Chapter Four - "Other Ways"
It's quiet, very quiet. So quiet that Bea's sneeze sounds like a grenade going off.
"Sorry..." She chirps hesitantly when Sergeant Floris cranes her head back to glare daggers at her. Callista giggles like a twelve-year-old, earning a stiff prod from Randall, shutting her up. She still carries that dumb ass grin, though. Besides that slight hiccup, we are without flaw as stand once again on The Terrazzo as one student body, four companies.
Our uniforms are as pristine as Snow's roses with no loose threads, stains or wrinkled epaulettes. Our berets are free of lint, our shoes are polished as polished can be just as our rifles are free of rust and carbon, clutched closely to our chest at port arms. Meters into the air, on makeshift watchtowers, are camera crews from both local and national news.
On the giant holoscreens set up, I watch Commandant Rudiger goosestep with each company officer commanding. Ceremonial swords in hand, their legs are rigidly straight as they slowly march to the front of the formation, performing a right face so that they too face the gargantuan screens. From the Commandant the screen cuts to the City Circle in the Capitol. The Avenue of Tributes is choked full of spectators. Despite the audience being fifty times our size, they too are as quiet as quiet can be.
When the clock on the on-screen display strikes twelve the silence is broken by fanfare consisting of trumpets and horns, the beginning of the national anthem.
The Commandant cries out. "Academy! Present arms!"
We follow the command without flaw, smartly extending our rifles vertically before us as we stamp our feet audibly onto the ground.
We hold this position until President Choudhury, her son and a woman who the news describes as the 'Presidential Hostess' emerge from the City Hall and take their place on the famous balcony with the other Capitol officials.
'President Choudhury', a new president. President Snow was so prominent in my life I can't help but furrow my brows in confusion for a moment as President Choudhury takes the podium instead of him.
A colored lady wearing a pea green skirt suit and sporting a jet black updo, she's the direct opposite of the old, paper white-haired President Snow, who was now months dead. She waves a gloved hand over the audience, quieting them once more.
"Bring the prisoners forward." She commands firmly, her voice booming through The Terrazzo even though she's hundreds of miles away.
Lining the avenue of tributes, Peacekeeper musicians begin to pound on their drums as from the tunnels below the Training Center, a shackled Katniss Everdeen emerges, followed by Lover Boy. They're flanked by Capitol Guardsmen.
"Yikes..." Garrison murmurs under his breath. "Remind me not to spur on an ill-fated revolution."
"Quiet you," Domita playfully hisses in reply.
I crane my head to the side. Forge wasn't wrong. Fire Girl looks like she's been through twenty Hunger Games back to back, looking absolutely spent with her pale skin, sunken eyes, frail brunette hair that hangs limply on her shoulders. The crowds on either side of the avenue begin to jeer and boo but are quickly shut up somehow, so they resort to steely glares as the former Mockingjay continues her shamble towards the Circle proper. Lining the way are companies of Capitol Guardsmen, for show and security, I imagine.
Lover Boy is a whole different story. Appearing just as ghoulish as Everdeen, he has an even harder time keeping up with the procession as he hobbles along on his prosthetic leg, which has seen a noticeable downgrade since the last time I saw it. He crumples to the ground, only to get berated and yanked up by the Guardsmen. Katniss doubles back, taking him by the forearm as they continue their death march to the Circle.
"What bothers me so much, Caesar, is the immense loss of potential," Marceline says. She shares a table with the Games Master of Ceremonies, Caesar Flickerman. What I notice first is how muted their clothes are. Toned down are the crazy Capitol designs. Marceline wears a black suit in contrast to Caesar's slate gray hair, suit and black tie. Both sport Panem's emblem as pins on their lapels. "For the first time in seventy-odd years, the Capitol was gracious to allow two victors who loved one another to continue their love. And what do we have to show for it now? Hundreds of thousands of people dead and immeasurable destruction nationwide."
"Panem was indeed captivated by their story," Caesar replies solemnly, making an "I don't know" gesture with his hands. "I too lament the life that was never to be."
Eventually, the pair make into the circle proper, before the podium where the President stands. Both Lover Boy and Fire Girl are tied to the steel pillars erected in the middle of the Circle, facing the audience. With a final flourish, the drums stop beating. The Avenue is now choked full of Peacekeepers and citizens alike.
"People of Panem," President Choudhury booms. "I gather you here today to witness the last two casualties of the rebellion that nearly tore our nation asunder," She gestures a gloved hand to the condemned. "The two people displayed here before you bear responsibility for our collective pain and suffering. The Capitol showed you mercy to the nth degree, only to have our extended hand of goodwill slapped aside in favor of destroying us and installing a regime of people who could care less about us, both Capitol and district. Once a young woman who captivated a nation with her love and determination, will now be nothing but a blot, they-who-shall-not-be-named - concurrent with disappointment, anger and despair."
Fire Girl looks out of it, resigned to whatever they're about to dole out to her. When the cameras cut to a Peacekeeper armed with a flamethrower, the crowds both here in The Terrazzo and the Avenue begin to cheer. A gentle wave from the President is enough to shut us up again.
"You shall die as you lived, a flash in the pan that spiraled out of control and burned everything it came into contact with. That including the boy restrained next to you."
The Peacekeeper takes the flamethrower for a test run, firing a burst of flame into the air before leveling the fuming head towards the two Victors. Glossy-eyed with tears dripping down her face, she startles when Lover Boy inches his hand into hers. I mentally tell myself to breathe, having tensed up in anticipation of the Peacekeeper pulling the trigger.
"Katniss..." Lover Boy's voice is steeped in fear. "Katniss look at me-"
"Fire!"
"Katniss, I love yo-!"
The roar of the flames interrupts his last words, replacing them with anguished screams and cries intertwined with Fire Girl's. They don't last long, but the seconds they do spend wailing are piercing enough so that no one in Panem will ever forget the last of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.
When their screams finally stop, the City Circle overflows with cheers and applause. It's not just there. The cameras cut to loyal citizens gathered in meeting places across the nation where they too applaud and cheer.
The Terrazzo lets out their own roars of applause, waving their rifles and fists into the air, myself included. If they just went back to their hovel in Twelve and made rugrats, none of this would've happened. They would still be alive and things would be normal again. Another wave from the President prompts a hush over the Avenue.
"I consider these to be the last of the casualties of this senseless 'rebellion'. Any other would be because of their shortsightedness. So, I say to the criminals still holed up stubbornly, put down your arms and face Capitol justice lest you and your families become blots on our nation's harrowed history. To our noble Peacekeepers, aspiring cadets and loyal militiamen who watch across the nation. On behalf of a grateful Capitol and country, we thank you for your dedication and sacrifice."
The Terrazzo lets out a light smatter of applause.
"The loss of President Coriolanus Snow and the concurring war hasn't allowed me to properly introduce myself. They say, rightfully so, that the presidency has the power to define Panem for decades to come. I am Egeria Choudhury and I plan on doing just that. Not just for the Capitol, but for each and every district and the loyal citizens within them."
We stand and listen as she gives us a brief speech about how "Her predecessor" and people of his generation have served their purpose and that it was time to "Progress Panem". And as an aspiring political officer, I soak in every word with glee. Imagine that, with even more participation how easy it'd be to go to the Capitol and take a seat at the Grand Assembly and eventually become a senator. But as I think this, part of my brain twitches in conflict.
You're volunteering for the Games, remember? So, none of her words really applies to you. It's lookin' like any potential Games are gonna be a tough one. You might not live to see this change but at least you'll take down a bunch of Rebs with you.
And just as I think about the Games, Marceline and Caesar appear back on screen.
"I for one look forward to President Choudury's Panem," Caesar says. "Like President Snow said, there are many a thing to be fixed in a home and President Choudhury is the woman to do it."
"So much change, so much potential! I'm excited!" Marceline gushes. She humbles herself, her thin lips growing into a wide grin as she turns to meet Caesar's gaze. "Speaking of excitement, Caesar, apparently you have an announcement of sorts?"
"Well, yes, but not before the president!" Caesar replies with a beaming smile as he turns to face the cameras. "Please return back to your holovisions for a mandatory viewing tomorrow at noon for a presidential address. After which, I'll be glad to fill all of you in on what I've been getting down to!"
"It's the Games." Domita says, her eyes glued to the screens. "They're gonna talk about the Games."
As our fellow cadets cheer all around us, my brows furrow as I begin to wonder about the upcoming address. What will it mean for the Games going forward? What will it mean for upholding my family legacy?
The upcoming announcement of the Games dominates my mind so much that I don't really much care about the "Victory Medals" they dole out to each cadet who aided in the War. I barely aided anyone at all. I was stuck in a hospital bed while people like Randall were killing off rebellious victors for Panem's sake.
I find myself playing with the medal pinned on my chest. This war wasn't my war, sadly.
After returning our rifles back to the vaults we're given a few hours of R&R, most of which is spent eating lunch and us girls, Domita and Bea, lounging around in our dorm until we were ordered to freshen up and report to the mess hall at nineteen hundred. Boys and girls together, we arrive as a platoon, joining the company as a whole as we begin to congregate before the mess entrance. Bea tries to peer through the glass into the mess, but it seems they shrouded the room with curtains to deter prying eyes.
"I wonder what the hubbub could be about." Bea wonders aloud. "I tried to pry but Callista wouldn't budge."
"Ain't it obvious?" Domita quips in reply. With a wolfish grinning, she rubs her hands together. "Mess hall equals food and I'm as hungry as a mutt."
A small smirk on his lips, Garrison adjusts his eyeglasses. "What's a momentous occasion like today without a nice supper to top it all off?"
I offer a slight grin. I agree with both of them. Mess food is decent, but healthiness takes priority. Only on holidays does it get marginally better. Now that we've won, I wonder how far they'll go to spoil us. I can't help but turn my attention to Randall, who's as quiet as a mouse.
I place a hand on my hip. He's been in his own world more often than not. We both have, haven't we?
Bea gets her answer when the doors swing open and the entirety of Beta Company pours into the expansive cafeteria. The mess always looked good, but now it looks really good. The room is Panemiana to the extreme even more than usual, gold and scarlet streamers, favors and balloons placed smartly throughout the room, the majority of the tables are folded away to reveal polished tiled floors. Callista captures our surprised reactions with her trusty camera.
"Oh wow Calli, you guys really outdid yourselves."
"The company council spent all R&R sprucing the place up!" she replies. "All the Halls are celebrating with their individual companies. I couldn't imagine celebrating as one student body on The Terrazzo or something."
"Ey, shut up for a sec n' gather around!"
We all move to the food table where the staff is situated. Sgt. Floris towers above us by standing on a desk.
"You may still be plebs, but you're well on your way to becoming half decent PKs. PK tradition dictates that when special occasions come, so do the drinks." She bounds down from the desk and heaves a giant jug onto the table filled with food. "None of you little shits are of age yet, so here's the posca, multiple flavors. It'll have to do."
We let out a cheer that rips through the mess hall. Anytime we wanted a dart or a swig of booze we had to go into town on a free day and snag some, hoping that the MPs don't catch us in the act. Getting the contraband onto campus is like trying to break into The Nut.
"Half of you guys fought a literal war a few months ago, so I hope you guys have enough brains to enjoy responsibly!" Lt. Vulkov says.
"Oh yea, and to the Neanderthals - I mean boys, If I get any reports of any frisky business, I'll cut your pricks off and nail 'em to the memorial wall." Sgt. Floris adds with a steely glare. In a rare show of friendliness, the Sergeant's glare melts into an incredulous look as she waves us away. "Now go fuckin' have fun n' quit starin' at us!"
Chattering with joy, everyone immediately rushes to the food table, where our meals are doled out by Peacekeeper cooks.
In Two, fitness never stops. Being better than your previous self never stops.
So when they pile my plate with beef, gravy, veggies and mash potatoes with a cake on the side, I devour it all and immediately go back for more. It's nice to let loose from dieting, despite knowing the spirit of Mom is cringing as I eat.
Just as I finish my second plate, I notice that Garrison and the rest of the AV club are setting up speakers and a hi-fi. He speaks with Domita, who fixes me one of her grins before she begins sauntering over to me with an electric fiddle in her hand.
"I know you ain't a bandie full time...but could you please play somethin'?" she pleads. "Before they put on that Capitol pop shit..."
"Hey!" Callista snaps, jutting a finger toward Domita. "Minnie LaFontaine isn't 'shit'!"
Domita rolls her eyes. "I mean there's only so much jazz and instrumentals they can play before they resort to 'top hits'."
Despite it all, the victory, Katniss getting hers, I still wasn't in the mood.
I begin to shake my head. "Domita..."
Callista makes a show of faux annoyance. "Play something, Rivendell!"
"Oh, could you please Zenny!" Bea gushes, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You play really good."
Dad was the physical disciplinarian for sure. He'd always take me out hunting and act as a coach for my PKMA. He made sure my skills were a sharp as a tack, no matter how much I was tired or cramping. Mom on the other hand was the brain disciplinarian. Unlike most rough-and-tumble Twos, she grew up under the wing of some Capitol-born matron. It wasn't enough to be a girl and hack it with the boys physically, but I still had to maintain my "womanly energy".
"It isn't' the job of a Panemian woman to copy a man but to complement them." She said to me often.
Music was one of those 'compliments'. Every year since fifth grade, music has been one of my electives. Besides being a typist, Mom dabbled with the musician subtrade as well. I guess her skill is in my blood as well.
I glance around the table, focusing squarely on Randall who grins warmly while gesturing to the audio system. I sigh, easing myself from off the chair I sit on.
"Alright...Where is it?" I ask.
"Right here waitin'," Domita replies while handing me the violin.
Ignoring the ball in my stomach, I study it. It's made of blue, translucent material and has five strings. I'm getting a lot of eyeballs my way but I ignore them too, instead, I begin to deftly rake the bow across the strings. I play "The Quarry Jig", the unofficial district anthem if we had one.
Without warning, Domita rushes over to Garrison and links her arms in his, dragging him to the dance floor. "C'mon Forge! Lets sweat off the meal, you n' me!"
That sets everything into motion. Whether they're 'just friends' or something more, pairs of cadets would take someone by the hand and push out to the dance floor. The Jig is a fast-paced tune, prompting everyone to either clap in rhythm, teeter front and back on their feet or do-si-do, transitioning from cadet to cadet.
Even I begin to teeter while raking my bow against the violin's strings, the pain of the last few months melting away if only for a moment. Even Randall seems to lighten up a tad, acting as my copy cat as we teeter toward and back from each other.
The good times continue through the night. The posca is flowing. Callista hosts a 'gong show' where we imitate members of Overwhill's staff without being smoked for it. The staff looks on of course, laughing along with the cadets. Apparently Garrison has it out for Sgt. Floris because he puts on an amazing display that has everyone in stitches. Who would've known that Beta Company's chief egghead had it in him?
"Just wait until our next PT session, Forge." Floris says the entirety of the company lets out a playful Oooh. "Not even Wilson can save you."
In moderation of course, I knock back a cup or two of blueberry posca. It makes my stomach warm and my brain calm. No longer do I think about that thing that happened, instead I watch as some of the cadets, Domita and Garrison in particular, slow dance to some Capitol love song. Randall is talking with the other boys, keeping his singular eye on me.
"You OK?" he mouths, nodding as I return the gesture. I wish this war didn't happen, so maybe he and I could share a dance without me feeling like jumping out of my skin.
And then there's Bea and Callista. I watch as they're joined at the hip, murmuring into each others' ears as they watch the other cadets rock to the music. I know they want to too, but that would cause more trouble than it's worth. I did get it, how they came to be like how Randall and I were. I still don't quite get it. People usually get mad when they see people like Bea and Callista, but they don't really know them. I think that's why I've gotten used to it - because I know them. Bea is a peach and Callista is as annoying as a tick but we like her all the same.
Callista leaves Bea's side, collects a jerrycan and one by one, collects the gang together. I watch as the five of them make their way towards me, each with posca-induced grins on their lips.
Callista gives the jerry a little shake. "Hey Riv, how about we take this party upstairs?"
I simply grin in response.
Getting back to our floor is simple enough. The staff and any MPs on duty were probably busy celebrating the victory too. We decide on using the rec room, the topmost floor of the Hall dedicated entirely to study or hanging with the buds. It commands a three hundred and sixty degree view of the Academy and tonight, the lights and views of the district are something else. With the rest of Naysmith Hall looking no-frills and military, the rec is the only place we're allowed to furnish to our hearts desire. Therefore the fittings are awash with color, the walls are decorated with the artistic pursuits of other cadets. It's no wonder a lot of us call it a "Portal to the Capitol" due to how gaudy we made it. We're in luck tonight too. The freshmen over in Overwhill Hall are setting off fireworks, prompting us to turn the sofas southward to see the pretty lights. Bea lifts her head from Callista's shoulder, her brown eyes shifting towards me before proceeding to scan the rest of the crew. She has a soft grin on her lips.
"The War changed all of you." She says.
We all stir at her words. Randy and I quit playing billiards and exchange the same, terse expressions. Even with my posca-influenced brain, the word 'War' makes me cringe. It makes the memories come back. Garrison stops nuzzling Domita's neck, nodding off towards Callista.
"Callista's the same old same old..." he mumbles with a drunken chuckle.
The posca causes all of us to cackle loudly at the weak joke, not to mention Callista's look of playful scorn.
"Remind me to never give Egghead the bottle ever again." She says, scowling at him. "It really opens him up. Why's that Bea?"
"Yea Bea," Domita adds, playfully headbutting Garrison as he continues to flirt with her. "Why has the War made us into men and women in your eyes?"
"I mean...I personally feel a million times more dedicated to my trade. There are so many hurt people out there, even here in the Academy. Seeing what I've seen, it's made me a better carer for sure." She nods toward Domita and Forge, who are on the verge of needing a room. "Garrison is pretty much out of his shell. I've never seen him so free!"
"Drinking copious amounts of hooch will do that, sweet." Callista replies, holding her gaze toward Domita and Garrison. She waves a hand towards them. "What the hell is this anyways?"
"It turns out I've always been kinda sweet on Garri." Domita admits, playing with the brown curls on top of his shaggy head. "The boys around here are too muscle-bound - too shallow...No offense, Pils."
"None taken," Randy replies, striking the cue ball and scoring an in-off. I'm not taking our game too seriously enough to care.
Domita pinches his cheeks. "Garri on the other hand...he's so deep. I've learned so much 'bout him, y'know?"
"Domita expresses...both our thoughts...precisely," Garrison says between hiccups. "Being there in a foxhole with a bunch of Rebels trying to kill us, who knows if I'd live to tell her? I also do believe, Bea, that the War has matured me a tad. I've seen and done things...I'm surer of myself and I have 'Mita to thank."
"I'm glad you can stand a little bit taller," Bea giggles. "Zenobia, you and I have talked, right?"
"Mhm..." I hum wearily in reply. I've sobered up a tad and with that comes the memories. I fear that she'll over share and I'll get caught up in my brain again. But instead, Bea simply grins sadly.
"Like I said, I've - we've - seen a lot of things..." She continues, knowing full well how I feel. "To be very honest, I wouldn't blame you if you...quit. But you haven't quit! And that makes me so happy! Even though I can't y'know...feel your pain, I think it'll make you a better Peacekeeper and person."
I smile. "Thank you, Bea."
"And then there's Randy!" Bea chirps, cupping her hands at her thighs. "I could write a story about you-"
"Well don't, Bea." Randall's voice is curt, and dare I say downright rude. He knows this, his cold expression morphing into one of regret as he smiles sadly. "I'm just a cadet in an army of hundreds of thousands. Plenty of people more worthy of praise..."
"You sell yourself short," Bea replies with a sad frown. She gestures around the room, her glass of posca sloshing as she raises her arms in the air. "I'll just say that I think I speak for everybody when I say I'm so proud of you!"
It gets awfully quiet after that. The billiards game is all but abandoned. Instead, we continue to watch the fireworks from our commanding view. Bea and Callista, Domita and Garrison are lounging in each others' embrace while I take the armchair. Feeling a tad bit jealous, I invite Randall to take a seat by patting the space beside me.
"I don't take up much room. You could fit..." I say with the slightest of grins on my lips.
He shakes his head, prompting me to frown. He hasn't sat down since we got up here, despite our asking him to multiple times. Moments later, he decides to leave without a word.
Exchanging weary glances with the others, I decide to follow him.
"Knock knock..." I chime playfully, tapping on the heavy door. "I am Officer Cadet Rivendell, one four nine five three, wishing to speak to Squad Leader Pilsner to offer moral support!"
Randy looks about ready for bed, his singular eye droopy, his beret discarded onto his dresser and his tunic unbuttoned. A cup of posca also sits on his dresser. He lifts his head, grinning upon seeing me.
"Permission granted." He replies.
Still holding his gaze, I push the door shut, removing my hands from the doorknob and placing them to my front as I saunter towards his bunk. I sit down, smoothing my skirts as my knees angle towards his. He offers me his glass and I gingerly accept, enjoying the buzz posca tends to give.
"So I guess I wasn't the only one afraid that Bea will bring back the demons?" I say, handing him back the glass.
"Nope," he replies, popping the 'pe'. "Shit...I know she means well, but I'm tired of everyone heaping their praise on me."
"You fought a victor one-on-one and lived to tell the tale." I say, unsure of why he wouldn't want the attention. "She was a traitor at that, so you did Two a favor-"
He jostles his head from side to side. "Yeah, well..."
"I've read the papers - including Callista's piece on you. You've barely said a thing about...it," I inch myself a little bit closer to him. "Would you like to talk about it?"
He goes quiet for a minute, downing the rest of the posca. "It happened during the counterattack...The administrative center was surrounded. All we had to do was eat away at them until there was nothing left."
I offer my undivided attention to Randy as he goes over his part of the War from start to finish. He was there when Thirteen sent troops to take the Academy. When they warded off the attack and the Commandant asked for volunteers to join the main body in taking the city, he jumped to offer a hand, alongside dozens of other cadets. It turns out that besides Lyme Rabe, he'd killed about twelve Rebel troops by distanced firefights.
"It's not them. I don't care for people who execute Peacekeepers or bomb innocents." He says.
And then, as he and his unit fought through the city, he happened by Commander Lyme, who happened to be using the Capitol liaison building as a command post. It was at this point she was on her last legs. Her troops were fleeing, causing her to be isolated. The command post doubled as a machine gun nest, so a lot of people were killed or wounded trying to maneuver through the area. That's where Randall came in.
"The sergeant ordered me and Holloway to take the nest, so we did." He says. "You remember Holloway right?"
"Yea, I remember Holloway, yeah." I reply. He was a black boy with glasses. Pleasantly awkward but capable.
"Yeah, well, he was killed." Randall grumbles. "By her no less."
He goes on to describe hustling up the stairs with Holloway. Just as they were about to breach the nest, Holloway was shot through the walls, prompting Randy to take cover and return fire. Hearing the pained cries of the Rebels inside, he barged into the room and slipped on the blood that coated the floor. That's when he came face to face with Lyme, who would've gunned him down if her rifle didn't jam. Randy forgot to reload. He then describes the violent melee that takes place. Despite her victorhood, Randall gets the upper hand. Lyme being desperate thumbs his eye, causing him to lose it. Randall gets his revenge, both for his eye and Holloway, by stabbing her to death. He still has the knife, pulling open his drawer to show me it.
"People call me a hero and pin medals to my chest," He continues. "But it's people like Holloway and all the other guys who didn't make it back who deserve the medals. My dad says leadership is the heaviest weight a troop can carry. Yeah, well I'm feelin' the weight alright and I dropped it."
I scoot closer, close enough so that my knees brush against his.
"You didn't drop it," I soothe. "One part of being a leader is caring for the guys under your watch. People die in War. Look at my story." I purse my lips, shrugging. "It happens. The medals and the praise are just proof of your struggle. I mean, since we've started school you've been doing a bang-up job as squad leader. You'll do an even better job as a platoon leader...a company commander...and then head or beyond."
A shy grin begins to form on Randall's lips. "That means a lot Zenny, comin' from you. Thanks."
We spend a minute in comfortable silence before I clear my throat.
"Can I see?" I ask, pointing meekly towards his eyepatch. Randall shrugs as without another word, he peels off the eyepatch, revealing the wound. My breath hitches at the sight. It was completely enucleated, leaving only flesh covered by a plastic material.
"Why didn't they give you a prosthetic?" I ask.
Randall opens his drawer to retrieve a fake eye, just like his old one. "They did. I'm allowed to let it breathe and besides..." he wobbles his head back and forth. "I thought the eyepatch made me look tougher."
We exchange a brief cackle. Since when did Randall care about his image that much?
"What? I mean...the staff tells me I look like a badass all the time."
"I mean...you're not wrong." I say, clutching his strong jaw with my hand. I scoot as close as I can and lift myself upward to line up my lips to the side of his eye, taking in a hint of aftershave as I inch ever closer. "I think you look handsome with it. Like a one-eyed Kaiser Neumann."
I plant a kiss against his head, marking him with my lipstick. I ease myself back down and take in his startled expression. I don't object as he takes me by the hands, caressing them. Is touch supposed to be that warm? I'm not sure if it's the posca, but as I gaze into his eyes I feel as if everything is at a standstill. What'll happen next?
"Zen...what are we?" he asks.
My heart thumps a mile a second. With a wry grin I lift my left hand, showcasing the promise ring he gifted me.
"I still have my promise ring, don't I?" I say.
Even though the War tested us hard, he's my guy and I'm his gal. This - me and him here in this room one-on-one, was a meeting way overdue.
He moves forward to kiss me, pressing his mouth against my own.
His movement is abrupt. I assume because of how fast he goes for it, he's been thinking about us for the longest while. I don't blame him. It's because of me - because I kept my distance. Maybe if I opened up more, I wouldn't be struggling with...everything.
The taste of posca in my mouth is amplified by his lips pressing against mine and then the flickering of his tongue against my lower lip. It's the tongue that gets me. Randall's always been a 'good' boy, even in our prior sessions. It was always light pecks and loving embraces.
When he parts, I push myself forward to kiss him. Our lips locking tight, we grip at one another's collars and jaws until we maneuver each other onto his bed proper. At first, there's a blossoming warmth in my chest, what, with our bodies coiled together, his hand raking gently through my hair and then along my cheek. And now, my hands fall flat to my sides and I find myself bristling at Randall's roaming hands.
"Now if you move...I'll do you a whole lot worse than a bruised ego."
That blossoming warmth is now an uncomfortable hotness that's rendered me short of breath. I turn my cheek as Randall continues to press kisses down my neck.
"Hey...Randy...?"
Is he not hearing me, seeing me? He fumbles with the buttons of my blouse as I fight to keep them closed. I must not be fighting hard enough because he just keeps going! There's a ball in my throat and the road is becoming clear as day in my head.
"Randy...I'm-" My blouse unbuttoned, his hands roam from my breasts to my hips. Or was it their hands? I feel the air tickle at my legs as his hand drifts along the length of my thigh, drifting too close for comfort, bunching up my skirt. I clamp my legs while my hands immediately fly down to the space in between in an attempt to the hands away. "Randall."
I see them now, Dixen and Shadd, eyeing me with their sneers while they chuckle and adjust their trousers.
"Get off of me!" I shriek, flailing out as hard as I can. Randall cries out, lurching upright as he clutches his eye wound. His head craning downward, he pats down the wound for blood. He lifts his head upward, his remaining eye bulging with shock. Panting heavily, we watch one another for seconds before he realizes. It's then that his expression shifts into one of deep concern. He extends a hand toward my shoulder.
"O-Oh jeez, Riv...A-Are you alright?"
I shrug off the hand as if it were a bug, which causes him to frown deeper. I want to soothe him, tell him that I'm fine, but I can't. I don't deserve him. The adrenaline is leaving my system quickly. All I want to do right now is leave. I slip off the bed, fumbling with my blouse in an attempt to look somewhat presentable.
"I'm sorry...I-I uh..." I'm hit with a wave of nausea, prompting me to rush out the dorm without another word. I bound down the hallway, pushing past Bea and Callista as I barge into our dorm, drop to my knees and empty the contents of my stomach into the garbage can. Just when I think I'm through, images of Dad's head, Paulus' battered body and Mom's empty gaze have me head-deep in my own vomit once again.
I feel hands pulling my hair back and I don't fight back. I'm too weak to. Those hands belong to Bea, who remains in my peripherals.
"Zen, are you okay?" she asks firmly, the tipsy Bea is all but gone and replaced with the firm Company Mother. "What happened to your clothes?"
I don't answer. Instead I turn my head towards the doorway where Callista wards off our fellow classmates who peer in to see the scene I've created.
Look at me. Look at how weak I am. I have everyone looking at me like I'm some sort of fool.
After the other cadets are warded off, Bea snaps into her medical role, ordering Callista to watch over me while she leaves temporarily. Bea returns, her serious edge replaced with a calm expression as she helps me onto my bunk, eases me out of my flats and dabs away my tears with a tissue. Callista and our dorm mates gather around us with concern on their faces.
"Does she need anything else, tea...?" Callista asks.
"I have meds if she needs them," Helga adds.
"No," Bea replies. "All she needs is some confirmation. Go to ground, it's getting late and we have assembly in the morning."
A chorus of "Good night, Riv" rings out throughout the room as Callista hits the lights. Bea shrouds my bunk with the privacy curtain and activates the overhead nightlight, guiding me gently to the comfortable mattress. She lies alongside me, keeping her distance, while caressing my shoulder.
"You're among friends who love you for you," she soothes. "Those people, those gutless sacks of shit who hurt you, are dead. They can't hurt you anymore. You being here alive and well is a big achievement. A lot of people would have given up, but you haven't. Because Zenobia isn't a quitter. Don't let those people rule you, focus on your goals. You're still here for a reason..."
At first my body remains rigid to her touches. But as Bea continues to smooth down my hair and whisper into my ear with her pleasant tone, I can't help but release all my tension and drift away into sleep.
For once in months, I never wake up to an abandoned highway half naked and surrounded by my dead family.
When I wake up for reveille the next morning, I give Bea a gargantuan hug.
"Thank you, thank you so much," I croak through tears.
She doesn't reply, instead she intensifies the hug and rubs her cheek against mine.
The auditorium in Naysmith Hall is huge. A wood-paneled room that spans two floors, it's made to house all three hundred students and staff of Alpha and Beta Company. Overwhill Hall has the same setup. As we enter the auditorium proper, I can't help but stare at the portraits of President Choudhury and Vice President DeWynter that hang above the mouth of the stage with an emblem of Panem separating them. Being a part of 2nd Platoon, we sit in the middle row of seats on the rightmost portion of the theater.
The Academy is still riding the high of our recent victory, so the staff isn't enforcing our usual military precision. Otherwise the entire company would be seated already, triple checking our numbers to ensure we're all present. Still, Callista, Bea and I are early, so we get to settle in and watch cadets from both companies trickle in as the clock ticks closer to twelve o'clock. Within an earshot, I could already tell that it wasn't just me who was anticipating what the President is going to address us about.
"They're probably gonna do an all-adults quell." One cadet says.
"Y'think?" replies another.
"Yeah, all the rebel commanders. That'd be a treat."
"I think that'd be too easy. They're probably gonna reap their kids first."
Bea turns to me. "What do you think, Zenny?"
"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. My stomach is in binds for more reasons than one. "I'm just ready to hear what the President has to say."
The trickle of cadets turns into a steady stream, causing the auditorium to grow louder by the second. We spot Garrison among the crowd of those entering. I couldn't help but notice how he stands taller, how instead of a resting expression, he grins like an idiot. Bea flags him down by waving, causing him to wave back and then immediately cover his neck while he makes his way to our row. Before he breezes by, Callista grabs him by the tunic, dragging him down to the empty seat beside her. Like a turtle, his shoulders are raised to his neck while his hands continue to serve as a protective cover.
"H-Hey, Ryder, stop-"
"You look like an idiot, what are you hidin - oh?!" Callista stifles a guffaw, Bea's mouth forms a perfect 'o' and all I can do is cover my mouth.
Garrison's neck is plastered with purple welts that contrast with his pale skin. I catch my giggle as he shrugs himself away from Callista's gasp, causing her to turn around and shoot us an incredulous look.
Bea can't hold her giggles. "Oh me, oh my..."
"So eggheads can get some..." Callista reclines back in her seat, nodding to herself. "News to me."
"Where's Domita?" I ask aloud. She wasn't in bed for morning reveille, the only time staff decided not to take roll call. Speaking of the devil, Domita enters the auditorium, a million times more sprier than usual. Her eyes remain focused squarely on Garrison as she weaves past slower cadets and makes her way to our row.
"Cadet Wilson," Callista jeers with faux indignation. "I always knew you were one to balk rules and regulation but-"
"Yeah, mhm, move move move, scoot." Domita is having none of it, even going as far as to forcibly lift Callista from off her seat and sit next to Garrison, who flushes beet red as she places a hand on his wrist.
Callista raises her hands in surrender. "Gee, so much change happening at once... I can't keep up."
I turn my attention back to the doors, my breath hitching as I see Randall enter, chatting amicably with his other guy friends. I grip the armrests when he eyes us - eyes me. He knows that every assembly gathering, this would be our usual spot. I immediately think back to last night's disaster. It wasn't his fault, it was mine. If he chooses to sit here, I'd tell him that straight up. I owe it to him.
I tentatively wave towards him and find myself relieved a million times over when he waves back. He doesn't sit with us though, and I don't blame him, I've changed. I'm surprised they continue to stick by me despite the many times I seem to shut down, randomly bursting into tears or retreating into my brain.
An NCO calls for everyone to shut up as another member of staff shuts the door and the lights are dimmed. We all turn our attention to the gargantuan holoscreen that takes up the entirety of the stage. There's no banter with Caesar and Marceline, thank the gods. The screen displays the Capitol's seal, as well as the playing of both Gem of Panem and Horn of Plenty combined before cutting to the President's office.
President Choudhury, elegant as ever, sits behind the marble desk President Snow often spoke behind when the War was at its peak.
"Good afternoon, people of Panem," she greets, inclining her head. "I'm so especially glad to inform you all that despite the stubborn protestations of a select few, Panem is indeed enjoying the peace that comes with the war's conclusion. Supply chains are being mended, those loyal to Panem are being selected to lead you, infrastructure is being built back and people are slowly continuing the lives they paused roughly two years ago.
I understand that for some, the change doesn't seem to be happening fast enough in their region. You only have your neighbors to blame. I personally encourage those loyal to Capitol and country to report citizens who think they could work to tear down all that we worked so hard for and return to normal life without consequence. We can ill-afford another generation of criminals being taught to hate the hand that feeds them, secures them.
Speaking of generations, this brings me to the next portion of my address to you."
Collectively, we all lean forward towards the holoscreen.
"For the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that it was you - the rebels - that initiated violence, every district was made to host an election to decide their tributes.
For the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that for Capitol dead, rebel dead was twofold, twice the amount of tributes would be reaped..."
What this woman was about to say sounds like we're about to have a Games of Quell-like proportions. The entire auditorium is on the edge of their seats, the murmurs increasing tenfold.
"For the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that not even the strongest of the rebels could overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes would be chosen from the pool of victors in each district. As sorrowful as that was, we all have a role to play in ensuring Panem remains prosperous - victors included. Instead of doing their part, they who shall not be named conspired to sabotage the Games and ignite the flames of war that would burn Panem to the ground. The Capitol, aided by those who believe in peace and normalcy, prevailed before this could fully transpire, which leads us to this very moment.
We have a generation of misguided youth, many of which were directly involved alongside their parents in attempting to tear this grand nation apart. As we've seen with their elders, this cannot be. For the seventy-sixth anniversary onward, in order to rid Panem of this insurgent generation, four times the amount of tributes will be selected for a given Games. Four girls and four boys will be selected per district for a total of ninety-six tributes and there will be no volunteers."
The murmurs explode into full-fledged conversation in response to the President's words. What's funny is the fact that President Choudhury remains silent, as if allowing her words to truly sink in.
"See, I told you they were coming for their kids," Callista says triumphantly with her shrill voice. "I told you!"
A black girl, Temple, cranes her head back from her seat in front of us. "I mean, it makes sense..."
"Yeah, but what about us?" another cadet by the name of Kurtz says, sitting beside Temple.
Garrison pushes his glasses further onto his face. "There's more to the Academy than the Games."
"Technically, it's water off our backs." Bea says, motioning her hands as if she were reasoning with us. "Let's be realistic, its two people out of a district population of nearly a million people. A lot of people leave here jaded every year."
Domita snorts. "Now I really feel bad for any kid who waved the three fingers this past year."
I recline back in my seat, sighing as my back impacts with the cushion. Six times the tributes, no volunteers. No volunteers. I can feel the eyes of Bea and Domita on me but I don't pay them any mind. I snort, removing my eyes from the holovision screen and focusing them toward the ceiling. I can't believe this, this is muttshit! What about us, the Academy?
"Alright, shut the fuck up!" Sergeant Floris snaps, prompting all conversation to cease. "Boo hoo, its okay to be basic pleb like the rest of us and not a victor, get over it!"
I shake my head in utter disbelief. No, it's not 'okay' to be 'basic', not as I currently am! I can't carry the name the way it is now, damaged by tragedy and my own lack of action. I only have this year and the next and if they don't change the rules, I'll be stuck like this and I don't think I could live with the shame if I can't make this right.
"I'm sure that many of you are uproar at this very moment, but this punishment is necessary in order for us to safeguard our future, now more than ever. Those designated as in the newly-reformed reaping pool should be informed by the week's end. Reaping Day is designated for the sixth of November. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor. Good day to you all."
Bea places a hand on my shoulder, her mud brown eyes warm as usual. "There are other ways, Zenny."
I frown. "I'm sorry, Bea?"
"There are other ways to make this work," she explains. "The Games aren't the end all be all for you. If you really apply yourself to your trade, I'm sure you can make good by your family that way..."
I never usually tune Bea out, but I do now. I toss out all her other words and focus on a select few - "There are other ways".
Coming up Next...
We take a break from Zenobia and view events from another consequential character.