“Oh, absolutely. Archie and I would deeply appreciate the visit.” Cordelia replied with a genuine smile. There was only so much she could do in that new mansion before the loneliness creeped in. Sometimes she’d rather speak to the walls than answering the phone calls. At least, they promised to be more understanding than the peacekeepers standing by her front door or the grandfather on the other end of the line.
Cordelia finished putting on some latex gloves as Sierra complied with her suggestion. Bringing the stool a bit closer to the examination table, she studied the zones that would’ve been protected by smooth skin if it hadn’t been for the thoughtless agenda of a few that had replaced it for raw and weeping flesh in various shades of pink and red. “Not at all. It’s actually much better than I thought it’d be.” She reassured the victor with a nod before pointing out some specific spots. “The skin discoloration you see here is a result of the normal healing process, as you may now by now. This is no cause for alarm.” At this point, Cordelia could only assume wounds, burns and scars were nothing out of the ordinary for Sierra. It seemed like learning about those things guaranteed their survival not only inside an arena, at least not anymore. “You should know they’ll want to expedite the healing process with rather abrasive methods.” She shook her head slightly in disapproval as she reached into a drawer of the medical cart by her side and took out some cotton pads. With delicate touches, she applied a bit of cleanser on Sierra’s hands before rinsing away all traces of it and patting the skin dry. “But we’re not going to be sticking to that rulebook, alright?” She said, looking up at Sierra as she took out an amber glass jar and held it up. “If you promise me you’ll use this each night and take simple precautions in the sun, we’ll stick to making those go in a more natural way.” She took a bit of the ointment with her fingertip and gently massaged it into the skin until it had all disappeared before adjusting a new bandage.
“Yes, other methods work faster but they’re just a nice way of covering what we’ve been taught to refer to as imperfections without getting to the root of the problem…” She realized she preferred the silence when she thought about her words twice and how they could be referring to the overall situation of Panem. Manipulation with subtle violence had become an important practice of the political system. It put its people where it wanted them to be…and it brought results quickly. But it only gave a temporary peace ouf of fear without actually working on the reasons why some felt the need to stand up for themselves. Hawke would’ve said the source of all troubles was the reign of terror, autocracy, oppression. But what if he had lived to see those he supported were leading down the same road of destruction? Was Sierra willing to support a bunch of people that had just proven to her life was as worthless as it had been for President Snow when she was in that arena? She had been in the market and not even the fact she was a victor, someone who had been deeply important to a man that had been executed for helping them, a mother, a human being had stopped them from causing the explosion. Could she dismiss this, knowing she had been as much of a prey as she had been in the games? There were rules in an arena. There was a preparation. But the rebels offered no heads up. No rules: they attacked wherever they wanted, whether the victims could be victors or not. “Sierra…” The president’s granddaughter slowly took off the gloves with hesitation, unsure of whether she was meant to speak the following words or not. “You know Hawke would’ve never taken part in something like…that. Not if he had known you could’ve been a victim of his well- intentioned actions…he was the victim of his own well-intentioned actions…” The blonde frowned slightly, knowing that her confession and her knowledge on the topic wouldn’t catch the victor off guard. She needed to get this off her chest…understand why people Hawke had died for seemed to respect no boundaries. Had she created an idea of who Hawke was in her head that had nothing to do with the person he was for real? Had he been alive, would he have agreed to let those bombs go off?
“Maybe we can make it lunch or something? June I am sure would love to teach her new favourite technique of making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to Archie.” Sierra made sure that one day a week, June could choose the meals for the day and would help Sierra cook. Lately lunch had always been peanut butter and jelly. June’s favourite way to put it together? Slather peanut butter on one piece of bread and jelly on the other and then slap them together really hard. It was hard for Sierra not to laugh and to remind June that making a mess wasn’t always a good thing.
Sierra grimaced at the thought of ‘expedited healing.’ She was sure that would hurt in the moment and take any reminder of what had happened away. It was the worst part of the Capitol’s whole penchant for beauty. There was to be no unapproved uniqueness on one’s body. There was to be no reminder of what she had been through even if it could bring up terrible memories. She was stronger because of her Arena and at this point she didn’t want the anger of what the Rebels did–what needed to change in their organization–to fade.
She gave Cordelia a grateful look, nodding at her instructions. “I promise, Cordelia. I’ll make sure I do it every night and if you’re saying I have a medical reason to stay inside and read and write, you won’t have to worry about sun exposure.” Sierra made a note to ask an Avox to head into the Capitol for some sunscreen even though it was late October. She still didn’t want to go into the Capitol. It was still so fresh.
At the note in her voice, Sierra met the woman’s eyes, tilting her head slightly. Cordelia’s voice had lost a bit of its doctor tenor and was replaced with something akin to concern and honesty. It took all of her strength not to grip at her forearms even with the cast and bandages. Her eyes took on a watery sheen, as it normally did whenever anyone mentioned Hawke–not that it happened often, it usually happened when June talked about daddy.
“I know...Hawke would never have approved of something so careless as a bombing in the market. He didn’t hate his contemporaries, he hated the people in charge and wanted to help those suffering under this leadership. It seems like the organization has changed since...from five years ago. It’s awful.” Sierra’s lip trembled and she gently pulled her hands from Cordelia’s burying them in her sweater. Clenched, it was all she could do, but it at least prevented Sierra from extricating herself from this conversation. If she wanted to change the rebels from the inside she needed to toughen up and be able to have these conversations. “This was not what Hawke died for.”
