CHAPTER TWENTY NINE;
bittersweet victory

▬▬▬▬▬▬

( warning: brief mention of gore/injury detail )

It's a relief that Vesper has recovered the next morning, because she is thrown straight into the deep end at dawn. The Capitol have been keen for days to show off their new victor, so no time is wasted. A breakfast of fresh bread rolls leaves Vesper more energised than yesterday, proving appropriate armour for the day ahead.

Unlike the darkly magical setting of the late night interviews before the Hunger Games, the victory interview takes place in the morning. Irma warns her that there will be questions — many questions. After brief introductions, the interviews are always opened with a reel of 'highlights' from the Hunger Games. In Vesper's case, she can already take some educated guesses at what that might include. Indeed, all of her lowest moments will be replayed right before her eyes, shortly before she's expected to break them down with Caesar like an athlete at the other side of the finish line — totally ignorant to how breathless and exhausted they are.

After that, there is the coronation. Practically cementing her status as Panem royalty, if only for the next year, Vesper is to be officially crowned the victor of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games by President Snow himself. That's a jarring thought. How is she supposed to feign cordiality and look into the eyes of this man? The same man whose sick system has put her in this place, who is the very reason Icarus got here and died, and why everyone else shared that fate too... the very sight of him makes her skin crawl.

When Vesper expresses this, Irma has one simple reply: Swallow your anger.

Later, after a shower that cleanses her pores and scalp until it feels glossy, new and not quite like hers, Vesper is dressed in a warm robe and left alone in a dressing room to wait. Her leftover bruises from the arena have a dull ache from where they've been scrubbed, and her skin tingling from the deep-cleansing scrubs massaged into it. And yet, she feels barely awake. Still shell-shocked by it all. She's starting to think she preferred the glamour, if at all, when it was late in the night. If she were at home, Vesper would be horrified at the idea of wasting valuable daylight on all this pageantry, when she could be working...

     Work.

     Now there's a thought. Will Vesper ever have to work again? As it occurs to her, unimaginable riches and protection from the Hunger Games await her when she returns home. Her debt to the Capitol, to President Snow, is surely complete. She stares down at her hands. Palms rough with stories of hard labour, Vesper can't fathom suddenly cutting off her old everyday in this way.

     A gentle knock on the door.

     "Come in," Vesper murmurs, although she figures he will anyway.

     With uncharacteristic calmness, Benedict's head slips through the crack in the door, followed by the rest of his body. He smooths one hand down his cyan floral-print waistcoat, the other pressing the door closed with a click behind him. His tall stature towers in front of the plush walls as he shoots her a sympathetic look. Benedict was with her in her final moments before the arena — before everything changed. And now, it has come full circle.

     "I was so hoping we'd meet again," says Benedict, straining through a wobbly smile.

      Vesper can't help herself. She gets up from her chair, bounds forward and hugs him. After a surprised chortle, Benedict embraces her in return, patting circles on her back. He smells like bergamot and irises, with that usual artificial overtone — and she doesn't mind it. It's familiar, at least. He is a strange face, but a familiar one nonetheless, and it's exactly what she needs after the arena. When they break away, she can't help but smile as his contagious enthusiasm rubs off on her. It's like amnesia for the pain.

"Vesper Alfaro..." says Benedict. "You really are a warrior."

Throat tightening, she struggles through a smile and coughs. "So, is that the pitch this time? Another suit of armour?"

"Not quite. I'm stripping things down this time."

Instantaneously, the colour drains from Vesper's face. Benedict realises this and quickly corrects himself.

"No, no, no! Not in the nude!" he chuckles. "I meant we'll be keeping things more simple this time, as you might be pleased to hear. There will be plenty of time for flamboyance in the future... but I have a feeling the last thing you want is to sit in a make-up chair for hours on end."

"You know me too well," she says sheepishly.

A beat passes. A moment of quiet between them, misplaced between Benedict's usual stream of movement and animation.

The door slamming open soon changes that. In a burst of colours and patterns harsh in the eyes, Vesper's prep team bustles into the room with vigour. "Oh, she's here!" Gideon cries out, throwing his scaly tattooed arms up in the air in rejoice. Before she can even register their presence, the trio are individually embracing her and kissing her on both cheeks, before moving straight onto inspecting her body again. Just like old times.

"You've lost a little weight, haven't you? You poor thing," tuts Cordelia.

"We'll have your hair fixed in no time..." Esperanza trails off, already fluffing her fingers through Vesper's hair.

"Oh no!" Gideon gasps, taking her hands in his and smoothing his thumbs over her fingernails. "These poor, poor things... Vesper, darling, your hands can speak, and they are screaming: MANICURE ME!"

"Gideon... calm..." Irma's voice sweeps in like a breeze through an open window. No one had even realised she'd come in, but she now stands by one of the mirrors, hugging her abdomen as she carefully watches the prep team. Even over the hyperactive characters, it works like magic — Gideon instantly drops his shoulders, humbling himself sheepishly. Vesper has no idea how she does that. It's like a superpower of hers. How Irma has remained soft and calm after the Hunger Games is beyond her.

"I'm sorry. I need to control myself," the scaly man smooths a hand over his hair and coughs. "These reunions always make me nervous. I'm just glad you're back. We all are."

     Vesper feels a flicker of warmth in her heart. Even in their odd Capitol ways, Benedict and the prep team do have her best interests at heart. It used to feel shallow, but now she clings onto the small kindnesses they give her. She lets Esperanza chatter away as she gives her hair some glossy bounce. Gideon is gentler than usual as he manicures her fingernails. Cordelia doesn't go crazy with the make-up, even asking Vesper if it's alright in some places. All of the while, she just sits in the chair like a spectator, unable to do much else.

     Halfway through the session, Esperanza fetches a small square box.

     "I believe this is yours?" she says in a hushed voice. "Hermia said to give it to you..."

     Esperanza daintily opens the box and, inside the plush inner lining, lies the wishbone necklace. The only difference is that it's been polished slightly, the swamp water that previously dappled it wiped clean. Vesper stares gingerly at it for a moment. Then, breath caught in her throat, she takes it from the box and holds the wishbone tightly in her hand.

     "Thank you," Vesper nods to her, swallowing thickly.

"You're very welcome. It's a funny little trinket, isn't it?"

"Yeah... it is."

While the finishing touches are added, Vesper keeps rubbing her thumb over the wishbone's shape. It's something tangible, something to remind her that none of this was a dream. Once upon a time, she had seen the backdrop of the swamp behind the wishbone — even the blurry shape of Levin if she goes back far enough. Now, she sees a plush purple carpet. Just like the necklace, she can and has to co-exist with both worlds now.

Like last time, she doesn't catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror when her make-up is complete, Benedict wishing to keep the element of surprise intact. "You look dazzling," he says, clasping his hands together with a 'pop' before bounding over to a closet. Inside the open door there is a hanger, with her concealed outfit hanging inside the cover. "... Would you like to see it?"

"Go ahead," Vesper says, too tired to play along with the pageantry.

Benedict unzips the bag with a flourish, cradling the dress to bring it out for her to see. From what she can see, it is slim and grey like mist, and hardly garnished with any glitz and glamour. It surprises Vesper so much that she blurts out: "That's it?!"

"Simple?! Dear, this is not simple, this is fine fashion I can assure you—"

"No, I– I just meant... I was expecting something more... flamboyant?"

"I told you, we're keeping it simple for you," Benedict clarifies, calming his temporary flames of upset. "... Unless you'd prefer more?"

Vesper gazes fondly at the dress from her chair, shaking her head gently. "It's perfect."

She stands up to be fitted, arms out and observing the strange bustle of her prep team adding finishing touches. When she finally glances at herself in the mirror, Vesper is beyond relieved — and more importantly, comfortable. The dress seems to be made from a similar misty fabric to her last interview dress, silk chiffon gracefully slinking around her body in a slender silhouette. The seams are dotted with what appear to be rhinestones, silvery accents hugging her waist. Vesper's scars have been rendered invisible with the magic of make-up, for her bare arms, the slight dip to her collarbone and the small of her back are tastefully exposed. Her feet sit comfortably in flat shoes which shine like foil. Only now does she realise she has a train or cape of some sort, starting at the top of her shoulders and trailing down behind her like a smoky waterfall.

As for her face, although visibly weak and tired, they have restored some part of Vesper she thought she'd left behind before the arena. They have accentuated her best features, making her colours more vivid. The only creative details are the small silver flairs around her eyes, and her lips in a muted red that's almost like rust.

"So... thoughts?" Benedict asks with bated breath.

Smoothing her hands down her abdomen, Vesper simply nods. She doesn't have the same motivation to celebrate the glamour, like she did before — the novelty has worn off. While the others rejoice, all she can think of is how she got here. What are they celebrating? Her journey was ugly, unforgiving. And here she is, being put in a pretty dress once again, and expected to feel like a princess. It was hard enough to buy before, but now...

"Alright, I think we're actually ready a little earlier than we thought," Irma says, after a little glance up at the minimalist clock on the wall. "Maybe... we could all take a few minutes break?"

"Sounds good." Benedict's back snaps straight and he claps twice, the prep team standing to almost like army officers. "Cordelia, Gideon, Esperanza... I believe there are refreshments backstage!"

Vesper briefly hears Esperanza squeal: "Ooh, I hope they have the citrus biscuits!" before they exit the room. A wave of relief washes over her as the room distills into silence, bloating to every furnished corner. Carefully stepping down from the podium, she paces over to the styling chair and sets herself down gently. Almost instinctively, she reaches out for the necklace again and holds onto the wishbone's cold metal like a lifeline. Her wavy hair balances on her shoulders like a tightrope, until she shifts and suddenly the locks come cascading down and blocking her periphery. Vesper doesn't bother to move them.

     "It means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

     She'd forgotten Irma was there. Vesper looks up at her and tosses her hair to the side with a gentle shake of the head.

     "What?" she asks.

     "The necklace."

     Tracing the wishbone shape with her thumb, Vesper sighs and clenches her jaw. "Yeah, I– I guess... I don't even know why though. I don't know why I keep hanging onto this stupid thing so much. And why I cared so much about... about..."

     "Him?" Irma finishes her sentence, gaze softening.

     Vesper swallows thickly. Yes. That's exactly it. She didn't ask for Levin to help her in training, or for him to take her to the rooftop one night. She certainly didn't ask to be allies with him, and sit in the pouring rain as they shared homesick memories with one another. None of that was part of the plan — it was always about Icarus first. But... Vesper had let him nearer. Somehow, Levin had the excruciatingly remarkable ability to see straight through her armour. He was able to know the things eating her up inside before she realised them herself. And why did she let him so close, anyway? She never minded with him. Levin had glowed with warmth, and his temporary ember had got underneath her skin and hadn't left since.

     She doesn't know what to call that. Alliance? Friendship? Love? None of the labels feel right. All she knows is, for one place and one time, Levin made enough of an impact to haunt her... probably forever. Perhaps in another life, they might have connected further. Or perhaps they wouldn't have bothered at all.

     Vesper doesn't expect Irma to understand all of this; however, in her own special way, the empathetic mentor still finds something to connect with.

     "It's a complicated thing. Regardless of what Dale says, you can form a strange sort of bond with your tributes in the arena, because you're all in the same boat. It's unique for the time and place..." Irma pauses for a moment, staring reflectively at a point over Vesper's shoulder. Her eyes glow with remembrance, mouth thinning into a strained smile. "I know, because I had it myself. I grew close with the allies I had in the arena. One of them, I even..."

     The woman can't seem to bring herself to say it, but Vesper thinks she can piece it together. She was too young to remember the details of who was who in Irma's group — either disinterested or distracted by her own life — but she does remember how that group had cemented a strong bond. About six or seven of them, and each loss as painful as the next as the Hunger Games progressed. Vesper remembers an intense affection between Irma and one of the other tributes in particular. The girl with the knives. For some reason, the Capitol brushed right over it.

     Was that what she felt with Levin? Vesper doesn't think so. It was too short of a time to really feel that for him. She likes to think that if she does feel that affection for real, she'll know it. Nevertheless, in her heart it aches with grief for more time. Just one more conversation with him. One more time sitting in the rain, talking like the world wasn't pitted against them.

     Going back to Irma's story, Vesper asks: "Do you... do you still think about them?"

     "Every day and every night," replies Irma instantly. It's a knee-jerk reaction. Her eyes are suddenly shimmering, as though she might cry, until she bows her head to the floor and swallows thickly. Vesper can only stare at her with surprised sympathy. Will their names still haunt her like that years later, just like they do for Irma? Icarus, Levin, Telle. And those are just the ones from the arena... what about all the ones she will mentor? Who, most likely, will perish in the arena just like the vast majority?

     Before she can dwell too much, Hermia knocking on the door frantically yanks her back into the present. "You're on in five minutes! Come, come!"

     "Well," Irma sighs, shrugging to Vesper, "duty calls..."

     A few moments later, Vesper finds herself ushered backstage and queuing in the same corridor she did weeks ago. Except it's so different... emptier. The eerie silence hugs her tightly from all sides, as she thinks of how she was once stood right in the centre of a queue of tributes, stretching to the front and back. Now, they are gone from either end. Vesper even finds herself standing further away at first, in her original spot. She can almost see it now — Icarus standing behind her and showing his suit off proudly, Emerald in the front adjusting the slit in her dress, Telle chattering away to Huxley, the tenderness in Levin's eyes when he saw Vesper. Behind her, the District Eight tributes making quiet, anxious conversation, while Briony asks her district partner to carry the train on her dress.

     There was life... everywhere. And now there's just silence.

     ... Well, there was. Until a disembodied voice seems to speak to Vesper, as if reading her mind.

     "Pretty quiet, isn't it?"

     She jumps out of her skin, but she knows that voice. Young like hers, but dripping with carefully balanced charisma. Vesper looks to and fro wildly until she finally sees him — Finnick Odair, leaning against the inside of the doorway, his hands in his pockets. His sea-green eyes look piercingly at her from across the room. Before when they met, there was an unspoken divide between them. But now he looks at her like he knows her — "you're one of us, now" is what his stare seems to say. He pushes himself off the doorway and starts sauntering towards Vesper.

     "I... I'm Vesper," is all she can think of saying.

     Finnick snorts, surprisingly loose for his perfectly-constructed facade. "I know who you are. We've met before. Besides, everyone knows who you are now. You're their shiny new plaything for the year."

     Shiny new plaything. Vesper grimaces at the phrase, wishing he hadn't used it.

     "I know," he sighs. "I'd rather not be, either."

     Startled by his openness, she glares at him for a moment. Finnick looks briefly downcast, his eyes focusing on something else. She follows their direction until it falls on the wishbone necklace — still in her palm, having not fully committed to wearing it yet. Of course! Finnick is the best direct branch to District Four she can get. Perhaps she could get him to deliver it home...

     "This was Levin's... but I guess you already knew that," says Vesper, holding out the necklace. "I'd like you to take it home. I don't know the name of his hometown, but it's by this lighthouse at the coast. His mom would be wanting this back—"

     "No."

     She blinks, almost offended. "... No?"

     Finnick shakes his head slowly. He closes her fingers back around the necklace. "I think..." he says earnestly, "that you should decide what you do with it. To me, it's just a piece of metal. But you knew him... for longer than I did, anyway."

     "But... how? How do I get it to her?"

     "I'm sure you'll find a way." Finnick's head turns to the stage door, right as a burst of applause from the crowd peels out as Caesar Flickerman walks on. That smile comes back again. "But for now, you've got a crowd to please."

     Vesper stares out too, sickened by the prospect of it all.

     But before Finnick leaves, he suddenly hurls some last-minute at her: "Try not to look at the screen during the highlights. For your own sake. Oh, and don't forget to smile. The Capitol folk hate an ungrateful victor."

She barely has time to digest the information before he's walking off, Hermia trotting past and Irma gliding quietly in succession. "For now, I'll say see you soon," says Finnick, and Vesper realises he's right — at the very latest, they will likely be seeing each other back in this place. A new cohort of fresh faces, to end with twenty-three gone at the end like always. It goes for every other victor she sees around her. They'll become more familiar than ever. Colleagues, even.

It rattles her with thirty seconds left before going onstage. Caesar Flickerman is doing a bit with the crowd, raising their excitement into hysteria as they go wild and laugh at his banter. Vesper opens the necklace in her palm again — with a sense of decision, she turns to Irma next to her and passes it to her.

    "Look after this until I get back," she instructs.

     Irma nods, almost reading her expression for the why immediately. Vesper had heard the crowd, realising everything she did next would be played for the public. And she simply decided, no. This piece of her experience would not be tainted by the Capitol if she could avoid it. She would keep this one thing to herself.

     When she turns back, Vesper's gut is doing somersaults as Caesar Flickerman is announcing her name:

     "Now, I know you've all been waiting so patiently, so we won't keep you waiting a moment longer. Will you please put your hands together for this year's wonderful victor... District Six's Vesper Alfaro!"

     "Break a leg!" Hermia whispers behind her.

     Vesper holds her breath as she holds one foot out to start her journey onstage. The music blares uncomfortably in her ears, the hot studio lights already searing into her vision. She squints, almost stumbles as she suddenly feels just like the wounded, bruised tribute underneath. No amount of make-up and medicine can change that. Through the panicked haze that quietly strangled her, a powdery and slightly sweaty hand reaches out and grabs her own. The next thing she knows, Caesar is raising the top of it to his lips and kissing it. He welcomes her further by patting her hand again and guiding her to her seat — she's grateful for the navigation, but not so much for the kiss.

     Crap. She forgot how much she hated this.

     Stage fright and nauseating adrenaline pump through her, the crowd nothing but lumps of whimsical silhouettes under the studio lights. Next to her, Caesar is sparkling in his suit with that blinding acid-green hair again. The crowd's cheers finally peter out, leaving a silence between the two of them, interrupted by nothing but the hum of a nearby power generator. Vesper can't get the noise out of her head... it's going to drive her insane.

     "Now, first things first: how are you doing?" Caesar asks with a glint in his eye.

     She stares at him, as if it's the most stupid question ever asked.

     "I'm fine," she shrugs.

     "Fine? Oh, forever modest, Vesper. Have they been treating you well since you came back?"

     "They've been treating me, alright..."

     "That's what I like to hear!" Caesar then turns serious, eyes scanning the crowd. "Now, not that I can blame you though, because this year... well, it was a Hunger Games none of us will forget. Quite unusual in many ways. And it got off to quite an explosive start —"

     Oh no, Vesper thinks in despair, please don't.

     "— so let's take a look at some of the biggest moments, shall we? Here are the highlights of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games..."

     The lights dim themselves, an aerial view of the swamp-submerged Cornucopia being projected onto giant screens behind and in front of Vesper. She can't escape it. Dotted around the podiums she sees all their faces again, including her own. And there's Telle — oh God, the wooden ball in her hand. She re-lives the heartbreaking plonk of the ball on the podium, before it ricocheted onto the ground and detonated the huge explosion. Now she can see its full impact too. The tributes either side of her are almost licked by the flames, and everyone is left wide-eyed and horrified by it. Vesper sees herself, disoriented and desperate. She sees Emerald screaming and wailing. Career tributes suddenly equal with the others as everyone tries to figure out what happened. When the countdown finishes, only under half of the tributes run in immediately. Some don't even go for another ten or fifteen seconds. Vesper sees her run-in with Levin, her search for Icarus and Emerald's death. It's like her memory, but all the adrenaline stripped away, cut and edited for leisurely viewing.

     It's the same with everything that follows. Vesper dips in and out of looking, and regrets it every time — the horror that grips her when she sees herself stabbing Edison is palpable. Her expression seemed totally disconnected from what she was doing, like she hadn't quite caught up yet. She looks like a monster. Is she a monster? The quieter moments give her bittersweet relief, from her and Icarus chatting around the campfire, to that moment sitting in the rain with Levin. Then they are directly contrasted by having to re-watch trimmed versions of holding him in her arms, and later Icarus as they both went.

However, there are also new things too. Some are nicer than others. One of the scenes shows Vesper sleeping at night — the same one with the rainfall and the hushed conversation — and shivering slightly, which prompts an already-awake Levin to take off his jacket and drape it over her. He does it with so much care, so gently, that Vesper feels herself choke up a little. She thanks the studio lights for obscuring her reactions in the dark for now.

One of the unwelcome new moments is when she and Boaz fought. At the time she hadn't looked where she hit him, too desperate to get away from it all. But she catches an unforgiving glimpse of where her sword cut him — right in the flesh between his neck and shoulder. The wound gapes wide open and distorts his posture in a nightmarish way. Vesper gulps, eyes wide as she watches Boaz go limp on the screen and slump to the grass. If she had been strong enough to cut deeper...

Vesper tries not to vomit.

She soon sees herself after Icarus's death, daylight and night fading over the same frame of her lying unconscious in the mud. One or two days seem to have passed where she was out. Vesper looked dead. If she was a spectator, she would've thought it herself, had it not been for the lack of a cannon. When she witnesses herself get up again, the crowd in the studio cheers, pulling her violently back into this strange hybrid of entertainment and reality. This is television at its finest for them. For her, it was a decision to live.

After the grand finale of Vesper and Fern's last showdown, a brief applause tickles the room as the lights brighten again. Vesper feels queasy and bubbling with loathing underneath. How can they sit there and cheer? She's thankful that the room is too dark to see their faces; because if she could, the urge to strangle anyone in the audience would be much stronger.

Caesar turns his body towards Vesper in the chair, vivid with curiosity. "So we've got so much to unpack there, but first, tell me... what was your reaction to what happened in the Bloodbath?"

She takes the longest ten seconds to compose herself; her mouth like tar, sweating under the studio lights as the fury rolls off her with it.

Swallow your anger, she tells herself.

"Shock, obviously," Vesper says finally.

"I can imagine. Do you know what happened?"

"Telle. She... she dropped the ball..."

"And what was that?"

"Her token," she murmurs.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that?"

"Her token," Vesper almost snaps this time, but then takes a breath to calm herself again. "... She was nervous. It was her way of coping. And it just... slipped."

"So what was it like, going into that Bloodbath right after the explosion?"

Stop asking questions, you lime-headed freak.

"I... couldn't hear anything," Vesper replies, as monotone as she can to control herself. "A lot of us didn't know when the countdown ended, so... I– I got a head start."

Caesar nods slowly. "Mmm. Yes. Now, moving on a little to the alligator mutts. That was quite the spectacle. But what happened afterwards was incredibly moving. Your ally, Levin, was fatally wounded—"

"I know. I was there."

"— Yes, and then he gave you a necklace. What was that all about? It seemed rather important to you."

Vesper furrows her brows at him. They didn't hear their conversation? If she weren't sitting here right now, she might be relieved that for some reason, the Capitol found something more interesting to focus on whilst Vesper and Levin had chatted in the rain. Otherwise they would have known the whole story behind the wishbone.

"It was just his token. But I lost it, I'm afraid," she says decidedly.

"You did? Oh no, what a shame," Caesar sighs, some of the crowd mumbling 'aww's with him.

"It is what it is."

Dodged a bullet there.

But her relief doesn't last for long, because Caesar jumps from one deep cut to another. "Speaking of moving moments... your district partner, Icarus..." he says. The room suddenly falls quiet, not even a pin drop to be heard. Someone sobs in the back row. Caesar continues: "I don't think anyone was prepared for that. The young ones are always difficult, and Icarus was no exception. We all loved him, didn't we, ladies and gentlemen?"

The crowd cries back in response. Vesper can't bear to look at them.

"What I want to ask is: in that final moment, the one where you held Icarus in his final moments... tell me, what was going through your head?"

Incredulously, Vesper echoes the question: "What was going through my head?"

"Yes."

"What do you think went through my head? I was angry at myself. And– and angry that we were even in this situation in the first place. He didn't deserve it! None of us did, any of—"

"Alright, alright, we understand..." Caesar holds his hands out in surrender, and Vesper slumps back into her chair. With a brief glance to the audience, he gets back to interviewing her. She can't believe him. With a single look, he seems to communicate with the Capitol people — "we've got a fiery one this year, haven't we?" As though she is the one in the wrong. She didn't even raise her voice that much, only sharpened her tone. No, but she'll be known as the unapproachable, short-tempered victor who brushed off all his questions. Vesper starts to understand how they paint their twisted images of victors now.

Vesper stays calm enough to be television-friendly, but restrained enough to prove a subtle point: she's not happy to be here. With these people, anyway. They are the real monsters. Not the ones trained to kill in the arena. Not even Boaz — he had a life back home, a story just like everyone else. And like the rest of them, he was dealt the wrong cards from the beginning. No... Vesper can see it all now. She sits tight through questions about her skill with swords, admittedly easing up as she is able to steer the conversation towards how she learned it in training, rather than the grim circumstances she used it for in the arena.

With time ticking, there is soon only one question left. Caesar leans forward in his chair and makes a hand gesture as if he's painting a picture: "Now, to round things off, we have to talk about when you were out cold for those couple of days. I mean, there was no cannon, but we all thought you'd never get up again. Isn't that right?" After the audience agree, Caesar adds, "So... what made you do it? What was it that made you get up, and fight with such valour to the end? Because my oh my, did you put up a fight afterwards!"

Surprising herself, Vesper actually takes the question seriously and searches within herself for a genuine answer. Her hands wring together on her lap in deep thought. She almost takes a more logical stance, less emotionally attached and more seeing it as simple fact — which, in all honesty, it could be. Vesper's final answer rolls out to finally break the silence:

"I guess... back home, in District Six, life is tough. From the moment you're born, you are thrown straight into this world that's pretty unforgiving, so you need to have thick skin from the start. You learn to survive. Sometimes you don't even think about it, you just grit your teeth and deal with the life you've been given. So... I guess I just did what I've always done. Survive. It's in my blood."

The audience seems wowed for a moment. Caesar seems satisfied, because his pearly white teeth flash at her in admiration.

"Indeed. A survivor you are, Vesper," he says with a flourish.

His words hang in the air, the crowd's tension growing as he takes her hand in his. "Ladies and gentleman!" Caesar announces flamboyantly, "please give the biggest round of applause for the victor of the Sixty-Eighth Annual Hunger Games — Vesper Alfaro!"

They stand up together, and Caesar hoists her hand up with victory. The crowd roars. The stage rumbles beneath her feet. Vesper only hears the heartbeat drumming of blood through her ears. She is blinded by the light, deafened by the noise.

▬▬▬▬▬▬

Sunlight bounces off the marble balcony in perfectly-polished beams. Up here, an early August breeze sweeps through laced with heat and lifts the weightless chiffon of her cape. The endless swarms of crowds in the huge bleachers, lining the square she once rode through by chariot, are exposed in the sun — Vesper is just lucky to be standing up here in the shade.

     To her left stands Augustus Braun, the victor who preceded her. He is cast in shadow by the giant pillar behind him, features pinched with jealousy and... almost something lost in his eyes. Another Career-bred machine, Augustus probably won't know where to turn now that his year of being the Capitol's golden child is over. Now, the crown goes to a mechanic from District Six who wishes she were somewhere else. They share a look which should be mutual understanding, but gets lost in translation. She had better communication in her short exchange with Finnick Odair.

To her right are her mentors. Or at least, mentor. It would usually be plural, unless you're like District Twelve, where the constantly-drunk Haymitch Abernathy remains the sole survivor and has yet to bring someone home. In Vesper's case, she is glad that Dale isn't here. He deserves to go home and work on himself. She can't help but wonder what version of him she might meet if he recovers from his addiction — who was Dale Tadros before the Hunger Games ruined him? She could ask the same question about Irma too, who stands to the side with a bittersweet look in her eyes. The emotions flashing across her face aren't identifiable, but they are strong.

And right in front of her, up close, is the man himself — President Coriolanus Snow.

He's taller than Vesper expected. The long-limbed old man nearly towers over her, at least six feet but maybe more. It feels unnerving to see him this close, in the flesh, with the carefully calculated calm he always carries himself with. President Snow waves to the crowds first, making a brief speech about the victor and the Hunger Games first — nothing standard, it's the same one he gives every year. Only this time, Vesper is sitting in the throne, not the couch at home watching whatever poor soul was in her place now.

Vesper stands when given the cue. From a royal purple cushion, Snow's gloved hands cradle her crown at the sides. Pivoting around slowly, he approaches to place it on her head. Benedict had informed her earlier that the crowns are personalised for each victor. Vesper gets a quick glimpse of hers — strands of gold weaved between a silver wreath, made up of lots of little geometric metal pieces put together. The gold itself almost looks molten.

Snow places the crown carefully on her skull and exhales. Vesper gets the scent of his breath blown into her face — blood. A chill runs down her spine in the August heat. The president's icy cold eyes gently examine her, a half-smile drawn out underneath his pristine white beard.

"Congratulations," he says, in a low voice almost like a secret between them. "You must be... itching to get home."

Vesper doesn't know whether to say anything at first. She can't stop looking at his eyes and smelling that blood. Slightly dizzy, she nods. "I am," she mumbles.

President Snow nods slowly. They stare at each other for another moment far too long, sizing one another up. Finally he parts and presents the newly-crowned Vesper to the crowd. As she's uncomfortably getting used to, they roar for her, while Augustus cowers in jealousy. She numbs herself to it. It's the best way she can cope. Instead, she starts thinking about the next step in her journey — District Six.

▬▬▬▬▬▬

A/N;

ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT YOU GUYS!! AHHHHHH

this was quite a tricky one to write, as it's been ages since i wrote interview/capitol scenes, and it's a total 180 from writing gritty writing arena scenes. but i hope they came across right, while also portraying how vesper has come out of the games changed. there was a lot about levin and her trying to make sense of what she felt for him. i've said this before, but this is how i see the situation — vesper did not feel romantic feelings for levin while they knew each other, it was more like a strong soul connection. however, had they gotten out of the arena together, i think it totally would have developed into a relationship. as for levin... he definitely had some feelings for her 🥹 but there you go! anyway, writing the ignorance of the capitol was sickening as always, glad that vesper is going back home in the final chapter... (those words again OH LORD)

here is the dress vesper's victory interview outfit was based on:

i'm absolutely (not) ready for the final chapter... are you?

[ published: 6th december, 2022 ]

— Imogen