Chapter Nineteen - "Meanwhile"

Even with the staff riding our asses, I don't think I've ever hauled ass from the can and back so quickly before.

"S'cuse me," I let out a short breath, edging my way through my fellows. Naysmith Hall's Recreation Room is full to capacity. So full I wouldn't be surprised if this place buckled under the pressure of so many bodies being in one place.

I glance around at my fellows. All their eyes are glued toward the gargantuan holoscreen that takes up the entirety of the northern wall. Some gawp with absolute awe, some with jealousy wishing they were there in Zenobia's place.

"Rivendell knows what she wants, that's for sure." grunts one Cadet.

"She's smart. Wish I'd thought of that." replies another.

I can't help but snicker as I squeeze past another heavyset cadet. I know damn well that none of these cadets who I've heard swear up and down that they should've pushed their way into the Games would've survived the bloodbath. Only Stringbean could survive something like this.

Besides, General Rudiger's stern warning after Stringbean's volunteering should be enough to ward off another attempt like that again. Can't say I don't agree. This was Stringbean's year, and any copycats that come after her will be deader than a Twelve after the gong sounds.

I maneuver my way past the various chairs hastily assembled and the cadets that sit on them, throwing myself onto the couch, upsetting Randy as his body jostles a tad. He glares at me with his singular eye, only to roll it as I grin at him. He knows he's not getting an apology from me.

"Miss anything?" I ask him, all while directing my eyes toward the screen. The way she's going about this arena, she could be taking on the Twelves right this second.

No firefights or close-quarter melees. Zenobia's doing fine, as expected. The blood from today's scrap cleaned off her face, she eats her well-deserved meal of pasta and garlic bread, courtesy of sponsors. I don't think I've ever seen a tribute so loaded with loot right out of the gate.

"No…'Cept the sponsor gift." Randy replies, shaking his head. "She's doin' good...so good."

For the first time in months, I watch as Randall smiles and even snickers a little bit. She's his girl after all. And we were all so sure that she didn't have much of a game plan...and then the bloodbath happened. The screen divides in two, showing a montage of tributes on one side while Caesar and his panel of Games enthusiasts beam into the cameras on the other - the giveaway hint that no Gamemaker tricks or significant action is to be expected for the rest of the night.

"And there we have it folks!" Caesar announces. "Day one down, plenty more days to go in what is surely chalking up to be a Games for the books! Marceline, fellow junkies, any moments that stuck out?!"

"The Thirteens amongst the rabble are incredibly adept with squad tactics." notes one commentator. "It's something I haven't seen before but have heard plenty of times from contacts in the Peacekeepers."

The chatter in the Rec Room ceases when the camera cuts to the District 12 tributes, led by A pasty white boy named Justin Matix. Armed with handguns and submachine guns, they stomp the in-over-their-head pair of Sevens, pinning them down and flushing them with a spray of bullets. Just like how any of us would here in the Academy. They're nothing but trouble and I'm glad Zenobia didn't have to deal with them...yet at least.

"In typical Rebel fashion, I too am surprised at how quickly they took to the urban environment," another commentator prattles on.

"I'm not the only one when I say I always wondered how a Capitol-born tribute would fare in the arena. Clancy Smithson didn't disappoint at all!"

We watch a recap of his sister Emery being chased down by a District 9 male. While they both go down to the ground, Clancy sees this and stomps over to them with a machete in hand. With the multiple channels dedicated to each cornucopia, we didn't see how Clancy hacked the 9 male to death without hesitation, prompting the entire room to exclaim as the unfortunate 9 took a swing to the head, followed up by multiple chops to the body. Emery is as still as a ghost.

"Oh yes, Clancy Smithson. A big, strapping lad." Caesar replies, wincing as the nine male's head gets split in half. "I wouldn't expect a big brother to do anything less."

"Those eliminations were sweet and all," chimes Marceline, "But the tribute who really took the show was Ms. Spitfire herself, Zenobia Rivendell with ten kills to her name! I swear to Panem, I have never felt so frazzled in my life!"

I cheer, we all cheer when the cameras replay her bloodbath moment. Boy was Marceline right. When the boots came crashing down onto our girl, I think we all collectively screamed out. But then the countdown expired and the Games began...so did Stringbean's promise to kill any Reb she can get her hands on.

We cheer now, watching a recap of Stringbean working with lightning speed, taking down Reb after Reb until ten kills are assigned to her name at the end of the day.

"Just like the opinion charts, Zenobia Rivendell remains on top with a whopping ten eliminations to her name!" comments Caesar "The Games have a plethora of nail-biting moments and that my friends was one of them. Something tells me there'll be plenty more where that came from!"

"Hells, the young bird told us that herself!" adds Marceline.

"And to help her through those nail-biting moments, Ms. Spitfire is gonna need some sponsorship help, no?"

Marceline nods in earnest. "Something tells me Zenobia is covered on that path! According to the Gamemakers in charge of bookmaking, this year's Games have seen a significant rise in private sponsorship!"

Caesar lets out a cackle. "Why am I not surprised!?"

"Capitolites old and young are flocking to support our judge, jury and executioner!" croons Marceline. "Aiding Zenobia on the ground are none other than her intrepid prep team. Apparently we have them standing by now in the City Circle…"

Stringbean is safe, which means I can take my eyes off the holo...for now. Randy and I have the same idea as we rise from off the sofa and make our way toward the set of tables off to the western end of the room. While we walk over, I fixate my attention solely on our resident egghead, Garrison Forge. I take him in, grinning as I watch him consult a datapad with Bea by his side.

Garri, Garri, Garri… Ever since Zenobia left for the Gem City, he's been watching that pad like a mutt does a wounded tribute. Perusing the odds, escort interviews and as of today, looking over the interactive arena map the Gamemakers put out. Most times Randy has to force him to put the pad down and get some rack.

We make our way over to the table, Bea looking up and flashing Randy and I a grin, all while Garri continues to have his nose in the pad. I make a show of ripping the pad out of his hands and sitting myself onto his lap.

"Garri you can rest now," I say, taking a finger and wrapping it around a strand of his curly hair. "She survived."

Randy and Bea chuckle at how flustered Garri is at my taking of his pad and my sitting on him. His face flares up with anger before flushing with shyness.

"On the contrary, Domita," Garrison replies, adjusting his glasses. "I think she's in considerable danger."

I cluck my tongue. He's been telling us this since Stringbean strode her way down the aisle and forced herself into the Games. "It's day one, how close can this danger be?"

Honestly. The way she stomped that group of tributes during the bloodbath is something Hunger Games junkies will be yapping about for decades on. She proved herself today, even though I'm still somewhat concerned about how the rest of the Games will go. You can only get lucky so many times before you're fresh out.

"We've been keeping our ear on the other channels, Beatrix and I," he says. "Almost all alliances have Zenobia on kill-on-sight. The Fours, the Threes and so on. The Twelves obviously are fixing to hunt for her as well-"

Unconvinced, Randy tilts his head. "She has the Capitols-"

"And how effective are civilian Capitolites? They're not even rebel fighters!" Garrison claps back. "I would very much prefer if she just-"

"-If she just kept her head down. Yea Garrison, we know." Randy replies dismissively. "But she can't. She's the Loyalists' last twist of the knife into the Rebels' dying body. Being a gray man was never the option."

"But it isn't just the danger," Bea says. "It's Zen in general."

"What about her?" I pipe up confusingly.

"Zenny doesn't seem right..." she elaborates, frowning deeply as she gives her head a subtle shake. "Did you see the way she killed that girl...She didn't peg me as that type of fighter…"

Randy scoffs and I scoff along with him. "You remember what her dad did to hers? Wouldn't you do the same? It's the Games for Panem's sake…"

"I know that the Games are no-holds-barred-"

I chime in. "Bea, I know you're a little more...sensitive than the rest of us-" She is a nurse-in-training after all. Being a Career in the Games was never Beatrixs' bag.

She shakes her head. "It's not about 'sensitivity'. I'm fully aware of what needs to be done, thank you very much!"

Beatrix never snaps, I can count each time on my hand. So when she does it now, Randy, Garri and I still. Garri even has to hold me by the small of my back. She even attracts a few eyes our way. Unfazed by the eyes, she glares at them head on before they return back to their own conversations.

"I just don't want her to lose herself and something's telling me she's halfway gone already." she continues with a sigh. "Think Cato Ludwig for example…"

I wobble my head back and forth. Stringbean's smarter than any Career that's come before her - including the victors I'll go as far to say. Even though these Games are a whole different monster, I'm sure she's not going to be another Titus or something. "She's gonna need to fight like a dog if she wants out, Bea."

"They say you really gotta dig deep if you wanna get out of an arena…" Randall adds.

"Well, I wanna be there for her when she reaches the end." Bea says, shifting her mud brown eyes from Randy to me. "When she's done fighting...If only I can help her in some way..."

"How are you gonna do that-" Myself, along with the others, startle when we hear the distinctive click of a camera. Callista Ryder, our resident photographer, is on the other end of course, sporting her shit-eating grin.

"Day one is down everyone!" Ryder cheers, clapping her hands giddily. "Honestly, I'm so damn jittery, I can't wait to write out my piece for the paper! I just hope Rivendell eeks out a win! A victory piece would be legendary.""

"Calli," Bea says softly. "Where have you been?"

"Having a holocall, live reacting with my cousins back in the Capitol." Ryder prattles, taking up the empty seat beside her. "They are over the moon for our girl I swear. Even with the War screwing everything up, they're chipping in as much as they can for sponsorship-"

Bea's face goes blank for a moment before lighting up, her lips parting to show off her pearly white teeth before she leaps out of her chair.

"Yeah...Yeah!"

Ryder's face scrounges in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

Bea massages her temples. "I know how to help Zen!"

Garri adjusts himself, causing my stomach to flutter as he reaffirms his grip around my waist. "Through sponsorship?"

All of us are stumped when Bea nods in the affirmative. Besides local bookkeeping, districtpeople can't sponsor. Victors can sponsor for opposite districts but never non-Capitolites.

"How d'ya plan on doin' that?" I ask. "The War hasn't exactly made us flush with cash, Bea."

"Half my stipend goes back to my ma an' pop," Randall adds. "Doubt people would be willing t' part with what they got."

"Well..." Bea drones in a sing-song tone, her head lolling side to side. "Remember civics class last year? How we all volunteered at the old community home?"

We all mumble in the affirmative. Along with patrolling the streets and volunteering for flood control, swaddling babes also builds us into "upstanding Panemian youth". But then, I slowly begin to smile as I realize what Bea is getting at.

"Well, when they wanted to update their jungle gym, a certain baking drive by yours truly made people part with their cash pretty easily…"

"A baking drive," Randy repeats flatly.

I wave a hand toward him. "Hear her out, Randy."

"A true Panemian would be jazzed to donate to ensure Zenobia's 'triumph against the Rebel thugs' I think." Bea says gingerly, her eyes scanning from left to right. "All the proceeds will be wired to Calli's Capitolite cousins. Or even her Capitolite folks. Right Calli?"

"Uhh...Yeah, of course." Ryder nods with a slight frown on her lips. "I'm sorry, I'm just shocked you came up with such a plan...I mean, it makes complete sense."

"I have it in with the kitchen quartermaster. I could put in a good word right now and get baking as soon as possible. I could use some extra hands, however. So...Whaddya think?"

"What about the government?" Inquires Garri. "I don't think they'd be keen on people transferring cash-"

"Ryder's dad is Headpeacekeeper of the Army, Garri," I say. "Like Bea said. If not her cousins, I'm sure 'father' will be more than happy to help out."

Ryder rolls her eyes, prompting me to stick my tongue out in response. It won't be the last time her father's title will give her an edge.

"So?" Bea's eyes flicker back and forth as she grins widely. "Are we doing this?"

Randy, Ryder, Garri and I exchange looks. Our workload will be next to none with these Games going on. Zenobia's going to need our help in the very near future...so why not? Maybe what we do here will pull her over the edge. She'd do the same for us if there was a way. Better to do this than to look at the screen and hope to the Sun that she somehow makes it through. At least now District 2 will have a direct hand in helping Zen out.

I gesture haphazardly with a free hand. "Oh what the hells, sign me up!"

Randall nods with the wryest of grins on his lips. "Anything for Zen...anything."

"Anything to get your girl back home." I jeer, slugging him in the shoulder. He looks the other way while we chuckle, but I know he's flushing beet red right now.

Ryder grins from ear to ear. "Watch out Forge, you have a rival egghead nipping at your tail."

"Ha ha, Ryder."

"No one can out egghead you," I say into Garri's ear, grinning widely as his face flushes pink. I love how skittish he is.

Bea squeals, clapping her hands giddily knowing that her plan is taking off. "I'm glad that we don't have to sit around and twiddle our thumbs anymore!"

I can see it now. Bea's amazing sugar cookies being sold by the bagful not just at the Academy, but maybe even Ravinstill Springs if more people join us. Everyone knew Stringbean's folks, they'd be more than happy to pitch in.

"Attention cadets, attention cadets!" chimes a pleasant voice over the PA system. "All cadets must head to their designated dormitories. All cadets must head to their dormitories."

Before we could verbally wonder what's going on, some Peacekeepers enter the Rec Room - armed.

"You hear the announcement, get to your respective wings." barks one of them "No one leaves the building, for your own safety!"

Okay...The room exploding into a flurry of murmurs, we cautiously move from our seats and begin to make our way to the various stairwells and elevators Naysmith Hall has to offer. Before I leave the Rec Room, I slowly drift towards a recently-graduated Corporal I know. Graduated with my cousin Wade Rankine.

"Hey Jessup, what's goin' on?"

"Some drunk Rebel opened fire on the east checkpoint, got riddled for his effort." replies the Corporal. "No casualties on our side."

"Good."

"'Parently he was hollerin' about the school being a 'murder-making factory', you know, the usual shit the salty regular schools bitch and moan about."

I quirk a brow. "Oh damn…"

"Yea…" he snorts, his rifle jostling around as he rolls his shoulders. "You can never be too sure anymore, 'specially about the War and all that. A lot of angry Rebels not content with biting their tongues."

I shake my head. "If this guy did what he did now, imagine how they'll be feelin' when our girl kills off the rest of 'em."

"Exactly," says Jessup. "It ain't so cut an' dry, Wilson. Some Rebel's ain't ready to lay down and die just yet, even with their bird gettin' roasted."

"Good to know." I say.

I leave it at that, exchanging nods with the good Corporal before joining the other girls as we board the open elevator. Part of me says to brush it off. I've been hearing the same reports down the grapevine. Aren't they fighting a pocket of them in the desert region south of here?

Another part of me wonders if he has buddies who hate our Academy just as much as he did and would love to do the same thing but sober as a judge next time around.

"Oh Zenobia…" I drawl. "You are sure as shooting the best thing that's ever happened to me."

The car barely rolled to a halt yet what seems like the entirety of the nation's press are just outside the doors, their cameras flashing, their voices hollering my name. The only thing stopping them from crowding the limousine is a smattering of Peacekeepers lining the way. They can barely manage that.

I eye a Peacekeeper as he moves to open the door. I've yet to receive a call from Father. I wonder what he thinks of my venture now? Is it still 'gallivanting'? A 'stupid venture'? I bet not. The DeWynter name gains more prominence, all thanks to me.

The Chauffeur opens the door, inviting in the noise of the raucous crowd gathering to see me, the architect behind the whole operation. Beaming from cheek to cheek, I ease out of the car to greet my adoring public.

Afterall, Zenobia's success is due to my design, so it's only fair, only natural, I get some of the recognition.

"Hi! Hello, everyone!" I greet, letting out a cackle. I smile just in time as a photographer comes up close and takes a shot. "I trust you all enjoyed the bloodbath like I did? Zenobia is a trailblazer to the nth degree! Like you, I too await what else she may get up to!"

"Lieutenant DeWynter-!"

"Please, Viondra is fine!"

"Viondra, have you and Zenobia gone over an arena strategy before launch?!"

"Before she stepped into history, I made sure to remind Viondra what her victory would mean for Panem as a whole. There are a lot of loyal, Capitol-fearing Panemians out there who are feeling...empty, as if the Rebels weren't properly dealt with for the misery they inflicted. Let it be known that Zenobia Rivendell is right there with them."

"So there's no strategy-?"

"There is no overarching strategy. Zenobia had a plan all along, that plan is to make these Rebels pay for tearing this great nation apart - her family apart. I for one say that she's doing a capitol job."

"Word has it that a lot of the alliances have plans to eliminate her on sight. How can you defend against such odds?"

"A dozen Rebels tried to take her out the moment the gong sounded...a dozen! I think she can take a dozen more, even without my help." I reply proudly. "Like the holograms said, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"Do you have any general remarks?"

"The team and I thank you for all your sponsorship donations. Although this is the first of a handful of Games with these special stipulations, this is the final fight between the Capitol and it's loyal adherents and that of the floundering Rebel threat. In an arena filled with the absolute worst of Panem's society, Zenobia Rivendell is our judge, jury and executioner. She'll need all the support she can get going against the likes of Justin Matix, Rief Cohen and Darlex Paylor. If you truly believe in Panem and are able to contribute to Zenobia's battle against these marauders, then I urge you to come forward!"

…

When I enter Two's apartment, I'm surprised to see Antonius standing in the living room, nursing a drink while watching a recap of the day's are no signs of Avoxes and my armed escorts return back to the elevator. We find ourselves exchanging wide both know why. We're both riding a wave of popularity never seen before. I knew I was right when I thought this would be the most perfect venture to embark on. With 2, no less.

"You've really got them fired up, Minx," he says, eyeing me as he lifts the tumbler to his lips.

I sashay over to the Head Gamemaker, giving him a playful bump to the side with my hips. "New York City...Capitol work, Sir."

Having such...intimate access to the Head Gamemaker, there had been numerous occasions where he wanted to spill the beans on his magnum opus, to which I declined. Surprises are always pleasant, as was this one.

"I thought it a mirror into what could've been," he tells me. "Total ruin, a devolution into the same nothingness our forefathers fought so hard to pull us out of."

I quickly pull him onto the sofa, allowing him to lock me in an embrace. I love when he gets all passionate about his beliefs. When it comes to evaluating Head Gamemakers, he's on the higher rungs.

"I'm elated. She's the bipolar opposite of the utter muttshit of the past two years." I say, taking the tumbler from him and sip from its contents. "If she pulls this off, when she pulls this off-"

"We can't be so sure."

I crane my head to look at him. With a scoff of disbelief I say, "That's slightly concerning, coming from the Head Gamemaker of all people-"

"A drunkard - a Rebel - approached Zenobia's school and engaged Peacekeepers in a firefight. There are reports of angry rants in taverns-"

"Angry rants?" I repeat incredulously. "The shooting is one thing, but the gripes of salty Rebels should be no-"

"That's not counting the numerous cleanup operations occurring as we speak to get rid of these people once and for all," Antonius presses. "The President want's a laissez-faire approach. We can ill afford to make it too obvious."

I scoff. We're a little too late for that, don't you think? "Ill afford..." Surviving an ambush of a dozen tributes wasn't obvious enough? "I mean she didn't get blown to smithereens when those boots came flying…"

"The clock did reach zero…" he lets out a throaty chuckle that causes his chest to rumble against my back. "But truth be told there were no mines there-"

"Exactly." I giggle back, running a manicured finger against his rough, chiseled chin. "They lost. Why care what they think? Their job now is to sit and take what we dish them."

"President's intuition," Antonius offers. "I have to say, she's quite honorable…"

"Too honorable, I'd say," I scoff back in reply. "If I were in charge, there would be no more rebels to worry about."

"You in power..." Antonius lets out another chuckle. "I wouldn't want to be in your sights, that's for sure."

Pressing my lips to his jaw, we turn our attention to the holovision. Most of the tributes are asleep now, some crying beforehand. Zenobia's Capitol-born allies have made it through the day...miraculously. The Twelves - the Thirteens - are active still, doing routine patrols around the museum they've claimed for their own. The cameras focus on Matix and his red-headed friend Thom.

"What are you thinking about?" asks Thom. "Is it about her?"

Matix continues to gaze into the campfire before him. "We need to find and get rid of her as soon as possible."

"And we will." Thom nods, going as far as intertwining his hand with Matixs' "As soon as we get a lay of the land, we'll get her eventually."

Similar conversations were happening all throughout the arena. They may not be allies, but everyone is united in the yearn to eliminate Zenobia as soon as possible.

Noticing my stillness, Antonius lazily plays with a strand of my hair.

"We'll do our due diligence. We can't let a potential victory like this go to waste." he says. "However, it's Rivendell that'll have to carry most of the weight..."

I grumble in the affirmative, taking the tumbler from his hands as I down the rest of the contents.

I trust Zenobia to conduct herself accordingly in that arena. Without my guidance, she would probably be prowling through the rubble right now, killing everyone in sight until she herself was killed. She's smashed records and overturned enough conventions to earn a place in Games history...Panem's history, even. And with me being the mentor who guided her through...I'd be the talk of the town for decades.

It won't matter if she doesn't take the crown on top of it all. Barely anyone talks about the finalists in any given Games.

"Don't worry." I say. "Something tells me our girl knows what's on the line. I know I do, which is why I won't rest until she's lifted out of there."

A/N: Hello, thank you for reading. I am currently battling Third Year university. The prognosis is...fair. Updates will be slow, but I'm working on chapters in the background. I usually brainstorm in a physical notebook before writing.

I will be sure to update you on the word status via my profile. So in the even you wanna keep tabs, the word count for the next chapter will be there.