Chapter 19:
The police never came. Tigris called them first- then Livia nearly ten times after that before even she gave up. Vicky had to be locked in her room so as to not discover the grizzly sight of the bloodied panes of shattered glass and the broken, mangled cadaver in the alleyway below. In absence of Goddard Nix, Livia was the one asking the questions: 'What happened, who did what, what was said, who will babysit Vicky, now?' Tigris just equivocated ad-nauseum. 'It was an accident, she tripped and fell, etc.' It would have been good practice for a police interview if one would ever happen, but as the hours ticked by and no Peacekeeper ever showed to the Snow address, Tigris realized that it probably would never happen. Maybe if Nerilla had fallen from the neighbor's window- or any other window in the city, there would have been more done in the case. But no one ever came for Tigris, even if someone came for Nerilla- as her body was gone before the sun had begun to set.
All that remained was a dull, red stained puddle on the concrete by the time Tigris checked out the shattered window for the last time as they prepared to leave for the Tribute Interviews. Maybe no one had come to haul Tigris off to jail because the entire experience was just a grotesquely vivid hallucination. Or perhaps any crime committed in a Snow residence was as traceable as a daydream- Tigris figured, already trying to forget the memory, herself. But she couldn't. Had Tigris just killed someone? Despite all her protests and misgivings towards the act- Nerilla was dead by Tigris' hand. She hadn't pushed her, exactly- or aimed to kill her, at all. But a desperate desire for self-preservation turned Nerilla to putty against the concrete- and that was still on Tigris, even if it wasn't exactly still on the concrete itself, anymore. Tigris was alive- but something else was beyond broken, gone, and dead. The chromatifur trench coat hardly bubbled or glowed with a single color as Tigris slipped it over her shoulders, grabbed her tributes' bagged interview costumes, and departed from the condo with Livia and Vicky.
The trench coat didn't glow again until it began to bubble with a complimentary, white-yellow glow against the purple hues the Ostium was bathed in. The building's interior structure had been reorganized into an amphitheater once more for the tribute interviews, with violet-clad spectators already beginning to funnel into the space in their hundreds as Tigris arrived. After producing their stylist licenses, Tigris and Livia were granted clearance with Vicky through the backstage entrance by a stagehand. Faust was greeting the three a moment later with a headset mic strapped over his ears, guiding them past the lighting and sound equipment into a softly lit hall of twelve stylist dressing rooms. Faust pointed out the stylists' respective lodgings before departing back the way he'd come while responding to a crackling voice that sounded in his earpiece. The dressing rooms' doors were labeled in descending numerical order, with the first door Tigris passed being shut closed with a '12' posted on its face.
Something felt off about this to Tigris- as every other door further down the hall was left propped open. Clemensia's tributes were likely being dressed, Tigris reasoned. She would have stopped to pay Clemensia an impromptu visit, but Tigris had a planned meeting with Ada Jane first. Livia and Vicky peeled off into the room marked '9,' as Tigris passed by it with them. Tigris got a glimpse of the tributes from this district already dressed and done up in her lavender rose designs, being preened by Livia's prep-trio. The kids looked as darling as she'd ever seen them; despite his smarmy and her sour expressions, Ale and Zizania looked as harmless as frilly, purple flowers. Tigris took a deep breath as she pushed further down the hall towards the door marked with a '3,' digging in her bag for the clutch she'd requested to exchange with one of Ada's own.
The Victress from 3 lit up like the coat Tigris wore, trying to hide a subdued anxiety as greeting upon her entrance into the room:
"Miss Tigris!" Ada leapt up from a seat at a warmly lit vanity: "How are you feeling?"
She was wearing one of Tigris' designs. The electric lilac butterfly print bouffant dress swishing at Ada's hips mollified Tigris' more honest answer:
"Stunning." Tigris took Ada in, holding out the clutch to her: "Don't worry about me."
Ada bit her bottom lip as she reached into her own purse on a nearby makeup station and removed a purple clutch of her own.
"How can I not?" Ada took the clutch from Tigris and exchanged it for her own. "Please, be very careful who you show that off around."
"Of course." Tigris responded, feeling the weight of Ada's clutch in her hand as District 3's stylist emerged from a door that led to a small, attached dressing booth.
"Miss Snow-" The periwinkle wigged stylist from 3 chirped at Tigris, referencing Ada's dress: "This is your design?"
"It is." Tigris confirmed. "Available at Livia's Boutique downtown."
"It is absolutely ravishing. I must get one in every color." The stylist gushed. "I'll let you go, we can chat more at the after-party, tonight!"
"Thank you. But I wasn't aware of any after parties…" Tigris sucked in her lips.
"Really?" Three's stylist was confused. "Birrus told me he'd invited you... odd! You should come!"
"I'd love to, I'm just not sure if I have the time." Tigris answered.
"Well, if you change your mind- every stylist and influencer worth their salt is heading to Volpe's place in the Highlands after the interviews." The stylist from 3 explained, adding with a chuckling whisper: "Dress code is dress-less."
Tigris' eye twitched. This other stylist must have been able to read her apprehension, suggesting to Tigris with a raised brow:
"Oh, just swing by for one or two shots. It won't hurt!"
Tigris shifted the heavy clutch from one hand to another and replied:
"I'll try to make it." Tigris replied. "Thank you for the invitation."
Tigris stuffed Ada's clutch into her purse, slung her own tributes' bagged interview looks over her shoulder, and crossed back out into the hall. There, just two doors down, a man who looked just like Birrus was ushering his tributes into their dressing room. She'd never disliked any of his designs until these- the sickened, puce colored robes Birrus' tributes from 6 wore swamped their bodies in formless, perplexingly unbalanced silhouettes entirely un-referential to their home's industry. Where had his talent gone? Tigris' dissecting scowl raised and met with Birrus for a brief moment, and she only grew more perplexed by the hostile expression he returned to her. It was hard to believe they were the same eyes that had studied her vintage Laramani dress with ardor and had offered such kind words for it- but the message Tigris read in his glare now was not so friendly.
Tigris shuddered, turning and crossing into the final room at the end of the hall marked with a '1.' Flossie and Judge were sat patiently waiting for her there, with the former letting out a whistle and grunting greeting as Tigris entered:
"Hey, old!" Flossie bit her tongue. "Sorry."
"Good to see you too, honey." Tigris replied. "Sorry, no one has been by to do your hair or makeup, yet."
"It's really alright." Judge snarked.
"Hey, bud." Tigris handed Judge the coat bag containing his interview outfit. "Go try this on."
Tigris had to work at the speed of three people. Somehow, Flossie's face was done, her hair was curled and tied up with purple ribbon, and she was being handed the coat bag containing her dress less than thirty minutes later. Judge had emerged from the dressing room in his purple velvet pants at the same moment Flossie peeked inside the coat bag- the squeal she let out startling Judge a bit:
"Eeeee!" Flossie gasped and whistled. "Can I even wear this?"
"No. Probably not." Tigris stated. "Put this over it…" Tigris slid the chromatifur trench coat off her shoulders and passed it to Flossie as its color bubbled. "Don't take off the coat until you get on stage."
"Thank you, Miss Tigris!" Flossie hugged her before slipping into the dressing room with the bag and trench coat, gleefully giggling the whole way: "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…!"
"What is this?" Judge asked from behind Tigris, pinching the fabric of his chromatifur coat in his hands. The vibrant colors his touch inspired shone more dazzlingly across the textile than Tigris had ever witnessed.
"It's called 'chromatifur.'" Tigris explained.
"Why?" Judge asked.
"Well, 'chroma' means-"
"No, why does it…?" Judge trailed off, studying by the undulating hues and sparkling streamers of colored light that jumped around the surface of the coat and cast an undulating glow across the shoe polish freckles on his confused, crinkled nose.
Tigris realized she hadn't really ever thought much about that exact question. But, still feeling the warm embrace of Flossie's graciously thankful hug- Tigris suddenly knew:
"I think it's a mood fabric." Tigris explained. "It's showing a reflection of you on the inside."
"Ten minutes until top of show!" Faust Crane's voice came through an intercom on the wall.
The rainbow of emotions was displayed in full color across the coat Judge wore. The entrancing whirls of waving light all competed to be the most luminous and created a chaotic show of fireworks across Judge's chest. Tigris saw the boy's anxious, short breaths beneath the brilliant coat- and so reached out to smooth his mess of brown-blonde hair:
"Don't be scared."
"I'm not." Judge still shook as he replied, consoling himself: "I'm not scared. Momma is watching- not from the tv, but from the sky."
"Judge…" Tigris wished she could get the kid's head out of the clouds, but upon seeing him genuinely calm after invoking his mother, she couldn't. With a sigh, Tigris humored Judge, asking: "Can you tell me about her?"
"Momma was too bright, and good, and nice to be a person anymore- Pop told me all about her. She's a star, now. I know which one- he'd point her out at night." Judge explained. "He tells me how she's always watching and protecting me- all I have to do is be a star, too. And be bright. And good. And not afraid." Judge stood a little straighter. "What about your momma?"
"She wasn't as nice as yours sounds." Tigris sighed. "She's gone, too. But I hope if she is anywhere, she's not there waiting for me."
"Why not?" Judge asked sadly.
Tigris pursed her lips and remembered Judge's condemnation.
"She was a bad, bad, not nice lady."
"Why?" Judge asked. "What did she do?"
It hit Tigris like a train.
"…Nothing much different than what I'm doing to you."
Judge thought for a moment, then asked:
"What should your momma have done differently?"
Then, Tigris had to think about her reply for twice as long before admitting:
"I wish she would have protected me." Tigris almost broke. "Instead of… profiting off me."
Judge looked into Tigris' dewy eyes as the colors of the coat he wore began to be tinted with a bluish-green glaze. His own eyes narrowed on her.
"I think…. I was wrong. Maybe tigers can cry." Judge considered her further and accepted for the first time: "And maybe you can be good."
"Oh, she's better than good!" Flossie stepped out from the dressing room with the chromatifur trench coat wrapped around her body radiating with gratified green swirls of light: "She's great."
The next moment, the three were being conveyed to the wings of the stage as the anthem began to echo throughout the Ostium by a stagehand. Lucky's voice came through the speakers upon the song's completion, greeting the packed purple audience with a rehearsed oration. Tigris noticed the door to 12's dressing room was still shut as she passed by it again. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as they pressed on towards the stage, but Tigris' vague worry was compounded into a deeper anxiety as Flossie commented to Tigris:
"Miss Wrinkles, I mean Miss Tigris-" Flossie trotted alongside her: "What should I say? Coriolanus is here, right?"
"Girlie- in your case, I think we should start with what you shouldn't say." Tigris replied. "Try to keep things about you. And remember what I told you about him."
"I remember." Flossie nodded.
Lucky was whipping the crowd up into an excited frenzy by the time the tributes from 1 reached their marks in the wings. Based on the stunned looks their ensembles received from the backstage tech-hands, Tigris could only anticipate what effect it would have on the audience shortly. Intrigue? Shock? Awe? Good. How would Coriolanus feel? Sadness? Guilt? Accused? Even better.
"Now, to kick off the evening…" Lucky spoke into a headset mic hooked around his shiny, oil slick dyed hair. "…Our first tribute of the evening hails from District 1- a young lady of luxury and refinement, I'm sure. Let's give a warm welcome to our female tribute from District 1: Flossie!"
Tigris motioned for Flossie to drop the coat to the bend of her arms as the girl stepped out from the wings and into the stage light. As the chromatifur trench coat slid down her shoulders: Flossie's rainbow dress pulled a collective gasp from the audience of state-sanctioned monochrome purple.
There wasn't a single stitch of the dress that wasn't bursting with vibrant color: a structured, thoughtful mixing of many variegated prints and patterns that had Flossie looking like she'd been dipped in an acid trip. A fuchsia brocade with rose-gold detailing, tawny terracotta florals, lemon-lime and lapis lozenge camouflage, deep periwinkle and paprika scarlet geometric stripes, indigo and teal ombré polka dots, and a swirling damask of emerald, amethyst, and ruby hues were just a fraction of the patterns and jeweled colors making up the gown. The trench coat hanging off Flossie's arms complimented the dress by reflecting either the frock's vibrance or just the girl's scattered psychology as she took the plush purple seat across from Lucky on the stage.
"Settle down, ladies and gentlemen." Lucky suggested over the audience's rumbling cacophony of scandalized whispers: "Miss Flossie, how are you feeling tonight? You haven't been fined yet, have you?"
"I've always been fine." Flossie replied with a vain obliviousness that seemed to charm the audience.
"I make the jokes around here." Lucky snarked. "I was referring to your dress- you know Wednesday is purple day? Not red, blue, green, yellow, and purple day."
Flossie looked out at the dozen or so cameras, the hundreds in the audience, and then back to Lucky, replying:
"Then, let's just agree to keep this between us, why don't we- whisky breath."
The crowd erupted with laughter. Tigris watched a glistening bead of sweat roll down Lucky's forehead as he fumbled with a card he read from:
"Alright, that's a good segue into the discussion on your election." Lucky jeered. "Says here, you were quite confrontational back home. Will that be your strategy in the Arena, as well?"
"No, my strategy was always fashion." Flossie said with a soft smile.
"You better hope no Peacekeepers come out and rip that illegal garb right off of your back then- you'd be out of luck."
"Well, is Mr. Coriolanus Snow watching?" Flossie asked with a subtle brow raise.
"Right up there." Lucky gestured to a raised viewing box at the back of a darkened mezzanine.
"Then, rip away, Peacekeepers." Flossie whistled. "Let's give the people a real show."
The wash of grown men's hooting and parroting whistles responding to the teenage girl horrified Tigris. But if she felt nauseous before- Flossie's next blithe comment struck Tigris like a punch to the gut:
"And I know my stylist said: 'nothing they can take from me is ever worth keeping,' but darn, they can take what they want!" Flossie grunted and whistled with a laugh. "Just let me keep this dress!"
Tigris bit her tongue until she tasted blood. The dress was meant to be a vague illusion to that singing, rainbow girl. Its image was intended to be a subtle hint of Tigris' rebellion, but Flossie essentially just smacked Coriolanus across the face with it. Lucky turned to the audience, who were audibly smitten with the girl:
"Well, sponsors- that's up to you! If you want the opportunity to play dress up with this pretty, little thing in the future: Call into the number on the bottom of your screen, provide your citizen ID number, and donation amount to contribute to Miss Flossie's victory. Anything else you'd like to say?"
"I'm glad you all liked me!" Flossie beamed, biting her bottom lip and grunting with a head bob, the trenchcoat firing off with bright yellow, deep purple, and viridian green. "I knew somewhere out there people would."
"Let's give a round of applause for Miss Flossie!" Lucky cheered as the audience responded in kind, applauding Flossie as she was directed off the opposite side of the stage. The girl bounced off with a bubbly effervescence, wholly incognizant to what she'd just done. Tigris brushed a hand over Judge's hair, caressing the top of his head thinking she was comforting him, but realized the fingers she ran through his locks was the only thing shuddering.
"Now, we had a bit of a switcher-roo with our male tribute from 1- he didn't just shrink since you last saw him, I promise." Lucky assured. "He might not be the toughest, oldest, or strongest of the field: but don't count out our next tribute just yet!" Lucky looked down at the cards he held: "The kid is more scrappy than you might realize. Let's hear it for our male tribute from District 1: Judge!"
Tigris had to nudge the boy to get him to move after a beat of breathless inactivity. Judge squinted out into the bright stage lights as he entered, though his chromatifur coat's colors were even more blinding and glaring as he slowly crossed towards Lucky. The audience cooed at Judge's tiny stature and steely brooding, chuckling as he had to hop a bit to plant himself in the purple upholstered chair set up for the tributes across from Lucky.
"I like your pantaloons, young man." Lucky complimented. "You remember back before the war? Those velvet trousers were all the rage back then."
Judge blinked at Lucky blankly. Lucky chuckled to himself:
"I'm just pulling your leg." Lucky waited for a reaction from Judge, but none came. "...So! Tell me: do we have any particular strategies in the Arena?"
Once again, Judge responded with silence. Another bead of sweat ran down Lucky's flushed face- and so he hastily began consulting the cards he held in his hand again:
"Maybe you could steal food from your competitors?" Lucky mused. "You and your father seemed to have made quite the career thieving back home in 1."
Judge's eyes shifted to the side a bit as if he were bored as Lucky consulted his notecards.
"But, then again: it says here you weren't stealing food, but wigs? How diabolical! Tell me, is my toupee safe?"
Judge yawned.
"Well, is it…?" Lucky desperately repeated as if Judge just hadn't heard him. The boy's only response was an amused head tilt and the smallest of crooked grins- his coat laughing with intense waves of color. Lucky stammered next, perhaps distracted by the chromatifur as much as the boy's obstinance as he whispered: "Why- what if, why don't you work with me here, son?" Judge just inhaled deeply and blew out the breath slowly and calmly with a solid gaze fixed on the man across from him.
"Kids these days." Lucky snarked to the audience, unable to think of what else to say to the boy. Judge looked out across the audience of purple, studying their uniform color intently as if he were lost in deep concentration. Then, Judge's gaze fell down to the plush, purple upholstery of the chair he sat in. Tigris watched in wonderment as Judge's chromatifur coat gradually was enveloped in the precise shade of violet the chair was made of. Suddenly, Judge appeared as just a disembodied head against the chair, his coat's color blending seamlessly into the seat like a chameleon's skin. As the audience cooed with curiosity over the sight, Lucky hardly hid the contempt he had for the child as he tersely ordered Judge under the cover of the crowd's combined exclamations of awe: "You can go."
Judge flashed a brief, cordial grin at Lucky's sweaty face as he hopped from the chair and exited the stage just as unenthused as he'd entered. The audience was giving Judge a polite applause as Tigris turned to head backstage again and nearly bumped into the stone faced pair of tributes from 2. Their stylist, a quibbling man with glimmering purple eyeshadow, was attempting to fix a lilac colored bow to the girl's close cropped head of hair. The bow routinely fell from the girl's scalp, and so she angrily threw it back in her stylist's face as her name was called from the stage by Lucky.
"Please welcome next, our female tribute from District 2: Petrina!"
Tigris passed by the towering young man from 2 as Petrina's scowl was struck by the stage lights and the audience's cheers, transforming her sneer into a girlish smile. The male tribute, Romulus, was a full head taller than her as she slinked past him, sneering resentfully as she went. A chill went through Tigris as his vicious glare settled on her- but her skin was full on crawling as she listened to Petrina's voice echo through the speakers in response to Lucky's questions:
"Beheading." Petrina chirped. "Beheading is probably my favorite. It's the ultimate symbol of domination…"
Tigris made her way through the backstage area as Petrina's voice echoed all around her:
"I can take your head and wipe it from existence… but I take with it also your thoughts, your memories, everything that made you, you- bleeding in my fist."
"The youth are so romantic these days, aren't they folks?"
As Tigris rounded into the hall of dressing rooms, she noticed the door marked '12' was still closed. Tigris knocked, calling out Clemensia's name, though she heard nothing in response. No- she did. Was that crying? Tigris swore she heard sniffling as she pressed her ear to the door- though the sounds only became clearer when she pulled away. Tigris then realized those sounds of weeping were not only coming from the other end of the hall. Tigris paced down the hall until she reached the source, which swiftly was wiping away his eyes and throwing on a brave face for her as Tigris stepped into the doorway of District 2's dressing room.
"…Hey!" Zagros' red eyes smiled at Tigris through a tinge of embarrassment. "Beautiful... outfits..."
"Are you alright?" Tigris approached Zagros, whose sad gaze drifted back up to a television monitor displaying Petrina demonstrating to the cameras how to clasp your hands around someone's throat to most effectively strangle them to death.
"I'm awful." Zagros responded, bitterly studying the girl on the screen having her arm lifted in the air by Lucky as the audience applauded. "This is all my fault: The careers. The Training Academies. The culture and all the kids who died for it…"
"That's not your fault, Zagros."
"It is." Zagros broke, slumping in his chair. "If I hadn't just died like I was supposed to. Just laid down and died in that Arena- none of these kids would be aspiring to go after me. None of them: not Petrina, not Roman… not Darby."
Tigris watched Zagros deflate further, burying his face in his hands in shame.
"I don't know what you did during your Games, Zagros." Tigris explained. "I've never seen them. But, whatever it was: you had to do it."
Zagros couldn't even look up at Tigris.
"I'm a monster." He murmured into his hands.
"You're a mountain." Tigris lifted his face. "You fought for your life- that wasn't your choice. And I hope I can find an ounce of your bravery in myself." She grimaced, considering the past January: "I've met monsters, Zagros." Tigris ran her fingers along his scruffy jawline. "I don't fall in love with them."
Tigris and Zagros took one another in. She felt his breath steady against her face. Zagros blinked away a tear that fell down his cheek, then leaned in, and kissed Tigris on the lips. A slow, passionate kiss that tasted like crying, but felt like pure, uncomplicated bliss. Tigris did not know if she would see tomorrow, considering what she had planned for herself later tonight. So, she embraced every last moment of Zagros' face against hers- inhaling his breaths, tracing his beard, and running her fingers through his hair. As their lips parted, the television emitted the audience's enthusiastic applause for Romulus while Lucky finished up his interview.
"I have to go." Tigris put a hand on Zagros' chest. "My tributes are waiting for me."
"Tigris…" Zagros began as she removed her palm from his chest. "Do you really…?"
Tigris knew what words he let fall off of that question. She did love him- that she couldn't deny. But, Tigris also couldn't deny what fraught circumstances were lately constricting her better judgment from her. She couldn't do what Virgil had done to her: espousing declarations of love one day only to be a cold, dead body the next. She wanted to be able to tell him with unbridled certainty: 'Yes, yes, yes- a million times: yes. I love you.' But, before she could honestly take this man's heart, she had to shoot a monster in his. All before the sounding of the gong this coming morning. Tigris held Zagros' face in her hand and vowed at that moment to see the sunrise.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Zagros."
As Tigris turned to exit the room, she was met with Livia standing at the threshold of the doorway. The pregnant woman's eyes narrowed on the pair in the room before she quickly trotted off with intention. Tigris exited the room, crossing into the next one over where the tributes from 1 were sat watching the television monitor mounted in an upper corner. Flossie turned to face Tigris with a proud grin, asking:
"How did I do?"
Tigris shook her head:
"Too well, girlie."
As the interviews slogged on, Lucky Flickerman became more and more gassed out. Perhaps it was the more chaotic than average batch of tributes this year that had him so disorganized- but Tigris knew the drink had to be a contributing factor to Lucky's lackluster performance as usual. Thankfully, as far as the ceremony was concerned: the kids kept things interesting through no intentions of their own. The boy from 3 was as dumb as a rock; while the girl was assured she was the smartest in her district. The girl from 4, Trilene, earned her votes by being apparently too successful of a competitive bow fisher. And the boy, Sculpin, was an equally renowned amateur bodybuilder in their district. No sufficiently awful girl in District 5 could be determined apparently, as the elected female tribute had only received seven total votes to condemn her to the Arena. The boy from 5, however, had over a thousand more votes than any other tribute. Pyrano sat silently chained and muzzled as his extensive list of offenses were read out by Lucky to a horrified audience: from assaults of every nature, animal cruelty, stealing, hostage taking, stalking, and at least one instance of outright murder.
The pair from 6 were simply from families of particularly vocal anti-Capitol activists that routinely got their community in hot water even decades after the war. The girl from 7 accidentally killed an elderly woman during a robbery while the boy was regarded as a general public nuisance and town bully. 8's female tribute was blamed for igniting the factory fire that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of children last year in the district. The boy from 8 was the son of the burned factory's owner, one of the district's wealthiest citizens who had ignored the hazards in the old textile production warehouse. 9 was next. Tigris was rather pleased with the way her lavender rose design complimented Zizania's pale features as the girl sauntered across the stage towards Lucky. She looked adorable to Tigris- that was until Lucky explained what she had done.
It was her abusive Head Peacekeeper father's rifle that Zizania handed over to a boy who was pro-Capitol activist from her district. That boy, Ale, would earn his place beside her in these Games, when he used the weapon to commit a mass shooting in the wheat fields of the district that claimed the lives of over twenty laborers. Tigris' stomach jumped and dropped- so she excused herself from the room. She jogged down the hall trying to make it to a bathroom before she began to wretch. As she went, she overheard the boy from 9's interview and the audience's echoing enthusiastic for him. Ale was the antithesis of the pair from 6: and it should have been no surprise his ideas received a warm welcome in the Capitol. The cheers and adulations of the crowd coming through the speakers made Tigris feel even worse. She rounded a dark corner backstage to make eye contact with Margaret Flannigan standing beside a drawn curtain a fair distance away. Tigris had only taken one step towards the woman, intending to ask about this 'Mags' character when a hand gripped her shoulder, spun her around, and struck her across the face.
Tigris saw stars for a moment before the pain set in. The sting of the palm against her cheek burned as Tigris raised her hand to her face, blinking away the pinpricks of lights until Coriolanus' venomous expression materialized through it, berating her:
"What are you doing!?" Coriolanus spat with fury. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"
Tigris held her face, stunned into a dazed confrontation: "I know what you're doing, Coriolanus."
"And you clearly don't know why." Coriolanus took a step closer. "If you think these Games are a big opportunity for you- you have no idea what it means for me. And you're trying to ruin that."
"No, I'm not." Tigris denied. "I'm trying to survive."
"You're just trying to dredge up the past- the only thing standing between me and the rest of my life." Coriolanus leveled on Tigris. "It needs to die. Every part of it." He took a step back: "Every trace."
"I'm your cousin, Corio." Tigris pleaded. "I'm not your enemy."
"That's what I thought, too." Coriolanus replied, stepping back from her. "But, two things can be true at once."
"What do you want?" Tigris asked.
"I want you alive." Coriolanus sucked on his teeth. "But, I want her dead more, you understand?"
"Yes." Tigris sighed. "I understand."
"So, prove it before I find out otherwise..." Coriolanus sneered. "And make your kids' colors run red the moment they set foot in that Arena."
"Where are they?!" Faust's frantic voice broke through the earpiece Coriolanus had stuck into his ear. Coriolanus turned and calmly walked away as Tigris took notice of the stagehands running around like ants emerging from a stirred-up hill. She followed the chaotic charge of tech-workers scrambling around, trying to catch the crackling communications coming through their headsets as they raced further backstage: '12… tributes… no sign of… bolted door.' Tigris' heart began to pound as a nauseating sensation washed over her. She made it to the hall of stylist rooms, where Faust was in a wild frenzy, pounding on the door and pleading for Clemensia to open it.
She never would. By the time the door was bust down, Clemensia had likely been dead for some time- the black blood that leaked from her mouth forming a dark puddle on the ground around her face pressed into the floor. The tributes from 12 had to be broken out from the wash closet within the dressing room after she'd styled them and saw nothing of her death. The children sobbed as they were led past their mentor and stylist's dead body and didn't stop once they made it on stage. Tigris would have cried along with them, watching their pitifully weepy interviews on the monitor- but she couldn't find the tears. Instead, Tigris went to find Flossie and Judge back in their styling room- but instead only found it vacant with their outfits haphazardly laid over unlit vanities. It was as if they'd been dissolved out of reality, as if they were already dead and gone, as if they'd never existed in the first place. Lucky's voice came through the monitor on the television as he wrapped up the night's proceedings:
"That's it folks! Tomorrow is the big day- I hope you've made your bets and are prepared to stick to 'em!" Lucky expressed to the audience. "Happy Hunger Games and an even happier Quarter Quell to everyone- stylists, mentors, tributes, and sponsors, alike." The audience cheered as Lucky finished with: "May the odds be ever in your favor!"
Tigris switched off the television and picked up the chromatifur trench coat, departing the Ostium as the sounds of the audience's thrilled anticipation blared in her mind.
When she reached her sunken studio- Tigris peeled off the flowing fabric of her dark purple number and tossed it to the ground as soon as she walked into the door. She replaced it with a sleek, black dress so tight it felt like it was squeezing the breath from her lungs- but the fabric's asphyxiating grip felt right considering who she was wearing it for. Smax rubbed up against Tigris' leg, and so she took the time to caress the cat for what she knew could very well potentially be the last time.
"I love you, baby." Tigris whispered to Smax before she stood and threw the chromatifur trenchcoat over her shoulders- its colors waving with all hues in a bright, iridescent light. "I'll be back."
Tigris took her bag and crossed to the coat closet, opening the door to reveal the antique armoire she strained to scoot off the hidden trap door beneath. Then, removing Ada's clutch from her bag, Tigris unhooked its clasp and reached inside- drawing out the bronze revolver. She popped open the empty cylinder and loaded it with the eight live rounds, sliding it shut again with a metallic snap. Tigris took a deep breath as she adjusted her manicured hand around the handle of the gun and opened the trap door at her feet. She stepped down into darkness where her foot found the first rung.
Tigris looked back into her studio one last time to see Smax pounce on and bite into a small, white mouse- killing it before it even knew it was dead.
