I just discovered how time consuming getting settled in an empty apartment is. Had to buy everything from pans to a bed and started to work on top of it. I won't even pretend to know when I'll update again.
I hope you're still sticking with me, we're nearing the last handful of chapters. Katniss will appear in the next one. Thanks to all my reviewers, you're my conscience when I'd rather sleep through the weekend.
Year 72, mid-October, Creneis Town.
Their forces were massing.
Mags let the coded paper fall in the small fireplace. The number of peacekeeper uniforms stored in various hiding places in District Eight had reached six-thousand. A thousand radios had been smuggled in Seven and Eight in the last three months. The sewers in One finally had their own fresh water supply and were fit for habitation. Mags smiled faintly. That letter had come from Leander, Marquise's son, the first word from him in almost a decade.
The rebellion was in their grasp, swelling so large the shadows could not contain it anymore.
Mags absently drummed her fingers on her legs, her mind racing.
In every city, peacekeeper barracks, those stout symbols of a peace enforced by blood, were being equipped with state-of-the-art security, fortified windows and doors, a jewel of technology. A technology made by District Three, who now could remotely lock every door and window, trapping the Capitol's forces and their weapons inside.
The facts swam through Mags' mind and she latched onto them tight. Lorelei, all her dreams of peacekeepers that would truly protect. Larimar, who'd never once questioned her and Cereus, the one who wanted to learn, and his innocent children who'd never had the chance to. Mags smiled softly as her eyes misted over. A part of her was glad she hadn't lost the ability to cry. Her daughter, her little boy. Jasper, her funny wide-eyed nephew who'd wanted to know all about the grandfather whose name he bore. Those wonderful children, their beautiful families… Their boats sailed beyond the horizon.
Monday, 5 AM, a precious weapons shipment from Two would go by old Snyder in District One. Whether the train would derail and fall into the river below, or the shipment be attacked and the weapons taken, Mags didn't know, but she knew those weapons would not reach the Capitol.
The facts were a wall against the fury, against the pain. The facts kept the rebel standing, while Mags tried not to dwell on how badly she had failed her loved ones.
She had known. Snow had shown his true colors too many times for her to pretend she was surprised.
District Four was as calm as ever, there were no searches, no neighbor denouncing neighbor for rewards, no sign of the mounting tensions tearing the other Districts apart. Mags stood at the center, the eye of the storm. Districts Five, Six and Seven on the West Coast, Eleven, Twelve and Thirteen on the East, those all had docks. Four's fleet, so much larger than the Capitol suspected, was now large enough to supply them, even would the railways be blown up.
A mirthless chuckle escaped Mags' lips as she watched Creneis' flourishing shipyards from her balcony. The new Government would weep if they had to rebuild the railway network. It had taken Achlys ten years to repair the sabotaged lines of the first war and the late President hadn't concerned herself with ethics.
A knock on the door had Mags start. A rock lodged itself in Mags throat, thoughts of docks and railways replaced by a painful spike of anguish, thoughts of the people.
District Two… Unlike the similarly landlocked Districts Eight and Nine, Two did not have benevolent neighbors or a flourishing inter-District black market. District One had had decades to fortify itself against Capitol attacks. Two… At best Two wouldn't fight. The peacekeepers would obey but the civilians would stay home. Proud, hardworking people, who had no reason to trust the other Districts. Better the evil you know…
"Mags," Alyx Rivers called. "This is your last warning!"
And how would they reach the Capitol? They needed to bring the war on Capitol soil, or it would never stop.
An agonizing cracking sound of splintered wood brought Mags back to reality. She bolted upright, her eyes wide, as her brain belatedly processed that Alyx had indeed threatened to bring the door down if Mags kept refusing to let people in.
Mags' mouth opened in shock as Alyx, woodchips trapped in her frizzy gray-blonde hair, kicked the pitiful remains of the once proud front door out of the way, a two-handed mace lying on the ground behind her.
"Only idiots give fourth chances. I warned you enough," Alyx said, panting heavily. She crossed her arms over her chest. "With Finn shipped off, all your remaining victors seem convinced you bite."
"I'm thinking," Mags replied, unable to hold her gaze. "Gilly keeps me updated."
"She puts letters on the window sill," Alyx said tartly. "I'm surprised she hasn't installed a cat flap and trained her little monsters to bring you food. Annie has been making funeral crowns, Capitol style, enough to open a shop. She's not breaking mourning before you do because, I quote 'Victors are family, so Mags' family is like my own'." Alyx sighed, her face soft. "She's asking questions, about Lorelei, Larimar, all of them. The girls told her not to bother you, but –"
Mags' lips began to tremble. She gave Alyx a painful smile, remembering that day Finnick had convinced Marina to punch Nixie and they'd moved him up with the seventeens. How different it would have been had Finnick never met Shale… But it had also been the day Alyx and Lorelei had met. Mags saw her sorrow mirrored in the woman's brown eyes, and after weeks of averted gazes, of helplessly seeing Sol, her baby boy, her last child, swallow back harsh words.
"Lorelei was loud," Alyx said, sitting next to Mags, "and she liked being the center of attention. Larimar was an Instructor body and soul." A raspy giggle escaped her throat. "He used to sneak up to his students when he saw them grouped, just in case they were whispering about him." Alyx swallowed, forcing a smile back on her lips. "I think they'd be upset if there wasn't talk."
Mags realized how much her body ached when she finally allowed herself to relax, tears running down her cheeks. Alyx hadn't come with anger or questions. They just sat, not pretending a mother's sorrow equaled a friend's, or that there should even be a comparison, but letting themselves delve in memories in the hope of gluing things back together.
"True," Mags said, all too aware her soft, tired voice only made her seem more fragile.
"I'm sure you're taking care of the rebellion." Alyx said after a pause. "I'm here to take care of you." She grinned briefly. "Don't want Lorelei to haunt me."
A small smile cracked Mags' lips. In that moment Alyx reminded her of Marquise, of that terrible day Valerian Fletcher had shot President Achlys. Her sorrow crystallized in cool certainty.
"I can't have family," Mags said. Valerian had understood it; he'd tried to tell her. Mags had tried to have everything.
It was something she should have done long ago.
Her lips twitched as her eyes fell once more on the smashed front door. "Honestly, Alyx."
Year 72, November, Creneis Town.
What remained of her family was assembled in the house and Mags swallowed, realizing how many people could still pay for her ambitions. Sol: her baby boy, her last surviving child, next to her niece, Gloria, her years at sea inked on every inch on her skin. Their spouses and the children, with Tallulah nervously sitting on the window sill, next to a paralyzed Annie who hadn't been in a room with so many people since her days at FLASH.
Mags finger ached for her camera. All her girls were there, Nori who'd won back her beauty in the 24th, by knowing all about the drugs the Capitol had wished to prohibit. Chelsea, who'd forgotten everything of the bleak arena of the 35th and spent every day giving orphans a chance at life to make up for those she had taken. Gilly, still youthful at the eve of her fortieth year, who knew more than anyone what it meant, to hold your ambitions dearer than a person you had pledged to protect. An old cat sat where Eirene should have been, eyeing the assembled humans with her oddly serious eyes, as if she knew something horrible had befallen her namesake. Annie kept an empty chair next to her, as if waiting for Finnick to appear.
"Too many deaths," Mags said, Eirene's trusting eyes painfully stuck in her mind.
Gloria whispered to her husband, translating the Spanish words. Mags had noticed over the years that the words flowed more easily when she used her mother's tongue. "You must disappear, fake your deaths, start anew. I have made preparations."
There was denial, there was arguing, but in the end they all new the last word would be Mags, and this once, her orders would save their lives. A huge weight lifted off her chest when Sol, Lunita and their adult children all accepted. They'd live in one of the villages, away from the Capitol's eyes.
Mags would not outlive her last child.
"We'll stay. Tallulah will leave for Orithiya, unless you expect her to give up meteorology?"Mags shook her head. Her heart clenched at the naked relief in Gloria's smile.
"It's too big if everyone vanishes," Gloria said, her lips twisting in worry. "Just Lamprey and me, Mags. We have everything in Creneis. The great adventure isn't for us." She cleared her throat, forcing the tremble in her tone away. "We've lived a full life, Auntie."
"Better I stay at FLASH, to nudge the students in the right direction, otherwise Alyx will have to do it and it'd be a shame to lose her," Lamprey pointed out, with the steadfastness that had conquered Gloria after the shambles of her first marriage.
Mags' refusal blocked in their throat. They were adults. "I'll allow it, if Tallulah accepts it," Mags finally said, worry chilling her bones as Finnick's favorite cousin paled at the responsibility suddenly thrust upon her.
"We need to talk, Mama," Tallulah whispered hoarsely, grasping her parents' hands like a child, her knuckles white for holding onto them so tightly, as she pulled them out of the room.
Mags apologized wordlessly over and over, but when she turned towards her victors, there was the same question in her eyes.
"My man's already falling to pieces. I wouldn't know where to begin if I had to start over. But I know just the place for Chelsea," Nori said with a smile.
Nori, sixty-seven and yet radiant, the best of the Capitol's beauty surgery and a life on the seaside. Next to her stood cross-armed Remolino, her husband of ten years and lover of over thirty, his skin burned off by the sun and salt and his eyesight dimmed by the years, but his laughter still boomed through walls and his barbecued eels had dragged even the most reluctant of Mags' relatives to family gatherings.
Remolino just grinned, with a casualness and dismissal of old age's tragedies that Mags admired.
Chelsea wrapped Nori into a tight hug, but Mags knew that Chelsea saw her late sister's ghost in every shadow. It was time to leave, to be free. The deep seas swallowed all trace of the lives they claimed, it would be easy enough to have them vanish one by one.
"Snow won't harm me. He's afraid of Finnick's popularity," Annie said, no trace of hesitation in her voice. Her green eyes fell on the one victor who still had to talk.
Mags nodded, for once agreeing readily, and happily. She'd been afraid when Finnick had said he'd revealed to Snow he was involved with Annie, but her nephew had been right. Her heart clenched as she turned to Gilly, who had not said a word, and of them all looked the most uncertain.
"Mags, who am I outside Victor's Village?" Gilly said, her jaw set as she struggled to push down a ball of anguish. "I know nothing but letters. I don't want to be a stranger. I'd have to give up the house, the comfort and I'd never know who to trust,"
Eirene miawled and Gilly took the old cat on her knees, grief bringing a fierce sadness to her eyes. Mags impulsively walked up to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Gilly would never go anywhere without her pets, but with rats plaguing every city in the Districts, cats would be welcome where Mags intended to send her.
"Gilly, you would… Not stay in Four," Mags managed. Of the girls, Gilly and Annie were physically the least tied to Four and its Mexican roots. Gilly, with her brown hair, brown eyes and delicate features, could have been born almost anywhere.
Mags would say no more in front of witnesses, but she thought of Paylor in Eight, who had the willpower, determination and enough charisma to get Eight's many rebellious groups to listen to her, but who lacked experience to convince them to give up their independence and finally unite. Gilly could never command, but she had experience enough.
Gilly's eyes narrowed in surprise, but her pallor gave way to determination. Her half smile, soon broadening into a full grin, split her lips. "Mags, if you believe I'd be more useful somewhere else, you just had to say the word."
Year 73, February, the Capitol
Mags 'accidentally' sliced her hand open with a table knife. Caesar's sickly sweet concern about her health had her itching to slam that knife somewhere else.
Plutarch obligingly led her to the first-aid station, away from the cluster of parasitic socialites.
Mags took a calming breath when they were alone. "I'm sorry we don't have light conversations anymore," Mags said, her stony expression melting into sincere apology. She trusted this man implicitly, and yet she'd let the years bring them apart.
"We'll just have to settle for saving the world," Plutarch replied, his lips twitching. He sighed. "Four must take the lead," he said. "You must be vocal, united, because when the Districts will march, they will seek leadership."
"How?" There was something Plutarch wasn't telling her.
"All of Four's peacekeepers will be dispatched to other Districts by the end of the season. Snow believes this truce, has gone on long enough."
Mags stared in horror. All their peacekeepers?
"I told Snow that he was right," Plutarch said stiffly. "Hide like only Four knows how to do, behave perfectly. We'll have peacekeeper rebels in every district, Mags. Unless your peacekeepers still are unawares –"
Mags shook her head furiously. Of course the bulk of Four's peacekeepers would stand by the rebels. Mags would never have passed up the opportunity to build her own army. The peacekeepers had trained enough civilians to have disciplined militias in every town, which would be enough not to be completely helpless.
"District Thirteen?" She asked hoarsely. Where were the weapons and army Boggs had promised them so long ago?
A full peacekeeper rotation… They had to give warning. Mags could already see the bodies swinging on the main square. Snow would send in peacekeepers hunting for rebels and blood. In the grand scheme of things Plutarch was right, but that meant they had a handful of years at very best to launch their first attack, before people were fed up playing the waiting game and would take things in their own hands. Chaos, it would be utter chaos.
"Thirteen wants a symbol. They have the infrastructures for propaganda, but they want a face to put on posters, something to rally people, to make everything easier."
Mags nodded bitterly. Thirteen's requirements were piling up. They needed luck.
As Plutarch rubbed a synthetic skin paste on her cut, Mags' eyes fell to the sparkling white walls of the fortress city.
The war had to be brought from the District to the walls, but how much blood would be spilled before they reached Snow?
"How many will fight here?" She asked.
"Many want change, but a physical fight is not in our culture. No one here is prepared to bury friends and relatives, death is a concern of the old," Plutarch said, an emotion in his voice Mags heard only when they were alone. He allowed the placid mask to crack, his expression heavy with concern. "Fear is Snow's greatest ally. The Capitol will be under martial law and paranoia will have people eager to suspect and denounce their neighbors." His expression darkened. "Snow is too well guarded to be killed. He wears armor beneath his clothes and no one can enter his presence armed."
Mags bowed her head, realizing Plutarch had already thought to end Snow's life at the cost of his own. She had had the same thought too many times to count.
"Alma Coin will rule," Mags said, her thoughts bringing her more and more to the mysterious Mayor of District Thirteen. She thought of Alyx, of Mayor Orion in Three, of Paylor in Eight and Lord Crisanto in District One, all those men and women who had proven they had sense, ethics and enough charisma to be followed. Of Alma Coin she knew so very little and they would trust her with so much.
"She seems to think so too," Plutarch said with a tight smile. "She may be very competent."
May be.
Year 73, March, the Capitol
The falcon spread its wings, joyfully reaching out for the clouds.
The man in a suit of galaxies and star-charts followed the bird with troubled eyes. "I was told to make him attractive and I gave his face the look of his forty years, and they all but ran away, as if death was still in the room… Have you solved this mystery for me, Finnick?"
A familiar name in the crumpled newspaper in the falcon's cage caught Finnick's gaze.
Should Mags be placed in a retirement home, for her own good?
He shut his mouth before his host could hear the hiss building in his throat.
They couldn't stop it, every one of Mags' interviews, every appearance in the Capitol, everything was twisted to push her away. The gutter press loved that sentence "for her own good", or "as a reward". Caesar Flickerman was behind it, but when Finnick asked why, Mags just smiled faintly, her eyes haunted, and said "if that's the best he can do."
Finnick never asked about Caesar's dead relatives, or commented on how closely their deaths had followed the train crash that.
A spike of fury shot through Finnick, and he twisted the emotion into a merry calculating smile. "Mrs. Icahn confided that it made her think of all the dreams her father had in his youth." The woman had wept in drunken misery in his arms until others had bodily dragged her away for ruining the party. "Why not enhance the manner of death, DeCharon?"
They couldn't lock Mags away in a remote Capitol home.
"Oh but there is so little originality here. In the Districts, oh yes, death has many faces, many tools, but here it often lingers, preys only on the very old…" The undertaker sighed. "Depressingly monotone."
Finnick shrugged. "Then give them the epic death they desired. Clad in antique uniforms, a sword through the heart, or choked by gold coins."
DeCharon blinked, his lips slowly forming a smile, "grand," he whispered as if afraid a sudden noise would snatch the idea away or make it impossible, "elegant, yes."
Admittedly, Finnick had fun with DeCharon. The wealthy undertaker had a friendly demeanor and a horror of gossip, and their conversations were always so absurd that Finnick felt liberated, standing tall on the Capitol's fortified walls with the falcons, drizzle from the nearby waterfalls sticking to his face.
Finnick's face darkened as he spotted the one building towering above the Capitol's floating gardens.
They'd rebuild the Gamemakers' tower golden dome black and red, colors of rage and vengeance. Pictures of the victims of the "District visits" –and Finnick was now certain Snow had orchestrated it all- were pasted on walls of the large alley leading to the Presidential building, "Remember and beware!" they read, every Capitol flag bowed in mourning. The anti-Games voices of the 72nd Games had been silenced and bloodthirsty patriotism blared through every media.
"It may be too ostentatious," DeCharon muttered regretfully. "A restitution of the departed deepest wishes, but it could so swiftly turn into a reason of strife among the relatives of the deceased..."
The protesters couldn't be all gone, Finnick refused to believe it, but they now felt alone with their treasonous thoughts. Following the dominant opinion was so much safer for everyone.
"They will only hesitate if they are afraid to be the only ones to wish it," Finnick replied. He smiled when his mind reconciled his thoughts of rebellion and DeCharon's words. "Could you rebuild a body from a picture? It's just… Aunt Lorelei, Uncle Larimar, Uncle Jasper and my cousins… A train wreck shouldn't have been the way they went."
DeCharon's lips twitched. "Has anyone ever refused your endorsement, Odair?" His smile froze. "Dear me, I'm going to need to recruit."
"You have no apprentices?" Finnick inquired.
DeCharon was so wealthy, with a near monopoly on embalming and designing tombs that Finnick expected hundreds of Capitolites to beg for a job with him.
The man sighed. "Yes, and they are… good," he said, sadness crossing his eyes. "I wish for genius, Odair, but I can't seem to find it. The few who have it don't understand death well enough." He narrowed his brow at Finnick. "Maybe you could make them understand."
Finnick raised an eyebrow, hiding his sudden unease.
"Don't deny who you are, Finnick," DeCharon said with a smile. "His name is Cinna. His dream is to be a stylist for the Games. Truly, I think he could make them magnificent."
"For you, I'll meet him," Finnick granted with a warm smile.
Mags had said to keep an eye out for symbols. A gifted stylist could be what they needed.
Year 73, early March, Creneis Town
The whip cracked in Creneis' square for the first time in almost eight years, shattering through the air and connecting against beaten skin. There was a second of terrible silence and then the screams began.
Annie screamed, a keening cry of freed nightmares that pierced through the whipped man's hoarse cries. dropped to the ground with her hands over her ears.
The executioner stopped, his expression invisible beneath the dark mask. He could not arrest the victor, the crazy one, so he ignore her.
*Crack!*
Annie screamed for all in the crowd that couldn't because they knew the first to break would pay the price.
Nori crouched and grasped Annie, holding her tight, but she couldn't silence her until the young woman's mind regained control. But neither could the peacekeepers.
Mags stared ahead, at the peacekeepers carrying out the execution, remembering when she had been on that platform, holding the whip. She stared at the six assembled men, arrested on charges of obstructing justice. Arrested because the peacekeepers had to arrest someone, or Snow wouldn't be pleased.
That evening, Mags went to FLASH and rounded up Shale and all the former Career trainees that had been one short of making the cut. She made sure the peacekeepers wouldn't notice the gathering.
"Passivity won't be enough," she said. She didn't care how long it would take, they would not leave until they found something. "Four must do as it always has. Compromise."
They were bright young minds, versed in the art of District loyalty, angle and violence.
"It's not legal to execute for so little," one said.
"The law works because people agree to the rules. Otherwise we may just as well make our own."
"We must be sure it won't spin out of control," Shale pointed out.
Mags listened. She agreed to their final plan with a heavy heart. As she contemplated her reflection in the mirror, she wondered how many murderers she had single-handedly made over the years.
The word had spread all over Four, through sailors and the ghosts of the black market, until it happened, the Night of Poisons.
Four had its own chemical plants, for treatment of enriched salts, mud and algae sent to the Capitol's cosmetic industry and generally any other works that were too hazardous for the Capitol's stringent security measures.
The rest was just clever chemistry, years of gathering all kinds of weapons, district loyalty, and keeping the occasional Capitol inspector distracted.
A thunderstorm had cut all power lines. Or all power lines had been cut and the thunderstorm used to keep the ignorant peacekeepers unsuspecting... It was in the mail, every peacekeeper who'd made an unlawful arrest received a letter with a section of Panem's penal code, the one on severe crimes. It was drenched in poison. They died within the day.
Scrawled on the back was a printed warning. "Kill us for no reason, we'll just kill you back. You're outnumbered."
The peacekeeper targets on patrol that night where just shot with a dart full of cyanide. They never found the attackers.
After the Night of Poisons, seventy people were interrogated in Creneis Town alone, many violently, and ten brought to the execution platform for not cooperating.
Where the dart was shot from, the peacekeepers would never find out. The squads they sent out would be found unconscious in the streets, with no culprit to denounce.
The executioner let go of the whip with a surprised gasp and slowly fell to his knees, his hands falling to his chest as two colleagues helplessly rushed to his aid.
The peacekeeper who took out his gun and shot the man sentenced to death by whipping met a similar end. After the massive man collapsed, cyanide freezing his lungs, none stepped forward to carry on with the execution.
Mags' heart raced as she begged for reason and survival instinct to win over murderous stupidity.
The Mayor stepped forward. "I think we should talk," Flyak Corduroy said. There was no trace of flippancy or smugness in his tone, and Mags knew that if someone could start negotiations, it would be him.
It took two more days, and then the fear balanced, equal on both sides, and the law was respected once more.
It was like nothing had changed, except for the families of the dead in mourning, and the shadows lurking behind the eyes of the former Career trainees. Mags made sure that if anything, they would walk tall and proud, aware they had done what no-one else could have achieved.
It was terrifying to be able to consider the dozens of dead all over Four in that transitional month few. Mags craved for a victory that would taste sweet.
Every morning, as soon as she got out of bed, Mags would check the sky, dreading to see a swarm of hovercrafts diving for Creneis Town. She would then turn on the radio she hid under her winter clothes and would breathe when the morning's all clear signal was given by all the major towns.
Both her and Snow knew that he could not afford to send the Homeguard a second time unless he declared war.
Poor Coriolanus still believed he could avoid a rebellion.
Year 73, March, Creneis Town
Johanna jumped backwards with a snarl when the ground moved away from them, the sand replaced by a tight cage. A thousand insects appeared on the ground beneath them, clicking and buzzing for blood.
Finnick grabbed her arm "Illusions, Jo." Illusions he could touch. Finnick shot a look at Mercury, searching for the same panic building in his chest. She was smiling slightly, frowning in interest.
This freak technology was no surprise for a Three. He breathed easier, giving Johanna a reassuring smile. "It's something they'll use with Capitolites, there's no danger."
Johanna swallowed, her nod giving way to a shriek when a screen appeared right before her nose, numbers and shapes flashing much too brightly.
The riddles of the alliance that had claimed to rely on brains.
"Afraid of lights and sound, Mason?" Enobaria called, mockingly passing her hands through the bars. "Pressure fields," she added, "it's almost pleasant."
Finnick gingerly tried it. It felt like trying to get opposed magnets close, but if he pushed, he could get through the holograms easily, despite the lingering feel of cold metal. He repressed a shudder.
"Miss the smell of blood, Teeth?" Johanna snarled. "I'm sure they can add it just for you."
"Enough," Finnick muttered, his eyes narrowed as the holograms took shape of dead tributes.
The journalists closed in on them like sharks. "Do you believe you would have won in Moire's arena, Enobaria?"
Enobaria bared her teeth in what would have been a beautiful smile, nothing betraying her unease at the one question Careers and untrained alike fled like the plague.
"I would have had to reinvent myself, there was no hunting. I couldn't have separated from the Career pack or made my own rules," she said regretfully. She brightened. "But the odds would still have been in my favor."
Finnick instinctively jumped back as a crocodile appeared before him. It looked so damned real!
With the Coliseum having to be cleared for future events, the Capitol had recreated in an empty sand field outside their walls all the events of the 72nd with their best holographic technology. The thought of the costs, that Snow would spare no expense to keep the Capitol's mind on the most popular Hunger Games in recent history, anchored Finnick's calm and kept the memories of mentoring, the sleepless nights, the choking mist of misery the other mentors tried to beat away with fake smiles and lies, at bay.
Moire, and she looked so young, had cut the red rope at the entrance of the park, all but clinging to Cecelia as memories from her arena tried to slam past the drugs she had been given to weather this torture her head high.
Around them walked the youngest and prettiest victors the Capitol could summon, Cashmere, Gloss, their mentee Obsidian, as flamboyant as ever, Enobaria, Phoenix, on her first foray in the Capitol since her victory, proud and confident but still hiding behind Enobaria and Mercury, who'd get her own interview about the hologram technology and was using that knowledge as an excuse to poke at the generators rather than staying with the group.
Johanna barely waited until the journalists moved to Mercury. "What's it like, to walk in an arena and not be able to show off anymore, Teeth? All those talents you have you can't use again once you've won."
"This isn't an arena. The stakes make the arenas," Enobaria replied, scorn infusing her voice. "The rest is just packaging."
"Jo." Finnick clenched his teeth when the twenty-year-old ignored him.
"Stakes, huh? Your kind calls us meat, you use us for your angles and stories. Do we even register as threats? How does it feel when your Twos get beaten by a package?"
Finnick' face darkened. He saw Moire's frown, how the drugged girl dazedly absorbed the exchange, the outlier vs the Career. He saw everything Mags had worked to stop, and Johanna knew it.
"Jo, stop it. Enobaria, watch your tone."
He'd had enough of letting Jo tear into people. Enobaria was being obnoxious but she didn't make it personal. Johanna went for the jugular, every damn time.
He had let her be for too long. She wouldn't be half as confident if she didn't know he had her back.
Johanna snapped back towards him. "They can't get enough of you," she said with a sneer, her chin almost against his chest. "I can't get you killed, that's the only reason I stick around you so much, boytoy. It doesn't make you special."
The worst was, Finnick knew she hated herself and dug deep into that hate to throw it at each of them. There'd been others like her, but Jo was clever, she had more empathy than she'd ever admit, and so she could wound like few could boast.
"Cashmere," Finnick said, stiffly walking to the trio from One. "I told you how I ended up training with Shale, didn't I?"
Cashmere raised twin eyebrows. "That's quite a treat you're giving me," she replied with a delighted smile, proving she had forgotten not one word of Finnick's and Marina's altercation with Nixie.
Finnick could already picture the next tabloid title. Cashmere vs Johanna, who will conquer Finnick's heart? The journalists were filming avidly.
He winced when Cashmere's ringing slap cut through the silence. Johanna almost fell to the ground.
He missed Annie so much. His happy Annie who didn't play mind games and allowed him close.
"Don't say it," Mercury warned mildly, proving she was paying attention, when Enobaria opened her mouth.
Enobaria kept silent, a small smile gracing her full lips.
"I asked her," Finnick said before Johanna could assault Cashmere. The blonde would tear her to pieces, but Johanna would probably manage a solid bite.
Johanna was boiling, her teeth bared. "She's –" She snapped back towards Finnick, a cruel smile cracking her lips. "You never had a problem hitting girls before."
Finnick stiffened, deep buried faces flashing before his eyes. Paige, Pashmina, that girl from Six, little Shani.
He grabbed Johanna's arm and twisted it, forcing the woman closer.
"Weeks," Finnick said heatedly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The arena was weeks of our lives and making our whole selves about that, that's the Capitol's game, Jo. I know you feel wretched, but you're making sure everyone feels as miserable as you believe they deserve. Stop that. Everyone here has strengths, potential and a chance at life. Everyone, including you."
Johanna's jaw tightened. She pushed Finnick away from her but she soon realized her other choice of walking partners were Mercury, who wouldn't side with her, and Cecelia, who had no time for anyone but Moire.
She took a deep breath, her eyes flashing. "What's the deal with this anyway? I didn't have to go through this crap last year."
Finnick blinked at Johanna. "You don't know what they do to former arenas?"
"I cultivate ignorance," Jo replied with a sarcastic smile. She was careful not to look at Moire, lest people thought she cared.
Finnick said. "They keep the arenas intact and turn them into holiday parks. Can't do that with Moire's."
Long nails suddenly dug in his arms, almost tearing a cry from Finnick.
Johanna was ashen. "My arena is a holiday destination? Are there T-Rex costumes at the souvenir shop?" She said, her voice rising with hysteria. "How much is it for the whole package? Leaving with your children in a fucking box!"
Finnick's grip on her arm tightened dangerously.
"Relax, Odair," Jo cracked, still loud enough for all to hear. "My whole family is feeding the worms. They can't stop me from speaking short of shooting me dead." She turned to the journalists. "Want to know what I think of this holiday park?" She said brightly.
One of them was stupid enough to say yes, to think that he'd edit later and that nothing too over the line would come out on the final paper. He couldn't prove anything when the original interview was sent to the tabloids.
Johanna bares her soul!
Finnick chuckled every time he read the article. Johanna wasn't called to the Capitol outside the Hunger Games again.
Year 73, late March, Creneis Town
Cinna was a man in his early thirties, with light brown skin and a fashionable three-day beard. Like DeCharon, he dressed at the height of fashion but looked unaltered. He shared his large flat with four others, medical students and models, who pounced on Finnick for an autograph and a picture before grudgingly leaving Cinna alone in the hastily cleaned up house.
"I taped Mr. DeCharon's announcement, have you seen it?" Cinna lead Finnick to the living room when the latter shook his head. "He's obsessed, even by his standards."
DeCharon declared he'd had a 'vision' – a man like him couldn't just say 'a new product line'- but even Finnick could not have predicted the brainchild of the man's mad genius.
The dead were many, all the faces on the "Remember and beware!" posters, all the train wreck's victims.
Among the vertical glass coffins, Finnick could see Larimar, the teacher, his skull squashed by a huge tome. And somehow, it looked... grand. Lorelei, the peacekeeper, held a General's medal in her closed hand and an obvious bullet wound in her heart.
Wax and silicon, and yet they looked so real. Finnick squinted, willing his blurry vision to clear.
It wasn't just Larimar, Jasper and Lorelei, the children... The children, Seeder's niece young son, such a beautiful boy, and Larimar's children, Leomaris and cheeky Medea, they weren't lying down peacefully, they were alive.
"Having the children look alive was my idea," Cinna said. "What do you think?"
Eyes wide, small triumphant smiles, but something haunted in their expressions, the colors washed out. Ghosts, too young to accept death.
Larimar's boy, Leomaris with his tousled hair and blushing cheeks, his hand clenched around a sparkling white trident.
He'd been thirteen, Finnick's youngest cousin.
Medea, in a dress of armor plates, holding the victor's crown to her heart.
They were all the kids of reaping age who had died too young.
"Your idea, you said?" Finnick said, turning to Cinna.
Only then did he realize the question in Cinna's eyes, the fear of disapproval and the tentative empathy.
"Snow and his people will veto the project," Cinna said softly, "but Mr. DeCharon is one of the few who can afford to be… original. Now it has been see, people will talk."
Finnick nodded, his expression carefully mild. "Why a Hunger Games stylist?"
"Because that's where clothes matter. Where they can save lives!" Cinna replied with sudden passion. "My father and sisters are doctors, they make a difference. I want to do the same, with the gifts I have. I would keep working for Mr. DeCharon the rest of the year." Cinna took a slow breath. "Your cousins, and I am so sorry," he added softly, his dark eyes shining as if he truly meant it, "were made into symbols, but for all the wrong reasons. I wanted to make this a little bit more right."
There was nothing of the courtesan in Finnick's expression. Even such words were a risk for Cinna and Finnick would repay him in kind. The young undertaker had done more for Leomaris and Medea than all of Finnick's interviews. Now they were alive, and would be stuck in the watchers' minds.
"And what if the President disagrees with what you may consider right?" Finnick said.
Cinna gave him a wan smile. "Did you know that long ago, Presidents were elected and were supposed to represent the wishes of the majority?"
Finnick chuckled. "We'll stay in touch, Cinna." He grinned as he thought of DeCharon's mournful expression. "Cinna, your boss sent me here to tell you about death."
Cinna groaned. "Just don't kill my family to make a point," he said, wincing at his own joke.
The media condemned DeCharon's work, with grand sentences about respect for the dead and not using them to showcase wealth or make public exhibits. Finnick snorted. Had they even seen the size of some of the mausoleums outside the Capitol's walls? One was almost a pyramid. But people whispered, and Finnick knew they would whisper for long months to come.
Year 73, August, Reaping Day, The Capitol.
"Newton's third law, you can't win against a tree ten times your weight," sixteen-year-old Galileo Castel said cheekily as the District Two volunteer cradled his shoulder. "See, Professor, I learned my lesson!"
Rhapsody Valens' infectious laughter brought a smile to the six students' lips.
"This isn't District One, Leo," Mary Quest said with a huge eyeroll. "You're not going to pass because you're pretty."
"I'm sure they can flunk physics and still get out of school in One," Galileo grumbled, oblivious to how deeply his friend's crush on him ran. He hastily went back to his exercise when Rhapsody narrowed her eyes at him.
"Do we get to see the whole reapings or must we finish this first, Professor?" Antonius Van Fleet Jr. asked, hope clear on his face. The rest of the study group perked up as one.
Rhapsody gave a dramatic sight. They'd barely started working. "You're sure you don't have all ADHD?" She teased, her lips quirking as all but the unabashed Galileo dropped their eyes. "Fine, but then you'll be staying until you finish."
"Do you have no life aside from us?" Galileo protested, promptly elbowed by the blushing Mary.
Mary tended to blush a lot, embarrassed on other people's behalf. Rhapsody forgave Galileo's insolence, because she knew he purposefully failed whenever there were witnesses to have a solid reason not to go home until he had to.
Physics was a safe subject, one the Capitol's thought police barely paid attention to. She didn't mind teaching, but what she loved were the tutoring groups. There she brought the students home and talked to them, those who needed extra help or who just wanted to take part.
Of course, being the daughter of Glynn Corduroy meant Rhapsody's job had not been left to chance. Babel High was a prized school, and Rhapsody knew the parents as well as the students. Anthony Van Fleet Senior was a major sponsor. Mary Quest was a Major's daughter who loved talking about her family's connections. Rhapsody had never been suspected to be more than a teacher, despite being half-breed –as some of her more delightful acquaintances still called her behind her back-. After all, who suspected an average-looking woman who laughed a lot?
The teenagers cheered when Rhapsody brought back muffins from the kitchen. "Don't get too merry, those are prizes. I've given up getting anything out of you for free," she said with a scowl.
It was a joke, but predictably any reference to bribes and deals had them talking.
"Da said they'd paid to rig the worst of outliers' reapings," Antonius Jr. said. "It could be just a rumor, but Ten, Eleven and Twelve have gone decades without a victor, they'd need the leg up."
"So they'd be like training kids in secret? Like someone who could be better than Careers?" Mary said, biting her lip. "Are they, Professor? Your friend, Four's escort, Donna Temple, what does she say?"
In Mary Quest's bag was a magazine advertising for clothes Rhapsody would have to cut herself in half to fit in. It gave her paradoxical authority, those extra pounds that hugged her figure and were dubiously esthetic by Capitol standards. She remained too thin for people to suspect an illness, too rich for people to imagine she couldn't afford treatments, so it got some of them thinking. Rhapsody didn't promote shapes, she promoted thoughts. She showed she could happily exist being different and that nothing had to be taken for granted. It had those kids go to her when they had embarrassing questions if anything.
"I doubt there will be volunteers from any of those Districts," Rhapsody said. "But last year's tributes were all criminals –"
Galileo snorted. "Come on," he said with a lopsided grin. "Who's got proof? Caesar could say just about anything."
"They didn't fake their attitudes," Mary countered. "I liked it better, knowing they deserved it."
Rhapsody remained silent as old Dante, Three's escort, appeared onscreen, his maroon and purple robes quite at odds with the technology district's very black-and-white fashion. She gasped when he read the names of twins, a boy and a girl, fourteen. It was difficult to tell them apart, with that messy black hair falling over their faces down to their shoulders and those baggy clothes.
"They're so cute," Mary gushed. Her eyes narrowed. "What do you think they did?"
"It has to be bad. I agree with Galileo," Antonius said. "Caesar can't be telling us the whole truth, but I think he sugar coats it, because, come on, do you see how some of them kill? It can't be hard to find someone in the whole District who deserves it. I've never seen a teenaged avox, so they must keep those for the Games."
Rhapsody shot him an appraising glance. Antonius was wrong of course, and had no grasp of what desperation could do to a normal human being, but it was sound reasoning for someone who desperately wanted to feel proud of his city.
"If one of them wins, it's kind of crap, so they're probably both goners," Mary said, and Rhapsody could see her already emotionally pulling away from the two children.
"It would be quite a twist, to have two victors," Rhapsody said with a small smile. "You can never know what the Gamemakers have in store for us."
Her words cast a shadow in the room, one the children carefully tried to ignore. They had been eight during Finnick's Games, the age children started watching, and they'd never known anything other than the questions. Why are they forced to kill and die? Why like this?
"You really think they're criminals?" Galileo said, his eyes not leaving the siblings' faces.
"Come on, everyone knows the Games are scripted by mentors and Gamemakers. They don't let people they don't want win. Of course some people aren't real criminals. Remember that girl from that horrid family?" Antonius said with a wince. "I'd rather die than live that. She was given a chance. Pity she didn't make it."
Galileo was now staring at Antonius with a grimace. "You're saying the only alternative to abuse in the Districts is the Games?"
"Dude, pay attention, she said her parents were rich. Nobody's taking kids away from a rich family."
"Yeah, District rich," Mary said with a small smile that quickly faded.
A collective pallor took the students when the words sunk in. Anyone in the Capitol could have saved her.
Rhapsody gave them a compassionate smile. "We can't save everyone," she said, aware how unsatisfying it was, how it would feed their growing doubts, and hoping they would keep thinking.
In Nine, a boy rushed towards the stage, screaming desperately as the escort refused he volunteer for the girl. He gave her a passionate kiss, and Mary squeed, already willing to bet this was the person the Gamemakers would bet on.
"If he had a sex change, wouldn't that count?" Galileo said with a cheeky grin. It didn't reach his eyes.
Rhapsody remembered the two times a pregnant teenager had been reaped. The first, the girl had not been far enough along and the papers had declared she had lied about her pregnancy. The second time, the escort had simply called a second name, saying that only a single tribute could be reaped. Since teenage girls weren't getting knocked up to avoid the reapings, Rhapsody imagined the punishment had to have been severe. She remembered that teenage dad, who died insulted by the papers, treated like a criminal for not wearing a condom before he was safe –or even had a stable job-. She remembered the cousins from Twelve, and how the poor boy had killed her, mistaking her for an enemy in a burst of paranoia. Within two days, the Capitol was already talking about other things.
Long gone were those days. Rhapsody knew that at least Galileo would not forget, and that if only three of her six students were talking, it was because the others did not like what would have come out of their mouths.
Doubt rippled through the Capitol, more violent with each passing year. Rhapsody wondered if doubt alone would be enough.
Year 73, August, 73rd Hunger Games, The Capitol.
How she hated the sponsor crowds. The noise assaulted her ears and she couldn't seem to get around without getting spilled alcohol on her clothes.
Rhapsody finally wrapped her arm inside Beetee's and kissed his cheek noisily. He blushed, and Donna laughed loudly at them, because it took a physics teacher to want to kiss that twitchy middle-aged nerd, but especially because if Donna, the escort, laughed, others would just dismiss them as funny.
"The winner gets a half hour alone with me," that clever boy Finnick shouted over the din, raising and fistful of darts by the counter. Cheers rose all around them as people assembled around him and Beetee was forgotten.
"The odds are odd this year," she told Beetee.
"I was told symbols were needed," the man said in clipped tones. "Dante read the names we gave him."
Rhapsody nodded. Three's escort, Dante, was a survivor of the Dark Days, a man terrified of war, but who watched in horror the Capitol delve deeper and deeper into darkness. He was willfully blind, but he rarely refused his victors a service.
"Finnick promised us a new stylist, but something went wrong," Beetee added darkly, his hands tightly clasped in his pockets.
Rhapsody frowned. "Who?"
"Cinna something."
Rhapsody's eyebrows shot up. "Working for DeCharon?" She smiled. "I taught him, his dad was a right terror." Poor Cinna, she was glad he hadn't succumbed to the pressure. Medical School wasn't for everyone. "Sweet lad, very bright. I remember him well."
She huffed. Finnick should have gotten the information back to her, she would have saved him time.
Year 73, August, 73rd Hunger Games, The Capitol.
The burly boy from Ten slowly climbed to the top of the popularity charts. He heroically saved the twins from the pair from One, jumping in the melee with rocks and fists against their spears. He escaped at the last second, killing the One boy in a stroke of luck. Showered with sponsors, proudly wearing hastily healed scars, he grinned, thanking the Capitol for granting him forgiveness, he who'd bullied and threatened his way through life since he had learned to read.
Rhapsody wondered when Ten had finally lost favor with whichever peacekeeper had had his back, or if the bullying was just another lie and the boy just had given up trying to deny it. And how could he have, when it had been printed right after the Reapings and barely hinted at during the interviews?
The arena was hot and humid, and the boy from Three slowly became too sick to move. He died at the hand of the Two boy. Ten heroically saved the girl once more, claiming one more death, but with that sword stroke, Two put an end to all talk of a possible double victory.
Rhapsody knew where to find Beetee. It was a small room, eerily clean, full of flashing screens, underneath the tribute training rooms. She blushed and giggled in front of security, showing the shirt Beetee had 'forgotten' at her place.
They didn't insist too much after she begged she return it herself. 'It's so unpersonal, otherwise,' she told them with an embarrassed grin.
No, nobody took the middle-aged teacher seriously and Rhapsody had a lot of practice at sounding sixteen.
Beetee sat his back to her, his screens black except for the one focused on the arena. On the young boy's lifeless body. His eyes flashed to her and he removed his glasses, carefully cleaning them before standing up and wordlessly accepting his shirt.
"Two will rethink their pride when we burn their obscene training center to the ground," he said.
Rhapsody winced, shocked by the words, so at odds with the forced calm on the man's features.
"I heard there are a thousand kids in the Annex," Rhapsody said, helpless in the face of such rage. She'd lost a student to suicide once, and that horror had taught her never to presume to understand mentors. "That it's both an escape for mistreated kids and the way for poor families to get a stipend."
Despite being shorter, Beetee definitely looked down at her. Worse, he seemed to keep his expression mild to avoid hurting her feelings.
At least he wasn't afraid of being himself around her, Rhapsody decided with half-hearted cheer.
"Panem produces in surplus," Beetee said. "Two's poverty, and the lack of adequate social structures, are manufactured. The Annex reflects the Capitol's needs, not District Two's."
"Yes, the Capitol," Rhapsody exclaimed, something in her twisting as always when her city was assimilated to the handful of criminals that ruled Panem. "So why do you hate the Twos so much?"
"150 000 people, whose pride reside in work well done… Without Two, it would be the Homeguard in the Districts and they would not so effortlessly continue thinking of us as beasts. In District Four the Homeguards came, and it was the turning point for us!" Beetee's said, incredulity mixing with the anger in his dark eyes, as if he could not comprehend how Rhapsody could be so oblivious.
"They're not those with any power of decision," Rhapsody countered. "We're to change this, not to hate all the pawns!"
Beetee rolled his eyes. "Mags, you've put on weight."
Rhapsody slapped him.
Beetee stared at her in shock. It scared Rhapsody more than his words. He spoke of the death of a thousand children and was surprised to be slapped?
"You'll kill them," Rhapsody said breathlessly. "You'll kill them won't you? Archon, Enobaria, Brutus, his mentor Lyall, Lyme's victors: Bahamut and Wolfe, the youngest girl: Phoenix, you'd kill them all with little remorse," Rhapsody's breath hitched when Beetee's expression remained stony. "Beetee, you've known them for years, they're your colleagues!"
"And they're terrifying," Beetee said, dark red blotches coloring his cheeks. "The whole concept is absurd! The Hunger Games were doomed to fail, but the Careers keep saving them. Mags, you, Rhapsody, you say 'they're human' as if it's an excuse."
He took a trembling breath, his eyes darting left and right, as if a microphone had escaped his notice.
"Mags at least doesn't sell her soul for her tributes, she knows what happens when you play the sponsor's games. People aren't afraid of Four's peacekeepers." There was a darkness in his tone when he said afraid, as if it was something too deep, to visceral, to be understood in the Capitol's walls. Rhapsody felt eerily like a spoiled child and fought the urge to squirm.
"Those District Two Careers have one single purpose: to kill our symbols. They don't have a choice, you tell me," Beetee hissed, his whole body now trembling with rage. "But they do. The mentors choose to give Snow victors that strengthen his power. The people of Two will choose not to rebel. It's irrelevant, how human they may be."
Rhapsody found herself slowly backing away.
"They're stupid, they're so stupid! While I… I see the brightest minds of our country die and can do nothing to save them! Three has hospitals, Haymitch and Chaff would howl if I dared complain, but you only get healed if you're under twenty, or if you prove Panem would be badly affected by your death. We have child abuse too, in Three. Parents of children who are below average at school don't get healthcare, but you see, average is 50%. No matter how hard people work, you'll always have 50% below average." A dark smile graced Beetee's lips. "I wasn't in that top 50%. Half marks are attitude and mine was very poor." Grim hate replaced every trace of a smile. "Guess from where the peacekeepers who report any kind of medical drug trafficking are from, Rhapsody! Guess how many were trained in that Annex. " He looked down, his eyes gaining a bright sheen. "The twins also had… an attitude. They would not have had a future."
Rhapsody willed her voice steady. "Beetee, I hear you. It doesn't mean the Two victors won't be happy to live in the new system, just like 70% of the population of every outlier district." Rhapsody forced a chuckle, a desperate attempt to diffuse the tension. "I'm not even sure we'd have 30% of active rebels in Four!"
"They refuse to accept that they have responsibility," Beetee said, suddenly calmer as if he'd perceived Rhaspody's discomfort. "It explains why they were such exceptional Career. Even Lyme…" he clenched his jaw. "It's the ultimate excuse: I have no choice but to cooperate," Beetee hissed. "I chose to give them no choice. I'm worth millions, because their bank safety systems, that's me. Their hospital private data protection, that's me." Beetee took a shaky breath. "My niece died. My Professor died. He was worth a hundred of them. Wiress' brother died, Rhapsody!" He snarled, rage twisting his face. "Snow must suspect that it's a small step from bank firewalls to Capitol Central Security firewalls. And he's an idiot, because I should be dead. The first thing a real dictatorship does is kill the intellectuals," he said with an ugly smile. "But very human, moral, hardworking, and not too bright-Careers, that's good for the regime."
Rhapsody swallowed. In the state he was in, Beetee would probably attack her if she pointed out that Beetee was a genius, and could force the Capitol's hand. He'd been given access to the banks and hospitals because he'd stepped in right after a very publicized scandal involving bankers and corrupt officials. Except for Finnick and his absurdly good looks, no other victor offered anything as unique as Beetee Morse.
"So you don't hate them, the individuals," she said instead, stunned by the realization. "You hate them on principle, as a group, because of the consequences. It's an ideology thing."
Beetee's sigh was painful. "Consider Brutus: he's quite aware that most sponsors are superficial, immoral. He feels triumph when they are eager to work with him, when he succeeds in saving a girl or boy with money they would have spent on stupid luxuries. Brutus never complains, he does what he must, for them, his tributes," Beetee said with a grimace. "The most well-adjusted victors are his, because Two mentors never abandon their tributes and Brutus is unsurpassed. The man tries his best to be respectful, even to the most drug-addled outlier."
"Exactly," Rhapsody said, pouncing on the endorsement to get some empathy into Beetee. "And put him and the victors he pulled out of the arena in a world with no Games, no Capitol, and he'll be happy. He'll find a job because he's an active man, and he'll never think to fight to re-instate the Games. We'll need them, the victors, to get those Annex kids back into society."
"But can't you see, Rhaspody?" Beetee demanded, his voice low and dangerous as his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. "The war will span over months, years, during which Two, which produces all weapons, has so much to gain by siding with the Capitol. Brutus will do anything for the victors he considers his. Snow knows this, and he will force Brutus to choose. Brutus will never choose the rebellion." Beetee grabbed her arm. "And what do we do then?" He whispered harshly, inches from Rhapsody's face. "They're the enemy's tools."
Rhapsody looked down, doubt taking her. Could Brutus tell Snow enough to tip the balance? The answer was probably. Rhapsody shivered. Brutus knew which victor talked to which sponsors. He had a perfect memory, and just with lists, Snow would possibly be able to put together the rebel network.
Mags cares too much, Glynn had said. Rhapsody shuddered once more. Did her mother agree with Beetee? Rhapsody knew Mags had made Plutarch swear, not to let Two, the Annex kids, become scapegoats of the rebellion. Did her mother believe in that promise?
"That's Brutus though, not the kids," Rhapsody said in a small voice.
Beetee smiled faintly. "If the Annex stays out of the picture, there is no reason for us not to let them be."
"They may not be given the chance," Rhapsody said, tears rising in her eyes as she imagined so many children turned into tools.
Beetee twitched, not meeting her eyes.
Year 73, mid-August, 73rd Hunger Games, The Capitol.
Rhapsody watched their symbols die, one by one, seated among her students. She had switched to her rebel brain, the one that was analytical, unfeeling. She had to be, those were kids on screen, and her everyday self didn't have the luxury to forget that. Breaking down would serve nobody.
"It's not fair, she deserved to win!" Galileo shouted. "She had a boyfriend back home, the other guys, they're orphans, no one ever sees the Career families on TV!"
"Yeah mate, her luck just ran out," Antonius said sympathetically.
"No, she didn't have sponsors because she didn't kill and lost her charm," Rhapsody said. She didn't, and couldn't, make it about morals, not upfront, but she it was her job to make them understand, like she had many before them. "A boyfriend isn't a reason for investment. Luck has little to do with it."
Nine had been funny and kind and strong and every day of the Games stripped away one of her qualities. Her smile first, then her kindness and her comeliness, and finally the promises she made to her man on the other side of Panem.
"But Professor, the polls show she was liked, how could there be no sponsors?"
"Because people like you vote on the polls but you don't sponsor," Rhapsody replied.
"It's not like we can match professional sponsors," Galileo protested, his outrage not lessening. "It's a business, it's rigged since the start."
Two killed the poor girl, and he was loathed. They loved to hate him and gave the boy from Ten, their beloved protector a huge sword to finish it.
"Now that's a hero," Mary said with great satisfaction as the young man raised the sword towards the scorching sun, caressing the blade reverently.
"Do you think he will choose the girl?" Rhapsody said. The girl he'd dragged to the last three, the twin he'd sworn to shield with his own life.
Three begged him not to go, he kissed her goodbye and beyond the clever editing Rhapsody saw the glitch in the timing and the way the girl was trying to pull away, and that the truth was much less romantic than what the editors had decided to broadcast.
Three followed him, drawing that strength from reserves Rhapsody didn't suspect anyone, much less a nerdy fourteen year old, could have.
The surviving twin slammed her knife in Two's spine when he pressed his sword into Ten's gut, his knee on the ground as he tried to balance himself despite his shoulder wound.
Her hands shaking, the girl rushed to Ten's side. He groaned, unable to move his legs, and ran his sword through her heart.
Rhapsody shut her eyes, her mask cracking. Happy Hunger Games. She let the lone tear fall, knowing it shocked her students, and maybe that was the push they needed to discuss it with their friends, their parents and finally see this abomination for what it was.
"Thanks, love," Ten managed, tears of agony running down his cheeks.
The girl's mouth filled with blood. "You –"
Ten let out a cry of pain, his eyes filled with madness as he struggled not to faint from the wound in his abdomen. "I'm sorry."
His lips kept moving but no sound came out, fierce triumph at odds with his words etched on his features.
Mary sniffed. "He wasn't that much of a hero, but I guess survival just kicks in when it kicks in, right?"
They all turned to Rhapsody, and then she remembered why she did this. Someone needed to have the talks that mattered with those kids. The trick was to avoid sounding treasonous.
"Would you like something stronger?" Rhapsody asked Donna, concern creasing her brow.
Donna looked peaky, even for Games' end. They traditionally shared a drink every year on the night of victory and every time Rhapsody felt guilty to have helped Donna get that escort's job. No matter how gratifying being a rebel could be, it was a nasty environment.
"Turn on the TV, I don't know if they were fast enough," Donna said.
Rhapsody turned on the evening news.
She pursed her lips when she landed on the replay of the victory, but then her eyes widened when she saw Live written in the corner of the screen. This was the mentors' and Gamemakers' feed.
Donna laughed, the stiffness around her eyes easing up. "Oh we are good!"
Ten let out a cry of pain, madness entering his eyes as he struggled not to faint from the wound in his abdomen. "Your stupid brother, I poisoned him. I couldn't have the two of you," he coughed. "I was just a plot point while the two of you were alive. See, I understand angles and stories, and now I've won."
What? Rhapsody swallowed back sudden bile. This... She had no words. A startled laugh escaped her lips. And she'd thought a victor could be decent.
Rhapsody mechanically picked up the phone when it rang.
"Darling, why don't you and Donna come over for dinner," Glynn said. "We have some good champagne."
"Your Mom?" Donna said knowingly, her expression still haunted.
Rhapsody chuckled. "She doubtless knows what's up."
Fake. Ten had been fake throughout. How many other victors kept secret the crimes they had committed? The lies?
Before leaving, she frowned and searched through her teaching files, taking out a number she had never needed to use. She desperately needed to finish on a happy note.
The phone finally answered. "Hello?"
Rhapsody almost giggled. How adult he sounded now. She remembered when he came to class with clothes he'd styled himself. He'd been so over the top at that age.
"Hello, Cinna, it's Rhapsody Valens."
"Professor? Why… What can I do for you?"
"Nothing," Rhapsody answered, "or maybe coffee one of these days. I just wanted to say you made the right choice. I'm sorry it didn't work out, but next year we may find the right spot for you."
A pause. "I'm very glad to hear that, Professor." Rhapsody could hear the surprised smile in his voice. "The coffee will be on me."
It took Finnick two well-placed words for Ten's sponsors to get the blame for that ill-fated victory. He just had to make sure they'd not lose that momentum and started a real debate on the consequences of sponsor spending.
"Two had called him a fraud." "He'd have made a better victor." "How could you not notice?"
Of course, everyone now claimed they'd suspected Bale from Ten was swine since the bloodbath.
They didn't even need a nudge wonder how much of the rest of the Hunger Games sequence was fake. Finnick just had to mention the kiss scene with the young girl from Three to leave pandemonium behind him.
Tonight he had no secrets to chase. He left with a spring in his step. Even Enobaria had been wildly more sympathetic. A true villain. Not the symbol they'd wanted, but better than nothing. Capitolites would be furious for a long time.
Finnick's burst of good mood didn't last long. Not only had he failed to get Cinna to style the twins –at least he hadn't busted himself and could try next year- but he'd not suspected once that Ten was such a great liar.
He couldn't wait to be home, with Annie.
Annie greeted him with open arms, bouncing herself on tip-toes so he couldn't avoid kissing her even if he'd been of a mind.
"It's been quiet while you were gone," she said with that special smile she kept just for him.
Creneis was quiet, scarily quiet, but the execution stage had been brought down and peacekeepers just watched.
Finnick wondered what chaos lay in the other Districts, or if like Four, they were all taking a deep breath before the storm.
Author's note.
The scene with Beetee was motivated by this bit of Catching Fire which I reread after a conversation with another author on the site.
"We're all that's left?" [Katniss] ask[s]."The price of celebrity," says Beetee. "We were targeted from both sides. The Capitol killed the victors they suspected of being rebels. The rebels killed those thought to be allied with the Capitol."
And after that they move on, like it's the most normal thing and the death of all those victors is worth no more than a lone sentence (okay Katniss doesn't know them, but Beetee and the others really have no excuse…). I found it shocking, so I figure it warranted a bit of an explanation and proof that Mags is mild, for a rebel.
Please review^^.