CHAPTER TWO

Burgundy

Here was the thing about Hunger Games in the Capitol -

We all loved it.

And we were all very well aware of the violence, the cruelness, the in-humaneness of it all and yet somehow it was smothered by the fact that all of these events ignited emotions that we had thought we lost. I watch the Hunger Games each and every year. And throughout all those times, it never failed to bring out a reaction from me, whether it be pain or pity or excitement or love. And somehow, those days of emotions made me feel…

Human, I suppose.

And when the Hunger Games were over, I felt strange again. I felt suddenly aware of everyone else and not myself. I had no thoughts but thoughts of others. I did not think about how I felt, only about how others perceived me. I was in competition with everyone else again - for who wore the brightest clothing, who looked the best, who was the most extravagant. I had no life of my own, and felt horribly empty and no matter what I did, nothing could break me out of it.

And for that reason, for that glimpse of human emotions, I returned to Capitol to watch the 69th Hunger Games.

…

I rode on the train with the Tributes and the Mentors and the Escort and the rest of the crew of Avoxes. I was in the back, away from the world of the Hunger Games that took place on the train but rather in the shuttles reserved for people from Capitol doing business. I felt a sense of defeat as I returned with absolutely nothing, but it happened and I had to get used to it now.

With my hair washed with scented oils, it retained the moisture and luster I was used to after living in Capitol for my entire sixteen-year life and lost in the four days I spent in the harsh sea. On the other hand, the initial change back into this world, this world of powder on every inch of skin and pinned up hair was a feat I wasn't excited to return to. Instead, the four days I had broken away made me much more keen about wearing my hair down, free of the wigs my mother imposed on me, and wearing much simpler clothing.

I still remember the laugh I had when it took me no more than fifteen minutes to get dressed and ready before going out to the sea. Even though I spent a large portion of my time in the Capitol Archives, there was still a standard of dress that required at least an hour of preparation. An hour wasted, I had always thought, but could have done nothing about until now.

I left my room, a sleek design of black and silver and blue furnished with leather and glossy fabrics. Looking down the quiet corridor, I called out, "Davina!"

Not even two seconds later, a middle-aged Avox dressed entirely in burnt red appeared before my door. Her burgundy hair was tied neatly back, and wrinkles lined her face but otherwise it did not look as if she had once seen the years of troubles of being a rebel. She did not smile, but her face was kind.

And she, of course, was a mother to me. Not my real mother. My real mother resided in Capitol, probably still asleep after a lavish party thrown the night before. The woman in front of me right now wore a tag on her clothing. Marcella Thorne. I frowned immediately. "Who put that on you?" I asked quickly, appalled. She looked at me, silent, but there was the obvious question in the air. Why are you talking like that?

"I worked hard on this accent," I said distractedly as I moved closer to her, my hand on her back as I prompt her inside, "I don't want to lose it. I'll be back here after the Games are over anyway." She had raised me my entire life, and I was one of the many Capitol children who was raised by their real parents only at the surface. My mother dressed me, and that was the end of our relationship. My childhood was filled with memories of Davina feeding me, washing me, brushing my hair, helping me find my things. Davina's head dipped slightly with a shrug, as if to say oh well.

"Come, come," I said as I gestured towards my room. "Have you been standing outside the entire time?" She nodded. I removed the tag on her. I didn't like it. It was as if she was property and although I knew many Avoxes were treated the same, it was different when it came to one that had been with me the very moment I was born.

There is your Capitol showing again, always assuming everything that doesn't apply to you is the exception to the norm, a voice whispered inside my head. It was my father's voice, figuratively. He had a sense of awareness that was universal, one that looked past the hundreds of layers veiled over Capitol that made us appear and act and live and socialize the way we did. Like aliens. I kept this in mind as I turned to face her.

I wanted to develop the same sense of awareness my father had. But more than that, I wanted to be disciplined. I didn't want to be rash, like my father. Outspoken. Temperamental. I didn't want to have the courage to ridicule publicly.

It was what made him go missing eight years ago, and I refused to allow it to happen to me. I would remain silent and smile at President Snow every time he asked what do you have for me this time? As long as it meant that I was allowed to go on these exhibitions to all these districts in search of remnants of life before Panem, then fine, I would play along.

I exhaled noisily when I took a seat on the bed and I swore it sunk at least a feet. It was unbelievably soft, a luxury that I had gone without as I stayed on a boat rented out and docked on the shores of District Four. I felt cool hands on my face. Smiling tiredly I looked up at Davina's worried face. "I'm fine, it's just been a lot of hard work."

She took a seat on the bed, an action that would have had other Avoxes deranked to the most degrading of labours if not executed. But again it was different for Davina. She knew she was more of my mother than Marcia Thorne had ever been. Her eyes told me to go on, to tell her about my days here. So I do.

I told her about arriving at District Four, about tracking down my guide, about getting the boat, about going out to the sea five times a day through periods of an hour each. I tell her how each swim got a little deeper until this morning when I reached the twilight zone - and still did not find anything.

Sensing my disappointment, Davina got up and crossed the room. She opened a chest and pulled out yellowed pages of a book kept together in order within a folder. I smiled a little as she opened book, skimmed through the pages and held it out to me - pointing at one line in particular.

You musn't confuse a single failure with a final defeat.

I laughed. "Thank you, Davina. But this wasn't the first time - the fourth." She shrugged.

My father, Cassius Thorne, had brought a fortune to my family by finding books. He found jewels, he found threadbare clothing, paintings and portraits. Some where preserved deep into the waters of sunken lands, while others were within mountains in metal boxes. I still remembered the stories he told me of him, being twenty three, going deep underground the shorelines of District Three and uncovering metal containers hundreds of feet below the dirt and sand surfaces. They suspected it had been from a survivalist group that had drowned once the water took over the land - but not before they were able to save some things.

There had been books, and this was one of them: Tender is the Night.

"In any case, I think I may go somewhere...easier next time." I felt exhausted. I had exerted energy that would have been the accumulation of a month's work back in Capitol. It was tiring, but it made me feel more alive than I had ever before - including while watching the Games. Although I only felt defeated and sore and exhausted, it felt so different. This was the fourth time I had left the city and I wanted to revel in feeling of accomplishment now before the lure of laziness and sloth took over again.

Davina walked in front of me and then pointed towards the dress that hung on the wall. I made a face. "Will mother be at the station?" I asked. She watched me carefully, her brown eyes betraying her bitterness as she shook her head. "Then I see no reason to dress up." Davina frowned.

I didn't look like I was from Capitol. Perhaps I did when I was standing in the middle of all the other citizens of District Four but now in the elaborate backdrop of the bullet train I looked very plain. But I was amazed at how much easier it was to move in these pair of black boots and pants and a simple knit sweater than the gold dress with a skirt that seemed to have three layers - tulle, cotton, satin - and an unbearably tight bodice, and sleeves that extended so that it circled over my middle fingers.

She looked at me again, harder this time. Then she looked at the lock. There was less than fifteen minutes before we arrived in Capitol.

"Do you know what I have learned this time when I left Capitol?"

Davina waited.

I held up my finger and sat up to take the book again. Quoting, I said, "'He was so terrible that he was no longer terrible, only dehumanized -"

The door slid open, and Davina froze.

But at the door was a very confused, very wide-eyed brown haired girl. She could have been no more than twelve and she looked just as scared as Davina did. "I - I'm sorry," she stammered nervously. "I didn't realize someone was in here, I was just exploring and - and sorry -"

"Jules, where are you -"

And then Finnick was there. Staring. Staring at an Avox, a twelve year old girl, and me. "I told you that this part of the train is reserved," he said in a hushed tone. "Go back to meet Blue, he's going to begin explaining to you the schedule."

The girl, Jules, looked as if she was on the verge of fainting. She must be one of the Tributes, I realized. She looked up at Finnick with doe-like eyes and I thought she wanted to cry right then and there. She looked at Finnick as if he was the only one who could save her, but he wasn't the charming, smiling Finnick Odair that had graced the screens all across Panem over the years. He looked solemn. "You'll be fine," he said without much conviction. "Just get going, you don't want to seem weak in front of these people."

These people. Meaning me.

When Jules left, he glanced between Davina and I. "You were the girl that tangled with the peacekeeper."

"I am," I said and ignored the inquisitive glance Davina threw me. He glanced between us again, and I saw the very moment he decided to play friendly. A smile spread across his mouth and his eyes lost the tough edge as he took a step in the room. I stood up immediately when he offered his hand.

He smiled that smile as he said, "I'm Finnick Odair."

"I think everyone knows who you are," I said, my voice slightly cracking. I had always seen him on monitors and screens and the one time I had seen him in person was a moment that he was in his most vulnerable state. If he had heard my voice break, he didn't comment. "I'm Marcella. Marcella Thorne."

The smile that deepened said that he did hear the croak and that it amused him. If there was a power struggle, he was winning. Victor against Capitol. "Now, why do you look familiar, Marcella, Marcella Thorne?"

I ignored the tease in his tone because of the question I did not want to answer. Why do I look familiar? Because you had seen me for three seconds the night you were at my home a couple years back. When you had been given to my mother in order for the Capitol Archives to gain access to the Thorne Library that held over 300 texts pre-Panem. You had seen me when you were sixteen and prostituted and I could not look at you, eighteen and handsome, and not think of that forlorn expression.

But I didn't say that. I echoed his earlier statement. "Because I was the girl tangled with the peacekeepers." An expression flickered across his face that had disappeared before I could recognize it. With his smile slowly diminishing, he bowed his head slightly in a more mocking salute than anything else.

"Well then, Marcella, Marcella Thorne, Girl Tangled with Peacekeepers, it was a pleasure meeting you."

And with that, he left back to the tributes that, in a matter of weeks if not days, would not return to District Four.

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