Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.
Note: The Arena phase of the tale, and twenty three lives, may be over but the story hasn't reached its end just yet. After all, per the trend set in the first three 74th Games tales there are still two chapters remaining to tie up some loose ends and set a few other things up for the future. One would like to think what happens in the Arena stays in the Arena, but we all know that ain't the way this series ever goes. Time to see what kind of a shit-show awaits Nettle now... but first, how about another hint towards the fifth Lead of The Nameless Chronicles?
Hint #1: This tribute died in the Cornucopia Bloodbath.
Hint #2: This tribute's odds of winning were 10-1, or better.
Hint #3: This tribute was fifteen years old, or younger.
The endless darkness suddenly gets chased away as light re-enters the world. I whimper a little, a hand over my face as the light blinds me for a few moments. I gasp out deeply, in and out constantly for several long moments. My breathing slows and my heart rate returns to normal eventually as, with a groan, I sit myself up.
Glancing around everything suddenly feels surreal and the only thing I feel is lost. An empty room is all I see. Well, sure, the bed I'm in is quite pleasant and the minimalist decor has some charm to it - a bit of a subdued chic, in my view - but nothing in here gives me answers to my questions.
The most pressing question, where the hell am I?!
I wrack my mind, trying to think everything over. The Arena was almost completely submerged by the swamp water, Rammy was my last opponent, I axed him right as he slashed at me, then the cannon boomed...
My eyes widen as it all hits me at once.
...I emerged victorious from the Hunger Games...
I won. Me, Nettle Bonsai, the spoiled rich girl whose Mentor didn't even assist at any point... I won. I cannot help but weakly chuckle to myself, almost sounding something like gleeful as I lay my head against the pillows. I did it, I survived. I can go back home now. The money I'll win matters little to me. I'm just smiling at the thought of seeing my father again and my next date with...
...
My stomach turns to ice and everything seems to slow down around me as I start to tremble. Tears pool into my eyes when I recall one horrible fact, one that I have to live the rest of my life knowing.
Ranger's dead, killed by Rammy. All because of me. All because of my hesitance to make a shot, and because of losing my temper. I got the love of my life killed!
Even as I glance at the bedside mirror and see that my face looks perfectly fine once again - was my nose always that freckly? - I remain low in spirits, with my mood only dropping faster and faster as the seconds pass. I can't hold back from sobbing.
"Ranger... oh shit, Ranger..." I weep, trying to wipe away the tears. I put my hands over my face and start to draw up my knees. I just want to lay curled up in a ball and cry it out for a while.
Wait... what the hell.
That doesn't feel right...
My heart is pounding as I reach for the bedsheets, bracing myself for what I may see once I lift them up. My left leg doesn't feel... right. It fact, it doesn't feel wrong either. It's an odd state of feeling nothing in particular. Ok, on the count of three I'll look.
One.
Two.
Three.
I lift up the bedsheets in one solid motion. My eyes widen, to the point they may resemble saucers. My breath becomes rapid and shaky, a panic attack setting in. No, no... nuts... no, fuck, nuts... what happened to me?!
My left leg is... gone. In it's place is a metal leg; the 'bones' of the leg ever so complex and chrome coloured, with a sort of iron foot. I can only stare in pure horror, the remains of my left leg being merely a small stump that the fake leg is connected to by bolts or something. I can barely think it over, I think I'm gonna throw up.
Two puddles of vomit on the floor later I wipe my sickly lips and stare at what's become of my leg, whimpering. This and the death of my lover... no... no...
That's when my breath really hitches as the emotional pain of a knife hits me. Looking closely at this leg I feel myself starting to snap.
Having assisted in cleaning his fake leg in times gone by, it's ever so easy for me to know when small pieces of Ranger's metal leg are in front of me. Now they're within mine. Even a plate of metal for the 'kneecap' that has N/R scratched into it.
I scream, making my own ears throb. I scream and scream, wailing and shrieking.
AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!
I scream as an alarm rings.
I wail as some people enter the room, saying words that i neither hear nor pay attention to.
I shriek as I feel one of them gently hold me and another give me a light prick to the neck.
I whimper as I hit the pillows again, the darkness clouding over once more.
"Gross. What a terrible mess on the floor," I hear somebody say, before it all becomes distant...
(Time passes...)
Feeling returns to me as my eyes flicker open. The light makes me flinch, but I don't allow myself to squeal or whine from it. I sit myself up as my eyes adjust, slowly becoming aware of the world around me. It's the same hospital room as the one before... I think? I can't be sure of this; for all I know, maybe it's another, identical room?
It's only a few seconds before I'm jolted to tears once again by the knowledge of Ranger's death and the loss of my leg. I'm taking deep gasps of air, trying ever so hard to remain stable. It's a losing battle, the horrible feelings too much to ignore.
"Air, air, I need air!" I scream, throwing off the bedsheets. The sight of my uncouth russet brown hospital clothes only serve to make me feel worse. "Get me out of here!"
I set both feet on the ground, flesh and metal as one, and start to walk my way to the door. The plan is foiled when I instantly stumble over as soon as I try to walk on my left leg. With a cry I fall to the floor in a heap.
I look down at the metal leg, morose. It doesn't feel anything like my old leg. It doesn't move the same way at all... how am I supposed to walk on this thing?!
I can only shiver as I stare off into space. Not only have I lost my lover and gained tons of trauma, but now I have to learn to walk all over again. Shit...
"Need a hand?" a voice asks.
Ice fills me up once again, but this time it's not due to fear or misery of any sort. No... this time, it is only from what I can call purest hatred. Looking up at Johanna, standing above me and holding out a hand, I can only scowl.
"Oh, so now you want to help me?" I ask her, scoffing. "Get the hell away from me, I can do this myself."
I reach up to grab the sides of the bed, scrambling myself up to try and stand once again. Johanna just watches me struggle my way back up, but I ignore her as best I can.
"Whatever you have to say, Johanna, I don't want to hear it," I reply, straight to the point. "You refused to help me, and I got out of there anyway. I owe you nothing. No thanks, no words, nothing. One could say I am simply going to give you all of which you gave me... nothing!"
"Fine by me. Honestly, I'm not really bothered either way," she says, shrugging. "By the way, you're meant to walk a bit slower on that thing. You're still getting used to it, may as well start slower with it. Walk before you run."
"I have one question for you, and one alone," I say to her. "You may as well answer it."
"And why's that?" Johanna asks, bored.
"I'm a Victor so we'll be living in the same village, right? If you don't answer it now I'll ask every day for the next several decades until you do," I say, flatly.
"Ok, fine, ask away," Johanna replies, flinching at the thought of my threat.
"Why didn't you even try to help me?" I ask her, desperate for answers. Any answer at all! "I had to make it all alone, use my words to try and build up some alliances or get out of trouble. Survive despite how hopeless I felt. Fuck, you even ditched me and passed me to Blight just because I did something you didn't like! ...Who the fuck do you think you are Johanna?! You've been in the Arena too, you know it's different for every Victor and that none of us are quite the same. But... but I just figured maybe there could be some camaraderie as I was gonna be in the same state you were in, but you were never there for me. You were just..."
She's not even looking at me, already looking over at a picture frame on the wall. I see red, seething at this women who took one look at me and didn't even try helping me. She just wrote me off and that was that. Maybe if he hadn't I'd still have my leg.
"You done?" she asks me.
"I guess so," I mutter, trying to stand once more. I fall over in an instant. "Fuck!"
"Blight's gonna help you move around until you get the hang of it yourself," she says. She cracks her knuckles. "Short and sweet, I didn't think you had any chance at all. Spoiled rich girl who never worked a day in her life? Yeah, I just saw a loser and didn't feel like getting attached and feeling bad when you died. So, I didn't."
I think this over. In a twisted way, it makes a form of sense. But then I think of other very unlikely Victors such as Mizar, Pliny, Spud, Platinum, Chassis and many others... suddenly I feel even angrier.
"Maybe you didn't want to feel worse," I say, slowly. "Or maybe... maybe you forgot that there have been many other very unlikely Victors and you were just too lazy to bother trying. That's what you are Johanna, lazy."
She tries to speak, but having lost a leg and much more besides I simply hold up my hand.
"Still talking," I say, coldly. "You didn't want to get attached and feel happy... well, fun little fact, now you don't get to feel any happiness either. I hate you Johanna. Blight was more of a Mentor than you. If anybody is gonna be given the credit for getting me out of there it's him, as he actually tried in the limited time he had."
"I don't really care what you think about me," she says, and in a moment I know she means it. Guess I should've seen that one coming. "I'm really just here to check on you and say it's been a week since the Games ended. The 'delightful' President has ordered that your interview happens tonight whether you're ready for it or not."
"A week?" I squeak quietly. "A week's gone by?"
"Yep... and let me tell you, Panem is in quite a state right now," Johanna says, looking sly for a moment. "I think we're all in for quite an interesting year. That boyfriend of yours getting sliced really caused-"
"His name was Ranger," I hiss. "Use his name."
"...Fine, Ranger died in the Arena and now the population is kind of freaking out over it," she says, drawling a bit. "I'm sure you'll hear more about this sooner or later, but my advice would be to keep your head down and just do what they say. Dark days are ahead if you don't."
"Why should I listen to you?" I ask her, narrowing my eyes. "How about you listen to me and fuck off!"
"Gladly," she says as she rises up. "Congrau-fuckin'-lations though, on winning. I'll admit, you're tougher than I gave you credit for, if perhaps just a bit."
"I am so validated by your phrase," I say, rolling my eyes.
"And anyway, don't feel too bad over the metal leg. Some tributes have left the Arena in a worse state, whether alive or dead," she says as she opens the door of the room. "Besides, don't feel bad over your leg being a stump. We're from the lumber District, we have plenty of them."
Johanna leaves as I begin to shout and seethe, but angry as I am... I know this is just the start of our conflict. We're gonna be neighbours, and no matter how far away the house I pick to live in is from hers... it simply won't be far enough.
Ohhhhh! She's lucky that I'm on the floor and not in range to kick my metal foot right up her... well, I shan't say the crude word. Nevertheless, I sure wish I'd been able to do it!
I spend a few minutes trying to get myself back up onto the bed and gain some sort of balance. It's gonna take a lot of getting used to, having a fake leg and all... yeah, a lot of getting used to.
I hold back a sob, but with how my life feels so very shattered it's a hard task. I breath in deeply.
"You are a Victor, you are strong, you are Nettle... so, act like it," I tell myself, complete with a slap to the cheek. "Don't. Cry."
A half minute passes and no more tears fall. I can't show anymore weakness than I already have. Not until I'm back home and safely locked in my room.
"Now, walk," I tell myself, firm as can be.
I take all of two steps before I sprawl to the ground again, cursing out as I do. Once again, the hard journey towards standing up begins.
The door opens. I'm about to start shouting in case it's Johanna back for round two, but it's not her. Just my Escort, Trendy Callahan. Though if you were to ask me, the purple dragon scales all over her body and the horns really are not trendy in the slightest. Ever the misleading name with this one. But, what can be done?
I mean, perhaps I could suggest she kindly not make herself look so grotesque but she's the kind of person who never really lets you get a word in edgeways, sideways or any ways at all. Sometimes, there are people with whom your best bet is to just nod and agree while they witter on and on.
"Get up Nettle, we have a lot to do!" she squeaks, practically yanking me up. I stumble, falling upon the bed in an instant. "There's no time for laying down right now Nettle, you just had a full week to get all the sleep you needed! Chop, chop, we have to get you ready for the interview tonight. You need to look your best! Perhaps a bit harder than I'd like as you didn't take enough care of your leg, but I have done more with less. Anyhow, if you still haven't worked out how to walk then I guess I can just get you some crutches or a wheelchair. Whatever gets us out of here and you to your prep team faster, I suppose."
Oh my Tree Gods, please shut the hell up...
"A wheelchair would be nice," is what I decide to say instead. There's no point having an argument with a twit. Father days it only drags you down, and I've got too much on my mind anyway, even without a conflict with Trendy.
"I'll fetch one for you," she says, strutting to the door. "Back in a few minutes."
She exits the room, and returns in about five seconds. Maybe less, actually. I'm about to admit to myself how I'm impressed she took so little time, but that's when I see the lack of a wheelchair.
"You have a very special guest," she tells me quickly. "I'll be back shortly. I think the wheelchairs are kept at the other side of the medical area. Three turns right, two turns left."
"Actually my dear, it's three turns left and two turns right," a gentle voice corrects her. I instantly feel on edge, as it would be impossible for me to not know who this voice belongs to.
Oh no...
"Oh, thank you sir," Trendy says, a bit flustered.
"Quite alright my dear, I once made the same mistake myself... ok, fine, twice," the same voice says with a mild chuckle.
Oh no...
"Well, enjoy speaking to our latest Victor. I'll be off," Trendy says, her footsteps quickly fading.
Oh no!
President Snow calmly enters the room, casually shutting it behind him. I can only flinch as he slowly sits down on a small chair beside my bed. This is the most powerful man in Panem. The man who has had leadership over Panem for many years, longer than any other President. The man who fully approves of the Hunger Games and swiftly arranges the deaths of all who happen to not agree with his regime.
The man who no doubt knows I hate his government and that I think there are plenty of better ways for our nation to be run. I did, after all, insult the Capitol quite scathingly in the Arena right after Wood's death. This is gonna be painful...
Snow doesn't miss my fear - I'm of the mind he doesn't really miss anything - and if anything he seems to be somewhat amused by my clear unease of being near him.
"You've lost a dear companion and a leg, and yet after all that it's an old man that makes you feel the most unhappy," he remarks, a small chuckle existing through his lips. "Personally, I would be feeling the most stress over having to relearn something as basic as walking. But, to each their own I suppose."
There's no escape, nor any way of delaying this. No point either. Surely he wants to have a very firm word with me, and due to what he did to Johanna's family a few years ago... nuts. I better watch what I say and do as he asks.
I'm not letting my father die like Johanna's did. I won't make the same mistakes she made. I take a deep breath, thinking a silent prayer. If I can just somehow get through this, the rest might be all downhill.
"I assume that you want to speak with me about something," I manage to croak out. "You'd not be talking to be one on one so soon after I've woken up if you didn't need to."
"You catch on quick, as expected," Snow says, slowly nodding. "I'd expect nothing less from a girl with a political future and a certain way with words. Now, speaking of that..."
He stares at me, and I'm shivering in an instant.
"Your words will not be forgotten, nor forgiven quite so simply," he says, coldly. It's like I'm staring at a ghastly snake. One with sharp fangs, and poised to strike. "You are very lucky indeed that events unfolded as they did, or right now your mangled remains would be receiving an admittedly decent burial back in Seven's tribute graveyard. It might be an unwritten rule, but frankly I may as well make it an official one; do not question the Capitol in the Arena, or face severe consequences."
Snow sighs, rubbing his temples wearily. His expression reminds of one that some of the worst off lumberjacks back home tend to make when things go wrong. They call it the 'fuck my life' expression. I'd normally wonder what Snow of all people has to feel upset over, but... I sniffle over the thought, but regardless the fact is Ranger's death in the Arena won't be making Snow's life easy at all.
I don't feel any sympathy whatsoever! Humph!
"To put it simply, you were supposed to die at that Feast. You nearly did. Of course, you then caused the boy from Two to become distracted which allowed the boy from Ten to murder him and both you and Ranger to escape. Now, if that were all that happened I would not care. We'd have just driven you both apart the next day and then collected him once he was away from everybody else by a sufficient amount," Snow says, calm. But, it's easy to see his words are gradually becoming firmer and colder. "That would've been what happened, actually. But then the boy from Ten, in a state of panic from a recent crocodile attack, jumped him. We tried subduing him through his tracker. Claudius tried to make him stop. Both of these things failed."
Snow deeply exhales, looking so done with it all.
"In short, at that moment riots erupted in most of the Districts," Snow looks weary as he says this, practically rolling his eyes. "Seven in particular was a complete disaster. Many civilians were panicking that their family members would be grabbed off of the streets and taken to the Hunger Games even without a reaping being needed. The Gamemaker who suggested this to Seneca has been killed. Seneca, too, has been killed for approving it. A few others were also killed for not doing their jobs and stopping the kill from happening."
Snow pauses, looking me right in my eyes. I can't help but fidget under his gaze somewhat. I just hope fidgeting isn't the sort of thing he has people beaten or killed for. In all actuality, it wouldn't surprise me if this were indeed the case.
"Basically, there are a lot of positions open for Gamemakers," he says, lightly. "Not only that, but Panem is in a precarious state. The only reason that crocodiles were not set upon you from all sides is because the boy from Ten became even more unpleasant in my eyes. I'd wanted you both dead and for that young girl from Three to win, but then she killed herself. I decided I no longer cared so long as this embarrassment was ended swiftly."
He stands up and paces for a minute or two. I don't dare speak up, as he's clearly not done talking. I won't show my hand until he shows his. After all, he still needs to tell me what he wants with me.
I can't help but wonder what Seven must look like now. The rioting surely messed up plenty of areas and broke a lot of stuff. People might be dead... shit... it seems I really am lucky to be alive. If Marvel hadn't gotten stuck in the mud and Gadget hadn't given up, urrghh, the thought makes me sickly to dwell upon.
Ranger's death... a tragedy. Every death in the Arena is a tragedy, but there has never before been a death like his. There will never be one like it ever again. He's the first and only person to die in the dirt of the Arena and not even be a tribute. I don't think this one is ever gonna be forgotten. Riots, fear, anger...
...
...the kinds of emotions that could really fuel a rebellion and counter-attack upon the Capitol. If I were in the position of a leader, then maybe just maybe...
Then again, I'd have to be mentally stable first. I'm still teary eyed and feel like my heart's been torn out. It's so much at once, too much for me to be thinking about fighting back so soon after I've won.
"So now, you're the Victor and for better for worse I'm going to have to just put up with you. I suspect, though, Johanna has it worse seeing as I won't have to be anywhere near you until the Quell if all goes well," Snow says, sitting down again. "Regardless, let me be very clear on something Nettle."
He leans a bit closer to me. Nowhere close enough so that we're touching, but enough to make me feel much smaller than I already do. For a terrifying moment, he stares right into my own eyes and I get a distinct scent enter my nose.
The scent of blood, one I'm all too familiar with after the Arena.
"You are treading on very thin ice. Thinner than even the ice the surviving Gamemakers are stepping upon, " he says, slow and calm. "You're under a lot of surveillance right now. One toe out of line, one little flicker of action that makes me feel distrustful and you'll regret it in ways you cannot begin to comprehend. Oh, I'm sure you've heard stories of what became of Johanna's family... I'd almost like to know what you think I may do, as I would love to do something worse."
I keep my breath stable, just barely. The fact he says these nasty threats he can and surely will carry out if I piss him off in a mere soft tone of voice... it's ever so scary. He doesn't need to raise his voice to command complete respect. Its only the brave or the foolish who willingly cross Snow. Facing off with him isn't something I feel is within me right now. Not yet.
"I won't cause any issues," I tell him trying not to sound over meek. I get the feeling I failed on all accounts. "I'll behave."
"See to it that you do," he says, nodding. "But that's not enough. I expect you to help cease the riots going on. Whether this be assisting Mayor Bonsai in ceasing issues in Seven, making anti-Rebel speeches when you are seen on camera or simply breaking up a street fight in your own free time... you'll do it. Because if you don't... you may have lost your lover and you may not be close to your father, but don't assume I cannot do anything against you."
He leans a little bit closer, the smell of blood flooding my nostrils. I feel myself becoming pale as a sheet.
"Greater men and women than you have spoken out and died," he says, calmly.
"But... but I didn't do anything, sir," I say, trying ever so hard to be brave. "Yes, I might have said a few rather unfortunate words, but I didn't kill Ranger. I'd never have done such an unspeakable thing. It was all Rammy's work that got him... m-m-murdered. It was the Gamemakers that kidnapped him and put him in there."
"Indeed, that is all true," he says, completely agreeing. I sense an agreement with me shan't stop him though. "But all those people are dead and beyond further punishment. Your words started this whole mess, and you are still alive to pay for it. You know laws, don't you Nettle?"
"Cover to cover," I reply, no word of an exaggeration spoken.
"Then you'll know that Ranger's death has violated the Treaty of Treason," Snow says, a little red in the face. "Sure, it was Lucia's bloodlust and Seneca's obsession with ratings and stardom that were nails in the coffin, but it was in a response to you talking out of turn. There are some fairly dangerous times ahead of us Nettle."
He narrows his eyes, terrifyingly snakelike for a moment. My heart pounds, hard and ever so fast. I think I might throw up, or maybe pass out for another week. The latter doesn't even seem like a bad thing, actually...
"Don't put yourself on the wrong side of it all," he warns me. "I suppose the only loose end to it all is where all those funds that gave you that crate mysteriously came from. Oh, but that information will surface in time. It always does."
With everything said that apparently needed to be spoken President Snow calmly rises, offers empty congratulations on my victory and calmly leaves the room without another sound besides the light echo of his footsteps. Only once his steps are out of my hearing range do I begin to deeply breath in and out.
Nuts, this is bad. Snow threatened me, Seven must be in shambles of some sort, Ranger's dead, my leg's gone, the Treaty of Treason has been violated... what does all this mean for Panem?
Everything. It quite literally means everything, and I don't have much time to figure it all out and just what I'm going to do with my broken life when the dust settles.
I can't hold back the tears, letting myself cry it out for a few minutes. I'm only about a quarter-way done sobbing when Trendy returns with a wheelchair. She can only shake her head as she sees me.
"Stop crying, you're the star of the show tonight. This is your moment!" she says, tutting. "Be happy for the stardom and glory you've won! Just think, my second year as an escort and already I pulled a Victor. Oh, this means big things for Trendy Callahan!"
She helps me into the wheelchair and quickly speeds me out of the room towards wherever my Prep Team must be waiting for me. I'm silent during the whole ride there.
After all, right now my time is better spent imagining the things I've love to say to this mindless twit!
(Time passes...)
Above me the crowd are cheering and applauding as Caesar hypes them up for the interview. They must be eager to see me after a whole week of me being totally unconscious. Personally, I'm just eager to go home after all of this terrible trauma.
Alas, home remains a distant eventuality for now. After all, the interview is here and as the Victor I have choice but to talk on stage to Caesar in front of a crowd of thousands. That's not even getting into the fact the entire population of Panem will be forced to watch the whole interview as it plays out.
Lucky me, the population is restless right now and far more angry than the norm. The likelihood of full fledged rebellion is stronger than ever, and Snow expects me to contain it. What do I even say? I mean, is there anything that I can really do here? I'm not quite convinced that there is a path to take where peace is upheld.
Honestly, if that path means more poor children go through what I have, is it truly a path worth walking in the first place?
Well... I won't be walking right now. Turns out, despite Trendy's belief's, I was unable to work out how to walk more than a few steps on this metal leg in the few hours we have. So now, I've been placed in a wheelchair. Apparently the stage was altered so that I will rise up next to where Caesar is sitting.
I can only wonder how Seven will react when they see the sorry state I'm in. How will father feel when he sees that one of me legs is gone forever? My stomach twists at the thought.
At least the dress I've been put into looks particularly lovely, and feels ever so soft upon me. Whatever the fabric is, I'm a fan. It's a fine, slightly puffy, ballroom dress. I can't help but feel that the sunset orange colour of it looks particularly good on me.
Too bad they made sure the dress wasn't long enough to hide my metal leg.
The show is clearly set to begin, and I still have no idea what I am going to say. I guess I'll just have to hope that, much like in the Arena, I will be able to improvise and talk my way out of danger. It's worked before... it can work again.
The platforms begin to rise up to the stage above to much applause. First goes my Prep Team, then my Stylist - a young man by the name of Zoot - follows, after that it's Trendy who wears a look of such smugness I never would've assumed to be possible.
Blight, being my replacement Mentor for lack of a better term, also stands below the stage and gives me a single nod.
"You've got this," he says, his tone gruff and yet almost... warm. "If I can make it through this thing then, frankly, who can't?"
"Well, you're a tougher person than I am," I admit, wringing my hands. "People always speak of how you kept your cool in your Games and never broke a sweat. I can't compete with that."
"It's not a contest, but by all means keep on praising me. I'm a sucker for flattery," Blight says, smirking. "C'mon, got anymore nice stuff to say to humble ol' awesome Blight?"
"Well, you look good in a suit," I manage to say after a moment of thought.
"I gotta hand it to you Nettle, you know how to make a guy in his mid thirties smile," he says, snickering.
I squeal as he removes his left hand, waving it around for a moment.
"Hand, get it?" he asks, chuckling at my wide eyed expression as he puts the fake hand back into place. "I know, I'm hilarious, you need not confirm what's obvious."
I can't help but start laughing at the sheer absurdity to it all. Blight just fist-pumps, smirking to himself.
"Nailed it!" he says, before his platform begins to rise. "Well, going up. Let's get this one over with then, eh? Drinks are on me after this."
"Fine wine please," I plead, wearily sighing.
Blight gives a thumbs up as he is elevated above the ground and towards the stage, receiving quite a lot of applause. It'll likely be nothing to the deafening cheers I'll be getting though. The Capitol does love their Victors or at least the general citizens do. I can only try and brace myself for just how much they may love me as my own platform finally begins to rise up to the stage.
"She came into the Games as a prim and proper girl from a manor who hardly knew what it was like to get her hands dirty, but she's here tonight as a warrior who went all out into the mud of the Arena to claim the Victory! Please welcome Nettle Bonsai of District Seven!" Caesar announces, grand as can be.
The bright lights blind me for several moments, making me rapidly blink from how dazzling it all is. The screams and shouts echo on and on, an endless barrage of excited rabble. I should feel flattered they clearly love me so much, but the effect is ruined by how they probably would react this way to any Victor and were also the ones cheering over the deaths of the innocent.
I just force a smile and wave to the crowd for a few moments until the cheering stops. It can't be the worst possible way to start off this whole thing, can it?
"They seem to like you Nettle," Caesar remarks from his seat beside my wheelchair. "In fact, I daresay you might have some admirers."
"I think you might be right," I respond with a stage whisper.
The crowd laughs. Good, good. It's already going infinitely better than I expected. All a matter of keeping it this way for a few hours, and I can just go home at last.
Maybe the antidepressants Trendy practically forced me to ingest will be lifesavers tonight, after all.
"So, where to begin Nettle?" Caesar asks, sitting back in his chair. It's not hard to take note of how he looks just a bit on edge. A flicker in the eye here, a twitch to the cheek there. I guess he's under as much pressure as I am to make sure this interview doesn't go horrendously. "Quite a lot went down in this year's Hunger Games that it makes even I have to ponder what to speak about first."
Not Ranger, not Ranger, not Ranger...
"Well, perhaps how it all began?" I suggest, feeling that delaying the inevitable would be a futile endeavourer at best. "I was lucky that the Careers didn't think to compare the number of cannons against the number of bodies."
"Mmm, yes. I daresay next year the tributes from One and Two shan't be making the same crucial error," Caesar agrees, crossing his legs. "It had me on the edge of my seat, I tell you. In fact, according to Claudius I even started sweating. Sweating! It was suspense like I'd never seen it before; would they discover your ploy or not? Seventy percent of the Capitol betters thought they would, but it seems a majority can just as easily be wrong as right. I was impressed by how it was never your plan, but you simply adapted to falling over and turned it into a games winning move in the long-term. Tell us about that; how do you feel this trip changed things?"
"I'll be honest, I think I'd have been killed if I had not taken that fall," I admit, shuddering at the thought. I don't have to ponder to hard to know Marvel would've likely speared me right in the heart had I not played dead. "It changed my fate, and the fates of others. Thresh, the boy from Eleven, he tripped over me. I guess you all saw how that went."
"Mmmm, that's true," Caesar says, bowing his head for a moment. "Ironic how a fall spared you and a fall was precisely what doomed him. But that's all part of the Hunger Games, anything may happen."
Anything but them being ended forever, I think to myself. If I were a braver girl, one not afraid to die or fight back no matter what punishment would ensue... I may even say this out loud. Alas, that's not me.
"Yeah, we saw a lot of unique things this year," I agree, a touch awkwardly. "A flooded Arena, landmines, a Victor even I didn't see coming, a... a Feast... uh, yes, it was ever so unique."
I can't stop a tear falling as I think of Ranger. His death must have been horrible to go through and... fuck, I may have to witness it in the highlights. No no! I'm not ready to see it... not right now...
Caesar catches my unease and pats me on the shoulder. He seems sincere at least, but frankly what good does a sincere shoulder pat do me? Precisely none.
"It was quite a tough, sometimes even grisly Games, but for such a harsh Arena... perhaps it's the most fitting ending of all that the most elegant of the tributes made it out safe and sound," Caesar says, attempting to comfort me. Naturally, the key word here is 'attempting'.
"I just wish I wasn't the one one, you know? It's just... I wish my lover was here beside me," I say, quietly. "But... but, um..."
"But we must move on?" Caesar says, carefully.
"...Yeah," I say, choking on my tears for a moment or two. "We must."
"On the topic of moving, how are you finding that new leg?" he asks me, sounding particularly curious. "It's the finest of prosthetics the Capitol has to offer with the current level of technology. Has it helped at all?"
"I'm sure that it will once I get used to walking on it. But right now I've only had a few hours to even try; it takes a lot longer than that to learn how to walk and I really don't know how long it's gonna take to relearn that ability," I trail off, tracing a hand along the unnatural, unwanted metal limp. I want my old leg back... "I guess I just have to keep my head held high and take it all one day at a time."
"I'm sure that you can do it. After winning the Hunger Games, what can't you do?" Caesar asks, grandly. The crowd all cheer their agreement.
I can't ever see Ranger again...
"Anyway, speaking of taking it a day at a time, that's a good segway into the highlights of this year's Hunger Games. Are we ready to watch it all over again?" Caesar asks the crowd.
They all roar into an applause. They're all like a sea of cheering, colourful savages. Perhaps I, too, am a savage... but I never took extreme amounts of glee over the Games. I made my distaste clear.
My blood runs rather cold when I wonder how they will show the things I said against these people. Do these childlike citizens of the Capitol even remember what I said? Or does the fact I killed people outweigh it? Maybe they just see me as a 'bad girl' and don't think I mean it.
Fuck... the Games really feel as though they're only just truly starting, and not because of the recap. All the tension, all the deaths... the political climate, as father would call it, is truly catching fire.
But until then, the recap is starting. I'll forever wonder how ten days of nightmares can be oh so neatly compacted into just three hours of footage, but honestly I think I'd rather not know. I don't want to think about the Hunger Games any more than I have to.
The lights dim and a screen lowers down into place. It's a few moments before the eager whispers of the audience become silent and the footage begins to play. It's not even half a moment later before I start to feel incredibly sick. This is going to suck ever so much...
The footage begins with an Ariel shot of the Cornucopia clearing. The camera circles around the silver horn for a few moments and makes all twenty four of us tributes are visible at once. That's when the footage begins to cycle through us as the countdown begins. It's quickly apparent that those who died early barely get a few seconds between each other while those of us who lived longer get notably more screentime as we stand on the pedestals. My past self, standing ever so anxiously on the pedestal, gets the most by quite a margin.
The gong rings and they're all off. A few tributes decide to flee, but they are few and far between. Most of them charge into the thick of it, myself included. Seeing it from a viewers perspective I can now see the horrors I'd only had the briefest of moments to spend watching before now. I preferred it when I didn't have to see the sickening detail, frankly.
Callico is swiftly stabbed and, horrific as the sight is, it only gets worse. Sable is killed with an axe to the skull by Cato, her blood splatting off and landing against the back of my neck. As my past self fall to the ground, feigning death, the carnage only worsens. The girl from Six is stabbed horribly, a grisly knife makes the boy from Nine - Miller, I believe? - fall to the dirt, the girl from Four has her head almost entirely severed by Weldar as she screams the whole time... I have to put a hand over my mouth and swallow hard. It's the only thing that stops me vomiting on the stage.
The battle rages on with more and more tributes dying and others fleeing the area. I can only shiver when Thresh trips over past-me and gets his guts slashed open by Cato. On and on the horrible fighting goes until at long last the bloodied dust begins to settle.
Wood's horrified expression as he sees my seemingly dead body makes my heart ache. He really did care for me, even before we became true allies. He flees the area with his supplies before it's too late, and then the final kill of the bloodbath has my guts churning badly. Cato corners Jason in the Cornucopia. The boy from Six screams and wails about a 'shadow man' but Cato just scoffs and moves in for the kill, scythe in hand. Jason lays butchered in mere seconds, having never stood a chance.
That's when the footage jumps ahead after the Careers celebrate the opening kills they've made, oblivious to my continued existence. Just as I heard happen many days ago, Peeta makes his way back into the clearing. He stands his ground and makes his deal with the Careers. I can't help but feel disgusted to watch him selling out Katniss all over again, not that it did him particularly much good in the end anyway. The deal is sealed and they set out to hunt together.
"You know, it's interesting to note that this was all a ploy on Peeta's end," Caesar remarks. "It turns out, according to the ever memorable Haymitch, that he was trying to protect Katniss and lead the Careers astray at the cost of his own life. Ah... isn't love a powerful thing?"
...What...
...He... I... Peeta was never a bad guy?! I told Katniss what he'd done and she became hateful of him. Peeta died without knowing Katniss hated him. Katniss died not knowing he loved her, all because of me. Lately it would appear that I'm ruining all the lives of those I go near.
If not for the antidepressants that were forced upon me I'd be freaking out. As it stands, I'm just sobbing on the inside. I ruined a love story! Who even does something so heinous?!
I only get it together once the footage has jumped to Urchin and Gadget crossing paths, both scared out of their minds. They cry and sob, their misery somewhat halved through company. Urchin suggests the landmine idea and they start to head back to the Cornucopia. I flee just as they both arrive, starting to dig the landmines up slowly but surely.
I start to zone out by the time the anthem plays for the first time and the Careers freak-out, racing back to the Cornucopia. It's all simply too much at once to be forced to watch. It is something to note, though, that due to the Careers turning around Lacey was spared from being found and surely killed. She'd foolishly started a fire out in the open.
I sink into my wheelchair with a pale face as it all plays out. The ghastly floods, the river battle against Clove, being caught by the Careers, Wood being the one who killed Rue... I quietly ask Caesar for a vomit bag. He's all too happy to be of service and pass me one. It's filled up quite swiftly.
It only gets worse and worse as it goes along and the deaths keep coming. Glimmer's demise in particular makes me recoil in fright. The audience, however, all stand up and applaud. Some even whistle over it. Savage beasts!
When the Arena collapses they edit it to look as though it were a planned aspect to the Games rather than a dumb accident. Surely the footage of some Gamemaker pressing a button was faked. Can't the audience remember the drone that spoke to me? Clearly not as they raise no issues as the screen shows myself, Cinder and Rammy dropped into the caves. All showing of the drone has been removed. Hmmm...
All to soon Wood's horrid death is shown in full detail. All the blood, all the horrible pain he was in. I shed tears for my fallen friend... I'd once assumed the worst of him and worried over him being a true enemy, but he really was my truest friend in the end. Wood, wherever you are, I'll make sure you're not forgotten about.
They removed all my words against the Capitol. Indeed, they've edited it to be as though I'm throwing a temper tantrum over being worn out from the battle against the tree mutt. I feel my face turning a little red from this. Now, I won't deny I've thrown temper tantrums before now... but come on, not since I was thirteen!
It continues this way up to the end, with all of the anti-Capitol footage removed and replaced with either fake footage or very cleverly edited shit to make it appear as though a whole different thing happened.
Of course, they cannot remove Ranger.
He's shown at the Cornucopia, and... oh no, they actually have the audacity to put the words 'the Capitol apologises for the death of the dear citizen' on the screen. That's so basic, so cheap, so fake... the very nerve of it all!
Watching myself and Ranger being romantic doesn't help. It just makes my heart ache all the more. Then again, I'd take that over the bloodied and beaten Cato pleading and begging Rammy for a quick end. His cries and screams are ignored when Rammy hangs him from a tree branch, tormentingly slow. A deep chill comes over me as Cato gasps and chokes to death, the rope gradually suffocating him to death as Rammy simply stands and watches.
The footage seems like it's trying to paint Rammy in a negative light. I can't say this surprises me, not when he accidental caused heaps of trouble for the Capitol an got several Gamemakers killed.
They show the kill. The one that'll forever leave me feeling empty, I'm sure.
I scream and wail, unable t hold myself together as Ranger tries his hardest to fight back. The tracker zaps him, seemingly an automatic response, as Rammy... slices him up...
I wail and cry into Caesar's shoulder, the host doing his best to comfort me someway, somehow. It's not like he can do much for me though. Not when Ranger was taken from me! Rammy has crocodiles set on him but fights them off. One leaves him bloodied and lacking a sword. I suppose that specific crocodile played a role in why I won.
I seethe, my temper becoming dangerous as the footage takes great effort to show the fact the Capitol tried to save Ranger. The tracker zapping him, Claudius telling him to stop, the fact they spawned some mutts... all too late, the damage done. I don't forgive nor do I condone. They took him from me...
From there it's all surprisingly quick. My grim showdown against Marvel in the mud, Gadget's tearful suicide and my last fight against Rammy. He's shown as the 'bad guy', but I don't think I'm getting a great edit either. I have little doubt the editors had one hell of a task to make all this footage tell some kind of a story. Especially one that will not lead to even more riots and ebellions being gaslit from it all.
So, what's the story going on here? What's the narrative going on that they've tried to stop going off of the rails?
That the bitch won but the 'evil killer' was a worse possible outcome?
That Gadget was a tragic loss who should've won over two 'thugs'?
That beauty defeated the beast and then became a beast herself?
I don't know and based on the mumbling of the crowd I'm not really sure they know as well. It's not exactly difficult to take note that not all of them are very satisfied. They applaud, of course, but I think there are a few boos in there as well. As the screen rises up and the lights come back on once again I'm a tearful mess fighting for control of myself. Caesar assures the crowd that I've just been though a lot and need a little patience for a moment.
That's undercutting it by a significant amount, Caesar.
He offers me a bottle of water which I chug down. My throat clenches but I do my best to take deep breaths and keep control. I can't use words of any sort if I'm too busy crying. If I'm crying, I can't salvage all of this mess and get myself out of trouble somehow.
"So, after seeing all of that... suffice to say, these Games were very memorable," he says, a touch anxious. "Of course, as is naturally the way, I'm sure the Quarter Quell next year will take centre stage and be the next big thing on everybody's minds. I can hardly wait! It's simply been too long since the last, I daresay!"
The crowd all roar and cheer their agreement. Quell or not, I'm just rightfully sick of the Hunger Games. I'm still in the process of working out what to even do with the shattered pieces of my life.
"Any thoughts on what the Quell might be?" Caesar asks me.
"Honestly, no idea," I reply. "I guess it's a safe bet to not be the same as the past two, right? I'm sorry, I'm still in a bit of a state from the Games we just had. It proved to be extremely, well... strenuous."
"Indeed, it does take a lot out of a tribute in order to become a Victor," Caesar agrees. "So, tell us about that, how did it feel to become a Victor?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure," I confess, tapping my fingers together. "I was more in the mindset of feeling agony in my leg from Rammy's final attack. I was hardly conscious... I didn't felt anything but pain, up until I didn't feel anything at all. I was a sorry state when they got me out. I still feel like it right now. I'm just praying so dearly that, in time, I might feel something like myself once again."
"I believe you will. Several Victors have left the Arena in even sorrier condition than you did and they turned out just fine once they were able to recover back in their Districts," he assures me, sitting up straight and gently taking my hand. "In time, you'll regrow from all this. Just like a sapling uprooted and replanted."
I don't respond, too thoroughly depressed to add much to that besides a short nod. Caesar then moves on to asking me easier questions, perhaps to somewhat settle me before he has to move onto anything particularly big. It's clearly a method that works as I'm able to answer his questions about my thoughts on the weather in the Arena, whether or not I 'shipped' Gadget and Urchin - I'll confess, I somewhat did - and whether or not the forest that the Arena started as was anything akin to those back in District Seven.
Just after a nice little talk about what I plan to do for my Victor talent - it's a split choice between piano, singing and erotic poetry - the inevitable talk over the much harsher aspects of the Games finally arrives.
"So Nettle... while I understand that you went through a very stressful ten days," Caesar begins, slow and patient. "...There is the little fact that you did say some words in that Arena that some may consider, frankly, a little bit controversial. Obviously they've been properly removed from the recap footage that will be going out on sale, but people heard them live. Nettle, what do you have to say in response to this?"
The audience are silent. They're staring at me with their modified, unnatural eyes. All the irregular colours, strange iris' and all the rest of it makes me squirm, like I'm a bug being put under a lens.
I feel awful over what I said, awful for the pain and death it led to. The consequences I never could've imagined, or perhaps was too foolish to imagine. But I also do not feel the slightest bit of remorse for how it may have made the Capitol angry. No, I only feel sorry for for the Districts and Ranger. But I can't voice it in those exact words. No, I'll have to be carefuller about this.
I can see that look in Caesar's eyes. He wants me to answer this one correctly, he doesn't want this to go badly anymore than I do. I guess I'll have to do what politicians get stereotyped for doing constantly.
Lying.
Axe no questions, tell some lies. An unfortunate twist on the District motto, indeed.
"It was a very nasty situation I was in," I say, my words slow and a little shaky. I force myself to not cry. "I was exhausted, hungry, wounded and my ally... no, my friend had just been killed horribly by a tree mutt. It was impalement... I mean, can you imagine how painful it would be? All the stress built up and, well, I just snapped. Not like Titus did back in the Sixty Sixth Games, but I just lost all of my composure and went a bit..."
I pause for a moment, searching for the best word to use in this context.
"Wild?" Caesar offers after a moment or two.
"Precisely," I confirm. "I just went wild and I said a lot of stuff that wasn't very appropriate. It... led to a lot of tragedy."
I sniffle wiping away the salty tears. I'm getting choked up again and even a second bottle of water from Caesar doesn't offer much help. I choke a bit on the water, my tears becoming thicker.
"It was a stressful, nasty evening. That's what it was," I choke out, trying to calm myself. I need a fucking bucket of antidepressants, right now! "That's it."
The crowd seems to 'awwwwww' sympathetically. I guess it's convenient for me they didn't notice I didn't say sorry even once and mainly just narrated the context. But that's the thing with those in politics, they often must say nothing at all and yet make it sound as if something notable was spoken. Caesar smiles, a sort of twinkle in his eyes. Perhaps he realises what I did, but if it keeps the fragile peace then he surely won't continue to push the matter.
Indeed, he doesn't. We quickly move on to talk about other parts of the Games that I lived through; being a captive of the Careers, what I hallucinated underground, the sort-of alliance I had with Jason that died at the bloodbath as soon as he did... and, naturally, my newfound phobia of crocodiles.
I do my best to remain on safe topics and not gaslight anymore riots. I have little doubt it'd go vastly beyond punishing my father if I did. They could easily block food from getting to Seven and get the Peacekeepers to smash up plenty of infrastructure. Farms, stores, homes... they'd break the whole lot of it to send a frightening message. Causing the Capitol a big issue is one thing, perhaps a worthwhile thing to some, but not when my home that I'll one day grow up to lead may suffer for it.
Every move has to be slow and carefully calculated. Rushing into things and setting off all kinds of controversy... odds of success don't look promising. It's the only similarity to Snow I have which I'd not feel sickened to admit; I like to carefully plan things out. This is the real world outside the Arena, and it's a place where you have to have a good plan.
"So," Caesar says as things appear to be winding down. "You collected quite a number of tribute tokens in the Arena from those who fell as the days went by. Blight has assured me he's got them securely in his suitcase for you, right beside the five bottles of wine he won from Johanna. What do you plan to do with these tokens?"
"Honestly, there's really only one answer here, Caesar," I tell him, still taking deep breathes. I'm so exhausted... "I'm going to return them to their rightful owners. The families of the fallen tributes; they're the ones who need these tokens the most. They're surely all full of precious sentimental value, after all. Who'd take that from them? Not I."
I wouldn't, but the Capitol surely would. They do most of the time, after all. But, it's not intended to be an accusation, Caesar just awww's over my sentimental goal and the crowd applaud. Good, peace. Certainly a nice distraction from all the violence, death and political drama I only wish I could distract myself from, somehow.
"I think we're just about out of time," Caesar says a short while later, taking an exaggerated look at his watch to the amusement of the crowd. I have to admit, the diamonds on it are truly a most regal delight to see. "But to close things out, I'd like to ask you the same question I always ask to close out a victor's interview. It's a bit of a tradition of mine. Who is your favourite Victor?"
"Well, straightforwardly it's not Johanna," I mutter, to which the crowd all laugh. Not sure why; it was hardly a joke. "Honestly, I'd presently have to say Blight. He came through for me when I needed it most. I'd have rather had him as my mentor from the start, but Wood won that coin-flip... anyway, he helped me when I needed it more than ever. Just knowing somebody was out there watching over me, it helped more than words can say. Though, I find a fondness within me for all the Victors my District has had... admittedly, besides Blight the two that stick out the most to me would be Pliny and Weed. Pliny's win is the stuff legends are made of in Seven and... I just appreciated Weed's underdog victory. There are plenty of underdogs amongst the Victors who, like me, got counted out a lot. Nelli, Platinum, Wheat... the list goes on. I guess, having shared the same kinds of experiences in some ways, I feel some form of fondness for most of the Victors."
Caesar applauds and swiftly the crowd joins in as well. A few even rise up and whistle loudly.
"Most people just say a name and a quick reason, but that... that was a good answer!" Caesar declares, grand as ever. "I love it! So, before we all sign things off, is there anything you'd like to say to Panem as a whole Nettle? Anything on your mind to end your experiences in the Capitol with?"
It's a chance offered to me to perhaps quell the riots a bit. I'm not sure if there is anything that I can really do, but Snow expects me to do at least something. If I don't listen, it'll be all of District Seven who suffer for it...
"We're all part of Panem, all of us. Whatever our home is, wherever it might be... we're people, and we share this nation. It's not like we have anywhere else left we can go after the Dark Days and all the cataclysms before them, as far as I know. So, we need to get along as best as we can," I tell the crowd and cameras, blinking rapidly. I'm starting to think the antidepressants are wearing off. Shit... "Too many fights and wars, and we may not even have Panem. What does that mean for everybody left? I guess... just... we need to carefully think a lot of things through."
"Indeed," Caesar agrees. "Right now, you need to be thinking about your recovery to tip-top physical condition back home and settling down for some well earned relaxation before your Victory Tour. We'll be seeing you in six months Nettle and I for one cannot wait to see you again once the time arrives!"
"I can hardly wait either," I say, forcing myself to smile. My jaw hurts and my eyes rapidly twitches from the effort.
Mainly, the thing I can hardly wait for is news. Information of any sort. What's going on in the Districts? I've been told it's bad, true, but being told isn't the same as seeing it for myself. What are the damages, what's the rate of injury and death? I need to know all of this stuff! I can't do much about the state of Panem nor make much of a plan for my shattered future if I don't have all of the facts right away.
Caesar seems to have deemed everything good enough, or at just barely past the threshold of 'hardly salvageable'. As the music plays into a grand, final crescendo Caesar turns to the audience to finally, finally close things out.
"Let's hear it one more time for Nettle Bonsai of District Seven, this year's Victor of the Seventy Fourth Annual Hunger Games!" he roars for the crowd.
The crowd, too, roar and cheer. It's deafening and yet all my flustered emotions, tears, exhaustion and mental issues make me feel so numb to the world around me.
It's over.
Those are the only words that I can think as I'm soon wheeled off of the stage in a hurry by a bunch of staffs. I hardly get to say anything in protest before I feel two pricks in my arm.
"More antidepressants, just to make sure you won't be sobbing at the party," Trendy says, as if talking over the weather. "That would certainly be an embarrassment. Can you even imagine?"
Wait... party? A party, now?!
I'm too out of it from the sudden injections to be able to say a word of protest. One moment it feels like I'm being quickly rushed down a hallway and then the very next moment I'm being stuffed into a car. I'm frazzled from how quickly everything happens without pause.
"Where's the party?" I eventually slur out.
"The president's mansion of course," Trendy says, gleeful. "Oh, I can hardly wait! This will be my career absolute wonders!"
The president's mansion.
A party.
A loud, nasty party I am being forced to attend at the home of the most powerful man in the world? A man who is currently feeling particularly sore at me.
...Nuts...
(Not much later...)
My head pounds from all the endless chattering and music. It's making my entire mind feel as though it were throbbing without pause. But alas, any requests for some quiet were met with a laugh and some kind of fond look, as though I were just a little child. The nerve of some people! Alas, as the Victor I'm supposed to be out in the open to enjoy the party.
How can I enjoy it really, though, when the only reason I'm not falling to pieces is the fact antidepressants are flowing throughout my body, having been injected three times more. I'd be terrified it could get me killed if done too many times, but apparently it's been perfected to an 'art-form' and as many as fifty injections in a row are safe. I guess it makes for an improvement over a public breakdown, but only a little.
Johanna stands a distance away by a table of food, drinking some kind of beer. I'm happy for the fact she's kept her distance thus far. Another fight isn't particularly something that I would want at this moment in time. Meanwhile, Blight is entertaining a dozen or so Capitol citizens with a story of some kind. I'm no close enough to hear, but I'd assume that it's enthralling. That or maybe the citizens here are just very, very easy to amuse. Maybe it's both?
Meanwhile, I'm just sitting in my wheelchair at the edge of the dance floor. Mercifully, I'm alone right now. Nobody's come by to babble meaningless congratulations in the past ten minutes, and it's given me a bit of time to think.
More than that, however, it's given me some time to observe. Where I can observe, I can learn. Having not been pestered too much by the party guests for a bit I've been able to pick up on the fact that, while the more everyday citizens dance and party the night away without a care in the world... it's not the case for those of a position of power.
Having grown up as the daughter of a Mayor, I've been witness to some Capitol broadcasts every now and then in the privacy of my father's study after he falls asleep. Hence, people such as Antonius Light, Cressida Nova, Leto Hermes and the elusive, ever dreaded Iris Persephone are people I can recognise on sight. Much quicker than a normal teenager might, anyway.
Point is, none of them look anything close to happy. Whenever I've seen them around the party room tonight they appear to be anxious, tense, almost a bit worried. I mean, except Iris but she apparently never emotes about the slightest thing so that's not really notable. They clearly know something is up... if I could just get close enough to hear them then I might be better prepared for the grisly future ahead.
I've got no way of walking and perhaps ducking out of sight. So, maybe I could just wheel myself a little closer? It's better than nothing at all. So, I move my wheelchair little by little to where Antonius is standing. He doesn't notice the fact I'm closer to him than before, or maybe he just doesn't care. In any case, he beckons Iris over. The head scientist of the Capitol appears very dull and calm in the moment I glimpse her before I feign slumber.
She may be fairly petite and not at all stand-out in her looks - grey clothes, simple narrow glasses and basic braided black hair hardly match the general feel of the Capitol, after all - but those eyes of hers are the stuff of nightmares. Firm, emotionless, full of the most chilling sort of pragmatism... the left one is just a typical eye, a shade of firm grey, but the other has me shivering. It's a nasty red colour, with white section that form a complex looking reticle, much like that of a sniper scope
"What is it?" she asks Antonius, flat and right to the point.
"More riots are still going on," he mutters, sounding annoyed. "I love a good battle and a great batch of executions even more, but this is starting to stretch our resources a bit thin with how much is going on at once. The number of Peacekeepers being shipped out once is pretty big."
"So?" Iris asks, nonplussed.
"So, it seems the Districts have some fight left in them," Antonius mutters. "And until it becomes a full fledged war, if it even does, I can't do anything like bombing the hospitals or destroying towns to send a message."
"Send Mutts," Iris says, perfectly calm. "Your job is to fight, not complain. Or, perhaps, I could just fuse cyanide and tetrodotoxin into the reactor of the gas bombs for you and your forces. Whatever keeps things calm and efficient."
"...Be a dear and see if you can do that to the gas bombs and expand their radius. The kind that immobilise the nervous system and cause searing rashes," Antonius says, chuckling. He sounds amused and even fond. "You know Iris, you're truly a smart women. I'm a strong man, so-."
"Bye," Iris says, leaving without another word.
Antonius grunts, but I soon hear him leaving as well. I don't move a muscle though. I might be under watch right now, and 'waking up' as soon as they're gone would be pretty suspicious, So, I allow myself a few minutes to rest.
The brief rest is quickly broken when I'm flocked by more Capitol citizens congratulating me an asking for pictures or the chance to touch my metal leg. I don't dare refuse, not when I can see Snow standing atop a nearby staircase and looking my way.
He just gives me a slow nod and the lightest of smirks before he turns to talk to a small girl; his granddaughter, I believe?
My heart is pounding hard long after Snow is out of sight and the citizens have left me alone for a while. Being calm in this party is the same sort of impossible as ending the games in some kind of a multi-tribute tie. Shit, they antidepressants are wearing off again!
It all hits me at once and I'm suddenly crying loudly, practically sobbing my eyes out. I can't see past my tears, they're that thick. I suddenly go ridged and dazed, the world becoming distant a moment after a prick in my neck.
"Honestly Nettle, even when you were a mere District girl you still had some social standing. Please act in a manner befitting of your status, both political and as a Victor," Trendy says, disapproval in her every syllable.
"Can we please leave," I whisper, shaking. My shaking gets softer as the formula does its thing, but it isn't making me feel any less miserable or broken on the inside. I just want to leave and cry the night away in the peace of a bedroom, one no noisy citizens are going to get into.
Trendy just looks as me as though I' asked her to pledge a blood oath to the tree gods of Seven.
"Why ever would you to leave?" she asks, legitimately confused. "The party's only halfway done. Now hush and be a good girl. Put on a smile, be happy, perhaps try to dance! I'll fetch you some cake. That should do the trick."
She leaves before I can say a single word more. Halfwit! But then, she's like most of the oblivious citizens here; a product of her environment. I should try not being so harsh, but right now I simply can't. I just can't!
I can only try and not cry too much. It'll be over in a few hours and then, finally, I'll be able to go to bed and tomorrow I'll be going home at last. Though, that's where the real work is going to begin. Rebuilding my life somehow, helping the District through the damages and consequential sanctions that have surely been inflicted, somehow showing my sorry face to Ranger's family... and just trying to work my way through what the future is going to hold.
Antonius may have a plan, and those bombs Iris mentioned sound horrific, but the fact remains that Antonius and several other high ranked officials were particularly worried over what was going on.
Nothing will ever be quite the same again, I think. Neither for me nor the rest of Panem. The only question is, can whatever comes next somehow he made into something better than what was before?
Nuts, I hope so...
It would appear that things are certainly starting to heat up now for all of Panem. What happened in the Arena is certainly not going to be forgotten. Not just for our heroine, but neither will anybody else forget how Ranger got butchered. What will this means for the future of Panem? Time can only time, but either way there's still one chapter left to close things out! :o