Chapter Fifteen - "Her Big Debut"
I nearly jump out of my armchair when the Trio enters the room. Somehow, I managed to drift away sat here in Viondra's room instead of in the comfort of my own bed. Mars and Juniper lay by my feet and Viondra lies sprawled over her bed like a starfish. The Trio croons about the interviews tonight and wanting everything to be "perfect", and urge me to get into beauty base zero now so that the "real work" will be a breeze.
A quick glance at the clock on the holovision says eleven on the dot. I can't help but feel embarrassed and annoyed at the timing. On any given day back in 2 I would be up at five doing PT. This whole Games thing has thrown me off schedule.
They whisk me away for a quick bite to eat, releasing me to bathe afterward before returning myself back to them so they could again exfoliate, manicure, pedicure and coif me to perfection. Before they could put the finishing touches on my hair, my usual bob with a side part, I insist on doing it.
"Are you sure?" asks Amir, handing me the mahogany brush.
"I'm positive." I reply, moving toward the wide, portable mirror to get a closer look. Mom's behind me, watching my every move with those dark, critical eyes of hers. I hate when she does this. Everything has to be as pristine as Snow's roses with her. But hey, it's made me into who I am so...
"Remember," Mom recites, index finger in the air for extra emphasis. "A hundred times on each side-"
"A hundred times on each side." I recite alongside her, rolling my eyes. "Yes Mom, I know."
"Just making sure..." she drawls, her impassive expression morphing into the slightest of grins. "You're handling this etiquette thing better than I thought."
I snort. "I learned from the best, didn't I? Everyone will see what a good, all-Panemian girl you raised."
Mom places her hands on both of my shoulders. "They sure will. Can't say I approve of these 'stylists' though."
My eyes flicker to my right hand side, taking in the confused expressions of Amir and Wyatt. Slightly annoyed, I let the brush dangle by my side and give my head a subtle shake.
"Is something wrong?" I ask, slightly annoyed by their gawking.
Amir exchanges looks with Wyatt. "Did you say something just now-?"
"No?"
The duo nod slowly. I hate the way they look at each other. "Okay," says Wyatt. "If you're done, we can do a mock interview before we dress you up!"
Having been drilled since yesterday today seems to be mostly about ironing out the kinks. The accent in place, no slouching, walk as you would normally walk instead of focusing half on the audience and half on Caesar - prevents tripping. The line of questioning, however, I'm not sure how I'm going to face Panem and answer them. In fact, the more time drifts closer to the event; I can't help but feel my stomach tie into knots. The Academy will be watching, the guys will be watching, and I'll have to spill my guts to everyone.
Regardless of my discomfort, Amir doesn't hold back, prying into ever single detail of my life while Wyatt plays the role of the eager audience.
"So, Zenobia..." Amir says with the confidence of a master of ceremonies. "Could you please explain to us what happened in regards to your family?"
Even if it's a mock interview, I can't help but feel harassed. My blood runs hot and the imagery of that morning is coming back again.
"No scowling!" Amir chides. "Remember, you need to play the 'model citizen'-"
"Which she is-" Wyatt interjects with a waggling finger and a smile.
Amir relents, gesturing towards me as he adds, "Which you are. Caesar is most definitely your friend, so there's no need to put up walls, Zenobia."
I cross my arms. "Is he really going to ask that and do I really need to answer that in front of the entirety of Panem?"
I already know the answer. Caesar and his "little birdie" know everything from your great great grandparents to what you ate the night before. I understand that I'm on the world's tallest pedestal but does everyone need to know my life story?
Amir frowns while nodding. "Unfortunately...yes."
"Remember, no one knows anything about you!" Wyatt says. "Viondra's been dropping hints left and right but today is when everyone and I mean everyone will be tuning in to hear your story. People are going to want to know everything about you from A to Z."
When I make no move to answer the question, trying to think about anything but that December, Amir places a gentle hand on my knee.
"Viondra told us snippets." He says.
"If the news footage was as bad as it looked, we can't imagine how bad the War must've treated you," Adds Wyatt.
Amir takes me by the hands, caressing them. "You don't need to spill your guts out to us-"
"And to be honest...I'd rather hear it with everyone else, tonight," Says Wyatt, prompting an eager nod from Amir.
I offer them a small grin and begin to offer my thanks only for Fletcher to enter the room, squealing as he takes me by the hands and props me onto my two feet. Behind him, two Avoxes wheel in a rack with a two garment bags hooked onto it. Amir and Wyatt exclaim with joy at the sight.
"Guess what time it is?!" Fletcher chimes. "Dress time!"
"I look forward to see what you guys cooked up." I say, smiling sheepishly as they exclaim with glee, Fletcher throwing his arms around the shoulders of his buddies.
They tell me to change into the underwear before they come in and help me with the rest. So, I start with that. They're black, lacy things accompanied with a garter belt and stockings. As I secure the stockings to the garters I get a bad taste in my mouth, recalling all the outfits Career girls have been put in to highlight their bodies. In a Games hell-bent on punishing its contestants, they wouldn't' go ahead in making me the next Cashmere Ritchson, would they?
I tell them I'm ready, closing my eyes when Fletcher chirps for me to do so. I allow them to take me by the hands, presumably to escort me in front of the wide mirror. They raise my hands into the air and I feel the soft fabric of the dress be fastened over my frame.
"Okay..." Fletcher trills over the bashful squeals of Amir and Wyatt. "Open open open!"
I do as I'm told, my chest running warm as I look over the Trio's work in absolute awe.
"As you may have noticed with our threads, we're tired of the busy look that's been dominating the scene."
Wyatt lists them, counting them out on his manicured fingers. "Overly-padded shoulders, ruffles, gauche make up, peplum dresses, tattoos..."
As if their brains were all synced up, they glance at one another all at the same time with looks of utter disgust on their faces.
"The wigs!" they chime in unison, bursting into a fit of giggles. It's then that I assume that they have explanations for all their pieces, which is why they're so quick to add onto one another's sentences. Still, I can't help but grin softly.
"What we're trying to say is..." Fletcher continues, coming down from his laughing fit. "Is the fact that with the War ending, and the change coming with it, Amir, Wyatt and I believe that we can be a part of that. And now that we have the privilege of having you as our muse...well, you can be our change agent!"
"Eccentric kitsch is dead," Says Wyatt.
"Bring on tasteful minimalism!" Amir beams as he takes me by the hand and slowly twirls me.
Fletcher places his hands on my bare shoulders, joining me in regarding my reflection in the wide mirror. "So...what do you think, Zen?"
The first thing that stands out in my eyes is the bluish green of the dress. I like to think it matches my eyes and contrasts with my hair. Two golden stripes streak across the dress - one diagonally across my breasts to the left side and other that swoops down to my right knee. My fears of being treated like a piece of meat from District 1 are quashed when I notice the conservative slits and angles at the hem of the dress.
And then there's the top of the dress. It's sleeveless with a high collar that splits partway to expose some of my throat. Paulus claps me on the shoulder, nodding proudly while trying to suppress the grin on his lips.
"Lookin' like a victor, Zen," he says.
"Wonder what you'd look like," I reply.
To my right, Fletcher frowns. "...I'm sorry, Zenobia?"
"I said you guys did a bang up job." I reply finally, allowing a few seconds respite as they gently clap. "For a second, I thought you were going to..."
Dress me up like some whore. I've seen how the men in the audience look over female tributes like pieces of meat.
"After the chariot ceremony, of course not!" Wyatt replies. "Viondra would sic Mars and Juniper on us."
"We're fully aware of your sensitivities, Zenobia," adds Amir. "We would never make you uncomfortable!"
"We're not done yet, Zen," Says Fletcher. "As you may already know, the stupid Rebels have their ugly mockingjay pin while we loyal citizens have the Talons and Arrows."
I stand still while Fletcher fastens the crimson necktie under my collar. Securing it all together is a golden cameo in the image of Panem's national emblem. They also give me a short, white cardigan with the same bluish-green tips to contrast.
"Are you ready to make your debut properly this time?" he asks.
I sigh, shrugging. "Ready as I'll I ever be."
"I don't think I'm ready." Is the first thing Syndra says to me. Her face contorts into a frown, as if realizing something, before placing a gentle hand on mine. "I'm sorry Zenobia, where are my manners? You look absolutely sublime."
"Thanks."
Her red, glossy lips part into a smile. "Don't mention it...Your hair, the dress, the cameo...bravo."
Before leaving with One's Escort, Viondra was nice enough to invite Syndra over before our big evening with Caesar. Of course with such a big night ahead of us, we're both a bit jittery. Not even a cup of posca each helps in easing the knots in our stomachs. My Capitol acquaintance has a nervous habit of bouncing her knee. I attempt to stave off my anxiety by watching the news footage of all the Capitol bigwigs descending onto the Training Center. Dozens of limousines pull onto the curb choked with the press and Games 'Junkies' alike. Politicians, gamemakers, actors and magnates would walk the red carpet and enter the round lobby only to be interviewed by Marceline Devereaux.
"Minister, who are you looking forward to hearing from this evening?"
"Mr. Nguyen, I know they aren't the most loveable bunch of tributes, but who do you like most?"
"Ms. Lafontaine - or should I say Mrs. McKenzie?! What are you looking forward to tonight?"
No matter who she corners, the answer is almost always the same.
"Ms. Spitfire of course!"
"That Rivendell girl!"
"Zenobia!"
Throughout it all, I notice that Syndra fair skin has blanched into a sickly pale shade. I kind of wondered what my allies thought of my fame. They probably think they have zero chance deep down.
"You look nice too," I complement, gesturing to her brown skirt suit. The very last thing I need is to get rubbed out by some Capitolite who's starting to realize that her time is nigh and I'm the girl to beat. Though something tells me that she knows this, but isn't stupid enough to get rid of me because she knows that I'm her ticket to life.
"Thank you. It's very business-like...which I like," she answers, fidgeting with the garment. "Anywho...It's just that with the day in question coming so close and my family a-and the rebellion...I spent a lot of time thinking about my predicament-"
"And you're not wrong for doing that," I point out. "These are the Games, after all. At the end of the day, no one will care for you except you."
"Right, right...You're right." She sighs, but my words don't seem to calm her much. From her sorrowful expression, comes a look of slight confusion. "Did something happen to your voice?"
"Viondra gave me vocal lessons to make me sound clearer," I answer in a chipper tone. "Do I sound good?"
Syndra stifles a guffaw. "You sound like a transplant."
I frown slightly. "A transplant?"
"Yes," she replies. "They're people who have permits to reside here. Being around us all the time, I guess our tone just rubs off. Like District 1 people! I know plenty of Ones who speak like us."
I tilt my head to the side. "Like Serene Westenfluss and Kaiser Neumann?"
"Exactly," she answers.
I allow myself a satisfied grin. "Then I guess I'm right on target."
Just as she grins and hums in agreement, the elevator doors hiss open revealing Viondra's trusted Sergeant and a woman with a datapad. It's time to face the music.
The stagehands sequester us in a lounge of sorts. There were platters of food and a person manning the bar, but we weren't allowed to partake. After a few minutes of lounging, we're marched through a series of halls and onto the stage under a hail of jeers and abuse. And because the theater is indoors, the audiences' shrieks are amplified to a million. They're so loud I can feel my ears pop as I enter the room proper. There is no jovial music to accompany us as per usual, with these being a punishment Games after all.
However, through the booing I notice a slight pause and with it a flurry of murmurs. Some are about me no doubt, because as I'm escorted along with my district 'partners', I crane my head toward the audience and notice about a hundred eyes focused squarely on me with the front row being especially noticeable. I see no signs of Viondra and the Boys as the stagehands usher me to a sofa on the tier closest to the main platform.
Assuming they didn't have time to fix things up since the War reached fever pitch, the multiple-tier stage of HG 75 is our venue this evening. There are no flashy graphics like last time. Instead, everything is a neutral silver with white lights to underline. I'm surprised they were nice enough to supply sofas for each district to sit on while we wait to be interviewed. On the bottommost platform are a white loveseat and a single sofa where I imagine our host will drill us.
The Dixen's get their own sofa. Slate and Lucas Shadd pair up as do Rabe and Gibbs.
Eldwyn sits next to me, all gussied up in a three-piece charcoal suit with black accessories - tie, shoes and pocket square. Like the others, he too gawks at me like I have a spear through my chest. I quickly remember that I don't room with these people, meaning that my score of twelve is probably fresh in their minds. I wonder how many plots are being formed against me right now?
"Tell me," I ask him when the booing of the crowd dies down. "Am I the mutt's roar over there?"
"You already know the answer t'that," he snips back in reply, his brow furrowing when he asks me, "What the hells is up with your voice?"
I don't answer, instead focusing on the main platform as Caesar's name is announced. Again there is no triumphant brass ensemble or roaring audience to accompany it. Instead, the Master of Ceremonies enters to steady applause, offering a bow and a pearly smile. To further bring it home that this year was the bipolar opposite of past years, Caesar is not dressed in his typical colorful suit. Black and gold for last year, sparkling blue for the year before that. He now wears a subdued grey double-breasted suit, dying his hair and brows the same, with two-toned shoes. As he turns around to get a glimpse of us, I notice on his lapel our nation's emblem - the Loyalists' answer to the mockingjay pin.
"Thank you, thank you everyone for your warm welcome." Caesar croons with a warm chuckle. "Long time no see, hmm? I almost thought we'd never see each other again!"
The crowd bursts into a laughing fit. I spare a quick glance around the tiers. The tributes around me are stone-faced.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I had to..." he continues, shrugging. "Allow me to welcome you to the Seventy-Sixth Annual Hunger Games!"
The crowd begins to cheer and applaud, only for Caesar to cut them short with a wave.
"I'm sorry to cut the cheering short, folks," He explains. "I wish that we could celebrate in earnest this sacred event, however recent happenings have put a...damper on things. The majority of the tributes here this evening are not worthy of the title, given their direct involvement in the period of tragedy we just endured...and overcame."
The crowd murmurs in supposed agreement. I notice many nodding heads among them.
"So, like the loudspeakers said prior, don't clap, don't cheer, for these radicals and murderers don't deserve our admiration. Instead, allow me to sit down with them and figure out what compelled them to join the band of radicals that nearly tore generations of progress asunder. But first, please join me in standing for our nation's anthem followed by a moment of silence for those lost - from loved ones to noble Peacekeepers and loyalists and everyone in-between."
With hands over their emblem pins, the audience stands when the opening flourish of the anthem begins to play. I immediately rise out of my seat and join them, watching from the corner of my eye as Eldwyn lets out a labored sigh and joins me. A good majority of the tributes do as well - and not out of loyalty, I imagine. Rabe and Gibbs are the odd people out and I imagine a few others too, like Rief and Esmeralda though I don't bother to look.
"Thank you. Please, find your seats." Caesar says. "It's because of the brave heeding the Capitol's call why we continue to endure."
Caesar gives a few shoutouts to Peacekeepers and loyalists in the crowd who were given tickets due to their actions during the War. One that catches my attention the most is an eleven-year-old Capitolite boy by the name of Othello who saved many of his neighbors following a hovercraft crashing into his tenement building in the middle of the night. He better the better part of an hour running up and down the halls that weren't engulfed getting the elderly safely out of the building.
With the recognitions done, Caesar starts with District 1 as Spinel prances down the steps toward Caesar in a ruffled bubblegum pink dress. I think it's fitting, seeing how much of a basketcase she is. I wonder, due to her score and weapons proficiency, if she's putting on a front.
"Spinel," Caesar begins, eyeing the weary audience before returning his attention back to her. "You're garnering quite the speculation these days."
"So I hear..." she trills back in reply, shrugging. "I don't know why that is though."
"Well, records show that you were a participant in this war, but no one knows what for." Caesar presses. He crosses one leg over the other. "Care to tell us what you've been up to these past two or so years?"
"Oh you know..." Spinel begins, only to burst into laughter. "Hmm...I'm sorry..."
Oddly enough, Caesar is unperturbed. "...What's so funny?"
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry," she swallows, cupping her hands as she grins. "Let's just say...I'm a seeker of information, see?"
"A seeker of information." Caesar repeats, reclining back in his chair. "So you're a spy?"
"No, no." Spinel replies, breaking out into giggles. "I'm more...proactive when it comes to getting what I need."
"Right..."Caesar chuckles dryly, all while the audience murmurs in confusion. I'm glad I'm not the only one who sees her as a total loon. "How do you like the Capitol, all things considered?"
Inclining her head, Spinel casts him an incredulous look. "Really, Caesar...? After spending all my time handcuffed and corralled-"
Caesar shrugs, his expression impassive. "All things considered. I mean, we could've just executed you all on the spot or shipped you off to the arena with no pretense..."
"Well, all things considered..." Spinel mocks, "I have to deal with grouchy Peacekillers - oh, I mean keepers, sorry - I'm locked up like a zoo animal and I'm surrounded by people who keep offing themselves! So yeah, all things considered, things are going peachy right now! Just peachy, thanks!"
The rest of the interview has Caesar sparring with Spinel. The girl never gives full answers as to the competition or her chances in the Games.
"You guys want a good Hunger Games? I'll give you a good Hunger Games." She says. "It's gonna be a helluva show."
Spinel's time in the limelight was the only interview reminiscent of a typical One tribute. The other four tributes were lackluster. They aren't so much fighters, but relatives of those who kept the rebel network afloat. The juiciest of them, one of their males by the name of Karat Alvarado, had relatives who poisoned members of loyalists houses. He swears up and down that his side of the family has nothing to do with the rash of poisonings.
And then it's Syndra's turn. When her name is called, she offers me a weak smile which I return with a nod.
"Syndra O'Shea...You're a Capitolite, correct? Or at least you were-"
"No," she answers rather defiantly, shaking her head. "I'm still very much a Capitolite, Caesar."
"But what of your father's actions...?" Caesar inquires, raising his arms in a 'I don't know' fashion. "He was city manager - a very prestigious position. Developing the transfer system, overseeing the creation of new subdivisions...why would he give the Rebels tactical information that almost gave the country to a band of unknowns? Do you know how close we were losing all our progress since the Apocalypse?"
Syndra risks a glance toward the audience as they murmur in agreement. "I certainly hope that you aren't expecting a girl to give you the answers you're looking for, Caesar?"
"Well, you aren't twelve." Caesar snipes back with a sneer. "And I assume you're articulate enough to give us an answer. A lot of people died because of your father's actions."
"I was unaware of my father's actions during the war, Caesar, so I can't give you a genuine answer to these questions," Syndra counters. "I like the dozen other Capitol tributes here with me tonight, were just normal kids going about our business-"
"Yet here you are, paying for the sins of your relatives."
Syndra shrugs dismissively. "Yet here I am."
The interview gets lighter, the tension wearing down when Caesar begins asking about what it's like to be a tribute instead of a spectator, as well as her not too shabby score of six and what that means for her performance once the Games begin.
"I have an alliance believe it or not," She says. "And I think we'll surprise Panem when the time comes. Capitols can get down and dirty too, you know."
"Hundreds of thousands of Capitolites have gotten 'down and dirty' when this War broke out, but I see what you mean." Caesar replies.
I frown at this. I very much prefer this year to be like any other year if I had the choice.
"If you were to win this onslaught, what would you do with the fame?"
"Well Caesar, I would like to advocate for Capitolites who were forced to emigrate due to the decisions of their relatives. We're not all rebels, you know. And I hope that all of you, by meeting me, realize that."
She's dismissed with a light applause, nothing like you would see during a normal year. We trade small grins when she sits down beside Karat.
It's District 2's turn now, and even though I'm not on the hot seat, my stomach binds itself into knots. Caesar starts with the Dixen kids, Jeremiah and Eunice, two tributes at a time. It saves the headache of having to deal with ninety-six people by the end of the night. My mind is already made up about these two. They're going to die - by me - if it's the last thing I do. I drift in and out of paying attention. On one hand I want to hear what they have to say about...him while the other hand, I'm sick and tired of having the same scenes play out in my head like a broken record over and over again.
"Your father did some very heinous things back in your district-"
"We haven't seen him in years!" Eunice snaps, tears streaking down her eyes while her brother reins her in.
"Just because we carry his last name, doesn't mean we're like him." Jeremiah elaborates.
"Maybe not Eunice, but you on the other hand..." Caesar drawls, waggling a finger toward him for extra effect. "Do you carry your father's sick views on mistreating women?"
"No, of course not." Jeremiah replies, rubbing his sister's shoulder as she continues to sob into his chest. "If we could choose anyone else to be my dad - anyone - we would."
Slate's interview consists of justifying his dad's attack on a checkpoint during the very early stages of the War. He didn't do himself any favors and to be honest, his age and lame score don't either.
"Tatiana, would you like to explain yourself?" Caesar asks, craning his head toward the unflinching black girl who makes no move to join him on the main platform. Instead, the other tributes and I watch as she remains seated with her arms crossed and her leg bouncing.
"It's not like there's anyone else left to defend your family's actions - oh hey! Excuse me!"
Gibbs launches her heel toward him and then another, prompting the host to shield himself as the shoes strike him. PKs are on her in an instant, dragging her away as she cusses up a storm. The audience jeers in response, causing Caesar to tug on his lapels and turn his attention to Rabe.
"Lilith, why don't you join us?" Caesar asks, beckoning her over with a waggle of his finger. "Perhaps you're a little bit more sensible."
"I don't blame her for doing what she did," Lilith says, bounding down to the Master of Ceremonies in a simple denim dress.
"Why's that?" Caesar asks.
"It seems that things are back to business," Lilith explains. "As if the past two years or so were a rumor, as if the countless deaths and words said were a rumor."
Numerous cries from the crowd could be heard. "Traitor!" and "Ungrateful bitch!" were two I picked up. Caesar has to flag the audience down with a wave of his hands.
"I'd say the contrary," he replies.
"Really?" Lilith retorts.
"Oh yes, really," Caesar claps back. "I'd say that we're recognizing the past two years by having people like you serve as tribute, so hopefully in another twenty-five years, we'll never have to deal with such despair again."
"So the wheel continues to spin, lovely..."
"The Rabe family was well taken care of by the Capitol, respected by all of Two. How could you betray our trust?"
"Lyme saw through the mirage, as all of Panem has seen through the mirage," Lilith explains. "At this point, all anyone seems to be doing is plugging their fingers in their ears or covering their eyes. It's quite sad, really. It's also quite sad that even some of my fellow tributes are just as ignorant."
Her eyes flicker my way and I hold her glare. If only the Games started now. I wouldn't even need a dagger.
"It seems to me that Lyme, a majority of the victors and those who joined the rebel ranks such as yourself have been duped to believe whatever Thirteen and Katniss Everdeen told you."
She scoffs. "You're so full of sh-"
"But enough of that," Caesar cuts her off. "Your band of marauders have been subdued or are about to be subdued. You are atoning for their sins. Your score of Zero suggests that you've opted out of these Games..."
"I'm not playing to the Gamemakers' tune," Lilith spits. "Whatever happens in the arena - happens."
As she returns to her seat under a hail of boos, she fixes me one last glare. A fight with her would be a little more challenging, but I welcome it. I can't wait to see the look of defeat on her face before I snuff her out for good.
"Eldwyn Bishop..." Caesar drawls. "Out of all your partners, you seem to be the less tainted."
"I s'pose." Eldwyn grunts, shrugging while he takes his seat. "My side of the family was neutral. We're quarrymen, lived in a village a little ways south of the eastern terminus that borders D3."
"Yet other members of your family were more radical?"
"Does 'radical' mean fightin' for more opportunities and such?" he replies. "Is what Lilith sayin' really wrong?"
This garners angry murmurs from the audience.
"The Capitol understands that there is a lot wrong." Caesar replies in earnest, shaking his head. "But like our late president said, just because there's many a thing to fix in a home, doesn't mean we need to tear down the foundation."
Eldwyn shakes his head. "I don't think you understand."
"Of course we do. We've given countless aid to affected areas-"
"With all this still going on-"
"You wouldn't be a part of this if you and your relatives were firmly on the Capitol's side." Caesar explains in earnest. "If you were a Loyalist, you would be reaping the benefits of supporting the hand that feeds you and protects you."
Eldwyn seems...jaded, frowning as he reclines back into his seat and thinks to himself. I recall our lunchroom conversation with each other. Maybe Caesar will have better luck explaining that he doesn't need to die with idiots like Rabe and Gibbs.
"Not only are you less tainted than your fellows, but you're a high scorer - tied with a lot of lads this time around." Caesar points out, mirroring the warm grin that spreads across Eldwyn's lips. "You have family at home, who I'm sure would like you to come back. How are you feeling about your chances as the perennial District 2 male?"
"Perennial?"
"A lot of people like you within your cohort of six," Caesar explains. "If they wanted someone to win, you would be right up there."
"Oh well," Eldwyn frowns, shrugging. "I'll have to take things day by day I s'pose."
"These Games have a strict no-volunteering rule yet despite this, our next guest marched up to her escort demanding a spot anyway! Not only did she force her way in, she earned herself a spanking twelve in the private sessions...I haven't seen anything like this before - no one has and because of that, she's taking Panem by storm."
The crowd rumbles with agreement. I suddenly feel millions of eyes fixing squarely on me.
"I'm sure you want to meet her - I know I do - Zenobia Rivendell, please join us!"
And for the first time in an hour, the crowd rings out in ample applause. Here we go. I let out a sigh as I rise to my feet, ignoring the eyes of the other tributes. My big debut. I bound down the steps towards Caesar, who awaits me with an outstretched hand. I allow him to capture mine in his as he displays me to the audience at large.
"Doesn't she look lovely, folks?" Caesar marvels. "The stockings, the cardigan, the overall cut - so conservative, yet so unique at the same time. I believe we have Fletcher Davidsmith, Amir Townsend and Wyatt Shakespeare to thank for this masterpiece. I can only imagine that everyone at home is flocking to their nearest fashion catalogue right now!"
For the first time, I watch as the screens cut to one of the boxes in the balcony. There they are, the Boys, waving to their adoring audience. Viondra's there as well, lighting up a cig ever so casually.
Caesar lets out a chuckle, gesturing to the sofas. "Please, please, take a seat, Zenobia. We have a lot to discuss."
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Zenobia." He says once we take a seat. "A little birdie tells me you're related to the Zenobia Rivendell?"
I'm immediately reminded of the numerous coaching lessons I had. "Hello Caesar, it's a pleasure to meet you as well. Yes, I'm her niece. My dad was her brother."
He whips his head toward the crowd, a look of surprise on his face. "I was not expecting that tone of voice." When the chatter of the crowd dies down, he shoots me a mock-serious look. "So, Zenobia, everyone is curious to know...Are you a rebel?"
"Yes Caesar, I am a rebel." I answer.
Caesar frowns. "Are you now?"
"Yes, I rebel against the notion that any of these rebels walk out of the arena alive."
The crowd can't hold back their restraint anymore, roaring with applause as they rise out of their seats and stomp their feet. It takes every fiber of my being not to break out into a grin. For the zillionth time, I'm sorry Forge. The poor guy must be pulling his hair out watching me expose myself time and time again. Rest assured he's probably confident I have this down pat.
"Woah...That's uh...that's a very hefty declaration!" Caesar exclaims. "I feel that we've missed a few things so please...tell us, what brings you to my stage?"
I fix the cameras the steeliest glare I could muster. It's not hard at all when I consider all that's happened.
"Three men," I answer simply, "Or rather yet, their kids - Dixen and Shadd."
"You forced your way into these Games because of Jeremiah and Eunice - or their father, rather?"
"Yes, otherwise I would've slipped away after the reaping concluded." I reply. "But as I forced my way in and made my way toward the Capitol, I noticed that more and more people have come to my attention."
The crowd marvels at the information, chattering like a bunch of intrigued schoolchildren.
"Does this include the third man?" Caesar asks, leaning forward. "If so, who is he?"
"A Thirteen by the name of Matix."
With pursed lips, Caesar absorbs what I'm telling him as the audience continue to murmur among themselves. "So you're here to exact your revenge on these tributes?"
I nod. "That's correct."
"They're being punished on their own accord. Why jump in after them?"
"Because I want to do the punishing. I'm not leaving it for someone else to do."
Wide-eyed, Caesar watches the audience as they murmur with excitement. "You must be hellsbent on revenge if you're willing jump into this melee. If you don't mind me asking, Ms. Rivendell, what prompts such anger?"
I adjust my seating, exhaling through my nose. I know it hurts but I need to say it. Everyone is gonna now by the end of these Games anyhow.
"Like many of you here and at home, I have been tremendously harmed by the actions of the Rebels. More specifically, by the actions of their parents-" I jerk my thumb towards them, "-And that tribute from Twelve who I refuse to mention again. Because of them I've lost my parents and my older brother. I...I'm not going into details as to how. But I couldn't just sit idly by without taking matters into my own hands - it's not how I was raised."
As the audience moans out their sorrowful "Awwhs" Caesar nods solemnly.
"If things were normal...you would be speaking to my brother, Paulus, right now. He always wanted to volunteer, but the Rebels took that away from him so here I am. I can't let my Mom and Dad's years of drilling and mentoring go to waste. And they would have due to the new Games stipulations."
"How brave you are...and without a single tear shed." Caesar notes with awe, turning toward the audience. "Remarkable, truly remarkable. Your parents taught you well."
The audience seems to agree as well, offering polite applause.
"Thank you Caesar," I say. "They may have been strict as strict can be, but it had its merits."
"Of course, or else you wouldn't be sitting here with me today," Caesar replies. "Panem will be watching you more than most."
With a warm grin, he offers me a creamy hand. I offer mine forward as he gently grasps it, raising us both up onto our two feet as he presents me to the audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Zenobia Rivendell."
Thunderous applause rumbles through my ears as Caesar lessens his grasp on my hand, letting it slip through his as he gestures toward the upper tiers - a warm grin on his face while he shoots me a wink. With butterflies in my stomach I slowly begin to make my way back to the sofa. I eye the crowd briefly, even sparing a glance toward the box my team occupies. Viondra grins from ear to ear, applauding all while the Boys are ecstatic around her.
Barring Syndra's polite grin, I choose to ignore the glares that shine over me like a lamp as I take my spot next to a frowning Eldwyn.
"I..." he begins, only to shake his head, stopping himself. I don't blame him. These Games are mine now, I firmly understand now. My only hope is to survive the bloodbath without being mobbed at the pedestal.
The interviews should've ended right then and there, because we're back to the scornful crowd, watching on with no hint of favor for any of the tributes that come after me.
District 3's tributes concern me. Not only because they're a most urban district (where the fighting during the War was frantic) but because they're the crafty ones nine times out of ten. Rewiring mines, electrocuting tributes, crushing tributes...Who knows what they'll get up to in the arena? It's the fidgety oriental girl that reminds me of Forge that stands out the most to me. Wilma.
"Three's rebels were quite dastardly during the War. Will we see the same trickiness from you?"
"That's a fair observation." she replies in a matter-of-fact tone. "With so many tributes, it makes it exponentially easier to slip through the cracks and formulate an effective course of action. As heinous as these Games are, it'd be naïve to say that the resulting carnage won't be anything but noteworthy."
The District 4 cohort is healthy-looking with decent scoring. May or may not pose a threat. It's the last two that I care most about. That protective gel cast now gone, Rief takes a seat with his girlfriend.
"Rief Cohen and Esmeralda Paz..." Caesar drones with a downcast shake of the head. "Even though she died in the Quell, sources have unearthed information that links your grandmother to most of the unrest not only in Four but Panem-wide. Why would she do such a thing, betray our trust like that?"
Esmeralda's tanned skin flushes red. "Mags isn't a snake in the grass like you make her out to be-!"
"You already know the answer, Caesar." Rief interjects, placing a gentle shoulder on his girl. "If you or anyone in this audience can't figure it out, then I'm not sure what else to say."
"So you're unrepentant in regards to your family's actions during this needless War?" Caesar asks over an angered crowd. "Yours too, Esmeralda."
"The proof is in the pudding." Rief retorts.
"We all know what the War was fought over," Esmeralda mumbles. "I have nothing else to say."
"So I imagine that despite the crimes you committed in the War, you'll take the fabled 'high ground approach' during this Games?" Caesar asks, bored. "I don't think that would bode well for a young couple such as yourself. There's so much at stake for your two, no?"
It's interesting, the way the couple reacts to Caesars reply. While Rief glares elsewhere, Esmeralda crosses her arms over her body.
"I'll do what I need to do to keep us safe, keep her safe."
"That was incredibly powerful, Zenobia." Syndra beams. "Really and truly. I wonder what your friends back in Two think?"
With District 4 done, the interviews are now in an intermission stage. Because they need to show their faces, Viondra and the Boys will remain in the theatre area while Viondra's trusted PK Sergeant and Corporal duo escort me back to the apartment with Syndra in tow. Out of the view of the cameras, I steadily feel my stomach unbind itself. I may be a 'jack of all trades', but I haven't mastered the skill of public speaking just yet.
Syndra wonders if we should invite the other members of the alliance, but I persuade her not to. They're probably busy gearing up for the second and third half of the interviews anyway. So instead, we reconvene in Two's living room just time for Districts 5 to 8.
District 5 has a lot of fight in them, especially after their little attack on the hydro dam during the War. The six of them spend their time being combative with Caesar, some of them even make direct threats to me. I make a mental note to avoid them at all costs.
The same goes for the Transportation District. It seems that they've ditched the syringe and actually care about something for once, even if it's the wrong thing. Cicero lies and says that he's adjusting well to the District, even though it's 'quite old-looking'. He'd rather come back to the Capitol where his fancy soaps are.
There's a Thirteen or two in District 8. This earns them resounding boos that despite all their military training, causes the female half of the duo to break down crying. For the most part, they're adamant about their actions during the fighting there, which earns them no favors from the crowd. Darlex Paylor tries to jump Caesar, prompting a commercial break.
Nine is a mixed bag. Some denounce the violence and claim neutrality while others are ardent rebels. The replacement for Rhodos is some wide-eyed boy by the name of Kernel. Naturally, he's what I and many people in the Academy like to call 'operating in the black'; the shock of being pulled into the Games after not being selected has ruined him. I wonder if he'll last the first hour. Daphne manages to remove herself from the deeds of her immediately family.
"So Daphne, how do you like District 9, all things considered?"
"The city is very small and quiet, to be honest I still haven't gotten used to it at all." Daphne replies. "Their baking skills are absolutely lovely but I prefer my gran's hand above all else. Hopefully I could taste it one last time. That would be swell."
The Ten's are ready to rumble. All are fighters accused of serious offenses. Tanner and Maja, twins, are the ones who stand out the most. It's clear that Tanner is the one who dominates the interview and controls what his sister says, which is very little.
"Hey, you won. I ain't debatin' that," Tanner relents. "Maja an' I are here now an' we gotta do what we gotta to ensure one of us gets out. Such is the way of the world."
Eleven, Ten's cousin, are equally stacked with burly dark-skinned young adults. All are eighteen and were eager participants in their fighting. I take special note of their supposed ringleader and the guy who made a wisecrack at me the other day, Leroy Sharps, who again directly mentions my name during his blunt interview.
Syndra shakes her head as Leroy gets booed off stage. "What a bunch of ne'er-do-wells..."
I frown slightly. "Ne'er-do...?"
"Ne'er-do-wells," Syndra repeats. "Ruffians, marauders. How can they sit there and think that the crimes they committed were justified? Killing Peacekeepers and their fellow citizens so brazenly? It's appalling." She shakes her head again. "'Rebel soldiers'...more like rebel thugs."
Maximus fits right into the cohort, until he opens his mouth that is.
"I think the district is a lost cause, even with the smattering of sensible people in it," he says. "If you ask me, these Games are a ticket out of that place."
Caesar quirks a brow. "So you rather death than be an Elevener?"
"The majority of them are beyond saving," Max replies, nodding. "It was a nice excursion for all but a millisecond after I got off the train."
"And here we are..." Syndra says as Max returns to his seat. "District 12, or should I just say the new District 13?"
I don't answer, instead I sit up a little bit straighter, wondering what these people - what he - would say to justify what he did to me. The Thirteens that make up the majority of Twelve's tributes are interviewed together. Like some of the tributes before them, they're made to wear prison-issued jumpsuits with the flaming orange octagon branding them as fighters. Despite the boos, they put up a united front. Caesar waves a hand, silencing the raucous crowd within seconds. I focus my gaze toward the impassive face of Matix as he regards the crowd.
"What do you have to say to the Capitol and Panem at large in regards to your actions during the War?"
"You didn't fight hard enough," says Theta bluntly, gesturing to the room at-large when she says, "Now you have to deal with this for another seventy-five years. It's sad. I don't think many of you genuinely understand what you've lost."
"What, a chance to wear gray jumpsuits and move about like drones?" Caesar jeers.
"That's all you got, childish jabs," Theta retaliates. "Typical of a Capitolite as ignorant as you are."
"I have genuine receipts," Caesar claps back. "Just look at what you've done to citizens in the lands you occupied during the War - victors and their families even?"
"District 13 would've aided Panem into something eons greater than what The Capitol could ever do." Theta defends. "Any extrajudicial actions we took were justified. Again, everyone knows what occurred. There's no need to repeat myself."
The boos and jeers wash over her like a tidal wave, but Theta takes it on the chin, not once faltering from the defiant expression etched onto her face. Neither does her buddies. He looks bored out of his mind. I expect nothing less from him.
"That's the card you're going to play? Useless defiance?" sneers Caesar. "I've seen this all night..."
"How many times are you going to ask us the same questions over and over?" Theta continues.
"Everyone knows everything," Irene adds. "Your laundry has been aired. Your former president has no clothes. There's nothing to talk about."
"You have no legitimacy," Says Thom. "Somehow, your military mustered the wherewithal to win. But what are you presiding over if not a broken nation?"
"On the contrary, Mr. Asbury, we're presiding over a nation that will shrug off this 'blip' and come back stronger than it was before." Caesar replies, shaking his head as if explaining something to a naïve child. "And by offering you all up as tribute, chances are we'll never see such insurrection again."
Caesar's rebuttal hits the ginger-haired man like a brick, causing him to gaze toward the floor, defeated. He knows Caesar's right. Despite all the shit they talk, despite how much they curse the Capitol, we've already won. No one will care because he's next on the chopping block, as are all his other rebel friends. Everyone else will see that the Capitol has our best interests in mind and become loyal.
"And what of you, Mr. Matix? Sitting there all sullen," Caesar asks him, crossing one knee over the other. "I heard heinous reports in regards to your actions during the War, or should I say...inaction. We've heard Ms. Rivendell's side. How could you stand by while young woman's family is unjustly executed while she violated? I thought Thirteen was a district of professionalism and order?"
Syndra lets out a sharp gasp. "Zenobia...is that true? Oh my gods I'm...I'm so incredibly sorry."
She caresses my hand and thigh but I do and say nothing in reply, instead opting to watch the face of this tunnel rat for his reply. That cold December morning is as clear in mind as clear can be. While they held me and pinned me to the ground...he watched, only to turn his back and leave. I wanna know, is he 'sorry' even if 'sorry' doesn't mean shit?
"Things happen in war." Matix deadpans.
A surprise to myself, I feel my right eye twitch uncontrollably. Things happen, he says. Having your mother and father shot in front of you while your brother gets bludgeoned to death while grown men...It 'just happens'! It's clear that the audience is just as shocked by the response, jeering at him as he just sits there.
From the adjacent red armchair, Paulus gulps down a glass of drink. "You'd better kill his ass, Zen."
Before Syndra could stop me, I clutch a nearby vase by the neck, whipping it toward his pasty, impassive face. Of course with the monitor being holographic it goes right though, shattering against the sepia-colored wall. The Avoxes spring into action, awkwardly going about cleaning up the mess while trying not to obstruct our view.
"Wow..." Caesar replies with a scoff, shaking his head. "The flippancy. The callousness. Truth be told I expected nothing less from the people who used snare bombs, derailed trains and blew up a dam. Something tells me your chief opponent is even more cross with you."
Matix shrugs. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."
"I think I speak for the whole of loyalist Panem when I say that we can't wait until we do."
As Caesar rudely dismisses the Thirteens from the stage, Syndra orders me some tea and forces it into my hands. That bastard. I'm gonna kill him. Gonna make it hurt. Gonna make him wish he didn't stop our car 'an let us go our merry way. Syndra seems to understand wholeheartedly, enveloping her hands around mine while fixing me a serious look.
"Don't worry one bit," she soothes, grinning wryly when she adds, "We're going to get them...You know, if whatever muttations are in that arena don't get them first."
I return the grin, nodding as Caesar introduces the last of the competition in the form of Clancy and Emery. The older brother dwarfs his twelve-year-old sister. It's so evident in the way his wide frame takes up the majority of the sofa they sit on. I also couldn't help but notice that the Emery is without a frilly dress most girls her age are made to wear. Instead she wears tuxedo, just like her brother, replacing her pink headband with a white one.
"Clancy," Caesar begins. "How does it feel to be back home?"
"A little shocking to say the least, Caesar," Clancy answers with a deep, confident voice. "I'm glad I could see it one last time before things kick off."
"Truth be told my boy, some people might not want you here on the account that your father was one of the handful of Peacekeepers to defect to the rebellion when the Capitol needed him most."
Clancy doesn't skip a beat. "Caesar, honestly, I can't defend my father's actions. We felt - feel - the same way you all must be feeling now. Not even our late mother was in the know."
Caesar nods. "I see. So you denounce the heinous war that was forced upon us?"
"Of course," Clancy replies, his features scrounging as if Caesar asked him the dumbest question in the world. "I mean...mother would be here and we wouldn't be here, that's for sure. Things would be normal."
They cut a sympathetic figure for sure, the crowd murmuring with sorrowful faces as Clancy rubs the thigh of Emery, who gazes off into the distance with misty eyes.
"So, you're all alone, in District 12, taking care of your little sister?"
"For the most part, yes," Clancy replies. "We're a military family, Caesar. I was on track to attend military college before all...this. The first thing I tried to do when we reached Twelve was enlist but...nothing came of it because of what happened."
"Oh?"
"So I worked construction," Clancy continues with pursed lips, shrugging. "Anything to prove my worth, anything to show to the Capitol that we were still loyal."
The crowd supports this, as they give him a steady round of applause. Even Syndra claps gently along.
"They're good people," she chimes. "But with his sister in tow, well...He didn't want to risk an open association."
"So what, he'd want to ally if we met in the arena?" I ask, wobbling my head in surprise and approval when Syndra nods in the affirmative. I could get behind that, what, with Clancy being a cadet like myself.
"Very well, I can see clearly now how you garnered that high score," Caesar remarks. "Unlike your 'partners' and many of your 'fellow contestants', I'd say that you're changing a lot of minds right now."
"We're no rebels, Caesar."
"I believe you Clancy. It's a shame that the War dealt you such a bad hand," Caesar continues. "But here we are now, a muscle-bound, responsible lad like yourself having to protect your peach of a sister. Surely you know that there will only be one winner, right?"
Clancy entwines his hand in his sister's, earning a resounding 'awwh' from the audience.
"It isn't so much about winning for me. It's more so surviving as long as I can so that Em will survive for as long as she can."
His hands balled into a singular fist covering his mouth, Caesar nods as the audience eats Clancy's words up. "I genuinely wish you luck with that..."
The hosts' eyes flicker to that of Emery's. Out of all the tributes, everyone would be in agreement to swap her out with someone else. This wasn't her affair. This, coupled with her age is probably why Caesar's critical expression immediately melts into one of warmth.
"How are you feeling, Emery?" he asks. "You peg me as a girl with a whole lot to say."
"Well," she pipes up, her voice so shrill. "I've always wondered what it would be like to be a tribute in the Games..." smiling sheepishly, she shrugs, "Here I am now."
For the first time since the interviews began, the audience genuinely laughed at the wisecrack. For a few solid seconds, it's almost as if it were a normal year.
"Yes, here you are as our youngest tribute by miles...although you barely look it," Caesar notes. "Where's the pretty dress to accompany the pretty girl - not that your aren't dressed nicely of course-"
She adjusts her eyeglasses. "I wanted to look like I was just as able as anyone else here."
"And you are, what, with that impressive score of yours." Caesar beams with a broad grin. "Folks, I think Emery here is the youngest tribute to score so high. Tell us, how did you garner that nine? Are you freakishly strong like your brother here?"
She shakes her head.
"Did you shoot an arrow at the Gamemakers?"
She shakes her head even harder, garnering even more chuckles.
"Well come on girl, spit it out!"
Emery's eyes shift from left to right as her head teeters in the same fashion. "It pays to be listener."
The crowd loves it, offering the little girl some applause.
"It seems to me we have a brain and a brawn duo on our hands." Caesar croons. "With such a competitive score, does this mean that you're in it to win it?"
Emery sniffles, glancing up at her brother who wraps his arm around her shoulders. "I just want my brother and I to survive as long as we can." She says, fiddling with her thumbs. "We've been through so much already."
The audience is getting too sympathetic and Caesar knows this. They may be Capitols, but their parents are guilty and these Games were meant to condemn not garner overt trust. So he pivots, asking Emery about how she would live life if she won. Emery talks about her pet cat and wanting to see her baby niece again, as well as her friends. The night of ridicule and condemnation by Caesar and the crowd ends off on a politer note with Clancy and his sister being applauded off the stage.
The Master of Ceremonies cheekily says something along the lines of supposing that 'not everyone' this year is insufferable, before closing off with opinion polling and sponsorship information. Naturally I come out on top when it comes to 'favorability' as well as the Capitols and neutrals that were sucked into these Games because of their families. With another round of the national anthem, Caesar bids Panem goodnight before the nation's emblem flashes over the screen.
Caesar's new sidekick, Marceline, is hosting some sort of aftershow but Syndra turns off the holovision. We'd seen enough.
"And now..." Syndra breathes with a deep sigh. "Our doomsday clock truly begins."
I grumble in reply. I wouldn't call it a 'doomsday clock', more like a countdown until I can truly settle my score with him and just about everyone else who has the misfortune of being locked in that arena with me.
A/N: Somewhere between my last update and this one, I surpassed 1,000 views. Last week I started advertising my stuff on subreddits so that also helped boost the numbers a little bit. I guess a thank-you is in order, seeing as numbers like that are SYOT-level reading numbers. Thanks for casually reading through, it's much appreciated.
"Where's Zenobia's dress?" some of you may be wondering. Well, I thought that I'd post it next chapter along with some other visual candy. Skool is a pain but not the one to abandon ship. Should be back again soon.
Coming Up Next...
Huh, look at that. Viondra is nice after all. I run a sheepish hand along the back of my neck.
"Thanks…Now what?"
"Now…The Boys are going to prep you."
I frown confusingly. "For what?"
Viondra dances her cig holder through the air in front of me, playfully poking me in the chest with it. "I'm going to show you a taste of some of the finer things in life."