Where: Capitol party, day forty-nine
Who: Calista and open
If Calista had learned one thing in her time in the Capitol, it was that the party always went on. She had thought that it might be canceled after the execution of the District Twelve stylist, but she should have known better. The party would go on as if nothing had happened. It was jarring, the way that nobody was talking about it. And if they were talking, it was about what a traitor Cinna had been, and how Portia Lux had come back to the right side. They spoke of it as if it was a television show.
It made Calista sick. And yet...she smiled and said nothing.
Sometimes Calista looked in the mirror and didn't recognize herself anymore. Calista had always prided herself on knowing who she was when she grew up in District Two. But a few months in the Capitol and she was suddenly not sure who she was anymore. It was a realization that kept her up at night.
A glass of champagne in hand, it scared her how normal it felt to be dressed in a pretty dress, standing in the Capitol, while terrible things happened around her. But what choice did she have? She had been left behind.
Sensing someone, Calista plastered her best Capitol smile onto her lips. "Lovely night, isn't it?" A sudden rush of disgust and self-loathing hit her, and she downed her glass.
Location: Capitol shop, post-execution
Eris and open
The whole sordid affair between the stylists from District Twelve and their spectacular fall from favor was the kind of gossip that the readers of Capitolite Glamour wanted to read about, but Eris had been in this business long enough to know better. It was a shame, though, she thought. Perhaps a word in President Snow's ear could get her the green light. She would have to send out some feelers to see what was approved.
It was disappointing, really, but what better way to distract from a disappointment than shopping? Eris needed some new dresses, all of hers were so last Hunger Games season, so it was time for a change. And you never knew what you might hear at one of the shops, anyway. People just loved to gossip amongst the racks of clothes.
Spotting a familiar face amongst the racks, a smirk formed on her lips. "Oh, darling! It's been too long, how are you?" She paused, eyeing the garment in the other's hand. "You're not thinking about getting that are you?" Eris looked doubtful for a moment before her smile returned. "It's so last season, you see. But for you, I like it."
the quarter quell is behind them, even if the abruptness of it all was less than desired. the rebels showed prowess that the president hadn't entirely expected. the arena going up in flames was a pleasant touch, if not also infuriating. they struck when the iron was hot, but how will they fair now that it's cool ? uprisings were not an unknown annoyance of coriolanus snow. he has suffocated threats in the past. if a war is what those ungrateful pests of the districts desired, fine. their offspring will have to deal with the embarrassing legacy of their loved ones failing miserably. district twelve being smoking shambles was merely inevitable, perhaps the first of many.
the president sits calmly in his luxurious, open study however, looking not the least bit out of place. his features are pleasant, offering a slight smile to his company. " i appreciate you meeting with me at such short notice. " even now declining an invitation from snow was rather foolish.
It had only been a few days since she had left the Capitol and even fewer days since she had learned that Twelve and her parents were gone and Peeta was missing and yet it felt like it had been a year. Every time Dirk looked at her he expected her to know what to do or what to say to make everything better, but Delly couldn't make this better. She had never had to be a parent to her brother and she hadn't realized how hard it would be. One moment Dirk was fine, following Gale around in a way that made her almost smile, and the next he was sobbing in her arms. Delly refused to cry in front of Dirk, she wasn't going to burden him with her own grief.
She had been quick to volunteer herself to help out everywhere, it seemed that that was what they expected of them in Thirteen, but secretly she was glad to have something to keep her mind off of everything that had happened. It was especially hard for her when her thoughts went to Peeta. Peeta...how did this happen? How had they left him behind? Delly felt so angry and sad and she didn't know what to do or who to hit or scream at.
They left Peeta behind. She had left Peeta behind. And her parents. She could never forgive herself.
A few tears fell from her cheeks as she stood in the kitchen biting down on her lip, trying to control herself. She couldn't cry in the District Thirteen kitchen. At least she was alone.
But then there was a rustle behind her and she whirled around.
"I'm sorry I thought I was alone," she quickly wiped at her cheeks. "Give me a minute and I'll be ready to go."
Across Panem, there is a buzz surrounding Caesar Flickerman's newest guest. This is the third time Peeta Mellark has come on and each time he's divided the Nation; this is the third time he's been on, and Peeta is significantly worse for wear. That doesn't hinder two occurrences. The first: Caesar Flickerman continues to act as though the pair are old chums. The second: Beetee Latier is in a control room in District Thirteen with a bright team, including District Twelve's Aspen Barros. The Capitol Darling and The Capitol gossip have been discussing for approximately twenty minutes now unbeknownst to what's to happen.
District Thirteen's intel had told the rebels that Peeta Mellark would have another interview this evening. The control room in Thirteen was a buzz. Several higher ups in the technological side of the cause were here, including Beetee Latier and Aspen Barros. The former sits, staring at the massive holographic as Caesar's logo stretches across. He's positioned in the center of the dimly lit room. "Security has been breached against The Capitol's system. Given those on the inside, I do not worry about much resistance at the moment. Our objective today remains simple: get as many to see the propo during Peeta Mellark's interview as possible. Aspen, what do you see on your side?"
There was a part of her that still felt like an imposter even being in the room let alone in a chair but it's pushed aside when she reminds herself that Beetee wouldn't have selected her if she wasn't capable. Eyes remained trained on the screen in front of her monitoring the feed, grateful to have a task to take her mind off the way her chest tightened at the sight of Peeta's state. There's a clearing of her throat before she speaks, voice coming out calm and level. "No change in the feed, it's still just the interview." She wasn't sure if they'd begun to try to break the propo through yet but her screen remained fixed on Mellark and Flickerman. Aspen searches for something positive or reassuring ( old habits dying hard ) not knowing if there was anyone else in the room who needed it but her. "But I've managed to lock the channel, it's all anyone will be able to see."
There's a nod at the report. Beetee remains unperturbed by the results as Doralee Hinerich fiddles with her keyboard nearby. A practice propo had just been attempted, which didn't break through interference into Peeta Mellark's interview. "It might have aired on a differing station. No matter. You're doing well, Aspen. Keep watch. Let us know what the audience is seeing."
The tone of the interview had all in all been somber. Even Caesar's attire lacked its usual color, but he still spoke to Peeta Mellark like they were old friends. He casually ignored the state the baker's son was in. Any brashness was pushed aside with either a toothy smile or patronizing nodding. "Peeta Mellark, we must acknowledge the state of urgency across Panem. The Rebellion continues to strike havoc amongst our innocent Districts. Death follows everywhere the rebels go and every person they have touched. The bombing and fires in Eight, the bursting of the dam in Five, when will enough be enough? Do you have any idea what's going through the minds of these rebels - some of which you were notoriously close to?"
"How am I supposed to know what's goin' through any of their heads, Ceasar?" he asks, his voice tense, but shaky at the same time. He's not looking at the interviewer and instead his eyes dart from the cameras to the guards flanking either side. His hands are shaking, but that's nothing new. "All I know is that… is that… it'll never be enough. For any of you. Nothin' will be left."
It comes in fuzzy, a sound of a sweet melody. A feminine voice comes through, cutting off both microphones for a few months. Are you, are you, coming to the tree, rings almost alluringly. Flickerman's eyes flicker towards the crew, confused. Once the singing is stopped and he gets a thumbs up, eyeline moves back to Peeta. "Peeta, please continue. What will never be enough?"
His head tilts like a dog catching a sound the moment the singing starts, Peeta's eyes fixatated away from the cameras as though he can see where it's coming from. "Katniss?" he says, his voice strained, throat dry. It can't be… can it? But the second he thinks it, the sound is gone and Caesar is asking him a question. He blinks - too many times, too rapidly, his heart racing - and he looks back at the host. "What will…?" he repeats, trying to catch up. "Everything. We'll all die before this is over."
"She's not here, Peeta. Katniss Everdeen is actively aligned with the resistance, the very people who burned down District Eight with no remorse for life. But you're right, it seems they won't stop until all of Panem is punished. They don't care for the lives of our citizens. She doesn't care for our citizens."
A simple nod is given in reply, maybe she'd let a sense of accomplishment bloom later but for now she is focused on actually achieving their goal. Gaze studies the screen and waits for it to change, pushing away any rising emotions in favour of a clear mind. She's just about to report that there's been no change when suddenly the screen changes, the propo filling it rather than "Wait, I think we've done it." There's a hint of excitement in her otherwise calm tone as she prepares to brace for an inevitable pushback from the Capitol.
Beetee has a wide smile, one that almost never spreads across introverted lips. Yet eyes flicker between Aspen's screen as well as Doralee's that is capturing the maneuvering tactics of The Capitol attempting to navigate the intrusion. The latter question is for both women in essence. "Aspen, what are the those watching currently seeing? How long do you estimate until connection is back to their ideal?"
Out of the corner of her eye she catches Beetee's smile, finally allowing herself a small one of her own in the light of their success. She watches the propo and then watches the screen switch back to the interview, seemingly getting increasingly chaotic throughout their interruptions. "The propo. It sometimes cuts back to the studio but the audio is still ours. Flickerman is fighting to get it back under control."
Doralee mentions it will likely only be thirty more seconds as well. Beetee turns to look at Aspen again and remarks, "He seems to be able to see it. That's important. Notify me if there's any changes at all, Aspen."
And before Caesar Flickerman can continue, their mics are off again. The broadcast scurries over to a propo each time the mics are cut. No stranger would it be, if we met at midnight in the hanging tree, the song is audible for them though. Suddenly Peeta Mellark and Caesar Flickerman are back on the screen as The Capitol interrupted Aspen and Beetee's interference once more.
Caesar wants to only pin this on District Thirteen, but Peeta knows... oh, he knows. It's bigger than just one place, bigger than all of them, and the Capitol is at the center of it all. Before he can say anything about it, though, the broadcast flickers and he can hear the singing again. But not only that - on the side where the screen shows the interview, it's no longer him and Caesar, but Katniss. She stands in rubble, fires arrows towards a hovercraft, walks through the bombing. "Katniss!" he says again, tears in his eyes as his chest feels as though it's being ripped open. "Are you there? Can-can you see me?" She's not going to answer or maybe she is, he's not sure. He's sure of anything anymore except for the physical pain he feels at saying her name.
Caesar all but huffs at this point. It's a brief, like several milliseconds peep into the man behind the facade. He clears his throat and continues, as though the producer in the corner of the set isn't annoyed. "Peeta Mellark, please continue. We were discussing the actions of the rebels and the crimes against Panem that they are committing. People are hurting."
She watched as the screen continued to show the interview, still working to ensure it's the only channel anyone can access, but the sound coming through is theirs and she hopes that's enough. If nothing else it seemed to be provoking a reaction from Peeta. "We're back to Peeta on screen now and he's -" She knows mentioning his state isn't what's needed from her and so a frown settles itself on her brow, equal parts in concentration and worry for him. "- I think he's trying to tell us something."
Eyes flicker between the many screens across the control room. Before spinning his chair closer to Aspen, he spends some time at Doralee's desk. At one point, he's taking the keyboard away and even putting in some code, much to the displeasement of the capable District Thirteen woman. Soon he's at Aspen's desk once more. Eyes trail her screen before turning to her. "So it is reaching him well," he regards. Well not in his state of mind, but rather physically reaching Peeta Mellark. "And this is the feed everyone in Panem is currently seeing, yes? The interruption seems stronger now. They must be seeing and hearing more across the board, I imagine."
"It seems to be." Is the soft reply she gives to Beetee's question, thoughts increasingly pulled once more towards distress the longer she watches Peeta on the screen. But she resists, opting for pragmatism just a little longer. "It is, no one can see anyone else. They're fighting to get the other channels back but I've still got this one locked in."
"Good," he begins to remark as eyes linger on the broadcast. "They're going to start becoming more aggressive in trying to break our connection soon. This might be the only momentum we have with airing the propo within Peeta's airtime," he then starts to address the entirety of the room. "Continue pushing it through. Put everything into it. We don't want to lose our opportunity here. Let Panem see the Mockingjay."
And like clockwork, the Mockingjay's song rings. Are you, are you coming to the tree? Where dead man called out for his love to flee? The interruption longer in song, though her face gets cut from viewer sooner, leaving at called. The two men remain on the screen now.
Peeta sucks in a breath as it happens again, moving to sit at the edge of his seat, looking at closely at the screen as possible. It's her - singing once more - and something inside of him snaps back together. The sanity that's been slipping for weeks now suddenly coming back, albeit terrified. "We're all doomed, Caesar. You, me, everything will be destroyed. Katniss, Katniss - " He's speaking quickly, looking at the camera, trying to get it all out before he slips again. "Think about what you're doin'! There will be nothin' left! Everything, Ceasar. Everything will be gone!" His eyes bore into the cameras, his voice even faster now. "And you - " He feels the guards approaching. "You in Thirteen - " Closer now, he speaks even more quickly. " - Dead by morning!"
The producer is by the cameraman now, instructing what Caesar will eventually realize is strict instructions to cut the stream. The guards close in on Peeta, sooner than cameras can cut off even if just by moments.
She remains almost hypnotised by the screen, trying to listen to what he's saying and what it meant. The words were simple enough but she lost her grip on the logic and pragmatism that she'd been clinging to throughout, her emotions taking hold of her instead. The final break comes when the screen goes black but not soon enough. She can only watch in horror, helpless, as the fist makes contact with Peeta's face and she can only begin to imagine that what follows will be worse. Aspen had never been prone to tears but she might have wept for him there and then if it hadn't been for the sudden flurry of activity around her. "It's gone. They've shut it down." Is her only report, brief and almost murmured before her dazed gaze finally landed on Beetee again and focused once more. "Do you need me to do anything else?" She suspected that the answer would be no, given the way that others were clearing out of the room, but she'd never wanted to be useful more in her life. If that wasn't in this room then she'd find somewhere else to pour her energy in to drown out her thoughts with action.
Somewhere in the dust, a voice mentions Peeta Mellark is giving a warning to District Thirteen. The conclusion is right as minutes later, Thirteen receives an intensive air strike. This is an action that is hidden from the other twelve Districts, The Capitol, and those who watched the interview in the cellblock of the tribute center. The warning from one of The Capitol's captives saves many lives in the underground District. When it's safe to come out the following morning of day fifty-eight, hundreds of white roses have been splayed out over the earth of Thirteen. In two days time, the rescue mission will begin.
With our Mockingjay era plot drops, these will be similar to the Claudius and Caesar updates. You are absolutely welcome to write a self-para or actively do threads in relation to this plot drop! If you choose to roleplay this on the dash, please tag your threads with both #eventideevent04 as well as #eventideppp. Our players are now welcome to play through day fifty-eight, even though Peeta's interview took place the night of the fifty-seventh.
This plot drop does not effectively pause time in the roleplay. It does however signify that we are getting closer to the rescue mission in this era. As always, thank you for your patience. Thank you for still being here with us in EVENTIDERPG. Our RPG is better with you in it. Happy roleplaying!
Portia didn't know what to feel. It was quiet. Too quiet. Before today she hadn't even realised just how long she'd been in that cell. 48 days was a long time. It was also not that long either. She hadn't even known what she was going to do when she'd stood on that stage alongside Cinna. All along she had stayed on his side, been the unified stylists from 12. But when she'd been stood on the stage, facing her imminent death, she had realised that whilst she loved Cinna she hadn't wanted to die for something she didn't believe in. She loved Cinna, but she wasn't going to allow him to drag her down. And so she hadn't.
And now she was sat in her apartment. She'd probably sat there for at least an hour, as if she had forgotten how to function. She hadn't had to function over the past 46 days. She'd barely left that cell. She was free now. But it had come at a cost. Her boyfriend was dead. And despite knowing she hadn't done anything wrong, she felt guilty. She had only been trying to survive, and Cinna had had no intentions of denouncing. So she'd done the only thing she could, she'd saved herself. Yet still, some part of her mind was telling her she'd betrayed Cinna.
She hadn't known what to do, but her body had taken her to the phone, and she'd ended up dialling Domi's number. The woman, her former mentor, had been the one who had styled her and Cinna earlier that day. Maybe that was why she was on her mind. Domi had also been a major factor in how Portia had gotten to where she had. She didn't know if she could trust her. She didn't think she could trust anyone. But she could talk to Domi, and that was probably what she needed right now.
So she'd arranged a time for Domi to come over, and before that time had managed to get herself in the shower, so that she at least felt a little bit human. And now she was sat on the couch, the clock ticking away, getting nearer and nearer to the time that Portia hoped Domi would come.
Setting: Capitol cellblock, day 25
Open to any tortured souls in the block
I don't support my husband. I don't support my husband.
The words kept bouncing around in her head over and over again until she wanted to scream or throw herself against the doors just so she could stop hearing herself say it. They had given her no choice, she had been backed into a corner and if she hadn't said those words out loud would they have hurt Jax? Caesar, fuck him, had given her no choice.
But that didn't stop the self-loathing or the guilt. Had Sterling watched the interview? If he had, did he hate her? Could he hate her? He had to know that it wasn't her choice to do that interview. She had no way of knowing if her message got through and if he knew what she had been trying to tell him. They were a million miles away, but she still loved him and she was thinking of him. Even if her words had changed his feelings for her.
The Peacekeepers hadn't given her a choice when they dragged her to the studio to be beautified. Poor Domi, it had taken her far longer than normal to get her into 'victor status' again. She had to cover all the bruises and make her whole again.
It had almost been nice to see the other woman, Cecelia had almost been able to trick herself into thinking that it was a normal day. Domi had been quieter than she remembered her, she had probably been told not to talk to her, but Cecelia had tried to get her to talk, but she had eventually given up. Domi turned Cecelia into who she was again. She had always liked Domi and had done plenty of work for her over the years. It wasn't a surprise to see that she was complicit. Of course, Domi was thriving while Panem burned.
Cecelia needed a distraction, but distractions were hard to come by in the cell block.
"Tell me what your favorite memory is," Cecelia said, her voice carrying through the block. "Or just...tell me anything you'd like."
Setting: Capitol cells, one day after Peeta's interview
With: Peeta & Portia @vengefvlx
He wakes slowly.
By now, he's used to the routine. He's still not sure exactly what they're doing to him, just that whatever drug they give him makes it hard to remember everything he'd done during the after-effects. He's lost count of the amount of times he's apologized to everyone, but especially Annie and Amara, who have to bear witness to whatever crazy shit he talks about when he's out of his mind.
The things he does remember after are almost worse than a blank slate. Snakes and Katniss and fire and bees and Katniss and mutts and wolves and Katniss. The best thing about the hallucinations is that they tend to knock him out after, so much that half the time even the nightmare bed can't affect him. The worst times are when it does and he wakes up, frozen, seeing more things that aren't real.
Tonight, luckily, is not one of those days. He's groggy as he pulls his head off the pillow. Whatever they give him causes a pounding headache for hours even after the sleep, but that could also be the lack of food and water. He's exhausted, but he drags himself out of bed anyway. He hadn't taken the leg off before he'd passed out and now his knee aches at the attachment.
He moves to Annie's side first - she's asleep and he feels like she does that so little these days he tries not to bother her. Then checks Amara's side - empty. Peeta shivers at the knowledge they have her, doing whatever to that awful arm of hers. He straightens when he hears a familiar noise. "Portia?" he whispers into the darkness as he peers through the window farther.
