Chapter Forty-Seven - "Broken Reverie"
The Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games are continuing to set new records. For the first time in seven decades, the Victory Tour has stopped in District 13.
You would think that as they were still in a theatre of operations, the PKs would be less than enthused they have to entertain two teenage girls. Instead, it seems to be the opposite, even as they lay wounded in a prefabricated field hospital nestled in the ruins of 'Old Thirteen' as they call it, they're humbled to meet us. In some instances we had to stop them from moving to greet us just in case they exacerbated their wounds. So many wounds, missing limbs in particular. A demonstration by some of the doctors showcase some of the prosthetics they've fitted onto some lucky troops, at least there's that. They were incredibly endeared to Emery, who took the lead in asking questions and thanking them for their services. Watching her now, she seems incredibly moved.
As we meander through the makeshift facility, I think back to my time of convalescence and find myself shutting down. Hopefully the troops don't think any less of me because of it.
"Glad you went in there and took the fight to them," a militiaman says to me. "The kid rebels, especially the Thirteen-born ones, are the worst. Don't blame you one bit."
Because of him, I'd like to think they understand.
The 'Pacification of District 13', as the officers call it, centralized around multiple 'detachments' all linked to the central underground complex. Each detachment served a purpose - listening posts, hangars, silos for nukes. Each detachment was bombed and taken until the central complex remained. They give us limited tours through all of them, with the central complex being off limits due to it still being cleared out as we speak.
"Some refuse to face the music, I suppose," notes the general in charge. "Mined hallways, barricaded rooms, pitch black corridors…Nerve gas can only reach so far down."
"Can't blame them," grins Viondra. "They wouldn't've loved the selection, I know that for sure."
The various officers in our party chuckle, and I know exactly why they're doing so, recalling Viondra's scrapbook and the various pictures within.
"So what happens now?" inquires Emery. "Thirteen is defeated, but everything is destroyed. Will this become a normal district again?"
"Oh, this complex is far too valuable to destroy," says the general. "I'm sure in due time, it will be operational again. In terms of the region overall…"
It's not just the bunker that's seeing new life breathed into it. Via a heavily armed hovercraft, they take us to a derelict city - or cities judging from how there seems to be two settlements on either side of a river, fed by three fast-flowing waterfalls. Construction seems to slowly be underway, with the majority of the equipment centralized around a bridge connecting the two towns. Despite my hatred towards the thirteenth district in all its forms, I'd be a liar if I said this wouldn't be a good place to live.
I turn towards the general. "What will the industry be, sir?"
He points towards the largest waterfall and beyond that what appears to be the remnants of a dam. "They say they want this to be Panem's eastern 'District 5'. I also hear general manufacturing, give District 6 a run for its money. If it were up to me, I'd say forget this place!"
Part of me is inclined to agree with him. "Who will populate it?"
"They say anyone! I'm sure we'll hear more soon."
I'm soon preoccupied with grating thoughts. Thoughts of him. This region is his stomping grounds. From what I see and hear, there are plenty of people like me who hate this so-called district. Something tells me that regardless of the new coat of paint, it'll be tied with District 12 as Panem's black sheep.
From District 13, we move south to District 12, which might as well be District 13 considering the fact that the majority of their population now lives in this District. The old singular town that consisted of Twelve being destroyed, the local Peacekeepers show us around a newly refurbished town named 'Charleston', which sits along what they call the Kanawha River. From what I've seen of the old town on holovision, 'Charleston' is a huge bound up.
Too huge for what these people deserve.
"We might hold a vote regarding a name change soon enough," says our guide, the 'provisional governor' of District 12. "Me? I prefer the ancient-American name."
Their Justice Building is a grand one built of limestone and topped with an ornate dome. There are no dead tributes to eulogize, not like it matters because I would straight up refuse to say a word about any tributes that hailed from this district. Instead Viondra gives me a speech to recite about 'adapting to hardship' and 'striving to rebuild twelve into a jubilant version of its former self'. For a place filled with castaways from other districts and the Capitol itself, they applaud my every word. It's funny how they still cling to their old, Capitol lives by continuing to wear their colorful pieces. It clashes with their smalltown surroundings.
"Better for us," Viondra says to me when the speech concludes. "Let them cling, I say. Having loyal citizens out here offsets the rebels in the population."
Emery is naturally popular with the ex-Capitolite population. For the brief moments we're not in Peacekeeper SJ-7, like right now as we tour Twelve's new Main Street, the security has to fight tooth and nail to prevent well-wishers from reaching over in an attempt to shake her hand. Even Viondra has a tentative hand on her sidearm.
"I'm surprised no one's pulled out a gun and taken a shot yet," she grouses.
"Nonsense, they've canvassed the whole of downtown. We're safe," replies Pluto. "They're just happy they haven't been forgotten, I suppose."
The crowd seems nice enough in my eyes. As I shake every hand I see, I think back to the grumblings of Maximus and Cicero. They hated their new district lifestyle and imagined returning back to the Capitol if they'd won. Looking among the crowd now - and their eagerness - as well as at the cameras documenting everything, I realize that for most of them my visit is an attempt to improve their rock-bottom reputation. The more loyal they appear, the better their situation improves. In what way, I can't say for certain.
"Emery! Are you coming back to Twelve anytime soon?!" yells one man.
It's a simple question, but Emery opts to ignore it. Outwardly she keeps a cool demeanor, but I can tell that there's a bout of anxiety underneath. The way her smile is on too tight…or is it the way she constantly fidgets with her glasses that fit her just fine so there's no need to?
"Emery!" a few meters down the line, the head of a pale girl about Emery's age pokes out from among the throng of well-wishers. Multiple heads even. "Emery! It's me, Agnes Tisdayle! From school, remember!?"
The party does an awkward pause-and-move, expecting Emery to stop and engage this former classmate. To my surprise, Emery passes by as if she hadn't heard Agnes at all. Come to think of it, ever since we stepped foot into Twelve, my co-victor seems to be a tad frazzled. I guess it makes sense, considering she was here for short time. From the streets of New District 12, the provisional governor invites us to his mansion, a white-columned, red-bricked building. According to the provisional governor, thanks to 'lessened Capitol regulations', 12 is able to produce some food to supplement rations - some of which are laid out in front of us now. Smoked turkeys, vegetables and modest cakes. Naturally I'm the woman of the hour, meeting the district's meager cadre of officials, most of which are Peacekeepers or Capitol bureaucrats sent to survey the new lands slated for development. Emery's withdrawn attitude persists, enough to draw the ire of Viondra.
"Does she need a top up of her medicine?" she asks, eyeing Emery as she inspects the finery of the mansion. She strikes a lonesome figure.
"Don't be like that," Pluto snaps back, quietly so as to not make a scene. "Not everyone has the batteries for things like these. Not to mention this isn't a place of good memories-"
Viondra waves him off. "That's what medicine is for, no?"
Pluto rolls his eyes. "Zenobia, do you mind talking to her?"
I do just that, finding a lull in the festivities to join her in an empty drawing room. "What's the matter?" I ask her. "Aint'cha happy? S'not like it's your home anymore…or at all, right?"
From the sofa, Emery looks up at me. "Do we have access to a truck?"
Using my distinguished status, it doesn't take much to convince the officer in charge of our security detail to get a squad to follow us to what appears to be Emery's temporary apartment off of Main Street, untouched since her reaping. It's a dingy place but shows clear signs of her 'touch' with tasteful furniture pieces. It's impressive how she and Clancy, fresh off losing their parents, managed to secure a comfortable apartment among the many derelict buildings that occupy this newly-settled town. The landlord, starstruck like a freshman cadet, is more than happy to set up shipping of some pieces to Emery's home in the Capitol 'as soon as possible'.
After a while of silently looking over the apartment, Emery takes a seat on the sofa. "Shouldn't it be?"
I frown. "I'm sorry?"
"You said I shouldn't be upset because District 12 isn't my home. Shouldn't it be? I mean, a part of me is glad I was spared being brought back here to live, while another part feels as if I'm…betraying these people."
"I mean, y' said it yourself, right?" I reply, shrugging. "Your dad caused this. In a perfect world, you'd be at home - the Capitol - with your family." I continue, seeing that she seems conflicted still. "Trudge on, Emery. These people ain't your people, they're rebels. You don't wanna be associated with this place, trust me. Better to be the Capitol's first victor than a victor from here."
Emery twiddles her thumbs. "Maybe perhaps I can mentor for them? I-I mean, it's only fair, right?"
"No. I'd avoid this place at all costs if I were you." I make a show of pretending to juggle weight. "Again, the Capitol's victor or Twelve's victor? You deserve to live quietly. So, live quietly. No need t'worry your head about these tributes for the next little while, believe me."
Seemingly agreeing with me, Emery nods and follows me back to the waiting SJ-7. To my surprise, she orders yet another stop, this time to a modest foursquare home just outside of the city. "In order to trudge on, I need to close this chapter for good."
I simply nod, slightly amused at how 'woman-like' thirteen-year-old Emery is acting. Already making mail orders and 'closing chapters'. I suppose being a victor will do that to you. Despite the lights immediately being extinguished upon noticing us, Emery explicitly requests no guards or even me come with her. Exchanging confused expressions with the PKs around me, we only watch as Emery marches up onto the porch to greet a very pale young woman and her husband. Closing the door behind her. The meeting lasts at least an half an hour before Emery returns again, her face heavy with fatigue. It makes for a weird sight, a young girl returning from a meeting with adults stressed out.
I peer out the viewport toward the couple who watch Emery board the transport. "Who are they?"
Emery's gaze remains forward as the transport lurches forward. "Just some old friends."
I'm still amused but for her sake, I remain serious. "Is the chapter closed?"
Emery sighs, gripping her diary to her chest even tighter while offering a firm, singular nod.
"Yes."
Maximus is right about District 11, but I will go ahead and tack on Districts 10 and 9 on there as well. They're all a lost cause. D11 is so war torn that their seat of government, like D12 and D13, are being remade in other cities entirely. Viondra and I quickly realize that there's an attempt by the national government to 'decentralize' these districts - spreading out the population and supplementing them with emigrants from other regions to stem the rebel sympathies. Most of our stops are not even at the capitals, but rather towns that remained loyal throughout the duration of the rebellion.
Even though the lions share of kills I made came from these districts, you wouldn't know it given that the audiences that receive me contain local war heroes and loyal citizens. Given that Maximus and Daphne were deported to 11 and 9 respectively, they are the only tributes I eulogize in a private audience. Thankfully their families are on hand and I don't have to seek them out. Maximus's father seems to have already moved on with a much younger beau, whose showing signs of pregnancy. The Verano family, Daphne's parents, are wrought with grief, the mother especially.
Money won't bring their children back but given their new living situations, it'll help take the pressure off.
Besides my immediate allies, the fallen tributes are not mentioned at all, instead from coast to coast, all our engagements consist of ceremonies commissioning new memorials and cemeteries, visiting significant battlegrounds, modest parades, speaking with veterans as well as giving speeches yearning the audience forge on and 'build back their district better'.
Emery finds her stride as we reach the start of the 'Urban Districts' - 8, 6, 5. The cameras gobble it up as she takes the time to sit with children and youth disabled from landmines. That's what sticks out to me the most, the youth. Even with community homes slowly being reestablished, there are a bunch of youths wandering around without guardians among the ruined tenement buildings.
"Did you not watch the Games?" I ask one boy about my age. He made a comment about how 'normal' I looked, despite my 'gameplay'.
"Watch? Nah," he replies. "Barely any power 'round these parts. Radio. I think radio makes it seem worse. Like a storybook."
In 6, I make sure to seek out the Rappaport Family. It was an amicable, but quick-to-end meeting. Mrs. Rappaport - Iris - is beyond consolable, having the memory of her tortured son come back.
While she's taken away by friends, Mr. Rappaport - Elias - gives my hand a firm shake. "Thank you, Zenobia, for keeping our Cicero alive." He grips the envelope stuffed with cash and ration cards in his other hand. "Thank you for this. You're not obligated."
I manage a slight grin. "The least I can do, Mr. Rappaport."
Among the plethora of scaffolding and cranes taking up District 6's capital city, it is Emery that takes the lead during the speeches. She speaks so strongly about children being affected the most by the rebellion and how much it hurt her to see some of them hobbling around on crude crutches and wheelchairs. These aren't Pluto or Viondra's words, I've seen her writing furiously on the train ride over here. "I would very much like to return to District 6 and other districts to work with you in ensuring that our nation's children, especially those directly affected by the war, have the best chance of living a normal life. With my escort's help, I would like to offer some of my winnings to ensure this happens."
Over the immediate cheers and applause, my eyes look toward Viondra who seems just as shocked as I am. Although slow to join, we both find ourselves clapping along. She did say this tour's goal was to win 'hearts and minds' though we weren't expecting that. My mind immediately flashes back to the previous victor duo and their similar announcement.
Later that evening on our way back to Panem's southwest I learn that the VA also agrees with her gesture, judging from Pluto's gleeful expression as he disconnects the phone. "President Choudhary is very impressed with your overture, Emery. I took down some numbers and I'll be happy to go over them with you."
"When do you think we can get started."
"Perhaps after the Games have concluded."
"I mean, if they did it before, why not her?" Viondra remarks with a dismissive shrug. "Still, you'd think they have established rules about that."
"Well, according to the Games Secretariat, they immediately drew up plans to prevent the giving of funds to others after them, but given the current climate, the President thinks that 'helping out our fellow citizen' looks good." Pluto gives Emery's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "So it stays."
I grin. "Look at you, City Mouse, settin' trends already..."
She blushes in return. It makes me happy, especially after all that talk of being second fiddle to me - which is still true - at least she's making an impact in her own little way. Come to think of it, these Games have changes so much already. Mass sponsoring from non-Capitolites. The option for not only one, but two people to emerge from the arena becoming the norm.
One thing that doesn't change, it seems, is animosity. Like in the Outer Districts, most of our time in District 5 spent being ferried from locale to locale in a SJ-7. All the people I meet are loyalists, but those who straggle outside the crowds, you can see the disdain on their faces as clear as day. You can see clearly the way they shake their heads, fold their arms or return to their homes as soon as our motorcade passes by. District 4's reception is even worse with people immediately returning to their business as soon as I pass them by.
Brutally executing a family member of their district's most cherished victor - as well as their best chance of winning - will do that.
I could care less, with the only upside of this place being able to visit and see the various beaches and temperate highlands 4 has to offer. Not to mention seeing some of Panem's naval fleet at Naval Base Harrington. Viondra tells me most of the boats are under heavy retrofit due to the Rebellion and their attempt to handicap the Capitol by disabling as many ships as possible. Some crews even put them to service against the national government.
"I mean, you can't put them elsewhere," she explains. "Most Fours choose the Navy and whose in charge of boating mostly? Fours. Thus, they're close to home. I'd be biased in favor of the Capitol just as you would choose what's good for District 2 above all else. They obviously chose to be loyal to District 4, but for all the wrong reasons."
Not all Fours are bad. In a submarine pen I speak to a young district hero whose about Emery's age. With his freckled face, green eyes and ginger hair, he's a head taller than her and fit, probably from the rigors of running a ship. Hades Spruance, the son of the captain in charge of this naval base. He, alongside another family - the Dolans - continued to fish for the nation at-large while the rebellious among him steadily began to refuse work or go as far as to siphon stocks towards rebel cells. He gently clasps my hand, a toothy grin on his face.
"You look very beautiful today, Zenobia," he says, pumping it as he adds, "Not that you don't look beautiful every day. How do I know? Holovision of course." He turns to Emery now. "Don't worry, Emery, I haven't forgotten about you. But you gotta admit, Ms. Rivendell is quite the legend."
Viondra, Pluto and the rest of our party fail to keep their chuckles in. Grinning, Emery shakes her head with amusement. "I agree." Her brown eyes shift my way. "She does have a knack capturing people's attention…for better or worse."
Slightly startled, I find myself blinking before conjuring up a response. "Really now, you'd think I'm the ugliest thing in Panem, given the way your fellow Fours have been eyein' me…"
"Dad says they'll fall in line soon enough…" Hades replies dryly. "I wish they just did. I mean, the Academy got destroyed because they decided to use their skills for Thirteen instead of the Capitol."
"S'not like you're gonna get a chance to use said skills, sad t'say…" I think District 4's days of being a quasi-Career District are over for obvious reasons.
He grins again, exposing his gap teeth. "I'll be eighteen by HG 81. You never know what'll happen by then." He slaps me on the shoulder. "My mother's in charge of the banquet tonight, wanna go scout out the Wardroom?"
Much to my amusement, he offers me his elbow which I accept gingerly. It's because of this thirteen-year-old boy and him alone that makes my visit here enjoyable. Sitting at our assigned table, he keeps us amused with various stories, witty comebacks and dance skills. If he keeps this up, I'm sure D4 will have another Finnick Odair on their hands.
It's like a rollercoaster. Where 4 turned out to be decent despite my being mostly responsible for the killing of their tributes, District 3 is comparable to the Outer Districts of 10 and 11, in which I gave their tributes exactly what they deserved. The entire train ride up to 3 was spent thinking over how I slit their tribute - Moira's - throat despite her pleas. I guess they were thinking about it too, as it seems my killing of their tributes made quite the impression on the population here. Some barely look me in the eyes and avoid small talk if they can help it.
Naturally, Emery completely shut down as soon as we got off the train, leaving me to do the talking. Once our time here was through, she did make note to Pluto about adding certain contacts in 3 to the list of her charity.
Emery and I spend another evening in the observation car. "I'm not sure how I feel, coming to your district again."
"Can't say I blame you," I reply, giving her a mock serious frown as I say, "But how else are you going to see Randall and our home?"
Emery manages a grin. "Oh yes, I almost forgot."
I place a hand on her knee. "We gotta keep trudging on, remember?"
Where D3 was a low, District 1 serves as another highpoint. It might as well be an extension of back home, given how triumphant the welcome is. It's the first time since the tour began that instead of an SJ-7, we're in a limousine with a transparent 'bubble top' to interact with the crowds properly. Where D2 is stringent and steadfast, the Luxury District is glamorous and lax. Like a miniature Capitol without the looming skyscrapers.
"Come to think of it, it really is the Capitol's bedroom," remarks Viondra. "I couldn't tell you how many times our mother would take us on weekend shopping trips here."
Emery is starstruck and I have to say I am too. My 'frenemies' have it good up here. We meet established merchant families like the Baudelaires and Montgolias. Emery is smitten with their children, six-year-old Aurelia and two-year-old Thames. Both families beg that Emery and I take complementary clothing and jewels after a tour of their respective department stores.
"We insist," presses Justus Baudelaire. "Panem knows we need our name out there again."
Lucius Montgolia, quite young for a luxury brand owner, is just as insistent. "If it weren't for people like yourself and your family members, who knows where Panem would be?"
Syndra, supposedly being deported from the Capitol, seemingly landed on her feet here in one. Her family, the O'Shea's, live in a nice-looking two story limestone home, just like everyone else in this neighborhood. Like Mrs. Rappaport and Mrs. Verano, Mrs. Hera O'Shea is still grieving the loss. She apologizes profusely for each blow of her nose, prompting me to dismiss it each time.
"I wish her end was a bit more peaceful, is all ," she explains, exasperated. "Seeing her bleed out like that, it just…Oh, I just wish Albus let well enough alone! Why would he do something so stupid as get involved in a Rebellion?!"
The family room, full to capacity with Mrs. O'Shea's relatives, shift awkwardly in their positions as Hera's sobs echo through the room. Above the hearth are portraits of both Mr. Albus O'Shea and Syndra herself, each wrapped with a mourning ribbon. Albus O'Shea committed suicide following Syndra's death.
"I wish I could've done that much, Ma'am," I reply, offering her more tissues. "I was gonna, but we were interrupted. It could've been worse."
"Syndra was so lovely to me." adds Emery, staring into the eyes of each relative in the room. "She didn't have to talk to me after my brother and I were on the fence when it came to alliances, but she did anyways. She invited us to meetings as well."
I give a nod of agreement. "They say that the alliance often makes the victor. I'd be dead if she didn't make the first move. Panem knows I wouldn't have, too dead set on getting revenge to care about the logistics." I lay a hand on Mrs. O'Shea's shoulder. "Be proud." I glance around the room at the various faces. "Syndra was good. Someone to be proud of."
"Well…" Mrs. O'Shea sniffles. "We're just glad its you that emerged. It hurts less."
She initiates the hug, something that I begrudgingly return. During the small afternoon tea with the O'Shea family, I think back to the one-on-one brainstorm sessions with Viondra. One word sticks with me even now. Cushioning. Cushioning. Cushioning.
On the other side of the room, I trade glances with Viondra. The cups obscure our faces, but the eyes tell me she's thinking the same thoughts I am.
Did they not see the scene entirely? Did the Gamemakers mute it? When Syndra moaned at me asking "Why? Why did you leave us?"
From the O'Shea family home, we move on to meet District 1's remaining victors. Like Viondra, Serene and Kaiser were already hedging their bets on my safe return out the arena. Them already expecting me, plus being introduced to them before Launch Day makes it so that reuniting with them is like seeing an old friend. They get on well with Emery, as she's a admirer of the Ones before the War. They give us a tour of their Overwhill equivalent; Edenthew Academy. It's for intents and purposes, the polar opposite socially. With fashionable uniforms, outgoing students and social clubs like the 'Glamazons' and the 'Glamour Boys', I firmly see now why our respective tributes 'mesh' the way we do. Edenthew, like Overwhill Academy, have felt the brunt of the War too. Scaffolding dominates much of the campus and a memorial wall bears the name of about a hundred or so fallen cadets who opted to join Loyalist militias. More memorials are set to be erected later.
"I'm kinda glad you're taking over the the spotlight." Kaiser says to us later on that day. Our team opt to stop by the modest house he's sharing with Serene and their families. Their Victors' Village was destroyed by the rebels. "With everything that's happened - the war, the side choosing…I'm just glad we can finally breathe."
"Whaddya mean? You're the eldest victors," I reply, pausing to down my glass of water. "Basically Mags Flanagan at this point…."
"Something tells me we're at the start of something new. A 'generation two', if you will," says Serene. "With the 'two victors' clause, grander arenas…" She points a manicured finger towards Emery "And victors making their own mark instead of wallowing, I doubt the minds in higher places want anything to do with pre-War victors."
Kaiser hums in agreement, bringing a tumbler of rum to his lips. "They'll be looking toward you, friend. If they aren't already."
"Which they are…" Serene deadpans, grinning. "Speaking of 'making their own mark', I was thinking of running for office once the new president announces her new constitution."
"Where?" pipes up Emery.
"Perhaps for a district council seat…then perhaps governor of District 1 itself. Why not, right? Times are changing."
Their words give me a lot to think about. Who would've thought, me, eventually being the eldest victor of the 'new generation' - the one everyone in our small group looks towards. Though I think Serene gives the future victors too much credit - especially those from the Outer Districts. I highly doubt most of them would get with the program enough to just suck it up and do the best they can, like Emery. Maybe the Ones and the Fours - if the Capitol even allows them to run academies again. And whose to say that the next few years won't produce rebel victors like him? If the likes of the D12 victors can eek out a win, others can too.
I'm curious about Emery's role in all this. No Capitolite will ever enter again, leaving her alone. If her charity is any indication, I'm sure her role will be important.
Serene and Kaiser join us towards the Capitol for a star-studded welcome. Viondra has to literally move us along because we grind to a halt at the Central Station, signing autograph after autograph. I see parked ambulances on the way to our motorcade and judging from the way the metal gates dividing us from our adoring fans were oftentimes buckling, I wouldn't be surprised if the medics have their hands tied at the moment.
The 'party' continues outside. In the city proper, it's as if National Heroes Day didn't pass. People overwhelm the sidewalks and greenspaces as well as in windows and on balconies. Sitting side-by-side with Emery in an open convertible, well-wishers chant our names and shower us with confetti while the procession advances to the Training Center. Behind us are our teams as well as a car for Serene and Kaiser. A confirmatory glance towards my co-victor shows her engaging with the crowds, smiling and waving.
Good. Safe to say Emery's found her footing.
Caesar is decked out in an 'all-Panemian' ensemble, a sparkling suit of the national colors - crimson and gold. The interview is just a 'confirmation' of everything that transpired during out tour of the nation. Perhaps because Victors' Affairs is keeping an eye on Emery, I notice that Caesar leans heavily on her for rapport, praising her for her charity pledge.
"So young, yet so industrious," he gushes. "Oh Emery, I think I speak for Panem at-large when I say we are so proud of you."
Emery turns red at the applause. "Thank you, Caesar. I believe that everyone should live comfortably and I really hope I can help make a difference."
Caesar grins. "Of course you will! It's better than blowing your winnings on booze, that's for sure." He rolls his eyes as the audience howls with laughter. "When I see you too, I see
The true definition of 'victors' - beacons for all of Panem." His eyes flicker my way now. "Say Zenobia, have you any goodwill gestures?"
"Well Caesar, like you and every one else, I've been watching President Choudhury work on reforming the nation. I would like to very soon try to serve my community, district and country in a potential representative system."
The crowd murmurs with intrigue. "But victors don't work, mentoring notwithstanding-"
"Well, they will now." "Like Emery, I don't want to be passive."
"You see, this is what I like to see!" "Young, loyal blood, setting an example and leading the way for all youths to follow! I love it!"
And President Choudhury loves it too. We stop at the Presidential Mansion before the evening garden party, with Emery and I having a private audience of tea with her before coming back together again for a photo opportunity.
"You did a Capitol job, Rivendell," commends the President. "This past year is truly one for the history books. The nation is…more or less stable, and reforms are slowly but surely being made. Your performance was key in this occurring.:
Sipping from my petite cup, I set it down onto the saucer. "Thank you, Your Excellency."
Choudhury takes a sip of her own. "I imagine all this galivanting is driving your husband mad?"
"He understands, ma'am. I plan to dedicate more time to us once we finish school proper."
"Ah, yes, marrying much younger is customary in the districts," she replies, grinning. "Given your remarkable story, you deserve family, privacy and more. However, I'd imagine that the nation would love to see a public conclusion to that promise ring being replaced."
"Randall and I already spoke about it and agreed."
The president gives me a full blown smile. "Excellent…We're finally getting the wedding we're owed, it seems."
We both let out a laugh, although a bit awkward in tone. If the Tour showed me one thing, it's that people were still aware of the duo who shall not be named. Will a public wedding between Randall and I overshadow that? Try as they might, I can't say.
I meet Viondra's gigantic brood again. Her immediate brood, not the plethora of cousins. Apparently her extended family is on the way. Back in December, I never got a total headcount so heres' hoping I will find out this time.
From oldest to youngest we got Armitage, twins Vivienne and Valencia - or 'Viv' and 'Val' and Victoria. All in their teens. My hair, cut in a bouncy, shoulder length bob, seems to be catching on among the girls of my generations, because Viv and Val copied my haircut to a tee. Victoria favors Emery's updo and apparently girls all throughout the Capitol are going nuts trying to find polka dot-designed headbands or materials to make into headbands. The supply shortage caused by the War rears its head once more. Overt 'Panemiana' is in fashion though - almost everyone is wearing a variation of crimson and gold or at least a flag or emblem pin.
Of course before the party starts in earnest, there's the welcoming of distinguished guests - Emery and I being the central focus. As we make our way onto the Mansion's South Lawn, I couldn't help but notice the familiar faces of a select handful of fellow Overwhill cadets and faculty. I make a beeline to them, more specifically the old crew - minus Domita of course.
"What are you guys doing here?!" I beam, breaking away from Randall. The press in the crowd eat it up, snapping photos.
"Well, I do live here," quips Callista. Beatrix, currently on Ryder's arm, giggles while fussing with Ryder's hair.
"Lt. DeWynter was nice enough to work out the details," says Randall. A quick glance over to the Lieutenant in question prompts her to respond by raising her glass towards us. And to think I nearly blew her off. Nearly blew my life off…
Garrison motions to his service medal. "I mean, the overall theme is 'victory' so of course they'll invite people like us."
I'm not complaining that there here, it's just that there's so many acquaintances in such a small place. I'd be a liar if I said it wasn't overwhelming. Just by glancing around briefly, I can see people drifting over to my sphere already, wanting time with me. They can wait. With the President welcomed, the party is now underway. The crew and I immediately move to the food. There's a centralized table decorated with a variety of eats, many of which I politely pick at. Years of Mom and the Academy telling me that anything but vegetables, fruit and meat are the devil have steered me away from developing a sweet tooth. It's Ryder who gives Randall, Bea and Garrison a crash course on Capitol cuisine. Of course being new to the Capitol, they take it all in stride.
I can't hold off everyone else for long. Before being enveloped by adoring Capitolites, the last I see of my friends is Ryder giving Garrison a telltale vial of bright pink liquid. My wrist begins to wear due to all the autographs I'm signing and the pictures I pose for are just as frequent. if I smile a minute longer, I fear my face wont return to normal. Though, as Emery appears with a girl by her side, I figure I can hold my smile just a little longer. This is the infamous Dawn I've been hearing about. I can tell because when she introduces Dawn to me, Emery's eyes are glued to her face as she watches us interact.
"You are a hero," Dawn gushes, pumping my hand.
Grinning, I point towards the 'Hero of Panem' medal pinned to my dress. "So they say…"
Dawn's features become strained. "No, seriously." her grip on my hand becomes firm. Too firm. "Those 'people' deserved what they got. I wish I had your strength, your fearlessness."
Emery's face becomes one of worry, but I'm not worried one bit. Emery had told me about Dawn's accident. I understand her pain wholeheartedly. I clasp her shoulder. "I'm sorry about your parents. The Capitol is going to need people like you soon. Stay focused in school, keep fit, and maybe one day, you'll prevent someone else from going through what you did."
Though Dawn beams, Emery seems less than pleased. Before it could be addressed, my friends return from the food area, Garrison is noticeably flush and glaring at Ryder who wears that signature dumb grin on her face.
"Hello, Emery," chimes Bea. "Nice to finally meet Zen's helper."
"Look who it is, Emery in the flesh." Randall sticks his hand out for a shake. "Good job out there. Don't think I've ever seen a twelve-year-old kick butt like you did."
Gobsmacked, Emery takes his hand, glancing at me in a way that seemingly signals she approves of him. She approves of everyone else too, given the way she chats amicably about her service as a Pioneer in comparison to Overwhill's curriculum.
I can't help but feel happy, seeing Emery, my friends and my team caught up in the wonder of the evening. The Games and the events that took place in them are barely a thought as I talk with anyone and everyone. All those who wronged me got what was coming to them and those they left behind will deservedly know my pain. Reaping Day is just a few days away which will in turn hopefully bring a worthy victor - or victors. I'll breeze through this final year and truly begin life with Randall. What's there to be worried about? Why should I not be happy? My head is doubt free at the moment. After President Choudhury's speech praising this 'new era', we look to the evening sky for a fireworks show. I can't help but smile as I'm somehow surrounded by all my immediate acquaintances. As I'm on Randall's arm, I wonder to myself if the public reception will be held here, or elsewhere? I'm thinking elsewhere, but fireworks are a must for sure.
We still have District 2 to end off the Tour, so Viondra ensures we leave the mansion promptly and get some form of sleep before boarding a train back home. Fletcher, Wyatt and Amir wake me for the customary prepping. During the process, Fletcher pauses with a scrounged face in thought.
"What's wrong?"
He lets out a giggle. "Nothing. Nothing anymore at least." When I quirk a brow, he explains. "This is the first prep session in which we have…full access to you. I mean, it's so automatic to us, we wouldn't really notice but when it came to you we usually make arrangements but…"
"Maybe it's trust?" I reply with a shrug. I'd imagine it's more than just trust. Maybe it's because I got my revenge. Maybe it's because things have seemingly worked out and gotten so much better I no longer think so hard about my being wronged. I guess it's all of the above.
All three of them are grinning but I focus on Amir's bright eyes above the other two. "I'm so glad Viondra chose us to work on you."
"I know, right?" chirps Wyatt. "It's literally only just the beginning, that's what's so excellent about it all!"
"We've been sketching out concepts for months now," says Fletcher. "What you've seen now is only but a taste. We have from now until eternity to see them all through!"
I smile right along with them. "I'm happy t'have you guys 'round too. Here's to eternity."
With our teams, ready, we pile into our respective limousines and repeat the process of being cheered and lauded all the way to Central Station. It's as if the grand welcome from yesterday didn't conclude but just kept on going. Randall and the select guests from District 2 took a separate train back. By noon, our train leaves the station and we're on our way back to D2.
My mind is torn between a bunch of things. Making sure Emery's renewed experience is good (she's excited to see Overwhill Academy), etching some time out for Randall and I, not to mention Domita's baby that's due in a month or two.
If only I didn't have to waste my time 'mentoring' eight worthless tributes, I would have all the time in the world to make up for lost time with Randall.
Viondra seems to agree. "Part of me wants to resign. 'One and done' as they say. Then again, just because they're 'worthless' doesn't mean they can be made decent again."
"I ain't holdin' my breath," I reply dryly.
Seemingly used to my personality, Viondra smirks. "We'll see on the day in question, won't we? Till then, what's a few more engagements?"
That's right. The buck stops in District 2. I can't wrap my head around despite everything that's happened in the past year, they have the resources to host a fair in our honor. To cap the night off, Provisional Governor Rankine is hosting a reception at her mansion. All this is happening while the start of the Seventy-Seventh is upon us due to the lateness of our Games. To say I'm 'busy' is an understatement.
As our train rolls into town, our arrival goes about the same. Emery and I emerge first and greet a party of the District's highest officials - all under the heavy guard of Peacekeepers and more discreet Capitol agents in plainclothes. All of us make our way through the station and emerge on top of the staircase that will bring us down towards the motorcade. Randall and the crew were specially chosen to wait right outside the door. Domita's continued absence is felt but I will see her soon enough. The cheers are overwhelming and come from all directions, most notably in the cordoned off 'wings' dividing the sea of people onto either ends of the sidewalk for quicker access to the limousines. I clasp Randall's hand in mine as we begin our descent down the stairs.
"We're almost done," I say to him over the roaring crowds. "Just this, the Games, then the summer is ours."
Randall's grip on my hand tightens. "Forget the summer. More like the rest of our lives."
Giggling aloud, I take the time out to wave to our well-wishers, waving from left to right. As soon as my head swivels to the right, I notice a violent commotion. People spilling over the barricades. Then, I hear firecrackers.
