Madge Undersee
Cassia had taken to leaving the windows open in the sweltering summer heat. Dust motes drifted in the sun's rays piercing through her store. Panem was reading more. Or at least the empty spots on Madge's shelves made her think so. Parents were taking their children for summer vacation and there weren't any to be minded today. Madge sat by her window. Book in hand. Staring listlessly at the pavement with a nagging cold still etched into her heart. Searching for that unnamed girl to waltz into her bookstore again. None came. Only the rumble of a statecar and that tightening in her throat at what was to come next.
Instead of Agatha - a paunchy, redfaced man emerged. He stamped out his cigarette on the pavement before heading straight through the front door.
"Secretary Plutarch," Madge recalled his name at the last second, dropping a prim curtsey.
"Dispense with the courtesies, young lady. I'm the one showing up unannounced," Plutarch motioned to an armchair. Her eyes widened at the floppy-bound manuscript in his hand. Wings of Fire.
It was going to be a long talk.
"Some tea, perhaps?"
"I'd ask for a cigar but I doubt you carry those - being a childcare and all," he lowered himself into the low armchair with a groan. Slid the draft across, grinning.
"Y-you," Madge clutched at words, "she. Katniss sent this to you."
"She did, yes. And I read it," Plutarch nodded slowly, "good enough for the editors. Very minor changes, nothing you should be fussed about. I think I liked the previous edition better but Capitolites scarcely have a grasp for flowery prose."
"I-I don't get what this means," Madge's mouth gaped.
"As Secretary of Communications, all publishing houses are under my purview. Which means, I'm asking you to consider publishing your book."
"It's not good enough-"
"You don't get to decide what's good or not good enough," Plutarch smiled, "I do. And I also get to decide what the public reads - we all need a breath of fresh air after all those brain-dead books Snow's regime kept publishing. Katniss was right - people need to hear about the games from the Districts' perspective. And we start with you. All you have to do is say yes."
"That's very flattering sir, but-"
"No buts, Madge," Plutarch stuck out a finger, "just tell me how much you want for this. And how long you need for a sequel."
Madge's fingers curled into the pleats of her cottony dress. Damp with perspiration. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. She'd never in a dozen lifetimes imagine seeing her name on a bookshelf. And yet here they were - pieces of her memories stitched together into a book.
"The money isn't an issue," Madge looked down and shook her head, "it-it's just that. Well, I don't know if Katniss has spoken to you about this-"
"It's about this house, isn't it?"
"Yea, I've been, well-" Madge fiddled with her fingers, "I've been caught in a bit of a pickle."
"I'd hardly use those words to describe your situation," Plutarch shook his head, "more like a sandcastle before the breaking waves."
Madge jerked upright, "Well that just makes it sound worse doesn't it?"
"It is what it is," Plutarch glared at her, "the most we can do is make the most out of a bad situation."
"Y-you mean there's no way out of this? I'm going to lose this house?" Madge's voice broke, "And by we, who does that entail, exactly?"
Plutarch sighed, "The Heavensbees have been connected with the Crenshaws for generations. Connected - meaning that we've done well to keep them at arm's length. A family of vultures and capitalists. Undoubtedly they're looking to take advantage of - what they presume - to be a naive young girl from the Districts. No offense."
"I'm not offended," Madge clarified, "in fact, I feel a little out of my depth trying to navigate this."
"You are," Plutarch pointed at her, "the Crenshaws are one of the oldest families in the Capitol. Largest landowners by far. Some say they own the sky as well. The monopoly of their empire had been left unchecked under Snow's rule through gladhanding and old-fashioned bribery but times have obviously changed."
"So that means-"
"They have to resort to threats and violence instead."
Madge's skin crawled, "This conversation just keeps getting worse and worse."
Plutarch shrugged, "I've had these sorta discussions with politicians and business people before and after the war. It's better to give the bad news first. Helps ease the transition and-"
"Make them more amenable."
"Smart girl," Plutarch sneered, "Katniss was right about you."
Her eyes widened, "What has she been saying about me?"
"Nothing we don't already know from your files," Plutarch leaned closer, "besides that - the girl appears rather taken by you. I was absolutely sure she wasn't going to renew her singing contract until you showed up."
Madge dipped her head as a torrent of emotion swam over her. Katniss had been looking out. Even from far away in District 12. Despite the barbed words they'd hurled at one another. She wouldn't let go. Not even when Madge herself had told her to mind her own business. A warmth spread through her eyes as the months of isolation racked up, finally finding within them - someone who cared. A sliver of frost sliced through when she noticed Plutarch staring hard at her. Burning through the veneer of a simple District immigrant girl and seeing the dead body she left in District 4.
"Well, it's not like I'm going to be around here much longer," Madge dropped her hands in her lap, "If Agatha gets what she wants."
Plutarch continued staring at her, expressionless. Grim-faced with eyes like daggers.
"Your silence on this matter is comforting, to say the least," Madge snickered.
"Look on the bright side, a single townhouse lot like yours can fit apartments for a dozen migrants."
"So I'm just supposed to, what, get up and leave?" Madge turned up her hands.
"I'm here to ensure you get what's due to you. Enough to shift to the City centre, at least," Plutarch offered, "that's going to take much more than what she's offering."
"I don't want to go, this place is my family's."
"Throwing a bone to you, Undersee," Plutarch got up, "I'm not asking you to play fetch. Just hang tight and for god's sake - don't ask the Interior Ministry to solve this for you."
Heat shot through Madge's face. Scarlet flush on her face marked with a faint trace of anger in her narrowed eyes.
"D-did Katniss tell you that?"
"No, CapitolNet logs all queries about each property, including yours. We picked up a few queries from the Interior Ministry with this exact address so I figured you made a - friend - there."
Madge rose to her feet, slowly. Already regretting how things turned out. Not knowing if she'd made the wrong choice and if it was too late to correct her many missteps.
"I-I couldn't give Crescentia what she was asking for," Madge whispered, unsure if she really wanted Plutarch to hear, "not with Katniss around."
Plutarch looked away, muttering, "Your secret's safe with me."
The state car pulled up as soon as they walked into the heat. Butterflies had landed on her windows, yellow and blue colours bright in the sunlight. She took one more look at her home in all its red brick glory. Books and music and her very soul wrapped into two thousand square feet. Demolishing it would be like severing her last connection to this world. Plutarch lit a cigar as soon as he could.
"I've started a mini-series called Businesses in Panem. It's about small business owners in the Capitol and beyond. You're on the third week's segment. I'll send the film crew over," Plutarch spoke slowly, between puffs, "It's best not to take the Crenshaws head on. They'll know we're fucking with them."
Madge shook her head, "Wait, what? What does this have to do with-"
A chauffeur held the door open for Plutarch, "Just listen to Cressida when she arrives. She'll fill you in on what you have to say."
The rest of her questions disappeared beneath the car's rumbling tyres. The entire exchange felt like a daydream. She half expected to return and find herself still napping on the chair. Instead, Cassia emerged from the rear with a brown-haired man. Same green eyes as hers and bearing that same giddy flush on her face. Tall with a square-set jaw. They brushed past Madge and had a silent tussle with some coins he thrusted into her hand for two books.
The man smiled at Cassia, before signing something to her with his hands.
Cassia signed back.
He left, tottering down the pavement. Grey workman's clothes. Safety boots.
"He's been coming over an awful lot lately," Madge remarked, half-smile taking Cassia aback, "what's his name again? Oaken?"
Cassia nodded, "Um, yea he's an Avox from 7. He bought two books."
"I know he's not coming over just for the books," Madge snickered, "I also happen to know those words you just signed to him."
The redheaded girl tipped the coins into the register, "I-I hope you don't mind - I mean, it's your store afterall."
"The only thing I'd mind is if you moved all the way to the capitol for me," Madge grasped her elbow, "and got nothing out of it."
"I already have," Cassia pulled her into a hug, "I've got this home. I've got a good job. I know my sisters are safe and sound. I've got you."
Madge resisted the sudden expanse of her chest. Filled with the warmth that their repaired friendship had provided. She squeezed Cassia back, hard enough to get a giggle out of her. Relishing in the moment that knit them together. Trying to shelve the feeling into another one of her memories. Knowing it's all she can count on when everything inevitably goes to pieces later.