Madge Undersee
The applause rang louder than usual as Caesar Flickerman introduced Katniss Everdeen to the judges' seat. Among them, a blonde-haired girl in a white cotton dress who screamed at the top of her lungs. She wasn't even scheduled to perform, rather - to watch a series of up-and-coming young talents sing their hearts out for an opportunity to make a mark in the new Panem. To Madge's surprise, half out of a dozen participants were District. Boys and Girls from far flung regions of Panem that made their voices heard through District Preliminary auditions. Plutarch must've done the auditions right. Each one of them blew the audience's mind away. Voices full of soul and songs that spoke of family and love and the longing only people who'd languished in hard times would understand.
Despite this, Madge couldn't help but notice that the mostly-Capitolite crowd applauded their own singers just a tad more than the District ones. Perhaps some differences were meant to die hard. Katniss was noticeably impartial, giving placid comments to all the participants. Only moving out of line to ask questions about a song titled New Dawn. Ostensibly written by a District 8 girl after the Second Rebellion.
"I wrote this in the hospital, actually," the girl spoke haltingly into the microphone. Eyes of Panem plastered on her shaky frame and purple dress. "I was hurt but you came to visit us at sunrise. And there I thought, the New Dawn of Panem has risen upon us."
Madge's chest clenched.
Was that what Katniss Everdeen was? The eyes that visited her dreams. Hands that branded her with the lightest of touches. A voice that lit her heart aflame. Somehow also a symbol for a nation. The inspiration behind the masses. It felt like a chain tugging at her soul. Like she didn't want to share this girl and her gentle smile. Beaming wide as the Capitol crowd broke into scattered applause.
Caesar Flickerman took back the stage to announce the results. A good field of singers played tonight. The last of three that saw nearly half the contestants eliminated. Thus, it was no surprise that they all made it to the next round. Surprisingly, Caesar hadn't left after the applause had died down.
"It appears that a particular song has caught the attention of our beloved Mockingjay tonight!"
The crowd roared in anticipation of what's coming next.
"Unfortunately, Katniss won't be singing that song," Flickerman drew out the tension and groans of disapproval, "but I know most of us, myself included, couldn't get enough of hearing that lovely voice last month-"
It was electrifying to hear the way Caesar still held the crowd in his palm after so long. Or perhaps it was that lump in her throat that pulsed with expectation.
"-so I made a deal with Katniss backstage: 'You agree to sing for us tonight, and we'll let you choose any song you want.' To which she said: There's only one song I want to sing, and there's only one person I want to sing it to."
Her breath seized. A chorus of oohs and ahhs broke out. Like the goosebumps on Madge's skin when she saw a microphone already on Katniss's judging desk. She'd planned this. And her chest swelled with the thought that Katniss Everdeen - resplendent in her orange gown - was taking to the stage to sing a song for her. She leaned back in her chair. The music started. When Katniss sang the first notes staring directly at her - she felt an arrow thud into her soul. This girl never misses her mark.
She spent the last few minutes of Panem Forever! melting into her chair. Etching each word and melody into the new pages of her memory. Fearful she'd wake up in a pile of ruins again and forget this moment ever existed.
When all the kisses had been blown and the flowers thrown, a sense of vacancy filled Madge. Hollowing further when Katniss disappeared backstage. Is this it? Is she going back to District 12 already? One all-too-short meeting at a book launch. Clumsy flirting. A song that melted her heart. Her entire body ached for Katniss. As though a part of her heart bore handprints that could only be filled by Katniss's hands. Or that song she played over and over again with empty notes that only Katniss could sing.
In a panic, Madge left the arena and its bright lights and crowds of Capitolites cavorting for each other's attention. Her front row seat lead her straight past the judge's tables. The wealthiest of Capitolites who could afford them. She looked remarkably out of place in her simple white dress. All the rushing and eyes tilted towards the stage left her unprepared to walk straight into Plutarch's paunchy frame. He placed his hands squarely upon her shoulders. Drawing out an intense, momentary shudder before she recognised him.
"Leaving so soon?"
"I want to see Katniss," Madge blurted out, before she reeled herself in.
Plutarch scoffed a laugh, taking his loving sweet time to light a cigarette. Which was promptly plucked from his fat fingers. Madge took a long, hard drag. It did nothing to calm her shaking nerves, but she returned it anyway.
"You appear taken by her," Plutarch looked away at the night, glowing with billboards and neon lights, "I had to personally intervene with a tabloid journalist to prevent any salacious rumors from taking root."
She quaked in her prim, white court shoes, "You what?"
"She's a public figure, a married one," Plutarch shrugged, "famous in her own right. As are you."
"Oh, please," Madge waved him off, "I don't think one little book is putting my face on any newspapers."
"Pretty girl. Simple clothes. Somehow connected enough to score those coveted front row seats," Plutarch continued, "people take notice. And I've lived here all my life, people will gossip over anything. It's almost like the war hasn't happened."
Madge bit on her lower lip, "I don't suppose it's too late for any of this to help the bookstore."
Right before Plutarch's able to answer, a statecar pulled up on the curb. Tinted windows. Leather seats. "That's us. Get in."
Cold bristled through Madge's skin, "Mr Secretary, I'm not above getting into cars with strange men. But if we're going to do this - I'm assuming you have some sort of plan."
"Not a plan, more like a favour," Plutarch tilted his head, "or a message I'd like to send to the wider business community."
"Very well then."
The car rumbled off immediately after she sank into its seats. Joining the evening traffic on a slow drive around Government avenue. A briefcase sat unopened between them. Interiors stank of cigar smoke. She would've expected nothing less. But something about the muted, luxurious interiors and the driver's robotic stare and gloved hands on the steering wheel. Made her feel like she'd just gotten thrust into a world of business and decision-making that flew way over her head. A lamb next to a mogul. She couldn't help but feel like she's about to be slaughtered on the chopping block.
"So, about your store."
Madge blew out an exasperated sigh, "I've tried everything. Seriously. I would've found a place in the Central area - but all I've been getting are shut doors. People don't want to lease or sell anything to me because I'm District. Author or not author-"
"It's not going to work out. For you," Plutarch turned to face her. Thin-lipped and humourless.
"...I'm assuming there's a but at the end of that statement."
"More like an and," Plutarch shook his head, "and, Madge Undersee. You've ran out of options."
Madge's heart dropped. A year of work. Last legacy of her father. The only memory she had that she clutched so desperately. Now blown away from her hands like straw in the wind. The image of her house in ruins leapt before her eyes and crushed her.
"Nothing?" Madge's voice broke.
"Short of selling your entire bookstore to me."
She narrowed her eyes at him, "How exactly would that help me?"
"Because the Crenshaws wouldn't dare offend a member of the Heavensbee family," Plutarch started fishing around the briefcase, "least of all someone who controls the press. They'd have to buy it from me at the full market price. Or deal with the lawyers."
"But-"
"Know this very well, Madge. I still can't prevent the block from getting demolished. Paylor holds absolute power over the zoning laws," Plutarch handed her a stack of legal documents, "but at the very least, I can make sure you get something out of it."
"I don't see how that would help-" Madge started, before she looked at the agreement's terms. Her eyes watered at the offer price. A string of zeros that made her head spin. The car rounded a bend and already she felt like toppling over. Is this what the house was worth? Agatha barely quoted a fifth of this. Goddamned wolves. She still hadn't the foggiest idea how such huge sums of money worked in the Capitol. The highest amount that made sense to her was the price of milk on a good day, or Cassia's weekly wages.
"Let's make one thing clear - I'm not throwing my hat in with these people. And I'm not asking you to leave the Capitol," Plutarch turned to stare out the window, night lights and the hum of life from partygoers drifting past, "I do feel that we've taken far too much from Katniss, and as much as she's putting pieces of herself back together. She needs someone to bear this burden with her."
"Very noble words," Madge nodded, "what's in it for you?"
His voice deepened to a drawl, "I'm trying to patch back a country that's destroyed itself. Singing at a talent show is one thing, if the Mockingjay falls to pieces - Panem loses the flicker of hope before it's had a chance to roar into flame."
Her eyes widened at Plutarch's choice of words. A line from her book.
"You're asking me to trust you with my family's legacy. The last thing that's binding me to this country," her hands began to shake, tears welled behind her face, "everything I've fought so hard for."
"I am, yes," Plutarch looked down, "And believe me, I wouldn't have asked this of you if I had another option."
It took her another two minutes to skim over the document. Shaky hands making a mess of the pages. Right before she put her precious name on the signature line. Watching the last of her family's heritage float away on a neatly typewritten sheet of paper. Another memory robbed of her. Lost to the cruel realities of the Capitol's might. An undefined number in her bank account and a new beginning she could see but not touch.
Madge had spent months enduring hard labour on a sun-stricken beach. Yet after exerting the lightest of touches signing the papers, she felt winded. Staggering out of Plutarch's car disoriented like all the life's sucked out of her. No more home. She theoretically could continue living there as a tenant. Though with dreadful fear of a bulldozer rather than hopeful optimism for the future. Plutarch had cemented the monumental decision of her life with a signature of his own. Barely passing a second glance as he told her that the lawyers will figure the rest out. Whatever that meant. Lighting another cigarette and depositing her outside a nightclub.
"Try to enjoy the rest of your evening," he added with a wink. Before the car took off.
Madge glanced up at the garish neon lights and LED screens. Panem Forever! Afterparty. A crowd had already formed outside. Pre-gaming on bottles of whisky while the river's evening breeze blew in. It put ruffles in a sea of fur coats and feathered hats. Months ago she would've shied away from the throng of party-goers. Avoid their prying stares and flirtatious glances as she fed upon the attention that Capitolites tended to give District girls. This time, Madge walked in tall and proud. Shoulders peeled back. A woman on a mission that led her right to the doorman. Katniss's golden ticket in her fingers raised more than a few eyebrows but he let her in without a word. Suited concierge immediately materialized beside her and led her to the VIP Section.
It didn't matter what goddamned section he was leading her to. He could've led her to hell for what it was worth, as long as Katniss was there.
They walked past plush, velvet wallpaper and pulsing dance music. The lights dimmed with each level they descended. Smell of alcohol and cigar smoke giving way to fruity perfume. A red carpet. Doormen in blazers and tophats held open the door for Madge. Glittering chandeliers and gilded bannisters transported her to a world she'd never gotten used to and didn't belong. Soft Jazz music from a live band touched her ears. A tuxedo-clad musician masterfully commandeered a piano. All around her the shifting bodies of the Capitol's finest. Cavorting and dancing and humming along in conversation. Before them all stood Madge Undersee. Simple white dress and a blazer with a world of words behind her fingertips. Dozens of eyes pierced her. She stared back at each one of them. Failing to find the one that mattered.
"Champagne, miss?" A waitress in a bunny suit appeared next to her.
"Uh, no thanks - I might-"
A man swooped in and snatched it by the neck. She looked up at Caesar Flickerman. Redfaced behind gaudy makeup with a beaming grin. "Don't mind if I do!" His bright, guffawing laughter rang out in time with a loud pop as he promptly refilled a tray of glasses for guests.
Madge had no idea what the fuck she was doing here. Or why she cared. Only reaching further into the crowd with a voice inside her head insisting she persist. She waded into the crowd of frilly frocks and multi-coloured hairdos. A white dove amongst a sea of Flamingos and preening Peacocks. Despite losing the omnipresent grip of her memories, Madge froze in place when she caught sight of a Capitolite woman with immaculately permed orange hair. Monarch butterflies studded her curls. Sky high leather heels. Glass of Posca in hand. The lady tilted her head. All at once the flicker roared to life in her brain as she recognised her from another lifetime.
"Undersee?" the woman trilled, "You're Mayor Undersee's girl, aren't you? District 12?"
"W-we've met?"
"Effie Trinket," Effie shook her hand, warm through her white lace gloves, "my, my - you've certainly grown up. I hardly expected to see you here-"
Madge tilted her head, "Y-you know me?"
"I knew your father, god bless his soul," Effie fanned her face, gold hoop bangles clinking against her wrist, "though he's always mentioned what a darling you were."
She gawked open-mouthed at Effie's words. A tremor coursed through her body. You knew my father.
"Oh dear," Effie held onto Madge's trembling arm, "you look like you need a drink."
"I do, yes," Madge gasped in stuttery breaths. She stumbled in her flat-heeled shoes over to the bar, half-held up by Effie. Elegant and poised in heels. A glass of Posca already sat on the counter. Downed in one gulp and quickly refilled. Effie soothed her back.
"It's alright," Effie draped an arm over her shoulder, "he lives on - in you. Through you. That's what I always tell people who've lost their loved ones."
"What was he like?" Madge asked through her crumbling composure.
Effie appeared puzzled for a moment, "Why, he was lovely. He never had much taste for the Hunger Games. I don't think any of them do. But that didn't stop him from being the most polite and charming fellow. I'd hate to say it was because of his heritage or any of that - but perhaps it is!"
"He was a good man?"
Effie stood up straight. Even in sky high heels she had to look up to meet Madge's eyes.
"Yes, yes he was," Effie answered, "and he's fathered a beautiful, brilliant daughter who's written a brutally honest book that's shaken the Capitol to its core."
Madge choked back a laugh, "Hah! I didn't expect you'd read it."
"Not quite all the way through, it's sitting on my nightstand at the moment. Bookmark somewhere after Julia came back from the games," Effie stuck out a finger, "ah-ah-ah, no spoilers! Please-"
"Of course I wouldn't spoil it," Madge sipped her Posca, "thanks for much for purchasing my book-"
Effie sucked in a breath, "I didn't actually buy it - not that I wouldn't have wanted to. But a very special someone sent me an autographed copy-"
"Someone," Madge smiled, "you mean Katniss Everdeen."
Effie's voice spilled over in excitement, "And she wrote on the front page - the same words we said when we left her back in District 12. When we had no idea if we'd ever see her again, let alone perform in front of thousands."
Madge's lips moved to reply, but found the words stolen by a hush that came upon the sea of socialites. The stature of Katniss's presence like a Roman Goddess in the doorway. Pleated midnight blue dress. Dark skin gleamed in the muted lights. Her heart began to race just looking upon her.
"Pray tell," Madge whispered, eyes drawn to Katniss and oblivious to Effie's sneering, "what words would they be?"
"We told her," Effie leaned close and whispered, "Don't be a stranger."
Stranger. The word boomed in her ears. Supposedly the opposite of Friend yet reeking of the same hopelessness. The same thing Katniss was to her when she'd walked into her store. A stranger. Unknown apart from billboards and rumours of her legend. Yet, words deserted Madge when she thought about what Katniss was. A friend? The same silk-shrouded thorn Cassia used to push her away? The same polite handshakes that Katniss appeared to give a dozen guests as they queued for pictures with the Mockingjay, fake plastered smiles they could boast to their other rich friends? She searched for another word beyond friend. Conveniently sidestepping the obvious until the words from her book filtered back.
"I love you. I loved you and I love you still. Even if you'd fall to pieces I'd pick you up and love each piece the same. Even after you'd forgotten me I'd love the stare in your cold, dead eyes. The world could stop spinning and the sun stop shining but the last thing that'd burn out in this godforsaken universe would be my love for you."
Lovers.
The word swam around her head ad infinitum. Laps and laps around the shallow pool of her memories until Katniss stood an arm's length from her.
"You came," Katniss said. Eyes glowed with wonder. She detected a glimmer behind them as they roved the lines of her figure. All of a sudden she felt warm.
"You look gorgeous," Madge answered. Resistance was futile. Her eyes dipped to the cinched waistline of Katniss's dress. Pleats fell to her knees.
A knot appeared to tangle Katniss's throat as she swayed to the music. Hands held behind her back. She looked away, before settling her gaze squarely on Madge. Unwavering and intense as she looked on those posters.
"I-I wore it for you," Katniss hesitated. She towered over Madge in heels. Bent a little just so their eyes could meet. "It wasn't hard getting a tailor to make a dress that matched what Julia wore during her interviews."
"Seems like a faithful reproduction, exactly what I had in mind," Madge answered, brushing a quivering hand over the pleats that hugged her hips. Her voice fell to a whisper, "You didn't have to-"
"And yet I did. This is my way of showing how much your book meant to me," Katniss stepped closer, "how much you mean to me."
"You don't have to pretend to be someone you're not. For my sake, at least."
The statement appeared to pierce Katniss. A grimace on her face. Already she tasted the regret that seeped to the front of her mouth.
"I can assure you, Madge Undersee. There has only been one Katniss who hasn't changed in four years," Katniss slipped a hand to the dip of Madge's hips, "and that's the girl who's completely taken by you."
Madge's breath hitched. The entire ballroom appeared to shrink into the space between two souls. Suspended across a deep gulf of grief and loss and yet still finding a way to each other.
"Incorrigible flirt," Madge sought and failed to steady the heave of her chest, "I don't remember you ever being like this."
"Maybe you just…forgot," Katniss tugged at her wrist, "have you forgotten how to dance?"
"The only way I'll know if I've remembered something," Madge had already started following her to the dance floor, "is by doing it."
"Try me," Katniss breathed, spinning her around so that they stood flushed. Hips met. She could feel each thudding beat of Katniss's pulse above the hum of music and conversation. A giddy tilt crept into Madge's head and she wondered if she'd already had too much to drink. Or if she was really drunk on Katniss's presence.
"I could, but there appears to be a multitude of gossipmongers amongst us," Madge said, following the sway of Katniss's hips to the music, "aren't you afraid of having your image scandalised?"
"What image I had burnt out when the war ended. Now - the only image I have is the one left for you," Katniss answered, "besides, what's the big deal? I'm dancing with an author friend of mine."
"A friend," Madge buried herself into Katniss's neck, "Is that what you see me as?"
In the space of a few seconds, Madge melted in Katniss's touch. The air between them glowed hot with tension. Heart lurching into a sprint when she heard a sharp inhale as Katniss drank deep of her hair's scent.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I don't think a single word can encompass what you mean to me."
Time slowed. She imagined a shudder against her forehead. That grasp around her waist tightened. Still she wanted to live in this moment. Still she wanted this to last forever. In the embrace of a friend. Or whatever this was meant to be. Madge pulled away, just so she could see the sincerity brimming in her eyes.
"You'll let me put whatever word I want, on what we have together," Madge brushed fingertips on Katniss's cheeks, "or nothing at all. No words. Just - this."
Katniss looked down to see Madge's palm against the dip of her cleavage. Pulse thudding rapidly against her fingertips. A memory flared within Madge. One that she saw reflected in the steady, steely greys that looked back at her.
"This - feeling."
Madge sighed, "I'm not the same girl you knew, Katniss. Whatever memories-"
"I'm not asking you to be," Katniss snaked her fingers around Madge's wrist, relishing in her heartbeat, "Nor am I asking for the old memories back. Because something tells me that the new ones we create would be far sweeter than anything we shared."
"You've already made some pretty good memories with me," Madge whispered back, "right from the moment you walked into my house."
A thread of longing appeared to snap in Katniss's gaze. Urgency sent them toppling closer, until their foreheads and noses brushed. She could barely hear her next words over the stampeding in her ears.
"How would you like to make a memory with me, tonight?"
Madge's lips tugged into a smile, "Is this you asking me back to your place? Real smooth, Mrs Mockingjay."
"It doesn't have to be my place," Katniss stepped away, "it could be yours."