Snow approves my trip to the Capitol without a second thought. At least that's what Cinna makes it sound like when he calls me back. Apparently the president is beyond pleased that I'm going to be paying a visit to his dear city. He even forwarded extra money into my bank account so I can purchase any interesting designs that catch my eye without worrying about price- as if I would've had to anyway.
Once Snow's okay is given, the process of getting to the Capitol is easy enough. I throw some extra clothes into a duffel bag, stop by Cashmere's place to let her know that I'm going to be gone on a ten day trip, and then catch a ride to the train station with a stuffy-looking Capitol chauffeur. The whole process takes maybe an hour and a half, and, before I know it, I'm riding the tribute train out of District One.
The ride itself is eerie in a way I hadn't expected; the train feels empty, and haunted and much too quiet. A few attendants pop up every once in a while because god forbid it look like Snow is being inhospitable, but they're silent as ghosts, never saying a word and constantly disappearing to go do something or another.
The crappy memories that the trip brings back are even worse. Riding up to the Capitol in the same train, staying in the same room, and getting thrown into undoubtedly shitty circumstances by the same asshole president are all too much to deal with, and I quickly find myself in an inordinately shitty mood.
I spend the majority of the ride laying in bed and doodling fashion designs. As exciting as I'm sure it would be to watch stupid Capitol movies or get pissed off over newscasts discussing Katniss and her dear Atlas Baxwoll, I'm already borderline moping and have no interest in making things worse. Therefore, my time is well spent seeing how puffy I can make a dress before I can no longer imagine a Capitol woman willingly wearing it.
Before I know it, it's almost nightfall. I full well realize that I should at least try to sleep, but I can't help but cringe away from the idea. I hate the dark, and I hate tossing and turning while I try to ignoring imaginary ghosts, but, most of all, I hate it when I actually do manage to fall asleep and get taken back to the arena with Rue, Peeta, and Katniss. Nothing bad ever happens, but that's the problem. I dream about laughing with Rue or listening to Peeta and his stupid niceness or, worst of all, cuddling with Katniss in that cave, or seeing her smile at me, or hearing her say that she needs me, and then… then I wake up and it's gone.
It's so much easier to wake up from a nightmare than to wake up into one.
Thankfully enough, I don't have to deal with any too-good dreams; I can't sleep at all. Instead, I lay in my too-big, too nice bed and pretend that I can't hear Glimmer's icicle voice calling me a creep, or Gloss and Cashmere murmuring strategy behind my closed door. And beyond the ghosts that haunt the train, Atlas Baxwoll's face is fresh and bright behind my eyelids; purple eyes that aren't natural and dark curls and flawless features all haunt me just as much as Cato's sword, and Glimmer's eyes, and Peeta's smile.
It feels like the night has stretched on for years by the time the sun is high enough for it to be rightfully considered morning. Blearily, I rub at my eyes and drag my butt out of bed. An outfit fit for a Capitolite is procured from my closet, and then I slowly dress, my eyes continually straying to the mountains that stand tall and obvious outside the windows. We're close. Close enough that I feel physically ill.
I'd been hoping I wouldn't have to return to the Capitol until the Victory Tour, and now, two weeks after I left, I'm willingly rushing back to my least favorite place on earth. The thought makes me too sick to eat, and, rather than try to force anything down, I sit in my room and stare at the passing mountains.
If I remember right, District Twelve is surrounded by mountains too, so I try to convince myself that I'm headed there instead. I pretend that I'm going to meet Prim and have a chance to threaten Gale away from Katniss, who, in this rampant figment of my imagination, is deeply and passionately in love with me.
It's an unbearably nice thought, but it rapidly loses its believability when the train passes through a short tunnel and emerges in a totally different world; a world filled with tall buildings and colorful cars and dementedly altered people that definitely don't belong in District Twelve.
As the train pulls into the station, an enormous crowd of Capitolites starts cheering and waving. I can even pick out a few cameramen, all clambering to get a shot of my irresistibly charming visage. Apparently they knew I was coming.
I pause at the door and take the time to arrange my features into a signature Marvel grin. When I finally think I'm ready, I brace myself, toss open the door, and strut out onto the platform, waving and smiling and being my charming, lovable self. Families wave, boisterous greetings are shouted, and what feels like a million preteen girls start pressing up against a line of Peacekeepers, screaming my name and fighting for my attention.
I almost reel from surprise; for some reason I'd forgotten that I was still well-loved here, that the people are too stupid to hate me. Honestly, I'm rather stunned. There are twelve-year-old girls begging me to marry them.
It's really quite flattering.
A Peacekeeper grabs my arm and starts pulling me away before ego can inflate too much. With a surprising amount of politeness, the guy directs me to a limousine with dark-tinted windows. I thank him, wave a quick farewell to my loving fans, and then slip into the vehicle without a second thought. Even though I have no idea where I'm going, I can't find a reason to be too concerned. I just assume that I'll be taken back to the Training Center or some fancy hotel.
It isn't until we drive past the City Circle and up to Snow's mansion that I begin to get just a tiny bit nervous. That nervousness turns into flat out panic when the gate creaks open and the driver starts up the long gravel drive, right until the fancy limo reaches the president's front door.
"What are we doing here?" I demand.
The driver looks back at me and grins. He seems genuinely friendly, but I'm also assuming that the poor fool is terribly misguided. That tends to be a common problem among Capitol folks. "The President was so thrilled with your unexpected desire to visit that he had special guest quarters prepared for you in his very own mansion. He almost never offers a victor such a privilege. He must regard you particularly highly."
I blink. "Snow wants me to stay here?"
The blissfully ignorant Peacekeeper must mistake my absolute revulsion as... I don't know. Maybe dismay that Snow would lower himself to letting me stay with him or something, because I do a shitty job of hiding my horrified shock.
"That's what he said. Now, if you would just head in, I'm told that his butler will meet you at the door."
"Oh," I say, laughing uneasily. "I can't possibly impose upon the president like this. Really, it's too much... way, way, way too much."
"He insists," says the Peacekeeper, a tidge more forcefully. I swallow. Sleeping in the same building as Snow is terrifying enough, and here there will be no witnesses… no one to hear me scream. Hell, the guy probably has dungeons and a torture chamber and… and other unspeakable horrors too terrible for even my twisted mind to imagine.
Unfortunately, it's painfully obvious that I have absolutely no choice in the matter. With a forced smile, I nod.
"Right, of course. This is just... such an honor. I hardly feel worthy."
Appeased, the Peacekeeper begins chatting about the history of the building, and I rush to vacate the vehicle, slinging my almost non-existent luggage over my shoulder. The Peacekeeper honks and waves as I make my way up an elaborate set of stairs, and I flip him the bird when he turns to drive away. Bastard. Lulls me into a false sense of security with his stupid smiles and chatty personality and then gleefully drops me off at the gates of hell.
Still grimacing slightly, I raise a hand to lift the old-fashioned knocker, but the doors swing open before I get the chance. A butler immediately pops up in front of me- like he was waiting for my arrival right in front of the doors- and smiles creepily. He's either been involved in some kind of sketchy surgery or has contacts in, because his eyes are flat black. The effect makes him look something like an exotic reptile.
"Snow has been eagerly awaiting your arrival," he says.
"I bet."
He totally misses my sarcasm.
"Oh, it is wonderful. In fact, he asked that I escort you to breakfast right away! He would very much like the pleasure of dining with you. Come with me."
Breakfast? I swallow. I'm not ready for this. I'd wanted to confront Snow, but I was expecting time to think up a game plan first. Well, and I was kind of hoping not to have to stay in his freaking mansion after I, more likely than not, pissed him off. This... this is ridiculous.
"But my bag…"
"I will take care of that." He grabs it out of my hand as soon as he says the words, then, almost shaking with typical Capitolite-excitement, steps aside so that I am able to enter Snow's mansion for the first time. Swallowing, I take a small step through the threshold and into the snake's den.
My first thought is that Mister President needs an interior decorator. His foyer is so garishly overdone that it makes even me, Mister Bright and Flashy himself, cringe at the gaudiness of it. The floors are shining marble, numerous ridiculous paintings and sculptures are packed into what isn't that big of a space, and there's a fur pelt spread out across the floor that shines the exact pale gold of the Cato mutt's fur. I'm assuming paranoia is the only reason I would make such an evidently impossible connection, but that doesn't stop me from giving the thing a wide berth.
"So…" I say, suddenly eager to be anywhere else, even if it means dining with Snow. It's the stupid rug. It makes me uncomfortable. Snow wouldn't have… would have he? "Breakfast?"
"Right this way, Victor Metzger."
He starts off down one of three hallways that branch off from the entrance, and, sidestepping what I'm becoming increasingly sure is a Cato-mutt rug, I follow after him. The marble floors extend throughout the entire building, as does the terrible artwork. Really, that's about all there is to the mansion; fancy floors and lots of pictures. I mean, there's a shitload of doors and hallways that make the place into a freaky labyrinth, but it's severely lacking in any kind of personal touch. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I was touring a museum rather than walking through the home of a living, breathing person.
After what feels like an inordinate amount of time, the butler comes to a stop in front of a pair of heavy mahogany doors. Two stern-looking Peacekeepers stand on either side, still and unmoving as gargoyles. The butler gives the two men a signal, and they reach out and open the doors with mechanical efficiency. The tail end of an enormous table comes into view, and I realize that this must be the dining room… the place where a person would generally eat breakfast. Meaning that Snow is in there.
I'm not sure if it's fear or hatred that makes my heart suddenly start thudding against my ribcage.
"You first, Victor Metzger," the butler says lightly.
With as much confidence as I can muster, I straighten my posture and start my slow walk into the room. My body instinctively knows that I'm entering dangerous territory; all of my arena-heightened senses go on overdrive, my hand finds the hilt of my knife, and instead of walking like a normal person, I can't help but slip into a predatory gait. I consciously make an effort to stop spazzing out, but I still probably look like a freak. I can't help it. As far as scariness goes, Thresh and Cato have nothing on a short eighty-year-old man with a paunch.
The butler, who I hadn't noticed follow after me, bows deeply and says, "I present to you, Victor Marvel Metzger."
Snow smiles broadly, the expression on his face not unlike that of a kid who just conned his little brother into playing a game with him... a game that the little brother has no chance of winning.
Because that's all any of this is to Snow. One big, exciting game.
"It has been too long, Marvel," he says lightly. "I truly have missed your refreshing presence. How have you been doing?"
"Quite well," I lie with a light smile. "Much better now that I'm back in the Capitol."
"Of course, of course," Snow says. He notices that his butler is still hanging out and genially waves towards the door. "That is quite enough now, Leporis. I will call for you if I need something."
The guy bows again and heads out, leaving me alone with Snow.
"Well…" I say, smiling stiffly as I rock back on my heels. "Do you want to get right to discussing important issues, or would you rather keep up the friendly chitchat a while longer?"
Snow's smile turns almost genuine. I'm beginning to get the impression that he finds me legitimately amusing, and, to be honest, it kind of creeps me out.
"You only just got here Marvel, and after such a long journey. Why don't you sit and eat? We can discuss whatever you wish over the meal."
"I'm really not that tired," I lie. His snakelike eyes fix right on me, and I add, this time truthfully, "Or hungry."
Tsking, Snow says, "Oh, come now." He takes a bite of some kind of sausage, dabs his chin with a silk napkin, and says, "It is good food, and you know better than to think I would poison you." His smile turns snakelike. "You're much too valuable."
I sit. I'm still anything but hungry, but to keep refusing his offer would make the effect he has on me too obvious. I wouldn't be surprised if Snow already realizes that I can't stand to be in the same room as him, but that doesn't mean I want to broadcast that particular weakness. He might start forcing me to spend time with him as punishment for my actions in the arena.
Wordlessly, I begin spooning eggs onto a plate.
"There," says Snow. "Now we're both quite comfortable, and we can begin our conversation. I find that good food makes discussing unpleasant topics much easier."
Nonchalantly, I force a smile and say, "Unpleasant topics? Does that mean you've decided to forgo any additional pleasantries?"
"We are quite past the point of useless banter. Don't you agree?"
"I do, actually," I say. "May I begin?"
"Please do. I'm quite excited to hear what you have to say," says Snow, once again dabbing at his lips in a gesture that is unfathomably grating. I tear my eyes away and stare at my hands.
"Alright then…" I take a shaking breath, fighting to keep calm. "Maybe I should start out by asking why, exactly, you've decided that Katniss would make a suitable whore."
There's a long silence, and when I glance up, Snow is looking at me like I'm the funniest thing on earth.
"Why?" Snow finally asks. He chuckles. "I would have thought that you, of all people, would understand why Miss Everdeen is so adept at her new… responsibility. Is she not desirable? I cannot imagine you are surprised that she's managed to attract one of the most prominent men in the Capitol. In fact, more than one of them. There has come to be quite a list…"
"I'm not surprised they want her," I interrupt quickly, really not wanting to hear anymore. "That's not what I was asking. I want to know why you found it necessary to sell her in the first place. She isn't… she's not like Cashmere or Gloss. People weren't clambering over her body… not that I knew of anyway. She's nothing more than a skinny girl from District Twelve!"
Snow laughs.
"Dear, dear, Marvel," he says. "We both know better than that; however, I'll humor you. Katniss was sold not because I was especially interested in the profits she would give me, but rather because of the impact it would have on the nation as a whole. Think... Panem had two tributes foolish enough to act rebellious in the arena, and now it has two victors who are acting anything but now that they are out. I'm afraid that it's quite discouraging to the rebels."
I open my mouth, first to express relief that Katniss isn't being sold as part of one of Snow's twisted revenge schemes, but then what he says really sinks in, and instead I blurt, "So if the rebellion dies out, you'll stop doing… this, to Katniss?"
Snow shrugs.
"I hardly know. I suppose that it depends on whether or not she continues to be found desirable."
My heart plummets. I'm not an idiot. He's talking about Katniss, and there's no doubt in my mind that people are going to be finding her desirable for a long, long time. They'd have to be legally blind not to.
"Okay," I say, struggling to keep calm. "So you're saying that you'll keep trying to… to sell her until no one wants her?"
"That was what was implied."
"What if…" I shake my head. "What if she gets married? If Gale would propose-"
"No."
"If I would propose?" I try. Snow snorts and looks at me like I'm an idiot, and, quickly, I press, "What if I were to buy her? I mean, forever?"
Snow shakes his head. "You haven't the money. The amount necessary would be twice a victor's winnings, and I would not allow you to do something so foolish anyway. It would destroy everything I have done to quell the rebellion."
"I…" I open my mouth, a million more ideas buzzing in my head, but none of them even approach somewhat intelligent. Everything I can think of is a bunch of desperate trash. I stare at Snow imploringly and widen my eyes, hoping that he has a conscience somewhere, and ask, "Is there anything I can do at all?"
Snow doesn't even hesitate.
"No."
"I-"
I don't know what to say, and there's a terrible pressure in the back of my throat that makes me wonder whether or not I'm going to cry, so instead of finishing my sentence, I shovel more eggs into my mouth than I can chew. I take my time forcing the food down, all while Snow takes dainty little bites of his sausage, smiling like we're a couple old ladies meeting for afternoon tea.
When I finally get all the eggs choked down, I take a slurp of orange juice, and then, now that I'm calmed down enough, cautiously venture, "What if I volunteer to take her place?"
Snow studies me for a long moment, and I almost let myself hope that he's going to agree. Then he shakes his head and begins speaking.
"No. Miss Everdeen is fiery and passionate. She fits the role perfectly. You, on the other hand, while well-liked, do not make a believable prostitute. If the rebels come to realize that I am forcing Katniss into prostitution against her will, they will only become more discouraged. On the other hand, the same revelation about my dealings with you would make it obvious that I'm controlling you in other matters as well. It would destroy the believability of everything you have done to quash the rebellion, and, effectively, would turn you into a hero."
"But people from District One are whores!" I protest, any semblance of calm leaving my voice as I become increasingly desperate. "I mean… people would believe it. If you'd just leave Katniss alone, or… or let her have Gale, or anyone else-"
"I have plans for you, Marvel," says Snow coolly, his voice clearly implying that my show of emotion is unwanted, "and they would be ruined if I were to sell you. You will have a bigger role in time. Until then, I'd appreciate you not try my patience."
Stomach clenching painfully, I stuff more eggs into my mouth, this time so I don't say anything I might regret. Taking advantage of my silence, Snow smiles slightly and offers, "If you would like, I could offer you the Girl on Fire for a single night. Mister Baxwoll had her reserved for four days, but I do have other victors with which to entertain him for one of those evenings."
I swallow my eggs too quickly, then proceed to spend an embarrassing amount of time choking on them. Snow watches condescendingly, and I can't help but fidget under his gaze as I consider his offer.
A single night. I could purchase Katniss Everdeen for a single night. I understand that it would cost a lot of money, but… I'm still tempted. Painfully, disgustingly tempted. I want her company, not in the perverted way, but… just to talk to her, even if she does hate me. And if would save her from a night of sleeping with someone else. Unless…
I cough one more time, then clear my throat and hoarsely ask, "You wouldn't expect me to… to actually do anything with her, would you?"
"What you do or do not do is of no consequence to me," Snow says, waving a hand dismissively. "It is your money, and, if you wish to take the 'moral' route, I will do nothing to punish you. One night off will hardly keep Miss Everdeen from breaking, and I'm sure, if word were to get out of a one night stand between the two of you, her reputation would take just as big a hit as had she spent an evening with Mister Baxwoll."
I exhale. "Okay," I say. I close my eyes and take a shaky breath. "Then I'll buy Katniss for a night, and… and I suppose do nothing at all after that."
He clasps his hands together. "Good, good. You're finally speaking sense. Now, if you do not mind, I will have Leporis come and take you to your rooms. I have business to attend to."
Before I can even reply, he rings a bell, and his creepy-faced butler appears within seconds.
I don't quite have the courage to give Snow the same single-fingered gesture I gave to my chauffeur, but I'm unbelievably tempted when I turn to see him smiling at me as I exit the dining room.
…
The room that Snow has set aside for me is deep enough in his mansion to make me nervous. I've been in enormous buildings before, but the president's mansion… it's a totally different kind of big. Doors and staircases pop up around every corner, and corridors continually branch off into other hallways. I'd gotten the idea it was a labyrinth from my trip to the dining room, but that little part of the mansion I went through to arrive there is nothing compared to the rest of it.
I doubt I would've been able to remember which way I came from anyway, but my head is so filled with thoughts of Katniss that the idea of so much as attempting to memorize the path slips my mind until the butler has me too deep within the mansion to bother. At that point, I make a half-assed effort to place my surroundings, but it's useless. Before a full minute is up, I chuck the idea of trying to orientate myself and instead settle for listening to the butler drone on and on about the architecture of the building.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity of listening to mindless chatter about fancy pillars and arches, the butler stops in front of a seemingly random mahogany door.
I stare at it, attempting to find something distinctive that could lead me back to my room if I decide to wander, but there's nothing. It looks like every single one of the other doors in the mansion. Then again, I suppose that's part of the reason Snow gave me a room that's so far off and so randomly situated; he wants to scare me out of snooping around. Well, and I'm assuming he's also rather keen on the fact that I'll have to contact one of his men before I want to go anywhere.
It'll make keeping track of me incredibly easy.
"This is your room," Leporis says simply. "If you need to leave, I suggest you call for a servant. It would be an unpleasant waste of energy to have to locate you if you happen to get lost."
I thank him briefly, then step into the room.
It's huge, with an enormous bed and an elaborately decorated sitting area, complete with two leather couches and an ornate dining table. There are two other doors besides the one I entered through, and when I wander over to investigate, I find a bathroom with a tub I could probably swim laps in, and, behind the other door, an enormous, fully stocked closet.
Once my curiosity is spent, I awkwardly take a seat on the edge of the huge, down-quilted bed and grab the remote for the TV. Without really even thinking about it, I start flipping through all the mindless Capitol channels, searching for something to distract myself from just how useless of a situation Katniss is in.
I still can't believe that that conversation went that badly. I should have known better, but I hadn't expected Snow to be completely irrational. Honestly, now I I'm not so sure the asshole would stop for any reason short of the rebellion sparking up and demolishing the Capitol, and as great a possibility as that is, I think the odds of Snow turning over a new leaf, apologizing to Katniss and me for all the trouble he's caused, and sending us chocolates and lilies to make up for his behavior is a million times more likely.
I shake my head and try to focus on the screen, but it's useless. Between how worried I am and how tired I am, all I can hear is a bunch of babbling in the background. Before long, I give up completely and turn the stupid thing off. Then I sprawl back across the bed and stare up at the ceiling, praying to whatever deities are willing to listen that the rebels kick it into gear ASAP.
I'm not sure how long it is before my sleepless night catches up with me, but I must slip off to sleep sometime because, when I open my eyes again, it's dark.
The first thing I do is scramble to my feet in confusion, not entirely sure where I'm at. I sleep with all my lights on, plus there's a window in my room. Waking up to complete darkness makes me panic, and then, just as I calm down enough to remember I'm in Snow's mansion, that panic skyrockets into flat out terror.
I fell asleep in Snow's mansion. I'm in Snow's mansion, and I fell asleep.
With shaking hands, I move around, testing all of my limbs to make sure that they're working properly and no unexpected surgeries were performed while I was out. Then I reach towards my belt and wrap my fingers around the hilt of my knife. It's still there.
I let out a low breath and look back towards the vague outline of the bed. I should get back to sleep. I really should. I'll need it, and none of the president's cronies have done anything cruel or unusual to me. Still… I can't help but imagine Snow sneaking into my room late at night and doing… something… like sinking his teeth into my jugular and sucking my blood. That's a legit theory, actually. I can't imagine why else his breath always smells like blood. He probably does it to all the guests he invites here… maybe he even drinks so little that they don't even notice.
Maybe he's already visited me this evening.
I swallow and stare at the door. Great. So now I'm making myself paranoid. That totally makes me more comfortable with the idea of falling back to sleep.
I rake a hand through my hair and force myself to lay back down. Snow isn't a vampire. That thought is ridiculous… what isn't ridiculous is that I'm in a room with no windows, in the middle of Snow's huge mansion, and… is the door locked? What if he's locked me in?
The thought is horrifying. I hate enclosed spaces. I've never been a fan of them, have always liked room to move, but that little quirk of mine turned into a flat-out phobia after the Games. I'm terrified of the idea of being stuck somewhere with no way out. Especially if that somewhere is President Snow's freaking slaughterhouse.
Suddenly, the room becomes way too suffocating and much, much too dark. Without even thinking about it, I swing my legs back over the edge of the bed and get to my feet. Stumbling through the dark, I reach out and close my hand over the doorknob, my heart plummeting as my paranoid head tells me that it's going to be locked.
It isn't. It turns easily in my hand. Reassured, I tell myself that I should go back to bed now, should try to get at least a little very necessary sleep, but when I look back into my room, at all of the darkness and shadows and claustrophobic tightness, I immediately know that I have a better chance of beating Gloss in an arm wrestle. No way am I staying in there all night.
Without really thinking about the possibility of getting lost, I open the door and step out into the marble-tiled hallway. There are windows here, and I let out a low breath when I see the moonlight streaming into the corridor. If nothing else, at least I have a window to jump out of if Snow decides to come at me vampire-style.
Without consciously deciding to, I begin walking down the corridor, trailing my fingers along the cool glass windows. I'm not sure where I'm going. Just away from my room, away from that stupid windowless dungeon. Once I'm at the end of the hall, I run straight into another door and open it without a second thought. I'm treated to the sight of another long hallway. This one is darker, with flickering candles on the walls and doors lining every few feet of space.
I swallow and, perhaps stupidly, venture forward. There aren't any windows here, and it's definitely a place I won't be able to escape, but it's also late and my brain isn't working too hot. I keep going, now out of curiosity more than any kind of rational, intelligent decision-making.
As I move further into the hallway, I peer at the doors around me, frowning at how many there are. Maybe this is where Snow keeps his prisoners. I'm actually half tempted to test a doorknob and see if there are any ex-Capitol officials hanging out in chains and prison-garb, but then decide that I'm being ridiculous. While not morally beneath him, keeping enemies cooped up isn't Snow's style. He prefers to blackmail them into doing his bidding until they're no longer useful. Then he kills them.
With that happy thought, I continue down the hallway, starting to regret my decision to explore as I get further away from the other door and deeper into the crippling darkness. It really is creepy, especially with the flickering candles and echoing floors and whatnot.
Then, just as I'm about to head back, I turn a sharp corner and find myself feet in front of an elaborate doorway. I can't really see what's beyond it, but I do notice light streaming in the middle of the room and reflecting beautifully off the marble floors.
I continue forward, figuring that a little more reckless exploring won't hurt.
I'm not even entirely through the doorway before I realize how painfully wrong I am.
I've stepped into an art room. Paintings line the walls, not like in other parts of his home, but in an elaborate manner, clearly meant to show each one off individually. The sculptures aren't just randomly adorning every surface, but are carefully displayed, some of them even roped off to keep them safe. Other things, cased swords and knives and elaborate suits of armor, a net and trident, an axe, rows of spears, are all interwoven into the empty spaces between the pictures and sculptures.
With a terrible, morbid fascination, I step forward and look more closely at this terrible hell I stepped into. The portraits are mostly recognizable… Finnick Odair standing over his final kill… Johanna Mason with her axe wedged into a young boy's head, blood and gore splattering her face, and… and Cato… his face and body torn apart by the wolf mutts. Katniss hadn't been able to put him out of his misery like she had Thresh, and it shows in the absolute pain on the portrait Cato's face, the look of unbearable agony that's scrawled across his features as the mutts bite into his arms and legs and tear chunks of flesh from his chest.
I jump when I hear footsteps echoing across the floor, but they're far enough away that I'm able to push my instincts back enough that, when I turn around, it's with some semblance of composure.
I'm not sure who I expect to see- Snow or one of his men, probably- but when my eyes rest on a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, my eyes widen slightly in surprise. As soon as she sees that I've noticed her, she continues forward, now silent as a ghost.
It's disconcerting to know that she could have easily snuck up on me if she'd wanted.
"That one is particularly well done, isn't it?" the girl asks, as if it's perfectly normal to be wandering about the president's mansion at this ungodly hour. I stare at her for a second, taking in her warm brown eyes and the moonlight-colored curls that dance down her back. She's prettier than average- not at Cashmere or Glimmer's level, but still beautiful- but that isn't why I gape.
She looks innocent, angelic almost, and I can't quite manage to reconcile her appearance with the words that just came out of her mouth.
"Well done?" I ask. "You aren't… you're not talking about the painting, are you?"
The girl laughs beautifully. "Of course I am." She smiles sadly and takes a step closer to me. Her head doesn't even come up to my chest. "My grandfather selects a single image from each Games that he wishes to have immortalized. Usually, it's the victor's final kill, but obviously that wasn't the case this year. Instead, he chose to portray the death of his final hope. He's frustrated, so he took it out on Cato; he says that if the boy would have killed you when he had the chance, Panem wouldn't be in its current situation."
It takes everything I have not to completely lose my head. Internally, I'm thinking, 'Grandfather?! Snow has a freaking granddaughter?! That means he has kids… and a wife… A wife he had to have had those kids with…
Obviously I don't say any of that. Rather, I take a deep breath and calmly reply, "That's… interesting."
"It's also wrong," the girl says. "My grandfather knows very well that the rebellion would have happened anyway." She frowns, her brow creasing as she seems to realize something. After a moment, she turns away from the painting to face me completely. "I'm Cornelia Snow, by the way. I forget that you wouldn't know that."
"Marvel Metzger." I hold out a hand, and she shakes it lightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Oh, no it's not," she says. Her lips curve up into a smile that doesn't contain an ounce of insincerity, almost like she's genuinely amused by my lie. "You dislike my grandfather exceedingly, and so far all I've done is make you uncomfortable."
"Well," I say. I hesitate, really not wanting to piss Snow off by offending a granddaughter I hadn't been aware he had. "…I wouldn't say I'm uncomfortable. I'm just surprised. I didn't know Snow had any family."
"He doesn't like people to know," Cornelia says. "There's always the chance that we could be used against him."
"And could you be? I can't imagine him caring enough for that to work."
"Ha. No, he wouldn't care," she says, not sounding like it bothers her a bit. "But it would be messy business, nonetheless."
"Shit. Well there goes that idea," I mutter. "And here I was planning on kidnapping you to make all my problems go away."
Neither of us say anything after that, and after a while I start searching for a topic, reaching for something to say, until I realize that I don't have to say anything at all. I'm not that far from my room, and once I get back into the corridor with the windows, I'll find my way easily enough. There's no reason I can't just leave
"Well," I say finally, "It's been nice talking to you, but I'm pretty tuckered out, so…"
"Of course," says Cornelia. She smiles. "Goodnight, Marvel." I move to leave, then screech to a halt at what comes out of her mouth next. "You're charming; I really hope you survive everything that's bound to happen to you."
Slowly, I turn around and stare at Cornelia, who's smiling with perfect innocence, her warm eyes even peeking up at me through thick lashes. Like she's not perfectly aware of what she just said.
"Everything that's bound to happen to me?" I ask cautiously. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm really not allowed to say any more. Just…" She frowns for a second, making a big show of thinking over how she should phrase her next sentence. Finally, she must settle on something because she continues speaking. "You should realize that even my grandfather knows there's going to be a war. The Capitol will win, so I don't see what he's so concerned about, but his plans have now… crossed a line." She flashes perfect white teeth. "He's willing to do desperate things, and now he's even arranging a terrible last resort that will no doubt blow up in his face. He knows it, too. The only problem is that there's no longer much of a choice."
I stare. "Wait a second. There will be a war? Inevitably? But… how?"
"You can't see everything that's going on in Panem from District One." Cornelia shrugs. "There've been strikes in Eight and Eleven… and so much talk in Twelve that my grandfather had to install a new Peacekeeping system. Actually, there's been talk in every district. Except for Two."
"Wait. District One, too?"
She only laughs. "Silly, silly boy," she says. Then takes a step closer to me and leans up on her toes to kiss my cheek. "Maybe my grandfather isn't such a fool. I think I'll have fun with you."
Then, with that completely indecipherable comment, she ruffles my hair in an unmistakably condescending gesture and walks away, leaving me gaping after her like a fish.
The rest of my evening is spent trying to decide whether I have officially lost my marbles or if that crazy meeting actually happened.
...
A/N- Okay, now that I have time to do a proper author's note, I am so sorry that I took over a month to update. Currently I'm trying to juggle homework from two AP classes, drama, band, jazz band, chorus, and basketball all at once, and it's all kind of sucking away my time to write. I'd planned to get a chapter up over Thanksgiving weekend, but between basketball practices every day except Thanksgiving itself and a lot of traveling in between, I hadn't managed to find the time.
Thankfully, I have gotten better at juggling my schedule and think that I should be able to get back to weekly updates now that bball practices are getting shorter and I'm a bit more used to the crazy. If nothing else, Christmas break is coming up for me in two weeks, and I'll do my best to get at least two (hopefully three) chapters up all within that period, so I'm definitely not going out a month without an update again.
Finally, I'm going to get back to doing review replies this chapter. I know I promised them last chapter, but I got a wee bit blindsided and never got the chance. Now that I'm managing time better, I won't have a problem getting those by the end of next chapter.
Alright, I'm done blabbering now. To summarize if you didn't want to read all that, as of now, I'll be able to get back to weekly updates.
Thank you guys all so much for sticking with this story and finding the time to review. I really, really appreciate how patient you are and apologize for not getting back to PMs or answering any reviews asking where I've been. I hope you'll forgive me enough to keep commenting and telling me what you think, especially after this chapter. It's kind of long and a lot of things happened, so I'd love to hear your take on everything.
That's everything... finally. Thanks again for be so patient with me.
~bballgirl32~