Thank you to all those who still bother to review regularly: ETNRL4L, TheWomanWhoCodesAndWrites, Virazhi, Shadesunrider13 and guests Well of Wishes, Iacopo, Lollipop, Supernova18 and Gingerfluff. I cannot express how motivating and necessary your reviews are.
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Year 63, December, FLASH
Lorelei pushed the office door open, as welcome as she was unexpected. Her short dark hair was tucked under a cap, a thin layer of dust and grime coated her face and casual clothes. Deep lines creased her face, and she looked all her fifty years, but she still moved with an energy brought by a lifelong of exercise.
Mags rose, beaming and pulled her eldest into a hug. Lorelei smelled of travel and cheap trains, but it was so wonderful to have her home. "Retired or kicked out, Captain?"
Twenty-nine years of service, four more than the Capitol demanded of officers, but Mags feared that Lorelei would never tire of the travels and responsibility.
Lorelei laughed. "Retired, with honors and a medal, Ma'am!" She said, fishing a shining copper star out of her pocket. 'For long service and good conduct' it read.
Mags' grin was broad enough to hurt. She read the medal three times to make sure it wasn't a trick. Her girl was home for good!
"Can you believe Snow made an example of me?" Lorelei said, her smile turning rueful.
The words smothered some of Mags' cheer. She hadn't been quite unhappy to hear Lorelei had been summoned to One as exceptional reinforcements in April. "Don't start conversations like that, my heart is old, querida."
Lorelei chuckled and placed a kiss on her mother's cheek in apology. "The price of gold has stabilized," she said with half-hearted pride.
Mags sighed, her heart going out to the miners who had rebelled. Their conditions weren't worse than District Twelve's, but in One they were hidden away and forgotten, living in grime and poverty mere miles from where jewelers and artisans could afford heated houses and chic restaurants.
"Snow reopened the mines?"
"We escorted the miners to the pits, giving the first group of volunteers a bonus for service and rounding up the others forcibly, including the retired and boys too young to work," Lorelei said in distaste. "Snow used the victors' gold to clear up the fallen tunnels and replace the machines, with a big speech on how it was the victors' duty to serve.
Mags frowned, making quick calculations, eight living victors, nine with Gloss… If they'd pooled in the equivalent of a year's wages, it might cover a fifth of the expenses, but the strength lay in the message: the victors were tools, to be used as Snow saw fit.
"That's where my parentage was used to good effect," Lorelei pointed out, slinging her arm around Mags. "No one had to tell you to spend your money to keep Four running and rebellion at bay," she said with a growing grin. "And Snow was quick to remind them."
Mags' lips twitched at the irony before grasping Lorelei's wrist in concern. So much bravery and yet so many deaths… "Tell me the repression didn't leave the mines."
Lorelei's smile died and Mags could see her sheer relief at having left that behind. "There were eleven executions during my stay. Snow raised taxes on everything save bread, milk and blankets, saying that if One rebelled, then One had to pay the price."
"Only taxes? How generous," Mags said. She wished she could be sarcastic, but she was honestly surprised. The repression in Six had been much bloodier.
"Yes," Lorelei said with a grim smile. "It's very clear he'd have been much harsher on any other District and that One should feel very privileged. Now, I'm running home and taking a shower, assuming my room is still there?"
Mags chuckled and gestured towards the door, her arm firmly in her daughter's. "Of course it is." She was so happy Lorelei wouldn't be putting her life in danger anymore. "I'll walk you to the gates. What's your plan now?"
Lorelei yawned, a content smile stretching on her face. "For the next month or three, moving back in with you, sipping cocktails on the terrace and catching up with family, then, we'll see."
She smiled as the hubbub from the mess hall filled the corridor they'd just taken. "Lively bunch you have here, Mama, you'll have to give me details now that I'm here to stay."
Mags was about to shamelessly boast about her students when an ear-splitting scream filled the air.
The two women shared a shocked glance.
"Mama," Lorelei said as they hurried towards the mess hall, "you're having the Career trainees murder kids? You promised!"
Mags slapped her daughter's shoulder. That child had sounded in pain.
"Everyone back to your tables, thank you," Alyx said, her ringing voice bringing silence. "Instructor Cody, please take Nixie to the nurse, Marina, Finnick, here, now."
"Our Finnick?" Lorelei said, her eyebrows shooting up. "And I feared he'd grow up boring."
Mags snorted. "Never boring," she muttered.
Finnick's reply was loud enough to echo outside the doors. "I can explain in front of everyone if you want, Instructor."
Mags froze at the venom in his voice. Her scowl deepened. There went the hope it had been an accident.
"Don't overstep yourself, Sweetie," Alyx replied. "You won't get out of here looking like a good guy with an improvised speech."
Mags gasped when she saw Nixie hurrying out of the mess hall, her chin covered in blood. Finnick had better have an excellent story to tell.
The students spun towards Mags and Lorelei as one as they marched in.
"Oh look, Finnick, your audience just got important," Alyx said with a growing smile. "You'd better own this, kids, come on. The rest of you, eat."
Marina held her head high, her face a mask of boredom, but Finnick was flushed and tense, his eyes burning holes into the ground.
"Hola, Aunt Lorelei," he said, lighting up a touch. "Back for good this time?" He added with forced politeness.
"A peacekeeper Captain?" Alyx said brightly, patting her curly hair back in place as if she was ashamed to be caught disheveled. "It's Finnick's first offense, I don't think he deserves that kind of attention just yet," she joked. There was nevertheless a certain tension to her as she glanced at Finnick, proof that her good humor hid a serious issue.
Finnick's unfocused stare and rhythmic breathing told Mags he was doing the calming techniques they'd taught them during their first year.
Mags decided to give him a minute as they went to a side room. She turned to the to Lorelei. "Instructor Alyx Rivers, teaches economics and commerce, former Head of Sales and Quality in Orythia, angered enough of them that she took refuge here five years ago."
"The sales department?" Lorelei said with arched eyebrows. "Those who get ripped off by Capitolites who set lower prices on a whim because the dead fish's eyes look square or the pearls lack character?"
A wry smile lit Alyx's face. "Essentially... I didn't let them rip me off and they got touchy about it."
"Why don't you two have lunch together one of these days," Mags suggested, "Lorelei is unfortunately a bit of a stranger here now."
Alyx let out a surprised laugh. "I've known you more subtle, Mags. But of course, Lorelei, let's be friends," she said cheerfully.
"Thanks, Mama," Lorelei said, glaring slightly at her unabashed mother.
Mags couldn't think of two loud-spoken middle-aged women who'd get along better and she had no scruples about setting them up.
Alyx was still chuckling. "Why don't you share the story with Mags, Children," she then said, her gentle hold on Finnick's and Marina's shoulders cutting the edge off her teasing smile.
Finnick looked as furious as when he'd stepped out of the mess hall, the air around him sizzling with fury. Mags instinctively checked the room for breakable objects.
"If we were children, it wouldn't happen," he spat, his head snapping towards Mags. "Why can't the girls have physicals somewhere else?"
Marina slapped his arm. "Don't be stupid."
Finnick snorted. "You can be with the guys. You're not a bother and we don't make you stupid."
Alyx crossed her arms, her voice soft and her smile gone. "Marina walked up to Nixie in the mess hall, said 'this is from Finnick' and punched her jaw so hard she's spitting blood. Nothing broken, luckily."
Mags turned to stare at her great-nephew, astonished. This had been premeditated?
"I asked her to," Finnick confirmed, his face darkening once more. "I'd have broken her jaw for sure had I thrown the punch. I never thought I'd want to hit a girl so badly. Thank you, Marina," he added, shooting Alyx a diffident glare.
Despite her outrage, Mags was too stunned to scold him for his attitude. Yet. What was this madness?
"Finnick, I was under the impression that what Nixie did was just flirting," Alyx said, her assessing eyes on the boy. "You had the talk about hormones and varying interests, what made you think she deserved to be punched publicly like this?"
Finnick's green eyes had always been stunningly bright, but they now held a storm begging to be unleashed. "The talk wasn't about letting girls being allowed to ruin other people's lives because they have a stupid crush!" Finnick roared. He took a deep breath. "She's being horrible to other girls who say they like me or even just look like they do, Instructor Rivers. She and her friends bully those who daretalk to me. It's as if I'm her thing!" He said, his whole body shaking with rage. "I told her to stop it last week, and she pushed Annie down the stairs this morning because she thought I'd given Annie a necklace."
"Annie lent Finn her necklace because Finn wanted to tell the seller to make one like it for his cousin's birthday," Marina explained, "and some snitch of Nixie's must have seen Finnick give it back."
Hearing Marina seemed to make Finnick deflate. "Aunt Gloria said Tallulah wanted some jewelry," Finnick said, his shoulders slumping with guilt. "Don't spoil the surprise, please."
Mags shook her head, her anger at Finnick ebbing away. It was high time to have a group session with all the second year girls. They had incidents every year, but rarely so severe. She didn't think she'd ever seen Finnick so angry.
"I want to move up," Finnick said. "It'll solve everything."
"But Finn," Marina grumbled, her hands nervously twisting her large sweater, "it's going to be boring without you." Her scowl grew more pronounced when Finnick didn't budge.
"Move up?" Mags asked, now confused.
"I didn't mind girls liking me before," Finnick said, "but Sheller is starting to hate me because of all the attention I get and even Krill gets annoyed. I can't talk to a girl without getting paranoid and that's when they don't get stupid around me." His eyes flared in anger when Mags failed to conceal a slight smile. "It's not just that some of them like me, it's that it's like a fashion to have a crush on me, it's crazy. They take turns and have dares to get my attention. They get into my stuff and leave messages! I hate it," he snapped.
Mags' smile had vanished, replaced by a sinking feeling in her stomach. Finnick was one of the most handsome lads to ever grace the halls of FLASH, and he would have to learn to cope with attention, but now the girls were completely out of bounds.
"I want to move with the older kids," Finnick declared, his face a mask of stone. "I don't care if they laugh at me or hand me my ass in physicals, but at least I won't go insane or lose my friends because they're stupid enough to envy me."
"Finn," Mags temporized.
Finnick squared his shoulders. "It's that or I'm leaving FLASH. I'm not a prize and I won't have people hurt because of me. Annie could have fallen down and died, and she wasn't the first."
Mags' words remained stuck in her mouth. Leaving? What? She found herself leaning on Lorelei for support.
"My parents would be happy if I left, I think," he added with a bitter smile that pierced straight through Mags' heart.
"How about we calm down and clear up a few things," Mags said. She hated herself for having missed this. "Before we take such a drastic decision. Finnick, how long has this been going on?"
"Nixie badly trying to get noticed by me?"
"And sticking around more than she was wanted?" Marina added peevishly.
"Yes," Alyx said before Mags could be tempted to tell Marina off.
"A month or so," Finnick guessed. "I don't mind flirting, but she got these weird thoughts in her head. She makes it like I'm the one making her do mean things, that she does them for me," Finnick said, guilt entering his eyes once more.
Mags' expression hardened. She'd always stayed well clear of drama but she remembered Esperanza's last year of school and the ravages of emotional blackmail. "Finn, even if you flirt back, how Nixie, or any girl, behaves is her own fault. You're not forcing her to do anything. And if you lie to her, you are the only one she has a right to blame."
Finnick nodded but his relief didn't wash away the anger. He turned to Marina. "Could you be my girl, just to get them to back off?"
Marina snorted. "I can hold your hand and tell the others off if you want. If you call me Baby, I'm cutting your junk off." She then grinned. "I'll protect you if you're scared they might attack you, Finn," she said in teasing cooing tones.
Finnick glowered at her. "And at physicals, Mags, they comment on my body all the time, it was nice at first," he admitted, "but now it's really embarrassing and the guys don't like it, they're getting nasty because of it. Mags, I'm going to hit them, I swear. "
"He wants to hit everyone," Marina said, her grip tight on Finnick's shoulder. "It's like I'm the cool-headed one now. Please take him seriously," she added, her worry plain.
Mags nodded, her own anger increasing. They would need some time just to get the situation to deflate. "For a month or two, I can organize you to be with the seventeen year olds, Finn." The sixteens were too busy, but the seventeens would have the time and maturity to welcome him.
"They will hand you your ass, like you so aptly said," Alyx said with a knowing smile.
"Yeah, but I don't think they'll straight out ask what the size of my –" Finnick shut his mouth and glared at the ground. He crossed his arms in aggravation. "Should I stop showering or something to be left alone? I'm shaving my head," he then said. "I'm sick of hearing about my hair."
Mags' expression darkened. She'd have a serious word with the adults supervising the physicals. This had gone well beyond acceptable teenage hormonal awakening.
"Keep the hair, the problem isn't you, Sweetie," Alyx said. "But beware, the sixth years will baby you."
Finnick winced. "That's okay," he muttered after a pause. "It's up to me to prove myself to them."
"Alright, Finnick, Marina, go to classes," Mags said. "Tell those who ask that I'll set the punishment and come up with a solution by tonight." She met Finnick's eyes. "Do you know why I'm punishing the two of you?"
Finnick's shoulders slumped, giving him a beaten down look. "Because I should have spoken about Nixie earlier."
Mags nodded and turned to Marina, who bore this all much more stoically.
"Because I'm a responsible human being, not Finnick's long range weapon even if I can hit girls and he can't," Marina said. "And I shouldn't hit anyone," she added softly.
"Alright, that's good enough for now. Now go," Mags said, weary. She would have Finnick have a civil conversation with Nixie as soon as the other girl was better, but if her prideful nephew didn't fear becoming the weakest boy among the sixth years, then Mags couldn't ignore his cry for help.
"So is this Annie a good friend of Finnick's or she's just a girl with conveniently pretty necklaces?" Lorelei asked when Finnick and Marina had gone.
Mags added 'talking to Annie Cresta about the stairs incident' in her stretching out to do list. None of her students should feel unsafe at FLASH.
"Annie doesn't have friends. People are means to an end to her, she is calm and never aggressive but she has trouble connecting," Alyx said, concern seeping in her tone. "She gravitates around Finnick because he's charismatic but they don't interact much." She turned to Mags. "I'd like to partner her with one of the first years next year, like you did Sheller and Finnick."
Mags nodded. Annie trusted adults, and they should use that as much as they could to help her grow emotionally. "As you see fit, Alyx. So, we move a boy who just turned thirteen to the seventeen's classes?" She said, her voice sharper than she'd liked.
The sixth years were divided into specialties. The future meteorologists, farm managers, machine engineers and carpenters did not need the same physical skills as the sailors, whalers and divers, and the classes Finnick could be inserted in were advanced athletics classes, survival and net-making, so those also followed by the potential tributes of the 65th Games.
Even if he'd have an adapted syllabus, Mags wasn't thrilled to expose Finnick to that.
"It'll teach him humility," Alyx said. "And it will be relaxing for him to be with people who don't expect him to be perfect."
Mags nodded. It was unfortunately the best solution they had for now.
"Oh, I forgot something," Lorelei said abruptly, pulling a small piece of paper out of her pocket as the two of them reached FLASH's gates. "A shifty guy gave me this for you. He's either crazy or you recruit really weird people."
We need proof. Do something visible. B13.
B13, Boggs in District 13. Mags sighed, resisting the urge to grit her teeth at the needless risk. It didn't surprise her too much, and yet...
We will answer communications but not attempt them ourselves, Boggs had promised, but Boggs evidently had superiors with other ideas.
"B13? Sounds like a vitamin, anyone I could know?"
"No," Mags said, "and he's really too young for you."
"Pity," Lorelei said.
Year 64, January, FLASH
Finnick gasped and rolled on the side, his hands clutching his calf.
"Cramp, Squirt?" Shale said with a half-smile. He crouched next to Finnick, his leonine frame glistening with sweat.
Mags watched from behind the thin mirrors above the practice room. Shale was hyperactive and couldn't concentrate when the stakes were low. He'd never have a job, too much conflict with authority, too much anger inside him. He was the reserve male for the 65th Hunger Games. The younger students at FLASH were observed and tested, but once the fourth years suitable for the Career program had been selected there was no going back. Careers couldn't be lukewarm or ill-prepared.
But it didn't mean that Mags didn't like Shale.
Finnick jumped back up and slammed Shale down, or at least he tried, Shale was swift to twist and lock his arm around Finnick's neck. They were the same height, but Shale tossed Finnick around like a ragdoll. Finnick groaned in pain.
"You've got balls, Finn, but you're two years late for such a trick to work on me. I'll grant it to you, you fight like a decent fourth."
The first enemies to conquer were stress and deprivation. The fifteen-year-old Careers did not know if the next night would bring them rest or if the next meal was guaranteed. Their shoes or warm clothes could vanish for days, or their showers disabled. They could wake up in pairs in the middle of nowhere without a map, not knowing if or when they'd be rescued. They were pushed mentally and physically to their limits without ever touching a weapon. In private, the Instructors spoke to them, encouraged them, rewarded them and explained to them why the constant non-lethal harassment was vital, but in public, the Careers were ostracized, protected only by FLASH's rules.
"So why do you waste your precious time on me?" Finnick said, wheezing as he massaged his leg.
"You're weak because you're a kid, I'm weak because I'm angry," Shale said. "I need to blow off steam, fight it off. You're weak, I need to stay in control not to wring your neck by accident. You help me focus, I help you go from kiddy martial arts to the real thing. You don't hold back anymore, that's a start."
They also began honing their verbal skills, to blow off insults and fight back fiercely, to have an answer ready for any question and situation, be it odd inquiries or the morbid of the Hunger Games.
"It's not decided yet, they could make you volunteer," Finnick replied with a rueful grin.
Mags knew Finn would have been attracted to the volunteers, they were strong, had a fascinating danger to them and they were charismatic. They were trained to be. Of the four, she did prefer it to be Shale.
Shale shrugged. "I'm second best, but I'm nothing exceptional. Merrill can be unflexible, but he's better at the camera and angle drama, much better. He manages to live it, whereas I have to remember to wear a mask. They could always get seventeen-year-olds for the 65th if we can't get it up to scratch. It happened already. There's only forty people in a class, can't always find top notch volunteers."
Fifth year was the year of pain, weapons and blood. Fifth year was the year the rules changed and violence was encouraged. Fifth year was the one Careers didn't mingle with the other students at all, and when they came back, they were almost ready, convinced they were the good guys, because in Four, victors were productive, no locked up in some village, because just by volunteering, they saved lives, and because they hadn't made the rules of the Hunger Games.
All those half-lies Mags and Eirene fed them. It was disgusting, but it was necessary.
Knives and nets, tridents and lances, drenched in the blood of animals that screamed just like children. It was the year which confirmed who would break too early, who had a chance to survive, and who was too mean, even for the Hunger Games. They learned to fall asleep and wake up in seconds, not to hesitate. They fought each other, wearing body armor and with blunt wooden blades, and each deep bruise left would in normal conditions have been a lethal wound.
"Want to see the video?" Shale said when Finnick finally managed to stand up again.
"What video?" Finnick said.
"Video of the fight we just had, Squirt. Don't you see the cameras in the wall? Those with the red lights, they're recording right now. The point is to teach us to face them right. See, if I turn my ass to them when I do something wicked, all the Capitol will see is an ass, it doesn't matter if I can wield a trident like Poseidon himself."
Finnick's face broke into a mischievous grin. "Sure, admit it, you're telling me only now because you wanted to see my ass."
"Isn't because of your ass that you're here in the first place, Squirt?" Shale joked. "That and hair," he added ruffling Finnick's hair. Finnick pretended to bite Shale's hand.
"Don't Delfina or Lily need you right now?" He said.
Sixth and Seventh year would teach them about cameras, angles and alliance. They worked in rotating pairs, usually only four Careers remained by then, and with luck the drop outs were recoverable, even if it meant keeping them under watch until they were twenty-one, rather than avoxed because they so unhinged that even Mags could not shield them from the law anymore. The pairs developed codes and routines. There wouldn't be a tribute mentored by Mags and another by Nori during the 65th, Fours were mentored together, always.
"Delfina will be volunteer, Lily just doesn't cut it, but even if I pair up better with Delfina than Merrill does, there's the individual factor too." Shale said darkly. "I get angry, I could give the Capitol a huge fuck on screen or blab dangerous stuff that'd not just get me in trouble. We're made to be fun and glib, but we're supposed to be smart glib, not get your aunt killed."
Finnick swallowed. "I'd appreciate that," he said worry furrowing his brow. "I figured you volunteers wouldn't be too bad, but you're kind of nice."
"You're Four, you'll never be the enemy. And you have an inordinate amount of time for my crap. The girls aren't interested." Shale grinned. "Tridents?"
"You subconsciously want me dead," Finnick groaned as he stretched his overtaxed limbs.
Mags was amazed, almost confused, to see Finnick put up with the break-neck physical routine Shale pushed him into, but Shale stopped when Finnick was truly exhausted and Mags saw the progress with her own eyes. Shale wasn't a trained instructor, and yet Finnick's progress matched what Catalina's had been when they had started the training programs. Mags could barely believe her eyes.
"You've gone from hopeless to laughable with decent moments in the last month," Shale said brightly. "Besides, the outer tributes will be more like you, untrained so unpredictable: I can use the experience. Besides, Squirt, you whine and whine, but you could hang out with the sailor sixes instead of me."
"I'm learning three times more with you," Finnick squared his bruised shoulders and Mags decided to give him an extra physical checkup by tomorrow just to be sure. "Okay, tridents, but then I get to ask you three questions."
Shale straightened suspiciously. "You've got a secret fetish, you know that? Delfina told me all about your nosy questions."
"Secrets are what make people interesting," Finnick said defensively.
"And gives you power over them," Shale said, his eyes narrowing. "If they lower the armor for you, you own a little bit of them."
Finnick suddenly looked uncomfortable. "It's not like that."
"But it is. For the next three trident practices, I'll answer one question, really answer," he added when Finnick opened his mouth in protest.
"Deal. I didn't expect to go to bed without dying another dozen times," Finnick said with a laugh.
Mags' heart was heavy as the two boys left to see the videos. Finnick learned at an incredible rate and he was happy with Shale: he had his personal mentor, no girl trouble and a complex Career to puzzle out and turn into a friend. He brought the best out of Shale, and if he succeeded in channeling Shale's anger, then, yes, Mags would have no reason not to let Shale volunteer. Shale and Delfina made an excellent couple, and they would make good victors whereas Merrill had an unnerving devotion to the Capitol.
But Finnick would then most assuredly see Shale die.
Mags could force Finnick to go back with the second years, Heavens knew that Tyna had thrown enough of a fit at her son being paired up with a sixth year Career... but Shale wasn't dangerous, not to Finnick, and Mags had never seen Finnick so exhilarated, so challenged. She couldn't even say Shale was isolating him, because Marina, Sheller, Krill and Rhain were still a big part of his life.
She sighed. She'd ask Alyx Rivers for her opinion.
Year 64, the 64th Hunger Games, day 9.
Mags bit into the appetizer, savoring the first moment of calm she'd had since the reception had started. With ten surviving tributes left, Mags knew she had a lot of late nights ahead of her.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you know where Cecelia might be?" Mags turned to see an apologetic Effie Trinket standing before her, all preppy clothes and curly wigs. "We had a meeting," Effie said with a nervous smile.
"It's still Mags," she said with a small smile,"have you looked in the side rooms?"
Effie straightene self-consciously, her pink wig too cheerful for upset expression. "Yes, I've been searching and waiting for a whole hour. I called Woof but she's not in her quarters. Maybe it's not the right time..."
Mags furrowed her brow. Victors didn't go off on their own, ending up isolated among inebriated Capitolites was dangerous. "May I borrow your phone, Effie?"
There was no point in dithering. She dialed security. "Good evening, Victor Mags on the phone, please find me Cecelia Rheys among the crowd, it's an emergency."
Effie's hand flew to her mouth. "You didn't have to -" she whispered, a flush creeping up her powdered cheeks.
Mags smiled. The young woman was so cute. Despite her general disgust for the escort profession, Mags was sorry to see Effie forced to work with poor Haymitch. He was a sullen and sarcastic drunk even among friends.
"There's been no alert -"
"Find her, I know she was here two hours ago. You're the ones Snow will ask of if there's a victor missing," Mags snapped. Watching records every day was a dead-end job, but it was no excuse to do it badly. Under Achlys, all Victors had had bracelets that sent an alarm when they left the buildings they were cleared to access, but Cecelia hadn't worn one since she had first been prostituted, client privacy is a right after all...
After a few tense minutes, Mags heard animated chatting at the other end of the line. Her stomach churned as her suspicions were confirmed.
"She seems to been knocked out with a chemical, a couple took her away. We're identifying them right now, Ma'am, we'll be able to track their position through their phones. We're also starting a check on other victors just in case."
"Well done," Mags said, knowing some credit would go a long way. "I'm staying on line, Sir, give me their names and location as soon as you have them. I'll get a Gamemaker and security, you worry about location."
Mags pulled out the small syringe she kept in her purse and injected the stimulants in her wrist. She grimaced at the scorching sensation that slowly spread from her arm into the rest of her body, but she couldn't afford to be seventy-three anymore.
Effie gasped. "Mags, at your age you shouldn't -"
As Mags walked, her muscles seemed to melt, the stiffness in them leaving. She felt lighter, standing straighter with greater ease and within an hour, Mags knew she would be able to run without fearing her knees would give out. "Only during Games season, and only during emergencies," she said, patting Effie's arm. "Get Gamemaker Plutarch and tell him Cecelia has been kidnapped. Meet me at the entrance."
Effie rushed off as fast as her absurdly uncomfortable shoes allowed.
Mags then scanned the crowd, pursing her lips when she saw no sign Mercury and Beetee. There was no point in looking for Chaff or Seeder here, and Chelsea had already gone to bed. It would be the big guns then.
"Brutus, Lyme, I need your help," she said, feeling hot from the stimulants.
The two shared a glance, a striking stiffening to their posture. It stunned Mags to see how deeply invested in the Games they remained, year after year.
"I'll give you my sponsor money," Mags decided, an inescapable sense of sorrow invading her. "It's not a Four year." She was too old to have illusions. She took a shaky breath. "Cecelia has been kidnapped."
"WHAT?" Brutus and Lyme were so synchronized in their cursing that Mags had to smile.
"Aren't we supposed to let security handle it?" Brutus said hesitantly. Lyme elbowed him, hard enough to make a weaker man cry out.
"I'm making it our jobs," Mags said, leading them towards the exit. "Security will join us."
"Passing through," Brutus grunted, wearing his mean face. The Capitolites scattered like a crowd of kicked seagulls.
"Tell me you just invented a kidnapping to get me here quickly," Plutarch said, perspiration beading on his brow.
"I don't have a sense of humor after midnight," Mags deadpanned. "But I've got an address. 87 Rome Avenue, near Eastside, second floor. The Gentiles parked a purple motorbike under the building."
"We do have a Homeguard," Plutarch pointed out. The couple's name didn't seem to mean much to him. It was a good sign.
"Call them," Mags said. They'd have ample time before the Homeguard reacted. "We'll be faster with your car. Lyme can drive, give her the keys."
Brutus and Effie were looking at her as if she was mad. Plutarch smiled. "I'm used to Mags, don't worry." The smile wasn't enough to erase his concern for Cecelia.
The kidnapping hadn't been planned thoroughly, because the two had barely covered their tracks. The building was easy to find, and they could already hear angry voices as they climbed the stairs. After a brief hesitation, Brutus kicked down the door without so much as a wince. He was quick to step back in the corridor.
It was all so suddenly very silent.
Blood pounded hard in Mags' straining ears as she braced herself for gunshots. Capitol civilians had been stripped from the right to bear guns by Snow, but people stupid enough to kidnap a victor were unpredictable.
"They're unarmed."
Cecelia's laughing voice had them exhale in relief.
The room was empty, no furniture at all. The couple, a young man with a crest-like wig and a very thin woman barely out of her teens wearing huge carved glasses, seemed to be in some kind of plastic safe suit and a full four yards away from Cecelia.
Mags frowned, confused: Cecelia was on the floor with her wrists bound, wrapped in a beige blanket. She was twitching, looking highly uncomfortable but not in pain.
Mrs. Gentile was the slowest to scramble backwards as Brutus and Lyme, both twice as broad as her husband, walked in. "No," she cried, alcohol slurring her speech. But the hate etched in her features was as sharp as a blade.
"Surprise!" Lyme said with a smirk. "Would you mind giving her back?"
"No," Mrs. Gentile repeated, hate etched in her features. "She will suffer like we suffered!"
Cecelia sniggered before wincing again. "It's hilarious, just wait, they talk a lot. Stay away from me, you don't want to get infected."
Mags froze, frowning. Infected? Her eyes glazed over the room, for knives, bottles or anything dangerous. She spotted a portable camera pointed at Cecelia on the window sill.
"How dare you break in," Mr. Gentile spat, grasping his wife's hand and stepping between her and them. "There is no worse kind of criminal," he said, his words slow and choked with emotion. "It was perfect, our perfect day. And you..." Gentile was so red Mags feared he'd have a stroke before he finished. "You filthy, evil, swine, you -"
"Short version?" Lyme snapped causing Mr. Gentile to inhale sharply.
Cecelia broke into irrepressible giggles. "Bedbugs in the wedding clothes on their wedding day and the bugs infested the whole house."
"Oh dear, how disgusting," Effie said, looking scandalized. "But Cecelia didn't do anything, what were you thinking!" She took a step towards Cecelia but hesitated now that she realized what the threat was.
Mags was glad the summers were hot enough in Four to eradicate that particular pest, but she wondered if bed bugs was enough of a reason to fall into criminality. A quick glance towards Brutus and Lyme showed they were just as put out as her.
Tears were streaming down Mrs. Gentile's face. "She's one of them! She shouldn't have been allowed to live. We're good people, we did nothing to no one and..." She gasped for breath. "Everything we owned was crawling with those disgusting, aaah," she shrieked, scratching herself compulsively, "the ceremony was ruined, and the horrible creatures spread... We had to treat everything! It was the supposed to be the best day of my life!" She screamed through her sobs. "We had spent so much and... and the guests," she said weakly, "and the neighbors, you should have seen how the neighbors looked at us, like it was our fault."
"We weren't the only victims," her husband added hatefully. "You destroyed lives. We won't accept this, we want justice!"
Mags had pocketed the camera on the windowsill while the couple was talking. Drunk as they were, there was a chance they would not remember placing it there. They'd probably decided to make a record for the other 'victims' of the bed bug infestation, who'd happily let them follow through with their ridiculous plan. Mags wasn't laughing though, because had they had a knife, Cecelia could be dead, because of bedbugs.
Effie looked both horrified and torn between empathizing with the distraught couple or scolding them for sheer stupidity, but the other three were staring wide eyed.
"They look serious, Brutus."
"That they do, Lyme, I think I may be dreaming," Brutus said dismayed. "So, you're covered in a bug ridden cover, Cecelia?"
"They bite, it's very uncomfortable," Cecelia confirmed with a wan smile, "but you don't want them on you. I'm sure the Homeguard can handle it."
"I'll see how close they are and have them bring extra clothes for you," Effie immediately said, setting her pink wig back in place as she rushed out with her phone, too relieved at having something to do.
Plutarch was staring at Cecelia with a faraway look. Mags frowned, she'd rarely seen him so grave. What preoccupied him so? He'd been very quiet about Cecelia lately. Plutarch noticed Mags' look and forced a pleasant smile. "Well, I think we avoided the worst. It would be quite ridiculous if this came out." He huffed and stepped back, pointing at the floor. "I think a group is crawling towards us."
There was indeed a suspicious glitter to the wooden beams. Mags scrunched up her nose despite herself.
"You seriously kept a blanket infested with half-starved bed bugs until you could get Cecelia?" Lyme asked, incredulous. "Are you aware that in Eight bedbugs are hardly the apocalypse? It's a district in which people starve to death."
"They said I would suffer like they had suffered," Cecelia said. "They just don't have a clue what suffering is. I guess I do feel slightly humiliated."
Lyme and Brutus shared a very eloquent stare, still wondering how they'd gotten roped in such a surreal situation. Mags smiled at Cecelia, angry to leave her there to squirm, but short of having her strip in the bathroom with the Homeguard arriving any second, there was no solution.
No, it was hard to laugh with the couple now sobbing in the corner opposite them or to think that this would be the sole consequence of an act of rebellion that would cost rebels from District Eight their lives. And Mags did feel sorry for their ruined wedding, their misery wasn't making the world a better place.
Brutus and Lyme, professional as always, seemed nevertheless to derive great pleasure from explaining the situation to the Homeguard when they finally arrived.
Year 64, The 64th Hunger Games, day 10
"In what promises to be the longest Hunger Games in a decade, Cashmere stuns everyone with her risky betrayal, but the canons have spoken and District Four is out of the running! The Twos are wounded, not dead, but Cashmere has the terrain advantage and look at those legs!"
Mags barely listened to Amadeus Witherspoon's painfully enthusiastic commentary, forcing herself to chew the flavorless food she was putting in her mouth. She had eulogies to prepare. FLASH always held a small ceremony when she came back.
"Could it be, the sister of the previous victor breaking through? Not that we'd complain, look at that young vixen! Switching to the outliers, now start listening because this is what you wanted," the commentator chanted in the microphone, "District One's gold miners blew up the mine last winter, yes, that's the miners in District One,"
Mags blinked. She immediately straightened and hushed the others, staring incredulously at the screen. Witherspoon didn't seem to be hearing himself speak.
"District Six poisoned the pesticides to protest against the increased repression, hundreds were ill or worse in the Districts, but thirty died in the Capitol, and you can bet Six's two tributes weren't reaped by accident," he continued, utterly oblivious. "In District Seven, five main peacekeeper posts were eaten away by termites and District Eight ruined whole shipments of expensive evening's wear, it was panic over here last month."
Cecelia broke into hysterical giggles. Mags' lips twitched, a sense of pure elation filling her. How?
"The rebellion lives, they lie and make you think you're alone with your doubts and anger, they will keep the information from you, but the rebellion lives in every district, Panem isn't under control like they would make you belie -" Weatherspoon's cheerful tirade stopped. "What the hell am I reading?" he exclaimed, blinking himself more awake. It was very much obvious now that he was stoned. "Who wrote that?" He spluttered, standing up, his eyes squinting at the screen. All color left his face as he sluggishly realized what he'd just revealed live to all of Panem.
The screen switched to Caesar Flickerman and Gloss in the Theater Maximus, but not before every watcher had had a glimpse of the sudden panic in the studio.
Mags struggled not to laugh. She blew a mental kiss to Plutarch and Glynn. Snow was slipping, he was slipping badly.
She hoped District Thirteen would be satisfied.
"He's paid a fortune to plaster a smile on his face and read off a monitor and he screws it up," Mercury said, astonishment all over her face, "who recruits these people?"
Seeder grinned. "That's what they keep telling us in Eleven. No work gets done without a good whipping."
Beetee laughed but Mags winced. "I think don't think President Snow will overlook that option," she said.
Witherspoon was replaced by Claudius Templesmith the next day. They never saw him again.
Year 64, the 64th Hunger Games, day 11.
A knock on the door had Mags throw a panicked glance at the clock in case her mind had played a trick on her. She sighed in relief. The sun had barely begun to warm the air, and Mags had yet to brush her hair.
Cecelia was pale as a sheet as she was let in. Mags grasped her hands in concern, but Cecelia just smiled.
"The President would like a word. I think you'll be fine, it's just that he terrifies me as much as he ought to," she said weakly.
Mags took a quick look in the mirror decided a bun would have to do. She'd already take enough time just to get there. "I'll be going, don't fret. Did you get in trouble with him for last night?"
"I don't think so. I'm not very good at double talk and veiled threats," she admitted with a sardonic little smile. "I understand simple people with simple urges quite well, but President Snow is no simple man."
Mags hastily wrapped her hair up. "Walk with me, I'll need an arm if I'm to walk fast. Better go through the avox wing, there are less stairs." And less cameras.
"Did something happen with Plutarch that I should know of?" Mags said, tilting her head just so her lips wouldn't be seen. She could have drawn the cameras layout in her sleep. "He didn't say but he was looking at you oddly last night. Very oddly."
Cecelia waited for Mags to nod to answer. "It must be that I asked him to father my kids last year."
What? "Why?" Mags exclaimed. "That's cruel, Cecelia," she said crossly.
"Because I wanted him off balance. For a couple of seconds I wanted to be the person in control," Cecelia hissed, anger entering her tone. "I'd thought he'd have forgotten by now."
Mags nodded quickly, an apologetic cast to her face. Cecelia had had no clue, and she still had little, who Plutarch was. She couldn't know what it had cost that dear man to accept he wouldn't have a family. A wife he didn't need, Mags knew it wasn't the companionship that he craved, but children... He'd seen so many broken people, and he'd worked with children for over ten years, helping them and their families accept each other and grow together. He'd always had to let go, help through the hard times but not be there to see the happy ones.
"Plutarch wants kids but he knows he won't marry and he wants them to have a mother. He wanted kids who'd grow with their siblings and who'd not fear to ask and say." Mags stopped because beyond this point the cameras would miss nothing. "That's even harder in the Capitol than in the Districts. Every public place is monitored and the private ones are more and more."
"Plutarch told me. We are freer of our thoughts than we think. Won't Snow care if I turn up pregnant?" Cecelia's eyes turned huge and hopeful. "Will you make it possible for Plutarch to see his kids?"
Mags furrowed her brow. So Cecelia hadn't told Plutarch that just to provoke him or because she liked the idea of artificial insemination.
"Why would you want Plutarch's kids?"
"Because the life expectancy in Eight at five years of age is forty-nine. There's filth down to our blood and bones, and picking a random man to father a child is dangerous and messy even without that. Besides, he's a doctor and he'd be really handsome if he lost a bit of weight." Cecelia said, biting her lip. She sobered. "I'd have completely wasted my life if I don't have kids, Mags. I feel I can do this, be a good mother," she said, a flash of fear crossing her face. "But if Snow -"
"Snow won't give a damn before they turn eleven as long as you're discreet," Mags said. "As for the other question. If your new talent is "mother" and you don't mind your kids to be used for Capitol-targeted propaganda, it's just a matter of being creative."
But until the borders collapsed, Plutarch wouldn't see his kids grow, and Mags wondered if it would truly be less painful than having no kids at all. Nevertheless, she strongly suspected that Cecelia's proposition bothered Plutarch, a lot, but that her friend wouldn't ever bring up the subject again with Cecelia unless Cecelia did first.
"Talk to him when you next see him, Cecelia, please do. It's up the two of you."
"He's seems like a decent man, despite being a gamemaker," Cecelia said, her eyes far away. "We shouldn't keep Snow waiting."
Indeed not. "He is," Mags said.
Snow's office hadn't changed much since Mags had last stepped inside. The expensive furniture, the roses, the view... The office seemed to have been frozen in time for fifteen years, only the man bore the trace of time's passing. Coriolanus Snow sat confortably behind his desk, his white beard covering most of his face. He looked quite at home now.
"Mr. President, I apologize for my tardiness."
Snow waved his hand dismissively. Given no indication to sit, Mags remained standing.
"Mags, you have mastered the gift of interfering intelligently." Snow spoke slowly, and that was harder on Mags' nerves than anything else. "You seem to have persuaded everyone that the freedom you have is for the good of Panem." He took a long breath, doubtless enjoying her creeping heart attack. "I have no intention of seeing how the rest of the victors would react to your retirement, and I suppose it is safer to keep things as they are, even when you and your people break down doors."
Snow could never know that Mags considered his words one of the highest compliments ever paid to her. Her people. She could picture Brutus' scowl and Lyme's amused glower and struggled not to smile. The sickly stench of roses and blood suddenly sticking to the air was quick to remind her where she was.
"You heard the commentary last night," Snow said. It was ironic that such soft velvet tones had ordered so many deaths.
"Mr. President," Mags said, "I honestly believed Witherspoon invented the commentary as he went, or that he had simply prepared watching the recaps a few minutes before they were aired. I learned that he read off a monitor just last night, Sir." And for once, it was the full truth.
"Mags, you understand that you are suspect," Snow said with a mirthless smile. "Few people have your connections, or just your... drive."
Mags took a slow breath. Snow knows nothing, she reminded herself. "Sir, neither you nor the late Mrs. Achlys have found any proof of any seditious activity from me or any of the Capitolites I pay regular visits to. I think you should trust yourself," she said. "I work to my limits already, I am an old woman, I have no time to search for ways to stealthily break the law."
Luckily, the networks were already in place and Mags didn't have to alter her routine to see to her more unlawful affairs.
"I don't think ruining wedding clothes through bedbugs will ever make Panem a better place," she added, her expression grave. "I don't want chaos, Mr. President. Rebels want chaos and revenge and foolishly believe a perfect future will follow, when they are uneducated, ignorant and don't have the slightest clue of what lies outside their District, let alone how to rule a country." And that was unfortunately too close to the truth. "It's not just that I lack the means," Mags said with a half smile. "I think it's absurd."
Snow's stared at her hard, hints of irritation building around his eyes. "If rebellion comes from the victors you're so fond of, Mags, I will not kill you. I will make sure you see them all die."
Mags' lips twiched. He was so outrageous it was almost amusing. "I understand, Mr. President." Circe, she hated that man. He yet had to display one redeeming quality.
Snow said nothing for a couple of seconds, and Mags took it as her cue to leave.
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