl is a ticking time bomb."

Seneca stared starkly at Wirin; his face whiter than bone. "Impossible," Seneca muttered under his breath, his eyes practically burning.

It can't be…! It just can't! The sickening feeling of powerlessness assaulted Seneca with an almost crippling force as he resisted the urge to tear something apart if only to reassert his control.

"She can't be dying."

Seneca stalked away from Wirin suddenly to grip the nearest countertop with white-knuckled fingers, his breathing heavy, his eyes almost midnight black.

Seneca reached futilely for some semblance of calm; some measure of reason. If he could just…could just breathe…Why did it feel like he was damn well suffocating?!

He tried to wrap his crimson-enraged thoughts around the words, around the thought, around the completely incomprehensible, crippling idea that Stephanie Trindlesworth could possibly be dying.

"How long?" Seneca ground out, turning sharply to pierce Wirin with a murderous glare.

Wirin swallowed convulsively, struggling to find his voice.

"Well Wirin! If Stephanie is dying how long did your damn medic say she had left?!" Seneca was as furious as Wirin had ever seen him. Seneca looked like he wanted to tear apart the world around him for daring to exist while Stephanie was dying.

"T-the medic said you can't put a specific time limit on these types of things," he began meekly but seeing Seneca's lethal expression he quickly spoke on. "But…everytime she faints it damages a little more of her inside and it shortens her life. He said – "

"Wirin!" Seneca cried sharply. Wirin gulped. He was sure he had never heard the two syllables of his name infused with that much hatred before.

"She won't live a few weeks past the Games Seneca, if even that at all." Wirin said quickly, holding his breath in anticipation of Seneca's reaction.

For Seneca though a reaction was impossible. His thoughts grinded to a halt. The usually imperturbable and arrogant Gamemaker hadn't met a problem he couldn't charm, bribe or fight his way out of. Yet now Seneca found himself rendered utterly lost faced with…

Seneca shut his eyes for a brief moment as he raked a hand through his ebony hair. He had his teeth clenched together so tightly, they seemed likely to shatter.

How many nights had Seneca been jolted sharply awake now; the image of glassy golden eyes staring lifelessly and accusingly at him, still burning behind his eyelids? Stephanie's death had been haunting him, his mind constantly torturing him with images of her dying in one of his many cruel inventions. But the reality was a hundred times worse than Seneca could have ever imagined, made so much more so by the fact that he could do nothing…

Seneca fought back the surging hot rage that was clouding over his thoughts again; he despised feeling powerless; that utterly weak feeling of ineptitude he sneered at, and yet it was taunting him now.

Some stubborn, haughty part of his thoughts was refusing to accept the bitter truth, wanting to tear Wirin apart for uttering the words.

But an innate part of him knew...Seneca knew it was true. How long had he spent poring over Stephanie's scan results yielding no results? Seneca was no medic, but even with the limited, perfunctory knowledge he had of human anatomy required for a Gamemaker – the inkling dread had been there from the start. Stephanie's scan results had been dismal, but Seneca had ignored it wilfully. Not because he wished to remain ignorant in bliss but because he simply refused to accept that he couldn't fix it.

He had pushed back the thoughts that had whispered to him how it was too late...the chemicals had long been absorbed into her bloodstream since ten years ago and the poison had been killing her ever since.

Seneca found familiarity in the blinding rage that was filling him then, he welcomed it. He wanted someone to blame, someone he could tear apart and end this nightmare. But how could he? When what he hated most was a part of what he loved most?

Stephanie's fainting was incurable…more than that, it was fatal.

Spitting angry thoughts; inconsequential and inaccurate filled his head and fired his blood.

It was her parents fault, for letting her play near that damn river! Her brother Fen should have been quicker jumping in to save her! She should have been made to see a damn doctor ten years ago! What had she been thinking, jumping across those stones when she couldn't even swim…?!

But the anger was fading fast no matter how much Seneca tried to cling to it.

It hurt far less to be angry.

But crimson drop by drop the anger bled away, leaving something far more awful in its wake.

Stephanie was dying…

It wasn't fair!

An anguished voice in Seneca's head cried; a voice that sounded very familiar to the fifteen year-old boy that had beat against the guards, trying to reach Lark before his execution.

Fairness…? Seneca almost chuckled bitterly, the sound catching harshly in his suddenly tight throat.

Maybe this was fairness being exacted.

Maybe this was his punishment? For all the lives he had taken over the years; for the countless sons and daughters, brothers and sisters he had stolen, their lives thrown away on his Games.

He had no doubt he had probably made numerous others feel what he was feeling now when he took away their loved ones.

Was this his bitter lesson then?

To let his paths cross unexpectedly with Stephanie's; so she could break him down, make him human, let him fall in love with her and all the time she was dying; forever destined to leave him anyway.

To feel the agony of having her ripped from him, powerless to stop it despite all his efforts, just as her family must have felt when she had been reaped.

He understood, damn it! If this was his lesson he understood!

He understood when the mother would surge forth, clasping her child uselessly to her until the peacekeepers would have to pry her arms away. Or the young lovers who would collide in the middle of the crowds for one last frenzied kiss before they were separated forever.

He understood what it was to be human. It was like Stephanie had said to him; to love someone was to be human.

Seneca straightened abruptly, turning sharply to stride for the door.

"Seneca!" Wirin called after him in perplexity, "where are you going?!"

"To Stephanie," Seneca answered immediately. It felt almost like a natural impulse, a physical need to enable him to keep breathing. He needed to see her…now.

"Seneca you're upset, I can see that. But you can't go to Miss Trindlesworth in a state like this! You must be discreet, remember?!" Wirin cried panicked, as he followed Seneca.

Wirin shrieked in pain as Seneca's fist collided with his face and Wirin collapsed on the ground, hand clasped to his nose that was spewing blood. Seneca had finally found a source to direct the mindless violence his anger produced, and he didn't feel at all guilty about the unjustness of it.

"Discretion?!" Seneca echoed sneeringly, his voice like splintering ice. "You want me to care about something as utterly meaningless as discretion now?! I don't care if the whole of Panem damn well sees me – I'm going to get Stephanie!"