Totally writing again! Got past the troublesome joining chapters, now have half the story done.
District Four brings sunshine to chase away yesterday's storm. Dido provides me with a pair of sleek sun-tinted glasses to wear and has Marius slather me with a cream to prevent sunburn before I'm allowed to step out into the warm air. It may be fall going on winter in some parts of Panem, but here in the far south it ranges from mild to hot year-round.
The seacoast here is much flatter, speckled with beaches and coves instead of Five's high, miserable cliffs, and rows upon rows of white sails rise up along the edge of the lapping waters. Despite my traps and tricks causing crucial injuries that got both their tributes killed the people seem friendly enough, and while we aren't allowed to go play in the water we do get to wander freely through the markets, where I'm overwhelmed by the salty stink of fish and other sea-creatures for sale between net-makers, sail-stitchers and seashell-jewellery. I find a pair of pretty necklaces with some shell that swirls through silver, pink and blue-purple for Laney and mother, and a neat swordfish-shaped belt-buckle for Ezra as gifts.
As we're nearing the end of the stalls a friendly voice calls out and Beetee turns with a smile.
"Mags, Nim! How are you?"
The pair of older ladies join us, ignoring the stern glare of our accompanying Peacekeepers. Both have full baskets on their arms, and invite us back to the Victor's Village for tea and cookies. One of our guards steps forwards and says "I'm not sure that's allowed."
Mags eyes him cooly and replies, "What nonsense. Here, us delicate flowers are too old to be carting all this up the hill. A strong young lad like you should have no trouble though."
She dumps her basket in the young man's hands before he can protest. When the other woman, Nim shies away, she grabs her basket and passes it on to the other of our guards.
"Well," she says pointedly when they both stare at her. "Village is that way. Lead on and don't drop it mind. That's my dinner."
Stunned, the pair turn about and start walking. We give them a ten foot head-start and follow, Mags linking arms with the shy Nim as she and Beetee chat away.
"Silly young boys, who do they think they are telling us what to do? Now dear, don't worry, your breads will be fine. If he drops or squashes them I'll flay his ears for fishing line."
One of the white-clad figures flinches and raises his empty hand to brush his ear. Mags cackles away and Beetee laughs with her.
"You're a force of nature Margret Strathborne. And thank-you for the invitation. Will you be at the dinner tonight?"
She smiles and waves away his thanks. "No dear. They like to keep those things for the younger crowd. Morstan will be there, possibly Ava, and Denissa I should think. Silly girl's learned her lesson about not attending official events."
I see Beetee's brow crease in the slightest of frowns and Mags suddenly starts pointing out small islands aways off-shore, and naming some of the boats as we begin the trek up the steep path to the Victor's Village.
Once we get there she shoos the pair of Peacekeepers inside the first house and directs them to put her and Nim's shopping on the table. I pause at the door, glancing around the row of houses, so similar yet so different to our own.
For one, nearly half their houses have occupants, judging by the clutter of fishing and boating gear by the doors. The one two from the far end catches my eye and I step back out to get a better look. From here it's hard to say, but it almost looks burned out.
"Everything alright dear?"
Mags is back and I hesitate, but curiosity gets the better of me and I point to the ruined house.
"What happened…?"
She frowns and glances back over her shoulder before stepping out closer to me. I take half a step back and she raises her hands, letting me know I'm safe from attack.
"That was Denissa's house," she says softly with another glance inside. "Silly girl, I told her…well. I'm sure you and Beetee have had time for a chat about what might be expected when it comes to meeting with your sponsors?" She waits for my nod before continuing.
"Of course I expect your sponsors were after something rather different. Denissa's a pretty, feisty girl who thinks very highly of herself. Didn't like taking instructions from silly old me, didn't like answering invitations from very important people. Thought she was above it all. Thought she could just not go."
Another glance into the house. Still no sign of the others.
"Well they called her down to give an interview in town during the final few in your Games when Francis…well…it was mandatory viewing and she had all her family up in her house when it started. Smoke billowing, flames licking from the windows is what Nim said. They all rushed over to help of course, but two of the little cousins had a bit of roof fall on them. Terribly dangerous these kitchens, though I'm sure the wiring fault would have been found if she'd been where she was supposed to…"
She cuts off mid-sentence and starts pointing out towards the islands again, naming them more slowly as the Peacekeepers reappear. Before they can say a word she bustles us all inside, where Nim has the kettle on and Beetee is examining an upturned kitchen timer.
I can't help but laugh when the two Peacekeepers are bullied into taking tea and sweet cookies with us. The younger one even cracks a smile or two and when we finish our drinks and politely thanks Mags before reminding us we really should be getting back.
Predictably, Carmenius throws a temper tantrum about our unscheduled morning tea which I mostly escape as the sea breeze has 'completely messed my hair'. By the time Juliette is done the yelling seems to be over and I prepare myself to face the families of two people who I did have a hand in killing, even if I didn't strike the final blow.
Damian has a brother who looks nearly the same as him, down to the mussed fall of sun- bleached hair and the tight scowl. No-one in Francis' family looks anything like her and I think of the overheard conversation between her and her frank, outspoken mentor Mags during training. Francis mentioned something her Uncle was going to make her do if she hadn't volunteered. Something she considered worse than a high chance of death. At the time I wondered what could be so awful. I think I have a pretty good idea now.
The dinner has a similar carnival atmosphere to District Seven, with course after course of seafood in a multitude of forms. I'm not a fan of the raw fish and rice wrapped in sea-weed rolls or the slimy snot-colored oysters that are apparently a delicacy, but I do enjoy the other shellfish, and let the young girl next to me—the mayor's daughter, who tells me all about her plans to volunteer someday, though she barely looks of reaping age—show me how to crack open the spindly crab legs and suck out the best bits.
I'm dragged into a dance at one stage by a pack of rowdy teenagers, whirled from hand to hand around a circle while everyone laughs and claps in time to the music. I don't mind at first, but with each strange hand that brushes me, holds me, I feel the panic start to rise. Just as it's about to boil over the tempo changes and a strong hand darts in to catch mine and drag me aside. Morstan Wake, the only male victor Four has ever had. I know he's a good few years older than Beetee, but you wouldn't know it to look at him. Tall, tanned, hard body, rich black hair and cold eyes as dark as my own.
He spins me aside and releases his grip so that my hand is simply resting on his arm. Now that I can see who is touching me and can escape the panic rush fades.
"Looked like you needed out before you stab…started having a problem."
"Thanks," I murmur, ignoring his slip. He keeps me twirling and when I look around the area the other dancers seem to have paired off in a similar way. I have no idea what I'm doing so I let him lead, following his graceful motions with my own clumsy steps. Thankfully Dido has left my shoes flat enough that I'm not trying to balance on a narrow heel.
"So how are you enjoying your tour?" He asks after a few more stepped circles.
"I….it's…interesting…"
His smile is as cold as his eyes. "Interesting. Yes, I found the other districts interesting too, though I spent the whole time longing for the smell of the sea."
I'm not sure what to say so I stay silent as we rotate slowly around, one more pair amongst all the others. After a minute of silence a hand taps Morstan on the shoulder and he whirls suddenly, hands upraised.
"Might I cut in?"
Beetee doesn't wait for an answer but grabs my hands and pulls me away to continue the circular step pattern, a little less smooth than before.
"I didn't know you…you…."
"Danced?" He finishes with a rueful smile. "I don't, but it looked like you needed a rescue. Come on."
He leads me away back to the tables, dodging twirling couples as we reclaim our seats.
"Morstan was…he was…"
"He's a decent sort," Beetee says with a nod. "Dark humoured though, and a bit odd."
Aren't we all? I think to myself as I watch the dancers continue. A pair of girls bring out twinned ropes with weighted ends that they set alight, tracing fiery patterns into the night as they twirl them back and forth. A group of children do some dance over a net, every jump and step landing in a new square, their toes never once touching the thicker rope.
I feel myself starting to drift off several times, though a waft of the salty air wakes me before I go completely. It feels far too late when we make our way back to the train and I fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.
Unlike my usual dreams of drowning in a river of blood, it is now a sea complete with lapping waters and bobbing boats, one of which is on fire. As I drown I watch people leaping from it, Balia and Malcy, already burning. The brothers and sisters of the tributes I outlasted, the faces that have stared at me from the front of the crowds while I spoke, all burning, burning, burning…
I wake with a jolt as the train gives one of the slight lurches signifying a change in tracks. Sunlight is peeking in already, another day of speeches and angry families and uncomfortable dinners. The home of two tributes who had a good chance until one was eaten alive by giant spiders and the other chose not to kill his former ally while the latter slept. Had Halifax taken that opportunity to end Jasper I doubt any of us could have beaten him.
My prep team end my musings, escorting me to breakfast so that they have time to try something new with my hair before we get there. I let them primp and prod me as usual until Juliette raises a metal wand above my head in the mirror. For a moment I imagine she's about to bring it crashing down on my head and jerk backwards, where I discover it's searingly hot. I yelp, Juliette shrieks and the room is filled with the stench of burned hair.
By the time the damage is repaired and my curls have been ironed out straight by the device, we're running behind. By the time Dido has me in my silver and red dress and my make-up on we're very behind. We hurry as a pack, collectively ignoring Carmenius' whinging about the delay, making it to the stage just in time for the ceremony. Not that they could start without us, but from what little I've seen of them District Two is a very orderly place, very structured. I don't think the people would appreciate having to delay a ceremony over fashion concerns.
I deliver my words to the stony-faced crowd, who do cheer and clap without prompting, though not as enthusiastically as they might if it was one of their own up here. Or their allies even; Careers supporting Careers.
A girl around my age stands for Lucinda's family. Halifax has an older couple that look nothing like him. I wonder if they're really his family, or if they're the people who trained him to fight and kill. I can't imagine loving, caring parents actually encouraging their children to enter the Games.
The mayor of Two is a big, burly man whose smile doesn't extend to his eyes as he all but crushes my hand and gives me a hefty stone-carved plaque I can barely hold. We don't get to meet any of Two's victors at dinner either. I'm seated between Beetee and Carmenius and choose to focus on my meal to blot out our Escort's muttered commentary and constant nudges.
Beetee is no help at all, spending most of the night talking animatedly to the man on his left, who is in charge of all stone shaping and cutting equipment for the district. Both are naturally quiet speakers, but every time I lean in to try and join the conversation Carmenius nudges my arm or leg and snaps at me to stop displaying bad manners. Then returns to shoving down his meal in the most disgusting fashion possible.
After the fifth such elbow I jerk and 'accidentally' spill my mashed potatoes and sauce all over his lap. This has the double benefit of forcing him to leave to change clothes, and to remind Beetee that I'm still there, and the two men do try to include me in the conversation for the short time until the dinner comes to a close.
~xXx~
I manage to avoid Carmenius on my way to bed, and he's still asleep when I rise for breakfast the next morning. The train is already stopped as I make my way through a plate of pancakes and bacon, trying not to think about what is waiting for me outside. I expect by this point of the Victory Tour, most victors have encountered the people of someone they personally killed. While I had a hand in Francis and Damian's deaths, in Halifax's and maybe even Sparrow and Felton's, the only blood on my hands alone was the golden boy from One.
I manage to stay inside for most of the morning, first playing with my tools, then letting my prep team do me up in the most extravagant outfit yet: silvery cloth heavily embroidered with gold threads and tiny sapphires. The matching necklace drags at my throat as I'm finally forced out for the ceremony. I try to pick a space to stare at while I deliver my now-routine speech, but nothing seems to work. The red-gold leaves of the trees lining the square remind me of Jasper's hair, the darker red flowers along the sides of blood. There's a tall tower with a clock face, but the reflections off the metal keep blinding me. Trying to look at the far rows of people doesn't help either. From this distance I can't make out their features, they are just one great horde of fair-haired monsters, muttations coming to get me.
I finish my words as fast as possible, not even caring if I'm coherent as long as I get them done before the mutts come after me. As I reach the last sentences, my gaze slips to the front of the square and I suddenly lose my track. Both families are smiling of course. That smile that tells me they are thinking of a hundred painful ways to end my existence while they wait to applaud. Daniellis was an only child it seems, her parents both sharing her full figure and blonde curls.
Jasper was not, and the girl at the front of the group has absolute murder in her eyes as she stares up at me. The same red-gold hair, the same lanky, lithe figure, probably around my age. I wonder if she plans on volunteering for the next Games just so she can hunt down and kill the female tribute from Three.
Will she smile like she is now when she kills them? Will she laugh, whisper words so that they echo through my head like they are now?
"-ress?"
"-sorry, she has-"
"-see-"
"Wiress?"
My name. That's my name?
My head clears the moment someone touches my arm. Black hair, sunlight flashing off silver. Beetee.
"I…I…I'm sorry, I…"
Words. I was supposed to be saying words, sentences which have fled from my brain. I try to find them, but all I can see is the girl at the front of the crowd hunting me down with that smile, knife at the ready.
Beetee leans in and murmurs "Thanks to people of District One and see you in the Capitol."
I stare at him, uncomprehending. Why is he thanking me?
He grabs my arm more insistently, the same way my mother or Balia do when they realize my mind has wandered.
"Look at the crowd, repeat after me: My thanks.."
Oh, that's right. I manage to stammer out the final sentence, and let Beetee support me while I half-listen to the mayor's reply. Another nudge reminds me to take the plaque—inlaid with precious metals and tiny, glittering gemstones—before I leave the stage.
We make it back down into the Justice Building and into one of the side rooms before my legs start shaking uncontrollably. Beetee releases me to collapse into a padded leather chair and lets me try and calm myself before asking, "What happened?"
"She…hair…same…face…" Nothing coherent is coming out any time soon.
Beetee frowns as he tries to deconstruct the words.
"She? Someone in the crowd looked like…? Yes? Hair…oh-"
The door flies open with a crash and Carmenius stalks right up to my chair, looming over me with a snarl.
"What the hell was that? You embarrassed us all! You-"
I try to stand, to let his fear of my unstable behaviour make him back off but my knees barely hold and I wobble slightly. Carmenius takes this opportunity to slap me across the face and shove me back into the chair as he continues ranting. The moment he strikes me I feel the monster rise from the depths where it's been hiding these last months, ready to fight back.
Before I can strike a blur of motion at my side resolves to two bodies rolling on the floor. Beetee is head and shoulders smaller than the lanky Capitolian, but that doesn't seem to stop him gaining purchase on Carmenius's heaving chest, raining down ineffectual blows. He seems to realize this and shifts his hands to the larger man's throat, bearing down with what little weight he has, screaming into the slowly reddening face.
"You have disrespected her, disrespected us. Pushed us, degraded us. But you don't TOUCH her. YOU DON'T TOUCH HER! EVER!"
As though the scene is playing out on a screen, it takes until Carmenius' face is nearly purple before I realize I should probably do something. Crouching over them, I manage to hook my hands under Beetee's arms and jerk backwards with all my strength, letting him fall back on top of me. For a moment the blind panic surges, the weight of him across my body, pinning me down. The colourful room swirls, gasping, yelling, strange noises ebb and flow. The doorway is filled with craning faces, peering eyes, open mouths chattering gibberish. Strange birds, heads tilting from side to side, arms waving….
"Arrest him! He…he attacked me!"
The world comes back into focus with a snap. Carmenius is on his knees, face still red as he points at Beetee's heaving, curled form. The words come as squeaky gasps, like a poorly oiled joint. An old robot that no-one cares about anymore, stored away in a cupboard. The thought makes me giggle.
"They're both" gasp "crazy! Should be" cough "locked up!"
The pair of peacekeepers step forward uncertainly, but a smaller figure barges between them, hurrying to my side where she touches my face. As her fingertips trace my cheekbone, the sting appears and I wince. Dido's face hardens and she turns on Carmenius.
"Did you hit her?"
"I….she was hysterical. She tried to stab me so I…"
His voice cracks again, and Dido cuts in sharply, "Stab you with what? I see no weapon."
Carmenius takes a few more gasps before answering. "She must have hid it! Strip her down and search her, you'll find it. Now arrest them both!"
"She didn't touch him."
The whole room turns in the direction of the quiet voice. Beetee, leaning on the armrest , small frame still heaving with the effort of his attack. When he looks at me I can see the monster dancing in those red-rimmed eyes still; caged but not dead. Only ever sleeping.
This is the boy who stabbed a stylist with a nail file. The boy who sat and watched, unblinking as his web of wire snares held five bodies while electricity surged through them. The boy who threw an even smaller girl to his enemies at his Cornucopia to get a jar of cookies and a metal spike.
"She didn't touch him," he says again, fingers clenching and unclenching, reaching up to straighten his glasses and smooth down his hair.
"She was struggling to speak after she recognized Jasper Noble's sister in the crowd-" he pauses to glance at me, and I nod confirmation.
"And I was trying to calm her when Carmenius started yelling. He hit her, and I…"
He ducks his head, the boy still, in trouble.
"You stopped him from doing further damage to the reigning Hunger Games victor."
Dido's sharp words cut across Carmenius' protests, as do her instructions to the peacekeepers. Take him somewhere to clean up and calm down. No, just ignore his ranting. Yes, she's sure, now can she get some help here to fix the damage to my face before the dinner tonight?
The panic surge ebbs back down as the room clears out, and once Carmenius' loud protests are out of earshot my pulse dips back down to normal. I manage to stand for the two seconds it takes to collapse back into the chair. Beetee is still sitting half-curled against the side, so that my hand on the armrest nearly brushes his sleek black hair. He's still clenching and unclenching his fingers and taking deep breaths, so we let him be until Lorcan arrives with creams and powders for my face.
I'm a little surprised when he comes through the door, as he's the only one of the prep team who doesn't usually do make-up, but when he smothers a gasp and gets on with covering the mark I understand. Juliette would have screeched about it for half an hour and Maruis wouldn't wait until the end of the dinner to tell everyone within earshot. I'm pretty sure Lorcan is the youngest of the trio, but he seems the most logical and sensible. The most human, at least by my standards.
The dinner is terrible. Our seating is arranged so that I'm between the mayor's wife and Carmenius, with Beetee on his other side. None of us speak. We try to avoid touching or looking at one-another. Half-way through the main course the painkillers wear off and my face starts aching again, every bite of roast goose making me whimper.
Eventually I shove the half-empty plate aside, ignoring the dark look from the woman beside me. She tried talking to me at the start of the dinner, but got frustrated at my inability to reply properly and hasn't said a word since the mains were served. For once I find myself wishing she were someone from the Capitol instead; they wouldn't have had a problem keeping up the conversation by themselves and I would have had a good excuse to ignore Carmenius.
When they bring out dessert I all but launch myself from the table, out the door towards the bathroom, where I spend the next half-hour trying to purge my mind of the giant cake, drowned in glistening red. By the time my stomach is empty I've re-railed my logical mind back to the thought that they wouldn't serve a cake with blood sauce, that it must be some fruit or sugary glaze or something, though I still wouldn't have been able to eat it.
Dido finds me eventually, with wipes and water, and doesn't say a word as she helps clean my face and hair. She also doesn't mention the stains on her silver and gold creation, though she purses her bleached lips when she sees them. She stays with me until the dinner ends and we slip out to join the rest for the cars back to the train. I step aboard to find Carmenius waiting, a piece of the cake with its dripping red sauce on a plate. He smirks cruelly and holds it out to me.
"I saved you a slice. Wouldn't want our precious victor to miss out."
My body reacts before my mind does, snatching the moist offering and hurling it at him, the red icing and chunks of cake dribbling down his outraged face and shirtfront.
No one stops me as I race to my compartment, slam the door shut and spend the next hour scrubbing every last bit of red off my hands.