My prep team wake me from my broken sleep, their shrill chatter seemingly echoing through my skull.
"Good MORNING Wiress!" Juliette trills as she throws the curtains wide. I groan and turn away from the weak light. Early. Why are they here so early?
I glance at the clock as I roll out of bed, confirming that it's well before the Capitol folk usually rise as Marius directs me towards the bathroom, where the water is already running.
"It's so lovely to be back home," Juliette continues as she helps me out of my nightgown and into the tub. "We have time for a quick clean-up before you get dressed, it's going to be such a busy—what HAVE you done to your hands?"
She shrieks the last and nearly pulls me off-balance as she grasps my wrists and turns the palms upwards. My skin is red and chafed, and there are several nail-marks, crescent scratches, remnants of my violent scrubbing.
"I…there was…blood…cake…"
She heaves a sigh and practically throws me back into the tub.
"We heard about that," Marius says with a grin as he lines up a series of bottles along the shelf. "Carmenius was furious, though I don't know what he was complaining about. That raspberry drizzle was delicious."
He licks his wide, green-lined lips and I suppress a shudder. Lie back in the water and let them scrub away at my body and hair, pretending they are robots, until I'm forced to surface back to reality. Dido has my clothes laid out on the bed, alongside a small breakfast tray. They brush my hair out while I eat and soon I'm covered in a swirl of vines and flowers, head to toe, as though I stepped into the hedge of my arena and let it twirl around me.
I don't get a moment to breathe for the rest of the day, our disembarkment to a crowd of screaming faces leads to a tour around the central streets in an open-topped car, people lining the streets waving and cheering.
Carmenius and Dido have a car of their own in front of ours, leaving myself and Beetee to be the focus of the horde. He seems better today, smiling and waving, no sign of the monster, buried deep once more. As we roll around he points out places of interest: the design school, a wonder of architecture itself with scrolled pillars and impossible angles; the gigantic broadcast studio, where the compilation of film from events such as the Games are put together; four engineering workshops belonging to various wealthy companies, all of whom he's aided in return for sponsorship over the years.
We make an appearance at a school which has been refurbished to cut a ribbon and declare it open, and there's an early afternoon signing, where I spend an hour scrawling my name on various pictures and programs, watching the letters get shakier and shakier as the time goes on. Thankfully the length of the queue prevents anyone from trying to have a conversation with me.
Finally there's a presentation at the gigantic university library, where I don't try to contain my excitement when the Chancellor presents me with a small book collection. It's a history of Panem and of the Games but I don't care. They're books and they are mine.
By late afternoon we make it to the Training Centre, back to those familiar rooms that I'm going to get to know and hate in the years to come. For now they offer a brief moment of peace and quiet as I change out of the flowered wreath and into the shimmering gold affair I'll be wearing for the interview. Over the heavily embroidered gold silk, Dido drapes a lacy overdress stitched with hundreds of tiny diamonds, so that I glitter with every step. Finally she adds the necklace, a simple silver chain set with a mock-up of Ezra's ring in gold and diamonds. My district token made Capitol.
I clasp it like I did in the Arena every time my mind slips to the upcoming interview, live in front of an audience of thousands. Lorcan appears from Beetee's room, where he's been suiting up my mentor, and tries to jolly me up with technical talk. It doesn't work.
I flip through one of my new books for a bit, enjoying the smell of fresh paper and the soft, shiny paper between my fingers. The pictures are bright and glossy, so different from the worn and dusty schoolbooks I've grown up with.
"Fascinating stuff?"
I look up to find Beetee perched on the couch armrest, peering over my shoulder. We haven't really spoken properly since he lost control back in District One. Neither of us seem to feel the need to talk about it. I like that about Beetee. We understand one another without needing difficult words or explanations.
"So shiny and…and.."
"New," he finishes, reaching out to brush the pages with his calloused fingertips. "Just like the history inside it."
Almost as soon as he speaks, he winces, glances guiltily around the empty room and fidgets with his glasses for a few moments.
"I…er…do you want to practice again?"
Before we left for the tour we spent long hours practicing answers to the standard interview questions, so that when I'm asked I should be able to dump out an answer from stored memory. Just an animated robot, following my programming.
"-take that as a no."
Beetee smiles ruefully as he fusses with his hair, and I realize I must have zoned out again.
"I-"
"Time!" A voice calls through the door, and I see Lorcan poke his head around a few second later. "Time to head down."
One last clasp of the ring around my neck and we're off, down in the lift, where I can see the sparkling lights and heaving masses of people in below, already in place. Like crawling little ants near their hive, swarming, crunching….
I find myself involuntarily shuddering, the memory of the crawling bodies, the agonizing fiery pain of their bites, the horror that I might spend my last moments being devoured by insects almost overwhelming.
The hiss of the elevator door brings me back to reality, and I'm hustled off to the side-stage area, where Ceasar Flickerman greets me with that famous flashing white smile and a gentle hug.
"Wiress, lovely to see you. All ready I hope?"
I do hope I'm ready. He squeezes my arm gently and I manage to force down all panic at the contact and smile. A good sign.
In the end it is fairly painless. Caesar focuses mostly on my talent as an extension of my traps and creations in the Arena, letting me segue back and forth about how I've spent most of my life making things, and how much better it is now that I have my own house and workshop. There's questions about boys, which I can honestly answer that I've had nothing to do with. Questions about my family, how they've settled in to life in the Village. I don't mention Wiran or the sickness that has been plaguing our district, as per Beetee's instructions. The Capitolians prefer not to hear about the outside world having problems like that apparently.
Yes, the Capitol is still architecturally beautiful, especially now I've had a chance to see some of the sights up close and without the threat of imminent death lingering. Of course I'm looking forward to coming back in six months time for the next Games, an answer I practiced over and over until I could say it convincingly without feeling sick.
I falter here and there, when my words escape me but Caesar is there to catch it and I'm fairly sure when he wraps it all up that I'm far from the worst they've had to do. More importantly, it's the second last event on the Victory Tour before I get to go home. One more gala and I have six months to recover. Six months of workshop therapy.
My fingers are already itching for a screwdriver as we're swept out to the waiting cars.
~xXx~
I take Dido's advice to heart and limit myself to exactly two alcoholic drinks during the course of the night. The waiters give me odd looks at first when I request something non-alcoholic, but after a few stuttering attempts I come up with the idea of telling them about my medication, and pretending that alcohol interferes with it. After that they bring around glasses of some sweet nectary liquid, which is cloying, but doesn't make my head spin so much.
There's more than enough going on in the great banquet hall without losing focus. President Snow makes only a perfunctory appearance at the start of the night, despite technically being the host. His disappearance doesn't bother me in the slightest, as there are enough people of importance swarming me to keep me busy for the first few hours.
I try to stay near Beetee or Dido, and to avoid Carmenius where possible, but the press of people going to and from the food tables or the dance floor keeps pulling us apart. I'm trying to escape an uncomfortable conversation with an older couple who keep giving me strange winks and smiles when a tap on my shoulder makes me whirl and gasp, hands reaching for something…
I freeze when I meet the eyes of Minister Redfern, one of my main sponsors, whose gift helped save my life six months ago. She smiles coldly and flicks her fingers dismissively at the older couple, who leave without protest.
"Wiress Ling." Even her voice is cold, emotionless. A shiver runs down my spine and the corners of her mouth twitch further.
"A moment of your time?"
It's not a question, and when she heads for a door in the far wall I follow. I try to spot Beetee or Dido, or even one of my prep team in the crowd, to let them know where I'm going, but there's no familiar faces in this area of the room. I can only assume the Minister wants to speak to me about repaying some of the debt owed for their sponsorship.
I remember Beetee saying he didn't want to use them unless he was desperate due the repayment of a previous debt. He wouldn't say what, and I have to hope that they are not seeking similar recompense from me.
The door opens to a small chamber, three chairs and a small table the only furnishings. The Minister drops into one of them and waves for me to take the other, frowning briefly at my momentary hesitation to comply.
"You are aware of course that my husband and I, at my daughter's request, made a not insubstantial sponsorship donation during your Games?"
No preliminaries, none of the usual Capitol tendency towards small talk. It almost makes me like her more. I nod when I realize she is waiting for a reply of sorts, still tense, worried about what she might want from me.
"Certainly we have spent more in the past, and perhaps would have spent more then, if required. You presented a unique opportunity that may nicely solve a problem for me."
This time her smile is tight and brief, but appears more genuine.
"You do remember my daughter Clara? She's about your age, and decidedly uninterested in things most girls her age are. My husband and I are both involved with engineering and architecture, and she has picked up on it—perhaps why she always insists on throwing our money at your district, and District Five. It has resulted in her seeking company with…well…people of lower standing than I would like. And men and boys, never any girls. Proper girls at any rate."
The last is added with a sullen scowl and she pauses to stare at me while I work through what she has said.
"You want me...to..."
She draws herself upright again, and gives me another of those tight-lipped smiles.
"I want you to be Clara's...friend, I suppose. A companion who I don't have to worry is only hanging about her to try and borrow money to pay off bad debts or get her into trouble. Someone she can talk to about things she enjoys who also holds some status."
The edginess I felt when she took me aside fades in a moment of clarity. From the brief conversation I've had with Clara, I already like her. And from what I've heard there are so many worse ways I could be requested to repay a sponsorship debt.
"I...that...I would very much..."
Minister Redfern lets me catch my thoughts and straighten them up.
"I would be happy to...to ...be friends with...with..."
Her smile widens the tiniest bit and jumps for a moment to her eyes.
"Excellent. I'll deal with all the necessary paperwork, and arrange for you to visit...once a month? Yes? Good. I believe they provide accommodations for victors in the Capitol when necessary. I suppose it's too late to start now, what with a festival planned in your own District. So one month's time then. I'll be in touch."
This time she doesn't give me time to finish processing before she flicks her fingers in dismissal. Hesitantly I stand, and when she draws a comm-unit from her purse and begins dialling I slip out the door, my pulse still not back to normal.
A hand grasps my shoulder as I step out and I nearly throw Beetee into a table of champagne glasses.
"Beetee..what are you..."
He catches himself on the edge of the table and immediately pushes back to hold my shoulders again.
"Wiress, you're..." He ruefully shakes his head and I notice his hands are trembling too where he grasps my upper arms uncomfortably tight.
"Someone said they saw Thenassa Redfern take you aside into a private room and I thought...I mean I ...did she say something about her sponsorship?"
He peers worriedly into my face, still holding on too tight. Even though it's Beetee the low panic starts to swell. I can feel the trembling starting, uncontrollably taking over.
I force his hands away and grab the nearest glass, no longer worrying about alcohol limits. I just need something else to focus on for a moment to pull myself together. The champagne bubbles down my throat, and the dancing light through the ornate glass throws interesting patterns on my arms and on the table in front of me.
It doesn't take too long for my pulse to slow and my breath to come steady. Once I'm sure of myself again I turn back to Beetee, who has his fingers clasped behind his back. I guess he finally remembered.
"She...Minister Redfern wanted...wanted me to..."
I see him starting to frown again as my words trail away, and force out "Nothing bad."
His frown turns from worry to puzzlement, and I see some of the tension drain from his stance.
"She wants me to ...Clara...friends..."
That makes his eyebrows jump, and he unclenches his arms and picks up his own glass of champagne, twirling it like I did to catch the light before sipping.
"Oh," he says after a few seconds. "That makes sense. I thought-"
I never get to hear what he thought, as every speaker in the room starts blaring a familiar tune. I move until I can see the stage just as the first words are sung, crystal clear, by a stunning blonde in flowing white. Theodosia Laird, winner of the most recent Talent Stars series is singing my Grandma's song.
"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now I'm found
The Capitol set me free"
I frown as the last line warbles on. Those are definitely not the words I learned, and I know Grandma said the song was from well before Panem was founded.
"Throughout the years of war and fear
My heart always believed
How precious did that grace appear
When Panem was relieved"
I can't stand to hear it any more, that sacred old song with its forbidden lyrics being twisted to a new and evil agenda. I manage to get to the garden without being stopped, and I slump against the wall between a pair of flowering bushes, their vibrant clusters of purple and pink flowers comforting as they brush my head and shoulders.
It takes me a moment to recognize the coolness on my face as tears, and I nearly wipe them away before remembering the make-up I'm wearing. Dido will be mad enough about the dirt stains from the garden-bed. I can still hear the music playing, though the actual words are muffled, and I let it swirl around me, imagine it carrying me away on its tune. Back home to the safety of my District and the warm loving care of my family.
Footsteps swishing through the grass bring me to my senses, and it takes a moment to realize that the music is no longer blaring, and may well have stopped some time ago. I open my eyes and tilt my head up, wincing at the twinge along my neck and shoulders. How long have I been sitting here?
"Are you sad?"
It takes me a moment to focus, and suddenly there's a boy peering at me, maybe nine or ten years old.
"My nanny says we should never be sad if we can be happy instead," he informs me while I search my brain, trying to work out where I've seen him before. Something familiar about those pale gray eyes and full, pouty mouth.
"I'm Caius," he adds with a small nod, "And if anyone is looking for me I'm not here, never was."
It's such a mischievous Balia-like response that I can't help smiling.
"I'll...I'll keep that in...in mind..," I manage, bracing against the wall as force myself to stand.
He doesn't offer any help, just stands there with his head tilted to the side, lips pursed in thought.
"You're Wiress Ling. I remember carrying your crown back in May. You were really clever in your Games, but I'm glad I'll never be reaped. It looked sort of scary."
Of course. Caius Snow, the President's son. He's not shown on television much, but he's carried the victor's crown the last few years during the presentation ceremony. I don't get a chance to respond to him, as he sees a distant figure marching determinedly across the grass from one of the building wings and quickly scurries in the opposite direction.
The approaching figure looks very grumpy and matronly, and I decide that inside suddenly doesn't seem like all that bad an idea. I barely make it through the arched doorway before Beetee spots me and pulls me aside, waving across the hall at several attendants.
"I was about to send out a search-party," he says, and I notice a slight slur to his words that suggests he may not have listened to his own advice about drinking. "We'll be leaving in a few minutes, over that way."
I make one last round of the tables to grab some more of the strawberry pastries, and head for the door where Carmenius is already waiting. He sneers at me before finishing his drink and reaches out to pinch the bottom of the server who takes his empty glass. She gives him a disgustingly adoring look in return, and giggles when he slips an arm around her shoulder and gives her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
He turns to me with an unpleasant leer and says "These ladies know how to act around a man. Properly brought up, unlike you District rabble. You'd do well to remember it bitch."
The girl, who looks younger than me, and must be barely half his age laughs again as he buries his face in her hair. I strongly consider shoving the pair of them into the nearest table, but decide against it when Beetee meanders over, looking a little unsteady on his feet. This time I take his arm to steady him, and help him into the waiting car, turning and slamming the door before Carmenius can get in. Our Escort is still distracted by the girl, so that he doesn't notice the car pulling away until it's too late.
"'s fine," Beetee says when our driver starts to slow. "He can take the other one. Dido and Lorcan are already gone ahead. Do his ego some good."
So we drive on in relative peace, through the streets which at home would be silent, but here are still filled with revellers. A great clock chimes overhead as we pull up at the train station. Lorcan helps me get Beetee to his room, and I get to mine and throw the bolt before Carmenius is on board. I bury my head under a pillow until he stops pounding on my door. The swaying train lulls me off to a relatively peaceful sleep, and when I wake in the morning it's to the familiar winter winds whistling across the barren plains and through the tall concrete buildings of home.