The thoughts of the rebellion swarmed Olive's mind for the entire day. They were loud. Unavoidable despite her loved ones constantly pulling her into conversations. Rationality was slipping away from her grasp as the day went by. And nobody could prevent it, only hope for it not to have devastating memory-related incidents before they intervened in the Games.
Her earring was gone, currently undergoing the token inspection, and its presence was greatly missed. Olive kept rubbing her ear — warm and slightly irritated from the constant friction — with lost eyes. They were their usual colour, a mesmerising sea blue, but they didn't shine. The soft gleam that showed that her attention was in its right place no longer existed, and there was no replacement, just the empty sea inside her eyes.
There was change through the night. Olive dozed off at times, allowing Finnick to relax and close his eyes, but her screams woke him up not long after. If she didn't cry out her family's names, she cried his, their loved ones, or even Katniss's and Peeta's. Her nightmares didn't cease, causing the never-ending battle to last until sunrise.
"I won't go back to sleep," said Olive to Finnick, who was refusing to leave her alone for a second, even if their prep teams would be in the bedroom in no time. "Nothing will happen, alright? I'll be fine. We can't let a rumour about us start now of all times."
"I don't care about rumours," Finnick said while grabbing a hold of her hands. "Are you sure you want to be alone?"
"Yes." She nodded. "Now, stop worrying and go back to your room before my entire prep team goes from bawling their eyes out to bothering me non-stop."
Finnick, still drowsy from exhaustion, gave in and placed a quick kiss on Olive's lips before exiting the room.
The prep team appeared shortly after, dragging Olive to the bathroom. They followed a strict procedure to clean her body, which she refused to pay any attention to. She was one day away from entering the Arena. It wasn't the right time to drown in self-pity, much less when she still had to figure out what she'd do exactly for her interview.
Rebellion. Olive's thoughts clouded once more.
She couldn't place that word into any plan that would require the victors' intervention. Not to mention that the Districts were in no state to rebel against the Capitol. They could be crucial for the Capitol's eventual demise since all products came from the Districts themselves, but they had no army. Not even a decent armoury. What hope were they holding on to? And just how probable would it be for her loved ones to risk their lives for it, too?
In short. What was going on?
Cries, sniffs, and desperate attempts at holding back sobs were all Olive could hear for long minutes. In all honesty, even if she had already seen them cry once for the tribute Parade, she had been expecting a livelier chat. Capitol people doing anything that wasn't talking animatedly about inhuman things resulted to be oddly worrying.
Part of her wanted to feel good about their sorrow. It was their fault. That was what she kept repeating in her mind. Everyone's suffering was all due to the Capitol's extravagance, lavishness, and desire to acquire more, even the lives of others.
"Don't cry, please." The words escaped her mouth before she could process them.
Fault or no-fault, she didn't want that to be her last memory of those people. She didn't want to meet her probable end and only be able to remember the red and puffy eyes of those who had taken pity on her, and she had thoroughly ignored them. In Olive's opinion, her conscience was one of the greatest gifts and curses she had ever received.
So when her prep team dried their tears and put on fake smiles just for her, she did the same for them. For once, she participated in the conversation, and they welcomed her with open arms. It was a simple subject, nothing that opened any recent wounds, nor deepened the ones already bleeding out. However, her prep team kept talking as if they were walking over a landmine road.
Just like most of their initial conversation, her prep team's farewell was equally teary. Nobody was expecting her to come back, at least not them. Contrary to them, Cario was unreadable, standing still with a faint smile creeping on the corner of his lips.
"Whatever you've planned for tonight, forget it," said Cario in a much softer tone than usual, almost as if he was worried about something. "President Snow made a request for your dress."
"I'm not going to like it, am I?" Olive asked, to which he shook his head.
It was a wedding gown. President Snow had asked Cario to design a wedding dress for her last interview ever in the Capitol. The blatant mockery reached such levels that sickened Olive to her stomach. She stared at the beautiful and simple white dress, hoping for her meal not to escape from the confines of her stomach. The taste of vomit would be disgusting and would leave a horrible ache at the back of her throat until she drank a whole litre of water.
"Did he give a reason for this?" she asked.
The dress didn't make any of the Capitol-made curves of her body stand out. It was loose and easy to walk in. The upper part had a wave pattern that covered her chest up to her shoulders. And, her personal favourite, despite its Capitol typical decorations, it was the simplest wedding dress possible in her circumstances. Cario had managed to transform a nightmare into a decent dream.
"Only that your wedding had been short-lived, and he wished for you to have the wedding gown you deserved," replied Cario.
Olive could only sigh and close her eyes, praying for it to be just another nightmare. "Of course he did." Sure enough, when she opened her eyes, nothing had changed. "Thanks for the dress, Cario. It's beautiful. I wish I could appreciate it more."
"That's alright." He placed a hand on her shoulder before moving on to keep transforming her into the simplest Capitol bride ever seen. "I had a chat with Cinna, you know? My skills aren't as great as his, but I've learned a few tricks."
"I don't want to burn to death," she said in a childish, whiny tone.
"You won't, I promise." He brought a little device over to her, allowing her to examine it without touching any of the many buttons it had. "You're not from Twelve, after all. Fire makes no sense for District Four."
She turned around to face him slowly, dramatising her expression to fit her tone. "Am I going to drown, then?"
"Just stay still and let the dress do its magic." He rolled his eyes dramatically with a smirk and secured her hairdo with a seashell ribbon. "Done. Now, no more complaining. You've got an audience to torture emotionally."
"I'll do my best."
The promise didn't take into consideration the general reaction to her dress. If between the tributes had already been bad, she could only guess the complete opposite the Capitol would show at the sight of it. It wasn't all bad, of course. The sight of Johanna making fun of Finnick was enough to make her forget her troubles and simply enjoy the moment.
Until Katniss arrived in another wedding dress, though way fancier and exaggeratedly Capitol-like styled.
"I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing," said Finnick, the first one out of the twenty-two tributes to comment on the dress.
"Seems like I wasn't the only one," Katniss replied, her eyes landing on Olive for a second to show her a weak smile. "He didn't have any choice, either. President Snow made him."
Cashmere spat the first that came to mind, which turned out not to be very kind words to the young girl, and pulled her brother all the way to the beginning of the line. Most of the other tributes followed suit, giving Katniss, or even Peeta, reassuring pats on the shoulder and sympathetic smiles. Johanna, though, felt as if that would be no fun.
She stopped to straighten Katniss' pearl necklace, showing her a wide grin before saying, "Make him pay for it, okay?", and then leaving to her spot on the line.
"Well," Olive began, looking down at her dress before concentrating back on Katniss and Peeta, "good luck. Make them cry lots, alright?"
The couple gave her a doubtful nod, and she walked to her spot, where she had to keep herself from laughing. It seemed that Finnick had clear preferences over whom he would rather see in a nuptial gown, since his eyes wouldn't detach from her for a second. Not even as they took their seat on stage. He tried to be discrete and not stare further than the stunned crowd already was, but it was in no way an easy task.
Interviews through District One to District Three had no incidents, though they contained the first sparks of the tributes' own little rebellion. Cashmere wouldn't stop crying to get the crowd's pity. Gloss would go on about how sad he would be about leaving all his 'family', as he called the Capitol, behind, as if purposely forgetting to mention that there was a probability that, if he wanted to survive, he would have to kill his sister at some point. Out of the six tributes, Beetee was the most direct, pointing out that anything man-made could be undone, even the Quarter Quell itself. Sadly, his quick phrasing and nervousness didn't let his message get through to the audience.
Olive had no need to come up with anything sad to tell the audience. President Snow had provided it for her. Once her name was called, she walked to the centre of the stage, where she was received by an astonished Caesar. The crowd let out gasps as they had a better look at her. Perhaps it was due to have been at the back of the stage and sitting down, but many hadn't really figured out the fact that such a loose and plain dress, to the Capitol's standards, could ever be a wedding gown.
"I'm always full of surprises, aren't I, Caesar?" Olive joked, needing the interview to take off right away before her three minutes got consumed by whatever Cario had prepared.
"It does seem so, doesn't it, folks?" The crowd cheered, which prompted Caesar to carry on with his wide smile. "My goodness, you look gorgeous," he said in his usual cheery tone. "Tell me, is there a special reason behind it?"
A weak smile formed on her lips unconsciously, which already helped her situation. Her eyes landed on the stylists' row, where she searched for Cario. He was at the front with his hand slightly raised. As far as she could tell, he had the device and was about to press one of the million buttons on it.
"As unbelievable as this may sound, there is." Olive looked back at Caesar, reminding herself to stay still and trust her friend's stylist skills. "You see, Caesar, just like many tributes for these Games, I don't only leave my family behind." Her eyes watered, but she tried to contain them from flowing. Even if she wanted the crowd's pity, messed up make-up wouldn't help her situation once she sat back down with the others. "If I had known… Well, of all this, I wouldn't have accepted. But he makes me so happy, and I loved him so much. I thought, 'oh, we'll find the moment to announce it to the world one day'."
"Oh, my dear." Caesar grabbed a hold of her hand, glancing from her to the crowd, which was increasingly losing the little desire they could have mustered before the interviews for the Quarter Quell. "Who is he?"
"My husband." A mix between a shaky breath and a snigger left her lips, just as Caesar handed her a handkerchief; the attempts at holding back tears weren't having much effect. "We had a secret wedding before the Quell was even announced. It was… well, we just wanted to have our own little secret before telling everyone… I just wish our families would have been there. They'll never get to see my wedding now."
"Of course they will," said Caesar, desperate to cheer up the crowd. "I tell you what. You win the Quarter Quell, go back home, and you'll have a grand wedding that we'll all get to see."
"I wish I could be as convinced as you are, Caesar." Olive's eyes caught a strange movement around the stylists' row. Cairo was waving the device slowly, and, just as he got her attention, he motioned with his head towards her, or rather, the dress. "Actually, I was told I've got another little surprise for you all, if you don't mind"
"Of course not," said Caesar.
Olive took a step back and waited for the dress to do something. She extended her arms slightly and watched a soft blue flicker creep up the bottom of her skirt and all the way to her neck. It didn't seem as if it were doing anything, nor did it make her feel anything. No tingle, burn, or sudden cold.
Then the cameras were all on her, and she knew something had happened.
The dress wasn't in flames like she had expected, nor did it transform. However, an important thing occurred. All Capitol decorations had disappeared with the weave of light. None of them prevailed, not even the few in her head, allowing her hair to flow down like a wave. The dress was no longer modest; it was horrendous for the flashy Capitol fashion.
And that's when Olive fell in love with it. That was it. Perhaps Cario was supposed to transform the dress for a specific rebel cause, which she had no idea if it had worked. Ridding a wedding dress of any Capitol trace didn't seem an incredible rebel act. Either way, it didn't really matter to her. That dress, the secret dress Cario had created only for her, was the one she would have liked to wear for her wedding. Without him, she could have died without ever wearing it once.
To Caesar's fortune, the three minutes were up shortly after, which permitted him to send Olive back to her seat after exchanging a few compliments over her gown. She walked to her seat, hiding a smile under her sleeve as she spotted Finnick next to her empty seat, eyes slightly widened, and a forced Capitol smile present.
"District Four, Finnick Odair!"
"Good luck," she whispered as she walked past him to her seat.
It couldn't be intended as such, but Finnick had his own little revenge against her. He recited a poem to his secret lover, which half the crowd believed was directed at them, oblivious to the fact that Finnick kept glancing at the television that showed the tributes' reactions in full display.
"If I die in that Arena," Finnick recited, forcing his eyes to detach themselves from the television and to the camera that had a close-up of his face, "my last thought will be of your lips."
The reaction to his statement was impressive. Some people in the crowd fainted, while the true receiver of the poem rested her back on her seat, wishing for the interviews to be over at that instant. Finnick's interview went on, nonetheless. And she could do nothing except wait for all the others to go on stage and be done with it. Although, Peeta's and Katniss's side glances, which had begun the moment her interview had ended, were starting to bother her.
Nothing changed as the interviews continued. The rebel acts didn't stop, and the crowd's reaction to them only got worse with time. Not even Caesar could come up with a joke or situation to cheer the hundreds of people that were bawling their eyes out by the time Katniss walked on stage with her wedding gown so befitting of a Capitol woman, not a District Twelve's seventeen-year-old.
"So, Katniss, obviously this is a very emotional night for everyone. Is there anything you'd like to say?" asked Caesar, hardly managing to get the crowd to calm down so Katniss could speak.
"Only that I'm so sorry you won't get to be at my wedding… but I'm glad you at least get to see me in my dress. Isn't it just… the most beautiful thing?"
As expected, Katniss spun around, showing that her dress, yet again, had the flames from the previous year. Only, the current ones were much more real and were actually engulfing the dress, transforming it into a brand new one. One that had nothing to do with the Capitol.
It was the representation of a Mockingjay.
"Hats off to your stylist. I don't think anyone can argue that that's not the most spectacular thing we've ever seen in an interview. Cinna, I think you better take a bow!" Caesar gestured for Cinna to rise, which he did, followed by a small, gracious bow.
Katniss's interview was up right after, interchanging her position with Peeta, who demonstrated his easy handling of the crowd with a few jokes that Caesar was clearly grateful for.
A minute into the interview, Peeta had already joked his way into telling that he, just like Olive, had his own secret wedding with Katniss, which their families hadn't attended. Olive raised her eyebrows at this, knowing that Peeta would have come up with something to top that, and not just copy her strategy. She couldn't deny that she was expecting with overflowing curiosity what he would say.
"I wish we had waited until the whole wedding thing was done officially," said Peeta.
This took even Caesar aback. "Surely even a brief time is better than no time?"
"Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," said Peeta bitterly, "if it weren't for the baby."
Rather than applaud, which she had to hold herself from doing, Olive wanted to ask Peeta to take a bow. The bomb had landed with delay on the crowd, making everyone jump on their seats and demand the cancellation of the Games like they hadn't all afternoon.
"A baby," Olive whispered, turning her head to Finnick, who was already staring at her. "Well, of course, a baby would have more right to be spared than us."
Before Finnick could whisper anything back, the tributes next to them grabbed their hands. Beetee got Olive's attention and motioned at the other tributes, which were in the process to become a human chain by holding each other's hands, even District Two, who had accepted under everyone's pressure.
Yet another sign of rebellion that Olive was completely on board with, more so at the best time possible; the playing of Panem's anthem.
With little regard for Caesar's powerlessness over the yelling crowd, Olive intertwined her right hand with Finnick's left one, awaiting whatever came next.
The anthem was just about to finish when all twenty-four tributes raised their hands in a united line.
Between the confusion, the shouts, and the lack of a general sense of what was going on, the sight of the tributes' rebellion was showcased on screens for more than five seconds. Then, one by one, the screens turned black, until the stage lights had to be shut down as well.
It was of no use to shut it off so late. They had shown the image to all of Panem. Igniting a flame of such a grand spark would be effortless for the districts. It didn't matter who died, or how they did, that moment would be remembered. A broadcasted sign of unison between the faces of each district would never be forgotten.
The true rebellion was about to begin.