Chapter Forty-Three - "Deciphering"
When the announcement is made, damn near everyone, even Caesar Flickerman and his retinue of commentators, are flabbergasted at the final twist.
Still, they, alongside every Capitol-fearing loyalist from east coast to west, quickly shirked their confusion and let out a cheer so loud they could bring forth another Earth-altering apocalypse if logic were fickle. They had good reason to celebrate. They'd won. Like some sort of final battle, these Games were a direct kick to the Rebel's teeth. Vicariously through Zenobia, they'd deliver judgment to a record number of rebel soldiers while watching the arena sort out the others. They'd loved having the addition of Emery and watching the duo develop their bond, but everyone knew that only one would live and Zenobia would preferably be that one.
No one's complaining that both of their favorites managed to survive.
In District 2, at Overwhill Academy, Randall breathes a sigh of relief, too moved to stand up. Instead, he lets his fellow cadets and faculty do the celebrating for him. As a content-looking Zenobia is hoisted into the hovercraft, the traditional military cry of "Oorah!" is chanted ad nauseam. Through all the jubilation, a vision of Zenobia wearing one of her mother's best dresses as she's escorted toward him flashes through his brain. (Would his Dad give her away? Who cares).
While Garrison, Callista and Domita hug one another, Beatrix lays a gentle hand on Randall's shoulder. She knew that If anyone had anything to lose, it would be him. Beatrix is very happy herself, especially for Zenobia's little friend, Emery. For if it weren't for her, Zenobia's existence would be debatable. Beatrix would have a lot of work to do when her friend gets back.
In the Capitol, at the DeWynter family manor, Viondra - for the first time in her life - is genuinely confused. As her massive family show their joy by shrieking like chimpanzee mutts while showering her with praise, her sense of confusion is mixed in with a certain ecstatic fervor that makes her feel like an active tracker jacker nest. Notably, her Vice President father was absent from the home, so she wouldn't be getting any answers from him.
Don't get her wrong, Viondra loves a good surprise and has received plenty of them. A random gift from one of her many admirers, a tribute she banked on making it far…surprises like that. Toni's first announcement of two victors from the same district was a good surprise, she thinks.
Two victors? For my very first stint!? Oh Toni, you shouldn't have!
Even though she thought Eldwyn Bishop was handsome as he was ignorant, Viondra knew that Zenobia would be at a disadvantage with Lilith Rabe still alive and didn't hesitate to sneak him a line to which she was glad he made the right decision. With Zenobia and Eldwyn, two would quickly replenish their pool of victors and she would go down as the woman who helped put them there. Everything was shaping up nicely.
…Until Emery literally exploded back onto the scene.
Viondra swears to Panem that her heart aged twenty years watching Zenobia narrowly escape the girl's clutches. Just as Zenobia moves to clinch the win, Toni makes it so that both of them win.
Zenobia, a Two.
Emery, a thirteen-year-old deportee from the Capitol to District 12 of all places.
Viondra, Fletcher, Wyatt and Amir leave her house via limousine back to the city proper. The boys are over the moon, naturally, chatting fervently about the outfits they'll fit the duo with. Viondra, on the other hand, is thinking about the hidden ramifications. The politics. Viondra can't help but wonder why the entire ride down. Why would he do that?
At the Gaul Laboratories, the landing before the grand steps are flooded with reporters and lucky spectators itching to get an answer to that same question. Head Gamemaker Antonius Rose, with his retinue of fellow subordinates appears through the double doors to a torrent of questions and flashing bulbs. He takes it all in stride, service uniform neat, hair and face coiffed as he flashes a charming smile and a casual wave.
At first the Colonel was skeptical about taking up this post. He thought he was glad to be a 'behind the scenes' person, exploiting the limits of the sciences to his heart's content. However, being at the driver's seat of all this change, presiding over the literal 'best Hunger Games yet', has shed any morsel of restraint he has.
"Good afternoon, everyone." Antonius purrs. "As per the status of Emery Smithson and Zenobia Rivendell, they are stable and en route to the Capitol as we speak. I won't speculate on potential injuries until after the medical team's assessment. I will take a question."
All the clamor ceases when he points to a select reporter.
"Congratulations on a masterful Hunger Games, Colonel. Patricia Malmsey, Capitol News. I think I speak for everyone when I ask why two victors? This hasn't been explained at all, not even after the first announcement. Isn't this supposed to be, as the President stated, a 'punishment Games'?"
"Of course. And I think I speak for all Capitol-fearing citizens in saying that these were indeed a 'punishment Games'. I for one feel the additional provisions were correct. But President Choudhury believes in the Capitol's benevolence just as much as its wrath. It was a thought out decision, not one made in haste."
The camera cuts to Patricia and the pool of reporters around her who jot down every word as if it were sacrosanct. "But two victors from the opposite district? Loyal citizens are stunned with elation, but…"
"Again, the President in all her kindness recognizes the immense burden the districts have to bear upon their selection. The provision of ninety-six tributes shall continue until the eighty-first year. In the Games, alliances will surely form. Some of these alliances, as per many years prior to this one, are inter-district due to a variety of reasons. The last-minute call was simply that, a gesture of good will. Now if you would excuse me, I need to receive our victors. There will be ample time for more questions, you know this."
An hour later, Viondra gets the real answer. She's arrived at the Training Center and now stands with Antonius as they overlook the operating room. Two separate teams oversee the unconscious bodies of Zenobia and Emery. She knows it's just basic 'clean up' of the various bruises, lacerations and even hairline fractures they've both endured. He hands her a plastic bag with Zenobia's tokens inside. Viondra regards the scuffed-up promise ring that had many spectators ooh-ing and aww-ing and makes a mental note to get it cleaned up as best she can.
"Originally, the 'two victors' concept was to extinguish the Katniss Everdeen question from the nation's consciousness," says the Head Gamemaker, taking a drag from his cigarette. "I would argue that this year alone accomplishes that. Or at least starts the process. Not to mention that having two winners each year replenishes the pool of victors lost during the War."
Viondra takes a drag of her own cigarette, taking the ivory holder out of her mouth as she inspects the lipstick-stained mouthpiece. "But then Zenobia came along…"
"Then Zenobia came along," Antonius confirms with a nod and a grin. "She was our horse from the beginning. Despite the contingencies. Despite the 'backups'."
"Then Emery, and to a lesser extent her brother, came along," Viondra says. If it weren't Zenobia, it would've most definitely been them. "Not to mention Syndra and the others…Zenobia had quite the supporting cast. People were quite upset at their deaths. They get upset all the time, but not quite like this..."
"The President believes that the use of deported Capitol youths in future Games should be ceased immediately due to that alone," Antonius replies. "Deportation is humiliation enough."
Viondra shakes her head. "I'm still confused about the joint districts thing. Emery isn't from Two. She's from Twelve now. Her father is a traitor on top of that."
Grinning coyly, Antonius wags a finger. "Ah, but she certainly made good on righting her father's sins, didn't she? It was a last minute change. The President, like the rest of the Capitol, felt a touch of…endearment, towards little Emery. Towards the other Capitol youth that allied with Zenobia too, but towards Emery above all. We couldn't have a Capitol youth so young die like that. We simply couldn't. Not with all the adoration. In hindsight, just think about all the revision this year has done against the blot of the last two years…Zenobia and Emery, the Capitol's very own Katniss and Rue."
Antonius excuses himself, leaving Viondra with a much-needed sense of clarity. In all fairness, she would've been happier if it were just her and Zenobia running the victor's circuit instead of having to share the spotlight with her half-brother Pluto and Emery. But she was the senior escort. Zenobia is her charge. If there was anyone to thank for allowing Zenobia to get to where she was, it was her.
When Fletcher enters the room and explains that Pluto was outside waiting for her to attend her first post-Games press scrum, she spares one last glance at her unconscious victor and leaves the observation room with a grin from ear to ear. She knows things will only go 'up' from here.
As Zenobia's fist grips my chest, I clasp my hands around it, my lower half bucking against her to no avail. "Stop! Do you hear me?! Stop!"
She doesn't listen. Her face is a blank slate, as if I were just another tribute and the time we shared together was nonexistent. With a piece of metal firmly in hand, she drives it down towards my eye.
Shrieking, I attempt to lurch upwards, only to find myself being held tightly in place. I immediately realize that it's not freezingly cold anymore. In fact, it's rather…warm. My sight is out of sorts, as if I don't have my glasses on and my Capitol-gifted contacts were removed. Just as I regain my sight to a seeable level, two women clad in white appear in front of me. Are these people the angels Mother used to talk about, guardians of a land called 'heaven' where the dead go? Even still, I continue to yell as I writhe and kick as best I can to avoid their extending hands.
And then Pluto arrives, and I can't possibly be in heaven if Pluto is here. He moves the two girls aside, greeting me with a gentle hand to my chest, nudging me back onto the softness. Even still, my heart threatens to burst out of my chest entirely. I swear I was being pinned to the ground, begging for Zenobia to spare my life and now I'm…I'm…
Where am I?
"Shh, Emery, shhh…" my escort yearns, moving to smooth down my hair. "Everything is alright, I promise you."
My yells turn into a whine. Everything is alright. I hone in on that word. Alright. I still myself.
I sure don't feel alright. Pluto seems to notice, as he snaps for a woman to hand him a cup which he quickly gives to me. I immediately figure out it's ice water and nearly eat the cup. That's how refreshing it is, moistening my then-dry throat, cooling me from head to toe as it settles in my stomach. I recline back, slurping up everything the cup has to offer. That's better.
"Slow sips." Pluto tuts, removing the cup from my grasp and passing it off to one of the women. He takes me by the hand, a soft grin on his lips. "You're back in the Capitol now, the hospital wing back at the Training Center. Emery, you won. You're the first-ever Capitolite victor of the Hunger Games. Congratulations." From his satchel bag, he retrieves my journal. "Don't you worry, I made sure to keep it safe for you."
As he places the item in my hands, I regard them and gulp deeply, my vision drifting from Pluto, to the concerned nurses to the mint green wall in front of me. I barely take in the heart-shaped balloons and piles of presents that dominate the leftmost corner of the room.
You won…I won. It all comes flooding back like a busted dam. My reaping in District 12, my returning back to the Capitol not as a born citizen but a condemned tribute, the impending doom as launch day crept closer and closer, the killing, oh the killing, Clancy's beautiful head exploding before my very eyes, the scream I let out….
Then, my mind flashes back to my father greeting me on my twelfth birthday, only for government agents to declare him an executed traitor a month or two later. Then Mother comes to mind, frail and dying. Part of me yearns to be back in that shabby hut, safe in her arms.
But I can't. Mother's dead. I'm an orphan now. All that's left of my immediate family is my pet cat…wherever she is.
I immediately start to recall what I had written in my journal, about wanting to try and win. Mother, Father and Clancy would all be happy with me winning with Clancy saying so himself. But what's the point of winning if they aren't here to share it with me?
A deep sigh escaping my lips, tears well in my eyes as they drift towards the ceiling. And then they flow, streaming down my cheeks as I manage out a choked sob.
No Pluto, everything is not alright.
I feel like a ghost. Empty. Useless. Just waiting for a Peacekeeper or a tribute like Spinel to kill me…Or in this case, the doctors to declare me invalid and inject me with poison. I've felt this way two times prior - three if you count this moment. At least for the first time, after Mother died and the Capitol decided to deport me to District 12, I had Clancy to brave my new reality with.
Now I don't.
Though I'm here in person, I remain-ghost like as the doctors spend the next hours changing my various bandages while a nervous-looking Pluto oversees everything with a set of fingers against his mouth. I don't care, but if I did, I'd wonder what he's so nervous about. All he's done so far is sit and watch me from a distance.
"Don't you worry darling," coos one of the nurses. They're working on the gash Spinel left against my cheek. "Your pretty little face will look just fine in a day or two."
Staring straight ahead, I barely register her. I can't help but wonder where Clancy is. Are his wounds okay? What does his face look like? I doubt you can make what happened to it 'just fine'. I hear my screams right now, combined with Zenobia's yearnings for me to "Shut up! Shut. Up!"
They give me food, but I don't eat it. What's the point? Same thing goes for the myriad of gifts they flash in across my vision. Headbands of various colors and designs, nail polish, shoes…They barely register in my brain. A real gift would be them bringing back Clancy and having him stroll into the room good as new.
"Dearie, you need to eat," yearns one of the nurses. "We prepared this specifically to your liking."
"Hash browns and sausage, who doesn't like that, hmm?" prods another.
When they finally decide to leave me the hells alone, I see Pluto entering from the corner of my vision, wearing a familiar backpack.
"Hello Emery. Look who decided to pay you a visit?" he chimes, opening up the bag to reveal Katniss. The shorthair cat lets out a meow of glee, her finicky whiskers tickling my face as I continue to gaze off towards my front.
If Kat and I were to return home right this minute, it would be a rather empty house.
My escort frowns. "Your extended family wanted to come as well, but we're saving it. Uh…" he dips down into his own satchel to retrieve a plastic bag, holding it up in front of me to see the contents. My Mother's polka dot scarf.
I'm not quite a ghost anymore, as I ignore Pluto's gleeful expression and take the bag from him. My mind is immediately flooded with the face of Mother, scenes of her using this very scarf to police her freshly done perms. Opening it, I scrunch up the pink fabric and hungrily smush it against my nose, disappointed that it smells distinctly of detergent.
"I made sure to get it cleaned, given its condition," pipes Pluto, woefully adding, "Sorry, Emery..."
It wouldn't have smelled like her anyway…probably just sweat, mud and soot of the arena. I reach for my journal, pens and all. Easing up on the bed on my own accord for the first time since I woke, I flip to the next blank page. Tapping the tip of the pen against it, my mind returns to the various scenes and thoughts that dominated it all day. Where do I begin…
"Today's the seventh, by the way..." Pluto says warmly.
My grip on the pen slackens, causing the tip to veer off, marking the page. I don't react to Pluto's look of dejection. That's right. Everyone saw me writing about my feelings for weeks on end. What's the point of writing in this if it isn't a secret anymore? Perhaps they know, but they don't 'know' know. They know I write, but not what about. This journal is my world. It can't be taken away from me. So…
December 7th,
…I 'won'... ….I certainly don't feel like a winner, however….
Hours since I woke slowly turn into days. Kat is taken by Pluto back to my Auntie. Sleep, or what passes for sleep, goes as quickly as it comes. More food arrives, only for them to return it to where it came when they see it untouched. They keep talking at me. "Good Morning, Emery!", "Are you hungry now, Emery?" , "Zenobia is up, would you like to go walking with her, Emery?" .
They're like a swarm of mosquitos, they don't know how to just go away…
Exhaling harshly through my nose, I begin to write:
December 9th
What's the point of being a winner if you don't have family to celebrate it with?
"Hello Emery!" chirps Pluto as he arrives, turning on the holovision affixed to the corner of the ceiling. As expected, the news sings the praises of Zenobia, the brave Two who didn't have to - and wasn't even allowed to - partake in these Games but felt a vengeful desire to avenge the deaths of her family members as well as countless loyal citizens and did so anyway.
"And we can't forget about Zenobia's helper, our city's very own Emery Smithson!" gushes Caesar Flickerman's new sidekick, Marceline. "Who would've thought little Emery would be friends with the nation's second family! Mistress Victoria, how do you feel about all these developments? Your sister is the Game's most famous escort and your best friend is a victor at the same time? Must be neat."
The camera cuts to my beaming 'friend', standing beside her father.
"Very neat! when Emery wasn't in school in September, we were all taken for a surprise," she coos. "As soon as her name was called, I was thrown into even more of a loop, all of us were!"
My pen digs into the question mark's period. And to think Vicky didn't like me. I write this in my journal:
Extended family is nice and all but that's why they're extended family, they're not there with you all the time. Don't get me started on my 'fellow Capitolites'...During the War, we were the scum of the earth and now…
"See Emmy, they love you!" Pluto gushes.
I clamp my eyes shut and blow out another exhale through the nose. I write so hard the page begins to crumple.
Now that Mother and Clancy are dead…I'm just supposed to pretend to be okay?! After everything that happened?!
"The quicker you just…buck up," Pluto continues, "the quicker we can get out of here and see-"
I slam my journal shut, crane my head towards Pluto and glare so hard at him I wish his head would explode. He gets the message all the same, his skin blanching as he shuts off the holo and quickly flees the room. Once I'm certain he's gone, I continue to write:
…They don't know how to go away until they get squashed.
December 10th.
Doctor Silverman is here to visit, of all people. One more grownup here to talk at me.
"Hello Emery, congratulations on your victory," says the Doctor, laying a gentle hand on my thigh. "I kept tabs on you from the reaping to the finale. I'm so proud of you, as is everyone else."
I gently nudge my leg out of his grasp and continue writing; I've always wondered what it'd be like, to be a victor, to get praise. Why does it feel so hollow?
"I'm not sure where to even begin…" he continues, resting his chin on his fists. "A lot has transpired over the years, hm? The Games were one thing, but then I heard that there was a prison sentence." he leans towards me. "Emery, have you genuinely spoken to someone? Aired out your feelings?"
He, nor anyone else, will ever understand how I feel. They're the ones who made me feel this way.
As my eyes continue to focus on the page, I hear him sigh. "Emery…I know this is difficult, but you need to speak. Bottling in your feelings will only make things worse."
I say nothing, watching him as he grumbles to himself, jotting down notes onto his datapad. About me. In block letters, I see;
-SELECTIVE MUTISM,
-VICTOR'S GUILT.
Yet they insist they're here to help. They give me candy and balloons like I'm some sort of baby to be soothed. As if that will take the pain away…
With a deep sigh, Dr. Silverman pats my thigh and rises to finally leave me alone…Only for Pluto and two male nurses to replace him. From the corner of my vision, I watch my frowning escort as he wrings his hands and clears his throat.
"I'm so sorry, Emery," he says.
Suddenly, I find myself caring, caring just enough to turn my head towards him. The two nurses are on me in an instant, latching onto both my arms. I let out a warbled cry, my throat out of practice due to days of not using it. During the struggle, sheets come loose, garments rip, and my journal gets tossed onto the floor. Tears stream from my eyes as I reach out for it, only for a firm palm to plant me onto the bed proper.
"No! No!" like a turtle on its back, all I can do is spastically flail my arms and legs until one by one, they're bound together with leather straps. I swear on Panem's bountiful land I hear the crazy giggles of Spinel Knudsen in my ear. No one's comin' to help ya…
I let out a shriek that reaches fever pitch when one of the nurses jams something sharp into my neck. My brain is telling me to continue resisting, while the rest of my body flushes with a familiar warmth that flows from my chest downward. I feel the faint sensation of the bed beginning to move, as with the last of my strength, I glance over to a stone-faced Pluto.
"Why?" I moan out.
Blinking through tears, the last thing I catch before leaving the room proper is his face dropping into a frown. I already know why. It's because he doesn't care. None of them care. They're just using me.
They're moving me through a hallway. So white and clean with the lights so harsh. A crowd of nurses gape at me, whisper at me. On the other side, Dr. Silverman shares his datapad with the Head Gamemaker himself, who like all the other adults, gazes at me through impassive eyes.
He must've planned this. Him, Pluto and Silverman. Taking my journal away, always bothering me.
They wheel me through double doors into another sick-green room, smack dab in the middle where a large lamp beads down on me like the sun itself. I watch helplessly as doctors and nurses get to work. What are they doing to me!? Despite being numb from head to toe, I feel the rapid thump of my heart against my chest. As if someone is tapping me continuously. A nurse smooths down my hair.
"Hush darling," she coos. "This may feel…odd at first, but I promise you hand-over-heart you'll feel right as rain afterwards."
I'm in no condition to object, as I can only watch as she places a mask over my mouth that quickly fills with a cool air, placing me somewhere between unconsciousness and alertness.
In that 'in-betweenness', I feel a series of sharp 'jolts'. With each jolt, my brain becomes more and more…clear.
The next time I wake, I'm no longer bound to the bed proper. There's no sign of my journal. The nurse on standby zips out of the room and in Pluto comes, grinning from ear to ear, bearing a tray of breakfast.
"Good morning, Emery," he greets warmly.
Something inside me twitches, compelling me to grin brightly as I reply, "Good morning," but it seems forced. It's like my brain is fighting itself. One half wants to feel sad, while the other is dragging me towards happiness. The result is me feeling incredibly confused. Until my mind flashes over with visions of me crying out as I'm subdued by nurses, masked doctors circling around me.
"Wh-What did you do…?"
With a soft grin, he ignores me and instead he offers me the tray and for the first time in a while, I accept it. I must've been really angry when I first woke up days ago. How could I be so blind to turn down something as good as hash browns and sausage in sauce? He chides for me to eat slowly and I do.
"Electric shock therapy," he explains finally, pointing towards a hooked bag beside my bed, "And a steady injection of liquid antidepressants. They thought that you'd be strong enough to at least tough out the immediate post-Games but you're a newly thirteen-year-old girl so obviously not. As much as everyone understands Emery, and believe us we do, the show must go on."
Taking in his words, I feel wrong. Dirty. I want to feel my true emotions yet I feel so hollow. "What's the point?" I blurt out. "Clancy's…gone. Mother and Father are long gone. What's the point when you're all alone?"
Whatever the doctors did to my head, it worked. Clancy and Mother seem like brief glimpses in my mind rather than full out scenes, like they were before. I don't think I like that very much.
"Emery, your parents and brother would be oh so proud of you," Pluto counters. "What did your brother say before the arena? Surely it was something similar."
I recall our final night before launch day. That I can remember. I meet Pluto's eyes with my own. "No matter what happened to him, I should continue on to the best of my ability."
Sniggering, Pluto grasps both my hands, caressing the knuckles. "And oh boy did you…Twelve-going-on-thirteen-years-old, damn near taking out Zenobia Rivendell of all people! My gods, Emery, you should've seen the audience's reaction." he strolls over to the bevy of gifts, picking up a handful of cards. "Reruns won't be up for a bit, but at least we have these, hmm?"
Thanks to the drugs, what was then a pile of junk in my eyes was now a treasure trove of gifts. Now that I'm thinking 'clearly', I don't think I've ever seen this many gifts before. I imagine it's more than all my birthdays combined. While I sift through various pen sets, bracelets and articles of clothes, I listen to Pluto as he recites the various words sent to me by ordinary citizens.
"Dear Emery, I'm so happy that you were able to win…"
"Emery, you are the bravest little girl I have ever seen…"
"You deserve all the rest in the world…"
"May you continue to be strong…"
I can't tell if it's me or the drugs that cause my lips to rise. Still, despite all the kind words, and gifts, there's still a family-sized hole in me that causes my smile to fall. Pluto notices, using a singular finger to lift my chin towards his face.
"You should see your relatives. They're worried sick about you," he says. "Uncle Roman and Aunt Paris , grandparents, baby Octavia. You have support, you just need to truly see it."
I'd almost forgotten about Octavia. I'd regretted not getting to see her grow. Now here I am, getting to see her grow. Maybe now, I could even support her, like a big sister.
And erm…you do have me, of course," Pluto continues, grinning as he gives his head a playful tilt. "I'm your escort. And if you ask me, that doesn't end once a tribute becomes a victor. But I need you to recognize that. The best way I can help is if you try. Just like you and Clancy did on day one."
He extends a hand forward. "Can you do that for me, Emery? Can you try?"
I stare at the outreached hand. He could've tossed Clancy and I to the wayside, like all the other tributes. We probably wouldn't have lasted so long if it weren't for Pluto's continued support. Hearing us out, differentiating us from the outright rebellious tributes.
We probably wouldn't have lasted so long if Clancy and I gave up at the sound of our names being called, either.
I meet his hand, taking it. "I can do that. Thank you, Plu."
He gives mine a firm pump. "No, thank you, Emery. I'm glad we're making progress because there are bigger things afoot, my friend. We need you just as much as Zenobia."
I give my hand a tentative rub. I can't shake the feeling that, despite his insisting, to no fault of his own, that he is wrong. Even still, I will try. For him. For Mother. For Clancy.
The next four days are filled with physiotherapy at the Training Center's gymnasium, which comes easy to me thanks to my softball team as well as being a Pioneer. It's made even easier when aside from a nagging feeling of tenderness, the doctors declare me physically okay. One of them even said that I was one of the healthiest victors to ever leave the arena. The only wound of concern is the nasty cut Spinel left from my temple to cheek. Thanks to fast-acting medicine applied to it as soon as I was declared victor and the days following, I can now take my bandages off six days later.
What was once a gaping and angry red wound hastily stitched together is now a slit the size of a singular stand of hair. Inwardly, I'm thankful it isn't as glaring, but it's still rather noticeable. Now that I'm genuinely finished, in front of a proper mirror, I take the time to go over myself. I pad my cheeks, rub the rims of my new eyeglasses and then run a hand through my wooly hair. Have the Games 'changed me'? I try to form an image of my eleven-year-old self and come to the conclusion that eleven-year-old me would be shocked.
"That nasty, nasty Spinel," bites my stylist, Horatio, tutting as he caresses my scarred cheek. "She'll go down in history as the most vile, that one."
"It's alright Emery," says Pluto. "It could be oh so much worse."
Through the mirror, we end up locking eyes. He's the first to break eye contact. Probably because he knows he could've struck a nerve. He's right though. It could be worse. I could be handless, armless, put up in a complicated back brace...or just dead. Images of Mother, Father and Clancy come to mind and I find myself thinking if death really 'that bad'?
Then I grit my teeth. Those are negative thoughts. The doctors say negative thoughts are bad. Negative thoughts mean getting shocked again and I don't want to get shocked again.
Where the physical stuff is easy…the mental stuff is harder. I don't get shocked, but I get a daily pill that has me grinning and giggling on the outside while inside I feel like retreating under a thick blanket, hiding myself from the outside world. They sit me down and force me to speak my mind. I only tell them part of my feelings. Every time the session ends, they tell me that 'things will get better'.
"Just wait until you're revealed as a victor, you'll see," says Dr. Silverman.
I silently nod, all while mentally thinking that the public's supposed love for me will end up in the same light I view the troves of gifts I've received - just something that brings me joy for the briefest of moments. Then the happiness quickly gets doused for a feeling of wanting more. Like having my family back, for instance. Something tells me that would be much more filling than gifts could ever be.
And speaking of being 'revealed as a victor'...despite the assurances of Dr. Silverman and Pluto, I'm not looking forward to what lies ahead.
"It seems that fortune favors the Capitol and its loyal subjects," says Lieutenant DeWynter. "Tomorrow is National Heroes Day."
All the antidepressants in the world can't stop me from showing my true feelings towards the two other women in the room. Instead of listening intently to the woman who terrorized me back in the detention facility, I spend my time eyeing the plate of food before me. It also helps me avoid eye contact with my 'co-victor', the very same who brushed me off and tried to kill me (and probably would have.).
We're on Two's floor of the Training Center. My team decided to meet with their team here. With nowhere to hide, staring at my plate seems like the better alternative. She hasn't tried speaking with me and honestly, I prefer it that way. Still, though the corner of my vision, I spy her sending me occasional glances. Part of me wonders if she'll leap across the table and finish the job.
Does she hate me for almost killing her? Does she hate me for making her split her title? Just sitting near her without 'clearing the air' makes me feel all sorts of uneasy.
"Emery?"
I lift my head up to find the entirety of the room's eyes on me. I hone in Pluto, quickly noting his expectant expression easily reminds me of how Mother would look at me whenever we had social engagements together. It conveyed what she wanted me to do without saying it outright. "Emery…someone is talking to you." . Only when I sit up and pay full attention to the Lieutenant is when Pluto's face softens. Sparing a quick glance toward Zenobia, I find her face to be impassive, while the speaker's face is filled with a certain annoyance.
"Sorry…" I murmur, shrinking under the Lieutenant's gaze. I wonder to myself; Does she even remember me? I chalk up that look to her not wanting to share the spotlight with me or her apparent half brother.
Like flicking a switch, the Lieutenant beams from ear to ear. "Continuing on…It is imperative that everyone plays their part. As per this historical occasion, everyone in the nation will be watching. Our enemies included."
Enemies? I find myself frowning in confusion. Thankfully, Pluto notices my confusion and fills in the gaps.
"While most rebel cells have been defeated, District 13 included, there are still numerous rogue factions in need of neutralization," he says. "Some occupy sizable swaths of land. Some have wormed their way into the civilian population."
"Simply put, the districts in general need to get it through their thick skulls that it is the Capitol that reigns over Panem. No one else. And what better day to hammer that home than the fifteenth of December? There will be bands, flyovers, speeches and memorials of course but the day is mostly to commemorate Zenobia, a Capitol-fearing Two who volunteered out of sheer passion for more," the Lieutenant's eyes flicker my way and I can't help but watch as her mouth begins to warble, as if she's unable to find the words. "...And Emery, the intrepid little girl who aided her along the way."
My chest runs hot as I snap, banging my fist off the table. "I'm not a 'little girl', okay!?"
I'm not. Emery the 'little girl' died when she was dragged out of her house by government agents and thrown into a camp. The Games were the last clumps of dirt poured on her grave. Besides, this 'little girl' almost gunned down Panem's favorite!
"Emery!" Pluto hisses, as the entire dinner table seems stunned by my words. Zenobia's prep team and mine alike are flabbergasted with some having their mouths agape. I ignore them, chest heaving, honing in on the Lieutenant herself as well as Zenobia who seems much more alert now.
The Lieutenant seems stunned at first, only to meet my glare head on. "I don't see why I need to run through this, considering that tomorrow is essentially 'your day' and you should be anything but depressed, but you need to be on your best behavior regardless of your 'feelings'. We can ill-afford an outburst like that when we're live to the nation."
Pluto lets out an annoyed groan. "Viondra, seriously-"
"'Seriously', what?" she continues. "She should be happy she's alive, as a victor no less. Don't justify her bratty attitude, we've all lost a lot over these two years."
My mind flashes with barking mutts and shrill laughter that has me gnashing my teeth. I rise from out of my seat, ignoring the cries of my name and the sharp "Ignore her" from Viondra herself. Not bothering to change out of my clothes, I throw myself into bed, pummeling my pillow. When that doesn't prove as satisfying, I pummel the headboard, sinking onto the mattress when I manage to beat out most of the anger.
I wake up, still angry, to National Heroes Day. After a light breakfast, it only makes sense that I stand in front of a mannequin wearing a Pioneer's uniform. It's a winter variant. Black mary-janes, white wool tights, a heavy crimson shirtdress with a sky blue overcoat and crimson beret with a gold flash in the front bearing the Pioneer emblem - the national eagle with a torch between where the olive branches meet. The main draw is the sash looped around the great coat, bearing the various merit badges I've earned varying from backpacking to first aid. Part of me wonders what badges I'm up for after going through what I just did. After being prepped by his team, Horatio helps me into the uniform, grinning all the while.
"You look lovely, Em," he says warmly.
We watch as Pluto approaches and Horatio bows out, leaving my escort as the one hovering behind me. Unsmiling, he bears two pills and a glass of water. I immediately cringe, as I hate those damn things more than I hate Spinel Knudsen.
"Seriously? Two-!?" I whine, tears pricking at my eyes.
"I know Emery, I know, but Remember what I said. We need you," he says, thumbing my tears away. "Just this once and I promise you we'll work on getting you better without the pills or the zapping."
"If you needed me you wouldn't be giving me these…" I snap back, swiping the tablets from him. "I'm not even the same person when I take them."
And true to form, when I swallow not one, but two of the pills, I perk right up. The tensions in my muscles seemingly disappear and I feel oh so hollow. As if I'm an automaton. Even still, my body compels me to smile from cheek to cheek. Frowning, Pluto caresses my back.
"Ready?" he asks.
I let out an airy giggle. "...Ready Freddy."
He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You always are."
As a group, we make our way down towards the theater. We haven't even been introduced properly yet I can hear the fervent musings of the audience. I can't help but caress my temples, because it's just so much and we haven't even begun. We move under the stage for what I guess to be a grander entrance than entering stage right. Zenobia stands among her team dressed in her Academy uniform, a full black skirt and white waist-length gabardine fitted with an armband bearing the national emblem. Her hair is no longer greasy and flat, regaining the shoulder-length bounciness it had on interview night some weeks ago.
The nice people that they are, her prep team sing my praises gushing about how cute I look. Exhaling excess smoke from a cigarette, Lieutenant DeWynter gazes at me with a grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Glad to see you're doing better," she says with a sickly sweetness.
I allow my drug-induced smile to widen as wide as I can make it. You miserable witch. I brush past her, waving at Zenobia as I find my place beside her on the platform that will hoist us onto the stage. Maybe if I'm nice to her she won't strangle me, completing unfinished business from the arena. "Hello, Zenobia…"
My co-victor regards me from head to toe with those cool blue eyes. I notice that she looks…better. I guess getting everything one ever wanted would make them happier. "You feelin' alright?"
"Oh yes," I reply, nodding. "I suppose I've been a little Debbie Downer since I came out of the arena, so my team has been giving me some pills to help me out." Zenobia quirks a brow. Does that mean she cares? Is she not angry at me? I quickly wave her off, giggling at how my arm flails like a plucked rubber band. "S'okay! It's probably for the best so I don't go screwing things up."
As the platform jerks to life and begins to rise, Zenobia turns her attention to the opening above. "Alright, if y'say so…"
"Thanks for sparing my life," I slur. "I hope you don't hate me."
Her head twists my way ever so slightly. "Don't hate you, City Mouse. Your folks would've wanted me t'keep you safe."
I smile just in time as the anthem begins to blare and we inch ever so closer to the surface.
"Ladies and gentlemen," booms Caesar. "I am so, so humbled and pleased to present to you the victors of the Seventy-Sixth Games - Emery Smithson and Zenobia Rivendell!"
We arrive onstage to a sea of people on their feet roaring with ear-popping applause. The front row is dominated by our respective teams. I even spy Victoria DeWynter and her siblings, sitting beside their eldest. But then I begin to notice something; all eyes are on Zenobia. Even the holoscreens affixed to the walls are cut to her awestruck face. The clapping cadence changes to go along with the chants of her name; "Zeno-bi-a! Zeno-bi-a! Zeno-bi-a! Zeno-bi-a!"
Even I have my body twisted slightly towards her, automatically clapping along to the main star of the show. She takes it all in stride, grinning, nodding and waving towards the audience.
I glance down at my feet and immediately notice that my portion of the platform - a smaller circle - only serves to compliment Zenobia's' wider space. Still, the pills force me to smile as a tear slides down my cheek. An onlooker would assume it's tears of joy but there's very little of that in me right now.
There's no jealousy inside me. The Emery of two years ago would be angry to have gotten second place. Instead of jealousy, my mind is overwhelmed with a simple thought. What's the point of even being alive if only to be in someone's shadow?
The standing ovation that lasts minutes is quickly quelled by a quick wave of the hand by Caesar himself, who strides up the stairs to greet us - Zenobia specifically - reaching out a hand towards her.
"Zenobia, I'm just going to come on out and say it," he says in his usual deadpan. "We've been waiting for you."
Quirking a brow, Zenobia gives her head a playful cock to the side. "Caesar, there was a point in time in that arena where I was good and goddamn ready to get out, regardless of what had to be done."
The crowd eats it up as Caesar beams. "You threw us in for a real loop these past few weeks. We're just glad you're here!" his brown eyes then flicker my way as his face morphs into a sad smile, an expression you'd give to a puppy. "And I see you've brought a friend?"
"Nice to see you again, Caesar," I say, allowing him to pull me into a warm side hug. The crowd 'aws' in kind.
"Might I add that it is very nice to see you again, Miss Smithson. Am I right folks?" they respond with cheers and applause, which only hypes the master of ceremonies even more. I can't help but blush. "Two survivors - no, two victors - who triumphed not by manipulating the Capitol's good will, but because of their own personal conviction-" he caresses the knuckles of my left hand. "-and immense bravery given the sheer odds of it all…History, ladies and gentlemen, was made!"
The crowd goes wild as they cheer and stomp their feet. Our host is quick to guide us unto our respective seating, two ornate thrones. Can't help but notice that mine is smaller.
"Like Zenobia said, her campaign into that arena wasn't just hers alone, no no! It was a campaign for innocent, Capitol-fearing citizens everywhere. Let's see if it's as satisfying seeing justice dispensed a second time, shall we?"
I've secretly wondered what the rest of Panem had thought about Zenobia. Of course I've heard and seen on holovision about how popular she was, but not the full picture. The movie starts depicting the Games like any other Games, a standard reaping musing about the potential tributes that will occupy this year's roster. Then Lieutenant DeWynter reaps her batch of tributes and Zenobia, all stoic and determined, marches her way up to the stage. There's a collection of voices now, all wondering the same thing; Who is Zenobia Rivendell?! They showcase the rabid reporters following her every move and even go as far as to interview witnesses.
"It seemed like she was on a mission, that one," comments one Peacekeeper Private.
"I've never even seen a normal volunteer so confident!" chimes one girl.
Clancy and I are mentioned briefly for our 'sad' reaping scene, which had him smoothing away my tears and keeping me close as we bound the steps into Twelve's justice building. As expected, it's the Zenobia show, with Lieutenant DeWynter filling in the gaps to a hungry press. Her familial history, complemented with archival footage of her victor aunt who is her namesake, is laid out for everyone to see. A family with a seasoned history serving Panem from the apocalypse to the present. Panemians should expect the same from this Rivendell. They even include scenes of her former allies, Syndra, alongside Max, Daphne and Cicero, eyeing her as she trains.
"You think she'd have us?" wonders Cicero.
"Of course," says Syndra. "She's one of us. A loyal Panemian. If we join her, we'd be unstoppable!"
"Just like regular Careers," grins Max.
To contrast, they go over what all the other tributes have to say about Zenobia's forced entrance into the Games. All of it is based on fear, especially with the likes of Justin and his gang of Thirteens. All of them share the same consensus; Zenobia must die or else they'll most likely end up in her crosshairs. It cuts to interview night.
"So you're here to exact your revenge on these tributes?" Caesar asks, on screen.
Firmly, Zenobia nods. "That's correct."
Caesar appears confused. "They're being punished on their own accord. Why jump in after them?"
Zenobia glares straight into the cameras. "Because I want to do the punishing. I'm not leaving it to someone else."
The crowd goes wild. Flushing with an uncomfortable warmth, I grip both arms of my throne. This is where the killing begins. I watch on in absolute awe as Zenobia slaughters nearly a dozen tributes with those fear-inducing gauntlets.
On screen, as Zenobia makes kill after kill they display the alleged crimes each tribute committed. Torture, murder, conspiracy.
As my 'bloodbath' was one of confusion, seeing as there were very little supplies in the cornucopia thus few deaths, it's no surprise that Zenobia's is the focus.
I watch, wide-eyed, as a rage-filled Zenobia chases Eunice into the woods. Eunice, similar to me in so many ways, trips down a bank while Zenobia casually follows.
I don't see it, thank Panem I don't see it, but the desperate pleas and stifled cries make me want to get up and run away.
I sneak a glance toward Zenobia, shocked at her bored expression. I'm desperate to know why she doesn't seem to care but then I remember I was almost Eunice. Why would she care if Eunice was only thirteen if she was ready to drive a piece of metal through my head!?
The audience acts as if they're watching this for the first time, hissing curses towards the rebels even though Eunice herself didn't do anything! She was my age. A year older.
She could easily fill my shoes. Just like how Pluto compared me to Eleven's Rue.
I feel sick. The pills aren't working anymore. I feel sweaty, I'm breathing out my mouth instead of my nose.
But through it all, I quickly remember an important fact. The cameras are on me. Everyone is watching.
So even though it may appear that I'm watching intently, my eyes drift off towards the margins of the screen as I try my best to ignore the gunfire, gnashing muttations, screams of agony, squelching and death rattles produced by Zenobia and the arena.
I catch glimpses of my fellow Capitolites dying. Daphne and Syndra getting fatally shot, not before killing Theta, one of Justin's comrades. Zenobia recovers Syndra, only for Syndra to die from blood loss as Zenobia engages Quinn and Greer.
Maximus would receive his end following the massive earthquake. With Daphne and Syndra dead and Zenobia being rescued by Clancy and I and Cicero under rubble, Max was left to be ganged up on by Justin and his remaining allies. He'd kill one before being overwhelmed by the others.
I receive a reprieve when they showcase the alliance I had with Zenobia. Commenting on my superb healing skills, my brief partnership with Cicero, his fight and capture by Spinel. My capture by Justin and his allies, only for Zenobia and Clancy to undertake a high-stakes rescue and destroy Justin's alliance for good.
They don't showcase my time with Justin Matix and his allies. Too many opinions about the war.
Following the rescue, Zenobia snipes Thom with a deranged grin. She seemed more intense in person than on screen. The crowd cheers as Justin screams and cries for his fallen friend.
Little did I know I would face the same thing not much later. Much to my relief they don't show Clancy dying but when the screen cuts to black and the shots ring out, I'm right there alongside my hysterical self.
No, no, this can't be happening, come on Clancy please wake up please don't do this to me oh sweet Panem what happened to your head!
The only thing stopping me from screaming aloud is Zenobia's hand gripping mine. Internally, I'm shrieking and crying all the same.
And then Spinel happens. On the outside looking in, it's cruel how I stand over her and gun her down as she pleads for mercy. I look so angry. I can only count two other times I was ever in that state, that time with the Rebel Soldier and the soup…and Mother's passing.
They're withholding a certain scene again. Before Spinel managed to capture Zenobia, it was just me and her for a few hours. Hours that felt like a week.
"How does it feel, kid?" She said to me as she slowly dragged her dagger down my jaw. "How does it feel to be in the thick of it? Do you understand now? Do you understand the seventy-six years of pain?"
I didn't answer her then, but I hated it. I would go as far as to say I understood as soon as my name was called. Maybe even before that. It took me until the end of my time in the arena to even admit I hated the fact that I used to enjoy this time of year.
"I don't hate you, Emery…" Spinel said after cutting me. I broke and cried pretty hard. "I hate the idea of you. The Capitolite in you…At least now, as you're sitting here, realize that the Capitol doesn't care about you. If they did, your brother would be alive and you wouldn't be sitting here paying for their sins."
It's true. They don't care.
Even when more light moments are showcased, such as Zenobia and I exploring the arena and growing back together again, I'm still reeling from all their deaths, Spinel's words to me. They don't care. Me, Clancy, Syndra, Daphne, Maximus, Cicero. They honestly don't.
The rest of it blurs along. Zenobia slaughters tributes left and right with infographics showing her face beating out tributes and victors from previous Games for 'most eliminations ever'. They even showcase my fight with Albert. He almost had me until the gargoyle came back to roost. I backed him up to the hole in the ceiling and watched as he was picked up by the head and devoured. While the mutt was busy, the contents of the crate - a gun and four grenades - were mines for the taking.
"So that's how you got that…" says Zenobia over the roaring audience.
"Such ingenuity," gushed Caesar at the time. "Such courage!"
I stare at the screen blankly as more crowd reactions play on screen. Caesar and the audience call it that, I just call it…a waste. I've seen his private session. Albert, if he weren't a tribute, could've been a great scientist back in District 3. Meanwhile, Lilith is betrayed by Eldwyn in favor of Zenobia. You would think that in a Games with four times the tributes, these people would be a blurr…Yet I've interacted with most of them.
I shrink further into my throne when the battle between Zenobia and Justin takes place.
"My fight with you is beyond me," Zenobia declared over a fallen Justin as she pointed a finger towards the sky, toward a camera. "There's people both Capitol and District who you and your 'rebels' hurt as well. Consider me an extension of them."
The crowd goes absolutely mutt. So mutt my ears pop. I still can't help but wonder why they allowed me to live when Panem has their hero right here. Who needs a sidekick when the crowd reacts like this?
I kind of get my answer when they begin to play the last moments of the Games. I watch myself evading the surviving mutts and tributes, sheltering behind a tree and then advancing up the hill once the tributes from Eight advance over the hill. I watch myself wait as eleven tributes dwindle to eight…and then to five…and then four.
"Little Emery keeps balking expectations time and time again," marveled Caesar. "Will we see some sort of upset?! The helper turned killer?"
"I know it has to be done," said his number two, Marceline. "But ladies and gents, I am not looking forward to how this plays out! It'll be really awkward if Zenobia ends up being the one to…well…Will we still love her the same?!"
"Do they have to fight?" whimpered another man as he nestled his face into his partner's shoulder. "I don't wanna see this!"
To my surprise, they managed to interview my 'boy' friends. Evan leads the group, of course. "Zenobia needs to find Emery and reconcile, right now!"
"They were so good together!" lamented an older woman. "Little Emery is such a good compliment to her."
As I listen to their words, another pang of unease washes over me. That's all I am. The helper. Little Emery this, Little Emery that. The cutesy sidekick. Here only because Zenobia would look better. Wouldn't look well if she were to kill a thirteen-year-old finalist. A Capitol-born one at that.
Regardless of their words, they do capture the dramatics of it all. At the time, in my world, it was do or die. Kill them before I die some sort of horrible death. I thought I was dead anyways, so I might as well try before someone else got the better of me. So, I watch on screen as with a deep exhale, I advance, channeling my softball skills as I lob the grenades towards Zenobia and the remaining tributes and move in to gun them down.
I didn't feel anything at all then, but now as I watch myself gun down Delta, Rayon and Eldwyn I realize I drastically altered the Game's end. If I died, Eldwyn would be sitting in my spot. As much as they gush about how important I am, Zenobia and I were never a given. I ruined his chance.
How must his siblings feel? How must his mother feel?
And just as I'm about to faint, retch or just plain break down, rest of the Games are history, with shots showcasing distraught spectators holding the tops of their heads or shielding their eyes before the announcement is made declaring both of us co-victors. Who would've thought at the age of thirteen, I would have killed five people. Who would've thought Zenobia would be capable of killing an entire arena's worth of tributes, twenty-three, with numerous partial kills to her name. A Hunger Games record of records.
That wasn't the only record broken. They really make sure to let us know that these Games were a team effort. If the currently-under-construction-District 12 was any idea of how the rest of Panem was faring from the war, people from all over without much means for themselves were chipping in to ensure our (Zenobia's) survival. Zenobia's friends even managed a bake sale of all things, explaining the steady stream of sponsor items we received.
From the Capitol to District 12, even to war-torn District 13 where Peacekeepers manage to watch the Games on makeshift screens had visible and audible reactions to the ending.
In District 2, Zenobia's fellow cadets are triumphant. Posca spilling out of their glasses as they bounce with glee. The camera focuses on five cadets in particular, three girls and two boys. Zenobia's friends. The latter four mingle together while a familiar-looking one-eyed cadet looks simply relieved Zenobia made it through.
Here in the Capitol is the same story. A lot of my schoolmates are showcased whooping and hollering as well. They even managed to interview a teary-eyed Auntie Paris, who swaddles Octavia in her arms with Uncle Roman right behind her in support.
"Emery always had a certain boldness to her," she said. "A certain braveness. I'm not surprised it served her well in an arena of all places."
I never noticed it before, but I can't help but notice how similar Auntie Paris looks to Mother, her eldest sibling. Even sounds like her too. Or maybe that's just my longing for someone who is never coming back. The movie ends to thunderous applause, our thrones rotating to meet Caesar and the audience.
"And there you have it folks," says Caesar, clasping Zenobia's hand in his own. He fixes her serious look. "Zenobia, I think I speak for every Capitol-fearing citizen when I say thank you, thank you so very much for ensuring justice was not just passively exacted but actively exacted as well. It is an honor and a privilege to have you on this stage, during National Heroes Day no less."
After a brief applause, Caesar moves between our thrones and motions for Zenobia and I to stand. He drops to a singular knee and takes my hand, caressing it as he stares straight into my eyes. It takes everything to hold my tears in. Is it because of the events that took place on screen? Or the way Caesar holds my hand the way Father would?
My guess is both.
"But we can't forget about Little Emery either," he continues. "Our unsung ally. Everyone was gunning for Zenobia in that arena. There were many times that they almost found their mark. But due to your bravery, the alliance persisted. Even when your brother fell and the alliance ran its course, you endured and nearly took the crown for yourself. I can see now why the Gamemakers made the decision they did."
Though I'm convinced I'm just an accessory, Caesar makes it seem more important than it is. Because of that, I find myself blinking away a pair of tears, to which our host thumbs away with a wink. He rises onto his feet, pumping our hands into the air.
"Whose victors are these?" Caesar asks the audience.
"Ours!" the crowd yells back.
"Whose victors?!"
"Our victors!" they reply back. It goes on and on. "Our victors! Our victors! Our victors!" my brain quickly flashes back to the Games that shall not be named. Propaganda declared her belonging to the Rebellion. I understand what Pluto means now. Like the Rebellion claimed her, the Loyalists claim us.
I don't think I've ever seen Caesar so jubilant. "Panem, please join me again in congratulating our victors, Zenobia and Emery!"
The crowd is as loud as it's ever going to get. Like the arena's earthquake, one would think that the theater was imploding under the applause. Even still, through the thunderous cheering, I hear a sharp cry.
"Emery!"
I pivot to my right to see Auntie Paris rushing onto the stage with Uncle Roman not far behind. Now that I see them in the flesh the memories of better times come to mind. I'm no longer Thirteen but Eleven, maybe even younger now as I meet her halfway, crashing face first into her chest. That's when I let the tears fall.
A/N: I'm back with the milk...again.
To those who it may concern...Besides one or two people, I'm not all that sure! But April and May were 'tough' months, seeing as I had to wrestle with my final year of university. I'm graduating in about two weeks from now! Solid B average...(That's what I get for doing all those history courses, killed my gpa) but you know...least I'm done, right?
I also wanted to apologize for the lack of updating my main profile. Because why have it if I don't update it for those who might look (which are some people, last I checked).
Skool is out...I'm a free agent for the most part...so yeah. I have some chapters stockpiled. So Saturday or Sunday I might update again.
I think that's it...thanks for reading...I do have some info pertaining to sequels and stuff, but I'll let you, the reader, know when we finish up here.