The Senator
AN: Petra's , or any other characters' viewpoints on any social or political issues are THEIRS ONLY and are not intended as a reflection of the author.
He almost didn't believe me, but when I started to retch he rushed me to the girl's toilet. Even then, we had an Escort of three, too determined or too stupid to give up. I hurl, gag, swallow it back, have to reach the sink—
But that writhing in the pit of my stomach nearly explodes. I heave down the front of my clothes and run for the toilet instead. One of those porcelain ones, not just a hole in the floor. It probably cost as much as my whole fucking village and it's just something to shit it.
…messily.
Bl'yad, I miss home. When you're sick, it's outside on the privy and there's no one to hear you. Here some mudillo thought it'd be classy to line the whole fucking place with arched ceilings and stone. It echoes the loudest noises and grossest splashings until even the sound of it keeps me retching. And there's more than one. What durak thought of that?
Another stall door slams open. I look up through my sticky, sweaty hair as chunks of half-eaten I don't want to know what drip from my knees. A Senator. "Games!" He swears in disgust, adjusting his pants. "Have you never heard of the vomatorium-?"
"Sorry," I spit strings of saliva. "Thought this was a bathroom, not a brothel."
"What are you doing here?" A familiar, grating voice demands.
"Being violently sick," I hack out a long string of phlegm. "What the fuck does it look like?"
"How did you get in?" Iridina insists stalking closer, her lidless eyes narrowing.
Two men in one night? Ch'yort. "Whore's entrance," I croak. "Same as you." And thanks for all the fucking help. I hope she gets poxed…and I hope Marcus refuses to treat her.
"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps, cheeks flushed as red as her slitted eyes. "Who would pay for you?"
"Seventeen Senators and a Gamemaker," I look up at her coolly, wiping sick from my chin. "I guess that's proof you don't have to flash your tits to get a man."
She arches her hooded neck and hisses. "Not that you'd know, Tribute."
I stand. Lift my skirt and wipe my ass. She flicks her tongue once, then leaves me with a scathing glance.
"Take her." The Stag shoves me back to Snow the moment I exit. "Get this ugly whore out of my sight."
"Is there a problem?" he asks coldly.
"It's not the goods," he spits. "It's the packaging." Hair matted with sick and wine, wet dress still dripping from where I scrubbed and scrubbed. Not to mention my face.
Snow gazes over me, emotionless. "You can't play this Game forever, Petra."
I don't have to. Just long enough until Training starts tomorrow. But somehow he sees, even though I duck my head. Somehow the bastard just knows what I'm thinking. Baba yaga Angelovna? President Snow's the real vedmak.
"Don't think you've escaped this," Snow escorts me away, his hand on my arm raising gooseflesh. "Now I must introduce you to Senator Aquila, one of the wealthiest men in Panem. If he offers, do try the champagne." Snow instructs me as we stroll past another lush garden bursting with pavilions and dancers in the shadow of that smoking crosslight. Here on the perimeter, the stench of roasting meat is stronger. We must be near the kitchens. "It's a pre-war vintage from his private collection."
"Antebellum," I mutter under my breath.
"You remember?" Snow asks, seemingly surprised. "Good. And what else do you remember, Petra?"
"I will." I won't.
"Louder." He orders.
"I will." I repeat, staring at my bare feet and dripping hem. I won't.
"Again."
I won't. I chew my tongue. "I will."
His plain face stretches into a forced, fixed smile. "Petra, you must do better than that. Convince me."
I drag my feet. Stop. I'm done with his little Game. Both of them. He hasn't hurt me yet, and I've been far from obedient. You can wave a gun all you want at the damned thieves, but until you shoot the threat is meaningless. And you'll just keep losing sheep. "Damnit, you want the truth? Do you?" I insist. "I will bite, kick, claw, kill any man you send my way. I don't give a fuck who he is."
President Snow doesn't blink. "We shall see, Petra Angelovna. We shall see."
Another tent. Nothing like Sapeans'. It's white silk, lined with life-size sculptures of women and animals in stones I don't even recognize, and worse, ten slowly dancing Avox girls doing—
My face flushes red and I look away. As if Tasha and Mason weren't bad enough already.
"Ah, the elusive Miss Angelov," Aquila smirks, rising and offering me a seat. He knows, I realize. Simple tricks, Klerkov's game, won't work with him. "Forgive me for not offering refreshment. Is the entertainment to your liking?" He gestures to the girls with humorless nod. "If not, I have several available males also at my disposal if that would be more to your taste."
He did this just to make me uncomfortable. Does he know about Tasha? Mason? …Klerkov? Look at what the Cat dragged in, Mason's words ring in my ears. Is this a threat?
"Well?" Aquila asks as he seats me. "What is your answer?"
"It's fine."
The corner of his smile widens. "You're sure? You don't find it…distracting? Bothersome? Grotesque?"
I try not to flush. Try not to look. "I said it's fine."
"As you will, Miss Angelov, as you will," he chuckles, reclining in turn. "Or would you prefer 'the Butcher'?"
"Angelovna," I correct instead. "Angelov is my father."
"Good Games, girl," he scoffs. "Don't you barbarians from 6 even share last names?"
I shrug, feeling as naked as those dancers in this ridiculously thin, stained, wet gown. "-vna for girls. –vitch for boys."
"And how does one tell the difference?" He mocks, nodding to my chest. "As delighted as I am to see you, I must admit I preferred your earlier evening attire."
"You mean the armor that couldn't protect anyone and the shoes that no one could walk in?" I return, shivering.
"Ah, so you do understand the suit's intrinsic irony, how clever of you. No, my dear Miss Angelovna, I was referring to a concept even simpler than that. It made you so much more…"
"Appealing?" I sneer.
His leering grin widens. He nods with my understanding. "Fuckable."
"Then don't fuck me." I state simply. "Take your money and pay for a good looking whore. Leave me alone."
"Ah, but you're wrong. Why should I pay for a whore when I can pay for a Stylist? Re-create the image? And besides, Butcher," he tips his glass to me, "any man can pay for a whore. I'm not buying you for the pleasure of fucking you…I'm buying you because there are many, many other men who want to, are willing to, and I can outbid them all."
Suddenly I understand. And it's all so absurd I can't help but snort."So that's what this is about. All of this. You don't want us. Not really. It's just power and appearances."
"Life is power and appearances, Butcher," Aquila corrects me boredly. "Why should this be an exception?"
"If life is so much about appearances, let me ask you. Do I look like a whore?" At the moment, or ever.
"But you are a whore, Butcher, despite evidences to the contrary," he explains. "All women are whores. They trade security, status, jewelry, money, all for that little bit between their legs. So the question has never been whether you were a whore…it's simply a matter of your price."
Ch'yort. "There is no price," I keep the quaver from my voice. "You might buy me from Snow, but I'm not for sale."
"Name a price. Any price. You'll find I am good for it," he assures me. "Gold. Jewelry. Furs...Weapons. Medicine. Food. In short, your life."
I'm Petra Angelovna, and I want to live. Would it really be all that bad? Trade one night for my life?…but what kind of life it's not worth it's not worth it for a life like that! I screamed at Klerkov only hours ago. It wouldn't be one night. One time. It'd be every day. Every night. Forever. My Mentor fucks so many women not because he's a drunken slovoc, but because the Capitol makes him. "I have a good stylist," I lie instead. "I can do fine on my own."
"Are you certain? If you don't name a price, I shall have to. Lack of Weapons. Medicine. Food…" his voice trails off.
He's baiting me, I realize, searching for what I fear. "Nothing."
"There's always something, or someone, Butcher. So you're either lying, or I haven't dug deep enough yet." Senator Aquila takes another sip of wine, sitting up to study me intently. "Tell me, how is your mother? I hear her health is frail."
I can't help but smile. "You don't know shit about me if you try to get to me through my mother."
"I could make her better."
Better? Her apathy began with the loss of her children, to where she couldn't bear to look at me lest she be reminded of the others who were missing. And not all the riches, all the medicines, all the power of even the Capitol can ever bring them back. "Why? So she can live in squalor and starvation, when men like you pay a year's tessara for the entire District just to fuck Tributes? Let her die. Everything does." I was a child. A girl of six. Cruelty I could have handled, but not this nothingness. I thought she'd rather I died. Rather I died and her other children lived. They were corpses and I was a living girl, and she loved them more than me.
He nods. Tips his glass and savors another swallow of wine. "And your father?"
I don't doubt he loved me. Loves me. He taught me his trade, his livelihood. He sent me to school, sent me to Selo whenever he could to better myself…and he taught me the true price of living, starting with the only pet I ever had. After my sisters died, Lily was my only comfort, and still he didn't spare her. "Tonight wasn't the first time I've tangled with a whip. I have scars from my father. Where he beat me." Beating is common in 6. It wasn't anger, wasn't abuse, it was duty. Duty drove him. And I was always an errant child. "Do you really think that will work?"
"No, my dear Butcher, I don't believe it will," he intones after a moment's pause. "But I am a more practiced liar than you. You're bluffing—no, don't deny it. Half truth, half lie. The spirit of your words is true…but they are not. It's not that you don't care for their welfare, it's that you've always expected to outlive them. Thought that death would have been a mercy…"
"You're amongst liars now," Snow said, "and every one of us is better than you." I shudder.
"You would honestly let me kill them, I don't doubt," Aquila continues. "After all, what are parents for except to protect their child? No, not that's not it…it's something darker. Something more," his voice trails off lowly. "Perhaps you've thought of killing them yourself?"
I feel so small, so wretched inside. Only once, I tell them. It was only once. And that was long ago.
"Yes." The admission falls heavy from my lips.
"The truth?" He asks, "You don't bother to deny it? Don't think you can best me in a lie, Butcher? Not ashamed to own it, that you've thought of killing your own family? That you've thought of killing yourself?"
Only once, I whisper. Only once.
"Silence?" He mocks. "Still afraid to lie, then? Or is it this time you're afraid of the truth?"
I have no answer.
"Now that's interesting. Very interesting. Now I truly am intrigued. Not family, then. Fascinating." He leans forward to study me, hand under his chin. It's all a Game to him. My life, my family's lives…every twisted, dark, shameful thing, it's all just a sick game. And he gets off on it. "You're how old? Eighteen? But still a virgin from your medical report—don't act so surprised, of course I've read it. There must be someone, somewhere, some man you've dreamt of, fantasized of, someone who passed you over for a woman with bigger tits, wider hips and a less appalling face. Or perhaps a woman? No?" he laughs, seeing the look of revulsion on my face. "But someone you foolishly love or loved."
Dmitri Berezoski, for two hours one afternoon four years ago before I kicked his balls in. It hardly counts. If Aquila wants to torture him, he's welcome, then neither of them will get to fuck me. "No one," I tell him. "There's no one."
"A lie. How sad, my dear. You honestly thought you were telling the truth. But to me, or to yourself?" He grows stern. "There is someone, Butcher. There always is. It matters not. I will find them, and when I do you will come to me and beg me take you instead. So why wait? Why go through all that pain and loss?" He runs a hand up my leg. "Let me come to you now, and avoid it."
I've run out of arguments. So has he. But if my father taught me one thing, it's never to approach a cornered animal. Even the most kindly creatures can turn vicious when trapped. Aquila never had that lesson. I play the tuz.
I stand. Draw that butterknife I flung at Sheen not an hour ago. "Make a move towards me and I'll cut your throat," I snarl. "This knife might not be sharp but I could still kill you with it."
But Aquila only chuckles. His Peacekeepers don't even move.
"My dear Butcher, in public like this?" He laughs. "Come, come, your threats are meaningless."
"Yes, in public like this," I keep that knife between us. "I killed Capitol citizens in broad daylight this morning and it was broadcast on your televisions. Now I'm a hero and a Hunger Games favorite."
He claps. Three times. "Bravo, Butcher. Bravo," he bows his head in admiration. "You're bluffing, yes. But oh-so-clever. God, I love it when they do that. It's been a long, long while since anyone has dared put up a fight. Do you know, I find I miss it."
They. Whores. Victors. flick my wrist. Turn the knife over and over in my fingers, eyes searching for the best spot to sink it. "Am I?"
Right neck. Down behind the rib and the collar-bone. He'd bleed out in seconds.
"Acquiese or decline, I care not," Senator Aquila dismisses me lazily. "I am not like Coriolanus, I prefer my prey cooperative."
I don't believe him. Don't dare lower my hand. "So I'm free to go?"
He reaches for his wine. "If that is what you truly wish."
I nod. "It is."
"Then go," he bows his head gracefully. "And may the odds be ever in your favor, Butcher."
I turn to go, still wary, but Aquila calls me back. "…Although should you decide not to accept my proposal, I dare say I have a colleague who might be interested in your little comrade, Mr. Malcovitch."
AN: If it appears I'm starting to develop the trend of girl-power vs. all-sexist-male society (think Holly Short vs. LEPrecon), it's not my intent. Petra, and all the other females in this fic have character flaws as well. I hope to portray the main characters in this story as very rounded and complex, and in the upcoming chapters there will be more screen-time for several of the key male players.
