Chapter 17:
Whether that was real was of total inconsequence- because what was most true were the smells, flavors, textures, even the aftertastes that settled on Tigris' tongue. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had to restrain herself from ravenously tearing into a dish like a mannerless toddler. But the food was so good Tigris forgot about her etiquette, even considering licking the plate like a starved dog once she'd cleaned it with her knife and fork. Despite offering to sleep on the couch for her, Tigris requested to make her own bed there rather than kick him out of his own bed. Zagros quickly scarfed down his serving of the hash to tidy up the area around the sofa enough for Tigris to have a comfortable place to sleep. How she didn't anticipate the fashion crisis that would be dawning with the sun the next morning- Tigris did not know. Well, actually- the reason was snoring and sleepy eyed, Tigris understood as she pushed into Zagros' bedroom to rouse the shirtless man from his slumber. She noticed the dark scar where his left arm met his torso, nudging the other shoulder so as to not prod the decades old wound. He woke with a start, but grew even more confused by Tigris' morning greeting:
"Can I borrow something blue?"
The neon orange trench coat she'd lent him was the only remotely feminine article of clothing in Zagros' disorganized wardrobe- but she was working at the opposite end of the color spectrum today. It was a bit of a challenge, but eventually Tigris was able to pull something of a chic, blue look together from Zagros' closet of menswear. And luckily for him, there were enough of his own blue toned garments leftover for Tigris to dress him as well. Blue and green looked like the same gray to him and so Zagros was thankful anyway to Tigris for her styling as he went off to change and find her a satchel to borrow. Tigris crossed back into the living room and turned on the television fixed to the wall with a remote she had to go searching for under the trash piled up on a coffee table. Flicking through the channels, she landed on Capitol News, and was looking for the time of day usually posted in its bottom right corner of the screen, but was obscured by a moving banner reading: 'SPECIAL REPORT.'
A woman Tigris recognized as Satyria Click, an old schoolteacher of hers at the Academy, was reporting from the seat Androcles Anderson had been occupying until earlier this week. Tigris unmuted the image of Satyria right as the screen switched to display the carnage of a destroyed building. Tigris instantly recognized the charred, still smoldering hunks of debris as the obliterated ruins of Whatknot's before Satyria was confirming it:
"No new information about the explosion caused by a gas leak at a thrift clothing store in the outskirts of the city that left four dead yesterday. A surviving witness reported to authorities of a foul, oily odor before the blast incinerated her three, dear friends." Satyria sympathetically put a hand to her heart: "Our thoughts are with the victims' families at this time, as well as with the survivor of this incident." Her mood swiftly changed as she went on to the next report: "Sulla's Eatery is causing trouble according to many hungry patrons who are upset by increasing prices-"
"I hate that guy." Zagros appeared behind Tigris holding a blue satchel for her. She shifted to examine him in the clothing she'd picked. Tigris turned back off the television and crossed towards him, accepting the navy satchel she stuffed the chromatifur jacket and contents of her dress's pockets into.
"You look stunning." Tigris pretended to smooth out wrinkles on the breast of his baby blue dress shirt, really just an excuse to touch him.
"You'll turn heads, too." Zagros looked over her- or rather his, outfit on her body.
"You're right." Tigris snarked, collecting the chromatifur coat and fabrics she stuffed into a shoulder bag. "I think they might be pretty surprised to see me, too."
She assured she was still full from last night's dinner, but Zagros insisted on teaching Tigris his recipe for quick, easy fig cookies. Unfortunately, snacking on the tasty fruit biscuits during the leisurely morning walk with Zagros down the Corso beneath the cloudless, azure-blue sky did not soothe Tigris' nerves. What was she to tell Coriolanus? 'Oh well, I'm alive- try harder next time?' Obviously not- Goneril was lying, she was sure. After everything Tigris had done for her cousin- why would he even want her dead? She didn't trust Corio- but she couldn't bring herself to see him as her most treacherous predator. After everything she'd just experienced down in the tunnels, Goneril and her army were far more of an obvious threat. But, as soon as Tigris entered the lobby of 74 Cominia, parted ways with Zagros, and made her way into the building's ground floor apartment- the faces that turned to greet her there had her questioning that.
Nerilla's jaw fell open as if she'd seen a ghost as Tigris entered into the apartment unit. Coriolanus' face went white the same second- but immediately let out a performative huff of relieved air and hastily crossed to Tigris. The embrace he threw around her sent chills up her spine- but the petrified, disbelieving glare Nerilla shot Tigris over Coriolanus' shoulder made her blood boil. The arms she wrapped around his neck suddenly wanted to choke the breath from his lungs like Goneril had requested- a violent tingling sensation that instantly had her releasing the man from her grasp before she acted on the urge.
"How are you alive?!" Coriolanus asked as Tigris pulled him back from herself. "I am so glad you're alright! You are alright, right? What happened, Tigris?"
Tigris looked past Coriolanus at a stricken Nerilla and answered with a glib shrug:
"A gas leak."
Coriolanus stepped back from Tigris. As the two took one another in: a flash of shared skepticism sparked between them. Suddenly, Tigris heard a gong sounding in the deepest, most primal recesses of her mind. Her hair stood up on end. In that instant she knew: Coriolanus was not her ally. And their Games had begun.
"Does this mean I'm not-" Nerilla began to ask Coriolanus, who seemed to already know her question and interrupted with the answer in veiled frustration:
"Clearly- if she's alive." Coriolanus explained to Nerilla: "There's no need for a replacement."
"You still have plenty of work to do now, without Chloris and Ivory, don't worry." Tigris crossed to Nerilla, dug in her bag, and removed the chromatifur fabric bubbling with a bright yellow light as she passed it to the other woman: "I need a jacket with this material for the interviews. In my size, with a black liquid organza lining. Go to Livia's Boutique and ask for her reversible trench coat pattern. Tell them Tigris sent you."
As the fabric entered Nerilla's hands, it glowed a deep orange-scarlet, like if blood could catch fire. Without another word, Nerilla stuffed the chromatifur into her bag and exited the apartment unit. Coriolanus and Tigris glared at one another over the uncomfortable silence that followed. Then, Coriolanus approached Tigris with a slow saunter that sent her into a freeze response. Like a lion stalking up on its prey, Coriolanus descended on Tigris, though when he was mere inches from her, Judge's toneless, muffled voice broke through the bedroom door, singing passionately:
"Oh- great, big momma! Great momma in the sky-
The stars above are babies if we are to die.
Oh- great, big momma! Above is safe and nigh'
A constellation of a home for her, for you, for I!"
Coriolanus' eye twitched at Tigris- pushing past her and out the unit as Judge broke out into the next verse:
"Oh- great, big momma! Great momma told me why-
One day we'll be diamonds cradled in the sky.
Oh- great, big momma! The truth won't fall, but fly.
But all will fall, all wherewithals, in service of a lie."
Tigris had heard people sing passionately with fervor she didn't exactly share or relate to before. Judge's song evoked a memory of her late Grandma'am patriotically squawking the anthem at daybreak on a near daily basis in her youth. But something about its acapella lunacy, the hysteric melody, and cosmic allusions were so baffling to her, Tigris was silently blinking away stars as she struggled to follow Judge's hymn:
"Oh- great, big momma! I did not tell a lie!
I kept my head and went to bed- the stars had multiplied!
Oh- dead, dead momma! Shed all the tears we've cried.
Our fear's veneer, your star is clear, reborn with a goodbye."
Tigris was sitting with her back against the door by the little tune's conclusion. The last twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind of emotions; but it was the scratchy serenade Judge beat Tigris' eardrums in with that finally broke her. And she wept until Judge himself pulled the door open. Tigris fell backwards at the boy's feet- and the first part of him she saw was the small, shoe polish-stained finger he pointed at her:
"Tigers don't cry."
Tigris looked up past the finger at the boy who it belonged to. He couldn't be older than 12. The pointed finger morphed into an extended hand that lowered to offer Tigris help up. She took Judge's hand as she took in the rest of him: baggy, desaturated patchwork clothing, a scrunched-up nose covered in densely packed freckles, a jaggedly cut, ruddy mop of muddy blonde hair. He'd appeared like a towering giant over her, but as Tigris righted herself- Judge's 4'6" frame was nearly as tall as Tigris herself when she sat up sniffling.
"Yes, they do." Tigris wiped away a tear, wincing at the dissecting scowl Judge cut into her with.
"Nuh-uh, people cry." Judge argued. "Why're you crying?"
Tigris had a million answers. But as she looked at this boy, she only saw one.
"It doesn't really matter, honey."
"Name's Judge. Honey's for bugs." Judge spat at her. "I don't like crying."
"I'm sorry." Tigris was practically slapping herself in the face to knock away the tears flowing out, but they just kept coming: "I'm so sorry this is happening to you…"
Tigris kept weeping. An overflow of emotions, and stress, and expectations, and dangers all self-imposed had her bursting at the seams with grief and shame and terror. Judge hugged her. He wrapped his arms around Tigris' quivering shoulders as she blubbered and cried a damp puddle into the shoulder of his dry rotting shirt. He was as composed and serene as a thousand-year-old man, rubbing her back with a tender caress:
"You don't have to be." Judge pulled back and sat before her. "Unless you don't plan on doing nothing about it."
"I will do everything I can to help you." Tigris meekly assured.
"No- You need help, lady." Judge almost laughed at her. "I'm fine."
Tigris was so much more perplexed by this tribute than any before him. Judge went on:
"I feel sorry for you. I'm about to be a star. I'm about to meet my momma. You don't get to do neither, never, ever. Cause you'll just stay sorry! I'll be shiny and proud."
"You'll be dead." Tigris said. "You need to come back down to earth.
"You want me to kill." Judge told Tigris. "I won't."
"Look- this world isn't run on nursery rhymes and mommy's promises. I'm telling you the truth, the Games are not coming- they're here. You're in them. We're all in them. You deserve to live, and I don't want you to kill…" Tigris felt a fury that made the chromatifur coat in her bag flame up with a red glow. "I want you to fight!"
Judge blinked at her, responding:
"I am."
She could tell he didn't trust her- but at least Judge had acknowledged her humanity. Part of her wasn't sure if she even trusted the child- a ridiculous thought at first, but then again crazier truths had been proving themselves to her by the minute. The kid had been runner up in a poll that marked him for death- how else could your entire community turn against you to that extent unless there was some element of good reason for it? Not that there was ever any good reason for sending children into the Arena, of course. But Coriolanus hid right under Tigris' nose masquerading as the memory of an innocent child long into his adulthood and far past the point she should have seen otherwise. This District 1 boy's goodness, or his performance of it, was inconsequential anyway. Tigris had money bet on him- and he seemed committed to pacifism as far as she could gather. So, after some subtle emotional herding while she took his measurements, Tigris was able to convince Judge not to go to training to make war, but to make friends.
It didn't take long for him to do just that. By the time Tigris had crossed to the other side of the Training Center to take a seat on a set of risers beside Clemensia- Judge was already disarming tributes with his charm with the same ease Vinicius had dismembered polymer dummies with a sword.
"Your new tribute's quite the people person, after all." Clemensia commented to Tigris as she took the seat beside her. "Looks like we may have a little alliance building."
Clemensia gestured to Judge, who was busy striking up conversation with the two tributes from District 6, who were the only mentor-less pair there.
"Where has Birrus been?" Tigris asked.
"I don't know." Clemensia guessed. "He was furious with Caracalla for making him a stylist. Everyone is rude to me these days but when Birrus was too, it felt so different. I don't think he's managing all this very well."
"Who is?" Tigris asked.
"Well… maybe your new boy." Clemensia motioned towards Judge, who was now pulling the little girl from 10 into the huddle with him and the pair from 6. "How's he handling things now that you got him out of his room?"
"Honestly, better than me."
"Doubt that." Clemensia replied. "He might just be better at hiding it than you, poor child."
"He is… elusive." Tigris murmured, looking around the room at the bevy of Peacekeepers stationed throughout the Training Center. "I do have to get better at hiding, too."
"And dying." Clemensia whispered back. "I heard you were turned to ash."
"I did, too." Tigris then replied with a hushed urgency, putting a hand to her forehead: "I don't know who to tell… my prep trio attacked me. Goneril is alive. The Ani-"
"Shhh." Clemensia's golden eyes calmly flitted to a heavily armored Goddard Nix who marched past the risers surveying his surroundings like a hawk.
Tigris waited for Police Chief Nix to pass by before she responded to Clemensia:
"Coriolanus is trying to kill me."
This seemed an unimpressive revelation to Clemensia.
"Join the club." She sighed. "What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know." Tigris responded numbly, watching Judge and the crew he was forming approach the pair from 12- who were attempting to learn to tie a knot of some kind at a netting station. "I might need to make some friends."
"Maybe…" Clemensia trailed off, lost in thought. "Have you met Mags?"
"Mags..?" Tigris asked for clarification. "Who is that?"
"I have a feeling she is going to be your friend soon, Tigris." Clemensia forced back a grin, nodding her chin at the pair of Victors from 4 and 7 across the Training Center. "When you find the time, ask Miss Flannigan to speak with Mags: she'll tell you all about her."
Judge said something that got all six of his allies to burst out in a fit of chuckles. The odd sounds of joy echoed around the grim fluorescent cavern of the Training Center, drawing everyone's attention to the laughing group. Tigris counted the heads bobbing around Judge, realizing Flossie too now standing amongst their ranks. The only other grouping of tributes nearly as numerous was the four-person alliance made up of the pairs from 2 and 4- all studying the more lively group with expressions ranging from pity to disgust. Aside from that, the rest of the field seemed mostly divided into pairs and trios of tributes. Tigris studied the rest of the competition as they trained in the various stations.
The boy from 5, Pyrano, shuffled around by himself with a muzzling spit guard over his face and shackling chains restricting his arms and legs- as well as his ability to interact with the majority of the physical training stations as a result. The girl from 8, Raglan, was whipped up into a panic attack when the pair from 11 successfully managed to get an erupting flame going in the fire making station. The boys from 3 and 7 mockingly tittered at the girl as she raced away hyperventilating from the weak, sparking flame that had gone out nearly as soon as it was ignited.
Tigris took time to study the rest of the field of tributes. Trilene, the girl from 4, could hit a bullseye with a bow and arrow from clear across the room, while her district partner, Sculpin, was so strong he could likely throw her just as far if he wanted to. The other Careers from 2, Petrina and Romulus, demonstrated equally proficient killing capabilities with virtually every variety of weapon they got their hands on. The boy from 9, Ale, was steadily improving his aim with the spear he hurled over and over again at a target in one of the combat stations.
The sickening thud of the spearhead slamming into the target over and over began to reverberate in Tigris' skull. The girl from 9 seemed transfixed by her district partners' gradual destruction of the bullseye. It just made Tigris feel sick, however. And by the time the third and final day of Training came to an end at noon to allow everyone to depart for lunch, the last thing Tigris had on her mind was eating. As the tributes were led back to their lodgings, Tigris made a move to accompany her pair. Though, Faust stopped her and explained:
"Mentors are sharing lunch on the roof- specially catered by Sulla's Eatery to celebrate the final day of Training."
Once Tigris arrived at the dull rose garden atop 74 Cominia- she made a direct line of travel to the long table draped in a flowy white lace cloth lined with twelve empty ceramic platters. Zagros was already present, patting the seat beside himself and pulling the chair back for Tigris as he greeted her.
Tigris lowered herself into the chair, already feeling the silent rumble of her stomach- a nauseous pain kicking her in the gut from within. She had no real appetite usually- so Tigris knew whatever greasy, fat filled slop was about to drop onto her plate would be a chore to devour. As Avoxes began to bring out the first course, Tigris anxiously bobbed her leg. Zagros reached across and placed a hand on her knee, questioning her nervous tick with a silent concern. Tigris looked down at the hand on her bare leg, then shook her head at Zagros to appease his worries. Tigris looked across the table, catching the mistrustful, almost resentful glare Lumen had on her and attempted to hide as she noticed, his eyes darting away quickly. Tigris also averted her gaze to see Ada's gratified study of her and Zagros, sandwiched between the Victors from 8 and 11. Ada winked at Tigris before turning back to November at her side, adjusting the shoulder of her baby blue spaghetti strap mini dress as she leaned into him.
November seemed to be pretending to follow whatever conversation Ada was having with him. It was clear he was oblivious to it all when his sweet, caramel colored face lit up upon being met with the steaming bowl of pink soup placed in front of him by an Avox. November hastily dug in as the rest of the mentors began receiving their own servings, commenting on the dish as he slurped:
"I love-uh salmon."
Tigris perked up a bit. It likely wouldn't be as good as Zagros' recipe, but at least it was something she knew she liked. Maybe eating something would calm her nerves if she could manage to force that something down. An Avox in a blue apron smock carefully dropped off a covered silver platter atop Tigris' ceramic one alongside a tall, clear glass of ice water. The server pulled back the lid, revealing a steaming stew of rich salmon. Zagros gave her an amused grin, overhearing the drone of her hungry stomach. He eyed Sulla's rival salmon soup in front of her:
"Go ahead." Zagros nodded. "It won't hurt me too bad."
Tigris still felt sick. She took a sip of her ice water to prepare her stomach for the incoming flow of food. It felt like there were razor sharp teeth churning in her core as the cold liquid splashed down into her gut. With a deep breath, as if she was about to step off the building they were perched atop, Tigris began to eat lunch. She dipped the spoon into the pale stew, bringing the steaming soup to her lips and blowing on it to cool the bite of its heat. Then, the smallest sip of soup passed Tigris' lips. The warm liquid tingled on her tongue before sliding down her throat and sinking into her stomach. Another sip of water. Her tongue felt burnt. It was too hot- perhaps she needed to blow harder.
Tigris smacked her lips wondering why the metallic taste of the spoon was more prevalent than the fish. She dropped the spoon back into the silver bowl and pulled another mouthful to her lips and blew away the steam wafting off it. Tigris looked closer at the iridescent glow of sunlight passing through the wafts of steam rising into the summer air from the spoon. As her vision began to close in by a hazy vignette, Tigris saw the most beautiful colors appear like a dancing rainbow apparition, spinning and twirling upwards into the sky with red, green, yellow, and blue streams of vapor. There was a tickle in her throat, so she coughed into the starchy folded napkin beside her plate. Then, upon pulling away the cloth, everything went as black as the splatter she saw there.
Everything was dark, but Tigris could feel the soft bedding under her- a cushy mattress coated in freshly washed linens. She reached out for the edge of the bed but could not find it. She stretched her arms in the other direction- still Tigris found only more mattress. She placed her hands before her face until she could see them materialize through the suffocating blackness. They were small, tiny child's fingers that greeted her. Tigris struggled to breathe. She looked up to a patchwork quilt of many colors waving over her- like she was at the bottom of the ocean looking up at the undulating water's surface. Then, Tigris watched the sky of rainbow patterns and hues begin to come falling down over top of her. She attempted to raise herself, but she could only lift her head. Around her was an endless plain of mattress- she was an infinitesimal insect lost in the sheets of someone's king sized bed. She tried to scream, but the only sound that she produced was a pitiful squeak. A hand appeared- a giant hand, smooth and uncalloused reaching out towards Tigris. The hand easily collected her entire body in its grasp, enveloping her in its palm. Tigris felt the grip tighten around her body. Her bones began to crack. She couldn't scream- the blood began to flow from her mouth. Then, her eyes popped out of her skull, everything went even darker, and she woke up.
The next thing Tigris knew, the darkness was being stripped away as she blinked into the blinding, cool white light of the room around her. The hazy sight of the ceiling above was like a cloudless, overcast white sky as Tigris lay in the stiff bed trying to focus her thoughts. Her gaze followed the tubes that'd been stuck into her arms and extended to feed into or be fed from chirping, whirring machines at her side. As Tigris weakly turned her head, the first face she saw was Zagros'- which lit up like the bright hospital room they were in.
"Tigris-" Zagros shot up from his seat, crossing to the bed. "Tigris, can you hear me?"
"Yes." She murmured, then it hit her: "I feel strange." Squinting around, Tigris realized the only thing that could feel hollower and more devoid than her soul was her bank account: "I can't afford this hospital bed."
"Don't worry about paying- Ada left not too long ago. She left her number for you."
Tigris squinted down at the little paper on the bedside table with a curly-q list of phone numbers scrawled out in girlish pink ink lettering.
"We took care of it." Zagros assured. "Just rest."
Tigris scanned past Zagros at the chair he'd been sitting in. There sat the blue bag she'd borrowed from him this morning still containing the chromatifur coat. She tried to sit up but was restrained by the shackles of the IV drip embedded in her forearms.
"I have work to do." Tigris looked at the clock on the wall. "Smax!" She exclaimed. "My cat- she hasn't eaten since yesterday. It's- wait, your restaurant, Zagros, you have to open your-"
"Relax." Zagros tried to calm her. "I have time to swing by your place and feed her before I head out to get the kitchen set up for the night if you want." He offered. "Where do you live?"
"My address is on the ID card in my bag." Tigris responded, nodding groggily at the satchel containing the chromatifur jacket. "Can you take that garment home for me, too?"
"Of course." Zagros smiled. "Is Smax… nice?"
Tigris smiled. "Yes. She just smacks." The sweet moment was fractured by the beeping machine Tigris was hooked up to via the tubes in her arms. And though she was fairly certain of the answer she asked anyway: "What happened?"
Zagros rolled his eyes, explaining: "Dr. Fling was here an hour ago." He looked at a watch on his wrist, then back to Tigris with a head shake: "Bad salmon, apparently."
"I'm sure." Tigris said with an injured heave.
"I'm not." Zagros replied. His face twisted up and he asked: "Do you remember the night we met? You came to eat out with Mr. Snow."
Tigris nodded.
"I wasn't sure- but I thought I might have seen him put something in your drink when you weren't looking." Zagros admitted. "I brought you both those cocktails in case I was right." Zagros scratched the back of his newly cut head of hair. "And now I know I was."
Dr. Dennis Fling entered into the hospital room with an exhausted expression, clearly overworked or underslept or both. In either case- he seemed nowhere near as emotionally invested in Tigris' state as Clemensia following closely behind him.
"Miss Snow, you have a new visitor." Dr. Fling ushered Clemensia into the room before looking to Zagros: "Only one at a time, please."
Zagros rubbed his eyes and bit his bottom lip. After a brief glance at Clemensia, he relented, placing a hand on Tigris' own, then bending down to whisper in her ear:
"My doors always open too, Tigris."
Zagros collected the bag with the chromatifur jacket and departed alongside Dr. Fling, leaving Clemensia. The snake woman's cobalt leather skirt creaked as she crossed to Tigris and commented:
"I would ask how you're feeling- but I don't need to." Clemensia snarked. "Stings, doesn't it?"
"What is it?" Tigris croaked. "A poison?"
"I don't think so." Clemensia replied with a distant expression, recalling a memory. "More like a venom."
"Thank goodness I'm a picky eater, I guess." Tigris thought aloud. "It doesn't really sting, though. Everything just feels… wrong."
None of this was in Tigris' plans. A hospital smock was not so glamourous- neither was surviving three attempted murders in a day. Tigris had zero ideas for how she was to address these concerted efforts to kill her. She was a fashion designer, not a military strategist. Tigris knew Coriolanus was trying to end her- but failed to see how a skill set of cutting fabric and sewing appliqués could be employed, either offensively or defensively, to combat him. But so much less than that- she just wanted her clothes to be clothes, not weapons. She just wanted to be a stylist, not a soldier. Death, chaos, and destruction were whirling around in her mind- Tigris blinked hard until colorful stars dotted her vision and sufficiently distracted her priorities with their rainbow spots.
"I can't do this." Tigris lamented. "I have outfits to make."
"You need to fight back." Clemensia unknowingly shot Tigris' own advice back at her. "Before you can't-"
Before Clemensia could finish her warning, and before Tigris could reject it again, the opened door of the hospital room was slammed shut behind a sickly, sallow, and skeletal President Caracalla Mazza.
