It should be no surprise to me that the Tribute Tower connects to the casino via an underground tunnel, yet, as we walk through, it makes me wonder just how many underground tunnels cascade through the ground of the Capitol.
As we make our way through the seemingly never-ending tunnel, Chaff begins to go through the gaggle of us victors tapping us all on the shoulder in his count before forgetting what number he's at and restarting. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...seven...no that's not right...you're eight," he says as he taps on Cecilia's shoulder.
She lets out a short laugh. "Yes, in all senses of the word."
Chaff speed walks a bit to the front of the pack and turns to us, walking backwards through the tunnel. "Okay, perfect. So, we've got Eighteen with us, so that will give us two full tables of eight, and two people on standby to swap out so we don't have to worry about any Capitolians dropping into our games."
"Huzzah!" everyone from young to old but me cheers at the same. I'm slightly taken aback at how loud Mags is.
I can't help but feel like I've missed out on some sort of inside joke, so I turn to Finnick for an explanation. He simply gives me a look as if to say, you'll catch on eventually.
We enter the casino and Chaff, the apparent representative for the casino group, goes up to the front desk. From outside, we hear a mix of groans and cheers as those waiting to get in notice that we've slipped past them in the line. "Hello my good sir," he says to the attendant, "Which wing have our other Victor friends gone to?"
The attendant doesn't even have to check the system to find out where the Careers went. "The West wing, sir."
"Great, we'll take two of the large tables in the East wing."
The attendant looks slightly taken aback for a moment before punching in a few buttons on the tablet before him and motioning to one of the Avoxes. "Right this way please."
Chaff holds up his hand, "We'll find our own way there thanks," and walks away from the desk before the attendant has the chance to even put up an ounce of protest. I can't say I really blame him for his aversion to Avoxes. It feels so wrong to have so many of them hanging around in the Tribute Tower, especially in the apartments. But then again, I'm sure that's why Snow and the Gamemakers put them there in the first place. An ever-looming reminder to stay in line.
It doesn't seem to matter much though because Chaff knows his way through the casino well enough and we soon arrive at the East wing. It's a rather expansive space with plenty of tables throughout, all spaced out well enough that you wouldn't be able to hear another table's conversation from yours. The ground is an extremely shiny-looking marquina marble—a material that I recognize from the quarries back home. The ceiling is painted with a blue so dark, it nearly looks black, and there are small twinkling lights riddled throughout to make it look like we're sitting under a sky of stars.
We spread out amongst the tables and I end up at the second table seated between Finnick and Haymitch, with Cecelia, Mags, Woof, Porter, and Sylva.
Haymitch asks the dealer to run some open hands for us as he starts to teach me the ropes of how to play poker. I'd heard the past students of the Academy talk about playing in their Peacekeeper barracks, but I've never really learned much about the game as a whole.
I'm not the only one being helped though because eventually Cecilia realizes that Woof's memory isn't severing him very well and she begins to help him with his cards too.
Finnick puts up a fuss about things being 'unfair' that there are suddenly now two sets of two working together and soon, it turns into an informal match of pairs. Haymitch and I versus Mags and Finnick, Cecelia and Woof, and Porter and Sylva. The dealer looks increasingly fed up with us, but I swear, it only spurs Haymitch and the others on further.
"Woah-ho-ho, and it looks like Miss Crazy and I take it again," he reaches forward to add more chips to our collective pile, "thank you very much."
"I swear I caught her looking at my cards," accuses Finnick with a laugh.
"Even if I did, which I didn't, there wasn't much to look at anyway."
Mags smiles and wags her finger at Finnick. "Careful, just admit she's better than you at this game."
"It's because she has the best teacher," boasts Haymitch. He turns to me, "hey partner, I don't know about you, but I'm just about ready to hit the bar, want to tag out for a minute and swap with those two?"
I nod and make my way to the bar with Haymitch, the two other victors that were sitting out taking over our seats. Haymitch orders us two glasses of a drink I can't pronounce, but I'm sure it's something strong.
My instincts are correct and the drink has quite the bite to it, I have to scrunch my face and cough a few times to clear the burning sensation out of my throat. "Shit, that stuff's awful. What is it again?"
"It's an old one. They call it a Veiux Carre."
I bring it to my lips to take a much smaller sip. "Sounds pretentious."
"It is. But it tastes good."
"That's questionable."
Haymitch shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle. He pauses for a moment to take a large sip of his drink. "You're not what I thought you'd be like."
I frown, staring deep into the amber glass swirling it around to give my hands something to do. It's not hard to guess where this is coming from. "I know. He doesn't speak very highly of me."
Haymitch purses his lips. "No. No he doesn't." He pauses. "But he's wrong." He leans over the bar and runs a stressed hand through his hair. "Makes me wonder what other lies he fed me over the years."
A small smile creeps across my face, happy that one of my father's friends, or perhaps ex-friend at this point, doesn't think I'm the big bad wolf. "Well, if you figure it out, let me know. I have a few questions I want answered."
A hesitates for a moment before speaking up again. "How'd he convince them to leave him at home this year?"
"He's too messy for 2. They don't want to deal with him." And truth be told, I don't really want to deal with my father either.
Something about my answer rattles Haymitch. He straightens up and turns towards me. "Your dad has the luxury of something I will never have. The ability to be forgotten. In 2, they can hide him away in shame, keep the drunk from tarnishing their prissy little reputation. But in the real world, back in 12, they can't afford that. There's no one for me to hide and cower behind."
"And what are you saying?"
"I'm saying, make sure you're forgettable. Once another girl from 2 wins, you're free and off the hook. Being from 2 got you into this mess in the first place. But now you can use it to get yourself out."
"I—" To be honest I thought he was about to yell at me for something, but he's completely right. The Capitol likes shiny new things. And if I can dull myself, there'll be a girl from 2, or 1, who comes along and replaces me. "—that's actually good advice Haymitch."
"Of course, it is," he chuckles. He points to himself, "Master," and then points to me, "student."
"The only thing I'm learning from you is how to be an alcoholic," I say, staring down at the drink in my hand.
"You people from 2 love schools," he leans in close so only I can hear, "and academies. Well, welcome to 'How to Survive as a Victor 101'."
"Cheers to that."
After a little more talking with Haymitch who tries to explain to me some of the other games in the casino and how they work, Cecelia decides to tag out and Haymitch replaces him. The other poker table had dissolved, most of the victors instead choosing to lounge around the bar and make idle chat with one another.
I learn from Cecelia more about District 8 than I ever had in school. The way she talks about it, the way of life over there is very, very different than it is in 2. The giant factories where they're all made to sit and sew garments, process fabrics—even the children—and they get paid by the number of pieces they turn out in a day. Even their teachers will sometimes take up shifts at the factory after the school day is done, because one job doesn't pay enough to keep you afloat.
It's very different than it is in 2 to say the least. There are only 7 active quarries in district 2—despite masonry technically being our job—and only 2 of them are on the outskirts of the main town. The rest are in the smaller villages. The big town where I live is where the workers who process the stone are. They take the raw stone and turn them into bricks and tiles and columns, and sometimes even prepare slabs to be sent to Capitolian artists to be carved into statues. Even though it has some rough areas, where I live you won't have a problem getting a hold of food with the wages the average person makes, the quality of the food however, is what varies wildly.
What I have to leave out in our conversation of course, is the other industry going on within 2. The other reason our citizens are richer than most other districts. The Peacekeeper money pays better than any regular job you'll find in the district. They don't get paid as much as the Capitolian Peacekeepers, but it's still a significant wage to send home to your family every month. There are many tests you have to pass of course, and nearly all of the Academy students who don't get selected for the Games go on to become Peacekeepers. The smaller villages on the outskirts have their own, much smaller, and much less official academies that the children go to after school from ages 4-11, and then once they're old enough, usually in the summer, they're shipped out to the main town to try-out for the Academy. Those who don't make it, or those who drop out of our Academy usually enroll in the Peacekeeper school.
We continue to talk about home and Cecelia tells me she's going to be getting married soon. And what amazes me even more is that she's marrying a normal person from back home. Not a victor, not a person who's ever trained for the Games, just a normal man from 8 who goes to the factories in the morning and comes home at night. I didn't really think that people who have been to the Hunger Games could ever have a happy relationship, but it seems Cecelia presents an interesting enigma to my previous assumptions.
I decide to go and return some of the chips I took out as I don't think that I'll be needing them all anymore, I feel more than content sitting out and chatting everyone up. But as the man behind the counter double and triple checks my count, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a man plop down a bucket filled with chips near a plant in the corner of the room. I don't immediately recognize the colour for any chips that our group have taken out until I turn to the information board and see that each one of those tiny tokens is more money than my salary as a victor—and I thought I was stinking rich. I mean, I am compared to the rest of 2. But here? When it comes to funds I am just a small fish in a very, very big pond.
A creeping feeling sends a small shiver up my spine at the thought. I now know why the victors like to stick together and avoid the Capitolians, other than the obvious of course. But then, and even more curiously, the man leaves the bucket and walks off. He leaves what is probably tens of millions of dollars on the floor as if it's nothing. I can't seem to take my eyes off the sight. It's so strange. Surely even in the Capitol people can't afford to leave sums like that? "Do people usually leave that much money lying around?" I ask him.
The man tending to the chip dispensary looks up from his counting. "Padron me Miss, what?"
"Do people usually leave giant buckets of chips unattended? Do you not have thieves here in the Capitol?"
He follows my gaze to where I was looking before and spots the bucket. "No, we do. Just a different kind."
He fiddles with his watch before scratching his hair behind his ear. "East wing grand room, southwest corner by the palm tree. I've got a visual. Stand by."
His speech strikes me as odd for a split second before I realize he's speaking to someone through his watch just like a peacekeeper would. I feel a bit of panic rise, not wanting to be involved with anything to do with the peacekeepers and thinking that I should have just kept my big mouth firmly shut. Am I in trouble?
I go to turn around and look at where the bucket again, but the man taps the counter in front of me to get my attention. "Ah," he scolds, "keep your eyes back here. Pretend we're having a conversation."
Even though I'm nervous, I don't think there will ever be a time I'm too nervous to make a dry comment. "We are having a conversation."
He definitely senses my sarcasm but chooses to ignore it anyway and gives me a smirk. "That's the spirit." He fiddles with his watch once again. "Target's made contact," he says in a low voice. "Move in."
All of a sudden from behind me, I hear a commotion as a woman with bright red hair ambushed by three peacekeepers under the same tree the man left his money at. One of the Peacekeepers pries the bucket full of chips from her hands before they drag her off. I stand there in shock, realizing that I'm responsible for this woman being arrested. Would they cut out her tongue and turn her into one of the many Avoxes that haunts the halls of the Tribute Tower? And for what? For stealing? I could care less about Capitolians stealing from each other. But whatever it is, I don't want to be wrapped up in it.
"Well," says the man behind the counter. "Thank you. You just made my job a whole lot easier."
I desperately want to ask him what those two people had done, and the look must be evident on my face because he speaks up. "Look, I get it your nosy. Nosy is good sometimes. It means you're observant. Observant is good. Useful even. But knowing when to pretend you didn't see anything, that's even more useful."
"Is that a threat?"
"No. Advice. From one nosy person to another. And to answer the question I know you so desperately want answered: money laundering." I think the blankness of my mind transfers to my face and tells him that I have no idea what that word means. "People walk in here with dirty money, exchange it for chips, hand it off to someone else, and boom, the other person walks out of here with a wad of now clean cash. Makes it very hard to trace."
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Theseus. I already know who you are. It's kind of hard not to when your face is everywhere. And your name's here on my computer because of your account, so I guess I'm sort of cheating.
"Theseus..." I say waiting for him to supply me with a last name.
He shakes his head. "You wouldn't like me if I told you."
I raise my eyebrows, unsure of what to make of that. "If only that narrowed it down for me."
He must see someone approaching the counter from over my shoulder because he moves away pretending to count some chips a few meters down. I know he's heard what I've said though, because there's a remnant of a small smirk left on his face as he does it.
"Did you see that?" asks Finnick, he approaches, drink in hand as he stares back at the doors where the woman was escorted out from.
I try and shake my previous conversation off my face. "Oh, yeah. Crazy, right?"
"Serves her right," says Finnick as he downs the rest of his drink.
I quirk an eyebrow not sure what he means by that. She may be a Capitolian, but surely being on the side of the Peacekeepers in that interaction is no better.
"She was supposed to be my date tonight."
Any guilt or panic I once had about accidentally outing the exchange is gone in an instant. If she's someone who has bought Finnick, I think I'd actually gloat if I saw her around the Tribute Tower brandishing those red robes. It's what she deserves. And I'd more than gladly do it again. "Does that mean you're now free for the rest of the night?"
Finnick holds up a key card and waggles them in front of my face. "And the suite was already pre-paid. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste, no?"
__________
That's all for this chapter folks! Next chapter is the revised (and I'm proud to say) extended "cut" of the casino hotel chapter. Lot's of action to unfold then, and one that's extra close to my heart due to some of the added content, so look forward to that next week!
Someone should give me a cookie for uploading this well before midnight on the upload day. Onto the thing that's on the top of my New Year's resolution. Here is the Chapterly Memes: