The interview with Caesar is oddly tense, or at least it seems that way to me. He smiles all the way through, as usual, but everything seems off somehow. He steers me from question to question rigidly, not allowing me much time for my answers and not letting me bring up any subject of my own. There's peacekeepers backstage and while everyone pretends that's normal, I really don't think so. I must have inflamed the districts further, that's the only explanation. My mind is filled iwth half pride, half panic and I really can't tell how I managed to get through the interview, but then it's over and Effie's leading me to Snow's mansion.
The party is admitteldy amazing. The people, the clothes, the entertainment, the food – I've never seen anything like it.
I make no effort to find company but am constantly sought out. Faces appear, names are exchanged, pictures taken, kisses brushed on cheeks. I try to stick near the buffet or dance with Cinna or Haymitch or even Flavius, but I still end up dragged from stranger to stranger.
There's a few people roughly my age around, Cassandra Snow in the lead, and they get me away from everyone else for a while until a woman intervenes and ushers them away, throwing a not entirely subtle glance towards the president himself. Of course, he wouldn't want his grandaughter around the likes of me...
I scan the room, hoping to find Effie nearby – I didn't really pay attention when I went of with Cassandra – but before I can find her or anyone else, a man makes his way over to me, friendly smile on his face. He introduces himself as one of the Gamemakers and asks for a dance. As if I could say no. I try not to judge him, though. I'm pretty sure Effie's friend Celeste saved my life more than once, and she's a Gamemaker aswell.
"Are you planning the Quarter Quell Games already?" I say, deciding I should make the best of an uncomfortable situation. Who knows what he might let slip. Unless I'm really lucky – and I'm using that term very lightly – and all hell breaks lose within the next half year, I'll have to mentor the Quell.
"Oh, yes. Well, they've been in the works for years, of course. Arenas aren't built in a day. But the, shall we say, flavour of the Games is being determined now. Mr Crane is very adamant all must be perfect. Believe it or not, I've got a strategy meeting tonight," he says. I almost snort at the mention of Crane. Of course all needs to be perfect. Another slip-up like a twelve year old winner, and entering an arena would probably seem like a lovely alternative to whatever Snow would do to him. I'm honsetly quite surprised his head is still on his shoulders.
Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. "I'll have to be going soon." He turns the watch so I can see the face. "It starts at midnight."
"That seems late for - " I say, but then something distracts me. Plutarch has run his thumb across the crystal face of the watch and for just a moment an image appears, glowing as if lit by candlelight. It's another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed.
"That's very pretty," I say, an edge to my voice I can't quite keep out. He isn't showing this of like everyone else does with their accessoires inspired by my pin.
"Oh, it's more than pretty. It's one of a kind," he says, pausing and giving me a lingering look. "If anyone asks about me, say I've gone home to bed. The meetings are supposed to be kept secret. But I thought it'd be safe to tell you."
"Yes. Your secret's safe with me," I say. And can't help but wonder just what kind of secrets he really has.
I shake the thought of to resume my search for Effie. We're supposed to be back on the train in about an hour.
I don't have to look for long because she's looking for me, too. We collect Cinna and Portia, and she escorts us around to say good-bye to important people, then herds us to the door, prying Haymitch away from the bar on our way. His speech is slurred and he stumbles a few times, but refuses the help of the attendants who hurry up.
We travel through the streets of the Capitol in a car with darkened windows. Behind us, another car brings the prep teams. The throngs of people celebrating are so thick it's slow going. But Effie has this all down to a science, and at exactly one o'clock we are back on the train and it's pulling out of the station.
Cinna orders tea and we all take seats around the table while Effie rattles her schedule papers and reminds us we're still on tour. "There's the Harvest Festival in District Twelve to think about. So I suggest we drink our tea and head straight to bed." No one argues.
I wake up in bed all by myself, having somehow slept through the night, probably due to my exhaustion from the past few days. We're almost in Twelve by the time I wander into the dinning cart, yawning heartily.
The agenda for District Twelve includes a dinner at Mayor Undersee's house tonight and a victory rally in the square during the Harvest Festival tomorrow. We always celebrate the Harvest Festival on the final day of the Victory Tour, but usually it means a meal at home or with a few friends if you can afford it. This year it will be a public affair, and since the Capitol will be throwing it, everyone in the whole district will have full bellies.
When we reach the mayor's house, I only have time to give Madge a quick hug before Effie hustles me off to the third floor to get ready. After I'm prepped and dressed in a full-length pastle pink gown, I've still got an hour to kill before the dinner, so I slip off to find her.
Madge's bedroom is on the second floor along with several guest rooms and her father's study. I stick my head in the study to say hello to the mayor but it's empty. The television's droning on, and I stop to watch shots of me at the Capitol party last night. Dancing, eating, smiling. This will be playing in every household in Panem right now.
I'm leaving the room when a beeping noise catches my attention. I turn back to see the screen of the television go black. Then the words "UPDATE ON DISTRICT 8" start flashing. Instinctively I know this is not for my eyes but something intended only for the mayor. I should go. Quickly. Instead I find myself stepping closer to the television, my heart racing.
An announcer I've never seen before appears. It's a woman with graying hair and a hoarse, authoritative voice. She warns that conditions are worsening and a Level 3 alert has been called. Additional forces are being sent into District Eight, and all textile production has ceased.
They cut away from the woman to the main square in District Eight. I recognise it because I was there only last week. There are still banners with my face waving from the rooftops. Below them, there's a mob scene. The square's packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Buildings burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random.
Before I even comprehend what I am seeing, it switches over to District Five. The woman says something about Level 2 and things being contained, but it doesn't look contained to me. There's fewer people than in Eight, but some of them have gotten hold of guns and there's destruction everywhere.
I've never seen anything like it, but I can only be witnessing one thing. This is what President Snow calls an uprising.