Blaine Abernathy: A Canary Caged
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games
Chapter 32: Martini
Blaine's POV
250 miles per hour, and you hardly feel a thing. That was how to advance the Capitol deluxe trains, which transport VIPs around Panem, different from the simple cargo train. I sat in the wine car with a martini in hand, gazing out the window where winter spreads. Practically sixty percent of the country was covered in snow or frost. The other forty percent lies in the southern parts where snow is raining from the district's perspective.
I sighed, eyeing my drink and watching the lemon peel swirl around. This was no ordinary martini. It was a vesper. Vesper Martinis are challenging to master unless you know the perfect bartender. It's a dry martini with three measures of gin, one of vodka, and half a measure of dry vermouth. Something I picked up at a charity event from a previous client who was deceased. The man who held records on me.
I was only eighteen then, and his name was Xavier Varick. He was my first kill outside the arena. The Bastard wouldn't cooperate and charge forward, which I reacted to. I kept telling myself it was self-defense. It was his fault. But the guilt became a burden that I drink when I travel to the Capitol alone. A beverage the thirty-year-old requested.
I thought back to the last date with Xavier Varick:
.o0o.
It was the late winter, and spring was just around the corner. I was Eighteen, in the Profit Circle for a year, learning dark secrets and participating in a few marketing as an escort for public events. The night Xavier Varick bought me a trophy in tonight's charity banquet for the arts. A black-tie event. It was our sixth date, and we weren't alone, for Damon stood in the far corner. I wore a small earpiece connecting me with President Snow.
There have been rumors of a fly gathering information about the Profits Circle's illegal activity and political schemes. President Snow's resources indicate it was Xavier Varick, Panem's top journalist and son of Capitalist. All I needed to do was have him confess to his investigation and collect the flash drive full of classified information.
"Dry Martini," Xavier Varick ordered the bartender. "Three measures of Gordon's; one of vodka; half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it over ice, and add a thin slice of lemon peel… and a Cape Cod for her."
The bartender nodded, pouring cranberry juice into a highball glass with a sugar cube, vanilla extract, and tonic while adding a shot of vodka. Afterward, she started on Xavier's drink, pouring the order contents and ice into a cocktail shaker. She shook the tin briefly and poured it into a martini glass, adding a peeled lemon.
"Perfect." He complimented, handing me my glass before taking a sip of his.
"Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?" I asked, glancing at Damon momentarily, then back to Xavier.
"Depends on the question," he replied with a smirk.
I gave a false breathy chuckle with a smile, "It has to do with death."
"A subject that you're well-versed," He said, picking up his martini.
"And how would you know that, other than watching it regularly on the television?" I asked.
"Other than the Hunger Games, only a certain kind of woman wears a low-back dress and a rather tempting slit with a combat knife strapped to her thigh and needles in her hair."
"One can never be too careful when a handsome journalist in a tuxedo wearing a tape recorder in his front pocket," I stated, slightly annoyed at his chest pocket with a yellow handkerchief covering the device. "I am correct in theorizing that all these dates have nothing to do with socializing or publicity?"
"Yes," Xavier admitted.
"Might I ask why?"
"I analyzed something that caught my attention, and I want you to verify them." He answered.
I paused, looking at him before bringing my left gloved hand to my mouth, biting down on the middle finger, and pulling it off. Afterward, I sipped my Cape Cod, "Be careful what you wish for."
"You're scared." He noted, taking my hand.
"Thank you for the dates, Xavier, for it shall be our last," I murmured, yanking my hand back and sliding off the stool, ready to leave, hoping he gets the warning. One warning to drop the investigation, or the worst shall come.
Suddenly he grabs my left thigh lifting the skirt a bit to reveal the canary tattoo. I sighed, sitting back down on the stool, giving him a warning glance, saying he better keep his mouth shut. However, he ignored it, giving a sympathetic expression. "You put on a good show. But ever since we sat down, you haven't stopped looking at the man in the far corner in the black suit. He's controlling you. The tattoo on your thigh is a Profit Circle brand. You work for a secretive yet powerful group controlling the valuable victors. From all the gossip and your public appearance, I would say you started after the Victor's Tour. You're only Eighteen. I'm guessing you're being threatened with somebody else's life."
I took a deep heavy breath, "You know nothing about it."
"I know when a girl is afraid and pretending not to be." He murmured.
"How much do you know about fear?" I asked. "Or self-preservation?"
"Not much on either."
"Then you should learn…." I gave a slight chuckle. "You should be afraid of him as I am."
"I can help you."
"I think I should be the one helping you," I murmured, giving a stern look. "Drop it."
"Let me try?" he offered, taking my hand. "I can write an article on the scandals, prostitution, and everything if you tell me."
I scoffed, shaking my head as I glimpsed over his shoulder to see Damon giving the nod while President Snow whispered in my ear through the earpiece, saying we have our mole. Xavier either missed the warning or ignored it. Now I just have to take him somewhere private, back to his place, to get the flash drive and make this night disappear. So I took a sip from my drink and gave him a seductive smile.
"Shall we discuss this…in a more private setting?" I asked. "The walls have eyes and ears."
.o0o.
I shook my head at that memory. For later that night, Xavier took me to his home. After date number four, he had me spend the night, yet he never slept with me. The nights I stayed at his place, we merely sat there talking as Xavier reviewed his latest stories. There were times he touched me, but they were more of massages on my shoulders, rubs on the back, and a peck on the cheek and temple. Not once has he kissed me or forced sex on me.
No doubt he was using me as a means to get information. Instead of going through a sexual manner, in seduction, he tried to gain my comfort. To lower my barrier. As if he was trying to be my friend and earn his trust. And out of fear, I've chosen fear over the truth.
Maybe he was right. I made some mistakes that have heavy consequences, but what can I do? There's self-preservation in cooperating with President Snow…it is the only way to survive. Rebels should be afraid of him as I am. The mind he possesses and the power he controls over the country can be intimidating. Depending on the situation, President Snow can be a villain or a hero. The protagonist or antagonist is challenging to place such a character. An archetype figure that holds no place except the borderline of an antagonist.
Taking a small sip of the martini…. life will never be easy.
Not when your loved ones are on the line.
.o0o.
The train arrived earlier than anticipated as I walked through the empty train station. The sun wasn't even peeking out on the mountaintops. I checked the clock tower to see it wasn't even five in the morning. Something wasn't right. There should be other cargo trains delivering raw materials here… not empty tracks. Hell, even a conductor was absent.
Something wasn't right.
I walked back to the train only to find the doors locked. I raised a brow, bending down to pull a tactical folding knife from my boot. Best to never go weaponless in the underground ring! Slowly I walked through the station, eyes wide open and on high alert. When I reached the lobby, a café was open with a customer with two peacekeepers. I knew this would occur but not so soon. I put away my knife, walked up to President Snow, and took a seat.
"Good morning, sir," I greeted.
"Good morning. I hope your journey was pleasant?" President Snow replied, taking a sip of tea.
"Decent." I started waiting for him to offer the continental breakfast on the table. "Surprised how early it is."
"Yes, amazing how transportation has transpired." He agreed, staring at me. "You must be famished. Please help yourself."
I nodded and took a croissant, and grabbed a bottle of water. You could never trust President Snow on beverages since he is a snake. We ate silently, analyzing each other while the Peacekeepers watched for suspicious activity. Even though the train station is abandoned doesn't stop them from their duties or attempted assassinations.
"Now, down to business. I received word that Katniss has interfered with the punishment of a criminal?" Snow informed, waiting for confirmation on the establishment.
I stared deep into his serpent eyes. The fragrances of roses and blood invaded my nose. "Yes, she had interrupted a public flogging of a confessed Criminal. The accused was Gale Hawthorne; crimes against him for illegal poaching on Capitol property and possession of a wild turkey."
"And Gale Hawthorne is supposed to be her cousin. How's that coming along?" he asked.
"The appearance between Katniss and Gale shows the idea of being relatives. Outside District 12 believes so, except those from inside. After the incident, Katniss argued with her mother over medication. Mrs. Everdeen is the Seams' local healer, and her family owns an apothecary shop. However, she is disowned." I said, giving in information.
"I see, and what do you think of the two's relationship?"
I paused, debating on how accurately to answer this. I took a deep breath and said, "If I didn't know any better, I would say she's in love with him. Love enough to protect him from Commander Thread and stay by his side through recovery. But she is not acting on them out of fear."
"That is not a good sign," President Snow murmured, stirring his tea. "Not part of the bargain."
"Sir, if I may speak?" I asked, which President Snow nodded, so I continued. "She knows the situation she has put herself in. She knows that she has arranged to marry Peeta. So out of courtesy of her cooperation, can we at least let her enjoy her adolescent life?"
"The idea is tempting. However, Katniss caused many problems when she pulled out those poisonous berries. The occurrences have grown dramatically: District Eleven riot, shipment on agriculture and produce, District Eight and Seven's uprisings, and so on. Practically half of the districts are revolting. Can you guess those who are not involved?"
"The Career Districts?" I guessed.
"And District 12." He added.
Of course, District 12 would be on the list of non-revolting areas. District 12 is the smallest of the twelve remaining districts in Panem. The other districts are much larger. Hell, you practically need all the citizens or nothing. Twelve is a small coal mining district, unlike Thirteen, where it is used to develop nuclear weapons, Two on simple artillery, Three on intelligent technology, or Six in manufacturing. All that District 12 has on weapons are pickaxes and dynamite. There is nothing for us there to defend ourselves. My home district was on the thin ice of a death trap. One bomb and the coal dust shall set the area ablaze.
I took a deep breath. President Snow smiled gingerly in approval at how fast I caught on to the predicament. This man would do what was necessary to obtain order no matter the consequences. Just one command, and he'll commit genocide like it was nothing.
"Anything else you would like to inform me?" President Snow asked.
"Yes," I breathed. "…she plans on running away. Offering Gale, his family, her family, Peeta, and Haymitch to live in the woods."
"But not you," he noted.
"I think I left a good impression on the Capitol," I said. "Enough to be noticed after a long absence."
"True," President Snow agreed, standing up and dabbing a napkin on his lips. "You have been very helpful, Miss Abernathy. I hope you enjoy your stay in the Capitol, and best of luck with your concerts. Ceres is very excited about your performance. Oh, and don't forget about the free possibilities."
I sat in my chair, watching President Snow and his men walk out of the train station. My heart pounded; my stomach twisted with utter butterflies. There was no escaping from the law. No escaping from the man who owns you in more ways than one. Physically I stood firm, but mentally I was caged with no voice. Tears fell down in sadness. Since my life truly began, my dreams were nothing. So different from this hell I'm living in. It seems different now than it seems: life has killed my dreams and me.
.o0o.
The rain felt nice when the raindrops splattered on the concrete. Hermes was supposed to pick me up at noon, except it was seven O'clock in the morning. Too early to call him, and nobody dares come out in the rain. So I stood under the portico, shivering my head off. I could've waited inside but sitting in an empty train station was beyond creepy. Thus, I waited, hoping some taxi or bus would come by and take me to the City Circle.
Suddenly the wind increased, making the rain pour at an angle into the portico. Terrific, just terrific, as I got rained on. A car drove by, driving into a pool of water, splashing water over me. Damn it! Now I could add something to why I hate the Capitol.
Another car came driving by.
Quickly, I jumped back towards the door to evade the splash. Except the driver drove slowly until parking in front of the train station's entrance. The window pulled down to reveal the driver, and to my surprise, it was Cinna. Cinna looked at me bewildered, bemused, in fact. Well, my train arrival was scheduled to be at noon.
"Need a lift?" Cinna asked.
"Thank you," I answered quickly, grabbing my purse and running to the passenger seat. Once inside, I sighed in relief, buckling up. Cinna chuckled, turned on the heater, and handed me a coat in the back seat. Accepting it, wrapping the coat around my shoulders, but then it hit me. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
"I take this route usually, easy to avoid traffic. A bit of a habit." Cinna answered. "Also, first look at new material from District Eight and District One."
"Well, it's a ghost town in there." I shuddered. "Not a single train or person in there. I don't know if I should be pleased with no paparazzi or not."
"Why's that?"
"To be in a large space alone is kinda scary," I answered, rubbing my hands together. "I'm sometimes scared to be alone for a long time. Monophobia, I think, is the term."
Cinna gave me a sympathetic look and then started driving towards the Training Center, where I'll stay for the next few months. The ride was engrossed in a comfortable silence. No one says a word, no music or anything. All you could hear was the car's engine, the rain hitting the window, and the winds blowing. Just the soothing sounds of the world around us. I sighed and relaxed for the first time in weeks. No thought clouded my mind as I fell into a meditative state.
.o0o.
The twelfth floor of the Training Center was quiet when Cinna and I entered. Unlike the Hunger Games, where there are ten Avoxes in the apartment, only three stayed in position. I smiled, seeing familiar faces since I was little and the newest member. Usually, when I'm here, I have one specific rule, no strict bearing. However, with Cinna in the room, they remained silent, standing in their positions, heads down. I winked at him, placing a finger over my lips to keep a secret.
"It's okay, ladies, no need to be stiff," I said in a small command voice.
The three Avoxes sighed in relief, looking up with a smile while adjusting their position. Cinna raised a brow at me, wondering why I broke protocol. I smiled, taking a towel the new Avox from last year gave me.
"I like to bend the rules," I answered his question. "Truly, what they suffered shouldn't be reminded completely. So when I'm here alone, they can relax, be themselves, and such. You will be surprised that Avoxes raised me during the three years when I was little and after my game. It's the least I could do for them."
"That's very generous of you," Cinna said. "And I promise to not tell your secret. But what happens when you have company, Effie or the others?"
"Then they go back into their act, and I pretend they are maids," I answered, walking to my chamber to change into dry clothes. Cinna walked in so our conversation could continue. I grabbed a pair of yoga pants and a camisole, then went into the bathroom to change. "So, what are your holiday plans?"
"Nothing much," Cinna answered. "Chanel has been trying to persuade me to come over for dinner."
"You should go." I insisted. "She is your mother, after all."
"Not anymore…." Cinna muttered so low that I could barely hear it, afterward, he says. "I'm busy with Katniss's wedding dresses and other things."
"Well, I should inform you that the photo shoot will be postponed."
"Why, may I ask?"
I came out of the bathroom dressed, yet emotionally exhausted. Cinna was sitting on the bed-scratched that- lying down. He had his arms under his head while his legs crossed. I shook my head at the lack of posture. Then again, here we can be ourselves. I walked to the closet to pull out some slippers and a sweater.
"A slight accident…." I murmured, partially telling the truth. "She hit her left eye when caught in a snowball fight. It'll take two weeks to heal properly."
Cinna nodded though his face remained neutral. His eyes told another story. Dark emerald eyes knowing there was more to the incident. Yet this was Cinna. He only hovered or poked into private business if necessary. That is what I liked about Cinna. He shows respect and responsibility for a person's wishes. Although I often question him, last year's game had me on edge. His actions in presenting the Girl on Fire hold suspicions. Fortunately, President Snow hasn't taken into consideration Cinna being a threat.
But something wasn't right.
And I don't like it.
I have a gut feeling there was a secret, and that secret is probably holding me back.
I sighed and lay down on the bed, exhausted. Although I hold suspicion about Cinna… doesn't mean I don't trust him. I worry for his safety since President Snow added him to the list of people I cared for. Therefore, I have to do everything to protect him. Cinna sensed something was wrong, rubbed my back, and wrapped his arm around me. I sighed, closing my eyes.
"Cinna," I breathed.
"Yes?"
"Thanks for everything."
He kissed my forehead and whispered, "Not everything, not yet."
I raised a brow, wondering what he meant by that.
Flashback was inspired by James Bond Skyfall
Made some changes to a scene that was in the third book.
Thanks for reading, and please leave a review.