The song for this chapter is "Sign of the Times," by Harry Styles.
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Even though the long and winding hallways of the Presidential Palace are filled with beautiful paintings, sculptures, stained glass windows, and elegant wood paneling, I still somehow find the concrete underground of the Tribute Tower to be much more welcoming.
We pass the occasional pair of Peacekeepers on patrol in the halls who pay us no mind, Plutarch is very clearly a constant feature here in the mansion, but other than that, we don't see a single soul. We must have entered one of the other wings of the giant mansion because after what feels like hours of walking, we start to hear the faint sounds of chatter getting closer and closer. But what puzzles me more is the fact that I hear the sound of children's laughter as well.
A door bursts open, startling me, only for a little girl and boy chasing a tiny fluffy puppy to cut across the hallway followed by a woman I can only assume is a nanny murmuring apologies as she follows after them. Plutarch assures me we're almost there, wherever there is, and we finally come round to a room with a giant table in the middle of it. Several Capitolians, some I recognize as Ministers or people high up in the Gamemaker's office, and some much younger people I don't recognize, are all drinking and laughing. Including the one and only Coriolanus Snow himself.
I suddenly feel jaw-droppingly stupid. The Capitol's elite aren't truly at the party, not most of them anyway, they are instead here, tucked away in their own untouchable and unreachable world. Snow's own inner circle. I suddenly wish I was like Beetee, the winner from over a decade ago now, who was able to fashion a bomb out of the tribute podiums. I could put an end to so much misery, or at the very least give the people in the districts a chance to feel what revenge truly tastes like. Or even better, maybe I could finally feel something as satisfying as vengeance.
The party comes to a screeching halt as they realize that Plutarch and I are standing in the doorway. I feel them all eating me up with their eyes, and I feel grateful to Gloriana for putting me in the puffy dress—it acts as a buffer making it harder for them to devour me completely, more so than any form-fitting or exposing outfit would have anyway.
"It seems my guest is here," says Snow, handing his glass off to someone beside him. "If you'll all excuse me."
Snow motions for me and Plutarch to follow him into an offshoot room that must be his office or at least one of them. He pulls out his red velvet chair and once he's seated, he motions for me to sit across from him. As I lower myself warily into the seat, Plutarch sits down beside me.
A tense moment goes by and I try to quell my nerves. But it's hard to do when the most powerful man alive sits across from you and you don't know what he wants. "Do you know why you're here Miss Jones?"
I can feel Plutarch beside me, looking at me expectantly to answer. I swallow hard and shelf nervously under the weight of his gaze. "Well sir," I try to decide between being blunt or being feigning ignorance. I choose to play down the middle, a half lie. "I assume it has something to do with my fight with Brutus."
Snow looks disappointed with my answer. "Wrong. I could care less about a little interpersonal squabble between victors."
"I'm afraid I have some sad news to deliver to you. I've been told your grandmother is in critical condition." It's her. Of course it had to be her. The only thing left I love, is probably gasping for air, or calling out wondering where I am because she doesn't have the mind to remember I'm in the Capitol. "The usual protocol with Victors is to transfer them to one of the hospitals here in the Capitol due to the superior facilities. But unfortunately, the doctor in 2 has informed me that she's not stable enough to be transferred." She's going to die scared and alone. I let my eyes wander over to Plutarch, and he gives me the tiniest squint of the eyes, telling me that Snow is telling me the truth.
My mind goes into a frenzied panic. If there's nothing that can be done, why is he telling me this? Does he want something from me? Or is watching my reaction Snow's own form of vengeance for whatever he thinks I've done to him or his precious Capitol, perceived or otherwise? A weak, "Sir?" is all I can manage to squeak out.
He folds his hands and leans closer to me across the desk. "There are still ceremonies and traditions to be had, and as you know, only victors deemed not medically able are allowed to miss out on the festivities. There is, however, one way to contact the districts from here, and it is through this phone."
He points to the phone on his desk which I stare at intently. "I think blood is important. So, I wrote down the number you'll need to call to reach the telephone at her house in the Victor's Village." I nearly leap across the table to reach for the phone and snatch it out of his hand, president be damned.
To my surprise, he hands it to me and slips a piece of paper across the table with the number. I punch it in and the phone rings and clicks, probably transferring through border lines that never get used. I give one last look to Plutarch who nods reassuringly at me as I wait for it to connect.
I see Snow staring at me, no, observing me. I know this will cost me later, but I need to hear her voice at least one last time. I need to make sure that her last moments are panic. I owe her that at least after everything she's done for me.
The ringing stops and I hear a male voice pick up the phone, one of her doctors and he explains to me her condition. She's been delirious, asking for me, but they've been able to give her some medication to keep her calm, but still awake. The stress over the years combined with the dementia have apparently been too much for her heart to take and her heart has been holding fluid—the medication to clear the fluid isn't enough. All they can do now is make her comfortable until she passes, she'll be gone by morning.
Finally, he passes the phone to my grandmother and I hear her voice. "Hello, who is this? Do you know where I am? I'm in the Tribute Tower and they won't let me go home."
My eyes well up with tears, but I do my best to push it down. I don't want to give Snow the satisfaction of letting me cry. "Hey, hey Grandma it's me. It's Octavia. You're at home, okay? Look at your photos. I'm not there right now, but you're at home, you're safe. I'm safe."
"Why aren't you home Octavia?" she cries. "Come home from the Academy please, I'll sign you out, I'll call them so you can come home. I need to see you. And pick up some medicine on the way. Some of that salve from Georgina, my chest, oh, it feels so heavy like it's going to explode."
"There's a doctor there with you, okay Gran, listen to him, he's going to take care of you okay?"
"No, no," she pulls the phone closer to her. "I don't trust him, I don't trust them. You need to come home. Why aren't you home?"
My voice breaks, "I'm—um I'm a bit far away, I don't know what time I'll get there—"
Her panic continues to rise and I immediately regret not lying to her and telling her I was on the way. "No, oh no. Are you in the Games? I should've stopped you, you can't go, you can't go." I try to speak over her assuring her I'm not in the Games and I'm fine, but she's already too far down the spiral to listen to me. "Lydia went, oh, my dear, poor Lydia. She didn't deserve it! She didn't deserve what they did to her. My fault, my fault, my—"
Her agitation is replaced by a flat buzzing tone and for a split second, I think that it's on her end, that she dropped the phone and it disconnected from the wall. But no. Between the spots and the colours swimming in my vision I see a fat finger holding down a button on the receiver. Plutarch has hung up.
I'm sure if I could see myself in a mirror, I'd be as white as the peaks of the mountains in 2 because I feel all the colour drain from my face in horror. This is the catch. This is the part where I pay. The phone call wasn't the incentive, it was the bait.
The horror contorts into a seething, insatiable anger that brings me through the panic and into an unstable and dangerous sense of clarity. I'm back into survival mode. Career mode. No more playing coy. I need to get home. "What do you want?"
Snow chuckles. "Very direct, which I appreciate in times like these. A train will be departing the Capitol in 30 minutes. Going to District 2 if you'd believe the coincidence. Whether or not you're on that train, is up to you my dear. We can get you on that train, tell the rest of the party you've unfortunately fallen ill and have had to leave. And, in return, you'll owe me a favour."
I steady myself in my seat. I know what his favours entail, not that I'd ever give up the fact that Finnick told me all about the wondrous world of favours to Snow, but I'm prepared to do what I have to do to get home. I'll agree to anything. We both already know I don't have a leg to stand on in negotiations when every second that ticks by could be the difference between seeing her one last time or not. I'm not letting them take this goodbye away from me. Not when it's one of the last things I have. "Okay."
"No negotiation?"
"I don't care what it is," I say frankly. "I'm going to be on that train when it leaves. I think we both know that I'll do anything." You made sure of that.
Snow purses his lips and nods. "To be frank, I've had more than a few requests for you to spend the night with some of the high-paying clientele here in the Capitol. But, seeing as your grandmother is on her way out, there'll be no one left to help you with the issue of.... accountability that so many victors seem to struggle with. I believe you're familiar with Haymitch Abernathy from 12?" I nod. "But when I was thinking about it earlier, I realized I already have enough availability for suitors to choose from. Why not try something new?"
President Snow seems delighted with whatever 'new' thing he's drummed up, but I'm not sure I'll share the same enthusiasm. "A pilot program. "Plutarch has told me that you're observant and quick to learn. And even more interestingly, how the woman who was supposed to see Finnick Odair last night somehow was caught in the middle of a money laundering scheme? A great coincidence, no?"
It was a coincidence. Stupid luck. But my mind dawns in realization and I suddenly start to feel like I have a hand in this game, not a good one, but enough to want to keep close to my chest. He doesn't know that it really was a coincidence.
"People, like her, seem to think they can outsmart the Capitol, outsmart me, by skirting around the rules. But we have rules for a reason. Rules are what hold us together. Rules institute order. And dirty money as we like to call it, is a threat to order. Money being funnelled into bribes and backroom deals and anarchic causes. Money that disappears from my sight is dangerous. I don't like when people try to hide things from me, do you understand Miss Jones?"
"And I want you, someone from the districts, someone they'd never expect, to ensure they face the necessary consequences. Plutarch will oversee the operation along with his task force already in operation in the casino. And you happen to know quite a few Peacekeepers, do you not? Used to train with them."
"I did, sir. Those who don't get selected for the Games join the Peacekeepers, so we all receive the training."
"Good, so you're at least up to standard on basic protocols. During various points in the year, you will be called to the Capitol to work on these sting operations. Plutarch will be responsible for ensuring that those visits will coincide with other work of yours—the usual campaigns, television appearances—so no one questions your presence."
It's apparently now Plutarch's part of the pitch, because he sits forward in his chair, speaking up for the first time. "And you might be asking yourself, 'what's to stop me from going back on this deal as soon as I get what I want?' A very dangerous question to ask, and not to mention incredibly foolish too, because what we are offering is more than generous."
Snow nods, and squints in approval and continues, "Just because something hasn't happened in the past, Miss Jones, doesn't mean there aren't new examples ready to be made, so other victors don't make the same mistakes. Haymitch can't be the example forever." He pauses, ensuring I get the message through his veiled words. "But luckily that won't be an issue here, because if there is something I know about Career tributes, is that, when they're backed into a corner, I can always count on one thing. The strongest fibre of their being, woven into them from childhood: their self-preservation instinct."
Even though there's nothing in particular that's funny, I have to fight off the urge to laugh. Because he's right. I'm a victor. I killed eight people, eight children—one of them I even grew up with—just to be able to sit here in front of him. I could kid myself and say that I wouldn't play along, pretend that I've come so far since my days in the Academy that I could never support the Capitol in any way, that I'd rather die than help Snow. But helping Peacekeepers arrest people in the Capitol is far from something I'd rather die than do. Compared to what some of the other victors go through, I'm being let off easy.
I take a look at the clock, antsy to get going so I can make the train. Snow is forgetting, there's also another thing that they dig into us back in the academies: the ability to work a Capitol crowd. "You won't have any problems with me, sir. I appreciate what you're doing for me."
Snow lets out a sickeningly genuine belly laugh that even Plutarch seems to be stunned by. "Well, Plutarch, it seems you've found a reasonable one for once. I have a feeling you and I are going to be good friends, Octavia."
The words sour my stomach, but I have to plaster a smile on my face. I think back to what Fallon told me on the train, 'smiles big and bright, chin up, and sparkle your eyes'. This is how to survive in the Capitol.
And with that Plutarch begins to get out of his seat, re-fastening the button on his suit. I move to follow him, but Snow stops both of us in our tracks. "A final word of warning. I'd suggest steering clear of Mr. Odair, Miss Jones. There are certain things in the Capitol that even my hands are tied on, and his...admirers are one of them. I'd hate to see you turn into collateral damage."
I honestly have no idea what to make of what he's said. Is it a threat? A warning for sure, but what kind? For me? For Finnick?
I simply nod, not sure of what else I can say. Plutarch pats me on the shoulder and I try not to jump out of my seat and run down the hallway. Instead, he calmly escorts me out of the room through a different door than we came in through. At least we don't have to pass the flock of Capitol vultures this time.
As soon as we're a decent distance away from Snow's office, the urge to yell and scream at Plutarch becomes louder and louder. We exit the building through a secret exit into an underground garage, where we hop into a large vehicle. I sit in the back silently teeming with Plutarch and two Peacekeepers load into the front.
The car exits to the block behind the mansion, therefore getting us around the paparazzi traffic that has been camped at the main gates all night long. As soon as we're about another block away, they turn on their sirens to rush us to the other side of the city to make the train on time.
Although, if I had to guess, that train won't be leaving without me on it—Snow or even probably Plutarch, could easily delay a departure by a few minutes. But I won't complain about the show of rushing they're putting on, because the sooner I get home, the better.
Plutarch presses a button that brings a tinted partition between drivers and us. He then pulls a tablet out of his jacket, shows it to me, and then snaps his fingers. Sure enough, the snap is echoed through tablet. They're listening. But he taps a button, snaps once again, and nothing. No echo. He's turned it off. "Get it all out," he says flatly.
"Excuse me?"
"Get it all out," he repeats. "I can see you're about to explode. Better here than on the train where the Peacekeepers can hear you, or at home in front of a Capitol doctor."
So, I do. I let it all out. "You're his right-hand man then? I thought things were fine! We spoke this morning and you accused me of being a, what was it? 'Prissy conformist'? And then you waltz me right into that meeting and completely clobber me with it. All that talk about thieves and—and speaking your mind. Does that all mean nothing to you?"
"That's where your mistake is. It means everything to me, Miss Jones. And I am willing to do whatever it takes. And in this case, that means playing the long game. If I stepped in every time victor was forced to do something they don't like, or a district has a rebel or two, then we'd all be dead in the water. Like you aptly put it in your interview, if you don't win, it doesn't matter how close you were, you're dead. So my question to you Octavia is, do you want to win? Or do you want to keep taking petty shots at Snow, or me, or even the other Careers that no one will even remember in a year?"
I am flabbergasted, completely taken aback by the man who likes to flip-flop and lollygag along the lines of what would be considered treason—punishable by death words. "Who even are you? —Wait no," I correct myself, "I don't actually care enough about you to know the answer to that. What the hell do you want with me?"
"I want to help you, Octavia. I want to help all the victors. But it's not a simple, easy fix. It's going to require you to put your head down, and do what Snow tells you. Actually no, scratch that, only what I tell you. You're going to need to do more than just play the part. You're going to have to sell it. You're going to have to make people believe in it."
I scoff. "Oh, so just trust the man who changes faces as often as he changed outfits? Sounds like a great idea."
"Listen, I am trying to help Finnick too, and some of the other victors, but I can't do that unless you trust me. Or hell, don't trust me, but just listen to me. We have the chance to do some good here with the stings. Just wait and see."
"Fine," I say shortly. I'm not entirely sure if I believe him at all, or if I'm just saying that to get him to shut up, but either way, it's done.
"Good," he says equally as short.
After a moment of silence he straightens his clothing out, transforming back into the cool, calm and collected Plutarch he was just minutes ago. He taps around on his tablet, turning the listening device back on and putting things back to normal as we approach the train station.
Several Peacekeepers wait for us in neat lines under the bright and harsh lights of the train platform. The station's enormity now feels daunting because it looks uncannily empty compared to before, to the point that I hardly recognize it without the mobs of people.
One of the Peacekeepers opens the door for Plutarch and I to climb out. The hot air from the night combines with the heat coming off the train making the air feel sticky and I let out a few coughs as my lungs adjust.
"Remember what I said," Plutarch whispers in my ear as I walk past. "And for what it's worth, I am sorry about your grandmother."
I nod, not really sure what to say to him—not without yelling or crying or some strangles mix of both at least. The Peacekeepers fall in place behind me and load onto the train behind me.
The inside of the train is much different than the one that transports the victors and tributes to and from the Capitol. Instead, I quickly realize that this is meant to transport people on much larger scale. Based on the rows and rows of seats and buckles, it's very clearly meant to transport Peacekeepers. The train is far from full with only about 20 people on board according to my count, but it's only three cars long, a far cry from the stretching expanse of the District 2 train. Much smaller, which should also mean much faster, I think to myself.
The train conductor seems to share my need to rush because as soon as the last foot hits the deck we're already rolling. They escort me into what seems to be some sort of senior Peacekeeper's room; a tiny private compartment with a window near the front of the train.
And as the train pulls away from the station, I see Plutarch disappear into the distance. I decide to distract myself by setting up camp at one of the windows. Soon enough the Capitol starts to shrink as well and even I can't deny that it's a pretty sight. I've never seen it at night all light up in celebration from here before.
Fireworks go off from the city centre, slightly obscured by the large buildings, but probably coming from the very backyard I was in no more than twenty minutes ago. How quickly things have changed. I look down at myself only to realize that I'm still wearing my puffy gold dress and how much I must stick out like a sore thumb on a train full of soldiers. I nearly wander out and ask someone for a change of clothes, but I'm not sure showing up in a Peacekeeper's outfit would do much to help Gran's poor heart right now.
I sit cradled by the window, rocking myself back and forth to try and work some of the panic out of my system. My grandmother could be taking her last breaths right now, surrounded by Capitol doctors and nurses.
I am going to lose her tonight. Or this morning, or whatever time it is now. All the mistakes I made in the past, not listening to her about the volunteering, not spending more time with her. Regret and shame wash over me like a giant wave on the seashores of 4.
We whizz through the mountains, rocketing towards district 2 in record time giving me hope that maybe, just maybe we'll make it in time and I'll be able to say everything one last time. District 2 starts to come into view, and I ready myself to jump off the train as soon as it pulls into the station.
As I step out and onto the platform, what has to be more than 100 Peacekeepers waiting to load onto the train. It's usually something that I would be curious enough about to poke around about, but no, as soon as I hit the pavement, I hike up my skirt, toss my shoes into my hand, and make a mad dash for home. It's only a few kilometers from here. Pebbles and sharp rocks tear into the soles of my feet, but I keep running. I'm not going to come this far only to miss her. Besides, the Academy had sent me in much, much longer barefoot runs in the past.
A few people still linger around the market and city square watching the tail end of the festivities going on in the Capitol through the projector. They probably wonder why one of their victors is running around in a gold dress like a crazy person, and isn't there at the Presidential Palace, but no one tries to stop and ask me.
The Peacekeeper who guards the main entrance to Victor's Village while we're away must see me coming—probably because the dress reflects the light so well—because he starts to open the gate for me to get through.
I yell a thank you as I carry on zipping past him. Luckily my grandmother's house is the second in her row, so within a few steps of passing the gate, I come crashing through the front door.
The doctor and several nurses whip their heads around to see an out-of-breath and probably deranged looking me standing in the doorway. "Did I make it?" I say breathlessly.
The doctor nods. Thank goodness. "We have her set up in the living room. She's had some meds so she's not in any pain."
My face drops. "Is...is she still awake?" I ask as I turn the corner to take a peek.
"At—"
My grandmother catches sight of me and immediately starts crying. "Lyida! Lydia! You're here. It's been so long."
I try not to frown at her calling me the wrong name—that same name that I don't recognize that she said on the phone—but push it aside. She's on pain medications and coupled with her memory loss, the look of recognition on her face is enough for me. Besides, this moment isn't about me. It's about her. It's about saying thank you and goodbye.
"Yes, it's me Gran, it's Octavia."
"Oh, my Octavia. I love you so much. I want to give you a big hug. Okay? Big hug."
I softly lower myself down to give her a gentle hug in the hospital gurney they've set up in the middle of our living room. I melt into her hug, careful not to squeeze her too hard, and close my eyes before the tears start to fall.
She weakly rubs my back. "You're going to be okay without me. Mags will look out for you, okay? I made her promise."
I exit the hug to get a better look at her face. I can't help but feel like a lost child. "But I need you."
"You don't need me, Octavia. You're a strong girl. But you shouldn't have to be. What they did to you at the Academy, it wasn't right. It was my fault."
"It's not your fault it's—"
She grabs my hand with surprising strength. "I made it. It's my mess. I guess things just finally caught up with me."
I shake my head. I can't let her go talking with her talking like this. "No. No, you're a good person Gran, nothing is catching up with you, don't be silly."
"They are." She looks around the room, eyes wide with horror. "I see them everywhere. The other tributes. They're waiting for me to join them. Finally, all of us from 13, together again."
A shiver runs up my spine and even though I know that there's no one around but the nurses and doctor, I take a quick survey of the room for the spirits of the other tributes from the 13th Games.
I lean back in towards her. "You're more than I ever deserved," I whisper truthfully. "You saved me."
"That's where you're wrong. It was you who saved me," she says, stroking my face lovingly. "And it was you who saved yourself. Follow your own path, Octavia. Make your own direction. Don't let anyone choose for you. I trust you."
"But people are pulling me in so many directions, I don't know where to go, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do without you."
She smiles softly. "You can do it. You can get out. Find...f—follow..." I cling to her voice. "Follow the...the mockingjay."
The light starts to fade from her eyes and the rise and fall of her chest slows into tiny breaths. She's going. I start to panic, "No, no, no! Please don't go," I sob into her side. "Please. I can't do this without you. You're all I have left." I sit there sobbing into her chest as the tiny breaths turn into nothingness. I refuse to move until long after the tears in my eyes run out and dry to my face.
One of the nurses places a hand on my shoulder that's supposed to be comforting, "She's gone." I gruffly shake her hand off my shoulder.
The doctor starts mumbling to someone else, a new person, the local mortician I think, and their blurred conversation goes back and forth for a while until the new man walks over to me.
He starts to walk me through how the funeral will work—how he's sent word to the Capitol to send a state funeral planner—and she'll contact me sometime in the morning. His words start to feel like a swarm attacking me, closing in on me, and trying to crush me to death.
I without a word take off out the door and run to the end of the street that leads to the forest. I start to punch the tree over and over and over again not caring when my knuckles start to crack and bleed, drops of blood tainting the beauty of the gold dress with deep crimson red.
It feels good to let it all out. Gran. Snow. Plutarch. The Capitol. Asking myself questions over and over, ones that I have no answer to, so I keep punching. Why her? Why now? Why me? And what the fuck is a mockingjay?
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And that's all she (I) wrote folks. This chapter came in just over 5k! This one was verrryyy dark and it's looking like we're entering a dark period/arc for Octavia, so you've been warned. But, better days are ahead.
I'll leave you with this thought for next week to make you feel better. Can you imagine how Haymitch, Finnick, and the others must've been feeling, knowing Octavia was whisked away by Plutarch, not knowing why, only for her to not return? I'm sure they were just fine....hehehehehehe.
I also would like to announce that through my planning, it's looking like I might have to write up until the end of the 71st Games so I can give some big upcoming events their proper space, give the slow burn more room to run, and to show what a "normal" year might look like for Octavia and Finnick.
I'd also like to clarify here that Gran Sadie is talking about the bird, not Katniss. But the bird is definitely a hint to something else. I think it's in the movies, but we spend a lot of time figuring out this mystery in the books. I've said too much already, but basically, if you know...you know. If you don't...well this is only meant to be foreshadowing so plenty of room to unravel the mystery!
As you can see, Octavia is really starting to clue into things more, starting to recognize the social machinations around her better. For those of you who read the OG, how are you liking this version so far?
And now onto the thing that could have revived Gran Saide (RIP), the Chapterly Memes: