Three different beds, he warmed under direction of President Snow. The first hadn't been too bad; a married couple who enjoyed the lavish feel of soft leather and handcuffs. He had left with faint bruises and a sore back, but had also been gifted a beautiful stroller for him to take home to Cissy.
The handle was gold, actual or merely painted he wasn't sure, and had intricate designs sculpted into the handles. The basket itself was a soft white fabric and had a shade that could be rolled over the top to keep her covered.
The second had been a party where all he'd been required to do was dance on a stage for the guests entertainment. Alcohol was the only thing that made it bearable. But he made connections to powerful people that promised his daughter a good life, so he could only complain so much.
The third was by far the worst. A woman closer to Gramps' age than his own, and she was much less kind. Eden couldn't remember her name, but he found out very quickly she was interested in what kind of things the human body could withstand.
All he left with the next morning was bruises.
Tonight he had been invited to another dinner party where he'd been dressed up in shades of green, as the host had specifically requested. His hair was free of all the gels and pastes he was usually subjected to, so it occasionally fell into his eyes. Three different bronze powders had been applied to his face to accentuate those gorgeous features of yours, Hinge had told him. He was grateful he still had the same prep team, but Eden knew that was bullshit.
The event planner wanted him pretty to look at, and Snow was happy to oblige.
Since they had given him access to his apartment building's exercise room his clothes now fit a little tighter but that definitely could've been on purpose. Fawke might've dropped the size down so make him look bigger than he was. That seemed to be another common request.
Now sitting in a motorized vehicle with an escort to the dinner party, Eden readied himself as best as he could for for a room full of fanatical strangers. Men wanting to shake his hand and grab at his shoulders, women lightly dragging their fingers across the width of his back in passing...he readied himself to be an object.
The Capitol's most recent prize.
Something for people to awe and fawn and lust over.
He readied himself to be the winner of the 70th Hunger Games.
To be a Victor.
The vehicle slowed to a stop at the front steps of the venue and the door opened by one of several Peacekeepers. The moment he stepped outside, he was met with the flashing lights of cameras.
Eden plastered on the phoney humbled-yet-flirty smile he had become known for and inwardly cringed at the squeals that followed. With Fawke on his left and Oridion, his personal guard, on his right, he was escorted up the marble steps to the grand double doors.
Even before he was inside the smell of faux florals and sweets filtered through his senses, and after the first few steps through the door that smelled only grew. It was so strong it briefly caused his head to ache, but even he couldn't deny the beauty of what was inside.
Vines hung at various lengths from the rafters of the ceiling, some with brightly coloured flowers, some with massive leaves, and some without any at all. He assumed that was where the smell came from. Lighting filtered through them to make it seem like they were outside and the sun was setting, fans creating a gentle breeze to keep the space from getting too warm.
All around the room tables of food had been set up with waiters moving through the room carrying trays of various drinks. Everyone working the event had been dressed in a way that wouldn't draw any attention; black pants and button up shirt, black shoes, and hair pulled away from their faces. Some were avox's — servants with their tongues removed as a punishment — while others were normal, lower citizens of Panem.
The guests, however, were obvious.
One woman was dressed in a massive dress with layers upon layers of skirts that looked like red table cloth. The shoulder pads were spikes of massive green, jutting out so that anyone passing too close to her had to til their head.
Another one had dyed her hair bright blue and was dressed like a flower that briefly reminded him of the ones Flora wore in her hair for the Tribute parade all those months ago. Those beautiful, tiny little blue petals with the warm yellow centres.
For a brief, shining moment he could almost imagine her standing next to the woman, flecks of lighting making her look alive and healthy. It was natural, to imagine her surrounded by greenery and flowers.
She had been buried in a field of them.
They weren't all blue, of course.
There were pinks and purples, oranges and reds, a few shades of blue and yellow and brown and—
He stopped himself from going down that road again.
Thinking of Flora in her meadow, buried in a wooden crate beneath the earth would do nothing but make this night go on longer. He had to survive the party, and then the private event, and then he could stay awake until the dawn thinking about it.
But only after tonight ended.
So Eden plastered on that false smile and drifted into the excited crowd.
•••
The first hour went by without a hitch.
Things went as he expected they would, eating parts of his meal with different people and drinking with those who believed they were in his inner circle when in actuality he couldn't remember a single name. A majority of the conversations were sustained by the guests while he simply smiled, laughed, and frowned when it seemed appropriate.
Eden still didn't quite understand how running out of lilac-scented shower foam was the worst shortage anyone had ever faced. Not when a third of the districts were scraping by at the very best. But he couldn't say that without causing a scene, so he kept it to himself.
Several people had gifted him with brightly coloured alcoholic drinks that he had carefully disposed of. Some tipped periodically into plants, others into a massive fountain displayed off in the far corner. One was accidentally spilt on the floor after avoiding the sharp green shoulder puffs of the woman's dress.
A mouthful of it had spilt onto his pants so Oridion directed him to the nearest bathroom where he could clean it up. It was all white tiles and gold trim on everything, various fragrances coming from the soap pumps mounted above the sinks.
Eden set his half-full champagne glass on the counter, having no idea what it took to make a drink turn shimmering real, and grabbed for a handful of paper towels. Even the water tap was a ridiculously shiny gold.
It was easy enough to wipe off him, as his pants were a green so dark they look black at first, but the smell was what bothered him. Some kind of strong, floral smelling alcohol a man named Oberon had thought he would like.
It wasn't bad, but it certainly wasn't good either.
He was knelt down on the floor, dabbing at his wet pant leg when he heard the voice. "They help, you know."
Eden instinctively lurched to his feet to face the man. He still hadn't quite adjusted to the knowledge that the people here praised him, they didn't blame him for the loss of his love or the fact that he had altered the rules of the Hunger Games, even just briefly. That, and he still didn't quite believe the people in the Capitol didn't intend to kill him.
The voice had come from a man who couldn't be much older than he was. He wasn't as tall as Eden, but was definitely built better in terms of muscle and weight. It was easy to recognize Finnick Odair, even if he had only ever seen him through the outdated television screen in his home. His bronze hair — a colour somewhere between red and brown and gold — had been styled away from his handsome face in gentle curls that he honestly couldn't determine to me real or artificially crafted.
His stylist had dressed him simply. Somehow, it was still reminiscent of how the handsome love interest dressed in movies the televisions of the Capitol played over and over religiously. Perfectly-fitted long black pants, and a loosely tucked cotton shirt with undone ties at the hollow of his throat.
Finnick Odair was beautiful, in a typically appealing sort of way, but he was beautiful all the same.
"Excuse me?" Eden asked, realizing he hadn't responded yet.
"The drinks," Finnick clarified. He nodded his head over to the glass on the counter. "They help."
How could you possibly know what helps me?
"I'll take that in mind," Eden answered stiffly.
He threw the paper towel into the garbage bin and moved to grab his glass. He couldn't handle talking to the preening Capitol peacock; a fan favourite amongst the pool of survivors.
"If you'll be staying after party then you'll certainly want some drinks," Finnick told him evenly. He had folded his arms over his chest and had his brows raises now.
Against his better judgment, Eden froze in place. "I don't quite follow what you mean."
He crossed the room in just three strides. "I have reason to believe Ms Tyle will be showing up this evening. To enjoy the after party."
Every part of him tensed at the mention of that name.
The burn of the lashing was still fresh, both on his back and in his mind. His stomach churned with nausea. I wish you would scream for me, she'd told him after the sixth strike, trailing the sharp tip of her nail down his spine. But now, I only want to leave my mark.
Eden closed his eyes. His jaw clenched. Hands trembled slightly at his sides.
The burn of the whip searing across his back.
Metal cracking against the skin of his inner thighs.
Leather against shoulders, shoved between his teeth.
It took everything in him to force the bile back down his throat but he managed it. Finnick was watching him closely, still standing where he had been since crossing the room. He knows, Eden choked to himself. How can he know?
"The drinks help," Finnick repeated, his tone more understanding now. "The purple ones with the glitter have a bit of a numbing affect. It won't make the pain disappear completely but it'll help. The orange ones will help you relax."
Eden inhaled a shuddering breath. "Thank you," was all he could say.
Finnick smiled at him in a way that wasn't judgmental or critical, only blatant understanding. "Don't try anything pink. You'll regret it in the morning."
"And what—" Eden cut himself off in an attempt to steady his voice. "What does this one do?" He held up his own champagne glass, the dregs of teal puddling at the bottom.
The smile he'd previously shown was gone now as he looked at the empty cup. "Stay well away from those."
"Why?"
"They paralyze your body," he answered quietly. A thick swallow told Eden that he'd experienced it first hand. "You aren't capable of moving yourself for hours, but you're fully conscious."
Eden lifted a brow slightly. "And the pink ones are somehow worse than that?"
"The drink itself isn't awful," Finnick shook his head while gesturing to the empty glass. A tuft of hair fell out of place to sit on his forehead. "What people will do to you once you've had it...that's what you have to watch out for."
The horrifying thought of being caught that vulnerable by Ms Tyle and her whips, with no way to defend himself, brought that rolling wave of nausea back. For hours, he would be at her mercy, of which she had none. He had seen two different people receive those drinks and had been watched by their partners eagerly.
Now knowing why was just...
It was disgusting.
"Thank you," he repeated.
For a long moment Finnick just stared at him. "You learn to survive here," he told him finally in a quiet, gentle tone. "You may not want the life they give you but you'll learn its better than the alternative. You learn to survive."
Eden stared down at the empty champagne glass in his hand. "I'm not sure I want to," he admitted. His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.
There wasn't a hint of change on Finnick's face. Just that brutal understanding. "Yeah...that never really goes away. But you learn."
I'll learn, Eden told himself.
For the sake of Cissy, and Gramps, Eve and Moira and Emery, I'll learn.
So he set the glass down on the counter, then brushed off the thighs of his pants. Eden offered Finnick an appreciative look — all he was able to muster at the moment — and inhaled a deep breath. After a moment to center himself, Eden plastered on his patented smile and ventured out into the evening.
A/N: when I tell you I absolutely screeched while writing this—