Thanks for reading and reviewing. A special thank you to TheWomanWhoCodesAndWrites who has now reviewed every single chapter of this fic and the outtakes.
Enjoy^^.
Date: Year 10, February. Six months after Mags' victory.
Lucian glared through his huge horned glasses as he all but shoved Mags up the train.
The victor fought the urge to slap his hand away. What a rude man.
"I should've known that the week had gone too smoothly to end well," Lucian said, leaving his coat on the floor for an avox to pick up. "And what are you plotting with that man? Planning to elope with a handsome powerful soldier?" He asked with a sneer, sarcasm lacing his accented voice.
A wan smile drew itself on Mags' lips. The idea of dating Valerian was so terrifying that it would never have occurred to her, even had there not been a decade separating the two of them. The man had protected her, but he also made her feel utterly at his mercy, and she knew it was no mere impression.
"He was telling me to make sure district Four wouldn't need extra peacekeepers. He heard there has been unrest," she replied after a pause.
The records were a lead weight against her chest, and she ached to rush towards the television and satisfy her burning curiosity. Instead, Mags struggled to remain composed, aware she would have to wait until the end of the tour, where prying eyes could not surprise her.
Mindless of Lucian, who had abruptly stopped just beyond the compartment door, Mags hastily entered the wagon, with the intent of hurrying to her small room to remove her coat. She figured the records were small enough to hold in her bra if she compensated by filling the other cup a little.
She winced, dismayed she had reached the stage where she would be hiding things in her bra. A great rebel indeed… Marlin would be howling in laughter.
A muffled shout escaped her lips as a voice unexpectedly reached her from her side. Mags spun towards the source in fear, her hand clutching her hammering heart, only to see a familiar face.
"You said you'd write," Vicuña said, tapping her fingers on the armrest.
Mags lowered her arm, exasperation supplanting her shock. She hated being startled.
The Career was sitting comfortably in the nearest of the two armchairs in a woolen cream dress that covered her arms but stopped well above her knees, her left leg was swinging lazily over the right one revealing varnished stilettos.
"Hello, Vicuña," Mags said with a small smile, wondering how someone could walk in such shoes. She'd never seen any like them in Creneis.
Her smile broadened slightly as she realized Lucian hadn't yet dared enter the room. Vicuña was broader than the escort, but in that dress, she looked more like a rich lady with too much muscle than a threatening killer. Maybe Capitolites were not so blinded by appearances after all… And yet Vicuña was hallowed in the Capitol, the President's protégée. Why was Lucian so afraid?
Vicuña didn't return the smile. She was staring at Mags expectantly, a reproachful cast to her features.
"My sister got kidnapped because I told people to stop throwing rocks at peacekeepers. Things have been hectic," Mags said, her expression unapologetic, "you could have written too," she then pointed out.
In truth she had completely forgotten she could have written to the other victors.
Vicuña's blue eyes were wide in shock as dismay spread all over her face. Her hand flew to her mouth. Mags noticed the blonde's nails were bitten to the quick.
"Gods, Is she alright?" Vicuña asked after an awkward pause.
"Yes, yes," Mags said. Her lips then formed a thin annoyed line. Esperanza would be angry if she didn't ask. "My sister wants someone to teach her hand to hand combat," she said, less than enthused by the idea.
Vicuña's lips bloomed into a wide grin. "Me?" She said, standing up. Her shoulders shook slightly from mirth. "You thought of me?"
"An insane friend of mine did," Mags corrected, inwardly sparing Glynn a glare.
Still, she missed the dynamic girl and her sharp practical counsel. Glynn had kept in contact, sending brief letters since she'd left on the Swamp Fox. All had apparently been going well, she'd drawn her maps and spread the word about the new academy, with success and keeping things vague enough to Mags' liking, but it had been months and Glynn wouldn't be back for weeks.
Vicuña chuckled again. "Take any peacekeeper," she said, raising her eyes skywards. "They all know all the basics. I wish I could and I'm flattered, but I can only go to the Capitol or One."
A peacekeeper? Mags lips curled, unconvinced. Then her eyebrows shot up.
Marquise?
She snorted lightly. That woman hated to get sweaty unless there was a shower close by, and had moaned countless time that the paltry makeup sold in Creneis didn't hold during effort, using it as an excuse to dump her duties on the others, mainly Alaric, who didn't seem to be able to refuse.
Maybe if Mags bought Marquise expensive waterproof Capitol makeup in exchange…
The victor had to admit she wasn't so hot about Esperanza learning deadly martial arts and had therefore not thought too hard about how to make it happen before today. Her fiery little sister got into enough fights as it were, and it was better if those remained shouting matches.
Mags' face darkened. Even Marquise was a risk. There were too many things Esperanza could distractedly let slip.
"While you're pondering that, I have to say I loved the speech. It might just give us volunteers with the right spirit."
Mags' slowly turned her eyes back towards Vicuña. Her mind was empty, as if a gale had swept everything away, leaving only dull echo and lingering frost. Volunteers with the right spirit? Something shattered inside her.
Was that what she had said? Was that what people had heard? She hadn't meant…
Her horror was so tangible that Vicuña's smile withered and died.
"Volunteers are better than -" the broad-shouldered woman began, biting her lip.
"All those future corpses I'll mentor…" Mags cut in, her voice tight with rage as she turned towards the window, her back to Vicuña. She didn't want her to see her face.
There was no better, not in the Hunger Games. Her speech had been for the others, those with a real chance at life. The Games shouldn't be a focal point of people's lives, they should be like hailstorms and flash floods, devastating events that did not discriminate. Just like the evil at the head of the Capitol, inevitable until a solution was found, but never, never, should the Hunger Games be given more than token importance in the minds of the citizen it wanted to ensnare in its web of fear.
Mags dropped her blazing green eyes to the ground, aware she was being pathetically naïve, and yet hating the ease with which Achlys and her cohorts had invaded their nights, replacing the dreams of better days with nightmares of the impeding Games.
The silence stretched out into an awkward pause, until Vicuña cleared her throat.
"Talk to the other tributes," she said in soft compassionate tones, "that way you'll not see just your own too, you'll see many deserve to win and hopefully, the victor will also hold your affection. If you talk to many, the risk of getting attached is a lesser on. You avoided me like the plague, but I remember Styx, Jason and Delphin as much as One's volunteers."
I remember them too, Mags wanted to snarl, her simmering rage exploding in flames as indignation and contempt warred inside her.
Circe, I remember them!
They had all died again before her eyes on the giant screens, one by one. It infuriated her to see Vicuña worried about her, rather than for the innocents torn from their families that would stain the ground of a foreign arena with their blood for the amusement of the Capitol, and a disgustingly increasing number of district dwellers.
A show.
Rather than see the tributes as children, even some of her own people had decided it was better to turn off their empathy and enjoy the thrill and violence rather than be beaten down by the sight of death.
She wouldn't do more than was necessary by her tributes, but she wouldn't pretend they were not people. She'd rather mourn. She'd rather be miserable. She'd rather be human.
"Can we talk about something that's not the Games?" Mags said, biting back harsher words as she turned back towards the other victor. "What will you be doing in the Capitol?" she asked, infusing her voice with forced cheer.
She wasn't sure what to expect from the blonde. She didn't want an enemy and Vicuña wanted one even less than she did, but Mags couldn't afford to grow close with the misguided Career. She found that she didn't even want to.
"Evadne wants me to meet some Homeguard peacekeepers," Vicuña revealed, picking pieces of fluff off her dress.
Mags flinched. She'd forgotten the other used the President's first name. It was just as eerie as the first time.
Vicuña shrugged, oblivious to Mags' discomfort. "She hasn't said why."
Mags eyes flickered to the newspaper neatly folded on the table. She suspected why. She envied Vicuña for being curious at the prospect of meeting Achlys rather than afraid. Already, she had lost her appetite and her insides churned with an anguished that even the best medication couldn't erase.
The door was ajar. Mags found herself straining her ears to listen.
Vicuña had been all but swept away by a man she evidently knew quite well and Lucian disappeared. Mags had been left alone with orders to change and meet with the President as soon as possible. The order had been phrased quite amiably, but Mags' insides were clenched in a seamless ball of stress.
"Do not test my patience Mr. Valens," Achlys was saying, indulgence in her effortlessly vibrant voice rather than anger. "Whatever your prime intention was is a moot point. You should be honored that we found a productive goal to your eccentric pastimes."
"My apologies, Madam President, I was unprepared to such attention and reacted poorly. I will do my best to present you with comprehensive analyses."
His voice was low and smooth, but had something to it that made Mags want to shush the air for being too loud so she could hear better.
"Syrianus, you are twenty-six," Achlys replied, and Mags could hear the smile in her tone. "Young men your age are notoriously useless, at best they are studying hard enough to be one day productive. You should feel proud to have your intelligence recognized while not yet a doctor and it is unhealthy for you to be so antisocial. One of modest means such as you cannot afford not to network."
Twenty-six and notoriously useless? Mags furrowed her brow, bewildered. Most people in Four were married with a child, often more, at twenty-six. A student… Were people children forever in the Capitol?
The President's voice rose. "You can come in, Mags. Mr. Valens and I are done."
Mags swallowed, heat rushing to her cheeks. She inhaled deeply, hoping to erase the guilt off her face before Achlys would see her. Had she been that obvious?
"Madam President," the man inside said in stiff deference.
His metal-lined shoes rang hollowly on the marble floor as he walked towards the door.
Mags had discretely stepped back, trying not to stare too unabashedly.
Valen's skin was olive and his hair dark, falling naturally down to his neck. His traits were too strong to be handsome, but just enough out of symmetry to be interesting and warrant a second glance, and surprisingly natural. His clothes were quite sober even if the fabric looked smooth, and Mags started to wonder if he was not from the Districts despite his very Capitol name. She lowered her eyes slightly and immediately revised her judgment. No one could have mistaken the lithe young man for a district dweller now: the back of his hands shimmered with a metallic blue substance and his hands themselves showed he'd never done a hard day's work.
Mags wasn't close enough to see if it was a single elaborate tattoo or a diffuse glow. It also covered all the exposed part of his wrists. Mags wracked her mind for memories of her evening at the zoo. Preoccupied by her health, she hadn't paid so much attention to people. She didn't think it so improbable that those of lesser means, who had no contact with tributes, would look much less alien, unless they wanted to appear wealthier than they were.
Her efforts at keeping an innocent expression were rendered useless when Valens turned piercing dark eyes towards her. He knew she had overheard, and he wasn't happy. At least he didn't look at her with the contempt Lucian had accustomed her to.
She granted him a tight smile. He wasn't the only one who had to bow to Achlys. He surprised her by shooting a resigned look towards the office, as if to say We can't do much about it.
"Mags, come in." The President didn't seem too happy at having to repeat herself.
Mags hurried inside. A chill ran up her spine when she saw the white haired-woman again. Her mind told her Achlys was in her fifties but her eyes refused to accept it. Her skin was too smooth, her bearing too proud. She looked inhuman, immortal, with a fire to her golden eyes that threatened to consume any that would come too close. Mags' had to force herself to keep walking towards the table, as if she'd been pushed in a cage holding a lethal predator.
"I've decided to change your schedule in Four," Achlys began, "you cannot hope to wait until you have secured Creneis Town to start putting order in the rest of the District. It is time you speak to them all, in Lycorias, in the the three other towns and in the villages."
Mags couldn't hide a wince. The villages? In winter? She wouldn't be home for a month.
The President noticed and granted her a small smile. "Just six villages, the others are close enough to towns or other villages you are already visiting to spare you the trip. The people will come themselves. You will be in Creneis in two weeks."
Mags nodded, relieved. She would have needed to make the trip anyway, but it bothered her to do this during the Tour, because it affiliated her with the Capitol even more. Putting order. She had just wanted to build an academy...
"May I bring my mother with me, Ma'am? She really helps me with public speeches and everything," she said, hoping she didn't sound too desperate.
Would Lucian be accompanying her? The mere thought was depressing.
Achlys blinked. "If you wish," she said, "but just her. I'm sure the Corduroys' house is large enough to host your sister until you return, and I'll try to forget who you're dating."
Mags swallowed, a neon red light going on in her brain. "He's hot, Ma'am, and he does really everything I tell him to," she said candidly, deciding it was better Achlys think her shallow than really start investigating Kyle. What else had the peacekeepers told the woman? She thought frantically, sweat pearling on her brow.
"I know many remarkable people that dated stupidly at your age. As long as he doesn't cause trouble," Achlys said, waving her hand unconcerned.
Mags cracked a smile. She should have been offended to have the President dismiss Kyle like this, but for once, the woman really sounded like some fifty-year-old grandmother instead of a ruthless chessmaster preparing her next move. She almost sighed in relief at the knowledge Kyle wouldn't suffer.
"Why is Lucian an escort, Ma'am?" She said, knowing by now that the President did not dislike questions. "He's no rebel of course, but he doesn't seem very... patriotic."
Achlys smiled. "That man is an arse," she said bluntly, causing Mags' jaw to drop slightly.
"But," she continued brightly, her long ruby earrings spinning hypnotically as she moved towards the large window, "his eulogies are excellent, they cause no unrest. Escorts rarely appreciate the subtleties of crowd control." Her eyes crinkled knowingly. "And I'm sure he delighted you with his knowledge of history whenever he deigned speak to you."
"That was interesting, yes," Mags said cautiously, realizing with a jolt that for a moment she had actually found Evadne Achlys fun, almost approachable. It was a horrifying thought.
The President seemed to sense her discomfort because her small content half-smile was back on her face.
"You'll have an interview tonight, another tomorrow at three, before you leave for Lycorias, nothing you haven't done before," she said, somehow turning soft words into orders one wouldn't even think of disobeying, "Myia Starr is waiting for you in your quarters. She will be your aide here." Achlys pursed her lips, as if she wasn't too happy to continue talking. "Make sure she keeps to the schedule, you're the one with authority over her, she can be… distracted."
Mags found herself nodding again. She wondered with no small measure of apprehension which whimsical Capitolite had been granted the privilege of babysitting her if even Achlys was skeptical.
The young woman dearly hoped Myia would see it as a privilege. A second Lucian would have her clandestinely fleeing on the first train into the Districts.
The door to her quarters was unlocked. Mags gingerly grasped the handle.
"Oh sorry," a startled voice exclaimed. "I invited myself in, I didn't mean to be presumptuous."
Mags forced the heavy door open, and almost walked into a glittering golden shape.
The first thing she saw was a mane of azure hair that sparkled like sun-kissed sea. Mags instinctively reached out to touch them, half expecting to feel water. She caught herself just in time and stepped back.
A thin woman, almost too thin, but fresh faced, with perfect creamy skin and those impossible azure hair tied in long bows above her head with spun silver jewelry and let free to tumble down to her hips, stood before her.
Mags eyes roamed over her face, her mind forgetting to remind her that this was a human being with feelings, too fascinated by what to her was book character brought to life.
Thick eyelashes, purple eyes, and comely regular features that reminded her of the princesses little girls tried to draw. Her golden sleeveless dress reached the floor, rippling as if made of a thousand small coins. Everything about the woman screamed fake, but it was a pretty fake, a childish fake that made Mags almost wish to protect the one who had to be Myia and shield her from the harsh realities of the world.
Playful dolphins were tattooed into a bracelet around her right upper arm.
"You like the sea," Mags said with a ghost of a smile, realizing she had been staring for much too long.
Myia smiled through her now self-conscious blush, revealing perfect teeth. "I sometimes regret not having been born in Four. I go there every holiday, but living there, being a real sailor, facing rough seas and everything… It must be incredible."
Mags raised her eyebrows in polite interest. She knew thanks to Riviero Gibbs of the village for Capitolites on vacation. She had talked at length with the old sailor after the kidnapping. She'd at first gone to him to show she held no grudge, but she'd soon realized he was quite a jolly and interesting man. There was a 'resort' near one of the most beautiful sand beaches, fifty miles off Lycorias. The men and women from Four who worked there were professional actors in all but name and greatly outnumbered by avoxes. Sailors could fish those seas, but were not allowed within two hundred yards of the beach. Everything was done to avoid Capitolites mingling with the locals.
Mags wanted to tell Myia that she'd have to cut her hair and put at least twenty pounds of muscle on to be able to hold the ropes that held the veils. That such work would ruin her pretty hands and dig hard lines in her baby face. Instead, Mags nodded, wondering how a woman like that had ended up being her keeper. Myia looked her age, but with Capitolites it was very hard to tell.
"The sea steals you away and never truly gives you back," Mags said, affecting an ominous voice as she was unable to suppress a surge of pride at knowing this woman would never truly know.
Myia's open face was alight with awe and Mags didn't know whether to sigh or smile.
She clapped her hands together. They'd stood idle long enough and despite the meds, she itched to go outside.
"What do you do when you have two free hours, Myia?"
Mags didn't dare to mention Plutarch yet. She sometimes felt she was being too paranoid regarding Achlys, but were she to misstep, she would be given no second chance.
Myia furrowed her thin painted eyebrows. "Don't you have to prepare for tonight's interview?"
"I'm done," Mags said, "ten minutes or two hours, I'll always look like a peasant compared to you."
"We can't have that," the woman said crossly, grasping Mags' shoulder and as her eyes roamed over her body. "You're so pretty, you could be beautiful. District's Four stylist can't be too far."
"Please don't," Mags said, hastily, not wanting to be prodded at for the next hours, or ever again for that matter. "August is a credit to his profession, but I'd rather not try to be what I'm not."
"That's wise." Myia said, suddenly looking older. She then smiled, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "You're wearing your gilet wrong."
Mags took a second to realize her gilet was the odd light jacket that had been left on the bed for her to wear when she'd arrived.
"It's inside out," Myia supplied with a nervous giggle, as if mortified to have to point it out.
Mags double checked, confused. "The stitches are on the inside."
"They shouldn't be. It's fashionable for them to show on such clothing."
Mags stared at the taller woman blankly before giving her a small nod. She didn't even pretend to want to try to understand it.
"You look amazing yourself," the victor said, desiring to know more about Myia, if only for her own self-preservation, "if you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"
Myia straightened, eyeing Mags suspiciously, as if she'd committed a social blunder. "Thirty-one, nosy girl," she said, defensiveness entering her tone.
No way. Circe, these people sent all her marks to hell. It wasn't just the looks, Myia didn't sound thirty-one. Thirty-one was adult and responsible. It was having a job and worrying about sending your children to school with a full stomach. It was a lined face and wrinkled hands, and anyone as thin as Myia would look breakable and worn, not like… this.
"You don't look a day over twenty," she said, causing Myia to beam, "so what do you do when you have two free hours, Myia?"
"Me?" The azure-haired woman let slide her large crocodile-skin handbag down to the crook of her elbow. "I go shopping," she said brightly.
Mags frowned at the unfamiliar word. "Shopping?"
The Capitolite looked at her as if she was an alien. "Go to see the shops, what they sell and buy. You fool around, try new things, laugh with friends, and try not to buy too much." A crooked smile split her full lips. "My house is already much too full. I must have a roomful of shoes and outrageous lingerie I will never wear. Lingerie is underwear," Myia said mischievously with a wink.
Mags felt like an alien.
In Creneis, the shops for clothes and shoes, which numbered two, had very little to offer. About once a month a train-full of wares were sent over, with maybe a half dozen different type of clothes that came in five different sizes. Everyone dressed similarly, and those who cared about appearance could buy, or make, dyes, or use their old clothes to modify the new ones. Most quality clothes lasted a couple of years and the cheap uniforms barely a season. Men went bare-chested in the summer, their skin grown tough from constant sun exposure, and women wore long simple dresses or men's clothes. Children were the hardest to outfit, because there were few adapted clothes sold so adult clothes had to be fixed to fit. Luckily both the shop owners and their families were great weavers and could mend almost anything.
Variety in shoes and underwear, was something Mags was discovering only now. Even during her time as a tribute in the Capitol, her small clothes had been the simple, invisible kind that didn't get in the way.
Shopping... It sounded quite harmless. Why not?
"Let's go then," she said, causing Myia to almost bounce in delight. "How did you get the job?" Mags added, deciding to be friendly. There was no reason for her to put unnecessary distance between herself and the woman.
"I worked up the courage to ask Evadne when I hear she needed someone," Myia said, with a self-satisfied smile. "She's always so busy, but she had time for us when we were kids, now I miss her. She's working so hard, I really want to make her proud."
When we were kids? Suddenly the luxurious room felt chilled.
"You're related to her?" Mags asked, locking her muscles in place to hide her apprehension behind a smile.
"I'm her niece, her elder sister's daughter. Uncle Lucius, that's her husband, he's the handsome old man who walks with a silver cane and he's the one who convinced her to give me this chance," she said with a delighted grateful smile. Her smile fell. "Aunt Evadne was a Captain in the Homeguard, you know, and then the war happened, and she lost so much, but instead of breaking, she knew she had to make things better. That's when she went into politics. She's brilliant, don't you think?"
"She's quite remarkable. Panem wouldn't be the same without her," Mags said, choosing her words carefully. As she spoke, she realized she was being stupid with her double edged remarks. "Yes she's brilliant," she said with a bright grin.
Myia whole face lit up and she slipped her arm into Mags as if they were long time friends. Mags smiled back, wishing the tension out of her limbs.
Maybe her aide was not sharpest sword in the Capitol, but she was utterly devoted to Achlys. Fantastic... Mags would have to be extra careful.
Author's note: Transitional chapters tend to be slower and full of information, but it reflects the reality of it for Mags. In Creneis she can act and be productive, in the Capitol she's forced to work within a set timetable and all her relationships are much more tense. I'll spare you the shopping session.
Please review^^. We'll be back in Four next chapter. By sheer curiosity, who are your favorite characters here? If everyone could name two to four to give me an idea.