At four o'clock on Monday afternoon, worry was poisoning Lilith's mind. They had been here for the better part of two hours, and their discussion had made as much headway as a rock in a race. While her colleagues debated over how much—not whether—security was in fact appropriate for the Preview, Lilith couldn't help thinking of Snow. If not for the man next door, they wouldn't be here in the first place.
Last Friday, when she had finished her pitch—if you could even call it that, given what a failure it had been—he had been the one to thank her, the one who gave her the green light to resume her seat, about which she had been hesitating until that very moment. As she perched nervously in the chair beside him, and Mr. Pryde challenged if they were truly to implement Lilith's proposal, it had been Snow who'd parried his doubt.
"The end goal is desirable," he'd said, with a serene expression. "Perhaps the approach isn't flawless, but it's not a matter of being perfect—it's a matter of being bold. It's a matter of daring to change, daring to try. You've all agreed that our engagement progress is plateauing. It's imperative we do not enter a state of diminishing return. Given our steadiness, I believe we can afford to be a little more experimental this year."
Everyone had been listening hard. Lilith recalled having to pry her own eyes away before she could observe a persuaded quality coming over the heads of department's faces. Even Mr. Pryde's manner was considerably less uncooperative than he had been just five minutes before—not that it made him look any more friendly. He seemed to have a visage built like that of Olympia's.
"I understand it's tight," continued Snow, "but we've accomplished tighter, and I can't see that it requires a great deal. If you could each spare an associate who's not involved in the gala to work with Lilith on this, that would be sufficient."
"You don't need seniors?" asked Mr. Pryde.
"I'd prefer for them to focus on the other projects," replied Snow. "We've quite a number that'll need their full attention, as it is. Besides, I'll be overseeing this one..."
By no credit she could claim, thus, Lilith had been assigned her teammates, whom she watched with a rising panic in her chest. It was becoming so intense it felt irrational, but there was a definite fear of disappointing Snow.
Lilith knew that she was strong academically. She did well on tests; she'd won olympiads. Because she was well-organized, she flourished in research, too. Before all this, she'd counted herself as a problem-solver, but now she realized how mistaken she had been.
When she had been on the University's track and field executive committee, she was the secretary. Her systematic nature thrived in this job, where she was expected to maintain membership records, disseminate training and event details in a thorough and timely fashion, and perform other detail-oriented duties.
In school, she was a highly sought-after partner for group assignments, but she had never once been voted as group leader—not that she had ever yearned to be. If she ever landed the role, it was by lottery or a teacher's specification. Lilith had especial trouble with it at the beginning, for it felt exceedingly counter-intuitive, and therefore uncomfortable, for her to delegate tasks to students older than herself. It had taken her a long time to be able to ignore her age gap with her peers. And to ignore was not to forget.
Still, being a leader was not her forte. Quite likely, it was one of her weaknesses. Courses like AML ought to hone her skills, but they only seemed to underscore how perfect she was for the sidelines: whenever she was behind the scenes, with a bird's eye view of the situation and access all the intelligence, was when she was at her best. To say nothing of her non-existent experience in dealing with actual conflicts and tempers—as in, not conciliating two bickering best friends who were never really mad at one another. Perhaps that was precisely why she had yet to find a way to mend her relationship with Athena.
That was the other thing eating away at her.
Knowing she would be pretty scarce in the lab this week, Lilith had gone there first thing in the morning. Although she'd promised Snow that Professor Kay would understand her absence, and was confident of it furthermore, she wished to explain herself in person. Her thesis advisor, however, had unexpectedly been summoned to the dean's office and was still nowhere to be seen when Lilith had been due for class. She tried again after her Espionage lecture with success, catching the avian authority at her desk, where her usual boxed lunch awaited. Mondays were marinated chunks of raw salmon on a quinoa bed, topped with an onsen egg.
Professor Kay had been very nice about it. "Say hi to Coriolanus for me." Then she pushed her iconic pink spectacles up into her grey-lined hair and drew her poké towards her.
Along her way to rejoin Olympia and Archie for a quick lunch herself, Lilith decided to pop into the bathroom. It was much less crowded on the research floors, away from the main student populace. Indeed, it was empty.
Somebody had come in while she was still in the cubicle. As Lilith patted her hands dry, the flush sounded. A glimpse of blonde in the mirror made Lilith glance up: the door had swung back to reveal none other than Athena. Spotting Lilith, she stopped short, and for a moment, the two girls merely gazed at one another. It felt to Lilith like ages since they'd been so close. How could it have only been a week since their friendship had soured?
Athena was first to unfreeze herself. Looking straight ahead, she strode up to the basin and proceeded to wash her hands as if nothing had happened.
It was not a decision that Lilith waited. It was like breathing—just something you did. Tossing her used paper towels into the trash, she picked up a couple of fresh ones and moved tentatively towards Athena. When she was done rinsing her palms, Lilith offered up the napkins but Athena reached instead to the pile on her other side. Lilith thought this must be what it felt like to have her heart broken.
"Thena..." Her voice was small and cracked. Athena still disregarded her. "Thena, would you please talk to me?"
"I've nothing to say," said Athena, in the coldest, most lifeless tone Lilith had ever heard from her lips.
"Then just listen to me," begged Lilith.
"I'm not interested." Athena discarded her paper towels in quite the same fashion and made to leave. Desperate, Lilith darted into her path and grabbed her arms.
"I didn't ask for this, Thena. You know I didn't. You know I don't want it."
"Do I?" Athena jerked herself out of Lilith's grip and glared at her. "Because it seems to me you're doing everything to the contrary."
"You know that's just who I am," mumbled Lilith.
"Exactly," spat Athena. Lilith saw her own reflection go pale.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked weakly.
"You act so innocent, like everything's not your fault—like nothing can be. You're always the victim, aren't you? Poor Lilith, so smart she can't go to school with people her own age. Poor Lilith, the future boss to a multibillion-dollar empire who can't become a designer. Poor Lilith, stuck with an apprenticeship the whole world wants except her. Boo-hoo!" jeered Athena. "And what about me? Here I am, without the apprenticeship I do want, without the apprenticeship I've worked so hard for, and I'm the villain?"
"No," murmured Lilith, so quietly she wasn't sure Athena heard. Certainly, she behaved like she hadn't.
"You knew what it meant to me," growled Athena. "You knew what he meant to me. And you took them all the same. Some best friend you are."
"He wouldn't give it to anyone else!" cried Lilith, and had to pause to address her wetted cheeks. "I've tried to tell you. I've called and left messages. I've been to your house but you were never home. If it had been mine to give, it would have been yours in a heartbeat. Believe me, Thena, I've tried. I've done my best—"
"Then your best isn't enough!" Athena screamed. She was breathing hard and shaking, seeming to be struggling to hold back her own tears. It was clear she was in agony. Rage, too, had contorted her face, but before the echoes of her voice had ceased, it morphed into aloofness. "Well, at least you won't have any regrets."
With one last withering look, Athena stalked off. Lilith was powerless to thwart her this time. She only rushed back into the stall, locked herself in, and surrendered herself fully over to the sobs. All she could hear, though, was Athena's tone that implied she had regrets.
For lunch, Lilith had more servings of grief than was good for her. She mourned the death of her friendship with Athena. She wept for the girl in the electric blue polka-dotted headband: for her loss of the award she so undoubtedly deserved; for the usurpation of her bright and bubbly disposition by her current state of pain and bitterness. She wept for herself: for being the cause of that pain and bitterness; for her uselessness; for being such a poor friend, stopping only when Athena's words hit her again.
Poor Lilith...
She promptly gagged and threw up a mouth of bile. The sharp, acrid taste sickened and awakened her all at once. Athena's rant had its validity. Lilith was at fault, even if she couldn't pinpoint where definitively. Lilith was not a victim; positively not more than Athena herself. Lilith had no right to act as if her problems were larger than life—as if she were the only one with problems.
Refusing to be defined as such—refusing to be defined as a brat—Lilith had strained to pull herself together. She skipped lunch in its customary form of sustenance, spending the time instead to recover her appearance before dragging herself off to the Citadel. Thus, looking as if she had a mild case of seasonal allergies, she arrived for her first working session with the Preview team.
They had been allowed to use the same conference room as the round-up, which was adjacent to Snow's office. Presently, Lilith found herself zoned out of the conversation and having difficulty relocating her concentration. As if by providence, there was a comment that snapped her to attention.
"I beg your pardon," interjected Lilith, her head whipping over towards one Marcella Lloyd. "Did you just say cuffs?"
"So what if I did?" demanded the young lady from logistics.
"Do you mean to cuff the victors?"
Marcella gave Lilith a look as if she was being dull on purpose. "Should I have the Peacekeepers cuffed instead?"
Before Lilith could respond, the door opened and Snow entered. This interruption silenced them; all of their gazes trained on the Head Gamemaker in anticipation as he shut the door behind him and drew himself a chair—the one next to Lilith, but instead of sitting with them at the table, he'd lugged it all the way back to the wall.
"Oh, don't mind me," said Snow as he settled himself, crossing one leg over the other. "I'm just here to observe. As you were."
Suddenly, three pairs of eyes were directed at her. Lilith, having momentarily forgotten where they had halted, realized with a jolt that it was her turn.
"We can't cuff the victors," she said, in what was hopefully a firm tone. "They're not criminals."
"That's a matter of technicality," inserted Theseus Bithersee loftily. Lilith knew at once what technicality the public relations assistant was alluding to—Snow had highlighted the very one.
"Which, so, stands." Lilith studied their unchanged faces. "Look, the whole point of the Preview is that they're our guests-of-honour. If we do this, it'll be defeating the purpose. One simply doesn't treat their guests like miscreants."
"Even if they are?" countered Marcella.
"I get your concern," said Lilith earnestly, "but I think cuffs is going to the extreme. As it is, we'll have an entire squadron of Peacekeepers on guard. I think we're good—"
Theseus rounded on her.
"What good's that if the victors all decide to riot at once?"
"They're not going to riot," reassured Lilith, but her voice was weary, and all at once she became aware how awfully tired she was.
"And you know this how?" he asked with a patronizing air.
"I know that if you treat someone well, they'll treat you well in return," she answered.
Marcella scoffed. "That's a likely story. Maybe here, where we learn manners, but you can't seriously trust those district scum—"
"Please don't call them that."
So uncharacteristically impatient and sharp Lilith's voice had been that it was unrecognizable. But she was exhausted. There was nothing she would like nothing better than to be having a long, warm soak in her tub, with the prospect of her soft, fluffy bed ever so nearby. The last thing she needed was to fend off all these idle bickering and unnecessary labels. Her throbbing head hurt still worse as she attempted an authoritative gaze at her colleagues.
"I have no jurisdiction over any of your opinions or actions. You are your own person. But, forthwith, when it comes to the Preview, these people we're talking about shall at no time be branded with the terms just employed, or any others bearing similar connotations. Collectively, they may be referred to as 'victors,' or—where it applies—'mentors.' Individually, their names—not their districts—ought to be used. We don't go by 'Capitol.' We therefore should not be imposing such epithets on them, not least because they're our guests."
Lilith's declaration was all but acknowledged: the sulky eyes of her speechless audience flitted between her and something behind her—someone behind her.
AN: Do you guys prefer to read in first or third person?