"Caesar Flickerman." The man himself comes in, flanked by two of One's uniformed soldiers. He looks terrified, should look terrified. There's absolutely no way in hell he's getting out of this, and the girl on the right shoves him forward with a rifle butt to the back. It's hardly the normal entrance for the former host of the Games, shackled and in an orange jumpsuit, the trademark theme ringing throughout the hall if only to provide a spiting reminder of his former job. The people, the jury watching from the sidelines are hardly necessary. The end is a foregone conclusion. But the trial must go on.
"Caesar Flickerman." That's Catherine Archer, Eleven's reward for being one of the first Districts to fully liberate themselves. Presiding judge, her aides by her sides. One One, one Twelve. A political appointee and a young man who couldn't be given any other job but needed to be kept out the way. "As President Alma Coin's judicial appointee, with the power vested in me by the thirteen Districts, as written out in the New Constitution of a Free Panem, and with the support of Capitol Occupation Commander Juliet Paylor of District Eight, you are hereby laid before my court to be tried for your crimes against the children of Panem."
There's some boredom visible in every eye. After all, the show, the ceremony is entirely unnecessary. It's not like this is ever going to get shorter, not like anybody doesn't know what happens. Still, the image of civilization is important. The same image the Capitol so loved to use to secure the twelve Districts deemed viable to reclaim and maintain, leaving the thirteenth licking their wounds. Now the other way, a weapon of power.
"Caesar Flickerman." Archer is opening the case simply. "You stand accused of crimes included, but not limited to, aiding and abetting in the murders of nine hundred and eighty four children via using their deaths for propaganda, aiding and abetting the abuse of Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta and Johanna Mason via propagandization of their abuse, war crimes including encouraging the Free Districts to lay down arms and personal support for the war. Furthermore, you are accused of the abuse of nineteen One girls, the personal ownership of Avoxes and subsequent abuse of them, and involvement in the excitement over the Hunger Games."
"The lawyer for the prosecution is Opal Plummer." Opal looks over, dark-eyed and dangerous, at Caesar, and he can't help but conceal a shudder. "Her supporting counsel is Victors Citrine Furrier, Terce Wright and Sable Baring. This supporting counsel has been approved by the ruling government of Panem and has been deemed appropriate, given the situation. Lawyer for the opposition is Androcles Sickle, as licensed by the Panemois government."
Sickle looks broken. He knows what's happening, knows that there's no way he's getting any reward for this past his life. A limp nod is offered to Caesar, one Caesar doesn't reciprocate, and then Archer is shuffling her papers and looking back at the courtroom relatively empty below her high seat.
"The Avoxes first." The hammer is brought down, and soon enough testimonies are coming. Livia, one of the girls Caesar had hired, stumbles forward. One of the Ones, beret at a nice angle and with a smile on their face, presses a gentle hand on her shoulder, whispers some cool words and in an instant she looks that much more confident. Almost a benefit, Caesar doesn't want at the least that much of an issue. He wants the truth, knows on this situation at least he's in the right. Is able to offer a smile to her, one she shakes her head at.
"Miss Silverbrook, you swore on the constitution to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Is that correct?" A nod from Silverbrook. A surname, one Caesar had never bothered to learn. So they have relegitimized the Avoxes. That, at least, is an interesting situation. Not that he can remark on it, even crack a joke because he knows what'll happen if that's done. Archer looks down her glasses, at the young woman shivering beneath her gaze. "Miss Silverbrook. You were a servant in the Flickerman household, is that correct?" A nod from Silverbrook.
"You were involved in his most intimate affairs, yes?" Another nod. "Would you describe him as an individual who committed acts most vile upon you?"
It takes a moment, two even, before the answer is given. A shake of the head, and Caesar can exhale because she isn't lying. He will admit, there were standards he broke, but this isn't one of them. "Would you describe his conduct towards you as anything less than exemplary?" This gets a nod of her head, and soon enough the writing comes flowing forth from a keyboard to be portrayed on the screen. A detailed account.
Most of it, Caesar would admit, was even true. He had maintained Avoxes on hand 24/7 via a variety of technologies, for service more than anything. He had maintained corporal punishment. But he was trying to help, trying to keep them motivated so they didn't have to get reassigned. Plus, he even gave them the occasional reward. That was enough, wasn't it? Thanks for service, better meals than whatever tasteless mess passed for food in the pens, even the occasional day off they could lay down and relax on. That was what he offered, the boons for a life of good service to the Flickerman family, it was more than he should.
And this was how they repaid him? Not lies, that accusation would be a bridge too far, but with half-truths and stories that did not give him a good accounting. Were he allowed to testify, of course there was no chance that he would be, but he'd have been able to counter the tales with openness. Been able to present to them a challenge, been able to offer his truth. And that could have been enough to spare him, he thought at least, whatever horrors awaited within the walls of the courtroom, or wherever they intended to carry out the sentence.
The hammer raps down to signify the end of Silverbrook's testimony, and in her place comes Avox after Avox. The blonde boy, addressed now as Patrick Meadowbrook, some scion of a family that could stretch a lineage all the way back past the Capitol to when it had a different name, though what that name was is lost to all but the most devoted historians. An older woman, Coral Seaworth, a Four by her name and yet no less an Avox. Caesar almost questioned what she'd done to earn Avoxing rather than execution. An uncommon fate, for one not of the Capitol.
Finally, when near on thirty had come forward, come and given a testimony where he wasn't allowed to challenge, finally the sentence was passed. The hammer rapped down, and Archer looks through silverly-tinted glasses at him. "Caesar Flickerman. For the crime of personal ownership of Avoxes unmitigated by humane treatment, the court finds you guilty and records that for future use in your full prosecution."
Sickle raises his hand, nods at Plummer. "The lawyers wish to take a moment to discuss a plea deal. Please, continue the trial, we're sure our absence will not prevent the justice from being served." The tone is weary, a wave of Archer's hand and the lawyers exit.
It takes a second before the next charge is called. "Encouraging the Free Districts to lay down arms and surrender, along with moralization of the Peacekeeping Forces."
The charge is true, and should be ended in seconds. Instead, it's left to the usual parade of witnesses. Starting with a Five identifiable solely by the armband with number on it, the man content to stand on the stage and speak in a tone hoarse and ragged from the war. "Yeah, we all saw this man. We weren't exactly able to do much, Furrier's forces had the banners and the horse and we had a bunch of caves in the desert. When they came marching through, they stripped Vipeche and the like of most of her manpower. Still, we had enough techies left behind that one of them was able to get an old television set running. The commander, he didn't want it, but we kept it."
Archer waves her hand, the man can get the hint and return to the story. Same kind of thing, Caesar thinks, he would have done to remind a Tribute they were running out of time. "Sorry. Anyways, we were only able to watch the same Capitol shit, day in and day out. Captain, soon enough, he wanted it on for intelligence. Check how the peacocks were doing, because One wasn't telling us shit and neither were our own. And it was the same noise, day in and day out. This man, telling us to surrender and lay down arms. Not us specifically, but the Rebellion in general. And he just kept doing it, even when it shoulda been stopped."
The man spits, and the entirety of the court blanches for just a second, before Caesar can feel himself locked in a vice-like gaze. "You're a coward, you hear me? Backing Snow's war effort, the stuff he did to kids? I had it my way, you'd be sitting in one of those fancy blenders you have up here, just waiting for the chance to be turned into. A milkshake, or whatever the hell you do with those most of the time. Best be grateful Coin's treating you all nice and pretty, lot of people wouldn't do the same for you."
That's over with, and then it's the turn of Commander Paylor, of District Eight, to give her own testimony. Why they've pulled such a senior officer off the war front to testify against him Caesar doesn't know, but the reason is quick enough to be explained.
"I was in Eight when they bombed our hospital. Revenge for our hosting the Mockingjay, they said. He said." A hand is raised, flat, in Caesar's direction and he can do little but look down. "This man personally encouraged our men to surrender. Told us that he would do good, and all this time willingly spoke in support of all those war crimes deployed by the Capitol in a bid to keep control. Even propagandized themselves for his own benefit, claimed they were a just punishment given to the Capitol but that they were willing to be merciful if we would only put down our weapons. We all saw how merciful you could be, Flickerman. Taffeta saw."
Taffeta. That, even he spoke out against. Not just because she was a friend, though she was. She was the first Victor he'd ever interviewed, after Dad. Well.
She was a friend, he thought. The kind of person he could talk to all the time, the person he'd always go out for dinner with in the Capitol because they were close enough in age it could be a professional friendship, and because she was his first Victor. But given she was a rebel, it had been impossible to convince the President that what he did wasn't necessary.
So Caesar had had to watch as a bullet passed through the back of Taff's head, and the only thing he could do was commentate on how this wouldn't have had to have happened if Eight had just entered back into the arms of the Capitol as was necessary. It wasn't wrong, if Eight had come back maybe some of them, not all but most would have been allowed to live out those days under the Capitol's umbrella. Instead, they'd chosen war, and that was wrong.
The next days it was more. Chrysaor and Jasper both, because they weren't deemed loyal enough. Seeing Chrys especially, the old woman shot in front of a crowd of Twos who'd stared up with blank hate, had made him suggest again to the President that maybe conciliation, trying to extend the hand of friendship could have helped more.
Jerked from his thoughts by the rap of Archer's hammer, it's all he can do not to challenge the accusations that are levelled at him by rebels. That he's a traitor to Panem, that he's a criminal, that he encouraged them to surrender and not drive for freedom. It might be true. But they don't understand what it was like, he had a Son on the front lines. A good Capitol boy, serving in the Peacekeeping Forces Reserves while attending university so that he was able to understand how the other half lived. Not too hard, it was the reserves, until the drums of war dragged everyone into battle and in an instant activated reserves were marched out.
He didn't even know where Publius was now. The boy was encamped with Vance's army when they were dashed against the cliffs they'd put to their back by One. Since then, there'd been no words, not even when he'd called his contacts (Victors on the front lines), pleaded for information. Each request greeted by a 'we'll check after the war' he couldn't quite believe, and waiting in hopes that the nightly list of fallen heroes wouldn't be updates to see Publius Flickerman on there.
Now, probably, he'd never get the chance. Never get a way to confirm whether or not there was any trace of the Flickerman bloodline left. Two daughters, a younger sister and a niece, but they'd been taken prisoner, on holiday in Nine when the rebels rose and the One-drawn staff at the resort had claimed to be unable to protect them.
Probably a lie, possibly the truth. Either way, he'd lost his family. Which meant when they were invited up to speak in his defence, or would have been in a proper, Capitol court? They weren't able to. The only thing that got through to him was one sentence, just one. "The court finds you guilty and records that for future use in your full prosecution."
The trial presses on, before he can protest the lack of character witnesses.
"Abuse of 19 girls from District One, as filed by House Caron and House Cayress on behalf of District One." He sputters at the unfairness of it all, even as Archer looks up at him over her glasses with not the clinical eye of a prosecutor but eyes of shock.
"Do you deny the charges?"
He nods, not shocked this time but fervent. "Yes, yes, of course I do. It was all above board, I paid and if not it was fully consensual action."
She nods, looking convinced, and for a second there's an opening there. A second to press advantage, to prove that stars above he wasn't as bad as they were expecting, was a good man. A just man. A righteous man.
"Yes. It was all consensual and above board, and given it was not a crime at the time and half the Capitol has done the same I'd doubt you wish to prosecute all of us. So, for the moment, I'd advise you drop the charges."
It's Archer's turn to smile, but this one is filled with no warmth. Instead there's a disappointment behind it, even as he can hear a slap from the sides and turn to see the Ones standing with angry eyes. It's Sable who speaks first, young woman offering a warning tone. "Ruby was my friend. She was hired because she was good at her job, and you thought it was ok to take advantage of that. I think if you want to claim inno-"
"Enough." The hammer raps down, and in an instant there's a book, small and leather, sitting on Archer's desk. "This book has your accusations recorded within it. Would you like me to start?"
A nod, Caesar can wave his hand and encourage her to go on. "Yes?"
"Sylva Estmark. Nineteen years old as of the Sixty-Third Games or more precisely the September of that year 63 PTD, which was also the year you lost your wife. You have my sympathies for that, Mr. Flickerman. Regardless, you solicited Miss Estmark's affections for the purposes of."
She checks her notes, and Caesar may not know what she's going to say next, despite faint recollections, but already the growing dread is a companion. Archer purses her lips, unsure quite of the best way to put it, before finally sighing. "Interactions of a less than platonic nature, informed by the use of several books. She did keep records. For which you paid her the grand sum of fifty talents, most of which went to her place of work. Flickerman, you are aware of the fact One's daughters and sons did not attend to the people of the Capitol of their own will, yes?" A shake of his head, because he didn't, and Baring can launch into another spiel.
"Typically, we were sent to the Academy. For myself, Citrine, Cashmere and Gloss of the last fifteen years, it was at the behest of parents who wanted to secure a better life for their children. For Laurel, it was because she was a third daughter and didn't stand to inherit. That was what made up the bulk of our recruits, the desperately poor seeking a better life and the filthy rich looking for a way to pawn off their kids. Sent there at nine and ten, because any older and we'd be less easily marketable. And there we got taught how to handle you. Niceties at first, progressing as we got busier. That's where Sylva came from, she was in Citrine's year I'd expect. And that's what you enjoyed. Next?"
The names pour on. Ruby Caraway, Lieselotte Spicer, Corrie Tarbeck. Names he faintly recognizes, and by the end she's listed nineteen names. A mix of paid companions, maids. The lot. He feels a flash of regret, humiliation that this is all broadcast on live television. Like everything Caesar had ever done. Broadcast on live television. Just like everything he ever did.
The verdict isn't even a moment's hesitation in coming. "Caesar Flickerman, you're found guilty on this charge. The court finds you guilty and records that for future use in your full prosecution."
The clock ticks on. Recess seems to go too quickly and too slowly, and he hates it. The sandwich he gets isn't cucumber or something else nice, isn't the kind of product a Master of Ceremonies should be given. The sandwich is cheese, and tastes a little off, even as the prosecution shares fried chicken and it's all he can do not to stare longingly.
The sandwich is choked down, tasting like ash in his mouth as Archer is handed her own lunch by Furrier, and the trial reconvenes once hands are washed and a new set of papers is set forth on the prosecution's table and the Judge's booth.
"You are accused of aiding and abetting the abuse of Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta and Johanna Mason via propagandization of their abuse. How do you plead?" He looks over at the lawyer's table, finds Sickle still missing. "Guilty." He nods, there's no way of getting out of it. There's no hope and no chance of survival. So, under the circumstances, best to seem cooperative on at least some issues. Archer, this time, doesn't waste a beat. Heads onto the next issue, shifting her papers.
"Caesar Flickerman, you are accused of aiding and abetting in the murders of nine hundred and eighty four children via using their deaths for propaganda. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty," As has been the norm, again the first witness comes forward as a rebel darling. Was it too much to ask that one of the charges, just one, got dropped?
A wet eyed Citrine Furrier steps forward, and shit. This is much worse.
"My name is Citrine Furrier. I'm the Victor of the 61st Hunger Games, a commander within the combined forces of the trans-Rocky Districts, and appointed representative of District One."
A nod from Archer, a hint of exasperation. "We know who you are. Now, Victor Furrier. Please explain your issue with this man to the court."
Furrier's grin is near-wolfish as she turns to Caesar. "OF course. I was involved in the 61st Hunger Games, so I'd suppose I'd have to start at the beginning. Interviews. First off, my outfit was absolutely appalling, and I am aware Flickerman was often heavily involved in assuring everyone the outfits were up to Capitol expectations. It exposed… more than I would have liked it to, presented as it was expected to the product to an audience. I won't fault my Mentors for it, the Stylists have been handled already." Caesar blanches at that, because the tone suggests something a whole lot more concerning than he was hoping for.
"This man then pressed me for questions. Not just on my training score, in itself a criminal offence. But on several things. On who I was attracted to, on whether I thought I'd be an acceptable Victor to the Capitol. All the kinds of things a seventeen year old girl should not be asked. Even tried to flirt, and I had to go along with it because without it, I, I-"
An artful tear. "I could have died. I was involved then in the Games, for which this man was commentating. Describing my every move, moves that I had to make to survive. I was a horrific individual, but that's largely by the by. After the Games, this man had the audacity to question me, in the final showing, on every aspect. On my interactions with Tribute Selyse Farman, of which I've already testified before a court. Of whether I still cared for Farman. Of whether I was proud to have broken tribute after tribute, do what I did to children for the amusement of the Capitol? I was convinced to answer yes, despite my opinions being firmly against such."
"This man spent three hours presenting to me the atrocities I committed and painting them as good fun, as entertainment, as if it were a Saturday game of golf or the enjoyment of a nice glass of wine." The eyes, all of them in the room, are burning into him with some hatred like he's never seen before. It's a new experience, to be hated by an entire court room, at the least.
Citrine finishes her testimony, and the parade continues. Terce Wright, Sable Baring, Beetee Latier, Millie Stahl. Children he'd tried to help out of the Games because that was what he did, and this was the repayment offered. Hatred, disappointment and the testimony liable to send him straight to the gallows. The stories aren't just their own experience, but that of their mentees. For that, at least, he can't fault them. They were there, it's just as much their stories as the stories of those who'd never come back.
He's found guilty. Of course he is. It was a sham trial, he's known this from the moment his lawyer was excused and he wasn't allowed a word in edgeways. It isn't fair, wasn't fair, and now Plummer and Sickle are coming back in, the both of them looking pleased with themselves if one more than the other.
"Judge." That's Sickle, straightening up as he speaks. "On behalf of the prosecution and defence, we wish to offer a plea deal for the defendant." Furrier, the rest straighten up at this, and Caesar lets himself feel a brief flicker of hope. Deep within his soul, the kind of flickering warmth that promises to help and is needed sorely.
"Of course, if the prosecution is amenable." Nods from that side, the deal is read. Before that, though, Archer does offer a warning. "Should the defendant choose to deny the deal, the penalty is death." Nods.
"Under the terms of the deal, Caesar Flickerman would be allowed to retain his life and estate until his death when it will be forfeit to the state." Shakings of the head from the bench of prosecution witnesses comes too late for the smile of glee. "He would be required to forfeit his tongue, in order to atone for the crimes committed during the conflict and to AVoxes, and would be required to remain under house arrest for the natural duration of his life."
Nods.
No.
No. He can't. His tongue, his dignity, that's what he'd be giving up. Giving up to a kangaroo court, without a hint of legitimacy. Rushed through the courts for this.
No.
"I do not accept." His words come before the prosecution can even form a statement. Sickle lashes round, shock in his eyes. There's no time to say anything.
It's already a whirl of movement, he's regretting his decision, trying to apologize that it was a statement in the heat of the moment. Nobody's listening. He struggles in the cuffs as the man and woman march over to him.
"No, no, no." Flickerman's being dragged out now, the same soldiers who had escorted him into the room now dragging him to his death. One of them holds a handgun, and there's the kind of dull satisfaction on the retreating Victors' faces. "I did nothing wrong, I was forced into it, I. I." The handgun is lifted, he's forced to his knees in a blank side-room.
Terce, if nobody else, has followed, is standing to witness the execution. Looks down at him kneeling, and laughs. "Well, Flickerman. Guess this is it for you. Would you speak final words?"
There's nothing to do but look up at her, wet-eyed and horrified, and speak. "Please, I. I didn't mean any of it. Your girl. I never meant to laugh, I was told to, Snow would have killed me if I hadn't."
Terce kneels down. "Demure. Her name was Demure." A soldier steps forward, gun in hand.
The crack of the pistol is deafening even through the speakers. In an instant, smiles erupt around the courtroom. From the Avoxes, grouped by the edge of the wall in their rows of seating, all of whom knew the man. All of whom worked for the man, and worked for was likely a tad too nice a term. From the Victors, nestled where they would be besides the witness bench, all of whom had dealt with the man in their time, both in the Games and out of it.