The funeral ends up being a far grander affair than Gran ever would have liked. The Capitol makes the event so pompous, I think she would have chosen to go back into the arena rather than be in attendance. Fallon handed me the speech nearly the minute she got off the train with a sealed envelope from Plutarch to start to memorize, which I recite perfectly if I do say so myself.
It's a rather confusing affair because Capitolian funeral planners, florists, musicians, and some minorly important Capitol officials descend upon our city for a few days. I find it quite interesting because I've never really heard of Capitolians visiting the districts other than escorts and prep teams. Or aside from them visiting one of the villages on the outskirts of 2 where there's a small Capitol run resort for skiing. Whatever that is.
But after the Capitolians clear out, the filming crews pack up their stuff and leave, and the lingering fans from District 2 finish their vigils it's now my turn to go and say goodbye. Properly and like she would have wanted. Even though the cemetery for victors is in the middle of town, for the first time since before even the 69th Hunger Games I finally feel some peace. I finally feel alone. Just me and Gran. The way she would have wanted it.
I pull a crinkled piece of paper out of my coat pocket because it's been sitting there all day and start to read. I tell her how much I love her how much I'm going to miss her and after getting through some of the more sappy stuff I know she would have hated, I get to the jokes and the memories.
I tell her some of my favorite moments I've spent with her, like the time I hid in one of her kitchen cabinets and laughed as I watched her run around the house looking for me in a panic. Or the time when my parents wouldn't let me come home over one of the Academy's breaks, and they told Gran it was because I wanted to stay. She marched right into that building and yelled at one of the trainers until they got me to come speak to her so she could find out if it was true or not. I went home with her 15 minutes later.
Or how could I forget all the jokes we've made at my father's expense, especially all the bald ones. Or the time she called Finnick "Floppy Air" and now every time I see his name, I want to call him Floppy.
But of course, as my speech pulls to a close, the gentle late-night breeze and the whistling between the trees remind me that I'm now utterly alone. I can't think of a single name in District 2 that I want to hang out with or who doesn't hate me.
With my father nowhere to be found after the day of the funeral, disappearing into thin air like he does, I am the only one left to organize and clean out her house. I could let the Peacekeepers do it, but I think I'd rather jump off the roof than do that. I tried to request ownership of the home, to trade my empty one for Gran's much homelier and memory-filled house, but they refuse my request like they do with all things that would make someone in the districts even remotely happy.
Instead, they counter me with the 'request' of collecting two giant boxes worth of things to be sent to the Hunger Games Museum in the Capitol. I consider filling the boxes with her pots and pans and left over rolls of toilet paper until I realize they probably won't find the gesture as funny as I do. Their loss.
I try to sort through everything meticulously, keeping the items I know she wouldn't want in the hands of the Capitol and the especially sentimental ones for myself. That's another thing. The entirety of her estate—the parts she's allowed to give away at least—was passed on to me. My father gets nothing.
The house and any unused portions of her bank account are returned to the possession of the Capitol. Another way of keeping people in the districts from being able to get ahead. From what I understand, wealth and property is passed down Capitolian lines to the point where their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren never have to work a day in their lives. The socialites they called them. I guess they don't want pockets of socialites popping up in the districts.
I finish the downstairs, deciding to pack up most of her pots and pans, dishes and plates, and bring them over to my new place so at least I can cook in that empty creaky house. I debate whether or not to take her furniture but decide that replicating her house in mine will only make this sadness linger and decide only to take a few lamps and end tables.
I make my way upstairs where the packing is going to be a little bit more complicated. the upstairs has 4 bedrooms. One of them, the biggest one, is my Gran's, another is mine which happens to be my father's old room, and then two which she uses for storage. A problem for me because Gran is—or I suppose was—the type of woman who likes to keep everything she comes across.
It's occurred to me several times over the years that I don't know exactly what she's storing in there because she keeps the door locked but since the mention of going into one of those rooms and cleaning them up threw her into a tizzy, I let it go.
But now I have to clean it. I take the key and unlock the door to the room next to mine. Sure, enough inside are boxes filled with souvenirs she's acquired quite the collection of things from other districts and things from the Capitol. One box is half-filled with bottled of the Capitolian perfume she wears, a note on the top from the perfumer writes, "we've discontinued the scent but decided to make one last batch just for you". I decided to keep one bottle for myself and put the rest including the note in the donation box. There's also piles and probably pounds of seashells that I have no doubt Mags gave to her, so I put those in the keep pile.
As I clear the boxes and boxes out of the room, I'm finally able to see the hardwood floor and the frame of a single-sized bed. Knowing that this is furniture that came with the house, I leave it there. but just as a move to exit the room, I feel something shift beneath my foot. One of the floorboards is loose.
The coolest and probably most dangerous thing I find is a grey jumpsuit, battered and well worn, but on the inside collar reads District 13. From the dark days before the district was destroyed, no doubt. maybe she'd stolen it off an invading soldier from 13, or maybe she was even helping them. Or even worse, one of my ancestors fought for the Capitol and took it home as a souvenir. Though I can't really remember learning about any battles directly between District 2 and District 13 soldiers. But what do I know? Because I can't really say my school was known for its history lessons.
I debate bringing the jumpsuit over to my new house because it was clearly important enough to Gran to hide and not just dispose of, but I also don't really feel like getting killed over a piece of clothing. I walk downstairs and light the fire to throw it in, but a half hour goes by and I still haven't found the courage to toss it in. I instead decide to simply put it back where I found it under the floorboard and head off to sleep.
I begrudgingly wake up the next morning as a woman on a mission. I still have to do my room and the second storage room. They've asked me to preserve Gran's room so they can take her furniture and decorations to make an exact replica of the room for The Hunger Games Museum. However, after breakfast I do go in and steal her jewelry, her hairbrushes, favourite pieces of clothing and knick-knacks. Not without letting out a few tears in and having to stop a couple of times, but I finish just in time for lunch.
I don't really eat much except for a simple sandwich that I'd prepared the day before because I've already emptied out the kitchen. Probably not the smartest way to work, but I wanted to save the more sentimental rooms for last.
I move on to the final storage room, and my jaw drops when I see what's inside.
A room, perfectly preserved and untouched by the passage of time, the only indication being the layer of dust that had settled over everything. The room is entirely mint green, with a few blush pink coloured pillows to accent it. It's decorated extravagantly with bows and lush velvet covering several surfaces, including a large chair. The items clearly came from the Capitol, you can't get anything so detailed and extravagant looking here in the districts, but also clearly very old. A small pink teddy bear sits in the middle of the bed and next to it a makeup vanity built for a tiny human.
I make my way into the room cautiously as if I'm somehow disturbing something or someone. A gorgeous wooden box sits on top of the vanity and carved into it in intricate and elegant letters is the name Lydia. I quickly recognize the name as the one my Gran was calling me shortly before she died. I thought maybe it was someone she'd gone to school with or knew when she was younger. But my stomach doesn't want to catch up with my brain and take in all the painstakingly obvious clues around me. I don't want to believe it. I don't want to believe that something so horrible happened to Gran.
But I have to know. I need to know more. Because the person I want to run to and ask questions about it is no longer here to give me answers.
I open the box up to find that it plays a haunting melody, and a holographic photo of a girl—her bright green eyes contrasting with her jet-black hair—cuddled lovingly into a young Gran's side. It's unmistakable now. The way they hold on to one another makes it look like hugging is as easy and as natural to them as breathing. Exactly how I pictured a mother is supposed to love a daughter.
"Holy shit," I say out loud. It suddenly becomes very clear to me where I got my looks from. I look into the mirror of the vanity and see a face that could easily be mistaken as a slightly older version of Lydia.
A ghost. Is that what I am?
Is this face the reason why my father can't stand the sight of me? Do I remind him of his sister? Do I remind him she's never coming back?
A part of me feels a sudden burst of...anger? All this time they've been staring me in the face and they didn't bother to tell me where I got it from.
I quickly close the box and decide I'm going to deal with it later. I take a seat on the floor as if I'm one of the young children sitting on the mat awaiting a lesson on weapons safety but just for a minute to regain my composure.
But I don't. Instead, I curl my knees into my body and cry and sob and weep for this person I never knew. For Gran. And maybe, shamefully, even a bit for myself because I don't know how the hell things have ended up here.
Just a week ago I was in the Capitol, on my way to getting my life sorted out, to figuring out who I am, and the foundations of my life collapsed in mere minutes.
After crying for who knows how long, I see something on the floor near me. A little cardboard box under the bed.
I reach under to grab it and find my eye immediately drawn to a videotape. I recognize it as a video tape from the Academy, I'd be able to spot the school logo from a mile away. And on the label is the number 35. I can bet but if I went to the Academy and looked at their video collection of the Games, there'd be a gap between 34 and 36. Not that they ever really watch anything before 50 anyway. The Games have evolved so much in the last twenty or so years, that it's hardly recognizable from the early iterations.
Gran's daughter Lydia didn't just die young. No, it was much worse than that. Lydia died as a tribute in the Hunger Games, and Gran had to watch. Since it was so long ago, victors weren't being used as mentors, so Gran would've been made to watch helplessly. Maybe even from this very home.
Inside the box is also a jacket. Something that has now become a bit of a Hunger Games classic: a red oxide jacket made out of a rather noisy material with grey piping. They use an iteration of this nearly every time we get an arena of moderate temperature. These days something like this would be taken off the tribute and placed into a museum or put up for auction, but I guess back in these days they didn't realize how valuable it would become.
I know Gran didn't keep it because she thought she'd fetch a pretty penny for it one day, but rather she simply didn't have the heart to throw away one of the last things her daughter touched. And just like the tape, even though it could only bring her more pain, she kept it.
I have to fight off the urge to take the strip of the tape and cut it into tiny pieces, so no one can ever watch it again. But I don't want to get rid of something that Gran felt the need to keep.
It's become quite obvious that I am just as much of a hoarder as Gran. I feel the urge to keep every little item that even has the tiniest bit of memories attached to them. I'm already planning to take my bedroom as it is in Gran's house and simply replicate it in my new house, just in the bigger space of the main bedroom. Heck, after sitting in here for so long I want to take this room and set it up exactly as it is in my house to preserve it.
But something feels wrong about moving this room, frankly about even cleaning it out at all. It feels as if disturbing the room would be like desecrating a grave, offending the dead.
The day inches on and I find myself delicately peering into the drawers and closet of the room, trying to see what I can uncover to tell me more about my mysterious aunt.
Her clothes all folded still into neat little piles tell me that she too enjoyed pretty dresses. A very worn bathing suit tells me she probably spent a lot of time by the swimming quarries. She has a small medal For winning a running competition—something I'm certain I didn't inherit from her. Her school textbooks tell me the curriculum hasn't really changed much since her days. A collection of toys and old magazines from the Capitol tells me that she too had a fascination with the faraway city.
She has a box full of printed photos of her friends and family; a small little boy, pale as snow with freckles and a girl with flawless brown skin—even as they grow into teenagers— become a common feature in her photography. Her skills are utterly impressive, and it makes me think of how I can't remember the last time I saw a real camera outside of the Capitol.
Although the room is utterly depressing, I come to a new understanding of my Gran. More specifically why she started the Academy in the first place when she grew to hate it so much in her later years. The main academy, the one I attended, was founded in December of 35, which I now realize is significant because it's only a few months after the conclusion of the 35th annual Hunger Games. Sure, the tributes from 2 still fared better because of their peacekeeper training, but there were no academies dedicated to training specifically for the Games. And after Lydia's death, there suddenly were.
I go through every nook and cranny until I come back to the box. I open the wooden lid and the melody starts to play again, though this time it doesn't feel as haunting now that I know more about its owner. But there's only one item inside the box: a small circular locket on a thin silver chain.
It's quite beautiful though I'm not entirely sure that it was made in the Capitol, it could've been made by the expensive jeweler in town. Inside the locket is a beautiful bursting star on one panel and an inscription on the other that reads, "to guide your way when you are lost." A gift to her from Gran probably.
I stare down at the necklace and then to the mirror in front of me wanting to put the necklace on. But as soon as it touches my collarbone I jump about 10 feet high because I hear a sudden knock on my door.
I pause for a moment, trying to decide if there really is someone at my door or it's just a ghost that's come to punish me, but a second knock tells me it's the first one.
I quickly place the locket back into the jewelry box and close it before rushing out of the room and locking the door. The raps on my door grow more insistent as I rushed down the stairs and practically slide across the hardwood floors to reach for the door.
To my surprise, a single peacekeeper stands there with no helmet on and a bit of a nervous expression on his face. Maybe a recruit of some kind?
"Hello Miss Jones, I've come to deliver a very important message to you. You're wanted in the Capitol urgently. A train will be here in about 2 hours to take you."
"Alright." I hate to admit it, but I could use the break from cleaning out Gran's house right now, even though I feel a pang of guilt over actually wanting to go to the Capitol. "As long as you tell them I'll need a few extra days to finish cleaning out my grandmother's house."
"That won't be a problem," he informs me.
"I have a few things to finish up here, but I'll meet you by the train station in an hour and a half. Does that work for you?"
"Uh, actually," he sputters. "I was told to bring you straight to the Nut."
My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What do they want me to come there for?"
"I'm not allowed to disclose specifics, but I was told it's a very time-sensitive operation, ma'am. You'll be briefed in the Nut so you can hit the ground running once you arrive in the Capitol."
I've been in the Nut a few times before. They take us there on a couple of field trips as part of our peacekeeper training curriculum, since nearly everyone in the Academy who doesn't get selected ends up working there or at some other Peacekeeper station throughout Panem. We only got to see the basics really, nothing too high-tech or secret. And as much as one part of me hates it, another younger part of me feels a little giddy to get to see the place where the real labour of our district happens.
I shrug. "Okay. Let me get my coat."
_____________
Et voilà. Another chapter down. This chapter really gets down to the nitty-gritty about what Octavia is like when she's forced to be on her own, and through this, we've learned some things about Gran and Lydia. A few mystery's about them wrapped up, but on the other hand, maybe a few more created? I also wanted to spend time with Octavia cleaning out Grandma Sadie's house to showcase how much physical and emotional labour is required to be put in after someone dies. How it prolongs the process of healing. Because someone has to plan the funeral (although in Octavia's case she doesn't really), someone has to sort through all their belongings and clean out their house or apartment. And if you're a person who's had to do that, you'll know how hard of a job it is. Especially to do alone.
What kind of operation waits for Octavia in the Capitol? What waits for her inside the massive mountain fortress, the Nut? And is that a little bit of Act II Octavia peeking through? Find out next chapter!
Now, onto the crème de la crème, the chapterly memes:
Bonus: