Thank you for your reviews, here comes the Victory Tour.
To Well of Wishes: Why doesn't Snow forbid any kind of live television? First, because live cameras are only in the Capitol, broadcasting only to Capitol audiences, which really limits rebellious impact. A second, because taking away things Capitolites consider their right at a time of unrest is dangerous. Capitolites are passionate about their entertainment (just like their money). Alypius (the journalist with Finnick when Eirene died) isn't a rebel (as in he doesn't care about the Districts), he's an entitled man who's pissed off by recent events and who hasn't completely realized he lives in a totalitarian regime. So he asks questions because he's not intelligent enough to realize what is going on. Most Capitolites do not realize that they're swimming in propaganda.
Year 66, end January, Creneis Town, two days after Eirene's suicide.
"No!"
The chair clattered to the floor and despite standing taller and broader than the white-haired woman before her, Gilly cowered in fear.
"How could she –" denial and pain stole Mags' voice. Eirene, why?
"Mags, you can't fix everything," Gilly breathed, her eyes red from tears. "Those who are fixed are the miracles. Those who are damaged aren't failures. They're the rule. Eirene never stood a chance, not in this world."
Mags' eyes fell on the study table. On the paper Eirene had dug out, as a last sordid goodbye. The years had almost washed away the black ink. It was the form filled out by every fifteen-year-old Career applicant.
'What is your talent?' My talent is teaching.
Eirene's siblings hadn't gone to school. Eirene had, for everyone, and taught them all with a rare obsessiveness for a job well done, and soon she'd tutored the neighbor's kids, the slow learners, the distracted, those the school had no patience for.
'Why do you want to volunteer?' To have a big happy family and never fear again.
Her mother had died of pneumonia when Eirene, the eldest and only daughter, had been a child. Her brothers had all worked from a very young age. One had gone deaf from an infection, the other had whip marks for having dealt drugs in the wrong place at the wrong time. But they'd been close knit, remaining in Lycorias after Eirene had won but writing every week.
'Why can't you achieve that without becoming a victor?' I'd be too poor.
Mags'white fingers crumpled the paper further. Eirene had never managed to build a family of her own. Too much pain, too much fear left over from the Games. And a hate, a destructive hate for her own body that had only barely disappeared. But Eirene had been so young, she'd had so many years to make it right.
'Are you aware that you will probably die?' Everyone dies and many die too young.
'What would make you a good tribute?' My willpower. I don't hesitate, I don't lose focus, I don't give up.
The willpower to survive and later to drive a knife in her own heart.
Something soft pushed against her leg, and Mags almost viciously kicked away the unfortunate cat. Little Finnick looked up to her with bright green eyes.
Why hadn't she managed to help Eirene? What could she have done, to make it enough?
"Gilly, why?" Mags said through clenched teeth, shock sending shivers through her body.
How could she not have seen?
It had been Eirene, forcing Snow's hand with her death.
A snarl escaped Gilly's lips. She shoved a box of pencils off the table, watching them crash to the floor.
"Why do you think? Because her father passed away and her brothers don't need her. Because she's tired of not getting better, of being single, of teaching Careers that will die." A sob tore through Gilly's chest as she took a shaky breath. "She wanted to be a hero. You'd shown her, how a video could change everything, sway the Capitol to your side. She's a quick study." Gilly's voice fell to a whisper. "She knew it'd make the nightmares stop."
Mags looked down, the words having drained her strength away. "A hero," she said, a sad smile gracing her lips. "Well, she made the right choice."
Grief was useless, and Mags embraced it, she let it wash over her, but she would not have it tether her in the past. Marquise, her mother, Esperanza… Mags had mourned too many times, had had too many people torn from her. Eirene had been an adult woman and Mags would make her choices matter, even if she disapproved with every fiber of her being.
Even if it meant accepting she was gone.
"Mags," Gilly whispered, concern thick in her tone.
Mags' jaw clenched at seeing Gilly's pain. At seeing Gilly hurt for her, when the two girls had been so close. Gilly had no family outside of Victor's Village. No family at all. "I'm sorry, Gilly," Mags said, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry you have to live that. To lose someone that by rights you should have outlived."
Mags opened her arms and embraced the other woman, clinging to the living, breathing victor. One who would never seek her own death.
Gilly shivered, fat tears seeping from her eyes, clinging to Mags as she had twelve years before, when she had realized that no apology would undo the fact that she had won the Hunger Games.
"What do we do now?" Gilly weakly said.
Mags sat down, cradling her face in her hands, her white hair attached in a mess of a bun. "We press our advantage. We milk it for all its worth."
Gilly giggled, a choked chiming little sound. "Lots of mail to read, huh?" Her jaw clenched, giving a rare severity to her youthful face. "Mags, I want Eirene's body back, to be sent to the sea. I want it back with an official apology from the Capitol."
"That goes without saying," Mags whispered, her voice cold.
Year 66, end January, Creneis Town, three days after Eirene's suicide.
They buried Eirene, quietly, just out of FLASH.
Mags, Nori and Gilly walked down, unannounced, and the students and instructors had slowly come out wide-eyed. The Homeguard weren't far behind, whispers rippling through their ranks.
Mags was there, was it over, was it finally time to go home?
A hovercraft had delivered the body, and Gilly lit the funeral boat aflame before cutting the cord.
"Victors burn," she said, her eyes hard.
The flames burned bright, and Mags' eyes stung as the cutting winter wind brought bitter ash back towards the three victors.
Mags, Nori and Gilly wore blue, not black. The blue of Four, of volunteers and triumphant victors, but any whisper of celebration burned along with the vessel drifting away in the agitated seas.
Mags gestured the Careers-in-training forward, twenty-seven boys and girls aged fifteen or older. Shale was among them, tears of shock running down his face. They'd all known Eirene.
"You're back?" Shale asked hoarsely.
"I'm back," Mags whispered. "We're all back." The price had been so high.
Eirene had long since disappeared when Caesar Flickerman stepped out of the landed hovercraft, his trademark glittering suit replaced by a burgundy uniform that still screamed Capitol, intruder, but that softened the blow just enough by conveying an intension of sobriety.
"Keep people back. Creneis must look free and the Homeguard superfluous," Mags told Nori and Gilly.
Gilly nodded, her face dark and hateful. Soon the word spread, and FLASH's staff and students sat on the sandy ground, leaving the confused Homeguard to stand on the side as the Capitol journalists installed their cameras.
"Mr. Flickerman." Mags bowed her head to Snow's silver-tongued right-hand man.
Caesar returned the bow, his assessing eyes never leaving her. "This is to be a joint effort between the Capitol and the Districts. We're building things together now."
"We've always built things together," Mags replied, wondering, and not for the first time how politically acute Caesar was. Snow had compromised the Capitol's wealth, worse, he'd created an unrest in the fortress city that could take years to blow over, in an attempt to silence her forever.
Caesar's smile to her was as genial as it was fake. He handed her his speech notes. "Victors are not to be administrators, the deserters were the proof you'd broken the system and were a terrible threat," he summed up. "The Capitol's response was quite measured as we have to protect our citizen above all, but we came to understand that Four is a shining example of the Capitol's success, of how stern and just governance can turn barbarians into civilized collaborators. We could not risk a repeat of the Dark Days and had to insure ourselves of the loyalty of the deserters. Through careful observation, we have come to respect their views. We will work together for the glory of Panem, and we recognize your superior administration of Four."
So that's how it would go. Mags gave Caesar a tight lipped smile, unable to deny his way with words. He'd packed his speech with evidence, accurate or fabricated, of when giving the districts freedom had backfired on the Capitol. "It's acceptably accurate," she said, "although you do gloss over the hundred dead in Galene." She did not fear to speak anymore. She had won.
Caesar chuckled apologetically. Mags stiffened as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
He looked amused, no, he looked thrilled by the challenge she was posing, by the stakes they were both working at. "Mags, politics, don't pretend to be a novice," he tutted, as if this was all a great game. "You'll do a speech for Galene, which won't be broadcasted at home."
Year 66, February 1st, Creneis Town, four days after Eirene's suicide.
The city milled about as the Homeguard prepared to leave.
Mags held her hand out to Sergeant Anytos, wincing as he almost crushed it in his military grip.
"I'll be damned if they leave on time," he said, taking a long glance at the chaotic queues forming around the train station.
The few soldiers who'd snared a girl were giving last passionate goodbyes, and many chatted away with the peacekeeper deserters they'd come to know, or with the FLASH students who'd cohabitated with them for the last months.
Mags drank in the sight. These were changed men leaving, and their stay had changed Creneis. Seeing Capitolites in the flesh, so tall, fair and healthy, sometimes altered, but in the end disappointingly human, had shattered a myth.
She cracked a smile at Anytos. "It's never as orderly as we'd wish in these backwards Districts."
They had 'forgotten' to transmit the retreat order to the soldiers until the night before. A bit of scrambling would serve Mags well. Months entrenched in Creneis had made the Homeguard administrators lazy and they would not be able to trace back the missing weapons. It might even take them months to notice the disappearance.
Anytos shifted uncomfortably. "It's going to be weird, to go back home."
"Then don't let it be weird," Mags said sternly. "There were hundreds of you in the cities of Four. Don't allow yourselves to forget." She put her hand on his shoulder, facing him squarely. "Don't use fear as an excuse. You are Homeguard, you are essential."
Anytos' gaze faltered. He turned to his men as the Major signaled from the train. "Come on, boys!" He bellowed.
Mags laughed softly and went to find a man she had been eager to see for months. She hadn't even thought to take her motorcycle out. She slowly made her way to the docks, filling her lungs with the familiar air, grinning like a child at everyone who met her gaze. They smiled back, greeting her, welcoming her back, and Mags finally felt home.
Cereus and Boggs were waiting for her, under the disguise of a routine check-up of Creneis' ships.
She grinned. Boggs had to be the stiffest and most suspicious-looking sailor to ever walk a bridge. Even after months amongst them, his blue eyes darted left and right as if he expected treachery at any moment. He'd grown a beard, but it barely softened his military posture and his tattoo-free skin was too fair for a man of the sea.
"Hello, Boggs," Mags said. "I'm amazed the Homeguard never saw through your disguise."
"Rumor was I'm a deserter gone full native again," the man from District Thirteen replied, inclining his head in salute. He probably was proud they didn't think him a sailor. "You look well, Ma'am."
"All my teeth still," Mags replied with a smile. She slid her arm around her husband's. "We have weapons for you. In their rush to leave, the Homeguard seem to have forgotten quite a few."
Thousands, thousands of weapons, mostly blades but also tasers and firearms, given by deserters and stolen from the Homeguard, were now being smuggled out in the black market. A third of the firearms and ammunition would go to Thirteen, the rest would remain in Four, until it was time to use them.
Boggs nodded. "I have learned what I needed in my months here. Alma Coin wants a report on the Districts, and what weapons I can bring back. I will not take the risk of outstaying my welcome. What will come of the 'deserters' now that you are back among us?"
Mags smiled slightly, a pensive frown marring her brow. "Four's peacekeepers will guard Four. The men in excess will resume their duties in other Districts. I've seen the lists, almost all are to go in Districts One and Two."
Boggs mirrored her frown. "Snow must fear that stationing them anywhere else may favor rebellious activity," he realized. "But he's surrendering his hold on Four."
"It would seem so," Mags said carefully. She did not know what to make of this conciliatory version of Coriolanus Snow. She was under no illusion, he would not forget her District. Maybe he simply thought to contain them... "What can you tell me of your leader, Alma Coin? She was elected a few years ago, was she not?"
"She is very passionate," Cereus said, the tightness to his face betraying his disapproval.
"Of course she is," Boggs replied loyally, warning entering his tone. "She's about to plunge her people into war. If she wasn't aggressive in her beliefs, you would have no allies."
Mags couldn't hide that Cereus' assessment disturbed her. His first impressions were generally accurate. "Does she surround herself with good people, Boggs?"
Boggs hesitated, but Mags suspected it was only because, as a soldier, he was so rarely asked to assess his superiors. "Yes. She discusses her plans and we are not afraid to refute her ideas or propose new ones."
Mags nodded, relieved. As long as there was a ruling team rather than a single ruler, there was less danger of District Thirteen betraying them.
"Cereus told me he gave you what knowledge we had on mutt technology, the Capitol's production abilities and how we intend to snare them. But Boggs, if it comes to war, it'll be easy to remove the Capitol forces from the Districts; bloody but easy. District Two will be the costliest war zone. But the Capitol is a fortress city, extremely defendable. They have emergency rations, stored energy and water enough to withstand years of siege. During those years, the mutt-vats would be running full-power while the Districts would have to organize themselves not to starve. Even if the train tracks aren't bombed, Districts like Three, Eight or Five could starve just because the Districts have never handled logistics." Mags smiled stiffly. "This bomb of yours, is it a myth?"
Boggs looked offended. "Of course not. Atomics are the basis of our truce with the Capitol."
Right, atomics. Mags was very skeptical about that. "Then why haven't you used it? You shoot first, the Capitol is wiped out. They can't shoot back if they're all dead."
Mags didn't want the Capitol obliterated. They had the medical technology and most of the very best specialists and intellectuals. Panem needed them and, despite everything, few Capitol citizen deserved death. And Mags loathed the thought of thousands of avoxes being collateral damage, again.
"We can't aim it," Boggs said stiffly. "All of that was destroyed by sabotage. Just a couple of bombs left. We'd have to bring it to the Capitol ourselves before detonating it." He then gave Cereus a small smile. "Now that we have the weapons we need, I'm allowed to give you the plans for making the best bows Panem has ever seen."
"Bows?" Mags said appraisingly. Firearms were few and bows could take mutts down almost as efficiently. It could turn the tables. "We'll have to figure out a way to teach people…"
Year 66, February 2nd. Victory Tour, day 1.
Mags and Cereus were barely given the time to climb on the train before the whistle cut through the air. They were all but shoved inside.
"Are they afraid Finn will make a dash for FLASH if they stop longer than a minute?"Mags huffed.
"I was considering it," a youthful voice replied.
Seeing Finnick, so handsome with that small rueful smile digging dimples in his cheeks, filled Mags' chest with warmth. Circe, she was glad to be back where she belonged. As a mentor. Her smile froze when she saw who was standing with Donna and her nephew.
Sheer shock made her stumble and cling on to Cereus for support.
But it would explain why Lawrence, the prep team and the camera crew were nicely staying in the other wagon.
"Good morning, as retired director of the board of the Capitol's Hospital Union, I have been mandated by President Snow to make sure that Four remains well-managed and its inhabitants loyal."
Mags' slack jaw formed into a disbelieving grin. "No."
"Oh yes," Glynn said with a grin of her own. "It's his way of showing goodwill. You scared the wits out of him and what's more, he's not sure how much he can blame on you. We'll keep it all transparent and non-corrupt, Mags. Just like old times. Hello, Cereus," Glynn added warmly, stepping forward to embrace the two of them.
Cereus stared at her critically, holding her at arm's length. "Look at you, a living advertisement for the Capitol's medicine. Is there a chance anyone could age like you?"
Glynn winked. "Well, I was born remarkably attractive, but technology does have a way of leveling the field, so I'd say yes." Her flirtatious smile turned smug and she turned her hands towards the ceiling. "No cameras. A bunch of drunk hooligans threw fireworks on the servers. Bored Capitol teenagers are such tools. Wireless systems will be offline a while and this train wasn't critical."
"There are people Snow fears more than me?" Mags said, her hands on her hips in fake outrage. She'd expected the next weeks to be interesting, not fun. "Did Snow send Plutarch to deal with Galene's Homeguard's trauma?"
"Don't push your luck, Mags," Glynn said with a wry smile. "But don't worry, Plutarch has been making himself very useful. Unbelievable as it may sound, Snow is listening to him." She clapped her hands, her hazel eyes glittering with delight. "Victory Tour, this is going to be awesome. I haven't seen the districts since Zephyr's time. I want to know if we've been doing a good job." Glynn pursed her lips. "Well, awesome except for the fact tributes died…"
Finnick shot Glynn a dark glare but the quirk to his lips showed he was already resigned to her bluntness. Mags' eyes narrowed. She dreaded to think what conversations Glynn had deemed appropriate to have with her nephew. Glynn wouldn't have wasted any time.
"Finnick, may we have a short talk?" Mags said, failing to keep the suspicion out of her tone.
"I don't consider Finnick a pawn," Glynn said in soft tones as Mags led him to the side bedroom.
Mags felt a pang of guilt. "I know that. I trust you, Glynn." But she realized then that it was a conversation she had to have with her old friend.
"So?" Mags guessed, her smile tense. "Has Glynn made a seducer of you yet?"
Finnick blinked. "I'm no better flirt than two days ago." He smiled ruefully. "But honestly, anyone with a bit of life experience could teach me that right? What words to say, when to compliment…"
Mags frowned, her apprehension mounting. "What has she been teaching you then?"
Finnick looked down, a frown creasing his forehead. He looked hesitant and deep in thought, but so at peace. Mags marveled at how it was possible, but didn't dare question it.
"How to make it like dancing," he finally whispered.
"Dancing?"
Finnick nodded. "She said she'll deprogram me. Teach me to divorce sex from intimacy and to be in control." A cheeky smile cracked his lips. "Don't worry, no kissing or naked people involved. Just talk." His smile fell and he winced. "She showed me pictures of Capitolites yesterday. She was showing me how to recognize who's fashion-conscious, wealthy, homosexual, purposefully not following fashion, sexy… My head feels like it'll explode whenever she's through."
Mags' lips formed a thin line. As usual, Glynn had undeniably brilliant ideas, but as usual, Glynn treated people were like musical instruments, to be tuned until you got the right sound from them.
"It helped, a lot," Finnick said. "I mean, look at me. We'll be reaching Twelve, and I'm not drugged, I'm not panicking. Not too much," he corrected with a nervous smile. "I'm actually looking forward to it."
Mags squeezed his hand. "I don't doubt Glynn's ability at deprogramming you," she said, the words almost tumbling out like a hiss. "I just feel an irrepressible urge to supervise."
"Deprogramming?" Mags asked pointedly.
Glynn rolled her eyes, a small smile dancing on her lips. She brushed Mags' cheek with her fingers, her hazel eyes shimmering with emotion.
"I admire you, Mags," she said softly. "For the energy you can summon to care, for the risks you take for the other victors."
"Without you and Plutarch in the Capitol, I would have been another forgotten rebel," Mags said, uncomfortable with taking the moral high ground, "another person who thought she was cleverer than the Capitol and who failed."
"True," Glynn said. "I wouldn't manipulate Finn behind your back, even to win the rebellion."
Mags' eyebrows shot up. "Even to win?" She whispered. They both knew the stakes, and Glynn had been playing with people's lives much longer than Mags. Finnick wasn't her nephew.
Glynn shook her head darkly, a flicker of hurt in her eyes. "Remember when I was twenty, when you killed the man who came to blackmail you in your own house? I was terrified at the thought I'd have to kill then."
Mags nodded. It seemed an eternity ago. They had been different people.
"Marlin was right, Mags, power corrupts. It corrupts because it forces you to make choices that no sane mind should have to contemplate. It pulls you above everyone else, so high that you see numbers and maps where you once only knew a handful of faces and those faces meant the world."
Glynn's smile was sad. "But those faces still mean the world. Finnick is one of us. He is not a stepping stone to victory. Winning with no loved ones to offer the new world to holds no appeal to me, Mags. I'm not that much of a patriot."
Mags nodded. She'd needed to hear that. She grasped Glynn's hand marveling at how time and distance had failed to destroy their friendship. "Then deprogram him. He needs it."
Year 66, February, Victory Tour.
Finnick sat next to the window, his feet propped on one of the cushy chairs as he pressed his nose against the glass. A curtain of cold thundering rain isolated the speeding train from the wilderness.
"Sugar cube, Finn?" Mags said, interrupting her talk with Donna, Cereus and Glynn.
Finnick put his hand out, aware she asked precisely every quarter hour. He didn't tear his eyes from the window as the sugar melted in his mouth. When the rain stopped, he would see Twelve.
District Twelve. He remembered school, the older kids whispering importantly about how mines blew up and the coal you breathed went in your blood, making it black. Rumors and myths, that's all the other Districts were. Fodder for scary stories.
It was right there, hidden right behind that window.
It had been someone's home. Finnick's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He'd vowed not to cry anymore.
"We'll all be watching them, Finnick. The way they stand, where their eyes go," Glynn said. "This Tour will be a complete waste to you if the only thing you see is the dead tributes."
"Will you give the boy a break?" Donna huffed.
Her voice was low, as if she didn't dare be angry at Glynn. Finnick's heartbeat increased as it sunk in. He was in the same room as Panem's rebel leaders. There was no one above, no one giving orders to Glynn or Mags.
No one to fix things if they made a mistake.
"He needs to sharpen his gaze," Glynn said. "Others will mourn the innocents, people who knew and cared."
Finnick flinched. He'd cared. He'd not known, but he'd cared, damn it!
"Finnick," Cereus said.
Finnick's feet dropped off the chair and he sat up, his head swiveling towards the four. Uncle Cereus had that effect on him. He'd been the only adult who didn't soften at Finnick's smiles, who punished him and meant it and who'd always seen right through him. He'd made Finnick feel so small and crave the spark of pride in those brown eyes.
"Finnick, I became a peacekeeper for all the wrong reasons." Cereus smiled at his wife. "And before I was given weapons, before I even was taught to obey -"
"Did Valerian actually get around to that?" Mags quipped.
Cereus shot her a playful withering glare. "I was taught to observe. Why do you think, Finnick? Why would I need to be taught that to go serve in Four or Six?"
Finnick shook his head slightly. His brain was too cluttered to think.
"What did we do two days ago, Finn, after lunch?" Glynn said.
"Pictures," Finnick replied. "You showed me pictures and told me how Capitol people thought, about fashion and wealth and status…"
Cereus folded his hands on the table. "Precisely. The Capitol divided us into thirteen industries, erected walls, and even had those of similar ethnic backgrounds put together. As long as an Eleven man's dark skin makes him an alien, a One girl's beauty brands her as an object, as long as workers from Three and Ten have no common frame of reference to share their daily struggles, the Capitol keeps us apart."
"Four and Twelve aren't as different as Four and the Capitol," Finnick protested.
Cereus opened his mouth, but a cough momentarily stopped him from speaking.
"You'd be surprised," Mags replied in her husband's stead. "In the Seam a debt can be a bond stronger than blood and it is always the eldest that takes Tesserae. Merchant and Seam interact as little as they can and inter-marriages are extremely rare. The rich are despised."
Finnick frowned. Seam and Merchant? The wealthier didn't mingle? Why would the eldest take Tesserae? The eldest worked, the eldest was the one the family couldn't afford to lose. It made no sense. And why would the rich be despised? They were the ones who could help.
"It doesn't matter if you dedicate your whole life to saving them," Cereus said. "If you don't understand what makes them hope, what would have them take arms and follow you into battle, all your careful plans will mean nothing."
"There will come a time where you may lead, Finnick," Glynn said.
"I don't want people to die for me," Finnick said weakly. Sacrifice. Like Delfina, like all the Careers trained at FLASH. He hated that word.
"Then make yourself worth dying for," Glynn replied coolly, "because people may die for you. Willingly and unwillingly."
Mags' eyes darkened and Donna exhaled sharply, gaping at Glynn, but the words were a hammer to Finnick's chest.
Delfina already had. He remembered her voice, that voice that kept him together, that never let him doubt despite the madness all around. He could see her smile, when they'd been splashing in that water tank, as if it'd all be fine.
Finnick swallowed, refusing the churning in his veins, refusing the glitter to his eyes. He would be strong. No matter how hard, how unfair, he had to be strong, because that's what was needed of him. He was alive, he could save Panem. That was already such a gift he had no right to complain.
"I'll look. I won't let the arena take me again." He forced his angle smile on them. "It's not like anyone could confuse Twelve with that beautiful mansion we were in."
Be aware of what you did and why, Finn. Do not take responsibility for the crimes of others.
Finnick stepped out exposed and raw, his hands trembling.
'Get those drugs now, or you'll regret it,' Snow's voice whispered and Finnick could hear its cruel smile.
But when his eyes fell on the gray mass, FInnick wasn't thrust back in the arena. There was no wave of judgment or guilt crashing into him because Finnick finally realized, reflected in those glassy eyes, that he was the sixty-fifth.
District Twelve is dirt poor. He'd heard it, again and again. Finnick blinked, tasting coal on his tongue. It was everywhere, casting a shadow on every face, plunging the square in a grim twilight.
They hadn't told him District Twelve was dead.
They looked but did not see. Dark-haired skeletons in gray garbs and a small group of blondes who looked barely more human. Their faces turned away when Finnick tried to make eye contact. They did not have the strength, nor the will to care.
The sixty-fifth. The guilt had fled weeks ago, even in the deep of night, when he heard Delfina's voice, when he saw Shani's tears, or witnessed again and again, Rhain falling off the cliff. The guilt had lessened when he'd been trapped in Mags', his, house and he'd seen the Homeguard surrounding his city. When he'd seen Sergeant Anytos too afraid to let a fifteen-year-old speak to his friends, even in the most supervised of settings. The guilt had finally fled when Finnick had felt the Capitol's power in his guts and finally truly understood that those deaths were not his doing.
The sixty-fifth victor. Finnick was nothing unique. Year after year District Twelve would huddle on this bleak square. Panem was not worse or better because of him. Twenty-three families would mourn no matter who stood on that stage. Finnick breathed in deeply, coal scraping his throat making him cough, but it tasted like freedom.
"What were their names?" Finnick called. "I forgot their names." The only answer was the heavy coughs and wheezing of those much too ill to be there. Even the local peacekeepers looked faded out, as if they stood in a place in between life and… nothingness.
"Honestly, their names," Finnick repeated, his voice hitching with guilt as the tribute's voice joined the rebel's. How could the Games not change things, how could their deaths not change things? "Surely you haven't forgotten too!"
He'd promised. He'd promised to help Mags break the cycle. That promise was why he'd won, why he lived and why he wouldn't feel guilty for having played. He'd failed when they didn't change the rules, when Delfina had to die and there the guilt was fierce and alive. He'd fail again and again, until he succeeded.
A dark-haired man finally answered, his voice surprisingly deep and strong. "Briar Hawthorne, Crystal Ayres."
"Thank you," Finnick replied gratefully, because for a moment he'd seen it, the pride in District Twelve. The hint that maybe, they weren't all beaten down.
He delivered his speech, speaking for the Capitol rather than for the people, but he didn't care, because they didn't either.
Finnick recoiled. This was a mistake. He needed the drugs. He'd been a fool.
Eleven was the fire to Twelve's ashes. Peacekeepers barked for silence, whips cracking against air and flesh, but whenever a man stopped talking new angry chatter exploded in another part of a square. The people stared, they stared right back at Finnick, frothing with hate and fury.
Her face was etched in Finnick's mind. Clementine, crouched in the tree, her beautiful face so full of loathing, her dark eyes promising them the most painful of deaths.
The words the dark-skinned girl had traded with Delfina had faded, even her screams had been blunted by the passing of time. But the hate, it had been so full of judgment, so personal –
Finnick saw that they hated him. While he'd been trapped in Victor's Village, Creneis Town had had the time to come to terms with his Games and he'd been protected, from the backlash. But here, they stripped him with their burning glares.
"It's not you they hate," Mags said. "They are trapped, look at them. Look at them."
Her voice was like a bubble, wrapping itself around him and pushing the rest away. Finnick's focus sharpened. He tasted the hate and saw it was raw, unfocused. Finnick winced because he saw a hate with no purpose. It rolled off every man and woman in waves only to crash uselessly against the peacekeeper's shields.
But how could they change that? Who could give them a purpose?
Finnick recited his speech, word for word, because he knew they would not hear.
"You look at peace, Finnick," Seeder said later that night.
He sat between her and Mags at the mayor's table, and the women's presence erected shields that the hate could not penetrate.
"I am," Finnick said. "I know why I won." He had no appetite, and the lack of churning guilt could not erase the sadness. It wasn't his fault, but the tributes were still dead and the families still mourning. "I'm sorry, that this has to be necessary."
Seeder simply stared at him, and then at Mags her eyes lighting up with odd intensity. "Remember how we met, Mags?"
Mags smiled. "You skipped training, deciding it was an absurd ritual. I helped you create an angle that would earn you a panther mutt as companion during your Games."
"It's just as much a ritual, the victors' downwards spiral," Seeder whispered, delight illuminating her face. "You won. Everyone tells you that, just like they told you that you had to train in the Capitol. You don't question it. You won so you have to be responsible, it's how it's always been. You're a victor, and suddenly that's supposed to mean everything even if it's just a word."
"I didn't win by accident," Finnick muttered, but he knew exactly what she meant. They were people first and victors second. They'd had a life before the arena. They had a life after it, but they weren't supposed to remember that.
Ten stank of life. It stank of leather and raw milk, of straw and wet wool, it stank of horses, those huge fearsome horses the peacekeepers paraded in.
Ten barely spared him a glance. They stared stonily at the peacekeepers surrounding the stage and at the cameras behind.
Ten was angry, but the anger was sharp and controlled. Maybe it was the animals, maybe they knew there than when a dog bit, it most often was the owner who was to blame.
To them Finnick was just the Capitol's hound. Another Capitol hound.
Finnick was relieved not to see judgment, but he was angry to be dismissed.
"My aunt Lorelei was a peacekeeper ranker here for three years," he said. "Then she returned as a Captain for over a decade. She stayed past the date she could have come home. She said Ten rooted you in and reminded you what was real and true."
Mags grasped his shoulder, but it wasn't so tight that Finnick knew he'd gone too far.
"Colt spoke to me at training, he even proposed an alliance."
Finnick's words blocked in his throat, because it wasn't just the eyes now, but the hate, that was turned back on him. Colt surviving to the last three, the last two in all but name, because thirteen-year-old Shani had never been a threat.
"They hoped with him, Finnick," Mags had warned him. "They allowed themselves to care, to dream. And then, you won. It hurts more when your tribute gets close."
Even the Capitol's Games left place for choices and Finnick had chosen to kill Colt. And precisely because he could face Colt's district without drugs, Finnick mourned Colt, mourned for his family, but he did not regret his choice.
"Colt knew that the moment we spoke, it would change things. We'd stop being numbers, we'd be forced to look each other in the eye and acknowledge that the other had also made a promise. But he only had a knife, and I had Victory's Herald. I had Delfina, who didn't let me forget. The odds never were even."
Finnick recited his speech then, because he knew Ten already blamed the Capitol and was just waiting for someone to tell them when and where to strike.
Finnick stared at the crowd confusedly. They fidgeted and whispered, like schoolchildren kept over recess. The peacekeepers glared, but unlike in Eleven, their whips weren't frayed from use and just hung loosely from their uniforms.
"They say Nine is home to the simpleminded," Mags had told him. "Others say it's the home of the wise."
The Capitol's Games did not seem to affect District Nine. Somehow, Nine had learned to accept them, and the moment they had, the Hunger Games had lost all power. He looked at the people, from the weedy pale-faced boys to the muscled men and women with sunburns to rival Four's.
They honestly looked bored.
Finnick laughed, earning himself an odd look from Donna. "Oh, don't mind me, sorry to take your time," he muttered in the microphone.
He read his speech card, because those people were undoubtedly too busy thinking about dinner to pay much attention to the drivel he spouted.
"There's no way a victor can make a meaningful statement during the Tour, is there?" He asked Mags later, his fierce disappointment warring with irrationally giddiness from seeing all those people who really didn't give a damn.
He'd really thought he might be able to change things. Just for a minute at least.
Mags gave him a mysterious little smile. "Wait until we arrive in Eight. Count the peacekeepers, and don't speak if it's not you they want to hear."
Finnick gave her a grudging nod. He trusted Mags' riddles to be very obvious on the spot, because it really was stupid to make him improvise when it mattered.
Lawrence sprayed gel across Finnick's hair and adjusted his belt one last time. "Spin for me," Lawrence said, his eyes roaming critically over his creation.
Finnick slowly spun. "What do you see in me today?"
He always asked the stylist, to understand what those outfits meant, how Capitolites read them. He had to be able to think like one of them or he'd never be in control. He had less than a year before his sixteenth birthday, and not a minute to waste.
Peacekeepers were waiting at the station, at least a score. They circled them, standing so close they blocked the sight of the District. Finnick grabbed onto Mags and Cereus, suddenly terrified they'd been discovered, that they were being taken away.
His heartbeat decreased when he realized this was normal.
Once you saw through the filth, a filth thicker than District Twelve, pumped in the air by the huge factory at the heart of the gray jail-city that turned sweat and blood into the finest of clothes, it was clear as the sun hiding behind the cloud of smog.
Twelve, Eleven, Ten, Nine, they had looked at Finnick as one. District Eight had many faces. The people were more diverse, their sun-starved skinny frames the only common feature, but it wasn't just that. Eight didn't seem able to choose and was holding its breath.
The eyes were not on him, they were on Mags. Eight knew. Seeder had known nothing of the Homeguard in Four, no news had reached Eleven, only rumors after the 'deserters' had left. District Eight had information.
The people glanced at each other, groups forming under the peacekeeper's oblivious gazes.
Finnick counted the peacekeepers, and realized there were too many, far too many for a city of sickly weavers.
District Eight was already rebelling.
So Finnick coughed and coughed, and barely had to fake it with the air so foul he wanted to retch. Uncle Cereus coughed too, and that worried Finnick more. Finnick coughed, catching Glynn's amused glare, he coughed so long no peacekeeper said a word when he passed the microphone to Mags.
It was her they wanted to hear.
Finnick's heart pounded against his ribs. What would she say? Could she, make it matter?
"Send me one of your young adults, someone who hasn't been out of reaping age for too many years," Mags said. She smiled at the silent crowd. "A volunteer?"
A confused pause and then "I volunteer," and Finnick suspected that it wasn't a cry that rang often in District Eight.
A young woman with dark skin and a sleek black hair tidily gathered into a ponytail briskly hopped on stage, a frown creasing her brow. Finnick winced, because she was attractive and fresh-faced and Clementine's hateful eyes burned at the back of his skull.
"Your name doesn't matter," Mags told both her and the crowd, superbly ignoring the stiff peacekeepers made uneasy by the twist of events. "It will be forgotten soon. You'll dine with us and the Mayor."
"What did I volunteer for?" The woman asked, a stubborn cast to her jaw. Finnick had to remember to keep coughing. He overdid it so much Donna slapped him on the back, hard enough to make him wheeze.
"So they'll have something to talk about. Eight's tributes have in total forty-eight seconds of footage to their name," Mags said, scorn clear in her tone. "The Capitol, in its generosity, teaches you lessons, so you can better yourselves and avoid repeating past mistakes. Don't squander that knowledge."
Mags then turned to the peacekeepers. "May we leave, before my nephew chokes to his death?"
Finnick grasped Cereus' arm as he stepped off the stage. Forty-eight seconds. Shani had had her place in the Capitol footage, she had threatened the couple from Eleven into giving her food, she had survived to the last two, forcing a tear-jerking finale. Finnick felt the same urge to punch someone he did whenever a Capitolite admitted they cried and said in the same breath they couldn't wait for the next Games. But the District-recaps had almost erased Shani, as if they didn't want to show, the thirteen-year-old who'd just wanted to be a teacher. They'd made the finale seem quick, as if Finnick had intended to kill her all along.
It sickened him.
"What just happened?" He whispered in Cereus' ear.
"The girl, she's important," Cereus replied. "Our peacekeepers reported there was a young woman marshaling Eight's resistance. The rest is just packaging with a few insults to please the Capitol. And if Eight start thinking harder about the Capitol, all the better."
Finnick stared at the woman's back. She was a rebel leader? She looked too… pretty, soft even. But she stood tall and calm as she walked next to Mags. "Do the people here know that she's important?"
Cereus met his gaze, a severe cast to his features. "For her sake, I hope few do. Crowds can't keep secrets well."
Finnick couldn't turn without finding a peacekeeper's eyes on him. Sweat pearled on his brow, they weren't given any space. He shot Mags a pleading glance but she just smiled.
"Soldiers, the cameras need you away from the victors," Glynn said as they reached the Mayor's house. "We don't want to alarm our watchers. Please set up a perimeter around the house."
Finnick breathed again when the peacekeepers obeyed.
Woof kept the Mayor, Lawrence and the prep team, busy. Age had dulled his hearing and he spoke a lot and loudly, covering their hushed conversation with his rumbling voice.
The young woman's name was Paylor, and she gave no last name, but Mags' sudden grin told Finnick no name was needed.
"Lieutenant Sylvan Gray's legacy lives," Mags said happily. "He'd be proud of you."
The Sylvan Gray? From Mags' Games?
Paylor's lips only twitched, her face remained a solemn mask, but her eyes shone with barely repressed excitement.
Cecelia bit into a chicken leg. "Who's Gray, a peacekeeper?"
"No," Mags said, her eyes far away. "He was one of the most wanted men in the decade after the Dark Days. A man I met during my Games, in the bunker where the last free rebels lived. He was admirable. Paylor is his grand-daughter."
Paylor had blanched, her jaw tense and her expression strained as if she couldn't believe they were saying such things out in the open. Finnick could empathize, he'd had no clue Cecelia was in on anything. He gave Paylor a smile he hoped was reassuring.
"Why did you volunteer? Did they warn you?" Glynn said, her eyes darting from Cereus to Mags. "You're certain she won't be identified? A pretty black girl, there's few enough around."
There was a hint of smugness in Mags' smile. "Don't sulk because you were excluded, Glynn. Snow won't suspect. It's too soon and too obvious and he doesn't have the information we do." Mags turned to Paylor. "There was no easier way to make contact. I'm impressed you caught on."
"Asking for a random person would just have been cruel." Paylor said, looking at Mags with a reverence that made Finnick feel like an intruder once again.
He was a kid among rebel leaders and hated the feeling of inferiority it sparked. But Paylor's youth gave him hope. Soon he'd belong, he'd not just be the boy they all had to protect.
Finnick straightened, swallowing back his bruised pride, and gave Paylor and Mags his undivided attention. He was privileged to be here.
"So what am I to take from this meeting?" Paylor said. "You're Mags' husband," she told Cereus with a small smile, "I'm honored. But who are you, Ma'am?" She said, nervously meeting Glynn's penetrating gaze.
Capitolite. Finnick could see the warning lights going off behind Paylor's eyes.
"A friend of my future babies' dad I presume," Cecelia interjected.
"So it's settled?" Donna said with a grin, skipping up to the lovely victor. She met Finnick's eyes, jerking her head as if to say 'Come with regular people while the big boys talk.'
Finnick shook his head. He needed to stay if he wanted to learn. He let Donna lead Cecelia back to where old Woof joked with Lawrence. It was really handy to have a victor who knew all about fashion and could talk about it with genuine enthusiasm. The Capitolites were hooked.
"I was born in Four but I have been a Capitolite for fifty years," Glynn said. "Snow is trying to replace me, and my husband, but he's finding it difficult. We're firmly entrenched. While we're useful, we're safe. The birds were sent by my allies and I."
Paylor nodded, her gaze sharpening as her fear of the Capitol woman dissipated.
"Birds?" Finnick whispered.
"Early birds whisper what the next fashion will be," Paylor said, her jaw tightening. "With every fashion change, those who made and sold fabrics now out of favor starve. They became cheap, desperate labor. We can adapt now."
"We also have an Early Bird in District One," Glynn said.
Paylor's eyebrows shot up in surprise and Finnick now understood better Cereus' warning about isolation. District One isn't all riches and privilege. They depend on Capitol buyers too.
"I could launch fashions, by choosing which designer I give my brand to," Finnick mused. "Then we'd have more control."
"Hundreds died when skins, leather and furs were the new must," Paylor said through clenched teeth. "Whatever you can do, Finnick, do it. Lives are at stake." She turned to Mags, not seeing Finnick's sudden shame.
He should have given much more thought about his influence in the Capitol. He wasn't helpless at all, he just had to be smart.
"What happened in Four?" Paylor said. "How did you get free of the Homeguard?"
"The Capitol demanded they come home. Eventually Snow had to relent."
Finnick listened as Mags explained about finances in the Capitol, about the people fearing for their wealth, about the videos and how all of Four united to prove their good faith to the Homeguard.
"We can't hope to play nice with the peacekeepers here," Paylor said. But her calculating eyes disproved her words. "I wouldn't know what orders to give," she admitted after a pause.
"What if peacekeepers more sympathetic to your cause rotate in?" Cereus said. "Eight is a dreaded location, most peacekeepers are forced here. Sergeant Aleyn and other of our people could volunteer to come."
Finnick smiled slightly. He'd not even been able to say goodbye when Snow had rotated the peacekeepers out. Aleyn had always been fair, and he'd been with Mags when they'd removed Merrill. There was a picture of his father, Legend, with Mags and Marquise, in Mags' study.
"Sergeant Aleyn." Finnick could see Paylor trying out the name and etching it in her memory. "How many peacekeepers? Six hundred guard the city alone and three hundred more man the stations and cotton fields."
Finnick blinked, his brain catching up. Cereus wanted to send to Eight the peacekeepers Snow had rotated out of Four after the Games, not just Aleyn.
"Three hundred at least," Cereus said after a pause. So not all of the former peacekeepers from Four, but a good two-thirds.
Finnick winced, guilt leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Aleyn was a friend of Uncle Cereus', or came close, and he'd sent him here? Why did saving lives have to mean living in the unhealthiest, ugliest place Panem had to offer?
"They'll be in positions of influence, Paylor, but most aren't rebels." Mags warned. "They're peacekeepers who are respectful of the population and understanding of people's struggles."
"It's enough," Paylor said, a frown betraying her whirring thoughts, "It's more than enough. The respite will save us, and we'll be able to fight. They'll accept to be patient, if they see a change."
"I need to know if you're in contact with Six," Mags said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
Paylor stiffened, her eyes going to Woof and flickering back to Glynn despite her earlier assurances. Eying her with renewed admiration, Finnick wondered what it was like, to live in fear every minute of every day, to know that if you were caught, everything would go up in ashes. He didn't envy Paylor at all.
District Seven was bitterly cold but sun-lit and rich with life. Despite the thick snow, birds circled the gathering, cawing and crowing. The people were tough and weathered, and trying very hard not to look at the stage or the cameras.
"They pretend not to care," Mags had said, "but they're among those who care the most. They're a very proud people."
Seven closed themselves off, refusing to give the Capitol the satisfaction of seeing they could be hurt.
"You're good," Finnick found himself telling the crowd. "That's why they keep targeting you. The Careers know you're a threat. That's why you're not given a chance."
"The speech, lad," the officer next to them abruptly hissed.
Finnick started at the order, sharply reminded he wasn't free to speak his mind. He swallowed, and for the first time, as he spoke the Capitol's words on bravery, loyalty, punishment and patriotism, he felt dirty.
Dirty because Seven listened. Because their pride had struck a chord.
A dark-haired girl with wide-set eyes was staring straight at him, capturing his gaze, her scowl growing fiercer and fiercer with each of Finnick's Capitol-approved words.
She was in the first row. Had she known the tributes? I'm sorry, Finnick wanted to say.
Author's note:
Yes, that was Johanna. She wins the Games 71, right after Annie. So she's 12 or so now.
Paylor and Boggs have been cast for Catching Fire as people of color. It was easy to adapt Paylor (although I find the actress too pretty for the role. She might surprise me.) and decide Eight's citizen were a mixed lot, but I'm keeping Boggs fair skinned and blue eyed, just for consistency.
I've posted an outtake in Checkmate: behind the scenes on Finnick's and Glynn's first "deprogramming" session since it was cut out of the chapter.
Next chapter will be more from Mags' POV, since we'll be reaching the more "interesting" districts in terms of rebellion planning. But I wanted a fresh perspective for this half of the victory tour.
Please review^^