PART ONE: MERCURIE ANSELMETTI-FAVERO
The stars, with their ageless twinkling, have a way of dragging Mercurie's thoughts to the remnants of the old world. Amid the endless inky blackness above, he wonders if the Americans of the past envisioned their nation succumbing to what Panem is now. They weren't a great people, but Mercurie gives props to them for not making reality television where kids murder each other. At least, he doesn't think they did.
His hands glide through the water, breaking its stillness, and he bobs gently on his back. The dam serves as his sanctuary for contemplation—a place where the endless darkness envelops him, and his thoughts echo undisturbed. In winter, the water is way too freezing, but the summer water blankets him in its perfect, cool embrace. While many kids play in the dam during the day to escape the relentless heat, nighttime grants Mercurie the freedom to let his mind wander. Here he's allowed to think beyond energy production and the games. Occasionally, he'll encounter couples seeking seclusion for their trysts, prompting him to roll his eyes and retreat to the mayoral villa.
Running his fingers across his pruney palms, he decides he's been here long enough. Swimming to the walkway, he pulls himself out of the water, the cold metal handrail biting into his thighs. Clothes clutched in his hands, he tiptoes off the site and behind one of the pumping stations near the wall, slipping into his clothes. Shoes, however, remain in his hands; damp clothes are one thing, but wet feet in socks are a discomfort he refuses to endure.
A nocturnal chill runs down Mercurie's spine as the night air whispers. Tension hangs in the air, reserved for three distinct occasions— the Reaping, the Hunger Games, and the Victory Tour. Peeta Mellark and the District 12 team are just weeks away. It's challenging to summon much care when neither Norris nor Mia made it far. Mellark appears amiable, charismatic, and handsome; the district will offer their obligatory respect before attempting to bury the memories until the reaping revisits them in six months.
Mercurie kicks a pebble of concrete across the ground, its impact against a brick wall reverberating as it spins a couple of meters away. As he walks, he takes a few more strides, sending the pebble farther down the path. A distant alarm punctuates the air from the smokestacks piercing the sky. On most nights, the settlement streets buzz with activity; workers populate the area, socializing with neighbors on their day off. The air alight with chatter brighter than any of the light they provide across the country. Tonight, the deserted streets amplify the siren, five times louder than usual in the absence of the daytime buzz.
oOo
As dawn breaks, the district stirs from its slumber, the desert heat seeping through the walls like a relentless vapor. He's reminded of the poisonous fog from the Quarter Quell a couple of years ago, where a tribute left his ally to be vaporised toward the end days. Mercurie flicks on the ceiling fan, a futile attempt to ward off the oppressive warmth already heating up the district so damn early. After roughly thirty minutes of activity downstairs, his parents finally depart for work. They barely utter a word to each other. Hearing the door click shut, he tiptoes downstairs, prepared to kick-start his day. Russ arrives in the kitchen mere moments after Mercurie, just a split second behind. His brother's curly hair is matted to one side of his head. Mercurie's would be the same, had he actually slept. Their mother's wild hair was passed down to both of them. Mercurie spent probably half of his early teenage years in front of the bathroom mirror trying to keep it tidy.
"Enjoying your escapades as of late?" Russ asks. "I heard you come in this morning."
"I don't go anywhere crazy, just the dam. I like to think when I'm out there."
"At least someone in this family does." He says, buttering a slice of bread. "I don't think either of them has a thought between them to rub together."
Russ is talking about their parents who, for some reason, have decided to remain in a loveless and argumentative marriage, prompting a knowing glance from Mercurie. Russ doesn't bother hiding how little he cares about their parents. He's been planning his escape from this household for years. They settle at the table with plates of buttered toast as Mercurie switches on the television. The usual Capitol propaganda fills the screen, luring Mercurie into a mindless stupor. News of a former District 1 victor's run-in with the law grabs his attention. Russ makes a noise.
"They'll only give him a slap on the wrist," he says.
Mercurie shrugs. "No offence, but who cares? It's not our problem. Sergius Brownlow's been terrorising 5 for twenty years. We've got our own alkies to worry about."
Russ shakes his head. "That's not the point. They get to… you know what, don't worry about it."
oOo
There's a Capitol car waiting to take the Mayor's family to the square. Mercury has taken this trip eight times before and assumes it's like this for other Mayoral families in the other districts. Stepping outside, he inwardly groans. Today is hot. He strips his sweater off and ties it around his waist. His father gives him a look, which he ignores. The journey to the square takes about ten minutes, followed by a passage to the stage through the back of the Justice Building, where they enter through massive double doors.
Upon stepping through the doors, the refreshing coolness of the Justice Building's air conditioning is immediately lost to the withering heat outside. Mercury settles into his seat at the far end of the right side of the stage. His family are separate from the victors, a reminder that his fatehr was elected from a pool of the Capitol's picks, whereas the other side of the stage belongs to the people who fought to be here.
The people of District 5 appear to wrestle with the oppressive heat of the day. Mercury averts his gaze guiltily. It's not his fault, but he wonders if, surely, his father could do something like setting up large fans around the square's perimeter. After all, he was once one of these people. The square is packed with citizens, some even spilling out into the non-designated areas.
His mother swats away a couple of pestering flies from her eyes, her brows furrowed with frustration. It's not the kind of heat that makes you sweat; rather, it's a dry, oppressive heat that invites flies to buzz around, making you feel more irritated than you've ever been in your life.
Mercury glances at his wristwatch; it strikes two, and the doors of the Justice Building swing open. Six months ago, the building had taken two teenagers from the Red Sector. Today, it releases a stout, blonde baker from District 12—Peeta Mellark. He's only the second person from District 12 that Mercury has seen, devoid of the familiar dark features he associates with the Games. The first had been a girl from the games when he was much younger. Peeta's blue eyes and pale skin stand out starkly amidst the sea of District 5's brown skin and hair of copper and black. On the large screens in the square, Peeta's startled expression is broadcast to the assembled crowd.
After a moment to compose himself, Peeta Mellark lifts the cards in his hands and speaks into the microphone. Below the stage, Norris Crawford and Mia Chavarra's families huddle, their eyes brimming with tears as they look up at him. Though Mercurie can only see the back of the victor's head, it's evident how tense Peeta is. There's not much to say about either of them—Mia died at the Cornucopia, and Norris succumbed to dehydration after three days. Neither even reached the halfway point.
"Mia and Norris represented District 5 with honor until the very end," Peeta concludes. "I'm sure you're proud of your citizens."
The crowd gives a dutiful applause as is expected. Mercury's father thanks Peeta Mellark, and hands him a bouquet of flowers and a bronze plaque. Peeta graciously accepts, and he's led back into the Justice Building by a pair of Peacekeepers.
After Peeta has entered the Justice Building, Mercury and Russ trail behind their parents amidst the District 12 entourage. The crowd has already begun to spill out of the square, dispersing to wagons and trams heading toward the main city where the parade will take place.
Tonight, Peeta and the rest of District 12's team will dine at the Justice Building, but for now, they're all to join the crowd heading into the city. Mercurie manages a quick glance at Peeta as he exits. Peeta doesn't appear thrilled; he mutters something to Katniss Everdeen, who simply shrugs in response. Peeta leans in closer, but Mercury's eyes flit away in fear of being caught eavesdropping.
During the car ride to the city circle, silence envelops the Anselmetti-Favero family. Mercurie's father doesn't really 'chat' with his family anymore. Russ and their mother maintain an air of tension between them. Mercurie longs for the days before his father's political career took precedence, when his mother found joy in her work in Geology rather than in maintaining appearances and keeping up with Capitol fashion. They used to be happier when they lived like everyone else. Now, they attract attention that they don't want. Mercury is tired of the way kids at school treat him like some kind of celebrity. He despises being on stage every year for the victory tour, exchanging pleasantries with victors who couldn't care less about his family. District 5 is just another stop on their tour.
The parade around the city circle unfolds predictably. Citizens dutifully clap, eager to conclude the spectacle and relax for the rest of the afternoon. Peeta Mellark waves patriotically to the crowd. Despite the sun having long set, the lingering afternoon heat remains unwelcome. Mercurie is grateful to vanish into the Justice Building for dinner, seeking respite from the exhausting display.
At the banquet, Sergius Brownlow attends solely for the drinks. He's here every year. Despite winning the games around the same time as Haymitch Abernathy, Sergius prioritizes the sparkling ciders over his visiting friend. He did the same thing two years ago when Katniss Everdeen came on her tour. Nina Saller, the victor of the twenty-third games, makes an unexpected appearance. Mercurie hasn't crossed paths with her in several years. Her pointed avoidance of Sergius is so conspicuous that even he notices, despite his typically hazy demeanor.
Mercurie stands in the back as the District 12 team enters the room. First, the escort, a bubbly, pink-haired woman named Euphemia Trinket. She waves congenially at the room,graciously receiving the subdued applause. Then the stylists, and the preps. The victors enter the room. Haymitch Abernathy, a dark-haired, pudgy man trudges in first. He lifts his arms to Nina, and they greet each other in a bear hug.
"Care for a drink, Abernathy?"
Haymitch shakes his head, not catching her sarcasm. "I'm looking after my kids, Saller."
His 'kids' come into the room behind him. Katniss Everdeen's scowl mars the neutral look she usually has on television. Her gray eyes land on Mercury, and her lips curl slightly. Twelve's shiny new victor, Peeta Mellark, is close behind her. So unlike his fellow victors in appearance. Blonde hair, pale skin, blue eyes. He greets Mercury's mother and father first, shakes the hands of the victors, and finally lands on Mercurie.
"Mercurie," He says. "My father's the mayor."
Peeta firmly shakes his hand, and then introduces himself to Russ. His brother gives a polite smile and nod.
"How was the trip? You tired?" Mercurie asks him. "You get to see the wind farms tomorrow. I remember Clementine Coumbassa loved them when she came here."
His words spill from his mouth. He can't stop looking at the long lashes Peeta has. "Personally, the dam is my go-to, but you won't get to go there, unfortunately."
Peeta smiles warmly, though it doesn't quite reach those blue eyes. Mercurie can tell he's trying to be polite, and he feels stupid for bombarding him. He purses his lips, hoping it'll stop him from word-vomiting. Katniss Everdeen gives him an unreadable look as she passes. She wasn't unpleasant when she came to Five for her victory tour, but he remembers she didn't speak much. Haymitch and the escort did most of the talking. Mercurie tries not to feel like he's done something wrong.
Mercurie's father guides the group into the dining room, where cooks are busy serving meals and drinks. Following tradition, Mercurie takes his place on the left side of his father, appropriate for the mayor's child. The mayor and his spouse occupy opposite ends of the table, with their children seated beside them. Mercurie hates sitting next to him. His scrutinous gaze doesn't leave either of his sons during these tours, and being directly beside him means there's no room for even the smallest of mistakes.
His father exchanges pleasantries with Peeta Mellark and the escort, discussing District 12 and the status of the mines. Neither of them knows much about the mines, but his father doesn't comment on it.
"A lot of District 12's coal comes here to power generators. I know your industry's usefulness has been a topic of debate the past decade or so, but this country couldn't run without you."
Sergius is getting louder and more obnoxious as he consumes glass after glass of alcohol. Mercurie's parents and Nina are having a difficult time hiding their disgust.
"This meal is just, lovely Mr. Anselmetti-Favero," the 12 escort says, attempting to keep the festive vibe. "We haven't been afforded such a beautiful meal in the other districts. Of course, there's not a lot for them to spare out there. Trust me, we know."
She smiles warmly at Katniss and Peeta, the former who purses her lips into a thin line.
"Oh, it's nothing Euphemia," Mercury's father says. "We always like to treat the victors well. They deserve it, after all."
Euphemia asks, "These are your children?"
"Yes. Mercurie and Russ. Mercurie is at the top of his class in chemistry and athletics, and Russ is a whiz with Mathematics. I'm very proud of them."
"You do athletics?" Peeta asks from across the table. "What do you play?"
Mercurie feels himself blush slightly. "Just track, mostly. But I do a bit of everything. You have sports in Twelve?"
"Yes. Kids like it because it gives us a break from the coal. I was on the wrestling team before the games."
Mercurie thinks of Peeta in the games, stripped down to his undershorts, heaving rocks to cover the entrance of his cave in the mountains that the tributes were tossed into. His face gets redder. Katniss Everdeen notices and gives him yet another look.
"That explains how you were able to fight so well," Is all Mercurie gets out.
Peeta becomes quiet, and he scolds himself for being so stupid. What idiot brings up the games when talking to a brand new victor. His father grips his wrist hard for a moment, and Mercurie bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn't cry out.
Peeta brightens a bit when the cook wheels desert out; a lavender-coloured cake with white, swirly frosting. He compliments her frosting work, which she accepts with surprised delight. They talk about baking and pastries for a long time, only stopping when Mercurie's father raises an eyebrow at the chef. She apologizes to Peeta Mellark that she has more work to do, and she disappears back to the kitchen. Peeta goes back to picking at his steak.
The remainder of the night is uneventful and quiet. Mercurie helps the cleaners with the dishes, and sees off the District 12 team. Peeta only bids his father and the victors farewell, and Mercurie gets the feeling that it's genuinely out of wanting to leave as soon as possible. They'll remain in District 5 tomorrow but his father will be showing them around the district. Once tomorrow's activities are complete, the train will be on its way to District 4 before sundown.
oOo
Before Mercurie goes to bed that night, he creeps into the back hallway. He rarely enters his father's study, but he's hoping that now the Victory Tour's over he'll be free to talk. Mercurie nudges the door open with his toe. His father is hunched over his desk, reading something placed carefully on the wood. Mercurie hesitates. He shouldn't, but his father feels more like a stranger nowadays.
"Dad?"
His father doesn't look up from his work, but he does cock his head with acknowledgement.
"What is it, Mercurie?"
"Um, I wanted to know if you'd be coming to the track meet next week. I know you're super busy with the tour and all that, so-"
"Mhm. I'll talk to you about it tomorrow night." His father says, keeping his eyes trained on the forms at his desk. He can't spare the decency to look in Mercurie's eyes to tell him to get out of his study.
Mercurie takes the hint and leaves the room, head hanging. He festers with anger at his father. Once upon a time, Mercurie gave him the benefit of the doubt; he saw how hectic those early days were when his father was sworn in. Nowadays, Mercurie feels like it's just laziness on his father's part. He walks down the hallway to his room, but as he draws closer to the door, his feet continue shuffling forward. He creeps down the staircase to the front door. A glance over his shoulder shows the stillness of his home, and he disappears into the night, jogging to the dam.
oOo
The sun is punishing today. With no breeze, the arid heat from desert District 5 wraps around the runners, trying to hold them down. Mercurie wipes the sweat pooling above his dark eyebrows and positions himself at the starting line. His green eyes turn hopefully toward the stands. Neither of his parents have bothered to show up. Russ is there, but he's talking with friends and doesn't notice Mercurie looking over. Most of the student body wait impatiently for the race to start, fanning themselves with books. If they didn't have to be here, they wouldn't be. Mercurie can't blame them for preferring the air conditioning inside.
A lot of kids are more interested in chatting with their friends, taking advantage of the free period. Realistically, only the students competing in the race need to be here. But the school wants to enforce school spirit, Mercurie supposes. He leans down to check his shoelace, using it as an excuse to think without anyone seeing the emotions showing on his face. Here, by his knee, he has the freedom to express himself however he needs to.
Over the speakers, the runners are instructed to line up. Mr. Mulloy, the track coach, leads each boy to his spot. Mercurie's somewhere in the middle of the lineup. He's always placed around here for some reason. His heart isn't even in the race when the whistle sounds. Sure, his father is an important man, but his mother isn't a local celebrity like her husband. Surely, she could have shown her face. When did his parents stop caring about their children? As he rockets toward the finish line on the final lap, the disconnect in his brain reaches his legs. He doesn't stumble or fall, but for some reason, he can't push ahead of the other runners. Each violent stride pounds the ground beneath him, yet the harder he runs, the further behind he seems to fall. Amidst it all, his father's presence lingers in the back of his mind—not taunting, but with that disappointed, disinterested gaze. Mercurie feels it boring into him, a silent reminder of his failure. That glazed stare haunts him. Every time Mercurie's father's glassy eyes land on him, it reminds him of the loving father Laurent used to be. He kicks the polyurethane ground and hunches over, hands on his knees, huffing for air. It's embarrassing. When he's placed before, he's come off the track invigorated. Sweaty, but invigorated. Now, he's hunched like a novice, wheezing for air. He didn't even get close to the top three.
A voice comes from his right. "Woohoo, Mercurie!"
Simona jogs over, sweaty and red, clapping him on the back, her bangles swishing around her wrist.
"I can't believe it," he admits.
Her eyebrow raises in confusion. "Can't believe what?"
"I placed seventh. My track record was going so well, and I just flushed it down the drain."
"Seventh place is still good, Mercurie."
Mercurie works hard not to frown at Simona. She means well, but his streak is ruined for such a stupid, personal, avoidable reason. He feels pathetic.
"It doesn't matter, I'm being stupid," he says, wiping a towel across his forehead and dark, curly hair, the slight growl in his voice unmistakable. Simona raises an eyebrow but lets his anger pass. Mercurie scans the stands for Russ, but his brother has already disappeared, without so much as a reassuring word.
"Today is just a bad day," Simona tells him. "You didn't 'flush' anything. No one expects you to never mess up."
That's a lie, but she doesn't know that. Even though she's his closest friend, she's never met the mayor. His father has expected greatness from his sons since the day he was elected. Upholding the family legacy is more important to Laurent Anselmetti-Favero than being a father is.
"Come on," Simona says. "Let's go run through the hose."
They sprint through the stream of water, allowing it to cool them off. A weak jet blasting every twenty minutes to save the students and staff from drying out and crumbling like clay. Mercurie glances at Simona to find that she's all red in the face. If he's grateful to his father for one thing, it's the inherited skin. Russ and Simona both go as red as tomato when they've been in the sun for too long. District 5's temperature is similar to District 11, but the difference is that 11's weather is swampy, while 5's is arid and dry. Walk outside for ten minutes, and your throat is begging for water.
As usual for the athletics carnival, there are no classes, so Mercurie lets Simona drag him to her place. He's friendly with her parents, and he endures her mother's doting as he walks through the door. She asks about his parents and his athletics, both sore topics. Simona, thankfully, changes the subject. Her parents, Alberta and Faren, both work at the nearby solar plant. Alberta's been a high-voltage worker since she left school, and Faren did the same until a couple of years ago when he became a safety officer. They make enough to get by, and Simona's only had to take out tesserae a couple of times.
Her home is nestled between several other houses in the busy part of their sector. The hum of machinery is a constant backdrop, though it's oddly soothing. When Mercurie was younger and allowed to sleep over, the white noise often lulled him to sleep. Simona's household is a different world from Mercurie's, but to him, it's a million times better. He misses when his life was like this. The family photos on the wall. The worn carpets. A home filled with love. It's a harsh thought, but do his parents even love him anymore? They somehow make the mayoral villa feel freezing despite the desert heat.
"Please stay for dinner, Mercurie," Alberta pleads. "It's been ages since you've stayed over. Faren was just saying how long it's been since we've seen you."
"My Father wants me home," Mercury says, his tone regretful. "I really wish I could stay, but there's a curfew, and Father won't want me staying the night. He's always going on about how Russ and I ought to quit coming down here."
Alberta's face falls with disappointment, but there's no anger in her eyes.
"That's alright, dear. You're welcome anytime, I hope you know that."
"I do," Mercurie assures her.
Simona tucks her wavy black hair behind her ears and clasps Mercury's shoulder. "We're going to head to my room and do some homework."
Alberta nods. "Alright, but keep the door open!" She giggles and shakes her head. "I'm just kidding. I'll bring some fruit in later."
Mercurie follows Simona to her bedroom. As they spread their schoolwork out on her bed, he's hit with a sudden urge to escape the mayoral villa for good. Maybe he could live here. He knows Alberta wouldn't turn him away. Shaking the thought from his mind, he picks up a pencil and forces himself to focus on his algebra homework.