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How did Plutarch Haevensbee end up becoming the leader of the underground revolution? Why does someone who has everything â wealth, influence, power â risk all of it to try and overthrow the system?
Or as Haymitch wonders in Sunrise on the Reaping: "Was he suggesting that he, with all his wealth and privilege and power lacks freedom? Freedom to do what?"
I haven't reblogged any posts in a while, but I'm still on here via my main account. As the Plutarch posts have likely doubled since the release of Sunrise, it's unrealistic to keep up.
What would you like to see happen with this blog?
Perhaps turn this place into something more engaging via the submit and ask box? You can tag me in any posts that you'd like to see reblogged!
It's official... Chitarch has some domestic fluff and quality time as a love language.
I'm going a bit out of order here with this one... It's supposed to be post-Mockingjay when Chiasa and Plutarch are in a more established and public relationship. I needed a bit of fluff this month and I'm sure many others do too... Enjoy!
(I know a pinned masterlist is probably needed at this point and I'll pin it soon...)
As always, tagging @plutarchheavensbee
A cool, rainy winter day always tended to set the backdrop for a slow afternoon, and such a leisurely time on a weekend had Chiasa rifling through an unpacked box. It had been a few weeks since she'd moved in with Plutarch, but theyâd both been so busy, a lot of housekeeping was either neglected or outsourced. Keeping her fashion house afloat and guiding her nephew and his girl Minerva (Yes, Minerva⊠She was still amazed how the young woman was able to fool her) through the early days of parenthood was hard work. Plutarch's television and democratic guidance filled his schedule as well, and while they found time for each other, be they apparences at his side, his growing attachment to Marcus, and even just evenings⊠Real days off ought to have ration coupons of their own.
At least now, Chiasa had time to sift through some of her parentsâ old things. Even though the new staff was wonderful, it wasn't easy for her to trust practical strangers with such memories. Sheâd examined a pair of old gloves that belonged to her mother; a bit of wear and tear, but fixable. Tigris did make them, after all. A couple of old polaroids made an appearance as well⊠The four of them; her mother, father, herself, and her sister before the world got the best of them⊠Her mother, father, and Tigris at her very first show, how the three always smiled⊠Herself and Quinta on their first day at the Academy. Eww⊠The uniforms were absolutely hideous back in the day and she remembered cutting hers up the day she graduated. At least they had the sense to update 20 years ago, so Marcus was never caught in that outmoded monstrosity.
There was one thing that caught her eye, though⊠An old blue binder filled with lightly aged paper. She took it out and opened it to a recipe written in her father's neat handwriting. So that's where she left this⊠Back at her old place, sheâd kept these in the kitchen, but she must have been feeling nostalgic and sorted it accordingly. She couldn't help but smile as she recalled her father in the kitchen, humming or scat singing as a rock nâ roll or jazz record played and he whipped up another spicy smelling culinary masterpiece. He adored cooking, the way it brought so many people together and was one of the few ways he stayed in touch with his roots. What a time to remember, to be alive then⊠HmmâŠ
The chicken cassoulet in the front, while delicious, wouldn't do with the rationing about. Perhaps a yaki dish? Of course! Kare was simple enough, delicious, and she still had some good roux.
Now to recruit some helpâŠ
It wasn't surprising to find Plutarch in his library, hunched over an old book with a notebook on the side. Maybe Chiasa should have scolded him for working on a day off, but he looked so damned cute in his reading glasses⊠Still, she couldn't lean on that doorframe forever, lest she forget her mission. Quietly, she snuck behind his chair and reached over to gently rub his shoulders. Glancing at the familiar pink on her nails, he relaxed and leaned into her touch.
âDear⊠Now this is worth getting used to,â he murmured.
She moved beside him and leaned down for a soft kiss.
âThis place was always so very you⊠But this room? If it were any closer, there would be a cozy little fire in that fireplace,â Chiasa remarked, âWhat would it be⊠The warmth of your embrace? Your burning passion to light the world?â
âI see youâve been looking into that poetry Iâve suggested,â he quipped, âBut that's not a bad idea⊠It should be fixed in a few days and Iâve been meaning to replace that rugâŠâ
What an idea, the two of them curled up together on a beautiful night, and maybe eventually lost in each other⊠Although⊠was he trying to distract her from his desk work? His chicken scratches and shorthand could be tough to read at times, but the wizened book was clear enough; Chiasa spotted the name âJohn Lockeâ on the spine, one of the thinkers he loved talking about.
âAs much as I love your dedication, what have we said about all work and no play?â she asked.
âThat it makes me a dull boy and you a dull girl⊠Not to mention our first foundation,â Plutarch replied, squeezing her hand, âBut you know⊠Locke believed that we're not born knowing, but that we have to learn through life and study, like I am now.â
âI can't argue with him there⊠The world definitely has its ways of delivering life lessons, both beautiful and harsh,â she agreed, âBut⊠Does he say anything about working oneself to death or eating between lessons?â
He thought for a moment. âI think being fed would fall under the âlifeâ part of his life, liberty, and property⊠As for work, that's a good question to consider, especially with the labor unions popping up in the Districtsââ
âPlutarchâŠâ
When he opened his mouth to protest, a growl from his stomach betrayed him.
âI suppose I could take a little breakâŠâ he relented, âPerhaps if you join me back here afterwards.â
Not a bad plan⊠So long as they got to just be human for a while. Chiasa led him to the kitchen and opened the binder on the counter to the curry recipe.
âYou know, Iâve told you how I grew up, how food was important to my family⊠With is settled in and some time on our hands⊠I love you, and Iâd like to bring you into the fold too,â she said.
âI love you too⊠And Iâm honored,â Plutarch replied before studying the recipe, âI think Iâm familiar⊠Marcus really likes this, doesn't he?â
âOh, his favorite is not for the faint of heart⊠He likes a ghost pepper roux. I have one on hand that's closer to my dad's original.â
Her darling nephew always had extreme taste buds⊠Always going for the sour candies and spiciest meals. It could have been worse, he could have liked everything plain. Her father would be turning over in his grave if such a thing happened in their own family.
Chiasa started to gather the ingredients while Plutarch gathered the equipment and utensils. Once the pair donned some aprons, she noticed him looking excited, yet still a bit apprehensive.
âI have to warn you, I'm still a little new at this,â he said.
âI don't think there's much to worry about, Iâve seen you bake bread before,â she replied with a reassuring smile, âAnd youâve done it well.â
âTrue, but thatâs baking. Baking is more precise. Cooking, however⊠There's a lot of experimentation, trial and error⊠And you eat it rather than look at it or wear it or program it.â
âCooking is an art for a reason⊠Some of these are family recipes, but a lot of them came out my my dad's experimenting⊠But was I ever the willing lab rat,â she recalled, âBut hopefully a recipe will have you more comfortable⊠Why don't you start by slicing the onions while I take care of the meat.â
Chiasa started cutting some chicken into strips and glanced over to see how her partner was doing. Keeping his glasses nearby was smart; an age old trick to stave off the tears. Luckily, he seemed to be a natural. He managed the potatoes with minimal guidance too while she took care of the more complicated carrots. Once she lightly seasoned the meat, she was happy to see everything else ready.
As she turned on the stove, he stepped towards her and cheekily put an arm around her waist.
âClose enough for you?â he teased.
âIt's a startâŠâ
Once it was warm enough, Chiasa tossed the onion wedges into the pot and they landed with a satisfying hiss. She gave Plutarch a kiss on the cheek before grabbing a pair of cooking chopsticks to stir. Her father liked to say everything tasted better with them, after all.
âOnly stir them occasionally⊠You want them translucent and a nice brown color,â she instructed.
She felt his head rest against hers, and she couldn't help but blush and chuckle to herself. As she finished, she held herself back from pouting at the thought of him letting go, but he had to learnâŠ
âHoney, why don't you add the garlic and ginger, and Iâll tell you when to add the chicken,â she requested.
Thankfully, he seemed to feel the same, but managed to play off his own disappointment as playful. Once he added the aromatics, she was quick to stir it in, making sure none of the onions missed out on the extra flavor. As the chicken was added, Plutarch took a whiff of the strong aroma and grinned.
âMmm, that's starting to smell incredibleâŠâ
âAnd we're not even finished yet,â she gushed, âDo remember when we add the broth, it barely covers everything so far.â
The remaining ingredients had to simmer for a few minutes, and even Chiasa had to admit she was getting hungry too. Even so, she was still grateful to finally have time to share this with Plutarch. He really knew how to run himself ragged, but admittedly, she wasn't much better, even before they got together.
âLooks like it's already turning out great⊠Iâve heard tales of your father's cooking, Iâm excited to try something of his,â he said as he gently pulled her close.
âIf only you could have tried it in person⊠I know I try, but I could never live up to it. I guess he had this natural kind of talent,â said Chiasa, âIt really is a shame you never metâŠâ
âFrom what Tigris told me, he was a lot like you⊠Tender-hearted, passionate, a quiet sort of strength in adversityâŠâ he mused, âIâd like to think weâd get along just fine.â
Chiasa cupped his face and rested her forehead against his. âAnd I'm sure heâd love you once he knew you⊠Maybe he might be a little bit shocked at us, but we both know he wasn't much better.â
The couple dissolved into laughter at such a thought⊠After all, Tigris was still fairly young when she and him started seeing each other. Technically, Plutarch was much older than the catlike stylist was back in the day when he and Chiasa started things up.
Unfortunately, their embrace was interrupted by the ding of the timer. Oh well⊠All would start again soon. She cleaned out the foam, got out a wooden skewer, and turned to him.
âPop quiz⊠How can you tell that it's all cooked?â she asked.
âHmm⊠Good question. Iâd probably say it's a certain look or smell, but I suppose it has some to do with the skewer in your hand,â he replied.
âRight. If you can stick this all the way through a dense veggie, it's time to add the roux. Wanna try?â she asked.
âI don't see why not.â
He took the skewer from her and carefully stuck it into a potato on top of the mixture. It indeed went all the way through.
âWonderful,â she praised, taking out a jar filled with brown cubes, âNow for the roux⊠These were made from scratch a while ago, my dad's traditional way⊠Cayenne, tumeric, nutmeg, black pepper, thyme⊠dash of citrus and chili. It's a medium kind of spice, but that was low for him.â
âI can handle it,â he reassured her, âI imagine he hated state dinners and galasâŠâ
âOh yes⊠If any of his committees were throwing something, he did his best to get ahead of the catering,â she replied, âIf not⊠He always had a little vial of paprika in his pocket.â
âHe would have hated the family dinners I had growing up.â
âFrom what youâve told me⊠It's hard to imagine anyone would.â
Chiasa turned to give Plutarch a brief hug as he stiffened at the memory, then slowly nodded. His stories of his younger years seemed so stiff, orderly, and cold as patrician families could be at times. She recalled him not knowing how to react when she showed him genuine tenderness; hell, even when she started flirting with him, he wondered if she had some ulterior motive.
Even when he couldn't hold his emotions back one night, he was cautious and confused at what she believed was common sense in comforting a loved one. Once she held him, however, he'd melted. He let his tears out on her shoulder and held on tightly, as if he was afraid sheâd disappear. She'd realized the poor man was so deprived of unconditional love and any sense of security that she'd nearly teared up herself. Right now, hopefully along with the brave new world, he could start to move on from an isolating past.
Chiasa let go and gently stroked his cheek. âYou don't have to go back⊠Iâm here for you. This meal always felt like a warm hug to me too.â
Plutarch shut his eyes and smiled. âThank you⊠I suppose by now you know how incredible it feels to hear such a thing⊠And actually believe it.â
She invited him to dissolve the roux as she held a ladle of broth to speed the process along. The concoction smelled so wonderful as it finally came together; maybe a little strong for some, but comforting for the right people.
âNow, traditionally, this is served with rice, but we don't have any,â Chiasa lamented, âI checked.â
âWith all the talk of trial and error, surely we can find something else.â
Plutarch eyed a nearby breadbox and opened it, revealing half a loaf.
âWell⊠Most stew-like meals are served with bread for dipping, aren't they?â he added.
âYes, you're right! And homemade too⊠Perfect!â she gushed, âReally, Iâm surprised there's still some left⊠Yours is just delicious.â
âHmm⊠I suppose we have been a little preoccupied this week,â he relented, âI'll slice some for us, you grab some bowls.â
A most unusual suggestion of eating in the library followed. Chiasa was almost skeptical until she saw Plutarch set the old book and notebook safely aside as she set her bowl on one side of the desk. Before she even asked, he was quick to pull up a chair for her to sit in across from him. As they sat, she watched him sniff at his bowl curiously before dipping his bread in for a bite.
âHmm⊠Mmm!â he praised, âThis is really something⊠A little bite, but not terribly spicy⊠Some umami to be expected⊠Oh! Didn't expect the sweetness. I don't remember adding anything sweetâŠâ
She chuckled a bit at her lover analyzing such a homey dish like a food critic. What an adorable quirkâŠ
âThat's in the roux,â she explained, âIt's normal to have some secret ingredients with curry, and Iâve told you about the cayenne and black pepper, thyme, nutmeg⊠But also a bit of honey and cinnamon. Do you taste it, honey?â
They both took another bite at the same time, and Chiasa couldn't help but smile at their results. It certainly wasn't bad for a non-cook, and she couldn't help but warm up inside⊠And she finally could understand why, the very same reason she looked forward to Tigrisâs visits when she was a girl.
Plutarch was a bit more thoughtful in his bite, almost as if he was switching from fine dining to viticulture with his slow, pensive chews.
âYes⊠That's it. It's all coming together now,â he replied, âAnd what about you, dear? I know you're used to it, but surely having it again still brings back some memories.â
âOh it does⊠Dare I say, even better, like my whole self has been lifted up.â
âHmm?â
âWell⊠I guess there is a reason for it,â said Chiasa, âOf course, food wasn't just a way of keeping my dad's cultures going, but a way of bringing people together. Serving is one thing, but preparing them with someone is different⊠Sometimes you can taste that bond, and it's all the better.â
âAh⊠You're saying it's better because we made it together,â he replied.
âThere is that sense of accomplishment, but I got it whenever I helped out, but it wasn't quite the same,â she said, âThis⊠I hadn't had anything like it in many years. Actually, I don't think Iâve experienced it myself. It's a little hard to explain to someone who isn't used to this, but⊠I guess you could say we added another secret ingredient.â
Plutarch smiled and took her hand across the desk.
âAnd here I thought âmade with loveâ was another corny saying⊠But I suppose youâve been proving most of them right for a while now,â he replied tenderly, âI should have spotted it from the beginning. You were so happy, so excited to share this dish and get me involved. I was a little out of my element, but your ease, your enthusiasm⊠Just the way you smile and light up when you're in yours⊠It soothed me immediately.â
It was lucky the couple were fond of those bowls, otherwise Chiasa would have lept over that desk immediately just to get close.
âOh, Plutarch⊠That's beautiful.â
âItâs exactly what I think⊠I love you.â
âI love you tooâŠâ
It wasn't long before both were finished and the leftovers and dishes were stowed away. As promised, however, theyâd soon returned and Plutarch was in his big chair once again. When Chiasa tried to take her original seat, he shook his head.
âThis might get a bit complicated, you should get a little closer to read it with me,â he said.
âOh? How close?â
He patted his lap with a sly grin and she smirked and sat. Almost immediately, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a deep kiss. That sly bastard⊠but one of the best traps to fall into.
âYou're so damned devious, Ploot,â she murmured against his lips.
âYou know I try, Chiasa.â
She pouted when they had to pull away, but the spark in his blue eyes as he opened the book back to its marked passage. As much as she worried about him working himself to death, his dreams for the future always had him hopeful, animated, and so handsome in the lightâŠ
They really should invest in that new, softer rug for the fireplace if they were going to spend their off-days trading passions like this. And it was shaping up to be a wonderful way to spend their quality time.
âDarling, go on⊠What is it that Mr. Locke says that you love so much?â Chiasa asked.
âI said before that knowledge isn't innate, but the rights of life, liberty, and property are, and any government who denies them deserves to be overthrown.â
âBut of course⊠Youâve managed that already. And what's this letter the book is talking about?â
âA Letter Concerning Toleration⊠It's been a while since Iâve read through it⊠I remember it being a little dated for our time, but maybe we can apply culture as well as religion to it⊠Let's go over it together.â
can you give me a cute V and Plutarch headcanon? pretty please? đ„ș
I'll elaborate a bit more on our recent idea about the apples.
We came up with apples as a sign of love shared between them based on still life art of a rose and a lemon. While the lemon did not fit them, we brainstormed and the apple came up pretty much immediately.
Claude Monet / Hugo van der Goes
The idea was initially based on Virgilia happening to hold an apple while they talk, Plutarch looking over, reaching out, and using a pocket knife to cut it open for her.
On the surface level, and what Virgilia points out to Plutarch, is that taking the apple to her and handing her pieces is a touch exchanged between them in semi-public spaces where their interactions are watched from afar.
However, there's more to it.
First, in contrast to white roses, apples are food. They feed people. White roses look pretty, are decoration, and it is the gift that Snow gives to Virgilia. Plutarch's gift is practical; he is the one giving her feed, cutting apart an apple and sharing the slices between them.
Second, the biblical implications. The apple as a symbol for knowledge and sin. It is Eve who convinces Adam to eat the apple. Yet, for this ship and this idea, Plutarch is the one imparting knowledge onto her, and he's the one giving her the apple to eat. This is a conscious role reversal; the sin itself separated from the woman.
The idea is still in development, and we have exchanged some ideas that are not spoiler-free for anyone reading this, but I'm thoroughly excited to contemplate more on how to imply this symbol within their relationship.
Found this, a bit of a callback to the "bold survey" past of this blog, but with ships
Bold or color if it's true, italics if it's one sided. Obviously, I have to do Chitarch...
height difference (5'10 vs. 5'5)/ mutual pining / first kiss / wedding / in-jokes / lgbtq+ / family disapproves / would die for each other / would kill for each other / fake relationship / arranged wedding / cuddlers / pda friendly / and they were roommates / holding hands / secret relationship / opposing worldviews / getting a pet (Post-MJ) / have kids / want kids / grow old together / relationship failures (Neither of them could be pinned down before this)/ rests head on shoulder / share a bed / relationship doubts (Chiasa wanting to sacrificially supportive and Plutarch not recognizing his feelings)/ they have a song / first date / sharing a blanket / mutual interests / study buddies / bathing together / crash into hello / accidental nudity / laundry / same hobbies (I imagine they both like to sketch... Different things but still)/ cooking for each other (Chiasa sharing recipes and that bread making headcanon... đ„°)/ big fancy gala / forehead touches / hair stroking (Scalp massages...) / sitting on each otherâs laps / sexual tension / canât be together / battle couple / Friends to Lovers (Friends with benefits to lovers but still)/ Enemies to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies / keeping secrets / love after loss / exes / declaration of love / flirting / love triangle / destructive romance / envy / âI Donât Want to Ruin Our Friendshipâ / shared values / slow burn / love letters
You know what... Gonna do TigTak (Tigris x Tak) of Nitimur In Vetitum too.
height difference / mutual pining / first kiss / wedding / in-jokes / lgbtq+ (Wrote Tigris as bi)/ family disapproves / would die for each other / would kill for each other / fake relationship / arranged wedding / cuddlers / pda friendly / and they were roommates / holding hands / secret relationship / opposing worldviews / getting a pet / have kids (He does... She adores them) / want kids / grow old together / relationship failures (Unconventional situation and neither are used to intimacy of the emotional variety)/ rests head on shoulder / share a bed / relationship doubts (He's her best friend's husband (But it's all kosher!!) and he wonders if he's too old or even good enough for her)/ they have a song (La Vie en Rose) / first date / sharing a blanket / mutual interests / study buddies / bathing together / crash into hello / accidental nudity / laundry / same hobbies / cooking for each other (And with each other...)/ big fancy gala / forehead touches / hair stroking / sitting on each otherâs laps / sexual tension / canât be together (Damn politics) / battle couple / Friends to Lovers / Enemies to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies / keeping secrets / love after loss / exes / declaration of love / flirting / love triangle (Kinda??)/ destructive romance / envy / âI Donât Want to Ruin Our Friendshipâ / shared values / slow burn / love letters
happy six months until sunrise on the reaping! streets are saying it may... just may... be in plutarch's pov.. PLUTARCH HEAVENSBEE, king of propaganda! that would be soooOOooooOO interesting!
but also, as a tigris snow lover, i canât help but think about how plutarch and tigris were in communication during the rebellion to the point where he literally trusted her enough to tell cressida that tigris's shop was a safe space for them to stay. i'm not saying tigris might have a bigger role in this book in the case that weâre looking through the eyes of plutarch, but i do miss her and i hope we hear from her <333
IMO the rebel network is likely structured in a way that no one other than Plutarch knows everyone else. People are interlinked, but if one person were to get compromised, they couldn't name more than a handful of allies. Plutarch assures the continued survival of the rebellion.
But Tigris isn't any other rebel, and I have high hopes that her relationship with Plutarch will be uncovered. Maybe we receive some beginning stages to grasp how they came to trust each other, and potentially, we learn how Tigris herself distrusts her cousin. Maybe Plutarch will learn some revelations in passing, all that will hint at why there will be an inevitable fallout between Tigris and Plutarch.
The Capitol rebels were awaiting a spark to light a fire across Panem. No one expected a tribute from District 12 to inspire them once more. Their anticipated plan was finally coming into motion, but at what cost? And how had they found each other? Plutarch Heavensbee came from an old Capitol lineage. But something caused him to abandon his privilege for a better vision of Panem. Caesar Flickerman was the mere host of the Hunger Games. But his proximity to the tributes was a worthwhile tool for more forces than the regime. Virgilia Snow once married the President. But her silent existence by his side had long been corrupted.
chapter two: variables / A reaping needs to be celebrated, and the President invited only the finest of Capitol residents.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
It's fascinating that the historical figure of Plutarch was the priest to the Temple of Apollo. While we usually focus on the life of Plutarch directly by drawing parallels between Panem's Plutarch and his Roman namesake, his dedication to Apollo is telling us a lot about the character.
Apollo as the god of archery directly connects Plutarch to Katniss; and as the priest of Apollo's temple, we can draw parallels between Plutarch's plan hinging on the archer Katniss, and he was a background figure and proponent.
Apollo as the god of music and dance reflects Plutarch's position as a Gamemaker and his future interest in continuing in the entertainment industry. His suggestion for a music show directly interlinks with Apollo.
Apollo as the god of truth and prophecy is an obvious connection to the rebel leader. It is Plutarch who has been seeking truth about the pastâdemocraciesâand who breaks through the propaganda of Panem.
Apollo as the god of light and sun can be a way to see him shedding light onto the darkness that is Panem. His actions cause a new beginning for the country. In addition, this aspect might hint at him being an important figure in the novel titled Sunrise on the Reaping.
I have NIV writer's block, so you know what that means... Time for another Chitarch fic! I'm going in chronological order from the last one. I suppose I'll have to make a master list when there's enough of them. I'll have to cross that bridge when I get to it.
Anyway, this is about the first kiss, and then some. It'll be stated within, but it's a couple days later and Chiasa and Plutarch have had a second meeting in between this and the previous fic.
This is a long one...
Oh, before I forget, tagging @plutarchheavensbee
Chiasa had just stuck her last beaded hairpin into her dark half-chingon when she heard a distant knock at her door. She sighed in frustration, knowing who exactly who it was.
"I'm decent, I'm at my closet vanity," she called out.
She heard the door slide open and saw her sister, Quinta, half ready in a turban approaching in her mirror's reflection.
"What is it?" Chiasa asked, "Do you need help with your kimono? Is there something wrong outside?"
She eyed her own kimono that was hanging on the dressing screen; red silk with both floral and gilded deco designs, one of her own creations. Ever since she'd started making them as a teenager, it had been a New Years tradition for her family to throw a party showcasing this ancient side of her parents' heritage. It had been a hit for decades; her fellow Capitolites just loved themes and apparently "Japan" seemed to be more "acceptable" than her father's Cajun-District roots.
"I've done it myself more than once," said Quinta, "No... I still can't believe you gave one of your creations to that... urchin from 3!"
Somebody had to welcome Ann into the family... Her nephew loved her dearly, and the right New Years attire seemed like the perfect present.
"I can give my fashions to whoever I want," she argued, "Ann's been more to us than you've been to her, and Marcus for that matter. You remember what I said?"
Her sister slumped as if she were a dejected child. "If I don't have anything nice to say to them, don't say anything at all... And to be on my best behavior, important people like the Head Gamemaker might be showing up."
Chiasa almost perked up at the mention of Plutarch but didn't dare around her nosy sister. Who knew if he would even show up, even if she did extend an invitation.
"Right. I know you care about important people too, Quin," she said, "And even more about people making asses of themselves, so that should be easy. But anyway... Is there anything else?"
"You know..." Quinta leaned in and whispered, "Things are a little out of place. People are going to ask why we're not serving fish tonight. And will they be able to tell we're... You know, rewearing?"
It was sad to see her twin so far removed from the person she once was. Even a teenager, she didn't care about silly things like that.
"I doubt that'll matter," she replied, "Food is food as long as it seems like traditional fare, and it's all the more polite to our vegetarian guests. And you know I hate that fast fashion nonsense... It's terrible to work hard on something only for it to be tossed away or gathering dust. I can't believe I have to remind you... We didn't grow up with an outfit for every day of the year or every food available. Fish and extra fabric aren't exactly easy to come by right now... But Mother and Daddy managed on the heels of war, so we can manage now."
"This isn't the twenties. This is now," Quinta argued, "It's different. We're short on things because that Katniss girl is making people throw tantrums? Why is that our problem? Things are fine now, and they'll stay fine!"
Chiasa had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Sometimes, it was hard to tell if her sister actually believed that or just wanted to. Maybe optimism was foolish, especially when it came to Quinta, but she just didn't want to fall into a jaded void.
"We can only hope you're right," she said, "Now... do you need anything else? We both need to finish getting ready. We've only got an hour before the fashionably early arrive."
"No... I'll get you if I need any help," Quinta said before slinking off.
If Chiasa was being honest, she wasn't in a very festive mood. Ever since the Yuletide debacle, all she felt was guilt and disgust. The "patriotism" in the face of the new rationing made her sicker than it ever did. Too many just looking away or smiling at the most atrocious things, and demonizing rebels in ways she hadn't heard in many years. It always hurt to pretend it was just a fact of life, but this was worse. How on earth was she supposed to look to the future and usher in another year of nonsense?
Maybe there were a few things that kept her from spiraling completely. Snow wouldn't set food at this kind of party, and "Agent Hale" and her kids were safe. Maybe it just helped to know there were people out there who wanted to make the world a little better. People like Plutarch...
There was something about Plutarch...
It might have been that she felt safe enough to share her doubts, and he listened and encouraged her. Or maybe that they got a better read on each other because they spent more time together than their usual five minutes in a crowded room. The second meeting in particular was a little more lighthearted; she'd even been able to stay for dinner. He was an intelligent guy by reputation, but she didn't find that intimidating, having been the stylist for District 3 of all places. He also had this biting wit and confidence about him... Not arrogance, she couldn't stand that. It was a quiet sort of confidence; he knew he was hot stuff but didn't have a need to share it with everyone. It was rare to find that kind of energy, especially in men, but when she did, it was hard to resist.
Or maybe, just maybe... It was the fact he was a rebel. She wasn't an Academy schoolgirl who drooled over those young troublemakers... Plutarch didn't want the world to burn like they did, he had a good cause. Maybe it was the thrill. Even with many years, and many men under her belt, there were still a few things that thrilled her. Still... Here she was, a grown woman, all giddy and nervous about whether or not a certain guy would show up at her party.
As Chiasa finished adjusting her otaiko, she did a last once over in her full length mirror. Hair was perfect, makeup was perfect; red and gold based and waterproof. Her kimono was on straight and comfortable. For someone out of the spirit, she looked pretty nice. She walked out into the general living area, and so far, everything looked fine as well. The decorations were classy instead of tacky, the food at least looked authentic or at least fancy enough, the booze was ready, as well as the music and bell for midnight. Quinta and her husband, Florent, had also come out, thankfully ready in blue and maroon and not bickering for once.
Marcus and Ann were among the first to arrive and thankfully, she'd taught him well enough to get them both ready. She was as lovely as she'd thought she'd be, especially with that little flower pin in her red hair.
"I'm so glad you could come," Chiasa greeted warmly.
"You both got ready alright?" Florent asked, "I know these things can be a little daunting, but once you get the hang of it, you're golden. Marcus, you look like you've grown more..."
Her brother in law was right in a way. Marcus really did look grown. The kimono suited him of course... It could have been Ann at his side, or maybe the fact she knew he was involved with the rebels. Of course she worried about them, but both could take care of themselves... It wouldn't be right to breathe down their necks.
Quinta was able to behave, and soon, the young couple was off to sample the food. Chiasa then decided to grab a drink before greeting some other guests. There were some of Florent's coworkers from the TV station, as well as Quinta's from the ChitChat, a few fellow fashionistas, as well as a smattering of friends and a handful of minor officials. She was almost about to give up on seeing a certain someone when a familiar face strode into the penthouse.
He's here! He's finally here! Plutarch wasn't quite all in, but at least his type of shirt looked similar and his jacket had something that resembled an obi. He tried at least. Did he smile as he approached her, or was it her drink talking? No, he did, she hadn't even finished it yet.
"Plutarch, I'm so glad you came," she greeted, "It's great to see you."
"From the invitations I had, it was either this or watch Senator Promethius get drunk five minutes in," he replied, "Clearly I made the right choice. I've already gotten a much warmer welcome."
"Nothing less of course, after all you've done," said Chiasa, "Would you like a drink? Something to eat? I'm afraid the mochi and rolls are all vegetarian."
"I'm fine for right now, but thank you. I have to say, Chiasa, that look suits you... Like you've stepped out of an ancient painting."
Chiasa felt herself blush. She was used to compliments, so she shouldn't have been so flustered. Maybe after their meetings, she had the idea she meant it, at least rather than just leering.
"Oh.... Why, thank you. I actually made this some years ago," she said.
Suddenly, Marcus appeared with a drink in hand with Ann trailing not too far behind him with a plate of food.
"Plutarch, sir, I didn't know you'd be here," he said.
"Well, let's just say I felt a little more compelled by this invitation," said Plutarch, subtly eyeing Chiasa.
Her nephew finally looked her way and appeared embarrassed, or at least flushed... The poor boy was a lightweight from the moment he was allowed wine at the dinner table.
"Oh, Auntie, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," he said. At least he wasn't yet slurring his weight.
"No, no, don't worry about it, darling," she said, "You boys run along and have fun. I need to mingle some more, anyway."
"If you get bored, you could always come find me," Plutarch quipped.
Before the group went off, Chiasa pulled Ann aside.
"Make sure he's careful with the booze, he doesn't handle well," she whispered.
"Way ahead of you," Ann replied, holding up her plate, "He's not passing out before midnight."
Unfortunately, boredom wasn't what Chiasa ended up feeling... If only, just on a holiday, listening to her guests didn't bother her. It was as if nothing was happening, gotta impress Snow, the Quarter Quell will be so excited, did you hear whatshername cheated on whatshisface who's on his fifth marriage. There were a few that discussed the "hurricane" in District 4, but had more Quinta-like attitudes.
She couldn't take it anymore... She needed some quiet time. Maybe people would notice her gone, but at this point, she didn't give a flying-- Now she was getting too heated. After swiping a bottle of rainbow champagne, she escaped to her bedroom. Luckily, she still kept a few crystal flutes in her nightstand for gentleman callers. After pouring herself a glass, she switched her window to a live feed of the crowded city center, where the countdown and fireworks would be. Who knew how long it would take to regain her sanity?
"Kanpai, happy new year. I guess," she said to herself before taking a sip, "Another year, another hell."
She still heard the party going on, even some giggling down the hall, but she still didn't feel compelled to join back in. Nobody even bothered to check on her anyway. Maybe people were either too distracted or too drunk.
Had it been five minutes? Fifteen? Half an hour? Who knew at this point. Chiasa finished her glass and was about to pour another, but almost dropped the bottle when she heard her door open. She'd forgotten that she'd left it ajar... Still, she was ready to tell whoever it was to screw off, until she saw Plutarch looking surprised and a little embarrassed.
"Sorry, I think I have the wrong room," he said.
"No, no, you're okay... You need a little break too?" she asked.
"Actually, yes. I could use a little respite from the ass-kissing and meaningless gossip."
"Well then, come hang out with me," she said, patting the spot on the bed next to her, "I've got champagne, and you know I'm not as boring as they are."
Plutarch chuckled to himself and shut the door behind him. Smart move... People might jump to conclusions if they saw them together in her bedroom of all places.
"When you put it that way, yes," he said, coming over to sit, "I'm almost glad I got lost ... It's been a while since I've been here."
"You've been here before?" she enquired.
"Yes, your mother's funeral, remember?"
Right... He was there. Chiasa was a little preoccupied finalizing her move, wrangling her twin, and comforting Marcus. She never figured out what Plutarch was doing there. He wasn't in her mother's circle of friends that she remembered. Maybe then, they would have interacted a little more and maybe sooner.
"Oh right... I can't remember everyone who came," she said as she poured him a glass, "Say... I didn't know you knew each other."
"You could say so... I did look up to her, as a relic of the Dark Days," he replied.
Plutarch seemed to be telling the truth, but she felt like there was something he wasn't saying. However, it was incidental in the moment. She'll probably learn later if it was important. For now, it was better to keep things lighthearted.
"Kanpai... Is that what you say when you raise your glass?" he asked.
"That's right, kanpai. Here's to... To better company."
"To better company indeed..."
It had to be the alcohol, but Chiasa swore Plutarch's eyes were so blue and full of mischief, and all over her? Not that she'd complain. He happened to look very handsome in black and larkspur purple. He was the type to be able to pair black with anything without looking tacky.
"I see you tried to get into the spirit, at least," she remarked.
"I didn't exactly have a kimono lying around, so I had to make do," he said, "I guess I could have ordered one, but that wouldn't be fair to District 8. Even if the gossips outside wouldn't like it, I'd still have it in black."
"I guess that's fair... I still think you look handsome in black. Still... Maybe you could use something a little more au courant."
"Trying to get me drunk to hustle me, huh?" he replied with a laugh.
"Is it really hustling if I do it for free?"
Plutarch was taken aback. It was a little surprising, as the Head Gamemaker, he should have designers lining up to dress him, riots or no riots.
"I couldn't ask that of you, especially with the rationing," he said, "As kind as that is."
"I know how to work around this sort of thing, and it doesn't have to be anything big like a full three piece suit... Maybe a dinner jacket, something you can wear with anything," she replied, "I'd feel bad shaking you down after all you've already done and are doing. Consider it a thank you gift."
Over the past couple days, Chiasa came to wonder how many people appreciated him. Obviously the general public didn't and shouldn't know, but what of his allies? How many of them were grateful? How many showed their appreciation? He deserved more than a jacket, but she doubted even a three piece would be proper.
"It couldn't hurt, I suppose, to have one thing," he said, "As popular as Cinna may be right now, his work is a little flashy for my taste. You can be elegant, but far more subtle. I hope that means we'll see more of each other."
Chiasa couldn't stop herself from beaming. So he really did feel the same? Drawn to her... Maybe a little attracted to her? If not, maybe he could be eventually if he played his cards right.
"We will be. I'm going to need your measurements, then I'll do a few sketches and work with you on what you'll like. Then I'd have to see you a few more times together the right fit and make sure you're comfortable. You could swing by the fashion house... Or..."
"Or?"
"I could just come over instead," she continued, scooting a little closer, "I mean, I don't mind bringing my tools and such with me. I'm not in a place where I'm desperate for publicity and I'm sure you're not either. And if there's time, we could hang out a little more afterwards..."
"You could have just opened with that," Plutarch replied with a chuckle, "I should be free next week around 4."
Chiasa blushed and set down her glass. Maybe she should have opened with that... She usually had no problem being direct with men. Perhaps she had enough champagne for the time being.
"Oh, well, great," she said, "Sorry, I guess I'm a but tipsy. Time for me to be cut off..."
"If that's what you want, but you didn't hear me complaining," said Plutarch, "I thought we established long ago that I like hearing you talk."
"And it's a good thing it's you and not someone else," Chiasa replied, "You know, I was having the shittiest night before you came in. It's been a lot more fun with you than trying to entertain everyone outside.
Plutarch smirked at her words, irresistibly so, she had to admit. No matter what she may have thought of him before, she was puzzled that more people didn't fawn over him from what look alone.
"Is that so?" he asked, "I'm glad I could help. I understand how you feel... I'm surprised I lasted as long as I did out there. It might have been luck... I did my my way here, after all."
"If that's it, I hope your luck rubs off on me. All the more reason to spend time together... You know something else?"
"What?" he asked curiously.
"You're a listener, and I like that, but I do wish you'd talk a little more. I know there are things you can't say, and I understand... I just want to hear your voice. You have a beautiful voice... I really like it when men have these low, velvety voices... You could be talking about the weather, but I'd hang on every word."
She swore she saw him blush. She really did still have it.
"I wish it would snow a little, it's freezing enough out there," he quipped, "But in all seriousness... I'm wondering how much of this you mean, and how much you'll take back when you're sober."
"But I do mean it. I'm not taking any of that back," said Chiasa, "And don't act like I'm trashed. And don't act so surprised at me. You're trying to tell me that nobody's ever said anything about your voice?"
"Maybe once or twice," said Plutarch, "But forgive me for feeling suspicious when the compliments pour out. Especially from someone like you."
They were shoulder to shoulder now, but he was scrutinizing her just like their first real conversation. What a shame he'd come to such a belief... Although in the Capitol, he wasn't all wrong.
"Someone like me, hmm?"
"You can look in the mirror and the fact that a lot of men still fawn over you and know what I mean, Chiasa," he said, "You know how this city is... And women like you tend to be more interested in more conventional types. Well... As far as that goes, nowadays."
"First of all, eldritch mods are so overrated," she lightly retorted, "Second, I can't say I have type otherwise... Many types have their charms. That does include the intellectuals, and shall I say... Extra handsome?"
Plutarch passed her his empty glass and chuckled to himself.
"That's a new one... I wouldn't dress it down, I'm not ashamed of my body," he said, "You're persistent... Maybe the champagne's going to my head too."
"Okay then, if you won't believe me, let's put it to the test. Why don't you tell me a little story. Nothing classified of course, something fun, light," she suggested, "If... When I'm right, I'll be taking everything in."
Plutarch didn't seem too keen on backing down from a challenge, so he chose an Academy anecdote. His senior prank was an odd choice, but he was determined to prove himself. As was she. Honestly, though, it was nice to hear about Dean Windsor getting his comeuppance; the old bastard was so antiquated when she was in school.... It was hard to imagine how worse he got with age. And Plutarch's strategy to play chess with one of his buddies in a riled up crowd while the other half of the group was pouring glitter into the dean's drawers and hot sauce into his coffee. His brilliance shined through there, but it was still juvenile enough to come from a teenage boy.
"I still can't believe you got away with it," she remarked after he finished.
"I was never in that office, remember? And you know how patrician politics are... If you go after a scion with no solid evidence, you won't win. Even Gus... Gus Petra... He stuffed his shirt in the lost and found and accidentally picked one up two sizes too small... But he managed to skate by too. Always lived by that family motto of his... Either find a way or make one."
As he discussed his late friend, his tone turned pensive. Chiasa felt terrible focusing on how wonderful his voice sounded when it turned serious and thoughtful, and how it would translate to whispers and waking up in the morning. No... No no. It was the time for comfort and empathy. Especially knowing the circumstances around Gus's death; he was caught and hung as a traitor. He probably couldn't even mourn properly. How terrible could she be.... But she could do better.
"You must miss him," she said, gently placing her hand on his, "It must be very hard with the circumstances."
Plutarch nodded slightly and fully took her hand in his. She thought she felt a light squeeze, but he didn't meet her eyes.
"I do," he said solemnly, "And it has been. No funeral, pretending to have no idea and be disgusted with a man I considered family.... There are people I can mourn with, but it means a lot to hear from an outsider."
"I'm truly sorry..." she soothed, running her thumb along the back of his hand.
"Me too... I guess you already know that losing people when they step out of line can be inevitable, but family? It's... It's truly something else."
It was... Nobody she knew was involved with the rebels, that she knew of at least. Still, she knew the sting of losing family, especially so suddenly.
"Well, I'm glad I came," Plutarch added, smiling again, "I'm glad you got into my head enough for that.
Now Chiasa got to beam and blush. However, before she could say anything, she heard loud cheers from the crowd outside and noticed a change in her window. Plutarch in turn checked his pocket watch with his free hand.
"Is it almost midnight already?" she asked. She couldn't quite remember the time she went to hide... 10:45? 11?
"Looks like it, three minutes," said Plutarch, "Although I don't know about you, but I don't know if I'm ready to rejoin the party."
"No, I get it... I don't really want to either."
Chiasa started to reach for the champagne to top them both off, but a different idea started forming in her head. One that admittedly started during their second meeting when he had that chocolate on his mouth.... There was another New Years tradition, a more familiar, fun, and intimate one. Nobody would see, and it wouldn't hurt to take a chance and make him feel a little more appreciated...
"You know, Plutarch," she flirted, "I still haven't begun to pay you back for all you've done. Even a little New Years kiss isn't enough, but.... maybe it could be a start."
From the gleam in Plutarch's eye, she could tell he was at least interested, no matter how much he wanted to keep his composure and stay smooth.
"Well, it is tradition, after all," he said slyly, "Besides, I've seen you lick your lips most of this evening. I think I'm safe here."
My my... If he was studying her mouth so intently, she had to wonder what else he'd been thinking about... Chiasa moved closer and stroked his cheek.
"For what it's worth... You truly are intriguing and very, very handsome."
Plutarch in turn wrapped an arm around her waist. Now, at least, resting her forehead against his wasn't much of a risky move. She heard the guests start to count down in the background, but they were the least of her concerns.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6...
"There's still time to back out," she murmured, really hoping he wouldn't.
"Not a chance."
With that, he closed the gap between them. The cheers, bells ringing, and Auld Lang Syne all seemed to fade out as Chiasa lost herself in his kiss. So precise... Yet incredibly hot
It wasn't that she expected him to be bad, but it was surprising how good he was. It helped that his embrace was soft and comfortable, as if she were wrapped in a blanket woven by the gods themselves. Such a contrast to the desire in their lips. It was too bad she needed to breathe.
"Oh... Wow, Plutarch," she started, "You're really something, you know that?"
"So I've been told," he replied. He was trying his hardest to appear confident, but the red in his cheeks and adorable bashful grin were hard to ignore. "If I catch you of all people off guard, it must be true. I have to say... You were as heavenly as I imagined. Better."
"Ooh, well now... imagined?" she asked coyly.
"Who hasn't?" he replied.
"You're not so bad yourself, but amazing? I don't know..." she teased, "I'll have to kiss you again to be sure."
"As if you have to ask, Chiasa..."
She kissed him again eagerly, being sure to run her tongue along his bottom lip. She needed to forget the world around them for a little while longer. Plutarch really knew how to bring her beyond simple pleasure. It certainly wasn't love, she didn't fall easily, nor did it seem to be in the cards for her... Perhaps security, admiration... Lust. He'd made it pretty clear how he felt when he pulled her into her lap.
It truly is always the quiet ones...
If only they could stay like that forever. It was far from the first time Chiasa found herself in such a situation but it felt different somehow... However, feeling him toy with her otaiko reminded her there were more important things to dwell on. Perhaps she could toy with his shirt... She wouldn't mind if things went further, after all, she did say that a kiss wasn't enough to repay him...
"Chiasa?! Chiasa, are you in here?? You missed midnight!" the shrill voice of her sister called out behind the door.
Of course Quinta had to ruin everything... The pair broke apart and stayed dead silent... Now she had to hide him. Without prompt, Plutarch headed toward her walk in closet. Of course he knew how to hide...
"Yes, yes, I'm coming, one second!" Chiasa shouted as she flattened her hair as best she could before opening the door. From the way Quinta swayed, she'd had way more than she did that night. "What is it?"
"Um, like I just said, where the hell were you?" Quinta demanded, "Isn't this our party?"
"No, you're right, I'm sorry, I just was a little burnt out--"
Quinta eyed her face intently. Oops... She probably should have thought about lipstick smudges.
"Ohhhh I see... You had another one of those 'young bucks' with you..." she slurred, going to shout over Chiasa's shoulder, "Hello in there! Whenever you are... My sister's too old for you, you know!"
"Oh yeah," Chiasa replied sarcastically, "Handsome young thing, amazing kisser, real dream boat. You know, I was about to make some sweet eros to him before YOU showed up for a clam jam!"
"Wait... Really?"
Yes.
"No," Chiasa lied, "Like I said, I was burnt out. I swiped some champagne and I guess I stained my glass. Just let me do a touch up, and I'll be right out. You go ahead... And drink some water while you're at it."
"Fine, fine..."
Chiasa shut her door, and a smirking Plutarch reemerged from her closet.
"I'm impressed," he said, "She didn't even try to prove herself right."
"She's just so used to me, it's a joke by now. But if she saw you--"
"Everyone would know by tomorrow, I know." He pulled her back for a brief kiss. "You never told me how well I did.
"Oh, extremely well," she said, "Don't be surprised if I'm begging for you in the future... And I don't say that to every man."
"That means a lot, knowing you... Maybe if Quinta didn't interrupt us, you would be."
Hearing that from him, in that voice, had her breath hitching.
"We'll still see each other again next week," she said, "Would you still like that?"
"Of course," he said, "You do have to get back out there... As much as I wish you didn't."
"Plutarch, I wish I didn't either..." she pouted, stroking his cheek, "You can be patient, can't you?"
"Believe me, I know all about that."
She gave him one last kiss before wiping off the smudge and reapplying her lipstick.
"You might want to keep yourself scarce for a bit... Maybe about--"
"Three minutes or so? Yes, I know. Just between us, I'm all too familiar."
Of course he had her wondering what else he'd gotten up to in the past.... No wonder he was barely in the tabloids.
"And just between us," Chiasa quipped, "I'll be thinking of you."
She stroked his chin a bit before reluctantly returning to her hostess duties. Her story seemed to check out with most of the guests, not that most of them were sober enough to care. Once the night finally ended, she was sure to retire right away.
Unfortunately, Chiasa was faced with a couple more dillemas... First, it would be a week before she could meet Plutarch again. Second... Cold showers were bad for her skin. Oh well... At least nobody bothered her late at night.
(Iâm alive đ getting sorted this month was a bit difficult)
Itâs finally here!! Sorry for the long delay yâall. Also I literally canât add any more options on this poll LMAO, Iâm on mobile and it wouldnât let me.
Out of these Plutarch ships, which do you like âthe mostâ?
oh weâre talking about the heavensbees? iâm sat. please tell me about the heavensbees
We know that Heavensbee is a family of old money. Their background and ties into specific industries are an expansion of my ideas surrounding Plutarch, whose detailed knowledge of the old world seems like an extraordinary trait even by Capitol standards. I assume that most Capitol residents have limited access to historic knowledge, which in turn often has been rewritten in a pro-Panem lens.
Plutarch's book-canon knowledge and belief in democracyâsomewhat akin to eternal recurrence in assumptions about circular developments of nationsâstands out to me not only as an individual trait, but as a family connection.
To me, the Heavensbees have a monopoly on education and propaganda.
The Heavensbee Hall in the Academy and the movies visualising this aspect into the Trajan Heavensbee statue might speak of relative power held, but their placement in educational spots sparks my curiosity.
While some have rightfully given significance to Trajan's namesake and assumed a founding father role, I have read Trajan's tagline ("Father of Panem") with a stronger parental, educational relationship. To me, Trajan might have been the father of Panem due to having carried educational reforms to reshape child and teenage education in the totalitarian state, placing himself as the benevolent, loving father ready to teach his children (Panem's citizens) a skewed view of the world.
This focus would explain the reason as to why the Academy, Capitol's elite school, has such ties to the Heavensbees.
These developments taking place around the founding of Panem would have granted the Heavensbees influence within elite society, assuring that each generation holds a continued sway in any and all political decisions.
Following the Dark Days, I headcanon that the Heavensbees masterfully inserted themselves into the newly evolving Games industry as Head Gamemakers and personnel surrounding the Games. While these roles are technical in nature, they nonetheless carry a form of state propagandaâWhat angles to show? What tributes to focus on? How to frame the victor?âwhich suited the Heavensbees just fine.
I read the Heavensbee family akin to various political families of our time; their influence is ever presentâcomparable to the Kennedy and Bush families as political office-holders, Murdochs as media moguls, or Succession's fictional Roy family (play theme music!) . Each generation has at least one Heavensbee working somewhere, and their grip on power is not based on a single individual, albeit successful ones are always highlighted. Snow's dislike of Hilarius had made me assume he was not as successful. I do not read him as Plutarch's father. Instead, I see him as an uncle that, while he made it to Head Gamemaker, was not there due to talent or success, but due to his family's connections.
Hilarius is significant as a connection to Plutarch, as I outline in my fanfiction that an uncleâand that uncle's mysterious disappearanceâinspired much of Plutarch's rebellion. In addition, this implies that one Heavensbee failingâin this case Hilariusâdoes not hurt the overall family all too much. Another Heavensbee succeeding, such as Plutarchâand I purposefully mirror them hereâhas a tremendous impact on Panem's society
In contrast to the rest of the Capitol and the Districts, the Heavensbees have access to the information they sought to restrict. This is the reason as to why Plutarch has enough knowledge of democracy to implement that system following Panem's second rebellion. I've envisioned physical objectsâbooks, art, tokensâthat the Heavensbee family has continued to own both as a symbol of exclusive knowledge and hypocrisy within elite society.
