Author's Note.
I'm trying to juggle outtakes, actual chapters and life. This last month has been slow on writing, I don't want it to become a habit, so I'll just try and write every day and see what goes^^. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You're amazing.
We're slowly edging into canon territory. It's a chapter of talk prelude to chapters of action. I hope it doesn't feel like I'm cramming too much stuff into it. Welcome to Panem under Snow!
Warning: Wiress' backstory is farfetched.^^
Enjoy!
Year 50, January. Five months after Coriolanus Snow became President of Panem.
I'm sorry, Mags, I'll be short. (I'm just too angry to write you a proper letter).
Rhapsody doesn't want to get married anymore... She's not even trying. Her and Lorelei could form a club. Bah, it's her life anyway...
Syrianus and Rhapsody keep me sane. We went to see an old psychiatrist friend of ours last Tuesday. It was relaxing, chit-chatting away about nothing. My level of passive-aggressiveness has gotten so high I ended up trying to hook him up with my daughter. I think the avox found it funny and I dare say they were endearingly embarrassed.
I won't be coming back to District Four. It's human to be nostalgic, but you of all people understand how these people are not like us, Mags. Narrow-minded, ignorant, lazy and ungrateful. The Capitol sometimes bores me, but at least I feel surrounded by human beings.
Mags' fingers ached as the chafing wind pierced her exposed skin like shards of ice. One, two, three, four paragraphs, just for the sake of the code they'd established so long ago, not even daring to mention Plutarch by name, and one emotion: fury.
Evadne was a better ruler than Panem deserved (I know you are retired from everything political, but I cannot pretend to ignore it). She never forgot that she was the one with power, never made excuses or let weaker, corruptible souls decide in her place. She saw us, the worthy district born among the thousands of drones, and let us rise. Those idiotic, murderous rebels thought they knew better and Zephyr thought he was so clever, that he had everything in control. I look around me and see sharks aroused by blood chipping away at everything that gave me hope for Panem. Coriolanus Snow is putting things in order, sorting through the mess the other left. Unfortunately, when weeds have colonized your garden, healthy plants need to ripped out to eradicate the filth. I hope it won't be too late. I wouldn't have wagered on President Snow a year ago, but he's an intelligent man, an excellent politician, and he underestimates no threat.
But, all in, all I'm quite fine, old friend. The years are being kind to me.
Be well,
Glynn.
The sentences blurred together, a harsh sludge of poisonous words, thinly veiled behind misleading hate disdain for the very people Mags and Glynn had worked to save all their lives, snaking into a single warning: HIDE! FEAR SNOW!
That fifth paragraph, slanted, aggressive letters cutting into the crumpled paper, containing the scream of rage of a rebellion quelled.
How could Glynn not have seen that Snow would be a menace?
Bitterness spoiled the tangy taste of salt that made Mags feel so at home when she sat by the ocean. Even the sea had lost its luster.
"Mags, you've read it a thousand times. Put it down."
"Stay away from me, Esperanza," Mags said, her voice low. It was said that a shout on the Pier of Spirits would disturb the slumber of the dead.
How she missed her mother. What would Marquise say now, if she saw it had all been in vain?
Mags had never felt so disgusted with herself. How could she have failed?
"Mags," Esperanza said, thick worry entering her tone.
Mags spun round and grasped her sister's wrist, her face softening at the sight of her sister. She couldn't claim life had been unkind, not when she thought of everything they had achieved, of the deep laugh-lines on her little sister's face. The faintest of sad smiles graced her lips. "I don't mean stay away right now. But… I must fade or Snow will destroy me. It has become too unsafe to be close to me."
She was a victor. In the great chess-game the President played, the victors were the pawns. Talent-shows, more interviews, a renewed presence in the media… it was only the beginning. Snow had taken power during the previous Hunger Games, smoothly, silently, whispers of poison echoing in his wake. They said a scent of roses enveloped him, a rose to hide the incriminating stench of blood.
"Is that why you've stopped dyeing your hair, Sis? To look old and harmless?" Esperanza barked a chuckle at Mags' sullen nod.
"I'm glad Mama will never see this," Esperanza said mournfully as they slowly climbed back towards Victors' village.
Mags was too. Angelites had peacefully left a world while hope still sung bright songs. "We believed we'd won."
"We haven't lost yet, Mags. Roll those sleeves up and get a move on. We'll show Snow."
A ghost of a smile lit Mags' face. The passion in Esperanza's face was glorious, but Mags had spent all her cards. She was old and tired. "Back to square one. It took us thirty five years the first time, Esperanza. I don't have thirty years left to live."
She didn't want to live thirty more years. Not like this. Snow. A man worse than Evadne Achlys.
"Square one?" Esperanza squawked. Her look of disapproving astonishment tore another smile from Mags. "The word has been sent, Mags. The frontiers were down, people have gone from district to district breaking the taboos, for the last three years." Esperanza grabbed Mags' shoulders, a grim but determined smile on her face. "The embers are still hot, Mags. You're drowning so deep in disappointment you can't take your head out of the water. Cereus doesn't dare shake you, but he doesn't know you like I do. You were already confident when he came to Four, he never saw how strong you were after your victory. And he's too afraid to lose you," Esperanza said softly. "Just because he's Cereus doesn't mean he always knows what to say."
Mags' features were tight as she gazed at her sister. Was this it? Dare she believe it? He husband spoke no more of rebellion, not because he had stopped believing but because he wanted her first to heal before putting pressure on her once more?
"He wanted me to spend more time with my grandchildren, nephews and nieces." Mags smiled. Cereus was right, it dulled the pain. So many women had families, it should be nothing so special, and yet she had no greater pride.
Mags sighed. "FLASH is in competent hands –"
"You shall not give up FLASH!" Esperanza ordered, knowing full well how miserable Mags would be if she retired. "The victors live in a world ruled by the Hunger Games, do they not? It would be suspicious if you did not oversee them," Esperanza said, her piercing eyes locking into Mags until to acknowledge that she made a valid point. "And forget this about estranging the family. Just talk like a grandmother, and the children won't have anything to tell peacekeepers."
Mags shook her head. If their children were threatened, neither Gloria nor Angelo, not even Jasper or Sol, would choose Mags over them, not to mention their spouses… Only Larimar maybe would, and it would destroy him.
Mags would not permit them to wield such power. She didn't have to cut all the bridges. It would just be more distance, and another cloud of lies. One she'd hoped would never include her family in. Bile rose in her throat as she swallowed.
"Don't force anyone to come to Victors' Village anymore," she simply said. "Only those who really want to see me."
She had made peace with being more a symbol than a real person to people. Even her own family, her own blood, looked at her differently once they understood what the Hunger Games really where.
Esperanza grimaced. Mags knew her sister blamed the Odair side of the family for that fear. They were very decent folk, cheerful and loving, but with simple ambitions and they lived by the credo that had poisoned the Districts since the Dark Days: keep your head down, ask no questions and you shan't be bothered.
Mags was trouble. Anyone who was close enough to her could feel it. Her darling ever-loyal Sol refused to acknowledge it, but his wife was right: if danger was ever to befall their children, it would be because of Mags. Mags respected Lunita, even loved her, and she knew it was mutual but Lunita, like any mother, thought first of the safety of her children.
Any mother except her.
Mags did not hate herself for it. She gave Esperanza a broad, knowing smile. Their mother had been the same, rebel above all else. You couldn't claim to have values and then accept not to live them because the world was governed by evil.
"I won't give up FLASH," she promised.
Esperanza grinned and embraced her loudly. "That's my Big Sis. Now, why did you come down to the Pier today of all days?"
Mags sighed, lifting her weary gaze to where the boats holding the departed faded among the waves. "They're tearing down Galene's training center. Moving it to District Two. Galene will only have one year with aspiring cadets to decide who is good enough to go to Two for further training."
"All in Two, huh?"
"Easier to control peacekeepers if they all have the same education –"
*Cough* "Propaganda." *Cough*
Mags grinned at her over-dramatic sister. "-from a young age."
Esperanza pointedly coughed once more.
Mags' smile fell. Not even her sister's infectious cheer could make her forget the weight of Glynn's last letter. "It's a Quarter Quell this year," she said.
Achlys had left the choice of the tributes up to the district population, introducing the Quell as a 'reward'. Mags knew Snow's ambitions were much darker. He was a man who ruled through hate and soon, it would infect them all.
Esperanza patted her arm. "You feel overwhelmed because you have no plan, but don't worry, our options will soon reveal themselves."
The Fiftieth Games.
"May I go home now?"
Mags felt something painful lodge itself in her throat. She had walled of her heart off a long time ago when it came to tributes. She was mentor Mags, kind and compassionate. She ate sugar cubes and prepared her Careers as best she dared, facing their death with a grim face and unabashed tears. It was all a heart-wrenching but well-mastered routine. But the armor that allowed Mags' to downplay the monstrosity of the Capitol's Games offered little protection against another victor's cry for help.
"Wiress, I said we have to stay until there is a victor," Beetee said, his tone remarkably patient when one remembered the cocky little man so sure of his intellect who had won the 36th Games.
"Where is Comet?" Wiress breathed. "Three must have a mentor."
"You are the mentor, Wiress," Beetee said gently.
Even if he hadn't turned pleading dark eyes to Mags, she would have heard the crack in his tone.
Wiress wasn't supposed to be the here.
Mags had been as surprised as the others when Comet had come to the 45th Games. She'd been more vicious and sarcastic than ever, lashing out against anyone who'd put up with it, namely Mags and Seeder, but she'd been there, year after year, evidently set on sparing Wiress the ordeal.
Worse, Comet had that permanent smirk on her face whenever Wiress was mentioned. Circe, she almost cackled with glee.
She's so perfect, Mags. She's exactly what a victor should be. Chemistry. Freak brain chemistry had one of the weakest tributes to enter the Games shut up all those oh-so- knowledgeable sponsors. It was so satisfying to see her win, finally, the madness of it is revealed!
Invisible. Wiress had won the Games by being invisible. She hadn't stepped down from her plate for a day, crouching there in the fog surrounding the Cornucopia, until hunger, or maybe fear, had made her bolt. She had later waited alone, in a corner of the long dim-lit corridor, waiting for help, or simply too lost to move, forgotten even by the cameras.
"I can't," Wiress muttered, cowering against the wall like a cornered rabbit.
Beetee wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'll be there. You can."
Mags had never thought to see him so sweet.
The building had collapsed around Wiress, a shard of metal embedding itself into the frontal lobe of her brain. Wiress had stood up, blood obscuring her vision, except it hadn't been her, it had been a rabid animal and before the evening, the Hunger Games had been won.
Syrianus had explained it to Mags at least ten times, how tearing into certain zones of the brain could make people become aggressive and deadly, but Mags could never remember the details. They'd removed the shard from Wiress' brain of course, it was their job, to fix the victor's bodies and pretend their minds were fine. And just like that, Wiress was once more a painfully shy, awkward eighteen-year old. Shy, yes, but with nightmares.
"Is Comet alright?" Mags asked, pale with worry. They had buried Bianca, three years before, but Comet had appeared on TV barely a month ago, imitating Capitol stars with hilarious accuracy during her talent show.
Mags was much more boring with her fishhooks and the ridiculously oversized fishes she pretended to have caught by herself. She had the oddest, most visually striking fish and mollusks sent over from all around the District just for the cameras, and they left her alone.
"Her health is no factor in this," Beetee said, red blotches of anger darkening his face. "The President asked that it be Three's youngest victors to mentor these Games."
Mags' eyes were on Wiress' ashen face. Everything in her screamed Leave me alone! and Mags had to bite back a surge of fury of her own. Not fury, hate, she realized. Hate directed straight at Coriolanus Snow.
Comet should be here.
Mags willed her anger away and gave Wiress a kind smile. Those who couldn't fix themselves, she was bound to try and help. This was the true mentoring.
"Wiress, as a new mentor your job will be very specific," she told the young woman.
Young… Wiress didn't look so young, at twenty-four. She looked terrified, a terror which had etched herself in her traits.
Mags kept a certain distance, aware that just like any human being, she was a source of fear for Wiress. Mags doubted there was as much wrong with Wiress' brain as was whispered. It was just shyness and trauma severe enough to steal Wiress' ability to form coherent sentences. Nothing unheard of, the other victors were just too young to remember the veterans of the War.
Wiress' breathing slowly grew less labored. She tentatively held Mags' gaze, her face softening. "The room, where all…" A flash of frustration crossed Wiress' eyes as she realized she had trailed off, again.
"All mentors are in the same room," Beetee said. "The tributes will be the object of their attention, not your performance."
"No glory to Three," Wiress said, a small ugly smile on her lips as her eyes darted to the ceiling.
Mags smiled again. There was nothing random or crazy about Wiress. She was quite lucid if she thought to pay attention to the cameras that grew in the building like weeds.
"It's easy," Mags repeated. "You just sit next to Beetee and focus on how the arena works. To mentor, you need to anticipate. So you need to see beyond what the tributes see, you need to see the whole picture, like Gamemakers. Learn their tricks. It's not your job to worry about the tributes."
Wiress glanced at Beetee in confirmation and finally nodded, a brief smile gracing her lips.
"She likes specific sets of instructions. How did you know?" Beetee whispered as they walked to the mentor's room.
"I've trained over a generation of aspiring Careers," Mags answered with a small smile. "They're not all extroverts."
She almost snorted when she realized Beetee acknowledged her words as if she was a fount of inexhaustible wisdom. Beetee, their precious electronics genius, of all people. He would soon learn that the belief in such wisdom was as much as an illusion as children's faith in the all-knowingness of adults. And yet, she couldn't deny that she enjoyed being looked up to.
Of the victors of the first ten Hunger Games, only she still walked the Capitol's Halls. Mags wondered now, fear dampening her pride, why Snow hadn't asked her to stay behind like he had Comet.
The fiftieth Hunger Games.
Forcing her stiffening legs to maintain a leisurely pace, Mags regretted having ever wished for an answer.
She froze when she entered the office. Snow's office. Of course. She shook herself, she wasn't surprising that the decoration had changed. Like Achlys, Snow did not encumber the room with useless clutter and favored a small number of impressive, expensive ornaments.
Mags' eyes paused on the red and white roses. What an odd obsession for such a man, roses.
"The late Mrs. Achlys gave you a lot of freedom over the management of District Four. She left favorable reports of your activity."
Mags sat straight, her eyes on the town below. There was not a sign left of the explosion that had torn the Capitol apart over forty years before. There was even less sign of poor Zephyr's three year rule. At least he had tried.
"She was remarkably apt at untangling the most chaotic of situations. She was a remarkable woman. I still try to make sense of that day," Mags took a deep breath, a sharp pain piercing her lungs as she thought of Marquise. It should have been the last of it, no more sacrifices! Instead there was that man, shamelessly ruining the Districts with his lust for power. "She did a lot for Panem," she said hoarsely. "I have served as best I could."
Snow chuckled. It wasn't a warm sound. "Why past tense? We are of the same age. We did not fight during the Dark Days, but we were the first to suffer. We had to rebuilt, we never saw what was before that destruction."
Mags almost sighed at the idea that Snow was a war orphan who'd sworn vengeance over the Districts. It'd make as much sense as anything... A vindictive burst of warmth blossomed in her chest when she realized that the white-haired man before her, with his relaxed attitude and his sickly scent of roses, held none of the power over her Achlys had held just by her presence alone.
Coriolanus Snow did not lack charisma, but Mags had lived too long to be intimidated by a mere man in power. She would Panem freed of him, were it to cost her her life.
"Mr. President, no matter how hard I may try, I remain a woman of the Districts," she said matter-of-factly. It wouldn't hurt to show she knew her place. "I have done my best with District Four, and I shall continue to provide the Capitol with entertaining Careers if it pleases you, Sir, but I have energy for little else."
Snow eyed her sharply. "Entertaining," he repeated silkily. "What a peculiar choice of word."
Mags gave him a small, tight smile. He was a clever man, but she had played that game longer than he. "Apt, I would say. I would not presume to claim that Madam Achlys considered me a friend, that would imply equality, but we understood each other, especially regarding the Hunger Games. I stand by entertaining."
"Each victor will have a place," Snow said after a pause. "I do not see why we should be enemies."
Mags stood still, keenly aware that it sounded much like a question. Achlys had scared her just by existing, Snow did not, but his words were more chilling than the former President's had been.
"Your adoptive daughter is a peacekeeper in Ten," Snow continued. "A Captain, you must be proud, and yet Four would be so much safer for her."
It took all of Mags' strength not to stand up and slap Snow. How subtle, showing off his knowledge, using Lorelei. Why, that man was almost a caricature.
"Peacekeepers are needed more where there is danger," Mags replied softly. Her jaw tensed. "I am quite proud," she added, daring Snow to say another word on any of her children.
"I would like you to remind the others of their places, when the time comes," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You can go, Mags."
Mags bowed her head, careful not to surrender to the impulse of breaking into a run. Or to spit at the foul man.
Year 50, October.
Lorelei, clad in casual clothes, was almost purring, her bare feet on the balcony rail as she basked in the sun.
"Shame on you," Cereus joked. "Leaving your elderly parents to do all the work."
"Exploitation is a peacekeeper's prerogative," Lorelei unabashedly shot back, determined to do nothing but relax.
"At least this time she came home on time," Mags said, her teasing tone belied by her grin. A week every year was such a short time but at least her daughter seemed to love her job.
Lorelei propped herself up to twist her head towards her mother. "I hear you complain," she said with arched eyebrows, "and yet you haven't sacked the maid, make her work."
"Careful, Lorelei," the said-maid replied, her arms crossed around her chest, "the maid has access to all your belongings and is much pettier than your dear mom and dad."
Mags grinned. Deirdre was as much a maid as she was. Already after the first week in Victors' Village, no outsider would have suspected that Deirdre was blind if it were not for the colorful band tied over her eyes, and despite her gray hair and wrinkled bony hands, she had a nervous energy that was almost inhuman for a woman of fifty-eight.
Lorelei scoffed. "I'm not scared of tiny blind old ladies. The years in victor's village have done little for your ego, Deirdre."
"You're just less used to me now, girl. Don't worry, if you're still set of going back to Ten, the cows don't talk back."
A thoughtful smile danced on Mags' lips at their banter. Even after three years, it was surreal.
Year 46, late September, two months after Achlys' death.
Angelites opened her arms wide. "Welcome, prodigal daughter, welcome,"
Mags and Cereus laughed when Lorelei flushed bright red. It was such a relief, to finally see her home safe and sound.
"Believe it or not, I do have a reason for not rushing back home as soon as Mrs. President was dead and buried."
"Of course you're too busy for family, Querida,"Angelites replied pitilessly. "It's the burden of adulthood."
"Sol and Larimar too busy too?" Lorelei shot back, planting two kisses on her grandmother's cheeks before turning to Mags, a merry grin on her face.
"Larimar will be back from FLASH in an hour with Aunt Esperanza," Mags said. "And Sol wants to put the baby to bed before coming over."
"Who is your friend?" Cereus said, his curious eyes falling on the short older woman standing with a thin cane twenty-feet away. A wide-rimmed hat fell over her eyes.
"She goes by Deirdre, you knew her under another name, Mama. I found her in District Seven." Lorelei chuckled as she embraced her parents. "No, she found me. I think you should talk. She has very interesting stories to tell."
Mags frowned. Who did she know from District Seven? Could the woman be one of the earliest peacekeeper trainees from Galene?
"Deirdre," Lorelei called.
Mags frowned as the woman walked. It bothered her not to see her face and the way Deirdre walked had something... Mags suddenly caught herself and stopped staring. This was a friend of Lorelei's and Mags blushed slightly, afraid someone had caught her rudeness. And yet there was something unnerving...
Lorelei smiled and took Deirdre's free hand when she arrived next to them. "Angelites, Mags and Cereus are here. Mama doubtless put on thirty pounds since you last saw her and she's the fantasy of every FLASH professor over thirty."
Mags elbowed Cereus when she noticed his sudden grin. Such jokes were quite inappropriate when there was a stranger present.
The woman's thin lips broke into a smile. "I should have suspected the universe would have contrived a way to get you and Cereus of all people together." She turned her head towards Cereus, almost facing him. "I was told you would be a lawyer, but I daresay protecting the weak and bringing justice is even easier when backed with a victor's power."
Mags shared a look with her husband. She now remembered the lawyer bit, but how? Then her eyes widened as the obvious answer to Deirdre's peculiarity dawned on her. An embarrassed smile flitted over her lips.
Deirdre was blind.
"If you don't speak, we're not going to get very far," Deirdre said with a small smile.
Mags blushed. Luckily, Cereus stepped in. "Why don't you come in, Deirdre, while our brains catch up," he said.
Lorelei giggled, making Mags even more confused.
Deirdre was wearing a very amused smile and Mags felt another jolt. A sudden sense of familiarity she couldn't place. Who was this woman that Lorelei had delayed her homecoming for?
"So how long will you be staying."
"Until you kick me out. I came with little but the clothes on my back, so I could use a few new things too," Deirdre replied brightly.
"Excuse me?" Angelites said, her eyebrows flying upwards at the woman's presumption.
"Rebel solidarity is hard earned, isn't it?" Deirdre said in joking tones. "We're on the same side."
At those words something clicked in Mags' mind.
"Rebel solidarity is hard earned, isn't it?" Fife huffed. "We're on the same side…."
"I don't care if you want a La La Land of freedom and happiness with all your heart," Lila snapped. "Screw this up and you're against me."
"That's impossible," Mags whispered.
Deirdre's small smile had become a huge grin.
But... The hovercraft had crashed. "Even if... They would have found you –"
Her words trailed away when Deirdre raised her hand to her hat and revealed a white band covering her eyes. "Fix burned away the cameras," she said, her calm smile taking the edge out of her horrible words. "I learned not to miss my eyes." Her shoulders hunched as she leaned on her cane, as if suddenly weary.
Mags could barely believe it. Fife. Her throat constricted, warmth spreading across her chest. It was Fife Chican. Alive and well.
"I jumped out before Constantine crashed the hovercraft," Fife whispered.
"Fife?" Angelites exclaimed, latching onto Mags' arm as a grin bloomed on her cheeks. "Then, the other rebels made it?"
"Yes, many of those you knew did," Fife said. "Sylvan managed to get messages through, every five years or so. He was in Eight. Last we received, he was struggling not to be bossed about by his first granddaughter, a delightful toddler called Paylor."
Mags swallowed, tears misting up her vision. Fife wasn't dead, Sylvan had a family. She thought she had gotten over that part of her life long ago, but now that Fife was here... "Fife,-"
"Deirdre. Chickaree adopted me," Fife said, her lips breaking into a small wistful smile. There was something in her tone, something precious and contained. "I don't doubt that I may have had it easier than you, Mags, even if I achieved little truly noteworthy."
"Did Chickaree pass away recently?" Cereus asked soft tones, better at noticing some things than Mags ever would be.
"Two years, she was one of the strongest people I ever knew. There's only me left now." Fife shook her head slightly. "It was always natural causes, but the swamps of Seven are harsh." She smiled at Mags, and it seemed that despite the harshness and the losses, Fife's memories were fond. "We weren't unhappy, not at all. I have stories, if you will hear them."
A rueful, awed smile broke Mags' lips. Fife Chican, victor in the shadows, alive despite all odds. It was incredible. She stepped forward. "I'm about to give you a hug," she said, her voice quivering. "Deirdre."
Mags had been like a little girl in the following weeks, bouncy and excited. Leaving Sol and Larimar to wonder –they were used to secrets that they did not resent them- and Esperanza to smile knowingly.
Marquise's death had still been fresh and painful, a dark clawed presence invading her nights and casting shadows on her waking days, but stories of Teal and Fix and their new families, of the craftiness of those undercover rebels, and simply seeing Fife –Deirdre- alive, had put some much needed balm on those raw wounds.
But it was in Angelites that the change was most striking. The talk of the olden days in the Citadel, of lives spent in tunnels and the war Mags had been too young to truly understand, had taken years off her mother's soul, allowing the grandmother, the great-grandmother to fade away and leave once more place to the passionate rebel, the one with the unbreakable ideals and the fierce desire to offer her family a better world.
It had been Deirdre's greatest gift, and Mags was glad her mother's spirit had not been diminished in the months before she had peacefully passed away.
Mags blinked tears out of her eyes, a smile on her face as her and Cereus watched Lorelei and Deirdre fool around like a couple of catty teenagers.
"Girls, quit bickering," she finally said. "And be on your best behavior for tonight. Angelo will never allow us in his home again if we upset his wife."
She didn't have to add that Tyna had been hormonal before the pregnancy. She was a good woman, but exhausting.
"Finnick, what a silly name," Deirdre quipped, just to get a rise out of her. "Why not Sharky?"
"Esperanza swears he's the prettiest newborn the family's seen in generations," Mags replied haughtily.
Year 50, November, three months after the 50th Games.
They had been waiting with bated breath, so to speak.
Mags cursed as she almost tripped over the crate lying halfway across the path. She gingerly opened it, cautious ever since that giant albino crab that had crawled out of the ice.
A two-headed eel, charming. Sol would doubtless be delighted to cook it for dinner once her joke of a talent show was over. She slammed the ice-crate shut, her previous line of thought pushing the eel out of her mind.
Haymitch Abernathy hadn't upset anyone. The Capitol had found the bouncing axe hilarious, quite the brilliant finale. No one had taken offence and the district viewers figured it had been a Gamemaker's trick, one of many.
Why should they have thought differently?
There was nothing special about Haymitch. He'd been sassy enough and he'd been less scrawny than most, but really, nothing remarkable, albeit perhaps that he was from District Twelve.
And yet even Columbus, who had consumed more than his weight in morphling since Bianca had passed away, could tell Snow wasn't happy.
So all the victors and every citizen of Panem with eyes, had held their breaths. Mags, taking advantage of the last remnants of her network, received news of the victor from a peacekeeper on leave.
Mags all but slammed the door. "Why am I even surprised?" She said tightly, her eyes gaining a bright sheen.
The poor boy, so completely alone now.
Cereus squeezed her hand before gently taking her coat. His hands were trembling and his shoulders struggled to remain upright, but his smile was as caring as ever and Mags knew his mind was as sharp as the day they had met. She swallowed, pushing back useless sobs.
"Achlys had Rye and Galen killed, she had Gemma reaped to punish Tang," Mags said, her voice trembling as they sat on the sofa, "but she never killed a victor's whole family as a punishment for breaking an unvoiced rule. It's not even a rule, it's Snow's pride," she spat. "He hadn't predicted the forcefield being used as part of the arena and he threw a President-sized temper tantrum."
A whole family, how could he!
Cereus shook his head. "He's not even a gamemaker. Why would he take it personally?"
Another angry breath escaped Mags' lips. She didn't want to ponder what darkness lay in Snow's mind for him to take such pleasure in destroying random lives.
"Maybe he didn't," Cereus mused after a pause, a harsh edge to his soft voice. "Maybe he would have found another excuse to make sure every victor remains on their toes."
"He just wants us subdued," Mags whispered, a heated hiss escaping her teeth as she grasped her husband's arm. She was barely aware enough not to squeeze too hard. She couldn't get over it, she wouldn't get over it! It wasn't acceptable, this couldn't become the rule.
"He removed the three-children laws, did he not?" Deirdre said, pushing a most welcome tray of food up to them.
"Yes," Mags said, biting her lip.
The mere sight of Deirdre with the colorful band covering her eyes and slow, dignified grace with which she held herself, drove Mags' anger under control. There was something humbling about the ease the blind woman went about the house, and it gave Mags' faith in her own strength.
"And I'm not so sure the population is in excess," Mags added. She was certain it wasn't.
"I doubt it," Deirdre said sardonically. "Snow just wants the Capitol to forget they need us. He can use laws, the media, and you. I'm afraid this is the beginning of the instrumentalisation of victors."
Mags looked around, her heartbeat increasing as panic slowly tightened its grip on her. Would her home would be bugged, turned into a golden prison with no escape? Snow did not need her, there was no one to stay his hand.
"What could he do more?" Cereus exclaimed, tightening his hold on his wife. "Isolate them by killing everyone they hold dear? That would be idiotic," he said. "The Capitols wants idols, not broken toys. Spread tales of their excesses, to prove that they are more decadent than Capitol socialites themselves?"
Deirdre gave a raspy chuckle. "You are too decent to think like an amoral ruler, Cereus. I think Achlys, as a peacekeeper and a woman, had certain notions of dignity she would not cross."
Mags shuddered. She remembered a younger Deirdre, Fife Chican, who had played people like others plucked strings. Mags was certain that in a different world, Fife could have served people such as Snow. She had the right mind to understand such darkness and even to accept it.
"What would you do?" Mags whispered
Deirdre gave Mags a mirthless smile. "Why make them simply decadent when you can turn the victors into objects too? Tell the Capitol citizen victors were voluntarily selling themselves for example, for outrageous sums to cover their even more outrageous expenses. Convince Capitolites they're doing the victor a favor if they… buy them."
Mags' stomach lurched. She brought her hand to her heart, feeling as if she had been punched. This wasn't amoral. It was vile, and gratuitous for all Mags could see. "Many would break. They wouldn't be able to keep the façade in front of..."
She couldn't bring herself to say clients. She desperately hoped Snow lacked Deirdre's… imagination.
Deirdre shook her head. "Mags, why did you like Plutarch at first?"
Mags frowned. She'd told little to Deirdre of Plutarch. Just the social aspect. Deirdre knew nothing of him and very little of Glynn. Mags frowned again when she realized the question wasn't that straightforward.
"I… he was bright," she said hesitantly. "He was interesting. We went to the zoo, it cleared my mind."
"He didn't care that you'd won the Games, or if he did, he liked you for it," Deirdre explained, an apologetic smile on her thin lips. She paused just long enough for Mags to realize that Deirdre was absolutely right. "Take almost any victor and put them only with people like Plutarch. People who accept them and flatter them. Soothe the guilt, give them more food and money that they ever had. Make them drunk with it, isolate them."
Mags took a shaky breath. She understood perfectly. The new victors would welcome it. They were too battered, too naïve, to know better. Only those with a fierce hate of the Capitol or a disdain for luxury, but most of all an unbroken belief in their own strength could succeed, and how many were they? Beetee? Lyme? Seeder, maybe? So very few.
"They'd break when you make clear they have no control," Cereus insisted. "They'd stop caring. If they become depressed, killing their whole families won't help. The Capitol wants them to be fun."
"Capitol medicine," Deirdre said. "It might even make their ordeal pleasant."
Mags shared a horrified glance with her husband. She wanted to cry out her denial, to contradict Deirdre, to say that it wasn't possible.
But it was. Achlys had given them just enough space to allow the majority of them to hold it. Larix wasn't the rule. So many victors were damaged, but they still were lucid, their lives remained enough their own they could hope to pull through even if the nightmares never truly stopped.
And Snow wouldn't allow them even that?
"But why?" Cereus said helplessly.
"Because Snow loves control," Deirdre said, her expression dark as she let herself fall seated on the armrest. "Predictably though, if he pushes too hard, it will all snap." Her lips twitched. "Unless Chickaree lied about all those books on dictators she read in the Citadel."
"War. It will be war, with bombs and blood and uprisings in every district." Mags predicted. "But when? Even fifty years is short in terms of history, but for us, it's all the time our children are given to live." She balled her fists, hating it always came back to the same things. "We need a way to talk to every District."
"All the channels are closed," Cereus said, a question plain in his warm brown eyes.
"All except one," Mags answered. "The Hunger Games are still broadcasted everywhere." She stood up, their helplessness infuriating her. The Hunger Games, right. "But how? Even Careers cannot be prepared enough to be used as mouthpieces of the rebellion. We'd need the right tributes, at the right time, to make a beaten down population so furious it will rise up."
"It'll happen, statistically," Cereus said, daring a brave smile.
"And what do we do until then?" Mags demanded, forcing her voice down.
She wasn't angry at him. She grasped Cereus' hand, willing the cloud of negative emotions attempting to overwhelm her to stay focused on the real enemy. She'd not let them poison her marriage. Never.
She gave Cereus a brief but meaningful kiss for good measure. He just grinned at her.
"Make the world better in small ways, Mags. Fade." Deirdre sighed. "I heard whispers back in Seven. Whispers that used to belong to the ancient tunnels of the bunker and that Fix held close to him like a guilty secret."
"What whispers?"
"About District Thirteen," Deirdre said, her voice so low Mags was reading was lips. "About a city allowed to live free in its underground prison as long as it made no use of its nuclear weapons."
Mags blinked. Well, that potentially changed everything. She had to let Plutarch and Glynn know.
Circe, that meant waiting at least another year just to get the frigging message across.
"I need a hobby," Mags declared.
She chuckled wryly as she thought of the half-frozen two-headed eel outside the door.
Sooo^^
Finnick is born, Fife is back, Haymitch will be sharing a drink with Chaff next chapter and I'm counting on you to tell me what parts of canon you'd rather have me explore. The part in District Four will be very Finnick centered and I'll mostly explore how the second rebellion organized itself (so a parallel to Catching Fire).
Please review^^.