When power was finally returned to the Capitol, the first thing many people did was turn on their television sets. However, this only revealed the great seal of Panem, with the bold words of "TEMPORARY INTERRUPTION" underneath the golden eagle's spread wings. Only briefly was the silence ever broken, usually broadcasting simple propos in favor of the rebellion.
More than a week passed by with this strange calm. Flickerman almost acted as a pulse to the city, and without him the Capitol's natural rhythm was thrown entirely out of tune. Many people turned on the TVs at the old scheduled times, always disappointed when his charming smile and unaging face were nowhere to be seen.
Then, one day, the screen changed. The seal remained on-screen, but the words at the bottom were replaced with "PLEASE STAND BY."
A little later, a time was added below the words. 3 PM.
Nobody knew what to expect. One Capitol family, the Daniel-Blakesons, had piled into the living room, eyes glued to the sets. School had been canceled and both parents' workplaces had been damaged in the fighting, forcing them into uncharacteristic time together.
"This is boring," Minnie Daniel-Blakeson complained, jumping up and down on her couch.
A low, but athoritative voice came from the other end of the couch. "Stop that," Mr. Blakeson commanded. His voice carried a hint of Mint St. Gold's, a rather expensive drink. He and his wife had been raiding the wine cellar ever since the rebellion happened, half-convinced the rebels were going to set their mansion on fire with them inside any day now anyway.
The old grandfather clock struck 3 PM. The seal on the TV immediately dissolved into static, slowly settling.
Minnie's eyes went wide and she pointed at the television. "Flickerman! It's Mr. Flickerman!"
Everyone else quickly jumped to attention and leaned in. Sure enough, it was Caesar Flickerman himself, sitting in a chair and weakly smiling at the camera. He had little makeup, and a bloody bandage was wrapped across the top of his head as if he'd had a concussion. What hair he had that wasn't covered by the bandage was tussled, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. His composure said otherwise, and he maintained his solid air of confidence.
"Good evening, people of Panem!" he beamed. He leaned a bit closer, winking at the camera. "Well, that was a little lie. For tonight, this broadcast will be solely for the fine folks at the Capitol."
Mr. Blakeson weakly tossed his empty bottle in the direction of the television, grumbling. "Ah, damn. It's another propo."
Flickerman leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "And for tonight, I have a very special guest. A woman with an eye for the beautiful, coming to me to talk about next year's winter line of dresses."
The camera panned right. Sitting in the chair across from Flickerman was Dance Miraglen, one of the Capitol's most famous fashion designers. Like Flickerman, she seemed markedly worse for wear. She wasn't even wearing one of her elaborate white dresses, instead dressed in shockingly drab street clothes, all slightly torn. She maintained a dignified position like her host.
"So," Flickerman started "It's been a wild few weeks, hasn't it?"
The joke got a weak laugh out of Minnie and Charlie, and even a snort from Mr. Blakeson.
Miraglen laughed at the joke as well, nodding. "I'd say so, Ceaser! And it got me thinking: life really is unpredictable, and dangerous. It got me thinking, and my mind naturally wandered to the fierce mountaintops near our great city. Winds can freeze a person almost instantly, and I wanted to capture that savage randomness in my new line!"
The camera panned to a model on a makeshift runway to the right. True to her word, it was brand new dress. Radically different from anything she had designed before, it appeared to be crudely fashioned from animal pelts, accented with beats of leather straps and rope. The Daneil-Blakesons couldn't tell if the look was intentional or if Miraglen just threw it together at the last second.
"I call it: December's Fury," the fashionista explained. "Barring any more excitement, I think I might be able to push out a few dozen by next January."
The low number wasn't odd; Miraglen almost always made only a select few dresses to drive up demand.
The conversation between Flickerman and Miraglen continued for another hour, filled with light jokes and idle banter. It was becoming plain to everyone what this broadcast was. Not a propaganda piece or declaration of triumph, but a simple attempt to return calm to the Capitol. A good old-fashioned Flickerman interview would give a sense of normalcy, and for at least one night the city's people would forget the ongoing military tribunals sentencing the most heinous of Snow's cronies to the firing squad.