Chapter 14:
Eleven out of twelve mentors sat in a circle on the neglected, dying rooftop rose garden of 74 Cominia.
All their chairs were plush and velvety, but no one was remotely comfortable. Tigris wrung her hands together, trying to rub away at the red speckles of Vinicius' blood still set in the cuticles of her lemon-yellow press-on nails.
"What did he say?" Faust asked Zagros.
"He has basically no sign language skills- he signed 'voices' to me." Zagros explained from his seat beside Tigris. "That was all I got."
"Can you even be deaf and schizophrenic?" Ada wondered aloud.
"He might not always have been deaf." Zagros explained. "He's not my tribute anyway, I don't know…"
"Well, what's going to happen now?" Livia crossed her arms. "I was once the mentor for a boy from 1 who died before the Games started." She jeered at Tigris. "They refused to get me another tribute."
"Fortunately for Miss Snow, and unfortunately for whoever came in second in District 1's male tribute poll- we have a replacement on the way as we speak." Faust said while pulling up a barstool between Tigris and Clemensia's chairs and taking a seat.
'Thank heavens.' Tigris thought to herself.
"That's horrible." Clemensia responded. "Imagine thinking you've just narrowly avoided this- only for them to come knocking on your door."
"It's all horrible, I agree." Faust set his clipboard on the floor propped against a leg of his stool. "But it's happening, friends."
"We're not your friends." Silvi growled. "We don't want to be here."
"That's what Coriolanus thought you'd all say, too." Faust replied to Silvi, nodding at the empty seat between her and Lumen. "And I can see you don't want to be here. But, if this all was about want, I'd be at home with my wife and kids playing blocks and watching cartoons. Instead, I'm leading this assembly."
"How long do you think this will take?" Tigris asked. "I have work to do."
"We all have jobs, here." Faust sighed. "And I don't want to stand in the way of you all doing yours any more than I want you standing in the way of me doing mine. So, if we can't be friends… let's be allies."
"Just tell us what you want us to do." Tallulah requested with a cold drone.
"Listen, you all need to know Coriolanus is not willing to give Victors the same benefit of the doubt I am. You all are clearly not happy, and I can wrap my head around why. I feel for you all having to come back here, I do. But, you are here, again. These Games are going to happen, apparently sooner rather than later, too. So, it's time we all got on the same page as one another before Coriolanus is the one asking the questions."
The only response Faust got was from the wind rushing through the thorny, wilted brambles of the dead and dying rose buds in the gray rose garden around them. He continued:
"So, we're going to go around the circle and I'm giving you all the opportunity to tell me something I don't know. Or to clarify something I thought I did. Tell me about yourself, your Games." Faust picked his clipboard back up off the ground and removed a pen from the breast pocket of his sunny-yellow coat. "And for those of you to whom that doesn't apply- tell me a fun fact about sequins or something. We'll work our way around counterclockwise." He turned to Clemensia at his side, prompting her "Starting with Clem- Miss Dovecote?"
"Well…" Clemensia seemed to be weighing her options: "I used to be Mrs. Ravinstill, as many of you know." The iridescent scales on her legs caught in the summer sun's light as she crossed them: "Now, I'm single again."
"Are we speed dating?" Livia snarked. "Tell us something that matters."
"Alrighty, fun fact…" Clemensia turned her head slyly to Faust at her side. Then, the snake woman faced the group again and struck with: "95% of the Capitol's Animal population have been arrested over the past six months but mathematically our jails cannot hold that volume of prisoners." Clemensia let the uncomfortable silence settle before adding: "Where are they all going?"
Faust anxiously wiped his brow and quickly segued to the next mentor: "Mr. Hughes, you're up, would you like to make a comment?"
"I love-uh animals." November softly twanged from his wheelchair- his deep voice somehow still retaining an innocent, child-like tone despite its bass. "I won my Games tuh' get back home tuh' Sugar, 'cuz I had locked her in my closet cuz' she was illegal n' we couldn't have lil' doggies."
"Is that a dog bag? For your little purse poodle?" Faust pointed to the sack sitting in November's lap.
"Oh, nah." November replied, slightly lifting the yellow bag off his legs. "This my innards."
"It's called an ostomy bag." Ada Jane explained on his behalf.
"That first decade of Games was no joke." Faust grimaced. "What's your year, November?"
"Six-uh." November answered.
"Let's get in the habit of mentioning that for a bit of context." Faust next fixed his gaze on the next Victor: "Ms. Lozen?"
"Fifteen." Tallulah mumbled.
"Remind me of your Arena?" Faust raised an eyebrow, asking for more information.
"Mountains." Tallulah was hardly audible until the nagging grief caught in her throat, and she broke: "Please, my sister is only 12. She has a heart condition. The medication she needs cost as much as a year's worth of extra rations for the whole district. Ten hates me and they won't send Dot anything because of it. And they sent her in with that actually irredeemable, cattle screwing freak. Please, please, please: I am begging you all for your help. She needs allies and her pills once she gets in there to stand any chance. I'm struggling to set up arrangements for either."
"As Assistant Head Gamemaker, it'll be my job to handle the launching of all sponsor gifts." Faust explained to her: "Medicines are the most marked up items that can be sent. Sometimes a hundred-fold."
"I know." Tallulah replied, looking out to the snowcapped mountains beyond the Capitol skyline. "But if Dot dies- all those people starved for absolutely nothing."
"Of course they didn't." Faust was incredulous. "There is life to live here, people. You are some of the strongest humans I have ever witnessed survive- don't forget what it means to be a Victor."
Silvi Gorman rolled her eye and laughed. Faust pointedly ignored her as he turned to Livia next.
"Please, tell us something flouncy and glittery, if you could?"
"Well- not glittery because that's tacky…" Livia put a hand over her stomach, performing with the demeanor of a beauty pageant contestant: "I'm Livia Snow, stylist and mentor for District 9. A little about me: I'm a mom, a wife, a fashion designer, and a businesswoman. I own and operate Livia's Boutique downtown where I have made quite the name for myself in the arena of maternity wear this past year. And if you keep your eyes peeled, you'll soon be seeing some more of my designs at President Mazza's charity show later this month."
"Can't wait." Faust punctuated Livia's advertisement before adjusting his gaze to the young, shaggy man beside her. "Don't tell me, I know it- it was like yesterday: twenty-first?"
"Twenty-second." Woof Knott corrected, swiping away a long strand of his dirty blond bangs that hung in his face. "Um, I'm supposed to tell you about myself or my Games?"
"It's more or less one in the same. You were the 'trash' winner, right?"
Tigris watched the look on Woof's face contort, his nostrils flaring and brow furrowing like he could smell the memory. Clearing the mess in his mind, Woof reclaimed his dignity from Faust, responding:
"I have an IQ of 177. I love puzzles, word games, numbers. I was balancing books at the largest textile factory in 8 from the time I was ten- up until it burned down last year."
"I remember reading about that." Livia nodded. "It was so unfortunate- delayed my silk chiffon order for months."
"And killed 266 child workers." Woof added. Tigris' blood turned to ice. "Anyway… I won my Games by eating cockroaches."
"The strategy of a true genius." Faust chuckled to himself. He next turned to Silvi Gorman, who promptly peeled off her eyepatch and kicked away her left boot to display her three remaining toes on that foot before Faust could ask anything of her. The pink, fleshy cavern where her right eye had once been like a black hole pulling Tigris into its gory, macabre pit. With that cutting, one eyed glare, Silvi brought the nub of her right hand to her chin and asked Faust first:
"What do you want to know?"
Faust squirmed through his response:
"Why- um. So, uh- the Fourth Games! The first ever female Victor. Gee, what was it like- like to be the first girl to win?"
Silvi blinked her eye at him.
"It hurt."
"Do we really have to do this?" Margaret almost snapped at Faust from across the circle. "I'm about ready to leave-"
"It's not your turn yet, Four." Faust replied, skipping over the empty chair between Silvi and Lumen. "Only a President's spouse can play hooky, apparently." Then, Faust addressed the next Victor who sat staring at his feet with absent, glazed over eyes behind his glasses. Faust snapped his fingers: "District 5- sorry to wake you..."
In the open air, Tigris recognized that Lumen's black hair was actually purple- a deep violet so faint only the catchlights of his messy quiff glimmered indigo under the sunlight. Lumen blinked through the small frames of his glasses and asked as if he'd just been stirred from a coma:
"…What..?"
"Tell us about yourself, bud."
"No…?" Lumen was disassociated more so than combative. An immediate display of self-awareness appeared across his face and prompted his crumpled, slouching posture to straighten as he apologized: "Please- uh, I'm sorry. My head just hurts a little-"
Tigris already noticed Zagros had begun to hold his breath the moment Lumen had begun to stammer. But as soon as the Victor from 5 casually lamented his migraine, Tigris watched the words lazily fall out his mouth before his fearful eyes awakened and flitted to Zagros, now red in the face with anger.
"You don't have to talk about it." Margaret could hardly contain herself, but Lumen sniffled, shook his head, and rubbed his red eyes, dismissing her:
"No, no, no, no, no. I'm good, I'm really good." Lumen wrung his hands and scratched his eyelids before giving his best effort to appear unbothered. And as he spoke, Tigris gradually began to recall this rather unique Victor's background, picking up on the slight artificial Capitol inflection: "Hi, I'm Lumen Veton. Victor of the 14th Games. It was a... 'swamp,' it's called. My win was… it's a long story, but to make it quick- I worked night shifts watching cameras in the powerplant as a kid. If you bent the antennae on some of the older monitors a certain way you could sometimes get Capitol channels, and I just couldn't get enough of the sitcoms. Hubert's Secret, Capitol Letters, Weekends with the Speakmans, but mostly Capitol Letters were my favorites. That one episode towards the end with the pearl handled gun- it destroys me: I'd do anything to see it again." His wistfulness evaporated. "But anyway, by the time my name was Reaped, and I was here for the first time, I kind of already spoke the language. And quoting soap operas eventually got me the sponsors I needed to, uh… make it to the end."
Zagros sighed.
"And that's it." Lumen spoke with his eyes downcast to his feet again, desperately requesting to be ignored again: "Who's next?"
"Miss Flannigan." Faust nodded to Margaret Flannigan. "How's 4 doing?"
"Compared to what?" Margaret pursed her lips. "It's all sunshine and seashore, Mr. Crane, I don't know what to tell you."
"Of course ya' do, tell me about yourself- the 11th Games were a big deal back in the day, hot shot. First naturalistic Arena ever- really set the new standard. Go on…" Faust ignored Margaret's ironically dry attitude as she replied:
"I made a fishhook from a piece of a moose skull."
"No, tell the bear story." Faust suggested deflating the posturing of Margaret's shoulders. Tigris only then noticed the faded freckles on Margret's nose as her face went beat red with fury or grief or shame or all of the above. Silvi slid her boot back on:
"We're done, now." The Victress from 7 decided in an eerily calm, measured tone. "Margaret, let's go."
"There're still three-" Faust began, but was cut off by Silvi's intensely polite refusal as she stood from her chair:
"If you want to know who we were in our Arenas, watch our Games. And if you'd like to know where we are now- well, look no further." Silvi scanned over the others with a placid serenity, a savage, ghostly flash of younger herself unshrouded for a moment: "Here we are again."
"You cannot go." Faust ordered.
"I told you what you wanted to hear." Silvi ignored, crossing towards Margaret and extending the hand she did have out to her.
"You should not go." Faust rephrased more threateningly. "Coriolanus needs to know-"
"It hurt!" Silvi turned and glared at Faust to reiterate, her chiseled serenity finally being cracked through: "Tell him: it hurt. That's the whole point, isn't it? The Games didn't make us better. The Games didn't make us winners. The Games hurt. I've spent my years trying to never be the person I was when I was here last. I vowed never to return and do what she did ever again. The worst versions of us that exist are in those Arenas, and they made it out. Don't play games with us." Silvi returned her expression to a neutral rest: "Or we will play again."
Silvi guided Margaret out the circle of chairs and exited into the rooftop's stairwell enclosure, the metal door slamming defiantly behind them. Faust swallowed a dry lump in his throat and attempted to present a cool air of authority but was further unenthused when Clemensia gathered her bag and departed next. Faust opened his mouth to stop her, but was met with Woof, who gave Faust a slanted, apologetic frown as he anxiously stood and excused himself, too. Faust gripped his clipboard with white knuckles as November innocently asked:
"So, we can go-uh?"
Tigris didn't know what the greater purpose of that meeting was supposed to be, but based on the way Faust disbanded it with such numb fury- she could assume it was not successful. No matter to her, Tigris thought- she needed the time this meeting had wasted to put thread and fabric to her sewing machine. Or rather, Livia needed her to:
"You have the time." Livia assured Tigris, handing over the sketches and roll of purple crushed velvet from her shoulder bag as they rode down the elevator together. "The interviews are in three days. That's more than enough."
"I don't know what I have to make for my new tribute yet." Tigris responded. "I don't want to promise you time I might not end up having."
"You whipped up with those ridiculous whisky fringe looks over night. I know you could come up something a fraction as gaudy in a fraction of the time." Livia was exasperated with contempt. "For once in your life- just make some simple garments."
"I can't help myself." Tigris replied. "And I can't help you, this time. Sorry."
Livia reached back into her bag, removing a wad of cash that she promptly stuck into Tigris' own purse along with the roll of royal purple velvet and her sketches of her tributes' interview designs.
"I don't take no for an answer." Livia shot an exaggerated smile at Tigris, intentionally showing every one of her pearly white teeth. Then, she was cocking her head with her favorite witticism: "Thank you and you're welcome."
Tigris' mind raced with a million different problems, responsibilities, and expectations that all were piling on her shoulders one after the other. She kept missing the cabs that passed by with her distracted gaze fixed on the Corso curb she stood on, trying to work through the overwhelming number of designs building themselves in her mind. So bothered by the textiles, silhouettes, and patterns dancing around in her head, Tigris didn't notice Zagros approach with the crispy, lavender rose he held out to her.
"Excuse me, Miss?" Zagros gently drew her attention. "I- uh… I was wondering if you could tell me if this rose is yellow?"
"It's more dead than anything else." Tigris replied, but felt that response was a bit harsh, so took the flower from his hand and inhaled the bud's crisp petals. "You got this from the roof?"
"Yeah." Zagros smiled like a misbehaving kid. "It's for a lovely lady I don't know how to ask out. Don't tell the owner of the building I plucked it."
"Your secret's safe with me." Tigris smiled, examining the flower. "It's not yellow. It's a light purple- like lilac or lavender. But. it's very lovely." She smelled the rose one last time before she held it back out to him: "Well, whoever she is: I'm sure she'll be charmed, Zagros."
"I hope so, too." Zagros' gaze lifted from the rose in Tigris' hand to meet her eyes. Then, without another word he grinned, turned on his heel, and walked away leaving the flower in Tigris' hand. She felt her cheeks go flush with warmth, watching Zagros go almost skipping down the Corso. Pulling the petals to her lips, Tigris breathed in the dried bud's sweet scent, spinning its stalk between her fingers as Ada Jane addressed her:
"My, my…" Ada cooed, stepping up to the curb next to Tigris. "Someone has a crush."
"Oh, I certainly don't have a crush, now." Tigris twisted the rose's stem in her hand.
"I was talking about him." Ada nodded in Zagros' direction, giving an amused smirk. A cream-colored limousine pulled up to the curb in front of the pair. Ada passed the yellow clutch she held from her right to her left hand, reaching out to pull open its rear door: "Could I offer a pretty lady a ride home?"
Ada's driver flashed Tigris an disatisfied expression after she stepped into the stretch vehicle and gave the address of her studio apartment. Tigris took a seat across the rear cabin from Ada and the limo began to pull down the Corso.
"Love that dress." Ada complimented.
"Thank you." Tigris replied. "It's from my line- they're selling in Livia's Boutique downtown." She had to correct herself: "Well, they're not selling, but they're there."
"Prints and patterns are coming back." Ada said. "I should get one or two."
"That'd be wonderful, Ada." Tigris nodded. "You could get ladies to dress in flour sacks if you wore one out on the town."
"I'd wear burlap for you, Miss Tigris." Ada laughed. "It's the least I can do."
"I really appreciate you, Ada. You've always been such a blessing."
"Aren't I?" Ada cooed with a giggle. "I'm just a call away. Anytime you need me for anything."
"In that case…" Tigris had to ask: "What are you doing with November?" Tigris looked out the window as they were driven. "He doesn't seem like he'd be your type."
"Well, don't judge a book and all that. Zagros doesn't seem like your type either, to be fair. But he's probably handsome- under all that kitchen grease and the three-day beard."
"It's not- That man is a mess, I mean, I am a mess, though, I- I guess, I don't feel like… I don't know if I…" Tigris stammered, feeling her cheeks get warm again. "It's complicated, honey."
"I understand." Ada exhaled. "I'm sorry, maybe it is too soon."
"Maybe…" Tigris replied. "I still feel like I owe something to Virgil. I just can't put my finger on what just yet."
"What about what you owe yourself?" Ada responded. "Did you not see the way that man looked at you?"
"Was it the way men look at you?" Tigris asked.
"No." Ada swiftly replied. "That's how I know he actually likes you."
"Oh, please." Tigris waved. "Men adore you, butterfly."
"I can get men to do a lot for lust." Ada shrugged. "Imagine what you can get them to do for love. Well, if they knew the difference…"
"Right." Tigris chuckled. "But, honey… I don't know if that's what love is for. It's not a transaction."
"In a perfect world." Ada replied. "But- my standard of living is only as hard to maintain as any given man's… affections. And so far, it's done me good enough to have everything I've ever wanted and more."
'Has it done you good?' Tigris wondered but couldn't really deny it as she blinked at the star across from her and so responded dubiously:
"I just… I've never thought of it like that."
"You know that man's restaurant is raking in the cash. I've heard Dare2Dine is already starting to give Sulla's Eatery a run for its money." Ada looked out the window as the car began to enter into the outer neighborhoods of the Capitol. "And if you're still living out here- I know you could use a hand up."
"That sounds… predatory." Tigris shook her head.
Ada glanced up from under her lashes at Tigris and growled:
"I know a cougar when I see one."
"Now you're calling me old." Tigris sucked on her teeth. "And broke."
"Well, at least we have control over one of those." Ada offered. "If you have control of Mr. Dare."
"That's not right." Tigris replied. "Relationships are not weapons. Love is not ammo, Ada."
Ada Jane looked even deeper into Tigris' eyes until it felt like she was peering directly into her soul. Without breaking that intense eye contact, Ada pressed down on a button near her seat that closed the partition between the driver and the rear cabin where the women sat. The electronic buzz of the rising screen preceded a dull 'thunk' of the glazed window locking into its closed position. The front engine's hum was deadened by the lifted partition, leaving a momentary awkward silence that was broken by the snapping clasp of Ada's clutch, from which she drew out the bronze revolver and aimed it at Tigris, replying:
"You're right."
Tigris was so paralyzed by the sight of Strabo Plinth's gun again that she couldn't speak, stuck in the time and place she'd last seen the weapon.
"Ammo is ammo." Ada pushed open the cylinder of the gun, spinning it to reveal the bullet-less chambers. "But, if Gary… or maybe it was Gany- if Gany hadn't thrown himself into the mouth of that beast… just this past January-" Ada tossed back her blonde bob over her shoulder. "You wouldn't have a ride home this afternoon, would you?"
"I guess not." Tigris admitted, preceding another tense silence that Ada bluntly ended with:
"Tigris- there is trouble coming." Ada informed her. "These Games are going to be different. And not because of a Quell."
"What do you mean?" Tigris asked.
"The Victors are up to something." Ada explained.
"Up to what, Ada?" Tigris intently asked.
"The less you know the better." Ada cocked her head. "But you should at least know this: things are going to get dangerous soon. And an empty gun is only a hollow threat." Ada batted her lashes and dropped her voice into a completely different timbre: "Legs are a more compelling weapon for a pair of clueless, vapid little ladies like us to wield." Ada closed the empty cylinder of the revolver, slipping it into her clutch as she eyed the lavender rose in Tigris' hand:
"So, until we have bullets- a little love might be our next deadliest bet."
Smax was wholly unconcerned with Tigris' overwhelming number of responsibilities, mewing loudly for her chicken pâté as soon as her owner entered the studio. Tigris prioritized the cat above all else, feeling the brief rush of order and peace as Smax lapped up the meaty paste Tigris had plopped into her food bowl. The rumbling of Smax's contented purr soothed Tigris brushing over her white fur. So much was uncertain. So many confusing, contradictory ideas and beliefs were raging in her mind. The only thing that made any simple sense was the wet smacking of the cat's teeth enjoying dinner.
But soon the cat finished her meal, and Tigris watched her go sauntering off to find a warm spot on the couch to take a nap. The anxiety and disordered thinking filtered back in as the dull hum of her studio's fluorescent lighting filled the silence that followed. Only designing could quiet her mind as effectively: but as Tigris pulled Livia's sketches for her tribute's interview outfits and got a good look at them, it only made her stomach turn even more. In the same way Tigris refused to make anything simple, Livia seemed to refuse to make anything appealing.
Tigris put a hand on her forehead, feeling her scar throb as her brain struggled to discern up from down on the designs, a task that gave her vertigo the longer she looked at the scribbled mess of Livia's sketches. It didn't make sense. No matter how long she stared at them or what angle she tilted the sheet of paper, Tigris couldn't get the misshapen and unflattering designs to resemble anything remotely close to fashion. Once again, she was stuck wondering what that ashen blonde boy and dark eyed girl from 9 could have done to make the world hate them so much because Tigris could not imagine dressing even her worst enemy so obscenely.
Luckily for them- Livia wasn't their stylist, whether they knew it or not. And it suddenly dawned on Tigris, Livia wasn't her boss, either. She realized in an instant how much she really despised Livia. True, genuine and unbridled hatred bubbled up inside of Tigris and burned like a fire in her chest. That woman was a lying, unfaithful, egotistical, overgrown selfish brat that should be groveling at Tigris' feet for everything she'd done for her despite what she knew. But instead, Tigris was the one on her hands and knees begging for Livia's completely unattainable approval. No- no more, Ada was right: these Games would be different.
Tigris tore away the corner where the children's measurements were recorded before she crushed Livia's sketches into crumpled balls in her fists. It was just paper crunching between her fingers, but Tigris felt as powerful as a woman bending steel with her bare hands. She tossed the balled-up sketches in the trash and collected the roll of royal purple velvet as she crossed into her room of garments. Discarding Livia's velvet aside the purple fabrics of her personal textile collection, Tigris snatched up a roll of mauve deadnettle motif tulle and a heather lilac taffeta she knew Livia would never be drawn to.
She took both the lengths of fabrics back to the sewing machine in her living room, her eye settling on the lavender colored rose sitting atop the television. A romantic scene from Capitol Letters was already playing on the screen below: the dewy-eyed mailman on his knees at the feet of Dione Darkwell with an enamored glare and clutching grip on the fabric of her silky nightgown's skirt. Tigris pulled the nearly dead flower from the vase and placed it against the fabrics laid out on her sewing machine- adoring the way the light purple petals complimented the fabrics. Ada was right- a little romance could certainly be useful.
The new interview outfits for the tributes from 9 were done before sunrise. They were distinctly and unapologetically Tigris' own inventions- that was glaringly apparent. It was a fact that pleased Tigris as much as it unnerved her. She wasn't afraid of Livia's reaction, exactly. Tigris was afraid of herself. She'd never felt so vindicated making such callous, inward facing choices before. The festering selfishness or burgeoning self-esteem, whichever it was, eventually lulled Tigris to sleep as the sunlight began to filter in through the studio's small, singular window. By the time she'd awoken to the incessant ringing of her alarm clock that morning, Tigris was over an hour late to meet her new male tribute. After awakening with a gasp, Tigris threw herself to her feet, beginning an adrenaline-fueled dash to prepare herself for the day.
The television was still on, the studio audience of Capitol Letters mocking Tigris' scrambling efforts with pre-recorded rounds of raucous, belly laughs. She did not find it amusing however, accidentally putting her veridian shaded heels on before her flouncy, green Monday dress while she called a cab with the studio's landline phone. Tigris rapidly concealed her wild bedhead of hair and scar on her forehead with a long, deep green headscarf she draped around her shoulders. She gave Smax a canned breakfast, wishing she had either the time or appetite to eat something herself. Tigris was about to leave out the door when she doubled back to turn off the television. As her finger hovered over the power button, the mailman character was in the midst of a heartfelt soliloquy, a line of which caught Tigris' attention:
"Back in District 5- we have power. I just didn't know how to use it until I got here, Dionne."
Tigris swooned at the admittedly cheesy line but was more so struck by a recent memory with the blend of the character's District 5 and Capitol accents. She heard the sounds of the cab at the curb outside honking to summon her for her ride and resolutely switched off the television. After she'd collected up the purple outfits in their pair of coat bags, Tigris rushed over to the wall of tapes and snatched up the Capitol Letters episode she remembered hearing Lumen mention.
Then, with great power and very little judgment, Tigris strode out her front door carrying the two, too stunning outfits in one hand and the tape marked Episode 168 in the other.
