2021-10-01: I decided to update the chapter by adding more tidbits about the DeWynter Family/Acquaintances.

Chapter Sixteen - "The Finer Things"

"What if you were impaled with a dagger?" Asks Dr. Rhodes. "Not in your shoulder or the hand, but in your middle, then what?"

I started off the last day before everything goes to the wayside with an early morning workout with Claudia. We refrained from sparring, lest I start out the Games with a disadvantage. Dr. Rhodes was still kicking around the Training Center so I thought I'd get in one last lesson...although I'm starting to regret it. Naturally, health went hand-in-hand with the combat stuff back at the Academy, so much that the basics were second nature. If you get a laceration, you sterilize it. If you get a fracture you stabilize it as best you can.

The Doc obviously wants to take it to a higher level.

"Obviously I wouldn't take it out," I reply. "I could run it by judgement – wait out for Viondra to send me a note giving me instruction or aid-"

"Say we were a week in," Dr. Rhodes interjects. "And sponsorship items cost as much as a monthly bill – then what?"

"I guess I would have to take matters into my own hands," I continue. "Clean my hands ASAP, clean the wound, put pressure and then try and pack it and hope to Snow that it works."

"What if you were shot?"

"Hope that the slug passed clean through, apply pressure, stop the bleeding, pack and seal." I answer a little uneasily. Would they really give us guns?

"What if you suffered a fracture and or broken limb?"

I sigh, reclining back in my chair. "Really, Doc?"

"No matter what you do in life, you never settle when it comes to learning," The Doctor replies matter-of-factly. "So...?"

"Immobilize it of course. Get the bone into a stable position and bind it I guess."

Dr. Rhodes peruses her datapad before setting it down with a sigh. Her mud brown eyes flicker my way as she nods.

"It's impossible to know every little thing there is to know," she says. "Hells, when you're in the thick of it chances are you'll forget most of what you learned here...most, not all."

A smirk creeps across my lips. "Do you think I'm still in over my head, Doc?"

"You and I both know the answer to that question," she answers, unsmiling. "I reckon that this foray into the arena is no longer a suicide run?"

I fold my arms over my midsection. "I'm aware of my chances, let's say that."

"You may be slightly more aware, but that's not good enough," she scolds. "This revenge kick will lead to an early grave if you don't stop and think once you get in there."

I shrug. Doesn't she think that I'm constantly going over the multiple scenarios in my head. "I know that."

The Doc takes a sip of coffee, her expression appearing unconvinced. "Do you, though?"

Paulus' cig reaches the filter, prompting him to flick it over the edge of the roof. He turns around, reclining against the guardrail with both arms splayed out.

"A couple more hours left until go time," he says. "Y'ready?"

When it comes to The Capitol, the City Hall and the Training Center is all they showcase nine times out of ten. So when I stand up here on the roof of Panem's tallest building, I can't help but gawk at the surrounding scenery. The city is just so...huge. All of Ravinstill Springs' downtown could fit in-between the Avenue. But here, it seems that the downtown is their town. I never knew they could make buildings that sprawl so high. Aren't people afraid of heights? I also can't help but notice the construction cranes and scaffolding that seems to attend most of the buildings I see. They may have won the war, but the gem is scuffed badly.

"I guess..." I reply. "I'm thinking about the Doc's words. About me being on a 'blind kick'. What do you think?"

"The Doc means well, but what does she know?" Paulus shrugs. "Her life is whole, not countin' that rebel sister of hers who's missing in action. She hasn't lost what you've lost and 'cause of that, she'll never understand."

"I know."

"Member what I said 'bout that criminal scum I offed? Using your skill, your anger...It never fails. And something tells me it definitely wont here."

"I agree. I'm pretty pumped but..."

"But what?"

"What if things go to shit?" I ask. "What if I get tunnel vision? Wh-what happens if the arena's confusing?"

"You're not an idiot, Zen." My brother replies, rolling his eyes. "Contrary to what the doctor says, your anger will help. You know what these Games entail, you know what these rebs are all about. You watched footage of them for Panem's sake!"

Massaging my temples, I nod. I know how most of them tick. That's a quarter of the battle right there. "Right…right-"

But there's still so many variables that I can't figure out.

"Use your common sense with a shit ton of lethality and things will go just fine." Paulus chimes with a knowing grin. "Those rebels are gonna wish they stayed their asses home."

"Especially those fucking rats from Thirteen." I add. Things happen in war...how dare he say that? How should I kill him I wonder? I wanna make it notable. Something people will talk about for ages, like back in 73 when Wade Rankine bashed that Ten's head in or when Enobaria tore that guy's throat out...

"Especially those rats from Thirteen." Paulus nods with a mischievous grin. "There's no rush Zen. You said it yourself. They're stuck in there with you. You can rub 'em out one by one until Matix is the last one left."

"That'd be nice," I snort. "When I'm done with him, no one would ever want to rebel again."

Paulus is right. I'm no idiot. All I have to do is do what I trained to do, that's it. Remember Dad's whipping me into shape and Mom's brain games – fuse them into one. It's gotten me this far. Couple that with Viondra's pulled strings and I'm unstoppable...I think.

"Those people give me the creeps." Paulus says with a shudder. "I'd rather take the chair, or the mutt chamber than be one of them."

"Who gives you the creeps?" I turn around shocked to see an Avox standing some ways behind me, looking concerned. They should put a bell on these people.

"What the hells are you doing, watching me?" I fume, stomping over to him. "You're lucky Viondra's not around or she'd feed you to her mutts."

The Avox lets out some apologetic grunts, tapping his communicuff. I have afternoon lunch with my alliance. Thankfully this extra day before the Games allows me to gauge their feelings. I can't have them like Rhodos, offing themselves by jumping off their pedestals when I need them most.

Daphne is a sniffling mess. Finishing her letter, her hands tremble like a branch in the wind as she places the finished note into an envelope – except she can't, because she's shaking so much. Stifling my sigh, I gently take the note from her, placing it in the envelope and sealing it before gently sliding it back toward her.

"Th-thank you, Zenobia..." Daphne sighs, running her manicured hands through her dyed hair. "It's just...It's all becoming so real an-"

"It's real, Daphne." I say bluntly. Mollycoddling her will only destine her for the bloodbath. "The quicker you accept that your world is about to turn upside down – like right now – the longer you'll survive."

Feeling merciful today, The Capitol decided to hand us all pen and paper, so we can say our goodbyes to those we know. Naturally, my Capitolite acquaintances aren't taking this very well – the girls especially. Syndra does a better job keeping it together, her eyes glossy as she dutifully writes away on her now third page of work. Daphne on the other hand...well, I hope the tears dry so her folks can see her writing.

She accepts tissues from Max. "I know, I know-"

"Are you so sure?" I add in, inwardly cringing as Dr. Rhodes comes into mind.

"Being upended from our homes and tossed into backward districts is a lot to take in, Zenobia." Max defends, rubbing Daphne's shoulder as she blows her nose. "And now, our chances of going back to either are very slim."

"But at least we have Zenobia leading us?" Cicero pipes up, grinning sadly at me. "If anything, I'm feeling confident about our chances – great minds think alike and all that..."

"Glad you're confident, Cicero," I reply, nodding at him. "Speaking of, we need a plan, for the bloodbath and after."

I lay it to them bluntly. Chances are with all these tributes advancing toward the horn to get items, they have a good chance of escaping unharmed. Cicero wonders if there'll be much killing going on. I say yes. Looking at the training footage, besides 3 and 5, everyone else seems to be within their own district for alliances. The 'principled rebel' approach will fall apart quickly. Viondra thinks so too.

"You've been watching the Games for years, played some video games, are avid subscribers to Games Digest," I say, scanning around the table as they each mumble and nod in the affirmative. I nod. "Like Sgt. Floris said, forget everything you think you know. Do not run towards the horn. Don't do it. Stick to the outskirts, pick up what you can find there."

"What type of arena do you think it'd be?" Syndra asks.

"Do you think they'd split us up?" adds Max, prompting the others to murmur along. They look at me with expectant eyes. I can't blame them.

"An HG 50-type arena seems likely...I think." I answer. "It has to be a big, open space for ninety-odd tributes to compete in."

"How about a city?" Daphne pipes up. "A lot of tributes fought in the cities...maybe they'd want to repeat that."

"These Games are unprecedented, so you're right, they may want to drag this out as long as possible." I relent with a nod. "And yeah, they may split us up. If they do, we'll scan for one another."

We're all on board in regards to a game plan for tomorrow. No fighting if you can help it, grab from outside the radius so on and so forth. But we're hung up on how to regroup for what is surely to be a significant bloodbath. I know it'll be a mess and chances are that no alliance will be whole by the end of it.

"You know the tip of the horn?" I say, watching as everyone nods. "We'll rendezvous in that direction – as far as you can go without bumping into the forcefield."

I'm not sure if it's a Capitol thing, but they're overanalyzing the situation. I can see it on their weary faces. Daphne raises a hand but I don't entertain the question, causing her expression to deflate even deeper as her hand audibly slaps against the table.

"It's common sense, guys," I assure, taking up a lighter tone. "Stick up for each other, remain in the present while keeping the ultimate goal at the forefront. Got it?"

A chorus of affirmations follow, causing me to sigh and recline back in my chair. Good. The alliance is set and they know the gist of what to do...I hope.

Now...I wait. Little over a day left until we truly begin.

With the Capitols gone, I spend most of my time staring into space at the living room table. Capitol TV is on the holovision in front of me, a flashy countdown clock displayed on the bottom right corner. A female host details the crimes that some of the other tributes have personally committed or that of their families. On the tea table before me lies some pieces of paper, each one directed to my friends back in Two. My entire world consisting of nerves and confusion, I haphazardly bounce the fountain pen I'm using against my lip. What should I write? I don't think I need to write to them spilling my guts about how I feel about them…I think they already know how I feel.

But then I glance at my finger, taking note of the promise ring fastened onto it. In a normal world, I'd graduate Overwhill, pass my occupation training and exchange vows with Randy. But now, well, who knows what will happen. I know what needs to happen, but the Games are known for their upsets.

"Please try. Please." I recall Randy's words during our goodbyes. "Then maybe, I could get that ring replaced with somethin' proper."

"Screw it." I toss the pen onto the tea table, drooping back into the sofa. I have no need to write a stupid letter because I'll tell them how I feel in person once I get back.

Just as I begin to drift off, the elevators hiss open, revealing my team as they waltz into the apartment proper. I haven't spoken to them since last night's interviews, so naturally they make a beeline toward me and shower me with adoration. Fletcher pulls me into a hug, something I quickly disallow by shoving him off. I quickly make amends though, offering my hands toward him as he takes them in his and bounces around with glee.

"Zen, you did great out there! So great!"

"You're making literal history-"

"Everyone wants your looks, your hair!"

I give everyone a quick once over, all while Mars and Juniper place their forelegs on my thighs. "I thought you guys left me to my own devices."

"We had to work the press circus pretty hard last night. Me more than anyone else..." Viondra grins from ear to ear, giving me a side hug alongside a rub on the back. "Capitol job last night. You did exactly what you needed to."

Huh, look at that. Viondra is nice after all. Grinning sheepishly at the praise, I run a hand along the back of my neck. "Thanks…Now what?"

"Now…The Boys are going to prep you."

I frown confusingly. "Prep me…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."

So, the boys begin the time-consuming process of prepping me. For what exactly? I'm not sure, but I do know I'll be in front of people due to me having to wear the Boys' now-famous dress again. But as the Boys bid me goodbye, promising to 'see me in a little bit' I can't help but wonder what Viondra was getting at. I can't help but notice the Sun beginning to set and the lights of the city's many buildings taking its place. The Games start tomorrow, where was she planning to take me? And since when are tributes allowed to leave the confines of the tower if not for the purpose of being taken to the arena?

I turn my attention to the entryway to find my escort-slash-mentor out of her service dress uniform. She wears a ruby red ensemble now, a skirt suit with cap sleeves. What I find most interesting is the transparent material that makes up part of the blazer, contrasting with the gold blouse she wears underneath. When I look at her, I can't help but think 'flag of Panem'.

"How patriotic." I say to her.

"Patriotism is the mutt's roar, Zenobia," Viondra chimes back. "Also, I need a change from the uniform, as good as I look in it."

My eyes flicker down towards Viondra's knees, where Mars and Juniper sit loyally at her feet. They too are gussied up for this surprise outing, with Mars wearing a tuxedo costume. Juniper wears a tutu with hers. In the handful of days I've been staying here, I've noticed that they're attentive – scarily attentive. Mars saunters over to me, plopping his head onto my thighs as I give his head a scritch. Not to be out pleasured, Juniper nudges Mars away from my hands, instigating a 'wooping' match filled with faux biting and pawing.

"Hey,"

Ears prickling, the two mutts whip their heads toward their master, who gives them an expectant glance.

"Cut it out you two." she snips while fastening a communicuff to her wrist. "You're going to ruin Zenobia's dress with all your slobber."

Juniper takes advantage of Mars' attentiveness, using her rear as a battering ram as she collides into him, effectively stealing his spot by plopping her head in my lap. I let out a breathy guffaw when her male counterpart mutters, or something close to it, as he rests himself onto the ground all pouty-faced.

"C'mere, Mars," I say cooingly. "I have two hands."

Like flicking a switch, Mars is up again, tail wagging as he cups my free hand with his head, wooping with glee as I apparently scritch a 'good spot'. These two are such characters. Unlike any dogs I've seen before.

"Did you get them from the Gamemaker labs?" I ask Viondra. "It's weird how aware they are."

"I had them altered at the labs, but they aren't from here." she answers. "I got them from Africa."

"Africa?" I repeat in awe. "Outside of Panem? Kinda far just to get dogs."

"South West Africa to be specific," Viondra says. "And they're not dogs, Zenobia. They're hyenas."

I shrug. They look like dogs, act like dogs. They're dogs to me. "Same difference."

"Not quite. They're their own classification."

I study her a for a few seconds. Foreign animals, a fawning press, a zillion favors owed to her, I'd understand if she were a bigwig herself, but she was just the daughter of one. Still... "How'd you manage to get your fingers in so many pies?"

That same Sergeant enters the room and announces that our car was ready.

"Thank you, Sergeant Moore." Viondra rises from off the sofa, nudging her head toward the elevator. "Follow me and I'll show you."

"Junkies..." Viondra spits derisively with an eyeroll. "You think they would be helping out with the reconstruction effort or something, goodness."

My first taste of the 'finer things' in life comes in the form of Viondra's staff car. I can see the crowds of Hunger Games 'junkies' as they attempt to crowd around the limousine, but they can't see me. The bubbletop, it's polarized for that exact purpose. They have holovisions hooked up in the dormitories downstairs. If they saw me trekking outside the confines of the Training Center, on top of their anger concerning my '12', loyalist support and overwhelming support from the Capitol, I wouldn't blame them if they forced their way up to our floor and killed me then and there.

"So, this place we're going to...What if the press spots me?" I ask. "I've seen the way the operate in the past. They ding you for every little thing a tribute or victor does."

"So, what if they spot you?" Viondra replies. I cross my arms at how uncaring she is. So what if the press plasters my face all over the Games Network? So what if the literal criminals who hate me see it? So what if I'm torn apart limb from limb before I even step off the pedestal? So what? She seems so sure about everything. And even if she's right ninety-nine percent of the time, the time will come where she fumbles.

We can only push it so far – the popularity. I mean, we already have. We're so far gone at this point, the camel's paralyzed from the neck down. After his hair is all but tugged out of his scalp, Forge will just kill me himself. I'm not sure why I care, maybe because I'd prefer five tributes instead of all ninety-five rushing over to me instead of the cornucopia.

"The other tributes...?" I elaborate.

"Oh well, sucks to be them," Viondra shrugs, downing a flute of wine. "You don't worry your head."

I press my head against the cool glass window. Remember Zen, you were already neck deep into it before you even left 2. I turn my attention from the doomed rebels and focus it on the passing scenery. It's a weird dynamic. On one hand you have people going about their daily lives in this huge colorful city. Very light traffic, mothers pushing strollers, diners lounging on patios. And then on the other hand I remember that this place was almost captured by the Rebels. I could see reminders of this in how some buildings – once storeys high – were knocked down a peg and are now scorched husks. Many parts were fenced off with workers hard at work. The PKs are active as well with manned checkpoints everywhere we go. They wave us through like its nothing, though, for obvious reasons.

"I wonder how it'd be like," I wonder aloud. "If Thirteen ran the place."

Viondra keeps her eyes forward. "I don't."

"Do you guys have actual houses?" I've seen the Presidential Mansion on holovision and that's about it. Even now as we drive through the Capitol, what passes as townhouses around here are wedged between tenement buildings. I'm talking genuine foursquare houses with a backyard and white picket fences.

"Don't be silly, of course we have houses." Viondra replies, grinning her signature, puffy-cheeked grin. "I'm taking you to one right now."

The skyscrapers and tenements of the Capitol's downtown gradually give way to near empty, open land. We drive by a gilded sign - 'Elysium Fields' established only ten years ago. Viondra explains that this area is considered The Capitol's 'country'. There are clusters of buildings here and there, reminding of Ravinstill Spring's low-storey businesses where owners operate a business below and sleep on the second floor. Something as homey as a 'mom and pop' building is not safe from Capitol design, with their glass storefronts and limestone exteriors. Sizeable houses dot the landscape, most of which are cordoned off by gates. And then we hit a patch of open space again before that space is cordoned off by gating. There's considerable foot traffic, as people park their cars on the side of the road and converge down it.

"We're here," Viondra announces.

The car pulls in beside a guardhouse, just before a gilded gate that bears a crest. We're quickly waved through, the gates giving way to reveal the mansion proper.

"Yeah..." I say aloud, my eyes not deviating from the massive manor in my vision. "This seems fitting for you alright."

Oh and it was massive. Limestone finishing, dark roofing, bright lights that makes the home stand out against the surrounding greenery.

"Efferi." Viondra says.

"Efferi...?" I repeat, turning to her.

"The name of this mansion, my family estate." Viondra chimes with a grin. "It means 'beside oneself with joy' - euphoria. And who wouldn't, really? Roughly one hundred acres – four of which are made up with a lake – a wellness center, a lounge, entertainment rooms, a plethora of kitchens and so much more..." she hums to herself, as if remembering all the good times she's had within the manor grounds. "Every day brings something new...Euphoria."

Where in the hells do they get so much money from? As we round the cul-de-sac, I gawk at the active fountain the middle of it. "H-How...?"

"A family effort, two centuries worth of hard work." Viondra replies back, reading my mind. "Alongside my own family of seven, we have three separate branches of the family living under this roof. Don't bother asking me for a number, I have too many relatives to count!"

Again, I know she's the daughter of the second most powerful person in all of Panem, but he and Viondra might as well proclaim themselves the first family at this rate. All I could do was murmur a breathy "wow" just as the car rolls to a stop before the tall manor. The passenger door opens and I'm met with a man dressed in pinstripe suit vest. His youthful face, combined with his conservatively styled premature gray hair causes my mind to nearly go haywire as I try to determine his age. I peg him to be on the youthful side of the spectrum. He takes me by the hand, grinning as he eases me out of the limousine.

"Good evening, Miss," he says, inclining his head. "It's a pleasure to meet you. The Vice President and Mistress Valorie DeWynter are raving mad about your performance thus far. In fact, I believe they're some of your biggest sponsors."

"I haven't event set foot into the arena yet." I reply, meeting his beaming smile with an awkward grin. Boy, he's a people-pleaser for sure. Almost reminds me of Callista when she interacts with Overwhill's staff. As much as I like her, I'd be a liar if I said she wasn't a teacher's pet.

"Exactly!" he chimes back, releasing my hand. "I think that's a testament to your character."

"Zenobia, meet Cadbury." Viondra says as she lights up yet another cigarette. "He's just one of three staff captains for Efferi."

"What's a-"

"Head of servants."

"I see."

"Ms. DeWynter. Glad of you to join us!" he exclaims, bowing to her. "I thought your escorting duties would keep you away."

"You know me Cadbury," she replies. "I'm not one to miss a party."

"Of course!" he gestures up the grand steps to the large double doors. "Now that you've arrived, how about we bound the steps and I announce you?"

Viondra shakes her head. "You'll take us through the side. As much as I enjoy eyes, I'd rather just ease into the festivities tonight."

Cadbury inclines his head, gesturing to the cobble, garden path. "As you wish. Please, please, right this way."

"Sergeant, Corporal, make yourselves comfortable. Zenobia," while tapping her cigarette, ridding it of spent ash, she grins from ear to ear. "Follow me."

When we're a little ways behind Cadbury, I nudge Viondra with my elbow. "I thought all servants were avoxes?"

"He's the son of two avoxes." Viondra hisses back. "In reality, his prospects are quite low if he thinks of life outside of servitude."

I nod lamely. "I see..."

"He's quite alright though," Viondra continues. "He does his job superbly and makes a splendid lamb stew with plums."

What follows next is a walk to the location of the party proper. Along the way Viondra constantly says a word or two to each and every partygoer she locks eyes with. Peacekeeper officers, bureaucrats, magnates, bigwigs from every stripe flock to her like a bug to a light. You'd think she was an experienced middle-aged Capitol elite instead of a young twenty-something whose father is the one with the power and connections.

I guess what she says about DeWynter girls is right. They are naturally born with charm and power.

"Hello Minister, oh I'm doing very well thank you for asking. Can't you see who I'm with?"

"I hope I'm not growing too old, Mrs. Carnegie."

"Patricia, Herod, how are you? I heard about the baby, congratulations. What's her name? Francine Nguyen? That's a wonderful name."

"Zenobia, this is a military college girlfriend of mine, Navy Lieutenant Glamoure Hanssen. If she weren't around for pleb year, it would've been a dreadful six months."

"Same could be said about your escort, Rivendell," says Hanssen. "When I had DeWynter by my side, we were unstoppable in the men's department. I don't think we ever paid for a drink in those semesters..."

"Oh, oh, oh there are some of my brood right now, cousins it seems." Viondra says, pointing them out. "I guess we could zip over and say a word."

Zoe and Zavier DeWynter are identical twins and Navy judging by their uniforms. When I asked them "Why Navy?" over say the Air Force or the Army or even the Expeditionary Force, Viondra jokes that they didn't want to get shot at. Judging by their hesitant chuckles, this proves to be the case.

Maria DeWynter is recently married, hanging onto an older Major who seems absolutely smitten with the much younger girl. He served in the Western Front, securing Districts 3, 7 and parts of 2 and 4.

"See what I mean?" Viondra mutters during a lull in our conversation regarding Maria's Husband's war exploits. Viondra's right, all DeWynter girls have to do is exist and an ideal life will come to them eventually.

Same goes for the DeWynter boys, it seems. A tall, slender boy around my age chats casually with a brown girl whose eyes twinkle like how Domita eyes Forge when he goes on an egghead-like tangent. Upon seeing us, they quickly make their way over.

"Zenobia, this is my younger brother, Armitage. Armitage, you know who this is."

"It's such a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Zenobia," says Armitage, pumping my hand. "You're really doing Panem a favor, doing what you're doing."

I grin. "Thanks-"

"You might as well be an active-serving Peacekeeper!"

I snort at the compliment. "I wouldn't go that far..."

"Everyone at school is raving about you." says Armitage's girlfriend, stepping forward. "I'm Pearlana by the way. Pearlana Singh. People call me Pearl."

"Hello, Pearl."

Armitage wraps an arm around her waist. "Pearl here wants to become a Gamemaker."

"I'll be watching your and your arena with intense interest." she says. "It's not all about the combat. Combat is nice and all, but the arena shouldn't just be a venue, it should be an active part of the Games experience!"

"You want more dynamic arenas, like HG 75?" I ask as she nods eagerly. "I don't think I'd want to be a tribute in your Games."

All devilish like, Pearl grins from ear to ear. "I'd definitely make you earn your crown, that's for sure."

I nearly freeze in place at the sight of Marceline Devereaux, chatting up a pair of girls while leaning ever so casually on a pillar, cigarette dangling between her fingers. It's odd how mannish she looks in real life. The male-like suit, the male-like hairstyle, if it wasn't for her petite features and face, I would've assumed she was the opposite sex. She locks eyes with us, excusing herself from the women before stopping us.

"Hey hey hey now," she purrs, hands splaying outward in playful jest. "You can't just scoot on by without sayin' how-de-do?"

I'm intrigued by her accent. During my vocal training, Viondra said that Capitolites that hail from the East Side speak in Marceline's accent. It's the bipolar opposite of Viondra's accent, which is miles more 'refined'. This Marceline Dervereaux is so unlike the serious newscaster that played second fiddle to Chad Blakely, dominating holovision screens in loyalist homes nationwide, condemning the Rebel forces and praising the Capitol's.

"Zenobia, you already know who this is." Viondra drawls, taking a drag and exhaling the excess. "Marcie and family are dear friends to the DeWynters."

I extend my hand forward. "I enjoyed your coverage of the War, Miss Devereaux."

Her blue eyes pierce mine as she takes my hand, kissing it. "It's pretty heavy stuff. I'm sure you know that more than anyone here."

"Now you're Caesar Flickerman's number two? Why the switch?"

Marceline shrugs. "It's always nice to detox, do something in the meantime while waiting for my next big break." her grin grows wider. "Speakin' of 'big breaks', let's say I get a quick word with the both of yous? I promise you'll be swimmin' in sponsor cash by tomorrow afternoon."

"We can't right now, Marcie." Viondra places a hand on my shoulder. "Zenobia can't stay for long."

"Shame." Marceline replies, shrugging before a coy smile appears on her lips. "Though I can't say I'm miffed. Somethin' tells me I'll be seeing ya very very soon. Good luck, Zenobia."

Of course, everyone gawks at me as well, doing double takes as they weren't expecting a tribute to be here – let alone myself. I even meet some of my fabled sponsors.

"I lost two grandsons, two whole grandsons." warbles a elderly woman by the name of Mrs. Noseworthy. "I put my money up with young Viondra here. Anything you need, you just kill as much of those roaches as you can!"

But I kept quiet as Viondra did all the talking, only limiting myself to simple wording and polite nods. And as she speaks to person after person, I can't but wonder...

"How do you know so many people?"

Viondra glances at me, grinning. "If you ask us DeWynters, it's always nice to have your hands in multiple pies, like you said earlier."

Finnick Odair flashes in my mind, more specifically his words against President Snow. And then their hands roaming my body as I lay against the cold concrete.

I shudder. "The sponsorship money...a lot of folks sink a lot of money into their prized horses, or so I hear. Do they still sell-"

"Honestly...? No," Viondra says in a hushed tone. I sigh. Oh thank the gods. Imagine getting all this support only to 'return the favor'. I'd jump off my pedestal willingly if that was the case. "Apparently that was Snow's little operation, propped up by fellow financiers. When he died my father and the President...cleaned house."

"Cleaned house?"

"Snows staunchest backers," Viondra elaborates. "The vultures circling his deathbed waiting for their moment, aren't to be worried about. When Snow died, there was a struggle. Some weren't happy with his chosen successor. Swallowing his pride, Father chose President Singh's side. Therefore, their practices are up in the air."

I find myself partially relieved as we continue our walk towards the music. "Aren't the DeWynter's 'staunch backers'?"

I receive no answer and thought that was the end of that until she pipes up again. "Us DeWynters know how to read the room. If we didn't, we'd be living in the East Side."

I find myself shrugging. She didn't exactly answer the question, but she did at the same time. It's safe to say that Capitol life is weird.

"Where are your parents?" I ask. It'd be nice to meet the Vice President of Panem face to face. My 'biggest backer'. I remember when he cackled when I unleashed myself onto those Rebels back in my private sessions.

"Mother is probably off in one of the side rooms, chatting with close friends." Viondra replies, using her cigarette holder to gesture. "Though because of Dick, she hasn't been the same. And father, well, he's probably upstairs in his parlor, smoking and debating as per usual."

The Staff Captain stops us.

"Here we are, the ballroom." Cadbury turns to us now, a pleasant grin on his face as his eyes shift from me to Viondra. "Do you need anything else, Ms. DeWynter?"

With a curt shake of the head, Cadbury leaves us, bowing and shaking my hand as we traverse across the busy terrace, ignoring all the eyes on us as we enter the ballroom proper. The party is in full swing, literally, partygoers shagging and lindy hopping as a colorful mass in the middle of the room all while Callista's favorite singer, Minnie LaFontaine, croons out one of her top numbers. She's joined by another familiar yet surprising face – District 11's Barely Philips. The only Elevener I will most likely ever like. Together, the duo are the king and queen of all things swing. It's evident in the way that the partygoers dance in tandem to the music, even going as far as to toss a girl into the air, the dress she wears causes her to shimmer like a star before dropping back into the throng of people waiting to catch her. I even spot The Boys dancing in the crowd with no inhibition. I'm glad to see that they too are having fun.

"You're a political person, right?" Viondra asks me after tapping my shoulder.

I nod. "Got the highest marks in civics class two years in a row."

Viondra grins, tapping the shoulder of a ginger-haired man in a navy-blue suit. "Mr. Montesor, I have someone for you to meet." The man in question turns around, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses in surprise at the sight of me. That surprise quickly turns into an expression of amusement.

"What in Panem's name are you doing here?" the older man asks. "Viondra must really be throwing that last name around."

"This is Gideon Montresor, Chief of Staff to the President and a good family friend," says Viondra. "If it weren't for him, we'd all be in gray jumpsuits turning big rocks into smaller rocks."

"How'd he manage that?"

"Well apparently, President Snow was a tough man to convince. If he remained stuck in his way, well..."

He waves my escort off, stuffing one hand into his trousers while nursing a drink with the other. "You give me too much credit, honestly."

"So you don't want admiration for saving Panem?" I ask him.

"It's just a job." Gideon shrugs. "Personally, I see myself as an architect. It's the construction workers – the doers – that ultimately saved Panem."

"He's a humble one too, has yet to give an interview to anyone," Viondra elaborates. "He was going to quit as soon as 13 fell but my father and the President begged him to stay on."

I extend my hand as he does as well, meeting me in the middle as he pumps it. I've seen enough news reports to recognize his face. He never says anything substantial; he always appears off to the side of the screen.

"I'm wondering the same thing, about what I'm doing here." I say with a shrug, jutting my chin toward my Escort. "Viondra's showing me the 'finer' things in life."

He folds his arms. "And how are you finding it so far?"

"You Capitols sure know how to throw a party." I say, gesturing towards the stage. Now playing are an all-female dance troupe wearing patriotic leotards dancing in tandem to music. "Personally, I prefer more intimate gatherings."

Gideon smirks. "I can't blame you. DeWynter parties are not suited for beginners. Though you'd better get used to it. Because when you win, we'll be partying till next year."

I fold my arms. "Why is everyone so sure I'll clinch it?"

I mean, I'm not under the assumption that I'm going to die for sure. I'm playing for keeps, yes, but the Games are often full of upsets.

"Why not? I think it would be an utter waste to come this far, do what you vowed to do and then die." he explains. "The nation's counting on you, Miss Rivendell. You're the last nail to be fastened into the Rebel's coffin."

Viondra nudges me, jerking a thumb towards an upstairs mezzanine. I have so much to ask. What's it like working in the Presidential Mansion, how did you shift the odds of defeat into total victory over the Rebels? But maybe, after I win this, I'll have all the time in the world to ask any questions I feel like.

I extend my hand toward him once more, grinning. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Montresor."

He takes my hand and pumps it one more time, a warm grin on his own lips. "Please, call me Gideon. I'll be seeing more of you, I'm sure of it."

We bound up the stairs, past a suited man who exchanges nods with Viondra as he draws back a velvet curtain and allows us onto the second floor mezzanine, seating us right above the evening's festivities. I'm floored when I lay my eyes on two young people not much older than I am, probably Viondra's age. The male, handsome with brown slicked hair and a pencil-thin mustache. The female, olive-skinned with brunette hair that extends past her shoulders - not your typical blonde beauty, but still beautiful all the same. They're District 1's surviving victor duo, Kaiser Neumann and Serene Westenfluss, dressed to the nines in a matching black tuxedo and A-line dress respectively. It only makes sense that Viondra knows them too. They rise from the theatre chairs they sit on upon seeing us.

"And there she is..." Kaiser purrs with a raise of his goblet.

Serene giggles into a throaty hum. "Zenobia Rivendell, victor-in-waiting." her voice, typical of a lot of Ones, sounds like she's on her twentieth pack of cigs.

"Zenobia, there's no need for introductions." Viondra drawls, taking a seat beside Kaiser. "Let's just say that these two are keen admirers of your style thus far."

"Don't jinx it," I say, pumping both their hands.

"It's not jinxing." Serene replies back, crossing one leg over the other as we settle into our chairs. "I'm not in the habit of affixing labels onto people unless I'm absolutely sure."

I find them both to be so intriguing. Serene, Victor of the Sixty-Sixth Games, a jack-of-all-trades like myself, utilizing anything she could get to win. Kaiser, Victor of the Seventy-Second, a common face on many a holovision commercial, using his people-savvy to claw his way to the top and stay there.

"I have so many questions." I say, nodding like an idiot when Serene motions for me to go on. "How did you survive? So many victors-"

"Oh you know, a little ingenuity..." Serene drawls in a sing-song tone, her long brown hair jostling back and forth as she teeters her head.

"A little having friends in higher places..." adds Kaiser, grinning back at Viondra who reciprocates. "You got one heck of an escort you know that? I nearly fell outta my seat when I learned you slapped her hand away on the train ride over here."

With lidded eyes and one hand holding her cigarette, Viondra's free hand finds itself on Kaiser's knee before steadily inching upward. I quickly find myself averting my eyes to their necks and above.

"I'm most definitely glad I saved you, Kais." she purrs with a throaty chuckle.

"Shouldn't you be mad?" I ask them. "I mean...none of your tributes are salvageable, besides Syndra."

"As far as we're concerned," Kaiser says, allowing Viondra to sit herself onto his lap. "These aren't 'our tributes'. They're rebels."

"You on the other hand..." Serene lights up a cigarette, takes a drag and exhales. "You're the most viable out of the ninety-six."

I quirk a brow. "You think I'm 'viable'...which means you support me?" I mean, it's not like their own tributes are supportable, besides Syndra.

Serene tilts her head to the side. "Essentially."

"Or any other tribute from any other district that is a loyalist or can be reliably neutral." Kaiser adds, easing Viondra further onto himself. "I'm sure you've heard that these Games are considered a 'new slate'?"

Trading gazes with a grinning Viondra, I nod.

"If Panem is to get better the Districts need better beacons – stronger beacons," Serene says.

Kaiser nods in agreement. "Beacons that won't surrender themselves to nooses in their closet or bottomless booze."

"Starting off this new generation of victors with yourself would be opportune." Serene taps the end of her cig holder into her ashtray. "So tell me, how are you feeling now that it's almost time?"

"Well..." I take a deep breath in and tell them about how I feel. Confident, but fully aware about my infamous status and that as we speak right now, Matix and his crew alongside all the other tributes are probably drafting plans on how to kill me. I also tell them about that December morning in detail. In turn, they spend the rest of the night explaining to me their trials and tribulations in regards to their individual Games – more than what any almanac or digest explained. Those things might as well be children's books than actual explanations. The tiredness they felt, the constant sense of unease before they drifted off to sleep, the constant self-doubt – nothing was left unturned.

"You will feel the burn." Serene says petting Juniper with a silky, black-gloved hand. "Especially in these Games. By the second hour, you'll probably be wondering to yourself why in the hells did you get yourself into this."

"As long as you remember your ulterior goal, you'll fare better than most," Kaiser adds. "Like Serene said. Even in your darkest hour, you cling on to that reasoning of yours and hold on tight."

"And Kaiser wasn't lying about Viondra," Serene says. "You're quite lucky to have her, but she isn't a miracle worker. Don't get reliant on the sponsors to save you."

I grin, shaking my head. "I don't think..." I don't think that's possible. I heard on the news that apparently I'm the most-sponsored tribute in Games history. More than Augustus Braun 'The Cavalier Career' or any other popular victor I can think of. Even Serene and Kaiser were pretty popular and I'm blowing them out the water. I imagine myself in the arena, asking for anything I want and getting it within seconds.

"Even if, don't get reliant." "

An hour or so later, empty glasses and spent cigarettes litter the ground around us. The vibrant music played earlier in the evening is now mellow and most patrons are casual talking in their respective circles. I recline back in my chair, allowing their words of advice to soak in.

"That's all we can offer." Kaiser finishes, reclining further back into his chair. "Trust in yourself. You know why you're there, besides the skin-deep notions of 'glory' and 'fame'. If those were the only reasons, you'd be a dead girl."

"If you're the same girl you were on stage last night, I think you'll clinch it."

"Thanks," I say, pumping both their hands eagerly. "For the words. I genuinely appreciate it."

I'd rather be getting words of approval from Brutus Gunn or Enobaria Golding, but their encouragement will do. Viondra rises to her feet, giving me a knowing look while tapping her communicuff. It's time for bed. You got a big day ahead of you.

"Hey Rivendell,"

Stopping at the exit, I turn to meet the D1 duo one last time.

"We lost loved ones too, Kais and I," Serene says. "The only difference is you can actually do something about it. So go out there and do what a lot of us are wishing we could do."

I nod firmly in reply, following Viondra through the ballroom and out into the cool November air. I'm not sure if it's the breeze or just me, but I feel jittery. Maybe because my foray through the Capitol is now over. Tomorrow is when the real work begins.

"How are you feeling?" Viondra asks as we near the limousine.

"Well enough," I reply. By the end of it all, I felt...assured. The 12 in training and the good interview reception were just momentary highs in comparison to Serene and Kaiser's advice. I don't think any tributes got it as good as I do.

My only task now is to not fumble.

Atonement76 . weebly . com

[!] - 'Zenobia's Dress' has been added to the blog via "Photo Gallery".

[!] - 'Viondra DeWynter (Youth)'has been added to the blog via "Photo Gallery". Viondra's about 23 in this iteration while being in her early forties by the SYOTs. I'm quite happy and proud to say that I've had her as a character for over 8 years...It's been eight years since I started my first SYOT with her as a conniving ice queen. Well, at least now she's a conniving ice queen with a little dimension to her. I like it. I think it captures her character well. I have an art of an older version where her cheeks are more pronounced. If I could change anything about this piece, I'd dress her more provocatively. However with her being a WASP-y Capitolite, she'd probably be more inhibited for her public image.

[!] - Zenobia's early design has also been added to the blog via "Photo Gallery". Those of you who enjoy your video Games...will know. Eva Green is her faceclaim, yes, but it's her blouse and...I would be copying way too hard if I went forward with that design for her interview dress. Again, if you know, you know. So...when you go look at the art and compare her to say...Elizabeth Comstock/DeWitt, would you kindly refrain from rolling your eyes too hard?

[!] - Marceline Devereaux has been added to the blog via "Characters Cont'd". Another OC of mine that's 8 years old. She's based off of Ellen DeGeneres...at least in the SYOTS while she's Master of Ceremonies. Had to add her in here somewhere. Could've stopped by making her a news reporter, however as some might remember she's my universe's Caesar so why not have her report on the Games until she gets there?

[!] - Look at that, a Capitol politician that isn't in it for himself...Gideon Montresor has been added to the blog via "Characters Cont'd". I have Elim9 to thank for him. Without him, my SYOT universe and this prequel wouldn't have a leg to stand on. His biography is basically the entire basis of the universe. The Capitol won all because a man who wanted to enjoy his lunch kept getting interrupted by the lamentations of his colleagues who were also members of Snow's Cabinet.

[!] - Kaiser Neumann and Serene Westenfluss has been added to the blog via "Characters Cont'd". They too have been around. With the Victors Purge and what not, I'd imagine that some people sided with the Capitol, if not to save their own skins. They reap the benefits to their fullest extent. With Serene getting into politics and Kaiser's acting career exploding.

I look forward to ageing them all in the future.

Coming Up Next...

"Okay Rivendell, this is it. Don't let your anger be a guide but a motivator." Viondra says, rushing me into the pod. Using a manicured finger, she fastens the seal of Panem onto my jacket's lapel and taps it. My mind immediately goes to Fire Girl's infamous pin. I guess I'm the anti-Fire Girl. "Remember, we've been hurt Zenobia – you've been hurt. Be our beacon. Be our judge, jury and executioner."